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A Chelsea Lio
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VERITAS
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OF THE
LIBRARY
UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
LUGVALMIS PENTESO LAPAMOKA
PRESENTED BY
THE HEIRS OF
NATHAN B. HYDE

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A
A
CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER
"Is it a little thing
To have enjoyed the sun,
To have lived light in the spring,
To have loved, to have thought, to have done?”
M. ARNOLD.
19
Hon. Eval
NEW YORK
GEORGE MUNRO, PUBLISHER
17 TO 27 Vandewater Street
1883
!
****



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1
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CHAPTER.
CONTENTS.
I. AN ART STUDENT
1
II. A CONFERENCE
10
III. A RETROSPECT
18
IV.
37
V. AN APOSTLE OF WORK
53
VI.
AN AFTERNOON CALL
67
VII.
80
VIII.
89
IX. THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER
102
X. A DOMESTIC CRISIS
114
127
XI. THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE
XII. ART VERSUS PHILISTIA
XIII. MR. WYGRAM AT HOME
134
151
. 160
XIV. AN IMPENDING ORDEAL
XV. THE ORDEAL IS PAST
. 170
XVI.
STRAINED RELATIONS
181
XVII.
"AT WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT" 199
XVIII.
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE
212
XIX. THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR 227
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY
MORNING CARES
'UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE'
ぶ
​•
$76
•
•
•
•
PAGE
Y
ii
CONTENTS.
Sp
CHAPTER.
PAGE.
XX. THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA
. 241
XXI. AN OLD MAN'S SCHEME
253
XXII. NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT 259
XXIII.
REVELATIONS
270
XXIV. ON A NORFOLK MARSH
XXV.
XXVI. A CONCLUSION
•
·
. 283
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT 296
311
•
•
•
✔
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
CHAPTER I.
AN ART STUDENT.
The New Forest of Hampshire, always sylvan and en-
joyable, is never perhaps so sylvan, or so pre-eminently
enjoyable, as in the latter end of May; a fact of which
Miss Muriel Ellis was well aware when she decided upon
making it the scene of her month's holiday. Miss Ellis
was an artist; not-as she herself would eagerly have
assured you-an amateur, but a genuine professional,
with dreams, vague, but none the less alluring, of tri-
umphs and successes to be won by the aid of her brush.
At the time at which this story opens, she was, however,
only in the Academy-that is, in its schools-where she
had been for the last three years, and where she expected
to be for another half year more. The discipline and
routine of these schools is sometimes declared to have a
repressive and even benumbing effect upon youthful
genius, curbing it to an extent which it rarely afterwards
recovers. Without at all venturing to say that Muriel
Ellis possessed genius, I may certainly-if only for the
credit of that establishment-take it upon me to assert,
that no training to which she had been subjected had at
all succeeded in curing her of her flights. She was, in-
deed, endowed with a happy audacity, to which nothing
in the way of art came amiss. Ever since her small fin-
gers could find their way round a crayon there were few
objects in heaven, on earth, nor yet under the earth,
which she would not promptly have undertaken to draw.
Previously to going to the Academy, she had been in the
habit for some years of attending a painting school,
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
A
where a different and a very much laxer system of
discipline prevailed, and there it had become a sort of
common habit to hand over any particularly troublesome
bit of drawing, any unusually restive head, or knee, or
eye, or fold to Muriel Ellis, who would be certain to have
finished her own work, and to be only too ready and
willing to undertake anybody else's. She was, indeed,
devoted, utterly devoted, to her art; and yet if the
reader will kindly understand the seeming contradiction
-she was, nevertheless, at times, haunted with a sort of
half scorn for it-for that phase, at all events, which had
chiefly lain under her own observation. The thing, in
truth, came to her too easily; so easily that she was apt
to be contemptuous, and even a trifle skeptical, as regards
the very existence of those difficulties before which her
less ready-eyed and nimble-fingered neighbors stood
aghast. In a word, she possessed in a high degree the
gift of facility; a fatal gift, according to all competent
authority, but still not the less one which confers a great,
a peculiar, and a quite incommunicable species of enjoy-
ment upon its fortunate possessor.
In another and a less questionable respect Miss Ellis
was also blessed above the general run of her artistic
fraternity. She was the owner of a fortune, not large,
perhaps, in the fortune-hunting sense, but still quite large
enough to make it pretty clear that she would never have
seriously to fall back upon her own brush for support.
Indeed, I should myself be inclined to call her an heir-
ess, but that the traditions attaching to that word are of
so impressive and imposing a character that the modest
fortunes of iny heroine would forthwith, I fear, become
ridiculous beside them. As a matter of fact (and on such
subjects readers, I think, like ample facts), Muriel pos-
sessed an income of about fifteen hundred pounds a year,
chiefly derivable from certain moneys in the funds, a
portion of which had lately been invested in the purchase
of a house in London. Miss Ellis was an orphan, but
her fortune had come to her not from either of her
parents, but from a brother, whose death had occurred
some eight years earlier, when our heroine was not quite
fourteen. She was now of age, and had been of age for
rather more than a year, but beyond the purchase of the
house above referred to, that fact had not made any ma-
terial difference in her way of life, and she had been
.
***
M
AN ART STUDENT.
3
quietly pursuing her art studies with a steadiness and a
conscientiousness, all the more praiseworthy in that there
were not of course wanting people to suggest that for a
young lady so handsome and so well endowed, there
were plenty of livelier amusements than sitting all day
upon a high stool, and smudging her fingers with stumps
and charcoal. At present, however at the time, that is,
at which she first makes the reader's acquaintance-she
vas longing, not indeed to lay aside her brush, but to
exercise it in a new direction. She was a trifle weary, it
must be owned, of that routine to which she had
hitherto submitted herself; tired of the "antique" and
of the "life" of the stereotyped artistic models,
and the no less stereotyped artistic talk. For the
last month or more she had been pining to get away from
London; to get away somewhere or other by her-
self; set up her own easel, study her own effects, and
work out her own theory of art, uncontrolled
and undisturbed by any extraneous authority or
influence whatsoever. For all that you are not to
suppose that Miss Ellis had really come down to
Hampshire alone. Nothing of the sort. She was ac-
companied by a friend; one, too, who was not only one
of the most discreet of companions, but who in point of
age might very nearly have been that young lady's
mother. Miss Elizabeth Prettyman was an artist also,
but one of a very different type from Muriel. Now and
then, at long intervals, she painted an original picture
(generally a bunch of pelargoniums, or a couple of roses
in a Japanese vase), and now and then at still longer
intervals, sold one; but her regular vocation was that of
a copyist. She was, indeed, the most admirable and exact
of copyists. To see her at work before a Metsu, a Van
der Helst, or a Terborch (she preferred the Dutch school
to every other), was in itself a study. If she did not (as
some declared) actually reproduce the very cracks which
time had imprinted upon those master-pieces, it may at
any rate be safely asserted that it was the only thing
which she did not reproduce. Everything, from the
wrinkles, which it required a magnifying glass to detect,
down to the lightest and most apparently accidental
smudge the faintest "stain upon a brick, or smoke-
dulled slip of greenery in a window," was copied and
recopied with a care and a patient fidelity which was

4
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
it so.
really in its way pathetic. For nearly twenty years her
well-scraped palette, and small, alert, somewhat angular
figure, had been nearly as familiar to the habitués of
the National Gallery as any of the pictures upon the
walls. Unfortunately, copying, no matter how sedu-
lously it may be pursued, is seldom a very lucrative
vocation-at all events, Miss Prettyman had not found
On the present occasion this fact was of less con-
sequence, however, than usual, the whole expense of
the trip being clearly understood to be defrayed by Miss
Ellis, who indeed had planned the expedition to the full
as much in her friend's interests as in her own. Their
first night had been spent at a small hotel in one of the
least frequented and most picturesque of the villages
which stud the recesses of the forest, where their win-
dows looked out upon the little rustic street, with its
scattered shops and low eaves, round which the swal-
lows and martins were just now industriously flitting.
Still, if both quaint and comfortable, this retreat was
neither remote enough nor yet independent enough for
Muriel Ellis, who panted to establish as complete a con-
trast with her late surroundings as it was possible to
achieve. Accordingly, the afternoon after their arrival,
she started forth upon a reconnoitering expedition, bent
upon discovering some abode, or portion of an abode,
which she and her friend would have the right, tem-
porarily, at all events, to call their own.
Miss Prettyman was not at any time much of a walker,
and on the present occasion was anxious, as Muriel knew,
to finish a letter, so the latter young lady set forth on
her peregrinations alone. She was, indeed, far too inde-
pendent, and far too well accustomed to long solitary
London rambles, to have hesitated about adventuring
herself, even had the region been a much less rurally
and distinctively innocent one than the New Forest.
Moreover, her drive yesterday from the station, and the
glimpses seen from her bedroom window had inspired
her already with an enthusiasm, a love at first sight, for
her new surroundings, which enthusiasm she privately
wished to indulge, at all events at first, undeterred by
the presence of her friend, whose better balanced and
staider disposition could hardly be expected to sym-
pathize much with such vagaries. As she stood at her
bedroom window, waiting for an umbrella which a
AN ART STUDENT.
5
good-natured chambermaid had undertaken to hunt for,
that enthusiasm was very near the surface. A light,
sunshiny shower was passing over the country-so light,
indeed, that a white butterfly, intent upon some domestic
concerns among the cabbages below the windows, had
failed to take any notice of the fact. A little beyond
the cabbages a small brown wren-the merest atom of
fluff and feathers-was hopping up and down some bean-
stalks, jerking its tail, and producing an amount of
sound which seemed utterly disproportionate to the size
of its throat. Beyond the cabbages and the beanstalks
was a narrow enclosed paddock, where the corncrakes
were calling to one another with harsh iteration out of
the clover, and where the back of a red cow just showed
beyond the hawthorns of the hedge. At this hedge
began the forest, sweeping away in great billowy curves
and undulations; every bare spot being filled with a
purple haze, beautiful in itself and beautifying every-
thing it rested on. Raindrops innumerable glittered
over the earth. Overhead the clouds were hurrying
briskly away. Suddenly a great gust of wind came
sweeping across the forest, bringing with it a faint far-
off resinous scent from the fir-trees. Muriel caught up
her hat, and, forgetting all about the lost umbrella, ran
hastily down the stairs and out into the village street.
Here she was met by a small flock of school children,
trooping by on their way from school, so stopped a min-
ute to let them pass, noting, with all a Londoner's keen
appreciation, the roundness of the limbs and ruddiness
of the cheeks thus suddenly presented to her view.
Without at all aspiring to the character of a Lady
Bountiful, Miss Ellis, in her quality of householder, had
of late given herself with a good deal of zest to the min-
istrations of her own immediate neighborhood, and now
the sight of these small pinafored and corduroyed schol-
ars conjured up the remembrance of sundry other little
Jackys and Tommies left behind amongst the back alleys
of Brompton and Chelsea, whose cheeks were by no
means so red, or their legs and arms so fat and prosperous
looking, and she began to ask herself penitently whether
there was not a decided selfishness-none the less insidi-
ous because so common-in being so exceedingly glad to
get away herself, while others—so many others-were
not free to get away at all. Why, after all, should she
6
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.
1.
enjoy a holiday, and revel in country sights, and be free
to pick the first cowslips and primroses, while Jacky and
Tommy, and the innumerable other little Jackys and
Tommies, to whom the cowslips and primroses belonged
far more by prescriptive right, had no such chance, but
must stay where they were-luckless little prisoners
whom it was no one's interest or business to set free? It
was a characteristic thought, and one which haunted her
more or less all day. At present, however, it was obvious
that it could bear no profitable fruit, so, thrusting it away
from her with an effort, she started off down the little ill-
paved village street, looking eagerly to right and left
at all the pleasant novel sights about her; the old, old
houses, with their newly painted wood-work; the
quaint corners and dormers and gables; the shops of the
taxidermist and entomologist—which latter seemed to
form the chief part of the trading population—all the
sleepy life and tranquil bustle, in short, of the little place.
There were no tourists as yet in the forest; the hunting
season, of course, was over, so that strangers were scarce,
and Muriel attracted a good many rustic eyes as she
walked along, herself by no means the least pleasant
part of the pleasant picture; her plain gray dress (she
was not at all given happily to exemplifying art in her
own person) fluttering lightly in the warm, light breeze.
Presently she left the village, and struck out upon a long
green road, bordered with horse-chestnut trees, the latter
just beginning to expand into pinky blossom. White
and gray fronted houses here and there showed them-
selves through the trees; but the hedges, still gay with
their spring splendor, hid out anything like a detailed
view. Overhead, the sky was all that a May sky ought
to be; linnets and chaffinches were busy amongst the
chestnut flowers; bees, yellow with pollen and big with
importance, dashed hurriedly to and fro over the dry
grass; the whole air and sky and scene seemed redo-
Tent of the spring.
As she walks along the green-shaded roadway-with
the shadows playing over her, and the ripples of light
sketching fantastic patterns upon her dress-seems a
becoming moment, as becoming a one at least as I am
likely to find, for furnishing the reader with that detailed
report of my heroine's appearance without which no
romance, however otherwise circumstantial, seems ever
5
AN ART STUDEnt.
7
to be held complete. To begin, then, Muriel was tall,
with a slight, erect figure, a quick step, and an air of
youth and vigor which did the beholder good to look at.
Her face was oval, as nearly oval at least as a face can
be in which the chin is a good deal more pronounced
than is usual in classic beauties. The cheeks were pale,
paler than they had any business to be, judging by the
rest of the physique, the most noticeable fact in point of
coloring being that the eyes, hair, brows, and lashes
were all of the same, or pretty nearly the same, color-a
deep dark brown, inclining to chestnut above the tem-
ples, from which the hair was brushed courageously
back, so as to form a small loose knot at the back of the
head. Her eyes-not, perhaps, by the way, a strikingly
original trait in a heroine-were large and bright; in-
deed, brighter or pleasanter eyes have seldom looked out
of a woman's face, their beauty consisting less in their
size or color than in this very vividness and brightness
which seemed to shine out of the irises themselves. For
all that, the face in repose was not exactly a bright one,
or rather, the brightness came to it only by fits and
starts, its prevailing expression being a somewhat sober
one, a sobriety giving way, however, at a touch, and
being replaced by a peculiarly sunshiny smile and
glance. At the present moment she was eager, restless,
glad to escape from London; excited like a child at the
thought of this great, and to her, unknown and mys-
terious forest which lay around; delighted to get away
from the drill of the schools, but eager to plunge again
into fresh work, and to try her strength upon this new
and as yet untried field which lay around her. Before
anything else, however, could be done it was obviously
necessary to secure that house, or portion of a house, in
which she and Elizabeth Prettyman were to set up their
easels and paint-pots, and to this task accordingly she
addressed herself.
For some time her efforts seemed doomed to failure.
In vain she walked up and down the roads; in vain she
peered into every house, and inquired of every passer-by.
Nothing in the least degree answering their needs seemed
forthcoming. Indeed, there appeared to be no alternative
between the humblest of two-room cottages, and mansions
or villas standing back in dignified seclusion, with their
own gardens and offices, green-houses, and double coach-
i
8
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
houses, where it would be very little short of an imperti-
nence to apply. So far, however, she had only been
exploring the immediate neighborhood of the village,
whereas her real hope and dream was to find a retreat in
the very heart of the forest itself, away from all others,
and neighbored only by the squirrels and the wood-
peckers. Seeing, therefore, a long, green-margined path
stretching away into an apparently endless vista of
greenery, she turned, and boldly adventured herself down
it, half laughing at her own confidence, half believing
that somehow or other that confidence would be rewarded
by coming upon exactly that picture of rural comfort and
picturesque seclusion which she had already imaged in
her own mind.
While her more adventurous companion was thus
engaged, Miss Prettyman sat at home, and wrote her let-
ters and unpacked her needlework, and got out her
palettes and brushes and various paraphernalia ready to
set to work next day. Although on pleasure bent, she
had no intention of being idle-no more intention, in
fact, than had her friend. In her case years, however,
had brought discretion, and she somewhat misdoubted of
her own ability to deal with these tangled foregrounds,
and desperately complicated vistas and copses at which
Muriel proposed dashing so lightly. Consequently she
had been careful to provide herself beforehand with work
in the shape of three or four miniatures which had been
entrusted to her to copy and enlarge. This was a species
of work in which Miss Prettyman excelled, her patience
and truly marvellous conscientiousness enabling her to
reproduce line for line, and touch for touch, all the half-
evaporated grace and bygone charm of the originals. It
was not work, however, which could be attempted in any
but the best light, so, having set everything in readiness
for the morning, she took up her needlework-not crewels
I assure you, reader, but the plainest and most uncom-
promising of plain stitchings-and sat herself down near
the window to wait for her friend's return.
By this time she was beginning to be not a little uneasy
at the latter's non-appearance. What could have delayed
her? She had promised to be back at five, and here it
was nearly six! Could anything have happened? Sud-
denly a dreadful thought crossed her mind. Suppose
Muriel had lost herself in the forest? Miss Prettyman
:
AN ART STUDENT.
"
was particularly ignorant-more ignorant even than the
generality of Londoners-on everything that related to
the country, being filled with suspicions, vague but none
the less sinister, of everything extending beyond the
twelve-mile radius; and now, as this dreadful notion
crossed her mind, she began rapidly conjuring up all the
terrors she had ever heard, or read, or dreamt, or imagined
in connection with forests and people lost or strayed in
them. What was to be done? Here was the afternoon
passing on; the evening would soon come, and then
night. What if Muriel never returned? She got up and
hurried over towards the fire-place, her mind anxiously
running over all the exigencies of the case. Ought she
not, she thought, to summon the waiter and the land-
lord? call in the police-if police, indeed, there were to
be had--and insist upon their all going out immediately
in search of her friend? Her hand was upon the bell-rope,
and then again she hesitated. Supposing after all that
Muriel should be only taking a walk, and should presently
reappear? How vexed she would be; how annoyed
that such a fuss should have been made on her behalf!
And yet, on the other hand, if she was lost, why then
obviously every moment was of value. Who could tell
what might not have happened? Who could tell to what
dreadful dangers she might not at that very moment be
exposed? Dropping the bell-rope, she hastened over to
the window. Everything looked sleepy and tranquil-
minded enough to have inspired confidence in even the
most perturbed of breasts; still Miss Prettyman felt any-
thing but reassured, and was just upon the point of her-
self sallying forth in search of her lost friend, when a
light step was heard upon the stairs, and Muriel, her pale
cheeks glowing with exercise, and her arms laden with
the honeysuckles and bryonias she had stolen from the
hedges, burst into the room.
10
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
(6
A CONFERENCE.
Oh, Elizabeth, I've had such a walk!" she exclaimed,
flinging herself into a chair and tossing her burden down
upon the table.
CHAPTER II.
"Have you, dear? Well, I'm sure I'm only too thank-
ful to see you back, Muriel. You don't know how
uneasy I have been about you !"
"6
Uneasy? Why, what was there to be uneasy about?"
"I thought you were lost in the forest.”
"L
Muriel laughed. "I wonder if any one could be lost
there if they tried,” she said. However, I did go a long
way-four or five miles, I'm sure.
(6
And did nothing really happen?'
it
Happen? No! What in the world should happen?
"Oh, well, I don't quite know," Miss Prettyman said,
beginning to feel that her late panic was perhaps, after
all, a little premature. "Still there always are dangers
in a place of this kind," she added insistantly. No,
don't laugh, dear; there really are. You quite forget
you're not in London. Why, only think of all those
loose cows and horses we saw yesterday; and then wild
stags, and drunken men, perhaps-who knows?"
((
Muriel only laughed the more. Well, all I can say
is that I met with none of them," she said; "but I did
meet with something much more to the purpose, and
that was a house, and one, too, that I think will suit us.
""
"A house? Oh, really!" Miss Prettyman exclaimed,
her thoughts suddenly starting off into a new channel.
"But a whole house, Muriel? Won't that be dreadfully
expensive?"
"On the contrary, very cheap; cheaper even than this
hotel."
،،
"L
""
19
Well, then, I really am glad to hear that, dear; very
glad indeed," the elder lady said earnestly. "I did not
mention the subject before, because I know it annoys
you, but I have been feeling extremely uncomfortable at
all the expense you are going into here. A sitting-room,
which every one knows is such an extra, and then our
dinner last night-soup and fish, you know, and chickens
-and then all that pastry !"
1
A CONFERENCE.
II
Miss Ellis began laughing again. "Yes, and salt, and
pepper, and mustard. Certainly we have been extrava-
gant. Shall I tell the waiter that to-night we shall only
want one salt-cellar, and that you will not mind doing
without any pepper-shall I?" stretching out her hand
towards the bell-rope.
'Now you are only making fun of me, dear," Miss
Prettyman said plaintively.
"Well, you absurd Elizabeth, and how do you expect
me not to make fun of you when you have such ridiculous
notions? Will you truly and seriously tell me that you
think a jam-puff more or less is going to ruin either of
us?"
66
'Us! It certainly won't ruin me, because, as you know
very well, I do not pay for it. But it really makes me
very uncomfortable, Muriel-it does indeed-to think of
your money going for all these sort of things, and, of
course, my being with you must add so greatly to the
"}
expense.
once
Miss Ellis sprang up impatiently from her chair.
"Now, Elizabeth, please listen to me," she said;
for all, I won't have this sort of thing going on; I won't
indeed. You must be reasonable."
(6
"I hope I always am reasonable, dear."
"On every other subject, I grant you, but not on this;
on this you are a perfect monomaniac. Would you have
had me come down here alone? Just now answer me
that."
Miss Prettyman shook her head. "No, dear, I suppose
not," she said dubiously.
((
Well, then, would you have had me advertise for a
companion? A young person, aged twenty-two, man-
ners pleasing, temper amiable,'-I should have to describe
myself as amiable in an advertisement, you know-‘is
anxious to meet with a lady who will kindly undertake
the care of her during a short sojourn in the New Forest.
No remuneration, but every comfort supplied.' Is that
the sort of thing you would have proposed?”
Miss Prettyman shook her head again.
،،
Well, then, as a last resource would you have had
me persuade Sophia Skynner into coming down with
me?" Miss Ellis said, throwing herself back into her
chair with an air of triumph.
"Oh no, dear, of course not; that would have been
12
▲ chelseA HOUSEHOLDER.
entirely out of the question," Miss Prettyman said, with
unusual animation.
"Well then, there it is! You see now, you are obliged
to admit that the obligation is on my side, and not on
yours. And that brings us back to the original point.
Since you are here, will you kindly tell me why, in the
name of sense and reason, you shouldn't eat a jam puff
as well as another person?
Miss Prettyman sighed. “I can't help it, dear. I dare
say I am silly," she said dolefully, "but all the same I
do not like your spending your money upon me-more,
at least, than can be helped.
"}
Her companion made another gesture of impatience;
then, crossing the room, laid both hands impressively
upon her arm.
"Do you know, Elizabeth, you are really extremely
unkind," she said seriously. "Have I such a prodigious
number of friends, that I am to be deprived of the society
of the very few I do possess? And is there any one else
in the whole world that I know so well, or have known
so long as I have known you-you, that is, and your
mother? Just now answer me honestly that.
""
"Perhaps not, Muriel."
<<
Perhaps, you unnatural Elizabeth! You know very
well that there is not.
""
(C
Well, there is your cousin, Lady Rushton; she is
very fond of you.
""
{{
Lady Rushton is very kind, and I think, as you say,
she likes me; but I do not belong to her in any way.
If I were to die to-morrow she would be sorry, but it
wouldn't make the smallest atom of difference to her in
reality; whereas to you and your mother it would."
("
"Yes, it would," Miss Prettyman said simply; there did
not seem to be any need of asseveration upon that point.
Very well, then, isn't that a proof conclusive that
between you and me money is a word that ought not to
be so much as breathed? Besides, if you have chosen to
forget all I used to cost you—you and Mrs. Prettyman,
I mean-I have not. Why, in money alone that
money you make such a fuss about—just think of what
a frightful expense I was to you formerly!"
""
،،
Indeed, Muriel, you were nothing of the kind !
Miss Prettyman cried indignantly. "The expense was
nothing; and if it had been, it was a pleasure.
11
A CONFERENCE.
13
[C
""
Well, you unreasonable Elizabeth, and am I the
only person who is never to be allowed a pleasure?
The elder lady sighed again. "I am sure, dear, I
don't want to spoil your pleasure," she said piteously.
And you mustn't think I don't mean to enjoy myself
too, only you are so young and-
"C
"Foolish. Don't hesitate."
"}
>>
'No; I was going to say generous-foolishly gener-
ous. It's perfectly dreadful to me to think of that big
house of yours in London-servants and a carriage and
everything going on, just as if you were there yourself!'
Oh, as far as that goes, Sophia promised to keep the
expenses down as much as possible," Muriel replied care-
lessly, as she got up and wandered away towards the
window.
CC
For all response Miss Prettyman straightened her
neck, and drew down the corners of her mouth, in a
manner that did not portend any very fervent belief in
the promises of the said Sophia.
(i
CC
Anyhow, here we are, and we're out for a holiday,
and I won't have my holiday spoilt, or yours either,
Muriel said with decision. And now I'll tell you all
about the house, or rather the cottage; for it is a cot-
tage—not even a cottage orneé, but the real thing; with a
red roof, and a row of bee-hives in front, and chickens
hopping in and out of the windows."
(6
""
Hopping in and out of the windows! Not surely
into the sitting-room windows?"-in a tone of dismay.
Miss Ellis laughed. "I can picture you jumping up
from your painting and rushing at them with a broom,
or perhaps carrying lame ducklings about, wrapped up
in flannel, as I used to do at my grandfather's," she said.
Elizabeth shook her head. can't fancy liking to
have ducklings and those sort of things very near one,
however pretty they may be at a distance," she replied
dubiously. "And when have you settled to go to this
cottage?" she added.
"On Friday. It has only been empty a few days.
Some gentlemen, who were here for the hunting, had it
until last week."
"Then I do hope, Muriel, you did not forget to im-
press upon them the necessity of giving it a thorough
cleaning?" her friend said earnestly.
"Well, I'm afraid, do you know, that I did forget.
3
14
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
Never mind, though; I'm sure Mrs. Partridge will see to
it all right. She seemed a very good sort of woman—
rather short in her temper, perhaps, but then no wonder,
with such a fearful number of children! Seven, I think
she told me she had."
"I
Seven children! and will they all be in the house,
too?" Miss Prettyman inquired in a tone of dismay.
No, no. They have another cottage, a smaller one,
close at hand. But I dare say we shall see plenty of
them; one we certainly shall, for I've settled to paint
him. A splendid creature, with such a pair of eyes! I
can't think where he got them from; though the father
wouldn't make a bad study either.
Has he a
"What does he do? the father, I mean.
trade, or what?"
"(
'He used to be a soldier, and now I fancy he looks
after something in the forest; but his chief business
seems to be as an entomologist. He goes out at night
with a dark lantern and a pot of treacle. Some night he
has promised to take me.
"}
"A dark lantern and a pot of treacle!
is that for?"
Dear me, what
"To catch moths. The treacle is put on the trees
with a brush; the moths come to eat it; then he turns
the light upon them, catches them with a net, and pops
them into pill-boxes.”
"Dear me," repeated Miss Prettyman; "and what
does he do with them when they are caught?"
"Sells them, I fancy. He showed me whole boxes
full-some really beautiful things. Such colors! One
in particular-quite a common gray-looking thing though
that was-he assured me he got ten shillings apiece for
as many as ever he could catch.”
"Then I am afraid, dear, he must be a very untruthful
person," Miss Prettyman said indignantly. "No one
could possibly be silly enough to give ten shillings for a
moth."
(6
Why not, if it was a very rare one?"
"What would be the use of it?"
(6
Use, 'you utilitarian Elizabeth! the rarity is the use.
What is the use of half the things people buy-of your
pictures and mine, if it comes to that? And yet we should
not object to any one giving a big price for them, should
we ?"
-
A CONFERENCE.
15
Miss Prettyman sighed. "I am afraid I am not likely
to be much tried in that way," she said.
"But you,
dear, are different," she added, brightening. "Every
one says you might make a great deal of money by your
painting if you chose to work hard; though of course it
would be very unreasonable to expect that you should,
when you have got such a good fortune of your own
already."
"Now, Elizabeth, you know nothing offends me like
that. What have I ever been guilty of, that I should
be reckoned amongst the do-nothings? One moment you
talk as if I was rushing wildly into the workhouse, and
the next as if I was a sort of female Rothschild! Am I
to sit all my life with my hands before me because I
happen to have a little, a very little money of my own?"
"Oh no, Muriel, of course not. You know I don't
mean that. I only mean that you need not paint more
than you are inclined.
""
'I don't know how that may be, but all I know is,
that I mean to paint every day and all day long. You
see if I don't, the minute we get into this new house of
17
ours.
"But if the house is so small, I'm afraid you will find
it rather difficult to paint in it, dear. You are used, you
know, to such a large studio of your own.
""
"Oh, but I shan't paint in the house. I shall paint
out-of-doors; in the woods-everywhere. I mean to get
up at six o'clock and work away all day long. Every tree I
passed this afternoon, every pond, and ditch, and cot-
tage, I was longing to have my paints out and to be at
them. Such foregrounds, too!-great green sheets of
moss, and brown boggy bits, and delicious splashes of
orange and yellow and scarlet, and white silvery-looking
things, and long gray_wig-like lichens hanging down
from all the trees. Flowers, too-some whose very
names I don't know. And then coming home, if you
could only have seen the gleams along the road, and the
distant views, and the red roofs, and a girl coming
along with rushes on her back, like a Corot! Don't
think me very idiotic, but really I did feel quite silly
with it all. And yet I believe it was nothing out of the
way--not at all a particularly fine part of the forest, I
mean. The truth is, I had really forgotten what a beau-
tiful place the world was, and no wonder! Fancy, I
16
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
have been nine months in London without once leay-
ing it!"
And I have been nearly nine years," said Elizabeth
Prettyman.
"
'You poor dear! Never mind though, we'll both go
back to school again. You shall learn to milk a cow
and feed chickens, and I'll write to London for a botany
book, and try to find out all about the mosses and wild
flowers I saw to-day, and Mr. Partridge shall teach me
all about his moths. Aren't you glad we came? I am
so glad—so very, very, very glad !"
She was back now at the window, so that Miss Pretty-
man was spared the trouble of responding to her leader's
enthusiasm. It was getting towards evening, and in the
village the shadows were already long. Leaning out of
the window Muriel could see the whole of the little irreg-
ular street lying below her, the warm light touching
here a window and there a few yards of tiled roof, gray
or green with immemorial houseleeks. Rough little
country vehicles came rattling or lumbering along the
road. A wagon; a pony chaise; a butcher's cart; then
another wagon laden with huge trunks of trees, and
boughs still covered with their fresh green foliage.
From dozens of small brick chimneys dozens of small
gray columns of smoke were slowly rising; here
revolving in tiny rings and spirals against the half-
fledged branches of an ash, there mounting in a long
straight column until caught and lost in the sun-
light overhead. Higher still, large white clouds lay
basking lazily in an azure sky; swallows and martins
flew hither and thither, performing the most intricate
contortions and evolutions in mid-air. It was not at all
like London, and Muriel's spirits mounted higher and
higher, and she leaned out further and further from the
window, trying to catch a glimpse of that great environ-
ment of forest which lay like some leafy ocean around
them. Suddenly another and a more rapid sound of
wheels was heard, and a dog-cart came quickly round
the corner, crunching noisily over some loose stones
which lay before the house. In the dog-cart sat two
young men, who gave a simultaneous glance at the
figure framed by the window space. Muriel felt herself
blushing, and drew back, but not before she had caught
both pairs of eyes fixed upon herself. Then the dog-cart
a conference.
17
drew up at the door of a house on the other side of the
way. A servant got down, and went to the horse's head.
Next the two young men dismounted, and having paused
a moment at the door, evidently to get a key, crossed
the road and mounted some steep grass-covered steps
leading to a churchyard, which stood a little above the
village street.
Muriel glanced after them. One was a small, fair,
dapper-looking little man, attired in a light gray shoot-
ing-suit, with a brown hat on his head, and a brown
pipe in his mouth; the other, long and lean, dark and
angular, was clad from head to heel in sombre black,
with a hat of the most indisputably and uncompromis-
ingly clerical cut, very flat in the brim and low in the
crown. Muriel, whose cheeks had not quite regained
their natural temperature, felt a certain malicious pleas-
ure in contemplating this same blackness and angularity,
set off against the pale evening flush of the sky behind.
"What mortal with eyes could have devised or would
wear such a dress?" she thought. There was not much
time, however, to indulge in that or any other malicious-
ness. Another moment, and the two figures had disap-
peared round the high-shouldered top of the slope, and
with another slight blush at herself, she moved back
from the window, and turned to rejoin her companion.
Then came a knock at the door, and a waiter (the waiter,
rather, the only one of which the hotel boasted), entered
the room to lay the cloth for dinner. It was still only
a little after six, but old Mrs. Prettyman, Elizabeth's
mother, was a person of pre-eminently conservative
habits, and Muriel knew that her friend was accustomed
to dine early. Indeed, after her own early lunch and
long walk through the tangled wood paths, she felt any-
thing but averse to such a notion herself. Gathering
up her disorderly armful of leaves and grasses, she went
off to her own room to prepare for the meal.
"Shall I tell him about the pepper and salt?" she
whispered, as she passed her friend.
Miss Prettyman shook her head reprovingly, glancing
at the same time timorously in the direction of the waiter.
"And then to-morrow, you know, we can eat some
water-cresses under a hedge, and so do without any din-
ner at all," Muriel added aloud, as she went off to her
room.
•
2
18
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
Miss Prettyman shook her head again with an air of
yet stronger disapproval, as the door closed after her.
She was perfectly devoted to her companion, and regarded
her as a sort of impersonification of all the possible and
impossible talents and perfections; indeed, was in the
habit of deferring to her, and accepting all her various
crotchets and theories in a way that certainly was not
customary at their respective ages. At the same time
she never could divest herself of a certain uneasy feeling
of responsibility on her account. Muriel was so terribly
unconventional. There really was no knowing what
vagary, or what artistic or philanthropic freak she might
not take it into her head to commit. And, artist though
she was herself, Miss Prettyman was a perfect priestess
of the proprieties, holding everything like unconven-
tionality in the deepest distrust. And then, again,
Muriel knew nothing, absolutely nothing, of the value
of money, which, as she said to herself with a sigh, she
undoubtedly did í

CHAPTER III.
A RETROSPECT.
Muriel Ellis's circumstances had indeed been somewhat
peculiar. She belonged about equally to two very
dissimilar strata of society. Her mother was the daugh-
ter of a Norfolk farmer; not a gentleman farmer even
in the most liberal sense of the word, but a man who, if
he did not actually follow his own plough, at all events
kept a remarkably near and sharp look-out upon those
who did. A hard, close-fisted man, not without his
redeeming points, but narrow, griping, angular; wedded
to his own interests, and harder than the nether mill-
stone wherever those interests were touched or affected.
Mrs. Ellis had been twice married. In the first instance
to a Mr. Thomas Skynner, then manager of a bank in
the neighboring county town, and a man very many
years older than herself. It had been thought an excel-
lent marriage for little Miss Flack, who had neither for-
tune nor connections, nor indeed anything but her
beauty and amiability to recommend her; but like a good
A RETROSPECT.
19
many other excellent marriages, it had not proved a par-
ticularly happy one; and when, some six or seven years
after, Mr. Skynner died, the young widow determined
upon leaving the county town, in which she had hitherto
lived, and with her only child, a boy, taking up her resi-
dence in London. Her chief, though not perhaps her
most ostensible reason for this change, had been the
desire to make a home for a brother who had preceded
her to London by about a year. Hal Flack and his sister
were twins, and up to the moment of the latter's marriage
the two had been inseparable. But the brothers-in-law
had never suited, and latterly the dislike had deepened
on Mr. Skynner's side into positive detestation, so that
the brother and sister had come to be practically
parted. Poor Hal Flack was indeed far from being an
object of admiration to any of his belongings. An
amiable, innocent, heedless sort of being, incapable of
injuring a fly, he was apparently equally incapable of
turning his attention to farming, or for that matter to
any other avocation by which a living is to be made. He
painted, too, or fancied he did, such paintings as a man
is likely to produce who has never so much as seen a
picture (worthy of the name), and is absolutely ignorant
of the first rudiments of his art-crude blots, that is to
say, of green and blue, impossible landscapes sprinkled
over with even yet more impossible cows and sheep.
Had he been an embryo Cuyp or Turner it would, how-
ever, have been all the same, as far as his relations were
concerned. In their eyes it was the thing itself, and not
the way in which the thing was done, which proved
incontestably Hal's folly, a folly only unfortunately not
sufficiently declared for him to be disposed of once for
all out of harm's way. At last the storm, long brewing,
burst, and poor Hal escaped to London, with twenty
pounds in his pocket, and a vague determination of there
seeking his fortune. It need hardly be said that the for-
tune thus vaguely wooed had not been won, and even
before his brother-in-law's death Hal had been more than
once reduced to the necessity of appealing to his sister
for help. After the latter event these appeals had come
oftener, and it was as a sort of final response to them
that Mrs. Skynner decided, as I have said, upon herself
going up to London, and there inviting her brother to
take up his abode with her.
20
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
The experiment on the whole turned out less unsuc-
cessfully than might have been expected. Mrs. Skynner
had a slender jointure from her husband and a still
slenderer allowance for the keep of her boy, and on this
the trio contrived to live. Hal Flack was devoted to his
sister, and always amiable and considerate as far as she
was concerned; indeed, if a ne'er-do-weel, it must be
owned that he was quite one of the most innocent and
guileless of his tribe. He had a knack, too, denied to
many a better and a wiser man, of picking up friends
along his path, if not always amongst the irreproach-
ables of mankind, at any rate amongst sinners whose
offenses were of the same comparatively light and
venial character as his own. Of these friends Harold
Ellis, the man whom young Mrs. Skynner eventually
married, was one. He was of a different and, socially
speaking, of a very much higher calibre than any of
the men she had hitherto known. Like Hal, however,
he had been "dropped" by his relations, a fact which
constituted probably the chief link between them. In
Harold Ellis's case, however, the drop had been decid-
edly a deeper one than in his friend's. He had been
brought up by his grandfather, a certain old Lord Dum-
belton, and it had even at one time seemed by no means
unlikely that on his shoulders would eventually devolve
the honors of the family, Colonel Ellis, his only sur-
viving uncle, being long married and having no chil-
dren. This expectation, however, proved fallacious.
Lady Catherine Ellis died; the colonel promptly mar-
ried again, and within a year a son was born. This was
the moment judiciously selected by young Mr. Ellis to
quarrel with his grandfather, a choleric old gentleman,
who brooked no opposition, and quickly gave his grand-
son to understand that henceforth his house was no
home to him. Young Ellis went to London, where he
lived a desultory sort of life upon the remnants of his
own small patrimony, and where, as has been said, he
met, fell in love with, and eventually married Mrs.
Thomas Skynner.
A more improvident, more unjustifiable, and more
generally reprehensible marriage, probably never was
perpetrated, but for all that it was very far from being
an unhappy one. Mrs. Ellis was passionately devoted
to her husband; all the love which her hitherto stinted
A RETROSPECT.
21
7
and colorless life had failed to awaken seeming to con-
centrate itself upon him. Two children, and providen-
tially only two, were born. A boy, called John, after
his grandfather, John Flack, and a good many years
later, a girl, our heroine. Muriel's own recollections of
her father were of a decidedly fragmentary character.
She remembered, once upon a time, being taken by him
to feed the ducks in the Serpentine, and again, upon
another occasion, standing before him in a state of rapt
and awe-stricken admiration, as he sat playing the flute
in a certain vividly remembered green velvet smoking
coat. Then came a dreadful time when for weeks he
lay upon the sofa, and when every one went about on
tip-toe, and when her mother cried all day long. He
died when she was little more than eight, and her brother
John-her elder by nearly seven years-barely fifteen.
The death of the head of the family did not materi-
ally affect the fortunes of the little household, except in
one respect. Mrs. Ellis determined, henceforth, to give
up the effort, always a great one to her, of keeping
house upon her own account, and to retire into lodgings.
It was this which brought them into contact with the
Prettymans. Mrs. Prettyman was a widow also, and,
like a good many other people, had seen better days.
While her husband lived their income had been a not
inconsiderable one, but an unfortunate investment had
proved his ruin, and at his death she suddenly found
herself brought to the verge, or something unpleasantly
like the verge, of starvation. Like every other dis-
tressed gentlewoman, she at first tried teaching; this
proving a failure, she next, with some inward reluc-
tance, resolved upon "lodgers. Chance threw the
Ellis family in her way-a blessed chance as it turned
out for every one concerned. Mrs. Prettyman was one
of those women who seem to thrive, and only to thrive
in an atmosphere of hard work. Small, slight, and
active, with bright brown eyes, and cheeks which to the
last preserved much of their girlish contour, she seemed
born to take upon herself all those stray duties and bur-
dens which fall from feebler hands. Some other, and
yet more eminent worker, has left on record as his ideal
of perfection, the having just more work to accomplish
than it was possible for him to get through. Whether
she had ever actually formulated it into a creed or not,
??

H
22
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
17
this apparently was the principle upon which Mrs. Pret-
tyman went. Gentlewoman as she was, and the daugh-
ter and granddaughter, moreover, of gentlemen and
gentlewomen, there was no household detail, however
uninviting, no manual drudgery, however laborious,
from which she personally shrank. Her own daughters
were never encouraged, or even permitted to take any
part in these labors. The eldest, Elizabeth, had her
own artistic avocations, while the younger, Alicia, was
the hope, beauty, and treasure of the family, and as such,
it was out of the question that she should be allowed to
harass herself with house work, or to take upon herself
any of those multifarious cares with which her mother's
hands were always full to overflowing.
It was into these kind and capable hands, then, that
poor Mrs. Ellis, in the hour of her trouble, fell. From
that moment the whole responsibility of the Ellis family,
the charge of their little money matters, and the order-
ing and directing of their destinies, passed directly into
Mrs. Prettyman's care. It was she who established Hal
Flack in small, cheap lodgings close at hand. She who
arranged that Muriel was to accompany her own daugh-
ter, Elizabeth, to the art school, and there begin her
studies under the latter's care. She who, a year or two
later, succeeded in obtaining a clerkship for young John
Ellis. She, in fact, who did everything that was done,
and saw to everything that had to be seen to, in con-
nection with the family. It is just possible that poor
Mrs. Ellis might on the whole have thriven better‍had
she been only forced to bestir herself a little more. As
it was, she seemed never to get over the shock of her hus-
band's death; never to be able to rally, or to hold up her
head again in the world; always gentle and uncomplain-
ing, she sat day after day in her own particular chair, in
her own particular corner of the fire-place; greeting
every one with the same unvarying kindness; always
ready to listen and sympathize, but ceasing entirely to
exercise anything approaching authority or influence;
gradually, in fact, fading and fading away, until she
seemed more like some bodiless visitant, some waif from
a further shore, than an ordinary human being, with the
ordinary wants and wishes of humanity. When, how-
ever, four years after her husband's death, Mrs. Ellis
died, the shock to her children, but especially to Muriel,
►

A RETROSPECT.
23
was terrible.
It seemed as if she had never realized the
possibility of such a thing-never realized that life
could go on and her mother, her gentle, loving mother,
whom she herself had never half loved enough, could
die and be lost to her; and all the love, as well as all the
passionate rebelliousness of her nature rose up in anger
against the blow.
A council had to be held to decide what was to be done
with the orphans, or rather with Muriel, John's salary,
such as it was, being held sufficient for him to exist upon.
Setting aside Hal, whom no one for a moment considered,
two possible guardians presented themselves. In the
first place there was the old grandfather, John Flack;
in the second place there was the half-brother, Theodore
Skynner, now a man of thirty, who had lately married
a well-to-do wife, and was living in some splendor in the
neighborhood of Tooting. Muriel's own wish was to
be allowed to stay where she was, under the care of her
brother and Mrs. Prettyman; but this obviously was im-
possible, unless means could be forthcoming for the pur-
pose, the very little Mrs. Ellis possessed having reverted
to her eldest son. Fortunately, neither the grandfather
nor the half-brother were at all desirous of undertaking
the responsibility of her guardianship, the old man's
wife being lately dead, and the young man's wife setting
her face strongly against the notion of any such inmate
in a house chiefly set on foot with her money. As the les-
ser evil of the two, therefore, a sum was made up, small
indeed, but still sufficient to enable Mrs. Prettyman,
without any very apparent imprudence, to yield to her
own wish, and keep Muriel with her. Accordingly the
first floor was let to fresh lodgers; a small bedroom was
found at the bottom of the house for John, another at
the top for Muriel, and the little party, thus reconstructed,
soon fell back into its accustomed ways, the girl returning
to her art school, the boy to his stool at the office, as if no
break had occurred in their lives, and no trouble, blight-
ing and terrible, lay like some dark blot across the
past.
But alas! there was trouble ahead as well as behind.
Less than a year after Mrs. Ellis's death, poor John
caught a violent cold, which settled upon his chest, and
which all Mrs. Prettyman's motherly care, and all her
nostrums and poultices were powerless to remove, A
24
A CHELSEA HOUSEholder.
doctor had to be sent for, who of course prescribed a
southern climate, a prescription which, equally of course,
it was utterly out of the question to carry out. His em-
ployers were all that was kind, offering to keep the place
open, and even to continue the salary until the young
man's return; but before long it became only too evident
that poor John Ellis never would return; never again
climb his tall stool; never again be anything in life but
a helpless invalid; that, to put it plainly, the poor lad,
with his short spell of twenty-one years, was only too
surely and certainly-dying.
Even Mrs. Prettyman's courage seemed for a time to
flag under this new misfortune. The past season had
been anything but a prosperous one, her principal rooms
were still unlet, nor did there seem to be the smallest
probability of their being taken, and with the winter
drawing near, and an invalid on her hands, what won-
der if even her courageous soul quailed a little before the
prospect. Worse still, John Flack and Theodore Skyn-
ner, on being appealed to, both separately but unani-
mously asserted the impossibility of their making any
further advance, alleging the badness of the times, the ex-
penses of their own households, and all the other time-hon-
ored excuses seldom wanting under such circumstances.
What then was to be done? A question which haunted
her day and night. Her own friends of course cried out
unanimously against the folly of her allowing herself to
be burdened with people in no way connected with her;
people who were only a trouble and an expense; indeed,
this common sense view of the matter could hardly fail to
present itself to her own pre-eminently practical mind.
And yet, on the other hand, even if she could have made
up her mind to part with her charges, John was in no
state to be moved. If he left her it could only be to go
into a hospital-a conclusion from which she shrank.
How propose to part the brother and sister when it was
only too evident that any such parting would be the final
one? Under these circumstances Mrs. Prettyman came
to a sudden resolution. She resolved, without saying a
word to any one, to write to their grand-uncle, Lord
Dumbelton, lay before him the state of the case, and ap-
peal to his sense of justice and kinship upon their behalf.
Her mind once made up, she was not the woman to
delay, and within a day of coming to the resolution the
**
A RETROSPECT.
25
I
letter was signed, sealed, and despatched, and nothing
remained but to wait for the answer.
For nearly a week she waited in vain. At last there
appeared a letter, not, indeed, from Lord Dumbelton,
but from his wife; a letter stating coldly but politely
that her husband was extremely ill, too ill to be troubled
upon this or any other subject; but that as her son, Cap-
tain Ellis, expected shortly to return to London, he
would do himself the honor of calling and inquiring into
the circumstances of the case. A ten-pound note was
enclosed for immediate needs. Mrs. Prettyman's bright
cheeks burned as she read this letter,-not that there
was anything that could be called discourteous in the
wording of it, but the whole tone somehow seemed to
breathe polite suspicion. Had she felt free to follow her
own impulse, the ten-pound note would have returned
to Lady Dumbelton by the same post. She was not, how-
ever, so foolish. The money had been sent for John,
and on John's needs, and the payment of John's doctors,
it should accordingly be spent. Already, alas! there
were a few debts, and as the illness went on, and the
winter advanced, no doubt there would be others. In-
deed, many signs in the little household showed that a
pinch had already begun. Not only Muriel, who in any
case would have stayed away, but even Elizabeth Pretty-
man had given up attendance at the Art schools and gal-
leries, the expenses, small as they were, being out of the
question at present. That year the winter began unusu-
ally early, and by the middle of November the cold was
intense. Like everything else in the house, fires were at
a low ebb, only two, in fact, being allowed the indis-
pensable one in the kitchen, and another in the small
sitting-room into which John was daily moved, where
Muriel drew, and where the family habitually sat. One
afternoon it happened, however, that Mrs. Pretty-
man had gone out, accompanied by both Muriel and
Alicia, and Elizabeth Prettyman remained alone with
the invalid. It was nearly five o'clock, and the gray
London day was dying rapidly. The lights had not yet
been lit, and the room was chiefly illuminated by a pale
dusky glow, which burned on the hearth. Outside, the
snow lay thick upon the streets, covering the footpaths,
and muffling the steps of every passer-by. Thistle
Street, in which Mrs. Prettyman's house stood, is not
4
26
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
very far from the Fulham Road; but even in that direc
tion not a sound was to be heard except the occasional
discordant drone of a barrel organ, which, like every-
thing else, seemed to be affected by the weather. Now
and then, too, a shrill, gasping, long-drawn note came
struggling and panting up the kitchen stairs, from where
Sarey Jane, the maid-of-all-work, was solacing herself
with a little private practice on the concertina. The
room in which they were sitting was not exactly ugly,
but dull, bleak, and cheerless, as London rooms are
apt to be where money is scarce, and the carpets and
chintzes have all long shown signs of wanting renewal;
Muriel's array of plaster casts, and an elaborate drawing
of a skeleton which stood in a corner, not contributing
much to the general enlivenment.
Presently, Elizabeth got up and stirred the fire, which
sprang into a brisk blaze, lighting up the figure of the
invalid, who lay at full length in a big chair, with his
feet propped up on another. Then she lit a candle, and
taking up a newspaper, which had been lent that after-
noon by a neighbor, ran her eye over it in hopes of find-
ing something to amuse her companion. It was a
couple of days old, but none of the party were politi-
cians, so that that was of no particular consequence.
Miss Prettyman's own instincts inclined her to those
columns where light and social items of information are
discussed, and it was while she was on her way thither
that she was arrested by the heading of a paragraph-
Another fatal accident in the hunting field."
، ،
Why, I declare, this must be a relation of yours,
John," she exclaimed. “Listen—‘On Friday last, a
melancholy accident occurred during a run of the well-
known P- hounds. The horse ridden by Captain the
Honorable Henry Fitzroy Ellis, an officer in Her
Majesty's regiment of foot-guards, fell whilst endea-
voring to cross a large double fence into a road. The
animal rolled backwards upon its rider, inflicting inju-
ries of so severe a character that although medical assist-
ance was immediately at hand, the unfortunate gentle-
man only survived the accident a few hours.' Did you
ever hear of anything so shocking? I do really think
that those horrible dangerous amusements ought to be
put a stop to by Act of Parliament. Only imagine how
terrible for his relations, poor young man.! Let me see
เ
A RETROSPECT.
27
-he must be your first cousin; or no, your first cousin
once removed-your great uncle Lord Dumbelton's
son."
"Yes, I suppose he must," young Ellis answered
languidly. "But you know I've never seen him, or in-
deed any of them; and they treated my father abomin-
ably, so that you can't expect me to be particularly
sorry. All the same, I am sorry for him, poor devil!"
he added after a minute. "It's hard lines on a fellow,
certainly, getting killed like that—just, too, when he has
everything before him, and is well and able to enjoy
himself. Not like me," the poor lad ended, with a sigh.
"Oh, and here is something more about them!" cried
Elizabeth, whose eye had by this time traveled to
another paragraph. "We regret to learn that Lord
Dumbelton, father of the Honorable Henry Ellis, whose
death is recorded in another column, and who for some
time has been in precarious health, no sooner received
the melancholy tidings, than he was seized with renewed
paroxysms and expired the same evening. The remains
of the late peer will be interred in the family vault on
Tuesday next, at the same time as those of his lamented
son.' Dear me, dear me ! Only think of that! I don't
think I ever heard of anything so shocking in the whole
course of my life. I must go out first thing to-morrow
morning, and get some black things for Muriel. Such a
dreadful ending for a family, too. Or is it the ending?
Who succeeds your great uncle? Who is the present
peer? I ought to say.
>>
John Ellis started, and an odd expression came into
his face. He sat up in his chair, pushed the other
hastily away with his foot, glanced round the room, and
then stared hard at Elizabeth Prettyman, as if a ghost
had sprung up between them. The present peer," he
repeated slowly; "the present peer! Why, do you
know?" and he gave a little laugh, "it seems very
absurd, but really and truly I do think of course I may
be wrong, but really I do believe that it's-me!
>>
(6
"You, John!" Elizabeth Prettyman gasped, the
newspaper dropping from her hands from amazement.
"You! Oh, but that's impossible, quite impossible! It
couldn't be."
“It doesn't seem very likely, does it?" he answered,
his breath coming fast and short with excitement; “but
28
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
L
all the same I don't very well see who else it can be. I
know my father would have been the heir if this uncle
of his had never married, and I'm sure—at least, pretty
sure that the uncle had only one son. However, we
shall know all about it fast enough, that's certain," he
added, falling suddenly back again into his chair.
"Oh, it's impossible; quite, quite impossible!" was
all that Elizabeth Prettyman could find to say.
Impossible or not, it proved, however, to be the case.
Lord Dumbelton, as a matter of fact, had only one son
-that son who had just met his death in the hunting-
field; consequently, at his own death the whole of the
estates and possessions of the family, with the exception
of a jointure to the widow, and certain sums reserved
for the daughters, passed directly to his grand nephew.
Poor John Ellis! Two days ago he had been about
the poorest youth in London, a sickly, broken down
clerk, dependent for his daily bread upon the kindness of
one upon whom he had no claim, and who herself was
one of the poorest of the poor; to-day he was Viscount
Dumbelton, of Dumbelton-a peer of the realm, owner
of houses and lands, and of an income estimated at not
less than eighteen thousand a year! Such revolutions
in a man's fortune are always more or less striking and
picturesque, but in this case there was something more
than this. There was, as every one felt, something cru-
elly discordant, at once tragic and pitiful, in this sudden
heaping up of wealth and power in hands so powerless
to hold them-hands which a few weeks, or months at
the most, must see laid in the grave. What more pite-
ous could be imagined than the contrast between this
superabundance of all that men most covet, and the
actual state of the fortunate possessor? If it could
only have been a little, a very little earlier!” his friends
thought, with that tightening of the heart which such
thoughts bring with them. "If only"—perhaps of all
the sad and hopeless words we use, the very saddest and
the most hopeless! Of course nothing that money and
science could now do was left undone. Doctors came
without end, and remedies without end were proposed.
Had poor John_been in a state to be moved he might
then and there have exchanged his Thistle Street lodg-
ings for a sunlit palace beneath southern skies. If
thousands or tens of thousands of pounds would have
:
i
A RETROSPECT.
29.
availed to save him, the thousands and tens of thou-
sands would no doubt have been forthcoming. Unfor-
tunately for all this, it was now too late, as every one who
saw him acknowledged with a sigh. As for the poor
fellow himself, after the first exaltation, and corres-
ponding depression, he took things very quietly, his
chief anxiety being that out of all this superfluity thus
transitorily placed in his own grasp, something might be
saved for Muriel. At first there seemed to be some little
difficulty on this head, the great bulk of the property
being strictly entailed, and going with the title. For
tunately, however, certain properties proved to have
lapsed absolutely to him, as last in the entail, and these,
of course, he could dispose of as he liked. This done,
nothing remained but to sit down quietly and wait-
wait for the inevitable.
Curious were the scenes, and curious, too, the encoun-
ters which took place there during the next two or three
months. Thistle Street is very far from being a fash-
ionable locality, but even Thistle Street sprang into
sudden note in the interest which encircled the case. All
the relations and connections of the Ellis family-people
who had never even so much as known of the existence
of the brother and sister-all flocked to call and inquire ;
some with offers of assistance, others to make inquiries,
all to exhibit interest and sympathy. Had Mrs. Pretty-
man been cynically inclined, or given to indulge in
harsh views of her fellow mortals, she might have found
material for a good many private gibes and homilies in
all this sudden eagerness and empressement. Why
had none of these fine people cared to discover their
relations a little sooner? she might have asked. This
was not at all her way, however; she took things as
they came, and was not to be moved out of her usual
quiet, even when Mr. and Mrs. Skynner, who for the
last year and a half had apparently forgotten the very
whereabouts of the orphans, drove up nine times from
Tooting in the course of one week to inquire.
Unfortunately, all this care and attention, all these
calls and condolences, all these civilities and visiting
cards, failed to keep poor young John Ellis in the world.
Within a year of his original attack, and less than four
months after he had come into his tremendous windfall,
he died, and all his possessions-houses, lands, estates,
30
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
THEMETES WITH jove ·
title, as well as the greater part of the income-passed to
a distant cousin.
When the will was read it was found that John Flack
the grandfather, and Mrs. Prettyman had been appointed
Muriel's guardians, a certain annual sum being set aside
for her maintenance, the rest to accumulate until her
coming of age. Then followed fresh arrangements, and
fresh consultations amongst the relations. What was to
be done with Muriel? She was now fourteen; seven
years, consequently, must elapse before her coming of
age. How, where, and with whom was that interval to
be spent? At last, after a good deal of pro-ing and con-
ing, it was decided that two months in the year were to
be spent with her grandfather in Norfolk, the rest with
her other guardian in London. So the years slipped on
until the time of her coming of age drew near, when two
other events of some importance occurred.
The first of these was the sudden bankruptcy, followed
by the no less sudden disappearance, of Mr. Theodore
Skynner, which took place about six years after his half-
brother's death. For some time back the establishment
at Tooting had been suspected to be on a precarious foot-
ing; Mr. Skynner having speculated largely, both with
his own and his wife's fortune, and the speculations hav-
ing as a rule turned out disastrously. At last the crash
came. The unfortunate Theodore escaped at dead of
night, leaving his wife and his unpaid debts behind him,
and was believed to have taken refuge in Belgium. At
the time the affair created a good deal of stir; the credi-
tors indignantly announcing their intention of putting
the law in force and dragging him back to answer for
his offenses at the bar of justice, when suddenly all pro-
ceedings were brought to an end by the unexpected death
of the culprit, which occurred at an obscure lodging in
the neighborhood of Antwerp. Muriel had seen so little
of her half-brother in the course of her life, that her own
grief at his loss was naturally not a little alloyed by her
shame and horror at the disgrace of the whole affair; a
disgrace which seemed to her to attach largely to herself.
Had she been free to dispose of her own money she would,
then and there, unhesitatingly have beggared herself
rather than that a debt should have remained unpaid.
Fortunately for her future interests, neither of her guar-
dians, however, would hear of anything of the kind;
秦
​A RETROSPECT.
31
1
and as she was still under age, there was nothing for it
but to submit. In the end the usual arrangement was
come to; the creditors consenting to accept a moiety of
their claims, the house and furniture at Tooting being
sold for what they would fetch, and Mrs. Skynner
retiring to live with her own relations, who were under-
stood to be persons of some consideration, in the neigh-
borhood of Liverpool. A year later, when all this
excitement had somewhat quieted down, and even Muriel
herself was beginning to doubt whether her first impulse
had not on the whole been rather Quixotic, perhaps,
than justifiable, another series of events occurred, less
important possibly in themselves, but more directly
affecting the interests and fortunes of our heroine.
For some time back, Muriel had had her eye fixed
upon a particular house in the locality known to the
London Directory as Cheyne Walk—a house with iron
gates leading into a tiny tangled courtyard or garden,
where overgrown hollies and laurestinas nearly brushed
one another across the footpath-a house fronted with
red bricks, which time and smoke had long since reduced
to a fine neutral tint; with a balcony too, commanding
a long stretch of the river, with its perpetually fluctuat-
ing freight of boats and barges. She had never been
inside this house, but had passed it often in her walks,
had ascertained that it was to be had, and had set her
heart on being the possessor. Fortunately, there were
no particular difficulties in the way. The locality was
an improving one. The new Embankment, then in
course of completion, would doubtless make it more so,
consequently that eminent firm to whom her financial
interests had been confided saw no objection to their
client disposing of a portion of her capital in this manner.
Whether or no, Muriel was now of age, knew her own
mind, and most assuredly would have had her own way.
The house accordingly was bought, and our heroine,
accompanied by Mrs. Prettyman and Elizabeth (Alicia
having by this time fulfilled the expectations of her
family and married advantageously), went to take up
their abode in it.
It was not without some little difficulty that Mrs.
Prettyman had been brought to agree to this step. A
more independent little woman never trod the earth, and
to live in another person's house, eat the bread of idle-
32
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
ness, and be benefited instead of benefiting, by no means
accorded with her notions of what was either honest or
becoming. Muriel, however, would take no denial. Was
Mrs. Prettyman, she asked, going to desert her? Did
she think that she could live alone or was capable of
managing a big house by herself? Above all, was it
not evident-truly and honestly evident-that she and
Elizabeth required a larger studio, with better light and
more elbow-room than it was possible for them to have
where they were? Of course she carried her point.
The little house in Thistle Street was given up, the
greater part of the furniture sold, a few beloved old
chairs and tables being conveyed to the new abode,
where for weeks after their installation Muriel and
Elizabeth were engaged in transforming the whole of
the first floor into a room which was to combine all the
advantages of sitting-room and studio, to be the very
quintessence and embodiment of all imaginable comfort
and convenience; with the biggest easels and the deep-
est chairs; the most elaborate contrivances for contain-
ing paints and palettes and brushes; with lamps to
stand and lamps to lower; with brackets for statues, and
shelves for pottery; with a work-table for Mrs. Pretty-
man--in short, with everything that their united imag-
inations could desire or conceive. At length everything
was finished; the last tradesman was safely seen off the
premises; the chairs and easels were all in their places
the pots and pans and bits of artistic stuffs were all hung
up on the walls; Mrs. Prettyman had taken possession
of her table; the light was adjusted to a nicety, and
everything arranged-so Muriel declared-for life.
In this, however, she reckoned without her host. One
evening, not many months after they had gone to live
upon the Embankment, a cab, covered with luggage,
was seen to draw up at the iron gate. Out of this cab
stepped a lady attired in the deepest mourning, who,
upon entering the house, flung her arms around Muriel
with an air of profound emotion. This lady, it need
hardly be said, was Mrs. Theodore Skynner. She had
arrived in London, she informed them, that afternoon
from Liverpool, with the intention of consulting a phy-
sician. Would Muriel, she inquired, give her hospitality
for a night-only one night?
Of course the boxes were straightway conveyed up-
Pu
A RETROSPECT.
33
stairs, the young mistress herself going a stage higher,
and vacating her own room in honor of the guest. The
next day Mrs. Skynner devoted to repose, but on the
one following, the visit to the doctor was paid, and the
result confided in strict confidence to Muriel. On one
point especially he had been explicit. On no account
must Mrs. Skynner think of returning to Liverpool.
With such an organization as hers it was as much as
her life was worth again to expose herself to the chill
breath of that ungenial climate. Mrs. Skynner was in
despair. Nothing, she declared, could have been more in-
convenient. Her relations would assuredly never forgive
her for deserting them; but then, on the other hand,
health was the first of blessings, and Liverpool certainly
was a cold place. Would Muriel assist her to look for a
cheap, a very cheap London lodging? Of course to this
there could be only one answer. Mrs. Skynner must
consider the house in Cheyne Walk her home for as long
as it suited her to stay. It soon became evident that it
decidedly did suit her to stay. Days rolled to weeks,
and weeks to months, and still Mrs. Skynner remained;
indeed after the first few days the question of her de-
parture was not even so much as mooted. Nor was it long
before another fact became scarcely less evident, and that
was that the same house could hardly with comfort con-
tain both her and the Prettymans. How and when this
impression first arose Muriel never could exactly make
out. Mrs. Skynner was apparently civil even to gracious-
ness, while Mrs. Pretty man's manners were always easy
and kindly; yet none the less the feeling of discomfort
grew and grew upon them all. Indeed, when one con-
siders the inevitable wear and tear, the daily and hourly
friction where four people-all of more or less different
tastes and dispositions-have to meet and live together,
it does not require any extraordinary ingenuity to fore-
see that sooner or later difficulties will arise. Mrs.
Prettyman, at all events, was much too wise a woman
to contend against the inevitable. She could not con-
scientiously advise Muriel to withhold her hospitality
from one who was after all her nearest, or almost her
nearest, relation; while, on the other hand, her own
independence was dear to her, and to live in a house
where her presence was no longer needed was to her
impossible.
{
3
34
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
In vain Muriel fought against this decision; in vain
she brought forward every argument which had been
used before-not one of which, she declared, was in the
least affected by her sister-in-law's presence. Mrs. Pret-
tyman was inexorable. Still Muriel could not and would
not believe that her friends really proposed to desert her,
and it was not until she found them actually engaged in
looking at houses in the neighborhood, that she realized
the gravity of the situation. Then she grew desperate;
flew off early one morning to a house agent, thence to
her own lawyers, and returned a few hours later with
the lease of a house in her possession. Next she sought
an interview with her sister-in-law. Sophia had asked
her, she said, some time back to help her to look for
lodgings, now she in her turn had come to ask a favor
of her. Would Sophia accept the lease which she held
in her hand? The house was not large, would be hardly
more expensive than a lodging, was in a good situation,
and promised to be comfortable; in any case, if any-
thing was wanting, she, and not Sophia, would be the
person responsible, and again Muriel, with some diffi-
dence, held forth her lease.
No, Mrs. Skynner would do nothing of the kind; on
the contrary, she professed herself deeply hurt and of-
fended that her sister-in-law should have thought of
such a thing; should have even dreamt of making her
such a proposal. Had she not, she asked with floods of
tears, suffered enough already at the hands of the
family? Her money taken from her; herself deserted in
her bitterest need; left at last with nothing, or hardly
anything, to support existence; she who, until her mar-
riage, had never known a wish or a want, but had been
brought up in the utmost luxury and comfort! Was not
all this, she asked, enough, without such a crowning in-
sult being offered her? To be asked to live in a house of
her sister-in-law's providing-an almshouse! to be
Muriel's pensioner! No, she would return to Liverpool
at once-that very night. What matter if the climate
did disagree with her? What matter if it killed her?
Anything was better than to remain where she was,
subject to such cruel, cruel humiliations.
She went—but only as far as the door. Muriel fol-
fowed, full of contrition, beseeching and imploring of her
to remain. Her appeal had struck home. ~All the girl's
L
A RETROSPECT.
35
T
4
generosity and chivalry of feeling was aroused at the
notion of having insulted one who stood to her in so pecu-
liar a relation; who had already suffered, as she said, at
the hands of the family. True, Muriel had been in no
way responsible for those sufferings, which, unless re-
port spoke falsely, had been largely brought about by
that lady's own extravagance. This dispassionate view
of the matter was the last, however, to strike our impul-
sive young lady under the circumstances. The conver-
sation of course ended in her entreating Mrs. Skynner
as a favor to herself to remain where she was, a favor
which was, after due reluctance, agreed to; and in this
way peace was made.
It was then that Mrs. Skynner brought forward a new
suggestion. Why should not the house, she asked, be
offered to the Prettymans? Not, she assured Muriel,
that she herself was at all desirous of their departure-
quite the contrary; still, if they would go, it certainly
would simplify matters that a house should be ready
for their reception. This, indeed, was a turning of the
tables! Apart altogether from her own preferences in
the matter, Muriel at first was inclined to resent the sug-
gestion strongly on her friends' behalf. She could hardly
after what had passed-tell Mrs. Skynner in so many
words that nothing would induce her so to offend Mrs.
Prettyman's independence; but that, nevertheless, was
the feeling in her own mind. Little by little, however,
it came to be felt by every one that this was a way, and
in fact the only way, out of the dilemma. The lease
was taken and could hardly be given up again; Mrs.
Prettyman wanted a house, and the one Muriel had se-
cured seemed as likely to suit her as any other. As for
taking it as a gift or even as a loan, that she declared
positively to be out of the question; still, if independent
to a fault, she was not idiotically so, and it was undeni-
able that she had been put to some loss and no little in-
convenience by the summary breaking up of her home,
and the dispersal of her own small properties.
She was
willing therefore to let the question of rent stand over
until she saw her way a little better. So eventually it
was settled, and there came a morning, early in October,
when Muriel, with the tears in her eyes, had to stand at
her own hall door and see the two best and oldest friends
she had in the world get into a cab and drive away from
36
À CHELSEA “HOUSEHOLDER.
it, Mrs. Prettyman's kind face, and the stripes of Eliza-
beth's shawl appearing for a moment through the
railings as the cab jogged slowly down the embankment;
then she turned back to take up life again under these
new and changed conditions.
On the whole, the two that remained got on as well as:
any two people without a taste, or a thought, or a wish
in common, could be expected to get on. Mrs. Skynner,
as long as she had a good dinner and a comfortable room,
enough society to enliven her days, and an occasional
carriage to do her shoppings, had all that she required;
while Muriel felt tied and bound on every side by the
pressure of a claim which alone would have kept her
from_expressing any discomfort she might feel. Not
that I mean to insinuate that she was unhappy. Noth-
ing of the sort. She had her books, and her work, and
as much independence as even she could desire; for all
that, every day that passed more and more convinced
her that all the charm and zest and happy joyous ease of
the little home had departed for ever with the Prettymans.
In one respect this loss was perhaps a gain, for she had
certainly never worked so hard, or to such good purpose,
as during the winter which followed their departure;
embarking, amongst other things, on three or four pic-
tures, larger, and of a more ambitious character than
any she had yet attempted; one of which (the smallest,
by the way, and the least ambitious) had the luck to be
accepted by the Academy. Even her painting, however,
had lost, she felt, no little of its relish, now that there
was no longer any kind, prim Elizabeth Prettyman to
share her studio, to laugh with, and to be occasionally
laughed at, and to enter with the keenest and warmest
zest into every detail of her work. It may be imagined,
therefore, the satisfaction with which she hailed the
lengthening days; and taking advantage of a visit paid
Mrs. Prettyman by her married daughter, laid violent
hands upon Elizabeth and carried her off with her to
Hampshire. Mrs. Skynner, of course, remained mean-
while in undisputed possession of the house in Cheyne
Walk.
}
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY. 37
CHAPTER IV.
2.
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY.
The day appointed for Muriel and Elizabeth to take
possession of their new abode broke gray and unpromis-
ing. As she lay in bed in the morning, Muriel could
hear the steady drip, drip of the rain upon the leads out-
side, while from the windows the little village below pre-
sented a truly forlorn appearance, its trim little streets
bedabbled with mud and starred with puddles reflecting
the light of a dull gray sky. By eleven o'clock,matters,
however, had mended; so, hastily donning a water-
proof, she hurried out to make some purchases, the need
of which had suddenly struck her. By two the wag-
onette, specially ordered for the occasion, was at the
door, and into it she and Elizabeth Prettyman duly
packed themselves, all their multifarious parcels, includ-
ing a couple of camp-stools, and a small mountain of
baskets which Muriel had purchased that morning, fitting
into the remaining spaces.
When they got into the green-margined lane leading
to the cottage, the wagonette had to go at a foot's pace,
the heavy clayey soil almost hindering the wheels from
turning. Huge green branches extended on every side,
sweeping right across the seats, and obliging them to
cling tightly to their sundry possessions, in order to
hinder their being swept away. To Elizabeth there was
something not a little portentous and even alarming
about this unusual mode of approach. What sort of
house could it be, she thought, thus hidden away out of
sight and reach of all mortal ken? Muriel, however,
was in the highest spirits. Everything for her was
delightful. The dripping trees; the huge burdock
leaves, which seemed offering their rain-filled platters to
every passer-by; the gray gossamers covering the grass
with a delicate silvery mist-laden pattern; the blue hazy
distance which showed wherever the trees parted for an
instant, and the fresh smell of the earth and flowers
which rose as they brushed through the dripping herb-
age. Presently they reached an opening where three
or four large trees lay on the ground. Here a small
group of children, evidently on the alert, scuttled away
4
38
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
at their approach. Another minute and the wagonette
drew up at a wooden paling, overtopped by a line of
privet, beyond which the tall brick chimneys and small
dormer windows of a dwelling-house were to be seen.
As Muriel had announced, it was only a cottage,
although a large one, its dark-brown weather-beaten face
looking out in friendly fashion from under the low wet
eaves. The outbuildings were mostly of wood, once
black, now gray, newer and darker patches here and
there showing conspicuously against the old. A row of
straw-covered "bee pots" stood on one side, with a mul-
berry tree and a laburnum, old, but still covered with
blossom, upon the other. The front of the house itself
was a mass of climbing cotoneaster, now somewhat rag-
ged and disheveled. The two sides, also, had appar-
ently once been covered with creepers, judging by the
nails which still bristled in all directions, but had
long since either died or been pulled away, and their
supports were now chiefly utilized as pegs for the multi-
farious hoops, and stray bits of wire and whipcord which
had accumulated in the service of the family. Before
they had time to take in these details, however, they
were themselves taken possession of by their landlady,
who whirled them indoors, talking volubly all the time.
Mrs. Partridge was a shrill little woman, with an ill-
tempered nose, and a pair of beady black eyes-a Lon-
doner, as she assured them before they had been five
minutes in her company. The husband who was present-
ly ordered in from an outhouse to help in the carrying
up the luggage, was a big, meek, heavy-footed man, who,
if he had ever been a soldier, had long since forgotten all
soldierliness of bearing. That night our adventurous
friends dined chiefly on eggs and water-cresses, Muriel
amongst her other purchases having entirely forgotten
the necessity of providing something for their dinner.
This, however, was voted a trifle. The house was as
clean as soap and water could make it; the beds were
fresh and good; a delicious scent of lilacs and wall-flow-
ers came stealing in from the little garden, and the two
ladies retired to rest in high satisfaction with their new
surroundings.

Next morning broke bright and clear, and Muriel,
who had been wandering about from an early hour,
would hardly wait for breakfast to be over before carry-
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSÉS HER WAY. 39
ing Elizabeth off to inspect the site selected for her first
sketch. Crossing the road they passed through a thin
fringe of forest, following the course of a wooden paling,
until they came to a place where the ground suddenly
fell away; a smooth slope dotted with trees leading to a
small moor, or heathery expanse, through the middle of
which a narrow ribbon of water could be seen slowly
meandering. This central space of course was clear, but
all around the forest ranks closed thickly, one big line of
patriarchal oaks standing out along the very edge of the
declivity, their great gray trunks and pale yellowish
foliage telling well against the deeper duller greens
behind. Here the two artists wandered about for a
while till they had hit upon what they considered the
exact spot for a sketch; after which, the younger of the
two settled herself down to her easel, and Elizabeth
Prettyman proposed returning for a time to the cottage,
if Muriel didn't mind being left." No, Muriel didn't
at all mind-in fact, rather preferred it; there being
moments--and the beginning of a sketch is one-
one-when
the society of even the dearest of friends can be dispensed
with without a sigh.
(C


Elizabeth once gone, she soon settled down steadily to
her work. It was marvelously still here upon the edge of
the forest. All around the big trees flung their capacious
shadows, a few thin zigzag threads of light alone finding
their way to her canvas. Below, however, the whole
expanse was flooded with sunshine, which seemed pene-
trating every sod of turf, and finding its way to every
pebble at the bottom of the little stream. Upon the fur-
ther side of the fence, a great pine tree was scattering its
wealth of pollen, filling the whole air with the finest
gold dust. Occasionally a squirrel scampered past, or a
woodpecker would utter its sharp "Ha! Ha! as it dug
its beak deep into the chinks in search of grubs. Once,
too, Muriel heard a sound of munching, not many yards
away, and looking up saw that a young heifer had stolen
close up to her unperceived. Another time it was a hare
which came loping lazily by, and sat for an instant on
its haunches to stare at her, before dashing wildly away
down the ride. She worked rapidly on, getting in the
general effect, and trying to give the peculiar glow of
the foreground, set off as it was by the cool greens and
grays beyond. The result, however, by no means satis-
40
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
MA
fied her. For one thing, the light was unsatisfactory;
too broadly diffused in one part, and too wholly with-
drawn from another, and, though by no means a tyro,
Muriel was too little of a landscape painter to know how
to adapt these conditions to her liking. Altogether she
was in a state of considerable despondency, fast verging
upon despair, when the rustle of Elizabeth's dress was
heard coming back to her through the wood.
"Oh, such a hideous failure, Elizabeth, as I'm making
of it!" she exclaimed, as her friend drew near.
"Are you, dear? That's something quite new for
you, Muriel. Let me see. Now really, I do not at all
agree with you; I think you've done wonders—for the
time, that is. What is there so wrong?"
"Wrong?
Oh, everything is wrong trees and
sky, lights and shadows, distance and foreground, every-
thing. Never mind. I'll give it up and begin another,
or rather, I'll give it up altogether for the present, and
go off and buy our mutton-perhaps that will inspire
""
me.
"
'Mutton?" repeated Miss Prettyman, in a tone of be-
wilderment.
'Yes. Don't
Don't you know I forgot to order it yesterday,
and that if it's not ordered to-day we shall have to dine
again on water-cresses, and then what shall I say to Mrs.
Prettyman when I take you back to her, a pale and
emaciated-looking wreck?"
Miss Prettyman looked grave. "I never know whether
you're joking or not, Muriel," she said; "but I hope
you would not really be so silly as to give up your paint-
ing in order to get mutton for me?"
"Well, I don't suppose that a diet exclusively of
water-cresses is likely to suit either of us. Besides, you
must remember we have our credit to keep up in Mrs.
Partridge's eyes. I'm not sure that she doesn't already
suspect us of belonging to some sect of vegetarians or
antinomians; at least, it is the only way I can account
for the severity of her glances. And then there is my
own character as housekeeper; that, too, is at stake,
recollect."
"But even if it must be got, why not send some one
else? It is such an enormous distance for you to go
yourself."
'Not by the short cut. I came back that way last
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY. 4I
time. Mr. Partridge showed it me, and I shall know it
again, I feel sure. Besides, I want a walk, Elizabeth; I
really do."
Miss Prettyman shook her head despondently. "I
don't like it at all, Muriel; I don't, indeed. You are a
great deal too handsome to go wandering about in this
sort of way by yourself. I don't mind saying it to you,
because of course you know it, and, besides, you're not
vain; but it really is not the thing to do. Nobody does
it-no lady, at least."
""
But, my dear Elizabeth, I am an artist, and artists
cannot be bound by these ridiculous conventional rules.
I should die if I had to be always thinking of the pro-
prieties.
19
“I don't see that, Muriel. I am an artist too, and I
hope I have never violated propriety, or even wished to
do so; besides, at my age it is different. But I particu-
larly wish you would not go to-day. I know that you
will lose your way, or that something will happen; I
have a feeling.
""
Muriel, however, only laughed. She had by this time
gathered up her various possessions, and turned back
towards the cottage; where, after some preliminary
instructions from the Partridge family, she started off
again down the green track, glancing back as she did so
to nod a friendly farewell to the faithful Elizabeth, who
stood disconsolately looking after her, and then, turning
to the right, plunged into the forest.
It was a delicious day. The glamor of the springtime
was upon everything; upon the grass and heather; upon
the tufts of anemones and primroses which still lingered
in shady places; upon the great trees spreading wide
arms protectingly over a whole world of delicate lesser
beings a sort of gentle riotousness, which seemed to
diffuse itself over everything, and to course magnetically
through her own veins. In spite of the rain the ground
was not really wet, the gray tufted lichens and withered
bracken keeping it all crisp and dry. Small brown
butterflies flitted down the ride before her, or alighted on
the fresh bramble shoots, where their pale green under-
sides rendered them straightway invisible. Then, with
a sudden turn to the left, Muriel came to a hollow place
where a great oak tree stood up gaunt and dead-the only
withered thing in all that world of life. After this she
42
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
left the region of the big trees behind her for a while,
and came to a part of the wood where the ground was
covered with a dense growth of young birch and maple,
their new green livery contrasting with the worn-out
hollies and big old "ivy tods" which dotted the clearer
spaces. Here the path again turned suddenly away to
the left, and Muriel began to misdoubt her somewhat of
her way. As far as her recollection served, there had
been none of these sudden twists and turns upon the
previous occasion. She was now coming, however, she
saw, to a clearer part of the forest, so thought it as well
to push on steadily, and hope for the best. Soon she
was climbing a low brush-covered hill, and could pres-
ently see beyond another and a higher ridge crowned
with huge dark pines, the sides and valley below sprink-
led thickly over with upstart larches-like pigmies
marching, she thought, to the assault of giants. Beyond
this, again, were more green sweeps of forest, and more
hill and dale; but, look where she would, not the sign of
a house or anything like a landmark, and she began to
bethink her with a little less scorn of poor Elizabeth's
predictions. Apparently it was not so utterly impossible
for people to lose themselves in the forest! Presently,
oh joyful sound, the faint, distant tinkling of a bell
came to her over the tops of the trees, and she hastened
her steps in that direction. Where there was a bell there
must be houses, and where there were houses at least she
thought she would be able to inquire her way. A tiny
path, debouching off the wider one, appeared to lead
directly in the direction of the sound, and accordingly
she turned aside to follow it. Evidently it was not
much used, for big, woolly-looking mulleins and long
straggling vetchlings stretched across, catching against
her dress at every step. The path led her a long way,
becoming narrower and narrower as it went on; the
trees, too, closed thickly in upon her again, their big
roots tripping her up, and their branches entangling
themselves in her hair. Altogether she was fast losing
hope and patience, and was just upon the point of turn-
ing back, when she caught sight of a paling; not the
usual bark-covered kind, but a trim, sophisticated affair
of iron and wire, enclosing a small expanse of smooth
green sward. Up to this the path led, and on again upon
the further side. There was not a symptom of a gate, so
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY. 43
she scrambled lightly over, and-suddenly found herself
a
She looked round. It was a pretty, peaceful looking
little spot-a small clearing won from the forest, which
still hemmed it in on three sides, the great branches of
beech and sycamore stretching far out over the low green
graves. Below-invisible till the present moment-
stood a small church, or rather chapel, gray, but by no
means venerable, its smart little gables and pinnacles
glittering like confectionery in the sunshine, and beyond
that again, a long line of cottages, whitening the slow
green rise of the slope.
It was all quite new to Muriel, and proved incontest-
ably that she had lost her way; still it was a comfort to
her to be out of the forest, and to see again signs of hab-
itation, so she hastened on down the little path track
which led direct to the church, skirting on her way a
number of small green graves, dotted over with daisies
and large yellow buttercups, which struck against her
feet, and left a rim of pale gold upon her dress. The bell
had long since ceased ringing; but as she paused before
the porch the sound of a voice reached her from within.
Muriel felt both hot and tired after her long walk, and
the dark porch, with its deep seat, looked eminently in-
viting; so, intending only to stay for a minute, she went
in, and seated herself in a corner.
A big brown curtain hung before the doorway, sway-
ing gently to and fro in the light breeze. Presently this
was pushed aside, and an old woman-evidently the
pew-opener-appeared at the entrance, and beckoned to
her to come in. She shook her head, but the old lady
would take no denial. Do ee cum in then. There's
room fur a maäny more," she said, in true south-country
drawl, holding the curtain widely open as she spoke.
"6
Muriel felt caught. She infinitely preferred the seclu-
sion of her present asylum, but already a few heads were
turning in her direction, and it would probably entail
disturbing the whole congregation if she persisted in her
refusal. She got up, therefore, and followed her guide,
seating herself in the first unoccupied seat she met with.
It was the tiniest of tiny chapels, and at first appeared
to her absolutely dark; the thick, greenish glass of the
side windows hardly admitting a ray of light. Gradu-
ally, however, as her eyes got accustomed to the obscu-
}
D.
44
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
i
rity, she could distinguish the figures of the small,
sparsely scattered congregation-all villagers of the
poorest and humblest type. From a rose window in the
east end a long, narrow shaft of vari-colored light fell
across the dim little chancel, lighting up the stained oak
floor and the tall brazen candlesticks; falling in soft
violet bands across the white cap of one old woman, and
the black poke bonnet of another, finally forming a sort
of purple and green pool upon the marble floor in front
of the tall young man who stood in his white surplice
reading the lesson for the day.
Muriel was taken by surprise. After the glare and
heat outside the little scene had an air of beauty and
harmony which at another time would perhaps have
been wanting, and which came to her as a sort of reve-
lation. Presently the young man left the reading-desk
and returned to his seat. Then followed some prayers,
and after that a hymn. Some one in the next pew to her
thrust a big red hymn-book into her hands; but Muriel
hardly glanced at the words. She did not want to break
the charm; the odd, peaceful, harmonious sensation
which had so suddenly come over her. It was not, as
she was well aware, by any means a particularly religious
sensation; indeed she would have been puzzled just then
to say whence it arose, or in what it consisted. The
whole thing-the slow rise and fall of the voices, the
measured beat of the little organ, the bright, benignant
beam sweeping so softly across the desk-all combined
at once to produce and heighten it. Even what at
another time she might have smiled at-the old women's
cracked falsettos breaking in at uncertain intervals; the
choir-boys, with their shock heads appearing above their
official robes, and their clod-hopper boots peering out
below-everything appeared part and parcel of the charm,
a charm of which she did not seek to disentangle the de-
tails. It was not until the preaching_began that she
roused herself from her abstraction. It was not a ser-
mon, or hardly one only a few words of exhortation,
short, practical, and eminently to the point, delivered in
a round, full, somewhat unmodulated voice; but to
Muriel its very practicality seemed just then its principal
defect. It was all over, however, almost before she had
collected her thoughts, or clearly begun to take in its
purport, and then the young man came back to the steps
די
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY.
45
..
to deliver the blessing. Suddenly she recognized him.
It was the same man she had seen a few days before in
the dog cart. Either this unromantic reminder, or some-
thing more immediately pertinent to the moment jarred
upon her, for it was with the sort of irritation which
follows the sudden breaking of a train of thought
that she followed the little rustic flock back again into
the sunshine.
She was well in the middle of the village before she
recollected her errand; then she turned to one of the
cottages, and inquired the way to S-
A girl, who was holding a baby at the door, stared at
her at first without answering; then, when the question
was repeated, said she would call her missus.
The missus came-a clean, pleasant-faced old woman,
in a short, brown gown, a blue stuff petticoat, and the
inevitable black poke bonnet. She, too, seemed amazed
at the question. Why, it do be a twerriable way off,
surely; eight moile or more, I'm sure. Ee doan't ever
mean that 'ee's going to walk thereaway to-day, do 'ee,
miss?
(6
>>
"Eight miles, is it really? No, then I'm afraid I hardly
could walk. I must get a carriage. Where shall I find
me, can you tell me?”
(6
Cawriage, miss! Lord love 'ee, there ain't no caw-
riages here—ne'er a one. Th' old paäson he had one, but
he's gone away this good bit, so a be, and the young
paäson he goes a foot, loike the rest o' we, so a do."
Muriel looked blank. But surely there must be
something I can get to take me home?" she said.
"(
'Well, miss, if so be as my maister was t'home, may
be he'd get 'ee one from Timothy Rose, oop at th' Angel
yonder, what has a little shay that he lets out whiles in
the sommer time, when the volks come here in the
forest-pleasuring loike. But I'm much afeard as ye'd
never find 'ee own way.
"Tis a twerriable crook'd way
from here, so a be-twerriable.
(C
Perhaps I could get some one to show it me though,"
Muriel said, feeling that, after her experience of the
morning, it would certainly be as well not to adventure
too much on her own organs of locality.
"I would pay
them, you know," she added eagerly.
"
Well, do 'ee know now, I doan't so much moind if I
go wi' 'ee myself, leastways as far as the toap of Cara
-
46
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
way hill. Once 'ee pass the Pook's padock 'ee can't go
so very far wrong, and I'll taäke my maister his dinner
wi' me, so a will. He'll be none sorry to get it, and a
drop o' the cider beer too. He's a wonderful man for his
cider is my maister, so sit 'ee down, and I woänt keep
'ee a minute."
They set off presently, the old woman carrying her
husband's dinner, wrapped in a pocket-handkerchief.
Just as they were leaving the village, they were over-
taken by the young clergyman, who, with a nod to
Muriel's companion, and a slight glance at herself, passed
them by, his long legs carrying him quickly out of sight.
A be an oncommon nice young gentleman for a
paäson, so a be, and twerriable good to the poor," the old
woman said approvingly, as she looked after him. "I
shouldn't be sorry mysel if t'old one worn't never to cum
back no more, so I shouldn't.”
66
"Is he the curate?" Muriel asked.
،،
Nay, nay, he's na cewrate. He's only here while
th' old man's away. He comes from Lun'on. I hear
say as his feyther's a wonderful rich man up north some-
where, and mortial angry wi' this un for turnin paäson;
but there, a body can't tell. There be so maäny lies
about nowadays, so there be."
They had by this time got into a narrow lane, with a
wall on one side and a ditch full of nettles on the other
after leaving which, they crossed a number of small
fields, the path meandering about in a highly surprising
manner through a succession of stiles, each one narrower
than the last, until at length they came to the top of a
little hill commanding a wide view over the green bil-
lowy sweeps of forest. Here the old woman paused.
"There be the Angel now, right i' front of ye. Be
sure 'ee tell Timothy I sent 'ee, or maybe he'll not giv'
'ee the shay. 'Ee thinks 'ee'll know the way back,
doaänt 'ee !"
"Yes, I suppose so," Muriel said, glancing back rather
apprehensively along the way they had come. Then she
put her hand in her pocket, and-suddenly discovered
that she had come out without her purse. Oh, I'm so
sorry," she said, blushing. "I find I've no money.
But, if you'll kindly give me your name, the carriage
will have to come back, and I will send it to you in an
envelope,"
(C
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY.
47
"Lord love 'ee, miss, doan't 'ee mind. 'Ee cum and
see me again some day, and I'll give 'ee an_apple turn-
over. I's twerriable good for turnovers, I is. But I
mun be goin' now, or my maister wull be rampolling
mad if he doänt get his dinner; so I'll wish 'ee good
day, and doän't 'ee forget to tell Timothy Rose I sent
'ee.
They parted with much mutual good will, and Muriel
hastened on to the Angel-a dreary-looking little public
house, standing at an angle where two ways met. In
spite of the recommendation she brought with her, no
chaise, however, was to be had. A gentleman-a friend
of the clergyman's-had taken it, the landlord said, to
Frithham, but if she would go to Mrs. Pottle's, the pew-
opener's, where the two gentlemen lodged, maybe he
would be back, and she could have it then. This cer-
tainly did not sound promising, still there appeared noth-
ing else to be done. So, thanking the man, Muriel
turned rather disconsolately back again to the village.
As she was crossing the last stile into the lane, she
looked at her watch, and found, with some dismay, that
it was already four o'clock; if, after all, she failed to
secure the gig, there would be nothing for it, she thought,
but to retrace her steps through that long, tedious stretch
of forest again. She was just congratulating herself on
having, at all events, got safely back so far, when, turn-
ing a corner, she suddenly saw two men, standing with
their backs to her, in the middle of the road.
They were about as ill-conditioned a looking pair as
could well be seen, with tramp and loafer written in
every line of their slouching figures, and every inch of
their greasy clothes, and, with a sudden feeling of alarm,
Muriel quickened her steps, hoping to be able to get by
unmolested.
But it soon became evident that the men had no inten-
tion whatever of letting her get by. "I say, 'Enery,
wot's the time?" one man said to the other in an osten-
tatiously loud tone as she approached.
"Can't say, 'Arry, cos why, my watch is gone to the
maker's, but 'ere's this 'ere young lady, who's a follerin'
us, she'll 'ave the time; 'aven't you, miss?" turning
round, with a grin, upon poor Muriel.
Still she tried to pass, but the fellow thrust himself
right in her way.
48
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.:
•
--
"Can't yer tell a pore man the time, miss!
threateningly.
""
he said,
"If you
She stopped, and looked him full in the face.
really want to know the time, you'll see the church clock
at the next corner," she answered, and again made an
effort to get by.
เ
"Church clock be blowed! I ain't a goin' by no
church clock," he retorted sullenly. You just 'and me
that 'ere watch of yourn, miss, or it'll be the wuz for
you.
""
"I say, 'Enery, let the lady be," the other man said
jocosely.
เ
Why didn't she show me 'er watch at fust then? Hi
aint a going to stand no imperence, lady or no lady. If
she'd 'ave been civil to hi, hi'd 'ave been civil to 'er, but
now she shall just 'and me that there watch afore hever
I lets 'er by."
Muriel was no coward, but the situation, it must be
owned, was an uncomfortable one. She thought of turn-
ing and trying to escape down the lane; but for one
thing, she had not a notion where it led to; for another,
what would be easier than for the men to follow and cap-
ture her? As for giving up her watch-a watch that had
belonged both to her father and to John-that was about
the last thing she thought of. She simply stood still,
therefore, with her back against the wall, her eyes full
upon her assailants, and her mind busily running over
the chances of a rescue.
"Air you a goin' for to give me that 'ere watch, or
must hi cum and take it?" the fellow repeated sullenly.
"I shall certainly not give you my watch," she
answered haughtily; "and, if you attempt to take it, I
shall call for help. There are plenty of people within
reach who will hear me," she added, with considerably
more confidence, however, it must be owned, than she
really felt.
، ،
Õh, air there, miss? his that all you knows. Reckon
my mate and me we knows this blooming old wood a long
sight afore hever you did. Why yer might screech yer
'art out ere, and ne'er a one 'ear ye. So, as hi should be
werry sorry to hincommode you, all hi says is, 'and me
that 'ere watch, and no more about it, else-" And the
fellow advanced threateningly.
"Keep back!" Muriel exclaimed, her self-possession
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY. 49
:
giving way for the moment to sudden panic. 'You'll
help me, won't you?" she cried, turning imploringly to
the other man, who still hung somewhat in the rear.
"A fellar can't go agin 'is pardner, miss; but if so be
as yer 'ave a five pun' note 'andy, why then I won't let
'im touch yer."
"But I have no money at all with me," she cried
despairingly.
"}
"Then 'ere's for yer watch, and no more about it,'
cried the other, making a snatch at the chain, which
showed outside her jacket.
CL
Help! help!" Muriel shouted at the top of her voice,
thrusting the man's hands back at the same time with her
parasol.
66
The fellow yelled a curse. Darn you, 'Arry, can't
yer help a cove?" he called to his companion. 'Old
'er 'ands, will yer? Darn 'er!"
(6
'Help! help!" Muriel shouted again, looking wildly
round at the empty fields and silent hedgerows, where
some impassive-looking cows and a few crows flying low
over the trees seemed to be the only live things visible.
But help was nearer than she thought. There came a
sudden sound of steps along the lane; then a pause; then
another forward rush, and, almost before she had time to
distinguish her deliverer, the foremost ruffian was sprawl-
ing on his back amongst the nettles, while the other, dis-
creetly taking to his heels, leaped the wall, and fled away
over the field. Then the new comer turned to her.
**
[L
'You're not hurt, are you?" he asked in a quick,
abrupt voice—the same voice she had heard in church.
Hurt? Oh, no; but my watch-Ah, here it is!"
picking it up where it had got thrown in the scuffle.
Then she turned round to her defender. "Thank you a
thousand times. I would not have lost it for the world !"
she cried gratefully.
Her champion-a big, broad-shouldered young man,
apparently between twenty and thirty-seemed anything
but particularly gratified by the commendation. It
would be a pity you should lose your watch, but it is
worse to know that there are such brutes as that about
the place," he said, indicating the gentleman in the net-
tles. He doesn't belong to the parish, however, that's
one comfort."
"
Muriel could not help smiling. "I don't know that
4
50
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
that would have made any particular difference to me,"
she said.
"It would to me-while I've charge of it, at any rate.
My name is Stephen Halliday. How far have you got
to go this evening?"
Muriel felt a good deal relieved by the quick abrupt
manners of her new friend, which seemed to simplify
what would otherwise have been a decidedly embarrass-
ing encounter. She briefly related her adventures
therefore, explaining how her coming there at all that
afternoon had originated in the first instance in an acci-
dent.
Yes, I think I saw you coming into church," he
said, a gleam of amusement for a moment crossing his
face. "And now you want, of course, to get back. The
first thing, however, is about this fellow. By rights, you
know, I ought to take him, and hand him over to the
police.
""
"Oh no, pray don't. Pray leave him where he is,"
Muriel said earnestly. "He has not got my watch, and
that is the chief thing. I don't want to prosecute him. I
don't, indeed."
"You
The young clergyman paused as if in doubt.
hear what the lady says, sir?" he said, wheeling sud-
denly round upon his antagonist, who still lay prone in
the ditch. "It's useless, I suppose, trying to exact a
promise from you, but at least you can understand
that this style of behavior is likely to lead to the
gallows."
(6
The individual thus addressed, lifted himself on his
elbow, rubbing his head at the same time with his disen-
gaged hand. That'll do, parson, he said sullenly.
'I've had quite enough of your fists this afternoon, thank
ye, without 'aving none of your jaw."
Muriel thought her new friend looked a trifle discom-
posed at this sally. He said nothing, however, merely
picked up his umbrella, which had fallen into the mud,
and walked down the path beside her, leaving the occu-
pant in the nettle bed to decamp at his leisure. Now that
the excitement was over she was beginning to feel the
effects of it all. Her long fast, too-for she had eaten
nothing since breakfast was beginning to tell on her,
and she felt hardly able to walk.
Evidently her companion was a man of quick eyes,
""
IN WHICH MISS ELLIS LOSES HER WAY. 51
"You're not ill,
"I'm a
for he soon perceived her exhaustion.
are you?" he said.
"C
No, not ill," she answered rather faintly.
little tired, I suppose, that's all."
(C
Take my arm."
Muriel took it. At another time she might have hesi-
tated, or been struck at all events by the oddity, not to
say the supreme ridiculousness, of the whole situation,
but just now it seemed to her the most natural thing in
the world; indeed, anything more purely official than
the young man's whole manner it would be difficult to
imagine.
"Are you hungry?
was the next question.
""
In spite of herself she could not help smiling. "I
believe I am rather hungry, she answered meekly.
Never mind though; I shall have dinner as soon as I
get back, so pray don't trouble to get me anything.'
""
Have you had any luncheon ?
""
He made no answer, and they walked on in silence
till they came to a cottage at the end of the lane. Here
he paused.
"Sit down, please," he said, pointing to a bench, and
before Muriel had time to realize his intention he had
disappeared into the house, and was back again with a
cup of milk in one hand and a large cottage loaf in the
other.
66
Oh, but indeed, indeed I can't eat it. I really can't!'
she exclaimed. "The truth is, I have no money with
me to pay for anything-not a single penny."
He laughed. "I think Mrs. Short will trust me with
the price of a loaf," he said. "Why, I used to lodge
here when I first came to the parish. I'm only sorry
that there doesn't seem any butter forthcoming.
""
He was cutting slices with a rapidity which seemed to
denote considerable practice, and now gravely handed
her one upon the point of the knife. Muriel took it,
feeling herself reduced to the level of the smallest of
small school-children as she did so. If Elizabeth Pret-
tyman, she thought, could only see her now!
What a
humiliating ending to all her boasted independence!
When she had at length drunk as much milk, and
eaten as many slices of bread as her companion could
induce her to swallow, they again set out. Though no
longer hungry, Muriel felt desperately tired. It was as
""
PAT
+
52
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
much as she could do to drag one foot after the other,
and she was just beginning to think with renewed dis-
may of that long trudge through the wood, when they
reached the last turn leading to the village.
Ahead of them a dog-cart containing two occupants
was seen moving slowly up the incline, at sight of
which her companion gave a sudden shout. Don't
hurry yourself; take your time; I'll bring it back to
you, " he said, and, so saying, shot away up the slope.
Muriel, toiling slowly after, saw the dog-cart stop to
allow her friend to overtake it. Then, after a short
parley, one of the occupants was turned out on the road;
Mr. Halliday took his place; the dog-cart was turned
round, and presently drew up beside her. Then he got
out and gravely handed her in.
"You'll say where you want to be taken to," he said,
still rather breathless from his run.
"But I
"Yes, I will, thank you," she answered.
don't know what to say to you, Mr. Halliday," she
added gratefully. "You've done too much for me. I
can't even try to thank you.”
"}
He frowned again. Evidently he was not a very
"Don't then,
good-tempered young man.
he said
shortly "As for doing, it's all in the course of the
day's work." And, slightly lifting his hat, he turned
brusquely away up the road.
Muriel, as she leaned back against the well-worn
cushion of her chaise, felt not a little perplexed and con-
fused by the various and bewilderingly exciting events of
her day. She was thankful, of course, to have got so well
out of her last unpleasant adventure; doubly thankful
to be speeding safely on her homeward road, but both
her dignity and her belief in her own absolute inde-
pendence had received too many rough knocks that
afternoon for her to feel exactly easy or comfortable.
How supremely ridiculous she must seem to that man,
she thought an idiot, with only just sense enough to
give trouble and get herself into foolish predicaments.
And then again, what was she to say to Elizabeth Pret-
tyman? What an endless, interminable, immeasurable
source of triumph the whole affair would be to her!
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
53
CHAPTER V.
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
Mr. Halliday had nearly reached the top of the slope
again when he was met by a short gentleman, in a light
gray suit of clothes and a smart red tie, who got up from
the wall on which he was sitting and came sauntering
towards him, his hands plunged deep in his pockets.
"Was that a parishioner of yours, may I inquire ?”
he asked.
The other stopped. "I can't say, I'm sure,” he said.
I should have to look in the map. She's staying some-
where out towards Ringwood, she told me, and got here
through the forest.
1
"Drawn by the magic of your preaching?"
"Drawn by the crookedness of the paths, probably.
She did come to church, by the way, but I fancy it was
against her will. I saw a struggle going on between her
and Mrs. Pottles in the porch.
"Hem.
She struck me as handsome. You, perhaps,
didn't remark it ?"
"Yes, I thought her good-looking."
That is a concession.
way?"
"I haven't a notion."
(( You don't know?
nothing at all about her?"
You mean that you know
CL
Nothing. I never saw her in my life that I'm
aware of, till this afternoon.'
(C
What is her name, by the
Well, then, my dear Stephen, although a remarka-
bly patient man, and although well aware that beauty and
such-like foolish charms have no sort of effect upon you,
still I should like-merely as a matter of curiosity-to
know what claims this particular young lady may have
had, that I should have been turned out into the middle
of the road like a sack of moldy potatoes, merely that
she might have my chaise ?"
Claims! What on earth do you mean by claims,
Roger?"
What had she done ?"
"She had done nothing. She was tired, and hungry,
and frightened, and in a hurry to get home; that was
all."
54
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
you
"Frightened?
?
"Not I."
"What then? Did the cows run after her, and did
you interpose?"
Halliday laughed.
"Worse than that," he said.
Then old Mrs. Tomkin's goat must have tried to butt
her?"
((
""
Who had frightened her? Had
Worse still.”
“Then I give up.
many perils.
I was not aware you boasted so
""
เเ
She was set upon by tramps-as ugly a looking pair
of scoundrels as ever you saw in your life."
(6
The man in gray gave a prolonged whistle.
Delightful!" he exclaimed
he exclaimed; "I see it all now-
fair unknown escaping down the road pursued by ruf-
fians-meets the Reverend Stephen engaged in his paro-
chial duties. He flings himself upon the pursuers.
They fight three hours by Salisbury clock-fearful blows
given and received. Final success of virtue, who walks
off triumphantly with the prize."
66
Halliday laughed again. "Your imagination de-
ceives you, my friend," he said. 'So far from running
away, the young lady was not thinking of escaping at
all. On the contrary she was standing her ground and
defending herself gallantly.
>>
"Defending herself? What with?
"With a green silk parasol."
66
Well, and at your appearance the two ruffians left
her and attacked you.
Was that it ?"
، ،
""
Nothing of the sort. One ran away across the
fields, and the other dropped into the ditch almost before
I had time to touch him."
(6
'I detect a ring of regret there. You would have
preferred a longer struggle.
>>
"Well, I own I should have thought less badly of the
fellow if he had stood out a little longer," the young
clergyman answered modestly.
"And so given you an opportunity of expending some
of that superfluous energy of yours? I dare say you
would, and I dare say he, poor devil, thought he had
quite enough of it as it was. By the way, I perceive
virtue has not come off wholly scot free. Look at the
back of your hand.”
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
55
Mr. Halliday glanced down. "Yes, I've rubbed it a
bit, I know," he said carelessly. "I suppose I shall have
to go in and look for some sticking-plaster; I shall just
have time before I start off for Mrs. Huckaback's.
And who, if I might inquire, is Mrs. Huckaback?"
"The cobbler's mother. She's bedridden, and I prom-
ised to see her this afternoon."
"And after that? What comes next?"
(C
Oh, well, after that there's only the evening class,
and that young Simcox; I'm cramming him for his ex-
amination; he wants to get into the excise."
"The deuce he does! And in the meantime, here am I,
Roger Hyde, your fidus Achates, come down at great in-
convenience to myself, and at your invitation-mark me,
at your invitation-and this is the way I'm treated.
Every tinker and tailor-I beg pardon, there are no
tailors—but every tinker and cobbler's mother in the
place is run after, and I am left kicking my heels and
pottering about this interminable old wood, without so
much as a soul to speak to."
(6
Halliday looked penitent. Really I'm very sorry,
Roger, old man," he said, "upon my word I am; but
how can I help it? You see these engagements were all
made before you arrived. Besides, they are all part of
my duty-what I undertook to do when I came to the
place."
"Duty! Now do you suppose that that worthy old
gentleman whose respectable shoes you are filling, goes
through all these performances ?"
(6
Yes, I suppose so-more or less."
"A good deal of the less I should say. I pity that poor
old man from my soul, I do. I can't conceive a more
deplorable position than his when he comes back and
finds all the things he's expected to do-play cricket with
one set of his parishioners-teach geography and arith-
metic to another-get up at six in the morning to have
service for a third; and be general odd boy and man of
all work to the rest; and all because in an unwary mo-
ment he made over his flock to a restless, uncomfortable,
long-legged fanatic, who, because he can't be at peace
himself, is bent upon not allowing any one else to be at
peace either."
Halliday laughed. "Look here, you dissatisfied old
man," he said, "if I promise to take a whole holiday on
56
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Saturday, and go off with you then wherever you choose,
will that do?"
“I shall have returned to London, thank you, before
Saturday."
"Nonsense, Roger. You promised me to stay a week.”
"I did not know then how I was to be entertained.
"Come, be reasonable. What can I do to satisfy you?"
The gentleman in gray appeared to meditate.
"Take me to see your young lady-the heroine of the
tramp episode," he said at last. It is the least, I am
sure, you can do after the cavalier way you both treated
"L
""
me.
(C
""
But, my dear Roger, I tell you I don't know her.'
"Not after saving her life—or her purse, at any rate?
What better introduction could you have??
""
"All the more reason for keeping away from her."
((
I thought parsons were bound to visit all their par-
ishioners? ">
"But, I tell you, I don't even know that she is my
parishioner.
""
Well, find out and take me there."
Halliday frowned. “Nonsense, Roger," he said curtly.
"What on earth can you want to see her for?"
(6
، ،
That's my affair."
"Well, I can't take you, then-that's all. Don't you
see that it would be extremely bad taste? It would look
as if I wanted the poor girl to thank me.
12
"You won't?"
>>
"No."
'Very well then; I shall go and find her out for my-
self.
“All right; do." And here the colloquy broke off,
Halliday striding away at his usual headlong pace to his
lodgings, Hyde following more leisurely in the same
direction.
(6
They were old friends, these two young men.
The
friendship, begun a dozen years before at Eton, had been
kept up at Oxford, and had continued ever since.
Roger Hyde was some three or four years older than his
friend, and a good century or so, on his own showing,
in experience and knowledge of the world. On leaving
Oxford he had betaken himself to the bar, where he was
supposed to be pushing his way with rather more celer-
ity than is usual at that most dilatory of professions,
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
57
when-unfortunately, so Halliday and several of his
friends asserted-he succeeded to a fortune-nothing
very tremendous, some two to three thousands a year at
most, which had come in unexpectedly from a distant
cousin. From that hour he had begun, they declared,
to loaf, had continued to loaf ever since, and would
never do anything but loaf again. He was, however,
decidedly a clever man, and if he loafed, his loafing had,
at all events, more purpose and meaning in it than the
serious business of many a duller mortal. He dabbled a
little in science and in more than one art; had bachelor
quarters in London, where he received his friends, and
gave remarkably choice little dinners; and though he was
by way of utterly scorning the æsthetic ones, and all their
thoughts and ways and works, he was not, a bit more
than they were, above the joys of collectorship, any
more than he was above reveling in all those semi-ar-
tistic, semi-intellectual follies, which constitute the busi-
ness of so many idle people, and the perplexity of so
many busy ones. What the link was that bound two
such utterly dissimilar men together, it would be diffi-
cult perhaps to say. Halliday was nothing if not in
earnest, whereas Roger Hyde regarded life chiefly from
a sort of spectatorly point of view, and if too good-na-
tured to be exactly cynical, was certainly too easy-going
to be very actively benevolent. For all that, the two
had something very like a genuine affection for one
another. Hyde liked Halliday better than any of the
men with whom he more commonly associated, while
Halliday knew that under all the other's affectations and
dilettantisms there lurked-some way down, it is true-
a good sound core of solid sense and right-heartedness.
As he walked back to his lodging he was going through
a good deal of, perhaps unnecessary, self-reproach, for
not having made better arrangements for keeping the
days Roger was to spend with him free. Of course he
could have done so, he said to himself, if he had had the
sense to give the matter a little previous consideration.
And then, again, the other's half-joking remark about
old Mr. Bellenden-the rector whose locum tenens he
was—rankled rather within him. Perhaps it was true
that that worthy man-who was sixty-two, and a martyr
to gout-would find his own parish a somewhat uneasy
post when he returned to it, after the departure of his
58
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
younger and more energetic substitute. Halliday's own
coming had originated in the first place in an accident.
A friend of his, a London curate, who had undertaken
the post, had suddenly fallen ill, and he had volunteered
to fill his place. At the time he had understood it to be
only a matter of a few weeks; but since then the rector
in his turn had fallen ill abroad, and there seemed no
immediate prospect of his being relieved. He chafed a
good deal under this enforced arrangement. Not but
what he liked the place as who, indeed, would not ?—
but he was too young and restless really to appreciate it
as another and an older man might have done. He was,
moreover, endowed with an inordinate appetite for work,
and it was quite true that if no work was naturally
forthcoming, he would be perfectly certain to set to work
and create it for himself. That this passion for work
originated wholly in religious zeal, or ardent and heroic
devotion to duty, I for one am by no means prepared to
say. On the contrary, I suspect that it would have
required just as much heroism for this young man to
have abstained from doing, as for another man to have
girded himself up to the task. There were circum-
stances, too, in his antecedents which made anything
like inaction more distinctly a reproach to him than it
would to another. The village version of those ante-
cedents had been less incorrect than such versions
usually are. It was true that Halliday was the son of a
north-country millionaire, and true, moreover, that he
and his father had quarreled, though not true that that
quarrel had originated in the son's determination to go
into the Church, since, as a matter of fact, it had taken
place some time before that determination had occurred
even to the young man's own mind.
1
James Halliday, the father, was a man of what is call-
ed an unblemished business reputation; a sensible, clear-
headed, upright man, and by no means a vulgar one
either. He had made his own way, and cared not a jot
who knew it, or who was acquainted, moreover, with the
fact that his own father had," once upon a time, been no
better than a common factory worker. For all that,
deep down in his heart of hearts lurked the parvenu's
wish for social success-not for himself, indeed, but for
his son.
His ambition in this respect was perfectly
simple and well defined. He had no desire to see Ste-
}
:
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
59
،،
phen a Prime Minister or a Lord Chancellor even had
such ambitions as these been within the bounds of pos-
sibility. All he wished was to see him cut what would
be called a figure" in the world; be one, in short, of
the glittering youth of the day, only better gilt, and
with a youth more resplendent than the rest. Why
not? The boy, on one side, at least, was as well born as
any man in England, and if his father had the money to
pay for his glittering, why should he not glitter? why
not take the place to which his birth entitled him, and
ruffle it with the best in the land? Unfortunately for
his wishes, this was precisely the one thing which young
Mr. Halliday peremptorily declined to do. He did not
mind-in fact, he declared, he should rather like, being
a blacksmith, or a bricklayer, a tinker, a sailor, or a
soldier-so long, by the way, as the last wasn't a guards-
man-or he would enter his father's mill, or he would
emigrate. In short, he would do anything-anything,
that is, but the one thing that he was particularly wanted
to do. That there might be something to be said for his
side of the question may perhaps be admitted, but that
he might have brought it forward with less vehemence,
and a less lofty and scornful superiority, is, unfortu-
nately, undeniable. At all events, he and his father had
thereupon parted, with fierce anger on both sides, an
anger which, on the latter's part, burned only the deeper
and the longer for the fact that this son, who had scorned
his aspirations and thwarted his wishes, had hitherto
been of all his children the one he himself cared for
most.

In his youth James Halliday had married a wife very
many years older than himself—a rich, vulgar woman,
who had borne him two sons and died, leaving him a by
no means inconsolable widower. Years afterwards,
when the fortune, then in process of making, was already
made, and when he himself was a man well over fifty,
Mr. Halliday married again. His second wife was the
daughter of a Norfolk baronet, a fair, frightened, fragile-
looking woman, who had passed twenty-seven years in
unqualified submission to the will of an imperious
mother, and was by most people considered to have lost
all her beauty and most of her wits in the process.
course driven into it against her will, poor thing!" the
experienced reader will say ; but, as a matter of fact, it
"Of
60
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
B
was nothing of the sort. What Miss Beachamp could
have seen to attract or even to reassure her in the cold-
mannered, gray-headed capitalist, of whom even his own
relatives stood in awe, it would be difficult to say.
Perhaps, like other serfs, she thought even a change of
despots a gain; perhaps she was simply weary of her
present life; at all events, it is certain that she went
into it entirely of her own accord, nay, even to some
extent against the wishes of her relations, who, as it hap-
pened, were bigots upon the subject of birth, and by no
means flattered by the alliance, despite the undeniably
solid recommendations of the bridegroom. How she
mustered up courage to do the deed no one ever knew ;
but one thing is at all events certain, and that is that she
never repented of it. If not exactly an adoring hus-
band, James Halliday was always kind, and even, so far
as his nature enabled him to be, tender; and when, some
eight or nine years later, the poor thing died, leaving
only one child, Stephen, then a boy of four years old,
the husband's grief, if not demonstrative, was at all
events deep and lasting.
This boy he was determined should be brought up in a
different fashion from the rest of the family. His other
sons were already settled in his own business; that was
enough; Stephen should not be a manufacturer. What
he was to be was, however, less clear. In his own per-
son James Halliday had no experience of that glittering
world into which it was his ambition to launch his son
indeed, in its remoteness from all his own interests and
pre-occupations lay probably the real root and secret of
its attraction for him. He was not a man given to con-
sulting others as a rule; still, on this occasion he did
consult a friend-a certain retired colonel, whom he had
come to regard as a fixed and final referee upon all the
more difficult and delicate social problems. That friend,
after due deliberation, advised that a commission in the
Guards should be secured, and accordingly interest was
made to have Stephen's name put down for one. This,
however, was to be only a preliminary.
For years
James Halliday had been putting together a very con-
siderable sum of money, which sum it was his intention
to invest in an estate, and the estate thus acquired was
to be settled upon Stephen. In this there was nothing, he
considered, that could be called unjust. His two other
4
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
61
sons were both well provided for. Not only had they
their mother's fortune, but the whole of his own large
business connection would in due time be theirs.
Stephen's lot was to be different. He would not be so
rich, perhaps, as his brothers, but he would be the man
of "position;" his name would be upon the bead roll of
English squires; he would marry, perhaps-who knows?
-some long-descended heiress; in any case, would en-
joy that peculiar and almost mystic importance which
in the eyes of an Englishman of the middle-class, raises
the possessor of land above the possessor of every other
sort and description of chattel.
Unfortunately for his ambition, as well as for his own
interests, Stephen, as we have seen, entirely failed to
fall in with these projects on his behalf. The younger
Halliday had his own ideal also of what it did and did
not become a man to do, and that ideal by no means
corresponded with the elder's. He had imbibed-good-
ness knows how or where-an inordinate notion of the
dignity and value of work, not as a means only, but as
an end, and would discourse by the hour to any one he
could get to listen to him, as to the heinousness, wicked-
ness, and general moral degradation and culpability, of
idleness in general, and of the so-called idle classes in
particular. How this same sacred and important gospel
of Work was to be enforced in his own person was,
however, less clear. He did not want money-at least,
he had never hitherto wanted it; consequently the put-
ting together of a fortune-after all the simplest and
most natural response to the summons-was not the one
which most commended itself to him. His mind at this
time ran a good deal on the subject of emigration; he
revelled in dreams of starting forth upon some entirely
new and independent footing; shaking off the dust of
an old and enfeebled world; breaking fresh ground as
an explorer and discoverer, a clearer of the ground, and
a hewer down of forests-all visions beside which his
father's more practical views of the English squirearchy,
and the dignities and emoluments of a man of property,
seemed to him very pale and paltry conceptions.
Perhaps, as at bottom the two men really cared for
one another, the breach might in time have been healed,
but for one circumstance. James Halliday in his anger
had been unable to resist recurring to the weapon which
I
62
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
hitherto in his own dealings with men he had found the
most efficacious. He threatened Stephen that unless he
fell in with his wishes, not one solitary sixpence of the
fortune he had made should ever be his.
This was
enough. It was the one thing wanting to drive that
reckless and unpractical young gentleman into open re-
volt. His father, he declared, might leave his money to
whom he would; what had belonged to his mother
would suffice for him, and if he wanted more he would
earn it; there were idlers enough and fine gentlemen
enough, heaven knew, in the world already, without his
adding to the number! In this mood he had rushed up
to London, and there, as things chanced, had fallen in
with a college friend, now a High Church parson, with
a curacy in one of the worst and least attractive parts of
the east end. With him Stephen had worked for a time,
throwing himself into his new pursuit with a vehe-
mence born of his anger, finding, apparently, a sort of
sensuous enjoyment in the very hideousness of his sur-
roundings; and it was while under the influence of this
mood that he suddenly-to every one's intense surprise
-resolved upon himself going into the Church.
It was an odd choice, certainly, under the circum-
stances; not to be accounted for by any of the usual pivots
upon which such decisions are supposed to turn. To the
very few to whom he spoke on the matter at all he vouch-
safed a sort of rough and ready explanation. He wanted
work, he said, and he did not particularly care about
making money; he liked poor people better than rich
ones, and didn't see any sense in going off to Colorado
or Patagonia when there was lots to be done at home.
In one respect I had better hasten to say at once he had
fewer obstacles to contend with than many another and
a more apparently qualified man might have had. He
had never had never perhaps could have what are
called skeptical leanings. I do not mean that he was
always fervently religious, still less rigidly orthodox;
his mind was by nature perhaps too independent for
the one, and too little contemplative for the other; but
he had never-consciously, at least-been assailed by
any of those blacker and uglier doubts which rack
and rive men's consciences. If the reader maintains
that this is merely a proof of his shallowness, why then
I am afraid I have no answer ready. Very likely it
..
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
63
was. Indeed (except in so far as the all-sacred and
important gospel of Work was concerned), he was not
by any means a young man of exceptionally clear views
or capacious grasp of mind, his mental horizon being for
the most part decidedly circumscribed. His best point,
perhaps, was a sort of natural kindliness, an inborn
pitifulness, which made anything like harshness or
tyranny a simple horror and disgust to him; indeed,
that natural and heaven-sent obligation, which binds
the strong over to the side of the weak, was unusu-
ally developed in his case. One result of this was that,
if he made few friends in his own class, he at least
won golden opinions in the one below. If he was
rough and overbearing with his equals, he was often, on
the other hand, amazingly forbearing with those whose
misfortune threw them in his way. Indeed, a tale of
woe he never could resist, as half the old women in the
parish had discovered before he had been a week in the
place, and used to weep plenteous tears, and pour out
moving tales whenever his reverence drew near, much
to their own private gain and the despoiling of his said
reverence's pocket; that scanty store on which he now
depended thawing rapidly under these continually re-
curring appeals to his benevolence.
This particular old woman whom he was on his way
to see that afternoon was not, he found, at all behind her
neighbors in this respect, besides possessing the immense
advantage of being bedridden-an obvious plea of help-
lessness, which a man must needs be made of steel to
resist. Halliday was not at all made of steel, and he
consequently succumbed, with very little difficulty, to
the plea. He knew of course that it was extremely fool-
ish; the crone would certainly spend the money he gave
her in tea and snuff, if in nothing worse; as for the tale
of the orphan grandchild, and the sick daughter at ser-
vice, he simply did not believe one word of it, but still
there it was for the life of him he could not keep his
hands out of his pockets!
When, after nearly an hour's absence, he at length
got back to the village, he found a group assembled in
front of his lodging. On a bench sat Mr. Hyde, with a
hamper before him containing an enormous salmon, on
the approved method of cooking which he was solemnly
haranguing Mrs. Pottles; Mr. Hyde's valet a very
Fa
64
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
"-

an
much more imposing personage than that insignificant-
looking little gentleman,-standing in the background,
with a face expressive of untold superiority and disgust.
Halliday paused a moment to remonstrate with
urchin, who was dragging an unlucky puppy about by
a string, and, by the time that matter was adjusted,
Roger Hyde too had made an end of his harangue, and,
coming up, passed his hand through his friend's arm.
"Well, my knight errant, and what follies have you
perpetrated since?" he inquired, his ugly, intelligent
little face beaming all over with a good-humored smile.
Halliday smiled too, but less good-humoredly.
(6
،،
A nice fellow you are to talk about follies," he said;
a man who spends his whole life collecting bric-a-brac!
What was it you told me yesterday that you had paid
for that last preposterous purchase of yours?"
"Excuse me, my good fellow, those are not follies;
those are legitimate extravagances. You might as well
call securing that splendid salmon this afternoon a folly."
"So I do.
>>
"That only shows the wretchedly low state of your
culture. Do you know what has been calculated to be
the effect upon a man's tone of a perpetual diet of mutton
chops? and, with all due deference to Mrs. Pottles, I am
not aware that we have had anything else to eat since I
came here."
"I'm convinced it would have an admirable effect
upon your tone if you had to do without a perpetual diet
of mutton chops or anything else till you learnt to earn
it," Halliday declared, grimly.
“Thank you. I think I've heard that remark before.
Now, will you kindly say what you would suggest my
doing?"
""
"Anything-something.
"Well, eating salmon is something. Collecting bric-
a-brac-which, by the way, is an entirely obsolete term-
is something, and a something, let me tell you, that it is
not every man that can do. Besides, everybody, remem-
ber, has not got your luck. For instance, I might patrol
these roads for a good many weeks without coming upon
a fair unknown-an Andromeda, with whom I might
perform the part of a Perseus.”
Halliday turned away. "Stuff!" he cried impa-
tiently.
AN APOSTLE OF WORK.
65
(t
Not stuff at all, unless you mean that I am incapable
under any circumstances of performing the part of a
Perseus. Perhaps that is what you do mean?"
You know, Roger, I mean nothing of the sort.”
Because, if so, I don't mind conceding that yours
are nearer the heroic proportions than mine. Five feet
six is a good height—a very pretty height, I consider-
still I fancy Perseus and the rest of them were a trifle
taller."
((
""
"I don't see that a man's height matters?
،،
Very likely. I never knew a man yet who did prop-
erly value an advantage he happened to possess. How-
ever, to return to our Andromeda. I hope you've
thought better of that ridiculous resolution of yours, and
are prepared to call on her to-morrow and to take me
with you?"
“I shall do nothing of the sort.”
(C
Why not?"
"I told you my reasons before, Roger. If you're so
particularly anxious for ladies' society, you'd better go
back to London."
(C
Thank you, I am going. But that is not an answer
to my question. Do you know how most people would
explain your refusal ?"
to How?
""
(6
"That you wanted to keep her to yourself."
Halliday flung up his chin.
they chose," he cried scornfully.
""
They might think what
Do you mean to tell me seriously and honestly that
you won't go and see her after I have gone?"
(6
Certainly not."
"Don't you care a button if you never saw her again?"
'No. Why on earth should I ?
"Don't be so querulous. Every one is not such a
Timon as you. Besides, in these cases, remember, there
are always two sides to the question. Probably
Andromeda is not so indifferent about her deliverer as
he is about her. How do you know she is not counting
the hours till you meet again?”
"I am certain she is doing nothing of the sort."
"What will you bet that she won't be at that early
service of yours to-morrow morning?"
"Anything you like-or, rather, nothing. I never
bet."
5
66
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
"Is it against your cloth?"
No. At least, that is, yes, I suppose it is; but that
is not my reason. My reason is that it's an idiotic
habit.
"There I'm inclined to agree with you. But then, on
the other hand, good heavens! if we were to give up all
our idiotic habits! Why, smoking, I suppose, is one,
and making love another, and ever so many more, with-
out which life would be a mere blank-a waste and
howling wilderness.”
"A howling fiddlestick! It's enough to make a man
sick, Roger, to hear any one of your sense talk such
bosh. As if there was nothing better to do in the world
than to philander about after people who you know
perfectly well you don't care two straws about, and who,
you may take my word for it, don't care two straws
about you.
19
(
•
Then, again, there's another idiotic habit, which
consists in having a regard for a man who is always say-
ing the rudest possible things to one, and that really is
such an extremely idiotic one that I, for my part, am
seriously thinking of giving it up," Hyde continued pla-
cidly.
66
Halliday's frown relaxed. "Oh, if you're going to be
sentimental, I give in!" he cried. Meantime, you
had better go back and look after that preposterous
salmon of yours. Probably you'll find that Mrs. Pottles
has stewed it down by this time, or is preparing to chop
it up, and serve it us in a pie !
2)
Good heavens! yes. There's nothing a woman of
that kind wouldn't be capable of," Hyde exclaimed,
nothing! So you won't really take me to see your
Andromeda ?" he resumed, pausing to turn round upon
the doorstep.
(C
"Certainly not."
"Not if I wait till Monday on purpose?"
""
"Not if you wait till doomsday !'
"Is that a proper expression for a clergyman, do you
think?
""
"Very likely not. Clergymen, like other people, are
liable to be provoked into using highly improper expres-
sions."
"Not the ideal clergyman. He wouldn't, under any
provocation."
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
67
"But when did I ever set up to be one, I should like
to know, Roger?" Halliday exclaimed hotly.
The
"If you didn't, you therein showed your sense.
ideal clergyman never flies into tantrums over trifles."
"The ideal clergyman never had you for a friend!
retorted the other, as he gathered up his armful of books
and strode away in the direction of the schoolhouse.
CHAPTER VI.
*
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
>>
Miss Prettyman's horror and consternation when she
heard of the adventure that had befallen her friend,
exceeded anything for which Muriel was even prepared.
Her first idea was that they ought then and there to
return to London-that very evening, if possible; was it
not too evident now how well-founded had been her own
suspicions? What could be so rash as for two unpro-
tected ladies to remain in a place where such terrible
events occurred-where similar events might occur
daily? who could tell what unseen dangers might not be
hovering about them? to what perils they might not at
that very moment be exposed? When, however, it
became evident that nothing would induce Muriel to
leave Hampshire in this summary fashion; that, on the
contrary, she only laughed at her friend's fears, assuring
her that the incident in no way created a precedent;
that, because you were attacked by a pickpocket on
Monday, it by no means followed that you would also be
attacked by a pickpocket on Tuesday; and that for her
own part she felt more in love with her new surround-
ings than ever; hearing all this, Miss Prettyman shifted
her ground a little. Would Muriel, she asked, at least,
promise not again to go straying off by herself? If she
must go wandering about the forest though why she
must exceeded her own powers of comprehension-
would she at least promise not to do so without some
proper protection? To this, too, Muriel at first demur-
red, but in the end a compromise was come to, and she
agreed so far as to promise not again to start on any
G
..
"
68
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
•
distant or doubtful expedition without at least securing
the services of a guide. Fortunately for Miss Pretty-
man's peace of mind, the next few days turned out wet,
so that there was no temptation for Muriel to break
bounds, and the two ladies had to content themselves
with the resources of their art, and with such limited
distractions as they had had the forethought to provide
for themselves.
Muriel had carried out the intention she announced on
her first arrival, and had ordered down books of botany
and natural history from London-smart little books
with alluring headings and brightly colored pictures, and
big solid-looking books, by no means alluring to look at,
and with no pictures at all. As a matter of fact, how-
ever, she learnt far more from Partridge, her landlord-
Ned Partridge, his familiars called him-than from all
the books grave or gay. He was one of those men, not
rare, happily, in country neighborhoods, who are born
with an innate love and enthusiasm for Nature; who
know her, not from without, but from within, and value
her, not for what she does for them, but for what they
do for her-the sacrifices, discomforts, inconveniences
they have faced, and are ready any day again to face in
her service. As the weather cleared, and the sun once
more revisited the earth, Muriel took to wandering about
the forest under the chaperonage of this novel guardian.
It was curious how the big, heavy-footed man, who
appeared all thumbs and awkwardness in his own house,
and under his wife's vinegar glances, seemed to waken
up into sudden independence and readiness when he
found himself at a safe distance from both. He had
taken a great fancy to Muriel, and was never tired of
showing her all his forest lore; teaching her, or trying
to teach her, to know the birds by their notes, and the
insects by their flight, to distinguish a rare moth or
beetle, however far away, and however well concealed
by its environment; to expect and watch for that odd
regularity of habit which makes the animals we call wild
the most methodical of all in their coming and going,
their hours of eating and drinking and sleeping. Nor
was it long before she, too, began to catch some of that
enthusiasm - irrepressible and indescribable which
makes the naturalist a being apart, teaching him to
forego his food, and home, and natural rest, and to sleep
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
69
I
in holes and corners, and to live generally the life of a
fox or a catamount, so only he can keep near to the
objects of his devotion. She took to going out with
Partridge in the early morning, before any one else in
the house was astir; tramping through dew-laden grass,
and drinking in those rarer aspects which Nature keeps
for her devotees, and which prudent minded people, who
wait to get up till the day has been properly aired for
them, know nothing whatever about. It was the even-
ing rambles, however, that she enjoyed most. When
they first came to the forest moonlight prevailed, and the
moon, as every entomologist knows, is fatal to his hopes.
As the month wore to an end, however, the moon too
began to wane, and the nights were warm and starless.
Then, as the darkness increased, and the sunset glow
died out in fantastic-shaped patches of red along the
lower boughs, and gray mists gathered, and the great
trunks began to grow weird and ghostly, and the broad,
white-faced hemlocks to show conspicuously in the twi-
light; then from every chink, and cranny, and crevice,
gray forms began to appear, rising with a rustle of wings,
and a soft flitting to and fro over the herbage. As she
walked along the leaf-strewn aisles and alleys Muriel
would hear mysterious movings and rustlings—a sort of
subdued stir, as if all the earth-spirits of the region were
suddenly breaking loose. Then, as the shadows grew
darker, and the last glimmer of sunset faded and died
away, whole hosts-thick as Odyssean shades--began to
haunt the rides and openings, and people the shadowy
region above her head. Long before she had learnt a
single one of their names, Muriel had got to know the
creatures themselves by their flight-the moth that
always shot straight up into the air as if in search of some
invisible playmate amongst the stars; the moth that
threaded its way corkscrew fashion through the under-
wood, without entangling in as much as a single brier;
the moth that haunted the tops of the grass, swaying to
and fro with a pendulum-like flight, as if tied to the
ground by invisible wires. Partridge, with his lighted
lantern in his hand, would walk warily to and fro the
more open rides, now and then pouncing upon some
unlucky wayfarer Muriel herself preferring the dusk-
iest and dreamiest alleys of all, where nothing encroached
on the shadows, and the great oaks spread their wide-
70
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
$
armed environment over everything. Sometimes a white
owl would join her in her walk, swooping noiselessly
past on its snowy pinions; or a goatsucker (a “jar-bird,
Partridge called it) would suddenly alight upon a branch
and begin rousing the echoes with its harsh whirring cry,
ending generally in a couple of clear prolonged notes,
after which it would start off again on another cruise
through the forest. Occasionally, at long intervals,
Miss Prettyman too would be induced to join these
revels, but there was something to her so irregular, not
to say indecorous, in the whole proceeding, that she gen-
erally made haste to retreat to the cottage long before
Muriel was ready, or inclined to exchange the mystic
seclusion of the forest for the much more prosaic shelter
of Mrs. Partridge's best parlor.
It must not, however, be supposed, in justice to my
heroine, that she was so regardless of all the canons of
goodfellowship as to follow these new delights at all
times and seasons, with or without regard to her com-
rade's convenience. On the contrary, she devoted her-
self-not, it must be owned, with very conspicuous suc-
cess—to reconciling Miss Prettyman to her surroundings,
and imparting to her some of her own superfluous and
overflowing enjoyment. She had set up a little pony
carriage, too, and in this she and Elizabeth took long
drives in all directions along the pleasant forest ways—
to Beaulieu, with its abbey beside the tidal Exe, and
Brockenhurst, with its deep lanes, and yew-shaded
churchyard; to Wooton, too, beloved of the gipsies, and
Burley wood, with its huge oaks, fast sinking, alas!
under the burden of years and infirmities. Amongst
these various avocations, it may, perhaps, be supposed
that painting-the avowed end and aim of both friends'
existences--was not a little likely to suffer. Happily,
however, the days were long, and there was time enough
for that, as well as for everything else. Elizabeth's
miniatures were now fast approaching completion, and
Muriel, too, had accomplished sundry sketches and stu-
dies, including another and a larger version of the moor
below the cottage, which this time, begun under happier
auspices, and with a less frantic impetuosity, promised-
so, at least, she flattered herself to prove her most suc-
cessful effort in this line.
One afternoon, as she was thus at work under the broad
""
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
71
J
hospitality of her favorite oaks, a stranger appeared
sauntering slowly up the path. Strangers were so scarce
in that secluded region, that involuntarily Muriel paused,
glancing towards him with a momentary feeling of ap-
prehension, her brush poised ready to descend upon the
canvas. Nothing, however, could be less alarming than
this particular stranger's appearance, which was spruce
and débonnaire indeed to an unusual degree unusual,
that is, for a mere solitary saunter through the forest. He
seemed to be on the point of passing, when suddenly he
paused, and in a tone deferential enough to atone for
whatever might be irregular in the request, craved per-
mission to glance at the artist's work.
Muriel complied, without, however, displaying any
particular alacrity, but Mr. Hyde (for of course it was
that intelligent little gentleman) contrived in a few
words to exhibit so much appreciation for the Fine Arts;
to mingle so much discriminating admiration with a
little not less discriminating criticism, that before long
she found herself, rather to her own surprise, conversing
almost as amicably as if their introduction had been ef-
fected in a less irregular fashion.
Hyde returned to his friend in high glee to boast of
his own adroitness. Unfortunately he was leaving for
London the next day, so that there was no opportunity
at present of pursuing the acquaintanceship, but when he
returned, as it had already been settled that he was to re-
turn, nothing, he declared, should hinder him from doing
So. As for Halliday and his scruples, he declared they
might go to the deuce! Halliday had almost forgotten
this conversation, and indeed the whole incident was be-
ginning to fade from his memory, when, happening one
day to pass along the green-margined road leading to the
Partridges' cottage, he too caught sight of a young lady
at work before an easel, whom he was not long in recog-
nizing as the heroine of his late adventure.
Had there been time he would probably have preferred
to pass unnoticed, but Muriel had already seen him and
had sprung up instantly from her seat.
"Is not that Mr. Halliday?" she exclaimed, at the
same time stepping forward and holding out her hand.
"I am so very glad to see you again," she added in tones
of unmistakable cordiality.
Halliday, though he took the hand, by no means felt


72
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.
A
certain that he echoed the sentiment. He was not gen-
erally a shy man, yet on this occasion he undoubtedly
did feel somewhat embarrassed. For one thing he was
mortally afraid lest she should forthwith begin again to
thank him, and if there was one thing in the world
which he hated and dreaded more than another, it was
the being thanked.
He was soon relieved, however, on this score.
"I have so often wondered if we should ever meet
again, Mr. Halliday," she said brightly, at the same time
stooping down to pick up some brushes which had got
scattered over the ground in her impetuosity. “I was
so utterly bewildered the other day, that I don't think I
even remembered to tell you my name. It is Ellis-
Muriel Ellis, and as you see, I am an artist."
"Oh !" Halliday answered; that hard-worked mono-
syllable being the only thing which just then occurred
to him. "You seem to paint-very well," he added
presently, feeling the necessity for some additional re-
mark.
M
(C
She glanced at her work and shook her head lightly.
No, no; not well yet," she answered, smiling.
"Some day or other I hope I shall, but at present I am
only a student. In fact, by rights I ought not, I believe,
to be here at all; but I had been so long in London and
was so tired of it, that I thought I would play truant a
little, and I persuaded a friend of mine-another artist
to come down with me, and we have taken rooms at
the Partridge's cottage.
"Oh !" Halliday said again. He knew nothing about
art, and consequently did not half understand what she
was talking about, but gathered that she was in some
way or other professional.
"And are you-do they make you-comfortable ?" he
asked, casting vaguely about for something further to
say.
66
Yes, very, thank you," she answered. "At least "
-with a little laugh-"Mrs. Partridge is rather a stern
sort of hostess; she seems to think that we give a good
deal of trouble, which really I think is rather a delusion
on her part; but on the whole we get on very well, and
Mr. Partridge is a dear friend of mine. He has been
teaching me all sorts of delightful things."
“Oh!” Halliday said for the third time. "You are not
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
73
at all the worse for your fright the other day, I hope?"
he added stiffly.

"Not in the least, thank you. In fact, my friend Miss
Prettyman suffered a great deal more from it I think
than I did. She was dreadfully frightened when she
heard of what had happened, and lest I should lose
my way again she has made me promise never to stir
anywhere without a guardian. See, here comes one of
them!" she added, laughing, as the smallest and fattest
of the Partridge children appeared in sight, his thumb
in his mouth, and his wide eyes opening wider at sight of
the clergyman. "Well, Tommy, have you come to help
me to carry home my drawings?
Halliday felt so relieved by this unexpected abstention
from anything like demonstrative gratitude, that he be-
gan to grow quite at his ease, and came forward with
unusual alacrity to help in putting together the various
painting paraphernalia which lay scattered about.
Some unfinished sketches were lying on the ground
near him, one of which he picked up.
"That is Grivatt's farm, is it not?" he said, turning it
round.
(C
'Yes, I think that is the name. What a charming old
place it is. I am so fond of farmhouses-picturesque
ones I mean, of course. I always stay in one when I
am with my grandfather in Norfolk."
"}

"I stay a good deal in Norfolk, too," answered Halli-
day; "or, rather, I used to do so formerly. An uncle of
mine lives there."
"Does he? I wonder if he lives near my grand-
father?"
"It is near D—
((
""
Why that is my grandfather's town; where he sells
all his meat and vegetables. My mother used to live there
too, before she married my father. What is your uncle's
name ?"
""
"Sir Anthony Beachamp.
"Do you know, I really think that is the name of
my grandfather's landlord! His name is Flack-John
Flack. He lives at Boldre's farm, near Boldre's mere.
"}
Halliday experienced a sudden shock of surprise, and
anything but particularly agreeable surprise. It was
nothing to him, of course, who or what his companion's
relations might be; why, indeed, should it be? Still,
74
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
like most men, he was apt-unconsciously perhaps-to
pride himself on a kind of intuitive perception in these
sort of matters, and a minute or two before he had said
to himself that whatever or whosoever she might be,
there was no question about it that this girl before him
was a lady-a lady probably by birth, a lady certainly
by everything that constitutes the difference between
one specimen of humanity and another. And now he
learnt from her own lips that she was no other than the
granddaughter of old John Flack—a man whom he had
heard his uncle denounce scores of times as the veriest
old Harpagon and skin-flint in the parish; who, if he had
had occasion to go up to the hall, would as a matter of
course have been relegated to the hospitality of the stew-
ard's room; whose daughter-in-law, too, was that appal-
lingly vulgar woman with a red face and a variegated
shawl, whom he remembered seeing in church, and
whose sons were the greatest louts and scamps in the
neighborhood. And this girl was their relation. The
granddaughter of the one and the niece of the other !
This girl, so graceful, so handsome, so refined, so per-
fectly mistress of herself; so dignified, and at the same
time, winning, in all her looks and bearing. She old
Flack's granddaughter! the niece and presumably con-
stant associate of the woman in the shawl! It was in-
credible, inconceivable, not to be believed! I cannot
say that it was entirely to the credit of young Mr. Halli-
day's consistency that the tidings should have been such
a very terrible shock to him; but so it was, and the fact
being so, I am bound, as a faithful historian, to record it.
Probably Muriel would have noticed his embarrass-
ment, but that she happened to be at that moment en-
gaged in unfastening and folding together the little port-
able easel on which she worked. This done, she turned
to him with a smile.
"
I won't venture to ask you to come and see us now,
Mr. Halliday," she said; "as I see that it is one o'clock,
and one o'clock is the luncheon hour, or rather our din-
ner hour, when Mrs. Partridge's whole energies will be
concentrated on the preparation of our two mutton
chops. But if you were passing some afternoon this week,
or, indeed, any time before the twentieth, and would look
in, it would be very kind. We are certain to be at
home, or, at all events, not very far off, and I should
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
75
like you to see my friend's miniatures. They are really
most beautiful things in their way. Besides, I know
she particularly wishes to see you. Only I must warn
you, "she added, laughing, "that you will probably not
escape without having to undergo some more gratitude.
I let you off my share of it, you see, but I cannot really
answer for my friend."

Halliday responded somewhat stiffly, his soul still
oppressed by the vision of the woman in the shawl. He
promised, however, to call in the course of the week,
and further begged permission to bring a friend-a
better judge of painting, he said, than he could pretend
to be.
Muriel acceded willingly, and they parted, Halliday
hastening on to keep an appointment in the village. A
day or two later Roger Hyde returned, and one after-
noon towards the end of the week the two young men
walked over to the cottage to pay their call.
They were met at the door by Mrs. Partridge, who
informed them, in her shrillest accents, that Miss Ellis
and Miss Prettyman were both out walking; had gone
out immediately after dinner, and were not likely to be
back till evening. As they were on their way back
through the garden on receipt of this intelligence, how-
ever, they were met by the two ladies, and all four
turned back together into the parlor.
It was a small, and not on ordinary occasions probably
a particularly attractive apartment, but this afternoon,
what with the sun streaming in through the open window,
and the thrushes and blackbirds making melody in the
bushes outside, it looked cheerful and inviting enough.
A number of Muriel's sketches had been pinned up
against the wall, and these, with the books on the table
and the ferns and wild flowers, which overflowed every
cranny and corner, gave it for so provisional an abode
-a wonderfully settled and inhabited look.
Elizabeth Prettyman presently slipped away to try and
inveigle Mrs. Partridge into supplying tea for the visi-
tors, so Muriel was left to entertain the two latter single-
handed. Fortunately, whatever Halliday might be,
Hyde was not one of those persons who tax severely the
powers of an entertainer; declining to sit down, he
wandered to and fro the room, uttering fresh exclama-
tions of admiration at every fresh study and sketch he
76
A CHELSEA HOUseholder.
encountered.
Finally, he paused before Elizabeth's
table.
"And these are these also your paintings, Miss
Ellis?" he inquired, turning round to Muriel, who, with
Halliday, had seated herself nearer to the window.
"No, indeed, they are not," she answered eagerly, "I
can do nothing like that. Elizabeth Prettyman's work
makes mine look dreadfully coarse and crude. Do look
at this one," she added, crossing the room, and lifting
one of the little slabs of ivory from the table. "Is it
not wonderful? One ought, though, to have a magni-
fying glass to appreciate it properly.
32
66
11
Marvelous, indeed, marvelous! Now do tell me,
Miss Ellis, and don't think me impertinent.
Does your
friend do these for herself, for her own amusement?
“Oh, no; it is a commission. When we go back to
London, they will be sent to whoever has ordered them. "
Then, if she would undertake commissions for one
person, she would undertake them for another, which
means that she would undertake one for me?”
6


"I dare say she would if you asked her nicely,
Muriel said, smiling.
""
"I will ask her very nicely; as nicely as ever I know
how. Seriously, you must tell her that it would be a
kindness—a true act of charity. For years I have been
pining to get some particular miniatures copied, and
never yet have I seen a touch that I felt I could trust;
now in your friend I at last find my ideal. If she fails
me, I shall immediately fall back into all my previous
despondency.
""
(C
""
Oh, but she won't fail you," Muriel exclaimed, more
gratified-as, indeed, Hyde soon perceived-than by all
the previous praises lavished upon her own per-
formances. 'I am sure she will do them for you,
she added hurriedly, as Miss Prettyman came back into
the room without, however, the tea, which Mrs. Part-
ridge entirely declined to furnish at so irregular an hour
as five o'clock.
After this the conversation took a general turn, Roger
Hyde still, however, sustaining the chief part. They
talked of the forest, what had been seen, and what had
not been seen. Finally, it was agreed that a joint expe-
dition should be arranged for the following Monday,
Halliday promising for once to keep clear of all his
""
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
77
.i
usual parochial entanglements. Soon after this the two
young men took their leave, Hyde lingering a moment
to say another word to Muriel about the miniatures in
the porch.
"Did you really want those things, Roger?" Halliday
said, as his friend rejoined him.
((
Well, partly. That is to say, there really are some
old miniatures belonging to an aunt of mine, which I
should rather like to get copied, though I dare say it
would never have occurred to me if I hadn't seen the
little woman's work."
"But why should you be so particularly anxious to
employ her?"
66
Obviously, my dear fellow, to gratify our Andro-
meda. I couldn't very well offer to buy her own
things, so the next best thing was to offer to buy her
friend's."
66
Why couldn't you have offered to buy hers?"
"Because you may be sure she doesn't sell them."
"Yes, she does."
"You don't mean to say that she is professional too?"
Yes, I believe so.
"(
""
(C
What makes you think that, Stephen?"
"Simply that she told me as much herself."
"Not really! Well, I never should have guessed it.
The other little woman, of course, has the needy artist
written in every line of her, but our friend-your
original acquaintance isn't the least the cut. In fact,
I was puzzling my head as to what could have been the
link between them, and came to the conclusion that
Miss Prettyboy, or whatever they call her, must once
upon a time have been her drawing-mistress-Andro-
meda's, I mean-though of course she has gone a long
way ahead of her now.
"You think she paints well, then ?”
""
""
"}
Decidedly. Don't you?
"Yes, I did; but then, you know, I know nothing
about it."
"Ellis-Ellis-who the deuce is she, I wonder?”
Hyde continued meditatively. "It is a good name
enough, still there are Ellises and Ellises, just as there
are Smiths and Smiths. Never mind. I'll easily find
out when I get back to town.
""
Halliday walked on a few minutes in silence. He
78
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
felt oddly disinclined to repeat what he had been told
about the relations in Norfolk. Yet, upon the other
hand, why on earth should he hesitate? he asked him-
self irritably. Evidently their new acquaintance had
no objection to speak of it herself.
"I believe I do know something about her belong-
ings," he said at last rather reluctantly.
"Her grand-
father, it seems, is a tenant of my uncle's."
"How did you find that out?"
66
'She told me so the other day."
"She appears to have told you a good deal.”
She told me that, at any rate.”
..
Well, and this grandfather, what is he? A gentle-
man ?"
"Not at all; a common farmer."
"You don't say so! Well, I own that does surprise
me. I could have sworn she was a lady."
"So she is, of course," Halliday said quickly.
"But how can she be, my good fellow, if her grand-
father, you say, is only a common farmer? Probably her
father, if she has one, is not so very much better. He
may be, of course; but the presumption is the other
way.
""
((
Even so, that needn't hinder her from being a lady."
Oh, for the matter of that, it needn't hinder your
washerwoman. We all know the term is a remarkably
elastic one. Still, it does, or ought to mean, something
still, and when I said a lady I meant in the old, not the
new fashioned sense. Certainly she has all the air of it."
"And she is one, I tell you," Halliday repeated.
(C
Well, so I should have said. The truth is, the land-
marks are shifting at such a pace that no human being
can say where they've got to, and one only makes a
fossil of one's self by insisting upon people producing
their forbears-especially people with faces and figures
like our friend Andromeda."
"Do leave off repeating that foolish name," Halliday
said irritably.
"(
Well, Miss Ellis, then. Only the worst is,” Hyde
continued, not without a spice of maliciousness, "one is
so morally certain to be reminded of it sooner or later.
Just when you think you are getting along beautifully,
and that never before was there such a dear delightful
being in the world, out comes some truly appalling sole-
AN AFTERNOON CALL.
79
cism that makes your soul suddenly shrivel up within
you like a-like- Can't you help a man when you
see him struggling after a simile?-like a cockroach
under a gridiron!"
I shouldn't say Miss Ellis was at all likely to com-
mit solecisms," Halliday said stiffly.
،،
(6
Well, she has kept wonderfully clear of them so far,
certainly," Hyde admitted. Still, you never can tell.
The cloven foot, or in this case, I suppose, it would be
more appropriate to say the hob-nailed shoe, is certain to
peep out sooner or later, I am afraid. However, we'll
give her until after Monday. By that time we ought to
be able to form an impartial opinion. So till then I
reserve judgment."
"She ought to be extremely obliged to you, I am
sure," exclaimed Halliday.
"So I dare say she would be, my dear fellow, if she
knew anything about it," his friend responded placidly.
They were by this time not far from the entrance of
the village, so Halliday announced that he had an en-
gagement to keep at the schoolhouse, and accordingly
posted away, his feet tramping noisily over the dead
eaves. Hyde shrugged his shoulders, and, released
from the necessity of keeping step with his longer-limbed
companion, relapsed into his usual sauntering pace. It
was rather pleasant where he was. The thick part of the
wood had been left behind, and the path lay along the
middle of a wide green ride, running parallel to that
other and more tangled pathway into which Muriel had
strayed by mistake. A quantity of pigs-half-wild crea-
tures turned out into the forest to pick up a living-were
routing and snuffling about with much apparent relish
amongst the leaves. Presently a boy appeared, and en-
deavored to drive them in the direction of the village-a
proceeding which they resented with loud squeaks and
grunts, running briskly away in the opposite direction,
as fast as their pursuer attempted to approach them.
"C
Hyde laughed. It was rather like Halliday and his
attempts to coerce the recusant youth of the locality, he
thought. 'Poor old Halliday, what a bore they must
think him!" he meditated between the puffs of his cigar.
'If it was even his own parish one could better under-
stand his taking such an inordinate amount of bother
about it, but as it is" And he shrugged his shoulders
(6
...
80
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
anew over the possibility of discovering any clue to such
utterly wanton and enigmatical aberrations. "He is the
best fellow in the world, but, upon my word, it does seem
uncommonly like oddity," he ruminated. And yet his
father is shrewd enough; as shrewd a man, I suppose, as
any in Lancashire. It must be from the mother's side.
Those Beachamps are queer, deuced queer, every one of
them."
By this time he had got to the end of his cigar, and
nearly to the end of his green lane, and emerging from
the trees, suddenly came within sight of the first of the
groups of cottages, all with small puffs of smoke ascend-
ing skyward in an eminently suggestive fashion. It set
Mr. Hyde thinking of his own dinner-by no means a
slight or unimportant item in his day's economy. Per-
haps it would be as well if he were to go himself and see
after that old woman again, he thought. He had desired
his man Simmonds to do so, but Simmonds was such an
unmitigated idiot, there was no trusting him in such mat-
ters. It was really necessary, he felt, that some one
should see to it, for he would be sorry to leave poor Hal-
liday in the lurch again, added to which he was not a
little curious himself to see something more of that paint-
ing girl; both friendship and curiosity, however, had
their limits, and if they were going to have half cooked
mutton again for dinner this evening, no amount either
of one or of the other would enable him, he felt sure, to
hold out for another day !
CHAPTER VII.
MORNING CARES.
"If you please, miss, mother bade me tell you as there
was sixpence-halfpenny to pay the postman this morning,
and as it's the second time it's happened, she thinks as
you ought to tell your friends not to forget to put the
stamps on; and, beg pardon, miss, but that was what
mother bade me say.
,,
"Very well, Patty, here is the sixpence-halfpenny, and
you're a good little girl to give your mother's message so
correctly. Now run away.
""
MORNING CARES.
81
"Muriel, I never heard such impertinence; that woman
is getting unbearable!" Miss Prettyman exclaimed,
almost before the door had closed upon the envoy.
""
Do take care, Elizabeth. Patty will hear you.'
"I don't care whether she hears me or not. Daring to
send you such a message by that chit! I should like to
have boxed her ears.
"}
Whose ears? Patty's? That would have been very
unjust. It was not her fault."
"What does her mother mean by behaving so?"
"I was just wondering. She was friendly enough at
first, but certainly she has been wanting in civility
lately.'
CC
Čivility!" exclaimed Miss Prettyman, in a tone
which implied that words were not to be found to express
the height and depth of Mrs. Partridge's offending in this
respect.
"
All the same it was foolish of Sophia not to put stamps
enough upon the letters," Muriel continued. "You know
they're left here before six o'clock, so that I dare say it is
troublesome having to look for the proper number of
pennies at that hour of the morning.
>>
66
Oh, as for that, Muriel, mistakes will happen, and I
dare say your sister-in-law fully intended to put stamps
on," answered Miss Prettyman, who, probably, another
time, would not have been so anxious to take up the
cudgels on Mrs. Skynner's behalf. "The truth is," she
went on,
"I believe Mrs. Partridge is jealous-jealous of
your going out so much alone with her husband."
CC
Jealous, Elizabeth! Do you mean that she thinks I
am likely to interfere with her domestic felicity?" Muriel
said, laughing.
Now, Muriel, how can you suppose I mean anything
so absurd? Of course I mean jealous, not of you, but of
him-jealous of your making so much more fuss over
him than over herself. I notice she is always twice as
sharp upon the poor man after he has been out walking
with you; and that evening you had him in here to ex-
plain about the moths, I heard her throwing the things
about in the kitchen, and going on dreadfully for hours
and hours after."
"Poor, unfortunate, innocent Partridge!"
"Well, but, dear, you know you really have been so
very kind to him-quite remarkably so; talking and
6
82
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
*-
going on just as if he was a gentleman-a friend of
""
yours.
"So I do look upon him as a friend of mine."
"Now, Muriel, you know that is just your exaggera-
tion. I am sure he is an excellent, worthy man-very
good and worthy, indeed. How he puts up with that
dreadful little woman, I can't think. In his place I
should beat her, I feel sure I should; but still, to talk
of a man of that class being a friend of yours is really—
really quite
"
C
Really what, Elizabeth? Why should I not call him
a friend? And as to his class, I don't see any such great
difference between him and my grandfather.
Why,
when I am at Boldré Farm, I often dine with the farm
servants, and they are not to be compared to Mr. Part-
ridge.
""
Miss Prettyman winced. She could not endure these
allusions to the less dignified side of her friend's parent-
age. Muriel, you know very well that you ought not
to talk like that," she said solemnly. "It is extremely
wrong-flying in the face of Providence, and everything.
You are a lady of birth and education; your brother
was Lord Dumbelton; your great grandfather was Lord
Dumbelton; your own father, if he had lived, would
have been Lord Dumbelton. A woman takes rank from
her father's family, not from her mother's."
"Well, but, Elizabeth, if I was the Queen of Sheba
herself, really I cannot see why that need hinder me
from making a friend of Mr. Partridge," Muriel said,
smiling. "At all events, I do look on him as one.
have the greatest possible respect and regard for him."
“That is all very well, Muriel; but still it does not
make him your equal—a man of your class," Miss Pret-
tyman persisted.
"And I tell you,-Elizabeth, that I don't care one button
about my class. I am an artist, and an artist belongs to
every class, or to no class at all for that matter;" and as
if to put an end to the discussion, Miss Ellis jumped up
from the table-for the above conversation had taken
place at breakfast time--and crossed the room to ring the
bell.
،،
"Talking of artists, I had a letter from Mr. Wygram
this morning," she said, when the breakfast things had
at last been carried away, and the two friends were again
MORNING CARES.
83
•
alone. "His was one of the letters Sophia forgot to put
a stamp on.
""
"Indeed! and did he write about anything-anything
particular?" Miss Prettyman asked eagerly. "But do
not tell me if you would prefer not," she added with
sudden primness.
66
Why should I prefer not? He only wrote to say
that if I liked he could have those pictures—the rejected
ones, you know-sent to Liverpool. He thinks they
would be likely to hang one of them at the exhibition
there."
"And what answer shall you give him?
((
Oh, I shall tell him that I won't do anything about
it at present; I shouldn't care to send them away with-
out seeing them again, and there is no particular hurry,
as the exhibition doesn't open for six weeks, and we shall
be back in London in a fortnight's time.
"Sooner than that, Muriel; at least I must, for, you
see, my mother expects my brother Samuel's children
from India almost immediately, and I ought to be back
before they arrive.”
(C
"I am afraid those children, my poor Elizabeth, will
be the torment of your life," Muriel said compassionately.
"I expect so, too," Miss Prettyman replied dolorously.
However, it is a duty," she added solemnly, "at least,
I suppose so. I only hope they won't be always ill; In-
dian children, they say, are so delicate. It is a mercy, I
am sure, we have Dr. King so close at hand."
(C
(C
'By the way, that reminds me I had a letter from
Kitty King, too, this morning," Muriel said; a long
letter, all about her doings at the Art School. She wants
to come down here, but I don't think I can encourage
her to do that. For one thing, she and Mrs. Partridge
would infallibly squabble; and for another, it is hardly
worth while, as we are leaving ourselves so soon.
""
"Oh no, pray don't, Muriel. I always think you're
inclined to spoil that girl. She really is such a foolish,
flighty creature. And as to her painting, it is all non-
sense. She only pretends to paint just to attract atten-
tion."
"}
"Poor Kitty! I think you, on the contrary, are ex-
tremely hard on her, Elizabeth; and as to my spoiling
her, that really is simply nonsense. When have I ever
been able to do anything for her?"
84
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
N
"Well, you always go on as if she was a great friend
of yours, and you can't really care for such a silly, giddy
creature.'
""
"Not care for her! But I do care, as it happens,
extremely. Who could help caring for anything so
pretty?"
Miss Pretty man straightened her neck, and drew down
the corners of her mouth. "You think far too much
about mere looks, Muriel," she said, disapprovingly.
"I don't see that, Elizabeth. Nobody talks about the
mere looks' of a tree, or of a landscape; why, then, of
a face? But that reminds me," she added, jumping up,
"I must really go off and get on with my picture, or it
will never be finished in time; but I shall be back soon.
And don't forget that this is Monday, and that the pony
carriage will be here at twelve o'clock, to take us to
Stoney Cross."
After her friend had gone, Miss Prettyman did not
settle down to her own painting quite so expeditiously as
usual. She was a good deal exercised in her mind both
as to her own and as to Muriel's future. The coming of
these children of her brother's was not an event to which
she could pretend to look forward with any complacency.
In that small house, which only just comfortably held
herself and her mother, how would it be when there were
three unruly children-she felt convinced they would be
unruly-upsetting her painting things, running riot
about the house and bringing chaos amongst their orderly
surroundings? If she had been even devoted to her
brother, and so could look forward to caring for the chil-
dren on his account, she would not, she felt, so much
have minded it: but she had seen nothing of him for the
last sixteen or seventeen years, during which he had
rarely written or interested himself in their affairs, even
when those affairs were in a very critical condition; how
then, she asked herself, could she be expected suddenly
to feel devoted to his children? Of course with her
mother it was different. For one thing, Mrs. Prettyman
was a genuine child-lover, and had always bitterly
lamented the fact of her daughter Alicia having no chil-
dren, and the terrible distance which separated her from
her Indian grandchildren. Now Elizabeth could not
pretend to be a child-lover-in the abstract; and had the
distance between India and Chelsea been an insurmount-
MORNING CARES.
85
able one, the fact just then would not, it must be owned,
have been without consolation for her.
She was not long, however, in turning away from her
own affairs to considering those of her friend. Had
there been anything in that letter from Mr. Wygram
besides the offer with regard to the picture? she won-
dered. Miss Prettyman was not by any means a particu-
larly imaginative person or at all given to creating ideals,
still, like every other woman that ever was born, she too
had her masculine ideal, and that masculine ideal was
at present realized by this very Mr. Wygram. True he
was an artist, and, generally speaking, Elizabeth was not
at all an admirer of her own fraternity. Mr. Wygram,
however, was an exception. To begin with, he was a
very successful artist; not an Academician indeed, or
even an Associate, but on the high road to be both one
and the other. Then, again, like Muriel herself, he was
known to be independent of his brush, a fact which it
cannot be denied gave him a greatly extended prestige
and importance in her eyes. ŎÖver and above all this, he
was a man of excellent family, moving in high and dig-
nified circles, with manners, too, superior and dignified
enough for any circle. Now that this model of men and
artists admired Muriel, Miss Prettyman had no doubt;
that moreover he wished to marry her, she in her own
mind felt convinced. Would Muriel listen or would she
not? That was precisely what she desired, yet, at the
same time, hesitated to ask.
In her various cogitations on the subject Miss Pretty-
man had long since come to the conclusion that it would
be highly desirable for Muriel to marry. Not assuredly
from any abstract admiration for the married state, but
from a careful and conscientious consideration of her
friend's peculiar circumstances. There was something
unusual, nay, even to her own mind, slightly improper,
in a young girl possessing such an amount of independ-
ence and liberty, even though that young girl was as
superior to others of her age and sex as Muriel Ellis. Then
again there were other considerations. Miss Prettyman
was not by any means a spiteful or vindictive woman,
still under the circumstances she would perhaps have
been almost more than mortal had she not felt a certain
measure of Christian_vindictiveness against Mrs. Skyn-
At all events, she did so, and the sight of that lady
ner.
86
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
-
driving in Muriel's carriage and doing the honors of
Muriel's house invariably inspired her with a keen desire
to see her friend speedily married-to a husband, more-
over, who would probably not be at all desirous of the
continued presence of his wife's sister-in-law.
Now how, when, and where was this desirable con-
summation to be brought about? that was the question.
If Mr. Wygram would only have come down while they
were still in the forest, then something, she felt sure,
might have come of it! Unfortunately, this was about the
last thing she feared he was likely to think of. He was
not, certainly, romantic; and this, if only an additional
recommendation in her own eyes, was but too likely,
she feared, to prove the very reverse in Muriel's.
While her thoughts were still thus engaged, but before
any actual scheme of operations had suggested itself to
her mind, the object of those thoughts returned, and
shortly afterwards the pony carriage appeared at the
door, and, the luncheon basket being packed, the two
ladies started on their expedition.
(C
""
Muriel was not a particularly expert whip, but the
pony was reasonably willing, and the roads were wide
and good.
Once clear of the green-margined lane, the
little carriage bowled rapidly along, up hill and down
dale, now flitting through some grassy glade, where the
birch trees shook out their fresh green tresses over their
heads, now out upon one of the more open parks,
where the blackened heather lay as yet untouched by the
green of the spring; past clumps of stag-horned oaks
and clusters of small cottages, with brown sloping roofs
and "wigs
" of clematis over every doorway; past
larger houses, flanked with huddled groups of farm
buildings, gray with lichen, or inch deep in bright green
moss; past streams, which struggled ineffectually under
their burden of frogbit and duckweed, and pools, whose
ink-black waters were gilded with a wealth of marigolds
bobbing their golden petals against the surface. The
morning at first was somewhat overcast, but the clouds
were high, and the wind, which blew against their faces,
came redolent with all the balm of the south.
Before long they were mounting the slow, gradual
incline which leads to Stoney Cross. Just as they were
nearing the summit, they caught sight of the two young
men; Halliday striding along with a big basket on his
MORNING CARES.
87
arm, his long black coat flapping against his heels
Hyde, spruce and trim as usual, his small person arrayed
in a remarkably well-fitting shooting suit, of which a
pair of saffron-colored stockings were perhaps the
most conspicuous items. At sound of the wheels
both men turned, and waited until they came up; then
they walked beside them to the inn topping the ridge
above. Here the pony was made over to the care of a
hostler, and the two pair of friends sauntered slowly on
together along the road leading to Fritham.
Below them now on either hand lay the wide rolling
forest country; not all forest, however; brown, chess-
board-like squares of cultivated ground and broad clear
spaces, bare of all growths save heather, covering miles
and miles. The sun had come out again, but the shadows
were still sweeping hither and thither in clear, though
broken, reticulations over the plain; now gray, now
brown, now again purple almost to indigo. Far off,
Southampton water lay like a ribbon of silver, the white
houses on the further side so clear that they might be
counted. In front of them stretched the broad shallow
valley of the Avon; while southward, half lost in fog
and sea-mists, rose a pale-blue ridge of land, which, upon
a still clearer day, might perhaps have proclaimed itself
to be the Needles.
The first proposal had been for the party to lunch on
the top of the ridge itself, but, the sun coming out with
unexpected vigor, it was decided to beat a retreat, and
seek the shelter of the woods; and accordingly they
turned back to the inn to reclaim their baskets.
"Don't you think you could manage to carry a little
more, my dear fellow?" Hyde exclaimed, as Halliday pro-
ceeded to load himself with both baskets and a mountain
of rugs.
"At least, for the sake of clerical propriety,
give me those bottles," he added.
your parishioners were to see you!
CC
Suppose some of
>>
Halliday, however, was not to be persuaded to part
with any of his load. Stuffing the bottles deeper into the
basket, he strode off down hill beside Miss Prettyman,
Hyde and Muriel following a little in the rear.
"He is a deal too big and muscular for a clergyman,
that's the fact," the former remarked confidentially to
his companion as they were leaving the ridge.
66
Mr. Halliday? Is he? I didn't know there was any
88
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
rule against clergymen being big and strong," Muriel
said, smiling.
"No rule, of course; still there's a certain cut. Every
profession, you know, has its own proper cut, and Halli-
day isn't a bit the cut of a parson, and never will be
either, if he lives to the age of Methuselah. He'll
always be the square peg in the round hole, do what he
will."
"That sounds a very melancholy prospect," she said,
laughing a little at his solemnity.
It's true, though, all the same. You couldn't imag-
ine him a bishop, now, I ask you, could you, Miss Ellis,
or a dean even ?
>>
.
'Well, no, now you put it to me, I don't know that I
could," Muriel answered, laughing again as she glanced
at the oddly-matched couple below her, Halliday's long
legs and rather military stride contrasting with the small
mincing steps and prim diminutive figure of his com-
panion.
Once at the bottom of the hill the party again left the
high road, and turned off along a footpath meandering
irresolutely through a thin skirting of larch; then
through a grove of sycamores, where the ground was
covered with a small forest of seedlings, their short red
stems overshadowed with leaves large and broad as those
of the parent stem above. After this they came upon an
advanced guard of oaks and elms-mere infants barely
a century old these in their turn giving place to
larger and lordlier growths beyond. Presently,
in a small opening, they came upon a sudden sheen
of blue bells, as though the very heavens themselves
were breaking through. This being unanimously
voted the place for luncheon, the baskets were slung upon
a tree, and it being still early, the whole party sauntered
off through the glade, with the combined object of at
once exploring the neighborhood, and securing a still
more commanding appetite wherewith to do justice to
the coming repast.
UNDER THe greenwOOD TREE.
89
CHAPTER VIII.
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
Nothing, perhaps, is more striking in this particular
forest than its air of permanence, of stability. Else-
where—in alien forests especially-conquest and revolu-
tion seem to have left their marks even upon the very
tree-trunks. Here, on the contrary, everything is
unchanged. The thirteen centuries which have passed
since the coming of the Saxon Cerdic have to all practi-
cal purposes left things as they found them. The groves
and glades seem still re-echoing with the hunting notes
of the Red King. The very oaks still spread out their
"braunches brode laden with levis new
That sprongin out agen the sonné shene."
The
for all the world as they did in Chaucer's time. To-day
however, it was the youthfulness, rather than the age of
the forest, which seemed to strike the beholders.
spirit of the spring-time was abroad, rejuvenating even
the hoariest oaks, and filling with its ruddy blitheness
the dusky glades. Overhead a just perceptible sound of
rustling came from the tops of the trees, against which
the sun smote, breaking down through every opening,
and weaving a faint fantastic imagery upon the broad
gray trunks. Underneath bees and butterflies innumer-
able flitted to and fro over the brambles; baby rabbits
mere fluffs of light brown fur-scampered audaciously
along the grass-grown rides. Sunlight flickered; leaves
danced merrily; all the traditional joyousness and rev-
elry of the good green woods seemed present with them,
and all four enjoyed it in their different ways; even
Elizabeth Prettyman, staidest and discreetest of mortals,
seeming to catch something of the frolicsomeness and
jocund gayety of her surroundings. She was not, how-
ever, a very ardent pedestrian, and presently proposed
to return to the luncheon ground, while the others con
tinued their stroll. This Muriel, however, would not
hear of, and accordingly they all turned back together
towards the encampment.
Even here under the shade of the trees it was decidedly
Underfoot the fallen leaves and twigs felt as
warm.
A
90
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
dry and crisp as so many pieces of parchment. An old
thorn tree they passed gave out a series of distinct cracks,
as the sun rested on its dead or dying branches. Over-
head the light moved leisurely along, bringing out sud-
den flecks of color from the still growing and expanding
foliage. They paused to look down a long green glade,
fenced in with tall oaks; a ridge of bracken running
along on either side like the wainscoting of a wall.
Below one of the oak trees a pair of orange-tip butterflies
were playing to and fro over the brambles; a little
higher up a yellowhammer had alighted on the end of a
branch, its tiny breast and yellow straining throat set
clear against the sky behind. The glow and life and
sunny warmth of the scene was indescribable-as if the
whole coming summer had suddenly decided upon in-
corporating itself into one bright fleeting instant.
When they got back to the encampment a couple of
forest ponies were found to have established themselves
on the ground, one, a sturdy little beast with a yellow
mane and tail, being actively engaged in insinuating its
nose into the baskets. These, however, were soon put
to the rout, and the luncheon proceeded merrily.
Muriel had set her heart upon securing a sketch of the
glade they had just passed, so, leaving the others still
busy over the remainder of the feast, she got out her
painting things, and hurried back to the spot she had
already selected. She was presently joined by Hyde.
"What energy you have, Miss Ellis," he said, drop-
ping on the ground beside her. "You really are almost
a pendant to Halliday. Between you you make a poor
sybarite like myself feel conscience-stricken.”
"Is Mr. Halliday so very energetic ?" Muriel inquired.
'At least, that is a very ungrateful question of mine,
she added quickly, "for he certainly showed his energy
on the first occasion we met. But now to-day-he has
not displayed any inordinate activity to-day, has he?"
'He walked ten miles this morning before we started
though."
"Ten miles! That does sound energetic! Not merely
for exercise surely?"
"Oh no.
Some one-an aunt, or cousin, or grand-
mother of somebody else-cut her finger or scalded her
toe, I really forget which, and he went to see how it was
getting on.
""
""
..
}
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
91
"That was extremely kind."
"Kind? Well, yes, I suppose it was kind enough;
still, I call it very ridiculous. What was the good? He
couldn't cure her toe or finger."
'I dare say she liked seeing him, though."
""
"I dare say she liked what he gave her; he'll be in
the workhouse himself soon if he goes on at this rate,
Hyde said, flicking irritably at a gnat which seemed dis-
posed to establish itself upon his hand.
Muriel said nothing. It was no business of hers,
she thought, whether Mr. Halliday could or could not
afford to throw his money away.
"You and he have known one another a long time, I
suppose?" she said, after working away for some minutes
in silence.
(6
Ages. Ever since the first day he put a high hat on
-much too small for him, I remember, by the way, it
was. That was at Eton, you know, and afterwards we
spent a couple of holidays at his uncle's, Sir Anthony
Beachamp's, in Norfolk, and have been more or less
chums ever since."
"He was talking about his uncle the other day," she
said.
66
"Yes?" interrogatively. “Have you ever come across
any of them?" Hyde continued somewhat disingenu-
ously, as Muriel did not immediately respond. They
are a sort of far-away cousins of mine, but don't let that
hinder you from expressing a candid opinion. Certainly
they are the oddest household in the world."
((
Oh, but I don't know them at all, "she answered
quickly. "I have just seen Sir Anthony, and that is
all. My grandfather, with whom I stay in Norfolk, is a
tenant of his. But how are they odd?" she continued
inquiringly.
،،
Well, physically to begin with. Sir Anthony's
mother was a Portuguese; a terrible woman, I am told,
with gleaming eyes, and a moustache which curled
whenever she was in a rage, which she was generally.
She, happily, is dead and gone long ago, and Sir An-
thony, whatever else he is, at all events looks like an
Englishman, whereas his son and daughter look as
if they had just walked straight out of the Escurial, or
the Ghetto, or some such place; and now, to crown the
incongruities of the family, he has gone and married
92
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
himself to a little pink-and-white Miss Somebody, a
schoolgirl-at least, she was a schoolgirl at the time of
his marriage-a year younger than his daughter, and, I
hear, an inordinate flirt, which, to do her justice, Lena
never was. They have been abroad for the last two
years, so that I have practically lost sight of them; but
this year they are to be at home, and I propose to my-
self to extract no small entertainment by renewing my
cousinly intimacy with them."
"It does sound rather a mixed household, certainly,"
Muriel said, smiling. "And are they as unlike men-
tally as physically?
(6
More; a great deal more. However, I may save
myself the expense of a description, for if you are going
to be in Norfolk this autumn, you will be certain to
meet, and you can then form your own conclusions.”
66
Oh, but I don't think that is at all likely," she
answered. "I never see anybody in Norfolk except
my grandfather, who is a very old man, and goes no-
where; besides being only a farmer," she added.
"That must be rather dull, seeing only your grand-
father," Hyde answered, politely ignoring the latter
part of her speech. "One's grandfather is not gener-
ally lively company.
""
66
""
Perhaps not; but then I'm used to dullness. My
life in London would hardly be called an exciting one.
"You live in London ?"
"
Yes; I have a house-my sister-in-law and I, I mean,
have a house at Chelsea. My studio is there."
"(
May I-" Hyde was beginning, when Miss Pret-
tyman and Halliday appeared round a corner, and he
was obliged reluctantly to rise from his seat.
"Have you anything to sit on, Muriel? exclaimed
the former. "If not, do let Mr. Halliday spread this
waterproof under you. I am certain those leaves are
dreadfully damp."
(6
Indeed, no; they are quite dry," Muriel answered,
submitting, however, at the same time to have the cloak
arranged for her by Halliday. This done he stood
looking silently down on her, as she plied her brush.
You don't paint at all yourself, I think, do you, Mr.
Halliday?" she said at last, finding this silent inspection
become monotonous.
"I? Oh no."
"L
""
under the greenwood tree.
93
Something in the tone provoked her into adding,
"You wouldn't, perhaps, in any case? you consider it a
waste of time ?
>>
(6
"Not at all," he answered eagerly; on the contrary,
I think it an excellent-I mean a delightful-amuse-
ment."
"L
"There speaks the genuine Philistine!" Hyde ex-
claimed. Art, the mistress and idol of all the greatest
minds for the last two thousand years, is an excellent
amusement, a very nice resource for a wet afternoon, or
for when a man has got a cold and can't go out!"
Muriel, however, was disposed to take the matter more
seriously. "Do you mean to say really that you can-
not imagine a man giving up his whole life to paint-
ing?" she said, laying down her brush for an instant,
and turning to look incredulously at Halliday.
"His whole life? No ; do you know, I don't know
that I could imagine that," he answered seriously. "It
does sound to me rather frivolous-rather, as you said,
a waste of time."
"Frivolous? A waste of time? When he earns his
living by it?" exclaimed Miss Prettyman, whose eyes
had been opening wider and wider as she listened to
these horrible doctrines. "Why, I know people-gen-
tlemen, I mean--who began by being quite, quite poor,
and are now rich men, earning large incomes, and all
from painting."
"But that doesn't prove that it is not frivolous, does
it?" he answered.
How can a thing be frivolous when you earn your
living by it?" Miss Prettyman inquired with natural
severity.
{
'Well, dress-making and millinery, I should call
those frivolous occupations-for a man, I mean-though
I believe there are people who make a good deal of
money out of them.
>>
Dress-making? Oh, yes; but painting is not like
that, not in the least; painting is so beautiful, so grand,
The poor little artist stopped short, overcome
by her own emotions.
19
ᏚᏅ
"You won't make him think any the better of it for
that, Miss Prettyman," Hyde said, shaking his head.
"If there is one thing your thorough-paced reformer
hates more than another, it is beauty-beautiful things
•
!
::.
.
94
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
at least. Every one can't have them, bless you, so why
should anyone?
That's the doctrine, ain't it, Halli-
day?"
(
To this, Halliday, however, vouchsafed no rejoinder.
Now, my idea," Hyde continued, leaning back, and
eyeing some small three-cornered scraps of sky which
were just visible through the mass of foliage,
C my own
idea is that one oughtn't to tie oneself down for life to
anything. Sip the sweets, and cull the flowers, as the
old poets have it; that's the wise thing, depend upon it!
Who is it calls life 'A flux of moods? Whoever he is,
he seems to me to have hit upon about as neat a definition
as could well be packed into a compass of four words.
"And how about the people who can't afford to dance
attendance on their moods ?" inquired his friend.
(6
Well, I'm very sorry for them, but what then? I
don't see that spoiling my life and thwarting my moods
is likely to help them to gratify theirs. Always sup-
posing, of course, that mine are tolerably innocent ones.
Not inclining in the direction of my neighbor's purse, or
any other of his chattels."
(C
'Oh, but I don't at all agree with you there," Muriel
exclaimed eagerly. "I like your theories less even than
Mr. Halliday's. I shouldn't like at all to feel that I
lived in a sort of private Elysium of my own, out of
which other people were shut. What right have I to
claim any exemptions?
">
"No right, exactly, perhaps; but still you surely
wouldn't object to them if you came by them honestly,
would you?" Hyde inquired in a tone of surprise.
"Indeed I should, I should object very much. I like
to feel that I am one of the many-that I am only shar-
ing the common lot.”
(6
Hyde shrugged his shoulders. "Apparently you and
Halliday are less apart than one might superficially sup-
pose," he said drily. I shall have to fall back upon
Miss Prettyman, who, I am sure, will be of my way of
thinking. You don't think we're all bound to eat tripe,
and travel third class, because there are people in the
world who can't afford to do otherwise, do you?" he
added, addressing Elizabeth.
"Travel third class! Good gracious, no! You're not
surely thinking of going back to London third class, I
hope, are you, Muriel ?" she exclaimed with dismay.
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
95
::
Hyde laughed. "I beg your pardon; that was only
meant as an illustration," he said. "What I mean is
that it seems to me nothing short of sheer perversity
people refusing to enjoy the things they do enjoy merely
because other people, who probably wouldn't care two
straws about them, can't have them. Halliday's grudge
against pictures is that he looks upon them as a sort of
upper class luxury, like truffles or champagne, and like
other radicals, he objects to the existence of truffles upon
principle."
Elizabeth's face expressed a mixture of perplexity and
dismay. "Are you really a radical, Mr. Halliday?"
she inquired solemnly.
"I don't call myself one, Miss Prettyman," he an-
swered, smiling a little at her consternation; "but Hyde
there, you see, does it for me.
";
"Don't you believe him, Miss Prettyman," that gen-
tleman exclaimed. "A radical? of course he is; one of
the worst and most virulent of the whole brood. He and
such as he go cockering up the working classes until
they are as inflated as so many air-bladders, and some of
these days, mark my words, their pets will astonish them.
Then we shall have a fine to-do; a nice noise and scream-
ing-only that it will be a trifle too late. Apropos of
noise," he added, throwing his head back with a sudden
change of tone, "I wonder what upon earth all that
noise can be up there upon the top of those sycamore
trees. I have been listening to it for the last ten minutes,
while we have been disputing. It is more like the mew-
ing of kittens than anything else, but I never heard of
people keeping their kittens on the tops of sycamore
trees!
>>
"I know what they are; they are jackdaws," Muriel
said, not sorry, too, to hail a change of subject. "Those
are the young birds we hear. Mr. Partridge showed me
just such another nest close to his own house."
(C
Partridge? Is he the husband of that acidulated
looking landlady of yours?"
"Yes; he is a great naturalist-really a very great
one, and he has been teaching me to distinguish the dif-
ferent birds and insects. I feel quite ashamed to think
how little I knew about them before I came here; in
fact, I believe I rather looked down upon the whole
subject. I suppose it is like art," she added, with a
96
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
glance in Halliday's direction, "no one can hope to ap-
preciate it who doesn't approach in the proper spirit.
"Well, I confess my sympathies are more with the
painters than the bug stickers," Hyde said nonchalantly.
The others seem to me about the biggest monomaniacs
going. Last spring, for instance, I met a friend of mine
at Cairo-a man called Brodigan-a capital good sort of
fellow, but as mad as a hatter about bugs. It was get-
ting pretty hot, and every one else was hurrying away,
but he had only just come. 'Good heavens, Brodigan,
what brings you here so late?' said I. 'Oh, I'm not
staying; I'm only passing through to Nubia,' said he.
'To Nubia, at this time of year?" "Yes, to collect the
spring beetles. I don't want to miss the right month.'
Evidently he considered it the most natural thing in the
world for a man to come out from England to Africa
to collect spring beetles, so I simply turned on my heel
and left him, and, as I have not seen him since, he is
probably in Nubia still."
Muriel laughed. "That certainly is rather an extreme
case," she said.
"Still I think your friend was right in
the main. It seems a stupid thing to go out of the world
knowing little more about its other inhabitants than
when one came in.
เ
She had finished her sketch now; so, having collected
her painting materials, she got up, and they strolled
leisurely back together to the encampment. Here, after
a little more dawdling about, the plates and knives and
forks were all packed into the hamper, and they set off
on their return march; Hyde and Muriel this time lead-
ing; Miss Prettyman and Halliday bringing up the rear.
After the pony was harnessed, and the two ladies had
taken their places, Hyde continued talking, with his
foot upon the step of the carriage, Halliday meanwhile
keeping somewhat aloof. All the way home Elizabeth's
tongue ran glibly upon the former's perfections. He
was so agreeable, and clever, and attentive; he knew so
much about art; to all which Muriel cordially assented.
Oddly enough, however, her own thoughts ran chiefly
upon the other man, who was not particularly agree-
able or attentive, and who certainly knew nothing what-
soever about art. Once she mentioned his name to her
companion, but Elizabeth, while still acknowledging the
obligation they owed in the matter of the tramps, could
UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.
97
hardly restrain her horror and indignation at the senti-
ments to which he had given utterance that afternoon.
A clergyman too! it was really shocking. Somebody
she declared, ought to write to the bishop about it. Just
conceive the harm which a man in such a position might
do, going about the country with such horribly radical
notions! Muriel, if not quite as much shocked as
regards the radicalism, was, at all events, quite in agree-
ment with her as to the heinousness of Halliday's
theories on the subject of art. It seemed extraordinary
to her indeed that any one who was evidently a gentle-
man, and who had presumably received the advantages
of one, should have remained in such an utterly dark
and benighted condition. All this, however, only
caused her perhaps to think of him the more. She
would rather like, she thought, to have had another dis-
cussion with him upon the subject, sundry excellent
arguments having-as usually happens in controversies
-occurred to her after the occasion for using them was
over. There was no use in thinking of that, however,
she felt; their meeting at all, after all, had been only due
to an accident, and one that was not in the least likely
to repeat itself.
As a matter of fact, however, they did meet again, and
that too in the most natural way in the world, Muriel
having driven over to the village to keep her promise
with her friend of the cottage, and to taste the turn-
overs. She was alone, Elizabeth being busy preparing
for the start which was to take place the following day.
Walking back to where she had left the pony carriage,
she encountered Halliday coming out of his lodgings,
and they walked down to the end of the village together.
"You have never seen the font, I think, Miss Ellis,'
he said, as they were passing the church.
As you
know, I am a Goth in such matters, but people tell me
the carving is worth looking at. Will you come and
try?"
CC

"}
Muriel assented, and they turned up the narrow path
together.
After inspecting the font, they walked round to look at
the windows, and then, coming out, followed the other
footpath, which led to the paling over which Muriel had
scrambled on her first adventurous expedition. The
grass had grown rank and coarse in the weeks that had
7
Uor M
98
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
passed since then; the trees, too, had lost their first
fresh tints, and showed a wide uniformity of green; the
little graves, however, were still bright with buttercups
and daisies, a few evil-faced hemlocks here and there
showing among the humbler growths. Muriel stood
with her hand on the railing, looking over into the forest.
Close to where they were standing a couple of brown-
breasted linnets were busy amongst the seed vessels of
an elm; and from time to time a wood-pigeon crossed
overhead, its passage marked in rapidly dissolving spots
of shadow upon the grass.
"I am so sorry to think that this is my last day here,"
she said, turning to her companion.
"You go home to-morrow?"
"Yes, to London.'
>
"I shall be going there soon, too," Halliday said.
"Mr. Bellenden, the rector, is returning at last."
"Ah, I remember. I had almost forgotten you were
only here temporarily. You will be sorry to leave, I
dare say?" she added inquiringly.
"To a certain extent, yes. One can't help liking the
place. Still it is a stagnant, do-nothing sort of life for a
man to lead. Not that I am likely to do very much bet-
ter elsewhere," he added bitterly.
Muriel was a little startled. It had struck her before
that something was amiss with this broad-shouldered
companion of hers, but her previous observations had
not prepared her for anything so tragic as all this.
What was it? she wondered. Certainly he looked un-
happy, more so she fancied now than when she saw him
last.
"But, Mr. Halliday, why do you talk of yourself as
if you were useless?" she said gently.
"You seem to
me to do so much, and Mr. Hyde told me you were always
working for other people. In fact, he seemed to think
you did rather too much than too little.
66
"7
،،
Hyde talks nonsense," he said curtly.
"Then everyone talks nonsense; old Mrs. Smith, for
instance. She has been entertaining me for the last half-
hour with a chronicle of your good deeds. And in Lon-
don, too, you will be able to do so much," she added ex-
postulatingly.
That is just it," he said despondently. "I don't see
my way to doing anything there. Here it is different.
under the greenwood tree.
99
Anyone can make a splash in such a puddle as this; but
when I think of going back, it seems like I don't know
what-trying to dig tunnels with toothpicks !
>>
.. You mean on account of the numbers ?"
((
'Yes, that and-other things.
CL
Muriel was silent a minute. "I don't know: I don't
like to give an opinion, I am so ignorant," she said
doubtfully; still it seems to me that if a man is deter-
mined to be of use-really and truly determined, as you
seem to be—he ought not to fail. There must always be
such an immensity to do. And then you are not likely
to fail from disgust. You are not-at least, I should
fancy you are not-fastidious."
เ
No, I am not that certainly. Still there are other
ways of failing-other ways of a man becoming useless
besides that.'
">
"What sort of ways?
""
He turned and looked at her with a sort of sudden ex-
asperation. A little heap of leaves, which had been
raked together on the path, were being scattered by the
breeze around her feet; shadows from the leafy canopy
overhead were falling in rippling succession over her hair,
over her neck, over her eager upturned face. Her hat
had fallen a little back; in the transparent shadow her
eyes looked larger and darker than usual.
"Plenty," he said shortly. More than I could ex-
plain, or you could understand.”
"You must think me singularly stupid, then.”
I don't think you stupid at all.”
'Frivolous, then?"
،،
No, nor that either. The fact is, I can't explain ; dif-
ficulties come in a man's way-all sorts of difficulties.
I have no sort of right or excuse for troubling you about
them, so what's the use of talking at all?
">
"Do you mean as to-as to
Muriel looked puzzled.
doctrines?" she said doubtfully.
"Doctrines ? Oh no," he answered; nothing of
that sort. It is simply myself-my own stupidity. I
thought I saw my way to doing things, and now I don't
that's all. I fancied I was particularly strong, and in-
stead of that I turn out, as it happens, to be ridiculously,
preposterously weak. I don't suppose I am the first
man that has made that discovery," he added, the same
bitter inflection coming again into his voice.
66
100
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Muriel was silent. Certainly it did not seem to her as
if she or any one else could be of very much assistance
in such a vaguely-expressed and mysterious sort of
trouble as this. It began to strike her, too, that for such
a very recent acquaintanceship, the conversation during
the last five minutes had taken a decidedly personal turn.
Accordingly she turned away from the paling, and led
the way back along the daisy-margined path to the
village.
After the silence of the churchyard, that little com-
munity appeared quite festive and astir. Old Mrs. Pot-
tles, the pew-opener, was bobbing and courtesying at her
door; cocks and hens were cackling and pecketting
about in the gravel; a long squad of geese came wad-
dling one after the other across the road; the red roofs
and low brown eaves looked homely and friendly in the
sunshine.
"I wonder whether I shall ever find myself here
again?" Muriel said, looking vaguely round her.
66
Why not?"
"No reason at all. In fact, I rather plan returning to
the New Forest next year. Only, when one has en-
joyed being in a place, one always has that feeling when
one is leaving it. Don't you think so ?
19
'I shall not be here again, at any rate," he said posi-
tively.
"Shall you not? Perhaps, then, we may meet in
London ?
""
He shook his head. "Where do you live? What
part?" he inquired abruptly.
(6
In Chelsea. My sister-in-law and I have a house
there."
"And I in Whitechapel-dozens of miles away. So,
you see, our chance of meeting is small.
Muriel's thoughts flew to the river-that link between
east and west. She did not choose, however, to point to
a mode of communication which had apparently escaped
him.
"Mr. Hyde has left you, I suppose?" she said, in-
stead.
Yes, more than a week ago."
"I dare say I may meet him in London."
"I dare say you will."
After this, no further observations were exchanged
MRO
under the greenwood tree.
IOI
A
Just
until they had nearly reached the pony-carriage.
as they were doing so, a heavy shower suddenly burst
over them, the big drops pattering down over the silent
forest.
((
"You will get desperately wet, I am afraid," Halliday
exclaimed. Hadn't you better come back to my lodg-
ings until it is over?"
Oh no, thank you, Mr. Halliday. I am sure it will
not be much. Besides, I have an umbrella."
How can you hold it up and drive too ?"
"Then the boy shall hold it up over us both."
'Indeed, you would be wiser to come back," he said.
"What is the sense of getting wet? Do let me persuade
you.'
""
เ
"Indeed no; I really must be getting back," she an-
swered. "Miss Prettyman will be expecting me.
}}
"But she wouldn't wish you to get a bad cold, would
she?" Halliday exclaimed, in a tone of heightened re-
monstrance-the tone which a man instinctively assumes
when he feels that a woman is persisting in some line of
conduct in defiance at once of himself and of common
sense.
Miss Ellis drew herself up.
(( Thank you, but really I
am in the habit of judging for myself," she replied coldly,
at the same time mounting into the carriage, and begin-
ning to arrange her skirts. Just as she was about to
drive away, however, she relented. "Good-by, Mr.
Halliday," she said, holding out her hand. "I hope, after
all, we may meet again in London or—somewhere.'
((
Good-by," he answered gravely, without, however,
echoing her wish.
Then she whipped up the pony, and drove hastily
away through the rain. The next day she and Elizabeth
Prettyman departed for Chelsea.
****
102
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:.
CHAPTER IX.
;
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
Muriel felt that her pleasant holiday had indeed come
to an end as she drove through the dull streets and dreary
squares which lie between Waterloo station and the
Chelsea Embankment. It was a dank, drizzling day;
Southampton Water, as they passed it in the morning,
looked like an indifferent drawing in Indian ink, faint
flickers of sunshine here and there touching but hardly
lighting its dim gray surface. The nearer they got to
London, the closer and denser of course grew the cloud
curtain, and by the time they got out of the train rain
was falling heavily, and the air was thick and murky as
in November. She had asked her sister-in-law to send
the brougham to meet her at the station, but a prolonged
survey of the platform showing no signs of one, she
and Elizabeth put themselves into a cab and drove off to-
gether through the gloom. The street in which Mrs.
Prettyman lived came first, so, having deposited her
friend on the way, Muriel drove on alone to her own
house.
It was not until the cabman had rung three or four
times unsuccessfully at the front gate that the bell was
at last answered. Then a tall woman, in a white cap, put
out her head with an air of suppressed exasperation,
which gave way to a broad beam of satisfaction when she
espied Muriel.
66
Why, if it ain't ever Miss Ellis herself," she
exclaimed, running down to fling open the gate.
"C
""
'Didn't Mrs. Skynner tell you to expect me, Eliza ?
our heroine inquired, when at last she stood in her own
hall.
(6
No, miss, not a word. Mrs. Skynner, she went out
early this morning in the carriage, she and the other
lady that's been stopping here. And she didn't say noth-
ing except that she'd be back to lunch, and Mrs. Hopper
was to be sure to have the lamb cutlets ready, and the
cold salmon, and cherry pie, and whipped cream, what
was ordered, and there they've been since two o'clock,
and the cutlets as hard as iron by this, and Mrs. Skynner
hasn't never been back, no, nor the other lady either."
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
103
**
"What other lady?" was upon the tip of Muriel's
tongue; but she saw from the worthy Eliza's expression
that the question would probably unlock a whole volume
of pent-up wrath and dissatisfaction, so contented herself
with simply begging to have tea brought to her as soon
as possible in the studio, and then went her way upstairs
to her own room.
It was rather a dreary sort of home-coming, certainly,
she thought, as she took off her hat and cloak. Of
course Sophia might have the best of good reasons for
not being at home to herself, but it did seem odd not
giving the servants a hint of her arrival. Probably,
though, it was her own fault, she ought to have written
herself to either Mrs. Hopper, or Eliza; and then again,
who could this lady be that Eliza said was staying in the
house? and why did Sophia have strangers staying there
without giving her warning? And having arrived at
this point, Muriel began to tax herself with unamiability
and selfishness; had she not told Sophia scores of times
that she was to consider the house her own, and was she
so foolish and unreasonable as to be annoyed simply
because her sister-in-law had taken her at her word?
She went downstairs again to the studio. It felt un-
comfortably hot and close, and she hastened to fling
open the windows, and let in what little light and air
was to be had outside, before looking round her. It was
not a particularly large room, being, in fact, merely the
ordinary double drawing-room of a London house with
the partition knocked down, and the back window some-
what enlarged. As a studio, of course, it was open to
many objections; the sunlight on bright days struggling
persistently in, while the cross lights were a disadvan-
tage which no amount of screens and curtains were able
entirely to obviate. For all that Muriel herself would
not have exchanged it for the best constructed studio in
London. Whatever else might be wanting, there was
always the river to fall back upon. And when her day's
work was over, it was always to her an untold treat and
refreshment to fling back the mufflings and step out over
the window-sill on to the balcony to look down that long
silvery highway, with its ever varying freight carried
swiftly past without noise or bustle. To-day, however,
even the Thames itself looked dismal. The trees upon
the Battersea side of the river showed black as ink
104
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
through the leaden-tinted atmosphere; the broad mud-
colored expanse was churned into sulky yellow waves
by the passage of a steamer; the wet flags, dripping
trees, and puddle-starred pavement, looked all inexpress-
ibly dreary; so, turning abruptly away from the win-
dow, she walked round to inspect her various possessions,
and see how they looked after her month's absence.
For an artist she had not really many properties, but
what she had were well disposed. The room was rather
low, with a dark oak floor sparsely scattered over with
rugs, a large tiger-skin which had belonged to her
brother John occupying the place of honor before the
fire-place. The walls up to about eight feet from the
floor were covered with a dull orange-colored matting,
against which the brasses and bits of Spanish and
Moorish pottery-not valuable, but quaint, and good as
to color-were arranged. Her own paintings, when not
actually in progress, were usually set en pénitence, with
their faces to the wall. There was a whole row of these
culprits now awaiting judgment upon the opposite side of
the floor, so, crossing the room, Muriel turned over two
or three, placing one upon an easel, and stepping back a
little, the better to inspect it. It looked extremely bad,
she thought; so, indeed, did they all; and she began to
wonder whether she would ever again find heart and
courage to take up her brush, and set vigorously to
work upon them. Altogether, she felt low and de-
pressed, what with the dreariness of the day, and the
home-coming which had so little of home in it; so, leav-
ing the examination of the rest for another time, she
drew a chair over to the empty fireplace, and sat down,
feeling out of heart and humor with herself, and with
all the world besides.
She had sat there, perhaps, for about five minutes
when there came a quick tap at the door, so, concluding
it was only Eliza with the tea, she called out, "Come in,
without turning, or changing her attitude.
It was a lighter step, however, than that of the excel-
lent Eliza which presently crossed the floor, and a pair
of small white hands, which certainly did not belong to
Eliza, were laid upon her arm, while a soft cooing voice
said in her ear:
"Here you are, you dear thing? How glad I am to
have you back !"
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
105
Muriel sprang up. ،،
Why, Kitty," she cried, "is
that you? How in the world did you know I was
home ?"

The visitor laughed and kissed her ecstatically. "I
saw the cab drive up to the Prettymans', and then, of
course, I knew you had come, so I just slipped on a water-
proof cloak, and ran off at once through the rain to see
you. How well you're looking, Muriel!"
"And so are you, Kitty-better than ever, I think,
Muriel answered, holding her visitor at arm's length, and
looking admiringly at her from head to foot.
Miss Kitty King undoubtedly was an extremely pretty
girl, with a cloud of light yellow hair which she was
pleased to brush up into a sort of semi-masculine crop at
the side of her head; a complexion of lilies and roses, and
a pair of blue eyes as clear and as bright as the corolla of
a Speedwell. Perhaps the prettiest things about Kitty,
however, were her hands, which, as I have just said,
were small and white, with the tiniest pointed fingers,
and the daintiest little dimples in the world. Strange to
say, these hands were anything, however, but sources
of unalloyed delight to their owner; indeed, there were
moments of exasperation, when, for all their beauty,
Kitty could almost have borne to part with them for a
more ordinary, but at the same time, serviceable pair.
It was the constantly expressed opinion at all the nu-
merous academies and drawing schools she had attended,
that Kitty King was physically incapable of drawing a
straight line. Whether this really was the case, or not,
there certainly was no doubt that her drawing was not
what it ought to be, and hitherto all her own efforts, and
the efforts of all her various masters had been powerless
to make it any better. Her father was a London doctor,
a busy, over-worked man, with a large practice, and a
larger family, Miss Kitty herself being the fourth daugh-
ter. The Kings were remarkably dull, stereotyped sort of
people, always excepting that wayward young lady her-
self, who had independence and audacity enough in her
own small person to have set up a whole houseful. In-
deed, it was currently asserted, and that, too, by others
besides Elizabeth Prettyman, that Kitty had taken up
the career of art student, not because she cared one single
button about art, but simply as a sort of cloak under the
cover of which she might the better carry out her own
""
106
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
~
5
emancipation. Of late, however, she had undoubtedly
turned over several new leaves in this respect; had
devoted herself to Muriel, sat habitually at her feet, and
adopted her ways, and under these influences had begun
to study with greater diligence, if not as yet with much
more conspicuous success than heretofore. It was upon
this subject that she now began to enlarge.
"I'm so longing to see all your new sketches, Muriel
darling," she exclaimed. "Mayn't I come first thing to-
morrow morning and look at them? I'm sure you've
done lovely things down in that forest where you've
been such ages. Only trees are so horribly difficult,
aren't they? At least, no, I forgot, not to you, because
you find nothing difficult, but they are to me. Did I tell
you that we went down a sketching party to Richmond
Park the other day on purpose to draw them? Such
fun! Everybody brought their own luncheon, and
we ate it amongst the ferns and after luncheon
Fred Archer and I-you remember my telling you about
Fred Archer, who used to be at old Mr. Halliburton's ?-
we drew caricatures of one another, and every one said
mine was much the best. It's true anybody could draw
a caricature of Fred Archer, with those extraordinary
eyes of his, and his ears sticking out like the handles of
that jug up there; still, they all said it really was very
clever. I must bring you my sketch-book to-morrow,
and you shall see.”
And have you been drawing anything else besides
caricatures, Kitty?" Muriel inquired.
"Oh, indeed, yes, Muriel; I've been working terrific-
ally hard-quite terrifically. You just ask them all if I
haven't! Why, I've got a great, enormous still life thing
on hand now-pieces of armor, you know, and apples,
and a dead pigeon, and a red curtain hanging up behind;
and I'm so dreadfully sick of it all, only Mr. Malby wants
me to finish it and send it in for the competition. I know
it's of no use, for they won't give me anything-they
never will; but still he wants me to try. And oh, Muriel,
there's one horribly, horribly difficult bit of the armor,
just where the lights come in; and though I've tried to
do it I don't know how often, I can't get it right. I do
so wish you'd come and do it for me. Will you, now ?
There's a dear."
"Very well, Kitty, I'll do my best, but if it's so terri-
A
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
107
bly difficult as you say, probably I shall not be able to
manage it either."
"Oh, yes, Muriel, you will. I never knew anything
you couldn't do. In fact, if I didn't love you so much
I should hate you for doing everything so easily. It
does seem so hard, too, when you are so rich, and don't
care an atom about making money, whereas to poor me
it would be such a great, great matter. And then, I'm
always wanting things-clothes and all that, you know
-and you never seem as if you wanted anything at all!"
Muriel smiled, and then sighed a little. 'I don't think,
after all, you need really envy me so much, Kitty," she
said. "I suspect you are decidedly the better off of us
two in spite of all your wants."
"
(C
Oh, you mean, perhaps, as to relations? Certainly, I
wouldn't take that Mrs. Skynner of yours in exchange
for daddy, or any of the girls, not even for Arabella,
though she is so dreadfully tiresome and proper-more
proper even than Elizabeth Prettyman-always making
out that what one wants to do isn't correct; as if people
had time nowadays to stop and think about the correct-.
ness of everything. Still, not one of them, I will say, is
nearly as bad as Mrs. Skynner-nasty slimy thing!
"C
Now, Kitty, I won't have you talk like that. You
shall just walk straight out of the house if you begin to
abuse my relations. I won't have it."
((

Well, but, Muriel, she is a slimy thing. I'm sure
she's like a slug, or a great leech, the way she lives on
you. And now she has got this other dreadful woman-
this Madame Cairioli-she's worse than ever. It made
me feel quite ill the other day seeing them both driving
about in your carriage. That Madame Cairioli is the
most dreadful old woman I ever saw in my life. She's
for all the world like a vulture, with that long scraggy
neck and those horrible skinny hands!"
Muriel, it must be owned, felt no small curiosity her-
self about this mysterious Madame Cairioli, who, it
would now appear, had been staying for some time in
the house, and whose name she then heard for the first
time. She did not choose, however, to give Miss Kitty
the satisfaction of knowing how entirely she had been
kept in the dark, so accordingly hastened to change the
subject.
"Have you seen anything of my Uncle Hal lately,
108
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Kitty? I thought he would have been here to meet me.
I hope he is not ill."
،،
Oh, no, Muriel, I'm sure he is not ill, because the
other day-the day I went to Richmond-I met him as I
was going to the train, and he had a great enormous
bunch of keys in his hand, which he told me had be-
longed to Cardinal Wolsey or Thomas à Becket, I forget
which of them. He had just made a great bargain, he
said, at some curiosity shop. They ought to have been
cheap enough, I'm sure, for they looked to be nothing
but rust; but he was quite delighted with them, and I
think he said he was going to give them to you."
Muriel laughed. Uncle Hal is always giving me
presents," she said. "I am afraid I shall have to buy a
new house soon to put them all away in. But I wonder
he has not been here himself. He knew I was to be
home to-day."
(C
Oh, you may be sure those two women have fright-
ened him away. I'm sure Mrs. Skynner's tongue is
enough to frighten any one.
""
"Doesn't it strike you, Miss Kitty, that you're hardly
the person to complain of other people's tongues?"
Muriel inquired.
"You mean because I'm a chatterbox? But that's
quite a different thing. I don't so much mind chatter-
boxes. Oh, you may laugh, Muriel, but it is quite dif-
ferent. What's so dreadful about Mrs. Skynner is that
she's so deliberate; you seem to get wrapped up in words
as if you had got into the inside of a feather bed, and
didn't know the way out again. And now she's got this
other dreadful woman to help her I don't know what
will happen, or rather, I do. They'll frighten all your
friends away, and then when they've got you all to
themselves they'll set to work and devour you.
""
Muriel laughed again, at the same time making a sign
to the irrepressible Kitty to hold her tongue, Eliza being
at that moment in the act of entering the room with tea.
"Is Mrs. Skynner back yet?" she inquired.
""
"No, miss, not yet.
Well, then, Kitty, if you don't mind hurrying over
tea a little, I'll walk back with you as far as Uncle Hal's
lodging, and see for myself how he is."
(C
Yes, do, Muriel, for I ought, I know, to be getting
home, or there'll be the most tremendous hue and cry
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
109
after me. They think me capable there of any and every
enormity. I'm sure if Arabella finds I'm gone she'll
make sure I've eloped with some one! As if one would
be so stupid-missing the presents and everything. But
that's the way; once you get a bad name they'll believe
anything of you-anything." And Kitty's blue eyes
were turned up with an air of unspeakable inno-
cence.
It was raining still a little as the two girls walked down
the Embankment, but the sky looked lighter than it had
done all day. Muriel's spirits, too, felt all the better for
Miss Kitty's company. It was impossible to be long
down-hearted in the society of that vivacious small per-
sonage, whose brisk little tongue kept up an unceasing
chatter the whole time they were together. On arriving
at Hal Flack's lodging he was found to be out, so having
walked with Miss Kitty far enough to see her safe on her
homeward way, Muriel turned back to her own house.
On inquiry she found that her sister-in-law had in the
meantime returned, so turned to the downstairs sitting-
room, which ever since that lady's arrival had been set
aside sacredly for her uses, and knocked at the door.
Mrs. Skynner rose from an armchair as her sister-in-
law entered. As she has not yet been formally present-
ed to the reader it may be as well to state that she was a
large, fair, full-faced woman, with some pretensions still
to looks, a peculiarly self-satisfied smile, and a pair of
light blue eyes, which seemed to be perpetually roving
in search of something which they as perpetually failed
to find.
"How do you do, my dear Muriel? I am delighted
to have the pleasure of welcoming you home again,'
she exclaimed with a sort of measured effusiveness, ad-
vancing her cheek at the same time to her sister-in-law's
embrace.
66
"}
This is not exactly my first coming, though, Sophia,"
Muriel could not help saying.
46
Ah, no, by the way, so the servant told me.
I was
so sorry, really extremely sorry, you should have had to
come back to an empty house; but it was not my fault,
Muriel, as I am sure you will believe. In fact, I fully
intended being back long before you could have arrived,
but we were obliged to go off rather suddenly to the
Britannia Hall-Madame Cairioli that is, and I. Such a
110
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
superior woman, Muriel; you will be immensely pleased
to make her acquaintance. So philanthropic too; noth-
ing in the least small or petty in her philanthropy either,
but such large views. She belongs herself to an excellent
family; a relation, in fact, of Lord Dhuhallow; but her
husband was a foreigner-a Greek, I believe-and had
great diplomatic appointments abroad, and in all sorts
of out-of-the-way places; and wherever she went she in-
terested herself in the regeneration of the country-its
moral and religious regeneration I mean, of course-and
has kept up with them ever since. The meeting to-day
at the Britannia Hall was for the evangelization of
Bolivia-in South America, you know. M. and Madame
Cairioli were stationed there once, at the capital, I forget
its name; and it seems the inhabitants are extremely
anxious to have a Protestant bishop. Unfortunately,
there are difficulties in the way-want of money, and
various things-and it was to explain them that the
meeting was held. I really was so extremely sorry that
you were not able to be back in time for it; it was
intensely interesting, and so well attended. Lord Cara-
doc was there, and Sir Thomas Bridgewater, and all the
Ladies Catt. Oh, and that reminds me, coming out I
saw that friend of yours, Mr. Wygram, the artist, and
young Mr. Newmarsh, Lord Newmarsh's son, with him,
and I was just upon the point of introducing them to
Madame Cairioli, when your friend, Muriel, turned away
in the very oddest manner; I must say his behavior
was most singular, and I saw that it made an extremely
bad impression upon Madame Cairioli."
"You didn't tell me in any of your letters that Madame
Cairioli was staying here, Sophia," Muriel said, not feel-
ing called upon to take up the cudgels on Mr. Wygram's
behalf.
“Did I not, Muriel ? Well, that was really very
thoughtless on my part-very thoughtless indeed. I
often find that I do leave out the principal thing in my
letters. Madame Cairioli was saying the other day that
you never ought to judge people by their letters; clever
people write such stupid ones, and stupid people write
clever; it really is quite singular. However, there can
be no question about Madame Cairioli. Her abilities, I
should say, are quite first-rate, and so you will say when
you see her."
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER.
III
"Have you known her long?" Muriel asked. "I
don't think I ever remember hearing her name
before."
"No, not at all long; indeed, it was an accident, I may
say, her coming to stay here at all. Of course, if I had
sent her a regular invitation, I should have been careful
to inform you beforehand; for you cannot have failed to
observe, Muriel, how extremely particular I always am
about that sort of thing, and how careful I am always
to explain to every one that the house is yours, not mine.
Though I'm sure, to people who knew me formerly,
when we lived at Cedarville Lodge, and who knew how
handsomely everything was done there, and how little
sign of stint or economy, or anything of that sort there
was, it must seem very strange indeed that I should not
have a house of my own.
""
،،
Yes, but about Madame Cairioli?" Muriel said a
little impatiently.
(C
Yes, about Madame Cairioli. Our original meeting
took place at one of old Mrs. Somerton Crawley's after-
noon parties. She came, in fact, of her own accord, and
sat beside me, and told me a great deal about herself, and
about her relationship with the Dhuhallows, and all the
different places she had been to. And then she happened
to ask me if I knew of any good hotel she could get into,
because they seemed to be all so extremely full, on ac-
count of it being the Derby week; so, finding what a re-
markably agreeable person she was, I naturally offered
to take her round in the carriage, and we tried three or
four, and it was quite true, there was no room in any of
them, and she didn't seem to know what to do, as it hap-
pened, so unfortunately, that all her friends were just
then out of town. So I asked her if she would like to
come back with me for the night, and she immediately
accepted, and has stayed since. But she is only staying
on quite from day to day, and could go away at any
time. And, if I had the least idea, Muriel, that you would
have disliked my asking her, of course I should not have
dreamt of doing so; but I have been always so used to
exercising hospitality myself that it comes perfectly natur-
ally to me, and it never even occurred to me that you
could object."
“But I don't at all object, my dear Sophia. On the
contrary, I am only too glad that you should have had
•
112
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
somebody here to interest and amuse you. I was afraid
you'd be so very dull all by yourself.
66
Oh, as for amusement, Muriel, that may be all very
well for you, but, after what I've suffered and endured,
amusement is about the last thing I am likely to think
of. And as for Madame Cairioli, I can assure you that
she is a woman of far too high a standard to care about
mere amusement. She is devoted to the very highest
interests. She Madame Cairioli, this is my sister-
in-law, Miss Ellis, of whom you have heard me speak."
The object of the above glowing eulogy entered the
room with a quick, sliding step, and it was with a rapid
courtesy, accompanied by an equally rapid expression of
rapture, that she received Miss Ellis's greeting. It having
been just intimated that she was English, Muriel was
naturally not a little surprised at the decidedly foreign
accent with which she spoke, but concluded that she
must have acquired it in the course of her long residence
abroad. In spite of herself, she could not help calling
to mind Kitty King's unflattering comparison as she
looked at her sister-in-law's new friend. Undoubtedly
the philanthropic Madame Cairioli was extremely like a
vulture. She had all the quickness of movement, thin-
ness of neck, and cold hungry look of eye that one asso-
ciates with a bird of prey. What her age might be it was
difficult to guess, but Muriel decided that it could not well
be much under sixty. Madame Cairioli was attired in a
high black silk dress, rather skimpy as to the skirt, but
particularly smart and well adjusted as to the figure.
Her forehead, which was very yellow and wrinkled, was
surmounted by numerous clusters of small jet-black
curls, rising one above the other in a succession of tiers;
these in their turn being surmounted by an elaborate
little edifice of lace and artificial flowers, not quite a cap,
nor yet a wreath, but partaking to some extent of the
nature of both.
•
At dinner, to which the three ladies almost immedi-
ately adjourned, the conversation ran chiefly upon the
proceedings of the afternoon, and the high desirability
of providing a thoroughly satisfactory and orthodox
ritual for the inhabitants of Bolivia. Madame Cairioli's
manner was peculiar—at once authoritative and deferen-
tial. All the facts, and most of the opinions, were sup-
plied by her, but she seemed to bring them forward not
/
THE RETURN OF THE HOUSEHOLDER. 113
authoritatively, but tentatively-to lay them, as it were,
at her audience's feet, and entreat them to make what
use of them they pleased. Muriel's attention, however,
was a good deal distracted from the matter in hand by
the still greater peculiarity of her new guest's mode of
consuming her dinner. It was not to say that Madame
Cairioli ate a great deal, or seemed at all particularly
fastidious as to the quality of the food; but her manner
somehow was so extraordinarily hurried; that thin,
claw-like hand of hers seemed to dart as it were at the
vegetables as they were handed to her; her haggard,
wrinkled eyes to grow more wrinkled still and haggard
as a plate of mutton accidentally passed her by. Alto-
gether, it cannot be said that she was attracted by her
new guest, in spite of the undoubted versatility of her
experiences, and her evident desire to stand well with
herself. How long was she likely to remain ? she asked
herself as she went upstairs to bed that evening. It was
not a hospitable question, and Muriel, as a rule, held
high, not to say antiquated, notions on the subject of
hospitality. Still, even to the most genial of hostesses,
such questions as these will now and then unfortunately
arise. Mrs. Skynner had said that Madame Cairioli had
only come for a night and would be ready to depart at
any moment, but then our heroine could not help remem-
bering that Mrs. Skynner herself had in the first instance
come only for a night, and had hitherto shown no inten-
tion of ever departing again. Of course that was dif-
ferent; Sophia was a relation, and as such had a clear
claim to such hospitality as it was in her power to dis-
pense. Madame Cairioli, on the other hand, was not a
relation, nor did she feel at all disposed to admit such
pleas as she might put forward in that direction. It would
be extremely unpleasant, of course, to have to hint at
anything of the kind; it was unpleasant even to think
of, and would be doubly unpleasant to put into execu-
tion. At the same time, she privately determined that if
the necessity arose, she must not, and would not, allow
herself to shrink from it. Meantime, she devoutly trusted
that no such necessity ever would arise.
8
114
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
+
CHAPTER X.
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
Her thoughts on the same subject next morning were
not at all more comfortable than those of the night
before. The more she reflected upon Madam Cairioli's
peculiarities, the more she felt convinced that she was
not a person with whom it would be pleasant to be
thrown upon terms of familiarity. This did not in the
least arise from any idea of her not being what is called
a lady. On such points Muriel was almost culpably
indifferent; indeed, for so intelligent a young lady,
there were many points connected with the social order
of things to which she remained, and seemed likely to
remain, curiously unalive. It was something totally
different from this; a vague feeling of dislike and
even repulsion, which came over her whenever she
thought of her sister-in-law's new friend. On the other
hand, with this feeling there mingled another, one of
profound pity and commiseration. Lying in bed in the
morning the image of Madame Cairioli, with her hag-
gard, hungry eyes, and yellow careworn face rose before
her like a sort of nightmare. The room to which her
guest had been relegated was next door to her own, and
every now and then the sound of a low cough reached
her through the partition. Muriel had that quick
impressionability which comes of a readiness to seize
and be influenced by outward impressions, and there was
something in the image of this unhappy-faced woman,
with her only too transparent assumptions, and her pite-
ous attempts at fashion, which filled her with a vague
disquietude, as of something bodeful and uncanny
which had alighted at her gate.
Nor were these mingled impressions by any means
diminished by the events of the morning. Mrs. Skyn-
ner did not appear at breakfast, Muriel and her guest
were consequently tête-à-tête. Madame Cairioli's appear-
ance was much the same as on the previous evening,
only that the artificial flowers in her cap were now
replaced by bows of red velvet, the daylight showing
also still more unmistakably the lines of age, and of
other lines written in a character new to Muriel, and to
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
115
::
which she hesitated to give a name. Towards the end of
breakfast a card was brought in, and presented to
Madame Cairioli, who rose with some appearance of
agitation, saying-
"A friend of mine-a gentleman that is, with whom
I am extremely intimate-associated with numerous
good works. Might I be permitted? Or is the moment
inconvenient? If so
{"
>>
Inconvenient? Not in the least," Muriel said quietly.
"Should you like to see him here or in my sister-in-
law's sitting-room?"
Madame Cairioli intimated that she would prefer to
see him in the sitting-room, and into the sitting-room
the gentleman accordingly was shown. Muriel remained
behind to finish her own breakfast, and to attend to the
wants of Gamaliel, her Persian cat, who for the last ten
minutes had been putting forward peremptory claims
upon the remains of a fish; after which she went up
stairs.
She had just reached the studio door when Madame
Cairioli's voice was heard calling to her in deprecating
accents-
(6
Would Miss Ellis be so kind, so very kind, as to
come into the sitting-room for a minute-only a min-
ute.
""
Muriel turned, wondering rather. In the sitting-room
she found a stout pompous-looking individual in black,
with a large smooth-shaven face, a liberal allowance of
waistcoat, and a black satin stock, coming up very close
to his chin.
She was bowing distantly, but Madame Cairioli has-
tened to perform a more elaborate introduction.
"Permit me, my dear young lady, to have the honor
of presenting to you Mr. Montmorency Smith, a gentle-
man whose efforts in the cause of philanthropy are, I
may say, prodigious. This, Mr. Montmorency Smith, is
the young lady to whose generous hospitality is owing
my having the pleasure of receiving you under her
roof: one whose genius is only equaled by her good-
ness, and, if I might venture to say so, her great per-
sonal attractions !"
If anything could have annoyed Muriel more than
this address itself, it would have been the tone of ful-
some and obsequious compliment with which it was
116
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
delivered. It was impossible, however, for her, she felt,
to turn round and walk away immediately, so she sim-
ply again bowed slightly, and then stood still, waiting
for what was to follow.
There seemed to be some little embarrassment on the
part of the other two occupants of the room, the stout
gentleman in black glancing interrogatively in the
direction of Madame Čairioli, she in her turn looking
appealingly towards our heroine. Finally Madame
Cairioli cleared her throat.
((
"Mr. Montmorency Smith has called about a sad, a
very sad case," she began, a case the more distressing
because there is a sentiment, a feeling of family pride,
I may say a delicacy, which hinders its being approached
in the more ordinary manner. There was a time when
my own ears were never deaf to such appeals, but that
time, as I have been telling my friend, is past, and I can
only refer them to the kind consideration of others, and
it is for this that I would venture-
""
"The young lady must promise secrecy, though," the
gentleman in black interrupted, in a thick, deep voice,
which seemed proceeding directly from the region of his
waistcoat.
"Oh, but Miss Ellis will promise," Madame Cairioli
cried enthusiastically.
"I cannot say that I like doing so,
" Muriel said
coldly. "In fact, I should much prefer your not telling
me at all, if it is a matter that requires secrecy.
Madame Cairioli clasped her hands, glancing at the
same time despairingly in the direction of her com-
panion.
(
66
For the present, then, I am willing to waive the
point," he said majestically. Doubtless, the young
lady's own good feeling and sense of propriety will be a
sufficient guarantee. You have heard, I presume, of the
Cholmondeleys, of Cholmondeley," he continued, ad-
dressing himself directly to Muriel.
'No; I cannot say that I ever have," she answered.
"Indeed! ""}
The "indeed" being uttered in a tone
which implied that a person who had not heard of
the Cholmondeleys of Cholmondeley, was hardly en-
titled to a hearing upon any subject. 'Not even by
""
name ?
Not even by name, I think,” she answered.
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
117
"That, if you will forgive my saying so, is singular-
very singular."
"L
,,
Oh, but Miss Ellis has led such a secluded life, ex-
claimed Madame Cairioli. "She is devoted to Nature-
to the beaux arts-she is a great artiste," with a pro-
longed emphasis on the "r in the last word.
""
Is it about these people that you wish to speak to
me?" Muriel inquired with some impatience.
66
No; that is, not directly. The fact is, that the lady for
whom I would wish to appeal to your benevolence is
nearly related by marriage to the present head of the
Cholmondeleys of Cholmondeley, a fact which alone
is enough to denote her high social standing, the wealth
and distinction of that family being-if you will again
excuse my saying so-world-renowned. By a combina-
tion of circumstances, the relation of which would at
present delay me too long, this lady, her name is Jones
-Mrs. Jellaby Jones-has been reduced to a condition of
extreme penury. In fact, I may say that at the present
moment she is in-Want;" and Mr. Montmorency Smith
paused to give effect to his words.
"Yes?" Muriel said inquiringly.
"Yes," Mr. Montmorency Smith said authoritatively,
'the circumstances are most pressing." And again he
paused.
'But has she appealed to her relations?" Muriel not
unnaturally demanded. "If they are as rich as you say,
surely they would be anxious to relieve her?"
"Doubtless they would, but this is precisely what she
refuses to do. The object of myself and of those inter-
ested in the circumstances is to make up a purse, with-
out her knowledge, you understand, entirely without
her knowledge, to be presented as a gift-no names
being assigned. This we conceive to be the most deli-
cate way of approaching the matter." And Mr. Mont-
morency Smith expanded his waistcoat with the air of a
man warranted to speak upon a point of delicacy.
"I cannot say that I see it in that light," Muriel said
gravely. "If I was in want myself, I should much
prefer being relieved by my own relations than by
strangers, and so, I think, would most people."
Mr. Montmorency Smith smiled disdainfully.
"Oh, but surely, surely not," exclaimed Madame
Çairioli. Indeed, my dear young lady, you cannot
((
118
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
judge, you cannot, indeed; how should you? Besides,
a trifle," she added with sudden insistance, a leetle,
leetle trifle! You would never miss it."
Thus adjured, Muriel put her hand into her pocket.
I have not got my purse here, but I will send you
down something by my maid, " she said. "It can, I
fear, be only a trifle, as I have had a good many calls
lately. You will excuse me, please, now, as I have
some work to do upstairs; and so saying she left the
""
room.
As she retraced her steps, Muriel could not help feel-
ing that the scene in which she had just borne a part,
had been an unexpectedly disagreeable_one. To turn a
deaf ear in a case, which, after all, might be one of real
need, was in any case painful, yet on the other hand,
to give at all under the circumstances, was, she could
not help feeling, an act of extreme folly and weakness.
What did she know of these people? These Cholmon-
deleys of Cholmondeley? This fat Mr. Montmorency
Smith? What did she even know of Madame Cairioli
herself, except that her sister-in law had made her
acquaintance at the house of Mrs. Somerton Crawley,
an old lady whose good nature had long made her
the prey of that not inconsiderable portion of the com-
munity which thrives upon the commiseration of others?
Muriel, of course, had not herself had for more than
twelve months the disposal of her own fortunes without
having to run the gauntlet of a good deal of indiscrim-
inate alms-begging; still, this she could not help feel-
ing to be an aggravated case of the kind. Did Mr.
Montmorency Smith go round to every house in the
neighborhood, she wondered? or why was she specially
honored? And was there, or was there not, any Mrs.
Jellaby Jones at all? And if not, what was she to
think of her sister-in-law's friend, Madame Cairioli?
She was glad (her donation dispatched in an envelope.
by Eliza) to be able to turn from these disquieting con-
siderations to the serener atmosphere of her studio; those
very difficulties, which yesterday appeared so formidable,
now, on the contrary, presenting themselves rather as
incentives than otherwise to progress. She was not des-
tined, however, to make any very rapid advance that
morning. Hardly had she seated herself and collected
her materials, before a knock came at the door, and Mrs,
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
119
Hopper, the cook, entered, bearing a small bundle of
books, at sight of which Muriel inwardly shuddered.
These are the house books, Miss Ellis, as you said I
was to bring you this morning," she said apologetically.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hopper, will you kindly put them
upon that table.'
"And
The books deposited, Mrs. Hopper still lingered.
I'm sure I hope, miss, as you won't think it was I was to
blame," she said, smoothing down her apron, and glanc-
ing apprehensively in their direction. But Mrs. Skyn-
ner, she really was so very particular, and wouldn't hear
of nothing but the best of everything, and as to cold meat,
or the likes of that, why, I couldn't so much as breathe it
to her, I couldn't indeed-not even on Sundays.
""
"Thank you, Mrs. Hopper; I am sure you have done
your best," Muriel said kindly, if a trifle impatiently.
"Leave the books there, please, and I will come and talk
to you about them presently.
>>
Mrs. Hopper gone, she once more turned back to her
easel. It was useless, however, she found, attempting
to do anything with those odious little documents staring
her in the face; better look them over at once, and make
an end of them. Drawing her chair over, therefore, to
the table, she sat down doggedly to her task. It proved
to be a longer as well as an even less pleasant one than
she had anticipated; indeed, a very short perusal con-
vinced her that for that morning, at all events, her fate
was sealed, and that palettes and paint-brushes would
have to rest unused where they were.
Muriel's housewifely instincts were by nature, it must
be owned, but very slightly developed; indeed, she would
any day of the week have infinitely preferred going with-
out her dinner to having to go through the preliminary
ordeal of ordering it. In this, however, as in other re-
spects, she owed much to Mrs. Prettyman's good offices.
Of course, as long as she remained under her friend's
roof, her personal experience in the matter had been nil,
but from the moment that the positions were reversed,
and that she herself became the householder, Mrs. Pret-
tyman had rigidly insisted upon her taking the manage-
ment into her own hands, so far, at least, as the giving
of orders was concerned. The actual practical trouble,
it is needless to say, had still been Mrs. Prettyman's, but
at least the nominal authority had rested with the young
P
120
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.

mistress of the house. One advantage of this was that
when the second change came, and Mrs. Prettyman left,
Muriel was to some extent equal to the task of regulating
her own expenditure, Mrs. Skynner having fortunately
neither genius nor inclination in that direction. On leav-
ing home for the New Forest, she had deposited a sum
with the worthy Mrs. Hopper, sufficient, so she flattered
herself, to tide over the interval. That, as a matter of
fact, it had not done so, she had now to learn, expenses,
trifling in themselves, having amounted in the aggregate
to a sum not very far short of double that laid out for
the purpose.
One result of this discovery was that the
attention of our heedless young lady was thus perforce
turned to the state of her own exchequer, with results not
a little startling. Fifteen hundred a year is, undoubtedly,
a very comfortable little income; still, the resources of
fifteen hundred a year are not, as most people are aware,
inexhaustible. In short, a review of the whole financial
position soon convinced Muriel that unless she was pre-
pared to exceed, and pretty considerably exceed her in-
come, it would be necessary forthwith to retrench-a
word which she strongly suspected of having an ex-
tremely ill-omened sound in Mrs. Skynner's ears. Before
taking any definite step, however, she determined to go
and talk the whole matter over with Mrs. Prettyman-
always her refuge in times of need. Putting the books
away, therefore, into a drawer, she put on her hat and
cloak and walked briskly off to call upon her friends.
Mrs. Prettyman's house was semi-detached, with a tiny
graveled yard in front of it, the gravel ending in a nar-
row border of flowers, such easily satisfied flowers as are
good enough to bloom in the dull air of our most un-
flowery metropolis. It was a pretty, modest-looking little
house, with a couple of small neatly finished bow win-
dows, ornamented with two rows of flower-pots, beyond
which Mrs. Prettyman's white-capped head, and the top
of Elizabeth's easel were generally to be seen.
One
thing, however, there was about it which certainly
could not be called modest, and that was its name-
Casa Manfredonia-which sprawled itself in an auda-
cious and, unmeaning fashion across both sides of the
small green-painted doorpost. For this piece of extrava-
gance the present occupants, however, were plainly not
responsible; indeed, Italian names-the offspring of
-
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
121
some builder with a turn for the sonorous-predomi-
nated largely in the vicinity; the house next door to
Mrs. Prettyman, which was occupied by Dr. King,
being not unsuggestively styled Qui-si-sana, and beyond
that again there was a Sorrento Lodge, and a San Sev-
erino Villa a little further down. Mrs. Prettyman's
house, however, was the smallest, as well as admittedly
the prettiest of the whole row, with a certain air of
frugal trimness, and proprieté, peculiarly characteristic
of the inmates. To-day, however, this aspect was less
conspicuous than usual; nor was it, as our heroine soon
found, by any means a propitious moment for securing
that undivided attention which her own affairs needed.
The threatened invasion of Indian grandchildren had
taken place that morning, and the effect, for the moment
at all events, was chaos. Looking round her, Muriel
could not help being amused by the change which those
three or four hours had already sufficed to make. In-
dian children are not, as a rule, exuberant, and these
appeared to be peculiarly limp and colorless specimens
of their kind; still the mere fact of there being children
in the house at all, seemed forthwith to revolutionize the
ménage. A dusky-faced ayah was shaking her bangles
upon a rug in the little outer hall; cups of milk stood
about on all the drawing-room tables; toys, and broken
pieces of rusk and biscuit were scattered over the hith-
erto spotless carpets; the whole house had a disorgan-
ized, nursery-ridden aspect which seemed wholly to
change its character. As Muriel had foreseen, the chief
sufferer from the invasion was evidently poor Elizabeth,
whose face already wore an expression of resolutely
suppressed disturbance. Mrs. Prettyman, on the con-
trary, was radiant; whole vistas of new and hitherto
unforeseen activities rising vividly before her in the
future. Seizing an opportunity of whispering to the
former that for the future she must look upon the
Cheyne Walk studio as her own, Muriel hastened away,
feeling that whatever ordeals might be in store for the
newly-amalgamated household were not at all likely to
be lessened by the presence even of the most sympa-
thizing of outsiders.
Her next visit was to her Uncle Hal, who occupied
rooms in a house midway between the Prettymans' and
her own.
On inquiry she was told that he was at home,
122
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
3
•
so hastened upstairs to see him. He was not in the
sitting-room, however, when she entered, and she had
time to look around her before he appeared.
Hal Flack's own artistic aspirations had long since
died a natural death; but on another, and in many
people's opinion a scarcely less important branch of art,
he still retained a hold. He was an assiduous collector,
an avocation for which a well-filled purse is generally
held an indispensable requisite. In this case, however,
the hindrance did not appear to have acted disadvan-
tageously. Hal attended every sale, and if he seldom
bought anything, he, at all events, always believed him-
self to be on the point of buying, or only deterred by
some want of absolute perfection in the article in ques-
tion-by anything and everything in fact, except a want
of the necessary ready money. He did not by any
means confine himself, however, to what are commonly
regarded as works of art, his tastes in this respect being
larger and more catholic, and anything which struck
him as odd, novel, or curious was admitted without
hesitation amongst the miscellaneous lumber which
covered his walls and floor. Queer looking pebbles, to
which the caprice of the waves had imparted an un-
usual, or what appeared to Hal an unusual, appearance;
pieces of wood, dropped by vessels on their way up or
down the Thames; bits of metal, melted and twisted at
the foundry; bottles containing snakes; fragments of
tapa or cocoanut; lumps of vitrified glass; old keys;
Turkish slippers; broken toys-these and thousands of
other things, which it would take a week to describe, all
found a place on his shelves, and were all duly ticketed
and catalogued. In early days he had been an assiduous
collector of birds' eggs, peacocks' feathers, dried grasses,
and such like spoil of the fields, not in the least from
any turn for natural history, but simply for the sake of
the things themselves. In short, he was a born col-
lector, as other men are born actors or born orators.
He had no ulterior object; he never for an instant
dreamt of making money by his various possessions; he
simply hoarded his trash as a miser hoards his gold, in
obedience to some vague, mysterious impulse of acquisi-
tiveness. Of late he had taken to collecting, not for
himself, but for his niece, somewhat to the dismay of
the latter, whose studio and passages threatened to
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
123
*
2
become the receptacles of a perfect avalanche of such
miscellaneous and heterogeneous objects of interest.
While she was still looking round the walls, and in-
wardly wondering which of their various adornments
would next be tendered for her own acceptance, the
bedroom door opened, and her uncle entered.
Poor Hal Flack had never been handsome, and time
had certainly not improved him in this respect. He was
a thin, wizened-looking little man, with pale, watery-
blue eyes, and hair once fair, now fast becoming white,
without, however, entirely losing its original flaxen tints.
His clothes, too, had a bleached, battered, dust-laden air,
as if he and they had been alike exposed to some parch-
ing, desiccating influence, which had left them the mere
ghosts and mummies of what they once were.
Muriel, with a sudden impulse of pity and affection, got
up and went to meet him. It seemed to her as if he had
grown perceptibly whiter and older in the month that
had passed since they met.
66
Why, Uncle Hal, you're not half such a dandy as
you used to be," she said caressingly. "I see I shall
have to come and overhaul your wardrobe if you let
yourself get out of repair. Look here !" brushing away
a big clot of dust which had adhered to his sleeve.
66
The little man smiled-a smile bringing all his wrinkles
into sudden play.
Ah, my dear, you see I've not
been having visitors; I've not had any beautiful young
ladies coming to see me since you left," he said admir-
ingly. Besides, I've been busy, Muriel-very busy.
I've secured treasures-such treasures! waving his
arms exultingly towards the shelves.
(6
(C
Well, but Uncle Hal, you must really make your-
self nice and spruce this afternoon," his niece persisted,
"for I'm coming in the carriage to pick you up and take
you off for a drive. We'll go to the park and see all the
fine people, and you shall tell me their names; and after
that, if you like, we'll go to some of the picture galleries,
and then you must come back and dine with me.
>>
He laughed, nodding his head and rubbing his hands
together with childish delight. "We will, Muriel; we
will. But you'll take a look at the things now, won't
you?" he added, with sudden piteousness, seeing that his
niece was preparing to depart.
Not to-day, Uncle Hal," she said soothingly. "An-
124
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
other time I will come early on purpose, but to-day 1
really must hurry back; and don't forget three o'clock;
and mind that I shall expect you to make yourself very
smart !"
As she was coming out of the house, Muriel heard her
name called, and, turning round, saw a gentleman
making his way across the street towards her-a tall,
strikingly handsome man-a curious contrast in all re-
spects to the little being she had just left.
"Miss Ellis, this is indeed a pleasure!" he exclaimed,
as he lifted his hat. "When did you return to town?"
Only last night. I hope you're quite well, Mr.
Wygram?"
(6
For an artist Mr. Wygram had certainly effectually
succeeded in divesting himself of anything distinctively
artistic in his outward man, his appearance suggesting
rather that of some important official or local dignitary;
indeed, in country parts it was said that he was apt to be
instinctively addressed by appreciative rustics as my
lord." His age was forty, or perhaps a trifle more, but
not a tinge of gray had as yet assailed the magnifi-
cence of his auburn beard-a beard asserted by connois-
seurs to be without its equal in London.
(6
“May I walk with you as far as your house ?” he said
deferentially. "There is a subject, indeed, I may say,
there are two subjects, on which I particularly want to
speak to you. In fact, I had thought of writing this
afternoon had I not been so fortunate as to meet you."
Muriel assented, outwardly readily, inwardly, how-
ever, not without some little trepidation. For some
time Mr. Wygram confined himself, however, to gen-
eralities; spoke of the Academy, and bemoaned the fall-
ing off which in certain quarters had of late befallen its
walls; praised her own modest contribution, pointing
out, at the same time, one or two details to which she
would do well in future to direct her attention. It was
not, indeed, until they were nearing Muriel's house that
he suddenly interrupted himself in the midst of his dis-
quisitions to say—
"You will not, I am sure, think me intrusive, Miss
Ellis, if I venture to ask you a question. Is there not a
person calling herself Madame Cairioli at present staying
in your house ?
""
Madame Cairioli? Oh, yes," she answered readily.
A DOMESTIC CRISIS.
125
↓
"She is there on my sister-in-law's invitation, though,
not on mine," she added; "in fact, I never saw her until
yesterday. Why? Do you know anything of her?"
she inquired, suddenly struck by his tone.
"L
Something; quite enough, at all events, to know that
she is not a fit occupant of your house."
"I
Muriel colored. Why not?" she asked hastily; the
words being no sooner out of her mouth before it struck
her that it was hardly perhaps a question to put in that
sort of offhand fashion.
Mr. Wygram, however, did not appear to have any
difficulty in replying.
"Simply because she is a professional beggar; one of
the best known in London," he said succinctly..
"A professional beggar! You don't mean to say that
she begs in the streets?" she asked.
"I have no doubt that she would do so, but I have no
doubt also that she prefers begging in houses. Has she
not begged from you?
""
{
Muriel hesitated. Well, there was a person-a Mr.
Montmorency Smith, a friend of hers, who called this
morning, who-
>>
66
A fat, pompous creature in black?
"Ye-s."
})
(C
Precisely.
That man has at least a dozen aliases;
the one you mention is probably the last on the list.
He has been in jail, too, more than once on a charge
of appropriating funds supplied to him for charitable
purposes. He and this woman hunt in couples.
>>
Muriel looked shocked. "How very terrible!" she
said. "Thank you, of course, very much for telling
I wonder what I ought to do?
""
me.
He turned to her with a look of surprise. "Why,
what doubt can there be ? Of course she must leave
your house at once," he said.
((
Well, but, you see, as I told you, she is my sister-in-
law's guest, not mine."
"But your sister-in-law would surely not wish to keep
her once she was made acquainted with her history?"
"Oh no, of course not. Only that it is such an ex-
tremely painful thing to have to tell-in one's own house
especially."
"
Then let me do it for you," he said eagerly. "I
would take any step rather than that you should be ex-
126
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
•
posed to annoyance. Shall I call this afternoon and ex-
plain the whole matter to your sister-in-law? Do allow
""
me.
"Thank you; that would be very kind," she answered,
still, however, with a little hesitation.
66
Not at all; I should be delighted. Surely you know,
Miss Ellis, that I would do more than that for you?" he
added emphatically. Or, stay, what do you think of
my sending my cousin Newmarsh? Perhaps that would
be even better under the circumstances. He knows more
about it than I do; in fact, it was he that first put me
upon the scent. It seems that this woman was once in
his mother's service, and has been an untold source of
annoyance to them ever since."
"Thank you; I believe that would, perhaps, be the
best plan," Muriel answered in a tone of relief. 'And
yet it seems hard on the poor woman, too," she added in
another moment. "After all, begging is not a crime."
Mr. Wygram smiled-almost as a man smiles at the
amiability of a child. "You are too charitable, Miss
Ellis; you are, indeed," he said. "Not that one would
wish you otherwise," he added hastily. "Only that you
ought to have some one at hand to see that your good-
ness and amiability are not imposed upon. I am afraid
that after what has happened your sister-in-law cannot
be called a very efficient guardian.
""
"Thank you; but I do not see that I require any par-
ticular guardianship," Muriel answered in rather an of-
fended tone of voice. "I am much obliged to you all
the same for your suggestion," she added. "I believe
my sister-in-law will be at home all this afternoon if
your cousin is kind enough to call.”
She stopped and offered him her hand, and he had no re-
source but to leave her; nor was it until nearly five min-
utes later that she remembered that there were to have
been two special subjects of conversation, and that so far
only one had been touched upon. On the whole, how-
ever, she decided that she was just as well contented that
the other should remain unsaid.
:
l
THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE.
127
CHAPTER XI.
THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE.
·
It was with no little satisfaction that Muriel learned
on entering the house that Madame Cairioli was not ex-
pected back to luncheon, so, as she herself would be out
the whole of the afternoon, there would be little or no
danger of their meeting. When she returned about six
o'clock, having first deposited Hal Flack at his own lodg-
ings with injunctions shortly to follow, she found that
the bolt had sped. Mrs. Skynner came to meet her in a
high state of excitement and indignation.
(C
Conceive, Muriel, only conceive!" she said, when
she had drawn her into her own sitting-room, and shut
the door. 'That creature, that woman, that Madame
Cairioli, whom I took in, and was so kind to, believing
her to be a relation of the Dhuhallows, and married to a
man in the diplomatic service, it seems now that she
was nothing of the kind. Young Mr. Newmarsh, Lord
Newmarsh's son, has been here this afternoon-such a
charming young man, Muriel, and so considerate, so
anxious that I should not be deceived, that my kindness,
as he says, should not be imposed on-he has told me all
about her, and it seems that she was nothing better than
a bonne, a French bonne, or nursery governess, or some-
thing of that kind, and married to a courier-only
imagine, a common courier !—and since he died she has
had nothing to live upon, and has taken to going about
and imposing upon people-I am not the first, Mr. New-
marsh says, by many, she has taken in-and always mix-
ing herself up with charitable things, and pretending to
collect money for good ends, when all the time it was
really for herself. A professional beggar, that's what he
called her. A professional beggar! Can you conceive
anything more dreadful?
(6
Well, she might have been a professional thief; that
would have been worse still, would it not?" Muriel said
a little maliciously.
'Muriel! I am surprised at you, I am indeed! Worse?
I don't see that anything can be worse.
How can you
excuse such conduct? And as for that Mrs. Somerton
Crawley, I really think there ought to be an action taken
""
128
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
against her. Imagine her having people like that in her
house and imposing them upon others!"
66
Perhaps she may have been imposed upon herself,"
suggested Muriel.
66
Imposed upon? I dare say she was; any one I'm
sure could impose upon such a foolish, vain old creature
as that! You may be certain the woman got round her
by flattering all her foibles. And when I think how
kind I've been-having her staying here nearly a whole
week, and driving her about in the carriage, and intro-
ducing her to people! Now I shall have to go round first
thing to-morrow and tell them all about it. It really is
too trying. She shall go at once, however, this very
minute, that I am resolved; in fact, I'm only waiting till
she comes in to tell her so. Fortunately, there's no lug-
gage, so that it won't even be necessary to send for a
cab. And I, too, that never suspected anything, because
she assured me that her luggage was all waiting for her
at the Paddington station! But it's exactly what poor
dear Theodore always said, I'm far too charitable and
unsuspecting; I am, indeed!”
"Don't you think it is rather late for her to go to-night,
Sophia?" Muriel said doubtfully. "I don't see that
there would be any harm in letting her remain until the
morning.
""
، ،
'No harm! Muriel, you shock me; you perfectly
shock and horrify me! What your poor brother would
say if he were alive to hear you I cannot think-he, too,
that had such an insuperable objection to beggars Are
you aware that at Cedarville Lodge no beggar was ever
allowed so much as to come near the door. He used to
keep that big dog, Nelson-I dare say you may remember
Nelson, for it always ran after the carriage, and you may
have seen it when we went to call at that horrid place,
I forget its ridiculous name, that you used to live in near
the Fulham Road-Theodore kept that dog for nothing but
to frighten beggars away, and if he could have heard
you, Muriel, excusing a woman whom you know to be a
professional beggar-a common professional beggar!-I
don't know what he would have said; I really don't."
“But I'm not excusing her, Sophia," Muriel said some-
what impatiently. "I am only saying that it is rather
late to turn her out of the house. Probably she would
have a difficulty in finding lodgings at this hour."
THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE.
129
"And as if it was any business of ours, Muriel, where
she sleeps, or what she does with herself! One would
think you did it for nothing but to annoy me! Have you
no feeling or consideration for the way in which I have
been treated? And as to allowing her to remain another
night, I must beg and insist that you will do nothing of
the kind. I couldn't sleep a wink if I knew she was in
the house, now that I know what she is. Who knows
but what
"}
At that moment there came a sudden ring at the hall-
door bell, and Mrs. Skynner flew to her own door, so as to
be in readiness to pounce upon the culprit the instant she
appeared. Muriel hesitated a moment, and then decided
that on the whole it would be just as well for her to be
out of the way. To defend Madame Cairioli under the
circumstances was of course impossible, while on the
other hand she had no desire at all to assist Mrs. Skyn-
ner in pouring out vials of wrath upon that devoted
woman's head.
The encounter, whatever occurred at it, did not last
long. Hardly had Muriel reached her studio when a
loud confused medley of tongues arose in the hall. Two
minutes after steps were heard flying nimbly past; yet
another, and an upstairs door shut with a resounding
bang.
She waited a little longer, and then went up to her
own room to get ready for dinner. Upon reaching the
landing an odd choking, gurgling sound was heard pro-
ceeding from the room in which Madame Cairioli slept.
Deciding that it was wisest to take no notice she went on
to her own room, but after a while, finding that the sound
continued, a feeling of humanity prompted her to go and
knock at the door. Possibly Madame Cairioli might
be ill.
Receiving no answer to her summons, and the sound
continuing, she turned the handle of the door and walked
in. Madame Cairioli was sitting bolt upright upon a
chair in the middle of the room, her feet stuck out before
her, her hands clenched, her face distorted with passion.
On the floor beside her lay her bag, her bonnet, her
parasol, her beautiful bunches of jet-black hair; if she
looked like a vulture before she certainly looked a good
deal more like one now; her yellow wrinkled neck was
uncovered; her head bare of all covering, its thin hair
9
130
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
wildly disordered, as if it had just been violently clutched
at. At Muriel's entrance she started fiercely to her feet.
Ah, so you have come to turn me out! It is well,
it is well, I go!" she cried furiously.
"
..
But, indeed, I have not come for anything of the
kind," Muriel said earnestly. "I came because I thought
you were ill. Are you ill? If so, you need not go
to-night."
Madame Cairioli stood and stared at her. "I need
not go?" she repeated.
"You have not come then to
turn me out? You are not then like that other-that
cat, that fool, that mean, false, hideous Madame Skyn-
She ordered me straight into the road-then, that
minute. She spoke to me like a dog; before that
woman, too, that insolent Eliza. She called me liar,
beggar, thief. Mon Dieu, I am not a thief! How dared
she call me thief?"
ner.
She ought not certainly to have called you that,"
Muriel said gravely; "but you must remember that she
is naturally extremely angry. You have deceived her.
You came here under false pretenses. You cannot
""
expect her not to be angry.
((
False, false ! Ah, yes, it is so easy to talk ; SO
easy, mon Dieu, for you who want nothing. How is it
for me who want everything? How is it to wander
about; to ask and not to get; to go from door to door ;
to be hungry; to be ill; to be dying, and have no
home, no food? Mon Dieu, at my age is it right; is it
fair? This very night-this very night probably I shall
not eat !" and Madame Cairioli flung herself back into
the chair.
19
"No, no, do not think that; on the contrary, I am
going to send up some dinner to you here at once,
Muriel cried, a sudden pity for the woman springing up
within her. "You need not leave to-night, either,
indeed you need not if you have nowhere else to go. I
have told my sister-in-law so already. To-morrow you
must go, but not to-night," and she turned to leave the
room.
66
Madame Cairioli sprang suddenly after her, and seized
her hand. Ah, you are good, you are good; you are
an angel!" she cried. "You feel pity; you are not
like that other--that horrible one-that Skynner. But
no, I will not stay. I will not sleep under the same roof
THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE.
131
with that woman. I might murder her!" she added
suddenly dropping her voice into a melodramatic whis-
per.
Muriel drew her hand away. "Do not talk like that,"
she said coldly. Sit down, and I will send some din-
ner to you," and so saying she left the room.
CC
Going down stairs to the studio, she found that Hal
Flack had meantime arrived, and was sitting nursing a
huge and appallingly ugly Chinese image, himself by no
means unlike another image, with his small wizened face,
and pale dust-colored hair. Begging him to wait until
she returned, Muriel went down to the dining-room,
and rang the bell for Eliza.
While she was still giving orders to that reluctant
damsel about the dinner that was to be taken to Madame
Cairioli, Mrs. Skynner issued from her own room.
})
"Surely, Muriel, you are not allowing that creature to
remain in the house? she exclaimed wrathfully. "If
she does, I warn you that I shall go-I shall indeed.
What possesses you, I cannot imagine; unless it is for
the express purpose of annoying me.
"}
"I don't think she will stay, but I have told her that
she may if she has nowhere else to go, Sophia," Muriel
said firmly. "I am sending her up some dinner now.
Whatever else she is," she added, lowering her voice,
remember she is poor, and old, and ill. It would be
brutal to turn her out hungry into the street at this
hour."
(C
(C
Brutal, Muriel! Really, what language you use!
Am I a person likely to be brutal, do you think? And as
for sending her up any dinner, I must beg that you will
do nothing of the kind. I beg and insist that you will
let her leave at once. >>
I cannot, Sophia; I really cannot. I wonder you
do not see it yourself," Muriel said, in a tone of distress
while Eliza, whose brow had hitherto remained clouded,
suddenly brightened up, and sped away to the kitchen
to execute her young mistress's behests.
Mrs. Skynner flung herself indignantly into a chair.
Really, Muriel, I don't see how I am to go on living
with you if you set yourself to oppose me in every
way," she cried wrathfully. "As if I was not a thou-
sand times more likely to know what was fit and proper
to do than a girl like you, even if your brother was
((
132
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
*
!
Lord Dumbelton. I come and stay with you, and put
myself to every kind of inconvenience, on purpose to do
my duty by you, and take you out into society, and hin-
der you from being lonely, and this is the way you repay
me-setting yourself against me in every way, and
teaching your servants to disobey my orders. I must
say it is extremely wicked and ungrateful!" and Mrs.
Skynner dissolved into tears.
Muriel turned rather pale. "If you are not happy
here, I hope and trust that you will not remain upon
my account, Sophia, " she said gravely. "I should be
exceedingly grieved to think of your doing so. As for
my being lonely, Uncle Hal would always be ready to
come and keep me company. Meanwhile, I have left
him alone upstairs in the studio, so I must go back."
Left to herself, Mrs. Skynner felt not a little scared at
the effect of her own words. The last thing in the
world she desired was to leave Chelsea, or give up
living with Muriel. Where else could she secure either
a position equally desirable, or those physical comforts
even more immediately dear to her heart? On the
other hand, she had so often assured herself and others,
that she remained entirely upon her sister-in-law's
account, that her presence there was an incalculable
blessing and benefit to Muriel, that to come down suddenly
from that pedestal, to descend from the high ground
of benefiting, to the low ground of one who receives
benefits, was a derogation to which it was impossible she
felt to submit. One thing, however, she did determine,
and that was that no matter how annoyed she might be
by Muriel's extraordinary and most unaccountable ways
of behaving, nothing should again tempt her to hold out a
threat of departure-one which might, she now perceived,
be attended with extremely inconvenient consequen-
ces to herself. One result of this determination was
that when Muriel and her uncle came down to dinner
half an hour later, Mrs. Skynner had completely recover-
ed her serenity, extending her graciousness even to poor
Hal, whose presence she generally treated with the most
sovereign contempt. She was not destined, however, to
get through that meal without another and an even
more violent assault upon her equanimity. Just as the
dessert was placed upon the table, the door was suddenly
thrown open, and Madame Cairioli sailed in, her parasol
THE FLIGHT OF THE VULTURE.
133
in her hand, the bag containing her worldly goods slung
over her arm; her hair was once more arranged in all
its pristine elegance; her mantle disposed with true
Parisian grace over her shoulder; the jet drops and
artificial flowers in her bonnet twinkled resplendent in
the candle-light. Sweeping a magnificent courtesy to
the room she addressed herself to Muriel.
"Believe me, my dear young lady, I most deeply
regret being unable to avail myself of your so kindly
expressed invitation," she said with elaborate gracious-
ness. "To do so, I assure you, would have afforded me
the very highest satisfaction. Unhappily it is impossible.
Charming and delightful as you are yourself, you have
the misfortune to possess a relative so grossière, so mal-
élevée, so inexpressibly shocking to every delicate taste
and perception, that even your entreaties could not
induce me further to overlook it. You will, therefore,
kindly permit me to wish you adieu.”
Mrs. Skynner started to her feet. "Leave the house
at once, you impertinent woman," she exclaimed. "How
dare you stand there before me !—a detected impostor, a
beggar, a low creature out of the streets! Leave the
house at once, I say. Muriel, send her away.'
Madame Cairioli only continued to smile with redoub-
led graciousness. "Ah, comme je vous plains!" she
cried, still addressing herself to Muriel, "Chère demoi-
selle, believe me you have my truest sympathy. Let me,
then, before I go, offer you but one leetle piece of advice,
only one-send her away. Faites la filer!" And, kiss-
ing the tips of her fingers with airy grace, she again
vanished from the room; the next instant the hall door
shut, and she was gone.
((
Muriel, this is your doing!" Mrs. Skynner exclaim-
ed, crimson with passion.
You invited that creature to
remain here on purpose that she might have the satisfac-
tion of insulting and triumphing over me.
You plotted
together to humiliate me, you know you did; you have
always disliked and been jealous of me, and this-this is
how you have revenged yourself!" And gathering her
draperies around her, Mrs. Skynner, too, swept from the
room, and Muriel and her uncle were left to finish their
gooseberries and cracknels with such relish as the events
of the evening might have spared them.
>>
134
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
5.
i
܂
CHAPTER XII.
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
Miss Ellis had a cousin on her father's side, a certain
Lady Rushton, whose name has been once before men-
tioned in this history. This Lady Rushton was a widow
-rich, good-natured, middle-aged-very fond of society,
particularly fond of the society of what she called artists,
by which she meant anybody who could be induced to
play, or sing, or act, or otherwise amuse her. It must be
owned that in that society she was not invariably popu-
lar, being accused, whether truly or not, of adopting
people with immense zest and enthusiasm, clasping them,
as it were, to her very heart and home, and then, when
the novelty had a little subsided, or the first gloss of their
accomplishments a trifle waned, calmly and dispassion-
ately dropping them again. Whatever amount of truth
there was in this allegation, it is at all events certain that
she had never dropped Muriel; indeed, of all that Ellis
kith and kin which for a time had gyrated so busily about
the little house in Thistle Street, Lady Rushton may be
said to have been the only one who had never failed to
keep up friendly relations with our heroine.
Since Muriel had gone to live in Chelsea she had more
than once been invited to stay with her cousin, but hither-
to had invariably declined. Now and then, however, she
lunched, or drove out, or took tea with Lady Rushton,
always in response to an urgent appeal to that effect.
Such an appeal had reached her a few days after the
events recorded in the last chapter, and in compliance
with it she started one afternoon to walk from her own
house to that other and much more sumptuous abode in
Queen's Gate, wherein Lady Rushton had established
herself for the season.

Matters had not been progressing very comfortably in
the interval. Mrs. Skynner's anger at the part Muriel
had taken with regard to Madame Cairioli had by no
means diminished as the days went on; rather it seemed
to increase. A certain garnet brooch belonging to that
lady was found to have disappeared next morning, and
this, it need hardly be said, was at once set down to the
agency of that unfortunate delinquent. This Muriel did
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
135
;
not believe, alleging certainly with some plausibility—
that had Madame Cairioli been desirous of stealing, she
could easily have laid hands upon something of consider-
ably greater value than a garnet brooch. Mrs. Skynner
was indignant at this suggestion; indeed her indignation
at the doubt cast upon her suspicions appeared to be even
greater than her indignation at the theft itself. If it was
not Madame Cairioli, she declared, why then it must be
one of the servants of the house; in any case she must
and would have her property. The brooch was a peculiar
one, of particular value to herself-in short, irreplaceable.
A policeman accordingly was sent for; everything and
everybody in the house examined, and the whole estab-
lishment turned completely upside down from garret to
basement.
Muriel was particularly worried and disturbed about
this affair. She did not in the least believe that Madame
Cairioli had had anything to say to the disappearance of
the brooch, and thought it therefore extremely hard that
the police should have been set upon her track. As for
the servants, she had known them all a long time, and
it was perfectly ridiculous, she considered, to suppose
that they could have anything at all to say to it. Added
to this, the whole atmosphere of distrust and suspicion
was particularly abhorrent to her, so abhorrent that it
was with a perfect feeling of thankfulness that she es-
caped that afternoon, even for a few hours, into the fresh
air, away from the incessant recriminations, the endless
provings and disprovings, assertions and counter-asser-
tions which for the last few days had almost incessantly
assailed her ears.
Strictly speaking it was not, however, particularly fresh
out of doors that afternoon. It was a dull, sunless day,
the sort of day which appears peculiarly dull and sunless
in London, when nothing we see seems to present any
definite outline, and no one we meet to have any dis-
tinguishing trait by which it would ever be possible to
recognize them again. Perhaps it was owing to this un-
attractive quality of the atmosphere, or possibly to the
still less attractive state of things which she had left be-
hind her, that Muriel found herself walking along in
what is commonly called a brown study; a state of ab-
straction from which she was only roused by finding
herself brought up short at a crossing-a phaeton, drawn
136
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
ܐ
!
by a tall horse and driven by a small gentleman in pale
lavender kid gloves, having come suddenly towards her
round a corner.
Glancing up, she saw that the impetuous driver was
no other than her late acquaintance, Mr. Roger Hyde.
He too perceived her, and sprang instantly down, fling-
ing the reins to a groom as he did so.
"How do you do, Miss Ellis? Welcome back to Lon-
don. I am afraid I nearly inaugurated our meeting by
running over you," he exclaimed breathlessly.
66
(6
No, no; not quite so bad as that," she answered smil-
ing. 'I was only startled for the moment. How funny,
though, that it should just happen to be you.
""
"It wouldn't have been a bit funny for me, I assure
you, if I had run over you!"
"No, nor for me either. I don't think, though, that
there was really any particular danger. In any case, it
was nobody's fault but my own.
It is very generous of you to say so," he answered.
Roger Hyde was looking radiant. The gardenia in his
button-hole appeared to have been freshly gathered that
very instant; his boots, his hat, his horse, his phaeton,
his groom--all might have served as perfect models of
their kind. He appeared unfeignedly delighted, more-
over, at meeting Miss Ellis.
"And how long have you been back?" he inquired.
Only since last Tuesday.
""
(( Did you see poor old Halliday again?” was the next
question.
66
Yes, I saw Mr. Halliday the very day before I left."
66 And how was he looking?"
She glanced at him. "Do you mean as to health ?”
she inquired.
'Health? bless him, no, he never had a day's illness
in his life. I mean as to spirits. Didn't he strike you
as deplorably out of sorts ?”
""
""
Muriel hesitated. "I did not think Mr. Halliday
appeared particularly cheerful, certainly," she replied
gravely.
"Of course not. You think me a heathen, I know,
Miss Ellis, but I wish to goodness he had never gone
into the Church!
""
She glanced at him again. "Do you suppose that he
wishes it himself?" she asked.
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
137
"I don't know what he wishes. Halliday's wishes
are inscrutable. Anybody can see, however, that it
doesn't suit him. Doesn't it strike you so ?"
"I am not sure, "she answered slowly. "You see, I
know him so little. But isn't he surely he is very-
very conscientious?"
Hyde laughed. "Conscientious! I should think he,
was. The most conscientious man alive! That's ex-
actly it; that's precisely why I wish he wasn't a
parson.
""
"Your motives must be very profound, then, " Muriel
said, smiling; "for superficially, you know, that seems
to me rather a good reason for his being one.
""
"Not a bit of it, Miss Ellis. Don't you see, if he had
been anything else there would have been a chance
some day or other of his being satisfied with himself-
with his own performances, I mean. As it is, he'll always
be dissatisfied. He'll always to the end of time think
that he might be doing better; might, in some way or
other, be making himself or some one else a little more
uncomfortable, that is.
'All the same that doesn't seem to me a sufficient
reason," she answered, shaking her head.
(C
Doesn't it? Well, it does to me.
However, I
mustn't keep you talking here in the middle of the
street, particularly as if we talked from now till mid-
night it wouldn't do the smallest iota of good. Are you
on your way home."
(C
No; I am going to pay a visit in South Kensing-
ton."
"Ah! yes, and your house is in Chelsea; so I remem-
ber you told me that day in the forest. May I come and
see you? Do let me. I was going to ask you once
before, but something interfered."
"Certainly. My sister-in-law and I will be delighted
to see you.'
}}
"Does that mean that I am bound to ask for your
sister-in-law?" Hyde inquired, with an air of tragi-
comical dismay. Why, how upon earth can I?
66
I
don't even know her name !"
'Her name is Mrs. Skynner. I don't know about
being bound. I shall be very glad to see you in the
studio, and I can introduce you to her afterwards."
"Do, and to your pictures too. What I have seen of
138
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
+
We
them has simply whetted my appetite for the rest.
must settle about Miss Prettyboy's miniatures, too.
How is Miss Prettyboy, by the way?'
،،
"Very well. Her name is Prettyman, as it happens."
Prettyman, of course, yes; I meant Prettyman.
Don't, for heaven's sake, go and tell her I called her
Prettyboy!" With this they parted, and Muriel pur-
sued her way to Queen's Gate.
""
Lady Rushton had said something about a recitation
which it was to be her privilege to listen to that after-
noon, but her note had hardly prepared Muriel to find
the door literally besieged with guests, and a long line
of carriages extending right across the middle of the
street. She would have turned back, but that she had
actually promised to present herself that afternoon;
as it was, it was a good ten minutes at least before she
made her way into the drawing-room, so dense was the
crowd at the doorway. When she did, the first thing
she beheld was a tall young lady in a long white gar-
ment, reciting something upon a platform in the middle
of the room. The recitation was in French, and ap-
peared to consist of selections from Corneille, delivered
with a good deal of tragic emphasis, and a tremendous
rolling of the r's. Muriel's attention, however, was not
a little diverted from the performance by the extraor-
dinary pallor, not to say cadaverousness, of the per-
former herself, who, with her trailing garments, hollow
eyes, and ghostly complexion, might fairly have passed
as the very genius and impersonification of tragedy.
During the interval and buzz of talk which succeeded
this effort, Lady Rushton bustled over to her.
"So delighted that you were able to come this after-
noon, dear; I really thought I was never going to see
you again. Isn't she a wonderful creature?" pointing
to the young lady in white who had just sunk in ap-
parent exhaustion upon a sofa.
"Who is she?" Muriel inquired.
'Mademoiselle Grigorovitch-a Russian.___She recites
in three languages, and speaks two more.
the female Mezzofanti. That fat man there is her
father."
They call her
، ،
"(
She looks very ill."
Yes, doesn't she? but I don't think she is really ;
at least it never seems to interfere with her recitations.
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
139
And how are you yourself, Muriel? As handsome as
ever, I see; only I expected you to bring back a redder
pair of cheeks than those. What is the use of going and
burying yourself alive in a forest in the middle of the
season, if you can't do better than that?"
،،
My cheeks never were very brilliant, were they?"
Muriel said, smiling.
"No, and I believe myself it's all that painting. You
work too hard, Muriel; you really do. No one, I'm
sure, can accuse me of not sympathizing with art and
all that sort of thing; but upon my word you
overdo it; you do, indeed. Of course for professionals
it's all very right and proper; how else are they to
make a living? But for you, with your fortune and
appearance and everything, I call it ridiculous; and if
you had had anyone to look after you, it would have
been put a stop to long ago."
Muriel only smiled. She was used to being lectured
upon the subject by Lady Rushton, and was just upon
the point of putting another question to that lady with
regard to the mysterious Mademoiselle Grigorovitch,
when there came a movement in the group about
the platform, and the mistress of the house jumped up
suddenly from her chair.
((
Oh, there's Mr. Fitzwilliam Griggs!" she ex-
claimed. "He has promised to recite his Scandinavian
war-song for me. So kind of him, for he suffers dread-
fully from nervousness. Last time, do you know, I had
to give him two whole glasses of brandy-and-water, before
I could bring him up to the point.
Mr. Fitzwilliam Griggs was a very short gentleman,
with a round, freckled face, and an extremely nervous
manner; the very last man in the world one would
have selected as likely to put himself forward for
the amusement of other people. The poem in ques-
tion appeared to require a prodigious amount of action.
Now Mr. Fitzwilliam Griggs sprang forward, and shook
his fist in the audience's face again he flung himself
violently on to a chair, as if in the act of springing
astride of some mettlesome charger; throughout the
whole exhibition, however, the frightened expression
never for an instant left his face, suggesting the idea of
a person constrained by some superior power to perform
against his will. Muriel pitied him extremely, and was
140
À CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDËR.
very glad when at length this recitation, too, came to
an end.
After this, she thought she had heard enough for the
present, so, having sought out her hostess, and escaped
with some difficulty from her amiability, she was
making her way towards the entrance, when she sud-
denly encountered Mr. Wygram.
His face brightened at the sight of her.
'Miss Ellis, this is fortunate! It struck me as pos-
sible that you might be here this afternoon," he ex-
claimed.
"I have been here some little time, and am just
going," she answered.
"Going?" in a tone of disappointment.
"And I
have only just come. Let me, at least, see you to your
carriage, and give you an ice on the way," he added,
offering her his arm.
"You may give me an ice if you will, but I have no
carriage," she answered. I am walking."
،،
"Alone?"
Yes, all alone. Does that shock you?"
"Shock me, no. Why should you suppose for a
moment that it would shock me?
((
>>
"I don't know; I fancied you spoke in rather a scan-
dalized tone. The truth is, I believe I am a little thin-
skinned on the subject; I am so used to being lectured
about my lack of decorum. If Lady Rushton realized
that I was setting off by myself, she would probably
think it necessary to send a footman or a couple of
maids flying after me down the street."
،،
'Oh, but I'm not at all like that," he answered
quickly. "On the contrary, I think an artist-a_true
artist, like yourself, Miss Ellis-cannot too soon learn
habits of independence. How else is she to study nature?
How else to acquire that thorough and intimate know-
ledge of action and expression which is so pre-eminently
essential? A true artist ought to be always studying—
when she is walking, talking-whatever she may be
doing."
"When she is eating ices and listening to Scandinavian
war-songs?" Muriel inquired, smiling.
Will you
Yes, always," he answered seriously.
do me a favor?" he added abruptly.
"Certainly, if I can," she replied.
66
(C
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
141
"I want you to come and pay me a visit at my studio.
You have not been there for ages, and I have a picture
now on hand about which I particularly want your
opinion. You really would gratify me extremely if you
would do so," he added emphatically.
Muriel hesitated.
(6
'If you dislike—if you have any scruple about coming
alone, I can easily ask my sister, Mrs. Boldero, to come
and meet you," he continued, or you could bring Mrs.
Skynner with you."
(t
C
"Thank you, but I don't think that would be at all
necessary," she answered, smiling. As I told you just
now, my conscience upon these sort of points is a very
easy one. I should like to bring my friend, Miss King,
though, if I may? She is a devout admirer of yours,
and would immensely enjoy seeing your pictures.
>>
،،
Pray do. I shall be delighted, of course, to see Miss
King," he answered, without, however, evincing any
particular delight in his tone. "What day would suit
you? Could you come to-morrow? Not in the morn-
ing, as I have sitters, but in the afternoon-say about
five o'clock ?
""

"Yes, I think so."
They were now in the tea-room, so he left her for a
minute to go in pursuit of an ice.
"You have not told me yet how you got through your
difficulties the other day," he said, as he returned.
"Newmarsh seemed to think that your sister-in-law was
properly impressed; so I hope that you got rid of your
impostor without any trouble?"
((
Oh, yes, poor woman, she was got rid of easily
enough," Muriel said, with a sigh.
((
Surely you cannot
No, not that exactly. Still I feel as if I ought not to
have let her go without ascertaining her address. She
seemed so ill and destitute, poor thing! After turning her
out of the house like that, I think I was bound to see after
her a little more.
"}
You speak as if you were sorry.
regret such a creature?
>>
Mr. Wygram looked disturbed-more than that, he
looked positively annoyed. "I do hope and trust, Miss
Ellis, that you have not got infected by any of those
new-fangled, philanthropic crazes?" he exclaimed irri-
tably. Forgive me, if I seem to dictate," he added im-
142
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
mediately; "but it does seem to me that it would be
such an error of judgment-excusable, of course, but
still a very great one-if you allow yourself to be taken
from your own proper sphere by anything of the kind.
There are women enough, plenty of women, believe me,
in London, to visit poor people and nurse sick ones with-
out your being drawn into that vortex. Art cannot
spare you; it cannot, indeed."
A few weeks earlier the speech would have delighted
Muriel. To be told, and to be told, too, by so competent
an authority as Mr. Wygram, that art could not spare
her-that she was one of those whose achievements were
waited for, and whose success was believed in-would
have given her the very keenest possible satisfaction.
Now, however, strange to say, she listened to it not only
without pleasure, but even with a distinct feeling of dis-
pleasure—a feeling as if, not her powers, but her limita-
tions were thus somehow or other being forced home to
her. Why should she not be allowed to make herself
useful like other women? she thought resentfully.
"I don't think there is the slightest danger of my be-
ing drawn into any philanthropic vortex," she said
coldly. "I wish there was. Unfortunately, I am a
great deal too lazy and self-indulgent."
She had by this time finished her ice, and drawn on
her gloves, and now made a decided movement to depart.
"Won't you come upstairs again?" Mr. Wygram
said persuasively.
"I thank you, no; I have said good-by to my cousin
already," she answered, moving resolutely on towards
the door, an ungrateful desire to escape from her only
too amiable companion coming suddenly over her.
As she walked back through the silver-gray atmos-
phere her thoughts ran a good deal, however, upon the
subject of Mr. Wygram. Her momentary resentment
over, she felt disposed to take herself to task, to accuse
herself of inconsistency, and even of ingratitude on his
account. Ever since the beginning of their acquaintance-
ship, she had been in the habit of looking up to him as
a great authority-on art, of course, in the first instance,
but indirectly upon other subjects. His friendship for
her had been a source of no small pride and satisfaction
to her. She liked knowing that he regarded her as
worthier of a reasonable man's attention than the gen-
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
143
erality of young ladies. Nothing-at all events until quite
lately-could possibly have been less lover-like than his
behavior. His manner had been kindly, authoritative,
almost paternal. He had talked to her chiefly about
art, occasionally even lecturing her gently upon the sub-
ject, and she had always been glad that he should do so.
There was a certain recklessness, a random confidence in
her own powers, and a harum-scarum style of art which
He
had given her friend a good deal of uneasiness.
wished her to take art seriously-as he took it himself;
to look upon it as a grave responsibility, an endowment
to be cultivated up to the very utmost stretch and com-
pass of her powers. Muriel, of course, was conscious of
not taking art in this same serious sort of fashion herself,
but then, that she had always felt to be one of her failings.
As she grew older, and the gravity of things increased
upon her, she, too, she did not doubt, would come to
realize it as he did. Now, however, her thoughts had
taken a sudden turn, and she felt disposed to rebel against
this doctrine to which, theoretically at all events, she
had always hitherto bowed. Was this art? she asked
herself-such as she knew it, and as it was practiced
here in London at the present day-was it a thing to
absorb the whole of a man's life and time and energies, to
the exclusion of everything else? still less ought it to be
allowed to absorb the whole of a woman's? What, after
all, did it amount to when you analyzed it? So many
squares of canvas, more or less creditably covered; so
many paragraphs in the newspapers, and art journals;
observations about the masterly handling of Mr. B
and the delicate feeling for color evinced by Miss C
Omitting the money element, which in her case had
never counted for very much, and what remained?
What did it all come to, that it should be thus incul-
cated upon her as a solemn responsibility, a duty from
which she could not recede without a serious sense of
dereliction? Was there not even something a trifle
ridiculous, she asked herself, in such an assumption as
this being put forward at all?

•
She was back now in Chelsea; the green spikes of the
Albert Bridge rising before her as a sort of beacon. She
did not, however, feel by any means particularly inclined
to hurry homewards: rather she felt disposed to turn her
back upon home. Her studio, generally the resort of all
144
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
D
her moods and fancies, was too intimately bound up with
the present question to offer itself as an acceptable
refuge, and except the studio she did not feel as if there
was so much as a single corner in the house which she
could call her own.
She walked slowly on along the Embankment, glanc-
ing from time to time across the dun-colored expanse of
water. Where she was, was comparatively deserted, but
upon the opposite side the grass and towing-path seemed
to be populous with idlers. A procession of charity chil-
dren passed, their blue frocks and white tippets forming a
conspicuous feature in the landscape. The gray pall had
lifted a little, and the clouds were banked in big slumber-
ous masses above the slow rise of country beyond Syden-
ham. Turning away from her own house, she passed
the bridge, and stood for a few minutes beside the para-
pet of the Embankment. A big ugly coal barge was
slipping down towards Westminster on the current, its
black clumsy hull well defined against the pale satiny
curves below. Next followed a steamer, heading up
against the tide, the water running in tiny wavelets
against its side. Muriel waited to see it discharge its
burden at the pier, and then, crossing the road, paused
a moment beside the iron gates leading to the Botanic
Gardens. A gardener had just gone in, leaving one of
them ajar, so she entered, and strolled to and fro amongst
the moldering flower-beds. Except the gardener and
herself, there was not a soul in the place; the solitary
cedar, grim with nearly two centuries of London dust
and smuts, appearing to preside sadly over the deserted-
looking enclosure. Often as she had passed it before,
Muriel had never previously been inside, and now she
felt pleased with the place, and glad of the chance which
· had admitted her. Grim and unattractive as it was in
some aspects, there was yet a dim indefinable flavor of
antiquity, a certain secluded charm which just then fitted
into her mood. Odd, disjointed fragments of sound
reached her from beyond the railings; sounds from the
road, from the river, from the great encompassing ocean
of humanity. Her own thoughts, as she wandered up
and down, seemed to her not very much more coherent
or connected. She had got away from the art problem
now, and was busying herself about other and more im-
mediately personal troubles, turning them over and over
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
145
with that strange but by no means unusual ingenuity
which makes us so often select the subjects of all others
which we least like dwelling on, to be our continual
guests, the sharers of our bed and hearth and board.
Like every nature which is at once strong and feminine,
Muriel had a keen, almost a passionate need of loving
and being loved, and with the best intentions possible in
that direction she could not certainly love her sister-in-
law, Mrs. Skynner. More than this, she knew very well
that her sister-in-law did not love her. If she had ever
cherished any illusions on that subject the last few days
would have been sufficient to dispel them. Mrs. Skyn-
ner had all the easily-aroused, hard-to-be-appeased resent-
fulness of a small, self-centered nature, and it was evident
that the incidents which had just taken place had strongly
aroused that resentfulness. Nor had other causes since
been wanting. Partly on Mrs. Prettyman's advice,
partly from her own sense of the utter folly and madness
of indebtedness, Muriel had resolved to cut the knot of
her financial difficulties in a vigorous fashion, and
amongst other obvious economies had determined, for
the present at all events, to dispense with a carriage-a
resolution which, as she herself justly anticipated, had
given mortal offense to Mrs. Skynner. That economy,
or any motive except a wish still further to slight and
annoy herself, had been at work in the matter, that lady
utterly declined to believe. She did not reproach Muriel;
she did not again hold out any threat of her own de-
parture; she did not even allude to the matter, except
indirectly; but it rankled steadily; it went to swell a
small pent-up stream of bitterness which for months past
had been slowly but surely gathering within her. As
they sat at luncheon or dinner together, Muriel, looking
suddenly up from her plate, would catch her sister-in-
law's eyes fixed upon her with a sort of stony aggres-
siveness. Mrs. Skynner had not particularly expressive
eyes, but there was something in the cold irresponsive
gaze of those light prominent orbs which affected Muriel
with extreme discomfort. She was beginning to dread
those meals, to hail any interruption—no matter how
little otherwise welcome-which broke in upon that in-
evitable tête-à-tête. Would Mrs. Skynner ever be in-
duced to select some other place of abode ? she was be-
ginning secretly to ask herself. Unfortunately, it was
IO
146
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.
impossible for her to move in the matter. If such a sug-
gestion would only have emanated from the other side,
she for her own part would have hailed it with some-
thing very little short of rapture, but it was impossible
for her to take the initiative; her hands were tied, and
tied—short of some as yet unforeseen intervention-they
must inevitably, she felt, remain.
Casting back to the beginning of their joint compan-
ionship, Muriel used to try sometimes to examine herself
as to whether-apart from those later offenses-she had
done anything, or left undone anything, the omission or
doing of which would help to account for the present
uncomfortable state of things; whether, in short, Mrs.
Skynner really had any just and reasonable grounds of
complaint against her. That Mrs. Skynner conceived
herself to have such grounds she, at all events, knew
unfortunately only too well. Apart even from the later
offenses, there had long been a rankling sense of
wrong
and injustice. Why should Muriel have money, and
servants, and a house, and she have none? that was the
recurrent burden of her thoughts. True, Mrs. Skynner
had not been made any the poorer by Muriel having
money-quite the contrary; but then this argument was
probably the very last that could have been brought for-
ward with effect.
Sometimes it used to strike our heroine with a sort of
amused self-wonder that she did not more seriously
resent Mrs. Skynner's too evident and really very un-
reasonable animosity. She was not generally so meek
or inapt to resent injury. Why, then, was she so meek
now? Whether or not she succeeded in discovering the
clue to the enigma herself, it may be permitted to her
biographer to surmise that this remissness came partly
from a sense of obligation which, as we know, had
always been largely exercised on Mrs. Skynner's behalf
partly from the fact that she did not weigh that lady's
sayings and doings in exactly the same scales, or with
the same precision of measurement, as she might have
weighed the sayings and doings of another. People
come to meet us upon different levels, and we instinct-
ively accept them upon their own and not upon any
other level. There was an amount of fatuity about Mrs.
Skynner which really at times amounted to sublimity—
which seemed to open up new and surprising vistas as to
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
147
the capacity of human nature in this direction. How
object to being misprized, or how seriously demand gen-
erous or even just appraisement where all, or nearly all,
the avenues of sense and perception appeared to be her-
metically shut and sealed? As well insist upon a fine
ear for music or a delicate perception of harmony from a
man who has had the misfortune to be born deaf! I do
not mean to say that Muriel exactly originated this esti-
mate herself, but it, or something very like it, lay
undoubtedly at the root of that large, if hardly flatter-
ing, tolerance which she instinctively extended, not
merely to all Mrs. Skynner's present sayings and doings,
but to anything which that lady might be moved to say
or to do in the future.
Meanwhile, the afternoon was getting on, and it was
time for her to be going homeward. She felt a whimsi-
cal disinclination to leave the place-a feeling as if all
those troubles and worries she had escaped from were
standing ready to pounce upon her the instant she set
foot outside that spiked and barred enclosure. If she
could only get away to the forest and go mothing again
with Partridge she thought, smiling to herself as she
stood looking up into the big cedar stretching its dust-
coated network of twigs hither and thither above her
head. How bright it looked, that New Forest episode,
looking back at it now out of the midst of her present
imbroglio. Her thoughts flew to that last day—the day
she had stood with Halliday in the churchyard-it
seemed as if she could almost smell again the scent of the
flowers, and see the shadows made by the passing birds.
Where was Mr. Halliday? she wondered. Was he back
again in London, and toiling away in the midst of those
briers and thorny squeaches which he expected to find
so dense and so uninviting? Well, at least, if he was,
he had a definite purpose, a clear goal before him, and,
moreover, an unselfish one; he might fail, but even to
fail under such circumstances would be better, she
thought, than a good deal of the rather equivocal suc-
cess which she saw about her. Mr. Hyde had called him
a Philistine, and doubtless the epithet was not unde-
served. On the other hand, the artistic and æsthetic
side of things had latterly been so pressed upon Muriel
as a solemn responsibility that she was beginning from
sheer opposition to feel as if it might be possible to make
148
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
out a case for its opposite. If art was to fail her-and
she was conscious that art was not quite the be-all and
end-all, the one utterly sufficing refuge and resource
that it had seemed in her younger and more enthusiastic
days-what remained? To what else was she to turn ?
Could she, too, she wondered, so use her life that even
her very failures, like Halliday's, might redound to some
one's advantage? True, she was shackled by certain
obvious disabilities from which he was free; but then,
on the other hand, she was very much less shackled with
those disabilities than most of her own sex and standing.
Not only had she health and strength, youth and vigor,
but she had a certain command of means, and absolute,
or pretty nearly absolute, independence; surely, then, it
must be her own fault if, with all those advantages, she
failed to extract anything out of life beyond what she
now saw immediately around her? And yet, scan the
horizon up and down as she would, she could see nothing
-nothing, that is, but pictures; more pictures, and then
beyond those again other pictures still-with herself, too,
always as the principal figure in every canvas! It was
all very delightful, doubtless, but still surely, surely, she
thought, it was not enough? surely life must hold
something else, more vital, more real, more binding than
pictures? Yet where, or in what direction even, she
was to look for that something was what as yet she
entirely failed to discover.
From these somewhat futile debatings she aroused her-
self at last with a start. It really was late now. The
light was beginning to fail, and there was a tint of sun-
set over the trailing smoke-colored clouds above Batter-
sea. The gardener, too, had finished whatever had
brought him to the place, and was standing in amicable
conversation with a one-armed Chelsea pensioner, who
stood smoking his pipe by the railings. Muriel passed
out, bestowing a gratuity upon the former as she did so;
then she wended her way at last to her own house.
It need hardly be said of a young lady so independent
as Miss Ellis that she possessed a latch-key. This latch-
key she now made use of to enter the house without
disturbing the rest of the inmates. Pausing an instant
to put her umbrella into the stand, she heard the slow,
monotonous tones of Mrs. Skynner's voice proceeding
from the depths of her own apartment. Not a syllable
ART VERSUS PHILISTIA.
149
:;"
was actually audible, still it did not require any great
stretch of ingenuity to perceive that it was the tale of
her late wrongs and injuries which was thus being
poured out into some sympathizing visitor's ear. Hurry-
ing past, Muriel betook herself to her own room to take
off her walking things. This done, she felt somewhat
puzzled where to bestow herself. She did not want to
paint, or even to look at her paintings; something
seemed to have come between them and her; a vague
something, hardly a shadow, but still sufficient to make
her feel that their company just then would be likely to
prove very much the reverse of soothing.
Turning away, therefore, from the studio, she entered
a small room off the staircase, where there were a few
book-cases, and where she was in the habit of seeing such
tradesmen or men of business as might happen to call to
see her. It was an ugly little room, and a noisy one to
boot. She could still hear the measured tones of Mrs.
Skynner's voice, as well as the more boisterous accents
of Eliza and her compeers coming up from the servants'
region below the area steps. She took up a book, and
then laid it down again; wandered round the room, and,
finally, stood gazing out of the smut-stained window,
which commanded a view over a couple of neighboring
mews. It wanted a full hour yet of dinner time, and out
on the river side the light still lay bright and warm ; but
here, amongst the back walls and chimney-pots, every-
thing was dull, gray, and smoke-saturated. Muriel, too,
felt dull and gray herself. She was not, as a rule,
addicted to the folly of self-pity, but at this moment she
certainly did feel as if her own position in the house was
a somewhat anomalous and unsatisfactory one. If Kitty
King or Elizabeth Prettyman, or any friend, would only
come and see her, she thought, how gladly, how very,
very gladly she would have welcomed them! Yet, after
all, kind as they were, and fond as they were of her,
they had their own duties and interests, and she had no
right to lay any more claims upon them, she felt, than
they were willing of themselves to concede.
Presently, however, her solitude was broken in upon
by a visitor. The door, which was slightly ajar, was
suddenly pushed open, and Gamaliel entered, his white
tail curling proudly over his back. Gamaliel was an
extremely posé and dignified animal, quite above kitten-
150
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
ish ways, and not at all demonstrative. Still, in his way,
he had a lurking if a somewhat supercilious sort of regard
for his mistress, and now he proceeded to evince his sat-
isfaction at finding her there and alone by first rubbing
himself to and fro against her dress, and then, finding
these demonstrations acceptable, by leaping up, and
thrusting his white head and ridiculous pink nose into
her face, arching his back, stretching out his claws, and
purring with unmistakable feline enjoyment.
Muriel stooped down and stroked him, laying her hand
caressingly against his soft yielding fur. Even Gamaliel,
she thought, was better than nobody. He was a trifle
egotistical and self-absorbed, perhaps; even now it was
just possible that his attentions were not wholly devoid
of a faint flavor of interested motives. She was not,
however, in a mood to scan too closely anything that
looked like affection. If Gamaliel liked her, why, then,
so much the better for herself, she felt, as well as for
Gamaliel. What, however, she really wanted was not
so much something to like, or even to love her, as some-
thing or somebody that she herself could care for-really,
stringently, vitally. She had better never have been
born at all, she told herself bitterly, if she was never
going to have any more vital, less selfish, less lukewarm
interests than she had at present. Could it be that she
was incapable of anything warmer? she wondered;
there were souls so faint and flaccid as to be unable
to take more than a tepid interest in anything or
anybody. But then, again, she remembered how pas-
sionately she had loved her mother and John; how
even now, though such years had passed since their
loss, that loss still throbbed with a dull, retentive
aché within her. No, it was not that. It was simply
It must be
that she had not yet found her niche.
to be found. Somewhere in this big, ugly world of
London there must be that corner or that duty which
called upon her, and her in particular, to fill it. Charity?
The word looked as dead and dried up as a parchment
code-a mere abstraction; no more binding or living
than a problem in Euclid. And yet it was certainly
something of this kind she wanted-some living, and yet
at the same time, if possible, impersonal interest.
amount of personal achievement (even had the road to
such achievement lain open before her) would have fed
}
No
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
151
this particular craving which ached within her. Why
should such cravings, in fact, be given at all, she asked
herself, but that somehow or other they were meant to
be fulfilled? And yet again, she thought with a sudden
revulsion, as she turned, and slowly wended her way
upstairs to her own room, such cravings and hankerings
as these were, after all, the very commonest things in
the whole world. Were there not probably at that
moment some thousands, nay, some hundreds of thou-
sands of women in much the same sort of plight, with
much the same sort of disquieting visions, and much the
same sort of vague dissatisfied yearning. And was it,
could it, after all, be honestly said to be such a very,
very serious matter that she, Muriel Ellis, should be
called on to make one of those thousands ?
CHAPTER XIII.
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
Mr. Wygram's house was almost large enough to be
called a mansion. It was a big, red-fronted edifice stand-
ing in one of the streets which lie at right angles to the
river. He had built it himself, but at present it was alto-
gether too large for his own requirements. Even after the
most liberal deductions for sitting-rooms, studios, and
bedrooms, there still remained a considerable space to be
disposed of, and this space had been allotted by him to
studios for some of the less fortunately domiciled of his
artistic brethren. Amongst the younger artists there
was, indeed, a brisk competition for these studios, partly
for their own merits, which were super-excellent, but
still more on account of the exalted reputation borne by
Mr. Wygram as a landlord. Not only was he reputed to
be extremely lenient as regards the payment of rent, but
on more than one occasion he had been known to dis-
pense with that ceremony altogether. What wonder,
then, if his studios were never vacant? These supple-
mental studios were in a different part of the house, and
approached by a totally different entrance and staircase
to that occupied by the owner himself, so that it was per-
1:
152
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
fectly possible to visit the latter without being even so
much as aware of the existence of the former.
Nothing could be less fantastic, or less tainted with the
taint of prevailing affectations than Mr. Wygram's house
and studio. High art, in the modern sense of the word,
he detested. He had inherited a few good pictures, and
had purchased for himself a few more. A couple of
Cuyps, radiant in all the glow of their aërial perspective,
hung to right and left of his studio mantelpiece. There
were two or three Romneys and Gainsboroughs in the
dining-room, and at least one indisputable Van Ostade
in the hall. Look where you would, you saw none of
those surprising embellishments which in the last few
years have so lavishly overflowed our houses. No
Japanese fans, or kaleidoscopic parasols; no sad-colored
stuffs, no preposterous wall-papers, and no sunflowers.
Everything was solid, substantial, workmanlike;
stamped, as all possessions ought to be, and as, alas! so
few of our possessions are, with the character and im-
press of their owner.
Mr. Wygram was one of those men whose reputation
seems to stand at even a higher level than any of their
actual achievements. Amongst the men of his own
standing, as well as with many both older and younger
than himself, he enjoyed a very unusual degree of con-
sideration; partly, no doubt, for his talents, which were
considerable, but still more for a certain weightiness and
solidity which attended everything that he said and did.
He was indeed emphatically a solid man-practical, clear-
headed, self-centered-full to the very brim of that "large,
sound, roundabout sense," which Locke has stamped for
us with his most emphatic approval. Though a sociable
man, he was not by any means one that invited famil-
iarity; indeed, even those who knew him best, to the
last were a little in awe of him, an assertion which may
be tested by the simple fact that, although his name was
John, no human being had ever yet been heard to call
him Jack! If genial, too, to the point of good nature as
regards his neighbor's interests, on his own affairs he
was almost invariably taciturn and uncommunicative.
Even this, however, gained him prestige.
Wygram
was a deal richer fellow than any one supposed," men
were wont to declare to one another; an assertion which
may or may not have been based on fact, but of which
((
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
153
S
the reputation, at all events, it is safe to say, did him no
harm.
For so successful a man it was wonderful, too, how
little Mr. Wygram seemed to offend by his success, the
more so that his manner was certainly not devoid of a
certain clearly definable touch of self-importance. It
was not offensive self-importance, however, not that
most odious of all kinds which finds its own aliment in
wounding the self-love and importance of others; still
less of that carping, smirking, uneasy variety which,
finding the world's estimate to be below its own merit,
seeks by perpetual posing to repair that injustice.
Rather it partook of the easy insouciant self-importance
of some pleasant-mannered chief or head of a depart-
ment, with a whole world of underlings to keep in order
and good humor. It shone out of his broad complacent
physiognomy, and spoke in his easy imperturbability,
which nothing seemed ever to ruffle or displace. Mr.
Wygram was not one of those painters, either, who can
do nothing but paint; on the contrary, he possessed a
variety of the gifts which tend to give a man weight and
prestige in the world of men. He was a good shot, and
a fair billiard-player; rode well to hounds, and was re-
ported to play an excellent game of whist at his club.
True, there were whole realms and regions of which he
knew nothing, but then of these he kept discreetly clear,
never committing himself by any inopportune or ill-ad-
vised judgments. Poetry, for instance, and what is com-
monly classed as light literature generally, he abjured;
indeed, he was seldom known to take up a book of any
kind for the mere frivolous purpose of entertainment.
On the other hand, he was an assiduous reader of the
newspapers, and was understood to hold clear and well-
considered views upon politics, inclining to a somewhat
high and dry type of Whiggism. Why Wygram had
never married was a question much debated in his own
circle; all sorts of different and generally wholly hypo-
thetic reasons being assigned. That it was not due to
any rooted or morbid dislike to the sex in the abstract
was at any rate perfectly clear; on the contrary, he both
enjoyed ladies' society, and was extremely popular in
that society; his studio, large as it was, being often in-
conveniently crowded on the days set apart by him for
receiving his friends.

154
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
The afternoon upon which Muriel and Miss King ap-
peared by appointment was not, however, one of these-
only three persons being, in fact, in it when they entered;
-the artist himself, who came forward with much em-
pressement to meet them; a stout elderly man in spec-
tacles, who looked at his watch and vanished as they
entered; and a tall strongly-built youth, with a closely-
cropped head, and an extremely ruddy complexion,
which latter became ruddier still at sight of Miss Ellis's
companion.
"How do you do, Miss Ellis? How do you do, Miss
King ?-What, Mackalister, are you off?" this to the
gentleman who was making for the door.
'Let me
introduce you to Mr. Archer, Miss Ellis. Miss King, I
think you and Mr. Archer are acquainted already."
66
"Yes, I know Mr. Archer, Kitty King replied
demurely. He and I painted one another's portraits
the other day.'
""
"Indeed? You did not show me Miss King's portrait,
Archer. I generally am privileged to see all your
doings.
"(
""
""
Oh, it was nothing—a horrible thing; not a bit like
-in fact, I tore it up," that gentleman mumbled apolo-
getically.
"That wasn't at all nice of you. I didn't tear up your
picture, I assure you, Mr. Archer; I have it quite safe
still in my sketch book," Kitty King said meaningly.
"It was a very cruel one, I know," poor Mr. Archer
responded, blushing.
"I don't know about being cruel. It was very like.
I suppose if one paints a person's portrait, it ought to be
like; oughtn't it?"
While this unequal war of wits was going on, Mr.
Wygram had drawn Muriel to the opposite side of the
studio, and in front of a large canvas which stood
propped upon an easel.
،،
See, Miss Ellis, this is the picture I spoke to you
about yesterday," he said, turning it round so as to bring
it into a better light. I have a favor to ask you in con-
nection with it. Look at it and see if you can tell me
what it is."
((
Muriel obeyed. The picture apparently represented a
trial for witchcraft; a semicircle of hard-faced men,
seated about a table; to the left a crowd of witnesses;
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
155
in the centre the victim-her head erect, and arms ex-
tended-the latter's face was barely indicated, but the
attitude was vigorous, and not wanting in a certain
promise of beauty. You see what it is, don't you?"
continued the artist. "I want you to sit to me for my
tt
sorceress.
The compliment sounds a dubious one," Muriel said,
smiling.
เ
"Dubious? Not in the least. I want a face that can
tell its own story-can announce its own innocence with-
out my having to put it into the catalogue.
Miss Ellis blushed a little. "I should not have thought
that mine was particularly suitable for that purpose,
she said gravely. The words might have sounded
coquettish, but the tone certainly was not.
(4
Mr. Wygram appeared amused. Why? Do you
think you look as if you are likely to commit deeds of
darkness?" he inquired.
"Not exactly that, perhaps, but still one has an idea
of the type, and I do not think mine at all corresponds
to it. Kitty King's face, now," she added, glancing
across the room; that I should say came very much
nearer to your ideal."
Mr. Wygram followed the glance to where that young
lady was standing under one of the large windows, her
white dress, with its coquettish touches of blue, setting
off her trim little figure and fresh, flower-like face.
"Miss King looks a great deal too artless for my pur-
pose," he said, smiling. Any one can see that there
must be an infinity of guile behind such an assumption
of innocence as that. In one scnse, however, she cer-
tainly is a sorceress," he added, lowering his voice.
"She has fairly bewitched that poor lad Archer. I am
not, of course, supposed to know anything of it per-
sonally, but he has one of the studios here, and I hear
from some of the other men that he is simply crazed
about that little golden-haired friend of yours.
Indeed!" Muriel said eagerly.
"
"}
""
">
'You had heard nothing of it before?'
"No; and I generally hear of all Kitty's achieve-
ments in that line. What is Mr. Archer like?" she
added.
'An excellent lad. Not clever, but I think he will
make a painter in time; that is, if he sticks to it. I
156
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
2.
hear, though, that there is an uncle in the air—I méan
in the city-a stockbroker, or something of that sort,
who is anxious to provide our friend with a stool in his
office, which, doubtless, would be the best thing that
could happen for his pecuniary interest.'
""
"I like his looks," Muriel said thoughtfully. "He is
ugly, but it is a face that one can trust."
Yes, he is an excellent lad," Mr. Wygram repeated,
this time however carelessly, as if the subject of Mr.
Archer's merits might in time become monotonous.
"So you won't give me an answer about my sorceress,
Miss Ellis? Well, I must only wait, and hope to find
you in a more complacent mood. Meanwhile, come
and let me give you some tea," he continued, drawing
back a curtain, and leading the way into a small room
or alcove off the studio, lined with brown leather
stamped in relief, a small table, temptingly heaped up
with fruit and flowers, standing in the center. Archer,
come and get some tea for Miss King," he called back as
he entered.
"C
As the young man thus summoned appeared at the
entrance of the alcove, Muriel turned to look at him with
some attention. He possessed what is generally called a
very Anglo-Saxon face, furnished with a rudimentary
mustache, his round, closely-cropped head being flanked
with a pair of cruelly prominent ears; his hands and
wrists, too, were remarkably large and red; but for all
that there was a certain straightness and soldierliness
about his bearing which won her approval, despite his
present undeniable air of sheepishness and depression.
He brightened up somewhat when sent to summon Miss
King to tea, but presently returned, looking more woe-
begone than ever, to say that she would come soon, but
that at present she was too much absorbed in looking at
the pictures.
She wants you to go and explain some-
thing to her, Mr. Wygram," he added gloomily.
Mr. Wygram obeyed, with an amused glance at Muriel
as he did so.
Left tête-à-tête with Mr Archer, Miss Ellis tried to ex-
change some remarks with that melancholy young
gentleman, but he was so evidently distrait that she soon
desisted from the attempt, and contented herself with
watching the proceedings of the other two as seen through
the doorway of the alcove.
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
157

I
4
Miss King appeared to be actuated with the strongest
curiosity about the highest and consequently the least
accessible portions of Mr. Wygram's pictures. There
was a set of steps at hand, which the artist used in paint-
ing, and up and down these she kept incessantly flitting,
now pausing on one step, and now on another, as she
turned to appeal to her host. Muriel at last began to
wish that Kitty would not go up and down those steps
quite so often. Her feet were extremely pretty-quite as
pretty as her hands-and were set off to-day by the most
bewitching little pair of high-heeled shoes, admitting
occasional glimpses of sky-blue stockings above. These
glimpses, however, kept on recurring with a greater fre-
quency than appeared essential; moreover, it was evident,
even to her indulgent perceptions, that Kitty's new-born
enthusiasm for the fine arts was largely attempered by
another and a somewhat less laudable sentiment. At
last, however, that enthusiasm appeared appeased, and she
and Mr. Wygram returned to the alcove.
"I do so love a studio; I should like to live in one
always!" Kitty exclaimed rapturously, as she seated
herself on the sofa beside Muriel.
، ،
'There is only one thing to be done, then, Miss King
--you must marry an artist," Mr. Wygram said, with
his semi-paternal air of gallantry, heaping up her plate
with strawberries and cream as he spoke.
At this Miss Kitty, however, only tossed her head and
pouted her lips, as much as to say that that was a con-
tingency for which she was entirely unprepared.
After she had eaten up her strawberries, and the tea
was all finished, they again wandered about among the
pictures. There were a good many portraits amongst
them, and these especially attracted Muriel's attention.
As a painter of what are called "fancy" subjects, she
privately thought Mr. Wygram a trifle hard and realis-
tic-too realistic, at least, for her taste; that broad streak
of prose, which showed in everything he said and did,
coming out particularly strongly in such matters. His
portraits, on the other hand, particularly his portraits of
men, were admirable; full of vigor, and stamped with an
indefinable stamp of truth and reality. One especially
-that of an old man, a professor of some abstruse science
or other particularly attracted her attention. It had
much of that harmony and strongly marked individ-
..
•
1
158
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
uality which we look for in a Rembrandt or a Gerard
Dow; indeed, it was not at all unlike one of those
delightful old doctors or burgomasters that look down at
us with wrinkled eyes from the walls of so many a
Dutch and Flemish picture gallery. Kitty, on the other
hand, could not for her part conceive how Muriel could
care to go on looking at that stupid old man when there
were such quantities of other and more interesting pic-
tures about. Of course, it was beautifully painted--all
Mr. Wygram's pictures were-but then the old gentle-
man himself was so dreadfully snuffy and ugly. She
couldn't herself imagine how people could possibly wish
to have their portraits painted when they came to be as
old and ugly as that.
"C
Possibly his relations may wish to have it, even if he
doesn't himself," Muriel suggested.
"I'm quite sure I shouldn't wish for a portrait of any
one belonging to me who looked like that, Kitty
declared positively. “Should you, Mr. Archer ?”
Mr. Archer did not appear to be prepared with a reply,
and it was left to Mr. Wygram to explain that the por-
trait in question had been ordered by the college to which
the learned professor belonged, being destined to be in
due time hung in a place of honor upon one of the walls
of their dining hall.
After this, Muriel announced that they must be going,
the two gentlemen accompanying them to the door. On
opening it, it was found, however, to be raining, so a
servant was despatched for a cab. He returned shortly,
however, saying that no cabs were to be found in the
neighborhood, but that if the ladies liked he would fetch
one from Knightsbridge. This Muriel declared to be
quite unnecessary, as they were perfectly able to walk.
Finally it was agreed that they should do so, under the
shelter of the two gentlemen's umbrellas, an arrange-
ment the more desirable seeing that Miss King's provision
against the weather was found to consist of a white lace
parasol, ornamented with two bunches of flowers to
match the ribbons on her dress.
""
They set forth accordingly, Muriel and Mr. Wygram
first, Miss King and Mr. Archer bringing up the rear.
Just as they were nearing Muriel's house, Kitty-who
had hitherto lingered some distance behind-suddenly
came up, followed breathlessly by Mr. Archer and the
r
MR. WYGRAM AT HOME.
159
umbrella, and insisted upon walking abreast of the others
for the remainder of the way, to the no small incon-
venience of other pedestrians. Arrived at the house she
refused, moreover, to be escorted further, alleging her in-
tention of remaining. No sooner, however, had the two
gentlemen departed, than she snatched up an umbrella,
and declared that she must be off.
(L
"But, my dear Kitty, what in the world possesses you ?”
Muriel said, in a tone of amazement.
A minute ago
you said you were going to stay.
""
"I know I did, Muriel; but I can't. I only said it to
get rid of them-of him, I mean.
>>
Of them ?-of him? Does that mean Mr. Wygram
and Mr. Archer? What have they done that you should
be so desperately anxious to fly them ?"
"Mr. Wygram has done nothing-nothing, at least,
that I know of; but Mr. Archer has done everything !"
Kitty replied, succinctly.
،،
Everything? That is a sweeping accusation! He
seemed to me to be very harmless.
Do tell me, Kitty,
what he has done," Muriel said, smiling.
"I can't, Muriel-not now, at any rate. I'll come to-
morrow, if you like, and tell you; but I must go home
""
now.
"This is all very mysterious, Kitty," Muriel said, un-
able to help laughing at the portentous air of gravity
assumed by her generally volatile and inconsequent little
friend.
66
I don't know what you call mysterious, Muriel," that
young lady answered in an offended tone. "I call it
simply idiotic. That Fred Archer is the very greatest
booby I ever came across in my whole life! "
((
Poor young man ! Really, Kitty, you have quite
aroused my curiosity. Pray tell me what this is all
about."
"I can't indeed, Muriel."
"If you don't, I warn you that I shall probably think
it a great deal more serious than it really is."
You can't think it more serious than it is-in one
sense, at least, I mean."
"In one sense? In what sense? Does all this mean
that I am shortly to have the honor of congratulating
you, Miss King?" Muriel inquired, smiling.
Kitty's blue eyes expanded in fierce disdain. "Indeed,
160
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Muriel, you are to do nothing of the sort!" she cried in-
dignantly. "Quite the contrary!" And, snatching up
the umbrella, she flew out of the house and down
the street, turning rapidly in the direction of her own
home.
CHAPTER XIV.
AN IMPENDING ORDEAL.
1
{
Muriel awoke next morning with a vague impression
of something bright and pleasant in the immediate past;
that odd, undefined, unlocalized impression of something
pleasurable or too often of something extremely the
reverse-which is such a familiar experience to most of
us. In this case it did not take her very long to localize
the impression. Certainly it did not refer to anything
in her own home, where matters of late had been about
as little enjoyable as could well be conceived. No, that
bright streak which lay like a gleam across her memory,
referred to the pleasant hour which she and Kitty King
had spent the day before in Mr. Wygram's studio. What
had particularly remained on her mind as comforting
and satisfactory had been the artist's own manner, and
especially his manner to herself. Poor Muriel had all
her life been so stinted and starved in the matter of real
ties that she was apt to cling with more than common
tenacity to those friendships which had either come to
her accidentally, or which she had made for herself; and
amongst these self-made friendships Mr. Wygram's had
been chief. He had been extremely kind to her, and she
had thoroughly appreciated his kindness; he had liked
her, and she had reciprocated his liking. She had come
to look upon this friendship of his as a sort of possession
-a bond of free masonry which she owned, and by no
means one of the least pleasant consequences which she
owed to her art. Of course she had not entirely escaped
innuendoes as to the probability of that bond being some
day or other exchanged for a warmer one; but these she
had been able hitherto honestly to disregard. Mr.
AN IMPENDING ORDEAL.
161
Wygram had never himself, she thought, given any
countenance to such a notion, and certainly it was the
last thing which she desired herself. Besides, though
still to all intents and purposes a young man, the differ-
ence of age between them-nearly twenty years-was
undoubtedly great; almost great enough to entitle him,
if he chose, to regard her as a daughter. Not that, of
course, she supposed for a moment that he did regard her
as a daughter. He was both too young for his age, and
she too old for hers, for anything of the sort to be pos-
sible. Still she really did conscientiously believe that he
looked upon her simply as a friend-a very near and
dear friend; one in whose welfare he would always take
the warmest interest, as he might take in that of a sister
or of a favorite cousin-but nothing more. Of late, how-
ever, especially since her return from Hampshire, this
confidence had been somewhat shaken. Not that Mr.
Wygram had said anything that could be construed even
by the most hyper-sensitive of ears into a declaration of
love, but there had been a certain emphasis and eager-
ness in his manner of which she could not help being
conscious, and which had filled her with vague uneasi-
ness. She liked him so very, very much; she valued
his friendship so highly, that it troubled her to think
that she could ever lose that friendship. Since she did
not certainly wish him to be more than a friend, every
change in this direction must plainly be a loss.
Yes-
terday, however, at the studio, it seemed to her as if all
the old pleasant footing had been regained. Mr. Wygram
had been friendly, but he had certainly not been any-
thing more than friendly. In his disquisitions about art,
in his amused perception of Kitty King's very evident
coquetry, in everything he had said or done, he had been
exactly his old self-kind, thoughtful, considerate,
authoritative. She was able therefore, to make up
her mind that whatever had seemed different in his
manner had been purely the result of accident, and that
for the future, in short, she might safely dismiss all idea
of danger in this direction as utterly and entirely
chimerical.

It was just while she was dwelling on, and inwardly
congratulating herself upon this result, that a note was
put into her hand by Eliza. It contained but a few lines,
and ran as follows:-
II
162
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
→
"DEAR MISS ELLIS:
"Could you see me to-day at three o'clock ?
Pray do not refuse. It is of very particular importance
to my happiness that I should see you.
Yours in any case devotedly,
JOHN PHILLPOTS WYGRAM."
To say that Muriel was disturbed at the receipt of this
letter is to say little. She was appalled, aghast, con-
sternated. The whole fabric she had just been so care-
fully rearing in her mind seemed to come toppling about
her, like a house of cards, and in its place seemed to
arise a new one-that of Mr. Wygram, angry, disap-
pointed, perhaps alienated from her for ever. What
could he possibly have to say, that required such a
serious, nay, such a solemn preamble, except the one
thing of all others which she had hoped never to hear
from his lips? Should she refuse to see him at all, she
thought, and so escape the dilemma? A little reflection,
however, convinced her that that would be simply use-
less, nay, ridiculous—a mere postponement of the evil
day. If Mr. Wygram had made up his mind to speak,
speak he would, whatever she might say or do. She
took up the letter again, trying to extract some other
and less formidable meaning from the words. But no,
in its brevity, and conciseness, in its very abstinence
from all the usual social forms, she could only read one
meaning the very last she desired to discover there.
Meantime, the messenger was waiting, and it was
obviously necessary to return some answer; the question
was what was that answer to be? At length, though not
until after considerable hesitation, she despatched a note
to the effect that she would be at home at the hour named,
and then went down to breakfast, feeling as if some sort
of cataclysm or moral earthquake had suddenly opened
across her path.
After breakfast she went upstairs again to her studio.
The rain had continued all night, and still fell heavily,
dropping down from every roof, and turning the whole
road into a perfect labyrinth of puddles. It was just the
day of all others for settling down to some steady regular
indoor work, but Muriel felt incapable of settling steadily
to anything. Her mind was in a perfect whirl, disor-
AN IMPENDINg ordeal.
163
ganized, restless, full of that vague sense of expectancy,
the most antagonistic, perhaps, of all others to steady
effort. She took down all the carefully arranged
mufflings from the window, and stood looking out across
the dripping bushes, at the black shiny railings, spongy
trees, and yellow river rolling so sleepily and sullenly
by. A big timber-barge was coming slowly down upon
the current; so slowly, indeed, that it was only by
measuring its progress against the opposite shore that
she was able to see that it moved at all. A single figure,
armed with a long black pole, stood at the prow, tugging
it back into the current, whenever the big, overladen
thing seemed disposed to sway towards the one bank or
the other. Hours must have elapsed since he left his
moorings a few miles up the river, and hours would yet
elapse before he reached his destination a few miles
lower down. Muriel found herself watching that man,
and speculating about his life, and what he thought of as
he plied his way up and down that grim, smoke-
enveloped water-way. After the timber-barge came a
long train of coal-boats, under the conveyance of a tug,
looking black enough and lugubrious enough in that
murky gray atmosphere, to serve for some funeral pro-
cession adown the fated Styx. Then these, too, passed
on, and the river for a while was left tenantless.

Presently there came a ring at the outer bell, and,
looking out, Muriel saw that a cab was standing at the
entrance. Was it Kitty King, she wondered, come back
to explain her mysterious conduct of the evening before?
A second glance, however, showed that the cab had not
brought any one, but was waiting for some one from the
house; indeed, a minute later the door opened, and Mrs.
Skynner appeared in full visiting attire, sailing down
under the shelter of an umbrella held over her by Eliza.
At the same moment the bell rang again, and this time it
really was Kitty who stood, umbrella in hand, at the
gate. Muriel could not help wondering whether these
two very antagonistic spirits would meet, and if so with
what result. Before long it became apparent that they
had met, and that the concussion must have been even a
more violent one than usual, for Kitty came into the
room literally dancing with rage.
"That horrible, nasty, ill-tempered old cat!" she ex-
claimed.
164
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
""
Kitty, be silent," Muriel cried angrily.
Miss King obeyed this injunction by turning round
and staring at her interlocutrix with all the power of her
widely opened blue eyes.
"
Well, Kitty, what now? What are you looking
at?" inquired the latter.
"I'm looking at you, Muriel," she replied calmly.
"I'm trying to make you out.
..
Trying to make out what, Kitty ?"
"You, I tell you, you; I'm trying to make you out."
"I should say that you had a very easy task there,'
Muriel said, smiling.
"1
""
'Easy? Not a bit of it-very difficult, quite as diffi-
cult as any of those nasty problems in perspective Mr.
Malby is always setting me, and the more I look the less
I understand."
Miss Ellis turned away towards the writing-table.
You seem to have developed a new talent for mysteries,
Kitty; perhaps in time you'll kindly explain yourself,"
she said, taking up a pen, and beginning to write a note.
Kitty followed and stood in front of her. "Now,
Muriel, listen to me; I want you to answer my ques-
tion," she said. "You're very proud; you know you
are, you can't deny it; in fact, I don't know anybody
prouder in their own way than you are, and yet you let
that horrible, vulgar woman bully you, and tyrannize
over you, and insult your guests just for all the world as
if you liked it. What do you do it for? that's what I
want to discover. No one can oblige you to have her
here if you don't like; then why do you? Is it for a
penance, or what? Do now please tell me, there's a
dear, and I'll promise never to repeat.
")
Muriel threw down her pen impatiently.
"Once for
all, Kitty, you will really make me extremely angry if
you go on like this," she said in a tone of annoyance.
"How often must I tell you that I cannot and will not
sit still and hear my nearest relations abused ?”
"C Your nearest relations! The widow of a half-
brother whom you have told me yourself you hardly
knew!
""
"}
"That doesn't prevent her from being one of my
nearest relations."
'You poor dear! I'm sure I wish with all my heart
you had any number of relations—' Not in ones or twos,
1
AN IMPENding ordeal.
165
but in dozens-fathers and mothers, aunts, sisters and
cousins," the inconsequent Kitty exclaimed effusively.
Muriel could not help laughing. "I don't think that
would suit me, at all," she said. "I should feel smoth-
ered under such a weight of kindred as all that.
"Then why keep that odious woman living with you ?”
the other responded promptly. "Besides, that's not all,
Muriel. I've something else to tell you, something really
very serious.
(C
Muriel smiled.
No, don't smile, Muriel. It is, I tell you, very serious;
and what's more, it will make you furious."
"Then probably, Kitty, you had better not tell me."
Oh, but I must. I've kept it bottled up so long, that
I should burst if I didn't. Now, will you promise not to
be angry?"
"
..
""
""
"That entirely depends upon what it is!
((
Oh, it's something that I know will make you angry.
You will declare it is all my nonsense and spite, and
wicked imagination. But I know it's true. I've been
suspecting it this long time, and now I'm certain-quite,
quite certain."
"And what is it all about, this terrible something,
Kitty?"
"About? Why, of course, it is about Mrs. Skynner."
"Still about Mrs. Skynner. I really thought that you
had at last exhausted everything that even your powers
of vituperation could find to say upon that score.
"Not a bit of it, Muriel. This is something quite new;
something I've never even hinted at before. In fact, I've
only felt certain of it the last few days myself. It is
that she--now don't be angry-that she-that I think-
that I'm sure, she doesn't like you. There! Now it's
out, and I feel ever so much better."
Muriel smiled. "So this is your mighty mystery, is it,
my poor Kitty?" she said.
..
66
Muriel! You don't mean to say that you suspected
it yourself?"
Well, yes, Kitty. I suppose I did suspect it."
"You mean that you knew it-you knew she didn't
like you?"
"I don't know about not liking. I don't fancy she is
exactly fond of me, and after all, why in the world
should she be ? She is not in the least bound to be that
166
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
I can see; and if she were even, we can't always regu-
late our likings and dislikings. I have disliked people
without any particular reason. Not that I mean to say
that Mrs. Skynner has no particular reason-very likely
she has-but I mean that I do not think she is to be
blamed. It is not a crime disliking me. Probably she
would prefer to like me if she could."
CC

Kitty's face was a picture. 'Well, Muriel, I never
heard such a thing in my life," she exclaimed.
"Keep-
ing a woman living in your house, and at your expense,
who hates you!
""
"Once for all, Kitty, you are not to go on repeating
that nonsense," Muriel said angrily. "As for its being
my house, as long as it suits Sophia Skynner to live here
it is as much hers as mine. She is my brother's widow,
and when I was poor they helped me, and if she likes to
stay here, stay she shall till the end of time, as far as I
am concerned."
((
Even if she hates you?"
"Whether she hates me, or whether she loves me ;
I don't see what that has got to say to it. And now
please, Kitty, have the goodness to leave the subject of
Mrs. Skynner alone, and talk of something else. Re-
member that you have still to account for your mysteri-
ous conduct last night, and you have not yet told me
what it was that poor unfortunate Mr. Archer said which
so infuriated you?
""
It was now Kitty's turn to assume an air of reticence.
"I don't see that there is anything in particular to tell
you, Muriel," she said, taking up a pencil and beginning
to balance it nonchalantly upon her finger.
"Nothing particular? Not after expressly promising
to come and tell me all about it this morning?"
((
Oh, as far as that goes, it doesn't require a conjuror,
I suppose, to guess what he did say," Kitty replied pout-
ingly.
، ،
Muriel smiled. 'Well, ir you put it like that, I sup-
pose I can only guess one thing," she said.
conclude that he asked you to marry him."
"I can only
Miss King nodded.
And what answer did you give him?"
"I gave him no answer at all. I simply ran away and
left him there."
"But, Kitty, you will have to give him an answer
AN IMPENDING ORDEAL.
167
sooner or later. Every man expects an answer to that
question."
เ
'Oh ! if that's all he wants, Muriel, I can easily give
him an answer. I'll give him a 'No' as big as this
house."
"Probably he would prefer a 'Yes.'"
"I dare say he would, but he won't get it. In fact, I
don't think that he deserves any answer at all.
What
right had he to torment me ?-taking advantage of my
having to walk under his umbrella, too-I call it very
dishonorable !"
"Perhaps he was afraid of not getting another oppor-
tunity," Muriel suggested.
"I'll take very good care he never does get another,”
Kitty responded tartly.
"Do you know, Kitty, I think you're really extremely
unkind and unfair to that poor young man,'
" Muriel
said. "What greater compliment, after all, could he or
any man pay you than to ask you to be his wife?"
"I don't want such compliments-at any rate, not
from him."
(C
'Well, but, Kitty, I think you used to like him. I
remember you used to tell me a great deal about him
when you first went to that drawing school. How good-
natured he was, and how he used to help you with your
drawings, and see that you were not put to sit in a
draught. Have you forgotten all that?
"
"(
'No, Muriel, I haven't forgotten it, only you must
remember that I was little better than a child then, so of
course I liked anybody that was the least bit civil or
kind to me. Besides, he has got worse-ever so much
worse since then. He never was to say bright, but he
wasn't nearly-not half-so stupid then as he is now.'
""
(C
'But, indeed, Kitty, Mr. Wygram says that he is not
stupid at all. On the contrary, that he paints, or will
paint, extremely well; and in any case it's evident that
he has cared for you a long time, so that I really think
he deserves a little more courtesy and consideration at
your hands than you seem disposed to show him.
Kitty's face assumed an expression well known to her
relations-an expression which meant that she was not
going to be coerced into doing anything that she did not
choose.
"Oh ! it's all very fine for you, Muriel!" she exclaimed
· 168
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
resentfully. "You're not asked to marry a lout of a
creature, with ears like a barn-door owl, who blushes
whenever he is spoken to. Mr. Wygram is a very differ-
ent thing. Nobody need be ashamed of him!”
Muriel, who was putting away some drawings in a
portfolio, turned round at this.
((
Mr. Wygram?" she repeated. "What has he got
to say to it? Why do you talk to me about him, Kitty?"
Kitty stared. "Why, Muriel, I did not know that it
was a secret," she said.
"You did not know that what was a secret?”
"That you were going to marry him."
"It certainly is a secret from me. I never heard of it
before."
This time Kitty's face expressed genuine amazement.
"You're not ?" she exclaimed.
"Certainly not.'
""
But everybody says you are.
""
Everybody knows nothing about it. Besides, every-
body says nothing of the kind."
"But, indeed, indeed, I assure you, Muriel, they do.
Why, even that stupid Fred Archer asked me yesterday
when it was to be, and whether it hadn't been going on
a long time.'
Muriel colored angrily. 'People are extremely kind
to concern themselves with my affairs," she said haught-
ily.
((
"Then have you refused him, Muriel?" Kitty
inquired, in rather awestricken tones. To refuse a per-
sonage of Mr. Wygram's calibre seemed to her a very
different matter from refusing a mere beardless nobody
like the hapless Archer.
(<
Mr.
Certainly not. There has been no necessity.
Wygram has never said anything of the kind to me."
"But he will, Muriel; you know perfectly well that
he means to. You can't deny that," Kitty persisted
triumphantly.
Muriel hesitated. Yesterday-this morning, even-
she would have denied it, and that, too, emphatically, but
now, with that letter in her pocket and this dreadful
interview hanging over her, a denial was not so easy.
She would not prevaricate; there was nothing for it,
therefore, but to put a summary stop to Miss Kitty's
loquacity.
AN IMPENDING ORDEAL.
169
}
"I know nothing about Mr. Wygram, or his inten-
tions," she said coldly. "And if I did, it would be the
last thing I should talk about. So, please, oblige me,
Kitty, by finding some other subject of conversation.'

เ
Kitty pouted. "I seem to do nothing to-day but get
upon forbidden subjects," she said pettishly. First it's
Mrs. Skynner, and now it's Mr. Wygram. I think I
had better go home, Muriel, as it is very evident that
you don't want me.
""
(6
No, no, Kitty, please don't go," Muriel exclaimed.
"On the contrary, I do want you, as it happens, most
particularly. Mrs. Skynner will be away, and I shall be
quite alone at luncheon; so, do stay.
}}
Kitty did not require any further bidding. The last
argument, she declared, was irresistible. Besides, there
were reasons why, apart even from the pleasure of being
with Muriel, she wanted particularly to remain to-day.
Some cousins of theirs-dreadfully stupid people had
arrived that morning to spend the day, and had been
pestering her for the last hour to play duets with them.
Now, if there was one thing she disliked more than an-
other, it was playing duets, particularly with people
who, if you happened to make the least little trifling
mistake, looked as shocked as if you had committed
felony, and wondered that you didn't practice more,
and take some pains to improve yourself. It was much
pleasanter staying quietly tête-à-tête with dear Muriel.
As it happened, however, they were not tête-à-tête, for,
just as they were going down to luncheon, there came
another ring at the hall door bell, and another Miss King
appeared in search of her sister. She begged pardon for
the intrusion, but the key of a certain press was missing,
and her eldest sister thought that perhaps Kitty might
have taken it with her. It was a press in which her
father kept most of his papers, so that he would be dread-
fully annoyed, she said, if he came home and found that
it was gone.
Muriel was quite ready not only to forgive her, but
further, to press her to stay for luncheon, as their own
would probably be over before she returned.
(C
Ca
"
'Now, isn't that just my family all over?" Kitty ex-
claimed indignantly. They can't so much as mislay a
key, but they must instantly rush to the conclusion that
I have taken it. So likely that I would go out visiting
170
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
with the great hulking key sticking out of my pocket!
I wonder that they don't say I've pawned it, or sold it to
the tinkers for old iron !"
، ،
Arabella only thought you might have taken it,
Kitty," her sister said deprecatingly. "You know you
do sometimes put your things in there when you are in
a hurry."
This second Miss King was a plain, stolid-looking girl,
very unlike her more brilliant and versatile sister, whom
she, for her part, appeared to regard with the sort of
wonder, not unmixed with awe, which some honest
brahmin or dorking might be supposed to feel for the
more dazzling-hued peacock or silver pheasant which fate
had allotted to the same poultry yard. Indeed, Kitty, it
must be said, enjoyed to the full that peculiar sort of
prestige which attaches to the one brilliant and attractive
member of a somewhat dull and uninteresting family.
Her sisters, even while actually suffering under her
flightiness and capricious humors, being not unalive to
the luster which this very flightiness and capriciousness
lent to their own more sterling and unequivocal quali-
ties-qualities which, without some such foil as this,
might, in so unappreciative a world, have possibly
passed without recognition altogether!
CHAPTER XV.
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
Luncheon over, the two sisters still lingered. The elder
Miss King had never been in the studio before, and ac-
cordingly Kitty took upon herself to act as showwoman,
pulling out portfolios and expounding upon their con-
tents with much gusto and satisfaction. As three o'clock
drew near, Muriel began to feel extremely nervous.
The thought of this impending interview weighed upon
her like a nightmare. What would Mr. Wygram say?
she wondered. Could she by any art or ingenuity so
contrive as to ward off this most terribly unwelcome de-
claration which seemed impending? Or was it possible
-thrice blessed possibility-that she could, after all,
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
171
i
have mistaken the drift of his meaning, and that noth-
ing could be further from his intention than to make
any such declaration at all? In that case she would
have, she felt, to blush for her own vanity and folly, but
surely any amount of such blushing would be better than
what at present seemed awaiting her? Should she keep
her present guests all through his visit, she thought, or
would it be better to hurry them off at once, and so leave
the stage clear for what was to follow ?
All this and a good deal more went on in her mind
under the cover of Kitty's volubility, every knock that
came to the door set her heart throbbing excitedly.
When, however, punctual to the moment, Mr. Wygram
appeared, she felt herself, on the contrary, getting cold
with nervousness, and could hardly go through the or-
dinary form of receiving him. She got up for a minute,
and then sat down again, a sense of guilt seeming to per-
vade her entire being. Mr. Wygram, however, did not
sit down. He stood, with his hat in his hand, looking
about him with his usual air of suave superiority, a suav-
ity slightly clouded at present by an evident impression
that matters might have arranged themselves on this oc-
casion in better accordance with his wishes.
This air of his had such an effect upon the elder of the
two Miss Kings that she presently got up, and declared
that she must be going; Kitty could follow if she liked.
That latter young lady, however, whose blue eyes had
been twinkling maliciously ever since Mr. Wygram's
arrival on the scene, declared positively that nothing
earthly would induce her to remain an instant; an asser-
tion which she qualified by explaining that what she
meant was that nothing would induce her to be out of
the way when the investigation as regards the where-
abouts of the key came off; if she did, her family, she
knew, would inevitably give it against her.
The sisters departed, Muriel prepared herself for the
worst. Mr. Wygram did not, however, appear to be in
any particular hurry to avail himself of their absence.
He even left his place, and moved a little about the
room, looking at one thing and another. Presently he
took up a portrait of Mrs. Prettyman, which Muriel had
begun a few days before, and turned it round, so that
the light might fall upon it.
Admirable !" he exclaimed.
"How well you have
172
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
caught the look-that small fine smile, and the alert
look about those old eyes! Now, do you know, I
couldn't have done that. I shouldn't have seen it," he
continued, turning round to her.
Muriel smiled, and shook her head, feeling rather
mystified.
(6
No, upon my honor; a man's eyes are duller. And
the painting, too, is good-round and firm and solid.
You should take to portraits, Miss Ellis; you should
indeed; you have it all there," tapping the stretcher of
the canvas.
"Take to portraits?" she repeated vaguely. "Do
you mean have people coming here to sit to me?
'Yes; why not? Should you dislike that?"
'Well, yes, I think I should dislike it rather.'
"But why? Do tell me why?
""
((
'Well, for several reasons. I like painting my own
friends and choosing my own types. Rich people, who
pay for having their portraits painted, are generally
very ugly types.'
"C
""
11
""
"Not all. Look at Lady Hermione Dalrymple; I
showed you her portrait yesterday. Where could you
find a better model ?
""
"I did not mean all, of course; still, if once I began,
I suppose I should have to paint them all, ugly or not,
and I think I should prefer not."
Mr. Wygram put back the picture against the wall,
not impatiently, but as much as to say that there was an
end of that matter; then, coming back, he stood in
front of Muriel, looking down on her as she sat at work.
""
"You don't care for art as you did," he said, with a
sort of mild reproachfulness. "You are getting tired
of it. You don't mean to stick to it-not seriously."
Then, as Muriel attempted a denial, "No, no, do not
deny it.
I have seen it coming on a long time," he
continued. "You are getting sick of it; you have had
enough. It bores you.
""
A sudden inspiration seized Muriel. If she could only
get into an argument with him, she thought, and even
quarrel a little, the dreaded interview might pass safely
by, and all would be well.
"
Really, Mr. Wygram, I don't think that is fair; I
don't see that you have any right to reproach me," she
exclaimed in a tone of spirited remonstrance. "You
4
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
173
yourself are not by any means such a slave to your
brush. In fact, I suspect that you take many more
holidays, and go about a great deal more than I do, if
the truth was only known.
(
Very likely, but still that is different, you know it
is." He changed his position slightly, still, however,
standing and looking down at her. I used to think,
Miss Ellis, that you were made to be an artist's wife,'
he then said slowly.
""
Muriel started, and involuntarily looked up.
Yes, that was my hope-I may say my conviction,"
he continued in the same level, unaccentuated tone;
'but now-now I begin to doubt."
He paused, as if to allow her to speak; but Muriel re-
mained dumb. What was she expected to say? she
wondered. Was that meant for a declaration or was it
not? or did it possibly mean that he had once intended
to make her such a declaration, but that further ac-
quaintance had convinced him of her unfitness for
it? Certainly his words admitted of either interpre-
tation.
66
Mr. Wygram did not, however, leave her long in
doubt.
"Yes, that was my hope," he repeated.
"It has
always seemed to me that it would be a perfect life—two
people working together caring for the same things,
enjoying their own work, and yet each at the same time
proud of the other's successes. I fancied you thought so
too-until lately.
>>
He paused again, but she still said nothing. "Could
you, do you think, be happy as an artist's wife?" he
then inquired; and this time there was an ardor and an
emphasis in his voice which gave unmistakable point to
the question.
Muriel felt that the dreaded moment had indeed come;
still she was not without some hope of passing the whole
thing off easily. It was quite true that she had often
thought that the life here sketched would, in the abstract,
be a very delightful one. More than that, she had even
thought that, if she herself ever married, she should cer-
tainly prefer her husband-in the abstract-to be a
painter. Now, however, the question was by no means
in the abstract; on the contrary, extremely concrete
standing there in remarkably substantial flesh and blood
Uor M
174
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
7.
BAY
before her. If she now said "Yes" therefore would it
not be equivalent to a formal acceptation, unless, of
course, she was discourteous enough to add that, though
she would marry an artist, she would not marry this
particular artist here present! There was nothing for it
therefore but to say
"No."
"I am afraid that it would not suit me to be an artist's
wife," she said gravely.
To her surprise, Mr. Wygram, far from looking dis-
comfited, or abruptly changing the conversation, ap-
peared rather relieved than otherwise by her answer.
He took a chair and sat down, looking more alert and
like himself than he had done yet.
66
"That was what I thought; that, in fact, was what
chiefly brought me here to-day," he said eagerly. Then
he paused, and began again in a different tone. "I need
not, I am sure, Miss Ellis, tell you what my feeling for
you is; you must have seen it-every one, I think, has
seen it. If I have hesitated to put it into words it was
because I feared to startle you. I hoped that time might
stand my friend; that you would grow used to me, and
that growing used to me you might come to feel that I
was a man whom you might trust. No, do not answer
yet," he added hastily. Let me say my say; it will not
be a very long one. What I came to-day to tell you was,
that if you would prefer my not being an artist, I am
ready to give up even that. I would give up art alto-
gether, if you wished. You could live where you liked,
and how you liked; I would take a place in the country
or anywhere you preferred; I have money enough, as
far as that goes, apart from anything I earn. He paused
a little, and then said, very slowly and deliberately, "I
am fond of my art, as you know, Muriel; but I care
more, very much more for you.
""
""
Muriel, whatever her previous determination, could
not but be deeply touched with those concluding words.
It was no light sacrifice that was being offered her. Mr.
Wygram's devotion to his art was almost a by-word; a
rich man, without the usual spur and incentive of neces-
sity, no allurements or temptations had hitherto suc-
ceeded in weaning him from his brush. She could judge,
therefore, of the cost and value of what was here offered
her.
66

Oh, Mr. Wygram, I am so sorry, so very sorry," she
Mou
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
175
!
said tremulously, "but indeed it is impossible; quite
impossible.
""
He drew back a little.
"What is impossible?" he
asked.
"What you wish.”
Impossible that you can marry me?"
(C
"Yes."
He stood still, looking steadily at her a moment with-
out speaking.
(6
""
Why?" he said at last.
Oh, but for so many, many reasons.
"Tell me one.” Then, as she hesitated, "Is it on
account of the difference of our ages!"
“Oh no, no, not that, indeed-but-
"Well?
>>
"}
((
Because, well, because--because I do not love you ;
that is the chief reason," she cried, driven to despera-
tion.
(6
Oh, but that is not a sufficient reason; it is not, in-
deed," he said eagerly. "I mean that I did not expect
it; I never flattered myself that you were what people
call in love with me. Many things-my age, the differ-
ence of our tastes, a variety of circumstances might
prevent that." He returned and stood in front of her.
"If you will only confide yourself to me, Muriel," he
said ardently; "if you will only trust me, I know that
I can make you happy; I feel certain, absolutely certain
of that. I have studied your tastes, your feelings, your
disposition. I know you thoroughly-even your faults.
Indeed, you may trust yourself to me.
You will never
repent it never, never.
Muriel felt that the task before her was not less diffi-
cult than she anticipated, but, on the contrary, ten
thousand times more so. What was she to say to a
suitor who offered so much and asked so little? who was
so kind, so patient, so confiding?
"Oh do not please be angry with me," she cried. “Be
generous be like yourself. Believe me when I say that
it cannot be-never-never. Indeed, I would not wound
you if I could help it. Believe me that it is impossible-
quite, quite impossible."
"I cannot believe that," he said slowly. "I may have
been misled by my hopes, but certainly I thought you
liked me once. You have changed, Muriel-changed

P
176
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
about other things besides painting. A month ago you
would not have dismissed me so summarily.
has changed you. What is it? Tell me.
Something
"But, indeed, indeed I have not changed," she said
earnestly. "It would have been impossible always-
just as impossible as it is to-day."
He shook his head.
"No, it would not," he replied. "You may say it,
you may even think it, but it is not so.
I know you
better than you know yourself. I have felt the differ-
ence every time we have met lately. I feel it now."
He walked away towards the door, then turned hastily
back.
“All the same, I cannot give it up like this," he cried,
and there was a passion in his voice now that there had
not been yet. "I am not a boy, Muriel, to take things
lightly to choose and to change again. I have thought
of this for so long-ever since I first knew you. I can-
not give it up. But I will wait," he added hastily,
"wait as long as ever you like—only tell me that I may
hope.
11
،، But I cannot-indeed I cannot!" she exclaimed,
clasping her hands. It is impossible.
(6
His face darkened. At least, then, tell me what has
changed you?" he said sternly. "Something has.
What is it?"
"
Indeed, no. Nothing."
"Do not say so; you have always been truthful,
Muriel; be truthful now. Dismiss me, of course, if
you choose; but at least tell me why-tell me who-"
He stopped, and looked towards the door. Steps were
heard approaching. It opened, and Eliza entered to
announce a visitor, followed the next moment by-Mr.
Roger Hyde.
Muriel, of course, expected that her late suitor would
forthwith seize an early opportunity of departing, but
apparently this was not the course which commended.
itself to him. He and Hyde were slightly acquainted,
but, after the first minute, Mr. Wygram contributed
nothing to the conversation, which, indeed, was entirely
sustained by the new-comer, Muriel herself throwing in
an occasional yes or no at random, her mind in a perfect
whirl, unable to detach itself from the scene in which
she had just been bearing a part.
Mou
Info = htt
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
177
Whether any perception of something feverish and
electric in the air did or did not convey itself to that
astute little gentleman's perceptions, he, at all events,
proved himself as usual fully equal to the emergency.
Selecting the lowest chair in the room, he seated himself
in the easiest of conversational attitudes, and proceeded
to pour forth a succession of such small social particu-
lars as happily required little or no response upon Muriel's
part. Had Miss Ellis heard, he inquired, of the prince
that had just arrived? the blackest prince ever yet seen in
London. He was at Lady Hatherton's ball last night,
and nobody else had a chance beside him. As for Lady
Hildegarde St. Vincent, she was so struck that her
mother, the duchess, thought it advisable to take her
away before the cotillion, for it would be a pity, of
course, if her engagement to her cousin, Lord Seldon,
was disturbed in consequence; particularly as the princo
(Miss Ellis must really excuse his not attempting his
name) had already four wives, so that it was extremely
improbable he would be willing to embark upon a fifth,
even if the Daleshires would consent to the alliance,
which very likely they would not. Though indeed
nowadays, when dukes' daughters married tallow-chand-
lers, and worse, there was nothing so very outrageous
in one of them marrying a prince, whatever might be
the color of his skin.
...

To all this, and a good deal more of the same kind,
Muriel listened, feeling as if the voice was coming to
her out of the middle of a dream. Would he ever go? she
wondered. How extraordinarily stupid it was of her not
to have taken the precaution of forbidding any other vis-
itor being admitted while Mr. Wygram was there. Once
she ventured to look in the latter's direction, but his
head was turned away, and she could not see his face. A
yellow railway novel happened to be lying on the table,
which Kitty King had left the day before with an en-
treaty that Muriel would read it. Outside this work
was adorned with one of those portentous designs
against which the wave of ætheticism has hitherto
broken in vain. A gentleman, arrayed in a green cut-
away coat, and a pair of remarkably tight trousers of
the lightest possible shade of blue, was apparently
swooning in the arms of a lady, described inside as a
miracle of beauty and elegance, but whose portrait
4
12
178
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
{
depicted her in a costume of red and yellow bed-cur-
tains, surmounted by a waving edifice of ostrich feath-
ers. This engaging design Mr. Wygram had taken up,
and was now poring over it as if entranced with its
loveliness; nor did he so much as once raise his head
or change his position all the time that the visitor
remained.
Muriel's already tolerably acute remorse became nat-
urally deepened and widened tenfold at seeing him thus.
Mr. Wygram had always stood to her so completely as
the ideal of imperturbability and social success, that
to see him thus hors de combat, unable to rally or take
part in the passing moment, gave her a shock greater
than the apparent cause. It seemed to show that the barb
which her hand so unwittingly had launched must have
gone deeper than she had even feared. What was she, she
thought, with a sudden pang of self-abasement, that such
a man, so good, so kind, so gallant a gentleman, should
be thus mortified and made miserable upon her account?
At last, after an interval which to her perceptions
seemed endless, but which had really barely lasted ten
minutes, Hyde got up, and prepared to take his leave, still,
however, discoursing volubly. Had Miss Ellis seen any-
thing of Halliday since his return? he inquired.
Probably not. He was the worst visitor in the world.
He himself had made one effort to go and see him, but
even friendship had its limits, and he drew the line at
Whitechapel. Extraordinary piece of perverted con-
scientiousness, certainly, that notion of Halliday's that
duty required him to live in such a place, and spend the
best years of his life coddling old women and washing
charity children's faces, when there was that father of
his, too, whose only request had been that he would
spend as much money as he liked, and live like a gen-
tleman. True, old Halliday's notion of living like a gen-
tleman was probably of a very roturière order, but still the
son ought to have had no difficulty in modifying that to
his own taste. And, after all, the old fellow was really
perfectly right. Nothing would suit Halliday so well as
to be a country squire, unless, of course, he could go off
to the ends of the earth as a Franklin, or a Livingstone,
or something of that sort. In any case, could anything
be more preposterous than his notion of going and
settling himself amongst a pack of curates and district
THE ORDEAL IS PAST.
179
F
\
visitors, whose wildest idea of adventure was a tea-party
or a mothers' meeting?-a man with a physique like
that! He was the best fellow in the world, but he had
clearly mistaken his vocation. He was not a St. Vincent
de Paul, or a St. Augustine, or anything even remotely
resembling them. What nature really intended him to
be was a sort of idealized Squire Western, a pattern of
all the manly accomplishments, and the great patron
of field sports in his neighborhood, not a parson whose
cloth forbids him even to hunt or to shoot!
At another time all this would have interested Muriel
extremely. She had often wondered what Halliday's rela-
tions with his own family really were, and whether those
relations could have anything to say to that depression
and self-dissatisfaction which so evidently weighed upon
him. At present, however, her feeling was that it was a
sort of treason to Mr. Wygram to allow herself even to
think of any one else, her one desire being that Hyde
would go, and that the situation-the tension of which
was beginning to tell upon her own nerves-should,
somehow or other, come to an end.
At last that desirable consummation came to pass, and
she and Wygram were alone. The instant the door
closed, Muriel crossed the space dividing them, and laid
her hand timidly upon his sleeve.
"Mr. Wygram," she said, "do speak to me; do tell me
you will forgive me. I feel so dreadfully conscience-
stricken at having grieved you-you, too, who have
always been so good to me. Say that you do not blame
She
me-that you will not cease to be my friend?"
paused, and stood looking appealingly at him.
He looked up. "Blame you? no, I don't blame you
exactly," he said slowly. "I am unhappy, and it is
your doing, but it is hardly your fault. You gave me
no right to think that you were likely to give me any
better hearing, though somehow or other I did think it
..
-masculine vanity, I suppose you will say?" He got
up and stood looking down at her. "You are positively
certain, Muriel, that this is all quite impossible?" he
then said quietly.
66
Indeed, yes, quite," she answered sadly.
""
Very well, then, there is an end of it; "-he gave
himself a sort of shake. I have been thinking what I
will do all the time that little rattlepate has been here.
'
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
180
2.
I will go abroad. I will go "-he paused an instant-
'to America."
"To America?" she
in a tone of
"Yes. I have often thought of going there. I should
like to see the country-Niagara, you know, and all that
sort of thing. They are a wonderful people, too; and I
hear they are making great efforts in the direction of
getting up a good school of art. Very likely I shall go
on then to Japan; I should rather like to see those pot-
teries of theirs at home." He held out his hand, and she
gave him both hers, and he held them in a tight grasp.
"You see, not having cared for any one else at all
events, since I was a boy-makes it seem worse to me
than it would to another," he said in a sort of half
apologetic tone. "Never mind, Muriel; I'll get over it,
so don't you worry yourself."
Muriel, of course, felt a thousandfold more conscience-
stricken by this magnanimous abstention from reproach,
than she would have been by the wildest and bitterest
invectives. Oh, why could she not do as he wished?
she thought. Where else could she find any one so
good, so kind, so true? What fatality was it urged her
into sending him away from her?
"You
("
Indeed, indeed you will," she cried eagerly.
will see some one else, too, better-far better and worthier
of you than I am !"
He smiled rather ruefully. "Perhaps I shall," he
answered. 'In Japan, who knows? At any rate, don't
you blame yourself. It was to be, as the fatalists say,
and so it is, and there's an end of it."
He let go her hand, and moved towards the door.
"All the same you have changed, you know," he added
in another tone.
Then he opened the door and went out, and Muriel re-
mained alone.
STRAINED RELATIONS.
181
CHAPTER XVI.
STRAINED RELATIONS.
Mrs. Skynner-or Mrs. Theodore Skynner as she her-
self preferred being called-has not hitherto come in for
any very large share of attention or consideration at our
hands. It may, therefore, serve as some slight repar-
ation for past neglect if I hasten to say that her posi-
tion in the present juncture of affairs between herself
and her sister-in-law merits our warmest and most candid
commiseration. To be obliged to live in close companion-
ship with a person whose tastes and sympathies are
utterly at variance with yours, and against whom you
yourself are conscious of cherishing an antipathy, cannot
under any circumstances be said to be comfortable.
When, however, in addition to this original source of
discomfort it further happens that the individual in
question stands to you in the relation of a benefactor-is
the medium to which you are indebted for the bread you
eat, for that roof under whose shelter you sleep-then
the discomfort of the situation may be said to have
reached its height. True, it may be retorted that no one
need voluntarily remain in that position, but should, on
the contrary, make up their minds either to the one
course or the other to forswear, namely, either their
antipathy or their obligation. Mrs. Skynner, however,
did not see the matter at all in that light. Little as she
liked Muriel, and little as she relished the hospitality
which she received under her roof, she relished the idea
of leaving that roof and facing such discomforts as might
be in wait for her outside very considerably less. What
had remained to her after the crash of her husband's
fortunes, and the dispersing of their properties, consti-
tuted, it must be owned, but an extremely meager
income; enough to enable her with strict economy to
live by herself in a very small way. Now, Mrs. Skyn-
ner, as it happened, had a particular objection
to living in a small way. Muriel's establishment
was certainly by no means luxurious-utterly want-
ing, in fact, in thousands of things which she her-
self considered indispensable-still, as far as it went, it
was a liberal one. There were no cheese-parings; no
182
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
pinchings to-day in order to make an effect to-morrow.
Personally, had the establishment been her own, she
would have preferred a little more such private pinching
in order to have a wider margin for greater external
brilliancy; this, however, was not the way of the house,
and as the brilliancy would not have redounded particu-
larly to her own credit, Mrs. Skynner was content to
leave things as they were, and to reap the benefit of the
opposite system. As to the idea that any return could be
expected upon her part, such a notion never for an
instant crossed her mind. The benefits, in fact, she con-
sidered were all the other way. It stood to reason that
a mere unmarried girl like Muriel could not by any pos-
sibility live alone without the countenance and chaper-
onage of some experienced matron, and where could she
find any one of larger experience, or whose countenance
would confer wider or greater luster than Mrs. Skynner
herself? It was indeed only part of Muriel's obstinacy
and her unaccountable way of looking at things which
had caused her to fail in reaping the full benefit of that
companionship. When she had first come to Chelsea she
had offered repeatedly to introduce her into society, and
to take her out into that circle which she herself had
formerly so adorned; but this Muriel had declined,
alleging that she did not care for evening parties, and
that going about in the daytime hindered her from
getting on with her painting. Mrs. Skynner resented
this as a slight. Little as she herself admired Muriel, she
was aware that by the outer world she was considered
handsome and attractive, and was not, therefore, averse
to such advantages as might accrue from her companion-
ship-the more desirable, seeing that her relations with
her own former friends had not, perhaps, of late had
been altogether so cordial as might have been wished.
During the month which Muriel had spent in Hamp-
shire, matters in this respect had somewhat mended;
indeed, several of the later comers had failed to realize
that the house in Chelsea had any other proprietor or
occupier than herself. This desirable state of things had,
however, received a severe check, in consequence both of
the episode of Madame Cairioli with its unfortunate end-
ing, and still more (so, at least, she herself considered),
in consequence of the deprivation she had sustained in
the matter of a suitable equipage, both which mis-
STRAINED RELATIONS.
183
fortunes stood charged in equal measure at Muriel's
door. It was, indeed, a not uninstructive instance of the
ease with which an antipathy can provide its own
aliment, that Mrs. Skynner really and honestly did believe
that most of the misfortunes which had come to her in
the course of her life were somehow or other attributable
to Muriel. Had not the husband who had ruined and
deserted her been the latter's brother? and had not she
herself originally been rich, and Muriel poor, whereas
now she was poor and Muriel rich-comparatively so, at
least? What clearer proof could be wanted that the one
had in some way or other battened and prospered at the
expense of the other?
People are apt to talk largely of the beneficial effects
of what is vaguely termed the discipline of life, as well
as of the softening and humanizing results which spring
from a community of woes, but they fail sometimes to
take into consideration that these, like most other natural
effects, depend largely, if not entirely, for their results
upon the nature against which they are directed. There
are mental and moral shallows which nothing seems able
to affect; where all the winds of adversity may blow and
blow in vain. Mrs. Skynner had had her share, and, as
she herself not unwarrantably considered, more than her
fair share of troubles. Children had been born to her
and had died; she had lost her home, her husband, and
her fortune; but nothing had made the smallest differ-
ence; whole seas and cataracts of misfortune might, in-
deed, have washed over her, and it would have been all
the same-the same, that is, as far as the smallest capa-
city of sympathy, or anything approaching sympathy,
was concerned. Many women, whom the larger joys
and interests of their neighbors find unmoved, make it
up in care and zeal for the lesser ones, but Mrs. Skynner
was not one of these. You might have gone to see her,
after having succeeded to a fortune, led a forlorn hope,
or found your lost umbrella, and you would alike have
found yourself coming away again without having once
touched, or even thought of touching, upon any of these
various sources of elation. As for your troubles, they
were things that had no business to exist-that is, in her
presence; indeed, one of her chief grievances against
Muriel was the persistency with which the latter insisted
upon dragging forward other people's affairs and other
184
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
people's foolish or uninteresting troubles-people too,
who, as Mrs. Skynner often pointed out, had really,
many of them, no social position at all.
One not unnatural result of the state of things I have
been depicting was that the two relations at this time saw
but little of one another-as little, indeed, as was com-
patible with the fact of their both living under the same
roof. They took their meals, that is, together, but at all
other times they were apart-one in the studio, the other
in her own apartments at the bottom of the house. As
the summer wore on, Muriel began to feel a little lonely,
a little dispirited. She had of late renewed her attend-
ance at the Academy, and this was an immense resource.
Still there were many hours when she could not paint,
and when even painting itself seemed but a folly and a
weariness, an objectless toiling after something of no
kind of serious importance either to herself or to any-
body else.
Of Mr. Wygram since they parted, as described in the
last chapter, she had heard nothing; not even whether
he had actually carried out his proposed intention and
sailed for America. Well as she had known him, she
had known but few of his friends, and none of his re-
lations, so that her opportunities of information were
scanty. Hyde, too, had only called once, when he came
to make some final arrangement with regard to the minia-
tures. Halliday never. Why was this? she sometimes
wondered. He must know her address; at all events,
the information was not unattainable, and, after the ac-
quaintanceship that had sprung up between them in
Hampshire, it was hardly courteous, not to say friendly,
not once even to take the trouble of coming to inquire
after her. Altogether, what with one thing and an-
other, she felt, as I say, a trifle lonely and dejected.
Her independence she certainly still possessed, but even
her independence seemed to have fewer charms for her
than heretofore. Lady Rushton had gone out of town,
so that that source of recreation and improvement was
cut off; her artistic friends, too, seemed somehow to
have deserted her; even Kitty King-her staunchest
and truest ally-was less with her than formerly. Partly,
no doubt, in obedience to her own trouble-hating in-
stincts, but still more-so at least she herself intimated-
with the object of snubbing the only too readily daunted
K
STRAINED RELATIONS.
ATIONS.
185
:
Mr. Archer, Kitty had of late forsworn her short-lived
artistic ardor, and had given herself up without reserve
to such limited distractions and dissipations as lay with-
in her reach. Occasionally Muriel used to inquire after
that misprized young gentleman, but always with the
same results. As, however, she heard of parties to the
plays and expeditions to Richmond and Greenwich, in
all of which he seemed to bear a part, she came to the
conclusion that he was not altogether so despondent with
regard to his own ultimate success as the language of his
fickle fair one might seem to warrant. Another Miss
King, the youngest but one of the sisters, had engaged
herself to a Mr. Gosling, a thriving young stockbroker,
much to the joy and satisfaction of all her belongings,
with the exception, indeed, of Kitty, who declared that
if she had ever been tempted to engage herself to any
man, the sight of that ridiculous Amelia billing and coo-
ing with her preposterous, carroty-haired Gosling, would
alone have been enough to put her off for ever from that
idea.
Thus of all Muriel's inmost circle of intimates only the
Prettymans remained, and of them, indeed, she saw
something almost every day. One of the little Indian
grandchildren had fulfilled Elizabeth's forebodings by
falling seriously ill shortly after its arrival, and Mrs.
Prettyman's whole thoughts and energies seemed now
to be concentrated upon nursing and caring for it. It
was a tiny, little, waxen-faced creature, with the most
perilously precarious hold upon life, and Muriel could
not but tremble for the effect on her old friend whenever
that all-too-fragile thread was at length snapped. The
brown ayah and her bangles had long since returned to
a happier clime, and the remaining children were almost
more than Elizabeth could manage, her forte, as she her-
self readily acknowledged, not by any means lying in
that direction. Accordingly, Muriel got into the habit
of going down every day and seeing what could be done
in her overtaxed friend's behalf. An act of heroism
which generally ended in her carrying off the eldest of
the group, a boy of about eight, so as to leave the lat-
ter's hands freer for the rest.
This Master Gaspar Prettyman was a sallow-faced
lanky young gentleman, with that peculiarly languid,
insouciant manner which Indian children seem to be
186
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Y
born to. It was anything, therefore, but a particularly
easy task to cater for his amusement, even the accumu-
lated treasures of Hal Flack's lodging failing to afford
him the smallest gratification, everything great and
small being referred to some mysterious Indian standard,
to which nothing in his present surroundings seemed
able to attain. Once in despair Muriel carried him off
to the gardens in the Regent's Park, in hopes that the
inmates of the monkey house would prove too much for
his stolidity, but while there he walked about amongst
the cages of the tigers and hyenas with an air of such
supercilious acquaintanceship-the air of one called on
to notice objects familiar to him from his earliest infancy
—that she did not feel at all disposed to repeat that ex-
periment. One thing, however, the young gentleman
fortunately did condescend to like, and that was the
river, and the sight of the boats and boat-building below
Battersea bridge. Muriel had an old friend, a boatman
with a good safe boat, and in this she and Master Gaspar
used to take long rows, coming back in the cool of the
evening upon the returning tide. She herself had
always been fond of the river, and in the loneliness of
her present life she seemed to grow fonder of it than
ever. For its sake alone she would not have exchanged
her house, remote as many people called it, for all the
palaces of Pimlico and Belgravia. Often in the evening,
after coming back from one of these innocent expeditions,
she would lean long from her window, looking out at the
dusky town, with its faintly dotted lines of light, follow-
ing the slow swelling curvatures of the Embankment.
Now and then a far-off whistle, or the heavy stertorous
breathing of some passing tug, would reach her from the
river; sparkles and flashes, the reflection from fast
moving lights above, glancing along the black surface;
an occasional footfall or sound of voices under her win-
dows serving only to intensify the stillness of the place,
a stillness which seemed to deepen and deepen as the
summer days stole slowly by.
Despite the hand of the renovator, which of late has
been laid rather heavily upon it, Chelsea yet retains not
a few haunts where a fairly active imagination may still
conjure up pictures of a past, not very remote, perhaps,
as regards time, but very remote indeed as regards every-
thing that we see and hear around us. Muriel's imagin-
STRAINED RELATIONS.
187
66
ation was of a decidedly active order, and she got to know
and care for all of these. She got, too, into the com-
mendable habit of attending the various services of her
parish church, that church whose tower of blackened
brickwork was visible from her bedroom window. She
liked its monuments for one thing; those quaint mural
tablets, with their cruelly defaced edges and half obliter-
ated lettering. There was one in particular to a Com-
pleat gentleman," who died somewhere about the year
1720, towards which she used to find her eyes straying
when they ought to have been otherwise occupied.
Near it was another and a smaller one to three infants,
who, had they now been alive, would have been con-
siderably more than centenarians. The legs and noses
of these latter effigies were very smooth and shiny,
much as if they had been modeled in wax or sugar.
The inscription, too, which told of their lamented deaths,
was fast becoming illegible, as was also the case with the
other and more gorgeous gilded and Latinized inscription
upon the wall beyond; to our fanciful-minded heroine,
however, they appeared none the worse for all that.
Like Gaspar, too, she enjoyed the more bustling and vul-
gar region below Battersea bridge, with its throngs of
boats, its floating rafts, black barges, and half submerged
piers, the river broadening away towards Putney, and on
the further side the scattered clumps of chimneys, with
here and there a taller house or church spire-the whole
not unlike some sort of smoky Venice wrecked upon
these alien shores. Still, in spite of all these various re-
sources, and in spite of all the other alleviations which she
could either find or invent for herself, the summer, for
the first time in her life, seemed to trail. It had been
settled that she was to go down to Norfolk early in Sep-
tember, but it was as yet only the middle of August, and
it appeared to Muriel as if that month had never before
had so many days in it as it had this year.
One afternoon, towards the middle of that laggard
month, it happened that she and Gaspar were proceed-
ing down the Embankment in the direction of their
friend the boatman. A steamer passed as they were
nearing the bridge, shooting down on its way to the
landing-place. Gasper wished to see the people disem-
bark, so to oblige him Muriel sat down upon one of the
benches to wait until that excitement was over.
It was
188
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
very hot, and silent, and dusty. The plane-trees were
shedding their soot-encrusted bark, which lay on the
ground below them in a light brownish deposit. It
seemed to her as if the region had grown perceptibly de-
populated even within the last few days. A nursery-
maid, with her charges depending in a limp and uncom-
fortable fashion from a perambulator, made a conspicuous
figure in the middle distance. Further on, a couple of
Chelsea pensioners were coming towards her with the
easy, loitering step of men whose. work in the world is
satisfactorily over and done with. Glancing along the
gray satin surface below, she could see a pair of coal-
black barge sails expanded in hopes of catching a breeze
where breeze there was none to catch. Presently the
people from the steamer began to pass. A gentleman
with an umbrella, two old ladies with handbags, some
workmen with their tools on their backs; then more
ladies, old and young. After these a young man,
hurrying along as if to make up for lost time. Muriel
thought she recognized that long, swinging stride and
the tall, muscular figure with its somewhat incongruous-
looking habiliments of sober black. Another moment,
and there could be no further question about it-Halli-
day, and no one else, was passing her.
A sudden impulse to speak to him seized her, and she
put out her hand, at the same time calling him by his
name. He turned, and uttered an exclamation of sur-
prise.
"Miss Ellis! I was just on my way to your house."
"Were you, really? It is quite near. Will you not
come back with us now?"
"Thank you, yes, I will. Don't think, though, that
was going to trouble you with a mere afternoon call,"
he added hastily. Muriel was upon the point of assuring
him that there was not the least likelihood of her falling
into any such error, but he gave her no time.
I came for was to ask you a favor, to ask if you would
help a Do you, in short, know a Madame Cairioli,
or a person calling herself so?"
"What
"Madame Cairioli? to be sure I do," she answered.
"She stayed with us some months ago, and left us quite
suddenly. I have often felt anxious to know what be-
came of her. She seemed so ill, poor thing."
""
"She is dying now.
STRAINED RELATIONS.
189
"Dying? Oh, poor woman! Where is she? I should
like to go and see her at once," Muriel exclaimed, spring-
ing up from her bench in her eagerness.
No, no, that is not necessary. In fact, it is not a
place where you could well go. What I came about to-
day was that-well, she mentioned your name, and I
thought perhaps you would be willing-of course you
must understand that I haven't the very slightest claim
upon you. Still, as I can't get it from any of the regular
sources, I thought perhaps you or your friends might be
able In short, what I came about was-money.
The last word came out with a sort of jerk, and the
young man stood before her looking the very picture of
constraint and embarrassment.
ct
"Money is that all?" Muriel said, wondering not a
little at his confusion. Why, of course. Do you want
very much though? forty or fifty pounds?"
He shook off his embarrassment with a laugh. "Forty
or fifty pounds!" he exclaimed. " Oh, no; four or five
will be nearer the mark. I only want to take her out of
the place she is in, and to give her a few comforts, poor
soul. She can't last long.
(6
'You
"Four or five pounds? Oh, but I think I have that
now in my purse," Muriel said, putting her hand into
her pocket. But, indeed, Mr. Halliday, I must insist
upon your taking me to see her," she added.
don't know how self-reproachful I have been feeling
about her all the summer. I do not think we behaved
at all rightly or kindly to her. She came to stay with
us at my sister-in-law's invitation, and then, not for
anything she did, but simply on account of something
we heard about her, she was almost turned out of the
house into the street. I should never forgive myself if
I did not do the little I can now to make amends."
Halliday looked doubtful. "I don't think it is a place
for you to go to, really, Miss Ellis," he said.
"I am
sure your relations would never hear of your doing so.”
My relations? I have no relations—none, at least,
that the question affects."
66
"(
Well, for yourself, then. It is a wretched, dirty
room on the top of a wretched house, in one of the worst
parishes in London."
"The more wretched it is, the more reason that people
should go, in order to see what can be done one would
190
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
think you thought I was a child or a doll, Mr. Halliday!
No, please don't say another word. My mind is made
up. Only tell me the best way to get there. How were
you going back yourself?
>>
66
I was going back by the river," he answered.
"Then I will go back with you by the river. Or no,
I forgot. I must go first to Mrs. Prettyman's house to
leave her grandson there. We will take a cab; I sup-
pose we shall be able to find one."
As it happened, a hansom was at that moment coming
slowly towards them, its driver looking about him with
the disengaged air of a man who considers his chance of
a fare to be a remarkably remote one. Muriel hailed it
and jumped in.
"Get in, Gaspar,” she said. "Will you come in too,
please, Mr. Halliday. You won't mind our being a little
crowded for a few minutes, I know."
Halliday obeyed, not indeed seeing his way to doing
anything else. Arrived at Mrs. Prettyman's, Muriel
jumped out without waiting to be helped, and ran up
the little walk to the house, where, having deposited
Gaspar, she turned hastily back-not, however, without
first catching a glimpse of Elizabeth, her eyes wide with
dismay at sight of her own companion-then she re-
entered the hansom, Halliday gave the order, and they
bowled rapidly away eastwards.
Now that the first excitement and satisfaction of get-
ting her own way was over, Muriel began to feel a little
embarrassed. It struck her, too, that her companion
was extraordinarily uncommunicative-more so than she
ever remembered him. He looked older too, and thin-
ner than when she had seen him last; indeed, but for
Hyde's reiterated assertion as to his unbounded and un-
failing health and strength, she would have said that he
was decidedly looking ill.
"Don't you think it would be a good plan if we were
to get some soups or strengthening things to take with
us?" she inquired, as they were passing up Piccadilly.
It was almost the first remark that had been made since
they left the Prettymans' house.
،،
"Perhaps it would," he answered. Brand, or some-
thing of that sort; there is an old woman fortunately,
too, at the lodging, who could heat it up.
The order was given, and the cab presently drew up
""
STRAINED RELATIONS.
191
at a grocer's shop. Muriel was for buying everything
suitable to an invalid upon which she could lay her
hands, but Halliday insisted on their keeping strictly to
the original suggestion, declaring anything else to be
entirely beyond the powers of Mrs. O'Connor, the old
woman in question.
Hurrying back to the cab, Muriel almost brushed in
her haste against a young man who was strolling down
the street-a short, dark-complexioned, rather foreign-
looking young man, and it was with rather a foreign air
that he lifted his hat, stepping back at the same time to
make way for her.
As he did so he caught sight of Halliday.
((
Stephen! Can I believe my eyes?" he exclaimed.
"You in this part of the town?
How do you do, Conroy? Wait a moment; my
hands are full."
Halliday assisted Muriel into the hansom, deposited
the parcels on the seat, and then turned back a moment
to speak to his friend.
CC
Why have you never come to look us up?" the
latter demanded as he drew near.
"I have never had time.
"Oh !"—with a glance in the direction of the hansom.
Halliday turned impatiently away.
"I say, don't forget you're expected at Chudleigh
without fail on the twenty-eighth," the other man called
after him as the cab drove off.
"Was that a foreigner?" Muriel inquired.
No, he is not a foreigner. His name is Beachamp.
He is a cousin of mine."
(C
"The son of your uncle in Norfolk?"
"Yes. His grandmother was Spanish, which accounts,
I suppose, for his dark looks.'
"His grandmother? Was she not your grandmother
then, also?"
((
Yes-my mother's mother. She was a hateful old
woman," Halliday added. "She made my mother's life
miserable-shortened it, many people say.
"}
"}
"Your mother is dead?
Yes, years ago. She died when I was two years
((
old."
Muriel hesitated to inquire further; what Hyde had
told her as to the family disagreements being strongly
192
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
****
present with her. Still, the impulse to elicit something
more from her uncommunicative companion was, to say
the least, equally so.
"You have no brothers or sisters, then?" she said at
last inquiringly.
“I have two half brothers," he answered.
"That is more than I have. I have no very near
relations.
"(
'My half brothers are not particularly near; the
youngest is nearly twenty years older than myself, and
I have not seen either of them for more than a year.
""
The tone in which this was said was not particularly
provocative of further conversation, so Muriel relapsed
into another silence, which this time was not broken for
nearly a mile.
They were already fast leaving behind them all the
landmarks with which she was acquainted. Cheapside
and Cornhill and Leadenhall Street were now succes-
sively passed, and they entered upon a labyrinth of narrow
streets debouching off some of the yet remoter thorough-
fares beyond. It was not a particularly well-favored
region, any of it, but what followed was infinitely worse
than anything that had gone before. The sun had been
shining brightly when they left the Embankment, but it
seemed to have gone out long before they reached their
destination; indeed, looking out from her hansom, it
appeared to Muriel as if the sun never could shine there,
or if it did, it would only be to make the hideousness
more hideous. Her brain began at last to grow dizzy
with the ugliness and monotony of it all; street after
street, house after house, doorway after doorway, each
apparently the very facsimile of the last-the same grimy
entrances, the same patched and broken windows, the
same squalid, unkempt children, the same mean, ugly,
care-driven faces, the same filth, want, privation, misery
-the same, yet all different; and all, as she remembered
with a gasp, a fragment only, the merest fractional part,
of the terrible sum-total. Once or twice the cabman
went wrong, bewildered by the tortuousness of the region,
Halliday standing up to direct him into the proper turn-
ings. At last, however, they got into the right street,
and drew up before a house several degrees cleaner,
and less forbidding than any that they had lately
passed.

STRAINED RELATIONS.
193
Y
((
Muriel felt relieved. Oh, but I don't call this so very
bad, after all," she exclaimed cheerfully.
"We
"Ah but this is not it," Halliday answered.
cannot, in fact, drive up to where she is. These are my
lodgings, where I must ask you to wait a few minutes
until I return.
He opened the door with a latch-key as he spoke, and
ushered her into a room near the entrance; a moder-
ately large, and very clean room, but bald and bleak to
a depressing degree-the baldest and bleakest room,
Muriel thought, she had ever seen. A big deal table
covered with writing materials, stood in the window, a
similar one, but empty, in the middle of the room; there
were a few chairs of decidedly uneasy varieties, and a
small wooden bookcase of very unattractive looking
books in a corner. Apart, however, from all these, and
rather pushed aside as if to elude observation, was a
small table, covered with an embroidered cover, upon
which stood a single rose in a pretty little spindle-
shanked vase, a couple of smartly-bound devotional
books lying beside it. There was something about this
table that immediately puzzled Muriel ; for the life of
her she could not associate all that red embroidery and
gilded lettering with her present companion.
If you will kindly wait here a few minutes," the lat-
ter said hastily. "I will not keep you longer than I can
help." He went out, shutting the door behind him, and
Muriel was left alone.
She looked round. Despite the melancholy errand on
which she had come, she could not help being amused at
finding herself for the time being the sole proprietress of
such peculiarly clerical and bachelor quarters. Certainly
they were not of a nature to make her sigh for the joys
of bachelorhood! anything in fact grimmer, uglier, more
forbidding she had never before imagined!
She got up
presently, and wandered about a little; examined the
volumes in the shelves, all works of divinity of a some-
what antique and rococo type; the newer, and presum-
ably more personal books she did not feel warranted in
touching, but she smelt at the rose, and then moved
away toward the window. This, unlike its neighbors,
was scrupulously bright and clean-a doubtful advan-
tage, possibly, considering what it looked on. She had
just turned away, and was about to resume her original
1
13
194
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
▾
A
seat, when there came a quick tap at the door, which
immediately opened, and a slight, fair, evidently short-
sighted man, with a peculiarly candid and confiding
expression, entered, tripping over a hole in the carpet as
he did so.
66
Oh, if you please, Halliday, I am afraid I must
trouble you to come out at once," he began hastily, "for
there's been a most dreadful-
He stopped, sud-
11
denly conscious of Muriel's identity.
'Mr. Halliday is not in. He went out about five
minutes ago," she said politely.
The little man, whom she now perceived to be a
clergyman, stood as if spell-bound; unable to move
hand or foot; his face becoming gradually crimson in
his confusion.
“He will not be long, I am sure," she continued, feel-
ing for his embarrassment. "Won't you take a chair,
and wait until he comes back ? ""
"No, thank you, no-I couldn't indeed; I'm extremely
obliged," he said helplessly. "Perhaps, though, you
will kindly tell him that I will call again soon-to-
morrow, perhaps. My name is-is-Skellett-Mr. Skel-
lett."
And the little man bowed himself out.
After this Muriel was again left for some five minutes
tête-à-tête with the rose, when there came a second knock
at the door; this time sudden, single, impressive-the
sort of knock which on the stage is supposed to herald
the approach of the hero or villain of the piece. Before
she had time to make any answer to it, the door opened,
and another clergyman entered, a tall, dark, austere-
looking young man, clad in a long, black garment,
which nearly touched his heels. He, too, stood as if
petrified by the sight of her.
"Are not these Mr. Halliday's lodgings?" he at last in-
quired in a deep, expressive tone-a tone which seemed
trained to match the knock.
Yes," Muriel answered.
66
Then, who are you?" was the evident rejoinder.
Not feeling, however, called upon to answer the un-
spoken as well as the spoken question, she on this occa-
sion kept silence.
'Do I understand that he is out?" was the next
question, given in a tone which seemed to imply that
the probabilities were really in favor of Halliday being
STRAINED RELATIONS.
195
secreted behind the bookcase, or perhaps hidden away
under Muriel's chair.
"But he will
(6
Yes, he is out," she answered quietly.
be back before long, I expect," she added.
4.
Oh, indeed! Perhaps, when he does return, you
will kindly tell him that I have called."
"
Very well," she answered. "What name shall I
Say?"
The dark young man waved his hands with an austere
gesture. "Thank you, it will be quite unnecessary to
mention any name.
He will know ; " and then this
visitor, too, departed.
After this Muriel had another ten minutes to wait,
at the end of which time Halliday came hurriedly
back.
"I must beg you will excuse my delay," he said
hastily. "The fact is, I found the place full of people,
and it was some time before I could succeed in dislodging
them."
"And you turned them out on my account?" Muriel
said in a tone of remonstrance. "Oh, but why? Surely
I could have gone there all the same?"
{{
Indeed, you could not," he answered quickly. "It
is quite bad enough even now, as you will soon see.'
He was leading the way out of the room when she
remembered her recent visitors.
"Two gentlemen have been here since," she said.
"Both clergymen, I think. The second gave no name,
but the first told me to say that he was Mr. Skellett, and
that he would call again soon-to-morrow, perhaps."
(6
"To-morrow?" Halliday repeated, in a tone of amaze-
ment. 'Poor Skellett! what a fright he must have
been in to say that!" he added, smiling. Why, he
lives here. The rooms are his as much as mine; more
so, indeed.
Those flowers and things there are all his,”
-indicating the rose and illuminated volumes of devo-
tion upon the table.
{t
And I pressed him to sit down in his own room!"
Muriel said, laughing. "No wonder he looked so
scared at seeing me. I am afraid he wanted you rather
badly," she added. "He seemed to be in a great hurry
about something.
{{
>>
46

Oh, I dare say that it will keep," Halliday replied.
"He is the best and kindest little fellow in the whole
196
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
world," he added; "but he cannot, and never will,
accustom himself to the ways of this place.
"}
"And has he got to live here, poor man ?" Muriel
said pityingly.
(C
Yes; he is one of the curates. There are four of us
altogether.
""
"Oh, then probably the other a tall, dark, rather
stern looking young man-was a curate also?"
"Yes; that must have been Porter," Halliday an-
swered.
They had now nearly got to the end of the street, when
he turned suddenly up a court or alley-a sort of human
backwater, and, like a backwater, the receptacle of all
the unpleasant flotsam and jetsam of the neighborhood.
Then up a staircase, foul, dark, crumbling, decaying,
into a room or garret, so dark that at first Muriel could
see absolutely nothing.
A decrepit old crone-evidently the Mrs. O'Connor of
whom mention had been made-came forward to meet
them, and presently Muriel found herself standing
beside a sort of bed or crib in a corner, upon which lay
the figure of a woman.
Ill as Madame Cairioli had looked when she saw her
last, Muriel would hardly have recognized her again.
The poor woman appeared to be nothing but skin and
bone; one thin hand depended outside the ragged cover-
let, which constituted her only bed-covering. She
seemed unconscious, too, of any one's vicinity, merely
moaning slightly, but without opening her eyes.
"The doctor has not been here since, has he, Mrs.
O'Connor?" Halliday inquired of the old woman.
"Nor won't, yer rivirence," she
"Tis into the hospital he says
She shook her head.
whispered mysteriously.
she should be tuk."
&
The patient in the bed stirred and moved her hand.
No hospital, no hospital," she murmured.
(C
66
"Her mind is set against that," Halliday said to
Muriel. Indeed, I doubt their taking her into any
now, unless it was an incurable one," he added, lower-
ing his voice. "We must see what can be done else-
where. Had we not better be going, Miss Ellis ? I
doubt her recognizing you now, and some of the other
people of the house will probably be coming back
shortly."
:
", * -
STRAINED RELATIONS.
197
In effect, the door, as he spoke, was burst open, and
some five or six women entered, who, after a preliminary
stare at the intruders, proceeded without further cere-
mony to fling themselves upon the various bundles of
rags which served as seats, and there divide the food they
had brought with them, not without a good deal of shrill
squabbling amongst themselves. They were not partic-
ularly heartless, poor things, only too inevitably hardened
to the sight of suffering to trouble their heads about one
old woman more or less. To Muriel, however, who was
not used to it, this callousness seemed terrible.
it
"Do let us
Ah, yes, pray, pray let us go," she said.
see if we cannot find somewhere else-somewhere where
she can be at peace.
""
It was not so easy to find anything in that densely
overcrowded neighborhood; still, after her late experi-
ence, Muriel was not so critical as she would have been
half an hour before. The room secured, there still
remained the further question of a nurse. At last this
too, however, was accomplished, and she and Halliday
stood together in the street where she had left the han-
som.
' I am afraid I must not offer to see you home, Miss
Ellis," he said. "I shall have to read service at one of
the hospitals in another half-hour.”
(C
Oh, thank you, but indeed, in any case, it would be
quite unnecessary; nothing is at all likely to happen to
me between this and Chelsea," she answered.
Now that they were about to part, and that the busi-
ness which had brought them together was over, an
unaccountable embarrassment seemed to have sprung up
between them; a mutual self-consciousness, of which
both were aware, and which both were equally anxious
to ignore. Muriel began talking quickly, to shake off
the impression.
You will let me know how Madame Cairioli goes on,
and whether I can do anything further for her, will you
not? she said. "Even if I have left London, your
letter, of course, will be forwarded. Though, indeed,
Mr. Halliday, you ought to take a holiday yourself. I
* know you are very strong, but still there is a limit to
every one's strength, and you are certainly looking ill.
You ought to have a change."
66
Thank you, I am not in the least ill," he answered
>>
198
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
•
stiffly. "I am going away, however, soon," he added;
"next week, in fact."
"I want, too, to tell you how extremely obliged I am
to you for having come to me to-day," Muriel continued
hurriedly. "You might just as easily have gone to some
one else instead, might you not?"
66
I suppose I might," he answered.
(6
And then I should have been so sorry. It would have
robbed me of the poor satisfaction of being able to do
something for this poor woman, who I cannot help feel-
ing was treated badly at my house. How curious it is
the way things happen," she went on. "If we had not
chanced to meet in the New Forest you would never
have-have-
""
She stopped short in the middle of her observation, her
voice dying away from sheer astonishment. What had
happened she asked herself. Nothing had happened.
The sky had not fallen, the street had not opened under
her feet; nothing at all had happened; nothing but that
as she uttered the last few words she chanced to catch
her companion's eyes fixed upon her with a peculiar
intentness. But what of that? What was there in his
expression, or anybody's expression, that could account
for such a sensation-one which, though she failed to
give it any name, seemed to amount for the moment to
the strength of a revelation? But a revelation of what?
she asked herself irritably. Of something in him or of
something in her? Not in the latter, certainly, she
immediately answered. Why should there be? What
was there in this young man, whom at most she had not
seen more than some five or six times, to account for
anything of the kind? She respected him because he
seemed in earnest-more so than most of the people she
saw about her--she would respect any one, no matter
who he might be, who tried, however unsuccessfully, to
do his duty; but as for anything further! Meantime the
chief immediate result, over and above a feeling of irri-
tation against Halliday himself, was to inspire her with
a desire to get away. Hardly another word passed
between them. In silence he handed her into the han-
som, and in silence they shook hands. The order was
given to the driver, and Muriel departed, too bewildered
by what had just occurred to be able even to experience
the natural feeling of satisfaction in escaping from her
WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT. 199
·
late surroundings, and once more seeing the sun, and
breathing the comparatively, at all events-uncontam-
inated air of heaven.
CHAPTER XVII.
(เ
AT WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT.
Halliday went back to his ugly sitting-room, and sat
hastily down upon the first chair he came to. To him,
too, the last five minutes had constituted something of
an epoch, though in a different way from Muriel. What
to her had been so new and startling-so startling that
she had failed as yet even to take in the meaning of it-
to him was neither new nor startling at all. Ever since
the second time they had met he had known what his
feeling for Muriel Ellis was just as well as if it had been
all written down for him in a book. Though he had
never been in love before, he knew very well that he
was in love now; he had fought against the feeling,
and was fighting against it still, but he had never at-
tempted to deny it. What would have been the use ?
the fact was there, and his was one of those stubbornly
constituted minds to which a fact remained a fact, and a
spade a spade, however desirable it might be that they
should both be something totally different.
I said just
now that he had never been in love before, a statement
generally taken to mean that So-and-so had never been
in love in quite the same fashion, or possibly even quite
to the same extent. In this case, however, as it hap-
pens, it was meant to be taken, not liberally, but liter-
ally. Halliday literally never had been in love before;
it had not come in his way, and he had not certainly
gone out of his way to look for it. Even Muriel her-
self, the first time he had met her, had failed to make
any particular impression upon him, despite the un-
doubted romance of the situation. He had thought her
handsome, but he had thought no more about her, and
indeed had well-nigh forgotten her existence before they
again met. It was this second time, when there had
been nothing in the least romantic in the situation, and
no apparent provocation at all, then it was that the
200
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
He
mysterious, unaccountable bolt had found him out.
remembered as well as possible the very spot in the wood
where the discovery had first dawned upon him. It
was the day they had met near the Partridges' cottage,
and she had told him that old John Flack was her
grandfather. He was marching back to his lodgings
filled with vague disgust, surprise, and annoyance at
the notion; angry with her for having told him, angry
with himself for minding, doubly angry with the fact
itself, with the preposterous notion of her being in any
way connected with those vulgar, hide-bound people in
Norfolk. Suddenly it occurred to him to ask himself
what in the world it mattered to him? What possible
business was it of his whose granddaughter she was, or
whether, in point of fact, she had or had not any grand-
father at all? Then swift, sudden, overwhelming, had
come the answer; the reason was because he loved her:
that was simply the long and the short of it. It was all
done and over in a minute. He did not even give him-
self the trouble of considering why he loved her, or
what there was in her to arouse the sensation, he ac-
cepted it simply as a fact. Not, however, by any means
a satisfactory one; on the contrary, a particularly in-
convenient, not to say a humiliating fact; but still just
as certainly one as that he himself was at that moment
a living and breathing man, and every bit as much
needing to be taken into account. All that summer he
had fought against it, had thrown himself into his work,
had resisted going to see her, and had tried to put the
idea bodily out of his head; and this was the result-
that he thought of it and of her more than ever, that it
seemed to him as if he never for a single instant thought
of anything or anybody else, and that when her name
came casually up in connection with Madame Cairioli,
the impulse to see and speak to her had been more than
he had been able to resist.
Even in doing this, however, Halliday had felt not a
little ashamed. He was not generally given to devising
small expedients in order to carry out his own wishes,
and in appealing to Muriel rather than to Hyde or any
of his other and richer friends, he felt that he had been
guilty of such a small and pitiful expedient. Well now,
he said to himself, he had had his wish; he had had what
he schemed for, and what was the result? Was he
WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT.
201
On
any better, easier, more satisfied on that account?
the contrary, he was a thousand times less happy, less
easy, more dissatisfied. He had not even enjoyed the
few poor minutes he had spent in her company, his
whole time and thoughts having been taken up with the
dread of self-betrayal, and the result was that he had
been positively discourteous, nay, brutally uncivil to her,
and that she must think him a greater bear and Goth
than ever.
The truth was that, like many another and a greater
hero, poor Halliday had got into a decided quandary,
none the less serious, either, because it was so entirely of
his own making. He had rushed into his work with all
the zeal of an enthusiast, tossing ease and idleness away
from him as ignoble things, believing that in work, and
work alone, he was to find satisfaction, and now, alas,
alas, for fact ! he was beginning to find that it was not
SO. He was beginning to find that he did hanker for a
good many things which were clearly not nominated in
the bond, which lay distinctly outside that arena within
which of his own free-will he had restricted himself. As
Hyde truly remarked, he was not by any means a St.
Augustine, or a St. Vincent de Paul, or anything even
remotely resembling them—not one of those lofty spirits,
whose parish, as it has been said, is the world, and their
family humanity-he was simply a very honest, very
well-intentioned, somewhat borné young man, with
strongly developed personal wishes, and an extremely
obstinate individuality of his own, an individuality
which had an awkward trick of starting into prominence
just when it was supposed to be most effectually coerced.
All that summer he had been trying to coerce it, and the
result was that it had never perhaps been louder or more
clamorous than it was at that very moment. Try to turn
his thoughts into other channels as he would, he could
think of nothing, absolutely nothing but Muriel. Her
presence, look, gesture, the very way she had of turning
her head and smiling, kept presenting themselves over and
over again to his mind with the persistency of a vision,
He must see her again, he felt; he must tell her all that
was in his mind. True, he had not the slightest_expec-
tation of bettering his case by so doing; quite the con-
trary. But what then? even the very act of speaking
would be a relief. Why should a man not say what was
202
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
:
j?
in his mind? Was a man, in fact, a man at all who
dared not speak his own mind, who dared not put his
wishes to the touch even if he was certain to fail? And,
after all, why should he be so absolutely certain to fail?
he asked himself. Could any man know his fate until
he tried it? And if he did succeed, if she did love him,
why then
Halliday started up, and strode rapidly to and fro hist
narrow room, his brain fevered with the thoughts which
the last idea had suddenly conjured up. A whole crowd
of words, eager, persuasive, remonstrative, seemed to
come crowding at once to his lips and clamoring for ut-
terance. Yes, he would go and see her again, he decided
-to-morrow, the first thing. He would not play the
coward as he had done to-day. He would tell her what
he felt-what he had been feeling ever since they first
met, and perhaps, perhaps-
Suddenly, as he was striding to and fro, his foot caught
in a hole in the carpet-the same hole in which Mr.
Skellett had caught his an hour before. Slight as the
jar was, it seemed to bring him to his senses, for he
stopped and looked round him; looked carefully round
at the bare white-washed walls, the mean, ugly furniture,
the cheap, sordid, dingy look of everything; then across
the street at the shabby little shops, with their soot-
grimed fronts, and uninviting-looking wares. Halliday
did not notice such things once in a month as a rule,
but now he looked at them all carefully, thoughtfully,
as if he was trying to learn them off by heart. Finally
he broke into a laugh.
"A nice place, certainly, to ask a woman to come and
live in a very nice place!" he said scornfully.
He had hardly uttered the words before the door
opened, and his little fellow-lodger entered, glancing
cautiously round as he did so.
(6
Why, you're all alone, Halliday!" he said wonder-
ingly. Didn't I hear 'you talking to some one as I
came in?"
"You did; I was talking to a fool," Halliday said
curtly.
"Oh ! And has he gone?"
"Yes, he has gone I hope so, at least.'
"That's odd now, for I'm sure I didn't see any one go
by," the other man said naïvely. "I thought, you
""
WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT.
203
เ
know, at first it might be that young lady," he added,
blushing. The tall young lady, I mean, who I saw
sitting here when I looked in half an hour ago?"
(C
No, it was not she; she is gone too, though,” Hal-
liday answered.
"Oh." Then, after a pause, "How handsome she
was! wasn't she, Halliday?"
Yes, I suppose so."
،،
Oh, I'm sure of it. So tall and graceful, you know,
and such beautiful eyes. Such a lady, too, she looked.
It seems so long since I have seen a lady-a real one, I
mean,” the little man ended, with a sigh.
، ،
They don't abound about here certainly," replied his
friend.
((
"No," with another sigh. "And yet I suppose one
ought hardly to allow one's self to say that either," he
added penitently. "There's Mrs. William Hickson, you
know, and those Miss Greens who help with the singing;
they're very nice and kind, I'm sure. Still it is different,
now isn't it, Halliday?"
This time Halliday did not respond to the call. He
had sat down again, and drawn towards him one of the
numerous parochial-looking books which lay scattered
over the table. Mr. Skellett stood and watched him.
He was not to be taken in with that pretense of occupa-
tion; he saw well enough that something had gone
wrong, though what it was he failed to guess, and would
not for the whole world have dreamt of asking. Pres-
ently, fearing lest even his discreet and delicate obser-
vation might prove troublesome, he moved away, and
taking up one of his own gilded books of devotion, ap-
peared to bury himself in its contents. Over the top of
it, however, he might have been observed stealing anxious
glances in Halliday's direction, his air of solicitude lend-
ing a feminine, almost a motherly, expression to his lit-
tle prim, neatly-finished face. They had sat thus for
about ten minutes when a bell began ringing, the bell of
the chapel belonging to a hospital where the two young
men took turns to read the service. After it had rung
for a few minutes, Halliday got up, threw his report
down on the table, and took up his hat to go out.
"Shouldn't you like me to go this evening instead of
you, Halliday?" Mr. Skellett inquired. 'It won't
really make any difference."
•
204
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
!
"Go instead of me? Why on earth should you do
that?"
"I don't know. I fancied you didn't look quite the
thing. Perhaps you have got a headache ? ”
“Am I in the habit of having headaches?" Halliday
inquired curtly, as he went out, letting the door swing
behind him.
He had not gone more than two steps before, however,
his heart smote him for snubbing anything so very meek
and easily repulsed, and he turned hastily back.
"I say, Skellett, I'm a brute to speak to you like
that," he said hurriedly. "And it's true, I am put out
about something, though I've not got a headache. You
don't mind, do you?" laying his hand hastily upon the
other's shoulder.
"(
'Mind? Why, of course I don't mind, Halliday,"
the little man answered cheerily. His friend's grasp
was rather vigorous-more vigorous probably than he
was aware-but that he scorned to mention.
"That's all right;" and, with another energetic, if well-
meant thump, Halliday departed, leaving his little coad-
jutor-mentally, at all events-not a little soothed and
comforted by this unexpected return. His devotion to
Halliday was simply unbounded; he seemed, indeed, to
feel the sort of vicarious joy and pride in his strength
and vigor that a child sometimes shows in that of some
big dog, which he chooses to regard as his own private
and peculiar property. At first, in the earlier days of
their acquaintance, there was something indeed almost
startling, and even terrifying to his imagination, in
being brought into contact with anything so strong and
large, and so extremely alive as Halliday-a being who
never appeared afraid of anything or anybody, but, on
the contrary, to have an odd, mysterious pagan relish
for anything like a physical encounter. Halliday, as we
know, was a very combative young man, and now and
then something in his new surroundings would awaken
the old Adam, and he would plunge into the strife with
a vigor totally at variance with all the dictates of clerical
propriety, even to the length of occasionally interfering
between man and wife—an unwarrantable presumption,
as everybody knows! On such occasions little Skellett
would stand by in a perfect agony of mingled pride and
dismay, uncertain what to do whether to rush to the
WAR'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT. 205
assistance of his friend, or to run and scream vigorously
for the police. All friendships, we know, are one-sided
affairs, and this certainly was no exception to the rule.
Still, if his affection was not quite of the same calibre,
Halliday had at any rate a warm regard and liking for
the little man; indeed, since the departure of his original
friend, Mildmay, Mr. Skellett may be said to have been
the only ally he possessed in the parish. The other two
curates being both highly exemplary young divines,
conscientious and orthodox indeed to the utmost degree ;
but not perhaps particularly available in the way of com-
panionship. Though very far from an intellectual man
himself, Halliday was too big somehow, mentally as well
as physically, for his companions, the result being a
mutual antagonism; he in his own mind inclining
to set them down as a trifle priggish, they in
return not unnaturally retorting with comments
upon those traits of
of his which even his best
friends could hardly call spiritual. Indeed Porter,
who was the leading spirit of the two, had more than
once declared that Halliday was nothing better than an
Erastian. It was not very clear in what way he was an
Erastian, since no one had ever heard him express
opinions tending in that direction; still it was obviously
a useful word, its very vagueness making it probably all
the more difficult to rebuff.
Happily the congregation to which he was now on his
way to administer was not one to which Halliday's
Erastianism, were it ever so pronounced, was likely to
prove of any particular peril. The chapel was a tiny
little building, not much larger than an ordinary bed-
room, attached to a hospital, which itself was an offshoot
of another and larger establishment of the same kind.
Looking down from his seat of office, Halliday could see
the little congregation dribbling slowly in one by one.
First a dozen neighbors, chiefly old women, who liked to
join in the service; then three or four nurses, pleasant
to look at in their snowy aprons and fresh-frilled caps;
after these, a sad little group of patients, maimed and
halt and bandaged, hobbling in with the aid of sticks
and crutches. Över these the young man's heart melted
with a great pity. He was so strong himself, so brim-
ming over with strength and energy, that he never
could resist a feeling of something almost like shame at
206
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
the sight of any unusual feebleness and suffering, a
feeling as if he himself were somehow consuming more
than his fair share in a general famine. At length the
last straggler had taken his seat; Halliday had mounted
to his appointed place at the reading-desk; the cracked
harmonium set up a dismal wail, and the service began.
It was the shortest of all short services, half the
psalms being left out, so, too, with half the lessons, and
there was no sermon. For the latter omission Halliday
felt particularly grateful, for his own sake as well as
for the patients'. It is a terrible charge, I am well
aware, to bring against a clergyman, but Halliday, it
had better be confessed at once, by no means relished
his privileges as a preacher. Though far from regard-
ing himself as a success in other respects, there was
nevertheless a good deal of his work which he both liked,
and was conscious of performing creditably. He could
even lecture in a rough and ready week-day fashion to
the young men who came about him; but when on a
Sunday he found himself aloft amongst the cushions of
a pulpit, a feeling, which it is hardly an exaggeration to
call despair, seemed to take possession of the young
man's mind. "What was he to say to these people?
he used to ask himself. These women, especially, with
their terrible Sunday bonnets, and their yet more terri-
ble airs of Sunday self-consciousness? Was it probable,
was it even possible, that anything he could think of to
say was likely to be of any use or benefit to them? And
if not, was it not a cruel fate to be set up there to at-
tempt the impossible? To-day, however, no such un-
easy self-questionings were in store for him. Within
half an hour of the commencement, the last hymn was
sung, the last prayer prayed, and Halliday, with his
books under his arm, was trudging back on his home-
ward way.
He did not, however, at once return to his lodgings.
Much as he liked little Skellett, there were moments
when his companionship was apt to prove a trifle op-
pressive, so that, on the whole, he preferred to make a
circuit. There were not many places in that neighbor-
hood which could be called enjoyable to walk in; none,
in fact, which were not more or less of an offense to
every sensitively constituted organ, but to this Halliday
was tolerably indifferent. His organs, happily for him-
WAR'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT.
207
self, were not sensitive, and he could stand sights and
stomach smells which would have turned most men
sick, and which, to little Skellett, for instance, were
simply a daily and hourly purgatory. This afternoon,
however, he seemed to himself to have suddenly awak-
ened to the hideousness of everything, and to see it in all
its naked deformity. As he walked along the narrow
streets, the squalor, ugliness, filth, misery impressed
him as they had never impressed him before. The truth
was, he was looking at it, not with his own eyes, but
with another's with the eyes of his visitor of that
afternoon. If that which he desired, but perfectly well
knew to be hopeless, had even come to pass, and Muriel
Ellis had loved him, had been willing to throw in her
lot with him, could he have asked her to share such a
lot as this? Could he have proposed that she should
come and live there? be exposed to such sights and
sounds and smells as were at that moment about him?
If even he had been perfectly certain of the great value
and importance of the work he himself was doing there,
then perhaps it might be different; then possibly he
might have appealed to her upon those grounds. He had
an instinctive belief in her capacity for devotedness and
self-immolation, but was that, he asked himself, enough?
Before inviting others to immolate themselves, one must
be pretty sure not only of the inherent goodness of one's
cause, but also of one's own special and peculiar
fitness for it, and this was exactly where Halliday by no
means felt sure. Somehow or other he was unlucky.
Things which he took in hand had a tendency to fail,
and people he took in hand to make greater haste to go
to the dogs than their neighbors. There was Tom
Brattle, the tinker, whom he had undertaken to cure of
his drunkenness, and whom he believed that he had
cured, and what was the end of it? The man was worse
now than ever, and had been taken up only that very
week on a charge of assaulting his own father! True,
Halliday was just in the mood to exaggerate all this;
still that there was a certain amount of truth in the alle-
gation is undeniable. He was rather in the position of
a man who flings everything else to the winds in order
to follow the bent of his genius, and then finds
his genius growing thinner and thinner, and threat-
ening to vanish altogether from his hands. To rush
208
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
away from all your other duties in order to betake your-
self to one special and chosen phase of usefulness, and
then to find that your success in that one chosen phase is
not, after all, so particularly marked, cannot be said to be
exactly a satisfactory experience! Apart from these re-
moter considerations, however, there was the simple,
practical, everyday question of ways and means. Even
in Whitechapel people are not expected to live upon air,
and what had he to offer? Nothing absolutely but the
scanty remains of the three thousand pounds which he
had inherited from his mother, and some eighty pounds
a year or so which he received as a curate. Could he,
could any man, venture to ask a woman to marry him
upon that? As to whether Muriel had or had not means
of her own, that somehow did not enter into his calcula-
tions. From what he had seen of her in Hampshire, he
concluded that either she or her relations must be in
fairly easy circumstances-sufficiently so, at all events,
to be appealed to in a case of urgent charity—but beyond
that he had not given, and even now hardly gave, the
question a thought. What, then, remained? Nothing
but an appeal to his father; and from this he shrank.
Even for Muriel's sake-even to have the right of going
boldly forward and asking her to be his wife-he felt he
could hardly do that. It was not so much that he ob-
jected to the part of the returning prodigal, but he
shrank from the imputation-the natural and inevitable
imputation which attaches to the occupier of that role.
Certainly no one could say that poor Halliday had
wasted his substance in riotous living, his follies being
all of a very different kind from those of that memor-
able scapegrace.
For all that there were points of simi-
larity sufficient to make the situation an awkward one,
With what face could he who had so scornfully rejected
his father's generosity merely because the conditions dis-
pleased him, now go forward and appeal to that gene-
rosity and that his father, under any conceivable cir-
cumstances, would come forward without being appealed
to, he knew him rather too well to expect. No, turn
and twist the matter how he would, he could see no way
-no light, however remote in the darkness-nothing on
every side but a sort of hopeless and inevitable dead lock.
He could not, he saw plainly, hope to win her; he could
not, and he would not, make up his mind to give her up;
WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT. 209
he would not and he could not settle down rationally to
anything else; his life was stunted, worthless, done for.
And, having arrived at this thoroughly satisfactory and
comfortable conclusion, he was fain at last to retrace his
steps to his deserted lodgings, and to the anxiously ex-
pectant Mr. Skellett.
When at length he got in, he found the gas lit, and
the evening meal duly set out on the central table, his
little fellow-curate looking very neat and spruce in his
snow-white necktie. The two young men were in the
habit of dining in the middle of the day, that being the
most convenient hour for their work. This meal, ac-
cordingly, was called tea, and to Skellett it really was
tea, and nothing else, the chief indulgences he relished
lying in the direction of jam and marmalade, with an
occasional muffin or crumpet, which he bought and
carried home in his pocket from the baker's. Halliday,
however, had a preference for coarser and more substan-
tial viands, in the form of cold meat, which he used to
produce from a cupboard, and into which he nightly
made inroads which secretly not a little scandalized his
friend. This evening there happened to be nothing in
particular to do out-of-doors, so after the tea was drunk,
and the muffins and cold meat disposed of, the two young
men settled themselves down to read; Halliday with a
newspaper which he had bought in the course of his
walk, Mr. Skellett with a neatly covered brown volume
which he had procured that afternoon from the parish
library. The latter, whose eyes were weak, had a small
green-shaded lamp which stood on his own_particular
table, and close to which his book was held. There was,
of course, no fire, the night being hot and close; still,
what with the glow of the gas, and the more subdued
radiance of Mr. Skellett's lamp, the room looked several
degrees less grim and forbidding than in the daytime.
It was indeed the sort of familiar background against
which one instinctively pictures a family group, or per-
haps three or four old ladies dozing over their knitting,
rather than a pair of young men, neither of whom had
yet struck thirty.
Apparently Halliday's newspaper was not much to his
liking, for he presently flung it down, and, walking over
to the window, pulled aside the curtain. Across the nar-
row street he could see into the little interior which
14
210
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
3
{
matched theirs upon the opposite side. A naked gas-burn-
er was flaring overhead, lighting up the whole scene. The
master of the house, he could see, had just come in, and
had taken off his paper cap and was bestowing his bag of
tools in a corner. Then from his post of observation
Halliday saw the wife enter from a back room, with a
baby in her arms, which she made over to the father, and
began bustling about to get the latter his supper. It was
the commonest of all common domestic scenes, utterly
wanting in anything like charm or picturesqueness, yet
for the moment it seemed to have a certain fascination
for the young man, for he stood gazing fixedly at it for
several minutes. Outside the usual draggled looking ob-
jects were slouching by, with the usual policeman look-
ing stolidly on at them from the footpath. Further down
he could see another and a brighter blaze which told of
the whereabouts of the public-house; and here, too, was
a slow stream of figures, hardly human to look at in their
filth and degradation. Turning abruptly away from all
this, Halliday looked back into the room, and at his com-
panion. That little gentleman with his spectacles on his
nose, was deeply engrossed in his volume, so engrossed
as to be utterly unconscious of any observation. It was
a romance, of a very innocent, not to say edifying, type,
but still abundantly thrilling to little Skellett, whose im-
agination had never been perverted by anything sensa-
tional, far less piquant, in the way of literary provender.
The hero was a young and ascetic divine, the heroine an
earl's daughter, gloriously beautiful and inexpressibly
haughty, but passionately in love with the Reverend
Theophilus; indeed, the greater part of the work was
taken up with conversations in which that haughty dam-
sel laid bare her passion in language more creditable on
the whole, perhaps, to her feelings than to her maidenly
decorum. Mr. Skellett had just reached the point where
Lady Zelina, despairing of moving the rigid heart of her
Theophilus, had announced her intention of forthwith
retiring for life into a convent, when his attention was
distracted by Halliday, who came hastily back into the
room, and took down his hat from a peg in the corner.
Have you been sent for? Are you going out?" he
said, jumping up.
(6
"I have not been sent for, but I am going out," the
other answered.
WAR 'TWIXT WILL AND WILL NOT. 211
11
"Where are you going?
(6
""
I don't know exactly; to Tower Hill, perhaps.
"To Tower Hill?" Mr. Skellett stood with his mouth
slightly ajar, and his spectacles slipping off his nose, all
sorts of vague images, called up by the name, coursing
one another rapidly through his brain. "What will
you do on Tower Hill at this hour of the night?" he in-
quired in a tone of bewilderment.
"Do? Nothing at all. Very likely I shan't go there;
as likely as not, I shall go to one of the parks instead.
I only want a walk. I must get away from this place.
The smells are simply sickening."
(6
Why, Halliday, I never knew you minded them
before."
""
"Didn't you? well, I do now. Don't sit up, Skellett,
he continued, as he pulled on an overcoat. "I can let
myself in at any hour, you know; I dare say I may be
late."
66
'You'll not get into any-any trouble, will you, Hal-
liday?" his fellow curate inquired hesitatingly.
Halliday laughed. "I hope not, I'm sure," he said.
"If I do, you'll be certain to hear about it, that's one
comfort. All the police know me.
>>
"
I don't see that that will be any comfort at all," his
friend replied disconsolately.
"It will be a comfort rather to Porter, I think. It
will justify some of those dark suspicions of his."
Mr. Skellett looked extremely grave.
"I don't think you're fair upon Porter, Halliday; I
don't, indeed," he said anxiously. "I have often told
""
you so.
"Am I not? Well, perhaps, he is not quite fair upon
me. Apparently we both cherish misgivings of one
another, and probably we are both of us very harmless
sort of fellows at bottom. Anyhow, good-night, Skel-
lett; don't sit up ;" and before his little coadjutor could
form any further remonstrances, Halliday had pulled the
door after him, and was away down the street.
}
212
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
CHAPTER XVIII.
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE.
Not many days after her expedition to the east of Lon-
don, Muriel received a letter in her grandfather's cramp-
ed and labored handwriting, urging her to come down
to Norfolk at once, instead of waiting until the begin-
ning of September, as had previously been arranged.
He had been ill all the summer with rheumatism, and
one thing and another, he said, and would be glad of
some one to stay with him. The Tom Flacks had been
over nearly every day, but he didn't want to see the
Tom Flacks. He wanted to see her. Could she come
that week? Muriel was a good deal surprised at this
letter. It was quite unlike her grandfather to change
his plans; still more unlike him to complain. It did
not, however, occur to her that there was likely to be
much amiss. Of course he was old; he must be nearer
eighty now than seventy; still his strength had always
been so wonderful, that it would have seemed to her
almost like a contradiction of nature to think of his
being ever seriously ill or ailing. Personally the sum-
mons was extremely welcome to her. The désagréments
of her life in London had latterly been almost more
than she could bear. If any one had told her six months
before that she would come to regard Mrs. Skynner sadly
and seriously as a source of real grief and trial to her-
self, she would have laughed the idea to scorn. Her sis-
ter-in-law had always seemed to her a sort of embodied
comedy, quite too inconsequent to be taken seriously—
amusing even, if only from her very unreasonableness
and amazing capacity for self-glorification.
One soon
ceases, however, to be amused by any unreasonableness
which takes the form of animosity against oneself, and
Mrs. Skynner's animosity against Muriel had latterly
come to be a very serious and ponderous element in the
latter's life. She was weary, too, of the constant strug-
gle, the perpetual sense of antagonism-one which she
was well aware was beginning to be aroused upon her
own side as well as upon the other's. Over and above
all this, she was fond of her grandfather, and extremely
fond of the farm, and glad therefore to think that she
20
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE mere.
213
would see the latter before the summer had quite de-
serted its orchards and meadows. As she stood with the
letter in her hand, the image of the old house, with its
weather-worn mullions and red gables; the yellow
stacks of corn rising in the haggard; the broad, gray
mere stretching beyond the door; the distant spire of
Essant church; the wide, green stretches of level coun-
try; rose up vividly before her, and she felt a longing
to be off and to be there. It did not take her long to
make her preparations, and within three days of receiv-
ing her grandfather's letter she had arranged all the
affairs of her little kingdom, had made her adieux to the
Kings and Prettymans, and was driving alone in a cab to
St. Pancras station.
She was a little late. The platform was already
crowded when she arrived, and the train within a few
minutes of starting. Happily she was not much encum-
bered with luggage, so, with the aid of a willing porter,
she was soon established in the corner of a carriage.
Another five minutes, and London, with all its hopes
and fears, cares, troubles, pleasures, hindrances, was
already beginning to recede into the background.
Once clear of the interminable roofs and chimneys,
Muriel's spirits seemed to go up with a bound. All the
common sights and sounds of the country-the burnt gold
of the cornfields; the long, green sweep of the pastures;
the shadows of the crows, sweeping low over the bean-
fields; the marshy corners, where the loosestrifes and
willowherbs made a glory in shady places-everything
seemed to fill her mind with a sort of rapture, a sense of
peace and bien-être, to which for months she had been a
stranger. Near Cambridge they passed a party of people
coming down the river in a barge; a happy-looking
family group, with fishing-rods and luncheon-baskets.
Their voices reached her distinctly for a moment, as the
train slackened to enter the station; then it passed on,
and they, too, were left behind. At the next station to
this, a small crowd of people were waiting to get into the
train, amongst whom were two, a lady and a gentleman,
who immediately attracted our heroine's attention
were dark, and both young, with a certain similarity
about the contour of the faces, and the strongly-marked
brows and lashes which proclaimed them to be brother
and sister. On a nearer view, the points of dissimilarity
Both
214
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
Į
proved to be at least as striking, however, as those of
similarity. Something in the disposition of the luggage
occasioned a short delay, so that she had a good oppor-
tunity of indulging her curiosity. The most salient point
of difference was that, whereas the brother was decidedly
plain, the sister was as decidedly handsome-beautiful,
indeed, Muriel mentally pronounced her. She had never
seen a face which so completely realized her dreams of
southern, or rather, perhaps, of eastern women. It had
all the languor and brilliancy, the mingled fire and indo-
lence that one associates with the idea of a Cleopatra or
a Semiramis. The orientalism of this Semiramis began
and ended, however, with her face; her dress being
rigidly, and even, as it struck Muriel, studiously and
ostentatiously British and unbecoming. A narrow-
brimmed hat of the hardest and most uncompromising
type covered her head; her dress was a greenish tweed,
the coat and collar cut like a man's; her hands were
encased in the stoutest of dog-skin gloves, and her feet
in the most uncompromising of walking boots; anything
decorative or ornamental in the costume of the pair was,
indeed, supplied by the brother, whose carnation-colored
necktie and suit of light brown summer tweed were evi-
dently not arranged entirely without an eye to effect.
Muriel had a vague impression of having seen the latter
somewhere or other before, and that, too, within the last
few days; but when or where she could not remember.
While she was still fumbling amongst her half-effaced
recollections, her fellow travelers entered a compart-
ment near hers, and the train moved off.
Half an hour later it drew up again, at the little junc-
tion where she had to get out to wait for the train that
was to convey her to her grandfather's station. Appar-
ently the brother and sister were also bound in the same
direction, for they, too, descended, a maid and man-
servant hovering obsequiously in the rear. They had
not very long to wait As the train drew up at the
platform the door of a compartment was flung open, and
a tall black figure sprang down, at sight of whom the
brother and sister uttered a simultaneous exclamation.
66
'Steeny! we thought you must have missed your
train."
66
'No, I came down by an earlier one.
I wanted to
"}
see a man at Cambridge. Are you
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE.
215
t
He had caught sight of Muriel, and, leaving his ques-
tion unformed, darted across the platform to where she
was standing.
Miss Ellis! you here?" The observation was not a
striking one, but the tone seemed charged with meaning.
"Yes, I am going to stay with my grandfather; he
has not been well lately, and has sent for me," she
answered.
There was no time for more, as the train was starting,
and Halliday had only just time to see her into a car-
riage, and then return to his own, in which the brother
and sister (in the former of whom Muriel now recognized
the man she had seen a few days previously in Picca-
dilly) had already taken their seats.
On arriving at their destination, he was again beside
her as she stepped out on to the platform.
"C
(C
Have you any other luggage?" he said, taking up
her portmanteau and bundle of rugs and umbrellas.
No, nothing else. But pray do not trouble yourself
to carry those things, Mr. Halliday," she added.
not at all used, I assure you, to being waited
"I am
""
upon.
You expect to be met here, don't you?" he said,
taking no notice of her last remark.
(6
Yes, I think so. My grandfather generally sends
for me," she answered, gazing rather anxiously down
the road, where a large open landau drawn by a pair
of prancing bays appeared to be the only vehicle in sight.
"}
"If nothing comes soon you will let my cousins set
you home, will you not? Halliday said eagerly.
"Don't think that it will be out of their way; it will
not in the very least.
"}
"
"Thank you very much, but-ah, there it is," Muriel
added, in a tone of relief. I recognize old Jabez Strong,
my grandfather's man."
Halliday placed the portmanteau in the carriage-a
clumsy little vehicle of the kind common to small yeo-
men in remote country parts-and then returned to the
platform for Muriel's other possessions, the porters
being too much engrossed with the effects of the other
and more imposing travelers, to think of attending to
hers. When he returned she had already mounted to
her place, so that there was nothing for him to do but to
deposit his burden on the seat, and stand back to allow
her to drive away.
216
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
He was still standing in the same spot, when his arm
was seized by his cousin.
The divinity having departed, perhaps you will
kindly enlighten a fellow mortal's ignorance on the sub-
ject," that gentleman exclaimed.
Halliday turned round. "What do you want, Con-
roy?" he said, not, it must be owned, in the most amiable
of tones.
(6
What do I want? I want, of course, to know who
that young lady is that has just driven away?"
"She is a Miss Ellis."
"Miss Ellis? What Ellis ? Any Ellis one knows?"
"I don't know any Ellises you know.'
""
""
Don't be so pragmatical. Have some regard, at least,
for a man's impatience. Beings like that don't descend
at this station every day in the year, let me assure you.
Who is she? Where does she come from? Is she going
to stay with any one in the neighborhood? and if so,
what do they mean by sending such a go-cart as that to
meet her?"
"She is going to stay with her grandfather, Mr.
Flack, who lives at Boldre Farm. As for the carriage,
I suppose he had no other to send.”
Mr. Beachamp's jaw dropped. "Flack? Boldre
Farm?" he repeated. "You don't mean to say that the
young lady I just now saw is old John Flack's grand-
daughter?"
"So I am informed.”
"I don't believe a word of it, Steeny. Somebody has
been bamboozling you.
""
"C
My authority is herself.
"That sounds good, certainly; still I don't believe it.
It's preposterous-a perfect subversion of all one's ideas.
Who ever saw a farmer's daughter or granddaughter that
looked like that, I should like to know?"
To this Halliday made no reply; and, not caring
to continue the conversation, presently turned away and
moved towards the carriage in which his other cousin
had by this time seated herself.
""
"Where is Conroy?" she inquired, as he approached.
"Do make him come, Steeny. I am in such a hurry to
get home. Why will he always dawdle so?"
Halliday was about to turn back to execute this order,
when he was anticipated by the appearance of that gen-
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE.
217
1
tleman, who sprang hastily in; his cousin followed, the
footman mounted the box, and the carriage drove off.
"The more I think of that assertion of yours, the
more preposterous it appears," young Mr. Beachamp
declared emphatically.
"What is preposterous? What are you talking about,
Conroy?" inquired his sister.
66
'Why, Steeny there, that unimpeachable cousin of
ours, has had the audacity to try and persuade me that
the young lady I pointed out to you at the station is old
John Flack's granddaughter!"
"John Flack? Do you mean farmer Flack, who lives
near the mere where we go to fish?"
"Yes. Did you ever hear anything so improbable ?"
"I can't imagine his having a nice granddaughter,
certainly."
There it is! Nice! Why, I don't believe you even
looked at her! A perfect Diana! A girl, I assure you,
who might be a duchess. Such an air and a walk as I
haven't seen since- Hullo! There she is. Look out
now, we're just going to pass her. By Jove! it's a case
of the gods going to market. Blessed if she don't look
handsomer than ever in that beastly little shay."
All three turned round as the carriage with the pranc-
ing horses swept past the vehicle thus disparagingly
alluded to. Muriel happened to be looking in the other
direction, but she turned and bent her head slightly in
response to Halliday's bow, then the carriage swept on,
and she and her chaise remained behind.
66
I
Yes, she is handsome, and looks extremely nice.
shall certainly get to know her, and ask her to come
and see us at Chudleigh," Miss Beachamp said with
decision.
Conroy whistled. "I should like to see Lady
Beachamp's face when you do that,” he said.
His sister frowned. "I suppose one may ask whom
one likes to one's own father's house," she said indig-
nantly.
I suppose you may, my sweet sister; and I suppose
you'll also engage that her fair ladyship, our youthful
mamma, is decently civil to her?"
"I don't care whether she is civil or not.
}}
"You mayn't; but I expect this Miss Ellis would.
Judging by her face, I shouldn't say she was a young
218
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
".
1
lady who would enjoy being snubbed by any one, even
her landlord's wife-I mean her grandfather's landlord's
wife."
·、,
((
"She simply wouldn't go," Halliday said decisively.
There, you see. Steeny, who knows all about her,
says she wouldn't go. Come, Steeny, tell us the whole
history. There is a history, that I'll go bail. She is en-
gaged to a millionaire, who has had her educated upon
some elaborate system of his own, or she has been adopt-
ed by some one, or something is in the wind. Come, show
us the mystery. Disclose! Disclose !"
(4
"There is nothing to disclose that I am aware of,"
Halliday said coldly.
66
Oh, come, there must be! Where does she live, to be-
gin with? Not at Boldre Farm obviously, or I shouldn't
have met you careering down Piccadilly together. Don't
be so reticent, man! Tell us the whole story."
"There is no story, I tell you," his cousin repeated
angrily.
66
Well, who is she, then? Is she one of your district
visitors at What's-its-name-that delightful place you
live at in the east ?"
"No."
((
What, then, in Heaven's name, is she?
"She is an artist."
..
An artist? Oh, come, we're getting nearer to it now.
What sort of an artist, though? Not a singer, or an
actress, or anything of that sort? she don't look like it,
at least; moreover, I don't suppose those sort of people
are much in your line."
Halliday turned red with annoyance.
I mean, of course, a painter," he said.
"You may mean that, my dear fellow, but other
people don't," his cousin responded airily. "An artist
no more necessarily means a painter than a soldier neces-
sarily means a Life-guardsman. An artist may be any-
body. The man who carved this head on the top of
my walking-stick I've no doubt called himself one,
or, at any rate, had a perfect right to do so if he
chose."
""
"(
""
(6
'By an artist
"Does she paint well?" interposed Miss. Beachamp.
Yes, I believe so; Hyde thought so, at least."
Oh, Hyde knows her too, does he?" exclaimed the
unabashed Conroy. "Then, that settles the matter. I
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE.
219
must positively go and make her acquaintance at once
before he arrives."
You imagine that she would receive you?" his cousin
inquired loftily.
"(
Certainly particularly when you introduce me."
"But I shall do nothing of the sort.
"Oh yes, you will. You're a deal more good-natured
than you imagine," the other said confidently.
T
(6
I shall not show my good-nature in that way."
66
Very well; we shall see. Meantime, I don't mind
staking my existence that before three days are out I
shall find myself basking in the light of those glorious
gray-or were they, by the way, glorious hazel orbs?'
To this Halliday vouchsafed no rejoinder. Two years
ago he had thought his cousin a most irritating young
coxcomb, and he did not feel at all disposed to reverse
that opinion now. At present, however, his thoughts
were too busily occupied otherwise to trouble themselves
much about Mr. Conroy's vagaries. What was he to do
in this totally unforeseen juncture? he asked himself.
Should he find some excuse for leaving Chudleigh, and
returning forthwith to London, or should he stay and
take his chance of what was to follow ? a question which
occupied him during most of the remainder of his drive,
and was by no means decided by the time he reached the
house.
ܕ
Meanwhile, the subject of these thoughts was proceed-
ing soberly along the road, a good mile or so already be-
hind the occupants of the landau. The horse that drew
them was a serviceable, well-shaped animal, old, but
with plenty of work in it still, and capable, no doubt, of
going a good bit quicker than it was doing at present.
Old Jabez Strong, John Flack's factotum, had no notion,
however, of more than one pace-a steady market trot
of some four miles an hour. As far as Muriel was con-
cerned, she was not at all inclined to quarrel with this
leisurely locomotion. On the contrary, she rather en-
joyed her slow progression between the green tangled
hedgerows, whose haws were already beginning to turn
red in anticipation of the yet distant winter. She en-
joyed the wide outlook which presented itself wherever
a gap occurred, or a line of wooden paling varied the
monotony of the hedges; the broad, heathery wastes,
thinly dotted over with wide-scattered gorse bushes;
220
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
the slow, sleepy streams; the fields crossed by straight
roads, where an occasional wagon or market cart seemed
an event. The sun had gone behind clouds, which cov-
ered the upper part of the sky with a solid felting, be-
neath which long silvery shafts escaped, lighting up the
flat green country with a pallid radiance. Now they
passed long belts of fir trees, bare of all underwood, the
red-brown trunks stretching for miles before them in
ever lessening perspective; then a line of sand banks
came into sight, where the rabbits were sporting about
by hundreds, their brown backs showing for a minute as
they disappeared into their burrows. Further off, clumps
of red or brownish farm buildings showed dark against
the sky, with ladders laid against the stacks of corn, and
broad, now nearly denuded, fields, over which the rooks
were sweeping in black platoons and squadrons. Now
and then old Jabez would give utterance to a gutteral
66
""
66
gee or go-e," when the brown horse seemed likely
to lapse into an actual walk, and once Muriel asked him
to stop to let her pick a handful of the honeysuckles,
which, with dishevelled-looking bryonies and a few be-
lated foxgloves, still here and there decorated the hedge-
bank. At last they came within sight of Boldre Mere,
its gray waters stretching placidly away in the distance,
and on the nearer side a church, whose stumpy little
tower and shingled roof reflected themselves with much
precision upon the surface; then in through a gate, and
along a bit of road deep in heavy cart-ruts, until they
finally drew up at the door of the farmhouse.
Muriel thought that she had never seen it look so well.
The hour of the day and the pale, transparent glow suit-
ed its warm brickwork and lichen-dusted stones to per-
fection. Apart, however, from any such accidental cir-
cumstances, it really was a beautiful old building,
of the very few of the type still to be seen in any part of
England. Nothing, indeed, that neglect or ill-usage
could do to spoil it had been spared. The fine, old
pointed archway was half filled with sacks of corn;
many of the stone transoms which crossed the windows
were broken; the ivy, which crawled half over the house,
was ragged at the base, evidently from the teeth of cattle;
many panes of glass were broken; many chimney-stacks
fallen. Nothing, however, could effectually spoil it, or
injure the harmony which reigned throughout every
t
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRe mere.
221
1
detail of its architecture. Though the farm itself was
only on a lease, the house and the ground on which it
stood was a freehold. Originally it had been a manor
house, having come into the custody of the Flacks a
couple of generations back, by means of a Miss Plowden,
whose family had once been of gentle station. That,
however, was long ago, and the last of the Plowdens had
been only too glad to marry young James Flack, the
thriving miller, who, having turned his attention to
farming, had taken a lease of the land adjoining, which
lease had not long since been renewed by his grandson.
That their house was at all exceptionally picturesque, or,
indeed, exceptional in any way, was, however, an idea
which had never entered into the heads of any of the
Flack family. Mrs. Thomas Flack especially-who, as
the eldest son's wife, had naturally a prospective interest
in it-being never tired of dilating on its ugliness, clum-
siness, and general disadvantages, and contrasting them
with the comforts and elegancies of Bryonia Villa, the
house she and her husband rented on another part of the
same property. If it ever came into her hands, they
would soon see, she said, what a change she would make
in it-if, indeed, it would not be better to pull the whole
crazy old thing to the ground at once. To Muriel, as she
sat in her chaise waiting for the door to open, it seemed
as if the very stones of the old house were offering up
mute protests against the indignities it had sustained,
and seemed only too likely still to sustain at the hands
of its unnatural owners.
At last, after a considerable delay, an unbarring of
heavy iron bolts was heard, and a shock-headed maiden
-old Jabez's grand-niece-opened the door, and informed
her, with a grin of welcome which displayed all her
gums, that her grandfather was still in the fields, but
had left word that he would be back shortly. Muriel
was not sorry to have a little time to herself to wander
about the house, and re-acquaint herself with her old
haunts before he returned. She was fond of every nook
and corner of it, added to which there were certain pri-
vate and particular associations connected with it of
which no one knew anything but herself. Though she
had never seen her mother there, this house stood more
closely connected with her in her mind than any other
spot on earth.
There was a little miniature which had
222
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
been done of Mrs. Ellis a month or so before her first
marriage—a worthless thing artistically, but not with-
out a certain charm of truth and reality. This miniature
represented a round-faced, serious-eyed young girl-too
young apparently to dream of being anybody's wife-
looking demurely out at the world through a framework
of light brown hair falling in stiff curls against her
brown, short-waisted frock. This portrait and the old
rooms and passages were intimately connected together
in Muriel's mind. She liked to picture her mother-that
mother who seemed so much younger than she could
ever somehow remember being herself-wandering about
them, or peeping over the old wooden balcony, which
ran round the top of the principal room-once the hall,
now known to the dwellers of Boldre Farm as the front
kitchen. In the days when the portrait was taken this
hall must have been a noisy spot, echoing to many
voices, and reverberating to the tread of many feet; now
it rarely echoed to any footsteps save those of old Mrs.
Strong, Jabez's wife, who did the cooking, and looked
after the calves and the poultry. Even the outdoor
sounds, generally so predominant in a farmhouse, were
not much heard here; for the walls were enormously
thick, so thick that only an occasional bleating or lowing,
or the muffled noise of winnowing and thrashing in the
big barn seemed to succeed in penetrating. As Muriel
stood leaning against one of the big black beams which
ran from top to bottom of the house, the cawing of the
rooks overhead and the rippling noise of a small stream
dropping leisurely down into the mere were the only
sounds that reached her ears.
It was
Presently she heard her grandfather's voice, and ran
downstairs to meet him. He looked a good deal aged,
she thought, in the eight months that had passed since
they met. His hair had grown whiter, and his figure
more bowed and bent. He declared, however, in
answer to her inquiries, that he was well. He had been
bad with the rheumatism off and on all summer.
all the fault of Buckle and those other rascally men of
his, who had let the drains get choked up, so that the
fields were as wet as if they had been fished up out of the
bottom of the mere. He had had a touch of liver com-
plaint too-dyspepsia the doctors called it now—but that
also was better. He was glad she had come all the same,
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE. 223
1
he said, if it was only for the sake of annoying Mrs.
Thomas. Mrs. Thomas had been there every day, and
had wanted to leave one of those girls of hers-the
youngest of 'em—with him, but he didn't choose to have
her. Another-the one with pink eyes-was going to
marry a doctor--not the old man, but a new chap, that
had lately come to the dispensary at D
Mrs.
Thomas was as cock-a-hoop about it as if 'twas a lord
she'd got hold of. He had told her as much when she
came to see him. Doctor, indeed, he had said, what was
doctors he'd like to know? dratted fools most of 'em. If
they'd only find out what ailed people's inside, i'stead of
sticking of themselves up, and calling things by long
names, maybe he'd think a bit more of 'em. They were
to be married at Christmas, and he supposed they'd be
wanting a present, and if they did, all they'd get from
him would be a pestle and mortar-what else did a doctor
want? Cock them up with their chiney and plate! And
the old man chuckled grimly at his own jest.
To all this, Muriel listened, now and then putting in a
word. The feud between her grandfather and his eldest
son's family was of far too old a standing to be mended
now, so she simply left the matter alone. Then-after
she had unpacked her luggage and distributed the vari-
ous presents with which she had come armed-the two
ate their supper together in the big half-lighted room,
waited upon by Susan of the shock-head, and after that
adjourned to a bench outside, where old John smoked a
pipe, while Strong and Jabez and Susan ate their own sup-
per within. This arrangement was supposed to be a sort
of tribute to Muriel's gentility, one against which she had
frequently protested-always, however, in vain. John
Flack knew what was what, he said, and he wasn't
going to have it go about the country that his grand-
daughter-a lord's sister, and a lady of rank as one
might say herself was set to eat her victuals with a lot
of common farm-servants. If she came to stay with
him things should be done right, or he'd know the
reason why. Indeed, it was as much as Muriel could
do to hinder him from getting in silver forks and spoons,
and hiring a waiter for the occasion of her stay!
They did not, however, sit late. Soon after nine
o'clock the old man hobbled off to bed, his flickering
candle gleaming on the black oaken step and bare un-
224
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
plastered walls. Muriel, too, went upstairs; not, how-
ever, to bed. She sat for a long time at the open win-
dow, leaning her arms upon the stone sill, and looking
out at the mere, with its broad green setting, so flat and
dull, yet with a charm for her which other and grander
scenes might perhaps have missed. A little crescent
moon was rising behind the trees, dropping tiny glints of
light around it, some of which caught in the ripples of
the stream, or fell with a broader but more feeble radi-
ance over the mere. Mists, too, were rising in all direc-
tions, stretching ghostly fingers here and there, now
enclosing and now leaving bare the long rush-covered
points of land. Above these, however, she could see
away to where the flat horizon was broken by clumps of
trees. That was the way to Chudleigh, she knew, where
Halliday had been whirled away that afternoon. It
was curious, she thought, coming across him again, just
as she set foot in her grandfather's neighborhood-in-
convenient too, if only that it brought the odd discrep-
ancies in her own social lot so unnecessarily into relief.
Those discrepancies had never hitherto given Muriel any
particular uneasiness, indeed, had been rather a source
on the whole of amusement to her than otherwise.
Now, however, she could not help feeling that as
regards Halliday, her position there was not with-
out a certain awkwardness — the awkwardness
which comes of any false or unnatural position.
That he personally would be affected one way or other
by that position she did not, of course, suppose; still
there were others. There were those cousins of his-the
young man with the red tie, his sister with the Cleopatra-
like turn of the head-it would not be pleasant, she
thought, meeting him in their company. True, there
was a very simple remedy. She would have nothing to
do but to keep out of his way, and refuse to see him
should he take it into his head to call. Even in this,
however, there was something not a little hurtful to her
pride. Why should she be afraid or ashamed of meeting
any one she asked herself angrily. Presently, her
thoughts wandered away to their last meeting, and to
that as yet unexplained glance which she had so unex-
pectedly intercepted. Muriel was not, as a rule, by any
means given to interpreting stray glances into tributes
to her own charms, and certainly that Halliday, of all
BOLDRE FARM BY BOLDRE MERE.
225
2.
men upon earth, should fall a victim to those charms was
about the last thing she would have expected. Never-
theless, there was something in that glance, and in the
impression which it aroused, momentary as both were,
that was not to be gainsaid. An intuitive (if ever that
much abused word may safely be applied, this, probably,
is a case in point), an intuitive conviction stronger than
logic, told her that it did mean something, and that,
moreover, there was one meaning, and one meaning only,
which it could have had. Well, if so, it certainly was a
reason the more for keeping out of his way. Nothing-
apart even from her own wishes in the matter could be
more displeasing, more hurtful to her dignity, than that
such a notion as this should get abroad in her present
neighborhood. If nothing else stood between them the
odd inequality of their relative local position was clearly,
she told herself, impediment enough. It is true that this
was only one, and, so to speak, an accidental side of her
own social standing. There was another side to this-
one where that inequality not only did not exist but
might even be thought to incline the other way—but at
present she was not disposed to dwell upon that side.
Here, under her grandfather's roof, her wishes and
instincts were all to range herself with what was his and
what had been her mother's, rather than with her father's
side of the house. All the ties of blood and early as-
sociation linked her indeed with the former. What had
these well-born Ellises ever done for her or hers? she
asked herself. With the exception of Lady Rushton, not
one of them had even so much as stretched out a hand
of kindliness in her direction; nay, that she and John had
not actually died cr gone to the workhouse in the days
of their poverty was no fault, certainly, of any of her
father's family.
Leaning a little forward, Muriel let her eyes stray over
the opposite walls of the house, grim and time-deepened.
even in the daylight, and now doubly dark and irre-
sponsive, with its rows of small paned windows, not one
of which was illumined by even the faintest glow from
within. Midway up the wall there was a small shield,
or escutcheon, with the half effaced crest of the Plow-
dens, now, of course, wholly undecipherable. That, too,
she thought, with suddenly awakened interest, stood, or
might be taken to stand, as a symbol of gentle birth-
15
226
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
one not in this instance associated either with the
Ellises. She glanced back into the room, illuminated
as it was by a single candle, at present flick-
ering perilously near its socket. There was light
enough, however, to see the big black rafters above;
the brown, half-paneled walls, and scanty furniture;
the bed, with its sloping top made to suit the exigencies
of the ceiling ; the queer old carved corner presses, which
constituted the only preparation for the clothes of the
inmate. These, too, were all Plowden properties, and
had been left untouched since the house and room were
occupied by them. Grimly uncomfortable undoubtedly
it was, judged by any modern standard of comfort, yet
for all that there was nothing sordid or common in its
grimness. It was like some early German picture which
Muriel had somewhere seen, she could not now remem-
ber where; one of those interiors which make you feel
as if it and its inmates must surely still be somewhere
in existence, so exact, so true to the very life all the
minutiæ of detail are they. With the thought of pic-
tures and painters, her thoughts gradually drifted away
again from the Plowdens until they rested with Mr.
Wygram, and for a full half-hour they dwelt amongst
the incidents which had attended their last meeting-
that meeting which had led to their final parting.
Though she had refused so peremptorily to consider him
as a lover, Muriel had a keen, almost a passionate desire
to retain Mr. Wygram as a friend. Would he be her
friend when he returned? she wondered; or was this
just one of those things which no man, even the most
generous, can ever frankly and fully forgive? Suddenly,
with a quick tingling of the cheeks, she remembered how
again and again he had dwelt upon that change which he
had declared to have taken place in her, and to which he
had ascribed his own failure to win her. It was not like
Mr. Wygram to say that, she thought resentfully. It
was not kind, and moreover, it was not true. She had
not changed-not certainly as he meant it-that she was
certain she had not. As regards art, indeed, she was
quite willing to admit that her own mental attitude was
not what it had been. Art (with or without a big A)
was still the foremost figure of her mental foreground,
but it was not quite the universal touchstone, the one all-
pervading sun and star and mental luminary that it had
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 227
I
!
dawned before her younger and more enthusiastic eyes.
She was a girl then, and she was a woman now ; and to
her in her present way of thinking, art (especially where
as in her case it had no claim after all to rank as more
than an adornment) seemed a thing lying within the
circle of a well-rounded life-enclosed in it as a bud is
enclosed in its calyx-not a self-existent luminary to
which life and everything else was to bow. So far then,
she might and would plead guilty to the charge, but be-
yond that nothing, she declared to herself, could be more
unjust; nay, more obviously and palpably untrue.
Meantime, it was getting extremely late-too late to sit
nursing her indignation any longer. The clock on Es-
sant church tower had gone twelve some minutes ago,
and her candle, now at the very last gasp, was emitting
a succession of piteous flickers from the very bottom of
its iron socket. The morning necessities, too, had to be
thought of. Early hours were the rule at Boldre Farm,
and if she meant to be down to breakfast with her grand-
father at seven it was absolutely necessary to get to bed
and to sleep now. Even while she was undressing and
getting into bed, however, her mind dwelt with unap-
peased rancor upon that last, most unjustifiable, most
unwarrantable assertion of Mr. Wygram's. It was not
like him, she thought again. It was foolish, nay, con-
temptible; a proof, and to her mind a melancholy proof,
of the amount of latent vanity and folly lurking even in
the very best and most rational of men, since he was so
evidently unable to accept her own rejection of himself,
without falling back upon such a silly, far-fetched, nay,
such an obviously and clearly ridiculous hypothesis as
that!
CHAPTER XIX.
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR.
Chudleigh manor-house was a fair-sized building of
rather light-colored, reddish sandstone, very carefully
and elaborately ornamented with turrets and minarets
and terra-cotta moldings, stuck on wherever there was or
was not the smallest architectural excuse. The greater part
of the present house dated from only some forty years
228
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
•
;
back, but there were a few yards of the original Queen
Anne's house still standing, which shed a sort of early
eighteenth century halo over the rest, giving an excuse
to the Beachamp family for talking of their dear old
house, and their poor dear old house-one of which the
present Lady Beachamp seemed anxious to avail herself
largely. Inside the chief feature was a large hall, out of
which every other room in the house opened, and which
was itself approached from the outside by a short pas-
sage. This hall was not, however, by any means a
Queen Anne's hall, neither was it Gothic, or Tudor, or
Elizabethan, or of any known and recognized architec-
ture, but a sort of mixture and medley of some half a
dozen different styles, a kind of bastard Moorish chiefly,
perhaps, predominating. Beyond this hall again there
was a conservatory, or winter garden, which opened out
on to the terraces, and which was a still more recent
addition to the house; indeed, the difficulty of reconcil-
ing it with the remainder of the architecture had for a
long time promised to prove insurmountable. At last,
however, it had been ingeniously overcome by the erec-
tion of a high wall or screen on either side, with arches
rising one above the other, the whole surmounted by a
magnificent array of chimney stacks, rich in molding
and interlaced lettering, but not at all required for the
purpose of conveying smoke !
*
Apart from the rest of the house, and separated from it
by the whole length of the three broad terraces, were
the stables, which were in quite another manner again.
They had been fitted up in a style of unusual magnificence
by the late baronet-a noted patron of the turf, and a
keeper himself of racehorses-tastes which his son, the
present baronet, by no means shared. The greater part
of the stalls, therefore, were now untenanted, or tenanted
only in a manner which to the late owner would have
seemed little, if anything, short of desecration.
Here, on the morning after his arrival at Chudleigh,
Halliday and his two cousins were assembled, all three
booted and spurred for a ride. The two gentlemen,
indeed, were already mounted and ready to set forth on
their expedition; Miss Beachamp, however, still
lingered, engrossed in consultation with a favorite
functionary, a wizened-looking little old man, with the
body of a child of ten, who having been head-jockey in
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 229
the palmy days of the Chudleigh stables, and disabled in
consequence of a fall, had been retained when the rest of
the racing establishment was got rid of. At last, how-
ever, in response to repeated calls from her brother, she
appeared, looking remarkably handsome in her high hat
and well-fitting habit of dark brown cloth, and all three
set off together along a sort of back way, leading past
the home farm to the high road beyond.
It was frequently regretted by her various friends that
Lena Beachamp had so few "tastes." She neither
played nor sang, nor even worked in crewels, nor
embroidered slippers or smoking caps. One thing, how-
ever, it was admitted on all hands that she could do, and
that was ride; indeed, of late years most of the arrange-
ments in connection with the Chudleigh stable had
fallen into her hands, Conroy Beachamp, like his father,
having no sort of predilection in that direction. On the
present occasion she was mounted upon a recent pur-
chase, a handsome, nearly thorough-bred chestnut,
whose unreasonable behavior as it ambled to and fro the
narrow road was a source of no small annoyance to the
other and more peaceable members of the little caval-
cade. At last her brother began to remonstrate.
"Really, Lena, if you can't keep that irascible beast of
yours in order you had better ride on by yourself," he
said. "This is the third time poor Puck has been put
out of his paces by you. And if there is a steady, well-
behaved animal in the world it is Puck," he continued,
patting the fat sides of that injured animal.
Miss Beachamp smiled disdainfully.
"I would as
soon ride a cow as Puck," she said.
(6
And I would as soon ride a hippogriff or a flying
dragon as that ill-conditioned brute of yours.
>>
"Zuleika is not ill-conditioned; she is only fresh. If
she had a gallop she would be all right.
>>
“Then in Heaven's name, take her for her gallop, and
let us have a little peace. Only don't ask Puck and me
to accompany you. We neither of us see the smallest
entertainment in tearing madly across country—partic-
ularly in the month of August.
>>
"You'll come with me, won't you, Steeny?" she said,
turning to her cousin.
"No, no, leave his reverence alone," said her brother.
"We'll go on and wait at the cross roads. That will
!
230
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
▸
make a splendid gallery for you as you come careering
down those big pastures.
"C
'As if I cared for a gallery!" Miss Beachamp said
disdainfully.
"Don't you? Then you're the only woman in the
world that doesn't. Come along, Steeny."
"No, I shall go with Lena," he answered.
"You don't know what you're going in for, then.
She'll take you over the worst places in the country, and
then leave you stranded on the top of some mud bank."
"I must take my chance, then," Halliday replied
laughing, turning aside as he spoke to open a gate for
his cousin, while Conroy, with a shrug of the shoulders,
rode leisurely off down the road.
The other two passed through the gate, and into the
field beyond. It was a large field, and the one beyond
was larger still, so that they were able to put their horses
into a canter at once. The morning was deliciously
bright, with a soft wind which ruffled the horses'
manes, and set all the little tufts of grass a-swaying.
To the left a line of carts was carrying in the last half-
dozen loads of corn to the haggard. They could see the
big stacks rising in the distance, the corn gleaming
yellow for a minute as it flew up from the carts, and was
caught on the forks of the men above. After crossing
the fields they skirted along the edge of a small wood,
through a green billowy sweep of bracken, with just
enough brown fronds to intensify the fact that it was
summer still and not autumn, and then out into another
long succession of pastures lying beyond. Both were
now roused with their gallop. Lena's dark eyes were
glancing merrily under her hat; Halliday, too, was
feeling as if the last fumes of Whitechapel were now at
length getting dislodged from his brain. Below them
presently appeared a ditch topped with a stiff, quickset
hedge, and not a symptom of a gap from end to end. At
this Lena set her horse. The fence was a big one
naturally, but the chestnut, already excited with its
gallop, made a good deal more of it than was necessary,
landing on the further brink in a fashion which would
have unseated many a practiced horseman; not so, how-
ever, its rider, whose well-adjusted skirts hardly seemed
to flutter as she settled down into her canter on the
further side.
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 231
"You ride like a centaur, Lena," her cousin said ad-
miringly, as he joined her in the field beyond.
Miss Beachamp smiled slightly, but otherwise took no
heed of the compliment. You don't go badly for a
parson, Steeny, either," she said indifferently. "See,
there is Conroy. Keep to the left, or we shall come
upon a canal, which will be more than even Zuleika
can manage.
>>
"
"Well, you two irrationals, I hope you're satisfied
now," that gentleman said as they came up. 'Having
made yourselves extremely hot, and ridden your horses
nearly to a standstill, perhaps you'll be content to pro-
ceed along the road like Christians for the future.
In effect, after this they rode quietly along under the
double shade of a line of branching poplars which
stretched across this part of the country for miles, Zu-
leika justifying her mistress's prediction by henceforth
comporting herself with the utmost decorum, despite the
evident provocation she received from the detested Puck's
vicinity.
(6
'Do you know where you are bound for?" Conroy
presently said to Halliday.
"Somewhere to fish, I believe," he answered.
Yes; in a place called Boldre Mère.
(((
Halliday half drew his rein. "Look here, Conroy, I
am not going to that farmhouse," he said decidedly.
Nobody asked you, sir, she said!' Who ever men-
tioned farmhouses? I suppose there's nothing to forbid
our eating our luncheon near a lake, or even trying to
catch pike in it-is there?"
(C
We often go there in the summer time really, Steeny,"
Lena Beachamp said reassuringly.
Halliday said no more, but he kept his suspicion. He
also kept a watchful eye upon Mr. Conroy's proceedings,
shrewdly suspecting him of an intention of bring-
ing them unexpectedly round to the vicinity of the
farm.
Once within siglt of the mere they turned off the road
again, and trotted along its edge until they reached the
further end, where, as Halliday expected, they were not
long in coming within sight of the dark red chimney-
stacks and picturesque weather-mottled walls which
owned old John Flack as their master. Here, therefore,
he began again to remonstrate.
...

232
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
"Mind, Conroy, I tell you I'm not going there," he
said, pointing in their direction.
("
Very well, then, don't by all means, if you prefer
not," his cousin replied nonchalantly. "Unless you're
prepared to cut your friend of yesterday altogether,
though, you'd better not look to the right, for there she
is within a dozen yards of you," he added, a minute or
two later, in the same tone.
It was quite true. Whether Conroy's sharp eyes had
detected her afar off, or whether chance had simply be-
friended him, certain it was that Miss Ellis herself was
sitting there, with an easel before her and a sheaf of
brushes in her hand; so near, too, that it was simply
impossible for Halliday to avoid noticing her, the more
so as she had already lifted her head, and was looking
steadily in their direction.
"Now for it. Spring from your charger-never mind
what becomes of it. Throw yourself on the ground at
her feet, and crave permission to kiss the hem of her gar-
ment!" Conroy whispered jocosely.
Halliday repaid this advice with a glance of anything
but amiable meaning in his facetious relative's direction.
So far, however, he obeyed the direction as to get down,
give his horse to a servant, who had just driven up with
the fishing-rods and luncheon baskets, and walk over to
where Muriel and her easel were encamped.
She had laid down her brush on seeing him, and now
rose up from her camp-stool, blushing slightly, but not
certainly looking by any means particularly overjoyed
at the encounter.
"I assure you I hadn't the least intention of invading
you like this, Miss Ellis," Halliday began hurriedly.
It was my cousin's doing. He insisted upon bringing
us round this way. ""
76
Muriel smiled a little disdainfully.
"The field is not mine, Mr. Halliday," she said.
"And if it were even, I hope I should not be so churl-
ish as to wish to prevent you and your friends from rid-
ing in it," she added.
By this time the other two had also dismounted, and
now approached so nearly that it became impossible to
avoid going through the ceremony of introduction.
This Halliday performed with the least amiable grace in
the world. Muriel's bow, too, was anything but encour-
"
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 233
aging, but Conroy Beachamp had never yet been
daunted by any woman's manner, and now proceeded
to plunge into conversation with all the ease of con-
scious fascination. Her sketch he assured her, was per-
fection-what a very delightful talent it was to be sure!
Nothing in the world was so enviable as a power of
painting. He himself would give his eyes to do it, but
unfortunately it was impossible. In fact, it was a most
extraordinary thing, he said, but there never yet had
been a Beachamp who could draw a line. That is, he
added, unless it might be his sister; she drew a little, he
believed, though he couldn't say he had ever seen any of
her performances.
"I draw abominably," Miss Beachamp put in herself,
in her full contralto tones.
Muriel turned rather markedly to the sister, and away
from the brother. "You don't care for it, perhaps?"
she said inquiringly.
، 'Yes, I do; I should like to be able to paint some
things-my own horses, for instance. But I can't. The
more I try the worse they get.
""
"Horses are difficult," Muriel said consolingly.
'That seemed a beautiful one you were riding," she
continued. May I go and look at it a little nearer ?"
،،
(C
Miss Beachamp acceded willingly, and they walked
on together to where the horses had been left. The two
young men waited, expecting them to return, but after
paying their respects to Zuleika, they strolled on to the
top of the field, which was there crossed by a road, and
from which a small path bordered with willows led
direct to the farmhouse. Here, therefore, Muriel paused.
{{
"I am afraid I must go back now," she said; my
grandfather will be returning shortly, and will be ex-
pecting me for dinner.”
(C
'But your drawing things-you have left them behind
you?" her companion said inquiringly.
"I know; but they will be quite safe. I will send a
messenger for them from the farm. ”
"I am sorry you have to go," Lena Beachamp said
abruptly.
CC
So am I ; it is much pleasanter out here. Still I
think I ought not to delay any longer.
")
"
'Perhaps we may meet again, then ?”
"Thank you, yes, I hope we may," Muriel replied
234
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
2
politely, secretly, however, not a little surprised at this
somewhat unexpected cordiality.
She was setting off down the path when she was inter-
rupted by the sound of wheels, and over the soft sandy
road a small open carriage came bowling along. In it
sat a single occupant, a lady, young and plump and
pretty, with an expression of conscious elegance certainly
justified by her dress, which seemed a sort of quintes-
sence of the prevailing modes. A pale blue, diaphan-
ous-looking material enveloped the greater part of her
person, not, however, to the concealment of a pair of
remarkably pretty feet, encased in a pair of equally
pretty shoes, which lay in state upon the opposite cush-
ion, and upon which their owner's eyes were riveted
with an expression which lent an air of intense, almost
rapturous, satisfaction to her little, round, somewhat
vacuous face.
Muriel glanced at her companion.
"That young
lady's shoes seem to be a great comfort to her," she said,
smiling, as the carriage passed on.
"They are. All her clothes are. She thinks of
nothing else. She is my step-mother," Miss Beachamp
replied, bringing out these items of information with a
sort of jerk, and a frown which made her black eye-
brows look like one.
Muriel experienced the shock we all feel when-
dreaming of nothing of the kind—we find that we have
inadvertently stumbled upon something very like a rude-
ness. I beg your pardon," she said quickly, and then
stopped, not exactly knowing what to say next.
"There is nothing to beg my pardon about. You
only said that her shoes seemed a great comfort to her,
and so I'm sure they are. She has three dozen pairs,
and not a single strong one amongst them all.”
"I mean that I suppose I ought to have guessed who
she was," Muriel said penitently. "I can't think why
I didn't. Perhaps it was because she looked so very—
so very young.
""
..
Yes, she is young-young, at least, to be married to
my father. She is twenty-four. A year younger than
I am.
""
"Oh."
After this there seemed to be really nothing further to
say; so, with another vague expression of regret upon
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 235
her part, and another friendly hope of meeting again
from her companion, Muriel set off down the path
leading to the farmhouse.
She had hardly done so before the two young men
came up.
Has she gone?" Conroy inquired eagerly.
"Miss Ellis? Yes; she had to go back to dinner.
Her grandfather expected her, she said."
Halliday made a movement as if he would have
followed, but, if so, he changed his mind, and suddenly
strolled away in the opposite direction.
(6
'Well, I call that a regular snare!" Conroy ex-
claimed, throwing himself petulantly upon the bank.
After all my scheming, too!-getting rid of her lady-
ship so beautifully, and coming off here by ourselves, now
to be cheated like that. By the way," he added sudden-
ly, wasn't that her ladyship I saw passing just now?
Surely that cerulean vision could have been no one
else ?
(C
11
His sister nodded.
CC
Did you
you speak to her ?”
"No.
"Did she see you? I mean did she see Miss Ellis?"
"No, I think not; I think she saw nothing but her
own shoes," Miss Beachamp replied disdainfully, as
she gathered up her skirts, and moved away to where
the luncheon had meantime been set out under the shade
of a couple of wide spreading oaks.
In this, however, she was mistaken, and young Lady
Beachamp maligned, as she found upon her return
home. Dismounting as usual in the stable, she was
proceeding up the steps of the terrace on her way to the
house, when she heard her name called, and turning
saw the youthful mistress of Chudleigh extended on a
sort of chaise longue which formed part of the summer
furniture of the terrace. Lady Beachamp had changed
her dress since her return from driving, and was now
attired in a trailing cream-colored peignoir, adorned
with lace; a white lace scarf being also wound around
her head.
(C
Only conceive, my dear Lena, my despair!" she ex-
claimed, as her stately stepdaughter drew near with reluc-
tant steps. 66
Conceive, two more refusals this afternoon!
Those Mowbray girls can't come because of that little
236
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
::
brother of theirs having returned home from school
with the measles, and now I've just heard from Lady
Hunt to say that she and her daughter are engaged to
go to their cousin's in Cornwall, so that we shall liter-
ally have nothing next week but a houseful of men!
I shouldn't have thought you would have minded
that," Miss Beachamp observed grimly.
""
(L
Minded, Lena? I'm not so selfish as to think only
of myself. I'm thinking of them, poor creatures.
Conceive, nine of them! including that cousin of yours,
who, of course, doesn't even shoot, so we shall have him
on our hands all day long, and not a soul to help us
except this dreadful Lady McClusky, who I'm sure is
quite a sufficient handful of herself. Whatever are we
to do?"
"You needn't trouble yourself much about Stephen.
I don't think he will expect any particular entertain-
ing "Miss Beachamp said drily.
now.
Oh, that's all very well, Lena, but all young men
require entertaining," her stepmother replied authorita-
tively. "You may take my word for it they do, and
in these matters I really have a great deal more experi-
ence than you though I am a year younger," she added
parenthetically. "But the thing is to know what to do
It's too late to write and ask any fresh people;
besides, everyone's plans are made up at this time of the
year. I'm sure it's enough to turn one's hair gray, the
trouble one has in getting these parties together. It is
such an extraordinary thing, too that there are no
young ladies in this neighborhood whom one could ask
at a minute's notice. Generally there are a great many too
many. I know at home there were dozens upon dozens
and the only difficulty was to know how to ask some with-
out offending all the rest; but here they seem to have
all either married, or died, or gone into hospitals or
sisterhoods. Now do, dear Lena, exert yourself for
once, and see if you can't think of some one we could
get. Even one would be such a help.
Her stepdaughter shook her head.
ladies," she said decisively.
""
،.
Oh
yes, you do, Lena, and now I remember what I
was going to ask you, only those refusals put everything
else out of my head. I wanted you to tell me who that
nice distinguished looking girl was I saw you walking

"I know no young
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 237
with this morning? I was so struck with her cloak.
Did you notice it had all those little puckers down the
back which are just beginning to come in? I was very
near making Parkins stop the carriage and asking you
to introduce me on the spot, on purpose that I might
find out where she got it. Who is she, do tell me?"
"She is a Miss Ellis," Lena Beachamp answered.
"She is staying with her grandfather, Mr. Flack, the
farmer, one of my father's tenants," she continued ma-
liciously, watching her stepmother's face to observe the
effect of this last announcement.
That effect was quite as marked as could have been
desired. Lady Beachamp sat bolt upright, letting both
her satin-shod feet come into contact with the gravel, as
she sat staring at her stepdaughter in open-eyed dismay.
"Flacks! One of the tenants !" she repeated.
"Good gracious, Lena, I didn't know you were in the
habit of associating with those sort of people. Does
your father know of this?"
"I don't know
Lena's lip curled disdainfully.
whether he does or doesn't," she said.
:6
Oh, but you shouldn't do it-indeed, indeed you
shouldn't, Lena. I know my mother never would have
allowed us to get acquainted with anyone of that kind
even if we had wished it, which, of course, we didn't.
Those sort of people are so presuming, too. You'll
have her coming up here at all hours of the day.
There'll never be an end of it. You just see if there
will."
"I don't think there's the least likelihood of anything
of that sort," Miss Beachamp said decidedly.
"How can you tell, my dear Lena? It's extremely
imprudent; I assure you it is-and with your brother
and all those other young men, too—you don't know
what mightn't happen.”
"What has Lena been doing imprudent now?” in-
quired her father, who had just come on to the terrace
with a newspaper in his hand. He was a slight, fair
man, not at all like either of his children, with a small
neatly pointed beard, and a small half-suppressed smile
which from time to time lent a somewhat ironical air to
his face. He was smiling now as he addressed his wife.
Upon what subject are you favoring Lena with
your maternal advice, my love?" he inquired blandly.
(6
238
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
+
{
"Has she been jumping any more five-barred gates, or
going out in the sun without a veil ?"
'Oh no, nothing of that sort, Sir Anthony. It's
about some people she has been meeting-Flacks, or
some such horrid name-farming people. I tell Lena
it's very dangerous encouraging these sort of people
particularly nowadays, when there are all those dreadful
notions of equality and universal suffrage, and I don't
know what all about; you never know what it may lead
to "
"Farmer Flack is a widower, too, I believe," Sir
Anthony said meditatively.
""
"Oh, I don't mean dangerous in that way, of course,
replied his wife. "I don't think there's the least fear of
Lena wanting to marry him. He is a great deal too old
for that."
"Yet young ladies do sometimes marry men who are
a good deal older than themselves," her husband replied,
as he drew a garden chair towards him, and spread his
newspaper leisurely out upon his knee.
66
Oh, you mean me, I suppose. But that's a very
different sort of thing. You are not a great fat greasy
farmer, smelling of beer and bacon. You look, as
every one says, ever so much younger than you really
are-besides, you are a gentleman.
""
Sir Anthony bowed gravely.
"And this Miss Ellis is quite a lady," Lena said posi-
tively. "I never met her before to-day, and I don't
generally take to girls, but I liked what I saw of her
very much, and I should like to ask her to come here
some day, if you don't mind," she continued, addressing
herself pointedly to her father.
Lady Beachamp got up, letting her voluminous
draperies trail around her over the gravel.
"Of course, Lena, if your father chooses to allow you
to ask such people to the house I can't prevent it," she
said loftily. "It would be quite ridiculous of me to
attempt to assume any authority over you when you're
so much older than I am. All I say is I won't receive
her. So just please to give me notice when she is com-
ing, that I may make my arrangement accordingly."
And so saying her ladyship rustled off to prepare for
dinner, leaving her husband smiling, and her step-
daughter frowning ferociously.
-
THE BEACHAMPS OF CHUDLEIGH MANOR. 239
Next morning's post, however, brought about a won-
derful change. Lady Beachamp entered the dining-
room with an open letter in her hand, and a countenance
expressive of the most universal sweetness and benevo-
lence.
"Do tell me again the name of that young lady I saw
you speaking to yesterday?" she inquired upon her
entrance.
The question, of course, was addressed to Lena, but as
she did not seem disposed to reply to it, the information
was, after some little delay, supplied by Conroy.
Ellis? Yes, I knew it was the same.
((
Now how
could you, my dear Lena, tell me those dreadful things
about her?"
"I told you no dreadful things about her," Lena said
angrily.
"
Yes, you did; you told me she was a farmer's
daughter.
>>
'I told you she was a farmer's granddaughter, and so
she is."
“Oh well, my dear Lena, so she may be. Everybody,
I suppose, has some vulgar relatives. I know my
mother used to tell me about some dreadful people-
Slaughters, or some such shocking name--one of whom
married an aunt of hers. But she is much more than
that-Miss Ellis, I mean. Here's a letter I've just had
from Lady Rushton, all full of her. She seems to con-
sider it quite an event in the neighborhood that she
should have come to it. Do just listen to what she says.
'So I hear my charming cousin, Muriel Ellis, is staying
in your part of the world, I believe with some of her
mother's people. If you can only induce her to come
out of her shell you will indeed be in luck. Her brother,
you may remember, was that poor young Lord Dumbel-
ton, who died so sadly just after he had succeeded to his
immense property. Unfortunately, the title has gone to
the younger branch-dreadful people, Plymouth
brethren, or something of that sort, who never see a soul
-but a good deal of the property was, happily, settled
upon Muriel, who has a charming little house in Chelsea,
and is altogether one of the most delightful and ac-
complished people of my acquaintance.-There, Lena,
now why couldn't you have told me all that yesterday,
when we were talking about her?"
240.
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
'But I never heard a word about it before," her
stepdaughter replied indignantly.
"Nor I either," said her brother. "On the contrary,
Steeny stood me out only yesterday that she earned her
bread as a struggling artist!"
،،
Evidently, Stephen is the culprit," Sir Anthony said,
looking round with an air of amusement at his nephew.
"You'll have to clear yourself, Steeny, or remain for
ever under the imputation of hiding, not your own, but
somebody else's light under a bushel."
"But I knew nothing of it either, sir," Halliday
answered eagerly.
"Indeed? And how long, may I inquire, have you
known her?"
"Since the spring. I met her a good many times in
the New Forest; she was staying there with a friend,"
the young man answered, the color mounting involun-
tarily to his face at the question.
“And during those various interviews she never men-
tioned to you that the late Lord Dumbelton was her
brother?"
No, sir."
"Or that she had any other relations besides these
Flacks?"
44
66
No, sir."
Or that she had a fortune of her own?"
""
No, sir."
"Then all I can say is, she must be a very peculiar young
woman, and I should be rather curious to make her ac-
quaintance," Sir Anthony remarked, as he turned away
from the table and took up his morning's newspaper.
"
"That's just what I am saying, my dear," exclaimed
his wife; or, rather, what I was coming to. We must
ask her here at once-for next week, you know. It will
be the very thing. I will go and write a note, and Con-
roy shall ride over this afternoon and bring me back the
answer. Won't you, Conroy?"
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, ma'am, but,
unfortunately, my day is inexorably consecrated to the
rabbits," replied her stepson.
"Oh well, it doesn't matter. One of the servants can
go then."
"I will take it, Lady Beachamp, if you will give it to
me,” Halliday said,
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VİLLA.
241
..
-
"Thank you very much, Mr. Halliday. That will be
very kind. You are sure it won't inconvenience you ?
>>
Not in the least."
So, accordingly, it was settled, and so in defiance of
sundry excellent resolutions to the contrary, Halliday
was once more seen wending his way to the shores of
Boldre Mere, this time charged with a small, delicately
perfumed note, conveying Lady Beachamp's compli-
ments and entreaties that Miss Ellis would kindly excuse
the shortness of the notice, and consent to make one of
the party which were expected to assemble at Chudleigh
Manor upon the following Tuesday.
CHAPTER XX.
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
He did not, however, find her there, as she had walked
off about an hour before to call upon the Thomas Flacks.
Old John had been strongly opposed to the notion of this
expedition. What did she want with running after
them? he had asked. She'd see plenty of them, he'd
take his oath, before she'd done. Besides, if there was
to be any calling at all, it was their business to call on
her, not her on them-what sense was there in going
cheapening herself like that? Muriel, however, stuck to
her point. There would be quite enough offense taken,
she knew, whatever she might say or do, so that it was
just as well to avoid giving it wherever it was possible.
The Thomas Flacks' house was about a mile from
Boldre Mere, on another part, as has been said, of the
Chudleigh property. Originally it had been known as
Bryant's Farm, but the present occupants had thrown
out a couple of bow windows, tacked on a greenhouse,
raised the roof, stuccoed the front, and improved the
name into Bryonia Villa. The school of farming to
which Mr. Thomas Flack belonged was a very advanced
one, and he was a very advanced exponent of that school.
His roots" and "samples" took all the prizes, and his
fat cows and sheep were the joy and pride, of every agri-
cultural show for thirty miles around. So widely, indeed,
(
16
242
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
had his fame been noised abroad, that pupils came to
him-young men who desired, or were desired by their
families-to sit at his feet and draw inspiration from his
lips. He also held one or two agencies in the immediate
neighborhood, and was altogether not only independent
of his father, but a very much richer man than hea
circumstance which by no means added to old John's
satisfaction with things in general. Mrs. Thomas Flack
had been the daughter of a well-to-do maltster in the
neighboring county town, and was a very important
personage, too, in her own circle. What with her own
and her husband's money, and with the acknow-
ledged gentility of the Barbers-she herself had been
a Miss Barber-she had always been able to domi-
nate the other Flacks from a pedestal of acknow-
ledged superiority. Of late, however, these glories
had been somewhat dimmed by the yet more com-
manding luster encircling Muriel, whose dignities indeed
were naturally of a nature not a little to impress, and
even overawe the various members of her mother's
family. When the latter first went to live at Chelsea,
and before Mrs. Skynner's appearance on the scene, old
John had once been to spend a week with his grand-
daughter, and on his return his whole talk had been of
Muriel-her house, and dress, and fashion, and accom-
plishments, her carriages and horses, her maidservants.
and manservants, all in turns had been dilated on, and
never so loudly, or with so much gusto, as in his daugh-
ter-in-law's hearing. All this would have tried the equa-
nimity of even the meekest of women, and Mrs. Thomas
Flack was far from being a meek woman. The conse-
quence was, she nourished a considerable grudge against
Muriel, seldom missing an opportunity, private or public,
of wreaking it. One circumstance, however, kept her to
some degree in awe, and that was not her money, nor
yet her talents-which latter, indeed, she entirely
declined to believe in-but simply the fact that her
brother had been a lord. There were not many lords in
Mrs. Flack's neighborhood, or if there were, she person-
ally had never come in contact with them, so that the
idea had never become cheapened by familiarity, but
retained all that freshness and almost mystical gloss
against which democracy-in England, at all events-
has hitherto striven in vain. It followed, therefore, that
1
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
243
- i
her dislike to Muriel by no means included any desire
that the latter should abstain from coming to Bryonia
Villa; on the contrary, she would have liked to summon
the neighborhood-if necessary, by the sound of a drum
and trumpet—in order that it might be known as widely
as possible that her niece-the one whose brother had
been a lord-was at present to be seen visibly present
under its roof.
Unfortunately on this occasion there was no time for
anything of the sort, as Muriel had simply walked over
after dinner without giving any warning of her intention
to do so. Upon being shown into the drawing-room it
was found to be tenanted only by two people, a young
lady and gentleman, both of whom started up in some
dismay upon her entrance. The young lady was Miss
Anna-Maria Flack, the eldest daughter of the house,
good-looking (as, to do them justice, all the Flacks were),
with round pink cheeks, a wide mouth, and a quantity
of tawny hair, dragged down nearly to the bridge of her
nose. The young man was a smart, smiling individual,
with a small tuft on his chin, and a large pin in his neck-
tie, whom Muriel at once perceived to be that young
dispensary doctor of whom her grandfather had spoken.
Both young people seemed so extremely embarrassed,
not to say disconcerted, by her unexpected appearance,
that she compassionately proposed to go out into the
garden, and look for the rest of the family, suggesting
that her cousin might follow as soon as she had had time
to get her hat.
(C
The garden, or grounds," as the Flacks preferred the
vicinity of their mansion being called, consisted of a
spruce little lawn surrounded on two sides by a laurel
hedge and decorated with a line of pert-looking little
juniper bushes. Beyond this was a fountain, not at pres-
ent containing any water, where a plaster damsel with
one fore-finger laid coquettishly to her lips, and her feet
crossed one above the other in an impossible attitude, was
keeping guard over some cobwebs. Beyond this again
were sundry beds of flowers, chiefly calceolarias, set in a
pattern of variegated gravel, and guarded by a chevaux
de frise of small tin spikes. Looking around her rather
disconsolately, Muriel suddenly remembered a certain
double hedge of beech, planted by some earlier pro-
prietor, which had given her a good deal of satisfaction
244
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
on her last visit. Hastening to the spot, she found,
rather to her surprise, that it had not been improved
away, though a good many ragged holes had been worn
in its sides by the gardener, hurrying to and fro with
his wheelbarrow to the other and more ornamental por-
tions of the grounds. She had just entered one end of
the green funnel, and was luxuriating in the color of the
sunlight as seen through the leaves, when her ears were
saluted with a succession of shrill shrieks, accompanied
by the deeper, but hardly more harmonious tones of a
man's voice. A minute after a young lady came bounc-
ing through one of the openings of the hedge, and nearly
fell into her arms.
Muriel gave a slight gasp-not entirely from alarm.
This was her youngest cousin, Miss Letty, or Letitia
Flack, who, a year before, had been a round-eyed, honest-
faced schoolgirl, with a rumpled holland pinafore, and
a marked partiality for jam and toffy. Now her hair
was crimped and tortured over her nose like her sister's;
a hat stuck full of feathers and artificial flowers was set
at the very back of her head; her skirts were so tight,
and her heels so high, that it was perfectly marvelous
how she walked at all; while her face had acquired an
amount of self-possession, or to speak less euphemistically,
pertness, which, as the result of a single year's experience,
really spoke extremely well for the adaptability of the
human countenance.
Lifting her head from this somewhat rueful transfor-
mation, Muriel beheld a young man standing in the
green-margined opening; a hot, bucolic-looking young
man, with broad red cheeks, and the slow bovine gaze
of some ruminating animal. Probably the glance which
met his was not exactly encouraging, for he turned and
beat a hasty retreat, his step sounding ponderously over
the gravel.
(C
La, he's gone, I'm so glad! "Miss Letty exclaimed
breathlessly. "How you did frighten me, though,
Muriel, to be sure? Who ever would have thought
of you being there! I was running to get away from
that tiresome Mr. Sweetman. He is such a horrid tease."
"Who is he?" Muriel inquired.
'Mr. Sweetman? Oh, he's one of father's young
men—that come here to learn farming, you know. Not
that I believe he ever does learn any, for he is always
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
245
running after me and wanting to make love; but I tell
him he's a deal too ugly for that; now, ain't he?"
"I don't know; I should say that you were rather
young," Muriel replied, in what she herself felt to be a de-
cidedly unsympathetic and elder-cousinly tone of voice.
Miss Letitia tossed her head.
เเ
Oh, come, I don't see that, Muriel. Anyhow, I don't
care about it-not a scrap; I hear a deal too much
of it, that's the truth. What with Anna-Maria and Mr.
Condy, and now with Gus and Miss Fisher, I declare I'm
sick to death of the whole subject !"
"Is Augustus-is your brother engaged to be married
too?" Muriel inquired with some surprise.
،،
Well, not to say exactly engaged, but it's all one and
the same thing. She's terribly ugly, poor girl-Miss
Fisher, I mean-the ugliest girl ever you saw in your
life, and I don't believe Gus cares two straws about her
but she's awfully in love with him, quite too awfully. I
wonder myself how she can be," Miss Letitia continued
with sisterly impartiality, "but she is. It was somewhere
where she was at school she saw him first, and she fell
´in love with him straight off-I suppose on account of
his looks. Anyhow she says she'll never marry any-
body else, and as she's an orphan, with ever so much
money, of course it's a great thing for Gus. The only
bother is that she's got a guardian, or some one of that
kind who vows she shan't marry or even be engaged till
she's twenty-one, which won't be for another year.
However, she's here a great deal. Indeed, you'll see her
to-day, for she's stopping with us now.
"}
"Poor girl!" Muriel said involuntarily.
"Poor? Well, now, I don't see how you make out
that, Muriel. To think of a girl of that age with all
that money! Of course you mayn't think much of it,
because you've got as much and more yourself, I sup-
pose; but if it was me I'd be dancing all day with joy
at the very idea. Only I wouldn't go and give it to a
man like Gus. Catch me! I'd keep it and amuse my-
self. Laws! what a time I'd have! Let me see; first
I'd get a heap of clothes, and then I'd go to————”
The further elucidation of Miss Letitia's views of en-
joyment was here interrupted by the advance of a group
from the house; a group consisting of Mrs. Flack and
her eldest son, Miss Anna-Maria Flack and her attend
246
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
...
*
ant Condy, and a young lady in mourning, whom
Muriel at once concluded to be the Miss Fisher in ques-
tion. The poor girl certainly was extremely, almost
painfully plain, her pale face and black clothes giving
her in her present company something the air of a small
daw amongst a group of loud and gorgeous cockatoos;
in spite, however, of this plainness, there was something
gentle and appealing in her expression which won
Muriel's heart, and made her pity her all the more for
having set her affections upon such a being as Gus
Flack, whose Adonis graces and airs of provincial fash-
ion struck her as even more pronounced and less at-
tractive than when she last remembered them.
After the first greeting, Mrs. Flack proposed an ad-
journment to the house, and a few minutes after Muriel
found herself seated in state in the drawing-room, the
center of a circle of ladies, the men of the party having
more judiciously elected to remain outside. Nobody
seemed to have anything in particular to say, or any-
thing at all to do except to sit and stare at her with
all their eyes. It was rather trying, the more so as she
really did honestly wish to be all that was friendly and
cousinly, yet could not for the life of her forbear won-
dering whether any one in this establishment ever read
or worked, or did anything at all with their hands; or
why, when the garden boasted flowers, and every hedge
and ditch was full of ferns and leaves, not one even
should be brought in to ornament the house?
Mrs. Flack, who seemed oppressed with the heat, had
flung herself into a big velvet armchair, and was fan-
ning herself vigorously with a sheet of the Farmer's
Gazette.
"I declare, coming back over that common was like
walking through an oven," she exclaimed pantingly.
"I never knew it as hot as it is this year. I suppose you
came in your carriage, Muriel,” she added turning to her
niece with a mixture of deference and displeasure,
it's easy for you to look as cool as you do.”
،،
SO
(
My carriage? I have no carriage,” the latter re-
plied.
"Haven't you? Why, your grandfather said he be-
lieved you were going to bring it down with you this
year from London."
"But I have no carriage even in London now,”
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
247
Muriel said rather eagerly; and if I had I certainly
shouldn't bring it here. I like walking much better than
driving."
"Do you, now? Well, how extraordinary!"
After this there was another pause which this time
was broken by Miss Fisher, who ventured upon a ques-
tion in a very small and unassuming little voice.
"Were you at the Queen's drawing-room this year,
Miss Ellis ?" she inquired, her pale face flushing at her
"C
No, I was not. In fact, I have only been once in
my life, when a cousin of mine was kind enough to take
me," Muriel answered, a thought of the ladies of Cran-
ford crossing her mind as she spoke.
(6
A cousin of yours? That will be one of your father's
fine relations, I'll be bound?" Mrs. Flack exclaimed ag-
gressively. "Who is she now, Muriel, tell us? Is she
a duchess or a countess ? ? "
"Her name is Lady Rushton, and she is neither a
duchess nor a countess," Muriel answered quietly.
"Does she give big parties? does she give balls? and
do the princes and princesses go to them?" Miss Letitia
inquired eagerly. "I should dearly love to see them,
that I will admit," she continued pensively.
"No, I don't think she gives any balls, and certainly I
never met any princes or princesses there," Muriel said,
glad of an excuse for smiling honestly. She has a
good many clever people at her house, though-authors
and artists, and so forth.
Authors and artists! Oh, pooh! I wouldn't give a
pin for any of them!" Miss Letty exclaimed in a tone of
disgust.
That's because you ain't as learned and clever as
your cousin, miss," her mother replied tartly. "If you
were you'd be as fond of your books and things as she is.
""
Happily before Muriel could be expected to respond to
this, a diversion was effected by the entrance of her uncle,
whom she sprang up to greet with no small alacrity.
Mr. Thomas Flack was much less distinctively and ob-
trusively vulgar than either his wife or his children.
He was a tall, strongly-built man, with the good looks
all the family-excepting, indeed, poor Hal-shared to
such an unusual degree. His habit, too, of mingling
with all classes made him to some extent at home with
248
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
..
all, so that Muriel felt very much more at her ease in his
company than in that of any of the other members of
her mother's family. He now proposed that she should
accompany him for a walk round the farm, a proposal
received with cries of derision by the other ladies, but to
which she readily assented, and they set off together
down a long muddy lane leading from the more orna-
mental portion of the grounds to those others, less pre-
sentable to the outer world, but very much nearer and
dearer to their owner's heart.
As long as they were here and alone Muriel was per-
fectly content. Her uncle took her to see his new
machines, and through all his various pens of sheep,
where she won golden opinions from him and from the
herd, by hitting upon the best amongst a group of ewes
which were to be despatched next day to a distant show.
He was going in more for sheep than ever he told her
confidentially. People talked of farming not paying,
but it only meant they were fools, and didn't know what
to take to. If people would go sticking to their old ways,
and breeding from their old stock, why of course they
must expect to fail. He hadn't failed, and didn't mean
to neither, but then he knew what he was about. He
bought only the best stock, and gave the best price for it,
and only bred from the best stock, etc., etc.
All this, if rather mbre technical perhaps than she
quite appreciated, was at all events highly improving,
and Muriel would have been perfectly content to remain
there during the whole of the rest of her visit. Unfor-
tunately this was not to be. Turning the corner of the
lane on their way back from a visit of inspection to some
distant pastures, they came upon the entire party, not
indeed including Mrs. Flack, but including the rubicund
Mr. Sweetman, who grew ruddier still as he caught her
eye. Muriel tried to cling to her uncle, but he basely
deserted her, escaping himself through a gap, and leav-
ing her to battle single-handed with the host. There
was no help for it, and the only thing left was to put as
good a face upon the matter as possible. One thing, how-
ever, she did resolve, and that was that nothing should
induce her to pair off with her cousin Augustus, of
whose complimentary and truly appalling style of con-
versation she retained only too vivid a recollection.
To this end she attached herself first to her cousin Anna-
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
249
Maria, and then, when Mr. Gus had successfully edged
himself in between them, to Miss Letty and the devoted
Sweetman, rather to the curtailment of that subdued fire
of witticisms which was passing between the pair. Here
again, however, Gus pursued her, and as they had now
reached a part of the lane where only two could walk
abreast, she was obliged for a while to put up with his
company and attentions, neither of which were rendered
at all more tolerable by the piteous glances cast in their
direction by the poor little fiancée, who evidently sus-
pected her of a design to draw her handsome but faith-
less bumpkin from his allegiance. Muriel was seriously
contemplating a sudden dash over the nearest ditch by
way of escape from her present predicament, when, to
her intense relief, a tall figure was seen approaching up
the lane, which it did not require a second glance to
identify as that of Stephen Halliday.
At his approach the whole party came to a dead stop.
It was a sufficiently formidable assemblage to face, but
Halliday was not easily daunted where only ordinary
fellow-mortals were concerned, and he advanced
directly to Muriel.
"I am the bearer of a note from Lady Beachamp,
Miss Ellis," he said, loud enough to be heard by the
whole party. ،
"She hopes to persuade you to come to
Chudleigh upon Tuesday.
"To Chudleigh! she's asked to Chudleigh ! Oh,
Lord, how lovely!" Miss Letty exclaimed in a perfectly
audible aside.
""
There's to be a shooting party, Mr. Huskinson told
me so. It's very odd, I'm sure, that they never think of
asking us," the other sister said grudgingly.
To this tide of mingled regrets and envy Muriel has-
tened, however, to put a stop.
"Thank you, Mr. Halliday, but will you kindly say
that I could not possibly go," she said hastily. "I should
not like to leave my grandfather. Will you tell Lady
Beachamp so, and also that I will write a note myself
this evening to thank her.
"}
"Very well."
His message delivered, Halliday appeared to be on the
point of retreating again, but Muriel had too lively a
recollection of her late sufferings to be able to see him
depart without a struggle.
250
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
£3
"Won't you come back with us to the house and let
me introduce you to my aunt?" she said appealingly-
more appealingly perhaps than she was herself aware.
To this suggestion Halliday readily assented, and they
walked on together a little in front of the advancing
host.
P
No solitude, it is frequently asserted, is so complete as
that of a crowd, and although the crowd so spoken of
was not probably intended to mean a large party of your
nearest relations all with their eyes and ears wide open
to catch your every tone and gesture, Muriel found that
she and Halliday were able to exchange ideas not only
with considerable comfort to themselves, but also with-
out any of that awkward self-consciousness which had
attended their last meeting. Of course she immediately
inquired after Madame Cairioli, and learned that some
little improvement had taken place in her state since her
removal to her new lodgings. He had received a letter
that morning from Mr. Skellett, he told her, announc-
ing, amongst other items of news, his own appointment
to a living, not large indeed, but having the immeasur-
able advantage of removing him from his present sur-
roundings. All this was satisfactory enough, the chief
misfortune being that it came to an end but too soon, not
many minutes having elapsed before Muriel once more
found herself at the entrance to Bryonia Villa, with all
the cousins, actual and prospective, grouped around her
in excited conclave. This sudden rush of discordant
voices seemed to awaken Halliday from his momentary
oblivion, for he looked eagerly round as if in search of
some way of exit. Muriel too had time to bethink her of
the extreme undesirability of allowing anything like
gossip to get abroad amongst the present company, al-
ready only too much on the qui vive for anything of the
sort. When, therefore, after a few minutes spent in the
heated drawing-room, Halliday approached to take his
leave, she made no effort to detain him, merely repeating
her message to Lady Beachamp.
Mrs. Flack, however, was more hospitable.
"You'll stay to tea, surely? It will be up in another
minute," she exclaimed.
"No, thank you, indeed.
note to Miss Ellis," he answered.
Well, all I can say is, you must come again, then; now
I only came to bring this
•
THE FLACKS OF BRYONIA VILLA.
251
There's
you've found your way once it won't be difficult.
croquet and lawn tennis every Tuesday and Friday, with
tea and coffee, and wine too, of course, for the gentlemen;
indeed, as you're going to stay at Chudleigh, Muriel,
you'd better bring the whole of them over one of these
days," she continued, turning effusively to her niece.
"
Unfortunately, Miss Ellis is not coming to Chud-
leigh," Halliday said, thus evading the question of his
own future visits to Bryonia Villa.
""
"Not going?" Mrs. Flack exclaimed in a tone of
astonishment. Why, what's the meaning of that,
Muriel? Ain't they even fine enough for you?"
"The meaning simply is, that I don't care to go, aunt;
I don't wish to leave my grandfather," Muriel answered,
coloring with vexation.
،،
"Your grandfather, indeed! I never heard such stuff!
Your grandfather never was better in his life.
1)
"I don't think he is particularly well, aunt.'
While this altercation was still going on, and while
Halliday was still resisting a suggestion on the part of
Miss Letty that he should then and there join them in a
game of lawn tennis, Mr. Augustus entered from the
other room.
If Muriel flattered herself that any of her, as she
thought very obvious, rebuffs had made the slightest
impression upon that gentleman's consciousness, it was
evident now that she was mistaken, any symptoms he
had observed in that direction having been simply set
down by him to an amiable desire on her part to avoid
awakening the only too easily aroused jealousies of the
susceptible Miss Fisher.
"She's off to church," he observed confidentially, ap-
proaching Muriel with an engaging smile, and his thumb
pointed humorously in the direction of the door. "She's
awfully religious, poor girl,-too much so for my taste,
I'm bound to confess. However, I suppose it's all right,
and I oughtn't to be the one to complain. Anyhow, when
the cat's away-you know the proverb; so come along
into the garden, Muriel, and let me get you some plums.
There ought to be some ripe by this."
"Thank you, but I really do not wish for any plums,"
she replied.
"
'Well, some flowers, then? There's none, I know,
at grandfather's, and there's some roses here that will be
252
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
the very thing for your hair. Don't refuse a good offer.
How do you know you'll ever get another?
""
66
Thank you, Augustus, but indeed I prefer remaining
indoors."
Oh well, all right then. Perhaps we are snugger
here ;" and down the unabashed Gus plumped his sub-
stantial person upon the sofa beside her.
This was too much for Muriel. "I must be going, I
am afraid, aunt," she said, getting up and approaching
Mrs. Flack, who was engaged in vigorously tugging at
the bell-rope; "I promised my grandfather not to be
late, and it is nearly five o'clock now."
This time some inkling of her meaning aid appear to
have penetrated even the obtuse brain of the stalwart
Augustus, for he sat staring after her, without attempt-
ing to follow. Fortunately, too, a diversion was just
then effected by the entrance of the two young gentle-
men, sharers with Mr. Sweetman in the pursuits of
agriculture, and in the tumult which ensued Muriel
managed to slip away comparatively unheeded.
At the entrance she found Halliday.
"You are riding, are you not?" she inquired, glanc-
ing from the whip which he carried in his hand to the
gravel sweep, where certainly not a symptom of a horse
was visible.
"I rode from Chudleigh to Boldre," he answered,
"but I left my horse there. Ought I not to have doné
so?" he added, glancing at her with some apprehen-
sion.
Muriel hesitated. The reasons against seeing too much
of her present companion, which had seemed so forcible
a few days before, were certainly not a whit less forciblo
now. Certainly, too, or almost certainly, they would
be seen walking away together by the party already
assembled upon the tennis ground. On the other hand,
she absolutely lacked the courage to go back and face
again those discomforts from which she had just with
such difficulty escaped. Moreover, after an hour of
undiluted Flack society, the notion of a walk tête-à-tête
with Halliday over the sunlit fields, and along the weed
fringed borders of the mere presented itself to her im-
agination as something distinctly desirable-presented
itself, indeed, with a force which secretly not a little
astonished her. The result, at all events, of her mo-
AN OLD MAN'S SCHEME.
253
}
mentary hesitation was to cause her to turn to him with
a smile which certainly was not discouraging.
"I am very glad you have, because now we can walk
back together," she exclaimed.
CHAPTER XXI.
AN OLD MAN'S SCHEME.
While all this was going on, old John had come back
from the fields, expecting to find his granddaughter
returned, and, not finding her, vented his annoyance
upon Mrs. Strong and Jabez, and every one in and about
the house; finally, leaving the kitchen, he mounted to
the gallery above, from one of the windows of which he
could command a view of the road along which she
would have to return, as well as over that part of the
farm where he had left his men at work in the distant
harvest fields.

Old John certainly was not what could be called an
ideal old man, nor was his an ideal old age either. He was
as fond of Muriel probably as he was of anything in the
world, but even that was not saying a very great deal.
A hard, close-fisted man he had always been, and
a hard, close-fisted man he was still. There was one
thing, however, which Farmer Flack loved with no
stinted or niggard love, and that was his own land-the
meadows he had sown, the ditches he had made, the
fields he had ploughed. As a miser loves his gold, as a
woman loves her first-born, as many a man loves himself,
so old John loved his land. Times had been bad with
him lately, but this had not succeeded in extinguishing
his love. It was, indeed, past extinguishing; a thing
striking down to the very roots of the old man's being.
The farm was his own, practically, at all events, for it
was not long since he had renewed the lease, and there
was many a year of it yet to run. The house, too, was
his own absolutely, to give or to leave to whom he would,
but that he cared comparatively little about. It was not
the house, but the land-the solid ground, the acres-
these were the things his heart-strings clung to.
Most
+
254
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
of all he cared for what he himself had captured and
brought into subjection. There was that big pasture
where the willows grew. Why, in his father's time,
that had been for months at a time under water; and
look at it now! Out beyond the mere, again, was
another big field, which thirty years ago had been cov-
ered with heather, and where he himself remembered
shooting more than one brace of snipe as a boy, and now
there wasn't such a field for turnips in the whole parish
of Essant. It was gall and wormwood to old John to
think of dying and leaving all this; above all, to think
of leaving it to Thomas, his son, who had carped at his
father's old-fashioned ways, and who would bring his
steam rollers, and his steam ploughs, and all his new-
fangled devices, to rout out the land, and to turn every-
thing topsy turvy; worst of all, who would bring his
wife, the woman with the red face and loud voice, who
more than any other being in the world John detested.
Deep down in the old man's mind a scheme had been
slowly hatching, hatching. He had not yet confided it
to any one; he had not yet, indeed, fully matured it;
but it was there, and it only wanted a little more time,
and possibly also a little more opposition, in order to
bring it to maturity.
After a while he got tired of waiting for Muriel, and
went downstairs, and out to the edge of the mere. In
former years John had owed many a bitter grudge
against that mere. Of what use was it except to bring
people idling about his fields, catching their foolish fish,
and trampling upon his grass? Once or twice it had
overflowed its banks, and had done him a world of harm.
He had longed to drain it, and to plant his turnips and
potatoes where the big pike lounged about at their leisure
at the bottom. Now, however, he felt a certain regard
even for the mere. It could do him no more harm; its
gray face was the first thing he remembered, and it
would probably be the last thing he should see on earth;
why, then, should he bear any further spite against it?
Presently he paused again at a spot where a small sluice
gate, once forming part of an old eel trap, let down the
water in a series of gradual gushes into the lake. Out
beyond the ripples he could see the red reflection of his
own farmhouse, all its quaint gables and thin chimney-
stacks repeated, brick for brick, in its surface. Water-
ļ
AN OLD MAN'S SCHEME.
255
!
hens and bald coots swam to and fro across the reflection,
and now and then a fish rose, leaving a wide circle of
wrinkles behind it. Nearer an old plank, bound with
iron, and now rotten with age, projected far out into the
still water. A small boy, one of his carters' sons, was
standing upon this plank, and fishing for gudgeons with
a bent pin.
It reminded old John of a little brother of
his who had died when he himself was little more than
a lad. He had not thought of his brother, he was sure,
for nigh upon half a century, yet now he remembered
everything about him; the very color of his hair and
the sort of pranks they used to play together. He even
remembered one particular occasion when he and Hal had
wriggled their way through the big hay-stack, and how
he, being the biggest, had stuck fast, and how Hal had
tried to pull him out by the feet, and how their father
had come up and had thrashed them both. Then he
thought of another Hal-his own son-poor Hal, what
a fool he was ! what an idiot! what a hopeless ninny!
After all, though, there were worse things in the world,
the old man thought, than even fools. There was such
a thing as people being too sharp, too cute about their
own interests. He'd rather like to see poor Hal again
Muriel was always at him about it, why shouldn't he tell
her to write and bid him come and make it all up? Then
he began to wonder whether he could be going to be sick ;
it was a new notion for him to be filling his mind with
these sort of fads and follies; people were apt to get soft
and silly before they were sick, he had heard.
Presently he saw his granddaughter coming down the
path. Had she been alone, he would have gone to meet
her, but, seeing Halliday, he turned away again towards
the house. Muriel, however, saw him, and ran forward,
passing her hand affectionately through his arm.
"I am afraid you have been kept waiting, grandfather,
but I couldn't get away sooner. I'm so sorry," she said.
"I told you not to go," the old man said irritably.
By this time Halliday, too, had come up, so she turned
towards him.
"This is Mr. Halliday, Sir Anthony Beachamp's
nephew, grandfather," she said.
Halliday held out his hand, and old Flack took it in
his horny fist, eyeing him suspiciously at the same time
out of his small, deep-sunk eyes, Was he coming after
256
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
.
Muriel? he wondered. Was he trying to get hold of her
money? He was a parson, too, and John hated parsons.
Still, as he was there, and as he was a friend of his
granddaughter's, and a gentleman, and had nothing to
say to the Thomas Flacks, the old man felt bound to offer
him hospitality.
، ،
'You'll maybe come in, and sit down, sir?" he said
gruffly.
Halliday signified his consent, and they walked back
to the farmhouse together. It was long past five now,
and tea (another tribute to Muriel's gentility) was set out
on the big table in the outer room. Blue plates, heaped
with slices of bread-and-butter, stood upon the bare table;
at the upper end, however, a cloth was laid, and here
was a teapot, with cups, and a hot cake, which Mrs.
Strong had made that afternoon in Muriel's honor. The
evenings were already closing in so rapidly that coming
out of the bright light the room seemed almost dark, the
high narrow windows hardly affording any light. A
small wood fire, however, was burning briskly in the big
black-throated chimney; some red rugs, which Muriel
herself had brought down upon one of her previous
visits, lending a comfortable tone to the semi-obscurity.
Old John sat himself down in one of the big wooden
settles, the guest also seated himself in another, while
Muriel went to and fro arranging matters to her liking.
To Halliday—especially after the conversation that morn-
ing at Chudleigh-the scene was a very curious one. He
was not, we know, susceptible to the artistic side of
things, and consequently the beauty and ancient grace of
the place, which to Muriel shed such a halo over every-
thing, was utterly lost upon him. In his eyes it was simply
a common farmhouse, larger, perhaps, but also rougher
and less well-furnished than most. How did she put
up with it? he wondered as he saw her moving about, ar-
ranging the tablecloth here, shifting the tea-things there,
lending a helping hand to all the simple homely ar-
rangements. Surely it must be very strange and awk-
ward and uncomfortable to her ?—this old man, homely
to the brink of vulgarity; this rough plenty; this utter
absence of all the thousand and one comforts she was
accustomed to elsewhere. To Halliday, brought up in a
bourgeois household, where material luxury was the one
test and standard of everything, all this seemed indeed a
AN OLD MAN'S SCHEME.
257
terrible derogation, one which he could have put up with
well enough, himself, but which it vaguely shocked him
to think of her enduring. It was not even as if Muriel
was a visitor merely-one of a superior rank condescend-
ing to people separated from her by a whole world of
class and class distinctions-no, wonderful as it seemed,
these people were really her own relations; that heavy,
uneducated old man was her grandfather; those appal-
lingly vulgar people they had just left were her uncles,
and aunts, and cousins. Surely, he thought, she must
feel horribly ashamed of them? or if not, did it not argue
a great and rare, nay, an almost inconceivable amount of
magnanimity on her part? Halliday had known for a
long time back that he loved Muriel Ellis, but never per-
haps before had he known how deeply he loved her until
he saw her to-day under this battered, time-darkened old
roof, which owned John Flack for its master.
The meal ended, she took him round to exhibit all the
homely lions of the place. The old carved chair which
she herself had routed out from a lumber room; the
spinet in its painted case, whose ancient keys emitted a
dull mysterious rattle when you struck on them; the doors
studded with huge iron nails, and fastened with a bobbin
and latch in true fairy-tale fashion; the bit of plaster
high up on the wall with the initials of a former owner,
and the date 1600 scratched upon it with a nail. Halli-
day, to tell the truth, was not particularly impressed by
any of these properties, which seemed to him very musty
and uninspiring. He looked at them all, however, obe-
diently, as he would have looked at anything, no matter
what, which Muriel might have taken into her head to
point out to him. Then they went out at the back door,
which opened upon a delicious tangle of apple and hazel
trees, with currant bushes and here and there a few pop-
pies and tiger lilies, one great trunk of horse-chestnut
emerging whitely from the hedge beyond, its broad five-
fingered leaves stretching far out over the moss-stained
roof.
Presently old John appeared with his unlit pipe
in his hand, and Muriel made him sit down on the bench,
returning herself to the house for a light.
"You don't smoke, sir, I suppose?" the old fellow
said to Halliday. "Parsons don't, I believe. They
thinks it wicked""-with a malicious grin.
"I'm not much of a smoker generally, but if you'll
Wa
17
258
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
give me a pipe now I'll smoke it with you with pleasure,"
Halliday answered, eager to clear himself from so invid-
ious a charge.
If he had no scruple about smoking, however, there
was another indulgence to which he did not yield
without many and very serious misgivings. What right
had he to be sitting there, after all his resolutions to the
contrary? he asked himself. Like most men under
similar temptation, however, he stifled the voice of con-
science, and told himself that as it was the last time, abso-
lutely the very last time, and as he must inevitably be
leaving in a very few minutes, it could not really matter
so very much one way or other.
to answer. What can't you do, Muriel?
Go to Chudleigh, grandfather.
...
Presently in effect the church clock began to strike
six, and he got up reluctantly to take his leave.
"I am to tell Lady Beachamp that you cannot come,
then?" he said as he approached Muriel.
'What's that?" old John asked before she had time
>>
.:
看着
​Lady Beachamp
was kind enough to ask me to go there next week."
And why can't you go? What hinders you?'
،،
Well, I would rather stay with you, grandfather. I
came here to be with you, not to pay visits."
""
11
'Chut, nonsense! What has that got to do with it?
Go, girl, go.
You needn't stay any longer than you
like, but go; 'twill do you good.
"I don't think that I want any particular good done
to me, " she answered, smiling. "I am perfectly well.'
11
}
""
You'll be none the better for being moped in this
dull place, that I tell you. Besides, it's only proper you
should go; and if I want you I'll send for you fast
enough, to that you may take your oath."
Muriel resisted a little longer, but the old man had so
evidently set his heart upon her going that she did not
like to vex him by persisting. Instead, therefore, of a
refusal, it ended by Halliday taking back word that Miss
Ellis was much obliged, would have great pleasure in
joining the party at Chudleigh upon the following
Tuesday.
After he had gone the other two sat for some time
longer amongst the deepening shadows, watching the
light as it gradually faded out and died in a broad dusky
reddish haze above the distant firs. Muriel's thoughts
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 259
had launched themselves upon a long excursion, a private
voyage of discovery, from which they were brought back
by a sudden question from her grandfather.
เ
Now, that chap that was here just now-has he got
aught of his own, do you suppose, over and above what
they give him for his preaching?" he asked.
"Mr. Halliday? I don't know. His father, I believe,
is rich, but there is said to have been some disagreement
between them."
"Humph!
After this there was another long silence, at the end
of which Muriel was about to propose an adjournment to
the house, when old John put forward another query.
"Did you ever hear tell that he knew aught of farm-
ing?" he asked.
เ
Never," she answered, not a little surprised at the
question. "Indeed, I am pretty sure that he does not."
"That's a pity. John Flack got up and shook the
ashes carefully out of his pipe on to the window sill.
"C
Maybe, though, he might learn," he added medita-
tively. Then he went indoors, leaving Muriel to digest
these oracular utterances at her leisure.
>>
""
CHAPTER XXII.
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT.
There was one obstacle-a very prosaic one—against
going to stay at Chudleigh, which, though it had no
share in her original refusal, occurred to Muriel's mind
with some little force after she had rather reluctantly
given her consent, and that was neither more nor less
than the want of any suitable wearing apparel.
In com-
ing to stay with her grandfather she was always careful
to limit her impedimenta as much as might be, partly
from a rather weak-minded dread of being thought
'fine," partly on account of those practical difficulties
in the matter of receptacles, to which allusion has
already been made. As neither of these, however, could
well be urged now as reasons for drawing back from her
present engagement, it followed that the only alternative
{{
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4
260
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
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•
was to write to London desiring that a box containing
certain specified garments should be sent to meet her up-
on Tuesday, by a certain specified train in the afternoon.
To this train accordingly Muriel went, only to find, of
course, that the box had not yet arrived. After nearly
an hour's waiting, however, and a good deal of telegraph-
ing to and fro the line, it appeared at length by a later
one, having been detained for no possible or assignable
reason at the junction. All this occasioned so much de-
lay that when she at last arrived at Chudleigh the whole
party were found to have adjourned to their rooms to
dress, and it was as much as she could do to get through
her own dressing in time, only reaching the drawing-
room door, in fact, just as the second gong was sounding
for dinner.
Here all the party were found to be assembled--with
the exception, that is, of Halliday, for whom at first
she looked in vain. There was a tolerably numerous
assemblage of men, chiefly of sporting denominations,
but the only lady besides herself and the ladies of the
house appeared to be a certain Lady McClusky, widow,
so she was informed, of a late ambassador or minister,
who appeared to have been everywhere and to have
seen everything, and who at the moment of her own
entrance was talking loudly to their host upon the
subject of the late Burmese treaty. Lady McClusky
was a tall, gaunt-looking woman, with high cheek bones,
and a pronounced Scotch accent, which none of her
various wanderings seemed to have subdued, and which
came out with peculiar effect in the foreign tongues
with which her conversation was considerably adorned.
Amongst the masculine portion of the guests Muriel
quickly perceived Roger Hyde, who on his part came
forward with much effusion to greet her. While she
was still talking to him Halliday entered. Instead of
coming towards her, however, he merely bowed, and
remained standing amongst the crowd of men assem-
bled near the doorway. A minute later her attention
was claimed by her host, by whom, rather to her own
surprise, she was led away to dinner, the ci-devant am-
bassadress following immediately in the rear.
At table she found herself seated between her host
and Hyde, and not far from Miss Beachamp, looking
regal in a dark red velvet, cut square at the throat,
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 261
+
and though severe to rigidity as regards style, still
many degrees less unbecoming than her usual morning
apparel. Perhaps it was owing to this circumstance that
Muriel was struck afresh with her beauty, which cer-
tainly seemed to her even more incontestable than she
had originally supposed. It was not a style, however,
which appeared to require much from accessories; on
the contrary, to be massive, statuesque, self-centered,
like hers whose beauty "launched a thousand ships and
burned the topless towers of Ilium." If contrast, too,
was wanting, it certainly was provided by the kitten-
like curves and pink and white prettiness of her
stepmother, whose small fascinations were at present
directed against a stout, imperturbable-looking peer,
whom Muriel had heard addressed before dinner as Lord
Stark.
Turning to make a remark to Hyde she was struck by
his glance, which, like her own, had been directed
across the table, and now rested on Lena Beachamp with
rather more—so, at least, Muriel fancied-than merely
cousinly admiration. Before there was time, however,
to detect its meaning-if meaning there was to detect--
it had changed and transferred itself to her.
"She is looking well to-night, isn't she?" he remarked,
nodding significantly across the table.
"It is a pleas-
'Yes, indeed," she answered warmly.
ure to look at anything so handsome-and so uncon-
scious," she added.
เ
"}
Unconscious? I believe you! There is not a spice of
vanity in her whole composition-more's the pity!
"What a masculine sentiment," she
said. "As if a woman any more than a man was the
better for being vain!"
Muriel smiled.
((
They are better to us," he answered, smiling too.
'Another masculine sentiment says one woman never
cordially admires another. That, I observe, you are
also prepared to contest, Miss Ellis, unless, of course,
you are the one proverbial exception which proves the
rule."
(
"
A rule? oh, but that is no rule at all," she exclaim-
ed indignantly; "it is a mere confession of incom-
petency-an attempt to veil their own ignorance of the
subject; besides, even admitting that there was some-
thing in the charge, as an artist, you know, I am offi-
262
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
..
cially bound to admire beauty wherever I see it," she
added.
"By the way, that word artist reminds me of some-
thing-something I am sure you will be able to tell me.
What has become of our illustrious friend Wygram ?
I had occasion to write to him from Scotland some little
time ago upon a matter of business, and I have never
received a single line in answer. Is he in London, do
you know? or, if not, where?"
Muriel felt herself coloring guiltily.
"I believe Mr. Wygram has gone to America," she
said in as indifferent a tone as she could muster.
""
To America? Wasn't that a sudden thought? he
didn't seem to have a notion of it the last time I met
him."
"Yes, I fancy it was rather a sudden thought," she
answered, wishing that he would be good enough to
choose some other subject of conversation; wishing,
too, that Halliday, whom she saw amongst the crowd of
young men at the farthest end of the table, would turn,
so that she might make out what it was that had altered
in him since their meeting a few days before. In the
pause Lady McClusky's voice was heard discoursing
loudly to her neighbor on the subject of volcanoes; she
was perfectly sure that Mowna Kaah was higher than
Mowna Roa; she had not been up the latter, but she had
been up the former, and she knew that it was the
highest. However, it would be easy, she said, to settle
the point; she would only have to refer to an entry to
that effect in her diary.
"A
'A diary? oh, do you keep a diary?" exclaimed Lady
Beachamp, who, having failed to elicit anything from
her uncommunicative neighbor, was now evidently
dying for an occasion to address herself to the table at
large. 'I am so dreadfully afraid of people who keep
diaries," she continued. "I have an aunt who writes
down every single thing the people about her are doing,
and what you say, and what you've got on. I assure
you I feel so nervous whenever I go to see her I never
know whether I'm on my head or my heels, and all the
time I'm talking to her I'm thinking how the things will
sound when they're written down; and as she's very
clever and knows quantities of people, I'm certain it will
all be published when she dies, and there one will be in
"
1
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 263
print for ever and ever, with all the little ill-natured
things one has said of other people. I said as much to
her one day. I said, 'I do hope, my dear aunt, that
you've given orders to have all your diaries burnt when
you die, as it will be so extremely uncomfortable for me
if
you don't.'"
And what did she say to that?" inquired Hyde, who,
like the rest of the company, had suspended his own
conversation in order to give ear to these engaging
remarks.
66
Oh, she only sniffed and said, I needn't be afraid,
that she hadn't written down anything I said; which
wasn't civil, or true either, for I've often seen her laugh
at the things I've told her, and I'm sure they've all gone
down in the book. If I was she, I couldn't sleep a wink
in my bed at night thinking of all those volumes and
volumes. Why one might die at any time before one
had time to give directions about them, and then there
you'd be !"
"There you wouldn't be, you mean," suggested her
husband.
((
Well, yes, there you wouldn't be. But isn't it dread-
ful? I call it positively wicked. People have no right
to make others so uncomfortable. Now, have they,
Lord Stark ?"
"I hope you have never been guilty of keeping a
diary, Miss Ellis?" Sir Anthony said, turning with
grave politeness to his neighbor.
(6
Never," she answered, laughing. "I am afraid I
should have nothing to put in it, if I did. I have liter-
ally never been anywhere or seen anything. The
only expedition I ever made in my life was this spring,
and that was only as far as to Hampshire.
""
"You met my nephew there, I think?"
"C
Yes, I met Mr. Halliday several times." She thought
that he was going to add something to this; but all he
said was-
K
"We must tell Lady Beachamp, then; it will be a
comfort to her, I am sure, to know that she has nothing
to fear from you.
"}
Not very long after this a move was made, and the
ladies adjourned to the drawing room. Here the ci-devant
ambassadress begged permission to retire to the writing-
table, presumably for the purpose of posting herself up
264
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.:
-
in her diary, while Muriel sat listening to an intermin-
able monologue poured out by Lady Beachamp upon the
subject of her dresses, her relations, her servants, the
guests she expected, and the guests she did not expect;
finally, of her dresses again; Lena Beachamp, meanwhile,
sitting aloof with an air of immeasurable scorn and su-
periority. Much as she was disposed to like that young
lady personally, Muriel could not help thinking that as
regards her small stepmother she really was needlessly
defiant. It seemed a waste of good ammunition to ex-
pend so much fine wrath and dissatisfaction upon any-
thing so slight and inconsequent as Lady Beachamp.
The latter, indeed, reminded her not a little of her own
-also somewhat inconsequent-friend, Kitty King; a
comparison not to the advantage, she decided, of her
present hostess, who, if she could lay claim to certain
social graces which Kitty lacked, on the other hand was
quite without that strong spice of mother-wit which
flavored Kitty's silliest speeches, and hindered even her
very vanity from ever degenerating into mere fatuity.
Muriel had not been long enough acquainted with the
mistress of Chudleigh to venture upon surmising to
what depths her folly was capable on occasions of de-
scending, but from what she had already seen she had a
shrewd suspicion that it would require a very long
plummet indeed to get to the bottom of it.
When, after a considerable delay, the gentlemen
began to straggle in, she looked round for Halliday,
believing that now at least he would take the oppor-
tunity of approaching her. Again, however, he unac-
countably neglected to do so, and the vacant chair was
promptly seized upon by Conroy Beachamp, who seated
himself with the air of a man not easily to be persuaded
that any other society could be preferable to his own.
Muriel was disappointed, and her disappointment proba-
bly made her unjust, or else she was in the mood for
discovering likenesses, for it immediately struck her
that a decided similarity existed between this com-
placent young gentleman and her own little-loved
cousin, Augustus Flack. Given the advantages of po-
sition, and Augustus might have been another Conroy ;
take those advantages away again, and her present com-
panion would have been very little, if anything, less
unendurable than the redoubtable Gus.
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 265
#
The evening was not particularly remarkable in any
way. Lady Beachamp sang some French songs with
not much expression and still less correctness, after
which followed games of cards, Lady McClusky exhib-
iting that shrewd caution and keen eye for business
which doubtless distinguished her Scotch ancestry; at
the end of which time the whole party adjourned to bed.
Next morning Muriel was up betimes, her recent stay
at the farm having so inoculated her with early habits
that she found it impossible to remain in bed, and, once
up, the beauty of the morning made it equally impossi-
ble to remain in the house. Having made her way with
some difficulty through the various locked doors leading
in and out of the conservatory, she found herself upon
the upper terrace, where she wandered to and fro, in-
haling the fresh morning scents, and contemplating with
no slight self-approval the various closed shutters and
blinds which told that for most of the inmates of the
house the day had not yet begun. If human society,
however, was wanting, there was no lack of other, in-
deed one of the pleasantest features to Muriel of her
present abode was the extraordinary number of pets,
especially birds, which thronged its vicinity; ever since
an early hour that morning her ears had been saluted by
the soft thunder of pigeons cooing from the eaves, or
alighting on her window-sill, and now, as she descended
the steps leading from the house to the terrace, a regular
rush was made towards her of peacocks and peahens,
guinea-fowls, silver pheasants, all of whom seemed to
take it as a matter of course that she would forthwith
proceed to cater for their benefit.
She was just speculating as to whether she might or
might not venture into the dining-room in search of
some bread, when Miss Beachamp was seen approach-
ing through the conservatory with a basket on her arm,
and she moved forward immediately to meet her. As
she did so another door to the right opened, and Roger
Hyde appeared upon the scene, with the air of a man
who is conscious of having performed an heroic effort,
and naturally expects to reap a corresponding reward.
Muriel fancied that his face assumed a slightly crest-
fallen expression at sight of herself, but if so he effaced
it dexterously, and all three addressed themselves with
much unanimity to the task of catering to the clamor-
266
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
ous wants of the throng of applicants which crowded
the walk and steps.
The first supply becoming presently exhausted without
any diminution of the clamor, Lena Beachamp departed
to the house in search of a second, refusing, with char-
acteristic curtness, to allow Hyde to do so instead of
her.
While she was away Muriel turned to him with a
smile.
""
"Mr. Hyde, I want you to help me in a little plot,'
she said confidentially. "No, don't look so alarmed; it
is nothing very serious," she added. "It is only that I
want very much to get Miss Beachamp to sit for me, and
I want you to help me. Will you?"
"(
CC
His face brightened. But what a good-what an
excellent idea," he exclaimed. Help you? of course I
will. Do you know that there's not as much as a scrap
of likeness of her extant-not even a photograph. She
has always set her face against being done."
"We must only hope she won't set her face against
me, then.”
}}
"She will unless we approach the subject very warily.
Let me see. I know of a room that will be the very
thing-north light-one window-hardly any furniture
-out of every one's way. Don't say another word; I'll
arrange it for you. Hush here she comes.
He was as good as his word. After breakfast Muriel
was duly ushered into a room off Sir Anthony's study,
where the light and other conditions were all that had
been depicted, and into which she forthwith conveyed
her painting paraphernalia, including a small canvas
which she happened fortunately to have brought with
her.
The next thing was to secure the model-from Hyde's
account likely to prove a task of some magnitude. Miss
Beachamp, however, submitted with less difficulty than
might have been expected, only stipulating that it was
not to take long, and that no one was to be admitted dur-
ing the sitting. To both these conditions Muriel will-
ingly assented, and, having got her subject into the
proper light, set to work without further loss of time.
She had just finished the outline, and was beginning to.
get in the colors, when Roger Hyde's head was seen at
the entrance.
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 267
"Go away; go directly. Don't you know you're not
allowed to come in here?" Lena exclaimed.
"I'm not staying. I only came to-Good heavens!
Miss Ellis, you're not painting her in that collar and
coat, are you?" he cried, breaking off in the middle of
his apologies.
"Do you think I have known Miss Beachamp long
enough to venture upon suggesting any alteration in her
dress?" she inquired in a tone of amusement.
(6
My collar? What on earth is the matter with my
collar?" that young lady herself inquired indignantly.
"Do you mean to say that it is not clean?" she con-
tinued, addressing her cousin.
66
Clean, my dear Lena! What has its cleanliness to
say to the matter? It and your whole dress are hid-
eously, appallingly unbecoming-the very last things you
of all people in the world ought to wear.
"And what would you suggest my wearing, pray?
A wampum belt, or a string of cowries?"
"I would have you wear whatever was harmonious
and becoming; whatever was deeply, and richly, and
generously toned-the tones of sunset clouds and Vene-
tian feluccas-as for those sort of hideous, colorless,
semi-masculine abominations, they are enough to set any
man of feeling's teeth on edge !"
(4
Now, look here, Roger, I am not going to be dic-
tated to by you. You may dress yourself and your
mantelpieces in the colors of sunset clouds if you like,
but you'll please to leave me and my clothes alone !"
But, my dear Lena-
(6
""
"Once for all, Roger, if you do not go away at once,
I'll not sit at all; so there's an end of it.”
"Yes, please, please go away, Mr. Hyde," Muriel said
despairingly. We shall never get on, if you don't.'
>>
Thus adjured on all sides, Hyde at last departed, and
the two young ladies were left alone. He had not, how-
ever, evidently gone very far; indeed, it seemed probable
that he must have been peeping in through some win-
dow or keyhole, for about an hour later he suddenly
made a rush forward, just as Muriel was about to place
some fresh color upon her canvas, and caught her uncere-
moniously by the hand.
(C
"Excuse me," he exclaimed breathlessly. "But let
me implore you-on my knees, if you require it—not to
268
A CHELSEA HOUSEholder.
".
!
add another stroke. Begin again, if you like. Paint
another-twenty others, if you choose-but don't, in
Heaven's name, add another line to that. It is perfect-
as far as it goes, it is a masterpiece!"
"As far as it goes! you may well say that," she replied
in a tone of dissatisfaction. "A masterpiece? Why, it
is only just begun. How can you ask me, Mr. Hyde, to
leave a thing in that state?"
"Never mind; some things are notoriously better
when they are only half done, and this one would not
be improved, believe me, if you were to go on working
at it for the next twenty years. Would it?" he added,
appealing to Sir Anthony, who had just entered from
his own study.
K
“Without presuming to say that, I may certainly ven-
ture upon saying that it is remarkably good," that gen-
tleman said critically.
Under this weight of commendation, Muriel laid down
her palette, and, getting up from her chair, moved back,
so as to command a fuller view of her own work. As
Hyde said, it certainly was good-as far as it went. Half
the canvas was still untouched, the obnoxious collar in
particular being barely indicated, but the head was mas-
sively blocked in, and the likeness admirable; without
being idealized, it had much of the charm of an ideal
portrait, a result which by some happy accident its very
incompleteness seemed to enhance.
'You really would advise my leaving it as it is?" she
said to Hyde.
(C
Certainly. How can a thing be better than perfect ?
Ten to one you would spoil it if you went on.
""
"That does not speak very well for your belief in my
powers," Muriel answered, smiling.
66
"On the contrary, my belief in your powers trans-
cends all expression," he exclaimed enthusiastically.
Though, by the way, your manner of painting appears
to me to be decidedly faulty," he added, by way of a sort
of afterthought.
"
Well, the sitting is at an end, and that at least is a
blessing!" Lena Beachamp exclaimed, springing up
from her chair. And, without even bestowing a glance
in passing at the picture, she opened a door and ran
down the steps on to the terrace, calling loudly to her
dogs as she did so.
NEW SCENES, A DINNER, AND A PORTRAIT. 269
1
Hyde followed, and Muriel and her host were left
alone.
"It really is a wonderful bit of portraiture," the latter
said, scanning the canvas narrowly.
""
Then, please, please accept it, Sir Anthony," Muriel
said eagerly. "I don't think anything so unfinished is
really worth offering, but still as you do like it-
He looked surprised, so surprised that for a moment
she fancied be was offended. Apparently this was not,
however, the case. Picking up one of the wet brushes
which lay on the table, he offered it to her with a
bow.
17
Add to your favor, then, by writing your name
on it," he said, indicating a bare spot on the canvas.
"And write me down at the same time, my dear Miss
Ellis, your extremely obliged and grateful servant," he
added, with another and a profounder bow.
When, an hour later, Lady Beachamp heard of the
affair, she was anything, however, but particularly
pleased.
If she had wanted to make you a present of some-
body's picture, it ought to have been mine, not Lena's,'
she said to her husband with a pout. "People are al-
ways given presents of their wives' pictures, not their
daughters'—at least, not that I ever heard of. Of course,
Miss Ellis mayn't consider me worth painting”—with
another and a more pronounced pout.
Still, even so, I
think under the circumstances that it was extremely bad
taste on her part-particularly in one's own house."
66
'On the contrary, I think that it showed remarkable
discernment," her husband replied. "Miss Ellis knows
perfectly well that in the natural course of events I shall
some day lose Lena's society, when obviously her por-
trait will become of value. Whereas, your society, my
love," he continued suavely, "I hope to be happy
enough to retain always."
>>
270
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
CHAPTER XXIII.
REVELATIONS.
The first strangeness a little worn off, Muriel began to
discover that she highly appreciated her new surround-
ings. This smooth, well-ordered, even-flowing country-
house life came to her as a sort of discovery, and seemed
to fill up a gap of which before she had hardly been
aware. Although the days of anything like real pinch
and privation lay a long way back in our heroine's past,
it had somehow never been her lot to lead the sort of
gilded, care-defying life which to these people about her
seemed to be the merest matter of course. While with
the Prettymans her life and circle had naturally been
their life and circle, ameliorated doubtless a little by the
money which had flowed to her from poor John's disused
stores, but still essentially a narrow one; restricted so-
cially, morally, intellectually, in every way, in fact, in
which a circle can be restricted. Even after she had set
up a house and home of her own, it had been much the
same; there had been art, it is true, and a certain
amount of artistic expansion, still it had been emphat-
ically a gray ungilded life, with work, and little besides
work to enliven it. It sometimes struck her now that
she had got too much into the habit of taking everything
grayly and seriously-of looking at everything too ex-
clusively from the one standpoint; the standpoint from
which leisure stands as the equivalent of idleness, and
idleness of sin and perdition. Never before had she been
anywhere either where the mere prosaic facts of exis-
tence, the ordinary eatings and drinkings, comings and
goings, became in themselves enjoyable. Even the ex-
tremely motley and composite character of her surround-
ings seemed rather to enhance than diminish this charm.
The grave, courteous, somewhat sardonic host; his rest-
less, egotistical little poseuse of a wife; Lena, with her
romantic face and eminently unromantic speeches; the
easy, pleasant-mannered young men.
Even the very
incongruity of the background-the Moorish hall, with
its preposterously garish walls, and begilt and betwisted
columns; its prie-dieux copied from one foreign chapel,
and its candlesticks and draperies borrowed from an-
REVELATIONS.
271

other; the drawing-rooms and galleries, where meek-
eyed Madonnas and undraped nymphs, buhl cabinets,
and chippendale chairs, met together in happy reunion;
the brown ancestors overhead, looking stolidly down at
all the newest fads and follies of their descendants.
Little attractive as these things sound when thus dryly
and coldly catalogued, they somehow pleased Muriel,
and gave her a new sense of life and color and pictorial
expansion. One thing, however, did not at all please
her, and indeed went far to spoil everything, and that
was the, to her unaccountable, avoidance which Halli-
day continued to manifest towards herself. Over the
cause of this she racked her brains in vain. Could she
have unintentionally offended him? she wondered, or
did he so repent that momentary gleam of kindliness as
to have resolved henceforth to punish both himself and
her by abstaining from even the commonest civilities of
ordinary friendly intercourse? Amongst the catalogue
of Muriel's faults coquetry, and an overweening desire
to attract the opposite sex, had never hitherto figured
very largely; now, however, for the first time in her life,
she felt tempted to bring even these well-worn feminine
artilleries to the rescue, if, by so doing, she could break
down this foolish, senseless (so she herself stigmatized it)
quarrel or alienation, which had so unaccountably
sprung up between them. Not much time, however, was
given her for trying the effect of these or any similar
machinations, for, on the second morning after her ar-
rival, she found, on coming down to breakfast, that Hal-
liday had left Chudleigh by an early train, and was not
expected back until Saturday, in time to redeem a
promise of taking the services on Sunday, thereby afford-
ing the rector the opportunity of a long-desired run to
the seaside.
-
Whatever effect this departure may have had upon
herself, it certainly could not be said to weigh seriously
upon the spirits of the rest of the party. Every one ap-
peared in the happiest mood, Hyde especially being more
than usually vivacious, and fertile in small devices for
making the days flow swiftly. The weather, too, was at
its best-a sort of mellow foretaste of autumn, neither
all gloom nor all glare-and riding and driving in all
directions over the country became the order of the day.
Norfolk is not generally supposed to rank very highly
272
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
"
·
amongst English counties in point of picturesqueness,
nevertheless it was surprising what a number of emi-
nently attractive and sketchable points of view seemed
to be discoverable within a moderate riding distance of
Chudleigh. Muriel had early confessed to being any-
thing but a finished horsewoman, but this, in the present
condition of the Chudleigh stables, Miss Beachamp had
declared to be an advantage rather than otherwise. At
all events, an animal was forthcoming which she found
no particular difficulty in mastering, any slight nervous-
ness she might have felt being more than outdone by
Conroy, who never ceased uttering loud protestations as
to his own insuperable terrors, and distaste for anything
but the very mildest and least adventurous forms of
equestrianism. Without entirely overcoming her orig-
inal prejudice against that facetious young gentleman,
Muriel was obliged to admit that as a riding and walking
companion he stood the test with remarkable credit-no
slight one either, considering the frequency with which
circumstances caused them to be thrown together. The
regular shooting guests had by this time left, and as
Lady McClusky never rode, and Lady Beachamp much
preferred driving, the other four were left free to follow
their own devices, which generally led them to embark
upon long sauntering rides, along lanes whose hedges
were beginning to deck themselves with their autumn
livery, and across moors where the rabbits scampered
away before them by myriads, and an occasional curlew
or plover rose with a quick whirring of wings from the
heather. One of these expeditions took them to Boldre
Mere, where Muriel adjourned to the farmhouse, while
the other three embarked upon the lake, avowedly for
the purpose of catching pike. When she returned, how-
ever, about half an hour later she found that Miss
Beachamp had come ashore again, and was sitting wait-
ing for her close to where that small stream, of which
mention has before been made, escaped into the mere.
Muriel sat down beside her, choosing for her own seat
one end of the broad beam or plank which spanned the
disused eel-trap. Below, the water gushed through the
woodwork in a dozen spouting rills, filling the whole air
with its fresh boggy scent. In front the mere was edged
with a double or treble frontier of reeds and bulrushes,
with an outer border of white water crowfoot, whose pale
REVELATIONS.
273
starry blossoms fluttered like excited butterflies as the
small stream ripples smote against them. An old punt,
waterlogged and useless, just showed its rim above the
surface; further on, the remains of what in the happier
days of the farm had been a boathouse, lay rotting away,
its walls deep in moss and green slime. The day was
marvelously still; so still that except in the immediate
neighborhood of the stream not a ripple was discernible.
Huge gray and white cumuli stood heaped in massive
magnificence above the horizon, their shadows, slowly
traveling over the surface, now darkening and now leav-
ing clear the small islands of weeds and water-lilies,
which nearly filled the shallows. It was a lovely mo-
ment in a lovely season, and although to Muriel the
charm of Boldre Mere was of course no novelty, there
was something unusually and to her indescribably de-
lightful to-day in its wide sleep-suggesting expanse, and
glittering weed-fringed shores; the beautiful silence, the
faintly indicated autumnal coloring, and leisurely moving
lights and shadows making the spot and moment a thing to
remember. Lena Beachamp, who seldom indulged in en-
thusiasm upon any subject, presently turned away, how-
ever, from the sleeping expanse before her, and pointed
with her riding-whip to where the small lantern-covered
top of Essant church just showed above some poplars.
"That's what father wants Steeny to take," she said,
with her usual curtness of diction.
"Essant church, really? I knew the living was vacant,
but I did not know that it was in Sir Anthony's gift," Mu-
riel answered, in a tone of surprise.
"Didn't you? Oh yes, and he won't fill it up either be-
cause he has set his mind on Steeny taking it. We've
all, in fact, been at him about it; but he won't-I can't
conceive why."
""
"Perhaps he thinks he is of more use where he is,'
Muriel suggested,
"Not a bit. If he did one could understand it better,
though even then I should call it great folly; but he says
himself that he is not doing any particular good—that
anyone else would do the work as well or better, and
we all know he loathes the place as who wouldn't?
and yet there he sticks. Really when a good man-and
I suppose Steeny is better than most-takes an obstinate
fit he's worse than anyone-much worse!"
18
274
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
1
··
Miss Beachamp got up as she finished speaking, and
walked away to where the boat was just approaching the
shore, Roger Hyde waving his arms in triumph as he
displayed-carefully balanced at a considerable distance
from his person-an extremely small fish, the result of
their hour's toil.
Muriel sat still on her plank thinking of what she had
just heard, staring at the scene before her, at the lake
and the boat and the fish, but not seeing anything very
distinctly. All the way back she was rather silent, Con-
roy's liveliest sallies failing to evoke more than a very
disjointed and spiritless rejoinder, and when they reached
the house one of the first things she heard was that
Stephen Halliday had just returned.
The next day was Sunday-not a day at all of rigid
observances at Chudleigh. One point, however, Sir An-
thony did stand out for, and that was that there should be
no malingering on the subject of morning church. Al-
though nominally in the parish of Essant the church the
Beachamps attended was not Essant church, but
another and a smaller one which stood in the actual
park. The distance was so trifling, therefore, that the
rule was for everyone to walk there and back a rule to
which Lady Beachamp, however, who detested walking,
formed an exception, her own particular phaeton being
invariably in attendance, where with to convey herself
and any guest who could be induced to say either that
the distance was too great or her fears of wet feet too
pressing. On this occasion Muriel was the victim, Lady
McClusky having come down with an apparatus of cloaks
and goloshes, which would have made any suggestion in
her direction a mockery. She did not, therefore, see
anything of Halliday until she saw him in church, and
even then at first only by transitory glimpses, the Chud-
leigh pew, like others of the same date, having been appar-
ently constructed with a view of enabling its occupants
to know as little of what might be going on about them
as need be. The pulpit, however, as it happened, exactly
faced the pew, so that on mounting into it Halliday
found himself exposed to the full fire of his relations'
eyes and criticisms. As the reader is already aware,
preaching was not an exercise in which he either excelled,
or-perhaps a more striking phenomenon-held himself
to excel; and on the present occasion the sermon might
REVELATIONS.
275
have passed for the counterpart of that first and only one
which Muriel had ever heard from his lips-a matter-of-
fact enunciation, namely, of what are commonly called
first principles, unenlivened by any particular graces of
style or delivery. As an effort of oratory it certainly could
not be called successful, still for all that Muriel liked it.
There was something rather fine, she thought, in a man
standing up there to enunciate such very well-worn tru-
isms, with such an evidently fervent conviction as to
their permanent and perennial applicability. If this was
her opinion, however, it clearly was not that of other
members of the congregation; indeed, on glancing back
into the pew she detected Mr. Conroy in the act of tele-
graphing a wild pantomime to his opposite neighbor ex-
pressive of anything but admiration for his cousin's
powers as a preacher; a performance which had the
effect of then and there undoing the result of nearly a
week's assiduity, and re-establishing that much too dis-
criminating young gentleman in the originally low posi-
tion which he occupied in our unreasonable heroine's
mind.
Happily amongst poor Halliday's many failings as a
preacher prolixity at least was not to be reckoned; in
less, therefore, than twenty minutes from the beginning
of his discourse the whole party were out of church, and
tramping homewards with that quickened appetite for
luncheon which it seems to be one of the useful results
of devotional exercises to engender. This time Muriel
successfully evaded the pony phaeton, and attached her-
self to Sir Anthony, with whom, ever since the affair of
the picture, she had been upon the friendliest footing.
They were the last of the walking party, he having been
detained in the churchyard by an excited verger, eager
to expatiate upon some depredation lately committed on
some of the objects under his charge. Escaped at last
from this zealous official, they were proceeding up the
avenue, when a quick step sounded on the gravel be-
hind them, and Halliday came up.
Muriel had hardly spoken to him since his return, and
would have liked now to touch upon the subject of the
sermon, but somehow lacked the courage to begin. Sir
Anthony, however, was less reticent.
"You really ought to take Essant, my dear Stephen,'
he said, a small, rather mocking smile hovering about
""
'i
276
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
3
his thin, well-cut lips. Such gifts as yours, my dear
fellow, are wasted, positively wasted, in London."
His nephew reddened. "You mean that I'm only fit
to preach to the bumpkins?" he said curtly.
mpl
(
By no means; I merely mean that those maxims
you were inculcating upon us just now-excellent as
they undoubtedly are-have unfortunately grown a little
rococo there, whereas here, you know, we flatter ourselves
that they still hold their own.
""
((
This little speech annoyed Muriel; indeed, her host's
cynicism had never before struck her in so little amiable
a light.
"But if they have grown out of date, so much the
more reason surely for insisting upon them,” she ex-
claimed warmly. "At least so it seems to me."
At the sound of her voice, rather more elevated than
usual, both men turned towards her; Halliday, with a
quick glance of gratitude, Sir Anthony with the same
slightly mocking smile as before, one which now seemed
to include her as well as his nephew.
"Undoubtedly, my dear young lady," he replied.
The only question is will they be accepted? When
people have arrived at the anchovy and devilled biscuit
stage of their dinner, they are not likely, I am afraid, to
go back to roast mutton again, however wholesome the
latter may be."
"Particularly if the mutton is badly cooked for them,"
poor Halliday put in grimly.
"
'No, no," his uncle answered.
((
"The mutton is ex-
cellent mutton-good, sound, and wholesome. Only if
people prefer French cooking," with a slight shrug,
"what is to be done then? Better keep your plain diet for
those that like it.”
"I like it," Muriel said courageously.
"All
"Thank you, Miss Ellis," Halliday answered.
the same, I am afraid you will hardly persuade my
uncle that I am a great preacher," he added, smiling
rather ruefully.
"And I very much doubt whether your uncle would
like you the better if you were, my friend," that gentle-
man replied, with less than his usual ironical emphasis.
"The qualities which go to producing great preachers
are sometimes of doubtful benefit, I suspect, to those
preachers themselves.”
REVELATIONS.
277
"
..
"What sort of qualities, sir?"
"Well, plausibility, dexterity, all that sort of thing.
Beside, a great preacher must be a great moralist, and a
great moralist must have the nose of a ferret for tracking
out all sorts of ugly traits into all sorts of ugly and un-
pleasant recesses.
(C
"I hope you don't imagine I should shrink from any-
thing of that kind, sir?" his nephew exclaimed warmly.
Very likely not; but to do it successfully a certain
bias is necessary, and it is not a very serious charge
against you, my friend, to say that I somewhat misdoubt
your having that necessary bias."
They had been walking rather quickly, and had now
come to a turn where a narrow path, branching off the
avenue, led by a more direct route to the house. This
path took them under the broken light and shade of a
small oak wood, rising out of an undergrowth of laurels
and rhododendrons, in their turn opening to disclose a
small garden, half hidden away under the trees. Here
some of the others, including Hyde and Lena, were
found to have lingered, tempted by the warmth and
sweetness. It was a pretty little spot, in fact, and had
been the favorite garden of the former Lady Beachamp,
but, despite its proximity to the house, had got rather ne-
glected somehow under the present régime. Stone steps,
ornamented with quaint devices-a triton with his conch,
a headless dragon, a monkey stealing nuts-led from
one little grass-grown level to another, and there were
roses dropping their petals about the walks, and a great,
heavy-blossomed magnolia against one of the walls
on the whole, though, the spot had rather a dank and
dismantled appearance, the first footprints of autumn
seeming more visibly imprinted there than elsewhere.
Lena called to her father to come and look at some
depredations committed by the rabbits upon a bed of car-
nations, and accordingly he walked back a little way
with her to examine a hole by which the marauders were
supposed to have entered, Halliday and Muriel being
mean while left standing together close to where another
and a wider flight of steps led from the little secluded
garden to the more open and garish world above. Curi-
ously enough, though she had now been nearly a week
at Chudleigh, it was the first time that Muriel had found
herself alone with him, and a sudden impulse came over
278
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
her to try and break down once for all this foolish barrier
which had so unaccountably grown up between them.
'Mr. Halliday," she said, turning eagerly to him, “I
want to ask you a question. Will you promise me to
answer it candidly?"
"Certainly," he answered, speaking, however, in
rather a startled tone of voice.
،،
""
Then, please tell me what has been the matter with
you all this time I have been here? Have I done any-
thing to offend you?
"Nothing, indeed-nothing, I assure you," he replied
hurriedly, looking vaguely round, as if for some way of
escape.
، ،
Then, why have you kept so aloof?" she persisted.
"Why until to-day have you never come near me or
spoken to me?-here, too, where, as you know, I am the
stranger. It was not kind, I think.”
Poor Halliday stood like a man at bay. He looked
along the flights of moss-grown steps, and at all the ugly,
little, grinning tritons and dragons; finally, he turned
and looked his accuser full in the face-a long, appeal-
ing, mutely reproachful look. The reader has just seen
how far from effective he was in the pulpit; it is only
fair therefore to say that if his tongue there could only
have achieved half or quarter what this look of his said,
or seemed to Muriel to say, he might have set up then
and there as another Bossuet. It seemed to tell her all
that she had known, but had refused to believe before,
that she could never now refuse to believe again. It
upbraided her; besought her; appealed to her. 'You
know; you might know; you do know," it seemed to
say. "If you can do nothing else for me, at least leave
me alone; when you see that I am struggling, why go
out of your way to torment me? Have you no feeling,
no pity, no remorse? How much of all this there
really was, and how much was merely invented by her
own suddenly excited conscience, it was impossible for
her to say. At all events, a conviction of what hitherto
had been a mere surmise-a vague suspicion, a thing of
no account, to be put aside and ignored-seemed to come
rushing in upon her, and to overwhelm her like a flood.
Before she could recover herself, or make any attempt to
rally from her surprise, Lady Beachamp's shrill voice
was heard calling from the terrace above-
""
REVELATIONS.
279
•
I
"Sir Anthony, Sir Anthony! Lena, Lena! What
are you all doing there? Are you aware that it is past
two o'clock, and that the luncheon is getting cold? Do
you see anything of them, Captain Mowbray ?"—this to
an attendant squire "I see nothing and nobody; nothing
but those stupid little beds and flower-vases. Oh yes,
do, though; I see Miss Ellis and Mr. Halliday. Dear
me"-in a lower and still perfectly audible aside_“what
a flirtation they're having, aren't they? I didn't
think-
Whisper, whisper, whisper-and Lady
Beachamp's skirts were heard rustling back along the
gravel.
The two in the hollow below stood staring at one
another for an instant; then, without another word,
Muriel turned and fled-up the steps, across the terrace,
never pausing or looking round till she found herself
safe in her own room. Even there, however, there was
not a minute to spare. She had to change her walking
things and hurry down again, otherwise she would inev-
itably be missed from the luncheon table. All luncheon
time she talked and laughed with more than usual ani-
mation, her own voice sounding in her ears like the voice
of some one about a mile off. Even after luncheon she
could not immediately get away, as some visitors came
in, and her sketch-book had to be brought into requisi-
tion; at last, however, she made an excuse, and escaped
upstairs, where, once more safe in her own room, with
the door shut and bolted behind her, she sat down face
to face with this new, wonderful, and totally unforeseen
event which had so suddenly sprung up in her own life.
She knew it all now-her own share of the matter,
that is, as well as his. As surely as she knew what Hal-
liday was feeling for her, so surely she knew what
she herself felt for him. Though the knowledge had
only just come to her, she felt as if it was already an
old affair: a thing she had known for years and years.
That one silly, meaningless little exclamation of Lady
Beachamp's had made the whole thing clear, had served
as the proverbial spark which fires the whole stack. How
long she might have gone on otherwise without suspect-
ing it she could not, of course, now tell, but at all events
the thing was done now, the fact was known, and known
for ever: there could be no going back from that again.
Indeed, Muriel had no desire to go back. She felt herself
"}
280
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
i
trembling all over in every nerve with excitement and
eagerness, and a vague tremulous irrational happiness-
a happiness which seemed to sweep over her in great
successive fluctuations like the waves of a sea. With
all this, however, there every now and then mingled a dull
cold thrill of apprehension. Why had he not spoken ? she
asked herself.¨¯ Why had he looked at her so sternly, so
angrily? If he really cared for her why did he keep
aloof? why did he not come forward and claim her,
seeing that nothing, absolutely nothing, stood between
them? Of course, though she repeated to herself over
and over that nothing stood between them, she could
see well enough that there might be something, or what
he might choose to regard as something. For one thing
she had money-not much, it is true, but still some-
whereas he, on the other hand, she believed, had none, or
practically none. Still, surely, surely, she thought, he
would not let that come between them?-such a ridiculous,
contemptible, worthless little obstacle as that. Yes, but
then, on the other hand, if he did not think it ridiculous,
if, on the contrary, he had resolved not to open his lips
because of it, what could she do? Could she, of her own
unassisted effort, break down the barriers which he, how-
ever unreasonably, had set up? It was easy, of course,
to resolve that nothing on her side, no vacillations
or hesitations, or ill-timed follies of that sort, should
come between them; but what of that, if he on his
side refused to speak? Could she go to him and say,
"Seeing, sir, by your eyes, that you love me, I wish to
inform you that I will be your wife?" could she even
hint at such a sentiment, however remotely, however
delicately? Forbid it every feeling of dignity and wo-
manly decorum! Well, then, what remained? what re-
source was open to her? None, she told herself, none.
She had no resource, she must wait and hope, and hope
and wait. Yes, but the time for all this waiting and
hoping was limited. The moments-invaluable, irre-
coverable-were flying and hurrying and rushing
past them.
To-morrow she herself was returning to the
farm; the day after Halliday she knew was returning
to London, and once parted who could say when they
might meet again? not, perhaps, for years, not perhaps
ever! A great wave of misery seemed to come rushing
over her, as she thought of the possibility, nay more
REVELATIONS.
281
than possibility of all this. The future—the years of
loneliness which a few hours before she had looked for-
ward to, if not exactly with rapture, at all events with
a very fair share of equanimity-seemed suddenly to
have become dreadful-her whole life, hopes, fears,
wishes, her standards for the past, her ideals for the
future, everything seemed revolutionized within the
last few hours. Starting up from her seat, she paced
to and fro the room, all the self-reliance and indepen-
dence on which she had hitherto plumed herself swal-
lowed up for the moment in the crushing and piercing
sense of her own impotence. If she could only see him
again, were it but for five minutes, then everything, she
felt, must come right; then everything might be ex-
plained; perhaps very likely indeed-he thought her
heartless and indifferent, influenced possibly by vulgar
considerations and careless of anything he might be
thinking and feeling; what reason, indeed, had he to
think her otherwise? She looked at her watch. It was
already past the hour for afternoon church. Possibly
Halliday might have come back-possibly even at that
very moment he might be sitting in the hall-and with
this thought in her mind, she hurried downstairs. He
was not, however, in the hall, nor in the library, nor
in any of the other rooms, nor yet upon the terrace;
nor, though Muriel lingered to the very last, till long
after everyone else had gone to dress, did he return as
long as she remained.
At dinner it was as bad. She saw him, indeed, but
only a long way off, at the very farthest part of the
long table; and afterwards in the drawing-room it
seemed to her that he avoided her more than ever,
devoting himself to a grizzled old gentleman—one of the
local proprietors-and not apparently bestowing a glance
or a thought in her direction. If this was his case, it
certainly was not hers. To her own perceptions it seemed
as if she was literally conscious of no other presence in
the room than his, as though the others were nothing
more than so many shams or simulacras walking about
in the guise of humanity. She found herself perpetually
analyzing, thinking of him, comparing him with others.
It did not seem to her that she was at all inclined sud-
denly to overrate his merits, or be blind to those deficien-
cies of which she had always been aware. It did not,
282
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
}
:
for instance, occur to her for a moment that he was the
least what could be called a clever man; he was not as
clever as his friend Hyde, for instance; not, perhaps, as
clever as his cousin. Conroy, not to speak of Conroy's
father. On the other hand, he had, so at least it seemed
to her, a certain manly breadth of character—a massive-
ness-which none of the others possessed, which no
other man she had ever known possessed to the same
degree. She was not sure, she told herself, that it
enhanced a man's manliness to be clever. Of course a
transcendent genius was another thing; but even if a
man was a transcendent genius, he ought to have a cer-
tain saving dullness, and even stupidity, about little
things. There was something petty and puerile in a man
being perpetually acute and wideawake about trifles.
Again, she did not flatter herself that his temper was by
any means invariably angelic. Lena had talked about
his obstinacy, and doubtless he was obstinate. Doubt-
less, too, he could be desperately angry upon occasion;
indeed, she herself had more than once seen him when
his temper, in nursery phrase, seemed remarkably near
to the surface. Still, all deductions fairly made, it did
honestly seem to her that he was emphatically better-
larger, less selfish, less petty, less self-seeking than
others--that he stood upon a distinctly higher platform
than any other man she had yet known-certainly than
any other young man. Meanwhile, the moments were again
slipping away, and again there seemed to be no oppor-
tunity of speaking to him. All the evening she tried to
invent opportunities; but invariably something came in
the way.
Once she heard him talking to Sir Anthony
near her about some cottage he had been to that after-
noon, where there was a man down in typhoid fever. He
was afraid the place was in a bad way, he said, and would
be glad that his uncle would have it seen to. Muriel
would have liked to turn and join in this conversation;
but, unfortunately, the assiduous Conroy was talking to
her at the time, and before she could disengage herself
from him it had come to an end, and Halliday had
moved away. So it went on all the evening, until at
last bed-time came, and she had to go upstairs and sit
down face to face with the fact that her last evening had
come and gone, and that not so much as one solitary
syllable had been exchanged between them.
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
283
}
CHAPTER XXIV.
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
The next day, the last of her stay at Chudleigh, broke
bright and fine, and every one seemed in high spirits, and
disposed to make the most of it. At breakfast the inev-
itable Conroy again sat beside her, that place having by
this time become vested in him by a sort of common con-
sent. Halliday was not there when she entered; he had
gone, as she learnt by a casual remark of Lena's to see
again those typhoid-stricken people of whom she had
heard him speak over-night. He came in, however,
when the meal was about half over, looking, she thought,
ill or tired, and, after a momentary glance in her direc-
tion, went and sat down in a vacant place upon the op-
posite side. For a minute it seemed to Muriel as if she
neither heard nor saw anything that was going on around
her, her brain was whirling, her heart throbbing ex-
citedly. Happily, this phase passed, and she was able to
listen, with some appearance of attention, to the obser-
vations which Conroy was pouring industriously into her
ear. They were going that day to a place, he told her,
called The Wobbles." No, it was not a pretty name,
but, on the whole, it was the best bit of scenery there-
abouts, and as such it had been kept for a bonne bouche.
It was a sort of marsh, a wonderful place in winter for
wild birds; not exactly one of the true Norfolk " "broads,"
but then, as she had never seen the latter, it was to be
hoped she would not discover the difference. The only
bore was that their dear little quartet was to be broken in
upon, as some of the others, it seemed, wanted to go as
well. However, she must promise to come with him in
his T-cart, and not listen to Lena, who would be certain
to tell her that she did it at the risk of her neck, whereas
there really couldn't be a grosser calumny. As a rider, he
was always the first to admit his own incapacity, but he
really did and could drive just as well as any man in
England, and if she would trust herself to him, he would
absolutely engage that she would not come to any grief.
To all this Muriel agreed, as she would at that moment
have agreed to anything he might have chosen to pro-
pose, her ears being all the time strained to catch what
3
284
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
was going on upon the opposite side of the table. Would
Halliday be in the library after breakfast, and would she
have an opportunity of speaking to him? she wondered.
What she was going to say if she did get such an oppor-
tunity she was by no means clear, but to speak-to try,
if possible, to clear up this wretched misunderstanding-
seemed the one thing now most to be desired in the world.
Not very long after breakfast she saw him pass the win-
dow, however, with his uncle, presumably upon a visit of
inspection to the unsatisfactory cottages; nor did he reap-
pear until just as they were all sitting down to luncheon.
This meal was a much less prolonged and stately affair
to-day than usual, as the whole party were to start im-
mediately afterwards to the place with the unmelodious
name of which Conroy had spoken. Halliday tried to
escape this necessity, pleading letters, and other impor-
tant avocations, but such an outcry was raised at his
recusancy, that he at last succumbed, and agreed to
make one of the party who were to fill the large wag-
onette. When, half an hour later, Muriel came down
with her hat on, she found the two carriages drawn up
together at the entrance, Conroy standing ready to hand
her to her own elevated seat beside himself.
The place they were bound for was some six or seven
miles away from Chudleigh, and was reached by a long,
straight road, crossing a dull uninteresting stretch of
country, flat as a pampas or an African desert. Muriel
thought she knew something of the flatness of Norfolk
scenery already, but this portion she now saw was both
flatter and duller than anything she had seen before.
They were not able to drive to where the boats were to
meet them, but had to leave the carriages at the top of a
sort of raised path, or causeway, running at some little
height above the general surface of the marsh. This
path was so narrow that only two could move abreast on
it, and again Muriel found herself told off to walk with
the indefatigable Conroy, who hurried her on some little
way ahead of the rest of the party.
On arriving at the end of the causeway, a couple of
flat-bottomed boats, one large, the other much smaller,
were found waiting for them under the charge of a game-
keeper. Conroy drew the lesser one of the two to the
side of the shore, and requested her to get in. This Mu-
riel did, expecting that they would then wait for the
*
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
285
others. No sooner, however, had she done so, than he
sprang in after her, and, seizing the long pole, began
pushing his way through a narrow passage leading to
the wider stream beyond.
((
'Oh, but please stop and let us wait for the others,
Mr. Beachamp!" she exclaimed in a tone of annoy-
ance. Why should we go off like this alone?"
،،
"On the contrary, why should we wait? The boat is
only warranted to hold two, I assure you.
"}
That is no reason why we should be the two to mo-
nopolize it."
"
I think it is a very good reason," he answered, laugh-
ing. "At any rate, they won't get it from us now.
>>
He was poling vigorously through the narrow chan-
nel as he spoke, the dead reed-stalks giving way before
them with a sharp crackle, and at this moment they sud-
denly shot out into the wider portion, the deeper, but still
hardly perceptibly moving water, sliding slowly past
them in long glassy ripples.
Muriel looked back. The others, she could see, had
now come up, and were bestowing themselves in the
larger boat; she could hear Lady Beachamp's shrill voice
and small shrieks of fright, real or pretended.
There seemed to be plenty of room certainly for
everybody, so that it would be only making herself
ridiculous, she felt, to offer any further remonstrance;
and accordingly she lay back amongst the straw which
filled one end of the boat, and let her eyes wander
indolently over the wide expanse before her. Far off-
a mile perhaps in reality, but looking leagues in the
deceptive flatness-a belt of firs and oaks rose dark
against the sky; otherwise nothing was to be seen on
every side but the breadth and unvarying greenness of
the marsh. Now they passed along wide channels, so
shallow that the boat, flat as it was, could only be in-
duced to move by much expenditure of time and push-
ing. Then through deeper and narrower ones, where the
tall barriers of weeds and rushes shut them in on either
side, the sky showing overhead like a thin blue streak
between the sharp pointed spikes of last year's growth;
then they would come out again to places where a whole
stretch of reeds had been cut, and the wide green ex-
panse lay level before them again. To and fro across
the narrow lane big dragon-flies went hawking, their
A
286
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
:
•
blue and brown coats glittering like armor in the
sunshine, while from far overhead came from time to
time the drumming of a snipe, or the wild, almost hu-
man-like cry of the seagulls passing along to the distant
coast.
"Look," Conroy said, pointing to a string of wild
ducks flying immediately overhead. "By Jove, what a
shot! Pity I never thought of bringing a gun.
Muriel looked, as she was desired, but made no audible
response. She was annoyed with Conroy, and thought
him extremely officious and troublesome, nor could even
the curious beauty of the scene win her at first from
her irritated mood.
"
Little by little, however, the repose and drowsy
summer sweetness which pervaded everything began to
take possession of her senses, and to lull her into a sort
of forgetfulness. Everything was so warm and bright
and placid. The water, penetrated here and there by
spots of sunshine, slid along in broad blue or brown
pellucid curves, broken now and again by some ragged
stump of alder, or the splintered fragments of withered
reeds. Waifs and strays of grass floated leisurely past
the boat, and, looking down into the clear brown depths,
she could see where worlds upon worlds of delicate
water weeds were swaying to and fro near the bottom.
The water lilies, of course, were over now, so, too, were
the marigolds and the bog-beans, but the loosestrifes
and crimson willowherbs were just attaining their full
splendor, and the scent of the mint and water-sage
reached them in puffs as they brushed along the leaf-
strewn banks.
Conroy, who at first had enough to do to propel the
boat, began after a while to tire of this persistently
silent progression, and to desire a change. "You are
in a brown study, Miss Ellis," he said, leaning a little
forward so as to try and induce her to turn and look at
him.
"Am I? perhaps I am. It is very pretty and curious
-not at all like English scenery, I think.
ing at it much better than talking.
I like look-
"}
Mr. Beachamp indulged in a private grimace at this
very unmistakable intimation. His little plot was not
turning out quite such a brilliant success as he could
have wished. It was all very well to secure an unin-
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
287
terrupted tête-à-tête with Miss Ellis, but what if he could
not induce her to speak, or even to look at him? Cer-
tainly he had in that case the satisfaction of observing
her profile, defined as it was against the pale grays and
blues beyond, but then, unfortunately, Conroy was not
sufficiently in love to be satisfied with so very ethereal a
form of enjoyment as that, and he began, on the whole,
to think that a change of front would probably be desir-
able. If he could only get her ashore, and out of this
wretched boat-which, by the way, was a good deal
harder to pole than he could have imagined-possibly
she might become friendly and communicable again.
Gradually slackening his efforts, he waited, therefore,
so as to allow the others to come within speaking dis-
tance. Then, disregarding the shower of objurgations
which was immediately rained upon him from all sides,
he addressed himself exclusively to Lady McClusky.
"Lady McClusky, you have seen everything. Have
you ever seen an otter wallow ?"
(6
No, Mr. Beachamp, I can't call to mind that I ever
have," that traveled lady replied conscientiously. "I've
seen elephant wallows, though-in Ceylon that was.
Would it be something like them?
"I should say very much like them, indeed," Conroy
answered gravely. "Some naturalists are of opinion
that they resort to them for the purpose of removing
certain parasites which adhere to their skin ; but that Ĭ
have always myself held to be a calumny. In any case,
there is one close at hand, if you would like to see it."
Every one, including even Lady Beachamp, expressed
an immediate willingness to go in quest of this phenom-
enon, the only exception being Muriel, who while the
discussion was going on, had quietly taken out her sketch
book and was beginning to make a sketch of the opposite
bank.
"}
"But aren't you coming to see my wallow?" Conroy
exclaimed, in a tone of dismay.
"Thank you, Mr. Beachamp, I think, if you don't
mind, I would rather stay where I am and sketch," she
replied.
(
"(
Oh, if you prefer it !" in a tone of considerable pique.
Yes, I think I do prefer it."
"Very well, then, stay, of course. Unfortunately, I
must go, as I've brought these people upon myself."
i
288
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.
·
Certainly; I shouldn't dream of detaining you upon
my account," she replied demurely.
Mr. Beachamp turned away in a fume.
"Mind the boat don't get loose, that's all !" he cried,
as he walked away.
As long as the noise and commotion around her was
going on Muriel plied her pencil diligently, but when at
last the others had all landed, and she and the boats were
left alone upon the stream, she let her hands drop idly
down at her side, and gave herself up to the dismalest of
all dismal reflections.
"L
In refusing to make one of the exploring party she
had secretly cherished a hope that Halliday, too, might
perhaps have lingered. When, therefore, she saw him,
after helping the others ashore, gravely stalk off in the
rear of the party, without even casting a glance behind
him, a feeling of something very nearly akin to despair
seemed to settle down upon her soul. What mattered
anything, she thought? What mattered what became
of her if this was to be the end of all ?
It almost seemed as if the last sentiment was likely to
be put to a practical test, for the boat, which in truth had
been only very slightly grounded by Conroy, suddenly
dislodged itself from the bank, and began slowly slipping
down the current, at this point rendered more rapid by
a couple of contributions which had lately joined it.
The situation, it must be owned, was more ridiculous
than tragic; indeed, despite the serious nature of her
late reflections, Muriel herself at first could hardly help
laughing, so supremely absurd did the whole dilemma
appear to her. The current, however, began to get
quicker and quicker, and the boat to bump vigorously
about against the stones which thickly encumbered the
bottom. She had no oars, and nothing to guide herself
with, the pole having been flung ashore by Conroy when
he departed, so that she was beginning to think that it
would possibly be wisest to make up her mind to get
overboard, before the water became any deeper than it
was at present, Suddenly, however, while she was de-
bating the point, a crackling of twigs was heard a little
to the left of where the party had lately disappeared,
and Halliday's head and shoulders were seen above the
nearest clump of reeds.
In an instant he had perceived her dilemma.
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
229
"
Stay still; don't attempt to stir," he exclaimed.
He was in the stream and wading towards her before
he had finished speaking. Another minute and a strong
hand was laid on the boat, and it was being quietly
guided towards the bank.
Muriel sat still as she was desired, without even going
through the form of thanking him for his timely aid. It
did not appear, however, as if he had observed the omis-
sion. He was engaged in carefully securing the boat by
means of a rope passed round a stump which happened
to be sticking out of the bank. This done, he seemed
about to turn away again without another word.
This was too much for Muriel's self-control.
"You are not going? You will not leave me?" she
cried.
He turned with an air of surprise. Leave you ?" he
said. "You are perfectly safe. The boat cannot possibly
come unfastened again.
เ
'I was not thinking of the boat. Of course I am safe;
I don't suppose I should have been drowned even if you
had not come up.
Should I?"
(C
Certainly not; you could not have been drowned.
You might have got rather wet, that is about the very
worst that could have happened to you.
"Then why suppose when I ask you to stay that I
mean on account of the boat?"
""
CC
Halliday stood still, staring gravely at her for a
minute. Simply because that is the only reason I can
suppose for your wishing me to stay," he said at last.
Something in the tone in which this was said, more
even than the words themselves, seemed to put Muriel
beside herself; to inspire her with a vehement desire
then and there to convince him to the contrary; to break
down-as it were by force-this preposterous unnatural
barrier which he had chosen to set up between them.
"You might think of another, I think," she exclaimed
impetuously.
"(
Halliday started, and a great flush-of anger, not
pleasure-swept for an instant across his face. Why
do you say that? Why do you say such things to me?"
he cried vehemently. Then, with an evident effort at
self-control. "You are too good and kind, Miss Ellis, to
wish to give pain unnecessarily you would not do
So,
I am sure-but you do not, indeed you cannot, realize
19
290
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
the harm you do when you say such a thing as that;
when you tempt a man to-to-in short, to do what he
has resolved not to do," he ended lamely.
To this somewhat halting rhetoric Muriel attempted no
rejoinder. She was startled, indeed, by the echo of her
own headlong words, which seemed to her to have
escaped from her almost without volition of her own.
((
11
Perhaps," Halliday went on after a minute's pause,
perhaps, as I have gone so far, I had better go on and
make an end of it, so that if we ever meet again—which
I must only hope for my own sake we never may-there
will be no occasion to recur to it." He hesitated, but
Muriel still sat silent, her eyes fixed expectantly upon his
face. "It doesn't need much telling, I should think,
he then said curtly. "It's plain enough, I should fancy
-rather too plain for me. It simply is that I love you
nothing more. I've a right to love you, as far as that
goes, I suppose, if I choose; at any rate I do, whether I
have or haven't. It's gone on ever since that second time
we met in the forest, and how long it is going on Heav-
en only knows. I have been no better than a log all
this summer, an encumbrance to myself and to every one
else. As to my work—well, the less said about that the
better. Perhaps, now that I've told you things will
begin to mend," he added, with rather a dreary smile,
(
if so you won't grudge me the telling, I am sure; at all
events it will answer the question you asked me yester-
day; it will explain anything that seems odd in my man-
ner. It will show you, too, that it is better-much
better that we should not meet again. He put down
the boat rope, which he had all this time held in his
hand, and was about to move determinately away.
""
"C
Why is it better?" she exclaimed, catching at the
last words in her terror of seeing him go.
(C
He stopped and stood looking at her with a puzzled
expression, which gradually gave place to a frown.
"What do you mean?" he said sharply.
(C
'You say that you love me, and then you say that
we had better part, and I simply ask you why?" she
repeated.
A variety of expressions-puzzled, joyous, angry, be-
wildered, skeptical-passed in succession over the young
man's face. "You are not trying to persuade me that you
care for me, are you?" he cried at last contemptuously.
ON A NORFOLK MARSH,
291
!
"I don't know whether I am trying or not, but it is
so," she answered simply.
"You care for me?"
Yes."
"I care for you.
"Muriel !-Nonsense, though; you are only joking.
It is impossible!" he said, checking himself abruptly.
"Why impossible?"
"Because--because of everything. Because I am so
different. Because I am rough, Gothish, uncouth, un-
mannerly; you have said as much, or implied as much
yourself."
66
Possibly I like Goths," she replied, smiling.
"In fact, there is every reason against it," he went on
unheedingly, "and nothing that I can see in its favor.
I am nothing and nobody-literally nobody. Why
should you care for me? What could there be in me to
attract a woman like you?"
She was smiling still, but her smile became graver as
she listened. Because I think-I may be mistaken-
but, on the whole, I think you are better than most
people," she said slowly. That, if you wish to know,
is one reason, and I think a very good one.
There may
be others as well."

(
"Oh, but you have got hold of quite a wrong notion
there; you have, indeed," he exclaimed eagerly.
"You
mustn't go off upon that. You fancy it because I am
always fussing about after poor people, and drains, and
so forth; but you must remember that all that is simply
part of my trade-what I am paid for, just as much as
a blacksmith is paid to shoe horses, or a surgeon to cut
off people's arms and legs. There is no question of
goodness in the matter.”
"Nevertheless, I hold to my opinion," she said,
smiling. "One has a right to one's own opinion, hasn't
one, even if it happens to be a wrong one?"
((
"This is a very wrong one."
'Very well, be it so. Let me enjoy my delusion and
be happy then. There is one thing, though, by the
way," she added with sudden seriousness, "which does
seem to me wrong in you-really wrong. Why have
you quarreled with your father?
<<
'You are right," he answered, "and the worst is, that
I haven't any excuse either-not a scrap. It simply was
that I took it into my head not to like the sort of life he
""
292
A CHELSEA Householder.
I
wanted me to lead, and so went off on my own account
instead; and the result has proved that he was perfectly
right, for I have made the most hideous mess of what I
took up.
No man, I should think, has ever made so
many monstrous blunders in the same space of time.
She shook her head, half reprovingly, half skeptically.
'Let us hope your evidence may not be entirely trust-
worthy," she said. "Not but what a man may make
blunders, and be a hero all the same," she added.
'But I am not at all a hero."
((
'I did not say you were. About your father, at all
events, you clearly are in the wrong," she went on.
Why do you not write and tell him so?"
"I have written. I wrote the first day I came here
the day I saw you at the station; but that is nearly a
fortnight ago now, and I have not received a line since."
""
Muriel's face became extremely grave.
"Do you think he will never forgive you?" she in-
quired anxiously.
"I don't know. I can't guess. He is not a man that
forgives easily. Besides," he added hesitatingly, "he is
rich, you know-very rich; and very likely he thinks I
did it because I wanted money-because I had got through
all my own-and that naturally might prevent his writ-
ing
""
Oh, but he can't think that if he knows you," Muriel
cried indignantly. "In any case, you must write again,
and tell him that it is not so—nothing of the kind. Tell
him that you do not want his money, that you would
not take it even if it was offered to you. I have plenty
-really plenty-quite as much, at any rate, as we shall
ever want to spend. You must write and tell him so at
once this very evening. Will you? Promise me that
you will do so.”
P
"I must tell it to myself first then," he cried, “for I
have not begun to take it in or believe in it a bit as yet,
I assure you !"
They had long ago utterly forgotten the very existence
of the rest of the party. Now, however, sounds of ap-
proaching voices and footsteps began to be heard from
different directions at once, and Conroy's face was sud-
denly seen through a break in the barrier of reeds which
screened off this part of the marsh from the rest.
Halliday reddened. "I have been telling myself the
¿
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
293
last few days that you were beginning to care for him,
he said hurriedly.
((
For him! For your cousin!
""
The tone was refutation enough, fortunately, for there
was no time for anything more. In another moment the
whole party were on top of them, all the others open-
mouthed with indignation against Conroy. He had led
them astray; he had taken them a wild goose chase; he
had behaved abominably. Poor little Lady Beachamp
was nearly crying.
"I shall complain to your father the very instant I get
back, sir, that I shall !" she exclaimed, apostrophizing
the unabashed culprit, who came sauntering up with his
hands in his pockets. "I never was so treated in my life
99
-never. One of my feet is soaked through and through,
and the other one is inches deep in mud, for I hadn't
anybody to help me over those horrible little ditches. I
shall have to throw my shoes away the very minute I
get home; not that I should mind even that so much,
only that I feel sure I shall get such a horrible cold, and
nobody has such bad colds as I have. The last one I had
went on for weeks and weeks, and this one I feel will be
longer still."
..
But, my dear lady, you insisted upon coming your-
self," remonstrated her step-son.
'Don't call me your dear lady, you very impertinent
man," she exclaimed angrily. "If you have no respect
for me, at least try and show some proper respect for
your father."
"I have every possible respect for my father," Con-
roy declared mildly. But I certainly never told my
father's wife that a Norfolk marsh was a dry place to
walk upon.
""
+
"Oh, very well, sir, very well; we will soon see what
he says," she cried, her small person shaking with cold
and anger, and her pretty little babyish face puckered
up into an expression of literally infantine rage and dis-
comfort.
(C
"Give me your feet, and I will dry them for you,
Maria," said Lena, who, with Hyde, had come up a little
after the others. There, roll yourself up in this rug,
and you will soon get warm.
""
Muriel had all this time kept silence, rather pleased
that the commotion should so effectually have diverted
294
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
•
every one's attention from herself and Halliday. Now,
however, despite her own pre-occupations, she could not
help being struck by the sudden change of tone with
which Lena addressed her small step-mother, whose
fears and fancies she generally treated with the most
sovereign contempt. What could be the meaning of
such an unsuspected revolution? she wondered.
A fresh arrangement was now made of the party;
Muriel herself returning in the big boat; Hyde, Conroy
and Lena taking possession of the lesser one.
On arriv-
ing at the landing place, however, Conroy came up to
her and proposed that she should resume her place beside
him, a suggestion to which she at once acceded, and they
set off accordingly, some little way in advance of the
more heavily laden wagonette.
The drive was not a particularly lively one, Muriel
being naturally too absorbed in her own affairs to make
a very entertaining companion, while Conroy, despite
the nonchalance with which he had treated his step-
mother's reproaches, was secretly not a little chagrined
at the poor success of his afternoon's entertainment. He
was a good deal piqued, too, at the want of fervor with
which Muriel herself had met his own really very flat-
tering advances. Whether he had or had not actually
made up his mind to propose to her that afternoon-and
he was not altogether clear upon that point himself -a
little greater show of eagerness on her part would, he
felt, have been only proper and becoming under the cir-
cumstances.
They had no groom with them, so got down in the
stable yard, and walked up the terraces to the house.
On entering the hall the first thing Muriel saw were two
missives, a note for herself, and a telegram for Halliday,
lying together on the central table. The former-a
dirty, twisted, almost indecipherable little scrawl-she
at once took up and tore open. It ran as follows :
"DR MISS,
"This is to tell you that old Maister flack has been
tok bad in a fit, & the dr thinks as he won't hardly git
through the nite. Jabez has gone for Maister Thumas,
& so hopin' soon to see you,
"I am yr loving servant,
(C
TABITHA STRONG."
ON A NORFOLK MARSH.
295
.
،،
'Oh, I must go; I must go at once," she cried. "My
grandfather is very ill; they do not think that he will
live. Oh, I ought not to have stayed away so long, it
was very, very wrong and selfish of me. Perhaps even
now I shall not find him alive.”
"Must you go?" Conroy exclaimed. "Then, if so,
I will ring and order the carriage to be got ready for
you, and I will tell them at the same time to bring you
up some tea at once, so that you will not have to wait for
the others."
“Thank you very much, but please, please don't mind
about the tea," she implored. Only if I might get
away immediately; I will not wait to pack; my things
can be sent after me.
>>
""
"Very well, you shall have the carriage at once, then,'
he answered, and ran off good-naturedly to see about it
himself. As he did so, he could not help feeling, how-
ever, that it was as well-just as well perhaps that those
decisive words had not been said that afternoon. She
was a charming creature, very charming, and he himself
really was uncommonly in love with her. Still, early
marriages, on the other hand, were the very deuce, and
then again those relations-Conceive his being related to
the Flacks! The old man might be going to die, but
there would be plenty more of the name left whom it
would be simple purgatory to him to be connected with.
No, all things considered, he could not help feeling that
a certain watchful Providence-one which had always
shown itself particularly zealous over the interests of
Conroy Beachamp-must have been more than usually
upon the alert this afternoon, since, if things had only
been a little different-if the punt, for instance, had been
a little less heavy, or the afternoon a little less oppres-
sive, or Miss Ellis herself a little more communicative
there really was no knowing to what headlong piece of
folly he might not by this time have found himself com-
mitted!
296
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
}
1
CHAPTER XXV.
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT.
Muriel naturally expected on arriving at the farm to
find the house wrapped in all the subdued awe and silent
expectancy which befits a spot over which the shadow of
death is supposed to be visibly brooding. Her surprise,
therefore, was considerable on opening the front door to
see bright lights streaming, and to hear a clamor of loud
and evidently excited voices proceeding from the outer
kitchen. Entering that room she found a group, consist-
ing of her uncle and aunt and a small, meager-looking.
man-a cousin, she knew, of the latter-seated round the
big table, which was littered over with papers and docu-
ments of various kinds. All three had been talking so
vehemently that the noise of the wheels had been un-
heard, and nothing was known of her arrival until she
actually entered the room, when a silence, the more
striking from the clamor which had just preceded it,
suddenly fell upon the assembled group. Every one
turned and stared at her, but no one got up or attempted
to go through any form of welcome; indeed, her uncle,
who happened to be nearest to the door, after glancing a
moment in her direction, suddenly turned away, and
began shuffling vigorously about amongst the papers,
evidently to carry off some awkwardness or nervous em-
barrassment.
Muriel stood still, staring at them in her turn. Dur-
ing the drive her thoughts had dwelt incessantly upon
what she was coming to. She had been preparing her-
self for much that would be sad, much too that might
be painful, and even terrible. What, however, she
really did find was so extremely unlike anything for
which she had prepared herself, that she felt at first
utterly dazed and bewildered. The bright lights, the
loud voices, the sudden hush which her own entrance
had produced, and now these angry looks, this inci-
vility-especially on the part of her uncle, who had
always shown himself so particularly kind and friendly
towards her—all filled her with a vague sense of unre-
ality, as if she was walking about in the midst of some
highly disturbed dream.
骂
​•
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 297
"How is my grandfather?
Has there been any
change in him? she inquired, advancing with some
hesitation towards the table.
Mrs. Flack started up.
Your grandfather, indeed! Ain't he just as much
my children's grandfather, I should like to know, though
they mayn't have had lords for their brothers!" she
almost screamed, suddenly confronting her niece.
Muriel fell back, feeling more confused than ever.
Coming straight in from the silence and balmy autumnal
twilight, this sudden onset, these looks of violent scorn
and fury, made her feel almost sick. Where was her
grandfather? she wondered. Could he be already dead?
What could be the meaning of it all?
(เ
I never said that they were not, aunt," she replied in
a tone of bewilderment. "Are you displeased with me
for having gone away? If so, you can't regret it more
than I do myself. I meant to have returned days ago,
but my grandfather himself refused to hear of my doing
so; and when I rode over here on Saturday, he seemed
to be much the same as usual."
((
>>
(C
"Oh, your ridings, and coachings, and barouches,
and baronets, and all-I'm sick of such work!" Mrs.
Flack exclaimed furiously. Why can't you stick to
them altogether, if you're so fond of them, and leave
us and our property alone, I should like to know."
Come, come, hang it all, Sarah, hold your tongue
what's the sense of going on like that?" her husband
said gruffly.
It's an uncommonly serious business
all the same though, Muriel," he continued, turning
round to his niece, and, I must say, the last thing I
should ever have expected was that you of all people
would go lending yourself to this sort of dirty, under-
hand work!"
(6
(C
"Lending myself to what underhand work? I don't
in the least know what you are talking about, uncle,"
she said, putting up her hand to her head.
"Oh, I dare say! A likely story!" ejaculated Mrs.
Flack.
Mr. Flack went on without heeding either interrup-
tion.
"If it had been the house alone, I shouldn't have said
so much about it," he continued. Though, considering
the length of time it's been in the family, many a man
298
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
37
would make a fine to-do about its going away. How-
ever, as I say, I don't go in for that sort of thing; senti-
ment ain't in my line. But as to the farm, that's a to-
tally different story, and, damn it all I say, it's utterly
out of all reason, and so any business man in the king-
dom would tell you, I don't care who he is."
A light began to dawn upon Muriel.
"Do you mean to say that my grandfather has been
leaving the farm to me?" she exclaimed in a tone of dis-
may.
{{
Oh, it's the first you've heard of it, I'll be bound,”
Mrs. Flack observed ironically.
Muriel made a sudden gesture of anger; then as sud-
denly restrained herself. The situation, as her uncle said,
was certainly a serious one; too serious to be imperiled
by any ill-timed display of indignation.
"Will you kindly tell me exactly what has taken
place, uncle? she said, sitting down in one of the
big arm-chairs, and addressing herself exclusively to him.
"I will not say again that I know nothing about it, as
my aunt does not apparently choose to believe me, but if
you will be so good as to tell me everything you know,
it will certainly simplify matters.
،،
""
(C
Simplify! Dang me, if I can see anything much
simpler!" he retorted sullenly. 'It's simply, as you
call it, that my father has left you the house and the in-
terest of the farm, and every mortal stiver he possesses
in the world; that's all."
"And me and my children nothing?" exclaimed his
wife.
Muriel sat aghast. "How do you know? Is there a
will, and has it been read?" she at last inquired.
We know
"No, of course the will has not been read.
it from Nat Barber here." (Mr. Nathaniel Barber got
up and bowed). "He's clerk in the firm of Stumps, Go-
lightly & Co.," Thomas Flack continued. ""Twas there
my father went last week, on the sly, mind you-and
got his will drawn out, and signed, and all; Nat was
called in as a witness."
"The house is left to the lady absolutely, her, her
heirs, and assignees, to have and to hold for ever. The
farm is upon a different basis, and is vested in the hands
of trustees. If the lady marries within a year, and her
husband is willing to undertake it, it goes to her and to
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 299
him. If not, the lease is disposed of, and the proceeds
invested for her sole and exclusive behalf. That, my
dear sir, is the exact wording of the will," Mr. Nathaniel
Barber recited glibly, waving his hand, and nodding his
head complacently from side to side.
"And a very nice hearing, too, for a man with a large
family," Thomas Flack said grimly.
"And now he's got this stroke and may die at any
minute, and nothing more to be done," Mrs. Flack ex-
claimed, with a burst of angry sobbing.
Muriel sat still for a few minutes without speaking.
"What should you have done, if it had been left as
you expected, uncle?" she asked.
"Should you have
come and lived here ?"
He looked at her suspiciously.
CC
17
เ
'What's that got to
say to it?" he said angrily. "Live here? No, I shouldn't
have lived here. The house I'm in is a deal a better one
than this. I should have let it, or may be sold it. These
sort of tumble-down old places fetch a goodish figure
nowadays. As to the land, I'd have stocked some, and
let the rest. There was a gentleman over near Norwich
would have given me my own price for it any day I
liked. But all that's nothing to the purpose now,
" he
added disgustedly, so what's the sense of talking?
It is everything to the purpose," Muriel exclaimed,
starting from her seat. "As you say, it's too late to do
anything about my grandfather; in any case, even if he
should get better, I would rather not trouble him about
it. But if you will kindly calculate exactly what you
would have expected to get for the farm and the house,
this gentleman, I've no doubt, will be able to draw up a
properly legal form by which I can make over the
amount to you at once. know that there is a large
sum of money of mine in the funds, and I am of age,
and there is no one to interfere with me, so that there
ought not to be any sort of difficulty about the matter."
The other three sat staring at her open-mouthed for
several minutes after she had finished speaking.
Mr. Nathaniel Barber was the first to speak.
All I can say, Mr. Flack, is, that the lady couldn't
have spoken handsomer; she couldn't indeed,” he ex-
claimed emphatically.
"Did I say she could, sir? Thomas Flack retorted
sullenly. Then he got upon his feet, and stood staring
""
300
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
C
:
...
66
fixedly at Muriel. "You didn't know naught about it
then, after all, I suppose; eh, Muriel?" he said at last.
No, I knew nothing about it, certainly," she answered
coldly; "and now, I think, if you'll excuse me, I will
go up stairs to my grandfather. I shall be quite ready
to sign the papers whenever they are ready," she added,
glancing slightly in Mr. Barber's direction. She paused
again, with her hand on the door-handle, but no one
said anything further, so after a minute she turned it,
and went out, and up the dark stairs leading to her
grandfather's room.
It seemed like passing into another world. The old
house was so roomy, and its walls so thick, that the
downstair sounds were almost entirely muffled by the
time she reached the upper corridor. The room the old
man slept in was next to the one she herself generally
occupied, and, like it, fitted up with black corner presses,
and heavy beams crossing the ceiling. Instead of the
small bed with the sloping top, however, the bed here was
a huge, old-fashioned poster, the curtains of which had
either been taken down or had fallen away from age,
leaving the two long, bare poles sticking idly out on
either side. Muriel passed round the foot of the bed,
and then stood still, her heart throbbing with a painful
intensity.
There was nothing at all terrible, however-none of
that distortion and disfiguration for which she had been
secretly preparing herself. The old man's face was, in-
deed, wonderfully little changed, and the beauty, which
all the Flacks possessed, was there in large measure,
more so perhaps than when he was in health. What
struck Muriel most was its extraordinary rigidness and
immovability, making it seem more like a face carved
in stone than like that of a living man; indeed, but for
the heavy breathing and an occasional twitching move-
ment of the eyelids, it would have been almost impossi-
ble to say that life still lingered. Old Tabitha Strong,
who had been sitting beside the bed, and whom on
her first entrance she had hardly noticed, now came for-
ward, and from her Muriel now for the first time heard
of the cause which had led to her grandfather's seizure.
He had been watching the men stacking the corn in the
haggard, and had flown into a violent rage with one of
the carters, who had failed to do it to his liking. All at
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 301
once he had fallen, and when they lifted him up, he was
rigid, and had remained so ever since. The doctor had
come almost immediately, Tabitha said, but had shaken
his head, and told them that there was nothing to be done.
He was to be back, however, at eight o'clock, so that
she would see him then for herself. Having listened to
the old woman's story, Muriel let her go downstairs to
see after some matters which were being neglected in
her absence, charging her, at the same time, to find out
whether her uncle and aunt were remaining for the
night, or returning to their own house.
Not many
minutes after, however, she heard the sound of wheels
coming round from the back yard, so knew, without
being told, that they must be leaving. It was just as
well, she felt, that they were. After what had taken
place what possible satisfaction or comfort could there
be to any of them in their remaining?
Presently the sound of a man's footstep was heard
coming along the passage, and Thomas Flack put in his
head at the door.
"We're going, Muriel," he said.
She made an instinctive sign of silence-a needless
precaution, as she felt the next minute-and then came
out to the doorway and stood waiting to hear what he
had to say.
+6
I didn't like going without seeing you again," he
said, with an awkward attempt at getting back to their
former friendly footing.
"Thank you, uncle. Will you ask my aunt, please,
to excuse me, as I do not wish to leave my grandfather
again," Muriel answered rather coldly.
((
>>
To be sure, to be sure! Then, after a moment's
pause, "You mustn't think the worse of her for what
she said, Muriel. Her temper was always a bit short,
you know; and for a woman with a family it was an
uncommonly disagreeable hearing, that you must ad-
mit.
(((
"I am quite ready to admit that, uncle," she an-
swered. Still I think she and you also might have
waited to hear what I had to say before condemning
me unheard," she added.
"
It's
" he
Well, may be so indeed. Muriel, may be so.
as well, perhaps, we're not staying on just now,'
went on, with increasing awkwardness; "but you'll
302
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
be sure and send over for me if there's any change.
I've left a man and horse on purpose.
""
There seemed nothing further to say, but still he
lingered. "I shouldn't wonder if your friends say I
oughtn't to take you at your word about this business,
Muriel," he said doubtfully.
"My friends are not at all likely to trouble them-
selves about it," she answered coldly. "And if they
did even it would make no difference. I look upon it
simply as a matter of justice."
"Yes, that's it, that's it. It's simple justice, as you
say, and nothing else, ain't it?" he said eagerly.
"After all, a man's eldest son is his eldest son. There
ain't no way of getting over that now, is there ?”
"None, I should say, " she answered.
After this she again hoped he would go, but he still
stood irresolutely in the doorway, his face exhibiting all
the discomfort of a man who feels that his interests and
his self-respect have somehow or other got into awkward
juxtaposition. "Twas an uncommon shabby will of
him to make, however you take it," he said at last
resentfully.
"Please don't say that, uncle; please don't let us
discuss it now, and here of all places," Muriel said in
a tone of distress. "If we can remedy what is wrong
in it, that surely is enough, without blaming my grand-
father while he is in this state."
She left the doorway, and went back to the bedside,
hoping that this might be the signal for the other's
departure, but he followed, and stood beside her looking
down at the prostrate figure before them.
Muriel was wondering whether any new feeling of
pity or tenderness was stirring within him, but the
real tenor of his thoughts was evident from the next
remark.
"I'll have the land valued, Muriel, every acre of it,
and the house too," he said in a hoarse whisper, "so
that no one can think I overcharged you, or took ad-
vantage of your being a woman, and not knowledge-
able in such matters."
"Just as you please about that, uncle," she replied.
After this he did at last take his leave, and a few
minutes after the wheels were heard rolling away down
the road.
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 303
ثر
!
The next event was the doctor's visit. He was a kind-
ly old man, whom Muriel had known all her life, and
who had always a cheerful word for every one. There
was nothing cheerful, however, to be said now. It
might go on for another twenty-four hours, he said, or it
might end that night, there was no telling; in any case
it couldn't be more than a matter of days. Was there
any chance of his recovering consciousness? she in-
quired; but to this, too, the doctor shook his head. A
chance? Well, yes, there was always a-chance in these
cases, but he didn't think it was likely; no, he was
bound to tell her that the probabilities in his opinion
were all against it. Anyhow, she might depend upon
his being back with her as early as he could in the morn-
ing. Then he, too, went his way, and his wheels were
heard rolling down the sandy road.
After this a great silence fell upon the old house.
Muriel sent Tabitha to bed, promising to call her at four
o'clock, or sooner if she herself grew tired, or wanted
help; then she took up her own place for the night in
the big leather arm-chair drawn close to the head of the
bed. For some little while afterwards there were still
sounds of movement about the lower part of the house;
the opening and shutting of doors, old Jabez' creaking
footsteps as he moved backwards and forwards from the
stable to the kitchen; then one by one all sounds died
out; every light was extinguished except the one shaded
candle in the sick-room, and Muriel was left to her soli-
tary vigil.
She was glad at first of the silence and loneliness. It
seemed to her as if she required a long, long spell of soli-
tude after all these different and distractingly conflicting
scenes through which she had been passing lately.
Could it really be only yesterday, nay only this very
morning, that her mind had been so distracted with
those personal fears and apprehensions, which now
seemed so foolish and so uncalled for? Could it be only
a few hours ago that she was sitting in the boat upon the
marsh? since she was talking to Halliday and listening
to his declaration of love? That ugly discordant scene
which had heralded her arrival at the farm seemed to
her to lie like a rift between the present and all the quiet
peaceful time which had preceded it. The violence, the
angry looks, the jealousy, the mean suspicions, rankled
14.
304
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
within her—it seemed to her like something from which
she could never wholly clear herself—a stain which
would leave its traces, however hard she might struggle
to get rid of them. She could not even, though she
tried, feel any particular gratitude to her grandfather
for his good intentions on her behalf. If the will he
had made was so manifestly unjust, it did not certainly
make it less so that the injustice was to have operated in
her own favor. She was shrewd enough, too, to see
that affection for herself was probably the least of the
causes at work in the matter. It was not because she
wanted it, but because, in fact, she did not want it-
because she was already independent-that it gratified
the old man's pride to make her his heiress. Not love
for her, but dislike of the Thomas Flacks, was really the
determining cause, she knew, in the whole matter.
Little by little, however, as the night wore on, every
other thought and feeling became merged in one—in the
consciousness of that presence lying there beside her-
that life ebbing away, so silently, so inevitably, as it
were drop by drop, minute by minute. If there had
been anything she could have done; any way, however
trifling, by which she could have ministered to his
comfort, she would not, she thought, have felt it so
much. But merely to sit and sit, and wait and wait, and
know that there could be only one end! When she had
undertaken the watch, Muriel had not realized how terri-
ble this would be, how intense the loneliness, how
desperate the longing to have some one, no matter who,
to share it. She felt loath to break in upon poor old
Tabitha's well-earned slumbers, and yet this sense of
isolation was momently becoming more than she could
bear. A growing horror, too, began to take possession
of her; not a supernatural horror, but rather a grimly
natural and material one, against which she struggled
in vain. How desperately, appallingly silent every-
thing was too that "tingling silentness" of midnight,
which is so different and so infinitely deeper than the
very deepest stillness of noon. No, come what might
she could not, she felt, bear her present position one
single instant longer; so, springing up from her chair,
she hurried across the room, and, hastily drawing back
the curtains, flung open the casement.
It was a glorious night. The moon, just at the full,

BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 305
""
"
")
was pouring over the shining levels of the mere, which
seemed stretching immeasurably away from her in the
dimness. The reeds and rushes in the foreground ap-
peared as if crusted over with silver; the dumpy shingled
roof of Essant church stood out big against the placid
unfathomable darkness of the sky. The moonlight and
the simple prosaic pathos of everything seemed to con-
front Muriel almost like a personality-a new presence
suddenly sprung up besides herself and that other silent
one upon the bed. The words "a night to die on,'
which she had somewhere seen or heard, came back like
an echo across her mind. A night to die on, indeed,
she repeated to herself, as she stood looking up into the
great blue-gray vault, thick-sown with innumerable
points-pin-pricks or worlds according as one may choose
to regard them. The scene and thought were both
solemn enough, and yet, try to keep it out of her mind
as she would, there was something incongruous, nay,
something almost humorously impossible, in the notion
of her grandfather of old John Flack, whose thoughts so
lately lingered amongst his cows and his sheep, his
turnips and his mangel-wurzels-passing up that great
silvery slope, becoming involved in that mystery-trans-
cendent, immemorial-which attaches to those who have
gone out before us into the unknown. Do what she
would, she could not take the idea in: it seemed incredi-
ble, impossible, a thing not to be conceived. Like all
highly strung natures, Muriel had naturally a strong
leaning and hankering towards the unseen; indeed,
there were moments when what we call the real and the
unreal, the visible and the invisible, seemed to meet and
overlap one another in her mind. To-night, however,
despite the solemnity of the occasion, despite the delicate
shielding moonlight, despite even the almost magical
beauty of the scene, nothing seemed able to take off the
hard cold sense of the actual. She could not pray; she
could not distract her mind by thinking of anything else.
Beside the grim reality of this death-bed-this gaunt
figure lying there in its loneliness-everything else, joys,
sorrows, loves, hatreds, seemed to become merged and
dwarfed, to be not only insignificant but shadowy. It
was not even like a drama, a struggle. No, there was no
drama, no struggle; it almost seemed to her that it would
have been less terrible if there had been one. This horri-
20
PER
M
306
A CHELSEA HOUSEholder.
$
ble waiting, waiting, appeared to press upon her almost
as though she herself had been a sharer, and not a mere
spectator of the issue. She had been beside other death-
beds, but none that affected her like this; none that
seemed so terrible, so dreary, so unutterably sad and
tragic in its loneliness. Poor old man, poor grand-
father! Was no one sorry for him? no one sorrier, that
is, than she was herself? How cruel it all seemed !
what a sad, sad ending to a life! she thought, leaning
her head upon her hands, and looking silently out over
the moonstruck waters.
Slowly the long hours wore themselves away. Once
Muriel dozed uneasily in her chair, and awoke with a
sudden start, feeling as if something terrible had hap-
pened near her. Nothing, however, had happened.
Everything was unchanged. The old man still lay
in the same curious, dreamlike trance; one hand
extended upon the counterpane, his face set in the
same gray inviolable calm. She heard the church
clock strike the hours one after the other. The moon
sank and sank until it had all but disappeared; the cold,
dark hours that precede the dawn had come, and a
shiver seemed to sweep over the earth. Muriel, how-
ever, was not cold; on the contrary, she felt feverish
and choked with want of air. Looking at her watch,
she found that it was now nearly four o'clock. Calling,
therefore, to Tabitha, who was sleeping close at hand,
to come and take her place, she crept down the dark
stairs and out by the front door. Old John had always
insisted upon keeping that door barred and bolted, but
in the commotion which had attended his illness no one
had taken the trouble to do so, so that it opened with a
touch. The rush of cold night air came pleasantly
against Muriel's face as she stepped over the threshold;
the placid darkness seemed, in the ancient phrase, to en-
compass her as with a garment. She walked on a few
steps, and stood still by the gate looking out into the dim-
ness. Tiny sounds, which would have been wholly im-
perceptible in the daytime, came distinctly to her ear.
The soft susurro of the wind amongst the alder leaves;
the slow, irregular lapping of the water against the
stones; a farm horse moving uneasily in its narrow
stall; the faint, far-off yelping of a dog. Other sounds,
too, fainter and more indistinguishable than these, vague
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 307
stirrings and rustlings, which seemed as it were to come
from the very ground. Presently another and distincter
sound reached her ear, a tread of footsteps coming down
from the road above, the quick, regular footsteps of a
man; another minute, and a form became dimly visible in
the early morning twilight. Apparently the visitor, who-
ever he was, had no intention of coming to the house,
for he turned away from the entrance, and circled round
to where a thin stream of light fell from the sick-room
window. Muriel's heart beat quickly. She thought she
knew the step, yet hesitated to speak. Presently the fig-
ure approached her again, and this time she fancied she
could distinguish the face.
"Muriel?
"Is not that Mr. Halliday?" she said hesitatingly.
He stopped and uttered a loud ejaculation.
Miss Ellis ? You here? At this hour?"
I have been sitting
"Yes, I came out for a moment.
up with my grandfather."
"How is he?"
"Much the same.
Will you come up and see him ?"
"Would he like it?" Halliday said doubtfully.
"He will not know--at least, I think not.
>>
She turned, and he followed her into the house and up
the ghostly stairs into the sick man's room. There had
been no change since she left; the old man still lay in
the same deathlike trance; old Tabitha sitting there, bolt
upright, beside the bed; her shadow-more grotesque
even than the reality-flung in black distinctness against
the ceiling. After remaining in the room for a few min-
utes, they turned and re-descended the stairs, and out of
the house. A few faint lights were beginning by this
time to show in the eastern sky; birds, too, were awak-
ening in the hedges; as they again paused beside the gate
the church clock began striking the half-hour.
CC
Of course I never dreamt of intruding upon you at
this hour," Halliday said abruptly. "I meant to send
you a note in the morning to tell you that I, too, have
had a summons. My father is ill."
CC
Oh !" Muriel exclaimed, clasping her hands, "then
that accounts
((
"}
Yes, that accounts, I suppose, for my not having
heard."
Of course it does; how can you doubt it? Is he very
seriously ill?” she added.
308
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
.
I
ܐ
"Not, I believe, dangerously; at least, they have not
said so; but it is a serious attack. Some kind of conges-
tion, they fear.”
"And you will be reconciled, will you not? You will
not let anything-on your side, I mean-come between
you?" Muriel said entreatingly.
(4
No, indeed I will not," he answered eagerly. "Thank
you for caring,” he added more formally.
66
Caring? But of course I care.
How should I help
caring?" she cried impatiently.
They had moved on together, and were standing now
beside the lake edge. The lapping of the water sounded
distinctly at their feet; the broad mere, growing momen-
tarily more distinct, seemed to lengthen and widen as the
light slowly widened out of the east. A certain sol-
emnity-the solemn beginning of a new day-brooded
upon the water and upon the sky; the weedy margins
near them were touched with a pallid iridescence, stray-
ing in faint meanderings in and out of the reeds, and
along the wet edges of the pebbles.
Suddenly Halliday turned towards her.
me," he said abruptly,
"L
Tell me,
did you mean that?
Did you really mean what you said yesterday?"
Certainly I meant it," she answered indignantly.
"You are sure? quite sure?'
"
Why do you ask me ?"
"Of course I am sure.
"Because at the time it appeared impossible, and since
then the more I have thought of it the more I have
thought that you did it for my sake-from a feeling of
pity. Of course, I love you-you know that very well;
I have loved you ever since that second time we met. But,
what then? Öther men have loved and failed, why should
I not fail? What right have I to expect any better fate?"
Muriel smiled a little. There was something almost
laughable in a man arguing with all this vehement
energy against himself.
'Do you wish me to say that you are not to expect
anything better?" she inquired.
No, not that; but I wish you to be free. I wish you
to choose for yourself.
"}
"I think I am free."
"I don't know. I feel as if my love was rude and
violent-as if it was carrying you off your feet—against
your judgment, against your will."
BOLDRE FARM UNDER A NEW ASPECT. 309
1
!
"As for
"Not against my will," she said gently.
judgment, that is a matter for us both to decide; or,
rather, for you more even than for me. Perhaps very
likely, in fact-I am not all that a clergyman's wife
ought to be."
เ
And do you fancy I suppose for a moment that I am
all that a clergyman ought to be?" he retorted quickly.
They walked on a little together along the edge. The
light was growing momentarily stronger; the trees and
hedges beginning to acquire edge and definition. Above
their heads a feathery cluster of ash stood out in delicate
relief, almost like a group of palms which some traveler
catches sight of low down against a flaming eastern sky.
I must go back now," Muriel said, reluctantly.
Halliday turned, and they walked silently together
towards the house. Before reaching it, however, Muriel
lingered again to look back at the wide, gray mere, on
whose surface the little clouds were just beginning to be
reflected faintly; at the church tower, showing its
stumpy top above the line of poplars.
"Your uncle is very anxious you should take that,"
she said, pointing at the last named object.
"I know he is," he answered.
"Do you think you will?
"I don't know. I feel in doubt. I have made such a
desperate succession of blunders that I feel almost afraid
of attempting anything new, and yet, on the other hand,
I think perhaps, as he says, I should do better here than
where I am.
>>
""
"I think you would," she answered.
"Should you like it? Should you be happy here?" he
inquired, in the tone of a man on whom a new light has
suddenly broken.
"Yes, I should be very happy here. There is no place
that I am so fond of as this."
They were quite close to the house now, too close for her
to say anything more. She shrunk, moreover, from
speaking of what had taken place there that afternoon.
How discuss future plans with her grandfather--he upon
whose death everything depended-lying there upstairs?
The whole subject, too, was mixed up with so much that
was painful and discordant, that she dreaded touching
upon it. For all that, as they stood there together upon
the threshold, a sudden thrill of joy-reprehensible per-
310
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
haps, but hardly unnatural-shot through her as she
thought of the future. The coming years, with all their
tide of weal and woe, seemed embodied in that pale
gleam which was stealing in through the open doorway.
She felt ashamed immediately afterwards, however, of
the impulse-
"I must really go back now," she said, holding out
her hand.
"I, too, must get back to Chudleigh," he answered.
'My train leaves at seven."
"C
For all that, they still stood several minutes longer
together. It was light enough now to see one another's
faces with tolerable distinctness. Looking at Halliday
as he stood in the shadow of the porch, his face half
illuminated by the light outside, it struck Muriel that he
was extremely pale, paler, she thought, than she had
ever seen him look before. "You are not ill, are you?"
she asked with sudden anxiety.
"Ill? I never was so well in my life; I feel as if I
was walking on air. I feel ashamed, too-hideously
ashamed. I have done nothing, and I have got every-
thing. More than everything. Why should I? There
seems no sort of reason or justice in it."
Muriel smiled again. Don't you know that it is very
wrong to rail against Providence?" she said demurely.
"That's it," he answered quickly; "I feel that if it
was the reverse case-if I was losing all that I am gain-
ing, if I was losing you, I should rail. The injustice,
the unevenness of things never struck me so forcibly
before."
Muriel became suddenly grave; his seriousness was
infectious, and communicated itself to her. “You make
too much of it, you do, indeed," she said earnestly. "I
am not such a great prize; I am not really."
"You are to me.
""
Am I?" She put out her hand again, and this time
he grasped it firmly. Muriel did not attempt to take it
away, and for a moment they stood thus, looking full into
one another's eyes. Something in the expression of hers
must have been decidedly encouraging, for all at once,
before she had even begun to realize his intention, she
found herself in his arms. It was only an instant, how-
ever; another, and she had disengaged herself again.
"Now go," she said gently.
A CONCLUSION.
311
'Yes, I will go; but I will come back again. May I
not?"
“As soon as you can; the sooner the better. You will
find me waiting for you here."
"Good! I will not be long," he answered, his voice
ringing joyously out as he strode away up the poplar-
bordered path leading to the high road beyond.

CHAPTER XXVI.
A CONCLUSION.
:
For all that, he was-very long. The next morning
Muriel received a note informing her that he had arrived,
and that his father was better-a brief note, written, she
fancied, in some confusion or agitation of mind. After
that nothing-not a word; not a line; not a syllable.
As far as any sign of life was concerned, Stephen Halli-
day might have vanished bodily from off the face of the
earth sunk, like the ill-fated hero of Ravenswood, into
the devouring maw of a quicksand, or disappeared by
means of some of the various other picturesque forms of
catastrophe to which heroes of romance seem peculiarly
prone. Happily for our heroine, she was too busy, par-
ticularly at first, to be able to devote her whole time to
speculations as to the cause of this mysterious silence.
Every now and then, whenever she had a few minutes'
leisure, it came back upon her with a pang; and at night
she used to lie awake hour after hour conjuring up every
sort of reason, probable or improbable, to account for it;
but during the greater part of the day she was too much
taken up with other less personal, but more immediate,
troubles and anxieties to be able to expend quite as much
ingenuity in the art of self-tormenting as she would
doubtless otherwise have done.

Contrary to all reasonable expectation, John Flack did
not die on the day which succeeded his attack, nor yet
upon the day following either. He even rallied a little,
so far as to be able to take a certain amount of nourish-
ment, and to turn in his bed with the aid of one or other
of his attendants. He did not, however, recover his
312.
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
A
1
powers of speech, nor did he apparently recognize any
one, though several times Muriel fancied that he knew
her, and once, as she was helping to raise his head, he
suddenly opened his eyes, and looked at her with an
expression which made her think that he was about to
speak; at this point, however, his eyes gradually lost
their intent look, and he relapsed back again into uncon-
sciousness. Her own time and energies were by no
means entirely devoted, however, to the duties of the
sick room.
On the contrary, she was often obliged to
leave her grandfather for long periods together to the
care of Tabitha or one of the other servants, while she
ran hither and thither in response to some urgent appeal
from without. Old Flack's rooted suspiciousness against
the human race as a whole had always prevented his
having any one in his employment who was capable,
even in the slightest degree, of replacing himself; every-
thing, down to the very minutest particular, having
been always carried out under his own eye, and subjected
to his own minute and vigilant supervision. When,
therefore, he was struck down, it was like the mainspring
of the machine being broken. Everything was at a
standstill; no one knew what to do, or to whom to turn
for orders, and Muriel found herself hourly appealed to
in a thousand matters as to which her powers of forming
an opinion or giving a direction were limited in the ex-
treme. Of course, she had to fall back upon her uncle,
who, indeed, spent the greater part of the following week
at Boldre. Had matters remained as they were, or had
the contents of the last unfortunate will not been so pre-
maturely divulged, nothing could have been more satis-
factory than this. Thomas Flack would, as a matter of
course, have seen to the proper ordering of what he
would have regarded as likely in the course of a few days
to become his own property, while Muriel, in her depart-
ment, would have had the comfort of his substantial
presence to fall back upon in case of need. As matters
stood, however, all this was at an end. Do what she
would, she could not shake off or forget the shock of
pain and surprise which her reception on the evening of
her arrival had occasioned; while, on the other hand,
even the knowledge that he was not to be a pecuniary
loser by his father's extraordinary perversity, could not
prevent Thomas Flack from feeling all the disgust and
A CONCLUSION.
313
anger of the son who finds himself unexpectedly disin-
herited in favor of some comparatively remote and
hitherto unlooked-for interloper. Nothing, therefore,
could be less comfortable or more constrained than their
relations. Instead of taking the whole of the out-door
concerns upon himself, as he would in any other case
have done, Thomas Flack made a point of reporting
everything to Muriel, and punctiliously requiring her
approval, despite her repeated assurances that she knew
and could know nothing about it, and depended wholly
upon his judgment and experience. He did not, how-
ever, offer to remain at the farm, nor did Mrs. Flack
appear again upon the scene for several days after the
events recorded in the last chapter. Although this latter
omission could not be said to be any particular or poig-
nant source of regret to Muriel, still the sense of her own
loneliness of having none of her own kith and kin near
her, and no one but the farm servants to depend upon-
became after another night so strong that she determined
to send to London for her Uncle Hal, and accordingly
despatched a letter, containing the necessary remittance,
requesting that he would come down with as little delay
as possible. After all, she thought, he was as nearly
related to the sick man as any one else in the world, and
had therefore a clear right, apart from her own wishes
or requirements, to be upon the spot whenever that-
which obviously could not now be very long delayed-
took place.
When, however, he did appear, with his feeble,
shambling gait, and his pallid eyes questing vaguely
round at scenes, once so familiar, now for years past
well nigh forgotten, Muriel felt all at once disposed to
regret her own precipitancy, and to think that she had
done a foolish, if not, indeed, a cruel thing in summon-
ing poor Hal from his usual haunts, and exposing him
to such adverse criticisms as he would be certain to
encounter here. This seemed, indeed, the little man's
own view of the matter. He had been so long in one
spot, and had grown so completely part of his own
peculiar milieu, that he evidently regarded himself as
somehow or other in danger away from it, and shrunk—
much as some hermit crab newly deprived of its shell
shrinks-from every fresh approach as likely in some
unknown fashion to prove perilous to him in his present.
314
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
defenseless condition. Little by little, however, as the
days passed on, and no particular perils appeared, he
began to recover his wits and self-possession-so far as
he could ever be said to possess either-and even to ex-
perience an unwonted satisfaction in renewing his ac-
quaintance with what evidently commended itself highly
to his attention as a perfect mine and treasure house of
delightful curiosities. Nothing, however, would induce
him to enter his father's room, or even, if he could avoid
it, to approach the door, so that in a practical point of
view Muriel could not be said to reap any particular
benefit or aid from his society. Had she been in the
humor to be amused, she could hardly have failed to find
entertainment in watching the meeting between the two
long separated brothers. It really seemed barely con-
ceivable that the big, handsome, broad-shouldered man,
who even now hardly appeared to have passed middle
life, could be the brother, and moreover the elder brother,
of the little wizened, dilapidated-looking being whose
wrinkled face, cracked voice, and thin gray hair were
more like those of a man of seventy than of fifty. It
was evident, too, that Hal's appearance on the scene was
anything but a source of unalloyed joy to the other and
more prosperous members of the family, so that in more
ways than one poor Muriel was made to feel that she had
again done the wrong thing, and had simply added an-
other to the already tolerably crowded confusions which
surrounded her.
All these various and conflicting anxieties were enough,
it will be seen, to distract her attention-at all events for
a time-from dwelling upon Halliday's mysterious
silence. They could not, however, prevent her from
recurring to it again and again, and losing herself in
conjectures as to its cause and probable continuance.
Could he be ill? she wondered. He had certainly looked
ill, she fancied, on the morning they had parted for the
last time; or could it be again, that his father had exacted
as a pledge of their reconciliation that he should give up
all engagements contracted previous to that reconcilia-
tion? When this idea first occurred to her, Muriel
thrust it hastily away again, as an insult to Halliday,
and a folly unworthy of a second thought, but to thrust
an unwelcome idea away by no means ensures that it
will not speedily come back again, and amongst the
A CONCLUSION.
315
::
many more or less probable conjectures which occurred
to her from time to time, this was not, it may be said, the
one which presented itself seldomest. Of course, the
simplest thing would have been to apply direct to the
Beachamps for information; but against this again there
were obstacles. On what grounds could she ask for such
information at all, without first telling them of her en-
gagement? and yet to do so-to be the first to tell what
Halliday had evidently either not found time or had not
chosen to reveal-was a piece of self-assertion from which
she shrank. How could she tell in what light they might
be disposed to regard it? How could she tell whether she
would be welcomed amongst them or not? Nothing cer-
tainly could have been kinder, or more flattering, than
their manner to her while she was under their roof; but
then to be welcomed as a guest, and as a tolerably near
relation, was obviously not the same thing, and in any
case it was clearly Halliday's business and not hers to
reveal it. If she could have seen Lena Beachamp alone
she felt that she might have spoken of it; for curt and
repellent as was that young lady's ordinary manner,
Muriel had not been nearly a week in the house with her
without discovering that beneath this manner lurked
qualities which handsomely repaid the labor of attaining
to them. At last, one morning, having spent the early
part of the night with her grandfather, she got up after
a few hours' sleep, so harassed and miserable, so distracted
with a thousand conflicting fancies, all of which seemed
to have suddenly assumed gigantic proportions, that she
did resolve upon sending a note entreating Lena as a
favor to come and see her, if only for a minute. That
very day, however, a sudden change for the worse de-
clared itself in the patient, and it soon became apparent
that the end was not far off; indeed, before another
twenty-four hours had passed it was all over, and Boldre
Farm had lost its master.
Of course, in the fuss and confusion which imme-
diately ensued, it was impossible for Muriel to take any
further step in the matter, not to speak of the obvious
impropriety of asking Miss Beachamp to come to the
house under the circumstances. One of the minor
results of old John's death was that his son Hal took to
his bed from alarm and dismay, and general nervous
derangement, and was not to be induced for some days
316:
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
to leave it, so that Muriel had him also upon her hands,
and had to administer soothing potions, seasoned by
daughterly lectures, as to the desirability of acquiring
some degree of proper self-control. In one respect she
was not sorry, however, for this sudden collapse of poor
Hal's, since it kept him out of the way during the fu-
neral, and the highly exciting and unpleasant scenes
which immediately followed that event. Another uncle,
a well-to-do sales-master from Glasgow, now made his
appearance on the scene, and there was also a sprinkling
of other, and more or less distantly connected relations
of the family, and a good deal of eating and drinking,
and the usual subdued but not unpleasurable excitement
which attends a funeral in the class to which the Flacks
belonged. When the will came to be read it turned out
that in addition to the house and the lease of the farm,
there was a rather considerable sum of money in the
bank, of which no one seemed to have known anything,
and which was also bequeathed to Muriel; indeed, with
the exception of a few trifling legacies to the Strongs and
others, everything of which the old man died possessed
forthwith became the property of his granddaughter.
There have been many wills which from time to time
have afforded dissatisfaction, but it would be difficult
perhaps to instance one that more effectually succeeded
in offending and displeasing every one without exception
concerned in the matter. Several of the relations, in-
cluding the uncle from Glasgow, loudly asserted the
necessity of setting it aside altogether, and proceeding
on the assumption that John Flack had died intestate.
As far as Muriel was concerned, she was perfectly will-
ing that they should do this, or anything else that would
enable her to escape from her present odious position.
It was not so easy to escape from it, however, as it
seemed; for even if she relinquished every shilling to
which she could legally lay claim, the question still
remained-To whom was the money to go? Obviously
it ought not all to devolve upon Thomas Flack, who
already was the moneyed man of the family, indeed the
uncle from Glasgow was not slow in putting his veto
upon that mode of disposing of the difficulty, and then,
again, there was poor Hal. Was he to be altogether left
out in this redistribution of the family property? So
confused did Muriel at last grow as to the rights and
A CONCLUSION.
317
wrongs of the whole matter, so perplexed amongst the
various conflicting claims, and so overwhelmed at the
responsibility thus ungraciously thrust upon herself,
that in despair she wrote for advice to her own law-
yer, a kindly old gentleman, who had always shown
a fatherly interest in her concerns, and who,
she thought, might be trusted to help her in
her present dilemma. This letter produced a response
iu the person, not of her old friend himself, but of a
certain grizzled, but by no means elderly, Mr. Grimshaw,
a junior partner in the firm, who forth with began to
take possession of the situation from his own point of
view, and in whom Muried soon found that she had
only brought a fresh antagonist into the field. Hitherto,
though every one had been opposed to any suggestion
which she had ventured to make, every one at least had
been agreed as to the obvious propriety of her forthwith
proceeding to strip herself, in order to remedy the injus-
tice of which John Flack had been guilty, and redistri-
bute the means thus unwarrantably heaped upon herself,
to other and more lawfully entitled recipients. Mr.
Grimshaw, however, entirely dissented from this view;
indeed, he seemed to regard Muriel herself as very little
short of criminal for so much as contemplating it. Had
Miss Ellis ever considered the paramount rights of the
testator in the matter? he inquired severely. Had she
realized, too, the injury she was doing, he would not
say to herself, but to others, whose interests were, or at
some future time might be of importance to her, and
who, he ventured to say, would have every right to re-
proach her if she allowed weakness or any ill-judged
generosity to overpower her now? However much
Muriel might personally dissent from this reasoning, it
certainly suggested new and not unimportant grounds
of consideration. Had she any right to sign away what,
after all, was now not so much her own as Halliday's?
she asked herself. But then, where was Halliday?
Why did he not come and stand by her in this strait?
Why did he leave her all this long time without a word ?
From everything she knew of him she felt certain that
he would be as anxious as she was to surrender what, in
her own, as well as in other people's judgment, ought
never to have been hers at all. No one certainly could
have exhibited a more Quixotic indifference to money
318
A CHELSEA HOUSEHolder.
than he had always done. At the same time there was
no doubt that as matters stood she was morally bound
not to move in the matter until she had had an oppor-
tunity of consulting him. But then, again, when would
she have such an opportunity? Was she to consider
herself engaged to him or was she not? And if she was
why did he not come back as he had promised? Why
did he not at least answer her letters? What possible
reason could there be for his leaving her in such a cru-
elly protracted state of uncertainty? These questionings,
joined to the continued pressure from without, became
at last so peremptory that about a week after her grand-
father's death she did at length despatch a note to Lena
Beachamp, entreating that if possible she would come
and see her within the next few days. This note produc-
ed an immediate response in the affirmative, and the
next afternoon Miss Beachamp appeared, having ridden.
over from the Manor by herself.
Muriel met her at the entrance, and led her into the
hall or outer kitchen, the only sitting-room in fact in
the house, the smaller ones, of which there were two or
three, having been long ago converted into receptacles
for the various odds and ends of lumber which accumu-
late about the precincts of a farm. It was anything but
the spot, however, for a confidential communication.
The indefatigable Mr. Grimshaw had announced his in-
tention of coming down again from London that after-
noon. Thomas Flack, too, might appear at any moment,
not to speak of the liability of incursions from the back
regions, and of the certainty of being overlooked by the
entire house from above. After a few minutes, there-
fore, Muriel invited Lena into the little back garden, at
the end of which there was a low wall, shadowed over
with horse-chestnuts, where they could sit and talk at
their ease undisturbed.
Up to the moment of her guest's arrival she had not
fully made up her mind whether to take Lena wholly
into her confidence, or merely to try and ascertain from
her where Halliday was, and whether anything had been
heard of him since his departure. There was something
to-day, however, so unusually little brusque and repel-
lent in the latter's manner, that insensibly Muriel found
herself drawn into telling the whole story, and appeal-
ing to her for aid and sympathy. Nor did she appeal in
A CONCLUSION.
319
vain. Nothing, on the contrary, could be friendlier,
nothing more affectionate than Lena's reception of the
news. She even went the length of embracing Muriel
—a most marked and unusual demonstration upon her
part. As far as information went, however, she knew
very little more than Muriel herself. No one at Chud-
leigh had heard anything of Halliday since his depar
ture, but then neither had this surprised them. He was
not at any time distinguished as a letter writer, while, as
regards the other members of the family, they had never
kept up any intimacy with them, so that under no cir-
cumstances were they likely, she said, to hear. The only
fresh item of information she could contribute was that
a letter, she knew, had been left for Sir Anthony on the
morning of Stephen's departure, announcing his accept-
ance of Essant; indeed, it was only the day before that
her father had remarked that the new rector seemed in no
particular hurry to induct himself into his living. She
undertook, however, to write to him herself that even-
ing, and, if this too failed in evoking a response, to tele-
graph, or to get her father to telegraph, to one of
the other brothers, inquiring into the cause of this
obstinate silence. She would also write, she said, to
Roger Hyde, who had left them only a few days before,
and who more than any one else would be likely to
know what had become of Stephen. After this there
was a pause, and Muriel fancied from certain indefinable
indications that another revelation, somewhat similar
to her own, might possibly be in store for her. If one
was impending, however, Lena either did not think the
moment propitious for revealing it, or her indomitable
reticence stood in the way; at all events, she remained
silent. Indeed, after this, the conversation languished,
Muriel being too absorbed in her own troubles to turn
readily to any other subject, while Lena, despite her
really active and efficient sympathy, was not one of those
women who expand easily either over their own or their
dearest friend's affairs.
They got up, therefore, before long, and returned to
the front of the house, where the sleek-coated Zuleika
was being led up and down by a groom, under the ad-
miring eyes of Susan, and a couple of farm laborers
gathered open-mouthed at the kitchen door. Here Lena
mounted, lingering after she had done so to say a few
320
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
parting words to Muriel, and then rode off, turning her
stately head and beautiful, dark-browed face again at the
gate, to wave a parting farewell, before she disappeared
behind the alders.
Muriel watched her until she was completely out of
sight, and then, instead of returning to the house, wan-
dered down along the edge of that little stream of which
mention has several times been made, until she stood at
length beside the mere. It had been raining heavily the
last few days; underfoot the ground felt soft and soppy,
and big pools stood about under all the trees. That
brilliant promise with which the autumn had set in a
few weeks earlier had been falsified, like so many other
brilliant promises of the same kind; already, although
October was still nearly a week off, more than half the
trees were bare, and those which still retained their leaves
looked embrowned and saddened rather than brightened
by the changing tints. This afternoon, too, though fine,
was cold, with a nasty, querulous little wind which ruf-
fled the water in broad patches, and produced an irritat-
ing effect upon the temper of everything exposed to it.
Muriel was indifferent to the cold, but it, no doubt, con-
tributed its quota to swell that tide of angry, or rather of
bitterly hurt and wounded feeling which welled up
within. Three weeks ago, three whole weeks to-day,
she thought, since they had parted here, and during all
that time never to have written, never to have asked or
cared or thought what had befallen her! Could it be
that he had never cared for her ?-that she had deceived
herself from first to last-and, if so, were there such
things as truth or love or fidelity in the world at all?
So thinking, she found that-heedless of where she was
going-she had arrived at the self-same spot where she
and Halliday had turned on the morning of their last
eventful meeting, with the self-same branch of ash, now
somewhat ragged and disheveled, still lifting itself in
feathery distinctness against the sky. The sight of
this branch, and of all the other familiar landmarks,
brought back vividly the whole scene. She remembered
his look-that look with which he had turned towards
her-and the assurance-strong, vivid, unquestioned-
which she had read in it, and her heart smote her for her
momentary infidelity. No, it was impossible; he could
not have changed ; no man could have so changed in so
A CONCLUSION.
321
short a time. It was blasphemy against love such love
as had spoken in that glance to believe that he had
changed. Some explanation there was; either he had
written, and his letters had been kept back, or he was
ill-one or the other it must be. Oh, if only, she
thought, she could go herself, and find out what it was.
Suddenly a new idea crossed her mind. Why should
she not go? What was there after all to prevent her?
She had his address; what then could be simpler than for
her to go-nurse him if he was ill, comfort him if he
was in trouble; at all events, know the worst at once, and
escape at any cost from this dreadful, intolerable, worse
than intolerable state of suspense?
It was not an idea to be allowed to slumber; and be-
fore another five minutes were over, while she still
stood there, her eyes still riveted upon the ash bough,
Muriel's plans were already matured, and her mind
made up for the start.
It was impossible, however, for her to go to-night.
The last train would have left before she could arrive at
the station; to-morrow, however, by the first train in
the morning, she would go, make her way to the town
in which his father lived, drive to a hotel, and after
that be guided by circumstances. The next question
which occurred to her was who was there that she could
take with her. There was something unseemly in a
woman, not to say a young girl, starting alone upon
such an errand; and, little as Muriel was inclined to
subscribe to ordinary conventions, she shrank, like the
most orthodox of her sisters, from any, even the most
distant, reproach of this kind. On the other hand, who
was there that would be available for the purpose?
Not certainly any of the farm servants; poor old Tab-
itha was deaf and feeble; the shock-headed Susan a
mere drudge; either of them, in fact, certain to be a
good deal worse than useless under the circumstances.
The only remaining person therefore was her Uncle Hal.
Poor Hal, he would do anything to please her, she
thought; and, so thinking, turned hastily back to the
house, and went in search of him.
It was some little time before she could hit upon his
whereabouts. He was not in either of the kitchens,
nor was he in the farmyard. All at once, however,
she remembered a small room, or rather closet, which
:
2 I
322
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
he had lately taken possession of, and where, having
first disencumbered it of its furniture, he had begun to
stick in nails, and hang up pegs, and generally convert
it into the likeness of that emporium of curiosities which
he had left behind him in Chelsea; indeed, it was only
the day before that Muriel had found it necessary to re-
monstrate with him rather seriously upon a decided dis-
position on his part to abstract everything he considered
curious or interesting from every other part of the
house, and to heap them all up in this one chosen re-
ceptacle. On the present occasion she found him en-
gaged with a hammer and a bag of nails, nailing up a
long uneven row of horseshoes, and it was with all the
air of a schoolboy detected in the perpetration of some
forbidden piece of mischief that he turned round to his
niece as she entered.
Muriel, however, had other things just then to think
of besides horseshoes.
"Uncle Hal, will you do me a favor?
Will you
come a journey with me to-morrow?" she exclaimed.
Had it been an invitation to instant execution, poor
Hal Flack's face could hardly have expressed more utter
and woeful dismay. "A journey, Muriel, another
journey?" he repeated, letting his bag of nails slip un-
heeded from his fingers. "Will it be a very long one?"
he inquired meekly.
"No, not a very long one. It is only to " She
stopped, suddenly struck by the helpless, yet intensely
expressive, look of his whole figure and attitude, and
her conscience smote her. Why, in Heaven's name,
should she be guilty of such selfishness? she thought.
Why drag him with her merely because she happened to
want an escort? How foolish and inhuman, to run the
risk of unhinging those poor little wits of his which were
only just beginning to recover from the effects of their last
shock? What right or justice was there in making a
convenience of poor Hal?
"Where did you say you wanted me to go, Muriel?
he inquired submissively.
(6
""
Nowhere, dear uncle," she answered soothingly. "I
will not ask you to come with me. You shall wait here
till I come back. You would rather stay here than re-
turn to London, would you not?
""
"L
Yes, thank you, Muriel, I think I would rather stay
A CONCLUSION.
323
here; you see, I have a good deal to do just now,” he
answered, in perfect good faith, and without the faintest
curiosity either as to her previous purpose or her sudden
abandonment of it. "I wish though that you would
tell Tom Grubbins not to forget to finish my pegs," he
added, in rather an aggrieved tone, as she was leaving
the room.
"He keeps on saying he will send them,
but they never come.
"Very well, uncle, I will," she answered, and escaped
before any other and less easily satisfied requirement
had time to occur to him.
Muriel had now made up her mind what to do. She
would go up to London by the first train in the morn-
ing; drive straight to her own house, there secure the
services of Eliza, and with her start at once upon her
further travels. Even to see her way clear so far was,
after the distractions and uncertainties of the last ten
days, a relief, and before Hal was summoned from his
stronghold for the evening meal, she had already made
all the necessary arrangements, ordered her chaise,
packed her clothes, and was ready for the morning start.
She had hoped to escape the ordeal of another inter-
view with the formidable Mr. Grimshaw, but, in so hop-
ing, she had underrated the energies of that distin-
guished bulwark of the law, for just as she was leaving
the house he suddenly stepped out of a fly, having come
down from London, he informed her, by a night train,
and she found herself condemned to spend another half-
hour listening to his expositions as to the duties and re-
sponsibilities of inheritors, and the perils incurred by
the wilful neglect of them. The result of this naturally
was that she lost her train, and had to travel by a later
and slower one, so that it was already four o'clock before
she reached her own house. She did not expect to find
her sister-in-law there, having received a letter from her
a few days before (the first, by the way, which Mrs.
Skynner had found time to write since they parted),
informing her, amongst other items of personal informa-
tion, that she had yielded to the oft repeated invitation
of a delightful person-a former Tooting acquaintance-
and had consented to spend some days at her house.
It was a much inore serious matter to Muriel to find
that neither Eliza nor the cook were at home when she
arrived. They had gone out, the startled kitchen-maid
324
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
averred, only five minutes before, but where to or when
they would return she could not, or at any rate did not,
say. It was bitterly disappointing, Muriel felt, to be
balked by such a trumpery obstacle, and she vehemently
reproached herself for not having béthought her of the
need of despatching a telegram so as to secure somebody
being upon the spot when she arrived. Would it not be
better to start alone, rather than risk losing another
day? she thought, as she stood hesitatingly upon the
doorstep; having come up to London, however, for the
express purpose of securing a companion, it seemed
rather ridiculous to turn around now and go back with-
out one; resigning herself therefore to her fate, she dis-
missed her cab, and entered the house, to wait until her
scattered household might be pleased to reassemble.
Passing through the hall, she looked anxiously round
for letters, having cherished a vague but perfectly
illusory hope that something might be there from Halli-
day. The only letter, however, beside the inevitable
bills, was one from Mr. Wygram, bearing an American
postmark. This she took up and carried away in her
hand to read.
Mrs. Skynner had often complained of the disadvantage
of living in a house where there was no drawing-room,
and to-day Muriel felt rather inclined to echo that com-
plaint herself. She would have been glad, she felt, to find
some corner in which to sit down and read that letter, not
charged and overcharged with certain impertinent remin-
iscences, which just then she would have been glad to
dismiss. The downstairs sitting-room since her sister-in-
law's advent she had never sat in, and did not care to
do so now, while her own studio was exactly the place
of all others where those reminiscences clustered thickest.
In the end, however, it was in the studio, and even in
the self-same chair in which she had sat to listen to Mr.
Wygram's appeal, that she now seated herself to read
his letter.
It proved-as indeed she had pretty much expected
before opening it-a continuation merely of the tone
he had adopted at the close of their last interview—
a resolute effort, namely, to put matters back to their
original footing, and to convince Muriel that if her ob-
duracy had robbed him of a great hope, it had, at any
rate, not been allowed either to spoil his life, nor yet to
A CONCLUSION:
325
deprive that life of the consistency and effectiveness
which had made him the man he was.
It was with a feeling of satisfaction, and yet with a
sigh, that she at last put the letter back again into its
cover. How reasonable he was, she thought, how strong,
and wise! Oh, if only she, too, could emulate his rea-
sonableness! if only she, too, could feel that, come what
would, she would still have something left-some
standing-ground, no matter how small, on which to set
about rebuilding her life. Alas! she knew only too well
that it was not so. In the homely old phrase, she had
put all her eggs into one basket, and if the basket fell,
there would be nothing left. If this one great hope-
which seemed now to have been only presented to her
lips in order to make the after-loss the greater-if this
was to be snatched away, swept into the limbo of the
things that might have been-what would remain ?
To what else could she turn? Where else was she to
find the materials for building up even such a tolerable
and colorable semblance of content as all reasonable
men and women must find for themselves or die. Die?
It did not even seem to Muriel in the least likely that she
would die. Such a solution-the first that is generally
supposed to occur to the love-lorn maiden-did not so
much as distantly assail her imagination.、 Looking, on
the contrary, into the future, the years seemed to stretch
in long, long leagues before her, but gray with a gray-
ness like that of November dawn; a grayness which
appeared to color thought, and work, and life itself.
Halliday had talked of his own career as a failure,
but what would hers be in such a case? she won-
dered.
She had been sitting for perhaps half an hour in the
same attitude, with her hands clasped in the same
despondent fashion in her lap, when a light tap came to
the door, and the sound of a subdued laugh was heard
outside. Muriel was not long in recognizing that laugh,
and a vivid recollection came over her of the day-not
really so long ago-when she had returned from the
New Forest, and that Kitty King had come in as she
was sitting brooding alone in the studio, and had routed
the blue devils, and restored her to self-content by the
mere contagious force of her own good spirits. Alas, it
was beyond the power of Kitty, or any number of Kittys,

326
À CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
to restore her to contentment now, she thought, as she
turned rather wearily round to welcome her friend.
The face which presented itself in obedience to her
summons was, if possible, even prettier and more irradi-
ated with smiles than the one which had presented itself
on that occasion. Instead, however, of rushing forward,
as she had done then, Kitty stood still at the entrance,
glancing laughingly back at some one who still stood
without. ،،
May he come in ?" she said, holding the door
in her hand as if to bar the entrance.
"He who is he?" Muriel thought, visions of the
unlikeliest possibilities presenting themselves unbidden
before her mind. Could it be Mr. Wygram suddenly
returned from America? Or could it was it possible
that it could be-Halliday? she wondered.
It seemed a decided anti-climax when the door was
pushed a little further open, and the youthful but ponder-
ous form, and round, stubbly head of the estimable Mr.
Archer presented themselves at the entrance. For a
moment the disappointment was keen, but it never took
Muriel long-longer, at least, than the necessary self-
adjustment to project herself into another's interests.
Kitty! This means, then, that it's all right,” she
said, jumping up and seizing her friend's hand.
Miss King executed one of her most expressive
grimaces.
"If you call being engaged to that lamp-post all right,
it's right enough, Muriel," she said with a pretended
pout. "I tell him he ought to go down on his knees to
you, for it was nothing on earth but your perpetually
standing up for him that made me so much as look in his
direction."
(6
Mr. Archer-who appeared to have made several
strides in self-possession since Muriel saw him last-
shook his head stoutly at this assertion.
"I'm tremendously obliged to Miss Ellis for having
stood up for me quite tremendously," he declared. "At
the same time, I'm sure she'll forgive my saying that it
wasn't her good word, or anybody else's good word, but
simply my own perseverance carried the day. If I'd let
myself be sent away, why, I should have been sent any
time the last two months."
((
Well, there's something in that," Miss King ad-
mitted. "You've no notion, until you try, Muriel,
A CONCLUSION.
327

what a tiring thing it is to go on saying, 'No, no, no,'
to a person who is so stupid-so perversely and densely
stupid--that he can't and won't take in what you mean.
""
Muriel smiled. "I dare say it is very fatiguing," she
answered. 'Happily for me, I've never been tried, so I
can't speak from experience; but I'm quite ready to take
your word for it, Kitty."
66
"[
19
Ah, that's because you're so clever. You know how
to say it better, and so they believe you; you always
did do everything better than I did," Kitty replied ad-
miringly. 'At the same time, Muriel, I'm bound to say
that I think you made a great mistake that last time,
she continued, with a little meaning nod. "Oh, there's no
sort of use in your shaking your head at me; Fred
Archer knows all about it, just as well as I do. In fact,
I'm not at all sure that Mr. Wygram didn't tell him
about it himself."

"No, no, not that," Mr. Archer murmured depre-
catingly.
((
'Well, at any rate, it's no secret; every one in
Chelsea knows it, for that matter. How could you have
had the heart, Muriel, to send that poor man flying from
his native land? And now there's that beautiful studio
and house, and everything shut up, and everybody says
he is never coming back at all.”
"On the contrary, he is coming back rather soon,
Muriel replied composedly. "I found a letter from him
here to-day, written from the Yosemite Valley. He tells
me that he has given up figure painting for the present,
and taken to landscape, and that no one has ever done
proper justice, he considers, to American scenery, so that
I fully expect we shall see a big picture of prairies, or
cañons, or something of that kind in next year's
Academy.
(6
Now, Muriel, you know very well that you don't
believe a single word you're saying there," Kitty said
remonstratingly.
"Not believe that Mr. Wygram is in the Yosemite
Valley? I can show you the post-marks on the envelope
if you doubt it, Kitty."
(C You don't believe that he has consoled himself with
painting, or anything else. I mean, you don't believe
but what he is utterly miserable.
Muriel looked grave. "I am perfectly certain that he
328
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
*.
is not in the least miserable," she answered quietly.
"Mr. Wygram is far too sensible a man to let anything
make him miserable-at any rate, long.
""
Miss King glanced in the direction of her own stalwart
adorer, who had discreetly withdrawn himself to the
further end of the studio, and was now engaged in
examining a small lay figure which stood upon a shelf.
"That's because you don't believe in such things,
Muriel," she said in a whisper. "I know you don't, but
you're wrong-quite wrong. I used to think so myself
once, but now I am sure that people can be in love, and
can be wretched, and can break their hearts, too, for
that matter. You may laugh at me as much as ever
you choose, but I do," she added solemnly.
It was such a very unexpected quarter for an attack
of the kind to come from that for an instant it was as
much as Muriel could do to reply to it.
"I assure you that I am not at all in a laughing mood,
and that I do perfectly believe in the possibility of such
things, Kitty," she said gravely.
Miss King appeared to be upon the point of making
some rejoinder. Suddenly, however, she hesitated-an
unwonted manifestation on the part of that confident
young person—and glanced for an instant in her friend's
face. Whether what she saw there suggested some new
idea, or whether she was simply struck by Muriel's
excessive pallor, at all events she suddenly jumped up
with an exclamation of self-reproach.
"It's too bad, I declare, my staying chattering here
when you've only just arrived, and must be tired to
death," she cried penitently. "Come along, Frederick,
we must be going. I only just wanted to bring him
before you heard about it from anyone else," she con-
tinued, turning protectingly to that well-grown youth
as he stood towering meekly over her head.
"I am
going now to carry him off to see an aunt of his-a dear
old lady, nearly stone blind, who thinks him an Adonis,
and is going to leave us all her money if we're good. I
have to keep a sharp eye on him, too, to see that he
doesn't bolt away to the hair-cutter's," she rattled on.
"His monomania-one of his monomanias-is that his
hair can't be short enough. You'd think that for a man
out of Millbank it was about short enough already? Not
a bit of it. He has been assuring me all the morning
A CONCLUSION.
329
•
that he feels it falling over his eyes, or tickling his neck,
or something equally ridiculous, and as I don't want to
have it said that I've married a ticket-of-leave man, I
have to mount guard, and request him to cross to the
other side of the street whenever we see a barber's shop.
""
Kitty's flow of conversation had by this time brought
them to the door, whither Muriel followed them, so that
there was nothing left for her now but to say good-by.
She would have liked to ask them to stay, but felt really
too unutterably thankful to see them go to be able to
summon the necessary words. Whatever Kitty under-
stood, or fancied she understood, was all summed up and
expressed in a hasty but vigorous embrace; after which
-hardly allowing poor Mr. Archer time to make his
own farewells-she swept him before her down the
stairs, and out into the street.

After they had gone Muriel sat for some time longer,
her hands still resting idly on her lap, too tired and
listless to attempt to occupy herself with anything.
The short autumn day was beginning to wane, but a
dull reflected glow from the river stole along the polished
floor, and was repeated from a small Venetian mirror
which hung in a dusky corner. Neither Eliza nor the
cook had returned, and as neither the preparation of tea,
nor the drawing down of the studio blinds lay in the littlé
kitchen-maid's department, they remained undone. A
small wood fire, however, had been lighted on the
hearth, so that where Muriel sat she seemed about
equally illuminated by the two glows, the wide one
without, and the smaller and homelier one within.
Presently it struck her that the former seemed to be
brightening rather than waning as the minutes stole on,
so she got up and wandered listlessly over to the window
to examine into the matter.
London has its picturesque moments, and the effect
upon which she now found herself gazing could hardly
have been wilder if a range of purple hills, or the deep
declivity of a mountain gorge had lain before her instead
of the placid Thames, and the dull, orderly line of the
Embankment. To the left the sky was half-hidden by
projecting houses, as well as by the coffee-colored Lon-
don mists, but to the right, beyond the plane trees and
the bridge, the wildest diversities of hue prevailed-reds
paling into rose-color, yellows deepening into saffron,
330
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
with broad dashes of greens and blues and silvery grays,
while above, high up towards the zenith, the sky was
crowded with great white clouds, standing range above
range, height above height, mountain summit over
mountain summit, so still, so calm, so majestic in their
vastness, that without the change of a tint or a line, it
might have served for the background for some vast
scene of transfiguration.
Muriel was one of those to whom the sight of beauty
is always at once a stimulus and a rest, and now this
vision of clear celestial crimsons, this sudden wealth of
greens and blues and silvery grays seemed to act upon
her as a charm, rousing and exciting her out of her
mood of dreary self-absorption. Her own trouble seemed
to lift and melt with the lifting and melting of these
great aërial thrones above, and a sudden impulse came
to her to go out and make her way to her favorite
station on Battersea bridge, in the hope of reaching it
before the glory had altogether faded from the river.
She stopped an instant as she was leaving the house to
tell the little damsel, its only other tenant, where she
was going, and to leave a message for Eliza in case of
her return; then she hurried rapidly on beside the
Embankment.
Nearly every house she passed was closely shut and
barred, every one with the faintest pretension to distinc-
tion being away at the seaside or elsewhere, and London
at this remote fringe of its vastness, wore much the air of
some sleepy time-forgotten foreign town, whose commerce
and fashion have alike passed away, leaving it dozing
peacefully beside a river whose waters now ministered
to other and more thriving cities lower down. This
fancy passed through Muriel's brain, but she did not stay
to dwell on it, her energies being just then concentrated
upon reaching the bridge before the glory had wholly
faded from the sky. She was too late for this, however.
It had lost its brightness by the time she arrived, and
though enough still lingered to gild the wet brown but-
tresses with a passing flicker, the best part of the show
was over, and the shadows were spreading thickly.
Gradually, too, as Muriel stood leaning against the
parapet, that brighter impulse which had brought her
out faded away, and as she bent her eyes upon the
ashen-colored tide below, she found herself wondering
!
331
A CONCLUSION.
what had become of it, and still more why it had ever
visited her at all? Battersea bridge, late on a Septem-
ber evening, is not a particularly populous resort, still
there were a certain number of passengers coming and
going from the one shore to the other. Artisans return-
ing from their day's work; youths in striped rowing
suits, hurrying down to take their places in the boats;
small children under the charge of nursery maids peep-
ing excitedly over at the steamers as they darted by;
older children clattering up and down for the mere joy
of hearing the noise made by their own heels against the
beams-all the usual odds and ends, in short, of a Lon-
don by-way. Amongst these Muriel presently noticed a
tall man coming from the Chelsea side of the river, who
paused every now and then as if in search of some one.
This figure was some way off when she first caught sight
of it, and it did not then seem to her that it was in the least
like that of any one she knew. All at once, however, as
it approached her, her heart began beating-violently
furiously. Could it be? she thought. Nonsense, no, it
was not even like. She must be going mad to take such
foolish fancies into her head ! Yes, though-it was, it
was! Another moment and there could be no further
question-pale, haggard, emaciated, changed-but still
undoubtedly and unquestionably-Halliday!
She sprang forward with a sudden exclamation and
at the same moment he caught sight of her; another,
and they stood hand in hand in the middle of the road-
way.
"You have come back!" she cried. It seemed to her
at first as if it was the only thing she was capable of
saying. 'You have come back! You have come
back!" she went on repeating.
"Yes, I have come back. Did you think that I would
never come? I thought so at one time myself."
She looked up, doubtful for an instant as to his mean-
ing. Then with another startled glance at his face.
"You have been ill," she exclaimed.
""
Yes, I have been very ill. I have had typhoid
fever."
She uttered an exclamation of dismay.
"Oh, but why was I not told? Why was I not al-
lowed to come and nurse you? Why have I been kept
in the dark all this time?" she cried indignantly.
332
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
"Ah why, that was exactly what I was coming to tell
you." Halliday paused, putting out his hand to the
parapet as if to steady himself. "There is so much to
explain," he said, smiling rather faintly.
""
Muriel was too startled, however, by his looks to care
to listen to any explanations then. I know there is,
but you must not attempt to explain anything now,
she said authoritatively. You must not stay here
another minute. You must come back directly to my
house. Surely you are not walking?'
""
"}
"No; I came in a brougham-Hyde's brougham. He
insisted upon my taking it. It is waiting for me there
at the end of the bridge. They told me at your house
where you were, so I came on at once.
""
Very well, then now you must come back at once.
You are not fit to be walking or standing about. Do
come, please," she said, laying her hand entreatingly
upon his arm.
He still resisted, however. "What can you have
thought of me all this time?" he said.
"I thought-everything that was bad; or rather, I
did not, I only tried to. But I will not listen to a word,
not another syllable here. You must not open your lips
again until you are indoors."
In effect it was not until they had reached the house,
and even then not until she had established him upon
the studio sofa with a pile of cushions under his head,
that he was allowed to proceed with his story.
"As usual my efforts at usefulness were crowned with
the most brilliant success," Halliday began.
"I went
off, as you know, by way of looking after my father,
and possibly making myself of some little use to him,
and the first thing I did was to fall violently ill myself,
and to have to take to my bed. Naturally, my half-
brothers were considerably disgusted; in fact it was
rather against their wishes I fancy that I was sent for at
all, so it didn't mend matters, as you may imagine, my
falling ill on their hands like that. I entreated to be
sent off to a hospital out of every one's way, but they
wouldn't hear of that, and instead an old woman was got
in to nurse me-such an old woman-the veriest old
Gamp that ever plagued a sick man.
""
"But surely you had a doctor?" Muriel exclaimed.
"Oh yes, I had a doctor-two, in fact, at one time. I

A CONCLUSION.
333
was pretty violent, I believe, at first; but that stage
didn't last long, and when I began to come to myself,
naturally the first thing I did was to ask for letters-
feeling sure that you had written. Would you believe
it, that wretched old woman declared that there were
none that nothing had come for me? It was her way
of keeping me quiet, I suppose! Certainly it very nearly
succeeded admirably, for shortly after that I got a relapse,
and this time but for Skellett I must have died."
"Mr. Skellett? How did he know you were ill, I
wonder?"
"I can't think. I never have been able to find out-
unless it was by instinct. At any rate, he came; routed
the old woman; took possession of me; nursed me like
a mother; never left me day or night; insisted that I
was going to live when the doctors declared that I was
going to do nothing of the kind. In short, brought me
round triumphantly; and here I am, you see, as well
""
as ever.
"Not quite that," Muriel said, smiling rather tearfully,
but still you are alive-that is the chief thing.
،،
"Alive? Oh, yes, I am alive-very much alive," he
answered, stretching his arms out wide as if to test the
fact. "Thank God, I am," he added more soberly a
minute after.
"But why did you not ask Mr. Skellett to send me a
line?" Muriel said, still a little reproachfully.
"I did."
""
"}
"I never got it then."
(C
No, because he confessed to me afterwards that he
had never sent it. The truth was, he was not at all sure
that the whole thing-about you, I mean-was not an
hallucination on my part; and, to be perfectly candid,
I began to think so myself. You know, I always told
you that I had my doubts about it, and when day after
day passed, and no letters arrived, I began to think that
I must have dreamt the whole thing from beginning to
end."
Muriel clasped her hands.
،،
Oh, but how dreadful, how cruel of you!" she cried.
'Latterly, it is true, I have not written-it seemed so
useless; but at first I wrote-oh! nearly every day."
,,
"
Yes, we found the letters at last-a regular bundle
of them-only four days ago, though. They must have
334
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
been simply stuffed away into a drawer as fast as they
came at least it was there that Skellett found them.
When once I got them, you may believe they couldn't
keep me very long in bed. Hyde had just come down,
having found a letter from Skellett at his rooms, and
when he found that I was bent upon getting to you by
hook or by crook, and that poor little Skellett was going
wild with fright about it, he undertook the whole charge
of me, and brought me up to-day, and started me off
here, and if I hadn't found you we were going down to
Norfolk to-morrow."
66
And I was going to Lancashire to-morrow," Muriel
said, blushing.
"And we meet on Battersea bridge 1"
(6
Yes, we meet on Battersea bridge. I shall like it
better than ever now."
After this they were silent for a while; Halliday, on
his side, gazing up at her from his sofa as if he could
never gaze enough. Now that the first excitement of
their meeting was over, Muriel could see how much the
fever had reduced him. He had always been thin, but
now his clothes seemed literally to hang upon him, and
his face was as gaunt as a wolf's. His eyes, however,
had a look of life in them which reassured her. There
was nothing at all dying certainly about the glance
which rested on hers.
((
You have not told me anything yet about your
father," she said, turning her own away at last. "Is it
all right between you?”
"Yes, I think so. He was very kind. He came in
several times to see me-after he got better_himself,
mean-and yesterday, before I came away, I told him
all about you.'
۱۱
'Yes; and what did he say?" she inquired breath-
lessly.
"What do you think he is likely to
Halliday smiled.
have said?” he asked.
יין
""
How can I possibly tell?
"Well, he was astonished-extremely astonished.
Naturally, any man would be.”
"I don't see that. But afterwards-what did he say
afterwards?"
"
Afterwards, well afterwards he made me tell him
everything about you-about your brother, you know,
A CONCLUSIÓN.
335
and all that. I told him too," Halliday went on, "that
he was not to give us any money—that that, in fact, was
part of our engagement. I was right there? that really
was what you wished, was it not?" he added, struck by
an indefinable something in her expression.
"Yes, indeed-quite right," Muriel said eagerly.
Only I am afraid," she continued penitently, "I am
afraid I have been doing all sorts of foolish and im-
prudent things since I saw you. I will not trouble you
with the details now, but you must please promise not
to be very angry with me if you find that I have seri-
ously compromised your interests. That is not my own
expression, but Mr. Grimshaw, my lawyer's. He kept
on assuring me, again and again, that any one I married
would simply never forgive me for the way I have been
behaving.
""
Halliday laughed. "Is that all?" he said. "I was
afraid that it was again I that had done something
wrong." Beyond this he did not express any further
curiosity as to the nature and extent of Muriel's alleged
misdeeds, indeed, his expression, as he lay back amongst
his cushions, was that of a man too utterly steeped in
content to have any misgivings left upon that or any
other subject whatsoever.
..
"You must tell me when I ought to go," he said at last.
Yes, but I do not think it need be yet. You are not
going all the way to Whitechapel to-night?" she added
anxiously.
((
No, I am staying with Hyde-at his rooms. You
know all about Hyde and Lena, by the way, I suppose?"
he added, lifting up his head again to look at Muriel.
"I do not know. I only guess," she answered,
smiling.
"Ah well, I dare say you have guessed right. I only
hope that she won't box his ears too vigorously, that's
all-morally, I mean, of course, he added, laughing.
{"
No, no, I am sure she will not. Why should you
imagine it? She is so good. She was so very good and
kind yesterday when I told her about-about us.
73
แ Good? Oh yes, she is good-good as gold, and
honest, too, as the day. But still, as a wife-and as the
wife of Hyde, of all men upon earth!"
"And then she is so beautiful," Muriel said remon-
stratingly.
336
A CHELSEA HOUSEHOLDER.
""
""
Yes, she is very handsome, of course. I suppose
that is it.; but still
Further than this he did
not, however, elucidate his views as to the chances of
Hyde's future felicity, but lay still instead, his eyes
questing curiously over the walls and around the room,
taking in all its various artistic appliances, its shaded
lights, and multifarious easels, and palettes, and paint-
boxes; its big easy chairs and Persian rugs, and pic-
turesque odds and ends of various kinds.
"Shan't you miss all this terribly?" he suddenly in-
quired, turning round to Muriel.
"Miss what?" she asked, not immediately perceiving
the drift of his question.
"Why, all this "-waving his hand comprehensively
round the room, and then in the direction of the distant
lights and the river-"your studio, and artistic proper-
ties, and friends, and everything? We can't take it all
down with us just as it stands to Norfolk, can we ?"
Muriel, too, glanced round the room, and for a mo-
ment her face certainly fell as she looked at all her
cherished possessions; only for a moment, however.
"Never mind, I can do without it perfectly," she said
quickly. "I can indeed," she added eagerly, turning to
him and smiling.
Halliday, however, did not smile; he sat up on his
sofa, looking, on the contrary, extremely serious. "I
don't believe you have one bit realized what you're do-
ing," he said gravely. "I dare say now, being the woman
you are, the mere fact of my being such a scarecrow-
such a sickly looking skeleton as I am, may make you in-
clined to like me all the better. But how will it be later ?
How will it be when you find yourself stuck down for
life in the depths of the country, without your friends, or
your pictures, or any of your pretty things, with noth-
ing in life but a dull clod of a husband who talks to you
about his fights with his church wardens, or the fall in
the value of glebe lands? Don't you think that you
will begin to repent then?"
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
63
She shook her head. Not even then," she said smil-
ing. Besides, you need not flatter yourself that I am
going to leave my paint-brushes behind me," she contin-
ued playfully. I am going to take them all down with
me to Boldre; Boldre is extremely paintable."
"(
"Oh yes, Boldre.
Boldre. But now supposing I was to take
A CONCLUSION.
337
into my head—and you've no notion what an obstinate
brute I can be when I try-supposing that I was to take
it into my head that I ought to go and live-goodness
knows where in the Black country, we'll say, or some-
where equally enjoyable? What would you do with
your paint-brushes then?
"Then I should do without them," she answered.
“There are more important things in the world than
even those."
She got up and went over to the sofa,
looking down at him as he lay there.
"Now that you are back, I think I could make up my
mind to do without-most things," she said simply.
"Without Art, and Cheyne Walk, and Chelsea?" he
inquired, stretching out his hand and looking skeptically
up at her.
""
"Without-well without Cheyne Walk and Chelsea,
certainly," she answered, laying hers in his with a
smile.
THE END.
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An Excellent Story by Geo. Manville Fenn,
(And of particular interest to all engaged in the printing business,)
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The Story of Antony Grace
No. 1749 Seaside Library, Price, 25 cents.
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Other works by the same author in the Seaside Library, Pocket
Edition, are:
193 The Rosery Folk....
558 Poverty Corner.
587 The Parson o' Dumford.. 25
609 The Dark House.
•
• •
· •
1169 Commodore Junk.
1276 The Mynns' Mystery.
1293 The Jeopardy..
1302 The Master of the Cere-
monies.
1313 Eve at the Wheel.
•
•
•
•
142-144 WORTH STREET,
•
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25
1387 Eli's Children.
550
2 2 1 2 2 2
In In In
IO
25
25
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1680 This Man's Wife...
1799 Lady Maude's Mania.
1815 A Double Knot..
1824 A Mint of Money..
""
""
<4
(C
8 The Golden Magnet. (Leather Clad Series) Tale for Boys..
12 In the Wilds of New Mexico.
172 A Golden Dream. (International Series).
•
• •
1694 The Bag of Diamonds... 25
1743 The Haute Noblesse.... 25
1749 Story of Antony Grace...
1788 Black Blood..
SEASIDE PUBLISHING COMPANY,
•
·
• • ·
· •
2 2 2
2
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NEW YORK.
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THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
POCKET EDITION.
LIST OF AUTHORS.
[When ordering by mail please order by Numbers and
state Pocket Edition.]
E. About.
1467 A New Lease of Life
Mrs. Leith Adams.
Gustave Aimard.
1345 Aunt Hepsy's Foundling 20 1341 The Trappers of Arkan-
Author of "Addie's Hus-
band."
sas..
10
1396 The Adventurers.
10
10
10
1398 Pirates of the Prairies... 10
1400 Queen of the Savannah. 10
1401 The Buccaneer Chief………. 10
1402 The Smuggler Hero.
1404 The Rebel Chief.
1650 The Trail-Hunter........ 10
1653 The Pearl of the Andes.. 10
1672 The Insurgent Chief.... 10
1688 The Trapper's Daughter 10
1690 The Tiger-Slayer.
10
1692 Border Rifles...
10
1700 The Flying Horseman... 10
1701 The Freebooters...
10
388. Addie's Husband; or,
Through Clouds to Sun-
shine....
504 My Poor Wife.
1046 Jessie..….…….
....
Max Adeler.
1550 Random Shots...
1569 Elbow Room ..
ANA
►
Author of "A Fatal Dower."
20
10
25
20
246 A Fatal Dower…..
372 Phyllis' Probation..
461 His Wedded Wife…...
829 The Actor's Ward.
1378 The Story of an Error... 20
Author of "A Golden Bar."
483 Betwixt My Love and Me. 25
Author of "A Great Mis-
take."
•
****
•
...
20
25
10
25
•••
20
20
Author of "A Woman's
Love-Story."
UXXELN
322 A Woman's Love-Story.. 10
677 Griselda...
20
...
•
Author of "For Mother's
Sake."
1900 Leonie; or, The Sweet
Street Singer of New
York.....
20
Author of “He,” “lt,” etc.
1916 King Solomon's Treas-
ures...
Hamilton Aide.
383 Introduced to Society... 10
25
|
1736 Prairie Flower.
1740 Indian Scout..
1741 Stronghand
1742 Bee-Hunters..
1744 Stoneheart...
1748 The Gold-Seekers.
1752 Indian' Chief..
1756 Red Track……….
··
244 A Great Mistake...
588 Cherry...
20
10
1040 Clarissa's Ordeal. 1st half 20
1040 Clarissa's Ordeal. 2d half 20 1768 Red River Half-Breed... 10
1137 Prince Charming..
1187 Suzanne.....
20
20
1714 The White Scalper...... 10
1723 The Guide of the Desert. 10
1732 Last of the Ancas.
1734 Missouri Outlaws..
10
··
•
•
• •
•
•
•
..
C
10
10
10
10
10`
10
10
of Pearls.. 10
•
10
10
••
Mary Albert.
933 A Hidden Terror ...
Grant Allen.
20
25
20
712 For Maimie's Sake……….
1221" The Tents of Shem ".
1783 The Great Taboo..
1870 What's Bred in the Bone 20
1908 Dumaresq's Daughter... 25
Mrs. Alexander.
...
20
5 The Admiral's Ward. .. 20
17 The Wooing O't....
62 The Executor......
189 Valerie's Fate.
25
20
10
229 Maid, Wife, or Widow?.. 10
2
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
3
236 Which Shall it Be?……………. 20
339 Mrs. Vereker's Courier
Maid....
10
490 A Second Life..
25
10
......
20
564 At Bay..
794 Beaton's Bargain.
797 Look Before You Leap.. 20
805 The Freres. 1st half.... 20
805 The Freres. 2d half……… 20
806 Her Dearest Foe. 1st half 20
806 Her Dearest Foe. 2d half 20
814 The Heritage of Langdale 25
815 Ralph Wilton's Weird... 10
900 By Woman's Wit….. 20
997 Forging the Fetters, and
The Australian Aunt…….. 20
1054 Mona's Choice…….
1057 A Life Interest.
1189 A Crooked Path….
1199 A False Scent.
1867 Heart Wins..
1459 A Woman's Heart..
1571 Blind Fate..
1582 An Interesting Case..... 20
R. M. Ballantyne.
89 The Red Eric……
95 The Fire Brigade..
96 Erling the Bold..
772 Gascoyne, the Sandal-
Wood Trader….
1514 Deep Down.......
...
Honore De Balzac,
25 776 Père Goriot....
201128 Cousin Pons.
20
10
1318 The Vendetta.......
10
20
20
Alison.
..
•
·
•
··
194 "So Near, and Yet So
Far!"
10
278 For Life and Love....... 10
481 The House That Jack
Built.....
10
G. W. Appleton.
1346 A Terrible Legacy..
•
keepers.
1657 Lessons In Life…….
1658 Off-Hand Sketches.
59 Vice Versâ….
225 The Giant's Robe..
503 The Tinted Venus. A
Farcical Romance...... 10
819 A Fallen Idol...
1616 The Black Poodle, and
Other Tales...
20
•
..
2 22 22 2
Sir Samuel Baker.
267 Rifle and Hound in Cey-
lon...
533 Eight Years Wandering
in Ceylon...
··
1502 Cast Up by the Sea...... 20
Hans Christian Andersen.
1314 Andersen's Fairy Tales.. 20
W. P. Andrews.
1172 India and Her Neighbors 20 1461 Smuggler's Secret..
F. Anstey.
20
••
20
...
20
20
20
··
...
...
C •
J. M. Barrie.
1896 My Lady Nicotine....
20 1977 Better Dead..
S. Baring-Gould.
787 Court Royal.....
878 Little Tu'penny.
1122 Eve.
1201 Mehalah: A Story of the
20
Salt Marshes.
1697 Red Spider.
20
30
1711 The Pennycomequicks... 20
1763 John Herring.
1779 Arminell.
1821 Urith....
80
20
1618 Galaski..
•
* 22
25
··
Basil.
344 "The Wearing of the
Green "
10
10
10
25
20
2223
20
20
1811 Between Life and Death, 20
25 1750 Lieutenant Barnabas.. 25
20 1828 Under a Strange Mask.. 10
1940 Olga's Crime......
25
25
RAR 222A8R RRHARKOR
Frank Barrett.
986 The Great Hesper...……. 20
1188 A Recoiling Vengeance.. 20
1245 Fettered for Life.
25
20
10
20
20
10
20
20
Annie Armitt.
759 In Shallow Waters......
T. S. Arthur.
1337 Woman's Trials…….
1636 The Two Wives...
1638 Married Life...
1640 Ways of Providence..... 20
1641 Home Scenes..
20
1644 Stories for Parents...... 20
1649 Seed-Time and Harvest. 20 | 1605 Wrecks in the Sea of
1652 Words for the Wise...... 20
Life....
1654 Stories for Young House-
25
Alexander Begg.
20
2223
20
547 A Coquette's Conquest.. 25
585 A Drawn Game.
20
G. M. Bayne.
20
Anne Beale.
188 Idonea……….
20
199 The Fisher Village………….. 10
E. B. Benjamin.
1706 Jim, the Parson...
20
1720 Our Roman Palace……………. 20
POCKET EDITION.
Co
A. Benrimo.
1624 Vic..
E. Berger.
1646 Charles Auchester...... 20
W. Bergsol.
1445 Pillone…..
E. Berthel.
1589 The Sergeant's Legacy.. 20
Walter Besant.
97 All in a Garden Fair.... 20
137 Uncle Jack...
140 A Glorious Fortune.
10
10
146 Love Finds the Way,and
Other Stories. By Besant
and Rice...
230 Dorothy Forster.
324 In Luck at Last...
541 Uncle Jack.
651" Self or Bearer "
882 Children of Gibeon.
904 The Holy Rose...
• • • •
...
906 The World Went Very
·· C
Well Then……….
980 To Call Her Mine..
1055 Katharine Regina..
1065 Herr Paulus: His Rise,
His Greatness, and His
Fall....
·
·
Tower...
2018 The Revolt of Man.
··
·
..
1655 The Demoniac.
1881 St. Katherine's by the
....
20 1385 Arne
20
ARABARA ***
••
.. 25
·
10
25
10
··
10
1143 The Inner House..
..
1151 For Faith and Freedom.. 20
1240 The Bell of St. Paul's...
1247 The Lament of Dives…….. 20
1378 They Were Married. By
Walter Besant and Jas.
Rice....
10
20
10
25
25
22222
1413 Armorel of Lyonesse....
1462 Let Nothing You Dismay 25
1630 When the Ship Comes
Home. By Besant and
Rice...
20
20
20
02432323
10
M. Betham-Edwards.
273 Love and Mirage; or,The
Waiting on an Island... 10
579 The Flower of Doom,and
Other Stories..
594 Doctor Jacob
1023 Next of Kin-Wanted... 20
1407 The Parting of the Ways 20
1500 Disarmed..
20
1543 For One and the World.. 20
1627 A Romance of the Wire. 20
1845 Forestalled; or, The Life
Quest.....
10
20
20
25
10
20
20
Bjornstjerne Bjornson.
Jeanie Gwynne Bettany.
1810 A Laggard in Love...... 20
1388 The Happy Boy.
William Black.
1 Yolande...
18 Shandon Bells....
21 Sunrise: A Story of These
Times...
70 White Wings: A Yacht-
ing Romance.
..
·
··
Lane....
126 Kilmeny
138 Green Pastures and Pic-
23 A Princess of Thule.
39 In Silk Attire...
44 Macleod of Dare.…….
49 That Beautiful Wretch…. 20
50 The Strange Adventures
of a Phaeton.
-
cadilly
265 Judith Shakespeare: Her
Love Affairs and Other
Adventures..
472 The Wise Women of In-
verness.....
••
627 White Heather..
898 Romeo and Juliet: A Tale
•
•
78 Madcap Violet..
81 A Daughter of Heth.. 20
124 Three Feathers..
20
125 The Monarch of Mincing
0:
of
· · • •
..
10
10
** R***? ? HAR8 R8 *
•••
1506 Mr. Pisistratus Brown,
M. P...
1725 Stand Fast, Craig-Roy-
20
20
20
20
25
25
20
25
of Two Young Fools... 20
962 Sabina Zembra 1st half 20
962 Sabina Zembra. 2d half 20
1096 The Strange Adventures
of a House-Boat...
1132 In Far Lochaber...
1227 The Penance of John
Logan.....
1259 Nanciebel: A Tale
Tale
Stratford-on-Avon..
1268 Prince Fortunatus..
1389 Oliver Goldsmith
1394 The Four Macnicols, and
Other Tales...
20
20
25
8 22 28R AR * RRA AA A
20
10
20
20
20
25
20
25
1426 An Adventure in Thule.. 10
1505 Lady Silverdale's Sweet-
heart.....
10
10
10
20
ston!...
1892 Donald Ross of Heimra.. 20
R. D. Blackmore.
67 Lorna Doone. 1st half.. 25
67 Lorna Doone. 2d half.. 25
427 The Remarkable History
of Sir Thomas Upmore,
Bart., M. P..
615 Mary Anerley.
625 Erema; or, My Father's
Sin....
·
20
20
25
4
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
20
•
629 Cripps, the Carrier..
630 Cradock Nowell. 1st half. 20
630 Cradock Nowell. 2d half 20
631 Christowell. A Dartmoor
Tale...
20
632 Clara Vaughan..
20
633 The Maid of Sker. 1st half 25
633 The Maid of Sker. 2d half 25
636 Alice Lorraine. 1st half 20
686 Alice Lorraine. 2d half. 20
926 Springhaven. 1st half.. 20
926 Springhaven. 2d half... 20
1267 Kit and Kitty. 1st half.. 20
1267 Kit and Kitty. 2d half.. 20
Isa Blagden.
705 The Woman I Loved, and
the Woman Who Loved
Me....
C. Blatherwick.
151 The Ducie Diamonds.... 10
Frederick Boyle.
356 The Good Hater..
263 An Ishmaelite
315 The Mistletoe
...
Miss M. E. Braddon.
35 Lady Audley's Secret... 25
56 Phantom Fortune.
74 Aurora Floyd.
110 Under the Red Flag
153 The Golden Calf…..
204 Vixen....
211 The Octoroon.
234 Barbara; or, Splendid
Misery.
...
•
•
•
•••
• •
• · •
489 Rupert Godwin..
495 Mount Royal.
496 Only a Woman. Edited
497 The Lady's Mile..
498 Only a Clod.
• *
499 The Cloven Foot.
·
10
Bough.
Christmas, 1884. Edited
by Miss M. E. Braddon, 20
434 Wyllard's Weird.
20
478 Diavola; or, Nobody's
Daughter. Part I...... 20
478 Diavola; or, Nobody's
Daughter. Part II..... 20
480 Married in Haste. Edi-
ted by Miss M. E. Brad-
don..
...A
•
20
KARDARD QR
..
487 Put to the Test. Edited by
Miss M. E. Braddon…….. 20
488 Joshua Haggard's
Daughter....
10
25
10
20
20
2 2 22* A*AAA*A22 -
20
20
20
618 The Mistletoe Bough.
Christmas, 1885. Edited
by Miss M. E. Braddon. 20
840 One Thing Needful; or,
The Penalty of Fate... 25
881 Mohawks. 1st half.
881 Mohawks. 2d half.
20
890 The Mistletoe Bough.
Christmas, 1886. Edited
by Miss M. E. Braddon.. 20
943 Weavers and Weft; or,
Love that Hath Us in
His Net "..
947 Publicans and Sinners;
or, Lucius Davoren. 1st
half...
947 Publicans and Sinners:
or, Lucius Davoren. 2d
half..
1036 Like and Unlike.
1098 The Fatal Three..
1211 The Day Will Come. 20
1411 Whose Was the Hand?.. 25
1664 Dead Sea Fruit.
20
20
20
20
1893 The World, Flesh and the
Devil...
Annie Bradshaw.
20
by Miss M. E. Braddon. 20
25
20
25
20
511 A Strange World……..
515 Sir Jasper's Tenant.
524 Strangers and Pilgrims. 30
529 The Doctor's Wife..
542 Fenton's Quest..
544 Cut by the County; or,
Grace Darnel
.... 20
20
20
25
548 A Fatal Marriage, and
The Shadow in the Cor-
ner...
549 Dudley Carleon; or, The
Brother's Secret, and
George Caulfield's Jour-
ney...
552 Hostages to Fortune.
553 Birds of Prey.
554 Charlotte's Inheritance.
(Sequel to "Birds of
Prey").
557 To the Bitter End…….
559 Taken at the Flood...
560 Asphodel....
...
561 Just as I am; or, A Liv-
ing Lie..
• .....
567 Dead Men's Shoes.
570 John Marchmont's Le-
gacy...
10
44
·
706 A Crimson Stain...
•
• ·
..
……….
...
• 4
...
..
•
···
•
Women.
69 Madolin's Lover
...
··
73 Redeemed by Love; or,
Love's Victory.
10
•
...
76 Wife in Name Only; or,
A Broken Heart.
2288280
10
··
2228 24 8
20
20
20
30
20
25
30
10
Charlotte M. Braeme, Au-
thor of " Dora Thorne."
2 222
19 Her Mother's Sin.
51 Dora Thorne.....
54 A Broken Wedding-Ring 25
68 A Queen Amongst
20
222242 26
20
20
20
orm or 2 202
20
25
10
25
20
79 Wedded and Parted..... 10
92 Lord Lynne's Choice.... 25
:
POCKET EDITION.
148 Thorns and Orange-
Blossoms....
25
190 Romance of a Black Veil 10
220 Which Loved Him Best? 25
237 Repented at Leisure.
(Large type edition).... 20
967 Repented at Leisure.... 10
249 "Prince Charlie's Daugh-
ter;" or, The Cost of
Her Love...
25
250 Sunshine and Roses; or,
Diana's Discipline.. 25
254 The Wife's Secret, and
Fair but False...
…..
10
283 The Sin of a Lifetime:
or, Vivien's Atonement 20
287 At War With Herself.... 10
923 At War With Herself.
(Large type edition)... 20
288 From Gloom to Sunlight;
or. From Out the Gloom 25
955 From Gloom to Sunlight;
or. From Out the Gloom
(Large type edition).... 25
291 Love's Warfare.
292 A Golden Heart..
293 The Shadow of a Sin.... 10
948 The Shadow of a Sin.
20
20
(Large type edition)... 20
294 The False Vow; or,
Hilda; or, Lady Hut-
ton's Ward..
25
928 The False Vow; or,
Hilda; or, Lady Hut-
ton's Ward. (Large type
edition).
294 Lady Hutton's Ward; or,
Hilda; or, The False
Vow...
25
··
928 Lady Hutton's Ward; or,
Hilda; or, The False
Vow. (Large type edi-
tion)...
294 Hilda; or, The False
Vow; or, Lady Hutton's
Ward..
928 Hilda; or、 The False
Vow; or, Lady Hutton's
Ward. (Large type edi-
tion)....
……….
..
•
10
20
10
295 A Woman's War.
952 A Woman's War. (Large
type edition)..
296 A Rose in Thorns.
297 Hilary's Folly; cr, Her
Marriage Vow
25
953 Hilary's Folly; or, Her
Marriage Vow. (Large
type edition)...
299 The Fatal Lilies, and A
Bride from the Sea.... 10
800 A Gilded Sin, and A
Bridge of Love...
10
20
10
20
20
25
.
10
..
303 Ingledew House, and
More Bitter than Death 10
304 In Cupid's Net..
305 A Dead Heart, and Lady
Gwendoline's Dream... 10
306 A Golden
Golden Dawn, and
Love for a Dar.
..
307 Two Kisses, and Like no
Other Love.
308 Beyond Pardon...
20
20
322 A Woman's Love-Story. 20
323 A Willful Maid...
411 A Bitter Atonement.
433 My Sister Kate.....
459 A Woman's Temptation.
(Large type edition).... 20
951 A Woman's Temptation. 10
460 Under a Shadow
20
?
--
·
..
•
•• •
сл
5
465 The Earl's Atonement..
466 Between Two Loves…….... 25
467 A Struggle for a Ring.
469 Lady Damer's Secret.
470 Evelyn's Folly.
20
20
471 Thrown on the World... 25
476 Between Two Sins; or,
Married in Haste.
516 Put Asunder; or, Lady
Castlemaine's Divorce. 20
576 Her Martyrdom..
626 A Fair Mystery; or, The
Perils of Beauty
20
741 The Heiress of Hilldrop;
or, The Romance of a
Young Girl.....
••••
9 9 9 9 RRRRA R-RAKRRRK ÷ 88 *
982 The Duke's Secret.
985 On Her Wedding Morn,
and The Mystery of the
Holly-Tree..
10
988 The Shattered Idol, and
Letty Leigh...
10
20
10
20
745 For Another's Sin; or, A
Struggle for Love………….. 25
792 Set in Diamonds....
25
821 The World Between
10
25
Them...
822 A Passion Flower.
853 A True Magdalen.
854 A Woman's Error.
922 Marjorie.
25
924 "Twixt Smile and Tear... 25
927 Sweet Cymbeline...
929 The Belle of Lynn; or,
The Miller's Daughter.. 20
931 Lady Diana's Pride..
949 Claribel's Love Story; or,
Love's Hidden Depths.. 20
958 A Haunted Life; or, Her
Terrible Sin..
20
20
** **Q*220 88 2 8 RRRR
25
25
25
969 The Mystery of Colde
Fell; or, Not Proven... 20
973 The Squire's Darling.... 2
975 A Dark Marriage Mörn.. 20
978 Her Second Love..
20
20
25
20
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
•
}
....
990 The Earl's Error, and
Arnold's Promise...
995 An Unnatural Bondage,
and That Beautiful
Lady.
20
··
1006 His Wife's Judgment.... 20
1008 A Thorn in Her Heart.. 25
1010 Golden Gates..
1012 A Nameless Sin.
20
1014 A Mad Love.
25
4 •
20
1031 Irene's Vow.
1052 Signa's Sweetheart.
1091 A Modern Cinderella. 10
1134 Lord Elesmere's Wife.... 25
1155 Lured Away; or, The
Story of a Wedding-
Ring, and The Heiress
of Arne..
·
15 Jane Eyre..
57 Shirley.
944 The Professor....
• ·
...
Rhoda Broughton.
20
10
1179 Beauty's Marriage.
1185 A Fiery Ordeal..
1195 Dumaresq's Temptation. 20
1285 Jenny...
20
20
1291 The Star of Love...... 20
1328 Lord Lisle's Daughter... 10
1415 Weaker than a Woman. 20
1628 Love Works Wonders... 20
2010 Her Only Sin..
2011 A Fatal Wedding.
2012 A Bright Wedding-Day..
2013 One Against Many
2014 One False Step..
2015 Two Fair Women...
10
Fredrika Bremer.
187 The Midnight Sun....... 10
John Francis Brewer.
1911 The Curse upon Mitre
Square
Charlotte Bronte.
1686 Sœur Louise.
...
....
· O
.. •
..
•
•
25
•
224222*OOR
Louise de Bruneval.
20
20
25
25
25
25
25
86 Belinda.
101 Second Thoughts.
227 Nancy.
645 Mrs. Smith of Longmains 10
•
758 Good-bye,
Sweet-
10
25
25
20
heart!'
20
765 Not Wisely, But Too Well 20
767 Joan..
20
768 Red as a Rose is She.
2222 22224-22
20
20
769 Cometh Up as a Flower. 25
10
862 Betty's Visions.
894 Doctor Cupid..
1599 Alas!....
20
20
20
20
Robert Buchanan.
Storm Beaten:" God
and The Man...
154 Annan Water....
181 The New Abelard.
268 The Martyrdom of Mad-
eline...
398 Matt: A Tale of a Cara-
van..
10
468 The Shadow of the Sword 25
646 The Master of the Mine. 25
892 That Winter Night; or,
Love's Victory.
1074 Stormy Waters.
1104 The Heir of Linne.
1350 Love Me Forever.
1455 The Moment After.
145
..
•
1354 Delicia...
2019 Miss Molly.
……….
...
••••
Beatrice M. Butt.
1456 Nimport..
1460 Tritons......
· ··
•
Lord Byron.
...
•
Mrs. Caddy.
127 Adrian Bright………….
1234 The Deemster.
1255 The Bondman.
··
John Bunyan.
1498 The Pilgrim's Progress.. 20
Captain Fred Burnaby.
330"Our Radicals".
375 A Ride to Khiva.
384 On Horseback Through
Asia Minor..
..
•
719 Childe Harold's Pilgrim-
age..
KRO * ORK ORROK
John Bloundelle-Burton.
913 The Silent Shore; or,
The Mystery of St.
James' Park..
20
25
25
10
...
25
10
•
20
10
25
Author of "By Crooked
Paths."
430 A Bitter Reckoning..... 10
E. Lasseter Bynner.
25
20
25
22223223
20
25
E. Fairfax Byrrne.
521 Entangled..
20
538 A Fair Country Maid……... 20
30
30
10
Hall Caine.
445 The Shadow of a Crime. 25
520 She's All the World to
Me...
20
10
20
20
Mona Caird.
20 1899 The Wing of Azrael…………. 20
POCKET EDITION.
7.
Ada Cambridge.
1583 A Marked Man..
1967 My Guardian.
Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron.
595 A North Country Maid.. 20
796 In a Grass Country….
891 Vera Nevill; or, Poor
Wisdom's Chance.
912 Pure Gold…………
963 Worth Winning
1025 Daisy's Dilemma.
1028 A Devout Lover; or, A
·
+ •
……….
Prince
1782 A Dead Past..
1819 Neck or Nothing.
1991 Proved Unworthy.
• •
·
Wasted Love.
20
1070 A Life's Mistake.
20
1204 The Lodge by the Sea... 20
1205 A Lost Wife..
1292 Bosky Dell...
1549 The Cruise of the Black
4
•
• • ·
···
1236 Her Father's Daughter.. 20
1261 Wild George's Daughter. 20
1290 The Cost of a Lie..
20
20
1208 Merle's Crusade...
1545 Lover or Friend?.
1879 Mary St. John…….
1965 Averil ...
1966 Our Bessie
1968 Herlot's Choice.
.. • •
Lady Colin Campbell.
1325 Darell Blake...
•
...
•
934 Wooed and Married. 1st
half.
934 Wooed and Married. 2d
half...
936 Nellie's Memories. 1st
half..
936 Nellie's Memories. 2d
half..
20
25
...
22 2222 22222222 **-*
20
20
..
Basil
20
20
1556 The Midnight Mass
20
1557 Phil Purcel..
1558 An Irish Oath..
20
25
25
10
25
20
Lewis Carroll.
462 Alice's Adventures in
Wonderland. Illustrated
by John Tenniel……………….. 20
789 Through the Looking-
Glass, and What Alice
Found There. Illustra-
ted by John Tenniel.... 20
Cervantes.
1576 Don Quixote
Rosa Nouchette Carey.
L. W. Champney.
215 Not Like Other Girls... 25 1468 Bourbon Lilies……….
396 Robert Ord's Atonement 25
551 Barbara Heathcote's
Trial. 1st half..
551 Barbara Heathcote's
···
Trial. 2d half..
608 For Lilias. 1st half.
608 For Lilias. 2d balf.
Victor Cherbuliez,
930 Uncle Max. 1st half.... 20 1516 Samuel Brohl & Co.....
930 Uncle Max. 2d half... 20 2001 Joseph Noerrel's Re-
932 Queenie's Whim. 1st half 25
932ueenie's Whim. 2d half 25
venge....
** * 480AAKH 8 4 2 2224. AKAAM1919
25
20
20
20
961 Wee Wife.
1033 Esther: A Story for Girls 20
1064 Only the Governess...
1135 Aunt Diana…………
1194 The Search for
Lyndhurst....
25
20
20
William Carleton.
25
20
30
30
20
1493 Willy Reilly.
1552 Shane Fadh's Wedding.. 10
1553 Larry McFarland's Wake 10
1554 The Party Fight and
Funeral.....
25
••
1560 Going to Maynooth..
1561 Phelim O'Toole's Court-
ship.
•••
1562 Dominick, the Poor
Scholar.
1564 Neal Malone.
..
...
2020 Count Kostia.
2021 Prosper.
• • •
4
•*•
RAA AAA89 9 99
Erckmann-Chatrian.
25 329 The Polish Jew. (Trans-
lated from the French
by Caroline A. Merighi.) 10
20
10
10
Alice Comyns Carr.
571 Paul Crew's Story....... 10
10
•
· • •
10
10
10
10
10
30
20
Mrs. C. M. Clarke.
1801 More True than Truthful 20
20
25
25
25
W. M. Clemens.
1544 Famous Funny Fellows. 20
J. Maclaren Cobban.
485 Tinted Vapours..
10
1279 Master of His Fate... 20
1511 A Reverend Gentleman. 20
1953 The Horned Cat...
25
John Coleman.
504 Curly: An Actor's Story 10
C. R. Coleridge.
403 An English Squire..
20
25 1689 A Near Relation....... 20
1
- 8
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
t
Beatrice Collensie.
1352 A Double Marriage...... 20
Mabel Collins.
749 Lord Vanecourt's Daugh-
ter....
20
828 The Prettiest Woman in
Warsaw.
20
·
1463 Ida: An Adventure in
Morocco..
10
...
Wilkie Collins.
• ...
•••
52 The New Magdalen...
102 The Moonstone......
167 Heart and Science..
168 No Thoroughfare. By
Dickens and Collins.... 10
175 Love's Random Shot,
and Other Stories.. 10
233 "I Say No;" or, The
Love-Letter Answered. 20
508 The Girl at the Gate..... 10
591 The Queen of Hearts……….. 25
613 The Ghost's Touch, and
Percy and the Prophet. 10
623 My Lady's Money
701 The Woman in White.
1st half...
....
10
701 The Woman in White.
2d half..
20
..
2d half. 20
20
702 Man and Wife. 1st half. 20
702 Man and Wife.
764 The Evil Genius..
896 The Guilty River.
946 The Dead Secret..
977 The Haunted Hotel.
1029 Armadale. 1st half.
20
25
25
1st half..... 25
2d half
1029 Armadale.
25
•
--
❤
1
1095 The Legacy of Cain.
1119 No Name. 1st half,
1119 No Name. 2d half.
1269 Blind Love…….
1347 A Rogue's Life.
1608 Tales of Two Idle Ap-
··
……….
• •
Hugh Conway.
• •
M. J. Colquhoun.
624 Primus in Indis....
1469 Every Inch a Soldier
• •
• •
•
prentices. By Charles
Dickens and Wilkie Col-
lins..
1895 Miss or Mrs.?.
•
•
• • •
2
....
25
25
20
20* 0 2 22222***KOKK22
20
20
25
25
20
20
22220
10
20
240 Called Back...
25
10
251 The Daughter of the
Stars, and Other Tales.. 10
301 Dark Days....
302 The Blatchford Bequest. 10
341 A Dead Man's Face..
502 Carriston's Gift...
10
10
525 Paul Vargas, and Other
Stories....
".
543 A Family Affair.
601 Slings and Arrows, and
Other Stories..
711 A Cardinal Sin.
804 Living or Dead.
830 Bourd by a Spell.
1353 All In One...
·
1684 Story of a Sculptor..
1722 Somebody's Story.
••••
S
• • •
•
……….
J. Fenimore Cooper.
60 The Last of the Mohi-
cans...
+4
63 The Spy.
309 The Pathfinder.
310 The Prairie…….
... 25
318 The Pioneers; or, The
Sources of the Susque-
hanna...
• ·
•
•
•
••
..
349 The Two Admirals.
359 The Water-Witch..
361 The Red Rover.
373 Wing and Wing.
378 Homeward Bound; or,
The Chase....
379 Home as Found. (Sequel
to "Homeward Bound") 20
380 Wyandotte; or, The Hut-
ted Knoll
....
385 The Headsman; or, The
Abbaye des Vignerons 20
394 The Bravo......
20
397 Lionel Lincoln; or, The
Leaguer of Boston..... 20
400 The Wept of Wish-Ton-
Wish...
……….
* 282220
424 Mercedes of Castile; or,
··
10
10
25
25
20
20
22232 2 2 2 22 2 22
20
20
20
413 Afloat and Ashore.
414 Miles Wallingford. (Se-
"Afloat and
20
quel to
Ashore").
415 The Ways of the Hour.. 20
416 Jack Tier; or, The Flor-
ida Reef....
20
419 The Chainbearer; or, The
Littlepage Manuscripts 20
420 Satanstoe; or, The Little-
page_Manuscripts...... 20
421 The Redskins;~ or, In-
dian and Injin. Being
the conclusion of the
Littlepage Manuscripts 25
422 Precaution...
20
423 The Sea Lions; or, The
Lost Sealers
25
20
20
25
20
20
The Voyage to Cathay.. 20
425 The Oak-Openings; or,
The Bee-Hunter..
*2 2 2 22 2 28
20
20
431 The Monikins..
··
1062 The Deerslayer; or, The
First War-Path. 1st half 20
1062 The Deerslayer; or, The
First War-Path. 2d half. 20
10 1170 The Pilot..
20
20
POCKET EDITION.
Marie Corelli.
1068 Vendetta! or, The Story
of One Forgotten..
1131 Thelma. 1st half.
1131 Thelma. 2d half.
1329 My Wonderful Wife!.... 10
1563 Wormwood..
20
25
Kinahan Cornwallis.
1601 Adrift With a Vengeance 30
Madame Cottin.
1366 Elizabeth..
.....
1917 Fleurange..
Augustus ('raven.
Georgiana M. Craik.
450 Godfrey Helstone...
606 Mrs. Hollyer...
1681 A Daughter of the People 20
•
Oswald Crawfurd.
..
B. M. Croker.
207 Pretty Miss Neville....
260 Proper Pride....
412 Some One Else..
1124 Diana Barrington..
1607 Two Masters...
··
··
·
• ••
25
25
242 The Two Orphans....... 10
Count De Gobineau.
1606 Typhaines Abbey.... .. 30
Hugh De Normand.
1454 The Gypsy Queen…………..
Thomas De Quincey.
1739 Sylvia Arden…….
R. K. Criswell.
1684 Grandfather Lickshingle 20 1059 Confessions of an En-
glish Opium-Eater..... 20
10
1380 The Spanish Nun...
Earl of Desart.
1301 The Little Chatelaine…….. 20
1817 Lord and Lady Piccadilly 20
1853 Herne Lodge...
20
Maria S. Cummins.
1984 The Lamplighter....
10
··
May Crommelin.
452 In the West Countrie…….. 20
619 Joy; or, The Light of
Cold Home Ford..
647 Goblin Gold…….
1327 Midge...
1399 Violet Vyvian, M.F.H..
1902 The Freaks of Lady For-
tune..
R. H. Dana, Jr.
311 Two Years Before the
Mast...
25
....
20
25
10
25
Daniel Defoe.
25 1312 Robinson Crusoe....
20
R. D'Ennery.
25
20
Stuart C. Cumberland.
641 The Rabbi's Spell........ 10
2 2 RR 2
20
20
Mrs. Dale.
1806 Fair and False..
1808 Behind the Silver Veil... 20
20
25
Alphonse Daudet.
25
Frank Danby.
1379 The Copper Crash...... 20
Joyce Darrell.
163 Winifred Power....
534 Jack..
20
574 The Nabob: A Story of
Parisian Life and Man-
ners....
25
1368 Lise Tavernier……
10
1629 Tartarin of Tarascon. 20
1666 Sidonie……….
20
1670 The Little Good-for-Noth-
ing..
25
10 1086 Nora
20 1418 Irene.
20
20
...
C. Debans.
1626 A Sheep in Wolf's Cloth-
ing...
Carl Detlef.
Elsa D'Esterre-Keeling.
382 Three Sisters..
•
··
··
20
... 30
·
20
10
2220
Charles Dickens.
10 The Old Curiosity Shop. 25
22 David Copperfield Vol. I 20
22 David Copperfiel. Vol.
II...
20
24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. I 20
24 Pickwick Papers. Vol. II 20
37 Nicholas Nickleby. 1st
half....
25
37 Nicholas
Nickleby. 2d
half...
25
25
41 Oliver Twist..
77 A Tale of Two Cities………. 25
84 Hard Times..
10
91 Barnaby Rudge. 1st half 25
91 Barnaby Rudge. 2d half 25
94 Little Dorrit. 1st half.. 20
94 Little Dorrit. 2d half... 20
106 Bleak House. 1st half.. 20
106 Bleak House. 2d half……. 20
107 Dombey and Son. 1st
half....
25
10
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
107 Dombey and Son. 2d half 25
108 The Cricket on the
Hearth, and Doctor Mar-
igold..
……….
...
131 Our Mutual Friend. 1st
*
half....
181 Our Mutual Friend. 2d
half...
182 Master Humphrey's
Clock.
20
10
182 The Uncommercial Trav-
eler...
20
10
168 No Thoroughfare. By
Dickens and Collins……... 10
169 The Haunted Man.
437 Life and Adventures of
Martin Chuzzlewit. 1st
half..
456 Sketches by Boz.
Illus-
trative of
Every-day
Life and Every-day
People..
676 A Child's History of Eng-
•••
land..
731 The Boy at Mugby...
1820 Sketches of Young Cou-
ples...,
437 Life and Adventures of
Martin Chuzzlewit. 2d
half..
25
439 Great Expectations..... 20
440 Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings 10
447 American Notes..
20
448 Pictures From Italy, and
The Mudfog Papers, &c 20
454 The Mystery of Edwin
Drood...
20
""
612 My Wife's Niece......
Sarah Dondney.
··
•
·· •
Richard Dowling.
1829 Miracle Gold...
1834 A Baffling Quest..
10
.་ ··
1529 The Haunted House, etc. 10
1533 A Christmas Carol, etc.. 20
1541 Somebody's Luggage... 10
1608 Tales of Two Ile "Ap-
prentices. By Charles
Dickens and Wilkie Col-
lins...
•
1746 A House of Tears.
1792 In One Town...
Edmund Downey.
2
Rt. Hon. Benjamin Disra-
eli, Earl of Beaconsfield.
793 Vivian Grey. 1st half... 20
733 Vivian Grey. 2d half... 20
Author of “Dr. Edith Rom-
ney.
•
10
20
•
22-25
·
338 The Family Difficulty... 10
679 Where Two Ways Meet. 10
* 20 AARA
25
10
20
20
20
20
A. Conan Doyle.
1305 The Firm of Girdlestone 20
1894 The White Company.... 20
1980 A Study in Scarlet...... 25
Edith Stewart Drewry.
1846 Baptized With a Curse.. 20
Gustav Droz.
2002 Babolain
...
Henry Drummond.
1813 The Greatest Thing in
the World...
•
F. Du Boisgobey,
82 Sealed Lips..
104 The Coral Pin. 1st half. 25
104 The Coral Pin. 2d half…. 25
264 Piédouche, a French De-
tective..
………….
•
25
····
328 Babiole, the Pretty Mil-
liner. First half.
328 Babiole, the Pretty Mil-
liner. Second half.. 20
453 The Lottery Ticket…..………. 20
475 The Prima Donna's Hug-
band....
...
522 Zig-Zag, the Clown; or,
The Steel Gauntlets.... 20
523 The Consequences of a
Duel. A Parisian Ro-
mance..
2 234 2 2 22 2 2
20
1082 The Severed Hand. 2d
half....
25
1085 The Matapan Affair. 1st
half..
10
20
648 The Angel of the Bells.. 20
697 The Pretty Jailer. 1st
half....
1085 The Matapan Affair. 2d
half..
4
20
··
697 The Pretty Jailer. 2d half 25
699 The Sculptor's Daugh-
ter. 1st half.
20
82 ** * *22 22222 222 2 2 2
699 The Sculptor's Daugh-
ter. 2d half..
25
782 The Closed Door. 1st half 20
782 The Closed Door 2d half 20
851 The Cry of Blood.
18t
25
half…….
20
851 The Cry of Blood. 2d half 20
918 The Red Band. 1st half 20
918 The Red Band. 2d half 20
942 Cash on Delivery..
1076 The Mystery of an Omni-
20
bus..
20
1080 Bertha's Secret. 1st half 20
1080 Bertha's Secret. 2d half 20
1082 The Severed Hand. 1st
half.....
25
20
20
20
20
1088 The Old Age of Mon-
sieur Lecoq. 1st half.. 20
20 1088 The Old Age of Mon-
20
sieur Lecoq. 2d half.. 20
POCKET EDITION.
11
20
.......
1730 The Blue Veil..
1762 The Detective's Eye..... 10
1765 The Red Lottery Ticket. 20
1777 A Fight for a Fortune... 20
"The Duchess.'
2 Molly Bawn.
6 Portia.
·
·
་་
•
14 Airy Fairy Lilian.
16 Phyllis
···
10
25
25 Mrs. Geoffrey.
type edition)…….
950 Mrs. Geoffrey.
29 Beauty's Daughters.
30 Faith and Unfaith....
118 Loys, Lord Berresford,
and Eric Dering...
119 Monica, and A Rose Dis-
till'd..
10
123 Sweet is True Love... 10
129 Rossmoyne…….
134 The Witching Hour, and
Other Stories..
10
10
10
136
"That Last Rehearsal,"
and Other Stories...... 10
166 Moonshine and Marguer-
ites....
10
171 Fortune's Wheel, and
Other Stories..
10
20
862 Ugly Barrington..
875 Lady
•
"6
(Large
·
•
·
....
•
·
monds..
1009 In an Evil Hour, and
Other Stories..
1209 A Troublesome Girl..
1249 A Life's Remorse.
1338 A Born Coquette..
40 ·
•
1016 A Modern Circe.
1035 The Duchess
1047 Marvel...
1103 The Honorable Mrs.
.
Vereker..
1123 Under-Currents....
1197 "Jerry."- That Night
in June." - A Wrong
Turning. Irish Love
and Marriage...
284 Doris
312 A Week's Amusement;
or, A Week in Killarney 10
342 The Baby, and One New
Year's Eve..
10
390 Mildred Trevanion. .. 10
404 In Durance Vile, and
Other Stories...
•
10
983 Uarda..
486 Dick's Sweetheart....... 25 1056 The Bride of the Nile.
1st half.
494 A Maiden All Forlorn,
and Barbara..
517 A Passive Crime, and
Other Stories ..
WAKK RAS
25
20
1
··
25
25
25
10
A
10
10
25
541 As It Fell Upon a Day"
733 Lady Branksmere.
771 A Mental Struggle..
20
785 The Haunted Chamber. 10 | 1101 An
1101 An Egyptian Princess.
Vol. II.....
10
………………
Valworth's Dia- 1106 The Emperor.
20
1112 Only a Word.
1114 The Sisters.
25
1198 Gred of Nuremberg. A
20
Romance of the Fif-
teenth Century...
1266 Joshua: A Biblical Pict-
ure….
20
25
1363 "April's Lady'
1453 Her Last Throw.
1862 A Little Irish Girl.
1891 A Little Rebel......
20
20
10
20
25
20
Alexander Dumas,
55 The Three Guardsmen.. 30
75 Twenty Years After..... 25
262 The Count of Monte-
Cristo. Part I..
•*•
262 The Count of Monte.
Cristo. Part II.
717 Beau Tancrede: or, The
Marriage Verdict.
1059 Masaniello; or, The Fish-
erman of Naples..
1340 The Son of Monte-Cristo.
1st half...
1340 The Son of Monte-Cristo.
2d half..
1642 Monte-Cristo and His
Wife. A Sequel to the
"Count of Monte-
Cristo."
…………
1645 The Countess of Monte-
Cristo. (Part I.).
1645 The Countess of Monte-
Cristo. (Part II.)......
1676 Camille..
………
··
474 Serapis.
Novel..
10 1056 The Bride of the Nile.
2d half...
George Ebers,
An Historical
Sara Jeannette Duncan.
1852 An American Girl in Lou-
don....
•
Maria Edgeworth.
708 Ormond
788 The Absentee. An Irish
Story,
1948 Popular Tales
Amelia B. Edwards.
99 Barbara's History.
354 Hand and Glove...
2232
► • •
20
20
25
20
ON 8 8 2 2 2 2
30
30
25
20
20
20
2 2 22
20
20
20
10
25
1094 Homo Sum...
1097 The Burgomaster's Wife 20
1101 An Egyptian Princess.
Vol. I...
*2 * 422 * H*22
25
20
25
25
20
25
25
25
20
20
2 20
20
ક ક
25
20
25
12
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
1364 My Brother's Wife....... 20
1901 Miss Carew....
20
Mrs, Annie Edwards,
20
20
644 A. Girton Girl....
834 A Ballroom Repentance. 20 1625 Christmas Stories.
835 Vivian the Beauty.
836 A Point of Honor.
837 A Vagabond Heroine.... 10
838 Ought We to Visit Her!.. 20
839 Leah: A Woman of
Fashion.
20
B. L. Farjeon,
179 Little Make-Believe.
573 Love's Harvest...
607 Self-Doomed...
616 The Sacred Nugget.
657 Christinas Angel..
20
20
10
...
907 The Bright Star of Life. 20
909 The Nine of Hearts.. 25
1383 The Mystery of M. Felix. 20
1518 Gautran..
20
841 Jet: Her Face or Her
Fortune?.
………
··
842 A Blue-Stocking.
843 Archie Lovell.
844 Susan Fielding.
845 Philip Earnscliffe ; or,
The Morals of May Fair 20
846 Steven Lawrence. 1st
half...
• • • •
20
846 Steven Lawrence. 2d half220
850 A Playwright's Daughter 10
H. Sutherland Edwards.
917 The Case of Reuben Ma-
lachi..
Other Poems.
1504 Brother Jacob..
...
Mrs. C. J. Eiloart.
114 Some of Our Girls.... 20
George Eliot.
25
3 The Mill on the Floss....
31 Middlemarch. 1st half.. 20
31 Middlemarch. 2d half.. 20
34 Daniel Deronda. 1st half 20
1441 Amos Barton
..
1501 The Spanish Gypsy, and
...
10
10
20
20
34 Daniel Deronda. 2d half. 20 1989 Aunt Parker.
36 Adam Bede. 1st half... 25
36 Adam Bede. 2d half.
42 Romola..
693 Felix Holt, the Radical.. 20
707 Silas Marner: The
Weaver of Raveloe
... 25
•
728 Janet's Repentance... 25
762 Impressions of Theo-
phrastus Such..
4 *
Frances Elliot.
381 The Red Cardinal.......
Eva Evergreen.
1358 Agatha.
Juliana Horatia Ewing.
752 Jackanapes, and Other
Stories...
1880 A Flat Iron for a Farth-
ing...
10
•
422 ** ** 20
10
Olive P. Fairchild.
1800 A Choice of Chance…………… 25
1802 A Struggle for Love..... 20
H. Farley.
10
10
20
• •
10
20
•
***
1735 A Very Young Couple... 20
1790 A Secret Inheritance..
··· •
1791 Basil and Annette.... 30
1812 Merry, Merry Boys. 20
1816 The Peril of Richard
Pardon....
1875 A Blood White Rose..
1881 Grif...
....
1889 The Duchess of Ros-
mary Lane..
1890 Toilers of Babylon...... 20
1947 Ties Human and Divine.
Part I.....
1947 Ties Human and Divine.
Part II.
•
...
G. Manville Fenn,
•
·
...
..
Kate Eyre,
1799 Lady Maude's Mania.
1804 A Step in the Dark…….... 20 1815 A Double Knot..
25
10
20
10
25 Hon. Mrs. Featherstonhaugh
20 1343 Dream Faces..........
Heinrich Felbermann,
355 The Princess Dagomar
of Poland..
224AR R2R 22 * ?? LPL 201
•
1802 The Master of the Cere-
•
1962 For the Defence. Part I 25
1962 For the Defence. Part II 25
1988 Doctor Glennie's Daugh-
ter..
25
20
20
20
20
25
25
193 The Rosery Folk...
558 Poverty Corner.
10
20
587 The Parson o' Dumford. 20
609 The Dark House.
1169 Commodore Junk.
1276 The Mynns' Mystery.
10 1293 In Jeopardy.
25
25
20
A ARRARAR RAKARRAMARR
10
20
20
monies...
1813 Eve at the Wheel.
1344 One Maid's Mischief.
1387 Eli's Children.
1680 This Man's Wife.
1694 The Bag of Diamonds... 20
1743 The Haute Noblesse..... 20
1749 Story of Anthony Grace. 25
1788 Black Blood..
20
20
20
25
20
{
POCKET EDITION.
13
1824 A Mint of Money
1936 A Golden Dream.
2016 The Golden Magnet..
....
Mrs. Forrester.
Octave Feuillet.
10
...
46
66 The Romance of a Poor
Young Man...
386 Led Astray; or. · La
Petite Comtesse
10
1427 A Marriage in High Life 20
Gertrude Forde.
19
•
1072 Only a Coral Girl..
1349 In the Old Palazzo..
R. E. Forrest.
879 The Touchstone of Peril. 20
1858 Eight Days……….
20
80 June..
280 Omnia Vanitas. A Tale
••
•
•
736 Roy and Viola..
740 Rhona.
744 Diana Carew; or, For a
Woman's Sake..
►
of Society.
484 Although He Was a
Lord, and Other Tales. 10
715 I Have Lived and Loved 20
721 Dolores.
20
Jessie Fothergill,
20
25
25
314 Peril..
572 Healey
935 Borderland
1099 The Lasses of Lever-
Francesca.
53 The Story of Ida……
20
20
729 Mignon……….
732 From Olympus to Hades 25
734 Viva……..
20
20
20
·
& 2 ARR2**R*222 224
20
………
10
724 My Lord and My Lady... 20 1286 Ellen Middleton....
726 My Hero………
20
727 Fair Women...
883 Once Again….
1637 A Young Man's Fancy.. 25
25
20
20
20
20
25
20
A. Franklyn.
1470 Ameline de Bourg...
20
1566 A Real Queen...
1825 King or Knave?….
25
20
2003 Under Slieve Ban…………….. 25
2007 The New Duchess...
25
10
20
L. Virginia French.
1633 My Roses......
Mrs. Alexander Fraser.
1351 She Came Between...... 20
1826 The Match of the Season 20
1928 A Fashionable Marriage 25
J. A. Froude.
1180 The Two Chiefs of Dun-
boy; or, An Irish Ro-
mance of the Last Cent-
ury...
Charlotte French.
387 The Secret of the Cliffs.. 20
R. E. Francilion.
135 A Great Heiress: A Fort-
une in Seven Checks... 10
319 Face to Face: A Fact in
Seven Fables..
360 Ropes of Sand.
656 The Golden Flood. By
R. E. Francillon and
Wm. Senior..
10
911 Golden Bells.......…、 20 1923 Avatar
KRKK
Lady Georgiana Fullerton.
···
• -
••
20
20
1045 The 13th Hussars.
house.
25
1275 A March in the Ranks... 20
1377 The First Violin..
1843 Kith and Kin
1978 From Moor Isles.
1999 One of Three..
20
··
25
1078 The Slaves of Paris.
Blackmail. 1st half.... 25
25 1078 The Slaves of Paris.
The Champdoce Secret.
2d half...
25
10
10 1083 The Little Old Man of
the Batignolles...
1167 Captain Cortanceau..... 20
Edward Garrett.
352 At Any Cost.....
Mrs. Gaskell.
938 Cranford...
Theophile Gautier.
Emile Gaboriau,
25
7 File No. 113...
12 Other People's Money... 20
20 Within an Inch of His
Life..
4
20
26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol I. 20
26 Monsieur Lecoq. Vol. II 20
33 The Clique of Gold.
.... 20
38 The Widow Lerouge.... 20
43 The Mystery of Orcival. 25
144 Promises of Marriage... 10
979 The Count's Secret.
Part I..
979 The Count's Secret.
Part II...
20
1002 Marriage at a Venture.. 20
1015 A Thousand Francs Re-
ward
20
••
•
20
20
20
20
20
10
20
25
14
Lengtesk
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
Henry George
1935 Dick Rodney.
25
1946 The Condition of Labor. 25 1950 The Adventures of Rob
Roy.
25
Charles Gibbons.
64 A Maiden Fair..
317 By Mead and Stream.
1277 Was Ever Woman in this
Humor Wooed?.....
1434 The Golden Shaft..
1795 The Dead Heart.
1874 Blood Money
1886 Beyond Compare.
1913 Amoret
1921 What Would You Do,
Love? ...
...
Theo. Gift.
1300 Lil Lorimer..
1435 Dishonored
D. Cecil Gibbs.
807 If Love Be Love...
·
.
4
1844 Pretty Miss Bellew..
1994 Victims.
2004 Maid Ellice.
•
Goethe.
•
Gilbert and Sullivan.
692 The Mikado, and Other
Comic Operas....
·
...
1043 Faust....
Howard J. Goldsmid.
1883 Riven Asunder…….
AR RRRR24 8
10
20
...
20
20
25
30
22223
20
20
Annabel Gray.
20 1374 Terribly Tempted....... 10
Arnold Gray.
20
20
R. Murray Gilchrist.
1703 Passion the Plaything... 10
Wenona Gilman.
20
Maxwell Gray.
1034 The Silence of Dean Mait-
land...
25 1182 The Reproach of Annes-
ley..
··
1839 In the Heart of the
Storm....
20
25 1678 Frankley..
25
20
20
20
Oliver Goldsmith.
801 She Stoops to Conquer,
and The Good-Natured
Man...
10
1816 The Vicar of Wakefield.. 10
Edward Goodman.
1081 Too Curious...
Mrs. Gore.
1449 The Dean's Daughter.
Barbara Graham.
532 Arden Court..
....
20
Miss Grant.
222 The Sun-Maid.
555 Cara Roma........
20
20
965 Periwinkle
James Grant,
566 The Royal Highlanders;
or, The Black Watch in
Egypt....
781 The Secret Dispatch..... 10
25
...
•
Henri Greville.
……………
Tales.
1794 Oni...
Ida Linn Girard.
1860 A Dangerous Game...... 20 Author of "Guilty Without
Crime."
545 Vida's Story.
Arthur Griffith.
614 No. 99....
680 Fast and. Loose.
Cecil Griffith.
583 Victory Deane.....
Brothers Grimm.
1509 Grimm's Fairy
(Illustrated.)....
...
··
Guinevere.
1805 Little Jewel....
···
··
...
20
25
941 Jess..
959 Dawn.
989 Allan Quatermain..
1049 A Tale of Three Lions,
20
25
20
20
..
20
··
10
20
20
Lieutenant J. W. Gunnison.
1610 History of the Mormons. 20
F. W. Hacklander.
1669 Forbidden Fruit......... 25
20
H. Rider Haggard.
432 The Witch's Head………………. 20
753 King Solomon's Mines.. 20
910 She: A History of Ad-
venture...
10
20
and On Going Back.... 25
1100 Mr. Meeson's Will.
1105 Maiwa's Revenge.
·
1140 Colonel Quaritch, V. C... 20
1145 My Fellow Laborer..
20
82 **82 KAARZ
20
POCKET EDITION.
15
1190 Cleopatra: Being an Ac-
count of the Fall and
Vengeance of Har
machis, the Royal Egyp-
tian, as Set Forth by his
own Hand..
1248 Allan's Wife...
1335 Beatrice...
1635 The World's Desire. By
H. Rider Haggard and
Andrew Lang
1849 Eric Brighteyes..
……….
··
1309 Desperate Remedies.
1430 Two on a Tower..
Joseph Hatton.
•••
•
189 The Romantic Advent-
ures of a Milkmaid.... 10
580 A Pair of Blue Eyes.... 25
690 Far From the Madding
Crowd...
25
791 The Mayor of Caster-
bridge...
945 The Trumpet-Major.
957 The Woodlanders.
·
an
•
John B. Harwood,
143 One False, Both Fair.... 20
358 Within the Clasp.....
1307 The Lady Egeria..
20
20
10
•
20
25
•
1390 Clytie.....
20
1429 By Order of the Czar…….. 20
··
1480 Cruel London..
1764 The Abbey Murder.
1786 The Great World..
2008 A Modern Ulysses...
20/
20
20
25
...
Ok
W. Heimburg.
Ludovic Halevy.
994 A Penniless Orplan….
George Halse.
1785 The Weeping Ferry..... 20
Thomas Hardy.
1408 L'Abbé Constantin……….. 20 1175 A Tale of an Old Castle.. 20
1188 My Heart's Darling….
1216 The Story of a Clergy-
man's Daughter..
1242 Lenore Von Tollen.
1270 Gertrude's Marriage..... 20
1289 Her Only Brother...
20
Fr. Henkel.
1030 The Mistress of Ibich-
stein...
20
G. A. Henty.
20
1224 The Curse of Carne's
20
Hold...
20 1818 A Hidden Foe...
20
25
H. Herman.
1973 A Laodicean….
1974 The Hand of Ethelberta 25 | 1419 Scarlet Fortune.
1975 The Return of the Native 25
1976 Under the Greenwood
Tree...
25
Nathaniel Hawthorne.
1590 Twice-Told Tales.
1592 Grandfather's Chair
1969 The Scarlet Letter...... 25
1970 Legends of the Province
20
Old
House....
1971 Mosses from
Manse..
1972 The New Adam and Eve 25
25
2220
& & & &N
20
25
Mary Cecil Hay.
65 Back to the Old Home.. 10
72 Old Myddelton's Money 20
196 Hidden Perils…….
25
197 For Her Dear Sake...... 20
224 The Arundel Motto...
281 The Squire's Legacy.
290 Nora's Love Test..
408 Lester's Secret..
678 Dorothy's Venture.
716 Victor and Vanquished.. 25
849 A Wicked Girl..
25
987 Brenda Yorke....
20
1026 A Dark Inheritance..
20
1620 Under the Will...
10
1673 My First Offer..
10
•
407 Tylney Hall..
Tighe Hopkins.
509 Nell Haffenden.
714
2006
•
•
...
half...
170 A Great Treason.
half....
•
...
Da
·
•
··
.
Arabella M. Hopkinson.
1348 Life's Fitful Fever..
Mary Hoppus.
170 A Great Treason.
1st
*******ARAA
20
80
25
25
20
By John Hill.
112 The Waters of Marah... 20
Mrs. Cashel-Hoey.
313 The Lover's Creed………………. 20
802 A Stern Chase....
20
Thomas Holcomb.
1369 The Counterfeiters of the
Cuyahoga...
10
Mrs. M. A. Holmes.
1338 A Woman's Vengeance.. 20
1546 Woman Against Woman 20
Thomas Hood.
22:
MAR 2822
25
20
20
20
20
20
Twixt Love and Duty... 20
The Incomplete Advent-
urer and the Boom in
Bell-Topps....
23
20
20
10
20
20
20
2d
20
16
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
Robert Houdin.
1406 The Tricks of the Greeks 20
Lady Constance Howard.
1859 Sweetheart and Wife.... 20
1884 Mollie Darling..
20
Thomas Hughes,
120 Tom Brown's School
Days at Rugby
1139 Tom Brown at Oxford.
Vol. I..
1139 Tom Brown at Oxford.
Vol. II..
Victor Hugo.
895 Les Misérables. Part I.. 25
885 Les Misérables. Part II. 25
885 Les Misérables. Part III.
25
Fergus W. Hume.
1075 The Mystery of a Han-
som Cab.
1127 Madam Midas.
1232 The Piccadilly Puzzle... 20
1425 The Man with a Secret.. 20
1904 The Girl From Malta.... 20
1934 The Year of Miracle. 25
1964 The Man Who Vanished 10
1992 Miss Mephistopheles.... 25
·
20
20
20
..
Chas. James,
1854 Galloping Days at the
Deanery..
1869 Against the Grain.
G. P. R. James.
218 Agnes Sorel.....
20
20
Harriet Jay.
334 A Marriage of Conveni-
ence...
10
1412 The Dark Colleen....... 20
Mrs. Alfred Hunt.
915 That Other Person. 1st
half..
20
915 That Other Person. 2d
half...
Stanley Huntley.
1466 The Spoopendyke Papers 20
L. Keith.
Jean Ingelow.
1563 Quite Another Story.... 20 1837 A Lost Illusion..
20
Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.
1792 The Rival Cousins......
Ralph Iron (Olive Schrei-
ner].
1120 The Story of an African
Farm.
32208
.. 20
Edward Jenkins.
458 A Week of Passion; or,
The Dilemma of Mr.
George Barton the
Younger.
20
810 The Secret of Her Life.. 20
Philippa Prittie Jephson.
176 An April Day.
Jerome K. Jerome.
1331 The Idle Thoughts of an
Idle Fellow.
Washington Irving.
643 The Sketch-Book of Ge-
offrey Crayon, Gent.... 25
1632 The Alhambra..
25 1440
·
H. T. Johnson.
20 1183 Jack of Hearts. A Story
20
of Bohemia……
Evelyn Kimball Johnson.
1361 Tangles Unravelled..... 20
1359 Stageland.
1517 Three Men in a Boat..... 25
...
··
1464 Dunallan..
1384 The History of Rasselas,
Samuel Johnson, LL.D.
Princeof Abyssinia..... 10
·
• •
H. H. Johnston.
1212 The History of a Slave.. 20
Author of "Judith Wynne."
332 Judith Wynne.
506 Lady Lovelace.
• • •
Grace Kennedy.
+
···
10
20909003
Mrs. Edward Kennard.
1092. A Glorious Gallop....... 20
1282 Matron or Maid..
1863 A Crack County
1871 Straight as a Die.
1924 The Girl in the Brown
Habit.
20 1985 Two Years Ago…….
10
...
•
10
20
22220
20
2222 *
20
20
20
25
John P. Kennedy.
Horse-Shoe Robinson... 30
Richard Ashe King.
1262 Passion's Slave.....
Charles Kingsley.
266 The Water-Babies..
1320 Hypatia..
309
20
028990
10
30
25
125 1
POCKET EDITION.
17
Henry Kingsley.
1710 Austin Eliot……….
..
1712 The Hillyars and the
Burtons...
1715 Leighton Court.
1718 Geoffrey Hamlyn..
·
...
• • •
133 Peter the Whaler.
761 Will Weatherhelm.
763 The Midshipman, Mar-
maduke Merry.
1568 Round the World..
1573 Mark Seaworth...
1577 The Young Foresters.
1580 Salt Water…………
1952 Dick Cheveley..
• • •
**
William H. G. Kingston.
117 A Tale of the Shore and
Ocean..
··
Beatrice Kipling.
1925 The Heart of a Maid
·
...
Andrew Lang.
773 The Mark of Cain…….
1635 The World's Desire.
20
...
2 228
………♥
20
•••
20
30
... 20
H. Rider Haggard and
Andrew Lang....
RAR AKKRRK
Rudyard Kipling.
1439 Plain Tales from the
Hills...
20
20
1443 Soldiers Three, and Other
Stories....
1479 The Phantom 'Rickshaw 20
1499 The Story of the Gadsbys 10
1719 The Light that Failed.. 20
1809 Under the Deodars, and
Other Tales ……….
10
1909 Mine Own People. Part I 25
1909 Mine Own People. Part II 25
1. I. Kraszewski.
1174 The Polish Princess..... 20
1207 The Princess and the
Jew....
20
Author of "Lady Gwendo-
len's Tryst.'
809 Witness My Hand...... 10
May Laffan.
681 A Singer's Story..
20
10
.. 25
20
20
25
20
25
25 1622 The Chase...
A. E. Lancaster.
1898 All's Dross But Love.... 10
•
10
By
20
M. E. Le Clerc.
1220 Mistress Beatrice Cope;
or, Passages in the Life
of a Jacobite's Daugh-
ter.
Mrs. Andrew Lang.
536 Dissolving Views....... 10
A. La Pointe.
1612 Rival Doctors........... 20
·
....
Hon. Emily Lawless.
748 Hurrish: A Study………………. 20
Vernon Loe.
399 Miss Brown.
859 Ottilie: An Eighteenth
Century Idyl. By Ver-
non Lee. The Prince of
the 100 Soups. Edited
by Vernon Lee..
1727 A Phantom Lover..
Jules Lermina.
..
...
Mrs. E. Lynn Linton.
-
25
By H. F. Lester.
1531 Hartas Maturin..
Charles Lever.
191 Harry Lorrequer.
212 Charles O'Malley, the
Irish Dragoon. 1st half 25
212 Charles O'Malley, the
Irish Dragoon. 2d half 25
243 Tom Burke of "Ours."
1st half...
25
243 Tom Burke of "Ours."
2d half....
25
20
Mrs. Lodge.
174 Under a Ban…..
Fanny Lewald,
436 Stella...
George Henry Lewes.
442 Ranthorpe...
20
Mary Linskill.
473 A Lost Son..
620 Between the Heather
and the Northern Sea.. 20
1687 In Exchange for a Soul. 20
122 Ione Stewart..
817 Stabbed in the Dark……….. 10
886 Paston Carew, Million-
aire and Miser
10 1109 Through the Long Nights
1st half...
1109 Through the Long Nights
2d half..
1417 Under Which Lord?.
1507 Sowing the Wind..
•
...
Təə
Author of "Lover and
Lord.'
""
510 A Mad Love..
Samuel Lover.
663 Handy Andy..
664 Rory O'More
1386 The Happy Man and the
Hall Porter.....
20
20
...
20
10
20
20
20
2º 8 8 28*
20
20
20
20
20
25
25
20
25
25
10
18
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
Henry W. Lucy.
1452 Gideon Fleyce...
Henry C. Lukens.
1475 Jets and Flashes……….
Edna Lyall.
738 In the Golden Days..
1147 Knight-Errant.
...
1149 Donovan: A Modern En-
glishman
Slander.
1206 Derrick
Novelist...
·
•••
1160 We Two.
1173 Won by Waiting..
1196 A Hardy Norseman.
1197 The Autobiography of a
10
··
66
•
1532 My Novel.
1532 My Novel.
1532 My Novel.
1534 Harold ...
··
2d half..
1339 The Caxtons..
1393 The Coming Race..
1420 The Haunted House.
1446 Zanoni…….
1448 Night and Morning.
1474 Money..
1485 Richelieu..
1492 Pelham..
1510 The Disowned.
1512 Kenelm Chillingly
1521 Devereux.
650 Alice; or, The Mysteries.
(A Sequel to Ernest
Maltravers ")...
………..
... 20
Vaughan
Sir E. Bulwer Lytton.
40 The Last Days of Pom-
peii...
83 A Strange Story
90 Ernest Maltravers. .. 20 1283 Cosette
130 The Last of the Barons.
1st half....
25
130 The Last of the Barons.
2d half...
20
181 The Lady of Lyons.
Founded on the Play...
162 Eugene Aram.
164 Leila; or, The Siege of
Grenada..
10
25
· • .
Part I..
Part II.
Part III
•
1524 Lucretia…..
1526 The Parisians.
1526 The Parisians. Part II.
•
·
· • -
•
720 Paul Clifford
1144 Rienzi..
1326 What Will He Do With It?
1st half...
1326 What Will He Do With It?
25
Hugh MacColl.
25 1319 Mr. Strangers' Sealed
Packet...
George Macdonald.
··
25
25
25
20
25
25
·
10
2220
10
224 * 4AAAKAAAKRAAKAAHHHAA
25
25
10
30
10
10
20
20
282 Donal Grant...
325 The Portent...
326 Phantastes. A Faerie Ro-
mance for Men and
Women
30
Maarten Maartens.
1323 The Sin of Joost Avelingh 20
1651 The Black Box Murder.. 20
1885 An Old Maid's Love..... 20
722 What's Mine's Mine...
1041 Home Again..
1118 The Elect Lady..
··
Charles Mackay.
1754 The Twin Soul..
...
..
Norman Macleod, D.D.
158 The Starling..
•
❤
··
••
..
Katharine S. Macquoid.
479 Louisa
914 Joan Wentworth.
··
Alessandro Manzoni.
581 The Betrothed. (I Pro-
messi Sposi).
20
•
20
10
10
25
...
20
20
20
1306 The Haunted Fountain,
and Hetty's Revenge... 20
1311 At the Red Glove………
20
·· •
10
1473 Miss Eyon of Eyon Court 20
1495 The Old Courtyard…………….
... 20
1691 Elizabeth Morley..
20
..
1856 Mrs. Rumbold's Secret.. 20
Author of "Mademoiselle
..
Mori."
920 A Child of the Revolution 20
Lady Margaret Majendie.
185 Dita...
10
1872 On the Scent............ 20
Lucas Malet.
22R ARRARR
20
493 Colonel Enderby's Wife.. 20
1771 The Wages of Sin...
30
999 The Second Wife..
1093 In the Schillingscourt...
1111 In the Counsellor's House 25
Part I... 20 1113 The Bailiff's Maid.
20
25
20
20 1115 The Countess Gisela.
25
25
1130 The Owl-House.
20
1136 The Princess of the Moor 20
Garnett Marnell.
19:5 Merit versus Money..... 25
Captain Marryat.
88 The Privateersman...... 20
272 The Little Savage....... 10
20
20
E. Marlitt.
652 The Lady with the Rubies 20
858 Old Ma'mn'selle's Secret. 25
972 Gold Elsie.
20
25
20
25
**R***RKAR
POCKET EDITION.
19
279 Rattlin, the Reefer….
991 Mr. Midshipman Easy.
1165 The Sea-King...
1218 Masterman Ready.
1230 The Phantom Ship..
Ethel Marryat.
1519 A Professional Lady-
Killer....
Florence Marryat.
159 Captain Norton's Diary,
and A Moment of Mad-
ness.
10
183 Old Contrairy, and Other
Stories...
10
208 The Ghost of Charlotte
Cray, and Other Stories 10
276 Under the Lilies and
Roses....
444 The Heart of Jane War-
ner.......
25
20
20
449 Peeress and Player...... 20
689 The Heir Presumptive... 20
825 The Master Passion.
860 Her Lord and Master.... 25
861 My Sister the Actress... 20
863 My Own Child."
864 "No Intentions."
W
25
25
20
..
……………
•
• • A
...
....
..
865 Written in Fire…….
866 Miss Harrington's Hus-
band: or, Spiders of
Society..
20
867 The Girls of Feversham. 20
868 Petronel……..
20
10
869 The Poison of Asps..
20
870 Out of His Reckoning.. 10
872 With Cupid's Eyes...
873 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 20
877 Facing the Footlights... 20
893 Love's Conflict. 1st half. 20
893 Love's Conflict. 2d half. 20
895 A Star and a Heart...... 10
897 Ange; or, A Broken
Blossom
•
···
•
20
25
25
20
20
899 A Little Stepson.
901 A Lucky Disappointment 10
903 Phyllida..
20
905 The Fair-Haired Alda……. 20
939 Why Not?……….
993 Fighting the Air
998 Open Sesame..
1004 Mad Dumaresq.
1013 The Confessions of
Gerald Estcourt.
1022 Driven to Bay..
20
1126 Gentleman and Courtier 20
1184 A Crown of Shame..
1191 On Circumstantial Evi-
dence...
10
•
• ··
ARRAARRRRRA RAAAAAANA QARA AAARR
20
10
20
20
25
20
20
20
1527 A Scarlet Sin.
20
1643 Brave Heart and True….. 20
1656 The Root of All Evil.
Mrs. Herbert Martin.
156 "For a Dream's Sake".
1796 Amor Vincit......
1674 Her World Against a Lie 20
1848 The Risen Dead..
1868 A Broken Blossom.……………..
20
20
Emma Marshall.
766 No. XIII; or, The Story
of the Lost Vestal..... 10
Owen Marston.
1918 Lover and Husband..... 25
………
...
Helen B. Mathers.
..
•
Harriet Martineau.
1332 Homes Abroad....
1334 For Each and For All……. 25
1336 Hill and Valley.
1585 Tales of the French
Revolution…………….
1586 Loom and Lugger.
1588 Berkeley the Banker..
1593 The Charmed Sea……
1594 Life in the Wilds...
1596 Sowers, Not Reapers
1597 The Glen of the Echoes. 10
20
Charles Marvin.
457 The Russians at the
Gates of Herat..
..
··
··
.. •
**
13 Eyre's Acquittal.
221 Comin' Thro' the Rye…..
438 Found Out...
•••
•
•
••
Isabella Fyvie Mayo.
662 The Mystery of Allan
Grale..
W. S. Mayo.
1250 How They Loved Him... 20 1442 The Berber……….
1251 Her Father's Name..
1257 Mount Eden....
1355 Blindfold...
282288
A
•
20
·
•
2238
25
20
20
··
535 Murder or Manslaughter? 10
673 Story of a Sin .
713 Cherry Ripe
795 Sam's Sweetheart.
11
20
20
798 The Fashion of this
**R HARRARA
25
20
25
20
World..
799 My Lady Green Sleeves. 25
1254 Hedri; or, Blind Justice. 20
1830 The Mystery of No. 13... 20
1907 My Jo. John....,.
20
A. Matthey.
1239 The Virgin Widow.
Realistic Novel...
1432 Duke of Kandos...
1436 The Two Duchesses
20
20
20
10
ARAPARR 23888
10
20
10
20
20
20
20
20
20
C. Maxwell.
20 1362 A Story of Three Sisters 20
20
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
Justin McCarthy.
121 Maid of Athens......
602 Camiola...
685 England Under Glad-
stone. 1880-1885 ..
747 Our Sensation Novel.
Edited by Justin H. Mc-
Carthy, M. P……….
779 Doom! An Atlantic Epi-
sode.
1233 Roland Oliver.
1903 Dolly.
....
10
Edward H. Mott.
10
1481 Pike County Folks....... 20
Louisa Muhlbach.
20
20 1677 Frederick the Great and
His Court.
Justin McCarthy and Mrs. | 1693 Goethe and Schiller..
Campbell Praed.
1728 The Daughter of an Em-
20
press...
1403 The Rival Princess...
1840 The Ladies' Gallery.
20 1737 Queen Hortense.
Alan Muir.
I. T. Meade.
1295 A Girl of the People..... 20
1487 Frances Kane's Fortune. 10
1572 How It All Came Round 20
1631 Heart of Gold..
1759 The Honorable Miss..
1836 Beforehand.
1865 A Life for a Love.
20
20
20
20
".
• • ·
...
•
...
· ....
Frank Merryfield.
1850 Molly's Story...
George Meredith.
350 Diana of the Crossways. 10
1146 Rhoda Fleming.
1150 The Egoist...
1695 The Case of General
Ople and Lady Camper 10
1807 The Tale of Chloe....... 10
……………
1942 Seaforth
1945 Thwarted….
Susanna Moodie.
201702 Goeffrey Moncton..
20 1704 Flora Lyndsay...
25
...
Jean Middlemas.
155 Lady Muriel's Secret.... 25
539 Silvermead.
1847 The Maddoxes......
20
20
2222
....
Prof. William Minto.
1910 Was She Good or Bad?.. 10
1993 The Crack of Doom.. 25
Mrs. Molesworth.
654 Us." An Old-fashioned
Story.
10
992 Marrying and Giving in
Marriage...
1914 That Girl in Black.
...
Florence Montgomery.
20220
20
222
J. Fitzgerald Molloy.
1451 How Came He Dead?.... 20
1757 A Modern Magician..... 20
20
10
30
20
1705 Life in the Backwoods... 20
1724 Roughing It in the Bush 20
1733 Life in the Clearings.... 20
25
25
•••
·
172 "Golden Girls "
346 Tumbledown Farm..
1018 Two Marriages..
20
20
Paul Meritt.
1038 Mistress and Maid……………… 20
1811 Daughters of Eve........ 20 1053 Young Mrs. Jardine..... 20
••
··
...
•
·
David Christie Murray.
Rosa Mulholland.
921 The Late Miss Holling-
ford....
Miss Mulock.
11 John Halifax, Gentle-
man. 1st half.
20
Gentle-
20
·
11 John Halifax,
man. 2d half.
245 Miss Tommy, and In a
House-Boat..
808 King Arthur. Not a Love
Story.
88 88
· •
30
30
A
80
..
30
...
20
10
58 By the Gate of the Sea.. 10
195 "The Way of the
World"
10
10
320 A Bit of Human Nature 10
661 Rainbow Gold……..
20
674 First Person Singular... 20
691 Valentine Strange………….
695 Hearts: Queen, Knave,
and Deuce………….
A RARAR AROR
698 A Life's Atonement...
737 Aunt Rachel..
826 Cynic Fortune.
898 Bulldog and Butterfly,
and Julia and Her Ro-
meo...
10
1102 Young Mr. Barter's Re-
pentance....
1162 The Weaker Vessel...... 20
1745 One Traveler Returns... 25
1887 Old Balzer's Hero.
20
D, C. Murray and Henry
Herman.
1177 A Dangerous Cat's-paw. 20
1214 Wild Darrie……….
20
20
20
20
20
10
20
20
POCKET EDITION.
21
1256 Sweetbriar in Town.... 20
1567 The Bishops' Bible.. 20
1922 He Fell Among Thieves. 25
Author_of_“My Ducats and
My Daughter."
10
376 The Crime of Christmas
Day
596 My Dncats and My
Daughter...
20
Author of "My Marriage.”
778 Society's Verdict........ 20
Mrs. J. H. Needell.
582 Lucia, Hugh and An-
other..
20
Author of "Nobody's Dar-
ling."
954 A Girl's Heart.
·
W. E. Norris.
184 Thirlby Hall.
277 A Man of His Word..
355 That Terrible Man..
500 Adrian Vidal..
824 Her Own Doing.
848 My Friend Jim..
20
871 A Bachelor's Blunder... 25
1019 Major and Minor. 1st
half....
· •
•
.4.
1019 Major and Minor. 2d
half..
1258 Mrs. Fenton..
1278 Misadventure.....
•
···
•
..
•
20
20
1084 Chris
20
1141 The Rogue. 1st half. 20
1141 The Rogue. 2d half.. 20
1203 Miss Shafto..
KOORORK 2 2222222R224 ****
•
25
10
10
20
··
10
20
20
1395 The Baffled Conspirators 20
1465 No New Thing...
20
1675 Marcia..
20
1933 Miss Wentworth's Idea. 25
1941 Mysterious Mrs. Wilkin-
son...
20
25
→
1957 Mr. Chain's Sons. Part I 25
1957 Mr. Chain's Sons. Part II 25
1995 Heaps of Money.
1996 Matrimony..
25
$25
F. E. M. Notley.
1738 From the Other Side……. 20
20
Christopher Oakes.
1864 The Canadian Senator.. 10
William O'Brien.
1920 O'Hara's Mission........
Mrs. Power O'Donoghue.
718 Unfairly Won....
Alice O'Hanlon.
634. The Unforeseen.
20
1357 A Diamond in the Rough 25
1857 Chance or Fate?...
20
25
20
Georges Ohnet.
219 Lady Clare: or, The
Master of the Forges... 10
1274 Prince Serge Panine..... 20
1288 A Last Love....
20
•
1321 The Rival Actresses…………. 20
1683 A Weird Gift…….
20
1860 Claire and the Forge
Master..
1990 Dr. Rameau.
•
Laurence Oliphant.
47 Altiora Peto..
537 Piccadilly.
•
Mrs. Oliphant.
45 A Little Pilgrim.
177 Salem Chapel.
205 The Minister's Wife..
321 The Prodigals, and Their
Inheritance..
402 Lilliesleaf; or, Passages
in the Life of Mrs Mar-
garet Maitland of Sun-
nyside.
...
•
603 Agnes. 1st half..
603 Agnes. 2d half.
604 Innocent. 1st half……
604 Innocent. 2d half..
605 Ombra..
645 liver's Bride
337 Memoirs and Resolutions
of Adam Graeme of
Mossgray, including
some Chronicles of the
Borough of Fendie…………. 20
Madam...
345
20
351 The House on the Moor. 20
357 John..
20
370 Lucy Crofton.
10
371 Margaret Maitland……. 20
377 Magdalen Hepburn: A
Story of the Scottish Re-
formation.
...
28887 AX
20
**
··
25
20
410 Old Lady Mary.
10
527 The Days of My Life.... 20
528 At His Gates.
20
20
10
10
20
30
10
568 The Perpetual Curate……. 20
569 Harry Muir..
1490 Sir Tom..
1570 The Wizard's Son...
1882 The Heir Presumptive
RRRROR
20
RAARRRRRRRRA OR 8 RRRAA28
655 The Open Door, and The
Portrait...
···
687 A Country Gentleman... 25
703 A House Divided Against
Itself...
20
20
20
20
20
20
10
10
.. 20
710 The Greatest Heiress in
England....
20
827 Effie Ogilvie..
20
880 The Son of His Father.. 20
902 A Poor Gentleman
1471 The Ladies Lindores.
20
30
and the Heir Apparent. 28
5
22
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
1949 The Railway Man and
His Children. Part I.. 25
1949 The Railway Man and
His Children. Part II. 25
2017 White Ladies.
25
Max O'Rell.
203 John Bull and His Island 10
1222 Jacques Bonhomme, and
John Bull on the Con-
tinent..
1817 John Bull and His
Daughters.
Szalras..
116 Moths...
128 Afternoon,
Sketches..
•
"Ouida."
4 Under Two Flags..... 25
9 Wanda, Countess
239 Signa..
433 A Rainy June...
639 Othmar. 1st half..
639 Othmar. 2d half……
671 Don Gesualdo..
•
and
and Other
...
•
10
226 Friendship...
20
228 Princess Napraxine.... 20
238 Pascarel..
25
25
10
974 Strathmore; or. Wrought
by His Own Hand. 2d
half.
....
•
··
981 Granville de Vigne; or,
Held in Bondage.
half..
1st
981 Granville de Vigne; or,
Held in Bondage. 2d
half……..
1428 Robin..
1587 Dumps..
1997 Hero Carthew.
1998 Loyalty...
von
20
10
672 In Maremma. 1st half.. 25
672 In Maremma. 2d half.. 25
874 A House Party.
974 Strathmore; or, Wrought
by His Own Hand. 1st
half....
10
25
996 Idalia. 1st half..
996 Idalia. 2d half.
1000 Puck. 1st half.
1000 Puck. 2d half..
1003 Chandos. 1st half.
1003 Chandos. 2d half.
1017 Tricotrin.
1017 Tricotrin.
1176 Guilderoy.
1308 Syrlin
1575 Ruffino…..
1937 Bébée; or, Two Little
Wooden Shoes.
1959 Santa Barbara.
1960 Rinaldo ..
Louisa Parr.
•
· ·
•
• • •
..
·
22 223
20
25
* 2* FRAKKORPORRO
20
25
20
1st half……. 20
2d half...
20
20
30
25
2223235
25
25
20
20
20
20
20
20
RRAN OR* 22**
James Payn.
48 Thicker Than Water... 20
186 The Canon's Ward……….. 25
343 The Talk of the Town... 20
577 In Peril and Privation.. 10
589 The Luck of the Darrells 20
1271 One of the Family
823 The Heir of the Ages.
20
20
20
10
1381 The Burnt Million.
1405 The Eavesdropper...
1555 The Word and the Will 20
1753 A Prince of the Blood... 25
1888 Sunny Stories and Some
Shady Ones...
20
25
D
Sylvio Pellico.
725 My Ten Years' Imprison-
ment..
·
• •
Author of "Petite's Ro-
mance."
786 Ethel Mildmay's Follies 20
F. C. Philips.
1287 A Daughter's Sacrifice.. 20
Arthur W. Pinero.
1872 Sweet Lavender.........
C. L. Pirkiss.
1797 A Dateless Bargain..... 25
Cecil Power.
336 Philistia..
611 Babylon..
··
Miss Jane Porter.
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 1st
half...
660 The Scottish Chiefs. 2d
•
William Pole, F.R.S.
669 The Philosophy of Whist 20
10
*
half.....
696 Thaddeus of Warsaw... 25
10
2 223
Edgar Allan Poe
20 1602 Narrative of Á. Gordon
20
Pym..
...
...
25 1604 Gold Bug, and Other
25
Tales.
20
20
Mrs. Campbell Praed.
428 Zéro: A Story of Monte-
Carlo..
10
10
477 Affinities.
811 The Head Station... .. 20
1296 An Australian Heroine.. 20
25 1876 The Soul of Countess
Adrian...
10
20
20
20
E. Frances Poynter.
526 Madame De Presnel……….. 20
1523 The Failure of Elizabeth 20
90
POCKET EDITION.
23
1609 The Assignation, and
Other Tales.
1613 The Murders in the Rue
Morgue....
Alice Price.
908 A Willful Young Woman 20
Eleanor C. Price.
149 The Captain's Daughter.
From the Russian of
Pushkin....
173 The Foreigners.
331 Gerald...
...
··
*
………
Charles Reade.
•
Author of "Quadroona."
1356 Plot and Counterplot
25
Author of "Queen of the
County."
1438 Margaret and Her Brides-
maids.
Queen Victoria.
178 More Leaves from the
Journal of a Life in the
Highlands....
Hyder Ragged.
.....
...
•
20
25
10
966 He....
20
970 King Solomon's Wives;
or, The Phantom Mines 20
02280
••
232 Love and Money; or, A
Perilous Secret…….
235"It is Never Too Late to
Mend." A Matter-of-
Fact Romance.
1882 Single Heart and Double
Face..
1648 The Knightsbridge Mys-
tery..
Compton Reade.
10
46 Very Hard Cash.
98 A Woman-Hater
10
206 The Picture, and Jack
of All Trades..
210 Readiana: Comments on
Current Events...
213 A Terrible Temptation.. 25
214 Put Yourself in His Place 25
216 Foul Play.
231 Griffith Gaunt; or, Jeal-
ousy...
20
4.
••••
...
20
20
20
10
25
252 A Sinless Secret..
446 Dame Durden…….
598 "Corinna." A Study…..
617 Like Dian's Kiss.
1125 The Mystery of a Turkish
Bath....
1192 Miss Kate; or, Confess-
ions of a Caretaker.... 20
1215 Adrian Lyle...
20
1229 "Sheba:" A Study of
Girlhood...
Rudolph Eric Raspe.
1433 Baron Munchausen ..... 10 1237 A Vagabond Lover.
1252 The Seventh Dream.
1253 The Ladye Nancye.
1298 Gretchen ...
25
20
10
10
340 Under Which King?..... 20
R. F. Redd.
1410 Freckles..
1600 The Brierfield Tragedy.. 20
Captain Mayne Reid.
575 The Finger of Fate...... 20
20
T. Wemyss Reid.
723 Mauleverer's Millions... 20
Fritz Reuter.
750 An Old Story of My
Farming Days. 1st half 20
750 An Old Story of My
Farming Days. 2d half 20
Mrs. J. H. Riddell.
71 A Struggle for Fame... 20
593 Berna Boyle....
1007 Miss Gascoigne.
1077 The Nun's Curse.
1273 Susan Drummond
1579 Princess Sunshine.
1842 Idle Tales..
1899 My First Love and My
Last Love…...
"Rita."
•
•
•
•
••••
1769 My Lady Coquette.
1770 Vivienne
•
•
• D ·
· •
•
•
•
·· • 4
···
•
❤ •
RRRRRRR &
··
20
1815 A Society Scandal.
10
1491 The Doctor's Secret…………. 20
1760 Two Bad Blue Eyes..
•
1766 After Long Grief and
Pain..
•••
20
20
20
OROR = 88 88888-88 kk8282898
10
25
10
20
1772 Countess Daphne.
1773 Faustine ..
1774 Fragoletta.
1778 My Lord Conceit...
1823 Darby and Joan.
1837 The Laird o' Cockpen.. 20
10
20
20
25
25
20
20
20
20
Miss Roberts.
2000 Noblesse Oblige......... 25
Sir H. Roberts.
1458 Harry Holbrooke.
1647 Curb and Snaffle
1841 In the Shires....
20
20
20
G. M. Robins.
1731 The Tree of Knowledge. 20
1929 Keep My Secret………. 25
F. Mabel Robinson.
501 Mr. Butler's Ward. .. 20
1457 A Woman of the World. 20
24
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
1955 Horenden, V. C.
1955 Horenden, V. C.
F. W. Robinson.
157 Milly's Hero...
217 The Man She Cared For 20
20
25
20
261 A Fair Maid…….
455 Lazarus in London
590 The Courting of Mary
Smith
··
Part I. 25
Part II 25
20
25
1005 99 Dark Street.
1284 Our Erring Brother...... 20
1539 A Very Strange Family. 20
1547 The Keeper of the Keys. 20
.
……….
A. F. M. Robinson.
1477 Arden..
Regina Maria Roche.
852 The Children of the Ab-
bey..
Mrs. J. Harcourt Roe,
683 The Bachelor Vicar of
Newforth......
20
Mrs. Rowson.
61 Charlotte Temple......
1803 Lucy Temple.....
...
••••
...
W. Clark Russell.
85 A Sea Queen..
109 Little Loo..
20
20
180 Round the Galley Fire.. 10
209 John Holdsworth, Chief
Mate...
10
223 A Sailor's Sweetheart... 25
592 A Strange Voyage...... 25
682 In the Middle Watch. Sea
Stories...
743 Jack's Courtship. 1st
half...
20
20
743 Jack's Courtship. 2d half 20
884 A Voyage to the Cape... 20
916 The Golden Hope... 20
1044 The Frozen Pirate..
.. 25
1048 The Wreck of the "Gros-
venor
"1
20
1129 The Flying Dutchman;
or, The Death Ship. 20
1210 Marooned.
1213 Jenny Harlowe.
1260 An Ocean Tragedy.
half..
1260 An Ocean Tragedy.
half...
• •
...
•
•
•
20
1st
2d
•
*
30
10
10
20
1603 My Shipmate Louise.... 20
1619 A Marriage at Sea... 20
1634 On the Fo'k'sle Head... 20
1867 My Danish Sweetheart.. 20
Dora Russell.
20
02228238
1751 A Bitter Birthright.. 20
1789 A Strange Message. 20
1927 Out of Eden.
25
1930 A Fatal Past..
25
10
George Augustus Sala.
756 The Strange Adventures
of Captain Dangerous.
A Narrative in Plain En-
glish.
1919 Dead Men Tell No Tales,
But Live Men Do.....
John Saunders.
...
· ...
105 A Noble Wife..
1912 Robbing Peter to Pay
Paul...
··
George Sand,
1478 The Tower of Percemont 20
1662 The Lilies of Florence... 20
Olive Schreiner.
1814 Dreams.
Michael Scott.
1489 Tom Cringle's Log
103 Rose Fleming...
1713 Jezebel's Friends.
1726 The Broken Seal.. ..... 25 1226 The Talisman..
...
·····
•
··
222 223
..
20
25
▼
2 223
Sir Walter Scott.
28 Ivanhoe ..
201 The Monastery
202 The Abbot. (Sequel to
"The Monastery")... 25
353 The Black Dwarf, and
A Legend of Montrose 20
362 The Bride of Lammer-
20
25
10
20
ian..
392 Peveril of the Peak.
393 The Pirate..
401 Waverley.
417 The Fair Maid of Perth;
or, St. Valentine's Day. 20
418 St. Ronan's Well…. . .
463 Redgauntlet. A Tale of
the Eighteenth Century 25
507 Chronicles of the Canon-
gate, and Other Stories 10
10 | 1060 The Lady of the Lake……. 25
1063 Kenilworth. 1st half………
1063 Kenilworth. 2d half…….
20
1164 Rob Roy. 1st half...... 20
1164 Rob Roy. 2d half..
1166 The Betrothed: A Tale
of the Crusaders, and
the Chronicles of the
Canongate. 1st half... 20
1166 The Betrothed: A Tale
of the Crusaders, and
the Chronicles of the
Canongate. 2d half.... 20
25
22 * 2 2AA 2282 28 4 ORKKAR
20
moor....
363 The Surgeon's Daughter 10
364 Castle Dangerous.
391 The Heart of Mid-Loth-
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
25
POCKET EDITION.
**25
1954 Quentin Durward.
1956 Fortunes of Nigel.
1958 Woodstock..
1961 Count Robert of Paris
1963 Anne of Geierstein.
1991 Quintin Durward.
••
Eugene Scribe.
1416 Fleurette..
Adeline Sergeant.
·
► •
..
1837 Roy's Repentance..
1838 Brooke's Daughter...
1866 Seventy Times Seven
1981 Esther Denison...
Flora L. Shaw.
441 A Sea Change...
•
20
257 Beyond Recall.
812 No Saint.
1231 A Life Sentence.
1241 The Luck of the House. 20
1310 A True Friend...
1503 Under False Pretences.. 20
1513 Fleetwood's End....
1591 The Great Mill Street
Mystery....
10
20
1775 Name and Fame. By
Adeline Sergeant and
Ewing Lester.
1781 Jacobi's Wife..
•
...
1148 The Countess Eve..
1565 Sir Percival……….
•
S. Shelley.
1494 The Nautz Family....
..
.. ·
• •
George Bernard Shaw.
937 Cashel Byron's Profes-
sion..
••
D
•
...
J. H. Shorthouse.
111 The Little School-master
Mark.
580 The Red Route.
597 Haco the Dreamer.
649 Cradle and Spade......
·
Anna Sewell.
1421 "Black Beauty:" The
Autobiography of a
Horse....
25
William Sharp.
1559 Children of To-morrow.. 20
•• •
William Sime.
429 Boulderstone: or, New
Men and Old Popula-
tions..
*****K
25 1767 Dramas of Life..
25 1798 Mary Jane's Memoirs.
•
J. B. Simpson.
25 1472 Haunted Hearts..
25
25
25
Mary Wolstonecraft Shelley
1376 Frankenstein..
10
25
20
20
20
20
20
20
25
847 Bad to Beat..
20
925 The Outsider.
1225 The Last Coup...
20
20
25
10
25
10
10
20
10
20
George R. Sims.
816 Rogues and Vagabonds. 20
1535 Tales of To-day………….
20
A. P. Sinnett,
1548 Karma........
Hawley Smart.
348 From Post to Finish. A
Racing Romance.
367 Tie and Trick…..
550 Struck Down.
4 L
•
2009 Self Help….
** •
...
..
25
20
10
10
20
20
1317 Without Love or Licence 20
1342 Saddle and Sabre..
1659 A Black Business.
1758 A False Start..
20
1784 The Pride of the Paddock 10
1822 Cleverly Won..
1878 Lightly Lost.
20
1905 A Family Failing..
1926 Breezie Langton.
25
1939 Courtship in 1720-1860.. 25
....
Samuel Smiles.
··
Frank E, Smedley.
333 Frank Fairlegh; or.
Scenes from the Life of
a Private Pupil...
562 Lewis Arundel; or, The
Railroad of Life….
**
•
• •
•
►
·
22239
20
20
10
20
KRAARRAKARAAROKK
10
A. Smith.
1661 A Summer in Skye....
J. Gregory Smith.
1437 Selma...
T. W. Speight,
150 For Himself Alone……………. 10
653 A Barren Title ...
10
1375 The Sandycroft Mystery 10
Emily Spender.
735 Until the Day Breaks... 20
220
25
2 20
Stepniak and Wm. Westall.
1515 The Blind Musician..
1943 In Two Moods...
20
2223323
20
25
Robert Louis Stevenson.
686 Strange Case of Dr.
Jekyll and Mr. Hyde….. 10
704 Prince Otto...
10
832 Kidnapped..
855 The Dynamiter.
20
20
20
10
856 New Arabian Nights
888 Treasure Island..
889 An Inland Voyage....... 10
5588855
1
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
26
940 The Merry Men, and
Other Tales and Fables 20
1051 The Misadventures of
John Nicholson……………….. 10
1110 The Silverado Squatters 20
1228 The Master of Ballantrae 20
St. Pierro.
1424 Paul and Virginia....... 10
Hesba Stretton.
1370 Bede's Charity....
Julian Sturgis.
405 My Friends and I. Edited
by Julian Sturgis.
694 John Maidment
1698 Dick's Wandering.
1717 Comedy of a Country
House..
•
20
Esme Stuart.
1891 Kestell of Greystone
1551 The Vicomte's Bride..... 20 1392 Yellowplush Papers.
1482 Denis Duval,
1484 Catherine..
•
··
Eugene Sue.
270 The Wandering Jew. 1st
half...
• ...
270 The Wandering Jew. 2d
half.
Dean Swift
1365 Gulliver's Travels…..
Eliza Tabor.
1833 The Blue Ribbon..
•••
271 The Mysteries of Paris.
1st half.
271 The Mysteries of Paris.
2d half.
•
....
··
•
Laurence Alma Tadema.
757 Love's Martyr..
..
···
D
10
•
10
20
20
20
"Tasma."
1217 Uncle Piper of Piper's
Hill. An Australian
Novel....
1281 A Sydney Sovereign..
1304 In Her Earliest Youth.. 20
30
30
30
30
20
··
20
10
George Taylor.
435 Klytia: A Story of Hei-
delberg Castle..
20
2220
Ida Ashworth Taylor.
426 Venus's Doves.........
George Temple.
599 Lancelot Ward, M.P..... 10
642 Britta....
10
Alfred, Lord Tennyson, P.
L., D. C. L.
919 Locksley Hall Sixty
Years After, etc...
20
William M. Thackeray.
25
27 Vanity Fair. 1st half... 25
27 Vanity Fair. 2d half..
165 The History of Henry
Esmond...
10
316 Paris Sketches..
464 The Newcomes. Part I. 25
464 The Newcomes. Part II. 25
670 The Rose and the Ring.
Illustrated....
•
1322 Adventures of Philip.... 30
1324 The Virginians. 1st half 25
1324 The Virginians. 2d half.. 25
1330 The Four Georges...
...
• •
1486 Lovel the Widower.
1488 Barry Lyndon.
1496 History of Pendennis.
Part I...
•
❤ •
•
•
•
· •
• •
•
·
·
·· [] ·
·
Annie Thomas.
141 She Loved Him!..
142 Jenifer ...
565 No Medium.
1219 That Other Woman.
1294 Love's a Tyrant.
1299 The Kilburns
1483 The Love of a Lady
1679 The Sloane Square Scan-
dal..
1747 Le Beau Sabreur.
1851 The Roll of Honor.
1873 Kate Valliant..
1986 Called to Account.
...
•
·
1496 History of Pendennis.
Part II.
1508 Book of Snobs.
1522 Critical Reviews.
1525 Eastern Sketches…..
1528 Fatal Boots, etc..
1536 Fitzboodle Papers.
1537 Roundabout Papers..... 20
1538 A Legend of the Rhine. 10
1540 Cox's Diary...
... ·
L
• · • •
1
** PAAR AAKKAAAA9* * *00AAARAA
20
••
•
• • .. •
20
10
10
10
10
10
Miss Thackeray.
675 Mrs. Dymond....
Author of "The Spanish
Brothers.'
10
25
1243 Geneviève; or, The
Children of Port Royal. 20
Author of "The Two Miss
Flemings."
25
637 What's His Offence?……….. 20
780 Rare Pale Margaret. 20
784 The Two Miss Flemings.. 20
831 Pomegranate Seed...... 20
25
10
10
10
10
10
10
20
ARARARA 22223
10
20
10
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
20
Bertha Thomas.
389 Ichabod. A Portrait.... 10
960 Elizabeth's Fortune..... 20
PANES
27
POCKET EDITION.
1447 The House on the Scar.. 20
J. Van Lennep,
1707 Famous or Infamous?... 20 1621 The Count of Talavera.. 20
Judge D. P. Thompson.
1414 The Green Mountain
Boys...
Theodore Tilton.
1450 Tempest Tossed. Vol. I. 20
1450 Tempest Tossed. Vol. II. 20
Leon de Tinseau.
1820 The Chaplain's Secret... 20
Count Lyof Tolstoi.
1066 My Husband and ..I.... 10
1069 Polikouchka.
10
1071 The Death of Ivan Iliitch 10
1073 Two Generations.
D
••
.
1090 The Cossacks...
1108 Sebastopol.
1639 Work While Ye Have the
Light.
1835 The Fruits of Enlighten-
ment....
tobiography.
•
...
..
...
A. L. G. Bosboom-Toussaint
803 Major Frank...
..
20
147 Rachel Ray.
200 An Old Man's Love...
531 The Prime Minister.
half....
531 The Prime Minister. 2d
half....
621 The Warden..
•
622 Harry Heathcote of
Gangoil..
Tribune Prize Stories,
1665 The Story of Our Mess.. 20
1668 The Three Bummers.... 25
20988 2 2
Adolphus Trollope.
115 Diamond Cut Diamond. 10
Anthony Trollope.
32 The Land Leaguers..... 20
93 Anthony Trollope's Au-
►
1st
10
Sarah Tytler
160 Her Gentle Deeds...
1881 Buried Diamonds..
20
20
•
20
2 240 2 2 = 2222 8-
25
10
20
20
10
10
ily..
1542 Life of Thackeray....... 10
30
Tracy Turnerelli.
1371 A Russian Princess..... 20
10
20
Count Paul Vasili.
505 The Society of London.. 10
Sophie E. F. Veitch.
1280 The Dean's Daughter.... 20
Margaret Veley.
298 Mitchelhurst Place….
586" For Percival ".
Jules Verne.
87 Dick Sand; or, A Cap-
tain at Fifteen.
100 20.000 Leagues Under the
Seas...
•
368 The Southern Star; or,
the Diamond Land.
• •
L
66
44
·
..
...
395 The Archipelago on Fire 10
578 Mathias Sandorf. Illus-
trated. Part I...
10
10
578 Mathias Sandorf. Ill.Part
II……….
578 Mathias Sandorf. Ill.
Part III...
10
659 The Waif of the Cyn-
thia"
751 Great Voyages and Great
Navigators. 1st half... 20
751 GreatVoyages and Great
Navigators. 2d half………. 20
833 Ticket No. “9672." 1st
half..
10
..
9672." 2d
..
1011 Texar's Vengeance; or,
North Versus South.
Part II..
♥
1152 From the Earth to the
10
20
833 Ticket No.
half..
► •
976 Robur the Conqueror; or.
A Trip Round the World
in a Flying Machine... 20
1011 Texar's Vengeance: or,
North Versus South.
Part I...
* 2 29 2 2 2
A
trated..
1157 A Two Years' Vacation.
25
20
20
667 The Golden Lion of
Granpere
20
Moon. Illustrated …………. 20
700 Ralph the Heir. 1st half 20 1153 Round the Moon. Illus-
700 Ralph the Heir. 2d half 20
775 The Three Clerks....
20
1476 Mr. Scarborough's Fam-
20
10
or.
1020 Michael Strogoff;
The Courier of the Czar 25
1050 The Tour of the World
in 80 Days
20
2 4 2 2 2 &
20
20
20
Illustrated....
1168 The Flight to France; or,
the Memoirs of a Dra-
goon.
1238 The Mysterious Island.
Illustrated. Part I. Drop-
ped from the Clouds.... 25
1238 The Mysterious Island.
Illustrated. Part II. The
Abandoned...
25
20
25
#8
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
1238 The Mysterious Island.
Illustrated. Part III. The
Secret of the Island..... 25
1263 A Family Without
Name...
a
1422 Eight Hundred Leagues
on the Amazon..
1423 The Cryptogram.
Henry Scott Vince.
347 A8 Avon Flows.
Carl Vosmaer.
253 The Amazon…….
··
...
..
1982 A Sage of Sixteen.
1987 Her Great Idea...
2005 A Stiff-Necked Genera-
tion..
· → ·
·
* 2 20
••
20
10
10
L.B. Walford.
241 The Baby'sGrandmother 25
256 Mr. Smith: A Part of
His Life..
258 Cousins.
406 The Merchant's Clerk... 10
1142 Ten Thousand a Year.
Part I...
25
1
1142 Ten Thousand a Year.
Part II....
25
658 The History of a Week.. 10 | 1142 Ten Thousand a Year.
1578 Troublesome Daughters. 20
Part III.....
1615 The Havoc of a Smile... 20
1780 A Mere Child.
25
20
1932 The Mischief of Monica.
Part I....
1932 The Mischief of Monica.
Part II...
20
25
1944 A Pinch of Experience.. 25
1979 Dick Netherby.
10
4.
20
20
·
RARAR * HULI 20
25
25
25
25
Horace Walpole.
770 The Castle of Otranto... 10
25
10
Mrs. Humphry Ward.
369 Miss Bretherton..
1116 Robert Elsmere. 1st half 20
1116 Robert Elsmere. 2d half. 20
F. Warden.
192 At the World's Mercy... 10
248 The House on the Marsh 25
286 Deldee; or, The Iron-
Hand....
George Walker.
1397 The Three Spaniards.... 25 1716 Vineta..
20
20
20
482 A Vagrant Wife..
556 A Prince of Darkness... 20
820 Doris's Fortune..
1037 Scheherazade: A Lon-
don Night's Entertain-
ment..
25
...
20
20
•
1087 A Woman's Face; or, A
Lakeland Mystery..... 25
1156 A Witch of the Hills....
1178 St. Cuthbert's Tower..
1193 The Fog Princes. A
Romance of The Dark
Metropolis.
20
1272 Nurse Revel's Mistake……. 20
1623 City and Suburban.. 20
1729 Missing: A Young Girl.. 10
1855 Pretty Miss Smith.. 20
1906 Those Westerton Girls.. 20
1938 Highest References..... 25
William Ware.
709 Zenobia; or, The Fall of
Palmyra. 1st half………... 20
709 Zenobia; or, The Fall of
Palmyra. 2d half………….. 20
760 Aurelian; or, Rome in the
Third Century..
20
..
……….
Samuel Warren.
...
Author of "Wedded Hands"
628 Wedded Hands..
968 Blossom and Fruit; or,
Madame's Ward...
20
••
20
E. Werner.
327 Raymond's Atonement.. 20
540 At a High Price... . 25
1067 Saint Michael. 1st half. 20
1067 Saint Michael. 2d half.. 20
1089 Home Sounds..
20
1154 A Judgment of God.. 20
1181 The Fairy of the Alps... 20
25
Fenwick...
1897 A Matter of Skill.
**
•
·
...
William Westall.
...
20
1061 A Queer Race.
1159 Mr. Fortescue: An Ande-
an Romance.
1161 Red Ryvington. 1st half 20
1163 The Phantom City: A
1161 Red Ryvington. 2d half 20
Volcanic Romance………….. 20
1431 Strange Crimes.
20
1515 The Blind Musician, By
William Westall and
Sergius Stepniak.
1943 In Two Moods..
..
Beatrice Whitby.
1264 The Awakening of Mary
a
956 Her Johnnie..
G. J. White-Melville.
✡
•
409 Roy's Wife..
•
451 Market Harborough, and
Inside the Bar...
Mrs. Whitcher.
1497 Widow Bedott Papers... 20
Violet Whyte.
··
20
20
25
220
20
2 20
20
POCKET EDITION.
29
1042 Lady Grace..
20
M. G. Wightwick.
113 Mrs. Carr's Companion. 10 1235 The Lost Bank Note, and
Moat-Grange……
1265 Danesbury House....
1787 The House of Halliwell.. 30
25
25
20
E. S. Williamson.
984 Her Own Sister..
••••
John Strange Winter.
492 Bootles' Baby; or, Mig-
non. Illustrated.
600 Houp-La. Illustrated.. 10
638 In Quarters with
with the
10
25th (The Black Horse)
Dragoons.
688 A Man of Honor. Illus-
trated..
…………….
...
746 Cavalry Life; or, Sket-
ches and Stories in Bar-
racks and Out…….
813 Army Society. Life in a
Garrison Town.
818 Pluck...
876 Mignon's Secret.
966 A Siege Baby and Child-
hood's Memories.......
... 20
971 Garrison Gossip: Gath-
ered in Blankhampton. 20
1032 Mignon's Husband...... 20
1039 Driver Dallas.
10
10
1079 Beautiful Jim of the
Blankshire Regiment... 20
1117 Princess Sarah……….
1121 Bootles' Children.
1158 My Poor Dick...
1171 Sophy Carmine.
1202 Harvest...
1223 A Little Fool.
1244 Buttons...
10
20
20
··
20
1246 Mrs. Bob .
1303 Diona Forget.
1667 He Went for a Soldier.. 20
1721 The Other Man's Wife.. 20
1776 Regimental Legends.... 20
1877 Good-Bye...
10
25
•
1931 Lumley the Painter.
1951 In Luck's Way. Part I.
1951 In Luck's Way. Part II. 25
25
• •
•
D ·
•
• •
10
10
...
2 ooo 2 220 2029
10
10
10
10
10
20
Mrs. Henry Wood.
8 East Lynne. 1st half.... 25
8 East Lynne. 2d half.... 25
255 The Mystery.
25
277 The Surgeon's Daughters 10
508 The Unholy Wish.
513 Helen Whitney's Wed-
10
ding, and Other Tales. 10
514 The Mystery of Jessy
Page, and Other Tales. 10
610 The Story of Dorothy
Grape, and Other Tales 10
1001 Lady Adelaide's Oath;
or, The Castle's Heir... 20
1021 The Heir to Ashley, and
The Red-Court Farm... 20
1027 A Life's Secret..
20
H. F. Wood.
1107 The Passenger from
Scotland Yard..
1595 The Night of the Third
Ult....
Charlotte M. Yonge.
247 The Armourer's Pren-
tices..
275 The Three Brides.
535 Henrietta's Wish; or,
Domineering..
563 The Two Sides of the
Shield...
640 Nuttie's Father.
665 The Dove in the Eagle's
Nest...
Margaret L. Woods.
1983 A Village Tragedy…………... 25
...
Edmund Yates.
1708 Running the Gauntlet... 20
1709 Broken to Harness...... 20
•
A. Curtis Yorke.
1409 The Mystery of Bel-
grave Square..
Ernest Young.
1682 Barbara's Rival…….
1696 A Woman's Honor.
••
2 20
20
··
..
2925
10
10
..
666 My Young Alcides: A
Faded Photograph..... 20
739 The Caged Lion..
742 Love and Life.
20
22 2 2222
20
783 Chantry House..
790 The Chaplet of Pearls;
or, The White and Black
Ribaumont. 1st half... 20
790 The Chaplet of Pearls;
or, The White and Black
Ribaumont. 2d half... 20
800 Hopes and Fears; or,
Scenes from the Life of
a Spinster. 1st half... 20
800 Hopes and Fears; or,
Scenes from the Life of
a Spinster. 2d half..... 20
887 A Modern Telemachus.. 20
1024 Under the Storm; or,
Steadfast's Charge..... 20
1133 Our New Mistress..
1200 Beechcroft at Rockstone 20
20
20
20
20
20
10
220
Miscellaneous.
182 The Millionaire.
25
198 A Husband's Story...... 10
30
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
274 Alice, Grand Duchess of
Hesse, Princess of Great
Britain and Ireland.
Biographical Sketch
and Letters
10
285 The Gambler's Wife.... 20
289 John Bull's Neighbor in
Her True Light. A
"Brutal Saxon "
··
...
•
•
•
A
335 The White Witch..
443 The Bachelor of the Al-
bany...
491 Society in London.
Foreign Resident..
10
20
512 The Waters of Hercules. 20 1581 Clayton's Rangers. A
518 The Hidden Sin..
20
Tale of the American
519 James Gordon's Wife... 20
Revolution...
546 Mrs. Keith's Crime. A
1598 How He Reached the
Novel.....
White House; or, a Fa-
mous Victory.
1614 Quisisana.
1630 The Child-Hunters.
1660 The Tried and the
Tempted
1671 Long Odds..
1685 The Wonderful Advent-
ures of Phra the Phoeni-
cian. Retold by Edwin
Lester Arnold……
.. 20
1755 A Bride from the Bush.. 20
1916 King Solomon's Treas-
ure. By the Author of
"He"
25
10
20
··
20
584 Mixed Motives..
668 Half-Way. An Anglo-
French Romance…..
684 Last Days at Apswich.. 10
730 The Autobiography of
Benjamin Franklin..... 10
754 How to be Happy Though
Married. By a Graduate
in the University of
Matrimony.
755 Margery Daw
774 The Life and Travels of
Mungo Park...
10
10
10
777 The Voyages and Trav-
els of Sir John Maunde-
ville, Kt..
25
20
10
10
964 A Struggle for the Right;
or, Tracking the Truth, 20
1186 Guelda ……….
20
....
1297
Twenty Novelettes. By
Twenty Prominent
Novelists.....
1438 Margaret and Her
Bridesmaids..
1444 Queen of the County.... 20
1574 The Arabian Nights'
Entertainments..
•
•
··
...
2 22 8
...
20
20
30
222 22
30
20
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20
20
POCKET EDITION.
31
Latest Issues in Seaside Library.
1921 What Would You Do,
1921
Love? By Chas. Gib-
bon..
1922 He Feil Among Thieves.
By David Christie Mur-
ray and Henry Herman 25
1923 Avatar. By Theophile
Gautier....
1924 The Girl in the Brown
Habit. By Mrs. Edward
Kennard....
1925 The Heart of a Maid.
Beatrice Kipling.
1926 Breezie Langton. By
Hawley Smart....
1927 Out of Eden. By Dora
Russell...
••
By
•••
1930 A Fatal Past. By Dora
Russell...
...
1st
1945 Thwarted. By Florence
Montgomery
25
...
30 1946 The Condition of Labor.
By Henry George...... 25
1947 Ties Humane and Divine.
1st half. By B. L. Far-
jeon
25 1947 Ties Humane and Divine.
2d half. By B. L. Far-
jeon..
25 1948 Popular Tales. By Maria
Edgeworth...
25
…………….
1949 The Railway Man and
His Children. By Mrs.
Oliphant. 1st half.. 25
1949 The Railway Man and
His Children. By Mrs.
Oliphant. 2d half.
The Adventures of Rob
Roy. By James Grant.. 25
In Luck's Way. By John
Strange Winter, 1st
half...
25
25
& & & & & & &
1928 A Fashionable Marriage.
By Mrs. Alex. Fraser... 25 1950
1929 Keep My Secret. By G.
M. Robbins....
···
25
25
25
1931 Lumley the Painter. By
John Strange Winter... 25 1951
1932 The Mischief of Monica.
By L. B. Walford.
half..
1952
25 1951
25
25
1932 The Mischief of Monica.
By L. B. Walford. 2d
half
25
1933 Miss Wentworth's Idea.
By W. E. Norris... 25
1934 The Year of Miracle. By
Fergus Hume....
1935 Dick Rodney. By James
Grant.....
25
25
1936 A Golden Dream. By
Geo. Manville Fenn.. 25
1937 Bebee; or, Two Little
Wooden Shoes. By
"Ouida"
10
25
1938 Highest References. By
Florence Warden.
1939 Courtship in 1720 and
1860. By Hawley Smart 25
1940 Olga's Crime. By Frank
Barrett.
1941 Mysterious Mrs. Wilkin-
son. By W. E. Norris.. 25
1942 Seaforth. By Florence
Montgomery...
25
25
1943 In Two Moods. By Step-
niak and Wm. Westall. 25
1944 A Pinch of Experience.
By L. B. Walford....... 25
1955 Hovenden, V. C. By F.
Mabel Robinson.
2d
half.
25
In Luck's Way. By John
Strange Winter. 2d half 25
Dick Chevely. By W. H.
Kingston..
1953 The Horned Cat. By J.
Maclaren Cobban…………..
1954 Quentin Durward. By
Sir Walter Scott..
25
25
1955 Hovenden, V. C. By F.
Mabel Robinson. 1st
half...
1956 The Fortunes of Nigel.
By Sir Walter Scott,
Bart....
>>
222 2235
11
25
+
22235
25
25
1957 Mr. Chaine's Son. By W.
E. Norris. 1st half..
1957 Mr. Chaine's Son. By W.
E. Norris. 2d half……………. 25
1958 Woodstock; or, the Cav-
alier. By Sir Walter
Scott, Bart.
1959 Santa Barbara. By
Ouida
1960 Rinaldo. By "Ouida 25
1961 Count Robert of Paris.
By Sir Walter Scott,
Bart..
25
25
25
*
25
1962 For the Defence. By B.
L. Farjeon. 1st half... 25
25
32
THE SEASIDE LIBRARY.
Fergus Hume..
1993 The Crack of Doom. By
William Minto....
1962 For the Defence. By B. 1992 Miss Mephistopheles. By
L. Farjeon. 2d half. 25
1963 Anne of Geierstein. By
Sir Walter Scott, Bart.. 25
1964 The Man Who Vanished.
By Fergus W. Hume... 10
1965 Averil. By Rosa Nou-
chette Carey
1966 Our Bessie. By Rosa Nou-
chette Carey..
1967 My Guardian. By Ada
Cambridge...
1994 Victims. By Theo. Gift. 25
1995 Heaps of Money. By W.
E. Norris....
4.
...
.
1968 Heriot's Choice. By Rosa
Nouchette Carey.
1969 The Scarlet Letter. By
Nathaniel Hawthorne.. 25
1970 Legends of the Province
House. By Nathaniel
Hawthorne..
1971 Mosses from an Old
Mause. By Nathaniel
Hawthorne.
By
1972 The New Adam and Eve,
and Other Stories.
Nathaniel Hawthorne.. 25
1973 A Laodicean. By Thomas
Hardy..
1978 From Moor Isles. By
Jessie Fothergill.
………
..
• • *
1979 Dick Netherby. By L.
B. Walford..
··
232 233
By
25
1990 Dr. Rameau. By Georges
Ohnet.
1991 Proved Unworthy.
25
By
25
1974 The Hand of Ethelberta.
By Thomas Hardy....
1975 The Return of the Native.
By Thomas Hardy...... 25
1976 Under the Greenwood
Tree. By Thomas Hardy
1977 Better Dead. By J. M.
Barrie..
दे दे
25
25
25
17 18 19 20 2 0 1 25
25
25
25
25
1980 A Study in Scarlet. By
A. Conan Doyle..
1981 Esther Denison. By Ade-
line Sergeant..
1982 A Sage of Sixteen. By
L. B. Walford ...
1983 A Village Tragedy.
Margaret L. Woods
1984 The Lamplighter. By
Maria S. Cummins...
1985 Two Years Ago. By Rev.
Chas. Kingsley....
1986 Called to Account.
25
...
25
25
By
25
Annie Thomas..
1987 Her Great Idea. By L.
B. Walford .
25
1988 Doctor Glennie's Daugh-
ter. By B. L. Farjeon. 25
1989 Aunt Parker. By B. L.
Farjeon
25
25
25
10
25
+
2223235
Mrs. H. Lovett-Cameron 25
1996 Matrimony. By W. E.
Norris.
...
•
1997 Hero Carthew. By
Louisa Parr..
1998 Loyalty George.
Louisa Parr..
1999
One of Three. By Jessie
Fothergill
2000 Noblesse Oblige. By Miss
Roberts....
..
•••
2001 Joseph Noirel's Revenge
By V. Cherbuliez....
2002 Babolain.
Droz..
By Gustave
By
2003 Under Slieve-Ban. By R.
E. Francillon…..
..
2004 Maid Ellice. By Theo.
Gift....
...
••
...
•
By
..
By
Oliphant...
2018 The Revolt of Man.
Walter Besant…………….
2019 Miss Molly. By B.
Butt.
2020 Count Kostia. By V.
Cherbuliez...
...
2021 Prosper. By V. Cherbu-
liez..
By
* * * * * * * * * * * * 19 2
25
...
By
25
M.
25
25
25
2005 A Stiff-Necked Genera-
tion. By L. B. Walford 25
2006 The Incomplete Advent-
urer, and The Boom in
Bell-Topps. By Tighe
Hopkins..
..
2007 The New Duchess. By
Mrs. Alexander Fraser. 25
2008 A Modern Ulysses. By
Joseph Hatton.
2009 Self Help. By Samuel
Smiles..
25
25
25
25
25
2010 Her Only Sin. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme……..
2011 A Fatal Wedding.
Charlotte M. Braeme... 25
2012 A Bright Wedding Day.
By Charlotte M. Braeme 25
2013 One Against Many.
Charlotte M. Braeme
2014 One False Step.
By
25
25
2 & & &
25
25
Charlotte M. Braeme... 25
2015 Two Fair Women. By
Charlotte M. Braeme...
2016 The Golden Magnet.
Geo. Manville Fenn..
2017 White Ladies. By Mrs.
25
10
& & & & & & & & & & & &
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
2022 The Duchess of Powys-
land. By Grant Allen.. 25
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Always Unchanged and Unabridged.
WITH HANDSOME
HANDSOME LITHOGRAPHED PAPER COVER,
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1974 The Hand of Ethelberta. By
Thomas Hardy..
1975 The Return of the Native. By
Thomas Hardy..
1976 Under the Greenwood Tree. By
Thomas Hardy…….
25
1977 Better Dead. By J. M. Barrie. 10
1978 From Moor Isles. By Jessie
Fothergill....
··
25
1979 Dick Netherby. By L. B. Wal-
ford
25
25
1980 A Study in Scarlet. By A.
Conan Doyle.
1981 Esther Denison. By Adeline
Sergeant
25
1992 A Sage of Sixteen. By L. B.
Walford
1983 A Village Tragedy.
garet L. Woods.
1984 The Lamplighter.
S. Cummins
1985 Two Years Ago. By Rev. Chas.
Kingsley
1986 Called to Account. By Annie
Thomas.
1987 Her Great Idea. By L. B. Wal-
ford..
1988 Doctor Glennie's Daughter. By
B. L. Farjeon
....
••
……….
By Mar-
By Maria
By Wil-
1994 Victims. By Theo. Gift.
1995 Heaps of Money. By W. E.
Norris
►
………♥
10 10 10 10 10 10 10 12
2001 Joseph Noirel's Revenge.
V. Cherbuliez..
25
25
1989 Aunt Parker. By B. L. Far-
jeon
1990 Dr. Rameau.
Ohnet..
By Georges
1991 Proved Unworthy. By Mrs. H.
Lovett-Cameron
25
1992 Miss Mephistopheles. By Fer-
gus Hume
1993 The Crack of Doom.
liam Minto...
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
25
1996 Matrimony. By W. E. Norris.. 25
1997 Hero Carthew. By Louisa
Parr
1998 Loyalty George.
Parr.
25
By Louisa
...
1999 One of Three. By Jessie
25
25
Fothergill.
...
2000 Noblesse Oblige. By Miss
Roberts..
25
By
25
LO LO LO LOLO
25
25
2002 Babolain. By Gustave Droz... 25
2003 Under Slieve-Ban,
By R. E.
Francillon
NO.
PRICE.
2004 Maid Ellice. By Theo. Gift………. 25
2005 A Stiff-Necked Generation. By
L. B. Walford.
2006 The Incomplete Adventurer,
and The Boom in Bell-Topps.
By Tighe Hopkins…….
2007 The New Duchess. By Mrs.
Alexander Frazer..
2008 A Modern Ulysses. By Joseph
Hatton..
-- •
··
……….
25
2009 Self Help. By Samuel Smiles. 25
2010 Her Only Sin. By Charlotte
Braeme
2011 A Fatal Wedding. By Charlotte
M. Braeme.
-
2012 A Bright Wedding Day. By
Charlotte Braeme..
25
2013 One Against Many. By Char-
lotte M. Braeme.
25
2014 One False Step. By Charlotte
M. Braeme.
25
2015 Two Fair Women.
By Char-
lotte M. Braeme
2016 The Golden Magnet. By George
Manville Fenn..
25
2017 Whiteladies. By Mrs. Oliphant 25
2018 The Revolt of Man. By Walter
Besant..
2028 Lola. By Arthur Griffiths.
2029 The Leaden Casket. By Mrs.
Alfred W. Hunt...
2030 Giannetto. By Lady Margaret
Majendie....
25
...
25
2019 Miss Molly. By B. M. Butt ... 25
2020 Count Kostia. By V. Cherbuliez 25
2021 Prosper. By V. Cherbulfez……….. 25
2022 Duchess of Powysland. By
Grant Allen.
25
2031 Ersilia. By E. Frances Poyn-
ter..
2034 A Chelsea Householder.
Novel……….
10 10 10 10 9
2023 Divorce ; or, The Trials and
Temptations of a Lovely Wo-
man. By Octave Fenillet..... 25
2024 Christy Carew. By May Laffan. 25
2025 The Hon. Mrs. Ferrard, By May
Laffan..
2026 Hather Court. By Mrs. Moles-
worth...
25
2032 A Castle in the Air. By Hugh
Ewing....
25
2033 Kinley Hollow. By G. H. Hol-
lister..
25
25
2027 A Matter-of-Fact Girl. By
Theo. Gift
A
10
25
25
25
25
25
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25
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