OCT OF THE DARKNESS 
 
 file copy 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2019 with funding from 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 
 https://archive.org/details/outofdarknessOOfend 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS 
 
 BY 
 
 PEECY FEND ALL and FOX RUSSELL 
 
 LONDON 
 
 SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE 
 
 1897 
 
 (All riyhts reserved) 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 ►O*- 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 “ Then that will be judgment for my client, my Lord, 
 for £4000.” 
 
 The speaker, Sir Eustace Bevan, Q.C., slowly re¬ 
 sumed his seat, and proceeded to endorse his Brief 
 with a scratching quill pen, the noise of which could 
 be distinctly heard all over the hot and crowded 
 court. 
 
 The speaker’s air of weariness came not from any 
 affectation of the boredom of the day, but from 
 sheer physical exhaustion. 
 
 At six and thirty, this tall, aristocratic featured 
 man, whom Nature seemed to have fashioned to com¬ 
 mand armies, was day by day expending that force 
 and energy which might have carried him through the 
 hardest fought campaign, in forensic combat with the 
 
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 great intellects invariably found banded together 
 beneath the standard of the English Bar. His fine 
 presence and great earnestness, coupled with a com¬ 
 manding power of oratory seldom attained in these 
 days either in Church, Senate, or at the Bar, had 
 singled him out from amongst his fellows as a very 
 gladiator in the ranks of fighting Counsel, and within 
 ten years of being “called,” he had applied for 
 and justly obtained, the distinction of a silk gown. 
 Before another year had passed over his head, he 
 had an enormous practice, and was making a colossal 
 income. But greatness, which we are told invariably 
 brings its penalties with it, involved the still young 
 advocate in an amount of brain toil, which might, 
 without exaggeration, be described as slavery, and 
 Nature slowly, but none the less surely, was even 
 now beginning to take her revenge. No man, how¬ 
 ever strong, can go on, week in, week out, working 
 much, sleeping little, and taking exercise not at all. 
 From being a fine athlete, Eustace Bevan had now, 
 perforce, become merely a sedentary brain-worker, 
 whose intellectual fires were fast burning up his 
 physical strength. In short, though he never even 
 suspected it, the work was killing him. 
 
 “ Mills against Dryden,” called out the clerk of the 
 
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 O 
 
 court, in the mechanical tones of a man who is always 
 doing the same thing six days in the week. 
 
 The learned judge turned over a fresh page of his 
 note-book, tried a new nib on his thumb-nail, and 
 said— 
 
 “ Are you in this case, Sir Eustace ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, my Lord, I am for the plaintiff.” 
 
 Whereupon much shuffling of feet ushered in a 
 fresh Q.C., with his attendant Junior behind him, as 
 representing the defendant; and after Sir Eustace’s 
 Junior had opened the pleadings in an unintelligible 
 mumble, and resumed his seat, Sir Eustace himself 
 rose. 
 
 “May it please your Lordship; Gentlemen of the 
 Jury. This case, with which I fear I shall have to 
 occupy your attention for some considerable time 
 to-day, arises out of a somewhat curious set of cir¬ 
 cumstances. In the spring of last year, the plaintiff, 
 who is a banker at Leeds— ” and here the learned 
 Counsel paused for a moment, somewhat unaccount¬ 
 ably, as most of his audience thought. Passing his 
 hand across his face, he resumed, with a certain 
 appearance of distraction very unusual to him—“ re¬ 
 ceived a letter containing five drafts upon different 
 London banks-” Another pause, and again was 
 
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 the thin, nervous hand swept lightly across the 
 forehead. 
 
 Eesuming, with an obvious effort, he said—- 
 
 “ This letter—this letter was left upon the 
 table in the manager’s room—was on the table— 
 
 I—forget—forget the-” He swayed, recovered 
 
 himself momentarily, and then with a deep groan 
 pitched heavily forward, and fell across the desk in 
 front of him. 
 
 In a moment the prostrate man was surrounded 
 by dozens of ready helpers, whilst a perfect Babel of 
 advice broke out from the well of the court. 
 
 Above the din of many voices, the clear, incisive 
 tones of the Judge rose high and distinct. 
 
 “ Pray do not crowd round him, gentlemen, I beg 
 of you. The Court is so hot, he must be got outside 
 at once; ” and obeying the voice of authority, they 
 swiftly raised the apparently lifeless man, and bore 
 him gently from the Court into the somewhat purer 
 air of the robing-room beyond. 
 
 Medical aid was soon at hand, and in twenty 
 minutes’ time Sir Eustace was again conscious; but 
 he had entirely forgotten what had happened, and 
 even that he had been engaged in a case, that morn¬ 
 ing, at all. He half sat, half reclined in a chair, 
 
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 showing no inclination whatever to resume his 
 duties; in fact, it soon became abundantly clear that 
 his memory of things in the immediate past was a 
 blank. The machinery of the mind had run down, 
 the mental mechanism stopped, and Sir Eustace 
 Bevan’s brawny intellect was, for the time being, 
 like that of a little child. 
 
 “ I really think he ought to be taken home as soon 
 as possible. What an awful blow it will be to his 
 wife! ” whispered a leading Queen’s Counsel stand¬ 
 ing at the door of the room, to his neighbour, the 
 then Attorney-General, Sir Bichard Erskine. 
 
 The latter smiled grimly. 
 
 “ Think so ? ” he said. “ Well, I know Lady Bevan, 
 and—I think she will manage to bear up against 
 it.” 
 
 The first speaker shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 “ Then you don’t think it necessary to send some 
 one on to warn her ? ” 
 
 “Not in the least,” replied the great Law Officer. 
 “ The only shocks Lady Bevan would be unable to 
 bear are such things as the loss of her diamonds, or 
 an accident to a new costume on its road home. 
 But for such a small affair as the breakdown of her 
 husband’s health!—my dear Bissett, make yourself 
 
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 quite easy in your mind. She will bear that sort of 
 trouble with a fortitude which is more than Spartan ! ” 
 “ You know her, you say ? ” asked Bissett. 
 
 “ Yes—I know her,” was the reply, given with 
 a world of meaning in the speaker’s tones. 
 
 Just then a clerk hurried in, and informed Sir 
 Pichard Erskine that he was wanted in the Lord 
 Chief Justice’s Court. The Attorney-General nodded 
 to the man he had been speaking with, and left the 
 room, thus ending the conversation. Almost at the 
 same moment, a second doctor arrived, and after a 
 minute’s interview with his colleague, it was decided 
 to call a cab and convey Sir Eustace to his home in 
 Hyde Park Street without further delay. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 At the age of nineteen, Eustace Bevan, the only son 
 of a Balaclava veteran, Colonel George Bevan, Y.C., 
 of the 15th Dragoons, was holding a commission in 
 the “ Black ” Brigade, then serving in a frontier war 
 against the Malays. 
 
 Two years of hard work, soldiering, including 
 some half-dozen sharp brushes with the enemy, had 
 shown young Bevan to be made of the right stuff, 
 and given ample evidence that he was the worthy 
 son of a worthy father. Then, without warning of 
 any kind, news came to him which changed the 
 whole current of his life. A letter, brought up 
 country by a mounted messenger at the imminent 
 risk of his life, informed him that his father had 
 died some time previously; and a postscript, added 
 by the deceased Colonel’s lawyers, acquainted him 
 with the unpleasant fact that the estate was heavily 
 involved. 
 
8 
 
 CUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 The young man, although recognizing the necessity 
 which existed for his returning home at the earliest 
 possible opportunity, was much too good a soldier 
 to even wish to go whilst any fighting remained to 
 be done; so for several weeks he kept the news to 
 himself, merely mentioning the fact of his father’s 
 death to his Colonel and brother officers, but saying 
 nothing further. The weeks had passed into months 
 before the principal native chiefs formally capitulated, 
 and the war was over. 
 
 Directly affairs had been settled, the regiment 
 returned to England, and then it was that Eustace 
 Bevan applied for and obtained leave “ on urgent 
 private affairs.” 
 
 How “ urgent ” those “ private affairs ” were, none 
 knew except young Bevan himself and his solicitors. 
 When they had, together, probed the business to its 
 foundations, Eustace plainly saw that his career as a 
 soldier—unless he could live chiefiy on his pay, a 
 thing quite impossible of accomplishment in his own 
 regiment—was at an end. The old Colonel, brave as 
 a lion, honourable, and straight as a line in every¬ 
 thing, had had no head for financial matters ; agricul¬ 
 ture, from which most of his income was derived, was 
 very bad; rents, in consequence, almost impossible 
 
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 9 
 
 to get in. Always a generous man, lie was quite 
 incapable of pressing a tenant for liis rent, if 
 he thought the man was acting honestly and trying 
 to pay. Had any one defied him in the manner 
 affected by some of our Celtic neighbours, Colonel 
 Bevan would have used every means to crush him, 
 and then, when he had brought him to his knees, at 
 once have forgiven him every penny. 
 
 A charming character: full of strength, mingled 
 with that “ quality of mercy which is not strained,” 
 but, alas! in these degenerate days, not the character 
 of the successful money-maker. Thus things had 
 gone from bad to worse; as long as the old soldier 
 could keep his couple of hunters, and potter about 
 his land under the impression that he was farming; 
 as long as he could pay his way in keeping up his 
 modest establishment; and, beyond all, as long as he 
 could give his only son a sufficient allowance to 
 keep him in comfort in the Service, he did not trouble 
 about aught else. 
 
 At the time of his death, things were about at 
 their worst, or, at all events, within measurable 
 distance of that uncomfortable stage. 
 
 Eustace Bevan had a long interview with the 
 lawyers, and found them remarkably shrewd men 
 
10 
 
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 —in their own interests. What they thought of 
 Eustace may be gathered from the following scraps 
 of conversation which took place between the two 
 partners, Messrs. Eoe & Capias, as soon as the 
 young man had been politely shown out of their 
 office, in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. 
 
 “ Not much like the old Colonel, Eoe, eh ? ” 
 
 Eoe dry-shaved his chin for a few seconds before 
 replying. 
 
 “ Seems to be rather—er—um—rather masterful, 
 I think.” 
 
 “ Um—er—yes, I think so. Hardly has that 
 trust in us, as his legal advisers, that I like always 
 to see in a client. Wants to do too much in the 
 matter himself, don’t you think ? ” 
 
 “Just my opinion. That sort of thing really 
 strikes at the very root of—of—well, it makes busi¬ 
 ness bad, you know. There’s no, * I place myself 
 unreservedly in your hands, Mr. Eoe,’ as Lord 
 Muttonhead so flatteringly said to me yesterday. 
 Now, that’s really pleasurable.” 
 
 “ And profitable,” added Capias, thrusting his 
 hands deep into his trouser pockets. 
 
 “And profitable, as you say,” assented his 
 partner. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 11 
 
 “Afraid we shall have trouble with this young 
 fellow.” 
 
 “ Afraid so.” And thus the conversation ended. 
 
 As a matter of fact, these two worthies had 
 managed Colonel Sevan’s affairs iu a somewhat 
 slipshod fashion, which had cost the estate rather 
 dearly; and they had not, by any means, calculated 
 on having to face a clear-headed, determined young- 
 man, who insisted upon having the “ why ” and the 
 “ wherefore ” of every one of these dubious trans¬ 
 actions fully explained. “ A boy of twenty,” they 
 thought, would be easy enough to hoodwink; but in 
 the preliminary spar which had just taken place 
 between him, on the one part, and themselves on 
 the other, an uncomfortable feeling had forced itself 
 upon their minds that “ the Firm ” had come off 
 rather a poor second. 
 
 After several weeks of real hard work, Eustace 
 discovered that when all debts were cleared off, and 
 the scantv assets realized, there would be left an 
 income of somewhere about four hundred a year, 
 clear. Of this income he determined to give half to 
 his father’s sister, an old lady who had kept house 
 for the widowed officer for ten years past, and who 
 was wholly dependent upon him ; with the rest he 
 
12 
 
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 would qualify himself for some career in which lie 
 could make money, instead of remaining in the army, 
 where he could only spend it. It was a bitter pill to 
 swallow, this abandoning of a career in which he felt 
 all the “ sacred fire ” of success ; but natures so strong 
 as Eustace Bevan’s do not hesitate when a crisis in 
 life comes : they think, they see, and they strike. 
 So it was with him but a matter of one night’s 
 consideration what he should turn his hand to; next 
 day he sent in his papers, before proceeding to obtain 
 another interview within the classic precincts of 
 Lincoln’s Inn. 
 
 Mr. Boe, finding the game was up, and that not 
 even he and his adroit partner could manage to make 
 needless costs out of the Bevan estate under the eyes 
 of so careful a guardian of its interests as Eustace, 
 gracefully acceded to that gentleman’s request that 
 they should now hand over all the documents 
 belonging to his late father, and close accounts, as 
 he intended for the future to manage everything 
 himself. 
 
 In delivering up the parchments, Mr. Boe allowed 
 himself the small jocularity of complimenting Eustace 
 on his businesslike head. 
 
 “ It’s real wasted material—your brain power—in 
 
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 13 
 
 the army, Mr. Bevan ; it really is. Why, now, don’t 
 yon turn your attention to the higher branch of our 
 own profession ? Why don’t you go to the Bar ? ” 
 
 “ That is exactly what I am going to do, Mr. Roe,” 
 quietly replied the young man, as he gathered up his 
 papers. 
 
 Mr. Roe stared ; and as their late client walked out 
 of the room, and the door closed behind him, he 
 turned to his partner and said— 
 
 “ Then I’ll be hanged if I don’t send him all our 
 work, Capias.” 
 
14 
 
 OUT OF THU DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Lady Bevan happened to have several engagements 
 in the afternoon of the day on which her husband’s 
 health broke down so lamentably. With admirable 
 energy she had contrived to get a Patti concert, a 
 visit to a studio, and a couple of afternoon teas into 
 the hours which elapsed between her luncheon and 
 dinner. 
 
 It was when driving home that her attention was 
 arrested by the sight of a placard bearing the startling 
 announcement, “ Sudden illness of Sir Eustace Bevan, 
 Q.C. Painful scene in Court.” 
 
 The carriage was stopped, and the footman produced 
 a penny to buy the paper. 
 
 “ It is nothing,” said Lady Bevan to her servant, 
 after having quickly scanned the account which the 
 paper gave. “ Sir Eustace fainted from the heat of 
 the Court. Still, drive home as fast as you can.” 
 
 Lady Bevan had not much experience of illness. 
 She thought it silly of her husband to faint in Court; 
 
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 15 
 
 only women ought to have nerves, and it would 
 injure him in his profession. Who would care to 
 entrust his case to an advocate who wasn’t steady on 
 his legs ! And then these horrid newspapers, how 
 they exaggerated things. Her husband’s illness was 
 made as much of as the Armenian atrocities, and 
 was actually printed in larger type than “ The Situ¬ 
 ation in Turkey.” “ I suppose I shall have to give 
 up dining out to-night, and there is the Gramonts’ 
 ball, too; perhaps I had better go to that, to reassure 
 people. It is no use to make him out worse than he 
 is. What a nuisance—just at the height of the 
 season.” 
 
 These and similar thoughts occupied her until she 
 reached Hyde Park Street, and here her face assumed 
 the anxious expression necessary for the occasion. 
 
 The servants told her that Sir Eustace had gone to 
 bed, and was suffering from his head. 
 
 “ I don’t go to bed for a headache,” thought Lady 
 Bevan, as she crept noiselessly into the invalid’s 
 room. 
 
 Her husband looked much the same as usual; he 
 was propped up by half a dozen pillows, to keep the 
 blood from his head, and he smiled a weak welcome 
 to his wife as she entered the room. 
 
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 “ You poor dear, wliat is the matter with you ? ” she 
 said soothingly. 
 
 “ I’m all right now,” he answered; “ only, I was 
 taken ill in Court—my head.” 
 
 “ Yes, I know; there is an account of it in the 
 paper.” 
 
 Then she turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Simmons, 
 who had already installed herself as nurse, and said— 
 
 “ Has he seen a doctor ? ” 
 
 “ Sir Eichard Lane and Dr. Carter have both been 
 here,” replied Mrs. Simmons. 
 
 “ What did they say ? ” 
 
 “ Sir Eustace is to be kept very quiet, and see no 
 one. Dr. Carter will return after dinner.” 
 
 “ Then good-bye to my dinner and ball,” thought 
 Lady Bevan, but the look of annoyance on her face 
 might have passed merely for wifely anxiety and 
 devotion. 
 
 After dinner, Dr. Carter told her that her husband’s 
 condition was more serious than she imagined. A 
 break-down of mental power was one of the worst 
 symptoms a man like Sir Eustace could have. Lady 
 Bevan looked agonized. 
 
 “Was he going out of his mind ? ” she ventured to 
 
 inquire. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 17 
 
 The doctor reassured her on this point, but Lady 
 Bevan required greater assurances. 
 
 “ Was he sure that it wasn’t softening of the brain, 
 or creeping paralysis ? Why should a man of his 
 age require rest and quiet ? She herself was nearly 
 thirty, and all she required was excitement and 
 amusement.” 
 
 “ I shall confer with Sir Bichard Lane to-morrow, 
 and it is probable that we shall prescribe a long rest 
 in the country,” said Dr. Carter, uncompromisingly. 
 
 “ Is he really so ill as that ? ” asked Lady Bevan, 
 dismayed. “I suppose six weeks’ rest will set him 
 up ? 
 
 The doctor smiled. 
 
 “ I doubt if six months’ will,” he said dryly. “ A 
 man like Sir Eustace cannot afford to play with his 
 health.” 
 
 “ But you say it is only overwork ? ” 
 
 “And there is nothing worse.” 
 
 With these comforting words he left her. 
 
 “ Indefinite rest in the country,” thought Lady 
 Bevan ; “ how absolutely dreadful! Best means no 
 income, and the country means everything that is 
 hateful, and the absence of all that is nice in life.” 
 
 She returned to her husband’s room and sat there 
 
18 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 with him, speaking softly and sweetly, and thinking 
 all the time that she herself would have to invent 
 a counter-illness for which rest and the country 
 would be absolutely fatal. She held her husband’s 
 hand and told him that he was less feverish, and she 
 gave minute directions as to how his lemonade was 
 to be made, and throughout all she was debating 
 within herself whether her illness should take the 
 form of “ nerves,” or anemic; nerves were very 
 inscrutable, and required most careful treatment. 
 Anemic, on the other hand, had outward and visible 
 signs, which she might not be able to produce. 
 
 “ I must have nerves,” she decided; “ nerves which 
 would drive me out of my mind if I had to go and 
 live in the country. It will be no use to explain 
 this to Dr. Carter, he is too earnest and obtuse. 
 Sir Richard Lane admires me, he will prescribe any¬ 
 thing I like.” 
 
 And then she thought that a temporary separation 
 from her husband would be by no means unbearable. 
 Such love as they had had for each other, had died 
 the natural death inevitable to a marriage arranged 
 by parents. Lady Be van had a worldly mother, who 
 had advantageously married three daughters. When 
 it came to Angela’s turn to be provided with a 
 
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 10 
 
 husband, her mother told her that she must not 
 hesitate to accept Sir Eustace; he was certainly the 
 man of the day, and on the road to making ten to 
 twelve thousand a year. 
 
 “As a rule, men who make money don’t like to 
 spend it,” she said; “but barristers are different, 
 they begin by having uncertain, precarious incomes, 
 so that later on, when they are rich, they don’t care.” 
 
 Angela listened to her mother’s advice, and obeyed 
 it to the letter. At first she loved her husband with 
 a sort of timid, bread-and-butter love. Later on she 
 found that this love was all wrong; her husband 
 was very kind, very devoted to her, but it was not 
 the love she had dreamed of as a young girl. 
 
 In spite of her worldly mother, and sisters’ practical 
 examples, Angela, at that time, was possessed of 
 a strong vein of romance. 
 
 Sir Eustace allowed her to spend what money she 
 liked, and he made great sacrifices to be with her as 
 much as possible, but this was not enough. Angela 
 wanted an eternal honeymoon, and love to come 
 before everything. As this was impossible, they 
 drifted slowly apart, and after two years’ marriage, 
 she accepted the inevitable for a woman of her 
 temperament—a lover. 
 
20 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 From a worldly point of view, Angela made a wise 
 selection. 
 
 Miguel Gonzalo was the London representative of 
 the great banking house of Gonzalo Brothers, and 
 was immensely rich. If vice you must have, it is 
 better to have it gilded. Poor vice is contemptible 
 and illogical. 
 
 Naturally, Gonzalo was the first person to call and 
 inquire after Sir Eustace. 
 
 Lady Be van was bathing her husband’s head with 
 Eau de Gologne when the Spaniard’s card was 
 brought up to her. She hastily transferred her 
 occupation to Mrs. Simmons, and went to meet him 
 in the drawing-room. 
 
 All the wifely anxiety, the troubled uncertainty 
 of the future disappeared, and gave way to beaming 
 delight as she entered the room and saw Gonzalo, 
 handsome and impressive, leaning against the 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 He came forward to greet her, and with mock 
 solicitude, said— 
 
 <£ Your husband is very ill ? ” 
 
 “ He has got a bad headache,” said Angela, care¬ 
 lessly. 
 
 “ Is that all ? ” said the Spaniard, smiling. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 21 
 
 “ I can’t see that he has anything else the matter 
 with him; but the doctors say that he is utterly 
 broken down, and that we shall have to go and 
 live in the country.” 
 
 She watched the effect of her words, and was 
 pleased to see that Gonzalo winced. 
 
 “Live in the country! ” he repeated. “But that 
 would be terrible.” 
 
 “ So terrible that I do not intend to entertain the 
 idea for one moment,” she said. 
 
 “ Of course not—it would be impossible,” he 
 replied; and then, bending down and kissing her, 
 he repeated, “ Impossible.” 
 
 “ It would be for me,” she said hurriedly, and 
 almost under her breath. “ I could not leave you, 
 Miguel; you are part of my life.” 
 
 Miguel had often been told that he was part 
 of a woman’s life, but he never got tired of hear¬ 
 ing it. 
 
 “You are all my life,” he answered, with lying 
 promptitude. “ Are you going to the Gramonts’ ? ” 
 he asked later on. 
 
 “ Oh no; how can I ? ” she answered. “ I am 
 up to my eyes in lotions and compresses and 
 ‘ Bigollots ’ at the back of his head. I don’t suppose 
 
22 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 I shall ever go to a ball again. If I am married to 
 a valetudinarian, my life is over.” 
 
 “ Don’t be pessimistic,” be said, laughing; “ be is 
 only a little overworked.” 
 
 “ That is what I say,” said Angela. “ Only Dr. 
 Carter tried to frighten me out of my senses; but 
 I won’t be frightened. I am going to bear up, and 
 be stoic; ” and then she added, piteously, “ If he 
 can’t work, we shan’t have any money. I suppose I 
 shall have to go out as a governess! ” 
 
 “ Oh, money doesn’t matter,” said Gonzalo, 
 grandly. 
 
 “Not to you, perhaps, who are overpoweringly 
 rich,” she said. 
 
 “ And it shall never matter to you,” he replied, 
 with such sincerity that Angela felt that she loved 
 him as she had never loved him before. 
 
 When he had taken his departure, and Angela 
 was again seated at the bedside of her husband, 
 her thoughts were much pleasanter than before. 
 
 . There could be no doubt that Miguel was devoted 
 to her, heart and soul. If a catastrophe should 
 occur—not that she hoped it would, only life was 
 so uncertain—of course he would marry her. 
 
 There would be an end to clandestine meetings 
 
 o > 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 23 
 
 and lies, and all the drawbacks of their present posi¬ 
 tion. She loved her handsome Spaniard with a sensual 
 love, which to herself she attempted to idealize. 
 
 It was because he understood her, and saw how 
 wasted her life had been, that she felt drawn towards 
 him. In this she was right. 
 
 Gonzalo did understand her. He, better than 
 any one else, saw through her shallow, vain nature, 
 and speculated on her love of admiration. She was 
 an easy conquest, and as such he did not prize her 
 very highly; but his love would probably last 
 through the season. 
 
 She was certainly one of the best-looking women 
 in London, always well dressed, and with a quiet 
 little chic of her own, nothin gloutre or overdone in 
 any of her surroundings. All was ordered in good 
 taste, even her deception of Sir Eustace. 
 
 She never sat out dances with Gonzalo, or allowed 
 him in any way to compromise her. She was 
 always affectionate and dutiful to her husband, 
 acquiescing in all his wishes, and consulting him 
 in everything. It was so much better to be open 
 and above-board, thought Angela. 
 
 She told her husband of Gonzalo’s visit when she 
 returned to his room. It was very kind of him to 
 
24 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 call—only a foreigner would venture to do so at 
 such a late hour in the evening, she declared; and 
 then she added that some newspaper reporters had 
 also called, and Gonzalo and the reporters were now 
 together. 
 
 Later on a nurse arrived—a demure young lady 
 with a clanging chatelaine, which Angela very 
 sweetly asked her to take off. 
 
 Her husband was not likely to require surgical 
 instruments in the night, she said. The nurse 
 looked pert, and said they were only scissors, and 
 little things containing needles and pins, etc., which 
 were generally necessary in a sick room. 
 
 But Angela had her own way in this, as in most 
 things. She was a very devoted wife, and quite 
 willing to nurse her husband in the daytime; but 
 sitting up at night gave her a pain in the back and 
 a headache. 
 
 The demure nurse agreed with her that it was 
 very trying, and volunteered the further information 
 that she liked “ exciting cases,” and “ disliked every¬ 
 thing that dragged.” 
 
 Lady Bevan hated her on the spot, and wished 
 her a civil good night. 
 
 And then, the next day, the sentence was pro- 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 25 
 
 nonneed by the doctors that Sir Eustace must give 
 up all work for a year at least. 
 
 There was a slight threatening of brain trouble, 
 which was easily curable by absolute rest, but 
 which might develop into serious complications 
 unless this course was adopted. 
 
 A year seemed a terrible verdict to Angela. How 
 could she be expected to bury herself in the country 
 for three hundred and sixty-five days, and keep 
 aloof from all society ? The idea was preposterous ; 
 and yet it must be carried out. 
 
 Sir Eustace could not be allowed to drift into a 
 state of imbecility; only, surely it would not be 
 necessary for her to share his exile ? 
 
 She suggested a sea voyage to the doctors; being 
 a very bad sailor, no one would expect her to make 
 the sacrifice of accompanying him, but the doctors 
 would not hear of it. Sir Eustace must go and live 
 like a vegetable in the country, seeing as few people 
 as possible, and avoiding all excitement. 
 
 Angela suppressed the anger which these orders 
 created. She smiled a sickly smile of acquiescence 
 —it was the only thing to be done. Later on she 
 would develop her own illness, which would require 
 an altogether different regime. 
 
2G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Lying at the foot of a long hill, and overlooking a 
 vast expanse of the Weald of Kent, lies a cosy little 
 rectory house, divided only by a trim, well-kept 
 garden from the grey old church beyond. 
 
 Past the lich-gate, past the square, squat Norman 
 tower, a footpath leads across pleasant meadows, 
 where soft-eyed cows munch the rich lush grass, to 
 the great stone Manor House, nearly a mile beyond 
 the village of Seccombe, in which the Rectory stands. 
 
 “Village ” seems almost too urban a term to apply 
 to the half-dozen or so of cottages which form the 
 hamlet; but there are a few other houses a little 
 way out, mostly those of people too impoverished 
 by the distressed state of agriculture to afford to 
 live elsewhere, and certainly, if Seccombe could 
 boast of nothing else, it could truthfully lay claim 
 to affording cheap living. 
 
 When one resides out of range of cities, clubs. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 27 
 
 streets, and shops, it is surprising indeed to find how 
 few and how modest one’s wants are. 
 
 But the place has better gifts than can he offered 
 by great cities : good air that lightens man’s lungs; 
 scenery that delights his eye; health, for all who 
 choose to seek it. All these may be had there for 
 the asking. 
 
 Within the study of the parsonage house, the 
 Bector—affectionately known amongst his parish¬ 
 ioners as the Beverend Jack, but whose real name 
 is John Bower—sits with his chair pulled close up 
 to the bright wood fire. His muddy boots tell of 
 long tramping in the hedge-rowed lanes, his trousers 
 are still turned up at the ends, as they had been 
 when he came in some half an hour since. He was 
 placidly looking up at the oak beams which sup¬ 
 ported the ceiling, and equally placidly sucking at 
 his pipe, a picture of real contentment—of that 
 pleasurable fatigue which comes after a day ^of 
 honest work, “ well and truly done.” 
 
 Facing him sat a man of about his own age- 
 bet ween sixty and seventy—also in the enjoyment 
 of his pipe—one filled with peculiarly strong and 
 rank-flavoured tobacco—with fierce, harshly marked 
 features, rugged and weatherbeaten. He formed a 
 
28 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 strong contrast to his host; and truly, the lines had 
 fallen unto them in very different places. For 
 Admiral Thomas Stanforth had been fighting his 
 ships’ boats in many a hard tussle, and seeing service 
 in every quarter of the globe, whilst his old friend 
 was taking “ a Cure of souls ” in the little Kentish 
 village where we find the twain now. 
 
 In no one respect were the men alike, yet dearer 
 friends at heart never lived. Their regard for each 
 other was as that of Jonathan and David, “ passing 
 the love of women.” 
 
 They puffed on at their tobacco in solemn silence 
 for some minutes. Then the Admiral appeared to 
 get into a difficulty with his pipe. It went out; 
 whereupon he struck a match on his trousers leg, 
 and relit it. Then the peccant pipe went out again. 
 The Admiral gazed upon it with ineffable disgust for 
 about five minutes, and then solemnly ejaculated— 
 
 “ Damn this pipe ! ” 
 
 Silence again ensued; after a prolonged pause it 
 was broken by the Hector. 
 
 ‘'Tom,” said he, in meditative tones, “I think 
 you ought not to swear.” 
 
 The Admiral paused in the act of reaching for 
 another match. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 29 
 
 “ Ought not to what ? ” 
 
 “ Swear,” repeated the smooth, placid voice. 
 
 “ So you said last week. Now don’t you be a 
 fool, Jack, and come the sky-pilot over me. Now, 
 d’you suppose I could have commanded the Channel 
 Fleet without swearing ? Think you could have 
 commanded the Channel Fleet even with swearing ? 
 No ; well , then! ” concluded the Admiral, with a 
 triumphant ring in his voice as though he had 
 clinched the argument for ever. 
 
 The Eeverend Jack sighed gently. In his own 
 mind he did not really object to what “ fighting 
 Tom ” called “ a good hearty d—n,” so, like many 
 others in this weak world, he effected a compromise 
 with his conscience, and determined not to interfere 
 with his friend’s embellishments if they transgressed 
 no further than this. But for the incident of the 
 pipe going out, and the talk which it involved, the 
 Admiral would probably have dropped off to sleep, 
 as was “ his custom of an afternoon,” and clean 
 forgotten the very object of his visit to the Kectory. 
 
 “ Reminds me ”—he grunted out, having at last 
 induced the pipe to draw —“ reminds me; meant to 
 tell you before; forgot all about it; just like me. 
 Want you to come across and play whist to-night. 
 
30 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Met a fellow here a few days a^o, at my sister-in- 
 law’s; last man in the world I ever expected to see 
 at Seccombe—lawyer chap called Bevan; was cross- 
 examined by him a year ago. You remember the 
 case ; I was a witness—steam-ship case.” He paused, 
 but not getting any answer from the Bector, he burst 
 out— 
 
 “ Damme, you must remember it, Jack! for I had 
 to get a new hat to go in—cost me eight-and-sixpence, 
 and never had it on but that once, confound it all! 
 Well, this lawyer fellow was asking me all sorts of 
 questions in Court, instead of letting me spin my 
 yarn my own way. At last I got out of temper.” 
 
 “At last ? ” gently queried the voice from the dark 
 recesses of the opposite armchair, with the slightest 
 possible shade of sarcasm in the tones. “ At last, did 
 you say ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, stow your chaffing. I got out of temper and 
 said, ‘ Look here, you’re a lawyer, and I’m not; but 
 have you ever held the Queen’s commission ? and 
 have you ever embarked the Queen’s troops ? ’ and, 
 by George ! Sir, I thought I had him, when blessed 
 if he didn’t smile pleasantly and say, ‘ Yes, Admiral, 
 I’ve done both ; ’ and then all the silly fools in Court 
 sniggered. I'll own I was a bit staggered myself,” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 31 
 
 went on the old seaman somewhat ruefully, as 
 memory brought back the scene of his discomfiture 
 vividly to his mind. 
 
 “ Seems he’s been in the ‘ Black Brigade,’ and 
 seen service against the Malays in Perak. Well, I 
 never bear malice, and when my sister said, ‘ Thomas, 
 you remember Sir Eustace Bevan ? ’ I said, ‘ Hullo ! 
 who the devil would have thought of seeing you 
 here ? ’ Then I looked him all over, and saw he had 
 been very ill. ‘ I thought you were a ghost; what’s 
 the matter ? ’ said I. ‘ Only a case of breakdown 
 from overwork,’ says he, calm and cool, just as he 
 was that day in Court. ‘ You look as if you’d got 
 one foot in the grave,’ says I. ‘ And-’ ” 
 
 But here the Piector broke in. 
 
 “ Tom, you really are most inconsiderate. How 
 could vou have said such an awful thino’ to a man in 
 
 o 
 
 a bad state of health ? ” 
 
 “ What’s the good of telling lies ? ” grunted the 
 Admiral; “ much better to tell ’em, out and out, how 
 they look. Well, he told me he had taken Furness 
 Cottage, up the lane here, and meant to rest for a 
 year. ‘ I doubt you’ll live six months,’ says I, and 
 then he-” 
 
 The Piector groaned. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “Torn! Tom! tliis is just how you behaved to 
 poor young Mainwaring, when he got that had 
 fall hunting; they still say you frightened him to 
 death. 5 ’ 
 
 “ Stuff and nonsense ! Why, you know I dropped 
 in just to cheer him up every day, and I was the 
 only one that told him the truth. Silly fool of a 
 doctor thought he’d live. ‘ Not a bit of it,’ says I; 
 ‘ you’ll die, my boy; ’ told him so all along, and die 
 he did,” and ‘ fighting Tom ’ wagged his head in 
 triumph at Mr. Bower, who, seeing the hopelessness 
 of argument, merely cast his eyes up to the ceiling 
 again, and ejaculated— 
 
 “ Well ? ” 
 
 “ Well, lie’s a cool hand, this Bevan.” He said, 
 ‘ Very possibly, Admiral, but I’ll take your hundred 
 to sixty that I don’t; ’ and by Jove ! Sir, I laid him 
 the bet, there and then.” 
 
 “ Tom, any one would think you were a brutal 
 ruffian, instead of one of the most tender-hearted 
 creatures alive.” 
 
 “ Bah ! Well, we had some more talk, and the long 
 and the short of it is that I asked him to play whist 
 to-night. His wife’s gone back to London, and he’s 
 all alone. He looks just about strong enough to lift 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 33 
 
 one card at a time—blessed if he wouldn’t have to 
 take both hands to raise the pack! ” 
 
 “ Very well, then, I’ll come. I shall be glad to 
 meet him. Will he be likely to come to the church, 
 do you think ? ” 
 
 “ blot if you preach such infernal bad sermons as 
 you did last Sunday,” promptly rejoined the Admiral, 
 sending the big tabby cat flying from his knees, 
 where she had just climbed up, as he rose to go. 
 
 “ Ah! ” sighed the Eector, gently, “ you didn’t 
 understand it, old fellow, and then-” 
 
 “Understand! understand!” snapped the other; 
 “ nothing to understand about it, was there ? All 
 rubbish. Why don’t you say outright, ‘ Look here, 
 my lads ’—I mean ‘ my friends,’ if that’s the correct 
 term —* if you go straight, and preserve discipline, 
 you’ll go to heaven ; if you don’t—why, you’ll get 
 your sailing orders for the other side of the tropics' ? 
 All the highfalutin’ that you put in besides—why, 
 don’t it all come to the same thing- in the end ? 
 Course it does. All that you white-chokered chaps 
 have got to say is just this : ‘ Heaven here, hell 
 there; take your choice; ” and the Admiral, firmly 
 under the impression that he had made a compre¬ 
 hensive (if brief) summary of the Christian Faith, 
 
u OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 to which nothing could be usefully added, rammed 
 his huge soft felt hat upon his head, nodded to his 
 old friend, and said, as he stumped out of the room— 
 “ Half-past eight, Jack.” 
 
 “ Half-past eight, Tom.” 
 
 And so the two old cronies parted. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 35 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Furness Cottage, where Sir Eustace was to rest for 
 a year, had been taken for him by the Admiral’s 
 sister-in-law, Mrs. Stanforth, who had known Angela 
 before she was married. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth lived at Seccombe Manor House, 
 and played Lady Bountiful to the surrounding neigh¬ 
 bourhood ; and she had written to Angela when she 
 heard of her husband’s illness, and suggested that the 
 Bevans should pay them a visit, and look about for 
 a house which would suit them. Angela explained 
 to Mrs. Stanforth that the most crushing part of her 
 t rouble was that she would not be able to be much 
 with her husband. Sir Richard Lane had been as 
 inexorable with regard to her health as he was con¬ 
 cerning Sir Eustace’s. The latter required quiet, and 
 she required saline baths for her nerves! Wasn’t it 
 dreadful ? She must either go to Salies or to Biarritz, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 ;u; 
 
 and Sir Kichard would not be responsible for the 
 consequences if slie disobeyed his orders. 
 
 Good Mrs. Stanfortli sympathized deeply with her, 
 and promised to look after Sir Eustace to the best of 
 her ability. And then she discovered Furness Cottage, 
 and Angela paid it a visit, and declared it was the very 
 thing, and that she would love to live there herself if 
 only Providence would allow her to do so, etc. She 
 prattled on about the smell of the roses, and how she 
 hated London; and she tried a few feeble metaphors 
 about leafy lanes and bubbling brooks, and Mrs. 
 Stanforth thought her very much improved. As a 
 girl she had been considered fast, but evidently 
 marriage had improved her, and turned her into a 
 very charming woman. She regretted, indeed, that 
 Angela would not be much at the Cottage; she would 
 have been such a nice companion for her daughter 
 Monica, who had no sisters, and few friends in the 
 neighbourhood. Lady Bevan at once set to work 
 and made the Cottage as comfortable and luxurious 
 as possible. 
 
 “ Toor Eustace must have his favourite armchair, 
 etc.,” so no money was spared in making the place 
 habitable. All the home comforts were transferred 
 to the little Kentish village, and Lady Bevan was 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 37 
 
 generally admitted to be one of the most devoted 
 wives ever seen; not a single detail was overlooked 
 by her when making all the arrangements, and of 
 course it was very unfortunate that she could not 
 enjoy them herself; but that was not to be—the 
 doctors had ordered her abroad “to take the baths,’’ 
 and equally, of course, it was of no use to consult 
 doctors if you disobeyed their orders. 
 
 She would put off going as long as ever she could, 
 but it came to that at last. Mrs. Stanforth sympa¬ 
 thized with her, and told her she didn’t look ill; and 
 Lady Bevan agreed, and said she felt like an 
 impostor; but she suffered terribly in the night—she 
 had pins-and-needles in her back when awake, and 
 horrible nightmares when asleep. Sir Bichard Lane 
 perfectly understood these symptoms, and said that 
 saline baths would cure them. Nowadays you 
 hadn’t to go to Salies, the water was brought to 
 Biarritz, and you could have the double advantage of 
 the baths and fresh sea air. All this was explained 
 so earnestly, and yet so sadly, that Mrs. Stanforth 
 was fain to believe every word of it; and then, after 
 having produced this excellent impression, and 
 squeezed out a few tears, which came from some 
 mysterious fount, Angela simulated a kiss by making 
 
38 
 
 OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 a peck at her husband's forehead, and took her 
 departure. 
 
 Sir Eustace would have liked her to remain, and 
 did not hide from her his annoyance at her leaving 
 him. ITe realized how ephemeral her love had been, 
 how entirely she was devoted to pleasure, and yet 
 he had hoped that, perhaps, here in the country, away 
 from the excitement of London life, they might have 
 made another commencement. 
 
 Perhaps he had left her too much alone, and not 
 taken sufficient account of the fact that she was 
 young and attractive, and had always accustomed 
 herself to being spoilt. 
 
 Angela had never complained, but somehow the 
 marriage had not been a success. Now they were 
 almost strangers. She certainly consulted him in 
 everything she did, and explained very categorically 
 how the money was spent, for which he gave her 
 cheques, but she took not the slightest interest in his 
 life; she never talked to him of any of his celebrated 
 cases, or congratulated him on any particular success. 
 It seemed as if he scarcely existed in her life, except 
 as a banker. Was it his fault for having slightly and 
 unconsciously neglected her, or had she really never 
 cared for him ? 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 39 
 
 When lie saw her so attentive during his illness, 
 lie thought that their estrangement must have come 
 about through his fault, and he was grateful to 
 her for all she did, and a hope was bom that their 
 original love would live again. But dead love is like 
 King Humpty Dumpty: “ All the king’s horses and 
 all the king’s men,” etc. No, Angela had ceased to 
 care for him ; she was ice itself to any advance he 
 might make, and only longed for a decent excuse to 
 get away from him. And yet he still believed in 
 her. He believed the story of the nerves and the 
 saline baths, and he let her go. As long as she was 
 at the Cottage she nursed him admirably, and did all 
 that was possible, and yet within her raged the fire 
 of discontent, and the wild longing to be back in 
 London with her beloved Gonzalo. 
 
 The restraint of a quiet country life almost gave 
 her the illness she was already supposed to have. 
 The stillness of the air, the drowsy hum of the bees, 
 even the delicious scent of the flowers, all conduced 
 towards her nerve illness. 
 
 She wrote to Miguel and told him this—she wrote 
 long hysterical letters, in which all the passion of her 
 nature was displayed with scarcely any reserve; and 
 Miguel smiled a well-satisfied smile as he read these 
 
40 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 outpourings of a tormented soul, and thought to him¬ 
 self that in her great and overwhelming love she had 
 ceased to be amusing. 
 
 And then came the happy release—the day on 
 which she was allowed to go back to London. 
 
 She had really been making herself ill in the 
 country, and the result was shown in her face. She 
 looked ten years older even to herself, as she carefully 
 dressed before the looking-glass. Happiness is of 
 course the only beautifier in the world. Some 
 people suggest virtue as being better still, but 
 Angela was not of this opinion. She knew it was 
 her sleepless nights and her moral prison which had 
 given her “ lines,” and a haggard, pinched expression. 
 
 She would be all right when once again in 
 London. 
 
 Sir Eustace was already better for the two or three 
 weeks he had spent in the country, and notwith¬ 
 standing Admiral Stanforth’s ominous predictions, he 
 had gained strength every day. 
 
 He was pleased to find himself among such 
 congenial friends, and the little excitement of the 
 Admiral’s whist-party made a pleasant break in the 
 monotony of his evenings. He liked “ the Reverend 
 Jack,” with his mild and ineffectual reproval of his 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 * 41 
 
 host’s unceasing imprecations; and if the play and 
 the stakes were not up to “ Turf ” form, the interest 
 was just as keen, and the amusement just as great. 
 
 “ No spade ! ” from the Admiral. “ Damme, sir, 
 will you swear you have no spade ? ” 
 
 “ I think we have had enough swearing,” from the 
 Eector. 
 
 These were among the mild criticisms of the 
 evening. 
 
 The fourth player was the village doctor, a strug¬ 
 gling young man with a hesitating manner and 
 speech, which strongly militated against his advance¬ 
 ment in life. Amongst men, and playing sixpenny 
 whist, this young man’s infirmity almost disappeared; 
 but when his bread and butter depended on his 
 rightly understanding a case, and giving the proper 
 prescription, and, above all, if the patient belonged 
 to the fair sex, he suffered the tortures of the damned 
 —and the speechless. 
 
 “We must have our regular whist evenings, now 
 that we have a fourth,” suggested the Eector. “ 1 
 propose that we should meet once or twice a week at 
 each other’s houses.” 
 
 This proposition was at once accepted. The timid 
 doctor, who was silently, and, as he thought, 
 
42 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 hopelessly, in love with the Rector’s daughter, 
 evinced great pleasure at this arrangement. It 
 would give him a firmer footing at the Rectory, 
 and enable him to see more of his beloved Amabel. 
 
 Hitherto he had had to depend on chance meetings 
 at lawn-tennis in the week, and an occasional walk 
 home from church on Sundays, to see the fair beauty 
 whose virgin affections he was so anxious to obtain; 
 now she would surely flit in and out of the room 
 during their game, and dispense the refreshments 
 hospitably offered by her father. What matter if she 
 troubled his play and made him revoke ? He was 
 reckless, and would lose his sixpences—and his 
 partner’s sixpences—with perfect equanimity. 
 
 The next meeting was to be at Furness Cottage- 
 Sir Eustace jocularly called it his “ house-warming,” 
 and they parted company with pleasurable anticipa¬ 
 tion of what was to come. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 43 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 In these days of “ women with a past,” and of those 
 others who are still openly flaunting their existing 
 infidelities in the face of a society grown too effete 
 to even reprehend their shamelessness, Monica Stan- 
 forth, pure, beautiful, and stately, had seemed, in 
 London, like some tall Paschal lilv, boldly silhouetted 
 against the lurid background of fashionable vice. 
 Seasons in town had never possessed much attrac¬ 
 tion for her. A heaven-sent musician, she had 
 always, whilst in London, availed herself of every 
 opportunity of cultivating her talent, and there were 
 few of the more notable productions at the theatres 
 which she missed; clever society was always a 
 delight to her; whilst, as to out-door exercise, few 
 girls of her age would have been found to excel 
 her either in the saddle or on a lawn-tennis court; 
 but for the small inanities of society, the “ crushes,” 
 “ at homes ”; silly, and not always cleanly, talk, 
 
44 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 scandal-mongering, and the discussion of chiffons, 
 she had no relish whatever. 
 
 Far from being frigid, hers was one of the gentlest, 
 most affectionate and sympathetic of natures—yet 
 no man had ever dared to look into her eyes, save 
 with deepest respect and deference. The modern 
 Babylon has produced some bold men—it yet lacked 
 one sufficiently audacious to venture beyond strictly 
 conventional xlepths in the presence of Monica 
 Stanforth. 
 
 Each successive season that the widowed Mrs. 
 Stanforth and her daughter went to town, the period 
 of their stay became shorter and shorter. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth lived but for Monica, and year by 
 year had the latter’s love for her country home, and 
 indifference to the majority of town pleasures, become 
 more marked, until, at the age of twenty-four, Monica 
 Stanforth was rarely seen in London, except for 
 three weeks or so, in May, each year. For the rest, 
 Seccombe afforded her trout-fishing and tennis in the 
 summer months, hunting in the winter. She had 
 her music, her horses, and her dogs, and was, perhaps, 
 as nearly happy as it is given to poor mortals ever 
 to be happy here. 
 
 To such a nature it may well be imagined that 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 45 
 
 Angela Bevan was hardly persona grata. With the 
 quick intuition of her sex, Monica had soon seen 
 through the shallow pretence of solicitude for her 
 husband’s welfare, a pretence which easily deceived 
 that husband himself. 
 
 Clever as Angela was, it never occurred to her 
 that this regal-looking girl, with the carriage of an 
 Empress, could possibly detect, through her outward 
 veneer, the utter selfishness within. She fell into 
 the error of thinking that the quiet dignity, the 
 slight shade of scorn which swept across Monica’s 
 face, as she listened to the other’s prattle, was want 
 of sympathy, or even, perhaps, stupidity. In this 
 she measured the rest of the world by her own 
 standard, as most of us are apt to do, in all things. 
 Angela had vainly angled for some sort of approving- 
 sentence from her friend in the course she was 
 taking of leaving her husband to return to 
 town. 
 
 “ Well, you know, my dear Monica, he insists, 
 positively insists upon my going back—at least, he 
 —I mean he insists upon my doing as my silly 
 doctors order me. I call them silly, poor dears, but 
 I suppose they must be right; really, the country 
 never did agree with me, I remember, even as a 
 
46 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 child. I suppose it’s the damp, or —or something,” 
 concluded Angela, somewhat vaguely. 
 
 “ Is Furness Cottage damp, then ? ” 
 
 “Oh, awfully!” exclaimed Lady Be van, jumping 
 at the opening thus given her. “ It’s perfectly horrid, 
 you know! ” 
 
 “Sir Eustace, I suppose, is impervious to damp ? " 
 
 If there was a slight inflection of sarcasm in the 
 tone of Miss Stanforth’s voice as she spoke these 
 last words, it entirely escaped Lady Bevan’s notice. 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t think it’s bad enough to hurt a man, 
 you know. It’s not that sort of damp. Men never 
 seem to feel those things, do they ? Now, I really 
 must be going. You will look after him a little, you 
 and your dear mother, just now and then, won’t 
 you ? ” 
 
 If there had been such things as verbal italics, 
 Angela would have used them freely in her farewell 
 sentence. 
 
 “ And good-bye, once again. Thank you so much 
 for all your goodness to us this last month. Kiss 
 dear Mrs. Stanforth for me, and say how sorry I am 
 to miss saying good-bye to her.” And fluttering 
 into the carriage which was waiting, Lady Levan 
 took her departure. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 47 
 
 Monica returned to the music-room, in which this 
 interview had taken place, and sat down to the piano, 
 where she rattled through the “ Eide of the Val¬ 
 kyries ” with a good deal of unnecessary vigour, and 
 a sharp touch on the notes, quite out of keeping 
 with her usual delicate playing. 
 
 Two or three w^eeks later on, Eustace Bevan, no 
 longer looking gliost-like or haggard, was already 
 entering upon the calm pleasures of a rural existence 
 with considerable zest and appreciation. The change 
 from constant and laborious work in the impure 
 atmosphere of crowded courts, to the absolute rest 
 and health-giving breezes of the Weald of Kent, had 
 thus early worked a wonderous change in the great 
 advocate. In proportion as physical strength was 
 regained, so did memories of his past athlete’s life, 
 and the desire to once more feel his muscles braced, 
 and to take active part in open-air pleasures, come 
 back to him. Walks, at first in the neighbouring 
 lanes and fields, and afterwards across the breezy, 
 chalk-soiled downs, had given place to long-distance 
 rides on the horse which formerly carried him in the 
 park, each morning early, before his day’s toil began. 
 
 The first gallop he had been able to take across the 
 downs had been a memorable one. Almost the last 
 
48 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 time he had enjoyed the luxury of a strong gallop 
 had been years back, when, at the “ Grand Military ” 
 at Sandown Park, he had ridden the winner of one 
 of the " Soldier’s ” steeplechases, and now, as he sent 
 his horse striding along, this bright, keen morning, 
 thoughts of that long past, and almost, until now, 
 forgotten triumph, came vividly before him. He 
 saw again the bright colours worn by the jockeys, 
 heard once more the rustle of the silk jackets; he 
 remembered, ah! so well, what his feelings had been 
 as his horse blundered on to his knees over the last 
 fence, and of the precious moments it lost him; he 
 thought of the giddy flash of time when he seemed 
 to see but a bright green strip of turf, lined on either 
 side with hundreds of excited human faces, all. 
 turned towards him and the horse he was trying to 
 overtake. Inch by inch, amid a deafening roar of 
 voices, he had gained upon his opponent, until, amid 
 a very Babel of shouting, cracking of whips, flying 
 dust, and waving hats, he had caught his adversary 
 in the last few strides, and beaten him by a neck. 
 Boylike, he had given a shout of triumph that day— 
 for which some of his brother officers had, at the 
 time, mildly rebuked him—and now, as he felt his 
 horse moving strongly under him, rejoicing in the 
 
OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 4'J 
 
 freedom of the long stretching gallop, he again 
 shouted aloud for joy—and in the next few paces 
 found himself, greatly to his dismay, face to Tice 
 with Monica Stanfortli! 
 
 The situation was rather an absurd one. It 
 might have been perhaps excusable for the young 
 Subaltern to shout at Sandown under vastly exciting 
 influences, but it was quite another thing that grave 
 Sir Eustace Bevan, “ one of her Majesty’s Counsel, 
 learned in the law,” should be caught in the same 
 offence, and for no ostensible reason, in the middle 
 of an open down ! He looked at Monica, and she at 
 him. Then the inevitable followed—they both 
 broke into an irresistible peal of laughter. 
 
 “ You seem better,” said Miss Stanfortli, at last. 
 
 “ I am,” rejoined Sir Eustace, gaily; and then 
 he proceeded, as they rode along side by side, to 
 explain that memory, and not sudden aberration 
 of intellect, was to be held accountable for his 
 conduct. 
 
 Monica listened attentively to the story of his 
 racing triumph; then she said, simply— 
 
 “ How interesting ! I never knew you had been 
 a soldier. Tell me some more about your early 
 days, won’t you ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 50 
 
 “ Well, I think we might find more entertaining 
 topics than that. But I am putting the cart before 
 the horse—riding with you first, and now about to 
 ask if I may do so ? Forgive the topsy-turviness of 
 a lawyer turned loose. One has to be so very exact 
 in my profession, that I shall positively revel in 
 anything unorthodox during my year of liberty. I 
 have your permission to come with you ? Thanks.” 
 And putting their horses into quick action again, the 
 two cantered up the opposite ridge, pausing on the 
 top of Crown Combe to gaze down admiringly upon 
 the panorama below. 
 
 “ What a glorious view one gets from this point! 
 I have never been here before,” exclaimed Eustace 
 Bevan to his companion, as they noted the distant 
 church spires, the hill and vale, and the little farm¬ 
 steads stretched out before them. 
 
 “ Yes; on very clear days you can see the sea 
 near Dover and Folkestone from where we are. 
 This is my favourite ride,” was the answer. 
 
 “ And I think it will become mine. I don’t 
 know my way about this country, and shall have to 
 get you to show me some of the good rides—especially 
 those where one can get an occasional spin on the 
 grass. I have never yet decided in my own mind 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 51 
 
 whether I feel happier on horseback or sitting at a 
 piano.” 
 
 “ Oh, you are musical, then ! ” said Monica, slightly 
 surprised. “ Your wife—Lady Bevan—never said 
 anything about it.” 
 
 Sir Eustace drew a long breath, which was rather 
 like a sigh. 
 
 “My wife, unfortunately, has no taste for music; 
 
 in fact, she rather dislikes it than otherwise, and so, 
 
 somehow or other, I never play—unless I am alone,” 
 
 and there was a little of disappointment, a slight 
 ■ _* 
 
 ring of sadness, in the tone of his voice. 
 
 They rode on in silence for a time, the world-worn 
 barrister drinking in health and quiet enjoyment 
 with every breath of the life-giving breeze. 
 
 Monica was the first to speak. 
 
 “ The choir-singing—if you are musical—1 am 
 afraid you have found it rather terrible, haven’t 
 you ? I saw you were in church last Sunday.” 
 
 “ Did you ? I’m afraid I can’t conscientiously say 
 that I saw you there, Miss Stanforth,” laughed Sir 
 Eustace. 
 
 He seemed no longer the sick man; all his 
 vitality appeared to be renewed in this long-to-be- 
 re membered first ride. 
 
52 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ And yet I was not only there, but a very useful 
 member of the congregation. I was playing the 
 organ/' answered the girl lightly. 
 
 “ Really ! I bad no idea that you numbered skill 
 on the organ amongst all your other accomplish¬ 
 ments. As to the choir—well, in its present form, 
 I admit that the effect is slightly excruciating; but 
 there are some moderately good voices in it, and if 
 one or two of the ‘ raspers,' whose mission in life 
 seems to be to announce the coming of the early 
 morning milk, were drafted out of it, there is no 
 reason why Seccombe choir should not be a very fair 
 one indeed.” 
 
 “I am glad you don’t think our musical efforts so 
 dreadful, after all,” said Monica. “ I am sure the 
 choir might really be greatly improved if we only 
 had some one to take the matter up. Of course, we 
 could never attempt solo parts; we have no one 
 who could so far overcome his shyness as to sing 
 alone.” 
 
 Sir Eustace thought for a moment before speaking. 
 He possessed a splendid baritone voice himself, but 
 he did not want to be bothered to sing; he was 
 passionately devoted to music—only he had the 
 misfortune, as it would be accounted nowadays, to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 53 
 
 prefer music that was tuneful and melodious to the 
 “ music of the future/’ which the generality of people 
 persuade themselves they prefer. Then he made up 
 his mind. 
 
 “Well, Miss Stanforth, if I can be of any use in 
 getting the choir into shape, and if the Eector is 
 agreeable, I shall be most proud to act as sous-officier 
 to the charming organist.” 
 
 “That’s really very good-natured of you, Sir 
 Eustace. I am afraid, at first, that your task will 
 be an uphill one; the average bucolic mind takes a 
 great deal of cultivation before it gives forth anv- 
 thing in the shape of a harvest! As to the Eector, 
 the dear old man goes through life agreeing with 
 everybody, and would be only too pleased at the 
 prospect of obtaining your help. You will have 
 trouble with the blacksmith,” she added thought¬ 
 fully. “ He is a terrible man, and his voice is even 
 more terrible than himself! Nothing can possibly 
 be done whilst his dreadful hoarse croakings 
 continue to drown the rest of the voices.” 
 
 “ The blacksmith must go.” 
 
 “ Yes, but he won’t go!—there’s the difficulty. 
 And if he didn’t sing in the choir, I’m afraid he 
 wouldn’t come to church at all; and rather than 
 
54 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 drive him away, I, for one, would let him continue 
 to croak! ” 
 
 “ I undertake the blacksmith—he shall be my 
 special charge,” laughed Sir Eustace. 
 
 The village blacksmith hardly appeared in the 
 light of “a foeman worthy of his steel” to the 
 famous advocate. 
 
 “ Any one else ? ” he went on. 
 
 “ Well, you will be better able to judge than I, 
 after you have made them practise once before you; 
 but Tom Heywood, the farmer’s son, is—well, 
 rather dreadful.” 
 
 “Voice suggestive of mingled gin and fog?” 
 queried Sir Eustace. 
 
 “It reminds me of a nutmeg-grater on active 
 service,” gravely replied Monica. “Tom Heywood 
 means well, but-” 
 
 “That damns him at once, Miss Stanforth. It is 
 the last thing that a person desiring to praise, but 
 not finding the necessary materials, falls back upon. 
 When I am told that any one ‘ means well,’ I know 
 that I am dealing with a case past praying for.” 
 
 Monica laughed lightly. The unaccustomed 
 luxury of a congenial spirit communing unre¬ 
 strainedly with her own, insensibly affected her 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 spirits and made her gay, even in the absence of 
 any substantial cause for gaiety. 
 
 By this time they had descended to the foot of 
 the downs, and entered a winding lane, where the 
 hedges were looking their greenest, the birds just 
 bursting into song. On the uplands over which 
 they had just ridden, the lark alone, rising high 
 above their heads, had poured out his sweetest 
 melody; here a chorus of noisy songsters vied with 
 each other for the distinction of trilling the loudest. 
 
 “We shall never get our choir to the birds’ pitch 
 of perfection! ” exclaimed Sir Eustace. “ For 
 although they are all singing different tunes, and 
 time they ignore, yet never a discord strikes upon 
 the ear. And yet I like the lark we have just 
 been listening to better. I have had one or two 
 queer fancies since my illness, and one of them is 
 that the lark is really a human soul—one that has 
 received some mighty, unlooked-for blessing here— 
 and that each morning he rises high above the 
 earth and opens the floodgates of his melody and 
 thanksgiving at the very door of heaven. I always 
 think that the man who could keep a lark in a cage, 
 should be transferred to one himself, and exhibited 
 as a monster of depravity. Here we are back again 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 56 
 
 already at Seccombe. ... No, thanks, I won’t come 
 in now. Please make my compliments to Mrs. 
 Stanforth. I hope to walk over some time this 
 afternoon to pay her a visit. Shall you be in ? 
 Because I should like to glean more particulars of 
 the constitution of our choir from you. You see I 
 am already beginning to call it ‘ our choir.’ I feel 
 quite a proprietary interest in it, now ! ” 
 
 And raising his hat, Sir Eustace turned his 
 horse’s head and rode slowly back in the direction 
 of Furness Cottage. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 57 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Tiie short space of one week saw what almost 
 amounted to a social revolution in the tiny village 
 of Seccombe—for the constitution of the church 
 choir was to be radically altered, and several of the 
 ‘ oldest members ’ of it cut off, root and branch. 
 
 But whether, as some of the ancient villagers 
 suspected, the Black Art, or, as others thought, the 
 more prosaic “ golden key,” had been resorted to 
 in order to obtain the desired end, certain it was 
 that the truculent blacksmith had not only resigned 
 his place amongst the choristers, but had done so 
 with a certain suppressed air of triumph that left 
 the conjecturers entirely at a loss. He was also 
 heard to speak in terms of the highest praise of Sir 
 Eustace in the little tap-room of an evening, and 
 on one occasion even went so far as to drink his 
 health in public. Tom Heywood, too, with a broad 
 grin on his fat red face, declared that he should 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 58 
 
 “ do no more'for the choir;” he and Jerry Brickel], 
 the blacksmith, meant to sit together in the same 
 pew in church for the future, but would retire from 
 actively participating in the production of what they 
 were pleased to call “ the tunes.” 
 
 Having removed these supposed irremovables 
 from his path—Eustace Bevan had a curious way 
 with him of succeeding, without apparent effort, 
 in everything he took in hand—he went to work 
 with a will on the material remaining. 
 
 With Miss Stanforth’s assistance at the organ, he 
 went unwearingly through piece after piece of the 
 ordinary sacred music which the choristers knew 
 well, stopping one of them here to explain that the 
 chest and throat w'ere given us to sing with, and 
 not the nose—another there, to mildly remark that 
 “ ’oly, ’oly, ’oly ” was susceptible of slightly different 
 treatment not entirely unconnected with the use of 
 the aspirate. However trying they became—and 
 the yokel mind is capable, on occasions, of causing 
 a certain or uncertain amount of exasperation in 
 connection with music, as with other things—Sir 
 Eustace’s temper was always even. It would, 
 indeed, have been a strong object-lesson to such 
 of his legal opponents as had at times wriggled 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 50 
 
 under the biting sarcasm of the great leader, and 
 down into violent passions as their only defence 
 against his cold, calm cynicism, could they have 
 taken their stand within the old half timber-built 
 parish church and seen how impervious he was to 
 the combined forces of ignorance and natural 
 perversity. Xo hasty word ever escaped him, 
 whilst his praise, where deserved, was ever ready; 
 but however easy-going the members of the choir 
 found him, it was remarked amongst them in 
 private that, whatever he set them to do, had to be 
 done, and done over and over again, until he was 
 satisfied with the result. With one young man, 
 who, on the strength of being able to read music, 
 mistook himself for a musician, he had a little 
 trouble at first; but what looked like becoming a 
 battle, quickly fizzled out into a hasty retreat on 
 the part of the enemy. Young Mr. Ginger, the 
 gentleman in question, who 3iad long considered 
 himself the leader of the choir, sang through his 
 particular portion of the Bcnedicite, Omnia Opera , 
 winding up with a flourish which he clearly thought 
 was a great improvement on the original. Sir 
 Eustace, still with a pleasant smile on his face, 
 quietly said— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 60 
 
 “Very nice, very pretty thing, indeed, that; and 
 now suppose you sing the music as it is written.” 
 
 Mr. Ginger was both puzzled and annoyed, and it 
 was some time before he fairly grasped the fact that 
 the remark might possibly contain a faint measure 
 of sarcasm; and when, on his leaving for home, the 
 new director said, pleasantly, “ Always glad to hear 
 anything original, Mr. Ginger, should you think of 
 composing at any time,” mystification “ claimed him 
 for her own ; ” but he tried no more flights of fancy 
 in the choir after that. 
 
 On two or three occasions Monica had said to Sir 
 Eustace, “ How patient you are, and they are so stupid 
 sometimes ; ” and then Sir Eustace would laugh and 
 say that he could not thank her enough for suggest¬ 
 ing to him to take over the choir; that it had given 
 him quite a new interest in life. 
 
 Which was perfectly true ; only that neither Sir 
 Eustace Bevan nor Monica Stanforth had even a 
 suspicion then, as to what the nature of that new 
 interest really was. 
 
 Seccombe at large could not understand Sir Eustace. 
 Everybody liked him. He was so tall, so command¬ 
 ing, so handsome; withal, so kindly, frank, and genial. 
 But why a man—who didn’t get anything out of it— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 61 
 
 should bother himself with teaching a lot of village 
 yokels how to sing; nay, more, should actually find 
 money to pay several of the expenses of the choir, 
 send to London for new music, etc.—all these things 
 were hidden mysteries to Seccombe. 
 
 And this man, too, neither a student nor a recluse, 
 but one who had shown the Kentish men that he 
 could ride, swim, play tennis, shoot as straight as 
 most of them, and capture a trout every whit as 
 scientifically; well, he was an anomaly, that was all, 
 but a very pleasant anomaly for all that—a distinct 
 acquisition to the parish, said everybody. 
 
 One day the Admiral met him cn route for the 
 bi-weekly choir-practice at the church. 
 
 “Where are you off to, with all that lumber?” 
 gruffly queried the old gentleman, poking his stick at 
 the music-books under Sir Eustace’s arm. 
 
 “ To the church, Admiral—the choir-practice, you 
 know.” 
 
 The Admiral stared. 
 
 “ What the devil have you got to do with it, eh ? ” 
 
 “ Well, I'm trying to get them to sing a little 
 better,” rejoined Sir Eustace, smiling. 
 
 “More likely to make ’em a damsight worse,” 
 growled Admiral Stanforth. “ They do get it over— 
 
62 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 I mean the singing—pretty quick now, whereas if 
 you teach ’em anything, they’ll get bumptious; yes, 
 p’raps revolutionary, sir, you never know, and want 
 to sing the Psalms! ” 
 
 And the Admiral thumped his.stick on the ground, 
 and looked as though singing the Psalms was an 
 heretical offence such as might well justify a re¬ 
 kindling of the fires of Smithfield, or the introduction 
 into this country of an auto-da-fe. 
 
 “ Well, you know, Admiral,” answered Sir Eustace, 
 a malicious merriment playing in his eyes as he 
 spoke, " David had them sung.” 
 
 “ The devil he did ! ” exclaimed the Admiral, open- 
 mouthed in genuine astonishment. “ And I always 
 thought he was a Low Churchman! ” 
 
 Eustace Bevan laughed outright, rather to the old 
 gentleman’s annoyance. The vision which flitted 
 across his mind of Royal David, one of a Low Church 
 congregation, was too much for his gravity. 
 
 “ I’ll just go up to the church with you and listen 
 to the beggars shout,” politely continued “ fighting 
 Tom,” and they walked off together. 
 
 At the lich-gate they found Miss Stanforth strug¬ 
 gling with the recalcitrant latch, and Sir Eustace 
 hurried forward to assist her. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 63 
 
 The Admiral struck his stick on the path and 
 exclaimed— 
 
 “Hullo,young lady! and what are you doing here, 
 eh ? ” 
 
 The girl turned her lovely face towards the bluff 
 old seaman and answered— 
 
 “ I’m going to play the organ for the choir- 
 practice, Uncle Tom. Are you coming To hear 
 us ? ” 
 
 “ Why, da—dear me, I mean, what a pair of 
 foo—pair of musicians you must be! ” he blurted 
 out, looking from one to the other in genuine won¬ 
 derment. “ Yes, I’ll come in. If you can stand the 
 row, so can I,” and he stumped off noisily up the 
 church path in front of them, and entered the door 
 of the sacred edifice, around which several of the 
 singers were standing about with their hands in their 
 pockets, whistling. All sounds' of sibilation were, 
 however, quickly suppressed as soon as it was seen 
 to be Admiral Stanforth’s portly form approaching, 
 for the old man was wont to exact the utmost 
 deference from all and sundry, and the villagers 
 stood in wholesome awe of him. Strict silence 
 reigned as he walked down the two steps leading 
 from the porch to the church; and only a suppressed 
 
64 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 giggle was heard when he blundered over the door¬ 
 mat, and audibly ejaculated, “ Damn ! ” 
 
 The blower took his place at the organ, and soon 
 Monica was engaged in producing the necessary 
 accompaniment for the little-trained voices which 
 Sir Eustace sought so diligently to improve. 
 
 The Admiral listened, at first in silence, but as the 
 rhythm of the sounds began to catch his ear, he com¬ 
 menced a “ Kum-tum-rum-ti-tum, rum-ti-tum ” ac¬ 
 companiment, eminently calculated to send all the 
 performers into a madhouse at short notice. Fortu¬ 
 nately, however, for the sanity of all concerned, the 
 introduction of a Gregorian chant drove him hurriedly 
 from the building, declaring as he left that “that 
 sort of stuff ” always gave him “ a fit of the fan-tods,” 
 whatever that occult ailment might be ; and the rest 
 of the proceedings were conducted in peace. 
 
 The elimination of discordant elements, and a few 
 hours of careful practice, had soon shown their 
 effects upon the singing. The Eector was charmed, 
 and many were the compliments bestowed upon 
 Monica, who, as organist-in-chief, was still looked 
 upon as the responsible head of the choir. 
 
 “Don’t compliment me,” she had invariably re¬ 
 plied when anything was said about the improve- 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 65 
 
 ment shown. “ All the credit must be given to Sir 
 Eustace Bevan, who is not only a scholarly musician, 
 but really works hard with the singers. We ought 
 all to be thankful to him for what he is doing, I am 
 sure. It really makes me feel quite ashamed of 
 myself, now that I see what hard work and skill 
 combined can do, to think that I never attempted 
 any improvement before he came down here. The 
 real truth is that I was afraid of the blacksmith. 
 He always was the rock upon which we split; and 
 how Sir Eustace has managed to spirit him away is 
 really more than I can understand. Whenever I 
 question him upon the subject, he laughs and turns 
 it off. I believe he must have bribed him to go.” 
 
 After the practice, it soon became a regular thing 
 that Sir Eustace should escort Miss Stan forth home 
 to Seccombe Manor, across the fields. 
 
 At first her maid used to come to the church for 
 her; but on one occasion, happening to see a white¬ 
 faced cow looking at her through the gap in a 
 hedge, she returned precipitately to the servant’s 
 hall, and, having carefully selected the most com¬ 
 fortable chair, at once proceeded to faint. After 
 going through this performance, she declared in 
 gasps, amid a silence which was almost painful in 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 its intensity, that a hideous ruffian of most ferocious 
 mien had glared at her through the hedge, demand¬ 
 ing, with awful menaces, that she should fly with 
 him to some mountain fastness, there to be a robber’s 
 bride. 
 
 Nothing, she declared, “ not if it was ever so,” 
 should induce her to w r alk that path again after 
 dark; and having represented, by means of an 
 emasculated or drawing-room version of this 
 slightly sensational story, to Monica, her terrors, 
 she was excused from the duty of again risking the 
 amorous advances of the white-faced cow. 
 
 On hearing of the legend, Sir Eustace told Mrs. 
 Stanforth that he would be very pleased to walk 
 back each choir night with her daughter, if he 
 were permitted; and these bi-weekly journeys 
 together through the dewy, and often moonlit 
 meadows became, almost unconsciously, occasions 
 to which each of them looked forward with keen 
 pleasure. The bond of sympathy was a powerful 
 one between them, and it w r as a bond that grew, 
 insensibly, ever stronger and stronger. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Life in the little, world-forgotten Kentish village, 
 though to Lady Bevan merely the existence of a 
 cabbage, afforded her husband the most genuiue 
 enjoyment, for it compelled what Nature had been 
 demanding at his hands for years past—total rest. 
 And the luxury of rest is a thing which the Lady 
 Bevans of the world are for ever denied. “ They 
 toil not, neither do they spin,” and for them, rest 
 is simply synonymous with stagnation. 
 
 Eustace Bevan, worn out with the constant strain 
 of anxiety—for a barrister’s vocation is one of the 
 most anxious which any one can choose—the 
 unremitting toil, unable to find time for the due 
 exercise of his splendid frame, and, worse than all, 
 haunted by legal cares and worries half through 
 the small number of hours which should have been 
 devoted unreservedly to sleep, fairly revelled in the 
 bright air which filled his lungs, in lieu of the fetid 
 
68 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 atmosphere of the law courts, varied only, for the 
 most part, by the fog of the London streets, and in 
 the boundless liberty which enabled him to stroll 
 through meadow and wood, or ride over smooth 
 turf and springy down, at will. Then, when the 
 fancy took him, he would saunter, rod in hand, 
 along the side of the little swirling river which ran 
 through the Manor grounds, and lure the bright 
 speckled trout from the holes in wdiich they hid. 
 At other times he would wander through the lanes, 
 with their hedge-tops rising high above his head on 
 either side, and idly admire the flowers growing 
 on the banks in wildest profusion. And on 
 one memorable occasion Monica Stanforth had 
 challenged him to come out into the meadows in 
 early morning, basket in hand, to engage with her 
 in mushroom-gathering. Overnight he had, as 
 usual, escorted her home after the choir-practice, 
 and she had said that she was sure he would not 
 be able to get to the appointed place by seven 
 o’clock the next morning. His “ London ways,” 
 she said, would be sure to prevail at the last 
 moment, and the mushrooms must be picked before 
 the dew was off the fields, or some one might be 
 there before them. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 G9 
 
 “ Nous verrons! ” lie had said gaily, as lie raised 
 his hat and left her. 
 
 Needless to say, he was faithful to the tryst, and 
 found the girl awaiting him, her basket hung loosely 
 on her arm. Sir Eustace was similarly armed. 
 
 f; How intensely funny you look with that 
 basket! ” she had said. “ Somehow it doesn’t 
 become you.” 
 
 “ Don’t you really think so ? It makes me look 
 so truly yokel! ” 
 
 “ Nothing you could do would ever make you 
 look the part! ” she answered merrily. “ You 
 know, I always picture you in one form of attire 
 only.” 
 
 “ And that is ? ” 
 
 “As a Crusader in chain-armour. I think that 
 is just the style of dress to suit you ! ” 
 
 Eustace Bevan laughed aloud. 
 
 “ I am glad I haven’t got it on just at the present 
 moment, at all events,” he said. “ Stooping down 
 to pick mushrooms would then become a matter 
 of something more than serious difficulty; the joints 
 of my harness would very soon be discovered.” 
 
 He opened the gate and stood aside to let her 
 pass through. The heavy dew glistened brightly in 
 
70 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 the newly-risen sun, and the lush grass gave forth 
 a swishing sound as their feet brushed quickly 
 through it. Monica had on a short skirt, and looked 
 thoroughly business-like. Mushroom-gathering is a 
 wetting affair, and must be undertaken in a serious 
 spirit. 
 
 “ Here is a beauty! ” she exclaimed, pouncing 
 upon a big one. “ And oh, how disappointing ! It 
 is all black underneath. Those are never any 
 good/’ and reluctantly she threw it away. 
 
 “ Typical of human life, is it not, Miss Stanforth ? ” 
 laughed Sir Eustace, who had found his first mush¬ 
 room and transferred it to his basket. “ Merely 
 another edition of the whited sepulchre over again. 
 Hot that I myself believe much in that theory. I 
 think that nine times out of ten the face is the true 
 index to the mind, and that a mal-formed body often 
 holds a crooked soul.” 
 
 They went on, culling here, rejecting there, until 
 the baskets were more than half full. Then they 
 stopped to rest, Monica seating herself upon the 
 shaft of a farm waggon which had been left out in 
 the meadow overnight, whilst Sir Eustace leaned 
 up against the body of it and surveyed the glorious 
 Weald, stretching out at his feet, with idle content. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 71 
 
 “ Wliat a pity it is that half the mushrooms one 
 finds are either too tough or too small to eat. They 
 are always in extremes, and the happy medium is 
 very hard to get,” mused Monica, aloud. 
 
 “ Well, until this morning my mushrooming edu¬ 
 cation had been neglected, I confess; but what you 
 say of the ‘ edible fungi/ as Mr. Bower always calls 
 it, strikes me as being ludicrously true of London 
 society. Society to-day seems to know no happy 
 medium; the two extremes are represented by the 
 Pondvilles, whose open wickedness would put to 
 shame a kitchen wench ; and the Altertons, who, in 
 their extreme piety, issue cards of invitation for the 
 passing of the afternoon on one’s marrow-bones, or 
 in listening to more or less edifying discourses from 
 the latest thing in Chinese missionaries. What we 
 want is some strong, robust means of being health¬ 
 fully amused, yet not bored—of being intellectual, 
 and yet not infidel. Of late years the very air has 
 been poisoned by the sayings and doings of a pesti¬ 
 lential nobody, who has preached blasphemy, and 
 sown his moral tares broadcast. He has fed society 
 upon a foul hotch-pot of mingled atheism and im¬ 
 morality—with his tongue in his cheek—for whilo 
 he did not scruple to supply the pabulum, he laughed 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 72 
 
 in liis sleeve at tlie fools that so readily swallowed 
 it. We want an antidote to take, after feeding for so 
 long upon that kind of stuff—stuff which, by the 
 way, was not even his own, but made up by putting 
 together the warped and distorted utterances of 
 cleverer men than himself; men who, for the most 
 part, never intended the meaning put upon their 
 words by this social farceur. He preached a gospel 
 which, if carried out to its own logical conclusion, 
 must disintegrate society, and pulverize the best and 
 purest feelings of every decent man and woman in it. 
 Society, we are told, must be amused; but surely it 
 could have found a mountebank of cleaner order than 
 this,” and Sir Eustace finished his speech with a look 
 eloquent of cynical disgust. 
 
 Miss Stanforth regarded him attentively; then she 
 said in quiet tones— 
 
 “ I don’t think, Sir Eustace, that your digestion 
 has ever been injured by any of the hotch-pot.” 
 
 “ True. But, unfortunately, society at large, which 
 is, for the most part, composed of people vastly more 
 important than a humble barrister like myself, and 
 largely too, of the fairer sex, has mistaken this impu¬ 
 dent impostor’s clap-trap for serious advice; has 
 accepted his puerile defiance of the Deity as the 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 73 
 
 dawning of an enlightened truth; has mistaken the 
 „ jangle of his rhymes for poetry, his stolen epigrams 
 for wit. Society, in a word, has swallowed him 
 whole. It has taken the poison—who is coming 
 forward to provide the antidote ? Poseur, insignifi¬ 
 cant charlatan as he was, he yet had a powerfully 
 baneful effect upon many, and for the simple reason 
 that whereas one’s good deeds are quickly forgotten, 
 ‘ the evil men do lives after them.’ ” 
 
 Monica did not reply. Atheism, in any of its 
 varied forms, was no less repulsive to her than the 
 other subject Sir Eustace had just touched on—those 
 suggestions of uncleanness so common, alas! in the 
 society talk of to-day. And yet there was nothing 
 anaemic about her, physically or mentally, but she 
 rightly held that a girl’s mind should be no less 
 clean than her body. The driven snow was never 
 purer than her white soul within its lovely prison. 
 
 As she walked slowly back with Sir Eustace—they 
 were to breakfast with Mrs. Stanforth at the Manor 
 House—she felt that that brief talk in the dewy 
 meadows had told her something of his character— 
 something she had never known before, of the depth 
 of his beliefs and views; and she certainly liked him 
 none the less for what he had said. 
 
74 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Eustace Bevan was, in many respects, a great 
 man; not only as the world rates and understands 
 greatness, but also in the fact that he had hopes, 
 aspirations, noble ambitions to leave the universe 
 something better than he had found it; and also 
 that, in an age which, if not actually atheistic, was 
 far too indulgent to the propagation and maintenance 
 of infidelity, he, a very leader of men, was content to 
 let polemics alone, and accept (and, as far as in his 
 life’s work lay, inculcate, within the breasts of the 
 weaker brethren) a faith as simple as a child’s. And 
 in this lay much of the grandeur of his character; he 
 was at once strong, and yet with tenderest pity for 
 the feeble; eminently capable of probing all Christian 
 evidences, but humbly preferring to be “even as 
 these little ones ; ” to “ see through a glass darkly ” 
 here on earth, in the calm and confident hope that 
 hereafter he would be permitted the same vision 
 “ face to face.” 
 
 Comparatively few men who can be fairly de¬ 
 scribed as intellectually head and shoulders above 
 their fellows, possess the necessary strength of mind 
 to resist that subtlest of all temptations—the tasting 
 of the forbidden fruit, the tree of so-called know¬ 
 ledge. For there is a temptation other than that to 
 
OUT OF THE DAEKNESS. 
 
 75 
 
 do gross temporal evil; there is the lust of the 
 spiritual man, as there is the lust which holds out 
 its allurements to the gross and material side of his 
 nature; they are vastly different, as we know, but 
 they are, nevertheless, but the component parts of 
 one common entirety. 
 
 With this man it could hardly be said that 
 either temptation had seriously menaced him, even 
 for a moment. Certain it is that neither had 
 ever prevailed against him. In a sense, he was 
 cold; but it was a coldness of the mind, not of 
 the heart, and the exhibition of clear, analytical 
 force, which had so materially helped to build up his 
 reputation at the Bar, to a certain extent blinded his 
 fellow-men in their views concerning him. He had 
 been called cynical and heartless ; but few of them 
 knew how many times he had lent a helping hand to 
 a struggling brother barrister; fewer still were aware 
 of his general benefactions and deep-souled charity. 
 Above all things, he was a man, and a manly man— 
 things which, unfortunately, are not always synony¬ 
 mous terms, nowadays. A man s passions surged up 
 within him; a man’s hot blood ran through his 
 veins; but as regarded these two main heads of 
 temptation, to which all such as he are peculiarly 
 
76 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 subject, and to one or other of which most of them 
 succumb, natural refinement had kept him from the 
 one, and simple faith from the other. 
 
 Eustace Sevan had on several occasions been 
 approached by editors of the fin cle siecle magazines, 
 who recognized in him a brawny genius, rare in our 
 age, with a view to getting him to treat of things 
 religious from the miscalled “ scientists,” or materi¬ 
 alistic point of view. He had always steadily de¬ 
 clined to accede to their wishes, and in an interview 
 he had had with one of them he had stated his views 
 very tersely on the subject. 
 
 “ But,” remonstrated the somewhat astonished 
 editor, “ you don’t surely hold all those old-fashioned 
 notions about hell-fire, the devil going about the 
 world, trident in hand, and-” 
 
 “ No,” answered the famous Counsel with a smile ; 
 “ you may strike out the pitchfork. I am not 
 contending for that, or the horns, or the tail. In 
 fact, I am quite prepared to think that we have all 
 got hold of a curiously wrong idea of the personal 
 devil; and perhaps the generally received notion of 
 him in our own church is—at all events, it may be— 
 entirely a false one. But if you put it to me, c Do T 
 not think the time has arrived’—I believe those were 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 77 
 
 the words you used ?— c do I not believe the time has 
 arrived for saying, practically, that although there 
 may be some unknown physical force which origi¬ 
 nated the creation of Man and the Universe, that 
 there is no God ’—then I say most emphatically that 
 I believe nothing of the kind. Ordinarily, when a 
 man tells me in all seriousness that he is an atheist, 
 I put him down in my own mind as a liar; were 
 any connection of mine, or one in whom I was much 
 interested, to say the same thing, I should obtain 
 the services of a competent doctor to inquire into 
 his or her sanity—and if you want my honest 
 opinion on the subject, I will give it you gladly, 
 though not in print. I know there is a God; I 
 believe there is a devil; but we can no more tell 
 in what form the one is than the other; that form 
 may be personal or impersonal. Who shall decide ? 
 But the infidel—the man who denies God’s very 
 existence, and who believes what he says —is, must 
 be, a fool.” 
 
 “ And yet Voltaire was an infidel! ” exclaimed 
 the editor triumphantly. 
 
 “ Yes; and he, the very Prince of Infidels 
 throughout his life, died confessing his error and 
 acknowledging his God.” 
 
78 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Angela was not afflicted with the cacoethes scri- 
 bendi common to many of her sex. Her correspond¬ 
 ents were few, and generally had to wait a long 
 time before their letters were answered. Since 
 leaving Seccombe she had only written once to her 
 husband in a period of a fortnight, and she had 
 shown very little solicitude as to the improvement 
 he was making. 
 
 However, one sunny afternoon her long dormant 
 conscience smote her. She had been lazily entertain¬ 
 ing Gonzalo, and as he showed no signs of leaving, 
 she said in her pretty little imperious way— 
 
 “ You must go now ; I am going to write to my 
 husband.” 
 
 “ Why should I be sacrificed because you are 
 going to write a letter ? ” he answered smiling. 
 
 “ You would distract me, and I should scarcelv 
 know what I was writing about. Please go.” 
 
 O O 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 79 
 
 “ No, I am not going. It is too hot to move. I 
 will help yon with your letter, but that is all I can 
 do for you.” 
 
 “ Very well,” said Angela, springing up with 
 sudden energy. “ It will be rather amusing; let 
 us write him a letter together,” with a fiendish little 
 laugh. 
 
 She collected pen, ink, and paper, and set to 
 work. 
 
 “ How do you begin ? ” he asked. 
 
 “ I begin, ‘ My dear Eustace/ ” she answered 
 briefly. “ We have both outlived the days of gush 
 and rhapsody.” 
 
 “ Not even ‘ My dear husband V ” he persisted. 
 
 “ Certainly not,” said Angela. “ I don’t indulge 
 in middle-class expressions.” 
 
 “You are altogether perfect,” he remarked. 
 
 “ I hope my husband shares your opinion,” she 
 said drily, and then she began. 
 
 “ My dear Eustace, 
 
 “ I was very pleased to receive your 
 letter, and to find that you are already so much 
 better for your stay at Seccombe. I was afraid you 
 would find it very dull without me-” 
 
80 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ How pretentious! ” lauglierl Gonzalo. 
 
 “ Hot at all,” said Angela, “ it was a very natural 
 fear; ” and then she looked at him lovingly and 
 said, ‘"Wouldn’t you be dull without me ? ” 
 
 “ I am not your husband,” he said. 
 
 “ Ho, hut if you were ? ” persisted Angela. 
 
 “ Most husbands get tired of their wives,” he said 
 carelessly. 
 
 “Then I am glad you are not my husband, and 
 that you never can be,” she said. “ I suppose there 
 is something in matrimony that kills love.” 
 
 “Your women novelists say so,” he remarked. 
 “ But why say I can never he your husband ? There 
 is nothing impossible in the world.” 
 
 “ I would not marry you,” said Angela with 
 bewitching coquetry. “ I want your love—not your 
 name or position.” 
 
 “My love you will always have,” he said; and, 
 reassured on this point, Angela went on with her 
 letter. 
 
 “ It is very nice for you to have the Stanforths 
 so near, and I am glad you contrive to see a great 
 deal of them. The Admiral is delightful. I quite 
 fell in love with him-” 
 
 “ Is that true ? ” from Gonzalo. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 81 
 
 “ Nothing I ever say is true—except that I love 
 you/’ she said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Let me 
 go on with my letter; you are stopping the flow of 
 my imagination.” And again taking up her pen, she 
 proceeded to give full vent to the untruthfulness 
 which she politely called her imagination. 
 
 “ Now I want to bring in my journey to Biarritz,” 
 she said, looking up from a page of uninteresting 
 generalities. “ How can I break it to him ? ” 
 
 “ Plunge into it at once,” said Gonzalo. “ Say, 
 ‘ Sir Eichard Lane insists on my beginning my 
 treatment the week after next/ and dash ‘ insists/ ” 
 
 “ Capital! ” said Angela. “ I will dash it twice, 
 to make it more emphatic,” and then she paused ; 
 and after a moment’s hesitation, said, “ I shall have 
 to go and see him before I leave.” 
 
 “ See Sir Eichard Lane ? ” he inquired. 
 
 “No, Sir Eustace Bevan,” said Angela. “I don’t 
 suppose he will care to see me, but, nevertheless, I 
 must do my duty, and consider the world.” 
 
 “Yes, you are right, you will have to go,” he said 
 decidedly. “ How long shall you stay ? ” 
 
 “ A day or two at the outside. It is of no use to 
 accustom him to luxuries which he cannot always 
 enjoy.” 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 She ended her letter telling her husband that she 
 would be with him next week, for a few days. Of 
 course she had a great deal to do in London before 
 shutting up the house for several months, but she 
 would do her best to make her visit a long one. 
 
 “ And when you come back from Biarritz ? ” asked 
 Gonzalo. 
 
 “ I am not there yet,” answered Angela. “ Suffi¬ 
 cient for the day is the evil thereof.” 
 
 “What a remarkably appropriate quotation,” 
 laughed Gonzalo. “ In the winter you must have 
 another complaint. The doctors must order you to 
 Cairo.” 
 
 “ I remain your affectionate wife, Angela Bevan,” 
 remarked the lady, paying no attention to what he 
 said, and finishing her letter with a flourish. And 
 then, greatly satisfied with her epistle, “ I think that 
 is a very nice letter; two heads are certainly better 
 than one.” 
 
 “ Yes,” he said. “ Your letters to me have always 
 been masterpieces of composition.” 
 
 “ And yet I hate writing,” she said, unconscious of 
 any sarcasm there might be in his words. 
 
 “ I suppose it depends upon who you are writing 
 to ? ” he asked. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 83 
 
 “No; I liate the trouble it gives one of thinking. 
 I would rather talk for an hour than write for five 
 minutes. Of course it is no trouble to me to write 
 to you. The ideas flow so quickly, and are so abun¬ 
 dant, that my only difficulty is in making them have 
 any sequence.” And she looked up at him and 
 said, “ Do you really like my letters ? ” 
 
 “ I think they are dangerous sometimes,” he an¬ 
 swered. “ Of course I like receiving them, but they 
 are not always prudent.” 
 
 “ Surely you are not more timid than me,” she 
 exclaimed. “ I risk everything for the pleasure of 
 telling you in black and white what I feel. What 
 do you risk ? Nothing ! ” 
 
 “ Your happiness is everything to me,” he said. 
 “ If anything disagreeable happened to you, it would 
 equally affect me.” 
 
 “ Nothing disagreeable will happen,” said Angela 
 convincingly; “ my husband is too indifferent to 
 me.” 
 
 “ You can never tell when indifference may turn 
 to jealousy,” said Gonzalo. 
 
 Angela laughed a hard, discordant laugh. 
 
 “ Fancy Eustace jealous! No, I cannot imagine 
 anything so comic. He is too absolutely perfect to 
 
84 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 possess such a vulgar passion. He himself is irre¬ 
 proachable, and of course his wife is too—otherwise 
 he would not have chosen her. He would not admit, 
 even to himself, that he could make a mistake— 
 certainly not in the choice of a wife.” 
 
 “ Is he really so very self-inflated ? ” asked 
 Gonzalo. 
 
 “ He has been spoilt by success,” answered Angela. 
 “ So many people bow down and worship him, that 
 he rather fancies himself a little God upon earth.” 
 
 “ He is very clever,” said Gonzalo gravely. 
 
 “ Of course he is,” said Angela flippantly; " and so 
 am I! ” 
 
 “ Yes, you are in your way,” he admitted. 
 
 “I don’t mean to say that I could brow-beat a 
 witness into saying what he neither meant nor 
 thought,” she continued; “ but I think I steer my 
 little barque very carefully through the quicksands 
 and shoals of society—don’t you ? ” 
 
 “ I do,” he said, rather wearily. “ I have already 
 told you to-day that you are perfect.” 
 
 “You are in a nasty humour, Miguel,” she said 
 sharply. “ What is the matter with you ? ” 
 
 “ I am trying to be complimentary, and you are not 
 satisfied ! ” he said. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 85 
 
 “Do you remember our first meeting?” she said 
 abruptly. 
 
 “ Yes, I remember it,” he answered with interroga¬ 
 tion in his voice. 
 
 “You had only praise for my husband—he had 
 just finished the Claxton case, and all London was 
 ringing with praise of his speech. Do you remember 
 telling me that I ought to be proud of being the wife 
 of such a man ? ” 
 
 “ I dare say I did. What is all this leading to ? ” 
 
 “ You had no compliments for me then.” 
 
 “ I did not know you sufficiently well to pay you 
 compliments.” 
 
 “ And you thought it would please me to hear my 
 husband praised ? ” 
 
 “You are cross-examining me as adroitly as Sir 
 Eustace would himself.” 
 
 “ And you—of course—you didn’t care for me 
 then ? ” 
 
 “ I admired you more than any one I had seen in 
 London.” 
 
 “ And that admiration turned to love—when ? ” 
 
 “ Yery soon after our first meeting.” 
 
 “ And how soon, how dreadfully soon, I began to 
 love you! As bad as any housemaid! ” 
 
86 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ I should never fall in love with any housemaid,” 
 he said laughing. 
 
 “ What fools women are! ” she exclaimed im¬ 
 patiently. 
 
 “ You can’t mean that remark for yourself; you 
 have just told me that you are clever.” 
 
 “ No, I am not clever, otherwise I should not let 
 you see how much I love you. Some day, perhaps 
 very soon, you will get tired of me, because you will 
 be surfeited with my love and my kisses. Do you 
 think you will ever be tired of me, Miguel ? ” she 
 added quickly, and with almost a pathetic ring in 
 her voice. 
 
 “ I am not of those who love and ride away,” he 
 said impressively. 
 
 “ I know I shall worry you into not caring for me,” 
 she w T ent on. “ I am not jealous of you, because I 
 really believe that you love me; but if ever I saw 
 you beginning a flirtation with any other woman, I 
 think I should be capable of killing you and her, and 
 myself too.” 
 
 “ In fact, a general massacre! What a splendid 
 inquest there would be! ” 
 
 “ You laugh at everything I say,” she said petu¬ 
 lantly. “You had much better go. Don’t come 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 87 
 
 to-morrow; I am going to a garden-party at Wimble¬ 
 don.” 
 
 “ Is that your mot de la fin ? ” 
 
 “ Yes; but we shall meet in the evening. You are 
 dining at my sister’s ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, she has been good enough to ask me. Is 
 your sister as nice as you ? ” 
 
 “ I suppose her husband thinks so,” said Angela 
 carelessly. “ What does it matter to you ? ” 
 
 “Jealous already!” he laughed; and then he took 
 leave of her, and she had a decidedly uneasy feeling 
 that he had not been quite as nice as usual. 
 
88 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 One bright sunny morning in July, it was, that 
 brought Lady Levan’s precious missive to her 
 husband. Sir Eustace was seated at his breakfast- 
 table in Furness Cottage—the windows stood wide 
 open, letting in the perfume of the roses and honey¬ 
 suckle which clustered round the red-tiled house, 
 and even drooped over the windows. Already the 
 bees were droning out their busy hum, as they 
 hurried from flower to flower; the sun was fast 
 drying up the dew from off the tiny, well-kept lawn, 
 when Hobbs, the rural postman, whose easy duties 
 only included the one delivery of letters a day, 
 pushed open the gate, and tramped up the path. 
 As he passed by the open window, Sir Eustace rose 
 from the table and called to him. 
 
 “ Bring them in here, Hobbs.” 
 
 “ Certainly, Your Worship,” replied the “man of 
 letters,” who, on the strength of having once been 
 fined forty shillings, with the option of seven days, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 89 
 
 for assaulting a policeman, rather gave himself airs 
 upon the subject of Court—Police Court—etiquette; 
 and had publicly announced in the village tap-room 
 one night that “ Your Worship ” was the title which 
 ought to he accorded to the great Queen’s Counsel. 
 
 “ There’s four of ’em this morning—and the 
 noospaper. Good day, Your Worship,” and Mr. 
 Hobbs, touching his cap, returned the way he had 
 come. 
 
 Sir Eustace slowly walked across the room, and 
 cast his eye over the correspondence. 
 
 “From Wilton and Lewis—now how on earth did 
 they find out my address ? Hot from my clerk, I am 
 quite certain • he has the strictest orders not to give 
 that to any one. Let’s see what they say; ” and 
 rapidly conning over the contents, lie smiled to 
 himself and exclaimed— 
 
 “ Ho, Messrs. Wilton and Lewis, thanks very much ; 
 but I will not, 'for a fee of five hundred guineas 
 and refreshers,’ as you put it, appear as your Counsel 
 in the big arbitration of ' Smiggs v. Sinkald,’ neither 
 will I accept your tempting offer of that two hundred 
 guinea Brief in 'Jones v. The Corporation of Hudders¬ 
 field.’ If I were once to begin taking work again 
 before my allotted span of rest was half over, the 
 
90 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 probable result—that is, if Lane and Carter are to 
 be believed—would be another breakdown, which 
 might, perhaps, prove a final one. I must confess 
 that I have no fancy for wearing straws in my 
 hair, or ending my days under the care of the 
 excellent Forbes Winslow. Now, the next. Oh, 
 that’s from Lady Knole; garden-party—tennis— 
 band of the East Kent Regiment—these awful 
 territorial titles bewilder me—they used to be the 
 good old 3rd Buffs in my short time of soldiering. 
 And the other two ? Ah, here’s one from Angela. 
 The other looks like a bill, and can wait. I suppose 
 this is to tell me when she is coming down here 
 again,” and then, seated on the edge of the table, 
 his gaitered leg swinging idly to and fro, he read 
 through the epistle which had cost the dutiful 
 wife so much mental effort to produce the day 
 before. 
 
 One or two of the paragraphs it contained he went 
 over twice; then he laid the letter down, slowly 
 loaded his pipe, lit it, and walked through the open 
 French windows into the garden. Here he pulled 
 a Ion" cane deck-chair beneath the shade of an old 
 
 O 
 
 elm, and with a slightly cynical smile on his face 
 thought over the contents of his wife’s letter. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 91 
 
 Apostrophizing her, as he lazily emitted the slaty- 
 blue clouds of smoke from his lips and watched 
 them, as one by one they curled up in the air 
 almost directly above his head, he said gently to 
 himself— 
 
 “ 'Afraid it would be very dull here without you,’ 
 —well, my dear wife, I am bound in conscience and 
 in honour to say that I have not found, and do not 
 find, it dull at all. It may be a bad compliment to 
 you, but, nevertheless, ‘Truth is great, and will 
 prevail/ as Rugby used to teach us. And you think 
 it ‘ very nice ’ to have the Stanforths so near. So do I. 
 And I also say ‘Amen’ to the next line in your 
 letter : that you are glad I contrive to see a great deal 
 of them. The Admiral, as you say, ‘ is quite delight¬ 
 ful’—which is more than can always be said for the 
 Admiral’s language. But the important part of the 
 letter is where she speaks of this journey to Biarritz 
 ‘for saline baths?’ Well, surely there are saline 
 baths nearer than the Spanish frontier ! I should 
 have thought Droitwich would have done quite 
 as well. However, I suppose the answer to that 
 would be that ‘ Droitwich is dull,’ the truth of which 
 I readily concede. It is dull—deadly duH! Biarritz 
 is a long way, but one does the journey nowadays 
 
92 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 in something like twenty-four or five hours. Angela 
 makes no suggestion that I should accompany her; 
 well, why should she ? I suppose we have both 
 outlived the time when each felt the other’s 
 presence to be necessary. Perhaps it is so with 
 most married people. Who knows ? What absurd 
 dreams men—and perhaps women, too, for aught 
 I know to the contrary—indulge in at the outset 
 of their matrimonial lives. I remember picturing 
 to myself a woman’s face—Angela’s—at my breakfast- 
 table each morning. I remember foolishly thinking 
 that she would often drive down to fetch me from 
 my chambers when the day’s work was done. I 
 fondly imagined that she would talk over my 
 cases with me—glory in my triumphs, comfort me 
 in my defeats. As it is, the only companionship I 
 get before starting for the Temple is furnished by 
 my old bull-dog, Eip, and the Times. Angela did, 
 I remember, drive down for me on one occasion— 
 by the way, it was when she had brought Gonzalo 
 into the city. Ah, well! like many another man 
 before me, I have expected too much. I suppose 
 we are, after all, very happy together—it is quite 
 certain that we are very happy when we are not 
 together. And she is coming down here, she says, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 93 
 
 next week. I’ll write and tell her how delighted 
 I shall be to see her—after I’ve finished this pipe. 
 Yes, I’ 11 do all my letter-writing at once, and get 
 rid of it for the day. And after that—well, suppose 
 I look the Admiral up, and get him, the Eector, and 
 the little doctor man to come in to whist to-night ? 
 On second thoughts, I rather think that, on a night 
 like this will be, it is pleasanter to sit out and 
 smoke one’s cigar in the air after dinner, and— 
 dream.” 
 
 And for the space of half an hour or more, Eustace 
 Be van, oblivious of the fact that his pipe was no 
 longer alight, continued to hold it between his very 
 white teeth, and gaze absently at a climbing rose 
 which swayed idly about in the gentle summer 
 breeze above his head. 
 
 He awoke at last with a start, and looked at his 
 watch. 
 
 “I’ll go in and write those letters,” he said to 
 himself. “ Let me see—one to Wilton and Lewis, 
 declining those Briefs.” Then he laughed lightly, 
 “ Fancy me declining Briefs, say ten years ago! why, 
 I used to positively hunger for them, although at that 
 time the figures on them more nearly related to one, 
 two, or three guineas, as a rule, than to one, two, or 
 
94 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 three hundred, as they do now. After all, there is a 
 law of compensation in such matters. I don’t enjoy 
 getting a three hundred guineas fee now; I did 
 enjoy, and enjoy immensely, getting a ten guinea 
 cheque then. Well, and then I must write to 
 Angela.” 
 
 He seated himself at his small writing-table, and 
 quickly, in a bold, clear hand, wrote a short letter of 
 thanks and regrets to Messrs. Wilton and Lewis, and 
 then addressed an envelope to that highly respectable 
 firm of solicitors in Bedford Bow. After which, he 
 drew a fresh sheet of note-paper towards him, and 
 wrote as follows :— 
 
 “Furness Cottage, 
 
 “July 12th. 
 
 “My dear Angela, 
 
 “Many thanks for your letter. I need 
 hardly say how pleased I shall be to see you next 
 week, and will tell the presiding genius here to have 
 your rooms ready for you. Unless I hear to the 
 contrary, I shall conclude you will arrive by the slip 
 carriage of the 5.28 express, and will send the one 
 fly which Seccombe boasts—and which I fancy has 
 now to be tied together with string before it is used! 
 —to meet you. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 95 
 
 “ Of course, if Lane says you must go to Biarritz, 
 
 I should not think of raising any objection; but I 
 ought to remind you that there is a vast difference in 
 my income in and out of harness. Since our marriage 
 I have not been able to save, as you know, and we 
 must therefore live upon what I saved before—the 
 income from which is hardly to be described as 
 princely. The house must, as you say, be shut up. 
 The servants could be discharged, but Mrs. Simmons 
 might come down here and keep house for me, in 
 your absence abroad. The horses can be sent in to 
 Tattersall’s. 
 
 “ I presume it will not be needful for you to 
 remain at Biarritz for any considerable length of 
 time ? However, this and all other matters can be 
 better discussed between us on your visit to me next 
 week. 
 
 “ I see a good deal of the Stanforths; they have 
 been very good to me, whilst the Admiral is sui 
 generis, and a never-failing fund of amusement. I 
 have never met any man with a greater command of 
 the English language, or a more vigorous method of 
 hurling it at an offender’s head. 
 
 “ We are trying to do something with the choir of 
 the parish church here, and I think the singing has 
 
96 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 got a little better already. The attempt was, from 
 the outset, a safe one—as the music could not by 
 any possibility have got worse! 
 
 “An revoir. Write to say which day I am to 
 expect you. 
 
 “ Yours, 
 
 "E. B.” 
 
 And after enclosing this in an addressed envelope, 
 Sir Eustace called to the huge, dark brindled bull¬ 
 dog, sitting with preternaturally solemn face watching 
 him, picked up a straw hat, and strolled out to the 
 village to post his letters. On the way there he fell 
 in with Amabel Bower, who, deep down in the 
 virginal recesses of her heart, cherished a wild, 
 romantic attachment for the tall, handsome barrister. 
 To her he was the very essence of chivalry, a survival 
 of the Middle Ages. Grievous it is indeed to relate 
 that her adorer, the excellent, if commonplace, little 
 Dr. Jinks, took but a secondary place in her young 
 affections. Her ideas concerning manhood were of 
 the heroic order exclusively. At the age of fourteen 
 nothing short of a Bobber Chief would have satisfied 
 her longings. Later on, finding that the supply of 
 Bobber Chiefs seemed to have dried up, a Pirate King 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 97 
 
 would have been accepted faute de mieux; and now, 
 at a period of life verging uncomfortably upon thirty, 
 she felt that she could content herself with just a 
 plain every-day gambler and roue. But she had 
 weaved a web of such highly-coloured fancies about 
 Sir Eustace as would have slightly astonished him, 
 had he been aware of it. Had he not been in the 
 army, and seen hard fighting ? Therefore, then, he 
 must have ridden at the head of his troops in furious 
 onslaught, and wild, reckless charge—the fact that 
 he was in an infantry regiment being probably too 
 insignificant a detail for her to trouble very seriously 
 about. Had he not been a leading man at the Bar ? 
 and was it not notorious that all barristers were 
 essentially—deliciously, she called it—wicked ? Yes, 
 a thousand times yes, cried the romantic maiden to 
 herself. Sir Eustace was everything that woman 
 could desire, and so, by a line of reasoning very far 
 indeed removed from Monica Stanforth’s, Miss Bower 
 came to very much the same notion that the lady at 
 Seccombe Manor had entertained, i.c., that Sir Eustace 
 would look best in chain-armour! 
 
 “Well, Miss Bower, and whither are your steps 
 taking you this morning ? ” asked he, as, with a 
 delicious little pretence of passing on, the young lady 
 
 ii 
 
98 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 consented to stop and speak — apparently quite 
 against her will. 
 
 “ Oh, Sir Eustace, you always will stop and delay 
 me when I’m busy”—this with a little indescrib¬ 
 able shake of the virgin shoulders intended to be 
 coquettish. 
 
 “ Come now, I’m sure Miss Bower can afford to 
 take pity on a solitary man, and give him a few 
 precious moments of her time. Shall I carry your 
 parcel for you ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, but you’re not going my way, though I do 
 rather wish you w T ere, because I am so terrified of 
 those dreadful cows that are turned out in the 
 Bectory field; and I know you are not terrified 
 at anything. How delightful to be so brave that 
 nothing frightens you ! ” 
 
 Eustace Bevan thought of his wife’s last dress¬ 
 maker’s bill, and said nothing. He good-naturedly 
 turned back to escort the Bector’s daughter past the— 
 more or less, according to circumstances—dreaded cows. 
 
 With her mind constantly running on thoughts of 
 the adventurous, she suddenly exclaimed— 
 
 “ Didn’t you once earn a medal, Sir Eustace ? ” 
 
 “Well, I don’t know that I earned a medal. I’ve 
 got one,” he laughed. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 90 
 
 “ Oh, how noble of you! Why don’t you wear it ? 
 It would look so distinguished, wouldn’t it ? ” 
 
 “ Very,” he said drily. 
 
 “ And your uniform ? I suppose you’ve given up 
 wearing that ? or perhaps it wouldn’t he big enough 
 for you now ? ” and then, thinking she had, perhaps, 
 transgressed the limits of maidenly modesty, Miss 
 Bower blushed violently, and felt hot all over. 
 
 “ Yes. I’m afraid the uniform wouldn’t he appre¬ 
 ciated in Court.” 
 
 He could not resist the impulse to get a little fun 
 out of an interview with Miss Bower. And he had 
 not the faintest conception of her feelings—which, in 
 truth, were not very deep—towards himself. 
 
 “ Here we are at the dreaded field. The cows look 
 very pacific this morning.” 
 
 Miss Bower sighed. Would that an infuriated 
 bull might charge them, that she, helpless, might lie 
 at the mercy of its cruel horns, and that Sir Eustace, 
 her Knight Errant, should rescue her, and bear her 
 off in the approved fashion of the stage heroine, who 
 always contrives, although unconscious, to clutch her 
 bearer tightly round the neck as he carries her off 
 into the labyrinth of the side wings. Alas! it was 
 not to be. The “meek-eyed kine” mildly refused 
 
100 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 to even raise their heads from the congenial and 
 seemingly never-ending task of chewing the end. 
 
 Miss Bower thought their conduct inconsiderate, 
 though not unnatural, and she heaved a gentle sigh of 
 regret when she had to part with her cavalier at the 
 farther gate, and disappear between the two high laurel 
 hedges of the Rectory garden. After breathing the 
 same atmosphere as such a prince among men, how 
 could she—how coulcl she ever bring herself to think 
 of such an obscure and timid little person as the 
 unhappy Jinks ? Jinks, whose first instinct would 
 have loudly called to him to climb a tree, if even a 
 cow had run after him! Jinks, who was neither 
 soldier, sailor, wicked barrister, Robber Chief, nor 
 Pirate King! Jinks had lived a blameless and 
 wholly uninteresting life in the company of three 
 maiden aunts and the family housekeeper—he was 
 only just sufficiently roue to indulge in whist at 
 threepenny points. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 101 
 
 CHAPTER XT. 
 
 Sunday afternoon; every window giving on to the 
 Italian terrace of the Manor House stood wide open, 
 to catch the faintest breath of air which might happen 
 to blow across the trim old garden from the deer- 
 park beyond. Summer silence reigned supreme, 
 broken only by the distant lowing of the cattle, the 
 subdued song of birds, the drowsy humming of the 
 bees. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth sat in the awning-shaded drawing¬ 
 room, gently moving a quaint, old-world feather fan 
 backwards and forwards. Monica was at the piano, 
 with Eustace Bevan standing at her side. The last 
 strains of Gounod’s “ Ave Maria ” were dying away 
 in the surrounding silence. Eustace drew a long 
 breath—almost like a sigh. 
 
 In his mind’s eye a vision arose of how this wealth 
 of holy calm, when man can commune with nature, 
 face to face, would have been dissipated in Hyde 
 
102 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Park Street. Angela, who always went to church on 
 Sunday mornings and yawned throughout the ser¬ 
 vice, for the sake of obtaining that cachet of respecta¬ 
 bility which regular church-going invariably gives— 
 Angela always required some strong antidote for her 
 matutinal sacrifice, on the Sabbath afternoon and 
 evening. Drives to Eichmond, accompanied, where 
 feasible, by the latest thing in raffish mankind; a 
 visit to the studio of some fashionable painter, who 
 made up in irreligion what he lacked in art; a noisy 
 river-launch party to desecrate, with loud and mirth¬ 
 less laughter, the noble reaches of the upper Thames ; 
 —something of this sort she felt she must have, or 
 else the day was denounced in no measured terms as 
 something worse than tristc. 
 
 On one occasion—it was a sultry July day, when 
 not a cloud specked the clear blue sky—she and 
 Eustace had gone together to Sevenoaks, and had 
 wandered amidst the stately, centuries-old timber 
 of Knole Park, sat in the shade of a broad-armed 
 oak, and looked upon the sylvan beauty of the scene 
 around them. But poor Angela was so intensely 
 cross and snappish and sleepy throughout the day, 
 that Eustace never cared to repeat the experiment. 
 
 She would have been bored to extinction by the 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 103 
 
 calm serenity of the day at Seccombe Manor House 
 —which, to her husband, was perfect peace and 
 happiness. 
 
 He had accompanied the two ladies home from 
 church on foot, and accepted Mrs. StanfortlTs invita¬ 
 tion to stay and have luncheon with them. In the 
 most natural manner, he and Monica had drifted off 
 to the piano afterwards, playing and singing some 
 half-dozen things before discovering that good Mrs. 
 Stanforth, soothed by the music, and rendered drowsy 
 by the heat of the day, had peacefully dozed off in 
 her easy-chair. 
 
 “ Do you feel inclined to stroll down to the lake ? ” 
 said Eustace. “ We might get into the punt and go 
 up as far as the old stone bridge.” 
 
 They walked out on to the terrace. Lichen had 
 gathered on its grey stone balustrading, and on the 
 disused sides of the steps leading down into the gar¬ 
 dens. There had been a refreshing shower overnight, 
 a shower that came in big pattering drops, and lasted 
 long enough to brighten and freshen up everything, 
 from washing the white road-dust off the hedges and 
 making them once more of brilliant emerald green, 
 to moistening the leaves of the grand forest oaks in 
 the park. 
 
104 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Eustace and his companion sauntered slowly 
 across the trimly-kept terraced gardens, past the 
 old sun-dial, whose stone pedestal was thickly 
 grown over with moss, and down to the round marble 
 pool, where the carp, their golden sides gleaming 
 brightly in the sun, plunged to lower depths as the 
 human intruders drew near their sanctuary. And 
 here Monica paused to gaze into the cool depths of 
 the little fish-pond. 
 
 In her plain white dress, falling in soft, graceful 
 folds, her rich auburn hair loosely knotted into a big 
 coil at the hack, and shaded by a sun-hat made 
 of white crepe lisse, she had never looked more 
 lovely than she did to-day. No wonder Eustace 
 Bevan felt his pulse beat quicker as he looked at her, 
 and saw “a daughter of the gods divinely tall, and 
 most divinely fair.” “ And I have married Angela! ” 
 was his bitter reflection, as he feasted his eyes on the 
 girl’s exquisite beauty. Whether he admired the 
 picture as an artist, or as a man, he did not stop 
 to inquire. 
 
 They passed through the little wicket gate into the 
 park. Through the bright bracken, still glistening 
 with the rain-drops where the sun had failed to pene¬ 
 trate, they walked on, under wide-armed oaks and 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 105 
 
 chestnuts, down the fantastic woodland glades to the 
 border of the lake, whose placid surface lay stretched 
 at their feet. Eustace loosed the punt, and pulled it 
 round to the little rustic landing-stage for Miss 
 Stanfortli to get in. He followed her, and taking 
 the paddles, leisurely sculled up towards where, at 
 the head of the lake, an old stone bridge spanned 
 the water at its narrowest part. Here, beneath the 
 shade of a willow tree, whose branches overhung the 
 lake, he moored the punt. 
 
 “ Smoke,” commanded Monica, laughing. 
 
 “ May I ? How thoughtful you are, Miss Stan¬ 
 ford.” 
 
 “ Put my thoughtfulness down to the necessity of 
 driving away the midges,” responded she, as Eustace 
 drew forth a cigar and proceeded to light it. 
 
 “ How lovely this place is ! ” he said, as he allowed 
 his eyes to rove over the still, pellucid water, to the 
 undulating sward beyond. 
 
 Half a dozen of the cattle were standing up to 
 their knees and hocks at the border of the lake; the 
 gauzy-winged dragon-flies darted hither and thither, 
 whilst here and there a bright flash of blue plumage 
 denoted the presence of a kingfisher at his work. 
 The distant cawing of the rooks, whose eyrie 
 
106 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 tree-tops dominated the stables, seemed almost as if 
 it emphasized, instead of broke, the silence. 
 
 “Yes,” murmured Monica, her low, sweet voice 
 filling the air with music as she spoke. “ No place 
 could ever seem half so dear to me as Seccombe. I 
 have got to love every tree, every glade in the woods. 
 But I am very glad to hear it praised by others as 
 well; you are so unlike most people who live in 
 town—Seccombe falls very flat with the majority of 
 London-bred men, you know.” 
 
 “ But, firstly, I am not ‘ London-bred; 5 and 
 secondly, ‘ my poverty, but not my will, consents ’ 
 to my passing my life in town. It is solely because 
 I have the task of finding my loaves and fishes at the 
 Law Courts that I live in London. Town is charm¬ 
 ing—in its way—for a limited period. I like to see 
 everything that art and the theatres can show me; I 
 like to hear the best music, read the newest books, 
 see all my friends—but I must say that I regard 
 London somewhat in the same light as most Irish¬ 
 men look upon Dublin. I think that it is a very 
 nice place to live away from. Were I rich enough to 
 retire, nothing would induce me to live in London.” 
 
 “ Not even Lady Sevan ? ” 
 
 He had forgotten her. Truth to tell, he often did 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 107 
 
 forget her now. She was not of the class of women 
 who make themselves necessary to men. The 
 thousand little offices which good women can per¬ 
 form, the ways in which they can help their 
 husbands—even if it be only in taking an intelli¬ 
 gent interest in their work— all these were untrodden 
 paths, as far as Angela Bevan was concerned; and 
 the woman who lives solely, or even mainly, for 
 herself, cannot in reason complain that she is never 
 missed by those around her. 
 
 “Well,” replied Sir Eustace, in a somewhat reluc¬ 
 tant tone, “ she, of course, would not care to live in 
 the country ; but—ah, well, it is of no use speculating 
 on improbabilities. I suppose my fate is to stay on, 
 in uncongenial London, to be hired by suitors, to live 
 and to die in harness, so I may as well say, with the 
 follower of the prophet, “ Kismet,” and bow my head 
 to the inevitable. I always go down to the country 
 when I can, though.” 
 
 “ Without Lady Bevan ? ” asked Monica, in some 
 surprise. 
 
 " Yes. The country bores her. Trees always 
 mean damp, ivy she looks upon solely as a recep¬ 
 tacle for earwigs, a country lane as a deposit of mud. 
 She is frightened of horses and cows, hates pigs, and 
 
108 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 declares that the cackling from a poultry-yard brings 
 on an attack of ‘ nerves.’ I suppose you take 
 a lively interest in such things as cattle and 
 poultry ? ” 
 
 “ Oh yes. I delight in it all. It may be painfully 
 unromantic to say so, but I take the greatest interest 
 in the poultry; and as to the pigs, they are a complete 
 study in themselves! To see them scamper off, as 
 soon as they are released, in search of acorns in 
 the park, is most amusing. You have no idea how 
 intensely funny it is to watch the little black things 
 —our pigs are Berkshires—play with each other. 
 The ‘ grown-ups ’ are all humorists to a pig! ” 
 
 Sir Eustace laughed. 
 
 “You must have observed their manners and 
 customs pretty closely, Miss Stanfortli. I had no 
 idea they were so entertaining.” 
 
 “ Everything in the animal creation is amusing, if 
 one only takes the trouble to watch. The subject 
 interests me quite as much as my rosery, and I am 
 intensely fond of that. I mean to make Lady Bevan 
 fond of the pigs and the poultry, now she is coming 
 to stay down here for a time to look after you.” 
 
 Eustace Bevan had long since seen that his wife 
 did not intend to stay in country quarters under any 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 109 
 
 circumstances. As to her “ looking after ” him, the 
 bare idea brought a cynical smile to his face. 
 
 “ Lady Bevan ”—he had taken a curious dislike to 
 alluding to her as “my wife”—“Lady Bevan will 
 only stay here a few days. She is going abroad—to 
 Biarritz.” 
 
 “ But is not this the wrong time of year for 
 Biarritz ? ” 
 
 “Yes, from an English point of view. It is the 
 Spanish season there now, and the place is really 
 much gayer than in the winter months, when it 
 becomes a sort of British colony. The saline baths 
 are supposed to be an absolute cure for every com¬ 
 plaint—real or imaginary. They are especially 
 efficacious in the cure of people who have nothing 
 the matter with them, and I have no doubt but that 
 Angela will return completely restored to health.” 
 
 A curious smile of contemptuous amusement played 
 momentarily over his handsome features. Although 
 not the faintest suspicion of his wife’s fidelity had 
 ever crossed his mind, yet he had seen that her latest 
 move to get to Biarritz was certainly not on account 
 of health considerations alone. He put it down in 
 his own mind to her desire to avoid living in the 
 little country village when the London season should 
 
110 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 be over. He could hardly be blamed for feeling 
 a certain amount of indifference as to her move¬ 
 ments—their lives had drifted so far apart, and were 
 ever continuing to diverge. 
 
 Monica drew a gentle little sigh. She would like, 
 if possible, to draw these two together; to get the 
 wife to take more interest in her husband’s welfare 
 than she had done of late. She wished, somehow, 
 that he could be made a happier man; that the 
 phantom of cynicism which started up here and 
 there in his conversation could be exorcised. He 
 was not a natural cynic; so much she could plainly 
 see for herself; what unhappy circumstance was 
 it, of his life, that had implanted this bitterness 
 within him ? Monica Stanforth half-feared, half- 
 guessed, the truth. 
 
 With some women the instinct to do good is as 
 irresistible, and springs as naturally into being, as 
 that to do evil in others. So it was with this one; 
 to do good was the strongest impulse in her nature. 
 Here, she thought, was a fair field for her efforts. 
 If she could bring about a closer tie, a better feeling 
 between these two, how happy it would make her. 
 
 And yet- To her own great surprise, she had to 
 
 ask herself the question—Would it be a pleasurable 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Ill 
 
 task ?—would she, individually, be glad to see these 
 two closely united again ? Yes, a thousand times 
 yes, she told herself, with a touch of indignation 
 
 in her mind. And yet- The girl gave a slight 
 
 shiver, though the day was so warm. 
 
 “Let us go back now. Mother will be wanting 
 her tea,” she said. 
 
 Sir Eustace threw away the remnant of his cigar 
 and took up the paddles. A few powerful strokes 
 sent the punt out of the sheltering branches; ten 
 minutes’ pulling brought them down the lake and 
 back to the landing-stage again. When he took 
 the girl’s hand to assist her ashore, it trembled 
 slightly at his touch, and for the first time in his 
 experience of her companionship he noticed that 
 her eyes were downcast, and did not meet his own. 
 The walk back across the park was a strangely 
 silent one. Each of their minds was occupied with 
 thoughts new to it. 
 
112 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 “ Amabel ! ” called out the Rector; “ Amabel— 
 Amabel! ” 
 
 Xo answer, although the fair lady thus called 
 upon was sitting in the next room, and heard 
 perfectly well the plaintive voice of her father. 
 Amabel was, at that moment, in the throes of 
 manufacturing what she honestly supposed to be 
 poetry, and did not wish to be disturbed. 
 
 “ ‘ Once more he urged his steed to headlong 
 speed.’ ‘Steed’ and ‘speed’ don’t sound well in 
 the same line, though, do they ? ” she communed 
 with herself, biting perplexedly at the end of her 
 pen. “ I think that, ‘ Once more he-’ ” 
 
 “ Amabel! Am-a-bel! ” 
 
 “Oh, bother! Well?” shrieked the damsel; “what 
 is it you want, papa ? ” 
 
 “ Where are my spectacles, my dear ? ” came the 
 mild accents of the Rector’s voice. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 113 
 
 “ Why, you’ve left them in here, of course! ” 
 answered Miss Bower, somewhat tartly. “ Why 
 you can’t hang them round your neck, I’m sure 
 I don’t know, instead of bothering everybody in the 
 house about the things ! ” 
 
 She picked them up, strode, rather then walked, 
 into the next room, and banged the offending glasses 
 on her father’s table so roughly as to cause that 
 long-suffering man a pang of anguish for their 
 safety. He took them up, held them to the light 
 to assure himself that they were uninjured, and then, 
 in gentle tones, expostulated— 
 
 “ My dear girl, I am sure you mean well, and 
 it was, of course, tiresome of me to worry you ; 
 but still, considering our relationship, considering 
 that I have always endeavoured throughout your 
 
 life to point out that-” But he was speaking to 
 
 the empty air. Amabel had gone. 
 
 Mr. Bower sighed; and then, sitting down to his 
 table, slowly picked up a quill pen and began the 
 composition of his sermon for the following Sunday. 
 Whilst he was wrestling with the prose, his daughter 
 returned to the poetry. 
 
 Amabel was not by any means bad-looking. She 
 had passed her first youth, and her temper had 
 
 i 
 
114 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 become a trifle acidulated; but that she was not 
 without power to charm, was evident from the fact 
 that poor little Dr. Jinks was genuinely in love with 
 her. 
 
 Just at this moment, Amabel was thinking a 
 good deal about the mild little medico. Should 
 she encourage his aspirations, or should she not ? 
 “ If only he were more adventurous, or more 
 wicked I ” she sighed. “ Oh, why did not Fate send 
 me a Sir Galahad—or a Sir Eustace,” she added, 
 with a sudden drop from the realm of fiction into 
 that of fact. “ How delightful he is! I am sure 
 he’s bold—there’s a romance, a hidden mystery 
 about his past life, I’m certain. I love any one with 
 a past! And poor Augustus Jinks has absolutely 
 no past at all. I would have a sun-burnt, haggard 
 traveller, fresh from discoveries in equatorial Africa ; 
 or a man who had fought and bled for his country; 
 or—or a reckless gambler; or a French Chasseur 
 with a roving eye, who has urged his charger at 
 lightning speed across Afric’s burning plains, or”— 
 and here a Church of England bringing-up asserted 
 itself inexorably in Miss Bower’s mind —“ ‘ India’s 
 coral strand.’ I’m afraid that’s a quotation from 
 the missionary hymn, but no matter. And instead 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 115 
 
 of this, Augustus can only say that, upon one 
 occasion at Oxford, he went out hunting, fell off at 
 the first fence, and walked home; that he was once 
 present at a wine-party there, and refused to play 
 loo because it was against his principles; and that 
 he always used to rise and walk out of the room as 
 a protest, whenever any one said d-a-m, dam. His 
 travels have never extended beyond Brighton and 
 the Isle of Wight; he has not even a roving eye ! ” 
 
 And Amabel Bower flung away the pen which she 
 had been grasping in her hand with a gesture of 
 deepest disgust, and sank back into her chair. Then 
 her momentarily forgotten verse caught her eye, and 
 once again she applied herself to the task of attempt¬ 
 ing to grind out a line to follow “ Once more he 
 urged, etc.” 
 
 “ And all unconscious of his fate,” the little doctor 
 was even then on his way up the Rectory path to 
 “ put it to the touch, to win or lose it all.” It is 
 only fair to say that Augustus Jinks had on several 
 previous occasions come to a similar resolution; but 
 somehow his courage had always failed him at the 
 crucial moment, and that resolution had never yet 
 been embodied in the form of words. 
 
 Sighs, no girl, however keen a man-hunter she be, 
 
11G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 can torture into actual proposal. Amabel wished 
 him to propose—every woman likes to take as many 
 scalps as she can—but she had by no means made up 
 her mind, aye or no, as to whether she should elect 
 to become Mrs. Augustus or not when he did so. 
 
 Dr. Jinks had left the pony-chaise, in which he— 
 and the maiden aunts—drove about the neighbour¬ 
 hood, and was now completely hidden by the laurels 
 bordering the Rectory pathway, wdiich towered even 
 above his hat. And, in proportion to the Man, the 
 Hat was an important factor. Whether he imagined 
 that it added to his height or not, to wear so tall a 
 one, no one ever knew; but nine people out of ten 
 held the opinion that, as compared with the Hat, the 
 Man was an insignificant detail! 
 
 Dr. Jinks rang timidly, almost apologetically, at 
 the iron-handled bell—it seemed to make such an 
 unnecessary clamour this morning. Then, having 
 learned to his unspeakable relief that the Hector had 
 just gone across to the church, and that Miss Bower 
 was in and would see him, he deposited the Hat on 
 a hall chair; then, altering his mind at the last 
 moment, snatched it and his gloves up again, dropped 
 his umbrella, and recovering that, stumbled into the 
 drawing-room, and there sat down upon the extreme. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 117 
 
 edge of the chair nearest the door. He had hardly 
 done so when Amabel, flinging wide the portal with 
 what she intended to be a queenly air, entered 
 the room. 
 
 The little man gave a kind of gulp, and then, as he 
 turned to touch the proffered hand—rather inky at 
 the fingers from the morning’s literary exertions—he 
 wreathed his features painfully into a smile—a smile 
 which bore a remarkable resemblance to a grimace. 
 
 In previous conversation with his inamorata, Dr. 
 Jinks had plainly seen that a blameless life was no 
 trump-card to play if he wished to win this priceless, 
 though hitherto unappropriated, blessing. So he 
 wisely took the opposite tack now, and endeavoured, 
 as far as in him lay, to pose as “ a bold, bad man.” 
 He had already joined the Volunteers—that was his 
 first step on the downward path ; he had played cards 
 for money—threepenny points at whist; he had 
 smoked one of that brand of cigar known to the 
 initiated as a “ twopenny Bengal,” without any worse 
 effects than a certain clamminess of the brows, and a 
 desire to avoid being present at the next meal; he 
 had even pursued his career of crime to the extent of 
 —mention it with bated breath !—winking at a girl 
 when she was looking the other way. He had turned 
 
118 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 dreadfully red over this last exploit; and having thus 
 steeped himself to the hilt in wickedness, thought 
 that he might now consider his wild oats as sown. 
 After going through all these experiences, he talked 
 with the air of a war-worn veteran, or a reckless 
 rake, just as the mood took him. He tried to feel 
 the part, though he certainly did not look it. 
 
 “ Ah, dear Miss Bower, I am delighted to see you 
 looking so well! I’m sure you are never likely to 
 require a doctor’s care.” 
 
 That was exactly the point upon which Amabel 
 had not yet made up her mind. 
 
 “ Oh, as to that, I always say that we girls have 
 no right to be ill. How, have we? ” and she giggled 
 in so ecstatic—to his mind—a manner, that little 
 Dr. Jinks really felt that life without Miss Bower 
 would be a dreary blank. 
 
 “ I came to tell you that—at least, I mean one of 
 the things I came to tell you to-day—was that there 
 is to be a flower-show, after all, at Chevely. I heard 
 it to-morrow—I mean yesterday—and it’s quite de¬ 
 cided that they are not to admit steam-roundabouts 
 this year.” 
 
 As a retailer of small-talk, the Doctor could well 
 hold his own. “ Bare good chap at a muffin-worry ! ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 119 
 
 growled out tlie Admiral on one occasion when lie 
 heard the little man’s loquacity on village topics 
 belauded. 
 
 “ Oh, how interesting! ” exclaimed Amabel in 
 somewhat disappointed tones. Clearly, he must be 
 encouraged, and “ brought on ” a little. 
 
 “Yes. And the committee are going to ask Sir 
 Eustace Sevan to make a speech when the prizes are 
 given.” 
 
 This last remark also fell very flat. Really, it 
 would be too tiresome if he went away again without 
 saying something definite. 
 
 “ I’m not at all sure I shall go. You see, I have 
 no brothers—no one to take me, unless papa should 
 happen to go.” 
 
 Dr. Jinks put one foot in his hat as he almost sprang 
 from the chair in eagerness to volunteer his escort. 
 
 “Would you—that is—er—ahem—if it would be 
 agreeable to—to the Hector, I might drive you over 
 in the chaise—with my aunt,” he added in a lower 
 tone, as the awful fear came upon him that his 
 temerity had been too great. 
 
 “ Oh, thanks ! ” answered Miss Bower in somewhat 
 flabby tones. The prospect was hardly to be described 
 as dazzling. 
 
120 
 
 OUT OF Tin*: DARKNESS. 
 
 A pause of some awkwardness ensued, and then, a3 
 the visitor showed no sign, Amabel again led off. 
 
 “ You haven’t seen the tomatoes growing against 
 the stable-wall, Dr. dinks, have you ? No, nor the 
 lovely show of young cucumbers we have now. You 
 positively must not go away without looking at them. 
 Shall we stroll down there now ? and I dare say we 
 shall meet papa coming back from the church. I 
 know he has gone over there.” 
 
 “Won’t you catch cold, dear Miss Dower? Are 
 you sure? No, thanks, 1 don’t want my hat. I’m 
 so accustomed to going about bareheaded”—this 
 with an air of hardihood almost amounting to mild 
 ferocity—“that I liardlv know whether my hat is on 
 or off.” 
 
 Amabel cast a glance at the article in question, 
 and felt some difficulty in crediting his last 
 statement. 
 
 They started on their way down the garden. Dr. 
 Jinks thought he would find the momentous pro¬ 
 position less nervous work in the open air than 
 indoors. He did not know why, but that was his 
 impression. A wholly unforeseen difficulty, how¬ 
 ever, cropi>ed up here; the path was so narrow, that 
 only one at a time could walk down it. Amabel 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 121 
 
 went ahead, whilst the little man trotted along 
 behind her. To proceed in Indian file is not even 
 conducive to the saying of sweet nothings, let alone 
 to the far more serious matter of making a proposal 
 of marriage. 
 
 Yet he must face one of two alternatives: either 
 he must find some opportunity of proposing, or go 
 away again to endure more of the dreadful suspense 
 of unsatisfied longings. He must, as sailors say, 
 “ get alongside,” so, pausing for a brief moment in 
 order to turn up the ends of his fancy check trousers, 
 he plunged boldly on to the Rector’s celery-beds, and 
 walked ruthlessly over the ecclesiastical new potatoes 
 as he began to stammer his love-tale into his 
 charmer’s ear. 
 
 Before he had got out two complete sentences, 
 they arrived at the old red-brick wall, against which 
 the green and red tomatoes grew. In answer to an 
 imploring look from the doctor, Amabel sank grace¬ 
 fully upon the edge of a cucumber-frame, and he, 
 not without certain misgivings, took his place 
 beside her. 
 
 It is surprising how eloquent even the shyest of 
 men sometimes become under the stress of circum¬ 
 stances such as these. Dr. Jinks poured forth such 
 
122 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 a wealth of detail as regarded both himself and his 
 
 prospects, that Amabel was obliged to stop him in 
 
 the midst of an elaborate inventory of his furniture 
 
 %/ 
 
 and table-linen. 
 
 “ Oh, I don’t care to hear anything of these sordid 
 details,” she exclaimed. “ With the man I loved, even 
 if he had not a farthing, I would go to the world's 
 end ”—the Doctor, who had practical ideas, could not 
 help wondering whether the railway and steamboat 
 companies would prove sufficiently trusting to enable 
 this to be accomplished—“but—this is so sudden." 
 
 “ Oh, take time, take time, I beseech you, to think 
 it over. I will wait, ah ! so willingly—at least, I 
 don’t mean willingly—but I will wait patiently 
 until you know your own heart.” 
 
 “ I am still young-” 
 
 “ And beautiful,” added he, rapturously taking her 
 somewhat “useful” hand within his own. “Oh, 
 Amabel, give me hope! Let me feel that when I 
 leave you to-day, I shall go-” 
 
 But at that identical moment an ominous crash of 
 the frame he was seated on, foHowed bv a sudden 
 smashing of glass, precluded the hearing of the 
 doctor’s speech as to where he wished to go. Where 
 he did go was through the glass frame and on to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 123 
 
 the youthful and aspiring cucumbers below, making 
 a havoc which the Hector at a later period of the 
 day absolutely shed tears over. The romance that 
 Amabel had hoped was at last about to shed its 
 halo over her, was shattered like “ the baseless fabric 
 of a vision,” or the cucumber-frame upon which 
 Augustus had so lately sat. 
 
124 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 As a rule, Lady Bevan travelled with a great deal 
 of luggage. A four days’ visit to a country house 
 meant half a dozen huge trunks carefully packed 
 with Worth’s and Doucet’s latest creations. But on 
 the occasion of her visit to Furness Cottage, she was 
 in a remarkably bad temper, and so miserable at 
 leaving London, that in answer to her maid’s inquiry 
 as to what she should pack, she said— 
 
 “Nothing; a waterproof is all one ever wants in 
 the country in England.” 
 
 But the maid knew her too well to carry out these 
 instructions. She had too often heard herself called 
 “ fool and idiot ” for strictly obeying her mistress’s 
 wishes when the latter was in a bad temper, and 
 she knew that pretty dresses would be a consolation 
 to Lady Bevan wherever she was. 
 
 So Angela arrived with her regulation amount of 
 boxes, the sight of which rather dismayed Sir 
 Eustace. It looked as if she had come to stay. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 125 
 
 But nothing was further from the lady’s thoughts 
 than a long visit. In the train she had been 
 reading a hook of the new school—the heroine 
 talked of “ prostituting ” herself by living with a 
 husband for whom she had ceased to care. Angela 
 wondered if there were really such fools in the 
 world, and if such erotic raving as this book con¬ 
 tained could influence people supposed to be sane; 
 nevertheless, she was amused. She thought with a 
 grim smile how very convenient this new code was. 
 You deceived your husband, and pleaded “ morality ” 
 and the higher instinct of nature as an excuse. She 
 decided, nevertheless, that her own system was 
 better. To save appearances seemed to her far nicer 
 and more philosophical than to cry out your shame 
 from the housetops, and expect people to pity you 
 because you were “ misunderstood ” by your husband. 
 The world only asks not to see, she thought; of 
 course it has its little inuendoes, but the less it is 
 shown the better it is pleased, because its ignorance 
 gives it greater scope for lies and exaggeration. 
 And so she returned to her book with a feeling of 
 satisfaction that she had finally settled the absurdities 
 of the “ new woman,” and that her own example to 
 the world ought to be more generally observed. 
 
126 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 The passion-tossed heroine was still debating what 
 she should do, when Angela suddenly found herself 
 at Seccombe, and face to face with her husband. 
 
 Sir Eustace had come to meet her as a duty, not 
 as a pleasure. He would far rather have gone for a 
 ride, now that a fresh evening breeze had sprung up, 
 carrying with it renewed health and vigour after the 
 great heat of the day, but he must outwardly respect 
 the woman who bore his name, even though he felt 
 her to be unworthy of this respect. 
 
 Angela pretended to be very pleased to see him; 
 she declared that he was looking ten years younger, 
 and that it was absolutely absurd to say he would 
 require a year’s rest. 
 
 “The fact is, doctors know nothing,” she said. 
 “ It is naturally their duty to make you out much 
 worse than you are. If you get better, they have all 
 the credit of having cured you; and if you die, they 
 calmly shake their heads and say, ‘ I told you so.’ 
 Ho, my dear Eustace,” she concluded, “you are 
 all right now. You will begin work again after the 
 long vacation.” 
 
 Her husband shrugged his shoulders, and merely 
 said that he should continue to follow the doctor’s 
 advice. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 127 
 
 Angela said no more. It really pleased her to see 
 that he was so much better; there would certainly 
 be no fear of their income coming to the dreadfully 
 abrupt end that she had feared. Eustace was quite 
 well, and must resume work—at any rate, when she 
 came back from Biarritz. 
 
 “ I hope you have got a good dinner for me,” she 
 said greedily, after a long pause. 
 
 Eustace was far away at the moment, his thoughts 
 having carried him to the Manor House, and he was 
 wondering what Monica was doing, and if by any 
 chance she was thinking of him. What a hopeless 
 task, he thought, to effect a better understanding 
 between Angela and himself. Angela, who was only 
 concerned about the fate of her boxes and what she 
 was going to eat, and he whose thoughts were wholly 
 at the Manor. 
 
 “ Dinner! ” he said absently. “ I don’t remember 
 what I ordered.” 
 
 “ I suppose you don’t know how to order a dinner, 
 you silly old noodle,” said Angela, and her flippant 
 familiarity displeased him even more than her usual 
 callous selfishness. “ What do you do in the even¬ 
 ings ? ” she continued, stifling a yawn. 
 
 “ Once or twice a week I play whist with the 
 
128 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Rector. We meet at each other’s houses,” he 
 answered. 
 
 “ How exciting! ” said Angela. “ Do you play for 
 love, or for sugar-plums ? ” 
 
 “ I didn’t come here for excitement,” he answered; 
 “ and whist is a good enough game to be independent 
 of the stakes.” 
 
 “Are you going anywhere this evening?” she 
 asked. 
 
 “ I should scarcely make an engagement for the 
 evening of your arrival,” he answered shortly. 
 
 “ Of course not,” she laughed. “ It was a silly 
 question. I know you always consider les con¬ 
 venances” 
 
 “ I generally consider you in any arrangements I 
 make,” he said stiffly. 
 
 “I hope the Stanfortlis will ask me to dinner 
 whilst I am here,” she said. “ How are they ? ” 
 
 “They are quite well,” he answered, rather sur¬ 
 prised by her question. 
 
 “ I suppose Monica is not engaged to be married 
 yet ? ” 
 
 “Engaged ? No, I think not,” he answered with a 
 certain amount of confusion. 
 
 “The man is not born who is good enough for 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 129 
 
 her/’ pursued Angela inconsequently. “ She ought 
 to have lived in the Middle Ages, and had a Knight- 
 Errant all to herself.” 
 
 Sir Eustace did not answer. 
 
 “ Do you think her pretty ? ” continued Angela 
 nonchalantly. 
 
 “ She is very beautiful,” said Sir Eustace. 
 
 “ Yes, I suppose she is,” said Angela; “ but it is a 
 cold kind of beauty. I can imagine her inspiring 
 respectful admiration, but not passionate love.” 
 
 Eustace kept his own counsel. As he did not 
 exactly agree with his wife, he thought it better 
 to say nothing. 
 
 “ I have been reading such a horrible book in the 
 train,” said Angela, flying from one subject to 
 another. “It is called ‘The Floodgates of Love.’ 
 I will leave it for you when I go away. It is one 
 long tirade against the Marriage Service. I dare say 
 it will amuse you.” 
 
 And then they reached Furness Cottage. Angela 
 could not help being struck by the prettiness of the 
 scene, the sweet fresh smell of the flower-decked 
 drawing-room, and the lightness of the air, all so 
 different to the atmosphere she had just left behind 
 her in London. 
 
 Iv 
 
130 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Certainly the country was very enjoyable in the 
 daytime, but one ought always to return to town in 
 the evening. 
 
 Theatres and parties were absolutely indispensable 
 to existence, and nothing could be more terrible than 
 the stillness of a country evening with the know¬ 
 ledge that you would see no one until the next day. 
 And then the nights ! Always dogs to howl, or cocks 
 to crow, or sparrows that began twittering as soon as 
 daylight appeared. 
 
 “ Oh no,” thought Angela. “ This is very, very 
 delightful for two or three days, but I should cut my 
 throat if I had to stay a month! ” 
 
 After dinner she proposed that they should go for 
 a walk. She was slightly better-tempered from 
 having dined well, but she still felt unequal to a 
 prolonged tete-a-tete with her husband. 
 
 “ I suppose it is too late to go and see the 
 Stanforths ? ” she said. 
 
 “ Of course it is,” said her husband. “ It is very 
 nearly ten o’clock.” 
 
 “ Is that so very late ? ” she asked. " I should be 
 only too delighted if people would call upon me at 
 that hour in the country.” 
 
 “ People go to bed at that hour here,” he answered. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 131 
 
 He had a strange reluctance to going with her to the 
 Manor House. He could not exactlv tell whv, but 
 for nothing on earth would he have taken Angela 
 there that evening. 
 
 “ I should have thought that thev would have 
 
 O c/ 
 
 been sitting out in the garden, and have been very 
 pleased to see us,” she persisted. 
 
 Sir Eustace wondered if Monica would be verv 
 pleased to see them, but he said nothing. 
 
 •'Well, can we see the havmakers coming home; 
 or what alternative do vou offer me 1 ” she said with 
 a laugh; and then, “ Let us come and call on the 
 Admiral. I feel in a sociable humour. I want to 
 meet human beings.” 
 
 We can call on the Admiral if you like,” said 
 Eustace: “ but I don’t know that he will appreciate 
 our visit at this time of night.” 
 
 “ Oh ves he will” exclaimed Angela. “ I will 
 
 *4 ' CJ 
 
 tell him about ‘ The Floodgates of Love ’—it will 
 make him laugh.” 
 
 ” It will make him let loose the floodgates of bad 
 language,” said Eustace. ; He hates the new-fangled 
 contempt for marriage, or any disrespect to old- 
 established ins titutions. ’ ’ 
 
 Thev walked through the village street together, 
 
 V <W CJ ' 
 
132 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Angela daintily attired in a black gauzy dress with 
 shining sequins on the body, diamond ornaments 
 sparkling in her ears, and a cloud of deftly-arranged 
 lace over her head. So unlike the “ waterproof 
 which she had told her maid was all that was 
 necessary for the country. 
 
 They found the Admiral at home, and he certainly 
 
 appeared pleased to see them. 
 
 “ You see, my first visit is for you,” exclaimed 
 Angela in her cheeriest and most seductive voice. 
 
 “ Eustace wanted me to perch at the same time as 
 the fowls, and said it was almost improper to be 
 seen out after ten o’clock ; but I said I didn’t care, 
 I liked impropriety, and I wanted to see my 
 Admiral.” 
 
 “And you are very welcome,” he said. “I am 
 sorry I have nothing to offer you but whiskey and 
 water; but an old bachelor!—you know what that 
 means—total absence of all home comforts.” 
 
 “I have this minute got up from dinner,” said 
 Angela, sinking into the most comfortable chair in 
 the room; “ and this is the cosiest little den I ever 
 saw. It wouldn’t be half so nice if you had a wife. 
 One can look round and see all your trophies, and 
 enjoy the stories which I am sure you tell about 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 133 
 
 them. If you were married there would be work- 
 boxes and rubbish scattered about, and no real 
 comfort.” 
 
 “ And how do you think our great Q.C. is looking ? ” 
 said the Admiral, puffing away at his pipe. 
 
 “ Oh, he is cured,” said Angela decidedly. “ I 
 shall go away without the slightest uneasiness. I 
 never saw such an extraordinary recovery. The air 
 here must be wonderful.” 
 
 “ Yes, good air, good living, no worry, and no 
 d—d women—I beg your pardon, I mean not too 
 many charming ladies—are the things men like Sir 
 Eustace thrive on.” 
 
 Angela burst out laughing. 
 
 “ You hardened old cynic! ” she said. “ How 
 dare you abuse my sex ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t abuse your sex, my dear lady,” he said; 
 “ I love ’em all—all,” he finished with a loud wheezy 
 laugh; and then he added with a cynical chuckle, 
 “ They can’t do me any more harm. Ho, they can’t 
 do the old Admiral any harm now,” and Angela 
 involuntarily joined in his laugh. 
 
 And then she told him about the “ The Floodgates 
 of Love,” and the Admiral ceased laughing, and 
 said— 
 
134 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ These new theories on marriages are all skittles. 
 Why can’t women sail with the wind, instead of 
 tacking about and getting out of their proper course ? 
 I’d give ’em the rope’s end,” he concluded; “ and I 
 shan’t read your book, dear lady, because that sort 
 of rubbish makes me ill.” 
 
 Angela didn’t feel quite comfortable during his 
 peroration, but with this slight exception she enjoyed 
 her visit; and when she walked home with her 
 husband at eleven o’clock, she had the satisfaction 
 of feeling that already one of the dreaded evenings 
 was over. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 135 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The clock points to five minutes past eight in the 
 drawing-room of the Manor House. Several pairs 
 of hungry, eager eyes are turned towards the door, 
 awaiting the arrival of Sir Eustace and Lady Bevan. 
 
 Angela, of course, is late; but she will come in 
 presently with a pretty little frightened look, and 
 declare that it is not her fault. An excuse will 
 have been invented in the carriage, and being the 
 last to arrive, she will make her usual effect. The 
 dinner is being given in her honour, and, indeed, at 
 her request. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth, always ready and good-natured, 
 has with willing alacrity acceded to Angela’s 
 suggestion that she should be asked to meet a few 
 of her husband’s friends. 
 
 The Reverend Jack and his daughter Amabel, Dr. 
 Jinks and the Admiral, and a certain Miss Meffles, 
 compose the party. 
 
 Miss Meffles would be described in a play-bill as 
 
13G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ the village gossip.” No one likes, and most people 
 fear, her; but Miss Meffles holds her own, and is 
 generally to be found at any social function. At 
 a dinner she is more or less invaluable—she talks 
 long and loud, and never lets a party flag. Well 
 off, well dressed, and not bad-looking, although on 
 the shady side of forty, she represents the smart, 
 or up-to-date old maid, and she is fully aware of her 
 own importance. 
 
 She it is who, five minutes later, gives an in¬ 
 credulous sniff when Angela trips in with her little 
 innocent white lie fresh on her lips. 
 
 “ I thought being late had gone out of fashion in 
 London,” she said unsparingly. “I am told that 
 punctuality, la politessc des Hois, is much more in 
 vogue nowadays.” 
 
 “ I am always late,” answered Angela, unmoved; 
 “ but I suppose that is because I do not study the 
 fashions.” 
 
 Monica comes forward and gives them a pleasant 
 greeting. Calm, dignified, and graceful, there is yet 
 some embarrassment in her manner of shaking hands 
 with Lady Bevan, but none in the cordial way in 
 which she performs the same ceremony with Sir 
 Eustace. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 137 
 
 Dinner is almost immediately announced, and 
 Angela starts the procession on the arm of Admiral 
 Stanforth. 
 
 “I am so glad you have got to take me in,” she 
 says cheerfully. “ You must tell me some of your 
 wickedest stories during dinner.” 
 
 Then comes the Hector with Miss Meffles, followed 
 by Amabel and her faithful lover, and lastly, Mrs. 
 Stanforth and Sir Eustace, with Monica walking by 
 their side. 
 
 “ Men are so scarce here that poor Monica is left 
 without one,” says Mrs. Stanforth. 
 
 “ I am quite as happy,” says Monica, contentedly. 
 “ I had to find eleven topics of conversation for the 
 last one who took me into dinner, and it was only 
 when I finally struck the vein of fox-terriers that 
 I found him at home.” 
 
 The dinner is bright and amusing. Miss Meffles 
 and Angela try to out-talk each other. The latter 
 does not give the Admiral any chance of telling her 
 wicked stories—the one example she has of them 
 being so terrible that she looks almost uneasily at 
 Sir Eustace to see if he heard it, and after that she 
 determines to do all the talking herself. 
 
 Monica and Sir Eustace are seated at opposite 
 
138 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 sides of the table, and it is only by craning his neck 
 and dodging a large corbeille of flowers that he 
 occasionally gets a view of her. 
 
 The two happiest people of the party are un¬ 
 doubtedly the Doctor and the Doctor’s future wife. 
 It is now an admitted fact that they are “ engaged,” 
 and later on, the news having become known 
 through the kindly offices of Miss Meffles, the 
 Admiral suggests that they should all drink the 
 health of the young couple. 
 
 Amabel blushes as only a new-engaged girl can 
 blush; and Augustus Jinks, foreseeing that he will 
 be expected to make a speech, becomes deathly pale. 
 It is the one blot on an otherwise ecstatic evening 
 for him. 
 
 The Admiral rises, glass in hand, and says— 
 
 “ Ladies and gentlemen, I rise to propose the 
 health and happiness of a young and loving couple, 
 whom, I am confidently told, are about to run 
 together in double harness. It is generally asserted 
 that a sailor has a wife in every port; and, if this 
 is true, I am perhaps better qualified than any one 
 here to say a few words on the subject of 
 matrimony.” 
 
 The doubt of what is to come produces an uneasy 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 139 
 
 feeling in all those present, with the exception of 
 Angela, who vastly enjoys the terror depicted on the 
 faces of the rest. 
 
 “ Matrimony may be divided into two classes-” 
 
 he continues; but at this stage Mrs. Stanforth 
 hastily interposes. 
 
 “Yes, dear, we will drink their health, and that 
 will be enough.” 
 
 She says this so decidedly that the Admiral has 
 no alternative but to resume his seat, leaving un¬ 
 explained the two classes of matrimony. 
 
 Poor Augustus, bound to make some sort of reply, 
 staggers to his feet and looks helplessly round the 
 table. 
 
 “ I feel—I mean to say I don’t feel-- ” he begins. 
 
 “ Say you feel too happy to speak,” suggests 
 Amabel in a tragic stage-whisper, “ and sit down.” 
 
 “No, I feel unequal to properly expressing my 
 thanks,” he says with the defiance of a stutterer who 
 won’t be helped; “ but, nevertheless, a few words—I 
 say a few words—*— ” 
 
 “ The fewer the better, my boy,” says the Admiral. 
 “We all know what you mean, and we will drink 
 your jolly good health, and spare you the trouble of 
 saying it.” 
 
140 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ Yes—exactly,” said Augustus, and now thoroughly 
 overcome with confusion, he takes Amabel’s advice 
 and sits down. 
 
 “ What a delightful man to marry ! ” says Angela 
 in a whisper to the Admiral; and then, “ Do tell me 
 your two classes of marriages.” 
 
 “I was going to say a few words on marrying 
 for love, and marrying for money,” he answers ; and 
 Angela is rather disappointed. 
 
 It is only much later in the evening that Sir 
 Eustace has an opportunity of speaking to Monica. 
 She has suggested that they should all take their 
 coffee out of doors, and the proposition is at once 
 accepted. The men light their cigars, and are happy 
 being waited on by the charming daughter of the 
 house. When she has finished administering to 
 each one his requisite lump of sugar, she is at last 
 free to enjoy a few minutes’ conversation with Sir 
 Eustace. 
 
 Angela, who knows that the evening dew is 
 ruining the crimp of her hair, beats a hasty retreat. 
 
 “ I am so afraid of earwigs and animals in the 
 dark,” she says to Mrs. Stanforth. “ I always feel 
 that something is creeping over my feet. Do you 
 mind my going inside ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 141 
 
 And so Mrs. Stanfortli accompanies her to the 
 drawing-room ; and Amabel and Augustus having 
 retired to the remotest summer-house, Sir Eustace 
 and Monica are left to enjoy the calm of a beautiful 
 summer evening in peace. 
 
 At first they are both silent, content to breathe 
 in the sweetly-scented air. Then Monica breaks the 
 stillness. 
 
 “ Can anything be more beautiful than an evening 
 in the country ? ” she says. “ I never can understand 
 the preference people show for hot, crowded rooms 
 and theatres. To think that at this moment there 
 are crowds struggling and pushing in ball-rooms, 
 and making themselves hot and uncomfortable, 
 whilst we are here inhaling health with every breath 
 we draw.” 
 
 “ It is the old story of ‘ what is one man’s meat 
 is another man’s poison,’ ” he answers, rather 
 bitterly. “ Lady Bevan holds exactly opposite 
 views. She thinks that calm and quiet are 
 equivalent to dullness and depression. A week 
 in the country makes her ill, she declares, and a 
 month would kill her.” 
 
 “ Of course a great deal depends on how girls 
 have been brought up,” said Monica. “ My father 
 
142 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 was a sportsman in the best sense of the word, and 
 he taught me—or perhaps I inherit it from him—a 
 real love of country life.” And then she added, with 
 a certain hesitation in her voice, “Lady Bevan is 
 very pretty.” 
 
 “ Yes, she is pretty,” assented Sir Eustace. 
 
 “ And I think, very clever and amusing,” con-, 
 tinued Monica. 
 
 “Angela is clever in her own way. She ceases 
 to be clever and amusing when she does not get 
 her own way. Her smartness is rather capricious.” 
 
 “Ah, but nearly all women are capricious,” said 
 Monica, quietly. 
 
 “ Angela undoubtedly is,” he replied. And then 
 he said, in quite a different voice, “ Are you 
 capricious, Miss Stanforth ? ” 
 
 “ Frankly speaking, I don’t think I am,” she 
 answered, looking at him fearlessly. “ I take strong 
 likes and dislikes to people—that, of course, is a 
 fault; but my opinion, once formed, is very difficult 
 to change.” 
 
 “ Perhaps you are a physiognomist,” he said. 
 
 “No, I am afraid I cannot even claim that gift. 
 I am ruled by instinct; but, so far, my instincts 
 have generally been correct.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 143 
 
 “ Wliat is your instinct about Lady Bevan ? ” lie 
 asked. 
 
 “ The conversation is becoming too personal,” she 
 answered with an uneasy smile. “ Of course, I am 
 only speaking generally; and, after all, what is the 
 opinion of a girl of my age worth ? ” 
 
 “ It is worth a great deal to me,” he replied gravely. 
 
 “ Shall we go indoors ? ” she said, with just the 
 slightest movement of her chair. “ It is getting 
 
 o o o 
 
 rather cold.” 
 
 “ Let me get you a wrap,” he answered eagerly. 
 “ But don’t go in just yet; it is such a heavenly 
 night.” 
 
 “ Yes, the night is beautiful,” she said dreamily. 
 “ It is Nature in her most exquisite form. I am not 
 really cold. We will stay out five minutes longer, if 
 you like.” 
 
 “ Five minutes! he ejaculated. “ I should 
 
 like-” And then he pulled himself up short, and 
 
 Monica was not told what he would like. 
 
 Another pause ensued—one of those long, eloquent 
 silences which happen between two people whose 
 natures are sympathetic to each other, and which 
 have more meaning than mere words. 
 
 At last it was broken by Sir Eustace. 
 
144 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ I wonder why the fates sent me to Seccombe ? ” 
 he said. 
 
 “ Are yon dissatisfied with them for doing so ? ” 
 asked Monica. 
 
 “ Yes, and No,” he replied. “ But I do wonder 
 they should have chosen Angela as their instrument 
 for sending me here.” 
 
 “ It was natural that Lady Bevan should like to 
 know that you were amongst friends, as she could 
 not be always with you herself,” said Monica. 
 
 “ Yes, she is so thoughtful! ” he said sarcastically. 
 
 They were again nearing the thin ice—the discus¬ 
 sion of Angela—and Monica felt that this time it 
 would be really prudent to go indoors. 
 
 “ Let us join them now,” she said ; “they will be 
 wanting me to play.” 
 
 She had scarcely uttered the words when Miss 
 Meffies appeared on the scene with a message from 
 Mrs. Stanforth. 
 
 Miss Meffies scented mischief in the air at once— 
 an incipient, or perhaps worse, flirtation between 
 Monica and a married man ! 
 
 “Monica dear, your mother wants you to play for us,” 
 she said. “ Has Sir Eustace quite finished his coffee ? ” 
 
 “ Oh yes,” said Monica, quickly making for the 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 145 
 
 house. “We have been talking about the natural 
 
 f 
 
 beauties of the country evening until we were both 
 of us getting quite sentimental.” 
 
 “ Sentiment is quite natural at your age, dear,” 
 said Miss Meffles. 
 
 “ And not at mine ? ” asked Sir Eustace. 
 
 “ Married men ought not to be sentimental,” said 
 the spinster severely, and Sir Eustace felt that perhaps 
 she was right. 
 
 Angela had been yawning through a very dull 
 evening. More than once she had said to herself, 
 “ Jc Voffre a Dim for my past sins. If this isn’t 
 expiation, what is ? ” She was quite pleased that 
 Monica should at last vary the monotony by playing 
 to them. She didn’t know a note of music, but she 
 liked the noise, and she knew that it promoted 
 conversation and kept people awake. 
 
 Still the relief was very great when their carriage 
 was announced. 
 
 On the way home she said to her husband— 
 
 “ Do you know, Eustace, I think that an evening 
 spent alone with you would be almost better than a 
 bucolic dinner-party.” 
 
 “ There is nothing bucolic about the Stanforths,” 
 he said shortly. 
 
 L 
 
14G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ But the other people were so dreadful ! 55 she 
 
 continued. “ That tenth-rate little doctor and his 
 gushing fiancee —Heaven preserve me from ever 
 meeting them again ! ” 
 
 “ I meet them every day,” he said. 
 
 “ Yes,” she said with a prolonged yawn; “ but you 
 are an invalid—it is part of your cure.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 147 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 Eobed in the glorious majesty of the setting sun, the 
 late July clay sinks to its rest. The tall, lithe figure of a 
 solitary man is sharply outlined against the reddened 
 sky as he leans idly upon the stile in front of him. 
 He is watching the westering light as it grows 
 gradually less and less vivid. As the sun takes its 
 final plunge beneath the sky-line, he turns away, 
 drawing a long and laboured breath. The soft 
 twilight swiftly steals up, as prelude to the night. 
 He crosses the stile and walks over the close-cropped 
 meadow, studded with gorse bushes and patches of 
 wild heather, now in full bloom, where sheep move 
 gently hither and thither. The old wether lifts his 
 head and shakes his bell defiantly as he passes 
 through the little white hand-gate beyond, and over 
 the crest of the steep hill into the valley below. 
 Through a small hazel copse he strides along without 
 pause; the discordant note of the young pheasants as 
 they creep through the bracken, the croaking of the 
 
148 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 frogs from a reedy pool, the cry of the corn-crake, 
 all these sounds mingled with the distant lowing of 
 horned beasts, and the tinkling of the sheep-bells, 
 make up a strange, weird harmony. 
 
 Sir Eustace has walked far—has walked and 
 wrestled with his thoughts. The latter exercise has 
 exhausted him far more than the walkings though he 
 
 O 7 o 
 
 has covered nearly a score of miles since morning. 
 And the question with which he has wrestled is this : 
 “ Does he, or does he not, love Monica Stanforth ? ” 
 
 It has often been said, and said with a considerable 
 amount of truth, that when a man has to ask himself 
 the question whether he does, or does not, love a 
 certain woman, he may rest quite assured that an 
 answer in the negative is the true one; but that 
 aphorism was made for application to a free man 
 only ; a man already married stands on a far different 
 footing. 
 
 Had Sir Eustace, with his strong nature, deter¬ 
 mined grip of the realities of life, and clear-sighted 
 judgment, been free to choose a wife, he would never 
 have put the question to himself at all. It would 
 not have occurred to him. He would have known 
 that he loved this girl instinctively, and he would 
 have done his best to make her his wife; but with a 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 149 
 
 man so circumstanced that any such love is an un¬ 
 lawful thing, many other matters creep in and de¬ 
 mand a hearing. The man burdened with however 
 uncongenial a wife, cannot but shrink from the first 
 suggestion of his conscience that he is no longer 
 faithful in thought to her—and it is, as we all know, 
 h premier pas cpiii coute. 
 
 Of a truth, Angela had done her best to destroy 
 the love which her husband had once borne her; 
 and this long before anything in the shape of a lover 
 had appeared upon the scene. Few men engaged in 
 the more intellectual callings, are able to keep their 
 work up to a high standard of excellence in the 
 entire absence of sympathy and encouragement. The 
 same nervous tension which enables a man to do 
 such work, demands the support of that invisible, 
 intangible something called sympathy. If that is 
 withheld, he, perhaps, goes on, but it is at the expense 
 of his finer feelings, and either the work or the 
 worker suffers. Many a plant will live on, although 
 water be withheld from it, but it will never be the 
 same radiant, glorious growth that it might have 
 been had the moisture been supplied in due season. 
 So it had been with Eustace Bevan; under a some¬ 
 what cold exterior he concealed a nature as sensitive 
 
150 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 as any young girl’s. It had been a dearly-cherished 
 hope with him, when he first married, that his wife 
 would, in very truth, be the “ partner of his joys and 
 sorrows; ” that his life’s work, his professional career, 
 his successes and his failures, would all have been 
 entered into and shared by her. 
 
 But it was not to be. Angela was not of that 
 order who can “rejoice with them that do rejoice, 
 and weep with them that weep.” Her sole rejoicing 
 as regarded her husband was upon those occasions 
 when his cheque was larger than she had expected it 
 to be, and tears had only been called forth by the 
 highly inconvenient illness which now prevented him 
 from earning his usual rich income. But the Mar¬ 
 riage Service makes no provision for the relief of 
 those whom it has joined together when the respec¬ 
 tive partners turn out wholly different to what they 
 appeared to be as they stood at the altar. The hard- 
 and-fast rule of law (rightly or wrongly) says, in 
 effect, that the man or woman who has made a mis¬ 
 take in the choice of a spouse, shall never have any 
 chance afforded of retrieving the error. It is to be 
 once and for ever; as the tree falls, so must it lie ; 
 and it is in the sweet unreasonableness of this immu¬ 
 tability, applied to a world where all things are ever 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 151 
 
 changing, that the apostles of free love find the 
 strongest plank in their platform; it is this same 
 rigid, cast-iron law which is responsible for the ruin 
 of countless thousands of human lives. 
 
 Eustace Bevan’s step grew heavy as he neared the 
 little rose-bowered cottage which served him for a 
 temporary home. All day long had he thought these 
 things over in his mind; all day long had he fought 
 against the idea that Monica Stanforth was any more 
 to him than a dear friend; but the little subterfuges 
 of life by which many of the weaker brethren succeed 
 in deluding themselves—often to their own great 
 comfort, but often, also, to their undoing—were of 
 small avail with a mind cast in so powerful a mould 
 as his. As the lion shakes the dew-drops from its 
 mane, so did he now contemptuously cast away all 
 blinds and deceits. He had wrestled with the 
 thought—had wrestled and been worsted in the fierce 
 encounter. Yes, he boldly avowed it to himself, he 
 did love her—God help him!—and with Hood could 
 but exclaim, “ I love thee, I love thee, ’tis all that I 
 can say.” 
 
 He entered the cottage and flung himself into a 
 chair. How long he sat there he knew not. As one 
 in a dream, he saw the servant enter with his solitary 
 
152 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 meal, place it on the table, and retire. He had even 
 mechanically answered “ Yes ” when she had informed 
 him that his dinner was ready; still he sat on and 
 on in the dark room. What ought he to do ? Should 
 he leave Seccombe ? Ho, a thousand times no ! he 
 answered indignantly; was he the man to whose 
 dominant will the whole of his compeers were accus¬ 
 tomed to bow, whose velvet glove was known to con¬ 
 ceal the iron hand within, should he meanly turn 
 round and run away ? Had he so little self-control 
 that he was unable to suppress the secret of his love, 
 to hide it, not only from her, but from every prying 
 eye besides ? He would stay on. Hay, more, he 
 would not shrink for a moment from meeting her, 
 from being in her presence as much as ever he had 
 been in times past; and from this thought, curiously 
 enough, he seemed to draw some strange comfort. 
 
 Housing himself at last from his reverie, he rang 
 for the lights, and proceeded to seat himself at the 
 table. He endeavoured to eat, hut after a futile 
 attempt, pushed the food away from him untasted. 
 He poured out a glass of Burgundy, drank it off at a 
 draught, and then lit a cigar. The spirit of feverish 
 unrest still upon him, he took up his hat and went 
 out again into the night. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 153 
 
 Lights twinkled even thus early in the Kectcry 
 windows as he passed, and he just caught sight of 
 the shadow of Amabel on the blind of the little 
 drawing-room. A dog—the Hector’s old retriever— 
 ran out and barked as he climbed over the stile, but 
 recognizing him, gave an affectionate wag of his tail 
 and went back to the bone he had been discussing 
 for his supper. Eustace had left his own old bull¬ 
 dog, Hip, fast asleep in the armchair, quite worn out 
 with the day’s tramp he had had at his master’s 
 heels. The old clock in the ivy-covered belfry 
 tolled out the hour of nine. 
 
 “ Hoot—hoot,” went a flapping owl as it swept 
 closely by him, searching for the field-mice and rats, 
 with which he was wont to provide pabulum for the 
 family’s late dinner. Frogs chanted a weird chorus 
 of croakings; frightened sheep rose to their feet and 
 scuttled a few paces away, only to turn and stare 
 stupidly at the intruder as he passed by. The 
 harvest moon was slowly rising up into the deep 
 purple heavens as Eustace walked slowly on, turning 
 his steps almost insensibly in the direction of the 
 deer-park surrounding the Manor House. Why he 
 should have chosen this path in preference to any 
 other, he himself would have been puzzled to tell. 
 
154 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 We are all creatures of impulse, in less or greater 
 degree. Eustace Be van’s impulse, instinct, call it 
 what you will, led him across the park, past the 
 partly-lighted windows of the great grey-stone house, 
 and then through a woodland glade, fern-grown on 
 either side, where the moon traced fantastic shadows 
 on the ground, and made his own look like that of 
 some ogre, misshapen and hideous. Out in the 
 richly-timbered park again, where, startled by his 
 tread, the browsing deer raised their heads in timid 
 inquiry. He strode on towards the lake, now bathed 
 in all the silvery glory of the Queen of Night, and 
 then, with a stifled cry, he suddenly stops, his gaze 
 riveted upon a motionless, white-draped figure 
 standing at the lake-side. It looks like some patron 
 saint of the waters, some fairy goddess suddenly 
 descended to earth, some Titania from another 
 “ Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The momentary 
 hesitation of surprise over, Eustace approaches the 
 apparition—and he sees the moonlight shining full 
 upon the face of the woman he loves. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 155 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 “ Monica,” lie begins—the word slips from his lips 
 almost unawares; he has never called her Monica 
 before, and she does not notice it now in the sudden 
 surprise of seeing him there. His unexpected 
 appearance causes her a certain amount of astonish¬ 
 ment, and yet she is not taken aback, as she might 
 fairly have been under the circumstances. 
 
 When the person who has been dwelling much 
 within the chamber of our minds, suddenly appears 
 in the flesh before us, we are not really surprised, 
 though we may be momentarily startled. 
 
 Then, without a trace of embarrassment in her 
 voice, she turns to him and says— 
 
 “ I often come down here on these still, hot 
 summer nights to watch the moonlight on the lake. 
 
 T 
 
 To remain indoors is to lose so much. But I never 
 knew that you too ‘ walked ’ when the moon was at 
 its full! ” 
 
156 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS, 
 
 “ Oh, as for me, I am a restless spirit; always 
 traversing the earth when—when I am thinking! ” 
 
 “ And have you been thinking so very much 
 to-day ? ” 
 
 “ Yes,” he answered; “ I have been thinking very 
 much.” 
 
 The girl laughed her low, musical laugh. 
 
 “ And your thoughts were pleasant ones ? 
 
 “ Only partly pleasant ones.” 
 
 Then making an effort, Eustace shook off the 
 feeling of cold depression that lay at his heart, and 
 his next few words were uttered in an apparently 
 light manner. 
 
 “ And what has the Lady of the Lake been doing 
 that I have seen nothing of her for the past two 
 days ? ” 
 
 “ The Lady of the Lake, as you call her, has been 
 in the village as usual to-day, but neither Sir 
 Eustace Bevan nor Bip were visible. Yesterday, 
 mother felt unwell, so I did not leave the house 
 all day. And perhaps that is the reason of my 
 being out here to-night. I love the fresh air so 
 much, that when I have to stay indoors for a whole 
 day, I always try to make up the average directly 
 afterwards. I feel now that I have recovered my 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 157 
 
 lost allowance, ancl suppose I must be getting back 
 to the house.” And she turned slowly to go, stoop¬ 
 ing to pluck a yellow anemone as she spoke. 
 
 “ May I come with you ? ” he asked. Somehow 
 he felt a sort of embarrassment at the idea of having 
 trespassed on her privacy in this manner, at an hour 
 when half the countryside was in bed. 
 
 But there was no prudishness, no thought of 
 anything in the least degree savouring of secrecy 
 or concealment in her manner, as [she answered 
 simply— 
 
 “ Thanks. I am not afraid of bogies; but com¬ 
 panionship is always pleasant in the woods here, 
 though I was always taught as a child to believe 
 that there was nothing worse in them than myself,” 
 she continued with a light laugh. 
 
 At any other time Eustace would have made 
 some bantering rejoinder; but whether it was the 
 still, solemn time, the complete repose of nature 
 all around them, or, far more likely, the mental 
 struggle in which he had been engaged all day, 
 banter of any kind seemed very far indeed from his 
 thoughts at this moment, and he turned to accom¬ 
 pany her back to the Manor House in silence. 
 
 At first Monica made efforts to talk; but the 
 
158 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 attempt met with so poor a response, that before 
 they had got half-way on their short journey a 
 chilliness, that came not from the night air, fell 
 upon her spirits, and almost in silence they walked 
 together as far as the upper terrace on the Italian 
 garden, where they exchanged a gentle hand-pressure 
 and parted. 
 
 Had she, too, been asking herself a question ? he 
 wondered. 
 
 He sighed heavily, and walked slowly into the 
 wooded ride, on his way back to the Cottage. The 
 rabbits scuttled away at his approach, diving into 
 their burrows or beneath the breast-high fern; the 
 occasional hoot of an owl, the belated cry of the 
 land-rail, were all the sounds he heard. 
 
 Yet, stay; there was another sound too, now—a 
 sound at first so indistinct as to have been hardly 
 noticeable, but which gradually became plainer and 
 plainer as he walked slowly on. Through a haze 
 of anxious, sorrowful thoughts, which had, as it were, 
 obscured his acute sense of hearing, that solitary 
 footfall rang out quite clearly now from close behind 
 him, and Sir Eustace pulled up sharply and tried 
 to pierce the gloom of the wood with his eyes. 
 Another moment, and he was confronting a big, burly 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 159 
 
 fellow, dressed in corduroys and velveteen coat—a 
 loafer about the village tap-room, who went by the 
 sobriquet of Gipsy Cooper. 
 
 “ I want to speak to you, sir,” he began, in tones 
 which, although respectful enough, yet had a flavour 
 of conscious power in them. “ And I’ve got some¬ 
 thing here which, maybe, you’d like to buy of me. 
 It’s too dark to show it you here, sir, but another 
 twenty yards ’ll take us into the moonlight agen.” 
 
 Wondering what the man meant, Sir Eustace 
 almost mechanically gave a tacit assent to his 
 suggestion, and in silence they walked on in single 
 file, until an opening in the trees overhead admitted 
 the bright moonlight again. 
 
 Then Sir Eustace faced about, and spoke— 
 
 “ What are you following me for ? ” he said 
 shortly. 
 
 The man’s sinister-looking face wore a triumphant 
 smile of malice as he slowly drew a wisp of some¬ 
 thing white from the pocket of his greasy, brown 
 velveteen coat. He spoke slowly, and with a covert 
 sneer that was not lost upon his hearer. 
 
 " This is a white handkerchief—a lady’s white 
 handkerchief. I picked it up awhile ago, alongside 
 the lake. It was dropped by the young lady as was 
 
160 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 talking to you, Sir Eustace, down there. I ’appened 
 to be there at the meetin’.” And he paused to 
 watch what effect the words would have; but 
 finding that he was looking upon a face which 
 might have been chiselled out of marble, he resumed, 
 in a somewhat less confident, but still dogged tone, 
 “ And after you’d two had went, I picks up this ”— 
 and he held out the little delicately-laced piece of 
 cambric in his dirty fist —“ and I wants ten pound 
 for it,” he added, with a leer of evil meaning in his 
 eyes. 
 
 Sir Eustace laughed softly. 
 
 “ Have you anything else to say ? ” 
 
 “Well, only this—that if you don’t choose to pay 
 up, why, there’ll be some funny talk in the village 
 and at the Blue Boar to-morrow about the carry in’s 
 cn o’ the young lady at the Manor House.” 
 
 A grim smile was on Sir Eustace’s face as he 
 said— 
 
 “Eor your own sake, my good man, I strongly 
 advise you not to utter any lying slander in the 
 village about the young lady at the Manor House; 
 my own reputation I freely present to you. Of 
 course, the opinion of your particular circle of friends 
 at the Blue Boar is dear to me—that I will not deny. 
 
0 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 1GI 
 
 Every man has his price—to be spoken well of in 
 the village tap-room by the village sots, is mine. 
 But do not, Mr. Gipsy Cooper, if you attach the least 
 value to a whole skin, even so much as mention the 
 name of Miss Stanforth, except with perfect respect. 
 I advise it, in all earnestness; I do, indeed.” 
 
 The gipsy gave an ugly grin. Something of Sir 
 Eustace’s sarcasm had passed over his thick head, 
 but enough had penetrated it to irritate him. Look¬ 
 ing confidently down at his own massive frame, and 
 from that to the tall, lithe figure before him, he 
 said contemptuously— 
 
 “ Are you a-goin’ to stop me ? ” 
 
 “ I am. Or if I cannot actually stop you, you 
 may rest perfectly assured that I shall thrash you 
 within an inch of your life afterwards,” was the 
 coolly confident reply. 
 
 The dark-skinned ruffian could not help acknow¬ 
 ledging that as far as his attempt at blackmailing 
 had gone, Sir Eustace had proved a most uncom¬ 
 promising subject. He felt inclined to reduce his 
 demands. 
 
 “ If you won’t give ten pounds for the handkerchief, 
 what will you give me ? ” 
 
 o 
 
 “ What I promised you before—the worst thrashing 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 yon ever had, my excellent friend, if yon slander 
 Miss Stanforth. And it does not seem to have 
 occurred to yon that this land is private property; 
 that yon are a trespasser—and most likely a poacher 
 as well—and that unless yon immediately give up 
 that handkerchief—for which, out of a desire to 
 reward a finder, I’ll give yon half a sovereign—I 
 shall at once walk you off these grounds and give 
 you into custody.” 
 
 The evil temper of the gipsy, which had been 
 smouldering throughout the interview, suddenly 
 leapt into flame. Quite unexpectedly, he had 
 encountered a man who not only refused to be 
 bullied, but calmly talked of thrashing him well, 
 into the bargain—him, Gipsy Cooper, the terror of 
 every horse-fair and village merry-making for ten 
 miles round. With a vile oath the ruffian sprang 
 upon his opponent, and aimed a blow at his head 
 with the heavy ash sapling he held in his hand. 
 
 * * * * # 
 
 The affair was all over in a moment. When Mr. 
 Cooper sat up again, ruefully rubbing a lump over 
 his left eye which bade fair to very soon assume 
 the proportions of a hen’s egg, his partly-closed optic 
 rested on Sir Eustace, who was calrnlv drawing 
 
 ' O 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 163 
 
 a choice Laranaga from its case. Having lighted it, 
 and got it to draw to his own entire satisfaction, 
 he put his hand into his waistcoat pocket, drew 
 out half a sovereign between his finger and thumb, 
 and held it out to the prostrate vagabond before 
 him. In sullen silence it was received—for it 
 would go against gipsy blood to refuse money, under 
 any circumstances—the handkerchief was handed 
 over, and Sir Eustace, twisting his own over the 
 slightly bleeding knuckles of his left hand, turned 
 to go. Then he paused for a moment. 
 
 “ Here’s a sovereign for you, Cooper. I didn’t 
 mean to hurt you, but you brought it on yourself. 
 Catch ! ” and he lightly tossed the coin to the man on 
 the ground. Then he put his cigar into his mouth, 
 and his hands in his pockets, and walked quietly off. 
 
HU 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 If “ fighting Tom ” was hardly to be described as 
 a lawyer of renown, he was yet gifted with an 
 amount of common sense which made his presence 
 on the bench of magistrates a decided addition to 
 its strength. The rest of the J.P.’s “ in Session 
 assembled ” were always glad when, as on this 
 particular morning, punctual to the moment, Admiral 
 Stanforth pulled up within full view of the court¬ 
 house windows. 
 
 “ Oh, here’s the Admiral,” quoth the Magistrate’s 
 Clerk; “ and as soon as he comes in we may as 
 well commence; that is, if you, gentlemen ”—turning 
 and gazing through his spectacles at Mr. Thorington, 
 the brewer, and the Reverend John Bower, the other 
 Justices present—“ are ready.” 
 
 “ Morning, Thorington: morning, Jack,” was the 
 old sailor’s greeting as he stumped into the room. 
 Then, turning to the Chief Constable, he said, “Mr. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 165 
 
 Taylor, I wisli you’d send one of your men round 
 to the stables to see that they haven’t moored that 
 cob of mine alongside anything that kicks. It 
 upsets his temper.” 
 
 “Very few charges, to-day, I’m glad to see,” 
 quoth the Rector, mildly. 
 
 “ Ah, that don’t always mean absence of crime; 
 don't you believe it, my boy. It means that the 
 police aren’t sharp enough at nabbing the beggars; 
 eh, Taylor?” and the Admiral turned jocundly to 
 the Chief Constable, who smiled deprecatingly in 
 reply. 
 
 “Well, let’s be doing, let’s be doing,” exclaimed 
 the Admiral, whose restless energy always prompted 
 him to take the lead when anything was to be, as he 
 phrased it, “ tackled ” ; and with the clerk leading 
 the way, they all filed into the justice-room, and the 
 magistrates took their seats upon the bench. 
 
 “Umph—umph! ” grunted Admiral Stanforth, as 
 he soused himself into the big black oak armchair 
 between his two confreres. “ Let’s see—two Drunks 
 and Disorderlys ; k’m—h’m—er—where the devil 
 are my glasses ? Where the dev—eh, what ? hang¬ 
 ing down my own back ? Ah, so they are, so—they 
 —are. Er—let’s see, where was I ? Oh yes, two 
 
OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 ICG 
 
 Drunks and Disorderlys, one case of stealing a pair 
 of boots, one assault in an ale-house, one trespassing 
 in pursuit of game and assaulting a Keeper. Ha— 
 h’m,” and then he began drumming with his fingers 
 on the desk in front of him. 
 
 Mr. Tliorington and the Hector discussed the price 
 of wheat, whilst a loud shuffling of feet announced 
 the “ putting up ” of prisoner number one. 
 
 “ You are charged with being drunk and dis¬ 
 orderly,” jerked out the Admiral, as a shock-headed 
 person in very dishevelled attire, gazed wonderingly 
 round the Court. “ Why, it’s Tupper! Tupper, you’re 
 a decent, hard-working man; I don’t like to see 
 you here. Where’s the constable who took him ? ” 
 
 The policeman steps into the witness-box, kisses 
 the book, and proves that Ebenezer Tupper, farm 
 labourer, working for “Muster Joynson,” was dis¬ 
 covered on the previous evening, sitting on the 
 kerb-stone with his feet in the gutter, gazing 
 abstractedly skywards, and making, from time to 
 time, abortive efforts to blow out the moon, under 
 the impression that it was his bedroom candle. 
 When a mild remonstrance against this somewhat 
 palpable waste of time was ventured on by the con¬ 
 stable, Ebenezer had, in the stereotyped words of the 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 1G7 
 
 roysterer, declined to go home “ till daylight did 
 appear,” and was thereupon promptly “run in” by 
 this outraged member of the Force. 
 
 “ What have you got to say ? Look sharp! ” ex¬ 
 claimed the Admiral. 
 
 “ Well, sir, you see, it wor loike this, you see. It 
 wor the furst toime oi bin droonk like, for-” 
 
 “ Half a crown,” said the Bench, as represented 
 by the gallant Tar in the chair. Then he added, 
 “ Tupper, it’s disgusting to see a decent man like 
 you here. Don’t you do it again. Why, damme— 
 dear me, I mean—I’d sooner pay the fine myself than 
 see you standing there in that place. If you’ll 
 promise me never to come here again, I’ll give you 
 the half-crown to pay with! ” he snorted, as he 
 dragged the money from the depths of his old- 
 fashioned breeches pocket and handed it to the clerk, 
 seated below him. 
 
 Ebenezer’s face beamed. He was, as the old 
 gentleman had said, “ a decent man,” and probably 
 that day saw his first and last appearance in any 
 dock. 
 
 Whilst the following case was being disposed of, 
 Sir Eustace Bevan walked into Court—the first he 
 had entered since the commencement of his illness. 
 
168 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 He looked around him curiously, recalling tlie 
 circumstances under which he had last gazed upon 
 this very chamber. He had been brought down 
 “ special,” as the legal phraseology hath it, at an 
 enormous fee, to defend a local magnate, charged at 
 Quarter Sessions before the Recorder, with the awful 
 crime of blocking up a footpath. The case had been 
 prosecuted by the Anti-everytliing-League-of-Inter- 
 ference-with-other-People’s-Business, and that emi¬ 
 nent Society had taken a heavy fall over the affair. 
 The great Queen’s Counsel had not only pulverized 
 their case, but had so severely handled the Society’s 
 secretary in cross-examination as to what had become 
 of several sums of money subscribed by the public 
 for one purpose and applied by him to another, that 
 “ voluntary subscriptions ” at once fell off to a dis¬ 
 astrous extent—so much so, indeed, that the secretary 
 in question was reluctantly forced to put down his 
 own carriage in consequence. 
 
 Eustace remembered it all, and his own personal 
 enjoyment of the case; for anything in the nature of 
 a sham, it had always given him the greatest pleasure 
 to expose and hold up to ridicule. And then liis 
 thoughts turned from the past to the present. 
 
 He had been told he must appear as a witness in 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 160 
 
 the case of Melchior Cooper, alias Gipsy Cooper, 
 charged with trespassing on land in search of game, 
 and also with assaulting one George Beck, a game- 
 keeper in the employ of Mrs. Stanforth, of Seccombe 
 Manor House, on the previous evening. 
 
 “ Wonder if I ought to retire from the Bench, as 
 this affair took place on a relative’s land ? What do 
 you think, Jack ? ” said Admiral Stanforth to Mr. 
 Bower. 
 
 “ Oh dear no, I should think not! ” replied the 
 Rector. “ I’m sure that fact would not prejudice 
 you.” 
 
 “ Of course it wouldn’t, you old fool! ” blurted out 
 the Admiral, hotly. “ I’m not asking that—I want 
 to know whether I ought to retire—that is, whether 
 these lawyer chaps could upset a decision on that 
 ground, or anything of the kind. What do you say. 
 Thorington ? ” 
 
 “Well, I can see no objection.” 
 
 “ I shall sit, then, if the prisoner himself is 
 willing.” 
 
 By this time the gipsy was in occupation of the 
 dock, whilst a ruddy-looking man, in brown 
 velveteen coat and waistcoat, with brass buttons, 
 knee-breeches, and gaiters, entered the witness-box. 
 
170 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 He presented to the notice of the Court a formidable 
 array of rabbit-nets and snares, and a very superior 
 specimen of what is known to the vulgar as a black eye. 
 
 Before he could be sworn, Admiral Stanforth, 
 failing to catch the prisoner’s wandering gaze, roared 
 out in tones that would have been useful for hailing 
 a ship in a gale of wind— 
 
 “ Below there! do you want me to retire from the 
 case or not, eh ? ” 
 
 The man’s dark, crafty face showed a malicious 
 smile as he answered— 
 
 “ No, sir; just the other way about. I want you, 
 in particular, to hear my case, and to hear all of 
 what I’m going to say,” and he turned a look of 
 triumph upon Sir Eustace as he spoke. 
 
 “ Well, all right, then, all right. Turn full steam 
 ahead,” fussed the Admiral, and the gamekeeper with 
 the partly-closed eye was immediately sworn, in the 
 customary style, by the clerk. 
 
 “ Take-the-book - in-your-right-hand-the-evidence- 
 you- shall -give-before - the -Court - and - jury-sworn - 
 between - our -Sovereign - lady - the - Queen-and - the- 
 prisoner-at - the - Bar - shall - be - the - truth - the - whole- 
 truth-and-notliing-but - the-truth-so- help - you - G od— 
 What’s-your-name ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 171 
 
 A hearty smack of the lips upon the greasy-coated 
 Testament followed, and then, with a gulp, the keeper 
 replied— 
 
 “ George Beck, your Worship.” 
 
 In reply to questions from the Magistrate’s Clerk, 
 the keeper told his story. Going his rounds on the 
 previous night, he had come, quite unexpectedly, 
 on the prisoner, who was seated on the ground, and 
 rubbing the lump that their Worships could see over 
 his eye. He, Beck, had long suspected prisoner of 
 poaching, and therefore pounced upon him before he 
 could rise. Prisoner struggled and fought violently 
 with him, giving him a black eye in the encounter— 
 which their Worships could also see; he had blown 
 his whistle, and Bobins, one of the under-keepers, 
 had hurried up to his assistance, but for which 
 prisoner would probably have got away. Together 
 they had succeeded in overpowering the man and get¬ 
 ting him to the police-station. When searched, the 
 rabbit-nets and snares now produced were found on 
 him, and a young dead hare in his coat pocket. The 
 hare had evidently been knocked on the head with 
 a stick. As prisoner was being taken to the station 
 he said that Sir Eustace Bevan and Miss Stanforth 
 had had a meeting down by the side of the lake, and 
 
172 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 that Sir Eustace Bevan had employed him—Cooper 
 —to keep watch for them. 
 
 “ Ho, ho, ho! ” burst out the Admiral; “ that’s a 
 good ’un ! Come, my man ”—this to the prisoner in 
 the dock—“ can’t you find a more likely yarn to spin 
 than that ? Sir Eustace Bevan, indeed! and my 
 niece! Well, that’s very likely, I must say ! ” 
 
 But Melchior Cooper was smiling and calm ; very 
 calm and very confident in his demeanour. He met 
 the Admiral’s glance fearlessly, and said— 
 
 “ I didn’t expect you gentlemen to believe the 
 word of a poor gipsy and vagabond, as you all think 
 me; but call Sir Eustace himself into the box, and 
 ask him whether he and the young lady w r asn’t 
 down there by the lake-side, just as I’ve said, and 
 whether I didn’t have a talk with him after he’d 
 seen the young lady home to the house. Don’t 
 believe me, but ask him. And if I was there to 
 speak to him, I wasn’t trespassing. As to the hare, 
 I found it in the road, dead. I never killed it. 
 The nets ain’t mine at all; they was given me to 
 take care of for a friend of mine. I shouldn’t have 
 hit the keeper ’cept that he hit me first. O’ course 
 I wasn’t obliged to stand that, not from no one, and 
 I only hit out in self-defence.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 173 
 
 Without waiting for any further parley, Eustace 
 He van stepped quietly into the witness-box, took the 
 oath, and said in cold, clear tones— 
 
 “ If the Bench would like to hear what really 
 happened, as far as I am concerned, I shall be very 
 pleased to tell all that passed.” 
 
 “ Not necessary at all, not necessary at all! ” quoth 
 the Admiral. “ Don’t believe a word of it myself. 
 Do you?” he asked, turning to his colleagues. 
 
 One moment,” interposed Eustace, whose sense 
 of justice was not, for a moment, obscured by the 
 ingenious and lying story told by the prisoner. 
 “ The man’s account, although false, has a founda¬ 
 tion of truth to it. I was walking in the park, 
 watching the moonlight through the trees, and as 
 it happened ” — here the gipsy’s face wore an 
 elaborate sneer —“ as it happened, Miss Stanforth 
 was also strolling down by the lake-side. It is true 
 that we spoke, and also true that I escorted her 
 back to the house. The meeting was a purely 
 accidental one, and the man’s version that 1 
 employed him to watch is, of course, a sheer 
 fabrication.” 
 
 The Admiral had looked and felt somewhat glum 
 during the giving of this evidence. He did not at all 
 
 o o o 
 
174 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 like the idea of his niece and Sir Eustace—although 
 the latter was a man for whom he had the highest 
 respect—meeting at this hour of the night. Of 
 course it was an accident, but—“ Damn it! ” said the 
 old gentleman to himself, testily. 
 
 “ Any questions ? ” he grunted, addressing the 
 prisoner. 
 
 “ Yes,” said the gipsy, “ I do want to ask a few 
 questions.” Then facing round to the witness-box, he 
 said, with an impudent air— 
 
 “ Do you swear you didn’t employ me to watch 
 while you was talking to the lady ? ” 
 
 “ I do. I never spoke to you in my life until after 
 Miss Stanforth and I had parted.” 
 
 “ Oh, you do confess you spoke to me, then ? ” 
 
 “ You followed me, and we had an interview— 
 rather a stormy one, as evidenced by the size of that 
 lump over your eye,” replied Sir Eustace with a grim 
 smile. 
 
 The fellow’s face flushed a brick-dust red. 
 
 “ If you didn’t employ me, why did you pay me 
 money—thirty shillings it was—in the wood there ? ” 
 " Is that true ? ” queried the Admiral, quickly. 
 Before Sir Eustace could reply, a constable stand¬ 
 ing near the dock said— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 175 
 
 “ That was the sum I found on searching him at 
 the station, your Worship. Thirty shillings and a 
 sixpence, together with a few coppers, was all he had 
 in his pockets.” 
 
 “Did you give him that money?” asked the 
 Admiral, a shade of anxiety in his voice. 
 
 “ It is perfectly true. After escorting Miss Stan- 
 forth to the house, this fellow overtook me—he had 
 evidently been following me for a long way—and 
 having found Miss Stanforth’s handkerchief, he made 
 an impudent attempt to extort money from me on 
 the plea of ‘ buying ’ it of him. Of course I 
 refused.” 
 
 “ But you say you did give him the money—the 
 sum of thirty shillings. What for ? ” 
 
 “ I gave him half a sovereign for finding the 
 handkerchief-” 
 
 “ That’s rather a large sum for picking up a hand¬ 
 kerchief, isn’t it ? ” said Mr. Thorington, leaning 
 forward in an interested manner. 
 
 “ Shut up ! ” quoth the Admiral, not stopping to 
 choose words in his suppressed excitement. The 
 gipsy was quick to see how his artfully-contrived, 
 lying story was telling on the Bench, and rejoiced 
 accordingly. The old seaman again leaned forward 
 
17 6 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 with the greatest interest depicted in his rugged, 
 weather-beaten face. 
 
 “ It may have been too large. I dare say half a 
 crown was nearer the actual value of the service 
 rendered, than half a sovereign; but, as a matter of 
 fact, I really did not stop to consider. Be that as 
 it may, I did it, and received the handkerchief to 
 return to Miss Stanfortli.” 
 
 “ Well, but you don’t tell us how that half-sovereign 
 came to be thirty shillings by the time the prisoner 
 was searched at the station ; but perhaps I’d better 
 let him go on questioning you, as he is defending 
 himself,” and for the first time during the last five 
 minutes, the Admiral allowed his excitement to 
 simmer down, as he thrust his portly form resolutely 
 back in his chair. 
 
 Thus invited, Gipsy Cooper determined to press 
 home the advantage he had gained. 
 
 “ Well, Sir Eustace,” he said, lolling over the front 
 of the dock in an attitude of studied insolence, 
 “ what do you say you gave me the other sovereign 
 for ? ” 
 
 “ As compensation for that lump I raised over 
 your left eye, when you attacked me with a hedge- 
 stake,” was the reply. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 177 
 
 “ Oh, I see, I see, 5 ’ whispered the now relieved and 
 delighted Admiral to his colleague, Mr. Thorington. 
 “ I remember—dare say you do, too—old Sir Tatton 
 Sykes doing the same thing. A carter mimicked his 
 squeaky voice, and the old chap knocked the stuffing 
 out of him in no time, and then tipped him a 
 sovereign to show there was no ill feeling! ” 
 
 Messrs. Thorington and Bower both nodded their 
 heads in assent. A little consultation then ensued 
 upon the merits of the case before them, and on 
 Gipsy Cooper’s previous convictions and more than 
 doubtful antecedents. Then they again sank back in 
 their seats and resumed the hearing. 
 
 “You don’t make any charge against the prisoner 
 of assault, Sir Eustace ? ” 
 
 Sir Eustace smiled. 
 
 “ No, sir. Mr. Cooper will not attempt to assault 
 me again.” 
 
 Great was the disgust of the prisoner when he 
 gathered that his lies had failed to effect their 
 purpose. Turning his glance savagely from the 
 witness-box to the Bench, he cried out— 
 
 “ I’ve done you a service, Admiral Stanforth, in 
 telling vou the truth about these midnight meetings 
 between that man there ”—pointing at Sir Eustace— 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ and your niece, the lady at the Manor House, and 
 what do I get by it ? Yes, what do I get by it! ” and 
 he raised his voice to a shout. 
 
 “ Three months,” replied the Admiral promptly, 
 and the Court adjourned. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 It was not to be supposed that such an interesting 
 piece of gossip as that supplied by the Gipsy Coopers 
 defence and sentence would be overlooked by Miss 
 Meffles and other kindred spirits in Seccombe. Miss 
 Meffles went straight to the fountain-head and called 
 at the Manor House. Xo second-hand news for her , 
 thank you! She went ostensibly to sympathize with 
 Mrs. Stanforth on a very disagreeable incident having 
 happened to Monica; but she also wished to know 
 how disagreeable that incident had been, and how far 
 Monica’s imprudence had contributed to it. She was 
 rather disappointed to find that Mrs. Stanforth treated 
 the whole affair very lightly: “ Monica was strolling 
 about after dinner; she had met Sir Eustace Bevan, 
 and almost directly after he had seen her back to the 
 house, he had been followed and threatened by a 
 gipsy-poacher. There was nothing very terrible, and 
 Monica had not seen anything of the affair at all.” 
 
180 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Such was Mrs. Stanforth’s version. But Miss Meffles 
 was not to be put off so easily. 
 
 “ I heard that Sir Eustace gave the man fifty 
 pounds ! ” she remarked. “ Why did he do that ? ” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth smiled. 
 
 “ I am afraid you have got hold of some village 
 gossip, which always exaggerates things,” she said. 
 “ Sir Eustace gave the man thirty shillings as pay¬ 
 ment for the pleasure of knocking him down.” 
 
 Then she changed the conversation, and Miss 
 Meffles could extract nothing more. From the 
 Manor House she went straight to the Bectory, and 
 was fortunate enough to find Amabel at home and 
 inclined to talk. 
 
 Yes, Amabel had heard of the nocturnal attack, as 
 she called it, and she very much wished it had hap¬ 
 pened to her. There was nothing she would love so 
 much as to see two men felling each other to the 
 ground, and disputing her charms. 
 
 “ But, you silly goose,” said Miss Meffles, “ the 
 poacher wasn’t in love with her! You don’t know 
 what you are talking about. I am told—and by a 
 person who was in Court—that he said the most 
 terrible things ! Well, of course we know that people 
 don’t bribe for nothing. I heard that Sir Eustace had 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 181 
 
 given the man fifty pounds, hut Mrs. Stanfortli tells 
 me that it was only thirty shillings. Of course it is 
 
 1/ t/ o 
 
 very natural for a mother to do all she can to shield 
 her child, but I must say I am very disappointed in 
 Monica/’ 
 
 “ Oh, do you think there is really any truth in it ? ” 
 asked Amabel. “ Sir Eustace is a married man, and 
 so cold; and Monica, of all people, who is so reserved.” 
 
 “ One never knows,” said Miss Meffies, senten- 
 tiously. “ The world is full of deception and sur¬ 
 prises.” 
 
 “ I am very sorry for Lady Bevan,” said Amabel. 
 “ It must be heartbreaking to have a bad husband.” 
 
 “ I had already noticed, when we dined there the 
 other night, that he appeared to hang about Monica a 
 great deal— in fact, I surprised them under rather sus¬ 
 picious circumstances,” said Miss Meffies. “ Monica 
 said they were talking about the moon, or some such 
 nonsense. However, I said nothing at the time, 
 because, as you know, I have a horror of scandal; 
 but upon my word, after this scene in Court the 
 other day, one doesn’t know what to think! ” 
 
 “ I wonder if Lady Bevan will hear of it ? ” said 
 Amabel. 
 
 “ I almost wonder if it is not our duty to make 
 
182 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 sure that she does hear of it ? ” answered Miss Meffles. 
 “ I think it is disgraceful of a married man to come 
 to a quiet little village like Seccombe, and bring his 
 libertine London ways with him. He must be taught 
 that this sort of thing won’t do down here.” 
 
 “ He is very handsome,” sighed Amabel, dreamily. 
 
 “ That is nothing whatever to do with it,” said 
 Miss Meffles, sharply. “ It would be a terrible thing 
 for a clever man of the world like that, to get Monica 
 into his meshes.” 
 
 “ How can we prevent it ? ” asked Amabel, always 
 romantic. “ How t can we save her ? ” 
 
 “ By writing to his wife,” said Miss Meffles, de¬ 
 cidedly. “ She must come here at once and take him 
 away.” 
 
 “ Perhaps she doesn’t want him,” said Amabel with 
 a silly little giggle. 
 
 “Well, we certainly don’t!” said Miss Meffles. 
 “ He is a disgrace to the village.” 
 
 “ Ho you know Lady Bevan well enough to write 
 to her on such a delicate subject ? ” asked the Hector’s 
 daughter. 
 
 Miss Meffles paused before making a reply. 
 
 “ I am afraid I scarcely do,” she said at length. 
 “ 1 have often met her in London, you know, but we 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 183 
 
 Lave never corresponded. An anonymous letter, 
 now-” 
 
 “ Yes, let us write an anonymous letter! ” ex¬ 
 claimed Amabel. “ One can say so much more, and it 
 is so amusing. We will sign it ‘A Well-wisher,’ or 
 ‘A True Friend.’” 
 
 “An anonymous letter is always to be avoided 
 if possible,” said Miss Mettles with some hesitation. 
 “ It is vulgar and cowardly; but I see no other 
 possible way out of this difficulty. Desperate com¬ 
 plaints require desperate remedies. I think if ever an 
 anonymous letter was excusable, it is in this case.” 
 
 Amabel was entirely of her opinion, and so a very 
 charming concoction was made between them. Angela 
 was informed that her husband was shrewdly sus¬ 
 pected of carrying on a most disgraceful liaison with 
 Miss Stanforth; that the whole county was outraged 
 by their behaviour; and, furthermore, that a poor 
 working man who had been a most unwilling witness 
 of their stolen meetings—“ ‘ Stolen meetings ’ is a 
 good term,” said Miss Mettles, as Amabel wrote 
 it down with her left hand—was now languishing 
 in jail under a sentence of three months’ hard labour, 
 inflicted by Monica s uncle, for having raised his voice 
 in the interests of morality. 
 
184 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ If that doesn’t make her sit up, I don’t know wliat 
 will,” said Miss Meffles, as Amabel finished the missive 
 and read it carefully over from beginning to end. 
 
 As a matter of fact the letter had an exactly 
 opposite effect, and Angela was convulsed with 
 laughter when she read it. It followed her to 
 Biarritz, where she had only been for two days, and 
 where Gonzalo was hourly expected. As soon as he 
 arrived she showed him the letter. 
 
 “ I am the most miserable woman in the world,” 
 she said. “ Eustace, like Satan, finds some mischief 
 still for idle hands to do.” 
 
 “ It is a pretty little story ! ” said Gonzalo, raising 
 his eyebrows as he finished reading the letter. 
 “ And Miss Stanforth too ! I have met her in 
 London. She is exquisitely beautiful, and yet so 
 statuesque and cold-looking.” 
 
 “ She has evidently not been statuesque with my 
 husband,” laughed Angela. “ But, plainly speaking, 
 I don’t believe a word of the scurrilous effusion. 
 Eustace is a great deal too collet monte to jeopardize 
 his reputation by flirting with Miss Stanforth. I 
 expect the incident of the handkerchief and the 
 poor working man languishing in jail could easily be 
 reduced to a vulgar case of blackmailing.” 
 
 w Cj 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 185 
 
 “ Nevertheless, I shall write to him,” she continued, 
 “ and tell him to be more careful. I shall send him 
 this letter, and say how very disagreeable it is for me 
 to receive these kind of things. He ought not to 
 lay himself open to such charges. And I shall 
 write to Mrs. Stanforth too," she pursued, working 
 herself up. “ She must have a copy of this letter; 
 and I shall ask her what she is about, to allow her 
 daughter to go wandering about the grounds at night 
 with my husband.” 
 
 “You can scarcely say that,” remarked Gonzalo. 
 
 “ Of course I shall,” answered Angela promptly. 
 “ I shall write very kindly, and speak of ‘ darling 
 Monica 3 ; but I shall take a very high moral tone, 
 and say that in the country the slightest thing 
 becomes exaggerated, and that it is extremely 
 painful for me to receive abusive letters of my 
 husband, whom I know to be innocent, and to have 
 mv dearest friends maligned.” 
 
 “Are you so very sure that he is innocent?” 
 asked Gonzalo. 
 
 “ One can never be sure of anything,” said Angela, 
 doubtfully; “ but I am certain that, -even if he were 
 in love with Monica Stanforth, she is not the girl 
 to give him the slightest encouragement. 1 have 
 
 O O'— 
 
186 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 known her all her life. She is most perfectly brought 
 up, and the last person in the world to flirt with 
 a married man” 
 
 “ Still they were in the park at night, and alone.” 
 
 “ Oh yes; but that really means nothing. Of 
 course I shall await Eustace’s explanation with some 
 curiosity; but I am sure it will be a most natural 
 one. No, Miguel,” she ended with a smile, “you 
 cannot make me jealous.” 
 
 “Heaven forbid that I should try to,” he 
 answered. “ If your husband is innocent, so much 
 the better for him ; if he is guilty, so much the better 
 for us.” 
 
 “No, I am not jealous,” continued Angela; “but 
 still I think he had better not be in love with 
 Monica. It makes me an ‘obstacle,’ don’t you see, 
 and I shall have to be more than ever careful.” 
 
 “ Because obstacles have to be removed ? ” he 
 asked. 
 
 “ Exactly,” she replied. ‘ Of course, in one way 
 it is an advantage. It is not so easy to throw stones 
 when you live in glass houses; ” and then she added 
 with a sudden impulse, “ but I don’t believe a word 
 of it, and I shall be generous enough to tell 
 him so.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 187 
 
 The next day she posted him Amabel’s precious 
 production, and wrote him a nice letter on her own 
 account. She told him that her first impulse had 
 been to throw the letter into the fire, but she thought 
 it might amuse him to see it, and at the same time 
 give him an occupation in trying to discover its 
 author. Of course it was a Gross distortion of facts, 
 but she would like to know what had really 
 happened. He must write and tell her by return 
 of post. 
 
 And she decided that she would not write to 
 Mrs. Stanforth or Monica. Evidently they must 
 be much annoyed at what had taken place, and in 
 these cases it is more diplomatic to remain silent 
 than to offer sympathy. 
 
 And with this wise discretion she dismissed the 
 incident from her mind, and gave herself up to the 
 pleasures of Biarritz. 
 
 There were crowds of people there, and all of the 
 very smartest. It was the true cosmopolitan society 
 of the foreign watering-place. 
 
 Every one had a history, and Gonzalo soon put 
 her cm courant of the various stories afloat. Angela 
 declared she had never seen so many pretty women 
 in any ball-room as you could see at the Casino. 
 
188 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Decidedly his compatriots were a very handsome 
 race, and they all' seemed so fond of pleasure, and 
 to have hut one object in life—amusement. 
 
 By the side of the shallow and rather over¬ 
 dressed Americans and Spaniards, Angela shone in 
 a new light to Gonzalo. He found the natural 
 reserve and coldness of an Englishwoman refreshing’, 
 
 O CD' 
 
 and her attractions were not at all diminished by 
 the contrast. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 189 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 As Sir Eustace opened Angela’s missive, the en¬ 
 closure—the original of the anonymous letter—fell 
 fluttering to the floor, and he picked it up and read 
 it carefully through before turning to his wife’s 
 effusion. Then he also perused this, the while a 
 curious expression, half-amused, half-cynical, over¬ 
 spread his clearly-cut features. He again turned his 
 attention to the unsigned sheet of note-paper. In¬ 
 stinctively he took up a pencil with his left hand 
 and began to trace the same words he saw there upon 
 the blotting-pad which lay before him. “ As I 
 thought,” he said quietly to himself—“written left- 
 handed : all writing with the left hand is alike. But 
 this is a woman’s left hand. And the right hand was 
 evidently pressed hard down upon the paper. The 
 right hand had rather dirty fingers,” he continued, 
 holding the paper up to the light. “ And the top joint 
 of the third finger is missing here. Why ? Because 
 
190 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Miss Amabel Bower burnt that third finger last 
 week, and had to shake hands with me with her left 
 hand on Sunday, I remember. She had that finger in 
 a lint bandage; therefore, whilst the natural heat 
 of the other fingers left its mark, this finger caused 
 no imprint whatever. The puzzle is an easy one to 
 read. The fair and lovely Amabel has done me the 
 
 honour of interesting herself in my affairs—would 
 
 (■ 
 
 that all anonymous communications were as simple 
 to solve. Poor Amabel! Well, I have no doubt 
 but that it has greatly pleased her; I am equally 
 sure that it doesn’t hurt me. So we will let the 
 matter drop, dear Miss Bower—at least, as far as I 
 am concerned,” he added, quietly lighting his after¬ 
 breakfast cigar. 
 
 “ It reminds one,” continued he, meditatively, as 
 he sent the first puff of smoke up to the ceiling, “ of 
 the story of John Wilkes, whose ugly, small-pox- 
 pitted face was better known than liked amongst his 
 acquaintances. For some reason or other, he sent an 
 
 anonymous letter to Lord -, and impressed the 
 
 seal with a thimble. Lord-found out who had 
 
 been the sender, and pointing to the thimble impress, 
 
 said to Wilkes, ‘ Next time you send an anonymous 
 
 «/ */ 
 
 letter, my good fellow, don’t seal it with your nose! ’ 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 191 
 
 And so I say to the sweet Amabel, ‘ Next time you 
 wish to write without discovering your name to your 
 correspondents, don’t make the impress of a dirty 
 hand, with one finger in bandages! ’ ” Then he 
 leisurely took up his pen to write a reply to his 
 wife’s letter. 
 
 It ran thus :— 
 
 “Furness Cottage, Seccombe, 
 
 “ Thursday. 
 
 “Dear Angela, 
 
 “ Thanks for your letter and enclosure ; the 
 latter is, as you say, amusing. I know who the 
 writer is, but am certainly not going to be guilty 
 of the childishness of making an accusation. You 
 ask me to tell you all about it. It can be summed 
 up in the words—‘ a molehill magnified into a moun¬ 
 tain.’ Miss Stanforth. was wandering from her own 
 house down to her own lake after dinner; it being a 
 fine moonlight night, I happened to wander in the 
 same direction; we met accidently, and I walked 
 with her back to the house. On my way home 
 ‘ the honest working man now languishing in jail ’ 
 attempted to blackmail me; relations between us 
 grew so strained that I had, perforce, to deposit him 
 on his back, after which I presented him with a 
 
192 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 small monetary solatium to go towards the diachylon 
 plaister, which became an imperative necessity on the 
 following morning, et voila tout. The gentleman in 
 question is an ‘ honest working man ’ who has never- 
 been honest, and who never did any work; and he is 
 now ‘languishing in jail,’ not for anything to do 
 with me, hut because he assaulted a keeper, and was 
 
 poaching. 
 
 * 
 
 “ It is very grievous, I know, to strip the story bare 
 of its romance and possible wickedness, but such 
 are the plain facts. 
 
 " I hope that all goes well with the saline cure, and 
 that your nerves are recovering their tone. Let me 
 know when you think of returning.” 
 
 This despatched, lie ordered his horse to be saddled, 
 changed into riding attire, and started for a breezy 
 gallop across the downs. 
 
 Monica Stanforth had been spared the annoyance 
 which had fallen to Sir Eustace’s lot in connection 
 with the incident in which Gipsy Cooper had played 
 the principal part. All she had heard of the proceed¬ 
 ings before the Justices was from her uncle. He 
 had come in on the following day to tea, and, with 
 his mouth full of muffin, had suddenly jerked out 
 the words:— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 193 
 
 “ What are you about, young woman, to go roam¬ 
 ing round the park at ten o’clock at night, eh ? ” 
 Monica smiled. 
 
 “ Well, Uncle, after Sir Eustace’s experience with 
 the gipsy, I don’t think I shall care about wandering 
 there any more. Will you have some more tea ? ” 
 
 “ H’m—eh?—what? more tea—of course I will. 
 What’s the good of one of these twopenny little cups 
 to me ? I want five or six before I know what the 
 flavour is. Where’s your mother—what ? lying down ? 
 got a headache ? Ah, well, it’s a funny thing, but I 
 never have a headache. Expect it’s all fudge and 
 fancy. ISTo ? Oh, very well then, it isn’t. Suppose 
 you didn’t hear anything of what—what took place — 
 when the gipsy fellow was brought before us ? ” 
 
 “'No; I only heard that he was sentenced to three 
 months’ hard labour, that is all.” 
 
 “ Ah, well, that’s right, that’s right. Who told 
 you that much, eh ? ” 
 
 “ I asked Sir Eustace-” 
 
 “ D—n Sir Eustace ! NTo, I don’t mean that; 
 hut—no, I und—n Sir Eustace! he’s a good fellow, 
 a very good fellow—hut I mean, how is it you’re 
 always with him, always speaking of him, always—■ 
 er—h’m—well, you know, you know ! ” 
 
 0 
 
194 
 
 OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 Monica, in the very plenitude of her innocence, 
 did not know. To be constantly with this man, to 
 he his companion in walks, rides, drives, to share 
 his musical tastes, to sympathize with him in his 
 aspirations, to talk to him of his past, his present, his 
 future, all these things had insensibly grown to he 
 part and parcel of her life, although she knew it not. 
 Perhaps she would not know it; her eyes would 
 remain closed until something occurred to open them. 
 Even had her heart told her plainly, unmistakably, 
 that she loved him, hers was a nature in which purity 
 of mind would always have triumphed over bodily 
 inclination. Men do not, as a rule, understand this ; 
 women do, and especially such women as have had 
 the same bringing up as Monica Stanforth. With 
 such, to love a man may be a perfectly pure and holy 
 thing, even though an obstacle may intervene to 
 prevent lawful marriage. Love is not lust, any more 
 than lust is love. Far be it from me to say that 
 passion (in some degree) is not a component part of 
 love, in many, perhaps in most, cases ; but it is only 
 one of many ingredients, and those in whom the 
 higher gifts of sympathy, affection, self-sacrifice, and 
 many kindred things are markedly developed, 
 possess, at will, the power to suppress, if not to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 195 
 
 wholly eradicate, the factor of which men in general 
 think so much more than women. Monica could 
 he very human; but she also knew how to be Divine. 
 Purity with her was a thing to be worshipped almost 
 as a personal God. 
 
196 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 If one may be permitted to apply such terms to 
 feminine subjects, one might fairly say of Amabel 
 Bower that she was more fool than knave. In the 
 matter of the anonymous letter, to give her her due, 
 she would never have thought of writing such a 
 thing had it not been for the all-pervading Meffl.es 
 putting the idea into her head. That strong-minded 
 female had gone to the Rectory with the fixed idea in 
 her mind of “ letting in ” her dear friend Amabel 
 for the dirty work and actual risk of detection. 
 Nevertheless, even as one cannot touch pitch without 
 being defiled, so Amabel, though little more than the 
 tool, had become pcirticeps criminis to such an extent, 
 that she was quite ready to still more soil her fingers 
 in the matter, if she could but obtain an extra supply 
 of food for the scandal-market. So she took the 
 opportunity—the great opportunity—as soon as the 
 actual date of her approaching marriage had been 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 107 
 
 settled upon, to climb over the stile, trot along the 
 little footpath, and cross the deer park, to tell her 
 beloved Monica the news, and—find out what she 
 could for herself. 
 
 Monica was arranging some clusters of dark-red 
 roses in an old Satsuma vase near the open window 
 of the morning-room, when the giggling, self-conscious 
 bride in esse tripped gushingly into the apartment 
 and flew upon her “ friend.” She looked rice, old 
 slippers, and trousseaux all combined, even at this 
 early stage, and for over half an hour after Monica 
 had submitted to be kissed, Amabel’s ceaseless cackle 
 continued in high, shrill monotone. The subject of 
 it may be shortly described as one blurred mass of 
 orange-blossom and bride-cake. She not only told 
 what she was going to wear, down to the last detail, 
 with a minuteness which was positively embarrassing, 
 but also insisted upon specifying what she was not 
 going to wear. 
 
 Then came the information as to what every one 
 else was going to wear; and lastly, even the poor 
 little bridegroom came in for a share of her atten¬ 
 tion. He was to be garbed in the uniform of an 
 officer in the “ First Queen’s Own Bottle-Greens.” 
 Ordinary man’s dress was so commonplace, 
 
108 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 wasn’t it ? It was so different in the good old days, 
 when they wore knee-breeches; but trousers!— 
 trousers were really horrid unless they had stripes 
 down the sides ; not that it was absolutely necessary 
 to wear them—she meant stripes, not trousers, of 
 course. Augustus, she thought, would look more 
 commanding in military uniform; how she wished 
 he could wear fancy dress ! As a Black Brunswicker, 
 now, he would—but, ah, it was no good thinking of 
 that. 
 
 And now, would dear Monica give her some advice 
 about the bridesmaids ? Whom should she ask ? 
 She really didn’t know. People all thought it a 
 bother and expense, nowadays; and many of her 
 friends, she knew, would not pay for bridesmaid’s 
 dresses that would never, never be of any use after¬ 
 wards. What should she do ? 
 
 And then “ dear Monica ” insisted upon being 
 Amabel’s bridesmaid herself, and Amabel could 
 never thank her sufficiently. It was so good- 
 natured of her, so kind to offer—yes, to actually 
 offer; and she, Amabel, would never, no, certainly, 
 never could she have been so bold as to venture a 
 suggestion of the kind. Augustus would feel more 
 than proud. “ And what a horrid thing it was that 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 199 
 
 had happened to Miss Stanforth that night she had 
 met Sir Eustace Bevan in the park! ” broke off Miss 
 Bower, inconsequently, fixing her little black, beady 
 eyes suddenly on Monica’s face to see if she winced. 
 
 Tall and stately in her radiant beauty, the girl 
 just raised the long lashes which fringed her lovely 
 eyes, and gazed without any absorbing interest at 
 Amabel. 
 
 “ There was no ‘ horrid thing,’ as far as I was 
 concerned,” she said simply. 
 
 “ Oh, well, you are so courageous, you know. 
 And of course, having a man with you so tall and 
 big and brave and handsome as Sir Eustace-” 
 
 Monica laughed outright. 
 
 “ My dear Amabel, what have his looks got to do 
 with his protective powers ? ” she said. “ Bobins, the 
 keeper, is tall and big and strong. Either of them 
 would have been sufficient protection, had I needed 
 any. But I never even saw this gipsy myself.” 
 
 “ H’m—ah—they said you did, you know, in 
 Court—that he—er—he v T as—was employed keeping 
 watch for you; but of course I know that was all 
 nonsense.” 
 
 Still the innuendo flew over the girl’s head. 
 
 “ Keeping w^atch for me ? ” she said. 
 
200 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ Yes—I mean keeping a look-out for—well, to 
 see that you were not disturbed, you know.” 
 
 “ What should he be keeping watch for ? ” in¬ 
 quired Monica, wonderingly. “Did he think we 
 wanted a chaperon ? ” she added with a little laugh. 
 
 “ Oh, of course I see how wise you are to treat 
 the whole matter as a joke, dear Monica. It would 
 not do to take it in any other light. But people do 
 really say such awful things.” 
 
 Monica looked puzzled. 
 
 “ I wish you would explain what you mean,” she 
 said. “Who are ‘the people,’ and what are the 
 ‘ awful things ’ they say, and of whom do they say 
 them ? ” 
 
 The directness of a question such as this is always 
 the bete noire of those who, in reality, have no in¬ 
 formation, and are merely fishing for it. 
 
 Amabel felt herself “ cornered,” and had to take 
 refuge in vague generalities. 
 
 “ Oh, I could not actually tell who say things, you 
 know. But—well, one of the things I heard was 
 that the gipsy was a sort of ‘ go-between ’ in your— 
 for you and Sir Eustace, and that he—well, in a 
 kind of way, arranged meetings for you at night,” 
 ended Amabel rather lamely. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 201 
 
 “ When, I see him every day! ” cried Monica, in 
 a fit of uncontrollable laughter. The suggestion of 
 anything wrong never entered into her mind, and 
 her transparent honesty was so effectually taking 
 the steel out of Miss Bower, that that lady began 
 to feel very limp, and wish she had not ever led the 
 conversation round to this point. “What earthly 
 need could there be for secret meetings when we can 
 always meet openly ? It would be like Tom Sawyer 
 and Huckleberry Finn, who insisted upon digging a 
 tunnel under an outhouse in order to rescue an 
 imprisoned slave, when they knew quite w*ell that 
 they could open the door and let him out at any 
 minute they wished! ” 
 
 “ She won't see it,” thought Amabel. " That’s 
 what it is—she won't see what I am driving at.” 
 
202 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 With a more or less modified and chastened joy, the 
 wedding-hells at length rang out for the celebration 
 of Amabel’s nuptials. The tenor bell was out of 
 gear, and could not be used. It was most unfor¬ 
 tunate, but it was always the way whenever she 
 wanted anything, said Amabel, petulantly, on the 
 wedding morning, when the news was communicated 
 to her by the house-parlourmaid. Amabel’s nose 
 had been redder than usual at the tip when she had 
 first risen from her virgin couch, and she was cross 
 and snappish in consequence. How was it, she 
 continually asked herself, in the manner of dis¬ 
 contented people, that whenever she wished to look 
 her loveliest—which was pretty often—“ things ” 
 conspired to prevent that most desirable consum¬ 
 mation ? What those mysterious “ things ” were, 
 neither she nor anybody else had ever been able 
 to explain. And then she had been perturbed in 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 203 
 
 spirit, not to say upset, on the previous day, when 
 a handsome silver inkstand arrived as a wedding 
 gift from Sir Eustace Bevan, for, emblazoned on a 
 scroll in front of it, in raised letters, was the well- 
 known motto of the Order of the Garter: “ Honi soit 
 qui mol y pense.” 
 
 Was it merely accidental, or was it a gentle hint 
 that the donor knew perfectly well who was the 
 anonymous letter-writer, and whilst passing the 
 matter over in quiet contempt himself, conveyed 
 this mild though snubbing advice to her in his 
 gift ? 
 
 She could not determine. All she could do was to 
 worry herself over her doubts, in the first place, and 
 then turn round and rend her unhappy little lover, 
 than whom, of course, no new-laid egg could be 
 more innocent, in the second. 
 
 And Miss Meffles, her particular, her “ own 
 familiar friend,” had lifted up her heel against her ; 
 or, to descend from the empyrean of metaphor to the 
 earthy realms of fact, had, at the last moment, backed 
 out of lending her her diamond spray to be married 
 in. And Amabel had calculated for weeks on the 
 effect that that antique jewel would have upon the 
 beholders, as she swept up the aisle on the Bector’s 
 
204 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 arm, and down again on Augustus’s. The people in 
 the left-hand seats would have their eyes gladdened 
 by it as she proceeded towards the altar; those on 
 the right would enjoy this rich treat as she should 
 sail out on her way to the door. And Meffles had 
 failed her. Of course that lady had not refused 
 right out, but she had taken refuge in one of those 
 little feminine subterfuges which never deceive 
 women, whatever success they meet with when 
 practised on men: she had said that she had lost the 
 key of the safe in which the spray was kept. The 
 safe had a Chubb’s lock, and therefore it was quite 
 impossible for a village smith to attempt such a tour 
 de force as would be requisite to open it. Chubb’s 
 own men would have to come down from London, 
 but of course that could not be done in time for the 
 wedding—it was most vexatious that she only dis¬ 
 covered her loss of the stupid key the day before 
 the wedding—otherwise her “ dearest Amabel ” knew 
 what pleasure, what absolute delight it would have 
 given her to lend her anything, etc., etc. ; and Amabel 
 knew perfectly well that Miss Meffles was telling a 
 lie, and Miss Meffles was also aware that Amabel 
 knew she was. But the circumstances did not in 
 the slightest degree affect the supply of “gush” at 
 
OUT OF THE DAEKNESS. 
 
 205 
 
 the church door on the eventful day, when the pair 
 met and kissed effusively. 
 
 In one way and another, Amabel considered that 
 in this, the proudest day of her life, to quote the 
 story books, she had been distinctly ill-used. Even 
 Augustus, in his over-anxiety to please, had succeeded 
 in doing just the reverse. He had, according to 
 command, gone through a dress-rehearsal on the day 
 before, Volunteer uniform and all, and his stage- 
 manager—Miss Bower herself—had been anything 
 but satisfied. In the first place, his shako had 
 evidently been made for a man with a head two 
 sizes larger than his own, and although he had 
 laboriously inserted several sheets of blotting-paper 
 within the lining, the head-gear still had the effect of 
 completely extinguishing the poor little man stagger¬ 
 ing beneath it; and secondly, Augustus’s irritating 
 habit of tripping over his sword had ended in her 
 peremptorily ordering him to take it off altogether. 
 A body-guard, consisting of twenty men of his corps, 
 in uniform, to line the aisle, had gone some slight 
 way towards propitiating her ; but Augustus’s dread 
 lest she should discover that instead of this being 
 voluntary service on their part, it was, as a matter 
 of fact, paid for by him at the rate of three and 
 
203 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 sixpence ahead and their beer, went far to destroy 
 any pleasure he might otherwise have taken in “ the 
 outward bodily sign ” of military consequence at 
 Holy Church’s ceremony. 
 
 The strong redeeming feature in Amabel’s eyes 
 was that the great people of the place, the Stan- 
 forths, were to give their countenances to her wed¬ 
 ding in so marked a manner. And nothing could 
 be more marked than the fact that Monica was to be 
 her bridesmaid. There were three others, but they 
 did not count. Yes, thought Amabel, as she looked 
 in the glass, banished her annoyance, and powdered 
 her nose, that made full atonement for everything 
 else—Monica Stanforth was to be her bridesmaid. 
 
 And then a further unpleasantness presented 
 itself to the blushing—at all events, nose-blush¬ 
 ing—bride. She remembered that Monica was the 
 girl wdiose reputation she, Amabel, had, by means of 
 that dirtiest of expedients, an anonymous letter, 
 tried to blast. People who write libel or speak 
 slander do not always recognize the enormity of 
 their offence at the time of its commission. But, 
 sooner or later, these things, like chickens, come 
 home to them to roost; and when they come to roost, 
 they come to stay. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 207 
 
 “ Blessed is the bride whom the sun shines on,” 
 runs the old saw; but perhaps more blessed still is 
 the sun of a clear, clean conscience, even if a hail¬ 
 storm heat on the church window-panes whilst the 
 ceremony is taking place. And Amabel, who was 
 not bad at heart, and who had erred more from foolish¬ 
 ness than malice, had the grace to feel extremely 
 uncomfortable when she remembered the kindness 
 she had always received in the past, and which she 
 was receiving, even now, in the present, from the girl 
 she had attempted to injure, and who, all unwittingly, 
 was heaping coals of fire on her head. 
 
 “ Amabel! Am-a-bel! ” called the Bector from the 
 foot of the stairs, as he stood, watch in hand, in 
 deadly fear of being late for the ceremony. The 
 Beverend Jack was naturally a punctual man, and 
 it caused him positive anguish to think that, at his 
 own church, he should keep people waiting. 
 
 “ The master’s waiting, miss! ” gasped the parlour¬ 
 maid, as she struggled with a recalcitrant hook and 
 eye somewhere at the back of her young and lovely 
 mistress. 
 
 “ Let him wait! ” commanded Amabel, sternly. 
 
 Another five minutes passed, during which more 
 hooks and eyes had to be reconciled and brought 
 
208 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 together. An ominous “crack” produced on the 
 bride’s lips an expression which we will charitably 
 describe as “ hasty,” and then once more Mr. Bower 
 calls from below— 
 
 “ Amabel! unless you come at once I shall proceed 
 to the church without you.” 
 
 “ You had better be the bride then, papa, I should 
 think, while you are about it! ” shrieks Amabel, 
 with a considerable amount of tartness in her tone. 
 Then she adds, for the benefit of nobody in par¬ 
 ticular— 
 
 “ Men are so ridiculous.” 
 
 At last, however, every piece of complicated 
 feminine gear is in place, and Miss Bower, after a 
 final look in the glass, a final push at the back hair, 
 and a final kick at the stiff satin train, rustles out of 
 the room, knocking over a chair as she goes, and 
 flounces down the stairs to her mildly indignant 
 parent, now consulting his watch with feverish haste, 
 something resembling a groan escaping his lips. Five 
 minutes later they enter the church and find every¬ 
 thing in train, and the whole of the audience awaiting 
 their appearance with anxious expectation. Then for 
 the moment Amabel forgets how unkind fate has 
 been to her, and beams radiantly at every one. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 209 
 
 Meffles—ves, even Meffles could be forgiven at so 
 
 J J O 
 
 supreme a moment. 
 
 Augustus Jinks had already tripped over his 
 sword and sat upon the ill-fitting shako in his 
 quarter of an hour’s wait in the church. His “ best 
 man,” who had been a fellow-student at “ Bart’s,” and 
 thought himself a humourist on the strength of a 
 regular attendance at the music halls and a singularly 
 retentive memory, had already done all he could 
 towards increasing the little doctor’s nervousness by 
 telling him—“ stuffing him ” was the elegant expres¬ 
 sion he used himself, later on, in describing his 
 exploits—that it was de rigucur that he should receive 
 his bride with a low bow, and standing in the “ fifth 
 position ” ; also that he should, at the critical moment 
 of putting on the ring, give the officiating clergyman 
 his gloves and shako to hold; and that as soon as 
 they entered the vestry afterwards, he, Augustus, 
 would be expected to kiss all the bridesmaids in 
 order of seniority. This interesting youth then put 
 his hands in his pockets and stared round the church, 
 singling out all the nicest-looking girls for his special 
 attention, and whistled softly, until checked by the 
 appearance of the bride and her cortege at the farther 
 end of the aisle. 
 
 r 
 
210 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 What wonder that Eustace Bevan, standing by 
 himself in the old worm-eaten, high-backed pew next 
 the organ, looking past the pretty but commonplace 
 bride, to the girl following her up the aisle, should 
 think, with a pang of bitter regret, how mistaken his 
 own marriage had been, what a waste of life his was. 
 One day, he thought dully, this fair, lily of a girl, in 
 all her stately, glorious beauty, would be playing the 
 leading part in another such drama as this. Drama, 
 did he say ? Would it not rather be a tragedy for 
 him ? Well, he would not, could not, be there to see 
 it, that was one comfort. But it was cold comfort at 
 the best. 
 
 Eustace had answered the great question—he had 
 acknowledged to himself his love for Monica Stan- 
 forth; and although his every thought concerning 
 her might have been safely put into words and pro¬ 
 claimed upon the housetops ; although he would have 
 freely given up his life—or what he felt to be the 
 wreckage of his life—to save her a pang, yet he could 
 not deny himself the useless, but none the less 
 precious, privilege of building castles in the air—of 
 picturing to his mind those joys which might never, 
 in life, be his. 
 
 And while he dreamed his dreams beneath the 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 211 
 
 deep shadow of the organ, and heeded not, heard not, 
 what was going on around him, lo, the bells clashed 
 forth their merry—but tenorless—music ; the instru¬ 
 ment above him resounded to the touch of a hired 
 organist, who seemed determined that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Augustus Jinks should have full value for their 
 guinea fee to him; bride and groom had returned 
 from the vestry—where, fortunately, the little doctor 
 had determined not to carry out the programme 
 suggested to him by the youth from “ Bart’s and 
 were now prancing down the aisle on their return. 
 
 Eustace quietly edged his way out through the 
 door. In the porch he spoke for a moment some 
 commonplace to the bride; then he turned to Monica. 
 Their hands touched, that was all; and Eustace, 
 with head bent down, walked back to the Cottage 
 and threw himself into a chair. Eip came up to 
 him and silently laid his massive brindled head upon 
 his master’s knee, looking up into his face as though 
 he guessed the trouble there. 
 
 The dumb brute’s eyes met those of the man. 
 Eustace rested his hand upon the dog’s neck and 
 looked straight into his honest face. 
 
 “ You understand, old fellow, don’t you ? ” he said 
 gently. 
 
212 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Autumn’s glories began to manifest themselves in 
 leaf and bracken as the year crept on apace. Sir 
 Eustace had bought a second horse in the neighbour¬ 
 hood, a young one, with whose hunting education 
 he was taking considerable pains; his other horse 
 also had to be got into condition for the coming 
 season, and in consequence he spent much of his 
 time taking long gallops on the downs, and in rides 
 about the meadows and lanes—rides in which he was 
 sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied, as before, 
 by Monica, 
 
 Only on one occasion had Mrs. Stanforth said 
 anything by way of warning to her daughter in 
 connection with the friendship existing between her 
 and Eustace Bevan. 
 
 The Admiral, whose ideas on the subject of love 
 were, to say the least of it, crude, and transplanted, 
 for the most part, straight from the quarter-deck to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 213 
 
 the country village, had grunted out to his sister- 
 in-law— 
 
 “ That girl of yours is always riding and walking 
 about with Bevan.” 
 
 “ Yes,” answered the widow, placidly, looking up 
 from the tambour-frame at which she was working. 
 “ So pleasant for Monica to have a companion who is 
 always such a good-natured friend that-” 
 
 “D—d good-natured friend ! ” snorted the Admiral 
 to himself, quite unaware that he was making a 
 quotation. 
 
 “ —that he not only takes her out under his escort, 
 but talks cleverly of the things which most interest 
 her—music, art, literature, and so forth—subjects 
 which our good Seccombeites only have, as a rule, 
 the haziest ideas of. He improves her mind-” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” sotto voce. 
 
 “—and I’m sure he really takes a deep interest 
 in her.” 
 
 “ Devil doubt it! ” growled “ fighting Tom ” under 
 his breath. Then aloud he added, “Well, when I 
 was his age, all I know is that mothers didn’t want to 
 trust their daughters to me to go cruising about with.” 
 
 A gentle smile, one in which there was a certain 
 spice of mischief, passed over Mrs. Stanforth’s 
 
2L4 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 aristocratic features; it seemed to even give the 
 snow-white hair an extra waviness for the moment. 
 She looked up from the tambour-frame, memory 
 bringing back to her some stories her husband had 
 told her of wild sailor Tom’s earlier days, and met 
 the old Admiral’s fiery eyes. Then she said— 
 
 “No, Tom, I don’t suppose they did;” and the 
 Admiral, bursting with composite feelings of vex¬ 
 ation, suppressed chuckles, and the outraged dignity 
 of a pillar of the church, who attended service 
 regularly, armed with an unimpeachable umbrella 
 and a stove-pipe hat, stumped off out of the room. 
 
 It was then that Mrs. Stanfortli had casually 
 mentioned this conversation to her daughter, and 
 added that perhaps it would be better—better as an 
 example to others—if she made a point of always 
 being accompanied by a servant when on horseback, 
 and- 
 
 “ My dearest mother, I can’t be accompanied by a 
 maid whenever we meet by accident and w r alk 
 together. The riding we can certainly arrange as 
 you wish, and I will have Perkins always out with 
 me if you like. As to the walking, I am afraid 
 that it is impossible to avoid a meeting—and I don’t 
 want to avoid it. Do you wish me to ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 215 
 
 Again the girl’s transparent frankness triumphed. 
 It was not that she was indifferent to Sir Eustace, 
 that she felt perfectly safe in his society simply 
 because he had no special attraction for her—that 
 was far from being the truth—but because of her 
 own absolute conviction that her conduct would 
 always be, in fact, above suspicion—that is, reason¬ 
 able suspicion; the. vulgar carping of people whose 
 own purity generally stands in inverse ratio to their 
 belief in others’ guilt, ought never to wring the 
 withers of the innocent—that, and her perfect trust 
 in Sir Eustace Bevan himself. He was a gentleman ; 
 a man of honour. In such hands a pure-minded girl 
 is always safe. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth did not think it worth while to 
 pursue the subject any further. She was absolutely 
 confident in her daughter, and that sufficed her. 
 
 Monica’s own feelings, although she had never, it 
 is true, taken herself to task for the purpose of 
 analysis, were perfectly clear to her own mind. She 
 liked, admired, and, in a sense, even loved—and she 
 did not shrink from the term as applied to a man 
 already married—Eustace Bevan; but matter had 
 never been allowed to triumph over mind in her 
 short life. Men and women may prattle eternally of 
 
216 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 irresistible impulse/’ of being swept away from tlie 
 path they hacl fully intended to pursue, by a force 
 stronger than themselves, of succumbing to a temp¬ 
 tation so powerful that it numbed their capacity for 
 resistance—and they do prattle this jargon more in 
 these effete and dying years of the century than they 
 ever did before; but when every argument on their 
 side, backed up by a “ new faith ” here, and a “ story 
 of emancipation ” there, has been exhausted, it has all 
 come back to the time-worn, threadbare fact, that the 
 whole matter is a mere question of the balance, 
 which materially on the one part, and the develop¬ 
 ment of mental control on the other, have struck 
 within each individual concerned. Society, copying 
 the Divorce Court, or the Divorce Court copying 
 society, at once jumps to the conclusion that, given 
 opportunity for guilt, guilt must inevitably be pre¬ 
 sumed : and on this generally accepted, but most 
 monstrous assumption, scores of fair reputations have 
 been ruthlessly blasted. The Divorce Court is the 
 more just of the two, as it goes no further than a 
 presumption, and always listens to any evidence 
 wdiich can be brought forward to rebut it; but society, 
 which is always its own counsel, its own judge, and 
 above all things — delicious thought! — its own 
 
 O O 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 217 
 
 executioner, condemns out of hand, and mercilessly 
 punishes its victims—unless they happen to he of 
 the certain favoured few. For, in order to balance 
 matters and modify its own severity, it makes 
 exceptions ; and there are some who are above sus¬ 
 picion, simply because that stage has long been 
 passed, and suspicion has ripened into certainty—the 
 Bubicon has been crossed, and they stand convicted 
 before the world. These, society receives with open 
 arms—and closed eyes. Verily, “it is a mad world, 
 my masters.” 
 
 ISTo change of any note took place in the daily 
 life of Monica Stanforth and Eustace Bevan at 
 Seccombe, and a companionship which had been 
 one of pure delight to both, continued as before. 
 But the minds of men and women are strongly 
 diverse; and whereas man covets actual possession 
 as one of the essentials of complete happiness, 
 woman is, in most cases, perfectly content to forego 
 this, if she can be secure of the spiritual side of 
 man’s love. 
 
 But for the thought that this condition of things 
 must end, in the now not far distant future, Monica’s 
 happiness would have been complete. With Eustace 
 it was not so, and sometimes during the happiest 
 
218 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 hours they were passing together, a feeling almost 
 akin to despair would take possession of his spirit, 
 as the impossibility of ever possessing that which 
 his heart so earnestly coveted rose up before his eyes. 
 
 But not even at moments such as these, fraught 
 with acute anguish though they were—and perhaps 
 the stronger a man is, mentally, the more he suffers— 
 did one impure thought find harbour in his mind. 
 He knew the hopelessness of his love, recognized it 
 frankly from the first, and when the time for parting 
 should come, as come it must, he would say “ good¬ 
 bye ” tenderly, perhaps, but none the less bravely, 
 and go out into the wearying world again, and out 
 of her life. He would face his fate, just as he had, 
 fifteen years before, single-handed, faced a horde of 
 yelling, murderous Malays, in order to save a 
 wounded comrade from being speared as he lay 
 helpless on the ground. The same calm, grim 
 determination he had shown then, would not desert 
 him in his hour of trial now. Temptation to do 
 that which would injure those dearest to them, in 
 order to gratify their own passions, assails such 
 men as these in vain. If “ to err is human,” and 
 “ to forgive divine,” surely to renounce, must give 
 “joy in Heaven ’mongst the angels of God.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Life at Biarritz did not realize to the full Angela’s 
 expectations. The saline baths were very fatiguing, 
 she declared, and she soon had enough of them. 
 But what annoyed her more than anything else was 
 Miguel’s extraordinary behaviour. He had started 
 a flirtation with a pretty young American heiress, 
 and Angela was awaking to the worthlessness of 
 men in general, and Gonzalo in particular. 
 
 The worst of it was that she had no one in whom 
 she could confide; she must bear it in silence; she 
 must be witness to all the provoking little advances 
 made by Miss Haidee E. Slatter, “ of San Francisco,” 
 and see the self-satisfied complacency with which 
 Miguel received them. 
 
 It was of no use to make pretty little scenes of 
 jealousy; they only amused Gonzalo, and made her 
 look ridiculous. And yet, if she were too indifferent, 
 he would certainly drift away altogether. 
 
 What was to be done ? To excite his jealousy 
 
220 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 by flirting on her own account, seemed a natural 
 and efficacious remedy; but even that had no effect. 
 Angela had plenty of admirers, and was much 
 appreciated in the strange society in which she 
 found herself; but she might sit out interminably 
 with good-looking young men in dark corners, and 
 Gonzalo would never come to fetch her. 
 
 “ He is so sure of himself,” she thought bitterly, 
 “ and so sure of me.” And then she decided that it 
 was a positive calamity to be in love with an “ homme 
 a bonnes fortunes ,” a modern Don Juan, whose conceit 
 required constant feeding by new people. 
 
 One day there had been a large party to Fonta- 
 rabia, the little Spanish frontier town celebrated 
 for its characteristic dirt, and the facilities so freely 
 afforded of catching small-pox. When they had 
 sufficiently admired the one old gabled street of 
 which the town consists, and had realized the dis¬ 
 advantage of moyen age drainage, they repaired to 
 the Casino, which boasts of a precarious and, more or 
 less, clandestine roulette. Angela played and lost, 
 and Miss Haidee E. Slatter played and won. 
 
 Gonzalo stood between them, and encouraged the 
 winner and sympathized with the loser. Angela 
 could have murdered them. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 221 
 
 When her last five-franc piece was gone, Miss 
 Slatter turned to her and said sweetly— 
 
 “ See here, Lady Bevan, take some of my pile.” 
 
 But Angela with equal sweetness refused the 
 loan. 
 
 “ No, thank you,” she said; “ I am always unlucky 
 at games of chance. It is no use for me to 
 persist.” 
 
 “ Lucky in love ? ” asked the American, with a 
 merry look in her mischievous eyes. 
 
 “Very,” retorted Angela. “I have a model 
 husband.” 
 
 “ I guess I shall never have one at all if I go on 
 winning like this,” said Miss Slatter, as she raked 
 
 in another heap of five-franc pieces. 
 
 0 
 
 “ On the contrary,” said Angela. “ Biches attract 
 men, you know; ” and she looked at Gonzalo, as 
 much as to say, “ I think I scored there.” 
 
 Gonzalo returned her look with a provoking smile— 
 a smile which had nothing of reproach in it, only- 
 cynical amusement. He certainly admired Miss 
 Slatter, with her little waspish waist, her delicate 
 features, and her charming nasal drawl. She had 
 not been long enough in “ Yurup ” to lose the 
 characteristics of her country. A successful season 
 
222 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 at Nice, and a few weeks in Paris in doubtful 
 Rastagouere society, bad not removed the national 
 bounce and daring of her nature; and she amused 
 him, and that was enough for the present. If he 
 were really to fall in love with her, of course it 
 must be with an ulterior view of “ marriage bells ;” 
 but what then ? Slatter pere had made a fortune; 
 and, moreover, he was dead. No father could possibly 
 have behaved better. True, there was a mother—an 
 overdressed old lady, with powdered hair, who looked 
 like a provincial Madame Deschapelles; but Haidee 
 had taught her to be silent—the first lesson of every 
 American child to its parents; and, generally speaking, 
 she found her mother a useful kind of upper servant. 
 Haidee had a very clear head, and a remarkable 
 appreciation of her own charms. 
 
 Mrs. Slatter had started from the States with the 
 conviction that her daughter had only to appear in 
 London to be immediately snapped up by some 
 • hungry Duke eager to devour her dollars. “ My 
 daughter, the Duchess,” would have been a very 
 delightful phrase to ring out through her nose when 
 she returned to America; but the Duke was not 
 forthcoming. They had not the necessary intro¬ 
 ductions to penetrate the charmed circle where 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 223 
 
 eligible Peers abound, so they called London “ horrid,” 
 and “ a poor city,” and “ just too mean to be compared 
 to any city in Amurrica.” And then they went to 
 Paris, and from that they drifted to Nice, and later 
 on to Biarritz. Everywhere Haidee was admired, 
 but no parti worthy of spending the late Slatter’s 
 hard-earned fortune had as yet presented himself. 
 
 When Gonzalo began to pay her attention, things 
 looked more hopeful. Haidee was not silly enough 
 to fall in love with any man, and yet she could not 
 help admiring Miguel’s dark Spanish beauty, and his 
 proud, noble bearing. Moreover, she knew that he 
 was rich, and that his admiration was for herself, and 
 not for the “ blocks ” of household property which a 
 thoughtful father had left her. And besides, there 
 had evidently been a strong flirtation between him 
 and Lady Be van, and it is always pleasant to step in 
 and prevent these illicit attachments. Certainly the 
 flirtation, or whatever it might be called, was on the 
 wane, but that only made it all the more galling for 
 Angela. 
 
 Miss Slatter did not love her “ cousins, the 
 English,” with any exaggerated affection. They had 
 shown her very little politeness since she had been 
 in “ Yurup ” ; but yet she sprung from English stock, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 221 
 
 and had told Augela on one occasion that her grand¬ 
 father was a Liverpool man. 
 
 Angela had promptly replied in a spirit of badinage 
 that she had always thought Americans had no grand¬ 
 fathers, a remark which sealed her fate as far as 
 Haidee’s future behaviour with Gonzalo was con¬ 
 cerned. From this moment she was merciless, and, 
 in the fair American’s own words, Angela had “ to 
 take a back seat.” 
 
 When they had finished playing roulette, Miss 
 Slatter proposed that she and Gonzalo should return 
 to Hendaye, where they were to take the train back 
 to Biarritz, by themselves. She would row him across 
 the Bidassoa. She was perfectly reckless, full of 
 spirits, and flushed with her gambling success. 
 
 “You will let him come, won’t you ? ” she said to 
 Lady Bevan with the mischievousness of a child. 
 
 “He is your prey, not mine,” said Angela with 
 apparent unconcern. “ Pray do whatever you like 
 with him.” 
 
 “ There is no harm, is there ? ” continued Haidee, 
 innocently. 
 
 “ Not the slightest,” said Angela. “ In England 
 our housemaids always go out alone with their 
 ‘ young men.’ ” 
 
OUT OF THE DAHKNESS. 
 
 225 
 
 “ I see you don’t like it,” said Miss Slatter with 
 mock self-sacrifice. “ We won’t go ; I don’t want to 
 spoil your day.” 
 
 “You are very kind,” said Angela. “The only 
 thing likely to spoil my day is my loss at roulette ; 
 that catastrophe being now over, I am callous as 
 to the rest.” 
 
 Later on she would make Gonzalo pay not only 
 her losses at roulette, but pay dearly for the insults 
 of what she subsequently called “ that vulgar little 
 gutter upstart! ” 
 
 There was a charming scene that evening at 
 Angela’s hotel about ten o’clock, when Gonzalo came 
 to fetch her to go to the Casino. 
 
 Of course she began by declaring that she had a 
 headache, and was not going out. 
 
 He could go and dance and flirt with the gutter 
 upstart to his heart’s content, but she must flatly 
 refuse to be a witness of their ecstasies. What did 
 he see in her ? What could he see in her ? She had 
 a waist, certainly; but for the rest, she looked as if 
 she was on springs. It was a well-known fact that 
 the Paris dressmakers supplied all Americans with 
 their figures at the same time that they supplied their 
 dresses—they were sent home together. And her 
 
 Q 
 
226 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 face ? Since when did he think a nnt-eracker nose 
 and chin pretty ? Had he seen the gold in her teeth ? 
 “ Half her father’s fortune is in her mouth,” she 
 sneered with a loud unmusical laugh ; “ and her hair 
 is dyed.” And then anger gave way to pathos, and 
 she asked him why he was such a brute, and why he 
 had ceased to care for her ? 
 
 Gonzalo had never heard such a torrent of words, 
 and was naturally at a loss for a reply. 
 
 “ I have not ceased to care for you,” he said 
 lamely; “ only you are always preaching prudence, 
 and it is surely wise of me to give the world 
 the idea that I admire other people besides 
 yourself.” 
 
 “ If I preach prudence, I certainly don’t practice 
 it,” said Angela with bitter self-reproach. “ I have 
 given you everything a woman can give, and my 
 reward is to see you fall head over ears in love with 
 the first well-dressed doll who comes across your 
 path.” 
 
 “ I am not head over ears in love with her,” he said 
 indignantly. 
 
 “You are,” replied Angela. “You were simply 
 devouring her with your eyes all day.” 
 
 “ Bah! ” he said, shrugging his shoulders, and 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 227 
 
 walking about the room impatiently. “ Are you 
 coming to the ball at the Casino ? ” 
 
 a ISTo, I am not, and you are not going either. Miss 
 Slatter—Slatter! such a name too!—will have to 
 forego the pleasure of your society this evening.” 
 
 “ It will look very bad if neither of us are there,” 
 he remarked. 
 
 “ I don’t care,” she said wearily. “ I think I am 
 getting past appearances. You can go to baccarat 
 later on, and get back my roulette losses.” 
 
 “ How much did you lose ? ” he asked. 
 
 “I don’t know; about a thousand francs, I think,” 
 said Angela, who had barely lost fifteen louis. 
 
 “ Here they are,” he said, giving her a thousand- 
 franc note; “ it was my fault for tempting you to 
 play.” 
 
 Angela said nothing, and did not even look at the 
 note he placed on the table. She was under the 
 impression that you maintained your self-respect 
 if you ignored these little presents and expressed no 
 thanks. So she left the note untouched; later on 
 she would put it safely in her purse, and the next 
 day it would pay her week’s bill at the hotel. 
 
 “ I have been very unlucky at baccarat lately,” 
 he said. “ I have lost a lot of money.” 
 
228 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ How much ? ” asked Angela, crossly. 
 
 “Very nearly two hundred thousand francs,” he 
 answered. 
 
 “ That is eight thousand pounds. You might have 
 employed it more usefully, certainly. But of course 
 your triumph with that Slatter girl must be paid 
 for. You could scarcely expect to win.” 
 
 “ And things in the city have not been doing well 
 either; however, all this does not interest you,” he 
 said. 
 
 “ Yes, it does,” said Angela, eagerly. “ What has 
 been going wrong in the city ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, everything. Some speculations we made 
 have turned out badly—about as badly as they could 
 —and there have been some unexpected and incon¬ 
 venient calls on the bank.” 
 
 “ But of course all that is only temporary ? ” 
 
 “ I hope so,” he answered. “ But I ought really 
 to be in England, looking after it all.” 
 
 “ Only you can’t tear yourself away from Slatter.” 
 
 “ Oh, don’t be so silly! ” he said, exasperated. 
 “ You are a sort of modern Mrs. Caudle.” 
 
 “ Have you really ceased to care for me, Miguel ? ” 
 she said, as she bent towards him and put her arms 
 round his neck. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 229 
 
 “ No, of course I haven’t,” he said, looking down 
 pityingly at her. “ I suppose one day we shall have 
 to part, but I hope not yet.” 
 
 “No, not yet,” she said pathetically, and with 
 resignation in her voice; “some day, of course, hut 
 not yet.” 
 
280 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 Each autumn for several years past, Mrs. Stanforth 
 and her daughter had been accustomed to spend a 
 month with some cousins, who had a shooting-box 
 in Inverness-shire, and this month in the keen, bracing 
 air of the Highlands, had always hitherto afforded 
 Monica the sincerest pleasure. 
 
 But now—well, now, without actually giving any 
 shape to her thoughts, she felt a strange reluctance 
 to leave Seccombe, a curious unwillingness to face 
 the long journey North. Almost she hoped that 
 something might occur to prevent their going this 
 year, as something indeed had happened to prevent 
 them some years before — a sudden outbreak of 
 typhoid in the district; almost she wished some 
 light ailment could be visited on herself. She hardly 
 knew what she wished, only—only that she might 
 be allowed to remain here at Seccombe. 
 
 How she loved the place! she exclaimed to her 
 outward self. And then that imp, her inner 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 231 
 
 consciousness, asked her the pertinent question, 
 “ Why did not your love for Seccombe hinder your 
 leaving it in former years ? ” But Monica, very 
 properly, would have no talk with any imps who 
 put questions of such a kind; she sent them to 
 the right-about to mind their own business. 
 
 But typhoid did not break out at Craigardle, 
 neither did Monica’s own radiant beauty suffer any 
 decline through ill-health ; and so it came about 
 that she and her mother found themselves in due 
 course, standing on the platform of the little High¬ 
 land railway station, situate some four miles from 
 Craigardle Lodge, and receiving the warm welcome 
 which always awaited them at the hands of a group of 
 merry girl cousins, and their fifteen-year-old brother, 
 fresh from Eton, who had cherished, in secret, a hope¬ 
 less passion for Monica since the age of seven. Their 
 luggage was quickly transferred to a high-wheeled, 
 varnished cart, and they themselves to a waggonette, 
 drawn by a pair of sturdy cobs. In a perfect storm 
 of inquiries, tit-bits of news, and shouts of girlish 
 laughter—Bertie, the Eton boy, was almost invariably 
 dumb in the presence of his inamorata—they were 
 whirled along, across the heather-clad moor, and up 
 to the Lodge. 
 
232 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Here, amidst the chatter and laughter of the 
 younger cousins, Mrs. Featherstone, the hostess, and 
 Mrs. Stanforth’s kinswoman, announced that their 
 arrival that day made the party complete. There 
 were seven men in the house, Mr. Featherstone’s 
 guests, at present out shooting. 
 
 “You know what it is, my dear/’ said Mrs. 
 Featherstone; “ men are never happy unless they 
 are either killing, or ‘ assaulting, with intent to kill/ 
 something or other.” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth smiled as she accepted the offer of 
 a second cup of tea, and her hostess rattled on— 
 
 “ I’m sure Monica ought to he very much obliged 
 to me for securing that delightful Mr. Glenmorrison. 
 Yes, he is here—the man who admired you so, my 
 dear, last year. He had not come into the estate 
 then, you know; but now he is the Master of 
 Lochussie, with I don’t know how many thousands 
 
 a year ; and he is quite the biggest-” 
 
 “ Ass! ” broke in the suffering Etonian, wratli- 
 fully. To hear anything in praise of an admirer of 
 Monica caused him to positively wriggle. 
 
 “ My dear boy! ” exclaimed his mother; “ I cannot 
 understand your unreasoning dislike of him. You 
 get on so well with all the other men.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 233 
 
 “Well, I can’t get on with a fellow like Glen- 
 morrison. Why, fancy, Monica, he actually has the 
 cheek to call himself Lochussie! Silly owl—I hate 
 him! ” 
 
 “ Now, Legs,” said one of his sisters, reprovingly, 
 “ I rather like him myself, and you must restrain 
 your fiery indignation. As to his being called 
 Lochussie—well, he is Lochussie, so it’s nothing to 
 do with his calling himself anything.” 
 
 “ Bah ! ” exclaimed the disgusted Legs. 
 
 Poor Bertie Featherstone had acquired the highly 
 undignified sobriquet of “Legs” at that time of life 
 when he had been arrayed in the garb of “Auld 
 Reekie,” and when those pink, but highly serviceable 
 appendages, were very distinctly en evidence. Now, 
 the very glimpse of a kilt was wont to arouse the 
 keenest suffering in him. It was really too bad that 
 his sister should call him “ Legs ” within Monica’s 
 hearing. True, Ethel did not know of his callow 
 love’s existence; but then—ah, well, he didn’t mind 
 Ethel, but as for “ that beastly Glenmorrison! ” and 
 Legs stalked out of the room with an air of offended 
 dignity which could not have failed to be impressive, 
 but for his unfortunately tripping over the door-mat 
 at the threshold. 
 
23± 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Monica’s only reply to Mrs. Feathers tone’s chatter 
 was a faint smile. As a matter of fact, she had 
 rather liked the fair-haired, broad-shouldered Glen- 
 morrison when she had last stayed at Craigardle; but 
 now—well, now she could not get up the feeblest 
 show of interest in the good-looking young Scotch 
 Laird. So, for lack of fuel, this particular fire of con¬ 
 versation died out, and the talk drifted into other 
 channels. 
 
 That evening, in the awful quarter of an hour 
 before announcing dinner, Alan Glenmorrison singled 
 out Monica, and putting aside the shyness which was 
 habitual to him,!with a resolute hand, he contrived to 
 isolate her from the general hum of conversation, and 
 monopolize her whole attention. The Etonian sat 
 moodily in a comer, “ the world forgetting ”—Monica 
 always excepted—“by the world forgot.” It was 
 on Glenmorrison’s arm that poor Bertie’s Queen of 
 the Earth went in to dinner, and then, indeed, was 
 the unhappy youth’s cup of bitterness drained to the 
 dregs. 
 
 When the soup had been removed, and the Master 
 of Lochussie was just descanting to his sweet-faced 
 companion on the astounding fact that at the High¬ 
 land games of Inverness, Donald MacSomething of 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 235 
 
 MacSomewhere had “ tossed the caber ” a distance of 
 ten feet, or ten yards, or ten miles, Monica was not 
 quite sure which, the sound of a familiar name 
 suddenly caught her ear. Mr. Featherstone was 
 saying— 
 
 “ Yes, they mean to find a seat in Parliament for 
 him, so Kellaird was telling me. He is supposed to 
 be the coming Attorney-General. No man at the 
 Bar to touch him. My cousin, Mrs. Stanforth, knows 
 him; he has been very ill, I believe, lately. Con¬ 
 stance,”—this to Mrs. Stanforth—“ I have just been 
 telling Beresford that you know Sir Eustace Bevan. 
 He is staying somewhere near you, in Kent, is he 
 not ? ” 
 
 Thus appealed to, Mrs. Stanforth gave a few par¬ 
 ticulars relative to their association with the famous 
 advocate, and of how great a boon they had found 
 his society in quiet, quaint little Seccombe. Alan 
 Glenmorrison, managing to catch a side view of 
 Monica’s face, thought he had never yet seen it look 
 quite so fair, quite so radiant in its wonderful wealth 
 of expression, as it did at that moment. 
 
 Then, as the soft tones of Mrs. Stanforth murmured, 
 “We shall be so sorry to lose him when he goes 
 back to his work,” a sharp spasm, apparently of pain, 
 
230 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 shot momentarily across her daughter’s face; and 
 Glenmorrison, who was far from being a fool, took an 
 opportunity some minutes later, to ask her, in casual 
 tones, whether Sir Eustace Bevan was a married 
 man, and on receiving a reply in the affirmative, the 
 young Laird seemed to feel more at his ease. 
 
 For the whole of the ensuing three weeks, during 
 most of which time the men were out all day, either 
 grouse and black-cock shooting, or else by the 
 Spey-side, striving to entrap the lordly salmon or 
 the speckled trout, Alan Glenmorrison paid an 
 attention which was most marked, to Miss Stanforth. 
 Monica herself seemed to be the only one who was 
 actually unaware of the fact. Her thoughts were 
 elsewhere; that was the simple truth. She occasion¬ 
 ally felt that she was suffering slightly from a sort of 
 pressure-of-Glenmorrison-on-the-brain, and now and 
 then went a little out of her way to avoid him; and 
 when, on one wet day, he was urgently summoned 
 away to a long conference with his factor, who had 
 just arrived post-haste, all rain-water without and 
 whisky within, Miss Stanforth had gently quoted to 
 Ethel, “For this relief much thanks.” Ethel, who 
 had thoughts of Glenmorrison for herself—always 
 supposing Monica “ didn’t want him,” as she put it— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 237 
 
 could hardly think her cousin was in earnest when 
 she intimated that a little less Glenmorrison would 
 be acceptable. But Bertie, with his keen, child 
 instinct, saw, and chuckled in an unholy manner 
 over it accordingly. 
 
 One brilliantly beautiful day, when the ladies of 
 the party had driven out with the luncheon to meet 
 the guns, things came to a climax. Fortified by 
 three helpings of grouse pie and an appropriate 
 quantity of lobster salad, the Master of Lochussie 
 determined to put his fate to the test. During the 
 smoke and stroll which followed that most delightful 
 meal on the heathery moorland, Glenmorrison man¬ 
 aged to detach Monica from the rest of the party, 
 and walk with her beside the rock-strewn course of 
 a little peaty stream. The descendant of the old 
 Highland chieftains was by no means lacking in 
 courage—his foot was on his native heath—but 
 somehow or other he thought to himself that he had 
 never felt quite so uncomfortable as he did at this 
 precise juncture of his life. However, muttering to 
 himself the well-known aphorism anent the brave only 
 deserving the fair, he put a good face on it and began. 
 
 Before half a dozen words had been uttered he 
 knew his fate. 
 
238 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Monica had tried to stop him at the outset, to save 
 him the humiliation of defeat, but wounded to the 
 quick in his Highland pride, and genuinely astonished 
 that any girl could refuse the position he offered, 
 and—and, well, himself—for though an excellent 
 young fellow in every way, he was by no means 
 free from the overweening conceit so character¬ 
 istic of his race—he insisted upon going on to 
 the bitter end. He was brave, and spoke out all 
 he had meant to say. But when he found that 
 although there existed “no insuperable obstacle,” 
 as he put it, yet that Monica was wholly incapable 
 of responding in the way he desired, he simply 
 bowed, accepting his fate, but still feeling incredulous 
 in his own heart. “ How could any girl,” etc., etc. 
 These were the words passing through and through 
 his brain as the two of them slowly, and in silence, 
 retraced their steps and joined the rest of the party 
 again. 
 
 Before breakfast-time the following morning, 
 Glenmorrison had left—and all the rest of the 
 house-party were enabled to give a pretty shrewd 
 guess at the reason of his abrupt departure. 
 
 “ I may have a chance still! ” exclaimed Legs, 
 tragically. “ All is not lost, then, yet! ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 239 
 
 CHAPTER XXY. 
 
 Never until the moment when the young Scotch 
 Laird laid his heart and fortune at Monica Stanforth’s 
 feet, had the girl fully realized how very far indeed 
 she had advanced along the path of a love which 
 was unlawful, and which, if pursued, could have 
 but one ending, and that, disaster. Whilst things 
 remained as they then were between herself and 
 Eustace Bevan, she was content, aye, more than 
 content, she was perfectly happy. She was a free 
 agent, although, unhappily, he was not; but directly 
 the idea was suggested to her mind of entering into 
 a legal bond with another, her whole nature revolted 
 and shrank away from the thought of putting any 
 further obstacle between herself and the man to 
 whom, all unwittingly, she had given her love, and 
 it was then that she saw clearly, instead of, as before, 
 letting her gaze rest idly on a blurred and confused 
 prospect of platonic friendship which was to con¬ 
 tinue for ever, neither advancing nor retrograding ; 
 
240 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 then it was that she began to crystallize all her 
 stray fancies and fragmentary thoughts into a single 
 word—that word was “ love/’ 
 
 Long before this she had told herself, it is true, 
 that she did more than admire Eustace Bevan—that 
 she loved him, in a way; but it was rather the love 
 of a sister for some dearly cherished brother, than 
 the love of a woman for the man on whom her 
 affections have become set. There had been no 
 thought, no suggestion of passion in such love as 
 she had had hitherto. Alan Glenmorrison’s offer 
 had torn the veil from her eyes, had shown her in 
 a breath that her regard was far more than skin- 
 deep, was not all Platonic, as she had honestly 
 thought it to be up to this juncture; and in the 
 same moment that she became fully aware of this, 
 she determined that, come what might, nothing 
 should persuade her to advance one step farther 
 on a road now lurid with the glare of the warning 
 red light ahead. 
 
 A weaker nature than hers would probably, almost 
 inevitably, have followed one of two obvious courses : 
 the easier, to drift on with the stream until, too 
 late for help, the rush of waters over the fatal weir 
 broke with no uncertain sound upon the victim’s 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 241 
 
 ear; the other, to stop, then and there, and to see 
 the loved object never more. But Monica’s pride 
 was of no common order; strangely like Sir Eustace 
 himself, she would not run away, let the foe bear 
 himself never so bravely; she would neither drift 
 on, nor would she ignominiously retreat. 
 
 “ I am not a drunkard, who needs to take the 
 pledge because he cannot trust himself,” she said 
 scornfully. “ I will live on as I have always lived. 
 I will see him as I have always done. My secret is 
 my own.” Then with a sudden burst of passionate 
 longing, she cried, “ I love him ! oh, how I love 
 him ! ” and buried her face in her arms, which were 
 lying limply on the table in front of her, whilst a 
 hot scarlet blush mantled up, overspreading her 
 lovely, well-rounded throat, her cheeks, her forehead. 
 But the outbreak was only a momentary one, and a 
 few seconds later she rose to her feet, calm, stately, 
 and beautiful as ever. “ Can I not conquer myself! ” 
 she said in tones almost of contempt. Monica Stan- 
 forth had had no previous experience of love; she 
 knew not, though she had often read, how that it is 
 “ stronger than the grave.” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth’s motherly instinct would soon have 
 told her the true reason of Alan Glenmorrison's 
 
 R 
 
242 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 sudden departure from Craigardle, even without the 
 aid of her hostess’s hints. In the ordinary course of 
 things, Monica would have told her mother of the 
 offer she had received; but in this instance she was 
 restrained from doing so, first, because she felt that it 
 would be in some way a breach of faith to disclose 
 the fact of the young man’s rejection to any one, and 
 secondly, by a dread of being questioned as to the why 
 and wherefore of hor refusal of him. And the matter 
 was further complicated by the fact of the girl’s 
 having said to her mother, a year beforehand, that she 
 liked Alan Glenmorrison very much. But, two days 
 after the departure of the Master of Locliussie, Mrs. 
 Stanfortli had drawn her daughter aside after they 
 left the breakfast-room and said— 
 
 “ Monica, dearest, is it true that Alan Glenmorrison 
 proposed to you before he went away ? I can only 
 think that he did, and that he went because you 
 refused him. Is it true, darling ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, mother—quite true.” 
 
 “ That you refused him ? ” 
 
 “ That I refused him. Yes, that is the reason he 
 went away.” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth paused for a few moments. Then 
 she said— 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 243 
 
 “ I am very sorry, dear. I liked him so much; 
 and I understood that you did, too. I cannot help 
 thinking sometimes, my darling, that I should like to 
 see you married to some good man; some one who 
 would give a life’s devotion to his wife, and think of 
 no other woman in the world. I am not getting 
 younger, dearest, and the thought of leaving you 
 alone is a very sad one to me.” 
 
 “ Dearest mother,” exclaimed the girl, folding her 
 arms round her, “don’t, don’t talk like that—you 
 break my heart! We will both live with each other, 
 and for each other, till we grow old and grey 
 together.” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth shook her head, and dried the tear 
 standing in her eye. 
 
 “ I am old and grey already, darling. You are 
 little more than a child still. No, dear, we cannot 
 always be together. All I pray for now is that God, 
 in His mercy, will let me live to see you placed in 
 some tender, loving hands. Then I can die in peace.” 
 
 “ Mother! ” 
 
 “ My darling, we must look these things in the 
 face. Tell me, why did you refuse him ? ” 
 
 Monica was silent for a moment. 
 
 “ I shall never marry, mother,” and her tone 
 
244 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 suddenly hardened, and she bit her lip to keep back 
 the tears which would force themselves to her eyes. 
 “ I shall always be quite happy—quite happy as I 
 am—with you. And, mother, I never want to leave 
 Seccombe again. I want to be there always, and 
 whatever my future life lacks, will be fully atoned 
 for when I think back upon the happiness I have 
 enjoyed in the past. The past is our own; we can 
 always live in that.” 
 
 “ But, my sweet love, your life is all before you! 
 At your age you must not even think of the past.” 
 
 “ I can think of nothing else, mother. I want to 
 think of nothing else. I sometimes shudder when I 
 think of that great grey space, the future. What is 
 it ? What does it hold for you and me ? I feel as 
 though I had lived my life, and wanted to live no 
 longer. Mother! mother ! don’t heed what I have 
 said. My head aches; good-bye, darling, let me 
 go now! ” and stooping down, she imprinted a kiss 
 on the sweet smooth brow, and fled away swiftly to 
 her room. 
 
 “ Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they 
 "rind exceeding small,” and Monica Stanforth was 
 beginning to feel the agony, the cold grip of the 
 iron, as it entered into her soul. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 245 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 There was a certain monotony in Angela’s existence 
 at Biarritz—a monotony which was not even relieved 
 by quarrels with Gonzalo, since these had now 
 become of daily occurrence, and had always Miss 
 Slatter as the subject. 
 
 Gonzalo was undoubtedly behaving very badly, and 
 Lady Bevan was reaping a very plentiful crop for the 
 wild oats she had sown. His “lifelong passion” 
 for her, in which she had so firmly believed, was all 
 but extinct, and she saw him slowly and surely 
 drifting from her toward the sparkling American. 
 
 Miss Slatter had indeed gone so far as to discuss 
 his probable proposal with her patient and obedient 
 mother. The discussion took a very matter-of-fact 
 form. Would the marriage be a sufficiently brilliant 
 one for the heiress of Anthony P. Slatter? The 
 widow of this gentleman opined not, but Haidee 
 wavered. Gonzalo was handsome, “ elegant,” and 
 
246 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 fascinating; moreover, he was rich, and had the entree 
 to the best society in Europe—these were advantages 
 not to be lightly rejected. 
 
 “ But the title ? ” persisted Mrs. Slatter. “ Lucy 
 Johnson, who hadn't half your fortune, and who looked 
 right homely, married an English Earl/’ 
 
 “ Yes, but remember the English Earl gambled 
 her fortune away on the turf, and they are now 
 living in a furnished flat in Dresden,” answered 
 Haidee. 
 
 “Then there is the religion to be considered,” 
 whined the old lady. “ Mr. Gonzalo is a Papist.” 
 
 “Yes, I know he is; but that need not make me 
 one. I guess it’s not catching,” said her daughter. 
 “ Perhaps in time I might convert him.” 
 
 “ How would he bring up your children ? ” asked 
 Mrs. Slatter. “Your father would turn in his grave 
 if he knew that he had grandchildren who believed 
 in the Pope.” 
 
 “ I should think Puppa would be real glad of 
 anything that would make him turn in his grave, 
 after being there so long,” replied Haidee, flippantly. 
 
 “ You’re just horrid, Haidee,” said her mother, 
 and the discussion was postponed for the time 
 being. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 247 
 
 Gonzalo had also discussed with himself the 
 advisability of proposing to this fascinating young 
 lady, and had arrived at no satisfactory conclusion. 
 
 “II en avait pardessus les epaulcs” of Angela, of 
 that only he was certain. 
 
 She was exacting, ill-tempered, and expensive. 
 But how could he possibly break with her? His 
 marriage would naturally furnish a valid excuse ; 
 but what would Angela say and do if she heard 
 lie was going to be married ? In her present irritable 
 and unreasonable state, she was capable of creating 
 a scandal, and of breaking off any marriage he might 
 contemplate. She was looking forward to passing 
 the winter with him in the South, and if he married 
 she would have no alternative but to return to her 
 husband, and spend that dreary season at Seccombe, 
 truly not a very inviting prospect for her! 
 
 The very large fortune which Miss Slat ter possessed, 
 and the existence of which she had been at no pains 
 to hide from him, would certainly be acceptable in 
 the present rather critical state of his bank. 
 
 Perhaps if he explained to Angela that he was 
 making a marriage for money, she would be more 
 tractable, and yet he doubted it. She would pro¬ 
 bably begin the old story—“ You are part of my 
 
248 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 life,” etc. And women never understood money 
 matters. If he told her the truth, that the house 
 had lost largely in gold mines, she might say, “ But 
 surely if you have gold mines, you must be very 
 rich.” And then again, did he care sufficiently for 
 Haidee Slatter to bind up his life with her for ever ? 
 She herself was charming, with the superficial 
 smartness of her country, and her “ beaute dn 
 diable; ” but he shuddered as he thought of what 
 her relations might be, and the figure they would 
 cut at his wedding. 
 
 Haidee’s fortune would prop up the tottering 
 bank, and tide him over an awkward crisis, but it 
 would leave him allied to people of no blood, and 
 blood with a Spaniard is a sine qua non. 
 
 Never was a marriage thought out on both sides 
 with less romance. 
 
 Gonzalo and Miss Slatter each decided that the 
 sacrifice would be tremendous, and so there was 
 but little progress made at first. And yet they 
 were both what would be called “ in love ”—Haidee 
 admired him, and looked into the depths of his 
 handsome dark eyes with love and longing, and he 
 found her freshness and youth a pleasant contrast 
 to the increasing bitterness of Angela. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 2^9 
 
 But no word was said between them which might 
 betray this love. 
 
 Haidee had all the little arts of flirtation at her 
 finger ends; she knew how to encourage him dis¬ 
 creetly and provokingly, and how to look blank 
 when he showed signs of going too far; and Miguel 
 had ever before him the appalling spectacle of a 
 family of pork-packers assisting at his wedding, 
 and offering him their congratulations through their 
 noses. 
 
 In the meantime Angela looked on, and wore her 
 heart out in vain reproach for loving a man who was 
 unworthy of her. She had no remorse for her sins, 
 or for the evil she had done her husband. She only 
 saw her own wrecked life, the estrangement between 
 herself and her lover getting daily more marked, 
 and his growing indifference to all she said and did. 
 How she had loved him! and how she loved him 
 still! Surely he would never leave her! Where 
 would he find such blind devotion as she offered 
 him ? Could all his protestations of love, so often 
 renewed, evaporate suddenly at the sight of this 
 little chien coiffe of an American ? Angela had faith 
 in herself, and yet the faith was bound to get weaker 
 day by day. He always had an excuse ready for 
 
250 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 anything she might propose—he dreaded a tete-a-tete 
 dinner with her in her salon at the hotel, and he 
 pleaded solicitude for her reputation as an excuse 
 for refusing all her invitations. And then, sud¬ 
 denly, one day he proposed himself that he 
 should dine with her that night, and Angela’s faith 
 in herself revived—of course he had weighed the 
 two in the balance, and found Haidee Slatter 
 wanting. Angela dressed herself in her most be¬ 
 witching style, ordered the very best dinner the 
 hotel could provide, and generally laid herself out 
 for the recapture of her lover. 
 
 But Gonzalo had not come with any intention 
 of being recaptured. He was merely going to sound 
 the depths, to throw out feelers as to the attitude 
 Angela would adopt if she heard of his approaching 
 marriage. 
 
 The dinner was as merry and as bright as any 
 dinner could be. Angela’s old love of making fun 
 of everybody was again brought out to amuse him. 
 She told him delightful comic stories of people she 
 had met at Biarritz, imitated their peculiarities with 
 a rare gift of mimicry, and when the time arrived for 
 coffee, cigars, and liqueurs, they were both thoroughly 
 at peace with each other, and the world in general. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 251 
 
 Nevertheless, Gonzalo knew that he must tell her 
 of the increasing difficulties of the bank, and of the 
 absolute necessity in which he found himself for 
 returning to London at once. 
 
 “ I am quite ready to leave,” said Angela, as 
 soon as he broached the subject, and taking it as a 
 matter of course that he should not wish to be 
 separated from her, even for a day. “My nerves 
 are quite cured, although you have done your best 
 to ruin them by your behaviour with that Slatter 
 girl.” 
 
 It was the first time the subject of his flirtation 
 had been alluded to that evening. Angela decided 
 that the dinner should not be spoilt by the intro¬ 
 duction of disagreeable topics, and so she had care¬ 
 fully avoided Haidee Slatter. But now that they 
 were both of them in a good humour, she meant to 
 “ have it out ” with Miguel. 
 
 “ I know you are too clever to be jealous,” he said 
 good-naturedly. “ Tell me what you think of Miss 
 Slatter ? ” 
 
 “ Jealousy is not a question of cleverness or 
 stupidity,” she answered. “You know as well as 
 I do the trite saying, that there can be no love 
 without jealousy. And yet you are right—I am 
 
252 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 not jealous, because I know very well that you 
 could not marry her.” 
 
 “ Why should I not marry her ? ” 
 
 “ Marry a girl of no birth, and who has scarcely 
 any education ! ” she exclaimed. “ A girl who talks 
 of an ‘ elegant trip to Parris,’ and who calls shrimps 
 ‘ bugs,’ as I heard her do the other day at a breakfast 
 at the Palais! My dear Miguel, are you out of your 
 senses ? ” 
 
 “ She could soon be taught English,” he said, with 
 provoking coolness. 
 
 “ Very likely,” said Angela; “ but pray wait until 
 that end has been attained. Let her be decrottee by 
 European society, before you begin to think of her 
 seriously. Let her shake off the remnants of old 
 Slatter’s petroleum, or pork, or whatever he made 
 his money in, and then take her to your arms as 
 your blushing bride.” 
 
 “ Old Slater, as you call him, left a very large 
 fortune,” he said. 
 
 “ I dare say he did, the old scoundrel! ” said 
 Angela; “ but that is no reason why you, of all 
 people, should wish to spend it.” 
 
 “ There is one very good reason,” he replied; “ and 
 that is, that our house is in difficulties, and that 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 253 
 
 the Slatter fortune would arrive at a most opportune 
 moment.” 
 
 He looked at her to see the effect of the words, 
 and saw that they carried home, and that Angela, 
 wonderful to relate, was speechless. 
 
 The two ideas were so absolutely stunning to her, 
 that she could find nothing to say. 
 
 The fact of his bank being in difficulties was bad 
 enough, in all conscience; but still that might be 
 a temporary trouble, which any rise in the money 
 market would overcome. But that he should tell 
 her in the same breath that he seriously entertained 
 the idea of marrying Miss Slatter, was more than 
 her brain could take in. 
 
 She looked at him in bewilderment. 
 
 At length she said— 
 
 “ But you don’t suppose that you would be given 
 her fortune to do what you liked with, do you? 
 Her money would naturally be settled on her.” 
 
 “Very likely,” he replied. “But the mere fact 
 of my marrying an heiress of her undoubted wealth, 
 would restore confidence in the bank; and, besides, 
 there would be means of utilizing her securities, 
 which you cannot understand.” 
 
 “ I am not quite an idiot,” said Angela, turned 
 
254 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 to stone all at once. “ Go on with your explanation. 
 I dare say I shall be able to grasp the subtleties of 
 your financial schemes.” 
 
 “Well, you see-” he began; but Angela 
 
 interrupted him. 
 
 “After all, we are only wasting time,” she said. 
 “ The marriage is impossible.” 
 
 “ Why impossible ? ” he asked. 
 
 “ It is scarcely for you to ask,” she said. “ You, 
 for whom I have risked and sacrificed everything.” 
 And then he knew that he was in for the “ scene,” 
 the great breaking-off scene, which he had anticipated 
 and dreaded for the last few weeks. 
 
 “ Of course nothing would alter my affection for 
 you,” he began lamely. 
 
 “ Of course not,” said Angela, sarcastically; “ that 
 is why you had better not think of loving any 
 one else.” 
 
 “ But you see we have all our future lives to look 
 forward to. We can be very good friends.” 
 
 Angela’s eyes were fixed upon him with a hard, 
 cold stare. She was weighing every one of his 
 hesitating words as he brought them out with 
 increasing difficulty. She was aggravatingly cool 
 and collected, but he knew that an explosion would 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 255 
 
 follow—an explosion of tears and reproaches and 
 violent abuse. 
 
 “ Yes, we are to be very good friends,” she said 
 coldly. “ Go on, what else ? ” 
 
 “Well, I mean we can continue to see each other.” 
 
 “ And then ? ” she said, the light already beginning 
 to flash from her eyes. 
 
 “ I shall always love you,” he replied, uneasily. 
 
 “ Yes, and I am beginning to appreciate your love 
 at its right value,” she said. “ Unfortunately it is a 
 little too late. But let me undeceive you on the 
 point you have just mentioned. From the moment 
 you are even engaged to Miss Slatter, I cease to see 
 you. We become strangers at once and for ever.” 
 
 Poor Angela imagined that this threat would have 
 a crushing effect, but Miguel appeared to receive 
 it with a certain Christian resignation which was 
 anything but flattering. 
 
 “As you will,” he said coolly. “Friendship like 
 ours must have an end.” 
 
 Angela was stunned by his callousness. 
 
 “ Must have an end ? ” she repeated wonderingly. 
 “ Do you mean to say that I am to be treated as any 
 common wretch for whom you have had a passing 
 fancy ? ” 
 
256 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ You don’t understand me,” he said. “ Of course 
 there is always the danger of your husband finding 
 out something-” 
 
 “There is no danger,” she interrupted quickly. 
 “You know perfectly well that my husband is as 
 indifferent to me as—as—you are now.” And then 
 the welcome tears came, and Angela buried her face 
 in the cushions of the sofa and gave vent to violent 
 sobs. 
 
 “^Angela!” he said, going towards her. “Angela, 
 don’t cry. What is the good of crying ? ” 
 
 “ You may well ask! ” she said in a muffled voice, 
 stifled by the cushions. “ISTo tears could affect a 
 mercenary wretch like you.” 
 
 “ I am not a mercenary wretch,” he said. “ I have 
 only explained my position to you. You ought to 
 try and help me.” 
 
 “ I would help you if I could, and if I thought you 
 cared one straw about me,” she said, lifting up a 
 tear-stained face. “ I would sell my diamonds, and 
 wear paste for the rest of my life.” 
 
 Gonzalo could scarcely help smiling. Angela’s 
 diamonds would be such a very small drop in the 
 ocean of his financial difficulties. 
 
 “You shan’t sell your diamonds,” he said 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 257 
 
 magnanimously. “We must think of something 
 else.” 
 
 “ Anything but Slatter! ” she said with almost 
 comic vehemence. “ Let the bank go to the deuce, if 
 it must, but don’t ruin both our lives ! ” 
 
 Then Gonzalo saw that further argument was 
 impossible—at any rate, for that evening. She had 
 received the news exactly as he had expected. Cold 
 sarcasm at first, followed by abuse, and finally tears 
 and entreaties. 
 
 “ In any case, I must leave for London to-morrow,” 
 he said. 
 
 “ Then I shall leave the next day. I suppose we 
 must not travel together ? ” 
 
 “ Oh no,” he said promptly. “ You had better stay 
 on till the end of the week.” 
 
 “ I shall remain one day after you have gone, not 
 an hour longer,” said Angela, in a manner which 
 conclusively settled the question. 
 
 But Gonzalo did not leave on the morrow. He 
 had not then determined upon his course of action 
 with the Californian heiress. 
 
 s 
 
253 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 Popular delusions proverbially die hard, and the old- 
 fashioned notion that “ a southerly wind and a cloudy 
 sky ” necessarily “ proclaim a hunting morning ” will 
 probably continue to dwell in the minds of Diana’s 
 votaries for many years yet. 
 
 The converse of the proposition certainly does not 
 hold good, for at least half the historical runs of the 
 century have been enjoyed under vastly different 
 conditions. Be that as it may, a bright sunny morn, 
 after a night’s rain, ushered in the first day of 
 November, and a soft air blew gently in Eustace 
 Bevan’s face as he slowly rode through the quiet 
 lanes on his way to the opening meet of the fox¬ 
 hounds. Winding up the steep hill above him, he 
 caught, here and there, the momentary glimpse of 
 a red coat showing bright and distinct amid the 
 autumn greens and russet browns of the dying 
 verdure. A smart groom in livery touched his hat 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 259 
 
 to him as he trotted past with a led horse. Eustace 
 knew the animal well: a good-looking bay which 
 Monica Stanforth always rode. The side saddle was 
 covered with its waterproof wrapping, as though 
 Perkins had had his doubts about the weather 
 holding fine; clearly, then, Monica was driving to the 
 meet, and had probably persuaded her mother to 
 accompany her, as the girl always tried to get Mrs. 
 Stanforth to go out and get as much amusement as 
 she could. The two horses disappeared round a turn 
 in the lane, and again Eustace had the road to him¬ 
 self for a few minutes. Then a cheery greeting fell 
 upon his ear from somewhere on the other side of the 
 high hedge which bounded the road; it was spoken 
 by a farmer who had hospitably bidden him practice 
 his young hunter over the fences in his fields when¬ 
 ever he chose. 
 
 “ Mornin’, Sir Eustace; mornin’, sir. I’ve come 
 across this meadow as a short cut, but I can’t get 
 the gate open now.” And his jolly face grew 
 purple as he laughed at his own predicament, and 
 fumbled fruitlessly with his hunting-crop at the 
 chain which formed the fastening. “ Ah, well, 
 never mind. I must go up the field till I find a 
 gap to get through. We are in plenty of time.” 
 
260 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 The farmer jogged along, and once more Eustace 
 was alone. 
 
 A tandem overtook him, driven by a man whose 
 acquaintance he had recently made in Seccombe. A 
 big driving-coat of drab, with monstrous buttons, con¬ 
 cealed the faultless “pink”; white breeches and top- 
 boots beneath, but allowed a view of the yards of 
 snowy cambric wound round his neck, fastened with 
 a gold safety-pin by way of ornament. His agonized 
 expression as he bent double over the confused 
 tangle into which he had got his reins, was only 
 relaxed when, in response to his groom’s blast on 
 the post horn, Eustace moved out of his way and 
 allowed him a clear course. This equipage was 
 shortly followed by the mail phaeton and pair of 
 horses driven by the Master of the hounds, the 
 animals making merry music with the jingling steel 
 pole-chains as they swept by Sir Eustace’s young 
 horse. With a cheerful “ Good morning, sir ; we are 
 in luck with the weather to-day, anyhow,” and a wave 
 of the whip from the M.F.H., on they go, only 
 to be succeeded by grooms with led horses, light¬ 
 weight servants on big, stolid hunters, men in 
 pink, men in black, and men in grey; here and 
 there a dogcart, a chaise, an open carriage, and then 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 261 
 
 two or three nondescript vehicles, probably used as 
 farmer’s carts. Now' they are all descending a steep 
 hill, half-way down w r hich the road winds round, 
 disclosing a pretty, straw-thatched entrance lodge. 
 The gates leading into the park are widely thrown 
 back, for on this, the opening day of the regular, as 
 opposed to the cub hunting season, Sir William 
 Fosse always gives a hunt breakfast in the old oak- 
 panelled banqueting hall of his place, Gaveston 
 Castle, to wdiich all and sundry, be they members 
 of the Hunt or not, are hospitably bidden. 
 
 Sir William, now well past seventy, but who still 
 comes out and potters about for half the day with 
 hounds vdienever they meet near enough for him, is 
 quite in his element, and attired in an old-fashioned 
 scarlet coat, with purple-stained skirts, mahogany 
 boot-tops, and white leather breeches, which now' 
 and then emit a cloud of pipe-clay dust, the old 
 fellow stands in the great square hall, his back 
 turned to an immense w'ood fire blazing on the iron 
 dogs. From time to time he fingers the blue and 
 wdiite specked “ fogle ” around his neck, pulls up his 
 collar, and then glances at a veritable “ turnip of a 
 watch which he draws from his fob. 
 
 “ Ah, here they come at last! ” exclaims the old 
 
262 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 man, and his wrinkled face brightens as, through 
 one of the windows, he catches sight of three men 
 cantering up the avenue on the smooth side-strip 
 of turf. Grooms from the stables appear as though 
 by magic and lead away the horses, whilst the riders, 
 kicking their legs about, as is the way with men 
 alighting from the saddle, walk up the stone steps 
 and receive a hearty welcome from their host. 
 
 Hardly have they laid down their crops and glossy 
 hats, and held their stiffened fingers to the blaze, 
 when another man appears in the avenue, and a 
 minute later the well-known strident tones of the 
 Admiral are heard outside. 
 
 “ Don’t moor this thing alongside a kicker, my 
 lads. Slack away his girths, and reeve those reins 
 under the stirrup leathers. Where’s Sir William ? ” 
 
 “ Here’s Sir William ! ” cries out the old gentle¬ 
 man in question. “ Come in, my dear Admiral, come 
 in. But are you going to hunt that fat cob of yours ? 
 He’ll not care about going the pace, if hounds really 
 run, will he ? ” 
 
 “Did you ever hear the story about the Bishop 
 who pitched into one of his Parsons, whom he met 
 at a ball, for hunting? Well, the Parson said to 
 him, ‘ But I see your Lordship goes to balls.’ ‘ Ah,’ 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 2C3 
 
 says the Bishop, ‘ but I’m never in the same room 
 with the dancers.’ ‘ Well, my Lord,’ says the 
 Parson, ‘ my horse and I are both growing old, and 
 were never in the same field with the hounds.’ ” 
 And the Admiral administered a poke in the ribs to 
 his host, which closely resembled the kick of a horse. 
 
 The men laughed, and then the crunching of 
 wheels on the gravel outside warned them of the 
 approach of new arrivals. A yellow-wheeled coach 
 drove up and discharged its load at the doors, and 
 very soon after, when the Master had come in, Sir 
 William suggested a move to the banqueting hall. 
 
 Just after Sir Eustace had passed through the 
 gates of the park, the sharp trot of horses and 
 clatter of wheels caused him to look behind him. 
 A waggonette, drawn by a pair of blood-like, hog¬ 
 maned cobs, was rapidly overtaking him, and he 
 rode his horse on to the grass to get out of the way. 
 On the box-seat were two cockaded servants, whilst 
 the carriage itself contained Monica Stanforth and 
 her mother. 
 
 Although Eustace had had almost certain proof 
 that Monica was indeed home again, and going 
 to hunt, by her horse having been sent on, it still 
 seemed as though a great weight had been lifted 
 
2C4 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 I 
 
 from his mincl when he saw her there, in the 
 flesh, actually before him, actually bowing to him ; 
 for during the whole of the period she had been 
 away in Scotland, a sort of dread had been upon 
 him that perhaps—that it was possible—he might 
 never see her again, and that thought had caused 
 him an exquisite torture which not even his strength 
 of mind had enabled him to bear with equanimity. 
 And yet, even in his deep, heartfelt thankfulness at 
 being permitted once more to breathe the same air 
 with her, an added bitterness entered into his soul, 
 as the thought of their inevitable separation stood 
 like a gruesome phantom of the night, before his 
 vision. 
 
 There are some thoughts we must not think; 
 Nature herself cries out in terror of anticipated 
 wrench and wound, and we turn our eyes shudder- 
 ingly away. In such case we must live for the day; 
 if God permit us to prolong that day, let us render 
 all thanks to Him for it; if not—well, we must 
 run through the whole gamut of grief, agony, fear, 
 despair, and finally, we shall have to bow our heads 
 and accept our fate ; but let us not anticipate it. 
 To seek to lift a corner even, of that veil which hides 
 the future mercifully from our gaze, is but to 
 
OUT OF THE DABKNESS. 
 
 2G5 
 
 increase tenfold the pain which it has been appointed 
 us to bear on earth. 
 
 And Monica—what of her ? She is happy, serenely, 
 quietly happy. She is back once more in her home 
 —and Eustace has now got to seem almost part of 
 her home. She is younger, far, than he; at her age, 
 no parting seems an eternal one, as he, with his 
 knowledge of the world, feels it inevitably must be, 
 when it comes. And she has hardly yet seriously 
 thought of the time when he must return to his 
 life’s work, and she—she must go on living at 
 Seccombe. And in her calm, peaceful happiness, 
 all the more treasured after the storm and stress 
 of her short stay at Craigardle, she is acting up 
 to the ancient motto, “ Carpe diem,” and she 
 looks forward to this hour with keenest delight; 
 they will be once more riding together, and they 
 will he alone—alone to exchange their thoughts, to 
 enter into their old occupations again, to talk and, 
 perhaps, better still, to be silent, in each other’s 
 society. Sympathy is the true happiness of human 
 life; all else falls flat beside it. 
 
 The waggonette passes rapidly on through the 
 avenue of oak trees, and winds its way up to the 
 doors of the Castle. Eustace does not hurry; he 
 
266 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 will see her later on, and he wants to think for a 
 brief moment or two. 
 
 At first he is fervently thankful that she is back. 
 Yes, he knew she would come back, hut—well, she 
 is hack; never mind what his fears had been during 
 those dreary weeks of her absence, and then—and 
 then once more the dreaded words of warning rise 
 before his eyes, telling him that they must part— 
 and soon. No, not soon. Not too soon. 
 
 This sweet dream of his had been the only real 
 happiness of his life; was it for him to shorten it, 
 even by a single day ? He told himself that it was 
 not. And then once more he resolutely drove out 
 of his mind all gloomy forebodings, as he came 
 within sight of the old weather-beaten battlements 
 of the Castle. 
 
 He just felt his horse with the spur, put him into 
 a canter, and five minutes later was entering the 
 great hall of Gaveston, feverishly happy as his eyes 
 quickly sought and met those of Monica Stanforth. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 267 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 “ My dear Mrs. Stanforth, I insist!—the table would 
 lose all beauty of symmetry unless you honoured 
 me by sitting here on my right/’ and Sir William, 
 taking Mrs. Stanforth by the hand—and looking 
 curiously like the picture behind him of his grand¬ 
 father in blue velvet coat and knee-breeches, leading 
 a lady out in the stately minuet—places her at the 
 head of the sumptuously provided board, and then 
 seats himself in the old high-backed chair, fashioned 
 for one of his ancestors out of the black oak fittings 
 of a Spanish Armada ship. “ Your daughter, I see, 
 has been provided with a place lower down the 
 table. ITow beautiful she looks! How true it is 
 that we live again in our children; she is a replica 
 of her mother at the same age,” and the old 
 gentleman made one of his courtliest bows. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth smiled, well pleased, if the truth 
 be told, at the compliment. Her host was one of 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 2G8 
 
 the oldest friends she and her husband had had 
 in the county, and it was even now remembered 
 that upon the announcement of her engagement to 
 Eeginald Stanforth, Sir William Fosse had left 
 England for a year’s travelling abroad. His friends 
 said he had been hard hit, and be that as it may, 
 he had never taken unto himself a wife. 
 
 “ Ah, good-lookin’ girl, wasn’t she ? ” mused the 
 Admiral aloud, dry-shaving his chin, as he always 
 did when in thought. Then he went on, “ Yes, hot 
 venison for me. Ah, as I was saying—where’s 
 the currant jelly ? Oh, here—so it is—as 1 was 
 saying, she was a deuced good-look-” 
 
 “ Tom S I really must protest against your discuss¬ 
 ing me in public,” laughed Mrs. Stanforth, and the 
 M.F.H. fortunately engaged the Admiral’s attention 
 on the other side. 
 
 The clatter of plates, jingle of knives and forks, 
 and popping of champagne corks was at its 
 height as Sir Eustace entered the room and stood 
 for a moment in the doorway. The refined, com¬ 
 manding face was well set off by the contrast of 
 snowy white and scarlet in which he was dressed. 
 As though guided by some secret instinct, he looked 
 straight past the crowd at that part of the table 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 2G9 
 
 where Monica was sitting. She, through all the sea 
 of faces, saw no one, for the moment, but him ; he 
 went up to greet his host and Mrs. Stanforth, and 
 then made his way down the room to Monica; they 
 shook hands, but neither quite knew if the other 
 spoke, or if so, what was said. He took a seat some 
 distance away from her, and the clatter of the room 
 recommenced—recommenced, at all events, for him— 
 for whilst he was with her that brief moment, it 
 had seemed as if all else was silent, whilst they two 
 alone, had lived and moved. 
 
 The confused Babel of tongues rose and fell in 
 irregular storm and calm. Horses and hounds, as 
 might be expected, formed the principal topics of 
 conversation; but they were not the only ones, and 
 such disconnected scraps as the following came “ in 
 sweet confusion ” on the ear:— 
 
 “Yes, it was an awful place. I put him at it, 
 but how—is it possible for a hound to—carry fifteen 
 • stone over a—ham with a little chicken—and a six 
 mile point—which you can’t sit on, and when—you 
 jump a—stack of wheat-straw standing in—a muddy 
 brook, sir, filled with—champagne like this, it is 
 really difficult—to sail a boat, full and bye, and 
 always starboard your—look at that first Beform Bill, 
 
270 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 you know, which I always predicted would—come 
 to grief at the first big fence, and fall into the— 
 pigeon pie, sir,” etc. 
 
 “ Here are the hounds! ” cries an enthusiast, as, 
 napkin in hand, he dashes out of his chair, and with 
 some difficulty chokes back the yell of salutation 
 which rises to his lips. 
 
 All eyes are turned to the long windows which 
 command the spacious lawn in front. The hounds, 
 in charge of Will Harter the huntsman, have just 
 arrived and trotted on to the smooth turf, in full 
 view of the crowd assembled in the banqueting 
 hall. 
 
 Will is a little, hard-bitten, red-faced old fellow, 
 whose weatherbeaten visage tells of many years’ 
 service in the open air. How old he is no one 
 seems to know, and he himself resolutely declines 
 to discuss the subject; certain it is, however, that 
 age has not dulled either his powers or his keenness 
 for the sport, and when, at the close of the last 
 season, he had jumped the high, stiff timber on to the 
 railway line, trotted across the metals and repeated 
 the performance on the far side, he was left severely 
 alone by the rest of the field, not one of whom would 
 follow him. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 271 
 
 Will gets clown from liis horse, gives it to the 
 second Whip, and walks in amongst his pied favourites, 
 speaking encouragingly to a timid one here, or giving 
 a stern word of warning to an “unruly member” 
 there. A servant from the house accosts him with 
 the customary message of invitation from Sir 
 William, and the old huntsman gathers his six feet 
 of pipe-clayed thong into his hand and follows the 
 servant into the feasting-room. As he enters, the 
 black velvet cap—the new one always reserved for 
 fine weather—and the crop go under one arm; two 
 fingers—previously moistened—give a furtive dab at 
 the piece of hair, brushed forward above his ear, in 
 strict simplicity; and then those same two fingers 
 are respectfully raised to his forelock as Sir William 
 empties about half a bottle of champagne into a 
 silver tankard and hands it to him. 
 
 “The old toast, Will, ‘ Fox-hunting!’ ” cries the 
 veteran Baronet, his eye lighting up with all the fire 
 of twenty years of age. 
 
 Will, who is a man of few words, and to whom 
 this annual ceremony is more formidable than the 
 biggest fence in the county—“for fear I should make 
 a hass o’ myself,” as he explains to Mrs. Will in 
 private—merely repeats “ Fox-hunting,” tosses off the 
 
272 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 liquid at one gulp, salutes the company with a sort 
 of comprehensive, sweeping touch of the forehead, 
 and gladly “ breaks covert,” as he calls it, bolting out 
 of the room as though he were certain the hounds 
 must go to destruction but for his immediate presence 
 amongst them. In less than five minutes the excru¬ 
 ciating sound of dozens of chairs being pushed back 
 over parquet flooring, heralds the break up of the 
 feasting, and commencement of the real business of 
 the day. 
 
 Again bursts forth the clamour of many voices 
 speaking at once, as the great folding doors are 
 thrown open and the crowd emerges on to the drive 
 in front of the house. 
 
 “ There’s my cob—no, no, I mean the chestnut, 
 not that bay thing—wouldn’t be seen dead on such a 
 brute—what? Eh? yours, you say? Well, then, 
 you ought to be ashamed of yourself, d—d if you 
 oughtn’t! ” blurts out the Admiral to a friend. 
 
 “ Morning, Mr. Banks,” cries Mr. Tkorington. 
 “ Glad to see the old grey so fit. He looks like— 
 going to the devil, sir — actually going to the 
 devil! When I was in the Service we never 
 thought of getting—my hunting-crop, Walters, and 
 you might take up this stirrup-leather a couple 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 273 
 
 of—fools who ride over wheat as if it was 
 fallow/’ etc., etc. 
 
 Profiting by the general confusion, Eustace makes 
 his way over to where Monica is waiting for her 
 horse to be brought up. 
 
 “ Where did you tell your man to be ? ” he asks. 
 “ Oh, there he is, in the avenue. Shall we go to 
 meet him ? And I will put you up where we shall 
 be clear of this crowd.” 
 
 She does not answer, but merely follows him. It 
 is a testimony to the completeness of the under¬ 
 standing which exists between these two, that so 
 much always seems to be conveyed in such few 
 words. 
 
 Perkins leads up the bay horse. He is an animal 
 with a lean, clever-looking head ; almost, if not quite 
 thoroughbred; clean on his legs, and up to two stone 
 more weight than Monica rides; a perfect hunter, 
 who never falls—as all ladies’ hunters ought to be. 
 The girl pats his neck, and then taking hold of the 
 pommel, places her small foot in Eustace’s hand, and 
 is in the saddle in a moment. Then he goes off to 
 the stables to get his own horse, and presently rides 
 back on him. 
 
 Monica has remained where he left her, but Lord 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Bestworth is talking to her now. Eustace suddenly 
 becomes conscious of a dislike to Lord Bestworth, 
 though he has always thought him a peculiarly 
 inoffensive little person before. 
 
 As he rides up, his Lordship moves away, and they 
 are again left to the “ chaperonage ” of Perkins. 
 
 “ Here come the hounds,” said Eustace, as with a 
 crack of the whip and a “ Gently there, Harmony! ” 
 from the first Whipper-in, the pack trots off down the 
 avenue, followed by a miscellaneous collection of 
 horsemen, interspersed here and there with a few 
 ladies. The red and the black coats go past them, 
 bobbing up and down, and winding along beneath the 
 grand old oaks. Then, almost at the end of the 
 procession, Monica and Eustace join in, a perfect 
 cloud of grooms and second horsemen, amongst 
 them the faithful Perkins, bringing up the rear. 
 
 There are some osier-beds down in the vale below, 
 which Will means to just run his hounds through on 
 the off chance of picking up a fox. But no cheering 
 whimper comes from them this morning. Beynard 
 is not at home. The huntsman blows a couple of 
 blasts on his horn, and trots away again with the 
 pack all round his horse’s heels to try a covert on 
 the other side of the park. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 275 
 
 “ Eleu in, little boys! ” cries Will, cheerily; and 
 waiting till they have jumped and scrambled over, 
 under, or through the wattled fence, he puts his horse 
 at it, and jumps into the covert after them. 
 
 A Whipper-in gallops down to the far corner of the 
 wood, and there sits motionless as a statue, hoping 
 soon to get the chance of viewing a fox away. The 
 rest of the field dispose themselves about the outside 
 of the covert very much as their own individual 
 tastes dictate. 
 
 “You have been enjoying yourself in Scotland?” 
 says Eustace, interrogatively, as he reins up his horse 
 beside Monica’s. 
 
 A curious light comes into her soft, lovely eyes as 
 she turns to him and answers— 
 
 “ jSTot so much as I enjoy my life at Seccombe, I 
 think,” and a fierce exultation arises for the moment 
 in Eustace’s heart, only to be coldly, almost savagely, 
 repressed. His tones are perfectly even and calm 
 as he resumes— 
 
 “ My rides have been very solitary ones since you 
 left. The country has grown grey and cold.” 
 
 “ Scotland is even greyer and colder,” she replies, 
 with a half-unconscious sigh. 
 
 His hands grip the reins hard, but he resolutely 
 
276 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 refrains from speaking. A moment later an inter¬ 
 ruption occurs. 
 
 Crashing over and through the dense underwood 
 comes Will, and putting his horse at the wattled 
 fence that guards the environs of the covert, he gets 
 over, with a “ Hold up, ’oss ! ” and an encouraging job 
 on the animal’s ribs with the big end of his horn. 
 Then he clatters along down the ride, as a solitary 
 whimper, quickly taken up and chorussed by the 
 whole of the pack, proclaims that the quarry is afoot. 
 Will pulls up halfway through the covert, and holds 
 up a warning hand to restrain the impetuosity of his 
 nearest followers; then, just under his horse’s nose, 
 come streaming out the eager, excited pack, their 
 hackles up, and every nerve strained to pick up the 
 scent. 
 
 “Get away on to him, get away on!” cries the 
 Whipper-in. Cigars are thrown away, girths pulled 
 up a hole tighter, hats crammed down on heads, 
 and the whole field—or such as have come out to 
 ride—prepare for action. 
 
 “ Gently there, Prodigal! Don’t press ’em, gentle¬ 
 men ; pray let ’em get over them hurdles afore you 
 goes,” entreats Will. 
 
 “Toot! toot! toot!” gees the horn, and at last 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 277 
 
 the foremost riders feel themselves at liberty to 
 charge the first fence. There is but a small prac¬ 
 ticable place, and the usual amount of jostling and 
 crowding at it. Eustace’s eye takes in the situation 
 at a glance. 
 
 “ Come this way,” he says to his companion, 
 leading off down another cross ride in the wood. 
 “ I think we can get out here.” 
 
 Monica quickly follows him, with the faithful 
 Perkins in close attendance. They canter sharply 
 down the muddy ride, until the boundary fence 
 comes in sight. 
 
 “ Do you know what is on the far side ? ” inquires 
 Monica of Eustace. 
 
 “ No; I am just going to see,” he answers, coolly 
 taking his raw four-year-old by the head. “ Please 
 don’t come unless you see that there is nothing 
 big on the other side; promise me,” he adds, looking 
 back at her and smiling. 
 
 Monica, taking a pull at her horse, nods acquies¬ 
 cence, and is about to entreat him to be careful, as 
 he is not on a “ made ” hunter, when she finds that 
 it is too late. Holding the young one in a vice- 
 like grip, Eustace takes him boldly and resolutely 
 at what is a biggish fence in itself, without reckoning 
 
278 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 with the “ uncertainty ” on the far side. As soon 
 as he sees what is expected of him, the novice 
 makes a wild rush at the obstacle, and in spite of 
 his rider’s powerful “ steadying,” takes off at least 
 a length too soon, crashing through the top of the 
 wattle, and making no allowance for the “ drop ” on 
 the landing side. 
 
 He pitches on to his head and rolls right over his 
 rider, and struggling to his feet the next moment, 
 stands staring wildly about him, with bloodshot eye 
 and terrified mien. 
 
 Monica’s face turns to a ghastly pallor; but she 
 stifles a cry of horrified anguish, as, to her unspeak¬ 
 able joy, Eustace calmly rises from the ground, and 
 with his hand on the reins, which he has never 
 let go for a moment, turns to the horse and says— 
 
 “ I am afraid, my friend, that you are rather a 
 fool.” 
 
 “ You are not hurt ? ” gasps Monica. 
 
 “ Oh, not in the least, thanks. I think you can 
 just come up and jump the place standing, through 
 the gap that this enterprising animal has just made. 
 Hounds can’t have got very far; we shall soon catch 
 them again.” 
 
 Eeassured by the cool way in which lie treated 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 279 
 
 what might have been a very dangerous, perhaps 
 fatal, fall, Monica pushed her clever old hunter up 
 to the gap indicated, and he dropped himself over 
 the obstacle like a cat. Eustace was quickly in the 
 saddle, and they were soon galloping along in pursuit 
 of the pack. 
 
 Favoured by the fox taking a line right-handed, 
 they were quickly in the thick of it again. Kent is 
 an easy country to jump, for the most part, and 
 nothing at all formidable presented itself to bar the 
 progress of the chase. Easy flying fences and plenty 
 of grass, as they got towards the Sussex side, gave 
 them a most enjoyable gallop, and the four-year-old, 
 taught a lesson in the bitter school of experience, 
 treated his obstacles with much greater respect now, 
 and as he got close to the flying pack, thoroughly 
 entered into the fun of the thing on his own account, 
 always seeming to keep one eye on the hounds as 
 he strode along. Monica’s hunter had a county¬ 
 wide reputation as a “ safe conveyance,” and Eustace 
 therefore felt quite at his ease on her account. On 
 they went, flying fence after fence, for a delicious 
 space of time. 
 
 “ What a beautiful sight it is to see them now,” 
 exclaimed he enthusiastically, as he turned in his 
 
230 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 saddle, after giving her a lead over some post-and- 
 rails; “ it must be near the end, I think. Our fox 
 is beginning to find that he has had enough of it. 
 Hounds have got their bristles up now, and are 
 ‘ running for blood.’ ” 
 
 “ Poor old fox! ” replied Monica, pityingly. “ He 
 has given us a good gallop, and I hope he’ll save 
 
 his life, sincerely.” 
 
 “ Well, I am weak enough to secretly hope the 
 same,” said Eustace. 
 
 But still the chase continued as hotly as ever, 
 was by no means finished with, even after 
 nearly an hour’s run, as fast as hounds and horses 
 could follow him over a country—the fact being 
 that, as an old habitue of the district, he was well 
 aware that the main earths at Crowden, for which 
 he had been making all along, would afford him 
 safe refuge if he could just hold out at the same 
 pace for five minutes longer. Craftily he dodges 
 sharp round a hedgerow, which, at all events, robs 
 his hungry-eyed pursuers of the pleasure of viewing 
 him; then, as the pack swings round on his track, 
 
 Eeynard 
 
 he makes a determined dash for his goal, near a belt 
 of darkling fir-trees. The “ yap, yap ! ” of Abigail, 
 Melody and Ravager, the three leading hounds, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 281 
 
 comes sharply on his ear as they race jealously 
 for his life; but though his back is now arched, 
 and his brush dragging on the dirty furrows over 
 which he travels, his brain is as clear, as active 
 as ever. But fifty yards now separate him from 
 his longed-for haven of refuge. He glances sharply 
 over his shoulder; two hounds—Kavager and Abigail 
 —overhaul him inch by inch. Closer and closer to 
 his brush they get, until it is almost within reach. 
 Ah! they have him! Ho—with an ugly snap 
 round of the cruel-looking white teeth, he dives 
 like an eel into the unstopped earth, and is safe! 
 
 Amongst the first half-dozen up are Eustace and 
 Monica. Will, of course, is there. Will always is ; 
 and in spite of a fall and two or three refusals, he 
 has, practically, been with his hounds all the time 
 to-day. Then come the Master and two or three 
 of the best mounted men in the hunt, followed, 
 at a short interval, by a lady who has left her 
 groom in a ditch. Then a cluster of men, chiefly 
 of the “ Heavy Brigade,” mopping their foreheads 
 and disputing over the time of the run, each man 
 wishing to take it as from the moment of his 
 own pulling up. All are agreed, however, that it 
 has been a real good one, and the Master is so 
 
282 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 overwhelmed with congratulations that he positively 
 beams with delight. 
 
 “ No, I won’t dig him, Miss Stanforth; I know 
 that that news always delights your heart,” says 
 the M.F.H. “ I want to draw that small covert at 
 Batsden this afternoon, and we shall not have any 
 too much time, even as it is.” 
 
 “ Shall we go home now ? ” said Eustace to 
 Monica. “ I think our horses have had enough, 
 even if their riders have not. Or would you prefer 
 to go on ? ” 
 
 “No—let us go back. How far are we from 
 home, do you think ? ” 
 
 Eustace laughed. 
 
 “ Fancy you appealing to me, the stranger, the 
 man who had to be guided about the country but 
 a short time back! No, Miss Stanforth—you, born 
 and brought up in Kent, you must still guide our 
 destinies.” 
 
 “ But I really do not know how to. It seems 
 to me that we shall both be drifting about the 
 world like ships rudderless.” 
 
 “ Sometimes drifting is very delightful, though.” 
 
 “ Yes—but always dangerous. No, we must not 
 drift. Since neither of us seems qualified to shape 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 283 
 
 the course, some third person will have to be 
 invoked, or we can never be brought safely home. 
 What do you say to Perkins ? ” 
 
 “ Perkins be it, then. But where is your fidus 
 Achates ? ” 
 
 And echo answered “ Where ? ” for, as a matter 
 of fact, Perkins, though he looked very pretty on 
 a horse, had no stomach for facing fences, and had 
 fervently rejoiced when, early in the run, he had 
 espied a loose horse, and jumped at the chance of 
 catching it as an excuse for not following his mis¬ 
 tress and Sir Eustace. Having hooked the wander¬ 
 ing animal’s rein with the handle of his crop, 
 Perkins had then bethought him of looking about 
 for its owner. He was staring round the field, seeing 
 no one, when a stentorian voice, “in accents stern 
 and wild,” almost startled him out of his senses. 
 
 “Ahoy, there! Tow that old tank over here— 
 it’s mine! Here, luff, man, luff, I say! Billo-o-o, 
 you white cotton-breeched lubber, here I am! What 
 the devil do you want cruising right up in the eye 
 
 of the wind, when-What! didn’t see me ? 
 
 Nonsense, sir, nonsense! don’t tell me-Oh, 
 
 ah, well, perhaps you didn’t! ” and the Admiral, after 
 first carefully screwing on the top of a huge flask, 
 
284 
 
 OUT OF tub: darkness. 
 
 and replacing it in liis capacious pocket, emerged 
 from the bottom of a deep dry ditch, appearing 
 over the top of the bank on his hands and knees. 
 
 Perkins was hard put to it to maintain a respect¬ 
 ful demeanour, and refrain from laughing. The 
 horse had evidently put one foot through the old 
 gentleman’s hat, which was now, for the most part, 
 devoid of crown, and partially also, of rim. Re¬ 
 pressing a horrible inclination to giggle, he said— 
 
 “ I hope you are not hurt, sir ? ” 
 
 “ blurt, sir ? Me hurt ? Certainly not, sir, 
 nothing of the sort! Hurt, indeed ! ” snorted the 
 Admiral, as though the question had been meant 
 in the light of a personal insult. “ Damme, I 
 should think not! ” And giving himself a shake, 
 like unto the shake of a Newfoundland dog emerg- 
 ing from the water, he rose to his feet, punched 
 the remains of his hat into the best shape he could, 
 and then executed a series of elephantine flounders, 
 which finally landed him on top of the imperturbable 
 cob again. He soused himself down into his great 
 saddle, and then drew out a shilling from his fob 
 and handed it to Perkins. “ Oh, it’s you, is it ? 
 ’Umph! didn’t recognize you at first. Where’s 
 your mistress—eh ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 285 
 
 “ She lias gone on, sir, with Sir Eustace Bevan.” 
 
 “ D—n Sir Eus-! I mean that’s all right. 
 
 Yes, yes—well, cut along, my good fellow, cut along 
 and overtake her now. Here, you don’t want to 
 go right down to that gate; jump those rails there. 
 What! your horse won’t jump them ? That be 
 d—d! It’s the man won’t jump them, you mean! 
 
 Gor-bless-my-soul! when I w r as your age-Go 
 
 on, now, and I’ll help you! ” and the Admiral 
 let out his huge thong, ready to render the hapless 
 Perkins “ assistance ” from behind if his horse 
 showed signs of refusing. 
 
 Thus adjured, poor Perkins put his horse at the 
 rails indicated, in a sort of half-and-half, don’t-jump- 
 it-if-you’d-rather-not manner, that would inevitably 
 have resulted in a refusal but for a terrific crack 
 of the Admiral’s whip behind, which not only 
 frightened the horse over, but also caught the pad- 
 groom such a sharp “flip” that it made him jump 
 half out of his saddle. Perkins took advantage of 
 the next open gate to get on to the high road, and 
 thence, with all speed, back to his own stables. 
 
 Meantime, Monica and Sir Eustace had inquired 
 their way back to Seccombe, and started on their 
 seven-mile journey home. The tired horses walked 
 
283 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 leisurely along, the erstwhile obstreperous four-year- 
 old so sobered by his gallop and his fall, that he 
 actually required a little pressing now and then to 
 induce him to keep pace with his companion. 
 
 “ This has been a most fortunate day for the 
 opening of the season,” said Monica. 
 
 “ Yes,” answered Eustace, quickly. “ It has been 
 the happiest day I have passed for—for a long time,” 
 he added rather lamely. 
 
 “ You don’t feel any ill effects from your fall ? ” 
 
 “ Oh, not the least, many thanks. I have got 
 pretty ‘hard’ by my life in the open air, and the 
 riding during the last six months or so, and can take 
 a fall now as well as I could when I was one of 
 ‘ her Majesty’s bad bargains ’ fifteen years ago.” 
 
 “You will miss the good air—and—and—the 
 riding, when you go back.” 
 
 “Yes, I shall miss—the riding,” he answered, as 
 his head drooped slightly forward, and the lines 
 about his mouth hardened. 
 
 He was “ riding for a fall,” he well knew; and 
 with none of the latent hope that buoys up 
 the adventurous cross-country horseman in that 
 dangerous act, namely, that he may, after all, 
 possibly escape one. Eustace Bevan knew—none 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 287 
 
 better—that this sweet dalliance of his—and oh, 
 God! he sometimes groaned to himself, how sweet 
 it all was!—must be brought to a sudden, a horribly 
 abrupt ending, and then—well, then he must pay 
 the penalty. The fall would be a crushing one; and 
 the worst, the most poignant, part of it to him, was 
 that the suffering would not be his to bear alone. 
 Yet, paradoxical as it may appear—and are not we 
 human beings all paradoxes in ourselves ?—that 
 very thought, the thought that she cared sufficiently 
 for him, to suffer too—that, whilst bringing with it 
 so great a pain, carried also the strongest solace to 
 his wounded heart. 
 
288 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 The predominant characteristic of Americans— 
 namely, modesty — was not perhaps very fully 
 developed in the relict of the late Anthony P. 
 Slatter and his very charming daughter. 
 
 Haidee, indeed, had a sweet frankness about 
 telling her friends the cost of her dresses, and also 
 the exact amount of dollars she was at liberty to 
 spend in the year; and this frankness excited a 
 feeling of envy in the fair sex, and one of greed 
 and desire to possess amongst the many men, young 
 and old, who “ hovered round.” 
 
 Mrs. Slatter frequently complained, in a nasal 
 whine, that such a large “ fortshin ” was a great 
 responsibility, and that her position was a most 
 difficult one. 
 
 But Haidee had no such weak misgivings. She 
 felt equal to occupying any position. There was 
 no Asocial heighth,” as she expressed it, to which 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 289 
 
 she could not soar, and which she would not grace 
 when once reached. A question really difficult of 
 solution was whether a marriage with Gonzalo 
 would attain the necessary “ heighth” of her 
 
 d O 
 
 ambition ? 
 
 Gonzalo had once incidentally mentioned that 
 he had a cousin a duchess, and this was a very 
 powerful argument in his favour. His cousin the 
 Duchess would become her cousin the Duchess 
 after their marriage, and she explained this to her 
 morose mother. 
 
 “ A Spanish Duchess ain’t of much account, any¬ 
 way,” said this lugubrious lady. 
 
 “ The Spanish aristocracy is the oldest in the 
 world,” explained Haidee, loftily. “ They don’t 
 make their Dukes out of shopkeepers and brewers.” 
 
 “ But there is such a thing as a decayed aris- 
 
 O d 
 
 tocracy,” persisted the unconvinced parent. 
 
 “ Xo, there is no such thing,” said Haidee, flatly. 
 “ The more decayed it is the more it’s aristocratic.” 
 
 V 
 
 Her reasoning was a trifle involved, like her 
 grammar; but her mother understood what she 
 meant to convey, and said, with resignation, that 
 Haidee could do as she liked. 
 
 “ Of course I shall do as I like,” said her dutiful 
 
290 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 daughter; “ and, all things considered, I really don’t 
 see that I could do better than accept Gonzalo.” 
 
 But Gonzalo as yet had not asked her to accept 
 him; and it was only some days later, and after the 
 conversation recorded between him and Angela, 
 that he finally decided to swallow the golden pill. 
 Haidee was very pretty—she had clean-cut features 
 and a shell-like complexion, small hands and feet, 
 and a diminutive waist; but then, she was so very 
 “far West.” If only she had not been born in San 
 Francisco. However, her fortune came from San 
 Francisco, so he had no right to complain of her 
 birth. Besides, nowadays, the line between vulgarity 
 and eccentricity was so narrow—almost impercep¬ 
 tible—it really would not matter. She would be 
 the newest example of the New Woman; and the 
 New Woman with plenty of money is always 
 tolerated. It would jar upon him to live with 
 her, perhaps; but he would still see Angela when¬ 
 ever he liked, and the Slatter fortune would save his 
 bank. So he nerved himself for the effort, and on 
 the day prior to his departure he called upon her, 
 and fortunately found her alone. 
 
 Haidee knew what was coming ; and knew also 
 that she was in for a “ lovely time.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 291 
 
 “ I have come to say good-bye,” be began, with 
 the necessary melancholy in his voice. 
 
 “ Are you going to leave Biarr-itz ? ” she inquired, 
 with a lingering on the last syllable. 
 
 “I am,” he sighed; “ and I am very sorry.” 
 
 “ Why, yes, of course you are; you’ve had an 
 elegant time, I guess.” 
 
 She spoke indifferently, and would not accept any 
 allusion to herself for the present. 
 
 “ You have made my time agreeable here,” he said, 
 looking at her with the deep fatal look which had 
 fascinated and lost poor Angela. 
 
 “ Have I ? Would you like a cigarette ? ” All in 
 the same tone of studied indifference. 
 
 She offered him a little golden cigarette-case 
 with her initials encrusted in very large diamonds, 
 and he took a cigarette from it, and continued to 
 follow her about the room with his eyes. It was 
 the old story of the “ silence more eloquent than 
 words.” 
 
 “ Are you going to that great foggy London ? ” she 
 at last inquired. 
 
 It was not hopeful for him—this way she spoke 
 of his adopted country. Evidently she would not 
 like to live in “great foggy London.” 
 
292 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ Yes ; I am obliged to go there/’ he said. “ I am 
 one of the toilers of this world.” 
 
 “ Are you obliged to toil ? ” she asked, with rather 
 an uneasy feeling that perhaps he might not be so 
 rich after all, and that he was one of the hungry 
 pack eager to secure her father’s “ pile.” 
 
 “ I am not actually obliged ; but I should not like 
 an idle life,” he said. “ I think men should always 
 have an occupation, don’t you ? ” 
 
 “ Why, yes ; we all think so in Amurrica,” she 
 replied. “ The giddy butterflies have a very poor 
 time there; the girls won’t look at them.” 
 
 " Whom do you call the giddy butterflies ? ” he 
 asked. 
 
 “ The dudes,” she answered. 
 
 “ I hope I am not a dude,” he remarked. 
 
 “ Why, no, of course you’re not,” she said con¬ 
 solingly. “ Say, do you work very hard in London ? ” 
 “ I go to the bank every day of my life,” he said. 
 
 “ Just to see the chips are piling up, I guess ? ” 
 
 “ I have to work to get the chips; the piling up is 
 easy after that.” 
 
 “ And then do you go to parties and receptions in 
 the evening ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, sometimes.” 
 
OUT OF TIIE DARKNESS. 
 
 293 
 
 “ Royalties ? ” This very casually. 
 
 “ Sometimes I have that honour.” 
 
 “ I suppose it is only a question of money ? ” 
 
 “ Not entirely,” he said; “ personal popularity 
 counts for something.” 
 
 “ I didn’t go to any receptions in London. Mumma 
 was sick when we were there,” she said, with con¬ 
 summate untruthfulness. 
 
 Then he decided that this would give him an 
 opening. She was very terrible, undoubtedly. She 
 reeked of California; but she was pretty, and the 
 Slatter dollars dazzled him. 
 
 “ I should like to introduce you to London society, 
 Miss Slatter,” he said, approaching his chair a little 
 nearer. 
 
 “ Now I am in for it,” thought Haidee. 
 
 “ But, see here, you couldn’t present me at one of 
 Queen Victoria’s drawing-rooms,” she said, with 
 affected ignorance of his meaning. 
 
 “ I could under certain circumstances,” he said, 
 looking at her very tenderly, 
 
 “ You mean through your friends,” she said. “ Of 
 course mumma would have to be presented first. 
 You always see that in the paper. ‘ Mrs. Anthony 
 I\ Slatter by the Lady Fitznoodle; ’ and then a 
 
294 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 little lower down, ‘ Miss Haidee Slatter by her 
 mother, Mrs. Anthony P. Slatter.’ Why, the girls 
 in ’Frisco would just squirm if they read that, and 
 you may bet your Sunday hat I’d take good care 
 they did read it! ” 
 
 He tried to think that she was fresh and uncon¬ 
 ventional, unsophisticated—anything rather than 
 what she really was; and he tried not to “squirm” 
 like the girls in ’Frisco; but the tender look died 
 out of his eyes all the same. 
 
 “ Is Mrs. Slatter out ? ” he asked, postponing for 
 the moment the plunge he had just decided on 
 making. 
 
 “ I don’t know where she is,” answered Haidee. 
 “ I don’t like her hanging around my parlour, so she 
 very rarely comes in here.” 
 
 She had noticed the different look in his eyes, and 
 decided that he wanted encouragement. 
 
 “ You must wish her good-bye for me,” he said 
 lamely. 
 
 “He’s getting very slack,” thought Haidee, and 
 she said nothing. 
 
 “ Shall I have the pleasure of seeing you in 
 London ? ” he said rather ceremoniously. 
 
 “Why, yes ; we sail from Liverpool in December,” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 295 
 
 she said. “ I suppose if you want to, you can see us 
 in London.” 
 
 She was getting rather piqued at his coldness. 
 
 “ Of course I should like to see you,” he said with 
 a little more warmth. The proud Gonzalo blood 
 had revolted at her vulgarity, but the Gonzalo coffers 
 had to be replenished, and the plunge must be 
 made. 
 
 “It is a far cry to December,” he said. “Will 
 you not be in London before ? ” 
 
 “ We might,” she answered. “ Mumma likes the 
 stores in Parris, and I like the theatres in London. 
 You see, French theatres are not very nice for young 
 ladies, anyway.” 
 
 “ If she would only drop that mumma! ” thought 
 Gonzalo; “ but, at any rate, I can drop her after we 
 are married.” 
 
 “You will enjoy the Paris theatres when you are 
 married,” he said. “ French acting is the best in the 
 world.” 
 
 “I have seen ‘ Sally’ at ’Frisco,” she said laconically. 
 “ I saw her in la Dame aux Camelias, but I had 
 seen the same piece in English; we call it Cameel, 
 or the fate of a Coquette. I liked it better.” 
 
 He had not come to discuss theatres with her, and 
 
29 G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 they were again wandering from the object of his 
 visit. 
 
 “ I sometimes think yon are a coquette, Miss 
 Slatter,” he said as a pleasant opening. 
 
 “ Why, no,” she answered ; “ I like having a good 
 time, that’s all.” 
 
 She looked very sweet and innocent, and was 
 evidently quite ready to receive his declaration. 
 
 “ I should be sorry to think you were really a 
 flirt,” he said. 
 
 “ No, I am not a flirt,” she said; “ I can be just 
 as serious as mumma when I like; but what differ¬ 
 ence can it make to you, anyway ? ” 
 
 “ It would make a difference, because in the last 
 few weeks I have become deeply attached to you,” 
 and he looked as if he really meant it. 
 
 Haidee had not been a confirmed novel-reader 
 for many years without learning that surprise is 
 the indispensable feeling to express when a man 
 proposes. 
 
 “ You have become attached to me ! ” she said, as 
 if it was the most unlikely thing in the world. 
 
 “ I have, Miss Slatter,” he said most earnestly; 
 “ and sometimes I have almost hoped that you might 
 reciprocate my love.” The word “ love ” had to be 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 207 
 
 said with a gulp; but still it was said, and lie awaited 
 her answer. 
 
 “ I am very much flattered, Monsieur Gonzalo,” 
 she said with well simulated confusion. “ I—— ” 
 
 “ I do not wish you to be flattered,” he said 
 quickly; “ that is a cruel way of receiving what I 
 have said. I wish you to tell me that I may have 
 some hope, that I am not to go away broken¬ 
 hearted ”—another gulp. 
 
 “ Do men’s hearts ever break ? ” she asked archly. 
 
 “ Mine would if you refused me,” he said, 
 approaching her and taking her hand. 
 
 “ I have known you so short a time,” she stam¬ 
 mered. 
 
 “ I feel as if I had known you all my life! ” he 
 said with Southern enthusiasm. 
 
 “That would be making me out older than I 
 really am,” she said with a laugh. “ I think you 
 have the advantage of me in years.” 
 
 And then he murmured something about a life’s 
 devotion and years of tender love making up for 
 the disparity in their ages, and Haidee surrendered 
 her heart with all the maidenly modesty of which 
 she was capable. 
 
 Gonzalo sighed an immense sigh of relief when 
 
298 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 she allowed his first kiss to be imprinted on her 
 pearly cheek. It had been a terrible quarter of an 
 hour to go through, but he had come out of it 
 triumphantly, and the bank was safe. 
 
 Haidee took this sigh to mean suppressed emotion, 
 and she murmured through her nose— 
 
 “ Do you love me very much ? ” 
 
 “Very, very much,” said Gonzalo, and this time 
 he shivered. 
 
 Then they sat for some time, hand in hand, and 
 discussed the future. 
 
 Gonzalo was impatient that the marriage should 
 take place very soon. He told her that he wished 
 her to become “ his very own ” as soon as possible ; 
 but Haidde knew that there were such things as 
 settlements, and whilst agreeing with him that long 
 engagements were a mistake, she decided in her 
 own mind that the lawyers must tie up everything 
 they could. 
 
 It was very charming, the first excitement of the 
 engagement. They arranged that Miss Slatter and 
 her mother should join him in London in a fort¬ 
 night, and that they should be married soon after 
 Christmas, and spend the winter in Spain. 
 
 Gonzalo left the hotel with strangely conflicting 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 299 
 
 feelings. His marriage must be announced at once, 
 and he must work some newspaper paragraphs about 
 the colossal Slatter fortune—all this part of it was 
 pleasant to dwell upon. But there was the other 
 side of the picture—the loveless marriage with a 
 hopeless vulgarian, and Angela! Angela, with her 
 biting sarcasm and violent nature. “ How can I 
 break it to her ? ” he thought, as he chewed ner¬ 
 vously at the cigar between his lips; and then he 
 decided that he would not attempt anything of the 
 kind. He would leave her the pleasant surprise of 
 reading of his engagement in the newspaper. It 
 was a cowardly solution, but it would certainly 
 avoid a scene, and he had a horror of scenes! 
 
300 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Eustace Be van was anything but pleased when he 
 received the news of Angela’s return to England. 
 
 Evidently his wife was in one of her best humours 
 when she wrote to him announcing her arrival. 
 “ She would be so pleased to see him again; the 
 time had seemed so long at Biarritz; and she would 
 only stop a couple of days in Paris, just to order 
 a few winter dresses,” etc. 
 
 This sudden flow of affection quite staggered Sir 
 Eustace. Although he knew that her stay at 
 Biarritz must shortly come to an end, he had always 
 put off thinking about it with a certain shrinking 
 which was strange to his nature. Angela would 
 return and bring her fractious dislike of the country, 
 and she would ask him about the gipsy episode, 
 and perhaps talk sneeringly of Monica. The pros¬ 
 pect was a hateful one. He felt inclined to make 
 any monetary sacrifice to prevent her coming. He 
 would like to write to her, and say, “ Stop in Paris, 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 301 
 
 and order a? many dresses as you like, but for 
 God's sake don’t come to Seccombe! ” 
 
 He rose from the breakfast-table, where he had 
 been blankly looking at her letter, and paced up 
 and down the little room with nervous impatience, 
 thinking all the time what decent excuse he could 
 devise to prevent her coming. 
 
 Rip stared at him with wonder and pity. There 
 was a look in his heavy, bloodshot eves which seemed 
 to sav, “ Don’t worry about a woman, master; she 
 is reallv not worth it.” 
 
 V 
 
 But Eustace continued his walk, heedless of the 
 brute’s dumb sympathy. He was wrestling with 
 his bad feelings, and gradually getting the better 
 of them. It was a great temptation to send Angela 
 a cheque big enough to enable her to make a pro¬ 
 longed and enjoyable stay in Paris, and thus spare 
 himself the torture of her presence here. Over and 
 over again he was prompted to do this by the 
 devilish little voice which comes, we suppose, from 
 the lower regions. And then, with a great effort, 
 he shook himself free of the temptation. Xo, 
 Angela must come, and he must suffer for his evil 
 thoughts. Only, he could not stop at Seccombe. 
 Thev must leave—go anywhere, anywhere where 
 
302 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 he would not see Monica, and where he would try 
 and live down his love for her. Ah, yes, he loved 
 her now! He no longer asked himself the question, 
 as he had done some few weeks since. He had 
 fought the battle, and lost it. All the self-reproach 
 in the world was useless against the devotion he 
 felt for the girl. And he was almost proud of his 
 love—proud because he knew that it must be sacri¬ 
 ficed, that he would have to go away and forget 
 her, and that she would never know how he had 
 worshipped her. He would pass out of her life, 
 leaving her the pure, perfect creature which God 
 had made, and only he would suffer. She could 
 not guess he loved her; he had never said one word 
 to her that all the world might not have heard; 
 and if they had commenced by having sympathetic 
 tastes and finding pleasure in each others society, 
 he had never betrayed the fact that this sympathy, 
 with him, had ripened into ardent love. 
 
 He passed his hand wearily over his forehead, 
 and sat down in an attitude of despair. He had 
 decided that he would leave. His expiation must 
 be complete; he must spend a long winter with 
 Angela, and forget, if he could, the pleasant summer 
 months he had passed at Seccombe. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 303 
 
 It was only since Monica had been in Scotland 
 that he really realized how important she had 
 become to his life; and during her absence he could 
 never write to her, and could only hear vague 
 rumours of her doings through Admiral Stanforth ; 
 and now it would he his turn to leave, and this 
 time the parting would be an eternal one. 
 
 “ And they say that marriages are made in 
 heaven,” he thought bitterly, as he pictured to 
 himself the return of Angela, and what their future 
 life must he together. 
 
 Try as he would, he could not now shake off his 
 adoration of the beautiful girl who had so unfor¬ 
 tunately crossed his path. He decided that he 
 would resume work; he was fit and well, and he 
 must scatter romance to the winds, and devote him¬ 
 self once more to his profession. If he worked hard 
 for success, Monica would be proud of him—surely 
 she would interest herself in his triumphs; and it 
 mattered not to him that Angela should squander 
 the money he made, as long as Monica did not 
 forget him. 
 
 And then these thoughts were followed by the 
 blank fact that they must forget each other. He 
 had no right to think of her; and she, of course, 
 
304 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 would only remember him as a pleasant summer 
 companion, wbo bad come and gone like any ordinary 
 visitor. He was tempted to wonder if Monica really 
 looked upon him as an ordinary visitor; whether 
 there was a little more in the kindly regard she 
 had shown him than appeared on the surface. And 
 then he indignantly repelled these ideas. 
 
 “ I am a coward,” he exclaimed aloud, “ to dwell 
 on a love which has no right of existence ! ” and 
 with sudden energy he took up his hat and started 
 off for a long walk. 
 
 When Angela arrived a few days later, he had 
 almost mastered his dislike to her return. He had 
 spent so many miserable days alone, that he was 
 almost pleased at the change that her arrival would 
 create. And he had made up his mind to start work 
 again; he would discuss this with Angela. And their 
 return to London would all tend toward making him 
 forget. 
 
 Angela was very sweet when she arrived ; he had 
 never known her so absolutely submissive and willing 
 to agree with him in everything. She heartily ap¬ 
 proved of his returning to work, and declared that 
 he now looked so well that it would really be folly 
 to remain and get rusty in the country. Of course, if 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 305 
 
 the doctors advised a further rest, he must take it; 
 but, for her part, she was quite convinced that he 
 was capable of going into harness again. 
 
 And then she added to herself, “ If Miguel’s bank 
 is going to smash, some one must earn money for 
 me. I can’t starve, and I don’t mean to go out as 
 a lady-help.” 
 
 So she encouraged Eustace to return to London, 
 and all the evening she was very kind, and even 
 caressing, to him. 
 
 She sympathised with him for the horrid time he 
 must have had all alone, and declared that she had 
 been very selfish to remain abroad so long. 
 
 Sir Eustace wondered at this unexpected penitence. 
 
 “ What is she driving at, I wonder ? Worth’s 
 bill, I suppose, which is larger than usual.” 
 
 But Angela continued her little feline advances all 
 the evening, and made no mention of a bill. 
 
 At last Eustace could not help smiling, and was 
 compelled to say— 
 
 “ You have come home very much changed, 
 Angela. I thought it was thoroughly understood 
 between us that our love had died a natural death, 
 and had been succeeded by a more or less sincere 
 friendship ? ” 
 
 x 
 
306 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ I shouldn’t be a woman if I didn’t change,” she 
 said lightly. “ I think it was, perhaps, more your 
 fault than mine that our love died; but suppose it 
 was only in a trance, and that it has come to life 
 again ? 
 
 “ Love never has trances,” he said coldly; “ and it 
 never resuscitates when once it has received its death 
 blow.” 
 
 “ I didn’t know that ours ever received a death 
 blow,” she said with simpering coquetry. 
 
 “ Certainly the last few years in London there has 
 never been anything but indifference in your manner 
 towards me,” he said. 
 
 “ Oh, in London you never paid me the slightest 
 attention,” she answered quickly. “You were too 
 much occupied with your profession to think of your 
 wife.” 
 
 “ That is not true,” he said. “ How often did I 
 ask you to come and fetch me at the Law Courts, 
 and how often did you come ? Once in our whole 
 existence! ” 
 
 “Yes, of course, in the afternoon one always has a 
 lot of engagements; and the Law Courts are not 
 exactly in the West End, you know.” 
 
 “ And the evenings ? How often did I ask you to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 307 
 
 stop at home when I was tired with my day’s work, 
 and yet you always refused ? ” 
 
 “Yes, that was rather selfish of you, you must 
 admit—I wasn’t tired, don’t you see ? Why should 
 I stop at home ? ” 
 
 He could not help smiling at her female logic. 
 
 “You are quite right,” he said ; “ it was very selfish 
 of me.” 
 
 “ However, we can start again,” she said brightly. 
 “ If we have had any little differences, we can both 
 forget them. I bear you no ill-will, Eustace dear. 
 I only want to make your life as bright and as happy 
 as I possibly can.” 
 
 He looked at her in amazement. Evidently 
 Worth’s bill was a “ terror.” 
 
 “ I hope you will succeed,” he said; “ but I am 
 bound to say that I very much doubt it.” And then, 
 as he went towards the door, he added, “ I am going 
 for a stroll, so I will say ‘ good night.’ ” 
 
 In a moment Angela’s temper was up. She flashed 
 out— 
 
 “ You had better be careful of poachers ! ” 
 
 “ What do you mean ? ” he asked, turning angrily 
 towards her. 
 
 “ I suppose you are going to meet Miss Stanforth ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 308 
 
 she said with ill-concealed passion, taking up a hook 
 and pretending to read. 
 
 “ Are you out of your senses ? ” he said. 
 
 “ I must have been just now, when I was idiot 
 enough to waste my time in telling you that I cared 
 for you! ” she said, biting her lip. 
 
 “My dear Angela,” he said, looking at her very 
 calmly, “do you imagine for one moment that I 
 believed a single word of your pretty little decla¬ 
 ration just now ? Of course it had a motive, and 
 I will be frank with you and tell you I think I 
 have guessed that motive. Either you want to spend 
 the winter at Monte Carlo, or else you have a huge 
 dressmaker’s bill which you wish me to pay. Now, 
 be equally frank with me and tell me which 
 it is ? ” 
 
 “ If I didn’t really care, I should not object to 
 your midnight prowls with Miss Stanforth,” said 
 Angela, sulkily. 
 
 “ I have no midnight prowls, as you prettily put 
 it, with Miss Stanforth,” he answered, still calmly. 
 “ You had much better be frank and tell me the 
 truth. You shall have your cheque.” 
 
 “ Your offer is rather a brutal one,” she said. “ 1 
 ask for your love, and you offer me money.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 30 l J 
 
 “ My love! ” he said with a harsh laugh. “ Since 
 when have you fallen in love with me ? ” 
 
 “ Since I have seen that you care for another,” she 
 said. “ I may have been a bad wife—I dare say I 
 have been; I have thought too much of pleasure ; 
 I have neglected you in every possible way; but my 
 affection has only been dormant, and—and I cannot 
 bear to see you going out to meet Monica Stanforth.” 
 
 “ You know that you are lying, Angela,” he said. 
 “ Whatever your motive, you have no right to say 
 one word against Miss Stanforth.” 
 
 “ I will never mention her again if you will give 
 up going out, and be as nice as you were in the old 
 days.” 
 
 She played her little comedy admirably; every 
 inflexion of the voice was perfect. She had tried 
 excessive amiability, followed by violent jealousy, 
 and subsequent repentance and resignation. And 
 yet all these arts failed, notwithstanding the finish 
 with which she produced them. 
 
 Eustace regarded her with the same puzzled look 
 which his face bore when first she had spoken of her 
 love. 
 
 “ I really don’t understand you,” he said; “ and I 
 am going out.” 
 
310 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ Will you thank her very much for the flowers she 
 sent ? ” she said insolently. “ They were addressed 
 to me, but of course they were meant for you.” 
 
 “ I have said that I will not allow you to insult 
 Miss Stanforth in my presence,” he said, at last 
 losing his temper. 
 
 “ I shall say exactly what I like about Miss 
 Stanforth,” she answered. “ It is village gossip that 
 you and she are always about together; and I am 
 not quite the meek fool you take me for. Go to 
 her,” she said, rising, “ and tell her what I say. You 
 will find her waiting for you by the lake. That 
 is your usual rendezvous, is it not ? You can 
 tell me what she says to-morrow; I am going to 
 bed.” 
 
 '‘How dare you, or any one, make such a foul 
 accusation against Miss Stanforth ? ” 
 
 “ You saw that letter I received when I was at 
 Biarritz,” she answered coolly. “ I don’t encourage 
 the gossip—on the contrary, it is excessively dis¬ 
 agreeable for me to be told that my husband is 
 unfaithful to me. I believe husbands always are, 
 by the way; and as long as you don’t beat me, I 
 suppose I must grin and bear it. The law affords 
 me no protection.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 311 
 
 “ You are never likely to require the protection of 
 the law on my account/’ he said. 
 
 He saw that it was useless to argue with her; that 
 the more he defended himself and Miss Stanforth, 
 the more venomous Angela became. He went out 
 and left her standing there, pale with anger, whilst 
 he himself was crimson at the vileness of her 
 accusations, and his own inability to make her 
 withdraw them. 
 
 When the door closed upon him, Angela sank 
 wearily into the nearest chair, a picture of despair 
 and disappointment. 
 
 “ Why did I allow my temper to get the better of 
 me ? ” she said to herself. “ I shall have to begin it 
 all over again.” And then, with a shudder, “ What 
 a sickening world it is ! ” 
 
312 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXI. 
 
 Angela spent a few weeks quietly at Seccombe, 
 keeping up a correspondence with Gonzalo, of which 
 the proportion was four of her letters to one of his. 
 With her husband she was on distant, strained terms. 
 Eustace had not forgiven her the insults she had 
 levelled at Monica; and they let the days go idly by, 
 with scarcely any attempt at conversation. 
 
 And then one day, quite unexpectedly, she read in 
 the Morning Post the announcement of Miguel’s 
 engagement to “ Miss Slatter, the Californian 
 heiress.” 
 
 The news staggered her; she read it several times, 
 appearing unable to grasp the full meaning of the 
 situation. And then, when there remained no doubt 
 in her mind of her lover’s perfidy, she burst out 
 laughing—a loud, unmusical laugh—and said to her 
 husband, who looked up in surprise from the Times — 
 
 “ Gonzalo is going to be married ! ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 313 
 
 “ Is there anything very funny in the fact ? ” he 
 asked. “ Why do you laugh ? ” 
 
 “ I am laughing at the way he has had it put in 
 the paper. Miss Slatter is spoken of as 'the Cali¬ 
 fornian heiress ’; it reads as if she came from 
 Barnum’s Show. She might be ' the pig-faced 
 lady/ or the ‘ tattooed Venus.’ Why call your 
 fiancee, ‘ the Californian heiress ’ ? It is unutterably 
 vulgar! ” 
 
 She spoke with vehemence, and scarcely concealed 
 the rage which possessed her. 
 
 “ I met her at Biarritz,” she continued. " She is 
 very Californian; he will want all her money to 
 make her acceptable.” 
 
 But the subject did not interest Eustace, and he 
 let it drop. 
 
 Later in the day, Angela walked to the little 
 village post-office and telegraphed her congratulations. 
 The telegram was brief. 
 
 “ Best wishes; will congratulate you in person 
 to-morrow. Call upon me Hyde Park Street, four 
 o’clock.” 
 
 Having despatched this message, she felt better. 
 Any other woman would have put, "Marriage im¬ 
 possible ; must see you,” etc., she thought to herself; 
 
314 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “but I know better how to treat him—it must be 
 gentle firmness, and a careful avoidance of hysterics.” 
 
 All that day she was uneasy and restless. She 
 counted the hours until it was time to leave for 
 London. A toothache and a visit to the dentist 
 sufficed as pretext to Sir Eustace for her journey, 
 and at four o’clock the next day she found herself in 
 Hyde Park Street, anxiously speculating as to whether 
 Gonzalo would obey her summons or not. 
 
 “ Men are such cowards,” she thought to herself, 
 “ perhaps he will not have the courage to come.” 
 But a little later these doubts were dispelled by the 
 welcome sound of his knock and ring. 
 
 He came in, looking rather shame-faced and un¬ 
 comfortable ; but Angela smiled so sweetly, and 
 looked so good-tempered, that she placed him at 
 his ease at once. 
 
 “It is very good of you to come up to London on 
 my account,” he said, “ and I am awfully pleased to 
 see you.” 
 
 “ Yes, it is very good, isn’t it ? ” she said smilingly, 
 “ Why did you not write to me ? ” 
 
 “ Because I was afraid that my news might make 
 you angry, and as my marriage was inevitable-” 
 
 “ Inevitable,” she interrupted; “ why inevitable ? ” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 315 
 
 “ Because,” lie said irritably, “ as I explained to 
 you at Biarritz, we are in difficulties; the bank must 
 be saved, and I see no other way but Miss Slatter 
 to save it.” 
 
 “ Poor Miss Slatter! ” said Angela. 
 
 “Yes, I am afraid she is to be pitied,” he said; 
 ‘'for I shall never care for any woman but you.” 
 
 Angela smiled a smile of absolute incredulity. 
 
 “ Only you like your bank better,” she said. 
 
 “One must think of one’s position,” he said in 
 rather a lame manner. 
 
 “ Oh, of course,” she said sarcastically, “ every one 
 for himself in this world; and yet,” she added with 
 a kind of mock sentimentality, “ I do not care for 
 position myself. I would have loved you, whether 
 your bank was tottering or not.” 
 
 “ I know you would,” he said ; “ but unfortunately 
 our love is one which must necessarily have an 
 end.” 
 
 Angela was leading him on, and allowing him to 
 say all the little stock phrases which are usual in 
 the case of a liaison coming to end. She knew that 
 what she had come to London to tell him would 
 upset all these conversational platitudes, but in the 
 mean time it would amuse her to humour him. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 31(j 
 
 “ Yes, it must have an end,” slie said with a heavy 
 sigh. “ I cannot marry you, as I already have a 
 husband; and you want a rich wife to save your 
 bank. It is very natural, is it not ? ” 
 
 He was surprised at her calmness, at the apparent 
 resignation with which she viewed his marriage. He 
 had expected the violent reproaches which she had 
 hurled at him at Biarritz when first he began to flirt 
 with Haidee Slatter; but now that everything w'as 
 settled, she appeared to take it all as a matter of 
 course. 
 
 “ I am glad you see it in its proper light,” he said 
 gratefully; “ but of course you are too clever not to 
 understand that Miss Slatter is my only planchc dc 
 salut” 
 
 Then she thought it time to open his eyes. 
 
 “ Yes, I am bound to see it,” she said, “ and I may 
 as well tell you that you will require her fortune 
 for other purposes than propping up your insolvent 
 bank.” 
 
 Then he began to scent danger. Surely Angela 
 was not going to blackmail him ! 
 
 “You must explain the other purposes,” he said 
 coolly, lighting a cigarette. 
 
 Angela rose from her seat and walked over to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 317 
 
 where he was sitting. She stood before him and 
 looked calmly down into his face. 
 
 “ I think it very probable that my husband will 
 divorce me,” she said; and then she paused to see 
 the effect of the words, but Gonzalo puffed the smoke 
 up to the ceiling and made no answer. “ If he 
 does,” she continued, “ I presume he will claim 
 heavy damages against you, and in all probability 
 he will gain them.” 
 
 The Spaniard gave her one angry flash from his 
 dark eyes, and then he regained his self-control. 
 
 “ Why should Sir Eustace divorce you ? ” he 
 asked coldly. “ Has he discovered anything ? ” 
 
 “ Hot yet,” said Angela briefly. 
 
 “ Are you going to enlighten him voluntarily ? ” 
 he asked sarcastically. 
 
 “ I am,” she replied, looking at him steadily, and 
 the steely glitter in her eyes carried conviction home 
 to him more forcibly than her actual words. “ You 
 may not think I shall carry out my threat. You don’t 
 know women yet. ‘ Hell hath no fury like a woman 
 scorned,’ and if you can do so devilish a thing as 
 to abandon me— now —after all we have been to 
 one another, I am perfectly capable of telling my 
 husband everything. He is not a costermonger to 
 
313 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 beat me, nor a selfish brute who would let me 
 starve, and I have no fear of him. But as surely 
 as you and I are face to face at this moment, so 
 surely will I prevent your marriage with this 
 American—thing! ” and she uttered the last word 
 with ineffable bitterness and contempt. 
 
 Then he rose with a distracted look and stood 
 before her. 
 
 “ Angela,” he said, “you must be mad! ” 
 
 She had been very cool and self-possessed during 
 all these early stages of the interview, but now 
 she felt herself giving way. The tears started to 
 her eyes, and she sank on to the sofa. 
 
 “ If I am mad you have made me so! ” she sobbed. 
 
 “ Don’t talk nonsense! ” he said angrily. “ And 
 please leave off crying; it only unnerves one, and 
 does no good.” 
 
 Then Angela’s tears ceased as suddenly as they 
 had begun. If he had pitied her and tried to soothe 
 her, she would have gone on interminably, but his 
 harsh words brought out all that was hard in her 
 nature. 
 
 “You don’t expect me to laugh, do you?” she 
 said. “You must break off your engagement at 
 once, and-” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 319 
 
 “ That is impossible! ” he said, violently pacing 
 the room. 
 
 “ Is it really ? Then, according to your view, I 
 am to be cast off by my husband, dragged through 
 the Divorce Court, on your account, and in the 
 mean time you are to calmly marry Miss Slatter, 
 and I am not even to be asked to the wedding ! 
 I must say your ideas of chivalry are rather too 
 modern for my taste.” 
 
 She spoke rapidly, and with a contemptuous ring 
 of sarcasm in her voice. 
 
 “ You need not be dragged into the Divorce 
 Court,” he said. “ It will be by your own act if 
 you are. How can you be so suicidal as to talk 
 of—even talk of—for I don’t believe you would 
 ever do it—telling your husband anything? You 
 see exactly the position I am placed in, and-” 
 
 But here she interrupted him. 
 
 “ No power on earth will induce me to keep silence 
 and let you marry that woman. I would rather 
 die than be cast off for her.” 
 
 Miguel tried hard to collect his thoughts, to find 
 some way out of his present difficulty; but to all 
 his arguments Angela had but one answer: he must 
 break off his engagement with Miss Slatter. 
 
320 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “We must siuk or swim together,” she said. 
 “ If your bank fails, I will share your poverty with 
 you. I am not particularly fond of riches, but I 
 am not going to be cast adrift simply to please 
 you and Miss Slatter.” 
 
 “ It is altogether hopeless,” he said, sinking into 
 a chair. 
 
 “ It is,” she said coolly, and for a time they were 
 both silent. 
 
 Gonzalo was determined that he would not give 
 up Miss Slatter, and Angela had equally made up 
 her mind that he should. 
 
 At last Angela broke the silence. 
 
 “ Have you quite ceased to care for me ? ” she 
 said, with a genuine ring of pathos in her voice. 
 
 As a matter of fact Gonzalo had ceased to care 
 for her, but this was not an occasion for telling the 
 truth. 
 
 “ I told you just now that I should always 
 love you,” he said, without the least warmth or 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 “Then we need not mind the bank,” said Angela, 
 recklessly. “ I shall be quite happy with you even 
 in poverty. Let the bank take care of itself.” 
 
 “ You do not understand these things,” he said 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 321 
 
 impatiently. “My ruin would entail the ruin of 
 thousands. We cannot only think of ourselves.” 
 
 “Do you mean that your trusting clients would 
 be ruined ? ” she asked. 
 
 He nodded his head affirmatively. 
 
 “ My dear Miguel, surely I come before them; 
 and really I don’t see if your bank is in such a very 
 rotten condition how Miss Slatter’s fortune can save 
 it. She is sure to have her money settled on herself.” 
 
 “ All that will be satisfactorily arranged by me, 
 but for the moment, it is_ absolutely indispensable 
 that the engagement should continue: it gives me 
 renewed credit; I can get an extension of time, 
 and things will probably look up after the bad 
 crisis we have just experienced. Little by little 
 I shall get rid of the more or less worthless stock 
 we possess, and when once I am afloat again, I 
 can break off the engagement.” 
 
 “ How clearly you put it! ” she said, with a 
 sarcastic smile. “ I should have thought it almost 
 as honest to let the smash come at once. However, 
 as you say, I know nothing about business.” 
 
 “No, you don’t,” he said briefly, and then he 
 looked at his watch. “ I must leave now,” he said; 
 “ I have half a dozen appointments.” 
 
 Y 
 
322 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ When shall I see you again ? ” she asked 
 anxiously. “ You do not seem to realize what I 
 suffer.” 
 
 “ I will write to you,” he said hastily. 
 
 “ I think I could get you invited to the Stan- 
 forths’,” she said. “ They are giving some shooting 
 parties; you are a good shot, and you know them. 
 Shall I try and work it ? ” 
 
 “ No, certainly not,” he said. “ I am all day in 
 the city just now. I have not a moment to myself.” 
 
 “ But next week is Christmas,” she pleaded; 
 “ there will he nothing doing then.” 
 
 “Well, I will see; but I can’t promise.” 
 
 “ Of course you would like to spend Christmas in 
 the bosom of your new family! ” she said furiously. 
 “ I suppose you will be singing hymns with Mrs. 
 Slatter, or playing snap-dragon with the daughter ? ” 
 “Don’t be ridiculous, Angela,” he said. “You 
 know I shall come if I can.” 
 
 “ You must come! ” she said. “ I shall tell Mrs. 
 Stanforth to ask you to-morrow.” 
 
 “ Won’t it look rather strange ? ” 
 
 “ I can’t help what people think,” she answered; 
 “ and remember that nothing in the world shall 
 turn me from my purpose,” and with these defiant 
 words the interview came to an end. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 323 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 An ideal Christmas. A good old-fashioned English 
 winter with a hard frost, which showed no signs of 
 breaking; occasionally a light fall of snow to clothe 
 and beautify the hare trees, and a delicious crispness 
 in the air which did one good to breathe. Such 
 were the atmospheric surroundings of the house- 
 party invited by Mrs. Stanforth to enjoy the annual 
 festivities of this supposed merry time. 
 
 The hunting-men grumbled naturally, but they 
 were soundly abused for selfishness the moment 
 they opened their lips. 
 
 The Bevans had been the first people invited, and 
 Angela accepted the invitation with alacrity; but 
 when she mentioned it to Sir Eustace, he was 
 palpably annoyed, and wished her to refuse. 
 
 “ It is too late,” she said; “ I have accepted. I 
 am not the least afraid of your meeting Monica. In 
 these cases it is always best to face the danger.” 
 
324 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ Tliere is no danger that I am aware of,” he 
 said coldly; “ but, considering the insults you have 
 directed at Miss Stanforth through me, I think you 
 have no right to go to their house.” 
 
 “ I think otherwise,” said Angela, in calm tones. 
 “ I am not going to spend a tete-a-tete Christmas 
 with you, on our present very strained terms, if I 
 can help it; but if you absolutely refuse to go, 
 I shall have to explain to Mrs. Stanforth that you 
 are in love with her daughter, and that you are 
 afraid to meet her.” 
 
 It was all he could do to restrain his temper. 
 How he loathed her at this moment! He clenched 
 his teeth and walked out of the room with bitterest 
 contempt in his heart. 
 
 But this was not Angela’s only triumph. 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth had asked the Scotch cousins, the 
 Featherstones, and she wanted some stray men to 
 equalize her party. In her dilemma she appealed 
 to Angela, who had all the eligible town men at her 
 finger’s ends. 
 
 Lady Bevan assumed a puzzled look and required 
 reflection, and then, as if struck by inspiration, she 
 suggested Miguel Gonzalo—a capital parti , slightly 
 entangled by a Californian heiress for the moment. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 325 
 
 but only requiring a little healthy English society 
 to see the error of his ways. And surely Mrs. 
 Stanforth knew him ? Yes, she had often met 
 him at their house. He was a very great friend 
 of Eustace’s, and he had taken her down to dinner 
 once. Well, he would do for one. “ And then we 
 must have one of the Berties or Algys, who play the 
 piano and do ‘ parlour tricks,’ ” she added, and so 
 she rattled on, having gained her most important 
 point. 
 
 To Miguel she wrote an imperative letter: “ It 
 is a question of your coming here for a week, or 
 of my going to stay with you for ever,” she said. 
 “ You can choose which you like best.” 
 
 Miguel’s choice was scarcely flattering—he ac¬ 
 cepted Mrs. Stanforth’s invitation. 
 
 And so it came about that this strange quartette 
 were all sheltered under the same roof. 
 
 Gonzalo arrived in a very bad temper. He was 
 outwardly all graciousness to his hostess, and also 
 to the Bevans; but when alone with Angela, his 
 anger ceased to be under control. 
 
 “ Why have you brought me here ? ” he asked her 
 irritably. “ Of what possible use can my presence 
 be ? ” 
 
32 G 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Angela had no answer. She had caused him to 
 be invited because she did not want to be alone, 
 because she saw the ground crumbling away before 
 her feet. Still, these were selfish reasons on which 
 she could not enlarge. 
 
 “ I thought it better for you to be here,” she said 
 in cool tones. 
 
 “It was extremely inconvenient for me to leave 
 London at this moment,” he pursued, looking at 
 her like a fury. 
 
 “ It is extremely inconvenient for me to be shelved 
 in favour of Miss Slatter,” said Angela, dryly; “ but 
 it is your fault, and it is only fair that we should 
 mutually share the unpleasantness.” 
 
 “I will do all I can,” he said. “When I do 
 marry her, I shall be quite willing to make you an 
 allowance.” 
 
 “ Thank you,” she said sarcastically. “ My 
 husband will probably do as much. I shall be 
 quite well off! But this is scarcely sufficient. 
 Eustace will hear of everything, and--” 
 
 “ He will hear of nothing unless you yourself tell 
 him,” replied Gonzalo, angrily. 
 
 “ Which I shall certainly do if you persist in this 
 marriage,” she said in a determined tone. “ Eustace 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 327 
 
 liates me, and he will be only too glad to seize this 
 opportunity of getting a divorce. And then what 
 is to become of me ? ” 
 
 “You will marry again/' he said lightly. “You 
 are very attractive.” 
 
 “Oh yes,” she said with a bitter laugh, “I shall 
 be a very attractive article in the matrimonial 
 market! I should be snapped up at once, of course ! 
 And then my family would be so proud of me. 
 Think of my mother’s feelings ! ” 
 
 “If Sir Eustace divorces you, nothing can save 
 your position,” he said grimly. “ Even if I married 
 you, you would not be received.” 
 
 “ I will risk that,” said Angela, obstinately. 
 
 “And I won’t,” he said, with equal determina¬ 
 tion. “ I cannot risk everything—even for your 
 love.” 
 
 “ But I have risked everything,” she said, her 
 hardness giving way to self-pity. “ You cannot 
 desert me, Miguel. We have always been happy 
 together; why should we not face life together ? 
 It is not for the woman to beg, I know; but how 
 can I help it ? ” And then she sobbed, “ I must, 
 I must implore you not to desert me! ” 
 
 “It is no use to cry, Angela,” he said, slightly moved. 
 
328 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ I know it is no use,” slie said; “ and yet for tlie 
 last week I have done nothing else. What is to 
 become of me if I am abandoned by you ? ” 
 
 Her moods changed so rapidly that Gonzalo could 
 never divine what was coming next. 
 
 This scene was taking place in the park, where they 
 had met by appointment. They came to a seat, and 
 Angela sank on to it exhausted. 
 
 It was snowing, and the flakes fell lightly 
 on her sealskin jacket, the high collar of which 
 was turned up all round her neck; but Angela 
 paid no heed to the weather, everything around 
 her was cold and miserable and in keeping with 
 her feelings. 
 
 “You will catch your death of cold if you sit 
 there,” said Gonzalo, looking at her pityingly. 
 
 “ What does it matter ? ” she said. “ It’s the best 
 thing that could happen. A good galloping con¬ 
 sumption would make every one happy.” 
 
 “Ho, Angela, I should not be happy,” he said with 
 some sincerity in his voice. 
 
 And then they suddenly heard footsteps, and both 
 had to appear indifferent and unconcerned, as Eustace 
 and Monica, accompanied by the Admiral, suddenly 
 appeared in view. 
 
OUT OF TPIE DARKNESS. 
 
 329 
 
 “ Saved! I see a seat! ” called out Monica; and 
 then, as they all came up, she continued, “ We are 
 perfectly exhausted ; we have been teaching carols and 
 anthems until I haven’t a bit of strength left. And 
 all this is to be for your benefit on Christmas Day.” 
 
 “ It is very good of you,” said Angela, rather 
 taken aback. “ I have been for a walk round and 
 round the park until I haven’t a leg to stand on. 
 I have got a violent cold, and I am altogether 
 miserable.” 
 
 “ You do look rather blue,” said Monica, concernedly. 
 
 “ You must come and have a hot grog,” said the 
 Admiral—“ nothing like hot rum and water with a 
 lump of butter in it to cure a cold.” 
 
 “ Certainly sitting in the snow won’t improve it,” 
 said Eustace. 
 
 “ No, come along,” said Monica, cheerily. “ Some 
 good strong tea and hot buttered toast is what you 
 want.” 
 
 “ Don’t you believe it, my dear,” said the Admiral; 
 “ that sort of cat-lap never did any one any good—you 
 stick to simple tastes, and try rum.” 
 
 And then they started off in the direction of tbe 
 house, Angela walking in front with the Admiral, 
 whilst Gonzalo fell behind with Monica and Eustace. 
 
330 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 "The conversation took a general turn. They were 
 going to play charades in the evening, and Angela 
 hearing them discuss the words they should choose, 
 occasionally turned round and gave them the benefit 
 of her ideas. 
 
 “You had better do Mariage in French,” she 
 said, as one of her inspirations. “ Mr. Gonzalo can 
 do the man for the first part—he can either be hen¬ 
 pecked or blustering, which ever he thinks will suit 
 him best; the Admiral and I will represent age, we 
 are both getting on in life; and for the whole word 
 you have only to show a man and a woman sitting 
 with their backs to each other. I defy any one not 
 to guess what it means.” 
 
 “ That is French marriage! ” said Monica in a low 
 voice. “ Why not do it in English, and have a happy 
 picture at the end ? ” 
 
 “ It would be so untrue to life,” objected Angela, 
 “ Marriage as an institution is the same in all 
 countries; it is only the preliminaries which vary.” 
 
 “ To begin with, I am not going to represent old 
 age,” said the Admiral. “ I may look old, but I don’t 
 feel so.” 
 
 “ I feel a hundred,” said Angela, with a despair 
 which was not altogether acting. “ I will be your 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 331 
 
 mother, and you shall be my sailor son coming home 
 from his first voyage. Will that suit you ? ” 
 
 “ Yes, I like that better,” he said; “ especially if 
 you make your welcome warm enough.” 
 
 “ Perhaps I had better be your grandmother,” said 
 Angela, banteringly, and then they entered the house. 
 
 To her great surprise, as she was dressing for 
 dinner that evening, Sir Eustace came in, and telling 
 her maid to go away for a few minutes, he began— 
 
 “ When I met you in the park this afternoon with 
 Gonzalo, you were crying. I wish to know the 
 reason ? ” 
 
 “ I was not crying,” said Angela, with a ready lie. 
 “ I had a cold in my head and my nose was red, that 
 was all.” 
 
 “ It is not true,” he said; “ you have no cold now, 
 why should it have disappeared ? ” 
 
 “ I don’t know,” she said indifferently; “ it is a 
 medical question I have not sufficiently studied. 
 Colds come and go with no reason that I know of.” 
 
 “ I maintain that you were crying,” he persisted. 
 “ I saw the tears in your eyes.” 
 
 For a moment Angela had the idea of throwing 
 herself on his mercy and saying, “ Yes, I was crying 
 because I am a guilty wretch unworthy of being 
 
332 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 forgiven, because I know that a terrible future awaits 
 me,” but the temptation quickly passed. Of course 
 he would refuse to forgive her. 
 
 “ Yes, you are quite right,” she said, the old hard¬ 
 ness coming back to her voice; “ I was crying.” 
 
 “ Will you tell me why ? ” he asked. 
 
 “ Gonzalo had said something about you and 
 Monica,” she said; “ and he led me on to tell him 
 how you had made me suffer.” The lying words 
 came with the greatest glibness, and she paused to 
 watch their effect. 
 
 “Was he going to offer to console you?” asked 
 Eustace. 
 
 “No, I don’t suppose I should have been crying 
 if he had,” said Angela. Her flippancy rarely left 
 her, and her husband looked disgusted. 
 
 “ What did Gonzalo say about Miss Stanforth ? ” 
 he inquired. 
 
 “ I don’t know—only general gossip. Mrs. Stan¬ 
 forth told me to-day that Monica had refused an 
 excellent offer in Scotland. She is at her wit’s end 
 to know why she did so. Of course I might have 
 enlightened her, but for your sake I held my tongue.” 
 
 “ Monica—I mean Miss Stanforth—has refused an 
 offer in Scotland! ” he ejaculated. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 333 
 
 “ Oh, you may call her Monica/’ said Angela; “ I 
 don’t mind. I wonder you are so surprised. I 
 should have thought she would have told you about 
 it herself.” 
 
 “ Angela, I cannot believe for one moment that 
 you think the cruel things you say. It is almost 
 an insult to Miss Stanforth to say what I am 
 obliged to say to you; but on my sacred word of 
 honour, there is nothing but purest friendship 
 between us. You must know this yourself.” 
 
 “I am quite willing to believe you,” she said. 
 “ A good deal of what I say is only intended as 
 chaff. It will all come right when we leave here 
 and go back to London.” She rose from her dressing- 
 table and went to put her arms round his neck. 
 “ Let us forget our silly little squabblings,” she 
 said, “ and be husband and wife, as we were before.” 
 
 “ I cannot forget the accusations you have made,” 
 he said. “ Perhaps it would be better if we separated 
 for the present.” 
 
 “ Separated! ” she repeated. “ What have I done 
 that I should be separated from you ? ” 
 
 “ You have made my life unbearable since you 
 returned from Biarritz,” he said. “ I can plainly see 
 that you have not the slightest real affection for me. 
 
334 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 Occasionally you play a little farce of your own, 
 because you think that I am in love with Miss 
 Stanforth, and, without caring for me, you are 
 jealous of her. The farce had better end by an 
 amicable separation.” 
 
 “ Yes, I am all evil, and you are all purity,” she 
 said scornfully. “And so we must separate—I don’t 
 happen to see it in that light. As long as you 
 continue to behave yourself outwardly, I shall live 
 with you. When you cease to do so, there will be 
 a separation, of which I shall dictate the terms. 
 Now you had better go, the second bell will ring 
 in a minute, and I am only half-dressed.” 
 
 But when he had gone, and the maid came back, 
 Angela still sat before her looking-glass, and made 
 no progress with her dressing. 
 
 “ I am not going to dine downstairs,” she said, 
 with her eyes fixed on the glass. 
 
 The maid saw that something had gone wrong, 
 and said— 
 
 “ Shall I say you have a headache, my lady ? ” 
 
 “You can say that I am dead, if you like,” said 
 Angela, rising and throwing herself on the bed in a 
 paroxysm of mingled grief and rage. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 335 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 The snow, now frozen hard underfoot, had not made 
 prisoners of any of the Seccombe house-party this 
 Christmas Eve. In the morning the men went out 
 rabbit shooting, accompanied by the head - keeper 
 and a couple of underlings to carry the ferrets. It 
 was chilly work, standing about on slippery banks, 
 and by the side of hedgerows, whose denuded and 
 frost-covered twigs feebly glittered in the transitory 
 gleams of sunshine. But the bag was a good one, 
 and that made ample amends for purple noses and 
 finders benumbed with the intense cold. 
 
 The shooting party returned to the house for 
 luncheon, and early in the afternoon the whole 
 company repaired to the lake for skating, sledging, 
 or looking on. Mrs. Stanforth and Angela, both 
 shrouded to the ears in heavy furs, alternately paced 
 up and down, or sat in comfortable chairs, warming 
 themselves at a bonfire of crackling pine logs, kept 
 
336 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 up to a bright blaze by the assiduity of a specially 
 detailed gardener. Gonzalo, whose Southern environ¬ 
 ment had made skating a thing unknown to him, 
 was, perforce, and very much against his will, thrown 
 into their society a great deal. He, however, con¬ 
 trived to avoid one or two dexterous attempts on the 
 part of Angela to secure a tete-a-tete conversation 
 with him, and every now and then he escaped to 
 chat with some lady member of the skating party 
 pausing for a temporary rest, and to lament, in semi¬ 
 woeful tones, the way in which his ice education 
 had been neglected. 
 
 Almost insensibly, and as if the same instinct 
 animated both, Eustace and Monica avoided being 
 much together during that afternoon. They took 
 one turn round the full circuit of the lake, but 
 they spoke little, and neither seemed to wish to 
 repeat the experience. Monica was depressed and 
 downcast in her look. For the thousandth time, 
 Eustace asked himself the question, “ Must it all 
 end now ? ” 
 
 For it had come to that. The end was in sight; 
 he had, knowingly, and with his eyes open, refused 
 to turn aside into any of the by-paths which had 
 offered him chance of escape; he had walked 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 337 
 
 deliberately on, until now, staring him in the face, 
 the edge of the precipice where the track ended, 
 where he had known all along that it must end, 
 loomed frowningly in sight. 
 
 “And I must go to the doom prepared for me— 
 the hell of never seeing her again. Oh God, I 
 must lose her! ” he groaned in his anguish, as he 
 grasped the overhanging branch of a tree, at the 
 remotest corner of the lake, to steady himself. For 
 a moment, everything swam before his eyes. Then, 
 drawing himself up again, he added humbly, grate¬ 
 fully even, “ Thank God, when I go into the outer 
 darkness, I shall not drag her there with me ! ” 
 
 1 All too soon for the merry little party on the ice, 
 the short wintry afternoon drew to its close. Skates 
 were removed, the blood once more stamped into 
 numbed ankles, fur boas and muffs resumed by the 
 fairer portion of the community, and they were 
 all soon wending their way back to the house, 
 where bright wood fires, hot cakes and tea awaited 
 them. 
 
 At dinner that night, the Admiral waxed restive. 
 
 “Wonder how much longer this beastly frost is 
 going to last ? ” said he, addressing no one in 
 particular. 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ You don’t skate, I suppose, Admiral ?” asked 
 Angela. 
 
 “Not over thin ice, at all events,” he grunted; 
 and more than one person at the table felt a strong 
 disinclination to pursue the subject any further. 
 
 “ What time do we start for the church to-night ? ” 
 asked one of the Feather stone girls. 
 
 “ Well, you must all be impressed into the service 
 of finishing the decorations, so we shall have to start 
 quite early.” 
 
 “ Going to let off a carol, eh ? ” inquired the 
 Admiral, speaking of it as if it were a squib. 
 
 “ The choir are going to sing them over, uncle, 
 before the service. Are vou coming with us to 
 church ? ” 
 
 “ Xot I, my dear. I'll walk with you part of the 
 way, and then stand off on the other tack for my 
 own anchorage; shall be in my bunk and asleep 
 before you are out of church.” 
 
 The old fellow entertained a sort of vague idea 
 that church was hardly respectable at that time of 
 night: 11 a.m. on Sunday was the only orthodox 
 hour, in his own private opinion, for attendance 
 at Divine service. 
 
 “ What’s the matter with you, my lady ? ” he 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 339 
 
 suddenly blurted out, after looking fixedly across the 
 table at Angela for some time. “ You look as if you 
 had seen a ghost.” 
 
 “We all ‘see ghosts’ sometimes, Admiral, don’t 
 we ? ” replied she sweetly, but going alternately hot 
 and cold under his gaze. “ I caught a little chill in 
 the park this afternoon, and—I don’t think I will 
 make one of the church party to-night.” 
 
 “ Be a fool if you do,” he growled; and soon after¬ 
 wards Mrs. Stanforth gave the signal, and the ladies 
 left the table. 
 
 Shortly before ten o’clock there was a general 
 demand for warm outer coverings, and soon the 
 whole of the church party was assembled in the 
 square, oak-panelled hall, and taking the last 
 benefit of the bright fire burning there, before the 
 silent butler should open the door and let in that 
 first terrible gust of cold air which every one so 
 cordially shirks. After bidding “good-bye” to the 
 stay-at-homes, they all sallied forth to brave the icy 
 inclemencies of the Noel-tide. 
 
 Truth to tell, there was not very much to complain 
 of in the weather. The moon, looking fully as cold 
 and as pale as the earth itself, wrapped in its mantle 
 of pure white snow, shed her light bountifully on the 
 
340 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 little band of pilgrims as they started off down the 
 drive. It was certainly very cold; but the crisp air, 
 keen as a razor’s edge, braced and invigorated, and 
 Eustace, for one, felt more his old self again as he 
 paced along in the undimmed starlight beside the 
 Admiral and Monica. The rest of the party, in little 
 groups of two’s and three’s, walked on ahead of 
 them. 
 
 Admiral Stanforth was muffled up in strange, 
 uncouth outer vestments, “ fearfully and wonderfully 
 made.” 
 
 “Wore these in the Baltic, my boy,” he grunted 
 out to Eustace. “We had some rough weathei 
 there—ah, and some rough times of it with the 
 Bussians, too; but we frightened ’em a bit at last— 
 we frightened ’em.” 
 
 “ I should think you did, uncle, if you wore those 
 awful-looking garments,” said Monica. 
 
 “ What’s the matter with ’em, eh ? ” jerked out 
 “ fighting Tom.” “ Keep you warm, anyhow. What’s 
 the good of thinking about appearances, eh ? Well, 
 here we are at my footpath, so good night, both of 
 you. Now hurry on, and you’ll overtake the rest. 
 They’re not far ahead of you. Good night.” 
 
 The Admiral evidently did not wish these two to 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 341 
 
 be alone together; but Eustace had come to a deter¬ 
 mination,—and he meant to speak what was in his 
 mind that night. 
 
 For a few paces they walked on without a word 
 being uttered on either side ; then, as they approached 
 the little low wall surrounding the churchyard, he 
 broke the silence. His voice sounded husky and 
 strange in his own ears, and it required all his reso¬ 
 lution to enable him to go through with the task he 
 had set himself. He had determined upon making 
 the Great Denunciation, and having put his hand to 
 the plough, would not look back. Steadying his 
 voice, he said— 
 
 “ I am going to leave Seccombe. I am going 
 back to my work as soon as the Courts open, 
 and—and I am afraid our association, our time 
 together, is almost at an end, Miss Stanforth. 
 Our summer friendship has been unspeakably 
 dear to me ; but summer friendships, like summer 
 itself, must end—in frost and snow, and in the 
 dreary darkness of the winter-time. God knows 
 how dense the darkness will be, after the sunlight I 
 have lived in these past few months.” 
 
 “ You are going ? So soon ? ”—Monica gasped, 
 rather than spoke, the words. Dismay had seized 
 
342 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 her heart; she could hardly give utterance to her 
 thoughts. 
 
 He bowed his head in silence. 
 
 “And—and—our rides, our rambles-? ” 
 
 “ I fear they are all over, too.” 
 
 The words came with an effort, and there was a 
 sadness unspeakable in his tones. 
 
 The girl seemed momentarily dazed. 
 
 “ Over ? ” she repeated. “ Already ? ” 
 
 By this time they had approached the church so 
 closely that the ruddy light, gleaming from one of 
 the stained-glass windows, fell upon Monica’s lovely 
 face, upturned to his, and bearing on it the impress 
 of an agony like to that of some hunted creature. 
 His own features were so much in the shadow that 
 she could not see the pain that was depicted there. 
 
 “ Yes; everything is over between us.” Then, 
 in deep, quiet tones, he said, “ Monica, I love you. 
 Blame me if you will, not for the love itself, but 
 for yielding to the temptation of speaking it. As 
 well tell the sea to be at rest, or the heavens to fall 
 as tell me to cease loving you. God knows how I 
 have fought against it! but of what use ? In one 
 sense, Fate is stronger than I, in that it compels my 
 love; in another, I will be stronger than Fate, for 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 343 
 
 I will keep the love at bay, because it is one which 
 can only bring sorrow upon you. Say * Good-bye ’ 
 to me, Monica, here—and now.” 
 
 “ Eustace! ” 
 
 And in that moment she found herself clasped in 
 his strong arms, and strained to his breast in one 
 long, passionate embrace. 
 
 The light from the church window fell on the pair 
 of unhappy lovers as they stood thus “the world 
 forgetting ” ; the music of the organ fell upon their 
 ears with accusation in its tones. Surely it must 
 be the Dies Irce to which they listened, not some 
 simple, homely Christmas carol ? 
 
 “ Kiss me, my darling! ” he whispered to her, “ for 
 the first time—and the last.” 
 
 Their lips met in one sweet, long-drawn-out 
 embrace. What harm in it ? Was not all over 
 between them now ? They had dreamed a dream, 
 these two; but now they had awakened, and lo! 
 the vision was gone. 
 
 No sound, save that of the organ, broke in upon 
 the great stillness of the frost-bound earth. The 
 silence spoke more eloquently than words could have 
 done. They had made the Great Renunciation ; and 
 as they turned and slowly entered the church, the 
 
344 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 thought that they had preserved honour and purity 
 unsullied, kept each of them from yielding utterly to 
 the black despair creeping over their hearts, and 
 buoyed them up, as it has buoyed up many other 
 unhappy men and women before them, whilst they 
 drifted over the slow, cruel tide of time, out into 
 the sea of perfect happiness in the eternity beyond. 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 345 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 Angela remained at the house, keeping Mrs. Stan- 
 forth company. The latter had a slight cold, and 
 feared the night air. 
 
 Gonzalo was the only other absentee from the 
 midnight service, his “faith” preventing him from 
 attending heretic celebrations. 
 
 All the evening, Lady Bevan was strangely 
 nervous; she could not even account to herself for 
 the feeling of impending evil which seemed to be 
 weighing on her. She tried to take interest in Mrs. 
 Stanforth’s work, tried discussing new books with 
 Gonzalo; but in all she said and did, her mind 
 seemed absent, and she appeared to herself to be 
 talking in a dream. 
 
 Occasionally her heart would start beating 
 violently, and the blood would rush to her face, 
 only to leave it a minute later, deathly pale again. 
 
 Once or twice she went to the piano and tried 
 
346 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 rattling off some valses, but the result was disas¬ 
 trous; her fingers played nothing but false notes, 
 and she gave it up in despair. 
 
 “ What is the matter with you, Angela ? ” asked 
 Mrs. Stanforth, looking up from her work. 
 
 “ I don’t know w T hat is the matter with me,” she 
 answered. “ I feel reckless one moment, and bitterly 
 depressed at another. Do you ever feel as if you 
 were going mad ? ” 
 
 “No, I am happy to say I don’t,” replied Mrs. 
 Stanforth. “ But if you have that feeling, perhaps 
 I had better ring for a straight waistcoat! ” 
 
 “No, I don’t think my lunacy will take a 
 homicidal form,” said Angela with a forced laugh. 
 “ I feel more like floating down a river with wild 
 flowers in my hair, like Ophelia.” 
 
 “ Get thee to a nunnery,” quoted Gonzalo. 
 
 “ I don’t think the nuns would have me,” said 
 Angela, bitterly. “ I wish I belonged to your 
 religion,” she continued. “ I should go and confess. 
 Oh, what a time it would take me! I should never 
 be down to breakfast to-morrow.” 
 
 “My dear Angela,” said Mrs. Stanforth, reprov¬ 
 ingly, “ such subjects are hardly suitable for jests.” 
 
 “ I am not jesting,” said Angela; “ and please 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 3A7 
 
 don’t talk like a schoolmistress, dear Mrs. Stanforth. 
 I am sure open confession is good for the soul. The 
 soul! I wonder if I have one ? ” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth looked at Gonzalo in bewilderment, 
 but Gonzalo’s handsome features betrayed no sign of 
 astonishment. Occasionally he cast an angry glance 
 at Angela, but it only made the latter more defiant. 
 
 “I am glad we are alone,” said Mrs. Stanforth. 
 “ I don’t know what the young people would think 
 if they heard you.” 
 
 “ No, more do I,” said Angela; “ and I am sure 
 I don’t care. Still, I suppose I ought to consider 
 Mr. Gonzalo. It would be a pity to shake his faith 
 in religion, he follows all its precepts with such 
 beautiful regularity.” 
 
 “I suppose that I am no better and no worse 
 than other men,” said Gonzalo, indifferently. 
 
 “ Oh, I think you are better! ” said Angela, mock¬ 
 ingly. “Your creed allows you to do just what 
 pleases you, so long as you confess afterwards to a 
 priest, who, by reason of his holy office, cannot 
 possibly denounce you, or let the cat out of the bag 1 ” 
 
 Mrs. Stanforth rose, and walked across the room 
 to where Lady Bevan sat, and patted her affec¬ 
 tionately on the cheek. 
 
348 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ I am an old woman, my dear, and I have seen 
 a great deal more of the world—the real world— 
 than you. It is not a bad world: the bad people 
 in it are nearly always punished as they deserve, 
 and whatever you may think, the good are never 
 forgotten.” 
 
 The tears stood in Angela’s eyes as Mrs. Stanforth 
 kissed her. The reaction had come, and from reck¬ 
 less defiance she had turned to absolute humility. 
 
 “ I dare say you are right,” she said with a 
 choking voice; “ the wicked are punished as they 
 deserve to be.” And then she added hastily, “ I 
 am going out. I shall go and meet them at the 
 church. You must come with me, Mr. Gonzalo.” 
 
 She ran upstairs, and in a few moments reappeared 
 in a fur mantle with a sealskin toque on her head, 
 fastened by a large diamond pin. 
 
 Kissing Mrs. Stanforth, she wished her good night, 
 and went out with Gonzalo into the biting cold air. 
 
 They walked on, almost in silence, for some 
 distance, the thick snow under their feet making 
 a crisp noise as they passed along, both preoccupied 
 with their thoughts. 
 
 Gonzalo was raging inwardly, and his rage was 
 all the more intense from his having had to suppress 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 349 
 
 it all the evening; and even now, as he puffed away 
 at his cigar, he did not dare to speak, lest his fury 
 should be let loose at once. 
 
 His dilemma was a terrible one. What was he to 
 do ? His business house on the eve of bankruptcy, 
 and his engagement to Haidee Slatter in jeopardy. 
 He had almost made up his mind to return to London 
 at once, hasten on his marriage with Miss Slatter, 
 and secure whatever he could of her fortune, taking 
 the chance of Angela carrying out her threat. 
 
 “ What have you decided upon doing ? ” he said 
 at last, as they were nearing the church. His voice 
 was harsh and angry. 
 
 “ It is not for me to decide,” said Angela in hard, 
 inflexible tones. “ I am in your hands; it is for 
 you to choose.” 
 
 “ I mean, are you going to be mad enough to 
 publish everything ? ” 
 
 “ I am,” she answered resolutely. 
 
 “ Surely you wouldn’t do that ? ” There was a 
 ring of anxiety in his voice, though he tried hard 
 to hide it. 
 
 “ Why not ? Why should I go on living the life 
 of torture that I have done lately ? ” 
 
 “You will ruin me and yourself too ! ” 
 
350 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 “ That is only fair.” 
 
 “ It would be a cowardly act on your part—only 
 worthy of a woman.” 
 
 Angela smiled a quiet smile of scorn. 
 
 “The cowardice is on your side,” she said. “I 
 am willing to face the world with you. I will leave 
 to-night if you like. I never want to see any 
 of them again. Miguel, do this,” she continued, 
 nestling up to him. “Let us go away together. 
 You have loved me, and you say you love me still. 
 We can be very happy. I am not exigeante; you 
 can always have your own way in everything.” 
 
 “Hot exigeante! ” he laughed, but the laugh had 
 no sound of mirth in it. “Hot exigeante! and you 
 ask me to plunge into ruin, social and financial! ” 
 
 “ I don’t care about money,” she pleaded. “ You 
 will soon get afloat again, and in any case you 
 will be socially ruined; that would be inevitable 
 for both of us.” 
 
 “Ho, no; it is impossible! ” he said roughly. 
 “ There would not be the slightest prospect of 
 happiness for us.” 
 
 “Yes, there would,” she said, still in her cooing, 
 loving voice. “We might be so happy together, 
 Miguel.” 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 351 
 
 “ I cannot do it, Angela,” he said impatiently. 
 “ I will do everything I can on earth for you, but 
 I could not marry you, even if you were already 
 divorced.” 
 
 “ Think of the happy times we have had,” she 
 went on. “ You did love me madly at one time, 
 and I am only a year older than when you first 
 met me. Miguel! Miguel! ” 
 
 The tears were raining down her face, but they 
 did not reach his heart. They were now close to 
 the church, and could see the lights through the 
 stained-glass windows, and hear a Christmas carol 
 being chanted gaily inside. 
 
 The bright music made Angela more miserable 
 than ever ; she clung to her lover in wild despair. 
 
 “ Miguel! Miguel! ” she kept on repeating, (t don’t 
 desert me! ” 
 
 “ Angela, listen to me. I will do anything, con¬ 
 sent to any terms, if only you will swear to me to 
 give up this insane idea of what you call ‘ making 
 a clean breast of it ’ to your husband. The con¬ 
 sequences of such an act must be ruin—social ruin 
 to you, social and financial ruin to me. And what 
 good will it do you ? ” 
 
 “ Miguel, I don’t want to threaten, Heaven knows ! 
 
352 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 I love you too much for that. But I have dis¬ 
 counted the whole situation, and to every argument 
 I use with myself, there is but one ending, one 
 answer — that it is better to die, socially and 
 physically, than to be abandoned, to see myself set 
 aside for another woman. I will not, I cannot, 
 endure that.” 
 
 Gonzalo with difficulty smothered a curse. “Was 
 ever man placed in so desperate a position ? ” he 
 kept asking, with supreme self-pity and an ever¬ 
 growing anger against this woman, who, weak as 
 she had been in so many situations, was too strong 
 for him in this. 
 
 All his hopes of the rich marriage, the propping 
 up of his bank’s failing credit, seemed to melt 
 away into thin air, and he saw himself, in imagi¬ 
 nation, half-ruined, discredited, perhaps even dis¬ 
 graced. “ What was he to do ? ” he asked himself 
 for the twentieth time that night. 
 
 “ Let us go back to the house,” he said sullenly; 
 “we shall have more time to talk, and we don’t 
 want to meet these chattering fools coming out of 
 church.” 
 
 She did not answer, but turned away with him, 
 and together they slowly retraced their steps. Bor a 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 353 
 
 few minutes they walked on in silence; then Angela 
 suddenly stopped, and in the grey moonlight, faced 
 him. 
 
 “ Miguel,’ 5 she said in quiet tones, “ you are think¬ 
 ing of a means to escape—of some subterfuge to put 
 me off, and marry this woman. If I thought you 
 could do this, I would go to her to-night and tell 
 her everything.” Then gradually raising her voice, 
 as anger and passionate rage got the better of her 
 reason, she continued, “ I have said you shall never 
 marry her, and you shall not. Now, decide either 
 to give up all idea of it, or to be dragged down to 
 share my ruin and disgrace. It is no use to lie to 
 me any longer-” 
 
 “ Hush ! ” he said fearfully. “ Hush! for Heaven’s 
 sake! I hear people crossing the fields behind us ! 
 They will hear— ” And he looked nervously 
 over his shoulder. 
 
 “ Let them hear! ” she went on furiously, stamping 
 her foot and still further raising her voice. “ All the 
 world shall hear—and at once, unless you-” 
 
 “ Be silent! ” he hissed, “ you mad woman ! ” And 
 he seized her by the arm, hardly knowing what he 
 did in his intense agitation. 
 
 “ Coward! ” she screamed, beside herself with 
 
 2 A 
 
354 
 
 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 fury, as slie raised her small hand and struck him 
 across the face. 
 
 As though the supreme moment of tempestuous 
 
 i 
 
 passion had exhausted all her physical energies, she 
 reeled forward and sank, with a low groan, on the 
 snow-covered ground beneath her. 
 
 Angela’s overstrained heart had given way, and 
 the sudden collapse was pitiful to look upon. 
 
 Gonzalo sprang forward and partially caught her 
 as she fell. 
 
 “ Angela! Angela ! ” he exclaimed. “ Are you 
 ill ? ” 
 
 But no answer came from the parted lips. Her 
 eyes turned slowly towards his face, but seemed to 
 see something beyond. 
 
 “ Speak to me, Angela! ” he said in violently 
 agitated tones, as he noted the swiftly changing look 
 upon her pallid face. “ Tell me you are not hurt; I 
 hear people coming; help will be here in a minute, 
 and we can carry you to the house. Speak to me, 
 Angela! speak to me!” And there was a ring of 
 genuine pathos in the Spaniard’s voice as he uttered 
 the hurried words. 
 
 Still Angela spoke not, moved not. The moments 
 slowly passed—moments which seemed like hours 
 
OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 355 
 
 to Gonzalo in his terror of the unknown calamity 
 which had befallen her. Then relief came; voices 
 behind them broke the awful stillness of the night. 
 A group of hurrying figures arrived on the scene, and 
 a second later, Eustace Bevan knelt beside his 
 stricken wife, supporting her head on his arm and 
 knee. Gonzalo, having resigned his burden, fell 
 back a pace or two. 
 
 “ A doctor—one of you go for a doctor as quickly 
 as possible! ” said Sir Eustace, in quiet, quick tones, 
 and immediately a young man present set off at his 
 best speed to the village. 
 
 Almost at the same moment, Angela seemed to 
 rally. Slightly turning her head, she recognized her 
 husband and whispered his name. He bent down 
 to catch her. words. And then the Spaniard ground 
 his teeth, as he thought that Angela’s threat was 
 to be put into execution, and that the dreaded con¬ 
 fession could no longer be delayed. 
 
 “ Eustace ! ” again murmured the feeble lips, whilst 
 those present hardly seemed to breathe, as Angela 
 raised her eyes dully to the strong, noble face bend¬ 
 ing over her. “ Husband—forgive! ” And there was 
 an appeal in the dying eyes which was meant for 
 him alone, and which by him alone was understood. 
 
356 OUT OF THE DARKNESS. 
 
 He leant down still lower, ancl whispered gently 
 in her ear— 
 
 “ I understand. Yes; I forgive, poor girl! I 
 forgive.” 
 
 And as the errant soul sped on its winged way, 
 Eustace Bevan bent his head and laid his lips with 
 reverent tenderness on hers, beautiful even in death. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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 when every page threatens to bring down doom on the head of the miserable Mark. Will 
 he confess? Will he drown himself? Will Vincent denounce him? Will Caffyn inform 
 on him ? Will his wife abandon him ?—we ask eagerly as we read, and cannot cease 
 reading till the puzzle is solved in a series of exciting situations.’ 
 
 THE PARIAH. Popular Edition. Crown 8vo. 6 j-. Cheap 
 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 From The Saturday Review. —‘ In “ The Pariah’’ we are more than ever struck 
 by the sharp intuitive perception and the satirical balancing of judgment which makes 
 the author’s writings such extremely entertaining reading. There is not a dull page—we 
 might say, not a dull sentence—in it. . . . The girls are delightfully drawn, especially 
 the bewitching Margot and the childish Lettice. Nothing that polish and finish, clever¬ 
 ness, humour, wit and sarcasm can give us is left out.’ 
 
 VICE VERSA ; or, A Lesson to Fathers. Cheap Edition. 
 
 Crown 8vo. limp red cloth, 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 From The Saturday Review.— 1 If ever there was a book made up from beginning 
 to end of laughter, and yet not a comic book, or a “ merry ” book, or a book of jokes, or 
 a book of pictures, or a jest book, or a tom-fool book, but a perfectly sober and serious 
 book, in the reading of which a sober man may laugh without shame from beginning to 
 end, it is the book called “Vice Versa; or, A Lesson to Fathers.” . . . We close the 
 book, recommending it very earnestly to all fathers in the first instance, and their sons, 
 nephews, uncles, and male cousins next.’ 
 
 A FALLEN IDOL. Cheap Edition. Crown 8vo. limp red 
 
 cloth, 2 s. 6 d. 
 
 From The Times. —‘ Will delight the multitudinous public that laughed over “Vice 
 Versa.” . . . The boy who brings the accursed image to Champion’s house, Mr. Bales, 
 the artist’s factotum, and, above all, Mr. Yarker, the ex-butler who has turned police¬ 
 man, are figures whom it is as pleasant to meet as it is impossible to forget.' 
 
 LYRE AND LANCET. With 24 Full-page Illustrations 
 
 Square i6mo. 3-r. 
 
 From The Speaker. — ‘ Mr. Anstey has surpassed himself in “Lyre and Lancet.” 
 . . . One of the brightest and most entertaining bits of comedy we have had for many 
 a day.’ 
 
 From The Globe. —‘The little book is amusing from beginning to end.’ 
 
 From The Scotsman. —‘The story makes most delightful reading, full of quiet 
 fun.' 
 
 London : SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 15 Waterloo Place. 
 
NOVELS by Jttrs. HUMPHRY WARD. 
 
 Second Edition, Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 SIR GEORGE TRESSADY. 
 
 From THE TIMES.—‘In every sense this is a remarkable novel. ... The 
 writer takes an even wider range than before, and deals with contemporary politics and 
 the burning questions of the morrow with the verve and no little of the knowledge of 
 a Disraeli. . . . The charm of the novel is the actuality of the personages. Mrs. Ward 
 has been living with them : so they live and breathe.’ 
 
 From THE STANDARD.—‘ “ Sir George Tressady” is an exceedingly able boo'<. 
 We doubt if any other living woman could have written it. . . . It is a work that does 
 her heart and imagination infinite credit.’ 
 
 Fifteenth Edition , Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 MARCELLA. 
 
 From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.—Marcella ” is unquestionably stronger 
 in interest than anything the author has written. . . . The novel comprises scenes of 
 striking power, is skilfully developed, and strong in the qualities of observation and 
 characterisation , 
 
 From THE CHRISTIAN WORLD.—* “ Marcella” is worthy of a great repu¬ 
 tation, and will be read hereafter as a living picture, boldly outlined and vividly coloured, 
 of a complex, a difficult, but withal a profoundly interesting age.’ 
 
 From THE TIMES.—‘Mrs. Humphry Ward again thrusts her hand into the hot 
 fire of living interests. Perhaps from this reason not a page is insipid. Everywhere is 
 fresh, bright “actuality;” everywhere are touches of intimacy with the world which 
 she describes.’ 
 
 Ninth Edition , Crown 8vo. 6s. 
 
 Cheap Popular Edition , bound in limp cloth, Crown 8vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 The History of David Grieve. 
 
 From THE SATURDAY REVIEW.—David Grieve ” is called the history 
 of one man ; it is in reality the history of a great many men and several women. All 
 these men and all these women are clearly, distinctly, and powerfully drawn ; there is 
 not from the beginning to the end of the long gallery of portraits in the book a single 
 one which is not highly finished. . . . This, as every novelist will understand, is very 
 high commendation.’ 
 
 From THE SPEAKER.—‘This we can affirm—that in masterly grasp of the 
 various phases of spiritual thought and conflict in the England of to-day, “ David Grieve” 
 stands alone in modern fiction, and must be confessed as what it is—a masterpiece.’ 
 
 From THE TIMES.—‘ The story is, we cannot doubt, better told ; the writer knows 
 more of her art than when she achieved in “ Robert Elsmere ” a rarely equalled success.’ 
 
 Twenty-seventh Edition , Crown 8vo. 6 j. 
 
 Cheap Popular Edition, bound in limp cloth. Crown 8vo. 2 s. 6d. 
 
 Cabinet Edition, Two Volumes, Small 8vo. 12 s. 
 
 ROBERT ELSMERE. 
 
 From THE ATHENAEUM.—‘In “Robert Elsmere” the burning questions 
 between old-fashioned faith and the new Christianity are worked out in the lives of the 
 characters with a fulness of knowledge, a breadth of appreciation, and a critical talent 
 which show a rare combination of gifts of a very high order.’ 
 
 From THE GUARDIAN.—‘ A chef a’ceuvre of that kind of quiet evolution of 
 character through circumstances, introduced into English literature by Miss Austen, and 
 carried to perfection in France by George Sand. . . . We thank Mrs. Ward for pleasure 
 and profit in reading her book, which has refreshed actually the first and deepest springs 
 of feeling, while it has charmed the literary sense.’ 
 
 From THE SPECTATOR.—‘This is a very remarkable book. . . . Profoundly 
 as we differ from Mrs. Humphry Ward’s criticism of Christianity, we recognise in her 
 book one of the most striking pi-tures of a sincere religious ideal that has ever been 
 presented to our generation under the disguise of the modern novel.’ 
 
 London; SMITH, ELDER, & CO , 15 Waterloo Place. 
 
RARE BOOK 
 COLLECTION 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 AT 
 
 CHAPEL HILL 
 
 Smith Elder 
 1171