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 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR5842 
 
 .W8 
 
 L5 
 
 1889 
 
This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
 may be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 "^^^ RET 
 DUE • 
 
 ^^^^ RET 
 DUE 
 
 APR 2 
 
 :QQQ 
 
 
 
 
 N 1 2 199^ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 IP 
 
 
 
 
 1 \l 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 Form No, 513. 
 Rev. 1/84 
 
 
 
 
Digitized by tlie Internet Arcliive 
 
 in 2013 
 
 ; 
 
 http ://arch i ve . o rg/detai I s/l if essecretOO wood 
 
A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 J. 
 
 BY 
 
 MES. HENRY WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 *'EAST LYNNE," THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EICHAED BENTLEY AND SON, 
 iPublisfjers in (Bxtiimx^ to J^er Iffilajestg tfje ®uem» 
 
 1889. 
 
 {All rights reserved.') 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 »o-* . 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. Was the Lady Mad? ... ... ... ... 3 
 
 II. Changes .. ... ... ... ... 27 
 
 III. Away to London ... ... ... ... 85 
 
 IV. Daffodil's Delight . . ... ... ... 50 
 
 V. Miss Gayinn's Visit ... ... • ... ... 67 
 
 VI. Tracked Ho3ie ... ... ... ... 85 
 
 VIL Mr. Shuck at Home ... .. ... 108 
 
 Vlir. Five Thousand Pounds! ... ... ... 123 
 
 IX. The Separation of Hunter and Hunter .., ... 136 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 1. A Meeting of the Workmen ... ... ..." 149 
 
 II. Called to Ketterford ... ... ... ... 169 
 
 III. Two Thousand Pounds ... ... ... 186 
 
 IV. Agitation ... ... ... ... ... 207 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAl'TER PAGE 
 
 I. A Pr.E3iATuiiE Avowal ... ... ... ... 229 
 
 II. Mk. Cox ... ... ... ... ... 249 
 
 III. "I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FoOL " ... ... ... 268 
 
 IV. Somebody "pitched into" ... ... ... 290 
 
 V. A Gloomy Chapter ... ... ... oil 
 
 YI. The Little Boy at Kest ... ... 328 
 
 VII. Mpv. Dunn's Pigs brought to Market ... ... 336 
 
 VIII. A Descent for Mr. Shuck ... ... ... 353 
 
 IX. On the Eve of Bankruptcy ... 373 
 
 . X. The Years gone by ... ... ... ... 392 
 
 XI. Belief ... ... ... ... ... ... 412 
 
 XII. Conclusion ... ... ... ... 424 
 
PART THE FIRST. 
 
 A Life's Secretk 
 
1 
 
A LIFE'S SEOKET. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 WAS THE LADY MAD ? 
 
 On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in 
 the heart of England, stood, a few years ago, a white 
 house, its green lawn, surrounded by shrubs and 
 flowers, sloping down to the high-road. It probably 
 stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed 
 over its head since ; for houses, unlike men and woraen, 
 can almost be made to renew their youth again. A 
 cheerful, handsome house, of moderate size, the resi- 
 dence of Mr. Thornimett. 
 
 At the distance of a stone's-throw, towards the open 
 country, were sundry workshops and sheds — a large 
 yard intervening between them and the house. They 
 belonged to Mr. Thornimett ; and the timber and other 
 characteristic materials lying about the yard would 
 have proclaimed their owner s trade without the aid 
 of the lofty sign-board — Richard Thornimett, Builder 
 
4 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 and Contractor." His business was a large one for 
 a country town. 
 
 Entering the house by the pillared portico, and 
 crossing the black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to 
 the left, you came to a room whose windows looked 
 towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort of 
 study, or counting-house, though the actual business 
 counting-house was at the works. Matting was on 
 its floor; desks and stools stood about; maps and 
 drawings, plain and coloured, were on the walls ; not 
 finished and beautiful landscapes, fresh from the hands 
 of modern artists, or descended from the old masters, 
 but skeleton designs of various buildings— churches, 
 bridges, terraces — plans to be worked out practically, 
 not to be admired on paper. This room was chiefly 
 given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may 
 see him in it now. 
 
 A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and up- 
 right; his name, Austin Clay. It is Easter-Monday 
 in those long-past years — yet not so very long past, 
 either — and the works and yard are silent to-day. 
 Strictly speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called 
 a pupil, for he is twenty-one, and his articles are out. 
 The house is his home ; Mr. and Mrs. Thornimett, who 
 have no children of their own, are almost as his father 
 and mother. They have said nothing to him about 
 leaving, and he has said nothing to them. The town, 
 in its busy interference, gratuitously supposed that 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 6 
 
 "Old Thornimett would be taking him into partner- 
 ship." Old Thornimett had given no indication of 
 his intentions one way or the other. 
 
 Austin Clay was of gentle birth. Left an orphan at 
 the age of fourteen, with insufhcient means to com- 
 plete his education, Ketterford wondered what was to 
 become of him, and whether he had not better get rid 
 of himself by running away to sea. Mr. Thornimett 
 stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs. 
 Clay — Austin's mother — and Mrs. Thornimett were 
 distantly related, and perhaps a certain sense of duty 
 in the matter made itself heard ; that, at least, com- 
 bined with the important fact that the Thornimett 
 household was childless. The first thing they did was 
 to take the boy home for the Christmas holidays ; the 
 next, was to tell him he should remain there for good' 
 Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a 
 fortune hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain 
 to him, but to make a man of him, and teach him to 
 earn his own living. 
 
 Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin ? subse- 
 quently asked Mr. Thornimett. 
 
 " Can't I be articled, sir ? " returned Austin, quickly. 
 
 " Articled ? " repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. 
 He saw what was running in the boy's mind. He 
 was a homely man himself; had built up his own 
 fortune just as he had built the new house he lived 
 in ; had risen, in fact, as many a working man does 
 
6 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 rise: but Austins father had been a gentleman. 
 "Well, yes, you can be articled, if you prefer it/' 
 he said; "but I shall never call it anything but 
 apprenticed; neither will the trade. You'll have to 
 work, young sir." 
 
 ''I don't care how hard I work, or what I do," cried 
 Austin, earnestly. " There's no degradation in work." 
 
 Thus it was settled ; and Austin Clay became bound 
 to Richard Thornimett. 
 
 " Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of 
 charity quoth Ketterford. 
 
 No doubt they had. But as the time passed on 
 they grew very fond of him. He was an open-hearted, 
 sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at least, 
 Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that 
 make a man above his fellows. Privileges were ac- 
 corded him from the first : continuing certain of his 
 school duties, for which masters came to him out of 
 business hours — chiefly drawing, mathematics, and 
 modern languages — and Austin went on himself with 
 Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett waged perpetual warfare. Of what use would 
 they be to him ? she was always asking, and Austin, 
 in his pleasant, laughing way, would rejoin that they 
 might help to make a gentleman of him. He was that 
 already : Austin Clay, though he might not know it, 
 was a true-born gentleman. 
 
 Had they repented their bargain ? He was twenty- 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 7 
 
 one now, and out of his articles, or his time, as it was 
 commonly called. No, not for an instant. Never a 
 better servant had Richard Thornimett ; never, he 
 would have told you, one so good. With all his 
 propensity for being a '^gentleman," Austin Clay 
 did not shrink from his work ; but did it thoroughl}^ 
 His master in his wisdom had caused him to learn 
 his business practically; but, that accomplished, he 
 kept him to overlooking, and to other light duties, 
 just as he might have done by a son of his own. It 
 had answered well. 
 
 Easter-Monday, and a universal holiday. Mr. 
 Thornimett had gone out on horseback, and Austin 
 was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his stool 
 tilted, one hand unconsciously balancing a ruler, the 
 other supporting his head, which was bent over a book. 
 Austin ! " 
 
 The call, rather a gentle one, came from without 
 the door. Austin, buried in his book, did not hear it. 
 " Austin Clay i 
 
 He heard now, and started up. The door opened 
 at the same moment, and an old lady, dressed in 
 delicate lavender print, came briskly in. Her cap 
 of a round, old-fashioned shape, was white as snow, 
 and a bunch of keys hung from her girdle. It was 
 Mrs. Thornimett. 
 
 you are here ! " she exclaimed, advancing with 
 short, quick steps. ''Sarah said she was sure Mr. 
 
8 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Austin had not gone out. And now, what do you 
 mean by this ? " she added, bending her spectacles, 
 which she always wore, on his open book. " Confining 
 yourself indoors this lovely day over that good-for- 
 nothing Hebrew stuflf!" 
 
 Austin turned his eyes upon her with a pleasant 
 smile. Deep-set grey eyes they were, earnest and 
 truthful, with a great amount of thought in them for 
 a young man. His face was a pleasing, good-looking 
 face, without being handsome, its complexion pale, 
 clear, and healthy, and the hair rather dark. There 
 was not much beauty in the countenance, but there 
 was plenty of firmness and good sense. 
 
 " It is not Hebrew, Mrs. Thornimett. Hebrew and 
 I are strangers to each other. I am only indulging 
 myself with a bit of old Homer.'' 
 
 "All useless, Austin. I don't care whether it is 
 Greek or Hebrew, or Latin or French. To pore over 
 those rubbishing dry books whenever you get the 
 chance, does you no good. If you did not possess a 
 constitution of iron, you would have been laid upon a 
 sick-bed long ago." 
 
 Austin laughed outright. Mrs. Thornimett's pre- 
 judices against what she called " learning/' had become 
 a proverb. Never having been troubled with much 
 herself*, she, like the Dutch professor told of by George 
 Primrose, saw no good in it." She lifted her hand 
 and closed the book. 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 9 
 
 "May I not spend my time as I like upon a 
 holiday ? " remonstrated Austin half vexed, half in 
 good-humour. 
 
 " No/' said she, authoritatively ; " not when the day 
 is warm and bright as this. We do not often get so 
 fair an Easter. Don't you see that I have put off my 
 winter clothing ? " 
 
 " I saw that at breakfast." 
 
 " Oh, you did notice that, did you ? I thought you 
 and Mr. Thornimett were both buried in that news- 
 paper. Well, Austin, I never make the change till I 
 think warm weather is really coming in : and so it 
 ought to be, for Easter is late this year. Come, put 
 that book up." 
 
 Austin obeyed, a comical look of grievance on his 
 face. " I declare you order me about just as you did 
 when I came here first, a miserable little muff of 
 fourteen. -You'll never get another like me, Mrs. 
 Thornimett. As if I had not enough outdoor work 
 every day of the week ! And I don't know where on 
 earth to go to. It's like turning a fellow out of house 
 and home." 
 
 "You are going out for me, Austin. The master 
 left a message for the Lowland Farm, and you 
 shall take it over, and remain the day with 
 them. They will make as much of you as they 
 would of a king. When Mrs. Milton was here the 
 other day, she complained that you never went over 
 
10 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 now ; she said she supposed you were growing above 
 them." 
 
 What nonsense ! " said Austin, laughing. Well, 
 I'll go there for you at once, without grumbling. I 
 like the Miltons.'' 
 
 " You can walk, or you can take the gig : whichever 
 you like." 
 
 "I will walk," replied Austin, quickly, putting his 
 book inside the desk. What is the message, Mrs. 
 Thornimett ? " 
 
 The message " 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett came to a sudden pause, very 
 much as if she had fallen into a dream. Her eyes were 
 gazing from the window into the far distance, and 
 Austin looked in the same direction ; but there was 
 nothing to be seen. 
 
 " There's nothing there, lad. It is my own thoughts 
 that interrupted me. Something is troubling me, 
 Austin. Don't you think the master has seemed very 
 poorly of late ? " 
 
 N — 0," replied Austin, slowly, and with some 
 hesitation, for he was half doubtino^ whether some- 
 thing of the sort had not struck him. Certainly the 
 master — as Mr. Thornimett was indiscriminately styled 
 on the premises both by servants and workpeople, so 
 that Mrs. Thornimett often fell into the same habit — 
 was not the brisk man he used to be. I have not 
 noticed it particularly." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 11 
 
 That is like the young ; they never see anything/' 
 she murmured; as if speaking to herself. " Well, 
 Austin, I have ; and I can tell you that I do not like 
 the masters looks, or the signs I detect in him. 
 Especially did I not like them when he rode forth 
 this morning." 
 
 *'A11 that I have observed is that of late he 
 seems disinclined for business. He seems heavj^, 
 sleepy, as though it were a trouble to rouse him- 
 self, and he comulains sometimes of headache. But, 
 of course " 
 
 " Of course, what ? " asked Mrs. Thornimett. " Why 
 do you hesitate ? " 
 
 " I was going to say that Mr. Thornimett is not as 
 young as he was/' continued Austin, with some 
 deprecation. 
 
 " He is sixty-six, and I am sixty-three. But, you 
 must be going. Talking o£ it, will not mend it. And 
 the best part of the day is passing." 
 
 "You have not given me the message," he said, 
 taking up his hat which lay beside him. 
 
 " The message is this," said Mrs. Thornimett, lower- 
 ing her voice to a confidential tone, as she glanced 
 round to see that the door was closed. "Tell Mr. 
 Milton that Mr. Thornimett cannot answer for that 
 timber-merchant about whom he asked. The master 
 fears he might prove a slippery customer; he is a 
 man whom he himself would trust as far as he could 
 
12 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 see, but no farther. Just say this into Mr. Milton's 
 private ear, you know/' 
 
 " Certainly. I understand," replied the young man, 
 turning to depart. 
 
 " You see now why it might not be convenient to 
 despatch any one but yourself. And, Austin," added 
 the old lady, following him across the hall, take care 
 not to make yourself ill with their Easter cheesecakes. 
 The Lowland Farm is famous for them." 
 I will do my best," returned Austin. 
 
 He looked back at her, nodding and laughing as he 
 traversed the lawn, and from thence struck into the 
 open road. His way led him past the workshops, 
 closed then, even to the gates, for Easter-Monday in 
 that part of the country w^as a universal holiday. A 
 few minutes, and he turned into the fields ; a welcome 
 change from the dusty road. The field way might be 
 a little longer, but it was altogether pleasanter. 
 Easter was late that year, as Mrs. Thornimett observed, 
 and the season was early. The sky was blue and 
 clear, the day warm and lovely ; the hedges were 
 budding into leaf, the grass was growing, the clover, 
 buttercups, and daisies were springing ; and an early 
 butterfly fluttered past Austin. 
 
 You have taken wing betimes," he said, addressing 
 the unconscious insect. " I think summer must be at 
 hand." 
 
 Halting for a moment to watch the flight, he strode 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 13 
 
 on the quicker afterwards. Supple, active, slender, 
 his steps — the elastic, joyous tread of youth — scarcely 
 seemed to touch the earth. He always walked fast 
 when busy with thought, and his mind was buried in 
 the hint Mrs. Thornimett had spoken, touching her 
 fears for her husband's health. If he is breaking, it's 
 through close attention to business," decided Austin, 
 as he struck into the common and was nearing the 
 end of his journey. '^I wish he would take a jolly 
 good holiday this summer. It would set him up ; and 
 I know I could manage things without him," 
 
 A large common ; a broad piece of waste land, 
 owned by the lord of the manor, but appropriated by 
 anybody and everybody ; where gipsies encamped and 
 donkeys grazed, and geese and children were turned 
 out to roam. A wide path ran across it, worn by the 
 passage of farmers' carts and other vehicles. To the 
 left it was bordered in the distance by a row of 
 cottages ; to the right, its extent was limited, and 
 terminated in some dangerous gravel-pits — dangerous, 
 because they were not protected. 
 
 Austin Clay had reached the middle of the path and 
 of the common, when he overtook a lady whom he 
 slightly knew. A lady of very strange manners, 
 popularly supposed to be mad, and of whom he once 
 stood in considerable awe, not to say terror, at which 
 he laughed now. She was a Miss Gwinn, a tall bony 
 woman of remarkable strength, the sister of Gwinn, a 
 
14 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 lawyer of Ketterford. Gwinn tlie lawyer did not bear 
 the best of characters, and Ketterford reviled him 
 when they could do it secretly. " A low, crafty, dis- 
 honest practitioner, whose hands couldn't come clean 
 had he spent his days and nights washing them," was 
 amidst the complimentary terms applied to him. Miss 
 Gwinn, however, seemed honest enough, and but for 
 her abrupt and quarrelsome manners Ketterford might 
 have grown to feel a sort of respect for her as a woman 
 of sorrow. She had come suddenly to the place many 
 years before, and taken up her abode with her brother. 
 She looked and moved and spoke as one half-crazed 
 with grief: what its cause was, no one knew; but it 
 was accepted by all, and mysteriously alluded to 
 occasionally by herself. 
 
 " You have taken a long walk this morning. Miss 
 Gwinn," said Austin, courteously raising his hat as he 
 came up with her. 
 
 She threw back her grey cloak with a quick, sharp 
 movement, and turned upon him. Oh, is it you, 
 Austin Clay ? You startled me. My thoughts were 
 far away: deep upon another. He could wear a fair 
 outside, and accost me in a pleasant voice, as you do." 
 
 That is rather a doubtful compliment, Miss 
 Gwinn," he returned, in his good-humoured way, " I 
 hope I am no darker inside than out. At any rate, 
 1 don't try to appear different from what I am." 
 
 " Did I accuse you of it ? Boy ! you had better go 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 15 
 
 and throw yourself into one of those graA^el-pits and 
 die, than grow up to be deceitful," she vehemently 
 cried. " Deceit has been the curse of my days. It 
 has made me what I am ; one whom the boys hoot 
 after, and call " 
 
 " No, no ; not so bad as that," interrupted Austin, 
 soothingly. " You have been cross with them some- 
 times, and they are insolent, mischievous little raga- 
 muffins. I am sure every thoughtful person respects 
 you, and sympathizes with your sorrow." 
 
 " Sorrow ! " she wailed. Ay. Sorrow, beyond 
 that falling to the ordinary lot of man. The blow fell 
 upon me, though I was not an actor in it. When 
 those connected with us do wrong, we suffer; we, 
 more than they. I may be revenged yet," she added, 
 her expression changing to anger. If I can only 
 come across him, I shall be." 
 
 Across whom ? " naturally asked Austin. 
 Who are you, that you should seek to pry into 
 my secrets ? " she passionately resumed. " I am five- 
 and-fifty to-day — old enough to be your mother, and 
 you presume to question me ! Boys are coming to 
 something." 
 
 "I beg your pardon; I spoke heedlessly. Miss 
 Gwinn, in answer to your remark. Indeed I have no 
 wish to pry into any one's business. And as to 
 * secrets,' I have eschewed them, since, a little chap 
 in petticoats, I crept to my mother's room-door 
 
16 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 to listen to one, and got soundly whipped for my 
 pains." 
 
 " It is a secret that you will never know, or any 
 one else; so put its thought from you. Austin Clay," 
 she added, laying her hand upon his arm, and bending 
 forward to speak in a whisper, it is fifteen years, this 
 very day, since its horrors came out to me ! And I 
 have had to carry it about ever since, as I best could, 
 in silence and in pain." 
 
 She turned abruptly as she spoke, and continued 
 her wa>y along the broad path ; whilst Austin Clay 
 struck short off towards the gravel-pits, his nearest 
 road to the Lowland Farm. Silent and abandoned 
 were the pits that day; every one connected with 
 them was enjoying holiday with the rest of the world. 
 " What a strange woman she is ! " he thought. 
 
 It has been said that the gravel-pits were not far 
 from the path. Austin was close upon them, when 
 the sound of a horse's footsteps caused him to turn. 
 A gentleman was riding fast across the common, the 
 opposite from which he and Miss Gwinn had come, 
 and Austin shaded his eyes with his hand to see if it 
 was any one he knew. No ; it was a stranger. A 
 slender man, of some seven-and-thirty years, tall, as 
 far as could be judged, with thin, prominent aquiline 
 features, and dark eyes. A fine face ; one of those 
 which impress the beholder at first sight, as it did 
 Austin, and, once seen, remain in the memory for ever. 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 17 
 
 " I wonder who he is ? " cried Austin Clay to him- 
 self. " He rides well." 
 
 Possibly Miss Gwinn might be wondering the same. 
 At any rate, she had fixed her eyes on the stranger, 
 and they seemed to be starting from her head with the 
 gaze. It would appear that she recognized him, and 
 with no pleasant emotion. She grew strangely excited. 
 Her face turned of a ghastly whiteness, her hands 
 closed involuntarily, and, after standing for a moment 
 in perfect stillness, as if petrified, she darted forward 
 in his way, and seized the bridle of the horse. 
 
 " So ! you have turned up at last ! I knew — I knew 
 you were not dead ! " she shrieked, in a voice of wild 
 raving. ^'I knew you would some time be brought 
 face to face with me, to answer for your wickedness." 
 
 Utterly surprised and perplexed, or seeming to be 
 so, at this summary attack, the gentleman could only 
 stare at his assailant, and endeavour to release his 
 bridle from her hand. But she held it with a firm 
 grasp. 
 
 " Let go my horse," he said. " Are you mad ? 
 You were mad," she retorted, passionately. " Mad 
 in those old days ; and you turned another to madness. 
 Not three minutes ago, I said to myself that the time 
 would come when I should find you. Man ? do you 
 remember that it is fifteen years ago this very day 
 that the — the — crisis of the sickness came on ? Do 
 you know that never afterwards " 
 
 A Life's Secret. 2 
 
18 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 "Do not betray your private affairs to me," inter- 
 rupted the gentleman. ''Tliey are no concern of 
 mine. I never saw you in my life. Take care ! the 
 horse will do you an injury." 
 
 " No ! you never saw me, and you never saw some- 
 one else ! " she panted, in tones that would have been 
 mockingly sarcastic, but for their wild passion. " You 
 did not change the current of my whole life ! you did 
 not turn another to madness! These equivocations 
 are Avorthy of you!' 
 
 " If you are not insane, you must be mistaking me 
 for some other person," he replied, his tone none of 
 the mildest, though perfectly calm. I repeat that, to 
 my knowledge, I never set eyes upon you in my life. 
 Woman ! have you no regard for your own safety ? 
 The horse will injure you ! Don't you see that I can- 
 not control him any longer ? " 
 
 " So much the better if he kills us both,",, she 
 shrieked, swaying to and fro with the fierce motions 
 of the restive horse. " You will only meet your 
 deserts : and, for myself, I am tired of life." 
 
 " Let go ! " cried the rider. 
 
 "Not until you have told me where you live, and 
 where you may be found. I have searched for you in 
 vain. I will have my revenge ; I will force you to do 
 me justice. You " 
 
 In her sad temper, her blind obstinacy, she still 
 held the bridle. The horse, a» spirited animal, was 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 19 
 
 passionate as she was, and far stronger. He reared, 
 kicked, plunged ; and, finally, he shook off the ob- 
 noxious restraint, to dash furiously in the direction of 
 the gravel-pits. Miss Gwinn fell to the ground. 
 
 To fall into the pit would be certain destruction to 
 both man and horse. Austin Clay had watched the 
 encounter with amazement, though he could not hear 
 the words of the quarrel. In the impulse of the 
 moment, disregarding the danger to himself, he darted 
 in front of the horse, arrested him on the very brink of 
 the pit, and threw him back on his haunches. 
 
 Snorting, panting, the white foam breaking from 
 him, the animal, as if conscious of the doom he had 
 escaped, now stood in trembling quiet, obedient to the 
 control of his master. That master threw himself 
 from his back, and turned to Austin. 
 
 "Young gentleman, you have saved my life." 
 
 There was little doubt of that. Austin accepted the 
 fact without any fuss, feeling as thankful as the 
 speaker, and quite unconscious at the moment of the 
 wrench he had given his own shoulder. 
 
 " It would have been an awkward fall," he returned. 
 " I am glad I happened to be here." 
 
 "It would have killed me'' replied the stranger, 
 stepping to the brink, and looking down. And your 
 being here must be owing to God's ever-watchful 
 providence.'* 
 
 He lifted his hat as he spoke, and remained a 
 
20 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 1 
 
 moment or two silent and uncovered, his eyes closed. 
 Austin, in the same impulse of reverence, lifted his. 
 
 ''Did you see the strange manner in which that 
 woman attacked me ? questioned the stranger. 
 
 ''Yes." 
 
 " She must be insane.'^ 
 
 " She is very strange at times," said Austin. " She 
 flies into desperate passions." 
 
 " Passions ! It is madness, not passion. A woman 
 like that ought to be shut up in Bedlam. Where 
 would be the satisfaction to my wile and family, if 
 through her, I had been lying at this moment at the 
 bottom there, dead ? I never saw her in my life 
 before; never." 
 
 " Is she hurt ? She has fallen, I perceive." 
 
 "Hurt! not she. She could call after me pretty 
 fiercely when my horse shook her off*. She possesses 
 the rage and strength of a tiger. Good fellow ! good 
 Salem ! did a mad woman frighten and anger you ? " 
 added the stranger, soothing his horse. "And now, 
 young sir," turning to Austin, " how shall I reward 
 you ? " 
 
 Austin broke into a smile at the notion. 
 
 " Not at all, thank you," he said. " One does not 
 merit reward for such a thing as this. I should have 
 deserved being sent after yoUy had I not interposed. 
 To do my best was a simple matter of duty — of 
 obligation ; but nothing to be rewarded for." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 21 
 
 ^^^Had he been a common man, I might have done 
 it/' thought the stranger ; " but he is evidently a 
 gentleman. Well, I may be able to repay it in some 
 manner as you and I pass through life," he said, 
 aloud, mounting the now subdued horse. " Some 
 neglect the opportunities, thrown in their way, of 
 helping their fellow-creatures ; some embrace them, 
 as you have just done. I believe that whichever 
 we may give — neglect or help — will be returned to us 
 in kind." 
 
 " As to embracing the opportunity — I should think 
 there's no man living but would have done his best to 
 save you, had he been standing here." 
 
 Ah, well ; let it go," returned the horseman. 
 " Will you tell me your name ? and something about 
 yourself ? " 
 
 ^'My name is Austin Clay. I have few relatives 
 living, and they are distant ones, and I shall, I expect, 
 have to make my own way in the world." 
 
 "Are you in any profession ? or business ? " 
 I am with Mr. Thornimett, of Ketterford : the 
 builder and contractor." 
 
 " Why, I am a builder myself ! " cried the stranger, 
 a pleasant accent of surprise in his tone. Shall you 
 ever be visiting London ? " 
 
 I dare say I shall, sir. I should like to do so." 
 
 "Then, when you do, mind you call upon me the 
 first thing," he rejoined, taking a card from a case in 
 
22 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 his pocket and handing it to Austin. "Come to me, 
 should you ever be in want of a berth : I might help 
 you to one. Will you promise ? " 
 " Yes^ sir ; and thank you." 
 
 "'I fancy the thanks are due from the other side, 
 Mr. Clay. Oblige me by not letting that Bess o' 
 Bedlam obtain sight of my card. I might have her 
 following me up to town." 
 
 " No fear," said Austin, alluding to the caution. 
 
 '^She must be lying there to regain the strength 
 exhausted by passion," carelessly remarked the 
 stranger. " Poor thing ! it is sad to be mad, though ! 
 She is getting up now, I see : I had l^etter be away. 
 That town, in the distance, is Ketterford, is it not ? " 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Fare you well, then. I must hasten to catch the 
 twelve-o'clock train. They have horse-boxes, T pre- 
 sume, at the station ? " 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
 " All right," he nodded. I have received a summons 
 to town, and cannot afford the time to ride Salem 
 home. So we must both get conveyed by train, old 
 fellow" — patting his horse, as he spoke to it. "By 
 the way, though — what is the lady's name ? " he 
 halted to ask. 
 
 " Gwinn. Miss Gwinn." 
 
 " Gwinn ? Gwinn ? Never heard the name in my 
 life. Fare you well, in all gratitude." 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD ? 
 
 23 
 
 He rode away. Austin Clay looked at the card. 
 It was a private visiting-card — " Mr. Henry Hunter," 
 with an address in the corner. 
 
 "He must be one of the great London building 
 firm, ' Hunter and Hunter/ " thought Austin, deposit- 
 ing the card in his pocket. " First-rate people. And 
 now for Miss Gwinn." 
 
 For his humanity would not allow him to leave 
 her unlooked- after, as the molested and angry man 
 had done. She had risen to her feet, though slowly, 
 as he stepped back across the short, worn grass of the 
 common. The fall had shaken her, without doing 
 material damage. 
 
 I hope you are not hurt ? " said Austin, kindly. 
 
 "A ban light upon the horse!" she fiercely cried. 
 "At my age, it does not do to be thrown to the 
 ground violently. I thought my bones were broken ; 
 I could not rise. And he has escaped ! Boy ! what 
 did he say to you of me — of my affairs ? " 
 
 " Not anything. I do not believe he knows you in 
 the least. He says he does not." 
 
 The crimson of passion had faded from Miss Gwinn's 
 face, leaving it wan and white. "How dare you say 
 you believe it ? " 
 
 " Because I do believe it," replied Austin. " He 
 declared that he never saw you in his life; and I 
 think he spoke the truth. I can judge when a man 
 tells truth, and when he tells a lie. Mr. Thornimett 
 
24 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 often says he wishes he could read faces — and people 
 —as I can read them.'' 
 
 Miss Gwinn gazed at him ; contempt and pity 
 blended in her countenance. Have you yet to learn 
 that a bad man can assume the semblance of good- 
 ness ? 
 
 Yes, I know that ; and assume it so as to take in 
 a saint/' hastily spoke Austin. " You may be deceived 
 in a bad man ; but I do not think you can be in a 
 good one. Where a man possesses innate truth and 
 honour, it shines out in his countenance, his voice, his 
 manner; and there can be no mistake. When you 
 are puzzled over a bad man, you say to yourself, ' He 
 may be telling the truth, he may be genuine ; ' but 
 with a good man you know it to be so : that is, if you 
 possess the gift of reading countenances. Miss Gwinn, 
 I am sure there was truth in that stranger." 
 
 " Listen, Austin Clay, That man, truthful as you 
 deem him, is the very incarnation of deceit. I know 
 as much of him as one human being can well know of 
 another. It was he who wrought the terrible wrong 
 upon my house ; it was he who broke up my happy 
 home. I'll find him now. Others said he must be 
 dead ; but I said, ' No, he lives yet.' And, you see he 
 does live. I'll find him." 
 
 Without another word she turned away, and went 
 striding back in the direction of Ketterford — the same 
 road which the stranger s horse had taken. Austin 
 
WAS THE LADY MAD? 
 
 25 
 
 stood and looked after her, pondering over the strange 
 events of the hour. Then he proceeded to the Low- 
 land Farm. 
 
 A pleasant day amidst pleasant friends spent he ; 
 rich Easter cheesecakes being the least of the seduc- 
 tions he did not withstand ; and the Ketterford clocks 
 were striking half-past ten as he approached Mrs. 
 Thornimetts. The moonlight walk was delightful; 
 there was no foreboding of ill upon his spirit, and he 
 turned in at the gate utterly unconscious of the news 
 that was in store for him. 
 
 Conscious of the lateness of the hour — for they were 
 early people— he was passing across the lawn with a 
 hasty step, when the door was drawn silently open, as 
 if some one stood there watching, and he saw Sarah, 
 one of the two old maid-servants, come forth to meet 
 him. Both had lived in the family for years; had 
 scolded and ordered Austin about when a boy, to their 
 heart's content, and for his own good. 
 
 " Why, Sarah, is it you ? " was his gay greeting. 
 " Going to take a moonlight ramble ? " 
 
 Where have you stayed ? " whispered the woman, 
 in evident excitement. "To think you should be 
 away this night of all others, Mr. Austin ! Have you 
 heard what has happened to the master ? " 
 
 " No. What ? " exclaimed Austin, his fears taking 
 alarm. 
 
 " He fell down in a fit, over at the village where he 
 
26 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 went ; and they brought him home, frightening us two 
 and the missis almost into a fit ourselves. Oh, Master 
 Austin ! " she concluded, bursting into tears, the 
 doctors don't think he'll live till morning. Poor dear 
 old master ! " 
 
 Austin, half-paralyzed by the news, stood for a 
 moment against the wall inside the hall. " Can I go 
 and see him ? " he presently asked. 
 
 " Oh, you may go," was the answer ; " the mistress 
 has been asking for you, and nothing rouses him. 
 It's a heavy blow; but it has its bright side. God 
 never sends a blow but He sends mercy with it." 
 
 " What is the mercy ? " Austin waited to ask, 
 thinking she must allude to some sign or symptom of 
 hope. Sarah put her shrivelled old arm on his 
 solemnly, as she answered, 
 
 "He was fit to be taken. He had lived for the 
 next world while he was living in this. And those 
 who do, Master Austin, never need shrink from sudden 
 death." 
 
( 27 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 CHANGES. 
 
 To reflect upon the change death makes, even in the 
 ordinary every-day affairs of life, must ahvays bring a 
 certain awe to the thoughtful mind. On the Easter« 
 Monday, spoken of in the last chapter, Richard 
 Thornimett, his men, his contracts, and his business 
 in progress, were all part of the life, the work, the 
 bustle of the town of Ketterford. In a few weeks 
 from that time, Richard Thornimett — who had not 
 lived to see the dawn of the day after his attack — 
 was lying in the churchyard ; and the business, the 
 workshops, the artisans, all excepting the dwelling- 
 house, which Mrs. Thornimett retained for herself, had 
 passed into other hands. The name, Richard Thorni- 
 mett, as one of the citizens of Ketterford, had ceased 
 to be : all things were changed. 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett s friends and acquaintances had 
 assembled to tender counsel, after the fashion of the 
 busybodies of the world. Some recommended her to 
 continue the business ; some, to give it up ; some, to 
 take in a gentleman as partner ; some, to pay a good 
 
28 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 salary to an efficient manager. Mrs. Thornimett 
 listened politely to all, without the least intention of 
 acting upon any one's opinion but her own. Her 
 mind had been made up from the first. Mr. Thorni- 
 mett had died fairly well-off, and everything was left 
 to her — half the money to be hers for life, and then to 
 go to different relatives ; the other half was bequeathed 
 to her absolutely, and was at her own disposal. 
 Rumours were rife in the town, that, when things 
 came to be realized, she would possess about twelve 
 thousand pounds, besides other property. 
 
 But before making known her decision abroad, she 
 spoke to Austin Clay. They were sitting together 
 one evening when she entered upon the subject, 
 breaking somewhat abruptly the silence that reigned. 
 
 Austin, I shall dispose of the business ; everything 
 as it stands. And the goodwill." 
 
 "Shall you ? " he exclaimed, taken by surprise, and 
 his voice betraying a curious disappointment. 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett nodded in answer. 
 
 " I would have done my best to carry it on for you, 
 Mrs. Thornimett. The foreman is a man of experience ; 
 one we may trust." 
 
 "I do not doubt you, Austin; and I do not doubt 
 him. You have your head on your shoulders the 
 right way, and you would be faithful and true. So 
 well do I think of your abilities, that, were you in a 
 position to pay down only half the purchase-money, 
 
CHANGES. 29 
 
 I would give you the refusal of the business, and I 
 am certain success would attend you. But you are 
 not able ; so that is out of the question." 
 
 " Quite out of the question/' assented Austin. " If 
 ever I have a business of my own, it must be by 
 working for it. Have you quite resolved upon giving 
 it up?" 
 
 So far resolved, that the negotiations are already 
 half concluded," replied Mrs. Thornimett. "What 
 should I, a lone woman, do with an extensive busi- 
 ness ? When poor widows are left badly off, they are 
 obliged to work ; but I possess more money than I 
 shall know how to spend. Why should I worry 
 out my days trying to amass more ? It would be 
 unseemly. Rolt and Eansom wish to purchase it." 
 
 Austin lifted his head with a quick movement. He 
 did not like Rolt and Ransom. 
 
 " The only difference we have in the matter, is this : 
 that I wish them to take you on, Austin, and they 
 think they shall not be able to find room for you. 
 Were jou a common workman, it would be another 
 thing, they say." 
 
 Do not allow that to be a difference any longer, 
 Mrs. Thornimett," he cried, somewhat eagerly. "I 
 should not care to be under Rolt and Ransom. If 
 they offered me a place to-morrow, and carte blanche 
 as to pay, I do not think I could bring myself to 
 accept it." 
 
so 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Why ? asked Mrs. Thornimetfc, in surprise. 
 ''Well^ they are no favourites of mine. I know 
 nothing against them, except that they are hard 
 men — grinders ; but somehow I have always felt a 
 prejudice against the firm. We all have our likes 
 and dislikes, you are well aware. Young Kolt is 
 prominent in the business, too, and I am sure there's 
 no love lost between him and me ; we should be at . 
 daggers drawn. No, I should not serve under Rolt 
 and Ransom. If they succeed to your business, I 
 think I shall go to London, and try my fortune 
 there/' 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett pushed back her widow's cap to 
 which her head had never yet been able to grow 
 reconciled — something like Austin with regard to 
 Rolt and Ransom. London would not be a good 
 place for you, Austin. It is full of pitfalls for young 
 men." - 
 
 " So are other places," said Austin, laughingly, " if 
 young men choose to step into them. I shall make 
 my way, Mrs. Thornimett, never fear. I am thorough 
 master of my business in all its branches, higher and 
 lower, as you know, and I am not afraid of putting 
 ni}^ shoulder to the wheel, if there's necessity for it. 
 As to pitfalls — if I do stumble in the dark into any, 
 I'll manage to scramble out again ; but I will try and 
 take care not to step into them wilfully. Had you 
 continued the business, of course I would have re- 
 
CHANGES. 
 
 31 
 
 mained with you ; otherwise, I should like to go to 
 London." 
 
 "You can be better trusted, both as to capacity 
 and steadiness, than many could be at your age/' 
 deliberated Mrs. Thornimett. ''But they are wrong 
 notions that you young men pick up with regard to 
 London. I believe there's not one of you but thinks 
 its streets are sprinkled with diamonds." 
 
 " I don't/' said Austin. " And whilst God gives me 
 hands and brains to work with, I would rather earn 
 my diamonds, than pick them up in idleness." 
 
 Mrs. Thornimett paused. She settled her spectacles 
 more firmly on her eyes, turned them full on Austin, 
 and spoke sharply. 
 
 " Were you disappointed when you heard the poor 
 master's will read ? " 
 
 Austin, in return, turned his eyes upon her, and 
 opened them to their utmost width in his . surprise. 
 " Disappointed ! No. Why should I be ? " 
 
 " Did it never occur to you to think, or to expect, 
 that he might leave you something ? " 
 
 " Never," earnestly replied Austin. " The thought 
 never so much as crossed my mind. Mr. Thornimett 
 had near relatives of his own— and so have you. 
 Who am I, that I should think to step in before 
 them ? " 
 
 " I wish people would mind their own business ! " 
 exclaimed the old lady, in vexed tones. "I v/as 
 
32 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 gravely assured, Austin, that young Clay felt 
 grievously ill-used at not being mentioned in the 
 will." 
 
 Did you believe it ? " he rejoined. 
 
 No, I did not." 
 "It is utterly untrue, Mrs. Thornimett, whoever 
 said it. I never expected Mr. Thornimett to leave 
 me anything; therefore, I could not have been dis- 
 appointed at the will." 
 
 The poor master knew I should not forget you, 
 Austin ; that is if you continue deserving. Some time 
 or other, when my old bones are laid beside him, you 
 may be the better for a trifle from me. Only a trifle, 
 mind; we must be just before we are generous." 
 
 "Indeed, you are very kind," was Austin Clay's 
 reply ; " but I should not wish you to enrich me at 
 the expense of others who have greater claims." And 
 he fully meant what he said. " I have not the least 
 fear of making my own way up the world's ladder. 
 Do you happen to know anything of the London firm, 
 Hunter and Hunter ? " 
 
 Only by reputation," said Mrs. Thornimett. 
 
 I shall apply to them, if I go to London. They 
 would interest themselves for me, perhaps." 
 
 You would be sure to do well, if you could get in 
 there. But why should they help you more than any 
 other firm would ? " 
 
 ''There's nothing like trying," replied Austin, too 
 
CHANGES. 
 
 33 
 
 conscious of the evasive character of his reply. He 
 was candour itself j but he feared to speak of the cir- 
 cumstances under which he had met Mr. Henry 
 Hunter, lest Miss Gwinn should find out it was to 
 him he had gone, and so track Mr. Henry Hunter 
 home. Austin deemed that it was no business of his 
 to help her to find Mr. Hunter, whether he was or 
 was not the hete noire of whom she had spoken. He 
 might have mentioned the encounter at the time, but 
 for the home calamity that so quickly followed it; 
 that had driven away all lesser topics. Neither had 
 he mentioned it at the Lowland Farm. For all Miss 
 Gwinn's violence, he felt pity for her, and could not 
 expose the woman. 
 
 A first-rate firm, that o£ Hunter and Hunter," re- 
 marked Mrs. Thornimett. Your credentials will be 
 good also, Austin." 
 Yes , I hope so." 
 
 It was nearly all that passed upon the subject. 
 Rolt and Ransom took possession of the business, and 
 Austin Clay prepared to depart for London, Mrs. 
 Thornimett felt sure he would get on well — always 
 provided that he kept out of pitfalls." She charged 
 him not to be above his business, but to work his way 
 upwards ; as Austin meant to do. 
 
 A day or two before quitting Ketterford, it chanced 
 that he and Mrs. Thornimett, who were out together, 
 encountered Miss Gwinn. There was a speaking 
 
 A Life's Secret. 3 
 
34 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 acquaintance between the two ladies, and Miss Gwinn 
 stopped to say a kind word or two of sympathy for 
 the widow and her recent loss. She could be a lady 
 on occasion, and a gentle one. As the conversation 
 went on, Mrs. Thornimett incidentally mentioned that 
 Mr. Clay was going to leave and try his fortune in 
 London. 
 
 Oh, indeed," said Miss Gwinn, turning to him, as 
 he stood quietly by Mrs. Thornimett's side. What 
 does ho think of doing there ? " 
 
 "To get a situation, of course. He means first of 
 all to try at Hunter and Hunter s." 
 
 The words had left Mrs. Thornimett's lips before 
 Austin could interpose — which he would have given 
 the world to do. But there was no answering emotion 
 on Miss Gwinn's face. 
 
 "Hunter and Hunter?" she carelessly repeated. 
 " Who are they ? " 
 
 "'Hunter Brothers,' they are sometimes called," 
 observed Mrs. Thornimett. " It is an eminent building 
 firm." 
 
 " Oh," apathetically returned Miss Gwinn, " I wish 
 you well," she added, to Austin. 
 
 He thanked her as they parted. The subject, the 
 name, evidently bore for her no interest whatever. 
 Therefore Austin judged, that although she might 
 have knowledge of Mr. Henry Hunter's person, she 
 could know nothing of his name, 
 
( 35 ) 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 A HEAVY train^ drawn by two engines, was dashiiig 
 towards London. Whitsuntide had come, and the 
 public took advantage of the holiday, and the trains 
 were crammed. Austin Clay took advantage of it 
 also ; it was a saving to his purse, the fares having 
 been lowered ; and he rather liked a cram. What he 
 did not like was the being stuffed into a first-class 
 carriage, with its warm mats and cushions. The 
 crowd was so great that people sat indiscriminately 
 in any carriage that came first. The day was in- 
 tensely hot, and he would have preferred one open 
 on all sides. They were filled, however, before he 
 came up. He had left Ketterford, and was on his road 
 to London to seek his fortune — as old stories used 
 to say. 
 
 Seated in the same compartment as himself was a 
 lady with a little girl. The former appeared to be in 
 very delicate health ; she remarked more than once, 
 that she would not have travelled on so crowded a 
 
36 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 day, had she given it proper thought. The little girl 
 was chiefly remarkable for making herself trouble- 
 some to Austin ; at least, her mamma perpetually 
 reproached her with doing so. She was a lovely 
 child, with delicately carved features, slightly aquiline, 
 but inexpressibly sweet and charming. A bright 
 colour illumined her cheeks, her eyes were large and 
 dark and soft, and her brown curls were flowing. He 
 judged her to be perhaps eleven years old ; but she 
 was one of those natural, unsophisticated children, 
 who appear much younger than they are. The race 
 has very nearly gone out of the world now : I hope it 
 will come back again some day. 
 
 Florence, how can you be so tiresome ? Pushing 
 yourself before this gentleman against that dangerous 
 door ! it may fly open at any moment. I am sure he 
 must be tired of holding you." 
 
 Florence turned her bright eyes — sensible, honest 
 eyes — and her pretty hot cheeks upon Austin. 
 
 " Are you tired of me ? " 
 
 Austin smiled. "It would take rather more than 
 this to tire me," he said. "Pray allow her to look 
 out," he added, to the lady, opposite to whom he sat ; 
 " I will take every care of her." 
 
 Have you any little girls of your own ? ques- 
 tioned the young damsel. 
 
 Austin laughed outright. " No." 
 
 " Nor any sisters ? " 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 37 
 
 " Nor any sisters. I have scarcely any relatives in 
 the world. I am not so fortunate as you are." 
 
 " I have a great many relatives, but no brothers or 
 sisters. I had a little sister once, and she died when 
 she was three years old. Was it not three, mamma ? " 
 
 " And how old are you ? " inquired Austin. 
 
 " Oh, pray do not ask," interposed the lady. " She 
 is so thoroughly childish, I am ashamed that any one 
 should know her age. And yet she is not wanting in 
 sense." 
 
 " I was twelve last birthday," cried the young lady, 
 in defiance of all conventionalism. " My cousin Mary 
 is only eleven, but she is a great deal bigger than 
 I am," 
 
 " Yes," observed the lady, in tones of positive vexa- 
 tion. " Mary is quite a woman already in ideas and 
 manners : you are a child, and a very backward one." 
 
 "Let her be a child while she may," impulsively 
 cried Austin; "childhood does not last too long, and 
 it never returns. Little girls are women nowadays : 
 I think it is perfectly delightful to meet with one 
 like this." 
 
 Before they reached London, other passengers had 
 disappeared from the carriage, and they were alone. 
 As they neared the terminus, the young lady was 
 peremptorily ordered to " keep her head in," or perhaps 
 she might lose it. 
 
 " Oh dear ! if I must, I must," returned the child. 
 
38 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 " But I wanted to look out for papa ; he is sure to be 
 waiting for us." 
 
 The train glided into its destination. And the 
 bright quick eyes were roving amongst the crowd 
 standing on the platform. They rested upon a 
 gentleman. 
 
 "There's Uncle Henry! But I don't see papa. 
 Where's papa ? " she called outj as the gentleman saw 
 them and approached. 
 
 " Papa hasn't come ; he has sent me instead, Miss 
 Florence." And to Austin Clay's inexpressible sur- 
 prise, he recognized Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " There is nothing the matter ? James is not ill ? " 
 exclaimed the lady, bending forward. 
 
 "No, no; nothing of that sort. Being a leisure 
 day with us, we thought we would quietly go over 
 some estimates together. James had not finished the 
 calculations, and did not care to be disturbed in them. 
 Your carriage is here." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter was assisting her] to alight as he 
 spoke, having already lifted down Florence. A maid 
 with a couple of carpet-bags appeared presently, 
 amidst the bustle, and Austin saw them approach a 
 private carriage. He had not put himself forward. 
 He did not intend to do so then, deeming it not the 
 most fitting moment to challenge the notice of Mr. 
 Henry Hunter ; but that gentleman's eye happened to 
 fall upon him. 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 39 
 
 Not at first in recognition. Mr. Hunter felt sure it 
 was a face he had seen recently; one he ought to 
 know; but his memory w^as puzzled. Florence fol- 
 lowed his gaze. 
 
 ''That gentleman came up in the same carriage 
 with us, Uncle Henry. He got in at a place they 
 called Ketterford. I like him so much.'' 
 
 Austin came forward as he saw the intent look; 
 and recollection flashed over the mind of Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. He took both the young man's hands in his 
 and grasped them. 
 
 " You like him, do you, Miss Florence ? " cried he, 
 in half-joking, half-fervent tones. " I can tell you 
 what, young lady ; but for this gentleman, you would 
 no longer have possessed an Uncle Henry to plague ; 
 he would have been dead and forgotten." 
 
 A word or two of explanation from Austin, touch- 
 ing what brought him to London, and his intention 
 to ask advice of Mr. Henry Hunter. That gentleman 
 replied that he would give it willingly, and at once, 
 for he had leisure that day, and he could not answer 
 for having it on another. He gave Austin the address 
 of his office. 
 
 "When shall I come, sir ? " asked Austin. 
 
 " Now, if you can. A cab will take you. I shall 
 not be there later in the day." 
 
 So Austin, leaving his portmanteau, all the luggage 
 he had at present brought with him, in charge at the 
 
40 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 station^ proceeded in a cab to the address named, Mr. 
 Henry Hunter having driven off in the carriage. 
 
 The offices, yards, buildings, sheds, and other places 
 belonging to the business of Hunter and Hunter, were 
 situated in what may be considered a desirable part 
 of the metropolis. They encroached neither upon the 
 excessive bustle of the City, nor upon the aristocratic 
 exclusiveness of the gay West End, but occupied a 
 situation half-way between the two. Sufficiently 
 open was the district in their immediate neighbour- 
 hood, healthy, handsome, and near some fine squares ; 
 but a very, very little way removed, you came upon 
 swarming courts, close dwellings, squalor and misery, 
 and all the bad features of what we are pleased to call 
 Arab life. There are many similar districts in London, 
 where wealth and ease contrast with starvation and 
 improvidence, all hut within view of each other ; the 
 one as gratifying to the eye as the other is painful. 
 
 The yard and premises were of great extent. 
 Austin had thought Mr. Thornimett's pretty fair for 
 size ; but he could laugh at them, now that he saw 
 the Messrs. Hunters'. They were enclosed by a wall, 
 and by light iron gates. Within the gates on the 
 left-hand side were the offices, where the indoor 
 ^ business was ti^ansacted. A wealthy, important, and 
 highly considered firm was that of the Messrs. Hunter. 
 Their father had made the business what it was, and 
 had bequeathed it to them jointly at his death. 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 41 
 
 James, whose wife and only child you have seen 
 arriving by the train, after a weeks visit to the 
 country, was the elder brother, and was usually styled 
 Mr. Hunter; the younger was known as Mr. Henry 
 Hunter, and he had a large family. Each occupied a 
 handsome house in a neighbouring square. 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter came up almost as Austin did, 
 and they entered the offices together. In a private 
 room, warmly carpeted, stood two gentlemen. The 
 one, had he not been so stout, would have borne a 
 great likeness to Mr. Henry Hunter. It was Mr. 
 Hunter. In early life the likeness between the 
 brothers had been remarkable ; the same dark hair 
 and eyes ; the well-formed aquiline features, the 
 same active, tall, light figure ; but, of late years, James 
 had grown stout, and the resemblance was in part 
 lost. The other gentleman was Dr. Bevary, a spare 
 man -of middle height, the brother of Mrs. James 
 Hunter. Mr. Henry Hunter introduced Austin Clay, 
 speaking o£ the service rendered him, and broadly 
 saying as he had done to Florence, that but for him 
 he should not now have been living. 
 
 " There you go, Henry," cried Dr. Bevary. " That's 
 one of your exaggerations : you were always given to 
 the marvellous, you know. Not living 1 ' ■ 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter turned to Austin. "Tell the 
 truth, Mr. Clay. Should T, or not?" And Austin 
 smiled, and said he believed not. 
 
42 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 "I cannot understand it/' exclaimed Dr. Bevary, 
 after some explanation had been given by Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. " It is incredible to suppose that a strange 
 woman would attack you in such a manner, unless 
 she were mad." 
 
 Mad, or not mad, she did it," returned Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. "I was riding Salem — you know I took 
 him with me, in that week's excursion I made at 
 Easter — and the woman set upon me like a tigress, 
 clutching at Salem, who won't stand such jokes. In 
 his fury, he broke loose from her, dashing he neither 
 knew nor cared whither, and this fine fellow saved 
 us on the very brink of the yawning pit — risking the 
 chance of being killed himself. Had the horse not 
 stopped, I don't see how he could have helped being 
 knocked over with us." 
 
 Mr. Hunter turned a warm, grateful look on Austin. 
 " How was it you never spoke of this, Henry ? " he 
 inquired of his brother. 
 
 "There's another curious phase of the affair," 
 laughed Mr. Henry Hunter. ''I have had a dislike 
 to speaking of it, even to thinking of it. I cannot 
 tell you why ; certainly not on account of the escaped 
 danger. And it was over : so, what signified talking 
 ofit?" 
 
 " Why did she attack you ? " pursued Dr. Bevary. 
 " She evident] V, if there was reason in her at all, 
 mistook me for some one else. All sorts of diabolical 
 
AWAY TO LONDON, 
 
 43 
 
 things she was beginning to accuse me of; that of 
 having evaded her for a great number of years, 
 amongst the rest. I stopped her; telling her I had 
 no wish to be the depositary of other people's secrets." 
 
 She solemnly protested, after you rode away, sir, 
 that you ivere the man who had done her family some 
 wrong," interposed Austin. " I told her I felt certain 
 she was mistaken ; and so drew down her anger upon 
 me." 
 
 " Of what nature was the wrong ? " asked Dr. 
 Bevary. 
 
 I cannot tell," said Austin. " I seemed to gather 
 from her words that the wrong was upon her family, 
 or upon some portion of her family, rather than upon 
 herself. I remember she made use of the expression, 
 that it had broken up her happy home." 
 
 " And you did not know her ? " exclaimed the 
 doctor, looking at Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Know her ? " he returned, " I never set eyes on 
 her in all my life until that day. I never was in the 
 place before, or in its neighbourhood. If I ever did 
 work her wrong, or ill, I must have done it in my 
 sleep ; and with miles of distance between us. Who 
 is she ? What is her name ? You told it me, Mr, 
 Clay, but I have forgotten it." 
 
 " Her name is Gwinn," replied Austin. ^' The brother 
 is a lawyer, and has scraped a business together. One 
 morning, many years ago, a lady arrived at his house, 
 
44 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 without warning, and took up her abode with him. 
 She turned out to be his sister, and the people at 
 Ketterford think she is mad. It is said they come 
 from Wales. The little boys call after her, ' the mad 
 
 Welsh woman.' Sometimes Mad Gwinn " 
 
 What did you say was the name ? " interrupted 
 Dr. Bevary, with startling emphasis. " Gwinn ? — and 
 from Wales ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 Dr. Bevary paused, as if in deep thought. " What 
 is her Christian name ? he presently inquired. 
 
 It is a somewhat uncommon one," replied Austin. 
 " Agatha." 
 
 The doctor nodded his head, as if anticipating the 
 answer. "A tall, spare, angular woman, of great 
 strength," he remarked. 
 
 " Why, what do you know of her ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Henry Hunter to the doctor, in surprised tones. 
 
 "Not a great deal. We medical men come across 
 all sorts of persons occasionally," was the physician s 
 reply. And it was given in a concise, laconic manner, 
 as if he did not care to be further questioned. Mr. 
 Henry Hunter pursued the subject. 
 
 " If you know her, Bevary, perhaps you can tell us 
 whether she is mad or sane." 
 
 " She is sane, I believe : I have no reason to think 
 her otherwise. But she is one who can allow anger 
 to master her at moments : I have seen it do so. Do 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 45 
 
 you say her brother is a lawyer ? " he continued, to 
 Austin Clay. 
 
 " Yes. And not one of the first water, as to reputa- 
 tion, a grasping, pettifogging practitioner, who will 
 take up any dirty case that may be brought to him. 
 And in that, I fancy, he is a contrast to his sister, for, 
 with all her strange ways, I should not judge her to 
 be dishonourable. It is said he speculates, and that 
 he is not over-particular whose money he gets to do 
 it with." 
 
 " I wonder that she never told me about this 
 brother,'' dreamily exclaimed the doctor, almost as if 
 unaware that he spoke aloud. 
 
 "Where did you meet with her? When did you 
 know her ? " interposed Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Are you sure that you know nothing about her ? " 
 was the doctor s rejoinder, turning a searching glance 
 upon Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 
 " Come, Be vary, what have you got in your head ? 
 I do not know her. I never met her until she saw 
 and accosted me. Are you acquainted with her 
 history ? " 
 
 With a dark page in it." 
 
 " What is the page ? " 
 
 Dr. Bevary shook his head. ^'In the course of a 
 doctor's practice he becomes cognizant of many odds 
 and ends of romance, light and dark ; things that he 
 must hold sacred, and may not give utterance to." 
 
46 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter looked vexed. ^'Perhaps you 
 can understand the reason of her attacking me ? " 
 
 "I could understand it, but for your assertion of 
 being a stranger to her. If it is so, I can only believe 
 that she mistook you for another." 
 
 " If it is so," repeated Mr. Henry Hunter. " I am 
 not in the habit of asserting an untruth, Bevary." 
 
 Nor, on the other hand, is Miss Gwinn one to be 
 deceived. She is keen as a razor." 
 Bevary, what are you driving at ? " 
 
 ''At nothing. Don't be alarmed, Henry. 1 have 
 no reason to suppose that you know the woman, or 
 she you. I only thought — and think — she is one 
 whom it is almost impossible to deceive. It must, 
 however, have been a mistake." 
 
 " It was a mistake — so far as her suspicion that she 
 knew me went," decisively returned Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. 
 
 "Ay," acquiesced Dr. Bevary. "But here am I 
 gossiping my morning away, when a host of patients 
 are waiting for me. We poor doctors never get a 
 holiday, as you more favoured mortals do." 
 
 He laughed as he went out, nodding a friendly 
 farewell to Austin. Mr. Henry Hunter stepped out 
 after him. Then Mr. Hunter, who had not taken 
 part in the discussion, but had stood looking from the 
 window while they carried it on, wheeled round to 
 Austin, and spoke in low, earnest tones. 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 47 
 
 " What is this tale — this mystery — that my brother 
 and the doctor seem to be picking up ? 
 
 Sir, I know no more about it than you have 
 heard me say. I witnessed her attack on Mr. Henry 
 Hunter." 
 
 " I shoukl like to know further about it : about her- 
 self. Will you Hush ! here comes my brother 
 
 back again. Hush ! 
 
 His voice died away in the faintest w^hisper, for Mr. 
 Henry Hunter was already within the room. Was 
 Mr. Hunter suspecting that his brother had more 
 cognizance of the affair than he seemed willing to 
 avow ? The thought that it must be so crossed 
 Austin Clay ; or why that warning " hush " twice 
 repeated ? 
 
 It happened that business was remarkably brisk 
 that season at Hunter and Hunters. They could 
 scarcely procure hands enough, or get the work done. 
 And when Austin explained the cause which had 
 brought him to town, and frankly asked the question 
 as to whether they could recommend him to employ- 
 ment, they were glad to offer it themselves. He pro- 
 duced his credentials, and waited. Mr. Henry Hunter 
 turned to him with a smile. 
 
 "I suppose you are not above your work, Mr. 
 Clay ? " 
 
 ''I am not above anything in the world that is 
 right, sir. I have come to seek work." 
 
48 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 He was engaged at once. His duties at present 
 were to lie partly in the counting-house, partly in 
 overlooking the men; and the salary offered was 
 twenty-five pounds a-quarter. 
 
 " I can rise above that in time, I suppose/' remarked 
 Austin, if I give satisfaction ? " 
 
 Mr. Hunter smiled. ''Ay, you can rise above that, 
 if you choose. But when you get on, you will be 
 doing, I expect, as some of the rest do." 
 What is that, sir ? 
 
 " Leaving us, to set up for yourself. Numbers have 
 done so as soon as they have become valuable. Of 
 course I do not speak of the men, but of those who 
 have been with us in a higher capacity. A few of 
 the men, though, have done the same ) and some have 
 risen into influence/' 
 
 " How can they do that without capital ? " inquired 
 Austin. " It must take money, and a good deal of it, 
 to set up for themselves.'' 
 
 "Not so much as you may think. They begin in a 
 small way — take piece-work, and work early and 
 late, often fourteen and fifteen hours a-day, husband^ 
 ing their earnings, and getting a capital together by 
 slow but sure degrees. Many of our most important 
 firms have so risen, and owe their present positions to 
 sheer hard work, patience, and energy." 
 
 '' It was the way in which Mr. Thornimett first 
 rose," observed Austin, ''He was once a journeyman 
 
AWAY TO LONDON. 
 
 49 
 
 at fourteen shillings a- week. He got together money 
 by working over-hours." 
 
 '^Ay^ there's nothing like it for the industrious 
 man/' said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Preliminaries were settled, advice given to him 
 where he might find lodgings, and Austin departed, 
 having accepted an invitation to dine at six at Mr. 
 Henry Hunter's. 
 
 And all through having performed an unpremedi- 
 tated but almost necessary act of bravery. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 daffodil's delight. 
 
 Turning to the right after quitting the business 
 premises of the Messrs. Hunter, j^ou came to an open, 
 handsome part of the town, where the square in 
 which those gentlemen dwelt was situated, with other 
 squares, crescents, and houses. But, if you turned to 
 the left, instead of to the right, you very speedily 
 found yourself in the centre of a dense locality, by no 
 means so agreeable to the eye or to the senses. 
 
 And yet some parts of this were not very much 
 to be complained of, unless you instituted a compari- 
 son between them and those more open spaces ; but in 
 this world all things are estimated by comparison. 
 
 Take Daffodil's Delight, for example. 
 Daffodil's Delight ! what's that ? " cries the puzzled 
 reader, uncertain whether it may be a fine picture or 
 something good to eat. 
 
 Daffodil's Delight was nothing more than a tolerably 
 long street, or lane, or double row of houses — wide 
 enough for a street, dirty enough for a lane^ the build- 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 51 
 
 ings irregular, not always adjoining, small gardens 
 before some of them, and a few trees scattered about 
 here and there. When the locality v/as chiefly fields, 
 and the buildings were few and far between, a person 
 of the name of Daffodil ran up a few tenements. Ho 
 found that they let well, and ran up more and more, 
 until there was a long line of them, and he was grow- 
 ing rich. He called the place Daffodil's Delight — 
 which w^e may suppose expressed his own complacency 
 at his success — and Daffodil's Delight it had continued 
 down to the present day. The houses were of various 
 sizes, and of fanciful appearance ; some large, some 
 small ; some rising up like narrow towers, some but 
 one storey high ; some were all windows, some seemed 
 to have no windows at all ; some you could only gain 
 by ascending steps ; to others you went down as into 
 a cellar; some lay back, with gardens before their 
 doors, whilst others projected pretty nearly on to the 
 street gutter. Nothing in the way of houses could be 
 more irregular, and what Mr. Daffodil's motive could 
 have been for building in such a manner cannot be 
 conjectured — unless he formed an idea that he would 
 make a venture to suit various tastes and diverse 
 pockets. 
 
 Almost at the commencement of this locality, in its 
 best part, before the road became narrow, there stood 
 a detached white house ; one of only six rooms, but 
 superior in appearance and well-kept ; indeed, it 
 
62 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 looked more like a gentleman's cottage residence than 
 a working man's abode. Venetian blinds were outside 
 the windows, and green wire stands holding geraniums 
 and other plants on the stone copings obviated the 
 necessity for blinds within. In this house lived Peter 
 Quale. He had begun life by carrying hods of mortar 
 for masons, and covering up bricks with straw — a 
 half-starved urchin, his feet as bare as his head, and 
 his body in scarcely better condition. But he was 
 steady, industrious, and persevering — one of those men 
 that ivorh on for a decent position, and acquire it. 
 From two shillings a-week to four, from four to six, 
 from six to twelve— such had been Peter Quale's 
 beginnings. At twelve shillings he remained for some 
 time stationary, and then his advance was rapid. Now, 
 he was one of the higher artisans of the Messrs. 
 Hunters' yard ; was, in fact, in a post of trust, and his 
 wages had increased in proportion. Daffodil's Delight 
 said that Quale's earnings could not be less than a 
 hundred and fifty pounds per annum. A steady, 
 sensible, honest, but somewhat obstinate man, well- 
 read, and intelligent ; for Peter, whilst he advanced 
 his circumstances, had not neglected his mind. Ho 
 had cultivated that far more than he had his speech 
 or his manners ; a homely tone and grammar, better 
 known to Daffodil's Delight than to polite ears, Peter 
 still favoured. 
 
 In the afternoon of Whit-Monday, the day already 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 53 
 
 spoken of, Peter sat in the parlour of his house, a pipe 
 in his mouth, and a book in his hand. He looked 
 about hal:^-way between forty and fifty, had a round 
 bald head, surmounted just now by a paper cap, a fair 
 complexion, grey whiskers, and a well-marked fore- 
 head, especially where lie the perceptive faculties. 
 His eyes were deeply sunk in his head, and he was 
 by nature a silent man. In the kitchen behind, 
 " washing up " after dinner, was his helpmate, Mrs. 
 Quale. Although so well to do, and generally having 
 a lodger, she kept no servant — wouldn't be bothered 
 with 'em," she said — but did her own work ; a person 
 coming in once a week to do the heavier cleaning. 
 
 A rattling commotion in the street caused Peter 
 Quale to look up from his book. A large pleasure- 
 van was rumbling down it, drawing up at the next 
 door. 
 
 " Nancy ! " called out he to his wife. 
 
 " Well ? " came forth the answer, in a brisk, bustling 
 voice, from the depths of the kitchen. 
 
 "The Shucks, and that lot, be actually going off 
 now." 
 
 The news appeared to excite the curiosity of Mrs. 
 Quale, and she hastily came in; a dark-eyed, rosy- 
 cheeked little woman, with black curls. She wore a 
 neat white cap, a fresh-looking plum-coloured striped 
 gown of some thin woollen material, and a black 
 apron ; a coarse apron being pinned round her. Mrs. 
 
54: 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Quale was an inveterate busybody, knew every 
 incident that took place in Daffodil's Delight, and 
 possessed a free-and-easy tongue; but she was a 
 kindly woman withal, and very popular. She put 
 her head out of the window above the geraniums, to 
 reconnoitre. 
 
 Oh, they bo going, sure enough ! Well, they are 
 fools ! That's just like Slippery Sam ! By to-morrow 
 they w^on t have a threepenny-piece to bless them- 
 selves with. But, if they must have went, they might 
 have started earlier in the day. There's the Whites ! 
 And — why ! — there's the Dunns ! The van won t 
 hold 'em all. As for the Dunns, they'll have to pinch 
 for a month after it. She has got on a dandy new 
 bonnet Avith pink ribbons. Aren't some folks idiots, 
 Peter ? " 
 
 Peter rejoined, with a sort of a grunt, that it wasn't 
 no business of his, and applied himself again to his 
 pipe and book. Mrs. Quale made everybody's business 
 hers, especially their failings and shortcomings; and 
 she unpinned the coarse apron, threw it aside, and 
 flew off to the next house. 
 
 It was inhabited by two families, the Shucks and 
 the Baxendales. Samuel Shuck, usually called Slippery 
 Sam, was an idle, oily-tongued man, always slipping 
 from work — hence the nickname — and spending at 
 the Bricklayers'-Arms what ought to have been 
 spent upon his wife and children. John Baxendale 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 55 
 
 was a quiefc, reserved man, living respectably with his 
 wife and daughter, but saving nothing. It was 
 singular how improvident most of them Avere. Daffo- 
 dil s Delight was chiefly inhabited by the workmen 
 of the Messrs. Hunter; they seemed to love to con- 
 gregate there as in a nest. Some of the houses were 
 crowded with them, a family on a floor — even in one 
 room ; others rented a house to themselves, and lived 
 comfortably. 
 
 Assembled inside Sam Shuck's front-room, which 
 was a kitchen and not a parlour, and to which the 
 house-door opened, were as many people as it could 
 well hold, all in holiday attire. Abel White, his wife 
 and family; Jim Dunn, and his; Patrick Ryan and 
 the childer (Pat's wife was dead) : and John Baxen- 
 dale and his daughter, besides others ; the whole host 
 of little Shucks, and half-a-dozen outside stragglers. 
 Mrs. Quale might well wonder how they could all 
 pack themselves into the pleasure-van. She darted 
 into their midst. 
 
 "You never mean to say you be a-going off, like 
 simpletons, at this time o' day ? " quoth she. 
 
 "Yes, we be," answered Sam Shuck, a lanky, 
 serpent sort of man in frame, with a prominent black 
 eye, a turned-up nose, and, as has been said, an oily 
 tongue. " What have you got to say again it, Mrs. 
 Quale? Come!'' 
 
 " Say ! " said that lady, undauntedly, but in tones 
 
56 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 of reason rather than of rebuke, ^'I say you may just 
 as well fling your money in the gutter as go off to 
 Epping at three o'clock in the afternoon. Why didn't 
 you start in the morning ? If I hired a pleasure-van, 
 I'd have my money's worth out of it." 
 
 "It's just this," said Sam. "It w^as ordered to be 
 here as St. Paul's great bell was striking break o' day, 
 but the wheels wasn't greased ; and they have been 
 all this time a-greasing 'em with the best fresh butter 
 at eighteen-pence a pound, had up from Devonshire 
 on purpose." 
 
 ''You hold your tongue, Sam," reprimanded Mrs. 
 Quale. " You have been a-greasing your throat pretty 
 strong, I see, with an extra pot or two ; you'll be in 
 for it as usual before the day's out. How is it you 
 are going now ? " she added, turning to the women. 
 
 " It's just the worst-managed thing as I ever had to 
 do with," volubly spoke up Jim Dunn's wife, Hannah. 
 
 And it's all the fault o' the men : as everything as 
 goes wrong always is. There was a quarrel yesterday 
 over it, and nothing was settled, and this morning 
 when we met they began a-j awing again. Some 
 would go, and some wouldn't ; some 'ud have a van 
 to the Forest, and some 'ud take a omnibus ride to the 
 Zoological Gardens, and see the beasts, and finish up 
 at the play; some 'ud sit at home, and smoke and 
 drink, and w^ouldn't go nowhere ; and most of the 
 men got off to the Bricklayers'-Arms and stuck 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 57 
 
 there ; and afore the difference was settled in favour 
 of the van and the Forest, twelve o'clock struck, and 
 then there was dinner to be had, and us to put our- 
 selves to rights and the van to be seen after. And 
 there it is, now three o'clock's gone." 
 
 "It'll be just a ride out, and a ride in," cried Mrs. 
 Quale ; you won't have much time to stop. Money 
 must be plentiful with you, a~fooling it away like 
 that. I thought some of you had better sense." 
 
 ''We spoke against it, father and I," said quiet 
 Mary Baxendale, in Mrs. Quale's ear ; " but as we had 
 given our word to join in it and share in the expense, 
 we didn't like to go from it again. Mother doesn't 
 feel strong to-day, so she's stopping at home." 
 
 "It does seem stupid to start at this late hour," 
 spoke up a comely woman, of mild speech, Eobert 
 Darby's wife. " Better to have put it off till to-morrow, 
 and taken another day's holiday, as I told my master. 
 But when it was decided to go, we didn't say nay, for 
 I couldn't bear to disappoint the children." 
 
 The children were already being lifted into the van. 
 Sundry baskets and bundles, containing provisions for 
 tea, and stone bottles of porter for the men, were being 
 lifted in also. Then the general company got in ; 
 Daffodil's Delight, those not bound on the expedition, 
 assembling to witness the ceremony, and Peter casting 
 an eye at it from his parlour. After much packing 
 and stowing, laughing and jesting, the gentlemen 
 
58 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 declaring the ladies must sit upon their laps three 
 deep, the van and its four horses moved off, and went 
 lumbering down Daffodil's Delight. 
 
 Mrs. Quale, after watching the last of it, was turning 
 into her own gate, when she heard a tapping at the 
 window of the tenement on the other side of her house. 
 Upon looking round, it was thrown open, and a portly 
 matron, dressed almost well enough for a lady, put out 
 her head. She was the wife of George Stevens, a very 
 well-to-do workman, and a most respectable man. 
 
 Are they going off to the Forest at this hour, that 
 lot ? " 
 
 " Ay,'' returned Mrs. Quale ; was ever such non- 
 sense known? Td have made a day of it, if I had 
 went. They'll get home at m^idnight, I expect, fit to 
 stand on their heads. Some of the men have had 
 a'most as much as is good for them now." 
 
 " I say,'^ continued Mrs. Stevens, " George says, will 
 you and your master come in for an hour or two this 
 evening, and take a bit of supper with us ? We shall 
 have a nice dish o' steak and onions, or some relishing 
 thing of that sort, and the Cheeks are coming." 
 
 " Thank ye," said Mrs. Quale. " I'll ask Peter. But 
 don't go and get anything hot." 
 
 " I must," was the answer. ^' We had a shoulder of 
 lamb yesterday, and we finished it up to-day for 
 dinner, with a salad ; so there's nothing cold in the 
 house, and I'm forced to cook a bit of something. I 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 59 
 
 say, don't make it late ; come at six. George — he's off 
 somewhere, but he'll be in." 
 
 Mrs. Quale nodded acquiescence, and went indoors. 
 Her husband Avas reading and smoking still. 
 
 I'd have put it off till ten at night, and went 
 then ! " cried she, ironically, in allusion to the departed 
 pleasure-party. A-bickering and contending they 
 have been over it, Hannah Dunn saj^s ; couldn't come 
 to an agreement what they'd do, or what they wouldn't 
 do ! Did you ever see such a load ! Them poor horses 
 '11 have enough of it, if the others don't. I say, the 
 Stevenses want us to go in there to supper to-night. 
 Beefsteaks and onions." 
 
 Peter's head was bent attentively over a map in his 
 book^ and it continued so bent for a minute or two. 
 Then he raised it. Who's to be there ? " 
 
 The Cheeks," she said. I'll make haste and put 
 the kettle on^ and we'll have our tea as soon as it 
 boils. She says, don't go in later than six." 
 
 Pinning on the coarse apron, Mrs. Quale passed into 
 the kitchen to her work. From the above slight 
 sketch, it may be gathered that Daffodil's Delight 
 was, take it for all in all, in tolerably comfortable 
 circumstances. But for the wasteful mode of living 
 in general ; the improvidence both of husbands and 
 wives ; the spending where they need not have spent, 
 and in things they would have been better without — 
 it would have been in very comfortable circumstances : 
 
60 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 for, as is well known, no class of operatives earn 
 better wages than those connected with the building 
 trade. 
 
 " Is this Peter Quale's ? " 
 
 The question proceeded from a stranger, who had 
 entered the house-passage, and thence the parlour, 
 after knocking at its door. Peter raised his eyes, and 
 beheld a tall, young, very gentlemanlike man, in grey 
 travelling clothes and a crape band on his black hat. 
 Of courteous manner also, for he lifted his hat as he 
 spoke, though Peter was only a workman and had a 
 paper cap on his head. 
 
 " I am Peter Quale," said Peter, without moving. 
 
 Perhaps you may have already guessed that it was 
 Austin Clay. He stepped forward with a frank smile. 
 
 I am sent here,'' he said, " by the Messrs. Hunter. 
 They desired me to inquire for Peter Quale." 
 
 Peter was not wont to put himself out of the way 
 for strangers : had a Duke Eoyal vouchsafed him a 
 visit, I question if Peter would have been more than 
 barely civil ; but he knew his place with respect to 
 his employers, and what was due to them — none 
 better; and he rose at their name, and took off his 
 paper cap, and laid his pipe inside the fender, and 
 spoke a word of apology to the gentleman before 
 him, 
 
 " Pray do not mention it ; do not disturb yourself/' 
 said Austin, kindly. " My name is Clay. I have just 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 61 
 
 entered into an engagement with the Messrs. Hunter, 
 and am now in search of lodgings as near their yard 
 as I can find them. Mr. Henry Hunter said he 
 thought you had rooms which might suit me : hence 
 my intrusion." 
 
 " Well, sir, I don't know/' returned Peter, rather 
 dubiously. He was one of those who are apt to grow 
 bewildered with any sudden proposition; requiring 
 time to take it in, before he could digest it. 
 
 " You are from the country, sir, maybe ? " 
 
 " I am from the country. I arrived in London only 
 an hour ago, and my portmanteau is still at the 
 station. I wish to settle where I shall lodge, before I 
 go for it. Have you rooms to let ? " 
 
 " Nancy, come here ! " cried Peter, to his wife. " The 
 rooms are in readiness to be shown, aren't they ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quale required no second call. Hearing a 
 strange voice, and gifted in a remarkable degree with 
 what we are taught to look upon as her sex's failing 
 — curiosity — she had already again discarded the 
 apron, and made her appearance in time to receive the 
 question. 
 
 "Ready and waiting," answered she. "And two 
 better rooms for their size you won't find, sir, search 
 London through," she said volubly, turning to Austin. 
 " They are on the first floor — a nice sitting-room, and 
 a bedroom behind it. The furniture is good, clean, 
 and handsome ; for, when we were buying of it, we 
 
62 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET 
 
 didn't spare a few pounds, knowing such would keep 
 good to the end. Woukl you please step up, sir, and 
 take a look at them ? " 
 
 Austin acquiesced, motioning to her to lead the 
 way. She dropped a curtsy as she passed him, as if 
 in apology for taking it. He followed, and Peter 
 brought up the rear, a dim notion penetrating Peter's 
 brain that the attention was due from him to one sent 
 by the Messrs. Hunter. 
 
 Two good rooms, as she had said ; small, but well 
 fitted up. You'd be sure to be comfortable, sir," 
 cried Mrs. Quale to Austin. If I can't make lodgers 
 comfortable, I don't know who can. Our last gentle- 
 man came to us three years ago, and left but a 
 month since. He was a barrister's clerk, but he 
 didn't get well paid, and he lodged in this part for 
 cheapness." 
 
 ^'The rooms would suit me, so far as I can judge," 
 said Austin, looking round; "suit me very well 
 indeed, if we can agree about terms. My pocket is a 
 shallow one at present," he laughed. 
 
 I would make them easy enough for any gentle- 
 man sent by the masters," struck in Peter. Did you 
 say your name was Clay, sir ? " 
 
 " Clay," assented Austin. 
 
 Mrs. Quale wheeled round at this, and took a free, 
 full view of the gentleman from head to foot. Clay ? 
 Clay ? " she repeated to herself. And there is a 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 G3 
 
 likeness, if ever I saw one ! Sir," she hastily inquired, 
 ^'do you come from the neighbourhood of Ketter- 
 ford ? " 
 
 ^'I come from Ketterford itself,'' replied he. 
 
 "Ah, but you were not born in the town. I think 
 you must be Austin Clay, sir ; the orphan son of Mr. 
 Clay and his wife — Miss Austin that used to be. 
 They lived at the Nash Farm. Sir, I have had you 
 upon my lap scores of times when you were a little 
 one.'' 
 
 " Why — who are you ? " exclaimed Austin. 
 
 " You can't have forgot old Mr. Austin, the great- 
 uncle, sir ? though you were only seven years old when 
 he died. I was Ann Best, cook to the old gentleman, and 
 I heard all the ins-and-outs of the marriage of your 
 father and mother. The match pleased neither family, 
 and so they just took the Nash Farm for themselves, 
 to be independent and get along without being be- 
 holden for help to anybody. Many a fruit-puff have 
 I made for you. Master Austin ; many a currant-cake. 
 How things come round in this world ! Do take our 
 rooms, sir — it will seem like serving my old master 
 over again." 
 
 I will take them willingly, and be glad to fall 
 into such good hands. You will not require references 
 now ? " 
 
 Mrs. Quale laughed. Peter grunted resentfully. 
 References from any one sent by the Messrs. Hunter ! 
 
< 
 
 64 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " I would say eight shillings a-week, sir," said Peter, 
 looking at his wife. Pay as you like; monthly, or 
 quarterly, or any way." 
 
 ^'That's less than I expected," said Austin, in his 
 candour. "Mr. Henry Hunter thought they would 
 be about ten shillings.'' 
 
 Peter was candid also. There's the neighbourhood 
 to be took into consideration, sir, which is not a good 
 one, and we can only let according to it. In some 
 parts — and not far off, neither — you'd pay eighteen or 
 twenty shillings for such rooms as these ; in Daffodil's 
 Delight it is different, though this is the best quarter 
 of it. The last gentleman paid us nine. If eight will 
 suit you, sir, it will suit us." 
 
 So the bargain was struck ; and Austin Clay went 
 back to the station for his luggage. Mrs. Quale, busy 
 as a bee, ran in to tell her next-door neighbour that 
 she could not make one of the supper-party that 
 night, though Peter might, for she should have her 
 hands full with their new lodger. " The nicest, hand- 
 somest young fellow," she wound up with ; " one it 
 will be a pleasure to wait on." 
 
 "Take care what you be at, if he's a stranger," 
 cried cautious Mrs. Stevens. " There's no trustino- 
 those country folk : they run away sometimes. It 
 looks odd, don't it, to come after lodgings one minute, 
 and enter upon 'em the next ? " 
 
 "Very odd," assented Mrs. Quale, with a laugh. 
 
DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT. 
 
 G5 
 
 ''Why, it was Mr. Henry Hunter sent him round 
 here ; and he has got a post in their house." 
 
 " What sort of post ? " asked Mrs. Stevens, still 
 sceptical. 
 
 Who knows ? Something superior to the best of 
 us workpeople, you may be sure. He belongs to 
 gentlefolk," concluded Mrs. Quale. I knew him as a 
 baby. It was in his mother's family I lived before I 
 married. He's as like his mother as two peas, and 
 a handsome woman was Mrs. Clay. Good-bye : I'm 
 going to get the sheets on to his bed now." 
 
 Mrs. Quale, however, found that she was, after all, 
 able to assist at the supper ; for, when Austin came 
 back, it was only to dress himself and go out, in 
 pursuance of the invitation he had accepted to dine 
 at Mr. Henry Hunter's. With all his haste, it had 
 struck six some minutes when he arrived there. 
 
 Mrs. Henry Hunter, a very pretty and very talka- 
 tive woman, welcomed him with both hands, and told 
 her children to do the same, for it was " the gentleman 
 who had saved papa." There was no ceremony ; he 
 was received quite en famille ; no other guest was 
 present, and three or four of the children dined at 
 table. He appeared to find favour with them all. 
 He talked on business matters with Mr. Henry 
 Hunter ; on lighter topics with his wife ; he pointed 
 out some errors in Mary Hunter's drawings, which 
 she somewhat ostentatiously exhibited to him, and 
 
 A Life's Secret. 5 
 
66 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 showed her how to rectify them. He entered into 
 the school life of the two young boys, from their 
 classics to their scrapes ; and nursed a pretty little 
 lady of five, who insisted on appropriating his knee — 
 bearing himself throughout with the modest reticence, 
 the refinement of the innate gentleman. Mrs. Henry 
 Hunter was charmed with him. 
 
 ^^How do you think you shall like your quarters ? " 
 she asked. "Mr. Hunter told me he recommended 
 you to Peter Quale's." 
 
 "Very well. At least they will do. Mrs. Quale, it 
 appears, is an old friend of mine." 
 
 " An old friend ! Of yours ! " 
 
 " She claims me as one, and says she has nursed me 
 many a time when I was a child. I had quite for- 
 gotten her, and all about her, though I now remember 
 her name. She was formerly a servant in my mother's 
 family, near Ketterford." 
 
 Thus Austin Clay had succeeded without delay or 
 difficulty in obtaining employment, and was, moreover, 
 received on a footing of equality in tlie house of Mr. 
 Henry Hunter. We shall see how he gets on. 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MISS gwinn's visit. 
 
 Weue there space, it might be well to trace Austin 
 Clay's progress step by step — his advancements and 
 his drawbacks — his smooth-sailing and his difficulties ; 
 for, that his course was not free from difficulties and 
 drawbacks you may be very sure. I do not know 
 whose is. If any had thought he was to be repre- 
 sented as perfection, they were mistaken. Yet he 
 managed to hold on his way without moral damage, 
 for he was high -principled in every sense of the word. 
 But there is neither time nor space to give to these 
 particulars that regard himself alone. 
 
 Austin Clay sat one day in a small room at the 
 office, making corrections in a certain plan, which had 
 been roughly sketched. It was a hot day for the 
 beginning of autumn, some three or four months 
 having elapsed since his installation at Hunter and 
 Hunter s. The office-boy came in to interrupt him. 
 
 Please, sir, here's a lady outside, asking if she can 
 see young Mr. Clay." 
 
G8 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 A lacly ! " repeated Austin, in some wonder. Who 
 is it ? " 
 
 " I think she's from the country, sir," said the sharp 
 boy. She have got a big nosegay in her hand and a 
 brown reticule." 
 
 " Does she wear widow's weeds ? " questioned Austin, 
 ' hastily, an idea flashing over him that Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett might have come up to town. 
 
 " Weeds ? " replied the boy, staring, as if at a loss to 
 know what " weeds " might mean. " She have got a 
 white veil on, sir." 
 
 " Oh," said Austin. " Well, ask her to come in. 
 But I don't know any lady who can want me. Or 
 who has any business to come here, if she does," he 
 added to himself. 
 
 The lady came in : a very tall one. She wore a 
 dark silk dress, a shepherd's plaid shawl, a straw 
 bonnet, and a white veil. The reticule spoken of by 
 the boy was in her hand ; but the nosegay she left on 
 a bench just outside the door. Austin rose to receive 
 her. 
 
 **'You are doubtless surprised to see me, Austin 
 Clay. But, as I was coming to London on business — 
 I always do at this season of the year — I obtained 
 your address from Mrs. Thornimett, having a question 
 to put to you." 
 
 Without ceremony, without invitation, she sat down 
 on a chair. More by her voice than her features — for 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 69 
 
 she kept her veil before her face — did Austin recognize 
 her. It was Miss Gwinn. He recognized her with 
 dismay. Mr. Henry Hunter was about the premises, 
 liable to come in at any moment, and there might 
 occur a repetition of that violent scene to which he 
 had been a witness. Often and often had his mind 
 recurred to the affair; it perplexed him beyond 
 measure. Was Mr. Henry Hunter the stranger to her 
 he asserted himself to be, or was he not ? " What 
 shall I do with her ? thought Austin. 
 
 "Will you shut the door ? she said in peremptory 
 tones, for the boy had left it open. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Miss Gwinn,'' interrupted 
 Austin, necessity giving him courage. Though glad 
 to see you myself, I am at the present hour so busy 
 that it is next to impossible for me to give you my 
 attention. If you will name any place where I can 
 wait upon you after business hours, this, or any other 
 evening, I shall be happy to meet you." 
 
 Miss Gwinn ranged her eyes round the room, look- 
 ing, possibly, for confirmation of his words. "You 
 are not so busy as to be unable to spare a minute to 
 me. You were only looking over a plan." 
 
 " It is a plan that is being waited for.'' Which was 
 true. " And you must forgive me for reminding you 
 — I do it in all courtesy — that my time and this room 
 do not belong to me, but to my employers." 
 
 " Boy ! what is your motive for seeking to get rid 
 
70 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET.. 
 
 of me ? " she asked abruptly. " That you have one, I 
 can plainly see." 
 
 Austin was upon thorns. He had not taken a seat. 
 He stood near the door, pencil in hand, hoping it 
 would induce her to move. At that moment footsteps 
 were heard, and the office-door was pushed wide open. 
 
 It was Mr. Hunter. He stopped on the threshold, 
 seeing a lady, an unusual sight there, and came to the 
 conclusion that it must be some stranger for Mr. Clay. 
 Her features, shaded by the thick white veil, were 
 indistinct, and Mr. Hunter merely glanced at her. 
 Miss Gwinn, on the contrary, looked full at him, as she 
 did at most people, and bent her head as a slight mark 
 of courtesy. He responded by lifting his hat, and 
 went out again. 
 
 One of the principals, I suppose ? " she remarked. 
 
 " Yes," he replied, feeling thankful that it was not 
 Mr. Henry. " I believe he wants me. Miss Gwinn." 
 
 am not going to keep you from him. The 
 question I wish to put to you will be answered in a 
 sentence. Austin Clay, have you, since " 
 
 ''Allow me one single instant first, then," interrupted 
 Austin, resigning himself to his fate, ''just to speak a 
 word of explanation to Mr. Hunter." 
 
 He stepped out of the room and closed the door 
 behind him. Standing at the outer door, close by, 
 open to the yard, was Mr. Hunter. Austin, in his 
 haste and earnestness, grasped his arm. 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 71 
 
 "Find Mr. Henry, sir," he whispered. "Wherever 
 he may be, let him keep there — out of sight — until 
 she — this person — has gone. It is Miss Gwinn.'' 
 
 " Who ? What do you say ? cried Mr. Hunter, 
 staring at Austin. 
 
 It is that Miss Gwinn. The woman who attacked 
 Mr. Henry in that strange manner. She " 
 
 Miss Gwinn opened the door at this juncture, and 
 looked out upon them. Mr. Hunter walked briskly 
 away in search of his brother. Austin turned back 
 again. 
 
 She closed the door when he was inside the room, 
 keeping her hand upon it. She did not sit down, but 
 stood facing Austin, whom she held before her with 
 the other hand. 
 
 " Have you, since you came to London, seen aught 
 of my enemy ? — that man whom you saved from his 
 death in the gravel -pits ? Boy ! answer me truthfully." 
 
 He remained silent, scarcely seeing what his course 
 ought to be ] or whether m such a case a denial might 
 not be justifiable. But the hesitation was fatal to 
 that, for she read it rightly. 
 
 " No need of your affirmative," she said. " I see 
 you have met him. Where is he to be found ? " 
 
 There was only one course open to him now; aiid 
 he took it, in all straightforwardness. 
 
 " It is true I have seen that gentleman, Miss Gwinn, 
 but I can tell you nothing about him." 
 
72 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 She looked fixedly at him. That you cannot, or 
 that you. will not ? Which ? " 
 
 "That I will not. Forgive the seeming incivility 
 of the avowal, but I consider that I ought not to 
 comply with your request — that I should be doing 
 wrong ? " 
 
 Explain. What do you mean by ' wrong ' ? " 
 
 *'In the first place, I believe you were mistaken 
 with regard to the gentleman : I do not think he was 
 the one for whom you took him. In the second place, 
 even if he be the one, I cannot make it my business 
 to bring you into contact with him, and so give rise — 
 as it probably would — to further violence." 
 
 There was a pause. She threw up her veil and 
 looked fixedly at him, struggling for composure, her 
 lips compressed, her face working. 
 
 ''You know who he is, and where he lives," she 
 jerked out at length. 
 
 " I acknowledge that." 
 
 "How dare you take part against me?" she cried, 
 in agitation. 
 
 " I do not take part against you, Miss Gwinn," he 
 replied, wishing some friendly balloon would come and 
 whirl her away ; for Mr. Hunter might not find his 
 brother to give the warning. " I do not take his part 
 any more than I take yours, only in so far as that 
 I decline to tell you who and where he is. Had he 
 the same ill-feeling towards you, and wished to 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 73 
 
 know where you might he found, I would not tell 
 him." 
 
 Austin Clay, you shall tell me." 
 
 He drew himself up to his full height, speaking in 
 all the quiet consciousness of resolution. "Never of 
 my own free will. And I think, Miss Gwinn, there 
 are no means by which you can compel me." 
 
 " Perhaps the law might do so ? " She spoke 
 dreamily, not in answer to him, but in commune with 
 herself, as if debating the question. Fare you well 
 for the present, young man ; but I have not done with 
 you." 
 
 To his intense satisfaction, she turned out of the 
 office, taking up the flowers as she went. Austin 
 attended her to the outer gate. She strode straight 
 on, not deigning to cast a glance to the busy yard, 
 with its sheds, its timber, its implements of work, and 
 its artisans, all scattered about it. 
 
 "Believe me," he said, holding out his hand as a 
 peace-offering, I am not willingly discourteous. I 
 wish I could see my way clear to helping you." 
 
 She did not take the hand ; she walked away with- 
 out another word or look, and Austin went back again. 
 Mr. Hunter advanced to meet him from the upper end 
 of the yard, and went with him into the small room. 
 
 " What was all that about. Clay ? I scarcely 
 understood." 
 
 "I dare say not, sir, for I had no time to explain. 
 
74 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 It seems she — Miss Gwinn — has come to town on 
 business. She procured my address from Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett, and came here to ask of me if I had seen any- 
 thing of her enemy — meaning Mr. Henry Hunter. I 
 feared lest he should be coming in ; I could only beg 
 of you to find Mr. Henry, and warn him not to do so. 
 That is all, sir." 
 
 Mr. Hunter stood with his back to Austin, softly 
 whistling — his habit when in deep thought. " What 
 can be her motive for wanting to find him ? " he pre- 
 sently said. 
 
 " She speaks of revenge. Of course I do not know 
 for what: I cannot give even a guess. There's no 
 doubt she is mistaken in the person, when she accuses 
 Mr. Henry Hunter." 
 
 " W ell," returned Mr. Hunter, " I said nothing to my 
 brother, for I did not understand what there was to 
 say. It will be better not to tell him now ; the woman 
 is gone, and the subject does not appear to be a 
 pleasant one. Do you hear ? 
 
 " Very well, sir." 
 I think I understood, when the affair was spoken 
 of some time ago, that she does not know him as Mr. 
 Hunter ? " 
 
 " Of course she does not," said Austin. She would 
 have been here after him before now if she did. She 
 came this morning to see me, not suspecting she might 
 meet him." 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 75 
 
 Ah ! Better keep the visit close/' cried Mr. Hunter, 
 as he walked away. 
 
 Now, it had occurred to Austin that it would be 
 better to do just the opposite thing. He should have 
 told Mr. Henry Hunter, and left that gentleman to 
 seek out Miss Gwinn, or not, as he might choose. A 
 sudden meeting between them in the office, in the 
 hearing of the yard, and with the lady in excitement, 
 was not to be desired ; but that Mr. Henry Hunter 
 should clear himself, now that she was following him 
 up, and convince her it was not he who was the 
 suspected party, was, Austin thought, needful — that is, 
 if he could do it. However, he could only obey Mr. 
 Hunter s suggestions. 
 
 Austin resumed his occupation. His brain and 
 fingers were busy over the plan, when he saw a gig 
 drive into the yard. It contained the great engineer. 
 Sir Michael Wilson. Mr. Hemy Hunter came down 
 the yard to meet him ; they shook hands, and entered 
 the private room together. In a few minutes Mr. 
 Henry came to Austin. 
 
 Are you particularly engaged. Clay ? " 
 Only with this plan, sir. It is wanted as soon as I 
 can get it done." 
 
 " You can leave it for a quarter-of-an-hour. I wish 
 you to go round to Dr. Bevary. I was to have been 
 at his house now — half-past eleven — to accompany 
 him on a visit to a sick friend. Tell him that 
 
76 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Sir Michael has come, and I have to go out with him, 
 therefore it is impossible for me to keep my engagement. 
 I am very sorry, tell Be vary : these things always 
 happen crossly. Go right into his consulting-room, 
 Clay; never mind patients ; or else he will be chafing 
 at my delay, and grumble the ceiling off." 
 
 Austin departed. Dr. Bevary occupied a large 
 house in the main street, to the left of the yard, to 
 gain which he had to pass the turning to Daffodil's 
 Delight. Had Dr. Bevary lived to the right of the 
 yard, his practice might have been more exclusive; 
 but doctors cannot always choose their localities, 
 circumstances more frequently doing that for them. 
 He had a large connexion, and was often pressed for 
 time. 
 
 Down went Austin, and reached the house. Just 
 inside the open door, before which a close carriage 
 was standing, was the doctor's servant. 
 
 " Dr. Bevary is engaged, sir, with a lady patient,'' 
 said the man. ''He is particularly engaged for the 
 moment, but I don't think he'll be long." 
 
 " I'll wait," said Austin, not deeming it well strictly 
 to follow Mr. Henry Hunter's directions ; and he 
 turned, without ceremiony, to the little box of a study 
 on the left of the hall. 
 
 " Not there, sir," interposed the man hastily, and he 
 showed him into the draAving-room on the right ; Dr. 
 Bevary and his patient being in the consulting-room. 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 77 
 
 Ten minutes of impatience to Austin. What could 
 any lady mean by keeping him so long, in his own 
 house ? Then they came forth. The lady, very red 
 and portly, and rather old, was pushed into her carriage 
 by the help of her footman, Austin watching the process 
 from the window. The carriage then drove off. 
 
 The doctor did not come in. Austin concluded the 
 servant must have forgotten to tell him he was there. 
 He crossed the hall to the little study, the doctor's pri- 
 vate room, knocked and entered. 
 
 " I am not to care for patients,'' he called out gaily, 
 believing the doctor was alone ; " Mr. Henry Hunter 
 saj^s so." But to his surprise, a patient was sitting 
 there — at least, a lady ; sitting, nose and knees together 
 with Dr. Bevary, and talking hurriedly and earnestly, 
 as if they had the whole weight of the nation's affairs 
 on their shoulders. 
 
 It was Miss Gwinn. The flowers had apparently 
 found their home, for they were in a vase on the table. 
 Austin took it all in at a glance. 
 
 " So it is you, is it, Austin Clay ? " she exclaimed. 
 " I was acquainting Dr. Bevary with your refusal to 
 give me that man's address, and asking his opinion 
 whether the law could compel you. Have you come 
 after me to say you have thought better of it ? " 
 
 Austin was decidedly taken back. It might have 
 been his fancy, but he thought he saw a look of caution 
 go out to him from Dr. Bevary's eyes. 
 
78 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Was your visit to this lady, Mr. Clay ? " 
 
 "No, sir, it was to you. Sir Michael Wilson has 
 come down on business, and Mr. Henry Hunter will 
 not be able to keep his appointment with you. He 
 desired me to say that he was sorry, but that it was 
 no fault of his/' 
 
 Dr. Bevary nodded. " Tell him I was about to send 
 round to say that I could not keep mine with him, so 
 it's all right. Another day will " 
 
 A sharp cry. A cry of passion, of rage, almost of 
 terror. It came from Miss Gwinn; and the doctor, 
 breaking off his sentence, turned to her in amazement. 
 
 It was well he did so ; it was well he caught her 
 hands. Another moment, and she would have dashed 
 them through the window, and perhaps herself also. 
 Driving by, in the gig, were Sir Michael Wilson and 
 Mr. Henry Hunter. It was at the latter she gazed, at 
 him she pointed. 
 
 " Do you see him ? Do you see him ? " she panted 
 to the doctor. That's the man ; not the one driving; 
 the other — the one sitting this way. Oh, Dr. Bevary, 
 will you believe me now ? I told you I met him at 
 Ketterford ; and there he is again ! Let me go ! " 
 
 She was strong almost as a wild animal, wrestling 
 with the doctor to break from him. He made a motion 
 to Austin to keep the door, and there ensued a sharp 
 struggle. Dr. Bevary got her into an arm-chair at 
 last, and stood before her, holding her hands, at first 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 79 
 
 in silence. Then he spoke calmly, soothingly, as he 
 would to a child. 
 
 " My dear lady, what will become of you if you give 
 way to these fits of violence ? But for me, I really 
 believe you would have been through the window. A 
 pretty affair of spikes that would be ! I should have 
 had you laid up in my house for a month, covered 
 with sticking-plaster." 
 
 If you had not stopped me, I might have caught 
 that gig," was her passionate rejoinder. 
 
 " Caught that gig ! A gig going at the rate of ten 
 miles an hour, if it Avas going one ! By the time you 
 had got down the steps of my door it would have been 
 out of sight. How people can drive at that random 
 rate in London streets, / can t think." 
 
 " How can I find him ? How can I find him ? " 
 
 Her tone was quite a wail of anguish. However 
 they might deprecate her mistaken violence, it vv^as 
 impossible but that both her hearers should feel 
 compassion for her. She laid her hand on the doctor s 
 arm. 
 
 " Will you not help me to find him, Dr. Bevary ? 
 Did you note him ? " 
 
 So far as to see that there were two persons in the 
 gig, and that they were men, not women. Do you feel 
 sure it v/as the man you speak of ? It is so easy to 
 be mistaken in a person who is being whirled swiftly 
 along." 
 
80 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mistaken ! " she returned, in strangely significant 
 tones. " Dr. Bevary, I am sure it was he. I have not 
 kept him in my mind for years, to mistake him now. 
 Austin Clay/' she fiercely added, turning round upon 
 Austin, ''you speak; speak the truth ; I saw you look 
 after them. Was it, or was it not, the man whom I 
 met at Ketterford ? " 
 
 I believe it was," was Austin s answer. " Never- 
 theless, Miss Gwinn, I do not believe him to be the 
 enemy you spoke of — the one who worked you ill. He 
 denies it just as solemnly as you assert it ; and I am 
 sure he is a truthful man." 
 " And that I am a liar ? " 
 
 " No. That you believe what you assert is only too 
 apparent. I think it a case, on your side, of mistaken 
 identity.'' 
 
 Happening to raise his eyes, Austin caught those of 
 Dr. Bevary fixed upon him with a keen, troubled, 
 earnest gaze. It asked, as plainly as a gaze could 
 ask, Do you believe so ? or is the falsehood on his 
 side ? " 
 
 " Will you disclose to Dr. Bevary the name of that 
 man, if you will not to me ? " 
 
 Again the gentlemen's eyes met, and this time 
 an unmistakable warning gleamed forth from Dr. 
 Bevary's. Austin could only obey it. 
 
 I must decline to speak of him in any way, Miss 
 Gwinn," said he; ''you had my reasons before. Dr. 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 81 
 
 Bevaiy, I have given you the message I was charged 
 with. I must wish you both good-day." 
 
 Austin walked back, full of thought, his belief some- 
 what wavering. "It is very strange," he reflected. 
 " Could a woman, could any one be so positive as she 
 is, unless thoroughly certain ? What is the mystery, 
 I wonder ? That it was no sentimental affair between 
 them, or rubbish of that sort, is patent by the differ- 
 ence of their ages ; she looks pretty nearly old enough 
 to be his mother. Mr. Henry Hunter's is a remark- 
 able face — one that would alter little in a score of 
 years." 
 
 The bell was ringing twelve as he approached the 
 yard, and the workmen were pouring out of it, on their 
 way home to dinner. Plentiful tables awaited them ; 
 little care was on their minds ; flourishing was every 
 branch of the building trade then. Peter Quale came 
 up to Austin. 
 
 ^SSam Shuck have just been up here, sir, a-eating 
 humble pie, and praying to be took on again. But the 
 masters be both absent ; and Mr. Mills, he said he 
 didn't choose, in a thing like this, to act on his own 
 responsibility, for he heard Mr. Hunter say Shuck 
 shouldn't again be employed." 
 
 " I would not take him on," replied Austin, " if it 
 rested with me ; an idle, skulking, deceitful vagabond, 
 drunk and incapable at one time, striving to spread 
 discontent amongst the men at another. He has been 
 
 A Life's Secret. Q 
 
82 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 on the loose for a fortnight now. But it is not my 
 affair, Quale ; Mr. Mills is manager." 
 
 The yard, between twelve and one, was very nearly 
 deserted. The gentleman spoken of as Mr. Mills, and 
 Austin, usually remained ; the principals would some- 
 times be there, and an odd man or two. The time- 
 keeper lived in the yard. Austin rather liked that 
 hour ; it was quiet. He was applying himself to his 
 plan with a zest, when another interruption came, in 
 the shape of Dr. Bevary. Austin began to think he 
 might as well put the drawing away altogether, 
 
 "Any one in the offices, Mr. Clay, except you?" 
 asked the doctor. 
 
 *'Not indoors. Mills is about somewhere." 
 Down sat the doctor, and fixed his keen eyes upon 
 Austin. *'What took place here this morning with 
 Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
 "No harm sir,'' replied Austin, briefly explaining. 
 " As it happened, Mr. Henry kept away. Mr. Hunter 
 came in and saw her ; but that was all." 
 
 " What is your opinion ? " abruptly asked the doctor. 
 Come, give it freely. You have your share of judg- 
 ment, and of discretion too, or I should not ask it. Is 
 she mistaken, or is Henry Hunter false ? " 
 
 Austin did not immediately reply. Dr. Bevary mis- 
 took the cause of his silence. 
 
 "Don't hesitate. Clay, You know I am trust- 
 worthy; and it is not I who would stir to harm a 
 
MISS GWINN'S VISIT. 
 
 83 
 
 Hunter. If I seek to come to the bottom of this 
 afiair, it is that I may do what I can to repair damage ; 
 to avert some of the fruits of wrong-doing." 
 
 " If I hesitated, Dr. Be vary, it was that I am really 
 at a loss v\^hat answer to give. When Mr. Henry 
 Hunter denies that he knows the woman, or that he 
 ever has known her, he appears to me to speak open 
 truth. On the other hand, these recognitions of Miss 
 Gwinn's, and her persistency, are, to say the least of 
 them, suspicious and singular. Until within an hour 
 I had full trust in Mr. Henry Hunter ; now I do not 
 know what to think. She seemed to recognize him in 
 the gig so surely." 
 
 "He does not appear" — Dr. Bevary seemed to be 
 speaking to himself, and his head was bent — " like one 
 who carries about with him some dark secret." 
 
 " Mr. Henry Hunter ? None less. Never a man 
 whose exterior gave indications of a clearer conscience. 
 But, Dr. Bevary, if her enemy be Mr. Henry Hunter, 
 how is it she does not know him by name ? " 
 
 Ay, there's another point. She evidently attaches 
 no importance to the name of Hunter." 
 
 '^What vras the name of— of the enemy she talks 
 of ? " asked Austin. We must call him ' enemy ' for 
 want of a better name. Do you know it, doctor ? " 
 
 " No. Can't get it out of her. Never could get it 
 out of her. I asked her again to-day, but she evaded 
 the question." 
 
84 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Mr. Planter thought it would be better to keep her 
 visit this morning a secret from his brother, as they 
 had not met. I, on the contrary, should have told him 
 of it." 
 
 No/' hastily interposed Dr. Bevary, putting up his 
 hand with an alarmed, warning gesture. " The only 
 way is to keep her and Henry Hunter apart." 
 
 "I wonder," mused Austin, what brings her to 
 town ? " 
 
 The doctor threw his penetrating gaze into Austin's 
 eyes. " Have you no idea what it is ? " 
 
 ''None, sir. She seemed to intimate that "she came 
 every year." 
 
 Good. Don't try to form any, my young friend. 
 It would not be a pleasant secret, even for you to 
 hold!" 
 
 He rose as he spoke, nodded, and went out, leaving 
 Austin Clay in a state of bewilderment. It was not 
 lessened when, an hour later, Austin encountered Dr. 
 Bevary's close carriage, driving rapidly along the 
 street, the doctor seated within it, and Miss Gwinn 
 beside him. 
 
ff 
 
 ( 85 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 TRACKED HOME. 
 
 I THINK ifc has been mentioned that the house next 
 door to the Quales', but detached from it was inhabited 
 by two families : the lower part by Mr. Samuel Shuck, 
 his wife and children ; the upper and better part by 
 the Baxendales. No two sets of people could be more 
 dissimilar ; the one being as respectable as the other 
 was disreputable. John Baxendale's wife was an 
 invalid ; she had been so, on and off, for a long time. 
 There was an only daughter, and she and her mother 
 held themselves very much aloof from the general 
 society of Daffodil's Delight. 
 
 On the morning following the day spoken of in the 
 last chapter as distinguished by the advent of Miss 
 Gwinn in London, Mrs. Baxendale found herself con- 
 siderably worse than usual. Mr. Rice, the apothecary, 
 who was the general attendant in Daffodil's Delight, 
 and lived at its corner, had given her medicine, and 
 told her to " eat well and get up her strength." But, 
 somehow, strength and appetite did not come ; on 
 
86 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 the contrary, she grew weaker and weaker. She was 
 in very bad spirits this morning, was quite nnable to 
 get up, and cried for some time in silence. 
 
 "Mother, dear," said Mary Baxendale, going into 
 her room, " you 11 have the doctor gone out, I fear." 
 
 " Oh, Mary ! I cannot get up — I cannot go," was the 
 answer, delivered with a burst of sobbing sorrow. " I 
 shall never rise from my bed again." 
 
 The words fell on the daughter with a terrible shock. 
 Her fears in regard to- her mother's health had long 
 been excited, but this seemed like a confirmation of a 
 result she had never dared to face openly. She was 
 not a very capable sort of girl — the reverse of what 
 is called strong-minded ; but the instinct imparted by 
 all true affection warned her to make light of her 
 mother s words. 
 
 ''Nay, mother, it's not so bad as that," she said, 
 checking her tears. " Youll get up again fast enough. 
 You are feeling low, maybe, this morning." 
 
 " Child, I am too weak to get up — too ill. I don't 
 think I shall ever be about again." 
 
 Mary sat down in a sort of helpless perplexity. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " she cried. 
 
 Mrs. Baxendale asked herself the same question as 
 she lay there. Finding herself no better under Mr. 
 Eice's treatment, she had at length determined to do 
 what she ought to have done at first — consult Dr. 
 Bevary. 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 87 
 
 From half-past eight to ten, three mornings in the 
 week, Dr. Bevary gave advice gratis ; and Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale was on this one to have gone to him — rather a 
 formidable visit, as it seemed to her, and perhaps the 
 very thought of it had helped to make her worse. 
 What is to be done ? " repeated Mary. 
 
 " Could you not wait upon him, child, and describe 
 my symptoms ? " suggested the sick woman, after 
 weighing the dilemma in her mind. " It might do as 
 well. Perhaps he can write for me." 
 
 " Oh, mother, I don't like to go ! " exclaimed Marj^, in 
 the impulse of the moment. 
 
 " But, my dear, what else is to be done ? " urged Mrs. 
 Baxendale. We can't ask a great gentleman like that 
 to come to me.^' 
 
 " To be sure — true. Oh yes, I'll go, mother." 
 
 Mary made herself ready without another word. 
 Mrs. Baxendale, a superior woman for her station in 
 life, had brought up her daughter to be thoroughly 
 dutiful. It had seemed a formidable task to the 
 mother, going to this physician, this ^ great gentle- 
 man;' it seemed a far worse to the daughter, and 
 especially having to explain symptoms and ailments 
 at second-hand. But the great physician was a very 
 pleasant man, and would nod good-humouredly to 
 Mary, when by chance he met her in the street. 
 
 ''Tell him, with my duty, that I am not equal to 
 coming myself,'^ said Mrs. Baxendale, when Mary stood 
 
88 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ready in her neat straw bonnet and light shall. " I 
 ought to have gone weeks ago, and that's the truth. 
 Don't forget to describe the pain in my right side, and 
 the flushings of heat." 
 
 So Mary went on her way, and was admitted to the 
 presence of Dr. Bevary, where she told her tale with 
 awkward timidity. 
 
 " Ah ! a return of the old weakness that she had 
 years ago," remarked the doctor. "I told her she 
 must be careful. Too ill to get up ? Why did she 
 not come to me before ? " 
 
 I suppose, sir, she did not much like to trouble 
 you," responded Mary. "She has been hoping from 
 week to week that Mr. Hice would do her good." 
 
 / can't do her good, unless I see her," cried the 
 doctor. " I might prescribe just the wrong thing, you 
 know." 
 
 Mary repressed her tears. 
 
 I am afraid, then, she must die, sir. She said this 
 morning she thought she should never get up from her 
 bed again." 
 
 " I'll step round some time to-day and see her," said 
 Dr. Bevary. " But now, don't you go chattering that 
 to the whole parish. I should have every sick person 
 in it expecting me, as a right, to call and visit them." 
 
 He laughed pleasantly at Mary as he spoke, and she 
 departed with a glad heart. The visit had been so 
 much less formidable in reality than in anticipation. 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 89 
 
 As she reached Daffodil's Delight, she did not turn 
 into it, but continued her way to the house of Mrs. 
 Hunter. Mary Baxendale took in plain sewing, and 
 had some in hand at present from that lady. She 
 inquired for Dobson. Dobson was Mrs. Hunter's own 
 maid, and a very consequential one. 
 
 " Not able to get Miss Hunter s night-dresses 
 home on Saturday!'' grumbled Dobson, when she 
 appeared and heard what Mary had to say. "But 
 you must, Mary Baxendale. You promised them, you 
 know." 
 
 I should not have promised had I known that my 
 mother would have grown worse," said Mary. "A 
 sick person requires a deal of waiting on, and there's 
 only me. I'll do what I can to get them home next 
 week, if that will do." 
 
 ''I don't know that it will do," snapped Dobson. 
 
 Miss Florence may be wanting them. A promise is 
 a promise, Mary Baxendale." 
 
 ^'Yes, it will do, Mary," cried Florence Hunter, 
 darting from some forbidden nook, whence she had 
 heard the colloquy, and following Mary down the 
 steps into the street. A fair sight was that child to 
 look upon, with her white muslin dress, her blue 
 ribbons, her flowing hair, and her sweet countenance, 
 radiant as a summer's morning. " Mamma is not 
 downstairs yet, or I would ask her — ^she is ill, too — 
 but I know I do not want them. Never mind them, 
 
90 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 and never mind Dobson either, but nurse your 
 mother." 
 
 Dobson drew the young lady back, asking her if 
 such behaviour was not enouo^h to "scandalize the 
 
 o 
 
 square ; " and Mary Baxendale returned home. 
 
 Dr. Bevary paid his visit to Mrs. Baxendale about 
 midday. His practised eye saw Avith certainty what 
 others were only beginning to suspect — that Death 
 had set his mark upon her. He wrote a prescription, 
 gave some general directions, said he would call again, 
 and told Mrs. Baxendale she would be better out of 
 bed than in it. 
 
 Accordingly, after his departure, she got up and 
 went into the front-room, which they made their 
 sitting-room. But the exertion caused her to faint; 
 she was certainly on this day much worse than usual. 
 John Baxendale was terribly concerned, and did not 
 go back to his work after dinner. When the bustle 
 was over, and she seemed pretty comfortable again, 
 some one burst into the room, without knock or other 
 ceremony. It was one of the Shucks, a young man of 
 eight, in tattered clothes, and a shock head of hair. 
 He came to announce that Mrs. Hunter s maid was 
 asking for Mary, and little Miss Hunter was there, 
 too, and said, might she come up and see Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale. 
 
 Both were requested to walk up. Dobson had 
 brought a gracious message from her mistress (not 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 91 
 
 graciously delivered, though), that the sewing might 
 wait till it was quite convenient to do it ; and Florence 
 produced a jar, which she had insisted upon carrying 
 herself, and had thereby split her grey kid gloves, it 
 being too large for her hands. 
 
 "It is bla^ck-currant jelly, Mrs. Baxendale,'' she said, 
 with the prettiest, kindest air in the world, as she 
 freely sat down by the sick woman's side. " I asked 
 mamma to let me bring some, for I remember when I 
 was ill I only liked black-currant jelly. Mamma is 
 so sorry to hear you are worse, and she will come to 
 see you soon." 
 
 Bless your little heart, Miss Florence ! " exclaimed 
 the invalid. " The same dear child as ever — thinking 
 of other people and not of yourself." 
 
 I have no need to think for myself," said Florence. 
 " Everything I want is got ready for me. I wish you 
 did not look so ill. I wish you would have my uncle 
 Bevary to see you. He cures every one." 
 
 "He has been kind enough to come round to-day, 
 miss," spoke up John Baxendale, *^and he'll come 
 again, he says. I hope he will be able to do the 
 missis good. As you be a bit better," he added to his 
 wife, I think I'll go back to my work." 
 
 ^'Ay, do, John. There's no cause for you to stay 
 at home. It was some sort of weakness, I suppose, 
 that came over me." 
 
 . John Baxendale touched his hair to Florence, nodded 
 
92 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 to Dobson, went downstairs and departed. Florence 
 turned to the open window to watch him, ever rest- 
 less, as a healthy child is apt to be. 
 
 " There's Uncle Henry ! " she suddenly called out. 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter was walking rapidly down 
 Daffodil's Delight. He encountered John Baxendale 
 as the man went out of his gate. 
 
 " Not back at work yet, Baxendale ? " 
 The missis has been taken worse, sir," was the 
 man's reply. " She fainted dead off just now, and 
 I declare I didn't know what to think about her. 
 She's all right again, and I am going round." 
 
 At that moment there Avas heard a tapping at the 
 window-panes, and a pretty little head was pushed 
 out beneath them, nodding and laughing, "Uncle 
 Henry ! How do you do. Uncle Henry ? " 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter nodded in reply, and pursued 
 his way, unconscious that the lynx eye of Miss Gwinn 
 was following him, like a hawk watching its prey. 
 
 It happened that she had penetrated to Daffodil's 
 Delight, hoping to catch Austin Clay at dinner, which 
 she supposed he might be taking about that hour. 
 She held his address at Peter Quale's from Mrs. 
 Thornimett. Her object was to make a further effort 
 to draw from him what he knew of the man she 
 sought to find. Scarcely had she turned into Daffodil's 
 Delight, when she saw Mr. Henry Hunter at a distance. 
 Away she tore after him, and gained upon him con- 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 93 
 
 siderably. She reached the house of John Baxendale 
 just as he, Baxendale, was re-entering it; for he had 
 forgotten something he must take with him to the 
 yard. Turning her head upon Baxendale for a 
 minute as she passed, Miss Gwinn lost sight of Mr. 
 Henry Hunter. 
 
 How had he disappeared ? Into the ground ? or 
 into a house ? or down any obscure passage that 
 might be a short-cut between Daffodil's Delight, and 
 some other Delight ? or into that cab that was now 
 whirling onwards at such a rate ? That he was no 
 longer visible, was certain : and Miss Gwinn was 
 exceeding wroth. She came to the conclusion that he 
 had seen her, and hidden himself in the cab, though 
 she had not heard it stop. 
 
 But she had seen him spoken to from the window 
 of that house where the workman had just gone in, 
 and she determined to make inquiries there, and so 
 strode up the path. In the Shucks kitchen there 
 were only three or four children, too young to give 
 an answer. Miss Gwinn picked her way through 
 them, over the dirt and grease of the floor, and 
 ascended to the sitting-room above. She stood a 
 minute to take in its view. 
 
 John Baxendale was on his knees, hunting amongst 
 some tools at the bottom of a closet ; Mary was 
 meekly exhibiting the progress of the night-gowns to 
 Dobson, who sat in state, sour enough to turn milk 
 
94 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 into curd; the invalid was lying, pale, in her chair; 
 whilst the young lady appeared to be assisting at the 
 tool-hunting, on her knees also, and chattering as fast 
 as her tongue could go. All looked up at the 
 apparition of the stranger, who stood gazing in upon 
 them. 
 
 " Can you tell me where a gentleman of the name 
 of Lewis lives ? " she began, in an indirect, diplomatic, 
 pleasant sort of way, for she no doubt deemed it well 
 to discard violence for tact. In the humour she was 
 in yesterday, she would have said, sharply and im- 
 periously, " Tell me the name of that man I saw now 
 pass your gate." 
 
 John Baxendale rose. "Lewis, ma am? I don't 
 know anybody of the name." 
 
 A pause. " It is very unfortunate," she mildly 
 resumed. I am in search of the gentleman, and 
 have not got his address. I believe he belongs to this 
 neighbourhood. Indeed, I am almost sure I saw 
 him talking to you just now at the gate— -though 
 my sight is none of the clearest from a distance. 
 The same gentleman to whom that young lady 
 nodded." 
 
 That was my uncle Henry," called out the child. 
 " Who ? " cried slie, sharply. 
 
 ''It was Mr. Henry Hunter, ma am, that was," 
 spoke up Baxendale. 
 
 " Mr. Henry Hunter ! " she repeated, as she knit 
 
TEACKED HOME. 
 
 95 
 
 her brow on John Baxendale. " That gentleman is 
 Mr. Lewis/' 
 
 ''No, that he is not," said John Baxendale. ^'I 
 ought to know, ma'am; I have worked for him for 
 some years." 
 
 Here the mischief might have ended; there's no 
 telling ; but that busy little tongue of all tongues — 
 ah ! what work they make ! — began clapping again. 
 
 " Perhaps you mean my papa ? Papa's name is 
 Lewis — James Lewis Hunter. But he is never called 
 Mr. Lewis. He is brother to my uncle Henry." 
 
 A wild flush of crimson flashed over Miss Gwinn's 
 sallow face. Something within her seemed to whisper 
 that her search was over. " It is possible I mistook 
 the one for the other in the distance/' she observed, 
 all her new diplomacy in full play. Are they alike 
 in person ? " she continued to John Baxendale. 
 
 " Not so much alike now, ma'am. In years gone 
 by they were the very model of one another ; but Mr. 
 Hunter has grown stout, and it has greatly altered 
 him. Mr. Henry looks just like what Mr. Hunter 
 used to look," 
 
 And who are you, did you say ? " she asked of 
 Florence with an emphasis that would have been 
 quite wild, but that it was in a degree suppressed. 
 You are not Mr. Lewis Hunter's daup-hter ? " 
 I am," said Miss Florence. 
 And — you have a mother ? " 
 
96 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Of course I have," repeated the child. 
 
 A pause : the lady looked at John Baxendale. 
 
 Then Mr. Lewis Hunter is a married man ? " 
 
 " To be sure he is," said John, ever so many years 
 ago. Miss Florence is twelve." 
 
 " Thank you,'' said Miss Gwinn, abruptly turning 
 away. Good-morning." - 
 
 She went down the stairs at a great rate, and did 
 not stay to pick her steps over the untidiness of the 
 Shucks' floor. 
 
 " What a mistake to make ! " was her inward com- 
 ment, and she laughed as she said it. " I did not 
 sufficiently allow for the lapse of years. If that 
 younger one had lost his life in the gravel-pits, he 
 would have died an innocent man." 
 
 Away to the yard now, as fast as her legs would 
 carry her. In turning in, she ran against Austin Clay. 
 
 ''I want to speak with Mr. Hunter," she imperiously 
 said. " Mr. Lewis Hunter — not the one I saw in the 
 
 gig- 
 
 Mr. Hunter is out of town, Miss Gwinn," was 
 Austin's reply. We do not expect him at the yard 
 to-day ; he will not be home in time to come to it." 
 
 Boy ! you are deceiving me ! " 
 
 Indeed I am not," he returned. Why should I ? 
 Mr. Hunter is not in the habit of being denied to 
 applicants. You might have spoken to him yesterday, 
 when you saw him, had it pleased you so to do.*' 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 97 
 
 I never saw him yesterday." 
 " Yes, you did, Miss Gwinn. That gentleman who 
 came into the office and bowed to you was Mr. 
 Hunter." 
 
 She stared Austin full in the face, as if unable to 
 believe what he said. That Mr. Hunter ? — Lewis 
 Hunter ? " 
 
 " It was." 
 
 If so, how he is altered ! " And, throwing up her 
 arms with a strange, wild gesture, she turned and 
 strode out of the yard. The next moment Austin 
 saw her come into it again. 
 
 I want Mr. Lewis Hunter's private address, Austin 
 Clay." 
 
 But Austin v/as on his guard now. He did not 
 relish the idea of giving any one's private address to 
 such a person as Miss Gwinn, who might or might 
 not be mad. 
 
 She detected his reluctance. 
 
 ''Keep it from me, if you choose, boy," she said, 
 with a laugh that had a ring of scorn in it. Better 
 for you perhaps to be on the safe side. The 
 first workman I meet will give it me, or a court 
 guide." 
 
 And thus saying, shef finally turned away. At any 
 rate for the time being. 
 
 Austin Clay resumed his work, and the day passed 
 on to evening. When business was over, he went 
 
 A Life's Secret. . 7 
 
98 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 home to make some alteration in his dress, for he had 
 to go by appointment to Mr. Hunter's, and on these 
 occasions he generally remained with them. It was 
 beginning to groAv dusk, and a chilliness seemed to be 
 in the air. 
 
 The house occupied by Mr. Hunter was one of the 
 best in the square. Ascending by a flight of steps, 
 and passing through a pillared portico, you found 
 yourself in a handsome hall, paved in imitation of 
 mosaic. Two spacious sitting-rooms were on the left : 
 the front one was used as a dining-room, the other 
 opened to a conservatory. On the right of the hall, a 
 broad flight of stairs led to the apartments above, one 
 of which was a drawing-room, fitted up with costly 
 elegance. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Hunter v/ere seated in the dining- 
 room. Florence was there also, but not seated; it 
 may be questioned if she ever did sit, except when 
 compelled to do so. Dinner was over, but they 
 frequently made this their evening sitting-room. The 
 drawing-room upstairs was grand and stately, the 
 room behind was dull ; this was cheerful, and looked 
 out on the square. Especially cheerful it looked 
 on this evening, for a fire had been lighted in the 
 grate, and it cast a warm glow around in the fading 
 twilight. 
 
 Austin Clay was shown in, and invited to a seat by 
 the fire, near Mrs, Hunter. He had come in obedience 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 99 
 
 to orders from Mr. Hunter, issued to him when he, 
 Mr. Hunter, had been going out that morning. His 
 journey had been connected with certain buildings 
 then in progress, and he thought he mighty have 
 directions to give with respect to the following morn- 
 ing's early work. 
 
 A few minutes given by Austin and his master to 
 business matters, and then the latter left the room, 
 and Austin turned to Mrs. Hunter. Unusually 
 delicate she looked, as she half sat, half reclined in 
 her chair, the firelight playing on her features. 
 Florence had draofo-ed forth a stool, and was sittinq; 
 on it in a queer sort of fashion, at Austin s feet. He 
 was a great favourite of hers, and she made no secret 
 of the liking. 
 
 "You are not looking well this evening," he 
 observed, in a gentle tone, to Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 ''I am not feeling -well. I scarcely ever do feel 
 v/ell; never strong. I sometimes think, Mr. Clay, 
 what a mercy it is that we are not permitted to fore- 
 see the future. If we could, some of us might be 
 tempted to — to — " she hesitated, and then went on 
 in a lower tone — " to pray that God might take us in 
 our youth." 
 
 " The longer we live, the more we become impressed 
 with the wonderful wisdom that exists in the ordering 
 of all things," replied Austin. " My years have not 
 been many, comparatively speaking ; but I see it 
 
100 
 
 A LIFE'S SP]CRET. 
 
 always, and I know that I shall see it more and 
 more." 
 
 " The confirmed invalid, the man of care and sorrow, 
 the incessant battle for existence with those reduced 
 to extreme poverty — had they seen their future, as in 
 a mirror, how could they have borne to enter upon 
 it ? " dreamily observed Mrs. Hunter. And yet, I 
 have heard people exclaim, ' How I wish I could 
 foresee my destiny, and what is to happen to me ! ' " 
 
 " But the cares and ills of the world do not come 
 near you, Mrs. Hunter," spoke Austin, after a pause 
 of thought. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter smiled. From the cares and crosses 
 of the world, as we generally estimate cares and 
 crosses, I am free. God has spared me them. He 
 does not overwhelm us with ills ; if one ill is par- 
 ticularly our portion, we are generally spared others. 
 Mine lie in my want of health, and in the thought 
 that — that — I am rarely free from pain and suffering,'* 
 she concluded. But Austin felt that it was not what 
 she had been about to say. 
 
 " What should we do if all the ills came to us, 
 mamma ? " cried Florence, wdio had been still, and 
 was listening. 
 
 My dear, if all the ills came to us, God would 
 show us a w^ay to bear them. You know that He 
 has promised so much ; and His promises cannot 
 fail." 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 101 
 
 *'Clay," cried Mr. Hunter, returning to the room 
 and resuming his seat, " did any one in particular call 
 and want me to-day ? " 
 
 No, sir. Several came, but Mr. Henry saw them." 
 
 " Did Arkwright come ? resumed Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " I think not ; I did not see him. That — lady — 
 who was there yesterday, came again. She asked for 
 you.". 
 
 A pause. Then Mr. Hunter spoke up sharply. 
 For my brother, you mean. She must have wanted 
 him." 
 
 She certainly asked for you, sir. For Mr. Lewis 
 Hunter." 
 
 Those little ears pricked themselves up, and their 
 owner unceremoniously wheeled herself round on her 
 stool, holding on by Austin's knee, as she faced her 
 father. 
 
 There was a lady came to John Baxendale's rooms 
 to-day, when I and Dobson were there, and she asked 
 for Mr. Lewis Hunter. At least — it was the funniest 
 thing, papa — she saw Uncle Henry talking to John 
 Baxendale, and she came up and said he was Mr. 
 Lewis, and asked where he lived. John Baxendale 
 said it was Mr. Henry Hunter, and she said no, it was 
 not Mr. Henry Hunter, it was Mr. Lewis. So then 
 we found out that she had mistaken him for you, and 
 that it was you she wanted. Who was she, papa ? " 
 
 She — she — her business was with Henry," spoke 
 
102 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mr. Hunter, in so confused, so startled a tone : not as 
 if answering the child, but more as if defending him- 
 self to any who might be around : that Austin looked 
 up involuntarily. His face had grown angry and 
 loAvering, and he moved his position, so that his wife's 
 gaze should not fall upon it. Austin's did, though. 
 
 At that moment there Vv^as heard a knock and ring 
 at the house-door, presumably the announcement of a 
 visitor. Florence, much addicted to acting upon 
 natural impulse, and thereby falling into constant hot 
 water with her governess, who assured her nothing 
 could be more unbecoming a young lady, quitted her 
 stool and flew to the window. By dint of flattening 
 her nose and crushing her curls against a corner of 
 one of its panes, she contrived to obtain a partial 
 view of the visitor. 
 
 " Oh dear ! I hoped it was Uncle Bevary. Mamma's 
 always better when he com.es; he tells her she is not 
 so ill as she fancies. Papa ! " 
 
 What ? " cried Mr. Hunter, quickly. 
 
 " I do believe it is that same lady who came to 
 John Baxendale's. She is as tall as a house." 
 
 What possessed Mr. Hunter ? He started up ; he 
 sprung half-way across the room, hesitated, and glided 
 back again. Glided stealthily as it were ; and stealthil}^ 
 touching Austin Clay, motioned him to follow him. 
 His hands were trembling ; and the dark frown, full 
 of embarrassment, was still upon his features. Mrs. 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 103 
 
 Hunter noticed nothing unusual ; the apartment was 
 shaded in twilight, and she sat with her head turned 
 to the fire. 
 
 Go to that woman, Clay ! came forth in a 
 whisper from Mr. Hunter's compressed lips, as he 
 drew Austin outside the room. "I cannot see her. 
 Yon go." 
 
 " What am I to say ? " questioned Austin, feeling 
 surprised and bewildered. 
 
 Anything ; anything. Only keep her from me." 
 
 He turned back into the room as he spoke, and 
 closed the door softly, for Miss Gwinn was already 
 in the hall. The servant had said his master was at 
 home, and was conducting her to the room where his 
 master and mistress sat, supposing it was some friend 
 come to pay them an hour's visit. Austin thought he 
 heard Mr. Hunter slip the bolt of the dining-room, as 
 he walked forward to receive Miss Gwinn. 
 
 Austin's words were quick and sharp, arresting the 
 servant's footsteps. " Not there, Mark ! Miss Gwinn," 
 he courteously added, presenting himself before her, 
 
 Mr. Hunter is unable to -see you this evening." 
 
 " Who gave yon authority to interfere, Austin 
 Clay ? " was the response, not spoken in a raving, 
 angry tone^ but in one of cold, concentrated deter- 
 mination. " I demand an interview with Lewis 
 Hunter. That he is at home, I know, for I saw him 
 through the window, in the reflection of the firelight. 
 
104 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 as I stood on the steps ; and here I will remain until 
 I obtain speech of him, be it until to-morrow morning, 
 be it until days to come. Do you note my words, 
 meddling boy ? I demand the interview ; I do not 
 crave it : he best knows by what right.'' 
 
 She sat deliberately down on one of the hall-chairs. 
 Austin, desperately at a loss what to do, and seeing 
 no means of getting rid of her except by forcible 
 expulsion, knocked gently at the room-door again. 
 Mr. Hunter drew it cautiously open to admit him ; 
 then slipped the bolt, entwined his arm within 
 Austin's, and drew him to the window. Mrs. Hunter's 
 attention was absorbed by Florence, who was chatter- 
 ing to her. 
 
 " She has taken a seat in the hall, sir," he whispered. 
 " She says she will remain there until she sees you, 
 though she should have to wait until the morning. I 
 am sure she means it : stop there, she will. She says 
 she demands the interview as a right." ^ 
 
 No," said Mr. Hunter, " she possesses no right 
 But — perhaps I had better see her, and get it over : 
 otherwise she may make a disturbance. Tell Mark 
 to show her into the drawing-room. Clay; and you 
 stay here and talk to Mrs. Hunter." 
 
 " What is the matter, that you are whispering ? 
 Does any one want you ? " interrupted Mrs. Hunter, 
 whose attention was at length attracted. 
 
 ^'I am telling Clay that people have no right to 
 
I 
 
 TRACKED HOME. 
 
 105 
 
 come to my private house on business matters," was 
 the reply given by Mr. Hunter. However, as the 
 person is here, I must see her, I suppose. Do not let 
 us be interrupted, Louisa." 
 
 But what does she want ? — it was a lady, Florence 
 said. Who is she ? " reiterated Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 " It is a matter of business of Henry's. She ought 
 to have gone to him." Mr. Hunter looked at his Avife 
 and at Austin as he spoke. The latter was leaving 
 the room to do his bidding, and Miss Gwinn suffered 
 herself to be conducted quietly to the drawing-room. 
 
 A full hour did the interview last. The voices 
 seemed occasionally to be raised in anger, so that the 
 sound penetrated to their ears downstairs, from the 
 room overhead. Mrs. Hunter grew impatient ; the tea 
 waited on the table, and she wanted it. At length 
 they were heard to descend, and to cross the hall. 
 
 " James is showing her out himself," said Mrs. 
 Hunter. Will you tell him we are waiting tea, Mr. 
 Clay ? " 
 
 Austin stepped into the hall, and started when he 
 caught sight of the face of Mr. Hunter. He was 
 turning back from closing the door on Miss Gwinn, 
 and the bright rays of the hall-lamp fell full upon his 
 countenance. It was of ghastly whiteness; its ex- 
 pression one living aspect of terror, of dread. He 
 staggered, rather than walked, to a chair, and sank 
 into it. Austin hastened to him. 
 
lOG A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Oh, sir, what is it ? You are ill ? " 
 
 The strong man, the proud master, calm hitherto 
 in his native self-respect, was for the moment over- 
 come. He leaned his forehead upon Austin's arm, 
 hiding its pallor, and put up his finger for silence. 
 
 ''I have had a stab, Clay/' he whispered. "Bear 
 v/ith me, lad, for a minute. I have had a cruel 
 stab." 
 
 Austin really did not knov/ whether to take the 
 words literally. A stab ? " he hesitatingly repeated. 
 
 " Ay ; here," touching his heart. I wish I were 
 dead. Clay. I v/ish I had died years ago ; or that she 
 had died. Why was she permitted to live ? — to live 
 to work me this awful wrong ? " he dreamily wailed. 
 An awful wrong to me and mine ! " 
 
 What is it ? " spoke Austin, upon impulse. ^' A 
 wrong ? Who has done it ? " 
 
 "She has. The woman now gone out. She has 
 done it all." 
 
 He rose, and appeared to be looking for his hat. 
 Mrs. Hunter is waiting tea, sir," said the amazed 
 Austin. 
 
 " Tea ! " repeated Mr. Hunter, as if his brain were 
 bewildered ; " I cannot go in again to-night ; I cannot 
 see them. Make some excuse for me, Clay — any- 
 thing. Why did that woman work me this crying 
 wrong ? '' 
 
 He took his hat, opened the hall-door, and shut it 
 
TRACKED HOME. 
 
 107 
 
 loudly after him, leaving Austin in wondering con- 
 sternation. 
 
 He returned to the dining-room, and said Mr. 
 Hunter had been obliged to go out on business ; he 
 did not know what else to say. Florence was sent to 
 bed after tea, but Austin sat a short time longer with 
 Mrs. Hunter. Something led back to the previous 
 conversation, when Mrs. Hunter had been alluding to 
 her state of health, and to some sorrow that was her 
 daily portion. 
 
 " What is it ? " said Austin, in his impulsive manner. 
 The thought that I shall have to leave Florence 
 without a mother." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Hunter, surely it is not so serious as 
 that ! You may get better." 
 
 Yes ; I know I may. Dr. Bevary tells me that I 
 shall. But, you see, the very fear of it is hard to 
 bear. Sometimes I think God is reconciling me to it 
 by slow degrees." 
 
 Later in the evening, as Austin was going home, 
 he passed a piece of clear ground, to be let for building 
 purposes, at the end of the square. There, in its 
 darkest corner, far back from the road, paced a man 
 as if in some mental agony, his hat carried in his 
 hands, and his head bared to the winds. Austin 
 peered through the night with his quick sight, and 
 recognized Mr. Hunter. 
 
 f 
 
108 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 Daffodil's Delight was in a state of commotion. It 
 has often been remarked that there exists more real 
 sympathy between the working classes, one for another, 
 than amongst those of a higher grade ; and experience 
 generally seems to bear it out. From one end of 
 Daffodil's Delight to the other, there ran just now a 
 deep feeling of sorrow, of pity, of commiseration. 
 Men made inquiries of each other as they passed in 
 the street ; women congregated at their doors to talk, 
 concern on their faces, a question on their lips — How 
 is she ? What does the doctor say ? " 
 
 Yes ; the excitement had its rise in one cause 
 alone — the increased illness of Mrs. Baxendale. The 
 physician had pronounced his opinion (little need to 
 speak it, though, for the fact was only too apparent 
 to all who used their eyes), and the news had gone 
 forth to Daffodil's Delight — Mrs. Baxendale was past 
 recovery ; was, in fact, dying ! 
 
 The concern, universal as it was, showed itself in 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 109 
 
 various ways. Visits and neighbourly calls were so 
 incessant that the Shucks openly rebelled at the 
 
 tramping up and down through their living-room," 
 by which route the Baxendale apartments could alone 
 be gained. The neighbours came to help ; to nurse ; 
 to shake up the bed and pillows; to prepare con- 
 diments over the fire ; to condole ; and, above all, to 
 gossip : with tears in their eyes and lamentation in 
 ^their tones, and ominous shakes of the head, and 
 uplifted hands ; but still, to gossip : that lies in human 
 female nature. They brought offerings of savoury 
 delicacies; or things that, in their ideas, stood for 
 delicacies — dainties likely to tempt the sick. Mrs. 
 Cheek made a pint jug of what she called " buttered 
 beer," a miscellaneous compound of scalding-hot 
 porter, gin, eggs, sugar, and spice. Mrs. Baxendale 
 sipped a little ; but it did not agree with her fevered 
 palate, and she declined it for the future, with 
 
 thanks, all the same," and Mrs. Cheek and a crony 
 or two disposed of it themselves with great satisfac- 
 tion. All this served to prove two things — that good 
 feeling ran high in Daffodil's Delight, and that means 
 did not run low. 
 
 Of all the visitors, the most effectual assistant was 
 Mrs. Quale. She gossiped, it is true, or it had not 
 been Mrs. Quale ; but she gave efficient help ; and the 
 invalid was always glad to see her come in, which 
 could not be said with regard to all. Daffodil's 
 
110 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET= 
 
 Delight was not wrong in the judgment it passed 
 upon Mary Baxenclale — that she was a ''poor creature." 
 True ; poor as to being clever in a domestic point of 
 view, and in attending upon the sick. In mind, in 
 cultivation, in refinement, in gentleness, Mary Baxen- 
 dale beat DaffodiFs Delight hollow ; she was also a 
 beautiful seamstress but in energy and capability 
 Mary was sadly wanting. She was timid always — 
 painfully timid in the sick-room; anxious to do for 
 her mother all that was needed, but never knowing 
 how to set about it. Mrs. Quale remedied this ; she 
 did the really efficient part ; Mary gave love and 
 gentleness ; and, between the two, Mrs. Baxendale 
 v/as thankful and happy. 
 
 John Baxendale, not a demonstrative man, was full 
 of concern and grief. His had been a very happy 
 home, free from domestic storms and clouds ; and to 
 lose his wife was anything but a cheering prospect. 
 His wages were good, and they had wanted for 
 nothing, not even for peace. To such, when trouble 
 comes, it seems hard to bear — it almost seems as if it 
 came as a wrong. 
 
 "Just hold your tongue, John Baxendale," cried 
 Mrs. Quale one day, upon hearing him express some- 
 thing to this effect. " Because you have never had 
 no crosses, is it any reason that you never shall ? No. 
 Crosses come to us all sometime in our lives, in one 
 shape or other." 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " But it's a hard thing for it to come in this shape," 
 retorted Baxendale, pointing to the bed. " I'm not 
 repining or rebelling against what it pleases God to 
 do ; but I can't see the reason of it. Look at some of 
 the other Avives in Daffodil's Delight ; shrieking, 
 raving trollops, turning their homes into a bear- 
 garden with their tempers, and driving their husbands 
 almost mad. If some of them were taken they'd never 
 be missed : just the contrary." 
 
 "John," interposed Mrs. Baxendale, in her quiet 
 voice, v/hen I am gone up there " — pointing with 
 her finger to the blue October sky — ''it may make 
 you think more of the time when you must come 
 also ; may help you to be preparing for it, better than 
 you have done." 
 
 Mary lifted her wan face, glowing now with the 
 excitement of the thought. " Father, tJiat may be the 
 end — the reason, I think that troubles are sent to 
 us in mercy, not in anger." 
 
 " Think ! " ejaculated Mrs. Quale, tossing back her 
 head with a manner less reverent than her words. 
 
 Before you shall have come to my age, girl, it's to 
 be hoped you'll knoiu they are. Isn't it time for the 
 medicine ? " she continued, seeing no other opening 
 for a reprimand just then. 
 
 It was time for the medicine, and Mrs. Quale poured 
 it out, raised the invalid from her pillow, and adminis- 
 tered it. John Baxendale looked on. Like his 
 
112 
 
 ' A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 daughter Mary, he was in these matters an incapable 
 man. 
 
 " How long is it since Dr. Bevary was here ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Let's see ? " responded Mrs. Quale, who liked to 
 have most of the talking to herself, wherever she 
 might be. "This is Friday. Tuesday, wasn't it, 
 Mary ? Yes, he was here on Tuesday." 
 
 But why does he not come oftener ? " cried John, 
 in tones of resentment. " That's what I was wanting 
 to ask about. When one is as ill as she is — in danger 
 of dying — is it right that a doctor should never come 
 a-near for three or four days ? " . 
 
 "Oh, John! a great physician like Dr. Bevar^?-!" 
 remonstrated his wife. " It is so very good of him to 
 come at all. And for nothing, too ! He as good as 
 said to Mary he didn't mean to charge." 
 
 I can pay him ; I'm capable of paying him, I 
 .hope," spoke John Baxendale. " Who paid I wanted 
 my wife to be attended out of charity ? " 
 
 "It's not just that, father, I think," said Mary. 
 " He comes more in a friendly way." 
 
 Friendly or not, it isn't come to the pass yet, that 
 I can't pay a doctor," said John Baxendale. " Who 
 has let it go abroad that I couldn't ? " 
 
 Taking up his hat, he went out on the spur of the 
 moment, and bent his steps to Dr. Bevary's. There 
 he was civil and humble enough, for John Baxendale 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 113 
 
 was courteous by nature. The doctor was at home, 
 and saw him at once. 
 
 Listen, my good man/' said Dr. Bevary, when he 
 had caught somewhat of his errand. " If, by going 
 round often, I could do any good to your wife, I 
 should go. Twice a day ; three times a day — by 
 night, too, if necessary. But I cannot do her any 
 good : had she a doctor over her bed constantly, he 
 could render no service. I step round now and then, 
 because I see that it is a satisfaction to her, and to 
 those about her ; not for any use I can be. I told you 
 a week ago the end was not very far off, and that she 
 would meet it calmly. She will be in no further pain 
 — no worse than she is now.'' 
 
 I am able to pay you, sir." 
 
 That is not the question. If you paid me a 
 guinea every time I came round, I should visit her no 
 more frequently than I do." 
 
 " And, if you please, sir, I'd rather pay you," con- 
 tinued the man. " I'm sure I don't grudge it ; and it 
 goes against the grain to have it said that John 
 Baxendale's wife is attended out of charity. We 
 English workmen, sir, are independent, and proud of 
 being so." 
 
 " Very good," said Dr. Bevary. " I should be sorry 
 to see the day come when English workmen lost their 
 ^ independence. As to ' charity,' we will talk a bit 
 about that. Look here, Baxendale," the doctor added, 
 
 A Life's Secret. 8 
 
114 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET. 
 
 laying his hand upon his shoulder, in his kind and 
 familiar way, ''you and I can speak reasonably to- 
 p-ether, as man to man. We both have to work for 
 our living — you with the hands, I chiefly with the 
 head — so, in that, we are equal. I go twice a-week 
 to see your wife ; I have told you why it is useless to 
 go oftener. When patients come to me, they pay me 
 a guinea, and I see them twice for it, which is equiva- 
 lent to half-a-guinea a visit ; but, when I go to patients 
 at their own houses, my fee is a guinea each time. 
 Now, would it seem to you a neighbourly act that I 
 should take two guineas weekly from your wages ? — • 
 quite as much, or more, than you gain. What does 
 my going round cost me ? A few minutes' time ; a 
 gossip with Mrs. Quale, touching the doings of 
 Daffodil's Delight, and a groan at those thriftless 
 Shucks, in their pigsty of a room. That is the plain 
 statement of facts ; and I should like to know what 
 there is in it that need put your English spirit up. 
 Charity ! We might call it by that name, John 
 Baxendale, if I were the guinea each time out of 
 pocket, through medicines or other things furnished 
 to you." 
 
 John Baxendale smiled; but he looked only half 
 convinced. 
 
 '' Tush, man ! " said the doctor ; '• I may be asking 
 you to do me some friendly service, one of these days, 
 and then, you know, we should be quits. Eh, John ? '' 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 115 
 
 John Baxendalc half put out his hand, and the 
 doctor shook it. 
 
 "I think I understand now, sir; and I thank you 
 heartily for what you have said. I only wish you 
 could do some good to the w^ife." 
 
 I Avish I could, Baxendale;' he replied, throwing 
 a kindly glance after the man as he was moving 
 away. " I shan't bring an action against you in the 
 county court for these unpaid fees, Baxendale, for it 
 wouldn't stand," called out the doctor. I never was 
 called in to see your wife — I went of my own accord, 
 and have so continued to go, and shall so continue. 
 Good-day." 
 
 As John Baxendale was descending the steps of the 
 house-door, he encountered Mrs. Hunter. She stopped 
 him to inquire after his wife. 
 
 " Getting weaker daily, ma'am, thank you. The 
 doctor has just told me again that there's no hope." 
 
 ^^I am truly sorry to hear it," said Mrs. Hunter. 
 " I will call in and see her. I did intend to call 
 before, but something or other has caused me to put 
 it off." 
 
 John Baxendale touched his hat, and departed. 
 Mrs. Hunter went in to her brother. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Louisa ? " he exclaimed. " A visit 
 from you is somewhat of a rarity. Are you feeling 
 worse ? " 
 
 " Rather better, I think, than usual. I have just 
 
116 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 met John Baxendale," continued Mrs. Hunter, sitting 
 down, and untying her bonnet-strings. " He says 
 there is no hope for his wife. Poor woman ! I wish it 
 had been different. Many a worse woman could have 
 been better spared." 
 
 " Ah," said the doctor, if folks were taken 
 according to our notions of whom might be best 
 spared, what a world this would be ! Where's Miss 
 Florence ? " 
 
 I did not bring her out with me, Robert. I came 
 round to say a word to you about James," resumed 
 Mrs. Hunter, her voice insensibly lowering itself to a 
 tone of confidence. Something is the matter with 
 him, and I cannot imagine what it is." 
 
 " Been eating too many cucumbers again, no doubt,'* 
 cried the doctor. " He idUI go in at that cross-grained 
 vegetable, let it be in season, or out of it." 
 
 " Eating ! " returned Mrs. Hunter. " I wish he did 
 eat. For at least a fortnight — more, I think — he has 
 not eaten enough to support a bird. That he is ill is 
 evident to all — must be evident ; but when I ask him 
 what is the matter, he persists in it that he is quite 
 well ; that I am fanciful . seems annoyed, in short, 
 that I should allude to it. Has he been here to 
 consult you ? '* 
 
 No," replied Dr. Bevary ) this is the first I have 
 heard of it. How does he seem ? AVhat are his 
 symptoms ? " 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 117 
 
 *'It appears to me/' said Mrs. Hunter, almost in 
 a whisper, "that the malady is more on the mind. 
 There is no palpable disorder. He is restless, nervous, 
 agitated ; so restless at night, that he has now taken 
 to sleep in a room apart from mine — not to disturb 
 me, he saj^s. I fear — I fear he may have been 
 attacked with some dangerous internal malady, that 
 
 he is concealing. His father, you know, died of 
 
 Pooh ! Nonsense ! You are indeed becoming 
 fanciful, Louisa," interrupted the doctor. "Old Mr. 
 Hunter died of an unusual disorder, I admit ; but, if 
 the symptoms of such appeared in either James or 
 Henry, they would come galloping to me in hot haste, 
 asking if my skill could suggest a remedy. It is no 
 ' inward malady,' depend upon it. He has been 
 smoking too much : or going in at the cucumbers." 
 
 "Robert, it is something far more serious than that," 
 quietly rejoined Mrs, Hunter. 
 
 " When did you first notice him to be ill ? " 
 
 " It is, I say, about a fortnight ago. One evening, 
 there came a stranger to our house, a lady, and she 
 tvoulcl see him. He did not want to see her : he sent 
 young Clay to her, who happened to be with us ; but 
 she insisted upon seeing James. They were closeted 
 together a long while before she left ; and then James 
 went out — on business, Mr. Clay said." 
 
 " Well ? " cried Dr. Bevary, What has the lady 
 to do with it ? " 
 
118 . A LIFE'S SECPvET. 
 
 "I am not sure that she has anything to do with ]t. 
 Florence told an incomprehensible story about the 
 lady's having gone into Baxendale's that afternoon, 
 after seeing her uncle Henry in the street and mis- 
 taking him for J ames. A Miss — what was the name ? 
 — Gwinn, I think.'' 
 
 Dr. Bevary, who happened to have a small glass 
 phial in his hand, let it fall to the ground : whether 
 by inadvertence, or that the words startled him, he 
 best knew. ''Well?" .was all he repeated, after he 
 had gathered up the pieces in his hand. 
 
 "I waited up till twelve o'clock, and James never 
 came in. I heard him let himself in afterwards with 
 his latch-key, and come up into the dressing-room. 
 I called out to know where he had been, it is so 
 unusual for him to stay out, and he said he was much 
 occupied, and that I was to go to sleep, for he had 
 some writing to do. But, Robert, instead of writing, 
 he was pacing the house air night, out of one room 
 into another; and in the morning — oh, I wish you 
 could have seen him ! — he looked wild, wan, haggard, 
 as one does who has risen out of a long illness ; and 
 I am positive he had been weeping. From that 
 time I have noticed the change I tell you of. He 
 seems like one going into his grave. But, Avhether 
 the illness is upon the body or the mind, I know 
 not/' 
 
 Dr. Bevary appeared intent upon putting togetlier 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 119 
 
 the pieces of his phial, making them fit into each 
 other. 
 
 It will all come right, Louisa ; don't fret yourself : 
 something must have gone cross in his business. I'll 
 call in at the office and see him." 
 
 " Do not say that I have spoken to you. He seems 
 to have quite a nervous dread of its being observed 
 that anything is wrong with him ; has spoken sharply, 
 not in anger, but in anguish, when I have pressed the 
 question." 
 
 " As if the lady could have anything to do with 
 it ! " exclaimed Dr. Bevary, in a tone of satire. 
 
 " I do not suppose she had. I only mentioned the 
 circumstances because it is since that evening that he 
 has changed. You can see what you think of him, 
 and tell me afterwards." 
 
 The answer was only a nod ; and Mrs. Hunter went 
 out. Dr. Bevary remained in a brown study. His 
 servant came in with an account that patient after 
 patient was waiting for him, but the doctor replied 
 by a repelling gesture, and the man did not again 
 dare to intrude. Perplexity and pain sat upon his 
 brow; and, when at last he did rouse himself, he 
 raised his hands, and gave utterance to words that 
 sounded very like a prayer : " I pray Heaven it may 
 not be so ! It would kill Louisa." 
 
 The pale, delicate face of Mrs. Hunter was at that 
 moment bending over the invalid in her bed. In her 
 
120 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 soft grey silk dress and light shawl, her simple straw 
 bonnet with its white ribbons, she looked just the 
 right sort of visitor for a sick-chamber ; and her voice 
 was sweet and her manner gentle. 
 
 No, ma'am, don't speak of hope to me," murmured 
 Mrs. Baxendale. I know that there is none left, and 
 I am quite reconciled to die. I have been an ailing 
 woman for years, dear lady ; and it is wonderful how 
 those that are so get to look kindly upon death, if they 
 can but presume to hope their soul is safe, rather than 
 with dread. Though I dare not say as much yet to 
 my poor husband." 
 
 have long been ailing, too," softly replied Mrs. 
 Hunter. "I am rarely free from pain, and I know 
 that I shall never be healthy and strong again. But 
 still — I do fear it would give me pain to die, were the 
 fiat to come forth." 
 
 " Never fear, dear lady," cried the invalid, her eyes 
 brightening. ''Before the fiat does come, be assured 
 that God will have reconciled you to it. Ah, ma'am, 
 what matters it, after all ? It is a journey we must 
 take ; and, when once we are prepared, it seems but 
 the setting off a little sooner or a little later. I got 
 Mary to read me the burial-service on Sunday: I was 
 always fond of it ; but I am past reading now. In one 
 part, thanks are given to God for that he has been 
 pleased to deliver the dead out of the miseries of this 
 sinful world. Ma'am, if He did not remove us to a 
 
MR. SHUCK AT HOME. 
 
 121 
 
 better and a happier home, would the living be directed 
 to give thanks for our departure from this ? " 
 
 '^A spirit ripe for heaven/' thought Mrs. Hunter, 
 when she took her leave. 
 
 It was Mrs. Quale who piloted her through the room 
 of the Shucks. Of all scenes of disorder and dis- 
 comfort, about the worst reigned there. Sam had been 
 — you must excuse the inelegance of the phrase, but it 
 was much in vogue in Daffodil's Delight — " on the 
 loose" again for a couple of days. He sat sprawling 
 across the hearth, a pipe in his mouth, and a pot of 
 porter at his feet. The wife was crying with her hair 
 down ; the children were quarrelling in tatters ; the 
 dirt in the place, as Mrs. Quale expressed it, stood on 
 end; and Mrs. Hunter wondered how people could 
 bear to live so. 
 
 Now, Sam Shuck, don't you see who is a-standing 
 in your presence ? " sharply cried Mrs. Quale. 
 
 Sam, his back to the staircase-door, really had not 
 seen. He threw his pipe into the grate, started up, 
 and pulled his hair to Mrs. Hunter in a very humble 
 fashion. In his hurry he turned over a small child, 
 and the contents of the pewter pot upon it. The child 
 roared ; the wife took it up and shook its clothes in 
 Sam's face, restraining her tongue till the lady should 
 be gone ; and Mrs. Hunter stepped into the garden out 
 of the melee — glad to get there : Sam following her in 
 a spirit of politeness. 
 
122 
 
 A LIFE'S SECKET. 
 
 How is it you are not at work to-day, Shuck ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 am going to-morrow — I shall go for certain, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " You know, Shuck, I never do interfere with Mr. 
 Hunter's men," said Mrs. Hunter. ''I consider that 
 intelligent workmen, as you are, ought to be above any 
 advice that I could offer. But I cannot help saying 
 how sad it is that you should waste your time. Were 
 you not discharged a little while ago, and taken on 
 again under a specific promise, made by you to Mr. 
 Henry Hunter, that you would be diligent in future ? " 
 
 I am diligent," grumbled Sam. " But — why, 
 ma'am — a chap must take holiday now and then. 
 'Taint in human nature to be always having the 
 shoulder at the wheel." 
 
 "Well, pray be cautious," said Mrs. Hunter. ''If 
 you offend again, and get discharged, I know they will 
 not be so ready to take you back. Remember your 
 little children, and be steady for their sakes." 
 
 Sam touched his hair, went indoors to his pipe, to 
 his wife's tongue, and to despatch a child to get the 
 pewter pot replenished. 
 
( 123 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS ! 
 
 Mrs. Hunter, turning out of Mr. Shuck's gate, stepped 
 inside Mrs. Quale's, who was astonishing her with the 
 shortcomings of the Shucks, and prophesying that their 
 destiny woukl be the w^orkhouse, when Austin Clay 
 came forth. He had been home to dinner, and was 
 now going back to the yard. Mrs. Hunter said good- 
 morning to her talkative friend, and walked away 
 by Austin's side — Mrs. Baxendale, Sam Shuck, and 
 Daffodil's Delight generally, forming themes of con- 
 verse. Austin raised his hat to her when they came 
 to the gates of the yard. 
 
 No', I am not about to part ; I am going in with 
 you," said Mrs. Hunter. I want to speak just a word 
 to my husband, if he is at liberty. Will you find him 
 for me V 
 
 He has been in his private room all the morning, 
 and is probably there still," said Austin. '^Do you 
 know where Mr. Hunter is ? " he inquired of a man 
 whom they met. 
 
124 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 "In his room, sir," was the reply, as the man 
 touched his cap to Mrs. Hunter. 
 
 Austin led the way down the passage, and knocked 
 at the door, Mrs. Hunter following him. There was 
 no answer ; and believing, in consequence, that it was 
 empty, he opened it. 
 
 Two gentlemen stood within it, near a table, paper 
 and pens and ink before them, and what looked 
 like a cheque-book. They must have been deeply 
 absorbed not to have heard the knock. One was Mr. 
 Hunter; the other — Austin recognized him — Gwinn, 
 the lawyer, of Ketterford. " I will not sign it ! " Mr. 
 Hunter was exclaiming, with passionate vehemence. 
 Five thousand pounds ' it would cripple me for life.'* 
 
 " Then you know the alternative. I go this moment 
 and " 
 
 " Mrs. Hunter wishes to speak to you, sir," interposed 
 Austin, drowning the words and speaking loudly. The 
 gentlemen turned sharply round : and when Mr. 
 Hunter caught sight of his wife, the red anger of his 
 face turned to a deathlike pallor. Lawyer Gwinn 
 nodded familiarly to Austin. 
 
 " How are you. Clay ? Getting on, I hope. Who is 
 this person, may I ask ? " 
 
 "This lady is Mrs. Hunter,^' haughtily replied Austin, 
 after a pause, surprised that Mr. Hunter did not take 
 up the words — the offensive manner in which they were 
 spoken — the insulting look that accompanied them. 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 
 
 125 
 
 But Mr. Hunter did not appear in a state to take 
 anything up just then. 
 
 Gwinn bent his body to the ground. " I beg the 
 lady's pardon. I had no idea she was Mrs. Hunter." 
 
 But so ultra-courteous were the tones, so low the 
 bow, that Austin Clay's cheeks burnt at the covert 
 irony. 
 
 James, you are ill," said Mrs. Hunter, advancing 
 in her quiet, composed manner, but taking no notice 
 whatever of the stranger. " Can I get anything for 
 you ? Shall we send for Dr. Bevary ? " 
 
 No, don't do that ; it is going off. You will oblige 
 me by leaving us," he whisjoered to her. I am very 
 busy." 
 
 You seem too ill for business," she rejoined. " Can 
 you not put it off for an hour ? Best might be of 
 service to you." 
 
 No, madam, the business cannot be put off," spoke 
 up Lawyer Gwinn. 
 
 And down he sat in a chair, with a determined air 
 of conscious power — ^just as his sister had sat herself 
 down, a fortnight before, in Mr. Hunter's hall. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter quitted the room at once, leaving her 
 husband and the stranger in it. Austin followed her. 
 Her face wore a puzzled, vexed look, as she turned it 
 upon Austin. " Who is that person ? " she asked. 
 
 His manner to me appeared to be strangely in- 
 solent." 
 
126 A LIFE'S* SECRET. 
 
 An instinct, for which Austin perhaps could not have 
 accounted had he tried, cause him to suppress the fact 
 that it was the brother of the Miss Gwinn who 
 had raised a commotion at Mr. Hunter's house. He 
 answered that he had not seen the person at the office 
 previously, his tone being as careless a one as he could 
 assume. And Mrs. Hunter, who was of the least sus- 
 picious nature possible, let it pass. Her mind, too, was 
 filled with the thought of her husband s suffering 
 state. 
 
 " Does Mr. Hunter appear to you to be ill ? " she 
 asked of Austin, somewhat abruptly. 
 He looked so, I think." 
 
 "Not now"; I am not alhiding to the present 
 moment," she rejoined. " Have you noticed before that 
 he does not seem well V 
 
 " Yes," replied Austin ; this week or two past." 
 
 There was a brief pause. 
 
 " Mr. Clay," she resumed, in a quiet, kind voice, my 
 health, as you are aware, is not good, and any sort of 
 uneasiness tries me much. I am going to ask you a 
 confidential question. I would not put it to many, 
 and the asking it of you proves that my esteem for 
 you is great. That Mr. Hunter is ill, there is no doubt; 
 but whether mentally or bodily I am unable to dis- 
 cover. To me he observes a most unusual reticence, 
 his object probably being to spare me pain ; but I can 
 battle better with a known evil than witli an un- 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 
 
 127 
 
 known. Tell me, if you can, whether any vexation 
 has arisen in business matters ? " 
 
 " Not that I am aware of,'' promptly replied Austin. 
 " I feel sure that nothing is wrong in that quarter." 
 
 Then it is as I suspected, and he must be suffering 
 from some illness that he is concealing." 
 
 She wished Austin good-morning, He saw her out 
 of the gate, and then proceeded to the room he usually 
 occupied when engaged indoors. Presently he heard 
 Mr. Hunter and his visitor come forth, and saw the 
 latter pass the window. Mr. Hunter came into the 
 room. 
 
 Is Mrs. Hunter gone ? 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you know what she wanted ? " 
 
 "I do not think it was anything particular. She 
 said she should like to say a word to you, if you were 
 disengaged." 
 
 Mr. Hunter did not speak immediately. Austin was 
 making out certain estimates, and his master looked 
 over his shoulder. Not to look ; his mind was evidently 
 all pre-occupied. 
 
 ^'Did Mrs. Hunter inquire who it was that was 
 with me ? " he presently said. 
 
 ''She inquired, sir. I did not say. I told her I 
 had not seen the person here before." 
 Yoii knew ? " in quick, sharp, accents. 
 
 " Oh yes." 
 
128 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Then, why did you not tell her ? What was your 
 motive for concealing it ? " 
 
 The inquiry was uttered in a tone that could not 
 be construed as proceeding from any emotion but 
 that of fear. A flush came into Austin's ingenuous 
 face. 
 
 " I beg your pardon^ sir. I never wish to be other- 
 wise than open. But, as you had previously desired 
 me not to speak of the lady who came to your house 
 that night, I did not know but the same wish might 
 apply to the visit of to-day." 
 
 True, true," murmured Mr. Hunter ; I do not wish 
 this visit of the man's spoken of. Never mention his 
 name, especially to Mrs. Hunter. I suppose he did 
 not impose upon me,'* added he, with a poor attempt 
 at a forced smile : " it ivas Gwinn, of Ketterford, was 
 it not ? " 
 
 Certainly," said Austin, feeling surprised. " Did 
 you not know him previously, sir ? " 
 
 " Never. And I wish I had not known him now." 
 
 If — if — will you forgive my saying, sir, that, should 
 you have any transaction wdth him, touching money 
 matters, it is necessary to be Avary. Many a one has 
 had cause to rue getting into the clutches of Lawyer 
 Gwinn." 
 
 A deep sigh burst from Mr. Hunter. He had 
 turned from Austin. The latter spoke again in his 
 ardent sympathy. 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS 
 
 129 
 
 " Sir, is there any way in which I can serve you ? — 
 any way ? You have only to command me." 
 
 " No, no, Clay. I fell into that man's clutches — as 
 you have aptly termed it — years ago, and the penalty 
 must be paid. There is no help for it." 
 
 "Not knowing him, sir ? " 
 
 " Not knowing him. And not knowing that I owed 
 it, as I certainly did not know, until a week or two 
 ago. I no more suspected that — that I was indebted 
 there, than that I was indebted to you." 
 
 Mr. Hunter had grown strangely confused and 
 agitated, and the dew was rising on his livid face. 
 He made a hollow attempt to laugh it oft* and seemed 
 to shun the gaze of his clerk. 
 
 This comes of the freaks of young men," he 
 observed, facing Austin after a pause, and speaking 
 volubly. " Austin Clay, I will give you a piece of 
 advice. Never put your hand to a bill. You may 
 think it an innocent bit of paper, which can cost you 
 at most but the sum that is marked upon it : but it 
 may come back to you in after-years, and you must 
 purchase it with thousands of pounds. Have nothing 
 to do with bills in any way ; they will be a thorn in 
 your side " 
 
 " So, it is a money affair ! " thought Austin. " I 
 might have known it was nothing else, where Gwinn 
 was concerned. Here's Di\ Bevary coming in, sir," he 
 added aloud. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 9 
 
130 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Tlie physician was inside the room ere the words 
 had left Austin's lips. Mr. Hunter had seized upon a 
 stray plan, and seemed bent upon its examination. 
 
 ^'Kather a keen-looking customer, that, whom 
 I met at your gate," began the doctor. " Who 
 was it ? " 
 
 Keen-looking customer ? " repeated Mr. Hunter. 
 •'A fellow dressed in black, with a squint and a 
 white neckerchief. An ill-favoured fellow, whoever 
 e IS. 
 
 " How should I know about him ? " replied Mr. 
 Hunter, carelessly. ''Somebody after the men, I 
 suppose." 
 
 But Austin Clay felt that Mr. Hunter did know; 
 that the description could only apply to Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford. Dr. Bevary entwined his arm within his 
 brother-in-law's, and led him from the room. 
 
 ''James, do you want doctoring?" he inquired, as 
 they entered the one just vacated by Lawyer Gwinn. 
 
 " No, I don't. What do you mean ? " 
 If you don't, you belie your looks ; that's all. Can 
 you honestly affirm to me that you are in robust 
 health ? " 
 
 " I am in good health. There is nothing the matter 
 with me." 
 
 " Then there's something else in the wind. What's 
 the trouble ? " 
 
 A flush rose to the face of Mr. Hunter '' I am in 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 131 
 
 no trouble that you can relieve ; I am quite well. I 
 repeat that I do not understand your meaning/' 
 
 The doctor gazed at him keenly, and his tone 
 changed to one of solemn earnestness. 
 
 " James, I suspect that you are in trouble. Now, 
 I do not wish to pry into it unnecessarily; but I 
 would remind you of the sound wisdom that lies in 
 the good old proverb ; ' In the multitude of counsel- 
 lors there is safety / " 
 
 *^ And if there is ? " returned Mr. Hunter. 
 If you will confide the trouble to me, I will do 
 ► what I can to help you out of it — ivhatever it may 
 he — to advise with. you as to what is best to be done. 
 I am your wife's brother; could you have a truer 
 friend ? " 
 
 " You are very kind, Bevary. I am in no danger. 
 When I am, I will let you know/' 
 
 The tone — one of playful mockery — grated on the 
 car of Dr. Bevary. 
 
 Is it assumed to hide what he dare not betray ? " 
 thought he. 
 
 Mr. Hunter cut the matter short by crossing the 
 yard to the time-keeper's ofiice ; and Dr. Bevary went 
 out talking to himself. ''A wilful man must have his 
 way." 
 
 Austin Clay sat up late that night, reading one of 
 the quarterly reviews j he let the time slip by till the 
 clock struck twelve. Mr and Mrs. Quale had been in 
 
132 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 bed some time ; when nothing was wanted for Mr. 
 Clay, Mrs. Quale was rigid in retiring at ten. Early 
 to bed, and early to rise, was a maxim she was fond 
 of, both in precept and practice. The striking of the 
 church-clock aroused him ; he closed the book, left it 
 on the table, pulled aside the crimson curtain, and 
 opened the window to look out at the night before 
 going into his chamber. 
 
 A still, balmy night. The stars shone in the 
 heavens, and DaftbdiFs Delight, for aught that could 
 be heard or seen just then, seemed almost as peaceful 
 as they. Austin leaned from the window ; his thoughts 
 ran not upon the stars or upon the peaceful scene 
 around, but upon the curious trouble which seemed 
 to be overshadowing^ Mr. Hunter. ''Five thousand 
 pounds 1 His ears had caught distinctly the ominous 
 sum. Could he have fallen into Lawyer Gwinns 
 clutches " to that extent ? 
 
 There was much in it that Austin could not fathom. 
 Mr. Hunter had hinted at bills ; " Miss Gwinn had 
 spoken of the ''breaking-up of her happy home;'' 
 two calamities apparently distinct and apart from 
 each other. And how was it that they were in 
 ififnorance of his name, his existence, his 
 
 A startling interruption came to Austin's thoughts. 
 Mrs. Shuck s door was pulled hastily open, and some 
 one panting with excitement, uttering faint, sobbing 
 cries, came running down their garden into Peter 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 133 
 
 Quale's. It was Mary Baxendale. She knocked 
 sharply at the door with nervous quickness. 
 
 " What is it, Mary ? " asked Austin. 
 
 She had not seen him; but, of course, the words 
 caused her to look up. " Oh ! sir/' the tears streaming 
 $ from her eyes as she spoke, "would you please call 
 Mrs. Quale, and ask her to step in ? Mother s on the 
 wing." 
 
 111 call her. Mary ! " for she was speeding back 
 again — " can I get any other help for you ? If I can 
 be of use, step back and tell me." 
 
 Sam Shuck came out of his house as Austin spoke, 
 and went flying up DaffbdiFs Delight. He had gone 
 for Dr. Bevary. The doctor had desired to be called, 
 should there be any sudden change. Of course, he 
 did not mean the change of death. He could be of no 
 use in that; but how could they discriminate 
 
 Mrs. Quale was dressed and in the sick-chamber 
 with all speed. Dr. Bevary was not long before he 
 followed her. Neighbours on either side put their 
 heads out. 
 
 Ten minutes at the most, and Dr. Bevary was out 
 again. Austin was then leaning over Peter Quale's 
 gate. He had been in no urgent mood for bed before, 
 and this little excitement, though it did not imme- 
 diately concern him, afforded an excuse for not going 
 to it. 
 
 How is she, sir ? " 
 
134 
 
 A LIFE'S SECHET. 
 
 " Is it you ? " responded Dr. Bevary. " She is gone. 
 I thought it would be sudden at the last." 
 Poor thing ! ejaculated Austin. 
 
 " Poor thing ? Ay, that's what we are all apt to 
 say when our friends die. But there is little cause 
 when the change has been prepared for, the spirit 
 made ripe for heaven. She's gone to a world where 
 there's neither sickness nor pain." 
 
 Austin made no reply. The doctor spoke again 
 after a pause. 
 
 ''Clay — to go from a solemn subject to one that — 
 that may, however, prove not less solemn in the end 
 — you heard me mention a stranger I met at the 
 gates of the yard to-day, and Mr. Hunter would not 
 take my question. Was it Gwinn, of Ketterford ? " 
 
 The doctor had spoken in a changed, low tone, 
 laying his hand, in his earnestness, on Austin's 
 shoulder. Austin paused. He did not know whether 
 he ought to answer. 
 
 " You need not hesitate," said the doctor, divining 
 his scruples. " I can understand that Mr. Hunter 
 may have forbidden you to mention it, and that you 
 would be faithful to him. Don't speak ; your very 
 hesitation has proved it to me. Good-night, my 
 young friend; we would both serve him, if we only 
 knew how." 
 
 Austin watched him away, and then went indoors, 
 for Da^ffodil's Delight began to be astir, and to collect 
 
FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 135 
 
 itself around him, Sam Shuck having assisted in 
 spreading the news touching Mrs. Baxendale. Daftb- 
 dil's Delight thought nothing of leaving its bed, and 
 issuing forth in shawls and pantaloons upon any 
 rising emergency, regarding such interludes of dis- 
 turbed rest as socially exciting and agreeable. 
 
136 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 
 
 Austin Clay sat at his desk at Hunter and Hunter's, 
 sortinGC the mornino; letters, which little matter of 
 employment formed part of his duties. It was the 
 morning subsequent to the commotion in Daffodil's 
 Delight. His thoughts were running more on that 
 than on the letters, when the postmark " Ketterford " 
 on two of them caught his eye. 
 
 The one was addressed to himself, the other to 
 " Mr. Lewis Hunter/' and the handwriting of both 
 was the same. Disposing of the rest of the letters as 
 usual, placing those for the Messrs. Hunter in their 
 room, ready for their arrival, and sorting out any 
 others there might be for the hands employed in the 
 firm, according to their addresses, he proceeded to 
 open his own. 
 
 To the very end of it Austin read ; and then, and 
 not till then, he began to suspect that it could not be 
 meant for him. No name whatever was mentioned 
 in the letter ; it began abruptly, and it ended abruptly; 
 
THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 137 
 
 not so much as "Sir/' or "Dear Sir/' was it com- ^ 
 plimented with, and it was simply signed "A. G/' 
 He read it a second time, and then its awful meaning 
 flashed upon him, and a red flush rose to his brow 
 and settled there, as if burnt into it with a branding- 
 iron. He had become possessed of a dangerous 
 secret. 
 
 There was no doubt that the letter was written by 
 Miss Gwinn to Mr. Hunter. By some extraordinary 
 mischance, she had misdirected it. Possibly the letter 
 now lying on Mr. Hunter's desk, might be for Austin. 
 Though, what could she be writing about to him ? 
 
 He sat down. He was quite overcome with the 
 revelation; it was, indeed, of a terrible nature, and 
 he would have given much not to have become 
 cognizant of it. " Bills ! " " Money ! " So, that had 
 been Mr. Hunter's excuse for the mystery! No 
 wonder he sought to turn sun icion into any channel 
 but the real one. 
 
 Austin was poring over the letter as one in a night- 
 mare, when Mr. Hunter interrupted him. He crushed 
 it into his pocket with all the aspect of a guilty man ; 
 any one might have taken him in his confusion to be 
 so. Not for himself was he confused, but he feared 
 lest Mr. Hunter should discover the letter. Although 
 certainly written for Mr. Hunter, Austin did not dare 
 to hand it to him, for it would never do to let 
 Mr. Hunter know that he possessed the secret. Mr. 
 
138 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Hunter had come in, holding out the other letter from 
 Ketterford. 
 
 "This letter is for you, Mr. Clay. It has been 
 addressed to me by mistake, I conclude." 
 
 Austin took it, and glanced his eyes over it. It 
 contained a few abrupt lines ; a smaller note, sealed, 
 was inside it. 
 
 " My brother is in London, Austin CJay. I have 
 reason to think he will be calling upon the Messrs. 
 Hunter^ Will you watch for him, and give him the 
 enclosed note? Had he told me where he should 
 put up in town, I should have had no occasion to 
 trouble you. 
 
 '^A. GwiNN." 
 
 Austin did not lift his eyes to Mr. Hunter's in his 
 usual candid, open manner. He could not bear to 
 look him in the face ; he feared lest his master might 
 read in his the dreadful truth. 
 
 What am I to do, sir ? " he asked. " Watch for 
 Gwinn, and give him the note ? " 
 
 Do this with them,'' said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Striking a wax match, he held both Austin's note 
 and the sealed one over the flame until they were 
 consumed, 
 
 " You could not fulfil the request, if you washed, for 
 the man went back to Ketterford last night." 
 
THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 139 
 
 He said no more. He went away again, and Austin 
 lighted another match, and burnt the letter he had 
 crushed into his pocket, thankful, so far, that it had 
 escaped Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Trouble came. Ere many days had elapsed, there 
 was dissension in the house of Hunter and Hunter. 
 Thoroughly united and cordial the brothers had 
 always been ; but now a cause of dispute arose, and 
 it seemed that it could not be arranged. Mr. Hunter 
 had drawn out five thousand pounds from the bank, 
 and refused to state for what, except that it was for a 
 private purpose." The business had been a gradually 
 increasing one, and nearly all the money possessed by 
 both was invested in it ; so much as was not actually 
 out, lay in the bank in their joint names, "Hunter 
 and Hunter." Each possessed a private account, but 
 nothing like sufficient to meet a cheque for five 
 thousand pounds. Words ran high between them, 
 and the sound penetrated to ears outside their private 
 room. 
 
 His face pale, his lips compressed, his tones subdued, 
 James Hunter sat at his desk, his eyes falling on a 
 ledger he was not occupied with, and his hand 
 partially shading his face. Mr. Henry, more excited, 
 giving way more freely to his anger, paced the carpet, 
 occasionally stopping before the desk and before his 
 brother. 
 
 It is the most unaccountable thing in the world/' 
 
140 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET, 
 
 he reiterated, that you should refuse to say what it 
 has been applied to. Draw out secretly so formidable 
 a sum as that, and not account for it ! It is monstrous." 
 
 " Henry, I have told you all I can tell you," replied 
 Mr. Hunter, concealing his countenance more than 
 ever. " An old debt was brought up against me, and 
 I was forced to satisfy it." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter curled his lip. 
 A debt to that amount ! Were you mad ? " 
 I did not — know — I — had — contracted it," stam- 
 mered Mr. Hunter, very nearly losing his self-possession. 
 " At least, I thought it had been paid. Youth's errors 
 do come home to us sometimes in later life." 
 
 Not to the tune of five thousand pounds," retorted 
 Mr. Henry Hunter. ''It will almost cripple the 
 business ; you know it will. It is next door to ruin." 
 
 " Nonsense, Henry ! The loss of five thousand 
 pounds w^ill neither cripple the business nor bring 
 ruin. It will be my own loss : not yours." 
 
 '•How on earth could you think of giving it away ? 
 Five thousand pounds ! " 
 
 " I could not help myself. Had I refused to pay 
 it— " 
 
 " Well ? " for Mr. Hunter had stopped in embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 " I should have been compelled to do so. There. 
 Talking of it will not mend it." 
 
 Mr. Henry Hunter took a few turns, and then 
 
THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 141 
 
 wheeled round sharply. " Perhaps there are other 
 claims for ' youth's follies ' to come behind it ? " 
 
 The words seemed to arouse Mr. Hunter. Not to 
 anger ; but to what looked very like fear — almost to 
 an admission that it might be so. 
 
 Were any such further claim to come, I would not 
 satisfy it/' he cried, wiping his face. No, I would 
 not; I would go into exile first." 
 
 "We must part/' said Mr. Henry Hunter, the ex- 
 pression of his brother's face quite startling him. 
 " There is no alternative. I cannot risk the future of 
 my wife and children." 
 
 " If it must be so, it must/*' Avas all the reply given. 
 
 " Tell me the truth, James," urged Mr. Henry, in 
 more conciliatory tones. I don't want to part. Tell 
 me all, and let me be the judge. Surely it can't be 
 anything so very dreadful. You didn't set fire to 
 your neighbour's house, I suppose ? " 
 
 I never thought the claim could come upon me. 
 That is all I can tell you." 
 
 " Then we part," decisively returned Mr. Henry 
 Hunter. 
 
 " Yes ; it may be better. If I am to go to ruin, it is 
 of no use to drag you down into it." 
 
 " If you are to go to ruin ! " echoed Mr. Henry, 
 regarding his brother attentively. "Jam^es! is that 
 an admission that other mysterious claims may really 
 follow this one ? " 
 
142 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ^'No, .1 think they will not. But we had better 
 part, Only — let the cause of our separation be kept 
 from the world." 
 
 " I should be clever to betray the cause, seeing that 
 you leave me in ignorance of what it may be," 
 answered Mr. Henry Hunter, who was feeling vexed, 
 puzzled, and very angry. 
 
 ^'I mean — let no shadow of the truth get abroad. 
 The business is large enough for two firms, and we 
 have agreed to carry it on a^part. Let that be the 
 plea." 
 
 " You take it coolly, James." 
 
 A strange expression — a ivrimg expression — passed 
 over the face of James Hunter. " I cannot help myself, 
 Henry. The five thousand pounds are gone, and of 
 course it is right that I should bear the loss alone — 
 or any other loss it may bring in its train." 
 
 " But why not impart the facts to me ? " 
 
 " No. It could not possibly do good ; and it might 
 make matters infinitely worse. One advantage our 
 separation will have ; there is a great deal of money 
 owing to us from different quarters, and this will call 
 it m. 
 
 " Or I don't see how you would carry anything on 
 for your part, minus your five thousand pounds/' 
 retorted Mr. Henry, in a spirit of satire. 
 Will you grant me a favour, Henry ? " 
 
 " That depends upon what it may be." 
 
THE SEPAEATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER. 143 
 
 "Let the real grounds of our separation — this 
 miserable affair that has led to it — be equally a secret 
 from your wife, as from the world. I should not ask 
 it without an urgent reason." 
 
 " Don't you mean to tell Louisa ? " 
 
 "No. The matter is one entirely my own; I do 
 not. wish to talk of it even to my wife. AVill you 
 give me the promise ? " 
 
 "Very well. If it be of the consequence you seem 
 to intimate. I cannot fathom you, James." 
 
 "Let us apply ourselves now to the ways and 
 means of the dissolution. That, at any rate, may be 
 amicable." 
 
 It was quite evident that he fully declined farther 
 allusion to the subject. And Mr. Henry Hunter 
 obtained no better elucidation, then or later. 
 
 It fell upon the world like a thunderbolt — that is, 
 the world connected with Hunter and Hunter. They 
 separate ? so flourishing a firm as that ? The world 
 at first refused to believe it ; but the world soon found 
 it was true. 
 
 Mr. Hunter retained the yard where the business 
 was at present carried on. Mr. Henry Hunter found 
 other premises to suit him ; not far off* ; a little more 
 to the west. Considerably surprised were Mrs. 
 Hunter and Mrs. Henry Hunter; but the same 
 plausible excuse was given to them ; and they were 
 left in ignorance of the true cau*se. 
 
144 
 
 A LIFE'S secret: 
 
 " Will you remain with me ? " pointedly asked Mr. 
 Hunter of Austin Clay. I particularly wish it/' 
 
 " As you and Mr. Henry may decide, sir/' was the 
 reply given. " It is not for me to choose/' 
 
 " We could both do with you, I believe. I had 
 better talk it over with him." 
 
 That will be the best plan, sir." 
 
 " What do you part for ? " abruptly inquired Dr. 
 Bevary one day of the two brothers, coming into the 
 counting-house and catching them together. 
 
 Mr. Henry raised his eyebrows. Mr. Hunter spoke 
 volublv. 
 
 "The business is getting too large. It will be 
 better divided." 
 
 " Moonshine ! " cried the doctor, quietly. That's 
 what you have been cramming your wives with ; it 
 won t do for me. When a concern grows unwieldy, a 
 man takes a partner to help him on with it ; you are 
 separating. There's many a firm larger than yours. 
 Do you remember the proverb of the bundle of sticks?" 
 
 But neither Dr. Bevary nor any one else got at a 
 better reason than that for the measure. The dis- 
 solution of partnership took place : it was duly 
 gazetted, and the old firm became two. Austin 
 remained with Mr. Hunter, and he was the only 
 living being who gave a guess, or who could give a 
 guess at the real cause of separation — the drawing 
 out oi that five thousand pounds. 
 
THE SEPAIIATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER, 145 
 
 And yet — it was not the drawing out of that first 
 five thousand pounds, tliat finally decided Mr. Henry 
 Hunter to enforce the step, so much as the thought 
 that other thousands might perhaps be following it. 
 He could not divest his mind of the fear. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 
 
 10 
 
PART THE SECOND. 
 
CHAPTER L 
 
 A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 For several years after the separation of Hunter and 
 Hunter, things went on smoothly ; at least there was 
 no event so marked that we need pause to trace it. 
 Each had a flourishing business, though Mr. Hunter 
 had some difficulty in warding off embarrassment in 
 the financial department : a fact which was well 
 known to Austin Clay, who was now confidential 
 manager — head of all, under Mr. Hunter. 
 
 He, Austin Clay, was approaching tow^ards thirty 
 years of age. He enjoyed a handsome salary, and 
 was putting by money yearly. He still remained at 
 Peter Quale's, though his position would have 
 warranted a far superior style of living. Not that it 
 could have brought him more respect : of that he 
 enjoyed a full share, both from master and men. 
 Clever, energetic, firm and friendly, he was thoroughly 
 fitted for his post — was liked and esteemed. But for 
 him, Mr. Hunter's business might not have been what 
 it was, and Mr. Hunter knew it. He was a broken- 
 
150 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 spirited man, little capable now of devoting energy to 
 anything. The years, in their progress, had terribly 
 altered James Hunter. 
 
 A hot evening in Daffodils Delight ; and Daffodil's 
 Delight was making it a busy one. Uninterrupted 
 prosperity is sometimes nearly allied to danger ; or, 
 rather, danger may grow out of it. Prosperity begets 
 independence, and independence often begets assump- 
 tion — very often, a wrong and selfish view of sur- 
 rounding things. If any workmen had enjoyed of 
 late years (it may be said) unlimited prosperity, they 
 were those connected with the building trade. There- 
 fore, being so flourishing, it struck some of their body, 
 who in a degree gave laws to the rest, that the best 
 thing they could do was to make themselves more 
 flourishing still. As a preliminary, they began to 
 agitate for an increase of wages : this was to be 
 accomplished by reducing the hours of labour, the 
 proposition being to work nine hours per day instead 
 of ten. They said nothing about relinquishing the 
 wages of the extra hour : they Avould be paid for ten 
 hours and work nine. The proposition v/as first put 
 by the men of a leading metropolitan firm to their 
 principals, and, failing to obtain it, they threatened 
 to strike. It was this question that was just now 
 agitating Daffodil's Delight. 
 
 In the front-room of one of the houses that intruded 
 very closely upon the gutter, and to which you must 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 151 
 
 ascend by steps, there might be read in the window, 
 inscribed on a piece of white paper, the following 
 notice: ''The Misses Dunn's, Milliner and Dress- 
 makers. Ladies own meteriels made up." The com- 
 position of the affiche was that of the two Miss 
 Dunns conjointly, who prided themselves upon being 
 elegant scholars. A twelvemonth's apprenticeship 
 had initiated them into the mysteries of dressmaking ; 
 millinery had come to them, as Mark Tapley would 
 say, spontaneous, or by dint of practice. They had 
 set up for themselves in their father's house, and 
 could boast of a fair share of the patronage of 
 Daffodil's Delight. Showy damsels were they, with 
 good-humoured, turned-up noses, and light hair; 
 much given to gadding and gosslpping, and fonder of 
 dressing themselves than of getting home at the 
 appointed hour the dresses of their customers. 
 
 On the above evening, they sat in their room, an 
 upper one, stitching away. A gown was in progress 
 for Mrs. Quale, who often boasted that she could do 
 any vv^ork in the world, except make her own gowns. 
 It had been in progress for two weeks, and that 
 lady had at length come up in a temper, as Miss 
 Jemima Dunn expressed it, and had demanded it to 
 be returned, done or undone. They, with much 
 deprecation, protested it should be home the first 
 thing in the morning, and went to work. Four 
 or five visitors, girls of their own age, were per- 
 
152 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. - 
 
 forming the part of lookers-on, and much laughter 
 prevailed. 
 
 I say/' cried out Martha White — a pleasant-look- 
 ing girl, who had perched herself on the edge of a 
 piece of furniture, which appeared to be a low chest 
 of drawers by day, and turned itself into a bed at 
 night — Mary Baxendale was crying yesterday, be- 
 cause of the strike ; saying, it would be bad for all 
 of us, if it came. Ain't she a soft ? " 
 
 " Baxendale^s again it, too," exclaimed Miss Ryan, 
 Pat Ryan's eldest trouble. Father says he don't 
 think Baxendale '11 go in for it at all." 
 
 " Mary Baxendale's just one of them timid things 
 as is afraid of their own shadders," cried Mary Ann 
 Dunn. If she saw a cow a-coming at the other end 
 of the street, she'd turn tail and run. Jemimer, what- 
 ever are you at ? The sleeves is to be in plaits, not 
 gathers." 
 
 " She do look ill, though, does Mary Baxendale," 
 said Jemima, after some attention to the sleeve in 
 hand. ''It's my belief she'll never live to see 
 Christmas ; she's going the way her mother went. 
 Won't it be prim.e when the men get ten hours' pay 
 for nine hours' work ? I shall think about getting 
 married then." 
 
 " You must find somebody to have you first," quoth 
 Grace Darby. " You have not got a sweetheart yet." 
 
 Miss Jemima tossed her head. ''I needn't to wait 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 153 
 
 long for that. The chaps be as plentiful as sprats in 
 winter. All you have got to do is to pick and 
 choose.'' 
 
 What's that ? " interrupted Mrs. Dunn, darting 
 into the room, with her sharp tongue and her dirty 
 fine cap. "What's that as you're talking about, 
 miss ? 
 
 We are a-tall^ing of the strike/' responded Jemima, 
 with a covert glance to the rest. " Martha White and 
 Judy Ryan says the Baxendales won't go in for it." 
 
 " Not go in for it ? What idiots they must be ! " 
 returned Mrs. Dunn, the attractive subject completely 
 diverting her attention from Miss Jemima and her 
 remarks. Ain't nine hours a-day enough for the 
 men to be at work ? I can tell the Baxendales what 
 ' — when we have got the nine hours all straight and 
 sure, we shall next demand eight. 'Taint free-born 
 Englishers as is going to be put upon. It'll be glorious 
 times, girls, won't it ? We shall get a taste o' fowls 
 and salmon, maybe, for dinner then ! " 
 
 " My father says he does not think the masters will 
 come-to, if the men do strike," observed Grace Darby. 
 
 " Of course they won't — till they are forced," re- 
 torted Mrs. Dunn, in a spirit of satire. " But that's 
 just what they are a-going to be. Don't you be a 
 fool, Grace Darby ! " 
 
 Lotty Cheek rushed in, a girl with a tongue almost 
 as voluble as Mrs. Dunn's, and rough hair the colour 
 
154 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 of a tow-ropo. " What d'ye tliiak ? " cried she, breath- 
 lessly. There's a-going to be a meeting of the men 
 to-night in the big room of the Bricklayers* Arms. 
 They are a-filing in now* I think it must be about 
 the strike/' 
 
 D'ye suppose it would be about anything else ? " 
 retorted Mrs. Dunn. I'd like to be one of 'em ! I'd 
 hold out for the day's work of eight hours, instead of 
 nine, I would. So 'ud they, if they was men." 
 
 Mrs. Dunn's speech was concluded to an empty 
 room. All the girls had flown down into the street, 
 leaving Mrs. Quale's gown in closer contact with the 
 dusty floor than was altogether to its advantage. 
 
 The agitation in the trade had hitherto been chiefly 
 smouldering in an under-current : now, it was rising 
 to the surface. Lotty Cheek's inference was right ; 
 the meeting of this evening had reference to the 
 strike. It had been hastily arranged in the day ; was 
 quite an informal sort of affair, and confined to the 
 operatives of Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Not in a workman's jacket, but in a brown coat 
 dano^lino; to his heels, with a slit down the back and 
 ventilating holes for the elbows, first entered he who 
 had been chiefly instrumental in calling the meeting^ 
 It was Mr. Samuel Shuck ; better known, you may 
 remember, as Slippery Sam. Somehow, Sam and 
 prosperity could not contrive to pull together in the 
 same boat. He was one of those who like to live on 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 155 
 
 the fat of the land, but are too lazy to work for their 
 share of it. And how Sam had contrived to exist 
 until now, and keep himself and his large family out 
 of the workhouse, was a marvel to all. In his fits of 
 repentance, he would manage to get in again at one 
 or other of the yards of the Messrs. Hunter ; but they 
 were growing tired of him. 
 
 The room at the Bricklayers' Arms was tolerably 
 commodious, and Sam took up a conspicuous position 
 in it. 
 
 "Well," began Sam, when the company had as- 
 sembled, and were furnished vnth pipes and pewter 
 pots, " you have heard that that firm won't accept the 
 reduction in the hours of labour, so the men have 
 determined on a strike. Now, I have got a question 
 to put to you. Is there most power in one man, or 
 in a few dozens of men ? " 
 
 Some laughed, and said, " In the dozens/' 
 *'Very good," glibly went on Sam, v/hose tongue 
 was smoother than oil, and who was gifted with a 
 certain sort of oratory and some learning when he 
 chose to exercise it. "Then, the measure I wish to 
 urge upon you is, make common cause with those 
 men. We are not all obliged to strike at the same 
 time; -it will be better not; but by degrees. Let 
 every firm in London strike, each at its appointed 
 time/' he continued, raising his voice to vehemence. 
 ''We must stand up for ourselves; for our rights; 
 
156 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 for our wives and children. By making common 
 cause together, we shall bowl out the masters, and 
 bring them to terms." 
 
 " Hooroar ! " put in Pat Ryan. 
 Hooroar ! " echoed a few more. 
 
 An aged man, Abel White's father, usually called 
 old White, who was past work, and had a seat at his 
 son's chimney corner, leaned forward and spoke, his 
 voice tremulous, but distinct. Samuel Shuck, did 
 you ever know strikes do any good, either to the men 
 or the masters ? Friends," he added, turning his 
 venerable head around, I am in my eightieth year : 
 and I picked up some experience whilst them eighty 
 years was passing. Strikes have ruined some masters 
 in means; but they have ruined men wholesale, in 
 means, in body, and in soul." 
 
 ^'Hold there," cried Sam Shuck, who had not 
 brooked the interruption patiently. "Just tell us, old 
 White, before you go on, whether coercion answers for 
 British workmen ? " 
 
 " It does not," replied the old man, lifting his quiet 
 voice in firmness. But perhaps you will tell me in 
 your turn, Sam Shuck, whether it's likely to answer 
 for masters ? " 
 
 It has answered for them," returned Sam, irw tones 
 of irony. " I have heard of back strikes, where the 
 masters were coerced and coerced, till the men got all 
 they stood out for.'' 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 157 
 
 And so brought down ruin on their own heads/' 
 returned the old man, shaking his. "Did you ever 
 hear of a lock-out, Shuck ? 
 
 ''Ay, ay," interposed quiet, respectable Eobert 
 Darby. " Did you ever hear of that, Slippery Sam ? " 
 P Slippery Sam growled. '' Let the masters lock-out 
 if they dare ! Let 'em. The men would hold out to 
 the death." 
 
 "And death it will be, with some of us, if the 
 strike comes, and lasts, I came down here to-night, 
 on my son's arm, just for your good, my friends, not 
 for mine. At your age, I thought as some of you do ; 
 but I have learnt experience now. I can't last long, 
 any way ; and it's little matter to me whether famine 
 
 from a strike be my end, or — " 
 
 Famine," derisively retorted Slippery Sam. 
 
 *'Yes, famine," Avas the quiet answer. "Strikes 
 never yet brought anything but misery in the end. 
 Let me urge upon you all not to be led away. My 
 voice is but a feeble one; but I think the Lord is 
 sometimes pleased to show out things clearly to the 
 aged, almost as with a gift of prophecy ; and I could 
 only come and beseech you to keep upon the straight- 
 forrard path. Don't have anything to do w^ith a 
 strike ; keep it away from you at arm's-length, as you 
 would keep away the evil one." 
 
 " What's the good of listening to him ? " cried 
 Slippery Sam, in anger. " He i^ in his dotage." 
 
158 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Will you listen to me then ? " spoke up Peter 
 Quale ; I am not in mine. I didn't intend to come 
 here^ as may be guessed ; but when I found so many of 
 you bending your steps this way to listen to Slippery 
 Sam, I thought it time to change my mind, and come 
 and tell you what / thought of strikes/' 
 
 " You ! " rudely replied Slippery Sam. " A fellow 
 like you, always in full work, earning the biggest 
 wages, is sure not to favour strikes. You can't be 
 much better oft' than you are." 
 
 " That admission of yours is worth something, 
 Slippery Sam, if there's any here have the sense to 
 see it," nodded Peter Quale. Good workmen, on full 
 wages, doifit favour strikes. I have rose up to what 
 I am by sticking to my Avork patiently, and getting 
 on step by step. It's open to every living man to get 
 on as I have done, if he have got skill and pluck to 
 work. But if I had done as you do, Sam, gone in for 
 labour one day and for play two, and for drinking, 
 and strikes, and rebellion, because money, which I 
 was too lazy to work for didn't drop from the skies 
 into my hands, then I should just have been where 
 you be." 
 
 Is it right to keep a man grinding and sweating 
 his life out for ten hours a-day ? " retorted Sam. " The 
 masters would be as well off if we worked nine, and 
 the surplus men would find employment." 
 
 " It isn't much of your life that you sweat out, Sam 
 
A MEETING OF THE WOEKMEN. 
 
 159 
 
 Shuck/* rejoined Peter Quale, with a cough that 
 especially provoked his antagonist. And, as to the 
 masters being as well off, you had better ask them 
 about that. Perhaps they'd tell you that to pay ten 
 hours' wages for nine hours' work would be the hour's 
 wage dead loss to their pockets." 
 
 " Are you rascal enough to go in for the masters ? '* 
 demanded Sam, in a fiery heat. Who'd do that, but 
 a 'traitor ? " 
 
 I go in for myself, Sam," equably responded Peter 
 Quale. " I know on which side my bread's buttered. 
 No skilful workman, possessed of prudent thought 
 and judgment, ever yet went blindfold into a strike. 
 At least, not many such." 
 
 Up rose Robert Darby. " I'd just say a word, if I 
 can get my meaning out, but I'm not cute with the 
 tongue. It seems to me^ mates, that it would be a 
 great boon if we could obtain the granting of the nine 
 hours' movement ; and perhaps in the end it would 
 not affect the masters, for they'd get it out of the 
 public. I'd agitate for this in a peaceful way, in the 
 shape of reason and argument, and do my best in that 
 way to get it. But I'd not like, as Peter Quale says, 
 to plunge blindfold into a strike." 
 
 I look at it in this light, Darby," said Peter Quale, 
 and it seems to me it's the only light as 11 answer 
 the purpose. Things in this world are estimated by 
 comparison. There ain't nothino; large nor small in 
 
IGO 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 itself, I may say, this chair's big : well, so it is, if 
 you match it by that there bit of a stool in the 
 chimbley corner ; but it's very small if you put it by 
 the side of an omnibus, or of one of the sheds in our 
 yard. Now, if you compare our wages with those of 
 workmen in most other trades, they are large. Look 
 at a farm-labourer, poor fellow, with his ten shillings 
 (more or less) a-week, hardly keeping body and soul 
 too^ether. Look at what a man earns in the maltiho^ 
 districts in the country; fifteen shillings and his 
 beer, is reckoned good wages. Look at 'a policeman, 
 with his pound a-week. Look at a postman. Look 
 at- " 
 
 " Look at ourselves," intemperately interrupted Jim 
 Dunn. What's other folks to us ? We work hard, 
 and we ought to be paid according." 
 
 So I think we are," said Peter Quale. " Thirty- 
 three shillings is not bad wages, and it is only a 
 delusion to say it is. Neither is ten hours a-day an 
 unfair or oppressive time to work. I'd be as glad as 
 anybody to have the hour took off, if it could be done 
 pleasantly ; but I am not going to put myself out of 
 work and into trouble to stand out for it. It's a thino' 
 that I am convinced the masters never will give ; and 
 if Pollock's men strike for it, they'll do it against their 
 own interests " 
 
 Hisses, and murmurs of disapprobation from various 
 parts of the room, interrupted Peter Quale. 
 
A MEETING OF THE WOUKMEN. Iffl 
 
 You'd better wait and understand, afore you begin 
 to hiss/' phlegmatically recommended Peter Quale, 
 when the noise had subsided. I say it will be 
 against their interests to strike, because, I think, if 
 they stop on strike for twelve months, they'll be no 
 nearer getting their end. I may be wrong, but that's 
 my opinion. There's always two sides to a question 
 — our own, and the opposite one ; and the great fault 
 in most folks is, that they look only at their own side, 
 and it causes them to see things in a partial view. I 
 have looked as fair as I can at our own side, trying to 
 put away my bias for it ; and I have put myself in 
 thought on the master's side, asking myself, what 
 would I do, were I one of them. Thus I have tried 
 to judge between them and us, and the conclusion I 
 have drawed is, that they Avon't give in." 
 
 " The masters have been brought to grant demands? 
 more unreasonable than this," rejoined Sam Shuck. 
 " If you know anything about back strikes, you must 
 know that. Quale." 
 
 '^And that's one of the reasons why I argue they 
 won't grant this," said Peter. If they go on grant- 
 ing and granting, they may get asking themselves 
 where the demands '11 stop." 
 
 " Let us go back to 1833," spoke up old White again, 
 and the man's age and venerable aspect caused him to 
 be listened to with respect. " I was then working in 
 Manchester, and belonged to the Trades' Union; a 
 
 A Life's Secret. 1 1 
 
162 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 powerful Union as ever was formed. In our strength, 
 we thought we should like a thing or two altered, 
 and we made a formal demand upon the master 
 builders, requiring them to discontinue the erection of 
 buildings on sub-contracts. The masters fell in w^ith 
 it. You'll understand, friends," he broke off to say, 
 " that, looking at things now, and looking at 'em then, 
 is just as if I saw 'em in two opposite aspects. Next, 
 we gave out a set of various rules for the masters, 
 and required them to abide by such — about making 
 of the wages equal ; the number of apprentices they 
 should take ; the machinery they should or should not 
 use, and other things. Well, the masters gave us that 
 also, and it put us all cock-a-hoop, and we went on to 
 dictate to 'em more and more. If they — the masters 
 — broke any of our rules, we levied fines on 'em, and 
 hiade 'em pay up ; we ordered them before us at our 
 meetings, found fault with 'em, commanded 'em to 
 obey us, to take on such men as w^e pointed out, and 
 to turn off others ; in short, forced 'em to do as we 
 chose. People might have thought that we was the 
 master and they the operatives. Pretty ^vell, that, 
 w^asn't it ? " 
 
 The room nodded acquiescence. Slippery Sam 
 snapped his fingers in delight. 
 
 The worst was, it did not last," resumed the old 
 man. Like too many other folks emboldened with 
 success, w^e wasn't content to let well alone, but w^ent 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 163 
 
 on a bit too far. The masters took up their own 
 defence at last ; and the wonder to me now, looking 
 back, is, that they didn't do it before. They formed 
 themselves into a Union, and passed a resolve to 
 employ no man unless he signed a pledge not to 
 belong to a Trades' Union. Then we all turned out. 
 Six months the strike was on, and the buildings was 
 at a standstill, and us out of vv^ork." 
 
 " Were wages bad at that time ? " inquired Robert 
 Darby. 
 
 " No. The good workmen among us had been 
 earning in the summer thirty-five shillings a-week; 
 and the bricklayers had just had a rise of three 
 shillings. We was just fools : that's my opinion of it 
 now. Awful misery we were reduced to. Every 
 stick we had went to the pawn-shop ; our wives was 
 skin and bone, our children was in rags ; and some of 
 us just laid our heads down on the stones, clammed to 
 death." 
 
 " What was the trade in other places about, that it 
 didn't help you ? " indignantly demanded Sam Shuck. 
 
 " They did help us. Money to the tune of eighteen 
 thousand pounds came to us ; but we was a large 
 body — many mouths to feed, and the strike was pro- 
 longed. We had to come-to at last, for the masters 
 wouldn't; and we voted our combination a nuisance, 
 and went humbly to 'em, like dogs with their tails 
 between their legs, and craved to be took on again 
 
1G4 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 upon their own terms. But we couldn't get took back; 
 not all of us : the masters had learnt a lesson. They 
 had got machinery to work, and had collected work- 
 men from other parts, so that we w^as not wanted. 
 And that's all the good the strike brought to us ! I 
 came away on the tramp with my family, and got 
 work in London after a deal of struggle and privation : 
 and I made a vow never willingly to belong to a 
 strike again." 
 
 Do you see where the fault lay in that case the 
 blame ? — the whole gist of the evil ? " 
 
 The question came from a gentleman who had 
 entered the room as old White was speaking. The 
 men would have risen to salute him, but he signed to 
 them to be still and cause no interruption — a tall, 
 noble man, with calm, self-reliant countenance. 
 
 "It lay with the masters," he resumed, no one 
 replying to him. Had those Manchester masters 
 resisted the first demand of their men — a demand 
 made in the insolence of power, not in need — and 
 allowed them fully to understand that they were, and 
 would be, masters, we should, I believe, have heard 
 less of strikes since, than w^e have done. I never 
 think of those Manchester masters but my blood boils. 
 When a principal suffers himself to be dictated to by 
 his men, he is no longer a master, or worthy of the 
 pame." 
 
 Had you been one of them, and not complied, you 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 
 
 165 
 
 might have come to ruin, sir/' cried Robert Darby. 
 " There's a deal to be said on both sides/' 
 
 Ruin ! " was the answer. I never would have 
 conceded an inch, though I had known that I must 
 end my days in the workhouse through not doing it." 
 
 " Of course, sir, you'd stand up for the masters, 
 being hand in glove with 'em, and likely to be a 
 master yourself," grumbled Sam Shuck, a touch of 
 irony in his tone. 
 
 " I should stand up for which ever side I deemed in 
 the right, whether it was the masters' or the men's," 
 was the emphatic answer. ''Is it well — is it in 
 accordance with the fitness of things, that a master 
 should be under the control of his men ! I ask it of 
 your common sense." 
 
 " No." It was readily acknowledged. 
 
 " Those Manchester masters and those Manchester 
 operatives were upon a par as regards shame ^nd 
 blame." 
 
 " Sir ! Shame and blame ? " 
 
 *' They were upon a par as regards shame and 
 blame," was the decisive repetition ; " and I make no 
 doubt that both equally deemed themselves to have 
 been so, when they found their senses. The masters' 
 senses came to them ; the men were brought to 
 theirs." 
 
 " You speak strongly, sir." 
 
 " Because I feel strongly. When I become a master, 
 
166 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 I shall, if I know anything of myself, have my men s 
 interest at heart ; but none of them shall ever presume 
 to dictate to me. If a master cannot exercise his 
 own authority in firm self-reliance, let him give up 
 business." 
 
 " Have masters a right to oppress us, sir ? — to grind 
 us down ?— to work us into our coffins ? " cried Sam 
 Shuck. 
 
 The gentleman raised his eyebrows, and a half smile 
 crossed his lips. Since when have you been oppressed, 
 and ground down into your coffins ? " 
 
 Some of the men laughed — at Sam's oily tongue. 
 If you are — if you have any complaint of that 
 sort to make, let me hear it now, and I v/ill convey it 
 
 to Mr. Hunter. He is ever ready, you know, to 
 
 What do you say. Shuck ? The nine hours' concession 
 is all you want ? If you can get the mxasters to give 
 you ten hours' pay for nine hours' work, so much the 
 better for you. / would not : but it is no affiiir of 
 mine. To be paid what you honestly earn, be it five 
 pounds per week or be it one, is only justice; but to 
 be paid for Avhat you don't earn, is the opposite. I 
 think, too, that the equalization of wages is a mis- 
 taken system, quite wrong in principle : one which 
 can bring only discontent in the long run. Let me 
 repeat that with emphasis — the equalization of wages, 
 should it ever take place, can bring only discontent in 
 the long run." 
 
A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN. 167 
 
 There was a pause. No one spoke, and the speaker 
 resumed — 
 
 ''I conclude you have met here to discuss this 
 agitation at the Messrs. Pollocks' ? " 
 
 Pollocks' men are a-going to strike," said Slippery- 
 Sam. 
 
 Oh, they are, are they ? " returned the gentleman, 
 some mockery in his tones. I hope they may find 
 it to their benefit. I don't know what the Messrs. 
 Pollock may do in the matter; but I know what I 
 should do." 
 
 You'd hold out to the last against the men ? " 
 " I should ; to the last and the last : v/ere it for ten v 
 years to come. Force a measure upon me! coerce 
 me ! " he reiterated, drawing his fine form to its full 
 height, while the red flush mantled to his cheeks. 
 
 No, my men, I am not made of that yielding stuff. 
 Only let me be persuaded that my judgment is right, 
 and no body of men on earth should force me to act 
 against it." 
 
 The speaker was Austin Clay, as I dare say you 
 have already guessed. He had not gone to the meet- 
 ing to interrupt it, or to take part in it, but in search 
 of Peter Quale. Hearing from Mrs. Quale that her 
 husband was at the Bricklayers' Arms — a ra.re occur- 
 rence, for Peter was not one who favoured public- 
 houses — Austin went thither in search of him, and so 
 found himself in the midst of the meeting. His 
 
168 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 business with Peter related to certain orders he 
 required to give for the early morning. Once there, 
 however, the temptation to have his say was too 
 great to be resisted. That over, he went out, signing 
 to the man to follow him. 
 
 " What are those men about to rush into, Quale? " 
 he demanded, when his own matter was over. 
 
 ''Ah, what indeed?" returned the man, ''If they 
 do get led into a strike, they'll repent it, some of 
 them." 
 
 " You are not one of the malcontents, then ? " 
 
 '' I ? " retorted Peter, utter scorn in his tone. " No, 
 sir. There's a proverb which I learnt years ago from 
 an old book as was lent me, and I've not forgotten it, 
 sir — 'Let well alone.' But you must not think all 
 the men you saw sitting there be discontented 
 agitators, Mr. Clay. It's only Shuck and a few of 
 that stamp. The rest be as steady and cautious as 
 I am." 
 
 " If they don't get led away," replied Austin Clay, 
 and his voice betrayed a doubtful tone. " Slippery 
 Sam, in spite of his loose qualifications, is a ring- 
 leader more persuasive than prudent. Hark ! he is at 
 it again, hammer and tongs. Are you going back to 
 them ? " 
 
 *' No, sir. I shall go home now." 
 ''We will walk together, then," observed Austin. 
 *' Afterwards I am going on to Mr. Hunt-er s.'* 
 
( 160 ) 
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CALLED TO KETTERFOED. 
 
 Austin Clay was not mistaken. Rid of Peter Quale, 
 who was a worse enemy of Sam's schemes than even 
 old White, Sam had it nearly his own way, and went 
 at it hammer and tongs." He poured his eloquent 
 words into the men's ears — and Sam, as you have 
 heard, really did possess the gift of eloquence : of a 
 rough and rude sort : but that tells well with the 
 class now gathered round him. He brought forth 
 argument upon argument, fallacious as they were 
 plausible; he told the men it depended upon them, 
 whether the boon they were standing out for should 
 be accorded, not upon the masters. Not that Sam 
 called it a boon ; he spoke of it as a right. Let them 
 only be firm and true to themselves, he said, and the 
 masters must give in : there was no help for it, they 
 would have no other resource. Sam finally concluded 
 by demanding, with fierce looks all round, whether 
 they were men, or whether they were slaves, and the 
 men answered, with a cheer and a shout, that Britons 
 
170 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 never should be slaves: and the meeting broke up in 
 excitement and glorious spirits, and went home elated, 
 some v^^ith the anticipation of the fine time that was 
 dawning for them, others with having consumed a 
 little too much half-and-half. 
 
 Slippery Sam reeled away to his house. A dozen 
 or so attended him, listening to his oratory, which 
 was continued still ; though not exactly to the 
 gratification of DaflFodirs Delight, who were hushing 
 their unruly babies to sleep, or striving to get to 
 sleep themselves. Much Sam cared whom he dis- 
 turbed ! He went alono;, flinmno^ his arms and his 
 words at random — inflammatory words, carrying 
 poisoned shafts that told. If some one came down 
 upon you or upon me, telling us that, with a little 
 exertion on our part, we should inevitably drop into 
 ten thousand a-year, and showing plausible cause for 
 the same, should we turn a deaf ear? The men 
 shook hands individually with Slippery Sam, and 
 left him propped agamst his own door ; for Sam, with 
 all deference be it spoken, was a little overcome him- 
 self — with the talking, of course. 
 
 Sam's better-half greeted him with a shrill tongue : 
 she and Mrs. Dunn might be paired in that respect : 
 and Sam's children, some in the bed in the corner, some 
 sitting up, greeted him with a shrill cry also, clamour- 
 ing for a very common-place article, indeed — ''some 
 bread ! ' Sam's family seemed inconveniently to 
 
CALLED TO KETTEllFORD. 
 
 171 
 
 increase ; for the less there appeared to be to welcome 
 them with, the surer and faster they arrived. Sam 
 could number thirteen now ; but several of the elder 
 ones were out in the world " doing for themselves " 
 — getting on, or starving, as it might happen to be. 
 
 " You old sot ! you have been at that drinking-can 
 agam/' were Mrs. Sam's words of salutation; and I 
 wish I could soften them down to refinement for polite 
 ear ; but if you are to have the truth, you must take 
 them as they were spoken. 
 
 Drinkinof-can ! " echoed Sam, who was in too hmh 
 glee to lose his temper, never mind the drinking-can, 
 missis : my fortian s made. I drawed together that 
 meeting, as I telled ye I should," he added, discarding 
 his scholarly eloquence for the familiar home phrase- 
 ology, ''and they come to it, every man jack on 'em, 
 save thin-skinned Baxendale upstairs. Never was 
 such a full meeting knowed in Daffodil's Delight." 
 
 Who cares for the meeting ! " irascibly responded 
 Mrs. Sam. " What we Avants is, some'at to fill our 
 insides with. Don't come bothering home here about 
 a meeting, when the children be a-starving. If you'd 
 work more and talk less, it 'ud become ye better." 
 
 " I got the ear of the meeting," said Sam, braving 
 the reproof with a provoking wink. ^'A despicable 
 set our men is, at Hunter's, a-humdrumming on like 
 slaves for ever, taking their paltry wages and making 
 no stir. But I've put the brand among 'em at last, 
 
172 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 and sent 'em home all on fire, to dream of short work 
 and good pay. Quale, he come, and put in his spoke 
 again' it ; and that wretched old skeleton of a White, 
 what's been cheating the grave this ten year, he come, 
 and put in his; and Mr. Austin Clay, he must thrust 
 his nose among us, and talk treason to the men : but I 
 think my tongue have circumvented the lot. If it 
 haven't, my name's not Sam Shuck." 
 
 If you and your circumventions and your tongue 
 was all at the bottom of the Thames, 'twouldn t be no 
 loss, for all the good they does above it," sobbed Mrs. 
 Shuck, whose anger generally ended in tears. ''Here's 
 me and the children a-clamming for want o' bread, and 
 you can waste your time over a idle good-for-nothing 
 meeting I Ain't you ashamed, not to work as other 
 men do ? " 
 
 "Bread 1 " loftily returned Sam, with the air of a 
 king, " 'tisn't bread I shall soon be furnishing for you 
 and the children : it's mutton chops. My fortian's 
 made, I say/' 
 
 " Yah ! " retorted Mrs. Sam. " It have been made 
 forty times in the last ten year, to listen to you. 
 What good has ever come of the boast ? I'd shut up 
 my mouth if I couldn't talk sense." 
 
 Sam nodded his head oracularly, and entered upon 
 an explanation. But for the fact of his being a little 
 " overcome " — whatever may have been its cause — he 
 would have been more guarded. *' I've had overtures," 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 173 
 
 he said, bending forward his head and lowering his 
 voice, ''and them overtures, which I accepted, will be 
 the making of you and of me. Work ! " he exclaimed, 
 throwing his arms gracefully from him with a re- 
 pelling gesture, I've done with work now ; I'm 
 superior to it ; I'm exalted far above that low^ering 
 sort of toil. The leaders among the London Trade 
 Union have recognized eloquence, ma'am, let me tell 
 you ; and they've made me one of their picked body — 
 appointed me agitator to the firms of Hunter. ' You 
 get the meeting together, and prime 'em with the best 
 of your eloquence, and excite 'em to recognize and 
 agitate for their own rights, and you shall have your 
 appointment, and a good round weekly salary.' Well, 
 Mrs. S., I did it. I got the men together, and I have 
 primed 'em, and some of 'em's a-busting to go offj and 
 all I've got to do from henceforth is to keep 'em up to 
 the mark, by means of that tongue which you are so 
 fond of disparaging, and to live like a gentleman. 
 There's a triflino^ instalment of the first week's 
 money." 
 
 Sam threw a sovereim on the table. Mrs. Shuck, 
 with a grunt of disparagement still, darted forward to 
 seize upon it through her tears. The children, uttering 
 a wild shriek of wonder, delight, and disbelief, born of 
 incipient famine, darted forward to seize it too. Sam 
 burst into a fit of laughter, threw himself back to 
 indulge it, and not being just then over steady on his 
 
174 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 legs, lost his equilibrium, and toppled over the fender 
 into the ashes. 
 
 Leaving Mrs. Shuck to pick him up, or to leave him 
 there — which latter negative course was the one she 
 would probably take — let us return to Austin Clay. 
 
 At Peter Quale's gate he was standing a moment to 
 speak to the man before proceeding onwards, when Mrs. 
 Quale came running down the garden path. 
 
 "I was coming in search of you, sir," she said to 
 Austin Clay. This has just been brought, and the 
 man made me sign my name to a paper." 
 
 Austin took what she held out to him — a telegraphic 
 despatch. He opened it ; read it ; then in the prompt, 
 decisive manner usual with him, requested Mrs. Quale 
 to put him up a change of things in his portmanteau, 
 which he would return for ; and walked away with a 
 rapid step. 
 
 " Whatever news is it that he has had ? " cried Mrs. 
 Quale, as she stood with her husband, looking after 
 him. Where can he have been summoned to ? " 
 
 '''Tain't no business of ours," retorted Peter; "if it 
 had been, he'd have enlightened us. Did you ever 
 hear of that offer that's always pending ? — Five 
 hundred a-year to anybody as 11 undertake to mind 
 his own business, and leave other folks's alone." 
 
 Austin was on his way to Mr. Hunter's. A very 
 frequent evening visitor there nov^^, was he. But this 
 evening he had an ostensible motive for going ; a boon 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFOED, 
 
 175 
 
 to crave. That alone may have made his footsteps 
 fleet. 
 
 In the soft twilight of the summer evening, in the 
 room of their own house that opened to the con- 
 servatory, sat Florence Hunter — no longer the im- 
 pulsive, charming, and somewhat troublesome child, 
 but the young and lovely woman. Of middle height 
 and graceful form, her face was one of great sweetness ; 
 the earnest, truthful spirit, the pure innocence, which 
 had made its charm in youth, made it now ; to look 
 on Florence Hunter was to love her. 
 
 She appeared to be in deep thought, her cheek 
 resting on her hand, and her eyes fixed on vacancy. 
 Some movement in the house aroused her^ and she 
 arose, shook her head, as if she would shake care 
 away, and bent over a rare plant in the room's large 
 opening, lightly touching the leaves. 
 
 I fear that mamma is right and I am vva^ong, 
 pretty plant I she murmured. " I fear that you will 
 die. Is it that this London, with its heavy atmo- 
 sphere 
 
 The knock of a visitor at the hall-door resounded 
 through the house. Did Florence hioiv the knock, 
 that her voice should falter, and the soft pink in her 
 cheeks should deepen to a glowing crimson ? The 
 room-door opened^ and a servant announced Mr. Clay. 
 
 In that early railway journey when they first met, 
 Florence had taken a predilection for Austin Clay. 
 
17G A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 I like him so niucli 1 " had been her gratuitous 
 announcement to her nncle Henry. The liking had 
 ripened into an attachment, firm and lasting — a child's 
 attachment : but Florence grew into a woman, and it 
 could not remain such. Thrown much together, the 
 feeling had changed, and love mutually arose : they 
 fell into it unconsciously. AVas it quite prudent of 
 Mr. Hunter to sanction, nay, to court the frequent 
 presence at his house of Austin Clay ? Did he over- 
 look the obvious fact that Austin was one who pos- 
 sessed attractions both of mind and person, and that 
 Florence was now a woman grown ? Or did Mr. 
 
 o 
 
 Hunter deem that the social barrier, which he might 
 assume existed between his daughter and his de- 
 pendent, would effectually prevent all approach of 
 danger ? Mr. Hunter must himself account for the 
 negligence : no one else can do it. It was certain that 
 he did have Austin very much at his house, but it 
 was equally certain that he never cast a thought to 
 the possibility that his daughter might be learning to 
 love him. 
 
 The strange secret, whatever it may have been, 
 attaching to Mr. Hunter, had shattered his health to 
 that extent that for days together he would be un- 
 equal to go abroad or to attend to business. Then 
 Austin, who acted as principal in the absence of Mr. 
 Hunter, would arrive at the house when the day was 
 over, report progress, and take orders for the next 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 
 
 177 
 
 day. Or, rather, would consult with him as to what 
 the orders should be ; for in energy, in capability, 
 Austin was now the master-spirit, and Mr. Hunter 
 bent to it. That over, Austin passed the rest of the 
 evening in the society of Florence, conversing with 
 her freely, confidentially ; on literature, art, the news 
 of the day ; on topics of home interest. Listening to 
 her music, listening to her low voice, as she sang her 
 songs, guiding her pencil, there they would be. He 
 with his ready eloquence, his fund of information, his 
 attractive manners, and his fine form, handsome in its 
 height and strength ; she with her sweet fascinations, 
 her gentle loveliness. What could be the result ? But, 
 as is almost invariably the case, the last person to 
 give a suspicion to it was he who positively looked 
 on, and might have seen all — Mr. Hunter. Life, in 
 the presence of the other, had become sweet to each 
 as a summer s dream — a dream that had stolen over 
 them ere they knew what it meant. But conscious- 
 ness came with time. 
 
 Very conscious of it were they both as he entered 
 this evening. Austin took her hand in greeting ; a 
 hand always tremulous now in his. She bent again 
 over the plant she was tending, her eyelids and her 
 damask cheeks drooping. 
 
 You are alone, Florence ! " • 
 Just now. Mamma is very poorly this evening, and 
 keeps her room. Papa was here a few minutes ago." 
 
 A Life's Secret. 12 
 
178 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 He released lier hand, and stood looking at her, as 
 she played with the petals of the flower. Not a word 
 had Austin spoken of his love; not a word was he 
 sure that he might speak. If he partially divined 
 that it might be acceptable to her, he did not believe 
 it w^ould be to Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " The plant looks sickly," he observed. 
 Yes. It is one that thrives in cold and wind. It 
 came from Scotland. Mamma feared this close London 
 atmosphere would not suit it ; but I said it looked so 
 hardy, it woukl be sure to do well. Rather than it 
 should die, I would send it back to its bleak home." 
 
 ''In tears, Florence ? for the sake of a plant ? " 
 
 " Not for that," she answered, twinkling the moisture 
 from her eyelashes, as she raised them to his with a 
 brave smile. " I was thinking of mamma ; she appears 
 to be fading rapidly, like the plant." 
 
 She may grow stronger when the heat of summer 
 shall have passed." 
 
 Florence slightly shook her head, as if she could 
 not share in the suggested hope. " Mamma herself 
 does not seem to think she will, Austin. She has 
 dropped ominous words more than once latterly. This 
 afternoon I shovv^ed her the plant, and remarked that 
 it was drooping. ' Ay, my dear,' she replied, ' it is 
 like me — on the wane.' And I think my uncle 
 Bevary's opinion has also become unfavourable." 
 
 It was a matter on which Austin could not urge 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 
 
 179 
 
 hope, though, for the sake of tranquillizing Florence, 
 he might suggest it, for he believed that Mrs. Hunter 
 was fading rapidly. All these years she seemed to 
 have been growing thinner and weaker. It was some 
 malady connected with the spine, causing her at times 
 great pain. Austin changed the subject. 
 
 "I hope Mr. Hunter will soon be in, Florence. I 
 have come to ask for leave of absence/' 
 
 " Papa is not out ; he is sitting with mamma. That 
 is another reason why I fear danger for her. I think 
 papa sees it ; he is so solicitous for her comfort, so 
 anxious to be with her, as if he would guard her from 
 surprise or agitating topics. He will not suffer a 
 visitor to enter at hazard ; he will not let a note be 
 o'iven her until he has first seen it." 
 
 But he has long been thus anxious,'* replied Austin, 
 who was aware that what she spoke of had lasted for 
 years. 
 
 " I know. But still, latterly — however, I must 
 hope against hope," broke off Florence. ^ I think 1 
 do : hope is certainly a very strong ingredient in my 
 nature, for I cannot realize the parting with my dear 
 mother. Did you say you have come for leave of 
 absence ? Where is it that you wish to go ? " 
 
 ''I have had a telegraphic despatch from Ketter- 
 ford," he replied, taking it from his pocket. "My 
 good old friend, Mrs. Thornimett, is dying, and I must 
 hasten thither with all speed," 
 
180 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ^'Oli ! uttered Florence, almost reproachfully. ''And 
 you are wa.sting the time with me ! " 
 
 " Not so. The first train that goes there does not 
 start for an hour yet, and I can get to Paddington in 
 half one. The news has grieved me much. The last 
 time I was at Ketterford— you may remember it — 
 Mrs. Thornimett was so very well, exhibiting no 
 symptoms whatever of decay." 
 
 ''I remember it," answered Florence. "It is two 
 years ago. You stayed a whole fortnight with her." 
 
 ''And had a battle with her to come away then," 
 said Austin, smiling with the reminiscence, or with 
 Florence's word " whole — a suggestive word, spoken 
 in that sense. " She wished me to remain longer. I 
 wonder what illness can have stricken her ? It must 
 have been sudden." 
 
 " What is the relationship between you ? " 
 
 " A distant one. She and my mother were second- 
 cousins. If I ~ " 
 
 Austin was stopped by the entrance of Mr. Hunter. 
 So changed, so bent and bowed, since you, reader, last 
 saw him ! The stout, upright figure had grown thin 
 and stooping, the fine dark hair was grey, the once 
 calm, self-reliant face was worn and haggard. Nor 
 was that all ; there was a constant restlessness in his 
 manner and in the turn of his eye, giving a spectator 
 the idea that he lived in a state of ever-present, 
 constant fear. 
 
CALLED TO KETTEBFORD. 181 
 
 Austin put the telegraphic message in his hand. 
 It is an inconvenient time, I know, sir, for me to be 
 away, busy as we are, and with this agitation rising 
 amongst the men ; but I cannot help myself. I will 
 return as soon as it is possible." 
 
 Mr. Hunter did not hear the words. His eyes had 
 fallen on the word " Ketterford," in the despatch, and 
 that seemed to scare away his senses. His hands 
 shook as he held the paper, and for a few moments 
 he appeared incapable of collected thought, of under- 
 standing anything. Austin explained again. 
 
 " Oh yes, yes, it is only — it is Mrs. Thornimett who 
 is ill, and wants you — I comprehend now." He spoke 
 in an incoherent manner, and with a sigh of the most 
 intense relief. " I — I — saw the word ' dying,' and it 
 startled me," he proceeded, as if anxious to account 
 for his agitation. " You can go, Austin you must 
 go. Remain a few days there — a week, if you find it 
 necessary." 
 
 Thank you, sir. I will say farewell now, then/' 
 He shook hands with Mr. Hunter, turned to 
 Florence, and took her hand. Remember me to 
 Mrs. Hunter,'^ he said in a low tone, which, in spite 
 of himself, betrayed its own tenderness, and tell her 
 I hope to find her better on my return." 
 
 A few paces from the house, as he went out, Austin 
 encountered Dr. Bevary. " Is she much worse ? he 
 exclaimed to Austin, in hasty tones. 
 
182 A LIFE'S SECRST. 
 
 " Is who much worse, doctor ? " 
 " Mrs. Hunter. I have just had a message from 
 her." 
 
 "Not very much, I fancy. Florence said her 
 mamma was poorly this evening. I am off to Ketter- 
 ford, doctor, for a few days." 
 
 To Ketterford ! " replied Dr. Bevary, with an 
 emphasis that showed the news had startled him. 
 " What are you going there for ? For — for Mr. 
 Hunter ? " 
 
 For myself," said Austin. " A good old friend is 
 ill — dying, the message says — and has telegraphed 
 for me." 
 
 The physician looked at him searchingly. Do you 
 speak of Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
 "I should not call her a friend," replied Austin. 
 I allude to Mrs. Thornimett." 
 
 ''A pleasant journey to you, then. And, Clay, steer 
 clear of those Gwinns ; they would bring you no good." 
 
 It was in the dawn of the early morning that 
 Austin entered Ketterford. He did not let the grass 
 grow under his feet between the railway terminus and 
 Mrs. Thornimett's, though he was somewhat doubtful 
 about disturbing the house. If she was really "dying," 
 it might be well that he should do so ; if only suffering 
 from a severe illness, it might not be expected of him ; 
 and the wording of the message had been ambiguous, 
 leaving it an open question. As he drew within view 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 
 
 183 
 
 of the house, however, it exhibited signs of bustle ; 
 lights not yet put out in the dawn, might be discerned 
 through some of the curtained windows, and a woman, 
 having much the appearance of a nurse, was coming- 
 out at the door, halting on the threshold a moment 
 to hold converse with one within. 
 
 " Can you tell me how Mrs. Thornimett is ? " in- 
 quired Austin, addressing himself to her. 
 
 The woman shook her head. '^She is gone, sir. 
 Not more than an hour ago." 
 
 Sarah, the old servant whom we have seen before 
 at Mrs. Thornimett's. came forward, weeping. Oh, 
 Mr. Austin ! oh, sir : why could not you get here 
 sooner ? 
 
 How could I, Sarah ? was his reply. " I received 
 the message only last evening, and came off by the 
 first tra^in that started.'^ 
 
 "I'd have took a engine to myself, and rode upon 
 its chimbley, but what I'd have got here in time," 
 retorted Sarah. " Twice in the very last half-hour of 
 her life she asked after you. ' Isn't Austin come ? ' 
 * Isn't he yet come ? ' My dear old mistress ' " 
 
 " Why was I not sent for before ? " he asked, in 
 return. 
 
 Because we never thought it was turning serious,'^ 
 sobbed Sarah. " She caught cold some days ago, and 
 it flew to her throat or her chest, I hardly know 
 which. The doctor was called in ; and it's my belief 
 
184 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 he clidn t know : the doctors nowadays bain't worth 
 half what they used to be, and they call things by 
 fine names that nobody can understand. However it 
 may have been, nobody saw any danger, neither him 
 nor us. But at mid-day yesterday there was a 
 change, and the doctor said he'd like further advice 
 to be brought in. And it was had; but they could 
 not do her any good ; and she, poor dear mistress, was 
 the first to say that she was dying. ' Send for Austin,' 
 she said to me ; and one of the gentlemen, he went to 
 the telegraph place, and wrote the message." 
 
 Austin made no rejoinder: he seemed to be swallow- 
 ing down a lump in his throat. Sarah resumed. 
 ''Will you see her, sir ? She is just laid out." 
 
 He nodded acquiescence, and the servant led the 
 way to the death-chamber. It had been put straight, 
 so to remain until all that was left of its many years' 
 occupant should be removed. She lay on the bed in 
 placid stillness; her eyes closed, her pale face calm, 
 a smile upon it ; the calm of a spirit at peace with 
 Heaven. Austin leaned over her, losino; himself in 
 solemn thoughts. Whither had the spirit flown ? to 
 what bright unknown world ? Had it found the 
 company of sister spirits ? had it seen, face to face, its 
 loving Saviour ? Oh ! what mattered now the few 
 fleeting trials of this life that had passed over her I 
 how worse than unimportant did they seem by the 
 side of death ! A little, more or less, of care ; a lot, 
 
CALLED TO KETTERFORD. 
 
 185 
 
 where shade or sunshine shall have predominated; a 
 few friends gained or lost ; struggle, toil, hope — all 
 must merge in the last rest. It was over; earth, with 
 its troubles and its petty cares, with its joys and 
 sorrows, and its goods stored up for many years ; " 
 as completely over for Mary Thornimett, as though it 
 had never been. In the higher realms whither her 
 spirit had hastened 
 
 "I told Mrs. Dubbs to knock up the undertaker, 
 and desire him to come here at once and take the 
 measure for the coffin." 
 
 Sarah's interruption recalled Austin to the world. 
 It is impossible, even in a death-chamber, to run away 
 from the ordinary duties of daily life. 
 
186 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 " You will stay for the funeral, Mr. Clay ? " 
 " It is my intention to do so." 
 
 " Good. Being interested in the will, it may be 
 agreeable to you to hear it read." 
 
 Am I interested ? " inquired Austin, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " Why, of course you are/' replied Mr. Knapley, the 
 lawyer with whom Austin was speaking, and w^ho had 
 the conducting of Mrs. Thornimett's affairs. " Did j^ou 
 never know that you were a considerable legatee ? " 
 
 ''I did not," said Austin. Some j^ears ago — it 
 was at the death of Mr. Thornimett — Mrs. Thorni- 
 m.ett hinted to me that I mio^ht be the better some 
 time for a trifle from her. But she has never alluded 
 to it since : and I have not reckoned upon it." 
 
 " Then I can tell you — though it is revealing secrets 
 beforehand — that you are the better to the tune of 
 two thousand pounds. 
 
 Two thousand pounds ! " uttered Austin, in sheer 
 
I 
 
 TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 187 
 
 amazement. " How came she to leave me so mueli as 
 that ? " 
 
 " Do you quarrel with it, j^oung sir ? 
 
 " No, indeed : I feel all possible gratitude. But I 
 am surprised, nevertheless." 
 
 " She was a clever, clear-sighted woman, was Mrs. 
 Thornimett," observed the lawyer. " 111 tell you about 
 it — how it is you come to have so much. When I 
 was taking directions for Mr. Thornimett's will — 
 more than ten years ago now — a discussion arose 
 between him and his wife as to the propriety of 
 leaving a sum of money to Austin Clay. A thousand 
 pounds was the amount named. Mr. Thornimett was 
 for leaving you in his wife's hands, to let her bequeath 
 it to you at her death ; Mrs. Thornimett wished it 
 should be left to you then, in the will I was about to 
 make, that you might inherit it on the demise of Mr. 
 Thornimett. He took his own course, and did not 
 leave it, as you are aware.'' 
 
 " I did not expect him to leave me anything," inter- 
 rupted Austin. 
 
 My young friend, if you break in with these 
 remarks, I shall not reach the end of my story. After 
 her husband's burial, Mrs. Thornimett spoke to me. 
 ' I particularly wished the thousand pounds left now 
 to Austin Clay,' she said, ^ and I shall appropriate it 
 to him at once.' ' Appropriate it in what manner ? ' 
 I asked her. ' I should like to put it out to interest. 
 
188 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 that it may accumulate for him/ she replied, ^so that 
 at my death he may receive both principal and 
 interest/ 'Then, if you live as long as it is to be 
 hoped you will, madam, you may be bequeathing him 
 two thousand pounds instead of one,' I observed to 
 her. ' Mr. Knapley,' was her answer, ' if I choose to 
 bequeath him three thousand, it is my own money 
 that I do it with ; and I am responsible to no one.' 
 She had taken my remark as a remonstrance, you see, 
 in which spirit it was not made : had Mrs. Thornimett 
 chosen to leave you the whole of her money she had 
 been welcome to do it for me. * Can you help me to 
 a safe investment for him ? ' she resumed ; and I 
 promised to look about for it. The long and the short 
 of it is, Mr. Clay, that I found both a safe and a pro- 
 fitable investment, and the one thousand pounds has 
 swollen itself into two — as you will hear when the 
 will is read." 
 
 I am truly obliged for her kindness, and for the 
 trouble you have taken," exclaimed Austin, with a 
 glowing colour. " 1 never thought to grow rich all at 
 once." 
 
 You only be prudent, and take care of it," said Mr. 
 Knapley. "Be as wise in its use as I and Mrs. 
 Thornimett have been. It is the best advice I can 
 give yon." 
 
 It is good advice, I know, and I thank you for it," 
 warmly responded Austin. 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 189 
 
 "Ay. I can tell you that less than two thousand 
 pounds has laid the foundation of many a great 
 fortune/' 
 
 To a young man whose salary is only two hundred 
 a-year, the unexpected accession to two thousand 
 pounds in hard cash seems like a fortune. Not that 
 Austin Clay cared so very much for " a fortune in 
 itself; but he certainly did hope to achieve a com- 
 petency, and to this end he made the best use of the 
 talents bestowed upon him. He was not ambitious 
 to die worth a million ; " he had the rare good sense 
 to know that excess of means cannot bring excess of 
 happiness. The richest man on earth cannot eat two 
 dinners a-day, or wear two coats at a time, or sit two 
 thoroughbred horses at once, or sleep on two beds. 
 To some, riches are a source of continual trouble. 
 Unless rightly used, they cannot draw a man to 
 heaven, or help him on his road thither. Austin 
 Clay's ambition lay in becoming a powerful man of 
 business ; such as were the Messrs. Hunter. He would 
 like to have men under him, of whom he should be 
 the master ; not to control them with an iron hand, 
 to grind them to the dust, to hold them at a haughty 
 distance, as if they were of one species of humanity 
 and he of another. No ; he would hold intact their 
 relative positions of master and servant — none more 
 strictly than he; but he would be their considerate 
 friend, their firm advocate, regardful ever of their 
 
190 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 interests as he was of his own. He would like to 
 have sufficient capital for all necessary business opera- 
 tions, that he might fulfil every obligation justly and 
 honourably: so far, money would be welcome to 
 Austin. Very welcome did the two thousand pounds 
 sound in his ears, for they might be the stepping- 
 stone to this. Not to the fortune " talked of by 
 Mr. Knapley, who freely avowed his respect for 
 millionaires: he did not care for that. They might 
 also be a stepping-stone to something else — the 
 very thought of which caused his face to glow and 
 his veins to tingle— the winning of Florence Hunter. 
 That he would win her, Austin fully believed 
 now. 
 
 On the day previous to the funeral, in walking 
 through the streets of Ketterford, Austin found him- 
 self suddenly seized by the shoulder, A window had 
 been thrown open, and a fair arm (to speak with the 
 gallantry due to the sex in general, rather than to that 
 one arm in particular) was pushed out and laid upon 
 him. His captor was Miss Gwinn. 
 
 JL 
 
 Come in," she briefly said. 
 Austin would have been better pleased to avoid 
 her, but as she had thus summarily caught him, there 
 was no help for it : to enter into a battle of contention 
 with her might be productive of neither honour nor 
 profit. He entered her sitting-room, and she motioned 
 him to a chair. 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 191 
 
 So you did not intend to call upon me during your 
 stay in Ketterford, Austin Clay ? " 
 
 The melancholy occasion on which I am here pre- 
 cludes much visiting," was his guarded reply. And 
 my sojourn will be a short one." 
 
 Don't be a hypocrite, young man, and use those 
 unmeaning words. ' Melancholy occasion ! ' What 
 did you care for Mrs. Thornimett^ that her death 
 should make j^ou ' melancholy ? ' " 
 
 " Mrs. Thornimett was my dear and valued friend," 
 he returned, with an emotion born of anger. There 
 are few living whom I would not rather have spared. 
 I shall never cease to regret not having arrived in 
 time to see her before she died." 
 
 Miss Gwinn peered at him from her keen eyes, as 
 if seeking to know whether this was false or true. 
 Possibly she decided in favour of the la-tter, for her 
 face somewhat relaxed its sternness. What has Dr. 
 Bevary told you of me and of my affairs ? " she re- 
 joined, passing abruptlj^ to another subject. 
 
 ^^Not anything," replied Austin. He did not lift 
 his eyes, and a scarlet flush dyed his brow as he 
 spoke ; nevertheless it was the strict truth, Miss 
 Gwinn noted the signs of consciousness. 
 
 " You can equivocate, I see." 
 
 "Pardon me. I have not equivocated to you, Dr. 
 Bevary has disclosed nothing ; he has never spoken to 
 me of your affairs. Why should he, Miss Gwinn ? " 
 
192 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Your face told a different tale." 
 " It did not tell an untruth, at any rate," he said, 
 with some hauteur. 
 
 " Do you never see Dr. Bevary ? " 
 
 I see him sometimes." 
 " At the house of Mr. Hunter, I presume. How is 
 she ?■ " 
 
 Again the flush, whatever may have called it up, 
 crimsoned Austin Clay's brow. I do not Jvnow of 
 whom you speak," he coldy said. 
 
 " Of Mrs. Hunter." 
 She is in ill-health." 
 
 " 111 to be in danger of her life ? I hear so." 
 
 ''It may be so. I cannot say." 
 
 '' Do you know Austin Clay, that I have a long, 
 long account to settle with you ? " she resumed, after 
 a pause : " years and years have elapsed since, and I 
 have never called upon you for it. Why should I ? " 
 she added, relapsing into a dreamy mood, and speaking 
 to herself rather than to Austin ; the mischief Avas 
 done, and could not be recalled. I once addressed a 
 brief note to you at the office of the Messrs. Hunter, 
 requesting you to give a letter, enclosed in it, to my 
 brother. Why did you not do so ? " 
 
 Austin was silent. He retained only too vivid a 
 remembrance of the fact. 
 
 Why did you not give it him, I ask ? " 
 
 " I could not give it him, Miss Gwinn. When your 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 193 
 
 letter reached me, your brother had akeady been at 
 the office of the Messrs. Hunter, and was then on his 
 road back to Ketterford. The enclosure was burnt 
 unopened." 
 
 " Ay ! " she passionately uttered, throwing her arms 
 upwards in mental pain, as Austin had seen her do in 
 the days gone by, and holding commune with herself, 
 regardless of his presence, " such has been my fate 
 through life. Thwarted, thwarted on all sides. For 
 years and years I had lived but in the hope of finding 
 him ; the hope of it kept life in me ; and when the 
 time came, and I did find him, and was entering upon 
 my revenge, then this brother of mine, who has been 
 the second bane of my existence^ stepped in and 
 reaped the reward. It was my fault. Why, in my 
 exultation, did I tell him the man was found ? Did 
 I not know enough of his avarice, his needs, to have 
 made sure that he would turn it to his own account ? 
 Why," she continued, battling with her hands as with 
 some invisible adversary, " was I born witli this strong 
 principle of justice within me ? Why, because he 
 stepped in with his false claims and drew gold — a 
 fortune— of the man, did I deem it a reason for drop- 
 ping my revenge?— for letting it rest in abeyance? 
 In abeyance it is still ; and its unsatisfied claims are 
 wearing out my heart and my life " 
 
 " Miss Gwinn," interrupted Austin, at length, I 
 fancj'' you forget that I am present. Your family 
 
 A Life's Secret, 13 
 
194 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 affairs have nofchiiig to do with mo, and I would prefer 
 not to hear anything about them. I will wish you 
 good-day." 
 
 ''True. They have nothing to do with you. I 
 know not why I spoke before you, save that your 
 8io:ht ani^ers me." 
 
 " Why so ? " Austin could not forbear asking. 
 
 ^' Because you live on terms of friendship with that 
 man. You are as his right hand in business ; you are 
 a welcome guest at his house ; you regard and respect 
 the house's mistress. Boy ! but that she has not 
 wilfully injured me ; but that she is the sister of Dr. 
 Bevary, I should " 
 
 ''I cannot listen to any discussion involving the 
 name of Hunter," spoke Austin, in repcllant, resolute 
 tones, the colour again flaming in his cheeks. '' Allow 
 me to bid you good-daj^" 
 
 Stay," she resumed in a softer tone, " it is not 
 with you personally that I am angry " 
 
 An interruption came in the person of Lawyer 
 Gwinn. He entered the room Avithout his coat, a 
 pen behind each ear, and a dirty straw hat on his 
 head. It was probably his office attire in warm 
 weather. 
 
 '' I thought I heard a strange voice. How do you 
 do, Mr. Clay ? " he exclaimed with much suavity. 
 
 Austin bowed. He said something to the effect 
 that he was on the point of departing, and retreated 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 195 
 
 to tlic door, bowing his final farewell to Miss Gwinn. 
 Mr. Gwinn followed. 
 
 "Ketterford will have to congratulate you, Mr. 
 Clay," he said. I understand you inherit a very 
 handsome sum from Mrs. Thornimett." 
 
 " Indeed ! " frigidly replied Austin. " Mrs. Thorni- 
 mett's will is not yet read. But Ketterford always 
 knows every one's business better than its own." 
 
 "Look you, my dear Mr. Clay," said the lawyer, 
 holding him by the button-hole. " Should you require 
 a most advantageous investment for your money — one 
 that will turn you in cent, per cent, and no risk — I 
 can help you. to one. Should your inheritance be of 
 the value of a thousand pounds, and you would like to 
 double it — as all men, of course, do like — just trust it 
 to me ; I have the very thing now open." 
 
 Austin shook himself free — rather too much in the 
 manner that he might have shaken himself from a 
 serpent. "Whether my inheritance may be of the 
 value of one thousand pounds or of ten thousand, Mr. 
 Gwinn, I shall not require your services in the dis- 
 posal of it. Good-morning." 
 
 The lawyer looked after him as he strode away. 
 So, you carry it with a high hand to me, do you, my 
 brave gentleman ! with your vain person, and your 
 fine clothes, and your imperious manner ! Take you 
 care ' I hold your master under my thumb ; I may 
 next hold you 1 " 
 
196 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 "The vile hypocrite !" ejaculated Austin to himself, 
 walking all the faster to leave the lawyer's house 
 behind him. " She is bad enough, with her hankering 
 after revenge, and her fits of passion ; but she is an 
 angel of light compared with him. Heaven help Mr. 
 Hunter 1 It would have been sufficient to have had 
 her to fight, but to have him! Ay, Heaven help 
 him I " 
 
 "How d'ye do, Mr. Clay?" 
 
 Austin returned the nod of the passing acquaintance, 
 and continued his way, his thoughts reverting to Miss 
 Gwinn. 
 
 " Poor thing ! there are times when I pity her ! In- 
 comprehensible as the story is to me, I can feel com- 
 passion ; for it was a heavy wrong done her, looking 
 at it in the best possible light. She is not all bad ; 
 but for the wrong, and for her evil temper, she might 
 have been diflferent. There is something good in the 
 hint I gathered now from her lips, if it be true — that 
 she suffered her own revenge to drop into abeyance, 
 because her brother had pursued Mr. Hunter to drain 
 money from him : she would not go upon him in both 
 ways. Yes, there was something in it both noble and 
 generous, if those terms can ever be applied to " 
 
 "Austin Clay, I am sure ! How are you ? " 
 
 Austin resigned his hand to the new-comer, who 
 claimed it. His thoughts could not be his own to-day. 
 
 The funeral of Mrs. Thornimett took place. Her 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 197 
 
 mortal remains were laid beside her husband, there to 
 repose peacefully until the last trump shall sound. On 
 the return of the mourners to the house, the will 
 was read, and Austin found himself the undoubted 
 possessor of two thousand pounds. Several little 
 treasures, in the shape of books, drawings, and home 
 knicknacks, were also left to him. He saw after the 
 packing of these, and the day following the funeral he 
 returned to London. 
 
 It was evening when he arrived ; and he proceeded 
 without delay to the house of Mr. Hunter — ostensibly 
 to report himself, really to obtain a sight of Florence, 
 for which his tired heart was yearning. The drawing- 
 room was lighted up, by which he judged that they 
 had friends with them. Mr. Hunter met him in the 
 hall : never did a visitor s knock sound at his door but 
 Mr. Hunter, in his nervous restlessness, strove to 
 watch who it might be that entered. Seeing Austin, 
 his face acquired a shade of brightness, and he came 
 forward with an outstretched hand, 
 
 " But you have visitors," Austin said, when greet- 
 ings were over, and Mr. Hunter was drawing him 
 towards the stairs. He wore deep mourning, but was 
 not in evening dress. 
 
 " As if any one will care for the cut of your coat ! " 
 cried Mr. Hunter. " There's Mrs. Hunter wrapped up 
 in a woollen shawl." 
 
 The room was gay with light and dress, witli many 
 
198 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 voices, and with music. Florence was seated at the 
 piano, playing, and singing in a glee with others. 
 Austin, silently greeting those whom he knew as 
 he passed, made his way to Mrs. Hunter. She was 
 wrapped in a warm shawl, as her husband had said ; 
 but she appeared better than usual. 
 
 '^I am so glad to see you looking well," Austin 
 whispered, his earnest tone betraying deep feeling. 
 
 " And I am glad to see you here again," she replied, 
 smiling, as she held his hand. " We have missed you, 
 Austin. Yes, I feel better ! but it is only a temporary 
 improvement. So you have lost poor Mrs. Thornimett. 
 She died before you could reach her." 
 
 " She did," replied Austin, with a grave face. " I 
 v/ish we could get transported to places, in case of 
 necessity, as quickly as the telegraph brings us news 
 that we are wanted. A senseless and idle wish, you 
 will say ; but it would have served me in this case. 
 She asked after me twice in her last half-hour." 
 
 " Austin," breathed Mrs. Hunter, was it a happy 
 death-bed ? Was she ready to go ? " 
 
 Quite, quite," he answered, a look of enthusiasm 
 illumining his face. She had long been ready." 
 
 " Then we need not mourn for her ; rather praise 
 God that she is taken. Oh, Austin, what a happy 
 thing it must be for such to die ! But you are 
 young and hopeful ; you cannot understand that yet." 
 
 So, Mrs. Hunter had learnt that great truth ! Some 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 199 
 
 years before, she had not so spoken to the wife of John 
 Baxendale, when she was waiting in daily expectation 
 of being called on her journey. It had come to her 
 ere her time of trial — as the dying woman had told ' 
 her it would. 
 
 The singing ceased, and in the movement which it 
 occasioned in the room, Austin left Mrs. Hunter's side, 
 and stood within the embrasure of the window, half 
 hidden by the curtains. The air was pleasant on that 
 warm summer night, and Florence, resigning her place 
 at the instrument to some other lady, stole to the 
 window to inhale its freshness. There she saw Austin. 
 She had not heard him enter the room — did not know, 
 in fact, that he was back from Ketterford. 
 
 " Oh ! " she uttered, in the sudden revulsion ot 
 feeling that the sight brought to her, " is it you ? " 
 
 He quietly took her hands in his, and looked down 
 at her. Had it been to save her life, she could not 
 , have helped betraying emotion. 
 
 " Are you glad to see me, Florence ? " he softly 
 whispered. 
 
 She coloured even to tears. Glad ! The time might 
 come when she should be able to tell him so ; but that 
 time was not yet. 
 
 Mrs. Hunter is glad of my return," he continued, 
 in the same low tone, sweeter to her ear than all 
 music. " She says I have been missed. Is it so, 
 Florence ? " 
 
200 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " And what have you been doing ? " asked Florence, 
 not knowing in the least what she said in her con- 
 fusion, as she left his question unanswered, and drew 
 her hands away from him. 
 
 " I have not been doing much, except seeing a dear 
 old friend laid in the earth. You know that Mrs. 
 Thornimett is dead. She died before I got there." 
 
 *'Papa told us that. He heard from you two or 
 three times, I think. How you must regret it ! But 
 why did they not send for you in time ? " 
 
 " It was only the last day that danger was appre- 
 hended," replied Austin. " She grew worse suddenly. 
 You cannot think, Florence, how strangely this gaiety " 
 — he half turned to the room — '^contrasts with the 
 scenes I have left: the holy calm of her death- 
 chamber, and laying her in the grave." 
 
 " An unwelcome contrast, I am sure it must be." 
 It jars on the mind. All events, essentially of the 
 world, let them be ever so necessary or useful, must do . 
 so, when contrasted with the solemn scenes of life's 
 close. But how soon we forget those solemn scenes, 
 and live in the world again ! " 
 
 ''Austin," she gently whispered, "I do not like to 
 talk of death. It reminds me of the dread that is 
 ever oppressing me." 
 
 " She looks so much better as to surprise me," was 
 his answer, unconscious that it betrayed his undoubted 
 cognizance of the dread " she spoke of 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 201 
 
 " If it would only last ! " sighed Florence. " To 
 prolong mamma s life, I think I would sacrifice my 
 own." 
 
 No, you would not, Florence — in mercy to her. If 
 called upon to lose her you would grow reconciled to 
 it ; to do so is in the order of nature. She could not 
 spare you.'' 
 
 Florence believed that she never could grow recon- 
 ciled to it : she often wondered hoiv she should bear 
 it when the time came. But there rose up before her 
 now, as she spoke with Austin, one cheering promise, 
 " As thy day is, so shall my strength be." 
 
 " What should you say, if I tell you I have come 
 into a fortune ! " resumed Austin, in lio-hter tones. 
 
 I should say But, is it true ? " broke off 
 
 Florence. 
 
 Not true, as you and Mr. Hunter would count 
 fortunes," smiled Austin ; " but true, as poor I, born 
 without a silver spoon in my mouth, and expecting to 
 work hard for all I shall ever possess, have looked 
 upon them. Mrs. Thornimett has behaved to me 
 most kindly, most generously ; she has bequeathed 
 to me two thousand pounds." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear it," said Florence, her glad 
 eyes sparkling. " Never call yourself poor again." 
 
 " I cannot call myself rich, as Mr. and Mrs. Hunter 
 estimate riches. But, Florence, it may be a stepping- 
 stone to becoming so." 
 
202 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 "A stepping-stone to becoming what?" demanded 
 Dr. Bevary, breaking in upon the conference. 
 
 " Rich/' said Austin, turning to the doctor. I am 
 telling Florence that I have come into some money 
 since I went away." 
 
 Mr. Hunter and others were gathering around them, 
 and the conversation became general. " What is that^ 
 Clay ? " asked Mr. Hunter. You have come into a 
 fortune, do you say ? " 
 
 I said, not into a fortune, sir, as those accustomed 
 to fortune would estimate it. That great physician, 
 standing there and listening to me, would laugh at the 
 sum ; I dare say he makes more in six months. But 
 it may prove a stepping-stone to fortune, and to — to 
 other desirable things." 
 
 " Do not speak so vaguely," cried the doctor, in his 
 quaint fashion. " Define the ' desirable things.' Come ! 
 it's my turn now." 
 
 I am not sure that they have taken a sufficiently 
 tangible form as yet, to be defined," returned Austin, 
 in the same tone. You might laugh at them as day- 
 dreams." 
 
 Unwittingly his eyes rested for a moment upon 
 Florence. Did she deem the day-dreams might 
 refer to her, that her eyelids should droop, and her 
 cheeks turn scarlet ? Dr. Bevary noticed both the 
 look and the signs ; Mr. Hunter saw neither. 
 
 Day-dreams would be enchanting as an Eastern 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 
 
 203 
 
 fairy-tale, only that they are never realized/' interposed 
 one of the fair guests, with a pretty simper, directed 
 to Austin Clay and his attractions. 
 
 "I will realize mine/' he returned, rather too con- 
 fidently, " Heaven helping me ! " 
 
 ''A better stepping-stone, that help, to rely upon, 
 than the money you have come into," said Dr. Bevary 
 with one of his peculiar nods. 
 
 "True, doctor/' replied Austin. "But may not the 
 money have come from the same helping source ? 
 Heaven, you know, vouchsafes to work with humble 
 instruments/' 
 
 The last few sentences had been interchanged in 
 low tones. They now passed into the general circle, 
 and the evening went on to its close. 
 
 Austin and Dr. Bevary were the last to leave the 
 house. They quitted it together, and the doctor 
 passed his arm within Austin's as they walked on. 
 
 " Well," said he, " and what have you been doing at 
 Ketterford ? " 
 
 "I have told you, doctor. Leaving my dear old 
 friend and relative in her grave; and realizing the 
 fact that she has bequeathed to me this money/' 
 
 "Ah, yes; I heard that," returned the doctor. 
 " You've been seeing friends too, I suppose. Did you 
 happen to meet the Gwinns V 
 
 " Once. I was passing the house, and Miss Gwinn 
 laid hands upon me from the window, and commanded 
 
204 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 me in. I got out again as soon as 1 could. Her 
 brother made his appearance as I was leaving." 
 
 And what did he say to you ? " asked the doctor, 
 in a tone meant to be especially light and careless. 
 
 ''Nothing ; except that he told me if I wanted a 
 safe and profitable investment for the money I had 
 inherited under Mrs. Thornimett's will, he could help 
 me to one. I cut him very short, sir." 
 
 '' What did she say ? " resumed Dr. Bevary. " Did 
 she begin upon her family affairs — as she is rather 
 fond of doing ? " 
 
 Well," said Austin, his tone quite as careless as the 
 doctor's, " I did not give her the opportunity. Once, 
 when she seemed inclined to do so, 1 stopped her; 
 telling her that her private affairs were no concern of 
 mine, neither would I listen to them." 
 
 " Quite right, my young friend," emphatically spoke 
 the doctor. 
 
 Not another word was said until they came to 
 Daffodil's Delight. Here they wished each other good- 
 night. The doctor continued his way to his home, 
 and Austin turned down towards Peter Quale's. 
 
 But what could be the matter ? Had Daffodil's 
 Delight miscalculated the time, believing it to be day 
 instead of night ? Women leaned out of their 
 windows in night-caps ; children had crept from their 
 beds and come forth to tumble into the gutter naked, 
 as some of them literally were ; men crowded the door- 
 
TWO THOUSAND POUNDS. 205 
 
 way of the Bricklayer s Arms, and stood about with 
 pipes and pint-pots ; all were in a state of rampant 
 excitement. Austin laid hold of the first person who 
 appeared sober enough to listen to him. It happened 
 to be a woman, Mrs. Dunn. 
 
 ''What is this?" he exclaimed. "Have you all 
 come into a fortune ? " the recent conversation at Mr. 
 Hunter s probably helping him to the remark. 
 
 Better nor that/' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. " Better 
 nor tliaty a thousand times ! We have circumvented 
 the masters, and got our ends, and now we shall just 
 have all w^e want — roast goose and apple pudding for 
 dinner, and plenty of beer to wash it down with." 
 
 " But what is it that you have got ? " pursued Austin, 
 who was completely at sea. 
 
 " Got ! why, we have got the strike," she replied, 
 in joyful excitement. "Pollocks' men struck to-day. 
 Where have you been, sir, not to have heer d on it ? 
 
 At that moment a fresh crowd came jostling down 
 Daffodil's Delight, and Austin was parted from the 
 lady. Indeed, she rushed up to the mob to follow 
 in its wake. Many other ladies followed in its wake 
 — half Daffodil's Delight, if one might judge by 
 numbers. Shouting, singing, exulting, dancing ; it 
 seemed as if they had, for the nonce, gone mad. Sam 
 Shuck, in his long-tailed coat, ornamented with its 
 holes and its slits, was leading the van, his voice 
 hoarse, his face red, his legs and arms executing a 
 
20G 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 war-dance of exultation. He it was who had got 
 up the excitement and was keeping it up, shouting 
 fiercely : " Hurrah for the work of this day ! Rule 
 Britanniar ! Britons never shall be slaves ! The strike 
 has begun, friends ! H — o— o — o — o — o — r — rah ! 
 Three cheers for the strike 1 
 Yes. The strike had begun. 
 
( 207 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV, 
 
 AGITATION. 
 
 ^ The men of an influential metropolitan building firm 
 had struck, because their employers declined to accede 
 to certain demands, and Daffodil's Delight was, as you 
 have seen, in a high state ^of excitement, particularly 
 the female part of it. The men said they struck for a 
 diminution in the hours of labour ; the masters told 
 them they struck for an increase ot wages. Seeing 
 that the non-contents wanted the hours reduced and 
 not the pay, it appears to me that you may call it 
 which you like. 
 
 The Messrs. Hunters' men — with whom we have to 
 do, for it was they who chiefly filled Daffodil's Delight 
 — though continuing their work as usual, were in a 
 most unsettled state ; as was the case in the trade 
 generally. The smouldering discontent might have 
 died away peacefully enough, and probably would 
 have done so, but that certain spirits made it their 
 business to fan it into a flame. 
 
 A few days went on. One evening, Sam Shuck 
 
208 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 posted himself in an angle formed by the wall at the 
 top of Daffodil's Delight. It was the hour for the men 
 to quit work ; and, as they severally passed him on 
 their road home, Sam*s arm was thrust forward, and a 
 folded bit of paper put into their hands. A mysterious 
 sort of missive apparently ! for, on opening the paper, 
 it was found to contain only these words, in the long, 
 sprawling hand of Sam himself : Barn at the back of 
 Jim Dunn's. Seven o'clock." 
 
 Behind the house tenanted by the Dunns were 
 premises occupied until recently by a cowkeeper. 
 They comprised, amidst other accommodation, a largo 
 barn, or shed. Being at present empty, and to let, 
 Sam thought he could do no bettef than take French 
 leave to make use of it. 
 
 The men hurried over their tea, or supper (some 
 took one on leaving work for the night, some the 
 other, some a mixture of both, and some neither), that 
 they might attend to the invitation of Sam. Peter 
 Quale was seated over a substantial dish of batter 
 pudding, a bit of neck of mutton baked in the middle 
 of it, when he was interrupted by the entrance of John 
 Baxendale, who had stepped in from his own rooms 
 next door. 
 
 Be you a-going to this meeting, Quale ? " Baxendale 
 asked, as he took a seat. 
 
 " I don't know nothing about it," returned Peter. 
 I saw Slippery Sam a-giving out papers, so I guessed 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 209 
 
 there was something in the wind. He took care to 
 pass me over. I expect I'm the greatest eyesore Sam 
 has got just now. Have a bit?" added Peter, un- 
 ceremoniously, pointing to the dish before him with 
 his knife. 
 
 "NO; thank ye; I have just had tea at home. That's 
 the paper " — laying it open on the table-cloth. " Sam 
 Shuck is just now cock-a-hoop with this strike." 
 
 " He is no more cock-a-hoop than the rest of 
 Daffodil's Delight is/' struck in Mrs. Quale, who had 
 finished her own meal, and was at leisure to talk. 
 
 The men and women is all a-going mad together, I 
 think, and Slippery Sam's leading 'em on. Suppose 
 you all do strike — which is what they are hankering 
 after — what good '11 it bring ? " 
 
 " That's just it/' replied Baxendale. " One can't see 
 one's way clear. The agitation might do us some 
 good, but it might do us a deal of harm ; so that one 
 doesn't know what to be at. Quale, I'll go to the 
 meeting, if you will." 
 
 " If I go, it will be to give 'em a piece of my mind/' 
 retorted Peter. 
 
 " Well, it's only right that different sides should be 
 heard. Sam '11 have it all his own way else." 
 
 He'll manage to get that, by the appearance things 
 wears," said Mrs. Quale, wrathfully. How you men 
 can submit to be led by such a fellow as him, just 
 because his tongue is capable of persuadilig you that 
 
 A Life's Secret. 14 
 
210 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 black's white, is a marvel to me. Talk of women 
 being soft ! let men talk of theirselves. Hold up a 
 finger to 'em, and they'll go after it : like the 
 Swiss cows Peter read of the other day, a-flocking 
 in a line after their leader, behind each other's 
 tails." 
 
 " I wish I knew what was right," said Baxendale, 
 or which course would turn out best for us." 
 
 "I'd be off and listen to what's going on, at any 
 rate," urged Mrs. Quale. 
 
 The barn was filling. Sam -Shuck, perched upon 
 Mrs. Dunn s washing-tub turned upside down, which 
 had been rolled in for the occasion, greeted each group 
 as it arrived with a gracious nod. Sam appeared to 
 be progressing in the benefits he had boasted to his 
 wife he should derive, inasmuch as the dilapidated 
 clothes had been discarded for better ones : and he 
 stood on the tub in all the glory of a black frock-coat, 
 a'crimson neck-tie with lace ends, and peg-top panta- 
 loons : the only attire (as a ready-made outfitting shop 
 had assured him) that a gentleman could wear. Sam's 
 eye grew less complacent when it rested on Peter 
 Quale, who was coming in v/ith John Baxendale. 
 
 " This is a pleasure we didn't expect," said he. 
 Maybe not," returned Peter Quale, drily. The 
 barn's open to all." 
 
 Of course it is," glibly said Sam, putting a good 
 face upon the matter, All fair and above board, is 
 
AGITATION. 211 
 
 our mot tor : which is more than them native enemies 
 of ours, the masters, can say : they hold their meetings 
 in secret, with closed doors." 
 
 Not in secret — do they ? " asked Robert Darby. 
 I have not heard of that.'' 
 
 " They meet in their own homes, and they shut out 
 strangers," replied Sam. I'd like to know what you 
 call that, but meeting in secret ? " 
 
 I should not call it secret : I should call it 
 private," decided Darby, after a minute's pause, given 
 to realizing the question. We might do the same. 
 Our homes are ours, and we can shut out whom we 
 please." 
 
 " Of course we might,'^ contended Sam. " But we 
 like better to be open; and if a few of us assemble 
 together to consult on the present aspect of affairs, we 
 do it so that the masters, if they choose, might come 
 and hear us. Things are not equalized in this world. 
 Let us attempt secret meetings, and see how soon we 
 should be looked up by the law, and accused of hatch- 
 ing treason and sedition, and all the rest of it. That 
 sharp-eyed Times newspaper would be the first to set 
 on us. There's one law for the masters, and another 
 for the men." 
 
 " Is that Slippery Sam ? ejaculated a new-comer, 
 at this juncture. Where did you get that fine new 
 toggery. Shuck ? " 
 
 The disrespectful interruption was spoken in simple 
 
212 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 surprise : no insidious meaning prompting it. Sam 
 Shuck had appeared in ragged attire so long, that the 
 change could not fail to be remarkable. Sam loftily 
 turned a deaf ear to the remark, and continued his 
 address. 
 
 I am sure that most of you can't fail to see that 
 things have come to a crisis in our trade. The moment 
 that brought it was when that great building firm 
 refused the reasonable demands of their men ; and the 
 natural consequence of which was a strike. Friends, 
 I have been just riled ever since. I have watched you 
 go to work day after day like tame cats, the same as 
 if nothing had happened ; and I have said to myself : 
 * Have those men of Hunter's got souls within them^, 
 or have they got none ? ' " 
 
 ''I don't suppose we have parted from our souls," 
 struck in a voice. 
 
 " You have parted with the feelings of them, at any 
 rate," rejoined Sam, beginning to dance in the excite- 
 ment of contention, but remembering in time that his 
 terra firma was only a creaky tub. ''What's that 
 you ask me ? How have you parted with them ? 
 Why, by not following up the strike. If you possessed 
 a grain of the independence of free men, you'd have 
 hoisted your colours before now ; what Avould have 
 been the result ? Why, the men of other firms in the 
 trade would have followed suit, and all struck in a 
 body. It's the only way that will bring the masters 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 213 
 
 to reason : the only way by which we can hope to 
 obtain our rights." 
 
 ^'You see there's no knowing^ what would be the 
 end of a strike, Shuck/' argued John Baxendale. 
 
 There's no knowing what may be in the inside of 
 a pie until you cut him open," said Jim Dunn, whose 
 politics were the same as Mr. Shuck's, red-hot for 
 striking. " But 'tain't many as 'ud shrink from 
 putting in the knife to see.'^ 
 
 The men laughed and greeted Jim Dunn with 
 applause. 
 
 I put it to you all," resumed Sam, who took his 
 share of laughing with the rest, " whether there's 
 sense or not in what I say. Are we likely to get our 
 grievances redressed by the masters, imless we force 
 it ? Never : not if we prayed our hearts out." 
 
 Never," and never," murmured sundry voices. 
 
 What are our grievances ? " demanded Peter Quale, 
 putting the question in a matter-of-fact tone, as if 
 he really asked for information. 
 
 "Listen!" ironically ejaculated Sam. "He asks 
 what our grievances are ! I'll answer you, Quale. 
 They are many and great. Are we not kept to work 
 like beasts of burden, ten hours a-day ? Does that 
 leave us time for the recreation of our wearied bodies, 
 for the improvement of our minds, for the education 
 of our children, for the social home intercourse in the 
 bosoms of our families ? By docking the day's labour 
 
214 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 to nine hours — or to eight, which we shall get, may 
 be, after awhile," added Sam, with a wink — '' it would 
 leave us the extra hour, and be a blessing." 
 
 Sam carried the admiring room with him. That 
 hard, disbelieving Peter Quale, interrupted the 
 cheering. 
 
 '' A blessing, or the contrairy, as it might turn out,'' 
 cried he. " It's easy to talk of education, and self- 
 improvement; but how many is there that would 
 use the accorded hour that way ? " 
 
 ''Another grievance is our wages," resumed Sam, 
 drowning the words, not caring to court discussion on 
 what might be a weak point. " We call ourselves 
 men, and Englishmen, and yet we lie down contented 
 vfith five-and-sixpence a-day. Do you know what 
 our trade gets in Australia ? Oh, you do, some of 
 you ? then I'll tell those that don't. From twelve to 
 fifteen shillings per day : and even more than that. 
 Twelve shillings! and that's the minimum rate of 
 pay," slowly repeated Sam, lifting up his arm and 
 one peg-top to give emphasis to the words. 
 
 A murmur of envy at the coveted rate of pay 
 in Australia shook the room to the centre. 
 
 " But the price of provisions and other necessaries 
 is enormous in that quarter," debated Abel White. 
 " So it may come to the same in the end — be about 
 as broad as long. Old father and me was talking 
 about it last night." 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 215 
 
 ^'If everybody went in for your old fathers senti- 
 ments, we should soon be like him — in our dotage/' 
 loftily observed Sam. 
 
 "But things are dear there/' persisted Sam's 
 antagonist. " I have heard what is sometimes given 
 for shoes there ; but I'm afraid to say, it was so much. 
 The wages in Australia can't be any guide for us." 
 
 " No, they can't," said Peter Quale. " Australia 
 is one place, and this is another, Where's the use 
 of bringing that up ? " 
 
 Oh, of course not," sarcastically uttered Sam. 
 "Anything that tends to show how we are put upon, 
 and how we might be made more comfortable, it's 
 of no use bringing up. The long and the short of 
 it is this : we want to be regarded as men , to have 
 our voices considered, and our plaints attended to; 
 to be put altogether upon a better footing. Little 
 enough is it we ask at present: only for a modicum 
 of ease in our day's hard labour, just the thin end of 
 the wedge inserted to give it. That's all we are 
 agitating for. It depends upon ourselves whether we 
 get it or not. Let us display manly courage and join 
 the strike, and it is ours to-morrow." 
 
 The response did not come so quickly as Sam 
 deemed it ought. He went on in persuasive, ringing 
 tones. 
 
 " Consider the wives of your bosoms ; consider 
 your little children: consider yourselves. Were you 
 
216 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 bom into the world to be slaves — blackymoors ; to 
 be ground into the dust with toil ? Never/' 
 . " Never/' uproariously echoed three-parts of the 
 room. 
 
 The mottor of a true man is, or ought to be, ' Do 
 as little as you can, and get as much for it as 
 possible, ' '' said Sam, dancing in his enthusiasm, and 
 thereby nearly losing his perch on the tub. With 
 an hour's work less a-day, and the afternoon holiday 
 on the Saturday, we shall " 
 
 What's the good of a afternoon Sa.turday holiday ? 
 We don't want that, Sam Shuck." 
 
 This ignominious interruption to the proceedings 
 came from a lady. Buzzing round the entrance-door 
 and thrusting in their heads at a square hole, which 
 might originally have been intended for a window, 
 were a dozen or two of the gentler sex. This irregula- 
 rity had not been unobserved by the chairman, who 
 faced them : the chairman's audience, densely packed, 
 had their backs that way. It was not an orthodox 
 adjunct to a trade meeting, that was certain, and the 
 chairman would probably have ordered the ladies 
 away, had he deemed there was a chance of his being 
 obeyed; but too many of them had the reputation 
 of being the grey mare. So he winked at the 
 irregularity, and had added one or two flourishes of 
 oratory for their especial ears. The interruption 
 came from Mrs. Cheek, Timothy Cheek's wife. 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 217 
 
 " What s the good of a afternoon Saturday holiday ? 
 We don't want that, Sam Shuck. Just when we be 
 up to our eyes in dirt and cleaning, our places routed 
 out till you can't see the colour of the boards, for 
 brooms and pails, and soap and water, and the chairs 
 and things is all topsy-turvy, one upon another, so as 
 the children have to be sent out to grub in the gutter, 
 for there ain't no place for 'em indoors, do you think 
 we want the men poking their noses in ? No ; and 
 they'd better not try it on. Women have got tempers 
 given to 'em as well as you." 
 
 "And tongues too/' rejoined Sam, forgetting the 
 dignity of his ofBce. 
 
 ''It is to be hoped they have," retorted Mrs. Cheek, 
 not inclined to be put down ; and her sentiments 
 appeared to be warmly joined in by the ladies 
 generally. ''Don't you men go a-agitating for the 
 Saturday's half-holiday ! What 'ud you do with 
 it, do you suppose? Why, just sot it away at the 
 publics." 
 
 Some confusion ensued ; and the women were per- 
 emptorily ordered to mind their own business, and 
 " make theirselves scarce," which not one of them at- 
 tempted to obey. When the commotion had subsided, 
 a very respectable man took up the discourse — George 
 Stevens. 
 
 ''The gist of the whole question is this," he said: 
 ''Will agitation do us good, or will it do us harm? 
 
218 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 We look upon ourselves as representing one interest; 
 the masters consider they represent another. If it 
 comes to open warfare between the two, the strongest 
 would win.'' 
 
 ^'In other words, whichever side's funds held out 
 the longest," said Robert Darby. That is as I look 
 upon it." 
 
 Just so/' returned Stevens. " I cannot say, seeing 
 no farther than we can see at present, that a strike 
 would be advisable." 
 
 " Stevens, do you want to better yourself, or not ? " 
 asked Sam Shuck. 
 
 I'd be glad enough to better myself, if I saw my 
 way clear to do it," was the reply. " But I don't." 
 
 We don't want no strikes," struck in a shock- 
 headed, hard-working man. " What is it we want to 
 strike for? We have got plenty of work, and full 
 wages. A strike won't fill our pockets. Them may 
 vote for strikes that like 'em ; I'll keep to my work." 
 Partial applause. 
 
 It is as I said," cried Sam. " There's poor, mean- 
 spirited creatures among you, as won't risk the loss of 
 a day's pay for the common good, or put out a hand to 
 help the less fortunate. I'd rather be buried alive, five 
 feet under the earth, than I'd show out so selfish." 
 
 " What is the interest of one of us is the interest of 
 all," observed Stevens. '^And a strike, if we went 
 into it, would either benefit us all in the end, or make 
 
AGITATION. , 219 
 
 us all suffer. It is sheer nonsense to attempt to make 
 out that one man's interest is different from another's ; 
 our interests are the same. I'd vote for striking to- 
 morrow, if I were sure we should come out of it with 
 whole skins, and get what we struck for : but I must 
 see that a bit clearer first." 
 
 " How can we get it, unless we try for it ? " de- 
 manded Sam. "If the masters find we're all deter- 
 mined, they'll give in to us. I appeal to. you all " — 
 raising his hands over the room — ''whether the 
 masters can do without us ? " 
 
 ''That has got to be seen," said Peter Quale, signifi.- 
 eantly. " One thing is plain : we could not do with- 
 out them." 
 
 "Nor they without us — nor they without us," 
 struck in voices from various parts of the barn. 
 
 "Then why shilly-shally about the question of a 
 strike ? " asked Sam of the barn, in a glib tone of 
 reasoning. " If a universal strike were on, the masters 
 would pretty soon make terms that would end it. 
 Why, a six-months' strike would drive half of them 
 into the Gazette " 
 
 " But it might drive us into the workhouse at the 
 same time," interrupted John Baxendale. 
 
 " Let me finish," went on Sam ; " it's not perlite to 
 take up a man in the middle of a sentence. I say 
 that a six-months' strike would send many of the 
 masters to the bankruptcy court. Well now, there 
 
220 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 has been a question debated among us" — Sam lowered 
 his voice— whether it would not bo policy to let 
 
 things go on quietly, as they are, till next spring " 
 
 A question among who ? " interposed Peter Quale, 
 regardless of the reproof just administered to John 
 Baxendale. 
 
 '•'Never you mind who," returned Sam, with a 
 wink : among those that are hard at work for your 
 interest. With their contracts for the season signed, 
 and their works in full progress, say about next May, 
 then would be the time for a strike to tell upon the 
 masters. However, it has been thought better not to 
 delay it. The future's but an uncertainty : the present 
 is ours, and so must the strike be. Have you wives ? " 
 he pathetically continued; '^liaveyow children? have 
 you spirits of your own ? Then you will all, with 
 one accord, go in for the strike." 
 
 But what are our wives and children to do while 
 the strike is on ? " asked Robert Darby. " You say 
 yourself it might last six months. Shuck. Who would 
 support them ? " 
 
 ''Who!" rejoined Sam, with an indignant air, as if 
 the question were a superfluous one. "Why, the 
 Trades' Unions, of course. Thafs all settled. The 
 Unions are prepared to take care of all who are out 
 on strike, standing up, like brave Britons, for their 
 privileges, and keep 'em like fighting-cocks. Hooroar 
 for that blessed boon, the Trades' Unions ! " 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 221 
 
 " Hooroar for the Trades Unions ! " was shouted in 
 chorus. " Keep us like fighting-cocks, will they ! 
 Hooroar ! " 
 
 " Much good you'll get from the Trades' Unions ! ^ 
 burst forth a dissentient voice. " They are the greatest 
 pests as ever was allowed in a free country.'' 
 
 The opposition caused no little commotion. Stand- 
 ing by the door, having pushed his way through the 
 surrounding women, who had not made themselves 
 scarce," was a man in a flannel jacket, a cap in his 
 hand, and his head white with mortar. He was 
 looking excited as he spoke. 
 
 "This is not regular,'' said Sam Shuck, displaying 
 authority. You have no business here : you don't 
 belong to us." 
 
 " Kegular or irregular, I'll speak my mind," was the 
 answer. " I have been at work for Jones the builder, 
 down yonder. I have done my work steady and 
 proper, and I have had my pay. A man comes up to 
 me yesterday and says, 'You must join the Trades' 
 Union.' ' No,' says I, ' I shan't ; I don't want nothing 
 of the Trades' Union, and the Union don't want 
 nothing of me.' So they goes to my master. ' If you 
 keep on employing this man, your other men will 
 strike,' they says to him ; and he, being in a small 
 way, got intimidated, and sent me off to-day. And 
 here I am, throwed out of work, and I have got a sick 
 wife and nine young children to keep. Is that 
 
222 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 justice ? or is it tyranny ? Talk about emancipating 
 the slaves ! let us emancipate ourselves at home." 
 
 ^'Why don't you join the Union?" cried Sam. 
 "All do, who are good men and true." 
 
 " All good men and true don't,'' dissented the man. 
 '^Many of the best workmen among us won't have 
 anything to do with Unions ; and you know it, Sam 
 Shuck." 
 
 J ust clear out of this/' said Sam. 
 
 When I've had my say/' returned the man, not 
 before. If I would join the Union, I can't. To join 
 it, I must pay five shillings, and I have not got them 
 to pay. With such a family as mine, you may guess 
 every shilling is forestalled afore it comes in. I kept 
 myself to myself, doing my work in quiet, and inter- 
 fering with nobody. Why should they interfere with 
 me ? " 
 
 " If you have been in full work, five shillings is not 
 much to pay to the Union," sneered Sam. 
 
 " If I had my pockets filled with five-shilling pieces, 
 I would not pay one to it/' fearlessly retorted the man. 
 
 Is it right that a free-born Englishman should give 
 in to such a system of intimidation? No: I never 
 will You talk of the masters being tyrants : it's you 
 who are the tyrants, one to another. What is one 
 workman better than his fellow, that he should lay 
 down laws and say, You shall do this, and you shall 
 do that, or you shan't be allowed to work at all ? 
 
AGITATION. 
 
 223 
 
 That rule you want to get passed — that a skilled, 
 thorough workman shouldn't do a full day's work 
 because some of his fellows can't — who's agitating for 
 it? Why, naturally those that can't or won't do 
 the full work. Would an honest, capable man go 
 in for it? Of course he'd not. I tell you what" — 
 turning; his eves on the room — ''the Trades' Unions 
 have been called a protection to the working man ; 
 but, if you don't take care, they'll grow into a 
 curse. When Sam Shuck, and other good-for-naughts 
 like him, what never did a full week's work for their 
 families yet, are paid in gold and silver to spread 
 incendiarism among you, it's time you looked to 
 yourselves." 
 
 He turned away as he spoke ; and Sam, in a dance 
 of furious passion, danced off his tub. The interlude 
 had not tended to increase the feeling of the men in 
 Sams favour — that is, in the cause he advocated. 
 Not a man present but wanted to better himself could 
 he do so with safety, but they were afraid to enter on 
 aggressive measures. Indiscriminate talking ensued ; 
 diverse opinions were disputed, and the meeting was 
 prolonged to a late hour. Finally the men dispersed 
 as they came, nothing having been resolved upon, 
 A few set their faces resolutely against the pro- 
 posed strike ; a few were red-hot for it ; but the 
 majority were undecided^ and liable to be swayed 
 either way. 
 
224 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ''It will come," nodded Sam Shuck, as he went 
 home to a supper of pork chops and gin-and-water. 
 
 But Sam was destined to be — as he would have 
 expressed it — circumvented. It cannot be supposed 
 that this unsatisfactory state of things was unnoticed 
 by the masters : and they took their measures accord- 
 ingly. Forming themselves into an association, they 
 discussed the measures best to be adopted, and deter- 
 mined upon a lock-out; that is, to close their yards 
 until the firm whose workmen had struck should 
 resume work. They also resolved to employ only 
 those men who would sign an agreement, or memo- 
 randum, afiirming that they were not connected with 
 any society which interfered with the arrangements of 
 the master whose service they entered, or with the 
 hours of labour, and acknowledging the rights both of 
 masters and men to enter into any trade arrangements 
 on which they might mutually agree. This paper of 
 agreement was not relished by the men at all ; they 
 styled it "the odious document." Neither was the 
 lock-out relished : it was of course equivalent, in one 
 sense, to a strike ; only that the initiative had come 
 from the masters' side, and not from theirs. It com- 
 menced early in August. Some of the masters closed 
 their works without a word of explanation to their 
 men : in one sense it was not needed, for the men 
 knew of the measure beforehand. Mr. Hunter chose 
 to assemble them together, and state what he was 
 
AGITATION. 225 
 
 about to do. Somewhat of his old energy appeared 
 to have been restored to him for the moment, as he 
 stood before them and spoke — Austin Clay by his 
 side. 
 
 " You have brought it upon yourselves," he said, in 
 answer to a remark from one who boldly, but respect- 
 fully, asked whether it was fair to resort to a lock-out, 
 and so punish all alike, contents and malcontents. " I 
 will meet the question upon your own grounds. 
 When the Messrs. Pollocks' men struck because their 
 demands, to work nine hours a-day, were not acceded 
 to, was it not in contemplation that you should join 
 them — that the strike should be universal ? Answer 
 me candidly." 
 
 The men, true and honest, did not deny it. 
 
 " And possibly by this time you would have struck," 
 said Mr. Hunter. "How much more 'fair' would 
 that have been towards us, than this locking-out is 
 towards you ? Do you suppose that you alone are to 
 meet and pass your laws, saying you will coerce the 
 masters, and that the masters will not pass laws in 
 return ? Nonsense, my men ! " ~ 
 
 A pause. 
 
 ''When have the masters attempted to interfere 
 with your privileges, either by saying that your 
 day's toil shall consist of longer hours, or by diminish- 
 ing your wages, and threatening to turn you off if 
 you do not fall in with the alteration ? Never. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 15 
 
226 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Masters have rights as well as men ; but some of you, 
 of late, have appeared to ignore the fact. Let 
 me ask you another question : Were you well treated 
 under me, or were you not ? Have I shown myself 
 solicitous for your interests, for your welfare ? Have 
 I ever oppressed you, ever put upon you ? " 
 
 No, Mr. Hunter had never sought to oppress them : 
 they acknowledged it freely. He had ever been a 
 good master. 
 
 '^My men, let me give you my opinion. Whilst 
 condemning your conduct, your semblance of dis- 
 content — it has been semblance rather than reality — • 
 I have been sorry for you, for it is not with you 
 that the chief blame lies. You have suffered evil 
 persuaders to get access to your ears, and have been 
 led away by their pernicious counsels. The root of 
 the evil lies there. I wish you could bring your 
 own good-sense to bear upon these points, and 
 to see with your own eyes. If so, there will be 
 nothing to prevent our resuming together amicable 
 relations; and, for my own part, I care not how 
 soon the time shall come. The works are for the 
 present closed." 
 
PAET THE THIRD. 
 
CHAPTER I. 
 
 A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 Daffodil's Delight was in all the glory of the lock- 
 out. The men, having nothing to do, improved their 
 time by enjoying themselves; they stood about the 
 street, or lounged at their doors, smoking their short 
 pipes and quaffing draughts of beer. Let money run 
 ever so short, you will generally see that beer and pipes 
 can be found. As yet, the evils of being out of work 
 were not felt ; for w^eekly pay, sufficient for support, 
 was supplied them by the Union Committee. The 
 men were in high spirits — in that sort of mood 
 implied by the words " Never say die," which phrase 
 was often in their mouths. They expressed them- 
 selves determined to hold out ; and this determination 
 w^as continually fostered by the agents of the Union, 
 of whom Sam Shuck was the chief : chief as regarded 
 Daffodil's Delight — inferior as regarded other agents 
 elsewhere. Many of the more temperate of the men, 
 who had not particularly urged the strike, were 
 warm supporters now of the general opinion, for 
 
230 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 they regarded the lock-out as an unwarrantable 
 piece of tyranny on the part of the masters. As to 
 the ladies^ they were over- warm partisans, generally 
 speaking, making the excitement, the unsettled state 
 of Daffodil's Delight, an excuse for their own idleness 
 (they are only too ready to do so when occasion 
 offers), and collected in groups round the men, or 
 squatted themselves on door-steps, proclaiming their 
 opinion of existing things, and boasting that they'd 
 hold out for their rights until death. 
 
 It was almost like a summ.er's day. Seated in a 
 chair at the bottom of her garden, just within the 
 gate, was Mary Baxendale. Not that she was there 
 to join in the gossip of the women, little knots of 
 whom were dottino- the street, or had anv intention 
 of joining in it : she was simply sitting there 
 for air. 
 
 Mary Baxendale was fading. Never very strong, 
 she had, for the last year or two, been gradually 
 declining, and, with, the excessive heat of the past 
 summer, her remaining strength appeared to have 
 gone out. Her occupation, that of a seamstress, 
 had not tended to keep her in health ; she had a 
 great deal of work offered her, her skill being 
 excellent, and she had sat at it early and late. Mary 
 was thoughtful and conscientious, and she was 
 anxious to contribute a full share to the home 
 support. Her father had married again, had now 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 231 
 
 two young children, and it almost appeared to Mary 
 as if she were an interloper in the paternal home. 
 Not that the new Mrs. Baxendale made her feel this : 
 she was a bustling, hearty woman, fond of show and 
 spending, and of setting off her babies ; but she was 
 kind to Mary. 
 
 The capability of exertion appeared to bo past, 
 and Mary's days were chiefly spent in a quiescent 
 state of rest, and in frequently sitting out-of-doors. 
 This day — it was now the beginning of September — 
 was an unusually bright one, and she drew her 
 invalid shawl round her, and leaned back in her seat, 
 looking out on the lively scene, at the men and 
 women congregating in the road, and inhaling the 
 fresh air. At least, as fresh as it could be found in 
 Daffbdirs Delight. 
 
 " How do you feel to-day, Mary ? " 
 
 The questioner was Mrs. Quale. She had come 
 out of her house in her bonnet and shawl, bent on 
 some errand, and stopped to accost Mary. 
 
 " I am pretty well to-day. That is, I should bo, if 
 it were not for the weakness." 
 
 " Weakness, ay ! " cried Mrs. Quale, in a snapping 
 sort of tone, for she was living in a state of chronic 
 tartness, not approving of matters in general just 
 now. ''And what have you had this morning to 
 fortify you against the weakness. 
 
 A faint blush rose to Mary's thin face. The 
 
232 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 subject was a sore one to the mind of Mrs. Quale, and 
 that lady was not one to spare her tongue. The 
 fact was, that at the present moment, and for some 
 little time past, Mary's condition and appetite had 
 required unusual nourishment ; but, since the lock- 
 out, this had not been procurable by John Baxendale. 
 Sufficient food the household had as yet, but it was of 
 a plain coarse sort, not suitable for Mary ; and Mrs. 
 Quale, bitter enough against the existing condition of 
 things before, touching the men and their masters, 
 was not by this rendered less so. Poor Mary, in her 
 patient meekness, would have subsided into her grave 
 with famine, rather than complain of what she saw no 
 help for. 
 
 " Did you have an egg at eleven o'clock ? " 
 " Not this morning. I did not feel greatly to care 
 for it." 
 
 Rubbish ! " responded Mrs. Quale. " I may say I 
 don't care for the moon, because I know I can't get it." 
 
 " But I really did not feel to have any appetite just 
 then," repeated Mary. 
 
 "And if you had an appetite, I suppose you couldn't 
 have been any the nearer satisfying it ! " returned 
 Mrs. Quale, in a raised voice. You let your stomach 
 get empty, and, after a bit, the craving goes off and 
 sickness comes on, and then you say you have no 
 appetite. But, there ! it h not your fault ; where's 
 the use of my " 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 233 
 
 Why, Mary, girl, what's the matter ? " 
 The interruption to Mrs. Quale proceeded from Dr. 
 Bevary. He was passing the gate with Miss Hunter. 
 They stopped, partly at sight of Mary, who was looking 
 strikingly ill, partly at the commotion Mrs. Quale was 
 making. Neither of them had known that Mary was 
 in this state. Mrs. Quale was the first to take up the 
 discourse. 
 
 " She don't look over-flourishing, do she, sir ? — do 
 she. Miss Florence ? She have been as bad as this — 
 oh, for a fortnight, now." 
 
 ^'Why did you not send my uncle word, Mary?" 
 spoke Florence, impulsive in the cause of kindness as 
 she had been when a child. I am sure he would 
 have come to see you." 
 
 " You are very kind, miss, and Dr. Bevary is also," 
 said Mary. " I could not think of troubling him with 
 my poor ailments, especially as I feel it would be 
 useless. I don't think anybody can do me good on 
 this side the grave, sir." 
 
 Tush, tush ! " interposed Dr. Bevary. " That's 
 what many sick people say ; but they get well in spite 
 of it. Let us see you a bit closer," he added, going 
 inside the gate. And now tell me how you feel." 
 
 I am just sinking, sir, as it seems to me ; sinking 
 out of life, without much ailment to tell of. I have a 
 great deal of fever at night, and a dry cough. It is 
 not so much consumption as " 
 
234 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Who told you it was consumption ? " interrupted 
 Dr. Bevary, 
 
 Some of the women about here call it so, sir. My 
 stepmother does ; but I should say it was more of a 
 v/aste." 
 
 ^'Your stepmother is fond of talking of what she 
 knows nothing about, and so are the women/' re- 
 marked Dr. Bevary. " Have you much appetite ? " 
 
 " Yes, she has, and that's the evil of it," struck in 
 Mrs. Quale, determined to lose no opportunity of 
 propounding her view of the case. "A pretty time 
 this is for folks to have appetites, when there's not a 
 copper being earned. I wish all strikes and lock-outs 
 was put down by law, I do. Nothing comes of 'em 
 but empty cubbarts." 
 
 " Your cupboard need not be any the emptier for a 
 lock-out," said Dr. Bevary, who sometimes, when con- 
 versing with the women of Daffodil's Delight, would 
 fall familiarly into their mode of speech. 
 
 " No, I know that ; we have been providenter than 
 that, sir ! " returned Mrs. Quale. A pity but what 
 others could say the same. You might take a walk 
 through Daffodil's Delight, sir, from one end of it to 
 the other, and not find half-a-dozen cubbarts with 
 plenty in 'em just now. Serve 'em right! they should 
 have put by for a rainy day." 
 
 Ah ! " returned Dr. Bevary, rainy days come to 
 most of us as we go through life, in one shape or 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 235 
 
 another. It is well to provide for them when we 
 can." 
 
 " And it's well to keep out of 'em where it's practic- 
 able," wrathfuUy remarked Mrs. Quale. " There no 
 more need have been this disturbance between masters 
 and men, than there need be one between you and 
 me, sir, this moment, afore you walk away. They be 
 just idiots, are the men'; the women be worse, and I'm 
 tired of telling 'em so. Look at 'em," added Mrs. 
 Quale, directing the doctor's attention to the female 
 ornaments of Daffodil's Delight. "Look at their 
 gowns in jags, and their dirty caps ! they make the 
 men's being out of work an excuse for their idleness, 
 and they just stick theirselves out there all day, 
 a-crowing and a-gossiping." 
 
 " Crowing ? " exclaimed the doctor. 
 . "Crowing; every female one of 'em, like a cock 
 upon its dunghill," responded Mrs. Quale, who was 
 not given to pick her words when wrath was moving 
 her. " There isn't one as can see an iuch beyond her 
 own nose. If the lock-out lasts, and starvation comes, 
 let 'em see how they'll crow then. It'll be on t'other 
 side their mouths, I fancy ! " 
 
 " Money is dealt out to them by the Trades' Union, 
 sufficient to live," observed Dr. Bevary. 
 
 Sufficient not to starve," independently corrected 
 Mrs. Quale. " What is it, sir, the bit of money they 
 get, to them that have enjoyed their thirty-five 
 
236 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET. 
 
 shillings a- week, and could hardly make that do, some 
 of 'em ? Look at the Baxendales. There's Mary, 
 \f anting more food that she did in health; ay, and 
 craving for it. A good bit of meat once or twice in 
 the day, an egg now and then, a cup of cocoa and 
 milk, or good tea — not your wishy-washy stuff, bought 
 in by the ounce — how is she to get it all ? The 
 allowance dealt out to John Baxendale keeps 'em 
 in bread-and-cheese ; I don't think it does in much 
 else." 
 
 They were interrupted by John Baxendale himself. 
 He came out of his house, touching his hat to the 
 doctor and to Florence. The latter had been leaning 
 over Mary, inquiring softly into her ailments, and the 
 complaint of Mrs. Quale, touching the short-comings 
 of Mary's comforts, had not reached her ears ; that 
 lady, out of regard to the invalid, having deemed it 
 well to lower her tone. 
 
 " I am sorry, sir, you should see her so poorly," said 
 Baxendale, alluding to his daughter. She'll get 
 better, I hope." 
 
 I must try what a little of my skill will do towards 
 it," replied the doctor, " If she had sent me word she 
 was ill, I would have come before." 
 
 ''Thank ye, sir. I don't know as I should have 
 been backward in asking you to come round arid take 
 a look at her ; but a man don't like to ask favours 
 when he has got no money in his pocket; it makes 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 237 
 
 him feel little, and look little. Things are not in a 
 satisfactory state with us all just now." 
 " They are not indeed." 
 
 "I never thought the masters would go to the 
 extreme of a lock-out," resumed Baxendale. It was 
 a harsh measure." 
 
 On the face of it it does seem so," responded Dr. 
 Be vary, But what else could they have done ? 
 Have kept open their works, that those on strike 
 might have been supported from the wages they paid 
 their men, and probably have found those men also 
 striking at last ? If you and others had wanted to 
 escape a lock-out, Baxendale, you should have been 
 cautious not to lend yourselves to the agitation that 
 was smouldering." 
 
 Sir, I know there's a great deal to be said on both 
 sides," was the reply. I never was for the agitation ; 
 I did not urge the strike ; I set my face nearly dead 
 against it. The worst is, we all have to suffer for it 
 alike." 
 
 ''Ay, that is the worst of things in this world," 
 responded the doctor. When people do wrong, the 
 consequences are rarely confined to themselves ; they 
 extend to the innocent. Come, Florence. I will see 
 you again later, Mary." 
 
 The doctor and his niece walked away. Mrs. Quale 
 had already departed on her errand. 
 
 ''He was always a kind man," observed John 
 
238 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Baxendale^ looking after Dr. Bevary. ^'I hope he 
 will be able to cure you, Mary." 
 
 don't feel that he will, father," was the low 
 answer. But Baxendale did not hear it; he was 
 going out at the gate to join a knot of neighbours, 
 who were gathered together at a distance. 
 
 Will Mary Baxendale soon get well, do you think, 
 uncle ? " demanded Florence, as they went along. 
 No, my dear, I do not think she will." 
 There was something in the doctor's tone that 
 startled Florence. Uncle Bevary ! you do not fear 
 she will die ? " 
 
 "I do fear it, Florence, and that she will not be 
 long first." 
 
 Oh ! " Then, after she had gone a few paces 
 further, Florence withdrew her arm from his. " I 
 must go back and stay with her a little while. I had 
 no idea of this." 
 
 " Mind you don't repeat it to her in your chatter," 
 called out the doctor ; and Florence shook her head 
 by way of answer. 
 
 I am in no hurry to go home, Mary ; I thought I 
 would return and stay a little longer with you," was 
 her greeting, when she reached the invalid. ''You 
 must feel it dull, sitting here alone." 
 
 " Dull ! oh no, Miss Florence. I like sitting by 
 myself and thinking." 
 
 Florence smiled. '■ What do you think about ? " 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL, 
 
 239 
 
 Oh, miss, I quite lose myself in thinking. I think 
 of my Saviour, of how kind He was to everybody ; 
 and I think of the beautiful life we are taught to 
 expect after this life. I can hardly believe that I 
 shall soon be there." 
 
 Florence paused, feeling as if she did not know 
 what to say. You do not seem to fear death, Mary. 
 You speak rather as if you wished for if 
 
 I do not fear it. Miss Florence ; I have been learn- 
 ing not to fear it ever since my poor mother died 
 Ah, miss ! it is a great thing to learn ; a great boon, 
 when once it's learnt." 
 
 " But surely you do not want to die ! exclaimed 
 Florence, in surprise. 
 
 " Miss Florence, as to that, I feel quite satisfied to 
 let it be as God pleases. I know I am in His good 
 hands. The world now seems to me to be full of care 
 and trouble." 
 
 It is very strange/' murmured Florence. " Mamma, 
 too, believes she is near death, and she expresses 
 no reluctance, no fear. I do not think she feels 
 any." 
 
 ^'Miss Florence, it is only another proof of God's 
 mercies," returned the sick girl. My mother used to 
 say that you could not be quite ripe for death until 
 you felt it ; that it came of God's goodness and 
 Christ's love. To such, death seems a blessing instead 
 of a terror, so that when their time is drawing near, 
 
240 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 they are glad to die. There's a gentleman waiting to 
 speak to you, miss." 
 
 Florence lifted her head hastily, and encountered the 
 smile and outstretched hand of Austin Clay. But 
 that Mary Baxendale was unsuspicious, she might 
 have gathered something from the vivid blush that 
 overspread her cheeks. 
 
 I thought it was you, Florence," he said. I 
 caught sight of a young lady from my sitting-room 
 window; but you kept your head down before 
 Mary." 
 
 " I am sorry to see Mary looking so ill. My uncle 
 was here just now, but he has gone. I suppose you 
 were deep in your books ? " she said, with a smile, her 
 face reojainiiio' its less radiant hue. " This lock-out 
 must be a grand time for you." 
 
 " So grand that I wish it were over," he answered. 
 " I am sick of it already, Florenca A. fortnight's 
 idleness will tire out a man worse than a month's 
 work." 
 
 Is there any more chance of its coming to an end, 
 sir ? " anxiously inquired Mary Baxendale. 
 
 "1 do not see it," gravely replied Austin. ^'The 
 men appear to be too blind to come to any reasonable 
 terms." 
 
 " Oh, sir, don't cast more blame on them than j^ou 
 can help!" she rejoined, in a tone of intense pain. 
 They are all led aw^ay by the Trades' Union ; they 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 241 
 
 are, indeed. If once they enrol under it, they must 
 only obey,'' 
 
 Well, Mary, it comes to what I say — that they are 
 blinded. They should have better sense than to bo 
 led away." 
 
 You speak as a master, sir." 
 
 " Probably I do ; but I have brought my common 
 sense to bear upon the question, both on the side of 
 the masters and of the men ; and I believe that this 
 time the men are wrong. If they had laboured under 
 any real grievance, it would have been different ; but 
 they did not labour under any. Their wages were 
 good, work was plentiful " 
 
 " I say, Mary, I wish you'd just come in and sit by 
 the little ones a bit, while I go down to the back 
 kitchen and rinse out the clothes." 
 
 The interruption came from Mrs. Baxendale, who 
 liad thrown up her window to speak. Mary rose at 
 once, took her pillow from the chair, wished Florence 
 good-day, and went indoors. 
 
 Austin held the gate open for Florence to pass out : 
 he was not intending to accompany her. She stood a 
 moment, speaking to him, when some one, who had 
 come up rapidly and stealthily, laid his great hand on 
 Austin's arm. Absorbed in Florence, Austin had not 
 observed him, and he looked up with a start. It was 
 Lawyer Gwinn, of Ketterford, and he appeared to be 
 in some anger or excitement. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 16 
 
242 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Young Clay, where is your master to-day ? " 
 
 Neither the salutation nor the manner of the man 
 pleased Austin; his appearance, there and then, 
 especially displeased him. His answer was spoken 
 in haughty defiance. Not in policy : and in a cooler 
 moment he Avould have remembered the latter to have 
 been the only safe diplomacy. 
 
 A strangely bitter smile of conscious power parted 
 the man s lips. So you take part with him, do you, 
 sir! It may be better for both you and him, that 
 you bring me face to face with him. They have 
 denied me to him at his house ; their master is out of 
 town, they say ; but I know it to be a lie : I know 
 that the message was sent out to me by Hunter him- 
 self. I had a great mind to force " 
 
 Florence, who was looking deadly v/hite, inter- 
 rupted, her voice haughty as Austin's had been. 
 
 "You labour under a mistake, sir. My father is 
 out of town. He went this morning." 
 
 Mr. Gwinn wheeled round to her. Neither her 
 tone nor Austin's was calculated to abate his anger. 
 
 " You are his daughter, then ! " he uttered, with the 
 same insolent stare, the same displayed irony he had 
 once used to her mother. "The young lady whom 
 people envy as that spoiled and only child. Miss 
 Hunter ! What if I tell you a secret ? — that 
 you " 
 
 "Be still!'' shouted Austin, in uncontrollable 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 243 
 
 emotion. ''Are you a man, or a demon? Miss 
 Hunter, allow me," he cried, grasping the hand of 
 Florence, and drawing her peremptorily towards 
 Peter Quale's door, which he threw open. "Go 
 upstairs, Florence, to my sitting-room : wait there 
 imti] I come to you. I must be alone with this man." 
 
 Florence looked at him in amazement, as he pushed 
 her into the passage. He was evidently in the deepest 
 agitation : every vestige of colour had forsaken his 
 face, and his manner was authoritative as any father's 
 could have been. She bowedi to its power uncon- 
 sciously, not a thought of resistance crossing her 
 mind, and went straight upstairs to his sitting-room 
 — although it might not be precisely correct for a 
 young lady so to do. Not a soul, excepting herself, 
 appeared to be in the house. 
 
 A short colloquy and an angry one, and then Mr. 
 Gwinn was seen returning the way he had come. 
 Austin came springing up the stairs three at a time. 
 
 " Will you forgive me, Florence ? I could not do 
 otherwise." 
 
 What with the suddenness of the proceedings, their 
 strangeness, and her own doubts and emotion, Florence 
 burst into tears. Austin lost his head : at least, all 
 prudence that was in it. In the agitation of the 
 moment he suffered his long-controlled feelings to get 
 the better of him, and spoke words that he had 
 hitherto successfully repressed. 
 
244 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " My darling ! " he whispered, taking her hand, " I 
 wish I could have shielded you from it ! Florence, 
 you know — you must long have known — that my 
 dearest object in life is yourself — your happiness, 
 your welfare. I had not intended to say this so 
 soon ; it has been forced from me : you must pardon 
 me for saying it here and now." 
 
 She gently disengaged the hand, and he did not 
 attempt to retain it. Her wet eyelashes fell on her 
 blushing cheeks ; they were like a damask rose 
 glistening in the morning dew. 
 
 " But this mystery ? — it certainly seems one," she 
 exclaimed, striving to speak with matter-of-fact calm- 
 ness. " Is not that man Gwinn, of Ketterford ? " 
 Yes." 
 
 " Brother to the lady who seemed to cause so much 
 emotion to papa. Ah ! I w^as only a child at the time, 
 but I noticed it. Austin, I think there must be some 
 dreadful secret. What is it ? He comes to our house 
 at periods and is closeted with papa, and papa is more 
 miserable than ever after it." 
 
 " Whether there is or not, it is not for us to inquire 
 into it. Men engaged in business often have trouble- 
 some people to deal with. I hastened you in/' he 
 quickly went on, not caring to be more explanatory, 
 and compelled to speak with reserve. '^I know the 
 man of old, and his language is sometimes coarse, not 
 fitted for a young lady's ears : so I sent you away. 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 245 
 
 Florence," he whispered, his tone changing to one of 
 deepest tenderness, " this is neither the time nor the 
 place to speak, but I must say one word. I shall win 
 you, if I can." 
 
 Florence made no answer. She only ran downstairs 
 as quickly as she could, she and her scarlet cheeks. 
 Austin laughed at her haste, as he followed her. Mrs. 
 Quale was coming in then, and met them at the door. 
 
 See what it is to go gadding out ! " cried Austin, 
 to her. " When young ladies pay you the honour of 
 a morning visit, they might find an empty house, but 
 for my stay-at-home propensities." 
 
 Mrs. Quale turned her eyes from one to the other in 
 puzzled doubt. 
 
 " The truth is," said Austin, vouchsafing an explana- 
 tion, "there was a rude man in the road, talking 
 nonsense, so I sent Miss Hunter indoors, and stopped 
 to deal with him." 
 
 " I am sure I am sorry, Miss Florence," cried un- 
 suspicious Mrs. Quale. We often have rude men in 
 this quarter : they get hold of a drop too much, the 
 simpletons. And when the wine's in, the wit s out, 
 you know, miss." 
 
 Austin piloted her through Daffbdil's Delight, 
 possibly lest any more " rude men " should molest her, 
 leaving her at her own door. 
 
 But when he came to reflect on what he had done, 
 he was full of contrition and self-reproach. The time 
 
246 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 had not come for him to aspire to the hand of 
 Florence Hunter; at least in the estimation of the 
 world ; and he ought not to have spoken to her. 
 There was only one course open to him now in 
 honour ; and that was^ to tell the whole truth to her 
 mother. 
 
 That same evening at dusk he was sitting alone 
 with Mrs. Hunter. Mr. Hunter had not returned; 
 that he had gone out of town for the day v/as perfect 
 truth : and Florence escaped from the room when she 
 heard Austin's knock. 
 
 After taking all the blame on himself for having 
 been premature, he proceeded to urge his cause and 
 his love, possibly emboldened to do so by the gentle 
 kindness with which he was listened to. 
 
 " It has been my hope for years/' he avowed, as he . 
 held Mrs. Hunter's hands in his, and spoke of the 
 chance of Mr. Hunter's favour. Dear Mrs. Hunter, 
 do you think he will some time give her to me ? " 
 But, Austin " 
 
 ''Not yet; I do not ask for her yet; not until I 
 have made a fitting home for her," he impulsively 
 continued, anticipating what might have been the 
 possible objection of Mrs. Hunter. " With the two 
 thousand pounds left to me by Mrs. Thornimett, and 
 a little more added to it, which I have myself saved, 
 I believe I shall be able to make my way." 
 
 " Austin, you will make your way," she replied, in 
 
A PREMATURE AVOWAL. 
 
 247 
 
 tones of the utmost confidence and kindness. " I have 
 heard Mr. Hunter himself anticipate a successful career 
 for you. Even when you were, comparatively speak- 
 ing, penniless, Mr. Hunter would say that talent and 
 energy such as yours could not fail to find their 
 proper outlet. Now that you have inherited the 
 ' money, your success is certain. But — I fear you 
 cannot win Florence." 
 
 The words fell on his heart like an ice-bolt. He 
 had reckoned on Mrs. Hunter's countenance, though 
 he had not been sure of her husband's. "What do 
 you object to in me ?" he inquired, in a tone of pain. 
 I am of gentle birth." 
 
 " Austin, I do not object. I have long seen that 
 your coming here so much — and it was Mr. Hunter's 
 pleasure to have you — was likely to lead to an attach- 
 ment between you and Florence. Had I objected to 
 you, I should have pointed out to Mr. Hunter the 
 impolicy of your coming. I like you : there is no one 
 in the world to whom I would so readily intrust the 
 happiness of Florence. Other mothers might look for 
 a higher alliance for her : but, Austin, when we get 
 near the grave, we judge with a judgment not of this 
 world. Worldly distinctions lose their charm.'' 
 
 "Then where lies the doubt — the objection?'' he 
 asked. 
 
 " I once — it is not long ago — hinted at this to Mr. 
 Hunter," she replied. " He would not hear me out ; 
 
248 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 he would not suffer me to conclude. It was an utter 
 impossibility that you could ever marry Florence/' 
 he said : " neither was it likely that either of you 
 would wish it." 
 
 But we do wish it ; the love has already arisen," 
 
 he exclaimed, in agitation. " Dear Mrs. Hunter " 
 
 ''Hush, Austin; calm yourself. Mr. Hunter must 
 have some private objection. I am sure he has ; 
 I could see so far ; and one that, as was evident, he 
 did not choose to disclose to me. I never inquire into 
 his reasons when I perceive this. You must try and 
 forget her." 
 
 A commotion was heard in the hall. Austin went 
 out to ascertain its cause. There stood Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford, insisting upon an interview with Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 Austin contrived to get rid of the man by con- 
 vincing him Mr. Hunter was really not at home. 
 Gwinn went out grumbling, promising to be there the 
 first thing in the morning. 
 
 The interlude had broken up the confidence between 
 Austin and Mrs. Hunter; and he went home in 
 despondency; but vowing to win her, all the same, 
 sooner or later. 
 
( 249 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 MR. COX. 
 
 Time had gone on. It was a gloomy winter s evening. 
 Not that, reckoning by the seasons, it could be called 
 winter yet ; but it was growing near it, and the night 
 was dark and sloppy, and blowing and rainy. The 
 wind went booming down DafFodil's- Delight, sending 
 the fierce rain before it in showers, and the pools 
 gleamed in the reflected light of the gas-lamps, as 
 wayfarers splashed through them and stirred up their 
 muddy waters. 
 
 The luxurious and comfortable in position — those 
 at ease in the world, who could issue their orders to 
 attentive tradespeople at their morning's leisure — 
 had no necessity to be abroad on that inclement 
 Saturday night. Not so Daffodils Delight; there was 
 not much chance (taking it collectively) of a dinner 
 for the morrow, at the best; but, unless they went 
 abroad, there was none. The men had not gone to 
 work yet, and times were bad. 
 
 Down the street, to one particular corner shop, 
 
250 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET 
 
 which had three gilt balls hanging outside it, flocked 
 the stream — chiefly females. Not together. They 
 for the most part walked in units, and, some of them 
 at least, in a covert sort of manner, keeping in the 
 shade of dead walls, and of dark houses, as if not 
 caring to be seen. Amongst the latter, stole one who 
 appeared more especially fearful of being recognized. 
 She was a young woman, comely once, but pale and 
 hollow-eyed now, her bones too sharp for her skin. 
 Well wrapped up, was she, against the weather ; her 
 cloth cloak warm, a fur round her neck, and india- 
 rubber shoes on her feet. Choosing her time to ap- 
 proach the shop when the coast should be tolerably 
 clear, she glanced cautiously in at the window and 
 door, and entered. 
 
 Laying upon the counter a small parcel, which she 
 carried folded in a handkerchief, she displayed a card- 
 board box to the sight of the master, who came for- 
 w^ard to attend to her. It contained a really handsome 
 set of corals, fashioned like those worn in the days 
 when our mothers were young ; a necklace of six 
 rows of small beads, with a gold snap made to imitate 
 a rose, a long coral bead set in it. A pair of gold 
 earrings, with large pendant coral drops, lay beside it, 
 and a^large and handsome gold brooch, set likewise 
 with corals. 
 
 " What, is it you, Miss Baxendale ? " he exclaimed, 
 his tone expressive of some surprise. 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 251 
 
 ''It is, indeed, Mr. Cox/' replied Mary. "We all 
 have to bend to these hard times. It's share and 
 share alike in them. Will you please to look at these 
 jewels V 
 
 She tenderly drew aside the cotton which was over 
 the trinkets — tenderly and reverently, almost as if a 
 miniature live baby were lying there. Very precious 
 were they to Mary. They were dear to her from 
 association ; and she also believed them to be of great 
 value. 
 
 The pawnbroker glanced at them slightly, carelessly 
 liftin^x one of the earrino^s in his hand, to feel its 
 
 O CD ' 
 
 weight. The brooch he honoured with a closer in- 
 spection. 
 
 What do you want upon them ? " he asked. 
 " Nay," said Mary, it is not for me to name a sum. 
 What will you lend ? " 
 
 You are not accustomed to our business, or you 
 would know that we like borrowers to mention their 
 own ideas as to sum and we give it if we can,'' he 
 rejoined with ready words. '' What do you ask ? " 
 
 " If you would let me have four pounds upon them," 
 began Mary, hesitatingly. But he snapped up the 
 words. 
 
 ''Four pounds^ Why, Miss Baxendale, you can't 
 know what you are saying. The fashion of these 
 coral things is over and done with. They are worth 
 next to nothing/' 
 
252 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mary's heart beat quicker in its sickness of dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 They are genuine, sir, if you'll please to look. 
 The gold is real gold, and the coral is the best coral ; 
 my poor mother has told me so many a time. Her 
 godmother was a lady, well-to-do in the world, and 
 the things were a present from her." 
 
 " If they were not genuine, I'd not lend as many 
 pence upon them," -said the man. " With a little 
 alteration the brooch might be made tolerably modern ; 
 otherwise their value would be no more than old gold. 
 In selling them, I — " 
 
 It will not come to that, Mr. Cox," interrupted 
 Mary. Please God spares me a little while — and, 
 since the hot weather went out, I feel a bit stronger — 
 I shall soon redeem them." 
 
 Mr. Cox looked at her thin face ; he listened to her 
 short breathing; and he drew his own conclusions. 
 There was a line of pity in his hard face, for he had 
 long respected Mary Baxendale. 
 
 " By the way the strike seems to be lasting on, 
 there doesn't seem much promise of a speedy end to 
 it," quoth he, in answer, " I never was so overdone 
 with pledges." 
 
 " My work does not depend upon that," said Mary. 
 Let me get up a little strength, and I shall have as 
 much work as I can do. And I am well paid, Mr. 
 Cox : I have a private connection. I am not like the 
 
MR COX. 
 
 253 
 
 poor seamstresses who make skirts for fourpence 
 a-piece." 
 
 Mr. Cox made no immediate reply to this, and there 
 was a pause. The open box lay before him. He took 
 up the necklace and examined its clasp. 
 
 " I will lend you a sovereign upon them." 
 
 She lifted her face pitiably, and the tears glistened 
 in her eyes. 
 
 " It would be of no use to me/' she whispered. I 
 want the money for a particular purpose, otherwise I 
 should never have brought here these gifts of my 
 mother's. She gave them to me the day I was 
 eighteen, and I have tenderl}^ kept them from dese- 
 cration." 
 
 Poor Mary ! From desecration ! 
 
 " I have heard her say what they cost ; but I forget 
 now. I know it was over ten pounds." 
 
 But the day for this fashion has gone by. To 
 ask four pounds upon them was preposterous ; and 
 you would knov/ it to be so, were you acquainted 
 with the trade." 
 
 " Will you lend, me two pounds, then ? " 
 
 The tone was tremblingly eager, the face beseeching 
 — a wan face, telling of the coming grave. Possibly 
 the thought struck the pawnbroker, and awoke some 
 humanity within him. 
 
 " I shall lose by it, I know, if it comes to a sale. 
 I'd not do it for anybody else, Miss Baxendale.'' 
 
254 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 He proceeded to write out the ticket, his thoughts 
 running upon whether — if it did come to a sale — he 
 could not make three pounds by the brooch alone. As 
 he was handing her the m^oney, somebody rushed in, 
 close to the spot occupied by Mary, and dashed dovm 
 a large-sized paper parcel on the counter. She wore 
 a black lace bonnet, which had once been white, 
 frayed, and altogether the worse for wear, indepen- 
 dently of its dirt. It was tilted on the back of her 
 head, displaying a mass of hair in front, half grey, hali 
 black, and exceedingly in disorder; together with a 
 red face. It was Mrs. Dunn. - 
 
 Well, to be sure ! if it's not Mary Baxendale ! I 
 thought you was too much of the lady to put your 
 nose inside a pop-shop. Don't it go again' the grain ? 
 she ironically added, for vshe did not appear to be in 
 the sweetest of tempers. 
 
 " It does indeed, Mrs. Dunn," was the girl's meek 
 answer, as she took her money and departed. 
 
 " Now then, old Cox, just attend to me," began Mrs. 
 Dunn. ''I have brought something as you don't get 
 offered every day." 
 
 Mr. Cox, accustomed to the scant ceremony bestowed 
 upon him by some of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, 
 took the speech with indifference, and gave his atten- 
 tion to the parcel, from which Mrs. Dunn was rapidly 
 taking off the twine. 
 
 " What's this — silk ? " cried he, as a roll of dress- 
 
MR. COX, 
 
 255 
 
 silk, brown, cross-barred with gold, came forth to 
 view. 
 
 Yes, it is silk ; and there's fourteen yards of it ; 
 and I want thirty shillings upon it/' volubly replied 
 Mrs. Dunn. / 
 
 He took the silk between his fingers, feeling its 
 substance, in his professionally indifferent and dis- 
 paraging manner. 
 
 " Where did you get it from ? " he asked. 
 
 '•' Where did I get it from ? " retorted Mrs. Dunn. 
 " What's that to you ! D ye think I stole it ? " 
 
 " How do I know ? " returned he. 
 
 " You insolent fellow ! Is it only to-day as you 
 have knowed me, Tom Cox ? My name s Hannah 
 Dunn ; and I don't want you to testify to my honesty ; 
 I can hold up my head in Daffodil's Delight just as 
 well as you can — perhaps a little better. Concern 
 yourself with your own business. I want thirty 
 shillings upon that." 
 
 It isn't worth thirty shillings in the shop, new,'* 
 was the rejoinder. 
 
 " What ? " shrieked Mrs. Dunn. " It cost three-and- 
 fourpence halfpenny a-yard, every yard of it, and 
 there's fourteen of 'em, I tell you." 
 
 " I don't care if it cost six-and-fourpence halfpenny ; 
 it's not worth more than I say. I'll lend you ten 
 shillings upon it, and I should lose then." 
 
 Where do you expect to go to when you die ? " 
 
25G 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 demanded Mrs. Dunn, in tones that might be heard 
 half over the length and breadth of Daffodils Delight. 
 
 I wouldn't tell such lies for the paltry sake of grind- 
 ing folks down; no, not if you made me a duchess 
 to-morrow for it." 
 
 " Here, take the silk off. I have not got time to 
 bother : it's Saturday night." 
 
 He swept the parcel, silk, paper, and string, towards 
 her, and was turning away. She leaned over the 
 counter and seized upon him. 
 
 " You want a opposition in the place, that's what 
 you want. Master Cox ! You have been cock o' the 
 walk over Daffodil's Delight so long, that you think 
 you can treat folks as if they was dirt. You be 
 overdone with business, that's what you be; you're 
 a-making gold as fast as they makes it in Aurstraliar ; 
 we shall have you a-setting up your tandem next. 
 What'll you give me upon that silk ? " 
 
 " I'll give you ten shillings ; I have said so. You 
 may take it or not ; it's at your own option." 
 
 More contending : but the pawnbroker was firm ; 
 and Mrs. Dunn was forced to accept the offer, or else 
 take away her silk. 
 
 How long is this strike going to last ? " he asked, 
 as he made out the duplicate. 
 
 The words excited the irascibility of Mrs. Dunn. 
 Strike ! " she uttered, in a flaming passion. Who 
 dares to call it a strike ? It's not a strike ; it's a lock- 
 out." 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 257 
 
 ^'Lock-out, then. The two things come to the 
 same, don't they ? Is there a chance of its coming to 
 an end ? " 
 
 " No, they don't come to the same," f^hrieked Mrs. 
 Dunn. "A strike's what it is — a strike; a act of 
 noble independence which the British workman may 
 be proud on. A lock-out is a nasty, mean, overbearing • 
 tyranny on the part of the masters. Now, old Cox ! 
 call it a strike again." 
 
 " But I hear the masters' shops are open again — for 
 anybody to go to work that likes," replied Mr. Cox, 
 quite imperturbable. 
 
 " They be open for slaves to go to work, not for 
 freeborn men," retorted Mrs. Dunn, her shrieking voice 
 at a still higher pitch. " I hope the men 11 hold out 
 for ever, I do ! I hope the masters '11 be drove, every 
 one of 'em, into the dust and dregs of the bankruptcy 
 court ! I hope their sticks and stones '11 be sold up, 
 
 down to their children's cradles " 
 
 " There, that's enough," interposed the pawnbroker, 
 as he handed her what he had to give. You'll be 
 collecting a crowd round the door, if you go on like 
 that. Here's somebody else waiting for your place." 
 
 It was Mrs. Cheek, an especial friend of the lady 
 now being dismissed. Mrs. Cheek was carefully 
 carrying a basket which contained various chimney 
 ornaments — pretty enough in their places, but not of 
 much value. The pawnbroker, after some haggling, 
 
 A Life's Secret. 17 
 
258 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 not so intemperately carried on as the bargain just 
 concluded, advanced six shillings on them. 
 
 I had wanted twelve," she said ; and I can't do 
 with less." 
 
 I am willing to lend it/' returned he, ^' if you bring 
 goods accordingly." 
 
 ''I have stripped the place of a'most all the light 
 things as can be spared," said Mrs. Cheek. One 
 doesn't care to begin upon the heavy furniture and 
 the necessaries." 
 
 ''Is there no chance of the present state of affairs 
 coming to an end ? " inquired Mr. Cox, putting the 
 same question to which he had not received a direct 
 answer from Mrs. Dunn. " The men can go back to 
 work if they like ; the masters' yards are open again." 
 
 " Open ! " returned Mrs. Cheek, in a guttural tone, 
 as she threw back her head in disdain ; " they have 
 been open some time^ if you call that opening 'em. If 
 a man likes to go as a sneaking coward, and work 
 upon the terms offered now, knuckling down to the 
 masters, and putting his hand to their mean old odious 
 document, severing himself from the Union, he can do 
 it. It ain't many of our men as you'll find do that 
 dirty work. If my husband Avas to attempt it, I'd be 
 ready to skin him alive." 
 
 " But the men have gone back in some parts of the 
 metropolis." 
 
 Men, do you call 'em. A few may ; one black 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 259 
 
 sheep out of a flock. They ain't men, they are half- 
 castes. Let them look to theirselves," concluded Mrs. 
 Cheek significantly," as she quitted the pawnbroker's 
 shop with a fling. 
 
 At the butcher's stall, a few paces further on, she 
 came up to Mrs. Dunn, who was standing in the glare 
 of the blazing gaslight, in the incessant noise of the 
 Buy, buy, buy ! what '11 you buy ? " Not less than 
 a dozen women were congregated there, elbowing each 
 other, as they turned over the scraps of meat set out 
 for sale in small heaps — sixpence the lot, a shilling 
 the lot, according to quality and quantity. In the 
 prosperous time, when their husbands were in full 
 work, these ladies had scornfully disdained such heaps 
 on a Saturday night. They had been wont then to 
 buy a good joint for the Sunday's dinner. One of the 
 women nudged another in her vicinity, directing her 
 attention to the inside of the shop. "Just twig 
 Mother Shuck ; she's a-being served, I hope ! " 
 
 "Mother Shuck," Slippery Sam's better-half, was 
 making her purchases in the agreeable confidence of 
 possessing money to pay for them — liver and bacon 
 for the present evening's supper, and a breast of veal, 
 to be served with savoury herbs, for the morrow's 
 dinner. In the old times, while the throng of women 
 now outside had been able to make the same or similar 
 purchases, she had hovered without like a hungry 
 hyena, hanging over the cheap portions with covetous 
 
260 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 eyes and fingers, as many another poor wife had done, 
 whose husband could not or would not work. Times 
 were changed. 
 
 " I can t afford nothing, hardly, I can't," grumbled 
 Mrs. Cheek. What's the good of six shillings for a 
 Saturday night, when everything's wanted, from the 
 rent down to a potater ? The young 'uns have got 
 their bare feet upon the boards, as may be said, for 
 their shoes be without toes and heels ; and who is to 
 get 'em others ? I wish that Cox was a bit juster. 
 He's a getting rich upon our spoils. Six shillings for 
 that lot as I took him in ! " . 
 
 I wish he was smothered ! " struck In Mrs. Dunn. 
 " He took and asked me if I'd stole the silk. It was 
 that lovely silk, you know, as I was fool enough to go 
 and choose the week of the strike, on the strength of 
 the good times a-coming. We have had something 
 else to do since, instead of making up silk gownds." 
 
 " The good times ain't come yet," said Mrs. Cheek, 
 shortly. " I wish the old 'uns was back again, if we 
 could get 'em without stooping to the masters." 
 
 It was at the shop where Mary Ann and Jemimar 
 deals, when they has to get in things for their 
 customers' work," resumed Mrs. Dunn, continuing the 
 subject of the silk. I shouldn't have had credit at 
 any other place. Fourteen yards I bought of it, and 
 three-and-fourpence halfpenny I gave for every yard 
 of it ; I did, I protest to you, Elizar Cheek ; and that 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 261 
 
 swindling old sciewhad the conscience to offer me ten 
 shillings for the whole ! " 
 '^s the silk paid for ? 
 
 " Paid for ! " wrathfuUy repeated Mrs. Dunn ; " has 
 it been a time to pay for silk gownds when our 
 husbands be under a lock-out ? Of course it's not paid 
 for, and the shop's a-beginning to bother for it ; but 
 they'll be none the nearer getting it. I say, master, 
 what'U you weigh in these fag-ends of mutton and 
 beef at — the two together ? " 
 
 It will be readily understood, from the above con- 
 versation and signs, that in the several weeks that 
 had elapsed since the commencement of the lock-out, 
 things, socially speaking, had been going backwards. 
 The roast goose and other expected luxuries had not 
 come yet. The masters' yards were open — open to 
 any who would go to work in them, provided they 
 renounced all connection with the Trades' Unions. 
 Daffodil's Delight, taking it collectively, would not 
 have this at any price, and held out. 
 
 The worst aspect in the affair — I mean for the 
 interest of the men — was, that strange workmen were 
 assembling from different parts of the country, accept- 
 ing the work which they refused. Of course this 
 feature in the dispute was most bitter to the men ; 
 they lavished their abuse upon the masters for em- 
 ploying strange hands ; and they would have been 
 glad to lavish something worse than abuse upon the 
 
262 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 hands themselves. One of the masterr: compared them 
 to the fable of the dog in the manger — they would 
 not take the work, and they would not let (by their 
 good will) any one else take it. Incessant agitation 
 was maintained. The workmen were in a sufficiently 
 excited state, as it was ; and, to help on that which 
 need not have been helped, the agents of the Trades' 
 Union kept the ball rolling — an incendiary ball, urging 
 obstinacy and spreading discontent. But this little 
 history has not so much to do with the political 
 phases of the unhappy dispute, as with its social 
 effects. 
 
 As Mary Baxendale was returning home from the 
 pawnbroker's, she passed Mrs. Darby, who was stand- 
 ing at her own door looking at the weather. Mary, 
 girl," was the salutation, this is not a night for you 
 to be abroad." 
 
 "I was obliged to go," was the reply. "How are 
 the children ? " 
 
 Come in and see them," said Mrs. Darby. 
 
 She led the way into a back-room, which, at the 
 first glance, seemed to be covered with mattresses and 
 children. A large family had Robert Darby — ^indeed, 
 it was a complaint prevalent in Daffodil's Delight. 
 They were of various ages; these, lying on the 
 mattresses, six of them, were from four to twelve 
 years. The elder ones were not at home. The room 
 had a close, unhealthy smell, which struck especially 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 2G3 
 
 on the senses of Maiy^ rendered sensitive from 
 illness. ; 
 
 What have you got them all in this room for ? 
 she exclaimed, in the impulse of the moment. 
 
 " I have given up the rooms above," was Mrs. 
 ^ Darby's reply. 
 
 But — when the children were ill — was it a time to 
 give up rooms ? debated Mary. 
 
 " No," replied Mrs. Darby, who spoke as if she were 
 hea^rt-broken, in sad, subdued tones, the very reverse 
 of Mesdames Dunn and Cheek. But how could we 
 keep on the top rooms when we were unable to get 
 together the rent to pay for them ? I spoke to the 
 landlord, and he is letting the back-rent stand a bit, 
 not to sell us up ; and I gave up to him the two top 
 rooms ; and we all sleep in here together." 
 
 I wish the men would go back to vv^ork ! " said 
 Mary, with a sigh. ' 
 
 '^Mary, my heart's just failing within me," said 
 Mrs. Darby, her tone a sort of wail. Here's winter 
 coming on, and all of them out of work. If it were 
 not for my daughter, who is in service, and brings us 
 her wages as she gets them, I believe we should just 
 have starved. I must have medicine for the children, 
 though we go without bread." 
 
 " It is not medicine they want : it is nourishment," 
 said Mary. 
 
 " It is both. Nourishment would have done when 
 
264 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET. 
 
 they were first ailing, but now that it has turned to 
 low fever, they must have medicine, or it will grow 
 into typhus. It's bark they have to take, and it 
 costs " 
 
 Mother ! mother ! " struck up a plaintive voice, 
 that of the eldest of the children lying there, I Avant 
 more of that nice drink ! " 
 
 ''I have not got it, Willy. You know that you 
 had it all. Mrs. Quale brought me round a pot of 
 black-currant jelly," she explained to Mary, "and I 
 poured boiling water on it to make drink. Their 
 little parched throats did so relish it, poor things." 
 
 Mary knelt on the floor and put her hand on the 
 child's moist brow. He was a pretty boy; fair and 
 delicate, with light curls falling round his face. A 
 gentle, thoughtful, intelligent boy he had ever been, 
 but less healthy than some. ''You are thirsty, 
 Willy ? " 
 
 He opened his heavy eyelids, and the large round 
 blue eyes glistened with fever, as they were lifted to 
 see who spoke. 
 
 How do you do, Mary ? " he meekly said. " Yes, 
 T am so thirsty. Mother said perhaps she should 
 have a sixpence to-night to buy a pot of jelly like 
 Mrs. Quale's." Mrs. Darby coloured slightly; she 
 thought Mary must reflect on the extravagance 
 implied. Six.pence for jelly, when they were wanting 
 money for a loaf I 
 
\ 
 
 MR. COX. 2G5. 
 
 ''I did say it to him/' she whispered, as she was 
 quitting the room with Mary. "I thought I might 
 spare a sixpence out of what Darby got from the 
 society. But I can't; I can't. There's so many 
 things we cannot do without, unless we just give up 
 and lie down and don't even try at keeping body 
 and soul together. Eent, and coals, and candles, and 
 soap; and we must eat something. Darby, too, of 
 course he wants a trifle for beer and tobacco. Mary, 
 I say I am just heart-faint. If the poor boy should 
 die, it'll be upon my mind for ever, that the drink he 
 craved for in .his last illness couldn't be got for him." 
 Does he crave for it ? " 
 
 Nothing was ever like it. All day long it has 
 been his sad, pitiful cry. 'Have you got the jelly 
 yet, mother ? Oh, mother, if I could but have the 
 drink ! "' 
 
 As Mary went through the front-room, Robert 
 Darby was in it then. His chin rested on his hands, 
 his elbows were on the table; altogether he looked 
 very downhearted. 
 
 I have been to see Willy," she cried. 
 
 "Ah, poor little chap!" It was all he said; but 
 the tone implied more. 
 
 " Things seem to be getting pretty low with us all. 
 I wish there could be a change," continued Mary. . 
 
 How can there be, while the masters and the 
 Unions are at loggerheads ? " he asked. " Us men be 
 
266 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 between the two : and between the two we come to 
 the ground. It's like sitting on two stools at once." 
 
 Mary proceeded to the shop where jelly was sold, 
 an oilman's, bought a sixpenny pot, and took it back 
 to Mrs. Darby's, handing it in at the door. "Why 
 did you do it, Mary ? " came the remonstrance. " You 
 cannot afford it." 
 
 " Yes, I can. Give it to Willy, with my love." 
 
 " He will only be out of a world of care, if God does 
 take him," sio^hed Marv to herself, as she bent her 
 steps homeward. Oh, father ! " she continued aloud, 
 encountering John Baxendale at their own gate, "I 
 wish this sad state of things could be ended. There's 
 the poor little Darbys worse instead of better. They 
 are all lying in one room, down with fever." 
 
 " God help us, if fever should come ! " was the reply 
 of John Baxendale. 
 
 " It is not catching fever yet. They have given up 
 their top chambers, and are all sleeping in that back- 
 room. Poor Willie craved for a bit of jelly, and Mrs. 
 Darby could not get it him." 
 
 Better crave for that than for worse things," 
 returned John Baxendale. ''I am just a- walking 
 about here, because I can't bear to stop indoors. I 
 can't pay the rent, and the things must go." 
 
 No, father, they need not. He said if you would 
 get up two pounds towards it, he would give tim.e for 
 the rest. If " 
 
MR. COX. 
 
 267 
 
 " Two pounds ! " ejaculated John Baxendale, " where 
 am I to get two pounds from ? Borrow of them that 
 have been provident, and so are better off, in this 
 distress, than me ? No, that I never will." 
 
 Mary opened her hand, and displayed two sovereigns 
 held in its palm. They sparkled in the gaslight. 
 The money is my own, father. Take it." 
 
 A sudden revulsion of feeling came ov^r Baxendale 
 — he seemed to have passed from despair to hope. 
 Child," he gently said, did an angel send it ? 
 
 And Mary, worn with weakness, with long-con- 
 tinued insufficient food, sad with the distress around 
 her, burst into tears, and, bending her head upon his 
 arm, sobbed aloud. 
 
268 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 "I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 
 
 The Shucks had a supper-party. On this same 
 Saturday night, when the wind was blowing outside, 
 and the rain was making the streets into pools, two 
 or three friends had dropped into Sam Shuck's — 
 idlers like Sam himself — and were hospitably invited 
 to remain. Mrs. Shuck was beginning to fry the 
 liver and bacon she had just brought in, with the 
 accompaniment of a good peck of onions, and Sam 
 and his friends were staying their appetites with 
 pipes and porter. When Mary Baxendale and her 
 father entered — Mary having lingered a minute 
 outside, until her emotion had passed, and her eyes 
 were dry — they could scarcely find their way across 
 the kitchen, what with the clouds from the pipes, and 
 the smoke from the frying-pan. There was a great 
 deal of laughter going on. Prosperity had not yet 
 caused the Shucks to change their residence for a 
 better one. Perhaps that was to come • but Sam's 
 natural improvidence stood in the way of much 
 change. 
 
THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 269 
 
 You are merry to-night/' observed Mary, by way 
 of being sociable. 
 
 " It's merrier inside nor out, a- wading through the 
 puddles and the sharp rain/' replied Mrs. Shuck, 
 without turning round from her employment. " It's 
 some'at new to see you out such a night as this, Mary 
 Baxendale ! Don't you talk about folks wanting 
 sense again." 
 
 " I don't know that I ever do talk of it/' was the 
 inoffensive reply of Mary, as she followed her father 
 up the stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Baxendale was hushing a baby when they 
 entered their room. She looked very cross. The 
 best-tempered will do so, under the long-con- 
 tinued embarrassment of empty purses and empty 
 stomachs. 
 
 " Who has been spreading it up and down the place 
 that ive are in trouble about the rent ? " she abruptly 
 demanded in no pleasant voice. " That girl of Ryan's 
 was here just now — Judy. She knew it, it seems, 
 and she didn't forget to speak of it. Mary, what a 
 simpleton you are, to be out in this rain ! " 
 
 " Never mind who speaks of the rent, Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale, so long as it can be paid/' said Mary, sitting 
 down in the first chair to recover her breath, after 
 mounting the stairs. " Father is going to manage it, 
 so that we shan't have any trouble at present. It's 
 all right." 
 
270 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 How ever have you contrived it ? " demanded Mrs. 
 Baxendale of her husband, in a changed tone. 
 
 "Mary has contrived it — not I. She has just put 
 two pounds into my hand. Where did you get it, 
 child ? " 
 
 It does not signify your knowing that, father." 
 ''If I don't know it, I shan't use the money," he 
 answered, shortly. 
 
 Why, surely, father, you can trust me ! " she re- 
 joined. 
 
 That is not it, Marj/^," said J ohn Baxendale. I 
 don t like to use borrowed money, unless I know who 
 it has been borrowed from." 
 
 '' It was not borrowed, in your sense of the word, 
 father. I have only done wha^t you and Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale have been doing lately. I pledged that set of 
 coral ornaments of my mother's. Had you forgotten 
 them ? " 
 
 "Why, yes, I had forgot 'em," cried he. "Coral 
 ornaments ! I declare they had as much slipped my 
 memory, as if she had never possessed them." 
 
 '' Cox would only lend me two pounds upon them. 
 Father, I hope I shall some time get them redeemed." 
 
 John Baxendale made no reply. He turned to pace 
 the small room, evidently in deep thought. Mary, her 
 poor short breath gathered again, took off her wet 
 cloak and bonnet. Presently, Mrs. Baxendale put the 
 loaf upon the table, and some cold potatoes. 
 
 1 
 
^•I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL; 
 
 271 
 
 ''Couldn't you have brought in a sausage or two 
 for yourself, Mary, or a red herring ? she said. You 
 had a shilling in your pocket." 
 
 " I can eat a p6tato," said Mary ; " it don't much 
 matter about me." 
 
 " It matters about us all, I think," cried Mrs. Baxen- 
 dale. " What a delicious smell of onions ! " she added 
 in a parenthesis. " Them Shucks have the luck of it 
 just now. Us, and the children, and you, are three 
 parts starved — I know that, Mary. We may weather 
 it — it's to be hoped we shall ; but it will just kill you." 
 
 ''No, it shan't," said John Baxendale, turning to 
 them wdth a strangely stern decision marked upon his 
 countenance. This night has decided me, and I'll go 
 and do it." 
 
 " Go and do what ? " exclaimed his wife, a sort of 
 fear in her tone. 
 
 "I'll go to WOKK, please God, Monday morning 
 comes," he said with emphasis. ''The thought has 
 been hovering in my mind this week past." 
 
 It's just the thing you ought to have done weeks 
 ago," observed Mrs. Baxendale. 
 
 '' You never said it." 
 
 '' Not I. It's best to let men come to their senses 
 of their own accord. You mostly act by the rules of 
 contrary, you men ; if I had advised j^our going to 
 work next Monday morning, you'd just have stopped 
 away." 
 
272 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Passing over this conjugal compliment in silence, 
 John Baxendale descended the stairs. He possessed a 
 large share of the open honesty of the genuine English 
 workman. He disdained to do things in a corner. It 
 would not suit him to return to work the coming 
 Monday morning on what might be called " the sly ; " 
 he preferred to act openly, and to declare it to the 
 Trades' Union previously, in the person of their paid 
 agent, Sam Shuck. This he would do at once, and 
 for that purpose entered the kitchen. 
 
 The first instalment of the supper was just served : 
 which was accomplished by means of a tin dish placed 
 on the table, and the contents of the frying-pan 
 being turned unceremoniously into it. Sam and the 
 company deemed the liver and bacon were best served 
 hot and hot, so they set themselves to eat. whilst Mrs. 
 Shuck continued to fry. 
 
 ^ I have got just a word to say. Shuck ; I shan't 
 disturb you," began John Baxendale, But Shuck 
 interrupted him. 
 
 It's of no use, Baxendale, your remonstrating 
 about the short allowance. Think of the many 
 mouths there is to feed. It's hard times, we all know, 
 thanks to the masters ; but our duty, ay, and our 
 pride too, must lie in putting up with them, like 
 men." 
 
 It's not very hard times with you, at any rate," 
 said John Baxendale, sniffing involuntarily the savoury 
 
"I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 273 
 
 odour, and watching the tempting morsels consumed. 
 " My business here is not to remonstrate at anything, 
 but to inform you that I shall resume work on 
 Monday." 
 
 The announcement took Sam by surprise. He 
 dropped the knife with which he was cutting the liver, 
 held upon his bread — for the repast was not served 
 fashionably, with a full complement of plates and 
 dishes — and stared at Baxendale. 
 
 " What ! " he uttered. 
 
 " I have had enough of it. I shall go back on 
 Monday morning." 
 
 " Are you a fool, Baxendale ? Or a knave ? " 
 
 "Sometimes I think I must be a fool," was the 
 reply, given without irritation. " Leastways, I have 
 wondered lately whether I am or not : when there 
 has been full work and full wages to be had for the 
 asking, and I have not asked, but have let my 
 wife and children and Mary go down to starvation 
 point." 
 
 " You have been holding out for principle/' remon- 
 strated Sam. 
 
 " I know ; and principle is a very good thing when 
 you are sure it's the right principle. But flesh and 
 blood can t stand out for ever." 
 
 "After standing out as long as this, I'd try and 
 stand out a bit longer," cried Sam. " You must, 
 Baxendale \ you can't turn traitor now." 
 
 A Life's Secret. 1 8 
 
274 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " You say ^ a bit ' longer, Sam Shuck. It has been 
 ' a bit longer/ and ' a bit longer/ for some time past ; 
 but the bit doesn't come to any ending. There's no 
 more chance of the masters coming to, than there was 
 at first, but a great deal less. The getting of these 
 men from the country will render them independent 
 of us. What is to become of us then ? " 
 
 Rubbish ! " said Sam Shuck. The masters must 
 come to : they can't stand against the Unions. 
 Because a sprinkling of poor country workmen have 
 thrust in their noses, and the masters are keeping 
 open their works on the show of it, is that a reason 
 why we should knuckle down ? They are doing it to 
 frighten us." 
 
 Look here," said Baxendale. I have two women 
 and two children on my hands, and one of the women 
 is next door to the grave; I am threatened — yoib 
 know it, Sam Shuck — with a lodging for them in the 
 street next week, because I have not been able to pay 
 the rent ; I have parted by selling and pledging, with 
 nearly all there is to part with, of my household 
 goods. There was what they call a Bible reader 
 1 ound last week, and he saj^s, pleasantly, ' Why don't 
 you kneel down and ask God to consider your con- 
 dition, Mr. Baxendale ? ' Very good. But how can I 
 do that ? Isn't it just a mockery for me to pray for 
 help to provide for me and mine ? If God was 
 pleased to answer us in words, would not the answer 
 
THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 275- 
 
 be, ' There is work, and to spare ; you have only got 
 to do it ? ' " 
 
 ''Well, that's grand," put in one of Sam's guests, 
 most of whom had been staring with open mouths. 
 " As if folks asked God about such things as this ! " 
 
 Since my late wife died, I have thought about it 
 more than I used to,'' said Baxendale, simply, and I 
 have got to see that there's no good to be done in 
 anything without it. But how can I in reason ask 
 for help now, when I don't help myself ? The work 
 is ready to my hand, and I don't take it. So, Sam 
 my mind's made up at last. You'll tell the Union." 
 No, I shan't. You won't go to work." 
 You'll see. I shall be e^lad to I haven't had 
 a proper meal this " 
 
 " You'll think better of it between now and Monday 
 morning," interrupted Sam, drowning the words. 
 
 I'll have a talk with you to-morrow. Have a bit of 
 supper, Baxendale ? " 
 
 ''No, thank ye. I didn't come in to eat your 
 victuals," he added, moving to the door. 
 
 " We have got plenty," said Mrs. Shuck, turning 
 round from the frying-pan. Here, eat it upstairs, if 
 you won't stop, Baxendale." 
 
 She took out a slice of liver and of bacon, and 
 handed them to him on a saucer. What a temptation 
 it was to the man, sick with hunger ! However, he 
 was about to refuse, when he thought of Mary. 
 
276 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " Thank ye, Mrs. Shuck I'll take it, then, if you 
 can spare it. It will be a treat to Mary." 
 
 Like unto the appearance of water in the desert to 
 the parched and exhausted traveller was the sight of 
 that saucer of meat to Mary. Terribly did she often 
 crave for it. John Baxendale positively refused to 
 touch any; so Mary divided it into two portions, 
 giving one to Mrs. Baxendale. The woman's good- 
 nature — her sense of Mary's condition — would have 
 led her to refuse it ; but she was not quite made up 
 of self-denial, and she felt faint and sinking. John 
 Baxendale cut a thick slice of bread, rubbed it over 
 the remains of gravy in the saucer, and ate that. 
 " Please God, this shall have an end," he mentally 
 repeated. I think I have been a fool ! " 
 
 Mr. Hunter's yard — as it was familiarly called in 
 the trade — was open just as were other yards, though 
 as yet he had very few men at work in it ; in fact, so 
 little was doing that it was almost equivalent to a 
 standstill. Mr. Henry Hunter was better off. A 
 man of energy, determined to stand no nonsense, as 
 he himself expressed it, he had gone down to country 
 places, and engaged many hands. 
 
 On the Monday following the above Saturday night, 
 John Baxendale presented himself to Austin Clay, and 
 requested to be taken on again. Austin complied at 
 once, glad to do so, and told the man he was wise to 
 come back to work. Mr. Hunter was not at business 
 
'a THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 277 
 
 that day; "too unwell to leave home" was the 
 message carried to Austin Clay. In the evenings 
 Austin went to the house : as was usual when Mr. 
 Hunter did not make his appearance at the works 
 in the day. Florence was alone when he entered. 
 Evidently in distress; though she strove to hide it 
 from him; to turn it off with gay looks and light 
 words. But he noted the signs. 
 
 " What is your grief, Florence ? " he asked, speaking 
 in earnest tones of sympathy. 
 
 It caused the tears to come forth again. Austin 
 took her hands and drew her to him, as either a lover 
 or a brother might have done, leaving her to take it 
 as she pleased. 
 
 " Let me share it, Florence, whatever it may be," 
 ' "It is nothing more than usual," she answered; 
 " but somehow my spirits are low this evening. I try 
 to bear up bravely ; and I do bear up : but, indeed, 
 this is an unhappy home. Mamma is sinking fast ; I 
 see it daily. While papa 
 
 But for the abrupt pause, she would have broken 
 down. Austin turned away : he did not choose that 
 she should enter upon any subject connected with Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 This time Florence would not be checked : as she 
 had been hitherto. " Austin, I cannot bear it any 
 longer. What is it that is overshadowing papa ? " she 
 continued, her voice, her whole manner full of dread. 
 
278 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 V 
 
 " I am sure that some misfortune hangs over the 
 house." 
 
 "I wish I could take you out of it/' was the 
 impulsive and not very relevant answer. " I can tell 
 you nothing, Florence/' he concluded more soberly. 
 ''Mr. Hunter has many cares in business; but the 
 cares are his own." 
 
 " Austin, is it kind of you to try to put me off so ? 
 I can bear reality, whatever it may be, better than 
 suspense.' It is for papa I grieve. See how ill he 
 is ! And yet he has no ailment of body, only of 
 mind. Night after night he paces his room, never 
 sleeping." 
 
 " How do you know that Austin inquired. 
 '' Because I listen to it." 
 " You should not do so." 
 
 ''I cannot help listening to him. How is it 
 possible? His room is near mine, and when his 
 footsteps are sounding in it, in the midnight silence, 
 hour after hour, my ears grow sensitively quick. I 
 say that, loving him, I cannot help it. Sometimes I 
 think that if I only knew the cause, the nature of 
 his sorrow, I might soothe it — perhaps help to re- 
 move it." 
 
 " As if young ladies could ever help or remove the 
 cares of business ! " he cried, speaking lightly. 
 
 "I am not a child, Austin,'' she resumed : ''it is not 
 kind of you to make pretence that I am, and try to 
 
THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 279 
 
 put me off as one. Papa's trouble is not connected 
 with business, and I am sure you know that as well 
 as I do. Will you not tell me what it is ? " 
 
 Florence, you can have no grounds for assuming 
 that I am cognizant of it." 
 
 I feel very sure that you are. Can you suppose 
 that I should otherwise speak of it to you ? 
 
 I say that you can have no grounds for the sup- 
 position. By what do you so judge ? " 
 
 " By signs/' she answered. " I can read it in your 
 countenance, your actions. I was pretty sure of it 
 before that day when you sent me hastily into your 
 rooms, lest I should hear what the man Gwinn was 
 about to say ; but I have been fully sure since. What 
 he would have said related to it ; and, in some way, 
 the man is connected with the ill. Besides, you have 
 bden on confidential terms with papa for years." 
 
 On business matters only : not on private ones. 
 My dear Florence, I must request you to let this 
 subject cease, now and always. I know nothing of 
 its nature from your father ; and if my own thoughts 
 have in any way strayed towards it, it is not fitting 
 that I should give utterance to them." 
 
 Tell me one thing : could I be of any service, in 
 any way ? " 
 
 " Hush, Florence," he uttered, as if the words had 
 struck upon some painful chord. ''The only service 
 you can render is, by taking no notice of it. Do not 
 
280 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 think of it if you can help ; do not aUudo to it to your 
 mother." 
 
 I never do," she interrupted. 
 
 That is well." 
 
 You have sometimes said you cared for me." 
 " Well ? " he rejoined, determined to be as contrary 
 as he could. 
 
 If you did, you v^ould not leave me in this sus- 
 pense. Only tell me the nature of papa's trouble, 
 I will not ask further." 
 
 Austin gathered his wits together, thinking what 
 plea he should invent. It is a debt, Florence. Your 
 papa contracted a debt many years ago ; he thought 
 it was paid ; but by some devilry — pardon the word ; 
 I forgot I was talking to you — a lawyer, Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford, has proved that it was not paid, and he 
 comes to press for instalments of it. That is all I 
 know. And now you must give me your promise not 
 to speak of this. I'll never tell you anything more if 
 you do." 
 
 Florence had listened attentively, and was satisfied. 
 
 ''I will never speak of it," she said. "I think I 
 understand it now. Papa fears he shall have no 
 fortune left for me. Oh, if he only knew " 
 
 " Hush, Florence ! " came the warning whisper, for 
 Mrs. Hunter was standing at the door. 
 
 Is it you, Austin ? I heard voices here, and 
 wondered who had come in." 
 
THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL," 281 
 
 How are you, dear Mrs. Hunter ? " lie said to her 
 as she entered. Better, this evening ? " 
 
 ^'Not better/' was Mrs. Hunter's answer, as she 
 retained Austins hand, and drew him on the sofa 
 beside her. " There will be no ' better ' for me in this 
 world. Austin, I Avish I could have gone from it 
 under happier circumstances. Florence, I hear your 
 papa calling." 
 
 " If you are not happy m the prospect of the future, 
 who can be ? " murmured Austin, as Florence left the 
 room. 
 
 "I spoke not of myself. My concern is for Mr. 
 Hunter. Austin, I would give every hour of my 
 remaining days to know what terrible grief it is that 
 has been so long upon him." 
 
 Austin was silent. Had Mrs. Hunter and Florence 
 entered into a compact to annoy him ? 
 
 " It has been like a dark shadow upon our house for 
 years. Florence and I have kept silence upon it to 
 him, and to each other ; to him we dare not speak, to 
 each other we would not. Latterly it has seemed so 
 much worse, that I was forced to whisper of it to her : 
 I could not keep it in; the silence was killing me. 
 We both agree that you are in his confidence ; if so, 
 perhaps you will satisfy me ? " 
 
 Austin Clay felt himself \n a dilemma. He could 
 not speak of it in the light manner he had spoken to 
 Florence, or so carelessly put off" Mrs. Hunter. 
 
282 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 I am not in his confidence, indeed, Mrs. Hunter," 
 he broke forth, glad to be able to say so much. That 
 I have observed the signs you speak of in Mr. Hunter, 
 his embarrassment, his grief— — 
 Say his fear, Austin." 
 
 "His fear. That I have noticed this it would be 
 vain to deny. But, Mrs. Hunter, I assure you he 
 has never given me his confidence upon the subject. 
 Quito the contrary ; he has particularly shunned it 
 with me. Of course I can give a very shrewd guess 
 at the cause — he is pressed for money. Times are 
 bad; and when a man of Mr. Hunters thoughtful 
 temperament begins to be really anxious on the score 
 of money matters, it shows itself in various ways." 
 
 Mrs. Hunter quitted the subject, perhaps partially 
 reassured ; at any rate convinced that no end would 
 be answered by continuing it. ''I v/as mistaken, I 
 suppose," she said, with a sigh. ''At least you can 
 tell me, Austin, how business is going on. How will 
 it go on ? " 
 
 Very grave turned Austin's face now. This was 
 an open evil — one to be openly met and grappled 
 with ; and what his countenance gained in seriousness 
 it lost in annoyance. I really do not see how it will 
 go on," was his reply, " unless we can get to work 
 soon. I want to speak to Mr. Hunter. Can I see 
 him ? 
 
 " He will be in directly. He has not been down 
 
^'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 283 
 
 to-day yet. But I suppose you will wish to see him 
 in private ; I know he and you like to be alone when 
 you talk upon business matters." 
 
 For the moment it was expedient that Mrs. Hunter, 
 at any rate, should not be present, if she was to be 
 spared annoyance ; for Mr. Hunter's affairs were grow- 
 ing ominous. This was chiefly owing to the stoppage 
 of works in process, and partly to the effect of a 
 diminished capital. Austin as yet did not know all 
 the apprehension, for Mr. Hunter contrived to keep 
 some of it from him. That the diminished capital was 
 owing to Gwinn, of Ketterford, Austin did know ; at 
 least, his surmises amounted to certainty. When a 
 hundred pounds, or perhaps two hundred pounds, 
 mysteriously went out, and Austin was not made ac- 
 quainted with the destination of the money, he drew 
 his own conclusions. 
 
 " Are the men not learning the error of their course 
 j^et ? " Mrs. Hunter resumed. 
 
 " They seem further from learning it than ever. One 
 of them, indeed, came back to-day : Baxendale." 
 
 I felt sure he would be amongst the first to do so. 
 He is a sensible man : how he came to hold out at all, 
 is to me a matter of surprise/' 
 
 He told me this morning, when he came and asked 
 to be taken on again, that he washed he never had 
 held out," said Austin. "Mary is none the better 
 for it." 
 
284 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ''Mary was here to-day/' remarked Mrs. Hunter. 
 " She came to say that she was better, and could do 
 some "wovk if I had any. I fear it is a deceitful im- 
 provement. She is terribly thin and wan. No ; this 
 state of things must have been bad for her. She 
 looks as if she were half famished.'' 
 
 " She only looks what she is," said Austin. 
 
 " Oh, Austin ! I should have been so thankful to 
 help her to strengthening food during this scarcity," 
 Mrs. Hunter exclaimed, the tears rising in her eyes. 
 
 But I have not dared. You know what Mr. Hunter's 
 opinion is — that the men have brought it upon them- 
 selves, and that to help their families, only in the 
 least degree, would be encouraging them to hold out, 
 and would tend to prolong the contest. He positively 
 forbade me helping any of them : and I could only 
 obey. I have kept indoors as much as possible, that 
 I might avoid the sight of distress which I must not 
 relieve. But I ordered Mary a good meal here this 
 morning : Mr. Hunter did not object to that. Here 
 he is." 
 
 Mr. Hunter entered, leaning upon Florence. He 
 looked an old man, rather than one of middle-age. 
 
 "Baxendale is back, sir," Austin observed, after a 
 few words on business matters had passed in an under- 
 tone. 
 
 " Come to his senses at last, has he ? " cried Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL;' 
 
 285 
 
 That is just what I told him he had done, sir." 
 Has he signed the declaration ? 
 
 " Of course he has. The men have to do that, jovl 
 know, sir, before they get any work. He says he 
 wishes he had come back at first." 
 
 ''So do a good many others, in their hearts," 
 answered Mr. Hunter, significantly. " But they can't 
 pluck up the courage to acknowledge it." 
 
 " The men are most bitter against him — urged on, 
 no doubt, by the Union. They " 
 
 " Against Baxendale ? " 
 
 ''Against Baxendale. He came to speak to me 
 oefore breakfast. I gave him the declaration to read 
 and sign, and sent him to work at once. In the course 
 of the morning it had got wind; though Baxendale 
 told me he had given Sam Shuck notice of his inten- 
 tion on Saturday night. At dinner-time, when 
 Baxendale was quitting the yard, there were, I 
 should say, a couple of hundred men assembled 
 there " 
 
 "The Daff'odirs Delight people?" interrupted Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 "Yes. Our late men chiefly, and a sprinkling ot 
 Mr. Henry's. They were waiting there for Baxendale, 
 and the moment he appeared, the yells, the hisses, the 
 groans, were dreadful. I suspected what it was, and 
 ran out. But for my doing so, I believe they would 
 have set upon him." 
 
28G 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mark you, Clay ! I will protect my workmen to 
 the very limit of the law. Let the malcontents lay 
 only a finger upon any one of them, and they shall 
 assuredly be punished to the uttermost/' reiterated 
 Mr. Hunter, bringing down his hand forcibly. " What 
 did you do ? 
 
 ''I spoke to them just as you have now spoken," 
 said Austin. "Their threatenings to the man were 
 terrible. I dared them to lay a finger upon him ; I 
 assured them that the language they were using was 
 punishable. Had the police been in the way — but the 
 more you want them, the less they are to be seen — I 
 should have handed a few into custody." 
 
 " Who were the ringleaders ? " 
 
 "I can scarcely tell. Rayn, the Irishman, was 
 busy, and so was Jim Dunn; Cheek, also, backed by 
 his wife." 
 
 Oh, you had women also ! " 
 
 In plenty," said Austin. One of them — I think 
 it was Cooper s wife — roared out a challenge to fight 
 Mrs. Baxendale, if her man, Cooper, as she expressed 
 it, was too much of a woman to fight Mm. There will 
 be bloodshed, I fear, sir, before the thing is over." 
 
 If there is, let they who cause it look to them- 
 selves," said Mr. Hunter, speaking as sternly as he felt. 
 How did it end ? " 
 
 " I cleared a passage for Baxendale, and they yelled 
 and hooted him home," replied Austin. '''I suppose 
 
"I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 287 
 
 they'd like to take my life, sir/ he said to me ; ' but I 
 think I am only doing right in returning to work. 
 I could not let my family and Mary quite sta^rve/ 
 This afternoon all was quiet ; Quale told me the men 
 were holding a meeting.' 
 
 Florence was sitting with her hands clasped, her 
 colour gradually rising. If they should — set upon 
 Baxendale, and — and injure him !" she breathed. 
 
 " Then the law would see what it could do towards 
 getting some of them punished/' sternly spoke Mr. 
 Hunter. 
 
 "Oh, James!" interposed his wife, her pale cheeks 
 flushing, as the word grated on her ears. Can 
 nothing be done to prevent it ? Prevention is better 
 than cure. Austin, will you not give notice to the 
 police, and tell them to be on the alert ? " 
 
 '' I have done it," answered Austin. 
 Papa/' said Florence, " have you heard that Robert 
 Darby's children are ill ? — likely to die ? They are 
 suffering dreadfully from want. Mary Baxendale said 
 so when she was here this morning." 
 
 I know nothing about Robert Darby or his 
 children," was the uncompromising reply of Mr. 
 Hunter. " If a man sees his children starvino; before 
 him, and will not work to feed them, he deserves to 
 find them ill. Florence, I see what you mean — you 
 would like to ask me to permit you to send them 
 relief. I will not!' 
 
288 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Do not judge of Mr. Hunter s humanity by these 
 words, or deem him an unfeeling man. He was far 
 from that. Had the men been out of work through 
 misfortune, he would have been the first to forward 
 them succour ; many and many a time had he done it 
 in cases of sickness. He considered, as did most of 
 the other London masters, that to help the men or 
 their families in any way would only tend to prolong 
 the dispute. And there was certainly reason in their 
 argument — if the men wished to feed their children, 
 why did they not work for them ? 
 
 ''Sir,'' whispered Austin, when he was going, and 
 Mr. Hunter went with him into the hall, that bill of 
 Lamb's came back to us to-day, noted." 
 
 '' No ! " 
 
 " It did, indeed. I had to take it up." 
 
 Mr. Hunter lifted his hands. This wretched state 
 of things 1 It will bring on ruin — it will bring on ruin. 
 I heard one of the masters curse the men the other 
 day in his perplexity and anger ^ there are times when 
 I am tempted to follow his example. Ruin ! for my 
 wife and for Florence I " 
 
 "Mr. Hunter," exclaimed Austin, greatly agitated,' 
 and speaking in the moment's impulse, '' why will you 
 not give me the hope o£ winning her ? I will make 
 
 her a happy home " 
 
 Be silent ! " sternly interrupted Mr. Hunter. I 
 have told you tlmt Florence can never be your^. If 
 
^'1 THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL." 289 
 
 you cannot put away this unthankful subject, at once 
 and for ever, I must forbid you the house." 
 
 Good-night, sir/' returned Austin. And he went 
 away, sighing heavily. 
 
 A Life's Secret, 
 
290 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SOMEBODY ''PITCHED INTO." 
 
 How do the poor manage to pull through illness ? 
 Through distress, through hunger, through cold, 
 through nakedness ; above all, through the close, un- 
 wholesome atmosphere in which too many of them 
 are obliged to live, they struggle on from sickness 
 back to health. 
 
 Look at the children of Robert Darby. The low 
 fever which attacked them had in some inexplicable 
 way been subdued, without its going on to the dreaded 
 typhus. If typhus had appeared at that untoward 
 time in Daffodil's Delight, why, then, no earthly power 
 could have kept many from the grave. Little pale, 
 pinched forms, but with the disease gone, there sat 
 Darby's children. Colder weather had come, and they 
 had gathered round the bit of fire in their close room. 
 Fire it could scarcely be called, for it was only a fev/ 
 decaying embers. All sat on the floor, except "Willy ; 
 he was in a chair, leaning his head back on a pillovf. 
 The boy had probably never been fitted by constitu- 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO." 
 
 291 
 
 tion for a prolonged life, though he might have lasted 
 some years more with favourable surroundings ; as it 
 was, fever and privation had done their work with. 
 him, and the little spirit was nearly w^orn out. Mrs. 
 Darby had taken him round to Mr. Rice. He does 
 not want me, he wants good nourishment, and plenty 
 of it,'' was the apothecary's announcement : and Mrs. 
 Darby took him home again. 
 
 " Mother, the fire's nearly out," 
 I can't help it, Willy. There's no coal^ and nothing 
 to buy it with." 
 
 " Take something, mother.'^ 
 
 You may or may not, as you are acquainted or not 
 with the habits of the poor, be aware that this sentence 
 referred to the pawnbroker : spoken out fully it would 
 have been, "Take something and pledge it, mother." 
 In cases of long-continued general distress, the children 
 of a family know just as much about its ways and 
 means as the heads do. 
 
 Mrs. Darby cast her eyes round the kitchen. There 
 was nothing to take, nothing that would raise them 
 help, to speak of. As she stood over Willy, parting 
 the hair with her gentle finger upon his little pale 
 brow, her tears dropped upon his face. The pillow 
 on which his head leaned ? Ay ; she had thought of 
 that with longing; but how would his poor aching- 
 head do w^ithout it ? The last things put in pledge 
 had been Darby's tools. 
 
292 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 The latch of the door opened, and Grace entered. 
 She appeared to be in some deep distress. Flinging 
 herself on a chair, she clasped hold of her mother, 
 sobbing wildly, clinging to her as if for protection. 
 " Oh, mother, they have accused me of theft ; the 
 police have been had to me ! " were the confused words 
 that broke from her lips. 
 
 Grace had taken service in a baker's family, where 
 there was an excessively cross mistress. She was a 
 well-conducted, honest girl, and, since the distress had 
 commenced at home, had brought her wages straight 
 to her mother, whenever they were paid her. For the 
 last week or two, the girl had brought something 
 more. On the days when she believed she could get 
 a minute to run home in the evening, she had put by 
 her allowance of meat at dinner — they lived well at 
 the baker's — and made it upon bread and potatoes. 
 Had Grace for a moment suspected there was anything 
 wrong or dishonest in this, she would not have done 
 it : she deemed the meat was hers, and she took it to 
 Willy. On this day, two good slices of mutton were 
 cut for her ; she put them by, ate her potatoes and 
 bread, and after dinner, upon being sent on an errand 
 past Daffodil's Delight, was taking them out with her. 
 The mistress pounced upon her. She abused her, she 
 reproached her with theft, she called her husband to 
 join in the accusation ; and finally, a policeman was 
 b^:ought in from the street, probably more to frighten 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO." 293 
 
 the girl than to give her in charge. It did frighten 
 her in no measured degree. She protested, as well as 
 she could do it for her sobs, that she had no dishonest 
 thought ; that she had believed the meat to be hers 
 to eat it or not as she pleased, and that she was going 
 to take it to her little brother, who was dying. The 
 policeman decided that it was not a case for charge 
 at the police-court, and the baker s wife ended the 
 matter by turning her out. All this, with sobs and 
 moans, she by degrees explained now. 
 
 Kobert Darby, who had entered during the scene, 
 placed his hand, more in sorrow than in anger, upon 
 Grace's shoulder, in his stern honesty. " Daughter, I'd 
 far rather we all dropped down here upon the floor 
 and died out with starvation, than that you should 
 have brought home what was not yours to bring." 
 
 " There's no need for you to scold her, Robert," 
 spoke Mrs. Darby, with more temper than she, meek 
 woman that she was, often betrayed : and her con- 
 science told her that she had purposely kept these 
 little episodes from her husband. It is the bits of 
 meat she has fed him with twice or thrice a week that 
 has just kept life in him ; that's my firm belief." 
 
 " She shouldn't have done it ; it was not hers to 
 bring,' returned Robert Darby. 
 
 What else has he had to feed him ? " proceeded 
 the wife, determined to defend the girl. "What do 
 any of us have ? You are getting nothing." The 
 
294 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 tone "was a reproachful one. With her starving 
 children before her, and one of them dying, the poor 
 mother's wrung heart could only speak out. 
 
 I know I am getting nothing. Is it my fault ? I 
 wish I could get something. I'd work my fingers to 
 the bone to keep my children." 
 
 " Robert, let me speak to you/' she said in an im- 
 ploring tone, the tears gushing from her eyes. I 
 have sat here this week and asked myself, every hour 
 of it, what we shall do. All our things, that money 
 caa be made on, are gone ; the pittance we are allowed 
 by the society does not keep body and soul together ; 
 and this state of affairs gets worse, and will get worse. 
 What is to become of us ? What are we to do ? " 
 
 Robert Darby leaned in his old jacket — one con- 
 siderably the worse for wear — against the kitchen 
 wall, his countenance gloomy, his attitude bespeaking 
 misery. He knew not what they were to do, there- 
 fore he did not attempt to say. Grace had laid down 
 her inflamed face upon the edge of Willy's pillow and 
 was sobbing silently. The others sat on the floor : 
 very quiet ; as semi-starved little ones are apt to be. 
 
 "You have just said you would v/ork your fingers 
 to the bone to keep your children," resumed Mrs. 
 Darby to her husband. 
 
 "I'd work for them till the flesh dropped off me. 
 I'd ask no better than to do it," he vehemently said. 
 " But where am I to get work to do now ? " 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO.' 
 
 295 
 
 Baxendale has got it/' she rejoined in a low tone. 
 
 Grace started from her learning posture. " Oh, 
 father, do as Baxendale has done! don't let the 
 children quite starve. If you had been in work, this 
 dreadful thing would not have happened. It will be 
 a slur upon me for life." 
 
 " So I would work, girl, but for the Trades' Unions." 
 Father, the Trades' Unions seem to bring you no 
 good; nothing but harm. Don't trust them any 
 longer ; trust the masters now." 
 
 Never was there a more well-meaning man than 
 Robert Darby; but he was too easily swayed by 
 others. Latterly it had appeared to him that the 
 Trades' Unions did bring him harm, and his trust in 
 them was shaken. He stood for a few moments, 
 revolving the question in his own mind. "They'd 
 cast me off, you see, the Trades' Unions would," he 
 observed to his wife, in an irresolute tone. 
 
 What if they did ? The masters would take you 
 on. Stand right with the masters " 
 
 Mrs. Darby was interrupted by a shriek from Grace. 
 Little Willy, whom nobody had been giving at- 
 tention to, was lying back with a white face, senseless. 
 Whether from the weakness of his condition, or from 
 the unusual excitement of the scene going on around 
 him, certain it was that the child had fainted. There 
 was some little bustle in bringing him to, and Mrs. 
 Darby sat down, the boy upon her lap. 
 
296 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 "What ailed you, deary?" said Robert Darby, 
 bending down to him. 
 
 " I don't know, father," returned the child. And 
 his voice was fainter than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Darby pulled her husband's ear close to her 
 lips. "When the boy's dead, you'll wish you had 
 cared for him more than for the Trades' Union ; and 
 worked for him." 
 
 The words told upon the man. Perhaps for the 
 first time he had fully realized to his imagination the 
 moment when he should see his boy lying dead before 
 him. "I will work," he exclaimed. "Willy, boy, 
 father will go and get work ; and he'll soon bring you 
 home something good to eat, as he used to." Willy's 
 hot lips parted with a pleasant smile of response ; his 
 blue eyes glistened brightly. Robert Darby bent his 
 rough, unshaven face, and took a kiss from the child's 
 smooth one. " Yes, my boy, father ^vill work." 
 
 He went out bending his steps towards Slippery 
 Sam's — who, by the way, had latterly tried to exact 
 the title of " Mr. Shuck." There was a code of honour 
 — as they regarded it — amongst these operatives of 
 the Hunters, to do nothing underhand. That is, not 
 to resume work without first speaking to the Unions' 
 man, Sam Shuck — as was mentioned in the case of 
 Baxendale. 
 
 It happened that Mr. Shuck was standing in the 
 strip of garden before his house, carrying on a wordy 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO/' 297 
 
 war over the palings with Mrs. Quale, when Darby 
 came up. Peter Quale had of course been locked out 
 with the rest, but with the first hour that Mr. 
 Hunter's yard was opened, Peter returned to his 
 work. He did not belong to the Trades' Unions — he 
 never had belonged to them and never would ; there- 
 fore, he was a free man. Strange to say, he was left 
 to do as he liked in peace ; somehow the Union did 
 not care to interfere with Peter Quale — for one thing 
 he occupied a better position in the yard than most of 
 the men. Peter pursued his own course quietly — 
 going to his work and returning from it, saying little 
 to the malcontents of Daffodil's Delight. Not so Mrs. 
 Quale ; she exercised her tongue upon them whenever 
 she had the chance. Her motive was a good one : 
 she was at heart sorry for the privation at present 
 existing in Daffodil's Delight, and would have liked 
 to shame the men into going to work again. 
 
 "Now, Robert Darby! how are them children of 
 your'n ? " began she. " Starved out yet ? " 
 
 " Next door to it," was Darby's answer. 
 
 " And whose is the fault ? " she went on. " If I 
 had children, and my husband wouldn't work to 
 keep 'em out of their graves, through getting some 
 nasty mistaken crotchet in his head, and holding 
 out when the work was going a-begging, I'd go before 
 a magistrate and see if I couldn't have the law of 
 him." 
 
298 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 You'd do a good many things if you wore the 
 breeches/' interposed Sam Shuck, with a sneer ; " but 
 you don t, you know." 
 
 "You be wearing whole breeches now, which you 
 get out of the blood and marrow of the poor mis- 
 guided men," retorted Mrs. Quale. ''They won't last 
 out whole for ever, Slippery Sam." 
 
 They'll last out as long as I want 'em to, I dare 
 say," said Sam. ''Have you come up for anything 
 particular. Darby ? " 
 
 "I have come to talk a bit, Shuck," answered 
 Darby, inwardly shrinking from his task, and so 
 deferring for a minute the announcement. " There 
 seems no chance of this state of things coming to 
 an end." 
 
 "No; that there doesn't. You men are preventing 
 that." 
 
 " Us men ! " exclaimed Robert Darby, in surprise. 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I don't mean you ; I don't mean the sturdy, 
 honest fellows who hold out for their rights like men 
 — I mean the other lot. If every operative in the 
 kingdom had held out, to a man, the masters would 
 have given in long ago — they must have done it ; 
 and you would all be back, working in triumph 
 the nine hours per day. I spoke of those rats who 
 sneak in, and take the work, to the detriment of 
 the honest man." 
 
SOMEBODY ''PITCHED INTO." 29i> 
 
 '^At any rate, the rats are getting the best of it 
 just now/' said Robert Darby. 
 
 ''That they are/' said Mrs. Quale, exultingly, 
 v/ho would not lose an opportunity of putting in her 
 Yford. She stood facing the men, her arms resting 
 on the palings that divided the gardens. " It isn't 
 their children that are dropping into their winding- 
 sheets through want of food." 
 
 '^If I had my way, I'd hang every man who in 
 this crisis is putting his hand to a stroke of work," 
 exclaimed Sam Shuck. " Traitors ! to turn and work 
 for the masters after they had resorted to a lock-out ! 
 It was that lock-out floored us." 
 
 '' Of course it was," assented Mrs. Quale, with 
 marked complaisance. ''If the Union only had 
 money coming in from the men, they'd hold out for 
 ever. But the general lock-out stopped that." 
 
 " Ugh ! " growled Sam, with the addition of an 
 ugly word. 
 
 ^' Well, Shuck, as things seem to be getting worse 
 instead of better, and prospects look altogether so 
 gloomy, I shall go back to work myself/' resumed 
 Darby, plucking up courage to say it. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said Shuck. 
 
 " Will you tell me what I am to do ? I'd rather 
 turn a thousand miles the other way than I'd put my 
 foot indoors at home, and see things as they are 
 there. If a man can clam himself, he can't watch 
 
300 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 those belonging to him clam. Every farthing of 
 allowance I had from the society last week was " 
 
 " You had your share/' interrupted Sam, who never 
 cared to contend about the amount received. " Think 
 of the thousands there is to divide it among. The 
 subscriptions have come in very well as yet, but they 
 be falling off now." 
 
 ''And think of the society's expenses," interposed 
 Mrs. Quale, with suavity. " The scores of gentlemen, 
 like Mr. Shuck, there is to pay, and keep on the fat 
 o£ the land. He'll be going into Parliament next ! " 
 
 " You shut up, will you ? " roared Sam. Ryan/' 
 called out he to the Irishman, who was lounging up, 
 " here's Darby saying he thinks he shall go to work/' 
 
 ''Oh, but that would be rich/' said Ryan, with a 
 laugh, as he entered the garden, and took his standing 
 beside Sam Shuck. " Darby, man, you'd never desert 
 the society ! It couldn't spare you." 
 
 "I want to do for the best/' said Darby; "and it 
 seems to me that to hold out is for the worst. Shuck, 
 just answer me a question or two, as from man to 
 man. If the masters fill their yards with other 
 operatives, what is to become of us ? " 
 
 " They can't fill their yards with other operatives/' 
 returned Shuck. " Where's the use of talking non- 
 sense ? " 
 
 " But they can. They are doing it." 
 
 "They are not. They have just got a sprinkling of 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO.'' 
 
 301 
 
 men for show — not many. Where are they to get 
 them from ? 
 
 "Do you know what I heard? That Mr. Henry 
 Hunter has been over to Belgium, and one or two of 
 the other masters have also been, and " 
 
 "There's no fear of the Beljim workmen," inter- 
 rupted Ryan. "What English master 'ud employ 
 them half-starved frogs ? " 
 
 " I heard that Mr. Henry Hunter was quite thunder- 
 struck at their skill," continued Darby, paying no 
 attention to the interruption. " Their tools are bad : 
 they are not to be called tools, compared to ours ; but 
 they turn out finished work. Their decorative w^ork 
 is beautiful. Mr. Henry Hunter put the question to 
 them, whether they would like to come to England 
 and earn five-and-sixpence per day, instead of three 
 shillings as they do there, and they jumped at it. 
 He told them that perhaps he' might be sending for 
 them." 
 
 " Where did you hear that fine tale ? " asked 
 Slippery Sam. 
 
 " It s going about among us. I dare say you have 
 heard it also, Shuck. Mr. Henry was away some- 
 where for nine or ten days." 
 
 "Let 'em come, them Beljicks,''' sneered Eyan. 
 "Maybe they'd go back with their heads off*. It 
 couldn't take much to split the skull of them French 
 beggars." 
 
302 
 
 A LIFERS SECRET. 
 
 Not when an Irishman holds the stick/^ cried Mrs. 
 Quale, looking the man steadily in the face, as she 
 left the palings. 
 
 Ryan watched her away, and resumed. ''How 
 dare the masters think of taking on forringers ? 
 Leaving us to starve ! 
 
 The preventing it lies with us,'' said Darby. 
 ' If we go back to work, there'll be no room for 
 them." 
 
 ''Listen, Darby/' rejoined Shuck, in a persuasive 
 tone of confidence, the latter in full force, now that 
 his enemy, Mrs. Quale, had gone. " The bone of con- 
 tention is the letting us work nine hours a-day instead 
 of ten : well, why should they not accord it ? Isn't 
 there every reason why they should ? Isn't there 
 men, outsiders, willing to work a full day's work, but 
 can't get it ? This extra hour, thrown up by us, 
 would give employment to them. Would the masters 
 be any the worse off ? " 
 
 "They say they'd be the hour's wages out of 
 pocket." 
 
 ''Flam!" ejaculated Sam. "It would come out of 
 the public's pocket, not out of the masters'. They 
 v/ould add so much the more on to their contracts, 
 and nobody would be the worse. It's just a dogged 
 feeling of obstinacy that's upon 'em ; it's nothing else. 
 They'll come-to in the end, if you men will only let 
 them ; they can't help doing it. Hold out, hold out, 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO. 
 
 303 
 
 Darby ! If we are to give in to them now, where 
 has been the use of this struggle ? Haven't you 
 waited for it, and starved for it, and hoped for it ? 
 
 "Very true," replied Darby, feeling in a perplexing 
 maze of indecision. 
 
 Don't give in, man, at the eleventh hour,'' urged 
 Shuck, with affectionate eloquence : and to hear him 
 you would have thought he had nothing in the world 
 at heart so much as the interest of Robert Darby. 
 ^'A little longer, and the victory will be ours. You 
 see, it is not the bare fact of j^our going back that 
 does the mischief, it's the example it sets. But for 
 that scoundrel Baxendale's turning tail, you would 
 not have thought about it." 
 
 " I don't know that/' said Darby. 
 
 " One bad sheep will spoil a flock," continued Sam, 
 pufiing away at a cigar that he was smoking. He 
 would have enjoyed a pipe a great deal more ; but 
 gentlemen smoked cigars, and Sam v^anted to look as 
 much like a gentleman as he could ; it had been 
 suggested to him that it would add to his power over 
 the operatives. " Why, Darby, we have got it all in 
 our own hands — if you men could but be brought to 
 see it. It's as plain as the nose before you. Us 
 builders, taking us in all our branches, might be the 
 most united and prosperous body of men in the world. 
 Only let us pull together, and have consideration for 
 our fellows, and put av/ay selfishness. Binding our- 
 
304 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 selves to work on an equality, nine hours a-day being 
 the limit ; eight, perhaps, after a while " 
 
 " It's a good thing you have not much of an 
 audience here, Sam Shuck ! That doctrine of yours 
 is false and pernicious ; it s in opposition to the laws 
 of God and man." 
 
 The interruption proceeded from Dr. Bevary. He 
 had come into the garden unperceived by Sam, who 
 was lounging on the side-palings, his back to the 
 gate. The doctor was on his way to pay a visit to 
 Mary Baxendale. Sam started up. 
 
 " What did you say, sir ? " 
 
 " What did I say ! " repeated Dr. Bevary. I think 
 it should be, what did you say ? You would dare to 
 circumscribe the means of usefulness God has given 
 to man — to set a limit to his talents and his labour ! 
 You would say, 'So far shall you work, and no 
 farther 1 ' Who are you, and all such as you, that you 
 should assume such power, and set yourselves up 
 between your fellow-men and their responsibilities ? 
 
 "Hear, hear," interrupted Mrs. Quale, putting her 
 head out at her window — for she had gone indoors. 
 
 Give him a bit of truth, sir." 
 
 " I have been a hard worker for years," continued 
 Dr. Bevary, paying no attention, it must be confessed, 
 to Mrs. Quale. "Mentally and practically I have 
 toiled — toiledj Sam Shuck — to improve and make use 
 of the talents entrusted to me. My daJ^s are spent 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO." 
 
 305 
 
 in alleviating, so far as may be, the sufferings of my 
 fellow-creatures ; when I go to rest, I often lie awake 
 half the night, pondering difficult questions in medical 
 science. What man living has God endowed with 
 power to come and say to me, ' You shall not do this ; 
 you shall only work half your hours ; you shall only 
 earn a limited amount of fees ? ' Answer me." 
 
 "It's not a parallel case, sir, with ours," returned 
 Sam. 
 
 " It is a parallel case," said Dr. Bevary. " There's 
 your friend next door, Peter Quale ; take him. By 
 diligence he has made himself into a finished artisan ; 
 by dint of industry in working over-hours, he is amass- 
 ing a competence that will keep him out of the work- 
 house in his old age. What reason or principle of 
 justice can there be in your saying, ' He shall not do 
 this ; he shall receive no more than I do, or than Ryan, 
 there, does ? Because Ryan is an inferior workman, 
 and I love idleness and drink and agitation better 
 than work, Quale and others shall not work to have 
 an advantage over us ; we will share and fare alike.' 
 Out upon you, Slippery Sam, for promulgating doc- 
 trines so false ! You must be the incarnation of 
 selfishness, or you could not do it. If ever they obtain 
 sway in free and enlightened England, the inde- 
 pendence of the workman will be at an end." 
 
 The doctor stepped into Shuck's house, on his way 
 to Mary Baxendale, leaving Sam on the gravel. Sam 
 
 A Life's Secret. 20 
 
SOG A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 put his arm witliin Darby's, and led him down the 
 street, out of the doctor's way, who would be coming 
 forth again presently. There he set himself to undo 
 what the doctor's words had done, a.nd to breathe 
 persuasive arguments into Darby's ear. Later, Darby 
 went home. It had grown dusk then, for Sam had 
 treated him to a glass at the Bricklayers' Arms, where 
 sundry other friends were taking their glasses. There 
 appeared to be a commotion in his house as he entered ; 
 his wife, Grace, and the young ones were standing 
 round Willy. 
 
 "He has had another fainting-fit," said Mrs. Darby 
 to her husband, in explanation. And now — I declare 
 illness is the strangest thing !• — he says he is hungry." 
 
 The child put out his hot hand. " Father 1 " 
 
 Eobert Darby advanced and took it. "Be you 
 better, dear ? What ails you this evening ? " 
 
 " Father," whispered the child, hopefully, " have you 
 got the work ? " 
 
 "When do you begin, Robert?" asked the wife. 
 To-morrow ? " 
 
 Darby's eyes fell, and his face clouded. "I can't 
 ask for it; I can't go back to work," he answered. 
 " The society won't let me." 
 
 A great cry. A cry from the mother, from Grace, 
 from the poor little child. Hope, sprung up once more 
 within them, had been illumining the past few hours. 
 " You shall soon have food ; father's going to work 
 
SOMEBODY '^PITCHED INTO. 
 
 307 
 
 again, darlings/' the mother had said to the hungry- 
 little ones. And now the hopes were dashed to the 
 ground ! The disappointment was hard to bear. 
 
 Is he to die of hunger ? " exclaimed Mrs. Darby, in 
 bitterness, pointing to Willy. " You said you would 
 work for him." 
 
 " So I would, if they'd let me. I'd work the life 
 out of me, but what I'd get a crust for ye all ; but 
 the Trades' Union won't have it," panted Darby, his 
 breath short with excitement. What am I to do ? " 
 
 '^Work without the Trades' Union, father," inter- 
 posed Grace, taking courage to speak. She had always 
 been a favourite with her father, " Baxendale has 
 done it." - . 
 
 " They are threatening Baxendale awfully," he 
 answered. But it is not that I'd care for ; it's this. 
 The society would put a mark upon me : I should be 
 a banned man: and when this struggle's over, they 
 say I should be let get work by neither masters nor 
 men. My tools are in pledge, too," he added, as if 
 that climax must end the contest. 
 
 Mrs. Darby threw her apron over her eyes and 
 burst into tears ; Grace was already crying silently, 
 and the boy had his imploring little hands held up. 
 
 Robert, they are your own children ! " said the wife, 
 meekly. " I never thought you'd see them starve." 
 
 Another minute, and the man would have cried 
 with them. He weiit out-of-doors, perhaps to sob his 
 
308 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 emotion away. Two or three steps down the street 
 he encountered John Baxendale. The latter slipped 
 five shillings into his hand. Darby would have put 
 it back again. 
 
 " Tut, man ; don't be squeamish. Take it for the 
 children. You'd do as much for mine, if you had got 
 it and I hadn't. Mary and I have been talking about 
 you. She heard you having an argument with that 
 snake, Shuck." 
 
 " They be starving, Baxendale, or I wouldn't take 
 it," returned the man, the tears running down his 
 pinched face. " I'll pay you back with the first work 
 I get. You call Shuck a snake ; do you think he is 
 one ? " ^ 
 
 '^I'm sure of it," said Baxendale. ^'I don't know 
 that he means ill, but can't you see the temptation it 
 is ? — all this distress and agitation that's ruining us 
 is making a gentleman of him. He and the other 
 agents are living on the fat of the land, as Quale's wife 
 calls it, and doing nothing for their pay, except keep- 
 ing up the agitation. If we all went to work again 
 quietly, where would they be ? Why, they'd have to 
 go to work also, for their pay must cease. Darby, I 
 think the ej^es of you Union men must be blinded, not 
 to see this." 
 
 *'It seems plain enough to me at times," assented 
 Darby. "I say, Baxendale," he added, wishing to 
 speak a word of warning to his friend ere he turned 
 
SOMEBODY PITCHED INTO." 309 
 
 away, " have a care of yourself ; they are going on 
 again you, at a fine rate." 
 
 Come what would. Darby determined to furnish a 
 home meal with this relief, which seemed like a very 
 help from heaven. He bought two pounds of beef, a 
 pound of cheese, some tea, some sugar, two loaves of 
 bread, and a lemon to make drink for Willy. Turning 
 home with these various treasures, he became aware 
 that a bustle had arisen in the street. Men and 
 women were pressing down towards one particular 
 spot. Tongues were busy ; but he could not at first 
 obtain an insight into the cause of the commotion. 
 
 An obnoxious man had been set upon in a lonely 
 corner, under cover of the night's darkness, and 
 pitched into,'' was at length explained. ''Beaten to 
 death." 
 
 Away flew Darby, a horrible suspicion at his heart. 
 Pushing his way amidst the crowd collected round 
 the spot, as only a resolute man can do, he stood face 
 to face with the sight. One, trampled on and beaten, 
 lay in the dust, his face covered with blood. 
 
 " Is it Baxendale ? " shouted Darby, for he was 
 unable to recognize him. 
 
 "It's Baxendale, as sure as a trivet. Who else 
 should it be ? He have caught it at last." 
 
 But there w^ere pitying faces around. Humanity 
 revolted at the sight; and quiet, inoffensive John 
 Baxendale had ever been liked in Daffodil's Delight 
 
310 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Robert Darby, his voice rising to a shriek with 
 emotion, held out his armful of provisions. 
 
 " Look here ! I wanted to work, but the Union 
 won't let me. My wife and^ children be starving at 
 home, one of them dying : I came out, for I couldn't 
 bear to stop indoors in the misery. There I met a 
 friend — it seemed to me more like an angel — and he 
 gave me money to feed my children ; made me take 
 it ; he said if I had money and he had not, I'd do as 
 much for him. See what I bought with it; I was 
 carrying it home for my poor children when this cry 
 arose. Friends, the one to give it me was Baxendale. 
 And you have murdered him ! " 
 
 Another great cry, even as Darby concluded, arose 
 to break the deep stillness. No stillness is so deep 
 as that caused by emotion. 
 
 " He is not dead ! " shouted the crowd. ^' See ! he 
 is stirring ! Who could have done this ? " 
 
( 311 ) 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A GLOOMY CHAPTEU. 
 
 The winter had come in intensely hard. Frost and 
 snow lay early upon the ground. Was that infliction 
 in store — a bitter winter — to be added to the already 
 fearful distress existing in this dense metropolis ? 
 The men held out from work, and the condition of 
 their families was something sad to look upon. 
 
 Distress of a different nature existed in the house 
 of Mr. Hunter. It was a house of sorrow; for its 
 mistress lay dying. The spark of life had long been 
 flickering, and now its time to depart had come. 
 Haggard, worn, pale, stood Mr. Hunter in his draw- 
 ing-room. He was conversing with his brother 
 Henry. Their topic was business. In spite of 
 existing domestic woes, men of business cannot long 
 forget their daily occupation. Mr. Henry Hunter had 
 come in to ask for news of his sister-in-law, and the 
 conversation insensibly turned on other matters. 
 
 ''Of course I shall weather it," Mr. Henry was 
 saying, in answer to a question. " It v/ili be a fearful 
 
312 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 loss, with so much money out, and buildings in 
 process standing still. Did it last very much longer, 
 I hardly know that I could. And you, James ? " 
 
 Mr. Hunter evaded the question. Since the time, 
 years back, when they had dissolved partnership, 
 he had shunned all allusion to his own prosperity, 
 or want of prosperity, with his brother. Possibly he 
 feared that it might lead to that other subject — 
 the mysterious paying away of the five thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 " For my part, I do not feel so sure of the strike's 
 being near its end,'^ he remarked. 
 
 " I have positive information that the eligibility 
 of withdrawing the strike at the Messrs. Pollocks 
 has been mooted by the central committee of the 
 Union,'' said Mr. Henry. " If nothing else has 
 brought the men to their senses, this weather must do 
 it. It will end as nearly all strikes have ended — in 
 their resuming work upon our terms." 
 
 But what an incalculable amount of suffering they 
 have brought upon themselves ! exclaimed Mr. 
 Hunter. " I do not see what is to become of them, 
 either, in future. How are they all to find work 
 again ? We shall not turn off the stranger men who 
 have worked for us in this emergency, to make room 
 for them." 
 
 ''No, indeed," replied Mr. Henry. ''And those 
 strangers amount to nearly half my complement of 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 313 
 
 hands. Do you recollect a fellow of the name of 
 Moody ? 
 
 " Of course I do. I met him the other day, looking 
 like a walking skeleton. I asked him whether he 
 was not tired of the strike. He said he had been 
 tired of it long ago; but the Union would not let 
 him be." 
 
 " He hung himself yesterday." 
 
 Mr. Hunter replied only by a gesture. 
 And left a written paper behind him, cursing the 
 strike and the Trades' Unions, which had brought 
 ruin upon him and his family. "I saw the paper," 
 continued Mr. Henry. " A decent, quiet man he was ; 
 but timid, and easily led away." 
 
 " Is he dead ? " 
 
 " He had been dead two hours when he was found. 
 He hung himself in that shed at the back of Dunn's 
 house, where the men held some meetings in the 
 commencement of the strike. I wonder how many 
 more souls this wretched state of affairs will send, or 
 has sent, out of the world ! " 
 
 "Hundreds, directly or indirectly. The children 
 are dying off quickly, as the Registrar-General's 
 returns show. A period of prolonged distress always 
 tells upon the children. And upon us also, I think," 
 Mr. Hunter added, with a sigh. 
 
 " Upon us in a degree," Mr. Henry assented, some- 
 what carelessly. He was a man of substance: and, 
 
314 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 upon such, the ill effects fall lightly. " When the 
 masters act in combination, as we have done, it is not 
 the men who can do us permanent injury. They 
 must give in, before great harm has had time to come. 
 James, I saw that man this morning : your hete noire, 
 as I call him." 
 
 Mr. Hunter changed countenance. He could not 
 he ignorant that his brother alluded to Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford. It happened that Mr. Henry Hunter had 
 been cognizant of one or two of the unpleasant visits 
 forced by the man upon his brother during the last 
 few years. But Mr. Henry had avoided questions : 
 he had the tact to perceive that they would only go 
 unanswered, and be deemed unpleasant into the 
 bargain. 
 
 " I met him near your yard. Perhaps he was going 
 in there." 
 
 The sound of the muffled knocker, announcing a 
 visitor, was heard the moment after Mr. Henry spoke, 
 and Mr. Hunter started as though struck by a pistol- 
 shot. At a calmer time he might have had more 
 command over himself ; but the sudden announcement 
 of the presence of the man in town — which fact he 
 had not been cognizant of — had startled him to tremor. 
 That Gwinn, and no one else, was knocking for ad- 
 mittance, seemed a certainty to his shattered nerves. 
 
 I cannot see him : I cannot see him ! he exclaimed, 
 in agitation ; and he backed away from the room-door. 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTEK, 
 
 315 
 
 unconscious what he did in his confused fear, his lips 
 blanching to a deadly whiteness. 
 
 Mr. Henry moved up and took his hand. James, 
 there has been estrangement between us on this point 
 for years. As I asked you once before; I now ask 
 you again : confide in me and let me help you. What- 
 ever the dreadful secret may be, you shall find me 
 your true brother." 
 
 Hush ! " breathed Mr. Hunter, moving from his 
 brother in his scared alarm. " Dreadful secret ! who 
 says it ? There is no dreadful secret. Oh, Henry ! 
 hush ! hush ! The man is coming in ! You must 
 leave us." 
 
 Not the dreaded Gwinn, but Austin Clay. He was 
 the one who entered. Mr. Hunter sat down, breathing 
 heavily ; he nearly fainted in the revulsion of feeling 
 brought by the relief. Broken in spirit, health and 
 nerves alike shattered, the slightest thing was now 
 sufficient to agitate him. 
 
 " You are ill, sir ! exclaimed Austin, advancing with 
 concern. 
 
 "No — no — I am not ill. A momentary spasm; 
 that's all. I am subject to it." 
 
 Mr. Henry moved to the door in vexation. There 
 v/as to be no more brotherly confidence between them 
 now than there had formerly been. He spoke as he 
 went, without turning round. I will come in again 
 by-and-by, James, and see how Louisa is." 
 
316 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 The departure seemed a positive relief to Mr. Hunter. 
 He spoke quietly enough to Austin Clay. " Who has 
 been at the office to-day ? " 
 
 "Let me see/' returned Austin, with a purposed 
 carelessness. " Lyall came, and Thompson " 
 
 "Not men on business, not men on business," 
 Mr. Hunter interrupted with feverish eagerness. 
 " Strangers." 
 
 " Gwinn, of Ketterford," answered Austin, with the 
 same assumption of carelessness. He came twice. 
 No other strangers have called, I think." 
 
 Whether his brother's request, that he should be 
 enlightened as to the " dreadful secret," had rendered 
 Mr. Hunter suspicious that others might surmise there 
 was a secret, certain it is that he looked up sharply as 
 Austin spoke, keenly regarding his countenance, noting 
 the sound of his voice. 
 
 What did Gwinn want ? " 
 
 " He wanted you, sir. I said you were not to be 
 seen. I let him suppose that you were too ill to be 
 seen. Bailey, who was in the counting-house at the 
 time, gave him the gratuitous information that Mrs. 
 Hunter was very ill — in danger." 
 
 Why this answer should have increased Mr. 
 Hunter's suspicions, he best knew. He rose from his 
 seat, grasped Austin's arm, and spoke with menace. 
 
 You have been prying into my affairs ! You sought 
 out those Gwinns when you last went to Ketterford ! 
 You " 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 317 
 
 Austin withdrew from the grasp, and stood before 
 his master, calm and upright. " Mr. Hunter ! " 
 " Was it not so ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I thought you had known me better. I 
 should be the last to * pry ' into anything that you 
 might wish to keep secret/' 
 
 " Austin, I am not myself to-day, I am not myself," 
 cried the poor gentleman, feeling how unjustifiable 
 had been his suspicions. " This grief, induced by the 
 state of Mrs. Hunter, unmans me." 
 
 " How is she, sir, by this time ? 
 
 " Calm and collected, but sinking fast. You must 
 go up and see her. She said she should like to bid 
 you farewell." 
 
 Through the warm corridors, so well protected from 
 the bitter cold reigning without, Austin was conducted 
 to the room of Mrs. Hunter. Florence, her eyes 
 swollen with weeping, quitted it as he entered. She 
 lay in bed, her pale face raised upon pillows ; save for 
 that pale face and the laboured breathing, you would 
 not have suspected the closing scene to be so near. She 
 lifted her feeble hand and made prisoner of Austin s. 
 The tears gathered in his eyes as he looked down 
 upon her. 
 
 "Not for me, dear Austin," she whispered, as she 
 noted the signs of sorrow. *'Weep rather for those 
 who are left to battle yet with this sad world." The 
 words caused Austin to wonder Avhether she could 
 
318 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 have become cognizant of the nature' of Mr. Hunter's 
 lonfr-continued trouble. He swallowed down the 
 emotion that was rising in his throat. 
 
 Do you feel no better ? " he gently inquired. 
 
 " I feel well, save for the weakness. All pain has 
 left me. Austin, I shall be glad to go. I have only 
 one regret, the leaving Florence. My husband will 
 not be long after me; I read it in his face." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Hunter, will you allow me to say a word 
 to you on the subject of Florence?" he breathed, 
 seizing on the swiftly-passing opportunity. I have 
 wished to do it before we finally part." 
 
 " Say what you will." 
 Should time and perseverance on my part be 
 crowned with success, so that the prejudices of Mr. 
 Hunter become subdued, and I succeed in winning 
 Florence, will you not say that you bless our union ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hunter paused. Are we quite alone ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 Austin glanced round to the closed door. Quite," 
 he answered. 
 
 ''Then, Austin, I will say more. My hearty 
 consent and blessing be upon you both, if you can, 
 indeed, subdue the objection of Mr. Hunter. Not 
 otherwise : you understand that." 
 
 "Without her fathers consent, I am sure that 
 Florence would not give me hers. Have you any 
 idea in what that objection lies ? " 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 319 
 
 ^'I have not. Mr. Hunter is not a man who will 
 submit to be questioned, even by me. But, Austin, I 
 cannot help thinking that this objection to you may 
 fade away — for, that he likes and esteems you greatly, 
 I know. Should that time come, then tell him that I 
 loved you — that I wished Florence to become your 
 wife — that I prayed God to bless the union. And 
 then tell Florence." 
 
 Will you not tell her yourself ? " 
 
 Mrs. Hunter made a feeble gesture of denial. " It 
 v/ould seem like an encouragement to dispute the 
 decision of her father. Austin, will you say farewell, 
 and send my husband to me ? I am growing faint." 
 
 He clasped her attenuated hands in both his; he 
 bent down, and kissed her forehead. Mrs. Hunter 
 held him to her. 
 
 '^Cherish and love her always, should she become 
 yours," was the feeble whisper. "And come to me, 
 come to me, both of you, in eternity," 
 
 A moment or two in the corridor to compose him- 
 self, and Austin met Mr. Hunter on the stairs, and 
 gave him the message. How is Baxendale ? " Mr, 
 Hunter stayed to ask. 
 
 A trifle better. Not yet out of danger." 
 
 " You take care to give him the allowance weekly ? " 
 Of course I do, sir. It is due to-night, and I am 
 going to take it to him." 
 
 " Will he ever be fit for v/ork again ? " 
 
320 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 I hope so." 
 
 Another word or two on the subject of Baxendale, 
 the attack on whom Mr. Hunter most bitterly re- 
 sented, and Austin departed. Mr. Hunter entered his 
 wife's chamber. Florence, who was also entering, 
 Mrs. Hunter feebly waved away. "I would be a 
 moment alone with your father, my child. James/' 
 Mrs. Hunter said to her husband, as Florence retired 
 — but her voice was now so reduced that he had to 
 bend his ear to catch the sounds — "there has been 
 estrangement between us on one point for many 
 years : and it seems — I knoAV not why — to be haunt- 
 ing my death-bed. Will you not, in this my last 
 hour, tell me its cause ? " 
 
 " It would not give you peace, Louisa. It concerns 
 myself alone." 
 
 " Whatever the secret may be, it has been wearing 
 your life out. I ought to know it." 
 
 Mr. Hunter bent lower. " My dear wife, it would 
 not bring you peace, I say. I contracted an obliga- 
 tion in my youth," he whispered, in answer to the 
 yearning glance thrown up to him, " and I have had 
 to pay it off — one sum after another, one after another, 
 until it has nearly drained me. It will soon be at an 
 end now." 
 
 " Is it nearly paid ? " 
 
 ^^Ay. All but." 
 But why not have told me this ? It would have 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. - 321 
 
 saved me many a troubled hour. Suspense, when 
 fancy is at work, is hard to bear. And you, James: 
 why should simple debt, if it is that, have worked 
 so terrible a fear upon you ? " 
 
 "I did not know that I could stave it off: looking 
 back, I wonder that I did do it. I could have borne 
 ruin for myself : I could not for you." 
 
 Oh, James 1 " she fondly said, should I have been 
 less brave ? While you and Florence were spared to 
 me, ruin might have done its worst/' 
 
 Mr. Hunter turned his face away • strangely wrung 
 and haggard it looked just then. ^'What a mercy 
 that it is over ! " 
 
 ''All but, I said," he interrupted. And the words 
 seemed to burst from him in an uncontrollable im- 
 pulse, in spite of himself. 
 
 '' It is the only thing that has marred our life's 
 peace, James. I shall soon be at rest. Perfect peace ! 
 perfect happiness ! May all we have loved be there ! 
 I can see " 
 
 The words had been spoken disjointedly, in the 
 faintest whisper, and, with the last one died away. 
 She laid her head upon her husband's arm, and 
 seemed as if she would sleep. He did not disturb 
 her : he remained buried in his own thoughts. A 
 short while, and Florence was heard at the door. Dr. 
 Bevary was there. 
 
 You can come in," called out Mr. Hunter. 
 
 A Life's Secret. 21 
 
322 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 They approached the bed. Florence saw a change 
 in her mother's face, and uttered an exclamation 
 of alarm. The physician s practised eye detected 
 what had happened: he made a sign to the nurse who 
 had followed him in, and the woman went forth to 
 carry the news to the household. Mr. Hunter alone 
 was calm. 
 
 Thank God ! " was his strange ejaculation. 
 
 " Oh, papa ! papa ! it is death ! sobbed Florence, 
 in her distress. ''Do you not see that it is death ? " 
 
 Thank God also, Florence," solemnly said Dr. 
 Bevary. " She is better off." 
 
 Florence sobbed wildly. The words sounded to her 
 ears needlessly cruel — out of place. Mr. Hunter bent 
 his face on that of the dead, with a long, fervent kiss. 
 " My wronged wife ! " he mentally uttered. Dr. 
 Bevary followed him as he left the room. 
 
 ''James Hunter, it had been a mercy for you had 
 she been taken years ago." 
 
 Mr. Hunter lifted his hands as if beating off the 
 words, and his face turned white. " Be still ! be still ! 
 what can yon know ? " 
 
 "I know as much as you," said Dr. Bevary, in 
 tones which, low though they were, seemed to penetrate 
 to the very marrow of the unhappy man. " The 
 knowledge has disturbed my peace by day, and my 
 rest by night. What, then, must it have done by 
 yours ? " 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 323 
 
 James Hunter, his hands held up still to shade his 
 face, and his head doAvn, turned away. It was the 
 fault of another/' he wailed, '^and I have borne the 
 punishment." 
 
 " Ay/' said Dr. Be vary, or you would have had my 
 reproaches long ago. Hark ! whose voice is that ? " 
 
 it was one known only too well to Mr. Hunter. 
 He cowered for a moment, as he had hitherto had 
 terrible cause to do : the next, he raised his head, and 
 shook off the fear. 
 
 " I can dare him now/' he bravely said, turning to 
 the stairs with a cleared countenance, to meet Gwinn, 
 of Ketterford. 
 
 He had obtained entrance in this wav. The 
 servants were closing up the windows of the house, 
 and one of them had gone outside to tell the 
 gossiping servant of a neighbour that their good lady 
 and ever-kind mistress was dead, when the lawyer 
 arrived. He saw what was being done, and drew his 
 own conclusions. Nevertheless, he desisted not from 
 the visit he had come to pay. 
 
 " I wish to see Mr. Hunter/' he said, while the door 
 stood open. 
 
 ''I do not think you can see him now, sir," was 
 the reply of the servant. "My master is in great 
 affliction." 
 
 " Your mistress is dead, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Just dead." 
 
324 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ''Well, I shall not detain Mr. Hunter many 
 minutes," rejoined Gwinn, pushing his way into the 
 hall. I must see him." 
 
 The servant hesitated. But his master's voice was 
 heard. 
 
 You can adm.it that person, Richard." 
 
 The man opened the door of the front-room. It 
 was in darkness ; the shutters were closed ; so he 
 turned to the door of the other, and showed the guest 
 in. The soft perfume from the plants in the conserva- 
 tory was wafted to the senses of Gwinn, of Ketterford, 
 as he entered. 
 
 " Why do you seek me here ? " demanded Mr. 
 Hunter, when he appeared. Is it a fitting time and 
 place to do so ? " 
 
 "A court of law might perhaps be more fitting," 
 insolently returned the lawyer. ''Why did you not 
 remit the money according to promise, and so obviate 
 the necessity of my coming ? " 
 
 "Because I shall remit no more money. Not 
 another farthing, or the value of one, shall you ever 
 obtain of me. If I have submitted to your ruinous 
 and swindling demands, you know why I have done 
 it " 
 
 Stop ! " interrupted Mr. Gwinn. " You have had 
 your money's worth — silence." 
 
 Mr. Hunter was deeply agitated. "As the breath 
 went out of my wife's body, I thanked God that He 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 325 
 
 had taken her — that she was removed from the 
 wicked machinations of you and yours. But for the 
 bitter wrong dealt out to me by your wicked sister 
 Agatha, I should have mourned for her with regrets 
 and tears. You have turned my life into a curse : 
 I purchased your silence that you should not render 
 hers one. The fear and the thraldom are alike over." 
 
 Mr. Gwinn laughed significantly. " Your daughter 
 lives." 
 
 "She does. In saying that I will make her 
 cognizant of this, rather than supply you with 
 another sixpence, you may judge how firm is my 
 determination." 
 
 It will be startling news for her." 
 It will : should it come to the telling. Better that 
 she hear it, and make the best and the worst of it, 
 than that I should reduce her to utter poverty — and 
 your demands, supplied, would do that. The news 
 will not kill her — as it might have killed her mother." 
 
 Did Lawyer Gwinn feel baffled ? For a minute or 
 two he seemed to be at a loss for words. I will 
 have money," he exclaimed at length. "You have 
 tried to stand out against it before now." 
 
 " Man ! do you know that I am on the brink of 
 ruin ? " uttered Mr. Hunter, in deep excitement, and 
 that it is you Avho have brought me to it ? But for 
 the money supplied to you, I could have weathered 
 successfully this contest with my workmen, as my 
 
326 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 brother and others are weathering it. If you have 
 any further claim against me/' he added in a spirit of 
 mocking bitterness, bring it against my bankruptc}^, 
 for that is looming near." 
 
 I will not stir from your house without a cheque 
 for the money." 
 
 This house is sanctified by the presence o£ the 
 dead/' reverently spoke Mr. Hunter. " To have any 
 disturbance in it would be most unseemly. Do not 
 force me to call in a policeman." 
 
 As a policeman was once called in to you, in the 
 years gone by/' Lawyer Gwinn was beginning with 
 a sneer : but Mr. Hunter raised his voice and his hand. 
 
 " Be still ! Cov/ard as I have been, in one sense, in 
 yielding to your terms, I have never been coward 
 enough to permit yov^ to allude, in my presence, to the 
 past. I never will. Go from my house quietly, sir ; 
 and do not attempt to re-enter it." 
 
 Mr. Hunter broke from the man — for Gwinn made 
 an effort to detain him — opened the door, and called 
 to the servant, who came forward. 
 
 " Show this person to the door, Richard." 
 
 An instant's hesitation with himself whether it 
 should be compliance or resistance, and Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford, went forth. 
 
 ''Richard/' said Mr. Hunter, as the servant closed 
 the hall-door. 
 Sir ? " 
 
A GLOOMY CHAPTER. 
 
 327 
 
 "Should that man ever come here again, do not 
 admit him. And if he shows himself troublesome, call 
 a policeman to your aid." 
 
 And then Mr. Hunter shut himself in the room, and . 
 burst into heavy tears, such as are rarely shed by 
 man. 
 
328 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. 
 
 No clue whatever had been obtained to the assailants 
 of John Baxendale. The chief injury lay in the ribs. 
 Two or three of them were broken : the head was also 
 much bruised and cut. He had been taken into his 
 own home and there attended to : it was nearer than 
 the hospital : though the latter would have been the 
 better place. Time had gone on since, and he was 
 now out of danger. Never would John Baxendale 
 talk of the harshness of masters again — though, indeed, 
 he never had much talked of it. The moment Mr, 
 Hunter heard of the assault, he sent round his own 
 surgeon, directed Austin to give Baxendale a sovereign 
 weekly, and caused strengthening delicacies to be 
 served from his own house. And that was the same 
 man whom you heard forbidding his wife and daughter 
 to forward aid to Darby's starving children. Yes ; 
 but Mr. Hunter denied the aid upon principle : Darby 
 would not work. It pleased him far more to accord 
 it to Baxendale than to deny it to Darby : the one 
 
THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. 
 
 329 
 
 course gladdened his heart, the other pained it. The 
 surgeon who attended was a particular friend of Dr. 
 Bevary's, and the doctor, in his quaint, easy manner, 
 contrived to let Baxendale know that there would be 
 no bill for him to pay. 
 
 It was late when Austin reached Baxendale's room 
 the evening of Mrs. Hunter's death, tidings of which 
 had already gone abroad. 
 
 " Oh, sir,'' uttered the invalid, straining his eyes on 
 him from the sick-bed, before Austin had well entered, 
 is the news true ? " 
 
 " It is," sadly replied Austin. " She died this 
 afternoon." 
 
 " It is a good lady gone from amongst us. Does 
 the master take on much ? " 
 
 ''I have not seen him since. Death came on, I 
 believe, rather suddenly at the last." 
 
 " Poor Mrs. Hunter ! " wailed Baxendale. Hers is 
 not the only spirit that is this evening on the wing," 
 he added, after a pause. " That boy of Darby's is 
 going. Mary " — looking on the bright sovereign put 
 into his hands by Austin — suppose you get this 
 changed, and go down there and take 'em a couple of 
 shillings ? It's hard to have a cupboard quite empty 
 when death's a visitor." 
 
 Mary came up from the far end of the room, and 
 put on her shawl with alacrity. She looked only a 
 shadow herself Austin wondered how Mr. Hunter 
 
330 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 would approve of any of his shillings finding their 
 way to Darby's ; but he said nothing against it. But 
 for the strongly expressed sentiments of Mr. Hunter, 
 Austin would have given away right and left, to 
 relieve the distress around him : although, put him 
 upon principle, and he agreed fully with Mr. Hunter. 
 Mary got change for the sovereign, and took posses- 
 sion of a couple of shillings. It w^as a bitterly cold 
 evening ; but she was well wrapped up. Though not 
 permanently better, Mary was feeling stronger of late : 
 in her simple faith, she believed God had mercifully 
 spared her for a short time, that she might nurse her 
 father. She knew, just as well as did Dr. Bevary, 
 that it would not be for long. As she went along, she 
 met Mrs. Quale. 
 
 The child is gone," said the latter, hearing where 
 Mary was going. 
 
 Poor child ! Is he really dead ? " - 
 Mrs. Quale nodded. Few things upset her equa- 
 nimity. And I am keeping my eyes open to look 
 out for Darby," she added. His wife asked me if I 
 would. She is afraid " — dro]3ping her voice — that 
 he may do something rash." 
 
 Why ? " breathed Mary, in a tone of horror, under- 
 standing the allusion. 
 
 " Why ! " vehemently repeated Mrs. Quale. " Why, 
 because he reflects upon himself — that's why. When 
 he saw that the breath was really gone out of the 
 
THE LITTLE BOY AT BEST. 
 
 331 
 
 poor little body — and that's not five minutes ago — 
 he broke out like one mad. Them quiet natures in 
 ordinary be always the worst if they get upset; 
 though it takes a good deal to do it. He blamed him- 
 self, saying that if he had been in work, and able to 
 get proper food for the boy, it would not have hap- 
 pened ; and he cursed the Trades' Unions for mislead- 
 ing him, and bringing him to what he is. There's 
 many another cursing the Unions on this inclement 
 night, or my name's not Nancy Quale.'' 
 
 She turned back with Mary, and they entered the 
 home of the Darbys. Grace, unable to get another 
 situation, partly through the baker's wife refusing 
 her a character, partly because her clothes were in 
 pledge, looked worn and thin, as she stood trying to 
 hush the youngest child, then crying fretfully. Mrs. 
 Darby sat in front of the small bit of fire, the dead 
 boy on her knees, pressed to her still, just as Mrs. 
 Quale had left her. 
 
 " He won't hunger any more," she said, lifting her 
 face to Mary, the hot tears running from it. 
 
 Mary stooped and kissed the little cold face. 
 
 Don't grieve," she murmured. It would be w^ell 
 for us all if we were as happy as he." 
 
 Go and speak to him," whispered the mother to 
 Mrs. Quale, pointing to a back-door, which led to a 
 sort of open scullery. He has come in, and is gone 
 out there." 
 
332 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 Leaning against the wall, in the cold moonlight, 
 stood Robert Darby. Mrs. Quale was not very good at 
 consolation : finding fault was more in her line. 
 
 Come, Darby, don't take on so : it won't do no 
 good," was the best she could say. Be a man." 
 
 He seized hold of her, his shaking hands trembling, 
 while he spoke bitter words against the Trades' Unions. 
 
 Don't speak so, Robert Darby," was the rejoinder 
 of Mrs. Quale. " You are not obliged to join the 
 Trades' Unions; therefore there's no need to curse 
 'em. If you and others kept aloof from them, they'd 
 soon die away." 
 
 They have proved a curse to me and mine " — and 
 the man's voice rose to a shriek, in his violent emotion. 
 But for them, I should have been at work long ago." 
 
 " Then I'd go to work at once, if it was me, and put 
 the curse from me that way," concluded Mrs. Quale. 
 
 With the death of the child, things had come to so 
 low an ebb in the Darby household, as to cause 
 sundry kind gossipers to suggest, and to spread the 
 suggestion as a fact, that the parish would have the 
 honour of conducting the interment. Darby would 
 have sold himself first. He was at Mr. Hunter's yard 
 on the following morning before daylight, and the 
 instant the gates were opened presented himself to 
 the foreman as a candidate for work. That functionary 
 would not treat with him. " We have had so many 
 of you old hands just coming on for a day or tv/o, and 
 
THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. 
 
 333 
 
 then withdrawing again, through orders of the society, 
 or through getting frightened at being threatened, 
 that Mr. Clay said I was to take back no more shilly- 
 shallyers." 
 
 " Try me ! " feverishly cried Darby. " I will not go 
 from it again.'' 
 
 " No," said the foreman. " You can speak to Mr. 
 Clay." 
 
 ''Darby," said Austin, when the man appeared 
 before him, will you pass your word to me to remain ? 
 Here men come ; they sign the document, they have 
 work given to them ; and in a day or so, I hear that 
 they have left again. It causes no end of confusion 
 to us, for work to be taken up and laid down in that 
 way." 
 
 ''Take me on, and try me, sir. Ill stick to it as 
 long as there's a stroke of work to do — unless they 
 tread me to pieces as they did Baxendale. I never 
 was cordial for the society, sir. I obeyed it, and yet 
 a doubt Avas always upon me whether I might not be 
 doing wrong. I am sure of it now. The society has 
 worked harm to me and mine, and I will never belono: 
 to it again." 
 
 " Others have said as much of the society, and have 
 returned to it the next day," remarked Mr. Clay. 
 
 " Perhaps so, sir. They hadn't seen one of their 
 children die, that they'd have laid down their ov/n 
 lives to save — but that they had not worked to save. 
 
334 A LIFE'S SECRET.^ 
 
 I have. Take me on, sir ! He can't be buried till I 
 have earned the wherewithal to pay for it. I'll stand 
 to my work from henceforth — over-hours, if I can 
 get it." 
 
 Austin wrote a word on a card, and desired Darby 
 to carry it to the foreman. " You can go to work at 
 once," he said. 
 
 " I'll take work too, sir, if I can get it," exclaimed 
 another man, Avho had come up in time to hear 
 Austin's last words. 
 
 What ! is it you, Abel White ? " exclaimed Austin, 
 with a half-laugh. I thought you made a boast 
 that if the whole lot of hands came back to work, you 
 never would, except upon your own terms." 
 
 So I did, sir. But when I find I have been in the 
 wrong, I am not above owning it," was the man's 
 reply, who looked in a far better physical condition 
 than the pinched, half-sta.rved Darby. I could hold 
 out longer, sir, without much inconvenience ; least- 
 ways, with a deal less inconvenience than some of 
 them could, for I and father belong to one or two 
 provident clubs, and they have helped us weekly, and 
 my wife and daughters don't do amiss at their umbrella 
 work. But I have come over to my old father's views 
 at last ; and I have made my mind up, as he did long 
 ago, never to be a Union man again — unless the 
 masters should turn round and make themselves into 
 a body of tyrants; I don't kno\v what I might do 
 
THE LITTLE BOY AT REST. 
 
 335 
 
 then. But there's not much danger of that — as father 
 says — in these go-a-head days. You'll give me work, 
 sn' ? 
 
 Upon certain conditions," replied Austin. And he 
 sat down and proceeded to talk to the man. 
 
336 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 MR. Dunn's pigs brought to mahket. 
 
 Daffodil's Delight and its environs were in a state 
 of bustle — of public excitement, as may be said. 
 Daffodil's Delight, however low its condition might 
 be, never failed to seize upon any possible event, 
 whether of a general public nature, or of a private 
 local nature, as an excuse for getting up a little steam. 
 On that cold winter's day, two funerals were appointed 
 to take place : the one, that of Mrs. Hunter ; the other, 
 that of little William Darby : and Daffodil's Delight, 
 in spite of the black frost, turned out in crowds to 
 see. You could not have passed into the square when 
 the larger funeral came forth, so many had collected 
 there. It was a funeral of mutes and plumes and 
 horses and trappings and carriages and show. The 
 nearer Mr. Hunter had grown to pecuniary embarrass- 
 ment, the more jealous was he to guard all suspicion 
 of it from the world. Hence the display : which the 
 poor unconscious lady they were attending would 
 have been the first to shrink from. Mr. Hunter, his 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 337 
 
 brother, and Dr. Bevary were in the first mourning- 
 coach : in the second, with two of the sons of Henry 
 Hunter, and another relative, sat Austin Clay. And 
 more followed. That took place in the morning. In 
 the afternoon, the coffin of the boy, covered by some- 
 thing black — but it looked like old cloth instead of 
 velvet — was brought out of Darby's house upon men s 
 shoulders. Part of the family followed, and pretty 
 nearly the whole of Daffodil's Delight brought up the 
 rear. There it is, moving slowly down the street. 
 Not over slowly either ; for there had been a dela}^ in 
 some of the arrangements, and the clergyman must 
 have been waiting for half-an-hour. It was a week 
 since Darby resumed work ; a long time to keep the 
 child, but the season was winter. Darby had paid 
 part of the expense, and had been trusted for the rest. 
 It arrived at the burial-place ; and the little body was 
 buried, there to remain until the resurrection at the 
 last day. As Darby stood over the grave, the regret 
 for his child was nearly lost sight of in that other and 
 far more bitter regret, the remorse of which was 
 telling upon him. He had kept the dead starving for 
 months, when work was to be had for the asking 1 
 
 " Don't take on so," whispered a neighbour, who 
 knew his thoughts. " If you had gone back to work 
 as soon as the yards were open, you'd only have been 
 set upon and half-killed, as Baxendale was." 
 
 "Then it would not, in that case, have been my 
 
 A Life's Secret, 22 
 
338 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 fault if he had starved," returned Darby, with com- 
 pressed lips. His poor hungry face '11 lie upon my 
 mind for ever." 
 
 The shades of evening were on Daffodil's Delight 
 when the attendants of the funeral returned, and Mr. 
 Cox, the pawnbroker, was busily transacting the 
 business that the dusk hour always brought him. 
 Even the ladies and gentlemen of Daffodil's Delight, 
 though they were common sufferers, and all, or nearly 
 all, needed to pay visits to Mr. Cox, imitated their 
 betters in observing that peculiar reticence of manner 
 which custom has thrown around these delicate 
 negotiations. The character of their offerings had 
 changed. In the first instance they had chiefly con- 
 sisted of ornaments, whether of the house or person, 
 or of superfluous articles of attire and of furniture. 
 Then had come necessaries : bedding, and heavier 
 things; and then trifles — irons, saucepans, frying- 
 pans, gowns, coats, tools — anything ; anything by 
 which a shilling could be obtained. And now had 
 arrived the climax when there was nothing more to 
 take— nothing, at least, that Mr. Cox would speculate 
 upon. 
 
 A woman went banging into the shop, and Mr. Cox 
 recomized her for the most troublesome of his cus- 
 tomers — Mrs. Dunn. Of all the miserable households 
 in Daffodil's Delight, that of the Dunns^ was about 
 the worst: but Mrs, Dunn's manners and temper 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 339 
 
 were fiercer than ever. The non-realization of her 
 fond hope of good cheer and silk dresses was looked 
 upon as a private injury, and resented as such. See 
 her as she turns into the shop : her head, a mass of 
 torn black cap and entangled hair ; her gown, a black 
 stuff once, dirty now, hanging in jags, and clinging 
 round her with that peculiar clinging which indicates 
 that few, if am^, petticoats are underneath ; her feet 
 scuffling along in shoes tied round the instep with 
 white rag, to keep them on! As she v/as entering, 
 she encountered a poor woman named Jones, the wife 
 of a carpenter, as badly reduced as she was. Mrs. 
 Jones held out a small blanket for her inspection, 
 and s|)oke with the tears running down her cheeks. 
 Apparently, her errand to Mr. Cox had been un- 
 successful. 
 
 " We have kept it till the last. We said we could 
 not lie on the sack of straw this awful weather, with- 
 out the blanket to cover us. But to-day we haven't 
 got a crumb in the house, or a ember in the grate ; 
 and Jones said, says he, ' There ain't no help for it, 
 you must pledge it.' " 
 
 ''And Cox won't take it in?" shrilly responded 
 Mrs. Dunn. 
 
 The woman shook her head^ and the tears fell fast 
 on her thin cotton shawl, as she wa^lked away. " He 
 says the moths has got into it.'* 
 
 ''A pity bvit the moths had got into him! his eyes 
 
340 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 is sharper than they need be/' shrieked Mrs. Dunn. 
 
 Here, Cox," dashing up to the counter, and flinging 
 on it a pair of boots, ''I want three shillings on them." 
 
 Mr. Cox took up the offered pledge — a thin pair of 
 woman's boots, black cloth, with leather tips ; new, 
 they had probably cost five shillings, but they were 
 now considerably the worse for wear. What is the 
 use of bringing these old things ? " remonstrated Mr. 
 Cox. They are worth nothing." 
 
 "Everything's worth nothing, according to you," 
 retorted Mrs. Dunn. ''Come! I want three shil]ino;s 
 on them." 
 
 ''I wouldn't lend you eighteen-pence. They'd not 
 fetch it at an auction." 
 
 Mrs. Dunn would have very much liked to fling 
 the boots in his face. After some dispute, she con- 
 descended to ask what he would give. "I'll lend a 
 shilling, as you are a customer, just to oblige you. 
 But I don't care to take them in at all." More dis- 
 pute ; and she brought her demand down to eighteen- 
 pence. " Not a penny more than a shilling," Avas the 
 decisive reply. I tell you they are not worth that, 
 to me." 
 
 The boots were at length left, and the shilling 
 taken. Mrs. Dunn solaced herself with a pint of 
 half-and-half in a beershop, and went home with the 
 chano'e. 
 
 Upon no home had the strike acted with worse 
 
MR. DUXX'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. B41 
 
 effects than upon that of the Dunns : and we are not 
 speaking now as to pecuniary matters. They were 
 just as bad as they could be. Irregularity had pre- 
 vailed in it at the best of times; quarrelling and 
 contention often ; embarrassment, the result of bad 
 management, frequently. Upon such a home, distress, 
 long-continued, bitter distress, was not likely to work 
 for good. The father and a grown-up son were out 
 of work; and the Miss Dunns were also without 
 employment. Their patronesses, almost without ex- 
 ception, consisted of the ladies of Daffodil's Delight, 
 and, as may readily be conjectured, they had no funds 
 just now to expend upon gowns and their making. 
 Not only this : there was, from one party or another, 
 a good bit of money owing to the sisters for past 
 work, and this they could not get. As a set-off to 
 this — on the wrong side — they were owing bills in 
 various directions for materials that had been long 
 ago made up for their customers, some of whom had 
 ])aid them and some not. Any that had not been 
 paid before the strike came, remained unpaid still. 
 The Miss Dunns might just as well have asked for the 
 moon as for monej", owing or not owing, from the 
 distressed wives of Daffodils Delight. 
 
 So, there they were, father, -mother, sons, daughters, 
 all debarred from earning money ; whilst all, with the 
 younger children in addition, had to be kept. 
 
 It was wearying work, that forced idleness and 
 
342 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 that forced famine ; and it worked badly, especially 
 on the girls. Quarrelling they were accustomed to; 
 embarrassment they did not mind; irregularity in 
 domestic affairs they had lived in all their lives ; but 
 they could not bear the distress that had now come 
 upon them. Added to this, the girls were un- 
 pleasantly pressed for the settlement of the bills 
 above alluded to. Mrs. Quale had from the first 
 recommended the two sisters to try for situations: 
 but when was advice well taken ? They tossed their 
 heads at the idea of going out to service, thereby 
 giving up their liberty and their idleness. They said 
 that it might prevent them from getting together 
 again their business, when things should look up; 
 they urged that they were not fitted for service, 
 knowing little of any sort of housework ; and, finally, 
 they asked — and there was a great deal in the plea — 
 how they were to go out whilst the chief portion of 
 their clothes was in pledge. 
 
 For the past few days certain mysterious movements 
 on the part of Mary Ann Dunn had given rise to 
 some talk (the usual expression for gossiping and 
 scandal) in Daffodil's Delight. She had been almost 
 continually out from home, and when asked where, 
 had evaded an answer. Ever ready, as some people 
 are, to put a bad construction upon things, it was 
 not wanting in this case. Tales were carried home 
 to the father and mother, and there had been a scene 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 343 
 
 of attack and abuse, on Mary Ann s presenting herself 
 at home at midday. The girl had a fierce temper, 
 inherited probably from her mother ; she returned 
 abuse for abuse, and finally rushed off* in a passion, 
 without having given any satisfactory defence of 
 herself. Dunn cared for his children after a fashion, 
 and the fear that the reports must be true completely 
 beat him down ; cowed his spirit, as he might have 
 put it. Mrs. Dunn, on the contrary, ranted and 
 raved till she grew hoarse ; and then, being excessively 
 thirsty, stole off* surreptitiously with the boots to Mr. 
 Cox s, and so obtained a pint of half-and-half. 
 
 She returned home again, the delightful taste of the 
 beer still in her mouth. The room was stripped of 
 all, save a few things, too old or too useless for Mr. 
 Cox to take ; and, except for a little fire, it presented 
 a complete picture of poverty. The children lay 
 on the boards crying ; not a loud cry, but a distressed 
 moan. Very little, indeed, even of bread, did those 
 children receive; for James Dunn and his wife 
 were too fond of beer, to expend in much else the 
 trifle allowed them by the Trades' Union. James 
 Dunn had just come in. After the scene with his 
 dauo'hter, when he had a little recovered himself, he 
 went out to keep an appointment. Some of the 
 workmen, in a similarly distressed condition to 
 himself, had been that day to one of the police-courts, 
 hoping to obtain pecuniary help from the magistrates. 
 
344 A LIFE'S SECRET., 
 
 The result had been a complete failure, and Dunn sat, 
 moody and cross, upon a bench, his depression of 
 spirit having given place to a sort of savage anger ; 
 chiefly at his daughter Mary Ann, a little at things 
 altogether. The pint of half-and-half upon an empty 
 stomach had not tended to render Mrs. Dunn of a 
 calmer temper. She addressed him snappishly. 
 
 " What, you have come in ! Have you got any 
 money ?" 
 
 Mr. Dunn made no reply ; unless a growl that 
 sounded rather defiant constituted one. 
 
 She returned to the charge. "Have you got any 
 money, I ask ? Or be you come home a^gain with a 
 empty pocket ? " 
 
 No ; father hasn't got none : they didn't get any 
 good by going there,'' interposed Jemima Dunn, as 
 though it were a satisfaction to give out the bad 
 news, and who appeared to be looking in all sorts 
 of corners and places, as if in search of something. 
 "Ted Cheek told me, and he was one of 'em that 
 went. The magistrate said to the men that there 
 was plenty of work open for them, if they liked 
 to do it ; and his opinion was, that if they did not 
 like to do it, they wanted punishment instead of 
 assistance." 
 
 "That's just my opinion," returned Mrs. Dunn, with 
 intense aggravation. " There ! " 
 
 James Dunn broke out intemperately, with violent 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 345 
 
 words. And then he relapsed into his gloomy mood 
 again. 
 
 "I cant think what's gone with my boots/' ex- 
 claimed Jemima. 
 
 " Mother took 'em out," cried a little voice from the 
 floor. 
 
 What's that, Jacky ? " asked Jemima. 
 
 " Mother took 'em out/' responded Jacky. 
 
 The girl turned round, and stood still for a moment, 
 as if taking in the sense of the words. Then she 
 attacked her mother, anger flashing from her eyes. 
 
 '^If you have been and took 'em to the pawnshop, 
 you shall fetch 'em back. How dare you interfere 
 with my things ? Aren't they my boots ? Didn't I 
 buy 'em with my own money ? " 
 
 "If you don't hold your tongue, I'll box your ears/' 
 shrieked Mi^s. Dunn, with a look and gesture as 
 menacing as her tone. Hold your tongue ! hold your 
 tongue, I say, miss ! " 
 
 ''I shan't hold my tongue/' responded Jemima, 
 struggling between anger and tears. " I will have my 
 boots ! I want to go out, I do ! and how can I go 
 barefoot ? " 
 
 Want to go out, do you ! " raved Mrs. Dunn. 
 " Perhaps you want to go and follow your sister 1 
 The boots be at Cox's, and you may go there and get 
 'em. Now, then ! " 
 
 The words altogether were calculated to increase 
 
34G 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 the ire of Jemima ; they did so in no measured degree. 
 She and her mother commenced a mutual contest of 
 ranting abuse. It might have come to blows but for 
 the father s breaking into a storm of rage, so violent 
 as to calm them, and frighten the children. It almost 
 seemed as if trouble had upset his brain. 
 
 Long-continued hunger — the hunger that for weeks 
 and months never gets satisfied — -will on occasion 
 transform men and women into demons. In the house 
 of the Dunns, not only hunger but misery of all sorts 
 reigned, and this day seem_ed to have brought things 
 to a climax. Added to the trouble and doubt regard- 
 ing Mary Ann, was the fear of a prison, Dunn having 
 just heard that he had been convicted in the Small 
 Debts Court. Summonses had been out against him, 
 hopeless though it seemed to sue anybody so help- 
 lessly poor. In truth, the man was overwhelmed 
 with misery — as was many another man in Daffodil's 
 Delight — and did not know where to turn. After 
 this outburst, he sat down on the bench ao:ain/ 
 administering a final threat to his wife for silence. 
 
 Mrs. Dunn stood against the bare wooden shelves 
 of the dresser, her hair on end, her face scarlet, her 
 voice loud enough, in its shrieking sobs, to alarm all 
 the neighbours ; altogether in a state of fury. Disre- 
 garding her husband's injunction for silence, she broke 
 out into reproaches. 
 
 " Was he a man, that he should bring 'em to this 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 317 
 
 state of starvation, and then turn round upon 'em 
 with threats ? Wasn't she his wife ? wasn't they his 
 children ? If she was a husband and father, she'd 
 rather break stones till her arms rotted off, but what 
 she'd find 'em food I A lazy, idle, drunken object ! 
 There was the masters' yards open, and why didn't he 
 go to work ? If a man cared for his own family, he'd 
 look to his interests, and set the Trades' Union at 
 defiance. Was he a~going to see 'em took off to the 
 workhouse ? When his young ones lay dead, and she 
 was in the poorhouse, then he'd fold his hands and be 
 content with his work. If the strike was to bring 
 'em all this misery, Avhat the plague business had he 
 to join it ? Couldn't he have seen better ? Let him 
 go to work, if he was a man, and bring home a few 
 coals, and a bit of bread, and get out a blanket or two 
 from Cox's, and her gownds and things, and Jemimar's 
 boots " 
 
 Dunn, really a peacefully inclined man by nature, 
 and whose own anger had spent itself, let it go on to 
 this point. He then stood up before her, and with a 
 clenched fist, but calm voice of suppressed meaning, 
 asked her what she meant. 
 
 What, indeed ! In the midst of Mrs. Dunn's re- 
 proaches, how was it she did not cast a recollection to 
 the past ? to her own eagerness, public and private, 
 for the strike ? how she had urged her husband on to 
 join it, boasting of the good times it was to bring 
 
348 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 them ? She could ignore all that now : perhaps really 
 had almost forgotten it. Anyway, her opinions had 
 changed. Misery and disappointment will subdue the 
 fiercest obstinacy; and Mrs. Dunn, casting all the 
 blame upon her husband, Avould very much have liked 
 to chastise him with hands as well as tongue. 
 
 Keader ! if you think this is an overdrawn picture, 
 go and lay it before the wives of the workmen who 
 suffered the miseries induced by the strike, and ask 
 them whether or not it is true. Ay, and it is only 
 part of the truth. 
 
 ''I wish the strike had been buried five-fathom 
 deep, I do ! " uttered Dunn, with a catching breath 
 that told of the emotion he strove to hide. " It have 
 been nothing but a curse to us all along. And 
 where's to be the ending ? " 
 
 " Who brought home all this misery but you ? 
 recommenced Mrs. Dunn. "Have you done a day's 
 work for weeks and months ? No, you haven't ; you 
 know you haven't! You have just rowed in the 
 same boat with them nasty lazy Unionists, and let 
 the work go a-begging." 
 
 ^'Who edged me on to join the Unionists? Who 
 reproached me with being no man, but a sneak, if I 
 went to work and knuckled down to the masters ? " 
 demanded Dunn, in his sore vexation. " It was you ! 
 You know it was you ! You was fire-hot for the 
 strike : worse than ever the men was." 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 3l9 
 
 " Can we starve ? " said Mrs. Dunn, choking with 
 passion. Can we drop into our coffins with famine ? 
 Be our children to be drove, like Mary Ann " 
 
 An interruption — fortunately. Mrs. Cheek came 
 into the room with a burst. She possessed a tongue 
 also, on occasions. 
 
 "Whatever has been going on here this last half- 
 hour ? she inquired in a high voice. " One would 
 think murder was being committed. There's a dozen 
 listeners collected outside your shutters." 
 
 "She's a-casting it in my teeth, now, for having 
 joined the strike," exclaimed Dunn, indicating his wife. 
 She ! And she was the foremost to edge us all on." 
 
 " Can one clam ? " fiercely returned Mrs. Dunn, 
 speaking at her husband, not to him. *^Let him go 
 to work." 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Hannah Dunn," said Mrs. Cheek. 
 " I'd stand up for my rights till I dropped : and so 
 must the men. It'll never do to bend to the will of 
 the masters at last. There's enouo^h men turning^ 
 tail and going back, without the rest doing of it. I 
 should like to see Cheek attempting it: I'd be on 
 to him." 
 
 " Cheek don't want to ; he have got no cause to," 
 said Mrs. Dunn. You get the living now, and find 
 him in beer and bacca." 
 
 ''I do; and I am proud on it," was Mrs. Cheek's 
 answer. I goes washing, I goes chairing, I goes 
 
350 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ironing ; notliing comes amiss to me, and I manages 
 to keep the wolf from the door. It isn't my husband 
 that shall bend to the masters. He shall stand up 
 with the Unionists for his rights, or he shall stand up 
 against me." 
 
 Having satisfied her curiosity as to the cause of 
 the disturbance, Mrs. Cheek went out as she came, 
 with a burst and a bang, for she had been bent 
 on some hasty errand when arrested by the noise 
 behind the Dunns' closed shutters. What the next 
 proceedings would have been, it is difficult to say, had 
 not another interruption occurred. Mrs. Dunn was 
 putting her entangled hair behind her ears, most 
 probably preparatory to the resumption of the attack 
 on her husband, when the offending Mary Ann 
 entered, attended by Mrs. Quale. 
 
 At it she Avent, the mother, hammer and tongs, 
 turning her resentment . on the girl, her language 
 by no means choice, though the younger children 
 were present. Dunn was quieter ; but he turned 
 his back upon his daughter and would not look at 
 her. And then Mrs. Quale took a turn, and exercised 
 her tongue on both the parents : not with quite 
 as much noise, but with greater effect. 
 
 It appeared that the whispered suspicions against 
 Mary Ann Dunn had been mistaken ones. The girl 
 had been doing right, instead of wrong. Mrs. Quale 
 had recommended her to a place at a small dress- 
 
MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET. 351 
 
 maker's, prtrtly of service, chiefly of needlework. 
 Before engaging her, the dressmaker had insisted on a 
 few days of trial, wishing to see v/hat her skill at 
 work was ; and Mary Ann had kept it secret, intend- 
 ing a pleasant surprise to her father when the engage- 
 ment should be finally made. The suspicions cast on 
 her were but a poor return for this ; and the girl, in 
 her temper, had carried the grievance to Mrs. Quale, 
 when the da^y's work was over. A few words of strong 
 good sense from that talkative friend subdued Mary 
 Ann, and she had now come back in peace. Mrs. 
 Quale gave the explanation, interlarding it with a 
 sharp reprimand at their proneness to think ill of 
 ''their own flesh and blood," and James Dunn sat 
 down meekly in glad repentance. Even Mrs. Dunn 
 lowered her tone for once, Mary Ann held out 
 some money to her father after a quick glance at Mrs. 
 Quale for approval. 
 
 "Take it, father. It'll stop your going to prison, 
 perhaps. Mrs. Quale has lent it me to get my clothes 
 out, for I am to enter for good on my place to- 
 morrow. I can manage without my clothes for a bit.'' 
 
 James Dunn put the money back, speaking softly, 
 very much as if he had tears in his voice. 
 
 "No, girl: it'll do you more good than it wijl me^ 
 Mrs. Quale has been a good friend to you. Enter on 
 your place, and stay in it. It is the best news I've 
 'heard this many a day." 
 
352 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 ''But if the money will keep you out of jail, 
 father 1 sobbed Mary Ann, quite subdued. 
 
 It wouldn't do that ; nor half do it ; nor a quarter. 
 Get your clothes home, child, and go into your place 
 of service. As for me — better I was in jail than out 
 of it," he added, with a sigh. " In there, one does get 
 food." 
 
 ''Are you sure it wouldn't do you good, Jim 
 Dunn ? " asked Mrs. Quale, speaking in the emergency 
 he seemed to be driven to. Not that she would have 
 helped him, so improvident in conduct and mistaken 
 in opinions, with a good heart. 
 
 Sure and certain. If I paid this debt, others that 
 I owe would be put on to me." 
 
 " Come along, Mary Ann," said Mrs. Quale. " I 
 told you I'd give you a bed at my house to-night, 
 and I will; so j^oull know where she is, Hannah 
 Dunn. You go on down to Cox s, girl : get out as 
 much as you can for the money, and come straight 
 back to me : I'm going home now, and we'll set to 
 work and see the best we can do with the things." 
 
 They went out together. But Mrs. Quale opened 
 the door again and put in her head for a parting 
 word ! remembering perhaps her want of civility 
 in not having given it. 
 
 " Good-night to you all. And pleasant dreams — if 
 you can get 'em. You Unionists have brought your 
 pigs to a pretty market." 
 
( 353 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. 
 
 Things were coming to a crisis. The Unionists had 
 done their best to hold out against the masters ; but 
 they found the effort was beyond them — they must 
 give in at last. The prospect of returning to work 
 was eagerly welcomed by the greater portion of 
 the men. Rather than continue longer in the 
 wretched condition to which they were reduced, 
 they would have gone back almost on any terms. 
 Why, then, not have gone back before ? as many 
 asked. Because they preferred to resume work with 
 the consent of the Union, rather than without it: 
 and besides, the privations grew worse and worse. A 
 few of the men were bitterly enraged at the turn 
 affairs seemed to be taking — of whom Sam Shuck 
 was chief With the return of the hands to work, 
 Sam foresaw no field for the exercise of his own 
 peculiar talents, unless it was in stirring up fresh 
 discontent for the future. However, it was not yet 
 finally arranged that work should be resumed : a 
 
 A Life's Secret. 23 
 
354 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 little more agitation might be pleasant first, and 
 possibly prevent it. 
 
 ''It's a few white-livered hounds among yourselves 
 that have spoilt it/' growled Sam to a knot of hitherto 
 staunch friends, a day or two subsequent to that con- 
 jugal dispute between Mr. and Mrs. Dunn, which we 
 had the gratification of assisting at in the last chapter. 
 ''When such men as White, and Baxendale, and 
 Darby, who have held some sway among you, turn 
 sneaks and go over to the nobs, it's only to be expected 
 that you'll turn sneaks and follow. One fool makes 
 many. Did you hear how Darby got out his tools ? " 
 
 "No.'' 
 
 " The men opposed to the Union, opposed to us, 
 heard of his wanting them, and they clubbed together, 
 and made up the tin, and Darby is to pay 'em back so 
 much a- week — two shillings I think it is. Before I'd 
 lie under obligation to the non-Unionist men, I'd 
 shoot myself. What good has the struggle done 
 you ? " 
 
 " None/' said a voice. " It have done a good deal 
 of harm." 
 
 " Ay, it has — if it is to die out in this ignoble way/' 
 said Sam. '^ Better have been slaving like dray- 
 horses all along, than break down in the efibrt to 
 escape the slavery, and hug it to your arms again. If 
 you had only half the spirit of men, you'd stop 
 White's work for awhile, and Darby's too, as you did 
 
A DESCENT FOR MB. SHUCK. 
 
 355 
 
 Baxendale s. Have you been thinking over what was 
 said last night ? " he continued, in a lower tone. 
 
 The men nodded. One of them ventured to express 
 an opinion that it was a " dangerous game." 
 
 "That depends upon how it's done/' said Shuck. 
 " Who has been the worse, pray, for pitching into 
 Baxendale ? Can he, or anybody else, point a finger 
 and say, ' It was you did it ? ' or ^ It was you ? ' Why, 
 of course he can't.'' 
 
 One might not come off again with the like luck." 
 
 " Psha ! " returned Sam, evincing a great amount of 
 ridicule. 
 
 "But one mightn't. Shuck," persisted his ad- 
 versary. 
 
 " Oh, let the traitors alone, to go their OAvn way in 
 triumph, if you like ; get up a piece of j3late for them, 
 with their names wrote on it in gold," satirically 
 answered Sam. " Yah ! it sickens one to see you true 
 fellows going over to the oppressionists." 
 
 " How do vou make out that White and them be 
 oppressionists ? " 
 
 " White, and them ? they are worse than oppres- 
 sionists a thousand times over," fiercely cried Sam. 
 " I can't find words bad enough for them. It isn't of 
 them I spoke : I spoke of the masters." 
 
 "Well, Shuck, there's oppression on all sides, I 
 think," rejoined one of the men. "I'd be glad to rise 
 in the world if I could, and I'd work over-hours to 
 
356 
 
 A LIFE'S SECPvET. 
 
 help me on to it and to educate my children a bit 
 better than common ; but if you come down upon me 
 and say, ' You shall not do it, you shall only work the 
 stated hours laid down, and nobody shall work more,' 
 I call that oppression." 
 
 '^So it is," assented another voice. "The masters 
 never oppressed us like that." 
 
 " What's fair for one is fair for all," said Sam. " We 
 must work and share alike." 
 
 " That would be right enough, if we all had talents 
 and industry equal," was the reply. " But as we 
 haven't, and never shall have, it can't be fair to put a 
 limit on us." 
 
 "There's one question I'd like to have answered, 
 Shuck," interposed a former speaker : " but I'm afeared 
 it never will be answered with satisfaction to us. 
 What is to become of those men that the masters 
 can't find employment for ? If every one of us was 
 free to go back to work to-morrow, and sought to do 
 so, where would we get it ? Our old shops be half 
 filled with strangers, and there'd be thousands of us re- 
 jected — no room for us. W^ould the Society keep us ? " 
 
 A somewhat difficult question to answer, even for 
 Slippery Sam. Perhaps for that reason he suddenly 
 called out " Hush ! " and bent his head and put up his 
 finger in the attitude of listening. 
 
 There's something unusual going on in the street," 
 cried he. Let's see what it is." 
 
A DESCENT FOE MR. SHUCK. 
 
 357 
 
 They hurried out to the street, Sam leading the 
 way. Not a genial street to gaze upon, that wintry 
 day, taking it with all its accessories. Half-clothed, 
 half-starved, emaciated men stood about in groups, 
 their pale features and gloomy expression of despair 
 telling a piteous tale. A different set of men entirely, 
 to look at, from those of the well-to-do cheerful old 
 days of work, contentment, and freedom from care. 
 
 Being marshalled down the street in as polite a 
 manner as was consistent with the occasion, was Mr. 
 James Dunn. He was on his road to prison; and 
 certain choice spirits of Daffodil's Delight, headed by 
 Mrs. Dunn, were in attendance, some bewailing and 
 lamenting aloud, others hooting and yelling at the 
 capturers. As if this was not sufficient cause of 
 disturbance, news arose that the Dunns' landlord, 
 finding the house temporarily abandoned by every 
 soul — a chance he had been looking far — improved 
 the opportunity to lock the street-door and keep them 
 out. Nothing was before Mrs. Dunn and her children 
 now but the parish Union. 
 
 "I don't care whether it is the masters that have 
 been in fault or whether it's us ; I know which side 
 gets the suffering," exclaimed a mechanic, as Mr. Dunn 
 was conveyed beyond view. " Old Abel White told 
 us true; strikes never brought nothing but misery 
 yet, and they never will." 
 
 Sam Shuck seized upon the circumstance to draw 
 
358 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 around him Bj select audience, and to hold forth to 
 them. Treason, false and pernicious though it was, 
 that he spoke, his oratory fell persuasively on the 
 public ear. He excited the men against the masters ; 
 he excited them to his utmost power against their 
 fellows who had gone back to work ; he inflamed their 
 passions, he perverted their reason. Altogether, ill- 
 feeling and excitement were smouldering in an unusual 
 degree in Daffodil's Delight, and it was kept up 
 throughout the live-long day. 
 
 Evening came. The bell rang for the cessation of 
 work at Mr. Hunter s, and the men came pouring 
 forth, a great m.any of whom were strangers. The 
 gas-lamp at the gate shed a brilliant light, as the 
 hands dispersed — some one way, some a;nother. Those 
 bearing towards Daffodil's Delight became aware, as 
 they approached an obscure portion of the road which 
 lay past a dead wall, that it bore an unusual ap- 
 pearance, as if dark form.s were hovering there. 
 What could it be ? Not long were they kept in 
 ignorance. There arose a terrific din, enough to startle 
 the unwary. Yells, groans, hootings, hisses, threats 
 were poured forth upon the workmen; and they 
 knew that they had fallen into an ambush of the 
 Society's men. Of women also, as it appeared. For 
 shrill notes and delicate words of abuse, certainly 
 only peculiar to ladies' throats, were pretty freely 
 mingled with the gruff tones of the men. 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. 
 
 359 
 
 " You be nice nine-hour chaps ! Come on^ if you're 
 not cowards, and have it out in a fair fight " 
 
 " A fair fight ! " shrieked a female voice in interrup- 
 tion, " who'd fight with them ? Traitors ! cowards ! 
 Knock 'em down and trample upon 'em. ! '* 
 
 ''Harness 'em together with cords, and drag 'em 
 along like beasts o' burden in the face and eyes o' 
 London ! " Stick 'em up on spikes ! " Hoist 'em 
 on to the lamp-posts ! " " Hold 'em head down'ards 
 in a horse-trough ! " " Pitch into 'em with quicklime 
 and rotten eggs ! " " Strip 'em and give 'em a coat o' 
 tar ! " '' Wring their necks, and have done with 'em ! " 
 
 Whilst these several complimentary suggestions 
 were thrown from as many different quarters of the 
 assailants, one of them had quietly laid hold of Abel 
 White. There was little doubt — according to what 
 came out afterwards — that he and Robert Darby were 
 the two men chiefly aimed at in this night assault. 
 Darby, however, was not there. As it happened, he 
 had turned the contrary way on leaving the yard, 
 having joined one of the men who had lent him some 
 of the money to get his tools out of pledge, and gone 
 towards his home with him. 
 
 '' If thee carest for thy life, thee'U stop indoors, and 
 not go a-nigh Hunter's yard again to work ! " 
 
 Such were the words hissed forth in a hoarse 
 whisper into the ear of Abel White, by the man who 
 had seized upon him. Abel peered at him. as keenly 
 
360 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 as the darkness would permit. White was no coward, 
 and although aware that this attack most probably 
 had him for its chief butt, he retained his composure. 
 He could not recognize the man — a tall man, in a 
 large loose blue frock, such as is sometimes worn by- 
 butchers, with a red woollen cravat wound roughly 
 round his throat, hiding his chin and mouth, and a 
 seal-skin cap, its dark ears " brought down on the 
 sides of the face, and tied under the chin. The man 
 may have been so wrapped up for protection against 
 the weather, or for the purpose of disguise. 
 Let me go," said White. 
 
 " When thee hast sworn not to go on working till 
 the Union gives leave.'' 
 
 I never will swear it. Or say it.'' 
 
 " Then thee shall get every bone in th' body 
 smashed. Thee'st been reported to Mr. Shuck, and to 
 the Union." 
 
 I'd like to know your name and who you are," 
 exclaimed White. "If you are not disguising your 
 voice, it's odd to me." 
 
 D'ye remember Baxendale ? He wouldn't take 
 the oath, and he's lying with his ribs stove in." 
 
 " More shame for you ! Look you, man, you can't 
 intimidate me. I am made of sterner stuff than that." 
 
 " Swear ! " was the menacing retort ; " swear that 
 thee won't touch another stroke o' work." 
 
 "I tell you that I never will swear it," firmly 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. 
 
 361 
 
 returned White. " The Union has hoodwinked me 
 long enough ; I'll have nothing to do with it." 
 
 There be desperate men around ye — them as 
 won't leave ye with whole bones. You shall swear." 
 
 ril have nothing more to do with the Union ; I'll 
 never again obey it/' answered White, speaking 
 earnestly. " There ! make your most of it. If I had 
 but a friendly gleam of light here, I'd know who you 
 are, and let others know." 
 
 The confusion around had increased. Hot words 
 were passing everywhere between the assailants and 
 the assailed — no positive assault as yet, save that a 
 v/oman had shaken her fist in a man's face and epit 
 at him. Abel White strove to get away with the last 
 words, but the man who had been threatening him 
 struck him a sharp blow between the eyes, and 
 another blow from the same hand caught him behind. 
 The next instant he was down. If one blow was 
 dealt him, ten Avere from as many different hands. 
 The tall man with the cap was busy with his feet; 
 and it really seemed, by the manner he carried on the 
 pastime, that his whole heart went with it, and that 
 it was a heart of revenge. 
 
 But who is this, pushing his way through the 
 crowd with stern authority ? A policeman ? The men 
 shrank back, in their fear, to give him place. No ; it 
 is only their master, Mr. Clay. 
 
 " What is this ? " exclaimed Austin, when he reached 
 
362 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 the point of battery. " Is it you, White ? " he added, 
 stooping do\yn. "I suspected as much. Now, my 
 men," he continued in a stem tone, as he faced the 
 excited throng, who are you ? which of you has done 
 this ? 
 
 The ringleader was him in the cap, sir — the tall 
 one with the red cloth round his neck and the fur 
 about his ears," spoke up White, who, though much 
 maltreated, retained the use of his brains and his 
 tongue. It was him that threatened me ; he was 
 the first to set upon me." 
 
 " Who are you ? " demanded Austin of the tall man. 
 
 The tall man responded by a quiet laugh of derision. 
 He felt himself perfectly secure from recognition in 
 the obscurity ; and though Mr. Clay was of powerful 
 frame, more than a match for him in agility and 
 strength, let him only dare to lay a finger upon 
 him, and there were plenty around to come to the 
 rescue. 
 
 Austin Clay heard the derisive laugh, subdued 
 though it was, and thought he recognized it. He took 
 his hand from within the breast of his coat, and raised 
 it with a hasty motion — not to deal a blow, not with 
 a pistol to startle or menace, but to turn on a dark 
 lantern ! No pistol could have startled them as did 
 that sudden flash of bright light, thrown full upon the 
 tall man's face. Ofi* flew the fellow with a yell, and 
 Austin coolly turned the lantern upon others. 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. SG3 
 
 Bennet — and Strood — and Kyan — and Cassidy ! " 
 he exclaimed, recognizing and telling off the men. 
 " And yoiiy Cheek ! I never should have suspected 
 you of sufficient courage to join in a thing of this 
 nature." 
 
 Cheek, midway between shaking and tears, sobbed 
 out that it was " the wife made him ; " and Mrs. 
 Cheek roared out from the rear, ''Yes, it was, and 
 she'd have shook the bones out of him if he hadnH 
 come." 
 
 But that light, turning upon them everywhere, was 
 more than they had bargained for, and the whole lot 
 moved away in the best manner that they could, 
 putting the stealthiest and the quickest foot foremost ; 
 each one devoutly hoping, saving the few whose names 
 had been mentioned, that his own face had not been 
 recognized. Austin, with some of his workmen vfho 
 had remained — the greater portion of them were pur- 
 suing the vanquished — raised Abel White. His head 
 w^as cut, his body bruised, but no serious damage 
 appeared to have been done. 
 
 Can you walk with assistance as far as Mr. Rice's 
 shop ? " asked Austin. 
 
 " I dare say I can, sir, in a minute : I'm a bit giddy 
 now," was White's reply, as he leaned his back against 
 the wall, being supported on either side. " Sir, what 
 a mercy that you had that light with you ! " 
 
 ""Ay," shortly replied Austin. ''Quale, the blood is 
 
364 
 
 A LIFERS SECRET. 
 
 dripping upon your sleeve. I will bind my handker- 
 chief round your head, White. Meanwhile, one of you 
 go and call a cab ; it may be better that we get him 
 at once to the surgeon's." 
 
 A cab was brought, and White assisted into it. 
 Austin accompanied him. Mr. Rice was at home, and 
 proceeded to examine into the damage. A few daj^s' 
 rest from work, and a liberal application of sticking- 
 plaster, would prove efficacious in effecting a cure, he 
 believed. 
 
 " What a pity but the ruffians could be stopped at 
 this game ! " the doctor exclaimed to Austin. " It will 
 come to more serious attacks, if they are not." 
 
 I think this will do something towards stopping 
 it," replied Austin. 
 
 " Why ? do you know any of them ? " 
 
 Austin nodded. " A few. It is not a second case 
 of impossible identity, as was Baxendale's." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know how I am to go in home in 
 this plight," exclaimed White, catching sight of his 
 strapped-up face and head, in a small looking-glass 
 hanging in Mr. Rice's surgery. " I shall frighten poor 
 old father into a fit, and the wife too." 
 
 " I will go on first, and prepare them," said Austin, 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 Turning out of the shop on this errand, he found 
 the door blocked up. The door! nay, the pavement — 
 the street; for it seemed as if all Daffodil's Delight 
 
 ■ '■it 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR SHUCK. 
 
 365 
 
 had collected there. He elbowed his way through 
 them, and reached White's home. There the news 
 had preceded him, and he found the deepest distress 
 and excitement reigning, the family having been in- 
 formed that Abel was killed. Austin reassured them, 
 made light of the matter, and departed. 
 
 Outside their closed-up home, squatting on the 
 narrow strip of pavement, their backs against the 
 dirty wall, were Mrs. Dunn and her children, howling 
 pitiably. They were surrounded with warm par- 
 tisans, who spent their breath sympathizing with 
 them, and abusing the landlord. 
 
 " How much better that they should go into the 
 workhouse,'^ exclaimed Austin. "They v/ill perish 
 with cold if they remain there." 
 
 And much you masters 'ud care," cried a woman 
 who overheard the remark. I hope you are satisfied 
 now with the effects of your fine lock-out ! Look at 
 the poor creatur, a-sitting there with her helpless 
 children." 
 
 " A sad sight," observed Austin ; " but not the effects 
 of the lock-out. You must look nearer home." 
 
 The day dawned. Abel White was progressing very 
 satisfactorily. So much so that Mr. Rice did not keep 
 him in bed. It was by no means so grave a case as 
 Baxendale s. To the intense edification of DaffodiFs 
 Delight, which had woke up in an unusually low and 
 subdued state, there arrived, about mid-day, certain 
 
366 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 officers within its precincts, holding warrants for the 
 apprehension of some of the previous night's rioters. 
 Bennet, Strood, Ryan, and Cheek were taken ; Cassidy 
 had disappeared. 
 
 ''It's a shame to grab us !" exclaimed timid Cheeky 
 shaking from head to foot. "White himself said as 
 we was not the ringleaders/* 
 
 Whilst these were secured, a policeman entered the 
 home of Mr. Shuck, without so much as saying, " With 
 your leave," or " By your leave." That gentleman, who 
 had remained indoors all the morning, in a restless, 
 humble sort of mood, which imparted much surprise 
 to Mrs. Shuck, was just sitting down to dinner in the 
 bosom of his family : a savoury dinner, to judge by 
 the smell, consisting of rabbit a;nd onions. 
 
 " Now, Sam Shuck, I want you/' was the startling 
 interruption. 
 
 Sam turned as white as a sheet. Mrs. Shuck stared^ 
 and the children stared. 
 
 '' Want me, do you ? " cried Sam, putting as easy a; 
 face as he could upon the matter. "What do you 
 want me for ? To give evidence ? " 
 
 " You know. It's about that row last night. I 
 wonder you hadn't better regard for your liberty than 
 to get into it." 
 
 " Why, you never was such a fool as to put yourself 
 into that ! " exclaimed Mrs. Shuck, in her surprise. 
 " What could have possessed you ? " 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. 367 
 
 " I ^ " retorted Sam ; " I don't know anything about 
 the row, except what I've heard. I was a good mile 
 off from the spot when it took place." 
 
 " All very well if you can convince the magistrates 
 of that/' said the officer. " Here's the warrant against 
 you, and I must take you upon it." 
 
 " I won't go/' said Sam, showing fight. I wasn't 
 nigh the place, I say/' 
 
 The officer was peremptory — officers generally are 
 so in these cases — and Sam was very foolish to resist. 
 But that he was scared out of his senses, ho would 
 probably not have resisted. It only made matters 
 worse ; and the result was that he had the handcuffs 
 clapped on. Fancy Samuel Shuck, Esquire, in his 
 crimson necktie with the lace ends, and the peg-tops, 
 being thus escorted through Daffodil's Delight, himself 
 and his hands prisoners, and a tail the length of the 
 street streaming after him ! 
 
 You could not have got into the police-court. Every 
 avenue, every inch of ground was occupied ; for the 
 men, both Unionists and non-Unionists, were greatly 
 excited, and came flocking in crowds to hear the 
 proceedings. The five men were placed at the bar- 
 Shuck, Bennet, Cheek, Ryan, and Strood : and Abel 
 White and his bandaged head appeared against them. 
 The man gave his evidence. How he and others — ■ 
 but himself, he thought, more particularly — had been 
 met by a mob the previous nighty upon leaving work, 
 
368 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 a knot of the Society's men, who had first threatened 
 and then beaten him. 
 
 ^'Can you tell what their motive was for doing 
 this ? " asked the magistrate. 
 
 ''Yes, sir/' was the answer of White. ''It was 
 because I went back to work. I held out as long as 
 I could, in obedience to the Trades' Union ; but I 
 began to think I was in error, and that I ought to 
 return to work ; which I did, a week or two ago. 
 Since then, they have never let me alone. They have 
 talked to me, and threatened me, and persuaded me ; 
 but I would not listen : and last night they attacked 
 me." 
 
 " What were the threats they used last night ? " 
 
 " It was one man did most of the talking : a tall 
 man in a cap and comforter, sir. The rest of the 
 crowd abused me and called me names ; but they did 
 not utter any particular threat. This man said. 
 Would I promise and swear not to do any more work 
 in defiance of the Union ; or else I should get every 
 bone in my body smashed. He told me to remember 
 how Baxendale had been served, and was lying with 
 his ribs stove in. I refused ; I would not swear ; I 
 said I would never belonoj to the Union arain. And 
 then he struck me." 
 
 " Where did he strike you V 
 
 " Here," putting his hand up to his forehead. " The 
 first blow staggered me and took away my sight, and 
 
A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK. 369 
 
 the second blow knocked me down. Half-a-dozen set 
 upon me then, hitting and kicking me : the first man 
 kicked me also." 
 
 Can you swear to that first man ? " 
 
 "No, I cant, sir. I think he was disguised." 
 
 " Was it the prisoner. Shuck ? " 
 
 White shook his head. ''It was just his height and 
 figure, sir ; but I can't be sure that it was him. His 
 face was partially covered, and it was nearly dark, 
 besides ; there are no lights about, just there. The 
 voice, too, seemed disguised : I said so at the time." 
 
 " Can you swear to the others ? " 
 
 "Yes, to all four of them," said White, stoutly. 
 " They were not disguised at all, and I saw them after 
 the light came, and knew their voices. They helped 
 to beat me after I was on the ground." 
 
 " Did they threaten you ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Only the first one did that." 
 
 " And him you cannot swear to ? Is there any 
 other witness w^ho can swear to him ? " 
 
 It did not appear that there was. Shuck addressed 
 the magistrate, his tone one of injured innocence. It 
 is not to be borne that I should be dragged up here 
 like a felon, your worship. I was not near the place 
 at the time ; I am as innocent as your worship is. Is 
 it likely I should lend myself to such a thing ? My 
 mission among the men is of a higher nature than 
 that." 
 
 A Life's Secret. 24 
 
370 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Whether you are innocent or not, I do not know," 
 said his worship; "but I do know that this is a 
 state of things which cannot be tolerated. I will give 
 my utmost protection to these workmen; and those 
 who dare to interfere with them shall be punished to 
 the extent of the law : the ringleaders especially. A 
 person has just as much right to come to me and say, 
 ' You shall not sit on that bench ; you shall not 
 transact the business of a magistrate,' as you have to 
 prevent these industrious men working to earn a 
 livino;. It is monstrous.'' 
 
 " Here's the witness we have waited for, please 
 your worship," spoke one of the policemen. 
 
 It was Austin Clay who came forward. He bowed 
 to the magistrate, who bowed to him : they occasionally 
 met at the house of Mr. Hunter. Austin was sworn, 
 and gave his evidence up to the point when he turned 
 the light of the lantern upon the tall assailant of 
 White. 
 
 Did you recognize the ma^n ? " asked the Bench. 
 
 " I did, sir. It was Samuel Shuck." 
 
 Sam gave a howl, protesting that it was not — that 
 he was a mile away from the spot. 
 
 " I recognized him as distinctly as I recognize him 
 at this moment," said Austin. " He had a woollen 
 scarf on his chin, and a cap covering his ears, no 
 doubt assumed for disguise, but I knew him instantly. 
 What is more, he saw that I knew him ; I am sure he 
 
A DESCENT FOE MR. SHUCK. 
 
 371 
 
 did, by the way he slunk off. I also recognized his 
 laugh." 
 
 Did you take the lantern with you purposely ? " 
 asked the clerk of the court. 
 
 !. ''I did," replied Austin. ''A hint was given me in 
 the course of yesterday afternoon, that an attack 
 upon our men was in agitation. I determined to 
 discover the ringleaders, if possible, should it take 
 place, and not to let the darkness baffle justice, as was 
 the case in the attack upon Baxendale. For this 
 purpose I put the lantern in readiness, and had the 
 men watched when they left the yard. As soon as 
 the assault began, my messenger returned to tell me." 
 You hit upon a good plan, Mr. Clay." 
 
 Austin smiled. " I think I did," he answered. 
 
 Unfortunately for Mr. Samuel Shuck, another 
 witness had seen his face distinctly when the light 
 was turned on ; and his identity with " the tall man 
 disguised" was established beyond dispute. In an 
 evil hour, Sam had originated this attack on White ; 
 but, not feeling altogether sure of the courage of his 
 men, he had determined to disguise himself and take 
 part in the business, saying not a word to any one. 
 He had not bargained for the revelation that might 
 be brought about by means of a dark lantern. 
 
 The proceedings in court were prolonged, but they 
 terminated at length. Bennet, Strood, and Kyan were 
 condemned to pay a fine of five pounds each, or be 
 
372 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 imprisoned for two months. Cheek managed to get off. 
 Mr. Sam Shuck, to whom the magistrate was bitterly- 
 severe in his remarks — for he knew perfectly well the 
 part enacted by the man from the first — was sentenced 
 to six months at the treadmill, without the option of 
 a fine. What a descent for Slippery Sam ! 
 
( 373 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 These violent interruptions to the social routine, to 
 the organized relations between masters and men, 
 cannot take place without leaving their effects behind 
 them : not only in the bare cupboards, the confusion, 
 the bitter feelings while the contest is in actual pro- 
 gress, but in the results when the dispute is brought 
 to an end, and things have resumed their natural 
 order. You have seen some of its disastrous working 
 upon the men : you cannot see it all, for it would take 
 a whole volume to depicture it. 
 
 But there was another upon whom it was promising 
 to work badly ; and that was Mr. Hunter. At this, 
 the eleventh hour, when the dispute was dying out, 
 Mr. Hunter knew that he would be unable to weather 
 the short remains of the storm. Drained, as he had 
 been at various periods, of sums paid to Gwinn, of 
 Ketterford, he had not the necessary means to support 
 the long-continued struggle. Capital he possessed 
 still ; and, had there been no disturbance, no strike. 
 
374 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 no lock-out — had things, in short, gone on upon their 
 usual course uninterruptedly, his capital would have 
 been sufficient to carry him on : not as it was. His 
 money was locked up in arrested works, in buildings 
 brought to a standstill. He could not fulfil his con- 
 tracts or meet his debts ; materials were lying idle ; 
 and the crisis, so long expected by him, had come at 
 last. 
 
 It had not been expected by Austin Clay. Though 
 aware of the shortness of capital, he believed that 
 with care difficulties would be surmounted. The fact 
 was, Mr. Hunter had succeeded in keeping the worst 
 from him. It fell upon Austin one morning like a 
 thunderbolt. Mr. Hunter had come early to the 
 works. In this hour of embarrassment — ill as he 
 might be, as he was — he could not be absent from his 
 place of business. When Austin went into his master's 
 private room, he found him alone, poring over books 
 and accounts, his head leaning on his hand. One 
 glance at Austins face told Mr. Hunter that the 
 whispers as to the state of affairs, which were now 
 becoming public scandal, had reached his ears. 
 
 " Yes ; it is quite true,'' said Mr. Hunter, before a 
 word had been spoken by Austin. ^^I cannot stave 
 it off." 
 
 " But it will be ruin, sir ! " exclaimed Austin. 
 ''Of course it will be ruin. I know that, better 
 than you can tell me." 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 375 
 
 " Oh, sir," continued Austin, with earnest decision, 
 " it must not be allowed to come. Your credit must 
 be kept up at any sacrifice." 
 
 Can you tell me of any sacrifice that will keep it 
 up ? " returned Mr. Hunter. 
 
 Austin paused in embarrassment. " If the present 
 difficulty can be got over, the future will soon redeem 
 itself," he observed. " You have sufficient capital in 
 the aggregate, though it is at present locked up." 
 
 There it is," said Mr. Hunter. " Were the capital 
 not locked up, but in my hands, I should be a free 
 man. Who is to unlock it ? " 
 
 " The men are returning to their shops," urged 
 Austin. " In a few days, at the most, all will have 
 resumed work. We shall get our contracts completed, 
 and things will work round. It would be needless 
 ruin, sir, to stop now." 
 
 Am I stopping of my own accord ? Shall I put 
 myself into the Gazette, do you suppose ? You talk 
 like a child, Clay." 
 
 " Not altogether, sir. What I Say is, that you are 
 worth more than sufficient to meet your debts ; that, 
 if the momentary pressure can be lifted, you v/ill 
 surmount embarrassment and regain ease." 
 
 Half the bankruptcies we hear of are caused by 
 locked-up capital — not by positive non-possession of 
 it," observed Mr. Hunter. " Were my funds available, 
 there would be reason in what you say, and I should 
 
376 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 probably go on again to ease. Indeed, I know I 
 
 should ; for a certain heavy — heavy " Mr. Hunter 
 
 spoke with perplexed hesitation — heavy private 
 obligation, which I have been paying off at periods, is 
 at an end now." 
 
 Austin made no reply. He knew that Mr. Hunter 
 alluded to Gwinn, of Ketterford: and perhaps Mr. 
 Hunter suspected that he knew it. 
 
 " Yes, sir; you would go on to ease — to fortune 
 again ; there is no doubt of it. Mr. Hunter/' he con- 
 tinued with some emotion, " it must be accomplished 
 somehow. To let things come to an end for the sake 
 
 of a thousand or two, is — is " 
 
 Stop ! said Mr. Hunter. " I see what you are 
 driving at. You think that I might borrow this 
 'thousand or two* from my brother, or from Dr. 
 Bevary." * 
 
 " No," fearlessly replied Austin, " I was not thinking 
 of either one or the other. Mr. Henry Hunter has 
 enough to do for himself just now — his contracts for 
 the season were more extensive than ours: and Dr. 
 Bevary is not a business man." 
 
 Henry has enough to do," said Mr. Hunter. " And 
 if a hundred-pound note would save me, I should not 
 ask Dr. Bevary for its loan. I tell you. Clay, there 
 is no help for it : ruin must come. I have thought it 
 over and over, and can seen no loophole of escape. It 
 does not much matter : I can hide my head in obscurity 
 
,0N THE EVE OF BANKKUPTCY. 377 
 
 for the short time I shall probably live. Mine has 
 been an untoward fate/' 
 
 ''It matters for your daughter, sir/' rejoined Austin, 
 his face flushing. 
 
 " I cannot help myself, even for her sake/' was the 
 answer, and it was spoken in a tone that, to a fanciful 
 listener, might have told of a breaking heart. 
 
 " If you would allow me to suggest a plan, sir " 
 
 ''No, I will not allow any further discussion upon 
 the topic/' peremptorily interrupted Mr. Hunter. 
 " The blow must come ; and, to talk of it w^ill neither 
 soothe nor avert it. Now to business. Not another 
 word, I say. Is it to-day or to-morrow that Grafton's 
 bill falls due ? " ' • 
 
 " To-day," replied Austin. 
 
 " And its precise amount ? I forget it." 
 
 " Five hundred and twenty pounds." 
 
 " Five hundred and twenty ! I knew it was some- 
 where about that. It is that bill that will floor us — 
 at least, be the first step to it. How closely has the 
 account been drawn at the bank ? " 
 
 " You have the book by you, sir. I think there is 
 little more than thirty pounds lying in it." 
 
 "Just so. Thirty pounds to meet a bill of five 
 hundred and twenty. No other available funds to 
 pay in. And you would talk of warding off* the 
 difticulty ? " 
 
 " I think the bank would pay it, were all circum- 
 
378 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 stances laid before them. They have accommodated 
 us before." 
 
 The bank will not, Austin. I have had a private 
 note from them this morning. These flying rumours 
 have reached their ears, and they will not let me over- 
 draw even by a pound. It had struck me once or 
 twice lately that they were becoming cautious." 
 
 There was a commotion, as of sudden talking, out- 
 side at that moment, and Mr. Hunter turned pale. 
 He supposed it might be a creditor : and his nerves 
 were so shattered, as was before remarked, that the 
 slightest thing shook him like a woman. 
 
 I would pay them all, if I could," he said, his tone 
 almost a wail. " I wish to pay every one." 
 
 ''Sir," said Austin, ''leave me here to-day to meet 
 these matters. You are too ill to stay." 
 
 " If I do not meet them to-day, I must to-morrow. 
 Sooner or later, it is I who must answer." 
 
 " But indeed you are ill, sir. You look worse than 
 you have looked at all." 
 
 " Can you wonder that I look worse ? The striking 
 of the docket against me is no pleasant matter to 
 anticipate." 
 
 The talking outside now subsided into laughter, in 
 which the tones of a female were distinguishable. Mr. 
 Hunter thought he recognized them, and his fear of a 
 creditor subsided. They came from one of his women- 
 servants, who, unconscious of the proximity of her 
 
 m 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY.' 
 
 379 
 
 master, had been laughing and joking with some of 
 the men, whom she had encountered upon entering 
 the yard. ''What can Susan want?" exclaimed Mr. 
 Hunter, signing to Austin to open the door. 
 
 " Is that you, Susan ? " asked Austin, as he obeyed. 
 Oh, if you please, sir, can I speak a word to my 
 master ? " 
 
 " Come in," called out Mr. Hunter. " What do you 
 want ? " 
 
 "Miss Florence has sent me, sir, to give you this, 
 and to ask you if you'd please to come round." 
 
 She handed in a note. Mr. Hunter broke the seal, 
 and ran his eyes over it. It was from Florence, and 
 contained but a line or two. She informed her father 
 that the lady who had been so troublesome at the 
 house once before, in years back, had come again, had 
 taken a seat in the dining-room, removed her bonnet, 
 and expressed her intention of there remaining until 
 she should see Mr. Hunter. 
 
 "As if I had not enough upon me without this !" 
 muttered Mr. Hunter. "Go back," he said aloud to 
 to the servant, ^'and tell Miss Florence that I am 
 coming." 
 
 A few minutes given to the papers before him, 
 a few hasty directions to Austin, touching the 
 business of the hour, and Mr. Hunter rose to depart. 
 
 " Do not come back, sir," Austin repeated to hinx 
 
 1 can manaa-e all." 
 
380 ; A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 When Mr. Hunter entered his own house, letting 
 himself in with a latch-key, Florence, who had been 
 watching for him, glided forward. 
 
 " She is in there, papa," pointing to the closed door 
 of the dining-room, and speaking in a whisper. 
 " What is her business here ? what does she want ? 
 She told me she had as much right in the house 
 as I." 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed Mr. Hunter. " Insolent, has she 
 
 been ? 
 
 " Not exactly insolent. She spoke civilly. I 
 fancied you would not care to see her, so I said she 
 could not wait. She replied that she should wait, 
 and I must not attempt to prevent her. Is she in 
 her senses, papa ? " 
 
 "Go upstairs and put your bonnet and cloak on, 
 Florence," was the rejoinder of Mr. Hunter. " Be 
 quick." 
 
 She obeyed, and was down again almost immedi- 
 ately, in her deep mourning. 
 
 Now, my dear, go round to Dr. Bevary, and tell 
 him you have come to spend the day with him." 
 
 " But, papa " 
 
 " Florence, go ! I will either come for you this 
 evening or send. Do not return until I do." 
 
 The tone, though full of kindness, was one that 
 might not be disobeyed, and Florence, feeling sick 
 with some uncertain, shadowed-forth trouble, passed 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 381 
 
 out at the hall-door. Mr. Hunter entered the dining- 
 room. 
 
 Tall, gaunt, powerful of frame as ever, rose up 
 Miss Gwinn, turning upon him her white, corpse-like 
 face. Without the ceremony of greeting, she spoke in 
 her usual abrupt fashion, dashing at once to her 
 subject. 
 
 Noiu will you render justice, Lewis Hunter ? " 
 
 "I have the greater right to ask that justice shall 
 be rendered to me," replied Mr. Hunter, speaking 
 sternly, in spite of his agitation. '^Who has most 
 cause to demand it, you or I ? 
 
 " She who reigned mistress in this house is dead," 
 cried Miss Gwinn. "You must now acknowledge 
 hevr 
 
 " I never will. You may do your best and worst. 
 The worst that can come is, that it must reach the 
 knowledge of my daughter." 
 
 "Ay, there it is! The knowledge of the wrong 
 must not even reach her; but the wrong itself has 
 not been too bad for that other one to bear." 
 
 Woman ! " continued Mr. Hunter, growing excited 
 almost beyond control, " who inflicted that wrong ? 
 Myself, or you ? " 
 
 The reproach told home, if the change to sad 
 humility, passing over Miss Gwinn's countenance, 
 might be taken as an indication. 
 
 "What I said, I said in self-defence; after you. 
 
382 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 in your deceit, had brought wrong upon me and my 
 familj^/' she answered in a subdued voice. 
 
 ''That was no wrong," retorted Mr. Hunter. ''It 
 was you who wrought all the wrong afterwards, by 
 uttering the terrible falsehood, that she was dead." 
 
 " Well, well, it is of no use going back to that," she 
 impatiently said. *' I am come here to ask that justice 
 shall be rendered, now that it lies in your power." 
 
 " You have had more than justice — you have had 
 revenge. Not content with rendering my days a life's 
 misery, you must also drain me of the money I had 
 worked hard to save. Do you know how much ? " 
 
 "It was not I," -she passionately uttered, in a 
 tone as if she would deprecate his anger. "He did 
 that." 
 
 " It comes to the same. I had to find the monej^ 
 So long as my dear wife lived, I was forced to tem- 
 porize : neither he nor you can so force me again. Go 
 home, go home. Miss Gwinn, and pray for forgiveness 
 for the injury you have done both her and me. The 
 time for coming to my house with your intimidations 
 is past." 
 
 " What did you say ? " cried Miss Gwinn. '' Injury 
 upon you?''' 
 
 "Injury, ay ! such as rarely has been inflicted upon 
 mortal man. Not content with that great injury, you 
 must also deprive me of my substance. This week 
 the name of James Lewis Hunter will be in the 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 383 
 
 Gazette^ on the list of bankrupts. It is you who have 
 brought me to it." 
 
 " You know that I have had no hand in that ; that 
 it was he : my brother — and hers,'' she said. " He 
 never should have done it had I been able to prevent 
 him. In an unguarded moment I told him I had dis- 
 covered you, and who you were, and — and he came 
 up to you here and sold his silence. It is that which 
 has kept me quief 
 
 " This interview had better end/' said Mr. Hunter. 
 "It excites me, and my health is scarcely in a state to 
 bear it. Your work has told upon me, Miss Gwinn, 
 as you cannot help seeing, when you look at me. Am 
 I like the hearty, open man whom you came up to 
 town and discovered a few years ago ? " 
 
 Am I like the healthy unsuspiciou's woman whom 
 you saw some years before that ? " she retorted. My 
 days have been rendered more bitter than yours." 
 
 " It is your own evil passions which have rendered 
 them so. But I say this interview must end. 
 You " 
 
 "It shall end when you undertake to render justice^ 
 I only ask that you should acknowledge her in words ; 
 I ask no more." 
 
 " When your brother was here last — it was on the 
 day of my wife's death — I was forced to warn him of 
 the consequences of remaining in my house against 
 my will. I must now warn you," 
 
384 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Lewis Hunter/' she passionately resumed, for 
 years I have been told that she — who was here — was 
 fading ; and I was content to wait until she should be 
 gone. Besides, was not he drawing money from you 
 to keep silence ? But it is all over, and my time is 
 come." 
 
 The door of the room opened and some one entered. 
 Mr. Hunter turned with marked displeasure, wonder- 
 ing who was daring to intrude upon him. He saw 
 — not any servant, as he expected, but his brother-in- 
 law, Dr. Bevary. And the doctor walked into the 
 room and closed the door, just as if he had as much 
 right there as its master. 
 
 When Florence Hunter reached her uncle s house, 
 she found him absent : the servants said he had gone 
 out early in the morning. Scarcely had she entered 
 the drawing-room when his carriage drove up : he saw 
 Florence at the window and hastened in. 
 
 Uncle Bevary, I have come to stay the day with 
 you," was her greeting. " Will you have me ? " 
 
 " I don't know that I will," returned the doctor, who 
 loved Florence above every earthly thing. How 
 comes it about ? " 
 
 In the explanation, as she gave it, the doctor de- 
 tected some embarrassment, quite different from her 
 usual open manner. He questioned closely, and drew 
 from her what had occurred. 
 
 Miss Gwinn, of Ketterford, in town ? " he exclaimed, 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 385 
 
 staring at Florence as if he could not believe her. 
 Are you joking ? " 
 
 She is at our house with papa, as I tell you, uncle." 
 
 What an extraordinary chance ! " muttered the 
 doctor. 
 
 Leaving Florence, he ran out of the house and down 
 the street, calling after his coachman, who was driving 
 to the staBles. Had it been any one but Dr. Bevary, 
 the passers-by might have deemed the caller mad. 
 The coachman heard, and turned his horses again. 
 Dr. Bevary spoke a word in haste to Florence. 
 
 Miss Gwinn is the very person I was w^anting to 
 see; wishing some marvellous telegraph wires could 
 convey her to London at a moment*s notice. Make 
 yourself at home, my dear ; don't wait dinner for me, 
 I cannot tell when I shall be back." 
 
 He stepped into the carriage and was driven away 
 very quickly, leaving Florence in some doubt as to 
 whether he had not gone to Ketterford — for she had 
 only imperfectly understood him. Not so. The 
 carriage set him down at Mr. Hunter's. Where he 
 broke in upon the interview, as has been described. 
 
 " I was about to telegraph to Ketterford for you," 
 he began to Miss Gwinn, without any other sort of 
 greeting. And the words, coupled with his abrupt 
 manner, sent her at once into an agitation. Rising, 
 she put her hand upon the doctor's arm. 
 
 " What has happened ? Any ill ? " 
 
 A Life's Secret. 25 
 
386 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 " You must come with me now and see her/' was 
 the brief answer. 
 
 Shaking from head to foot, gaunt, strong woman 
 though she was, she turned docilely to follow the 
 doctor from the room. But suddenly an idea seemed 
 to strike her, and she stood still. 
 
 It is a oncse to get me out of the house. Dr. 
 Bevary, I will not quit it until justice shall be rendered 
 to Emma. I will have her acknowledged by him." 
 
 Your going with me now will make no difference 
 to that, one way or the other," drily observed Dr. 
 Bevary. 
 
 Mr. Hunter stepped forward in agitation. "Are 
 you out of your mind,. Bevary ? You could not have 
 caught her words correctly." 
 
 *'Psha!" responded the doctor, in a careless tone. 
 " What I said was, that Miss Gwinn's going out with 
 me could make no difference to any acknowledgment." 
 
 Only in words," she stayed to say. Just let him 
 say it in words." But no one took any notice of the 
 suggestion. 
 
 His bearing calm and self-possessed, his manner 
 authoritative. Dr. Bevary passed out to his carriage, 
 motioning the lady before him. Self-willed as she 
 was by nature and by habit, she appeared to have no 
 thought of resistance now. Step in," said Dr. Bevary: 
 She obeyed, and he seated himself by her, after giving 
 an order to the coachman. 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 387 
 
 The cavrm^Q turned towards the west for a short 
 distance, and then branched off to the north. In a 
 comparatively short time they were clear of the bustle 
 of London. Miss Qwinn sat in silence; the doctor sat 
 in silence. It seemed that the former wished, yet 
 dreaded to ask the purport of their present journey, 
 for her Avhite face was working with emotion, and she 
 glanced repeatedly at the doctor, with a sharp, yearn- 
 ing look. When they were clear of the bustle of the 
 streets ; and the hedges, bleak and bare, bounded the 
 road on either side, broken by a house here and there, 
 then she could bear the silence and suspense no 
 longer. 
 
 Why do you not speak ? " broke from her in a 
 tone of pain. 
 
 ''First of all, tell me what brought you to town 
 now," was his reply. It is not your time for being 
 here." 
 
 " The recent death of your sister. I came up by 
 the early train this morning. Dr. Bevary, you are 
 the only living being to whom I lie under an obliga- 
 tion, or from whom I have experienced kindness. 
 People may think me ungrateful; some think me 
 mad ; but I am grateful to you. But for the fact of 
 that lady being your sister I should have insisted 
 upon another's rights being acknowledged long ago." 
 
 "You told me you waived them in consequence of 
 your brother s conduct." 
 
388 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Partially so. But that did not weigh with me in 
 comparison with my feeling of gratitude to you. How 
 impotent we are ! " she exclaimed, throwing up her 
 hands. "My efforts by day, my dreams by night, 
 were directed to one single point through long, long 
 years — the finding James Lewis. I had cherished the 
 thought of revenge until it became part and parcel of 
 my very existence; I was hoping to expose him to 
 the world. But when the time came, and I did find 
 him, I found that he had married your sister, and 
 that I could not touch him without giving pain to 
 you. I hesitated what to do. I went home to Ketter- 
 
 ford, deliberating " 
 
 " Well ? " said the doctor. For she had stopped 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Some spirit of evil prompted me to disclose to my 
 good-for-nothing brother that the man, Lewis, was 
 found. I told him more than that, unhappily." 
 
 " What else did you tell him ? 
 
 " Never mind. I was a fool : and I have had my 
 reward. My brother came up to town and drew large 
 sums of money out of Mr. Hunter. I could have 
 stopped it — but I did not.'' 
 
 If I understand you rightly, you have come to 
 town now to insist upon what you call your rights ? " 
 remarked the doctor. 
 
 " Upon what / call ! " returned Miss Gwinn, and 
 then she paused in marked hesitation. "But you 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 389 
 
 must have news to tell me, Dr. Bevary. What is 
 it ? " 
 
 I received a message early this morning from Dr. 
 Kerr, stating that something was amiss. I lost no 
 time in going over." 
 
 " And what was amiss ? " she hastily cried. Surely 
 there was no repetition of the violence ? Did you see 
 her ? " 
 
 Yes, I saw her." 
 
 But of course you would see her/' resumed Miss 
 Gwinn, speaking rather to herself. And what do 
 you think ? Is there danger ? " 
 
 " The danger is past," replied Dr. Bevary. But 
 here we are." 
 
 The carriage had driven in through an inclosed 
 avenue, and was stopping before a large mansion : not 
 a cheerful mansion, for its grounds were surrounded 
 by dark trees, and some of its windows were barred. 
 It was a lunatic asylum. It is necessary, even in 
 these modern days of gentle treatment, to take some 
 precaution of bars and bolts ; but the inmates of this 
 one were thoroughly well cared for, in the best sense 
 of the term. Dr. Bevary was one of its visiting 
 inspectors. 
 
 Dr. Kerr, the resident manager, came forward, and 
 Dr. Bevary turned to Miss Gwinn. Will you see 
 her, or not ? " he asked. 
 
 Strange fears were working within her, Dr. Bevary's 
 
390 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 manner was so different from ordinary. " I think I 
 see it all," she gasped. The worst has happened." 
 
 " The best has happened/' responded Dr. Bevary. 
 
 Miss Gwinn, you have requested me more than once 
 to bring you here without preparation should the 
 time arrive — for that you could bear certainty, but 
 not suspense. Will you see her ? '' 
 
 Her face had grown white and rigid as marble. 
 Unable to speak, she pointed forward with her hand. 
 Dr. Bevary drew it within his own to support her. 
 
 In a clean, cool chamber, on a pallet bed, lay a dead 
 Avoman. Dr. Kerr gently drew back the snow-white 
 sheet with which the face was covered. A pale, 
 placid face, with a little band of light hair folded 
 underneath the cap. She — Miss Gwinn — did not stir : 
 she gave way to neither emotion nor violence ; but 
 her bloodless lips were strained back from her teeth, 
 and her face was as white as that of the dead. 
 
 " God's ways are not as our ways,'' whispered Dr. 
 Bevary. You have been acting for revenge : He has 
 sent peace. Whatsoever He does is for the best." 
 
 She made no reply: she remained still and rigid. 
 Dr. Bevary stroked the left hand of the dead, lying in 
 its utter stillness — stroked, as if unconsciously, the 
 wedding-ring on the third finger. He had been led to 
 believe that it was placed on that finger, years and 
 years ago, by his brother-in-law, James Lewis Hunter. 
 And had been led to believe a lie ! And she who had 
 
ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY. 
 
 391 
 
 invented the lie, who had wrought the delusion, Avho 
 had embittered Mr. Hunter's life with the same dread 
 belief, stood there at the doctor's side, looking at the 
 dead. 
 
 It is a solemn thing to persist though only tacitly 
 in the acting of a vile falsehood, in the mysterious 
 presence of death. Even Miss Gwinn was not strong- 
 minded enough for that. As Dr. Bevary turned to 
 her with a remark upon the past, she burst forth into 
 a cry, and gave utterance to words that fell upon the 
 physician's ear like a healing balm, soothing and 
 binding up a long-open wound. 
 
392 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 Those readers will be disappointed who look for any 
 very romantic denoument of " A Life's Secret/' The 
 story is a short and sad one. Suggesting the wretched- 
 ness and evil that may result when truth is deviated 
 from ; the lengths to which a blind, unholy desire for 
 revenge will carry an ill-regulated spirit ; and showing 
 how, in the moral government of the world, sin casts 
 its baleful consequences upon the innocent as well as 
 wpon the guilty. 
 
 When the carriage of Dr. Bevary, containing himself 
 and Miss Gwinn, drove from Mr. Hunter s door on the 
 unknown errand, he — Mr. Hunter — staggered to a 
 seat, rather than walked to it. That he was very ill 
 that day, both mentally and bodily, he was only too 
 conscious of Austin Clay had said to him, " Do not 
 return : I will manage," or words to that effect. At 
 present Mr. Hunter felt himself incapable of returning. 
 He sank down in the easy-chair, and closed his eyes, 
 his thoughts thrown back to the past. An ill-starred 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 393 
 
 past : one that had left its bane on his after-life, and 
 whose consequences had clung to him. 
 
 It is impossible but that ill-doing must leave its 
 results behind: the laws of God and man alike 
 demand it. Mr. Hunter, in early life, had been be- 
 trayed into committing a wrong act ; and Miss Gwinn, 
 in the gratification of her passionate revenge, had 
 visited it upon him all too heavily. Heavily, most 
 heavily was it pressing upon him now. That unhappy 
 visit to Wales, which had led to all the evil, was 
 especially present to his mind this day. A handsome 
 young man, in the first dawn of manhood, he had 
 gone to the fashionable Welsh watering-place — partly 
 to renew a waste of strength more imaginary than 
 real ; partly in the love of roving natural to youth ; 
 partly to enjoy a few weeks' relaxation. "If you 
 want good and comfortable lodgings, go to Miss 
 Gwinn's house on the South Parade," some friend, 
 whom he encountered at his journey s-end, had said 
 to him. And to Miss Gwinn's he went. 
 
 He found Miss Gwinn a cold, proud woman— it 
 was she whom you have seen — bearing the manners 
 of a lady. The servant who waited upon him was 
 garrulous, and proclaimed, at the first interview, 
 amidst other gossip, that her mistress had only a 
 limited income — a hundred, or a hundred and fifty 
 pounds a-year, she believed; that she preferred to eke 
 it out by letting her drawing-room and adjoining bed- 
 
394 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 room, and to live well ; rather than to rusticate and 
 pinch. Miss Gwinn and her motives were nothing to 
 the young sojourner, and he turned a careless, if not a 
 deaf ear, to the gossip. She does it chiefly for the 
 sake of Miss Emma," added the girl : and the listener 
 so far roused himself as to ask apathetically who 
 Miss Emma " was. It was her mistress's young 
 sister, the girl replied : there must be twenty good 
 years between them. Miss Emma was but nineteen, 
 and had just come home from boarding-school : her 
 mistress had brought her up ever since her mother 
 died. Miss Emma was not at home now, but was 
 expected on the morrow, she went on. Miss Emma 
 was not without her good looks, but her mistress took 
 care they should not be seen by everybody. She'd 
 hardly let her go about the house when strangers 
 were in it, lest she should be met in the passages. 
 Mr. Hunter laughed. Good looks had attractions 
 for him in those days, and he determined to see for 
 himself, in spite of Miss Gwinn, whether Miss 
 Emma's looks were so good that they might not be 
 looked at. 
 
 Now, by the merest accident — at least, it happened 
 by accident in the first instance, and not by intention 
 — one chief point of complication in the future ill was 
 unwittingly led to. In this early stage of the affair, 
 whilst the servant-maid was exercising her tongue in 
 these items of domestic news, the friend who had 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 395 
 
 recommended Mr. Hunter to the apartments, arrived 
 at the house and called out to him from the foot of 
 the stairs his high clear voice echoing through the 
 house. 
 
 " Lewis ! Will you come out and take a stroll ? " 
 
 Lewis Hunter hastened down, proclaiming his 
 acquiescence, and the maid proceeded to the parlour 
 of her mistress. 
 
 The gentleman's name is Lewis, ma'am. You said 
 you forgot to ask it of him." 
 
 Miss Gwinn, methodical in all she did, took a sheet 
 of note-paper, and inscribed the name upon it, *'Mr. 
 Lewis," as a reminder for the time when she should 
 require to make out his bill. When Mr. Hunter found 
 out their error — for the maid henceforth addressed 
 him as Mr. Lewis," or " Mr. Lewis, sir " — it rather 
 amused him, and he did not correct the mistake. He 
 had no motive whatever for concealing his name : he 
 did not wish it concealed. On the other hand, 
 he deemed it of no importance to set them right; it 
 signilied not a jot to him whether they called him 
 Mr. Lewis " or Mr. Hunter." Thus they knew him 
 as, and believed him to be, Mr. Lewis only. He never 
 took the trouble to undeceive them, and nothing 
 occurred to require the mistake to be corrected. The 
 one or two letters only which arrived for him — for he 
 had gone there for idleness, not to correspond with his 
 friends — were addressed to the post-ofBce. in accord- 
 
396 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 ance with his primary directions, not having known 
 where he should lodge. 
 
 Miss Emma came home : a very pretty and agree- 
 able girl. In the narrow passage of the house — one 
 of those shallow residences built for letting apartments 
 at the sea-side — she encountered the stranger, who 
 happened to be going out as she entered. He lifted 
 his hat to her. 
 
 Who is that, Nancy ? " she asked of the chattering 
 maid. 
 
 It s the new lodger, Miss Emma : Lewis his name 
 is. Did you ever see such good looks ? And he has 
 asked a thousand questions about you." 
 
 Now, the fact was, Mr. Hunter — stay, we will also 
 call him Mr. Lewis for the time being, as they had 
 fallen into the error, and it may be convenient to us 
 to do so — had not asked a single question about the 
 young lady, saving the one when her name was first 
 spoken of, " Who is Miss Emma ? " Nancy had sup- 
 plied information enough for a " thousand " questions, 
 unasked ; and perhaps she saw no difference. 
 
 Have j^ou made any acquaintance with Mr. Lewis, 
 Agatha ? " Emma inquired of her sister. 
 
 " When do I make acquaintance with the people who 
 take my apartments ? " replied Miss Gwinn, in tones 
 of reproof. " They naturally look down upon me as a 
 letter of lodgings — and I am not one to bear that." 
 
 Now comes the unhappy tale. It ohall be glanced 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 397 
 
 at as briefly as possible in detail ; but it is necessary 
 that parts of it should be explained. 
 
 Acquaintanceship sprang up between Mr. Lewis 
 and Emma Gwinn. At first they met in the town, or 
 on the beach, accidentally ; later, I very much fear 
 that the meetings were tacitly, if not openly, more 
 intentional. Both were agreeable, both were young; 
 and a liking for each other s society arose in each of 
 them. Mr. Lewis found his time hang somewhat 
 heavily on his hands, for his friend had left ; and 
 Emma Gwinn was not prevented from walking out 
 as she pleased. Only one restriction was laid upon 
 her by her sister : Emma, take care that you make 
 no acquaintance with strangers, or suffer it to be 
 made Avith you. Speak to none.'' 
 
 An injunction which Miss Emma disobej^ed. She 
 disobeyed it in a particularly marked manner. It 
 was not only that she did permit Mr. Lewis to make 
 acquaintance with her, but she allowed it to ripen 
 into intimacy. Worse still, the (meetings, I say, from 
 haviug been at first really accidental, grew to be 
 sought for. Sought for on the one side as mucli as on 
 the other. Ah ! young ladies, I wish this little history 
 could be a warning to you, never to deviate from the 
 strict line of right — never to stray, by so much as a 
 thoughtless step, from the straight path of duty. 
 Once allow yourselves to do so, and you know not 
 where it may end. Slight acts of disobedience, that 
 
398 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 appear in themselves as the merest trifles, may yet be 
 fraught with incalculable mischief. The fallino^ into 
 the habit of passing a pleasant hour of intercourse 
 with Mr. Lewis, sauntering on the beach in social and 
 intellectual converse — and it was no worse — appeared 
 a very venial offence to Emma Gwinn. But she did 
 it in direct disobedience to the command and wish of 
 her sister; a^nd she knew that she so did it. She 
 kncAV also that she owed to that sister, who had 
 brought her up and cared for her from infancy, the 
 allegiance that a child gives to a mother. In this 
 stage of the affair, she was chiefly to blame. Mr. 
 Lewis did not suppose that blame attached to him. 
 There was no reason why he should not while away 
 an occasional hour in pleasant chat with a young lady ; 
 there was no harm in the meetings, taking them in 
 the abstract. The blame lay with her. It is no 
 excuse to urge that Miss Gwinn exercised over her a 
 too strict authority, that she kept her secluded from 
 society with an unusually tight hand. Miss Gwinn 
 had a motive in this : her sister knew nothing of it, 
 and resented the restriction as a personal wrong. To 
 elude her vigilance,' and walk about with a handsome 
 young man, seemed a justifiable return, and poor 
 Emma Gwinn never dreamt of any ill result. 
 
 At length it was found out by Miss Gwinn. She 
 did not find out much. Indeed, there was not much 
 to find, except that there was more friendship betwe'eu 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY 
 
 399 
 
 Mr. Lewis and Emma than there was between Mr. 
 Lewis and herself, and that they often met to stroll 
 on the beach, and enjoy the agreeable benefit of the 
 sea-breezes. But that was quite enough for Miss 
 Gwinn. An uncontrollable storm of passionate anger 
 ensued, which was vented upon Emma. She stood 
 over her, and forced her to attire herself for travellino-, 
 protesting that not another hour should she pass in 
 the house while Mr. Lewis remained. Then she started 
 with Emma, to place her under the care of an aunt who 
 lived so far off as to take a day's journey to reach it. 
 
 " It's a shame ! " was the comment of sympathetic 
 Nancy, who deemed Miss Gwinn the most unreason- 
 able woman under the sun. Nancy was herself en- 
 gaged to an enterprising porter, to whom she intended 
 to be married some fine Easter, when they had saved 
 up sufficient to lay in a stock of goods and chattels. 
 And she forthwith went straight to Mr. Lewis, and 
 communicated to him what had occurred, giving him 
 Miss Emma's ncAV address. 
 
 " He'll follow her, if he have got any spirit," was 
 her inward thought. ''It's what my Joe would do 
 by me, if I was forced off" to desert places by a old 
 dragon." 
 
 It was precisely what Mr. Lewis did. Upon the 
 return of Miss Gwinn, he gave notice to quit her 
 house, where he had already stayed longer than he 
 intended to do originally. Miss Gwinn had no sus- 
 
400 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 picion but that he returned to his home — wherever 
 that might be. 
 
 You may be inclined to ask why Miss Gwinn had 
 fallen into anger so great. That she loved her young 
 sister with an intense and jealous love was certain. 
 Miss Gwinn was of a peculiar temperament, and she 
 could not bear that one spark of Emma's affection 
 should stray from her. Emma, on the contrary, 
 scarcely cared for her eldest sister: entertaining for 
 her a very cool regard indeed, not to be called a 
 sisterly one : and the cause may have lain in the stern 
 manners of Miss Gwinn. Deeply, ardently as she 
 loved Emma, her manners were to her invariably cold 
 and stern: and this does not beget love from the 
 young. Emma also resented the jealous restrictions 
 imposed on her, lest she should make any acquaint- 
 ance that might lead to marriage. It had been better 
 possibly that Miss Gwinn had disclosed to her the 
 reasons that existed against it. There was madness 
 in the Gwinn family. One of the parents had died in 
 an asylum, and the medical men suspected (as Miss 
 Gwinn knew) that the children might be subject to 
 it. She did not fear it for herself, but she did fear it 
 for Emma : in point of fact, the young girl had already, 
 some years back, given indications of it. It was there- 
 fore Miss Gwinn's intention and earnest wish — a very 
 right and proper wish — that Emma should never 
 marry. There was one other sister^ Elizabeth, a year 
 
I 
 
 THE YEAES GONE BY. 401 
 
 older than Emma. She had gone on a visit to J ersey 
 some little time before ; and, to Miss Gwinn's dismay 
 and consternation, had married a farmer there, without 
 asking leave. There was nothing for Miss Gwinn but 
 to bury the dismay within her, and to resolve that 
 Emma should be guarded more closely than before. 
 But Emma Gwinn, knowing nothing of the prompting 
 motives, naturally resented the surveillance. 
 
 Mr. Lewis followed Emma to her place of retire- 
 ment. He had really grown to like her : but the 
 pursuit may have had its rise as much in the boyish 
 desire to thwart Miss Gwinn — or, as he expressed it, 
 
 to pay her off" — as in love. However that might 
 have been, Emma Gwinn welcomed him all too gladly, 
 and the walks were renewed. 
 
 It was an old tale, that, which ensued. Thanks to 
 improved manners and morals, we can say an " old " 
 tale, in contradistinction to a modern one. A secret 
 marriage in these days would be looked upon askance 
 by most people. Under the purest, the most domestic, 
 the wisest court in the world, manners and customs 
 have taken a turn with us, and society calls underhand 
 doings by their right name, and turns its back upon 
 them. Nevertheless, private marriages and runaway 
 marriages were not done away with in the days when 
 James Lewis Hunter contracted his. 
 
 I wonder whether one ever took place — where it 
 was contracted in disobedience and defiance — that did 
 
 A Life's Secret. 26 
 
402 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET,. 
 
 not bring, in some way or other, its own punishment ? 
 To few, perhaps, was it brought home as it was to 
 Mr. Hunter. No apology can be offered for the step 
 he took : not even his youth, or his want of experience, 
 or the attachment which had grown up in his heart 
 for Emma. He knew that his family would have 
 objected to the marriage. In fact, he dared not tell 
 his purpose. Her position was not equal to his — at 
 least, old Mr. Hunter, a proud man, would not have 
 deemed it to be so— and he would have objected on 
 the score of his son s youth. The worst bar of all 
 would have been the tendency to insanity of the 
 Gwinns — but of this James Hunter knew nothing. 
 So he took that one false, blind, irrevocable step of 
 contracting a private marriage ; and the consequences 
 came bitterly home to him. 
 
 The marriage was a strictly legal one. James 
 Hunter was honourable enough to take care of that : 
 and both of them guarded the secret jealously. Emma 
 remained at her aunt's, and wore her ring inside her 
 dress, attached to a neck ribbon. Her husband only 
 saw her sometimes ; to avoid suspicion, he lived chiefly 
 at his father's home in London. Six months after- 
 wards, Emina Gwinn — nay, Emma Hunter — lay upon 
 her death-bed. A fever broke out in the neighbour- 
 hood, which she caught; and a different illness also 
 supervened. Miss Gwinn, apprised of her danger, 
 hastened to her. She stood over her in a shock of 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 403 
 
 horror — whence had those symptoms arisen, and what 
 meant that circle of gold that Emma in her delirium 
 kept hold of on her neck ? Medical skill could not 
 save her, and just before her death, in a lucid interval, 
 she confessed her marriage — the bare fact only — none 
 of its details; she loved her husband too truly to 
 expose him to the dire wrath of her sister. And she 
 died without giving the slightest clue to his real name 
 — Hunter. It was the fever that killed her. 
 
 Dire wrath, indeed! That was scarcely the word 
 for it. Insane wrath would be better. In Miss 
 Gwinn's injustice (violent people always are unjust) 
 she persisted in attributing Emma's death to Mr. 
 Lewis. In her bitter grief, she jumped to the belief 
 that the secret must have preyed upon Emma's brain 
 in the delirium of fever, and that that prevented her 
 recovery. It is very probable that the secret did prey 
 upon it, though, it is to be hoped, not to the extent 
 assumed by Miss Gwinn. 
 
 Mr. Lewis knew nothing of the illness. He was in 
 France with his father at the time it happened, and 
 had not seen his wife for three weeks. Perhaps the 
 knowledge of his absence abroad, caused Emma not to 
 attempt to apprise him when first seized ; afterwards 
 she w^as too ill to do so. But by a strange coincidence 
 lie arrived from London the day after the funeral. 
 
 No one need envy him the interview with MiSs 
 Gwinn. On her part it was not a seemly one. Glad 
 
404 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 to get out of the house and be away from her re- 
 proaches, the stormy interview was concluded ahnost 
 as soon as it had begun. He returned straight to 
 London, her last words ringing their refrain on his 
 ears — that his wife was dead and he had killed her : 
 Miss Gwinn being still in ignorance that his proper 
 name was anything but Lewis. 
 
 Following immediately upon this — it was curious 
 that it should be so — Miss Gwinn received news that 
 her sister Elizabeth, Mrs. Gardener, was ill in Jersey. 
 She hastened to her: for Elizabeth was nearly, if 
 not quite, as dear to her as Emma had been. Mrs. 
 Gardener's was a peculiar and unusual illness, and it 
 ended in a confirmed and hopeless affection of the 
 brain. 
 
 Once more Miss Gwinns injustice came into play. 
 Just as she had persisted in attributing Emma s death 
 to Mr. Lewis, so did she now attribute to him Eliza- 
 beth's insanity : that is, she regarded him as its remote 
 cause. That the two young sisters had been much 
 attached to each other was undoubted : but to think 
 that Elizabeth's madness came on through sorrow for 
 Emma's death, or at the tidings of what had preceded 
 it, was absurdly foolish. The poor young lady was 
 placed in an asylum in London, of which Dr. Bevary 
 was one of the visiting physicians ; he was led to take 
 an unusual interest in the case, and this brought him 
 acquainted with Miss Gwinn. Within a year of her 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 405 
 
 being placed there, the husband, Mr. Gardener, died 
 in Jersey. His affairs turned out to be involved, and 
 from that time the cost of keeping her there devolved 
 on Miss Gwinn. 
 
 ' Private asylums are expensive, and Miss Gwinn 
 could only maintain her sister in one at the cost of 
 giving up her own home. Ill-conditioned though she 
 was, we must confess that she had her troubles. She 
 gave it up without a murmur : she would have given 
 up her life to benefit either of those, her young sisters. 
 Retaining but a mere pittance, she devoted all her 
 means to the comfort of Elizabeth, and found a home 
 with her brother, in Ketterford. There she spent her 
 days bemoaning the lost, and cherishing a really insane 
 hatred against Mr. Lewis — a desire for revenge. She 
 had never come across him, until that Easter Monday, 
 at Ketterford. And that, you will say, is scarcely 
 correct, since it was not himself she met then, but his 
 brother. Deceived by the resemblance, she attacked 
 Mr. Henry Hunter in the manner you remember ; and 
 Austin Clay saved him from the gravel-pit. 
 
 But the time soon came when she stood face to face 
 with Lewis Hunter himself It was the hour she had 
 so longed for : the hour of revenge. What revenge ? 
 But for the wicked lie she subsequently forged, there 
 could have been no revenge. The worst she could have 
 proclaimed was, that James Lewis Hunter, when he was 
 a young man, had so far forgotten his duty to himself, 
 
406 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 and to the world's decencies, as to contract a secret 
 marriage. He might have got over that. He had 
 mourned his young wife sincerely at the time, but 
 later grew to think that all things were for the best 
 — that it was a serious source of embarrassment re- 
 moved from his path. Nothing more or less had he 
 to acknowledge. 
 
 What revenge would Miss Gwinn have reaped from 
 this ? None. Certainly none to satisfy one so vin- 
 dictive as she. It never was clear to herself what 
 revenge she had desired : all her efforts had been 
 directed to discovering him. She found him a man 
 of social ties. He had married Louisa Bevary; he 
 had a fair daughter ; he was respected by the world : 
 all of which excited the anger of Miss Gwinn. 
 
 Kemembering her violent nature, it was only to be 
 expected that Mr. Hunter should shrink from meeting 
 Miss Gwinn when he first knew she had tracked him 
 and was in London. He had never told his wife the 
 episode in his early life, and would very much have 
 disliked its tardy disclosure to her through the agency 
 of Miss Gwinn. Fifty pounds would he have willingly 
 given to avoid a meeting with her. But she came to 
 his very home ; so to say, into the presence of his wife 
 and child ; and he had to see her, and make the best 
 of it. 
 
 You must remember the interview. Mr. Hunters 
 agitation previous to it, was caused by the dread of 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 407 
 
 the woman's near presence, of the disturbance she 
 might make in his household, o£ the discovery his wife 
 was in close danger of making — that he was a widower 
 when she married him, and not a bachelor. Any 
 husband of the present day might show the same 
 agitation, I think, under similar circumstances. But 
 Mr. Hunter did not allow this agitation to sway him 
 when before Miss Gwinn ; once shut up with her, 
 he w^as cool and calm ; rather defied her than not, 
 civilly ; and asked what she meant by intruding 
 upon him, and what she had to complain of: which 
 of course was only adding fuel to the woman's flame. 
 It w^as quite true, all he said, and there was nothing 
 left to hang a peg of revenge upon. 
 
 And so she invented one. The demon of mischief 
 put it into her mind to impose upon him with the lie 
 that his first wife, Emma, was not dead, but living. 
 She told him that she (she, herself) had imposed upon 
 him with a false story in that long-past day, in saying 
 that Emma was dead and buried. It was another 
 sister who had died, she added — not Emma : Emma 
 had been ill with the fever, but was recovering ; and 
 she had said this to separate her from him. Emma, 
 she continued, was alive still, a patient in the lunatic 
 asylum. 
 
 It never occurred to Mr. Hunter to doubt the tale. 
 Her passionate manner, her impressive words, only 
 added to her earnestness, and he came out from the 
 
408 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 interview believing that his first wife had not died. 
 His state of mind cannot be forgotten. Austin 
 Clay saw hira pacing the waste ground in the dark 
 night. His agony and remorse were fearful ; the sun 
 of his life's peace had set : and there could be no 
 retaliation upon her who had caused it all — Miss 
 Gwinn. 
 
 Miss Gwinn, however, did not follow up her 
 revenge. Not because further steps might have 
 brouo-ht the truth to li^2:ht, but because after a nicjht's 
 rest she rather repented of it. Her real nature was 
 honourable, and she despised herself for what she had 
 done. Once it crossed her to undo it ; but she hated 
 Mr. Hunter with an undying hatred, and so let it 
 alone and went down to Ketterford. One eveninof, 
 when she had been at home some days, a spirit of 
 confidence cam.e over her which was very unusual, and 
 she told her brother of the revenge she had taken. 
 That was quite enough for Lawyer Gwinn: a 
 glorious opportunity for enriching himself, not to be 
 missed. He went up to London, and terrified Mr. 
 Hunter out of five thousand pounds. Or I go and 
 tell your wife, Miss Bevary, that she is not your wife," 
 he threatened, in his coarse way. 
 
 Miss Gwinn suspected that the worthy lawyer 
 had gone to make the most of the opportunity, and 
 she wrote him a sharp letter, telling him that if he 
 did so — if he interfered at all — she would at once 
 
THE YEARS GONE BY. 
 
 409 
 
 confess to Lewis Hunter that Emma was really dead. 
 Not knowing where he .would put up in London, 
 she enclosed this note to Austin Clay, asking him 
 to give it to Lawyer Gwinn. 
 
 She took the opportunity, at the same time, of 
 writing a reproachful letter to Mr. Hunter, in which 
 his past ill- doings and Emma's present existence were 
 fully enlarged upon. As the reader may remember, 
 she misdirected the letters : Austin became acquainted 
 with the (as he could only suppose) dangerous secret ; 
 and the note to Lawyer Gwinn was set alight, sealed. 
 If Austin or his master had only borrowed a momen- 
 tary portion of the principles of Gwinn, of Ketterford, 
 and peeped into the letter ! "What years of misery it 
 would have saved Mr. Hunter ! But when Miss 
 Gwinn discovered that her brother had used the lie 
 to obtain money, she did not declare the truth. The 
 sense of justice within her yielded to revenge. She 
 hated Mr. Hunter as she had ever done, and would 
 not relieve him. A fine life, between them, did they 
 lead Mr. Hunter. Miss Gwinn protested against 
 every fresh aggression made by the lawyer; but 
 protested only. In Mr. Hunter's anguish of mind at 
 the disgrace cast on his wife and child ; in his terror 
 lest the truth (as he assumed it to be) should reach 
 them — and it seemed to be ever looming upon him — 
 he had lived, as may be said, a perpetual death. And 
 the disgrace was of a nature that never could be 
 
410 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 removed ; and the terror had never left him through 
 all these long years. 
 
 Dr. Bevary had believed the worst. When he 
 first became acquainted Avith Miss Gwinn, she (never 
 a communicative woman) had not disclosed the 
 previous history of the patient in the asylum. She 
 had given hints of a sad tale, she even said she was 
 living in hope of being revenged on one who had done 
 herself and family an injury, but she said no more. 
 Later circumstances connected with Mr. Hunter and 
 his brother, dating from the account he heard of Miss 
 Gwinn's attack upon Mr. Henry, had impressed Dr. 
 Bevary with the belief that James Hunter had really 
 married the poor woman in the asylum. When he 
 questioned Miss Gwinn, that estimable woman had 
 replied in obscure hints : and they had so frightened 
 Dr. Bevary that he dared ask no further. For his 
 sister's sake he tacitly ignored the subject in future, 
 living in daily thankfulness that Mrs. Hunter was 
 without suspicion. 
 
 But with the dead body of Elizabeth Gardener 
 lying before her, the enacted lie came to an end. 
 Miss Gwinn freely acknowledged what she had done, 
 and took little, if any,- blame to herself. "Lewis 
 Hunter spoilt the happiness of my life,'' she said ; 
 " in return I have spoilt his." 
 
 " And suppose my sister, his lawful wife, had been 
 - led to believe this fine tale ? " questioned Dr. Bevary, 
 looking keenly at her. 
 
THE YEAES GONE BY. 
 
 411 
 
 " In that case I should have declared the truth/' 
 said Miss Gwinn. " 1 had no animosity towards her. 
 She was innocent, she was also your sister, and she 
 should never have suffered." 
 
 " How could you know that she remained ignorant? 
 
 " By my brother being able, whenever he would, to 
 frighten Mr. Hunter/' was the laconic answer. 
 
412 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EELIEF. 
 
 We left Mr. Hunter in the easy-chair of his dining- 
 room, buried in these reminiscences of the unhappy- 
 past, and quite unconscious that relief o£ any sort 
 could be in store for him. And yet it was very near : 
 relief from two evils, quite opposite in their source. 
 How long he sat there he scarcely knew; it seemed 
 for hours. In the afternoon he aroused himself to his 
 financial difficulties, and went out. He remembered 
 that he had purposed calling that day upon his 
 bankers, though he had no hope — but rather the cer- 
 tainty of the contrarj^ — that they would help him out 
 of his financial embarrassments. There was just time 
 to get there before the bank closed, and Mr. Hunter 
 had a cab called and went down to Lombard Street. 
 He was shown into the room of the principal partner. 
 The banker thought how ill he looked. Mr. Hunter s 
 first question was about the heavy bill that was due 
 that day. He supposed it had been presented and 
 dishonoured. 
 
RELIEF. 413 
 
 "No," said the banker. "It was presented and 
 paid." 
 
 A ray of hope lighted up the sadness of Mr. Hunter s 
 face. Did you indeed pay it ? It was very kind. 
 You shall be no losers eventually." 
 
 " We did not pay it from our own funds, Mr. 
 Hunter. It was paid from yours." 
 
 Mr. Hunter did not understand. "I thought my 
 account had been almost drawn out," he said ; " and 
 by the note I received this morning from you, I 
 understood you would decline to help me." 
 
 " Your account was drawn very close indeed ; but 
 this afternoon, in time to meet the bill upon its second 
 presentation, there was a large sum paid in to your 
 credit — two thousand six hundred pounds." 
 
 A pause of blank astonishment on the part of Mr. 
 Hunter. " Who paid it in ? " he presently asked. 
 
 " Mr. Clay. He came himself. You will weather 
 the storm now, Mr. Hunter." 
 
 There was no answering reply. The banker bent 
 forward in the dusk of the growing evening, and saw 
 that Mr. Hunter was incapable of making one. He 
 was sinking back in his chair in a fainting-fit. 
 Whether it was the revulsion of feeling caused by the 
 conviction that he should now weather the storm, or 
 simply the effect of his physical state, Mr. Hunter had 
 fainted, as quietly as any girl might do. One of the 
 partners lived at the bank, and Mr. Hunter was con- 
 
414 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 veyed into the dwelliDg-house. It was quite evening 
 before he was well enough to leave it. He drove to 
 the yard. It was just closed for the night, and Mr. 
 Clay was gone. Mr. Hunter ordered the cab home. 
 He found Austin waiting for him, and he also found 
 Dr. Bevary. Seeing the latter, he expected next to 
 see Miss Gwinn, and glanced nervously round. 
 
 "She is gone back to Ketterford," spoke out Dr. 
 Bevary, divining the fear. ''The woman will never 
 trouble you again. I thought you must be lost, 
 Hunter. I have been here twice ; been home to 
 dinner with Florence ; been round at the yard worry- 
 ing Clay ; and could not come upon you anywhere." 
 
 I went to the bank, and was taken ill there,'' said 
 Mr. Hunter, who still seemed anything but himself, 
 and looked round in a bewildered manner. "The 
 woman, Bevary — are you sure she's gone quite away ? 
 She — she wanted to beg, I think," he added, as if in 
 apology for pressing the question. 
 
 " She is gone : gone never to return ; and you may 
 be at rest," repeated the doctor, impressively. " And 
 so you have been ill at the bankers', James ! Things 
 are going wrong, I suppose." 
 
 " No ; they are going right. Austin " — laying his 
 hand upon the young man's shoulder — " what am I to 
 say ? This money can only have come from you." 
 
 " Sir ! " said Austin, half laughing. 
 
 Mr. Hunter drew Dr. Bevary 's attention, pointing 
 
RELIEF. 
 
 415 
 
 to Austin. " Look at him, Bevary. He has saved 
 me. But for him, I should have borne a dishonoured 
 name this day. I went down to Lombard Street, a 
 man without hope, believing that the blow had been 
 already struck in bills dishonoured — that my name 
 was on its way to the Gazette, I found that he, 
 Austin Clay, had paid in between two and three 
 thousand pounds to my credit.'' 
 
 "I could not put my money to a better use, sir. 
 The two thousand pounds were left to me, you knoAV : 
 the rest I saved. I was wishing for something to 
 turn up that I could invest it in.'' 
 
 Invest ! " exclaimed Mr. Hunter, deep feeling in 
 his tone. " How do you know you will not lose it ? " 
 
 ''I have no fear, sir. The strike is at an end, and 
 business will go on well now." 
 
 " If I did not believe that it would, I would never 
 consent to use it," said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 It was true. Austin Clay, a provident man, had 
 been advancing his money to save the credit of his 
 master. Suspecting some such crisis as this was loom- 
 ing not very far off, he had contrived to hold his 
 funds in readiness for immediate use. It had come, 
 though, sooner than he anticipated. 
 
 How am I to repay you ? " asked Mr. Hunter. 
 " I don't mean the money : but the obligation." 
 
 A red flush mounted to Austin's brow. He answered 
 hastily, as if to cover it. 
 
416 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 I do not require payment, sir. I do not look for 
 any." 
 
 Mr. Hunter stood in deep thought, looking at him, 
 but vacantly. Dr. Bevary was near the mantelpiece, 
 apparently paying no attention to either of them. 
 
 Will you link your name to mine ? said Mr, Hunter, 
 moving towards Austin. 
 
 " In what manner, sir ? " 
 
 ''By letting the firm be from henceforth Hunter 
 and Clay. I have long wished this ; you are of too 
 great use to me to remain anything less than a 
 partner, and by this last act of yours, you have 
 earned the right to be so. Will you object to join 
 your name to one which was so nearly being dis- 
 honoured ? 
 
 He held out his hand as he spoke, and Austin 
 clasped it. " Oh, Mr. Hunter ! " he exclaimed, in the 
 strong impulse of the moment, " I wish you would 
 give me hopes of a dearer reward.'' 
 
 You mean Florence," said Mr. Hunter. 
 
 " Yes," returned Austin, in agitation. " I care not 
 how long I wait, or what price you may call upon me 
 to pay for her. As Jacob served Laban seven years 
 for Rachel, so would I serve for Florence, and think it 
 but a day, for the love I bear her. Sir, Mrs. Hunter 
 would have given her to me." 
 
 "My objection is not to yourself, Austin. Were I 
 to disclose to you certain particulars connected with 
 
RELIEF. 
 
 417 
 
 Florence — as I should be obliged to do before she 
 married — you might yourself decline her." 
 
 " Try me, sir," said Austin, a bright smile parting 
 his lips. 
 
 ''Ay, try him," said Dr. Bevary, in his quaint 
 manner. " I have an idea that he may know as much 
 of the matter as you do, Hunter. You neither of you 
 know too much," he significantly added. 
 
 Austin s cheek turned red ; and there was that in 
 his tone, his look, which told Mr. Hunter that he had 
 known the fact, known it for years. "Oh, sir," he 
 pleaded, '' give me Florence." 
 
 ''I tell you that you neither of you know too 
 much," said Dr. Bevary. ''But, look here, Austin. 
 The best thing you can do is, to go to my house and 
 ask Florence whether she will have you. Then — if 
 you don't find it too much trouble — escort her home." 
 Austin laughed as he caught up his hat. A certain 
 prevision, that he should win Florence, had ever been 
 within him. 
 
 Dr. Bevary watched the room-door close, and then 
 drew a chair in front of his brother-in-law. " Did it 
 ever strike you that Austin Clay knew your secret, 
 James ? " he began. 
 
 " How should it ? " returned Mr. Hunter, feeling 
 himself compelled to answer. 
 
 " I do not know how," said the doctor, " any more 
 than I know how the impression, that he did so, fixed 
 
 A Life's Secret. 27 
 
418 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 itself upon me. I have felt sure, this many a year 
 past, that he was no stranger to the fact, though he 
 probably knew nothing of the details." 
 
 To the fact ! Dr. Bevary spoke with strange cool- 
 ness. 
 
 When did yoii become acquainted with it ? asked 
 Mr. Hunter, in a tone of sharp pain, 
 
 I became acquainted with your share in it at the 
 time Miss Gwinn discovered that Mr. Lewis was Mr. 
 Hunter. At least, as much of the share as I ever was 
 acquainted with until to-day." 
 
 Mr. Hunter compressed his lips. It was no use 
 beating about the bush any longer. 
 
 " James," resumed the doctor, " why did you not 
 confide the secret to me ? It would have been much 
 better." 
 
 " To you ! Louisa s brother ! " 
 It would have been better, I say. It might not 
 have lifted the sword that was always hanging over 
 Louisa's head, or have eased it by one jot; but it 
 might have eased you. A sorrow kept within a 
 man's own bosom, doing its work in silence, will burn 
 his life away : get him to talk of it, and half the pain 
 is removed. It is also possible that I might have 
 made better terms than you with the rapacity of 
 Gwinn." 
 
 If you knew it, why did you not speak openly to 
 me ? " 
 
RELIEF. 
 
 419 
 
 Dr. Bevary suppressed a sliiidder. It was one of 
 those terrible secrets that a third party cannot inter- 
 fere in uninvited. No : silence was my only course, 
 so long as you observed silence to me. Had I inter- 
 fered, I might have said, ' Louisa shall leave you ! ' " 
 
 "It is over, so far as she is concerned/' said Mr. 
 Hunter, wiping his damp brow. ''Let her name rest. 
 It is the thougrht of her that has well-niofh killed me." 
 
 "Ay, its over," responded Dr. Bevary; "over, in 
 more senses than one. Do you not wonder that Miss 
 Gwinn should have ofone back to Ketterford without 
 molesting you again ? " 
 
 "How can I wonder at anything she does? She 
 comes and she goes, with as little reason as warning." 
 
 Dr. Bevary lowered his voice. "Have you ever 
 been to see that poor patient in Kerr's asylum ?" 
 
 The question excited the anger of Mr. Hunter, 
 " What do you mean by asking it ? " he cried. " When 
 I was led to believe her dead, I shaped my future 
 course according to that belief. I have never acted, 
 nor w^ould I act, upon any other — save in the giving 
 money to Gwinn, for my wife's sake. If Louisa was 
 not my wife legally, she was nothing less in the sight 
 of God." 
 
 " Louisa was your wife," said Dr. Bevary, quietly. 
 And Mr. Hunter responded by a sharp gesture of 
 pain. He wished the subject at an end. The doctor 
 continued. 
 
 I 
 
420 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET 
 
 James, had you gone, though it had been but for 
 an instant, to see that unhappy patient of Kerr s, 
 your trammels would have been broken. It was not 
 Emma, your young wife of years ago." 
 
 It was not ! What do you say ? " gasped Mr. 
 
 Hunter. 
 
 " When Agatha Gwinn found you out, here, in this 
 house, she startled you nearly to death by telling you 
 that Emma was living — was a patient in Kerr's 
 asylum. She told you that, when you had been 
 informed in those past days of Emma's death, you 
 were imposed upon by a lie — a lie invented by herself. 
 James, the lie was uttered theriy when she spoke to 
 you here. Emma, your wife, did die ; and the young 
 woman in the asylum was her sister." 
 
 Mr. Hunter rose. His hands were raised im- 
 ploringly, his face was stretched forward in its sad 
 yearning. What ! — which was true ? which was he to 
 believe ? 
 
 In the gratification of her revenge. Miss Gwinn 
 concocted the tale that Emma was alive/' resumed 
 Dr. Bevary ; knowing, as she spoke it, that Emma 
 had been dead years and years. She contrived to 
 foster the same impression upon me ; and the same 
 impression, I cannot tell how, has, I am sure, clung to 
 Austin Clay. Louisa was your lawful wife, James." 
 
 Mr. Hunter, in the plenitude of his thankfulness, 
 sank upon his chair, a burst of emotion breaking from 
 
RELIEF 
 
 421 
 
 him, and the drops of perspiration gathering again on 
 his brow. 
 
 "That other one, the sister, the poor patient, is 
 dead," pursued the doctor. "As we stood together 
 over her, an hour ago. Miss Gwinn confessed the 
 imposition. It appeared to slip from her involuntarily, 
 in spite of herself. I inquired her motive, and she 
 answered, ^ To be revenged on you, Lewis Hunter, for 
 the wrong you had done.' As you had marred the 
 comfort of her life, so she in return had marred that 
 of yours. As she stood in her impotence, looking on 
 the dead, I asked her which, in her opinion, had 
 inflicted the most wrong, she or you ? " 
 
 Mr. Hunter lifted his eager face. " It was a foolish 
 deceit. What did she hope to gain by it ? A word 
 at any time might have exposed it." 
 
 " It seems she did gain pretty well by it," sig- 
 nificantly replied Dr. Bevary. "There's little doubt 
 that it was first spoken in the angry rage of the 
 moment, as being the most eff'ectual mode of torment- 
 ing you : and the terrible dread with which you 
 received it — -as I conclude you so did receive it— must 
 have encouraged her to persist in the lie. James, 
 you should have confided in me ; I might have 
 brought light to bear on it in some way or other. 
 Your timorous silence has kept me quiet." 
 
 " God be thanked that it is over ! " fervently 
 ejaculated Mr. Hunter. " The loss of my money, the 
 
422 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 loss of my peaee^ they seem to be little in comparison 
 with the joy of this welcome revelation." 
 
 He sat clown as he spoke and bent his head npon 
 his hand. Presently he looked at his brother-in-law. 
 
 And you think that Clay has suspected this ? And 
 that — suspecting it, he has wished for Florence ? " 
 
 ^'I am sure of one thing — that Florence has been 
 his object, his dearest hope. What he says has no 
 exaggeration in it — that he would serve for her seven 
 years, and seven to that, for the love he bears her." 
 
 I have been afraid to glance at such a thing as 
 marriage for Florence, and that is the reason I would 
 not listen to Austin Clay. With this slur hanging 
 over her " 
 
 " There is no slur — as it turns out," interrupted Dr. 
 Bevary. ^' Florence loves him, James ; and your wife 
 knew it." 
 
 What a relief is all this ! " murmured Mr. Hunter. 
 " The woman gone back to Ketterford ! I think I 
 shall sleep to-night." 
 
 ^' She is gone back, never more to trouble you. We 
 must see how her worthy brother can be brought to 
 account for obtaining money under false pretences." 
 
 ^^I'll make him render back every shilling he has 
 defrauded me of: I'll bring him to answer for it before 
 the laws of his countrj^," was the wronged mans 
 passionate and somewhat confused answer. 
 
 But that is more easy to say than to do, Mr. Hunter ! 
 
RELIEF. 
 
 423 
 
 For, a few days subsequent to this, Lawyer Gwinn, 
 possibly scenting that unpleasant consequences might 
 be in store for him, was quietly steaming to America 
 in a fine ship ; taking all his available substance with 
 him, and leaving Ketterford and his sister behind 
 him. 
 
424 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 With outward patience and inward wonder, Florence 
 Hunter was remaining at Dr. Bevary's. That some- 
 thing must be wrong at home, she felt sure : else why 
 was she kept away from it so long ? And where was 
 her uncle ? Invalids were shut up in the waiting- 
 room, like Patience on a monument, hoping minute by 
 minute to see him appear. And now here was another, 
 she supposed ! No. He had passed the patients room 
 and was opening the door of this. Austin Clay ! 
 
 " What have you come for ? " she exclaimed, in the 
 glad confusion of the moment. 
 
 "To take you home, for one thing/* he answered, 
 as he approached her. "Do you dislike the escort, 
 Florence ? " 
 
 He bent forward as he asked the question. A 
 strange light of happiness shone in her eyes ; a sweet 
 smile parted his lips. Florence Hunter s heart stood 
 still, and then began to beat as if it would have burst 
 its bounds. 
 
CONCLUSIOK 
 
 425 
 
 " What has happened ? " she faltered. 
 This/' he said, taking both her hands and drawing 
 her gently before him. " The right to hold your hands 
 in mine ; the right — soon — to take you to my heart 
 and keep you there for ever. Your father and uncle 
 have sent me to tell you this." 
 
 The words, in their fervent earnestness carried 
 instant truth to her heart, lighting it as with the 
 brightness of sunshine. " Oh, what a recompense ! " 
 she impulsively murmured from the depths of her 
 great love. "And everything lately has seemed so 
 dark with doubt, so full of trouble ! " 
 
 No more doubt, no more trouble," he fondly whis- 
 pered. " It shall be my life's care to guard my w^ife 
 from all such, Florence — Heaven permitting me." 
 
 Anything more that was said may as well be left 
 to the readers lively imagination. They arrived at 
 home after awhile ; and found Dr. Bevary there, 
 talking still. 
 
 How you must have hurried yourselves ! " quoth 
 he, turning to them. " Clay, you ought to be ill from 
 walking fast. What has kept him, Florence ? " 
 
 " Not your patients, doctor," retorted Austin, laugh- 
 ing ; " though you are keeping them. One of them 
 says you made an appointment with him. By the 
 way he spoke, I think he was inwardly vowing 
 vengeance against you for not keeping it." 
 
 *'Ah," said the doctor, "we medical men do get 
 
426 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET, 
 
 detained sometimes. One patient has had the most 
 of my time this day, poor lady ! " 
 
 Is she better ? " quickly asked Florence, who 
 always had ready sympathy for sickness and suffering ^ 
 perhaps from having seen so much of it in her mother. 
 
 ''No, my dear, she is dead," was the answer, gravely 
 spoken. "And, therefore," added the doctor in a 
 different tone, " I have no further excuse for absenting 
 myself from those other patients who are alive and 
 grumbling at me. Will you walk a few steps Avith 
 me, Mr. Clay ? " 
 
 Dr. Bevary linked his arm within Austin's as they 
 crossed the hall, and they went out together. " How 
 did you become acquainted with that dark secret ? " 
 he breathed. 
 
 " Through a misdirected letter of Miss Gwinn's,'' 
 replied Austin. " After I had read it, I discovered 
 that it must have been meant for M]\ Hunter, though 
 addressed to me. It told me all. Dr. Bevary, I have 
 had to cai:ry the secret all these years, bearing myself 
 as one innocent of the knowledge ; before Mrs. Hunter, 
 before Florence, before him. I would have given half 
 my savings not to have known it." 
 
 " You believed that — that — one was living who 
 might have replaced Mrs. Hunter ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and that she was in confinement. The letter, 
 a reproachful one, was too explanatory." 
 
 She died this morning. It is with her — at least 
 
CONCLUSION. 427 
 
 witli/her and her affairs — that my day has heen taken 
 up/' . 
 
 " What a mercy ! " ejaculated Austin. 
 
 "Ay; mercies are showered down every day : a great 
 many more than we, self-complaisant mortals, acknow- 
 ledge or return thanks for/' responded Dr. Bevary, in 
 the quaint tone he was fond of using. And then, in 
 a few brief words, he enlightened Austin as to the 
 actual truth. 
 
 What a fiend she must be ! " cried Austin, alluding 
 to Miss Gwinn, of Ketterford. ''Oh, but this is a 
 mercy indeed ! And I have been planning how to ' 
 guard the secret always from Florence." 
 
 Dr. Bevary made no reply. Austin turned to him, 
 the ingenuous look upon his face that it often wore. 
 
 You approve of me for Florence ? Do you not, 
 
 sn^ ? 
 
 ''Be you very sure, young gentleman, that you 
 should never have got her, had I not approved," 
 oracularly nodded Dr. Bevary. '' I look upon Florence 
 as part of my belongings ; and, if you mind what you 
 are about, perhaps I may look upon you as the same." 
 
 Austin laughed. " How am I to avoid offence ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " By loving your wife with an earnest, lasting love ; 
 by making her a better husband than James Hunter 
 has been enabled to make her poor mother." 
 
 The tears rose to Austin's eyes with the intensity 
 
428 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 of his emotion. " Do you think there is cause to ask 
 me to do this, Dr. Bevary ? " 
 
 "No, my boy, I do not. God bless yon both! 
 There ! leave me to get home to those patients of 
 mine. You can be off back to her." 
 
 But Austin Clay had work on his hands, as well as 
 pleasure, and he turned towards Daffodil's Delight. 
 It was the evening for taking Baxendale his week's 
 money, and Austin was not one to neglect it. He 
 picked his way down amidst the poor people, standing 
 about hungry and half-naked. All the works were 
 open again, but numbers and numbers of men could 
 not obtain employment, however good their will might 
 be : the masters had taken on strangers, and there was 
 no room for the old workmen. John Baxendale was 
 sitting by his bedside dressed. His injuries were 
 yielding to skill and time : and in a short while he 
 hoped to be at work again. 
 
 " Well, Baxendale ? " cried Austin, in his cheery 
 voice. " Still getting better ? " 
 
 Oh yes, sir, I'm thankful to say it. The surgeon 
 was here to-day, and told me there would be no 
 further relapse. I am a bit tired this evening ; I stood 
 a good while at the window, watching the row 
 opposite. She was giving him such a basting." 
 
 " What ! do you mean the Cheeks ? I thought the 
 street seemed in a commotion." 
 
 Baxendale laughed. ''It is but just over, sir. She 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 429 
 
 set on and shook him soundly, and then she scratched 
 him, and then she cuffed him — all outside the door. I 
 do wonder that Cheek took it from her; but he's just 
 like a puppy in her hands, and nothing better. Two 
 good hours they were disputing there." 
 
 " What was the warfare about ? " inquired Austin. 
 
 "About his not getting work, sir. Cheek's wife 
 was just like many of the other wives in Daffodil's 
 Delight — urging their husbands not to go to Avork, 
 and vowing they'd strike if they didn't stand out. I 
 don't know but Mother Cheek was about the most 
 obstinate of all. The very day that I was struck 
 down I heard her blowing him up for not ' standing 
 firm upon his rights;' and telling him she'd rather go 
 to his hanging than see him go back to work. And 
 now she beats him because he can't get any to do." 
 
 " Is Cheek one that cannot get any ? " 
 
 "Cheek's one, sir. Mr. Henry took on more 
 strangers than did you and Mr. Hunter ; so, of course, 
 there's less room for his old men. Cheek has walked 
 about London these two days, till he's footsore, trying 
 different shops, but he can't get taken on: there are 
 too many men out, for him to have a chance." 
 
 I think some of the wives in Daffodil's Delight are 
 the most unreasonable Vv^omen that ever were created," 
 ejaculated Austin. 
 
 ''She is — that wife of Cheek's," rejoined Baxendale. 
 don't know how they'll end it. She has shut the 
 
430 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 door in his face, vowing he shall not put a foot inside 
 it until he can bring some wages with him. Forbid- 
 ding him to take work when it was to be had, and 
 now that it can't be had turning upon him for not 
 getting it! If Cheek wasn't a donkey, he'd turn 
 upon her again. There's other women just as contra- 
 dictory. I think the bad living has soured their 
 tempers." 
 
 " Vv^here's Mary this evening ? " inquired Austin, 
 quitting the unsatisfactory topic. Since her father's 
 illness, Mary's place had been by his side : it was 
 something unusual to find her absent. Baxendale 
 lowered his voice to reply. 
 
 " She is getting ill again, sir. All her old symptoms 
 have come back, and I am sure now that she is going 
 fast. She is on her bed, lying down." 
 
 As he spoke the last word, he stopped, for Mary 
 entered. She seemed scarcely able to walk ; a hectic 
 flush shone on her cheeks, and her breath was painfully 
 short. " Mary," Austin said, with much concern, " I 
 am sorry to see you thus." 
 
 " It is only the old illness come back again, sir," she 
 answered, as she sank back in the pillowed chair. " I 
 knew it had not gone for good — that the improvement 
 was only temporarj^ But now, sir, look how good 
 and merciful is the Hand that guides us — and yet we 
 sometimes doubt it ! What should I have been spared 
 for, and had this returning glimpse of strength, but 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 431 
 
 that I might nurse my father in his illness, and be a 
 comfort to him ? He is nearly well — will soon be at 
 work again, and wants me no more. Thanks ever be 
 to God ! " 
 
 Austin went out, marvelling at the girl's simple and 
 beautiful trust. It appeared that she would be happy 
 in her removal w^henever it should come. As he was 
 passing up the street he met Dr. Bevary. Austin 
 wondered what had become of his patients. 
 
 ''All had gone away but two; tired of waiting," 
 said the doctor, divining his thoughts. ''I am going 
 to take a look at Mary Baxendale. I hear she is 
 worse." 
 
 Very much worse," replied Austin. I have just 
 left her father." 
 
 At that moment there was a sound of contention 
 and scolding, a woman's sharp tongue being upper- 
 most. It proceeded from Mrs. Cheek, who was renew- 
 ing the contest with her husband. Austin gave Dr. 
 Bevary an outline of what Baxendale had said. 
 
 " And if, after a short season of prosperity, another 
 strike should come, these women would be the first 
 again to urge the men on to it — to ' stand up for their 
 rights ' ! " exclaimed the doctor. 
 Not all of them." 
 
 " They have not all done it now. Mark you, Austin ! 
 I shall settle a certain sum upon Florence when she 
 marries, just to keep you in bread-and-cheese, should 
 
4S2 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 these strikes become the order of the day, and you 
 efet enoailfed in them." 
 
 Austin smiled. ''I think I can take better care 
 than that, doctor." 
 
 Take all the care you please. But you are talking 
 self-sufficient nonsense, my young friend. I shall put 
 Florence on the safe side, in spite of your care. I 
 have no fancy to see her reduced to one maid and a 
 cotton gown. You can tell her so," added the doctor, 
 as he continued on his way. 
 
 Austin turned on his, when a man stole up to him 
 from some side entry — a cadaverous-looking man, 
 pinched and careworn. It was James Dunn; he had 
 been discharged out of prison by the charity of some 
 fund at the disposal of the governor. He humbly 
 begged for work — ''just to keep him from starving." 
 
 " You ask what I have not to give, Dunn," was the 
 reply of Austin. " Our yard is full : and, consider the 
 season ! Perhaps when spring comes on " 
 
 " How am I to exist till spring, sir ? " he burst forth 
 in a voice that was but just kept from tears. '' And 
 the wife and the children ? " 
 
 I wish I could help you, Dunn. Your case is only 
 that of many others." 
 
 " There have been so many strangers took on, sir ! " 
 
 " Of course there have been. To do the work that 
 you and others refused." 
 
 " I have not a place to lay my head in this night, 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 433 
 
 sir. I have not so much as a slice of bread. I'd do 
 the meanest Avork that could be offered to me." 
 
 Austin felt in his pocket for a piece of money, and 
 gave it him. What misery they have brought upon 
 themselves ! " he thought. 
 
 When the announcement reached Mrs. Henry Hunter 
 of Florence's engagement, she did not approve of it. 
 Not that she had any objection to Austin Clay; he 
 had from the first been a favourite with her, though 
 she had sometimes marked her preference by a some- 
 what patronizing manner ; but for Florence to marry 
 her father s clerk, though that clerk had now become 
 partner, was more than she could at the first moment 
 quietly yield to. 
 
 *'It is quite a descent for her," she said to her 
 husband privately. " What can James be thinking 
 of? The very idea of her marrying Austin Clay ! " 
 
 " But if she likes him ? " 
 That ought not to go for anything. Suppose it 
 had been Mary ? I would not have let her have him." 
 
 " I would," decisively returned Mr. Henry Hunter. 
 " Clay's worth his weight in gold." 
 
 Some short time given to preliminaries, and to the 
 re-establishment (in a degree) of Mr. Hunter's shattered 
 health, and the new firm " Hunter and Clay " was 
 duly announced to the business world. Upon an 
 appointed day, Mr. Hunter stood before his workmen, 
 his arm within Austin's. He was introducing him to 
 
 A Life's Secret. 28 
 
434 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 them in his new capacity of partner. The strike was 
 quite at an end, and the men — as many as room could 
 be made for — had returned; but Mr. Hunter would 
 not consent to discharge the hands that had come 
 forward to take work during the emergency. 
 
 What has the strike brought you ? " inquired Mr. 
 Hunter, seizing upon the occasion to offer a word of 
 advice. " Any good ? " 
 
 Strictly speaking, the men could not reply that it 
 had. In the silence that ensued after the question, 
 one man's voice was at length raised. 
 
 We look back upon it as a subject of congratula- 
 tion, sir." 
 
 Congratulation ! " exclaimed Mr. Hunter. " Upon 
 what point ? " 
 
 That we have had the pluck to hold out so long 
 in the teeth of difficulties," replied the voice. 
 
 ''Pluck is a good quality, when rightly applied," 
 observed Mr. Hunter. ''But what good has the 
 ' pluck,' or the strike, brought to you in this case ? — 
 for that was the question we were upon." 
 
 "It was a lock-out, sir ; not a strike." 
 
 "In the first instance it was a strike," said Mr. 
 Hunter. "Pollocks' men struck, and vou had it in 
 contemplation to follow their example. Oh yes, yon 
 had, my men ; you know as well as I do, that the 
 measure was under discussion. Upon that state of 
 affairs becoming known, the masters determined upon 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 435 
 
 a general lock-out. They did it in self-defence ; and 
 if you will put 3^ourselves in thought into their places, 
 judging fairly, you will not wonder that it was con- 
 sidered the only course open to them. The lock-out 
 lasted but a short period, and then the yards were 
 again opened — open to all who would resume w^ork 
 upon the old terms, and sign a declaration not to be 
 under the dominion of the Trades' Unions. How 
 very fevf availed themselves of this you do not need 
 to be reminded." 
 
 ''We acted for w^hat we thought the best," said 
 another. 
 
 " I know you did," replied Mr. Hunter. " You are 
 — speaking of j^ou collectively — steady, hard-working, 
 well-meaning men, who wish to do the best for your- 
 selves, your wives and families. But, looking back 
 now, do you consider that it was for the best ? You 
 have returned to work upon the same terms that you 
 were offered then. Here we are, in the depth of 
 winter, and what sort of homes do you possess to 
 fortify yourselves against its severities ! " 
 
 What sort indeed ! Mr. Hunter's delicacy shrank 
 from depicting them. 
 
 I am not speaking to you now as your master," he 
 continued, conscious that men do not like this style of 
 converse from their employers. Consider me for the 
 moment as your friend only ; let us talk together as 
 man and man. I wish I could bring you to see the 
 
436 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 evil of these convulsions; I do not wisli it from 
 motives of self-interest, but for your sole good. You 
 may be thinking, 'Ah, the master is afraid of another 
 contest: this one has done him so much damao^e, and 
 that's why he is going on at us against them.' You 
 are mistaken ; that is not why I speak. My men, 
 were any further contests to take place between us, in 
 which you held yourselves aloof from work, as you 
 have done in this, we should at once place ourselves 
 beyond dependence upon you, by bringing over foreign 
 workmen. In the consultations which have been 
 held between myself and Mr. Clay, relative to the 
 terms of our partnership, this point has been fully dis- 
 cussed, and our determination taken. Should we have 
 a repetition of the past. Hunter and Clay would then 
 import their own workmen." 
 
 " And other firms as well ? " interrupted a voice. 
 We know nothing of what other firms might do : 
 to attend to our own interests is enough for us. I 
 hope we shall never have to do this ; but it is only 
 fair to inform you that such would be our course of 
 action. If you, our native workmen, brothers of the 
 soil, abandon your work from any crotchets " 
 
 " Crotchets, sir ! " 
 
 " Ay, crotchets — according to my opinion," repeated 
 Mr. Hunter. " Could you show me a real grievance, 
 it micjht be a different matter. But let us leave 
 motives alone, and go to efiects. When I say that I 
 
CONCLUSION". 
 
 437 
 
 wish you could see tlie evil of these convulsions, I 
 speak solely with reference to your good, to the well- 
 being of your families. It cannot have escaped your 
 notice that my health has become greatly shattered — 
 that, in all probability, my life will not be much 
 prolonged. My friends" — his voice sank to a deep, 
 solemn tone — "believing, as I do, that I shall soon 
 stand before my Maker, to give an account of my 
 doings here, could I, from any paltry motive of self- 
 interest, deceive you ? Could I say one thing and 
 mean another ? No ; when I seek to warn you against 
 future troubles, I do it for your ov*^n sakes. Whatever 
 may be the urging motive of a strike, whether good 
 or bad, it can only bring ill in the working. I would 
 say, were I not a master, ' Put up with a grievance, 
 rather than enter upon a strike ; ' but being a master, 
 you might misconstrue the advice. I am not going 
 into the merits of the measures — to say this past 
 strike was right, or that was wrong ; I speak only of 
 the terrible amount of suffering they wrought. A 
 man said to me the other day — he was from the 
 factory districts — *I have a horror of strikes, they 
 have worked so much evil in our trade.' You can get 
 books which tell of them, and read for yourselves. 
 How many orphans, and v/idows, and men in prisons 
 .are there, who have cause to rue this strike that has 
 only now just passed av/ay ? It has broken up homes 
 that, before it came, were homes of plenty and content, 
 
 28—3 
 
438 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 leaving in them despair and death. Let us try to go 
 on better for the future. I, for my part, will always 
 be ready to receive and consider any reasonable pro- 
 posal from my men ; my partner will do the same. If 
 there is no attempt at intimidation, and no interference 
 on the part of others, there ought to be little difficulty 
 in discussing and settling matters, with the help of 
 ^.the golden rule.' Only — it is my last and earnest 
 word of caution to you — abide by your own good 
 •sense, and do not yield it to those agitators who 
 would lead you away.'' 
 
 Every syllable spoken by Mr. Hunter, as to the 
 social state of the people. Daffodil's Delight, and all 
 other parts of London where the strike had prevailed, 
 could echo. Whether the men had invoked the con- 
 test needlessly, or whether they were justified, accord- 
 ing to the laws of right and reason, it matters not 
 here to discuss ; the effects were the same, and they 
 stood out broad, and bare, and hideous. Men had 
 died of want ; had been cast into prison, where they 
 still lay ; had committed social crimes, in their great 
 need, against their fellow-men. Women had been 
 reduced to the lowest extremes of misery and suffering, 
 had been transformed into viragos, where they once 
 had been pleasant and peaceful ; children had died off 
 by scores. Homes were dismantled; Mr. Cox had 
 cart-loads of things that stood no chance of being 
 redeemed. Families, united before, were scattered now j 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 439 
 
 young men were driven upon idleness and evil courses ; 
 young women upon worse, for they were irredeemable. 
 Would wisdom for the future be learnt by all this ? 
 It was uncertain. 
 
 When Austin Clay returned home that evening, he 
 gave Mrs, Quale notice to quit. She received it in 
 a spirit of resignation, intimating that she had been 
 expecting it — that lodgings such as hers were not fit 
 for Mr. Clay, now that he was Mr. Hunter s partner. 
 
 Austin laughed. I suppose you think I ought to 
 set up a house of my own." 
 
 I dare say you'll be doing that one of these days, 
 sir," she responded. 
 
 I dare say I shall," said Austin. 
 
 " I wonder whether what Mr. Hunter said to-day 
 will do any of 'em any service ? " interposed Peter 
 Quale. " What do you think, sir ? " 
 
 "I think it ought," replied Austin. "Whether it 
 will, is another question." 
 
 *'It mostly lies in this — in the mens being let 
 alone," nodded Peter. " Leave 'em to theirselves, and 
 they'll go on steady enough ; but if them Trade Union 
 folks, Sam Shuck and his lot, get over them again, 
 there'll be more outbreaks." 
 
 " Sam Shuck is safe for some months to come." 
 But there's others of his persuasion that are not, 
 sir. And Sam, he'll be out some time." 
 
 Quale, I give the hands credit for better sense 
 
440 
 
 A LIFE'S SECEET 
 
 than to suffer themselves to fall under his yoke again, 
 now that he has shown himself in his true colours." 
 
 " I don't give 'em credit for any sense at all, when 
 they get unsettled notions into their heads/' phleg- 
 matically returned Peter Quale. '^I'd like to know 
 if it's the Union that's helping Shuck's vv^ife and 
 €hildren." 
 
 " Do they help her ? " 
 
 ''There must be some that help her, sir. The 
 woman lives and feeds her family. But there was a 
 Trades' Union secretary here this morning, inquiring 
 about all this disturbance there has been, and saying 
 that the men were wrong to be led to violence by 
 such a fellow as Sam Shuck : over-eager to say it, he 
 seemed to me. I gave him my opinion back again," 
 concluded Peter, pushing the pipe, Avhich he had laid 
 aside at his young master's entrance, further under 
 the grate. " That Sam Shuck, and such as he, that 
 live by agitation, were uncommon 'cute for their own 
 interests, and those that listen to them were fools. 
 That took him off, sir." 
 
 "To think of the fools this Daffodil's Delio'ht has 
 turned out this last six months 1 " Mrs. Quale emphati- 
 cally added. "To have lived upon their clothes and 
 furniture, their saucepans and kettles, their bedding 
 and their children's shoes ; when they might, most of 
 'em, have earned thirty-three shillings a-week at their 
 ordinary work ! When folks can be so blind as that. 
 
CONCLUSION. 
 
 441 
 
 it is of no use talking to them : black looks wliitC; and 
 white black." 
 
 Mr. Clay smiled at the remark, though it had some 
 rough reason in it, and went out, taking his way to 
 Mr. Hunter's. 
 
 Austin ! You must live with me." 
 
 The words came from Mr. Hunter. Seated in his 
 easy-chair, apparently asleep, he had overheard Avhat 
 Austin was saying in an undertone to Florence — that 
 he had just been giving Mrs. Quale notice, and should 
 begin house-hunting on the morrow. They turned to 
 him at the remark. He had half risen from his chair 
 in his eager earnestness. 
 
 Do you think I could spare Florence ? Where my 
 home is, yours and hers must be. Is not this house 
 large enough for us ? Why should you seek another ? " 
 
 " Quite large enough, sir. But — but I had not 
 thought of it. It shall be as you and Florence wish.'' 
 
 They both looked at her ; she was standing under- 
 neath the light of the chandelier, the rich damask 
 colour mantling in her cheeks. 
 
 I could not give you to him, Florence, if it involved 
 your leaving me." 
 
 The tears glistened on her eyelashes. In the impulse 
 of the moment she stretched out a hand to each. 
 " There is room here for us all, papa," she softly 
 whispered. 
 
442 
 
 A LIFE'S SECRET. 
 
 Mr. Hunter took both their hands in one of his ; he 
 raised the other in the act of benediction ; the tears, 
 which only glistened in the eyes of Florence, were 
 falling fast from his own. 
 
 Yes, it shall be the home of all ; and — Florence ! — 
 the sooner he comes to it the better. Bless, oh, bless 
 my children ! " he murmured. " And grant that this 
 may prove a happier, a more peaceful home for them, 
 than it has been for me ! " 
 
 Amen ! " answered Austin, in his inmost heart. 
 
 THE END, 
 
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