QLLV 
 
 Henry Wood 
 
THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR5842 
 .W8 
 
 E5 
 1889 
 
This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on 
 the last date stamped under "Date Due." If not on hold it 
 nnay be renewed by bringing it to the library. 
 
 DATE 
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 Form No. 513, 
 Rev. V84 
 
 
 
 
V 
 
ELSTER'S FOLLY. 
 
V 
 
 Digitized by 
 
 the Internet 
 
 Archi 
 
 ve 
 
 
 
 in 2013 
 
 
 
 
 iittp://archive.org/details/elstersfollyOOwood 
 
ELSTER'S FOLLY/'^ 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. HENRY WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," "JOHNNY LUDLOW," ETC. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EICHAED BENTLEY AND SON, 
 ^^ublisfjcrs in (Bxtiimx^ to f^cr iBajestg tfje ^ufcit. 
 1889. 
 
 {All rights reserved.) 
 
LONDON: 
 
 FEINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, Limited, 
 
 STAMFOKD STREET AND CHARING CROSS. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 I. 
 
 By the Early Train 
 
 PAGE 
 1 
 
 II. 
 
 W^ILLY GU3I 
 
 15 
 
 III. 
 
 Anne Ashton 
 
 26 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Countess-Dowager 
 
 39 
 
 V. 
 
 Rising Jealousy 
 
 50 
 
 YI. 
 
 An Encoujster at the Bridge 
 
 62 
 
 '\T1J 
 
 Clerk Gum's Shutters 
 
 /o 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Wager Boats 
 
 87 
 
 IX. 
 
 Waiting for Dinner 
 
 ... 98 
 
 X. 
 
 Mr. Pike's Visit 
 
 110 
 
 XL 
 
 The Inquest 
 
 ... 119 
 
 XII. 
 
 Mr. Pike's Whisper to Jabez Gum 
 
 129 
 
 xiir. 
 
 Pitch-pots burning 
 
 .. 140 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Mrs. Gum's Fright 
 
 151 
 
 XY. 
 
 Val's Dilemma 
 
 ... 163 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Between the Two .... 
 
 175 
 
 XVII. 
 
 A Pleasant Wedding ... ... 
 
 188 
 
 XV III. 
 
 The Stranger 
 
 202 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Mada^ii shows a Will 
 
 ... 211 
 
 XX. 
 
 The Stranger's Visit ... 
 
 222 
 
vi 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XXI. 
 
 V 
 
 A Secret Care 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ... 238 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Asking the Kector 
 
 249 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Mr. Carr at Work 
 
 .. 260 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Somebody else at Work 
 
 • 272 
 
 XXV. 
 
 At Hartledon 
 
 ... 282 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Under the Trees ... 
 
 294 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Breakfast with the Dowager ... 
 
 308 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 The Strange Visitor again! 
 
 321 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Cross -QUESTIONING Mr. Carr 
 
 333 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Maude's Disobedience 
 
 344 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 The Sword slipped 
 
 ... 354 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 EiDiNG THE Pony ... 
 
 365 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Coming Home ... 
 
 ... 378 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Mr. Pike on the Wing 
 
 390 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 The Shed razed 
 
 ... 401 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 Fears for the Dowager ... 
 
 410 
 
 XXXVII, 
 
 Threading Beads 
 
 ... 423 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 Dipping into Val's Desk ... 
 
 435 
 
ELSTER'S FOLLY. 
 
 CHAPTEK I. 
 
 BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 The ascending sun threw its slanting rays abroad on a glorious 
 August morning, and the little world below began to awaken 
 into life — the life of another day of sanguine pleasure or of 
 fretting care. 
 
 Not on many fairer scenes did those sunbeams shed their 
 radiance than on one that might have been seen almost in the 
 heart of England ; but almost any landscapes will look beautiful 
 in the early light of a summer's morning. The county, one of 
 the midlands, was justly celebrated for its charming scenery ; its 
 rich woods, its smiling plains, its river, and its gentler streams. 
 The harvest was nearly gathered in — it had been a late season 
 — but a few fields of golden grain, in process of reaping, gave 
 their warm tints to the landscape. In no part of the country 
 had the beauties of nature been bestowed more lavishly than on 
 this, the village of Calne, situated about seven miles from the 
 county town. 
 
 It was an aristocratic village, on the whole. The beautiful 
 seat of the Earl of Hartledon, rising near it, had caused a few 
 good families to settle there, and the nest of white villas gave 
 the place a well-to-do, picturesque appearance. But it contained 
 a full proportion of the poor or labouring class ; and these people 
 were falling very much into the habit of writing the village 
 " Cawn," in accordance with its pronunciation. Phonetic spelling 
 
 Elster's Folly. 1 
 
2 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 was more in their line than Walker's Dictionary. Of what 
 may be called the middle class there were few, if any, in the 
 village : there were the gentry, the small shopkeepers, and the 
 poor. 
 
 Calne had recently been exalted into importance. A year or 
 two before this bright August morning some good genius had 
 brought a railway to it — a railway and a station, with all its 
 accompanying work and bustle. A great many trains passed it 
 in the course of the day ; for it was in the direct line of route 
 from the county town, Garchester, to London, and the traffic 
 was increasing. People wondered what travellers had done, 
 and what sort of a round they had to traverse, before this direct 
 line was made. 
 
 The village itself lay rather in a hollow, for the ground rose 
 to a gentle eminence on either side. On the one eminence, that 
 to the west, was situated the station ; on the other eminence, 
 towards the east, rose the peer's large stone mansion, Hartledon 
 House. The railway took a slight detour on the outside of 
 Calne, and was a conspicuous feature to any who chose to look 
 at it ; for the line had been raised above the hollow of the 
 village, to correspond with the height at either end. 
 
 Six o'clock was close at hand, and the station began to show 
 signs of life. The station-master came out of his cottage, 
 and opened one or two doors on the platform. He had held 
 the office scarcely a year yet ; and had come to Calne a 
 stranger. He sat down in his little bureau of a place, on the 
 door of which v/as inscribed " Station-master — Private," and 
 began sorting some papers on the high desk before him. A 
 few minutes, and the clock struck six ; upon which he went out 
 to the platform. It was an open station, as these small stations 
 generally are, the small waiting-rooms and offices on either side 
 scarcely obstructing the view of the country, and the station- 
 master looked far out in the distance, towards the east, beyond 
 the low-lying houses of the village, shading his eyes with his 
 hand from the dazzling sun. 
 
 " Her's late this morning." 
 
 The interruption came from the surly j)orter, who was stand- 
 ing by. He alluded to the expected train, which ought to have 
 been in some minutes before. According to the precise time, ^ 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 3 
 
 as laid down in the way-bills, it should reach Calne seven 
 minutes before six. 
 
 " They have a heavy load, perhaps," remarked the station- 
 master. 
 
 The train was one chiefly for goods; a slow train, taking 
 goodness knows how many hours to travel from London. It 
 would bring passengers also; but very few availed them- 
 selves of it. Now and then it happened that the station at 
 Calne was opened for nothing; the train just slackened its 
 speed and went on, leaving neither goods nor anything else 
 behind it. Sometimes it took a few early travellers from Calne 
 to Garchester ; especially on Wednesdays and Saturdays, Gar- 
 chester market-days ; but it rarely left passengers at Calne. 
 
 " Did you hear the news, Mr. Markham ? " asked the porter. 
 
 " What news ? " returned the station-master. 
 
 " I heard it last night. Jim come into the Elster Arms and 
 told it, and he'd heard it at Garchester. We are going to have 
 two more sets o' telegraph wires here. I wonder how much 
 more work they'll think of giving us to do ? " 
 
 " So you were at the Elster Arms again last night, Jones ? " 
 remarked the station-master, his tone implying reproof, whilst 
 he passed over in silence Mr. Jones's item of news. 
 
 " I warn't in for above an hour," grumbled the man. 
 
 " Well, it is your own look-out, J ones. I have said what I 
 could to you at odd tim.es ; but I believe it has only tried your 
 patience ; so I'll say no more." 
 
 " Has my wife been here again complaining ? " asked the 
 man, raising his face in fierce anger. 
 
 " No ; I have not seen your wife, except at church, for these 
 two months. But I know what public-houses are to you, and 
 I was thinking of your little children." 
 
 " Ugh ! " growled the man, apparently not gratified at the 
 reminder of his flock, " there's a peck o' them ! Here her 
 comes ! " 
 
 The last sentence was spoken in a different tone ; one of 
 relief, either at the getting rid of the subject, or the coming up 
 of the train. It was about opposite to Hartledon when he 
 caught sight of it, and it came on swiftly, with a shrill whistle, 
 skirting the village it towered above ; a long line of covered 
 
4 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 waggons with a passenger carriage or two attached to them. 
 Slackening its pace gradually, but not in time, it shot past the 
 station, and had to back into it again. 
 
 The guard came out of his box and opened the door of one of 
 the carriages — a dirty-looking second-class one ; the other was 
 a third-class ; and a gentleman leaped out. A tall, slender 
 man, of about four-and-twenty ; a man evidently of good birth 
 and breeding. He wore a light summer overcoat on his well- 
 cut clothes, and had a most attractive face. 
 
 "Is there any law against your putting on a first-class 
 carriage to this night-train ? " he asked the guard, in a pleasing 
 voice. 
 
 " Well, sir, we never get first-class passengers by it," replied 
 the man ; "or hardly any passengers at all, for the matter of 
 that. We are too long on the road for passengers to come 
 by us." 
 
 " It might happen, though," returned the gentleman, signifi- 
 cantly. "At any rate, I suppose there's no law against your 
 carriages being clean, whatever their class. Look at that one." 
 
 He pointed to the one he had just come from, as he walked 
 up to the station-master. The guard looked cross, and gave 
 the carriage-door a bang. 
 
 "Was a portmanteau left here last night by the last train 
 from London ? " inquired the traveller of the station-master. 
 
 "No, sir; nothing was left here. At least, I think not. 
 Any name on it, sir ? " 
 
 " Elster." 
 
 A quick glance from the station-master's eyes met the answer. 
 Elster was the name of the family at Hartledon. He wondered 
 whether this could be one of them, or whether the name was 
 merely a coincidence. 
 
 " There was no portmanteau left, was there, Jones ? " asked 
 the station-master. 
 
 " There couldn't have been," returned the porter, touching 
 his hat to the stranger. " I wasn't on last night ; Jim was ; 
 but it would have been put in the office for sure ; and there's 
 not a ghost of a thing in it this morning." 
 
 " It must have been taken on to Garchester," remarked the 
 traveller ; and, turning to the guard, he gave him directions to 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 5 
 
 look after it, and despatch it back again by the first train, 
 slipping at the same time a gratuity into his hand. 
 
 The guard touched his hat humbly ; he now knew who the 
 gentleman was. And he went into inward repentance for 
 banging the carriage-door, as he got into his box, and the 
 engine and train puffed on. 
 
 " You'll send it up as soon as it comes," said the traveller to 
 the station-master. 
 
 " Where to, sir ? " 
 
 The stranger raised his eyes in slight surprise, and pointed 
 to the house in the distance. He had assumed that he was 
 known. 
 
 « To Hartledon." 
 
 Then he was one of the family ! The station-master touched 
 his hat. Mr. Jones, in the background, touched his, and for 
 the first time the gentleman's eye fell upon him, as he was 
 turning to leave the platform. 
 
 " Why, Jones ! It's never you ? " 
 
 " Yes, it is, sir." But Mr. Jones looked abashed as he 
 acknowledged himself. And it may be observed that his 
 language, when addressing this gentleman, was a slight im- 
 provement upon the homely phraseology of his everyday life. 
 
 " But — you are surely not working here ! — a porter ! " 
 
 "My business fell through, sir," returned the man. "I'm 
 here till I can turn myself round, sir, and get into it again." 
 
 "What caused it to fall through?" asked the traveller; a 
 kindly sympathy in his fine blue eyes. 
 
 Mr. Jones shufiled upon one foot. He would not have given 
 the true answer— " Drinking " — for the world." 
 
 " There's such opposition started up in the place, sir ; folks 
 'ud draw your heart's blood from you if they could. And then 
 I've such a lot of mouths to feed. I can't think what the 
 plague such a tribe of children comes for. Nobody wants 'em." 
 
 The gentleman laughed; but he put no further questions. 
 Eemembering somewhat of Mr. Jones's propensity to errant 
 habits in the old days, he thought perhaps something besides 
 children and opposition had had to do with the downfall. He 
 stood for a moment looking at the station, which had not been 
 completed when he last saw it — and a very pretty station it 
 
6 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 was, surrounded by its beds of gay-coloured flowers — and then 
 went down the road. 
 
 " I suppose lie's one of the Hartledon family, Jones ? " said 
 the station-master, looking after him. 
 
 " He's the earl's brother," replied Mr. Jones, relapsing into 
 sulkiness again. " There's but them two left ; t'other died. 
 Wonder if they be coming to Hartledon again ? Calne haven't 
 seemed the same since they left it." 
 
 " Which is this one ? " 
 
 "He can't be anybody but himself," retorted Mr. Jones, 
 irascibly, deeming the question superfluous. " There be but 
 the two left, I say, — the earl and him ; everybody knows him 
 for the Honourable Percival Elster. The other son, George, 
 died ; leastways, was murdered." 
 
 " Murdered ! " echoed the station-master, aghast. 
 
 " I don't see that it could be called much else but murder," 
 was Mr. Jones's answer. " He went out with my lord's game- 
 keepers one night and got shot in a poaching fray. 'Twas 
 never known for certain who fired the shot, but I think I could 
 put my finger on the man if I tried. Much good that 'ud be of, 
 though ! There's no proof." 
 
 " What is it that you are saying, Jones ? " cried the station- 
 master, staring at his subordinate, and perhaps wondering 
 whether he had already that morning paid a visit to the tap of 
 the Elster Arms. 
 
 " I'm saying nothing that half the place didn't say at the time, 
 Mr. Markham. You hadn't come here then. Mr. Elster — he 
 was the Honourable George — went out one night with the 
 keepers, when warm work was expected, and he got shot for his 
 pains. He lived some weeks, but they couldn't cure him. It 
 was in the late lord's time. He died soon after, and the place 
 have been deserted ever since." 
 
 " And who do you suppose fired the shot ? " 
 
 " Don't know that it 'ud be safe to say," rejoined the man. 
 " He might give my neck a twist some dark night if he heard 
 on't. He's the blackest sheep we've got in Calne, sir." 
 
 " I suppose you mean Pike," said the station-master. " He 
 has the character for being that, I believe. I've seen no harm 
 in the man myself." 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 7 
 
 " Well, it was Pike," said the porter. " That is, it was him 
 that some of us suspected. And that's how Mr. George Elster 
 came by his death. And this one, Mr. Percival, shot up into 
 notice, as being the only one left, except Lord Elster." 
 
 " And who's Lord Elster ? " asked the station-master, not 
 remembering to have heard the title before. 
 
 Mr. Jones received the question with proper contempt. 
 Having been familiar with Hartledon and its inmates all his 
 life, he had as little compassion for those who were not so, as 
 he would have had for a man who did not understand that 
 Garchester was in England. 
 
 " The present Earl of Hartledon," said he, shortly. " In his 
 father's lifetime — and the old lord lived to see Mr. George 
 buried — he was Lord Elster. There ain't one of my tribe of 
 brats but could tell that any Lord Elster must be the eldest 
 son of the Earl of Hartledon," he concluded, with a fling at his 
 superior. 
 
 " Ah, well, I have had other things to do since I came here, 
 apart from inquiring into titles and folks that don't concern 
 me," remarked the station-master. " What a good-looking man 
 he is ! " 
 
 The praise applied to Mr. Elster, after whom he was throw- 
 ing a parting look. Jones gave an ungracious assent, and 
 turned into the shed where the lamps were kept, to begin his 
 morning's work. 
 
 All the world would have been ready to echo the station- 
 master's words as to the good looks of Percival Elster, known 
 universally amidst his friends as Val Elster ; for these good 
 looks did not lie so much in actual beauty — which one lauds, 
 and another denies, according to its style — as in the exceed- 
 ingly pleasant expression of countenance ; a gift that finds its 
 weight with all. 
 
 He possessed a bright face, his complexion was fair and 
 fresh, his eyes were blue and smiling, his features were good ; 
 and as he walked down the road, and lifted his hat momentarily 
 to push his light hair — as much of a gold colour as hair ever is 
 — from his brow, and gave a " good-day " cordially to as many 
 as met him on their way to work, — few strangers but would 
 have given him a second look of admiration. A physiognomist 
 
8 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 might have found fault with the face ; and, whilst admitting its 
 sweet expression, would have condemned it for its utter want 
 of resolution. Want of that ; the inability to say " no " to any 
 sort of persuasion, whether for good or ill; in short, a total 
 absence of what may be called moral courage, had been from 
 his childhood Yal Elster's besetting sin. 
 
 There was a joke against little Val when he was a boy of 
 seven. Some playmates had insisted upon his walking into a 
 pond, and standing there. Poor Yal, quite unable to say " no," 
 walked in, and was nearly drowned for his pains. It had 
 been a joke against him then ; how many such " jokes " could 
 have been brought against him since he grew up, Yal himself 
 could alone tell. As the child had been, so was the man. The 
 scrapes that his irresolution brought him into he did not care 
 to glance at ; and whilst only too well aware of his one lament- 
 able deficiency, he was equally aware that he was powerless to 
 make stand against it. 
 
 People, in speaking of this, called it " Elster's Folly." His 
 extreme sensitiveness as to the feelings of other people, let them 
 be his equals or his inferiors, was, in a degree, one of the causes 
 of this yielding nature ; and he would almost rather have died 
 than offer any one a personal ojffence, an insulting word or look. 
 There are such characters in the world; none can deny that 
 they are amiable ; but, oh, how unfit to battle with life ! 
 
 Mr. Elster walked slowly through the village, on his way to 
 Hartledon, whose inmates he would presently take by surprise. 
 It was about twenty months since he had been there. He had 
 quitted Hartledon at the close of the last winter but one ; an 
 appointment having been obtained for him abroad, as an attache 
 to the Paris embassy. Ten months of service, and some scrape 
 he fell into caused him (a good deal of private interest was 
 brought to bear in the matter) to be removed to Yienna ; but he 
 had not remained there very long. He seemed to have a pro- 
 pensity for getting into trouble, or rather an inability to keep 
 out of it. Latterly he had been staying in London with his 
 brother, the earl. 
 
 His thoughts wandered to the past, as he looked at the 
 chimneys of Hartledon — all he could see of it — from the low 
 ground. He remembered the happy time when they had been 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 9 
 
 children in it ; five of them — the three boys and the two girls — 
 he himself being the youngest and the pet. His eldest sister, 
 Margaret, had been the first to leave it. She married Sir 
 James Cooper, and went with him to his remote home in Scot- 
 land, where she was still. The second to go was Laura, who 
 married Captain Level, and accompanied him to India. Then 
 he, Yal, a young man in his teens, went out into the world, and 
 did all sorts of harm in it in an unintentional sort of way ; for 
 Percival Elster never did wrong by premeditation. Next came 
 the death of his mother. He was called home from a sojourn 
 in Scotland — where his stay had been prolonged from the result 
 of an accident — to bid her farewell. Then he was at home for 
 a year or more, making love to charming Anne Ashton. The 
 next move was his departure for Paris ; close upon which, within 
 a fortnight, occurred the calamity to his brother George. He 
 came back from Paris to see him in London, whither George 
 had been conveyed for medical advice, and there seemed then a 
 chance of his recovery ; but it was not borne out, and the ill- 
 fated young man died. The earl's death was the next. He 
 had an incurable complaint, and his death followed close upon 
 his son's. Lord Elster became Earl of Hartledon ; and he, Yal, 
 heir-presumptive. Heir-presumptive ! Yal Elster was heir to 
 
 all sorts of follies, but 
 
 " Good morning to your lordship ! " 
 
 The speaker was a man in a smock-frock, passing with a 
 reaping-hook on his shoulder. Mr. Elster's sunny face and 
 cheery voice gave back the salutation with tenfold heartiness, 
 smiling at the " lordship." Half the peasantry had been used 
 to address the brothers so, indiscriminately ; they were all lords 
 to them. 
 
 The interruption awoke Mr. Elster from his thoughts, and he 
 marched gaily on down the middle of the road, noting its 
 familiar features. The shops — small, and most of them general 
 ones, selling everything — were on his right hand, the line of 
 rail behind them. The few white villas lay scattered on his 
 left, and behind them, but not to be seen from this village 
 street, wound the river ; both running parallel with the village 
 that lay between them. Soon the houses ceased ; it was a small 
 place at best • and, after an open space, came the church. It 
 
10 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 was on his right, lying a little way back from the road, and 
 surrounded by a large churcliyard. Almost opposite to it, on 
 the other side the road, but lying very far back from it, was a 
 handsome modern white house; its beautiful gardens sloping 
 down almost to the river. It was the residence of the Rector, 
 Dr. Ashton, a wealthy man and a church dignitary, prebendary 
 and sub-dean of Garchester Cathedral. Percival Elster looked 
 at it fondly, yearningly, if haply he might see the face of one 
 he loved well ; but the blinds were all drawn, and the inmates 
 were no doubt steeped in repose. 
 
 " If she could only know I was here ! " he fondly aspirated. 
 
 On again a few steps, and a slight turn in the road brought 
 him to another house ; a small red-brick dwelling, on the same 
 side as the church, with green shutters to its lower windows. 
 It lay back in the midst of a garden well stocked with vege- 
 tables, fruit, and the more ordinary and brighter garden-flowers. 
 A straight path led to the house-door: a well-kept door, its 
 paint fresh and green, its brass-plate as bright as rubbing could 
 make it. Mr. Elster could not read the writing on the plate 
 from where he was, but he knew it by heart : " Jabez Gum, 
 Parish Clerk." And there was a smaller plate indicating other 
 offices that Jabez Gum held. 
 
 " I wonder if J abez is as shadowy as ever ? " thought Mr. 
 Elster, as he walked on. 
 
 One more feature, and that is the last you shall hear of until 
 Hartledon is reached. Close to the clerk's garden, on a piece 
 of waste land, stood a small wooden building, no better than a 
 shed. It had once been a stable, but so long as Percival 
 Hartledon could remember, it was nothing but a receptacle for 
 schoolboys to hide in, when playing at hide-and-seek. Many a 
 time had he hidden there. Something different in this shed 
 now struck his eye ; the former doorway had been boarded up, 
 and a long iron tube, like a thin chimney, ascended from its 
 roof. 
 
 " Who on earth has been putting that to it ? " exclaimed Mr. 
 Elster. 
 
 A little way onward, and he came to the lodge-gates of 
 Hartledon. The house was on the same side as the Eectory, 
 its park stretching out to the east, its grounds far more beautiful 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 11 
 
 and extensive than those of the Eectory, descending to the 
 river. As he went in at the side-gate, which stood wide open 
 — little attention being paid to these things in the absence of 
 the family — he turned his gaze on the familiar road he had 
 quitted, and most distinctly saw a wreath of smoke ascending 
 from the genteel pipe above the shed. Could it be a chimney, 
 after all ? 
 
 The woman of the lodge, hearing footsteps, came to her door, 
 already open, hasty words on her tongue. 
 
 " Now then ! What makes you so late this morning ! 
 
 Didn't I " And there she stopped in horror ; transfixed ; 
 
 for she was face to face with the Honourable Mr. Elster. 
 
 " Law, sir ! You I Mercy be good to us ! " 
 
 He laughed. In her consternation she could only suppose 
 he had dropped from the clouds. A pleasant greeting to her, 
 and then he drew her attention to the appearance that was 
 puzzling him. The woman came out and looked at it. 
 
 " Is it a chimney, Mrs. Capper ? " 
 
 " Well, yes, sir, it is. Pike have put it in. He come here, 
 nobody knew how or when, and he put hisself into that there old 
 shed, and he have never gone out of it again." 
 
 " Who is ' Pike ' ? " inquired Mr. Elster. 
 
 " It's hard to say, sir ; a many would give a deal to know. 
 He lay in the shed a bit at first, as it were, all open. Then he 
 boarded up that there front doorway, and opened a door at the 
 back, and cut out a square hole by it for a winder (you can see 
 'em both from the rail), and stuck that chimbley in the roof. 
 And there he have lived ever since, and nobody interrupts him. 
 His name's Pike, and that's all that's known. I should think 
 my lord will see to it when he comes." 
 
 " Does he work for his living ? " 
 
 " He never does a stroke o' work for nobody, sir. And how 
 he lives is just one o' them mysteries that can't be dived into. 
 He's a poacher, and a snarer, and a robber of the fish-ponds — 
 any one of 'em when he gets the chance ; leastways it's said so ; 
 and he looks just like a wild man o' the woods ; wilder than 
 any Eobison Crusoe ! And he — but you might not like me to 
 mention that, sir." 
 
 " Mention anything," replied Mr. Elster. " Go on." 
 
12 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Well, sir, it's said by some that his was the shot that killed 
 Mr. George," she returned, dropping her voice ; and Percival 
 Elster started. 
 
 " Who is he ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " He is not known to a soul. He came here a stranger." 
 
 " But — he was not here when I left home. And I left it, 
 you may remember, only a few days before that night." 
 
 " He must have come here at that very time, sir ; just as you 
 left." 
 
 " But what grounds were there for supposing that he — that 
 
 he I think you must be mistaken, Mrs. Capper. Lord 
 
 Hartledon, I am sure, knows nothing of this suspicion." 
 
 " I never heard nothing about grounds, sir," simply replied 
 the woman. " I suppose folks fastened it on him because he's 
 a loose character: and he have got his face all covered with 
 hair, like a howl." 
 
 He almost laughed again as he turned away, dismissing the 
 suspicion she had hinted at from his mind as unworthy a 
 moment's credit. The broad gravel-walk through this portion 
 of the park was very short, and the large grey stone house was 
 soon reached. Not to the wide front steps did he bend his 
 course ; at that early hour of the morning he might hammer at 
 the door unheard ; but turned to a small entrance at the side, 
 and that he found open. Pursuing his way down certain 
 passages, he came to what used to be called the " west kitchen ; " 
 and there sat three women at breakfast. 
 
 " Well, Mirrable ! I thought I should find you up." 
 
 The two servants seated opposite to him both stared with 
 open mouths ; neither knew him : the one he had addressed as 
 Mirrable turned at the salutation, screamed, and dropped the 
 tea-pot. She was an active, thin woman, of forty years, with a 
 bunch of black drooping ringlets between her cap and her thin 
 cheeks, dark eyes, a ready tongue and a pleasant manner. 
 Mirrable had been upper maid at Hartledon for years and years. 
 " Mr. Percival ! Is it your ghost, sir ? " 
 " I think it's myself, Mirrable." 
 " My goodness ! But, sir, how did you get here ? " 
 " You may well ask. I ought to have been here last night, 
 but got out at some obscure junction to obtain a light for my 
 
BY THE EARLY TRAIN. 
 
 13 
 
 cigar, and the train went on without me. I sat on a bench for 
 a few hours, and came on by the goods train this morning." 
 
 Mirrable awoke from her astonishment. She sent the two 
 girls flying, one here, one there, to prepare rooms for Mr. 
 Elster, and busied herself arranging the best breakfast she 
 could extemporize. Yal Elster sat on a table whilst he talked 
 to her. In the old days, he and his brothers, little fellow; , 
 had used to carry their troubles to Mirrable ; and he was just 
 as much at home with her now as he would have been with his 
 mother. 
 
 " Did Capper see you as you came by, sir ? Wouldn't she be 
 struck ! " 
 
 " Nearly into stone," he laughed. 
 
 Mirrable disappeared for a minute or two, and came back 
 with a silver coffee-pot in her hand. The name of the lodge- 
 keeper had brought to his remembrance the unpleasant hint 
 she mentioned, and he spoke of it on impulse — as he did most 
 things. 
 
 "Mirrable, what man is it they call Pike, who has taken 
 possession of that old shed ? " 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know, sir," answered Mirrable, after a pause, 
 which Mr. Elster thought was involuntary ; for she was busy 
 at the moment rubbing the coffee-pot with some wash-leather, 
 her head and face bent over it, as she stood with her back to 
 him before a species of ironing-board. He slipped off the table, 
 and went up to her. 
 
 " I saw smoke rising from the shed, and asked Capper what 
 it meant, and she told me about this Pike. Pike! It's a 
 curious name." 
 
 Mirrable rubbed away, never answering. 
 
 " Capper said he had been suspected of firing the shot that 
 killed my brother," he continued, in a low tone. " Did you 
 ever hear of such a hint, Mirrable ? " 
 
 Mirrable darted off to the fireplace, and began stirring the 
 milk lest it should boil over. But that her face was almost 
 buried in the saucepan, Mr. Elster might have seen the sudden 
 change that came over it : the thin cheeks had flushed crimson, 
 and now were deadly white. Lifting the saucepan on the hob 
 to guard against contingencies, she turned to Mr. Elster. 
 
14 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Don't you believe any sucli nonsense, sir," slie said ; her 
 tone one of strange emphasis. " It was no more Pike than it 
 was me. The man keeps himself to himself, and troubles 
 nobody ; and for that very reason idle folks carp at him, like 
 the mischief-making idiots they are ! " 
 
 " I thought there was nothing in it," remarked Mr. Elster. 
 
 " I'm sure there isn't," said Mirrable, conclusively. " You'd 
 like some broiled ham, sir, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 "I should like anything substantial. I'm as hungry as a 
 hunter. But, Mirrable, you don't ask what has brought me 
 here so suddenly ! " 
 
 The tone was significant, and Mirrable looked at him. There 
 was a spice of mischief in his laughing blue eyes. 
 
 " I come on a mission to you. An avant-courrier from his 
 lordship, to charge you to have things in readiness ; for to- 
 morrow you will receive a houseful of company; more than 
 Hartledon will hold." 
 
 Mirrable looked aghast. " It is one of your jokes, Mr. 
 Yal ! " 
 
 " Indeed, it is the truth. My brother will be down with a 
 trainful ; and he desires that everything shall be made ready 
 for their reception. It is so, Mirrable." 
 
 " My patience ! " gasped Mirrable. " And the servants, 
 sir?" 
 
 " They will be here to-night, most of them. The Countess- 
 Dowager of Kirton is coming as Hartledon's mistress for the 
 time being." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mirrable, who had once the honour of seeing the 
 Countess-Dowager of Kirton. And the monosyllable, as applied 
 to that lady, was so significant that Yal Elster drew down the 
 corners of his mouth. 
 
 " I don't like the countess-dowager, sir," remarked Mirrable, 
 in her freedom. 
 
 " I can't bear her," returned Yal Elster. 
 
I 
 
 ( 15 ) 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WILLY GUM. 
 
 Had the Honourable Mr. Elster lingered ever so short a time 
 near the clerk's house that morning he would have been re- 
 warded by meeting that functionary himself; for in less than a 
 minute after he had passed out of sight Jabez Gum's door 
 opened, and Jabez Gum glided out of it. 
 
 It is a term chiefly applied to ghosts ; but Mr. Gum was a 
 great deal more like a ghost than he was like a man. He was 
 remarkably tall, and remarkably thin ; a very shadow ; with a 
 thin white shadow of a face, and a nose that was a natural 
 curiosity, and might have served as a model for any mask in a 
 carnival of guys. A long, thin, sharp nose, double the length 
 and only half the breadth of any ordinary nose — a very ferret 
 of a nose ; its sharp tip standing straight out into the air. 
 People said, with such a nose Mr. Gum ought to have a great 
 deal of curiosity. And they were right ; he had a great deal 
 in a quiet way. 
 
 A most respectable man was Mr. Gum, and he prided him- 
 self upon it. Mr. Gum — called Clerk Gum mostly in the 
 village — had never done a wrong thing in his life, or fallen 
 into a scrape. He had been altogether a pattern to Calne in 
 general, and to the black sheep of it in particular. Dr. Ashton 
 himself could not have less brought against him than Clerk 
 Gum ; and it would just have broken Mr. Gum's heart had his 
 good name been tarnished in ever so slight a degree. Perhaps 
 no man living had been born with a larger share of self-esteem 
 than Jabez Gum. Clerk of the parish longer than Dr. Ashton 
 had been its Rector, Jabez Gum had lived at his ease in a 
 pecuniary point of view. It was one of those few parishes (I 
 
16 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 don't think many of them remain now) where the clerk's emolu- 
 ments are large. He also held other offices ; was an agent for 
 one or two companies, and was looked upon as an exceedingly- 
 substantial man for his station in life. Perhaps he was less so 
 than people thought. The old saying is all too true : " Nobody 
 knows where the shoe pinches but he who wears it." 
 
 Jabez Gum had his thorn, as a great many more of us have 
 ours, if the outside world only knew it. And Jabez, at odd 
 moments, when the thorn pierced him very sharply, had been 
 wont to compare his condition to St. Paul's, and to wonder 
 whether the pricks inflicted on that holy man could have bled 
 as his own did. He meant no irreverence when he thought 
 this ; neither do I in writing it. We are generally wounded in 
 the most vulnerable spot about us, and Jabez Gum made no 
 exception to the rule. He had been assailed in his cherished 
 respectability, his self-esteem. Assailed and scarred. How 
 broad and deep the scar was Jabez had never told the world, 
 which as a rule does not take sympathizingly to such scars, 
 but turns aside from them in its cruel indifference. The world 
 had almost forgotten the scar now, and supposed Clerk Gum 
 had done the same. It was all over and done with years ago. 
 
 Jabez Gum's wife — to whom you will shortly have the honour 
 of an introduction, but she's in her bedroom just now — had 
 borne him one child, and only one. How this boy w^as loved, 
 how tenderly he was brought up, let Calne tell you. Mrs. 
 Gum had to endure no inconsiderable amount of ridicule at the 
 time from her gossiping friends, who gave Willy sundry names : 
 the swan, the lambkin, the dove, the love: all applied in 
 derision. Certainly, if any mother ever was bound up in a 
 child, Mrs. Gum was in hers. The boy was brought up well. 
 A good education was given to him ; and at the age of sixteen 
 he went to London and to fortune. The one was looked upon 
 as a natural sequence of the other. Some friend of Jabez 
 Gum's had interested himself to procure the lad's admission 
 into one of the great banks there as junior clerk. He might 
 rise in time to be its cashier, its manager, even its partner ; 
 who knew ? Who knew, indeed ? And Clerk Gum con- 
 gratulated himself, and was more respectable than ever. 
 
 Better that Willy Gum had remained at Calne ! And yet, 
 
WILLY GUM. 
 
 17 
 
 and again — who knew? When the propensity for ill-doing 
 exists it is sure to come out, no matter where. There were 
 some people in Calne who could have told Clerk Gum, even 
 ) then, that Willy, for his age, was tolerably fast and forward. 
 Mrs. Gum had heard of one or two things that had caused her 
 hair to rise on end with horror ; ay, and with apprehension ; 
 but, foolish mother that she was, not a syllable did she breathe 
 to the clerk ; and no one else ventured to tell him. 
 
 She talked to Willy imploringly, with many sighs and tears 
 — that he would be a good boy and enter on good courses, not 
 on bad ones, and not break her heart. Willy, the little scape- 
 goat, was willing to promise anything. He laughed and made 
 light of it ; it wasn't his fault if folks told stories of him ; she 
 couldn't be so foolish as to give ear to them. London ? Oh, he 
 should be all right in London ! One or two fellows here were 
 rather fast, there was no denying it ; and they drew him with 
 them ; they were older than himself, and ought to have known 
 better. Once away from Calne, they could have no more 
 influence over him, and he should be all right. 
 
 She believed him ; she put faith in the plausible words. Oh, 
 what trust can be so pure, and at the same time so foolish, as 
 that placed by a mother in a beloved son ! Mrs. Gum had 
 never known but one idol on earth ; he who now stood before 
 her, lightly laughing at her fears, and making his own tale 
 good. She leaned forward and laid her hands upon his shoulders 
 and kissed him with that impassioned fervour that some 
 mothers could tell of, and whispered that she would trust him 
 wholly. 
 
 Mr. Willy extricated himself with as little impatience as he 
 could help : these embraces were not to his taste. And yet the 
 boy did love his mother. She was not at all a wise woman, or 
 a clever one ; rather silly indeed in many things ; but she was 
 fond of him. At this period he was young-looking for his age, 
 slight, and rather undersized, with an exceedingly light com- 
 plexion, a wishy-washy sort of face with no colour in it, un- 
 meaning, light eyes, white eyebrows, and ragged-looking light 
 hair with a tawny shade upon it. 
 
 Willy Gum departed for London, and entered on his engage- 
 ment in the great banking-house of Goldsworthy and Co. 
 
 Elster's Folly. 2 
 
18 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 How he went on in it Calne could not get to learn, though it 
 was moderately inquisitive upon the point. His father and 
 mother heard from him occasionally ; and once the clerk took 
 a sudden and rather mysterious journey to London, where he 
 stayed for a whole week. Eumour said — I wonder where such 
 rumours first have their rise — that Willy Gum had fallen into 
 some trouble, and the clerk had had to buy him out of it at the 
 cost of a mint of money. The clerk, however, gave no con- 
 firmation of this ; and one thing was indisputable : Willy re- 
 tained his place in the banking-house. Some people looked on 
 this fact as a complete refutation of the rumour. 
 
 Then came a lull. Nothing was heard of Willy ; that is, 
 nothing beyond the reports of Mrs. Gum to her gossips, when 
 letters arrived : he was well, and getting on well. It was only 
 the lull that precedes a storm ; and a storm indeed burst on 
 quiet Calne. Willy Gum had robbed the bank and disappeared. 
 
 In the first dreadful moment, perhaps the only one who did 
 not disbelieve it was Clerk Gum. Other people said there 
 must be some mistake : it could not be. Kind old Lord Hartle- 
 don came down in his carriage to the clerk's house — he was 
 ailing ; too ill to walk — and sat with the clerk and the weeping 
 mother, and said he was sure it could not be so bad as was 
 reported. The next morning saw handbills — great, staring, 
 large-typed handbills— offering a reward for the discovery of 
 the thief, William Gum, stuck up all over Calne. 
 
 Once more Clerk Gum went to London. What he did there 
 no one knew. One thing only was certain — he did not find 
 Willy or any trace of him. The defalcation was very nearly 
 eight hundred pounds ; and even if Mr. Gum could have re- 
 funded that large sum, he might not do so, said Calne, for of 
 course the bank would not compound a felony. He came back 
 looking ten years older ; his tall, thin form was more shadowy, 
 his nose was longer and sharper. Not a soul ventured to say 
 a syllable to him, even of condolence. He told Lord Hartledon 
 and his Kector that no tidings whatever could be gleaned of his 
 unhappy son ; the boy had disappeared, and might be dead, for 
 all they knew to the contrary. 
 
 So the handbills wore themselves out on the walls, serving 
 no purpose, until Lord Hartledon ordered them to be torn 
 
WILLY GUM. 
 
 19 
 
 down ; and Mrs. Gum lived in tears, and audibly wished herself 
 dead. She had not seen her boy since he quitted Calne, con- 
 siderably more than two years before, and he was now nearly 
 nineteen. A few days' holiday had been accorded him by the 
 banking-house each Christmas ; but the first Christmas Willy 
 wrote word that he had accepted an invitation to go home with 
 a brother-clerk ; the second Christmas he said he could not 
 obtain leave of absence — which Mrs. Gum afterwards found was 
 untrue ; so that Willy Gum had not been at Calne since he left it. 
 And whenever his mother thought of him — and that was every 
 hour of the day and night— it was always as the fair, young, 
 light-haired boy, who seemed to her little more than a child. 
 
 A year or so of uncertainty, of suspense, of wailing, and then 
 came a letter from Willy, cautiously sent. It was not addressed 
 directly to Mrs. Gum, to whom it was written, but to one of 
 Willy's acquaintances in London, who enclosed it in an envelope 
 and forwarded it on. 
 
 Such a letter ! To read it one might have thought Mr. 
 William Gum had gone out under the most favourable auspices. 
 He was in Australia ; had gone up to try his fortune at the 
 gold-diggings, and was making money rapidly. In a short 
 time he should refund with interest the little sum which he had 
 borrowed from Goldsworthy and Co., and which was really not 
 taken with any ill intention, but was more an accident than 
 anything else. After that, he. should accumulate money on his 
 own score, and — all things being made straight at home — return 
 and settle down, a rich man for life. And she — his mother — 
 might rely on his keeping his word. At present he was at 
 Melbourne ; to which place he and his mates had come to bring 
 their acquired gold, and to take a bit of a spree after their 
 recent hard labour. He was very jolly ; and after a week's 
 holiday they should go back again. And he hoped his father 
 had overlooked the past ; and he remained ever her affectionate 
 son, William Gum. 
 
 The effect of this letter upon Mrs. Gum was as if a dark 
 cloud had suddenly lifted from the world, and given place 
 to a flood of sunshine. We estimate things by comparison. 
 Mrs. Gum was by nature disposed to look on the dark side, 
 and she had for the whole past year been indulging the most 
 
20 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 dread pictures of Willy and his fate that any woman's mind 
 ever conceived. To hear that he was in life, and well, and 
 making money rapidly, and was withal " jolly," was the sweetest 
 news she had ever tasted, the greatest relief she could expe- 
 rience in this world. 
 
 Clerk Gum — relieved also, no doubt —received the tidings in 
 a more sober spirit ; almost as if he did not dare to believe in 
 them. The man's heart had been well-nigh broken with the 
 blow that fell upon him, and nothing could ever heal it 
 thoroughly again. He read the letter in silence ; read it twice 
 over ; and when his wife broke out in a series of rapt congratu- 
 lations, and reproached him mildly for not appearing to think 
 it true, he rather cynically inquired what then, if true, became 
 of her dreams. 
 
 For Mrs. Gum was a dreamer. She was one of those who are 
 now and again visited by strange dreams, significant of the 
 future ; not often ; it may be once or twice in their lifetime. 
 Poor Mrs. Gum carried these dreams to an excess ; that is, she 
 was always having them and always talking of them. It had 
 been no wonder, with her mind in the miserable state it was, in 
 regard to her son, that her dreams in that first twelvemonth had 
 generally been of him and bad generally. The above question, 
 put by her husband, somewhat puzzled her. Her dreams had 
 foreshadowed great evil still to Willy ; and her dreams had 
 never been wrong yet. 
 
 But, in the enjoyment of positive good, who thinks of dreams ? 
 No one. And Mrs. Gum's grew a shade brighter, and hope 
 again took possession of her heart. 
 
 Two years rolled on, during which they heard twice from 
 Willy ; satisfactory letters still, in a way. Both testified to his 
 "jolly " state : he was growing rich, though not quite so rapidly 
 as he had anticipated ; a fellow had to spend so much ! Every 
 day he expected to pick up a thumping big nugget, which would 
 crown his fortune. He complained in these letters that he did 
 not hear from home ; not once had news reached him ; had his 
 father and mother abandoned him ? 
 
 The question brought forth a gush of tears from Mrs. Gum, 
 and a sharp abuse of the post-office. The clerk took the news 
 philosophically, remarking that the wonder would have been 
 
WILLY GUM. 
 
 21 
 
 had Willy received the letters, seeing that he seemed to move 
 about incessantly from place to place. 
 
 Close upon this came another letter from him, written 
 apparently in haste. Willy's " fortune " had turned into reality 
 at last ; he was coming home with more gold than he could 
 count ; had taken his berth in the good ship Morning Star, and 
 should come off at once to Calne, when the ship reached Liver- 
 pool. There was a line written inside the envelope, as if he 
 had forgotten to put it in the letter : " I have had one from 
 you at last ; the first you wrote, it seems. Thank old dad for 
 what he has done for me. I'll make it all square with him 
 when I get home." 
 
 This had reference to a fact which Calne did not know. In 
 that unhappy second visit of Clerk Gum's to London, he did 
 succeed in appeasing the wrath of Goldsworthy and Co., and 
 paid in every farthing of the money. How far he might have 
 accomplished this, but for being backed by the urgent influence 
 of old Lord Hartledon, was a question. One thing was in his 
 favour : the firm had not taken any steps whatever in the matter, 
 and those handbills circulated at Calne were the result of a 
 misapprehension on the part of an of&cious local police-of&cer. 
 Things had not gone too far for Goldsworthys graciously to 
 condone the offence — and Clerk Gum paid in his savings of 
 years. This was the fact written by Mrs. Gum to her son, 
 which had called forth the few words of the envelope. 
 
 Alas ! those were the last tidings ever received from Willy 
 Gum. Whilst Mrs. Gum lived in a state of ecstasy, showing 
 the letter incessantly to her neighbours, and making loving 
 preparation for his reception, the time for the arrival of the 
 Morning Star at Liverpool drew on, and passed, and the ship 
 did not arrive. 
 
 A time of anxious suspense, of mourning for her by all who 
 had relations on board — for it was supposed she had foundered 
 at sea — and tidings arrived. An awful tale ; a tale of mutiny 
 and wrong and bloodshed. Some of the loose characters on 
 board the ship —and she was bringing home such — had risen in 
 disorder within a month of their sailing from Melbourne ; had 
 killed the captain, the chief officer, and some of the crew and 
 passengers, 
 
22 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 The ringleader was a man of tlie name of Gordon ; he it was 
 who had incited the rest to the crime, and he had killed the 
 captain with his own hand. Obtaining command of the ship, 
 they put her about, and commenced a raid of piracy. One vessel 
 they succeeded in disarming, in despoiling, and then in leaving 
 her to her fate. But the next vessel they attacked proved a 
 more formidable enemy, and there was a hand-to-hand struggle 
 for the mastery, and for life or death. The Morning Star' was 
 sunk, with the greater portion of her living freight. A few, 
 only some four or five, were saved by the other ship, and con- 
 veyed to England. 
 
 It was by them the dark tale was brought. The second 
 officer of the Morning Star was one ; he had been compelled to 
 dissemble and to appear to serve the mutinous band ; the others 
 were innocent passengers, whose lives had not been taken. All 
 these agreed in one thing : that Gordon, the ringleader, had in 
 all probability escaped. He had been seen to put off from the 
 Morning Star, when she was sinking, in one of her best boats ; 
 he and some of his lawless helpmates, with a bag of biscuit, a 
 cask of water, and a few bottles that probably contained rum. 
 Whether they would succeed in reaching a port, or in getting 
 picked up, was a question ; but it was assumed that they would. 
 
 The owners of the Morning Star, half paralyzed at the news 
 of so daring and unusual an outrage, offered the large reward 
 of five hundred pounds for the capture of George Gordon ; and 
 Government increased the offer by two hundred, making it seven 
 in all. 
 
 Overwhelming tidings for Clerk Gum and his wife ! There 
 ensued a brief season of agonized suspense for the poor mother ; 
 of hopes and fears as to whether Willy was amongst the remnant 
 saved ; and then hope died away, for he did not come. 
 
 Once more, for the last time. Clerk Gum took a journey, not 
 to London, but to Liverpool. He succeeded in seeing the officer 
 who had been saved ; but he could give him no information. 
 He knew the names of the first-class passengers, but only a 
 few of the second-class ; and in that class Willy had most likely 
 sailed. 
 
 The clerk described his son; and the officer thought he 
 remembered him : he had a good deal of gold on board, he said. 
 
WILLY GUM. 
 
 23 
 
 One of the passengers spoke more positively. Yes, by Clerk 
 Gum's description, he was sure Willy Gum had been his fellow- 
 passenger in the second cabin, though he did not recollect 
 whether he had heard his name. It seemed, looking back, that 
 the passengers had hardly had time to become acquainted with 
 each other's names, he added. He was sure it was the young 
 man ; very light in complexion, ready and rather loose (if Mr. 
 Gum would excuse his saying so) in speech. He had made 
 thorough good hauls of gold at the last, and was going home 
 to spend it. He was the second killed, poor fellow; he had 
 risen up with a volley of oaths (excuses begged again) to defend 
 the captain, and was struck down and killed. 
 
 Poor Jabez Gum gasped. Killed ? was the gentleman sure ? 
 Quite sure ; and, moreover, he saw his body thrown overboard 
 with the rest of the dead. And the money — the gold ? Jabez 
 asked, when he had somewhat recovered himself. The passenger 
 laughed — not at the poor father, but at the worse than useless 
 question : gold and everything else that had been on board the 
 Morning Star went down with her to the bottom of the sea. 
 
 A species of savage impulse rose in the clerk's mind, re- 
 placing his first shock of grief ; an impulse that might almost 
 have led him to murder the villain Gordon, could he have come 
 across him. Was there a chance that he would be taken, that 
 man ? he asked. Every chance, if he dared show his face in 
 England, the passenger answered. A reward of seven hundred 
 pounds was an inducement to the survivors to keep their eyes 
 open; and they'd do it, besides, without any reward. More- 
 over — if Gordon had escaped, his comrades in the boat had 
 escaped with him. They were lawless men like himself, every 
 one of them, and they would be sure to betray him when they 
 found what a price was set upon his capture. 
 
 Clerk Gum returned home, bearing to his wife and to Calne 
 the final tidings which crushed out all hope. Mrs. Gum sank 
 into a state of wild despair. At first it almost seemed to 
 threaten loss of reason. Her son had been her sole idol, and 
 the idol was shattered. But to witness unreasonably violent 
 grief in others always has a counteracting effect on our own, 
 and Mr. Gum soothed his sorrow and brought philosophy to his 
 aid. 
 
24 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Look you," said he, one day, sharply to his wife, when she 
 was crying and moaning, " there's two sides to every calamity, 
 — a bright 'un and a dark 'un ; for Mr. Gum was not in the 
 habit of treating his wife, in the privacy of their domestic 
 circle, to the quality-speech kept for the world. " He is gone, 
 and we can't help it ; we'd have welcomed him home if we 
 could, and killed the fatted calf, but it was God's will that it 
 shouldn't be. There may be a blessing in it, after all. Who 
 knows but he might have broke out again, and brought upon us 
 what he did before, or worse ? For my part, I should never 
 have been without the fear ; night and morning it would always 
 have stood before me prominent ; not to be driven away. As 
 it is, I am at rest." 
 
 She — the wife — took her apron from her eyes and looked at 
 him with a sort of amazed anger. 
 
 " Gum ! do you forget that he had left off his evil ways, and 
 was coming home to be a comfort to us ? " 
 
 " No, I don't forget it," returned Mr. Gum. " But who was 
 to answer for it that the mood would last ? He might have got 
 
 through his gold, however much it was, and then As it 
 
 is, Nance Gum, we can sleep quiet in our beds, free from that 
 fear." 
 
 Clerk Gum was not, on the whole, a model of suavity in the 
 domestic fold. The first blow which had fallen upon him 
 seemed to have affected his temper ; and his helpmate knew 
 from experience that whenever he called her " Nance " his 
 mood was at its worst. 
 
 Swallowing a heavy sob, she spoke reproachfully : 
 " It's my firm belief, Gum, and has been all along, that you 
 cared more for your good name among men than you did for 
 the boy." 
 
 " Perhaps I did," he answered, by way of retort. " At any 
 rate, it might have been better for him in the long-run if we — ■ 
 both you and me — hadn't cared for him quite so foolishly in 
 his childhood ; we spared the rod and we spoiled the child. 
 That's over, and " 
 
 " It's all over," interrupted Mrs. Gum, with a sob ; " over for 
 ever in this world. Gum, you be very hard-hearted." 
 
 And," he continued, with composure, as if there had been 
 
WILLY GUM. 
 
 25 
 
 no interruption, " we may hope now to live it down in time, 
 that blow he brought upon us, and hold up our heads again in 
 the face of Calne. We couldn't have done that while he lived." 
 " We couldn't ? " 
 
 "No. Just dry up your useless tears, Nancy; and try to 
 think that all's for the best." 
 
 But, metaphorically speaking, Mrs. Nancy Gum could not 
 dry her tears. Nearly two years had elapsed since the fatal 
 event ; and though she no longer lamented openly, filling Calne 
 with her cries and her faint but heartfelt prayers for vengeance 
 on the head of the cruel monster, George Gordon, as she used 
 to do at first, she had sunk into a despairing state of mind 
 that was by no means desirable : a startled, timid, superstitious 
 woman she was now, frightened at every shadow. 
 
26 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEK III. 
 
 ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 Jabez Gum, tall and thin and shadowy, came out of his house 
 in the brightness of the summer morning, missing the Honour- 
 able Mr. Elster by one minute only. He went round to a small 
 shed at the back of the house and brought forth sundry garden- 
 tools. The whole of the garden was kept in order by himself, 
 and no one had finer fruit and vegetables than Clerk Gum. 
 Hartledon might have been proud of them, and Dr. Ashton 
 sometimes accepted a dish with pleasure. 
 
 In his present attire : dark trousers, and a short close jacket, 
 like a schoolboy's, which he buttoned up round him, and 
 generally wore when gardening: the worthy man might de- 
 cidedly have been taken for a galvanized lamp-post, by any 
 stranger who happened to come that way. He was applying 
 himself this morning, first to the nailing of sundry choice 
 fruit-trees against the wall that ran down one side of his garden 
 — a wall that had been built by the clerk himself in happier 
 days ; and next, to the plucking of some green walnuts for his 
 wife to pickle. As he stood on tiptoe, his long thin body and 
 his long thin arms stretched up to the walnut-tree, he might 
 have made the fortune of any travelling caravan that could have 
 hired him. The very few people who passed greeted him with 
 a " Good morning," but he rarely turned his head in answering 
 them. Clerk Gum had grown somewhat taciturn of late years. 
 
 The time went on. The clock struck a quarter-past seven, 
 and Jabez Gum, as he heard it, quitted the walnut-tree, walked 
 to the gate, and leaned over it ; his face turned in the direction 
 of the village. It was not a common wooden gate, as is generally 
 seen attached to smaller houses in rustic localities, but a very 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 27 
 
 pretty iron one ; everything about the clerk's house was 
 superior. Apparently, he was looking out for some one in 
 displeasure ; and, indeed, he had not stood there a minute, 
 when a girl came flying down the road, and pushed the gate 
 and the clerk back together. She was habited in a blue-cotton 
 gown, an old rag of a shawl, and a broken straw bonnet ; a 
 wild-looking, saucy gipsy of a girl, whose black hair had come 
 down in her haste. 
 
 Mr. Gum twisted her round by the shoulders, and directed her 
 attention to the church clock. " Do you see the time, Becky 
 Jones ? " 
 
 Had the pages of the church-register been visible as well as the 
 clock. Miss Kebecca Jones's age might have been seen to be 
 fifteen ; but, in knowledge of the world and in impudence, she 
 was considerably older. 
 
 " Just gone seven and a quarter," answered she, making a feint 
 of shading her eyes with her hands, though the sun was behind 
 her. 
 
 " And what business have you to come at seven and a quarter ? 
 Half-past six is your time ; and, if you can't keep to it, your 
 missis shall get those that can ? " 
 
 " Why can't my missis let me stop at night and clear up the 
 work ? " returned the girl. " She sends me away at six o'clock, 
 as soon as I've washed the tea-things, and oftentimes earlier than 
 that, afore tea's been had at all. It stands to reason I can't get 
 through the work of a morning." 
 
 " You could get through it quite well if you came to time," 
 said the clerk, turning away to his walnut-tree. " Why don't 
 you?" 
 
 "I overslep' myself this morning. Father never called me 
 afore he went out. He had a drop too much last night, I 
 expect ; I heard mother screeching at him." 
 
 She went flying up the gravel-path as she spoke. Her father 
 was the man Jones whom you saw at the railway-station ; her 
 step-mother (for her own mother was dead) was Mrs. Gum's 
 cousin. 
 
 She was a sort of stray sheep, this girl, in the eyes of Calne, 
 not belonging very much to any one ; her father habitually neg- 
 lected her, her step-mother had twice turned her out of doors. 
 
28 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Some three or four months ago, when Mrs. Gum was changing 
 her servant, she had consented to try this girl. Jabez Gum 
 knew nothing of the arrangement until it was concluded, and 
 disapproved of it. Altogether, it did not work satisfactorily : 
 Miss Jones was careless, idle, very free in speech; her step- 
 mother was dissatisfied because she was not taken into the 
 house ; and Clerk Gum threatened every day, and his wife very 
 often, to turn the girl off. 
 
 It was only within a year or two that they had not kept a 
 regular indoor servant ; and the fact of their not doing so 
 puzzled the gossips of Calne. The clerk's emoluments were 
 the same as ever; there was no Willy to encroach on them 
 now; and the work of the house required a good servant. 
 However, it pleased Mrs. Gum to have one in only by day ; and 
 who was to interfere with her if the clerk did not ? 
 
 Jabez Gum worked on for some little time after eight o'clock, 
 the breakfast-hour. He rather wondered he was not called to 
 it, and registered a mental vow to discharge Miss Becky. 
 Presently he went indoors, put his head into a small sitting- 
 room on the left, and found the room empty, but the breakfast 
 laid. The kitchen was behind it, and Jabez Gum stalked on 
 down the passage, and went into the kitchen. On the other 
 side the passage was the best sitting-room, and a very small 
 room at the back of it, which Jabez used as an ofiice, and where 
 he kept sundry account-books. 
 
 " Where's your missis ? " asked he of the maid, who was on 
 her knees toasting a piece of bread. 
 
 " Ain't down yet," was the short response. 
 Not down yet ! " repeated Jabez in surprise, for Mrs. Gum 
 was generally down by seven. "You've got that door open 
 again, Becky ! How many more times am I to tell you I won't 
 have it?" 
 
 " It's the smoke," said Becky. " This chimbley's always 
 a-smoking when it's first lighted." 
 
 " The chimbley's not, and you know that you are telling a 
 falsehood. What do you want with it open ? You'll have that 
 wild man darting in upon you some morning. How will you 
 like that ? " 
 
 " I ain't afeard of him," was the answer, as Becky got up from 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 29 
 
 her knees, and proceeded to scratch the toast with a knife, for 
 she had burnt it. " He couldn't eat me." 
 
 " But you know how timid your mistress is of him," returned 
 the clerk, in a voice of extreme anger. " How dare you, girl, be 
 insolent ? " 
 
 He shut the door as he spoke — one that opened from the 
 kitchen to the garden at the back — and bolted it. Washing his 
 hands, and drying them with the round towel hanging at the 
 scullery-door, he went upstairs, and found Mrs. Gum — as he 
 had now and then found her of late — in a fit of prostration. 
 She was a little woman, with a light complexion, and insipid, 
 unmeaning face — some such a face as Willy's had been — and 
 her hair, worn in neat bands under her cap, was the colour of 
 tow. 
 
 " I couldn't help it, Gum," she began, as she stood before the 
 glass, her trembling fingers trying to fasten her black alpaca 
 gown, — for she had never left off mourning for their son. " It's 
 past eight, I know ; but I've had such an upset this morning 
 as never was, and I couldn't dress myself. I've had a shocking 
 dream." 
 
 " Drat your dreams ? " irascibly cried Mr. Gum, very much 
 wanting his breakfast. 
 
 "Ah, Gum, don't! Them morning dreams, when they're 
 vivid as this was, are not sent for ridicule. Pike was in it ; and 
 you know I cant hear him to be in my dreams. They are 
 always bad when he is in them." 
 
 " If you wanted your breakfast as bad as I want it, you'd let 
 Pike alone," retorted the clerk. 
 
 "I thought he was mixed up in some business with Lord 
 Hartledon. I don't know what it was, but the dream was full 
 of horror. It seemed that Lord Hartledon was dead or dying ; 
 whether he'd been killed or not, I can't say; but an awful 
 dread was upon me of seeing him, and seeing him dead. A 
 voice called out, ' Don't let him come to Calne ! ' and in the 
 fright I awoke. I can't remember what part Pike had in the 
 dream," she continued in soliloquy; "only the impression 
 remained that he was in ""it." 
 
 "Perhaps he killed Lord Hartledon?" interrupted Gum, 
 mockingly. 
 
30 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " No ; that I am certain lie did not ; not in the dream, you 
 understand. Pike did not seem to be mixed in it for ill. The 
 ill was all on Lord Hartledon ; but it was not Pike brought it 
 to him. Who it was did it, I couldn't see ; but it was not 
 Pike." 
 
 Clerk Gum looked down at his wife; amazement, blended 
 with scornful pity, in his face. He wondered sometimes, in his 
 phlegmatic reasoning, why women were created such fools. 
 
 " Look you here, Mrs. G. I thought those dreams of yours 
 were pretty nigh dreamt out — there have been enough of 'em. 
 How any woman, short of a born idiot, can stand there and 
 confess herself frightened by a dream such as that, so as to be 
 unable to get up and go about her duties, is beyond me. I'd 
 steady my hands and legs with weights, before they should 
 tremble as yours are trembling." 
 
 " But, Gum, you don't let me finish. I woke up with the 
 horror, I tell you " 
 
 " What horror ? " spoke the clerk again, too angry to let her 
 go on without contradiction. " Where was the horror ? What 
 did it consist of? I can't see it." 
 
 " No more can I, very clear," acknowledged Mrs. Gum ; " but 
 I know it was there. I woke up. Gum, with the very words in 
 my ears, ' Don't let him come to Calne ! ' and I started out of 
 bed in terror for Lord Hartledon, lest he should come. We are 
 only half awake, you know, at them moments. I pulled aside 
 the dimity curtain and looked out ; anything for company. 
 Gum, if ever I thought to drop in all my life, I thought it then. 
 There was but one person to be seen at all in the road— a 
 gentleman ; and it was Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Mr. Gum, cynically, after a moment of natural 
 surprise. " Come out of his vault in the church, close by, to 
 take a morning walk past your window, Mrs. G. ! " 
 
 " Church vault ! I mean the young Lord Hartledon, Gum." 
 
 Mr. Gum was a little taken back. They had been so much 
 in the habit of calling the present earl. Lord Elster — who had 
 not lived at Calne since he came into the title— that he had 
 thought of the old lord all the time his wife was speaking. 
 
 " He was up there, just by the turning of the road, going on 
 to Hartledon. Gum, I nearly dropped, I say. The next minute 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 31 
 
 he was out of sight ; then I rubbed my eyes and pinched my 
 arms to make sure whether I was awake." 
 
 "And w^hether you saw a ghost, or whether you didn't," 
 came the mocking comment. 
 
 " It was not a ghost, Gum ; it was Lord Hartledon himself." 
 
 " Nonsense ! It was just as much one as it was the other. 
 The fact is, you haven't quite woke up out of that fine dream of 
 yours, Mrs. G., and you saw double. It was just as much 
 young Hartledon as it was me." 
 
 " I never saw a ghost yet, and I don't fear I ever shall, Gum. 
 I tell you it was Lord Hartledon. And if some harm doesn't 
 befall him at Calne, as was shadowed forth in my dream, never 
 believe me again." 
 
 " There, that's enough," peremptorily cried the clerk ; know- 
 ing, if once Mrs. Gum took up any notion that had a dream for 
 its basis, how impossible it was to turn her. " Is the key of that 
 kitchen back-door found yet ? " 
 
 " No : it never will be. Gum. I've told you so before. My 
 belief is, and always have been, that Becky let it drop by 
 accident into the swill-tub." 
 
 " My belief is, that Becky made away with it for her own 
 purposes," said the clerk, with a significant sniff. " I caught 
 her just now with the door stark-staring open. She's trying to 
 make acquaintance with that Pike ; that's what she's at." 
 
 " Oh, Gum ! " 
 
 " Yes ; it's all very well to say ' Oh, Gum ; ' but if you were 
 below-stairs looking after her, instead of dreaming above 'em, it 
 might be better for every one. Let me once get at a certainty 
 about it, and she goes off the next hour. A fine thing it '11 be 
 some day for us to find her head down'ards, smothered in the 
 kitchen purgatory, and the silver spoons gone; as '11 be the 
 case if any loose characters get in." 
 
 He was descending the stairs as he spoke the last sentence, 
 which was delivered in a loud tone, probably for the benefit of 
 Miss Becky Jones. And lest the intelligent Protestant reader 
 should fear he is being introduced to unorthodox regions, it may 
 be as well to mention that the " purgatory " in Mr. Jabez Gum's 
 kitchen consisted of a hole, two feet square, under the hearth, 
 covered with a grating, through which the ashes and the small 
 
32 
 
 blstee's folly 
 
 cinders fell; thereby enabling tbe economical housewife to 
 throw the larger ones on the fire again. Such holes are common 
 enough in the old-fashioned kitchens of some English districts, 
 as is their appellation, the " purgatory." 
 
 Mrs. Gum, ready now, had been about to follow her husband ; 
 but his suggestion — that the girl was watching an opportunity 
 to make aciiuaintance with their undesirable neighbour. Pike — 
 struck her motionless. 
 
 It seemed that she could never see this man without a shiver ; 
 could not overcome the fright experienced when she first met 
 him. It was on a dark autumn night. She was coming through 
 the garden when she discerned, or thought she discerned, a light 
 in the abandoned shed. Thinking of fire, she hastily crossed 
 the stile that divided their garden from the piece of waste land, 
 and ran to it. There she was confronted by what she took to 
 be a bear — but a bear that could talk ; for he gruffly asked her 
 who she was and what she wanted. A black-haired, black- 
 browed man, with a pipe between his teeth, and one sinewy 
 arm bared to the elbow. 
 
 How Mrs. Gum tore away and tumbled over the stile again 
 in her terror, and got home, she never knew. She supposed it 
 to be a tramp, who had but taken shelter there for the night ; 
 but she found to her dismay that the tramp stayed on, and she 
 had never overcome her fright from that hour to this. 
 
 Neither did her husband like the proximity of such a gentle- 
 man. They caused securer bolts to be put on their doors — for 
 fastenings in small country places are not much thought about, 
 people around being proverbially honest. They also had their 
 shutters altered. The shutters to the windows, back and front, 
 previously had holes in them in the form of a heart, such as 
 you may have sometimes noticed. Before the wild-looking 
 man — whose name came to be known as Pike — had been in 
 possession of the shed a fortnight, Jabez Gum had the holes in 
 his shutters filled-in and painted over. An additional security, 
 said the neighbours : but poor timid Mrs. Gum could not over- 
 come that first fright, and the very mention of the man set her 
 trembling and quaking. 
 
 Nothing more was said of the dream or the apparition, real 
 or fancied, of the Earl of Hartledon: Clerk Gum did not 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 33 
 
 encourage tlie familiar mention of topics so unsubstantial in 
 everyday life. He took his breakfast, devoted an hour to bis 
 own business in the little office, and then put on his coat to go 
 out. It was Friday morning. On that day and on Wednesdays 
 the church was open for baptisms, and it was the clerk's custom 
 to go over at ten o'clock and apprize the Kector of any notices 
 he might have had. 
 
 Passing in at the iron gates, the beautiful white house rose 
 before him, beyond the wide green-velvet lawn. It had been 
 built by Dr. Ashton at his own expense. The old Eectory was 
 a tumble-down, inconvenient place, always in dilapidation, for 
 as soon as one part of it was repaired another fell through ; and 
 the Kector opened his heart and his purse, both large and 
 generous, and built a new one. Mr. Gum was making his way, 
 unannounced, to the Kector's study, as was his custom, when a 
 door at the opposite side of the hall opened, and Dr. Ashton 
 came out. He was a pleasant-looking man, with dark hair and 
 eyes, his countenance one of keen intellect ; and though only of 
 middle height, there was something stately, grand, imposing in 
 his whole appearance. 
 
 " Is that you, Jabez ? " 
 
 Connected with each other for so many years — a connection 
 which had begun when both were young — the Eector and Mrs. 
 Ashton had never called him anything but Jabez. With other 
 people he was Gum, or Mr. Gum, or Clerk Gum : Jabez with 
 them. He, J abez, was the older man of the two by six or seven 
 years, for the Eector was not more than forty-five. The clerk 
 crossed the hall, its tessellated flags gleaming under the colours 
 thrown in by the painted windows, and entered the drawing- 
 room, a noble apartment looking on the lawn in front. Mrs. 
 Ashton, a tall, delicate-looking woman, with a gentle face, 
 was standing before a painting just come home and hung up ; 
 to look at which the Eector and his wife had gone into the 
 room. 
 
 It was a portrait. A sweet-looking girl with a sunny 
 countenance. The features were of the delicate contour of 
 Mrs. Ashton's ; the rich brown hair, the soft brown eyes, and 
 the sensible and intellectual expression of the face resembled 
 the doctor's. Altogether, the face and the portrait were posi- 
 
 Elster's Folly. 3 
 
34 elster's folly. 
 
 tively charming ; one of those faces you must love at first sight, 
 without waiting to question whether or not they are beautiful. 
 
 "Is it like, Jabez?" asked the Eector, whilst Mrs. Ash ton 
 made room for him with a smile of greeting. 
 
 " As like as two peas, sir," responded Jabez, when he had 
 taken a good look. " What a face it is ! Oftentimes it comes 
 across my mind when I am not thinking of anything but 
 business ; and I'm always the better for it." 
 
 " Why, Jabez, this is the first time you have seen it." 
 
 "Ah, ma'am, you know I mean the original. There's two 
 baptisms to-day, sir," he added, turning away ; " two, and one 
 churching. Mrs. Luttrell and her child, and the poor little 
 baby whose mother died." 
 
 " Mrs. Luttrell ! " repeated the Eector. " It's early for her, 
 is it not ? " 
 
 " They want to go away to the seaside," replied the clerk. 
 " What about that notice, sir ? " 
 
 " I'll see about it before Sunday, Jabez. Any news ? " 
 
 "No, sir; not that I've heard of. My wife wanted to per- 
 suade me that she saw " 
 
 At this moment a white-haired old serving-man entered the 
 room with a note, claiming the Eector's attention. " The man's 
 to take back the answer, sir, if you please." 
 
 " Wait then, Simon." 
 
 Old Simon stood aside, and the clerk, turning to Mrs. Ashton, 
 went on with the sentence he had broken off to the Eector. 
 
 "She wanted to persuade me that she saw young Lord 
 Hartledon pass at six o'clock, or so, this morning. A very 
 likely tale that, ma'am." 
 
 " Perhaps she dreamt it, Jabez," said Mrs. Ashton, quietly. 
 
 Jabez chuckled; but what he would have answered was 
 interrupted by the old servant. 
 
 " It's Mr. Elster that's come ; not Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " Mr. Elster come ! How do you know, Simon ? " quickly 
 asked Mrs. Ashton. 
 
 " The gardener mentioned it, ma'am, when he brought in the 
 garden-stuff just now," was the servant's reply. " He said he 
 saw Mr. Elster walk by this morning, as if he had just come by 
 the luggage-train. I'm not sure but he spoke to him." 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 35 
 
 " Simon, tlie answer is ' No,' " interposed the Eector, alluding 
 to the letter he had been reading. "But you can send word 
 that I'll call in some time to-day." 
 
 "Charles, did you hear what Simon said — that Mr. Elster 
 has come ? " asked Mrs. Ashton. 
 
 " Yes, I heard it," replied the doctor ; and there was a hard 
 dry tone in his voice, as if the news were not altogether 
 palatable to him. "It must have been Percival Elster your 
 wife saw, then, Jabez; not Lord Hartledon." 
 
 Jabez had been sensibly arriving at the same conclusion. 
 " They used to be much alike in height and figure," he 
 observed ; " it was easy to mistake the one for the other. 
 Then that's all this morning, sir ? " 
 
 " There's nothing more, Jabez." 
 
 In a room whose large French window opened to some 
 flower-beds on the side of the house, bending over a table on 
 which sundry maps were spread, her face very close to them, 
 sat at this moment a young lady. It was the same sweet face 
 you have just seen in the portrait — that of Dr. and Mrs. 
 Ashton's only daughter. The wondrously sunny expression of 
 countenance, blended with strange sweetness, was even more 
 conspicuous than in the portrait. But what perhaps struck a 
 beholder most, when looking on Miss Ashton for the first time, 
 was a nameless grace and refinement that pervaded her whole 
 appearance. She was of middle-height, not more ; slender ; 
 her head well set upon her shoulders. This was her own 
 room ; the schoolroom of her girlhood, the sitting-room that 
 she had been allowed to call her own since then. Books, and 
 work, and music, and a drawing-easel, and various other items, 
 presenting a rather untidy collection, met the eye. This morn- 
 ing it was particularly untidy. The charts covered the table ; 
 one of them lay on the carpet ; and a little pot of mignonette 
 had been overturned inside the open window. She was very 
 busy : the open sleeves of her lilac-muslin dress were thrown 
 back, and her delicate hands were putting the finishing touches 
 in pencil to a plan she had been drawing, or rather copying, 
 from one of the maps. A few minutes more, and the pencil 
 was thrown down in gladness. 
 
 " I won't begin to colour it this morning ; I have been at it 
 
36 
 
 elstee's eolly. 
 
 an hour-and-a-half, I'm sure ; but the worst is done, and that's 
 worth a jubilee." In the relief from work, in the innocent 
 gaiety of her heart, she burst forth into a song, and began 
 waltzing round the room. Barely had she passed the open 
 window, and had her back turned to it, when a gentleman came 
 up, looked in, stepped softly over the threshold, and imprisoned 
 her by the waist. 
 
 " Be quiet, Arthur. Pick up that mignonette-pot you threw 
 down, sir. I won't." 
 
 " My darling ! " came in a low, heartfelt whisper. And Miss 
 Ashton, with a faint cry, turned to see her engaged lover, Val 
 Elster. 
 
 She stood before him, literally unable to speak in her great 
 astonishment, the red rose going and coming in her delicate 
 cheeks, the rich brown eyes, that might have been too brilliant 
 but for their exceeding sweetness, raised questioningly to his. 
 Mr. Elster folded her in his arms as if he would never release 
 her again, and kissed the shrinking face repeatedly. 
 
 " Oh, Percival, Percival ! Don't ! Let me go." 
 
 He did so at last, and held her before him, her eyelids droop- 
 ing now, to gaze at the face he loved so well — yes, loved 
 fervently and well, in spite of his follies and his sins. Her 
 heart was beating wildly with its own rapture: for her the 
 world had suddenly grown brighter. 
 
 " But when did you come ? " she whispered, scarcely knowing 
 how to speak the words, in her excess of happiness. 
 
 He took her upon his arm and began to pace the room with 
 her while he explained. There was an attempt at excuse for 
 his prolonged absence — for Yal Elster had returned from his 
 duties at Vienna in May, and it was now August, and he had 
 lingered through the intervening time in London, enjoying 
 himself — but that was soon glossed over ; and he told her how 
 his brother was coming down on the morrow with a large 
 number of guests, and he, Yal, had offered to precede them and 
 give the necessary instructions at Hartledon, He did not say 
 why he had offered to do this : that his debts had become so 
 pressing he was afraid to show himself longer in London. 
 Such facts were not for the ear of that fair girl, who trusted 
 him as the truest man she knew under heaven. 
 
ANNE ASHTON. 
 
 37 
 
 " What have you been doing, Anne ? " 
 
 He was pointing to the table and the maps. Miss Ash ton 
 laughed. 
 
 "Mrs. Graves was here yesterday: she is v^ry clever, you 
 know ; and when something was being said about the course of 
 ships out of England, I made some dreadful mistakes. She 
 took me up sharply, and papa looked at me sharply — and the 
 result is, I have to do a heap of maps. Please tell me if it's 
 right, Percival?" 
 
 She held up to him her pencilled work of the morning. He 
 was laughing. 
 
 " What mistakes did you make, Anne ? " 
 
 "I am not sure but I said something about an Indiaman, 
 leaving the London Docks, having to pass Scarborough," she 
 returned demurely. " It was quite as bad." 
 
 " Do you remember, Anne, being punished for persisting, in 
 spite of the big slate on the wall and your nursery-governess, 
 that the Mediterranean lay between Scotland and Ireland? 
 Miss Jevons wanted to give you bread-and- water for a week. 
 How's that prig Graves ? " he added rather abruptly. 
 
 Anne Ashton laughed, blushing slightly. " He is just as 
 you left him ; very painstaking and efficient in the parish, and 
 all that, but, oh, so stupid in some things ! Is the map right ? " 
 
 "Yes, it's right. I'll help you with the rest. If Dr. 
 Ashton " 
 
 "Why, Val! Is it you? Well, I heard Lord Hartledon 
 had come down." 
 
 Percival Elster turned. A lad of seventeen had come bound- 
 ing in at the window. It was Dr. Ashton's eldest living son, 
 Arthur. Anne was twenty-one. A son, who would have been 
 nineteen now, had died ; and there was another, J ohn, two 
 years younger than Arthur. 
 
 " How are you, Arthur boy ? " cried Val. " Edward hasn't 
 come. Who told you he had ? " 
 
 " Mother Gum. I have just met her." 
 
 " She told you wrong. He will be down to-morrow. There's 
 Dr. Ashton ! " 
 
 Attracted perhaps by the voices, Dr. and Mrs. Ashton, who 
 were then out on the lawn, came round to the window, Percival 
 
38 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Elster grasped a hand of each, and after a minute or two's 
 studied coldness, the doctor thawed. It was next to impossible 
 to resist the genial manner, the winning attractions of the 
 young man to his face. But Dr. Ashton could not approve of 
 his line of conduct ; and he had sore doubts whether he had 
 done right in allowing him to become the betrothed of his 
 dearly-loved daughter. 
 
( 39 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 The guests had come. The crowd of which the young Lord 
 Hartledon had sent his brother, as avant-courier, to give 
 notice, had arrived, and Hartledon was alive with bustle and 
 with lights. The first link in the chain, whose fetters were to 
 bind more than one victim, had been forged, and was already 
 linking itself with the next. Link upon link, link upon link ; 
 an awful, heavy, despairing burden, which no hand could lift, 
 and which would have to be borne for the most part in dread 
 secrecy and silence. 
 
 Mirrable had exerted herself to a purpose, and Mirrable was 
 capable of it when occasion needed. Help had been procured 
 at once from Calne, and on the Friday evening several of the 
 Hartledon servants arrived from the town-house. " None but a 
 young man would have put us to such a rout," quoth Mirrable, 
 in her freedom; "my lord and my lady would have sent a 
 week's notice at least." But when the young man. Lord 
 Hartledon, arrived on the Saturday evening with his guests, 
 Mirrable was ready for them. 
 
 She stood at the entrance to receive them, in her rustling 
 black-silk gown, her plain cap of real lace, its broad white- 
 satin strings falling on either side the bunch of black ringlets 
 that shaded her thin face. Who, to look at her quick sharp 
 countenance, with its practical sense, her active frame, her 
 ready speech, her capability altogether, would believe that she 
 was sister to that silly, dreaming Mrs. Gum ? But it was so. 
 Lord Hartledon, kind, affable, unaffected as ever was his brother 
 Percival, shook hands with her heartily in the eyes of his 
 guests before he said a word of welcome to them ; and one of 
 
40 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 those guests, a remarkably broad woman, with a red face, a wide 
 snub nose, and a front of light flaxen hair, who had stepped 
 into the house leaning on the earl's arm — having, in fact, seized 
 upon it unasked, and seemed to be assuming a great deal of 
 .authority— turned short round to stare at Mirrable, and screwed 
 her little light eyes together, for a better view. 
 
 " Who is she, Hartledon ? Who is she ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Mirrable," answered his lordship rather shortly. " I 
 think you must have seen her before. She has been Hartledon's 
 mistress since my mother died," he rather pointedly added, for 
 he saw incipient defiance of Mirrable in the old lady's 
 countenance. 
 
 " Oh, Hartledon's upper servant, I presume," cried the old 
 lady, as majestically as her harsh, squeaking voice allowed her 
 to speak. " Perhaps you'll tell her who I am, Hartledon ; and 
 that I have promised to undertake to preside here for a little 
 while." 
 
 "I believe Mrs. Mirrable knows you, ma'am," spoke up 
 Percival Elster, for Lord Hartledon had turned away, and was 
 lost amongst his guests. " You have seen the Countess-Dowager 
 of Kir ton, have you not, Mirrable ? " 
 
 The countess-dowager faced round upon the speaker, her 
 voice and her face sharp. 
 
 " Oh, it's you^ is it, Yal Elster ! Who asked you to interfere ? 
 I'll see the rooms, Mirrable, and the different arrangements you 
 have made. Maude, where are you ? Come with me." 
 
 A tall, stately girl, with handsome features, raven-dark hair 
 and eyes, and a brilliant colour, extricated herself from the 
 crowd. It was the Lady Maude Kirton. Mirrable went first ; 
 the countess-dowager followed, talking fast and volubly ; and 
 Maude brought up the rear. Other servants came forward to 
 see to the rest of the guests. 
 
 The most remarkable quality observable in the countess- 
 dowager, apart from her great breadth, was her restlessness. 
 She seemed never still for an instant ; her legs had a fidgety, 
 nervous movement in them, and in moments of excitement, 
 which were not infrequent, she was given to executing a sort of 
 war-dance. Old she was not ; but her peculiar graces of person, 
 her rotund form, her badly-made front of flat flaxen curls, which 
 
THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 41 
 
 was rarely in its place, made her appear so. A bold, scheming, 
 unscrupulous, vulgar-minded woman, who had never been con- 
 siderate of other people's feelings in her life, whether they 
 might be her equals or her inferiors. In her day she must have 
 been rather tall — nearly as tall as that elegant Maude, who 
 followed her ; but her astounding width caused her now to 
 appear short. She went looking into the different rooms, as 
 shown to her by Mirrable, and chose the best for herself and 
 daughter. 
 
 " Three en suite. Yes, that will be the thing, Mirrable. 
 Lady Maude Kirton will take the inner one, and I will occupy 
 this, and my maid the outer one. Very good. Now you may 
 order the luggage up." 
 
 " But, my lady," objected Mirrable, " these are the best rooms 
 in the house — all of them large; and each has a separate 
 entrance, as you perceive. With so many guests to provide for, 
 your maid cannot take up one of these rooms." 
 
 " What's that ? " cried the countess-dowager. " My maid 
 not take up one of these rooms ? You insolent woman ! Do 
 you know that I am come here with my nephew. Lord Hartle- 
 don, to be sole mistress of his house, and of everybody in it ? 
 You'd better mind your behaviour, for I can tell you that I 
 shall look pretty sharply after it." 
 
 " Then," said Mirrable, who never allowed herself to be put 
 out by any earthly thing, and rarely argued against the stream, 
 " as your ladyship has come here as sole mistress, perhaps you 
 will apportion out the rooms to the guests." 
 
 "Let them portion them out for themselves," cried the 
 countess-dowager. " These three are mine ; others may 
 scramble as they can. It's Hartledon's fault. I told him not 
 to invite a heap of people. You and I shall get on together 
 very well, I've no doubt, Mirrable," she continued, in a false, 
 fawning voice ; for she was remarkably alive at all times to her 
 own interests. " Am I to understand that you are the house- 
 keeper ? " 
 
 "I am acting as housekeeper at present," was Mirrable's 
 answer. " When my lord went to town, after my lady's death, 
 the housekeeper went also, and has remained there. Lord 
 Elster — Lord Hartledon, I mean — the other name comes more 
 
42 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 familiar to me — has not lived yet at Hartledon, and we have 
 had no establishment." 
 " Then who are you ? " 
 
 " I was maid to Lady Hartledon for many years. Her lady- 
 ship treated me more as a friend at last ; and the young gentle- 
 men always did so." 
 
 " Very good," cried the untrue voice. " And now, Mirrable, 
 you can go down and send up some tea for myself and Lady 
 Maude. What time do we dine ? " 
 
 " Mr. Elster ordered it for eight o'clock to-night." 
 
 "And what business had he to take orders upon himself?" 
 and the little pale eyes flashed with anger. " Who's Yal Elster, 
 that he should interfere? I sent word by the servants we 
 wouldn't dine till nine." 
 
 " Mr. Elster is in his own house, madam ; he " 
 
 " In his own house ! " shrieked Lady Kirton. " It's no house 
 of his ; it's his brother's. And I wish I was his brother for a 
 day only ; I'd let Mr. Yal know what presum^ption comes to. 
 Can't the dinner be put back ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid not, my lady." 
 
 " Ugh ! " snapped the countess-dowager. " Send up the tea 
 at once, Mirrable ; and let it be strong, mind, with a great deal 
 of green. And some rolled bread-and-butter, and a little thin 
 toast, well buttered." 
 
 Mirrable departed with the commands, more inclined to laugh 
 at the selfish old woman, than to be angry. She remembered 
 the countess-dowager arriving on an unexpected visit some 
 three or four years before, and finding the Earl of Hartledon 
 away, and the countess ill in bed. She remained three daySj 
 completely upsetting the house ; so completely upsetting the 
 invalid Lady Hartledon, that the latter was glad to lend her a 
 sum of money to get rid of her. 
 
 Truth to say, Lady Kirton had never been a welcome guest 
 at Hartledon ; had been shunned, in fact, and kept away by all 
 sorts of strategy. The only other visit she had paid the family, 
 in Mirrable's remembrance, was to the town-house, when the 
 children were young. Poor little Yal had been taught by his 
 nurse to look upon her as a " bogy : " he went about in real 
 terror of her ; and her ladyship detected the feeling, and ad- 
 
THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 43 
 
 ministered sly, cruel pinches whenever they met. Perhaps 
 neither of them had complete! v overcome the antagonism from 
 that time to this. 
 
 A scrambling sort of life had been Lady Kirton's. The wife 
 of a very poor and improvident Irish peer, who had died early, 
 leaving her badly provided for, her days had been one long 
 scramble to live— to live and avoid creditors. Now in Ireland, 
 now on the Continent, now coming out for a few brief weeks of 
 fashionable life, and now on the wing to some place of safety, 
 had she dodged about, and become utterly unscrupulous. 
 
 There was a whole troop of children, more than could be 
 counted, who had been let go to the good or the bad very much 
 in their own way, with but little help or hindrance from their 
 mother. All the daughters were married now, except Maude, 
 mostly to German barons and French counts. One had espoused 
 a marquis — native country not clearly indicated ; one an Italian 
 duke : but the marquis lived somewhere over in Algeria in a 
 small lodging, and the duke condescended to sing an occasional 
 song on the Italian stage. 
 
 It was all one to Lady Kirton. They had taken their own 
 way, and she washed her hands of them as easily as if they had 
 never belonged to her. Had they been able to supply her with 
 a bank-note on a pinch, or to welcome her on a protracted visit, 
 they had been her well-beloved and most estimable daughters. 
 
 Of the younger sons, all were dispersed ; the dowager neither 
 knew nor cared where. Now and again a piteous begging-letter 
 would come to her from one or the other of them, which she 
 railed at and scolded over, and bade Maude answer. Her eldest 
 son, the earl, had married some four or five years ago, and the 
 countess-dowager's lines had been harder ever since. Before 
 that event she could go to the place in Ireland whenever she 
 liked (circumstances permitting), and stay as long as she liked ; 
 but that was over now. For the young countess, who on her 
 own score spent all the money her husband could scrape together, 
 and more, had taken an inveterate dislike to her mother-in-law, 
 and would not tolerate her. 
 
 Never, since she was thus thrown upon her own resources, 
 had the countess-dowager's lucky star been in the ascendant as 
 it had been this season, for she contrived to fasten herself upon 
 
44 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 the young Lord Hartledon, and secure a firm footing in his 
 town-house. She called him her nephew, — "My nephew 
 Hartledon ; " but that was a little improvement upon the actual 
 relationship, for she and the late Lady Hartledon had been 
 cousins only. She invited herself for a week's sojourn in May, 
 and had never gone away again ; and it was now August. She 
 had come down with him, sans ceremonie, to Hartledon ; had 
 told him (making a great favour of it) that she would look after 
 his house and his guests during her stay, as his mother would 
 have done. Easy, careless, good-natured, the earl acquiesced, 
 and took it all as a matter of course. She was ever all bland 
 suavity to him. 
 
 None knew better on which side her bread was buttered than 
 the countess-dowager. She liked it buttered on both sides, and 
 generally contrived to get it. 
 
 She had come down to Hartledon House with one fixed 
 determination — that she did not quit it until the Lady Maude 
 was its mistress. For a long while Maude had been her sole 
 hope. Her other daughters had married according to their 
 fancy — and what had come of it — but Maude was different. 
 Maude had her great beauty ; and Maude, truth to say, was 
 nearly as selfishly alive to her own interest as her mother. She 
 should marry well, and so be in a position to afford a shelter to 
 the poor, homeless, wandering dowager. Had she chosen from 
 the whole batch of peers, not one could have been found more 
 eligible than he whom fortune seemed to have turned up for her 
 purpose — the Earl of Hartledon ; and before the countess- 
 dowager had been one week his guest in London she began her 
 scheming. 
 
 Lady Maude was nothing loth. Young, beautiful, vain, 
 selfish, she yet possessed a woman's susceptible heart ; though 
 suddenly surrounded with luxury, dress, pomp, show, which are 
 said to deaden the feelings, and which in some measure do 
 deaden them. Lady Maude insensibly managed to fall in love, as 
 deeply as ever did an obscure damsel of romance. She had met 
 him first two years before, when he was Viscount Elster ; had 
 liked him then. Their relationship sanctioned their being now 
 much together, and the Lady Maude lost her heart to him. 
 
 Would it bring forth fruit, this scheming of the countess- 
 
THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 45 
 
 dowager's, and Maude's own love ? In her wildest hopes the 
 old woman never dreamt of what that fruit would be ; or, un- 
 scrupulous as she was by habit, unfeeling by nature, she might 
 have carried away Maude from Hartledon before they had well 
 set foot in it. 
 
 Of the three parties more immediately concerned, the only 
 innocent one —innocent of any intentions — was Lord Hartledon. 
 He liked Maude very well as a cousin, but otherwise he did not 
 care for her. They might succeed — at least, had circumstances 
 gone on well, without the miserable interruption that came, 
 they might have succeeded — in winning him at last ; but it 
 would not have been from ardent love. His present feeling 
 towards Maude was one of indifference ; and of marriage at all 
 he had not begun to think. 
 
 Val Elster, on the contrary, regarded Maude with warm 
 admiration. Her beauty had charms for him, and he had been 
 oftener at her side but for the watchful countess-dowager. It 
 would have been a horrible thing had Maude fallen in love 
 with the wrong brother, and the old lady grew to hate him for 
 the fear, as well as on her own score. The feeling of dislike, 
 begun in Yal's childhood, had ripened in the last month or two 
 to almost open hatred. He was always in the way. Many a 
 time when Lord Hartledon might have enjoyed a tete-a-tete 
 with Maude, Val Elster was there to spoil it. 
 
 But the culminating point had arrived one day, when Yal, 
 half laughingly, half seriously, told the dowager, who had been 
 provoking him almost beyond bearing, that she might spare 
 her pains in regard to Maude, for Hartledon would never bite. 
 But that he took his pleasant face beyond her reach, it might 
 have suffered, for her fingers were held out alarmingly. 
 
 From that time she took another private scheme upon her 
 hands— that of getting Percival Elster out of his brother's 
 favour and his brother's house. Yal, on his part, seriously 
 advised his brother not to allow the Kirtons to come to Hartle- 
 don ; and this reached the ears of the dowager. You may be 
 sure it did not tend to soothe her. Lord Hartledon only 
 laughed at Yal, saying they might come if they liked ; what 
 did it matter ? 
 
 But, strange to say, Yal Elster was as a very reed in the 
 
46 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 hands of the old woman. Let her once get hold of him, and [ 
 she could turn him any way she pleased. He felt afraid oi ' 
 her, he bent to her will. The feeling may have had its rise 
 partly in the strange fear of her instilled into his boyhood, and 
 partly in the yielding nature of his disposition. However that 
 might be, it was a fact ; and Yal could no more have openly 
 opposed the resolute, sharp-tongued old woman to her face than 
 he could have changed his nature. He rarely called her any- 
 thing but "ma'am," as their nurse had taught him and his 
 brothers and sisters to do in those long-past years. 
 
 Before eight o'clock the guests had all assembled in the 
 drawing-room, except the countess-dowager and Maude. Lord 
 Hartledon was going about amongst them, talking to one and 
 another of the beauties of this, his late father's place ; scarcely 
 yet thought of as his own. He was a tall, slender man ; in 
 figure very much resembling Percival, but not in face : the 
 one was dark, the other fair. There was also the same indo- 
 lent sort of movement, a certain languid air discernible in 
 both ; proclaiming the undoubted fact, that both were idle 
 of disposition and given to ennui. There the resemblance 
 ended. Lord Hartledon had nothing of the irresolution of 
 Mr. Elster, but was sufficiently decisive in character, prompt in 
 action. 
 
 A noble room, this that they were in, as many of the rooms 
 were in the fine old mansion. Lord Hartledon opened the inner 
 door, and took them into another, to show them the portrait of 
 his brother George — a fine young man also, with a fair, pleasing 
 countenance. 
 
 "He is like Elster; not like you, Hartledon," cried out a 
 young man, whose name was Carteret. 
 
 " Was, you mean, Carteret," corrected Lord Hartledon, his 
 tone one of sad regret. " There was a great family resemblance 
 between us all, I believe." 
 
 " He died from an accident, did he not ? " said Mr. O'Moore, 
 an L^ishman, who liked to be called " The O'Moore." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Percival Elster turned to his brother, and spoke in low tones. 
 " Edward, was any j)articular person suspected of having fired 
 the shot ? " 
 
THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 47 
 
 " None. A set of loose, lawless characters were out that 
 night, and " 
 
 " What in the world are you looking at here ? " 
 
 The interruption came from Lady Kirton, who was sailing 
 into the room with Maude. A striking contrast the one pre- 
 sented to the other. Maude in pink silk and a pink wreath, 
 her haughty face raised in pride, her dark eyes flashing, 
 radiantly beautiful. The old dowager, as broad as she was 
 high, her face rouged, her snub nose short and always carried 
 in the air, her light eyes unmeaning, her flaxen eyebrows 
 heavy, her flaxen curls surmounted by a high pea-green turban. 
 Her choice attire was generally com2)osed, as to-day, of some 
 cheap, flimsy, gauzy material of bright hue. This evening it 
 was orange colour, all flounces and frills, with a scarf or mantle 
 of lace ; and she generally had innumerable ends of quilted net 
 flying about her skirts, not unlike tails. It was certain she did 
 not spend much money upon her own attire ; and how she 
 procured the costly dresses for Maude that the latter appeared 
 in was ever a mystery. You can hardly fancy the bedecked old 
 figure that she made. The O'Moore nearly laughed out, as he 
 civilly turned to answer her question. 
 
 " We were looking at this portrait. Lady Kirton." 
 
 " And saying how much he was like Val," put in young 
 Carteret, between whom and the dowager there was also existing 
 warfare. " Val, which was the elder of you ? 
 
 " George was." 
 
 " Then his death made you heir-presumptive," cried the 
 thoughtless young man, speaking upon impulse. 
 
 " Heir-presumptive to what ? " asked the dowager, snapping 
 at the words. 
 
 " To Hartledon." 
 
 "J3e heir to Hartledon! He, Val Elster! Don't trouble 
 yourself, young man, that Val Elster's ever likely to come into 
 Hartledon. Do you want to shoot his lordship, as he was 
 shot?" 
 
 The uncalled-for retort, the strangely intemperate tone, the 
 quick passionate fling of the hand towards the portrait at the 
 emphasized word " ^e," astonished young Carteret not a little. 
 Others were surprised also ; and not one present but stared 
 
48 
 
 elster's folly* 
 
 at the speaker. But she said no more. The pea-green 
 turban and the flaxen curls were nodding ominously ; and that 
 was all. 
 
 The animus to Val Elster was very marked. Lord Hartledon 
 glanced at his brother with a smile, and led the way back to 
 the other drawing-room. At that moment the butler announced 
 dinner; the party filed across the hall to the fine old dining- 
 room, and began finding their seats. 
 
 " I shall sit there, Val Elster. You can take a chair at the 
 side." 
 
 Val did look surprised at this. He was about to take the 
 foot of his brother's table, as usual; and there was the pea- 
 green turban standing over him, waiting to usurp it. It would 
 have been quite beyond Val Elster, in his* sensitiveness, to tell 
 her she should not have it ; but he did feel annoyed. He was 
 sweet-tempered, however. Moreover, he was a gentleman, and 
 he only waited to make one remark. 
 
 " I fear you will not like this place, ma'am. Won't it look 
 odd to see a lady at the bottom of the table ? " 
 
 " I have promised my dear nephew to act as mistress, and 
 to see after his guests ; and I don't choose to sit at the side 
 under those circumstances." But she had looked at Lord 
 Hartledon for a full minute, and hesitated before she spoke. 
 Perhaps she thought his lordship would resign the head of 
 the table to her, and take the foot himself! If so, she was 
 mistaken. 
 
 "You will be more comfortable at the side. Lady Kirton," 
 cried out the earl, when he could discover what the bustle was 
 about. 
 
 " Not at all ; not at all, Hartledon." 
 
 " But I like my brother to face me, ma'am. It is his accus- 
 tomed place." 
 
 Kemonstrance was useless. The dowager nodded her pea- 
 green turban, and firmly seated herself. Val Elster dexterously 
 found a seat next Lady Maude ; and a gay gleam of triumph 
 shot out of his deep-blue eyes as he glanced at the dowager. 
 It was not the seat she would have wished him to take ; but to 
 interfere again might have imperilled her own place. Maude 
 laughed. She did not care for Val — rather despised him indeed 
 
THE COUNTESS-DOWAGER. 
 
 49 
 
 in her heart ; but he was the most attractive man present, and 
 she liked admiration. 
 
 Another link in the chain ! For how many, many days and 
 years, dating from that evening, did that awful old woman take 
 a seat, at intervals, at the Earl of Hartledon's table, and assume 
 it as a right ! 
 
 Elster's Folly. 
 
 4 
 
50 
 
 ELSTERS FOLLY. 
 
 CHAPTER Y. 
 
 RISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 A WET day in the country, especially in August, is not pleasant. 
 The rain came pouring down on the Monday morning ; and 
 Lord Hartledon stood at the window of the countess-dowager's 
 private sitting-room — one she had unceremoniously adopted for 
 her own use — smoking a cigar, and watching the clouds. Any 
 cigar but his would have been consigned to the other side the 
 door. Mr. Elster had only shown (by mere accident) the tail of 
 his cigar-case, and the dowager immediately demanded what he 
 meant by displaying that article in the presence of ladies. A 
 few minutes afterwards Lord Hartledon entered, smoking one, 
 and was allowed to enjoy it with impunity. Good-tempered 
 Yal's delicate lips broke into a silent smile as he marked the 
 contrast. 
 
 He lounged on the sofa, doing nothing, in his idle fashion ; 
 Lord Hartledon watched the clouds, and watched again. On 
 the previous Saturday night the gentlemen had entered into an 
 argument about boating: the result was, that a match on the 
 river was arranged, and some bets were pending on it. It had 
 been fixed to come off this day, Monday; but if the rain 
 continued to come down, it must be postponed ; for the ladies, 
 who had been promised the treat, would not venture out to see 
 it. 
 
 " It's come on purpose, I know," grumbled the earl. " Yes- 
 terday was as fine and bright a day as could be, the glass stand- 
 ing at set fair ; and now, just because this boating was to come 
 off, the rain peppers down ! " 
 
 It was a fair scene, barring the rain, that he looked out upon. 
 The room faced the back of the house, and, beyond the lovely 
 
RISING JEALOUSY 
 
 51 
 
 grounds, green slopes extended to the river, tolerably wide here, 
 and winding past so peacefully in its course. The distant land- 
 scape, as seen from these windows, was beautiful— almost like 
 a scene in fairyland. 
 
 The restless dowager — in a nondescript headdress this 
 morning, with a tuft of red feathers in it standing up straight, 
 and voluminous skirts of brown net, a jacket and flounces to 
 match — betook herself to the side of the earl. 
 
 " Where d'you get the boats ? " she asked. 
 
 " Oh, they are kept lower down, at the boat-house," he re- 
 plied, puffing at his cigar. " You can't see it from here ; it's 
 beyond Dr. Ashton's ; lots of 'em ; all sorts ; to be had for the 
 hiring. Oh, talking of Dr. Ashton, they will dine here to-day, 
 ma'am." 
 
 " Who will ? " asked Lady Kirton. 
 
 " The doctor, Mrs. Ashton — if she's well enough — and Miss 
 Ashton." 
 
 " Who are they, my dear nephew ? " 
 
 " Why, don't you know ? Dr. Ashton preached to you yester- 
 day. He is the Eector of Calne : you must have heard of Dr. 
 Ashton. They will be calling this morning, I expect." 
 
 " And you have invited them to dinner ! Well, there will be 
 room. One must do the civil on occasion to this sort of people." 
 
 The young nobleman burst into a laugh. " You won't say 
 ' this sort of people ' when you see the Ash tons. Lady Kirton. 
 They stand as high as we do. Dr. Ashton has refused a 
 bishopric, and Anne is the sweetest girl ever created." 
 
 Lady Maude, who was drawing, and exchanging a desultory 
 sentence once in a way with Yal, suddenly looked up. Her 
 colour had heightened, though it was brilliant at all times. 
 
 " Are you speaking of my maid ? " she said — and it might be 
 that she had not attended to the conversation, and asked in 
 ignorance, not in scorn. " Her name is Anne." 
 
 " I was speaking of Anne Ashton," said the earl. 
 
 "Allow me to beg Anne Ashton's pardon," returned Lady 
 Maude ; her tone this time one of unmistakable mockery. 
 " Anne is so common a name amongst servants." 
 
 " I don't care whether it is common among servants or un- 
 pommon," spoke Lord Hartledon rather hotly, as if he would 
 
52 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 resent the covert sneer. " It is Anne Ashton's ; and I love the 
 name for her sake. But I think it a pretty name ; and should, 
 if she did not bear it ; prettier than yours, Maude." 
 
 " And pray who is Anne Ashton ? " demanded the countess- 
 dowager, with as much hauteur as so queer an old figure and 
 face could put on, whilst the Lady Maude bent over her employ- 
 ment with white lips. 
 
 " She is Dr. Ashton's daughter," spoke the earl, shortly. 
 " My father valued him above all men. He loved Anne too — 
 loved her dearly ; and— though I don't know whether it is 
 quite fair to Anne to let this out — -the probable future con- 
 nection between the families was most welcome to him. Next 
 to my father, we boys reverenced the doctor ; he was our 
 tutor, in a measure, when we were staying at Hartledon ; at 
 least, tutor to poor George and Yal: they used to read with 
 him." 
 
 " And you would hint at some alliance between you and this 
 Anne Ashton ! " cried the countess-dowager, in a fume ; for she 
 thought she saw a fear that the great prize might slip through 
 her fingers. " What sort of an alliance, I should like to ask ? 
 Be careful what you say, Hartledon ; you may injure the young 
 woman." 
 
 "I'll take care I don't injure Anne Ashton," returned the 
 earl, enjoying her temper. "As to an alliance with her — my 
 earnest wish is, as it was my father's, that time my bring it 
 about. Val there knows I wish it." 
 
 Val glanced at his brother by way of answer. He had taken 
 no part in the discussion ; his slight lips were drawn down, as 
 he balanced a pair of scissors on his forefinger, and he looked 
 less good-tempered than usual. 
 
 " Has she red hair and sky-blue eyes and a doll's face ? Does 
 she sit in the pew under the reading-desk with three other 
 dolls ? " asked the foaming dowager. 
 
 Lord Hartledon turned and stared at the speaker in wonder 
 — what was it that was so exciting her ? 
 
 " She has soft brown hair and eyes, and a sweet gentle face ; 
 she is a graceful, elegant, attractive girl," said the earl, curtly. 
 " She sat alone yesterday ; for Arthur was in another part of 
 the church, and Mrs. Ashton was not there. Mrs. Ashton is 
 
EISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 53 
 
 not in good health, she tells me, and cannot always come. The 
 Eector's pew is the one with green curtains." 
 
 " Oh, that vulgar-looking girl ! " exclaimed Lady Maude, her 
 unjust words — and she knew they were unjust — trembling on 
 her lips. " The Grand Sultan might exalt her to be his chief 
 wife, but he could never make a lady of her, or get her to look 
 like one." 
 
 " Be quiet, Maude," cried the countess-dowager, who, with 
 all her own mistakes, had the sense to see that this sort of dis- 
 paragement would only recoil upon them with interest, and 
 who did not like the expression of Lord Hartledon's face. 
 "You talk as if you had seen this Mrs. Ashton, Hartledoii, 
 since your return." 
 
 " I should not be many hours at Hartledon without seeing 
 Mrs. Ashton," he answered. " That's where I was yesterday 
 afternoon, ma'am, when you were so kindly anxious in your 
 inquiries as to what had become of me. I dare say I was absent 
 an unconscionable time. I never know how it passes, once I 
 am with Anne." 
 
 " We represent Love as blind, you know," spoke Maude, in 
 her desperation, unable to steady her pallid lips. " You 
 apparently do not see it, Lord Hartledon, but the young woman 
 is the very essence of vulgarity." 
 
 A pause followed the speech. The countess-dowager turned 
 towards her daughter in a blazing rage, and Val Elster quitted 
 the room. 
 
 " Maude," said the earl, " I am sorry to tell you that you 
 have put your foot in it." 
 
 " Thank you," panted Lady Maude, in her agitation. "For 
 giving my opinion of your Anne Ashton ? " 
 
 "Precisely. You have driven Val away in suppressed in- 
 dignation." 
 
 " Is Val of the Anne Ashton faction, that the truth should 
 tell upon him, as well as upon you ? " she returned, striving to 
 maintain an assumption of sarcastic coldness. 
 
 " It is upon him that the words will tell. Anne is engaged 
 to him." 
 
 " Is it true ? Is Val really engaged to her ? " cried the 
 countess-dowager in an ecstasy of relief, lifting her snub nose 
 
64 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 and her blooming cheeks, whilst the glad light came into Maude's 
 eyes again. " I did hear he was engaged to some lady ; but 
 such reports of younger sons go for nothing." 
 
 " Val was engaged to her before he went abroad. Whether 
 he will get her or not, is another thing." 
 
 " To hear you talk, Hartledon, one might have supposed you 
 eared for the girl yourself," cried Lady Kirton ; but her brow 
 was smooth again, and her tone soft as honey. " You should 
 be more cautious." 
 
 " Cautious ! Why so ? I love and respect Anne beyond any 
 girl on earth. But that Yal hastened to make hay when the 
 sun shone, whilst I fell asleep under the hedge, I don't know 
 but I might have tried for her myself," he added, with a laugh. 
 " However, it shall not be my fault if Val does not win her." 
 
 The countess-dowager said no more. She was worldly-wise 
 in her way, and thought it best to leave well alone. She sailed 
 out of the room — nose in the air — leaving them alone together : 
 it was what she was fond of doing. 
 
 " Is it not rather — rather beneath an Elster to marry an 
 obscure country clergyman's daughter ? " began Lady Maude to 
 his lordship, a strange bitterness filling her heart. 
 
 " I tell you, Maude, the Ashtons are equal to ourselves. He 
 is a proud old doctor of divinity — not old, however — of irre- 
 proachable family and of large private fortune." 
 
 " You spoke of him as a tutor ? " 
 
 " A tutor ! Oh, I said he was in a measure our tutor when 
 we were young. I meant in training us — in training us to 
 good ; and he allowed George and Val to read with him, and 
 directed their studies : all for love, and out of the friendship he 
 and my father bore each other. Dr. Ashton a paid tutor ! " 
 ejaculated his lordship, laughing at the notion. " Dr. Ashton 
 an obscure country clergyman ! And even if he were, who is 
 Val, that he should set himself up ? " 
 
 " He is the Honourable Val Elster." 
 
 " Very honourable ! Val is an unlucky dog of a spend-all ; 
 that's what Val is. See how many times he has been set up on 
 his legs ! — and has always come down again. He had that 
 place in the Government that my father got him. He had the 
 attacheship in Paris ; he had the subsequent one at Vienna — 
 
RISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 55 
 
 oh, ever so many good chances he has had, and he drops through 
 all. One can't help loving Yal ; he is an attractive, sweet- 
 tempered, good-natured fellow ; but he was certainly born under 
 an unlucky star. Elster's folly ! " 
 
 " Val will drop through more chances yet," remarked Lady 
 Maude. "I pity Miss Ashton, if she means to wait for 
 him." 
 
 " Means it ! She loves him passionately — devotedly. She 
 would wait for him all her life, and think it happiness only to 
 see him once in a way." 
 
 "As an astronomer looks at a star through a telescope," 
 laughed Lady Maude ; " and Val is not worth the devotion." 
 
 " Val is not a bad fellow in the main ; quite the contrary, 
 Maude. Of course we all know his besetting sin — irresolution. 
 A child might sway him, either for good or for ill. The very 
 best thing that could happen to Val would be his marriage with 
 Anne. She is sensible, judicious, loving ; and I think Val could 
 not fail to keep straight under her influence. If Dr. Ashton 
 could only be brought to see the matter in this light ! " 
 
 " Can he not ? " 
 
 " He thinks — and I don't say he has not reason — that Val 
 should show some proof of stability before his marriage, instead 
 of waiting until after it. The doctor has not gone the length 
 of parting them, or of suspending the engagement ; but he is 
 prepared to be strict and exacting as to Mr. Val's line of con- 
 duct ; and I fancy the suspicion that it would be so has kept 
 Val away from Calne." 
 
 " What will be done ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. Val does not make a confidant of me, and 
 I can't get to the bottom of how he is situated. Debts I am 
 sure he has ; but whether " 
 
 " Val always had plenty of those," interrupted Maude. 
 
 " True. When my father died, three parts of Val's in- 
 heritance went to pay off debts nobody knew he had contracted. 
 The worst is, he glides into these difficulties unwittingly, led 
 and swayed by others. We don't say Elster's sin, or Elster's 
 crimes ; we say Elster's folly. I don't believe Val ever in his 
 life did a bad thing of deliberate intention. Designing people 
 get hold of him — fast fellows who are going down-hill headlong 
 
56 
 
 elstee's folly. 
 
 themselves — and Yal, unable to say 'No,' is drawn here and 
 drawn there, and tumbles with them into a quagmire, and per- 
 haps has to pay his friends' costs, as well as his own, before he 
 can get out of it. Do you believe in luck, Maude ? " 
 
 " In luck ? " answered Maude, raising her eyes at the abrupt 
 question. " I don't know." 
 
 " I believe in it. I believe that some are born under a lucky 
 star, and others under an unlucky one. Val is one of the latter. 
 He is always unlucky. Set him up, and down he comes again. 
 I don't think I ever knew Val lucky in my life. Look at his 
 nearly blowing his arm off that time in Scotland ! You will 
 laugh at me, I dare say, Maude ; but a thought crosses me at 
 odd moments that his ill-luck will prevail still, in the matter 
 of Miss Ashton. Not if I can help it, however ; I'll do my 
 best, for Anne's sake." 
 
 " You seem to think very much of her yourself," cried Lady 
 Maude, her cheeks crimsoning with an angry flush. 
 
 " I do — as Val's future wife. I love Anne Ashton better than 
 any one in the world. We all loved her. So would you if you 
 knew her. In my mother's last illness Anne was a greater 
 comfort to her than Laura was." 
 
 " Should you ever think of a wife on your own score, she may 
 not like this warm praise of Miss Anne Ashton," said Lady 
 Maude, assiduously drawing, her hot face bent down to within 
 an inch of the cardboard. 
 
 " Not like it ? She wouldn't be such an idiot, I hope, as to 
 dislike it. Is not Anne going to be my brother's wife ? Did 
 you suppose I spoke of Anne in that way? — you must have 
 been dreaming, Maude." 
 
 Lady Maude hoped she had been. The young nobleman 
 took his cigar from his mouth, ran a penknife through the end, 
 and began smoking again. 
 
 " That time is far enough off, Maude. I am not going to tie 
 myself up with a wife, or to think of one either, for many a 
 long year to come." 
 
 Her heart beat with a painful throbbing. " Why not ? " 
 
 " No danger. My wild oats are not sown yet, any more than 
 Val's ; only you don't hear of them, because I have money to 
 back me, and he has not. I must find a girl I should like to 
 
RISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 67 
 
 make my wife before that event comes off, Maude ; and I have 
 not found her yet." 
 
 Lady Maude damaged her landscape. She sketched a tree 
 where a chimney ought to have been, and laid the fault upon 
 her pencil. 
 
 " It has been real sport, Maude, ever since I came home from* 
 knocking about abroad, to hear and see the old ladies. They 
 think Edward, Earl of Hartledon, is to be caught with a bait ; 
 and that bait is each one's own enchanting daughter. Let them 
 angle, an they please — what does it hurt ? They are amused, 
 and I am none the worse. I enjoy a laugh sometimes, while I 
 take care of myself; as I have need to do, or I might find 
 myself the victim of some detestable breach-of-promise affair, 
 and have to stand damages. But for Anne Ashton, Yal would 
 have had his head in that Westminster-noose a score of times ; 
 and the wonder is that he has kept out of it. No, thank you, 
 my ladies ; I am not a marrying man." 
 
 " Why do you tell me this ? " asked Lady Maude, a sick 
 faintness stealing over her face and her heart. 
 
 " Do you not care to hear it ? You are one of ourselves, and 
 I tell you anything. It will be fun for you, Maude, if you'll 
 open your eyes and look on. There are some in the house now 
 who " He stopped and laughed. 
 
 " I'd rather not hear this ! " she cried passionately. " Don't 
 tell it me." 
 
 The earl looked at her, begged her pardon, and quitted the 
 room with his cigar. Lady Maude, black as night, dashed her 
 pencil on the cardboard, and scored her pretty sketch all over 
 with ugly black lines. Her face itself looked ugly then. 
 
 " Why did he say it to me ? " she asked of her burning heart. 
 " Was it said with a purpose ? Has he found out that I love 
 him ? that my shallow old mother is one of the subtlest of the 
 anglers ? and that " 
 
 " What on earth are you at with your drawing, Maude ? " 
 
 " Oh, I have grown sick of the sketch. I am not in a drawing 
 mood to-day, mamma." 
 
 " And how fierce you were looking," pursued the countess- 
 dowager, who had darted in at rather an inopportune moment 
 for Maude — darting in on people at such moments being her 
 
58 
 
 elstek's folly. 
 
 habit. " And that was the sketch Hartledon asked you to do 
 for him from the old painting ! " 
 
 " He may do it himself, if he wants it done." 
 
 " Where is Hartledon ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Gone out somewhere." 
 
 " Has he offended you, or vexed you ? Speak out." 
 
 " Well, he did vex me. He has just been assuring me with 
 the coolest air that he should never marry ; or, at least, not for 
 years and years to come. He told me to notice what a heap of 
 girls were after him — or their mothers for them — and the fun 
 he had over it, not being a marrying man ! " 
 
 " Is that all ? You need not have put yourself in a fantigue, 
 and spoilt your drawing. Lord Hartledon shall be your husband, 
 Maude, before six months are over — or reproach me ever after- 
 wards with being a false prophetess and a bungling manager." 
 
 Maude's brow cleared. She had almost childlike confidence 
 in the tact of her unscrupulous mother. 
 
 But how the morning's conversation altogether rankled in 
 her heart, none, save herself, could tell : ay, and in that of the 
 dowager. Although Anne Ashton was the betrothed of Percival 
 Elster, and Lord Hartledon's freely-avowed love for her was 
 evidently that of a brother, and he had said he should do all he 
 could to promote the marriage, jealousy of the strongest nature 
 had taken possession of Lady Maude's heart. She already hated 
 Anne Ashton with a fierce and bitter hatred. She turned sick 
 with envy when, in the morning visit that was that day paid by 
 the Ashtons, she saw that Anne was really what Lord Hartledon 
 had described her — one of the sweetest, most lovable, most 
 charming of girls ; almost without her equal in the world for 
 grace and goodness and beauty. She turned more sick with 
 envy when, at dinner afterwards, to which the Ashtons came, 
 Lord Hartledon devoted himself to them, almost to the neglect 
 of his other guests, lingering much with Anne. 
 
 The countess-dowager marked it also, and was furious. 
 Nothing con Id be urged against them ; they were unexception- 
 able. The doctor, a chatty, straightforward, energetic man, of 
 eminent intellect and learning, and emphatically a gentleman ; 
 his wife attracting by her unobtrusive gentleness ; his daughter 
 by her sweet grace, her modest self-possession. Whatever Maude 
 
KISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 59 
 
 Kirton might do, she could never, for very shame, attempt to 
 disparage them again. Surely there was no just reason for the 
 hatred which took possession of Maude's heart ; a hatred that 
 could never be plucked out again. 
 
 But Maude knew how to dissemble. It pleased her to affect 
 a sudden and violent fancy, a friendship for Anne. 
 
 " Hartledon told me how much I should like you," she 
 whispered, as they sat together on a sofa after dinner, to which 
 Maude had drawn her. " He said I should find you the dearest 
 girl I ever met ; and I do so. May I call you ' Anne ' ? " 
 
 Not for a moment did Miss Ashton answer. Truth to say, far 
 from reciprocating the sudden fancy boasted of by Maude, she 
 had taken an unaccountable dislike to her. Something of falsity 
 in the tone, of sudden hardiesse in the handsome black eyes, 
 acted upon Anne as an instinctive warning. 
 
 " As you please. Lady Maude." 
 
 " Thank^you so much. Hartledon whispered to me the secret 
 about you and Val — Percival, I mean. Shall you accomplish 
 the task, think you ? " 
 
 " What task?" 
 
 " That of turning him from his evil ways." 
 
 " His evil ways?" repeated Anne, in a surprised indignation she 
 did not care to check. " I do not understand you, Lady Maude." 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear Anne : it was hazardous sq to speak to 
 you. I ought to have said his thoughtless ways. Quant a moi, 
 je ne vois pas la difference. Do you understand French ? " 
 
 Miss Ashton looked at her, really not knowing what this 
 style of conversation might mean. Maude continued ; she had 
 a habit of putting forth a sting on occasion, or what she hoped 
 might be a sting. 
 
 " You are staring at the superfluous question. Of course it 
 was one in these French days, when every one learns it. What 
 was I saying ? Oh, about Percival. Should he ever have the 
 luck to marry, meaning the income, he will make a docile 
 husband ; but his wife will have to keep him under her finger 
 and thumb ; she must be master as well as mistress, for his own 
 sake." 
 
 " I think Mr. Elster would not care to be thus spoken of," 
 said Miss Ashton, her face beginning to glow. 
 
60 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 "You devoted girl! It is you who don't care to hear it. 
 Take care, Anne : too much love is not good for gaining the 
 mastership ; and I have heard that you are — shall I say it ? — 
 folle de lui." 
 
 Anne, in spite of her calm good sense, was actually provoked 
 to a retort in kind, and felt terribly vexed with herself for it 
 afterwards. " A rumour of the same sort has been breathed as 
 to the Lady Maude Kirton's regard for Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " Has it ? " returned Lady Maude, with a cool tone and a 
 glowing face. " You are angry with me without cause. Have 
 I not offered to swear to you an eternal friendship ? " 
 
 Anne shook her head, and her lips parted with a curious 
 expression. " I do not swear so lightly. Lady Maude." 
 
 " What if I were to avow to you that it is true ? — that I do love 
 Lord Hartledon, deeply as it is known you love his brother," 
 she added, dropping her voice — " would you believe me ? " 
 
 Anne looked at the speaker's face, but could read nothing. 
 Was she in jest or earnest ? 
 
 " No, I would not believe you," she said, with a smile. " If 
 you did love him, you would not proclaim it." 
 
 " Exactly. I was jesting. What is Lord Hartledon to me ? 
 — save that we are cousins, and passably good friends. I must 
 avow one thing, that I like him better than I do his brother." 
 
 " For that no avowal is necessary. Lady Maude ; it is a 
 sufficiently evident fact." 
 
 " You are right, Anne," Maude replied ; and for once she 
 spoke earnestly. " I do not like Percival Elster. But I will 
 always be civil to him for your sweet sake." 
 
 " Why do you dislike him ? — if I may ask it. Have you any 
 particular reason ? " 
 
 "I have no reason in the world. He is a good-natured, 
 gentlemanly fellow ; and I know no ill of him, except that he 
 is always getting into scrapes, and dropping, as I hear, a lot of 
 money. But if he got out of his last guinea, and went in holes 
 to his coats, it would be nothing to me, that I need dislike 
 him ; so thafs not it. One does take antipathies ; I dare say 
 you do, Miss Ashton. What a blessing Lord Hartledon did not 
 die in that fever he caught last year ! Val would have inherited. 
 What a mercy ! " 
 
RISING JEALOUSY. 
 
 61 
 
 " That he lived ? or that Yal is not the earl ? " 
 
 " Both. But I believe I meant that Yal is not the earl." 
 
 " You think he would not have made a worthy inheritor ? " 
 
 " A worthy inheritor ? Oh, I was not glancing at that phase 
 of the question. Here he comes ! I will give up my seat to 
 him." 
 
 It is possible Lady Maude expected some pretty phrases of 
 affectation ; begging her not to do so, begging her to keep it. 
 If so, she was mistaken. Anne Ashton was one of those 
 essentially quiet, self-possessed girls in society, whose manners 
 seem almost to board on apathy. She did not say " Do go," or 
 " Don't go." She was entirely passive ; and Maude moved away 
 half ashamed of herself, and feeling, in spite of her jealousy and 
 her prejudice, that if ever there was a ladylike girl upon earth, 
 it was Anne Ashton. 
 
 " How do you like her, Anne ? " asked Yal Elster, dropping 
 into the vacant place. 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 " Don't you ? She is very handsome." 
 
 " Yery handsome indeed. Quite beautiful. But still I don't 
 like her." 
 
 " You would like her if you knew her. She has a rare spirit, 
 only the old dowager keeps it down." 
 
 " I don't think she much likes you, Yal." 
 
 " She is welcome to dislike me " returned Yal Elster. 
 
62 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEE yi. 
 
 AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 The famous boat-race was postponed. Some of the competitors 
 had discovered they should be the better for a few days' train- 
 ing, and the contest was fixed for the foHowing Monday. 
 
 Not a day of the intervening week but sundry pretty little 
 cockle-shells — things that the ladies had already begun to 
 designate as the " wager-boats," each containing a gentleman 
 occupant, exercising his arms on a pair of sculls — might be 
 seen any hour passing and repassing on the water; and the 
 green slopes of Hartledon, which here formed the bank of the 
 river, grew to be tenanted with fair occupants. Of course they 
 had their favourites, these ladies, and their little bets of gloves 
 on them. 
 
 As the day for the contest drew on the interest became really 
 exciting ; and on the Saturday morning there was quite a crowd 
 on the banks. The whole week, since Monday, had been most 
 beautiful — calm, warm, lovely. Percival Elster, in his rather 
 idle fashion, was not going out to the contest : there were 
 enough without him, he said. 
 
 He was standing now, talking to Anne. His face wore a sad 
 expression, as she glanced up at him from beneath the white 
 feather of her rather large-brimmed straw hat. Anne had been 
 a great deal at Hartledon that week, and was as eager for the 
 race as any of them, wearing Lord Hartledon's colours. 
 
 " How did you hear it, Anne ? " he was asking. 
 
 "Mamma told me. She came into my room when I was 
 putting on my hat just now, and said there had been words." 
 
 " Well, it's true. The doctor took me to task exactly as he 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 63 
 
 used to when I was a boy. He said my course of life was sinful ; 
 and I rather fired at that. Idle and useless it may be, but 
 sinful it is not : and I said so. He explained that he meant 
 that, and persisted in his assertion — that an idle, aimless, profit- 
 less life was a sinful one. Do you know the rest ? " 
 " No," she faltered. 
 
 " He said he would give me to the end of the year. And if 
 I were then still pursuing my present frittering course of life, 
 doing no good to myself or to any one else — those were his 
 words, ' doing no good to myself or to any one else ' — he should 
 cancel the engagement. Anne, my darling, I see how this 2)ains 
 
 you." 
 
 She was suppressing her tears with difiiculty. " Papa will be 
 sure to keep his word, Percival. He is so resolute when he 
 thinks he is right." 
 
 " The worst is, it's gospel truth. I do fall into all sorts of 
 scrapes, and I have got out of money, and I do fritter my time 
 away," acknowledged the young man in his candour. " And all 
 the while, Anne, I am thinking and hoping to do right. If 
 ever I get set on my legs again, icont I keep on them ! " 
 
 " But how many times have you said so before ! " she 
 whispered. 
 
 " Half the follies for which I am now paying were committed 
 when I was but a boy," he said. " One of the men now visiting 
 here, Dawkes, persuaded me to put my name to a bill for him 
 for fifteen hundred pounds, and I had to pay it. It hampered 
 me for years ; and in the end I know I must have paid it twice 
 over. I might have pleaded that I was under age when he got 
 my signature, but it would not have been honourable to do so." 
 
 " And you never profited by the transaction ? " 
 
 " Never by a sixpence. It was done for Dawkes's accommo- 
 dation, not mine. He ought to have paid it, you say? My 
 dear, he is a man of straw, and never had fifteen hundred pounds 
 of his own in his life." 
 
 " Does Lord Hartledon know of this ? I wonder he has him 
 here." 
 
 " I did not mention it at the time ; and the thing's past and 
 done with now. I only tell you now to give you an idea of 
 what the nature of my embarrassments and scrapes has been. 
 
64 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Not one in ten has really been incurred for myself: they only 
 fall upon me. One must buy experience." 
 
 Terribly vexed was that sweet face, an almost painful sadness 
 upon the generally sunny features. 
 
 "I will never give you up, Anne," he continued, with 
 emotion. " I told the doctor so. I would rather give up life. 
 And you know that your love is mine." 
 
 " But my duty is theirs. And if it came to a contest. Oh, 
 Percival ! you know, you know which would have to give place. 
 Papa is so resolute in right." 
 
 " It's a shame that fortune should be so unequally divided ! " 
 cried the young man, in resentment. " Here's Edward with an 
 income of thirty thousand a-year, and I, his own brother, only 
 a year or two younger, can't boast a fourth part as many 
 hundreds ! " 
 
 " Oh, Yal ! your father left you better off than that ! " 
 
 " But so much of it went, Anne," was the gloomy answer. 
 " I never understood the claims that came in against me, for my 
 part. Edward had no back debts, to speak of; but then look at 
 what his allowance had been." 
 
 " He was the eldest son," she gently said. 
 
 " I know that. I am not wishing myself in Edward's place, 
 or he out of it. I heartily wish him health and a long life to 
 wear his honours ; it is no fault of his that he should be rolling 
 in riches, and I a martyr to poverty. Still, one can't help 
 feeling at odd moments, when the shoe's pinching awfully, that 
 the system is not altogether a just one." 
 
 " Was that a sincere wish, Yal Elster ? " 
 
 Val wheeled round on Lady Maude, from whom the question 
 came. She had stolen up to them unperceived, and stood there in 
 her radiant beauty, her magnificent dark eyes and her glowing 
 cheeks surmounted by a little coquettish black-velvet hat. 
 
 " A sincere wish — that my brother should live long to enjoy 
 his honours ! " echoed Yal, in a surprised tone. " Indeed it is. 
 I hope he will live to a green old age, and leave goodly sons to 
 succeed him." 
 
 Lady Maude laughed. A brighter hue stole into her face, a 
 softer shade to her eyes : she saw herself, as in a vision, the 
 goodly mother of those goodly sons. 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 65 
 
 " Are you going to wear that ? " she asked, touching — nay, 
 striking — the knot of ribbon in Miss Ashton's hands with her 
 petulant fingers. " They are Lord Hartledon's colours." 
 
 " I shall wear it on Monday. Lord Hartledon gave me the 
 knot." 
 
 A rash avowal. The competitors, in a sort of joke, had each 
 given away one knot of his own colours. Lady Maude had had 
 three given to her ; but she was looking for another worth 
 them all — from Lord Hartledon. And now — it was given, it 
 appeared, and to Anne Ashton ! For her very life she could 
 not have helped the passionate taunt that escaped from her, not 
 in words, but in tone : 
 
 " To 7J0U ! " 
 
 "Kissing goes by favour," broke from the delicate lips of 
 Val Elster, and Lady Maude could have struck him for the 
 significant, saucy expression of his violet-blue eyes. " Edward 
 loves Anne better than he ever loved his sisters; and for any 
 other love — that's far enough from his heart yet, Maude." 
 
 She had recovered herself instantly; called out "Yes" to 
 those in the distance, as if she heard a call, and went away 
 humming a tune. 
 
 " Yal, she loves your brother," whispered Anne. 
 
 " Do you think so ? I do sometimes ; and again I'm puzzled. 
 She acts well if she does. The other day I told Edward she 
 was in love with him : he laughed at me, and said I was dream- 
 ing; that if she had any love for him, it was cousin's love. 
 What's more, Anne, he would prefer not to receive any other ; 
 so Maude need not look after him : it will be labour lost. Here 
 comes that restless Dowager Kirton down upon us! I shall 
 leave you to her, Anne. I never dare say my soul's my own in 
 the presence of that woman." 
 
 Yal strolled away as he spoke. He was not at ease that day, 
 and the sharp, meddling old woman would have been intolerable. 
 It was all very well to put a good face on matters to Anne, but 
 he was in more perplexity than he cared to confess to. It 
 seemed to him that he would rather die than give up Anne : 
 and yet — in the straightforward, practical good sense of Dr. 
 Ashton, he had a formidable adversary to deal with. 
 
 He suddenly found an arm inserted within his own, and saw 
 
 Elster's Folly. 6 
 
66 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 it was his brother. Walking together thus, there was a great 
 resemblance between them. 
 
 They were of the same height, much of the same build ; both 
 were very good-looking men, but Percival had the nicer 
 features ; and he was fair, and his brother dark. 
 
 " What is this, Val, about a dispute with the doctor ? " began 
 Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " It was not a dispute," returned Yal. " There were a few 
 words, and I was hasty. However, I begged his pardon, and 
 we parted good friends." 
 
 " Under a flag of truce, eh ? " 
 
 " Something of that sort." 
 
 " Something of that sort ! " repeated the earl. " Don't you 
 think, Val, it would be to your advantage if you trusted me 
 more thoroughly than you do? Tell me the whole truth of 
 your position, and let me see what can be done for you." 
 
 " There's not much to tell," returned Val, in his stupidity. 
 Even with his brother his ultra-sensitiveness clung to him ; and 
 he could no more have confessed the. extent of his troubles than 
 he could have taken wing that moment and soared away in the 
 air. Val Elster was one of those who trust to things " coming 
 right " with time. 
 
 "I have been talking to the doctor, Val. I called in just 
 now to see Mrs. Ash ton, and he spoke to me about you." 
 
 " Very kind of him, I'm sure ! " retorted Val. " It is just 
 this, Edward. He is vexed at what he calls my idle ways, my 
 waste of time : as if I, a gentleman, only one remove from a 
 nobleman, need plod on, like a city clerk, six days a week, and 
 no holidays ! I know I must do something before I can win 
 Anne ; and I will do it : but the doctor need not begin to cry 
 out about cancelling the engagement." 
 
 " How much do you owe, Val ? " 
 
 " I can't tell." 
 
 Lord Hartledon thought this an evasion. But it was true. 
 Val Elster knew he owed a great deal more than he could pay ; 
 but how much it might be on the whole, he had but a very 
 faint idea. 
 
 " Well, Val, I have told the doctor I shall look into matters, 
 and I hope to do it efficiently, for Anne's sake. I suppose 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 67 
 
 the best thing will be to try and get you an appointment 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, Edward, if you would ! And you know you have the 
 ear of the ministry." 
 
 " I dare say it can be managed. But this will be of little 
 use if you are still to remain an embarrassed man. I hear you 
 were afraid of arrest in London." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 " Dawkes." 
 
 "Dawkes! Then, Edward " Val Elster stopped. In 
 
 his vexation, he was about to retaliate on Captain Dawkes by a 
 little revelation on the score of his affairs, certain things that 
 might not have redounded to that gallant officer's credit. But 
 he arrested the words in time : he was of a kindly nature, not 
 fond of returning ill for ill. With all his follies, Val Elster 
 could not remember to have commited an evil act in all his life, 
 save one. And that one he had still the pleasure of paying for 
 pretty deeply. 
 
 " Dawkes knows nothing of my affairs except from hearsay, 
 Edward. I was intimate once with the man ; but he served me 
 a shabby trick, and that ended the friendship. I don't like 
 him." 
 
 " I dare say what he said was not true," said the earl, kindly. 
 " You might as well make a confidant of me. However, I have 
 not time to talk to-day. We will go into the thing, Val, after 
 Monday, when this race has come off, and see what arrangement 
 can be made for you. There's only one thing bothers me." 
 
 " What's that ? " 
 
 " The danger that it may be a superfluous arrangement. If 
 you are only set up on your legs to come down again, as you 
 have before, it will be so much waste of time and money ; so 
 much waste, to me, of temper. Don't you see, Val ? " 
 
 Percival Elster stopped in his walk, and withdrew his arm 
 from his brother's ; his face and voice full of emotion. 
 
 " Edward, I have learnt a lesson. What it has cost me I 
 hardly know yet: but it is learnt. On my sacred word of 
 honour, in the solemn presence of Heaven, I assert it, that I 
 will never put my hand to another bill, whatever may be the 
 temptation. I have overcome, in this respect at least, my sin." 
 
68 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Your sin ? " 
 
 " My nature's great sin ; the besetting sin that has clung to 
 me through life ; the unfortunate sin that is my bane to this 
 hour —cowardly irresolution." 
 
 " All right, Val ; I can see you mean well now. We'll talk 
 of these matters next week. Instead of Elster's Folly, let it 
 become Elster's Wisdom." 
 
 Lord Hartledon wrung his brother s hand and turned away. 
 His eyes fell on Miss Ashton, and he went straight up to her. 
 Putting the young lady's arm within his own, without word or 
 ceremony, he took her off with him to a distance : and bedecked 
 old Lady Kirton's skirts went round ia a dance of passion as 
 she saw it. 
 
 " I am about to take him in hand, Anne, and set him going 
 again. I have as good as promised it to Dr. Ashton. We 
 must get him a snug berth ; one that even the doctor won't 
 object to, and set him straight in other matters. My belief is 
 that he has mortgaged his patrimony; it shall be redeemed. 
 And, Anne, I think — I do think — he may be trusted to keep 
 straight for the future." 
 
 Her sweet soft eyes sparkled with pleasure, and her lips 
 parted with a sunny smile. Lord Hartledon took her hand 
 within his own as it lay on his arm, and the furious old dowager 
 saw it all from the distance. 
 
 " Don't say so much as this to him, Anne : I only tell you. 
 Yal is of so sanguine a nature, that it may be better not to tell 
 him all beforehand. And I want, of course, first of all, to get 
 at a true list of — that is, at a true statement of facts," he broke 
 off, not caring to speak the word " debts " to that delicate girl 
 before him. " He is my only brother ; my father left him to me, 
 for he knew what Yal was ; and I'll do my best for him. I'd do 
 it for Yal's own sake, apart from the charge. And, Anne, once 
 Yal is on his legs with something of an income, snug and com- 
 fortable, you know, I shall recommend him to marry without 
 delay ; for, after all, you will be his greatest safeguard." 
 
 A blush suffused her face, and Lord Hartledon smiled. 
 
 Down came the countess-dowager. 
 
 "Here's that restless Dowager Kirton calling to me. She 
 never lets me alone. Yal sent me into a fit of laughter yester- 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 69 
 
 day, saying she had designs on me for Maude. Poor deluded 
 woman ! Yes, ma'am, I hear. What is it ? " 
 
 Mr. Elster went strolling along on the banks of the river, 
 towards Calne ; not with any particular purpose, but in his 
 restless uneasiness. He had a tender conscience, and his past 
 follies were pressing on it heavily. He felt sure of one thing 
 — that he was more deeply involved than Lord Hartledon or 
 anybody else suspected, perhaps even himself. The way was 
 charming in fine weather, though less pleasant in winter. It 
 was by no means a frequented road, rather a solitary one, and 
 belonged of right to Lord Hartledon only ; but it was open to 
 all. Few chose it, when they could traverse the straighter way 
 by the ordinary road. The narrow path on the green plain, 
 sheltered as it was by trees, wound in and out, now on the 
 banks of the river, now hidden amidst a portion of the wood. 
 ^Altogether it was a lonely and wild pathway ; not one that a 
 timid nature would choose on a dark night. You might sit in 
 the wood, which lay to the left, a whole day through, and 
 never see a soul. 
 
 One little part of the walk was especially beautiful. A 
 green dell, where the turf was soft as moss ; open to the river 
 on the right, with a glimpse of the lovely scenery beyond ; and 
 on the left, the clustering trees of the wood. Beyond, through 
 a vista in the arching trees, might be seen a view of the houses 
 of Calne. A little stream, or rivulet, trickled from the wood, 
 and a rustic bridge — more for ornament than use, for a man 
 with long legs could stride the stream well — was thrown over 
 it. Val had reached thus far, when he saw some one stand- 
 ing on the bridge, his arms on the parapet, apparently in a 
 brown study. 
 
 A wild-looking, dark man, whose face, at the first glimpse, 
 seemed all hair. There was certainly a profusion of it ; eye- 
 brows, beard, whiskers, all heavy, and black as night. He was 
 attired in loose fustian clothes, with a red handkerchief wound 
 round his throat, and a low slouching hat — one of those called 
 wide-awake — which partially concealed his features. By his 
 side stood another man in plain dark clothes, which, excepting 
 that they were rather seedy and the coat outrageously long, 
 were of good make and material. He wore a cloth hat, whose 
 
70 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 brim hid his face, and was smoking a cigar. Both men were 
 slightly built and under the middle height, though the loose 
 fustian suit worn by the other made him look stout rather than 
 thin. This one had red whiskers. 
 
 The moment Mr. Elster set eyes on the dark one, he felt 
 conscious he saw the man Pike before him. It happened that 
 he had not met him during these few days of his sojourn ; but 
 some of the gentlemen staying at Hartledon had, and had said 
 what a loose sort of man he appeared to be. The other was a 
 stranger, and did not look like a countryman at all. 
 
 Mr. Elster saw them both give a sharp look at him as he 
 approached ; and then they spoke together. Both stepped 
 off the bridge, as if in deference, for him to pass ; but in truth 
 it was hardly wide enough for two to pass each other. They 
 stood aside, watching him come over, and Pike touched his 
 wide-awake. 
 
 " Good day, my lord." 
 
 Val nodded by way of answer, and continued his stroll 
 onwards. In the look he had taken at Pike, it struck him he 
 had seen the face before : something in the countenance seemed 
 familiar to his memory. And to his surprise he saw that the 
 man was young. 
 
 The supposed reminiscence did not trouble him : he was too 
 much occupied with thoughts of his own affairs to have any 
 leisure for Mr. Pike's. A short bit of road, and this rude, 
 sheltered part of the way terminated in more open ground, where 
 three paths diverged : one back to the front of Hartledon ; one 
 across to some cottages, and on through the wood to the high 
 road ; and one straight towards the Rectory and Calne. Rural 
 paths still, all of them ; and the last had a bench or two at its 
 side. Val Elster strolled on nearly to the Rectory, and then 
 turned back : he had no errand at Calne, and the Rectory he 
 would rather keep out of just now. When he came to the little 
 bridge Pike was on it alone ; the other had disappeared. As 
 before, he stepped off it to make way for Mr. Elster. 
 
 "I beg pardon, sir, for having addressed you just now as 
 Lord Hartledon." 
 
 The salutation took Val by surprise ; and though the voice 
 was a muffled sort of voice, as if the man mouthed his words 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE ERTDGE. 
 
 71 
 
 purposely, the accent and language were superior to anything 
 he might have expected from one of Mr. Pike's appearance and 
 reputed lawless character. 
 
 " No offence," said Val, courteous even to Pike, in his kindly 
 nature. " You mistook me for my brother. Many do." 
 
 " Not I," returned the man, assuming a freedom, a roughness, 
 at variance with his evident intelligence and his words. " I 
 know you for the Honourable Mr. Elster." 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Elster, a slight curiosity stirring his mind, 
 but not sufficient to induce him to follow it up. 
 
 " But I like to do a good turn if I can," pursued Pike ; " and 
 I think, sir, I did one to you in calling you Lord Hartledon." 
 
 Val Elster had been passing on. He turned back and looked 
 at the man. 
 
 " Are you in any little bit of a temporary difficulty, might I 
 ask ? " continued Pike. " No offence, sir ; princes have been in 
 such before now." 
 
 Val Elster was so supremely conscious, especially in that 
 reflective hour, of being in a " little bit " of difficulty that might 
 prove more than temporary, that he could only stare at the 
 questioner and wait for more. 
 
 " No offence again, if I'm wrong," resumed Pike ; " but if 
 that man you saw here on the bridge is not looking after the 
 Honourable Mr. Elster, I'm a fool." 
 
 "Why do you think this?" inquired Val, too fully aware 
 that the fact was a likely one, to attempt any reproof or dis- 
 avowal. 
 
 " I'll tell you," said Pike ; " I've said I don't mind doing a 
 good turn when I can. The man arrived here this morning by 
 the slow six train from London. He went into the Stag and 
 had his breakfast, and has been dodging about in a covert sort 
 of manner ever since. He inquired his way to Hartledon. The 
 landlord of the Stag asked him what he wanted there, and got 
 for answer that his brother w^as in my lord's service, one of the 
 grooms. Bosh ! He went up, sneaking under the hedges and 
 along by-ways, and took a view of the house, standing a good 
 hour behind a tree while he did it. I was watching him." 
 
 It instantly struck Percival Elster, by one of those flashes 
 of conviction that are no less sure than subtle, that Mr. Pike's 
 
72 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 interest in tins watching arose from a fear that the stranger 
 might have been looking after liim. Pike continued : 
 
 " After he had taken his fill of waiting, he came dodging 
 down this way, and I got into conversation with him. He 
 wanted to know who I was. A poor devil out of work, I told 
 him ; a soldier once, but maimed and good for little now. We 
 got chatty. I let him think he might trust me, and he began 
 asking no end of questions about the Honourable Mr. Elster : 
 whether he went out much, what were his hours for going out, 
 which road he mostly took in his walks, and by what marks he 
 could know him from his brother the earl ; he knew they were 
 alike. The hound was puzzled ; he had seen a dozen swells 
 come out of Hartledon, any one of which might be Mr. Elster ; 
 but I found he had the description pretty accurate. While we 
 were talking, who should come into view but yourself ! ' This 
 is him ! ' cried he. ' Not a bit of it,' said I, carelessly ; ' that's 
 my lord.' Now you know, sir, why I saluted you as Lord 
 Hartledon." 
 
 " Where is he now ? " asked Percival Elster, feeling that he 
 owed his present state of liberty to this lawless man. 
 
 Pike pointed to the narrow path in the wood, that led across 
 to the high-road. " I filled him up with the belief that the way 
 beyond this bridge up to Hartledon was private, and he might 
 be taken up for trespassing if he attempted to follow it ; so he 
 went off that way to watch the front. If the fellow hasn't a 
 writ in his pocket, or something worse, call me a born natural. 
 You are all right, sir, as long as he takes you for Lord 
 Hartledon." 
 
 But there was little chance that the fellow could long go on 
 taking him for Lord Hartledon, and the Honourable Mr. Elster 
 felt himself attacked with a shiver. He knew it was worse than 
 a writ ; it was an arrest. An arrest is not a pleasant affair for 
 any one ; but a strong opinion — a prevision rather ; a certainty 
 — seized upon Val's mind that this would bring forth Dr. 
 Ashton's veto of separation from Anne. 
 
 " I thank you for what you have done," frankly spoke Mr. 
 Elster. 
 
 " It's nothing. He'll be dodging about after his prey ; but 
 I'll dodge about too, and I'll thwart his game if I can, though 
 
AN ENCOUNTER AT THE BRIDGE. 
 
 73 
 
 I have to swear tliat Lord Hartledon's not Lord Hartledon. 
 What's an oath, more or less, to me ? " 
 
 " Where have I seen you before ? " asked Val. 
 
 " Hard to say," returned Pike. " I have knocked about in 
 many parts in my time." 
 
 " Are you from this neighbourhood ? " 
 
 " No. Never was in these parts at all till a year or so ago. 
 It's not two years yet." 
 
 " What are you doing here ? " 
 
 " What I can. A bit of work when I can get it given to me. 
 I went tramping the country after I left the regiment " 
 
 " Then you have been a soldier ? " interrupted Mr. Elster. 
 
 " Safe enough. In tramping the country I came upon this 
 place: I crept into a shed, and was there for some days; 
 rheumatism had hold of me, and I couldn't move. It was 
 something to find I had a roof of any sort over my head, and be 
 let lie in it unmolested : and when I got better I stopped on." 
 
 " And have adopted it as your own, and have put a Avindow 
 and a chimney in it ! But do you know that Lord Hartledon 
 may not choose to retain you as a tenant ? " 
 
 " If Lord Hartledon should think of ousting me, I would ask 
 the Honourable Mr. Elster to intercede, in requital for the good 
 turn I've done him this day," was the bold answer. 
 
 Mr. Elster laughed. " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Tom Pike." 
 
 " I hear a great deal said of you, Pike, that's not pleasant ; 
 that you are a poacher, and a " 
 
 " Let them that say so prove it," interrupted Pike, his black 
 brows contracting. 
 
 " But how do you manage to live ? " 
 
 "That's my business, and not Calne's. At any rate, Mr. 
 Elster, I don't steal." 
 
 "I heard a worse hint dropped of you than any I have 
 mentioned," continued Val, after a pause. 
 
 " Tell it out, sir. Let's have all the catalogue at once." 
 
 " That the night my brother, Mr. Elster, was shot, you were 
 out with the poachers." 
 
 " I dare say you heard that I shot him, for I know that it has 
 been said," fiercely cried the man. " It's a black, bitter lie ! — 
 
74 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 and tlie time may come when I sliall ram it down Calne's 
 throat. I swear that I never fired a shot that night ; I swear 
 that I had no more a hand in George Elster's death than you 
 had. Will you believe me ? " 
 
 The accents of truth are rarely mistakable, and Val was 
 positive he heard them now. So far, he believed the man ; and 
 from that moment dismissed the doubt from his mind, if indeed 
 it had not been dismissed before. 
 
 " Do you know who did fire the shot ? " 
 
 " I do not ; I was not out at all that night. Calne pitched 
 upon me, because there was nobody else in particular that it 
 could pitch upon. A dozen poachers were in the fray, most of 
 them with guns ; little wonder that the random shot from one 
 should have found a mark. I know nothing more certain than 
 that, so help " 
 
 " That will do," interrupted Mr. Elster, stopping what might 
 be coming ; for, as is sometimes the case with men of a refined 
 nature, he preferred simple language to strong. " I believe you 
 fully, Pike. What part of the country were you born in ? " 
 
 " London. Born and bred in it." 
 
 " That I do not believe," he said frankly. " Your accent is 
 not that of a Londoner." 
 
 "As you will, sir," returned Pike. "My mother was of 
 country birth — Devonshire ; but I was born and bred in 
 London. I recognized that one with the writ for a fellow 
 cockney at once ; and for what he was, too — a sheriff's officer. 
 Shouldn't be surprised but I knew him for one years ago." 
 
 Val Elster dropped a coin into the man's hand, and bade him 
 good morning. Pike touched his wide-awake in token of 
 thanks, and reiterated his intention of " dodging the enemy." 
 But, as Mr. Elster pursued his way with cautious steps, and 
 eyes that peered all ways at once, the face he had just quitted 
 continued to haunt him. It was not like any face he had ever 
 seen, as far as he could remember ; nevertheless ever and anon 
 some reminiscence seemed to start out of it and vibrate upon a 
 chord in his memory. 
 
( 75 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 CLERK gum's shutters. 
 
 It was a rather singular coincidence, noted after the terrible 
 event, now looming in the distance, had taken place, and when 
 people began to comment on the various circumstances sur- 
 rounding it, that Monday, the second day fixed for the boat-race, 
 should be another day of rain. As if Heaven would have inter- 
 posed to prevent it ! said the thoughtful and romantic. 
 
 A steady, pouring, soaking rain ; j)^itting a stop again to the 
 race for that day. The competitors might have been willing to 
 get wet themselves, but not to subject the fair spectators to the 
 infliction. There was some inward discontent, and a great 
 deal of outward grumbling ; it did no good, and the race was 
 put off until the next day. 
 
 Val Elster retained his liberty as yet. Very chary indeed 
 had he been of showing himself outside the door on Saturday, 
 once he was safely within it. Neither had any misfortune 
 befallen Lord Hartledon. That unconscious peer must have 
 contrived, in all innocence, to " dodge " the gentleman who 
 was looking out for him, for they, did not meet. 
 
 On the Sunday it happened that neither of the brothers went 
 to church. Lord Hartledon, on awaking in the morning, found 
 he had a sore throat, and would not get up. Val did not dare 
 to show himself out of doors. Not from fear of arrest that day, 
 but lest any of&cious meddler should point him out as the real 
 Simon Pure, the Honourable Percival Elster. But for these 
 circumstances, the man with the writ could hardly have remained 
 under the delusion, as he appeared at church himself. 
 
 " Which is Lord Hartledon ? " he whispered to his neighbour 
 on the free benches, when the large party from the great house 
 had entered, and settled themselves in their pews. 
 
76 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " I don't see him. He lias not come to-day." 
 " Which is the Honourable Mr. Elster ? " 
 " He has not come, either." So for that day recognition was 
 escaped. 
 
 It was not to be so on the next. The rain, as I have said, 
 came down, putting off the boat-race, and keeping Hartledon's 
 guests indoors all the morning ; but late in the afternoon some 
 unlucky star put it into the earl's head to go down to the 
 Rectory. His throat was better — almost well ; and he was not 
 a man to coddle himself unnecessarily. 
 
 He paid his visit, stayed talking a considerable time with 
 Mrs. Ashton, whose company he liked, and took his departure 
 about six o'clock. " You and Anne might almost walk up with 
 me," he remarked to the doctor as he shook hands ; for the 
 Eector and Miss Ashton were to dine at Hartledon that day. 
 It was to have been the crowning festival to the boat-race — the 
 race which now had not taken place. 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked up at the skies, and found he had no 
 occasion to open his umbrella, for the rain had ceased. Sundry 
 rays in the west, increasing in brightness, seemed to give good 
 hope that the morrow would be fair ; and his lordship, rejoicing 
 in this cheering prospect, crossed the broad lawn of the Rectory. 
 As he went through the gate some one laid a hand upon his 
 shoulder. 
 
 " The Honourable Percival Elster, I believe ? " 
 
 The earl looked at the intruder. A seedy man, with a long 
 coat and large red whiskers, who held out something to him. 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked, releasing his shoulder by a sharp 
 movement. 
 
 " I'm sorry to do it, sir ; but you know we are only the agent 
 of others in these affairs. You are my prisoner, sir." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said the earl, taking the matter coolly. " You 
 have got hold of the wrong man for once. I am not the 
 Honourable Percival Elster." 
 
 The capturer laughed : a very civil laugh. " It won't do, sir ; 
 we often have that trick tried on us." 
 
 "But I tell you I am not Mr. Elster," reiterated the peer, 
 speaking this time with some asperity. " I am Lord Hartledon." 
 
 He of the loose coat shook his head. He had his hand again 
 
CLERK gum's shutters. 
 
 77 
 
 on the supposed Mr. Elster's arm, and told him he must go 
 with him. 
 
 " You cannot take me ; you cannot arrest a peer. This is 
 simply ridiculous," continued Lord Hartledon, almost laughing 
 at the real absurdity of the thing. " Any child in Calne could 
 tell you who I am." 
 
 " As well make no words over it, sir. It's only waste of 
 time." 
 
 "You have a warrant — as I understand — to arrest the 
 Honourable Percival Elster?" 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Elster, I have. The man that was looking for 
 you in London got taken ill, and couldn't come down, so our 
 folks sent me. 'You'll know him by his good looks,' said 
 they ; ' an aristocrat, every inch of him.' Don't give me 
 trouble, sir." 
 
 "Well now — I am not Percival Elster: I am his brother. 
 Lord Hartledon. You cannot take one brother for another ; 
 and, what's more, you had better not try to do it. Stay ! look 
 here." 
 
 He pulled out his card-case, and showed his cards— "The 
 Earl of Hartledon." He exhibited a couple of letters that 
 happened to bo about him — " The Eight Honble. the Earl of 
 Hartledon." It was of no use. 
 
 " I've known that dodge tried before, too," said his obstinate 
 capturer. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was growing angry. He saw some proof 
 must be tendered before he could regain his liberty. Jabez 
 Gum happened to be standing at his gate opposite, and the earl 
 called to him. 
 
 " Will you be so kind as tell this man who I am, Mr. (jrum. 
 He is mistaking me for some one else." 
 
 " This is the Earl of Hartledon," said Jabez, promptly. 
 
 A moment's hesitation on the officer's part ; but he felt too 
 sure of his man to believe this. " I'll take the risk," said he, 
 stolidly. " Where's the good of your holding out, Mr. Elster ? " 
 
 " Come this way, then ! " cried the earl, beginning to lose his 
 temper. " And if you carry this too far, my man, I'll have you 
 punished." 
 
 He went striding up to the Rectory. Had he taken a moment 
 
78 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 for consideration, he might have turned away, rather than 
 expose this misfortune of Val's there. The doctor came into 
 the hall, and was recognized as the Kector, and there was some 
 little commotion ; Anne's white face looking on at it from a 
 distance. The man was convinced, and took his departure in 
 humility, considerably crestfallen. 
 
 " What is the amount ? " called the doctor, sternly. 
 
 " Not over-much, sir, this. It's under three hundred." 
 
 Which was as much as to say that there was more behind it. 
 Dr. Ashton mentally washed his hands of the Honourable 
 Percival Elster as a future son-in-law. 
 
 The first intimation that ill-starred gentleman received of 
 the untoward turn affairs were taking was from the Kector 
 himself. Mr. Percival Elster had been chuckling over that 
 opportune sore throat, as a blessed means of keeping his brother 
 indoors ; and it never occurred to him that Lord Hartledon 
 would venture out at all on the Monday. Being a man with 
 his wits about him, it, of course, had not failed to occur to his 
 mind that there was a possibility of Lord Hartledon's being 
 arrested in place of himself; but so long as the earl kept 
 indoors the danger was averted. Had Percival Elster seen his 
 brother go out he might have plucked up the courage to tell 
 him the state of affairs. 
 
 But he did not see him. Lounging idly — what else had he, 
 a poor prisoner, to do ? — in the sunny society of Maude Kirton, 
 and of other attractive girls, Mr. Elster was unconscious of the 
 movements of the household in general. He was in his own 
 room dressing for dinner when the truth burst upon him. 
 
 Dr. Ashton was a straightforward, practical man — it has been 
 already said so — who went direct to the point at once in any 
 matters of difficulty. He arrived at Hartledon a few minutes 
 before the dinner-hour, found Mr. Elster was yet in his dressing- 
 room, and went there to him. 
 
 The news, the cool, scornful anger of the Eector, the keen 
 question — " Was he mad ? " burst upon the unhappy Val like a 
 clap of thunder. He was standing in his shirt-sleeves, ready 
 to go down, all but his coat and waistcoat, and his hair-brushes 
 in the uplifted hands. The hands and the brushes had been 
 arrested midway in the shock. The calm clerical man ; all the 
 
CLEKK GUM S SHUTTERS. 
 
 79 
 
 more terrible then because of his calmness ; standing there with 
 his cold stinging words, and his unhappy token-to culprit facing 
 him, conscious of his heinous sins — the worst sin of all, that of 
 being found out. 
 
 " Others have done as much before me, sir, and have not 
 made the less good men," spoke Yal, in his desperation. 
 
 Dr. Ashton could not help admiring the man, as he stood 
 there in his physical beauty. In spite of his inward anger, his 
 condemnation, his disappointment— and they were all very 
 great — the good looks of Percival Elster struck him forcibly 
 with a sort of annoyance : why should these men be so out- 
 wardly fair, so inwardly frail ? Those good looks had told 
 upon his daughter's heart ; and they all loved lier^ and could 
 not bear to cause her pain. Tall, supple, graceful and strong, 
 towering nearly a head above the doctor, he stood, his pleasing 
 features full of the best sort of attraction, his violet eyes rather 
 wider open than usual, the waves of his silken hair smooth and 
 bright. " If he were only half as fair in conduct as in looks ! " 
 muttered the grieved divine. 
 
 But those violet eyes, usually beaming with kindness to all 
 the world, suddenly changed their present expression of depre- 
 cation to one of angry rage. Dr. Ashton gave a pretty accurate 
 description of how the crisis had been brought to his knowledge 
 — that Lord Hartledon had come to the Eectory, with his 
 mistaken assailant, to be identified ; and Percival Elster's anger 
 was turned against his brother. Never in all his life had he 
 been in such a passion ; and having to suppress its signs in the 
 presence of the Kector only made the fuel burn more fiercely. 
 To xuin him with the doctor by going there with the news! 
 Anywhere else — anywhere else ! 
 
 Hedges, the butler, interrupted the conference. Dinner was 
 waiting. Lord Hartledon looked to Val as the two entered the 
 room, and was rather surprised at the furious gaze of reproach 
 that was cast back on him. 
 
 Miss Ashton was not there. No, of course not ! It needed 
 not Val's glance around to be assured of that. Of coarse they 
 were to be separated from that hour ; the fiat was already gone 
 forth. And Mr. Yal Elster felt so savage that he could have 
 struck his brother. He heard Dr. Ashton's reply to an inquiry 
 
80 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 —that Mrs. Ashton was feeling unusually poorly, and Anne 
 remained at home with her — but he looked upon it as an 
 evasion. Not a word did he speak during dinner : not a word, 
 save what was forced from him by common courtesy, spoke he 
 after the ladies had quitted the room ; he only drank a great 
 deal of wine. 
 
 A very unusual circumstance for Val Elster. With all his 
 weak resolution, his yielding nature, unseemly drinking was a 
 fault he was scarcely ever seduced into. Not above two or 
 three times in his life could he remember to have exceeded the 
 bounds of strict, temperate sobriety. The fact was, he was in 
 wrath with himself : all his past follies were pressing upon him 
 with bitter condemnation. He was just in that frame of mind 
 when an object to vent our fury upon becomes a sort of 
 necessity ; and Mr. Elster's was vented on his brother. 
 
 He was waiting at boiling-point for the opportunity to " have 
 it out " with him : and it soon came. As the gentlemen left 
 the dining-room — and in these present days they do not, as a 
 rule, sit long, especially when the host is a young man — 
 Pcrcival Elster touched his brother to detain him, and slammed 
 the door on the heels of the rest. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was surprised. Val's attack was so savage. 
 He was talking off his superfluous wrath, and the wine he had 
 taken did not tend to cool his heat. Lord Hartledon vexed at 
 the injustice, lost his temper ; and for once there was a quarrel, 
 sharp and loud, between the brothers. It did not last long : in 
 its very midst they parted ; throwing cutting words one at the 
 other. Lord Hartledon quitted the room, with a sneer, to join 
 his guests ; Val Elster strode outside the window to cool his 
 brain. 
 
 But now, look at the obstinate pride of those two foolish 
 men ! They were angry with each other in temper, but not in 
 heart. In Percival Elster's conscience there was an underlying 
 conviction that his brother had acted only in thoughtless 
 impulse when he carried the misfortune to the Eectory ; whilst 
 Lord Hartledon was even then full of plans for serving Val, 
 and considered he had more need to help him than ever. A 
 day or two given to the indulgence of their anger, and they 
 would be firmer friends than before. 
 
CLERK gum's shutters. 
 
 81 
 
 The large French window of the dining-room, opening to the 
 ground, was flung back by Val Elster ; and he stepped forth 
 into the cool night, which was beautifully fine. The room 
 looked towards the river. The velvet lawn, wet with the day's 
 rain, lay calm and silent under the bright stars ; the flowering 
 exotics, clustering around far and wide, gave out their sweet 
 and heavy night perfume. Not an instant had he been outside 
 when he became coniicious that some figure was gliding towards 
 him — was almost close to him ; and he recognized Mr. Pike. 
 Yes, that worthy gentleman appeared to be only then arriving 
 on his evening visit : in point of fact, he had been glued car and 
 eye to the window during the quarrel. 
 
 " What do you want ? " demanded Mr. Elster. 
 
 " Well, I came up here hoping to get speech of you,** replied 
 the man in his rough, abrupt manner, more in character with 
 his appearance and his lawless reputation than with his natural 
 accent and unmistakable intelligence. " There was a nasty 
 accident came off a few hours ago : that shark caught hold of 
 his lordship." 
 
 " I know he did," savagely spoke Val. " The result of your 
 informing him that I was Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " I did it for the best, Mr. Elster. He'd have nabbed you 
 that very time, but for my putting him off the scent as I did." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I am aware you did it for the best, and I suppose it 
 turned out to be so," quickly replied Val in an impulse of 
 justice, some of his native kindliness resuming its sway. " It's 
 an unfortunate affair altogether, and that's the best that can be 
 said of it." 
 
 " What I came up here for was to tell you he was gone." 
 " Who is gone ? " 
 " The shark." 
 "Gone!" 
 
 " He went off by the seven train. Lord Hartledon told him 
 he'd communicate with his principals and see that the affair was 
 arranged. It satisfied the man, and he went away by the next 
 train — which happened to be the seven-o'clock one." 
 
 " How do you know this ? " asked Mr. Elster. 
 
 " This way," was the answer. " I was hovering about outside 
 that shed of mine, and I saw the encounter at the parson's gate 
 
 Elster's Folly. 6 
 
82 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 — ^for that's where it took place. The first thing the fellow did 
 when it was all over was to bolt over the road to me, and accuse 
 me of purposely misleading him. ' Not a bit of it,' said I ; ' if I 
 did mislead you, it was unintentional, for I took the one who 
 came over the bridge on Saturday to be Lord Hartledon, safe 
 as eggs. But they have been down here only a week,' I went 
 on, ' and I suppose I don't know 'em apart yet.' I can't say 
 whether he believed me; I think he did: he's a soft sort of 
 chap. It was all right, he said : the earl had passed his word 
 to him that it should be mado so without his arresting Mr. 
 Elster, and he was off back to London at once." 
 " And he has gone ? " 
 
 Mr. Pike gave a significant nod of the wide-awake on his 
 bushy black head. " I watched him go. I dodged him up to 
 the station and saw him off." 
 
 Then this one danger was over! He, Val, might breathe 
 freely again. 
 
 " And I thought you would like to know that the coast was 
 clear ; so I came up to tell you," concluded Pike. 
 
 " Thank you for your trouble," said Mr. Elster. " I shall not 
 forget it." 
 
 " You'll remember it, perhaps, if a question arises touching 
 that shed," spoke the man. " I may need a word sometime with 
 Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " I'll remember it. Pike. Here, wait a moment. Is Thomas 
 Pike your real name ? " 
 
 " Well, I conclude it is. Pike was the name of my father 
 and mother. As to Thomas— not knowing where I was 
 christened, I can't go and look at the register ; but they never 
 called me anything but Tom. Did you wish to know particu- 
 larly?" 
 
 There was a tone of mockery in the man's answer, not par- 
 ticularly acceptable to his hearer ; and he let him go without 
 further hindrance. But the man turned back in an instant of 
 his own accord. 
 
 " I dare say you are wanting to know why I did you this 
 little turn, Mr. Elster. I have been caught in corners myself 
 before now ; and if I can help anybody to get out of 'em with- 
 out trouble to myself, I'm willing to do it. And to circumvent 
 
CLERK gum's shutters. 
 
 83 
 
 these law-sharks comes home to my spirit as wholesome 
 refreshment." 
 
 Mr. Pike finally departed. He took the lonely way, and 
 only struck into the high-road opposite his own domicile, the 
 shed. Passing round it, he hovered at its rude door — the one 
 he had himself made, along with the ruder window — and then, 
 treading softly, he stepped to the low stile in the hedge, which 
 had for years made the boundary between the waste land on 
 which the shed stood and Clerk Gum's garden. Here he halted 
 a minute, looking all ways. Then he stepped over the stile, 
 crouched down amongst Mr. Gum's cabbages, got under shelter 
 of the hedge, and so stole onwards, until he came to an anchor 
 at the kitchen-window, and laid his ear to the shutter, just as 
 it had recently been laid against the glass in the dining-room 
 of my Lord Hartledon. 
 
 That he had a propensity for prying into the private affairs 
 of his neighbours near and distant, there could be little doubt. 
 Mr. Pike, however, was not destined on this one occasion to 
 reap any substantial reward. The kitchen appeared to be 
 wrapped in perfect silence. Satisfying himself as to this, he 
 next took off his heavy shoes, stole past the back-door, and 
 so round the clerk's house to the front. Very, very softly 
 indeed went he, creeping by the wall, and emerging at last 
 round the angle, by the window of the best parlour. Here, 
 most excessively to Mr. Pike's consternation, he came upon a 
 lady doing exactly what he had come to do — namely, stealthily 
 listening at the window to anything there might be to hear inside. 
 
 The shrill scream she gave when she lifted her face and found 
 it in contact with the wild black-haired one of the other 
 intruder, might have been heard over at Dr. Ashton's. Clerk 
 Gum, who had been quietly writing in his office, came out in 
 haste, and recognized Mrs. Jones, the wife of the surly porter 
 at the station, and the step-mother of the troublesome young 
 servant, Becky. Pike had totally disappeared. 
 
 Mrs. Jones, partly through her fright, partly in anger arising 
 from a long-standing grievance, avowed the truth boldly : that 
 she had been listening at the parlour-shutters ever since she 
 went out of the house ten minutes ago, and had been set upon 
 by that wolf Pike. 
 
84 
 
 ELSTER's POLLY. 
 
 "Set upon!" exclaimed the clerk, looking swiftly in all 
 directions for the offender. 
 
 "I don't know what else you can call it, when a highway 
 robber — a murderer, if all tales is true — steals round upon you 
 without warning, and glares his eyes into yours," shrieked Mrs. 
 Jones wrathfully. " And if he wasn't barefoot, Gum, my eyes 
 strangely deceived me. I'd have you and Nancy take care of 
 your throats." 
 
 She turned into the house, to the best parlour, where the 
 clerk's wife was sitting vnth a visitor, Mary Mirrable. Mrs. 
 Gum, when she found what the commotion had been about, gave 
 a sharp cry of terror, and shook from head to foot. 
 
 "On our premises! Close to our house! That dreadful 
 man ! Oh, Lydia, don't you think you mistook ? " 
 
 " Mistook ! Me ! " retorted Lydia Jones, whose tongue could 
 be tolerably fast on occasion. " That wild black face ain't one 
 to be mistook : I should like to see its fellow in Calne. Why 
 Lord Hartledon don't have him took up on suspicion of that 
 murder, is odd to me." 
 
 " You'd better hold your tongue about that suspicion, Lydia," 
 interposed Mary Mirrable. " I have cautioned you before. 1 
 shouldn't like to breathe a word against a desperate man ; I should 
 go about in fear that he might hear of it, and avenge himself." 
 
 In came the clerk. " I don't see a sign of anybody about," 
 he said ; " and I'm sure whoever it was could not have had the 
 time to get away. You must have been mistaken, Lydia Jones." 
 
 " Me mistaken ! Mistaken in what, pray ? " 
 
 " That any man was there. You got confused, and fancied it, 
 perhaps. As to Pike, he'd never dare to come on my premises, 
 whether by night or by day. What were you doing at the 
 window ? " 
 
 " Listening," defiantly replied Mrs. Lydia Jones. " And now 
 I'll just tell out what I've had in my head this long while, 
 Jabez Gum, and know the reason of Nancy's slighting me in 
 the way she do. What secret has she and Mary Mirrable got 
 between them ? " 
 
 "Secret?" repeated the clerk, whilst his wife gave a faint 
 cry, and Mary Mirrable turned her calm face on Mrs. Jones. 
 " Have they a secret ? " 
 
CLERK gum's shutters. 
 
 85 
 
 " Yes, they have," raved Mrs. Jones, giving vent to her long 
 pent-up passion. " If they haven't, I'm blind and deaf. If I 
 have come into your house once during the past year and found 
 Mary Mirrable stuck in it, and the two sitting and whispering, 
 I've come ten times, Jabez Gum. This evening I came in at 
 dusk ; I turned the handle of the door and peeped into the best 
 parlour, and there they were, nose and knees together, starting 
 away from each other as soon as they saw me, and Nance giving 
 one of her faint cries, and the two making believe to have been 
 talking of the weather. It's always so. And I want to know 
 what secret it is they have got hold of, and whether I'm poison, 
 that I can't be trusted with it." 
 
 Jabez Gum slowly turned his eyes on the two in question. 
 His wife lifted her hands in deprecation at the thought that 
 she should have a secret : Mrs. Mirrable (as she was called in 
 Calne) was laughing. 
 
 " Nancy's secret to-night, when you interrupted us^ was 
 telling me of a dream she had, regarding Lord Hartledon, and 
 of how she mistook Mr. Elster for him the morning he came 
 down," cried the latter. " And if you have really been listening 
 at the shutters since you went out, Lydia, you should by this 
 time know how to pickle walnuts in the new way : for I declare 
 that is all our conversation has been about since. You always 
 were suspicious, you know, and you always will be." 
 
 " Look here, Mrs. J ones," said the clerk decisively ; " I don't 
 choose to have my shutters listened at : it might give the house 
 an ill name, for quarrelling, or something of that sort. So I'll 
 trouble you not to repeat what you have done to-night, or I 
 shall forbid your coming here. A secret, indeed 1 " 
 
 " Yes, a secret ! " persisted Mrs. Jones, in her obstinacy. 
 " And if I don't come at what it is one of these days, my name's 
 not Lydia. It strikes me — I may be wrong — but it strikes me it 
 concerns me and my husband and my household, which some 
 folks are ever ready to interfere with. I'll take myself off 
 now; and I'd recommend you, as a parting warning, to de- 
 nounce that Pike to the police for an attempt at housebreaking, 
 before you're both battered senseless in your bed. That'll be 
 the end on't." 
 
 She went away, screaming out the last words down the 
 
86 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 garden-path. Clerk Gum wished he could denounce Tier. 
 Mary Mirrable laughed again ; and the other woman, so 
 cowardly timid, fell back in her chair as one seized with ague. 
 
 Beyond giving an occasional dole to Mrs. Jones for her 
 children — and to tell the truth, she clothed them all, or they 
 would have gone naked — Mary Mirrable had shaken her cousin 
 off long ago : which of course did not tend to soothe the 
 naturally jealous spirit of Mrs. Jones. Hartledon House she 
 was not welcomed at, and could not go to ; but she watched for 
 the visits of Mary Mirrable at the clerk's, and was certain to 
 intrude there also on those occasions. 
 
 " 111 find it out I " she repeated to herself, as she went bang- 
 ing through the garden-gate ; " Til find it out. And as to that 
 there hairy poacher of a Pike, he'd better bring his black face 
 a-nigh mine again ! " 
 
( 87 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 Tuesday morning rose, bright and propitious : a contrast to 
 the two previous days fixed for the boat-race. All was pleasure, 
 bustle, excitement at Hartledon: but the coolness that had 
 arisen between the brothers was noticed by some of the guests. 
 Neither of them was disposed to take the first step towards 
 reconciliation : and, indeed, a little incident that occurred that 
 morning led to another ill word between them. An account 
 that had been standing for more than two years was sent in to 
 Lord Hartledon's steward ; it was for some harness, a saddle, a 
 silver-mounted whip, and a few trifles of that sort, supplied by 
 a small tradesman in the village. Lord Hartledon protested 
 there was nothing of the sort owing; but upon inquiry the 
 debtor proved to be the Honourable Percival Elster. Lord 
 Hartledon, vexed that any one in the neighbourhood should 
 have waited so long for his money, said a sharp word on the 
 score to Percival ; and the latter retorted as sharply that it was 
 no business of his. Again Val was angry with himself, and 
 thus gave vent to his temper. The fact was, he had completely 
 forgotten the trifling debt, and was as vexed as Lord Hartledon 
 that it should have been allowed to remain unpaid : but the 
 man had not sent him any reminder whilst he was away. 
 
 " Pay it to-day, Marris," cried Lord Hartledon to his steward. 
 " I won't have this sort of thing at Calne." 
 
 His tone was one of aggravation — or at least it sounded so to 
 the ears of his conscious brother, and Val bit his lips. After 
 that, throughout the morning, they maintained a studied silence 
 towards each other ; and thig was observed, but was not 
 
88 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 commented on. Val was unusually quiet altogether: he was 
 saying to himself that he was sullen. 
 
 The starting-hour for the race was three o'clock ; but long 
 before that the scene was sufficiently animated, not to say ex- 
 citing. It was a most lovely afternoon. Not a trace remained 
 of the previous day's rain ; and the river — wide just there, as 
 it took the sweeping curve of the point — was dotted with these 
 little wager boats. Their lordly owners for the time being, in 
 their white boating-costume, each displaying his colours, were 
 in the highest spirits ; and the fair gazers gathered on the 
 banks were anxiously eager as to the result. The favourite was 
 Lord Hartledon — by long odds, as Mr. Shute grumbled. Had 
 his lordship been known not to possess the smallest chance, 
 nine of those fair girls out of ten would, nevertheless, have 
 betted upon him. Some of them were hoping to play for a 
 deeper stake than a pair of gloves — that of being mistress of 
 Hartledon. A staff, from which fluttered a gay little flag, had 
 been driven into the ground, exactly opposite the house : it was 
 the starting and the winning point. At a certain distance up 
 the river, near to the mill, a boat was moored in midstream : 
 this they would row round, and come back again. 
 
 At three o'clock they were to take the boats ; and, allowing 
 for time being wasted in the start, might be in again and the 
 race won in three- quarter s-of-an-hour. But, as is often the 
 case, the time was not adhered to ; one hindrance occurred after 
 another; there was a great deal of laughing and joking, for- 
 getting of things and of getting into order ; and at a quarter 
 to four they were not off. But all was ready at last, and most 
 of the rowers were each in his little cockle-shell of a boat. 
 Lord Hartledon lingered yet. He was in the midst of the group 
 of ladies, all clustered together at one spot ; they were keeping 
 him with their many comments and questions. Each one wore 
 the colours of her favourite : crimson and purple predominating, 
 for they were those of the earl. Lady Kirton displayed her 
 loyalty in a conspicuous manner. She had an old grimson 
 gauze skirt on, once a ball-dress, with ends of purple ribbon 
 floating from it and fluttering in the wind ; and a purple head- 
 dress with a crimson feather. Maude, in a spirit of perversity, 
 displayed a blue shoulder-knot, timidly offered to her by o, 
 
THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 89 
 
 young Oxford man who was staying there, Mr. Shute ; and 
 Anne Ashton wore the colours given her by Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " I can't stay ; you'd keep me all day : don't you see they 
 are waiting for me ? " he laughingly cried, extricating himself 
 from the throng. " Why, Anne, my dear, is it you ? How is 
 it I did not see you before ? Are you here alone ? " 
 
 She had not long joined the crowd, having come up late from 
 the Eectory, and had been standing outside, for she never pushed 
 herself forward anywhere. Lord Hartledon drew her arm 
 within his own for a moment and took her apart. 
 
 Arthur came up with me : I don't know where he is now. 
 Mamma was afraid to venture ; she thought the grass might be 
 damp." 
 
 "And the Eector of course would not countenance us by 
 coming," said Lord Hartledon, with a laugh. " I remember his 
 prejudices against boating of old." 
 
 " He is coming to dinner." 
 
 " As you all are ; Arthur also to-day. I made the doctor 
 promise that. A jolly banquet we'll have, too, and toast the 
 winner. Anne, I just wanted to say this to you : Val is in an 
 awful rage with me for letting that matter get to the ears of 
 your father, and I am not pleased with him ; so altogether we 
 are just now treating each other to a dose of sullenness, and 
 when we do speak it's to growl, like two amiable bears ; but it 
 shall make no difference to what I said last week. All shall be 
 made smooth, even to the satisfaction of your father. You 
 may trust me." 
 
 He ran off from her, stepped into the skiff, and was taking 
 the sculls, when he uttered a sudden exclamation, leaped out 
 again, and began to run with all speed towards the house. 
 
 " What is it ? Where are you going ? " asked that tall fine man 
 the O'Moore, so thoroughly Irish, and who was the appointed 
 steward. 
 
 " I have forgotten " WJiat, they did not catch ; the word 
 
 was lost on the air. 
 
 " It is bad luck to turn back," called out Maude. " You 
 won't win." 
 
 He did not hear ; he was already half-way to the house. A 
 couple of minutes after entering it he reappeared again, and 
 
90 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 came flying down the slopes at full speed. All in a moment 
 his foot slipped, and he fell to the ground. The only one who 
 saw the accident was Mr. O'Moore; the general attention at 
 that moment being concentrated upon the river. He hastened 
 back. His lordship was then gathering himself up, but slowly. 
 
 " No damage," said he ; " only a bit of a wrench to the foot. 
 Give me your arm for a minute, O'Moore. This ground must 
 be slippery from the rain yesterday." 
 
 Mr. O'Moore held out his arm, and the earl took it. " The 
 ground is not slippery. Hart ; it's as dry as a bone." 
 
 " Then what caused me to slip ? " 
 
 " The speed you were coming at. Had you not better give 
 up the contest, and rest ? " 
 
 " Nonsense ! My foot will be all right in the skiff. Let me 
 get along ; they'll all be out of patience." 
 
 When it was seen that something was amiss with him, that he 
 leaned, and rather heavily, on the O'Moore, anxious questions 
 were directed to him, eager steps pressed round him. Lord 
 Hartledon laughed, making light of it : he had been so clumsy 
 as to stumble, and had twisted his ankle a little. It was 
 nothing. 
 
 " Stay on shore and give it a rest," cried one of them, as he 
 stepped once more into the little boat. " I am sure you are hurt." 
 
 " Not I. It will have rest in the boat. Anne," he said, 
 looking up at her with his pleasant smile, " do you wear my 
 colours still ? " 
 
 She touched slightly the knot on her bosom, and smiled back 
 to him, her tone full of earnestness. " I would wear them 
 always." 
 
 And the countess-dowager, in her bedecked flounces and her 
 crimson feather, looked as if she would like to throw the Knot 
 and its wearer into the river, in the wake of the wager boats. 
 After one or two false starts, they got off at last. 
 
 " Do you think it seemly, this flirtation of yours with Lord 
 Hartledon ? " 
 
 Anne turned in amazement. The face of the old dowager 
 was close to her ear ; the snub nose and the rouged cheeks and 
 the false flaxen front looked ready to eat her up. 
 
 I have no flirtation with Lord Hartledon, Lady Kirton ; or 
 
THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 91 
 
 he with me. When I was a child, and he a great boy, years 
 older, he loved me and petted me as a little sister : I think he 
 does the same still." 
 
 " My daughter tells me you are counting upon one of the two 
 — the earl or his brother. If I say to you, do not be too 
 sanguine of either, I speak as a friend ; as your mother might 
 speak. Lord Hartledon is already appropriated ; and Val Elster 
 is not worth appropriating." 
 
 Was she mad ? Anne Ashton looked at her, really doubting 
 it. No, she was only vulgar-minded, and selfish, and utterly 
 impervious to all sense of shame in her scheming. Instinctively 
 Anne moved a pace further off. 
 
 " I do not think Lord Hartledon is appropriated yet," spoke 
 Anne, in a little spirit of mischievous retaliation. " That some 
 amongst his present guests would be glad to appropriate him 
 may be likely enough; but what if he is not willing to be 
 appropriated ? He said to Mr. Elster last week, that they were 
 wasting their time." 
 
 "Who's Mr. Elster?" cried the angry dowager. "What 
 right has he to be at Hartledon, poking his nose into everything 
 that does not concern him? — what right has he, I ask? " 
 
 "The right of being Lord Hartledon's brother," carelessly 
 replied Anne. 
 
 "It is a right he had best not presume upon," scornfully 
 rejoined Lady Kirton. " Brothers are brothers as children ; it 
 can't be helped when they are in the same common home, and 
 it's right it should be so ; but the tie grows wide and loose as 
 they grow up and launch out into their different spheres. 
 There's not a man of all Hartledon's guests but has more right 
 to be here than Val Elster. The contrast is not good for him : 
 the one a peer of the realm, rich and powerful; the other a 
 poor obscure fellow, who must earn his bread-and-cheese before 
 he eats it." 
 
 " Yet they are brothers still." 
 
 " Brothers ! I'll take care that Val Elster presumes no more 
 upon the tie when Maude reigns at Hartledon. I'll " 
 
 For once the countess-dowager caught up her words. She 
 had said more than she had meant to say. Anne Ashton's calm 
 sweet eyes were bent upon her, waiting for more. 
 
92 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " It is true," she said, giving a shake to the purple tails, and 
 taking a sudden resolution, " Lady Maude is to be his wife ; but 
 I ought not to have let it slip out. It was unintentional ; and 
 I throw myself on your honour. Miss Ashton." 
 
 " But it is not true ? " asked Anne, somewhat perplexed. 
 
 "It is true. Hartledon has his own reasons for keeping it 
 quiet at present ; but — you'll see when the time comes. Should 
 I take upon myself so much rule here as I am doing, but that it 
 is to be Lady Maude's future home ? " 
 
 " I don't believe it," cried Anne, as the old story-teller sailed 
 off. " That she loves him, and that her mother is anxious to 
 secure him, is all true ; but he is truthful and open, and would 
 never conceal it. No, no. Lady Maude ! you are cherishing a 
 false hope. You are very beautiful, but you are not worthy of 
 him; and I should not like you for my sister-in-law at all. 
 That dreadful old countess-dowager 1 How she dislikes Val, 
 and how rude she is I I'll try and not come in her way again 
 after to-day, as long as they are at Hartledon." 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Anne ? " 
 
 "Oh, not much," she answered, with a soft blush, for the 
 questioner was Mr. Elster. " Do you think your brother has 
 hurt himself much, Val ? " 
 
 " I didn't know he had hurt himself at all," returned Val 
 rather coolly, who had been on the river at the time in some- 
 body's skiff, and saw nothing of the occurrence. " What has 
 he done ? " 
 
 " He slipped down on the slopes and twisted his ankle. I 
 suppose they will be coming back soon." 
 
 " I suppose they will," was the answer. Val seemed in an 
 ungracious mood. He and Mr. O'Moore and young Carteret 
 were the only three who had remained behind. Anne asked 
 Val why he did not go and look on at the race; and he 
 answered, because he didn't want to. 
 
 It was getting on for five o'clock when the boats were 
 discerned returning. How they clustered on the banks, watch- 
 ing the excited rowers, some pale with their exertions, others 
 in a white heat ! Captain Dawkes was first, and was doing all 
 he could to keep so ; but when only a boat's length off the 
 winning-post another shot past him, and won by half a length. 
 
THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 93 
 
 It was the young Oxonian, Mr. Sliute — though indeed it docs 
 not much matter who it was, save that it was not Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " Strike your colours, ladies, you that sport the crimson and 
 purple ! " called out a laughing voice from one of the skiffs. 
 " Oxford blue wins." . 
 
 His lordship arrived last. He did not get up for some 
 minutes after the rest were in. In short, he was distanced. 
 
 " Hart has hurt his arm as well as his foot," observed one of the 
 others, as he came alongside. " That's why ho got distanced." 
 
 " No, it was not," dissented his lordship, looking uj) from his 
 skiff at the crowd of fair faces bent down upon him. " My arm 
 is all right ; it only gave me a few twinges when I first started. 
 My oar fouled, and I could not get right again ; so, finding I 
 had lost too much ground, I gave up the contest. Anne, had I 
 known I should disgrace my colours, I would not have given 
 them to you'' 
 
 " Miss Ashton loses, and Lady Maude wins 1 " cried out the 
 countess-dowager, executing a little dance of triumph, which 
 made her look not unlike a huge peacock turning itself about in 
 the rays of the declining sun. " Maude is the only one who 
 displays the Oxford blue." 
 
 It was true. The young Oxonian was a retiring and timid 
 man, and none had voluntarily assumed his colours. But no 
 one was paying heed to the countess-dowager. 
 
 " You are like a child, Hartledon, denying that your arm's 
 damaged I " exclaimed Captain Dawkes. " I know it is : I could 
 sec it by the way you struck your oar all along." 
 
 What feeling is it in man that prompts him to disclaim 
 physical pain? — to make light of personal injury? Lord 
 Hartledon's ankle was swelling to the size of two, at the bottom 
 of the boat ; and there is not the slightest doubt his arm was 
 paining him, though perhaps at the moment not very consider- 
 ably. But he maintained his own assertions. He protested his 
 arm was as sound as the best arm present. " I could go over 
 the work again with pleasure," cried he. 
 
 " Nonsense, Hart ! You could not." 
 
 " And I will go over it," he added, warming with the opposi- 
 tion. " Who'll try his strength with me ? There's plenty of 
 time before dinner." 
 
94 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " I will," eagerly spoke young Carteret, who had been, as was 
 remarked, one of those on land, and was wild to be handling 
 the oars. " If Dawkes will let me have his skiff. 111 bet you ten 
 to one you are distanced again. Hart." 
 
 Perhaps Lord Hartledon had not thought his challenge would 
 be taken seriously. But when he saw the eager, joyous look of 
 the boy Carteret — he was not yet nineteen — the flushed pleasure 
 of the beardless face, he would not have retracted it for the 
 world. He was just as good-natured as Percival Elster. 
 
 " Dawkes will let you have his skiff, Carteret." 
 
 Captain Dawkes was exceedingly glad to be rid of it. Good 
 boatman though he was, he rarely cared to spend his strength 
 superfluously, when nothing was to be gained by it, and had no 
 fancy to row his skiff to the place where it was kept, as most of 
 the others were already doing by theirs. He leaped out. 
 
 " Any one but you, Hartledon, would be glad to come out of 
 that tilting thing, and enjoy a rest, and get your face cool," 
 cried the countess-dowager. 
 
 " I dare say they might, ma'am. I'm afraid I am given to 
 obstinacy ; always was. Be quick, Carteret." 
 
 Mr. Carteret was hastily stripping himself of his coat, and 
 any odds and ends of attire he deemed he could do without. 
 " One moment, Hartledon ; only one moment," came the joyous 
 response. 
 
 " And you'll come home with your arm and your ankle the 
 hue of your colours, Hartledon — crimson and purple," screamed 
 the dowager. " And you'll be laid up, and go on perhaps to 
 lockjaw ; and then you'll expect me to nurse you ! " 
 
 " I shall expect nothing of the sort, ma'am, I pledge you my 
 word ; I'll nurse myself. All ready, Carteret ? " 
 
 " All ready. Same point as before. Hart ? " 
 
 " Same point : round the boat and home again." 
 
 " And it's ten sovs. to one, you know. Hart ? " 
 
 " All right ; ten sovs. to one. You'll lose your ten, Carteret." 
 
 Mr. Carteret laughed. He saw the ten sovereign as surely 
 in his possession as he saw the sculls in his hands. There was 
 no trouble with the start this time, and they were off at once. 
 
 Lord Hartledon taking the lead. He was spurring his 
 strength to the uttermost : perhaps out of bravado ; that he 
 
THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 95 
 
 might show them nothing was the matter with his arm. But 
 Mr. Carteret gained on him ; and as they turned the point and 
 went out of sight, the young man's boat was the foremost. 
 
 The race had been kept — as the sporting men amongst them 
 styled it — dark. Not an inkling of it had been suffered to get 
 abroad, or, as Lord Hartledon had observed, they should have 
 the banks swarming. The consequence was, that not more 
 than half-a-dozen curious idlers had assembled : those were on 
 the opposite side, and had now gone down with the boats to 
 Calne. No spectators, either on the river or the shore, attended 
 this smaller contest : Lord Hartledon and Mr. Carteret had it 
 all to themselves. 
 
 And meanwhile, during the time Lord Hartledon had re- 
 mained at rest in his skiff under the winning flag, Percival 
 Elster never addressed one word to him. There he stood, on 
 the edge of the bank ; but not a syllable spoke he, good, bad, 
 or indifferent. 
 
 Miss Ashton was looking out for her brother. She might 
 just as well have looked for a needle in a bottle of hay. Arthur 
 was off somewhere. 
 
 " You need not go home yet, Anne," said Val. 
 
 " I must. I have to dress for dinner. It is all to be very 
 grand to-night, you know," she said, with a merry laugh. 
 
 " With Shute in the post of honour. Who'd have thought 
 that awkward, quiet fellow would win ? I will see you home, 
 Anne, if you must go." 
 
 Miss Ashton coloured vividly with embarrassment. In the 
 present state of affairs, she did not know whether that might be 
 permitted : poor Val was in bad odour at the Eectory. He 
 detected the feeling, and it tended to vex him more and more. 
 
 " Nonsense, Anne ! The veto has not yet been interposed, 
 and they can't kill you for allowing my escort. Stay here if 
 you like : if you go, I shall see you home." 
 
 It was quite imperative that she should go, for the dinner at 
 Hartledon was that evening fixed for seven o'clock, and there 
 would be little enough time to dress and return again. They 
 set out, walking side by side. Anne told him of what Lord 
 Hartledon had said to her that day ; and Val coloured with 
 shame at the sullenness he had displayed, and his heart went 
 
96 
 
 ELSTEIl*S FOLLY. 
 
 into a glow of repentance. Had he met his brother then, he 
 had clasped his hand in warmth, and poured forth his con- 
 trition. 
 
 He met some one else instead, almost immediately. It was 
 Dr. Ashton, who was coming for Anne. Percival was not 
 wanted now : was not invited to continue his escort. A cold, 
 civil word or two passed, and Val struck across the grove into 
 the high-road, and returned that way to Hartledon. Perhaps 
 he thought he had had enough of the soft grass for that day, 
 and would try the hard road by way of a change. 
 
 He was about to turn in at the lodge-gates and give his usual 
 joking greeting to Mrs. Capper — that industrious lady being at 
 her open window in a state of soap-suds up to the elbows — 
 when his attention was caught by a figure coming down the 
 avenue. A man in a long coat that flapped about his heels, his 
 cheeks ornamented with bushy red whiskers. It required no 
 second glance for a recognition. The whiskers and the coat 
 proclaimed their owner at once ; and if ever the Honourable Val 
 Elster's heart leaped into his mouth, it certainly leaped then. 
 
 He went on, instead of turning in; went quietly, as if he 
 were only a stranger enjoying an evening stroll up the road ; 
 but the moment he was quite past the gates he set off at a 
 break-neck speed, not heeding where. That the man was looking 
 after him to arrest him, he felt as sure as he had ever felt of 
 anything in this world ; and in his perplexity he began accusing 
 every one of treachery, Lord Hartleton and Pike in particular. 
 
 The river at the back in this part took a sweeping curve, 
 bowing round the road, as it were ; the road kept straight ; so 
 that to arrive at a given point, the one would be a great deal 
 more quickly traversed than the other. On and on went Val 
 Elster ; and as soon as an opening allowed, he struck into the 
 brushwood on the right, intending to make his way back by the 
 river to Hartledon. 
 
 But not yet. Not until the shades of night should be falling 
 on the earth : he would have a better chance of getting away 
 from that shark in the dark than by daylight. He propped 
 his back against a tree and waited, hating himself all the time 
 for his cowardice. With all his scrapes and dilemmas, he had 
 never been reduced to hiding, such as this. 
 
THE WAGER BOATS. 
 
 97 
 
 And his pursuer had struck into the wood after him, passed 
 straight through it, though with some little doubt and difficulty, 
 and was already by the river-side, getting there just as Lord 
 Hartledon was passing in his skiff. Long as this may have 
 seemed in telling, it was only a short time in the action ; still 
 Lord Hartledon had not made quick way, or he would have 
 been further on his course in the race. 
 
 Would the sun ever set ? — daylight ever pass ? Val thought 
 not, in his impatience ; and he ventured out of his shelter very 
 soon, and saw for his reward — the long coat and the red whiskers 
 on the river's brink, their owner in converse with a man. Val 
 tore off further away, keeping the direction of the stream : the 
 brushwood might no longer be safe. He did not think they 
 had seen him : the man he dreaded had his back to him, the 
 other had his face. And that other was Pike. 
 
 Elster'8 Folly. 
 
 7 
 
98 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 Dinner at Hartledon had been ordered for seven o'clock. It 
 was beyond tbat hour when Dr. Ashton arrived, for he had been 
 detained — a clergyman's time is not always under his own 
 control. Anne and Arthur were with him, but not Mrs. Ashton. 
 He came in, ready with an apology for his tardiness, but found 
 he need not offer it ; neither Lord Hartledon nor his brother 
 having yet appeared. 
 
 " Hartledon and that boy Carteret have not returned home 
 yet," said the countess-dowager, in her fiercest tones, for she 
 was fonder of her dinner than of any earthly thing, and could 
 not brook being kept waiting for it. " And when they do come, 
 they'll keep us another half-hour while they dress." 
 
 " I beg your ladyship's pardon — they have come," interposed 
 Captain Dawkes. " Carteret was going into his room as I came 
 out of mine." 
 
 " Time they were," grumbled the dowager. " They were not 
 in five minutes ago, for I sent to ask Hartledon's man." 
 
 " Which of the two won the race ? " inquired Lady Maude of 
 Captain Dawkes. 
 
 "I don't think Carteret did," he replied, laughing. "He 
 seemed as sulky as a bear, and growled out that there had been 
 no race, for Hart had played him a trick." 
 
 "What did he mean?" 
 
 " Goodness knows.'' 
 
 "I hope Hartledon upset him," charitably interrupted the 
 dowager. " A ducking would do that boy Carteret good ; he 
 is too forward by half." 
 
 There was more waiting. The countess-dowager flounced 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 99 
 
 about in her florid pink-satin gown ; but it did not bring tbe 
 loiterers any tbe sooner. Lady Maude — perverse still, but very 
 beautiful — talked in a whisper to the hero of the day, Mr. 
 Shute ; and she wore a blue-silk robe and a blue wreath in her 
 hair. Anne adhered to the colours of Lord Hartledon, though 
 he had been defeated ; she was in a rich, glistening white silk, 
 natural flowers, red and purple, on its body and sleeves, and the 
 same in her hair. Her sweet face was sunny again ; her eyes 
 were sparkling : a word dropped by Dr. Ashton had given her a 
 hope that, perhaps, Percival Elster might be forgiven sometime. 
 
 He was the first of the culprits to make his appearance. The 
 dowager, who was growing ravenous, attacked him of course. 
 What did he mean by keeping dinner waiting ? 
 
 Val replied that he was late in coming home ; he had been 
 out. As to keeping dinner waiting, it seemed that Lord 
 Hartledon was doing that : he didn't suppose they'd have waited 
 for him. 
 
 He spoke tartly, as if not on good terms with himself or the 
 world. Anne Ashton, near to whom he had drawn, looked up 
 at him with a charming smile. 
 
 " Things may brighten, Percival," she softly breathed. 
 
 " It's to be hoped they will," gloomily returned Val. " They 
 look dark enough just now." 
 
 " What have you done to your face ? " she whispered. 
 
 " To my face ? Nothing that I know of." 
 
 " The forehead is red, as if it had been bruised, or slightly 
 grazed." 
 
 Val put his hand up to his forehead. " I did feel it smart 
 when I washed it just now," he remarked slowly, as though 
 doubting whether anything was amiss or not. " It must have 
 been done— when I— struck against that tree," he added, 
 apparently taxing his recollection. 
 
 " How was that ? " 
 
 " I was running in the dusk, and did not notice the branch 
 of a tree in my way. It's nothing, Anne ; the redness will soon 
 go off." 
 
 Mr. Carteret came in, looking just as Val Elster had done — 
 out of sorts. Questions were showered upon him as to the fate 
 of the race i but the dowager's voice was heard above all. 
 
100 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "This is a pretty time to make your appearance, sin 
 Where's Lord Hartledon ? " 
 
 " He*s in his room, I suppose. Hartledon never came,'' he 
 added, his tone very sulky as he turned from her to the rest. 
 " I rowed on, and on, thinking how nicely I was distancing him, 
 and got down, the mischief knows where. Miles, nearly, I 
 must have gone." 
 
 " But why did you go beyond the boat — the turning-point ? " 
 asked one. 
 
 " There was no boat," returned Mr. Carteret ; " some con- 
 founded meddler must have unmoored it as soon as the first 
 race was over, and I, like an idiot, rowed on, looking for it. All 
 at once it came into my mind what a way I must have gone, and 
 I turned and waited. And might have waited till now," added 
 Mr. Carteret, in an access' of temper, " for Hart never came." 
 
 "Then his arm must have failed him," exclaimed Captain 
 Dawkes. " I thought it was all wrong." 
 
 " It wasn't right, for I soon shot beyond him, out and out," 
 returned young Carteret, more and more aggrieved at every 
 word. " But Hart knew the spot where the boat ought to have 
 been, though I didn't ; what he did, I suppose, was to clear 
 round it just as though it had been there, and come in home 
 again. It will be an awful shame if he takes an unfair 
 advantage of it, and claims the mce." 
 
 " Hai-t never took an unfair advantage in his life," spoke up 
 Val Elster, in clear, decisive tones. " You need not be afraid, 
 Carteret. I dare say his arm failed him." 
 
 ^ " Well, he might have hallooed out to me, when he found it 
 failing, and not have suffered me to row all that way for 
 nothing," was the retort of young Carteret. " Not a trace 
 could I see of him as I came back ; he had hastened home, I 
 expect, to shut himself up in his room with his damaged arm 
 and foot." 
 
 " I'll see what he's doing there," said Val. 
 
 He went out; but returned immediately. The little snub 
 nose of the dowager turned up with hope. 
 
 "We are all under a mistake," was the greeting of Val. 
 " Hartledon has not returned yet. His servant is in his room 
 waiting for him." 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 101 
 
 " Then what do you mean by telling stories ? " demanded the 
 countess-dowager, turning sharply on Mr. Carteret in her angry 
 hunger. 
 
 " Good Heavens, ma'am ! you need not begin upon me ! " was 
 the retort of young Carteret. " I have told no stories. I said 
 Hart let me go on, and never came on himself ; if that's a story, 
 I'll swallow Dawkes's skiff and both the sculls." 
 
 " You said he was in his room. You know you did." 
 
 " I said I supposed so. It is usual for a man to go there, I 
 believe, to make himself decent for dinner," added young 
 Carteret, always ripe for a wordy war, in his antipathy to the 
 countess-dowager. 
 
 " You said he had come in ; " and the angry woman faced 
 round on Captain Dawkes. "You saw them going into their 
 rooms, you said. Which was it — that you did, or you 
 didn't?" 
 
 "I did see Carteret; and I certainly assumed that Lord 
 Hartledon had gone into his," replied the captain, suppressing 
 a laugh. " I am sorry to have misled your ladyship. I dare say 
 Hart is about the house somewhere." 
 
 " Then why doesn't he show himself ? " stormed the dowager. 
 "Pretty behaviour this, to keep a score of people waiting 
 dinner. I shall tell him so. Val Elster, open the door, and 
 call Hedges." 
 
 Val rang the bell. "Has Lord Hartledon come in?" he 
 asked, when the butler appeared. 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "And dinner's spoiling, isn't it. Hedges?" broke in the 
 dowager. 
 
 " It won't be any the better for waiting, my lady." 
 
 " No. I must exercise my privilege as the house's mistress, 
 and order it served. At once. Hedges, do you hear? If 
 Hartledon grumbles, I shall tell him it serves him right." 
 
 " But where can Hartledon be ? " cried Captain Dawkes. 
 
 " That's what I am thinking of," said Val. " He can't be on 
 the river all this time ; Carteret would have seen him in coming 
 home." 
 
 A strangely grave shade, looking almost like a prevision of 
 evil, arose to T>v^ Ashton's face, "I trust nothing can have 
 
102 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 happened to him," he exclaimed. " Where did you part com- 
 pany with him, Mr. Carteret ? " 
 
 " That's more than I can tell, sir. You must have seen— at 
 least — no, you were not here ; but those who were looking must 
 have seen me get ahead of him within view of the starting-point ; 
 soon after that I lost sight of him. The river winds, you know ; 
 and of course I thought he was coming on behind me. A great 
 daft I must have been, not to divine that the boat had been 
 removed ! " 
 
 " Do you think he passed the mill ? " 
 
 " The mill?" 
 
 " That place where the river forms, one might almost say a 
 miniature harbour. A mill is built there which the stream 
 serves. You could not fail to see it." 
 
 " I remember now. Yes, I saw the milL What of it ? " 
 
 " Did Lord Hartledon pass it ? " 
 
 " Lor' bless you, I don't know ! " cried, the boy. " I had lost 
 sight of him ages before that." 
 
 " The current is extremely rapid there," observed Dr. Ashton. 
 " If he found his arm failing him, he might strike down to the mill 
 and land ; and his ankle may be keeping him a prisoner there.". 
 
 " And that's what it is ! " exclaimed Yal. 
 
 They were crossing the hall to the dining-room. Without 
 the slightest ceremony, the countess-dowager pushed herself 
 foremost and advanced to the head of the table. 
 
 " I shall occupy this seat in my nephew's absence," said she. 
 " Dr. Ashton, will you be so good as take the foot ? There's 
 no one else to do it." 
 
 " Nay, madam ; though Lord Hartledon may not be here, Mr. 
 Elster is." 
 
 She had actually forgotten Val ; and she would have liked to 
 ignore him now that he was recalled to her remembrance ; but 
 that might not be. As much of contempt as could be expressed 
 in her face was there, as she turned her snub nose and her 
 small round eyes in defiant silence upon that unoffending 
 younger brother. 
 
 " I was going to request you to take it, sir," said Percival, in 
 a low tone to Dr. Ashton. " I shall go off in the pony-carriage 
 for Edward. He must think we are neglecting him," 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 103 
 
 " Very well. I hate these rowing matches," heartily added 
 the Kector. 
 
 " What a curious old fish that parson must be ! " ejaculated 
 young Carteret to his next neighbour. "He says he doesn't 
 like boating." 
 
 It happened to be Arthur Ashton, and the lad's brow lowered. 
 " You are speaking of my father," he said. " But 111 tell you 
 why he does not like it. He had a brother once, a good deal 
 older than himself ; they had no father, and Arthur — that was 
 the eldest's name — was very fond of him : there were only those 
 two. He took him out in a boat one day, and there was an 
 accident : the eldest was drowned, the little one saved. Do you 
 wonder that he — my father — has dreaded boating ever since ? 
 He seems to have the same sort of dread of it that a child who 
 has been frightened by its nurse has of the dark." 
 
 "By Jove! that was a go, though!" was the sympathizing 
 comment of Mr. Carteret. 
 
 The doctor was saying grace, and dinner proceeded. It was 
 not half over when Mr. Elster came in, in his light overcoat. 
 He walked straight up to the table, and stood by it, his face 
 wearing a blank, perplexed look. A momentary silence of 
 expectation, and then many tongues were loosed together. 
 
 "Where's your brother? Where's Lord Hartledon? Has 
 he not come ? " 
 
 " I don't know where he is," answered Val. " I was in hopes 
 he had reached home before me, but I find he has not. I can't 
 make it out at all." 
 
 " Did he land at the mill ? " asked Dr. Ashton. 
 
 " Yes, he must have done that, for the skiff is moored there." 
 
 " Then he's all right," interrupted the doctor ; and there was 
 a strangely-marked sound of relief in his tone, as that of one 
 who has escaped from some great pain to a great joy. 
 
 " Oh, he is all right," confidently asserted Percival. " The 
 only question is, where he can be. The miller was abroad this 
 afternoon, and left his place locked up ; so that Hartledon could 
 not get in, and had nothing for it but to start home with his 
 lameness, or sit down on the bank until some one found him." 
 
 " He must have set off to walk." 
 
 " I should think so. But where has he walked to ? " added 
 
104 
 
 elsteb's folly. 
 
 Val. " I drove slowly home, looking on either side of the road, 
 but could see nothing of him." 
 
 " What should bring him on the side of the road ? demanded 
 the dowager, speaking with her mouth full. " Do you think 
 he would turn himself into a tramp, and take his seat on a 
 mound of stones? Where do you get your ideas from, Val 
 Elster ? " 
 
 "From common sense, ma'am? If he set out to walk, and 
 his foot failed him half-way, there'd be nothing for it but to sit 
 down and wait. But he is not on the road : that is the curious 
 part of the business.'' 
 
 " Would he come the other way ? " 
 
 " Hardly. It is so much further by the river than by the 
 road." 
 
 " You may depend upon it that is what he has done," said 
 Dr. Ashton. "He might think he should meet some of you 
 that way, and get an arm to help him." 
 
 " I declare I never thought of that," exclaimed Val, his face 
 brightening. " There he is, no doubt ; perched somewhere 
 between this and the mill, like patience on a monument, unable 
 to put foot to the ground." 
 
 He turned away. Some of the gentlemen offered to accom- 
 pany him ; but he declined their help, and begged them to go 
 on with their dinner, saying he would take sufficient servants 
 with him, even though they had to carry Lord Hartledon. 
 
 So Mr. Elster went, taking servants and lanterns; for in 
 some parts of this road the trees overhung, and rendered it 
 dark. But they could not find Lord Hartledon. They searched 
 and shouted, and showed their lanterns: all in vain. Very 
 much perplexed indeed did Val Elster look when he got back 
 again. 
 
 " Where in the world can he have gone to ? " angrily ques- 
 tioned the countess-dowager, who by no means approved of these 
 repeated interruptions to her beloved meal; and she glared 
 from her seat at the head of the table on the offender Val, as 
 she asked it. "I must say all this is most unseemly, and 
 Hartledon ought to be brought to his senses for causing it. I 
 suppose he has taken himself off to a surgeon's." 
 
 It wae possible, but unlikely, as none knew better than Mr. 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 105 
 
 Elster. To get to the surgeon's he would have to pass his own 
 house, and would be more likely to go in, and send for Mr. 
 Hillary, than walk on, with a disabled foot. Besides, if he had 
 gone to the surgeon's, he would not be staying there all this 
 time. " I don't know what to do," said Percival Elster ; and 
 there was the same blank, perplexed Icok on his face that was 
 observed the first time he came in. " I do not much like the 
 appearance of things." 
 
 " Why, you don't think there's anything wrong with him ! " 
 exclaimed young Carteret, starting from his chair with an 
 alarmed face. " He's safe to turn up, isn't he ? " 
 
 " Oh, of course he will turn up," answered Val, in a dreamy 
 tone. " Only this uncertainty, as to where to look for him, is 
 not pleasant." 
 
 Dr. Ashton motioned Val to his side. " Are you fearing an 
 accident ? " he asked in a low tone. 
 " No, sir." 
 
 "J am. That current by the mill is so fearfully strong; 
 and if your brother had not the use of his one arm — and the 
 boat was drawn onwards, beyond his control — and upset " 
 
 Dr. Ashton paused. Yal Elster looked rather surprised. 
 
 "How could it upset, sir? The skiffs are as safe as this 
 floor. I don't fear that in the least: what I do fear is that 
 Edward may be in some out-of-the-way nook, insensible from 
 pain, and won't be found until daylight. Fancy, a whole night 
 out of doors, and alone, in that state ! He might be half-dead 
 with cold by morning." 
 
 Dr. Ashton shook his head in dissent from this view. His 
 dislike of boating seemed just now to be rising into horror. 
 
 " What are you going to do now, Elster ? " inquired Captain 
 Dawkes. 
 
 " Go to the mill again, I think, and find out if any one saw 
 Hartledon leave the skiff, and which way he took. One of the 
 servants can run down to Mr. Hillary's the while." 
 
 "But you'll snatch a mouthful of dinner first," cried the 
 countess-dowager, ungraciously. 
 
 " I have no time, ma'am. He may be waiting somewhere for 
 his." 
 
 Dr. Ashton rose, bowing for permission to Jjady Kirton ; ^nd 
 
106 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 the gentlemen with one accord rose with him, the same purpose 
 in the mind of all — that of more effectually scouring the ground 
 between the mill and Hartledon. The countess-dowager, who 
 had hy no means finished her dinner, felt that she should have 
 liked to box the ears of every one of them. The idea of real 
 fear, in connection with Lord Hartledon, had not yet penetrated 
 to her brain. 
 
 At this moment, before they had left the room, there arose 
 a strange wild sound from without — half howl, half wail — an 
 unearthly sound, that seemed to come from several voices, and 
 to be bearing round the house from the river-path. Mrs. 
 O'Moore put down her knife and fork, and rose up with a shriek. 
 
 " There's nothing to be alarmed at," said the dowager to her. 
 " It is those Irish harvest-labourers. I know their horrid 
 voices, and I dare say they are riotously drunk. Hartledon 
 ought to put them in prison for it." 
 
 The sounds died away into silence. Mrs. O'Moore took her 
 hands from her eyes, where they had been pressed. " Don't you 
 know what it is. Lady Kirton ? It is the Irish death-howl ! " 
 
 It rose again, louder than before, for those from whom it 
 came were nearing the house — a frightful, wailing noise, ringing 
 out in the silence of the night. Mrs. O'Moore cowered down in 
 her chair again, and hid her terrified face. She was not Irish 
 born, and had never heard that sound but once, and that was 
 when her child died. 
 
 " She says true," cried her husband, the O'Moore ; " that is 
 the death- wail. Hark! it is for a chieftain; they mourn the 
 loss of one high in the land. And — they are coming here ! Oh, 
 Elster ! can death have overtaken your, brother ? " 
 
 The gentlemen had stood spell-bound, listening to the sound, 
 their faces a mixture of surprise and credulity. At the words 
 they rushed out with one accord, and the women stole after 
 them 'with trembling steps and blanched lips. 
 
 *^If ever I saw such behaviour in all my existence ! " irascibly 
 spoke the countess-dowager, who was left alone in her glory, 
 and was deep in a delicious serving of grouse. " The death- 
 wail, indeed! The woman's a fool. I'll get those drunken 
 Irishmen transported, if I can." 
 
 In the hall were gathered the servants, cowering almost as 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 107 
 
 the ladies did. Their master had flown down the hall-steps, 
 and the Irish labourers were coming steadily up to it, bearing 
 something in procession. Dr. Ashton came back as quickly as 
 he had gone out, extending his arms before him. 
 
 " Ladies, I pray you go in," he urged, in strange agitation. 
 " You must not meet these — ^these Irishmen. Go back to the 
 dining-room, I entreat you, and remain in it." 
 
 But the curiosity of women — who can suppress it? Tiey 
 were as though they heard him not, and were pressing on to the 
 door, when Yal Elster dashed in with a white face. 
 
 "Back, all of you! You must not stay here. This is no 
 place or sight for you. Anne," he added, seizing Miss Ashton's 
 hand in peremptory entreaty, " you at least know how to be 
 calm. Get them away, and keep them out of the hall." 
 
 " Tell me the worst," she implored. " I will indeed try to 
 be calm. Who is it those men are bringing here ? " 
 
 " My dear brother — my dead brother. Madam," he continued, 
 catching hold of the countess-dowager, who had now come out, 
 her dinner-napkin in her hand, and her curls all awry, " you 
 must not come here. You must all go back to the dining-room." 
 
 " Not come out here ! Go back into the dining-room ! " 
 repeated the outraged dowager. "Don't take quite so much 
 upon yourself, Yal Elster. The house is Lord Hartledon's, not 
 yours, and I presume I am a free agent in it. I suppose Hartle- 
 don's coming in with his leg swollen as big as that pillar. I 
 shan't faint at the sight." 
 
 A shriek — an awful shriek — burst from Lady Maude. In 
 her agony of suspense she had stolen out unperceived, and lifted 
 the covering of the rude bier, now resting on the steps. The 
 rays of the hall-lamp fell on the face that was underneath, and 
 Maude, in her heartfelt anguish, with a succession of low 
 hysterical sobs, came shivering back to sink down at her mother's 
 feet. 
 
 " Oh, my love — my love ! Dead ! dead ! " 
 
 The only one who heard the whole of the words was Anne 
 Ashton. The countess-dowager caught the last. 
 
 " Who is dead ? What is this mystery.? " she asked, uncere- 
 moniously lifting her satin dress to the waist, with the intention 
 of going out to see, and her head began to nod — perhaps with 
 
108 
 
 elster's follt. 
 
 apprehension — as if she had the palsy. " You want to force us 
 away. No, thank you ; not until IVe come to the bottom of 
 this." 
 
 " Let us tell them," cried young Carteret, in his boyish im- 
 pulse, " and then perhaps they will go. An accident has hap- 
 pened to Lord Hartledon, ma'am, and these men have brought 
 him home." 
 
 " He — he — he's not dead ? " asked the old woman, in a changed 
 tone. 
 
 Alas! poor Lord Hartledon was indeed dead. The Irish 
 labourers, in passing near the mill, had detected the body in 
 the water ; had rescued it, and brought it home. 
 
 The countess-dowager's grief commenced rather turbulently. 
 She talked and shrieked, and danced round in her pink satin 
 in the middle of the hall, exactly as if she had been a wild 
 Indian. It was so intensely ludicrous, that the occupants of 
 the hall gazed in silence. 
 
 " Here to-day, and gone to-morrow ! " she sobbed. " Oh — o 
 _o_o— o— o— oh!" 
 
 "Nay," cried young Carteret, "here to-day, and gone now. 
 Poor fellow ! it is awful." 
 
 " And you have done it ! " she cried, turning her grief upon 
 the astonished boy, and beginning to dance round him. " You ! 
 What business had you to allure him off again in that miserable 
 boat, once he had got home ? " 
 
 " Don't trample me down, please," he indignantly returned ; 
 " I am as cut up as you can be. Hedges, hadn't you better get 
 Lady Kirton's maid here ? I think she's going mad." 
 
 "And now the house is without a master," she bemoaned, 
 returning to her own griefs and troubles, " and I have all the 
 arrangements thrown upon myself." 
 
 " The house is not without a master," said young Carteret, 
 who seemed inclined to have the last word. " If one master 
 has gone from it, poor fellow ! there's another to replace him ; 
 and he is at your elbow now." 
 
 He at her elbow was Val Elster. Lady Kirton gathered in 
 the sense of the words, and gave a cry ; a real prolonged cry of 
 absolute dismay. 
 
 ffe can't be its master," 
 
WAITING FOR DINNER. 
 
 109 
 
 " I should say lie is, ma'am. At any rate lie is the Earl of 
 Hartledon." 
 
 She looked from one to the other in helpless doubt. It was 
 a contingency that had never so much as once occurred to her. 
 Had she wanted confirmation, the next moment brought it to 
 her from the lips of the butler. 
 
 " Hedges," called out Percival sternly, in his embarrassment 
 and grief, " open the dining-room door. We must get the hall 
 cleared." 
 
 " The door is open, my lord." 
 
 " Yah — ah — ah ! " shrieked the countess-dowager ; " he Lord 
 Hartledon ! Why, I was going to recommend his brother to 
 ship him off to Canada for life." 
 
 It was altogether an unseemly scene at such a time. But 
 almost everything that the Countess-Dowager of Kirton did 
 was unseemly. 
 
110 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 MR. pike's visit. 
 
 Percival Elster was in truth tlie Earl of Hartledon. By one 
 of tliose unexpected calamities, which are often inexplicable — 
 and which most certainly was so as yet in the present instance 
 — the life of a promising young nobleman had been snapped 
 asunder, and another had risen into his place. In one short 
 hour Yal Elster, who had scarcely cross or coin to call his own, 
 who had been going in danger of arrest from one moment to 
 another, had become a peer of the realm and a wealthy man. 
 
 As they laid the body down in a small room opening from 
 the hall, and the gentlemen, his late companions and guests, 
 crowded around in awe-struck silence, there was one amidst 
 them who could not control his grief and emotion. It was 
 poor Yal. Pushing aside the others, never heeding them in 
 his bitter sorrow, he burst into a storm of sobs as he leaned 
 over the corpse. And none of them thought the worse of Yal 
 for it. 
 
 " Oh, Percival ! how did it happen ? " 
 
 The speaker was Dr. Ashton. He was little less affected 
 himself, and he clasped the young man's hand in token of 
 heartfelt sympathy. 
 
 "I cannot think how it could have happened," replied 
 Percival, when he could control his feelings sufficiently to 
 speak. " It seems awfully strange to me — mysteriously so." 
 
 " If he found himself going wrong, why didn't he shout out ? " 
 asked young Carteret, with a rueful face. "I couldn't have 
 been off hearing him." 
 
 It was the question that was passing through the minds of 
 all ; was being whispered on their tongues : How could it have 
 
MR. pike's visit. 
 
 Ill 
 
 happened ? The body presented the usual appearance of death 
 from drowning ; but close to the left temple there was a wound, 
 and the face was otherwise disfigured. It must have been 
 done, they thought, by his coming in contact with something 
 or other in the water ; perhaps the skiff itself. Arm and ankle 
 were both much swollen. 
 
 Nothing was certainly known as yet of Lord Hartledon from 
 the time Mr. Carteret parted company with him, to the time 
 when the body was found. It appeared that these Irish 
 labourers were going home from their work, singing as they 
 went, their road lying past the mill, when they were spoken 
 to by the miller's boy. He was on the sort of estrade which 
 abutted on the river, and which the miller had placed there for 
 his own convenience, bending down as far as his young head 
 and shoulders could reach, and peering into the water attentively. 
 " I think I see some'at in the stream," quoth he, and the men 
 stopped ; and after a short time, but not at first, they also 
 thought they saw " some'at," and proceeded to search. It 
 proved to be the dead body of Lord Hartledon, caught amongst 
 the reeds. 
 
 It was rather a curious coincidence that Percival Elster and 
 his servants in the last search should have heard the voices of 
 the labourers singing in the distance. But they were too far 
 off on their return to Hartledon to be within hearing when the 
 men found the body. 
 
 The news spread ; people came up from far and near, and 
 Hartledon was besieged. Mr. Hillary, the surgeon, gave it as 
 his opinion that the wound on the temple, no doubt caused 
 before death, had rendered Lord Hartledon insensible, and 
 unable to extricate himself from the water. This mill and 
 cottage were built on what might be called an ,arm of the river. 
 Lord Hartledon had no business there at all ; but the current 
 was very strong ; and if, as was too probable, he had become 
 almost disabled, he might have drifted to it without being able 
 to help himself; or it might have been that he was making for 
 it, intending to land and rest in the cottage until help could 
 come to convey him home. How he got into the water was not 
 known. Once in the water, the blow was easy enough to 
 receive ; he might have struck against the estrade. 
 
112 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 There is almost sure to be some miserable coincidence in 
 these cases to render them doubly unfortunate. For three 
 weeks past, as the miller testified — a respectable man named 
 Floyd — his mill had not been deserted; some one, man, or 
 boy, or woman, had always been there. On this afternoon it 
 was closed, mill and cottage too, and all were away. What 
 might have been simply a slight accident, had help been at- 
 hand, had terminated in an awful death for the want of it. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock at night before anything like order was 
 restored at Hartledon, and the house left in quiet. The last 
 person to quit it was Dr. Ashton. Hedges, the butler, had 
 been showing him out, and was standing for a minute on the 
 steps looking after him, and perhaps to cool, with a little fresh 
 air, his perplexed brow — for the man was a faithful retainer, 
 and the affair had shocked him in no common degree — when he 
 was accosted by Pike, who emerged stealthily from behind one 
 of the outer pillars, where he seemed to have been sheltering. 
 
 "Why, what have you been doing there?" exclaimed the 
 butler. 
 
 " Mr. Hedges, I've been waiting here — hiding, if you like to 
 call it so," was the answer ; and it should be observed that the 
 man's manner, quite unlike his usual rough, devil-may-care 
 tone, was characterized by singular respect and earnestness. 
 To hear him, and not to see him, you might think you were 
 listening to some friend of the family, staid and respectable. 
 "I have been standing there this hour past, keeping behind 
 the pillar while other folks went in and out, and waiting my 
 time to get speech of you." 
 
 " Of me ? " repeated Hedges. 
 
 " Yes, sir, of you. I want you to grant me a favour ; and I 
 hope you'll pardon my boldness in asking it." 
 
 Hedges did not know what to make of this. It was the first 
 time he had enjoyed the honour of a personal interview with 
 Mr. Pike ; and the contrast between that gentleman's popular 
 reputation and his present tone and manner struck the butler 
 as exceedingly singular. But that the butler was in a very 
 softened mood, feeling full of subdued charity towards all the 
 world, he might not have condescended to parley with the man. 
 
 " What is the favour ? " he inquired. 
 
MR. pike's visit. 
 
 113 
 
 " I want you to let me in to see the poor young eaii — what's 
 left of him." 
 
 " To let you in to see the earl ! " echoed Hedges, in his 
 surprise. " I never heard such a bold request." 
 
 " It is bold. IVe already said so, and asked you to pardon it." 
 
 " What can you want that for ? It can't be for nothing but 
 curiosity; and " 
 
 " It's not curiosity," interrupted Pike, with an emphasis that 
 told upon his hearer. " I have a different motive, sir ; and a 
 good motive. If I were at liberty to tell it — which I'm not — 
 you'd let me in without another word. Lots of people have 
 been seeing him, I suppose." 
 
 " Indeed ' lots ' of people have not. Why should they ? It 
 is a bold thing for you to come and ask it." 
 
 " Did he come by his death fairly ? " whispered the man. 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " exclaimed the butler, stepping back aghast. 
 " I don't think you know what you are talking of. Who should 
 have harmed Lord Hartledon ? " 
 
 " Let me see him," implored the man. " It can't hurt him 
 or anybody else. Only just for a minute, sir, in your presence. 
 And if it's ever in my power to do you a good turn, Mr. Hedges, 
 I'll do it. It doesn't seem likely now ; but the mouse gnawed 
 at the lion's net, you know, until he set him free." 
 
 Whether it was the singular impressiveness with which the 
 request was proffered, or that the softened mood of Hedges 
 rendered him incapable of contention, certain it was that he 
 granted it ; and most likely would wonder at himself for it all 
 his after-life. Crossing the hall with softened tread, and 
 taking up a candle as he went, he led the way to the room ; 
 Mr. Pike stepping after him with a tread equally soft. 
 
 " Take your hat off," peremptorily whispered the butler ; for 
 that worthy had entered the room with it on. " Is that the 
 way to " 
 
 " Hedges ! " 
 
 Hedges was struck with consternation at the call, for it was 
 that of his new master. He had not bargained for this ; he had 
 supposed him to be shut into his room for the night. However 
 he might have been foolishly won over to accede to the man's 
 strange request, it was not to be supposed it would be approved 
 
 Elster's Folly. 8 
 
114 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 of by Lord Hartleclon. The butler hesitated. He did not care 
 to betray that Pike was there, neither did he care to leave Pike 
 alone. 
 
 " Hedges ! " came the call again, louder and quicker. 
 
 " Yes, sir — my lord ; " and Hedges squeezed out at the door 
 without opening it much — which was rather a difficulty, for he 
 was a portly man, with a red, honest sort of face — leaving Pike 
 and the light inside. Lord Hartledon — as we must unfortu- 
 nately call him now — was standing in the hall. 
 
 " Has Dr. Ashton gone ? " 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 " Did he leave that address ? " 
 
 Hedges knew to what his master alluded: an address that 
 was wanted in connection with certain official proceedings that 
 must now take place. Hedges replied that Dr. Ashton had not 
 left it with him. 
 
 " He must have forgotten it," observed the new peer. " He 
 said he would write it down in pencil. Send over to the 
 Eectory for it the first thing in the morning. And, Hedges " 
 
 At this moment a slight noise was heard within the room 
 like the sound of an extinguisher falling ; as, in fact, it was. 
 Lord Hartledon turned towards it. 
 
 " Who is there. Hedges ? " 
 
 " I — it — it's no one in particular, sir — my lord." 
 
 What with the butler's bewilderment on the sudden change 
 of masters, and what with his consciousness of the presence of 
 his visitor, he was unusually confused. Lord Hartledon 
 noticed it. It instantly occurred to him that one of the ladies, 
 or perhaps one of the women-servants, had been admitted to 
 the room ; and he did not consider it a proper sight for any of 
 them. 
 
 " Who is it ? " he demanded, somewhat peremptorily. 
 
 So Hedges had nothing for it but to confess what had taken 
 place, and that he had allowed the man to enter. 
 
 " Pike ! Why, what can he want ? " exclaimed Lord Hartle- 
 don, in surprise. And he turned to the room. 
 
 The moment the butler left him alone Mr. Pike*s first pro- 
 ceeding had been to cover his head again with his wide-awake 
 hat, which he had evidently removed with reluctance, and might 
 
MR. pike's visit. 
 
 115 
 
 have refused to remove at all had it been consistent with policy ; 
 his second was to snatch up the candle, bend over the dead face, 
 and examine it minutely both with eye and hand. 
 
 " There is a wound there, then, and it's true what they are 
 saying. I thought it might have been the gossip of lying 
 tongues," he muttered, as he pushed the soft dark hair from the 
 temple. " Any more suspicious marks ? " he resumed, taking 
 a rapid view of the hands and head, all that was uncovered of 
 the body ; for it would be left as it was found until the coroner's 
 inquest. " No ; no more. Nothing but what he'd be likely to 
 get in the water : but — I'll swear that might have been the blow 
 of a human hand. 'Twas easy enough. 'Twould stun, if it 
 wouldn't kill ; and then, held under the water until " 
 
 At this moment Mr. Pike and his pleasant comments were 
 interrupted, and he drew back from the table on which the 
 body was lying ; but not before the Earl of Hartledon had seen 
 him touching the face of the dead. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " came the stern demand. 
 
 "I wasn't harming him," was the answer; and Mr. Pike 
 seemed to have suddenly returned to his roughness. " It's a 
 nasty accident to have happened ; and I don't like this,'' 
 
 He pointed to the temple as he spoke. Lord Hartledon's 
 usually good-natured brow — at present a brow of deep sorrow 
 - — contracted with displeasure. 
 
 " It is an awful accident," he replied. " But I asked what 
 you were doing here ? " 
 
 " I thought I'd like to look upon him, sir ; and the gentle- 
 man let me in. I wish I'd been a bit nigher the place at the 
 time : I'd have saved him, or I'd have got drowned myself. Not 
 much fear of that, though. I'm a rat for the water. Was that 
 done fairly ? " pointing again to the temple. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " exclaimed the earl. 
 
 "Well — it might be,* or it might not. One who has led the 
 roving life that I have, and been in all sorts of scenes, and bred 
 in the slums of London too, looks on the suspicious side of 
 these things. And there mostly is one in 'em all." 
 
 Lord Hartledon was moved to anger. " How dare you 
 attempt to raise so infamous a suspicion, Pike ? If " 
 
 " No offence, my lord," interrupted Pike—" and it's my lord 
 
116 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 that you are now. Thoughts may be free in this room ; but I am 
 not going to spread suspicion outside. I say, though that migJit 
 have been an accident, it might have been done by an enemy." 
 
 " Did you do it ? " retorted the earl, in his displeasure. 
 
 Pike gave a short laugh. 
 
 " I did not. I have no cause to harm him. What I'm think- 
 ing was, whether anybody else had. He was mistaken for 
 another yesterday," continued Pike, dropping his voice, and 
 turning to face the earl. " Some men in his lordship's place 
 might have showed fight then : even blows." 
 
 Percival, Lord Hartledon, made no immediate rejoinder. He 
 was gazing at Pike just as fixedly as the latter gazed at him. 
 Did the man wish to insinuate that the unwelcome visitor — the 
 shark — had again mistaken the one brother for the other, and 
 the result had been a struggle between them, ending in this ? 
 The notion rushed into the mind of the earl, and a dark flush 
 overspread his face. 
 
 "You have no grounds for thinking that man — you know 
 who I mean — attacked my brother a second time ? " 
 
 " No, I have no grounds for it," shortly answered Pike. 
 
 " He was near the spot at the time ; I saw him there," con- 
 tinued Lord Hartledon, speaking apparently to himself ; whilst 
 the flush, painfully red and dark, was increasing rather than 
 diminishing. 
 
 " I know you did," returned Pike. 
 
 The tone grated on his lordship's ear. It implied that the 
 man might become familiar, if not checked; and, with all 
 Percival's good-natured affability, he was not one to permit it ; 
 besides, his position was changed, and he could not help feeling 
 that it was. " Necessity makes us acquainted with strange bed- 
 fellows," says the very true proverb ; and what might have been 
 borne yesterday would not be to-day. Then he was the perse- 
 cuted Yal Elster, hiding himself ignominiously from sharks, 
 and fain to put up with many things in his helplessness. Now 
 he was the powerful Earl of Hartledon. 
 
 " Let me understand you," he said, and there was a haughty 
 decision in his tone and manner that surprised Pike. " Have 
 you any cause whatever to suspect that man of having injured, 
 or attempted to injure my brother ? " 
 
MR. pike's visit. 
 
 117 
 
 " Tve not,** answered Pike, with a stress upon the pronoun. 
 "I never saw him nearer to the mill yesterday than he was 
 when you looked at us. I don't think he went nearer. My 
 lord, if I knew anything against the man, I'd tell it out, and be 
 glad. I hate the whole tribe. He wouldn't make the mistake 
 again," added Pike, half-contemptuously. " He knew which 
 was his lordship fast enough to-day, and which wasn't." 
 
 " Then what did you mean by insinuating that the blow on * 
 the temple was the result of violence ? " 
 
 " I didn't say it was : I said it might have been. I don't know 
 a thing, as connected with this business, against a mortal soul. 
 It's true, my lord." 
 
 "Perhaps, then, you will quit this room," said Lord 
 Hartledon. 
 
 "I'm going. And many thanks to your lordship for not 
 having turned me from it before, and for letting me have my 
 say. Thanks to you, sir," he added, as he went out of the room 
 and passed Hedges, who was waiting in the hall. 
 
 Hedges closed the door after him, and turned to receive a 
 reprimand from his new master. 
 
 "Before you admit such men as that into the most sacred 
 chamber the house at present contains, you will ask my permis- 
 sion, Hedges." 
 
 Hedges attempted to excuse himself. "He was so very 
 earnest, my lord ; he declared to me he had a good motive in 
 wanting to come in. At these times, when one's heart is almost 
 broke with a sudden blow, one is apt to be soft and yielding. 
 What with that feeling upon me, and what with the fright he 
 put me in " 
 
 " What fright did he put you in ? " interrupted YaL 
 
 " Well, my lord, he — he asked me whether his lordship had 
 come fairly by his death." 
 
 " How dare you repeat any such insinuation ? " broke forth 
 Lord Hartledon, with more temper than Hedges had ever seen 
 him display. " The very idea is absurd ; it is wicked ; it is un- 
 pardonable. My brother had not an enemy in the world. Take . 
 you care not to repeat it again. Do you hear ? " 
 
 He turned away from the astonished man, and went into 
 the room he had called sacred, and closed the door. Hedges 
 
118 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 wondered whether the hitherto sweet-tempered, easy-mannered 
 younger brother had changed his nature with his inheritance. 
 
 Few, if any, further particulars were elicited as to the cause 
 of accident, as the days went on. That the unfortunate noble- 
 man had become partly, if not wholly, disabled, so as to be 
 incapable of managing even the little skiff, had been drifted by the 
 current towards the mills, and there upset, was assumed by all to 
 have been the true history of the case. There appeared no cause 
 to doubt that it was so. The inquest was held on the Thursday. 
 
 And on that same morning the new Earl of Hartledon re- 
 ceived a proof of the kindness of his brother. A letter arrived 
 from Messrs. Kedge and Eeck, solicitors, the employers of the 
 " shark." It was addressed to the Earl of Hartledon, meaning 
 Edward Earl of Hartledon. By it Percival found — there was 
 no one else to open it now — that his brother had written to them 
 early on the Tuesday morning, taking the debt upon himself ; 
 and they now wrote to say they accepted his responsibility, and 
 had withdrawn the officer from Calne. Alas ! Val Elster could 
 have dismissed him himself now. 
 
 He sat with bent head and drooping eyelids. None, save 
 himself, knew how bitter were the feelings within him, or the 
 remorse that was his portion for having behaved unkindly to 
 his dead brother within the last few hours of life. He had 
 rebelled at his state of debt becoming known to Dr. Ashton ; 
 he had feared to lose Anne : it seemed to him now, that he 
 would live under the doctor's displeasure for ever, that he 
 would never see Anne again, could he recall his brother. Oh, 
 these unavailing regrets ! Will they rise up to face us at the 
 Last Day ? 
 
 With a suppressed ejaculation that was like a cry of pain, as 
 if he would throw from him these reflections and could not. 
 Lord Hartledon drew a sheet of paper before him and penned a 
 note to the lawyers. He briefly stated what had taken place ; 
 that his brother was dead from an accident, and he had inherited, 
 and should take speedy measures for the discharge of any 
 liabilities there might be against him : and he requested, as a 
 favour, that the letter written to them by his brother might be 
 preserved and returned to him : he should wish to keep it as 
 the last lines his hand had penned. 
 
( 119 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE INQUEST. 
 
 On this day, Thursday, the inquest was held. Most of the gay 
 crowd staying at Hartledon had already taken flight ; Mr. 
 Carteret, and one or two more, whose testimony might be 
 wished for, remaining. The coroner and jury assembled in the 
 afternoon, in a large boarded apartment called the steward's 
 room. Lord Hartledon was present with Dr. Ashton and other 
 friends : they were naturally anxious to hear the evidence that 
 could be collected, and gather any light that might be thrown 
 upon the accident. The doors were not closed to the public, 
 and a crowd pressed in : gentle and simple, tag-rag and bob-tail. 
 
 The surgeon spoke to the supposed cause of death — drowning : 
 the miller spoke to his house and mill having been that after- 
 noon shut up. He and his wife went over in their spring-cart 
 to Garchester, and left the place locked up, he said. The 
 coroner asked whether it was his custom to lock up his place 
 when he went out ; he replied that it was, when they both went 
 out together ; but that event happened very rarely. Upon his 
 return at dusk, he found the little skiff loose in the stream, 
 and he secured it. It was his servant-boy, David Eipper, who 
 called his attention to it first of all. He saw nothing of Lord 
 Hartledon, and had not very long secured the skiff when the 
 Honourable Mr. Elster — as he was then ; his lordship now — 
 came up in the pony-carriage, asking if his brother was there. 
 He looked at the skiff, and said it was the one his lordship had 
 been in. Mr. Elster said he supposed his brother was walking 
 home, and he should drive slowly back and look out for him. 
 Later Mr. Elster returned : he had several servants with him 
 then and lanterns i they had come out to look for Lord Hartle- 
 
120 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 don — not the road way, the other way — but could not find him. 
 It was only just after they had gone away again that the Irish 
 harvest-men came up and found the body. 
 
 This was the substance of the miller's evidence ; it was all 
 he knew : and the next witness called was the boy, David 
 Ripper, popularly styled in the neighbourhood young Rip, in 
 contradistinction to his father, a day-labourer. He was an 
 urchin of ten or twelve, with a red, round face ; quite ludicrous 
 from its present expression of terrified consternation. The 
 coroner sharply inquired what he was frightened at ; and the 
 boy burst into a roar, by way of answer. He didn't know 
 nothing, and he hadn't see'd nothing, and it wasn't him that 
 drowned his lordship ; and he couldn't tell more, not if they 
 hunged him for it. 
 
 The miller interposed. The boy was one of the idlest young 
 vagabonds he had ever had the luck to be troubled with ; and 
 he thought it exceedingly likely he had been off that afternoon 
 and not near the mill at all. He had ordered him to take two 
 sacks into Calne ; but when he reached home he found the 
 sacks untouched, lying outside where he had placed them. 
 Mr. Ripper had, no doubt, been playing the rover on his own 
 account. 
 
 At this accusation Mr. Ripper only howled the louder. The 
 coroner threatened him with a flogging, and the beadle shook 
 him : not with very much effect. The boy was really and truly 
 suffering from terror. 
 
 " I can't make him out," exclaimed the miller, regarding his 
 servitor w^ith wondering eyes. " Of all the audacious, hardened 
 lads I ever had to do with, he's the worst in a general way ; 
 nothing daunts him. What's took him now ? " 
 
 " Where did you pass Tuesday afternoon during your master's 
 absence ? " sternly demanded the coroner. " Take your hands 
 from your face and answer me, David Ripper." 
 
 David Ripper obeyed in the best manner he was capable of, 
 considering his agitation. " I dun know now where I was," he 
 said. " I was about." 
 
 " About where ? " 
 
 Mr. Ripper apparently could not say where. He thought he 
 v/a-s " setting his bird-trap " in the stubble-field ; and he see a 
 
THE INQUEST. 
 
 121 
 
 partridge, and watched where it scudded to ; but he warn't 
 a-nigh the mill the whole time. 
 
 " Did you see anything of Lord Hartledon when he was in 
 the skiff?" 
 
 But that the idea was absurd, it might have been thought 
 Mr. Ripper was cognizant of the skiff's doings — had drowned 
 Lord Hartledon, for the matter of that — so utterly did the 
 question destroy his self-possession. His eyes grew large and 
 round, his red face became crimson, his roar increased. 
 
 " I never see him," he sobbed. " I warn't a-nigh the mill at 
 all, and I never see him nor the skiff. Who says I did ? " 
 
 " What time did you get back to the mill, witness ? " asked 
 the coroner. 
 
 He didn't know what time it was ; his master and missis 
 was come home. 
 
 This was true, Mr. Floyd said. They had been back some 
 little time before Ripper showed himself. The first intimation 
 he received of that runagate's presence was when he drew his 
 attention to the loose skiff. 
 
 " How came you to see the skiff? " sharply asked the coroner. 
 " Speak up. Ripper." 
 
 Ripper spoke up with trembling lips. He was waiting out- 
 side after he came up, and afraid to go in for fear his master 
 should tan him for not taking the sacks, which they went clean 
 out of his mind, they did, and then he see the little boat ; upon 
 which he called out and told his master. 
 
 " And it was also you who first saw the body in the water," 
 observed the coroner, regarding the reluctant witness curiously. 
 " How came you to see that ? Were you looking for it ? " 
 
 The witness howled. He didn't know how he come to see it. 
 He was on the strade (estrade), not looking for nothing, when 
 he saw sonie'at dark among the reeds. He thought it was a 
 big fish a-lodging there, and he told the harvesters when they 
 come by ; and they said it was a man, and got him out, and 
 thfen they found it was the lord. 
 
 There was only one peculiarity about the boy's evidence — his 
 manner. All that he said was feasible, quite probable ; indeed, 
 what would be most likely to happen under the circumstances. 
 But his terror — whence did that arise? Had he been of a 
 
122 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 timid temperament, it might have been natural ; but the miller 
 had spoken the truth — he was audacious and hardy. Only 
 upon one or two, however, did the manner leave any impression. 
 Pike, who made one of the crowd in the inquest-room, was one 
 of these. His experience of human nature was tolerably keen, 
 and he felt sure the boy was keeping something behind that he 
 did not dare to tell. The coroner and jury were not so clear- 
 sighted, and dismissed him with the remark that he was a 
 " little fool." 
 
 " Call George Gorton," said the coroner, looking at his 
 notes. 
 
 Very much to Lord Hartledon's surprise — perhaps somewhat 
 to his annoyance — the man answering to this name was the one 
 who had originally come to Calne on a special mission to him- 
 self. Some feeling caused him to turn from the man while he 
 gave his evidence, a thing easily done in the crowded room. 
 
 It appeared that amidst the hubbub and excitement that 
 shook the neighbourhood on the Tuesday night when the death 
 became known, this stranger happened to avow in the public- 
 house which he made his quarters that he had seen the 
 Earl of Hartledon in his skijfif just before the event must have 
 happened. The information was seized upon, and the man 
 received a summons to appear before the coroner. 
 
 And it may be as well to remark in this place, what might 
 have been stated earlier, that his second appearance was owing 
 to a little cowardice on his own part. He had felt perfectly 
 satisfied at the time with the promise given him by Lord 
 Hartledon to see the debt paid — given also in the presence of 
 the Kector of Calne — and took his departure by the train, just 
 as Pike had subsequently told Mr. Elster. But ere he had gone 
 two stages on his journey, he began to think he might have been 
 too precipitate, and to ask himself whether his employers would 
 not tell him so when he appeared before them, unbacked by any 
 guarantee from .Lord Hartledon ; for this, by a strange over- 
 sight, he had omitted to ask for. He halted at once, and went 
 back by the next return-train, forfeiting his third-class fare 
 rather than not remedy the omission. The following day, 
 Tuesday, he spent looking after Lord Hartledon, but, as it 
 happened, did not meet with him. 
 
THE INQUEST. 
 
 123 
 
 The man — a dissipated young man, now that his hat was off 
 — came forward in his long coat and his profusion of red hair 
 and whiskers. But it seemed that he had really very little 
 information to give. He was on the banks of the river when 
 Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff, and noticed how strangely 
 he was rowing, one arm apparently lying useless. He knew 
 nothing at all of any fall his lordship might have had — which, 
 however, he had heard spoken of subsequently — and supposed 
 he was resting his arm from fatigue. What part of the river 
 was this ? the coroner asked ; and the witness avowed that he 
 could not describe it. He was a stranger, never there but that 
 once ; all he knew was, that it was higher up, beyond Hartledon 
 House. What might he have been doing there, the keen 
 coroner asked. Only strolling about, was the answer. What 
 was his business at Calne ? came the next question ; and as it 
 was put, the witness caught the eye of the new peer through an 
 opening in the crowd. Had it been to save Lord Hartledon's 
 life he could not have helped the signal that unwittingly went 
 out from his eyes, though he would have disdained to caution 
 with his lips. His business, the witness replied to the coroner, 
 was his own business, and did not concern the public, and he 
 respectfully declined to state it. He presumed Calne w^as a 
 free place like other places, where a stranger might spend a few 
 days without question, if he pleased. 
 
 Pike chuckled at this : incipient rebellion to authority 
 warmed that lawless man's heart. He had stood throughout, 
 in the shadow of the crowd just within the door, attentively 
 watching the witnesses as they gave their evidence : but he was 
 not prepared for what was to come next. 
 
 Did the witness see any other spectators on the bank ? con- 
 tinued the coroner. Only one, was the answer : a man who was 
 called Pike, or some such name. Pike was watching the little 
 boat on the river when he got up to him ; he remarked to Pike 
 that his lordship's arm seemed tired ; and they, he and Pike, 
 had walked back to Calne together. 
 
 Pike would have got away had he been able, but the coroner 
 whispered to an officer. For one single moment Mr. Pike 
 seemed inclined to show fight ; he began struggling, not gently, 
 to reach the door ; the next he gave it up, and resigned himself 
 
124 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 to his fate. There was a little hubbub, in the midst of which a 
 slip of paper with a pencilled line on it from Lord Hartledon, 
 was handed to the coroner. 
 
 " Press this point, loliether they returned to Calne at once and 
 together^* 
 
 " George Gorton," cried the coroner, as he crushed the paper 
 in his hand, " at what hour did you return to Calne ? " 
 
 "I went at once. As soon as the little boat was out of 
 sight." 
 
 " Went alone ? " 
 
 " No, sir. I and the man Pike walked together. I've said so 
 already." 
 
 " What made you go together ? " 
 
 "Nothing in particular. We were both going back, I 
 suppose, and strolled along talking." 
 
 It appeared to be all that the witness had to tell, and Mr. 
 Pike came forward perforce. As he stood there, his elegant 
 wide-awake bent in his hand, his tawny face dark, his mass of 
 black hair and whiskers and beard all matted and rough, he 
 looked more like the wild man of the woods he had been com- 
 pared to, than a civilized being. Eough and rude and 
 abrupt were his tones as he spoke, and he bent his face and 
 eyes — which were light and far sunk, so far as could be seen of 
 them — downwards while he answered. It was in those eyes 
 that lay the look which had struck Mr. Elster as being familiar 
 to him. He persisted in giving his name as Tom, not Thomas. 
 
 But if the stranger in the long coat had little evidence to 
 give. Pike had even less. He had been in the woods that 
 afternoon, and sauntered out of them to the bank of the river 
 just as Lord Hartledon passed in the skiff ; but he had taken 
 very little notice of him. It was only when the last witness, 
 who came up at the moment, remarked upon the queer manner 
 in which his lordship held his arm, that he saw it was lying 
 down idly. 
 
 Not a single thing more could he or would he tell. It was 
 all he knew, he said, and would swear it was all. He went 
 back to Calne with the last witness, and never saw his lordship 
 again alive. 
 
 It did appear to be all, just as it did in the matter of the 
 
THE INQTTEST. 
 
 125 
 
 other man. The coroner inquired whether he had seen any one 
 else on the banks or near them, and Pike replied that he had 
 not set eyes on another soul, which Lord Hartledon knew to be 
 false, for he had seen Mm, He was told to put his signature 
 to his evidence, w^hich the clerk had taken down, and he affixed 
 a cross. 
 
 " Can't you write ? " asked the coroner. 
 
 Pike shook his head negatively. " Never learnt," he curtly 
 said. And my Lord Hartledon, from his place in the room, be- 
 lieved that to be an untruth equally with the other. The earl 
 could not help thinking that the avowal of their going back 
 immediately might be also false : it was just as possible that 
 one or other, or both, had followed the course of the boat. 
 
 Mr. Carteret was examined. He could tell no more than he 
 bad already told. They started together, but he had soon got 
 beyond his lordship, and had never seen him again alive. 
 There was nothing more to be gleaned or gathered. Not the 
 smallest suspicion of foul play, of its being anything but a most 
 unfortunate accident, was entertained for a moment by any 
 one who heard the evidence, and the verdict of the jury was 
 to that effect : Accidental Death. 
 
 As the crowd pressed out of the inquest-room, jostling one 
 another in the dusk of the evening, and separated on their 
 several ways, in units or in tens. Lord Hartledon found himself 
 close to Gorton, his coat flapping at his heels as he walked. 
 The man was looking round for Pike: but Mr. Pike, the 
 instant his forced evidence was given, had slunk away from the 
 gaze of his fellow-men to ensconce himself in his solitary shed. 
 To all appearance Lord Hartledon had overtaken Gorton by 
 accident : the man turned aside in obedience to a signal, and 
 halted. They could not see much of each other's faces in the 
 twilight. 
 
 " I wish to ask you a question," said his lordship, in a low, 
 impressive, and not unkindly tone. " Did you speak with my 
 brother, Lord Hartledon, at all on Tuesday ? " 
 
 " No, my lord, I did not," was the ready answer. " I was 
 trying to get to see his lordship, but did not." 
 
 " What did you want with him ? What brought you back to 
 Calne?" 
 
126 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " I wanted to get from him a guarantee for — for what your 
 lordship knows of ; which he had omitted to give, and I had 
 not thought to ask for," civilly replied the man. " After I left 
 Calne on the Monday night, it struck me I ought to have had 
 something of the sort ; and I came back again. I was looking 
 about for his lordship on the Tuesday morning, but did not get 
 to see him. In the afternoon, when the boat-race was over, I 
 made bold to call at Hartledon, but the servants said his lord- 
 ship wasn't in. As I came away, I saw him, as I thought, pass 
 the lodge and go up the road, and I cut after him, but couldn't 
 overtake him, and at last lost sight of him. I struck into a 
 tangled sort of path through the gorse, or whatever it's called 
 down here, and it brought me out near the river. His lordship 
 was just passing down it in the sculling-boat, and then I knew 
 it was somebody else that had gone by the lodge, and not him. 
 Perhaps it was your lordship ? " 
 
 " You knew it was Lord Hartledon in the boat ? I mean, 
 you recognized him ? You did not mistake him for me ? " 
 
 " I knew him, my lord. If I'd been a bit nearer the lodge, I 
 shouldn't have been likely to mistake even your lordship for him." 
 
 Lord Hartledon was gazing into the man's face still ; never 
 once had his eyes been removed from it. 
 
 " You did not see Lord Hartledon later ? " 
 
 " I never saw him all day but that once when he passed in 
 the skiff. I " 
 
 " You did not follow him, then ? " 
 
 " Where'd have been the use of that ? " debated the man. " I 
 couldn't call out my business from the banks, and I didn't 
 know his lordship was going to land lower down. I went 
 straight back to Calne, my lord, walking with that man Pike — 
 who is a rum fellow, and has a history behind him, unless I'm 
 mistaken ; but it's no business of mine. I made my mind up 
 to another night on't in Calne, thinking I'd get to Hartledon 
 early the next morning before his lordship had time to go out ; 
 and I was sitting comfortable with a pipe and a glass of beer, 
 when news came of the accident." 
 
 Lord Hartledon believed the man to be telling the strict truth ; 
 and a weight — the source of which he did not stay to analyze 
 - — was lifted from his mind. But he asked another question. 
 
THE INQUEST. 
 
 127 
 
 " Why are you in Calne still ! " 
 
 " I waited for orders. After his lordship died I couldn't go 
 away without 'em — carrying with me nothing but the word of a 
 dead man. The orders came this morning, safe enough ; but I 
 had the summons served on me then to attend the inquest, and 
 had to stay for it. I'm going away now, my lord, by the first 
 train." 
 
 Lord Hartledon was satisfied, and nodded his head. As he 
 turned back he met Dr. Ashton. 
 
 " I was looking for you. Lord Hartledon. If you require any 
 assistance or information in the various arrangements and 
 business that now devolve upon you, I shall be happy to render 
 both. There will be a good deal to do in one way or another ; 
 more than, I dare say, your inexperience has the least idea of. 
 You will have your solicitor at hand, of course ; but if you 
 want me, you know where to find me." 
 
 The Kector's words were courteous, but the tone was not a 
 warm one, and the title " Lord Hartledon " grated on Val's ear. 
 In his impulse he grasped the speaker's hand, pouring forth a 
 heart's prayer. 
 
 " Oh, Dr. Ashton, will you not forgive me ? The horrible 
 trouble I brought upon myself is over now. I don't rejoice in 
 it under the circumstances. Heaven knows ; I only speak of the 
 fact. Let me come to your house again ! Forgive me for the 
 past." 
 
 " In one sense the trouble is over, because the debts that were 
 a formidable embarrassment to Mr. Elster are as nothing to 
 Lord Hartledon," was the reply. " But let me assure you of 
 one thing : that your being the Earl of Hartledon will not make 
 the slightest difibrence to my decision not to give you my 
 daughter, unless your line of conduct shall change." 
 
 " It is changed. Dr. Ashton, on my word of honour, I will 
 never be guilty of carelessness again. One thing will be my 
 safeguard, though all else should fail — the fact that I passed my 
 word for this to my dear brother not many hours before his 
 death. For my sake, for Anne's sake, you will forgive me ! " 
 
 Was it possible to resist the persuasive tone, the earnestness 
 of the honest, dark-blue eyes? If ever Percival Elster was 
 to make an effort for good, and succeed, it must be now. The 
 
128 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 doctor knew it ; and he knew that Anne's happiness was at 
 stake. But he did not thaw immediately. 
 " You know, Lord Hartledon " 
 
 " Call me Val, as you used to do," came the pleading inter- 
 ruption ; and Dr. Ashton smiled in spite of himself. 
 
 " Percival, you know that it is against my nature to be harsh, 
 or to be unforgiving ; just as I believe it is contrary to your 
 nature to be guilty of deliberate wrong. If you will only be 
 true to yourself, I would rather have you for my son-in-law 
 than any other man in England ; as I would have had when you 
 were Val Elster. Do you note my words ? true to yourself'' 
 
 " As I will be from henceforth," whispered Val, earnest tears 
 rising to his eyes. 
 
 And as he would have been but for his besetting sin — vacilla- 
 tion. 
 
( 129 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK XIL 
 
 MR. pike's whisper TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 It happened that Clerk Gum had some business on hand the 
 day of the inquest, which obliged him to go to Garchester. He 
 reached home after dark ; and the first thing he saw was his 
 wife, in what he was pleased to call a state of semi-idiotcy. 
 The tea-things were laid on the table, some substantial refresh- 
 ment in the shape of cold meat, and a plate of muffins ready 
 for toasting, all for the clerk's regalement. But Mrs. Gum 
 herself sat on a low chair by the fire, her cap in disorder, her 
 straw-coloured hair all awry, and her eyes swollen with crying. 
 
 " What's the matter now ? " was the clerk's first question. 
 
 " Oh, Gum, I told you you ought not to have went off to-day. 
 You might have stayed to be at the inquest." 
 
 "Much good I should do the inquest, or the inquest me," 
 retorted the clerk. " Is Becky gone ? " 
 
 " Long ago. Gum, that dream's coming round. I said it 
 would. I told you there was ill boding i^o Lord Hartledon ; and 
 that Pike was mixed up in it, and Mr. Elster also in some way. 
 If you'd only listen to me " 
 
 The clerk, who had been brushing his hat and shaking the 
 dust from his outer coat — for he was a very careful man with 
 his clothes, and was always well dressed — brought down his 
 hand upon the table with some temper. 
 
 " Just you stop that. I've heard enough of that dream, and 
 of all your dreams. Confounded folly ! Haven't I trouble and 
 worry enough upon my mind, without your worrying me every 
 time I come in about your idiotic dreams ? " 
 
 " Well," returned Mrs, Gum, rather sullenly, " if the dream's 
 
 Elster's Folly. 9 
 
130 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 nothing, I'd like to ask why they had Pike up to-day before 
 'em all ? " 
 
 " Who had him up ? " asked the clerk, after a pause. " Had 
 him up where ? " 
 
 " Before the law-people that were sitting on the body of 
 Lord Hartledon : before the new lord, before Dr. Ashton, before 
 all the constables and police the place contains — before every- 
 body," ran on Mrs. Gum. " Lydia Jones brought me the news 
 just now. ' So they had Pike the poacher up,' says she. ' He 
 was took up afore the jury, and them, and had to confess to't.' 
 ' Confess to what ? ' says I. ' Why, that he was about in the 
 woods up there when my lord met his end,' says she ; ' and it's 
 to know how my lord did meet it, and whether the poacher 
 mightn't have dealt out that blow he had on his temple and 
 robbed him after it.' Gum, I've sat here since a-twittering and 
 a-quaking " 
 
 " There's no suspicion of any foul play — that his lordship's 
 death was not an accident, is there ? " questioned the clerk, in 
 a strangely subdued tone of fear. 
 
 " Not that I know of, except in Lydia's cranky temper," 
 answered Mrs. Gum. " But I don't like to hear he was up 
 there. And when I think of my dream " 
 
 " Drat your dream ! " angrily apostrophized Mr. Gum. " That 
 Lydia Jones is a foul-tongued woman, capable of swearing away 
 any man's life. Is Pike in custody ? " 
 
 " Not yet. They've let him off for the present — leastways 
 Lydia said so. Oh, Gum, often and often do I wish my days 
 was ended ! " 
 
 " Often and often do I wish I'd a quiet house to come into, 
 and not be bothered with dreams," was the scornful retort of 
 Mrs. Gum's lord. " Suppose you toast those muffins." 
 
 She gave a sigh or two, put her cap straight on her ragged 
 hair, and meekly rose to obey. The clerk was carefully folding 
 up the outer coat, for it was one he only wore on high-days, 
 when he felt something in the pocket — a small parcel. 
 
 " I'd almost forgotten this," he exclaimed, taking it out. 
 " Thanks to you, Nance Gum ! What with your dreams, and 
 your other worryings, I can't think of my proper business." 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, looking round at the parcel. 
 
WR. PIKE S WHISPER TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 131 
 
 " It's a deed that Dr. Asliton's lawyer got me to bring and 
 save his clerk a journey — if you must know. I'll take it over 
 at once, while the tea's brewing." 
 
 " Pike can't write," exclaimed Mrs. Gum, rather inopportunely 
 recurring to the past subject, as she cut a muffin in two. 
 
 " Can't write ? " 
 
 " Lydia says so. When he was wanted to swear to the truth 
 of what he'd said, by signing his name, he made a cross, and 
 told 'em he'd never learnt writing." 
 
 " Get on with them muffins," was the rejoinder. " Standing 
 gaping, with the fork in one hand and the muffin in t'other, 
 won't toast 'em." 
 
 As Jabez Gum passed through his own gate he looked 
 towards the dwelling-place of Mr. Pike ; it was only natural he 
 should do so after the recent conversation ; and he saw that 
 worthy gentleman come stealing from it across the waste 
 ground, with his usual cautious step. Although not given to 
 seek an interchange of courtesies with his neighbour, the clerk 
 walked briskly towards him now, and waited at the hurdles 
 which divided the waste ground from the road. 
 
 " I hear you were prowling about the mill when Lord Hartle- 
 don met with his accident," began the clerk, in condemning but 
 very low tones. 
 
 " And what if I was ? " asked Pike, leaning his arms on the 
 hurdles, and facing the clerk whilst he answered. " Near the 
 mill I wasn't ; about the woods and the river I was ; and I saw 
 him pass down in the sculling-boat with his disabled arm. What 
 of it, I ask?" 
 
 Pike's tone, though short, was civil enough. The forced 
 appearance before the coroner and public that day had disturbed 
 his inward equanimity in no slight degree, and taken for the 
 present all insolence out of him. 
 
 " Should any doubt get afloat that his lordship's death might 
 not have been accidental, your presence at the spot would tell 
 against you." 
 
 " No, it wouldn't. I left the spot before the accident could 
 have happened ; as soon as he had passed the round trees — for 
 that's where I was, and no higher ; and I came back to Calne 
 along with a witness. As to the death having been something 
 
132 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 worse than accident, there's not a soul in the place has dreamt of 
 such a thing, except me." 
 
 " Except you ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 Pike leaned more over the hurdles, so as to bring his dis- 
 reputable face close to the respectable one of Mr. Gum. The 
 clerk slightly recoiled ; not far, or he could not have caught 
 the low whisper. 
 
 " I don't think the death was accidental. I believe his lord- 
 ship was just put out of the way quietly." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! " exclaimed the shocked clerk. " By whom ? 
 By you ? " he added, in his bewilderment. 
 
 "No," returned the man, with the cool equanimity of one 
 who is certain of his own ground. " If I'd done it, I shouldn't 
 talk of it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " cried Mr. Gum. 
 
 "I mean that I have my suspicions; and good suspicions 
 they are. Many a man has been hung on less. I am not going 
 to tell of 'em ; perhaps not ever. I shall wait and keep my 
 eyes open, and bring 'em, if I can, to certainties. Time enough to 
 talk then, or to hush 'em for good, as circumstances may prompt." 
 
 " And you tell me you were not near the place at the time of 
 the accident ? " 
 
 " I wasn't," replied Mr. Pike, with emphasis. 
 
 " Who was?" 
 
 " That's my secret And as I've a little matter of business 
 on hand to-night, I don't care to be further delayed, if it's all 
 the same to you, neighbour. And instead of your accusing me 
 of prowling about the mill again, perhaps you'll just give a 
 thought occasionally to what I have now said, keeping it to 
 yourself. I'm not afraid of your spreading it in Calne ; for it 
 might bring a hornets' nest about your head, and about some 
 other heads that you wouldn't like to see stung." 
 
 With the last words Mr. Pike crossed the hurdles and went 
 off in the direction of Hartledon. It was a light night, and the 
 clerk stood and stared after him. To say that Mr. Jabez Gum 
 in his astonishment was imcertain, metaphorically speaking, 
 whether he stood on his head or his heels, would be saying 
 little ; and how much of these assertions he might believe, and 
 whether he had not fatally compromised his dignity by holding 
 
MR. pike's whisper TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 138 
 
 converse with this strange man in the public highway, and what 
 mischief Mr. Pike might be going after to-night, he knew not. 
 Drawing a long sigh, which did not sound very much like a 
 sigh of relief, he at length turned off to Dr. Ashton's, and the 
 man disappeared. 
 
 We must follow Pike. He went stealthily up the road past 
 Hartledon, keeping in the shade of the hedge, and shrinking 
 right into it when he saw any one coming. Striking off when he 
 neared the mill, he approached it cautiously, and halted amidst 
 some side trees, whence he had a view of the mill-door. 
 
 He was waiting for the boy, David Eipper. Fully convinced 
 by the lad's manner at the inquest that he had not told all he 
 knew, but was keeping something back in fear, Mr. Pike, for 
 reasons of his own, resolved to come at it if he could. He 
 knew that the boy would be at work later than usual that night, 
 having been hindered in the afternoon. 
 
 Imagine yourself standing with your back to the river, reader, 
 and take a view of the premises as they face you. The cottage 
 is a square building, and has four good rooms on the ground- 
 floor : a kitchen and a parlour in front, two sleeping-rooms at 
 the back. With the back we have nothing to do. The miller's 
 thrifty and careful wife generally locked all these rooms up if 
 she went out, and carried the keys away in her pocket ; possibly 
 as an additional precaution against thieves. The parlour- 
 window was an ordinary sash-window, with outside shutters ; 
 the kitchen-window was a small casement-window, opening 
 inside, and was protected outside by a fixed net-work of wire. 
 No one could get in or out, even when the casement was open, 
 without tearing this wire away, which would not be a difiicult 
 matter to accomplish. On the left of the cottage, but to your 
 right as you face it, stands the mill, to which you ascend by 
 steps. It communicates inside with the upper floor of the 
 cottage, which is used as a store-room for corn ; and from this 
 store-room a flight of stairs descends to the kitchen below, shut 
 in by a black door in the comer, near the eight- day clock. 
 There is also another flight of stairs from this store-room, which 
 communicates with the open passage leading from the back-door 
 to the stable. This is all that need be said : and you may think 
 it superfluous to have said it at all : but it is not so. 
 
134 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Master Eipper came forth at length. With a shuddering 
 avoidance of the water — which Mr. Pike did not fail to detect 
 with his practised eyes, accustomed to the dark more than the 
 light — he came tearing along like one running from a ghost, 
 and was darting past the trees, when he found himself made a 
 prisoner by a detaining arm of great strength. Mr. Pike clapped 
 his other hand upon the boy's mouth, stifling a howl of terror. 
 
 " Do you see this, young Kip ? " cried he. 
 
 Kip did see it. It was a pistol with a bright barrel, and was 
 held rather inconveniently close to the young man's breast. 
 Kip loved his life dearly ; but it nearly went out of him then 
 with fear. 
 
 " Now," said Pike, " I've come up to know about this business 
 of Lord Hartledon's, and I will know it, or else I'll leave you 
 as dead as he is. And I'll have you took up for murder, into 
 the bargain," he rather illogically continued, " as an accessory 
 to the fact." 
 
 David Kipper was in a bath of horror ; all idea of conceal- 
 ment gone out of him. " I couldn't help it," he gasped. " I 
 couldn't get out to him ; I was locked up in the mill. Don't 
 shoot me." 
 
 " I think I will," deliberated Mr. Pike aloud ; and young 
 Kip felt his hair rising on end in his agony. 
 
 " I'll spare you on one condition," decided Mr. Pike. " You 
 disclose the whole of this from the top to the tail, and then 
 maybe we shall part friends. But you only stick at one jot, or 
 try to palm off one lie, and I'll riddle you through. To begin 
 with : what brought you locked up in the mill ? " 
 
 It was a wicked tale of a wicked young jail-bird, as Mr. Pike 
 (probably the worst jail-bird by far of the two) phrased it. 
 Master Kipper had purposely caused himself to be locked in the 
 mill, his object being to supply himself with as much corn as 
 he could stuff in his pockets or carry about him in any way for 
 the benefit of his rabbits and pigeons, and other live stock at 
 home. He had done it twice before, he avowed, in mortal dread 
 of the pistol, and had got away all safe through the square hole 
 in the passage at the foot of the back staircase, whence he had 
 dropped to the ground. To his consternation on this occasion, 
 however, he hail found the door at the foot of the stairs bolted, 
 
MR. pike's whisper TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 135 
 
 as it never liad been before, and lie could not get to the passage. 
 So tbat lie was a prisoner all the afternoon, and had exercised 
 his legs as much as he pleased between the store-room and the 
 kitchen, both of which were open to him. 
 
 If ever a man showed virtuous indignation at a sinner's con- 
 fession, Mr. Pike showed it now, and the pistol shook ominously. 
 " That's how you were about in the stubble-field a-setting your 
 traps, you young villain ! I saw the coroner look at you. And 
 now about Lord Hartledon. What did you see ? " 
 
 Master Eipper rubbed the perspiration from his face, as he 
 went on with his tale ; but the more he rubbed the worse he 
 grew. Pike listened with all the ears he possessed, and more 
 than the eyes — listened and said not a word, beyond a " get 
 on," and sundry rough reminders of that nature, until the tale 
 was done. 
 
 " You awful yoimg dog ! You saw all that from the kitchen- 
 window, and never tried to get out of it ! " 
 
 " I couldrit get out of it," pleaded the boy in his agony. " It 
 have got a wire-net afore it, that winder have. I couldn't 
 break that." 
 
 " You are strong enough to break it ten times over," retorted 
 Pike. 
 
 " But then master and missis 'ud ha' knowed I'd been in the 
 mill ! " cried the boy, a gleam of cunning showing through the 
 terror of his eyes. 
 
 " Ugh," grunted Pike. " And you saw exactly what you've 
 told me?" 
 
 " I see it for sure, and I heard the cries." 
 " Did he see you ? " 
 
 " No ; I were afeard to show myself. And the boat weren't 
 right off the winder; 'twere yards to the side on't. When 
 master come home, the first thing he did was t' unlock 
 that there staircase door, and I got out without his seeing 
 
 "Where did you hide the grain your pockets were loaded 
 with ? " demanded Pike. 
 
 " I'd emptied of it out again in the store-room," returned the 
 boy, gloomily. " I telled master there were a loose skiff out 
 there," he added, in pursuance of his narrative, " and he come 
 
136 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 out and secured it. Them harvesters come up next and got 
 him out of the water." 
 
 " Yes, you could see fast enough what you were looking for ! 
 Well, young Eip," continued Mr. Pike, consolingly, " you stand 
 about as rich a chance of being took up for a hempen dance in 
 the air as ever you'll stand in all your born days, with decent 
 luck. If you'd jumped through that wire you'd have saved 
 the lord, and he'd have made it right for you with old Floyd. 
 I'd advise you to keep a silent tongue in your head always, if 
 you want to save your neck." 
 
 " I was a-keeping of it, till you come and made me tell with 
 that there pistol," howled the boy. 
 
 "And particularly lucky you may count yourself that you 
 did tell, and have not got its contents inside you," returned 
 Mr. Pike. 
 
 "You won't go and split on me?" asked the boy, with 
 shivering lips. 
 
 "I won't split on you about the grain at all," graciously 
 promised Mr. Pike. " If you get yourself locked in daily to 
 lighten the granary, it's no business of mine. The miller 
 might make it his perhaps, but that's his look-out and yours. 
 As to the other matter — well, I'll not say anything about that ; 
 leastways, yet awhile. You keep it a secret ; so'll I." 
 
 With a flourish of the pistol, but without another word, Mr. 
 Pike extended his hand as a signal that the culprit was at 
 liberty to depart ; and he did so as fast as his legs would carry 
 him. Pike then returned the pistol to his pocket — in a very 
 careless manner, if it had anything in it — and took his way 
 back to Calne in a thoughtful mood, and a particularly un- 
 genial one. There was a doubt within him whether the boy 
 had disclosed the truth, even to him. 
 
 Perhaps on no one — with the exception of the new peer — did 
 the death of Lord Hartledon tell home as it did on Lady Kirton 
 and her daughter Maude. To the one it brought embarrass- 
 ment; to the other, what seemed very like a broken heart. 
 The countess-dowager's tactics must change as by magic. She 
 had to transfer the affection and consideration evinced for 
 Edward Lord Hartledon to his brother Percival ; and to do it 
 easily and naturally. She had to obliterate from the latter's 
 
ME. pike's whisper TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 137 
 
 mind her overbearing dislike to him, to cause her insults to be 
 remembered no more. A difficult task, even for her, wily 
 woman as she was. 
 
 How was it to be done ? For three mortal hours, the night 
 after Lord Hartledon's death, did she lie awake, thinking of 
 her plans; perhaps for the first time in her life, for obtuse 
 natures don't lie awake. The death had not affected her, except 
 in regard to her own interests; she could feel for none and 
 regret none in her utter selfishness. One was fallen, but 
 another had risen up. " Le roi est mort : vive le roi ! " 
 
 On the day following the death she had sought an interview 
 with Percival. Never a woman evinced better tact in an inter- 
 view than she in that. There was no violent change in her 
 manner, no apologies for the past, or display of sudden-born 
 affection. She spoke quietly and sensibly with him of passing 
 topics : the death, and what could have led to it ; the immediate 
 business on hand, some of the changes it entailed for the future. 
 " I'll stop with you still, Percival," she said, " and look after 
 things a bit for you, as I have been doing for your brother. 
 It is an awful shock, and we must all have time to get over it. 
 Ah me ! if I had only foreseen this, how I might have spared 
 my temper and my poor Maude's feelings ! " 
 
 She looked sideways with the corner of her eye at the young 
 earl ; but he evinced no curiosity to hear more, so she went on 
 unasked. 
 
 " You know, Val, for a portionless girl, as Maude is, it was a 
 great blow to me when I found her fixing her heart upon a 
 younger son. How cross and unjust it made me I couldn't 
 conceal : mothers are mothers. I wanted her to take a fancy 
 to Hartledon, dear fellow, and I suppose she could not, and it 
 rendered me cross ; and I know I worried her and worried my 
 own temper, till at times I was not conscious what I said. 
 Poor Maude! she did not rebel openly, but I could see the 
 struggle in her tender bosom. Only a week ago, when Hartle- 
 don was talking to her about his marrying sometime, and 
 hinting that she might care for him if she tried, she scored her 
 beautiful drawing all over with ugly marks; ran the pencil 
 through it " 
 
 " But why do you tell me this now ? " asked Val. 
 
138 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "Hartledon — dear me! I wonder how long I shall be 
 getting accustomed to your name ? — there's only you and me 
 and Maude left now of the family," cried the dowager im- 
 pressively, peering at him from beneath her flaxen front, which 
 had dropped on to her eyebrows; "and if I speak of such 
 things, it is in the fulness of my heart. And now about these 
 letters : do you care how they are worded ? " 
 
 " I don't seem to care about anything," listlessly answered 
 the young man. " As to the letters, I think I'd rather write 
 them myself, Lady Kirton." 
 
 " Indeed no, you shall not have trouble thrust upon you 
 to-day. ril write the letters, and do you indulge yourself by 
 doing nothing." 
 
 He yielded to her in his unstable nature. They were 
 business letters that she spoke of, and it was more suitable that 
 he should write them; he wished to write them; but she 
 carried her point, and merged his will in hers. Would it be a 
 type of the future ? — would he yield to her in other things as 
 he was yielding now, in defiance of his better judgment ? Alas ! 
 alas ! 
 
 She picked up her skirts and left him, and went sailing 
 upstairs to her daughter's room. Maude was sitting shivering 
 in a shawl, though the day was hot. 
 
 " I've paved the way," nodded the old woman, in meaning 
 tones. " And there's one fortunate thing about Val : he is so 
 truthful himself, so ultra-honourable, that he can't see deceit or 
 suspect it. One may take him in with his eyes open." 
 
 Maude turned her eyes upon her mother. Very languid and 
 unspeculative eyes they were just then. 
 
 " I gave him a hint, Maude, that you had been unable to 
 bring yourself to like Hartledon, but had fixed your mind on a 
 younger son. Later we'll let him suspect who the younger 
 son was." 
 
 The words aroused Maude ; she started up from her chair, 
 and stood staring at her mother, her eyes dilating with a sort 
 of horror ; her pale cheeks slowly turning to crimson. 
 
 "I don't understand," she gasped; "I hope 1 don't under- 
 stand. You — you do not mean that I am to try to like Val 
 Elster?" 
 
MR. pike's whisper TO JABEZ GUM. 
 
 139 
 
 " Now, Maude, no heroics. I'll not see you make a fool of 
 yourself as your sisters have done. He's not Yal Elster any 
 longer; he is the Earl of Hartledon: and he's better-looking 
 than ever his brother was, and he'll make a better husband, for 
 he'll be more easily led." 
 
 "I would not marry Val for the whole world," she said, 
 catching her breath with emotion. " I dislike him ; I hate 
 him ; I never could be a wife to Val Elster." 
 
 "We'll see," said the dowager, pushing up her front, of 
 which she had just caught a sight in a glass. 
 
 "Thank Heaven, there's no fear of it!" resumed Maude, 
 collecting her senses, and sitting down again with a relieved 
 sigh ; " he is to marry Anne Ashton. Thank Heaven that he 
 loves her ! " 
 
 " Anne Ashton ! " scornfully returned the countess-dowager. 
 " She might have been tolerated when he was Val Elster, not 
 now he is Earl of Hartledon. What notions you have, Maude ! " 
 
 Maude burst into tears. "Mamma, I think it is fearfully 
 indecent for you to begin upon these things already ! It only 
 happened last night, and — and it sounds quite horrible." 
 
 " When one has to look out for one's living, one has to do 
 many things decent and indecent," retorted the countess- 
 dowager sharply. " He has had his hint, and you've got yours : 
 and you are no true girl if you suffer yourself now to be 
 triumphed over by Anne Ashton." 
 
 Maude cried on silently. She was thinking how cruel fate 
 was to have taken the one brother and spared the other. Who 
 — save that Anne Ashton — would have missed Val Elster; 
 while Lord Hartledon — at least he had made the life of one 
 heart. A poor bruised heart now; never, never to be made 
 quite whole again. 
 
 Thus the countess-dowager, in her blindness, began her plans. 
 In her blindness ! If we could only foresee the ending of some 
 of the unholy schemes that many of us are apt to weave, we 
 might be more content to leave them humbly in a higher hand 
 than ours. Do they ever bring good, these plans, born of our 
 evil passions — hatred, malice, utter selfishness ? I think not. 
 They may seem to succeed triumphantly, but — watch the triumph 
 to the end. 
 
140 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 PITCH-POTS BURNING. 
 
 The dews of an October evening, following on a fine day, were 
 arising in Calne, as Lord Hartledon walked along from the 
 railway-station. Just as unexpectedly as lie had arrived the 
 morning you first saw him, when he was only Val Elster, had 
 he arrived now. By the merest accident one of the Hartledon 
 servants happened to be at the station when the train arrived, 
 and took charge of his master's luggage. 
 
 " All well at home, James ? " 
 
 " All quite well, my lord." 
 
 Several weeks had elapsed since his brother's death, and Lord 
 Hartledon had spent them in London. He went up on business 
 the week after the funeral, and did not return again. In one 
 respect he had no inducement to return ; for the Ashton family, 
 including Anne, were on a visit in "Wales, They were at home 
 now, as he knew full well : perhaps that had brought him down. 
 
 He went in unannounced, finding his way to the inner draw- 
 ing-room. A large fire blazed in the grate, and the Lady 
 Maude sat by it so intent in thought as not to observe his 
 entrance. She wore a black crepe dress, with a little white 
 trimming on its low body and sleeves. The firelight played on 
 her beautiful features, and her eyelashes glistened as if with 
 teais : she was thinner and paler ; he saw it at once. The 
 countess-dowager stuck to Hartledon like a leech, and evinced 
 no intention of moving from it: she and her daughter had 
 been there alone all these weeks. 
 How are you, Maude ? " 
 
 She looked round and started up with a scream, backing 
 from him with a face of alarm. Ah, was it instinct caused her 
 
PITCH-POTS BURNING. 
 
 141 
 
 SO to back? What, or who, was she thinking of; holding her 
 hands before her with that face of horror ? 
 " Surely, Maude, you know me ! " 
 
 "Percival! I beg your pardon. I believe I was thinking 
 of — of your brother, and I really did not know you in the 
 uncertain light. We are not on company manners, and don't 
 have our rooms lighted early," she added, with a little laugh. 
 
 He took her hands in his. Now that she knew him, and the 
 alarm was over, she seemed really pleased to see him : the dark 
 eyes were raised to his with a frank smile. 
 
 " May I take a cousin's greeting, Maude ? " 
 
 Without waiting for yes or no, he stooped and took the kiss. 
 Maude flung his hands away. He should have left out the 
 word " cousin," or not have taken the kiss. 
 
 He went and stood with his elbow on the mantelpiece, 
 soberly, as if he had but kissed a sister. Maude sat down again. 
 
 "Why did you not send us word you were coming?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " There was no necessity for it. And I only made my mind 
 up this morning." 
 
 " What a long while you have been away ! I thought you 
 went for a week." 
 
 " I did not get my business over very quickly ; and afterwards 
 I waited to see Thomas Carr: he was out of town. The 
 Ashtons were away, you know; so I had no inducement to 
 hurry back again." 
 
 Very complimentary to Jier. " Who's Thomas Carr ? " asked 
 Lady Maude. 
 
 "The greatest friend I possess in this world. He is a 
 barrister. We were at college together, and he used to keep 
 me straight." 
 
 " Keep you straight ! Val ! " 
 
 "It's quite true. I went to him in all my scrapes and 
 troubles. He is the most honourable, upright, straightforward 
 man I know ; and, as such, possesses a talent for serving " 
 
 " Hartledon ! Is it you ? " 
 
 The interruption came from the countess-dowager. She and 
 the butler came in together, both looking equally astonished at 
 sight of the earl. The former said dinner was served. 
 
142 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Will you let me sit down in this coat ? " asked Val. 
 
 The countess-dowager would willingly have allowed him to 
 sit down without any. Her welcome was demonstrative; her 
 displayed affection already warm, and she called him "Yal," 
 tenderly. He escaped for a minute to his room, washed his 
 hands, gave his hair a brush, and was down again, and taking 
 the head of his own table. 
 
 It was something pleasant to have him there — a welcome 
 change from Hartledon's recent monotony ; and even Lady 
 Maude, with her boasted dislike, felt prejudice melting away. 
 Boasted dislike it had been, not real. None could dislike 
 Percival. He was not Edward Lord Hartledon, and it was him 
 Maude had loved. Percival she never would love, but she 
 might learn to like him. As he sat there near her, in his plain 
 black morning attire, courteous, genuinely sweet-tempered, his 
 good looks conspicuous, a smile on his delicate, refined, but 
 vacillating lips, and his dark-blue honest eyes bent upon her in 
 kindness, Maude for the first time admitted a vision of the 
 possible future, together with a dim consciousness that it might 
 not be intolerable. Half the world, of her age and sex, would 
 have deemed it indeed a triumph to be made the wife of that 
 attractive man. 
 
 He had courteously stood aside for Lady Kirton to take the 
 head of the table ; but the dowager had positively refused, and 
 subsided into the chair at the foot. She did not fill it in dear 
 Edward's time, she said ; neither should she in dear Yal's ; he 
 had come home to occupy his place as Hartledon's lord. And 
 oh, thank goodness that he was come ! she added, turning up the 
 whites of her eyes : she and Maude had been so lonely and 
 miserable, losing flesh daily from sheer ennui. So she faced 
 Lord Hartledon at the end of the table, her flaxen curls sur- 
 mounted by an array of black plumes, and looking very much 
 like a stout female mute. 
 
 " What an awful thing that is about the Eectory ! " exclaimed 
 she, speaking with her mouth full of high-seasoned maccaroni, 
 when they were pretty well through dinner — and it may be 
 remarked, that she liked all her dishes highly seasoned. 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked up quietly. " What is the matter at 
 the Eectory ? " 
 
pitch-pot's bukning. 
 
 143 
 
 " They have a fever broken out." 
 
 " Is that all ! " he exclaimed, some amusement on his face. 
 " I thought it must have taken fire." 
 " A fever's worse than a fire." 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
 " Think so ! " echoed the countess-dowager, opening her round 
 eyes. " You can run away from a fire ; but a fever may take 
 hold of you before you are aware of it. Every soul in the 
 Kectory may die ; it may spread to the parish ; it may spread 
 here. I have caused tar to be kept burning round the house 
 the last two days." 
 
 " You are not serious. Lady Kirton ! " 
 
 " I am serious. I wouldn't catch a fever for the whole world. 
 I should die of fright, before it had time to kill me of itself. 
 Besides — I have Maude to guard. You were forgetting her." 
 
 " There's no danger at all. One of the servants became ill 
 after they returned home, and it proved to be fever. I don't 
 suppose it will spread." 
 
 " How did you hear about it ? " 
 
 " From Miss Ashton. She mentioned it in her last letter 
 to me." 
 
 " I didn't know you corresponded with her," cried the 
 dowager, her tone rather shrill. 
 
 " Not correspond with Miss Ashton ! " he repeated. " Of 
 course I do." 
 
 The old dowager had a fit of choking : some maccaroni went 
 the wrong way, she said. The earl resumed. 
 
 " It is an awful shame of those seaside lodging-house people ! 
 Did you hear the particulars, Maude ? After the Ashtons con- 
 cluded their visit in Wales, they went for a fortnight to the 
 seaside, on their way home, taking lodgings. Some days after 
 they had been settled in the apartments they discovered that 
 some fever was in the house ; a family who occupied another 
 set of apartments being ill with it, and had been ill before the 
 Ashtons went in. Dr. Ashton told the landlady what he 
 thought of her conduct, and then they left the house for home. 
 But Mrs. Ashton's maid, Matilda, had already taken it." 
 
 " Did Miss Ashton give you these particulars ? " asked Lady 
 Maude, toying with a late rose that lay beside her plate. 
 
144 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Yes. I should feel inclined to prosecute the woman, were 
 I Dr. Ashton, for having been so selfishly inconsiderate. But I 
 hope Matilda is better, and that the alarm will end with her. 
 It is four days since I had Anne's letter." 
 
 "Then, Lord Hartledon, I can tell you that the alarm's 
 worse, and another has taken it, and the parish is up in arms," 
 spoke the countess-dowager, tartly. " It has proved to be fever 
 of a most malignant type, and not a soul but Hillary the 
 surgeon goes near the Eectory. You must not venture within 
 half-a-mile of it. Dr. Ashton was so careless as to occupy his 
 pulpit on Sunday ; but, thank goodness, I did not venture to 
 church, or allow Maude to go. Your Miss Ashton will be 
 having it next." 
 
 "Of course they have advice from Garchester?" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " How should I know ? My opinion is that the parson him- 
 self might be prosecuted for bringing the fever into a healthy 
 neighbourhood. Now, Hedges, some port ! One has need to take 
 a double portion of tonics to fortify one's self in a time like this." 
 
 The countess-dowager's alarms were not feigned — no, nor 
 exaggerated ; but real. She had an intense, selfish fear of any 
 sort of illness ; she had a worse fear of death. In any time of 
 public epidemic her displayed terrors would have been almost 
 ludicrous in their absurdity, but that they were so real. And 
 she " fortified " herself against infection by eating and drinking 
 more than ever. 
 
 Nothing else was said : she shunned allusion to it when she 
 could ; and presently she and Maude quitted the dining-room. 
 " You won't be long, Hartledon ? " she observed, sweetly, as she 
 passed him. Val only bowed in answer, closed the door upon 
 them, and rang the bell for Hedges. 
 
 " Is much alarm excited in regard to this fever at the Eectory?" 
 he asked of the butler. 
 
 " Not very much, I think, my lord. A few are timid about 
 it ; as is always the case. One of the other servants has taken 
 it ; but Mr. Hillary told me when he was here this morning that 
 he hoped it would not spread beyond the Eectory." 
 
 "Was Hillary here this morning? Nobody's ill?" asked 
 Lord Hartledon, quickly. 
 
PITCH-POTS BURNING. 
 
 145 
 
 " No one at all, my lord. The countess-dowager sent for him, 
 to ask what her diet had better be, and how she could guard 
 against infection more effectually than she was doing. She did 
 not allow him to come in, but spoke to him from one of the 
 upper windows with a cloak and respirator on." 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked at his butler ; the man was suppress- 
 ing a grim smile. 
 
 " Nonsense, Hedges ! " 
 
 " It's true, my lord. Mrs. Mirrable says she has five saucers 
 of lime in their rooms, and an earthen pot of pitch burning." 
 
 Lord Hartledon broke into a laugh, not suppressed. 
 
 " And in the side courtyard, which looks towards the Eectory, 
 as may be said, there's ever so many pitch-pots alight night 
 and day," added Hedges. " We have had five hundred people 
 up, wanting to know if the place is on fire." 
 
 " What a joke ! " cried his lordship — who was not beyond the 
 age yet to enjoy such jokes. " Hedges," he resumed, changing 
 his tone to a more confidential one, "no strangers have been 
 here inquiring for me, I suppose ? " 
 
 He alluded to creditors, or people acting for them. To a 
 careless man, as Yal had been, it was a difficult matter to know 
 whether all his debts were paid or not. He had settled what 
 he remembered ; but there might be others. Hedges under- 
 stood ; and his voice dropped to the same low tone : he had been 
 pretty cognizant of the embarrassments of the Honourable Mr. 
 Elster. 
 
 "Nobody at all, my lord. They wouldn't have got much 
 information out of me, if they had come." 
 
 Lord Hartledon laughed. " Things are changed now. Hedges, 
 and they may have as much information as they choose. Bring 
 me a cup of coffee here ; make haste." 
 
 The coffee was brought, and he went out as soon as he had 
 taken it, following the road to the Eectory. It was a calm still 
 night, the moon tolerably bright ; not a breath of wind stirred 
 the air ; warm and oppressive for October ; not by any means 
 the sort of night that doctors covet when fever is in the atmo- 
 sphere. 
 
 He turned in at the Eectory-gates, and was crossing to the 
 house, when a flutter of leaves in a shrubbery path caused him 
 
 Elster's FoUy. 10 
 
146 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 to look over the dwarf laurels, and he saw Anne. He was at 
 her side in an instant. She was without her bonnet, as if she 
 had just come forth from the rooms for a breath of air. As was 
 indeed the case. 
 " My darling ! " 
 
 " I heard you had come," she whispered, as he held both her 
 liands in his, and her heart bounded with an exquisite flutter of 
 delight. 
 
 " How did you hear that ? " he said, placing her hand within 
 his arm, that he might pace the walk with her. 
 
 " Papa heard it. Some one had seen you walking home from 
 the train : I think it was Mr. Hillary. But, Percival, ought 
 you to have come here ? " she added, stopping in alarm. " This 
 is infected ground, you know." 
 
 " Not for me. I have no more fear of catching a fever than 
 I have of catching a moonstroke. Anne, I hope you will not 
 take it," he gravely added. 
 
 " I hope not, either. Like you, I have no fear of it. I am 
 so glad Arthur is away. Was it not wrong of that landlady to 
 let her apartments to us when she had fever in them ? " 
 
 " It was infamously wrong," said Lord Hartledon warmly. 
 
 " She excused herself afterwards by saying, that as the people 
 who had the fever were in quite a different j)art of the house 
 from that she let to us, she thought there could be no danger. 
 Papa was so angry. He told her he was sorry the law did not 
 take cognizance of such an offence. We had been a week in the 
 house before we knew of it." 
 
 " How did you find it out ? " 
 
 " The lady who was ill with it died, and Matilda saw the 
 coffin — a shell they called it — going up the back stairs. She 
 questioned the servants of the house, and one of them told her 
 all about it then, bit by bit. Another lady was lying ill, and a 
 third was recovering. The landlady, by way of excuse, said 
 that the greatest wrong had been done to herself, for these ladies 
 had brought the fever into her house, and brought it deliberately. 
 Fever had broken out in their own home, some long way off, 
 and they ran away from it, and took her apartments, saying 
 nothing ; which was true, we found." 
 
 " Two wrongs don't make a right," observed Lord Hartledon, 
 
PITCH-POTS BURNING. 
 
 147 
 
 " Their bringing the fever surreptitiously into her house was 
 no justification for her receiving you into it when it was there. 
 It's the way of the world, Anne : one wrong leading to many. 
 Is Matilda getting over it ? " 
 
 " I hardly know. She is not out of danger ; but Mr. Hillary 
 has hopes of her. One of the other servants has taken it, and 
 is worse than Matilda. Mr. Hillary has been with her three 
 times to-day, and is coming again. She was ill when I last 
 wrote to you, Val ; but we did not know it." 
 
 " Which of them is it ? " he asked. 
 
 " It's the dairymaid. I don't suppose you know her. She 
 is a big, stout girl, and has never had a day's illness before. 
 There was some trouble with her. She would not take any 
 medicine ; would not lie by ; would not, in short, do anything 
 that she ought to have done, and the consequence is that the 
 fever has got dangerously ahead. I am sure she is very ill." 
 
 " I hope it will not spread beyond the Eectory." 
 
 " Oh, Val, that is our one great hope," she said, her earnest 
 face brightening with its own hope, as she turned it to him in 
 the moonlight. " We are taking all the precautions against it 
 that we can take. None of us are going beyond the grounds, 
 except papa, and we do not receive any one here. I don't know 
 what papa will say to your coming." 
 
 He smiled. "But you can't keep all the world away ! " 
 
 " We do — very nearly. Mr. Hillary comes, and Dr. Beamish 
 from Garchester, and one or two people have been here on 
 business. If any one calls at the gate, they are not asked in ; 
 and I don't suppose they would come in if asked. Jabez Gum's 
 the most obstinate. He comes in just as usual, and will come. 
 ' As if such a thing as fever would touch me. Miss Anne ! ' he 
 said to me this morning. ' My body's too genteel for it.' It 
 made me laugh." 
 
 " Lady Kirton, up at Hartledon, is in an awful fright," said 
 Val ; his tone one of amusement instead of commiseration. 
 
 " Oh, I have heard of it," cried Anne, clasping her hands in 
 laughter. " She is burning tar-barrels outside the house ; and 
 she spoke to Mr. Hillary this morning through the window, 
 muffled up in a cloak and blue respirator. What a strange old 
 thing she is I " 
 
148 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Val shrugged his shoulders. " I don't think she means badly 
 au fond ; and she has no home, poor creature.'* 
 
 " Is that why she remains so long at Hartledon ? " 
 
 " I suppose so. Eeigning at Hartledon must be something 
 like a glimpse of Paradise to her. She won't quit it in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " I wonder you like her to be there." 
 
 " I know I shall never have courage to tell her to go," was 
 the candid and characteristic answer. " I was afraid of her as 
 a boy, and I'm not sure but I'm afraid of her still." 
 
 " I don't like her — I don't like either of them," said Anne in 
 a low tone. 
 
 Lord Hartledon twitched a sprig of box from the shrubbery 
 hedge as he passed. " Don't you like Maude ? " 
 
 " No. I am sure she is not true. To my mind there is some- 
 thing very false about them both." 
 
 " I think you are wrong, Anne ; certainly so as regards 
 Maude." 
 
 Miss Ashton did not press her opinion ; they were his rela- 
 tives. " But I should have pitied poor Edward had he lived 
 and married her," she said, following out her thoughts. 
 
 " I was mistaken when I thought Maude cared for Edward," 
 observed Lord Hartledon. " I'm sure I did think it. I used 
 to tell Edward so ; but a day or two after he died I found I 
 was wrong. The dowager had been urging Maude to like him, 
 and she could not, and it made her miserable." 
 
 " Did Maude tell you this ? " inquired Anne ; her radiant 
 eyes full of surprise as they were turned upon the earl. 
 
 " Not Maude : she never said a word to me upon the subject. 
 It was the countess." 
 
 " Then, Val, she must have said it to you with an object in 
 view. I am sure Maude did love him. I know she did." 
 
 He shook his head. " You are wrong, Anne, depend upon it. 
 She did not like him, and she and her mother were at variance 
 upon the point. However, it is of no moment to discuss it 
 now: and it might never have come to an issue had Edward 
 lived, for he did not care for her ; and I dare say never would 
 have cared for her." 
 
 Anne said no more. It was of no moment, as he observed ; 
 
PITCH-POTS BURNING. 
 
 149 
 
 but she retained her own opinion. They walked from one end 
 to the other of the short walk in silence, and Anne said she 
 must go in. 
 
 " Am I quite forgiven ? " w^hispered Lord Hartledon, bending 
 his head down to her. 
 
 " I never thought I had very much to forgive," she rejoined, 
 after a pause. 
 
 " My darling ! I mean by your father." 
 
 " Ah, I don't know. You must talk to him. He knows we 
 have been writing to each other. I think he means to trust 
 you." 
 
 " The best plan will be for you to come soon to Hartledon, 
 Anne. I shall never go wrong when once you are my wife." 
 
 " Do you go so very wrong now ? " she asked. 
 
 " On my honour, no ! You need not doubt me, Anne ; now 
 or ever. I have paid up what I owed, and will take very good 
 care to keep out of trouble for the future. I incurred the debts 
 for others, more than for myself, and I have bought experience 
 dearly. My darling, surely you can trust me now ? " 
 
 " I always did trust you," she murmured. 
 
 He took a long, fervent kiss from her lips, and then led her 
 to the open lawn and across to the house. 
 
 " Ought you to come in, Percival ? " 
 
 " Certainly. One word, Anne ; because I may be speaking 
 to the Eector — I don't mean to-night. You will make no 
 objection to coming soon to Hartledon ? " 
 
 " I can't come, you know, as long as Lady Kirton is its 
 mistress," she said, half seriously, half jestingly. 
 
 He laughed at the notion. Lady Kirton must be going soon 
 of her own accord ; if not, he should have to pluck up courage 
 and give her a hint, was his answer. At any rate, she'd surely 
 take herself off before Christmas. The old dowager at Hartle- 
 don after he had Anne there ! Not if he knew it, he added, as 
 he went on with her into the presence of Dr. and Mrs. Ashton. 
 The Eector started from his seat, at once telling him that he 
 ought not to have come in. Which the earl did not see at all, 
 and decidedly refused to go out again. 
 
 Meanwhile the countess-dowager and Maude were wondering 
 what had become of him. They supposed he was still sitting 
 
150 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 in the dining-room. The old dowager fidgeted about, her 
 fingers ominously near the bell. She was burning to send to 
 him, but hardly knew how he might take the message : it 
 might be that the earl would object to go into leading-strings, 
 and her attempt to put them on would ruin all. But the tim.e 
 went on ; grew late ; and she was dying for her tea, which she 
 had chosen should wait for the earl also. Maude sat before 
 the fire in a large chair ; her eyes, her hands, her whole air 
 utterly still, supremely listless. 
 
 "Don't you want your tea, Maude?" suddenly cried her 
 ihother, who had cast innumerable glances at her from time to 
 time. 
 
 " I have wanted it hours and hours — as it seems to me." 
 
 " It's a horrid custom for young men, this sitting long after 
 
 dinner. If he gets into it But you must see to that, 
 
 Maude, and stop it ; if ever you reign at Hartledon. I dare 
 say he's smoking." 
 
 " If ever I do reign at Hartledon — which I am not likely to 
 do — I'll take care not to wait tea for any one, as you have made 
 me wait for it this evening," was Lady Maude's rejoinder, 
 spoken with apathy. 
 
 " I'll send a message to him," decided Lady Kirton, ringing 
 rather fiercely, which brought up a servant. 
 
 " Tell Lord Hartledon we are waiting tea for him." 
 
 " Lord Hartledon's not in, my lady." 
 
 " Not in ! " 
 
 " He went out directly after dinner, as soon as he had taken 
 coffee." 
 
 " Oh," said the countess-dowager. And she began to make 
 the tea with vehemence — for it did not please her to have it 
 brought in made — and broke one of the costly cups. 
 
( ISI ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XIV. 
 
 MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 It was eleven o'clock when Lord Hartledon entered. Lady 
 Kirton was fanning herself vehemently. Maude had gone 
 upstairs for the night. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " she asked, laying down the fan. 
 " We waited tea for you until poor Maude got quite exhausted." 
 
 " Did you ? I am sorry for that. Never wait for me, pray, 
 Lady Kirton. I took tea at the Eectory." 
 
 " Took— tea— where ? " 
 
 " At the Eectory." 
 
 With a prolonged shriek the countess-dowager darted to the 
 far end of the room, turning up her gown as she went, and 
 muffling it over her head and face in a queer fashion, so that 
 only the little eyes, round now with horror, were seen. Lord 
 Hartledon gazed at her in amazement. 
 
 "You have been at the Eectory, when I warned you not! 
 You have been inside that lazar-house of infection, and you 
 come home — here — to me — to my darling, beautiful Maude! 
 May Heaven forgive you. Lord Hartledon ! " 
 
 "Why, what have I done? What harm will it do?" ex- 
 claimed the astonished man. 
 
 Instead of answering, she began a frantic sort of dance, 
 whirling about in a circle to the tune of her shrieks. Lord 
 Hartledon would have approached her, but she warned him 
 from her piteously with her hands, and shrieked the louder. 
 She was at the upper end of the room, and he near the door, so 
 that she could not quit it without passing him. Hedges came 
 in, and stood staring in the same wondering astonishment as 
 his master. 
 
152 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " For tlie love of Heaven, take off every shred of your 
 clothes ! " she cried. " You may have brought home death in 
 them. Take them off, I say, Hartledon. They shall be thrown 
 into the burning tar-barrel. Why do you want to kill us? 
 What has Maude done to you — and she so beautiful ? " 
 
 " I do think you must be going mad ! " cried Lord Hartledon, 
 in his bewilderment ; " and I hope you'll forgive me for saying 
 it. I " 
 
 " Go and take off your clothes ! For the love of Heaven, take 
 off your clothes ! " was all she could reiterate. " Every minute 
 you stand in them is fraught with danger. If you choose to die 
 yourself, Hartledon, it's downright wicked of you to bring death 
 to us. Oh, go, that I may get out of here." 
 
 Lord Hartledon, to pacify her, quitted the room, and the 
 countess-dowager rushed forth with a scream, and bolted herself 
 into her own apartments. 
 
 Was she mad, or was she making a display of affectation, or 
 was she genuinely afraid ? wondered Lord Hartledon aloud, as he 
 went up to his chamber. Hedges gave it as his opinion that 
 she was really afraid, because she had been as bad as this 
 when she first heard of the illness, before his lordship arrived. 
 His lordship retired to rest laughing : it was a good joke to 
 him. 
 
 But it was no joke to the countess-dowager, as he found to his 
 cost when the morning came. She got him out of his chamber 
 betimes, had in lime and vinegar, and commenced the process 
 of " fumigating." The clothes he had worn she insisted should 
 be burnt; she pleaded piteously for it, as though she were 
 pleading for life, and he yielded in his good nature. 
 
 But there was to be a battle on another score. She forbid 
 him, in the most positive terms, to go again to the Eectory — to 
 approach within half-a-mile of it. Lord Hartledon civilly told 
 her he could not comply ; he hinted that if her alarms were so 
 great, she had better leave the place until all danger was over, 
 and thereby nearly entailed on himself the spectacle of another 
 war-dance. 
 
 News that came up that morning from the Eectory did not 
 tend to assuage her fears. The poor dairymaid had died in 
 the night, and another servant, one of the men, was sickening. 
 
MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 163 
 
 Even Lord Hartledon looked grave : and the countess-dowager 
 wormed a half promise from him, in the softened feelings of 
 the moment, that he would not go into the infected house. 
 
 Before an hour was over he came to her to retract it. " I 
 cannot be so unfeeling, so unneighbourly, as not to call," he 
 said. " Even were my relations not what they are with Miss 
 Ashton, I could not do it. It's of no use talking, ma'am ; I 
 am too restless to stay away." 
 
 There ensued a little skirmish of words. Lady Kirton 
 accused him of holding her life and Maude's dirt-cheap ; of 
 wishing to sacrifice them to his own momentary selfish gratifi- 
 cation. Lord Hartledon felt uncomfortable at the accusation. 
 He was one of the best-hearted, best-natured men living, and he 
 did nothing in his vacillation. He'd go at dusk, he said to 
 himself, when they could not watch him from the house. 
 
 But she was a rare one to carry out her own will, that 
 countess-dowager ; a match for the unsuspecting, single-minded 
 earl. She wrote an urgent letter to Dr. Ashton, setting forth 
 her own and her daughter's danger if her nephew (as she styled 
 him) was received at the Eectory; and she despatched it 
 privately. 
 
 It brought forth a letter from Dr. Ashton to the earl ; a kind 
 but very peremptory mandate, forbidding him to show himself 
 at the Eectory until the illness should have passed. Dr. Ash- 
 ton reminded his future son-in-law that it was not particularly 
 on his own account he interposed this veto, but for the sake of 
 the neighbourhood generally. If they were to prevent the 
 fever from spreading, it was absolutely necessary that no 
 chance visitors should be running into the Eectory and out of 
 it again, to carry possible infection to the parish. 
 
 Lord Hartledon could only acquiesce. The note was written 
 in terms so positive as rather to surprise him ; but he never 
 suspected the undercurrent that had been at work. In his 
 straightforwardness he showed the letter to the dowager, who 
 nodded her head approvingly, but told no tales. 
 
 And so his days went on in the society of the two women at 
 Hartledon ; and if his lordship found himself oppressed with 
 ennui at first, he subsided into a flirtation with the Lady 
 Maude, and forgot care. Elster's folly ! He was not hearing 
 
154 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 from Anne, for it was thought better that even notes should 
 not pass out of the Eectory. 
 
 Curious to relate, the first person beyond the Eectory to take 
 the illness was the man Pike. How he could have caught it, 
 seeing that he mixed with no society, and society did not mix 
 with him, was a marvel to Calne. And yet, if Lady Kirton's 
 theory were correct, that infection was conveyed by clothes, it 
 might be accounted for, and Clerk Gum be deemed the culprit. 
 One evening that the clerk had been for some little time at the 
 Eectory with Dr. Ashton, he met Pike in going out ; had 
 brushed close to him in passing, as he well remembered ; the 
 garments of each had touched. However it might have been, 
 in a few days after that Pike was found to be suffering from it. 
 
 Whether he would have died, lying alone in that shed, Calne 
 did not decide ; and some thought he would, making no sign ; 
 some thought not, but would have called in assistance. Mr. 
 Hillary, an observant man, as perhaps it was requisite he 
 should be in time of public danger, halted one morning to 
 speak to Clerk Gum, who was standing at his own gate. 
 
 " Have you seen anything lately of that neighbour of yours, 
 Gum ? " 
 
 " Which neighbour ? " asked the clerk, in a contending sort 
 of tone, as if resenting the question. 
 
 Mr. Hillary pointed his umbrella in the direction of the 
 shed. " Pike." 
 
 " No, I've seen nothing of him, that I remember." 
 
 " Neither have I. What's more, I've seen no smoke coming 
 out of the chimney these two days. It strikes me he's ill. It 
 may be the fever." 
 
 " Gone away, maybe," remarked the clerk, after a moment's 
 pause, " in the same unceremonious manner that he came." 
 
 " I think somebody ought to see. He may be lying there 
 helpless." 
 
 " Little matter if he is," growled the clerk, who seemed put 
 out about something or other. 
 
 "It's not like you to say so. Gum. You might step over 
 the stile and see ; you're nearest to him. Nobody knows what 
 the man is, or what he may have been ; but humanity does not 
 let even the worst die unaided." 
 
MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 155 
 
 "What makes you think he has the fever?" asked the 
 clerk. 
 
 " I only say he may have it. I suppose I am on the look-out 
 for some one to get it ; and I have neither seen him nor his 
 smoke these two days. Never mind ; if it annoys you to do 
 this, I'll look in myself some time to-day." 
 
 " You wouldn't get admitted ; he keeps his door fastened," 
 returned Mr. Gum. " The only way to get at him is to shout 
 out to him through that glazed aperture he calls his window." 
 
 " Will you do it— or shall I ? " 
 
 " I'll do it," said the clerk ; " and tell you if your services 
 are wanted." 
 
 Mr. Hillary walked off at a quick pace. There was a good 
 deal of illness in Calne at that season, though the fever had not 
 spread. 
 
 Whether Clerk Gum kept his word, or whether he did not, 
 certain it was that Mr. Hillary heard nothing from him that 
 day. In the evening the clerk was sitting in his office in a 
 thoughtful mood, busy over some accounts connected with an 
 insurance company for which he was agent, when he heard a 
 quick sharp knock at the front-door. 
 
 " I wonder if it's Hillary ? " he muttered, as he took the 
 candle and rose to open it. 
 
 Instead of the surgeon, there entered a lady, head foremost. 
 It was the bete noire of Clerk Gum's life, Mrs. J ones. 
 
 " What's the house shut up for at this early hour ? " began she, 
 in shrill accents. " Here's the door locked, and the shutters 
 up, and the blinds down, just as if everybody was dead or 
 a-bed. 'Tisn't dark yet. Where's Nance ? " 
 
 " She's out," said the clerk. " I suppose she shut up before 
 she went, lest she didn't get back till late. I've been in my 
 office all the afternoon. Did you want anything ? " 
 
 " That's a decent way to receive a body in. Did you want 
 anything ! " retorted Mrs. Jones, who seemed in a tarter mood 
 than usual. " I've come in for shelter from the rain — that's 
 what I've come for. It's been threatening all the evening, and 
 it's coming down now like cats and dogs." 
 
 The clerk was leading the way to the little parlour ; but she 
 ignored the movement, and went on to the kitchen. He could 
 
156 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 only follow her. " It's a pity you came out when it threatened 
 rain," said he. 
 
 " Business took me out," replied Mrs. Jones. " I've been up 
 to the mill. I heard young Eip was ill, and going to leave ; so 
 I went up to ask if they'd try our Jim. But young Eip isn't 
 going to leave, and isn't ill, mother Floyd says, though it's 
 certain he's not well. She can't think what's the matter with 
 the boy, for her part ; he's always fancying he sees ghosts in 
 the river. I've had my trapes up for nothing. Ugh ! " 
 
 Whether the last expression was intended as an outlet for 
 contempt at the imaginative young Kipper, or of anger at her 
 own profitless walk, the clerk did not inquire. She had given 
 her gown a good shake from the rain-drops in the middle of the 
 kitchen, and was now seated before the fire. The clerk stood 
 by the table, occasionally snuffing the candle, and wishing 
 she'd take herself away again. 
 
 " Where's Nancy gone ? " asked she. 
 
 "I didn't hear her say. She wanted some soap, I know; 
 perhaps she went to buy it." 
 
 "And she'll be gone a month of Sundays, I suppose. I 
 shan't wait for her, if the rain gives over." 
 
 " You'd be more comfortable in the small parlour," said the 
 clerk, who seemed rather fidgety ; " there's a nice little bit of 
 fire there." 
 
 " I'm more comfortable here," contradicted Mrs. Jones. 
 " Where's the good of a little bit of fire for a gownd as wet as 
 mine, Jabez Gum ? " 
 
 Jabez made no response. There was the lady, a fixture — 
 she and her tongue ; and he could only resign himself to the 
 situation. 
 
 "How's your friend at the next house— Pike?" began she 
 again sarcastically. 
 
 " He's not any friend of mine," said the clerk. 
 
 " It looks like it, at all events ; or you'd have given him 
 into custody long ago. I wouldn't let a man harbour himself 
 BO close to me. He's taken to a new dodge now : going about 
 with a pistol to shoot people." 
 
 " Who says he is ? " asked the clerk. 
 
 " You'd better say at once he isn't," retorted Mrs. Jones 
 
MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 157 
 
 "I say lie is. He frighted tliat boy Kipper pretty nigh to 
 death. The boy tore home one night in a fine state of terror, 
 and all they could get out of him was that he'd met Pike with 
 a pistol. It's weeks ago, and he hasn't overgot it yet." 
 " Did Pike level it at him ? " 
 
 " I tell you that's all they could get out of the boy : he let 
 out so much in his fright, and he'd say no more. He's a nice 
 jail-bird too, that young Eip, unless I'm mistaken ; an idle, 
 good-for-nothing young animal. They might as well send him 
 away, and make room for our Jim." 
 
 "I think you are about the most fanciful, unjust, selfish 
 woman in Calne ! " exclaimed the clerk, unable to keep down 
 his anger any longer. " You'd take young Eipper's character 
 away without scruple, just because his place might suit your 
 Jim?" 
 
 " I'm what ? " shrieked Mrs. Jones. " I'm fanciful, am I — 
 unjust, am I — sel ? " 
 
 An interruption occurred, and Mrs. Jones's tongue subsided 
 into silence. The back-door of the kitchen suddenly opened, 
 not a couple of yards from that lady's head, and in came Mrs. 
 Gum. She was in her ordinary indoor dress, and had some 
 basins in her hand. The sight of her visitor appeared to 
 occasion her surprise ; she uttered a faint scream, and nearly 
 dropped the basins. 
 
 " Lawk a mercy ! Is Lydia there ? " 
 
 Mrs. Jones had been drawing a quiet deduction — that the 
 clerk had said his wife was out only to deceive her. She rose 
 from her chair, and faced him. 
 
 " I thought you told me she was gone out ? " 
 
 The clerk coughed. He looked at his wife, as if asking an 
 explanation. The meeker of the two women hastily put her 
 basins down, and stood looking from one to the other of her 
 companions. Apparently she was recovering breath. 
 
 " Didn't you go out ? " asked the clerk. 
 
 " I was going. Gum. But I stepped out first to collect my 
 basins, and then the rain came pelting down. I had to stop 
 under the wood-shed, it was peppering so." 
 
 " Collect your basins ! " interjected Mrs. Jones. " Where 
 d'ye collect 'em from ? " 
 
168 
 
 ELSTEtl's FOLLY. 
 
 " I put 'em out with scraps for the cats." 
 
 " The cats must be well off in your quarter ; better than 
 some children in others," was the rejoinder, delivered with an 
 unnecessary amount of spite. " What are you catching your 
 breath for ? " she tartly asked. 
 
 " I had a bit of a fright out there," said the woman simply. 
 " My breath seems to get affected at nothing of late, Lydia." 
 
 " A pity but you'd your hands full of work, as mine is : 
 that's the best remedy for fright," said Mrs. J ones sarcastically. 
 " What might your fright have been, pray ? Cats ? " 
 
 " I was standing with my basins, waiting to dart over here, 
 when I see a man come across the waste land and make for 
 Pike's shed," said Mrs. Gum, looking at her husband. "It 
 gave me a turn, Lydia. We've never seen a soul go near the 
 place of an evening since Pike has been there." 
 
 " Why should it give you a turn ? " asked Lydia J ones, who 
 was in a mood to find fault with and contradict everything. 
 " You've set your eyes on Pike often enough not to be frighted 
 at him when he keeps his distance." 
 
 " It wasn't Pike, Lydia. The man had an umbrella over 
 him, and his legs looked like a gentleman's legs. Fancy Pike 
 with an umbrella ! " 
 
 " Was it Mr. Hillary ? " interposed the clerk. 
 
 She shook her head. " I don't think so ; but it's getting too 
 dark to see. Any way, it give me a turn ; and he's gone right 
 uj) to Pike's shed." 
 
 " Give you a turn, indeed ! " scornfully repeated the lady 
 visitor. " I think you be getting more of an idiot daily, Nance. 
 It's to be hoped it's somebody gone to take him u^) ; that's 
 what it is to be hoped." 
 
 But Mr. Hillary it was. Hearing nothing from Jabez Gum 
 all day, he had come to the conclusion that that respectable 
 man had ignored his promise, and would not see after Pike. 
 Knowing how scandalized the clerk had felt all along that 
 such a character should have taken up his abode near him, it 
 was perhaps a natural opinion to arrive at. But he could not 
 divest himself of the notion that Pike was ill ; it seemed to 
 have come to him by instinct ; and in the evening, having a 
 minute to spare, he went forth to see for himself. 
 
MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 159 
 
 The shed-door was closed, but not fastened, and Mr. Hillary 
 went in at once without ceremony. A lighted candle shed its 
 rays around the rude dwelling-room : and the first thing he 
 saw was a young man, who did not look in the least like Pike, 
 stretched upon a mattress ; the second was a bushy black wig 
 and appurtenances lying on a chair ; and the third was a 
 formidable-looking pistol, conveniently close to the prostrate 
 invalid. 
 
 Quick as thought, the surgeon laid his hand upon the pistol 
 and removed it to a safe distance. He then bent over the sick 
 man, examining him with his penetrating eyes ; and what he 
 saw struck him with consternation so great, that he sat down 
 on a chair to recover himself, albeit not one liable to be over- 
 come by emotion. 
 
 When he quitted the shed — which was not for nearly half- 
 an-hour after he had entered it — he heard voices at the front- 
 door of Clerk Gum. The storm of rain was over then, and 
 their visitor was departing. Mr. Hillary took a minute's 
 counsel with himself, and then crossed the stile and appeared 
 amongst them. Mrs. Gum gave a little shriek of terror: it 
 had not been that timid woman if she had not done so. 
 
 But the surgeon took no notice of her ; perhaps he had not 
 heard it. He nodded to the three collectively, and then gravely 
 addressed the clerk and his wife. 
 
 " I have come here to ask, in the name of our common 
 humanity, whether you will put aside your just prejudices, and 
 be Christians in a case of need," he began. " I don't forget 
 that once, when an epidemic was raging in Calne, you " — turn- 
 ing to the wife — " were active and fearless, going about and 
 nursing the sick when almost all others held aloof. Will you 
 do the same now by a helpless man ? " 
 
 The woman trembled all over. Clerk Gum looked question- 
 ingly at the doctor. Mrs. Jones was taking in everything with 
 all her eyes and ears. 
 
 " This neighbour of yours is ill ; he has caught the fever. 
 Some one must attend to him, or he will lie there and die. I 
 thought perhaps you'd do it, Mrs. Gum, for our Saviour's sake 
 — if from no other motive." 
 
 She trembled excessively. " I always was terribly afeard 
 
160 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 of that man, sir, since lie came," said she, with marked 
 hesitation. 
 
 "But he cannot harm you now. I don't ask you to go in to 
 him one day after he is well again — if he gets well. Neither 
 need you be with him as a regular nurse : only step in now 
 and then to give him his physic, or change the wet cloths on 
 his burning head." 
 
 Mrs. Jones found her tongue. The enormous impudence of 
 the surgeon's request had caused its temporary loss. 
 
 "I'd see Pike's coffin walk afore I'd go a-nigh him as a 
 nurse ! What on earth'll you be asking next, Mr. Hillary ? " 
 
 " I didn't ask you^ Mrs. J ones : you have your children to 
 attend to ; full employment for one pair of arms. Mrs. Gum 
 here has nothing to do with her time ; and she's close at hand 
 besides." 
 
 " You'd not get a woman in the place to nurse Pike," said 
 Mrs. Jones, with considerable vehemence. " Nance would die 
 of fright, looking at him : he keeps a pistol." 
 
 " She'll be performing a work of charity if she will," observed 
 the surgeon, turning to her. "I'll answer for it she shall 
 come to no harm. Gum, you stand in your place by Dr. 
 Ashton every Sunday, and read out to us of the loving mercy 
 of God : won't you urge your wife to this little work of charity 
 for His sake ? " 
 
 Jabez Gum evidently did not know what to answer : as Mrs. 
 Jones saw. On the one hand, he could hardly go against the 
 precepts he had to respond to as clerk — next door to a parson ; 
 on the other, was his mortal scorn and hatred of the disreputable 
 Arab in question. His hesitation was pitiable. 
 
 " He's such a loose character, sir," debated he at length. 
 
 Mr. Hillary gave a slight shake to his umbrella, shaking off 
 the rain-drops. "Possibly: when he is well. But he is ill 
 now, and could not be loose if he tried. Some one must go in 
 now and then to see after him : it struck me that perhaps your 
 wife would do it, as she's close at hand, and for humanity's 
 sake ; and I thought I'd ask her before going further." 
 
 " She can do as she likes," said Jabez. 
 
 Mrs. Gum — as unresisting in her nature as ever was the 
 present Lord Hartledon — yielded to the prayer of the surgeon, 
 
MRS. gum's fright. 
 
 161 
 
 and said she would do what she could ; she'd " look in on the 
 man " by-and-by. But she had never shown more nervousness 
 over anything than she was showing as she gave her answer. 
 
 " Then I will step indoors and give you a few plain directions," 
 said the surgeon. "Mrs. Jones is taking her departure, I 
 perceive." 
 
 Mrs. Jones was. She flung herself off at once, in a high 
 state of scorn. It was her nature to pass her censure upon 
 every one ; and she was passing it very explosively just now 
 upon the clerk's wife. 
 
 " The woman is a fool, as I've said many a time. She daredn't 
 say her soul's her own. To agree to nurse that cut-throat 
 Pike, because Hillary came over her with a word of religion ! 
 If he asked her to stand and be shot at with Pike's pistol, she 
 couldn't say no. Gum's a fool too, to let her. Out with her 
 basins and her cats ! Yes, I would feed cats, I would ; but it 
 should be with arsenic ! A nurse for Pike, indeed ! I wonder 
 what the world's coming to? " 
 
 Mrs. Gum, however, was as good as her word, and went in 
 with dire trepidation. Calne's sentiments, on the whole, re- 
 sembled Mrs. Jones's, and the woman was pitied for her yielding 
 nature. But she contrived, with the help of Mr. Hillary's 
 skill, to bring the man through the fever ; and it was very 
 singular that no other person out of the Kectory took it. 
 
 The last one to take it at the Eectory was Mrs. Ashton. Of 
 the three servants who had it, the one, as you have heard, had* 
 died ; the other two recovered. Mrs. Ashton did not take it 
 until the rest were well, and she had it lightly. Anne nursed 
 her ; and it was an additional reason for prolonging the inter- 
 dict against Lord Hartledon. He had grown very angry about 
 it ; almost began to think Anne did not care to see him. 
 
 One morning in December Lord Hartledon, in passing down 
 the road, saw the Eectory turned, as he called it, inside out. 
 Every window was thrown open ; curtains were taken down, 
 carpets were hanging out ; altogether there seemed to be a com- 
 prehensive cleaning going on. At that moment Mr. Hillary 
 passed, and the earl arrested him, pointing to the Eectory. 
 
 " Yes, they are having a turn-out — a cleansing and purifica- 
 tion. The family went away this morning." 
 
 Klster's Folly. 11 
 
162 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Went where ? " exclaimed the earl, in amazement. 
 " Dr. Ashton has taken a cottage near Yentnor." 
 " Had Mrs. Ashton quite recovered ? " 
 
 "Entirely so. They all were. Otherwise they would not 
 have gone. The Eectory has had a clean bill of health for some 
 time past." 
 
 " Then why did they not let me know it ? " exclaimed Val, in 
 his astonishment and anger. 
 
 " Perhaps you didn't ask," said the surgeon. " But no visitors 
 were sought. Time enough for that when the house shall have 
 been fumigated." 
 
 " They might have sent to me," he cried, in resentment. 
 " To go away and never let me know it ! " 
 
 " They may have thought you were too agreeably engaged to 
 care to be disturbed," remarked the surgeon. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " demanded Val, hotly. 
 
 Mr. Hillary laughed. " People will talk, you know ; and 
 rumour goes that the Lord Hartledon has found attractions in 
 his own home, whilst the Eectory was debarred to him." 
 
 His lordship wheeled round on his heel, and walked away in 
 displeasure. Home truths are never palatable. But the 
 natural kindly disposition of the man resumed its sway imme- 
 diately : he turned back, and pointed to the shed. 
 
 " Is that interesting patient of yours on his legs again ? " 
 
 "He is getting better. The disease laid fierce hold upon 
 him, and was unusually prolonged. It's strange he should have 
 been the only one to take it." 
 
 " Gum's wife has been nursing him, I hear ? " 
 
 " She has gone in and out to do such necessary offices for 
 him as the sick require. I put it to her in a Christian point of 
 view, you see, and on the score of common humanity. She was 
 at hand ; and that's a great thing where the nurse is only a 
 visiting one." 
 
 " Look here, Hillary ; don't let the man want for anything ; 
 see that he has all he needs. He is a black sheep, I make no 
 doubt ; but illness levels us all to one standard. Good day." 
 
 " Good day to your lordship." 
 
 And when the surgeon had got to a distance with his quick 
 step. Lord Hartledon turned back to tlie Eectory. 
 
( 163 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 val's dilemma. 
 
 It was a mild day in spring. The air was balmy, but the skies 
 were grey and lowering ; and as a gentleman strolled across a 
 field adjoining the park of Hartledon, he looked up at them 
 more than once, as if asking whether they threatened rain. 
 
 Not that he had any great personal interest in the question. 
 Whether the skies give forth sunshine, or whether they give 
 rain, is of little moment to a mind not at rest. He had only 
 looked up in listlessness. A stranger might have taken him 
 at a distance for a gamekeeper : his coat was of velveteen ; his 
 boots were muddy ; but a nearer inspection would have removed 
 the impression, and shown him what he was — " every inch a 
 nobleman. 
 
 It was Lord Hartledon ; but changed since you last saw him. 
 Noblemen have cares as well as other people, and his lordship 
 had his. For some time past there had been a worn, weary 
 look upon his face, bespeaking a mind ill at ease ; the truth is, 
 Lord Hartledon's conscience was not at rest, and in time that 
 tells on the countenance. 
 
 He had been by the fish-pond for an hour. But the fish had 
 not shown themselves inclined to bite, and he grew too im- 
 patient to remain. Not altogether impatient at the wary fish, 
 but in his own inward restlessness. The fishing-rod was carried 
 in his hand in pieces ; and he splashed along, in a brown study, 
 on the wet ground, flinging himself over the ha-ha with an un- 
 gracious movement. Some one was approaching across the 
 park from the house, and the earl walked on to a gate, and 
 waited there for him to come up. He began beating the bars 
 fiercely with the thin end of the rod, and — broke it ! 
 
164 elster's folly. 
 
 "That's tlie time of day! That's the way you use your 
 fishing-rods, is it ? " cried the free, pleasant voice of the new- 
 comer. " I shouldn't mind being appointed purveyor of fishing- 
 tackle to your earlship." 
 
 The stranger was an active little man, older than the earl ; 
 his features were thin, his eyes dark and luminous. I think 
 you have heard his name — Thomas Carr. Lord Hartledon 
 once called him the greatest friend he possessed on earth. He 
 had been wont to fly to him in his past dilemmas, and habit 
 was strong upon him still. A mandate that would have been 
 peremptory, but for the beseeching terms in which it was 
 couched, had reached Mr. Carr on circuit ; and he had hastened 
 across the country to obey it, reaching Hartledon the previous 
 evening. That something was wrong, Mr. Carr of course was 
 aware ; but what, he did not yet know. Lord Hartledon, 
 with his natural vacillation, his usual sensitive shrinking from 
 the discussion of unpleasant topics relating to himself, had not 
 entered upon it at all on the previous night ; and when break- 
 fast was over that morning, Mr. Carr had craved an hour alone 
 for letter- writing. It was the first time Mr. Carr had visited 
 his friend at his new inheritance ; indeed the first time he had 
 been at all at Hartledon. Lord Hartledon seated himself on 
 the gate ; the barrister leaned his arms on the top bar whilst 
 he talked to him. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " asked the latter. 
 
 " Not much." 
 
 " I have finished my letters, so I came out to look for you. 
 You are not changed, Elster ? " 
 
 " What should change me in this short time ? — it's only six 
 months since you saw me," retorted the earl, curtly. 
 
 " I alluded to your nature. I had to worm the troubles out 
 of you in the old days, each one as it arose. I see I shall have 
 to do the same now. Don't say there's not much the matter, 
 for I am sure there is." 
 
 The earl jerked his fine cambric handkerchief out of his 
 pocket, one of its corners bearing his coronet, rubbed his face, 
 and put", it back again. 
 
 " What fresh folly have you got into? — as I used to ask you 
 at Oxford. You are in some mess." 
 
yal's dilemma. 
 
 165 
 
 "I suppose it's of no use denying that I am in one. An 
 awful mess, too." 
 
 " Well, I have pulled you out of many a one in my time. 
 Let me hear it." 
 
 The earl flung away the odd pieces of the fishing-rod. The 
 very movement was expressive of pain. 
 
 " Why don't you begin ? " asked his friend. 
 
 " There are some things one does not like to talk about, 
 Carr. I sent for you in my bewilderment ; but I believe you 
 can be of no use to me." 
 
 " So you have said before now. But it generally turned out 
 that I was of use to you, and cleared you from your night- 
 mare." 
 
 " All those were minor difiiculties ; this is different." 
 
 " I cannot understand your ' not liking ' to speak of things 
 to me. Why don't you begin ? " 
 
 "Because I shall prove myself worse than a fool. You'll 
 despise me to your heart's core." 
 
 "Never mind; fire away. As I had your best welfare at 
 heart in the old days, so I have it still, Elster. Hang your 
 title ! I can't get into it." 
 
 " I say hang it too," returned his lordship, with emphasis so 
 great as momentarily to surprise Mr. Carr. " I wish I had 
 never come into it. But for poor Hart's death — Carr, I feel 
 half inclined to go mad." 
 
 " Tell me the cause first, and go mad after. Come, Val ; I 
 am your true friend." 
 
 " I have made an offer of marriage to two women," spoke his 
 lordship, desperately plunging into the revelation. "Never 
 was such a born idiot in the world as I have been. I can't 
 marry them both." 
 
 " I imagine not," quietly replied Mr. Carr. 
 
 " You knew I was engaged to Miss Ashton ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And I'm sure I loved her with all my " — the earl seemed 
 to hesitate for a strong term — " might and main ; and do still. 
 But I have managed to get into mischief elsewhere." 
 
 " Elster's folly, as usual. What sort of mischief? " 
 
 "The worst sort, for there can be no slipping out of it. 
 
166 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 When that fever broke out at Dr. Ashton's — you heard us 
 talking of it last night, Carr — I went to the Kectory just as 
 usual. What did I care for fever ? — it was not likely to attack 
 me. But the countess-dowager found it out " 
 
 "Why do they stay here so long?" interrupted Thomas 
 Carr. " They have been here ever since your brother died." 
 
 " And before it. The old woman likes her quarters, I expect ; 
 she has no settled home. She makes a great merit of stopping, 
 and says I ought to feel under eternal obligation to her and 
 Maude for sacrificing themselves to a solitary man and his 
 household. But you should have heard the uproar she made 
 upon discovering I had been to the Eectory. She sent for a 
 barrel of lime and another of 'vinegar, and had my room 
 fumigated and my clothes burnt." 
 
 " The foolish old creature ! " 
 
 " Every individual thing I had worn that day, even to the 
 hat. The best of it was, I pointed out by mistake the wrong 
 coat, and the offending one is upstairs now. I shall show it 
 her some day. She had a bonfire made of them in the stable- 
 yard ; she was already burning tar there ; and she and Maude 
 looked on from a window — to make sure, I suppose, that the 
 clothes were not surreptitiously j)urloined by any of the men. 
 She reproached me with holding her life and her daughter's 
 dirt-cheap — with having gone and done my best to bring the 
 fever home to them ; and she wormed a promise out of me not 
 to visit the Kectory as long as the fever was in it." 
 
 " Which you gave ? " 
 
 " She wormed it out of me, I tell you. I don't know that I 
 should have held to it, but Dr. Ashton put in his veto also ; 
 and between the two I was kept away. For many weeks after- 
 wards I never saw or spoke to Anne. She did not come out at 
 all, even to church ; they were so anxious that the fever should 
 not spread." 
 
 "Well? Go on, Val." 
 
 " Well : how does that proverb run, about idleness being the 
 root of all evil ? During those weeks I was an idle man, 
 wretchedly bored ; and I fell into a flirtation with Lady 
 Maude. She began it, Carr ; I protest she did, on my solemn word 
 of honour — though it's a shame to tell these tales of a woman ; 
 
val's dilemma. 
 
 167 
 
 and I joined in from sheer weariness, to kill time. But you 
 know how one gets led on in such things — or I do, if you, you 
 cautious fellow, don't — and we both went in pretty deep." 
 " Elster's folly again ! How deep ? " 
 
 "As deep as I well could, short of committing myself in 
 words, and saying ' Will you be my wife ? ' You see the ill- 
 luck of it was, those two and I being alone in the house. I 
 may as well say I and Maude alone ; for the old woman kept 
 her room very much ; she had a cold, she said, and was afraid 
 of the fever." 
 
 " Tush ! " sounded from the lips of the listener. " And you, 
 Hartledon, made love to the young lady ? " 
 
 " I did ; as fast as I could make it. What a fool I was ! " 
 continued Lord Hartledon, contriving to push a piece of thorn- 
 bramble he was fidgeting with through his costly handkerchief. 
 " But I meant no harm. I protest I only did it in amusement ; 
 I never thought of her supplanting Anne Ashton. Now, Carr, 
 you are looking as you used to look at Oxford ; get your brow 
 smooth again. You just shut yourself up for weeks with a 
 fascinating girl, and see if you'd not find yourself in some 
 horrible entanglement, proof against such as you think you are." 
 
 "As I am obliged to be. I should take care not to lay 
 myself out to the temptation. Neither need you have done it." 
 
 " I don't see how I was to help myself. Often and often I 
 wished to have visitors in the house, but the old woman met 
 me with reproaches that I was forgetting the recent death of 
 my brother ; and it was not the thing, either, to invite people 
 to come and risk the fever. She won't have any one now if she 
 knows it, and I had to send for you quietly. Did you see how 
 she stared last night when you came in ? " 
 
 Mr. Carr drew down his lips. " You might have gone away 
 yourself, Elster." 
 
 " Of course I might," was the testy answer ; and Val jumped 
 off the gate in restlessness. " But I was a fool, and didn't. 
 Carr, I swear to you I fell into the trap unconsciously ; I did 
 not foresee danger. Maude is a charming girl, there's no 
 denying it ; but as to love, I never glanced at it." 
 
 " Was it not suspected in town last year that Lady Maude 
 had a liking for your brother ? " 
 
168 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " It was suspected there and here ; I thought it myself. We 
 were mistaken. One day lately Maude offended me, and I 
 hinted at something of the sort : she turned red and white with 
 indignation, saying she wished he could rise from his grave to 
 refute it. I only wish he could ! " added Lord Hartledon, with 
 a sort of wail. 
 
 " Have you told me all ? " 
 
 " All ! I wish I had. In December, I was passing by the 
 Eectory, and saw it was dismantled. Hillary, whom I met, 
 said the family had all gone to Yentnor. I ran the risk of a 
 second burning and fumigating from the dowager, and went 
 indoors, but could not learn any ^particulars, or get the address. 
 I chanced a letter, written I confess in anger, directing it 
 Ventnor only, and it found them. Anne's answer was cool : 
 the fact is, mischief-making tongues had been talking of me and 
 Maude ; I learnt so much from Hillary ; and Anne was no 
 doubt resenting it. I resented that — can you follow me, Carr ? 
 — and I said to myself I wouldn't write again for some time. 
 Before that time came the climax had occurred." 
 
 Lord Hartledon dropped the branch of thorn, and leaned his 
 arm on the gate ; his chin rested on his hand, his eyes were 
 looking straight out before him in gloomy reverie. 
 
 " And v/hile you were waiting for your temper to come round 
 in regard to Miss Ash ton, you continued to make love to the 
 Lady Maude ? " remarked Mr. Carr. " On the face of things, I 
 should say your love had been transferred to her." 
 
 " I'm sure it hadn't. Next to Anne, she's the most charming 
 girl I know ; that's all. Between the two it will be awful work 
 for me." 
 
 " So I should think," returned Mr. Carr, a twinkle in his 
 bright dark eyes. " The ass between two bundles of hay was 
 nothing to it." 
 
 "He was not an ass at all, compared with what I am," 
 assented Yal, gloomily. 
 
 " Well, if a man behaves like an ass " 
 
 " Don't go in for moralizing," interrupted the earl. " There's 
 no time for it, if you are to advise me as to the getting out of 
 my dilemma. The morning's drawing on, and I have promised 
 to ride with Maude." 
 
val's dilemma. 
 
 169 
 
 " You had better ride by yourself. All the advice I can give 
 you is to draw back by degrees, and so let the flirtation subside. 
 If there is no actual entanglement " 
 
 " Stop a bit, Carr ; I had not come to it," interrupted the 
 earl, who in point of fact had been holding back what he called 
 the climax, in his usual vacillating manner. " One ill-starred 
 day, when it was pouring cats and dogs, and I could not get 
 out, I challenged Maude to a game at billiards. Maude lost. 
 I said she should pay me, and put my arm round her waist and 
 snatched a kiss. I can't go on if you scowl so, Carr : there's 
 no particular sin in kissing a girl, and they don't dislike it, for 
 all their show of fighting. Upon lifting up my face, there stood 
 the countess-dowager. I believe she must have been at the 
 keyhole." 
 
 " Not improbable," said Mr. Carr, significantly. 
 
 " ' Oh, you two dear turtle-doves,' cried she, in a great ecstasy. 
 ' Oh, Hartledon, you have made me so happy ! I have seen for 
 some weeks what you were thinking of. There's nobody living 
 that I'd confide that dear child to, but yourself : you shall have 
 her, and my blessing shall be upon you both.' 
 
 " Carr," continued poor Yal, " I was struck dumb. All the 
 absurdity of the thing rose up before me. In my confusion 
 I could not utter a word. Her ladyship had possessed herself 
 of my hand and Maude's, and was linking them together ; and 
 the other hand was lifted up on high over our heads, the 
 symbol, I supposed, of the blessing. A man with more moral 
 courage might have spoken out ; have acknowledged the shame 
 and the folly of his conduct and apologized. I could not." 
 
 "Elster's folly! Elster's folly!" thought the barrister. 
 " You never had the slightest spark of moral courage," he 
 observed aloud, in a pained tone. " What did you say ? " 
 
 "Nothing. There's the worst of it. I neither denied the 
 dowager's assumption, nor confirmed it. Of course I cannot 
 now." 
 
 "When was this?" 
 
 " In December." 
 
 " And how have things gone on since ? How do you stand 
 with them ? " 
 
 " Things have gone on as they went on before ; and I stand 
 
170 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 engaged to Maude, in her mother's opinion ; perhaps in hers : 
 never having said myself one word to support the engagement." 
 
 " Only continued to ' make love,' and ' snatch a kiss,' " sar- 
 castically rejoined Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Once in a way. What is a man to do, exposed to the 
 witchery of a pretty girl ? " 
 
 " Oh, Percival ! You are worse than I thought for. Where 
 is Miss Ashton ? " 
 
 " Coming home next Friday," groaned Yal. " And the 
 dowager asked me yesterday whether I and Maude had fixed 
 on the time for our marriage. What on earth I shall do, I 
 don't know. I might make sail for some remote tract of land 
 unknown to missionaries, and convert myself into a savage, 
 where I should never be found or recognized ; there's no other 
 escape for me." 
 
 " How much does Miss Ashton know of this ? " 
 
 " Nothing. I had a letter from her this morning, kinder and 
 warmer than her letters have been of late." 
 
 " Lord Hartledon ! " exclaimed Mr. Carr, in a startled tone. 
 
 Lord Hartledon began whistling, very softly, by way of 
 passing off his annoyance. 
 
 " Is it possible that you are carrying on a correspondence by 
 letter with Miss Ashton, and your love-making with Lady 
 Maude ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon nodded assent, looking really ashamed of 
 himself. 
 
 "And you call yourself a man of honour, a peer of the 
 realm ! Why, you are the greatest humbug " 
 
 " That's enough ; no need to sum it up. I see all I've been." 
 
 " I understood you to imply that your correspondence with 
 Miss Ashton had ceased." 
 
 " It was renewed. Dr. Ashton came up to preach one 
 Sunday, just before Christmas, and he and I got friendly again ; 
 you know I never can be in ill-blood with any one long. The 
 next day I wrote to Anne, and we have corresponded since ; 
 more coolly though than we used to do. Circumstances have 
 been against me, and that's the fact. Had they continued at 
 Ventnor, I should have gone down and spent my Christmas 
 with them, and nothing of this would have happened ; but they 
 
val's dilemma. 
 
 171 
 
 must needs go to Dr. Ashton's sister's in Yorkshire for Christ- 
 mas ; and there they are still. It was in that miserable Christ- 
 mas week that the thing occurred. And now you have the 
 whole, Carr. I know I've been a flat; but what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Lord Hartledon," was the grave rejoinder, " I am unable 
 to give you advice in this. Your conduct is indefensible." 
 
 " Don't ' Lord Hartledon ' me : I won't stand it. Carr ? " 
 
 " What do you wish to say ? " 
 
 " If you bring up against me a string of reproaches that shall 
 last until night, will that mend matters ? I am conscious of 
 possessing but one true friend in the world, and that's yourself. 
 You must stand by me." 
 
 " I was your friend ; never a truer. But I believed you to 
 be a man of honour." 
 
 The Earl of Hartledon lifted his hat from his brow ; as if the 
 brow alone were heavy enough just then. At least the thought 
 struck Mr. Carr. 
 
 " I have been drawn unwittingly into this, as I have into 
 other things, Carr. I never meant to do wrong. As to dis- 
 honour, my nature shrinks from it. Heaven knows." 
 
 "If your nature does, you don't," came the severe answer. 
 "I should feel ashamed to put forth the same plea always of 
 'falling unwittingly' into disgrace. You have done it ever 
 since you were a schoolboy. Talk of the Elster folly ! this has 
 gone beyond it. Engaged to one young lady, and corresponding 
 with her; making love hourly for weeks to another! May 
 I inquire which of the two you really care for ? " 
 
 " Anne — I suppose." 
 
 " You suppose ! " 
 
 " You make me wild, talking like this. Of course it's Anne. 
 Maude has managed to creep into my regard, though, in no 
 common degree. She is very lovely, very fascinating, very 
 amiable." 
 
 " May I ask which of the two you intend to marry ? " con- 
 tinued the barrister, neither suppressing nor attempting to 
 soften his mocking tone. " As this country's laws are against 
 a plurality of wives, you will be unable, I imagine, to espouse 
 them both." 
 
 The earl looked at him, beseeching quarter as piteously as 
 
172 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 ever eyes besought it yet. A sudden compassion came over the 
 heart of Mr. Carr; and he asked himself whether it was the 
 way to treat a perplexed man, and one who was very dear to 
 him. 
 
 "If I am cross, Val, it is for your sake. I assure you I 
 scarcely know what advice to give. It is Miss Ashton, of course, 
 whom you intend to make Lady Hartledon ? " 
 
 " Of course it is," assented the earl, taking his seat astride 
 the gate. " The difficulty in the matter is the getting clear of 
 Maude." 
 
 "And of the formidable countess-dowager. You must tell 
 Maude the truth." 
 
 "Impossible, Carr. I might have done it once; but the 
 thing has gone on so long. The dowager would eat me up." 
 
 " Let her try it. I should speak to Lady Maude alone, and 
 put her upon her generosity to release you. Tell her you 
 presumed upon your cousinship ; and confess that you have 
 long been engaged to marry Miss Ashton." 
 
 " She knows that : they have both known it all along. My 
 brother was the first to tell them, before he died." 
 
 " They Icnew it ? " inquired Mr. Carr, believing he had not 
 heard correctly. 
 
 " Certainly. There has been no secret made of my engage- 
 ment to Anne. All the world knows of that." 
 
 " Then — though I do not defend or excuse you — your break- 
 ing with Lady Maude may be more pardonable. They are 
 poor, are they not, this Dowager Kirton and Lady Maude ? " 
 
 " Poor as Job. Hard up, I think." 
 
 " Then they are angling for the broad lands of Hartledon. 
 I see it all. You have been a victim to earl-hunting." 
 
 "There you are wrong, Carr. I can't answer for the 
 dowager one way or the other; but Maude is the most dis- 
 interested " 
 
 " Of course : girls on the look-out for establishments always 
 are. Have it as you like." 
 
 He spoke in a tone of ridicule ; and the earl jumped down, 
 and led the way home. 
 
 That the Earl of Hartledon had got himself into a very 
 serious predicament, Mr. Carr plainly saw. His good nature, 
 
val's dilemma. 
 
 173 
 
 his sensitive regard to the feelings of others, rendering it so 
 impossible for him to say no, and above all his vacillating 
 disposition, were his paramount characteristics still: in a 
 degree they ever would be. Easily led as ever, almost 
 childishly unsuspicious and honourable in himself, he was as a 
 very reed in the hands of the needy, the old, the crafty woman 
 of the world, located with him. She had determined that he 
 should become the husband of her daughter; she was as 
 certain of accomplishing her end as if she had foreseen the 
 future, and tliat future, mirrored out before her as in a 
 magician's crystal : be very sure that Percival, Lord Hartledon, 
 could not make much head against her. The earl himself 
 afterwards, in his bitter repentance, said, over and over again, 
 that circumstances were against him ; and they certainly were 
 so, as you will find. 
 
 Lord Hartledon thought he was making head against it 
 now ; brave head, in sending for his old friend, and in resolving 
 to be guided by his advice. 
 
 " I will take an opportunity of speaking to Maude, as you 
 tell me, Carr," he resumed. " I would rather not, of course ; 
 but I see there's no help for it." 
 
 "Make the opportunity," said Mr. Carr, with pointed 
 emphasis. "Don't delay a day; I shall expect you to write 
 me a letter to-morrow and say you've done it." 
 
 "But you won't leave to-day," said the earl, entreatingly, 
 feeling an instant inward prevision that with the departure of 
 Thomas Carr all his courage would desert him ignominiously. 
 
 " I must go. You know I told you last night that my stay 
 could only be four-and-twenty hours. You can accomplish it 
 whilst I am here, if you like, and get it over; the longer a 
 nauseous medicine is held to our lips the more difficult it is to 
 swallow it. You say you are going to ride with Lady Maude 
 presently ; let that be your opportunity." 
 
 And get it over ! Words that sounded as very emancipation 
 in Yal's ear. But somehow he did not accomplish it in that 
 ride. Excuses were at his tongue's end five hundred times, 
 but his hesitating lips never formed them. He really was on 
 the point of speaking ; at least he said to himself he was, when 
 Mr. Hillary overtook them on horseback, and rode with them 
 
174 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 some distance. After that, Maude put her horse to a canter, 
 and so they reached home. 
 "Well?" said Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Not yet," answered the earl ; " there was no opportunity." 
 
 " My suggestion to you was to make your opportunity." 
 
 "And so I will. I'll speak to her either to-night or to- 
 morrow. She chose to ride fast to-day; and Hillary joined us 
 for part of the way. Don't look as if you feared me, Carr : I 
 shall be sure to speak." 
 
 " Will he ? " thought Thomas Carr, as he took his departure 
 by the evening train, having promised to run down the follow- 
 ing Saturday and spend a few hours. " It is an even bet, I 
 think. Poor Val ! " 
 
 Poor Yal, indeed ! Vacillating, attractive, handsome Val ! 
 shrinking, sensitive Val ! The nauseous medicine, ever in the 
 cup before him, constantly touched his lips, but was not taken. 
 And when the Ashtons returned to the Eectory on the Friday 
 night he had not spoken. 
 
 And the very day of their return a rumour reached the ear 
 of the Earl of Hartledon that Mrs. Ashton's health was seriously 
 if not fatally shattered, and she was departing immediately for 
 the South of France. 
 
( 175 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 Not in the handsome Eectory drawing-room, but in a pretty 
 little sitting-room attached to her bed-chamber, where the 
 temperature was regulated, and no draughts could penetrate, 
 reclined Mrs. Ashton. Her invalid gown sat loosely upon her 
 shrunken form, her cap of Maltese lace shaded a fading face. 
 Anne sat by her side in all her loveliness, ostensibly working ; 
 but her fingers trembled, and there was a flush, as of burning 
 heat, on her cheeks and lips. 
 
 Mrs. Graves had been in. It was the morning after their 
 return, and she had called in to see Mrs. Ashton — gossiping, 
 tale-telling, busy Mrs. Graves, who knew all that took place in 
 the parish, and a great deal of what never did take place. 
 She had just been telling it all out unreservedly in her hard 
 way ; things that might be said, and things that might as well 
 not have been said. She went out leaving a whirr and a buzz 
 behind her by way of echo, and an awful sickness of desolation 
 upon one heart. 
 
 " Give me my little writing-case, Anne," said Mrs. Ashton, 
 waking up from a reverie, and sitting forward on her sofa. 
 
 Anne took the pretty toy from the side-table, opened it, and 
 laid it on the table before her mother. 
 
 " Is it nothing I can write for you, mamma ? " 
 
 " No, child." 
 
 Anne bent her hot face over her work again. It had not 
 occurred to her that the writing could concern herself ; and 
 Mrs. Ashton penned a few rapid lines : 
 
176 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "My dear Percival, 
 
 " Can you spare me a five-minutes' visit ? I wish 
 to speak with you. We go away again on Monday. 
 
 " Ever sincerely yours, 
 
 " Catherine Ashton." 
 
 She folded it, put it in the envelope, and addressed it to the 
 Earl of Hartledon. Pushing away the writing-table, she held 
 out the note to her daughter. 
 
 " Seal it for me, Anne. I am tired already. Let it go at 
 once." 
 
 " Mamma ! " exclaimed Anne, as her eye fell on the super- 
 scription, " surely you are not writing to him ! You are not 
 asking him to come here ? " 
 
 " You see that I am writing to him, Anne. And it is to ask 
 him to come here. My dear, you may safely leave me to act 
 according to my own judgment. But as to what Mrs. Graves 
 has said, I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 " I scarcely think I do," murmured Anne ; a smile hovering 
 on her troubled countenance, like sunshine after rain. 
 
 Anne had the taper alight, and the wax held to it, the note 
 ready in her hand, when the room-door was throw^n open by 
 Mrs. Ashton's maid. 
 
 " Lord Hartledon." 
 
 He came in in a hurried manner, talking fast, making too 
 much fuss ; it was unlike his usual quiet movements, and Mrs. 
 Ashton noticed it. As he shook hands with her, she held the 
 note before him. 
 
 " See, Percival ! I was writing to ask you to come." 
 
 Anne had put out the light, and her hand was in Lord 
 Hartledon's before she well knew anything, save that her heart 
 was beating tumultuously. Mrs. Ashton made a place for him 
 on the sofa, and Anne quietly left the room. 
 
 " I should have been here earlier," he began, " but I had the 
 steward with me on business ; it is little enough I have attended 
 to since my brother's death. Dear Mrs. Ashton ! I grieve to 
 hear this poor account of you. You are, indeed, looking 
 ill." 
 
 " I am so ill, Percival, that I doubt whether I shall ever be 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 177 
 
 better in this world. It is my last chance, this going away to 
 a warmer place until winter shall have passed." 
 
 He was bending towards her in true and earnest sympathy, 
 all himself again ; his dark blue eyes very tender, his pleasant 
 face full of concern as he gazed on her face. And somehow, 
 looking in that attractive countenance, Mrs. Ashton's doubts of 
 him went out of her. 
 
 " But what I have said is to you alone," she resumed. " My 
 husband and children do not see the worst, and I refrain from 
 telling them. A little word of confidence between us, Val." 
 
 " I hope, I trust, you may come back cured ! " he said, very 
 fervently. " Is it the fever that has so shattered you ? " 
 
 " It is the result of it. I have never been able to get strength 
 since, but have become weaker and more weak. And you know 
 I was in ill health before. We leave on Monday morning for 
 Cannes." 
 
 " For Cannes ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes. A place not so warm as some I might have gone to ; 
 but the doctors say that will be all the better. It is not heat I 
 want ; only to be shielded from our cold northern winds until 
 I can get a little strength into me. There's nothing the matter 
 with my lungs ; indeed, I don't know anything that is the 
 matter with me except this terrible weakness." 
 
 " I suppose Anne goes with you ? " 
 
 " Oh yes. I could not go without Anne. The doctor will 
 see us settled there, and then he returns." 
 
 A vivid thought crossed the earl : how pleasant if he and 
 Anne could have been married, and have made this their 
 wedding tour. He did not speak it : Mrs. Ashton would have 
 laughed at his haste. 
 
 " How long shall you remain away ? " he asked. 
 
 " Ah, I cannot tell you. I may not live to return. If all 
 goes well — that is, if there should be a speedy change in me for 
 the better, as the medical men who have been attending me 
 think there may be — I shall be back perhaps in April or May. 
 Val — I cannot forget the old familiar name, you see " 
 
 " I hope you never will forget it," he warmly interposed. 
 
 " I wanted very particularly to see you. A strange report 
 was brought here this morning, and I determined to mention it 
 
 Elster's Folly. 12 
 
178 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 to you. You know what an old-fashioned direct way I have of 
 doing things ; never going by a roundabout road if I can go by 
 a straight one. This note was a line asking you to call upon 
 me," she added, taking it from her lap, where it had been lying, 
 and tossing it on the table, whilst her hearer, his conscience 
 rising up, began to feel a very little uncomfortable. " We 
 heard you had proposed marriage to Lady Maude Kirton." 
 
 The earl's face became like the sun in a fog, cloudy and 
 crimson. " Who on earth could have invented that ? " cried he, 
 having no better answer at hand. 
 
 " Mrs. Graves mentioned it to me. She was dining at Hartle- 
 don last week, she said, and the countess-dowager spoke about 
 it openly." 
 
 Mrs. Ashton looked at the earl ; and the earl, confused and 
 taken aback, looked down on the carpet. He was devoutly 
 wishing himself in the remote savage regions he had spoken of 
 to Mr. Carr, his unhappy body painted, and a tuft of peacock's 
 feathers on his head. Anywhere, anything, so that he should 
 never be seen or recognized again. 
 
 " What am I to do ? " thought he, rubbing his hot face. " I 
 wish that Mother Graves was hanged ! " 
 
 " You do not speak, Percival ? " 
 
 "Well, I — I was thinking what could have given rise to 
 this," he stammered ; for in his honourable nature he would not 
 meet it with a direct falsehood. " I believe the countess- 
 dowager would like to see her daughter mistress of Hartledon. 
 I suppose she must have given utterance to her thoughts." 
 
 " Very strange that she should ! " observed Mrs. Ashton. 
 
 " I think she's a little cracked sometimes," coughed Val ; 
 and, in truth, he now and then did think so. " I hope you 
 have not told Anne ? " 
 
 "I have told no one. And had I not felt sure it had no 
 foundation, I should have told the doctor, not you. But Anne 
 was in the room when Mrs. Graves mentioned it." 
 
 " What a blessing it would be if Mrs. Graves were out of the 
 parish ! " exclaimed Yal, hotly. " I wonder Dr. Ashton keeps 
 Graves on, with such a mother! Nobody ever had a tongue 
 like hers." 
 
 " Percival, may I say something to you ? " asked Mrs. Ashton, 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 179 
 
 wlio was devouring him with her eyes. " Your manner woukl 
 almost lead me to believe that there is something in it. Tell 
 me the truth ; I can never be anything but your friend." 
 
 " Believe one thing, dear Mrs. Ashton — that I have no inten- 
 tion of marrying any one but Anne ; and I wish with all my 
 heart and soul you'd give her to me to-day. Shut up with 
 those two women, the one pretty, and the other watching to pick 
 up any word that drops, and turn it to her use, I dare say 
 people, the Mrs. Graveses of the place, have talked, forgetting 
 that Maude is my cousin. I believe I paid some attention to 
 Maude because I was angry at being kept out of the Kectory ; 
 but my attentions meant nothing, upon my honour." 
 
 " Elster's folly, Val ! Lady Maude may have thought they 
 did." 
 
 " At any rate she knew of my engagement to Anne." 
 " Then there is nothing in it ? " 
 
 " There shall be nothing in it," was the emphatic answer. 
 " Anne was my first love, and she will be my last. You must 
 promise to give her to me as soon as you return from Cannes." 
 
 " About that you must ask her father. I dare say he will 
 do so." 
 
 Lord Hartledon rose from his seat ; held Mrs. Ashton's hand 
 between his whilst he said his adieu, and stooped to kiss her 
 with a son's affection. She was a little surprised to find it was 
 his final farewell. They were not going to start until Monday, 
 middle day. But his lordship could not have risked that cross- 
 questioning again ; rather would he have sailed away for the 
 savage territories at once. He went downstairs looking about 
 for Anne, and found her in the room where you first saw her — • 
 her own. She looked up with quite an affectation of surprise 
 when he entered, although she had probably gone there to await 
 him. The best of girls are but human. 
 
 " You ran away, Anne, whilst I and mamma held our con- 
 ference ? " 
 
 "I hope it has been a satisfactory one," she answered 
 demurely, not looking up, and wondering whether he suspected 
 how violently her heart was beating. 
 
 " Partly yes, partly no. The end was all right. Shall I toll 
 it youV" 
 
180 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " The end ? Yes, if you will," she replied, unsuspiciously. 
 
 " The decision come to is, that a certain young friend of ours 
 is to be converted, with as little delay as circumstances may 
 permit, into Countess of Hartledon." 
 
 Of course there came no answer except a succession of blushes. 
 Anne's work, which she had carried with her, took all her 
 attention just then. 
 
 " Can you guess her name, Anne ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Is it Maude Kirton ? " 
 
 The earl winced. " If you have been told that abominable 
 rubbish, Anne, there's no need for you to repeat it. It's not so 
 pleasant a theme, that you need make a joke of it." 
 
 " Is it rubbish ? " asked Anne, lifting her eyes. 
 
 " I think you ought to know that, if any one does. But had 
 anything happened, Anne, recollect it would have been your 
 fault. You have been very cool to me of late. You shut me 
 out of the house here for weeks and weeks ; you went away for 
 an indefinite period without giving me notice, or allowing me 
 the chance of seeing you ; and when the correspondence was at 
 length renewed, your letters were cold and formal — quite 
 different from what they used to be. Do you wish to part from 
 me ? It almost looks like it." 
 
 Eepentance was stealing over her : why had she ever doubted 
 him? 
 
 " And now you are going away again ! And this interview 
 may be our last for months, our last in this world, for all I can 
 tell," cried the earl, growing poetical in his recrimination. 
 " It's my belief you girls love off and on, just as the whim takes 
 you." 
 
 She burst into tears. She had not been herself since the 
 news told by Mrs. Graves ; and had been feeling within her 
 something like a volcano. Lord Hartledon was softened at 
 once. He took her two hands in his ; he clasped her to his 
 bosom, half devouring her face with his passionate kisses. Ah, 
 Lady Maude ! this impassioned love was never felt for you. 
 The one was a glowworm's pale heat, the other as living fire. 
 
 " You don't love her ? " whispered Anne. 
 
 " Love her ! I never loved but you, my best and dearest. I 
 never shall, or can, love another," 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 181 
 
 He spoke in all good faith ; he fully believed what he said ; 
 and it was true besides. And Anne ? As if a prevision had 
 been upon her of the future, she lay in his arms passive, 
 sobbing hysterically, and suffering his kisses; not drawing 
 away from him in maiden modesty, as was her wont. She had 
 never clung to him like this. 
 
 " You will write to me often ? " he whispered. 
 
 " Yes. Won't you come to Cannes ? " 
 
 "I don't know that it will be possible, unless you remain 
 beyond the spring. And should that be the case, Anne, I shall 
 pray your father and mother that the marriage may be allowed 
 to take place there. I am going up to town next month to take 
 my place in the House. It will be a busy session ; and I want 
 to see if I can't become a useful public man. I think it would 
 please the doctor to find I've some stuff in me ; and a man must 
 have a laudable object in life." 
 
 " I would rather die," murmured Anne, passionately, in her 
 turn, " than hear again what Mrs. Graves said." 
 
 " My darling, we cannot stop people's tongues. Believe in 
 me, believe in me, I will not fail you. Oh, Anne, I wish you 
 were my wife ! " he aspirated fervently, his perplexities again 
 presenting themselves to his mind. 
 
 " The time will come," she whispered. 
 
 Lord Hartledon walked home full of loyal thought, saying to 
 himself what an utter idiot he had been in regard to Lady 
 Maude, and determined to lose no time in getting clear of the 
 entanglement. He searched for an opportunity of speaking to 
 Maude that afternoon: he really did; but could not find it. 
 The dowager had taken her out to pay a visit. 
 
 Mr. Carr was as good as his word, and got down in time for 
 dinner. One single glance at Lord Hartledon's face told him 
 what he half expected to see— that the word of emancipation had 
 not yet been spoken. 
 
 "Don't blame me, Carr. I shall speak to-night before I 
 sleep, on my word of honour. Things have come to a crisis 
 now ; and if I wished to hold back I could not. I would say 
 what a fool I have been not to speak before ; only you know 
 I'm one already." 
 
 Thomas Carr laughed. 
 
182 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Mrs. Ashton has heard some tattle about Maude, and she 
 spoke to me this afternoon. Of course I could only deny it, 
 my face feeling like an oven all the while with its sense of 
 dishonour, for I don't think I ever told a deliberate lie in my 
 life ; and — and, in short, I should like my marriage with Anne 
 to take place as soon as possible." 
 
 " Well, there's only one course to pursue, as I told you when 
 I was down before. Tell Lady Maude the candid truth, and 
 take shame and blame to yourself, as you deserve. Her having 
 known of the engagement to Miss Ashton renders your task the 
 easier." 
 
 Very restless was the earl now, until the moment came. He 
 knew that the best time to speak to Maude would be immediately 
 after dinner, while the countess-dowager took her usual nap. 
 There was no hesitation now; and he speedily followed them 
 upstairs, leaving his friend at the dinner-table. 
 
 He went up, feeling a desperate man. To those of the earl's 
 constitutional temperament the having to make a disagreeable 
 communication, such as this, is almost as cruel as the parting 
 with life. 
 
 No one was in the drawing-room but Lady Kirton. She was 
 stretched upon a sofa, feet up, fast asleep, as Yal thought. He 
 crossed the carpet with softened tread to the adjoining rooms. 
 These two rooms were small, comfortable rooms, used by the 
 dowager in preference to the grander apartments below. Maude 
 was there : she had the curtain drawn aside, and was peering 
 out into the frosty night. 
 
 " Why, how soon you are up ! " she cried, turning at his 
 entrance. 
 
 " I came on purpose, Maude. I want to speak to you." 
 
 " Are you well ? " she asked, coming forward to the fire, and 
 taking her seat on a sofa. In truth, the earl did not look very 
 well just then. " What is it ? " 
 
 " Maude," he answered, his fair face flushing a dark red as 
 he plunged into it blindfold : " I am a rogue and a fool ! " 
 
 Lady Maude laughed. " Elster's folly ! " 
 
 " I am. You know all this time that we — that I — " (Val 
 thought he should never flounder through this first moment, 
 and did not stay an instant in one place as he talked) — " that I 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 183 
 
 have been going on so foolishly, I was — almost as good as a 
 married man." 
 
 " Were you ? " said she, quietly. " Married to whom ? " 
 
 " I said as good as married, Maude. You know I have been 
 engaged for years to Miss Ashton ; otherwise I would have knelt 
 to ask you to become my wife, so earnestly should I desire it." 
 
 The calm imj^erturbability of the Lady Maude presented a 
 curious contrast to the agitation of the earl. She was regarding 
 him with an amused smile. 
 
 " And, Maude, I have come now to ask you to release me. 
 Indeed, I " 
 
 " What is all this ? " broke in the countess-dowager, darting 
 upon the conference, her face flushed and her head-dress half 
 off. " Are you quarrelling ? " 
 
 " Val was attempting to explain something about Mis^? 
 Ashton," answered Lady Maude, rising from the sofa, and 
 drawing herself up to her full, stately height. " He had better 
 do it to you instead, mamma ; I don't understand it." 
 
 She stood up by the mantelpiece, in the rays of the lustres. 
 They fell across her dark, smooth hair, her flushed cheeks, her 
 exquisite features. Her dress was one of flowing white crepe, 
 with jet ornaments ; and Lord Hartledon, even in the midst of 
 his perplexity, thought how very beautiful she was, and what a 
 thing it was to lose her. The fact was, his senses had been 
 caught by the girl's beauty, although his heart was elsewhere. 
 It is a very common case. 
 
 " The truth is, ma'am," he stammered, turning to the dowager, 
 and never wishing himself a savage for life half so much as at 
 the present untoward moment, " I have been behaving very 
 foolishly of late, and am asking your daughter's pardon. I 
 should have remembered my engagement to Miss Ashton." 
 
 " Eemembered your engagement to Miss Ashton ! " echoed 
 the dowager, her voice becoming a little shrill. " What 
 engagement ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon began to recover himself, though he looked 
 foolish still. With these nervous men it is the first plunge 
 that tells ; get that over and they are brave as their fellows. 
 
 " I cannot marry two women. Lady Kirton, and I am bound 
 to Anne." 
 
184 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 The old dowager's voice toned down to sweetness, and she 
 pulled her black feathers straight upon her head. 
 
 " My dear Hart, I don't think you know what you are talking 
 about. You engaged yourself to Maude some weeks ago." 
 
 " Well — but — whatever it might be that passed, engagement 
 or no engagement, I could not legally do it," returned the earl, 
 too sensitively considerate to say the engagement was hers, not 
 his. " You knew I was bound to Anne, Lady Kirton." 
 
 " Bound to a fiddlestick ! " said the countess. " Excuse me 
 for my plainness. Hart. When you engaged yourself to the 
 young woman you were poor and obscure, and the stej) was 
 perhaps excusable. The Earl of Hartledon is not bound by 
 the promises of Val Elster. All the young women in the 
 kingdom, who have parsons for fathers, could not oblige him 
 to be so." 
 
 " I am bound to her in honour ; and " — in love, the earl was 
 going to say, but let the words die away unspoken. 
 
 " My dear lord, you are bound in honour to my daughter ; 
 you have sought her affections, and you have gained them. 
 Ah, Percival, don't you know that it is you she has loved all 
 along ? In the days when I was worrying her about your 
 brother, she cared only for you. You cannot be so infamous as 
 to desert her." 
 
 " I wish to Heaven she had never seen me ! " cried the 
 unfortunate earl, beginning to wonder whether he could break 
 through these trammels. "I'd sacrifice myself willingly, if 
 that would put things straight." 
 
 " You cannot sacrifice Maude. Look at her ! " and the 
 countess-dowager flourished her hand towards the fireplace, 
 where Maude stood in all her haughty beauty. " A daughter 
 of the House of Kirton cannot be taken up and cast aside at 
 will. What will the world say of her ? " 
 
 " The world need never know it." 
 
 " Not know it ! " shrieked the dowager ; " not know it ! 
 Why, her trousseau is ordered, and some of the things have 
 come. Good Heavens, Lord Hartledon, you dare not trifle 
 with Lady Maude in this way. You could never show your 
 face among men again." 
 
 " But neither dare I trifle with Anne Ashton," said the earl. 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 185 
 
 completely beaten down by the above gratuitous information. 
 He saw that the situation was worse than he had even bargained 
 for, and all his irresolution began to return upon him. " If I 
 knew what was right to be done, I'm sure I'd do it." 
 
 " Eight, did you say ? Bight f There cannot be a question 
 of that. Which is the more fitting to grace your coronet : 
 Lady Maude, or a country parson's daughter ? Be true to your 
 rank, my lord, to your order, as becomes a British peer." 
 
 The countess-dowager was growing eloquent. His lordship 
 got out of temper. 
 
 "I'm sure if this goes on I shall shoot myself. Taken to 
 task at the Kectory, taken to task here — shooting would be 
 bliss to it." 
 
 "No doubt," returned the dowager. "It can't be a very 
 pleasant position for you. Any one but you would get out of 
 it, and set the matter at rest." 
 
 " I should like to know how." 
 
 "So long as you are a single man they naturally remain 
 all cock-a-hoop at the Rectory, with their fine visions for 
 Anne " 
 
 "I wish you would understand. Lady Kirton, that the 
 Ashtons are equal to us in every way," he interrupted. 
 
 The dowager gave a sniff. " You think so, I know. Hart. 
 Well, the only plan to bring you peace is this : make Maude 
 your wife. At once ; without delay." 
 
 The proposition took away Val's breath. " I could not do 
 it. Lady Kirton. To begin with, they'd bring an action against 
 me for breach of promise." 
 
 " Breach of nonsense ! " wrathfuUy returned the dowager. 
 " Was ever such a thing heard of yet, Lord Hartledon, as a 
 doctor of divinity bringing an action of that nature? He'd 
 lose his gown." 
 
 " I wish I was sunk in the bottom of a deep well, never to 
 come up again ! " mentally aspirated the unfortunate earl. 
 
 " Will — you — marry — Maude ? " demanded the dowager, with 
 a fixed denunciation in every word, which was as so much slow 
 torture to her victim. 
 
 " I wish I could. You must see for yourself. Lady Kirton, 
 that I cannot. Maude must see it," 
 
186 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "I see nothing of the sort. You are bound to her in 
 honour." 
 
 " All I can do is to remain a single man to the end of my 
 days," spoke the earl, after a pause. " I have been a great 
 villain to both, and I cannot repair it to either. The one 
 stands in the way of the other." 
 
 " But " 
 
 "I beg your pardon. Lady Kirton," he interrupted, in so 
 peremptory an accent that the old woman trembled for her 
 power. " This is my final decision, and I will not hear more 
 now. I feel fit to hang myself, as it is. You tell me I can- 
 not marry any other than Maude without being a scoundrel ; 
 the same thing precisely applies to Anne. I shall remain 
 single." 
 
 " You will give me one promise — for Maude's sake. Not, 
 after this, to go and marry Anne Ashton." 
 
 " Why, how can I do it ? " asked the earl, in a tone of 
 exasperation. " You may take the promise, and welcome." 
 
 "You will not go forth from this interview to her, and 
 promise marriage for the future, when time " 
 
 " Don't you see for yourself that it is impossible ? " inter- 
 rupted Yal, with scant courtesy. " I shall not see the Ashtons 
 again, madam ; I would rather go a hundred miles the other 
 way than face them." 
 
 The countess-dowager probably deemed she had said quite 
 enough for safety ; for she went out and shut the door after 
 her. Lord Hartledon dashed his hair from his brow with a 
 hasty hand, and was about to leave the room by the other door, 
 when Maude came up to him. 
 
 " Is this to be the end of it, Percival ? " 
 
 She spoke in a tone of pain, of tremulous, beseeching tender- 
 ness ; all her pride gone out of her. Lord Hartledon laid his 
 hand upon her shoulder, meeting the dark eyes that were 
 raised to his through their tears. 
 
 "Do you indeed love me like this, Maude? Somehow I 
 never thought it." 
 
 " I love you better than the whole world. I love you enough 
 to give up everything for you." 
 
 The emphasis conveyed a reproach — that he did not " give 
 
BETWEEN THE TWO. 
 
 187 
 
 up everytliing " for her. But Lord Hartledon kept his head 
 for once. 
 
 " Heaven knows what is my bitter repentance. If I could 
 repair this folly of mine by any act, by any sacrifice on my 
 own part, I should gladly do it. Let me go, Maude ! I have 
 been here long enough, I think, unless I were more worthy. I 
 would ask you to forgive me if I knew how to frame the 
 petition." 
 
 She released the hand of which she had made a prisoner — 
 released it with a movement of petulance ; and Lord Hartledon 
 quitted the room, the words she had just spoken beating their 
 refrain on his brain, " I love you better than the whole world ; 
 I love you well enough to give up everything for your sake." 
 
 It did not occur to him in his gratified vanity to remember 
 that Anne Ashton, about whose love there could be no doubt, 
 never avowed it in those pretty speeches. 
 
 " Well ? " said Mr. Carr, when he got back to the dining- 
 room. 
 
 " It is not well, Carr ; it is ill. There can be no release. 
 The old dowager won't have it." 
 
 " But surely you will not resign Miss Ashton for Lady 
 Maude ! " cried the barrister, after a pause of amazement. 
 
 " I resign both ; I see that I cannot do anything else in 
 honour. Excuse me, Carr, but I'd rather not say any more 
 just now : I feel half maddened." 
 
 " Elster's folly," mentally spoke Thomas Carr. 
 
188 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A TLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 That circumstances, combined with the countess-dowager, 
 worked terribly against Lord Hartledon, events proved. Had 
 the Ashtons remained at the Rectory all might have been well ; 
 but they went away, and the earl was left to any influence that 
 might be brought to bear upon him. 
 
 How the climax was accomplished the world never knew. 
 Lord Hartledon himself did not know the whole of it for a 
 long while. As if unwilling to trust himself longer in 
 dangerous companionship, he went up to town with Thomas 
 Carr. Whilst there he received a letter from Cannes, written 
 by Dr. Ashton ; a letter that angered him. 
 
 It was a cool letter, a vein of mocking anger running through 
 it ; meant to be hidden, but nevertheless perceptible to Lord 
 Hartledon. Its purport was to forbid all correspondence 
 between the earl and Miss Ashton : things had better " remain 
 in abeyance " until they met, ran the words, " if indeed any 
 relations ever were renewed between them again." 
 
 It might have angered Lord Hartledon more than it did, but 
 for the hopelessness which had taken up its abode within him. 
 Nevertheless he resented it. He did not suppose it possible 
 that the Ashtons could have heard of the dilemma he was in, 
 or that he should be unable to fulfil his engagement with 
 Anne, having with his usual vacillation put off any explanation 
 with them; which of course must come sometime. He had 
 taken an idea into his head long before, that Dr. Ashton wished 
 to part them, and he looked upon the letter as resulting from 
 that. His lordship was feeling weary of the world. 
 
 How little did he divine that the letter of the doctor was 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 189 
 
 called forth by a communication sent to him, at Cannes, by the 
 countess-dowager. An artful communication, with a charming 
 candour lying on its surface. She asked — she actually asked 
 that Dr. Ashton would allow " fair play ; " she said the " deepest 
 affection " had grown up between Lord Hartledon and Lady 
 Maude; and she only craved that his lordship might not be 
 coerced either way, but might be allowed to choose between 
 them. The field after Miss Ashton's return would be open to 
 the two, and ought to be left so. 
 
 You may imagine the effect this missive produced upon the 
 proud, high-minded doctor of divinity. He took a sheet of 
 paper and wrote a stinging letter to the earl, forbidding him to 
 think again of Anne. But when he was in the act of sealing it 
 a sudden doubt like an instinct rushed over him, whether it 
 might not be a ruse, and nothing else, of the crafty old dowager's. 
 The doubt was sufficiently strong to cause him to tear in two 
 the letter he had penned. But he was not satisfied with Lord 
 Hartledon' s own behaviour ; had not been for some few months ; 
 and he then wrote the letter received by Lord Hartledon, sus- 
 pending matters until they should meet. It was in effect what 
 was asked for by the countess-dowager ; and he wrote a cold 
 proud letter to that lady, stating what he had done. Of course 
 any honourable woman — any woman who had a spark of justice 
 in her heart — would have also interdicted intercourse with Lady 
 Maude. The Countess-Dowager of Kirton's policy tended to 
 the exact opposite. 
 
 But Lord Hartledon remained in London, utterly oblivious 
 to the hints and baits held out for his return to Calne. He 
 chiefly divided his time between the House of Lords and sitting 
 at home, lamenting over his own ill-starred existence. He was 
 living quite en gargon, with only one man, his house having 
 been let for the season. We always want what we cannot 
 obtain, and because marriage was denied to his lordship, he 
 fell into a habit of dwelling upon it as the only boon in life. 
 Thomas Carr was on circuit, so that the earl was alone. 
 
 Easter was early that year, the latter end of March. On the 
 Monday in Passion-week there arrived a telegram for the earl 
 from Hartledon, sent apparently by the butler. Hedges. It was 
 worded confusedly ; spoke of a railway accident and somebody 
 
190 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 dying. Who the earl could not make out, except that it was 
 a Kirton : and it prayed him to hasten down immediately. All 
 his native goodness of heart aroused, Val lost not a moment. 
 He had been engaged to spend Easter with some people in 
 Essex, but he despatched a line of apology, and hastened down 
 to Calno, wondering whether it was the dowager or Maude, and 
 whether death would have taken place before his arrival. 
 
 " What accident has there been ? " he demanded, leaping out 
 of the carriage at Calne Station ; and the man he addressed 
 happened to be the porter, Jones. 
 
 " Accident ? " returned Jones, touching his cap. 
 
 " An accident on the line ; somewhere about here, I conclude. 
 People wounded ; dying." 
 
 "There has been no accident here," said Jones, in his sulky 
 way. " Maybe your lordship's thinking of the one on the branch 
 line, the bridge that fell in ? " 
 
 " Nonsense," said Lord Hartledon, " that took place a fort- 
 night ago. I received a telegram this morning from my butler 
 here, saying some one was dying at Hartledon from a railway 
 accident," he impatiently added. I took it to be either the 
 Countess of Kirton or her daughter." 
 
 Mr. Jones swung round a large iron key he held in his hand, 
 and light dawned upon him. 
 
 " I know now," he said. " There was a j^rivate accident at 
 the station here last night ; your lordship must mean that. A 
 gentleman got out of a carriage before it stopped, and fell 
 between the rail and the platform. His name was Kirton. I 
 saw it on his portmanteau." 
 
 " Lord Kirton ? " 
 
 " No, my lord. Captain Kirton." 
 
 " Was he seriously hurt ?" 
 
 " Well, it was thought so. Mr. Hillary feared the leg would 
 have to come off. He was carried to Hartledon." 
 
 Very much relieved, Lord Hartledon jumped into a fly and 
 was driven home. The countess-dowager fell upon his neck in 
 hysterics. 
 
 The wary, crafty old countess-dowager, whose displayed 
 emotion was as genuine as she was ! She had sent for this son 
 of hers, hoping that he might be a decoy-duck to draw his 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 191 
 
 lordship home again, for she was losing heart desperately ; and 
 the accident, which she had not bargained for, was a very god- 
 send to her. 
 
 " Why don't you word your telegrams more clearly. Hedges ? " 
 asked Lord Hartledon of his butler. 
 
 " It wasn't me that worded it at all, my lord. Lady Kirton 
 went to the station herself. She informed me she had sent in 
 my name." 
 
 " Has Hillary told you privately what the surgecns think of 
 the case ? " 
 
 " Better of it than they did at first, my lord. They are 
 trying to save the leg." 
 
 This Captain Kirton was really the best of the Kirton bunch : 
 a quiet, unassuming young man, somewhat naturally delicate in 
 health. Lord Hartledon was grieved for his accident, and 
 helped to nurse him with the best heart in the world. 
 
 And now what devilry (if you cavil at the word, I can't help 
 it ; there were people in Calne who called it nothing less) the 
 old countess-dowager set afloat to secure her ends, I am unable 
 to tell you. She was a perfectly unscrupulous woman — poverty 
 had rendered her wits keen ; and her captured lion was only 
 feebly struggling to get out of the net. He was to blame also. 
 Thrown again into the society of Maude and her beauty, Val 
 basked in its sunshine, and went drifting onwards, down the 
 stream, never heeding where the current led him. One day the 
 countess-dowager put it upon his honour — he must marry 
 Maude. He might have held out longer but for a letter that 
 came from some friend of the dowager's opportunely located at 
 Cannes: a letter that spoke of the approaching marriage of 
 Miss Ashton to Colonel Barnaby, the eldest son of a wealthy 
 baronet, who was sojourning there with his mother. No doubt 
 was imjilied or expressed ; the marriage was set forth as an 
 assured and publicly known fact. 
 
 "And I believe you meant waiting for her?" said the 
 countess-dowager, as she put the letter into his hand, with 
 a little laugh. " You are free now for my darling Maude." 
 
 " This may not be true," observed Lord Hartledon, with com- 
 pressed lips. " Every one knows what this sort of gossip is 
 worth." 
 
192 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " I happen to know that it is true," spoke Lady Kirton, in a 
 whisper. " Hart, I have known of it for some time past, but 
 I would not vex you with it." 
 
 Well, she convinced him ; and from that moment she had it 
 all her own way, and carried out her plot and her plans accord- 
 ing to her own crafty fancy. Lord Hartledon yielded ; for the 
 ascendency of Maude was powerful upon him. And yet-- and 
 yet — whilst he gave all sorts of ill names to Anne Ashton's 
 perfidy, lying down deep in his heart was a suspicion that the 
 news was not true. How he hated himself for his wicked 
 assumption of belief in after-years ! 
 
 " You will be free as air. Hart," said the dowager, joyously. 
 " You and Maude will get the start over Miss Ashton and her 
 colonel, and have the laugh at them. The marriage shall be 
 on Saturday, and you can go away together for months if you 
 like, and get up your spirits again; I'm sure you have both 
 been dull enough." 
 
 The earl was certainly caught by the words " free as air ; " 
 as he had been once before. But he stared at the early day 
 mentioned. 
 
 " Marriages can't be got up so soon as that." 
 
 " They can be got up in a day if people choose, with a special 
 license; which, of course, you will have," said the dowager. 
 " I'll arrange things, my dear Yal ; leave it all to me. I intend 
 that Maude shall be married in the little chapel." 
 
 " What little chapel ? " 
 
 " This chapel ; the private chapel." 
 
 Lord Hartledon stared with all his eyes. The private chapel, 
 built out from the house on the side next Calne, had not been 
 used for years and years. 
 
 " Why, it's all dirt and dust inside ; its cushions are moth- 
 eaten." 
 
 " Is it all dirt and dust ! " returned the dowager. " That's 
 a sign how observant you are. I had it cleaned out and put in 
 order while you were in London ; it was a shame to let a sacred 
 place remain in such a state. I should like it to be used for 
 Maude ; and mind, I'll see to everything ; you need not give 
 yourself any trouble at all. There's only one thing I must 
 enjoin on you." 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 193 
 
 "What's that?" she asked. 
 Secrecy, Don't let a hint of your intentions get abroad. 
 Whatever you do, don't write a word to that Carr friend of 
 yours ; he's as sharp as a two-edged sword. As well let things 
 be done in private ; it is Maude's wish." 
 
 " I shall not write to him," cried the earl, feeling a sudden 
 heat upon his face, " or to any one else." 
 
 "Here's Maude. Step this way, Maude. Hartledon wants 
 the ceremony to take place on Saturday, and I have promised 
 for you." 
 
 Lady Maude advanced ; she had really come in by accident ; 
 her head was bent, her eyelashes rested on her flushed cheeks. 
 A fair prize ; very, very fair ! The old dowager took her hand 
 and put it in Lord Hartledon's. 
 
 " You will love her and cherish her, Percival ? " 
 
 What was the earl to do ? He murmured some unintelligible 
 assent, and bent forward to kiss her. But not until that 
 moment had he realized the fact positively to himself, that 
 there would be any marriage. 
 
 Time went on swimmingly until the Saturday, and every- 
 thing was in progress. The old dowager deserved to be made 
 commander of a garrison for her comprehensive strategy, the 
 readiness and sharp skill she displayed in carrying out her 
 arrangements. TF%, perhaps she could not have explained to 
 herself; but an instinct was upon her that secrecy in all ways 
 was necessary ; at any rate, she felt the surer of success whilst 
 it was maintained. Hence her decision in regard to the unused 
 little chapel ; and that this one particular portion of the project 
 had been long floating in her mind was proved by the fact that 
 she had previously caused the chapel to be cleaned. But that 
 it was to serve her own turn, she would have let it remain 
 choked up with dust for ever. 
 
 The special license had arrived ; the young clergyman who 
 was to perform the service was located at Hartledon. Seven 
 o'clock was the hour fixed for the marriage : it would be dusk 
 then, and dinner over. Immediately afterwards the bride and 
 bridegroom were to depart. So far, so good. But Lady Kirton 
 was not to have it quite her own way on this same Saturday, 
 although she had enjoyed it hitherto. 
 
 Elster's Folly. 13 
 
194 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 A rumour reached her ears in the afternoon that Dr. Ashton 
 was at the Kectory. The doctor had been spending the Easter 
 at Cannes, and the dowager had devoutly prayed that he might 
 not yet return. The news turned her cheeks blue and her nose 
 white ; a prevision rushing over her that if he and Lord Hartle- 
 don met there might be no wedding after all. She did her best 
 to keep Lord Hartledon indoors, and the fact of the Eector'si 
 return from him. 
 
 Now who is going to defend that young nobleman ? Not you 
 or I. More foolish weakness was never shown than in thus 
 yielding to these schemes. Though ensnared by Maude's beauty, 
 that was no excuse for him. 
 
 An accident — or what may be called one — delayed the dinner. 
 Two county friends of the earl's, jolly fox-hunters in the season, 
 had come riding a long way across country, and looked in to 
 beg some dinner. The countess-dowager fumed, and was not 
 decently civil ; but she did not see her way clear to turning 
 them out. 
 
 They talked and eat, and eat and talked ; and dinner was 
 thus indefinitely prolonged. When the dowager and Lady 
 Maude rose from table the former cast a meaning look at Lord 
 Hartledon. " Get rid of them as soon as you can," it plainly 
 said. 
 
 But the fox-hunters liked good drinking as well as good 
 eating, and sat on, enjoying their wine ; their host, one of the 
 most courteous of living men, giving no sign, by word or look, 
 that he wished for their departure. He was rather silent, they 
 observed ; but the young clergyman, who made the fourth at 
 table, was voluble by nature. Captain Kirton had not yet left 
 his sick bed. 
 
 Lady Maude sat alone in her room ; the white robes upon 
 her, the orthodox veil, meant to shade her fair face, thrown 
 back from it. She had sent away her attendants, bolted the 
 door against her mother, and sat waiting for her summons. 
 Waiting and thinking. Her cheek rested on her hand, and her 
 eyes were set in a dreamy gaze. 
 
 Is it true that whenever we are about to do an ill or unjust 
 deed a shadow of the fruits it will bring comes over us as a 
 warning? Some people will tell you so. A vision of the 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 195 
 
 future seemed to rest on Maude Kir ton as slie sat there ; and 
 for the first time all the injustice of the approaching act rose 
 up in her mind as a solemn omen. The true facts were terribly- 
 distinct. Her own dislike (it was indeed no less than dislike) 
 of the living earl, her lasting love for the dead one. All the 
 miserable stratagems they had been guilty of to win him ; the 
 dishonest, beggarly plotting and planning. Why, what was she 
 about to do? For her own advancement, to secure herself a 
 position in the great world, and not for love, she was about to 
 separate two hearts, which but for her would have been united 
 in this world and in the next. She was thrusting herself upon 
 the Earl of Hartledon, knowing that in his true heart it was 
 another that he loved, not her. Yes, she knew that full well. 
 He admired her beauty, and was marrying her; marrying 
 partly in pique against Anne Ashton ; partly in blindfold 
 submission to the deep schemes of her mother, brought to bear 
 on his yielding nature. All the injustice done Anne Ashton 
 was in that moment beating its refrain upon her heart ; and a 
 thought crossed her — would God not avenge it? Another 
 time she might have smiled at the thought as fanciful : it 
 seemed awfully real now. "I might give Yal up yet," she 
 murmured ; " there's just time." 
 
 She did not seize upon the suggestion. Whether it was 
 her warning, or whether it was not, she allowed it to slip 
 from her. Hartledon's broad lands and Hartledon's coronet 
 resumed their fascination over her soul ; and when her door 
 was tried. Lady Maude had lost herself in that famous Spanish 
 chateau we have all occupied on occasion, touching the altera- 
 tions she had mentally planned in their town-house. 
 
 " Goodness heart alive, Maude, what do you lock yourself up 
 for?" 
 
 Maude undid the door, and the countess-dowager floundered 
 in. She was resplendent in one of her old yellow satin gowns, 
 a white turban with a silver feather, and a pink scarf thrown 
 on for ornament. The colours would no doubt blend well by 
 candlelight. 
 
 " Come along, Maude. There's no time to be lost." 
 " Are the men gone ? " 
 
 "Yes, they are gone; no thanks to Hartledon, though. 
 
196 
 
 elsteb's folly. 
 
 He sat mooning on, never giving tliem the least hint to 
 depart. Priddon told me so. I'll tell you what it is, Maude, 
 you'll have to shake your husband out of no end of ridiculous 
 habits." 
 
 " It is growing dark," exclaimed Maude, as she stepped into 
 the corridor. 
 
 "Dark! of course it's dark," was the irascible answer; 
 " and they have had to light the chapel up. Priddon couldn't 
 have seen his book. And all through those confounded fox- 
 hunters ! " 
 
 Lord Hartledon was not in the drawing-room, where Lady 
 Kirton had left him only a minute before; and she looked 
 round her sharply. "Has he gone on to the chapel?" she 
 asked of the young clergyman. 
 
 "No, I think not," replied Mr. Priddon^ who was already in 
 his canonicals. " Hedges came in and said something to him, 
 and they went out together." 
 
 A minute or two of impatience — she was in no mood to wait 
 long — and then she rang the bell. It should be remarked that 
 the old lady, either from excitement or from some latent 
 apprehension of failure, which she would be unable to conquer 
 until all was safe, was shaking and jumping as if she had St, 
 Yitus's dance. Hedges came in. 
 
 " Where's your master ? " sbe tartly asked. 
 
 " With Mr. Carr, my lady." 
 
 " With Mr. What did you say ? " 
 
 " My lord is with Mr. Carr. He has just arrived." 
 
 A single moment given to startled consternation, and then 
 the fury broke forth. The young parson had never had the 
 pleasure of seeing one of these war-dances before ; and he 
 backed against the wall, crushing his starched surplice, and 
 stared at it. 
 
 " What brings him here ? How dare he come uninvited ? " 
 
 " I heard him say, my lady, that finding he had a Sunday to 
 spare, he thought he would come and pass it at Hartledon," 
 said the well-trained Hedges. 
 
 Ere the words had left his lips the earl and Mr. Carr were 
 present ; the latter in a state of utter amazement and in his 
 travelling dress, having only removed his overcoat. 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 197 
 
 " You'll be my groomsman, Carr," said the earl. " We have 
 no adherents ; this is a strictly private affair." 
 
 "Did you send for Mr. Carr?" whispered the countess- 
 dowager, looking white through her rouge. 
 
 "No; his coming has taken me by surprise," replied the 
 earl, with a nervousness he could not wholly conceal. 
 
 They passed rapidly through the passages, marshalled by 
 Hedges. Lord Hartledon led his bride, the countess-dowager 
 walked with the clergyman, and Mr. Carr brought up the rear. 
 The latter gentleman was wondering whether he had fallen 
 into a dream that he should wake up from in the morning. 
 The mode of procession was a little out of the common order of 
 such affairs ; but the marriage was so also. 
 
 Now it happened, not very long before this, that Dr. 
 Ashton was on his way home from a visit to a sick parishioner 
 — a poor man, who said he believed life had been prolonged in 
 him that his minister of many years should be at his death- 
 bed. Dr. Ashton's road lay beyond Hartledon, and in returning 
 he cut across the road, which brought him out near the river, 
 between Hartledon and the Rectory. Happening to cast his 
 eyes that way, he saw a light where he had never seen one 
 before — in the little, unused chapel. Peering through the 
 trees at the two low diamond-paned windows, to make sure 
 he was not mistaken. Dr. Ashton set off quickly. His thoughts 
 had glanced at fire. 
 
 He was well acquainted with Hartledon ; and making his 
 way in by the nearest entrance, he dashed along the passages to 
 the chapel, meeting at length one of the servants. 
 
 "John," he panted, quite out of breath with hurrying, 
 " there's a light in the chapel. I fear it is on fire." 
 
 " Not at all, sir," replied the man. " We have been lighting 
 it up for my lord's marriage. They have just gone in." 
 
 " Lighting it up for what ? " exclaimed Dr. Ashton. 
 
 " For my lord's marriage, sir. He's marrying Lady Maude. 
 It's the old dowager, sir, who has got it up in this queer hurried 
 way," continued the man, venturing on a little confidential 
 gossip with his Eector. 
 
 Dr. Ashton paused to collect his wits ere he walked into the 
 chapel. The few wax-candles that the servants had been able 
 
198 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 to put about only served to make tlie gloom visible. The party 
 were taking their places, the young clergyman directing them 
 where to stand. He opened his book and was commencing, 
 when a hand was laid upon the earl's shoulder. 
 
 " Lord Hartledon, what is the meaning of this ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon recognized the voice, and broke out in a 
 cold perspiration. He knew of a trap-door somewhere in the 
 chapel — where was it? His gaze went out over the floor, some 
 intention of dropping down it and disappearing for ever looming 
 in his mind. He gave no answer ; but the countess-dowager 
 made up for his silence. Her temper, none of the mildest, had 
 been considerably exasperated by the visit of the fox-hunters ; 
 it was made worse by the arrival of Mr. Carr. When she 
 turned round and saw what this formidable interruption was, 
 she lost it altogether, as few women, calling themselves ladies, 
 can lose it. As she peered into the face of Dr. Ashton, her 
 own was of a mottled hue, scarlet and yellow, and her voice 
 rose to a shriek. 
 
 " You sneaking, prying parson, where did you spring from ? 
 Are you not ashamed to dodge Lord Hartledon in his own house ? 
 You might be taken up and imprisoned for it." 
 
 "Lord Hartledon," said Dr. Ashton, "I " 
 
 " How dare you persist, I ask you ? " shrieked the old lady, 
 whilst the young clergyman stood aghast, and Mr. Carr folded 
 his arms, and resolutely fixed his eyes on the floor. " Because 
 his lordship (like a fool as he was) once had something to say 
 to your daughter, does that give you leave to haunt him as if 
 you were his double ? " 
 
 " Madam," said Dr. Ashton, contriving still to subdue his 
 anger, " I must, I will speak to Lord Hartledon. Allow me to 
 do so without disturbance. Lord Hartledon, I wait for an 
 answer : Are you about to marry this young lady ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is," foamed the dowager ; " I'll tell it you. Now 
 then?" 
 
 " Then, madam," proceeded the doctor, " this marriage 
 owes its rise to you. You will do well to consider whether 
 you are doing them a kindness or an injury in permitting 
 it. You have deliberately set yourself to frustrate the hopes 
 of Lord Hartledon and my daughter: will a marriage, thus 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 199 
 
 treacherously entered into one with another, bring happiness 
 with it ? " 
 
 " Oh, you wicked man ! " cried the dowager. " You would 
 like to call a curse upon them." 
 
 " No," shuddered Dr. Ashton ; " if a curse ever attends them, 
 it will not be through my wish. Lord Hartledon, I knew 
 you as a boy ; I have loved you as a son ; and if I speak now, 
 it is as your pastor, and for your own sake. This marriage 
 looks very like a clandestine one, as though you were 
 ashamed of the step you are taking, and dared not enter on 
 it in the clear face of day. I would have you consider that 
 this sort of proceeding does not usually bring a blessing 
 with it." 
 
 If ever Val felt convicted of utter cowardice, he felt so then. 
 All the wretched sophistry by which he had been beguiled into 
 the step, by which he had beguiled himself; all the iniquity of 
 his past conduct to Miss Ashton, rose up before his mind in its 
 naked truth. He dared not reply to the doctor for very shame. 
 A sorry figure he cut, standing there. Lady Maude clinging 
 helplessly to his arm. • 
 
 " The last time you entered my house. Lord Hartledon, it 
 was to speak of your coming marriage with Anne " 
 
 " And you would like him to go there again and fix it," inter- 
 rupted the incensed dowager, whose head had begun to nod so 
 vehemently, that she could not stop it. " Oh yes, I dare say ! " 
 
 " By what right have you thus trifled with her ? " continued 
 the Eector, ignoring the nodding lady and her words, and con- 
 fronting Lord Hartledon. " Is it a light matter, think you, to 
 gain a maiden's best love, and then to desert her for a fresh 
 face ? You have been playing fast-and-loose for some little 
 time : and I gave you more than one opportunity of declaring 
 off, if you so willed it— of openly declaring it, you under- 
 stand ; not of doing it in this covert, disreputable manner. 
 Your conscience will prick you in after-life, unless I am mis- 
 taken." 
 
 Val opened his lips, but the Eector put up his hand. 
 
 "A moment yet. That I am not endeavouring to recall 
 Anne's claims on you in saying this, I am sure you are per- 
 fectly aware, knowing me as you do. I never deemed you 
 
200 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 worthy of her — you know that, Lord Hartledon ; and you never 
 were so. Were you a free man at this moment, and went down 
 on your knees to implore me to give you Anne, I would not do 
 it. You have forfeited her ; you have forfeited the esteem of 
 all good men. But that I am a Christian minister, I should 
 visit your dishonour upon you as you deserve." 
 
 " Will you have done ? " stamped the dowager ; and Dr. 
 Ashton wheeled round upon her. 
 
 " There is less excuse for your past conduct, madam, than for 
 his. You have played on Lord Hartledon's known irresolution 
 to mould him to your will. I see now what was the aim of that 
 letter you favoured me with at Cannes, when you requested, 
 with candour so bland, that he might be left for a time un- 
 fettered by any correspondence with Miss Ashton. Well, you 
 have obtained your ends. Your covetous wish that you and 
 your daughter should reign of right at Hartledon is on the 
 point of being gratified. The honour of marrying Lady Maude 
 was intended both by you and her for the late earl. Failing 
 him, you transferred your hopes to the present one, regardless 
 of who suffered, or what hearts or honour might be broken in 
 the process." 
 
 " Will nobody put this disreputable parson outside ? " raved 
 the dowager. 
 
 "I do not seek to bring reproach home to you; let that, 
 ladies, lie between yourselves and conscience. I only draw 
 your attention to the facts ; which have been sufficiently patent 
 to the world, whatever Lord Hartledon may think. And now 
 I have said my say, and leave you ; but I declare that were I 
 performing this burlesque of a marriage, as that young clergy- 
 man is about to do, I should feel my prayers, for the divine 
 blessing to attend it, were but a vain mockery." 
 
 He turned to leave the chapel with quick steps, when Lord 
 Hartledon, shaking off Maude, darted forward and caught his 
 arm. 
 
 " You will tell me one thing at least : Is Anne not going to 
 marry Colonel Barnaby ? " 
 
 " Sir ! " thundered the doctor. " Going to marry whom ? " 
 " I heard it," he faltered. " I believed it to be the truth." 
 " You may have heard it, but you did not believe it, Lord 
 
A PLEASANT WEDDING. 
 
 201 
 
 Hartledon. You knew Anne better. Do not add tliis false 
 excuse to the rest." 
 
 Pleasant! Infinitely so for the peer's tingling ears. Dr. 
 Ashton walked out of tlie chapel, and Val stood for a few 
 moments where he was, looking up and down in the dim light. 
 It might be that in his confusion of mind he was deliberating 
 what his course should be ; but thought and common sense 
 came to him, and he knew he could not desert Lady Maude, 
 having brought matters so far to an end. 
 
 " Proceed," he said to the young clergyman, stalking back to 
 the altar. " Get — it — over quickly." 
 
 Mr. Carr unfolded his arms and approached the earl. He 
 was the only one who had caught the expression of the bride's 
 face when Lord Hartledon dropped her arm. It spoke of 
 bitter malice ; it spoke, now that he had returned to her, of an 
 evil triumph ; and it occurred to Thomas Carr to think that he 
 should not like a wife of his to be seen with that expression on 
 her bridal face. 
 
 " Lord Hartledon, you must excuse me if I do not remain to 
 countenance this wedding," he said in low but distinct tones. 
 " Before hearing what I have heard from that good man, I had 
 hesitated about it ; but I was lost in surprise. Fare you well. 
 I shall have left by the time you quit the chapel." 
 
 He held out his hand, and Val mechanically shook it. The 
 retreating steps of Mr. Carr, following in the wake of Dr. 
 Ashton, were heard, as Lord Hartledon spoke again to the 
 clergyman with irritable sharpness : 
 
 " Why don't you begin ? " 
 
 And the countess-dowagi^r fanned herself complacently, and 
 neither she nor Maude cared for the absence of a groomsman. 
 But Maude was not quite hardened yet; the shame of her 
 situation was tingeing her eyelids. 
 
202 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE STRANGER. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was leading Ms bride through the cnapel at 
 the conclusiou of the ceremony, when his attention was caught 
 by something outside one of the windows. At first he thought 
 it was a black cat curled up there in some impossible fashion, 
 but soon saw it was the black hair of a human face. And that 
 face he discovered to be Mr. Pike's, peering earnestly in. 
 
 " Hedges, drive that man away. How dare he intrude himself 
 in this manner ? How has he got up to the window ? " 
 
 For these windows were high beyond the ordinary height of 
 man. Hedges went out, a sharp reprimand on his tongue, and 
 found that Mr. Pike had been at the trouble of carrying a heap 
 of stones from a distance and piling them up to stand upon. 
 
 "Well, you must have a curiosity!" he exclaimed, in his 
 surprise. " Just put those stones back in their places, and 
 take yourself away." 
 
 " You are right," said the man. " I have a curiosity in all 
 that concerns the new lord. But I'm going away now." 
 
 He leaped down as he spoke, and began to replace the stones. 
 Hedges went in again. 
 
 The carriage, waiting to convey them away, was already at 
 the door, the impatient horses pawing the ground. Maude 
 changed her dress with all speed ; and in driving down the 
 road by starlight they overtook Thomas Carr, carrying his own 
 portmanteau. Lord Hartledon let down the window impulsively, 
 as if he would have spoken, but seemed to recollect himself, 
 and drew it up again. 
 
 What is it ? " asked Maude. 
 
 " Mr. Carr." 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 203 
 
 It was the first word he had spoken to her since the ceremony. 
 His silence had frightened her: what if he should resent on 
 Jier the cruel words spoken by Dr. Ashton? Sick, trembling, 
 her beautiful face humble and tearful enough now, she bent it 
 on his shoulder in a burst of bitter tears. 
 
 " Oh, Percival, Percival ! surely you are not going to punish 
 me for what has passed ? " 
 
 A moment's struggle with himself, and he turned and took 
 both her hands in his. 
 
 " It may be that neither of us is free from blame, Maude, in 
 regard to the past. All we can now do, as it seems to me, is to 
 forget it together, and make the best of the future." 
 
 " And you will forget Anne Ashton ? " she whispered. 
 
 " Of course I shall forget her. I ask nothing better than to 
 forget her from this moment. I have made you my wife, 
 Maude ; and I will try to make your happiness." 
 
 He lifted her face and kissed it. Maude, in some restless- 
 ness, as it seemed, withdrew to her own side of the carriage, 
 and cried softly ; and Lord Hartledon let down the glass again 
 to look back after Thomas Carr and his portmanteau in the 
 starlight. 
 
 The only perfectly satisfied person was the countess-dowager. 
 All the little annoying hindrances went for nothing, now that 
 the desired end was accomplished, and she was in high feather 
 when she bid adieu to the amiable young clergyman, who had 
 to depart that night for his curacy, ten miles away, to be in 
 readiness for the morrow's services. 
 
 " If you please, my lady, Captain Kirton has been asking for 
 you once or twice," said Hedges, entering the dowager's- private 
 sitting-room. 
 
 " Then Captain Kirton must ask," retorted the dowager, who 
 was sitting down to her letters, which she had left unopened 
 since their arrival in the morning, in her anxiety for other 
 interests. " Hedges, I should like some supper : I had only a 
 scrambling sort of dinner. You can bring it me up here. 
 Something nice, mind ; and a bottle of champagne." 
 
 Hedges withdrew with the order, and Lady Kirton applied 
 herself to her letters. The first she opened was from the 
 daughter who had married the French count. It told a pitiful 
 
204 elster's folly. 
 
 tale of distress, and humbly craved to be permitted to come 
 over on a fortnight's visit, she and her two sickly children, 
 " for a little change." 
 
 " I dare say ! " emphatically ejaculated the dowager. " What 
 next ? No, thank you, my lady ; now that I have at last a firm 
 footing in this house as my right — as that blessed parson said 
 — I am not going to risk it by filling it with every bothering 
 child I possess. Bob walks, as soon as his leg's well. Halloa ! 
 what's this?" 
 
 She had come upon a concluding line as she was returning 
 the letter to the envelope. " P.S. If I don't hear from you very 
 decisively to the contrary, I shall come, and trust to your good 
 nature to forgive it. I want to see Bob." 
 
 " Oh, that's it, is it ? " said the dowager. " She means to 
 come, whether I will or no. That girl always had the deuce's 
 own impudence." 
 
 Drawing a sheet of paper out of her desk, she wrote a few 
 rapid lines. 
 
 "Dear Jane, 
 
 " For mercy^s sake keep those poor children and 
 yourself away ! We have had an aioeful infectious fever rageing 
 in the place, which it was thought to be cured, but it's on the 
 break out again — several deaths, Hartledon and Maude (married 
 of course) have gone out of its reach and I'm thinking of it if 
 Bob's leg which is better permits. You'd not like I dare say to 
 see the children in a coffin apiece and yourself in a third, as 
 might be the end. Small-pox is raging at Garchester a neigh- 
 bouring town, that loill be awful if it gets to us and I hear it's 
 on the road and with kind love believe me your affectionate 
 
 " Mother. 
 
 " P.S. I am sorry for what you tell me about Ugo and the state 
 of aiBfairs chey vous. But you know you would marry him so 
 there's nobody to blame. Ah ! Maude has gone by my advice 
 and done as I said and the consequence is she's a British peeress 
 for life and got a handsome young husband without a will of his 
 own." 
 
 The countess-dowager was not very adroit at spelling and 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 205 
 
 composition, whether French or English, as you observe. She 
 made an end of her correspondence, and sat down to a delicious 
 little supper alone ; as she best liked to enjoy these treats. The 
 champagne was excellent, and she poured out a full tumbler of 
 it at once, by way of wishing good luck to Maude's triumphant 
 wedding. 
 
 " And it IS a triumph ! " she said, smacking her lips ; " and 
 I hope it will bring Jane and the rest to a sense of their 
 folly." 
 
 A triumph ? If you could only have looked into the future. 
 Lady Kirton ! A triumph ! 
 
 The above was not the only letter written that evening. At 
 the hotel where Lord and Lady Hartledon halted for the night, 
 when she had retired under convoy of her maid, then Val's 
 remorse, restrained before, broke out. He paced the room in 
 a sort of mad restlessness ; in the midst of which he suddenly 
 sat down to a table on which lay paper, pens, and ink, and 
 poured forth hasty sentences in his mind's wretched tumult. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Ashton, 
 
 " I cannot address you in any more formal words, 
 although you will have cause to fling down the letter at my 
 presuming to use these now — for dear, most dear, you will ever 
 be to me. 
 
 " What can I say ? Why do I write to you ? Indeed to the 
 latter question I can only answer I do not know, save that some 
 instinct of good feeling, not utterly dead within me, is urging 
 me to it. 
 
 " Will you let me for a moment throw conventionality aside ; 
 will you for that brief space of time forget our identity, and let 
 me speak truly and freely to you, as one might speak who has 
 ' passed the confines of this world ? 
 
 " When a man behaves to a woman as I, to my eternal shame, 
 have this day behaved to Anne, it is, I think, a common custom 
 to regard the false man as having achieved a sort of triumph ; 
 to attribute somewhat of humiliation to the other. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Ashton, I cannot sleep until I have said to you 
 that in my case the very contrary is the fact. A more abject, 
 humiliated man than I stand at this hour in my own eyes never 
 
206 
 
 elstek's folly. 
 
 yet took his sins upon his soul. Even you might be appeased 
 if you could look into mine and see its sense of degradation. 
 
 " That my punishment has already come home to me is only 
 just ; that I shall have to conceal it from all the world, including 
 my wife, will not lessen its sting. 
 
 " I have this evening married Lady Maude Kirton. I might 
 tell you of unfair play brought to bear upon me, of a positive 
 assurance, apparently well grounded, that Anne had entered 
 into an engagement to wed another, could I admit that these 
 facts were any excuse for me. They were not : my own yield- 
 ing folly alone is to blame, and I shall take shame to myself 
 for it for ever. 
 
 " I write this to you as I might have written it to my own 
 mother, were she living ; not as an expiation ; only to tell of 
 my pain ; that I am not utterly hardened ; that I would sue on 
 my knees for pardon, were it not shut out from me by my own 
 act. When you shall have torn it in pieces, you will, I trust, 
 forget the writer. 
 
 " God bless you, dear Mrs. Ashton ! God bless and comfort 
 another who is dear to you ! — and believe me with true remorse 
 your once attached friend, 
 
 " Hartledon." 
 
 It was a curious letter to write ; but men of Lord Hartledon's 
 sensitive temperament in regard to others' feelings often do 
 strange things ; things that the world at large v/ould stare at in 
 their inability to understand them. The remorse might not 
 have come home to him quite so soon as this, his wedding-day, 
 but for the inopportune appearance of Dr. Ashton in the chapel, 
 speaking those words that told home so forcibly. Such reproach 
 on these tender-conscienced men inflicts a torture that burns 
 into the heart like living fire. 
 
 He sealed the letter with his coronet, addressing it to Cannes ; 
 called a waiter, late as it was, and desired him to go out and 
 post it. And then he walked about the room, reflecting on the 
 curse of his life — his besetting sin — irresolution. It seemed 
 almost an anomaly for him to make resolves ; but he did make 
 one then ; that he would, by the good help of Heaven, be a man 
 from henceforth, however it might crucify his sensitive feelings. 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 207 
 
 And for the future, tlie obligation lie had that day taken upon 
 himself, he determined to fulfil it to his uttermost in all honour 
 and love ; to cherish his wife as he would have cherished Anne 
 Ashton. For the past — but Lord Hartledon rose up now with 
 a start. There was one item of that past he dared not glance at, 
 which did not, however, relate to Miss Ashton : and it appeared 
 inclined to thrust itself prominently forward on this night. 
 
 Could Lord Hartledon have borrowed somewhat of the easy 
 indifference of the countess-dowager, he had been a happier 
 man. That lady would have made a female Nero, enjoying her- 
 self whilst Eome was burning. She remained on in her snug 
 quarters at Hartledon, and lived on the clover of the land. 
 
 One evening, rather more than a week after the marriage. 
 Hedges had been on an errand to Calne, and was hastening 
 home. In the lonely part of the road near Hartledon, upon 
 turning a sharp corner, he came upon Mirrable, who was stand- 
 ing talking to Pike, very much to the butler's surprise. Pike 
 walked away at once ; and the butler spoke. 
 
 " He is not an acquaintance of yours, that man, is he, Mrs. 
 Mirrable?" 
 
 " Indeed, no," she answered, tossing her head. " It was like 
 his impudence to stop me. Kather flurried me too," she con- 
 tinued : and indeed Hedges noticed that she did seem flurried. 
 
 " What did he stop you for ? To beg ? " 
 
 " Not that. I've never heard that he does beg. He accosted 
 me with a cool question as to when his lordship was coming 
 back to Hartledon. I answered that it could not be any 
 business of his. And then you came up." 
 
 " He is uncommon curious as to my lord. I can't make it 
 out. I've seen him prowling about the grounds : and the night 
 of the marriage he was mounted up at the chapel window. 
 Lord Hartledon saw him, too. I should like to know what he 
 wants." 
 
 " By a half-word he let drop, I fancy he has a crotchet in his 
 head that his lordship will find him some work when he comes 
 home. But I must go on my way," added Mirrable. "Mrs. 
 Gum's not well, and I sent word I'd look in for half-an-hour 
 this evening." 
 
 Hedges had to go on his way also, for it was close upon the 
 
208 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 countess-dowager's dinner-hour, on wliieli ceremony lie must 
 attend. Putting his best foot forward, he walked at more than 
 an ordinary pace, and overtook a gentleman almost at the very 
 door of Hartledon. The stranger was approaching the front 
 entrance, Hedges was wheeling off to the back ; but the former 
 turned round and spoke. He was a tall, broad-shouldered, 
 grey-haired man, with high cheek-bones. Hedges took him for 
 a clergyman from his attire ; black, with a white neckcloth. 
 
 " This is Hartledon House, I believe," he said, speaking with 
 a Scotch accent." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " Do you belong to it ? " 
 " I am Lord Hartledon's butler." 
 " Is Lord Hartledon at home ? " 
 " No, sir. He is in France." 
 
 " I read a notice of his marriage in the public papers," con- 
 tinued the stranger, whose eyes were fixed on Hedges. "I 
 suppose it was a correct one ? " 
 
 " My lord was married the week before last : about ten or 
 eleven days ago." 
 
 " Ay ; April the fourteenth, the paper said. She is one of the 
 Kirton family. When do you expect him home ? " 
 
 " I don't know at all, sir. I've not heard anything about it." 
 
 "He is in France, you say. Paris, I suppose. Can you 
 furnish me with his address ? " 
 
 Up to this point the colloquy had proceed smoothly, with 
 readiness on both sides : but it suddenly flashed into the mind 
 of Hedges that the stranger's manner was somewhat mysterious, 
 though in what the mystery lay he could not have defined. The 
 communicative man, true to the interests of his master, became 
 cautious at once : he supposed some of the earl's worries, con- 
 tracted when he was Mr. Elster, were returning upon him. 
 
 " I cannot give his address, sir. And for the matter of that, 
 it might not be of use if I could. Lord and Lady Hartledon 
 did not intend remaining any length of time in one place." 
 
 The stranger had dug the point of his umbrella into the level 
 greensward that bounded the gravel, and swayed the handle 
 about with his hand, pausing in thought. 
 
 " I have come a long way to see Lord Hartledon," he observed. 
 
THE STRANGER. 
 
 209 
 
 It might be less trouble and cost for me to go on to Paris and 
 see him there, than to start back for home, and come here again 
 when he returns to England. Are you sure you can't give me 
 his address ? " 
 
 " I'm very sorry I can't, sir," answered Hedges, with addi- 
 tional civility, that the other might not suspect his caution. 
 " There was a talk of their going on to Switzerland," continued 
 he, improvising the journey, " and so coming back through 
 Germany ; and there was a talk of their making Italy before 
 the heat came on, and stopping there. Any way, sir, I dare say 
 they are already away from Paris." 
 
 The stranger regarded Hedges attentively, rather to the dis- 
 comfiture of that functionary, who thought he was doubted. He 
 then asked a great many questions, some about Lord Hartledon's 
 personal habits, some about Lady Maude : the butler answered 
 them freely or cautiously, as he thought he might, feeling in- 
 clined all the while to chase the intruder off the premises. 
 Presently he turned his attention on the house. 
 
 " A fine old place, this, Mr. Butler." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I suppose I could look over it, if I wished ? " 
 
 Hedges hesitated. He was privately asking himself whether 
 the law would allow the stranger, if he had come after any debt 
 of Lord Hartledon's, to refuse to go out of the house, once he 
 got into it. 
 
 "I could ask Lady Kirton, sir, if you particularly wished 
 it." 
 
 " Lady Kirton ? You have some one in the house, then ! " 
 
 " The Dowager Lady Kirton's here, sir. One of her sons 
 also — Captain Kirton ; but he is confined to his room." 
 
 " Then I would rather not go in," said the stranger quickly. 
 " I'm very disappointed to have come all this way and not to 
 find Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " Can I forward any letter for you, sir ? If you'd like to 
 intrust one to me, I'll send it as soon as we know of any certain 
 address." 
 
 " No — no, I think not," said the stranger, musingly. " There 
 might be danger," he muttered to himself, but Hedges caught 
 the words. 
 
 Elster's Folly. 14 
 
210 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 He stood swaying the umbrella-handle about for the full 
 space of two minutes, looking down at it, as if that would assist 
 his decision. Then he looked at Hedges. 
 
 " My business with Lord Hartledon is quite private, and I 
 would rather not write. I'll wait until he is back in England ; 
 and see him then." 
 
 "What name, sir?" asked Hedges, as the stranger turned 
 away. 
 
 "I would prefer not to leave my name," was the candid 
 answer. " Good evening." 
 
 He walked briskly down the avenue, and Hedges stood look- 
 ing after him, slightly puzzled in his mind. 
 
 " I don't believe it's a creditor ; that I don't. He looks like 
 a clergyman to me. But it's some trouble though, if it's not 
 debt. 'Danger' was the word: 'there might be danger.' 
 Danger in writing he meant. Any way, I'm glad he didn't go 
 in to that ferreting old dowager. And, whatever it may be, his 
 lordship's able to pay it now." 
 
( 211 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 Some few weeks went by. On fine June morning the Earl of 
 Hartledon and his countess were breakfasting at their hotel in 
 the Rue Rivoli. She was listlessly playing with her cup ; he 
 was glancing over Galignani's as he eat. 
 
 " Maude," he suddenly exclaimed, looking at his wife, " the 
 fountains are to play on Sunday at Versailles. Will you go to 
 see them ? " 
 
 " I am tired of sight-seeing, and tired of Paris too," was Lady 
 Hartledon's answer, spoken with apathy. 
 
 " Are you ? " he returned, with animation, as if not sorry to 
 hear the avowal. " Then we won't stay in Paris any longer. 
 When shall we leave ? " 
 
 " Are the letters not late this morning ? " she asked, allowing 
 the question to pass. 
 
 Lord Hartledon glanced at the timepiece. " Very late : and 
 we are late also. Are you expecting any in particular ? " 
 
 " I don't know. This chocolate is cold." 
 
 " That is easily remedied," said the earl, rising to ring the 
 bell. " They can bring in some fresh." 
 
 " And keep us waiting for it half-an-hour ! " she grumbled. 
 
 " The hotel is crammed on every storey, up to the mansarde," 
 said the good-natured earl, who was easily pleased, and rather 
 tolerant of neglect in French hotels. "Is not that the right 
 word, Maude? You took me to task yesterday for saying 
 garret. The servants are run off their legs." 
 
 " Then the hotel should keep more servants. I am quite 
 sick of having to ring t^7ice. A week ago I wished I was out 
 of the place " 
 
212 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " My dear Maude, why did you not say so ? If you'd like to 
 go on at once to Germany " 
 
 " Des lettres, et la gazette, monsieur," interrupted a waiter, 
 entering with two letters and the Times, 
 
 " One for you, Maude," said the earl, handing a letter to his 
 wife. " Don't go," he continued to the waiter ; " we want some 
 more chocolate ; this is cold. Tell him in French, Maude." 
 
 But Lady Hartledon did not hear ; or if she heard, did not 
 heed : she was absorbed in the contents of her letter. 
 
 " Ici," said the earl, pushing the chocolate-pot towards the 
 man, and rallying the best French he could command, " encore 
 du chocolat. Toute froide, tMs, Et puis depechez vous, 
 gargon ; il est tarde, et nous avons besoin de sortir." 
 
 The man was accustomed to the French of Englishmen, and 
 withdrew without moving a muscle of his face. But Lady 
 Hartledon's ears had been set on edge. 
 
 " Don't attempt French again, Val. They'll understand you 
 if you speak in English." 
 
 " Did I make any mistake ? " said the good-humoured earl. 
 " I could speak French once ; but I'm out of practice. It's the 
 genders bother one." 
 
 "Fine French it must have been!" thought her ladyship. 
 " Who is your letter from ? " 
 
 " My bankers, I think. About Germany, Maude — would you 
 like to go there ? " 
 
 " Yes. Later. After we have been to London." 
 
 " To London ! " repeated the earl, in surprise. 
 
 " We will go to London at once, Percival ; stop there for the 
 rest of the season, and then " 
 
 " My dear," he interrupted, his face overcast, " the season is 
 nearly over. It will be of no use to go there now." 
 
 " Plenty of use. We shall have quite six weeks of it. Don't 
 look cross, Val ; for I have set my heart upon it." 
 
 "But have you considered the difficulties? In the first 
 place, we have no house in town ; in the second " 
 
 " Oh yes we have : a very good house." 
 
 The earl paused, and looked at her; he thought she was 
 joking. " Where is it ? " asked he, in a merry tone ; " over the 
 Marble Arch?" 
 
MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 213 
 
 " It is in Piccadilly," ske coolly replied. " Do you remem- 
 ber, some days ago, I read you an advertisement of a house that 
 was to be let there for the remainder of the season, and remarked 
 that it would suit us ? " 
 
 " That it might suit us^ had we wanted one," put in Val. 
 
 " I wrote off at once to mamma, and begged her to see after 
 it and engage it for us," continued the countess, disregarding 
 her husband's amendment. " She now tells me she has done so, 
 and ordered servants up from Hartledon. By the time this 
 letter reaches me, she says, it will be in readiness." 
 
 The earl, in his astonishment, could scarcely find words to 
 reply. "You wrote — yourself — and ordered the house to be 
 taken ? " 
 
 " Yes. You are difficult to convince, Val." 
 
 " Then I think it was your duty to have first consulted me. 
 Lady Maude," he said, feeling deeply mortified. 
 
 " Thank you," laughed the countess. " I have not been Lady 
 Maude this two months." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Lady Hartledon." 
 
 " Now don't pretend to be offended, Val. I have only saved 
 you trouble." 
 
 "Maude," he said, rallying his good-humour, "it was not 
 right. Let us — for Heaven's sake, let us begin as we mean 
 to go on : our interests must be one, not separate. Why did 
 you not tell me you wished to return to London, and allow me to 
 see after an abode for us ? It would have been the proper way." 
 
 " Well, the truth is, Val, I saw you did not want to go ; you 
 kept holding back from it ; and I'm sure if I had spoken, you'd 
 have shilly-shallied over it until the season was over. Every 
 one I know is in London now." 
 
 The waiter entered with the fresh chocolate, and retired 
 again. Lord Hartledon was standing at the window then. 
 His wife went up to him, and stole her hand within his arm. 
 
 " I'm sorry if I have offended you, VaL It's no such great 
 matter to have done." 
 
 "I think it was, Maude. However — don't act for yourself 
 in future ; let me know your wishes. I do not think you have 
 expressed a wish, or half a wish, since our marriage, but I have 
 felt a pleasure in gratifying it." 
 
214 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 " You good old fellow ! But I am given to having a will of 
 my own, and to act independently. I'm like mamma for that. 
 Yal dear, let us start for home to-morrow : and have you any 
 orders for the servants? I can transmit them through 
 mamma.'* 
 
 "I have no orders. This is your expedition, Maude, not 
 mine ; and, I assure you, I feel like a man in utter darkness in 
 regard to it. Allow me to see your mother's letter." 
 
 Lady Hartledon had put the letter safely in her pocket. 
 
 " I would rather not, Percival : it contains a few quite private 
 words to myself, and mamma has always an objection to her 
 letters being shown. I'll read you the necessary particulars. 
 You must let me have some money to-day." 
 
 " How much ? " asked the earl, from between his compressed 
 lips. 
 
 " Plenty and plenty. I owe for lots of millinery and things. 
 And, Yal, I'll go to Yersailles this afternoon, if you like. I 
 want to see some of the rooms again." 
 
 " Yery well," he answered. 
 
 She poured out some chocolate, took it standing, and quitted 
 the room, leaving the earl in a disheartening reverie. That 
 the Countess of Hartledon and Lady Maude Kirton were very 
 dissimilar, he had found reason to know already ; the one had 
 been all disinterested gentleness and childlike suavity, the 
 other was positive, extravagant, and self-willed ; the one had 
 made a show of loving him beyond everything in life, the 
 other was making very little show of loving him at all, or of 
 concealing her real indifference. Lord Hartledon was not the 
 only husband who has been disagreeably astonished by a like 
 metamorphosis. 
 
 The following was the letter of the countess-dowager : 
 
 "Darling Maude, 
 
 " I have secured the house you write about and send 
 by this post for Hedges and a few of the rest from Hartledon, 
 It won't accommodate a large cstahlishment I can tell you and 
 you'll be disappointed when you come over to take posession 
 which you can do when you choose, Yal was a fool for letting 
 his town house in the spring but of course we know he is one 
 
MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 215 
 
 and must put up with it, Whatever you do, don't consult him 
 about any earthly tiling take your oion way, he never did have 
 much of a will and you must let him have none for the future, 
 You've got a splendid chance can spend what you liJce and rule 
 in society and he'll subside into a tame spanniel, 
 
 " Maude if you are such an idiot I'll shaTce you. Find you've 
 made a dredful mistake? — can't bear your husband? — keej) 
 thinking always of Edward ? A child might write such utter 
 rubish but not you, what does it matter whether one's husband 
 is liked or disliked, provided he gives one position and icealth 9 
 Go to Amiens and stop with Jane for a iceek and see her plight 
 and then grumble at your own, you are an idiot. 
 
 " I'm quite glad about your taking this town-house, and shall 
 enter into posession myself as soon as the servants are up, and 
 await you. Bob's quite well and joins to-day and of course 
 gives up his lodgings, which have been wretchedly confined and 
 uncomfortable and where I should have gone to but for this 
 move of yours I don't know. Mind you bring me over a 
 Parisian bonnet or two and some articles of that sort, I'm 
 nearly in rags, Kirton's as undutiful as he can be but it's that 
 wife of his. 
 
 " Your affectionate mother, 
 
 "C. KiRTON." 
 
 The letter will give you some guide to what had been the 
 policy of Maude Hartledon since her marriage. She did find 
 she had made a mistake. She cared no more for her husband 
 now than she had cared for him before ; and it was a positive 
 fact that she despised him for walking so tamely into the snare, 
 laid for him by herself and her mother. Nevertheless she 
 triumphed ; he had made her a peeress, and she did care for 
 that; she cared also for the broad lands of Hartledon. That 
 she was unwise in assuming her own will so promptly, with 
 little regard to consulting his, she might yet discover. 
 
 At Versailles that day — to which place they went in accordance 
 with Maude's wish — there occurred a rencontre, if you will 
 pardon the French term, which Lord Hartledon would willingly 
 have gone to the very ends of the earth to avoid. It happened 
 to be rather full for Versailles ; many of the visitors in Paris 
 
216 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 apparently having taken it into their minds to go ; indeed, 
 Maude's wish was induced by the fact that some of her 
 acquaintances in the gay capital were going also. 
 
 You perhaps may remember a very small room in the 
 galleries, exceedingly small as compared with the rest, chiefly 
 hung with English portraits. They were stowed into this, 
 amidst the little crowd that filled it, when Lord Hartledon 
 became aware that his wife had encountered some long-lost 
 friend. There was much greeting and shaking of hands. He 
 caught the name — Kattle ; and being a somewhat peculiar 
 name, he recognized it for that of the lady who had been 
 sojourning at Cannes, and had sent the news of Miss Ashton's 
 supposed engagement to the countess-dowager. There was the 
 usual babble on both sides — where each was staying, had been 
 staying, would be staying ; and then Lord Hartledon heard the 
 following words from Mrs. Kattle. He was not close, but 
 within ear-shot : 
 
 " How strange that I should have met you ! I have met you, 
 the Fords, and the Ashtons here, and I did not know that any 
 of you were in Paris. It's true I only arrived yesterday. Such 
 a long illness, my dear, as I've had at Turin ! " 
 
 " The Ashtons I " involuntarily repeated Maude. " Are they 
 here? — in the chateau?" And it instantly occurred to her 
 how she should like to meet them, and display her triumph ; 
 she the bride, Anne the rejected one. If ever a spark of feeling 
 for her husband arose within Maude's heart, it was when she 
 thought of Anne Ashton. She was bitterly jealous of her 
 still. 
 
 " Yes, here ; I saw them not three minutes ago. They are 
 only now on their road home from Cannes. Fancy their 
 making so long a stay ! " 
 
 "You wrote mamma word that Miss Ashton was about to 
 marry some Colonel Barnaby." 
 
 Mrs. Kattle laughed. It is possible that written news might 
 have been asked for by the countess-dowager. 
 
 " Well, my dear, and so I did ; but it turned out to be a 
 mistake. He did admire her ; there was no mistake about 
 that ; and I dare say she might have had him if she liked. 
 How's your brother and his poor leg ? " 
 
MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 217 
 
 "Ob, lie is well," answered Maude. "Au revoir ; I can't 
 stand tliis crush any longer." 
 
 It was really a crush just then in the room ; and though 
 Maude escaped from it dexterously. Lord Hartledon did not. 
 He was wedged in behind some stout women, and had the 
 pleasure of bearing another word or two from Mrs. Kattle. 
 
 "Who was that?" asked a lady, who appeared to be her 
 companion. 
 
 "Lady Maude Kirton — that was, you know. She has just 
 married the Earl of Hartledon. He was only the younger 
 brother until a few months back, but the elder one got 
 drowned in some inexplicable manner on his own estate, and 
 this one came into the title. The old dowager set on at once 
 and angled for him, and they succeeded in hooking him. She 
 used to write me word how it progressed." 
 
 " She is very beautiful." 
 
 " Very." 
 
 Lord Hartledon made his escape, and found his wife looking 
 round for him. She was struck by the aspect of his face. 
 " Are you ill, Percival ? " 
 
 " HI ? No. But I don't care how soon we get out of these 
 rooms. I can't think what brings so many people in them 
 to-day." 
 
 " He has heard that she's here, and would like to avoid her," 
 thought Maude, as she took the arm he held out. " The large 
 rooms are empty enough, I'm sure," she remarked. " Shall we 
 have time to go to the Trianon ? " 
 
 " If you like. Yes." 
 
 He began to hurry her through the rooms. Maude, however, 
 was in no mood to be hurried, but stopped here and stopped 
 there. All at once they met a large party of friends ; those 
 whom she had originally expected to meet. Quitting her 
 husband's arm, she became lost amongst them. 
 
 There was no help for it; and Lord Hartledon, resigning 
 himself to the detention as he best might, took up his standing 
 before the pictures and stared at them, his back to the room. 
 He saw a good deal to interest him, in spite of his rather 
 tumultuous state of mind, and remained there until he found 
 himself surrounded by other spectators. Turning hastily with 
 
218 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 a view of escaping, he trod upon a lady's dress. She looked 
 up at his word of apology, and they stood face to face — himself 
 and Miss Ashton ! 
 
 That both utterly lost their presence of mind would have 
 been conclusive to the spectators, had any regarded them ; but 
 none did so. They were strangers amidst the crowd. For the 
 space of a moment, each gazed on the other, spell-bound. 
 Lord Hartledon's honest blue eyes were riveted on her face 
 with a strangely yearning expression of repentance — her sweet 
 face, which had turned as white as ashes. He wore mourning 
 still for his brother. He was the most distinguished-looking 
 man in the chateau that day. Anne was in a trailing lilac silk, 
 with a white gossamer-bonnet. That the heart of each went 
 out to the other, as it had perhaps never gone out before, it 
 may be no sin to say. Sin or no sin, it was the truth. The 
 real value of a thing, as you know, is never felt until it is lost. 
 For two months each had been dutifully striving to forget the 
 other for good and aye, and believed they were succeeding; 
 and now this first accidental meeting roused up the past in all 
 its fever of passion. 
 
 No more conscious of what he did than if he had been in a 
 dream. Lord Hartledon held out his hand ; and she, quite as 
 unconscious, answered mechanically, and met it with hers. 
 What confused words of matter-of-fact greeting went forth 
 from his lips he never knew ; she as little ; but this state of 
 bewildered feeling lasted only a minute ; recollection came to 
 both, and she strove to withdraw her hand and to retreat. 
 
 " God bless you, Anne ! " was all he whispered, his fervent 
 words marred by their tone of pain ; and he wrung her hand as 
 he released it. 
 
 Turning away, he caught the eyes of his wife riveted on 
 them ; she had evidently seen the meeting, and her colour was 
 high. Lord Hartledon walked straight into the next room, 
 and Maude went up to Anne. 
 
 " How do you do. Miss Ashton ? I am so glad to meet you ; 
 I have just heard you were here from Mrs. Kattle. You have 
 been speaking to my husband." 
 
 Anne bowed ; she did not lose her presence of mind at this 
 encounter. A few civil words of reply given with courteous 
 
MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 219 
 
 dignity, and she moved away with a bright flush on her cheek, 
 towards Dr. and Mrs. Ashton, who were standing arm-in-arm 
 in enraptured gaze before a remote picture, cognizant of nothing 
 else. 
 
 " How thin she looks ! " exclaimed Maude, as she rejoined 
 her husband, and took his arm. 
 " Who looks thin ? 
 
 " Miss Ashton. I wonder she did not fling your hand away, 
 Val ; instead of putting her own into it ! " 
 
 " Do you wish to see this Trianon ? We shall be very late." 
 
 " Yes, I do wish to see it. But you need not speak in that 
 cross tone : it was not my fault we met her." 
 
 He answered never a syllable. His lips were compressed to 
 pain, and there was a spot of hectic on his face ; but he would 
 not be drawn into reproaching his wife by so much as a word, 
 for the sort of taste she was displaying. The manner in which 
 he had treated Miss Ashton and her family was ever in his 
 mind, more or less, in all its bitter disgrace ; it may be said 
 that he took almost an exaggerated view of it, as these men of 
 tender feelings are apt to do, when conscious of having inflicted 
 a wrong. The worst part of it to Val was, that there could be 
 no reparation. 
 
 The following day Lord Hartledon and his wife took their 
 departure from Paris ; and if anything could have imparted 
 especial gratification to the earl, on his arriving in London at 
 the house hired for him, it was to find that his wife's mother 
 was not in it. Val had come home against his will ; he had 
 not wished to be in London that season ; he would have pre- 
 ferred to bury himself and his haunting sense of shame on the 
 tolerant Continent ; and he certainly had not wished his wife 
 to make her debut, as Countess of Hartledon, in a small hired 
 house. When he let his own, nothing could have been further 
 from his thoughts than marriage. As to this house — Lady 
 Kirton had told her daughter she would be disappointed in it ; 
 but when Maude saw its dimensions, its shabby entrance, its 
 want of style altogether, she pulled a face of dismay. "And 
 after that glowing advertisement ! " she breathed resentfully. 
 It was one of those small houses facing the Green Park. 
 
 Hedges came forward with an apology from the countess- 
 
220 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 dowager. An apology for not invading tlieir house and inflicting 
 her presence upon them uninvited ! A telegraphic despatch 
 from her son, Lord Kirton, had summoned her to Ireland on 
 the previous day, Hedges said ; and Lord Hartledon's face grew 
 bright as he heard it. 
 
 "What was amiss. Hedges?" inquired his mistress. "I'm 
 sure my brother would not telegraph unless it was something." 
 
 " The despatch didn't say, my lady. It was just a few words, 
 asking her ladyship to go off by the first train, but giving no 
 clue to the reason." 
 
 " I wonder she went, then," observed the earl to his wife, as 
 they looked into the different rooms. But Maude did not 
 wonder : she knew how anxious her mother was to be on good 
 terms with her eldest son, from whom she received supplies 
 occasionally. Eather would she quarrel with the whole world 
 than with him. 
 
 "I think it is a good thing she has gone, Maude," said the 
 earl. " There certainly would not have been room for her and 
 for us in this house." 
 
 " And so do I," answered Maude, turning herself about in her 
 bedchamber. " If mamma fancies she's going to inflict herself 
 upon us for good she'll be mistaken," continued the countess, in 
 a spirit of candour. " She and I might get to quarrelling, per- 
 haps ; for I know she'd be for trying to control me. Yal, what 
 are we to do in this small house ? " 
 
 " The best we can. We have made the bargain, you know, ' 
 and taken possession now." 
 
 " You are laughing. I declare I think you are glad it has 
 turned out what it is ! " 
 
 " I am not sorry," avowed the earl. " You'll let me cater for 
 you another time, Maude." 
 
 She put up her face to be kissed. " Don't be angry with me 
 now. Say a word of welcome to me. It is our coming home." 
 
 " Angry ! " he repeated, kissing her tenderly. " I have never 
 shown anger to you yet, Maude. Never a woman had a more 
 indulgent husband than you shall have in me." 
 
 " You don't say a loving one, Val ! " 
 
 " And a loving one also : if you will only let me be so." 
 
 " Let you be ! What do you mean ? " 
 
MADAM SHOWS A WILL. 
 
 221 
 
 " Love requires love in return. We shall be very happy, I 
 am sure, Maude, if you so will it. Only let us pull together ; 
 one mind between us, one interest. Here's your maid. I 
 wonder whether I have a dressing-room ? " 
 
 And thus they entered on the London season — what remained 
 of it. The newspapers announced the arrival of Lord and Lady 
 Hartledon, and her ladyship spelt it over with a glow of satis- 
 faction. She might have retained peace longer, however, had 
 that announcement not gone forth to the corners of the land. 
 
 " Only let us pull together ! " A very few days indeed sufficed 
 to dissipate that illusion. Lady Hartledon plunged madly into 
 all the gaieties of the almost exhausted season, as if her object 
 were to make up for lost time ; Lord Hartledon never felt less 
 inclined to plunge into anything, unless it was into the waters 
 of oblivion. He held back from some places, but she did not 
 appear to care, going on her way in a very positive off-hand 
 manner, according to her own will, and paying not the slightest 
 deference to his. 
 
222 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 On a burning day at the end of June tlie Earl of Hartledon was 
 walking towards the Temple. He had not yet sought out his 
 friend Thomas Carr : a sense of shame held him back ; but he 
 was on his way to do so now. 
 
 Turning down Essex Street and so to the left, he traversed 
 the courts and windings, and mounted the stairs to the bar- 
 rister's rooms. Many a merry hour had he passed in those 
 three small rooms, dignified with the name of " Mr. Carr's 
 chambers," but which were in fact also Mr. Carr's dwelling- 
 place — and some sad ones. 
 
 The earl knocked at the outer door with his stick — a some- 
 what faint, doubtful knock ; not with the free hand of a bold 
 nobleman who is at ease with himself and the world. For one 
 thing, he was uncertain as to the reception he should meet with. 
 
 Mr. Carr came to the door himself ; his clerk was out. When 
 he saw who was his visitor he stood in comic surprise. The 
 carl stepped in, extending his hand ; and it was heartily taken. 
 
 " You are not offended with me, then, Carr ? " 
 
 " Nay," said Mr. Carr, " I have no cause to be offended. Your 
 sin was not against me." 
 
 " Halt, Carr ; that's a strong word, ' sin.' " 
 
 "It is spoken," was the answer; "but I need not speak it 
 again. I don't intend to take up the quarrel against you. I 
 was not, I repeat, the injured j)arty." 
 
 " Yet you took yourself off in dudgeon, as though you were, 
 leaving me without a groomsman." 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 223 
 
 " I would not remain to witness a marriage that — that you 
 ought not to have entered upon." 
 
 " Well, it's done and over, and need not be brought up again," 
 returned the earl, a shade of annoyance in his tone. 
 
 " Certainly not. I have no wish or right to bring it up. 
 How is Lady Hartledon ? " 
 
 '^^She is very well. And now what has kept you away, Carr ? 
 We have been in London hard upon a fortnight, and you've 
 never been near me. I thought you were taking up the quarrel." 
 
 " I give you my word I did not know you had returned." 
 
 " Not know it ! Why, the newspapers took and put it in, 
 and called it ' fashionable intelligence.' " 
 
 " I didn't see it, then. I have more to do with my time than 
 to look at the fashionable portion of the papers. Not being 
 fashionable myself, it doesn't interest me." 
 
 "Yes, it's a fortnight, about, since we came back to this 
 hateful place," returned the earl, his light tone subsiding into 
 seriousness. " I am out of conceit with England just now ; I 
 would far rather have gone to the Antipodes." 
 
 " Then why did you come back to it ? " inquired the barrister, 
 in surprise. 
 
 " My wife gave me no choice. She possesses a will of her 
 own. It is the ordinary thing, perhaps, for wives to do so." 
 
 "Some do, and some don't," observed Thomas Carr, who 
 never flattered at the expense of truth, " Are you going down 
 to Hartledon ? " 
 
 "Hartledon!" retorted the earl, with a perceptible shiver. 
 " In the mind I am in, Carr, I shall never visit Hartledon again ; 
 there are some in its vicinity I would rather not insult by my 
 presence. Why do you bring up disagreeable subjects ? " 
 
 " You will have to get over that feeling," observed Mr. Carr, 
 disregarding the hint, and taking out his probing-knife. " And 
 the sooner it is got over the better for all parties. You cannot 
 bo an exile from your own place. Are they at Calne now ? " 
 
 The earl nodded. 
 
 " They were in Paris just before we left it, and there was 
 an encounter at Versailles. I wished myself dead ; I declare I 
 did. A day or two after we came to England they came, and 
 went straight on down to Calne. There — don't say any more/* 
 
224 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "The longer you keep away from Hartledon the greater 
 effort it will cost you to get down to it ; and " 
 
 " I won't go to Hartl6don," interrupted the earl, in a sort of 
 fury ; " neither perhaps would you, in my place." 
 
 " Sir," cried Mr. Carr's clerk, bustling in and addressing his 
 master, " you are waited for at the chambers of Serjeant Gale. 
 The consultation is on." 
 
 Lord Hartledon rose. 
 
 " I will not detain you, Carr ; business must be attended to. 
 Will you come and dine with us this evening ? Only me and 
 my wife. Here's where we are staying — Piccadilly. My own 
 house is let, you know." 
 
 " I have no engagement ; I will come with pleasure," said 
 Mr. Carr, taking the earl's card. " What hour ? " 
 
 "Ah, that's just what I can't tell you. Lady Hartledon 
 orders dinner to suit her engagements — any time between six 
 and nine ! I never know. We are a fashionable couple, don't 
 you see, Carr ? " added the earl, with a peculiar drawing-down 
 of his refined lips. 
 
 " Stay, though, Hartledon ; I forget. I have a business 
 appointment for half-past eight. Perhaps I can put it off." 
 
 " Come up for six. You'll be all right, then, whether or not." 
 
 The earl left the Temple, and sauntered towards home. He 
 had no engagement on hand — nothing to kill time. He and 
 his wife were falling naturally into the way of — as he had just 
 styled it, cynically — fashionable people. She went her way, 
 and he went his. 
 
 Many a cabman held up his hand or his whip ; but in the 
 earl's present mood walking was agreeable to him : why should 
 he go home at a canter, when he had nothing on earth to do 
 there? So he stared here and gazed there, and stopped to 
 speak to this acquaintance, and walked a few steps with that, 
 and went into his club for ten minutes, and arrived home some 
 time. 
 
 His wife's coroneted carriage — that coronet she had been so 
 sick to gain — was at the door waiting for her. She was bound 
 on an expedition to Chiswick : Lord Hartledon he^d declined it. 
 He met her hastening to the carriage as he entered, and she 
 was looking very cross. 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 225 
 
 " How late you are going, Maude ! " 
 
 " Yes, there lias been a mistake," she said, in a grumbling 
 tone, turning in with him to a small back-room that they used 
 as a breakfast-room. " I have been waiting all this time for 
 Lady Langton, and she, I find, has been waiting for me. I'm 
 going to drive round and take her up. Oh, I have secured that 
 opera-box, Yal. An extravagant price, though, considering the 
 little time that remains to us of the season." 
 
 " What opera-box ? " 
 
 " Didn't I tell you ? It's one I heard of yesterday. I was 
 not going again to the wretched little one they palmed you off 
 with. I did tell you that." 
 
 " It was the only one I could get, Maude : there was no 
 other choice." 
 
 "Yes, I know. Well, I have secured another now, and you 
 must not talk about extravagance, please." 
 
 " Very well," said Yal, with a smile. " For what hour have 
 you ordered dinner ? " 
 
 "Nine o'clock." 
 
 " Nine o'clock ! " he repeated ; " that's awkward — and late." 
 
 " How is it awkward ? You may have to wait for me even 
 then. It is impossible to say when we shall get home from 
 Chiswick. All the world will be there." 
 
 " I have just asked Carr to dine with us, and told him to 
 come at six. I don't fancy those hard-working men care to 
 wait so long for their dinner. And he has an appointment for 
 half-past eight o'clock." 
 
 The colour came flushing into Lady Hartledon's cheeks, an 
 angry light into her eyes. 
 
 " You have asked Carr to dinner ! How dared you ? " 
 
 Yal looked up in quiet amazement. 
 
 " Dared ! " 
 
 " Well— yes. Dared ! " 
 
 " I do not understand you, Maude. I suppose I may exercise 
 the right of inviting a friend to dinner." 
 
 " No ; not when it is objectionable to me. I dislike that man 
 Carr ; and I will not receive him." 
 
 " You can have no grounds for disliking him," returned the 
 earl, warmly. " He has been a good and true friend to me ever 
 
 Elster's Folly. 15 
 
226 
 
 elster's folly 
 
 since I knew what friendship meant; and he is a good and 
 true man." 
 
 "Too much of a friend," sarcastically spoke the countess. 
 " You don't need him now, and can drop him." 
 
 " Maude," said the earl, very quietly, " I have fancied several 
 times lately that you are a little mistaking me. I am not to 
 have a will of my own ; I am to bend in all things to yours ; 
 you are to be mistress and master, I a nonentity: is it not 
 so? This is a mistake. No woman ever had a better or 
 more indulgent husband than you shall find in me : but in all 
 necessary things, where it is needful and expedient that I 
 should exercise my own judgment, and act as master, I shall 
 do it." 
 
 She paused in very astonishment: the tone was so calmly 
 decisive. 
 
 " My dear, let us have no more of this ; something must have 
 vexed you to-day." 
 
 "We will have no more of it," she passionately retorted; 
 ^'^and ril have no more of your Thomas Carrs. It is not 
 right that you should bring a man here who has deliberately 
 insulted me. Be quiet, Lord Hartledon ; he has. What else 
 was it but an insult — his going out of the chapel in the manner 
 he did, when we were before the altar ? It was a plain, direct 
 intimation that he did not countenance the marriage. He 
 would have preferred, I suppose, that you should make a lady 
 of your country sweetheart, Anne Ash ton." 
 
 A hot flush rose to the earl's brow, but his tone was strangely 
 temperate. "I have already warned you, Maude, that we 
 shall do well to discard that name from our discussions, and 
 if possible from our thoughts; it may prove better for both 
 of us." 
 
 " Better for you, perhaps ; but you are not going to exercise 
 any control over my will, or speech, or action ; and so I tell 
 you at once. I'm quite old enough to be out of leading- 
 strings, and I'll be mistress in my own house. You will do 
 well to send a note to your amiable friend Carr; it may 
 save him a useless journey ; for at my table he shall not sit. 
 Now you know, Val." 
 
 She spoke impatiently, haughtily, and swept out to her 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 227 
 
 carriage. Val did not follow to place her in ; he positively 
 did not; he left her to the servants. Never in his whole 
 life perhaps had he felt so nettled, never so resolute: the 
 once vacillating, easily-persuaded man, when face to face 
 with people, was speedily finding the will he had only exercised 
 behind their backs. He rang the bell for Hedges. 
 
 " Her ladyship has ordered dinner for nine o'clock," he said, 
 when the butler appeared. 
 
 " I believe so, my lord." 
 
 "It will be inconvenient to me to wait so long to-day. 
 I shall dine at seven. You can lay it in this room, leaving 
 the dining-room for Lady Hartledon. Mr. Carr dines with 
 me." 
 
 So Hedges gave the necessary orders, and dinner was laid 
 for the earl in the breakfast-room. Thomas Carr came in, 
 bringing with him the news that he had succeeded in putting 
 off his appointment. Lord Hartledon received him in the 
 same room, fearing possibly the drawing-room might be invaded 
 by his wife. She was just as likely to be home early from 
 Chiswick as late. 
 
 " We have it to ourselves, Carr, and I am not sorry. There 
 was no certainty about my wife's return, so I thought we'd dine 
 alone." 
 
 They enjoyed their dinner together much ; as they had 
 enjoyed many a one in the earl's bachelor days. Thomas Carr 
 — one of the quiet, good men in a fast world — was an admirable 
 companion, full of intelligence and conversation. Hedges left 
 them alone after the cloth was removed, but in a very few 
 minutes returned ; his step rather more subdued than usual, as 
 if he came upon some secret mission. 
 
 "Here'^ that stranger come again, sir," he began, in low 
 tones ; and it may as well be remarked that in moments of 
 forgetfulness he often did address his present master as he 
 used to address him in the past. " He asked if " 
 
 " What stranger ? " rather testily interposed Lord Hartledon. 
 " I am at dinner ; I can't see any stranger now. What are you 
 thinking of. Hedges ? " 
 
 " It is what I said," returned Hedges ; " but he would not 
 take the answer. He said he had come a long way to see your 
 
228 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 lordship, and he would see you; that his business was very 
 
 important. My lady asked him " 
 
 " Has Lady Hartledon returned ? " 
 
 "She came in now, my lord, while I was denying you to 
 him. Her ladyship heard him say he would see you, and she 
 inquired what his business was ; but he did not tell her. It 
 was private business, he remarked, and could only be entered 
 into with your lordship." 
 
 " Who is it, Hedges ? Do you know him ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon had dropped his voice to a confidential tone. 
 Hedges was faithful, and had been privy to some of his 
 embarrassments in the old days. The man looked at the 
 barrister, and seemed to hesitate. 
 
 " Speak out. You can say anything before Mr. Carr." 
 
 " I don't know him," answered Hedges. " It is the gentleman 
 who came to Hartledon the week after your lordship's marriage, 
 asking five hundred questions, and wanting " 
 
 " He, is it ? " interrupted Val. " You told me about him 
 when I came home, I remember. Go on. Hedges." 
 
 " That's all, my lord. Except that he is outside here " — and 
 Hedges nodded his head towards the room-door. " He seems 
 very inquisitive. When my lady went upstairs, he asked 
 whether that was the countess, and remarked that she seemed 
 angry at his not telling her what his business was. He followed 
 her to the foot of the stairs to look after her. I never saw any 
 gentleman stare so." 
 
 Val played with his wine-glass, and pondered. "I don't 
 believe I owe a shilling in the world," quoth he — betraying the 
 bent of his thoughts, and speaking to no one in particular. " I 
 have squared-up every debt, so far as I know." 
 
 " He does not look like a creditor," observed Hedges, with 
 a fatherly air. " Quite superior to that : more like a parson. 
 It's his manner that makes one doubt. There was a mystery 
 in it at Hartledon that I didn't like ; and he refused to give 
 his name. His insisting on seeing your lordship now, at 
 dinner, or not at dinner, is odd too ; his voice all quiet, just as 
 if he possessed the right to do this. I didn't know what to do, 
 and he's in the hall." 
 
 "Show him in somewhere. Hedges. Lady Hartledon is 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 229 
 
 in the drawing-room I suppose : let him go into the dining- 
 room." 
 
 " Her ladyship's dinner is being laid there, my lord," dissented 
 the cautious retainer. " She said it was to be served as soon as 
 it was ready, having come home earlier than she expected." 
 
 " Deuce take it ! " testily responded Val, " one can't swing a 
 cat in these cramped hired houses. Show him into my smoking- 
 den upstairs." 
 
 " Let me go there," said Mr. Carr, " and you can receive him 
 in this room." 
 
 " No ; keep to your wine, Carr. He won't know the room's 
 kept for smoking, unless his nose tells him so. And what if he 
 does ? Take him there. Hedges." 
 
 The butler retired, and Lord Hartledon turned to his guest. 
 " Carr, can you give a guess at the fellow's business ? " 
 
 " It's nothing to trouble you. If you have overlooked any 
 old debt, you are able to give a cheque for it. But I should 
 rather suspect your persevering friend to be some clergyman, 
 or missionary, bent on drawing a good subscription from you." 
 
 Yal did not raise his eyes. He had gone back to the play 
 with his empty wine-glass, his face grave and perplexed. 
 
 "Do they serve writs in these cases, Carr?" he suddenly 
 asked. 
 
 Mr. Carr laughed. " Is the time so long gone by that you 
 have forgotten yours ? You have had some in your day." 
 
 " I am not thinking of debt, Carr : that is over for me. But 
 there's no denying that I behaved disgracefully to — you know — 
 and Dr. Ashton has good cause to be incensed. Can he be 
 bringing an action against me, and is this the notice of it ? " 
 
 " Nonsense," said Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Is it nonsense, though ! I'm sure I've heard of their dress- 
 ing-up these serving-officers as clergymen, to entrap the unwary. 
 Well, let it go that that's nonsense, if you like. What of my 
 suggestion in regard to Dr. Ashton ? " 
 
 Thomas .Carr paused to consider. That it was most improb- 
 able in all respects, he felt sure ; next door to impossible. 
 
 " The doctor is too respectable a man to do anything of the 
 sort," he answered. " He is high-minded, honourable, wealthy : 
 there's no inducement whatever. JVb." 
 
230 
 
 ELSTER*S FOLLY. 
 
 " Yes, there may be one : that of punishing me by bringing 
 my disgrace before the world." 
 
 " You forget that he would have to bring his daughter's name 
 before it at the same time. It is quite out of the range of prob- 
 ability. The Ashtons are not people to seek legal reparation 
 for this sort of injury. But for your fears blinding you, 
 Hartledon, you would never suspect them of being capable 
 of it." 
 
 That was very true. Lord Hartledon's conscience was too 
 suggestive just then. 
 
 " Besides — if you want confirmation that I am right — what 
 need had any emissary of Dr. Ashton's to be making inquiries 
 about you at Hartledon ? The doctor knew as much of your 
 movements as you did." 
 
 "The stranger is upstairs, my lord," interrupted Hedges, 
 coming back to the room. " I asked him what name, and he 
 said your lordship would know him when you saw him, and 
 there was no need to send it in." 
 
 The earl went upstairs, marshalled stiffly by the butler. 
 Hedges was resenting the mystery ; very much on his master's 
 account, a little on his own, for it cannot be denied that he was 
 given to curiosity. He threw open the door of the smoking- 
 den — one of those delectable apartments, nine feet square, look- 
 ing out upon a fine arena of leads — and in his loftiest, loudest, 
 and most uncompromising voice, made the introduction. 
 
 " The gentleman, my lord." 
 
 Then retired, and shut them in with a sharp click of the 
 latch. 
 
 Thomas Carr remained alone. He was not fond of wine, and 
 did not help himself during the earl's absence ; he waited his 
 return. Five minutes, ten minutes, half-an-hour, an hour ; and 
 still he was alone. At the end of the first half-hour, he began 
 to think Val a long time ; at the end of the hour he feared 
 something must have happened. Could he be quarrelling 
 with the mysterious stranger ? Could he have gone out ? 
 Could he 
 
 The door softly opened, and the earl came in. Was it the 
 earl? Thomas Carr rose from his chair in amazement and 
 dread. It was like the earl, but the earl with some awful terror 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 231 
 
 upon Mm. His face was of an ashy whiteness ; the veins of his 
 brow stood out ; his dry lips were drawn. 
 
 " Good Heavens, Hartledon ! " uttered Thomas Carr. " What 
 is it ? You look as if you had been accused of murder." 
 
 " I have been accused of it," gasped the earl : " of worse than 
 murder. Ay, and I have done it." 
 
 The words called up a strange confusion of ideas in the mind 
 of Thomas Carr. Worse than murder! Had he quarrelled 
 with the stranger ? had it come to blows ? and 
 
 " Hartledon, what is it ? " cried, he aloud. " I am beginning 
 to dream." 
 
 "Will you stand by me?" rejoined the earl, his voice 
 seeming to have changed into something curiously hollow. 
 " I have asked you before for trifles ; I ask you now in the 
 extremity of need. Will you stand by me, and aid me with 
 your advice ? " 
 
 "Y es," answered Mr. Carr, his excessive astonishment 
 
 causing the hesitation. " Where is your visitor ? " 
 
 " He is upstairs. He holds a fearful secret of mine, and has 
 me in his power. Do you come back with me, and combat with 
 him against its betrayal." 
 
 " A fearful secret 1 " was Thomas Carr's exclamation. " What 
 brings you with one ? " 
 
 The earl only groaned. " You will stand by me, Carr ; you 
 will come upstairs and do what you can for me ? " 
 
 " I am quite ready," replied Thomas Carr, with alacrity. " I 
 will stand by you now, as ever. But — I seem to be in a maze. 
 Is it a true charge ? " 
 
 " Yes, in so far as that But I had better tell you the 
 
 story," broke off the earl, wiping his brow. " I must tell it you 
 before you go upstairs." 
 
 He linked his arm within his friend's, and drew him to the 
 window. It was broad daylight still, but somewhat dusk there : 
 the window had the pleasure of reposing under the above- 
 mentioned leads, and was gloomy at noon. But Lord Hartledon 
 hesitated still. " Elster's folly ! " were the words mechanically 
 floating in the mind of Thomas Carr. 
 
 " It is an awful story, Carr ; very bad and wicked. You are 
 sure you'll stand by me ? " 
 
232 
 
 ELSTER'S FOLLY. 
 
 " I have promised you." 
 
 "I am in danger of — of — in short, that — person — upstairs 
 could have me apprehended to-night. I would not tell it you 
 but that I must, I must have advice, assistance ; and therefore 
 there's no help for it; but you'll start from me when you 
 hear it." 
 
 " I will stand by you, whatever it may be. If a man has ever 
 need of a friend, it must be in his extremity." 
 
 Lord Hartledon stood, shading his brow with his hand, his 
 elbow resting on a division of the window-panes, and whispered 
 a strange tale. Anything but coherent was it to the clear mind 
 of the barrister ; nevertheless, as he gathered one or two of its 
 points, he did start back, as Lord Hartledon had foretold, and 
 an exclamation of dismay burst from his lips. 
 
 " And you could marry — with this hanging over your head ! " 
 
 " Carr " 
 
 The butler came in with an interruption. 
 
 " My lady wishes to know whether your lordship is going out 
 with her to-night." 
 
 "No, no, not to-night," answered the earl, pointing to the 
 door for the man to make his exit. " It is of her I think, not 
 of myself," he murmured to Mr. Carr. 
 
 " And he " — the barrister pointed above to indicate the wait- 
 ing stranger — "threatens to have you apprehended on the 
 charge ? " 
 
 " I hardly know what he threatens. You must deal with him, 
 Carr ; I cannot. Let us go ; we are wasting time." 
 
 " I don't understand it now," said Mr. Carr — " excepting the 
 bare fact, which is frightful enough. I shall gather up the 
 details, I suppose, by degrees." 
 
 As they quitted the room to go upstairs Lady Hartledon came 
 out of the dining-room and crossed their path. Yery beautiful 
 she looked in her evening dress, with its profusion of lace and 
 its glittering jewels. She was deeply mortified at her husband's 
 bringing Mr. Carr to the house after what she had said ; and 
 most probably came out at the moment to confront them with 
 her haughty and disapproving face. However that might have 
 been, all other emotions gave place to surprise, when she saw 
 their faces, each bearing a livid look of fear. 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 233 
 
 " I hope you are well, Lady Hartledon," said Mr Carr. 
 
 She would not see the offered hand, but swept onwards with 
 a cold curtsey, stopping just a moment to speak to her husband. 
 
 " You are not going out with me, Lord Hartledon ? " 
 
 " I cannot to-night, Maude. Business is detaining me." 
 
 She swept onwards up the stairs, vouchsafing no other word. 
 They lingered a minute before following, to let her get into the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Poor Maude ! poor Maude ! What will become of her, if 
 this is brought home to me ? " 
 
 " And if it is not brought home to you — the fact remains the 
 same," said Mr. Carr, in his merciless truth. 
 
 " And our children, our children ! " groaned the earl, a hot 
 flush of dread arising in his white face. 
 
 Mr. Carr said something abruptly ; it sounded like " You must 
 not have children." Whatever it was, Lord Hartledon shivered. 
 
 " Too late, Carr ; too late." 
 
 They shut themselves in with the stranger, and the confer- 
 ence was renewed. Presently lights were rung for ; those agree- 
 able leads did not help to brighten the evening twilight. 
 Hedges brought them himself; but he gained nothing by the 
 movement ; for Mr. Carr heard him coming, and rose, unbidden, 
 to take them from him at the door. 
 
 Lady Hartledon's curiosity was excited. It had been aroused 
 a little by the stranger himself ; secondly, by their scared faces ; 
 thirdly, by this close conference. 
 
 " Who is that strange gentleman. Hedges ? " she asked, from 
 the drawing-room, as the butler descended. 
 
 " I don't know, my lady." 
 
 " What is his name ? " 
 
 " I have not heard it, my lady." 
 
 " He looks like a clergyman." 
 
 " Yes he does, my lady." 
 
 Apparently Hedges was impenetrable, and she allowed him 
 to go down. Her curiosity was very much excited ; it may be 
 said, uneasily excited ; there is no accounting for these instincts 
 that come over us, shadowing forth a vague sense of dread. 
 Although engaged out that night to more than one place. Lady 
 Hartledon lingered on in the drawing-room. 
 
234 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 They came out of the room at last and passed the drawing- 
 room door. She held it to, only peeping out of it when they 
 had gone by. There was nothing to hear ; they were talking 
 of ordinary matters. The stranger, in his strong Scotch accent, 
 remarked what a hot day it had been. In travelling, no doubt 
 very, responded Mr. Carr. Lady Hartledon condescended to 
 put her head over the balustrades cautiously. There was no 
 bell rung ; Lord Hartledon showed his visitor out himself. 
 
 "And now for these criminal law books, Carr, that bear 
 upon the case," he said, returning from the front-door, 
 
 " I must go down to my chambers for them." 
 
 " I know they can't bring it home to me ; I know they can't ! " 
 he exclaimed, in so painfully eager a tone as to prove to Lady 
 Hartledon's ears that he thought they could, whatever the matter 
 might be. " I'll go with you, Carr ; this uncertainty is killing me." 
 
 " There's little uncertainty about it, I fear," was the grave 
 reply. " You had better look the worst in the face." 
 
 They went out, intending to hail the first cab. Very much 
 to Lord Hartledon's surprise, he saw his wife's carriage waiting 
 at the door, the impatient horses chafing at their delay. What 
 could have detained her ? " Wait for me one moment, Carr," 
 he said. " Stop a cab if you see one." 
 
 He dashed up to the drawing-room ; his wife was coming forth 
 then, her cloak and gloves on, her fan in her hand. " Maude, 
 my darling," he exclaimed, " what has kept you ? Surely you 
 have not waited for me ? — you did not misunderstand me ? " 
 
 " I hardly know what has kept me," she evasively answered. 
 " It is late, but I'm going now." 
 
 It never occurred to Lord Hartledon that she had been watch- 
 ing or listening. He would have been incapable of any mean- 
 ness of the sort, and did not suspect it in another. Lady 
 Hartledon's fertile brain had been suggesting to her a solution 
 of this mystery. It was rather curious, perhaps, that her sus- 
 picions should have taken the same bent that the earl's did at 
 first — the instituting of law-proceedings by Dr. Ashton. 
 
 She said nothing. She took her husband's arm, and he led 
 her out, placed her in the carriage, and saw it drive away. 
 Then he and the barrister got into a cab and went to the 
 Temple. 
 
THE STRANGER^S VISIT. 
 
 235 
 
 " We'll take the books home with us, Carr," he said, feverishly. 
 " You often have fellows dropping in to your chambers at 
 night ; at my house we shall be secure from interruption." 
 
 It was midnight when Lady Hartledon returned home. She 
 asked after her husband, and heard that he was in the breakfast- 
 room with Mr. Carr. 
 
 She went towards it with a stealthy step, and opened the door 
 very softly. Had the earl not been talking, they might, how- 
 ever, have heard her. The table was strewed with books, thick 
 musty folios ; but they appeared to be done with, and Mr. Carr 
 was leaning back in his chair with folded arms. 
 
 " I have had nothing but worry all my life," Val was saying ; 
 "but, compared with this, whatever has gone before was as 
 nothing, nothing. When I think of Maude, I feel as if I should 
 go mad." 
 
 " You must quietly separate from her," said Mr. Carr. 
 " Don't, Carr ! She is with child." 
 
 " It's a shocking thing altogether," resumed Mr. Carr, after a 
 pause. " And if I urge decisive measures, it is for her sake. 
 If " 
 
 A slight movement. Mr. Carr stopped, and the earl looked 
 round. Lady Hartledon was close behind him. 
 
 " Percival, what is the matter ? " she asked, turning her back 
 on Mr. Carr, as if ignoring his presence. "What bad news 
 did that parson bring to you? — a friend, I presume, of Dr. 
 Ashton's." 
 
 They had both risen. Lord Hartledon glanced at Mr. Carr, 
 the perspiration breaking out on his brow. " It — it was not a 
 parson," he said, in his innate adherence to truth. 
 
 " I ask you. Lord Hartledon," she resumed, having noted the 
 silent appeal to Mr. Carr. " It requires not a third person to 
 step between man and wife. Will you come upstairs with me ? " 
 
 The words and manner were too pointed, and Mr. Carr 
 hastily stacked the books, and carried them to a side-table. 
 
 "Allow these to remain here until to-morrow," he said to 
 the earl; "I'll send my clerk for them. I'm off now; it's 
 later than I thought. Good night. Lady Hartledon." 
 
 He went out unmolested; Lady Hartledon did not answer 
 him ; the earl nodded his good night. 
 
236 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Are you not ashamed to face me, Lord Hartledon ? " she 
 then demanded. " I overheard what you were saying." 
 
 " Overheard what we were saying ? " he repeated, gazing at 
 her with a scared look. 
 
 " I heard that insidious man give you strange advice — ' you 
 must quietly separate from Tier^' he said; meaning from me. 
 And you listened patiently, and did not knock him down ! " 
 
 " Maude ! Maude ! was that all you heard ? " 
 
 " All! I should think it was enough." 
 
 " Yes, but " He broke ofif. He seemed so agitated as 
 
 not to know what he was saying. Rallying himself somewhat, 
 he laid his hand upon the white cloak as it covered her 
 shoulders. 
 
 " Do not judge him harshly, Maude. Indeed he is a true 
 friend to you and to me. And I have need of one just now." 
 
 " A true friend ! — to advise that ! I never heard of anything 
 so monstrous. You must be out of your mind." 
 
 " No, I am not, Maude. Should — disgrace " — he seemed to 
 have hesitated for a word — " fall upon me, it must touch you 
 as connected with me. I hiow^ Maude, that he was thinking of 
 your best and truest interests." 
 
 " But to talk of separating husband and wife ! " 
 
 " Yes — well — I suppose he spoke strongly in the heat of the 
 moment." 
 
 There was a pause. Lord Hartledon had his hand still on 
 his wife's shoulder, but his eyes were bent on the table near 
 which they stood. She was waiting for him to speak. 
 
 " Won't you tell me what has happened ? " 
 
 " I can't tell you, Maude, to-night," he answered, the great 
 drops coming out again on his face at the question, and know- 
 ing all the time that he should never tell her. "I— I must 
 learn more first." 
 
 " You spoke of disgrace," she observed gently, swaying her 
 fan before her by its silken cord. " An ugly word." 
 
 " It is. Heaven help me ! " 
 
 " Yal, I do think you are the greatest simpleton under the 
 skies ! " she exclaimed, out of all patience, and flinging his 
 hand off. " It's time you got rid of this foolish sensitiveness. 
 I know what is the matter quite well; and it's not so very 
 
THE stranger's VISIT. 
 
 237 
 
 much of a disgrace after all! Those Ashtons are going to 
 make you pay publicly for your folly. Let them do it." 
 
 He had opened his lips to undeceive her, but stopped in time. 
 As a drowning man catches at a straw, so did he catch at this 
 suggestion in his hopeless despair; and he suffered her to 
 remain in it. Anything to stave off the real, dreadful truth. 
 
 " Maude," he rejoined, " it is for your sake. If I am sensitive 
 as to any — any disgrace being brought home to me, I declare 
 that I think of you more than of myself." 
 
 " Then don't think of it. It will be fun for me, rather than 
 anything else. I did not imagine the Ashtons would have 
 done it, though. I wonder what damages they'll go in for. 
 Oh, Yal, I should like to see you in the witness-box ! " 
 
 He did not answer; standing back there against the side- 
 table, and rattling dreamily the money in his side-pockets. 
 
 " And it was not a parson ? " she continued. " I'm sure he 
 looked as much like one as old Ashton himself. A professional 
 man, then, I suppose, Val ? " 
 
 "Yes, a professional man." But even that little answer 
 was given with some hesitation, as if it had evasion in it. 
 
 Maude broke into a laugh. " Your friend. Pleader Carr — or 
 whatever he calls himself — must be as thin-skinned as yourself, 
 Val, to fancy that a rubbishing action of that sort, brought 
 against a husband, can reflect disgrace on the wife ! Separate, 
 indeed! Has he lived in a wood all his life? Well, I am 
 going upstairs." 
 
 " A moment yet, Maude ! You will take a caution from me, 
 won't you ? Don't speak of this ; don't allude to it, even to me. 
 It may be arranged yet, you know." 
 
 " So it may," acquiesced Maude. " Let your friend Carr see 
 the doctor, and offer to pay the damages down." 
 
 He might have resented this speech for Dr. Ashton's sake, at 
 a happier moment, but resentment had been beaten out of him 
 now. And Lady Hartledon decided that her husband was a 
 simpleton, for instead of going to sleep like a reasonable man, 
 he was tossing and turning by her side until daybreak. 
 
238 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A SECRET CARE. 
 
 From that hour Lord Hartledon was a changed man. He went 
 about as one who has some awful fear upon him, starting at 
 shadows. That his manner was inexplicable, even allowing 
 that he had some great crime on his conscience, a looker-on 
 had not failed to observe. He was very tender with his wife ; 
 far more so than he had been at all ; anxious, as it seemed, to 
 indulge her every fancy, to gratify her every whim. But when 
 it came to going into society with her, then he hesitated ; he 
 would and he wouldn't, putting Maude in mind of his old 
 vacillation, which indeed had seemed to have been laid aside 
 for ever. It was as if he did not seem to know what to do ; 
 what he ought to do ; his own wish or inclination appeared to 
 have no part in it. 
 
 " Why won't you go with me ? " she said to him in temper, 
 one day that he had retracted his assent at the last moment. 
 " Is it that you care so much for Anne Ashton, that you don't 
 care to be seen with me ? " 
 
 "Oh, Maude! — care for Anne Ashton! If you knew how 
 little she is in my thoughts now! When by chance I do 
 think of her, it is to be thankful I did not marry her," he 
 added, in a tone of self-communing. 
 
 Maude laughed a light laugh. " This movement of theirs is 
 putting you out of conceit of your old love, is it, Val ? " 
 
 " What movement ? " he rejoined ; and he would not have 
 asked the question but that his thoughts had gone wool- 
 gathering. 
 
 " You are dreaming, Val. The action." 
 
 " Ah, yes, to be sure." 
 
A SECRET CARE. 
 
 239 
 
 " Have you heard yet what damages they claim ? " 
 
 He shook his head. " You promised not to speak of this, 
 Maude ; even to me." 
 
 " Who is to help speaking of it, when you allow it to take 
 your ease away ? I never saw any one so changed in my life as 
 you are. I wish the thing was over and done with, though it 
 left you a few thousand pounds the poorer. Will you go with 
 me to this dinner to-day. I am sick of appearing alone and 
 making excuses for you." 
 
 " I wish I knew what was best to do — what my course ought 
 to be ! " thought the earl within his conscience. " I can't hear 
 for her to be seen with me. When I face people with her on 
 my arm, it seems as if they knew what sort of a man she, in her 
 unconsciousness, is leaning upon." 
 
 " I'll go with you to-day, Maude, as you press it. I was to 
 have seen Mr. Carr, but I can send down to him." 
 
 " Then dress yourself, and don't be five minutes over it : it is 
 time we went." 
 
 She heard him despatch a footman to the Temple with a 
 message that he should not be at Mr. Carr's chambers that 
 evening ; and she lay back in her chair, waiting for him in her 
 dinner-dress of black and white. They were in mourning still 
 for the late earl. Lord Hartledon had not left it off, and Maude 
 had loved him too well to grumble at the delay. 
 
 She had grown tolerant in regard to the intimacy with Mr. 
 Carr. That her husband should escape as soon and as favourably 
 as possible out of the dilemma in which he was plunged, she 
 naturally wished ; that he should require legal advice and 
 assistance to accomplish it, was only reasonable, and therefore 
 she winked, so to say, at the visits of Mr. Carr. She had even 
 gone the length one evening of sending some tea in for them 
 when he and Yal were closeted together. 
 
 But still Lady Hartledon was not quite prepared to find Mr. 
 Carr at their house when they returned. She and Lord Hartle- 
 don went forth to the dinner ; the latter comporting himself 
 more as though his wits were in some far-off hemisphere, rather 
 than in this one, so absent-minded was he. From the dinner 
 they proceeded to another place or two ; and on getting home, 
 towards one in the morning, there was the barrister. 
 
240 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Mr. Carr is waiting to see you, my lord," said Hedges, meet- 
 ing them in the passage. " He is in the dining-room." 
 " Mr. Carr ! Now ! " 
 
 The light from the hall-lamp shone full on the earl's face as 
 he spoke. He had been momentarily forgetting care ; had been 
 speaking gaily to his wife as they entered. She saw the change 
 that came over it ; the look of fear, of apprehension, that re- 
 placed its smile. He went into the dining-room, and she 
 followed him. 
 
 " Why, Carr ! " he exclaimed. " Is it you ? " 
 
 Mr. Carr, bowing to the countess, made a joke of the matter. 
 " As I had waited so long, I thought I'd wait the rest, Hartle- 
 don. As good be hung for a sheep as a lamb, you know, and I 
 have no wife sitting up at home." 
 
 " You had my message ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that brought me here. I wanted just to say a word 
 to you, as I am going out of town to-morrow." 
 " What will you take ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all. Hedges has been making me some munifi- 
 cently hospitable offers, but I declined them. I never take 
 anything after dinner, except a cup of tea, or so, as you may 
 remember, keeping a clear head for work in the morning." 
 
 There was a slight pause. Lady Hartledon saw of course 
 that she was de trop in the conference ; that Mr. Carr would not 
 speak his " word " whilst she was present. She had never 
 understood why the matter should be kept apart from her ; and 
 in her heart resented it. 
 
 " You won't say to my husband before me what you have 
 come to say, Mr. Carr." 
 
 It was strictly the truth, but the abrupt manner of bringing 
 it home to him momentarily took away Mr. Carr's power of 
 repartee, although he was apt enough at it in general, as became 
 a special pleader. 
 
 " You have had news from the Ashtons ; that is, of their 
 cause, and you have come to tell it. I don't see why you and 
 Lord Hartledon should be so cautious to keep everything from 
 me. 
 
 There was an eager look on Lord Hartledon's face as he 
 stood behind his wife. It was directed to Mr. Carr, and said 
 
A SECRET CARE. 
 
 241 
 
 as plainly as look can say, "Don't undeceive her; keep up 
 the delusion." But Thomas Carr was not so apt at keeping 
 up delusions at the expense of truth, and he only smiled at the 
 countess. 
 
 " How much damages are they suing for ? " 
 
 " Oh," said Mr. Carr, with a laugh, and ready enough now 
 " ten thousand pounds will cover it." 
 
 " Ten thousand pounds ! " she echoed, her ear catching the 
 sum. " I hope they have a conscience ! Of course they won't 
 get half of it. In this sort of action — breach of promise — 
 parties never get so much as they ask for, do they ? " 
 
 " Not often." 
 
 She laughed a little as she quitted the room. In good 
 manners she could not remain longer, and it never occurred to 
 her to suspect that any graver matter than this action was in 
 question. 
 
 "Now, Carr?" began Lord Hartledon, seating himself near 
 the table as he closed the door after her, and speaking in low 
 tones. 
 
 " I received this letter by the afternoon mail," said Mr. Carr, 
 taking one from the safe enclosure of his pocket-book. " It is 
 satisfactory, so far as it goes." 
 
 "I call it very satisfactory," returned the earl, glancing 
 through it. " I thought he'd listen to reason. What is done 
 cannot be undone, and exposure will answer no end whatever. 
 I wrote him an urgent letter the other day, begging him to be 
 silent for Maude's sake. Were I to expiate the past with my 
 life, it could not undo it. If he brought me to the bar of my 
 country to plead guilty or not guilty, the past would remain 
 the same." 
 
 " And I put the matter to him in my letter somewhat in the 
 same light, though in a more business-like point of view," 
 returned Mr. Carr. " There was no entreaty in mine. I left 
 compassion, whether for you or for others, out of the argument ; 
 and said to him, what will you gain by exposure, and how will 
 you reconcile it to your conscience to inflict on innocent persons 
 the torture that such exposure must bring ? " 
 
 " Carr, I shall breathe freely now," said the earl, with a sigh 
 of relief. " If that man gives his word not to stir in the 
 
 Elster's Folly. 16 
 
242 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 matter, not to take proceedings against me, in sliort, to bury 
 what lie knows in secrecy and silence, as lie has hitherto buried 
 it, it will be all I can hope for." 
 Mr. Carr lifted his eyebrows. 
 
 " I perceive what you think : that the fact remains. Carr, I 
 know it as well as you ; I know that nothing can alter it. Don't 
 you see that remorse is ever present with me ? driving me mad ? 
 killing me with its pain ? " 
 
 " Do you know what I should be tempted to do, were the case 
 mine ? " rejoined Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 " Tell my wife." 
 
 " Carr ! " 
 
 " I almost think I should ; I am not quite sure. Should the 
 shock ever come upon her " 
 
 " But I trust it never will come upon her," interrupted the 
 earl, his face growing hot. 
 
 "Well, it's a delicate point to argue," acknowledged Mr. 
 Carr, " and I cannot hope to bring you into my way of looking 
 at it. Had y >u married Miss Ashton, it appears to me that 
 you would have had no resource but to tell : the very fact 
 of being bound to you would kill a religious, high-principled 
 woman." 
 
 " Not if she remained in ignorance." 
 
 " There it is. Ought she to remain in ignorance ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon leaned his head on his hand as one faint 
 and weary. " Carr, it is of no use to go over all this ground 
 again. If I disclosed the whole to Maude, how would it make 
 it better for her? Would it not render it a hundred times 
 worse ? She could not inform against me ; it would be con- 
 trary to human nature to suppose it ; and all the result would 
 be, that she must go through life with the awful secret upon 
 her, rendering her days a hell, as it is rendering mine. It's 
 true she might separate herself from me ; I dare say she 
 would ; but what satisfaction would that bring her ? No ; the 
 kinder course is to allow her to remain in ignorance. Good 
 Heavens, Carr ! tell my wife ! I should never dare do it ! " 
 
 Mr. Carr made no reply, and there ensued a pause. In truth, 
 the matter was encompassed with difficulties on all sides : and. 
 
A SECRET CARE. 
 
 243 
 
 the barrister could but acknowledge tliat the earl's argument 
 had some sort of reason in it. Having bound her to himself by 
 marriage, it might be right that he should study her happiness 
 above all things. 
 
 "It has put new life into me," Val resumed, pointing to 
 the letter. "N'ow that he has promised to keep the secret, 
 there's little fear ; and I know that he will keep his word. I 
 must bear the burden as I best can, and keep a smiling face to 
 the world." 
 
 " Did you read the postscript ? " asked Mr. Carr ; a feeling 
 coming over him that Yal had not read it. 
 " The postscript ? " 
 
 "There's a line or two over the leaf; at the back of the 
 letter." 
 
 The earl glanced at it, and found it run thus : 
 " You must be aware that there's another person who knows 
 of this besides myself. He who was a witness at the time, and 
 from whom I heard the particulars. Of course for him I 
 cannot answer, and I think he is in England. I allude to G. G. 
 Lord H. will know." 
 
 **Lord H." apparently did know. He gazed down at the 
 words with a knitted brow, in which some surprise was 
 mingled. 
 
 " I declare that I understood him that night to say the fellow 
 had died. Did you ? " 
 
 " I did," acquiesced Mr. Carr. " I certainly assumed it as 
 a fact, until this letter came to-day. Gordon was the name, I 
 think?" 
 
 " George Gordon." 
 
 " Since reading the letter I have been endeavouring to 
 recollect exactly what he did say ; and the impression on 
 my mind is, that he spoke of Gordon as being probably dead ; 
 not that he knew it for a certainty. How I could overlook 
 the point so as not to have inquired into it more fully, I 
 cannot imagine. But, you see, we were not discussing details 
 that night, or questioning facts: we were trying to disarm 
 him — to get him not to proceed against you ; and lor myself^ I 
 confess 1 was so utterly stunned that three parts of my wits 
 had left me " 
 
244 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " What is to be done ? " 
 
 " We must endeavour to ascertain wliere Gordon is," replied 
 Mr. Carr, as he re-enclosed the letter in his pocket-book. " I'll 
 write and inquire what his grounds are for saying this — 
 think he is in England ; ' and then trace him out — if he is to be 
 traced. You give me carte-blanche to act ? " 
 
 " You know I do, Carr." 
 
 " All right." 
 
 " And when you have traced him — what then ? " 
 
 " That's an after-question, and I must be guided by circum- 
 stances. And now I'll wish you good night," continued the 
 barrister, rising. " It's a shame to have kept you up ; but the 
 letter does contain some consolation, and I knew I could not 
 bring it to you to-morrow." 
 
 The drawing-room was lighted when Lord Hartledon went 
 uptairs ; and his wife sat there with a book, as if she meant to 
 remain up all night. She put it down as he entered. 
 
 " Are you here still, Maude ! I thought you were so tired 
 when you came home." 
 
 " I felt tired because I met nobody I cared for," she answered, 
 in rather a fractious tone. " Every one we know is leaving 
 town, or has left." 
 
 " Yes, that's true." 
 
 " I shall leave too. I don't mind if we go to-morrow." 
 
 " To-morrow ! " he echoed. " Why, we have the house on foi 
 three weeks longer." 
 
 "And what if we have? We are not obliged to remain 
 in it." 
 
 The earl drew back the white-lace curtain, and stood leaning 
 out at the open window, seeking a breath of air that hot 
 summer's night, though indeed there was none to be felt ; 
 and if there had been, it could not have cooled the brow's 
 inward fever. The Park lay before him, rather misty; the 
 lights of the different vehicles passing gleamed athwart now 
 and again; the hum of life was abroad still in the streets, 
 of men's free steps, of careless voices. He looked down, 
 and wondered whether any one of those men knew what care 
 meant as he knew it ; whether the awful skeleton, that never 
 quitted him by night or day, could hold such place by another. 
 
A SECRET CARE. 
 
 245 
 
 He was the Earl of Hartledon; he was wealthy; he was 
 young; he was handsome; he had no bad habits to hamper 
 him ; he was eminently attractive : and yet he would willingly 
 have changed lots at hazard with any one of those passers- 
 by, could his breast, by so doing, have been eased of its 
 load. 
 
 " What are you looking at, Val ? " 
 
 His wife had come up and stolen her arm within his, as she 
 asked the question, looking out too. 
 
 " Not at anything in particular," he replied, making a prisoner 
 of her hand, and gently stroking it as he held it between both 
 his. " The night's hot, Maude." 
 
 " Oh, Val, I am getting so tired of London ! " she exclaimed. 
 " It is always hot now • and do you know I believe I ought to 
 be away from it." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "That letter I had this morning was from Ireland, from 
 mamma. I had told her, when I wrote last, how I felt ; and 
 you never read such a lecture as she gave me in return. She 
 asked me whether I was mad, that I should be going galvanizing 
 about when I ought rather to be lying down three parts of my 
 time." 
 
 " Galvanizing ? " said the earl. 
 
 " It was what she wrote : she never waits to choose her words 
 — you know mamma ! I suppose she meant it to imply that I 
 was always on the move." 
 
 " Do you feel ill, Maude ? " 
 
 " I don't feel exactly ill ; but — I believe I ought to take care. 
 Percival," she breathed, bending her cheek down upon her 
 husband's shoulder, " mamma asked me whether I was trying 
 to destroy the hope of an heir to Hartledon." 
 
 An ice-bolt shot through him at the reminder. Better that 
 an heir to Hartledon should never be born, if it must call him 
 father ! 
 
 " I fainted to-day, Val," she continued to whisper. 
 
 He passed his arm round his wife's waist, and drew her 
 closer to him. Not upon her ought he to visit his sin : she 
 might have enough to bear, without coldness from him ; rather 
 should he be doubly tender. 
 
246 
 
 ELSTER'S FOLLY. 
 
 " You did not tell me of it, love." 
 
 " It was after I had been to the Botanical Gardens with those 
 people. I felt very tired when I came in, and was taking off my 
 bonnet, and I remember nothing more. Clotilde said I had 
 fainted. She went down to look for you, but you had gone out. 
 Altogether, I suppose I ought to get away from London and be 
 quiet." 
 
 " Why did you go out this evening ? " he asked reproachfully. 
 " It has not hurt me," she said, nestling closer to him. 
 Indeed, I will take care, for your sake. I should never forgive 
 myself." 
 
 " I have thought since we married, Maude, that you did not 
 much care for me." 
 
 She made no immedia'te answer. She was looking out straight 
 before her, her head still on his shoulder ; and Lord Hartledon 
 saw the tears glistening in her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, I do," she said at length ; and as she spoke she felt 
 very conscious that she was caring for him. His gentle kind- 
 ness, his many attractions were beginning to tell upon her 
 heart ; and a vision of the possible future, when she should 
 love him steadily and devotedly, crossed her then and there as 
 she stood. Lord Hartledon bent his face, and let it rest on 
 hers. 
 
 " We shall be happy amidst the happy yet, Val ; and I will 
 be as good as gold. To begin with, we will leave London, 
 leave at once. I ought not to remain, and I know you have not 
 liked it all along. It would have been better to wait until 
 next year, when we could have had our own house ; only I was 
 impatient. I felt so proud of being married ; of being your 
 wife — I did indeed, Yal — and I was in a fever for us to come 
 and show ourselves amidst my world of friends. And there's 
 all the truth, and a real confession ! " she concluded, laughing. 
 
 " Any more ? " he asked, laughing with her. 
 
 " I don't remember any more just now. And which day shall 
 we go ? I'll let you manage things for me now : I won't be 
 headstrong again. Shall the servants go on first to Hartledon, 
 or with us ? " 
 
 " To Hartledon ! " exclaimed the earl. " Is it to Hartledon 
 you are thinking of going ? " 
 
A SECRET CARE. 
 
 247 
 
 " Of course it is," slie said, standing up and looking at him 
 in surprise. " Where else should I go ? " 
 
 " I thought you wished to go to Germany ! " 
 
 " And so I did ; but that would not do now. It might make 
 me ill." 
 
 " Let us go to the seaside, Maude,'' he rather eagerly said. 
 " Somewhere in England." 
 
 " No, I would rather go to Hartledon. In one's own home 
 rest and comfort can be insured ; and I believe I require them. 
 Don't you wish to go to Hartledon ? " she added, watching his 
 perplexed face. 
 
 " No, I don't. The truth is, Maude, I cannot go to Hartledon." 
 
 " Is it because you do not care to face the Ashtons ? I see ! 
 You would like to have this business settled first." 
 
 Lord Hartledon hardly heard the words. He was leaning 
 now against the side of the window, apparently counting the 
 cabs that passed in the road. No man ever shrank from a 
 prison as he shrank from Hartledon. 
 
 "I cannot leave London at all just yet. Thomas Carr is 
 remaining in it for me, when he ought to be on circuit, and I 
 must stay with him. I wish you would go anywhere else, rather 
 than to Hartledon." 
 
 The tone was so painfully earnest, that a momentary suspicion 
 crossed her of his having some other motive. It passed away 
 almost as it arose, and she accused him of being unreasonable. 
 
 Unreasonable it did indeed appear to be. " If you have any 
 real reason to urge against Hartledon, say it out," she said. 
 But he mentioned none — save that it was his " wish " not to go. 
 
 And Lady Hartledon, rather piqued, gave the necessary orders 
 on the following day for the removal. No further confidential 
 converse, or approach to it, took place between her and her 
 husband ; but up to the last moment she thought he would 
 relent and accompany her. Nothing of the sort. He was most 
 anxious for her every comfort on the journey, gave Hedges and 
 her maid no end of cautions, and saw her off himself: nothing 
 more. 
 
 "I never thought you would allow me to go alone," she 
 resentfully whispered, as he held her hand after she was seated 
 in the train. 
 
248 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 He shook his head. " It is your fault, Maude. I told you 
 I could not go to Hartledon." 
 
 And so she went down in rather an angry frame of mind. 
 Many a time and oft had she pictured to herself the triumph 
 of their first visit to Calne, the place where she had taken so 
 much pains to win him : but the arrival was certainly shorn of 
 its glory ; the gilt had been taken off the gingerbread. 
 
( 249 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIL 
 
 ASKING THE RECTOK. 
 
 Perhaps Lady Hartledon had never in all her life been so 
 much astonished as when she reached Hartledon, for the first 
 person she saw was her mother: her mother, whom she had 
 believed to be in some remote district of Ireland. For the 
 moment she almost wondered whether it was really herself or 
 her ghost. The countess-dowager came flying down the steps 
 — if that term may be applied to one of her age and build — 
 with rather demonstrative affection; which, however, was not 
 cordially received. 
 
 " What's the matter, Maude ? How you stare ! " 
 
 " Is it you, mamma ? How can it be you ? " 
 
 " How can it be me ? " returned the dowager, giving Maude's 
 bonnet a few loud kisses. " It is me, and that's enough. My 
 goodness, Maude, how thin you look ! I see what it is ! you've 
 been killing yourself in that racketing London. It's well I've 
 come to take care of you." 
 
 Maude went in, feeling that she could have taken care of 
 herself, and listening to the off-hand explanation of the countess- 
 dowager. " Kirton offended me," she said. " He and his wife 
 are like two bears ; and so I packed up my things and came 
 away at once, and got here straight from Liverpool. And now 
 you know." 
 
 " And is Lady Kirton quite well again ? " asked Maude, help- 
 lessly, knowing that she could not turn her mother out. 
 
 " She'd be well enough but for her temper. She was ill, 
 though, when they telegraphed for me ; her life for three days 
 and nights hanging on a shred. I told that fool of a Kirton 
 before he married her that she had no constitution. I suppose 
 
250 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 you and Hart were finely disa23pointed to find I was not in 
 London wlien you got there." 
 
 " Agreeably disappointed, I think," said Maude, languidly. 
 
 " Indeed ! It's civil of you to say so." 
 
 " On account of the smallness of the house," added Maude, 
 endeavouring to be polite. " We hardly knew how to do with 
 it ourselves, mamma." 
 
 " You wrote me word to take it. As to me, I can accommodate 
 myself to any space. Where there's plenty of room, I take 
 plenty; where's there's not, I can put up with a closet. I 
 have made Mirrable give me my old rooms here : you of course 
 take Hart's now." 
 
 " I am very tired," said Maude. " 1 think I will have some 
 tea, and go to bed." 
 
 " Tea ! " shrieked the dowager. " 1 have not yet had dinner. 
 And it's waiting ; that's more." 
 
 " You can dine without me, mamma," she said, walking 
 upstairs to the new rooms. The dowager stared, and followed 
 her. There was an indescribable something in Maude's 
 manner that she did not like ; it spoke of incipient rebellion, 
 of an influence that had been, but was now cast off. If 
 she lost caste once with Maude, she knew that she lost it 
 for ever. 
 
 "You could surely take a little tiny bit of dinner, dear! 
 You must keep up your strength, you know." 
 
 "Not any dinner; thank you. I shall be all right to- 
 morrow, when I've slept off my fatigue." 
 
 " Well, I know I should like mine," grumbled the countess- 
 dowager, feeling that her position in the house was already 
 altered from what it had been during her former sojourn, when 
 she assumed fall authority, and ordered things as she pleased, 
 completely ignoring the new lord. 
 
 " You can have it," said Maude. 
 
 " They won't serve it until Hart arrives," was the aggrieved 
 answer. "I suppose he's walking up fi-om the station. He 
 always had a queer habit of doing that." 
 
 Maude lifted her eyes in slight surprise. Her sole arrival 
 was a matter of fact so established to herself, that it sounded 
 strange for any one else to be in ignorance of it. 
 
ASKING THE EECTOR. 
 
 251 
 
 " Lord Hartledon has not come down. He is remaining in 
 London." 
 
 The old dowager peered at Maude through her little eyes. 
 " What's that for?" 
 " Business, I believe." 
 
 " Don't tell me an untruth, Maude. You have quarrelled." 
 " We have not quarrelled. We are perfectly good friends." 
 " And you mean to tell me that he sent you down alone ? " 
 " He sent the servants with me." 
 
 " Don't be insolent, Maude. You know what I mean." 
 
 " Why, mamma, I do not wish to be insolent. I can't tell 
 you more, or tell it differently. Lord Hartledon did not come 
 down with me, and the servants did." 
 
 She spoke tartly. In her tired condition the petty conversa- 
 tion was wearying her ; and, underlying everything else in her 
 heart, was the mortifying consciousness that he had not come 
 home with her, chafing her temper almost beyond repression. 
 Considering that Maude did not profess to love her husband 
 ver}^ much, it was astonishing how keenly she felt this. 
 
 " Are you and Hart upon good terms ? " asked the countess- 
 dowager after a pause, during which she had never taken her 
 eyes from her daughter's face. 
 
 " It would be early days for us to be on any other." 
 
 " Oh," said the dowager. " And you did not write me word 
 from Paris that you found you had made a mistake, that you 
 could not bear your husband ! Eh, Maude ? " 
 
 A tinge came into Maude's cheeks. " And you, mamma, told 
 me that I was to rule my husband with an iron hand, never 
 allowing him to have a will of his own, never consulting him ! 
 Both you and I were wrong," she continued quietly. " I wrote 
 that letter in a moment of irritation : and you were assuming 
 what has not proved to be a fact. I like my husband now 
 quite well enough to keep friends with him ; his kindness to 
 me is excessive ; but I find, with all my wish to rule him, if I 
 had the wish, I could not do it. He has a will of his own, and 
 he exerts it in spite of me ; and I am quite sure he will con- 
 tinue to exert it, whenever he fancies he is in the right. You 
 never saw any one so changed from what he used to be." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
252 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " I mean in asserting his own will. But lie is changed in 
 other ways. It seems to me that he has never been quite the 
 same man since that night in the chapel. He has been more 
 thoughtful ; and all the old vacillation is gone." 
 
 The countess-dowager could not understand at all ; neither 
 did she believe ; and she only stared at Maude. 
 
 " His not coming down with me is a proof that he exercises 
 his own will now. I wished him to come very much, and he 
 knew it ; but you see he has not done so." 
 
 "And what do you say is keeping him?" repeated the 
 countess-dowager. 
 
 " Business " 
 
 " Ah," interrupted the dowager, with a sniff, before Maude 
 could finish, "that's the general excuse. Always suspect it, 
 my dear." 
 
 " Suspect what ? " asked Maude. 
 
 " When a man says that, and gets his wife out of the way 
 with it, rely upon it he has some nice little interests of his 
 own that he is pursuing." 
 
 Lady Hartledon understood the implication ; she felt nettled, 
 and a flush rose to her face. In her husband's loyalty (always 
 excepting his feeling towards Miss Ashton) she rested fully 
 assured. 
 
 "You did not allow me to finish, mamma," was the cold 
 rejoinder. " Business is keeping him in town, for one thing ; 
 for another, I think he cannot get over his dislike to face the 
 Ashtons." 
 
 " Eubbish to not liking to face the Ashtons ! " cried the 
 wrathful dowager. " Eubbish to business too ! A rich young 
 nobleman with business! He does not tell you what the 
 business is, does he ? " she cynically concluded. 
 
 " I happen to know it," answered Maude. " The Ashtons 
 are bringing an action against him for breach of promise ; and 
 he and Mr. Carr the barrister are trying to arrange it without 
 its coming to a trial." 
 
 The old lady opened her eyes and her mouth. 
 
 "It is true. They lay the damages at ten thousand 
 pounds ! " 
 
 With a prolonged shriek the countess-dowager began to 
 
ASKING THE RECTOR. 
 
 253 
 
 dance. Ten thousand pounds ! Ten thousand pounds would 
 keep her for ever, put out at good interest. She called the 
 parson some unworthy names. 
 
 ^'I cannot give you any of the details," said Maude, in 
 answer to the questions pressed upon her. "Percival will 
 never speak of it, or allow me to do so. I learnt it — I can 
 hardly tell you how I learnt it — by implication, I think ; for it 
 was never expressly told me. We had a mysterious visit one 
 night from some old parson — parson or lawyer ; and Percival 
 and Mr. Carr, who happened to be at our house, were closeted 
 with him for an hour or two. I saw that they were agitated, 
 and 'guessed what it was ; that Dr. Ashton was bringing an 
 action. They could not deny it." 
 
 "The vile old hypocrite!" cried the incensed dowager. 
 " Ten thousand pounds ! Are you sure it is as much as that, 
 Maude?" 
 
 " Quite. Mr. Carr told me the amount." 
 
 " I wonder you encourage that man at your house." 
 
 " It was one of the things I stood out against — fruitlessly," 
 was the quiet answer. " But I believe he means well to me, 
 mamma ; and I am sure he is doing what he can to serve my 
 husband. They are often together about this business." 
 
 " Of course Hart resists the claim ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I think they are trying to compromise it, so 
 that it shall not come into court." 
 " What does Hartledon think of it ? " 
 
 "It is worrying his life out. No, mamma, it is not too 
 strong an expression. He says nothing ; but I can see that it 
 is half killing him. I don't believe he has slept properly since 
 the news was brought him." 
 
 "What a sensitive simpleton he must be! And that man 
 will stand up in the pulpit to-morrow and preach of charity ! " 
 continued the dowager, turning her animadversions upon Dr. 
 Ashton. " You are a hypocrite too, Maude, for trying to 
 deceive me. You and Hart are not on good terms ; don't tell 
 me ! He would never have let you come down alone." 
 
 Lady Hartledon would not say more. She felt vexed with 
 her mother, vexed with her husband, vexed on all sides ; and 
 she took refuge in her fatigue and was silent. 
 
254 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 The dowager went to church on the following day. Maude 
 would not go. The hot anger flushed into her cheeks at the 
 thought of showing herself there for the first time, unaccom- 
 panied by her husband : to Maude's mind it seemed that she 
 must look to others so very much like a deserted wife. She 
 comes home alone ; he stays in London ! " Ah, why did he not 
 come down only for this one Sunday, and go back again — if he 
 must have gone ? " she thought. 
 
 A month or two ago Maude had not cared enough for him to 
 reason like this. The countess-dowager ensconced herself in 
 the state-corner of the Hartledon state-pew, and from her 
 blinking eyes looked out upon the Ashtons. Anne, with her 
 once bright face looking rather wan, her modest demeanour; 
 Mrs. Ashton, so essentially a gentlewoman ; the doctor, sensible, 
 clever, charitable, beyond all doubt a good man — a feeling 
 came over the mind of the sometimes obtuse woman that of all 
 the people before her they looked the least likely to enter on 
 the sort of lawsuit spoken of by Maude. But never a doubt 
 struck her mind that they had entered on it. 
 
 Lady Hartledon remained at home, her prayer-book in her 
 hand. She was thinking she could steal out to the evening 
 service ; it might not be so much noticed then, her being alone. 
 Listlessly enough she sat, toying with her prayer-bool^ rather 
 than reading it. She had never pretended to be religious, had 
 not been trained to be so ; and reading a prayer-book, when 
 not in church, was quite unusual to her. But there are seasons 
 in a woman's life, times when peril is looked forward to, that 
 bring thought even to the most careless nature. Maude was 
 trying to play at " being good," and was reading the psalms for 
 the day in an absent fashion, her thoughts elsewhere ; and the 
 morning passed on. The quiet apathy of her present state, 
 compared with the restless fever which had stirred her during 
 her last sojourn at Hartledon, when she was kept in the 
 ferment of scheming and plotting to win the heir, was some- 
 thing remarkable. 
 
 Suddenly she was burst in upon by the countess-dowager : 
 that estimable lady's bonnet was awry, her flaxen curls pushed 
 back, her face a bright scarlet, altogether in a commotion of 
 anger. 
 
ASKING THE RECTOR. 
 
 255 
 
 " I didn't suppose you'd have done it, Maude ! You might 
 play tricks upon other people, I think, but not upon your own 
 mother." 
 
 The interlude was rather welcome to Maude ; it roused her 
 from her apathy. Not for some few moments, however, could 
 she understand the cause of complaint. 
 
 It appeared that the countess-dowager, with that absence of 
 all sense of the fitness of things which so eminently characterized 
 her, had joined the Ashton family after service, inquiring with 
 quite motherly solicitude after Mrs. Ashton's health, compli- 
 menting Anne upon her charming looks; making herself, in 
 short, as agreeable as she knew how, and completely ignoring 
 the past in regard to her son-in-law. Gentlewomen in mind 
 and manners, they did not repulse her, were even courteously 
 civil ; and she graciously accompanied them across the road to 
 the Eectory-gate, and there took a cordial leave, saying she 
 would look in on the morrow. 
 
 In returning, she met Dr. Ashton. He was passing her with 
 nothing but a lift of the hat ; but he little knew the countess- 
 dowager. She seized upon his hand, shook it, very nearly 
 kissed it ; said how grieved she was not to have had an oppor- 
 tunity of explaining away her part in the past ; that she hoped 
 he w^ould let bygones be bygones; and finally, while the 
 clergyman was scheming how to get away from her without 
 absolute rudeness, she astonished him with a communication 
 touching the action-at-law. There ensued a little mutual mis- 
 apprehension, followed by a few emphatic words of denial from 
 Dr. Ashton; and the countess-dowager walked away, with a 
 scarlet face, and an explosion of anger against her daughter. 
 
 Lady Hartledon w^as not yet callous to the proprieties of 
 life ; and the intrusion on the Ashtons, which her mother con- 
 fessed to, half frightened, half shamed her. But the dowager's 
 wrath at having been misled bore down everything. Dr. Ashton 
 had entered no action whatever against the Earl of Hartledon ; 
 had never thought of doing it. 
 
 " And you, you wicked, ungrateful girl, to come home to me 
 with such an invention, and cause me to start off on a fool's 
 errand! Do you suppose I should have gone and humbled 
 myself to those people, but for hoping to bring the parson to a 
 
256 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 sense of what lie was doing as a parson, in going-in for those 
 enormous damages ? " 
 
 She stood wiping her inflamed face gingerly, by reason of its 
 not being quite so clear from adjuncts as it might be; her 
 handkerchief rolled into a ball. The corners of her shawl 
 were flung back, and her smart pink gauze gown, flounced to 
 the waist with little flounces, looked the size of a balloon. 
 Maude scarcely understood yet. 
 
 " I have not come home to you with any invention, mamma. 
 Dr. Ashton has entered the action." 
 
 "He has not," raved the dowager. "It is a hoax, an in- 
 famous hoax, that you have played off upon me. You couldn't 
 find any plea of excuse for your husband's staying in London, 
 and so pitched upon this. What with you, and what with 
 Kirton's ingratitude, and her sauce, I shall be driven out of 
 house and home ! " 
 
 " I won't say another word until you are calm and can talk 
 common sense," said Maude, leaning back in her chair, and 
 opening her prayer-book again. 
 
 " Common sense ! What am I talking but common sense ? 
 When a child begins to mislead her own mother, the world 
 ought to come to an end." 
 
 Maude took no notice. 
 
 There happened to be some water standing on a table, and 
 the dowager dashed out a tumbler and drank it, though not 
 accustomed to the beverage. Her run home from church in 
 the heat had made her thirsty. Untying the strings of her 
 bonnet and tilting it off, she sat down by Maude, a little 
 calmer. 
 
 " Perhaps you'll explain this at your convenience, Maude." 
 
 " There is nothing to explain," was the answer. " What I 
 told you was the truth. The action has been entered against 
 Percival, by the Ashtons." 
 
 " The action has not, then." 
 
 " But, mamma, I assure you that it has," said Maude, closing 
 her book. " I told you of the evening we first had notice of it , 
 and that the damages are laid at ten thousand pounds ; do you 
 think I could have invented that, or gone to sleep and dreamt 
 it? I am sure if Yal has gone down once to that Temple 
 
ASKING THE RECTOR. 
 
 257 
 
 about it, lie has gone fifty times. He would not go for 
 pleasure." 
 
 The countess-dowager sat fanning herself quietly: for her 
 daughter's words were gaining ground. 
 
 " There's a mistake somewhere, Maude, and it is on your 
 side and not mine. I'll lay my life that no action has been 
 entered by Dr. Ashton. The man spoke truth; I can read 
 truth when I see it as well as anybody : his face flushed up 
 with pain at such a thing being said of him. It may not be 
 difficult to explain this contradiction." 
 
 " Do you think not ? " returned Maude, her tone of indif- 
 ference exciting the listener to anger. 
 
 " I should say that Hart is deceiving you. If any action is 
 entered against him at all, it's not that sort of action ; or per- 
 haps the young lady is not Miss Ashton, but some other : he's 
 just the kind of man to be drawn into promising marriage to a 
 dozen or two. It is all very clever of him to palm you oft' 
 with this tale : a man may get into five hundred troubles not 
 convenient for his wife to know about." 
 
 Except that Lady Hartledon's cheek flushed a little, she 
 made no answer ; she held firmly — at least she thought she 
 held firmly — to her own side of the case. Her mother, on the 
 contrary, adopted the new view, and dismissed it from her 
 thoughts accordingly. 
 
 Maude went to church in the evening. She sat by herself in 
 the great pew, pale and quiet. Anne Ashton was alone ; and 
 the two whilom rivals, the triumphant and the rejected, could 
 look at each other to their heart's content. 
 
 Not very triumphant was Maude feeling. Strange perhaps 
 to say, the suggestion of the old dowager, like instilled poison, 
 was making its way into her very veins. Her thoughts had 
 been busy with the matter ever since. One positive conviction 
 lay in her heart — that Dr. Ashton, now reading the first lesson 
 before her, for he was taking the whole of the service that 
 night, could not, under any circumstance, be guilty of a false 
 assertion or a subterfuge. One solution of the difficulty pre- 
 sented itself to her — that her mother, in her irascibility, had 
 misunderstood the Eector ; and yet that was improbable. As 
 Maude half sat, half lay back in the pew, for the weary faint 
 
 Elster's Folly. 1.7 
 
258 
 
 elstee's folly. 
 
 feeling was especially upon her that evening, she thought that 
 she would give a great deal for the matter to be set at rest. 
 
 When the service was over she took the more secluded way 
 home ; the servants, those who had attended, returning as usual 
 by the road. She had reached the turning where the three 
 paths diverged, when the faintness which had been hovering 
 over her all the evening grew suddenly more perceptible ; and 
 but for leaning against a tree, she might have fallen. It 
 grew better in a few moments, but she did not yet quit the 
 support of the friendly tree. 
 
 Very much surprised was the Eector of Calne to come up 
 and see the young Countess of Hartledon in this position : her 
 arm grasping the tree, her brow, white and damp, pressed upon 
 it. Every Sunday evening, after service, he went in to see a man 
 in one of the cottages, who was dying of consumption, and he was 
 on his road there now. He would have preferred not to speak 
 to Lady Hartledon : but she looked ill, in need of assistance ; 
 and in common Christian kindness he could not pass her by. 
 
 " I beg your pardon. Lady Hartledon. Are you ill ? " 
 
 She caught at his offered arm with her disengaged hand, as an 
 additional support ; and her white face turned a shade whiter. 
 
 "I beg yours," she said, when she was able to speak, in 
 apology for having thus seized upon him. " A sudden faintness 
 overtook me. I am better now." 
 
 " Will you allow me to walk on with you ? " 
 
 " Thank you ; just a little way. If you will not mind it." 
 
 That he must have understood the feeling which prompted 
 the last few words there was no doubt : and perhaps had Lady 
 Hartledon been in possession of her keenest senses, she might 
 never have spoken them. Pride and health go out of us 
 together. Dr. Ashton took her on his arm, and they walked 
 slowly on in the direction of the little bridge. Her colour was 
 coming into her face again, strength to her frame. 
 
 "The heat of the day has affected you, possibly, Lady 
 Hartledon?" 
 
 "Yes, perhaps: I have felt faint at times lately. The 
 church was very hot to-night." 
 
 Nothing more was said until the bridge was gained, and then 
 Maude released his arm. 
 
ASKING THE KECTOR. 
 
 259 
 
 "Dr. Ashton, I thank you very mucli. You have been a 
 friend in need." 
 
 " But are you sure you are strong enough to go on alone ? I 
 will take you to the house if you are not." 
 
 " Quite strong enough now. Thank you once again." 
 
 As he was bowing his farewell, a sudden impulse to speak, 
 and to set the matter that was troubling her at rest, came over 
 her mind. Without a moment's deliberation, without an instant 
 given to weighing her words, she rushed upon it ; the ostensible 
 plea being an apology for her mother's having spoken to him. 
 
 "Yes, I told Lady Kirton she was labouring under some 
 misapprehension," he quietly answered. 
 
 " Will you forgive me also for speaking of it ? " she mur- 
 mured. " Since my mother came home with the news of what 
 you said, I have been in a sea of conjecture : I could not attend 
 to the service for thinking about it ; I might as well not have 
 been in church — and that is a curious confession to make to 
 you, Dr. Ashton. Is it indeed true that you know nothing of 
 the matter?" 
 
 " Lady Kirton told me in so many words that I had entered 
 an action against Lord Hartledon for breach of promise, and 
 laid the damages at ten thousand pounds," returned Dr. Ashton, 
 with a plainness of speech and a cynical manner that made her 
 blush. And she saw at once that he had done nothing of the 
 sort ; saw it without any more decisive denial. 
 
 " But the action has been entered," said Lady Hartledon. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam. Lord Hartledon is, I should 
 imagine, the only man living who could suppose me capable of 
 such a thing." 
 
 "And you have not entered on it?" she reiterated, half 
 bewildered by the denial. 
 
 " Most certainly not. When I parted with Lord Hartledon 
 on a certain evening, which probably your ladyship remembers, 
 I washed my hands of him for good, desiring never to approach 
 him in any way whatever, never to hear of him, never to see 
 him. Your husband, madam, is safe for me : I desire nothing 
 better than to forget that such a man is in existence." 
 
 Lifting his hat, he walked away. And Lady Hartledon stood 
 and gazed after him as if she were in a dream. 
 
260 
 
 ELSTEIi^S FOLLY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 MK. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 Thomas Carr was threading his way through the mazy precincts 
 of Gray's Inn, with that quick step and absorbed manner known 
 only, I think, to the busy man of this busy metropolis. He 
 was on his way to make some inquiries of a firm of solicitors, 
 Messrs. Kedge and Reck, strangers to him, except by name. 
 
 Up some dark and dingy stairs, he knocked at a dark and 
 dingy door: which, after a minute, opened of itself by some 
 ingenious contrivance, and let him into a passage, whence he 
 turned into a room, where two clerks were writing at a desk. 
 
 " Can I see Mr. Kedge ? " 
 
 " Not in," said one of the clerks, without looking up. 
 "Mr. Reck, then?" 
 " Not in." 
 
 " When will either of them be in ? " continued the barrister ; 
 thinking that if he were Messrs. Kedge and Reck the clerk 
 would get his discharge for incivility. 
 
 " Can't say. What's your business ? " 
 
 " My business is with them : not with you." 
 
 " You can see the managing clerk." 
 
 " I wish to see one of the partners." 
 
 " Could you give your name ? " continued the gentleman, 
 equably. 
 
 Mr. Carr handed in his card. The clerk glanced at it, and 
 surreptitiously showed it to his companion ; and both of them 
 looked up at him. Mr. Carr of the Temple was known by 
 reputation, and they condescended to become civil. 
 
 " Take a seat for a moment, sir," said the one. " I'll inquire 
 
MR. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 261 
 
 how long Mr. Kedge will be; but Mr. Keek's not in town 
 to-day." 
 
 A few minutes, and Tbomas Carr found bimself in a small 
 square room with the head of the firm, who was a youngish 
 man and somewhat of a dandy, especially genial in manner, as 
 if in contrast to his clerk. He welcomed the rising barrister. 
 
 " There's as much difficulty in getting to see you as if you 
 were the Pope of Rome," cried Mr. Carr, good-humouredly. 
 
 The lawyer laughed. "Hopkins did not know you; and 
 strangers are generally introduced to Mr. Eeck, or to our 
 managing clerk. What can I do for you, Mr. Carr ? " 
 
 " I don't know that you can do anything for me," said Mr. 
 Carr, seating himself; "but I hope you can. At the present 
 moment I am engaged in sifting a piece of complicated business 
 for a friend ; a private matter entirely, which it is necessary to 
 keep private. I am interested in it greatly myself, as you may 
 readily believe, when it is keeping me from circuit. Indeed it 
 may almost be called my own affair," he added, seeing the eyes 
 of the lawyer fixed upon him, 'and not caring that they should 
 see into his business too clearly. " I fancy that you have a 
 clerk, or had a clerk, who is cognizant of one or two points in 
 regard to it : can you put me in the way of finding out where 
 he is ? His name is Gordon." 
 
 " Gordon ! We have no clerk of that name. Never had one, 
 that I remember. How came you to fancy it ? " 
 
 " I heard it from my own clerk, Mr. Taylor. One day last 
 week I happened to say before him that I'd give a five-pound 
 note out of my pocket to get at the present whereabouts of this 
 man Gordon. Taylor is a shrewd fellow ; full of useful bits of 
 information, and knows, I really believe, three parts of London 
 by name. He immediately said that a young man of that name 
 was with Messrs. Kedge and Reck, of Gray's Inn, either as 
 clerk, or in some other capacity ; and when he described this 
 clerk of yours, I felt nearly sure that it was the man I am look- 
 ing for. I got Taylor to make inquiries, and he did, I believe, 
 of one of your clerks ; but he could learn nothing, except that 
 no one of that name was connected with you now. Taylor per- 
 sists that he is or was connected with you ; and so I thought 
 the shortest plan to settle the matter was to ask yourselves." 
 
262 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " We have no clerk of that name," repeated Mr. Kedge, push- 
 ing back with his elbow some papers on the table. " Never 
 had one." 
 
 " Understand," said Mr. Carr, thinking it just possible that 
 the lawyer might be mistaking his motives, " I have nothing to 
 allege against the man, and do not seek to injure him. The 
 real fact is, that I do not want to see him or to be brought into 
 personal contact with him ; I only want to know whether he is 
 in London, and, if so, where ? " 
 
 " I assure you he is not connected with us," repeated Mr. 
 Kedge. " I'd tell you so in a minute if he were." 
 
 "Well, then, of course I can only apologize for having 
 troubled you," said the barrister, rising. " Taylor must have 
 been mistaken. And yet I would have backed his word, when 
 he positively asserts a thing, against the world. I hardly ever 
 knew him wrong." 
 
 Mr. Kedge was playing with the locket on his watch-chain, 
 his head bent in thought. 
 
 " Wait a moment, Mr. Carr. I remember now that we took 
 a clerk temporarily into the office in the latter part of last year. 
 His writing did not suit, and we kept him only a week or two. 
 I don't know what his name was, but it might have been 
 Gordon." 
 
 " Do you remember what sort of a man he was ? " asked Mr. 
 Carr, somewhat eagerly. 
 
 " I really do not. You see, I don't come much into contact 
 with our clerks. Keck does ; but he's not here to-day. I fancy 
 he had red hair." 
 
 " Gordon had reddish hair." 
 
 " You had better see Kimberly," said the solicitor, ringing a 
 bell. " He is our managing clerk, and knows everything." 
 
 A grey-haired, silent-looking man came in with stooping 
 shoulders. Mr. Kedge, without any circumlocution, asked 
 whether he remembered any clerk of the name of Gordon having 
 been in the house. Mr. Kimberly responded by saying that 
 they never had one in the house of the name. 
 
 " Well, I thought not," observed the principal. " There was 
 one had in for a short time, you know, while Hopkins was ill. 
 I forget his name," 
 
MR. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 263 
 
 " His name was Druitt, sir. We employed a man of the 
 name of Gorton to do some outdoor business for us at times," 
 continued the managing clerk, turning his eyes on the barrister ; 
 " but not lately." 
 
 " What sort of business ? " 
 
 " Serving writs." 
 
 "Gorton is not Gordon," remarked Mr. Kedge, with legal 
 acumen. " By the way, Kimberly, I have heard nothing of 
 Gorton lately. What has become of him ? " 
 
 " I have not the least idea, sir. We parted in a huff, so he 
 wouldn't perhaps be likely to come in my way again. Some 
 business that he mismanaged, if you remember, sir, down at 
 Calne." 
 
 " When he arrested one man for another," laughed the 
 lawyer, " and got entangled in a coroner's inquest, and I don't 
 know what all." 
 
 Mr. Carr had pricked up his ears ; he scarcely dared to 
 breathe. But his manner was careless to a degree. 
 
 " The man he arrested being Lord Hartledon ; the man he 
 ought to have arrested being the Honourable Mr. Elster," he 
 interposed, laughing. 
 
 " What ! do you know of it ? " cried the lawyer. 
 
 " I remember hearing of it ; I was intimate with Mr. Elster 
 at the time." 
 
 " He has since become Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " Yes. But about this Gorton ! I should not be in the least 
 surprised if he is the man I am inquiring for. Can you 
 describe him to me, Mr. Kimberly ? " 
 
 " He is a short, slight man, under thirty, with red hair and 
 whiskers." 
 
 Mr. Carr nodded. 
 
 " Light hair with a reddish tinge it has been described to me. 
 Do you happen to be at all acquainted with his antecedents ? " 
 
 " Not I ; I know nothing of the man," said Mr. Kedge. 
 " Kimberly does, perhaps." 
 
 " No, sir," dissented Kimberly. " He had been to Australia, 
 I believe ; and that's all I know about him." 
 
 " It is the same man," said Mr. Carr, quietly. " And if you 
 can tell me anything about him," he continued, turning to the 
 
264: 
 
 ELSTERS FOLLY. 
 
 older man, " I shall he exceedingly obliged to yon. To begin 
 with — when did you first know him ? " 
 
 But at this juncture an interruption occurred. Hopkins the 
 discourteous came in with a card, which he presented to his 
 principal. The gentleman was waiting to see Mr. Kedge. Two 
 more clients were also waiting, he added. 
 
 Thomas Carr rose, and the end of it was that he went with 
 Mr. Kimberly to his room. 
 
 "It's Carr of the Temple," whispered Mr. Kedge in his 
 clerk's ear. 
 
 " Oh, I know him, sir." 
 
 " All right. If you can help him, do so." 
 
 " I first knew Gorton about fifteen months ago," observed the 
 clerk, when they were shut in together. " A friend of mine, 
 now dead, spoke of him to me as a respectable young fellow 
 who had fallen in the world, and asked if I could help him to 
 some employment. I think he told me somewhat of his history ; 
 but I quite forget it. I know he was very low down then, with 
 hardly a crust to cat." 
 
 "Did this friend of yours call him Gorton or Gordon?" in- 
 terrupted Mr. Carr. 
 
 " Gorton. I never heard him called Gordon at all. I 
 remember seeing a book of his that he seemed to set some store 
 by. It was printed in old English, and had his name on the 
 title-page : ' George Gorton. From his affectionate father, W. 
 Gorton.' I employed him in some outdoor work. He knew 
 London perfectly well, and seemed to know people too." 
 
 " And he had been to Australia ? " 
 
 " He had been to Australia, I feel sure. One day he acci- 
 dentally let slip some words about Melbourne, which he could 
 not well have done unless he had seen the place. I taxed him 
 with it, and he shuffled it off with some excuse ; but in such a 
 manner as to convince me he had been there." 
 
 " And now, Mr. Kimberly, I am going to ask you another 
 question. You spoke of his having been at Calne ; I infer that 
 you sent him to the place on the errand to Mr. Elster. Try 
 and recollect whether his going there was your own spontaneous 
 act, or whether he was the original (though, perhaps, surrep- 
 titious) mover in the journey ? " 
 
MR. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 265 
 
 The grey-haired clerk looked up, as if not understanding. 
 " You don't quite take me, I see." 
 
 " Yes, I do, sir ; but I was thinking. So far as I can recol- 
 lect, it was our own spontaneous act. I am sure I had no 
 reason to think otherwise at the time. We had had a deal of 
 trouble with the Honourable Mr. Elster ; and when it was 
 found that he had left town for the family seat, we came to the 
 resolution to send and arrest Mm." 
 
 Thomas Carr paused. " Do you know anything of Gordon's 
 — or Gorton's — doings in Calne ? Did you ever hear him speak 
 of them afterwards ? " 
 
 " I don't know that I did particularly. The excuse he made 
 to us for arresting Lord Hartledon for his brother was, that 
 they were so much alike he mistook the one for the other." 
 
 " Which would infer that he knew Mr. Elster by sight." 
 
 "It might; yes. It was not for the mistake that we dis- 
 charged him ; indeed, not for anything at all connected with 
 Calne. He did seem to have gone about his business there in 
 a very loose way, and to have paid less attention to our interests 
 than to the gossip of the place ; of which there was a tolerable 
 amount just then, on account of the Earl of Hartledon's unfor- 
 tunate death. Gorton was set upon another job or two when he 
 returned ; and one of those he contrived to mismanage so woe- 
 fully, that I would give him no more to do. It struck me that 
 he must drink, or else was accessible to a bribe." 
 
 Mr. Carr nodded his head ; he thought the latter more than 
 probable. His fingers were playing with a newspaper which 
 happened to lie on the clerk's desk ; and he put the next 
 question with a very well-assumed air of carelesness, as if it 
 were but the passing thought of the moment. 
 
 " Did he ever talk about Mr. Elster ? " 
 
 " ISTever but once. He came to my house one evening to tell 
 me he had discovered the hiding-place of a gentleman we were 
 looking for. I was taking my glass of cold gin-and- water after 
 supper, the only stimulant I ever touch — and the doctors order 
 me that ; one glass every night. I could not do less than ask 
 him to help himself. You see, sir, we did not look upon him 
 as a common sheriff's man : and he helped himself pretty freely. 
 That made him talkative. I fancy his head is not strong to 
 
266 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 stand much ; and lie began rambling upon the recent affairs at 
 Calne : he had not been back above a week then." 
 " And he spoke of Mr. Elster ? " 
 
 " He spoke a good deal of him as the new Lord Hartledon, 
 all in a rambling sort of way. He hinted that it might be in 
 his power to bring home to him some great crime." 
 
 " The man must have been drunk indeed ! " remarked Mr. 
 Carr, with the most perfect assumption of indifference ; a very 
 contrast to the dart of fear that shot through his heart. " What 
 crime, pray ? I hope he particularized it." 
 
 " What he seemed to hint at was some unfair play in con- 
 nection with his brother's death," said the old clerk, lowering 
 his voice. " ' A man at his wit's end for money would do many 
 queer things,' he remarked." 
 
 Mr. Carr's eyes flashed. "What a dangerous fool he must 
 be ! You surely did not listen to him ! " 
 
 " I, sir ! I stopped him pretty quickly, and bade him put 
 a pitch-plaster upon his mouth, until he came to his sober senses 
 again. Oh, they make great simpletons of themselves, some of 
 these young fellows, when they get the drink into them." 
 
 " They do that," said the barrister. " Did he ever allude to 
 the matter again ? " 
 
 "Never; and the next day, when I saw him, he seemed 
 ashamed of himself, and asked if he had not been talking a lot 
 of nonsense. It was about a fortnight after that we parted, and 
 I have never seen him since." 
 
 " And you really do not know what has become of him ? 
 
 " Not at all. I should think he has left London." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because if he had remained in it he'd be sure to have come 
 bothering me to employ him again ; unless, indeed, he has found 
 some one else to do it." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Carr, rising, " will you do me this favour ? 
 If you come across the man again, or can learn tidings of him 
 in any way, let me know it at once. I do not want him to 
 hear of me, or that I have made inquiries about him. I only 
 wish to ascertain where he is, if that be possible. Any one 
 bringing me this information privately will find it well worth 
 their while." 
 
MB. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 267 
 
 He went forth into the busy streets again, sick at heart ; and 
 upon reaching his chambers wrote a note for a detective officer, 
 and put some business into his hands. 
 
 Meanwhile the Earl of Hartledon remained on in London. 
 When the term for which they had engaged the furnished house 
 in Piccadilly was expired, he took lodgings in Grafton Street ; 
 and there he stayed, his frame of mind restless and unsatis- 
 factory. Lady Hartledon wrote to him sometimes, and he 
 answered her. She said not a word of the discovery she had 
 made in regard to the alleged action-at-law ; but she never 
 failed in every letter to ask what he was doing, and when ho 
 was coming home — meaning to Hartledon. He put her off in 
 the best manner he was able: he and Carr were very busy 
 together, he said : as to home, he could not mention any par- 
 ticular time. And Lady Hartledon bottled up her curiosity 
 and her wrath, and waited with what patience she possessed. 
 
 The truth was — and, perhaps, the reader may have divined it 
 — that graver motives than the sensitive feeling of not liking 
 to face the Ashtons was keeping the earl from his wife and 
 Hartledon. He had once, in his bachelor days, wished himself 
 a savage in some remote and inaccessible desert, where his 
 civilized acquaintance could not come near him ; he had a 
 thousand times more reason to wish himself one now. 
 
 One dusty day, when the excessive heat of summer was on 
 the wane, he went down to Mr. Carr's chambers, and found 
 that gentleman abroad. Not gone out for long, the clerk 
 thought; and the earl sat down and waited for him. The 
 room he was in looked out on the cool garden, the quiet river ; 
 in the one there was not a soul except Mr. Broom himself, who 
 had gone in to watch the progress of his chrysanthemums, and 
 was stooping lovingly over the beds ; on the other a steamer, 
 freighted with a straggling few, was paddling up the river 
 against the tide. The contrast between this quiet scene and 
 the bustling, dusty, jostling world he had come in from, was 
 grateful even to the earl's disturbed heart; and he felt half 
 inclined to go round to the garden and fling himself on the 
 lawn, and take his rest there, as a man might do who was free 
 from care. 
 
 Mr. Carr indulged in the costly luxury of three rooms in the 
 
268 
 
 elstee's folly. 
 
 Temple; his sitting-room, which was his work-room, a bed- 
 chamber, and a little outer ante-space, called by courtesy a 
 room, that was the sanctum of the clerk. The earl was in the 
 sitting-room, but he could hear the clerk moving about in the 
 ante-room, as if he had no writing on hand that morning. 
 When he was tired of waiting, he called him in. 
 
 " I say, Mr. Taylor, how long do you think he'll be ? I've 
 been asleep, I think." 
 
 " Well, I thought he'd have been here before now, my lord. 
 He generally tells me if he is going out for any length of 
 time ; but he said nothing to-day." 
 
 " A newspaper would be something to while away one's time, 
 or a book," grumbled the earl. " Not those," he added, glancing 
 at a bookcase full of ponderous law-volumes. 
 
 " Your lordship has taken the cream out of them already," 
 remarked the clerk, with a laugh ; and the earl's brow knitted 
 at the words. He had " taken the cream " out of those old law- 
 books, if studying them could do it, for he had been at them 
 pretty often of late. 
 
 But Mr. Taylor's remarks had no ulterior meaning. Being 
 a shrewd, observant man, he could not fail to suspect that Lord 
 Hartledon was in a scrape of some sort or other ; but from a 
 word dropped by his master he supposed it to involve nothing 
 more than a question of debt ; and he never suspected that the 
 word had been dropped purposely. "Scamps would claim 
 money twice over when they could," said Mr. Carr ; and Elster 
 was a . careless man, always losing his receipts. He was a 
 short, slight man, this clerk — in build something like his 
 master — with an intelligent, silent face, a small sharp nose, 
 and fair hair. He had been born a gentleman, he was wont to 
 say ; and indeed he looked one ; but he had not received an 
 education commensurate with that fact, and had to make his 
 own way in the world. He might do it yet, perhaps, he 
 remarked one day to the earl ; and certainly, if steady per- 
 severance could effect it, he would: all his spare time was 
 spent in study. 
 
 " He has not gone to one of those blessed consultations in 
 somebody's chambers, has he ? " cried Val. " I have known 
 them to last three hours." 
 
MK. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 269 
 
 " I have known them to last longer than that," said the 
 clerk. " But there are none on just now." 
 
 " I can't think what has become of him. He made an appoint- 
 ment with me for this morning. And where's his Times ? " 
 
 Mr. Taylor could not tell where ; he had been looking for 
 the newspaper on his own score. It was not to be found ; and 
 they could only come to the conclusion that the barrister had 
 taken it out with him. 
 
 " I wish you'd go out and buy me one," said Val. 
 
 " I'll go with pleasure, my lord. But suppose any one comes 
 to the door?" 
 
 " Oh, I'll answer it. They'll think Carr has taken on a new 
 clerk." 
 
 Mr. Taylor laughed, and went out. The earl, tired of 
 sitting, began to pace the room and the ante-room. Most men 
 would have taken their departure ; but he had nothing to do 
 abroad ; he had latterly shunned that portion of the world 
 called society, and was as well in Mr. Carr's chambers as in 
 his own lodgings, or in strolling about with his troubled heart. 
 While thus occupied, there came a soft tap to the outer door — 
 as was sure to be the case, the clerk being absent — and Yal 
 opened it. A middle-aged, quiet-looking man stood there, who 
 had nothing particularly noticeable in his appearance, except a 
 pair of deep-set dark eyes, under bushy eyebrows that were 
 turning grey. 
 
 " Mr. Carr within ? " 
 
 " Mr. Carr's not in," replied the temporary porter. " I dare 
 say you can wait." 
 " Likely to be long ? " 
 
 "I should think not. I have been waiting for him these 
 two hours." 
 
 The applicant entered, and sat down in the clerk's room. 
 Lord Hartledon went into the other, and stood drumming on 
 the window-pane, as he gazed out on the grass of the Temple 
 garden. 
 
 "I'd go, but for that note of Carr's," he said to himself. 
 " If he Halloa ! that's his voice at last." 
 
 Mr. Carr and his clerk had returned together. The former, 
 after a few moments, came in to the earl. 
 
270 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "A nice fellow you are, Carr! Sending me word to be 
 here at eleven o'clock, and then walking oJff for two mortal 
 hours!" 
 
 " I sent you word to wait for me at your own home ! " 
 
 " Well, that is good ! " returned the earl, after a prolonged 
 stare. " It said, ' Be here at eleven,' as plainly as writing 
 could say it." 
 
 " And there was a postscript on the other side the sheet, 
 telling you, on second thought, not to be here, but to wait at 
 home for me," said Mr. Carr. "I remembered a matter of 
 business that would take me up your way this morning, and 
 thought I'd go on to you. It's just your careless fashion, 
 Hartledon, reading only half your letters ! You should have 
 turned it over." 
 
 " Who was to think there was anything on the other side ? 
 Folks don't turn their letters over from curiosity when they 
 are concluded on the first page." 
 
 "I never had a letter in my life but I turned it over to 
 make sure," observed the more careful barrister. " I have had 
 my walk for nothing." 
 
 "And I have been cooling my heels here! And you took 
 the newspaper with you ! " 
 
 "No, I did not. Churton sent in from his rooms to 
 borrow it." 
 
 "Well, let the misunderstanding go, and don't be angry 
 with me if I'm cross. Do you know, Carr, I think I am 
 growing ill-tempered from trouble. What news have you 
 for me ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you that by-and-by. There's no time just now. 
 Do you know who that is in the other room ? " 
 
 " Not I. He seemed to stare me inside-out in a quiet way 
 as I let him in." 
 
 " Ay. It's Green the detective. At times a question occurs 
 to me whether that's really his name, or one he assumes in his 
 profession. He has come to report at last. Had you better 
 remain ? 
 
 "Why not? 
 
 Mr. Carr looked dubious. 
 
 " You can make some excuse for my presence." 
 
MR. CARR AT WORK. 
 
 271 
 
 "It's not that. Tm thinking if you should let slip a 
 
 word " 
 
 "Carr! Is it likely?" 
 " Inadvertently, I mean." 
 
 "There's no fear. You have not mentioned my name to 
 him?" 
 
 "I retort in your own words — Is it likely? He does not 
 know why he is being employed or what I want with the man 
 I wish traced. At present he is working, so far as that goes, 
 in the dark. I might have put him on a false scent, just as 
 cleverly and unsuspiciously as I dare say he could put me ; 
 but I've not done it. What's the matter with you to-day, 
 Hartledon ? You look ill ? " 
 
 " I only look what I am, then," was the answer. " I'm no 
 worse than usual. I'd rather be transported — I'd rather be 
 hung, for the matter of that — than lead the life of misery I am 
 leading. At times I feel inclined to give in, but then comes 
 the thought of Maude." 
 
^j72 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIV. 
 
 SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 
 
 They were shut in together: the detective officer, Mr. Carr, 
 and Lord Hartledon. " You may speak freely before this 
 gentleman," observed Mr. Carr, as if in apology for a third 
 being present. " He knows the parties, and is almost as much 
 interested in the affair as I am." 
 
 The detective glanced at Lord Hartledon with his deep eyes, 
 but he did not know him, and took out a note-book, on which 
 some words and figures were dotted down, foreign hieroglyphics 
 to any one's eyes but his own. Squaring his elbows on the 
 table in a manner more easy than elegant, he began in an 
 abrupt tone ; and he appeared to have a habit of cutting short 
 his words and sentences. 
 
 " Haven't succeeded yet as could wish, Mr. Carr ; leastways, 
 not altogether : have had to be longer over it, too, than thought 
 for. George Gordon : Scotch by birth, so far as can learn ; left 
 an orphan ; lived mostly in London. Served time to medical 
 practitioner in general line, locality Paddington, London. Idle, 
 visionary, loose in conduct, good-natured, fond of roving. 
 Surgeon wouldn't keep him as assistant ; might have done it, 
 he says, had G. G. been of settled disposition; saw him in 
 drink three times. Next turns up in Scotland, assistant to a 
 doctor there ; name Mair, locality Kirkcudbrightshire. Ke- 
 mained there less than a year ; left, saying he was going to 
 Australia. So far," broke off the speaker, raising his eyes to 
 Mr. Carr's, "particulars tally with the information supplied 
 to me by you." 
 
 " Just so." 
 
 " And then my further work began," continued Mi-. Green. 
 "Afraid what I've got together won't be satisfactory; differ 
 
SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 
 
 273 
 
 from you in opinion, at any rate. G. G. went to Australia ; no 
 doubt of that ; friend of his got a letter or two from him while 
 there: last one enclosed two ten-pound notes, borrowed by 
 G. G. before he went out. Last letter said he'd been up to the 
 diggings, been very successful; was coming home with his 
 money, mentioned ship he meant to sail in. Hadn't been in 
 Australia twelve months." 
 
 "Who was the friend?" asked Mr. Carr, interrupting the 
 curt sentences. 
 
 " Very respectable man ; gentleman ; former fellow-pupil 
 with Gordon in London ; in good practice for himself now ; 
 locality Kensington. After last letter, friend was perpetually 
 looking out for G. G. G. G. did not make his appearance ; 
 conclusion friend draws is that he did not come back. Feels 
 sure that Gordon, whether rich or poor, in ill-report or in good- 
 report, would have come to him direct." 
 
 "I happen to know that he did come back," said Mr. 
 Carr. 
 
 " Don't think it," was the unceremonious rejoinder. 
 
 " I know it positively. And that he was in London." 
 
 The detective looked over his notes, whistling softly to 
 himself, as if completely ignoring Mr. Carr's words. 
 
 " Be bound you heard, gentlemen, of that mutiny on board 
 the ship Morning Star^ some three years ago ? Made a noise 
 at the time." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Eingleader was this same man, George Gordon." 
 " No ! " exclaimed Mr. Carr. 
 
 "Fact. Leastways, no reasonable doubt of it. Friend of 
 his feels none: can't understand, he says, how G. G. could 
 have turned suddenly cruel; never was that. Pooh! when 
 men have been leading lawless lives at Australian diggings, 
 perhaps took regularly to drinking — which G. G. was inclined 
 to before — they're ready for any crime under the sun." 
 
 " But how do you connect Gordon with the ringleader of 
 that diabolical mutiny ? " 
 
 " Easy enough. Same name, George Gordon : wrote word to 
 friend the ship he was coming home in — Morning Star. 'Twas 
 the same ; and price is on G. G.'s head to this day : shouldn't 
 
 Elster's Folly. 18 
 
274 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 mind getting it. Needn't pother over it, sir ; 'twas Gordon for 
 a fact : but he'd never put his foot in London." 
 
 " If a fact, it would account for his not showing himself to 
 his friend — assuming that he did come back," observed Mr. 
 Carr. 
 
 "Friend says not. Sure that G. G., whatever might have 
 been guilty of, would go to him direct ; knew he might depend 
 on him in any trouble. A proof, he argues, that G. G. never 
 came back." 
 
 " But I tell you he did come back," repeated the barrister. 
 " It is a strange thing that the similarity of name never struck 
 me," he added, turning to Lord Hartledon. "I took some 
 interest in that mutiny at the time ; but I declare that it 
 never occurred to me to connect this man or his name with it. 
 It is a noted name, at any rate, if not a very common one." 
 
 Lord Hartledon nodded. He had sat silent throughout, a 
 little apart, his face somewhat turned from them, as if the 
 business did not concern him, though he was listening as a 
 friend. 
 
 " And now I will relate to you what more I know of Gordon," 
 resumed Mr. Carr, moving his chair nearer the detective, and 
 partially screening Lord Hartledon by the fresh position. He 
 was in London last year, employed by Kedge and Eeck, of 
 Gray's Inn, to serve writs. What he had done with himself from 
 the time of the mutiny — allowing that he was identical with 
 the Gordon of that business — I dare say no one living could 
 tell, himself excepted. He was calling himself Gorton last 
 autumn. Not much of a change from his own name." 
 
 " George Gorton," assented the detective, with a sort of 
 growl. 
 
 " Yes, George Gorton," replied Mr. Carr, who had taken the 
 remark as a question. " I knew this much when I first applied 
 to you. I did not mention it because — because I preferred to 
 let you go to work without it. Understand me ; that it is the 
 same man I Icnoio ; but there are nevertheless discrepancies in 
 the case that I cannot reconcile ; circumstances that I am 
 unable to understand ; and I thought you might possibly arrive 
 at some knowledge of where the man is without this clue, 
 better than with it." 
 
SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 
 
 275 
 
 " Sorry to differ from you in opinion, Mr. Carr ; must hold 
 to the belief that George Gorton, employed at Kedge and 
 Eeck's, was not the same man at all," came the cool and 
 obstinate rejoinder. " Have sifted the apparent similarity 
 between the two, and drawn my conclusion accordingly." 
 
 The remark implied that the' detective was wiser on the 
 subject of George Gorton than Mr. Carr had bargained for, and 
 a shadow of apprehension stole over him. It was by no means 
 his wish that the sharp detective and the man should come into 
 contact with each other ; all he wanted was to find out where 
 he was at present, not that he should be spoken to or meddled 
 with. This he had fully explained in the first instance, and 
 the other had acquiesced in his curt way. 
 
 " See you are thinking me uncommon clever, getting on the 
 track of George Gorton, when there's nothing on the surface to 
 connect him with the man you are wanting," remarked the 
 detective, with professional vanity. " Came upon it accidentally ; 
 as well confess it ; don't want to assume more credit tban's due. 
 It was in this way. Same evening that had taken your instruc- 
 tions, had to see the managing clerk of Kedge and Keck ; was 
 engaged on a little matter for them. Our business over, he 
 asked me if I happened to know anything of a man named 
 George Gorton, or Gordon — as I seemed to know something of 
 pretty well everybody. Had just been asked here — I — about 
 George Gordon, naturally connected the two questions together. 
 Inquired of Kimberly wJiy he suspected his clerk Gorton 
 should be Gordon ; Kimberly replied that he did not suspect 
 him, but a gentleman did, who had been there that day. This 
 put me on Gorton's track." 
 
 " And you followed it up ? " 
 
 " Of course I did ; keeping my own counsel. Took it up in 
 haste, though ; no deliberation ; went off to Calne, without first 
 comparing notes with Gordon's friend the surgeon." 
 
 "To Calne!" exclaimed Mr. Carr, while Lord Hartledon 
 turned his face and took a sharp look at the speaker. 
 
 A nod was the only answer. " Got down ; thought at first 
 as you do, Mr. Carr, that man was the same, and was on right 
 track. Went to work in my own way ; was a countryman just 
 come into a snug bit of inheritance, looking out for a corner of 
 
276 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 land. Wormed out a bit here and a bit there ; beard tbis from 
 one, tbat from another ; nearly got an interview with my Lord 
 Hartledon himself, as candidate for one of bis farms.'* 
 
 " Lord Hartledon was not at Calne, I think," interrupted Mr. 
 Carr, speaking upon impulse. 
 
 " Know it now ; didn't then ; and wanted, for own purposes, 
 to get a sight of him and a word with him. Went to his place : 
 saw a queer old creature in yellow gauze ; saw the earl's wife, 
 too, at a distance ; fine woman ; got intimate with butler, name 
 Hedges ; got intimate with two or three more ; altogether 
 turned the recent doings of Mr. Gorton there inside-out." 
 
 " Well ? " said Mr. Carr, in his surprise. 
 
 " Care to bear 'em ? " continued the detective, after a 
 moment's pause ; and a feeling crossed the breast of Mr. Carr, 
 that if ever be bad a deep man to deal with it was this one, in 
 spite of his blunt frankness, bis apparent simplicity. " Gorton 
 went down on bis errand for Kedge and Eeck, writ in pocket, 
 for Mr. Elster; had boasted there that he knew him. Can't 
 quite make out whether he did or not ; any rate, served the writ 
 on Lord Hartledon in mistake. Lordship made a joke of it ; 
 took up the matter as a brother ought ; wrote himself to Kedge 
 and Eeck to get it settled. Brothers quarrelled ; a day or two, 
 and elder one was drowned, nobody seems to know bow ; 
 younger became Lord Hartledon. Gorton stopped on, against 
 orders from Kimberly ; said afterwards, by way of excuse, had 
 been served with summons to attend inquest. Couldn't say much 
 at inquest, or didn't ; was asked if be witnessed accident ; said 
 ' No,' but some still think he did. Showed himself at Hartle- 
 don afterwards, trying to get an interview with new earl ; new 
 earl wouldn't see him, and butler turned him out. Gorton, in 
 a rage, went back to inn, got some drink, said be might be able 
 to make his lordship see him yet ; hinted at some secret, but 
 too far gone to know what be said ; began boasting of adventures 
 in Australia. Loose man there, one Pike, took him in charge, 
 and saw him off by rail for London." 
 
 " Yes ? " said Mr. Carr, for the speaker bad stopped. 
 " That's all, pretty near, as far as Gorton goes. I got a clue 
 to an address he gave down there, a place in London, where he 
 might be beard of : got it oddly, too ; but that's no matter. 
 
SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 
 
 Came up again and went to the address ; could learn nothing ; 
 tracked here and tracked there, both for Gordon and Gorton ; 
 found that Gorton disappeared close upon the time that he was 
 cast adrift by Kimberly. Is not in London, as far as can be 
 traced ; where gone, can't tell yet. So much done, I gathered 
 my experiences together, summed up the whole, and came here 
 to-day to state them." 
 
 " Proceed then," said Mr. Carr. 
 
 The detective put his note-book in his pocket, and with his 
 elbows still on the table, pressed his fingers together alternately 
 as he stated his points, speaking less abruptly than before. 
 
 " My conclusion is — the Gordon you spoke to me about was 
 the same Gordon who led the mutiny on board the Morning 
 Star ; that he never, after that, came back to England ; has 
 never been heard of, in short, by any living soul in it. That 
 the Gorton employed by Kedge and Keck was another man 
 altogether. Neither is to be traced ; the one may have found 
 his grave in the sea years ago ; the other has disappeared out 
 of London life since last October, and I can't trace how or 
 where." 
 
 Mr. Carr listened in silence. To reiterate that the two men 
 were identical the one with the other, would have been waste 
 of breath, since he could not avow how he knew it, dared not 
 give so much as the faintest clue. The detective himself had 
 unconsciously furnished a proof. 
 
 " Will you tell me your groundn for believing them to be 
 different men ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nay," said the keen detective, " the shortest way would be 
 for you to give me your grounds for thinking them to be the 
 same." 
 
 " I cannot do it," said Mr. Carr. " It might involve — no, I 
 cannot do it." 
 
 " Well, I suspected so. I don't mind mentioning one or two 
 on my side. The description of Gorton, as I had it, and 
 minutely too, from Kimberly, does not accord with that of 
 Gordon, as given me by his friend the surgeon. I wrote out 
 the description of Gorton, and took it to him. ' Is this Gordon ? ' 
 I asked. ' No, it is not,' said he ; and I'm sure he spoke the 
 truth." 
 
278 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Gordon, on his return from Australia, might be a different- 
 looking man from the Gordon who went to it." 
 
 " And would be, no doubt. But look here : Gorton was not 
 disguised ; Gordon would not dare to be in London without 
 being so ; his head's not worth a day's purchase. Fancy his 
 walking about with only one letter in his name altered ! Eely 
 upon it, Mr. Carr, you are mistaken ; Gordon would no more 
 dare to come back and put his head into the lion's mouth than 
 you'd jump into a fiery furnace. He wouldn't be able to land 
 without being dropped upon : that man was no common 
 offender, and we've kept our eyes open. And that's all," added 
 the detective, after a pause. " Not very satisfactory to you, is 
 it, Mr. Carr ? But, such as it is, I think you may rely upon it, 
 in spite of your own opinion. Meanwhile I'll keep myself on 
 the look-out for Gorton, and tell you if he turns up." 
 
 The conference was over, and Mr. Green took his departure. 
 Thomas Carr saw him out himself, and then returned to the 
 room and sat down in a reverie. 
 
 " It's a curious tale," said Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " I'm thinking how the fact, now disclosed, of Gordon's being 
 the same Gordon of that mutiny, affects you," remarked Mr. 
 Carr. 
 
 " You believe him to be the same ? " 
 
 " I see no reason to doubt it : on the contrary, every reason to 
 believe it. It's not probable that two George Gordons should 
 take their passage home in the Morning Star. Besides, it 
 explains points that seemed incomprehensible. I could not 
 understand why you were not troubled by this man, but you 
 may rely upon it he has found it expedient to go into effectual 
 hiding, and dare not yet come out of it. It is a great hold 
 upon him, this fact ; and if he turns round on you, you may 
 keep him in check with it. Only let me alight on him ; I'll so 
 frighten him as to cause him to ship himself off for life." 
 
 " I don't like that detective's having gone down to Calne," 
 remarked Lord Hartledon. 
 
 Neither did Mr. Carr, especially if Gordon, or Gorton, should 
 have become talkative on the score of " secrets," as there was 
 reason to believe he had. 
 
 " Gordon is in England, and in hiding ; probably in London, 
 
SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK. 
 
 279 
 
 for there's no place where you may hide so effectually as in this 
 great city. One thing I am astonished at : that he should show 
 himself openly as George Gorton." 
 
 " Look here, Carr," said Lord Hartledon, leaning forward ; 
 " I don't believe, in spite of you and the detective, that Gordon, 
 our Gordon, was the one connected with the mutiny. I might 
 possibly get a description of that man from Gum of Calne ; for 
 his son was coming home in the same ship — was one of those 
 killed." 
 
 "Who's Gum of Calne?" 
 
 "The parish clerk. A very respectable man. You have 
 seen Mirrable, our housekeeper ; she's related to them. Gum 
 went to Liverpool at the time, I know, and saw the remnant of 
 the passengers that those pirates had spared ; he was sure to 
 hear a full description of Gordon. If ever I visit Hartledon 
 again, I'll ask him." 
 
 " If ever you visit Hartledon again ! " echoed Mr. Carr. 
 " Unless you leave the country — as I advise you to do — you 
 cannot help visiting Hartledon." 
 
 " Well, I would almost as soon be hung ! " cried the earl. 
 " And now, for what is it that you want me, and have kept me 
 waiting here?" 
 
 Mr. Carr drew his chair nearer the earl. They alone knew 
 their own troubles, and they sat talking long after the afternoon 
 was over. Mr. Taylor came to the room ; it was past his usual 
 hour of departure. 
 
 " I suppose I can go, sir ? " 
 
 " Not just yet," replied Mr. Carr. 
 
 Lord Hartledon took out his watch, and wondered whether it 
 had been galloping, when he saw how late it was. " You'll 
 come home and dine with me, Carr ? " 
 
 "I'll follow you, if you like," was the reply. "I have a 
 matter or two to attend to first." 
 
 A few minutes more, and the earl and his care went out. Mr. 
 Carr called in his clerk. 
 
 " I want to know how you came to learn that the man I asked 
 you about, Gordon, was employed by Kedge and Eeck ? " 
 
 " I heard it through a man of the name of Druitt, " was the 
 ready answer. "Happening to ask him — as I did several 
 
280 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 people — whether he knew any George Gordon, he at once said 
 that a man of that name was at Kedge and Eeck's, where 
 Druitt himself had been temporarily employed." 
 
 " Ah," said Mr. Carr, remembering that this same Druitt had 
 been mentioned to him. " But the man was called Gorton, not 
 Gordon. You must have caught up the wrong name, Taylor. 
 Or perhaps he misunderstood you. That's all ; you may go." 
 
 The clerk departed. Mr. Carr took his hat and followed 
 him down ; but before joining Lord Hartledon, he turned into 
 the Temple Gardens, and strolled towards the river ; the few 
 moments of fresh air — fresh to those hard-worked denizens of 
 close and crowded London — seemed absolutely necessary to the 
 barrister's heated brain. 
 
 He sat down on a bench facing the river, and bared his brow 
 to the breeze. A cool head was his ; never a cooler brought 
 thought to bear upon perplexity ; nevertheless it was not feeling 
 very collected now. He could not reconcile sundry dis- 
 crepancies in the trouble he was engaged in fathoming, and he 
 saw no release whatever for Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " It has only complicated the affair," he said, as he watched 
 the steamers up and down, " this calling in Green the detective, 
 and the news he's brought. Gordon, the Gordon of the mutiny ! 
 I don't like it : the other Gordon, simple enough and not bad- 
 hearted, was easy to deal with in comparison ; this man, pirate, 
 robber, murderer, will stand at nothing. We should have a 
 hold on him, it's true, in his own crime ; but what's to prevent 
 his keeping himself out of the way, and selling Hartledon to 
 another ? Why he has not sold him yet, I can't think. Unless 
 for some reason he is waiting his time." 
 
 He put on his hat and began to count the barges on the other 
 side, to banish thought. But it would not be banished, and he 
 fell into the train again. 
 
 " Mair's behaving well ; with Christian kindness ; but it's bad 
 enough to be even in Ms power. There's something in Lord 
 Hartledon that he ' can't help loving,' he writes. Who can ? 
 Here am I, giving up my circuit — such a thing as never was 
 heard of — and calling him friend still, and losing my rest at 
 night for him ! You'll defend me, Carr, should the necessity 
 arrive, he said to me ; and I'm afraid I should not only defend 
 
SOMEBODY ELSE AT WORK, 
 
 281 
 
 him, but stand at the bar with him hand-in-hand, metaphorically 
 speaking. The Eight Honourable the Earl of Hartledon 
 arraigned for — Poor Val ! poor Val ! better that he had been 
 the one to die ! " 
 
 " Please, sir, could you tell us what the time is ? " 
 
 The spell was broken, and Mr. Carr took out his watch as he 
 turned his eyes on the questioner, a ragged urchin who had 
 called to him from below. The tide was down ; and sundry 
 Arabs were regaling their naked feet in the mud, sporting and 
 shouting. The evening drew in earlier than they did, and the 
 sun had already set. 
 
 Quitting the garden, Mr. Carr stepped into a hansom, and 
 was conveyed to Grafton Street. He found the earl knitting 
 his brow over a letter. 
 
 " Maude is growing vexed in earnest," he began, looking up 
 at Mr. Carr. " She insists upon knowing the reason that I do 
 not go home to her." 
 
 " I don't wonder at it. You ought to do one of two things : 
 go, or " 
 
 " Or what, Carr?" 
 
 " You know. Never go home to her again." 
 
 " I wish I was out of the world ! " cried the unhappy earl. 
 
282 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 at hartledon. 
 
 " Hartledon, 
 
 "I wonder what you tJiinJc of yourself, Galloping 
 about Botten Bow with women when your wife's dying, Of 
 course it's not your fault that reports of your goings-on reach 
 her here oh dear no, You are a moddel husband you are, 
 sending her down here out of the ivay that you may take your 
 pleasure, Why did you marry her, nobody wanted you to 
 she sits and mopes and weeps and she's going into the same 
 way that her father went, you'll be glad no doubt to hear it 
 it's what you're aiming at, once she is in Calne churchyard the 
 field will be open for your Anne Ashton. I can tell you that 
 if you've a spark of propper feeling you'll come down for it's 
 killing her, 
 
 " Your wicked mother, 
 
 " C. KiRTON." 
 
 Lord Hartledon turned this letter about in his hand. He 
 scarcely noticed the mistake at the conclusion: the dowager 
 had doubtless intended to imply that he was wicked, and the 
 slip of the pen in her temper went for nothing. 
 
 Galloping about Rotten Row with women! The earl sent 
 his thoughts back, endeavouring to recollect what could have 
 given rise to this charge. One morning, after a sleepless night, 
 when he had tossed and turned on his uneasy bed, and risen 
 unrefreshed, he hired a horse, for he had none in town, and 
 went for a long ride. Coming back, he turned into Rotten 
 Row. He could not tell why he did so, for such places, 
 affected by the gay, empty-headed votaries of fashion, were 
 
AT HARTLEDON. 
 
 283 
 
 little consonant to his present state. He was barely in it 
 when a lady's horse took fright ; she was riding alone, with a 
 groom ; Lord Hartledon gave her his assistance, led her horse 
 until the animal was calm, and rode side by side with her to 
 the end of the Kow. He knew not who she was ; he scarcely 
 noticed whether she was young or old; he had not given a 
 remembrance to it since. 
 
 When your wife's dying ! Accustomed to the strong expres- 
 sions of the countess-dowager, he passed that over. But, 
 " going into the same way that her father went ; " he paused 
 there, and tried to remember how her father did " go." All he 
 could recollect now, indeed all he knew at the time, was, that 
 the Earl of Kirton's death-sickness was reported to have been a 
 lingering one. 
 
 Such missives as these — and the countess-dowager favoured 
 him with more than one — coupled with his own consciousness 
 that he was not behaving to his wife as he ought, took him 
 at length down to Hartledon. That his presence in the place 
 so soon after his marriage was little short of an insult to 
 Dr. Ashton's family, his sensitive feelings told him, and he 
 would rather have gone to the opposite side of the globe ; but 
 his duty to his wife was paramount, and he could not visit his 
 sin upon her. 
 
 She was looking very ill ; she was low-spirited and hysterical ; 
 and when she caught sight of him she forgot all the anger her 
 bosom had been nourishing, and fell sobbing into his arms. 
 The countess-dowager had gone over to Garchester, and they 
 had a few hours' peace together. 
 
 " You are not looking well, Maude ! " 
 
 " I know I am not. Why do you stay away from me ? " 
 
 " I could not help myself," he murmured. " Business has 
 kept me in London." 
 
 " Have you been ill also ? You look thin end worn.' 
 
 " One does grow to look thin in heated London," he replied 
 evasively, as he walked to the window, and stood there. " How 
 is your brother, Maude — Bob ? " 
 
 " I don't want to talk of Bob yet ; I have to talk to you," 
 she said. "Percival, why did you practise that deceit upon 
 me?" 
 
284 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 « What deceit?" 
 
 "It was a downriglit falsehood; it made me look awfully 
 foolish when I came here and spoke of it as a fact. That 
 action." 
 
 Lord Hartledon made no reply. Here was one cause of his 
 disinclination to meet his wife — having to keep up the farce of 
 Dr. Ashton's action. It seemed, however, that there would no 
 longer be a farce to keep up. Had it exploded? He said 
 nothing. Maude, gazing at him from the sofa on which she 
 sat, her dark eyes looking larger than of yore, with hollow 
 circles round them, waited for his answer. 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, Maude." 
 
 " You do know. You sent me down here with a tale that the 
 Ashtons had entered an action against you for breach of promise 
 — damages, ten thousand pounds " 
 
 " Stay an instant, Maude. I did not ' send you down ' with 
 the tale. I particularly requested you to keep it private." 
 
 " Well, mamma drew it out of me unawares. She vexed me 
 with her comments about your staying on in London, and it 
 made me tell why you had stayed. She ascertained from Dr. 
 Ashton that there was not a word of truth in the story. Val, I 
 betrayed it in your defence." 
 
 He stood at the window in silence, drawing in his lips. 
 
 " I looked so foolish in the eyes of Dr. Ashton ! The 
 Sunday evening after I came down here I had a sort of 
 fainting-fit, coming home from church. He overtook me, and 
 was very kind, and gave me his arm. I said a word to him ; 
 I could not help it ; mamma had worried me on so ; and I 
 learned that no such action had ever been thought of. You 
 had no right to subject me to the chance of such mortification. 
 Why did you do so ? " 
 
 Lord Hartledon came from the window and sat down near 
 his wife, his elbow* on the table. All he could do now was 
 to make the best of it, and explain as near to the truth as he 
 could. 
 
 " Maude, you must not expect full confidence on this subject, 
 for I cannot give it you. When I found I had reason to believe 
 that some — some legal proceedings were about to be instituted 
 against me, just at the first intimation of the trouble, I thought 
 
AT HARTLEDON. 
 
 285 
 
 it must emanate from Dr. Ashton. You took up the same idea 
 yourself, and I did not contradict it, simply because I could 
 
 not tell you the real truth " 
 
 "Yes," she interrupted. "It was the night that stranger 
 called at our house, when you and Mr. Carr were closeted with 
 him so long." 
 
 He could not deny it ; but he had been thankful that she 
 should forget the stranger and his visit. Maude waited. 
 
 " Then it was an action, but not brought by the Ashtons ? " 
 she resumed, finding he did not speak. " Mamma remarked 
 that you were just the one to propose to half-a-dozen girls." 
 
 " It was not an action at all of that description ; and I never 
 proposed to any girl except Miss Ashton," he returned, nettled 
 at the remark. 
 
 " Is it over ? " 
 
 " Not quite ; " and there was some hesitation in his tone. 
 " Carr is settling it for me. I trust, Maude, you will never 
 hear of it again — that it will never trouble you." 
 
 She sat looking at him with her wistful eyes. 
 
 " Won't you tell me its nature ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell it you, Maude, believe me. I am as candid 
 with you as it is possible for me to be ; but there are some 
 things best — best not spoken of. Maude," he repeated, rising 
 impulsively and taking both her hands in his, " do you wish to 
 earn my love — my everlasting gratitude ? Then you may do it 
 by never more alluding to this." 
 
 It was a mistaken request ; an altogether unwise emotion. 
 Better that the earl had remained at the window, and drawled 
 out a nonchalant denial. But he was apt to be as earnestly 
 genuine on the surface as he was in reality. It set Lady 
 Hartledon wondering ; and she was more crafty than he, and 
 resolved to " bide her time." 
 
 " As you please, of course, Val. But why should it agitate 
 you?" 
 
 " I think I'm becoming a milksop," he answered ; " many a 
 little thing seems to agitate me now. I have not felt well of 
 late ; perhaps that's the reason." 
 
 " I think you might have satisfied me a little better. I expect 
 it is some enormous debt risen up against you." 
 
286 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Better that she should think so ! "I shall tide it over," he 
 said aloud. " But indeed, Maude, I cannot bear for you delicate 
 women to be brought into contact with these things ; they are 
 fit for us only. Think no more about it, and rely on me to 
 keep trouble from you if it can be kept. Where's Bob ? He 
 is here, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Bob's in his room. He is going into a way, I think. When 
 he wrote and asked me if I would allow him to come here for 
 a little change, the medical men saying he must have it, mamma 
 was angry, and sent a refusal by return of post ; she had had 
 enough of Bob, she said, when he was here before. But I 
 quietly wrote a note myself, and Bob came. He looked so ill, 
 and he gets worse instead of better." 
 
 " What do you mean by saying he is going into a way ? " 
 asked Lord Hartledon, the words rather striking him. 
 
 " Consumption, or something of that sort. Papa died of it. 
 You are not angry with me for keeping Bob ? " 
 
 " Angry with you ! My dear Maude, the house is yours ; 
 and if poor Bob stayed with us for ever, I should welcome him 
 as a brother. Every one likes Bob." 
 
 " Except mamma. She does not like invalids in the house, 
 and she has been saying you don't like it ; that it was helping 
 to keep you away. Poor Bob got his portmanteau and began 
 to pack his shirts ; but I told him not to mind her ; that he 
 was my guest, not hers." 
 
 " And mine also, you might have added," said the earl. 
 
 He left the room, and went to the chamber which Captain 
 Kirton had occupied when he was at Hartledon in the spring. 
 It was empty, evidently not being used ; and the earl, at a non- 
 plus, called to Mirrable. She came, looking just as usual, 
 wearing a dark-green silk gown; for the twelvemonth had 
 expired, and the mourning for the late earl was over. 
 
 " Captain Kirton is in the small blue rooms facing south, my 
 lord. They were warmer for him than these." 
 
 " Is he very ill, Mirrable ? " 
 
 " Very, I think," was the answer. " Of course he may get 
 better ; but it does not look like it." 
 
 He was a tall, thin, handsome man, this young officer — a year 
 or two older than Maude, whom he greatly resembled. Seated 
 
AT HARTLEDON. 
 
 287 
 
 before a table, he was playing at " solitaire " — if any of you 
 know that delectable game ; and his eyes looked large and wild 
 with surprise, and his cheeks became hectic, when Lord Hartle- 
 don entered. 
 
 " Bob, my dear fellow, I am glad to see you." 
 
 The earl took his hands and sat down, his face full of the 
 concern he did not care to speak. Lady Hartledon had said 
 he was going in a way: it was evidently the way of the 
 grave. 
 
 He pushed the balls and the board from him, half ashamed 
 of his employment. " To think that you should catch me at 
 this ! " he exclaimed. " Maude brought it to me yesterday ; 
 she thought I was so dull up here." 
 
 " As good that as anything else. I often think what a miser- 
 ably restless invalid I should make. But now, what's amiss 
 with you ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose it's the heart." 
 
 " The heart ! " 
 
 " The doctors say so. No doubt they are right ; those com- 
 plaints are hereditary, and my father had it. I got quite unfit 
 for duty, and they told me I must go away for change ; so I 
 wrote to Maude, and she took me in." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; we are so glad to have you. We must try and 
 cure you. Bob." 
 
 " Ah, I can't tell about that. He died of it, you know." 
 
 " Who?" 
 
 " My father. He was ill for some time, and it wore him to 
 a skeleton, so that people thought he was in a decline. If I 
 could only get sufficiently well to go back to duty, I should 
 not mind ; it is so sad to give trouble in a strange house." 
 
 " In a strange house it might be, but it would be ungrateful 
 of you to call this one strange," returned Lord Hartledon, 
 smiling on him from his pleasant blue eyes. " We must get 
 you to town and have good advice for you. " I suppose Hillary 
 comes up ? '* 
 
 " Every day." 
 
 " Does Jie say it's heart-disease ? " 
 
 " I believe he thinks it. It might be as much as his reputa- 
 tion is worth to say it in this house." 
 
288 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 "My mother won't have it said. She ignores the disease 
 altogether, and will not allow it to be mentioned, or hinted at. 
 It's bronchitis, she tells everybody ; and of course bronchitis it 
 must be. I did have a cough when I came here : my chest is 
 not strong." 
 
 " But why should she ignore heart-disease ? " 
 
 " There was a fear that Maude would be subject to it when 
 she was a little girl," answered Captain Kirton, taking up one 
 of the crystal balls. " Should it be disclosed to her that it is 
 my complaint, and were I to die of it, she might grow so alarmed 
 for herself as to bring it on ; and agitation, as we know, is 
 often fatal in such cases." 
 
 Lord Hartledon sat in a sort of horror. Maude subject to 
 heart-disease ! when at any moment a certain fearful tale, of 
 which he was the guilty centre, might be disclosed to her! 
 Day by day, hour by hour, did he live in dread of this story's 
 being brought to light. This little unexpected communication 
 increased that dread fourfold. 
 
 " Have I shocked you ? " asked Captain Kirton. " It may be 
 that I shall get the better of it." 
 
 "I believe I was thinking of Maude," answered the earl, 
 slowly recovering from his stupor. " I never heard — I had no 
 idea that Maude's heart was not perfectly sound." 
 
 " And I don't know but that it is sound ; it was only a fancy 
 when she was a child, and there might have been no real 
 grounds for it. My mother is full of crotchets on the subject 
 of illness ; and says she won't have anything about heart- 
 disease put into Maude's head. She is right, of course, so far, 
 in using precaution ; so please remember that I am suffering 
 from any disorder but that," concluded the young officer, with 
 a smile. 
 
 " How did yours first show itself ? " 
 
 "Well, I hardly know. I used to be subject to sudden 
 attacks of faintness ; but I am not sure that they had anything 
 to do with the disease itself." 
 
 Just what Maude was becoming subject to ! She had told 
 him of a fainting-fit in London ; she had told him of another 
 now. 
 
AT HARTLEDON. 
 
 289 
 
 "I suppose the doctors warn you against sudden shocks, 
 Bob?'' 
 
 " More than against anything. I am not to agitate myself 
 in the least ; I am not to run or jump, or fly into a passion. 
 They would put me in a glass case that wouldn't open, if they 
 could." 
 
 " Well, we'll see what skill can do for you," said the earl, 
 rousing himself. " I wonder if a warmer climate would be of 
 service to you ? You might have that without undue exertion, 
 travelling cautiously and slowly." 
 
 " Couldn't think of it ; couldn't afford it," was the ingenuous 
 answer. " I have forestalled my pay as it is." 
 
 Lord Hartledon smiled. Never was there a more generous 
 disposition than his ; and if money could save this poor Bob 
 Kirton, he certainly should not want it. 
 
 Walking forth, he strolled down the road towards Calne, 
 intending to ask a question or two of the surgeon. Time had 
 been when Mr. Elster went forth, as you may remember, in an 
 access of tremor, looking to this side of the road, looking to 
 that, lest missives from the Philistines should be awaiting him 
 in every tree : Lord Hartledon was in almost the same plight 
 now, lest he should come unexpectedly on one of the Ashtons. 
 Of course the feeling must be overcome; and he accustom 
 himself to meet them with equanimity. It was not so much 
 that he disliked to meet them, as he felt how painful it must 
 be to them to meet him. 
 
 Mr. Hillary was at home. His house was situated at this 
 end of Calne, just past the Rectory and opposite the church, 
 with a side view of Clerk Gum's. The door was open, 
 and Lord Hartledon strolled into the surgery unannounced, 
 to the surprise of Mr. Hillary, who did not know he was at 
 Calne. 
 
 The surgeon's opinion of Captain Kirton was not favourable. 
 He had heart-disease beyond any doubt? and when Lord 
 Hartledon asked what description of disease, there being several, 
 the surgeon's explanation was delivered in technical terms, 
 which his lordship scarcely cared to follow. His chest was 
 weak also, the lungs not over-sound ; altogether, the Honourable 
 Robert Kirton's might be called a bad life. 
 Elster's Folly. 19 
 
290 
 
 elsteb's folly. 
 
 "Would a warmer climate do anything for him?" asked 
 Lord Hartledon. 
 
 The surgeon shrugged his shoulders. " He would be better 
 there for some things than he is here. Yes, on the whole, per- 
 haps it might temporarily benefit him." 
 
 " Then he shall go. And now, Hillary, I want to ask you 
 something else — and you must answer me, mind. Captain 
 Kirton tells me that the fact of his having heart-disease is not 
 mentioned in the house lest it should alarm Lady Hartledon, 
 and tend to develop the same in her. Is there any foundation 
 for this?" 
 
 " It is true that it's not spoken of ; but I don't think there's 
 any foundation for the fear." 
 
 " The old dowager's as fanciful as she is high ! " cried Lord 
 Hartledon, resentfully. 
 
 " A queer old — girl," remarked the surgeon, as if at fault for 
 an epithet. " Can't help saying it, though she is your mother- 
 in-law." 
 
 " I wish she was any one else's ! She's as likely as not, in 
 spite of her interdiction to you and Kirton, to let out some- 
 thing of this to Maude in her tantrums. But, Hillary, I don't 
 believe a word of it ; I never saw the least symptom of heart- 
 disease in my wife." 
 
 " Nor I," said the doctor. " Of course I have not examined 
 her for it ; neither have I had much opportunity of ordinary 
 observation." 
 
 " I wish you would contrive to get the latter. Come up and 
 often call ; make some excuse for seeing Lady Hartledon pro- 
 fessionally, and watch her symptoms." 
 
 "I am seeing her professionally now. Not often; once or 
 twice a week. She had one or two fainting-fits after she came 
 down, and they called me in." 
 
 " Kirton says he used to have those fainting-fits," was the rather 
 eager interruption. " Are they a symptom of heart-disease ? " 
 
 " In Lady Hartledon I attribute them entirely to her present 
 state of health. You are aware what that is, I presume ? " 
 
 " Of course I am," was the impatient answer ; and Mr. 
 Hillary looked up, the words seemed to come out with such a 
 rush of pain. 
 
AT HAKTLEDON. 
 
 291 
 
 "I assure you, Lord Hartledon, I don't see the slightest 
 cause to fear that mischief of this sort is latent in your wife. 
 She is of a calm temperament too ; so far as I can observe." 
 
 "Well, watch her as closely as you can make opportunity 
 for ; and if you should suspect anything amiss — I cannot 
 describe to you how this has startled me," broke off the earl. 
 "I feel like a man who has had some horrible dark curtain 
 suddenly spread before him ; I could not rest till I came down 
 to you. It's all right, I hope." 
 
 They stood talking for a minute at the door, when Lord 
 Hartledon went out. Pike happened to pass on the other side 
 of the road. 
 
 " He is here still, I see," remarked the earl. 
 
 " Oh dear, yes ; and likely to be." 
 
 " I wonder how the fellow picks up a living ? " 
 
 The surgeon did not answer. " Are you going to make a 
 long stay with us ? " he asked. 
 
 " A very short one. I suppose you have had no return of 
 that fever ? " 
 
 " Not any. Calne never was more healthy than it is now. 
 As I said to Dr. Ashton yesterday, but for his own house I 
 might put up my shutters and take a holiday." 
 
 " Who is ill at the Kectory ? Mrs. Ashton ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Ashton is not strong, but she's better than she was 
 last year. I have been more concerned for Anne than for 
 her." 
 
 " Is she ill ? cried Lord Hartledon, his throat taking a sort of 
 spasm. 
 
 "Ailing. But it's an ailing I do not like." 
 
 " What's the cause ? " he rejoined, feeling as if some other 
 crime were about to be brought home to him. 
 
 " That's a question I never inquire into. I put it upon the 
 air of the Eectory," added the surgeon, in jesting tones, " and 
 tell them they ought to go away from it for a time, but they 
 have been away too much of late, they say. She's getting over 
 it somewhat, and I take care that she goes abroad and takes 
 exercise. What has it been ? you ask. Lord Hartledon. Well, 
 no particular disease; a sort of inward fever, with flushed 
 cheeks and unequal spirits. It takes time for these things to 
 
292 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 be got over, you know. The Eector has been anything but well, 
 too ; he is not the strong, healthy man he was." 
 
 "And all my work; my work!" cried the earl to himself, 
 almost gnashing his teeth as he went back down the street. 
 " What rigJit had I to upset the happiness of that family ? I 
 wish it had pleased God to take me first ! My father used to 
 say that some men seem born into the world only to be a blight 
 to it ; it's what I have been, Heaven knows." 
 
 He knew, as well as though the surgeon had said it in so 
 many words, that Anne Ashton was suffering from the shock 
 caused by his conduct. The love of these quiet, sensitive, 
 refined natures, once awakened, is not given for a day, but for 
 all time ; it becomes a part of existence ; and it cannot be riven 
 except by an effort that brings destruction to even future hope 
 of happiness. Not even Mr. Hillary, not even Dr. and Mrs. 
 Ashton, could discern the real misery that was the daily portion 
 of Anne. She strove to conceal it all. She went aboat the 
 house carolling songs, and wore a bright face when people were 
 looking at her, and dressed well, and was especially careful 
 with her hair, and laughed with guests, and went abroad, as the 
 surgeon had called it, in the parish to the poor and the rich, 
 and was altogether gay. Ah, do you know what it is, this 
 assumption of gaiety when the heart is breaking ? — this mortal 
 fear lest those about you, father, mother, brothers, sisters, ser- 
 vants, should detect the truth ? Have you ever lived with this 
 mask upon your face ? — which can only be thrown off at night 
 in the privacy of your own chamber, when you may abandon 
 yourself to your blank desolation, and fling your arms aloft to 
 heaven, praying to be taken, or to be given increased strength 
 to live and hear f My friends, it may seem a light thing, this 
 state of heart that I am telling you about — a sort of romance on 
 the page of fiction ; but it has killed both men and women, for 
 all that ; and killed them in silence. 
 
 Anne Ashton had never complained. She did everything that 
 she had been used to do, was particular about all her duties, 
 and was growing quite unnaturally gay ; but a disagreeable 
 nervous cough attacked her, and her frame wasted, and her 
 cheeks grew hectic. Try as she would, she could not eat : all 
 she confessed to, when questioned by Mrs. Ashton, was " a pain 
 
AT HARTLEDON. 
 
 293 
 
 in her throat ; " and Mr. Hillary was called in. Anne laughed 
 at him : there was nothing at all the matter with her, she said, 
 and her throat was better ; she had strained it perhaps. The 
 doctor was a wise doctor ; his professional visits were given over 
 to gossip ; and as to medicine, he just sent her a tonic, and told 
 her to take it or not as she pleased. Time, time, he said to 
 Mrs. Ashton — she would be all right in time ; the summer heat 
 was making her languid. 
 
 The summer heat had nearly passed now, and perhaps some 
 of the heat of battle was passing with it. None knew — let me 
 repeat it — what that battle had been; none ever can know, 
 unless they go through it for themselves. In Miss Ashton' s 
 case there was a feature that some are spared — her love had 
 been known — and it increased the anguish tenfold : it was the 
 worst part of the pain. She would overcome it if she could 
 only forget him ; but it would take time to do that ; would 
 come out of it an altogether different woman, with her best hope 
 in life gone, and her heart dead and worthless. 
 
 " What brought him down here ? " mentally questioned Mr. 
 Hillary, in an explosion of wrath, as he watched his visitor 
 along the street. " It will undo for her all that I have been 
 doing. He and his wife too might have had the grace to keep 
 away for this year. I did love him once, with all his faults ; 
 do still ; but I should like to see him in the pillory, for all 
 that. It has told on him also, if I'm any reader of looks. And 
 now. Miss Anne, you go off from Calne to-morrow an I can 
 prevail ; and I only hope you won't come across him in the 
 meantime." 
 
294 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 It was the same noble-looking man Calne had ever known, 
 going down the road there — called by courtesy a street— and 
 returning the greetings offered him ; his word was as affable, 
 his nod as kindly, his dark-blue eyes as radiantly earnest as 
 they had been in the old days. Lord Hartledon was not a 
 whit less attractive than the Yal Elster who had won golden 
 love from all. To look at his courtly self there, the free action 
 of his step, his head bending a return-greeting to one and 
 another, his smile sweet as of yore, none would have believed 
 that the cowardly monster. Fear, was for ever feasting upon his 
 heart. 
 
 He came to a standstill opposite the clerk's house, looked at 
 it for a moment, as if deliberating whether he should enter then 
 or at another opportunity, and crossed the road. The evening 
 twilight had begun to draw on whilst he talked with the 
 surgeon. As he advanced up the clerk's garden, some one 
 wearing a bonnet and shawl, with loose hair, came out of the 
 house with a rush, and ran right against him. 
 
 " Take care," he lazily said. 
 
 " What for, then, d'ye butt at a body like that ? " was the 
 retort. 
 
 " Well, I fancy the butting was on the other side," quoth 
 Lord Hartledon, carelessly free, as usual. The girl — it was no 
 other than Miss Rebecca Jones — stared up through her stream- 
 ing black hair, and shrank away when she recognized her 
 antagonist, muttering some sort of an apology. Flying through 
 the gate with another rush, she went up the street, and 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 296 
 
 Lord Hartledon gained the house. Miss Kebecca's exit had 
 caused the door to rebound, and he made his way in without 
 ceremony. At a table in the little parlour sat the clerk's wife, 
 presiding at a solitary tea-table by the light of a candle, for it 
 was darker indoors than out. 
 " How are you, Mrs. Gum ? " 
 
 She had not heard him enter, and started at the salutation, 
 dropping the sugar-basin with a cry. Lord Hartledon laughed. 
 
 " Don't take me for a housebreaker, Mrs. Gum. Your front- 
 door was open, and I came in without ceremony. Is your hus- 
 band at home ? " 
 
 What with shaking and curtsying, Mrs. Gum could scarcely 
 stand to answer. It was surprising how a little shock of this 
 sort, or indeed of any sort, would make her shake. Gum was 
 away on some business or other of his, she replied — which was 
 the cause of their tea-hour being delayed — but she expected 
 him in every moment. Would his lordship please to wait in 
 the best parlour, she asked, taking the candle to marshal him 
 into the state sitting-room. 
 
 No ; his lordship would not go into the best parlour ; he 
 would wait two or three minutes where he was, provided she 
 did not disturb herself, and went on with her tea. 
 
 Mrs. Gum dusted a large old-fashioned oak chair with her 
 apron ; but he perched himself sideways on one of its elbows. 
 
 " And now do you drink your tea, Mrs. Gum, and I'll look 
 on with all the envy of a thirsty man." 
 
 Mrs. Gum glanced up tremblingly at the words. Might she 
 dare to offer a cup to his lordship? She wouldn't make so 
 bold but for the intimation of thirst : tea was refreshing to a 
 parched throat. 
 
 "And mine's always parched," he returned, with the im- 
 pulsive truth that characterized him. " I'll drink some with 
 you, and thank you for it. It won't be the first time, will it ? " 
 
 " Always parched 1 " remarked Mrs. Gum. " Maybe you've 
 a touch of in'nard fever, my lord. Many folks do get it at the 
 close of summer." 
 
 Lord Hartledon sat on the elbow, and drank his tea at a 
 draught. He said well that he was always thirsty, though Mrs. 
 Gum's unconscious expression of the parched throat was the 
 
296 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 better one. That timid matron, overcome by the honour 
 accorded her — for the Earl of Hartledon was no longer young 
 Val Elster — sat on the edge of her chair, cup in hand, and 
 raised a deprecating spoonful to her lips now and then. 
 
 " I want to ask your husband if he can give me a description 
 of the man who was concerned in that wretched mutiny on 
 board the Morning Star,'' said Lord Hartledon, somewhat 
 
 abruptly. " I mean the ringleader, Gordon. He What's 
 
 the matter ? 
 
 Mrs. Gum had jumped up out of her chair. She began 
 looking about the room. The cat, or something else, had 
 " rubbed against her legs." 
 
 No cat could be found, and she took her seat again edgeways 
 as before, her teeth chattering. Lord Hartledon came to the 
 conclusion that she was fit for a lunatic asylum. Why did she 
 keep a cat, if its fancied caresses were to terrify her like that ? 
 
 " It was said, you know — at least it has been always assumed 
 — that Gordon did not come back to England," he continued, 
 speaking openly of his business, where a more prudent man 
 would have kept his lips closed. " But I have reason to believe 
 that he did come back, Mrs. Gum ; and I wish to find him." 
 
 Mrs. Gum wiped her face. It was covered with drops of 
 emotion as large as peas. 
 
 " Gordon never did come back, I am sure, sir," she said, 
 forgetting all about titles in her trepidation. 
 
 " You don't know that he did not. You may think it ; the 
 public may think it ; what's of more moment to Gordon, the 
 police may think it : but you can't know it. I know he did." 
 
 " My lord, he did not ; I could — I almost think I could be 
 upon my oath he did not," she answered, gazing out at Lord 
 Hartledon with frightened eyes and white lips, which, to say 
 the truth, rather puzzled that nobleman, and he gazed back 
 again from his perch on the chair. 
 
 " Will you tell me why you assert so confidently that Gordon 
 did not come back ? " 
 
 She could not tell, and she knew she could not. 
 
 " I can't bear to hear him spoke of, my lord," she said. " He 
 — he — we look upon him as my poor boy's murderer," she 
 broke off, with a sob ; " and it is not likely that I could," 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 297 
 
 Not very logical ; but Lord Hartledon allowed for confusion 
 of ideas following on distress. 
 
 " I don't like to speak about him any more than you can like 
 to hear," he said kindly. " Indeed I am sorry to have grieved 
 you ; but if the man is in London, and can be traced " 
 
 " In London ! " she interrupted. 
 
 " He was in London last autumn, as I believe — was living 
 there." 
 
 An expression of relief passed over her features, perceptible 
 to Lord Hartledon. 
 
 "I should not like to hear of his coming a-nigh us," she 
 sighed, dropping her voice to a whisper, as if the man could 
 hear her. " London : that's pretty far off." 
 
 "And yet he" — the incautious words were arrested on his 
 lips — " has been at Calne," they would have run ; but it was by 
 no means expedient for his. Lord Hartledon's own sake, as he 
 too well knew, to lead any one definitely on the track of George 
 Gordon. 
 
 " I suppose you are anxious to bring him to justice, Mrs. 
 Gum?" 
 
 " No, sir, not now ; neither me nor Gum," she replied, shaking 
 her head. " Time was, sir — my lord — that I'd have walked 
 barefoot to see him hung ; but the years have gone by ; and if 
 the sorrow's not dead, it's less keen, and we'd be thankful to 
 let the past rest in peace. Oh, my lord, don'i rake him up 
 again ! " 
 
 The wild, imploring accents of the words quite startled Lord 
 Hartledon. 
 
 " You need not fear,'' he said, after a pause. " I do not care 
 to see Gordon hung, either ; and though I want to trace his 
 present abode — if it can be traced — it is not with a view to 
 injuring him." 
 
 " But my husband and me don't know his abode, my lord," 
 she rejoined, in faint remonstrance. 
 
 " I did not suppose you knew it. All I want to ask your 
 husband is, to give me a description of Gordon. I wish to see 
 if it tallies with — with some one I once knew," he cautiously 
 concluded. "Perhaps you remember what the man was said 
 to be like?" 
 
298 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Slie put her fingers up to her brow, leaning her elbow on 
 the table. He could not help observing how the hand shook. 
 
 " I think it was said that he had red hair," she began, after a 
 long pause ; " and was — tall, was it ? — either tall or short ; 
 one of the two. And his eyes — his eyes were dark eyes, either 
 brown or blue." 
 
 Lord Hartledon could not avoid a smile. " That's no descrip- 
 tion at all." 
 
 " My memory is not over-good, my lord : I read his descrip- 
 tion in the handbills offering the reward ; and that's some time 
 ago now." 
 
 " The handbills ! — to be sure ! " interrupted Lord Hartledon, 
 springing from his perch. " I never thought of them ; they'll 
 give me the best description possible. Do you know where " 
 
 The conference was interrupted by the clerk. He came in 
 with a large book in his hand ; and a large dog, which belonged 
 to a friend, and had followed him home. For a minute or two 
 there was only bustle, for the dog was leaping upon every- 
 thing and every one. Lord Hartledon then said a few words 
 of explanation, and the quiet demeanour of the clerk, as he 
 calmly listened, was in marked contrast to the nervous agitation 
 of his wife. 
 
 "Might I inquire your lordship's reasons for thinking that 
 Gordon came back ? " he quietly asked, when Lord Hartledon 
 had ceased. 
 
 "I cannot give them in detail. Gum. That he did come 
 back, there is no doubt whatever, though how he succeeded 
 in eluding the vigilance of the police, who were watching 
 for him, is curious. His coming back, however, is not the 
 question: I thought you might be able to give me a close 
 description of him. I knew you went to Liverpool when the 
 unfortunate passengers arrived there." 
 
 But Clerk Gum was unable to give any satisfactory response. 
 No doubt he had heard enough of what Gordon was like at the 
 time, he observed, but it had not rested on his memory. A 
 fair man, he thought he was described, with light hair. He 
 had heard nothing of Gordon since ; didn't want to, if his 
 lordship would excuse his saying it ; firmly believed he was at 
 the bottom of the sea, 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 299 
 
 Patient, respectful, apparently candid, he spoke, attending 
 his guest, hat in hand, to the outer gate, when it pleased that 
 nobleman to take his departure. But, take it for all in all, 
 there remained a certain doubtful feeling on the Earl of 
 Hartledon's mind, in regard to the interview ; for some subtle 
 discernment had whispered to him that both Gum and his wife 
 could have given him the description of Gordon, and would not 
 do so. 
 
 He turned slowly towards home, thinking of this. As he 
 passed the waste ground and Pike's shed, he cast his eyes 
 towards it; a curl of smoke was ascending from the extem- 
 porized chimney, still discernible in the dusk of evening. It 
 occurred to Lord Hartledon that this man, who had the 
 character of being so lawless, and seemed to live upon air and 
 a loaf of bread a-day, which a baker left, and usually set down 
 outside the door, had been rather suspiciously and unaccount- 
 ably intimate with the man Gorton. Not perhaps that the 
 intimacy was suspicious in itself; birds of a feather flock 
 together; but the most simple and natural thing connected 
 with Gorton would have borne suspicion to the earl's mind 
 now. 
 
 He had barely passed the gate when some shouting arose in 
 the road behind him. A man, driving a cart recklessly, had 
 almost come in contact with another cart, and some hard 
 language ensued. Lord Hartledon turned his head quickly, 
 and just caught Mr. Pike's head, thrust a little over the top 
 of the gate, watching him. He must have been crouched down 
 in hiding when Lord Hartledon passed. The earl went back 
 at once ; and Pike put a bold face on the matter, and stood up. 
 
 " So you occupy your palace still, Pike ? " 
 
 " Such as it is. Yes." 
 
 "I half-expected to find that Mr. Marris had turned you 
 from it," continued Lord Hartledon, alluding to his steward. 
 
 " He wouldn't do it, I expect, without your lordship's 
 orders; and I don't fancy you'll give 'em," was the free 
 answer. 
 
 "I think my brother would have given them, had he 
 lived." 
 
 " But he didn't live," rejoined Pike, " He wasn't let live/* 
 
300 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 How do you mean ? " asked Lord Hartledon, catching up the 
 words. 
 
 Pike twitched off a bit of thorn from the low-growing hedge 
 behind the hurdle-fence, and began biting it. " 'Twas nearly a 
 smash," he said, looking at the two carts now proceeding on 
 their different ways with a final interchange of compliments. 
 " That cart of Floyd's is always in hot water : man drinks ; 
 Floyd turned him off once." 
 
 Lord Hartledon had not observed that it was the miller's 
 cart ; he looked after it now with the slight, transient interest 
 felt in passing things by an unoccupied man. It was jogging 
 up the road towards home, under convoy of the offending 
 driver ; the boy, David Eipper, sitting inside on some empty 
 sacks, and looking over the board behind : looking very hard 
 indeed, as it seemed, in their direction. Mr. Pike appropriated 
 the gaze. 
 
 " Yes, you may stare, young Eip ! " he apostrophized, nodding 
 his head as if the boy could hear him ; " but you won't stare 
 yourself out of my hands. You're the biggest liar in Calne 
 — a regular arch-fiend for deceit ; but you don't mislead me." 
 
 " Pike, when you made acquaintance with that man Gorton — 
 you remember him? " broke off Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Pike, emphatically. 
 
 " Did he make you acquainted with any of his private affairs ? 
 — his past history ? " 
 
 " Not a word on't," answered Pike, looking still after the cart 
 and the boy, in his bad manners. 
 
 " Were those fine whiskers of his false ? and that red hair ? " 
 
 Pike turned his head quickly. The question had aroused him. 
 
 " False hair and whiskers ! " he exclaimed. " I never knew 
 it was the fashion to wear such." 
 
 " Convenience gives rise to the custom sometimes, if fashion 
 does not," observed Lord Hartledon, his tone one of cynical 
 meaning ; and Mr. Pike surreptitiously peered at him with his 
 small light eyes. 
 
 " If Gorton's hair was false, I never noticed it, that's all ; I 
 never saw him without a hat, that I remember, except in that 
 inquest-room." 
 
 Had he been to Australia ? " 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 301 
 
 Pike paused to take another surreptitious gaze. 
 " Can't say. Never heard." 
 
 " Was his name Gorton, or Gordon ? Come, Pike," continued 
 Lord Hartledon, good-humouredly, " there's a sort of mutual 
 alliance between you and me; you did me a service once 
 unasked, and I allow you to live free and undisturbed on my 
 ground. I think you do know something of this man ; it is a 
 fancy I have taken up." 
 
 " I never knew his name was anything but Gorton," said Pike, 
 carelessly ; " never heard it nor thought it." 
 
 " Did you happen to hear him speak ever of that mutiny on 
 board the Australian ship, Morning Star f You have heard of 
 it, I dare say: a George Gordon was the ringleader." 
 
 If ever the cool impudence was suddenly taken out of a man, 
 this question seemed to take Pike's out of him. He did not 
 speak for some time ; and when he did, it was in a very low 
 and humble tone. 
 
 "My lord, I hope you'll pardon my rough thoughts and 
 ways, which haven't been used to noblemen — and the sight 
 of that rip of a boy put me up, for reasons of my own. As to 
 Gorton — I never did hear him speak of the thing you mention. 
 His name's Gorton, and nothing else, as far as I know ; and his 
 hair's his own, for all I ever saw." 
 
 " He did not give you his confidence, then ? " 
 
 "No, never. Not about himself nor anything else, past or 
 present." 
 
 " And did not let a word slip ? As to — for instance, as to 
 his having been a passenger on board the Morning Star at the 
 time of the mutiny ? " 
 
 Pike had moved away a step, and stood with his arms on the 
 hurdles, his head bent on them, as if he were gazing after some 
 object up the road ; thus his face was turned from Lord 
 Hartledon, and from the lighter quarter of the heavens where 
 the sun had set. 
 
 " Gorton said nothing to me. As to that mutiny — I think I 
 read something about it in the newspapers, but I forget what. 
 I was just getting up from some weeks of rheumatic fever at 
 the time ; I'd caught it working in the fields ; and news don't 
 leave much impression in illness. Gorton never spoke of it to 
 
ao2 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 me. I never heard him say who he was or what he was ; and I 
 couldn't speak truer if your lordship offered me the shed for 
 my own as a bribe." 
 
 " Do you know where Gorton might be found at present ? " 
 
 " I swear before Heaven that I know nothing of the man ; 
 that I've never heard of him since he went away," cried Pike, 
 with a burst of either passion or fear. " He was a stranger to 
 me when he came, and he was as a stranger when he left. I 
 found out the little game he had come about, and I saved your 
 lordship from his clutches, which he doesn't know to this day. 
 I know nothing else about him at all." 
 
 " Well, good evening. Pike. You need not put yourself out 
 for nothing." 
 
 He walked away, taking leave of the man as civilly as 
 though he had been a respectable member of society. It was 
 not in Val's nature to show discourtesy to any living being. 
 Why Pike should have shrunk from the questions he could not 
 tell ; but that he did shrink was evident ; perhaps from a 
 surly dislike to being questioned at all ; but on the whole Lord 
 Hartledon thought he had spoken the truth as to knowing 
 nothing of Gorton. 
 
 Crossing the road, he struck into the field-path near the 
 Eectory ; it was a little nearer than the road-way, and he was 
 in a hurry, for he had not thought to ask at what hour his wife 
 dined, and might be keeping her waiting. The dark shade, 
 cast by the overhanging trees in this lovely pathway, was almost 
 like night, after the still light road on which the fading glow 
 in the west was shining. 
 
 Who was this Pike? he went along thinking; as he had 
 done before now. When the man was off his guard, the rough 
 speech and demeanour were not so conspicuous ; and the tone 
 took a certain refinement that seemed to say he had some time 
 been in civilized society. Again, how did he live? A tale 
 was told in Calne of Pike's having been disturbed at supper 
 one night by a parcel of rude boys, who had seen him seated at 
 a luxurious table ; hot steak and a piece of pudding. They 
 were not believed, certainly ; but still Pike must live ; and 
 how did he find the means ? Why did he live there at all ? 
 what had caused him to come to Calne ? -Who — 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 303 
 
 These reflections might have lasted all the way home but 
 for an interruption. An interruption that drove every thought 
 out of Lord Hartledon's mind, and sent the heart's blood 
 coursing swiftly through his veins. Turning a corner of the 
 dark winding path, he came suddenly upon a lady seated on a 
 bench, so close to the narrow path that he could not but touch 
 her in passing. She seemed to have sat down for a moment 
 to do something to her hat, which was lying in her lap, her 
 hands busied with it. 
 
 A faint cry escaped her, and she rose up. It was caused 
 partly by emotion, partly by surprise at the sight of him, for 
 she did not know he was within a hundred miles of the place. 
 And it is very probable that she would have liked to box her 
 own ears for showing any. The hat fell off her knees as she 
 rose, and both stooped for it. 
 
 " Forgive me," he said. " I fear I have startled you." 
 
 " I am waiting for papa ; I walked on," she answered, in 
 hasty apology for being found there. And Lord Hartledon, 
 casting his eyes some considerable distance ahead, discerned 
 th§ indistinct forms of two persons talking together. He 
 understood the situation at once. Dr. Ashton and his daughter 
 had been to the cottages ; and the doctor had halted on their 
 return to speak to a day-labourer going home from his work, 
 Anne walking slowly on. 
 
 And there they stood face to face, Anne Ashton and her 
 deceitful lover! How their heart beats to pain, how utterly 
 oblivious they were of everything else in life save each other's 
 presence, how tumultuously confused were mind and manner, 
 to the forgetting of surface-propriety, both might remember 
 afterwards, but certainly were not conscious of then. It was a 
 little glimpse of Eden. A corner of the dark curtain thrown 
 between them had raised itself, and so unexpectedly, that for 
 the moment nothing else was discernible in the dazzling light. 
 
 Forget I Not in that instant of sweet confusion, during 
 which nothing seemed more real than a dream. He was the 
 husband of another; she was parted from him for ever; and 
 neither was capable of deliberate thought or act that could 
 intrench on the position, or tend to return, even momentarily 
 to the past. And yet there they stood with beating hearts, and 
 
304 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 eyes that betrayed their own tale — that the marriage and the 
 parting were in one sense but a hollow mockery, that their love 
 was indelible as of old. It's very wrong to have these feelings ; 
 we all know it ; very sinful and very inconvenient ; and yet — 
 there they are. Where is the use of preaching? Human 
 nature is human nature ; and warm feelings that ought to lie 
 dead and buried rise out of their grave now and again, as if to 
 mock our own better selves. Try as we will to keep love down 
 — love that ought not to be — with pride and efforts and prayers 
 and tears, it is sure to assert itself in some unguarded moment. 
 
 Forget ! Each had been " forgetting " to the utmost of the 
 poor power within, and in accordance with the high principles 
 enshrined in either heart. What a mockery that forgetting 
 seemed, now that it was laid before them naked and bare ! 
 Forget, whilst the heart turned sick to faintness at the bare 
 sight of each other ! Whilst the hands trembled at the mutual 
 touch, and the wistful eyes shone with a glance that too surely 
 spoke of love ! 
 
 But not a word of this was spoken. However true their hearts 
 might be, however manifest the self-conscious manner, there 
 was no fear of the tongue following up the error. Lord Hartle- 
 don would no more have allowed himself to speak than she to 
 listen ; regret he might tell of ; not of continuous, and — now — 
 sinful love. Neither had the hands met in ordinary salutation ; 
 it was only when he resigned the hat to her that the fingers 
 touched : a touch light, transient, almost imperceptible ; never- 
 theless it sent a thrill through the whole frame. Not exactly 
 knowing what to do in her confusion. Miss Ashton sat down on 
 the bench again and put her hat on. 
 
 " I must say a word to you before I go on my way," said 
 Lord Hartledon. " I have been wishing for such a meeting as 
 this ever since I saw you at Versailles ; and indeed I think I 
 wished for nothing else before it. When you think of me as 
 one utterly heartless — and you have no doubt every right to do 
 it " 
 
 " Stay, Lord Hartledon," she interrupted, with white lips. 
 "I cannot listen to you. You must be aware that I cannot, 
 and ought not. What are you thinking of? " 
 
 " I know that I have forfeited all right to ask you ; that it is 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 305 
 
 an unpardonable intrusion my presuming even to accost you. 
 Well, perhaps, you are right," he added, after a moment's 
 pause ; " it may be better that I should not say what I was 
 hoping to say. It cannot mend existing things ; it cannot undo 
 the past. I dare not ask for your forgiveness : it would seem 
 too much like an insult ; nevertheless, I would rather have it 
 than any earthly gift. Fare you well, Anne ! I shall some- 
 times hear of your happiness." 
 
 "Have you been ill?" she asked in a kindly impulse, 
 noticing his looks in that first calm moment. 
 
 " No — not as the world would count illness. If remorse and 
 shame and repentance can be called illness, I have my share. 
 Ill deeds of more kinds than one are coming home to me. 
 Anne," he added in a hoarse whisper, his face telling of emotion, 
 " if there is one corner of light in my heart, where all else is 
 very dark, it is caused by thankfulness to Heaven that you were 
 spared." 
 
 " Spared ! " she echoed, in wonder at the meaning of the 
 word, and so completely awed by his strange manner as to 
 forget her reserve. 
 
 " Spared the linking your name with mine. I thank God for 
 it, for your sake, night and day. Had trouble fallen on you 
 through me, I don't think I could have borne it. May you be 
 shielded from all such for ever ! " 
 
 He turned abruptly away, and she looked after him, her heart 
 beating a great deal louder than it ought. That she was his 
 best and dearest love, in spite of his marriage, it was impossible 
 not to see ; and she strove to think him very wicked for it, and 
 her cheek was red with a feeling that seemed akin to shame. 
 But — trouble ? — thankful for her sake, night and day, that her 
 name was not linked with his ? He must allude to debt, she 
 supposed: some of those old embarrassments had augmented 
 themselves into burdens, too heavy to be borne with safety. 
 
 The Eector was coming on now at a swift pace. He looked 
 keenly at Lord Hartledon ; looked twice, as if in surprise. A 
 flush rose to Val's sensitive face as he passed, and lifted his hat. 
 The Eector, dark and proud, condescended to return the 
 courtesy : and the meeting was over. 
 
 Toiling across Lord Hartledon's path was the labourer to 
 
 Elster's Folly. 20 
 
306 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 whom the Eector had been speaking. He had an empty bottle 
 slung over his shoulder, and carried a sickle. The man's hard 
 day's work was over, and had left fatigue behind it. 
 
 " Good night to your lordship ! " 
 
 " Is it you, Eipper ? " 
 
 He was the father of the young gentleman in the cart, whom 
 Mr. Pike had not long before treated to his opinion: young 
 David Kipper, the miller's boy. Old Ripper, a talkative and 
 discontented man, stopped and ventured to enter on his sorrows 
 and grievances to the earl, just as he had been enlarging on 
 them to Dr. Ashton. His wife had been pledging things to pay 
 for a fine gown she had bought ; his two girls were down with 
 measles ; his son, young Rip, plagued his life out. 
 
 " How does he plague your life out ? " asked Lord Hartledon, 
 when he had listened patiently. 
 
 " A-saying he'll go off and enlist for a soldier, my lord ; he's 
 a-saying of it always : and he means it too, only he's over-young 
 for't." 
 
 " Over-young for it ; I should think he is over-young for it. 
 "Why, he's not much more than a child. Our sergeants don't 
 enlist little boys." 
 
 " Sometimes he says he'll drown hisself, by way of a change," 
 returned old Ripper. 
 
 " Oh, does he ! Folks that say it never do it. I should whip 
 it out of him." 
 
 " He have never been the same since the lord's death that 
 time. He's always frightened: gets a-fancying things, and 
 saying sometimes he sees his shadder." 
 
 " Whose shadow ? " 
 
 " His'n : your lordship's brother's." 
 
 " Why does he fancy that ? " came the question, after a per- 
 ceptible pause. 
 
 Old Ripper shook his head. It was beyond his sense to 
 know, he said. " There be only two things he's afeard on in 
 life," continued the man, who, though called old Ripper very 
 generally, was not above five-and-thirty. " The one's that wild 
 man Pike ; t'other's the shadder. He'd run ten mile sooner nor 
 see either." 
 
 Does Pike annoy the boy ? " 
 
UNDER THE TREES. 
 
 307 
 
 " Never spoke to him, as I knows on, my lord. Afore that 
 drownding of his lordship last year, Davy was the boldest and 
 stockiest rip going," added the man, who had long since fallen 
 into the epithet applied popularly to his son. " Since then he 
 don't dare say his soul's his own. We had him laid up afore 
 the winter, and I know 'twere nothing but fear." 
 
 Lord Hartledon could not make much of the story, and had 
 no time to linger. Administering a word of general encourage- 
 ment, he continued his way, his thoughts going back to the 
 interview with Anne Ashton, and a line or two of Longfellow's 
 " Fire of Driftwood " rising up in his mind — 
 
 " Of what had been and might have been, 
 And who was changed, and who was dead.'* 
 
308 
 
 blster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER 
 
 The Dowager-Countess of Kirton stood in the sunny breakfast- 
 room at Hartledon, surveying tlie well-spread table with com- 
 placency ; for it appeared to be rather more elaborately set out 
 than usual, and no one living loved good cheer better than 
 she. When she saw two cups and saucers on the cloth instead 
 of one, it occurred to her that Maude must, by caprice, be 
 coming down to the meal, which she had not done of late. 
 The countess-dowager had arrived at midnight from Garchester, 
 in consequence of having missed the earlier train, and found 
 nearly all the house gone to bed. She was in a furious humour, 
 and no one had told her of the arrival of the earl : no one ever 
 did tell her any more than they were obliged to do ; for she 
 was not held in estimation at Hartledon. 
 
 "Potted tongue," she exclaimed, dodging round the table, 
 lifting the covers, and looking and sniffing. " A raised pie ; I 
 wonder what's in it? And whatever's that stuff in jelly? it 
 looks delicious. This is through the blowing-up I gave Hedges 
 the other day ; nothing like finding fault. Hot dishes coming 
 up too, for the stands are on the table. I suppose Maude gave 
 out that she should be down this morning. Such idleness — her 
 lying in bed ! It's all rubbish, her fancying she's ill : she's as 
 well and hearty as I am, and she takes and gives way like a 
 sim A-a-a-ah ! " 
 
 The conclusion was a sort of scream, caused by the entrance 
 of the earl. She was just in the act of conveying surreptitiously 
 some delicious morsel cribbed from a dish to her mouth on the 
 end of a fork. It was arrested midway ; and the mouth opened 
 to receive it remained open from consternation. 
 
BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 309 
 
 " How are you, Lady Kirton ? " 
 
 " Where on earth did you spring from ? " 
 
 " From my room," said the earl. 
 
 She went round to her seat rather crestfallen. To say nothing 
 of being caught at the little interlude of the fork, she was also 
 caught in a costume that was, to say the least of it, not becoming : 
 a washed-out old buff dressing-gown, with torn frills and short 
 in the skirts, and a night-cap with a flapping border. Expect- 
 ing no company but herself, and not caring for Hedges, to 
 whom she had grown used, the countess-dowager had thus 
 descended. She was a wretchedly vain old woman still ; and 
 to be seen thus by a young and attractive man was anything 
 but satisfactory, although he was her son-in-law. 
 
 "What's the good of your appearing before people like a 
 ghost, Hartledon ? When did you arrive ? " 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon." 
 
 " Ugh I And time you did, I think, with your poor wife 
 fretting herself to death for you. How is she this morning ? " 
 " Very well." 
 
 " Ugh ! " You must please to imagine this sound as some- 
 thing between a grunt and a groan, that the estimable lady 
 gave vent to whenever put out. It is not capable of being 
 written. "You might have sent word you were coming. I 
 should think you frightened your wife to death." 
 
 " Not quite." 
 
 He walked across the room and rang the bell ; taking, as it 
 were, the executive out of the dowager's hands. Hedges brought 
 in the breakfast. It had been the dowager's pleasure that no 
 one else should serve her at that meal — perhaps on account of 
 these peculiarities of costume. 
 
 She slipped out of the room, and came back with her night- 
 cap off and a green turban on. The toilette had been hurried, 
 and the false front fell too much over her nose, and the cheeks 
 were red in the wrong place. She never looked so cunningly 
 keen as in these moments : her forehead (what there was of it) 
 hidden, her little eyes peering out from under the brows. 
 
 "Will you be so kind as pour out the coffee in Maude's 
 place to-day. Lady Kirton? She has promised to get up 
 another morning." 
 
310 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 It was making her so entirely a guest, and intentionally she 
 thonglit, that Lady Kirton did not like it. Not only did she 
 fully intend Lord Hartledon's home to be her home, but she 
 meant to be the one ruling power in it. Keep Maude just 
 now to her invalid fancies, and later to her round of gay 
 life, and there would be little fear of her asserting her in- 
 dependence. 
 
 " Are you in the habit of setting out this sort of breakfast, 
 Hedges ? asked the earl ; for what with the cold dishes and 
 the hot, the board looked like an elaborate dinner. 
 
 " We have made some difference, my lord, this morning." 
 
 " For me, I suppose. You need not do so in future. I have 
 got out of the habit of eating breakfast ; and if I ate it ever so, 
 I don't want this sort of display. Captain Kirton gets up 
 later, I presume." 
 
 " He's hardly ever up before eleven," said Hedges. " But 
 he makes a good breakfast, my lord." 
 
 " That's all right. Tempt him with any delicacy you can 
 devise. He wants strength." 
 
 The dowager was fuming. " Don't you think I'm capable of 
 regulating these things, Hartledon, I'd beg leave to ask ? " 
 
 "Oh, no doubt. I beg you will make yourself at home 
 whilst you stay with us. I should like some tea. Hedges." 
 
 She could have thrown the coffee-pot at him. There was in- 
 cipient independence in his every movement ; there was latent 
 war in his look. He was no longer the puppet in her hands 
 that he had been ; the day had gone by for ever. 
 
 Perhaps Val could not himself have explained the feeling 
 that was this morning working within him. It was the first 
 time he and the dowager had met since the marriage, and the 
 sight of her brought before him all too prominently the ill- 
 omened past: her unjustifiable scheming — his own miserable 
 weakness. If ever Lord Hartledon felt shame and repentance 
 for that weak yielding of his, he felt it now — felt it in all its 
 bitterness ; and something very like rage against the dowager 
 was bubbling up in his spirit, which he had some trouble to 
 suppress. 
 
 He did suppress it, however, though it rendered him less 
 courteous than usual; and the meal proceeded partly in 
 
BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 311 
 
 silence ; an interclianged word, civil on tlie surface, passing 
 now and then. Tlie dowager enjoyed herself and ate as usual, 
 and had little leisure, whilst the eating lasted, for anything 
 else. 
 
 " What makes you take nothing ? " she asked, perceiving at 
 length that he had only a piece of toast on his plate, and was 
 playing with that. 
 
 " I am not hungry." 
 
 " These mushrooms are delicious ; so are the kidneys." 
 " They look good." 
 
 " Have you left off eating breakfast ? " 
 
 " I have not had much appetite for it lately." 
 
 " What has taken your appetite ? " 
 
 The earl slightly raised his eyebrows, and balanced his tea- 
 spoon on the edge of his cup. " One can't eat much in the 
 heat of summer." 
 
 " Heat of summer ! it's nothing more than autumn now. 
 And you are as thin as a weasel too. Take and try that raised 
 pie." 
 
 "Do let me and my appetite alone. Lady Kirton. If I 
 wanted anything I should take it." 
 
 " Let you alone ! yes, of course ! You don't want it to be 
 noticed that you are out of sorts," snapped the dowager. " I 
 know the signs — turning from good food and swallowing down 
 all that tea. You've been raking and racketing about London 
 with a heap of fast men — that's what you've been at." 
 
 The " raking and racketing about London " presented so 
 complete a contrast to the lonely life of care and anxiety he 
 had really passed, that the earl smiled in very bitterness. And 
 the smile incensed the dowager, for she misunderstood it. 
 
 " It's early days to begin ! I don't think you ought to have 
 married Maude." 
 
 "I don't think I ought." 
 
 She did not expect the rejoinder, and dropped her knife and 
 fork. " Why did you marry her ? " 
 
 " Nay — perhaps you can tell that better than I." 
 
 The countess-dowager pushed up her hair. " Are you going 
 to throw off the mask outright, and become a bad husband as 
 well as a neglectful one " 
 
312 
 
 ELSTER*S FOLLY. 
 
 He rose from his seat and went to the window, which was 
 open to the ground. He did not wish to quarrel with her if he 
 could help it. Lady Kirton raised her voice. 
 
 " Staying away, as you have, in London, and leaving Maude 
 here to pine alone." 
 
 " Business kept me in London." 
 
 " I dare say it did ! " cried the wrathful dowager. " If 
 Maude died of ennui, you wouldn't care. She can't go 
 about much herself just now, poor thing ! I icish Edward 
 had lived." 
 
 " I wish he had, with all my heart ! " came the answer ; and 
 the tone struck surprise on the dowager's ear — it was so full of 
 pain. " Maude's coming to Hartledon without me was her own 
 doing," he remarked. " I wished her not to come." 
 
 " I dare say you did^ as her heart was set upon it. The fact 
 of her wishing to do a thing would be the signal for your 
 opposing it ; I've gathered that much. My advice to Maude 
 is, to assert her own will, irrespective of yours." 
 
 " Don't you think. Lady Kirton, that it may be as well if 
 you let me and my wife alone ? We shall get along, no doubt, 
 without interference ; loith interference we might not do so." 
 
 What with one thing and another, the dowager's temper was 
 inflammable that morning ; and when it reached that undesir- 
 able state she was apt to say pretty free things, even for her. 
 
 " Edward would have made her the better husband." 
 
 " But she didn't like him, you know ! " spoke the earl, his 
 eyes flashing with the reminiscence of an old thought ; and 
 the countess-dowager took the sentence literally, and not 
 ironically. 
 
 "Ah! not like him. If you had had eyes as Yal Elster, 
 you'd have seen whether she liked him or not. She was dying 
 for him — not for you." 
 
 The earl made no reply. It was only what he had sus- 
 pected, in a half-doubting sort of way, at the time. A little 
 spaniel, that belonged to one of the gardeners, ran up and 
 licked his hand. 
 
 " The time that I had of it ! " continued the dowager ; her 
 nose getting redder and redder as her temper got up. " But 
 for me, Maude never would have been forced into having you. 
 
BEEAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 313 
 
 And she shouldn't, if I'd thought you were going to turn out 
 like this." 
 
 He wheeled round and faced her ; his pale face working with 
 emotion, but his voice subdued to calmness. Lady Kirton's 
 last words halted on her tongue, for his look startled even her, 
 in its resolute sternness. 
 
 " To what end are you saying this, madam ? You know 
 perfectly well that you almost moved heaven and earth, schem- 
 ing to get me : you, I say ; I prefer to leave my wife's name 
 out of this : and I fell into the snare. I have not complained 
 of my bargain ; so far as I know, Maude has not done so : but 
 if it be otherwise — if she and you repent of the union, I am 
 willing to dissolve it, as far as it can be dissolved, and to 
 institute measures for living apart." 
 
 Never, never had she suspected it could come to this. She 
 sat staring at him, her eyes round, her mouth open. Of a 
 verity she did not believe the calm resolute man before her 
 could be the once vacillating, sweet-tempered, yielding Val 
 Elster. 
 
 " Have you been taking up with some one else ? " 
 
 The earl's brow darkened ; he could have ground his teeth 
 with shame, that this woman, debased in mind, vulgar in speech, 
 was his wife's mother. 
 
 " Listen whilst I speak a word of truth," he said, his eyes 
 bent on her with a strange fire that, if it told of undisguised 
 earnestness, told also of inward fever. " I married your 
 daughter, and I am ready and willing to do my duty by her 
 in all honour, as I have done it since the day of the marriage. 
 Whatever my follies may have been as a young man, I am at 
 least incapable of wronging my wife as a married one. She 
 has had no cause to complain of want of affection — ask her 
 whether she has — but " 
 
 " Oh, what a hypocrite ! " interrupted the dowager, with a 
 shriek. "And all the time you've left her here neglected, 
 while you were taking it out in amusement in London ! You've 
 been dinner-giving and Eichmond-going, and theatre-frequent- 
 ing, and card-playing, and race-horsing — and I shouldn't wonder 
 but you've been cock-fighting, and a hundred other things that's 
 disreputable, and have come down here worn to a skeleton ! " 
 
314 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " But if she is discontented, 4f she does not care for me, as 
 you would seem to intimate," resumed the earl, passing over 
 the attack without notice ; " in short, if Maude would be happier 
 without me, I am quite willing, as I have just said, to relieve 
 her of her distasteful husband." 
 
 " Of all the wicked plotters, you must be the worst ! My 
 darling, unoffending Maude ! A divorce for her ! " 
 
 " We are neither of us eligible for a divorce," he coolly re- 
 joined. " A separation alone is open to us, and that an amicable 
 one. Should it come to it, every possible provision can be made 
 for your daughter's comfort ; she shall retain this home ; she 
 shall have, if she wishes, a town-house ; I will deny her 
 nothing." 
 
 Lady Kirton rolled her handkerchief into a ball and rubbed 
 her face carefully. Not until this moment had she believed 
 him to be in earnest, and the conviction frightened her. 
 
 " Why do you wish to separate from her ? " she asked, in 
 a subdued tone. 
 
 " I do not wish it. I said I was willing to do so if she 
 wished it. You have been taking pains to convince me that 
 Maude's love was not mine, that she was only forced into the 
 marriage with me. Should this have been the case, I must be 
 distasteful to her still ; an encumbrance she may wish to get 
 rid of." 
 
 The countess-dowager had overshot her mark, and saw it. 
 
 " Understand me," said the earl. " The chief object I have 
 in life is Maude's comfort. To insure her happiness, I do not 
 care what I sacrifice." 
 
 " Oh ! Would you like to separate from her, pray ? " 
 
 A slight flush rose to his cheek. " My opinion is, that Maude 
 will be happier with me than apart. Should she think other- 
 wise, I will not bring my own feelings in question at all, but 
 act irrespective of them." 
 
 "Did she meet you yesterday with unkindness — with dis- 
 like?" 
 
 " Quite the contrary." 
 
 " Of course. Perhaps I was mistaken about the past," said 
 the dowager, staring at him very hard, and in a sort of defiance. 
 " Maude was always very close. If you said anything about 
 
BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 315 
 
 separation now, I dare say you'd kill her. My belief is, that she 
 does care for yon, and a great deal more than you deserve." 
 
 " It may be better to ascertain the truth from Maude ^ 
 
 " You'll not say a syllable to her ! " cried the countess- 
 dowager, starting up in terror. " She'd never forgive me ; she'd 
 turn me out of the house. Hartledon, promise you'll not tell 
 her." 
 
 He stood back against the window, never speaking. 
 
 "She does love you; I'll swear it — there! I thought I'd 
 frighten you, for you had no right to send Maude home alone ; 
 and it made me very cross, because I saw how she felt it. 
 Separation indeed ! and Maude beginning to make little frocks 
 and caps ! "What can you be thinking of. Hart ? " 
 
 He was thinking of a great deal, no doubt ; and his thoughts 
 were as bitter as they could well be. He did not wish to 
 separate; he felt, come what might, his place should be by 
 his wife's side as long as circumstances permitted it. 
 
 " Will you hear a word of warning. Lady Kirton ? I and 
 my wife will be happy enough together, I believe, if we are 
 allowed to be ; but the style of conversation you have just 
 adopted to me will not conduce to it ; it might retaliate on 
 Maude, you see. Do not again attempt it." 
 
 " How you have changed ! " was her involuntary remark. 
 
 " Yes ; I am not the foolish, yielding boy I was. And now 
 I wish to speak of your son. He seems very ill." 
 
 " A poking, intruding fellow, why can't he keep his ailments 
 to his own barracks ? " was the rejoinder, more wrathful than 
 affectionate. " I told Maude I wouldn't have him here, and 
 what does she do but go and write off by the same post and tell 
 him to come ! I don't like sick folk about me, and never did. 
 What do you want ? " 
 
 The last question was addressed to Hedges, who had come in 
 unsummoned. It was only to bring a letter to his master. 
 Lord Hartledon took it as a welcome interruption, carried it 
 outside the glass doors, and sat down on a garden-seat at a 
 distance. How he hated the style of attack just made on him ; 
 the style of the dowager altogether ! He asked himself in what 
 manner he could avoid this for the future. It was a debasing, 
 lowering occurrence, and he felt quite sure that it could hardly 
 
316 
 
 ELSTER*S FOLLY. 
 
 have taken place in his servants' hall. But he was glad he had 
 said what he did about the separation. It might grieve him to 
 part from his wife, but Mr. Carr had warned him that he ought 
 to do it. Certainly, if she disliked him so very much — if she 
 forced it upon him — why, then, it would be an easier task ; but 
 she did not dislike him, an he was any judge. If she had done 
 so before marriage, she had learnt to like him now ; and he 
 believed that the bare mention of parting would shock her: 
 and so — his duty seemed to lie in remaining by her side. What 
 with one thing and another, the Earl of Hartledon by no means 
 saw his way clear. 
 
 He held the letter in his hand for some minutes before he 
 tore it open. The handwriting warned him that it was from 
 Mr. Carr, and he knew that no pleasant news cdVild be in it. 
 In fact, the earl had placed himself in such an unsatisfactory 
 position as to render anything but ill news next door to an 
 impossibility. 
 
 It contained but a few lines — a word of caution that Mr. Carr 
 had forgotten to speak when he took leave of Lord Hartledon 
 the previous morning. " Let me advise you not to say anything 
 to those people — Gum, I think the name is — about G, G* It 
 might not be altogether prudent for you to do so. Should you 
 remain any time at Hartledon, I will come down for a few days 
 and question for myself." 
 
 "I've done it already," thought the earl, as he folded the 
 letter and returned it to his pocket. " As to my staying any 
 time at Hartledon — not if I know it." 
 
 Looking up at the sound of footsteps, he saw Hedges ap- 
 proaching. Never free from a certain apprehension when any 
 unexpected interruption occurred — an apprehension that turned 
 his heart sick, and set his pulses beating — the earl waited, out- 
 wardly very calm. 
 
 " Floyd has called, my lord, and is asking to see you. He 
 seems rather — rather concerned and put out. I think it's some- 
 thing about — about the death last summer." 
 
 Hedges hardly knew how to frame his words, and Lord 
 Hartledon stared at him. 
 
 " Floyd can come to me here," he said. 
 
 The miller soon made his appearance, carrying a sort of 
 
BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 317 
 
 portemonnaie in his hand. It was made of Russian leather, its 
 rims being of solid gold. The earl knew it in a moment, in 
 spite of its marks of defacement. 
 
 " Do you recognize it, my lord ? " asked the miller. 
 
 " Yes, I do," replied Lord Hartledon. " It belonged to my 
 brother." 
 
 " Well, I thought so," returned the miller. " On the very 
 day before that unfortunate race last year, his lordship was 
 talking to me, and had this in his hand. I felt sure it was the 
 same the moment I saw it." 
 
 " He had it with him the day of the race," observed Lord 
 Hartledon. "Mr. Carteret said he saw it lying in the boat 
 when they started. We always thought it had been lost in the 
 river. Where did you find it ? " 
 
 " Well, it's very odd, my lord, but I found it buried." 
 
 " Buried ! " 
 
 " Buried in the ground, not far from the river, alongside the 
 path that leads from where his lordship was found, to Hartledon. 
 I was getting up some dandelion roots for my wife this morning 
 early, and I dug up this close to one. There's where the knife 
 touched it. My lord," added the miller, "I beg to say that 
 I have not opened it. I wiped it and put it in paper, and said 
 nothing to anybody, but came here with it as soon as I thought 
 you'd be up. That lad of mine, Eipper, said last night you 
 were at Hartledon." 
 
 The miller was an honest and truthful man; and Lord 
 Hartledon knew that when he said he had not opened it, he 
 had not done so. It contained still some small memorandums 
 in his brother's writing, but no money ; and this was noticeable, 
 since it was quite sure to have had money in it on that day. 
 
 " Those that buried it might have taken it out," he observed, 
 following the bent of his thoughts. 
 
 " But who did bury it ; and w^here did they find it, to allow 
 of their burying it ? " questioned the miller. " How did they 
 come by it ? — that's the odd thing. I am certain it was not in 
 the skiff, for I searched that over myself." 
 
 Lord Hartledon said little. He could not understand it; 
 and the incident, with the slips of paper, was bringing his 
 brother all too palpably before him. One of them had con- 
 
318 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 cerned himself, thougli in what manner he would never know 
 now. It ran as follows : " Not to forget Val." Poor fellow ! 
 Poor Lord Hartledon ! 
 
 " Would your lordship like to come and see the spot where I 
 found it ? " asked the miller. " I've just covered it up, so that 
 nobody will notice it going by." 
 
 Lord Hartledon said he should, and would go in the course 
 of the day ; and Floyd took his departure. Val sat on awhile 
 where he was, and then went in, locked up the damp porte- 
 monnaie with its tarnished rims, and went on to the presence 
 of his wife. 
 
 She was dressed now, but had not left her bedroom. She 
 evidently meant to be very kind and pleasant with him; 
 diffe?:ent from what she had been, for she smiled, and began a 
 little apology for her tardiness, saying she would get up when 
 he did in future. 
 
 He motioned her back to her seat on the sofa before the 
 open window, and sat down by her. His face was grave ; she 
 thought she had never seen it so much so — grave and firm, and 
 his voice was grave too, but had a kindly tone in it. He took 
 both her hands between his as he spoke ; not so much, it 
 seemed, in affection, as to impress solemnity upon her. 
 
 " Maude, I am going to ask you a question, and I beg you to 
 answer me as truthfully as you could answer Heaven. Have 
 you any wish that we should live apart from each other ? " 
 
 " I do not understand you," she answered, after a pause, during 
 which a flush of surprise or emotion spread itself gradually 
 over her face. 
 
 " Nay, the question is plain. Have you any wish to separate 
 from me ? " 
 
 "I never thought of such a thing. Separate from you! 
 What can you mean ? " 
 
 " Your mother has dropped a hint that you have not been 
 happy with me. I could almost understand her to imply that 
 you have had a positive distaste to me — a dislike. She sought 
 to explain her words away, but she certainly spoke them. Is 
 it so, Maude ? I fancied something of the sort myself in the 
 earlier days of our marriage." 
 
 He turned his head sharply at an interrupting sound, but 
 
BREAKFAST WITH THE DOWAGER. 
 
 319 
 
 it was only the French clock on the mantelpiece striking 
 eleven. 
 
 " Because," he resumed, having waited in vain for an answer, 
 "if such should really be your wish, I will accede to it. I 
 desire your comfort, your happiness beyond any earthly thing ; 
 and if living apart from me would promote it, I will sacrifice 
 my own feelings, and you shall not hear a murmur. Maude, I 
 would sacrifice my life for you." 
 
 She burst into tears, and laid her face upon his shoulder. 
 " Are you speaking at all for yourself? Do you wish this ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then how can you be so cruel ? " 
 
 " Well, I should have thought it unjustifiably cruel, but for 
 the idea that has been given to me. Tell me the whole truth, 
 Maude." 
 
 She was tui'ning sick with fear lest his proposed intention 
 should be carried out. She had begun to like her husband 
 during the latter part of their sojourn in London. She had 
 missed him terribly during this long period of lonely ennui at 
 Hartledon ; and his tender kindness to her for the past few 
 fleeting hours of this their meeting had seemed like heaven as 
 compared with the solitary past. Her whole heart was in her 
 words as she answered : 
 
 "When we first married I did not care for you; I almost 
 think I did not like you. Everything was new to me, and I 
 felt as one in an unknown sea. But it wore off — it did indeed ; 
 and if you only knew how I have thought of you, and wished 
 for you here, you would never have said anything so cruel. 
 You are my husband — you know you are — and you cannot put 
 me from you. I cried a little after you went down this morn- 
 ing, because I felt so happy. Oh, Percival, promise me that 
 you will never hint at this again ! " 
 
 He bent his face and kissed her several times. His course 
 lay plain before him ; and if an ugly mountain rose up before 
 his mind's eye, shadowing forth not voluntary but forced 
 separation, he would not look at it in that moment. 
 
 " What could mamma mean ? " she asked, thinking she would 
 have no objection to lie there placidly in her husband's arms 
 for ever. " I shall ask her." 
 
320 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " No, Maude ; oblige me by saying nothing about it. I have 
 already warned Lady Kirton that it must not be repeated ; and 
 I am sure it will not be. I wish you would also oblige me in 
 another matter." 
 
 " In anything," she eagerly said, raising her tearful eyes to 
 his. " Val, my darling — and I have never called you so before," 
 she fondly whispered — " ask me anything." 
 
 " I intend to take your brother to the warmest seaside place 
 England can boast of, at once ; to-day or to-morrow. The sea- 
 air may do me good also. I want that, or something else," he 
 added ; his tone assuming a sad weariness as he remembered 
 how futile any " sea-air " would be for mental disease such as 
 his. " Won't you go with us, Maude ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, and be glad to go ! Take me with you always 
 everywhere." 
 
 He left her to proceed to Captain Kirton's room, thinking 
 that he and his wife might have been very happy together yet, 
 but for that one awful shadow of the past, which she did not 
 know anything about ; and he prayed she never might know. 
 
 After all, though, it would have been but a very moonlight 
 sort of happiness. 
 
( 321 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XXVIII. 
 
 THE STKANGE VISITOR AGAIN ! 
 
 The montlis rolled on, and Lord and Lady Hartledon did not 
 separate. They remained together, and were, so far, happy 
 enough — the moonlight happiness hinted at ; and it is, as I 
 believe, the best and calmest sort of happiness for married life. 
 Maude's temper was unequal, and he was subject to prolonged 
 hours of sadness. But the time went lightly enough over their 
 heads, for all the world saw, as it goes over most people's. 
 
 And Lord Hartledon was a free man still, and stood well 
 with the world. Whatever the mysterious accusation brought 
 against him might have been, it was productive of no noisy 
 effects as yet ; in popular phrase, it had come to nothing. As 
 yet, as yet always. Whether he had shot a man, or robbed a 
 bank, or fired a church, the incipient accusation died away. 
 But the fear, let it be of what nature it would, never died away 
 in the earl's mind ; and he lived as a man who has a sword sus- 
 pended over his head. Moreover, the sword, in his own 
 imagination, was slipping gradually from its fastenings ; and 
 his days were restless, his nights sleepless, the inward fever 
 was ever consuming him. 
 
 As none knew better than Thomas Carr. There were two 
 witnesses who could bring the facts home to the earl ; and, so 
 far as was known, only two : the stranger, who had paid him a 
 visit, and been taken for a clergyman ; and the man Gordon, or 
 Gorton. The latter was the more dangerous ; and they had not 
 yet been able to trace him. Mr. Carr's friend. Green the 
 detective, had furnished that gentleman with a descriptive bill 
 of Gordon of the mutiny : " a young, slight man, with light eyes 
 and very fair hair." This did not answer exactly to the Gorton 
 
 Elster's Folly. 21 
 
322 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 wlio had played his part at Calne ; but then, in regard to the 
 latter, there remained the suspicion that the red hair was false. 
 Whether it was the same man, or whether it was two men — if 
 the phrase may be allowed — neither of them, to use the expres- 
 sive words of Mr. Green, turned up. And thus the months had 
 passed on, with nothing special to mark them. Captain Kirton 
 had been conveyed safely abroad for the winter, and they had 
 good news of him ; and the countess-dowager was inflicting a 
 visit upon one of her married daughters in Germany, the 
 baroness with the unpronounceable name. 
 
 And the matter had nearly faded from the mind of Lady 
 Hartledon. It would quite have faded, but for certain inter- 
 views with Thomas Carr at his chambers, when the earl's look 
 of care precluded the idea that the visits could be those of mere 
 idleness or pleasure ; and for the secret trouble that unmistak- 
 ably sat on her husband like an incubus. At times he would 
 moan in his sleep as one in pain ; but if told of this, he had 
 always some laughing answer ready for her — he had dreamt he 
 was being run at by a bull, or was being tossed by one. 
 
 This was the pleasantest phase of Lady Hartledon's married 
 life. Her health did not allow of her mixing in gaiety ; and 
 she and her husband passed their time happily together. All 
 her worst qualities seemed to have left her, or to be sleeping ; 
 she was yielding, mild, gentle ; her beauty had never been so 
 great as now that it was subdued ; her languor of spirit was an 
 attraction, her care to please him genuine ; and her husband 
 gave her love for love. They were in their town-house now, 
 not having gone back at all to Hartledon. A large, handsome 
 house this, a contrast to the hired one they had first occupied. 
 
 In January the baby was born ; and Maude's eyes glistened 
 with tears of delight because it was a boy : a little heir to the 
 broad lands of Hartledon. She was very well, and it seemed 
 that she could never tire of fondling her baby. 
 
 But in the few first days succeeding that of the birth a strange 
 fancy took possession of her: she observed, or thought she 
 observed, that her husband did not seem to care for the child. 
 He did not caress it ; she once heard him sighing over it ; and 
 he never announced it in the newspapers. Other countesses' 
 infants, the heirs especially, could be made known to the world 
 
THE STKANGE VISITOR AGAIN ! 
 
 323 
 
 in announcements as grand as you please ; but not so hers. The 
 omission might never have come to her knowledge, since at first 
 she was not allowed to see newspapers or any other reading, 
 but for a letter from the countess-dowager. That lady wrote in 
 a high state of wrath from Germany ; she had looked every day 
 for ten days in the Times, and saw no chronicle of the happy 
 event ; and she demanded to know the reason. It afforded a 
 valve for her temper, which had been in an explosive state for 
 some time against Lord Hartledon, that ungracious son-in-law 
 having actually forbidden her his house until Maude's illness 
 should be over ; telling her plainly that he would not have his 
 wife worried. Lady Hartledon said nothing for a day or two ; 
 she was watching her husband ; watching for signs of the fancy 
 which had taken possession of her. 
 
 He was in her room one dark afternoon, standing with his 
 elbow on the mantelpiece whilst he talked to her : a spacious 
 room of luxury and comfort, that it must have been almost a 
 pleasure to be ill in. Lady Hartledon was up and dressed, and 
 was sitting in the easy-chair : she seemed to be growing strong 
 rapidly; and the red little gentleman in the cradle, sleeping 
 quietly, was fifteen days old. 
 
 " About his name, Percival ; what is it to be ? " she asked. 
 " Your own ? " 
 
 " No, no, not mine,'' said the earl, quickly ; " I never did like 
 mine. Choose some other, Maude." 
 " What do you wish it to be ^ " 
 " Anything." 
 
 The short answer did not please the young mother ; neither 
 did the dreamy tone in which it was spoken. " Don't you care 
 what it is ? " she asked rather plaintively. 
 
 " Not much, for myself. I wish it to be anything you shall 
 choose." 
 
 "I thought perhaps you would have liked it named after 
 your brother," she said, very much offended on the baby's 
 account. 
 
 " George ? " 
 
 " George, no. I never knew George ; I should not be likely 
 to think of him. Edward." 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked at the fire, absently pushing back his 
 
324 
 
 ELSTEK S FOLLY. 
 
 luxuriant hair. " Yes, Maude, let it be Edward. It will do 
 as well as anything else." 
 
 " Good gracious, Percival, one would think you had been 
 having babies all your life ! " she exclaimed resentfully. " ' Do 
 as well as anything else ! ' If he were our tenth son, instead 
 of our first, you could not treat it with more indifference. I 
 have done nothing but deliberate on the name since he was 
 born ; and I don't believe you have once given it a thought." 
 
 Lord Hartledon turned his bright face upon her ; and when 
 illumined with a smile, as now, it could be as bright as it was 
 before the care came upon it. " I don't think we men attach 
 the importance to names in a general way that you do, Maude. 
 I shall like to have it Edward." 
 
 Edward William Algernon " 
 
 " No, no, no," broke in the earl, as if the number alarmed 
 him. " Pray don't have a string of names : one's quite enough." 
 
 " Oh, very well," she returned, biting her lips. " William 
 was your father's name, and Algernon is my eldest brother's : 
 I supposed you might like them. "I thought," she added, 
 after a pause, " we might ask Lord Kirton to be its godfather." 
 
 "I have fixed on the godfathers already," said the earl. 
 " Thomas Carr will be the one, and I intend to be the other." 
 
 " Thomas Carr ! A poor hard-working barrister, that not a 
 soul knows, and of no family or influence whatever, godfather 
 to the future Earl of Hartledon ! " uttered the offended countess. 
 
 " 1 wish it, Maude," said the earl, quietly. " Carr is the 
 most valued friend I have in the world, or ever can have. 
 Oblige me in this." 
 
 " Then my brother can be the other." 
 
 " No ; I shall stand to the child myself ; and I wish you 
 would be its godmother." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure it's quite reversing the order of things ! " 
 she said, tacitly conceding the point. " He'll never have any 
 presents." 
 
 " He will be as well without them." 
 
 There ensued a silence. The firelight played on the pink- 
 silk and lace curtains of the baby's bed, as it did on Lady 
 Hartledon's face; a thoughtful face just now. Twilight was 
 drawing on, and the fire lighted the room. 
 
THE STRANGE VISITOR AGAIN I 
 
 325 
 
 " Percival, do you care for tlie child ? " 
 
 The tone had a sound of passion in it, breaking upon the 
 continued silence. Lord Hartledon lifted his bent face and 
 glanced at his wife. 
 
 " Do I care for the child, Maude ? What a question ! I do 
 care for him : more than I allow to appear." 
 
 And if her voice had passion in it, his had pain. He crossed 
 the room, and stood looking down on the sleeping baby, 
 touching at length its cheeks with his finger. He could have 
 knelt down, there and then, and wept over the child, and 
 prayed, oh, how earnestly, that God would take it to Himself, 
 not suffer it to live. Many and many a prayer had ascended 
 from his heart in their earlier married days, that his wife might 
 not bear him children ; for he could only entail upon them an 
 inheritance of shame. 
 
 "I don't think you have once taken him in your arms, 
 Percival; you never kiss and fondle him. It's quite un- 
 natural." 
 
 " I give my kisses in the dark," said the earl, with a laugh, 
 as he came back to where she was sitting. And this was in a 
 sense true ; for once when he happened to be alone for an 
 instant with the baby, he had clasped it and kissed it in a sort 
 of almost delirious agony. 
 
 " You never had it in the Times, you know ! " 
 
 " Never what ? " 
 
 " Never announced its birth in the Times. Did you forget 
 it?" 
 
 " It must have been very stupid of me," remarked the earl. 
 " Never mind, Maude ; he won't grow the less for the omission. 
 When are you coming downstairs ? " 
 
 " Mamma is in a rage about it ; she says such neglect ought 
 to be punished with imprisonment ; and she knows you have 
 done it on purpose." 
 
 " She is always in a rage with me, no matter what I do," 
 returned Yal, good-humouredly. " She hoped to be here at this 
 time, and sway us all — you and me and baby ; and I stopped it. 
 Ho, ho ! young sir ! " 
 
 The baby had wakened with a cry, and a watchful attendant 
 came gliding in at the sound. Lord Hartledon quitted the 
 
326 
 
 elstee's folly. 
 
 room and went straight down to the Temple to Mr. Carr's 
 chambers. He found him in all the bustle of departure from 
 town. A cab stood at the foot of the stairs, and Mr. Carr's 
 laundress, a queer old body with an inverted black bonnet, was 
 handing the cabman a parcel of books. 
 
 "A minute more and you'd have been too late," observed 
 Mr. Carr, as Lord Hartledon met him on the stairs, a coat on 
 his arm. 
 
 " I thought you did not start till to-morrow." 
 
 "But I found I must go to-day. I can give you three 
 minutes, Hartledon. Is it anything particular ? " 
 
 The earl drew him into his room. " I have come to crave a 
 favour, Carr. It has been on my lips to ask you before, but 
 they would not frame the words. This child of mine : will you 
 stand to it with myself? " 
 
 One moment's hesitation, quite perceptible to the sensitive 
 mind of Lord Hartledon, and then Mr. Carr spoke out bravely 
 and cheerily. 
 
 " Of course I will." 
 
 "I see you hesitate: but I do not like to ask any one 
 else." 
 
 "If I hesitated, it was at the thought of the grave re- 
 sponsibility attaching to the office. I believe I look upon 
 it in a more serious light than most people do, and I have 
 never stood to a child yet. I will stand to this one with all 
 my heart." 
 
 Lord Hartledon clasped his hand in reply, and they began 
 to descend the stairs. "Poor Maude is dreaming of making 
 a grand thing of the christening," he said ; " she wanted to 
 ask Lord Kirton to come to it. It will take place in about a 
 fortnight." 
 
 " Very well ; I must run up for it, unless you let me stand 
 by proxy. I wish — I wish, Hartledon, you would hear me on 
 another point," added the barrister, halting on a landing-place 
 of the stairs, and dropping his voice to the faintest whisper. , 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " If you are to go away at all, now's the time. Can't you be 
 seized with an exploring fit, and sail to Africa, or some other 
 place, where your travels would occupy years ? " 
 
THE STRANGE VISITOR AGAIN ! 
 
 327 
 
 The earl shook his head. " How can I leave Maude to do 
 battle alone with the exposure, should it come ? " 
 
 "It is a great deal less likely to come if you are a few 
 thousand miles away." 
 
 " I question it. Should Gordon turn up, he is just the one 
 to frighten a defenceless woman, and purchase his own silence. 
 No ; my place is by Maude." 
 
 "As you please. I have spoken for the last time. But 
 in remaining with ier you run the risk of bringing on further 
 trouble. And to me that would be the worst trouble of all. 
 By the way, any letters bearing a certain postmark, that come 
 addressed to me during my absence, Taylor has orders to send 
 to you. Fare you well, Hartledon ; I wish I could help you to 
 peace." 
 
 The earl watched the cab rattle away, and then turned to his 
 home. Peace ! There was none for him. 
 
 Lady Hartledon was not to be thwarted on all points, and 
 she insisted on a grand christening. The countess-dowager 
 would come over for it, and did so ; the earl could not be 
 discourteous enough to deny this ; Lord and Lady Kirton came 
 from Ireland, others came ; and for the first time since their 
 marriage they found themselves entertaining guests. Lord 
 Hartledon had made a faint opposition to it, but Maude had 
 her own way. The countess-dowager was furiously indignant 
 when she heard of the intended sponsors to the child — its 
 father and mother, and that cynical wretch of a Thomas Carr ! 
 Lord Hartledon played the host in hospitable kindness; but 
 there was a shadow on his face that his wife did not fail to 
 see. 
 
 It was the evening before the christening, and a very snowy 
 evening too. The earl was dressing for dinner, and Maude, 
 herself ready, sat by him, her baby on her knee. The child 
 had that day quitted its long-sleeved gowns ; it was attired in 
 a splendidly-worked robe with looped-up sleeves ; and she had 
 brought it in to challenge admiration for its pretty arms, with 
 all the pardonable pride of a young mother. 
 
 " Won't you kiss it for once, Val ? " 
 
 He took the child in his arms ; it had the fine dark eyes of 
 its mother, and looked straight up from them into his. Lord 
 
328 elster's folly. 
 
 Hartledon suddenly bent his own face down upon that little 
 one with what seemed like a gesture of agony ; and when he 
 raised it, both were wet with tears. Maude felt startled with a 
 sort of terror : love was love ; but she did not understand love 
 so painful in its excess as this. 
 
 She sat down with the baby on her knee, saying nothing ; 
 he did not intend her to see the signs of his emotion. And 
 this brings us to where we were. Lord Hartledon went on 
 with his toilette, and presently some one knocked at the 
 door. 
 
 Two letters for him: they had come by the afternoon 
 general post, very much delayed on account of the snow. He 
 came back to the gaslight, opening one. A full letter, written 
 closely; but he had barely glanced at it when he hastily 
 folded it again, and crammed it into his pocket. If ever 
 a movement expressed something to be concealed, that did. 
 And Lady Hartledon was gazing at him with her questioning 
 eyes. 
 
 " Wasn't that letter from Thomas Carr ? " 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Is he coming up ? Or is Kirton to be proxy ? " 
 
 " He is — coming, I think," said the earl, evidently knowing 
 nothing one way or the other. " He'll be here, I dare say, to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 Opening the other letter as he spoke — a foreign-looking 
 letter this one — he put it up in the same hasty manner, 
 with barely a glance ; and then went on slowly with his 
 dressing. 
 
 " Why don't you read your letters, Percival ? " 
 
 " I haven't time. Dinner will be waiting." 
 
 She knew that he had plenty of time, and that dinner 
 would not be waiting ; she knew, quite certainly that there 
 was something in both letters she must not see. Eising from 
 her seat in silence, she went out of the room with her baby ; 
 resentment and an unhealthy curiosity doing battle in her heart 
 together. 
 
 And Lord Hartledon slipped the bolt of the door and read 
 the letters at once ; the foreign one first, over which he seemed 
 to take an instant's counsel with himself. Before going down 
 
THE STRANGE VISITOR AGAIN ! 
 
 329 
 
 he locked them up in a small ebony cabinet which stood against 
 the wall. The room was his own exclusively; his wife had 
 nothing to do with it. 
 
 Had they been alone he might have observed her coolness to 
 him ; but, with many guests to entertain, he neither saw it nor 
 suspected it. She sat opposite to him at dinner in her rich 
 dress, her jewels and her smiles alike dazzling : but the smiles 
 were not turned on him. 
 
 " Is that chosen sponsor of yours coming up for the christen- 
 ing ; that lawyer, Carr ? " tartly inquired the countess-dowager 
 from her seat at table, bringing her face and her turban, all 
 scarlet together, to bear on the earl. 
 
 " He comes up by this evening's train ; he will be in London 
 late to-night, if the snow allows him, and will stay with us 
 until Sunday night," replied Val. 
 
 "Oh! That's no doubt the reason why you settled the 
 christening for a Saturday: that your friend might have the 
 benefit of Sunday?" 
 
 " Just so, madam. 
 
 And Lady Hartledon knew, by this, that her husband must 
 have read the letters. "I wonder what he has done with 
 them ? " came the mental thought, shadowing forth a dim wish 
 that she could read them too. 
 
 In the drawing-room, after dinner, some one proposed a 
 carpet-quadrille, but Lord Hartledon seemed averse to it. In 
 his wife's present mood, his opposition was, of course, the 
 signal for her approval, and she began pushing the chairs aside 
 with her own hands. He approached her quietly. 
 
 " Maude do not let them dance to-night." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " Well, I have a reason. My dear, won't you oblige me in 
 this?" 
 
 " Tell me the reason, and perhaps I will ; not else." 
 
 " I will tell it you another time. Trust me I haver a very 
 good one. What is it. Hedges ? " 
 
 The butler had come up to his master in the unobtrusive 
 manner of a well-trained servant, and was waiting an oppor- 
 tunity to speak. He said a word in the earl's ear, and Lady 
 Hartledon saw a shiver of surprise run through her husband. 
 
330 
 
 ELSTERS FOLLY. 
 
 He looked liere, he looked there, as one does when perplexed 
 with fear, and went finally out of the room with a calm face, 
 but one that was turning livid. You may command the 
 muscles of your face, but you cannot control that flow of blood 
 to the heart which changes its colour. 
 
 Lady Hartledon followed in an impulse of curiosity. She 
 looked after him over the balustrades, and saw him turn into 
 the library below. Hedges was standing near the drawing- 
 room-door. 
 
 " Does any one want Lord Hartledon ? 
 
 " Yes, my lady." 
 
 " Who is it ? " 
 
 " I don't know, my lady. Some gentleman." 
 
 She ran lightly down the stairs, pausing at the foot, as if 
 ashamed of her persistent curiosity. The well-lighted hall 
 was before her ; its large dining-room on one side ; its library 
 and a small room communicating on the other. Throwing 
 back her head, as if in defiance, she boldly crossed the hall and 
 opened the door of the library. 
 
 Now what had really been the thought of Lady Hartledon, 
 was that the visitor was Mr. Carr ; that her husband was going 
 to steal a quiet half-hour with him ; and that Hedges was in 
 the plot. She had not lived with the earl the best part of a 
 year without learning that Hedges was devoted heart and soul 
 to his master. 
 
 She opened the library-door. Her husband's back was to- 
 wards her ; and facing him, his arms raised as if in anger or 
 remonstrance, was the same stranger who had caused some com- 
 motion in the other house. She knew him in a moment : there 
 he was, with his staid face, his black clothes, and his white 
 neckcloth, looking so like a clergyman. Lord Hartledon 
 turned his head. 
 
 " I am engaged, Maude ; you can't come in," he peremptorily 
 said ; and closed the door upon her. 
 
 She went slowly up the stairs again, not choosing to meet 
 the butler's eyes, past the drawing-rooms, and up to her own. 
 The sight of the stranger, coupled with her husband's signs of 
 emotion, had renewed all her old suspicions, she knew not, she 
 never had known, of what. Jumping to the conclusion that 
 
THE STRANGE VISITOR AGAIN ! 
 
 331 
 
 those letters must be in some way connected with the mystery, 
 perhaps an advent of the visit, it set her thinking, and a very 
 dissatisfied, rebellious feeling arose in her heart. 
 
 " I wonder if he put them in the ebony cabinet ? " she ex- 
 claimed. " I have a key that will fit that." 
 
 Yes, she had a key to fit it. Accidentally, as may be said. 
 A few weeks before. Lord Hartledon mislaid his keys; he 
 wanted something out of this cabinet, in which he did not, as a 
 rule, keep anything of consequence, and tried hers. One was 
 found to unlock it, and he jokingly told her she had a key to his 
 treasures. But he was one of those who, strictly honourable in 
 themselves, cannot suspect dishonour in another ; and Lord 
 Hartledon supposed it simply impossible that she should 
 attempt to open it of her own accords 
 
 They were of different natures ; and they had been reared 
 in different schools. Poor Maude Kirton had learnt to be any- 
 thing but scrupulous, and really thought it a very slight matter 
 that she was about to do, almost justifiable under the circum- 
 stances. Almost, if not quite. Nevertheless she would not 
 have liked to be caught at it. 
 
 She took her bunch of keys and went into her husband's 
 dressing-room, which opened from their bedroom : but she 
 went on tip-toe, as one who knows she is doing wrong. It took 
 some little time to try the keys, for there were several on the 
 ring, and she did not know the right one : but the lid flew open 
 at last, and disclosed the two letters lying there. 
 
 She snatched at one, either that came first, and opened it. It 
 happened to be the one from Mr. Carr, and she set herself to 
 read it, her heart beating. 
 
 "Dear Hartledon, 
 
 " I think I have at last found some trace of Gorton. 
 There's a man of that name in the criminal calendar here, 
 down for trial to-morrow ; I shall see then whether it is the 
 same, but the description tallies. Should it be our Gorton, I 
 think the better plan will be to leave him entirely alone : a 
 man undergoing a criminal sentence — and this man is sure of 
 a long period of it — has neither the means nor the motive to 
 be dangerous. He cannot molest you whilst he is working on 
 
332 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Portland Island ; and, so far, you may live a little eased from 
 fear. I wish " 
 
 Mr. Carr's was a close handwriting, and this concluded the 
 first page. She was turning it over, when Lord Hartledon's 
 voice on the stairs caught her ear. He seemed to be coming 
 up. 
 
 Ay, and he would have caught her at her work but for the 
 accidental circumstance of the old countess-dowager's happen- 
 ing to look out of the drawing-room when he passed it, and 
 detaining him with some questions, as he was hastening onwards 
 uj) the stairs. She did her daughter good service that moment, 
 if she had never done it before. Maude had time to fold the 
 letter, put it back, lock the cabinet, and escape. Had she been 
 a nervous woman, given to being flurried and to losing her 
 presence of mind, she might not have succeeded ; but she was 
 cool and quick in the emergency, her brain and her fingers 
 steady. 
 
 Nevertheless her heart beat a little as she stood within the 
 other room, the door not latched behind her. She did not stir, 
 lest he should hear her ; and she hoped to remain unseen until 
 he went down again. A ready excuse was on her lips, if he 
 happened to look in, which was not probable : that she fancied 
 she heard baby cry, and was listening. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was walking about his dressing-room, pacing 
 it restlessly, and she very distinctly heard suppressed groans of 
 mortal anguish breaking from his lips. How he had got rid 
 of his visitor, and what the visitor came for, she knew not. 
 He seemed to halt before the washhand-stand, pour out some 
 water, and dash his face into it. 
 
 " God help me ! God help Maude ! " he ejaculated, as he went 
 down again to the drawing-room. 
 
 And Lady Hartledon went down also, for the interruption 
 had frightened her, and she did not attempt to open the cabinet 
 again. She never knew more of the contents of Mr. Carr's 
 letter ; and only the substance of the other, as communicated 
 to her by her husband. 
 
( 838 ) 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 CROSS-QUESTIONING MR CARR. 
 
 Not until the Sunday morning did Lady Hartledon speak to 
 her husband of the stranger's visit. There seemed to have been 
 no previous opportunity. Mr. Carr had arrived late on the 
 Friday night ; indeed it was Saturday morning, for the trains 
 were all detained ; and he and the earl sat up together to an 
 unconscionable hour. For this short visit he was the earl's 
 guest. Saturday seemed to have been given to preparation, to 
 gaiety, and to nothing else. Perhaps also Lady Hartledon did 
 not wish to mar that day by an unpleasant word. The little 
 child was christened ; the names given him being Edward 
 Kirton : the countess-dowager, who was in a chronic state of 
 dissatisfaction with everything and every one, angrily exclaimed 
 at the last moment, that she thought at least her family name 
 might have been given to the child ; and the earl interposed, 
 and said, give it. Lord and Lady Hartledon, and Mr. Carr, 
 were the sponsors : and it would afford food for weeks of 
 grumbling to the countess-dowager. Hilarity reigned, and 
 toasts were given to the new heir of Hartledon ; and the only 
 one who seemed not to enter into the spirit of the thing, but on 
 the contrary, to be subdued, absent, nervous, was the heir's 
 father. 
 
 And so it went on to the Sunday morning. A cold, bleak, 
 bitter morning, the wind howling, and the snow flying in drifts. 
 Mr. Carr went to church, and he was the only one of the party 
 in the house who did go. The countess-dowager the previous 
 night had proclaimed the fact that she meant to go — as a sort 
 of reproach to any who meant to keep away. However, when 
 
334 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 the cliurcli-bells began, she was turning round in her warm 
 bed for another nap. 
 
 Maude did not go down early ; she had not yet taken to do 
 so. She breakfasted in her room, and remained there toying 
 with her baby for some time, and then she went into her own 
 sitting-room ; a small cosy apartment on the drawing-room 
 floor, into which visitors did not intrude. It looked on to 
 Hyde Park, and a very white and dreary park it was on that 
 particular day. 
 
 Drawing a chair to the window, she sat looking out. That is, 
 her eyes were cast on the outer world, but she was so deep in 
 thought as to see nothing of it. For two nights and a day, 
 burning with curiosity, she had been putting this and that 
 together in her own mind, and drawing conclusions according 
 to her own light. First, there was the advent of the visitor ; 
 secondly, there was the letter she had dipped into. She con- 
 nected the two with each other, and wondered what the secret 
 care could be that had such telling effect upon her husband. 
 
 Gorton. The name had struck upon her memory, even 
 whilst she read it, as one associated with that terrible time — 
 the late earl's death. Gradually the flood-gates of recollection 
 opened, and she knew him for the witness at the inquest about 
 whom some speculation had arisen as to who he was, and what 
 his business at Calne might have been with the Earl of Hartle- 
 don and his brother, Yal Elster. 
 
 Why should her husband be afraid of this man? — as it 
 seemed he was afraid, by Mr. Carr's letter. What power had 
 he of injuring the earl? — what secret did he possess of his, 
 that might be used against him? Turning it about in her 
 mind, and turning it again, searching her imagination for a 
 solution. Lady Hartledon at length arrived at one, in default 
 of others. She thought that this man must know some un- 
 toward fact by which the present earl's succession was im- 
 perilled. Possibly the late earl had made some covert and 
 degrading marriage ; leaving an obscure child who possessed 
 legal rights, and might yet claim them. A romantic, far- 
 fetched idea, you will say ; but she could think of no other that 
 was in the least feasible. And she remembered some faint idea 
 having arisen in her mind at the time, that the visit of the man 
 
CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. OARR. 
 
 335 
 
 Gorton was in some way connected witli trouble, though she 
 did not know with which brother. 
 
 Lord Hartledon came in and shut the door. He stirred the 
 fire into a blaze, making some remark about the snow, and 
 wondering how Carr would get down to the country again. 
 Maude gave a slight answer, and then there was silence. Each 
 was considering how best to say something to the other. She 
 was the quickest. 
 
 " Lord Hartledon, what did that man want on Friday ? " 
 
 " What man ? " he rejoined, rather wincing — first at the 
 "Lord Hartledon," next at the subject — for he knew well 
 enough to what she alluded. 
 
 " The man — gentleman, or what he is — who had you called 
 down to him in the library." 
 
 " By the w^ay, Maude — yes — you should not dart in when I 
 am engaged with visitors on business." 
 
 " Well, I thought it was Mr. Carr," she replied, glancing at 
 his heightened colour. " What did he want ? " 
 
 " Only to say a word to me on a matter of business." 
 
 " It was the same person who seemed to upset you so when 
 he called last autumn. You have never been the same man 
 since." 
 
 " Don't take fancies into your head, Maude." 
 " Fancies ! you know quite well there is no fancy about it. 
 That man holds some unpleasant secret of yours, I am certain." 
 " Maude ! " 
 
 " Will you tell it me ? " 
 " I have nothing to tell." 
 
 " Ah, well ; I expected you wouldn't speak," she answered, 
 with subdued bitterness ; as much as to say, that she made a 
 merit of resigning herself to an injustice she could not help. 
 " You have been keeping things from me a long time." 
 
 " I have kept nothing from you that would give you pleasure 
 to know. It is not — Maude, pray hear me — it is not always 
 expedient for a man to make known to his wife the jars and 
 rubs he has himself to encounter. A hundred trifles may arise 
 that are best spared to her. That gentleman's business con- 
 cerned others as well as myself, and I am not at liberty to 
 speak of it." 
 
336 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " You refuse, then, to admit me to your confidence ? — to let 
 me know what you know ? " 
 
 "In this I do. I am the best judge — and you must allow 
 me to be so, Maude — of what ought, and what ought not, to be 
 spoken of to you. You may always rely upon my acting for 
 your best happiness?, so far as I am able to do so." 
 
 He had been pacing the room whilst he spoke. Lady Hartle- 
 don was too resentful to answer. Glancing at her, he stood 
 still by the mantelpiece and leaned his elbow upon it. 
 
 " I want to make known to you another matter, Maude. If 
 I have kept it from you " 
 
 " Does it concern this secret business of yours ? " she inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then let us have done with this first, if you please. Who 
 is Gorton ? " 
 
 " Who is — Gorton ? " he repeated, after a dumfounded pause. 
 "What Gorton?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; unless it's that man who gave evidence 
 at the inquest on your brother." 
 
 The earl stared at her, as well he might ; and gulped down 
 his breath, which seemed choking him. " But what about 
 Gorton ? Why do you ask me the question ? " 
 
 " Because I fancy he is connected with this trouble. I — I 
 thought I heard you and Mr. Carr mention the name yesterday 
 when you were whispering together. I'm sure I did — there ! " 
 
 So far as Lord Hartledon remembered, he and Mr. Carr had 
 not been whispering together yesterday ; had not mentioned at 
 all the name of Gorton. They had done with the subject at 
 that late sitting, the night of the barrister's arrival ; who had 
 brought news that the Gorton, that morning tried for a great 
 crime, was not the Gorton of whom they were in search. Lord 
 Hartledon gazed at his wife with questioning eyes, but she 
 persisted tn her assertion. It was sinfully untrue; but how 
 else could she have accounted for knowing the name ? 
 
 " Do you suppose I dreamt it. Lord Hartledon ? " 
 
 " I don't know whether you dreamt it or not, Maude. Mr. 
 Carr has certainly spoken to me since he came of a man of that 
 name ; but as certainly not in your hearing. One Gorton was 
 
CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR. 
 
 837 
 
 tried for his life on Friday — or almost for his life — and he men- 
 tioned to me the circumstances of the case : housebreaking, ac- 
 companied by violence, which ended in death. I cannot under- 
 stand you, Maude, or the fancies you seem to be taking up." 
 
 She saw how it was — that he would admit nothing : and she 
 looked straight out across the dreary park, a certain obstinate 
 defiance veiled in her eyes. By the help of Heaven or earth, 
 she would find out this secret that he refused to disclose to 
 her. 
 
 " Almost every action of your life bespeaks concealment," she 
 resumed. " Look at those letters you received in your dressing- 
 room on Friday night : you just opened them and thrust them 
 unread into your pocket, because I happened to be there. And 
 yet you talk of loving me ! I know those letters contained some 
 secret or other that you dare not tell me." 
 
 She rose in some temper, and gave the fire a fierce stir. 
 Lord Hartledon kept her by him. 
 
 " One of those letters was from Mr. Carr ; and I presume you 
 can make no objection to my hearing from him. The other — 
 Maude, I have waited until now to disclose its contents to you ; 
 I would not mar your happiness yesterday." 
 
 She looked up at him. Something in his voice, a sad j^itying 
 tenderness, caused her heart to beat a shade quicker. 
 
 " It was a foreign letter, Maude. I think you observed that. 
 It bore the French postmark." 
 
 A light broke upon her. " Oh, Percival, it is about Robert ! 
 Surely he is not worse ! " 
 
 The earl drew his wife close to him, as if he would shelter 
 her : not speaking. 
 
 " He is not dead ? " she said, with a rising sob. " Ah, you 
 need not tell me ; I see it. Robert ! Robert ! " 
 
 " It has been a happy death, Maude, and he is better off. He 
 was quite ready to go. I wish we were as ready ! " 
 
 She was crying soft tears, her face resting on his arm. Lord 
 Hartledon took out the letter and read the chief porfton of it to 
 her. One little part he dexterously omitted, which described 
 the cause of death — disease of the heart. 
 
 " But I thought he was getting so much better. What has 
 killed him in this sudd^ manner ? " 
 
 Elster's Folly. 22 
 
338 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Well, there was no great hope from the first. I confess I 
 have entertained none. Mr. Hillary, you know, warned us that 
 it might end either way." 
 
 " Was it decline ? — the lungs ? " she sobbed. 
 
 " He has been declining gradually, no doubt." 
 
 " Oh, Percival ! why did you not tell me at once ? " she cried, 
 with a fresh burst of grief. " It seems so cruel for us to have 
 had all that entertainment yesterday ! This is why you did not 
 wish us to dance ! " 
 
 "And if I had told you, Maude, and stopped the entertain- 
 ment, allowing the poor little fellow to be christened in gloom 
 and sorrow, you would have been the first to reproach me ; you 
 might have said it augured ill-luck for the child." 
 
 " Well, perhaps I should : yes, I am sure I should. You 
 have acted rightly, after all, Val." And it was a candid 
 admission, considering what she had been previously saying. 
 He bent towards her with a smile, his voice quite unsteady with 
 its earnestness. 
 
 " You see now with what motive I hid the letter from you. 
 Maude ! my wife ! cannot this be an earnest that you should 
 trust me for the rest ? In all I do, as Heaven is my witness, I 
 have your comfort first and foremost." 
 
 " Don't be angry with me," she sobbed, softening at the 
 words. 
 
 He laid his hand on his wife's bent head, thinking how far he 
 was from anger. Anger ? He would have died for her then, 
 at that moment, if it might have saved her from the sin and 
 shame that she must share with him. 
 
 " Have you told mamma, Percival ? " 
 
 " Not yet. It would not have been kept from you long had 
 she known it. She is not up yet, I think." 
 " Who has written ? " 
 " The doctor who was attending him." 
 " You'll let me read the letter ? " 
 
 " I have written to desire that full particulars may be sent to 
 you : you shall read that one." 
 
 The tacit refusal to her request did not strike her. She only 
 supposed the future letter would be more explanatory. He was 
 always anxious for her ; and he had written off on the Friday 
 
CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR. 
 
 339 
 
 night to ask for a letter giving fuller particulars, whilst avoid- 
 ing mention of the cause of death. 
 
 Thus harmony for the hour was restored between them ; and 
 Lord Hartledon stood the dowager's hot and loud reproaches 
 with equanimity. In possession of the news of that darling 
 angel's death ever since Friday night, and to have bottled it uj) 
 within him till Sunday ! She wondered what he thought of 
 himself ! 
 
 After all, Val had not quite " bottled it up." He had made 
 it known to his brother-in-law. Lord Kirton, and also to Mr. 
 Carr. Both had agreed with him that nothing had better be 
 said until the christening-day was over. 
 
 But there came a reaction. When Lady Hartledon had 
 sobbed away her first grief the other annoyance returned to 
 her, and she fell again to brooding over it in a very discom- 
 forting fashion. She merited blame for this in a degree ; but 
 not so much as appears on the surface. If that idea, which she 
 was taking up very seriously, were correct — that her husband's 
 succession was imperilled — it would be the greatest misfortune 
 that could happen to her in life. What had she married for 
 but position? — rank, wealth, her peeress's title? any earthly 
 misfortune would be less keen than this. Any earthly misfor- 
 tune ! Poor Maude ! 
 
 It was a sombre dinner that evening ; the news of Captain 
 Kirton's death making it so. Besides relatives, very few guests 
 were staying in the house ; and the large and magnificent 
 dinner-party of the previous day was reduced to a small one 
 on this. The first to come into the drawing-room afterwards, 
 following pretty closely on the ladies, was Mr. Carr. The 
 dowager, who rarely paid attention to appearances, or to any- 
 thing else, except her own comfort, had her feet up on a sofa 
 and was snoring ; two ladies were standing in front of the fire, 
 talking in an undertone ; Lady Hartledon sat on a sofa a little 
 apart, her baby on her knee ; and her sister-in-law, the Countess 
 of Kirton, a fragile and rather cross-looking young woman, 
 who seemed as if a breath would blow her away, was standing 
 over her, studying the infant's face. The latter lady moved 
 away and joined the group at the fire, as Mr. Carr approached 
 Lady Hartledon. 
 
340 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 " You have your little charge here, I see ! " 
 
 " Please to excuse it ; I meant to have sent him away before 
 any of you came up," she said, quite pleadingly. " Sarah took 
 upon herself to proclaim aloud that his eyes were not straight, 
 and 1 could not help having him brought down to refute her 
 words. Not straight, indeed ! She's only envious of him." 
 
 Sarah was the Countess of Kirton. Mr. Carr smiled. 
 
 " She has no children herself. My pretty baby ! I think you 
 might be proud of your godson, Mr. Carr. But he ought not to 
 have been here to receive you, for all that." 
 
 " I have come up soon to say good-bye to you, Lady Hartle- 
 don. In ten minutes I must be gone." 
 
 " In all this snow ! What a night to travel in ! " 
 
 "Necessity bows to no law. So, sir, you'd imprison my 
 finger, would you ! " 
 
 He had touched the child's hand, and in a moment it was 
 clasped round his finger. Lady Hartledon laughed. 
 
 "Lady Kirton — she's the most superstitious woman in the 
 world — would say that was an omen : that you are destined to 
 be his friend through life." 
 
 " As I will be," said the barrister, his tone one of greater 
 earnestness than the occasion seemed to call for. 
 
 Lady Hartledon, with a graciousness she was little in the 
 habit of showing to Mr. Carr, made room for him beside her, 
 and he sat down. The baby lay on his back, his wide-open 
 eyes looking upwards, good as gold. 
 
 " How quiet he is ! How he stares ! " reiterated the barrister, 
 who did not understand much about babies, except for a 
 shadowy idea that they lived in a state of crying for the first 
 six months. 
 
 " He is the best child in the world ; every one says so," she 
 
 returned. " He is not the least Hey-day ! what do you 
 
 mean by contradicting mamma like that? Behave yourself, 
 Lord Elster." 
 
 For the infant, as if in refutation of his goodness, set up 
 a sudden cry. Mr. Carr laughed. He put down his finger 
 again, and the little fingers clasped round it, and the cry ceased 
 
 " He does not like to lose his friend, you see. Lady Hartle- 
 don." 
 
CROSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR. 
 
 341 
 
 "I wish you would be my friend as well as his," she re- 
 joined ; and the low meaning tone struck on Mr. Carr's ear. 
 
 " I trust I am your friend," he answered. 
 
 She was still for a few moments; her pale beautiful face 
 inclining towards the child's ; her large dark eyes bent upon 
 him. She turned them on Mr. Carr. 
 
 " This has been a miserable day." 
 
 " Yes, for you. It is very grievous to lose a brother." 
 
 "And to lose him hundreds of miles away; without the 
 opportunity of a last look, a last farewell. Eobert was my 
 best and favourite brother. But the day has been one marked 
 out as miserable for other causes than that." 
 
 Was it an uncomfortable prevision of what was coming that 
 caused Mr. Carr not to answer her ? He talked to the uncon- 
 scious baby, and played with its cheeks. 
 
 " What secret is this that you and my husband have between 
 you, Mr. Carr ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 He ceased his laughing with the baby, said something about 
 its soft face, was altogether easy and careless in his manner, 
 and then answered in a half-jesting tone, 
 
 " Which one, Lady Hartledon ? " 
 
 " Which one I Have you more than one ? " she continued, 
 taking the words literally. 
 
 " We might count up half-a-dozen, I dare say. I cannot tell 
 you how many things I have not confided to him. We are 
 quite " 
 
 "I mean the secret that affects Aim," she interrupted, in 
 aggrieved tones, feeling that Mr. Carr was playing with her. 
 " There is some dread of ill upon him that's wearing him to a 
 shadow, that is poisoning his happiness, making his days and 
 nights one long restlessness. Do you think it right to keep it 
 from me, Mr. Carr ? It is what you and he are both doing — 
 and are in league with each other to do." 
 
 " I am not keeping any secret from you, Lady Hartledon." 
 
 " You know you are. Nonsense ! Do you think I have 
 forgotten that evening that was the beginning of it, when a tall 
 strange man, dressed as a clergyman, came here, and you both 
 were shut up with him for I can't tell how long an interview, 
 uud Lord Hartledon came out from it looking like a ghost? 
 
342 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 You and he both misled me, causing me to believe that the 
 Ashtons were entering an action against him for breach of 
 promise ; you said the damages were laid at ten thousand 
 pounds. I mean that secret, Mr. Carr," she added with 
 emphasis. " The same man was here on Friday night again ; 
 and when you came to the house afterwards, you and Lord 
 Hartledon sat up until nearly daylight." 
 
 Mr. Carr, who had his eyes on the exacting baby, shook his 
 head, and intimated that he was really unable to understand 
 her ladyship. 
 
 "When you are in town he is always with you at your 
 chambers; when you are away he receives long letters from 
 you that I may not read." 
 
 " Yes, we have been on terms of close friendship for years. 
 And Lord Hartledon is an idle man, you know, and looks 
 me up." 
 
 "He said you were arranging some business for him last 
 autumn." 
 
 " Last autumn ? Let me see. Yes, I think I was. 
 
 "Mr. Carr, is it of any use playing with me ? Do you think 
 it right or kind to do so ? " 
 
 His manner changed at once ; he turned to her with eyes as 
 earnest as her own. 
 
 " Dear Lady Hartledon, I would tell you anything that I 
 could and ought to tell you. That your husband has been 
 engaged in some complicated business, which I have been — 
 which I have taken upon myself to arrange for him, is very 
 true. I know that he does not wish it mentioned, and therefore 
 my tongue is tied : but it is as well you did not know it, for it 
 would give you no satisfaction." 
 
 "Does it involve anything very frightful?" 
 
 "It might involve the — the loss of a large sum of monoy," 
 he answered, making the best answer he could. 
 
 Lady Hartledon sunk her voice to a whisper. " Does it 
 involve the possible loss of his title ? — of Hartledon ? " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Carr, looking at her with surprise. 
 
 " You are sure ? " 
 
 " Certain. I give you my word. What can you have got in 
 your head. Lady Hartledon ? " 
 
CllOSS-QUESTIONING MR. CARR. 
 
 343 
 
 Slie heaved a sigh of relief. " I thought it just possible — 
 but I will not tell you why I thought it — that some claimant 
 might be springing up to the title and property." 
 
 Mr. Carr laughed. " That would be a calamity. Hartledon 
 is as surely your husband's as this watch " — taking it out to 
 look at the time — " is mine. When his brother died, he 
 succeeded to him of indisputable right. And now I must go, 
 for my time is up ; and when next I see you, little gentle- 
 man, I shall expect a good account of your behaviour. Why, 
 sir, the finger's mine, not yours. Good-bye, Lady Hartledon." 
 
 She gave him her hand coolly, for she was not pleased. The 
 baby began to cry, and was sent away w^ith his nurse. 
 
 And then Lady Hartledon sat on alone, feeling that if she 
 ever was to arrive at the solution of the mystery, it would not 
 be by the help of Mr. Carr. Other questions had been upon 
 her lips — who the stranger was ? what he wanted ? — five 
 hundred of them : but she saw that she might as well have put 
 them to the moon. 
 
 And Lord Hartledon went out with Mr. Carr in the inclement 
 night, and saw him off by the Great- Western train. 
 
344 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Maude's disobedience. 
 
 Again the months went on, almost it may be said the years, 
 and little took place worthy of record. Time is an obliterator 
 as well as a soother ; and Lady Hartledon had almost forgotten 
 the circumstances which had perplexed and troubled her, for 
 nothing more had come of them. 
 
 And the earl ? But for a certain restlessness, a hectic face 
 and a worn frame, betraying that the inward fever was not 
 quenched, a startled movement if approached or spoken to 
 unexpectedly, it might be thought that he also was at rest. 
 There were no more anxious visits to Thomas Carr's chambers ; 
 he went about his ordinary duties, joined in society, though 
 scantily, sat out his hours in the House of Lords, and did as 
 other men. There was nothing very obvious to tell of inward 
 apprehension ; and Maude had certainly dismissed the past, so 
 far, from her mind. 
 
 Not since had the earl gone down to Hartledon. With the 
 exception of that short visit of a day or two, already recorded, 
 he had not been to it since his marriage. He would not go : 
 his wife, though she had her way in most things, could not 
 induce him to go. She went once or twice, in a spirit of 
 defiance, it may be said, and meanwhile he remained in London, 
 or took a short trip to the Continent, as the whim prompted 
 him. Once they had gone abroad together, and remained for 
 some months ; taking servants and the children, for there were 
 two children now; and the little fellow who had clasped the 
 finger of Mr. Carr was a sturdy boy of three years old. 
 
 Lady Hartledon's health was beginning to fail. The doctors 
 told her she must be more quiet ; she went out a great deal, 
 
Maude's disobedience. 
 
 345 
 
 and seemed to live only in the world. Her husband re- 
 monstrated with her on the score of her health alone ; but she 
 laughed at him, and said she was not going to give up pleasure 
 yet. Of course you know that these gay habits are a great deal 
 easier acquired than relinquished : once fairly embarked on the 
 round of dissipation, we fancy we cannot exist without it. 
 Lady Hartledon had fainting-fits ; she felt pain and palpitation 
 sometimes in the region of the heart ; and she grew very thin 
 without any apparent cause. She said nothing about it, lest it 
 should be made a plea for living more quietly; she did not 
 dream of danger. Had she known what killed her brother 
 Eobert her fears might possibly have been awakened. Lord 
 Hartledon did not forget ; he suspected mischief might be 
 arising, and cautiously questioned her; she denied that any- 
 thing was the matter, and he felt reassured. His chief care 
 was to keep her free from excitement ; and in this hope he gave 
 way to her more than he would otherwise have done. But, 
 alas ! the moment was approaching when all his care would be 
 in vain ; when the carefully built-up security of years was 
 blown over by a single act of wilful disobedience to him. The 
 sword, so long suspended over his head, was to fall on hers at 
 last. 
 
 One spring afternoon, in London, he was in his wife's sitting- 
 room ; the little room where you have seen her before, looking 
 out on the Park. The children were playing on the carpet — 
 two pretty little things ; the girl eighteen months old. 
 
 " Take care ! " suddenly called out Lady Hartledon. 
 
 Some one was opening the door, and the little Maude was 
 too near to it. She ran and picked up the child, and Hedges 
 came in with a card for his master, saying at the same time 
 that the gentleman was waiting. The earl held it towards the 
 light of the fire to discern the name. 
 
 " Who is it ? " asked Lady Hartledon, putting the little girl 
 down by the window, and approaching her husband. But there 
 came no answer. 
 
 Whether the silence aroused her suspicions — whether any 
 look in her husband's face recalled that evening of terror long 
 ago — or whether some subtly malicious instinct whispered to 
 her of the truth, can never be known. Certain it was that tlie 
 
346 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 past rose up as in a mirror before Lady Hartledon's imagina- 
 tion, and site connected this visitor with that one. She bent 
 over his shoulder to peep at the card ; and the earl, startled out 
 of his presence of mind, tore it in two and threw the pieces into 
 the fire. 
 
 " Oh, very well. Lord Hartledon ! " she exclaimed, taking 
 mortal offence. " But you cannot blind me : it is your mys- 
 terious visitor again." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Maude. It is only some one 
 on business." 
 
 " Then I will go and ask him his business," she said, moving 
 to the door with angry resolve. 
 
 The earl was too quick for her. He placed his back against 
 the door, and lifted his hands in a sort of alarmed agitation. 
 It was a great fault of his, or perhaps a misfortune — for he 
 could not hel}) it — this want of self-control in manner on an 
 emergency. 
 
 "Maude, I forbid you to interfere in this; you must not. 
 Maude, for Heaven's sake, sit down and remain in peace." 
 
 "I'll see your visitor, and know, at last, what this strange 
 trouble is. I will. Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " You must not : do you hear me ? " he reiterated with deep 
 emotion, for she was trying to force her way out of the room. 
 "Believe me, Maude — listen, Maude — I do not mean to be 
 harsh, but, for your own good, I conjure you to be still. I 
 forbid you, by the obedience you promised me before God, to 
 inquire into or to stir in this. It is a private affair of my own, 
 and not yours. Stay here until I return." 
 
 Maude drew back, as if in obedience, shrugging her shoulders ; 
 and the earl, supposing he and reason had prevailed, quitted the 
 room and closed the door. He was quite mistaken. Never had 
 her solemn vows of obedience been so utterly despised ; never 
 had the temptation to evil been so ripe in her heart. 
 
 She unlatched the door and listened. The earl went down- 
 stairs and into the library, just as he had done the evening 
 before the christening. And Lady Hartledon was as certain 
 that the same man was awaiting him there as that she herself 
 lived to remember it. Einging the nursery-bell, she took off 
 her black kid slippers, unseen, and hid them under a chair. 
 
Maude's disobedience. 
 
 347 
 
 " Eemain here with the children," was her order to the nurse 
 who appeared, as she shut the woman into the room. 
 
 Creeping down softly on the stair-carpeting, she opened the 
 door of the room behind the library, and glided in. It was a 
 small room, used exclusively by Lord Hartledon, where he kept 
 a heterogeneous collection of things — papers, books, cigars, 
 pipes, guns, scientific models, anything — and which no one but 
 himself ever attempted to enter. The intervening door between 
 that and the library was not latched ; and Lady Hartledon, 
 cautiously, in the obscurity of the evening, pushed it a little 
 further open, bit by bit, to admit of an eye and an ear. Wilful, 
 unpardonable disobedience ! when he had so strongly forbidden 
 her ! It was the same tall stranger. He was speaking in low 
 tones, and the earl leaned against the wall with a blank expres- 
 sion of face. 
 
 She saw ; and heard. But how she controlled her feelings, 
 to remain and make no sign, she never knew. But that the 
 instinct of self-esteem was one of the strongest passions in 
 Maude Hartledon's heart, the dread of detection in proportion 
 to it, she never had remained. There she was, and she could not 
 get away again. The subtle, noiseless dexterity which had served 
 her in coming might desert her in returning. Had their senses 
 been on the alert they might have heard her poor heart beating. 
 
 The interview did not last long — about twenty minutes ; and 
 while the earl was attending his visitor to the door she escaped 
 upstairs again, motioned away the nurse, and resumed her 
 shoes. But what did she look like ? Not like Maude, Countess 
 of Hartledon. Her face was as that of one upon whom some 
 awful doom has fallen ; her breath was coming painfully ; and 
 she kneeled down on the carpet and clasped her children to her 
 beating heart with an action of wild despair. 
 
 " Oh, my boy ! my boy ! Oh, my little Maude ! " 
 
 Suddenly she heard her husband's step approaching, and she 
 pushed them from her, and rose and stood at the window, 
 apparently looking out on the darkening world. 
 
 The earl came in, gaily and cheerily, his manner lighter than 
 it had been for years. 
 
 " Well, Maude, I have not been long, you see. Why don't 
 you have lights ? " 
 
848 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 She did not answer : she only stared straight out. The earl 
 approached her. " What are you looking at ? " 
 
 " Nothing," she answered : " my head aches. I think I shall 
 lie down until dinner-time. Eddy, open the door, and call 
 Nurse, as loud as you can call." 
 
 The little boy obeyed, and the nurse returned, and was 
 ordered to take the children. Lady Hartledon was following 
 them to go to her own room, when she fell into a chair and 
 went off in a dead faint. 
 
 "It's that excitement," said the earl. "I do wish Maude 
 would be reasonable ! " 
 
 The illness, however, appeared to be more serious than an 
 ordinary fainting-fit ; and Lord Hartledon, remembering the 
 suspicion of heart-disease, sent for the family doctor, Sir 
 Alexander Pepps, an oracle in the fashionable world. 
 
 A different result showed itself — equally, however, caused by 
 excitement — and the countess-dowager arrived in a day or two 
 in hot haste. Lady Hartledon lay in bed, and did not attempt 
 to get up or to get better. She lay almost as one without life, 
 taking no notice of any one, turning her head from her husband 
 when he entered, refusing to answer her mother, keeping the 
 children away from the room. 
 
 " Why doesn't she get up, Pepps ? " demanded the countess- 
 dowager, wrathfuUy, pouncing upon the physician one day in 
 the hall, when he was leaving the house. 
 
 Sir Alexander, who might have been supposed to have 
 received his baronetcy for his skill, but that titles, like kissing, 
 go by favour, stopped short, took off his hat, and presumed that 
 Lady Hartledon felt more comfortable in bed. 
 
 " Rubbish ! " said the dowager. " We might all take to lie 
 in bed if we studied comfort. Is there any earthly reason why 
 she should stay there, Pepps ? " 
 
 " Not any, except weakness." 
 
 " Except idleness, you mean," was the retort ; for the lady was 
 not in a genial mood that day. " Why don't you order her up ? " 
 
 " I have ordered her, and she does not attend to me," replied 
 Sir Alexander. 
 
 "Oh," said the dowager. "She was always wilful. What 
 about her heart ? " 
 
Maude's disobedience. 
 
 349 
 
 " Her heart ! " echoed Sir Alexander, looking up now as if a 
 little aroused. 
 
 " Dear me, yes ; her heart ; I didn't say her liver. Is it 
 sound, Pepps ? " 
 
 " It's sound, for anything I know to the contrary. I never 
 suspected there was anything the matter with her heart." 
 
 " Then you are a fool ! " retorted the complimentary dowager. 
 
 Sir Alexander's temperament was one of remarkable calm- 
 ness, not to say apathy. Nothing could rouse him out of his 
 tame civility, which had been taken more than once for obse- 
 quiousness. The Countess-Dowager of Kirton had patronized 
 him in earlier years, when he was not a great man, or had 
 begun to dream of becoming one. 
 
 " Don't you recollect I once consulted you on the subject — 
 what's your memory good for ? She was a girl then, of fourteen 
 or so ; and you were worth fifty of what you are now, in point 
 of discernment." 
 
 The oracle carried his thoughts back, and really could not 
 recollect it. " Ahem ! yes ; and the result was— was " 
 
 " The result was that you said the heart had nothing the 
 matter with it, and I said it had," broke in the impatient 
 dowager. 
 
 " Ah, yes, madam, I remember. Pray, have you cause to 
 suspect anything wrong now ? " 
 
 " That's what you ought to have ascertained, Pepps, not me. 
 Now then ; what d'you mean by your neglect ? What, I ask, 
 does she lie in bed for ? If her heart's right, then there's no 
 more the matter with her than there is with you." 
 
 " Perhaps your ladyship can get her to exert herself," sug- 
 gested the bland doctor. " I can't ; and I confess I think that 
 she only wants rousing." 
 
 With a flourish of his hat and his small gold-headed black 
 cane — an old-fashioned appendage that Sir Alexander always 
 carried, and got laughed at in consequence — the doctor bowed 
 himself out from the formidable dowager. That lady turned 
 her back upon him, and betook herself on the spur of the 
 moment to Maude's room, determined to " have it out." 
 
 Curious sounds greeted her, as of some one in hysterical 
 pain. On the bed, clasped to his mother in nervous agony, was 
 
350 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 the wondering child, Lord Elster. Kissing, crying, moaning 
 over him, was she ; words of distress, nay, of despair, breaking 
 from her. It seemed, the little boy, who was a rather self- 
 willed and rebellious boy on occasion, had broken from the 
 nursery, and stolen to his mother's room in defiance of orders. 
 The countess-dowager halted at the door, and looked out from 
 her astonished eyes. 
 
 " Oh, Edward, if we were but dead ! Oh, my darling, my 
 boy, my precious one, if it would only please Heaven to take us 
 both ! I couldn't send for you, child ; I couldn't see you ; the 
 sight of you kills me. You don't know ; my babies, you don't 
 know ! " 
 
 " What on earth does all this mean ? " interrupted the 
 dowager, stepping forward. And Lady Hartledon dropped the 
 boy, and fell back on the bed, sobbing and crying. 
 
 " What have you done to your mamma, sir ? " 
 
 The child, conscious that he had not done anything, but 
 frightened on the whole, repented of his disobedience, and 
 escaped from the chamber more quickly than he had entered it. 
 The countess-dowager hated to be puzzled, and went wrathfully 
 up, and shook her daughter by the arm. 
 
 " Perhaps you'll tell me what's the matter, Maude." 
 
 Lady Hartledon's sobs subsided, and she grew calm. The 
 countess-dowager pressed the question. 
 
 " There's nothing the matter," came the tardy and rather 
 sullen reply. 
 
 " Why do you wish yourself dead, then ? " 
 
 " Because I do." 
 
 " How dare you answer me so ? " 
 
 " It's the truth. I should be spared suffering." 
 
 The countess-dowager paused. " Spared suffering ! " she 
 mentally repeated ; and being a woman given to arrive at rapid 
 conclusions without rhyme or reason, she bethought herself 
 that Maude must have become acquainted with the suspicion in 
 regard to her heart, and was fearing it. 
 
 " Who told you that ? " shrieked the dowager. " It was that 
 fool Hartledon." 
 
 " He has told me nothing," said Maude, in an access of re- 
 sentment, all too visible. " Told me what ? " 
 
Maude's disobedience. 
 
 351 
 
 " Told you what ! why, about your heart. That's what I 
 suppose it is." 
 
 Maude raised herself upon her elbow, her wan face fixed on 
 her mother's. " Is there anything the matter with my heart ? " 
 she calmly said. 
 
 And then the old woman found she had made a grievous 
 mistake, aud hastened to repair it. 
 
 " I thought there might be, and I asked Pepps. I've just 
 asked him now ; and he says there's nothing the matter with it." 
 
 " I wish there was ! " said Maude, with a convulsive sob. 
 
 " You wish there was ! That's a pretty wish for a reasonable 
 Christian," cried the tart dowager. " You want your husband 
 about you ; saying such things ! " 
 
 " I wish he was hanged ! " cried Maude, showing her glisten- 
 ing teeth. 
 
 " My gracious ! " exclaimed the wondering old lady, after a 
 pause. " What has he done ? " 
 
 " Why did you urge me to marry him ? Oh, mother, can't 
 you see that I am dying — that I am dying of horror — and 
 shame — and grief? You had better have buried me instead." 
 
 For once in her selfish and vulgar mind the countess-dowager 
 felt a feeling akin to fear. In her astonishment she thought 
 Maude must be going mad. 
 
 " You'd do well to get a bit of sleep, dear," she said in a 
 subdued tone ; " and to-morrow you must get up ; Pepps says 
 so ; he thinks you want rousing." 
 
 " I have not slept since ; it's not sleep, it's a dead stupor, in 
 which I dream things as horrible as the reality," murmured 
 Maude, unconscious perhaps that her words were heard. "I 
 shall never sleep again." 
 
 " Not slept since when ? " 
 
 " I don't know." 
 
 " Can't you tell a body what you are driving at ? " cried 
 the puzzled dowager. " If you've any grievance, say it out ; if 
 you've not, don't talk nonsense. Now then." 
 
 But Lady Hartledon, even though thus sweetly allured to 
 confession, held her tongue. Her half-scattered senses came 
 back to her, and with them a reticence which she would not 
 break. The countess-dowager hardly knew whether she de- 
 
352 
 
 ELSTEK S FOLLY. 
 
 served pitying or shaking, and went off to the earl in a fit of 
 exasperation, breaking in upon her son-in-law as he was busy 
 looking over some accounts in the library. 
 
 " I want to know what is the matter with Maude." 
 
 He turned round in his chair, marking the place where he 
 left off in the figures, and saw the countess-dowager's flaxen 
 wig and inflamed face. The earl did not know what was the 
 matter with his wife any more than the questioner did. Ho 
 supposed she would be all right when she grew stronger. 
 
 " She says it's you,'' said the gentle dowager, improving 
 upon her information. " She has just been wishing you were 
 hanged." 
 
 "Ah, you have been teasing her," returned the earl, with 
 composure. " Maude says all sorts of things when she's put 
 out." 
 
 " Perhaps she does," was the retort ; " but she meant this, for 
 she showed her teeth when she said it. You can't blind me ; 
 and I have seen ever since I came here that there was some- 
 thing wrong between you and Maude." 
 
 For the matter of that, the earl had seen it too. Since the 
 night of his wife's fainting-fit she had scarcely spoken a willing 
 Avord to him ; had appeared as if she could not tolerate his 
 presence for an instant in her room. Lord Hartledon felt 
 privately persuaded that it arose from resentment at his 
 having refused to allow her to interfere or to see the stranger 
 — refused, it may be said, by force. The earl rose from his 
 seat. 
 
 " There's nothing wrong between me and my wife. Lady 
 Kirton. If there were, you must pardon me for saying that I 
 could not suffer interference in it. But there is not." 
 
 " Something's wrong somewhere. I found her just noAv 
 sobbing and moaning over Elster, wishing they were both dead, 
 and all the rest of it. If she's going on like this for nothing, 
 she's losing her senses, that's all." 
 
 " She'll be all right when she's stronger. Pray don't worry 
 her. She'll be well soon, I dare say. And now I shall be glad 
 if you'll leave me, for I am very busy." 
 
 She did not leave him any the quicker for the request. She 
 stayed to worry him, as it was in her nature to worry every 
 
Maude's disobedience. 
 
 853 
 
 one. Getting rid of her at last, lie turned the key of the door, 
 and wished her a hundred miles away. 
 
 The wish bore fruit. In a few days some news she heard 
 regarding her eldest son — who was a widower now — took the 
 dowager to Scotland, and Lord Hartledon wished he could as 
 easily turn the key of the house upon her as he had turned thdt 
 of the room. 
 
 Elster's Folly. 
 
 •23 
 
354 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXL 
 
 THE SWORD SLIPPED. 
 
 Summer dust was in the London streets, and summer weather 
 in the air, and the carriage of that fashionable medical 
 practitioner, Sir Alexander Pepps, still waited before Lord 
 Hartledon's house. It had waited there more frequently in these 
 later weeks. 
 
 The great world — lier world — wondered what was the matter 
 with her : Sir Alexander wondered also. Perhaps had he been 
 a less courtly man he might have rapped out " obstinacy," if 
 questioned upon the point ; as it was, he murmured of " weak- 
 ness." Weak she undoubtedly was ; and she did not seem to 
 try in the least to grow strong again. She did not go into 
 society now ; she dressed as usual, and sat in her drawing-room, 
 and received visitors if the whim took her ; but she was usually 
 denied to all; and said she was not well enough to go out. 
 From her husband she remained bitterly estranged. If he 
 attempted to be friends with her, to ask what it was that was 
 ailing her, she either tartly refused to say, or maintained a per- 
 sistent silence. Lord Hartledon could not account for her 
 behaviour, and was growing tired of it. 
 
 Poor Maude ! That some very grievous blow had fallen 
 upon her was all too evident. Eesentment, anguish, bitter 
 despair alternated within her breast, and she seemed really not 
 to care whether she lived or died. Oh, was it for this that she 
 had schemed, and so successfully, to wrest Lord Hartledon 
 from his promised bride, Anne Ashton? She would lie back 
 in her chair and ask it. No labour of hers could by any 
 possibility have brought forth a result by which that young 
 lady could be so well avenged. Heaven is true to itself : and 
 
THE SWORD SLIPPED. 
 
 355 
 
 Dr. Ashton had left vengeance with it. Lady Hartledon looked 
 back on her fleeting triumph ; a triumph at the time certainly, 
 but a short one. It had not fulfilled its golden promises : that 
 sort of triumph perhaps never does. It had been followed by 
 ennui, repentance, dissatisfaction with her husband, and it had 
 resulted in a very moonlight sort of happiness, which had at 
 length centred only in the children. The children ! Maude gave 
 a cry of anguish as she thought of them. No ; take it altogether, 
 the play from the first had not been worth the candle. And 
 now ? She threw up her thin hands in a frenzy of impotent 
 rage — with Anne Ashton had lain the real triumph, with 
 herself the sacrifice. Too well Maude understood a remark her 
 husband once made, in answer to a reproach of hers in the first 
 year of their marriage — that he was thankful not to have 
 wedded Anne. 
 
 One morning Sir Alexander Pepps, on his road from the 
 drawing-room to his chariot — a very old-fashioned chariot that 
 all the world knew well — paused midway in the hall, with his 
 cane to his nose, and condescended to address the man with the 
 powdered wig who was escorting him. 
 
 " Is the earl at home ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I wish to see him." 
 
 So the wig changed its course, and Sir Alexander was bowed 
 into the presence. His lordship rose with what the French 
 would call empressement, to receive the great man. 
 
 " Thank you, I have not time to sit," said he, declining the 
 chair offered him, and standing, cane in hand. " I have three 
 consultations to-day, and some urgent cases. I grieve to have 
 a painful duty to fulfil to your lordship ; but I must inform 
 you that Lady Hartledon's health gives me uneasiness." 
 
 The earl did not immediately reply ; but it was not from 
 want of genuine concern. 
 
 " What is it that is really the matter with her ? " 
 
 " Debility ; nothing else," replied Sir Alexander. " But 
 these cases of extreme debility cause so much perplexity. 
 Where there is no particular disease to treat, and the patient 
 does not rally, why " 
 
 He understood the doctor's pause to mean something ominous. 
 
356 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 *' Wliat can be done ? " he asked. " I have remarked, with pain, 
 that she does not gain strength. Change of air? The sea- 
 side ? " 
 
 "She says she won't go," interrupted the physician. "In 
 fact, her ladyship objects to everything I can suggest or 
 propose." 
 
 " It's very strange," said the earl. 
 
 " At times it has occurred to me that she must have some- 
 thing on her mind," continued Sir Alexander, raising the gold 
 top of his cane to his mouth and lowering it again. " Upon my 
 delicately hinting this opinion to Lady Hartledon, she denied 
 it with an angry vehemence which caused me to suspect that 
 I was correct. Does your lordship know of anything likely to 
 — to torment her ? " 
 
 " Not of anything," replied Lord Hartledon, confidently. " I 
 think I can assure you that there is nothing of the sort." 
 
 And his lordship spoke according to his belief ; for he knew 
 of nothing. He would have supposed it simply an impossibility 
 that Lady Hartledon had been made privy to the dreadful 
 secret which had weighed on him ; and he never gave that a 
 thought. 
 
 Sir Alexander nodded, reassured on the point. 
 " I should wish for a consultation, if your lordship has no 
 objection." 
 
 "Then pray call it without delay," said the earl. "Have 
 anything, do anything, that may conduce to Lady Hartledou's 
 recovery. You do not suspect heart-disease ? " 
 
 " The symj)toms are not those of any heart-disease known to 
 me. The Countess-Dowager of Kirton spoke to me of this ; but 
 I see nothing to apprehend at present on that score. If there's 
 any latent affection, it has not yet shown itself. Then we'll 
 arrange the consultation for to-morrow." 
 
 Sir Alexander Pepps was bowed out ; and the consultation 
 took place ; which left the matter just as it was before. The 
 wise doctors thought there was nothing radically wrong ; but 
 strongly recommended change of air. Sir Alexander con- 
 fidentially mentioned Torbay ; he had great faith in Torbay ; 
 perhaps his lordship could induce Lady Hartledon to try it ? 
 She had flatly told the consultation that she would not try it. 
 
THE SWOKD SLIPPED. 
 
 357 
 
 Lady Hartledon was seated in the drawing-room when he 
 went in, willing to do what he could ; any urging of his had 
 not gone far with her of late. A white silk shawl covered her 
 dress of green check silk ; she wore a shawl constantly now, 
 having a perpetual tendency to shiver ; her handsome features 
 were white and attenuated, but her eyes were brilliant still, and 
 her dark hair was dressed in elaborate braids. 
 
 " So you have had the doctors here, Maude," began the earl' 
 cheerfully. 
 
 She nodded a reply, and began to fidget with the body of her 
 gown. It seemed that she had to do something or other always 
 to her attire whenever he spoke to her — which took her atten- 
 tion partially away. 
 
 *' Sir Alexander tells me they have been recommending you 
 Torbay." 
 
 " I am not going to Torbay." 
 
 " Oh yes, you are, Maude," he soothingly said. " It will be 
 a change for us all. The children will benefit by it as much as 
 you, and so shall I." 
 
 " I tell you I shall not go to Torbay." 
 
 " Would you prefer any other place ? " 
 
 " I will not go anywhere ; I have told them so." 
 
 " Then, Maude, I declare that 111 carry you off by force ! " 
 he cried rather sharply. " Why do you vex me like this ? You 
 know you must go." 
 
 She made no reply ; the unbuttoning and buttoning the waist 
 of her gown occupied her eyes and fingers. He drew a chair 
 close to her and sat down. 
 
 " Maude," he said, speaking all the more gently for his recent 
 outbreak, "you must be aware that you do not recover so 
 quickly as we could wish " 
 
 " I do not recover at all," she interrupted. " I don't want to 
 recover." 
 
 "My dear, how can you talk so? There is nothing the 
 matter with you but weakness, and that will soon be overcome 
 if you exert yourself." 
 
 " No, it won't. I shall not leave home." 
 
 " Somewhere you must go, for the workmen are coming into 
 the house ; and for the next two months it will not be habitable." 
 
858 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Wlio is bringing them in ? " she asked, with flashing eyes. 
 
 " You know it was decided long ago that the house should be 
 done up this summer. It wants it badly enough. Torbay " 
 
 " I will not go to Torbay, Lord Hartledon. If I am to be 
 turned out of this house, I'll go to the other." 
 
 " What other?" 
 
 " Hartledon." 
 
 " Not to Hartledon," said the earl, quickly, for his dislike to 
 the place had grown with time, and the word grated on his ear. 
 " Then I remain where I am." 
 
 " Maude," he resumed in quiet tones, " I will not urge you to 
 try the sea-air for my sake, because you do what you can to 
 show me I am of very little moment to you ; but I will say try 
 it for the sake of the children. Surely, they are dear to you ! " 
 
 A faint, subdued sound of pain broke from her lips, as if she 
 could not bear to hear them named. 
 
 " It's of no use prolonging this discussion," she said. " An 
 invalid's fancies may generally be trusted, and mine point to 
 Hartledon — if I am to be disturbed at all. I should not so 
 much mind going there." 
 
 A pause ensued. Lord Hartledon had taken her hand, and 
 was mechanically turning round her wedding-ring, his thoughts 
 far away ; it hung sufficiently loosely now, on the wasted finger. 
 She lay back in her chair, looking on with apathy, too indifferent 
 to withdraw her hand. 
 
 " Why did you put it on ? " she asked abruptly. 
 
 " Why indeed ? " returned his lordship, deep in his abstraction. 
 " What did you say, Maude ? " he added, awaking in a flurry. 
 "Put what on?" 
 
 " My wedding-ring." 
 
 "My dear! But about Hartledon — if you fancy that, and 
 nowhere else, I suppose we must go there." 
 "You also?" 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Ah ! when your wife's chord of life is loosening what model 
 husbands you men become ! " she uttered. " You have never 
 gone to Hartledon with me ; you have suffered me to be there 
 alone, through a ridiculous reminiscence; but now that you 
 are about to lose me you will go ! " 
 
THE SWORD SLIPPED. 
 
 359 
 
 " Why do you encourage these gloomy thoughts about your- 
 self, Maude?" he asked, passing by the Hartledon question. 
 " One would think you wished to die." 
 
 " I do not know," she replied in tones of deliberation. " Of 
 course no one, at my age, can be tired of the world, and for some 
 things I wish to live ; but for others I shall be glad to die." 
 
 "Maude! Maude! It is wrong to say this. You are not 
 likely to die." 
 
 " I can't tell. All I say is, I shall be glad, for some things, 
 if I do." 
 
 " What is all this ? " exclaimed the earl, after a bewildered 
 pause. " Is there anything on your spirits, Maude ? Are you 
 grieving after that little premature infant ? " 
 
 " No," she answered, " not for him. I grieve for the two who 
 remain." 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked at her. A dread, which he strove to 
 throw from him, struggling to his conscience. 
 
 " I think you are deceived in my state of health. And if I 
 object to go to the seaside, it is chiefly because I would not 
 die in a strange place. If I am to die, I should like to die at 
 Hartledon." 
 
 His hair seemed to rise up in horror at the words. " Maude ! 
 have you any disease that you are concealing from me ? " 
 
 " Not any. But the belief has been upon me for some time 
 that I should not get over this. You must have seen how I 
 appear to be sinking." 
 
 " And with no disease upon you ! I don't understand it." 
 
 " No particular disease of body." 
 
 " You are weak, dispirited — I cannot pursue these questions, 
 Maude," he broke off. " Tell me in a word : is there any 
 cause for this ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 The earl gathered up his breath. " What is it ? " 
 
 " What is it ! " repeated Lady Hartledon, her eyes ablaze 
 with sudden light. " What is it that has weighed ijou down, 
 not to the grave, for men are strong, but to terror, and shame, 
 and sin ? What secret is it. Lord Hartledon ? " 
 
 His lips were whitening. "But it — even allowing that I 
 have a secret — need not weigh down you." 
 
360 
 
 ELSTER S EOLLY. 
 
 "Not weigh me down! — to terror, deeper than yours; to 
 shame, more abject ? Suppose I knoAV the secret ? " 
 
 " You cannot know it," he gasped. " It would have killed 
 you." 
 
 " And what lias it done ? Look at me." 
 
 " Oh, Maude ! " he wailed, " what is it that you do, or do not 
 know ? How did you learn anything of it ? " 
 
 " I learnt it through my own folly. I am sorry for it now. 
 My knowing it can make the fact neither better nor worse ; and 
 perhaps I might have been spared the knowledge to the end." 
 
 " But what is it that you know ? " he asked, rather wishing 
 at the moment he was dead himself. 
 
 "^Alir ^ 
 
 " It is impossible." ' 
 
 " It is true." 
 
 And he felt that it was true ; that here was the solution to 
 the conduct which had puzzled him, puzzled the doctors, 
 2)uzzled the household and the countess-dowager. 
 
 " And how — and how ? " he gasped. 
 
 " When that stranger was here last, I heard what he said 
 to you," she replied, avowing the fact without shame in the 
 moment's terrible anguish. "I made the third at the inter- 
 view." 
 
 He looked at her in utter disbelief. 
 
 " You refused to let me go down. I followed you, and stood 
 at the little door of the library. It was open, and I — heard — 
 every word." 
 
 The last words were spoken with an hysterical sobbing 
 of the breath. " Oh, Maude ! " broke from the lips of Lord 
 Hartledon. 
 
 " You will reproach me for disobedience, of course ; for 
 meanness, perhaps ; but I knew there was some awful secret, 
 and that you did not tell it me. I earned my punishment, if 
 that will be any satisfaction to you ; I have never enjoyed an 
 instant's peace since, night or day." 
 
 He hid his face on his wife's arm in his pain. This was 
 the moment he had dreaded for years ; anything, so that 
 it might be kept from her I he had prayed in his never-ceasing 
 fear. 
 
THE SWORD SLIPPED. 
 
 361 
 
 " Forgive, forgive me ! Oh, Maude, forgive me ! " 
 
 She did not respond ; she did not attempt to soothe him : if 
 ever looks expressed reproach and aversion, hers did then. 
 
 " Have compassion upon me, Maude ! I was more sinned 
 against than sinning. Compassion ! compassion ! " 
 
 " What compassion had you for me ? How dared you marry 
 me ? you, bound with crime ? " 
 
 " The worst is over, Maude ; the worst is over." 
 
 " It can never be over : you are guilty of wilful sophistry. 
 The crime remains ; and — Lord Hartledon — its fruits re- 
 main." 
 
 He interrupted her excited words by voice and gesture ; he 
 took her hands in his. She snatched them from him, and burst 
 into a fit of hysterical sobbing, which ended in a faintness 
 almost like death. He did not dare to call assistance; an 
 unguarded word might have slipped out unawares. 
 
 Shut them in ; shut them in ! they had need to be alone in 
 a scene such as that. 
 
 Lord and Lady Hartledon went down to Calne, as she 
 wished. But not immediately ; some two or three weeks 
 elapsed first, and during that time Mr. Carr was a good deal 
 with both of them. Their sole friend : the only man that was 
 cognizant of the trouble that they had yet to do fierce battle 
 with ; and who alone might whisper a word of something like 
 consolation. 
 
 Lady Hartledon seemed to improve. Whether it was the 
 country, or the sort of patched-up peace that reigned between 
 her and her husband, she grew stronger and better, and began 
 to go out again and enjoy life as usual. But in saying life, it 
 must not be thought that gaiety is implied ; none could shun 
 that as Lady Hartledon seemed to shun it. And the earl, for 
 the first time since his marriage, began to take some interest 
 in his native place, and in his own home. The old sensitive 
 feeling in regard to meeting the Ashtons, lingered on him still ; 
 was, in fact, almost as strong as ever ; and he had the good 
 sense to see that this must be overcome, if possible, if he made 
 Hartledon his home for the future, as his wife now talked of 
 doing. 
 
 As a preliminary step to it, he appeared at church ; one, two, 
 
362 
 
 ELSTER*S FOLLY. 
 
 three Sundays. On the second Sunday his wife went with him. 
 Anne was in her pew, with her younger brother, but not Mrs. 
 Ashton : she, as Lord Hartledon knew by report, was too ill 
 now to go out. Each day Dr. Ashton did the whole duty ; his 
 curate, Mr. Graves, was taking a holiday. His lordship heard 
 another report, that the curate had been wanting to press his 
 attentions on Miss Ashton. The truth was, as none had known 
 better than Yal Elster, Mr. Graves had wanted to press them 
 years and years ago. He had at length made her an offer, and 
 she had angrily refused him. A foolish girl ! said indignant 
 Mrs. Graves, reproachfully. Her son was a model son, and 
 would make a model husband ; and he would be a wealthy 
 man, as Anne knew, for he must sooner or later come into the 
 entailed property of his uncle. I don't like models, returned 
 Anne. It was not in the least pleasant to Lord Hartledon to 
 stand there in his pev/, with recollection upon him, and the 
 gaze of the Ashtons studiously turned from him, and Jabez 
 Gum looking out at him from the corners of his eyes as he 
 made his sonorous responses. A wish for reconciliation took 
 strong possession of the earl, and he wondered whether he 
 could not bring himself to sue for it. He wanted besides to 
 stay to the after-service, which he had not done since he was a 
 young man — never since his marriage. Maude had stayed 
 occasionally, as was the fashion ; but he never. I beg you not 
 to quarrel with me for the word ; some of the partakers in that 
 after-service remain from no higher motive. Certainly poor 
 Maude had not. 
 
 On the third Sunday, Lord Hartledon went to church in the 
 evening — alone ; and when service was over he waited until 
 the church had emptied itself, and then made his way into the 
 vestry. Jabez was passing out of it, and the Kector was coming 
 out behind him. Lord Hartledon stopped the latter, and 
 craved a minute's conversation. Dr. Ashton bowed rather stiffly, 
 2>ut his hat down, and Jabez shut them in. 
 
 " Is there any service you require of me ? " inquired the 
 Eector, coldly. 
 
 It was the impulsive Val Elster of old days who answered ; 
 his hand held out pleadingly, his ingenuous soul shining forth 
 from his blue eyes. 
 
THE SWORD SLIPPED. 
 
 363 
 
 " Yes there is, Dr. Ashton ; I have come to pray for it — 
 your forgiveness." 
 
 " My Christian forgiveness you have had already," returned 
 the clergyman, after a pause. 
 
 " But I want something else. I want your pardon as a man ; 
 I want you to look at me and speak to me as you used to do. 
 I want to hear you call me ' Val ' again ; to take my hand in 
 yours, and not coldly; in short, I want you to help me to 
 forgive myself." 
 
 In that moment— and Dr. Ashton, minister of the gospel 
 though he was, could not have explained it — all the old love 
 for Val Elster rose bubbling up in his heart. A stubborn heart 
 withal, as all hearts are since Adam sinned ; and he did not 
 respond to the offered hand, his features relaxed not in their 
 sternness in spite of the pleading look. 
 
 " You must be aware, Lord Hartledon, that your conduct 
 does not merit pardon. As to friendship — which is what you 
 ask for — it would be incompatible with the distance you and I 
 must observe towards each other." 
 
 " Why need we observe it ? if you accord me your true 
 forgiveness ? " 
 
 The question was one not easy to respond to candidly. The 
 doctor could not say, Your intercourse with us might be 
 dangerous to the peace of one heart yet ; and in his inner con- 
 viction he believed that it might be. He only looked at Val ; 
 at the yearning face, at the tearful eyes ; and in that moment it 
 occurred to the doctor that something beside the ordinary wear 
 and tear of life had worn the once smooth face, had brought 
 streaks of silver to the still luxuriant hair. 
 
 " Do you know that you nearly killed her ? " he asked, his 
 voice softening. 
 
 "I have known that it might be so. Had there been any 
 atonement in my power to make ; any means by which the grief 
 might have been soothed, I would have gone to the ends of the 
 earth to accomplish it. But, of all the world, I alone might 
 attempt nothing. For myself I have spent the years in misery ; 
 not on that score," he hastened to add in his truth, and a 
 thought crossed Dr. Ashton that he must allude fo unhappiness 
 ,with his wife — " on another. If it will be any consolation to 
 
364 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 know it — if you might accept it as even the faintest shadow of 
 atonement — I can truly say that few have gone through the 
 care that I have, and lived. Anne has been amply avenged." 
 
 The Kector laid his hand on the slender fingers, hot with 
 fever, whiter than they ought to be, betraying the life's inward 
 care. He forgave him from that moment ; and forgiveness with 
 Dr. Ashton meant the full meaning of the word. 
 
 " You were always your own enemy, Val." 
 
 " Ay. Heaven alone knows the extent of my folly ; and of 
 my punishment." 
 
 From that hour Lord Hartledon and the Kectory were not 
 total strangers to each other. He called there once in a way, 
 rarely seeing any one but the doctor ; now and then Mrs. 
 Ashton ; by chance, Anne. Times and again was it on Val's 
 lips to confide to Dr. Ashton the nature of the sin upon his 
 conscience ; but his innate sensitiveness, the shame that would 
 reflect upon him, stepped in and sealed the secret. 
 
 Meanwhile, perhaps he and his wife had never lived on terms 
 of such true cordiality as now. There ivere no secrets between 
 tliem : and let me tell you that is one of the keys to happiness 
 in married life. Whatever the past had been. Lady Hartledon 
 appeared to condone it ; at least she no longer openly resented 
 it to her husband. It is just possible that a shadow of the 
 future, a prevision of the severing of the tie, very near now, might 
 have been unconsciously upon her, guiding her spirit to meek- 
 ness, if not yet quite to peace. Lord Hartledon thought she 
 was growing quite well ; and, save that she would rather often 
 go into a passion of hysterical tears as she clasped her children 
 to her, particularly the boy, her days passed calmly enough. 
 She indulged the children beyond all reason, and it was of no 
 use for their father to interfere. Once that he stepped in to 
 prevent it, she flew out almost like a tigress, asking what 
 business it was of his, that he should dare to come between her 
 and them. The lesson was an effectual one ; and he never 
 interfered again. But the indulgence was telling on the 
 naturally haughty disposition of the little Lord Elster ; and not 
 for good. 
 
( 365 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 RIDING THE PONY. 
 
 As the days and weeks went on, and Lord and Lady Hartle- 
 don continued at Calne, there was one circumstance that began 
 to impress itself on the mind of the former in a careless sort of 
 way — that he was constantly meeting Pike. Go abroad when 
 he would, he was sure to see Pike in some out-of-the-way spot ; 
 at a sudden turning, or peeping forth from under a group of 
 trees, or staring at him from a roadside bank. One day in 
 particular impressed itself on Lord Hartledon's memory. He 
 was walking slowly along the road with Dr. Ashton, and found 
 Pike was keeping pace with them softly on the other side the 
 hedge, listening no doubt to what he could hear. It seemed as 
 if the man was dodging him. On one of these occasions Lord 
 Hartledon stopped and confronted him. 
 " What is it that you want, Mr. Pike ? " 
 
 Perhaps Mr. Pike was about the last man in the world to be, 
 as the saying runs, " taken aback," and he stood his ground, 
 and boldly answered " Nothing." 
 
 " It seems as though you did," said Yal. " Go where I will, 
 you are sure to spring up before me, or to be peeping and peer- 
 ing from some ambush as I walk along. It will not do : do you 
 understand ? " 
 
 "I was just thinking the same thing yesterday — that your 
 lordship was always meeting me," said bold Pike. " No offence 
 on either side, I dare say." 
 
 Yal walked on, throwing the man a significant look of warning, 
 but vouchsafing no other reply. After that Pike was a little 
 more cautious, and kept aloof for a time ; but Yal knew that he 
 was still watched on occasion. 
 
360 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 One line October day, when the grain had been gathered 
 and the fields were bare with their stubble, the earl, alone 
 in one of the front rooms, heard a sort of contest going on 
 outside. Throwing up the window, he saw his young son 
 attempting to mount the groom's pony: the latter was pre- 
 venting him. At the door stood a small, low, basket carriage, 
 the fellow pony harnessed in it. They belonged to Lady 
 Hartledon ; sometimes she drove only one in the carriage ; 
 and the groom, a young lad of fourteen, very light and 
 slim, rode the other : sometimes both ponies were in the 
 carriage ; and on those occasions the boy sat by her side, and 
 drove. 
 
 " What's the matter, Edward ? " called out Lord Hartledon to 
 his son. 
 
 "Young lordship wants to ride the pony to-day, my lord," 
 spoke up the groom, touching his hat. " My lady ordered me 
 to ride it." 
 
 At this juncture Lady Hartledon appeared on the scene, 
 ready for her drive. She had intended to take her little son 
 with her — as she generally did — but the child boisterously 
 demanded that he should ride the pony for once, and she 
 weakly yielded. Lord Hartledon's • private opinion, looking 
 on, was that she was literally incapable of denying him any 
 earthly thing he chose to demand. He went out. 
 
 " He had better go with you in the carriage, Maude." 
 
 " Not at all. He sits very well now, and the pony's quiet 
 and docile." 
 
 " But he is too young to ride by the side of any vehicle. It 
 is not safe. Let him sit with you as usual." 
 
 " Nonsense ! Edward, darling, you shall ride the pony. 
 Help him up, Ealph." 
 
 " I say no, Maude. He " 
 
 "Will you be quiet?" said Lady HartledoQ, bending her 
 dark face towards her husband, and speaking in low tones. 
 " It is not for you to interfere. Would you deny him every- 
 thing ? " 
 
 A strangely bitter expression sat on the earl's lips. Not of 
 anger ; not even of mortification , but of sad, cruel pain. He 
 said no more. 
 
RIDING THE PONY. 
 
 367 
 
 And the cavalcade started. Lady Hartledon driving, the 
 boy-groom sitting with her, and my young Lord Lister's 
 short legs striding the pony. They were only going in the Park, 
 she called out to her husband, and she should keep at a foot- 
 pace. 
 
 There was no real danger, as the earl believed ; only he did 
 not like the child's wilful tempers to be thus given way to. 
 With a deep sigh, he turned indoors for his hat, and went 
 strolling down the avenue, he cared not much whither. Mrs. 
 Capper dropped a curtsy as he passed the lodge. 
 
 " Have you heard from your son yet ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes, my lord, many thanks to you. The school suits him 
 bravely." 
 
 Turning out of the gates, he saw Floyd the miller walking 
 slowly along. The man had been confined to his bed for 
 weeks in the summer, with an attack of what the doctors called 
 acute rheumatism, and to the house afterwards. It was the 
 first time they had met since that morning long and long 
 ago, when the miller brought up the portemonnaie. Lord 
 Hartledon did not know him at first, he was so altered ; pale, 
 thin, reduced. 
 
 " Is it you, Floyd ? " 
 
 " It's what's left of me, my lord." 
 
 " And that's not much ; but I am glad to see you so far well," 
 said the earl, in his usual kindly tone. " I have heard re23orts 
 of you from Mr. Hillary." 
 
 " Your lordship's altered too." 
 
 " Am I?" 
 
 " Well, it seems so to me. But it's some few years now 
 since I saw you. Nothing has ever come to light about that 
 pocket-book, my lord." 
 
 " I conclude not, or I should have heard of it." 
 
 " And your lordship never came down to see the place ! " 
 
 " No. I left Hartledon directly ; the same day, I think, or 
 the next. After all, Floyd, I don't see that it is of any use 
 looking into these painful things : it cannot bring the dead to 
 life again." 
 
 " And that's true," said the miller. 
 
 He was walking into Calne. Lord Hartledon kept by his 
 
368 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 side, talking now of this, now of that. The earl promised 
 to be as popular a man as his father had been ; and that 
 was saying a great deal. When they came opposite the 
 Kectory, Lord Hartledon wished him good day and better 
 strength, in his hearty manner, and turned in at the Eectory 
 gates. ♦ 
 
 About once a week now he was in the habit of calling on 
 Mrs. Ashton. Peace was between them ; and these visits of 
 his to her sick-chamber were strangely welcome to her heart. 
 She had loved Yal Elster all her life, and she loved him now 
 more than ever, in spite of the past. For Val was curiously 
 subdued ; and his present mood, or temperament, or whatever 
 you may please to call it, sad, quiet, thoughtful, was more 
 endearing than his gayer one had been. Mrs. Ashton did not 
 fail to read that he was a disappointed man, one with some 
 heavy care upon him. 
 
 Anne was in the hall when he entered, talking to a poor 
 applicant who was waiting to see the Eector. Lord Hartledon 
 smiled and lifted his hat to her ; but he did not offer to shake 
 hands. He had never presumed to touch her hand since the 
 reconciliation : in fact, he scarcely ever saw her. 
 
 "How is Mrs. Ashton to-day?" 
 
 " A little better, I think, Lord Hartledon. She will be glad 
 to see you." 
 
 He followed the servant upstairs, and Anne turned to the 
 woman again. Mrs. Ashton was in an easy-chair near the 
 window ; he drew one close, and sat down with her hand in his. 
 
 " But you are looking famously to-day, do you know," he 
 began, in his most cheerful tones, gay almost as those of the 
 light-hearted Val Elster ; for he was given to cheering up 
 all the invalids he came near. " What is it ? The cap ? " 
 
 " The cap of course. Don't you see it has blooming pink 
 ribbons in it? Ah, Val, your favourite colour used to be 
 pink. Do you recollect ? " 
 
 " I recollect everything. But indeed and in truth you look 
 better, dear Mrs. Ashton." 
 
 " Yes, better to-day," she said, with a sigh. " I shall fluctuate 
 to the end, I suppose ; one day better, the next worse. Val, I 
 think sometimes it is not far off now." 
 
HIDING THE PONY. 
 
 369 
 
 Very far off he knew it could not be. But he spoke of hope 
 still : it was in his nature to do so. In the depths of his heart, 
 so hidden from the world, there seemed to be hope for the 
 whole living creation, himself excepted. 
 
 " How is your wife to-day ? " 
 
 " Quite well, thank you. She and Edward are out with the 
 ponies and carriage." 
 
 " She never comes to see me." 
 
 " She does not go to see any one. Though well, she's not 
 very strong yet." 
 
 " Ah, she's young, she'll get so. I shall only grow weaker. 
 I am brave to-day; but you should have seen me last night. 
 So prostrate ! I almost doubted whether I should rise from my 
 bed again. I do not think you will have to come here many 
 more times." 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Ashton ! " 
 
 " A little sooner or a little later, what does it matter, I try 
 to ask myself; but parting is parting, and my heart aches 
 sometimes to pain. One of my aches will be the leaving you." 
 
 " Only a very minor one, then," he said, with deprecation ; 
 but the tears shone in his violet-blue eyes. 
 
 " No ; not a minor one. I have loved you as a son of my 
 own, always. I never loved you more, Percival, than when 
 that letter of yours came to me at Cannes." 
 
 It was the first time she had alluded to it : the letter written 
 the evening of his marriage. Val's face turned red, for his 
 perfidy rose up before him in its full extent of shame. 
 
 " I don't care to speak of that," he whispered. " If you only 
 knew what my humiliation has been ! " 
 
 " Not of that, no ; I don't know why I mentioned it. But I 
 want you to speak of something else, Val. Over and over 
 again has it been on my lips to ask it. What is the secret 
 trouble that is weighing you down ? " 
 
 A far greater change, than the one called up by recollection 
 and its shame, came over his face now. He did not speak; 
 and Mrs. Ashton continued. She was holding his hands as he 
 bent towards her. 
 
 " I have seen it all along. At first — I don't mind confessing 
 it to you, Val, for you seem to draw from me entire confidence, 
 
 Elster's Folly. 24 
 
370 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 and there is no fear of your mistaking me — I took it for granted 
 that you were on bad terms with yourself on account of the 
 past. I feared there was something wrong between you and 
 your wife, and that you were regretting Anne. But I soon 
 threw that idea from me, to replace it with a graver one." 
 " What graver one ? " he asked. 
 
 " Nay, I know not. I want you to tell me. Will you ? " 
 He shook his head with an unmistakable gesture of denial, 
 pressing unconsciously her hands to pain. 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " You have just said I am dear to you," he whispered ; " I 
 believe I am so." 
 
 " Very dear. As dear, I think, as my own children." 
 
 " Then do not even wish to know it. It is an awful secret ; 
 and I must bear it without sympathy of any sort, alone and in 
 silence. It has been upon me for some years now, taking the 
 sweetness out of my daily bread ; and it will, I suppose, go 
 with me to my grave, Not scarcely to lift it off my shoulders, 
 would I impart it to you'' 
 
 She sighed deeply ; she thought it must be connected with 
 some of his youthful follies — his debts : possibly he had 
 brought embarrassment of that nature upon him. But she 
 lo ^ed him still ; she had faith in him ; she believed that he 
 went wrong from misfortune more than from fault. 
 
 "Courage ever, Yal," she whispered, the tears in her own 
 soft eyes. " There is a better world than this, where sorrow 
 and sighing cannot enter. Patience — and hope — and trust in 
 God ! — always bearing onwards. In time we shall attain to it." 
 
 Lord Hartledon gently drew his hands away, and turned to 
 the window for a minute's respite. His eyes were greeted with 
 the sight of one of his own servants, approaching the Eectory 
 at full speed, some half-dozen idlers behind him. 
 
 With a prevision that something was wrong, Lord Hartledon 
 said a word of adieu to Mrs. Ashton, went down, and met the 
 man outside. Dr. Ashton, who had seen the approach, also 
 hurried out. 
 
 There had been some accident in the park, the man said. 
 The pony had swerved and thrown Lord Elster : thrown him 
 right under the other pony's feet, as it seemed. The servant 
 
RIDING THE PONY. 
 
 371 
 
 made rather a bungle over his news, but this was its 
 substance. 
 
 " And the result ? Is he much hurt ? " asked the earl, con- 
 straining his voice and manner to calmness. 
 
 " Well, no ; not hurt at all, apparently, my lord. He was 
 up again soon, saying he'd lash the pony for throwing him. 
 He don't seem hurt a bit." 
 
 " Then, man, why need you have alarmed us so," interrupted 
 Dr. Ashton, quickly and reprovingly. 
 
 " Well, sir, it's her ladyship that seems hurt — or something," 
 cried the man. 
 
 Lord Hartledon looked at him. 
 
 " What is it that you have come to tell, Eichard ? Speak 
 out." 
 
 Apparently Kichard could not speak out. His lady had been 
 frightened and fainted, and did not come-to again. " Did not 
 come-to again," he continued to harp upon. Lord Hartledon 
 set off, fast as his fleet legs would carry him. 
 
 The people, standing about in the park here and there — for 
 even this slight accident had gathered together its idlers — 
 seemed to look at Lord Hartledon curiously as he passed them. 
 Close to the house he met Kalph. The boy was crying. 
 
 " 'Twasn't no fault of anybody's, my lord ; and there ain't 
 any damage to the ponies," he began, hastening to excuse him- 
 self. " The little lord only slid off, and they stood as quiet as 
 quiet. There wasn't no cause for my lady's fear." 
 
 " Is she fainting still ? " 
 
 " They say she's — dead." 
 
 The boy brought out the last word with a burst of sobbing. 
 Lord Hartledon pressed onwards, and met Mr. Hillary at the 
 hall-door. The surgeon took his arm and drew him into an 
 empty room. 
 
 " Hillary ! is it true ? " 
 
 " I'm afraid it is." 
 
 Lord Hartledon felt his sight fail him. For a moment he 
 was as a man groping in the dark. Steadying himself against 
 the wall, he learned the details. 
 
 The child's pony had swerved, Ealph could not tell at what, 
 and Lady Hartledon did not survive to tell. She was looking 
 
372 
 
 ELSTEHS FOLLY. 
 
 at him at tlie time, and saw Mm flung under the feet of the 
 other pony, or slip under, and she rose up in the carriage with 
 a scream, and then fell back into the seat again. Ealph jumped 
 out and picked up the child, who was not hurt at all ; but when 
 he hastened to tell her this, he saw that she seemed to have no 
 life in her. One of the servants, Kichard, happened to be 
 going through the park, within sight ; others soon came up ; 
 and whilst Lady Hartledon was being driven home Kichard ran 
 for Mr. Hillary, and then sought his master, whom he found at 
 the Eectory. The surgeon had found her dead. 
 
 " It must have been instantaneous," he observed in low tones, 
 as he concluded these particulars. " One great consolation is, 
 that she was spared suffering." 
 
 " And its cause ? " breathed Lord Hartledon. 
 
 " The heart. I don't entertain the least doubt of it." 
 
 " You said she had no heart-disease. Others said it." 
 
 " I said, if she had it, it was not developed. Sudden death 
 from it is not at all uncommon where disease has never been 
 suspected." 
 
 And this was all the conclusion come to in the case of Lady 
 Hartledon. Examination proved the surgeon's surmise to be 
 correct ; and in answer to a certain question put by the earl, 
 he said the death was entirely irrespective of any trouble, or 
 care, or annoyance she might have had in the past : irrespective 
 even of any shock, except the shock at the moment of death, 
 caused by seeing the child thrown. That, and that alone, had 
 been the fatal cause. Percival, Lord Hartledon, listened to 
 this, and went away alone and fell on his knees in devout 
 thankfulness to Heaven that he was so far innocent. 
 
 " If she had not given way to the child ! " he bitterly aspirated 
 in the first moments of sorrow. 
 
 That the countess-dowager should come down post-haste and 
 invade Hartledon, was of course only natural; and the earl 
 strove not to rebel against it, even in heart. But she made 
 herself so intensely and disagreeably officious that his patience 
 was sorely tried. Her first act was to insist on a stately 
 funeral. The earl had given orders for one in every way plain 
 and quiet ; but she would have her wish carried out, and raved 
 about the house in an unseemly fashion, abusing him for his 
 
BIDING THE PONY. 
 
 373 
 
 meanness and want of respect to his dead wife. For peace' 
 sake, Lord Hartledon was fain to give her her way ; and the 
 funeral was made as costly as she pleased. Thomas Carr came 
 down to it ; and the countess-dowager was barely civil to him. 
 
 Her next care was to assume the entire management of the 
 two children, putting Lord Hartledon's authority over them at 
 virtual, if not actual, defiance. The death of her daughter was 
 in truth a severe blow to the dowager ; not from love, for she 
 really possessed no natural affection at all, but from fear that 
 she should lose her footing in the house, which was so desirable 
 a refuge. As a preliminary guard against this, she began to 
 endeavour to make it more firm and secure. Altogether she 
 was rendering Hartledon unbearable ; and the earl would often 
 escape from it, his boy in his hand, and take refuge with Mrs. 
 Ashton. 
 
 That Lord Hartledon's love for his children was intense there 
 could be no question ; but it was nevertheless of a peculiarly 
 reticent nature. He had rarely, if ever, been seen to caress 
 them. The boy told tales of how his papa would clasp him, 
 kiss him, even weep over him, in solitude ; but he would not 
 give him so much as a kiss, scarcely even an endearing name, 
 in the presence of others. Poor Maude had called him all the 
 pet names in a fond mother's vocabulary — my darling, my 
 precious, my love ; Lord Hartledon always called him Edward, 
 and nothing more. 
 
 A few evenings after the funeral had taken place, Mirrable, 
 who had been into Calne on an errand, was hurrying back at 
 dusk. As she passed Jabez Gum's gate, the clerk's wife was 
 standing at it, talking to Lydia Jones. The two were laugh- 
 ing: Mrs. Gum seemed in rather a less depressed state than 
 usual, and the other less snappish. 
 
 " Goodness, is it you 1 " exclaimed Mrs. J ones, as Mirrable 
 stopped. " ' Talk of the devil, and you'll see his horns.' I 
 was just saying I'd not set eyes on you in your new mourning.'* 
 
 " And laughing over it," returned Mirrable. 
 
 " That's all your guess is good for ! " was Mrs. Jones's retort. 
 " I'd been telling of a trick I served Jones, and Nance was 
 splitting her sides at it. My word ! silk and crape ! It's fine 
 to be you ! " 
 
374 
 
 ELSTERS FOLLY. 
 
 She had turned Mirrable round, in her rude and uncere- 
 monious fashion, for the purpose of feasting her eyes on her 
 attire. A whole shower of envy went out of them. 
 
 "Now then, Lydia Jones! Is that your way of turning a 
 body about ? How's J abez, Nancy ? " 
 
 " Jabez is gone to Garchester," replied Mrs. Gum, who had 
 a way of giving indirect answers. " I thought I was never 
 going to see you again, Mary." 
 
 " You could not expect to see me while the house was in its 
 recent state of distress," answered Mirrable. " We have been 
 all in a bustle, as you may suppose." 
 
 " You've not had many staying there." 
 
 " Only Mr. Carr ; and he went back to-day. We've got the 
 old countess-dowager still." 
 
 " And likely to have her, if all's true that's said," put in Mrs. 
 Jones, who was curiously fingering the silk of Mirrable's gown. 
 
 Mirrable tacitly admitted the probability. Her private 
 opinion was that nothing short of a miracle, or a positive exer- 
 cise of Lord Hartledon's will, could ever remove the Dowager 
 Kirton from the house again. Had any one told Mirrable, 
 there, as she stood, that her ladyship would be leaving of her 
 own accord that night, she had simply disbelieved it as an 
 impossibility. 
 
 " If this silk hasn't got cotton in it my fingers have no feel 
 in them," irascibly spoke Mrs. Jones, whose cranky nature was re- 
 suming its sway. " YouWe been finely took in, Mary Mirrable ! " 
 
 " Do let my gown alone, Lydia ! It's not for your wear." 
 
 " No, thank goodness," replied Mrs. Jones, after the manner 
 of the fox with the grapes. " When I do get a silk, I like a 
 good one." 
 
 " I say, Mary," cried the weak voice of poor timid Mrs. Gum, 
 " how was it none of the brothers came to the funeral ? Jabez 
 was wondering. She has a lot, I've heard." 
 
 " Had a lot, you should say ; my lady's gone," corrected Mir- 
 rable. " It was not convenient to them, I suppose. The one 
 that lives in the Isle of Wight had gone out cruising in some- 
 body's yacht, or else he'd have come with the dowager ; and 
 Lord Kirton telegraphed from Ireland that he was prevented 
 coming. I know nothing about the rest." 
 
RIDING THE PONY. 
 
 375 
 
 " What an awful thing it was ! " shivered Mrs. Gum. " And 
 to have died like that without cause; for the child was not 
 hurt after all ? Isn't he dreadfully cut up, Mary ? " 
 
 " The child?" 
 
 " Lord Hartledon." 
 
 " I think he is ; he's very quiet and subdued. But he has 
 seemed to me full of sorrow for a long while, as if he had some 
 dreadful care upon him. I don't think he and his wife were 
 very happy together from the first," added Mirrable. "But 
 you needn't go tattling that all over Calne, Lydia Jones." 
 
 " As if Calne didn't know it without your telling ! " retorted 
 Mrs. Jones. " Witness her coming down here alone after the 
 marriage ; and he, when he did come, looking like a walking 
 ghost. I saw him ; and spoke to him, though he did stop but 
 a day or two, which is more than many can say. And he never 
 once came down with her again till this summer." 
 
 "My lord's likely to make it his chief residence now, I 
 fancy," remarked Mirrable. 
 
 "Why d'you fancy that?" returned Lydia Jones, in the 
 peculiarly abrupt, ungracious t©ne that characterized her. 
 
 " Because this morning, when he was speaking to me about 
 the My gracious ! what's that ? " 
 
 A crash, as if a whole kitchen battery of crockery and glass 
 had come down, was heard inside the house. A moment of 
 staring consternation ensued, and nervous Mrs. Gum looked 
 ready to faint. 
 
 " Whatever's Tilly at ? " 
 
 " Take care," cried Lydia Jones ; " I'll be on to her." And 
 pushing the clerk's wife aside, she flew up the path. Tilly 
 was her own daughter, and had replaced Miss Becky, who had 
 rushed into an early marriage with a gentleman that swept 
 chimneys. Mrs. Gum followed, a vision of every breakable 
 thing gone that the house contained flashing across her 
 brain. 
 
 " Good evening, Nancy," called a>ut Mirrable. " I can't stay 
 to come in." 
 
 The two women disappeared indoors, and Mirrable turned 
 towards home at a brisk pace. But she was not to go on with- 
 out an interruption. Pike's head suddenly appeared above the 
 
376 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 hurdles, and he began inquiring, rather affectionately, after her 
 health. " Toothache gone ? " asked he. 
 
 " Yes, it's gone," she said, answering straightforwardly in 
 her surprise. " How did you know I had toothache ? " she 
 added, staring at the man. It was not the first time by several 
 that he had thus accosted her ; and to give her her due, she 
 was always passably civil to him. Perhaps she feared to be 
 otherwise. 
 
 "I heard on't. And so my Lord Hartledon's like a man 
 that's got some dreadful care upon him ! " he went on. " What 
 is the care ? " 
 
 " You have been eavesdropping ! " she angrily exclaimed. 
 
 "Not a bit of it. I was seated under the hedge with my 
 pipe, and you three women set on a-talking. I didn't tell you 
 to. Well, what's his lordship's care ? " 
 
 " Just mind your own business, will you, and his lordship 
 will mind his," she retorted. " You'll get interfered with in a 
 way you won't like. Pike, one of these days, unless you mend 
 your manners." 
 
 "A great care on him," nodded Pike to himself, looking 
 after her, as she walked off in a sort of fury. " A great care ! 
 I know. One of these fine days, my lord, I may be asking you 
 questions about it on my own score. I might long afore this, 
 but for " 
 
 The sentence broke off abruptly, and ended with a growling 
 curse at things in general. Mr. Pike was evidently not in a 
 genial mood. 
 
 His residence in that shed had grown into a matter of course 
 with Calne, just as his presence had. Lord Hartledon and his 
 steward gave no orders for his ejection ; and even Lydia Jones 
 could bring no ill-deed home to the man, by which his liberty 
 might be imperilled. How he lived, how he had lived during 
 these years, was as great a problem as ever. A letter never 
 came to him, as the postman could testify ; a friend never 
 visited him ; and whence he obtained the little money neces- 
 sary for his bare subsistence could not even be conjectured. 
 Except that time, which softens down all marvels, had softened 
 this in people's minds, Mr. Pike and his doings remained as 
 great a mystery as they had ever been. 
 
RIDING THE PONY, 
 
 377 
 
 Mirrable reached home to find the countess-dowager in a 
 state more easily imagined than described. Some blessed 
 sprite, favourable to the peace of invaded Hartledon and its 
 inmates, had been writing to her confidentially from Ireland, 
 regarding Kirton and his doings. That her eldest son was 
 about to steal a march on her and marry again, seemed almost 
 indisputably clear ; and the miserable dowager, dancing her 
 war-dance and uttering reproach on reproach, was repacking 
 her boxes in hot haste. Those boxes, which she had fondly 
 hoped would never again leave Hartledon, unless it might be 
 for sojoui'ns in Park Lane ! She was going back to Ireland to 
 mount guard over him, and prevent any such escapade. Only 
 in September had she quitted him — and then had been as 
 neai-ly ejected as a son could eject his mother with any decency 
 — and had taken the Isle of Wight on her way to Hartledon. 
 The son who lived in the Isle of Wight had espoused a widow 
 twice his own age, with seven hundred a-year, and a house and 
 a carriage ; so that he had a home : which the countess-dowager 
 sometimes remembered. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was liberal. He gave her a handsome sum 
 of ready-money for her journey, and a cheque besides; most 
 devoutly praying that she might keep guard over Kirton for 
 ever. He escorted her to the station himsell in the close 
 carriage, submitting cheerfully to the mountain of boxes out- 
 side, at which all Calne came out to stare. 
 
 And the same week, confiding his children to the joint care 
 of Mirrable and their nurse — an efficient, kind, and judicious 
 woman — the Earl of Hartledon departed from home and 
 England for a sojourn on the Continent, long or short, as 
 inclination led him, feeling as a bird released from its cage. 
 
378 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 OHAPTEE XXXIII 
 
 COMING HOME. 
 
 Some eighteen mouths subsequent to the event recorded in the 
 last chapter, a travelling carriage-and-four dashed up to the 
 Earl of Hartledon's house in Park Lane one wet evening in 
 spring. It contained the earl and his second wife. They were 
 expected, and several servants were assembled in the hall. 
 
 Lord Hartledon led her into their midst, proudly, affection- 
 ately ; as he had never in his life led any other. Ah, you need 
 not ask who she was ; he had contrived to win her, to win over 
 Dr. Ashton ; and his heart's love at length had found its rest. 
 Her sweet-looking countenance, her thoughtful eyes and sunny 
 smile, were turned on the servants, thanking them for their 
 greeting. 
 
 " All well, Hedges ? " asked the earl. 
 
 " Quite well, my lord," was the butler's reply. " But we are 
 not alone." 
 
 " No ! " said the earl, stopping in his progress. " Who's 
 here ? " 
 
 " The Countess-Dowager of Kirton, my lord," replied Hedges, 
 glancing at Lady Hartledon, in momentary hesitation, before he 
 spoke. 
 
 " Oh, indeed," said the earl, as if not enjoying the informa- 
 tion. Just see. Hedges, will you, that the things inside the 
 carriage are taken out. Don't come up, Mrs. Ball ; I will take 
 Lady Hartledon to her rooms." 
 
 It was the light-hearted Val of the old, old days ; his face 
 seemed free from care, his voice was gay. He did not turn 
 into any of the reception-rooms, but led his wife at once to her 
 chamber. It was nearly dinner-time, and he knew she was tired. 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 379 
 
 " Welcome home, my darling ! " he whispered tenderly ere re- 
 leasing her. " A thousand welcomes to you, my dear, dear wife ! " 
 
 Tears rose to his eyes with the fervour of the wish. Heaven 
 alone knew what the past had been ; the contrast between that 
 time and this. 
 
 " I will dress at once, Percival," she said, after a few moments' 
 jmuse. " I must see your children before dinner." 
 
 " Your children also, Anne, from henceforth." 
 
 " Oh yes, yes ! I trust. Heaven helping me, I shall love them 
 and always act by them as if they were my own." 
 
 " I am so sorry she is here, Anne — that woman. You heard 
 Hedges say Lady Kirton had arrived," he added in reply to his 
 wife's look. " She has chosen her visit inopportunely. It i» 
 ill-timed." 
 
 " I shall be pleased to welcome her, Val." 
 
 " It is more than I shall be," replied the earl, as his wife's 
 maid came into the room, and he quitted it. " I'll bring the 
 children to you, Anne." 
 
 They had been married nearly five weeks. Anne had not 
 seen the children for several months. The little Viscount 
 Elster had shown symptoms of delicacy, and for nearly a year 
 the children had sojourned at the seaside, having been brought 
 home to the town-house just before the earl's marriage. 
 
 The nursery was empty, and the earl went down. Lingering 
 in the passage outside the drawing-room was confidential 
 Hedges. He was evidently waiting for his master, and had a 
 budget to unfold. 
 
 " When did she come. Hedges ? " 
 
 " My lord, it was directly after your marriage ; only a few 
 days," replied Hedges, in a low tone. " She arrived in the 
 most outrageous tantrum — if I shall not offend your lordship 
 by saying so — and she has been here ever since, completely 
 upsetting everything." 
 
 " There's no offence. Hedges. Tell it out." 
 
 " On account of your having married again, my lord. She 
 stood in the hall for five minutes when she got here, dancing 
 like mad — your lordship knows what it used to be — and saying 
 the most audacious things against your lordship and Miss 
 Ash ton — I mean my lady," added Hedges, correcting himself. 
 
380 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " The old hag ! " muttered his lordship. " No disrespect to 
 the late Lady Hartledon in saying so," he observed, as if he 
 would apologize for the word, " but she is a hag." 
 
 " I think she's insane at times, my lord, that's what I think ; 
 I'm sure the fits of passion she flies into are bad enough for 
 insanity. The housekeeper told me this morning that she 
 feared she would be capable of striking my lady, when she 
 first saw her. I'm afraid, too, she has been tutoring the 
 children." 
 
 The earl, with a dark brow and haughty step, strode into 
 the drawing-room. There, as large as life — and a great deal 
 larger in breadth than most lives — stood the Dowager-Countess 
 of Kirton. She looked shorter and broader than she used 
 to look, and her snub nose was redder, and her flaxen curls 
 were a little awry. All as it was formerly, even to the dress. 
 The turban was her favourite pea-green colour, the gown 
 was pink, with its innumerable flounces and its quilled white- 
 net tails ; but she was not yet dressed for dinner. Fortunately 
 she had not heard the arrival : in fact, she had dropped into 
 a doze whilst waiting for it ; and she started up when the earl 
 entered. 
 
 "How are you, ma'am?" asked his lordship. "You have 
 taken me by surprise." 
 
 " Not half as much as your wicked letter took me," screamed 
 the old dowager. " Oh, you vile man ! to marry again in this 
 haste! You — you — I can't find words that my tongue would 
 not be ashamed of; but Hamlet's mother, in the play, was 
 nothing to it." 
 
 " It is some time since I read that," returned the earl, con- 
 trolling his temper under an assumption of careless indifference. 
 " If my memory serves me, the ' funeral baked meats did, coldly, 
 furnish forth the marriage table.' My late wife has been dead 
 eighteen months. Lady Kirton." 
 
 " Eighteen months ! for such a wife as Maude was to you ! " 
 violently raved the dowager. " You ought to have mourned 
 her eighteen years. Anybody else would. I wish I had never 
 let you have her." 
 
 The earl wished it likewise, with all his heart and soul ; had . 
 wished it in his lady's lifetime. 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 381 
 
 " I might have known better than to suffer you to cajole me 
 out of her. I " 
 
 " Stay, madam," interrupted Lord Hartledon ; " if you will 
 turn your thoughts back, you may remember that instead of 
 your being cajoled out of her, I was cajoled into having her. 
 But to recriminate in this way is beneath both of us, and dis- 
 respectful to the memory of your daughter." 
 
 " How dare you say ' your daughter ' ? " asked the dowager, 
 taking umbrage at the word. " Wasn't she your wife ? " 
 
 " So, that offends you, does it ? My wife, then. But there 
 is no necessity, I say, to bring up Maude's name: let it be 
 dropped." 
 
 "Dropped; yes! To give place to your old flame, your 
 parson's daughter. A reputable young woman she must be, to 
 force herself indecently into Maude's shoes. I always thougl - 
 her one." 
 
 Oh, Yal, control your temper ! you have need to do it. He 
 imperiously raised his hand for silence, and his face was 
 working with anger. But who could arrest the tongue of the 
 countess-dowager ? 
 
 " Madam, will you listen to me ! Let us understand each 
 other. Your visit here is ill-timed ; you ought to feel it so ; 
 nevertheless, if you stay it out, you must observe good manners. 
 I shall be compelled to request you to terminate it if you fail 
 one iota in the respect due to this house's mistress, my beloved 
 and honoured wife." 
 
 " Your beloved wife, Val Hartledon ! Do you dare to say it 
 to me?" 
 
 " Ay ; beloved, doubly beloved ; and honoured and respected 
 as no woman has ever been by me yet, or ever will be," he 
 replied, speaking too plainly in his warmth. 
 
 " What a false-hearted monster ! " cried the dowager, shrilly, 
 apostrophizing the walls and the mirrors as she whirled about, 
 and successively faced them in her turnings. " What then was 
 Maude?" 
 
 " Maude is gone, and I counsel you not to bring up her name 
 to me," said the earl, sternly. "Your treachery forced Maude 
 upon me; and let me tell you now. Lady Kirton, if I have 
 never told you before, that it wrought upon her the most bitter 
 
382 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 wrong possible to be inflicted ; wbich slie lived to know. I was 
 a vacillating simpleton, and you held me in your trammels. 
 Tbe less we rake up old matters the better. Things have 
 altered. I am altered. The moral courage I once lacked does 
 not fail me now ; and I have at least sufficient to hold my own 
 against the world, and protect from insult the young lady I 
 have made my wife. I beg your pardon if my words seem 
 harsh ; they are true ; and I am sorry you have forced them 
 from me." 
 
 She was standing still for a moment, rubbing her face and 
 staring at him, not altogether certain of her ground. 
 " Where are the children ? " he asked. 
 
 " Where you can't get at them," she rejoined hotly. " You 
 have your beloved wife ; you don't want them." 
 
 He rang the bell, more loudly than he need have done ; but 
 his usually sweet temper was boiling up with provocation. A 
 footman came in. 
 
 " Tell the nurse to bring the children here." 
 
 " They are not at home, my lord." 
 
 " Not at home ! Surely they are not out in this rain ! — and 
 so late ! " 
 
 " They went out this afternoon, my lord : they have not come 
 in, I believe." 
 
 " There, that will do, J ames," tartly interposed the dowager. 
 " You don't know anything about it, and you may go. Shut 
 the door." 
 
 " Lady Kirton, where are the children ? " 
 
 "Where you can't get at them, I say," was Lady Kirton's 
 response, wagging her flaxen front and her blooming face at 
 the questioner. " You don't think I am going to suffer Maude's 
 children to be domineered over by a wretch of a step-mother — 
 perhaps poisoned." 
 
 He confronted her in his wrath, his eyes flashing. 
 
 " Madam ! " 
 
 " Oh, you need not ' Madam ' me. Maude's gone, and I shall 
 act for her." 
 
 " I ask you where my children are ? " 
 
 " I have sent them away. There ; you may make the most 
 of the information. And when I have remained here as long 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 383 
 
 as I choose, I shall take them with me, and keep them, and 
 bring them up." 
 
 " Bring them up as you brought up " 
 
 Val checked his speech ; it was probably one he would after- 
 wards have regretted ; and the dowager took the opportunity to 
 continue hers. 
 
 " And you can at once decide what sum you will allow me 
 for their education and maintenance, and for two maids, and a 
 tutor, and a governess, and masters, and clothes, and toys, and 
 pocket-money. It must be a handsome sum, take notice — for I 
 won't be cramped — and be paid quarterly in advance. And I 
 mean to rent a house in London for their accommodation, and 
 shall expect you to pay the rent." 
 
 The exceeding coolness with which this was delivered turned 
 Val's angry feelings into amusement. He could not help 
 laughing as he looked at her. 
 
 " You cannot have my children, Lady Kirton." 
 
 " They are Maude's children," snapped the dowager. 
 
 " But I presume you admit that they are likewise mine. And 
 I shall certainly not part with them." 
 
 " Percival Hartledon," cried the dowager, " if you oppose me 
 in this, I'll put them into Chancery. I am their nearest relative 
 and next of kin, and I have a right to them." 
 
 " Nearest relative and next of kin ! " he repeated. " You 
 must have lost your senses. I am their father." 
 
 " And have you lived to see thirty, and never learnt that men 
 don't count for anything in the bringing up of infants ? " shrilly 
 asked the dowager. " If they had ten fathers, what's that in 
 the Lord Chancellor's court? No more than ten blocks of 
 wood. What they want is a mother." 
 
 " And I have now given them one," replied the earl. 
 
 The countess-dowager was beside herself, and " said some- 
 thing like swearing," as Lord Byron has it in one of his frag- 
 mentary poems, in reference to a certain chief-justice. She 
 shrieked for her bonnet : she would go off then, and throw the 
 children into Chancery. 
 
 "You had better throw yourself into Chancery," retorted 
 Val ; " but as to my children, they are not eligible candidates 
 for Chancery; and to talk in this manner is the height of 
 
384 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 absurdity. I would not have allowed you their guardianship 
 under any circumstances." 
 
 The dowager's flounces upset a chair or two, and the earl left 
 her. He spoke the truth, when he said that he would never 
 have allowed her their guardianship. He knew how she hated 
 children : he knew that her sole object in wishing for his was 
 to establish a sort of home for herself. 
 
 With the red flush of emotion on his cheek he went up to 
 his wife's room. She was alone then, dressed, and just coming 
 out of it. He put his arm round her waist to draw her in 
 again, as he shortly explained the annoyance their visitor was 
 causing him. 
 
 " You must stay here, my dearest, until I can go down with 
 you," he added. " She is in a vile humour, and I do not choose 
 that you should encounter her, unprotected by me." 
 
 " But where are you going, Yal ? " 
 
 " Well, I really think I shall get a policeman in, and frighten 
 her into saying what she has done with the children. Shell 
 never tell unless she's forced into it." 
 
 Anne laughed, and the earl went down. He had in good 
 truth a great mind to see what the effect would be. The old 
 woman was not a reasonable being, and he felt disposed to 
 show her very little consideration. As he stood at the hall- 
 door gazing forth, who should pass but Thomas Carr. Not 
 altogether by accident ; he had come up exploring, to see if 
 there were any signs of the earl's return. 
 
 " Ah , what ! come home, Hartledon ! " 
 
 " Carr, what blessed wind blew you hither ? " cried Yal, as 
 he grasped the hands of his trusty friend. " You can terrify 
 this woman with the thunders of the law if she persists in 
 kidnapping children that don't belong to her." And he forth- 
 with explained the state of affairs, 
 
 Mr. Carr laughed. 
 
 " She will not keep them away long. She is no fool, that 
 countess-dowager. It is a ruse, no doubt, to induce you to 
 give them up to her." 
 
 "Give them up to her, indeed!" the earl was beginning, 
 when Hedges advanced to him. 
 
 "Mrs. Ball says the children have only gone to Madame 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 385 
 
 Tussaud's, my lord," quoth he. " The nurse told her so when 
 she went out." 
 
 " I wish she was stuck there herself, one of Madame Tus- 
 saud's figure-heads ! " cried Val. " Mr. Carr dines here, Hedges. 
 Nonsense, Carr ; you can't excuse yourself. Never mind your 
 coat; Anne won't mind. I want you to make acquaintance 
 with her." 
 
 " How did you contrive to win over Dr. Ashton ? " asked 
 Thomas Carr, as he went in with the earl. 
 
 "I put the matter before him in its true light," answered 
 Val, a twinkle of merriment in his eyes, — " asking him whether, 
 if Anne forgave me, he would condemn us both to continued 
 punishment, to live out our lives — and both of us so young — 
 apart from each other : or whether he would not act the part 
 of a good and Christian man, and give her to me, that I might 
 strive to atone for the past." 
 
 « And he did so ? " 
 
 "After a great deal of trouble. There's not time to give 
 you the details. I had a powerful advocate in Anne's heart. 
 She had never forgotten me, for all my misconduct." 
 
 " You have been a lucky man at last, taking one thing with 
 another." 
 
 " You may well say it," was the answer, in a tone of deep 
 feeling. " Moments come over me when I fear I am about to 
 awake and find the present a dream. I am only now beginning 
 to live. The past few years have been — you know what, 
 Carr." 
 
 He sent the barrister into the drawing-room, empty now, 
 and went upstairs for Anne, and brought her in on his arm. 
 The countess-dowager was in her chamber, attiring herself in 
 haste. 
 
 " My wife, Carr," said the earl, with a loving emphasis on 
 the word. She was in an evening dress of white and black, 
 not having yet put off mourning for Mrs. Ashton, and looked 
 very lovely ; far more lovely in Thomas Carr's eyes than Lady 
 Maude, with her dark, haughty beauty, had ever looked. She 
 held out her hand to him with a frank smile. 
 
 " I have heard so much of you, Mr. Carr, that we seem like 
 old friends. I am glad you have coine to see me so soon." 
 
 Elster's Folly. 25 
 
386 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " My being here this evening is an accident, Lady Hartle- 
 don, as you may see by my dress," he returned. "I ought 
 rather to apologize for intruding on you in the hour of your 
 arrival." 
 
 "Don't talk about intrusion, Carr," said Val. "You will 
 never be an intruder in my house — and Anne's smile is telling 
 you the same thing. She " 
 
 "Who's that, pray?" 
 
 The interruption came from the Countess-Dowager of Kirton, 
 and the party turned. There she stood, near the door, her 
 pink-gauze dress exchanged for a yellow one, and the pea- 
 green turban for something with spangles. Val drew himself 
 up and approached her, his wife still on his arm. " Madam," 
 said he, in reply to her question, " it is the Countess of Hartle- 
 don." 
 
 The dowager's gauzes made acquaintance with the carpet in 
 so elaborate a curtsy as to savour of mockery, but her eyes 
 were turned up to the ceiling ; not a word or a look gave she 
 to the young lady. 
 
 " The other one I meant," cried she, nodding towards Thomas 
 Carr. 
 
 " It is my friend Mr. Carr. You appear to have forgotten 
 him." 
 
 " I hope you are well, madam," said he, advancing towards 
 her. 
 
 Another curtsy, and the countess-dowager fanned herself, 
 and sailed towards the fireplace. 
 
 Meanwhile the children came home in a cab from Madame 
 Tussaud's; and dinner was announced. Lord Hartledon was 
 obliged to take down the countess-dowager, resigning his wife 
 to Mr. Carr. Dinner passed off pretty well, the dowager 
 being too fully occupied with the viands and the wines to be 
 annoying ; also the good cheer caused her temper to thaw a 
 little. Afterwards, the children came in ; Lord Elster, a bold, 
 free boy, turned five, who walked straight up to his grand- 
 mother, saluting no one; and Maude, a timid, delicate little 
 thing, who stood still in the middle of the carpet where the 
 maid placed her. 
 
 The dowager was just then too busy making pine-apple salad 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 887 
 
 to pay attention to the children, but Anne held out her hand 
 with an inviting smile. Upon which the little lady drew up to 
 her father, and hid her face in his coat. 
 
 He took her up, gave her a strawberry, and carried her to 
 his wife, placing her upon her knee. "Maude, my pet," 
 whispered he in her ear, " this is your mamma, and you must 
 love her very much, because she loves you." 
 
 Anne's arms fondly encircled the child; but she began to 
 scream fearfully and struggle to get down. 
 
 " Bad manners, Maude," said the earl. 
 
 " She's afraid of her," spoke up the young viscount, who had 
 the dark eyes and imperiously-beautiful features of his late 
 mother. " We are always afraid of bad people." 
 
 The observation passed momentarily unnoticed, for Maude, 
 whom Lady Hartledon had been obliged to release, would 
 not be pacified. But when calmness supervened, the earl 
 turned to his son, just then assisting himself to some of the 
 dowager's salad. 
 
 " What did I hear you say about bad people, Edward ? " 
 
 "^She," answered the boy, pointing towards Lady Hartledon. 
 " She shan't touch Maude. She's come here to beat us and to 
 hate us, and I'll kick her if she touches me." 
 
 The earl choked down his passion. An unmistakable look 
 at the countess-dowager, and then he rose from his seat in 
 silence and rang the bell. There could be no correction then 
 in the presence of the countess-dowager ; he and Anne must 
 undo her work alone. Carrying the little girl in one arm, he 
 took the boy's hand, and met the servant at the door. 
 
 " Take these children back to the nursery." 
 
 " I want some dessert," called out the boy, rebelliously. 
 
 "Not to-day," said the earl. "You know quite well that 
 you have behaved badly." 
 
 His wife's face was painfully flushed — flushed to tears. Mr. 
 Carr was critically examining the painted landscape on his 
 handsome Worcester china plate ; and the spangles were bent 
 over the champagne salad, enjoying it with perfect unconcern. 
 Lord Hartledon stood an instant ere he resumed his seat. 
 
 " Anne," he said, in a voice that trembled in spite of its dis- 
 pleased tones, " allow me to beg your pardon, and I do it with 
 
388 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 heartfelt shame, that this gratuitous insult should have been 
 offered you in my — in your house. A day or two will serve, I 
 hope, to put matters on their right footing ; the poor children, 
 as you must see, have been tutored." 
 
 "Are you going to keep the port by you all day, Hartle- 
 don?" 
 
 Need you ask from whom came the interruption ? Mr. Carr 
 passed it across to her, leaving her to help herself ; and Lord 
 Hartledon sat down, biting his delicate lips. 
 
 When the dowager seemed to have finished, Anne rose. Mr. 
 Carr rose too as soon as they had retired. 
 
 " I have an engagement, Hartledon ; I am obliged to run 
 away. Make my adieu to your wife." 
 
 " Carr, is it not a crying shame ? — enough to incense a 
 man?" 
 
 " It is. The sooner you get rid of her the better." 
 "That's easier said than done. She was Maude's mother, 
 after all." 
 
 When the earl reached the drawing-room, the dowager, with 
 her spangles, was snoring comfortably. Looking about for his 
 wife, he found her in the small room which Maude used to make 
 exclusively her own, which was not lighted up. She was 
 standing at the window, crying. He drew her face to his own. 
 
 " My darling, don't let it grieve you ! We shall amend it 
 all." 
 
 "Oh, Percival, if the mischief should be irremediable! — if 
 they should never look upon me except as a step-mother! 
 You don't know how sick and timid this has made me feel ! I 
 wanted to go to them in the nursery when I came up, and I did 
 not dare ! Perhaps the nurse has also been prejudiced against 
 me!" 
 
 " Come up with me now, love," he whispered. 
 
 They went silently upstairs, his arm still round her. But 
 the children were then in bed and asleep. They were tired 
 with sight-seeing, the nurse said apologetically, curtsying to 
 her new mistress. 
 
 The nurse withdrew, and they stood over the nursery fire, 
 talking. Anne could scarcely account for the extreme depres- 
 sion the event seemed to have thrown upon her. Lord Hartle- 
 
COMING HOME. 
 
 389 
 
 don soon recovered his spirits, vowing lie should like to " serve 
 out " the dowager. 
 
 " I was thankful for one thing, Val ; that you did not show 
 anger to them, poor little things. It would have made it worse." 
 
 " I was on the point of showing something more than anger 
 to my young Master Edward ; but the thought arose that I 
 should be punishing him for another's fault, and it checked me. 
 I wonder how we can get rid of her ? She'll stick to us like a 
 leech if we don't make a stand against it." 
 
 "We must strive to please and conciliate her whilst she 
 stays." 
 
 " Please and conciliate her ! " he echoed. " Anne, my dear, 
 that is stretching Christian charity rather far." 
 
 Anne smiled. " I am a clergyman's daughter, you know." 
 
 "If she is wise, she'll abstain from offence to you in my 
 presence. I'm not sure but I should lose command of myself, 
 and pitch her out of the window." 
 
 " I don't fear that. She was quite civil when we came up 
 from dinner, and " 
 
 " As she generally is then. She takes her share of wine." 
 
 " And asked me if I would excuse her falling into a doze, 
 for she never felt well without it," continued Lady Hartledon. 
 
 Lady Hartledon was right. The cunning old woman changed 
 her tactics, finding that those she had started on would not 
 answer. It has been remarked before, if you remember, that 
 she knew particularly well on which side her bread was 
 buttered. Nothing could exceed her graciousness to the earl 
 and countess from that evening. The past scene might have 
 been a dream, for all traces that remained of it. Out of the 
 house she was determined not to go in anger; it was too 
 desirable a harbour of refuge as occasion required, for that. 
 And on the following day, upon hearing my Lord Elster 
 attempt some impudent speech to his new mamma, she put 
 him across her knee, pulled off an old slipper she was wearing, 
 and gave him a sound whipping with its sole. Anne interposed, 
 the viscount roared ; but the good lady had her way. 
 
 "Don't put yourself out, dear Lady Hartledon. There's 
 nothing so good for them as a wholesome whipping. I used to 
 try it on my own at times." 
 
390 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 The time went on. It may have been some twelve or thirteen 
 months subsequently, that Mr. Carr, sitting alone in his 
 chambers, late one evening, was surprised by the entrance of 
 his clerk — who had a latch-key to the outer door as well as 
 himself. 
 
 " Why, Taylor ! what brings you here ? " 
 
 "I thought you would most likely be in, sir," replied the 
 clerk. "Do you remember some few years ago making in- 
 quiries about a man named Gorton — and you could not find 
 him?" 
 
 " And never have found him," was the comment of Mr. Carr. 
 " Well?" 
 
 " I have seen him this evening, sir. He is back in London." 
 
 Thomas Carr was not a man to be startlingly affected by any 
 communication ; nevertheless he felt the importance of this, for 
 Lord Hartledon's sake. 
 
 " I met him by chance, in a place where I go sometimes of 
 an evening to smoke a cigar, and learnt his name by accident," 
 continued Mr. Taylor. " It is the same man that was at Kedge 
 and Keek's, George Gorton ; he acknowledged it at once, quite 
 readily." 
 
 "And where has he been hiding himself?" 
 
 " He has been in Australia for several years, he says ; went 
 there directly after he left Kedge and Eeck's that autumn." 
 
 "Could you get him here, Taylor?" asked the barrister. 
 " I must see him. Tell me ; what coloured hair has he ? " 
 
 " Eed, sir ; and plenty of it. He says he's doing very well 
 
MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 891 
 
 over there, and has only come home for a short change. He 
 does not seem to be at all in concealment, and gave me his 
 address readily when I asked him.'* 
 
 According to Mr. Carr's wish, the man Gorton was brought 
 to his chambers on the following morning by Taylor. To the 
 barrister's surprise, a well-dressed and really rather gentle- 
 manly man entered, whose manners were good. He had been 
 accustomed to picture this Gorton as a very Arab of London 
 life. Casting a keen glance at the red hair, he saw it was 
 indisputably his own. 
 
 A few rapid questions, which Gorton answered without the 
 slightest demur, and Mr. Carr leaned back in his chair, know- 
 ing that all the trouble he had been at to find this man might 
 have been spared: for he was not identical with the other 
 George Gordon, as they had suspected. But Mr. Carr was 
 cautious, and told nothing. 
 
 " I am sorry to have troubled you," he said. " When I 
 inquired for you of Kedge and Eeck some years ago, it was 
 under the impression that you were some one else. You had 
 left ; and they did not know where to find you." 
 
 " Yes, I had displeased them through arresting a wrong man, 
 and other things. I was down in the world then, and glad to 
 do anything for a penny, even to serving writs." 
 
 " You arrested the late Lord Hartledon for his brother," 
 observed Mr. Carr, with a careless smile. " I heard of it. I 
 suppose you did not know them apart." 
 
 "I had never set eyes on either of them before," returned 
 Gorton ; unconsciously confirming a point in the barrister's 
 mind ; which, however, was already sufficiently obvious. 
 
 " The man I wanted to find was named Gordon. I thought 
 it just possible you might have changed your name temporarily : 
 some of us find it convenient to do so on occasion." 
 
 " I never changed mine in my life." 
 
 " And if you had, I don't suppose you'd have changed it to 
 one so notorious as George Gordon," said Mr. Carr, looking 
 full at the other's countenance. 
 
 " Notorious ? 
 
 " It was a George Gordon who was the hero of that piratical 
 affair ; that mutiny on board the Morning Star,'' 
 
392 
 
 elsteb's folly. 
 
 " Ah, to be sure. And an awful villain too ! A man I met 
 in Australia knew Gordon well. But he tells a curious tale, 
 though. He was a doctor, that Gordon ; had come last from 
 somewhere in Kirkcudbrightshire." 
 
 " Yes, he did," said Thomas Carr, quietly. " What curious 
 tale does your friend tell ? " 
 
 " Well, sir, he says — or rather said, for I've not seen him 
 since my first visit there — that George Gordon did not sail in 
 the Morning Star, That he was killed in a drunken brawl the 
 night before he ought to have sailed : this man was present in 
 it, and he saw him buried." 
 
 " But there's pretty good proof that Gordon did sail. He 
 was the ringleader of the mutiny." 
 
 "Well, yes. I don't know how it could have been. The 
 man was positive. I never knew Gordon; so that the affair 
 did not much interest me." 
 
 " You are doing well over there ? " 
 
 "Very well. I might retire now, if I chose to live in a 
 small way ; but I mean to take a few years more of it, and go 
 on to riches. Ah ! and it was just the turn of a pin whether 
 I went over there that second time, or whether I stopped in 
 London to serve writs or to starve." 
 
 " Val was right," thought the barrister. 
 
 On the following Saturday Mr. Carr took a return-ticket, and 
 went down to Hartledon : as he had done once or twice before 
 in the old days. Lord and Lady Hartledon had not come to 
 town this season ; did not intend to come : she was too happy 
 in the birth of her baby-boy to care for London; and Yal 
 liked Hartledon better than any other place now. 
 
 In one single respect the past year had failed to bring Anne 
 happiness — there was not entire confidence between herself and 
 her husband. He had something on his mind, and she could 
 not fail to see that he had. It was not, in fact, that awful, 
 shivering dread that seemed to hold full possession of him in 
 his first wife's time ; but it was nevertheless a heavy weight, 
 which told more or less on his spirits at all times. To Anne 
 it appeared like a remorse for some deed done ; yet she might 
 never have thought this, but for a word or two he let slip 
 occasionally. Was it connected with his children ? She could 
 
MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 393 
 
 almost have fancied so : and yet in what manner could it be ? 
 His behaviour to them was peculiar. He rather avoided them 
 than not ; but when with them was almost passionately fond, 
 exactingly jealous that respect should be paid to them : and he 
 seemed half afraid of caressing Anne's baby, lest it should be 
 thought he loved it better than the others. Altogether Lady 
 Hartledon puzzled her brains in vain : she could not make him 
 out. When she questioned him he would deny that there was 
 anything at all the matter, and said it was her fancy. 
 
 They were at Hartledon alone : that is, without the countess- 
 dowager. That respected lady, though not actually domiciled 
 with them during the past twelvemonth, had paid them three 
 long visits. She was determined to retain her right in the 
 household — if right it may be called. She was by far too wary 
 to do otherwise ; and her behaviour to Anne, when face to face 
 with her, was exceedingly mild. But somehow she contrived 
 to retain, or continually to renew, her evil influence over the 
 minds and feelings of the children ; though so insidiously, that 
 Lady Hartledon could never detect how or when it was done, 
 or openly meet it. Neither could she effectually counteract it. 
 So sure as the dowager came, so sure did the young viscount 
 and his sister become spiteful to their step-mother; full of 
 ill-nature and impudence. Lady Hartledon was kind, judicious, 
 and good ; and things would be remedied during the crafty 
 dowager's absences, so as to promise a complete cure; but 
 whenever she returned all the evil broke forth again. Anne 
 was sorely perplexed. She did not like to deny the children 
 access to their gra^ndmother, who was more nearly related to 
 them than she was herself ; and she could only pray that time 
 would bring about some remedy, and hope some good star 
 might put an end to the visits of the countess-dowager. She 
 passed her time pretty equally between their house and her 
 -son's, scheming to retain her influence in both. Lord Kirton 
 had not married again, owing, perhaps, to the constant watch 
 and ward kept over him : not for a day did she leave him when 
 he was at his place in Ireland. But as soon as he started off 
 from it to the Continent, or elsewhere, where she could not 
 follow him, then off she came, without notice, by the first boat 
 to England, and to Lord Hartledon's. And Val, in his good- 
 
894: 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 nature, bore the infliction passively so long as she kept civil 
 and peaceable. 
 
 In this respect her husband's behaviour puzzled Anne. 
 Disliking the dowager beyond every created being, he yet 
 winked at her indulgence to his children ; and if any little 
 passage-at-arms did supervene, took her part rather than his 
 wife's. 
 
 " I cannot understand you, Val," Anne said to him one day, 
 in a tone of pain. " Are you ceasing to care for me ? You 
 are not as you used to be." And his only answer was to strain 
 his wife to his bosom with an impassioned gesture of un- 
 mistakable love. 
 
 However, these were but episodes in their generally happy 
 life. Never more happy, more free from any blighting external 
 influence, than when Thomas Carr arrived there on this 
 identical Saturday. He went in unexpectedly : and Val's violet 
 eyes, beautiful as ever, shone out their joyous welcome ; and 
 Anne, who happened to have her baby on her lap, blushed and 
 smiled, as she held it out for the barrister's inspection. 
 
 " I dare not take it," said he. " You would be up in arms if 
 it were dropped. What is its name ? " 
 
 " Eeginald." 
 
 " And the next is to be Thomas, after you, Carr," called out 
 the earl. 
 "Oh, Val!" 
 
 " No one's attending to him, Lady Hartledon." 
 
 A little while, and she carried the child away, leaving them 
 alone. Mr. Carr declined refreshment for the present ; and he 
 and the earl strolled out, arm-in-arm. 
 
 " I have brought you an item of news, Hartledon. Gorton 
 has turned up." 
 
 "Not Gordon?" 
 
 "No. And what's more, Gorton never was Gordon. You 
 were right, and I wrong. I would have bet a ten-pound note — 
 a great venture for a barrister — that the men were the same ; 
 never, in point of fact, had a doubt of it." 
 
 " You would not listen to me," said Val. " I told you I was 
 sure that I could not have failed to recognize Gordon, had he 
 been the one who was down at Calne with the writ." 
 
MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 895 
 
 " But you acknowledged that it miglit have been he, never- 
 theless ; that his bushy red hair might have been false ; that 
 you never had a good distinct view of the man's face ; that the 
 only time you spoke to him it was in the dusk of evening," 
 reiterated Thomas Carr. "Well, as it turns out, we might 
 have spared three parts of our pains and half our anxiety, for 
 Gorton is himself, and never was any one else : a poor innocent 
 sheriff's officer, as far as you are concerned, who had never in 
 his life set eyes on the Honourable Val Elster until he went 
 after him to Calne." 
 
 "Didn't I say so?" reiterated Val. "Didn't I always say 
 that Gordon would have known me too well to arrest my 
 brother for me ? " 
 
 "But you admitted the general likeness between you and 
 your brother ; and that it was possible for the mistake to have 
 occurred, considering that Gordon had not seen you for three 
 years or more." 
 
 " Yes ; I admitted all you say, and perhaps, after the question 
 of the two being the same arose, I was a little doubtful myself. 
 To a man living in fear, impossibilities often assume the aspect 
 of reality. But I soon shook off the doubt, and of late years 
 have been as sure as I could be that the two were not identical 
 with each other ; and that Gordon was really dead. It has been 
 an instinct ; something more than a conviction. But I always 
 said there were no grounds for connecting the two together." 
 
 "I had my grounds for doing it," remarked the barrister. 
 "Gorton, it seems, has been in Australia ever since. No 
 wonder that detective friend of mine, Mr. Green, could not 
 unearth him in London. He's come back on a visit, looking 
 like a gentleman; and really I can't discover that there was 
 ever anything against him, except that he was down in the 
 world. Taylor met with him the other day, and I had him 
 brought to my chambers ; and have told you the result. His 
 red hair's his own, and is luxuriant enough for half-a-dozen 
 modest-minded heads still." 
 
 "You do not now feel any doubt, Carr, that Gordon's 
 dead?" 
 
 " None at all. Your friend, Gordon of Kirkcudbright, was 
 the one who embarked, or ought to have embarked, on the good 
 
396 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 ship Morning Star, homeward bound," said Mr. Carr. And he 
 forthwith told Lord Hartledon what the man had said. 
 
 A silence ensued. Lord Hartledon was in deep and evidently 
 not pleasant thought ; and the barrister stole a glance at 
 him. 
 
 " Hartledon, take comfort. I am of as cautious a nature, I 
 believe, as it is possible for any one to be ; and I am sure the 
 man is dead, that he can never rise up to trouble you." 
 
 " I have been sure of that for years, ' replied the earl, quietly. 
 " I have just said so." 
 
 " Then what is disturbing you ? " 
 
 " Oh, Carr, how can you ask it ? " came the rejoinder, in a 
 tone as if he had been stung. " What is it that lies on my 
 mind day and night ; that is wearing me out before my time ? 
 Discovery may be avoided, has been avoided ; but when I look 
 
 at the children — at the boy • I think it would have turned 
 
 some men mad," he more quietly added, passing his hand across 
 his brow. " So long as he lives, I cannot have much rest from 
 pain. The sins of the fathers shall " 
 
 " Yes, yes," interposed Mr. Carr, hastily. " Still the case is 
 light, compared with what we once dreaded." 
 
 " Light for me, heavy for him." 
 
 Mr. Carr remained with them until the Monday: he then 
 went back to London and work ; and time glided on again. An 
 event occurred the following winter, which shall be related at 
 once ; the more especially as nothing of moment took place in 
 those intervening months needing special record. 
 
 The man Pike, who still occupied his shed undisturbed, had 
 been ailing for some time. An attack of rheumatic fever in the 
 summer had left him little better than a crippled skeleton. He 
 crawled abroad still when he was able, and would do it, in spite 
 of what Mr. Hillary said ; would lie about the damp ground in 
 a lawless, gipsying sort of manner; but by the time winter 
 came all that was over, and Mr. Pike's career, as foretold by 
 the surgeon, was drawing very rapidly to a close. Mrs. Gum 
 was the good Samaritan, as she had been in the fever some 
 years before, going in and out and attending to him ; and in a 
 reasonable way Pike wanted for nothing. 
 
 " How long can I last ? " he abruptly asked the doctor one 
 
MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 897 
 
 morning. " Needn't fear to say. She's the only one that will 
 take on ; I shan't." 
 
 He alluded to his nurse, Mrs. Gum, who had just gone out. 
 The surgeon considered. 
 
 " Two or three days." 
 
 » As much as that ? " 
 
 " I think so." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Pike. " When it comes to the last day I should 
 like to see the earl." 
 " Why the last day ? " 
 
 The man's pinched features broke into a smile ; pleasant and 
 fair features once, with a gentle look upon them. The black 
 wig and whiskers lay near him; but the real hair, light and 
 scanty, was pushed back from the damp brow. 
 
 " No use, then, to think of giving me up : no time left 
 for it." 
 
 " I question if the earl would give you up were you in rude 
 health. I'm sure he would not," added Mr. Hillary, endorsing 
 his opinion rather emphatically. " If ever there was a kindly 
 nature in the world, it's his. What do you want with him ? " 
 
 " I should like to say a word in private to him," responded 
 Pike. 
 
 " Then you'd better not wait to say it. I'll tell him of your 
 wish. It's all safe. Why, Pike, if the police themselves came 
 they wouldn't trouble to touch you now." 
 
 "I shouldn't much care if they did," said the man. "J 
 haven't cared for a long while ; but there were the others, you 
 know." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Hillary. 
 
 " Look here," said Pike ; " no need to tell him particulars ; 
 leave them till I'm gone. I don't know that I'd like him to 
 look me in the face, knowing them." 
 
 " As you will," said Mr. Hillary, after a pause of considera- 
 tion, and falling in with the wish more readily than he might 
 have done for any one but a dying man. 
 
 He had patients out of Calne, beyond Hartledon, and took 
 the opportunity to call in returning. It was a snowy day ; and 
 as the surgeon was winding towards the house, past the lodge, 
 with a quick step, he saw a white figure marching across the 
 
898 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 park. It was Lord Hartledon. He had been caught in the 
 storm, and came up laughing. 
 
 "Umbrellas are scarce with your lordship," observed Mr. 
 Hillary, with the freedom long intimacy had sanctioned. 
 
 " It didn't snow when I came out," said the earl, shaking 
 himself, and making light of the matter. " Were you coming 
 to honour me with a morning call ? " 
 
 " I was and I wasn't," returned the surgeon. " IVe no time 
 for morning calls, unless they are professional ones ; but I 
 wanted to say a word to you. Have you a mind for a further 
 walk in the snow ? " 
 
 " As far as you like." 
 
 " There's a patient of mine drawing very near the time when 
 doctors can do no more for him. He has been expressing a 
 wish to see you, and I undertook to convey the request." 
 
 " I'll go, of course," said Val, all his kindliness on the alert. 
 " Who is it?" 
 
 " It's a black sheep," answered the surgeon. " I don't know 
 whether that will make any difference ? " 
 
 " It ought not," said VaL rather warmly. " Black sheep 
 have more need of help than white ones, when it comes to the 
 last. I suppose it's a poacher wanting to clear his conscience 
 by confessing to a wholesale slaughter of game." 
 
 " It's Pike," said Mr. Hillary. 
 
 " Pike ! What can he want with me ? Is he no better ? " 
 
 " He'll never be better in this world ; and to speak the truth, 
 I think it's time he leffc it. He'll be happier, poor fellow, let's 
 hope, in another than he has been in this. Has it ever struck 
 you. Lord Hartledon, that there was something strange about 
 Pike, and his manner of coming here ? " 
 
 " Very strange indeed." 
 
 " Well, Pike is not Pike, but another man — which I suppose 
 your lordship will call Irish. But that he is so ill, and it 
 would not be worth while for the law to take him, he might be 
 in mortal fear of your seeing him, lest you should betray him. 
 He wanted you not to be informed until the last hour. I told 
 him there was no fear." 
 
 "I would not betray him — I would not betray any living 
 man, whatever his crime, for the whole world," returned Lord 
 
MR. PIKE ON THE WING. 
 
 399 
 
 Hartledon ; his voice so earnest as to amotmt to pain. And the 
 surgeon looked at him ; but there rose up in his remembrance 
 how he had been avoiding betrayal for years. " Who is he ? " 
 « Willy Gum." 
 
 The earl turned his head sharply under cover of the surgeon's 
 umbrella, for they were walking along together. A thought 
 crossed him that the words might be a jest. 
 
 " Yes, Pike is Willy Gum," continued Mr. Hillary. " And 
 there you have the explanation of the poor mother's nervous 
 terrors. I do pity her. The clerk has taken it more philo- 
 sophically, and seemed only to care lest the fact should become 
 known. Ah, poor thing ! what a life hers has been ! Her fears 
 of the wild neighbour, her basins for cats, are all explained 
 now. She dreaded lest Calne should suspect that she occa- 
 sionally stole into the shed under cover of the dark night with 
 the basins containing messes for its inmate. There the man 
 has lived — if you can call such an existence living ; Willy Gum, 
 concealed by his borrowed black hair and whiskers. But that 
 he was only a boy when he went away, Calne would have recog- 
 nized him in spite of them." 
 
 " And he is not a poacher and a snarer, and I don't know 
 what all, leading a lawless life, and thieving for his living ? " 
 exclaimed Lord Hartledon, the first question that rose to the 
 surface, amidst the many that were struggling in his mind. 
 
 "I don't believe the man has touched the worth of a pin 
 belonging to any one since he came here, not even on your 
 preserves. People took up the notion only from his wild 
 appearance, and because he had no ostensible means of living. 
 It would not have done to let them know that he had his 
 supplies — sometimes money, sometimes food — from the next 
 door, respectable Clerk Gum's." 
 
 " But why should he be in concealment at all ? That bank 
 affair was made all right at the time." 
 
 " Well, there are other things he feared, it seems. I've not 
 time to enter into details now ; you'll know them later. There 
 he is— Pike ; and there he'll die — Pike always." 
 
 " How long have you known it ? " 
 
 " Since that fever he caught from the Kectory some years 
 ago," replied the surgeon. " I recollect your lordship telling 
 
400 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 me not to let Mm want for anything;" and Lord Hartledon 
 winced at the remembrance brought before him, as he always 
 did wince now at the unhappy past. " I never shall forget it. 
 I went in, thinking Pike was ill, and that he, wild and dis- 
 reputable man though he had the character of being, might 
 want physic as well as his neighbours. Instead of the black- 
 haired bear I expected to see, there lay a young, light, delicate 
 fellow, with a white brow, and cheeks pink with fever. The 
 features seemed familiar to me; little by little recognition 
 came to me, and I saw it was Willy Gum, whom every one had 
 been mourning as dead. He said a pleading word or two, that 
 I would keep his secret, and not give him up to justice. I 
 did not understand what there was to give him up for then. 
 However, I promised. He was too ill to say much ; and I went 
 to the next door, and in the presence of that loud-tongued Lydia 
 Jones, put it to Gum's wife that she should go and nurse Pike 
 on the score of humanity. Of course it was what she wanted to 
 do. Poor thing ! she fell on her knees to me later, beseeching 
 me not to betray him." 
 
 " And you have kept counsel all this time ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the surgeon, laconically. " Would your lordship 
 have done otherwise, even though it had been a question of 
 hanging ? " 
 
 " I! " said his lordship. " I wouldn't give a man a month at 
 the treadmill if I could help it. One does get led into offences 
 so easily," he dreamily added. 
 
 They crossed over the waste land, and Mr. Hillary opened 
 the door of the shed with a pass-key. A lock had been put on 
 when Pike was lying in rheumatic fever, lest intruders might 
 go in unawares, and see him without his disguise. 
 
 " Here, Pike, I have brought you my lord. He won't tell of 
 you." 
 
( 401 ) 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXV. 
 
 THE SHED RAZED. 
 
 Shutting the door upon them, the surgeon went off on other 
 business, and Lord Hartledon entered and bent over the bed ; 
 a more comfortable bed than it had once been. It was the 
 Willy Gum of other days ; the boy he had played with when 
 they were boys together ; he the embryo nobleman, the other 
 the clerk's son. White, wan, wasted, with the dying hectic on 
 his cheek, the glitter already in his eye, he lay there; and 
 Val's eyelashes shone as he took the worn hand. 
 
 " I am so sorry, Willy. I had no suspicion it was you. Why 
 did you not confide in me ? " 
 
 The invalid shook his head. " There might have been danger 
 in it." 
 
 " Never from me," was the emphatic answer. 
 
 "Ah, my lord, you don't know. I haven't dared to make 
 myself known to a soul. Mr. Hillary found it out, and I 
 couldn't help myself." 
 
 Lord Hartledon glanced round at the strange place; the 
 rafters above, the rude walls. A fire was burning on the hearth, 
 and the appliances brought to bear were more comfortable than 
 might have been imagined ; but still 
 
 " Surely you will allow yourself to be removed to a better 
 place than this, Willy ? " he said. 
 
 " Call me Pike," came the feverish interruption. " Never 
 that other name again, my lord ; I've done with it for ever. As 
 to a better place — I shall have that soon enough." 
 
 " You wanted to say something to me, Mr. Hillary said." 
 
 " I've wanted to say it some time now, and to beg your lord- 
 ship's pardon. It's about the earl's death." 
 
 Elster's Folly. 26 
 
402 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "My brother's?" 
 
 " Yes. I was on the wrong scent a long time. And I can 
 tell you what nobody else will." 
 
 Lord Hartledon lifted his head quickly; thoughts were 
 crowding impulsively into his mind, and he spoke in the 
 moment's haste. 
 
 " Surely you had not anything to do with that ! " 
 
 " No ; but I thought your lordship had." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " asked the earl, quietly. 
 
 " It's for that ; for my foolish and wicked and mistaken 
 thought, that I would crave pardon before I go. I thought 
 your lordship had killed the earl, either accidentally or of 
 malice." 
 
 " You must be dreaming, Pike ! " 
 
 " No ; but I was no better than dreaming then. I had been 
 living amidst lawless scenes, over the seas and on the seas, 
 where a life's not of much account, and the fancy was easy 
 enough. I happened to overhear a quarrel between you and 
 the carl just before his death ; I saw you going towards the 
 spot at the time the accident happened, as your lordship may 
 remember " 
 
 " I did not go so far," interrupted the earl, wondering still 
 whether this might not be the wanderings of a dying man. " I 
 turned back amidst the trees at once, and walked slowly home. 
 I wish I had gone on ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I was on the wrong scent. And there was that 
 blow on his temple to keep up the error, which I know now 
 must have been done against the estrade. I did suspect at the 
 time, and your lordship will perhaps not forgive me for it. I 
 let drop a word that I suspected something before that man 
 Gorton, and he asked me what I meant ; and I explained it 
 away, and said I was chaffing him. And I have been all this 
 time, up to a few weeks ago, learning the true particulars of 
 how his lordship died." 
 
 The earl decided that the man's mind was undoubtedly 
 wandering. 
 
 But Pike was not wandering. And he told the story of the 
 boy Eipper having been locked up in the mill. Mr. Eipper was 
 almost a match for Mr. Pike himself in deceit ; and Pike had only 
 
THE SHED KAZED. 
 
 403 
 
 learned the real facts by dint of long patience and perseverance 
 and many threats. Ripper was afraid to tell. The boy had 
 seen the whole of the accident ; had watched it from the window 
 where he was enclosed, powerless to get out, unless he had torn 
 away the grating. Lord Hartledon (the late lord) had lost all 
 command of the little skiff, his arm being utterly disabled; 
 and it came drifting down towards the mill, and struck against 
 the estrade. The skiff righted itself at once, but not the earl : 
 there was a slight struggle, a few cries, and he lay motionless, 
 drifting later to the place where he was found. Mr. Eipper's 
 opinion was that he lost his senses with the blow on the 
 temple, and fell an easy prey to death. Had that gentleman 
 only sacrificed the grating and his own reputation, he might 
 have saved him easily; and that fact had since been upon 
 his conscience, making him fear all sorts of things ; not the 
 least of which was that he might be hung as a murderer. 
 
 This story he had told to Pike at the time, with one reserve 
 — he persisted that he had not seen, only heard. Pike saw by 
 intuition that the boy was still not telling the whole truth, and 
 he suspected he was screening Lord Hartledon — he who now 
 stood before him. Mr. Eipper's logic tended to the belief that 
 he could not be punished if he stuck to the avowal of having 
 seen nothing. He did say he saw his lordship and the skiff 
 drifting down ; he did say he heard cries ; and when Pike 
 asked if they were cries as if he were being assaulted, the boy 
 evasively answered " happen they were." Another little item 
 he suppressed : that he found the portemonnaie at the bottoih 
 of the skiff, after he got out of the mill, and appropriated it to 
 himself; and when he had fairly done that, he grew more 
 afraid of having done it than of all the rest. The money he 
 secreted, using it when he dared, a sixpence at a time ; the 
 case, with its papers, he buried in the place where his master 
 afterwards found it. With all this upon the young man's 
 conscience, no wonder that he was a little confused and con- 
 tradictory in his statements to Pike ; no wonder he fancied the 
 ghost of the man he could have saved and did not, might be on 
 occasion hovering about him ! Pike learned the real truth at 
 last ; and a compunction had come over him, now that he was 
 dying, for having doubted Lord Hartledon. 
 
404 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " My lord, I can only ask you to forgive me. I ought to 
 have known you better. But things seemed to corroborate it 
 so : IVe heard people say that the new lord was as a man who 
 had some dreadful care upon him. Oh, I was a fool ! " 
 
 "At any rate it was not that care, Pike. I would have 
 saved my brother's life with my own, had I been at hand 
 to do it. As to Eipper — I shall never bear to look upon him 
 again." 
 
 " He's gone away," said Pike. 
 " Where has he gone ? " 
 
 " The miller turned him o£f for idleness, and he's gone away, 
 nobody knows where, to get work : I don't suppose he'll ever 
 come back again. This is the real truth of the matter as it 
 occurred, my lord ; and there's no more behind it. Kipper has 
 now told all he knows, just as fully as if he had been put to 
 torture." 
 
 The earl remained with Pike some time longer, soothing the 
 man as much as it was in his power and his kindly nature 
 to soothe. He whispered a word of the clergyman, Dr. 
 Ashton. 
 
 " Father says he shall bring him to-night," was the answer. 
 " It's all a farce." 
 
 "I am sorry to hear you say that," returned the earl, 
 gravely. 
 
 "If I had never said a worse thing than that, my lord, I 
 shouldn't hurt. Unless the accounts are made up beforehand, 
 parsons can't avail much at the twelfth hour. Mother's lessons 
 to me when a child, and her reading the Bible as she sits here 
 in the night, are worth more than Dr. Ashton could do. But 
 for those old lessons having come home to me now, I might not 
 have cared to ask forgiveness of your lordship. Dr. Ashton ! 
 what is he ? For an awful sinner — and it's what I've been — 
 there's only Christ. At times I think I've been too bad even 
 for Him. I've only my sins to take to him : never were worse 
 in this world." 
 
 The earl went out rather bewildered with the occurrences of 
 the morning. Thinking it might be only kind to step into the 
 clerk's, he crossed the stile and went in without ceremony by 
 the open back-door. Mrs. Gum was by herself in the kitchen, 
 
THE SHED EAZED. 
 
 405 
 
 scraping carrots, and crying bitterly. Slie dried her eyes in 
 confusion, and began saying something about " peeling onions," 
 as she curtsied to her visitor, 
 
 " I know it all," he interrupted, in low and considerate tones, 
 as he touched the poor sujBfering woman. " I have been to see 
 him. Never mind explanations : let us think what we can best 
 do to lighten his last hours." 
 
 Mrs. Gum burst into distressing sobs. It was a relief, no 
 doubt : but she wondered how much the earl knew. 
 
 " I say that he ought to be got away from that place, Mrs. 
 Gum. It's not fit for a man to die in. You might have 
 him here. Calne ! What's Calne ? Surely my protection will 
 be sufficient to screen him against tattling Calne ! " 
 
 She shook her head, saying it was of no use talking to Willy 
 about removal ; he wouldn't have it ; and she thought herself 
 it might be better not. Jabez, too; if this ever came out in 
 Calne, it would just kill him ; his lordship knew what he was, 
 and how he had cared for appearances all his life. No; it 
 would not be for many hours more now, and Willy must die in 
 the shed where he had lived. 
 
 Lord Hartledon sat down on the ironing-board, the white 
 table underneath the window, in the old familiar manner of 
 former days ; many and many a time had he perched himself 
 there to talk to her when he was young Val Elster. But it 
 was the servant who used to scrape the carrots then. 
 
 "Only fancy what my life has been, my lord," she said. 
 " People have called me nervous, timid ; and Lydia Jones raves 
 at me for a fool whenever she comes in ; but look at the cause 
 I've had ! I was just beginning to get over the grief for his 
 death, when he came here ; and to the last hour of my life I 
 shan't get the night out of my mind! I and Jabez were 
 together in this very kitchen. I had come in here to wash 
 up the tea-things — for the servant had asked leave to go out ; 
 and Jabez followed me. It was a cold, dark evening, and the 
 parlour fire had got low and this was bright. By token, my 
 lord, we were talking of you ; you had just gone away to be an 
 ambassador, or something; and then we spoke of the wild, 
 strange, black man who had crept into the shed ; and J abez, I 
 remember, said he should acquaint Mr. Marris, if the fellow did 
 
406 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 not take himself off. I had seen him that very evening, at 
 dusk, for the first time, when his great black face rose up 
 against mine, nearly frightening me to death ; for I thought 
 it was a bear. Jabez was angry at such a man's being there, 
 and said he should go up to Hartledon in the morning and 
 see the steward. Just then there came a tap at the kitchen- 
 door, and Jabez went to it. It was the man ; he had watched 
 the servant out, and knew we were alone ; and he came into 
 the kitchen, and asked if we did not know him. J abez did ; 
 he had seen Willy later than I had, and he recognized him ; 
 and the man took off his black hair and great black whiskers, 
 and I saw it was Willy, and nearly fainted dead away." 
 
 There was a pause. Lord Hartledon did not speak, and she 
 resumed, after a little indulgence in her grief. 
 
 " And since then all our aim has been to hide the truth, to 
 screen him, and keep up the tale that we were afraid of the 
 wild man. How it has been done I know not : but I do know 
 that it has nearly killed me. What a night it was ! When 
 Jabez heard his story and forced him to answer all questions, 
 I thought he would have given Willy up to the law there and 
 then. My lord, we have just lived since with a sword over our 
 heads I " 
 
 Lord Hartledon remembered the sword that had been over 
 Ms head, and sympathized with them to the bottom of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Tell me all," he said. " You are quite safe with me, Mrs 
 Gum." 
 
 "I don't know that there's much more to tell," she sighed. 
 " We took the best precautions we could, in a quiet way, 
 against discovery — having the holes in the shutters filled up, 
 and new locks put on the doors, lest people might look in or 
 step in, while he sat here of a night, which he took to do. 
 Jabez he didn't like it, but I'm afraid I encouraged it. It was 
 so lonely for him, that shed, and so unhealthy ! We sent away 
 the regular servant, and engaged one by day, so as to have the 
 house to ourselves at night. If a knock came to the door, 
 Willy would slip out to the wood-house before we opened it, 
 lest it might be anybody coming in. He did not come in 
 every night — two or three times a-week ; and it never was 
 
THE SHED RAZED. 
 
 407 
 
 pleasant ; for Jabez he'd hardly open his mouth, unless it 
 was to reproach him. Heaven alone knows what IVe had to 
 bear!" 
 
 "But, Mrs. Gum, I cannot understand. Why could not 
 Willy have shown himself openly to the world ? " 
 
 It was evidently a most painful question. Her eyes fell ; 
 the crimson of shame flushed into her cheeks ; and he felt sorry 
 to have put it. 
 
 " Spare me, my lord, for I cannot tell you. Perhaps Jabez 
 will : or Mr. Hillary ; he knows it. It doesn't much matter, 
 now death's so near ; but I think it would kill me to have to 
 tell it." 
 
 " And no one except the doctor has ever known that it was 
 Willy?" 
 
 " One more, my lord : Mirrable. We told her of it at once. 
 I have had to hear all sorts of cruel things said of him," con- 
 tinued Mrs. Gum. " That he thieved and poached, and did I 
 know not what ; and we could only encourage the fancy, for it 
 put people off the truth of how he really lived. ' Give a dog 
 a bad name, you may hang him ! ' " 
 
 " Ay. Amidst other things, they said, I believe, that he was 
 out with the poachers the night my brother George was shot ! " 
 
 " And that night, my lord, he sat over this kitchen fire, and 
 never was away from it. He was ill : it was the rheumatism, 
 caught in Australia, that took such a hold upon him ; and I 
 had him here by the fire till near daylight in the morning, so 
 as to keep him out of the damp shed. What with the fears of 
 one thing and another, I grew into a state of perpetual terror ; 
 always shaking and twittering." 
 
 "Then you will not have him in here now," said Lord 
 Hartledon, rising, 
 
 " I cannot," she sobbed. 
 
 "Well, D.Irs. Gum, I came in just to say a word of true 
 sympathy. You have it heartily, and my services also, if 
 necessary. Tell Jabez so." 
 
 He quitted the house by the front-door, as if he had been 
 honouring the clerk's wife with a morning-call, should any 
 curious person happen to be passing, and went across through 
 the snow to the surgeon's. Mr. Hillary, an old bachelor, was 
 
408 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 at his early dinner, and Lord Hartledon sat down and talked to 
 him. 
 
 " It's only rump steak ; but it's very good. Won't your 
 lordship take a mouthful by way of luncheon ? " 
 
 " My curiosity is too strong to eat just now," said Val. " I 
 have come over to know the rights and wrongs of this story. 
 What has Willy Gum been doing in the past years that it 
 cannot be told ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that it would be safe to say while he's 
 living." 
 
 " Not safe ! With me ! " retorted the earl. " Was it safe 
 with you ? " 
 
 " But I'm not a peer of the realm. I don't consider myself 
 obliged, as a legislator, to give up to justice any poor criminal 
 who comes in my way," said the surgeon ; and Val felt a little 
 vexed, although he saw that he was joking. 
 
 " Come, Hillary ! " 
 
 " Well, then, Willy Gum was coming home in the ship, you 
 know. Morning Star ; and a mutiny broke out — mutiny and 
 murder, and everything else that's bad ; and one George Gordon 
 was the ringleader." 
 
 " Yes. Well ? " 
 
 " Willy Gum was George Gordon." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Lord Hartledon, not understanding how 
 to accept the words. " How could he be George Gordon ? " 
 
 " Because the real George Gordon never sailed at all in the 
 ship ; and this fellow Gum went on board in his name, calling 
 himself Gordon." 
 
 Lord Hartledon leaned back in his chair and listened to the 
 explanation. A very simple one, after all. Gum, one of the 
 wildest and most careless characters possible when in Australia, 
 gambled away, before sailing, the money he had acquired. 
 Accident made him acquainted with George Gordon, also going 
 home in the same ship, and with money. Gordon was killed 
 the night before sailing — (Mr. Carr had well described it as a 
 drunken brawl) — killed accidentally. Gum was present ; he 
 saw his opportunity, went on board as Gordon, and claimed the 
 luggage — some of it gold — already on board. How the mutiny 
 broke out was less clear ; but one of the other passengers knew 
 
THE SHED RAZED. 
 
 409 
 
 Gum, and threatened to expose him ; and perhaps this led to 
 it. Gum, at any rate, was the ringleader, and this passenger 
 was one of the first killed. Gum — Gordon as he was called — 
 contrived to escape in the open boat, and found his way to 
 land ; thence, disguised, to England and to Calne ; and at 
 Calne he had lived since, with the price offered for George 
 Gordon on his head. 
 
 It was a strange and awful story : and the Earl of Hartle- 
 don felt a shiver run through him as he listened to it. In 
 truth, that shed was the safest and fittest place for him to 
 die in ! 
 
 As die he did ere the third day was over. And was buried 
 as Pike, the wild man, without a mourner. Clerk Gum stood 
 over the grave in his official capacity ; and Dr. Ashton, who 
 had visited the sick man, himself read the service, which caused 
 some wonder in Calne. 
 
 And the following week the Earl of Hartledon caused the 
 shed to be cleared away, and the waste land to be ploughed ; 
 saying he would have no more tramps lodging themselves next 
 door to Mr. and Mrs. Gum. 
 
410 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FEARS FOR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 Again tho years went on, bringing not altogether comfort to 
 the house of Hartledon. As Anne's children were born — and 
 there were three now — a sort of jealous rivalry, more incipient 
 than active, seemed to arise between them and the two elder 
 children ; and this in spite of Anne's best efforts to the con- 
 trary. The real moving spring in the feeling was the countess- 
 dowager. She it was who excited in secret the passions of the 
 elder against their little brothers and sisters ; but so craftily, 
 so cautiously was her work done, that Anne could never lay 
 hold of anything tangible to remonstrate against. Things 
 would grow tolerably smooth during the old woman's absences ; 
 but she took very good care not to make those absences long 
 ones; and then all the ill-nature and rebellion reigned 
 triumphant. 
 
 Once only Anne spoke of this, and that was to her father. 
 She hinted at the state of things, and asked his advice. Why 
 did not Yal interpose his authority, and forbid the dowager the 
 house, if she could not keep herself from making mischief in it, 
 sensibly asked the Eector. But Anne said neither she nor Val 
 liked to do this. And then the Rector fancied there was some 
 constraint in his daughter's voice ; that she was not telling 
 him the whole case unreservedly. He inquired no further, 
 only gave her the best advice he knew how to give: to be 
 watchful herself, and counteract the dowager's influence, so far 
 as she could ; and trust to time ; doing her own duty lovingly 
 by the children, under God. 
 
 What Anne had not spoken of to Dr. Ashton was the conduct 
 of her husband in the matter. She could not, in that one 
 
FEARS FOR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 411 
 
 respect, read him better than of old. Fond of herself as he 
 was, as she knew him to be, in the petty disputes and jars 
 of the children he invariably took the part of his first wife's — 
 to the glowing satisfaction of the countess-dowager. No matter 
 how glaringly wrong they might be, how full of tyranny and 
 provocation towards the younger, Lord Hartledon screened the 
 elder, and — to use the expression of the nurses — snubbed the 
 younger. Kind and Christian though Lady Hartledon was, 
 she felt it acutely ; and, to say the truth, she could not com- 
 prehend her husband. 
 
 The eldest. Lord Elster, was an ailing child; and Mr. 
 Brook, the apothecary, was scarcely ever out of attendance 
 when they were in London. Lady Hartledon thought the boy's 
 health might have been better left more to nature, but she 
 would not have said so for the world. The dowager, on the 
 contrary, would have preferred that half the metropolitan 
 faculty should see him daily. She had a sort of jealous dread 
 lest anything should happen to the boy, and Anne's son become 
 the heir. 
 
 Lord Hartledon was a busy man now, and had a place in the 
 Government — a sort of outside place, not a seat in the Cabinet. 
 Whatever his secret care might have been — and it was now 
 passive more than active — he was a public favourite, and 
 courted in society. ' He was young yet ; the face was as genial, 
 the manners were as free, the dark-blue eyes not a whit less 
 kindly than of yore; attractive as he was in earlier days, 
 so he was still ; and his love for his wihf^ amounted yet to a 
 passion. 
 
 At the close of a sharp winter, when they had come up to 
 town from Hartledon in January, that the earl might be at his 
 duties, and the countess-dowager was inflicting upon them a 
 longer stay than ordinary, it happened that Lord Elster — as 
 was nothing unusual — seemed very poorly ; and Mr. Brook 
 was called in, and said he would send a powder. He was 
 called in so often to the boy as to take it quite as a matter of 
 course; and, truth to say, thought no more of the present 
 indisposition than that it might be a slight cold. 
 
 Late in the evening the two boys happened to be alone in 
 the nursery, the nurse being temporarily absent from it. Lord 
 
412 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 Elster was now a tall, slender, handsome boy in knicker- 
 bockers ; Eeginald a timid little fellow, several years younger 
 — rendered timid by the perpetual tyranny exercised on him, 
 which he might not resent. The viscount was quiet enough 
 this evening ; he felt ill and shivering, and sat close to the fire 
 in the warmth, behind the high wire fender. Casting his eyes 
 upwards, he espied Mr. Brook's powder on the mantelpiece, 
 with the stereotyped direction — To be taken at bed-time." 
 It was lying close to the jam-pot, which the head-nurse had 
 put ready. Of course he had the greatest possible horror of 
 medicine — children who have been drenched with it invariably 
 have — and his busy thoughts began to run upon how he might 
 avoid that detestable powder. The little fellow was sitting on 
 the carpet, playing with his box of bricks. Lord Elster 
 turned his eyes on his brother, and a bright thought occurred 
 to him. 
 
 " Kegy," said he, taking down the pot, " come here. Look at 
 this jam : isn't it nice ? It's raspberry and currant." 
 
 Little Eeginald left his bricks to bend over the tempting 
 compound, and his mouth watered. 
 
 " I'll give it you every bit to eat before nurse comes back,'* 
 continued the young lord, helping himself to a spoonful or two 
 by way of augmenting the other's longing, " if you'll eat this 
 first." 
 
 Eeginald Elster cast a look upon the powder his brother 
 exhibited, which was of a somewhat yellowish hue. " What is 
 it ? " lisped he ; " something good ? " 
 
 " Delicious. It's just come in from the sweet-stuff shop. 
 It's the sugar they use to candy their fruit with. Open your 
 mouth — wide ; that's not wide enough ; stretch it out." 
 
 Eeginald did as he was bid : he opened his mouth to its 
 utmost width, and the viscount shot in the powder. 
 
 Now it happened to be a preparation of that drug familiarly 
 known as " Dover's powder," particularly bitter and nauseous. 
 The child found it so, and set up a succession of piercing 
 shrieks, which aroused the whole house. The nurse rushed in ; 
 and Lord and Lady Hartledon, both of whom were dressing 
 for dinner, ran in. There stood Eeginald, coughing, choking, 
 spitting, and roaring ; and there sat my lord equably devouring 
 
FEARS FOR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 413 
 
 the jam. With time and difficulty the facts were elicited from 
 the younger child, and the elder scorned to deny them. 
 
 " What a wicked, treacherous, greedy Turk you must be ! " 
 ejaculated the nurse, who was often in hot water with the 
 viscount. 
 
 "But Eeginald need not have screamed so," testily inter- 
 posed Lord Hartledon. " I thought one of them must be on 
 fire. You naughty child, why did you scream ? " he continued, 
 giving Eeginald a tap on the ear. 
 
 "Any child would have screamed at being so taken by 
 surprise," said Lady Hartledon. " It is Edward who is in 
 fault, not Eeginald ; and it is he who deserves punishment." 
 
 " And he should have it, if he were my son," muttered the 
 nurse under her breath, as she picked up the unhappy Eeginald. 
 " A great greedy boy, to swallow down every bit of the jam, 
 and never give his dear little brother a taste, after poisoning 
 him with that nasty powder ! " 
 
 The viscount rose, and cast a look of scorn on the nurse. 
 " The powder's good enough for him : he is nothing but a 
 young brat, and I am Lord Elster." 
 
 Lady Hartledon felt provoked. Perhaps the reader would 
 have been so in her place. " What is that you say, Edward ? " 
 she asked, laying her hand upon his shoulder in reproval. 
 
 " Let me alone, mamma. He'll never be anything but Eegy 
 Elster, and powder is proper for him, and his grandpapa's an 
 old parson," added the boy, to the nurse, defiantly. " I shall be 
 Earl of Hartledon, and jam's proper for me, and it's fair that I 
 should put upon him." 
 
 The nurse flounced off with Eeginald, and Lady Hartledon 
 turned to her husband. "Is this to be suffered? Will you 
 allow it to pass without correction ? " 
 
 " He means nothing," said the earl. " Do you, Edward, my 
 boy?" 
 
 "Oh yes, papa, I mean what I say. I shall stand up for 
 myself and Maude." 
 
 The earl made no remonstrance: he only drew the boy to 
 him, with a hasty gesture, as if he would have shielded him 
 from anger and the world. 
 
 Lady Hartledon, hurt almost to tears, quitted the room. But 
 
414 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 she had scarcely reached her own when she remembered that 
 she had left a diamond brooch in the nursery, which she had just 
 been about to put into her dress when alarmed by the cries of 
 Reginald. She went back for it, and stood almost confounded 
 by what she saw. Lord Hartledon, sitting down, had clasped 
 his son in his arms, and was sobbing over him ; sobs such as 
 man rarely gives vent to. 
 
 " Papa, Regy and the other two are not going to put me and 
 Maude out of our places, are they ? We are your own children, 
 are we not ? " 
 
 "Yes, yes, my boy; no one shall put you out," was the 
 answer, as he pressed passionate kisses on the boy's face. " I 
 will stand by you for ever." 
 
 Very judicious indeed ! the once sensible earl seemed to 
 ignore the evident fact that the boy had been tutored ; that evil 
 influence must be at work. Lady Hartledon, an awe creeping 
 over her, she knew not of what, left her brooch where it was, 
 and stole back to her dressing-room. 
 
 Presently the earl came in, all traces of emotion removed 
 from his features, on which a smile sat. Lady Hartledon had 
 dismissed her maid, and stood leaning against the arm of the 
 sofa, indulging in bitter rumination. 
 
 " Silly children ! " cried he, gaily ; " there's something to do 
 with them. And Edward has lost his pow " 
 
 He broke off; stopped by the look of angry reproach from 
 his wife, cast on him for the first time in their married life. 
 He took her hand and bent down to her ; tender love, if ever 
 she read it, in his eyes and tone. 
 
 " Forgive me, Anne ; you are feeling this." 
 
 " Why do you throw these slights on my children ? Why 
 are you not more just ? " 
 
 "I do not intend to slight our children, Anne, Heaven 
 knows. But I — I cannot punish Edward." 
 
 " Why did you ever make me your wife ? " sighed Lady 
 Hartledon, drawing her hand away. 
 
 His poor assumption of unconcern was leaving him quickly ; 
 his face was changing to one of bitter sorrow. 
 
 " When I married you," she resumed, " I had reason to hope 
 that should children be born to us, you would love them equally 
 
FEARS FOR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 il5 
 
 with your first ; I had a right to hope it. What have I done to 
 you " 
 
 " Stay, Anne ! I can bear anything better than reproach from 
 you." 
 
 " What have I and nay children done to you, I was about to 
 ask, that you should take this aversion to them? that you 
 should lavish all your love on the others ? " 
 
 The earl bent down, his voice low, agitation in his face and 
 gestures. 
 
 "Hush, Anne! you don't know. The danger is that I 
 should love your children better, far better than Maude's. It 
 might be so if I did not guard against it." 
 
 " I cannot understand you," she exclaimed. 
 
 " Unfortunately I understand only too well myself. I have 
 a heavy burden to bear ; do not you— my best and dearest — do 
 not you increase it." 
 
 She looked at him keenly ; she laid her hands lovingly upon 
 him, the tears gathering in her eyes. " Tell me what the 
 burden is ; oh, Val, tell it me ! Let me share it." 
 
 But Val drew in again at once, alarmed at the rec[uest : and 
 contradicted himself in the most absurd manner. 
 
 " There's nothing that you can share, Anne ; nothing to tell. 
 Don't take fancies." 
 
 Certainly this change was not propitiatory. Lady Hartledon, 
 chilled and mortified, disdained to pursue the theme. Drawing 
 herself up, she turned to go down to dinner, remarking that he 
 might treat the children with more apparent justice. 
 
 " I am just ; at least, I wish to be just," he broke forth in an 
 impassioned tone. " But I cannot be severe with Edward and 
 Maude." 
 
 Another powder was procured for Lord Elster, and, amidst 
 much fighting and resistance, was administered. Lady Hartle- 
 don was in his room the first thing in the morning. One grand 
 quality in her was, that she never visited her vexation on the 
 children ; and Edward, in spite of his unamiable behaviour, did 
 at heart love her, whilst he despised his grandmother ; one of 
 his sources of amusement being to take off that estimable old 
 lady's peculiarities behind her back, and send the servants into 
 convulsions. 
 
416 
 
 ELSTER*S FOLLY. 
 
 " You look very hot, Edward," exclaimed Lady Hartledon, as 
 site kissed him. " How do you feel ? 
 
 " My throat's sore, mamma, and my legs could not find a cold 
 place all night. Feel my hand." 
 
 It was a child's answer, sufficiently expressive. An anxious 
 look rose to her countenance. 
 
 " Are you sure your throat is sore ? " 
 
 " It's very sore. I am so thirsty." 
 
 Lady Hartledon gave him some tea, and sent word to Mr. 
 Brook to come round as soon as possible. At breakfast she 
 met the dowager, who had been out the previous evening during 
 the episode of the jam. Lady Hartledon mentioned to her 
 husband that she had sent a message to the doctor, not much 
 liking Edward's symptoms. 
 
 " What's the matter with him ? " asked the dowager, quickly. 
 " What are his symptoms ? " 
 
 " Nay, I may be wrong," said Lady Hartledon, with a smile. 
 " I won't infect you with my fears, when there may be no 
 reason for them." 
 
 The countess-dowager caught at the word "infect," and 
 applied it in a manner never anticipated by the speaker. She 
 was the same foolish old woman that she had ever been ; indeed, 
 her dread of catching any disorder had only grown more intense 
 with years. And it happened, unfortunately for her peace, 
 that the disorder which leaves its cruel traces on the most 
 beautiful face was just then prevalent in London. Of all 
 maladies to which the human frame is subject, the vain old 
 creature had always most dreaded that one. She rose up from 
 her seat ; her face turned pale in spite of the pearl-powder on 
 her nose and the carmine on her cheeks, and her teeth began to 
 chatter. 
 
 " It's small-pox ! If I have a horror of one calamity more 
 than another, it's that dreadful, disfiguring small-pox. I 
 wouldn't stop in a house where it was for a hundred thousand 
 pounds. I might catch it and be marked ! " 
 
 She commenced her war-dance. Lady Hartledon begged her 
 to be composed, and the earl smothered a laugh. The symptoms, 
 as Anne believed, were not those of small-pox. 
 
 " How should you know ? " retorted the dowager, cutting 
 
FEARS FOR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 417 
 
 short the assuring words. " How should any one know ? Get 
 Pepps here directly." 
 
 "You had better compose yourself, ma'am, and take your 
 breakfast," said Val. " Old people like you " — he had nearly 
 committed himself, and went on with a cough — " and me, do 
 not ordinarily take disorders from children." 
 
 " I can't be composed ; I can't eat : who could, with this 
 horror upon them ? Is it Pepps that's sent for ? " 
 
 " No ; it is Mr. Brook," said Anne. " I have more confidence 
 in him where children are concerned." 
 
 " Confidence in that Brook ! " shrieked the dowager, pushing 
 up her flaxen front. " A common, overworked apothecary ! 
 Never M.D.'d, never even knighted, never been to court, never 
 anything ! Confidence in him. Lady Hartledon ! Elster's life 
 may be in danger, and he is my grandchild, and I insist on 
 Pepps being fetched to him." 
 
 Anne sat down at once and wrote a brief note for Sir 
 Alexander ; whilst the countess-dowager tore away at the bell, 
 that it might be despatched forthwith. It happened that the 
 message sent for Mr. Brook had found that gentleman away 
 from home, and the baronet arrived first. Just the same bland 
 and pompous little man who had attended the late Countess of 
 Hartledon, the same snow-white hair, and the same ebony cane 
 with its gold head, which he was never seen without — there 
 was a joke in the medical profession that he took it to bed with 
 him. He looked at the child, asked a few bland questions of 
 Lady Hartledon, and a few crabbed ones of the nurse, and wrote 
 a prescription. He did not say what the illness might be : he 
 was a man who never hazarded a premature opinion. As he 
 was leaving the chamber, a servant accosted him. 
 
 " Lady Kirton wishes to see you, sir." 
 
 The countess-dowager had been arming herself against 
 infection : she had disposed of a pound of camphor amongst her 
 gauzes, and she held a handkerchief, saturated with spirits of 
 camphor, before her nose and mouth. 
 
 " Well, Pepps," cried she, dodging from him as he advanced, 
 so as to keep a safe distance between them, " what is it ? " 
 
 " I do not take upon myself to pronounce an opinion, Lady 
 Kirton," rejoined the doctor, who had giown to feel irritated 
 
 Elster's Folly. 27 
 
418 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 lately at the dowager's want of ceremony towards him. " In the 
 early stage of a disorder it can rarely be done with certainty." 
 
 " Now don't let ns have any of that professional humbug, 
 Pepps," rejoined her ladyship, speaking through the fumes of 
 camphor. " You doctors know a common disorder as soon as 
 you see it, only you think it looks wise not to say. Is it 
 small-pox ? " 
 
 " It's not impossible," said the doctor, in his wrath. 
 
 The dowager gasped, and held the handkerchief closer. 
 
 " But I do not observe any symptoms of that malady develop- 
 ing themselves at present," added the doctor. I think I may 
 say it is not small-pox." 
 
 " Good patience, Pepps 1 you'll frighten me into it. It is and 
 it isn't — what do you mean ? What is it, if it's not that ? " 
 
 " I may be able to tell after a second visit. Good morning, 
 Lady Kirton," said he, backing out. " Take care you don't do 
 yourself an injury with too much camphor. It is exciting." 
 
 In a short time Mr. Brook arrived. When lie had seen the 
 child and was alone with Lady Hartledon, she explained that 
 the countess-dowager had wished Sir Alexander Pepps called 
 in, and showed him the prescription just written. He read it 
 and laid it down. 
 
 " Lady Hartledon," said he, " I must venture to disagree with 
 that prescription. Lord Elster's symptoms are those of scarlet- 
 fever, and it would be unwise to administer it. Sir Alexander 
 stands of course much higher than 1 do in the profession, but 
 my practice with children is larger than his." 
 
 "I feared it was scarlet-fever," answered Lady Hartledon. 
 *'What is to be done? I have every confidence in you, Mr. 
 Brook ; and were Lord Elster my own child, I should know 
 how to act. Do you think it would be dangerous to give him 
 this prescription ? You may speak to me confidentially." 
 
 " Not dangerous," said the surgeon ; " it is a prescription that 
 will do no harm and no good. I suspect Sir Alexander could 
 not detect the nature of the illness, and wrote this merely to gain 
 time. It is not an infrequent custom so to do. In my opinion, 
 not an hour should be lost in giving him a far more efficacious 
 medicine : early treatment is everything in scarlet-fever." 
 
 Lady Hartledon had been rapidly making up her mind. 
 
t'EAES FOB THE DOWAGEE. 
 
 419 
 
 " Send in what you think right to be taken, immediately," she 
 said, " and meet Sir Alexander in consultation later on." 
 
 When Mr. Brook left the chamber, a servant was on the 
 watch for him, and conducted him to the dowager in the 
 dining-room, whose handkerchief had just received a fresh 
 saturation. 
 
 " Now, Brook," cried she, sharply, " speak up. What is it ? " 
 " Madam," was his reply, " I think it will turn out to be 
 scarlet-fever." 
 
 The dowager shrieked and backed against the wall. " I 
 have never had it, I have never had it ! Oh, mercy ! that's a 
 thing that kills people. What on earth possessed you to find 
 out that it was that ? " she added irascibly, turning her con- 
 sternation on Mr. Brook. 
 
 " I am sorry to have had no other alternative, your lady- 
 ship," cried Mr. Brook. 
 
 " What should bring scarlet-fever into this house ? It's not 
 in London, is it ? " 
 
 "It is certainly not prevalent. But there's no accounting 
 for these things. I " 
 
 " For goodness' sake, man, go away I Don't stop preaching 
 here, to infect me. Scarlet-fever ! " 
 
 Scarlet-fever it proved to be ; not a mild form of it ; and in 
 a very few hours Lord Elster was in imminent danger, the 
 throat being chiefly affected. The house was in commotion ; 
 the dowager worse than any one in it, A complication of fears 
 beset her : first was her own terror of taking the disorder, and 
 next was the little less abject dread that death might remove 
 her grandchild, and so exalt little Keginald into Viscount 
 Elster and future Earl of Hartledon. In this latter fear she 
 partly lost her fears for herself, forgetting precaution sufii- 
 ciently to remain in the house ; for it seemed to her that the 
 child would inevitably die if she quitted it. Late in the after- 
 noon she rushed into the presence of the doctors, who had just 
 been holding a second consultation, her head enveloped in a 
 hood, and the fumes of camphor scenting the staircase. 
 
 Sir Alexander Pepps recommended leeches to the throat: 
 Mr. Brook disapproved of them. " It is the one chance now 
 for his life," said Sir Alexander. 
 
420 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " It is removing nearly all chance for it," said Mr. Brook. 
 
 Sir Alexander's opinion prevailed ; it was of course becoming 
 that a baronet's should ; and when they came forth it was 
 understood that leeches were to be applied. But here Lady 
 Hartledon stepped in. 
 
 " I dread leeches to the throat. Sir Alexander, if you will 
 pardon me for saying so. I have twice seen them applied in 
 scarlet-fever ; and the patients — one a young lady, the other a 
 child — in both cases died." 
 
 "Madam, I have given my opinion," curtly returned the 
 physician. " They are necessary in Lord Elster's case." 
 
 " Do you approve of the leeches ? " cried Lady Hartledon, 
 turning to Mr. Brook. 
 
 " Not altogether," was the cautious answer. 
 
 " Answer me one question, Mr. Brook," said Lady Hartledon, 
 in her earnestness ; but the mention of leeches had terrified her. 
 "Would you apply these leeches were you treating the case 
 alone ? " 
 
 " No, madam, I would not." 
 
 Anne appealed to her husband. When the medical men 
 differed, she thought the decision lay with him. 
 
 " I'm sure I don't know," returned Val, who knew nothing 
 whatever about medical treatment, and felt himself perfectly 
 helpless to advise. " Can't you decide, Anne ? you know more 
 about children and illness than I do." 
 
 " I would do so without hesitating a moment were it my own 
 child," she replied. " I would not allow them to be put on." 
 
 " No, you would rather see him die," interrupted the dowager, 
 who overheard the words, and most intemperately and un- 
 justifiably answered them. " You have not forgotten that your 
 son would then be Viscount Elster." 
 
 Anne coloured with shame for the old woman, but the words 
 silenced her: how was it possible for her to press her own 
 opinion after that ? Sir Alexander had it all his own way, and 
 the leeches were applied on either side the throat, Mr. Brook 
 emphatically asserting in Lady Hartledon's private ear that he 
 ' washed his hands ' of the measure. Before they came off the 
 consequences were apparent : the throat was swollen outwards, on 
 both sides, as large as an egg ; within, it appeared to be closing. 
 
FEARS FQR THE DOWAGER. 
 
 421 
 
 The dowager, rather beside herself on tlie whole, had been 
 all for the leeches. Any one, seeing her conduct now, might 
 have thought the invalid boy was really dear to her. Nothing 
 of the sort. A hazy idea had been looming through her mind 
 for years that Val was not strong; she had been mistaking 
 mental illness for bodily illness; and a project to have full 
 control of her grandchild, should he come into the succession 
 prematurely, had coloured her dreams. This charming prospect 
 would be cut short ignominiously if the boy went first. 
 
 Sir Alexander saw his error. There must be something 
 peculiar in Lord Elster's constitution, he blandly said ; it would 
 not have happened in another. Of course ; anything that turns 
 out wrong always is in the constitution ; never in the treatment. 
 Whether he died or lived now was just the turn of a straw : 
 the chances were that he would die. All that could be done 
 now was to endeavour to counteract the mischief by external 
 applications. 
 
 " I wish you would let me try a remedy," said Lady Hartle- 
 don, wistfully. " A compress of cold water round the throat, 
 with oil-silk over it. I have seen it do so much good in cases 
 of inward inflammation." 
 
 Mr. Brook smiled : if anything would do good that might, 
 he said, speaking as if he had not much faith in remedies 
 now. Sir Alexander intimated that her ladyship might try it ; 
 graciously observing that it would do no harm. 
 
 The application was used, and the evening went on. The 
 child had fallen into a sort of stupor, and Mr. Brook came in 
 again before he had been away an hour, and leaned anxiously 
 over the patient. He lay with his eyes half-closed, and breathed 
 with difficulty. 
 
 " I do think," he exclaimed softly, " that there's the slightest 
 shade of improvement." 
 
 " In the fever itself, or in the throat ? " whispered Lady 
 Hartledon, who had not quitted the boy's bedside. 
 
 " Oh, in the throat. If so, it is due to your remedy. Lady 
 Hartledon." 
 
 " Is he in danger ? " 
 
 " In very great danger. But still I think I see a gleam of 
 hope." 
 
422 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 After the surgeon's departure, she went clown to her husband, 
 meeting Hedges on the stairs, who was coming to inquire after 
 the patient for his master, for about the fiftieth time. The earl 
 was in the library, pacing about incessantly in the semi-dark- 
 ness, for the room was only lighted by the fire. Anne closed 
 the door and approached him. 
 
 " Percival, I do not bring you very good tidings," she said ; 
 " and yet they might be worse. Mr. Brook tells me he is in 
 great danger ; but he does think he sees a gleam of hope." 
 
 The earl took her hand within his arm and drew her along 
 with him in his striding ; his eyes were fixed on the carpet, and 
 he said nothing. 
 
 " Don't grieve as those who are without hope," she continued, 
 her eyes filling with tears. " Indeed, he may recover yet. I 
 have been praying that it may be so." 
 
 " Don't pray for it," cried the earl, his tone one of painful 
 entreaty. "I have been daring to pray that it might please 
 God to take him." 
 
 " Percival ! " she exclaimed, starting away from him. 
 
 " I am not mad, Anne. Death would be a more merciful fate 
 for my boy than life. Death now, whilst he is innocent, safe in 
 Christ's love ! — death, in Heaven's mercy ! " 
 
 And Anne crept back to the upper chamber, sick with terror ; 
 for she did think that the trouble of his child's state was 
 affecting her husband's brain. 
 
( 423 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THREADING BEADS. 
 
 The Earl and Countess of Hartledon were entertaining com- 
 pany. A family group only: no strangers. The everlasting 
 dowager kept to them unpleasantly; making various things 
 almost unbearable, and wearing out her welcome in no slight 
 degree, if she had only been wise enough to see it. She had 
 escaped scarlet-fever, and the other ills dreaded for herself; 
 had come out of the ordeal unscathed and untouched, and was 
 alive still. For the matter of that, the young Viscount Elster 
 had come out of it also : not unscathed ; for the boy remained a 
 sickly wreck, and there was very little hope that he would 
 really recover. The final close might be delayed, but it was 
 not to be averted. Before Easter they had left London for 
 Hartledon, that he might have country air. The earl's eldest 
 sister, Lady Margaret Cooper, came there with her husband ; 
 and on this dcy the other sister, Lady Laura Level, had arrived 
 from India. Lady Margaret was an invalid, and not an agree- 
 able woman besides ; but to Lady Laura and Anne the meeting, 
 after so many years' separation, was one of exquisite pleasure. 
 They had been close friends from childhood. 
 
 They were all gathered together in the large drawing-room 
 after luncheon. The day was a pouring wet one, and nobody 
 had ventured out except Sir James Cooper. Accustomed to the 
 famed Scotch mists, this rain seemed as a genial shower, and Sir 
 James was taking his recreation accordingly. It was a warm, 
 close day, in spite of the rain ; and the large fire in the grate 
 made the room oppressive, so that they were glad to throw the 
 windows open. 
 
 Lying on a sofa near the fire was the boy, Lord Elster. Only 
 
424: 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 to look at him, you might tell that he would never rally ; 
 though he fluctuated much; sometimes seeming better, some- 
 times worse. To-day he was, comparatively speaking, well. 
 His sister, Maude, was threading beads ; and the two others, 
 much younger, stood looking on — Eeginald and little Lady 
 Anne. Lady Margaret Cooper, having a fellow-feeling for an 
 invalid, sat close to the sick boy. Lord Hartledon sat apart at 
 a table reading, and making notes occasionally with the pen 
 and ink before him. The dowager, more cumbersome, shorter, 
 rounder than ever, and as fine as gauzes, and paint, and flaxen 
 false curls could make her, dozed on the other side the hearth. 
 She was falling into the habit of taking a nap after luncheon 
 as well as after dinner. Lady Laura Level was in danger of 
 convulsions every time she looked at the dowager. Never in 
 all her life had she seen so queer an old figure. She and Anne 
 stood together at an open window, the one eagerly asking 
 questions of home, the other answering all in an undertone. 
 Lady Laura had been away from her own home and kindred 
 some twelve years, and it seemed to her half a lifetime. 
 
 " Anne, how was it ? " she exclaimed. " It was a thing that 
 always puzzled me, and I never came to the bottom of it. My 
 husoand said at the time I used to talk of it in my sleep." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 " About you and Val. You were as surely engaged to each 
 other as you could be ; ay, and you loved him too, and he loved 
 you. How came that other marriage about ? — that old guy's 
 daughter to step in ? " 
 
 " Well, I can hardly tell you. I was at Cannes with mamma, 
 and he fell into the entanglement. We knew nothing about it 
 until they were married. Never mind all that now; I don't 
 care to recall it, and it is a very sore point with Val. The 
 blame, I believe, chiefly lay with her,'' 
 
 Anne glanced at the dowager, to indicate whom she meant. 
 Lady Laura's eyes followed the same direction, and she burst 
 into a laugh. 
 
 " A painted, pinked-out old thing ! She looks like one who 
 would do it. Why doesn't some one tell her to go and put 
 herself under a glass case at the British Museum ? She would 
 be the greatest curiosity there. When news of the marriage 
 
THREADING BEADS. 
 
 425 
 
 came out to India I was thunderstruck. I wrote off at once to 
 Val, asking all sorts of questions, and received quite a savage 
 letter back again, telling me to mind my own business. That 
 letter alone would have told me how Val repented ; it was so 
 unlike him. Do you know what I did ? " 
 " What did you do ? 
 
 " Sent him another letter by return mail with only two words 
 in it — ' Elster's Folly.' Poor Val ! She died of heart-disease, 
 did she not ? " 
 
 " Yes. But she seemed to have been ailing for some time 
 before. She was greatly changed." 
 
 " Val is changed, if you like. There are threads of silver in 
 his hair now; and he is so much quieter than I thought he 
 ever would be. I wonder you took him, Anne, after all ; and I 
 wonder more still that Dr. Ashton allowed it." 
 
 A blush tinged Lady Hartledon's face as she looked out at 
 the soft rain, and a half-smile parted her lips. 
 
 " I see, Anne. Love once, love always ; and I suppose it 
 was the same with Val, in spite of his folly. I should have 
 taken out my revenge by marrying the first eligible man that 
 offered himself. Talking of that — is poor Mr. Graves married 
 yet?" 
 
 " Yes, at last," said Anne, laughing. " A very grand match 
 too for him, poor timid man : his wife's a lord's daughter, and 
 as tall as a house." 
 
 " If ever man worshipped woman he worshipped you, though 
 you were only a girl." 
 
 " Nonsense, Laura." 
 
 " Nonsense to you, my lady. You knew it quite well ; and so 
 did Val. Did he ever screw his courage up to proposing point ? " 
 
 Anne laughed. " If he ever did, I was too vexed to answer 
 him. He will be very happy, Laura. His wife is a meek, 
 loving woman, in spite of her formidable height." 
 
 "And now I want you to tell me one thing — How was it 
 that Edward could not be saved ? " 
 
 For a moment Lady Hartledon did not understand, and 
 turned her eyes on the boy Edward. 
 
 " I mean my brother, Anne. When news came out to India 
 that he had died a sudden death, in that shocking manner. 
 
426 
 
 elstek's folly. 
 
 following upon poor George — I don't care now to recall how I 
 felt. Was there no one at hand to save him ? " 
 
 " No one. A sad fatality seemed to attend it altogether. 
 Val regrets his brother bitterly to this day. I once heard a 
 thoughless, unkind woman remark that it was a lucky accident 
 for Val Elster : could she have known how joyfully Val would 
 have welcomed his poverty again to have his brother back in 
 life, she might have been more charitable." 
 
 " And that poor Willy Gum was killed at sea, after all ! " 
 
 " Ay," said Anne, shortly. " When you spoke of Edward," 
 she added, returning to the other subject, " I thought you meant 
 the boy." 
 
 Lady Laura shook her head. "He will never get well, 
 Anne," she whispered. " Death seems to be written in his 
 face." 
 
 " You would say so, if you saw him some days. He is of a 
 very excitable disposition, and your coming has roused him to 
 what seems like health. I never saw any one fluctuate so ; one 
 day dying, the next well. For myself I have very little hope 
 of him, and Mr. Hillary has none ; but I dare not say so to 
 Margaret and the dowager." 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " It makes them so angry. They cannot bear to hear that 
 there's a possibility of his death. Margaret may see danger, 
 but I don't believe the dowager does." 
 
 " Their wishes must blind them to the truth, then," observed 
 Lady Laura. "The dowager seems all fire and folly. She 
 scarcely gave herself time to wish me welcome this morning, 
 or to inquire how I might be after my long voyage ; but began 
 descanting on a host of evils, the chief one being that her 
 grandson should have had fever." 
 
 " She would like him to bear a charmed life. Not for love 
 of him, Laura." 
 
 " Not for love of him I What then ? " 
 
 " I do not believe she has a particle of love for him. Don't 
 think me uncharitable, Laura ; it is the truth ; Val will tell 
 you the same. She is not capable of experiencing common 
 aifection for any one ; every feeling of her nature is merged in 
 that of self-interest. Had her daughter left another boy she 
 
THREADINa BEADS. 
 
 427 
 
 would not be dismayed at the prospect of this one's death: 
 whether he lived or whether he died, it would be all one to her. 
 The grievance is, that Eeginald should have the chance of 
 becoming Lord Elster." 
 
 " Because he is your son. I understand. A vain, puffed-up 
 old thing ! the idea of her still painting her face and wearing 
 her false curls! I wonder you tolerate her in your house, 
 Anne 1 She's always here." 
 
 " How can I help myself? She considers, I do believe, that 
 she has as much right in this house as I have." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! Does she make things uncomfortable ? " 
 
 " More uncomfortable than I have ever confessed, even to my 
 husband. From the very hour of my marriage she set the two 
 children against me, and against my children when they came ; 
 and she never ceases to do so still. There would never have 
 been the ill-feeling in Edward's and in Maude's heart towards 
 the others, but for her." 
 
 " Why do you submit to it ? " 
 
 " She is their grandmother, and I cannot well deny her the 
 house. Perhaps I should have had courage to attempt it, for 
 the children's own sake, it is so shocking to train them to ill- 
 nature, but that my husband appears to think as she does. 
 The petty disputes between the children are frequent — for my 
 two elder ones are getting of an age to turn again when put 
 upon — but their father never corrects Edward and Maude, or 
 allows them to be corrected; let them do what wrong they 
 will, he takes their part. " Laura, I believe that if Lord Elster 
 killed one of my children, he would only caress him for it." 
 
 Lady Laura Level turned her eyes on the speaker's face, on 
 its flush of pain and mortification. 
 
 "And Val loved you: and did not love Maude! How is 
 this, Anne ? " 
 
 "I cannot tell how it is," was the murmured answer. 
 " Things altogether are growing worse than I can bear." 
 
 " Margaret has been with you some time ; has she not inter- 
 fered, or tried to put things upon a right footing ? " 
 
 Anne shook her head. "She espouses the dowager's side 
 wholly ; upholds the two children in all their petty tyranny. 
 No one in the house takes my part, or my children's." 
 
428 
 
 elsteb's folly. 
 
 « And what's Val about ? " 
 
 " Don't misunderstand me, Laura : to me Val is ever 
 affectionate and good. It is to tlie children that his behaviour 
 is so strange. He appears to love my children, and, if the 
 other two are not present, he is tender and kind to them ; but 
 in these disputes he takes notice of the elder ones alone, and is 
 not commonly just to the younger." 
 
 " How very strange ! Especially when we consider that he 
 — did not particularly care for their mother. I suppose it is 
 no treason to say so ! " 
 
 " Sometimes I fancy it must be that thought which makes 
 him so : it is just as if he were ever striving to compensate them 
 for some injury ; at least such is the impression it makes on 
 me. We all get on happily when we are alone, and the elder 
 children are fond of me ; but the moment the countess-dowager 
 comes then the rivalry begins, and with it Percival's strange 
 injustice." 
 
 "And Margaret has been helping it on! Just like her! 
 Do you remember how you and I used to dread her for her 
 proud domineering spirit when we were girls ? I do, if you 
 don't, Anne. It's time I came, I think, to set things right." 
 
 "Ah, Laura, neither you nor any one else can set things 
 right. They have been wrong too long. The worst is, I 
 cannot see what the evil is, as regards Val. If I ask him he 
 repels me, or laughs at me, and tells me I am fanciful. That 
 he has some secret grief upon him I have known long: his 
 days are unhappy, his nights are restless ; often when he thinks 
 me asleep I am listening to his sighs. I am glad you have 
 come home; I have wanted a true friend to confide these 
 troubles to, and I could not speak of them except to one of the 
 family." 
 
 "It sounds like a romance;" cried Lady Laura. "Some 
 secret grief ! Val can't be grieving after his wife ! " 
 
 "No, that I am sure he is not. In one thing I can rest 
 secure, Laura, that all his love is mine ; and — though it seems 
 wrong to say it — always has been." 
 
 " Is he grieving after the boy — fearing he may lose him ? " 
 
 " Eather, as it seems to me, he fears he will recover," breathed 
 Lady Hartledon. 
 
THREADING BEADS. 
 
 429 
 
 " It is a romance, Anne. I would make a book of it if I could." 
 " It is a mystery," said Anne. 
 
 They were interrupted by a commotion. Maude bad been 
 completing a splendid ring for berself; its beads all the 
 colours of the rainbow, worked into diamonds. She was ex- 
 hibiting it on her lifted finger for the benefit of admiring 
 beholders. 
 
 "Papa — Aunt Margaret — look at my ring." 
 
 Lord Hartledon nodded pleasantly at the child from his 
 distant seat ; Lady Margaret appeared not to have heard ; and 
 Maude caught up a soft ball and threw it at her aunt. Un- 
 fortunately, it took a wrong direction, and struck the nodding 
 dowager on the nose. She rose up in a fury, and some com- 
 motion ensued. 
 
 "Make me a ring, Maude," little Anne was heard to lisp 
 when the dowager had subsided into her chair again. Maude 
 took no notice ; her finger was still lifted with the precious 
 ornament. 
 
 " Can you see it from your sofa, Edward ? " 
 
 Lord Elster rose from his recumbent posture and stretched 
 himself. " Pretty well. You have put it on the wrong finger, 
 Maude. Ladies don't wear rings on the little finger." 
 
 " But it won't go on the others," said Maude, dolefully : " it's 
 too small.'* 
 
 " Make a larger one." 
 
 " Make one for me, Maude," again broke in Anne's little 
 eager voice. 
 
 " I dare say ! " returned Maude. " You are big enough to 
 thread beads for yourself." 
 
 " No, she's not," said Keginald, who could not speak much 
 more plainly than his sister. " Make her one, Maude." 
 
 " No, don't, Maude," called out Lord Elster. " Let them do 
 things for themselves." 
 
 " Laura, you hear ! " whispered Lady Hartledon. 
 
 " I do hear. And Val sits there and never reproves them ; 
 and the blessed old dowager's head and eyes are nodding and 
 twinkling approval of the heir and his sister." 
 
 Lady Laura Level was an energetic little woman, thin and 
 pale, and excessively active, with a propensity for setting the 
 
430 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 world straight, and a very downriglit tongue, as uncere- 
 moniously free as the dowager's. In the cause of justice she 
 would have stood up to battle with a giant. Lady Hartledon 
 was about to make some response, but she bade her hush ; her 
 attention was absorbed by the children. Perhaps the truth 
 was that she was burning to have a say in the matter herself. 
 
 " Maude," she called out, " if that ring is too small for you, 
 it would do for Anne nicely, and be only kind of you to give it. 
 She'd prick her fingers, pretty little thing, if she tried to 
 thread one for herself." 
 
 Maude looked dubious. Left to herself, the girl would have 
 been pleasant and generous enough. She glanced at the 
 dowager. 
 
 " May I give it her, grand 'ma ? " 
 
 Grand'ma was conveniently deaf. She would rather have 
 cut the ring in two than it should be given to the hated little 
 child : but, on the other hand, she did not care to offend the 
 new-comer, Laura Level, who possessed inconveniently in- 
 dependent opinions, and did not shrink from proclaiming them. 
 Seizing the poker, she stirred the fire, shooting out a cloud of 
 ashes, and thereby creating a divertisement. 
 
 In the midst of it, and perhaps to escape the smother, the 
 viscount left his sofa and walked up to the young group and 
 their beads. He was very weak, and tottered unintentionally 
 against Anne. The child happened to be standing on one leg 
 like a partridge. The touch destroyed her equilibrium, and 
 she went forward on Maude's lap. There was no damage done, 
 but the box of beads was upset, and fell o*n the carpet. Maude 
 screamed at the loss of her precious treasures, rose up with 
 vehement anger, and shook Anne. The child cried out. 
 
 "Why d'you hit her?" cried Reginald Elster. "It was 
 Edward's fault ; he pushed her first." 
 
 " What's that, you youngster ! " exclaimed Lord Elster. " My 
 fault ! I'll teach you to say that. There : say it again," he 
 added, striking Reginald a tingling slap on the cheek. 
 
 Of course there was loud crying. The dowager looked on 
 with an inflamed face. Lady Margaret Cooper, who had no 
 children of her own, stopped her ears. Lady Laura laid her 
 band on her sister-in-law's wrist. 
 
THREADING BEADS. 
 
 431 
 
 "And you can witness these scenes, so unfitting to be in- 
 dulged in by refined children, and not check them ! You are 
 changed, Anne ! " 
 
 "If I interfere to protect my children, I am checked and 
 prevented," replied Lady Hartledon, from her quivering lips. 
 " This scene is nothing to what we have sometimes." 
 
 " Who checks you— Val ? " 
 
 "The dowager. But he does not interpose for me. A 
 moment, Laura : I cannot hope to make you thoroughly under- 
 stand this ; were I and the dowager to come to an issue our- 
 selves, my husband would rise up with all the indignation he 
 possesses to protect me ; I'm not sure but he would turn her 
 from the house ; but where the children are concerned, he 
 tacitly lets her have sway. It is not often anything of this sort 
 takes places in his presence." 
 
 The noise continued : all Ihe children seemed to be fighting 
 together. Anne went forward and drew her own two out of the 
 fray. 
 
 " Yes ; pray send those two screamers to the nursery. Lady 
 Hartledon," cried the dowager. 
 
 " I cannot think why they are allowed in the drawing-room 
 at all," said Lady Margaret, addi'essing no one in particular, 
 unless it was the ceiling. " Edward and Maude would be quiet 
 enough without them." 
 
 Anne did not retort : she only glanced at her husband, silent 
 reproach on her pale face, and took up the little Lady Anne in 
 her arms to carry her from the room. But Lady Laura Level, 
 impulsive and warm, came forward and stopped the exit. 
 
 " Lady Kirton, I am ashamed of you ! Margaret, I am 
 ashamed of you ! I am ashamed of you all. You are doing the 
 children a lasting injury, and you are guilty of cruel insult to 
 Lady Hartledon. This is the second scene I have been a 
 witness to, when the elder children were encouraged to behave 
 badly to the younger ; the first was in the nursery this morning ; 
 and I have been here yet only a few hours. And you, Lord 
 Hartledon, their head and father, responsible for your children's 
 welfare, can tamely sit by, and suffer it, and see your wife in- 
 sulted ! Is this what you married Anne Ashton for ? " 
 
 The earl rose : a strange look of pain on his refined features. 
 
432 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " You are mistaken, Laura. I wish every respect to be shown 
 to my wife ; respect from all. Anne knows it." 
 
 " Kespect ! " scornfully retorted Lady Laura. " When you 
 do not give her a voice in her own house ; when you allow her 
 children to be trampled on, and beaten — beaten, sir — and she 
 dare not interfere ! Who are you, madam," turning again, in 
 her anger, on the countess-dowager, "and who are you, 
 Margaret, that you should dare to encourage Edward and 
 Maude in rebellion against their present mother ? " 
 
 Taken by surprise, the dowager made no answer. Lady 
 Margaret looked defiance. 
 
 " You and Anne have invited me to your house on a 
 lengthened visit. Lord Hartledon," continued Laura ; " but I 
 promise you that if this is to continue I will not remain in it ; 
 I will not witness insult to my early friend ; and I will not see 
 children incited to evil passions. Undress that child, sir," she 
 sharply added, directing the earl's attention to Eeginald, " and 
 you will see a bruise on his shoulder. I saw it this morning, 
 and asked the nurse what caused it, and was told Lord Elster 
 kicked him." 
 
 " It was the little beggar's own fault," interposed Lord Elster, 
 who was standing his ground with equanimity, and seemed to 
 enjoy the scene rather than otherwise. 
 
 Lady Laura caught him sharply by the arm. " Of whom arc 
 you speaking ! Who's a little beggar ? " 
 
 " Eegy is." 
 
 " Who taught you to call him one ? " 
 
 " Grand'ma. It's what he is, you know." 
 
 " There, go away ; go away, all of you," cried Lady Laura, 
 turning the two elder ones from the room imperatively, after 
 Anne and her children. " Oh, so you are going also, are you, 
 Val ! No wonder you are ashamed to stop here." 
 
 He was crossing the room ; a curious expression on his drawn 
 lips. Laura watched him from it ; then went and stood before 
 the dowager, her back to her sister. 
 
 " Has it ever struck you. Lady Kirton, that you may one day 
 have to account for this ? " 
 
 " It strikes me that you are making a vast deal of unnecessary 
 noise, Madam Laura ! " 
 
THREADING BEADS. 
 
 433 
 
 " If your daughter could look on, from her grave, at earth 
 and its scenes — and some hold a theory that such a state of 
 things is not impossible — what would be her anguish, think 
 you, at the evil you are inculcating on her children ? One of 
 them will very soon be with her " 
 
 The dowager interrupted with a sort of yell. 
 
 " He will ; there is no mistake in it. You who see him con- 
 stantly may not detect it plainly ; but it strikes with certainty 
 upon a stranger. Were it not beneath me, I might ask on what 
 grounds you tutor him to call Keginald a beggar, considering 
 that your daughter brought my brother nothing but a few 
 debts ; whilst Miss Ashton brought him a large fortune ? " 
 
 "I wouldn't condescend to be mean, Laura," put in Lady 
 Margaret, whilst the dowager gingerly wiped her face, which 
 was getting hot. 
 
 They were interrupted by Hedges, showing in visitors. How 
 much more Lady Laura might have said must remain unknown : 
 she was in ^ mood to say a great deal. 
 
 " Mr. and Mrs. Graves." 
 
 It was the curate ; and the tall, meek woman sj)oken of by 
 Anne. Laura laughed as she shook hands with the former; 
 whom she had known when a girl, and been given to ridiculing 
 more than was quite polite. 
 
 Lord Hartledon had left the room after his wife. She sent 
 the children to the nursery; and he found her alone in her 
 chamber sobbing bitterly. 
 
 Certainly he was a contradiction. He took her in his arms 
 fondly, beseeching her to pardon him, if he had unwittingly 
 slighted her, as Laura implied ; and his blue eyes were beaming 
 with affection, his voice was low with persuasive tenderness. 
 
 " There are times," she sobbed, " when I am tempted to wish 
 myself back in my father's house ! " 
 
 " I cannot think whence all this discomfort arises ! " he ex- 
 claimed. " Of one thing, Anne, you may rest assured : as soon 
 as Edward changes for the better or the worse — and one it must 
 inevitably be — that miserable mischief-making old woman shall 
 quit my house for ever." 
 
 " Edward will never change for the better," she said. " For 
 the worse, he may soon : for the better, never." 
 
 ElBter'8 Folly. 28 
 
434: 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 "I know: Hillary has told me. Bear with things a little 
 longer, Anne, and believe that I will remedy them the moment 
 that remedy is possible. I, your husband, bid you trust me." 
 
 Lady Hartledon lifted her eyes to his. " We cannot go on 
 as we are going on now. Tell me what it is you have to bear. 
 You remind me that you are my husband ; I now remind you 
 that I am your wife : confide in me. I will be true and loving 
 to you, whatever it may be." 
 
 " Not yet ; in a little time, perhaps. Bear with me still, my 
 dear wife ; bear with me." 
 
 His look was haggard ; his voice bore a ring of anguish ; and 
 he clasped her hand to pain as he left her. Whatever might 
 be the grief upon him, Anne — as she had not long before avowed 
 to Lady Laura — could not doubt his love. 
 
 And as the earl went into the drawing-room, a smile on his 
 face, gay words on his lips, chatting with the curate, laughing 
 with his newly-married wife, both those gratified and unsus- 
 picious visitors could have protested when they went forth, that 
 there never was a man more free from care than that affable 
 servant of her Majesty's the Eight Honourable the Earl of 
 Hartledon. 
 
( 435 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVni. 
 
 DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 A CHANGE for the worse occurred in Lord Elster ; and after 
 two or three weeks' sinking he died, and was buried at Hartle- 
 don by the side of his mother. The earl's sister quitted 
 Hartledon House for a little change ; but the countess-dowager 
 was there still, and disturbed its silence with moans and little 
 impromptu cries of lamentation, especially when going up and 
 down the staircase and along the corridors. 
 
 Mr. Carr, who had come for the funeral, also remained. On 
 the day subsequent to it he and the earl were taking a quiet 
 walk together, when they met Mrs. Gum. The earl stopped 
 and spoke to her in his kindly manner. She was less nervous 
 than she used to be ; and she and her husband were once more 
 at peace in their house. 
 
 " I would not like to presume to say a word of sympathy, my 
 lord," she said, curtsying, " but we felt it indeed. Jabez was 
 cut up like anything when he came in yesterday from the 
 funeral." 
 
 The earl looked at her, a meaning that she understood in his 
 earnest eyes. " Yes, it is hard to part with our children : but, 
 when grief is over, we live in the consolation that they have 
 only preceded us to a better place, where sin and sorrow are 
 not. We shall join them later in happiness." 
 
 She went away, tears of thankful joy filling her eyes. 
 Another son was up there, safe from sin and sorrow, waiting 
 for Jier ; and she knew Lord Hartledon had thought of him in 
 speaking, and meant her to do so. 
 
 " Carr," said the earl, " I never told you the finale of that 
 
436 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 tragedy. George Gordon, of tlie mutiny, did turn up : he lived 
 and died in England." 
 "No!" 
 
 " Yes : and at Calne. It was that poor woman's son." 
 
 Mr. Carr looked round for an explanation. He knew she was 
 the wife of Clerk Gum, and the sister of Hartledon's house- 
 keeper. Lord Hartledon told him the whole, as the facts had 
 come out to him. 
 
 " Pike always puzzled me," he said. " Disguised as he was 
 with his black hair, and his face stained with some dark juice, 
 and though I had not seen him since he was a lad, there was a 
 look in him that used to strike some chord in my memory. It 
 lay in the eyes, I think. You'll keep these facts sacred, Carr, 
 for the parents' sake. They are known only to four of us, and 
 we are all safe : Hillary, my wife's father, Anne, and myself." 
 
 " Good day to your lordship ! " 
 
 The salutation came from the tart voice of a woman, who 
 went whirling past. It was Lydia Jones. She was in hot 
 water, as usual, with the world, and was just now on her way 
 to the different public-houses in search of her husband. Lord 
 Hartledon's private opinion was, that her tongue drove him into 
 them. 
 
 " She was the greatest enemy to Pike in all the parish," re- 
 marked the earl ; " little thinking that the man was a relative 
 of her own." 
 
 " Have you told your wife yet ? " questioned Mr. Carr, re- 
 curring to a different subject. 
 
 "No. I could not, somehow, whilst the child lay dead in 
 the house. She shall know it shortly." 
 
 "And what about dismissing the countess-dowager? You 
 will do it?" 
 
 "Will! I shall be only too thankful to do it. All my 
 courage has come back to me, thank Heaven ! " 
 
 He spoke the words reverently, lifting his hat ; not lightly, 
 as a passing remark. The Countess-Dowager of Kirton's reign 
 was over ; never would the earl allow her to disturb the peace 
 of his house again. He might have to pension her off, but that 
 was a light matter. His intention was to speak to her in a few 
 days' time, allowing an interval to elapse after the boy's death ; 
 
DIPPING INTO VAl's DESK. 
 
 437 
 
 but she forestalled the time herself, as the earl was soon to 
 find. 
 
 The dinner that evening was a sad one — sad and silent. 
 The only one who did ample justice to it was the countess- 
 dowager — in a black gauze dress and white crepe turban. 
 Let what would betide, Lady Kirton never failed to enjoy 
 her dinner. She had a scheme in her head ; it had been 
 working there since the day of her grandson's death ; and 
 when the servants withdrew, she judged it expedient to disclose 
 it to the earl, hoping to gain her point, now that he was 
 softened by sorrow. 
 
 "Hartledon, I want to talk to you," she began, critically 
 tasting the port wine ; " and I must request that you'll attend 
 to me." 
 
 Anne looked up, wondering what was coming. She wore an 
 evening dress of black crepe, a jet necklace on her fair neck, 
 jet bracelets on her arms : mourning far deeper than the 
 dowager's. 
 
 " Do you listen to me, Val ? " 
 
 " I am quite ready, madam," answered Val. 
 
 " I asked you, once before, to let me have Maude's children, 
 and to allow me a fair income with them. Had you done so, 
 this dreadful misfortune would not have overtaken your house : 
 for it stands to reason that if Lord Elster had been living 
 somewhere else with me, he could not have caught scarlet-fever 
 in London." 
 
 " We never thought he did catch it," returned the earl. " It 
 was not prevalent at the time ; and, strange to say, none of the 
 other children took it, nor any one else in the house." 
 
 " Then what gave it him ? " sharply uttered the dowager. 
 
 What the earl answered was spoken in a low tone, and she 
 caught one word only. Providence. She gave a growl, and 
 continued. 
 
 " At any rate, he's gone ; and you have now no pretext for 
 refusing me Maude. I shall take her, and bring her up, and 
 you must allow me liberally for her." 
 
 " I shall not part with Maude," said the earl, in a quiet tone 
 of decision. 
 
 " You can't decently refuse her to me, I say," rejoined the 
 
438 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 dowager, nodding her head somewhat defiantly; "she's my 
 own grandchild.*' 
 
 " And my child. The argument on this point years ago was 
 unsatisfactory, Lady Kirton ; I do not feel disposed to renew 
 it. Maude will remain in her own home." 
 
 " You are a vile man. Lord Hartledon ! cried the dowager, 
 with an inflamed face. " Pass me the wine, will you ? " 
 
 He filled her glass, and left the decanter with her. She 
 took some, and resumed. 
 
 " One day, when I was with Maude, your wife, in that last 
 illness of hers in London, when we couldn't find out what was 
 the matter with her, poor dear, wrote you a letter ; and I know 
 what was in it, for I read it. You had gone dancing off some- 
 where for a week." 
 
 " To the Isle of Wight, for you," put in the earl, quietly ; 
 " on that unhappy business connected with your son who lives 
 there. Well, madam ? " 
 
 " In that letter Maude said she wished me to have charge of 
 her children, if she died ; and she begged you to take notice 
 that she said it," continued the dowager, finishing her glass. 
 "Now then, Hart! Perhaps you'll say you never had that 
 letter ? " 
 
 " On the contrary, madam, I admit that I received the letter," 
 he replied. "I dare say I have it still. Most of Maude's 
 letters lie in my desk undisturbed." 
 
 "And, admitting that, you refuse to act up to it?" 
 
 " Maude wrote that letter to me in a moment of pique, when 
 she was angry with me. But " 
 
 " And I have no doubt she had cause for being angry with 
 you ! " came the retort. 
 
 " She had ; great cause," was his answer, spoken with a 
 strange sadness that surprised both the dowager and Lady 
 Hartledon. Thomas Carr was twirling his wine-glass gently 
 round on the white cloth by its stem, neither speaking nor 
 looking. 
 
 " Later, my wife fully retracted to me what she said in that 
 letter," continued the earl. " She confessed to me that she had 
 written it partly at your dictation, Lady Kirton, and she said — 
 but I had better not tell you that, perhaps." 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 439 
 
 "Then you shall tell me, Lord Hartledon; and you are a 
 false, two-faced man, if you shuffle out of it." 
 
 " Very well. Maude said that she would not for the whole 
 world allow her children to be brought up by you ; she warned 
 me also not to allow you to obtain too much influence over 
 them." 
 
 " It's false ! " said the dowager, helping herself to some more 
 wine, no whit disconcerted. 
 
 " It is perfectly true : and Maude told me you knew what 
 her sentiments were upon the point. Her real and final wish, 
 as expressed to me, was, that the children should remain with 
 me in any case, in their proper home." 
 
 " You say you have that other letter still ? " cried the 
 dowager, who was not always very perspicuous in her con- 
 versation. 
 
 " No doubt." 
 
 " Then perhaps you'll look for it : and read over her wishes 
 in black and white." 
 
 "No: certainly not. To what end? It would make no 
 difference in my decision. I tell you, ma'am, I am consulting 
 Maude's wishes in keeping her child at home." 
 
 "I know better," retorted the dowager, completely losing 
 her temper. " I wish your poor dear wife could rise from her 
 grave and confute you. It's all stinginess ; because you won't 
 part with a paltry bit of money." 
 
 "No," said the earl, "it's because I won't part with my 
 child. Understand me. Lady Kirton — had Maude's wishes 
 even been with you in this, I should not carry them out. As 
 to money — I may have something to say to you on that score ; 
 but suppose we postpone it to a more fitting opportunity." 
 
 " You wouldn't carry them out ! " she cried, with blazing 
 eyes. " But you might be forced to, you mean Val ! That 
 letter of Maude's may be as good as a will in the eyes of the 
 law. You daren't produce it ; that's what it is." 
 
 " I'll give it you with pleasure," said the earl, with a smile. 
 " That is, if I have kept it. I am not sure." 
 
 She drank another glass of wine, caught up her fan, and 
 sat fanning herself. The reservation "if I have kept it" 
 had struck with a meaning never intended on her crafty ear ; 
 
440 
 
 elster's rOLLY. 
 
 that her rebellious son-in-law meant to destroy the letter she 
 felt sure ; and she began wondering how she could outwit 
 him. 
 
 A sudden noise and a sharp cry outside the door interrupted 
 them. The children were only coming in to dessert now ; and 
 Keginald, taking a flying leap down the stairs, took rather too 
 long a one, and came to grief at the bottom. Truth to say, the 
 young gentleman, no longer kept down by poor Edward, was 
 getting high-spirited and venturesome. 
 
 " What's that ? " asked Anne, as the nurse came in with 
 them, scolding. 
 
 " Lord Elster fell down, my lady. He's getting as tiresome 
 as he can be. Only to-day, I caught him astride on the kitchen 
 banisters, going to slide down them." 
 
 "Oh, Eegy," said his mother, holding up her reproving 
 finger. 
 
 The boy laughed, and came forward rubbing his arm bravely, 
 and ashamed of his tears. Val caught him up and kissed them 
 away, drawing Maude also to his side. And the countess- 
 dowager fanned herself fiercely: those titles, when applied 
 to Anne's child, were as very wormwood. She thought Heaven 
 had been cruel, not to have taken this one and spared the 
 other. 
 
 That letter ! She was as determined to get it as any woman 
 could be, if there was a possibility of doing so under the sun. 
 A suspicion or instinct had arisen within her — it may be said 
 a prevision — that she had made herself too hot for Lady 
 Hartledon's house, and would not much longer be tolerated in 
 it. But she knew not where to go. Kirton, vile man, had 
 married again; and his new wife had fairly turned her out 
 more unceremoniously than the late one did. By hook or by 
 crook, she meant to obtain the guardianship of her grand- 
 daughter, because in allowing her Maude, Lord Hartledon 
 would have to allow her an income. 
 
 She was a woman to stop at nothing ; she had not taught her 
 daughter, poor Maude, to stop at much ; and upon quitting the 
 dining-room she betook herself to the library — a large, magni- 
 ficent room — the pride of Hartledon. She had come in search 
 of the earl's desk ; which she found, and proceeded to devise 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 441 
 
 means of opening it. That accomplished, she sat herself down, 
 like a leisurely housebreaker, to examine it, putting on a pair 
 of spectacles, which she kept surreptitiously in a pocket, and 
 would not have worn before any one for the world. She found 
 the letter she was in search of ; and she found something else 
 for her pains, which she had not bargained for. 
 
 Not just at first. There were many tempting odds and ends 
 of things which she dipped into. For one thing, she found 
 Val's banking book, and some old cheque-books ; they served 
 her for a good while. Next, she came upon two packets of 
 letters, sealed up in white paper, with Val's own seal. On one 
 was written " Letters of Lady Maude ; " on the other " Letters 
 of my dear Anne." There was a distinction in the superscrip- 
 tion which aroused her ire, and an opinion, audibly expressed, 
 that Hart deserved a sound shaking. Peering further into the 
 desk, she came upon an obscure small inner slide, which had 
 evidently not been opened for years, and she had difficulty in 
 undoing it. A paper was in it, superscribed "Concerning 
 A. W. ; " on opening which she found a letter addressed to 
 Thomas Carr, of the Temple. 
 
 Thomas Carr's letters were no more sacred with her than 
 Lord Hartledon's. No woman living was troubled with 
 scruples so little as the one at the desk. It proved to have 
 been written by a Dr. Mair, in Scotland, and was dated several 
 years back. 
 
 But now — did Lord Hartledon really know he had that 
 dangerous letter by him? If so, what could have possessed 
 him to preserve it? Or, did he not rather believe he had 
 returned it to Mr. Carr at the time? The latter, indeed, 
 proved to be the case ; and never, to the end of his life, would 
 he, in one sense, forgive his own carelessness. 
 
 Who was A. W. ? thought the curious old woman, as she 
 drew the light nearer to her, and began the tempting perusal, 
 making her most of the little time left. They could not be at 
 tea yet, and she had told Lady Hartledon she was going to 
 take her nap in her own room. The gratification of rummaging 
 false Val's desk was an ample compensation for the after- 
 dinner sleep; and the countess-dowager hugged herself with 
 delight. She had not enjoyed such a treat for many a day. 
 
442 
 
 ELSTERS FOLLY. 
 
 But what was it tliat she had come upon — this paper " con- 
 cerning A. W. " ? The dowager's mouth fell as she read ; and 
 gradually her little eyes opened as if they had a mind to start 
 from their sockets, and her face grew white, though her nose 
 was scarlet with the wine, and her cheeks with their false 
 carmine. Have you ever watched the livid pallor of fear 
 struggling to one of these painted faces ? The sight is not a 
 pleasant one. She dashed off her spectacles ; she got up and 
 wrung her hands ; she executed a frantic war-dance, never so 
 frantic a one as this, to the imminent danger of the floor and 
 whoever might be underneath it ; and finally she tore, shrieking 
 with the letter, into the drawing-room, where the earl and 
 countess and Thomas Carr were beginning tea and talking 
 quietly. 
 
 They rose from their seats in consternation ; they thought 
 she might have set herself on fire ; she danced in amongst them, 
 and held out the letter to the earl. 
 
 He took it from her, gazing at it in utter bewilderment as he 
 gathered in its contents. Was it a fresh letter, or — his face 
 became whiter than the dowager's. In her storm of reckless 
 passion she avowed what she had done — that the letter was 
 secreted in his desk. 
 
 " Madam ! have you dared to visit my desk ? " he gasped — 
 " to break my seals ? Are you mad ? " 
 
 " Hark at him ! " she exclaimed, almost upsetting Mr. Carr 
 as she danced against him. " He calls me to account for just 
 lifting the lid of a desk ! But what is he ? A villain — a thief 
 — a spy — a murderer — and worse than any of them ! Ah, ha, 
 my lady!" nodding her false front at Lady Hartledon, who 
 stood as one petrified, " you stare there at me with your open 
 eyes, bold as brass ; but you don't know what you are ! Ask 
 him ! What was Maude — Heaven help her — my poor Maude ? 
 What was she ? And you in the plot ; you, Carr ! I'll have 
 you all hanged together ! " 
 
 Lord Hartledon caught his wife's hand. 
 
 " Carr, do you stay here with her and tell her all. No good 
 concealing anything now she has read this letter. Tell her for 
 me. If I attempt it, she'll most likely scratch and bite me, 
 and I might have to tie her hands down." 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 443 
 
 He drew his wife into the adjoining room, the one where the 
 portrait of George Elster looked down on its guests. The 
 time for imparting the story to his wife had been somewhat 
 forestalled. He would have given half his life that it had never 
 reached that other woman, miserable old sinner though she was. 
 
 " You are trembling, Anne ; you need not do so. It is not 
 against you that I have sinned." 
 
 Yes, she was trembling very much. And the earl, in his 
 honourable, his refined, his shrinking nature, would have given 
 his life's other half not to have had the tale to tell. 
 
 It is not a pleasant one. You may skip it if you like, and 
 go on to the last page of the book. The earl once said he had 
 been more sinned against than sinning : it may be deemed that 
 in that opinion he was over-lenient to himself. Anne, his 
 wife, listened with averted face and disbelieving ears. 
 
 " You have wanted a solution to my conduct, Anne — to the 
 strange preference I seemed to accord to the poor boy who is 
 gone ; why I could not punish him ; why I was more thankful 
 for the boon of his death than I had been for his life. He was 
 my child, but he was not Lord Elster." 
 
 She did not understand. 
 
 "He had no right to my name; poor little Maude has no 
 right to it. Do you understand me now ? " 
 
 Not at all ; it was as though he were talking Greek to her. 
 
 " Their mother, when they were born, was not my wife." 
 
 "Their mother was Lady Maude Kirton," she rejoined, in 
 her bewilderment. 
 
 " That is exactly where it was," he answered bitterly ; " Lady 
 Maude Kirton, not Countess of Hartledon." 
 
 She could not comprehend the words ; her mind was a chaos, 
 full of consternation and tumult. Back went her thoughts to 
 the past. 
 
 "Oh, Val! I remember papa's saying that a marriage in 
 that unused chapel, where road-boys had played and rubbish 
 had collected, was only three parts legal ! " 
 
 " It was legal enough, Anne ; legal enough. But when that 
 ceremony took place" — ^his voice dropped to a miserable 
 whisper, " I had — as they tell me — a wife living." 
 
 Slowly she admitted the meaning of the words ; and would 
 
444 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 have started from him with a faint cry, but that he held her to 
 him. 
 
 " Listen to the whole, Anne, before you judge me. What 
 has been your promise to me, over and over again ? — that, if I 
 would tell you my sorrow, you would never shrink from me, 
 whatever it might be." 
 
 She remembered it, and stood still ; terribly rebellious, 
 clasping her fingers to pain, one within the other. 
 
 " In that respect, at any rate, I did not willingly sin. When 
 I married Maude I had no suspicion that I was not free as air ; 
 free to marry her, or any other woman in the world." 
 
 " You speak in enigmas," she said faintly. 
 
 " Sit down, Anne, w^hilst I give you the substance of the tale. 
 Not its details until I am more myself, and those cries" — 
 pointing to the next room — " are not sounding in my ears. 
 You shall hear all later ; at least, as much as I know ; 1 have 
 never quite believed in it, and it has been to me throughout as 
 a horrible dream." 
 
 Indeed Mr. Carr seemed to be having no inconsiderable 
 amount of trouble, to judge by the noise, and the explosions of 
 wrath in the dowager's voice. 
 
 She sat down as he told her, her face turned from him, 
 rebellious at having to listen, but curious yet. Lord Hartledon 
 stood by the mantelpiece and shaded his eyes with his hand. 
 
 "Cast your thoughts back, Anne; you may remember that 
 an accident happened to me in Scotland. It was before you 
 and I were engaged, or it would not have happened. Or, let 
 me say, it might not ; for young men are reckless, and I was 
 no better than others. Heaven have mercy on their follies ! " 
 
 " The accident might not have happened ? " 
 
 "I do not speak of the accident. I mean what followed. 
 When out shooting, I nearly blew off my arm. I was carried 
 to the nearest medical man's, a Dr. Mair's, and remained there ; 
 for it was not thought safe to move me ; they feared inflam- 
 mation, and they feared lock-jaw. My father was written to, 
 and came; and when he left, after the danger was over, he 
 made arrangements with Dr. Mair to keep me on, for he was a 
 skilful man, and wished to perfect the cure. I thought the 
 prolonged stay in the strange, quiet house worse than all the 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 445 
 
 rest. That feeling wore off ; we grow reconciled to most con- 
 ditions; and tilings became more tolerable as I grew better 
 and joined tbe household. There was a wild, clever, random 
 young man staying there, the doctor's assistant — George 
 Gordon; and there was also a young lady, Agnes Waterlow. 
 I used to wonder what this Agnes did there, and one day asked 
 the old housekeeper ; she said the young lady was there partly 
 that the doctor might watch her health, partly because she was 
 a relative of his late wife's, and had no home." 
 
 He paused, as if in thought, but soon continued. 
 
 " We grew very intimate ; I, Gordon, and Miss Waterlow. 
 Neither of them was the person I should have chosen for an 
 intimacy; but there was, in a sense, no help for it, living 
 together. Agnes was a wild, free, rather coarse-natured girl, 
 and Gordon drank. That she fell in love with me there's no 
 doubt — and I grew to like her in a degree ; quite well enough 
 to talk nonsense to her. Whether any plot was laid between 
 her and Gordon to entrap me, or whether what happened arose 
 in the recklessness of the moment, I cannot decide to this hour. 
 It was on my twenty-first birthday ; I was almost well then ; 
 we had what the doctor called a dinner, Gordon a jollification, 
 and Agnes a supper. It was late when we sat down to it, eight 
 o'clock ; and there was a good deal of feasting and plenty of 
 wine. The doctor was called out afterwards to a patient 
 several miles distant, and George Gordon made some punch ; 
 which rendered none of our heads the steadier. At least I can 
 answer for mine ; I was weak with the long illness, and not 
 much of a drinker at any time. There was a great deal of 
 nonsense going on, and Gordon pretended to marry me to 
 Agnes. He said or read (I can't tell which, and never knew 
 then) some words mockingly out of the prayer-book, and said we 
 were man and wife. Whilst we were all laughing at the joke, 
 the doctor's old housekeeper came in, to see what the noise was 
 about, and I, by way of keeping it up, took Agnes by the hand, 
 and introduced her as Mrs. Elster. I did not understand the 
 woman's look of astonishment then; unfortunately, I have 
 understood it too well since." 
 
 Anne was growing painfully interested. 
 
 " Well, after that she threw herself upon me in a manner 
 
446 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 that — that was extraordinary to me, not having the key to it ; 
 and I — lost my head. Don't frown, Anne ; ninety-nine men 
 out of a hundred would have lost theirs ; and you'll say so, if 
 ever I give you the details. Of course blame attached to me ; 
 to me, and not to her. Though at the time I mentally gave 
 her, I assure you, her full share, somewhat after the manner 
 of the Pharisee condemning the publican. That also has come 
 home to me: she believed herself to be legally my wife; I 
 never cast a thought back upon that evening's farce, and should 
 have supposed its bearing any meaning a simple impossibility. 
 
 " A short while, and letters summoned me home ; my mother 
 was dangerously ill. I remember Agnes asked me to take her 
 with me, and I laughed at her. I arranged to write to her, and 
 promised to go back shortly — which, to tell you the truth, I 
 never meant to do. Having been mistaking her, mistaking her 
 still, I really thought her worth very little consideration. 
 Before I had been at home a fortnight I received a letter from 
 Dr. Mair, telling me that Agnes was showing symptoms of 
 insanity, and asking what provision I purposed making for 
 her. My sin was finding me out : I wondered how he had found 
 it out ; I did not ask, and did not know for years. I wrote 
 back, saying I would willingly take all expenses upon myself; 
 and inquired what sum would be required by the asylum — to 
 which he said she must be sent. He mentioned two hundred 
 a-year, and from that time I paid it regularly." 
 
 " And was she really insane ? " interrupted Lady Hartledon. 
 
 " Yes ; she had been so once or twice before — and this was 
 what the housekeeper had meant by saying she was with the 
 doctor that her health might be watched. It appeared that 
 when these symptoms came on, after I left, Gordon took upon 
 himself to disclose to the doctor that Agnes was married to me, 
 telling the circumstances as they had occurred. Dr. Mair got 
 frightened : it was no light matter for the son of an English 
 peer to have been deluded into marriage with an obscure and 
 insane girl, and the quarrel that took place between him 
 and Gordon on the occasion resulted in the latter's leaving. 
 I have never understood Gordon's conduct in the matter: 
 very disagreeable thoughts in regard to it come over me 
 sometimes." 
 
DIPPINa INTO VAL's desk. 
 
 447 
 
 "What thoughts?" 
 
 " Oh, never mind ; they can never be set at rest now. Let 
 me make short work of this story. I heard no more and 
 thought no more ; and the years went on, and then came my 
 marriage with Maude. We went to Paris — you cannot have 
 forgotten any of the details of that period, Anne ; and after our 
 return to London I was surprised by a visit from Dr. Mair. 
 That evening, that visit and its details, stamped themselves on 
 my memory for ever in characters of living fire." 
 
 He paused for a moment, and something like a shiver seized 
 him. Anne said nothing. 
 
 " Maude had gone with some friends to a fete at Chiswick, 
 and Thomas Carr was dining with me. Hedges came in and 
 said a gentleman wanted to see me — would see me, and would 
 not be denied. I went to him, and found it was Dr. Mair. In 
 that interview I learnt that by the laws of Scotland Miss 
 Waterlow was my wife." 
 
 " And the suspicion, that she was so, had never occurred to 
 you before ? " 
 
 " Anne ! Should I have been capable of marrying Maude, 
 or any one else, if it had? On my solemn word of honour, 
 before Heaven " — he raised his right hand as if to give effect to 
 his words — " such a thought had never crossed my brain. The 
 evening that the nonsense took place I only regarded it as a 
 jest, a pastime — what you will : had any one told me it was a 
 marriage I should have laughed at them. I knew nothing then 
 of the laws of Scotland, and should have thought it simply im- 
 possible that that minute's folly, and my calling her, to keep 
 up the joke, Mrs. Elster, could have constituted a marriage. I 
 think they all played a deep part, even Agnes. Not a soul had 
 so much as hinted at the word ' marriage ' to me after that 
 evening ; neither Gordon, nor she, nor Dr. Mair in his subse- 
 quent correspondence ; and in that he always called her 
 ' Agnes.' However — he then told me that she was certainly 
 my legal wife, and that Lady Maude was not. 
 
 "At first," continued the <earl, "I did not believe it; but 
 Dr. Mair persisted he was right, and the horror of the situa- 
 tion grew upon me. I told all to Carr, and took him up to 
 Dr. Mair. They discussed Scottish law and consulted law- 
 
448 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 books ; and the truth, so far, became apparent. Dr. Mair was 
 sorry for me ; he saw I had not erred knowingly in marrying 
 Maude. As to myself, I was helpless, prostrated ; a very worm, 
 abject on the ground. I asked the doctor, if it were really true, 
 why the fact had been kept from me : he replied that he sup- 
 posed I knew it, and that delicacy alone had caused him to 
 abstain from alluding to it in his letters. He had been very 
 angry when Gordon told him, he said ; grew half frightened 
 for consequences ; feared he should get into trouble for allow- 
 ing me to be so entrapped in his house ; and he and Gordon 
 parted at once. And then Dr. Mair asked a question which I 
 could not very well answer, why, if I did not know she was my 
 wife, had I paid so large a sum for Agnes. He had been bury- 
 ing the affair in silence, as he had assumed I was doing ; and 
 it was only the announcement of my marriage with Maude in 
 the newspapers that aroused him. He had thought I was act- 
 ing this bad part wilfully, knowingly ; and he went off at once 
 to Hartledon in anger; found I had gone abroad; and now 
 came to me on my return, still in anger, saying at first that he 
 should proceed against me, and obtain justice for Agnes. 
 When he found how utterly ignorant of wrong I had been, then 
 his tone changed ; he was truly sorry for me, and was, I 
 believe, nearly as grieved as I was. Nothing was decided: 
 except that Dr. Mair, in his compassion to Lady Maude, 
 promised not to be the first to take steps. It seemed that there 
 was only him to fear : George Gordon was reported to have 
 gone to Australia ; the old housekeeper was dead ; Agnes was 
 deranged. Dr. Mair left and Carr and I sat on till midnight. 
 Carr took what I thought a harsh view of the thing ; he urged 
 me to separate from Maude " 
 
 " I think you should have done so for her sake," came the 
 gentle interruption. 
 
 " For her sake ! the words Carr used. But, Anne, surely 
 there were two sides to the question. If I disclosed the facts, 
 and put her away from me, what was she? And she was 
 already expecting her child — him we have just buried. Be- 
 sides, the law might be against me — Scotland's iniquitous law ; 
 but in Heaven's sight Maude was my wife, not the other. So I 
 temporized, hoping that time might bring about a relief, for 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 449 
 
 Dr. Mair told me that Miss Wateiiow's healtli was failing. 
 However, she lived on, and " 
 
 Lady Hartledon started up, her face blanching. 
 
 " Is she not dead now ? Was she living when you married 
 me ? Am I your wife ? " 
 
 He could hardly help smiling. His calm touch on her 
 shoulder cooled the fever. 
 
 " Do you think you need ask it, Anne ? The next year. Dr. 
 Mair called upon me again — it was the evening before the boy 
 was christened ; he had come to London on business of his own. 
 To my dismay, he told me that a change for the better was ap- 
 pearing in Miss Waterlow's mental condition ; and he thought 
 it likely she might be restored to sanity. Of course it in- 
 creased the perplexities and my horror, had that been needed ; 
 but the hope or fear, or what you like to call it, was not borne 
 out. Three years later, the doctor came to me for the third and 
 final time, to bring me the news that Agnes was dead." 
 
 As the relief had been to him then, so did it almost seem 
 now to Lady Hartledon. A sigh of infinite pain, irrepressible, 
 broke from her. She had not seen where all this was tending. 
 
 " Lnagine, if you can, what it was for me all those years; 
 with the knowledge daily and nightly upon me that the dis- 
 graceful truth might at any moment come out to Maude — to 
 her children, to the world ! Living in the dread of arrest 
 myself, should the man Gordon show himself on the scene ! 
 And now you see what it is that has marred my peace, and 
 broken the otherwise happiness of our married life. How 
 could I bear to cross those two deeply-injured children, who 
 were ever rising up in judgment before me ? How take our 
 children's part against them, little unconscious things? It 
 seemed that I had always, daily, hourly, some wrong to make 
 up to them. The poor boy was heir to Hartledon in the eyes of 
 the world ; but, Anne, it was your boy who was the true heir." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me ? — all this time ! " 
 
 " I could not. I dared not. You might not have liked for 
 Reginald to be put out of his rights." 
 
 " Oh, Percival ; how can you so misjudge me ? " she asked, in 
 a tone of pain. " I would have guarded the secret as jealously 
 as you. I must still do it for Maude." 
 
 Elster's Folly. 29 
 
450 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 " Poor Maude ! poor child ! " he sighed. " Her mother for- 
 gave me before she died. She " 
 
 " She knew it, then ? " 
 u Yes. She " 
 
 Violent sounds, as of drumming on the door, and shouts for 
 him in the countess-dowager's voice, stopped the earl. 
 
 " I had better face her," he said, as he unlocked it. " She 
 will arouse the household." 
 
 Wild, frantic, intemperate, she met him with a volley of 
 abuse that startled Lady Hartledon. He got her to a sofa, and 
 gently held her down there. 
 
 " It's what I've been obliged to do all along," said Thomas 
 Carr ; " but she broke loose at last. Hartledon, I don't believe 
 she has heard ten words of my explanation ; she was too violent 
 to listen." 
 
 " Pray be calm. Lady Kirton," said the earl, soothingly ; " be 
 calm, as you value your daughter's memory. We shall have the 
 servants at the doors." 
 
 " I won't be calm ; I will know the worst." 
 
 " I wish you to know it ; but not others." 
 
 " Was Maude your wife ? " 
 
 " No," he answered, in a low tone. " Not " 
 
 " And are you not ashamed to confess it ? " she interrupted, 
 not allowing him to continue. But she was a little calmer in 
 manner; and the earl stood upright before her with folded 
 arms. 
 
 " I am ashamed and grieved to confess it ; but I did not 
 knowingly inflict the injury. In Scotland " 
 
 " Don't repeat the shameful tale," she cried ; " I have heard 
 from your confederate, Carr, as much as I want to hear of it. 
 What do you deserve for your treachery to Maude ? " 
 
 " All I have reaped — and more. But it was not intentional 
 treachery ; and Maude forgave me before she died." 
 
 " She knew it ! You told her ? Oh, you cruel animal ! " 
 
 " I did not tell her," replied the earl, patiently bearing with 
 the dowager. " She did as you have just done — interfered in 
 what did not concern her, in direct disobedience to my desire ; 
 and she found it out for herself, as you, madam, have found it 
 out;* 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL S DESK. 
 
 451 
 
 " When ? " 
 
 " The winter before her death." 
 " Then the knowledge killed her ! " 
 
 " No. Something else killed her, as you know. It preyed 
 upon her spirits." 
 
 The dowager rubbed her hot face, totally forgetting the 
 carmine ; and her cheeks grew into stripes, like a tiger's coat. 
 
 " Lord Hartledon, I can have you up for fraud and forgery, 
 and I'll do it. It will be the consideration of Maude's fame 
 against your punishment, and I'll make a sacrifice to revenge, 
 and prosecute you. I shall have all society condoling with me 
 for Maude's wrongs, from the queen upon her throne." 
 
 " There is no fraud where an offence is committed un- 
 wittingly," returned Lord Hartledon ; " and forgery is certainly 
 not amongst my catalogue of sins." 
 
 " You are liable for both," sullenly retorted the dowager ; 
 " you have stuck up ' Maude, Countess of Hartledon,' on her 
 monument, hard by here, in the church ; and what's that but 
 fraud and forgery ? " 
 
 " It is neither," was the earl's reply. " If Maude did not live 
 Countess of Hartledon, she at least went to her grave as such. 
 We were remarried, privately, before she died. Mr. Carr can 
 tell you so." 
 
 " It's false ! " raved the dowager. 
 
 " I arranged it, madam," interposed Mr. Carr. " Lord Hartle- 
 don and your daughter confided the management to me, and the 
 ceremony was performed in secrecy in London." 
 
 The dowager looked from one to the other ; her eyes rolling, 
 as if she were bewildered. 
 
 " Married her again ! why, that was making bad worse. Two 
 false marriages ! Did you do it to impose upon her ? " 
 
 " I see you do not understand," said Lord Hartledon. " The 
 — my — the person in Scotland was dead then. She w^as dead, 
 I am thankful to say, before Maude knew anything of the 
 affair." 
 
 Up started the dowager, all fire. " Then is the woman dead 
 now ? was she dead when you married her, Miss Ash ton ? " 
 laying her hand upon Lady Hartledon's arm, and shaking it. 
 "Are her children different from Maude's — born legally? " 
 
452 
 
 ELSTER S FOLLY. 
 
 " They are. It could not be otherwise." 
 " Her boy has really become Lord Elster ? " 
 " He was born so." 
 
 She flung Lady Hartledon's arm from her. Her voice rose 
 into a shriek. 
 
 " The child, Maude, is not Lady Maude ? " 
 The earl shook his head sadly. 
 
 " And your children are lords and ladies and honourables," 
 she said, darting a look of consternation at the countess, " whilst 
 my daughter's " 
 
 " Peace, Lady Kirton ! " sternly interrupted the earl. " Let 
 the child, Maude, be Lady Maude still to the world ; let your 
 daughter's memory be unaspersed and unsuspected. The facts 
 need never come out : I do not fear now that they ever will. I, 
 and my wife, and Thomas Carr, will guard the secret safely : 
 take you care to do so." 
 
 " I wish you had been hung before you had married Maude ! " 
 responded the aggrieved dowager. 
 
 " I wish I had," said he. 
 
 " Ugh ! " she grunted wrathfuUy, the ready assent not pleasing 
 her. 
 
 " With my poor boy's death the chief difficulty has passed 
 away," resumed Lord Hartledon. " How things would have 
 turned out, or what would have been done, had he lived, it has 
 well-nigh worn away my brain to dwell upon. Carr knows 
 that it has nearly killed me : my wife knows it." 
 
 "Yes, you could tell her things, and keep the diabolical 
 secret from poor Maude and from me," she returned, rather in- 
 consistently. " I don't doubt you and your wife have exulted 
 enough over it. Her son Lord Elster from the first ! " 
 
 " I never knew it until this night," said Lady Hartledon, 
 gently turning to the dowager. " It has grieved me deeply. 
 I shall never cease to feel for your daughter's wrongs ; and it 
 will only make me more tender and loving to her child. The 
 world will never know that she is not Lady Maude." 
 
 " Add the other name — Elster — because you know she has 
 no right to it," was the spiteful retort. " I wish to my heart 
 you had been drowned in your brother's place. Lord Hartledon ; 
 I wished it at the time." 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 453 
 
 " I know you did." 
 
 " You could not then have made fools of me and my dear 
 daughter; and the darling little cherub in the churchyard 
 would have been the real heir. I icish you had been ! There'd 
 have been a good riddance of you." 
 
 " It might have been better for me in the long-run," said he, 
 quietly, passing over the inconsistencies of her speech. " Little 
 peace or happiness have I had in living. Do not let us re- 
 criminate, Lady Kirton, or on some scores I might reproach 
 you. Maude loved my brother, and you knew it ; I loved Miss 
 Ashton, and you knew that : yet from the very hour the breath 
 was out of my brother's body you laid your plans and began 
 your schemes upon me." 
 
 " Hark at him ! " interrupted the dowager, appealing to 
 Mr. Carr, for want of some one else to appeal to. " Can't he 
 invent ! " 
 
 " I was weak as water in your hands, and fell into the snare," 
 he calmly went on. " The marriage was your work entirely ; 
 and in the fruits it has brought forth there might arise a nice 
 question. Lady Kirton, which of us is the most to blame : I, who 
 erred unwittingly, or you who " 
 
 " Will you have done ? " she cried ; " you'd talk a saint's 
 goodness out of him ! " 
 
 "I have nearly done. I only wish you to remember that 
 others may have been wrong, as well as myself. Dr. Ashton 
 warned us that night that the marriage might not bring a 
 blessing. Anne, it was a cruel wrong upon you," he added, 
 impulsively turning to her ; " you felt it bitterly, I shame- 
 fully; but, my dear wife, you have lived to see the wrong 
 was only in semblance ; that it was in reality a mercy in 
 disguise." 
 
 The countess-dowager, not finding words strong enough to 
 express her feelings at this, made a face at him. 
 
 " Let us be friends, Lady Kirton ! Let us join together 
 silently in guarding Maude's good name, and in burying the 
 past. In time perhaps even I may live it down. Not a human 
 being knows of it except us who are here and Dr. Mair, who 
 will for his own sake guard the secret. Maude was my wife 
 always in the eyes of the world ; and Maude certainly died so : 
 
454 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 all peace and respect to her memory ! As for my share, 
 retribution has held its heavy hand upon me ; it is upon me 
 still, Heaven knows. It was for Maude I suffered ; for Maude 
 I felt ; and if my life could have repaired the wrong upon her, 
 I would willingly have sacrificed it. Let us be friends : it 
 may be to the interest of both of us." 
 
 He held out his hand, and the dowager gave a sniff, and did 
 not repulse it. She had caught the word " interest." 
 
 " Now you might allow me Maude and that income ! " 
 
 " I think I had better allow you the income without Maude." 
 
 " Eh ? what ? " said the dowager, briskly. " Do you mean 
 it?" 
 
 "Indeed I do. I have been thinking for some little time 
 that you would be more comfortable in a home of your own, 
 and I am willing to help you to one. I'll pay the rent of a 
 nice little place in Ireland, and give you six hundred a-year, 
 paid quarterly, and — yes — make you a yearly present of ten 
 dozen of port wine." 
 
 Ah, the crafty man ! The last item had a golden sound in 
 it. Before the earl was aware, she had caught hold of his face 
 and kissed it with a loud noise. 
 
 " Honour bright, Hartledon ? " 
 
 "Honour bright! You shall never want for anything as 
 long as you live. But you must not " — the earl seemed to 
 search for his words — " you must undertake not to come here, 
 upsetting and indulging the children." 
 
 " I'll undertake it. Good wine, mind." 
 
 " The same that you have here." 
 
 The countess-dowager smacked her lijis. In the midst of 
 her happiness — and it w^as what she had not felt for many 
 a long day, for really the poor old creature had been put 
 about sadly — she bethought herself of propriety. Melting into 
 tears and sobs, which made her face more stripy than before, 
 she presently bewailed her exhaustion, and said she should 
 like some tea : perhaps good Mr. Carr would go to the side- 
 board in the dining-room and bring her a tea-spoonful of 
 brandy to put into it. 
 
 They got her hot tea, and Mr. Carr put the brandy in it, and 
 Anne took it to her on the sofa, and administered it lovingly. 
 
DIPPING INTO VAL's DESK. 
 
 455 
 
 her tears falling. Slie was thinking what an awful blow this 
 would have been to her own mother. 
 
 "Little Maucle shall be very dear to me always, Yal," 
 she whispered, looking up to her husband's face through her 
 tears. " This knowledge will make me doubly tender with 
 her." 
 
 He laid his hand fondly on her bright hair, giving her 
 one of his sweet sad smiles in answer. She could at length 
 understand what feelings, in regard to the children, had 
 actuated him. But from henceforth he would be just to all 
 alike; and Maude would receive her share of correction for 
 her own good. 
 
 " I always said you did not give me back the letter," observed 
 Mr. Carr to the earl, when they were alone together later ; and 
 Yal sat tearing up the letter into innumerable bits. 
 
 " And I said I did, simply because I could not find it. You 
 were right, Carr, as you always are." 
 
 "Not always. But I am sorry it came to light in this 
 way." 
 
 " Sorry ! " echoed the earl ; " it is the greatest boon that 
 could have fallen on me. The secret is, so to say, off my mind 
 now, and I can breathe as I have not breathed for years. If 
 ever a heartfelt thanksgiving went up to Heaven, one from me 
 will ascend to-night. And the dowager does not feel the past 
 a bit. She cared no more really for Maude than for any one 
 else. She can't care for any one. Don't think me harsh, Carr, 
 in saying so." 
 
 " I am sure she does not feel it," emi)hatically assented Mr. 
 Carr. " Had she felt it, she would not have ranted so. Thank 
 Heaven for your sake, Hartledon, that the miserable past is 
 over." 
 
 " And over better than I deserved." 
 
 A silence ensued, and Lord Hartledon flung the bits of paper 
 carefully into the fire. Presently he looked up, a strange 
 earnestness in his face. 
 
 " It is the custom of some of our cottagers here to hang up 
 embossed cards at the foot of their bed, with texts of Scripture 
 written on them. There is one verse I should like to hang 
 before every son of mine, though I had ten of them, that it 
 
456 
 
 elster's folly. 
 
 miglit meet their eyes always, last ere the evening's sleeping, 
 in the morning's first awaking. The ninth verse of the eleventh 
 chapter of Ecclesiastes." 
 
 "I don't remember which that is," observed Thomas Carr, 
 after a pause of thought. 
 
 " ' Eejoice, O young man, in thy youth ; and let thy heart 
 cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of 
 thine, heart, and in the sight of thine eyes : but know thou, that 
 for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.' " 
 
 THE END. 
 
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