l>*r 
 
 \ 
 
 \ 
 
 / 7 i 
 
 'M 
 
 / / 
 
 / / 
 / ■ , 
 
 iU 
 
BOOK OARD 
 
 Please keep this card in 
 book pocket 
 
 1 
 
 
 i er 
 
 u 
 
 CI 
 
 g! 
 
 1 ) 
 
 II 
 
 S 
 
 iZ 
 
 
 1 «« 
 
 hi 
 
 II 
 
 a 
 
 h-t 
 
 1/ 
 
 & 
 
 i i 
 
 ir 
 
 ^ 
 
 l.-i 
 
 ►^ 
 
 a 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 t— 1 
 
 i 
 
 s 
 
 21 h 
 
 h-.; 
 
 1 
 
 i i 
 
 i_ ; 
 
 h- 
 
 
 3 
 
 Q£ 
 
 
 i r ; 
 
 •a. 
 
 ! . i 
 
 i 
 
 5 
 
 CT cr> K 
 
 r 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 
 
 NORTH CAROLINA 
 
 ENDOWED BY THE 
 
 DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC 
 
 SOCIETIES 
 
 PR4494 
 
 .H4 
 
 1884 
 
UNIVERSITY OF N.C AT CHAPEL HILL 
 
 00014404290 
 
 This book is due at the LOUIS R WILSON I IRR ar v ,k 
 
 t=M=^&mLjrn 
 
THE PICCADILLY NOVELS 
 
 POPULAR STORIES BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 Crown Svo., cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 By MRS. ALEXANDER. 
 Maid, Wife, or "Widow? 
 
 By WALTER BESANT & JAMES RICE. 
 
 Ready-Money Mor- 
 
 tiboy. 
 My Little Girl. 
 Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 With Harp & Crown. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 Monks of Thelema. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's 
 
 Bay. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 Ten Years' Tenant. 
 Chaplain of the Fleet 
 
 By WALTER BESANT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. 
 
 By ROBERT.BUCHANAN. 
 A Child of Nature. I Martyrdom of Made- 
 God and the Man. I line. 
 Shadow of the Sword | Love Me for Ever. 
 
 By MRS. LOVETT CAMERON. 
 Deceivers Ever. | Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 By MORTIMER COLLINS. 
 Sweet Anne Page. | Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 
 By MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 The Village Comedy. 
 You Play Me False. 
 
 By WILKIE 
 Antonina. 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 The Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 The Woman in White 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 
 COLLINS. 
 Miss or Mrs. ? 
 The New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Law and the 
 
 Lady. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 The Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 
 By DUTTON COOK. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 By WILLIAM CYPLES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 By J. LEITH DERWENT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. 
 
 By M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. 
 
 By MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
 By R. E. FRANCILLON. 
 Olympia. I Queen Cophetua. 
 
 One by One. 
 
 By EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 By CHARLES GIBBON. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 In Love and War. 
 What willWorld say? 
 For the King. 
 In Honour Bound. 
 
 Queen of the Meadow 
 In Pastures Green. 
 Flower of the Forest. 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 The Braes of Yarrow. 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 
 By THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 By JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. I Sebastian Strome. 
 
 Ellice Quentin. | Prince Saroni's Wife 
 
 Dust. 
 
 By SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 By MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thornicroft's Model. | The Leaden Casket. 
 
 By JEAN INGELOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 By HENRY JAMES, Jun. 
 Confidence. 
 
 By HARRIETT JAY. 
 Queen of Connaught. | The Dark Colleen. 
 
 By HENRY KINGSLEY. 
 Number Seventeen. | Oakshott Castle. 
 
 CHATTO AND V/INDUS, PICCADILLY, LOAD ON, IV. [1 
 
THE PICCADILLY NOVELS— continued. 
 
 Bv E. LYNN LINTON. 
 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 The Atonement of 
 
 Leam Dundas. 
 The World Well Lost 
 
 Under Which Lor A ? 
 With a Silken Thread 
 Rebel of the Family. 
 ' My Love !' 
 
 By HENRY W, LUCY. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 By justin McCarthy. 
 
 Waterdale Neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Linley Rochford. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 Donna Quixote. 
 Comet of a Season. 
 
 By GEORGE MACDONALD, LL.D. 
 Paul Faber, Surgeon. 
 Thomas Wingfold, Curate. 
 
 By MR.?. MACDOXELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 By KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 Lost Rose. | The Evil Eye. 
 
 By FLORENCE MARRYAT. 
 Open ! Sesame ! | Written in Fire. 
 
 By JEAN MIDDLEMAS5. 
 Tcuch and Go. 
 
 By D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 A Life's Atonement. I Ccals of Fire. 
 Joseph's Coat. | A Model Father. 
 
 Val Strange. 
 
 By MRS. OLITHANT. 
 Whiteladies. 
 
 By JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd 
 The Bestof Husbands 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 Halves. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 What He Cost Her. 
 Less Black than 
 we're Painted. 
 
 Kit : a Memory. 
 
 By E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. 
 
 By Proxy. 
 
 High Spirits. 
 
 Under One Roof. 
 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 
 A Confidential Agent 
 
 From Exile. 
 
 A Grape fronia Thorn 
 
 For Cash Only. 
 
 By CHARLES READE. 
 
 It is Never Too Late 
 
 to Mend. 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg Woffington. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 The Double Marriage 
 Love Me Little, Love 
 
 Mo Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 Cloister and Hearth. 
 
 The Course of True 
 
 Love. 
 The Autobiography 
 
 of a Thief. 
 Put Yourself in His 
 
 Place. 
 Terrible Temptation 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 A Simpleton. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 Readiana. 
 
 By MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 
 By F. W. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. 
 
 By JOHN SAUNDERS. 
 Bound to the Wheel, j Guy Waterman. 
 One Against the | The Lion in the Path. 
 World. | The Two Dreamers. 
 
 By T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 
 By R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 By BERTHA THOMAS. 
 
 Proud Maisie. 
 
 I The Violin-player. 
 Cressida. 
 
 By ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 Way We Live Now. I Frau Frohmann. 
 American Senator. | Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 
 By FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 
 By T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 By SARAH TYTLER. 
 
 What She Came Through. 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 
 By J. S. WINTER. 
 
 Cavalry Life. 
 Regimental Legends. 
 
 2.] CHATTO AND IVINDUS, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W. 
 
YT-^ 
 
 0\J&3<*M&2y 
 
 HEART AND SCIENCE 
 
LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET 
 
./ 
 
 irrLj* < 
 
 rs*H 
 
 HEART AND SCIENCE 
 
 A STORY OF THE PRESENT TIME 
 
 BY 
 
 WILKIE COLLINS 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 Ifonboit 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1SS4 
 
 [All rights reserved] 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 
 University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/heartsciencestorOOcoll 
 
TO 
 
 SAEONY 
 
 (OF STEW YORK) 
 
 AETIST, PHOTOGRAPHER, 
 GOOD FRIEND. 
 
PEEFACE. 
 i. 
 
 TO HEADERS IN GENERAL. 
 
 You are the children of Old Mother England, on both sides of 
 the Atlantic ; yon foi'm the majoi'ity of buyers and borrowers 
 of novels ; and you judge of works of fiction by certain inbred 
 preferences, which but slightly influence the other great public 
 of readers on the continent of Europe. 
 
 The two qualities in fiction which hold the highest rank in 
 your estimation are : Character and Humour. Incident and 
 dramatic situation only occupy the second place in your favour, 
 A novel that tells no story, or that blunders perpetually in 
 trying to tell a story — a novel so entirely devoid of all sense 
 of the dramatic side of human life, that not even a theatrical 
 thief can find anything in it to steal — will nevertheless be a 
 work that wins (and keeps) your admiration, if it has humour 
 which dwells on your memory, and characters which enlarge 
 the circle of your friends. 
 
 I have myself always tried to combine the different merits 
 of a good novel, in one and the same work ; and I have 
 never succeeded in keeping an equal balance. In the present 
 story you will find the scales inclining, on the whole, in 
 favour of character and humour. This has not happened acci- 
 dentally. 
 
 Advancing years, and health that stands sadly in need of 
 improvement, warn me — if I am to vary my way of work — ■ 
 that I may have little time to lose. Without waiting for 
 future opportunities, I have kept your standard of merit more 
 constantly before my mind, in writing this book, than on some 
 former occasions. 
 
viii PREFACE. 
 
 Still persisting in telling you a story — still refusing to get 
 tip in the pulpit and preach, or to invade the platform and 
 lecture, or to take you by the buttonhole in confidence and 
 make fun of my Art — it has been my chief effort to draw the 
 characters with a vigour and breadth of treatment, derived 
 from the nearest and truest view that I could get of the one 
 model, Nature. Whether I shall at once succeed in adding to 
 the circle of your friends in the world of fiction — or whether 
 you will hurry through the narrative, and only discover on a 
 later reading that it is the characters which have interested 
 you in the story — remains to be seen. Either way, your 
 sympathy will find me grateful ; for, either way, my motive 
 has been to please you. 
 
 During its periodical publication correspondents, noting 
 certain passages in ' Heart and Science,' inquired how I came 
 to think of writing this book. The question may be readily 
 answered in better words than mine. My book has been 
 written in harmony with opinions which have an indisputable 
 claim to respect. Let them speak for themselves. 
 
 Shaeespeaee's Opinion. — ' It was always yet the trick of 
 our English nation, if they have a good thing, to make it too 
 common.' (King Henry IV., Part II.) 
 
 "Walter Scott's Opinion. — ' I am no great believer in the 
 extreme degi'ee of improvement to be derived from the advance- 
 ment of Science ; for every study of that nature tends, when 
 pushed to a certain extent, to harden the heart.' (Letter to 
 Miss Edgeicorth.) 
 
 Eaeaday's Opinion. — ' The education of the judgment has 
 for its first and its last step — Humility. ' (Lecture on Mental 
 Education at the Royal Institution.) 
 
 Having given my reasons for writing the book, let me 
 conclude by telling you what I have kept out of the book. 
 
 It encourages me to think that we have many sympathies 
 in common ; and among them, that most of us have taken to 
 our hearts domestic pets. Writing under this conviction, I 
 have not forgotten my responsibility towards you, and towards 
 my Art, in pleading the cause of the harmless and affectionate 
 beings of God's creation. From first to last, you are purposely 
 left in ignorance of the hideous secrets of Vivisection. The 
 outside of the laboratory is a necessary object in my landscape 
 
PREFACE. ix 
 
 — but I never once open the door and invite you to look in. 
 I trace, in one of my characters, the result of the habitual 
 practice of cruelty (no matter under what pretence) in fatally 
 deteriorating the nature of man — and I leave the pictm^e to 
 speak for itself. My own personal feeling has throughout 
 been held in check. Tbaukfully accepting the assistance 
 rendered to me by Miss Frances Power Cobbe, by Mrs. H. M. 
 Gordon, and by Surgeon-General Gordon, C.B., I have borne 
 in mind (as they have borne in mind) the value of temperate 
 advocacy to a good cause. 
 
 With this, your servant withdraws, and leaves you to the 
 story. 
 
 II. 
 
 TO HEADERS IN PAIiTlCULAE. 
 
 If you are numbered among those good friends of ours, who 
 are especially capable of understanding us and sympathising 
 with us, be pleased to accept the expression of our gratitude, 
 and to pass over the lines that follow. 
 
 But if you open our books with a mind soured by distrust ; 
 if you habitually anticipate inexcusable ignorance where the 
 course of the story happens to turn on matters of fact ; it is 
 you, Sir or Madam, whom I now want. Not to dispute with 
 you — far from it ! I own with sorrow that your severity does 
 occasionally encounter us on assailable ground. But there 
 are exceptions, even to the stiffest rules. Some of us are not 
 guilty of wilful carelessness : some of us apply to competent 
 authority, when we write on subjects beyond the range of our 
 own experience. Having thus far ventured to speak for my 
 colleagues, you will conclude that I am paving the way for 
 speaking next of myself. As our cousins in the United States 
 say — that is so. 
 
 In the following pages, there are allusions to medical 
 practice at the bedside ; leading in due course to physiological 
 questions which connect themselves with the main interest of 
 the novel. In traversing this delicate ground, you have not 
 been forgotten. Before the manuscript went to the printer, it 
 was submitted for correction to an eminent London surgeon, 
 whose experience extends over a period of forty years. 
 
 Again : a supposed discovery in connection with brain 
 disease, which occupies a place of importance, is not (as you 
 
x PREFACE. 
 
 may suspect) the fantastic product of the author's imagination. 
 Finding his materials everywhei'e, he has even contrived to 
 make use of Professor Ferrier — writing on the ' Localisation 
 of Cerebral Disease,' and closing a confession of the present 
 result of post-mortem examination of brains in these words : 
 1 We cannot even be sure, whether many of the changes dis- 
 covered are the cause or the result of the Disease, or whether 
 the two are the conjoint results of a common cause.' Plenty 
 of elbow room here for the spirit of discovery. 
 
 On becoming acquainted with ' Mrs. Gallilee,' you will find 
 her talking — and you will sometimes even find the author 
 talking — of scientific subjects in general. You will naturally 
 conclude that it is ' all gross caricature.' No ; it is all pro- 
 miscuous reading. Let me spare you a long list of books 
 consulted, and of newspapers and magazines mutilated for 
 ' cuttings ' — and appeal to examples once more, and for the 
 last time. 
 
 "When ' Mrs. Gallilee ' wonders whether ' Carmina has ever 
 heard of the Diathermancy of Ebonite,' she is thinking of pro- 
 ceedings at a conversazione in honour of Professor Helmholtz 
 (reported in the ' Times ' of April 12, 1881), at which ' radiant 
 energy ' was indeed converted into ' sonorous vibrations.' 
 Again : when she contemplates taking part in a discussion on 
 Matter, she has been slily looking into Chambers's Encyclo- 
 paedia, and has there discovered the interesting conditions 
 on which she can ' dispense with the idea of atoms.' Briefly, 
 not a word of my own invention occurs, when Mrs. Gallilee 
 turns the learned side of her character to your worships' 
 view. 
 
 I have now only to add that the story has been subjected 
 to careful revision, and I hope to consequent improvement, in 
 its present form of publication. Past experience has shown 
 me that you have a sharp eye for slips of the pen, and that 
 you thoroughly enjoy convicting a novelist, by post, of having 
 made a mistake. Whatever pains I may have taken to dis- 
 appoint you, it is quite likely that we may be again indebted 
 to each other on this occasion. So, to our infinite relief on 
 either side, we part friends after all. 
 
 w. c. 
 
 London: Ajrril 1S83 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The weary old nineteenth century had advanced into the last 
 twenty years of its life. 
 
 Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid Vere (of the 
 Royal College of Surgeons) stood at the window of his con- 
 suiting-room in London, looking out at the summer sunshine, 
 and the quiet dusty street. 
 
 He had received a warning, familiar to the busy men of 
 our time — the warning from over-wrought Nature, which 
 counsels rest after excessive work. With a prosperous career 
 before him, he had been compelled (at only thirty-one years 
 of age) to ask a colleague to take charge of his practice, and 
 to give the brain which he had cruelly wearied a rest of some 
 months to come. On the next day he had arranged to embark 
 for the Mediterranean in a friend's yacht. 
 
 An active man, devoted heart and soul to his profession, is 
 not a man who can learn the happy knack of being idle at a 
 moment's notice. Ovid found the mere act of looking out of 
 window, and wondering what he should do next, more than he 
 had patience to endure. 
 
 He turned to his study table. If he had possessed a wife 
 to look after him, he would have been reminded that he and 
 his study table had nothing in common, under present cir- 
 cumstances. Being deprived of conjugal superintendence, he 
 broke through his own rules. His restless hand unlocked a 
 drawer, and took out a manuscript work on medicine of his 
 own writing. ' Surely,' he thought, ' I may finish a chapter, 
 before I go to sea to-morrow ? ' 
 
 His head, steady enough while he was only looking out of 
 window, began to swim before he had got to the bottom of a 
 
2 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 page. The last sentences of the unfinished chapter alluded to 
 a matter of fact which he had not yet verified. In emergen- 
 cies of any sort, he was a patient man and a man of resource. 
 The necessary verification could he accomplished by a visit to 
 the College of Surgeons, situated in the great square called 
 Lincoln's Inn Fields. Here was a motive for a walk — with 
 an occupation a,t the end of it, which only involved a qaestion 
 to a Curator, and an examination of a Specimen. He locked 
 up his manuscript, and set forth for Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 When two friends happen to meet in the street, do they ever 
 look back along the procession of small circumstances which 
 has led them both, from the starting-point of their own 
 houses, to the same spot, at the same time ? Not one man in 
 ten thousand has probably ever thought of making such a 
 fantastic inquiry as this. And consequently not one man in 
 ten thousand, living in the midst of reality, has discovered 
 that he is also living in the midst of romance. 
 
 From the moment when the young surgeon closed the 
 door of his house, he was walking blindfold on his way to a 
 patient in the future who was personally still a stranger to 
 him. He never reached the College of Surgeons. He never 
 embarked on his friend's yacht. 
 
 What were the obstacles which turned him aside from the 
 course that he had in view ? Nothing but a series of trivial 
 circumstances, occurring in the experience of a man who goes 
 out for a walk. 
 
 He had only reached the next street, when the first of the 
 circumstances presented itself in the shape of a friend's car- 
 riage, which drew up at his side. A bright benevolent face, 
 encircled by bushy white whiskers, looked out of the window, 
 and a hearty voice asked him if he had completed his arrange- 
 ments for a long holiday. Having replied to this, Ovid had a 
 question to put, on his side. 
 
 ' How is our patient, Sir Richard ? ' 
 
 ' Out of danger.' 
 
 'And what do the other doctors say now ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 3 
 
 Sir Richard laughed. ' They say it's my luck.' 
 
 ' Not convinced yet ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least. Who has ever succeeded in convincing 
 fools ? Let's try another subject. Is your mother reconciled 
 to your new plans ? ' 
 
 ' I can hardly tell you. My mother is in a state of inde- 
 scribable agitation. Her brother's Will has been found in 
 Italy. And his daughter may arrive in England at a moment's 
 notice.' 
 
 ' Unmarried ? ' Sir Richard asked slyly. 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 ' Any money ? ' 
 
 Ovid smiled — not cheerfully. ' Do you think my poor 
 mother would be in a state of indescribable agitation if there 
 was not money ? ' 
 
 Sir Richard was one of those obsolete elderly persons who 
 qnote Shakspeare. 'Ah, well,' he said, 'your mother is like 
 Kent in King Leai* — she's too old to leaim. Is she as fond as 
 ever of lace ? and as keen as ever after a bargain ? ' He 
 handed a card out of the carriage window. ' I have just 
 seen an old patient of mine,' he resumed, ' in whom I feel a 
 friendly interest. She is retiring from business by my advice ; 
 and she asks me, of all the people in the woi-ld, to help her in 
 getting rid of some wonderful " remnants " at "an alarming 
 sacrifice ! " My kind regards to your mother — and there's a 
 chance for her. One last word, Ovid. Don't be in too great 
 a hurry to return to work ; yon have plenty of spare time 
 before you. Look at my wise dog here, on the front seat, 
 and learn from him to be idle and happy.' 
 
 The great physician had another companion, besides his 
 dog. A friend, bound Ins way, had accepted a seat in the car- 
 riage. ' Who is that handsome young man ? ' the friend asked 
 as they drove away. 
 
 ' He is the only son of a relative of mine, dead many years 
 since,' Sir Richard replied. ' Don't forget that you have seen 
 him.' 
 
 ' May I ask why ? ' 
 
 ' He has not yet reached the prime of life ; and he is on 
 the way — already far on the way — to be one of the foremost 
 men of his time. With a private fortune, he has woi'ked as 
 few surgeons work who have their bread to get by their pro- 
 fession. The money comes from his late father. His mother 
 
 b2 
 
4 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 has married again. The second husband is a lazy, harmless 
 old fellow, named Gallilee ; possessed of one small attraction 
 — fifty thousand pounds, grubbed up in trade. There are two 
 little daughters, by the second marriage. With such a step- 
 father as I have described, and, between ourselves, with a 
 mother who has rather more than her fair share of the jealous, 
 envious, and money-loving pi'opensities of humanity, my 
 friend Ovid is not diverted by family influences from the 
 close pursuit of his profession. You will tell me, he may 
 marry. Well ! if he gets a good wife she will be a circum- 
 stance in his favour. But, so far as I know, he is not that 
 sort of man. Cooler, a deal cooler, with women than I am — 
 though I am old enough to be his father. Let us get back to 
 his professional prospects. You heard him ask me about a 
 patient ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 1 Very good. Death was knocking hard at that patient's 
 door, when I called Ovid into consultation with myself and 
 with two other doctors who differed with me. It was one of 
 the very rare cases in which the old practice of bleeding was, 
 to my mind, the only treatment to pursue. I never told him 
 that this was the point in dispute between me and the other 
 men — and they said nothing, on their side, at my express 
 request. He took his time to examine and think ; and he 
 saw the chance of saving the patient by venturing on the use 
 of the lancet as plainly as I did — with my forty years' ex- 
 perience to teach me ? A young man with that capacity for 
 discovering the remote cause of disease, and with that superi- 
 ority to the trammels of routine in applying the treatment, 
 has no common medical career before him. His holiday will 
 set his health right in next to no time. I see nothing in his 
 way, at present — not even a woman ! But,' said Sir Richard, 
 with the explanatory wink of one eye peculiar (iike quotation 
 from Shakspeare) to persons of the obsolete old time, ' toe 
 know better than to forecast the weather if a petticoat in- 
 fluence appears on the horizon. One prediction, however, I 
 do risk. If his mother buys any of that lace — I know who 
 will get the best of the bargain ! ' 
 
 The conditions under which the old doctor was willing to 
 assume the character of a prophet never occurred. Ovid 
 remembered that he was going away on a long voyage — and 
 Ovid was a good son. He bought some of the lace, as a 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 5 
 
 present to his mother at parting ; and, most assuredly, he got 
 the worst of the bargain. 
 
 His shortest way back to the straight course, from which 
 he had deviated in making his purchase, led him into a by- 
 street, near the flower and fruit market of Covent Garden. 
 Here he met with the second in number of the circumstances 
 which attended his walk. He found himself encountered by 
 an intolerably filthy smell. 
 
 The market was not out of the direct way to Lincoln's 
 Inn Fields. He fled from the smell to the flowery and fruity 
 perfumes of Covent Garden, and completed the disinfecting 
 process by means of a basket of strawberries. 
 
 Why did a poor ragged little girl, carrying a big baby, 
 look with such longing eyes at the delicious fruit, that, as a 
 kind-hearted man, he had no alternative but to make her a 
 present of the strawberries ? Why did two dirty boy-friends 
 of hers appear immediately afterwards with news of Punch in 
 a neighbouring street, and lead the little girl away with them? 
 Why did these two new circumstances inspire him with a fear 
 that the boys might take the strawberries away from the poor 
 child, burdened as she was with a baby almost as big as her- 
 self ? When we suffer from overwrought nerves we arc 
 easily disturbed by small misgivings. The idle man of 
 wearied mind followed the friends of the street drama to see 
 what happened, forgetful of the College of Surgeons, and 
 finding a new fund of amusement in himself. 
 
 Arrived in the neighbouring street, he discovered that the 
 Punch performance had come to an end — like some other 
 dramatic performances of higher pretensions — for want of a 
 paying audience. He waited at a certain distance watching 
 the children. His doubts had done them an injustice. The 
 boys only said, ' Give us a taste.' And the liberal little girl 
 rewarded their good conduct. An equitable and friendly 
 division of the strawberries was made in a quiet corner. 
 
 Where — always excepting the case of a miser or a million- 
 aire — is the man to be found who could have returned to the 
 pursuit of his own affairs, under these circumstances, without 
 encouraging the practice of the social virtues by a present of 
 a few pennies ? Ovid was not that man. 
 
 Putting back in his breast-pocket the bag in which he 
 was accustomed to carry small coins for small charities, his 
 hand touched something which felt like the envelope of a 
 
6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 letter. He took it out — looked at it with an expression of 
 annoyance and surprise — and once more turned aside from the 
 direct way to Lincoln's Inn Fields. 
 
 Tlie envelope contained his last prescription. Having 
 occasion to consult the ' Pharmacopoeia,' he had written it at 
 home, and had promised to send it to the patient immediately. 
 In the absorbing interest of making his preparations for 
 leaving England, it had remained forgotten in his pocket for 
 nearly two days. The one means of setting this unlucky 
 error right, without further delay, was to deliver his prescrip- 
 tion himself, and to break through his own rules for the 
 second time by attending to a case of illness — purely as an act 
 of atonement. 
 
 The patient lived in a house nearly opposite to the British 
 Museum. In this northward direction he now set his face. 
 
 He made his apologies, and gave his advice — and, getting 
 out again into the street, tried once more to shape his course 
 for the College of Surgeons. Passing the walled garden of 
 the British Museum, he looked towards it — and paused. What 
 had stopped him, this time ? Nothing but a tree, fluttering 
 its bi'ight leaves in the faint summer air. 
 
 A marked change showed itself in his face. 
 
 The moment before he had been passing in review the 
 curious little interruptions which had attended his walk, and 
 had wondered humorously what would happen nest. Two 
 women, meeting him, and seeing a smile on his lips, had said 
 to each other, ' There goes a happy man.' If tbey had en- 
 countered him now, they might have reversed their opinion. 
 They would have seen a man thinking of something once dear 
 to him, in the far and unforgotten past. 
 
 He crossed over the road to the side-street which faced 
 the garden. His head drooped; 'he moved mechanically. 
 Arrived in the street, he lifted his eyes, and stood (within 
 nearer view of it) looking at the tree. 
 
 Hundreds of miles away from London, under another tree 
 of that gentle family, this man — so cold to women in after- 
 life — had made child-love, in the days of his boyhood, to a 
 sweet little cousin long since numbered with the dead. The 
 present time, with its interests and anxieties, passed away 
 like the passing of a dream. Little by little, as the minutes 
 followed each other, his sore heart felt a calming influence, 
 breathed mysteriously from those fluttering leaves. Still 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. j 
 
 forgetful of the outward world, lie wandered slowly up the 
 street ; living in the old scenes ; thinking, not unhappily now, 
 the old thoughts. 
 
 Where, in all London, could he have found a solitude more 
 congenial to a dreamer in daylight ? 
 
 The broad district, stretching northward and eastward 
 from the British Museum, is like the quiet quarter of a 
 country town set in the midst of the roaring activities of the 
 largest city in the world. Here, you can cross the road, 
 without putting life or limb in peril. Here, when you are 
 idle, you can saunter and look about, safe from collision with 
 merciless straight- walkers whose time is money, and whose 
 destiny is business. Here, you may meet undisturbed cats on 
 the pavement, in the full glare of noontide, and may watch, 
 through the railings of the squares, children at play on grass 
 that almost glows with the lustre of the Sussex Downs. This 
 haven of rest is alike out of the way of fashion and business ; 
 and is yet within easy reach of the one and the other. Ovid 
 paused in a vast and silent square. If his little cousin had 
 lived, he might perhaps have seen his children at play in some 
 such secluded place as this. 
 
 The birds were singing blithely in the trees. A trades- 
 man's boy, delivering fish to the cook, and two girls watering 
 flowers at a window, were the only living creatures near him, 
 as he roused himself and looked around. 
 
 Where was the College ? Where were the Curator and 
 the Specimen ? Those questions brought with them no feeling 
 of anxiety or surprise. He turned, in a half-awakened way, with- 
 out a wish or a purpose — turned, and listlessly looked back. 
 
 Two foot-passengers, dressed in mourning garments, were 
 rapidly approaching him. One of them, as they came nearer, 
 proved to be an aged woman. The other was a girl. 
 
 He drew aside to let them pass. They looked at him with 
 the lukewarm curiosity of strangers, as they went by. The 
 girl's eyes and his met. Only the glance of an instant — and 
 its influence held him for life. 
 
 She went swiftly on, as little impressed by the chance 
 meeting as the old woman at her side. Without stopping to 
 think — without being capable of thought— Ovid followed 
 them. Never before had he done what he was doing now ; 
 he was, literally, out of himself. He saw them ahead of him, 
 and he sav) nothing else. 
 
8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Towards the middle of the square, they turned aside into 
 a street on the left. A concert-hall was in the street — with 
 doors open for an afternoon performance. They entered the 
 ball. Still out of himself, Ovid followed them. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A room of magnificent size ; furnished with every conventional 
 luxury that money can buy ; lavishly provided with news- 
 papers and books of reference ; lighted by tall windows in the 
 day-time, and by gorgeous chandeliers at night, may be never- 
 theless one of the dreariest places of rest and shelter that can 
 be found on the civilised earth. Such places exist, by hundreds, 
 in those hotels of monstrous proportions and pretensions, which 
 now engulph the traveller who ends his journey on the pier or 
 the platform. It may be that we feel ourselves to be strangers 
 among strangers — it may be that there is something innately 
 repellent in splendid carpets and curtains, chairs and tables, 
 which have no social associations to recommend them — it may 
 be that the mind loses its elasticity under the inevitable re- 
 straint on friendly communication, which expresses itself in 
 lowered tones and instinctive distrust of our next neighbour ; 
 but this alone is certain : life, in the public drawing-room of 
 a great hotel, is life with all its healthiest emanations perishing 
 in an exhausted receiver. 
 
 On the same day, and neai'ly at the same hour, when Ovid 
 had left his house, two women sat in a corner of the public 
 room, in one of the largest of the railway hotels latterly built 
 in London. 
 
 Without observing it themselves, they were objects of 
 curiosity to their fellow-travellers. They spoke to each other 
 in a foreign language. They were dressed in deep mourning 
 ■ — with an absence of fashion and a simplicity of material 
 which attracted the notice of every other woman in the room. 
 One of them wore a black veil over her gray hair. Her hands 
 were brown, and knotty at the joints ; her eyes looked un- 
 naturally bright for her age ; innumerable wrinkles crossed 
 and re- crossed her skinny face ; and her aquiline nose (as one 
 of the ladies pi'esent took occasion to remark) was so disas- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. g 
 
 t'ously like the nose of the great Duke of Wellington as to be 
 an offensive feature in the face of a woman. 
 
 The lady's companion, being a man, took a more merciful 
 view. ' She can't help being ugly,' he whispered. ' But see 
 how she looks at the girl with her. A good old creature, I 
 say, if ever there was one yet.' The lady eyed him, as only a 
 jealous woman can eye her husband, and whispered back, ' Of 
 course you're in love with that slip of a girl ! ' 
 
 She was a slip of a girl — and not even a tall slip. At 
 seventeen years of age, it was doubtful whether she would 
 ever grow to a better height. 
 
 But a girl who is too thin, and not even so tall as the 
 Venus de' Medici, may still be possessed of personal attrac- 
 tions. It was not altogether a matter of certainty, in this 
 ease, that the attractions were sufficiently remarkable to excite' 
 general admiration. The fine colour and the plump healthy 
 cheeks, the broad smile, the regular teeth, the well-developed 
 mouth, and the promising bosom, which form altogether the 
 average type of beauty found in the purely bred English 
 maiden, were not among the noticeable charms of the small 
 creature in gloomy black, shrinking into a corner of the big 
 room. She had very little colour of any sort to boast of. Her 
 hair was of so light a brown that it just escaped being flaxen ; 
 but it had the negative merit of not being forced down to her 
 eyebrows, and twisted into the hideous curly-wig which ex- 
 hibits a liberal equality of ugliness on the heads of women in 
 the present day. There was a delicacy of finish in her 
 features — in the nose and the lips especially — a sensitive 
 changefulness in the expression of her eyes (too dark in them- 
 selves to be quite in harmony with her light hair), and a 
 subtle yet simple witchery in her rare smile, which atoned, in 
 some degree at least, for want of complexion in the face and 
 of flesh in the figure. Men might dispute her claims to 
 beauty — but no one could deny that she was, in the common 
 phrase, an interesting person. Grace and refinement ; a quick- 
 ness of apprehension and a vivacity of movement, suggestive 
 of some foreign origin ; a childish readiness of wonder, in the 
 presence of new objects — and perhaps, under happier circum- 
 stances, a childish playi'ulness with persons whom she loved — 
 were all characteristic attractions of the modest stranger who 
 was in the charge of the ugly old woman, and who was palpably 
 the object of that wrinkled duenna's devoted love. 
 
10 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 A travelling writing-case stood open on a table near them. 
 In an interval of silence the girl looked at it reluctantly. 
 They had been talking of family affairs — and had spoken in 
 Italian, so as to keep their domestic secrets from the ears of 
 the strangers about them. The old woman was the first to 
 resume the conversation. 
 
 ' My Carmina, you really ought to write that letter,' she 
 said; 'the illustrious Mrs. Gallilee is waiting to hear of our 
 arrival in London.' 
 
 Carmina took up the pen, and put it down again with a 
 sigh. ' We only arrived last night,' she pleaded. ' Dear old 
 Teresa, let us have one day in London by ourselves ! ' 
 
 Teresa received this proposal with undisguised amazement 
 and alarm. 
 
 ' Jesu Maria ! a day in London — and your aunt waiting 
 for you all the time ! She is your second mother, my dear, 
 by appointment ; and her house is your new home. And you 
 propose to stop a whole day at an hotel, instead of going home. 
 Impossible! Write, my Carmina — write. See, here is the 
 address on a card: — "Fairfield Gardens." What a pretty 
 place it must be to live in. with such a name as that ! And a 
 sweet lady, no doubt. Come ! come ! ' 
 
 But Carmina still resisted. ' I have never even seen my 
 aunt,' she said. ' It is dreadful to pass my life with a stranger. 
 Remember, I was only a child when you came to us after my 
 mother's death. It is hardly six months yet since I lost my 
 father. I have no one but you, and, when I go to this new 
 home, you will leave me. I only ask for one more day to be 
 together, before we part.' 
 
 The poor old duenna drew back out of sight, in the shadow 
 of a curtain — and began to cry. Carmina took her hand, 
 under cover of a table-cloth ; Carmina knew how to console 
 her. ' We will go and see sights,' she whispered ; ' and, when 
 dinner-time comes, you shall have a glass of the Porto-porto- 
 wine.' 
 
 Teresa looked round out of the shadow, as easily comforted 
 as a child. ' Sights ! ' she exclaimed — and dried her tears. 
 ' Porto-porto-wine ! ' she repeated — and smacked her withered 
 lips at the relishing words. ' Ab, my child, you have not for- 
 gotten the consolations I told you of, when I lived in London 
 in my young days. To think of you, with an English father, 
 and never in London till now ! I used to go to museums and 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. n 
 
 concerts sometimes, when my English mistress was pleased 
 with me. That gracious lady often gave me a glass of the 
 fine strong purple wine. The Holy Virgin grant that Aunt 
 Gallilee may be as kind a woman ! Such a head of hair as 
 the other one she cannot hope to have. It was a joy to dress 
 it. Do you think I wouldn't stay here in Eng%ind with you 
 if I could ? What is to become of my old man in Italy, with 
 his cursed asthma, and nobody to nurse him ? Oh, but thoso 
 were dull years in London ! The black endless streets — the 
 dreadful Sundays — the hundreds of thousands of people, 
 always in a hurry ; always with grim faces set on business, 
 business, business ! I was glad to go back and be maiTied in 
 Italy. And here I am in London again, after God knows how 
 many years. No matter. We will enjoy ourselves to-day ; 
 and when we go to Madam Gallilee's to-morrow, we will tell 
 a little lie, and say we only arrived on the evening that has 
 not yet come.' 
 
 The duenna's sense of humour was so tickled by this pro- 
 spective view of the little lie, that she leaned back in her 
 chair and laughed. Carmina's rare smile showed itself faintly. 
 The terrible first interview with the unknown aunt still op- 
 pressed her. She took up a newspaper in despair. ' Oh, my 
 old dear ! ' she said, ' let us get out of this dreadful room, and 
 be reminded of Italy ! ' 
 
 Teresa lifted her ugly hands in bewilderment. ' Reminded 
 of Italy — in London ? ' 
 
 ' Is there no Italian music in London ? ' Carmina asked 
 suggestively. 
 
 The duenna's bright eyes answered this in their own lan- 
 guage. She snatched up the nearest newspaper. 
 
 It was then the height of the London concert season. 
 Morning performances of music were announced in rows. 
 Reading the advertised programmes, Carmina found them, in 
 one remarkable respect, all alike. They would have led an 
 ignorant stranger to wonder whether any such persons as 
 Italian composers, French composers, and English composers 
 had ever existed. The music offered to the English public 
 was music of exclusively German (and for the most part 
 modern German) origin. Carmina held the opinion — in com- 
 mon with Mozart and Rossini, as well as other people — that 
 music without melody is not music at all. She laid aside the 
 newspaper. 
 
12 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 The plan of going to a concert being thus abandoned, the 
 idea occurred to them of seeing pictures. Teresa, in search of 
 information, tried her luck at a great table in the middle of 
 the room, on which useful books were liberally displayed. 
 She returned with a catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibi- 
 tion (which someone had left on the table), and with the most 
 universally well-informed book, on a small scale, that has ever 
 enlightened humanity — modestly described on the title-page 
 as an Almanac. 
 
 Carmina opened the catalogue at the first page, and 
 discovered a list of Royal Academicians. Were all these 
 gentlemen celebrated painters ? Out of nearly forty names, 
 three only had made themselves generally known beyond 
 the limits of England. She turned to the last page. The 
 works of art on show numbered more than fifteen hundred. 
 Teresa, looking over her shoulder, made the same discovery. 
 ' Our heads will ache, and our feet will ache,' she remarked, 
 ' before we get out of that place.' Carmina laid aside the 
 catalogue. 
 
 Teresa opened the Almanac at hazard, and hit on the page 
 devoted to Amusements. Her next discovery led her to the 
 section inscribed ' Museums.' She scored an approving mark 
 at that place with her thumb-nail — and read the list in fluent 
 broken English. 
 
 The British Museum ? Teresa's memory of that magni- 
 ficent building recalled it vividly in one respect. She shook 
 her head. ' More headache and footache, there ! ' Bethnal 
 Green ; Indian Museum ; College of Sui'geons ; Practical 
 Geology ; South Kensington ; Patent Museum — all unknown 
 to Teresa. ' The saints preserve us ! what headaches and 
 footaches in all these, if they are as big as that other one ! ' 
 She went on with the list—and astonished everybody in the 
 room by suddenly clapping her hands. Sir John Soane's 
 Museum, Lincoln's Inn Fields. ' Ah, but I remember that ! 
 A nice little easy museum in a private house, and all sorts of 
 pretty things to see. My dear love, trust your old Teresa. 
 Come to Soane ! ' 
 
 In ten minutes more they were dressed, and on the steps 
 of the hotel. The bright sunlight, the pleasant air, invited 
 them to walk. On the same afternoon, when Ovid had set 
 forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn Fields, Carmina and Teresa set 
 forth on foot for Lincoln's Inn Fields. Trivial obstacles had 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 13 
 
 kept the man away from the College. Would trivial obstacles 
 keep the women away from the Museum ? 
 
 They crossed the Strand, and entered a street which led 
 out of it towards the North ; Teresa's pride in her memory 
 forbidding her thus far to ask their way. 
 
 Their talk — dwelling at first on Italy, and on the memory 
 of Carmina's Italian mother — reverted to the formidable 
 subject of Mrs. Gallilee. Teresa's hopeful view of the future 
 turned to the cousins, and drew the picture of two charming 
 little girls, eagerly waiting to give their innocent hearts to 
 their young relative from Italy. ' Ai^e there only two ?' she 
 said. ' Surely you told me there was a boy, besides the 
 girls ?' Carmina set her right. 'My cousin Ovid is a great 
 doctor,' she continued with an air of importance. 'Poor papa 
 used to say that our family would have reason to be proud of 
 him.' ' Does he live at home ? ' asked simple Teresa. ' Oh, 
 dear, no ! He has a grand house of his own. Hundreds of 
 sick people go there to be cured, and give hundreds of golden 
 guineas.' Hundreds of golden guineas gained by only curing 
 sick people, represented to Teresa's mind something in the 
 nature of a miracle : she solemnly raised her eyes to heaven. 
 ' What a cousin to have ! Is he young ? is he handsome ? is 
 he married ? ' 
 
 Instead of answering these questions, Carmina looked 
 over her shoulder. ' Is this poor creature following us ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 They had now turned to the right, and had entered a busy 
 street leading directly to Covent Gat'den, The 'creature' 
 (who was undoubtedly following them) was one of the starved 
 and vagabond dogs of London. Every now and then, the 
 sympathies of their race lead these inveterate wanderers to 
 attach themselves, for the time, to some human companion, 
 whom their mysterious insight chooses from the crowd. 
 Teresa, with the hard feeling towards animals which is one 
 of the serious defects of the Italian character, cried, ' Ah, 
 the mangy beast !' and lifted her umbrella. The dog started 
 back, waited a moment, and followed them again as they 
 went on. Carmina's gentle heart gave its pity to this lost 
 and hungry fellow-creature. ' I must buy that poor dog 
 something to eat,' she said — and stopped suddenly as the idea 
 struck her. 
 
 The dog, accustomed to kicks and curses, was ignorant of 
 
I 4 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 kindness. Following close behind her, when she checked 
 herself, he darted away in terror into the road. A cab was 
 driven by rapidly at the same moment. The wheel passed over 
 the dog's neck. And there was an end, as a man remarked 
 looking on, of the troubles of a cur. 
 
 This common accident struck the girl's sensitive nature 
 with horror. Helpless and speechless, she trembled piteously. 
 The nearest open door was the door of a music-seller's shop. 
 Teresa led her in, and asked for a chair and a glass of water. 
 The proprietor, feeling the intei'est in Carmina which she 
 seldom failed to inspire among strangers, went the length of 
 offering her a glass of wine. Preferring water, she soon 
 recovered herself sufficiently to be able to leave her chair. 
 
 ' May I change my mind about going to the museum ? ' 
 she said to her companion. ' After what has happened, I 
 hardly feel equal to looking at curiosities.' 
 
 Teresa's ready sympathy ti'ied to find some acceptable 
 alternative. ' Music would be better, wouldn't it ? ' she 
 saggested. 
 
 The so-called Italian Opera was open that night, and the 
 printed announcement of the performance was in the shop. 
 They both looked at it. Fortune was still against them. A 
 German opera appeared on the bill. Carmina turned to the 
 music-seller in despair. ' Is there no music, sir, but German 
 music to be heard in London ? ' she asked. The hospitable 
 shopkeeper produced a concert programme for that afternoon 
 — the modest enterprise of an obscure piano-forte teacher, 
 who could only venture to address pupils, patrons, and friends. 
 What did he promise ? Among other things, music from 
 ' Lucia,' music from ' Norma,' music from ' Ernani.' Teresa 
 made another approving mark with her thumb-nail ; and 
 Carmina purchased tickets. 
 
 The music-seller hurried to the door to stop the first empty 
 cab that might pass. Carmina showed a deplorable ignorance 
 of the law of chances. She shrank from the bare idea of 
 getting into a cab. ' We may run over some other poor 
 creature,' she said. ' If it isn't a dog, it may be a child next 
 time.' Teresa and the music-seller suggested a more reason- 
 able view as gravely as they could. Carmina humbly sub- 
 mitted to the claims of common sense — without yielding, for 
 all that. ' I know I'm wrong,' she confessed. ' Don't spoil 
 my pleasure ; I can't do it ! ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 15 
 
 The strange parallel was now complete. Bound for the 
 same destination, Carmina and Ovid had failed to reach it 
 alike. And Carmina had stopped to look at the garden of 
 the British Musenm, before she overtook Ovid in the quiet 
 square. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 If, on entering the hall, Ovid had noticed the placards, he 
 would have found himself confronted by a coincidence. The 
 person who gave the concert was also the person who taught 
 music to his half-sisters. Not many days since, he had him- 
 self assisted the enterprise, by taking a ticket at his mother's 
 request. Seeing nothing, remembering nothing — hurried by 
 the fear of losing sight of the two strangers if there was a 
 large audience — he impatiently paid for another ticket, at the 
 doors. 
 
 The room was little more than half full, and so insufficiently 
 ventilated that the atmosphere was oppressive even under 
 those circumstances. He easily discovered the two central 
 chairs, in the midway row of seats, which she and her com- 
 panion had chosen. There was a vacant chair (among many 
 others) at one extremity of the row in front of them. He 
 took that place. To look at her, without being discovered — 
 there, so far, was the beginning and the end of his utmost 
 desire. 
 
 The performances had already begun. So long as her 
 attention was directed to the singers and players on the plat- 
 form, he could feast his eyes on her with impunity. In an 
 unoccupied interval, she looked at the audience — and dis- 
 covered him. 
 
 Had he offended her ? 
 
 If appearances were to be trusted, he had produced no 
 impression of any sort. She quietly looked away, towards 
 the other side of the room. The mere turning of her head 
 was misinterpreted by Ovid as an implied rebuke. He moved 
 to the row of seats behind her. She was now nearer to him 
 than she had been yet. He was again content, and more 
 than content. 
 
 The next performance was a solo on the piano. A round 
 of applause welcomed the player. Ovid looked at the plat- 
 
1 6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 form for the first time. In the bowing man, with a prema- 
 turely bald head and a servile smile, he recognised Mrs. 
 Gallilee's mnsic-master. The inevitable inference followed. 
 His mother might be in the room. 
 
 After careful examination of the scanty audience, he failed 
 to discover her — thus far. She would certainly arrive, never- 
 theless. My money's-worth for my money was a leading prin- 
 ciple in Mrs. Gallilee's life. 
 
 He sighed as he looked towards the door of entrance. 
 Not for long had he revelled in the luxury of a new happiness. 
 He had openly avowed his dislike of concerts, when his 
 mother had made him take a ticket for this concert. With 
 her quickness of apprehension, what might she not suspect, if 
 she found him among the audience ? 
 
 Come what might of it, he still kept his place ; he still 
 feasted his eyes on the slim figure of the young girl, on the 
 gentle yet spirited carriage of her head. But the pleasure 
 was no longer pleasure without alloy. His mother had got 
 between them now. 
 
 The solo on the piano came to an end. 
 In the interval that followed, he turned once more to- 
 wards the entrance. Just as he was looking away again, he 
 heard Mrs. Gallilee's loud voice. She was administering a 
 maternal caution to one of the children. ' Behave better here 
 than you behaved in the carriage, or I shall take you away.' 
 
 If she found him in his present place — if she put her own 
 clever construction on what she saw — her opinion would 
 assuredly express itself in some way. She was one of those 
 women who can insult another woman (and safely disguise it) 
 by an inquiring look. For the girl's sake, Ovid instantly 
 moved away from her to the seats at the back of the hall. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee made a striking entrance — dressed to per- 
 fection ; powdered and painted to perfection ; leading her 
 daughters, and followed by her governess. The usher cour- 
 teously indicated places near the platform. Mrs. Gallilee 
 astonished him by a little lecture on acoustics, delivered with 
 the sweetest condescension. Her Christian humility smiled, 
 and called the usher, Sir. ' Sound, sir, is most perfectly heard 
 towards the centre of the auditorium.' She led the way 
 towards the centre. Vacant places invited her to the row of 
 seats occupied by Carmina and Teresa. She, the unknown 
 aunt, seated herself next to the unknown niece. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 1 7 
 
 They looked at each other. 
 
 Peril aps it was the heat of the room. Perhaps she had 
 not perfectly recovered the nervous shock of seeing the dog 
 killed. Carolina's head sank on good Teresa's shoulder. She 
 had fainted. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' May I ask for a cup of tea, Miss Minerva ? ' 
 
 ' Delighted, I'm sure, Mr. Le Prank.' 
 
 ' And was Mrs. Grallilee pleased with the Concert ? ' 
 
 ' Charmed.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank shook his head. ' I am afraid there was a 
 drawback,' he suggested. 'You forget the lady who fainted. 
 So alarming to the audience. So disagreeable to the artists.' 
 
 ' Take care, Mr. Le Frank ! These new houses are flimsily 
 built ; they might hear you upstairs. The fainting lady is 
 upstairs. All the elements of a romance are upstairs. Is 
 your tea to your liking ? ' 
 
 In this playfully provocative manner Miss Minerva (the 
 governess) trilled with the curiosity of Mr. Le Frank (the 
 music-master), as the proverbial cat trifles with the terror of 
 the captive mouse. The man of the bald head and the 
 servile smile showed a polite interest in the coming disclosure ; 
 he opened his deeply-sunk eyes, and lazily lifted his delicate 
 eyebrows. 
 
 He had called at Mrs. Gallilee's house, after the concert, 
 to get a little tea (with a large infusion of praise) in the 
 schoolroom. A striking personal contrast confronted him, in 
 the face of the lady who was dispensing the hospitalities of 
 the table. Mr. Le Frank's plump cheeks were, in colour, of 
 the obtrusively florid sort. The relics of yellow hair, still 
 adhering to the sides of his head, looked as silkily frail as 
 spun glass. His noble beard made amends for his untimely 
 baldness. The glossy glory of it exhaled delicious perfumes ; 
 the keenest eyes might have tried in vain to discover a hair 
 that was out of place. Miss Minerva's eager sallow face, 1-0 
 lean, and so hard, and so long, looked, by contrast, as if it 
 wanted some sort of discreet covering thrown over some part 
 of it. Her coarse black hair projected like a penthouse over 
 her bushy black eyebrows and her keen black eyes. Oh, dear 
 
 C 
 
1 8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 me (as they said in the servants' hall), she would never be 
 married — so yellow and so learned, so ugly and so poor ! And 
 3 r et, if mystery is interesting, this was an interesting woman. 
 The people about her felt an uneasy perception of something 
 secret, ominously secret, in the nature of the governess which 
 defied detection. If Inquisitive Science, vowed to medical 
 research, could dissect firmness of will, working at its steadiest 
 repressive action — then the mystery of Miss Minerva's inner 
 nature might possibly have been revealed. As it was, nothing 
 more remarkable exposed itself to view than an irritable 
 temper; serving perhaps as safety-valve to an underlying ex- 
 plosive force, which (with strong enough temptation and suf- 
 ficient opportunity) might yet break out. 
 
 ' Gently, Mr. Le Frank ! The tea is hot — you may burn 
 your mouth. How am I to tell you what has happened ? ' 
 Miss Minerva dropped the playfully provocative tone, with 
 infinite tact, exactly at the right moment. ' Just imagine,' 
 she resumed, ' a scene on the stage, occurring in private life. 
 The lady who fainted at your concert turns out to be no less 
 a person than Mrs. Gallilee's niece ! ' 
 
 The general folly which reads a prospectus and blindly 
 speculates in shares, is matched by the equally diffused 
 stupidity, which is incapable of discovering that there can be 
 any possible relation between fiction and truth. Say it's in a 
 novel — and you are a fool if you believe it. Say it's in a 
 newspaper — and you are a fool if you doubt it. Mr. Le Frank, 
 following tho general example, followed it on this occasion 
 a little too unreservedly. He avowed his doubts of the 
 circumstance just related, although it was, on the authority 
 of a lady, a circumstance occurring in real life. Far from 
 being offended, Miss Minerva cordially sympathised with 
 him, 
 
 'It is too theatrical to be believed,' she admitted; 'but 
 this fainting young person is positively the interesting stranger 
 we have been expecting from Italy. You know Mrs. Gallilee. 
 Her's was the first smelling-bottle produced; her's was tho 
 presence of mind which suggested a horizontal position. 
 "Help the heart," she said; "don't impede it." The whole 
 theory of fainting fits, in six words ! In another moment,' 
 proceeded the governess, making a theatrical point without 
 suspecting it — 'in another moment, Mrs. Gallilee herself stood 
 in need of the smelling-bottle.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 19 
 
 Mr. Le Frank was not a true believer, even yet. 'You 
 don't mean she fainted ! ' Le said. 
 
 Miss Minerva held up the indicative forefinger, with which 
 she emphasised instruction when her pupils required rousing 1 . 
 'Mrs. Gallilec's strength of mind — as I was about to say, if 
 you had listened to me — resisted the shock. What the effort 
 must have cost her you will presently understand, Our in- 
 teresting young lady was accompanied by a hideous old foreign 
 woman who completely lost her head. She smacked her 
 hands distractedly ; she called on the saints (without pro- 
 ducing the slightest effect) — but she mixed up a name, re- 
 markable even in Italy, with the rest of the delirium ; and 
 that was serious. Put yourself in Mrs. Gallilee's place — ' 
 
 ' I couldn't do it,' said Mr. Le Frank, with humility. 
 
 Miss Minerva passed over this reply without notice. Per- 
 haps she was not a believer in the humility of musicians. 
 
 ' The young lady's Christian name,' she proceeded, ' is 
 Carmina ; (put the accent, if you please, on the first syllable). 
 The moment Mrs. Gallilee heard the name, it struck her like 
 a blow. She enlightened the old woman, and asserted herself 
 as Miss Carmina's aunt in an instant. " I am Mrs. Gallilee: " 
 that was all she said. The result ' — Miss Minerva paused, 
 and pointed to the ceiling; 'the result is up there. Our 
 charming guest was on the sofa, and the hideous old nurse 
 was fanning her, when I had the honour of seeing them just 
 now. No, Mr. Le Frank ! I haven't done yet. There is a 
 last act in this drama of private life still to relate. A medical 
 gentleman was present at the concert, who offered his services 
 in reviving Miss Carmina. The same gentleman is now in 
 attendance on the interesting patient. Can you guess who 
 he is ? ' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank had sold a ticket for his concert to the medical 
 adviser of the family — one Mr. Null. A cautious guess in this 
 direction seemed to offer the likeliest chance of success. 
 
 ' He is a patron of music,' the pianist began. 
 
 ' He hates music,' the governess interposed. 
 
 ' I mean Mr. Null,' Mr. Le Frank persisted. 
 
 ' I mean — ' Miss Minerva paused (like the cat with the 
 mouse again !) — 'J mean, Mr. Ovid Vere.' 
 
 What form the music-master's astonishment might have 
 assumed may be matter for speculation, it was never destined 
 to become matter of fact. At the moment when Miss Minerva 
 
 c2 
 
20 HEART AAD SCIENCE. 
 
 overwhelmed him with the climax of her story, a little, rosy, 
 elderly gentleman, with a round face, a sweet smile, and a 
 cnrly gray head, w r alked into the room, accompanied by two 
 girls. Persons of small importance — only Mr. Gallilee and 
 his daughters. 
 
 ' How d'ye-do, Mr. Le Frank. I hope you got plenty of 
 money by the concert. I gave away my own two tickets. 
 You will excuse me, I'm sure. Music, I can't think why, 
 always sends me to sleep. Here are your two pupils, Miss 
 Minerva, safe and sound. It struck me we were rather in the 
 way, when that sweet young creature w r as brought home. 
 Sadly in want of quiet, poor thing — not in want of us. Mrs. 
 Gallilee and Ovid, so clever and attentive, were just the right 
 people in the right place. So I put on my hat — I'm always 
 available, Mr. Le Frank ; I have the great advantage of never 
 having anything to do — and I said to the girls, " Let's have a 
 walk." We had no particular place to go to — that's another 
 advantage of mine — so we drifted about. I didn't mean it, 
 but, somehow or other, we stopped at a pastry-cook's shop. 
 What was the name of the pastry-cook ? ' 
 
 So far Mr. Gallilee proceeded, speaking in the oddest self- 
 contradictory voice, if such a description is permissible — a 
 voice at once high in pitch and mild in tone : in short, as Mr. 
 Le Frank once professionally remarked, a soft falsetto. When 
 the good gentleman paused to make his little effort of memory, 
 his eldest daughter — aged twelve, and always ready to distin- 
 guish herself — saw her opportunity, and took the rest of the 
 narrative into. her own hands. 
 
 Miss Maria, named after her mother, was one of the suc- 
 cessful new products of the age we live in — the conventionally- 
 charming child (who has never been smacked) ; possessed of 
 the large round eyes that we see in pictures, and the sweet 
 manners and perfect principles that we read of in books. She 
 called everybody ' dear ; ' she knew to a nicety how much 
 oxygen she wanted in the composition of her native air ; and — 
 alas, poor wretch ! — she had never wetted her shoes or dirtied 
 her face since the day when she was born. 
 
 ' Dear Miss Minerva,' said Maria, ' the pastry-cook's name 
 was Timbal. We have had iceo.' 
 
 His mind being now set at rest on the subject of the pastry- 
 cook, Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest daughter — aged 
 ten, and one of the unsuccessful products of the age we live 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 21 
 
 in. This was a curiously slow, quaint, self-contained child : 
 the image of her father, with an occasional reflection of his 
 smile ; incurably stupid, or incurably perverse — the friends of 
 the family were not quite sure which. Whether she might 
 have been over-crammed with useless knowledge, was not a 
 question in connection with the subject which occurred to 
 anybody. 
 
 'Rouse yourself, Zo,' said Mr. Gallilee. 'What did we 
 have besides ices ? ' 
 
 Zoe (known to her father, by vulgar abbreviation, as ' Zo ') 
 took Mr. Gallilee's stumpy red hand, and held hard by it as if 
 that was the one way in which a dull child could rouse herself, 
 with a prospect of success. 
 
 ' I've had so many of them,' she said ; ' I don't know. 
 Ask Maria.' 
 
 Maria responded with the sweetest readiness. ' Dear Zoe, 
 you are so slow ! Cheesecakes.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee patted Zoe's head as encouragingly as if she 
 had discovered the right answer by herself. ' That's right — 
 ices and cheesecakes,' he said. 'We tried cream-ice, and then 
 we tried water-ice. The children, Miss Minerva, preferred 
 the cream-ice. And, do you know, I'm of their opinion. 
 There's something in a cream-ice — what do you think your- 
 self of cream-ices, Mr. Le Frank ? ' 
 
 It was one among the many weaknesses of Mr. Gallilee's 
 character to be incapable of opening his lips without, sooner 
 or later, taking somebody into his confidence. In the merest 
 trifles, he instinctively invited sympathy and agreement from 
 any person within his reach — : from a total stranger quite as 
 readily as from an intimate friend. Mr. Le Frank, repre- 
 senting the present Court of Social Appeal, attempted to 
 deliver judgment on the question of ices, and was interrupted 
 without ceremony by Miss Minerva. She, too, had been 
 waiting her opportunity to speak, and she now took it — not 
 amiably. 
 
 ' With all possible respect, Mr. Gallilee, I venture to en- 
 treat that you will be a little more thoughtful, where the 
 children are concerned. I beg your pardon, Mr. Le Frank, 
 for interrupting you — but it is really a little too hard on Me. 
 I am held responsible for the health of these girls ; I am blamed 
 over and over again, when it is not my fault, for irregularities 
 in their diet — and there they are, at this moment, chilled 
 
22 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 with ices and cloyed with cakes ! What will Mrs. Gallilee 
 say ? ' 
 
 ' Don't tell her,' Mr. Gallilee suggested. 
 
 ' The girls will be thirsty -for the rest of the evening,' Miss 
 Minerva persisted ; ' the girls will have no appetite for the 
 last meal before bedtime. And their mother will ask Me what 
 it means.' 
 
 ' My good creature,' cried Mr. Gallilee, ' don't be afraid of 
 the girls' appetites ! Take off their hats, and give them some- 
 thing nice for supper. They inherit my stomach, Miss Minerva 
 — and they'll " tuck in," as we used to say at school. Did 
 they say so in your time, Mr. Le Frank ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's governess and vulgar expressions were 
 anomalies never to be reconciled, under any circumstances. 
 Miss Minerva took off the hats in stern silence. Even ' Papa ' 
 might have seen the contempt in her face, if she had not 
 managed to hide it in this way, by means of the girls. 
 
 In the silence that ensued, Mr. Le Frank had his chance of 
 speaking, and showed himself to be a gentleman with a hap- 
 pily-balanced character — a musician, with an eye to business. 
 Using gratitude to Mr. Gallilee as a means of persuasion, he 
 gently pushed the interests of a friend who was giving a con- 
 cert next week. ' We poor artists have our faults, my dear 
 sir; but we are all earnest in helping each other. My friend 
 sang for nothing at my concert. Don't suppose for a mo- 
 ment that he expects it of me ! But I am going to play for 
 nothing at his concert. May I appeal to your kind patron- 
 age to take two tickets ? ' The reply ended appropriately 
 in musical sound — a golden tinkling, in Mr. Le Frank's 
 pocket. 
 
 Having paid his tribute to art and artists, Mr. Gallilee 
 looked furtively at Miss Minerva. On the wise principle of 
 letting well alone, he perceived that the happy time had 
 arrived for leaving the room. How was he to make his exit ? 
 He prided himself on his readiness of resource in difficulties of 
 this sort, and he was equal to the occasion as usual — he said 
 he would go to his club. 
 
 ' We really have a capital smoking-room at that club,' he 
 said. ' I do like a good cigar ; and — what do you think, Mr. 
 Le Frank ? — isn't a pint of champagne nice drinking, this hot 
 weather ? Just cooled with ice — I don't know whether you 
 feel the weather, Miss Minerva, as I do ? — and poured, fizzing, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 23 
 
 into a silver mug. Lord, how delicious ! Good-bye, girls. 
 Give me a kiss before I go.' 
 
 Maria led the way, as became the elder. She not only 
 gave the kiss, but threw an appropriate sentiment into 
 the bargain. 'I do love you, dear papa!' said this per- 
 fect daughter — with a look in Miss Minerva's direction, 
 which might have been a malicious look in any eyes but 
 Maria's. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee turned to his youngest child. ' Well, Zo — 
 what do you say ? ' 
 
 Zo took her father's hand once more, and rubbed her head 
 against it like a cat. This new method of expressing filial 
 affection seemed to interest Mr. Gallilee. ' Does your head 
 itch, my dear ? ' he asked. The idea was new to Zo. She 
 brightened, and looked at her father with a sly smile. ' Why 
 do you do it ? ' Miss Minerva asked sharply. Zo clouded 
 over again, and answered, ' I don't know.' Mr. Gallilee re- 
 warded her with a kiss, and went away to champagne and the 
 club. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank left the schoolroom next. He paid the 
 governess the compliment of reverting to her narrative of 
 events at the concert. 
 
 ' I am greatly struck,' he said, ' by what you told me about 
 Mr. Ovid Vere. We may, perhaps, have misjudged him, in 
 thinking that he doesn't like music. His coming to my con- 
 cert suggests a more cheering view. Do you think there 
 would be any impropriety in my calling to thank him ? Per- 
 haps it would be better if I wrote, and enclosed two tickets 
 for my friend's concert ? To tell you the truth, I've pledged 
 myself to dispose cf a certain number of tickets. My friend 
 is so much inrequjst — it's expecting too much to ask him to 
 sing for nothing. I think I'll write. Good-evening ! ' 
 
 Left alone with her pupils, Miss Minerva looked at her 
 watch. ' Prepare your lessons for to-morrow,' she said. 
 
 The girls produced their books. Maria's library of know- 
 ledge was in perfect order. The pages over which Zo pon- 
 dered in endless perplexity were crumpled by weary fingers, 
 and stained by frequent tears. Oh, fatal knowledge ! merci- 
 fully forbidden to the first two of our race, who shall count 
 the crimes and stupidities committed in your name ? 
 
 Miss Minerva leaned back in her easy-chair. Her mind 
 was occupied by the mysterious question of Ovid's presence 
 
24 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 at the concert. She raised her keenly penetrating eyes to the 
 ceiling, and listened for sounds from above. 
 
 ' 1 wonder,' she thought to herself, ' what they are doing 
 upstairs ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Mrs. Galltlee was as complete a mistress of the practice of 
 domestic virtue as of the theory of acoustics and fainting fits. 
 At dressing with taste, and ordering dinners with invention ; 
 at heading her table gracefully, and making her guests com- 
 fortable ; at managing refractory servants and detecting dis- 
 honest tradespeople, she was the equal of the least intellectual 
 woman that ever lived. Her preparations for the reception of 
 her niece were finished in advance, without an oversight in the 
 smallest detail. Carmina's inviting bedroom, in blue, opened 
 into Carmina's irresistible sitting-room, in brown. "The ven- 
 tilation was arranged, the light and shade were disposed, tin 
 flowers were attractively placed, under Mrs. Gallilee's infalli- 
 ble superintendence. Before Carmina had recovered her 
 senses she was provided with a second mother, who played 
 the part to perfection. 
 
 The four persons, now assembled in the pretty sitting-room 
 upstairs, were in a position of insupportable embarrassment 
 towards each other. 
 
 Finding her son at a concert (after he had told her that he 
 hated music), Mrs. Gallilee had first discovered him hurrying to 
 the assistance of a young lady in a swoon, with all the anxiety 
 and alarm which he might have shown in the case of a near 
 and dear friend. And yet, when this stranger was revealed 
 as a relation, he had displayed an amazement equal to her 
 own ! What explanation could reconcile such contradictions 
 as these ? 
 
 As for Carmina, her conduct complicated the mystery. 
 
 What was she doing at a concert, when she ought to have 
 been on her way to her aunt's house ? Why, if she must faint 
 when the hot room had not overpowered anyone else, had she 
 failed to recover in the usual way ? There she lay on the 
 sofa, alternately flushing and turning pale when she was 
 spoken to ; ill at ease in the most comfortable house in Lon- 
 don ; timid and confused under the care of her best friends. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 25 
 
 Making all allowance for a sensitive temperament, could a 
 long journey from Italy, and a childish fright at seeing a dog 
 ran over, account for such a state of things as this ? 
 
 Annoyed and perplexed — but yet far too prudent to com- 
 mit herself ignorantly to inquiries which might lead to future 
 embarrassment — Mrs. Gallilee tried suggestive small talk as a 
 means of enlightenment. The wrinkled duenna, sitting mise- 
 rably on satin supported by frail gilt legs, seemed to take her 
 tone of feeling from her young mistress, exactly as she took 
 her orders. Mrs. Gallilee spoke to her in English, and spoke 
 to her in Italian — and could make nothing of the experiment 
 in either case. The wild old creature seemed to be afraid to 
 look at her". 
 
 Ovid himself proved to be just as difficult to fathom, in 
 another way. 
 
 He certainly answered when his mother spoke to him, but 
 always briefly, and in the same absent tone. He asked no 
 questions, and offered no explanations. The sense of embar- 
 rassment, on his side, had produced unaccountable changes. 
 He showed the needful attention to Carmina, with a silent 
 gentleness which presented him in a new character. His 
 customary manner with ailing persons, women as well as men, 
 was rather abrupt: his quick .perception hurried him into 
 taking the words out of their mouths (too pleasantly to give 
 offence) when they were describing their symptoms. There 
 he sat now, contemplating his pale little cousin, with a patient 
 attention wonderful to see ; listening to the commonplace 
 words which dropped at intervals from her lips, as if — in his 
 state of health, and with the doubtful prospect which it im- 
 plied — there were no serious interests to occupy his mind. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee could endure it no longer. 
 
 If she had not deliberately starved her imagination, and 
 emptied her heart of any tenderness of feeling which it might 
 once have possessed, her son's odd behaviour would have in- 
 terested instead of perplexing her. As it was, her scientific 
 education left her as completely in the dark, where questions 
 of sentiment were concerned, as if her experience of humanity, 
 in its relation to love, had been experience in the cannibal 
 islands. She decided on leaving her niece to repose, and on 
 taking her son away with her. 
 
 ' In your present state of health, Ovid,' she began, ' Car- 
 mina must not accept your professional advice.' 
 
26 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Something in those words stung Ovid's temper. 
 
 ' My professional advice ? ' he repeated. ' Yon talk as if 
 she was seriously ill ! ' 
 
 Carmina's sweet smile stopped him there. 
 
 ' We don't know what may happen,' she said, playfully. 
 
 ' God forbid that should happen ! ' He spoke so fervently 
 that the women all looked at him in surprise. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee turned to her niece, and proceeded quietly 
 with what she had to say. 
 
 ' Ovid is so sadly overworked, my dear, that I actually 
 rejoice in his giving up practice, and going away from us to- 
 morrow. We will leave you for the present with your old 
 friend. Pray ring, if you want anything.' She kissed her 
 hand to Carmina, and, beckoning to her son, advanced towards 
 the door. 
 
 Teresa looked at her, and suddenly looked away again. 
 Mrs. Gallilee stopped on her way out, at a chiffonier, and 
 altered the arrangement of some of the china on it. The 
 duenna followed on tiptoe — folded her thumb and two middle 
 fingers into the palm of her hand — and, stretching out the 
 forefinger and the little finger, touched Mrs. Gallilee on the 
 back,, so softly that she was unaware of it. ' The Evil Eye,' 
 Teresa whisper-ed to herself in Italian, as she stole back to her 
 place. 
 
 Ovid lingered near his cousin : neither of them had seen 
 what Teresa had done. He rose reluctantly to go. Feeling 
 his little attentions gratefully, Carmina checked him with 
 innocent familiarity as lie left his chair. ' I must thank you,' 
 she said, simply; 'it seems hard indeed that you, who cure 
 others, should suffer from illness yourself.' 
 
 Teresa, watching them with interest, came a little nearer. 
 
 She could now examine Ovid's face with close and jealous 
 scrutiny. Mrs. Gallilee reminded her son that she was waiting 
 for him. He had some last words yet to say. The duenna 
 drew back from the sofa, still looking at Ovid : she muttered 
 to herself, 'Holy Teresa, my patroness, show me that man's 
 soul in his face ! ' At last, Ovid took his leave. ' I shall call 
 and see how you are to-morrow,' he said, ' before I go.' He 
 nodded kindly to Teresa. Instead of being satisfied with that 
 act of courtesy, she wanted something more. ' May I shake 
 hands ? ' she asked. Mrs. Gallilee was a Liberal in politics ; 
 never had her principles been tried, as they were tried when 
 
HEAR7 AND SCIENCE. 27 
 
 she heard those words. Teresa wrung Ovid's hand with 
 tremulous energy — still intent on reading his character in his 
 face. He asked her, smiling, what she saw to interest her. 
 ' A good man, I hope,' she answered, sternly. Carmina and 
 Ovid were amused. Teresa rebuked them, as if they had 
 been children. ' Laugh at some fitter time,' she said, ' not 
 now.' 
 
 Descending the stairs, Mrs. Gallilee and Ovid met the 
 footman. ' Mr. Mool is in the library, ma'am,' the man said. 
 
 ' Have you anything to do, Ovid, for the next half-hour ? ' 
 his mother asked. 
 
 ' Do you wish me to see Mr. Mool ? If it's law-business, 
 I am afraid I shall not be of much use.' 
 
 ' The lawyer is here by appointment, with a copy of your 
 late uncle's Will,' Mrs. Gallilee answered. ' You may have 
 some interest in it. I think you ought to hear it read.' 
 
 Ovid showed no inclination to adopt this proposal. He 
 asked an idle question. ' I heard of their finding the Will — 
 are there any romantic circumstances ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee surveyed her son with an expression of good- 
 humoured contempt. ' What a boy you are, in some things ! 
 Have you been reading a novel lately ? My dear, when the 
 people in Italy made up their minds, at last, to have the furni- 
 ture in your uncle's room taken to pieces, they found the Will. 
 It had slipped behind a drawer, in a rotten old cabinet, full of 
 useless papers. Nothing romantic (thank God !), and nothing 
 (as Mr. Mool's letter tells me) that can lead to misunder- 
 standings or disputes.' 
 
 Ovid's indifference was not to be conquered. He left it to 
 his mother to send him word if he had a legacy. ' I am not 
 as much interested in it as you are,' he explained. ' Plenty of 
 money left to you, of course ? ' He was evidently thinking all 
 the time of something else. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee stopped in the hall, with an air of downright 
 alarm. 
 
 ' Your mind is in a dreadful state,' she said. ' Have you 
 really forgotten what I told you, only yesterday ? The Will 
 appoints me Carmina's guardian.' 
 
 He had plainly forgotten it — he started, when his mother 
 recalled the circumstance. ' Curious,' he said to himself, ' that 
 I was not reminded of it, when I saw Carmina's rooms pre- 
 pared for her.' His mother, anxiously looking at him, observed 
 
28 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 that his face brightened when he spoke of Carmina. He 
 suddenly changed his mind. 
 
 ' Make allowances for an overworked man,' he said. 'You 
 are quite right. I ought to hear the Will read — I am at your 
 service.' 
 
 Even Mrs. Gallilee now drew the right inference at last. 
 She made no remark. Something seemed to move feebly under 
 her powder and paint. Soft emotion trying to find its way to 
 the surface ? Impossible ! 
 
 As they entered the library together, Miss Minerva re- 
 turned to the schoolroom. She had lingered on the upper 
 landing, and had heard the conversation between mother and 
 son. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The library at Fairfield Gardens possessed two special attrac- 
 tions, besides the books. It opened into a large conservatory ; 
 and it was adorned by an admirable portrait of Mrs. Gallilee, 
 painted by her brother. 
 
 Waiting the appearance of the fair original, Mr. Mool 
 looked at the portrait, and then mentally reviewed the history 
 of Mrs. Galilee's family. What he did next, no person ac- 
 quainted with the habits of lawyers will be weak enough to 
 believe. Mr. Mool blushed. 
 
 Is this the language of exaggeration, describing a human 
 anomaly on the roll of attorneys ? The fact shall be left to 
 answer the question. Mr. Mool had made a mistake in his 
 choice of a profession. The result of the mistake was — a shy 
 lawyer. 
 
 Attended by such circumstances as these, the history of 
 the family assumes, for the moment, a certain importance. It 
 is connected with a blushing attorney. It will explain what 
 happened on the reading of the Will. And it is sure before- 
 hand of a favourable reception — for it is all about money. 
 
 Old Robert Gray well began life as the son of a small farmer. 
 He was generally considered to be rather an eccentric man ; 
 but prospered, nevertheless, as a merchant in the city of 
 London. When he retired from business, he possessed a house 
 and estate in the country, and a handsome fortune safely in- 
 vested in the Funds. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 29 
 
 His children were three in number : — his son Robert, and 
 Lis daughters Maria and Susan. 
 
 The death of his wife, to whom he was devotedly attached, 
 was the first serious calamity of his life. He retired to his 
 estate a soured and broken man. Loving husbands are not 
 always, as a necessary consequence, tender fathers. Old 
 Robert's daughters afforded him no consolation on their 
 mother's death. Their anxiety about their mourning dresses 
 so disgusted him that he kept out of their way. No extra- 
 ordinary interest was connected with their prospects in life : 
 they would be married — and there would be an end of them. 
 As for the son, he had long since placed himself beyond the 
 narrow range of his father's sympathies. In the first place, his 
 refusal to qualify himself for a mercantile career had made it 
 necessary to dispose of the business to strangers. In the 
 second place, young Robert Gray well proved — without any 
 hereditary influence, and in the face tf the strongest dis- 
 couragement — to be a born painter ! One of the greatest 
 artists of that day saw the boy's first efforts, and pronounced 
 judgment in these plain words : ' What a pity he has not got 
 his bread to earn by his brush ! ' 
 
 On the death of old Robert, his daughters found themselves 
 (to use their own expression) reduced to a trumpery legacy of 
 ten thousand pounds each. Their brother inherited the estate, 
 and the bulk of the property — not because his father cared 
 about founding a family, but because the boy had always been 
 his mother's favourite. 
 
 The first of the three children to marry was the eldest 
 sister. 
 
 Maria considered herself fortunate in captivating Mr. Vere 
 • — a man of old family, with a high sense of what he owed to 
 his name. He had a sufficient income, and he wanted no 
 more. His wife's dowry was settled on herself. When he 
 died, he left her a life-interest in his property amounting to 
 six hundred a year. This, added to the annual proceeds of 
 her own little fortune, made an income of one thousand pounds. 
 The remainder of Mr. Vere's property was left to his only 
 surviving chiid, Ovid. 
 
 With a thousand a year for herself, and with two thousand 
 a year for her son, on his coming of age, the widowed Maria 
 might possibly have been satisfied — but for the extraordinary 
 presumption of her younger sister. 
 
30 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Susan, ranking second in age, ranked second also in beauty; 
 and yet, in the race for a husband, Susan won the prize ! 
 
 Soon after her sister's marriage, she made a conquest of a 
 Scotch nobleman, possessed of a palace in London, and a 
 palace in Scotland, and a rent-roll of forty thousand pounds. 
 Maria, to use her own expression, never recovered it. From 
 the horrid day when Susan became Lady Northlake, Maria 
 became a serious woman. All her earthly interests centred 
 now in the cultivation of her intellect. She started on that 
 glorious career, which associated her with the march of science. 
 In only a year afterwards — as an example of the progress 
 which a resolute woman can make — she was familiar with 
 zoophyte fossils, and had succeeded in dissecting the nervous 
 system of a bee. 
 
 Was there no counter-attraction in her married life ? 
 
 Very little. Mr. Vere felt no sympathy with his wife's 
 scientific pursuits. On her husband's death, did she find no 
 consolation in her son ? Let her speak for herself. ' My son 
 fills my heart. But the school, the university, and the hospital 
 have all in turn taken his education out of my hands. My 
 mind must be filled, as well as my heart.' She seized her 
 exquisite instruments, and returned to the nervous system of 
 the bee. 
 
 In course of time, Mr. John Gallilee — ' drifting about,' as 
 he said of himself — drifted across the path of science. 
 
 The widowed Mrs. Vere (as exhibited in public) was still 
 a fine woman. Mr. Gallilee admired ' that style ' ; and Mr. 
 Gallilee had fifty thousand pounds. Only a little more, to my 
 lord and my lady, than one year's income. But, invested at 
 four per cent., it added an annual two thousand pounds to 
 Mrs. Vere's annual one thousand. Result, three thousand a 
 year, encumbered with Mr. Gallilee. On reflection, Mrs. Vere 
 accepted the encumbrance — and reaped her reward. Susan 
 was no longer distinguished as the sister who had her dresses 
 made in Paris ; and Mrs. Gallilee was not now subjected to 
 the indignity of getting a lift in Lady Northlake's carriage. 
 
 What was the history of Robert, during this interval of 
 time ? In two words, Robert disgraced himself. 
 
 Taking possession of his country house, the new squire was 
 invited to contribute towards the expense of a pack of hounds 
 kept by subscription in the neighbourhood, and was advised to 
 make acquaintance with his fellow-sportsmen by giving a 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 31 
 
 hunt-breakfast. Ho answered very politely ; but the fact -was 
 not to be concealed — the new man refused to encourage hunt- 
 ing : he thought that noble amusement stupid and cruel. For 
 the same reason he refused to preserve game. A last mistake 
 was left to make, and he made it. After returning the rector's 
 visit, he failed to appear at church. No person with the smal- 
 lest knowledge of the English character, as exhibited in an 
 English county, will fail to foresee that Robert's residence on 
 his estate was destined to come, sooner or later, to an untimely 
 end. When he had finished his sketches of the picturesque 
 aspects of his landed property, he disappeared. The estate 
 was not entailed. Old Robert — who had insisted on the minu- 
 test formalities and details iu providing for his dearly-loved 
 wife — was impenetrably careless about the future of his chil- 
 dren. 'My fortune has no value now in my eyes,' he said to 
 judicious friends ; ' let them run through it all, if they please. 
 It would do them a deal of good if they were obliged to earn 
 their own living, like better people than themselves.' Left 
 free to take his own way, Robert sold the estate merely to get 
 rid of it. With no expensive tastes, except the taste for buyinc 
 pictures, he became a richer man than ever. 
 
 When their brother next communicated with them, Lady 
 Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee heard of him as a voluntary exile 
 in Italy. He was building a studio and a gallery ; he was 
 contemplating a series of pictures ; and he was a happy man 
 for the first time in his life. 
 
 Another interval passed — and the sisters heard of Robert 
 again. 
 
 Having already outraged the sense of propriety among his 
 English neighbours, he now degraded himself in the estima- 
 tion of his family, by marrying a ' model.' The letter an- 
 nouncing this event declared, with perfect truth, that he had 
 chosen a virtuous woman for his wife. She sat to artists, as 
 any lady might sit to any artist, ' for the head only.' Her 
 parents gained a bare subsistence by farming their own little 
 morsel of land ; they were honest people — and what did bi*other 
 Robert care for rank ? His own grandfather had been a 
 farmer. 
 
 Lady Northlake and Mrs. Gallilee felt it due to themselves 
 to hold a consultation, on the subject of their sister-in-law. 
 Was it desirable, in their own social interests, to cast Robert 
 off from that moment ? 
 
32 
 
 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Susan (previously advised by her kind-hearted husband) 
 leaned to the side of mercy. Robert's letter informed them 
 that he proposed to live, and die, in Italy. If he held to this 
 resolution, his marriage would surely be an endurable misfor- 
 tune to his relatives in Loudon. ' Suppose we write to him,' 
 Susan concluded, ' and say we are surprised, but we have no 
 doubt he knows best. We offer our congratulations to Mrs. 
 Robert, and our sincere wishes for his happiness.' 
 
 To Lady l^orthlake's astonishment Mrs. Gallilee adopted 
 this indulgent point of view, without a word of protest. She 
 had her reasons — but they were not producible to a relative 
 whose husband had forty thousand a year. Robert had paid 
 her debts. 
 
 An income of three thousand pounds, even in these days, 
 represents a handsome competence — provided you don't ' owe 
 a duty to society.' In Mrs. Gallilee's position, an income of 
 three thousand pounds represented genteel poverty. She was 
 getting into debt again ; and she was meditating future designs 
 on her brother's purse. A charming letter to Robert was the 
 result. It ended with, ' Do send me a photograph of your 
 lovely wife ! ' When the poor ' model ' died, not many years 
 afterwards, leaving one little daughter, Mrs. Gallilee implored 
 her brother to return to England. ' Come, dearest Robert, 
 and find consolation and a home, under the roof of your 
 affectionate Maria.' 
 
 But Robert remained in Italy, and was buried in Italy. 
 At the date of his death, he had three times paid his elder 
 sister's debts. On every occasion when he helped her in this 
 liberal way, she proved her gratitude by anticipating a larger, 
 and a larger, and a larger legacy if she outlived him. 
 
 Knowing (as the family lawyer) what sums of money Mrs. 
 Gallilee had extracted from her brother, Mr. Mool also knew 
 that the advances thus made had been considered as repre- 
 senting the legacy, to which she might otherwise have had 
 some sisterly claim. It was his duty to have warned her of 
 this, when she questioned him generally on the subject of the 
 Will; and he had said nothing about it, acting under a most 
 unbecoming motive — in plain words, the motive of fear. 
 From the self-reproachful feeling that now disturbed him, had 
 risen that wonderful blush which made its appearance on Mr. 
 Mod's countenance. He was actually ashamed of himself. 
 After all, is it too much to have suggested that he was a human 
 anomaly on the roll of attorneys ? 
 
HEART AXD SCIENCE. 33 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee made her appearance in the library — and Mr. 
 Mool's pulse accelerated its beat. Mrs. Gallilee's son followed 
 her into the room — and Mr. Mool's pulse steadied itself again. 
 By special arrangement with the lawyer, Ovid had been always 
 kept in ignorance of his mother's affairs. No matter how angry 
 she might be in the course of the next few minutes, she could 
 hardly express her indignation in the presence of her son. 
 
 Joyous anticipation has the happiest effect on female 
 beauty. Mrs. Gallilee looked remarkably well that day. 
 Having rather a round and full face, she wore her hair 
 (coloured from youthful nature) in a fringe across her fore- 
 head, balanced on either side by clusters of charming little 
 curls. Her mourning for Robert was worthy of its Parisian 
 origin ; it showed to perfect advantage the bloom of her com- 
 plexion and the whiteness of her neck — also worthy of their 
 Parisian origin. She looked like a portrait of the period of 
 Charles the Second, endowed with life. 
 
 ' And how do you do, Mr. Mool ? Have you been looking 
 at my ferns ? ' 
 
 The ferns were grouped at the entrance, leading from the 
 library to the conservatory. They had certainly not escaped 
 the notice of the lawyer, who possessed a hot-house of his own, 
 and who was an enthusiast in botany. It now occurred to 
 him— if he innocently provoked embarrassing results — that 
 ferns might be turned to useful and harmless account as a 
 means of introducing a change of subject. ' Even when she 
 hasn't spoken a word,' thought Mr. Mool, consulting his re- 
 collections, ' I have felt her eyes go through me like a knife.' 
 
 ' Spare us the technicalities, please,' Mrs. Gallilee continued, 
 pointing to the documents on the table. ' I want to be exactly 
 acquainted with the duties I owe to Carmina. And, by the 
 way, I naturally feel some interest in knowing whether Lady 
 Northlake has any place in the Will.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee never said ' my sister,' never spoke in the 
 family circle of ' Sasan.' The inexhaustible sense of injury, 
 aroused by that magnificent marriage, asserted itself in keep- 
 ing her sister at the full distance implied by never forgetting 
 her tkle. 
 
34 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 The first legacy mentioned in the Will,' said Mr. Mool, 
 is a legacy to Lady Northlake.' Mrs. Gallilee's face turned 
 as hard as iron. ' One hundred pounds,' Mr. Mool con- 
 tinued, ' to buy a mourning ring.' Mrs. Gallilee's eyes be- 
 came eloquent in an instant, and said as if in words, ' Thank 
 Heaven ! ' 
 
 ' So like your uncle's unpretending good sense,' she re- 
 marked to her son. ' Any other legacy to Lady Northlake 
 would have been simply absurd. Yes, Mr. Mool ? Perhaps 
 my name follows ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool cast a side-look at the ferns. He afterwards de- 
 scribed his sensations as reminding him of previous experience 
 in a dentist's chair, at the awful moment when the operator 
 says, ' Let me look,' and has his devilish instrument hidden in 
 his hand. The ' situation,' to use the language of the stage, 
 was indeed critical enough already. Ovid added to the horror 
 of it by making a feeble joke. ' What will you take for your 
 chance, mother ? ' 
 
 Before bad became worse, Mr. Mool summoned the energy 
 of despair. He wisely read the exact words of the Will, this 
 time : ' " And I give and bequeath to my sister, Mrs. Maria 
 Gallilee, one hundred pounds." ' 
 
 Ovid's astonishment could only express itself in action. 
 He started to his feet. 
 
 Mi\ Mool went on reading. ' " Free of legacy duty, to buy 
 a mourning ring ■ " ' 
 
 ' Impossible ! ' Ovid broke out. 
 
 Mr. Mool finished the sentence. ' " And my Bister will 
 understand the motive which animates me in making this be- 
 quest." ' He laid the Will on the table, and ventured to look 
 up. At the same time Ovid turned to his mother, struck by 
 the words which had been just read, and eager to inquire what 
 their meaning might be. 
 
 Happily for themselves, the two men never knew what the 
 preservation of their tranquillity owed to that one moment of 
 delay. 
 
 If they had looked at Mi*s. Gallilee, when she was first 
 aware of her position in the Will, they might have seen the 
 incarnate Devil self-revealed in a human face. They might 
 have read, in her eyes and on her lips, a warning hardly less 
 fearful than the unearthly writing on the wall, which told the 
 Eastern Monarch of his coming death. ' See this woman, and 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 35 
 
 know what I can do with her, when she has repelled her 
 guardian angel, and her sonl is left to Me.' 
 
 But the revelation showed itself, and vanished. Her face 
 was composed again, when her son and her lawyer looked at it. 
 Her voice was under control ; her inbred capacity for deceit 
 was ready for action. All those formidable qualities in her 
 nature, which a gentler and wiser training than hers had been 
 might have held in check — by development of preservative 
 influences that lay inert — were now driven back to their lurk- 
 ing-place ; leaving only the faintest traces of their momentary 
 appearance on the surface. Her breathing seemed to be 
 oppressed ; her eyelids drooped heavily — and that was all. 
 
 'Is the room too hot for you ? ' Ovid asked. 
 
 It was a harmless question, but any question annoyed her 
 at that moment. ' Nonsense ! ' she exclaimed, irritably. 
 
 ' The atmosphere of the conservatory is rich in reviving 
 pmclls,' Mr. Mool remarked. ' I)o I detect, among the delight- 
 ful perfumes which reach us, the fragrant root-stock of the 
 American fern ? If I am wrong, Mrs. Gallilee, may I send 
 you some of the sweet-smelling Maidenhair from my own little 
 hot-house ? ' He smiled persuasively. The ferns were already 
 justifying his conhdence in their peace-making virtues, turned 
 discreetly to account. Those terrible eyes rested on him mer- 
 cifully. Not even a covert allusion to his silence in the matter 
 of the legacy escaped her. Did the lawyer's artlessly abrupt 
 attempt to change the subject warn her to be on her guard ? 
 In any case she thanked him with the readiest courtesy for 
 his kind offer. Might she trouble him in the meantime to let 
 her see the Will ? 
 
 She read attentively the concluding words of the clause in 
 which her name appeared — ' My sister will understand the 
 motive which animates me in making this bequest ' — and then 
 handed back the Will to Mr. Mool. Before Ovid could ask for 
 it, she was ready with a plausible explanation. ' When your 
 uncle became a husband and a father,' she said, ' those claims 
 on him were paramount. He knew that a token of remem- 
 brance (the smaller the better) was all I could accept, if I 
 happened to outlive him. Please go on, Mr. Mool.' 
 
 In one respect, Ovid resembled his late uncle. They both 
 belonged to that high-miuded order of men, who are slow to 
 suspect, and therefore easy to deceive. Ovid tenderly took 
 his mother's hand. 
 
36 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 1 ought to have known it,' he said, ' without obliging 
 you to tell me.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee did not blush. Mr. Mool did. 
 
 ' Go on ! ' Mrs. Gallilee repeated. Mr. Mool looked at 
 Ovid. ' The next name, Mr. Vere, is yours.' 
 
 ' Does my uncle remember me as he has remembered my 
 mother? ' asked Ovid. 
 
 'Yes, sir — and let me tell yon, a very pretty compliment is 
 attached to the bequest. " It is needless " (your late nncle 
 says) " to leave any more important proof of remembrance to 
 my nephew. His father has already provided for him ; and, 
 with his rare abilities, he will make a second fortune by the 
 exercise of his profession." Most gratifying, Mrs. Gallilee, is 
 it not ? The next clause provides for the good old house- 
 keeper Teresa, and for her husband if he survives her, in the 
 following terms ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was becoming impatient to hear more of her- 
 self. ' We may, I think, pass over that,' she suggested, ' and 
 get to the part of it which relates to Carmina and me. Don't 
 think I am impatient; I am only desirous ' 
 
 The growling of a dog in the conservatory interrupted 
 her. 'That tiresome creature!' she said sharply; 'I shall 
 be obliged to get rid of him ! ' 
 
 Mr. Mool volunteered to drive the dog out of the conserva- 
 tory. Mrs. Gallilee, as irritable as ever, stopped him at the 
 door. 
 
 ' Don't, Mr. Mool ! That dog's temper is not to be trusted. 
 He shows it with Miss Minerva, my governess — growls just 
 in that way whenever he sees her. I dare say he smells you. 
 There ! Now he barks ! You are only making him worse. 
 Come back ! ' 
 
 Being at the door, gentle Mr. Mool tried the ferns as 
 peace-makers once more. He gathered a leaf, and returned 
 to his place in a state of meek admiration. ' The flowering 
 fern ! ' he said softly. 'A really fine specimen, Mrs. Gallilee, 
 of the Osmunda liegalis. What a world of beauty in this 
 bipinnate frond ! One hardly knows where the stalk ends 
 and the leaf begins ! ' 
 
 The dog, a bright little terrier, came trotting into the 
 library. He saluted the company briskly with his tail, not 
 excepting Mr. Mool. No growl, or approach to a growl, now 
 escaped him. The manner in which he laid himself down at 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 37 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's feet completely refuted her aspersion on his 
 temper. Ovid suggested that he might have been provoked 
 by a cat in the conservatory. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mr. Mool turned over a page of the Will, and 
 arrived at the clauses relating to Carmina and her guardian. 
 
 ' It may not be amiss,' he began, ' to mention, in the first 
 place, that the fortune left to Miss Carmina amounts, in round 
 numbers, to one hundred and thirty thousand pounds. The 
 Trustees — ■ — ' 
 
 ' Skip the Trustees,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 Mr. Mool skipped. 
 
 ' In the matter of the guardian,' he said, ' there is a pre- 
 liminary clause, in the event of your death or refusal to act, 
 appointing Lady Northlake ' 
 
 ' Skip Lady Northlake,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 Mr. Mool skipped. 
 
 ' You are appointed Miss Carmiua's guardian, nntil she 
 comes of age,' he resumed. ' If she marries in that inter- 
 val ' 
 
 He paused to turn over a page. Not only Mrs. Gallilee, 
 but Ovid also, now listened with the deepest interest. 
 
 ' If she marries in that interval, with her guardian's 
 approval ' 
 
 ' Suppose I don't approve of her choice ? ' Mrs. Gallilee 
 interposed. 
 
 Ovid looked at his mother — and quickly looked away 
 again. The restless little terrier caught his eye, and jumped 
 up to be patted. Ovid was too pre-occnpied to notice this 
 modest advance. The dog's eyes and ears expressed reproach- 
 ful surprise. His friend Ovid had treated him rudely for the 
 first time in his life. 
 
 1 If the young lady contracts a matrimonial engagement 
 of which you disapprove,' Mr. Mool answered, 'you are in- 
 structed by the testator to assert your reasons in the presence 
 of — well, I may describe it, as a family council ; composed of 
 Mr. Gallilee, and of Lord and Lady Northlake.' 
 
 ' Excessively foolish of Robert,' Mrs. Gallilee remarked. 
 ' And what, Mr. Mool, is this meddling council of three to do?' 
 
 ' A majority of the council, Mrs. Gallilee, is to decide the 
 question absolutely. If the decision confirms your view, and 
 if Miss Carmina still persists in her resolution nothwith- 
 standing; ' 
 
38 HEART AND SCIENCE, 
 
 i 
 
 'Am I to give way ? ' Mi's. Gallilee asked. 
 
 'Not until your niece comes of age, ma'am. Then, she 
 decides for herself.' 
 
 1 And inherits the fortune ? ' 
 
 ' Only an income from part of it — if her marriage is dis- 
 approved by her guardian and her relatives.' 
 
 ' And what becomes of the rest ? ' 
 
 ' The whole of it,' said Mr. Mool, ' will be invested by the 
 Trustees, and will be divided equally, on her death, among her 
 children.' 
 
 ' Suppose she leaves no children ? ' 
 
 'That case is provided for, ma'am, by the last clause. I 
 will only say now, that you are interested in the result.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee turned swiftly and sternly to her son. 
 'When I am dead and gone,' she said, 'I look to you to 
 defend my memory.' 
 
 ' To defend your memory ? ' Ovid repeated, wondering 
 what she could possibly mean. 
 
 ' If I do become interested in the disposal of Robert's for- 
 tune — which God forbid ! — can't you foresee what will hap- 
 pen ? ' his mother inquired bitterly. ' Lady Northlake will 
 say, " Maria intrigued for this ! " ' 
 
 Mr. Mool looked doubtfully at the ferns. No ! His vege- 
 table allies were not strong enough to check any further out- 
 pouring of such family feeling as this. Nothing was to be 
 trusted, in the present emergency, but the superior authority 
 of the Will. 
 
 ' Pardon me,' he said ; ' there are some further instruc- 
 tions, Mrs. Gallilee, which, as I venture to think, exhibit your 
 late brother's well-known liberality of feeling in a very inte- 
 resting light. They relate to the provision made for his 
 daughter, while she is residing under your roof. Miss Car- 
 mina is to have the. services of the best masters, in finishing 
 her education.' 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' cried Mrs. Gallilee, with the utmost fervour. 
 
 ' And the use of a carriage to herself, whenever she may 
 require it.' 
 
 ' No, Mr. Mool ! Two carriages — in such a climate as this. 
 One open, and one closed.' 
 
 ' And to defray these and other expenses, the Trustees are 
 authorised to place at your disposal one thousand a year.' 
 
 ' Too much ! too much ! ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 39 
 
 Mr. Mool iniglit have agreed with her — if he had not 
 known that Robert Graywell had thought of his sister's inter- 
 ests, in making this excessive provision for expenses incurred 
 on his daughter's account. 
 
 ' Perhaps, her dresses and her pocket-money are included? ' 
 Mrs. Gallilee resumed. 
 
 • Mr. Mool smiled, and shook his head. ' Mr. Graywell's 
 generosity has no limits,' he said, ' where his daughter is con- 
 cerned. Miss Carnrina is to have five hundred a year for 
 pocket-money and dresses.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee appealed to the sympathies of her son. ' Isn't 
 it touching ? ' she said. ' Dear Carmina ! my own people in 
 Paris shall make her dresses. Well, Mr. Mool ? ' 
 
 'Allow me to read the exact language of the Will next,' 
 Mr. Mool answered. ' " If her sweet disposition leads her into 
 exceeding her allowance, in the pursuit of her own little chari- 
 ties, my Trustees are hereby authorised, at their own discre- 
 tion, to increase the amount, within the limit of another five 
 hundred pounds annually." It sounds presumptuous, per- 
 haps, on my part,' said Mr. Mool, venturing on a modest con- 
 fession of enthusiasm, ' bnt one can't help thinking, What a 
 good father ! what a good child ! ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee had another appropriate remark ready on her 
 lips, when the unlucky dog interrupted her once more. He 
 made a sudden rush into the conservatory, barking with all 
 his might. A crashing noise followed the dog's outbreak, 
 which sounded like the fall of a flower-pot. 
 
 Ovid hurried into the conservatory — with the dog ahead 
 of him, tearing down the steps which led into the back 
 garden. 
 
 The pot lay broken on the tiled floor. Struck by the 
 beauty of the flower that grew in it, he stooped to set it up 
 again. If, instead of doing this, he had advanced at once to 
 the second door, he would have seen a lady hastening into 
 the house ; and, though her back view only was presented, he 
 could hardly have failed to recognise Miss Minerva. As it 
 was, when he reached the door, the garden was empty. 
 
 He looked up at the house and saw Carmina at the open 
 window of her bedroom. 
 
 The sad expression on that sweet young face grieved him. 
 Was she thinking of her happy past life ? or of the doubtful 
 future, among strangers in a strange country ? She noticed 
 
40 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Ovid — and her eyes brightened. His customary coldness with 
 women melted instantly : he kissed his hand to her. She 
 returned the salute (so familiar to her in Italy) with her 
 gentle smile, and looked back into the room. Teresa showed 
 herself at the window. Always following her impulses 
 without troubling herself to think first, the duenna followed 
 them now. 'We are dull up here,' she called out. 'Come 
 back to us, Mr. Ovid.' The words had hardly been spoken 
 before they both turned from the window. Teresa pointed 
 significantly into the room. They disappeared. 
 
 Ovid went back to the library. 
 
 ' Anybody listening ? ' Mr. Mool inquired. 
 
 ' I have not discovered anybody, but I doubt if a stray cat 
 eould have upset that heavy flower-pot.' He looked round him 
 &8 he made the reply. ' Where is my mother ? ' he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee had gone upstairs, eager to tell Carmina of 
 the handsome allowance made to her by her father. Having 
 answered in these terms, Mr. Mool began to fold up the Will 
 —and suddenly stopped. 
 
 ' Yery inconsiderate on my part/ he said ; ' I forgot, Mr. 
 Ovid, that you haven't heard the end of it. Let me give you 
 a brief abstract. You know, perhaps, that Miss Carmina is a 
 Catholic? Yery natural — her poor mother's religion. Well, 
 sir, her good father forgets nothing. All attempts at prosely- 
 tising are strictly forbidden.' 
 
 Ovid smiled. His mother's religious convictions began 
 and ended with the inorganic matter of the earth. 
 
 ' The last clause,' Mr. Mool proceeded, ' seemed to agitate 
 Mrs. Gallilee quite painfully. I reminded her that her brother 
 had no near relations living, but Lady Nortblake and her- 
 self. As to leaving money to my lady, in my lord's princely 
 position ' 
 
 ' Pardon me,' Ovid interposed, ' what is there to agitate 
 my mother in this ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool made his apologies for not getting sooner to the 
 point, with the readiest good-will. ' Professional habit, Mr. 
 Ovid,' he explained. ' We are apt to be wordy — paid, in fact, 
 at so much a folio, for so many words ! — and we like to clear 
 the ground first. Your late uncle ends his Will, by providing 
 for the disposal of his fortune, in two possible events, as 
 follows : Miss Carmina may die unmarried, or Miss Carmina 
 (being married) may die without offspring.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 41 
 
 Seeing the importance of the last clause now, Ovid stopped 
 him again. ' Do I remember the amount of the fortune cor- 
 rectly ? ' he asked. ' Was it a hundred and thirty thousand 
 pounds ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And what becomes of all that money, if Carmina never 
 marries, or if she leaves no children ? ' 
 
 ' In either of those cases, sir, the whole of the money goes 
 to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters.' 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Time had advanced to midnight, after the reading of the Will 
 — and Ovid was at home. 
 
 The silence of the quiet street in which he lived was only 
 disturbed by the occasional rolling of carriage wheels, and by 
 dance-music from the house of one of his neighbours who was 
 giving a ball. He sat at his writing-table, thinking. Honest 
 self-examination had laid out the state of his mind before 
 him like a map, and had shown him, in i'is true proportions, 
 the new interest that filled his life. 
 
 Of that interest he was now the willing slave. If he had 
 not known his mother to be with her, he would have gone 
 back to Carmina when the lawyer left the house. As it was, 
 he had sent a message upstairs, iuviting himself to dinner, 
 solely for the purpose of seeing Carmina again — and he had 
 been bitterly disappointed when he heard that Mr. and 
 Mrs. Gallilee were engaged, and that his cousin would take 
 tea in her room. He had eaten something at his club, without 
 caring what it was. He had gone to the Opera afterwards, 
 merely because his recollections of a favourite singing-lady of 
 that season vaguely reminded him of Carmina. And there he 
 was, at midnight, on his return from the music, eager for the 
 next opportunity of seeing his cousin, a few hours hence — 
 when he had arranged to say good-bye at the family break- 
 fast-table. 
 
 To feel this change in him as vividly as he felt it, could 
 lead to but one conclusion in the mind of a man who was 
 incapable of purposely deceiving himself. He was as certain 
 as ever of the importance of rest and change, in the broken 
 
42 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 state of his health. Aiicl yet, in the face of that conviction, 
 his contemplated sea- voyage had already become one of the 
 vanished illusions of his life! 
 
 His friend had arranged to travel with him that morning 
 from London to the port at which the yacht was waiting for 
 them. They were hardly intimate enough to trust each other 
 unreservedly with secrets. The customary apology for break- 
 ing an engagement was the alternative that remained. With 
 the paper on his desk and with the words on his mind, he v/as 
 yet in such a strange state of indecision that he hesitated to 
 write the letter ! 
 
 His morbidly-sensitive nerves were sadly shaken. Even 
 the familiar record of the half-hour by the hall clock startled 
 him. The stroke of the bell was succeeded by a mild and 
 mournful so and outside the door — the mewing of a cat. 
 
 He rose, without any appearance of surprise, and opened 
 the door. 
 
 "With grace and dignity entered a small black female cat ; 
 exhibiting, by way of variety of colour, a melancholy triangular 
 patch of white over the lower part of her face, and four 
 brilliantly clean white paws. Ovid went back to his desk. 
 As soon as he was in his chair again the cat jumped on his 
 shoulder, and sat there purring in his ear. This was the 
 place she occupied whenever her master was writing alone. 
 Passing one day through a suburban neighbourhood, on his 
 round of visits, the young surgeon had been attracted by a 
 crowd in a by-street. He had rescued his present companion 
 from starvation in a locked-up house, the barbarous inhabi- 
 tants of which had gone away for a holiday, and had ftn*gotten 
 the cat. When Ovid took the poor creature home with him 
 in his carriage, popular feeling decided that the unknown 
 gentleman was ' a rum 'un.' From that moment this fortu- 
 nate little member of a brutally-slandered race attached 
 herself to her new friend, and to that friend only. If 
 Ovid had owned the truth, he must have acknowledged that 
 her company was a relief to him, in the present state of his 
 mind. 
 
 When a man's flagging purpose is in want of a stimulant, 
 the most trifling change in the circumstances of the moment 
 often applies the animating influence. Even such a small 
 interruption as the appearance of his cat rendered this service 
 to Ovid. To use the common and expressive phrase, it had 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 43 
 
 'shaken him up.' He wrote the letter — and his patient com- 
 panion killed the time by washing her face. 
 
 His mind being so far relieved, he went to bed— the cat 
 following him upstairs to her bed in a corner of the room. 
 Clothes are unwholesome superfluities not contemplated in 
 the system of Nature. When we are exhausted, there is no 
 such thing as true repose for us until we are freed from our 
 dress. Men subjected to any excessive exertion — fighting, 
 rowing, walking, working — must strip their bodies as com- 
 pletely as possible, or they are not equal to the call on them. 
 Ovid's knowledge of his own temperament told him that sleep 
 was not to be hoped for, that night. But the way to bed was 
 the way to rest notwithstanding, by getting rid of his clothes. 
 
 With the sunrise he rose and went out. 
 
 He took his letter with him, and dropped it into the box 
 in his friend's door. The sooner he committed himself to the 
 new course that he had taken, the more certain he might feel 
 of not renewing the miserable and useless indecision of the 
 past night. ' Thank God, that's done ! ' he said to himself, as 
 he heard the letter fall into the box, and left the house. 
 
 After walking in the Park until he was weary, he sat down 
 by the ornamental lake, and watched the waterfowl enjoying 
 their happy lives. 
 
 Wherever he went, whatever he did, Carmina was always 
 with him. He had seen thousands of girls, whose personal 
 attractions were far more remarkable — and some few among 
 them whose manner was perhaps equally winning. What was 
 the charm in the little half-foreign cousin that had seized on 
 him in an instant, and that seemed to fasten its subtle hold 
 more and more irresistibly with every minute of his life ? 
 He was content to feel the charm without caring to fathom it. 
 The lovely morning light took him in imagination to her bed- 
 side ; he saw her sleeping peacefully in her new room. Would 
 the time come when she might dream of him ? He looked at 
 his watch. It was seven o'clock. The breakfast-hour at Fair- 
 field Gardens had been fixed for eight, to give him time to 
 catch the morning train. Half an hour might be occupied in 
 walking back to his own house. Add ten minutes to make 
 some change in his dress — and he might set forth for his next 
 meeting with Carmina. No uneasy anticipation of what the 
 family circle might think of his sudden change of plan troubled 
 his mind. A very different question occupied him. For the 
 
44 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 first time in his life, he wondered what dress a woman would 
 wear at breakfast time. 
 
 He opened his house door with his own key. An elderly 
 person, in a coarse black gown, was seated on the bench in 
 the hall. She rose, and advanced towards him. In speechless 
 astonishment, he confronted Carolina's faithful companion — 
 Teresa. 
 
 1 If you please, I want to speak to you,' she said, in her 
 best English. 
 
 Ovid took her into his consulting-room. She wasted no 
 time in apologies or explanations. ' Don't speak ! ' she broke 
 out. ' Carmina has had a bad night.' 
 
 'I shall be at the house in half an hour!' Ovid eagerly 
 assured her. 
 
 The duenna shook her forefinger impatiently. ' She doesn't 
 want a doctor. She wants a friend, when I am gone. What 
 is her life here ? A new life, among new people. Don't 
 speak ! She's frightened and miserable. So young, so shy, 
 so easily startled. And I must leave her — I must ! I must ! 
 My old man is failing fast ; he may die, without a creature to 
 comfort him, if I don't go back. I could tear my hair when I 
 think of it. Don't speak ! It's my business to speak. Ha ! 
 I know, what I know. Young doctor, you're in love with 
 Carmina! I've read you like a book. You're quick to see, 
 sudden to feel — like one of my people. Be one of my people. 
 Help me.' 
 
 She dragged a chair close to Ovid, and laid her hand sud- 
 denly and heavily on his arm. 
 
 'It's not my fault, mind ; J have said nothing to disturb 
 her. No ! I've made the best of it. I've lied to her. What 
 do I care ? I would lie like Judas Iscariot himself to spare 
 Carmina a moment's pain. It's such a new life for her — try 
 to see it for yourself — such a new life. You and I shook 
 hands yesterday. Do it again. Are you surprised to see me ? 
 I asked your mother's servants where you lived ; and here I 
 am — with the cruel teeth of anxiety gnawing me alive when I 
 think of the time to come. Oh, my lamb ! my angel ! she's 
 alone. Oh, my God, only seventeen years old, and alone in 
 the world ! No father, no mother ; and soon — oh, too soon, 
 too soon — not even Teresa ! What are you looking at ? What 
 is there so wonderful in the tears of a stupid old fool ? Drops 
 of hot water. Ha ! ha ! if they fall on your fine carpet here, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 45 
 
 they won't hurt it. You're a good fellow ; you're a dear 
 fellow. Hush ! I know the Evil Eye when I see it. No 
 more of that ! A secret in your ear — I've said a word for you 
 to Carinina already. Give her time; she's not cold; young 
 and innocent, that's all. Love will come — I know, what I 
 know — love will come.' 
 
 She laughed — and, in the very net of laughing, changed 
 agaiu. Fright looked wildly at Ovid out of her staring eyes. 
 Some terrifying remembrance had suddenly occurred to her. 
 She sprang to her feet. 
 
 ' You said you were going away,' she cried. 'You said it, 
 when you left us yesterday. It can't be ! it shan't be ! You re 
 not going to leave Carolina, too ? ' 
 
 Ovid's first impulse was to tell the whole truth. He re- 
 sisted the impulse. To own that Carmina was the cause of 
 his abandonment of the ?ea-vo} r agp, before she was even sure 
 of the impression she had produced on him, would be to place 
 himself in a position from which his self-respect recoiled. ' My 
 plans are changed,' was all he said to Teresa. ' Make your 
 mind easy ; I'm not going away.' 
 
 The strange old creature snapped her fingers joyously. 
 'Good-bye! I want no more of yon.' With those cool and 
 candid words of farewell, she advanced to the door — stopped 
 suddenly to think — and came back. Only a moment had 
 passed, and she was as sternly in earnest again as ever. 
 
 ' May I call you by your name ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' 
 
 ' Listen, Ovid ! I may not see yon again before I go back 
 to my husband. This is my last word — never forget it. Even 
 Carmina may have enemies ! ' 
 
 What could she be thinking of ? ' Enemies — in my mother's 
 house ! ' Ovid exclaimed. 'What can you possibly mean ? ' 
 
 Teresa returned to the dcor, and only answered him when 
 she had opened it to go. 
 
 ' The Evil Eye never lies,' she said. ' Wait — and you will 
 see.' 
 
46 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was on her way to the break fust-room, when 
 her son entered the house. They met in the hall. ' Is your 
 packing done ? ' she asked. 
 
 He was in no humour to wait, and make his confession at 
 that moment. ' Not yet,' was his only reply. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee led the way into the room. ' Ovid's luggage 
 is not ready yet,' she announced ; ' I believe he will lose his 
 train.' 
 
 They were all at the breakfast table, the children aud the 
 governess included. Carmina's worn face, telling its tale of a 
 wakeful night, brightened again, as it bad brightened at the 
 bedroom window, when she saw Ovid. She took his hand 
 frankly, and made light of her weary looks. ' No, my cousin,' 
 she said, playfully ; ' I mean to be worthier of my pretty bed 
 to-night ; I am not going to be your patient yet.' Mr. Gallilee 
 (with his mouth full at the moment) offered good advice. 
 ' Eat and drink as I do, my dear,' he said to Carmina ; ' and 
 you will sleep as I do. Off I go when the light's out — flat on 
 my back, as Mrs. Gallilee will tell you — aud wake me if you 
 can, till it's time to get up. Have some buttered eggs, Ovid. 
 They're good, ain't they, Zo ? ' Zo looked up from her plate, 
 and agreed with her father, in one emphatic word, ' Jolly ! ' 
 Miss Minerva, queen of governesses, instantly did her duty. 
 ' Zoe ! how often must I tell you not to talk slang ? Do you 
 ever hear your sister say " Jolly ? " ' That highly-cultivated 
 child, Maria, strong in conscious virtue, added her authority 
 in support of the protest. ' No young lady who respects her- 
 self, Zoe, will ever talk slang.' Mr. Gallilee was unworthy 
 of such a daughter. He muttered under his breath, ' Oh, 
 bother ! ' Zo held out her plate for more. Mr. Gallilee was 
 delighted. ' My child all over ! ' he exclaimed. ' We are both 
 of us good feedei^s. Zo will grow up a fine woman.' He 
 appealed to his stepson to agree with him. ' That's your 
 medical opinion, Ovid, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Carrnina's pretty smile passed like rippling light over her 
 eyes and her lips. In her brief experience of England, Mr. 
 Gallilee was the one exhilarating element in family life. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. tf 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's mind still dwelt on her son's luggage, and 
 on the rigorous punctuality of railway arrangements. 
 
 ' What is your servant about ? ' she said to Ovid. ' It's 
 his business to see that you are ready in time.' 
 
 It was useless to allow the false impression that prevailed 
 to continue any longer. Ovid set them all right, in the 
 plainest and fewest words. 
 
 ' My servant is not to blame,' he said. ' I have -written an 
 apology to my friend — I am not going away.' 
 
 For the moment, this astounding announcement was re- 
 ceived in silent dismay — excepting the youngest member of 
 the company. After her father, Ovid was the one other 
 person in the world who held a place in Zo's odd little heai't. 
 Her sentiments were now expressed without hesitation and 
 without reserve. She put down her spoon, and she cried, 
 ' Hooray ! ' Another exhibition of vulgarity. But even Miss 
 Minerva was too completely preoccupied by the revelation 
 wliich had burst on the family to administer the necessary 
 reproof. Her eager eyes were riveted on Ovid. As for Mr. 
 Gallilee, he held his bread and butter suspended in mid-aii*, 
 and stared open-mouthed at his stepson, in helpless conster- 
 nation. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee always set the right example. Mrs. Gallilee 
 was the first to demand an explanation. 
 
 ' What does this extraordinary proceeding mean ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 Ovid was impenetrable to the tone in which that question 
 was put. He had looked at his cousin, when he declared his 
 change of plan — and he was looking at her still. Whatever 
 the feeling of the moment might be, Carmina's sensitive face 
 expressed it vividly. Who could mistake the faintly-rising 
 colour in her cheeks, the sweet quickening of light in her 
 eyes, when she met Ovid's look ? Still hardly capable of 
 estimating the influence that she exercised over him, her 
 sense of the interest taken in her by Ovid was the proud 
 sense that makes girls innocently bold. Whatever the others 
 might think of his broken engagement, her artless eyes said 
 plainly, ' My feeling is happy surprise.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee summoned her son to attend her, in no 
 friendly voice. She, too, had looked at Carmina — and had 
 registered the result of her observation privately. 
 
 ' Are we to hear your reasons ? ' she inquired. 
 
48 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Ovid had made the one discovery in the world, on which 
 his whole heart was set. He was so happy, that he kept his 
 mother out of his secret, with a masterly composure worthy 
 of herself. 
 
 ' I don't think a sea- voyage is the right thing for me,' ho 
 answered. 
 
 'Rather a sudden change of opinion,' Mrs. Gallilee re- 
 marked. 
 
 Ovid coolly agreed with her. It was rather sudden, he said. 
 
 The governess still looked at him, wondering whether he 
 would provoke an outbreak. 
 
 After a little pause, Mrs. Gallilee accepted her son's short 
 answer — with a sudden submission which had a meaning of its 
 own. She offered Ovid another cup of tea ; and, more remark- 
 able jet, she turned to her eldest daughter, and deliberately 
 changed the subject. ' What are your lessons, my dear, to- 
 day ? ' she asked, with bland maternal interest. 
 
 By this time, bewildered Mr. Gallilee bad finished his 
 bi-ead and butter. ' Ovid knows best, my dear,' he said cheer- 
 fully to his wife. Mrs. Gallilee's sudden recovery of her 
 temper did not include her husband. If a look could have 
 annihilated that worthy man, his corporal presence must have 
 vanished into air, when he had delivered himself of his 
 opinion. As it was, he only helped Zo to another spoonful of 
 jam. 'When Ovid first thought of that voyage,' he went on, 
 ' I said, Suppose he's sick ? A dreadful sensation, isn't it, 
 Miss Minerva ? First you seem to sink into your shoes, and 
 then it all comes up — eh ? You're not sick at sea ? I con- 
 gratulate you ! I most sincerely congratulate you ! My 
 dear Ovid, come and dine with me to-night at the club.' He 
 looked doubtfully at his wife, as he made that proposal. 
 ' Got the headache, my dear ? I'll take you out with pleasure 
 for a walk. What's the matter with her, Miss Minerva ? 
 
 Oh, I see ! Hush ! Maria's going to say grace. Amen ! 
 
 Amen ! ' 
 
 They all rose from the table. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee was the first to open the door. The smoking- 
 room at Fairfield Gardens was over the kitchen ; he preferred 
 enjoying his cigar in the garden of the Square. He looked 
 at Carmina and Ovid, as if he wanted one of them to accom- 
 pany him. They were both at the aviary, admiring the birds, 
 and absorbed in their own talk. Mr. Gallilee resigned himself 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 49 
 
 to his fate ; appealing, on bis way out, to somebody to ngiee 
 with bim as usual. ' Well ! ' he said with a little sigh, ' a 
 cigar keeps one company.' Miss Minerva (absorbed in her 
 own thoughts) passed near him, on her way to the school- 
 room with her pupils. ' You would find it so yourself, Miss 
 Minerva — that is to say, if you smoked, which of course you 
 don't. Be a good girl, Zo ; attend to your lessons.' 
 
 Zo's perversity in the matter of lessons put its own 
 crooked construction on this excellent advice. She answered 
 in a whisper, ' Give us a holiday.' 
 
 The passing aspirations of idle minds, being subject to the 
 law of chances, are sometimes fulfilled, and so exhibit poor 
 human wishes in a consolatory light. Thanks to the conver- 
 sation between Carmina and Ovid, Zo got her holiday after all. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee, still as amiable as ever, had joined her 
 son and her niece at the aviary. Ovid said to his mother, 
 ' Carmina is fond of birds. I have been telling her she may 
 see all the races of birds assembled in the Zoological Gardens. 
 It's a perfect day. Why shouldn't we go ? ' 
 
 The stupidest woman living would have understood what 
 this proposal really meant. Mrs. Gallilee sanctioned it as 
 composedly as if Ovid and Carmina had been brother and 
 sister. ' I wish I could go with you,' she said, ' but my house- 
 hold affairs fill my morning. And there is a lecture this after- 
 noon, which I cannot possibly lose. I don't know, Carmina, 
 whether you are interested in these things. We are to have 
 the apparatus, which illustrates the conversion of radiant 
 energy into sonorous vibrations. Have you ever heard, my 
 dear, of the Diathermancy of Ebonite ? Not in your way, 
 perhaps ? ' 
 
 Carmina looked as unintelligent as Zo herself. Mrs. Gal- 
 lilee's science seemed to frighten her. The Diathermancy of 
 Ebonite, by some incomprehensible process, drove her bewil- 
 dered mind back on her old companion. ' I want to give 
 Teresa a little pleasure before we part,' she said timidly ; 
 'may she go with us ? ' 
 
 ' Of course ! ' cried Mrs. Gallilee. 'And, now I think of 
 it, why shouldn't the children have a little pleasure too ? I 
 will give them a holiday. Don't be alarmed, Ovid ; Mi^s 
 Minerva will look after them. In the meantime, Carmina, tell 
 your good old friend to get ready.' 
 
 Carmina hastened away, and so helped Mrs. Gallilee to the 
 E 
 
50 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 immediate object which she had in view — a private interview 
 with her son. 
 
 Ovid anticipated a searching inquiry into the motives which 
 had led him to give up the sea voyage. His mother was far 
 too clever a woman to waste her time in that way. Her first 
 words told him that his motive was as plainly revealed to her 
 as the sunlight shining in at the window. 
 
 ' That's a charming girl,' she said, when Carmina closed 
 the door behind her. ' Modest and natural — quite the sort of 
 girl, Ovid, to attract a clever man like you.' 
 
 Ovid was completely taken by surprise, and owned it by 
 his silence. Mrs. Gallilee went on in a tone of innocent 
 maternal pleasantry. 
 
 'You know you began young,' she said ; 'your first love 
 was that poor little wizen girl of Lady Northlake's who died. 
 Child's play, you will tell me, and nothing more. Bnt, my 
 dear, I am afraid I shall require some persuasion, before I 
 quite sympathise with this new — what shall I call it ? — infatu- 
 ation is too hard a word, and " fancy " means nothing. We 
 will leave it a blank. Marriages of cousins are debatable 
 marriages, to say the least of them ; and Protestant fathers 
 and Papist mothers do occasionally involve difficulties with 
 children. Not that I say, No. Far from it. But if this is 
 to go on, I do hesitate.' 
 
 Something in his mother's tone grated on Ovid's sensibili- 
 ties. ' I don't at all follow you,' he said, rather sharply ; 'you 
 are looking a little too far into the future.' 
 
 ' Then we will return to the present,' Mrs. Gallilee replied 
 — still with the readiest submission to the humour of her son. 
 
 On recent occasions, she had expressed the opinion that 
 Ovid would do wisely — at his age, and with his professional 
 prospects — to wait a few years before he thought of marrying. 
 Having said enough in praise of her niece to satisfy him for 
 the time being (without appearing to be meanly influenced, 
 in modifying her opinion, by the question of money), her next 
 object was to induce him to leave England immediately, for 
 the recovery of his health. With Ovid absent, and with Car- 
 mina under her sole superintendence, Mrs. Gallilee could see 
 her way to her own private ends. 
 
 ' Really,' she resumed, ' you ought to think seriously of 
 change of air and scene. Tou know you would not allow a 
 patient, in your present state of health, to trifle with himself 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 51 
 
 as you arc trifling now. If you don't like the sea, try the Con- 
 tinent. Get away somewhere, my dear, for your own sake.' 
 
 It was only possible to answer this in one way. Ovid 
 owned that his mother was right, and asked for time to think. 
 To his infinite relief, he was interrupted by a knock at the 
 door. Miss Minerva entered the room — not in a very amiable 
 temper, judging by appearances. 
 
 ' I am afraid I disturb you,' she began. 
 
 Ovid seized the opportunity of retreat. He had some letters 
 to write — he hux*ried away to the library. 
 
 ' Is there any mistake ? ' the goveimess asked, when she 
 and Mrs. Gallilee were alone. 
 
 ' In what respect, Miss Minerva ? ' 
 
 ' I met your niece, ma'am, on the stairs. She says you 
 wish the children to have a holiday.' 
 
 ' Yes, to go with my son and Miss Carmina to the Zoo- 
 logical Gardens.' 
 
 ' Miss Carmina said I was to go too.' 
 
 'Miss Carmina was perfectly right.' 
 
 The governess fixed her searching eyes on Mrs. Gallilee. 
 ' You really wish me to go with them ? ' she said. 
 
 'I do.' 
 
 ' I know why.' 
 
 In the coui^se of their experience, Mrs. Gallilee and Miss 
 Minerva had once quarrelled fiercely — and Mrs. Gallilee had 
 got the worst of it. She learnt her lesson. For the future 
 she knew how to deal with her governess. When one said, 
 ' I know why,' the other only answered, ' Do you ? ' 
 
 ' Let's have it out plainly, ma'am,' Miss Minerva proceeded. 
 ' I am not to let Mr. Ovid ' (she laid a bitterly strong emphasis 
 on the name, and flashed angrily) — ' I am not to let Mr. Ovid 
 and Miss Carmina be alone together.' 
 
 ' You are a good gaesser,' Airs. Gallilee remarked quietly. 
 
 ' No,' said Miss Minerva, more quietly still ; ' I have only 
 seen what you have seen.' 
 
 ' Did I tell you what I have seen ? ' 
 
 ' Quite needless, ma'am. Your son is in love with his 
 cousin. When am I to be ready ? ' 
 
 The bland mistress mentioned the hour. The rude gover- 
 ness left the room. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee looked at the closing door with a curious 
 smile. She had already suspected Miss Minerva of being 
 
 k 2 
 
f2 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 crossed in love. The suspicion was now confirmed, and the 
 man was discovered. 
 
 1 Soured by a hopeless passion,' she said to herself. ' And 
 the object is — my son.' 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 On entering the Zoological Gardens, Ovid turned at once to 
 the right, leading Carmina to the aviaries, so that she might 
 begin by seeing the birds. Miss Minerva, with Maria in dutiful 
 attendance, followed them. Teresa kept at a little distance 
 behind ; and Zo took her own erratic course, now attaching 
 herself to one member of the little party, and now to another. 
 
 When they reached the aviaries the order of march became 
 confused; differences in the birds made their appeal to dif- 
 ferences in the taste of the visitors. Insatiably eager for 
 useful information, that prize-pupil Maria held her governess 
 captive at one cage ; while Zo darted away towards another, 
 out of reach of discipline, and good Teresa volunteered to 
 bring 1 her back. For a minute, Ovid and bis cousin were left 
 alone. He might have taken a lover s advantage even of that 
 small opportunity. But Cai*mina had something to say to him 
 — and Carmina spoke first. 
 
 ' Has Miss Minerva been your mother's governess for a 
 long time ? ' she inquired. 
 
 ' For some years,' Ovid replied. ' Will you let me put a 
 question on my side ? Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 Carmina hesitated — and answered in a whisper, ' She looks 
 ill-tempered.' 
 
 'She is ill-tempered,' Ovid confessed. 'I suspect,' he 
 added with a smile, ' you don't like Miss Minerva.' 
 
 Carmina attempted no denial ; her excuse was a woman's 
 excuse all over : ' She doesn't like me.' 
 
 ' How do you know ? ' 
 
 ' I have been looking at her. Does she beat the children ? ' 
 
 ' My dear Carmina ! do you think she would be my mother's 
 governess if she treated the children in that way ? Besides, 
 Miss Minerva is too well-bred a woman to degrade herself by 
 acts of violence. Family misfortunes have very materially 
 lowered her position in the world.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 53 
 
 He was reminded, as he said those words, of the time 
 when Miss Minerva had entered on her present employment, 
 and when she had been the object of some little curiosity on 
 his own part. Mrs. Grallilee's answer, when he once asked 
 why she kept such an irritable woman in the house, had been 
 entirely satisfactory, so far as she herself was concerned : 
 ' Miss Minerva is remarkably well informed, and I get her 
 cheap.' Exactly like his mother ! But it left Miss Minerva's 
 motives involved in utter obscurity. Why had this highly 
 cultivated woman accepted an inadequate reward for her 
 services, for years together ? Why — to take the event of that 
 morning as another example — after plainly showing her tem- 
 per to her employer, had she been so ready to submit to a 
 suddenly decreed holiday, which disarranged her whole course 
 of lessons for the week ? Little did Ovid think that the one 
 reconciling influence which adjusted these contradictions, and 
 set at rest every doubt that grew out of them, was to be found 
 in himself. Even the humiliation of watching him in his 
 mother's interest, and of witnessing his devotion to another 
 woman, was a sacrifice which Miss Minerva could endure for 
 the one inestimable privilege of being in Ovid's company. 
 
 Before Carmina could ask any more questions a shrill 
 voice, at its highest pitch of excitement, called her away. 
 Zo had just discovered the most amusing bird in the Gardens 
 — the low comedian of the feathered race — otherwise known 
 as the Piping Crow. 
 
 Carmina hurried to the cage as if she had been a child 
 herself. Seeing Ovid left alone, the governess seized her 
 chance of speaking to him. The first words that passed her 
 lips told their own story. While Carmina had been studying 
 Miss Minerva, Miss Minerva had been studying Carmina. 
 Already, the same instinctive sense of rivalry had associated, 
 on a common ground of feeling, the two most dissimilar 
 women that ever breathed the breath of life. 
 
 ' Does your cousin know much about birds ? ' Miss Minerva 
 began. 
 
 The opinion which declares that vanity is a failing peculiar 
 to the sex is a slander on women. All the world over, there 
 are more vain men in it than vain women. If Ovid had not 
 been one of the exceptions to a general rule among men, or 
 even if his experience of the natures of women had been a 
 little less limited, he too might have discovered Miss Minerva's 
 
54 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 secret. Even her capacity for self-control failed, at the moment 
 when she took Carmina's place. Those keen black eyes, so 
 hard and cold when they looked at anyone else — flamed with 
 an all- devouring sense of possession when they first rested on 
 Ovid. 'He's mine. For one golden moment he's mine!' 
 They spoke — and, suddenly, the every-day blind was drawn 
 down again ; there was nobody present but a well-bred woman, 
 talking with delicately implied deference to a distinguished 
 man. 
 
 ' So far, we have not spoken of the birds,' Ovid innocently 
 answered. 
 
 ' And yet you seemed to be both looking at them ! ' She 
 at once covered this unwary outbreak of jealousy under an 
 impervious surface of compliment. ' Miss Carmina is not per- 
 haps exactly pretty, but she is a singularly interesting girl.' 
 
 Ovid cordially (too cordially) agreed. Miss Minerva had 
 presented her better self to him under a most agreeable aspect. 
 She tried — struggled — fought with herself — to preserve ap- 
 pearances. The demon in her got possession again of her 
 tongue. ' Do you find the young lady intelligent ? ' she 
 inquired. 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' 
 
 Only one word — spoken perhaps a little sharply. The 
 miserable woman shrank under it. ' An idle question on my 
 part,' she said, with the pathetic humility that tries to be 
 cheerful. ' And another warning, Mr. Vere, never to judge 
 by appearances.' She looked at him, and returned to the 
 children. 
 
 Ovid's eyes followed her compassionately. ' Poor wretch ! ' 
 he thought. ' What an infernal temper, and how hard she 
 tries to control it ! ' He joined Carmina, with a new delight 
 in being near her again. Zo was still in ecstasies over the 
 Piping Crow. ' Oh, the jolly little chap ! Look how he cocks 
 his head ! He mocks me when I whistle. Buy him,' cried 
 Zo, tugging at Ovid's coat tails in the excitement that possessed 
 her ; ' buy him, and let me take him home with me ! ' 
 
 Some visitors within hearing began to laugh. Miss Minerva 
 opened her lips ; Maria opened her lips. To the astonishment 
 of both of them the coming rebuke proved to be needless. 
 
 A sudden transformation to silence and docility had made 
 a new creature of Zo, before they could speak — and Ovid had 
 unconsciously worked the miracle. For the first time in tho 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 55 
 
 child's experience, he had suffered his coat tails to be pulled 
 without immediately attending to her. Who was he looking 
 at ? It was only too easy to see that Carmina had got him 
 all to herself. The jealous little heart swelled in Zo's bosom. 
 In silent perplexity she kept watch on the friend who had 
 never disappointed her before. Little by little, her slow intelli- 
 gence began to realise the discovery of something in his face 
 which made him look handsomer than ever, and which she 
 had never seen in it yet. They all left the aviaries, and turned 
 to the railed paddocks in which the larger birds were assem- 
 bled. And still Zo followed so quietly, so silently, that her 
 elder sister — threatened with a rival in good behaviour — looked 
 at her in undisguised alarm. 
 
 Incited by Maria (who felt the necessity of vindicating her 
 character) Miss Minerva began a dissertation on cranes, sug- 
 gested by the birds with the brittle-looking legs hopping up 
 to her in expectation of something to eat. Ovid was absorbed 
 in attending to his cousin ; he had provided himself with some 
 bread, and was helping Carmina to feed the birds. But one 
 person noticed Zo, now that her strange lapse into good be- 
 haviour had lost the charm of novelty. Old Teresa watched 
 her. There was something plainly troubling the child in 
 secret ; she had a mind to know what it might be. 
 
 Zo approached Ovid again, determined to understand the 
 change in him if perseverance could do it. He was talking so 
 confidentially to Carmina, that he almost whispered in her ear. 
 Zo eyed him, without daring to touch his coat tails again. 
 Miss Minerva tried hard to go on composedly with the disser- 
 tation on cranes. ' Flocks of these birds, Maria, pass period- 
 ically over the southern and central countries of Europe ' 
 Her breath failed her, as she looked at Ovid : she could say 
 no more. Zo stopped those maddening confidences ; Zo, in 
 desperate want of information, tugged boldly at Carmina's 
 skirts this time. 
 
 The young girl turned round directly. ' What is it, dear ? ' 
 
 With big tears of indignation rising in her eyes, Zo pointed 
 to Ovid. 'I say!' she whispered, 'is he going to buy the 
 Piping Crow for you ? ' 
 
 To Zo's discomfiture they both smiled. She dried her 
 eyes with her fists, and waited doggedly for an answer. Car- 
 mina set the child's mind at ease very prettily and kindly; 
 and Ovid added the pacifying influence of a familiar pat on 
 
56 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 her cheek. Noticed at last, and satisfied that the bird was 
 not to be bought for anybody, Zo's sense of injury was ap- 
 peased : her jealousy melted away as the next result. After 
 a pause — produced, as her next words implied, by an effort of 
 memory — she suddenly took Carmina into her confidence. 
 
 ' Don't tell ! ' she began. 'I saw another man look like 
 Ovid.' 
 
 ' When, dear ? ' Carmina asked — meaning, at what past 
 date. 
 
 ' When his face was close to yours,' Zo answered — mean- 
 ing, under what recent circumstances. 
 
 Ovid, hearing this reply, knew his small sister well enough 
 to foresee embarrassing results if he allowed the conversation 
 to proceed. He took Carmina's arm, and led her a little 
 farther on. 
 
 Miss Minerva obstinately followed them, with Maria in 
 attendance, still imperfectly enlightened on the migration of 
 cranes. Zo looked round, in search of another audience. 
 Teresa had been listening ; she was present, waiting for events. 
 Being herself what stupid people call ' an oddity,' her sympa- 
 thies were attracted by this quaint child. In Teresa's opinion, 
 seeing the animals was very inferior, as an amusement, to ex- 
 ploring Zo's mind. She produced a cake of chocolate, from a 
 travelling bag which she carried with her everywhere. The 
 cake was sweet, it was flavoured with vanilla, and it was 
 offered to Zo, unembittered by advice not to be greedy and 
 make herself ill. Staring hard at Teresa, she took an experi- 
 mental bite. The wily duenna chose that propitious moment 
 to present hei'self in the capacity of a new audience. 
 
 ' Who was that other man you saw, who looked like Mr. 
 Ovid ? ' she asked ; speaking in the tone of serious equality 
 which is always flattering to the self-esteem of children in in- 
 tercourse with their elders. Zo was so proud of having her 
 own talk reported by a grown-up stranger, that she even for- 
 got the chocolate. ' I wanted to say more than that,' she an- 
 nounced. ' Would you like to hear the end of it ? ' And this 
 admirable foreign person answered, ' I should very much like.' 
 
 Zo hesitated. To follow out its own little train of thought, 
 in words, was no easy task to the immature mind which Miss 
 Minerva had so mercilessly overworked. Led by old Dame 
 Nature (first of governesses !) Zo found her way out of the 
 labyrinth by means of questions. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 57 
 
 'Do yon know Joseph ? ' she began. 
 
 Teresa had heard the footman called by his name : she 
 knew who Joseph was. 
 
 ' Do yon know Matilda ? ' Zo proceeded. 
 
 Teresa had heard the housemaid called by her name : she 
 knew who Matilda was. And better still, she helped her little 
 friend by a timely guess at what was coming, presented under 
 the form of a reminder. ' Ton saw Mr. Ovid's face close to 
 Cannina's face,' she suggested. 
 
 Zo nodded furiously — the end of it was coming already. 
 
 'And before that,' Teresa went on, 'you saw Joseph's face 
 close to Matilda's face.' 
 
 ' I saw Joseph kiss Matilda ! ' Zo burst out, with a scream 
 of triumph. ' Why doesn't Ovid kiss Carmina ? ' 
 
 A deep bass voice, behind them, answered gravely : ' Be- 
 cause the governess is in the way.' And a big bamboo 
 walking-stick pointed over their heads at Miss Minerva. Zo 
 instantly recognised the stick, and took it into her own hands. 
 
 Teresa turned — and found herself in the presence of a 
 remarkable man. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 In the first place, the stranger was almost tall enough to be 
 shown as a giant ; he towered to a stature of six feet sis 
 inches, English measure. If his immense bones had been pro- 
 perly covered with flesh, he might have presented the rare 
 combination of fine proportions with great height. He was 
 so miserably — it might almost be said, so hideously — thin that 
 his enemies spoke of him as ' the living skeleton.' His mas- 
 sive forehead, his great gloomy gray eyes, his protuberant 
 cheek-bones, overhung a fleshless lower face naked of beard, 
 whiskers, and moustache. His complexion added to the 
 startling effect which his personal appearance produced on 
 strangers. It was of the true gipsy-brown, and, being darker 
 in tone than his eyes, added remarkably to the weird look, the 
 dismal thoughtful scrutiny, which it was his habit to fix on 
 persons talking with him, no matter whether they were 
 worthy of attention or not. His straight black hair hung as 
 gracelessly on either side of his hollow face as the hair of an 
 American Indian. His great dusky hands, never covered by 
 
58 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 glovos in the summer time, showed amber-coloured nails on 
 bluntly-pointed fingers, turned up at the tips. Those tips 
 felt like satin when they touched you. When he wished to 
 be careful, he could handle the frailest objects with the most 
 exqiiisite delicacy. His dress was of the recklessly loose 
 and easy kind. His long frock-coat descended below his 
 knees; his flowing trousers were veritable bags; his lean 
 and wrinkled throat turned about in a widely-opened shirt- 
 collar, unconfined by any sort of necktie. He had a theory 
 that a head-dress should be solid enough to resist a chance 
 blow — a fall from a horse, or the dropping of a loose brick 
 from a house under repair. His hard black hat, broad and 
 curly at the brim, might have graced the head of a bishop, 
 if it had not been secularised by a queer resemblance to the 
 bell-shaped hat worn by dandies in the early years of the 
 present century. In one word he was, both in himself and 
 in his dress, the sort of man whom no stranger is careless 
 enough to pass without turning round for a second look. 
 Teresa, eyeing him with reluctant curiosity, drew back a 
 step, and privately reviled him (in the secrecy of her own 
 language) as an ugly beast ! Even his name startled people 
 by the outlandish sound of it. Those enemies who called him 
 ' the living skeleton ' said it revealed his gipsy origin. In 
 medical and scientific circles he was well and widely known 
 as — Doctor Benjulia. 
 
 Zo ran away with his bamboo stick. After a passing look 
 of gloomy indifference at the duenna, he called to the child 
 to come back. 
 
 She obeyed him in an oddly indirect way, as if she had 
 been returning against her will. At the same time she 
 looked up in his face, with an absence of shyness which 
 showed, like the snatching away of his stick, that she was 
 familiarly acquainted with him, and accustomed to take 
 liberties. And yet there was an expression of uneasy ex- 
 pectation in her round attentive eyes. ' Do you want it back 
 again ? ' she asked, offering the stick. 
 
 ' Of course I do. What would your mother say to me, 
 if you tumbled over my big bamboo, and dashed out your 
 brains on this hard gravel walk ? ' 
 
 ' Have you been to see Mama ? ' Zo asked. 
 
 ' I have not been to see Mama — but I know what she would 
 say to me if you dashed out your brains, for all that.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 59 
 
 ' What would she say ? ' 
 
 ' She would say — Doctor Benjulia, your name ought to be 
 Herod.' 
 
 ' Who was Herod ? ' 
 
 ' Herod was a Royal Jew, who killed little girls when they 
 took away his walking-stick. Come here, child. Shall I 
 tickle you ? ' 
 
 ' I knew you'd say that,' Zo answered. 
 
 When men in general thoroughly enjoy the pleasure of 
 talking nonsense to children, they can no more help smiling 
 than they can help breathing. The. doctor was an extraordi- 
 nary exception to this rule ; his grim face never relaxed — not 
 even when Zo reminded him that one of his favourite re- 
 creations was tickling her. She obeyed, however, with the 
 curious appearance of reluctant submission showing itself 
 once more. He put two of his soft big finger-tips on her 
 spine, just below the back of her neck, and pressed on the 
 place. Zo started and wriggled under his touch. He 
 observed her with as serious an interest a3 if he had been 
 conducting a medical experiment. ' That's how you make 
 our dog kick with his leg,' said Zo, recalling her experi- 
 ence of the doctor in the society of the dog. ' How do you 
 do it ? ' 
 
 ' I touch the Cervical Plexus,' Doctor Benjulia answered 
 as gravely as ever. 
 
 This attempt at mystifying the child failed completely. 
 Zo considered the unknown tongue in which he had answered 
 her as being equivalent to lessons. She declined to notice the 
 Cervical Plexus, and returned to the little terrier at home. 
 ' Do you think the dog likes it ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Never mind the dog. Do you like it ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 Doctor Benjulia turned to Teresa. His gloomy gray eyes 
 rested on her as they might have rested on any inanimate 
 object near him — on the railings that imprisoned the birds, or 
 on the pipes that kept the monkey-house warm. ' I have 
 been playing the fool, ma'am, with this child,' he said ; ' and 
 I fear I have detained you. I beg your pardon.' He pulled 
 off his episcopal hat, and walked grimly on, without taking 
 any further notice of Zo. 
 
 Teresa made her best courtesy in return. The magnificent 
 civility of the ugly giant daunted, while it flattered her. 
 
60 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 The manners of a prince,' she said, ' and the complexion of 
 a gipsy. Is he a nobleman ? ' 
 
 Zo answered, ' He's a doctor,' — as if that was something 
 much better. 
 
 ' Do you like him ? ' Teresa inquired next. 
 
 Zo answered the duenna as she had answered the doctor : 
 ' I don't know.' 
 
 In the meantime Ovid and his cousin had not been unob- 
 servant of what was passing at a little distance from them. 
 Benjulia's great height, and his evident familiarity with the 
 child, stirred Carmina's curiosity. 
 
 Ovid seemed to be disinclined to talk of him. Miss 
 Minerva made herself useful with the readiest politeness. She 
 mentioned his odd name, and described him as one of Mrs. 
 Gallilee's old friends. ' Of late years,' she pi'oceeded, ' he is 
 said to have discontinued medical practice and devoted him- 
 self to chemical experiments. Nobody seems to know much 
 about him. He has built a house in a desolate field — in some 
 lost suburban neighbourhood that nobody can discover. In 
 plain English, Dr. Benjulia is a mystery.' 
 
 Hearing this, Carmina appealed again to Ovid. 
 
 ' When I am asked riddles,' she said, ' I am never easy till 
 the answer is guessed for me. And when I hear of mysteries, 
 I am dying to have them revealed. You are a doctor your- 
 self. Do tell me something more ! ' 
 
 Ovid might have evaded her entreaties by means of an 
 excuse. But her eyes were irresistible : they looked him into 
 submission in an instant. 
 
 ' Doctor Benjulia is what we call a Specialist,' he said. ' I 
 mean that he only professes to treat certain diseases. Brains 
 and nerves are Benjulia's diseases. Without quite discon- 
 tinuing his medical practice, he limits himself to serious cases 
 — when other doctors are puzzled, you know, and want him 
 to help them. With this exception, he has certainly sacrificed 
 his professional interests to his mania for experiments in 
 chemistry. What those experiments are, nobody knows but 
 himself. He keeps the key of his laboratory about him by 
 day and by night. When the place wants cleaning, he does 
 the cleaning with his own hands.' 
 
 Carmina listened with great interest : ' Has nobody peeped 
 in at the windows ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' There are no windows — only a skylight in the roof,' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE, 61 
 
 ' Can't somebody get up on the roof, and look in through 
 the skylight ? ' 
 
 Ovid laughed. ' One of his men-servants is said to have 
 tried that experiment,' he replied. 
 
 ' And what did the servant see ? ' 
 
 ' A large white blind drawn under the skylight, and hiding 
 the whole room from view. Somehow, the doctor discovered 
 him — and the man was instantly dismissed. Of course there 
 are reports which explain the mystery of the doctor and his 
 laboratory. One report says that he is trying to find a way 
 of turning common metals into gold. Another declares that 
 he is inventing some explosive compound, so horribly destruc- 
 tive that it will put an end to war. All I can tell you is, that 
 his mind (when I happen to meet him) seems to be as com- 
 pletely absorbed as ever in brains and nerves. But, what they 
 can have to do with chemical experiments, secretly pursued 
 in a lonely field, is a riddle to which I have thus far found no 
 answer.' 
 
 ' Is he married ? ' Carmina inquired. 
 
 The question seemed to amuse Ovid. 'If Dr. Benjulia 
 had a wife, you think we might get at his secrets ? There 
 is no such chance for us — he manages his domestic affairs for 
 himself.' 
 
 ' Hasn't he even got a housekeeper ? ' 
 
 ' Not even a housekeeper ! ' 
 
 While he was making that reply, he saw the doctor slowly 
 advancing towards them. ' Excuse me for one minute,' he 
 resumed ; ' I will just speak to him, and come back to you.' 
 
 Carmina turned to Mis3 Minerva in surprise. 
 
 ' Ovid seems to have some reason for keeping the tall man 
 away from us,' she said. ' Does he dislike Doctor Benjulia ? ' 
 
 But for restraining motives the governess might have 
 gratified her hatred of Carmina by a sharp reply. She had 
 her reasons — not only after what she had overheard in the 
 conservatory, but after -what she had seen in the Gardens — ■ 
 for winning Carmina's confidence, and exercising over her 
 the influence of a trusted friend. Miss Minerva made instant 
 use of her first opportunity. 
 
 ' I can tell you what I have noticed myself,' she said con- 
 fidentially. ' When Mrs. Galhlee gives parities, I am allowed 
 to be present — to see the famous professors of science. On 
 one of these occasions they were talking of instinct and reason. 
 
62 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Your cousin, Mr. Ovid Vere, said it was no easy matter to 
 decide where instinct ended and reason began. In his own 
 experience, he had sometimes found people of feeble minds, 
 who judged by instinct, arrive at sounder conclusions than 
 their superiors in intelligence, who judged by reason. The 
 talk took another turn — and, soon after, Doctor Benjulia 
 joined the guests. I don't know whether you have observed 
 that Mr. Gallilee is very fond of his stepson ? ' 
 
 Oh, yes ! Carmina had noticed that. ' I like Mr. Gallilee,' 
 she said warmly ; ' he is such a nice, kind-hearted, natural old 
 man.' 
 
 Miss Minerva concealed a sneer under a smile. Fond of 
 Mr. Gallilee ? what simplicity ! ' Well,' she resumed, ' the 
 doctor paid his respects to the master and mistress of the 
 house, and then he shook hands with Mr. Ovid ; and then the 
 scientific gentlemen all got round him, and had learned talk. 
 Mr. Gallilee came up to his stepson, looking a little discom- 
 posed. He spoke in a whisper — you know his way ? — " Ovid, 
 do you like Dr. Benjulia? Don't mention it; I hate him." 
 Strong language for Mr. Gallilee, wasn't it ? Mr. Ovid said, 
 " Why do you hate him ? " And poor Mr. Gallilee answered 
 like a child, " Because I do." Some ladies came in, and the 
 old gentleman left us to speak to them. I ventured to say to 
 Mr. Ovid, " Is that instinct or reason ? " He took it quite 
 seriously. " Instinct," he said — " and it troubles me." I leave 
 you, Miss Carmina, to draw your own conclusion.' 
 
 They both looked up. Ovid and the doctor were walking 
 slowly away from them, and were just passing Teresa and the 
 child. At the same moment one of the keepers of the animals 
 approached Benjulia. After they had talked together for a 
 while, the many withdrew. Zo (who had heard it all, and had 
 understood a part of it) ran up to Carmina, charged with news. 
 
 ' There's a sick monkey in the gardens, in a room all by 
 himself ! ' the child cried. ' And, I say, look there ! ' She 
 pointed excitedly to Benjulia and Ovid, walking on again 
 slowly in the direction of the aviaries. ' There's the big 
 doctor who tickles me ! He says he'll see the poor monkey as 
 soon as he's done with Ovid. And what do you think he 
 said besides ? He said perhaps he'd take the monkey home 
 with him.' 
 
 ' I wonder what's the matter with the poor creature ? ' 
 Carmina asked. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 63 
 
 ' After wliat Mr. Ovid has told us, I think I know,' Miss 
 Minerva answered. ' Doctor Ben j alia wouldn't be interested 
 in the monkey unless it had a disease of the brain.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Ovid had promised to return to Carmina in a minute. The 
 minutes passed, and still Doctor Benjnlia held him in talk. 
 
 Now that he was no longer seeking amusement in his own 
 dreary way, by mystifying Zo, the lines seemed to harden 
 in the doctor's fieshless face. A scrupulously polite man, he 
 was always cold in his politeness. He waited to have his 
 hand shaken, and waited to be spoken to. And yet, on this 
 occasion, he had something to say. When Ovid opened the 
 conversation, he changed the subject directly. 
 
 ' Benjulia ! what brings You to the Zoological Gardens ? ' 
 
 'One of the monkeys has got brain disease; and they 
 fancy I might like to see the beast before they kill him. 
 Have you been thinking lately of that patient we lost ? ' 
 
 Not at the moment remembering the patient, Ovid made 
 no immediate reply. The doctor seemed to distrust his 
 silence. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say you have forgotten the case ? ' he 
 resumed. ' We called it hysteria, not knowing what else it was. 
 I don't forgive the girl for slipping through our fingers ; I 
 hate to be beaten by Death, in that way. Have you made up 
 your mind what to do, on the next occasion ? Perhaps you 
 think you could have saved her life if you had been sent for, 
 now ? ' 
 
 'No, indeed, I am just as ignorant ' 
 
 ' Give ignorance time,' Benjulia interposed, ' and ignorance 
 will become knowledge — if a man is in earnest. The proper 
 treatment might occur to you to-morrow.' 
 
 He held to his idea with such obstinacy that Ovid set him 
 right, rather impatiently. ' The proper treatment bas as much 
 chance of occurring to the greatest ass in the profession,' he 
 answered, ' as it has of occurring to me. I can put my mind to 
 no good medical use ; my work bas been too much for me. I 
 am obliged to give up practice, and rest — for a time.' 
 
 Not even a formal expression of sympathy escaped Doctor 
 
64 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Ben julia. Having been a distrustful friend so far, he became 
 an inquisitive friend now. ' You're going away, of course,' he 
 said. ' Where to ? On the Continent ? Not to Italy — if you 
 really want to recover your health ! ' 
 
 ' What is the objection to Italy ? ' 
 
 The doctor put his great hand solemnly on his young 
 friend's shoulder. ' The medical schools in that country are 
 recovering their past reputation,' he said. ' They are becom- 
 ing active centres of physiological inquiry. You will be 
 dragged into it, to a dead certainty. They're sure to try what, 
 they can strike out by collision with a man like you. What 
 will become of that overworked mind of yours, when a lot of 
 professors are searching it without mercy ? Have you ever 
 been to Canada ? ' 
 
 1 No. Have you ? ' 
 
 ' I have been everywhere. Canada is just the place for 
 you, in this summer season. Bracing air ; and steady-going 
 doctors who leave the fools in Europe to pry into the secrets 
 of Nature. Thousands of miles of land, if you like riding. 
 Thousands of miles of water, if you like sailing. Pack up, and 
 go to Canada.' 
 
 What did all this mean ? Was he afraid that his colleague 
 might stumble on some discovery which he was in search of 
 himself ? And did the discovery relate to his own special 
 subject of brains and nerves ? Ovid made an attempt to 
 understand him. 
 
 ' Tell me something about yourself, Benjulia,' he said. ' Are 
 you returning to your regular professional work ? ' 
 
 Benjulia struck his bamboo stick emphatically on the 
 gravel-walk. 'Never! Unless I know more than I know 
 now.' 
 
 This surely meant that he was as much devoted to his 
 chemical experiments as ever ? In that case, how could Ovid 
 (who knew nothing of chemical experiments) be an obstacle iu 
 the doctor's way ? Baffled thus far, he made another attempt 
 at inducing Benjulia to explain himself. 
 
 ' When is the world to hear of your discoveries ? ' he asked. 
 
 The doctor's massive forehead gathered ominously into a 
 frown. ' Damn the world ! ' That was his only reply. 
 
 Ovid was not disposed to allow himself to be kept in the 
 dark in this way. ' I suppose you are going on with your 
 experiments ? ' he said. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. G$ 
 
 The gloom of Benjulia's grave eyes deepened : they stared 
 with a stern fixedness into vacancy. His great head bent 
 slovvfy over his broad breast. The whole man seemed to be 
 shut up in himself. ' I go on a way of my own,' he growled. 
 ' Let nobody cross it.' 
 
 After that reply, to persist in making inquiries would only 
 have ended in needlessly provoking an irritable man. Ovid 
 looked back towards Carmiua. ' I must return to my friends,' 
 he said. 
 
 The doctor lifted his head, like a man awakened. ' Have 
 I been rude ? ' he asked. ' Don't talk to me about my experi- 
 ments. That's my raw place, and yon hit me on it. What 
 did you say just now ? Friends ? who are your friends ? ' 
 He rubbed his hand savagely over his forehead — it was a way 
 he had of clearing his mind. ' I know,' he went on. ' I saw 
 your friends just now. Who's the young lady?' His most 
 intimate companions had never heard him laugh : they had. 
 sometimes seen his thin-lipped mouth widen drearily into a 
 smile. It widened now. ' Whoever she is,' he proceeded, 
 ' Zo wonders why you don't kiss her.' 
 
 This specimen of Benjulia's attempts at pleasantry was not 
 exactly to Ovid's taste. He shifted the topic to his little sister. 
 ' You were always fond of Zo,' he said. 
 
 Benjulia looked thoroughly puzzled. Fondness for any- 
 body was, to all appearance, one of the few subjects on which 
 he had not qualified himself to offer an opinion. He gave his 
 head another savage rub, and returned to the subject of the 
 young lady. ' Who is she ? ' he asked again. 
 
 ' My cousin,' Ovid replied as shortly as possible. 
 
 ' Your cousin ? A girl of Lady Northlake's ? ' 
 
 1 No : my late uncle's daughter.' 
 
 Benjulia suddenly came to a standstill. ' What ! ' he cried, 
 ' has that misbegotten child grown up to be a woman ? ' 
 
 Ovid started. Words of angry protest were on his lips, 
 when he perceived Teresa and Zo on one side of him, and the 
 keeper of the monkeys on the other. Benjulia dismissed the 
 man, with the favourable answer which Zo had already re- 
 ported. They walked on again. Ovid was at liberty to speak. 
 
 ' Do you know what you said of my cousin, just now ? ' he 
 began. 
 
 His tone seemed to surprise the doctor. ' What did I say ? ' 
 he asked. 
 
66 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' You used a very offensive word. You called Cavmina a 
 " misbegotten child." Are you repeating some vile slander on 
 the memory of her mother ? ' 
 
 Benjulia came to another standstill. ' Slander ? ' he re- 
 peated — and said no more. 
 
 Ovid's anger broke out. 'Yes ! ' he replied. ' Or a lie, if 
 you like, told of a woman as high above reproach as your 
 mother or mine ! ' 
 
 ' You are hot,' the doctor remarked, and walked on again. 
 
 ' When I was in Italy ' he paused to calculate, ' when I 
 
 was at Rome, fifteen years ago, your cousin was a wretched 
 little rickety child. I said to Robert Graywell, "Don't get 
 too fond of that girl ; she'll never live to grow up." He said 
 something about taking her away to the mountain air. I 
 didn't think, myself, the mountain air would be of any use. 
 It seems I was wrong. Well ! it's a surprise to me to find 
 
 her ' he waited, and calculated again, ' to find her grown 
 
 up to be seventeen years old.' To Ovid's ears, there was an 
 inhuman indifference in his tone as he said this, which it was 
 impossible not to resent, by looks, if not in words. Benjulia 
 noticed the impression that he had produced, without in the 
 least understanding it. ' Your nervous system's in a nasty 
 state,' he remarked ; ' you had better take care of yourself. 
 I'll go and look at the monkey.' 
 
 His face was like the face of the impenetrable sphinx ; his 
 deep bass voice droned placidly. Ovid's anger had passed by 
 him like the passing of the summer air. ' Good-bye ! ' he 
 said ; • and take care of those nasty nerves. I tell you again 
 — they mean mischief.' 
 
 Not altogether willingly, Ovid made his apologies. ' If I 
 have misunderstood you, I beg your pardon. At the same 
 time, I don't think I am to blame. Why did you mislead me 
 by using that detestable word ? ' 
 
 ' Wasn't it the right word ? ' 
 
 ' The right word — when you only wanted to speak of a 
 poor sickly child ! Considering that you took your degree at 
 Oxford ' 
 
 'You could expect nothing better from the disadvantages 
 of my education,' said the doctor, finishing the sentence 
 with the grave composure that distinguished him. 'When 
 I said " mis-begotten," perhaps I ought to have said " half- 
 begotten ? " Thank you for reminding me. I'll look at the 
 dictionary when I get home.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 67 
 
 Ovid's mind was not set at ease yet. ' There's one other ^7 
 thing,' be persisted, 'that seems unaccountable.' He started, ""* 
 and seized Benjulia by the arm. ' Stop ! ' be cried, with a \ 
 Eudden outburst of alarm. 
 
 1 Well ? ' asked the doctor, stopping directly . ' What is it ? 
 
 'Nothiug,' said Ovid, recoiling from a stain on the gravel 3, 
 walk, caused by the remains of an unlucky beetle, crushed 1 
 under his friend's heavy foot. ' Yon trod on the beetle before j 
 I could stop you.' 
 
 Benjulia's astonishment at finding an adult male human 
 being (not in a lunatic asylum) anxious to spare the life of a 
 beetle, literally struck him speechless. His medical instincts 
 came to his assistance. ' You had better leave London at 
 
 a 
 
 'e 
 
 n 
 a 
 
 once,' he suggested. ' Get into pure air, and be out of doors ", 
 all day long.' He turned over the remains of the beetle with 
 the end of bis stick. 'The common beetle,' he said; 'I 
 haven't damaged a Specimen.' 
 
 Ovid returned to the subject, which had suffered interrup- 
 tion through his abortive little act of mercy. ' You knew my 
 uncle in Italy. It seems strange, Benjulia, that I should 
 never have heard of it before.' K 
 
 ' Yes ; I knew your uncle ; and,' be added with especial 
 emphasis, ' I knew bis wife.' , 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I can't say I felt any particular interest in either' 
 of them. Nothing happened afterwards to put me in mind of 
 the acquaintance till you told me who the young lady was, ,f 
 just now.' 
 
 ' Surely my mother must have reminded you ? ' 
 
 ' Not that I can remember. Women in her position don't 
 much fancy talking of a relative who has married' — he ^ 
 stopped to choose his next words. ' I don't want to be rude; 
 suppose we say married beneath him ? ' 
 
 .Reflection told Ovid that this was true. Even in conversa- 
 tion with himself (before the arrival in England of Robert's 
 Will), his mother rarely mentioned her brother — and still 1 
 more rarely his family. There was another reason for Mrs. [ 
 Gallilee's silence, known only to herself. Robert was in the , 
 secret of her debts, and Robert had laid her under heavy pe- q 
 cuniary obligations. The very sound of his name was revolt- 
 ing to bis amiable sister: it reminded her of that humiliating 
 sense, known in society as a sense of gratitude. ■, 
 
 f2 3 
 
 e 
 
68 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Carmina was still waiting — and there was nothing farther 
 to be gained by returning to the subject of her mother with 
 such a man as Benjulia. Ovid held out his hand to say 
 good-bye. 
 
 Taking the offered hand readily enough, the doctor re- 
 peated his odd question — ' I haven't been rude, have I ? ' — ■ 
 with an unpleasant appearance of going through a form purely 
 for form's sake. Ovid's natural generosity of feeling urged 
 him to meet the advance, strangely as it had been made, with 
 a friendly reception. 
 
 ' I am afraid it is I who have been rude,' he said. 'Will 
 you go back with me, and be introduced to Carmina ? ' 
 
 Benjulia made his acknowledgments in his own remark- 
 able way. ' No, thank you,' he said, quietly, ' I'd rather see 
 the monkey.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 In the meantime, Zo had become the innocent cause of a dif- 
 ference of opinion between two no less dissimilar personages 
 than Maria and the duenna. 
 
 Having her mind full of the sick monkey, the child felt a 
 natural curiosity to see the other monkeys who were well. 
 Amiable Miss Minerva consulted her young friend from Italy 
 before she complied with Zo's wishes. Would Miss Carmina 
 like to visit the monkey-house ? Ovid's cousin, remembering 
 Ovid's promise, looked towards the end of the walk. He was 
 not returning to her — he was not even in sight. Carmina 
 resigned herself to circumstances, with a little air of pique 
 which was duly registered in Miss Minerva's memory. 
 
 Arriving at the monkey-house, Teresa appeared in a new 
 character. She surprised her companions by showing an 
 interest in natural history. 
 
 ' Are they all monkeys in that big place ? ' she asked. ' I 
 don't know much about foreign beasts. How do they like it, 
 I wonder ? ' 
 
 This comprehensive inquiry was addressed to the gover- 
 ness, as the most learned person present. Miss Minerva le- 
 ferred to her elder pupil -with an encouraging smile. ' Maria 
 will inform you,' she said. ' Her studies in natural history 
 have made her well acquainted with the habits of monkeys.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 69 
 
 Thus authorised to exhibit her learning, even the discreet 
 Maria actually blushed with pleasure. It was that young 
 lady's most highly-prized reward to display her knowledge (in 
 imitation of her governess's method of instruction) for the 
 benefit of unfortunate persons of the lower rank, whose educa- 
 tion had been imperfectly carried out. The tone of amiable 
 patronage with which she now imparted useful information 
 to a woman old enough to be her grandmother, would have 
 made the hands of the bygone generation burn to box her 
 ears. 
 
 ' The monkeys are kept in large and airy cages,' Maria 
 began ; ' and the temperature is regulated with the utmost 
 care. I shall be happy to point out to you the difference be- 
 tween the monkey and the ape. You are not perhaps aware 
 that the members of the latter family are called " Simiadce," 
 and are without tails and cheek-pouches ? ' 
 
 Listening so far in dumb amazement, Teresa checked the 
 flow of information at tails and cheek-pouches. 
 
 ' What gibberish is this child talking to me ? ' she asked. 
 ' I want to know how the monkeys amuse themselves in that 
 large house ? ' 
 
 Maria's perfect training condescended to enlighten even 
 this state of mind. 
 
 ' They have ropes to swing on,' she answered sweetly ; 
 'and visitors feed them through the wires of the cage. 
 Branches of trees are also placed for their diversion ; remind- 
 ing many of them no doubt of the vast tropical forests in 
 which, as we learn from travellers, they pass in flocks from 
 tree to tree.' 
 
 Teresa held up her hand as a signal to stop. ' A little of 
 You, my young lady, goes a long way,' she said. ' Consider 
 how much I can hold, before you cram me at this rate.' 
 
 Maria was bewildered, but not daunted yet. ' Pardon me,' 
 she pleaded ; ' I fear I don't quite understand you.' 
 
 ' Then there are two of us puzzled,' the duenna remarked. 
 4 I don't understand you. I shan't go into that house. A 
 Christian can't be expected to care about beasts — -but right is 
 right all the world over, Because a monkey is a nasty crea- 
 ture (as I have heard, not even good to eat when he's dead), 
 that's no reason for taking him out of his own country and 
 putting him into a cage. If we are to see creatures in prison, 
 let's see creatures who have deserved it — men and women, 
 
70 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 rogues and sluts. The monkeys haven't deserved it. Go in 
 — I'll wait for you at the door.' 
 
 Setting her bitterest emphasis on this protest, which ex- 
 pressed inveterate hostility to Maria (using compassion for 
 caged animals as the readiest means at hand), Teresa seated 
 herself in triumph on the nearest bench. 
 
 A young person, possessed of no more than ordinary know- 
 ledge, might have left the old woman to enjoy the privilege 
 of saying the last word. Miss Minerva's pupil exuding infor- 
 mation as it were at every pore in her skin, had been rudely 
 dried up at a moment's notice. Even earthly perfection has 
 its weak places within reach. Maria lost her temper. 
 
 ' You will allow me to remind you,' she said, ' that intelli- 
 gent curiosity leads us to study the habits of animals that are 
 new to us. We place them in a cage ' 
 
 Teresa lost her temper. 
 
 1 You're an animal that's new to me,' cried the irate 
 duenna. ' I never in all my life met with such a child before. 
 If you please, madam governess, put this girl into a cage. 
 My intelligent curiosity wants to study a monkey that's new 
 to me.' 
 
 It was fortunate for Teresa that she was Carmina's 
 favourite friend, and, as such, a person to be carefully handled. 
 Miss Minerva stopped the growing quarrel with the readiest 
 discretion and good-feeling. She patted Teresa on the 
 shoulder, and looked at C'armina with a pleasant smile. 
 ' Worthy old creature ! how full of humour she is ! The 
 energy of the people, Miss Carmina. I often remark the 
 quaint force with which they express their ideas. No — not 
 a word of apology, I beg and pray. Maria, my dear, take 
 your sister's hand, and we will follow.' She put her arm in 
 Carmina's arm with the happiest mixture of familiarity and 
 respect, and she nodded to Carmina's old companion with the 
 cordiality of a good-humonred friend. 
 
 Teresa was not further irritated by being kept waiting for 
 any length of time. In a few minutes Carmina joined her on 
 the bench. 
 
 ' Tired of the beasts already, my pretty one ? ' 
 
 ' Worse than tired — driven away by the smell ! Dear old 
 Teresa, why did you speak so roughly to Miss Minerva and 
 Maria ? ' 
 
 1 Because I hate them ! because I hate the family ! Was 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 71 
 
 your poor father demented in his last moments, when he trusted 
 you among these detestable people ? ' 
 
 Carmina listened in astonishment. ' You said just the 
 contrary of the family,' she exclaimed, ' only yesterday ! ' 
 
 Teresa hung her head in confusion. Her well-meant at- 
 tempt to reconcile Carmina to the new life on which she had 
 entered was now revealed as a sham, thanks to her own out- 
 break of temper. The one honest alternative left was to own 
 the truth, and put Carmina on her guard without alarming 
 her, if possible. 
 
 1 I'll never tell a lie again, as long as I live,' Teresa de- 
 claimed. ' You see I didn't like to discourage yon. After all, 
 I dare say I'm more wrong than right in my opinion. But it 
 is my opinion, for all that. I hate those women, mistress and 
 governess, both alike. There ! now it's out. Are you angry 
 with me ? ' 
 
 ' I am never angry with you, my old friend ; I am only a 
 little vexed. Don't say you hate people, after only knowing 
 them for a day or two ! I am sure Miss Minerva has been 
 very kind — to me, as well as to you. I feel ashamed of myself 
 already for having begun by disliking her.' 
 
 Teresa took her young mistress's hand, and patted it com- 
 passionately. ' Poor innocent, if you only had my experience 
 to help you ! There are good ones and bad ones among all 
 creatures. I say to you the Gallilees are bad ones ! Even 
 their music-master (I saw him this morning) looks like a 
 rogue. You will tell me the poor old gentleman is harmless, 
 surely. I shall not contradict that — I shall only ask, what is 
 the use of a man who is as weak as water ? Oh, I like him, 
 but I distinguish ! I also like Zo. But what is a child — es- 
 pecially when that beastly governess has muddled her unfor- 
 tunate little head with learning ? No, my angel, there's but 
 one person among these people who comforts me, when I think 
 of the day that will part us. Ha ! do I see a little colour 
 coming into your cheeks ? You sly girl ! You know who it 
 is. There is what I call a Man ! If I was as young as you 
 are, and as pretty as you are ' 
 
 A warning gesture from Carmina closed Teresa's lips. 
 Ovid was rapidly approaching them. 
 
 He looked a little annoyed, and he made his apologies 
 without mentioning the doctor's name. His cousin was inte- 
 rested enough in him already to ask herself what this meant. 
 
72 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Did lie really dislike Ben j alia, and had there been some dis- 
 agreement between them ? 
 
 ' Was the tall doctor so very interesting ? ' she ventured 
 to inquire. 
 
 ' Not in the least ! ' He answered as if the subject was 
 disagreeable to him — and yet he returned to it. ' By-the-by, 
 did you ever hear Benjulia's name mentioned, at home in 
 Italy ? ' 
 
 ' Never ! Did he know my father and mother ? ' 
 
 I He says so.' 
 
 ' Oh, do introduce me to him ! ' 
 
 * We must wait a little. He prefers being introduced to 
 the monkey to-day. Where are Miss Minerva and the 
 children ? ' 
 
 Teresa replied. She pointed to the monkey-house, and 
 then drew Ovid aside. ' Take her to see some more birds, and 
 trust me to keep the governess out of your way,' whispered 
 the good creature. ' Make love — hot love to her, doctor ! ' 
 
 In a minute more the cousins were out of sight. How are 
 you to make love to a young girl, after an acquaintance of a 
 day or two ? The question would have been easily answered 
 by some men. It thoroughly puzzled Ovid. 
 
 ' I am so glad to get back to you ! ' he said, honestly 
 openly his mind to her. ' Were you half as glad when you 
 saw me return ? ' 
 
 He knew nothing of the devious and serpentine paths by 
 which love finds the way to its ends. It had not occurred to 
 him to approach her with those secret tones and stolen looks 
 which speak for themselves. She answered with the straight- 
 forward directness of which he had set the example. 
 
 I I hope you don't think me insensible to your kindness,' 
 she said. * I am more pleased and more proud than I can tell 
 you.' 
 
 ' Proud ? ' Ovid repeated, not immediately understanding 
 her. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' she asked. ' My poor father used to say you 
 would be an honour to the family. Ought I not to be proud, 
 when I find such a man taking so much notice of me ? ' 
 
 She looked up at him shyly. At that moment, he would 
 have resigned all his prospects of celebrity for the privilege of 
 kissing her. He made another attempt to bring her — in spirit 
 —a little nearer to him. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 73 
 
 1 Cai'mina, do yon remember where you first saw me ? ' 
 
 ' How can you ask ? — it was in the concert-room. When 
 I saw you there, I remembered passing you in the large 
 Square. It seems a strange coincidence that you should 
 have gone to the very concert that Teresa and I went to by 
 accident.' 
 
 Ovid ran the risk, and made his confession. ' It was no 
 coincidence,' he said. 'After our meeting in the Square I 
 followed you to the concert.' 
 
 This bold avowal would have confused a less innocent girl. 
 It only took Carmina by surprise. 
 
 ' What made you follow us ? ' she asked. 
 
 Us ? Did she suppose he had followed the old woman ? 
 Ovid lost no time in setting her right. ' I didn't even see 
 Teresa,' he said. ' I followed You.' 
 
 She was silent. What did her silence mean ? Was she 
 confused, or was she still at a loss to understand him ? That 
 morbid sensitiveness, which was one of the most serious signs 
 of his failing health, was by this time sufficiently irritated to 
 hurry him into extremities. ' Did you ever hear,' he asked, 
 ' of such a thing as love at first sight ? ' 
 
 She started. Surprise, confusion, doubt, succeeded each 
 other in rapid changes on her mobile and delicate face. Still 
 silent, she roused her courage, and looked at him. 
 
 If he had returned the look, he would have told the story 
 of his first love without another word to help him. But his 
 shattered nerves unmanned him, at the moment of all others 
 when it was his interest to be hold. The fear that he might 
 have allowed himself to speak too freely — a weakness which 
 would never have misled him in his days of health and strength 
 — kept his eyes on the ground. She looked away again with 
 a quick flush of shame. When such a man as Ovid spoke of 
 love at first sight, what an instance of her own vanity it was 
 to have thought that his mind was dwelling on her ! He had 
 kindly lowered himself to the level of a girl's intelligence, and 
 had been trying to interest her by talking the language of 
 romance. She was so dissatisfied with herself that she made 
 a movement to turn back. 
 
 He was too bitterly disappointed, on his side, to attempt 
 to prolong the interview. A deadly sense of weakness was 
 beginning to overpower him. It was the inevitable result of 
 bis utter want of care for himself, After a sleepless night, he 
 
fj HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 bad taken a long walk before breakfast ; and to these demands 
 on bis failing reserves of strength, be bad now added the 
 fatigue of dawdling about a garden. Physically and mentally 
 he had no energy left. 
 
 ' I didn't mean it,' he said to Carmina sadly. ' I am afraid 
 I have offended you.' 
 
 'Oh, how little you know me,' she cried, 'if you think 
 that ! ' 
 
 This time their eyes met. The truth dawned on her — and 
 he saw it. 
 
 He took her hand. The clammy coldness of his grasp 
 startled her. ' Do you still wonder why I followed you ? ' he 
 asked. The words were so faintly uttered that she could 
 barely hear them. Heavy drops of perspiration stood on his 
 forehead ; his face faded to a gray and ghastly whiteness — he 
 staggered, and tried desperately to catch at the branch of a 
 tree near them. She threw her arms round him. With all 
 her little strength she tried to hold him up. Her utmost effort 
 only availed to drag him to the grass plot by their side, and 
 to soften his fall. Even as the cry for help passed her lips, 
 she saw help coming. A tall man was approaching her — not 
 running, even when be saw what had happened ; only stalking 
 with long strides. He was followed by one of the keepers of 
 the gardens. Doctor Benjulia had his sick monkey to take 
 care of. He kept the creature sheltered under his long frock- 
 coat. 
 
 ' Don't do that, if you please,' was all the doctor said, as 
 Carmina tried to lift Ovid's head from the grass. He spoke 
 with his customary composure, and laid bis hand on the heart 
 of the fainting man, as coolly as if it had been the heart of a 
 stranger. ' Which of you two can run the fastest ? ' he asked, 
 looking backwards and forwards between Carmina and the 
 keeper. 'I want some brandy.' 
 
 The refreshment room was within sight. Before the 
 keeper quite understood what was required of him, Carmina 
 was speeding over the grass like Atalanta herself, 
 
 Benjulia looked after her, with his usual grave attention. 
 ' That wench can run,' he said to himself, and turned once 
 more to Ovid. ' In his state of health, he's been fool enough 
 to over-exert himself.' So he disposed of the case in his own 
 mind. Having done that, he remembered the monkey, de- 
 posited for the time being on the grass. ' Too cold for him,' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 75 
 
 he remarked, with, more appearance of interest than he had 
 shown yet. ' Here, keeper ! Pick up the monkey till I'm 
 ready to take him again.' The man hesitated. 
 
 'He might bite me, sir.' 
 
 ' Pick him up ! ' the doctor reiterated ; ' he can't bite any- 
 body, after what I've done to him.' The monkey was indeed 
 in a state of stupor. The keeper obeyed his instructions, 
 looking half stupefied himself: he seemed to be even more 
 afraid of the doctor than of the monkey. ' Do you think I'm 
 the Devil?' Benjulia asked with dismal irony. The man 
 looked as if he would say ' Yes,' if he dared. 
 
 Carmina came running back with the brandy. The doctor 
 smelt it first, and then took notice of her. ' Out of breath ? ' 
 he said. 
 
 ' Why don't you give him the brandy ? ' she answered im- 
 patiently. 
 
 ' Strong lungs,' Benjulia proceeded, sitting down cross- 
 legged by Ovid, and administering the stimulant without 
 hurrying himself. ' Some girls would not have been able to 
 speak, after such a run as you have had. I didn't think much 
 of you or your lungs when you were a baby.' 
 
 ' Is he coming to himself?' Carmina asked. 
 
 ' Do you know what a pump is ? ' Benjulia rejoined. ' Very 
 well ; a pump sometimes gets out of order. Give the carpenter 
 time, and he'll put it right again.' He let his mighty hand 
 drop on Ovid's breast. ' This pump is out of order ; and I'm 
 the carpenter. Give me time, and I'll set it right again. 
 You're not a bit like your mother.' 
 
 Watching eagerly for the slightest signs of recovery in 
 Ovid's face, Carmina detected a faint return of colour. She 
 was so relieved that she was able to listen to the doctor's 
 oddly discursive talk, and even to join in it. ' Some of our 
 friends used to think I was like my father,' she answered. 
 
 ' Did they ? ' said Benjulia — and shut his thin-lipped mouth 
 as if he was determined to drop the subject for ever. 
 
 Ovid stirred feebly, and half opened his eyes. 
 
 Benjulia got up. 'You don't want me any longer,' he 
 said. 'Now, Mr. Keeper, give me back the monkey.' He 
 dismissed the man, and tucked the monkey under one arm as 
 if it had been a bundle. ' There are your friends,' he resumed, 
 pointing to the end of the walk. ' Good-day ! ' 
 
 Carmina stopped him. Too anxious to stand on ceremony, 
 
76 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 she laid her hand on his arm. He shook it off — not angrily : 
 just brushing it away, as he might have brushed away the ash 
 of his cigar or a splash of mud in the street. 
 
 ' What does this fainting fit mean ? ' she asked timidly. 
 ' Is Ovid going to be ill ? ' 
 
 1 Seriously ill — unless you do the right thing with him, 
 and do it at once.' He walked away. She followed him, 
 humbly and yet resolutely. ' Tell me, if you please,' she said, 
 ' what we are to do.' 
 
 He looked back over his shoulder. ' Send him away.' 
 
 She returned, and knelt down by Ovid — still slowly re- 
 viving. With a fond and gentle hand, she wiped the moisture 
 from his forehead. 
 
 ' Just as we were beginning to understand each other ! ' 
 she said to herself, with a sad little sigh, 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Two days passed. In spite of the warnings that he had 
 received, Ovid remained in London. 
 
 The indisputable authority of Benjulia had no more effect 
 on him than the unanswerable arguments of Mrs. Gallilee. 
 ' Recent circumstances ' (as his mother expressed it) ' had 
 strengthened his infatuated resistance to reason.' The 
 dreaded necessity for Teresa's departure had been hastened 
 by a telegram from Italy : Ovid felt for Carmina's distress 
 with sympathies which made her dearer to him than ever. 
 On the second morning after the visit to the Zoological 
 Gardens, her fortitude had been severely tried. She had 
 found the telegram under her pillow, enclosed in a farewell 
 letter. Teresa had gone. 
 
 ' My Carmina, — I have kissed you, and cried over you, 
 and I am writing good-bye as well as my poor eyes will let 
 me. Oh, my heart's darling, I cannot be cruel enough to 
 wake you, and see you suffer ! Forgive me for going away, 
 with only this dumb farewell. I am so fond of you — that is 
 my only excuse. While he still lives, my helpless old man 
 has his claim on me. Write by every post, and trust me to 
 write back — and remember what I said when I spoke of Ovid. 
 Love the good man who loves you ; and try to make the best 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 77 
 
 of the others. They cannot surely he crnel to the poor an "el 
 who depends on their kindness. Oh, how hard life is ' 
 
 The paper was hlotted, and the rest was illegible. 
 
 The miserable day of Teresa's departure was passed by 
 Carmina in the solitude of her room : gently and firmly, she 
 refused to see anyone. This strange conduct added to Mrs. 
 Gallilee's anxieties. Already absorbed in considering Ovid's 
 obstinacy, and the means of overcoming it, she was now con. 
 fronted by a resolute side in the character of her niece, which 
 took her by surprise. There might be difficulties to come, in 
 managing Carmina, which she had not foreseen. Meanwhile, 
 she was left to act on her own unaided discretion in the serious 
 matter of her son's failing health. Benjulia had refused to 
 help her ; he was too closely occupied in his laboratory to pay 
 or receive visits. 'I have already given my advice' (the 
 doctor wrote). ' Send him away. "When he has had a 
 month's change, let me see his letters ; and then, if I have 
 anything more to say, I will tell you what I think of your 
 son.' 
 
 Left in this position, Mrs. Gallilee's hard self-denial 
 yielded to the one sound conclusion that lay before her. The 
 only influence that could be now used over Ovid, with the 
 smallest chance of success, was the influence of Carmina. 
 Three days after Teresa's departure, she invited her niece to 
 take tea in her own boudoir. Carmina found her reading 
 1 A charming book,' she said, as she laid it down, 'on a most 
 interesting subject, Geographical Botany. The author divides 
 the earth into twenty-five botanical regions — but, I forget; 
 you are not like Maria ; you don't care about these things.' 
 
 ' I am so ignorant,' Carmina pleaded. ' Perhaps I may 
 know better when I get older.' A book on the table attracted 
 her by its beautiful binding. She took it up. Mrs. Gallilee 
 looked at her with compassionate good humour. 
 
 ' Science again, my dear,' she said facetiously, ' inviting 
 you in a pretty dress ! You have taken up the " Curiosities 
 of Coprolites." That book is one of my distinctions — a presen- 
 tation copy from the author.' 
 
 ' What are Coprolites ? ' Carmina asked, trying to inform 
 herself on the subject of her aunt's distinctions. 
 
 Still good-humoured, but with an effort that began to 
 appear, Mrs. Gallilee lowered herself to the level of her niece. 
 
 ' Coprolites,' she explained, ' are the fossilised indigestions 
 
73 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 of extinct reptiles. The great philosopher who has "written 
 that book has discovered scales, bones, teeth, and shells — the 
 undigested food of those interesting 1 Saurians. What a man ! 
 what a field for investigation ! Tell me about your own read- 
 ing. What have you found in the library ? ' 
 
 ' Very interesting books — at least to me,' Carmina an- 
 swered. ' I have found many volumes of poetry. Do you 
 ever read poetry ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee laid herself back in her chair, and submitted 
 patiently to her niece's simplicity. ' Poetry ? ' she repeated, 
 in accents of resignation. ' Oh, good heavens ! ' 
 
 Unlucky Carmina tried a more promising topic. ' What 
 beautiful flowers you have in the drawing-room ! ' she said. 
 
 ' Nothing remarkable, my dear. Everybody has flowers 
 in their drawing-rooms — they are part of the furniture.' 
 
 ' Did you arrange them yourself, aunt ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee still endured it. 'The florist's man,' she 
 said, ' does all that. I sometimes dissect flowers, but I never 
 trouble myself to arrange them. What would be the use of 
 the man if I did ? ' This view of the question struck Carmina 
 dumb. Mrs. Gallilee went on. ' By-the-by, talking of flowers 
 reminds one of other superfluities. Have you tried the piano 
 in your room ? Will it do ? ' 
 
 ' The tone is quite perfect ! ' Carmina answered with 
 enthusiasm. 'Did you choose it ?' Mrs. Gallilee looked as 
 if she was going to say ' Good heavens ! ' again, and perhaps 
 to endure it no longer. Carmina was too simple to interpret 
 these signs in the right way. Why should her aunt not choose 
 a piano ? ' Don't you like music ? ' she asked. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee made a last effort. ' When you see a little 
 more of society, my child, you will know that one must like 
 music. So again with pictures — one must go to the Royal 
 Academy Exhibition. So again ' 
 
 Before she could mention any more social sacrifices, the 
 servant came in with a letter, and stopped her. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee looked at the address. The weary indifference 
 of her manner changed to vivid interest, the moment she saw 
 the handwriting. ' From the Professor ! ' she exclaimed. 
 'Excuse me, for one minute.' She read the letter, and closed 
 it again with a sigh of relief. ' I knew it ! ' she said to her- 
 self. 'I have always maintained that the albuminoid sub- 
 stance of frog's eggs is insufficient (viewed as nourishment) 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 79 
 
 to transform a tadpole into a frog — and, at last, the Professor 
 owns that I am right. I beg your pardon, Carmina ; I am 
 carried away by a subject that I have been working at in my 
 stolen intervals for weeks past. Let me give you some tea. 
 I have asked Miss Minerva to join us. What is keeping her, 
 I wonder ? She is usually so punctual. I suppose Zoe has 
 been behaving badly again.' 
 
 In a few minutes more, the governess herself confirmed 
 this maternal forewarning of the truth. Zo had declined to 
 commit to memory ' the political consequences of the granting 
 of Magna Charta ' — and now stood reserved for punishment, 
 when her mother ' had time to attend to it.' Mrs. Gallilee at 
 once disposed of this little responsibility. ' Bread and water 
 for tea,' she said, and proceeded to the business of the evening. 
 
 ' I wish to speak to you both,' she began, ' on the subject 
 of my son.' 
 
 The two persons addressed waited in silence to hear more. 
 Carmina's head drooped : she looked down. Miss Minerva 
 attentively observed Mrs. Gallilee. 'Why am I invited to 
 hear what she has to say about her son ? ' was the question 
 which occurred to the governess. ' Is she afraid that Carmina 
 might tell me about it, if I was not let into the family secrets ? ' 
 
 Admirably reasoned, and correctly guessed ! 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee had latterly observed that the governess was 
 insinuating herself into the confidence of her niece — that is 
 to say, into the confidence of a young lady, whose father was 
 generally reported to have died in possession of a handsome 
 fortune. Personal influence, once obtained over an heiress, is 
 not infrequently misused. To check the further growth of a 
 friendship of this sort (without openly offending Miss Minerva) 
 was an imperative duty. Mrs. Gallilee saw her way to the 
 discreet accomplishment of that object. Her niece and her 
 governess were interested — diversely interested — in Ovid. If 
 she invited them both together, to consult with her on the 
 delicate subject of her son, there would be every chance of 
 exciting some difference of opinion, sufficiently irritating to 
 begin the process of estrangement, by keeping them apart 
 when they had left the tea-table. 
 
 ' It is most important that there should be no misunder- 
 standing among us,' Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. ' Let me set 
 the example of speaking without reserve. We all three know 
 that Ovid persists in remaining in London ' 
 
So HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 She paused, on the point of finishing the sentence. 
 Although she had converted a Professor, Mrs. Gallilee -was 
 still only a woman. There did enter into her other calcula- 
 tions, the possibility of exciting some accidental betrayal of 
 her governess's passion for her son. On alluding to Ovid, she 
 turned suddenly to Miss Minerva. ' I am sure you will excuse 
 my troubling you with family anxieties,' she said — ' especially 
 when they are connected with the health of my son.' 
 
 It was cleverly done, but it laboured under one disadvan- 
 tage. Miss Minerva had no idea of what the needless apology 
 meant, having no suspicion of the discovery of her secret by 
 her employer. But to feel herself baffled in trying to pene- 
 trate Mrs. Gallilee's motives was enough, of itself, to put Mrs. 
 Gallilee's governess on her guard for the rest of the evening. 
 
 ' You honour me, madam, by admitting me to your confi- 
 dence ' — was what she said. ' Trip me up, you cat, if you 
 can ! ' — was what she thought. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee resumed. 
 
 'We know that Ovid persists in remaining in London, 
 when change of air and scene are absolutely necessary to the 
 recovery of his health. And we know why. Carmina, my 
 child, don't think for a moment that I blame you ! don't even 
 suppose that I blame my son. You are too charming a 
 person not to excuse, nay even to justify, any man's admira- 
 tion. But let us (as we hard old people say) look the facts in 
 the face. If Ovid had not seen you, he would be now on the 
 health-giving sea, on his way to Spain and Italy. You are the 
 innocent cause of his obstinate indifference, his most deplor- 
 able and dangerous disregard of the duty which he owes to 
 himself. He refuses to listen to his mother, he sets the 
 opinion of his skilled medical colleague at defiance. But one 
 person has any influence over him now.' She paused again, 
 and tried to trip up the governess once more. ' Miss Minerva, 
 let me appeal to You. I regard you as a member of our 
 family; I have the sincerest admiration of your tact and good 
 sense. Am I exceeding the limits of delicacy, if I say plainly 
 to my niece, Persuade Ovid to go ? ' 
 
 If Carinina had possessed an elder sister, with a plain 
 personal appearance and an easy conscience, not even that 
 sister could have matched the perfect composure with which 
 Miss Minerva replied. 
 
 1 1 don't possess your happy faculty of expressing yourself, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 8 1 
 
 Mrs. G;:llilce. Bat, if I had been in your place, I should 
 have said, to the best of my poor ability, exaetlj- what you 
 have said now.' She beut her head with a graceful gesture 
 of respect, and looked at Carmina with a gentle sisterly 
 interest while she stirred her tea. 
 
 At the very opening of the skirmish, Mrs. Gallilee was 
 defeated. She had failed to provoke the slightest sign of 
 j alousy, or even of ill-temper. Unquestionably the most crafty 
 and most cruel woman of the two — possessing the most dan- 
 gerously deceitful manner, and the most mischievous readiness 
 of language — she was, nevertheless, Miss Minerva's inferior in 
 the one supreme capacity of which they both stood in need, 
 the capacity for self-restraint. 
 
 She showed this inferiority on expressing her thanks. 
 The underlying malice broke through the smooth surface that 
 was intended to hide it. ' I am apt to doubt myself,' she 
 said ; ' and such sound encom*agement as yours always relieves 
 me. Of course I don't ask you for more than a word of 
 advice. Of course I don't expect you to persuade Ovid.' 
 
 ' Of course not ! ' Miss Minerva agreed. ' May I ask for 
 a little more sugar in my tea ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee turned to Carmina. 
 
 ' Well, my dear ? I have spoken to you, as I might have 
 spoken to one of my own daughters, if she had been of your 
 age. Tell me frankly, in return, whether I may count on 
 your help.' 
 
 Still pale and downcast, Carmina obeyed. 'I will do my 
 best, if you wish it. But ' 
 
 ' Yes ? Go on.' 
 
 She still hesitated. Mrs. Gallilee tried gentle remon- 
 strance. ' My child, surely you are not afraid of me ? ' 
 
 She was certainly afraid. But she controlled herself. 
 
 ' You are Ovid's mother, and I am only his cousin,' she 
 resumed. ' I don't like to hear you say that my influence 
 over him is greater than yours.' 
 
 It was far from the poor girl's intention ; but there was 
 an implied rebuke in this. In her present state of irritation, 
 Mrs. Gallilee felt it. 
 
 ' Come ! come ! ' she said. ' Don't affect to be ignorant, 
 my clear, of what you know perfectly well.' 
 
 Carmina lifted her head. For the first time in the expe- 
 rience of the two elder women, this gentle creature showed 
 
 G 
 
82 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 that she ccmld resent an insult. The fine spirit that was in 
 her fired her eyes, and fixed them firmly on her aunt. 
 
 ' Do you accuse me of deceit ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Let us call it false modesty,' Mrs. Gallilee retorted. 
 
 Carmina rose without another word — and walked out ot 
 the room. 
 
 In the extremity of her surprise, Mi's. Gallilee appealed to 
 Miss Minerva. ' Is she in a passion ? ' 
 
 ' She didn't hang the door,' the governess quietly remarked. 
 
 ' I am not joking, Miss Minerva.' 
 
 ' I am not joking either, madam.' 
 
 The tone of that answer implied an uncompromising asser- 
 tion of equality. You are not to suppose (it said) that a lady 
 drops below your level because she receives a salary and 
 teaches your children. Mrs. Gallilee was so angry, by this 
 time, that she forgot the importance of preventing a con- 
 ference between Miss Minerva and her niece. For once she 
 was the creature of impulse — the overpowering impulse to 
 dismiss her insolent governess from her hospitable table. 
 
 ' May I offer you another cup of tea ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you — no more. May I return to my pupils ? ' 
 
 ' By all means ! ' 
 
 Carmina had not been five minutes in her own room before 
 she heard a knock at the door. Had Mrs. Gallilee followed her? 
 ' Who is there ? ' she asked. And a voice outside answered, 
 
 ' Only Miss Minerva ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ' I am afraid I have startled you ? ' said the governess, care- 
 fully closing the door. 
 
 ' I thought it was my aunt,' Carmina answered, as simply 
 as a child. 
 
 ' Have you been crying ? ' 
 
 ' I couldn't help it, Miss Minerva.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee spoke cruelly to you — I don't wonder at 
 your feeling angry.' 
 
 Carmina gently shook her head. ' I have been crying,' she 
 explained, ' because I am sorry and ashamed. How can I 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 83 
 
 make it up with uiy auut ? Shall I go back at once and beg 
 her pardon ? I think you are my friend, Miss Minerva. Will 
 you advise me ? ' 
 
 It was so prettily and innocently said that even the 
 governess was touched — for a moment. ' Shall I prove to you 
 that I am your friend ? ' she proposed. ' I advise you not to 
 go back yet to your aunt — and I will tell you why. Mrs. 
 Gallilee bears malice ; she is a thoroughly unforgiving woman. 
 And I should be the first to feel it, if she knew what I have 
 just said to you.' 
 
 1 Oh, Miss Minerva ! you don't think that I would betray 
 your confidence ? ' 
 
 ' No, my dear, I don't. I felt attracted towards you, when 
 we first met. You didn't retmm the feeling — you (very natu- 
 rally) disliked me. I am ugly and ill-tempered : and, if there 
 is anything good in me, it doesn't show itself on the surface. 
 Yes ! yes ! I believe you are beginning to understand me. If 
 I can make your life here a little happier, as time goes on, I 
 shall be only too glad to do it.' She put her long yellow hands 
 on either side of Carmina's head, and kissed her forehead. 
 
 The poor child threw her arms round Miss Minerva's neck, 
 and cried her heart out on the bosom of the woman who was 
 deceiving her. ' I have nobody left, now Teresa has gone,' 
 she said. ' Oh, do try to be kind to me — I feel so friendless 
 and so lonely ! ' 
 
 Miss Minerva neither moved nor spoke. She waited, and 
 let the girl cry. 
 
 Her heavy black eyebrows gathered into a frown ; her sal- 
 low face deepened in colour. She was in a state of rebellion 
 against herself. Through all the hardening influences of the 
 woman's life — through the fortifications against good which 
 watchful evil builds in human hearts — that innocent outburst 
 of trust and grief had broken its way ; and had purified for a 
 while the fetid inner darkness with divine light. She had 
 entered the room, with her own base interests to serve. In 
 her small sordid way she, like her employer, was persecuted 
 by debts — miserable debts to sellers of expensive washes, 
 which might render her ugly complexion more passable in 
 Ovid's eyes; to makei's of costly gloves, which might show 
 Ovid the shape of her hands, and hide their colour ; to skilled 
 workmen in fine leather, who could tempt Ovid to look at her 
 high instep, and her fine ankle— the only beauties that she 
 
 g 2 
 
84 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 could reveal to the only man whom she cared to please. For 
 the time, those importunate creditors ceased to threaten her. 
 For the time, what she bad heard in the conservatory, while 
 they were reading the Will, lost its tempting influence. She 
 remained in the room for half an hour more — and she left it 
 without having borrowed a fax*thing. 
 
 ' Are you easier now ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, dear.' 
 
 Carmina dried her eyes, and looted shyly at Miss Minerva. 
 1 1 have been treating you as if I had a sister,' she said ; ' you 
 don't think me too familiar, I hope ? ' 
 
 ' I wish I was your sister, God knows ! ' 
 
 The words were hardly out of her month before she was 
 startled by her own fervour. ' Shall I tell you what to do 
 with Mrs. Gallilee ? ' she said abruptly. ' Write her a little 
 note.' 
 
 ' Yes ! yes ! and you will take it for me ? ' 
 
 Carmina's eyes brightened through her tears, the sugges- 
 tion was such a relief ! In a minute the note was written : 
 ' My dear Aunt, I have behaved very badly, and I am very 
 much ashamed of it. May I trust to your kind indulgence to 
 forgive me ? I will try to be worthier of your kindness for 
 the future ; and I sincerely beg your pardon.' She signed her 
 name in breathless haste. ' Please take it at once ! ' she said 
 eagerly. 
 
 Miss Minerva smiled. 'If I take it,' she said, ' I shall do 
 harm instead of good — I shall be accused of interfering. Give 
 it to one of the servants. Not yet ! When Mrs. Gallilee is 
 angry, she doesn't get over it so soon as you seem to think. 
 Leave her to dabble in science first,' said the governess in 
 tones of immeasurable contempt. 'When she has half stifled 
 herself with some filthy smell, or dissected some wretched 
 insect or flower, she may be in a better humour. Wait.' 
 
 Carmina thought of the happy days at home in Italy, when 
 her father used to laugh at her little outbreaks of temper, and 
 good Teresa only shrugged her shoulders. What a change — 
 oh, me, what a change for the worse ! She drew from her 
 bosom a locket, hung round her neck by a thin gold chain — 
 nnd opened it, and kissed the glass over the miniature por- 
 traits inside. ' Would you like to see them ? ' she said to 
 Miss Minerva. ' My mother's likeness was painted for me by 
 my father ; and then he had his photograph taken to match 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 85 
 
 it. I open my portraits and look at them, while I say my 
 prayers. It's almost like having them alive again, sometimes. 
 Ob, if I only bad my father to advise me now — ! ' Her heart 
 swelled — but she kept back the tears : she was learning that 
 self-restraint, poor soul, already ! ' Perhaps,' she went on, 
 ' I ought not to want advice. After that fainting-fit in the 
 Gardens, if I can persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought to do it 
 — and I will do it ! ' 
 
 Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window. 
 Carmina had roused the dormant jealousy ; Carmina had 
 fatally weakened the good influences which she had herself 
 produced. The sudden silence of her new friend perplexed 
 her. She too went to the window. 'Do you think it would 
 be taking a liberty ? ' she asked. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 A short answer — and still looking out of window ! Car- 
 mina tried again. ' Besides, there are my aunt's wishes to 
 consider. After my bad behaviour ' 
 
 Miss Minerva turned round from the window sharply. 
 1 Of course ! There can't be a doubt of it.' Her tone softened 
 a little. ' Tou are young, Carmina — I suppose I may call you 
 by your name — you are young and simple. Do those innocent 
 eyes of yours ever see below the surface ? ' 
 
 ' I don't quite understand you.' 
 
 ' Do you think your aunt's only motive in wishing Mr. 
 Ovid Vere to leave London is anxiety about his health ? Do 
 you feel no suspicion that she wants to keep him away from 
 You?' 
 
 Carmina toyed with her locket, in an embarrassment which 
 she was quite unable to disguise. ' Are you afraid to trust 
 me ? ' Miss Minerva asked. That reproach opened the girl's 
 lips instantly. 
 
 'I am afraid to tell you how foolish I am,' she answered. 
 ' Perhaps, I still feel a little strangeness between us ? It seems 
 to be so formal to call you Miss Minerva. I don't know what 
 your Christian name is. Will you tell me ? ' 
 
 Miss Minerva replied rather unwillingly. ' My name is 
 Frances. Don't call me Fanny ! ' 
 
 ' Why not ? ' 
 
 ' Because it's too absurd to be endured ! What does the 
 mere sound of Fanny suggest ? A flirting, dancing creature 
 1 — plump and fair, and playful and pretty ! ' She went to the 
 
86 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 looking-glass, and pointed disdainfully to the reflection of her- 
 self. 'Sickening to think of,' she said, 'when you look at 
 that. Call me Frances — a man's name, with only the difference 
 between an i and an e. No sentiment in it ; hard, like me. 
 "Well, what was it you didn't like to say of yourself ? ' 
 
 Carmina dropped her voice to a whisper. ' It's no use 
 asking me what I do see, or don't see, in my aunt,' she an- 
 swered. ' I am afraid we shall never be — what we ought to 
 be to each other. When she came to that concert, and sa,t by 
 
 me and looked at me ' She stopped, and shuddered over 
 
 the recollection of it. 
 
 Miss Minerva urged ber to go on — first, by a gesture ; 
 then by a suggestion : ' They said you fainted under the heat.' 
 
 1 1 didn't feel the heat. I felt a horrid creeping all over 
 me. Before I looked at her, mind ! — when I only knew that 
 somebody was sitting next to me. And then, I did look round. 
 Her eyes and my eyes flashed into each other. In that one 
 moment, I lost all sense of myself as if I was dead. I can 
 only tell you of it in that way. It was a dreadful surprise to 
 me to remember it — and a dreadful pain — when they brought 
 me to myself again. Though I do look so little and so weak, 
 I am stronger than people think ; I never fainted before. My 
 aunt is — how can I say it properly ? — hard to get on with 
 since that time. Is there something wicked in my nature ? 
 I do believe she feels in the same way towards me. Yes ; I 
 dare say it's imagination, but it's as bad as reality for all that. 
 Oh, I am sui'e you are right — she does want to keep Ovid out 
 of my way ! ' 
 
 ' Because she doesn't like you ? ' said Miss Minerva. ' Is 
 that the only reason you can think of? ' 
 
 ' What other reason can there be ? ' 
 
 The governess summoned her utmost power of self- l-estraint. 
 She needed it, even to speak of the bare possibility of Carmina's 
 marriage to Ovid, as if it was only a matter of speculative 
 interest to herself. 
 
 ' Some people object to marriages between cousins,' she 
 said. ' You are cousins. Some people object to marriages 
 
 between Catholics and Protestants. You are a Catholic ' 
 
 No ! She could not trust herself to refer to him directly ; she 
 went on to the next sentence. ' And there might be some 
 other reason,' she resumed. 
 
 ' Do you know what it is ? ' Carmina asked. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 87 
 
 'No more than you do — thus far.' 
 
 She spoke the plain truth. Thanks to the dog's interrup- 
 tion, and to the necessity of saving herself from discovery, the 
 last clauses of the Will had been read in her absence. 
 
 ' Can't you even guess what it is ? ' Carmina persisted. 
 
 1 Mrs. Gallilee is very ambitious,' the governess replied : 
 ' and her son has a fortune of his own. She may wish him to 
 marry a lady of high rank. But — no — she is always in need 
 of money. In some way, money may be concerned in it.' 
 
 ' In what way ? ' Carmina asked. 
 
 ' I have already told you,' Miss Minerva answered, ' that I 
 don't know.' 
 
 Before the conversation could proceed, they were inter- 
 rupted by the appearance of Mrs. Gallilee's maid, with a mes- 
 sage from the school-room. Miss Maria wanted a little help 
 in her Latin lesson. Noticing Carmina's letter, as she ad- 
 vanced to the door, it struck Miss Minerva that the woman 
 might deliver it. ' Is Mrs. Gallilee at home ? ' she asked. 
 Mrs. Gallilee had just gone out. ' One of her scientific lec- 
 tures, I suppose,' said Miss Minerva to Carmina. ' Your note 
 must wait till she comes back.' 
 
 The door closed on the governess — and the lady's maid 
 took a liberty. She remained in the room ; and produced a 
 morsel of folded paper, hitherto concealed from view. Smirk- 
 ing and smiling, she handed the paper to Carmina. 
 
 'From Mr. Ovid, Miss.' 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' Pray come to me ; I am waiting for you in the garden of the 
 Square.' 
 
 In those two lines, Ovid's note began and ended. Mrs. 
 Gallilee's maid — deeply interested in an appointment which 
 was not without precedent in her own experience — ventured 
 on an expression of sympathy, before she returned to the ser- 
 vants' hall. 'Please to excuse me, Miss; I hope Mr. Ovid 
 isn't ill ? He looked sadly pale, I thought. Allow me to give 
 you your hat.' Carmina thanked her, and hurried downstairs. 
 
 Ovid was waiting at the gate of the Square — and he did 
 indeed look wretchedly ill. 
 
88 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 It was useless to make inquiries ; they only seemed to irri- 
 tate him. ' I am better already, now you have come to me.' 
 He said that, and led the way to a sheltered seat among the 
 trees. In the later evening-time the Square was almost empty. 
 Two middle-aged ladies, walking up and down (who conside- 
 rately remembered their own youth, and kept out of the way), 
 and a boy rigging a model yacht (who was too closely occu- 
 pied to notice them), were the only persons in the enclosure 
 besides themselves. 
 
 ' Does my mother know that you have come here ? ' Ovid 
 asked. 
 
 'Mrs. Gallilee has gone out. I didn't stop to think of it, 
 when I got your letter. Am I doing wrong ? ' 
 
 Ovid took her hand. ' Is it doing wrong to relieve me of 
 anxieties that I have no courage to endure ? When we meet 
 in the house either my mother or her obedient servant, Miss 
 Minerva, is sure to interrupt us. At last, my darling, I have 
 got you to myself! You know that I love you. Why can't 
 I look into your heart, and see what secrets it is keeping from 
 me ? I try to hope ; but I want some little encouragement. 
 Carmina ! shall I ever hear you say that you love me ? ' 
 
 She trembled and turned away her head. Her own words 
 to the governess were in her mind ; her own conviction of the 
 want of all sympathy between his mother and herself made 
 her shrink from answering him. 
 
 ' I understand your silence.' With those words he dropped 
 her hand, and looked at her no more. 
 
 It was sadly, not bitterly spoken. She attempted to find 
 excuses ; she showed but too plainly how she pitied him. ' If 
 
 I only had myself to think of ' Her voice failed her. A 
 
 new life came into his eyes, the colour rose in his haggard 
 face : even those few faltering words had encouraged him. 
 
 She tried again to make him understand her. ' I am so 
 afraid of distressing you, Ovid ; and I am so anxious not to 
 make mischief between you and your mother ' 
 
 ' What has my mother to do with it ? ' 
 
 She went on, without noticing the interruption. ' You 
 won't think me ungrateful ? We had better speak of some- 
 thing else. Only this evening, your mother sent for me, and 
 — don't be angry ! — I am afraid she might be vexed if she 
 knew what you have been saying to me. Perhaps I am 
 wrong ? Perhaps she only thinks I am too young. Oh, Ovid, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 89 
 
 how you look at me ! Your mother hasn't said in so many 
 words ' 
 
 ' What 7ms she said ? ' 
 
 In that question she saw the chance of speaking to him 
 of other interests than the interests of love. 
 
 'You must go away to another climate,' she said; 'and 
 your mother tells me I must persuade you to do it. I obey 
 her with a heavy heart. Dear Ovid, you know how I shall miss 
 you ; you know what a loss it will be to me, when you say 
 good-bye — but there is only one way to get well again. I 
 entreat you to take that way ! Your mother thinks I have 
 some influence over you. Have I any influence ? ' 
 
 ' Judge for yourself,' he answered. ' You wish me to 
 leave you ? ' 
 
 ' For your own sake. Only for your own sake.' 
 
 ' Do you wish me to come back again ? ' 
 
 ' It's cruel to ask the question ! ' 
 
 1 It rests with you, Carmina. Send me away when you 
 like, and where you like. But, before I go, give me my one 
 reason for making the sacrifice. No change will do anything 
 for me, no climate will restore my health — unless you give me 
 your love. I am old enough to know myself ; I have thought of 
 it by day and by night. Am I cruel to press you in this way ? 
 I will only say one word more. It doesn't matter what becomes 
 of me — if you refuse to be my wife.' 
 
 Without experience, without advice — with her own heart 
 protesting against her silence — the restraint that she had laid 
 on herself grew harder and harder to endure. The tears rose 
 in her eyes. He saw them ; they embittered his mind against 
 his mother. With a darkening face, he rose, and walked up 
 and down before her, struggling with himself. 
 
 ' This is my mother's doing,' he said. 
 
 His tone terrified her. The dread, present to her mind all 
 through the interview, of making herself a cause of estrange- 
 ment between mother and son, so completely overcame her 
 that she even made an attempt to defend Mrs. Gallilee ! At 
 the first words, he sat down by her again. For a moment, he 
 scrutinised her face without mercy — and then repented of his 
 own severity. 
 
 ' My poor child,' he said, ' you are afraid to tell me what 
 has happened. I won't press you to speak agaimtyour own 
 inclinations. It would be cruel and needless — I have got at 
 
90 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 the truth at last. In the one hope of my life, my mother is 
 my enemy. She is bent on separating ns ; she shall not suc- 
 ceed. I won't leave you.' 
 
 Carmina looked at him. His eyes dropped before her, in 
 confusion and shame. 
 
 ' Are you angry with me ? ' she asked. 
 
 No reproaches could have touched his heart as that question 
 touched it. ' Angry with you ? Oh, my darling, if you only 
 knew how angry I am with myself ! It cuts me to the heart 
 to see how I have distressed you. I am a miserable selfish 
 wretch ; I don't deserve your love. Forgive me, and forget 
 me. I will make the best atonement I can, Carmina. I will 
 go away to-morrow.' 
 
 Under hard trial, she had preserved her self-control. She 
 had resisted him ; she had resisted herself. His sudden sub- 
 mission disarmed her in an instant. With a low cry of love 
 and fear she threw her arms round his neck, and laid her 
 burning cheek against his face. ' I can't help it,' she whis- 
 pered ; ' oh, Ovid, don't despise me ! ' His arms closed round 
 her; his lips were pressed to hers. 'Kiss me,' he said. She 
 kissed him, trembling in his embrace. That innocent self- 
 abandonment did not plead with him in vain. He released 
 her — and only held her hand. There was silence between 
 them ; long, happy silence. 
 
 He was the first to speak again. 'How can I go away 
 now ? ' he said. 
 
 She only smiled at that reckless forgetfulness of the pro- 
 mise, by which he had bound himself a few minutes since. 
 ' What did you tell me,' she asked playfully, ' when you called 
 yourself by hard names, and said you didn't deserve my love ? ' 
 Her smile vanished softly, and left only a look of tender en- 
 treaty in its place. ' Set me an example of firmness, Ovid — 
 don't leave it all to me ! Remember what you have made me 
 say. Remember ' — she only hesitated for a moment — ' re- 
 member what an interest I have in you now. I love you, 
 Ovid. Say you will go.' 
 
 He said it gratefully. ' My life is yours ; my will is yours. 
 Decide for me, and I will begin my journey.' 
 
 She was so impressed by her sense of this new responsi- 
 bility, that she answered him as gravely as if she had been hia 
 wife. ' I must give you time to pack up,' she said. 
 
 1 Say time to be with You ! ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 91 
 
 She fell into thought. He asked if she was still considering 
 when to send him away. ' No,' she said ; ' it isn't that. I 
 was wondering at myself. What is it that makes a great man 
 like you so fond of me ? ' 
 
 His arm stole round her waist. He could just see her in 
 the darkening twilight under the trees ; the murmuring of 
 the leaves was the only sound near them — his kisses lingered 
 on her face. She sighed softly. 'Don't make it too hard for 
 me to send you away ! ' she whispered. He raised her, and 
 put her arm in his. ' Come,' he said, ' we will walk a little in 
 the cool air.' 
 
 They returned to the subject of his departure. It was 
 still early in the week. She inquired if Saturday would be 
 too soon to begin his journey. No : he felt it, too — the longer 
 they delayed, the harder the parting would be. 
 
 ' Have you thought yet where you will go ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I must begin with a sea-voyage,' he replied. ' Long rail- 
 way journeys, in my present state, will only do me harm. 
 The difficulty is where to go to. I have been to America ; 
 India is too hot ; Australia is too far. Benjulia has suggested 
 Canada.' 
 
 As he mentioned the doctor's name, her hand mechanically 
 pressed his arm. 
 
 ' That strange man ! ' she said. ' Even his name startles 
 one ; I hardly know what to think of him. He seemed to 
 have more feeling for the monkey than for you or me. It 
 was certainly kind of him to take the poor creature home, and 
 try what he could do with it. Are you sure he is a great 
 chemist ? ' 
 
 Ovid stopped. Such a question, from Carmina, sounded 
 strange to him. ' What makes you doubt it ? ' he said. 
 
 ' Yon won't laugh at me, Ovid ? ' 
 
 ' You know I won't ! ' 
 
 1 Now you shall hear. We knew a famous Italian chemist 
 at Rome — such a nice old man ! He and my father used to 
 play piquet ; and I looked at them, and tried to learn — and I 
 was too stupid. But I had plenty of opportunities of noticing 
 our old friend's hands. They were covered with stains ; and 
 he canght me looking at them. He was not in the least 
 offended ; he told me his experiments had spotted his skin in 
 that way, and nothing would clean off the stains. I saw 
 Doctor Benjulia's great big hands, while he was giving yoit 
 
92 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 the brandy — and I remembered afterwards that there were no 
 stains on tbem. I seem to surprise you.' 
 
 ' You do indeed surprise me. After knowing Benjulia for 
 years, I have never noticed what you have discovered on first 
 seeing him.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he has some way of cleaning the stains off his 
 hands.' 
 
 Ovid agreed to this, as the readiest means of dismissing 
 the subject. Carmina had really startled him. Some irra- 
 tional connection between the great chemist's attention to the 
 monkey, and the perplexing purity of his hands, persisted in 
 vaguely asserting itself in Ovid's mind. His unacknowledged 
 doubts of Benjulia troubled him as they had never troubled 
 him yet. He turned to Carmina for relief. 
 
 ' Still thinking, my love ? ' 
 
 ' Thinking of you,' she answered. ' I want you to promise 
 me something — and I am afraid to ask it.' 
 
 ' Afraid ? You don't love me, after all ! ' 
 
 ' Then I will say it at once ! How long do you expect to 
 be away ? ' 
 
 ' For two or three months, perhaps.' 
 
 ' Promise to wait till you return, before you tell your 
 mother ' 
 
 ' That we are engaged ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' You have my promise, Carmina ; but you make me un- 
 easy.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' In my absence you will be under my mother's care. And 
 you don't like my mother.' 
 
 Few words and plain words — and they sorely troubled her. 
 
 If she owned that he was right, what would the con- 
 sequence be ? He might refuse to leave her. Even assuming 
 that he controlled himself, he would take his departure 
 harassed by anxieties, which might exercise the worst possible 
 influence over the good effect of the journey. To prevaricate 
 with herself or with him was out of the question. That very 
 evening she had quarrelled with his mother ; and she had yet 
 to discover whether Mrs. Gallilee had forgiven her. In her 
 heart of hearts she hated deceit — and in her heart of hearts 
 she longed to set his mind at ease. In that embarrassing 
 position, which was the right way out ? Satan persuaded 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 93 
 
 Eve ; and Love persuaded Carmina. Love asked if she was 
 cruel enough to make her heart's darling miserable when he 
 was so fond of her ? Before she could realise it, she had begun 
 io deceive him. Poor humanity ! poor Carmina ! 
 
 'You are almost as hard on me as if you were Doctor 
 Benjulia himself ! ' she said. ' I feel your mother's superiority 
 — and you tell me I don't like her. Haven't you seen how 
 good she has been to me ? ' 
 
 She thought this way of putting it irresistible. Ovid 
 resisted, nevertheless. Carmina plunged into lower depths of 
 deceit immediately. 
 
 ' Haven't you seen my pretty rooms — my piano — my 
 pictures — my china — my flowers ? I should be the most in- 
 sensible creature living if I didn't feel gi'atef ul to your mother.' 
 
 4 And yet, you are afraid of her.' 
 
 She shook his arm impatiently. ' I say, No ! ' 
 
 He was as obstinate as ever. ' I say, Yes ! If you're not 
 afraid, why do you wish to keep our engagement from my 
 mother's knowledge ? ' 
 
 His reasoning was unanswerable. But where is the woman 
 to be found who is not supple enough to slip through the stiff 
 fingers of Reason ? She sheltered herself from his logic be- 
 hind his language. 
 
 ' Must I remind you again of the time when you were 
 angry ? ' she rejoined. ' You said your mother was bent on 
 separating us. If I don't want her to know of our engage- 
 ment just yet — isn't that a good reason P ' She rested her 
 head caressingly on his shoulder. ' Tell me,' she went on, 
 thinking of one of Miss Minerva's suggestions, ' doesn't my 
 aunt look to a higher marriage for you than a marriage with 
 me?' 
 
 It was impossible to deny that Mrs. Grallilee's views might 
 justify that inquiry. Had she not more than once advised 
 him to wait a few years — in other words, to wait until he had 
 won the highest honours of his profession — before he thought 
 of marrying at all ? But Carmina was too precious to him to 
 be humiliated by comparisons with other women, no matter 
 what their rank might be. He paid her a compliment, instead 
 of giving her an answer. 
 
 ' My mother can't look higher than you,' he said. ' I wish 
 I could feel sure, Carmina — in leaving you with her — that I 
 am leaving you with a friend whom you trust and love.' 
 
94 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 There was a sadness in his tone that grieved her. * Wait 
 till you comeback,' she replied, speaking as gaily as she could. 
 ' You will be ashamed to remember your own misgivings. 
 And don't forget, dear, that I have another friend besides 
 your mother — the best and kindest of friends — to take care of 
 me.' 
 
 Ovid heard this with some surpi'ise. 'A friend in my 
 mother's house ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Certainly ! ' 
 
 ' Who is it ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Minerva.' 
 
 ' What ! ' His tone expressed such immeasurable amaze- 
 ment, that Carmina's sense of justice was roused in defence of 
 her new friend. 
 
 ' If I began by wronging Miss Minerva, I had the excuse 
 of being a stranger,' she said, warmly. ' You have known 
 her for years, and you ought to have found out her good 
 qualities long since ! Are all men alike, I wonder ? Even 
 my kind dear father used to call ugly women the inexcusable 
 mistakes of Nature. Poor Miss Minerva says herself she is 
 ugly, and expects everybody to misjudge her accordingly. I 
 don't misjudge her, for one. Teresa has left me ; and you are 
 going away next. A miserable prospect, Ovid, but not quite 
 without hope. Frances — yes, I call her by her Christian 
 name, and she calls me by mine ! — Frances will console me, 
 and make my life as happy as it can be till you come back.' 
 
 Excepting bad temper, and merciless cultivation of the 
 minds of children, Ovid knew of nothing that justified his 
 prejudice against the governess. Still Carmina's sudden con- 
 version inspired him with something like alarm. ' I suppose 
 you have good reasons for what you tell me,' he said. 
 
 ' The best reasons,' she replied, in the most positive 
 manner. 
 
 He considered for a moment how he could most delicately 
 inquire what those reasons might be. But valuable oppor- 
 tunities may be lost, even in a moment. ' Will you help me 
 to do justice to Miss Minerva ? ' he cautiously began. 
 
 ' Hush ! ' Carmina interposed. ' Surely I heard somebody 
 calling to me ? ' 
 
 They paused, and listened. A voice hailed them from the 
 outer side of the garden. They started guiltily. It was the 
 voice of Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 95 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 1 Carmina ! are you in the Square ? ' 
 
 ' Leave it to me,' Ovid whispered. ' We will come to you 
 directly,' he called back. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was waiting for them at the gate. Ovid 
 .spoke the moment they were within sight of each other. 
 ' You will have no more cause to complain of me,' he said 
 cheerfully ; ' I am going away at the end of the week.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's answer was addressed to Carmina instead 
 of to her son. ' Thank you, my dear,' she said, and pressed 
 her niece's hand. 
 
 It was too dark to see more of faces than their shadowy 
 outline. The learned lady's tone was the perfection of 
 amiability. She sent Ovid across the road to knock at the 
 house-door, and took Carmina's arm confidentially. ' You 
 little goose ! ' she whispered, ' how could you suppose I was 
 angry with you ? I can't even regret your mistake, you 
 have written such a charming note.' 
 
 Ovid was waiting for them in the hall. They went into 
 the library. Mrs. Gallilee enfolded her son in a fervent 
 motherly embrace. 
 
 'This completes the enjoyment of a most delightful 
 evening,' she said. ' First a perfect lecture — and then the 
 relief of overpowering anxiety about my son. I suppose your 
 professional studies, Ovid, have never taken you as high as 
 the Interspacial Regions? We were an immense audience 
 to-night to hear the Professor on that subject, and I really 
 haven't recovered it yet. Fifty miles above us — only fifty 
 miles — there is an atmosphere of cold that would freeze the 
 whole human family to death in a second of time. Moist 
 matter, in that terrific emptiness, would explode, and become 
 stone ; and — listen to this, Carmina — the explosion itself would 
 be frozen, and produce no sound. Think of serious people 
 looking up in that dreadful direction and talking of going to 
 Heaven. Oh, the insignificance of man, except — I am going 
 to make a joke, Ovid — except when he pleases his old mother 
 by going away for the benefit of his health ! And where are 
 you going ? Has sensible Carmina advised you ? I agree 
 with her beforehand, whatever she has said.' 
 
96 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Ovid informed his mother of Benjulia's suggestion, and 
 asked her what she thought of it. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's overflowing geniality instantly flooded the 
 absent doctor. He was rude, he w T as ugly; but what an 
 inestimable friend ! what admirable advice ! In Ovid's state 
 of health he must not write letters ; his mother would write 
 and thank the doctor, and ask for introductions to local 
 grandees who occupied a position in colonial society. She 
 seized the newspaper : a steamer for Canada sailed from 
 Liverpool on Saturday. Ovid could secure his cabin the next 
 morning (' amidships, my dear, if yon can possibly get it '), 
 and could leave London by Friday's train. In her eagerne.-s 
 to facilitate his departure, she proposed to superintend the 
 shutting up of his house, in his absence, and to arrange the 
 disposal of the servants, if he considered it worth while to 
 keep them. She even thought of the cat. The easiest way 
 to provide for the creature would be of course to have her 
 poisoned ; but Ovid was so eccentric in some things, that 
 practical suggestions were thrown away on him. ' Sixpence 
 a week for cat's meat isn't much,' cried Mrs. Gallilee in an 
 outburst of generosity. ' We will receive the cat ? ' 
 
 Ovid made his acknowledgments resignedly. Carmina 
 conld see that Mrs. Gallilee's overpowering vitality was 
 beginning to oppress her son. 
 
 ' I needn't trouble you, mother,' he said. ' My domestic 
 affairs were all settled when I first felt the necessity of getting 
 rest. My manservant travels with me. My housemaid and 
 kitchenmaid will go to their friends in the country ; the cook 
 will look after the house ; and her nephew, the little page, is 
 almost as fond of the cat as I am. If you will send for a 
 cab, I think I will go home. Like other people in my 
 wretched state, I feel fatigued towards night-time.' 
 
 His lips just touched Carmina's delicate little ear, while his 
 mother turned away to ring the bell. ' Expect me to-morrow,' 
 he whispered. ' I love you ! — love you ! — love you ! ' Ho 
 seemed to find the perfection of luxury in the reiteration of 
 those words. 
 
 When Ovid had left them, Carmina expected to hear 
 something of her aunt's discovery in the Square. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's innocence was impenetrable. Not finding 
 her niece in the house she had thought of the Square. What 
 could be more natural than that the cousins should take an 
 
HEART AiVD SCIENCE. 97 
 
 evening walk in one of the prettiest enclosures in London ? 
 Her anticipation of Ovid's recovery, and her admiration of 
 Carmina's powers of persuasion appeared, for the time, to be 
 the only active ideas in that comprehensive mind. When the 
 servant brought in the tray, with the claret and soda-water, 
 she sent for Miss Minerva to join them, and hear the good 
 news ; completely ignoring the interruption of their friendly 
 relations, earlier in the evening. She became festive and 
 facetious at the sight of the soda-water. ' Let us imitate the 
 men, Miss Minerva, and drink a toast before we go to bed. 
 Be cheerful, Carmina, and share half a bottle of soda-water 
 with me. A pleasant journey to Ovid, and a safe return ! ' 
 Cheered by the influences of conviviality, the friend of Pro- 
 fessors, the tender nurse of half-developed tadpoles, lapsed 
 into learning again. Mrs. Gallilee improvised an appropriate 
 little lecture on Canada — on the botany of the Dominion ; on 
 the geology of the Dominion ; on the number of gallons of 
 water wasted every hour by the Falls of Niagara. ' Science 
 will set it all right, my dears ; we shall make that idle water 
 work for us, one of these days. Good-night, Miss Minerva ! 
 Dear Carmina, pleasant dreams ! ' 
 
 Safe in the solitude of her bedroom, the governess ominously 
 knitted her heavy eyebrows. 
 
 1 In all my experience,' she thought, ' I never saw Mrs. 
 Gallilee in such spirits before. What mischief is she meditating, 
 when she has got rid of her son ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The lapse of a few hours exercised no deteriorating influence 
 on Mrs. Gallilee's amiability. 
 
 On the next day, thanks to his mother's interference, Ovid 
 was left in undisturbed enjoyment of Carmina's society. Not 
 only Miss Minerva, but even Mr. Gallilee and the children, 
 were kept out of the way with a delicately-exercised dexterity, 
 which defied the readiest suspicion to take offence. In one 
 word, all that sympathy and indulgence could do to invite 
 Ovid's confidence, was unobtrusively and modestly done. 
 Never had the mistress of domestic diplomacy reached her 
 ends with finer art. 
 
9S HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 In the afternoon, a messenger delivered Benjulia's reply 
 to Mrs. Gallilee's announcement of her son's contemplated 
 journey — despatched by the morning's post. The doctor was 
 confined to the house by an attack of gout. If Ovid wanted 
 information on the subject of Canada, Ovid must go to him, 
 and get it. That was all. 
 
 ' Have you ever been to Doctor Benjulia's house ? ' Carmina 
 asked. 
 
 ' Never.' 
 
 ' Then all you have told me about him is mere report ? 
 Now you will find out the truth ! Of course you will go P ' 
 
 Ovid felt no desire to make a voyage of exploration to 
 Benjulia's house — and said so plainly. Carmina used all her 
 powers of persuasion to induce him to change his mind. Mrs. 
 Gallilee (superior to the influence of girlish curiosity) felt the 
 importance of obtaining introductions to Canadian society, 
 and agreed with her niece. ' I shall order the carriage,' she 
 said, assuming a playfully despotic tone ; ' and, if you don't 
 go to the doctor — Carmina and I will pay him a visit in your 
 place.* 
 
 Threatened, if he remained obstinate, with such a result 
 as this, Ovid had no alternative but to submit. 
 
 The one order that could be given to the coachman was to 
 drive to the village of Hendon, on the north-western side of 
 London, and to trust to inquiries for the rest of the way. 
 Between Hendon and Willesden, there are pastoral solitudes 
 within an hour's drive of Oxford Street — wooded lanes and 
 wild-flowers, farms and cornfields, still unprofaned by the de- 
 vastating brickwork of the builder of modern times. Follow- 
 ing winding ways, under shadowing trees, the coachman 
 made his last inquiry at a road-side public-house. Hearing 
 that Benjulia's place of abode was now within half a mile of 
 him, Ovid set forth on foot ; leaving the driver and the horses 
 to take their ease at their inn. 
 
 He arrived at an iron gate, opening out of a lonely lane. 
 
 There, in the middle of a barren little field, he saw Ben- 
 julia's house — a hideous square building of yellow brick, with 
 a slate roof. A low wall surrounded the place, having another 
 iron gate at the entrance. The enclosure within was as barren 
 as the field without : not even an attempt at flower-garden or 
 kitchen-garden was visible. At a distance of some two 
 hundred yards from the house stood a second and smaller 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 99 
 
 building, with a skylight in the roof, which Ovid recognised 
 (from description) as the famous laboratory. Behind it was 
 the hedge which parted Benjulia's morsel of land from the 
 land of his neighbour. Here, the trees rose again, and the 
 fields beyond were cultivated. No dwellings, and no living 
 creatures appeared. So near to London — and yet, in its lone- 
 liness, so far away — there was something unnatural in the 
 solitude of the place. 
 
 Led by a feeling of curiosity, which was fast degenerating 
 into suspicion, Ovid approached the laboratory, without 
 showing himself in front of the house. No watch-dog barked; 
 no servant appeared on the look-out for a visitor. He was 
 ashamed of himself as he did it, but (so strongly had he been 
 impressed by Carmina's observation of the doctor) he even 
 tried the locked door of the laboratory, and waited and 
 listened! It was a breezy summer-day; the leaves of tae 
 trees near him rustled cheerfully. Was there another sound 
 audible ? Yes — low and faint, there rose through the sweet 
 woodland melody a moaning cry. It paused ; it was repeated; 
 it stopped. He looked round him, not quite sure whether the 
 sound proceeded from the outside or the inside of the building. 
 He shook the door. Nothing happened. The suffering 
 creature (if it was a suffering creature) was silent or dead. 
 Had chemical experiment accidentally injured some living 
 thing? Or ?* 
 
 He recoiled from pursuing that second inquiry. The 
 laboratory had, by this time, become an object of horror to 
 him. He returned to the dwelling-house. 
 
 He put his hand ou the latch of the gate, and looked back 
 at the laboratory. He hesitated. 
 
 That moaning cry, so piteous <*inl so short-lived, haunted 
 his ears. The idea of approaching Bmjnlia became repellent 
 to him. What he might afterwards think of himself — what 
 his mother and Carmina might think of him — if he returned 
 without having entered the doctor's house, were considerations 
 which had no influence over his mind, in its present mood. 
 The impulse of the moment was the one power that swayed 
 him. He put the latch back in the socket. 'I won't go in,' 
 he said to himself. 
 
 It was too late. As he turned from the house a man- 
 servant appeared at the door — crossed the enclosure — and 
 threw the gate open for Ovid, without uttering a word. 
 
 h 2 
 
ioo HEART AND SCIEAXF. 
 
 They entered the passage. The speechless manservant 
 opened a door on the right, and made a bow, inviting the 
 visitor to enter. Ovid found himself in a room as barren as 
 the field outside. There were the plastered walls, there was 
 the bare floor, left exactly as the builders had left them when 
 the house was finished. After a short absence, the man ap- 
 peared again. He might be depressed in spirits, or crabbed 
 in temper : the fact remained that, even now, he had nothing 
 to say. He opened a door on the opposite side of the passage 
 — made another bow — and vanished. 
 
 ' Don't come near me ! ' cried Benjulia, the moment Ovid 
 showed himself. 
 
 The doctor was seated in an inner corner of the room , 
 robed in a long black dressing-gown, buttoned round his 
 throat, which hid every part of him below his fleshless face, 
 except his big hands, and his tortured gouty foot. Rage and 
 pain glared in his gloomy gray e} r es, and shook his clenched 
 fists, resting on the arms of an easy chair. ' Ten thousand 
 red-hot devils are boring ten thousand holes through my foot,' 
 he said. ' If you touch the pillow on my stool, I shall fly at 
 jour throat.' He poured some cooling lotion from a bottle 
 into a small watering-pot, and irrigated his foot as if it had 
 been a bed of flowers. By way of further relief to the pain, 
 he swore ferociously; addressing his oaths to himself, in 
 thunderous undertones which made the glasses ring on the 
 sideboard. 
 
 Relieved, in his present frame of mind, to have escaped 
 the necessity of shaking hands, Ovid took a chair, and looked 
 about him. Even here he discovered but little furniture, and 
 that little of the heavy old-fashioned sort. Besides the side- 
 board, he perceived a dining-table, six chairs, and a dingy 
 brown carpet. There were no curtains on the window, and 
 no pic*m*es or prints on the drab-coloured walls. The empty 
 grate showed its bleak black cavity undisguised ; and the 
 mantelpiece had nothing on it but the doctor's dirty and 
 strong-smelling pipe. Benjulia set down his watering-pot, as 
 a sign that the paroxysm of pain had passed away. ' A dull 
 place to live in, isn't it ? ' In those words he welcomed the 
 visitor to his house. 
 
 Irritated by the accident which had forced him into the 
 repellent presence of Benjulia, Ovid answered in a tone which 
 matched the doctor on his own hard ground. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 101 
 
 'It's yonr own fault if the place is dull. Why haven't 
 you planted trees, and laid out a garden ? ' 
 
 ' I dare say I shall surprise you,' Benjulia quietly rejoined ; 
 ' but I have a habit of speaking my mind. I don't object to 
 a dull place; and I don't care about trees and gardens.' 
 
 'You don't seem to care about furniture either,' said Ovid. 
 
 Now that he was out of pain for awhile, the doctor's innate 
 insensibility to what other people might think of him, or might 
 say to him, resumed its customary torpor in its own strangely 
 uuconscious way. He seemed only to understand that Ovid's 
 curiosity was in search of information about trifles. Well, there 
 would be less trouble in giving him his information, than in 
 investigating his motives. So Benjulia talked of his furniture. 
 
 ' I dare say you're right,' he said. ' My sister-in law — 
 did you know I had a relation of that sort? — my sister-in- 
 law got the tables and chairs, and beds and basins. Buying 
 tilings at shops doesn't interest me. I gave her a cheque ; 
 and I told her to furnish a room for me to eat in, and a room 
 for me to sleep in — and not to forget the kitchen and the 
 garrets for the servants. What more do I want ? ' 
 
 His intolerable composure only added to his guest's 
 irritability. 
 
 ' A selfish way of putting it,' Ovid broke out. ' Have you 
 nobody to think of but yourself? ' 
 
 ' Nobody — I am happy to say.' 
 
 ' That's downright cynicism, Benjulia ! ' 
 
 The doctor reflected. 'Is it ? ' he said. ' Perhaps yon 
 may be right again. I think it's only indifference, myself. 
 Curiously enough, my brother looks at it from your point of 
 view — he even used the same word that you used just now. 
 I suppose he found my cynicism beyond the reach of reform. 
 At any rate, he left off coming here. I got rid of Mm on easy 
 terms. What do you say ? That inhuman way of talking is 
 unworthy of me ? Really I don't think so. I'm not a down- 
 right savage. It's only indifference.' 
 
 ' Does your brother return your indifference ? You must 
 be a nice pair, if he does ! ' 
 
 Benjulia seemed to find a certain dreary amusement in 
 considering the question that Ovid had proposed. He decided 
 on doing justice to his absent relative. 
 
 ' My brother's intelligence is perhaps equal to such a small 
 effort as you suggest,' he said. ' He has just brains enough 
 
102 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 to keep himself out of an asylum for idiots. Shall I tell you 
 what he is in two words ? A stupid sensualist — that's what 
 he is. I let his wife come here sometimes, and cry. It 
 doesn't trouble me ; and it seems to relieve her. More of my 
 indifference- — eh ? Well, I don't know. I gave her the 
 change out of the furniture-cheque, to bny a new bonnet with. 
 You might call that indifference, and you might be right 
 once more. I don't care about money. Will you have a 
 drink ? You see I can't move. Please ring for the man.' 
 
 Ovid refused the drink, and changed the subject. ' Your 
 servant is a remarkably silent person,' he said. 
 
 ' That's his merit,' Benjulia answered ; ' the women-servants 
 have quarrelled with every other man I've had. They can't 
 quarrel with this man. 1 have raised his wages in grateful 
 acknowledgment of his usefulness to me. I hate noise.' 
 
 ' Is that the reason why you don't keep a watch-dog ? ' 
 
 ' I don't like dogs. They bark.' 
 
 He had apparently some other disagreeable association 
 with dogs, which he was not disposed to communicate. His 
 hollow eyes stared gloomily into vacancy. Ovid's presence 
 in the room seemed to have become, for the time being, an 
 impression erased from his mind. He recovered himself, with 
 the customary vehement rubbing of his head, and turned the 
 talk to the object of Ovid's visit. 
 
 ' So you have taken my advice,' he said. ' You're going to 
 Canada, and you want to get at what I can tell you before you 
 start. Here's my journal. It will jog my memory, and help 
 us both.' 
 
 His writing materials were placed on a movable table, 
 screwed to his chair. Near them lay a shabby-looking book, 
 guarded by a lock. Ten minutes after he had opened his 
 journal, and had looked here and there through the pages, his 
 hard intellect had grasped all that it required. Steadily and 
 copiously his mind emptied its information into Ovid's mind ; 
 without a single digression from beginning to end, and with 
 the most mercilessly direct reference to the traveller's prac- 
 tical wants. Not a word escaped him, relating to national 
 character or to the beauties of Nature. Mrs. Gallilee had 
 criticised the Falls of Niagara as a reservoir of wasted power. 
 Doctor Benjulia's scientific superiority over the woman as- 
 serted itself with magnificent ease. Niagara being nothing 
 but useless water, he never mentioned Niagara at all. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 103 
 
 ' Have I served your purpose as a guide ? ' he asked. 
 •Never mind thanking me. Yes or no will do. Very good. 
 I have got a line of writing to give you next.' He mended 
 his quill pen, and made an observation. ' Have you ever 
 noticed that women have one pleasure which lasts to the end 
 of their lives ? ' he said. ' Young and old, they have the same 
 inexhaustible enjoyment of society ; and, young and old, they 
 are all alike incapable of understanding a man, when he says 
 he doesn't care to go to a party. Even your clever mother 
 thinks you want to go to parties in Canada.' He tried his 
 pen, and found it would do — and began his letter. 
 
 Seeing his hands at work, Ovid was again reminded of 
 Carmina's discovery. His eyes wandered a little aside, 
 towards the corner formed by the pillar of the chimney-piece 
 and the wall of the room. The big bamboo-stick rested there. 
 A handle was attached to it, made of light-coloured horn, and 
 on that handle there were some stains. Ovid looked at them 
 with a surgeon's practised eye. They were dry stains of 
 blood. (Had he washed his hands on the last occasion when 
 he used his stick ? And had he forgotten that the handle 
 wanted washing too ?) 
 
 Benjulia finished his letter, and wrote the addi'ess. He 
 took up the envelope, to give it to Ovid — and stopped, as if 
 some doubt tempted him to change his mind. The hesitation 
 was only momentary. He persisted in his first intention, 
 and gave Ovid the letter. It was addressed to a doctor at 
 Montreal. 
 
 ' That man won't introduce you to society,' Benjulia an- 
 nounced, ' and won't worry your brains with medical talk. 
 Keep off one subject on your side. A mad bull is nothing to 
 my friend if you speak of Vivisection.' 
 
 Ovid looked at him steadily, when he uttered the last word. 
 Benjulia looked back, just as steadily, at Ovid. 
 
 At the moment of that reciprocal scrutiny, did the two 
 men suspect each other ? Ovid, on his side, determined not 
 to leave the house without putting his suspicions to the test. 
 
 ' I thank you for the letter,' he began ; ' and I will not 
 forget the warning.' 
 
 The doctor's capacity for the exercise of the social virtues 
 had its limits. His reserves of hospitality were by this time 
 near their end. 
 
 ' Is there anything more T can do for you ? ' he interposed. 
 
104 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 'You can answer a simple question,' Ovid replied. 'My 
 cousin Carmina ' 
 
 Benjulia interrupted him again. ' Don't you think we 
 said enough about your cousin in the Gardens ? ' he suggested. 
 
 Ovid acknowledged the hint with a neatness of retort 
 almost worthy of his mother. ' You have your own merciful 
 disposition to blame, if I return to the subject,' he replied. 
 ' My cousin cannot forget your kindness to the monkey.' 
 
 ' The sooner she forgets my kindness the better. The 
 monkey is dead.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it.' 
 
 ' Why r ' 
 
 ' I thought the creature was living in pain.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I mean that I heard a moaning ' 
 
 'Where?' 
 
 ' In the building behind your house.' 
 
 ' You heard the wind in the trees.' 
 
 ' Nothing of the sort. Are your chemical experiments 
 ever made on animals ? ' 
 
 The doctor parried that direct attack, without giving 
 ground by so much as a hair's breadth. 
 
 ' What did I say when I gave you your letter of introduc- 
 tion ? ' he asked. ' I said, A mad bull is nothing to my friend, 
 if you speak to him of Vivisection. Now I have something 
 more to tell you. I am like my friend.' He waited a little. 
 'Will that do? 'he asked. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Ovid ; ' that will do.' 
 
 They were as near to an open quarrel as two men could 
 be : Ovid took up his hat to go. Even at that critical moment, 
 Benjulia's strange jealousy of his young colleague — as a pos- 
 sible rival in some field of discovery which he claimed as his 
 own — showed itself once more. There was no change in his 
 tone ; he still spoke like a judicious friend. 
 
 ' A last word of advice,' he said. ' You are travelling for 
 your health ; don't let inquisitive strangers lead you into talk. 
 Some of them might be physiologists.' 
 
 'And might suggest new ideas,' Ovid rejoined, determined 
 to make him speak oat this time. 
 
 Benjulia nodded, in perfect agreement with his guest's 
 view. 
 
 ' Are you afraid of new ideas ? ' Ovid went on. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 105 
 
 1 Perhaps I am — in your head.' He made that admission, 
 without hesitation or embarrassment. ' Good-bye ! ' he re- 
 sumed. ' My sensitive foot feels noises : don't bang the door.' 
 
 Getting out into the lane again, Ovid looked at his letter 
 to the doctor at Montreal. His first impulse was to destroy it. 
 
 As Benjnlia had hesitated before giving him the letter, so 
 he now hesitated before tearing it up. 
 
 Contrary to the usual practice in such cases, the envelope 
 was closed. Under those circumstances, Ovid's pride decided 
 him on using the introduction. Time was still to pass, before 
 events opened his eyes to the importance of his decision. To 
 the end of his life he remembered that Benjulia had been near 
 to keeping back the letter, and that he had been near to 
 tearing it up. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 The wise ancient who asserted that ' Time flies,' mnst have 
 made that remarkable discovery while he was in a state of 
 preparation for a journey. When are we most acutely sensible 
 of the shortness of life ? When do we consult our watches 
 in perpetual dread of the result ? When does the night steal 
 on us unawares, and the morning take us by surprise ? When 
 we are going on a journey. 
 
 The remaining days of the week went by with a rush. 
 Ovid had hardly time to ask himself if Friday had really come, 
 before the hours of his life at home were already numbered. 
 
 He had still a little time to spare when he presented him- 
 self at Fairfield Gardens late in the afternoon. Finding no 
 one in the library, ho went up to the drawing-room. His 
 mother was alone, reading. 
 
 ' Have you anything to say to me, before I tell Carmina 
 that you are here ? ' Mrs. Gallilee put that question quietly, 
 so far as her voice was concerned. But she still kept her eyes 
 on her book. Ovid knew that she was offering him his fii'st 
 and last chance of speaking plainly, before he went away. In 
 Carmina's interests he spoke. 
 
 4 Mother,' he said, ' I am leaving the one person in the 
 world who is most precious to me, nnder your care.' 
 
 1 Do you mean,' Mrs. Gallilee asked, ' that you and Car- 
 mina are engaged to be married ? ' 
 
<o6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' I mean that ; and I am not sure that you approve of 
 the engagement. Will you be plainer with me than you were 
 on the last occasion when we spoke on thi3 subject ? ' 
 
 ' When was that ? ' Mrs. Gallilee inquired. 
 
 ' When you and I were alone for a few minutes, on the 
 morning Avhen I breakfasted here. You said it was quite 
 natural that Carmina should have attracted me ; but you 
 were careful not to encourage the idea of a marriage between 
 us. I understood that you disapproved of it — bat you didn't 
 plainly tell me why.' 
 
 ' Can women always give their reason ? ' 
 
 ' Yes — when they are women like you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, my dear, for a pretty compliment. I can 
 trust my memory. I think I hinted at the obvious objections 
 to an engagement. You and Carmina are cousins ; and you 
 belong to different religious communities. I may add that a 
 man with your brilliant prospects has, in my opinion, no 
 reason to marry unless his wife is in a position to increase 
 his influence and celebrity. I had looked forward to seeing 
 my clever son rise more nearly to a level with persons of rank, 
 who are members of our family. There is my confession, 
 Ovid. If I did hesitate on the occasion to which you have 
 referred, I have now, I think, told you why.' 
 
 ' Am I to undei'stand that you hesitate still ? ' Ovid asked. 
 
 ' No.' With that brief reply she rose to put away her 
 book. 
 
 Ovid followed her to the bookcase. 'Has Carmina con- 
 quered you ? ' he said. 
 
 She put her book back in its place. ' Carmina has con- 
 quered me,' she answered. 
 
 'You say it coldly.' 
 
 ' What does that matter, if I say it truly ? ' 
 
 The struggle in him between hope and fear burst its way 
 out. ' Oh, mother, no words can tell you how fond I am of 
 Carmina ! For God's sake take care of her, and be kind to 
 her ! ' 
 
 ' For your sake,' said Mrs. Gallilee, gently correcting the 
 language of her excitable son, from her own protoplastic point 
 of view. 'You do me an injustice if you feel anxious about 
 Carmina, when you leave her here. My dead brother's child, 
 is my child. You may be sure of that.' She took his hand, 
 and drew him to her, and kissed his forehead with dignity and 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 107 
 
 deliberation. If Mr. Mool had been present, during the regis- 
 tration of that solemn pledge, he would have been irresistibly 
 reminded of the other ceremony, "which is called signing a 
 deed. 
 
 ' Have yon any instructions to give me ? ' Mrs. Gallilee 
 proceeded. ' For instance, do you object to my taking Carmina 
 to parties ? I mean, of course, parties which will improve her 
 mind.' 
 
 He fell sadly below his mother's level in replying to this. 
 ' Do everything you can to make her life happy while I am 
 away.' Those were his only instructions. 
 
 But Mrs. Gallilee had not done with him yet. ' With 
 regard to visitors,' she went on. ' I presume yon wish me to 
 be careful, if I find young men calling here oftener than 
 nsual ? ' 
 
 Ovid actually laughed at this. 'Do you think I doubt 
 her ? ' he asked. ' The earth doesn't hold a truer girl than my 
 little Carmina ! ' A thought struck him while he said it. Tho 
 brightness faded out of his face ; his voice lost its gaiety. 
 ' There is one person who may call on you,' he said, ' whom I 
 don't wish her to see.' 
 
 'Who is he?' 
 
 ' Unfortunately, he is a man who has excited her curiosity. 
 I mean Benjulia.' 
 
 It was now Mrs. Gallilee's turn to be amused. Her laugh 
 was not one of her foremost fascinations. It was hard in 
 tone, and limited in range — it opened her mouth, but it failed 
 to kindle any light in her eyes. ' Jealous of the ugly doctor ! ' 
 she exclaimed. ' Oh, Ovid, what next ? ' 
 
 'Tou never made a greater mistake in your life,' her son 
 answered sharply. 
 
 ' Then what is the objection to him ? ' Mrs. Gallilee re- 
 joined. 
 
 It was not easy to meet that question with a plain reply. 
 If Ovid asserted that Benjulia's chemical experiments were 
 assumed — for some reason known only to himself — as a cloak 
 to cover the atrocities of the Savage Science, he would only 
 raise the doctor in his mother's estimation. If, on the other 
 hand, he described what had passed between them when they 
 met in the Zoological Gardens, Mrs. Gallilee might summon 
 Benjulia to explain the slur which he had indirectly cast 
 on the memory of Carmina's mother — and might find, in the 
 
io8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 reply, some plausible reason for objecting to her son's mar- 
 riage. Having rashly placed himself in this dilemma, Ovid 
 unwisely escaped from it by the easiest way. ' I don't think 
 Benjulia a fit person,' he said, ' to be in the company of a young 
 girl.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee accepted this expression of opinion with a 
 readiness, which would have told a more suspicious man that 
 he had made a mistake. Ovid had roused the curiosity — pur- 
 haps awakened the distrust — of his clever mother. 
 
 ' You know best,' Mrs. Gallilee replied ; ' I will bear in 
 mind what you say.' She rang the bell for Carmina, and left 
 the room. Ovid found the minutes passing slowly, for the 
 first time since the day had been fixed for his departure. He 
 attributed this impression to his natural impatience for the 
 appearance of his cousin — until the plain evidence of the clock 
 pointed to a delay of five endless minutes, and more. As he 
 approached the door to make inquiries, it opened at last. 
 Hurrying to meet Carmina, he found himself face to face with 
 Miss Minerva ! 
 
 She came in hastily, and held out her hand without looking 
 at him. 
 
 ' Forgive me for intruding on you,' she said, with a rapidity 
 of utterance and a timidity of manner strangely unlike herself. 
 ' I'm obliged to prepare the children's lessons for to-morrow ; 
 and this is my only opportunity of bidding you good-bye. You 
 have my best wishes — my heartfelt wishes — for your safety 
 and your health, and — and your enjoyment of the journey. 
 Good-bye ! good-bye ! ' 
 
 After holding his hand for a moment, she hastened back 
 to the door. There she stopped, turned towards him again, 
 and looked at him for the first time. ' I have one thing more 
 to say,' she broke out. ' I will do all I can to make Carmina's 
 life pleasant in your absence.' Before he could thank her, she 
 was gone. 
 
 In another minute Carmina came in, and found Ovid look- 
 ing perplexed and annoyed. She had passed Frances on the 
 stairs — had there been any misunderstanding between Ovid 
 and the governess ? 
 
 ' Have you seen Miss Minerva ? ' she asked. 
 
 He put his arm round her, and seated her by him on the 
 sofa. ' I don't understand Miss Minerva,' he said. ' How is 
 it that she came here, when I was expecting You ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 109 
 
 ' She asked me, as a favour, to let her see you first ; and 
 she seemed to be so anxious about it that I gave way. I 
 didn't do wrong, Ovid — did I ? ' 
 
 ' My darling, you are always kind, and always right ! 
 But why couldn't she say good-bye (with the others) down- 
 stairs ? Do you understand this carious woman ? ' 
 
 ' I think I do.' She paused, and toyed with the hair over 
 Ovid's forehead. 'Miss Minerva is fond of you, poor thing,' 
 she said innocently. 
 
 ' Fond of me ? ' 
 
 The surprise which his tone expressed, failed to attract 
 her attention. She quietly varied the phrase that she had 
 just used. 
 
 ' Miss Minerva has a true regard for you — and knows that 
 you don't return it,' she explained, still playing with Ovid's 
 hair. 'I want to see bow it looks,' she went on, ' when it's 
 parted in the middle. No ! it looks better as you always wear 
 it. How handsome you are, Ovid ! Don't you wish I was 
 beautiful, too ? Everybody in the house loves you ; and 
 everybody is sorry you are going away. I like Miss Minerva, 
 I like ever3'body, for being so fond of my dear, dear hero. 
 Oh, what shall 1 do when day after day passes, and only takes 
 you farther and farther away from me ? No ! I won't cry. 
 You shan't go away with a heavy heart, my dear one, if I can 
 help it. Where is your photograph ? You promised me your 
 photograph. Let me look at it. Yes ! it's like you, and yet 
 not like you. It will do to think over, when I am alone. 
 My love, it has copied your eyes, but it has not copied the 
 divine kindness and goodness that I see in them ! ' She 
 paused, and laid her head on his bosom. ' I shall cry, in spite 
 of my resolution, if I look at you any longer. We won't look 
 — we won't talk — I can feel your arm round me — I can hear 
 your heart. Silence is best. I have been told of people dying 
 happily ; and I never understood it before. I think I could 
 die happily now.' She put her hand over his lips before he 
 could reprove her, and nestled closer to him. ' Hush ! ' she 
 said softly ; ' hush ! ' 
 
 They neither moved nor spoke: that silent happiness was 
 the best happiness, while it lasted. Mrs. Gallilee broke the 
 charm. She suddenly opened the door, pointed to the clock, 
 and went away again. 
 
 The cruel time had come. They made their last promises ; 
 
no HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 shared their last kisses ; held each other in the last embrace. 
 She threw herself ou the sofa, as he left her — with a gesture 
 which entreated him to go, while she could still control her- 
 self. Once, he looked round, when he reached the door — and 
 then it was over. 
 
 Alone on the landing, he dashed the tears away from his 
 eyes. Suffering and sorrow tried hard to get the better of his 
 manhood : they had shaken, but had not conquered him. He 
 was calm, when he joined the members of the family, waiting 
 in the library. 
 
 Perpetually setting an example, Mrs. Gallilee ascended her 
 domestic pedestal as usual. She favoured her son with one 
 more" kiss, and reminded him of the i^ailway. ' We understand 
 each other, Ovid — you have only five minutes to spare. 
 Write, when you get to Quebec. Now, Maria ! say good-bye.' 
 
 Maria presented herself to her brother with a grace which 
 did honour to the family dancing-master. Her short farewell 
 speech was a model of its kind. 
 
 ' Dear Ovid, I am only a child ; but I feel truly anxious 
 for the recovery of your health. At this favourable season 
 you may look forward to a pleasant voyage. Please accept 
 my best wishes.' She offered her cheek to be kissed — and 
 looked like a young person who had done her duty, and knew it. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee — modestly secluded behind the window cur- 
 tains — appeared, at a sign from his wife. One of his plump 
 red hands held a bundle of cigars. The other clutched an 
 enormous new travelling-flask — the giant of its tribe. 
 
 ' My dear boy, it's possible there may be good brandy and 
 cigars on board ; but that's not my experience of steamers — 
 is it yours ? ' He stopped to consult his wife. ' My dear, is 
 it yours ? ' Mrs. Gallilee held up the ' Railway Guide,' and 
 shook it significantly. Mr. Gallilee went on in a hurry. 
 ' There's some of the right stuff in this flask, Ovid, if you 
 will accept it. Five-and-forty years old — would you like to 
 taste it ? Would you like to taste it, my dear ? ' Mrs. 
 Gallilee seized the ' Railway Guide ' again, with a terrible 
 look. Her husband crammed the big flask into one of Ovid's 
 pockets, and the cigars into the other. 'You'll find them a 
 comfort when you're away from us. God bless you, my son ! 
 You don't mind my calling you my son ? I couldn't be fonder 
 of you, if I really was your father. Let's part as cheerfully as 
 we can,' said poor Mr. Gallilee, with the tears rolling undis- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. m 
 
 guisedly over liis fat checks. ' We can write to each other — 
 can't we ? Oh dear ! clear ! I wish I could take it as easy as 
 Maria does. Zo ! come and give him a kiss, poor fellow. 
 Where's Zo ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee made the discovery — she dragged Zo into 
 view, from under the tahle. Ovid took his little sister on his 
 knee, and asked why she had hidden herself. 
 
 'Because I don't want to say good-bye ! ' cried the child, 
 giving her reason with a passionate outbreak of sorrow that 
 shook her from head to foot. ' Take me with you, Ovid, take 
 me with you ! ' He did his best to console her, under ad- 
 verse circumstances. Mrs. Gallilee's warning voice sounded 
 like a knell — ' Time ! time ! ' Zo's shrill treble rang out 
 louder still. Zo was determined to write to Ovid, if she was 
 not allowed to go with him. ' Pa's going to write to you — 
 why shouldn't I ? ' she screamed through her tears. ' Dear 
 Zoe, you are too young,' Maria remarked. ' Damned non- 
 sense ! ' sobbed Mr. Gallilee ; ' she shall write ! ' ' Time, 
 time ! ' Mrs. Gallilee reiterated. Taking no part in the dis- 
 pute, Ovid directed two envelopes for Zo, and quieted her in 
 that way. He hurried into the hall ; he glanced at the stairs 
 that led to the drawing-room. Carmina was on the landing, 
 waiting for a farewell look at him. On the higher flight of 
 stairs, invisible from the hall, Miss Minerva was watching 
 the scene of departure. Reckless of railways and steamers, 
 Ovid ran up to Carmina. Another and another kiss ; and 
 then away to the house-door, with Zo at his heels, trying to 
 get into the cab with him. A last kind word to the child, as 
 they carried her back to the house ; a last look at the familiar 
 faces in the doorway ; a last effort to resist that foretaste of 
 death which embitters all human partings — and Ovid was 
 gone ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 On the afternoon of the day that followed Ovid's departure, 
 the three ladies of the household were in a state of retirement 
 — each in her own room. 
 
 The writing-table in Mrs. Gallilee's boudoir was covered 
 with letters. Her banker's pass-book and her cheque-book 
 were on the desk ; Mr. Gallilee's affairs having been long since 
 
112 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 left as completely in the hands of his wife, as if Mr. Gallilee 
 had been dead. A sheet of paper lay near the cheque-book, 
 covered with calculations divided into two columns. The 
 figures in the right-hand column were contained in one line 
 at the top of the page. The figures in the left-hand column 
 filled the page from top to bottom. With her fan in her hand, 
 and her pen in the ink-bottJe, Mrs. Gallilee waited, steadily 
 thinking. 
 
 It was the hottest day of the season. All the fat women 
 in London fanned themselves on that sultry afternoon ; and 
 Mrs. Gallilee followed the general example. When she looked 
 to the right, her calculations showed the balance at the bank. 
 When she looked to the left, her calculations showed her 
 debts ; some partially paid, some not paid at all. If she 
 wearied of the prospect thus presented, and turned for relief 
 to her letters, she was confronted by polite requests for money ; 
 from tradespeople in the first place, and from secretaries of 
 fashionable Charities in the second. Here and there, by way 
 of variety, were invitations to parties, representing more pe- 
 cuniary liabilities, incurred for new dresses, and for hospitali- 
 ties acknowledged by dinners and conversaziones at her own 
 house. Money that she owed, money that she must spend ; 
 nothing but outlay of money — and where was it to come from ? 
 
 So far as her pecuniary resources were concerned, she was 
 equally removed from hope and fear. Twice a year the same 
 income flowed in regularly from the same investments. What 
 she could pay at any future time was far more plainly revealed 
 to her than what she might owe. With tact and management 
 it would be possible to partially satisfy creditors, and keep up 
 appearances for six months more. To that conclusion her 
 reflections led her, and left her to write cheques. 
 
 And after the six months — what then ? 
 
 Having first completed her correspondence with the trades, 
 people, and having next decided on her contributions to the 
 Charities, this iron matron took up her fan again, cooled her- 
 self, and met the question of the future face to face. 
 
 Ovid was the central figure in the prospect. 
 
 If he lived devoted to his profession, and lived unmarried, 
 there was a last resource always left to Mrs. Gallilee. For 
 yeai'S past, his professional gains had added largely to the in- 
 come which he had inherited from his father. Unembarrassed 
 by expensive tastes, he had some thousands of pounds put by 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 113 
 
 — for the simple reason that he was at a loss what else to do 
 with them. Thus far, her brother's generosity had spared 
 Mrs. Gallilee the hard necessity of making a confession to her 
 son. As things were now, she must submit to tell the humili- 
 ating truth ; and Ovid (with no wife to check his liberal in- 
 stincts) would do what Ovid's uncle (with no wife living to 
 check Ms liberal instincts) had done already. 
 
 There was the prospect, if her son remained a bachelor. 
 But her son had resolved to marry Carmina. What would 
 be the result if she was weak enough to allow it ? 
 
 There would be, not one result, but three results. Natural ; 
 Legal ; Pecuniary. 
 
 The natural result would be — children. 
 
 The legal result (if only one of those children lived) would 
 be the loss to Mrs. Gallilee and her daughters of the splendid 
 fortune reserved for them in the Will, if Carmina died without 
 leaving offspring. 
 
 The pecuniary result would be (adding the husband's in- 
 come to the wife's) about eight thousand a year for the young 
 married people. 
 
 And how much for a loan, applicable to the mother-in- 
 law's creditors ? Judging Carmina by the standard of herself 
 — by what other standard do we really judge our fellow- 
 creatures, no matter how clever we may be ? — Mrs. Gallilee 
 decided that not one farthing would be left to help her to pay 
 debts, which were steadily increasing with every new conces- 
 sion that she made to the claims of society. Young Mrs. Ovid 
 Vere. at the head of a household, would have the grand ex- 
 ample of her other aunt before her eyes. Although her place 
 of residence might not be a palace, she would be a poor crea- 
 ture indeed, if she failed to spend eight thousand a year, in 
 the effort to be worthy of the social position of Lady North- 
 lake. Add to these results of Ovid's contemplated marriage 
 the loss of a thousand a year, secured to the guardian by the 
 Will, while the ward remained under her care — and the state- 
 ment of disaster would be complete. ' We must leave this 
 house, and submit to be Lady Northlake's poor relations — 
 there is the price I pay for it, if Ovid and Carmina become 
 man and wife.' 
 
 She quietly laid aside her fan, as the thought in her com- 
 pleted itself in this form. 
 
 The trivial action, and the look which accompanied it, had 
 
 1 
 
114 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 a sinister meaning of their own, beyond the reach of words. 
 And Ovid was already on the sea. And Teresa was far away 
 in Italy. 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece struck five ; the punctual 
 pai'lour-maid appeared with her mistress's customary cup of 
 tea. Mrs. Gallilee asked for the governess. The servant 
 answered that Miss Minerva was in her room. 
 
 ' Where are the young ladies ? ' 
 
 ' My master has taken them out for a walk.' 
 
 ' Have they had their music lesson ? ' 
 
 1 Not yet, ma'am. Mr. Le Frank left word yesterday that 
 he would come at six this evening.' 
 
 I Does Mr. Gallilee know that ? ' 
 
 I I heard Miss Minerva tell my master, while I was helping 
 the young ladies to get ready.' 
 
 ' Very well. Ask Miss Minerva to come here, and speak 
 to me.' 
 
 Miss Minerva sat at the open window of her bedroom, 
 looking out vacantly at the backs of houses, in the street 
 behind Fairfield Gardens. 
 
 The evil spirit was the dominant spirit in her again. She, 
 too, was thinking of Ovid and Carmina. Her memory was 
 busy with the parting scene on the previous day. 
 
 The more she thought of all that had happened in that short 
 space of time, the more bitterly she reproached herself. Her 
 one besetting weakness had openly degraded her, without so 
 much as an attempt at resistance on her part. The fear of 
 betraying herself if she took leave of the man she secretly 
 loved, in the presence of his family, had forced her to ask a 
 favour of Carmina, and to ask it under circumstances which 
 might have led her rival to suspect the truth. Admitted to 
 a private interview with Ovid, she had failed to control her 
 agitation ; and, worse still, in her ungovernable eagerness to 
 produce a favourable impression on him at parting, she had 
 promised — honestly promised, in that moment of impulse — to 
 make Carmina's happiness her own peculiar care ! Carmina, 
 who had destroyed in a day the hope of years ! Carmina, who 
 had taken him away from her ; who had clung round him when 
 he ran upstairs, and had kissed him — fervently, shamelessly 
 kissed him — before the servants in the hall ! 
 
 She started to her feet, roused to a frenzy of rage by her 
 ;wu recollections. Standing at the window, she looked dowa 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 115 
 
 at the pavement of the courtyard — it was far enough below 
 to kill her instantly if she fell on it. Through the heat of her 
 anger there crept the chill and stealthy prompting of despair. 
 She leaned over the window-sill — she was not afraid — she 
 might have done it, but for a trifling interruption. Somebody 
 spoke outside. 
 
 It was the parlour-maid. Instead of entering the room, 
 she spoke through the open door. The woman was one of 
 Miss Minerva's many enemies in the house. ' Mrs. Gallilee 
 wishes to see you,' she said — -and shut the door again, the 
 instant the words were out of her mouth. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee ! 
 
 The very name was full of promise at that moment. It 
 suggested hope — merciless hope. 
 
 She left the window, and consulted her looking-glass. 
 Even to herself, her haggard face was terrible to see. She 
 poured eau-de-cologne and water into her basin, and bathed 
 her burning head and eyes. Her shaggy black hair stood in 
 need of attention next. She took almost as much pains with 
 it as if she had been going into the presence of Ovid himself. 
 ' I must make a calm appearance,' she thought, still as far as 
 ever from suspecting that her employer had guessed her 
 secret, ' or his mother may find me out.' Her knees trembled 
 under her. She sat down for a minute to rest. 
 
 Was she merely wanted for some ordinary domestic con- 
 sultation ? or was there really a chance of hearing the question 
 of Ovid and Carmina brought forward at the coming inter- 
 view ? 
 
 She believed what she hoped : she believed that the time 
 had come when Mrs. Gallilee had need of an ally — perhaps of 
 an accomplice. Only let her object be the separation of the 
 two cousins — and Miss Minerva was eager to help her, in 
 either capacity. Suppose she was too cautious to mention her 
 object ? Miss Minerva was equally ready for her employer, 
 in that case. The doubt which had prompted her fruitless 
 suggestions to Carmina, when they were alone in the young 
 girl's room — the doubt whether a clue to the discovery of Mrs. 
 Gallilee's motives might not be found, in that latter part of 
 the Will which she had failed to overhear — was as present as 
 ever in the governess's mind. ' The learned lady is not in- 
 fallible,' she thought as she entered Mrs. Gallilee's room. ' If 
 one unwary word trips over her tongue, I shall pick it up ! ' 
 
 i2 
 
n6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's manner was encouraging at the outset. 
 She had left her writing-table ; and she now presented herself, 
 reclining in an easy chair, weary and discouraged — the picture 
 of a woman in want of a helpful friend. 
 
 'My head aches with adding up figures, and writing 
 letters,' she said. ' I wish you would finish my correspondence 
 for me.' 
 
 Miss Minerva took her place at the desk. She at once 
 discovered the unfinished correspondence to be a false pre- 
 tence. Three cheques for charitable subscriptions, due at that 
 date, were waiting to be sent to three secretaries, with the 
 customary letters. In five minutes, the letters were ready for 
 the post. ' Anything more ? ' Miss Minerva asked. 
 
 ' Not that I remember. Do you mind giving me my fan ? 
 I feel perfectly helpless — I am wretchedly depressed to-day.' 
 
 1 The heat, perhaps ? ' 
 
 ' No. The expenses. Every year, the demands on our 
 resources seem to increase. On principle, I dislike living up 
 to our income — and I am obliged to do it.' 
 
 Here, plainly revealed to the governess's experienced eyes, 
 was another false pretence — used to introduce the true object 
 of nihe interview, as something which might accidentally sug- 
 gest itself in the course of conversation. Miss Minerva ex- 
 pressed the necessary regret with innocent readiness. ' Might 
 I suggest economy ? ' she asked with impenetrable gravity. 
 
 ' Admirably advised,' Mrs. Gallilee admitted ; ' but how is 
 it to be done ? Those subscriptions, for instance, are more 
 than I ought to give. And what happens if I lower the 
 amount ? I expose myself to unfavourable comparison with 
 other people of our rank in society.' 
 
 Miss Minerva still patiently played the part expected of 
 her. 'Yon might perhaps do with only one carriage-horse,' 
 she remarked. 
 
 ' My good creature, look at the people who have only one 
 carriage-horse ! Situated as I am, can I descend to that 
 level ? Don't suppose I care two straws about such things, 
 myself. My one pride and pleasure in life is the pride and 
 pleasure of improving my mind. But I have Lady Northlake 
 for a sister ; and I must not be entirely unworthy of my 
 family connections. I have two daughters ; and I must think 
 of their interests. In a few years, Maria will be presented at 
 Court. Thanks to you, she will be one of the most accom- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 1 17 
 
 plished girls in England. Think of Maria's mother in a one- 
 horse chaise. Dear child ! tell me all about her lessons. Is 
 she getting on as well as ever ? ' 
 
 'Examine her yourself, Mrs. Gallilee. I can answer for the 
 result.' 
 
 'No, Miss Minerva! I have too much confidence in you 
 to do anything of the kind. Besides, in one of the most im- 
 portant of Maria's accomplishments, I am entirely dependent 
 on yourself. I know nothing of music. You are not respon- 
 sible for her progress in that direction. Still, I should like to 
 know if you are satisfied with Maria's music ? ' 
 
 ' Quite satisfied.' 
 
 'You don't think she is getting — how can I express it? — 
 shall I say beyond the reach of Mr. Le Frank's teaching ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you would consider Mr. Le Frank equal to the 
 instruction of an older and more advanced pupil than Maria ? ' 
 
 Thus far, Miss Minerva had answered the questions sub- 
 mitted to her with well-concealed indifference. This last 
 inquiry roused her attention. Why did Mrs. Gallilee show 
 an interest, for the first time, in Mr. Le Frank's capacity as a 
 teacher ? Who was this ' older and more advanced pupil,' for 
 whose appearance in the conversation the previous questions 
 had so smoothly prepared the way ? Feeling delicate ground 
 under her, the governess advanced cautiously. 
 
 ' I have always thought Mr. Le Frank an excellent teacher,' 
 she said. 
 
 ' Can you give me no more definite answer than that ? ' 
 Mrs. Gallilee asked. 
 
 ' I am quite unacquainted, madam, with the musical pro- 
 ficiency of the pupil to whom you refer. I don't even know 
 (which adds to my perplexity) whether you are speaking of a 
 lady or a gentleman.' 
 
 'I am speaking,' said Mrs. Gallilee quietly, 'of my niece, 
 Carmina.' 
 
 Those words set all further doubt at rest in Miss Minerva's 
 mind. Introduced by such elaborate preparation, the allusion 
 to Carmina's name could only lead, in due course, to the 
 subject of Carmina's marriage. By indirect methods of ap- 
 proach, Mrs. Gallilee had at last reached the object that she 
 bad in view. 
 
n8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 There was an interval of silence between the two ladies. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee waited for Miss Minerva to speak next. Miss 
 Minerva waited to be taken into Mrs. Gallilee's confidence. 
 The sparrows twittered in the garden ; and, far away in the 
 schoolroom, the notes of the piano announced that the music 
 lesson had begun. 
 
 ' The birds are noisy,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 ' And the piano sounds out of tune,' Miss Minerva re- 
 marked. 
 
 There was no help for it. Either Mrs. Gallilee must return 
 to the matter in hand — or the matter in hand must drop. 
 
 'I am afraid I have not made myself understood,' she 
 resumed. 
 
 ' I am afraid I have been very stupid,' Miss Minerva con- 
 fessed. 
 
 Resigning herself to circumstances, Mrs. Gallilee put the 
 adjourned question under a new form. ' We were speaking 
 of Mr. Le Frank as a teacher, and of my niece as a pupil,' she 
 said. ' Have you been able to form any opinion of Carmina's 
 musical abilities ? ' 
 
 Miss Minerva remained as prudent as ever. She answered, 
 ' I have had no opportunity of forming an opinion.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee met this cautious reply by playing her trump 
 card. She handed a letter to Miss Minerva. ' I have received 
 a proposal from Mr. Le Frank,' she said. ' Will you tell me 
 what you tbink of it ? ' 
 
 The letter was short and servile. Mr. Le Frank presented 
 his best respects. If Mrs. Gallilee's charming niece stood in 
 need of musical instruction, he ventured to hope that he might 
 have the honour and happiness of superintending her studies. 
 Looking back to the top of the letter, the governess discovered 
 that this modest request bore a date of eight days since. ' Have 
 you written to Mr. Le Frank ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Only to say that I will take his request into considera- 
 tion,' Mrs. Gallilee replied. 
 
 Had she waited for her son's departure, before she com- 
 mitted herself to a decision ? On the chance that this might 
 be the case, Miss Minerva consulted her memory. When Mrs. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 119 
 
 Gallilee first decided on engaging a music-master to teach the 
 children, her son had disapproved of employing Mr. Le Frank. 
 This circumstance might possibly be worth bearing in mind. 
 ' Do you see any objection to accepting Mr. Le Frank's pro- 
 posal ? ' Mrs. Gallilee asked. Miss Minerva saw an objection 
 forthwith, and, thanks to her effort of memory, discovered an 
 especially mischievous way of stating it. ' I feel a certain 
 delicacy in offering an opinion,' she said modestly. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was surprised. ' Do you allude to Mr. Le 
 Frank ? ' she inquired. 
 
 ' No. I don't doubt that his instructions would be of 
 service to any young lady.' 
 
 ' Are you thinking of my niece ? ' 
 
 'No, Mrs. Gallilee. I am thinking of your son.' 
 
 ' In what way, if you please ? ' 
 
 ' In this way. I believe your son would object to employ- 
 ing Mr. Le Frank as Miss Carmina's teacher.' 
 
 ' On musical grounds ? ' 
 
 ' No ; on personal grounds.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 Miss Minerva explained her meaning. ' I think you have 
 forgotten what happened, when you first employed Mr. Le 
 Frank to teach Maria and Zoe. His personal appearance pro- 
 duced an unfavourable impression on your son ; and Mr. Ovid 
 made certain inquiries which you had not thought necessary. 
 Pardon me if I persist in mentioning the circumstances. I 
 owe it to myself to justify my opinion— -an opinion, yon will 
 please to remember, that I did not volunteer. Mr. Ovid's ia- 
 vestigations brought to light a very unpleasant report, relating 
 to Mr. Le Frank and a young lady who had been one of his 
 pupils.' 
 
 ' An abominable slander, Miss Minerva ! I am surprised 
 that you should refer to it.' 
 
 ' I am referring, madam, to the view of the matter taken 
 by Mr. Ovid. If Mr. Le Frank had failed to defend hitmelf 
 successfully, he would of course not have been received into 
 this house. But your son had his own opinion of the defence. 
 I was present at the time, and I heard him say that, if Maria 
 and Zoe had been older, he should have advised employing a 
 music-master who had no false reports against him to con- 
 tradict. As they were only children, he would say nothing 
 more. That is what I had in my mind, when I gave my opinion. 
 
120 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 I think Mr. Ovid will be annoyed when he hears that Mr. Le 
 Frank is li is cousin's music-master. And, if any foolish 
 gossip reaches him in his absence, I fear it might lead to mis- 
 chievous results — I mean, to misunderstandings not easily set 
 right by correspondence, and quite likely therefore to lead, in 
 the end, to distrust and jealousy.' 
 
 There she paused, and crossed her hands on her lap, and 
 waited for what was to come next. 
 
 If Mrs. Gallilee could have looked into her mind at that 
 moment, as well as into her face, she would have read Miss 
 Minerva's thoughts in these plain terms: 'All this time, 
 madam, you have been keeping up appearances in the face of 
 detection. You are going to use Mr. Le Frank as a means of 
 making mischief between Ovid and Carmina. If you had 
 taken me into your confidence, I might have been willing to 
 help you. As it is, please observe that I am not caught in 
 the trap you have set for me. If Mr. Ovid discovers your 
 little plot, you can't lay the blame on your governess's advice.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee felt that she had again measured herself 
 with Miss Minerva, and had again been beaten. She had con- 
 fidently reckoned on the governess's secret feeling towai'ds 
 her son to encourage, without hesitation or distrust, any pro- 
 ject for promoting the estrangement of Ovid and Carmina. 
 There was no alternative now but to put her first obstacle in 
 the way of the marriage, on her own sole responsibility. 
 
 ' I don't doubt that you have spoken sincerely,' she said ; 
 ' but you have failed to do justice to my son's good sense ; and 
 you are — naturally enough, in your position — incapable of esti- 
 mating his devoted attachment to Carmina.' Having planted 
 that sting, she paused to observe the effect. Not the slightest 
 visible result rewarded her. She went on. ' Almost the last 
 words he said to me expressed his confidence — his affectionate 
 confidence— in my niece. The bare idea of his being jealous 
 of anybody, and especially of such a person as Mr. Le Frank, 
 is simply ridiculous. I am astonished that you don't see it in 
 that lieht.' 
 
 'I should see it in that light as plainly as you do,' Miss 
 Minerva quietly replied, ' if Mr. Ovid was at home.' 
 
 ' What difference does that make ? ' 
 
 ' Excuse me — it makes a great difference, as I think. He 
 has gone away on a long journey, and gone away in bad 
 health. He will have his hours of depression. At such times, 
 
TIE ART AND SCIENCE. 12 1 
 
 trifles are serious things ; and even well-meant words — in 
 letters — are sometimes misunderstood. I can offer no better 
 apology for what I have said ; and I can only regret that I 
 have made so unsatisfactory a return for your flattering confi- 
 dence in me.' 
 
 Having planted her sting, she rose to retire. 
 
 1 Have you any further commands for me ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I should like to be quite sure that I have not misunder- 
 stood you,' said Mrs. tiallilee. 'You consider Mr. Le Frank 
 to be competent, as director of any young lady's musical 
 studies ? Thank you. On the one point on which I wished 
 to consult you, my mind is at ease. Do you know where 
 Carmina is ? ' 
 
 ' In her room, I believe.' 
 
 ' Will you have the goodness to send her here ? ' 
 
 1 With the greatest pleasure. Good-evening ! ' 
 
 So ended Mrs. Gallilee's first attempt to make use of Miss 
 Minerva, without trusting her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 The mistress of the house, and the governess of the house, 
 had their own special reasons for retiring to their own rooms. 
 Carmina was in solitude as a matter of necessity. The only 
 friends that the poor girl could gather round her now, were 
 the absent and the dead. 
 
 She had written to Ovid — merely for the pleasure of 
 thinking that her letter would accompany him, in the mail- 
 steamer which took him to Quebec. She had written to 
 Teresa. She had opened her piano, and had played the 
 divinely beautiful music of Mozart, until its tenderness sad- 
 dened her, and she closed the instrument with an aching 
 heart. For a while she sat by the window, thinking of Ovid. 
 The decline of day has its melancholy affinities with the 
 decline of life. As the evening wore on, her loneliness had 
 become harder and harder to endure. She rang for the maid, 
 and asked if Miss Minerva was at leisure. Miss Minerva had 
 been sent for by Mrs. Gallilee. Where was Zo ? In the 
 schoolroom, waiting until Mr. Le Frank had done with Maria, 
 to take her turn at the piano. Left alone again, Carmina 
 
122 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 opened her locket, and put Ovid's portrait by it on the table. 
 Her sad fancy revived her dead parents — imagined her lover 
 being presented to them — saw him winning their hearts by 
 his genial voice, his sweet smile, his wise and kindly words. 
 Miss Minerva, entering the room, found her still absorbed in 
 her own little melancholy day-dream ; recalling the absent, 
 reviving the dead — as if she had been nearing the close of 
 life. And only seventeen years old. Alas for Carmina, only 
 seventeen ! 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee wishes to see you.' 
 
 She started. ' Is there anything wrong ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' No. What makes you think so ? ' 
 
 ' You speak in such a strange way. Oh, Frances, I have 
 been longing for you to keep me company ! And now you 
 are here, you look at me as coldly as if I had offended you. 
 Perhaps yon are not well ? ' 
 
 'That's it. I am not well.' 
 
 ' Have some of my lavender water ! Let me bathe your 
 forehead, and then blow on it to cool you this hot weather. 
 No ? Sit down, dear, at any rate. What does my aunt want 
 with me ? ' 
 
 ' I think I had better not tell you.' 
 
 « Why ? ' 
 
 ' Your annt is sure to ask you what I have said. I have 
 tried her temper ; you know what her temper is ! She has 
 sent me here instead of sending the maid, on the chance that 
 I may commit some imprudence. I give you her message 
 exactly as the servant might have given it — and you can tell 
 her so with a safe conscience. No more questions ! ' 
 
 ' One more, please. Is it anything about Ovid ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Then my aunt can wait a little. Do sit down ! I want 
 to speak to you.' 
 
 ' About what ? ' 
 
 ' About Ovid, of course ! ' 
 
 Cai'niina's look and tone at once set Miss Minerva's mind 
 at ease. Her conduct, on the day of Ovid's departure, had 
 aroused no jealous suspicion in her innocent rival. She 
 refused to take the offered chair. 
 
 ' I have already told you your aunt is out of temper,' she 
 said. ' Go to her at once.' 
 
 Carmina rose unwillingly. ' There were so many things I 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 123 
 
 wanted to say to you,' sue began — and was interrupted by a 
 rapid little series of knocks at the door. Was the person in 
 a hurry ? The person proved to be the discreet and accom- 
 plished Maria. She made her excuses to Carmina with 
 sweetness, and turned to Miss Minerva with sorrow. 
 
 ' I regret to say that you are wanted in the schoolroom. 
 Mr. Le Frank can do nothing with Zoe. Oh, dear ! ' She 
 sighed over her sister's wickedness, and waited for instructions. 
 
 To be called away, under any circumstances, was a relief 
 to Miss Minerva. Carmina's affectionate welcome had irri- 
 tated her in the most incomprehensible manner. She was 
 angry with herself for being irritated ; she. felt inclined to 
 abuse the girl for believing in her. ' Ton fool, why don't you 
 see through me ? Why don't you write to that other fool 
 who is in love with you, and tell him how I hate you both ? ' 
 But for her self-command, she might have burst out with 
 such mad words as those. Maria's appearance was inexpres- 
 sibly welcome. ' Say I will follow you directly,' she an- 
 swered. 
 
 Maria, in the language of the stage, made a capital exit. 
 With a few hurried words of apology, Miss Minerva prepared 
 to follow. Carmina stopped her at the door. 
 
 ' Don't be hard on Zo ! ' she said. 
 
 ' I must do my duty,' Miss Minerva answered sternly. 
 
 ' We were sometimes naughty ourselves when we were 
 children,' Carmina pleaded. ' And only the other day she had 
 bread and water for tea. I am so fond of Zo ! And be- 
 sides ' she looked doubtfully at Miss Minerva — ' I don't 
 
 think Mr. Le Frank is the sort of man to get on with children.' 
 
 After what had just passed between Mrs. Gallilee and her- 
 self, this expression of opinion excited the governess's curiosity. 
 ' What makes you say that ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Well, my dear, for one thing Mr. Le Frank is so ugly. 
 Don't you agree with me ? ' 
 
 ' I think you had better keep your opinion to yourself. If 
 he heard of it ' 
 
 ' Is he vain ? My poor father used to say that all bad 
 musicians were vain.' 
 
 ' You don't call Mr. Le Frank a bad musician ?' 
 
 ' Oh, but I do ! I heard him at his concert. Mere execu- 
 tion of the most mechanical kind. A musical box is as good 
 as that man's playing. This is how he does it ! ' 
 
124 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Her girlish good spirits had revived in her friend's com- 
 pany. She turned gaily to the piano, and amused herself by 
 imitating Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 Another knock at the door — a single peremptory knock 
 this time — stopped the performance. 
 
 Miss Minerva had left the door ajar, when Carmina had 
 prevented her from quitting the room. She looked through 
 the open space, and discovered — Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 His bald head trembled, his florid complexion was livid 
 with suppressed rage. ' That little devil has run away ! ' he 
 said — and hurried down the stairs again, as if he dare not 
 trust himself to utter a word more. 
 
 ' Has he heard me ? ' Carmina asked in dismay. 
 
 ' He may only have heard you playing.' 
 
 Offering this hopeful suggestion, Miss Minerva felt no 
 doubt, in her own mind, that Mr. Le Frank was perfectly well 
 acquainted with Carmina's opinion of him. It was easy 
 enough to understand that he should himself inform the 
 governess of an incident, so entirely beyond the reach of his 
 own interference as the flight of Zo. But it was impossible 
 to assume that the furious anger which his face betrayed, 
 could have been excited by a child who had run away from a 
 lesson. No : the vainest of men and musicians had heard 
 that he was ugly, and that his pianoforte-playing resembled 
 the performance of a musical box. 
 
 They left the room together — Carmina, ill at ease, to 
 attend on her aunt ; Miss Minerva, pondering on what had 
 happened, to find the fugitive Zo. 
 
 The footman had already spared her the trouble of 
 searching the house. He had seen Zo running out bare- 
 headed into the Square, and had immediately followed her. 
 The young rebel was locked up. ' I don't care,' said Zo ; ' I 
 bate Mr. Le Frank ! ' Miss Minerva's mind was too seriously 
 preoccupied to notice this aggravation of her pupil's offence. 
 One subject absorbed her attention — the interview then in 
 progress between Carmina and her aunt. 
 
 How would Mrs. Gallilee's scheme prosper now? Mr. Le 
 Frank might, or might not, consent to be Carmina's teacher. 
 Another result, however, was certain. Miss Minerva tho- 
 roughly well knew the vindictive nature of the man. He 
 neither forgave nor forgot — he was Carmina's enemy for life. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 125 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 The month of July was near its end. 
 
 On the morning of the twenty-eighth, Carmina was en- 
 gaged in replying to a letter received from Teresa. Her 
 answer contained a record of domestic events, during an 
 interval of serious importance in her life under Mrs. Gallilee's 
 roof. Translated from the Italian, the letter was expressed 
 in these terms : 
 
 1 Are you vexed with me, dearest, for this late reply to 
 your sad news from Italy ? I have but one excuse to offer. 
 
 ' Can I hear of your anxiety about your husband, and not 
 feel the wish to help you to bear your burden by writing 
 cheerfully of myself? Over and over again, I have thought 
 of you and have opened my desk. My spirits have failed me, 
 and I have shut it up again. Am I now in a happier frame 
 of mind ? Yes, my good old nurse, I am happier. I have 
 had a letter from Ovid. 
 
 ' He has arrived safely at Quebec, and he is beginning to 
 feel better already, after the voyage. You cannot imagine 
 how beautifully, how tenderly he writes ! I am almost recon- 
 ciled to his absence, when I read his letter. Will that give 
 you some idea of the happiness and the consolation that I 
 owe to this best and dearest of men ? 
 
 ' Ah, my old granny, I see you start, and make that 
 favourite mark with your thumb-nail under the word "conso- 
 lation " ! I hear you say to yourself, " Is she unhappy in her 
 English home ? And is Aunt Gallilee to blame for it ? " 
 Yes ! it is even so. What I would not for the whole world 
 write to Ovid, I may confess to you. Aunt Gallilee is indeed 
 a hard, hard woman. 
 
 ' Do you remember telling me, in your dear downright 
 way, that Mr. Le Frank looked like a rogue ? I don't know 
 whether he is a rogue — but I do know that it is through his 
 conduct that my aunt is offended with me. 
 
 ' It happened three weeks ago. 
 
 1 She sent for me, and said that my education must be 
 completed, and that my music in particular must be attended 
 to. I was quite willing to obey her, and I said so with all 
 
126 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 needful readiness and respect. She answered that she had 
 already chosen a music-master for me — and then, to my 
 astonishment, she mentioned his name. Mr. Le Frank, who 
 taught her children, was also to teach me ! I have plenty of 
 faults, but I really think vanity is not one of them. It is only 
 due to my excellent master in Italy to say, that I am a better 
 pianoforte player than Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 ' I never breathed a word of this, mind, to my aunt. It 
 would have been ungrateful and useless. She knows and 
 cares nothing about music. 
 
 ' So we parted good friends, and she wrote the same 
 evening to engage my master. The next day she got his 
 reply. Mr. Le Frank refused to be my professor of music — 
 and this, after he had himself proposed >to teach me, in a 
 letter addressed to my aunt ! Being asked for his reasons, 
 he made an excuse. The spare time at his disposal, when he 
 had written, had been since occupied by another pupil. The 
 true reason for his conduct is, that he heard me speak of him 
 — rashly enough, I don't deny it — as an ugly man and a bad 
 player. Miss Minerva sounded him on the subject, at my 
 request, for the purpose of course of making my apologies. 
 He affected not to understand what she meant — with what 
 motive I am sure I don't know. False and revengeful, you 
 may say, and perhaps you may be right. But the serious 
 part of it, so far as I am concerned, is my aunt's behaviour 
 to me. If I had thwarted her in the dearest wish of her life, 
 she could hardly treat me with greater coldness and severity. 
 She has not stirred again in the matter of my education. We 
 only meet at meal-times ; and she receives me, when I sit 
 down at table, as she might receive a perfect stranger. Her 
 icy civility is unendurable. And this woman is my dai'liug 
 Ovid's mother ! 
 
 ' Have I done with my troubles now ? — No, Teresa ; not 
 even yet. Ob, how I wish I was with you in Italy ! 
 
 ' Your letters persist in telling me that I am deluded in 
 believing Miss Minerva to be truly my friend. Do pray 
 remember — even if I am wrong — what a solitary position 
 mine is, in Mrs. Gallilee's house ! I can play with dear little 
 Zo ; but whom can I talk to, whom can I confide in, if it 
 turns out that Miss Minerva has been deceiving me ? 
 
 ' When I last wrote to you, I refused to acknowledge that 
 any such dreadful discovery as this could be possible; I 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 127 
 
 resented the bare idea of it as a cruel insult to my friend. 
 Since that time — my face burns with shame while I write it — 
 I am a little, just a little, shaken in my own opinion. 
 
 ' Shall I tell you how it began ? Yes ; I will. 
 
 'My good old friend, you have your prejudices. But you 
 speak your mind truly — and whom else can I consult ? Not 
 Ovid ! The one effort of my life is to prevent him from 
 feeling anxious about me. And, besides, I have contended 
 against his opinion of Miss Minerva, and have brought him to 
 think of her more kindly. Has he been right, notwith- 
 standing ? and are you right ? And am I alone wrong ? You 
 shall judge for yourself. 
 
 ' Miss Minerva began to change towards me, after I had 
 done the thing of all others which ought to have brought us 
 closer together than ever. She is very poorly paid by my 
 aunt, and she has been worried by little debts. When she 
 owned this, I most willingly lent her the money to pay her 
 bills — a mere trifle, only thirty pounds. What do you think 
 she did ? She crushed up the bank-notes in her hand, and 
 left the room in the strangest headlong manner — as if I had 
 insulted her instead of helping her ! All the next day, she 
 avoided me. The day after, I myself went to her room, and 
 asked what was the matter. She gave me a most extra- 
 ordinary answer. She said, " I don't know which of us two 
 I most detest — myself or you. Myself for borrowing your 
 money, or you for lending it." I left her ; not feeling 
 otfended, only bewildei'ed and distressed. More than an 
 hour passed before she made her excuses. " I am ill and 
 miserable " — that was all she said. She did indeed look so 
 wretched that I forgave her directly. Would you not have 
 done so too, in my place ? 
 
 ' This happened a fortnight since. Only yesterday, she 
 broke out again, and put my affection for her to a far more 
 severe trial. I have not got over it yet. 
 
 'There was a message for her in Ovid's letter — expressed 
 in the friendliest terms. He remembered with gratitude her 
 kind promise, on saying good-bye ; he believed she would do 
 all that lay in her power to make my life happy in his absence; 
 and he only regretted her leaving him in such haste that he 
 had no time to thank her personally. Such was the substance 
 of the message. I was proud and pleased to go to her room 
 myself, and read it to her. 
 
128 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' Can you guess how she received me ? Nobody — I say it 
 positively — nobody could gness. 
 
 ' She actually flew into a rage ! Not only with me (which 
 I might have pardoned), but with Ovid (which is perfectly 
 inexcusable). "How dare he write to you" she burst out, 
 " of what I said to him when we took leave of each other ? 
 And how dare you come here and read it to me ? What do I 
 care about your life, in his absence ? Of what earthly conse- 
 quence are his remembrance and his gratitude to Me ! " She 
 spoke of him with such fury and contempt, that she roused 
 me at last. I said to her, " You abominable woman, there is 
 but one excuse for you — you're mad ! " I left the room — and 
 didn't I bang the door ! We have not met since. Let me 
 hear your opinion, Teresa. I was in a passion when I told 
 her she was mad ; but was I altogether wrong ? Do you 
 really think the poor creature is in her right senses ? 
 
 ' Looking back at your letter, I see that you ask if I have 
 made any new acquaintances. 
 
 ' I have been introduced to one of the sweetest women I 
 ever met with. And who do you think she is ? My other 
 aunt — Mrs. Gallilee's younger sister, Lady Northlake ! They 
 say she was not so handsome as Mrs. Gallilee, when they 
 were both young. For my part, I can only declare that no 
 such comparison is possible between them now. In look, in 
 voice, in manner there is something so charming in Lady 
 Northlake that I quite despair of describing it. My father 
 used to say that she was amiable and weak ; led by her 
 husband, and easily imposed upon. I am not clever enough 
 to have his eye for character : and perhaps I am weak and 
 easily imposed upon too. Before I had been ten minutes in 
 Lady Northlake's companj^, I would have given everything I 
 possess in the world to have had her for my guardian. 
 
 ' She had called to say good-bye, on leaving London ; and 
 my aunt was not at home. We had a long delightful talk 
 together. She asked me so kindly to visit her in Scotland, 
 and be introduced to Lord Northlake, that I accepted the 
 invitation with a glad heai't. 
 
 ' When my aunt returned, I quite forgot that we were on 
 bad terms. I gave her an enthusiastic account of all that had 
 passed between her sister and myself. How do you think she 
 met this little advance on my part ? She positively refused 
 to let me go to Scotland. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 129 
 
 ' As soon as I had in some degree got over my disappoint- 
 ment, I asked for her reasons. " I am your guardian," she 
 said ; " and I am acting in the exercise of my own discretion. 
 I think it better you should stay with me." I made no 
 farther remark. My aunt's cruelty made me think of my 
 dead father's kindness. It was as much as I could do to keep 
 from crying. 
 
 1 Thinking over it afterwards, I supposed (as this is the 
 season when everybody leaves town) that she had arranged to 
 take me into the country with her. Mr. Gallilee, who is 
 always good to me, thought so too, and promised me some 
 sailing at the sea-side. To the astonishment of everybody, 
 she has not shown any intention of going away from London ! 
 Even the servants ask what it means. 
 
 'This is a letter of complaints. Am I adding to your 
 anxieties instead of relieving them ? My kind old nurse, 
 there is no need to be anxious. At the worst of my little 
 troubles, I have only to think of Ovid — and his mother's ice 
 melts away from me directly ; I feel brave enough to endure 
 anything. 
 
 ' Take my heart's best love, dear — no, next best love, after 
 Ovid ! — and give some of it to your poor suffering husband. 
 May I ask one little favour? The English gentleman who 
 has taken our old house at Rome, will not object to give you 
 a few flowers out of what was once my garden. Send them 
 to me in your next letter.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 On the twelfth of August, Carmina heard from Ovid again. 
 He wrote from Montreal ; describing the presentation of that 
 letter of introduction which he had once been tempted to 
 destroy. In the consequences that followed the presentation 
 — apparently harmless consequences at the time — the destinies 
 of Ovid, of Carmina, and of Benjulia proved to be seriously 
 involved. 
 
 Ovid's letter was thus expressed : 
 
 ' I want to know, my love, if there is any other man in 
 the world who is aa fond of his darling as I am of you ? If 
 
 K 
 
ijo HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 such a person exists, arid if adverse circumstances compel him 
 to travel, I should like to ask a question. Is he perpetually 
 calling to mind forgotten things, which he ought to have said 
 to his sweetheart before he left her ? ' 
 
 ' This is my case. Let me give you an instance. 
 
 ' I have made a new friend here — one Mr. Moi'phew. Last 
 night, he was so kind as to invite me to a musical entertain- 
 ment at his house. He is a medical man ; and he amuses 
 himself in his leisure hours by playing on that big and dreary 
 member of the family of fiddles, whose name is Violoncello. 
 Assisted by friends, he hospitably cools his guests, in the hot 
 season, by the amateur performance. of quartettes. My dear, 
 I passed a delightful evening. Listening to the music ? Not 
 listening to a single note of it. Thinking of You. 
 
 ' Have I roused your curiosity ? I fancy I can see your 
 eyes brighten ; I fancy I can hear you telling me to go on ! 
 
 'My thoughts reminded me that music is one of the enjoy- 
 ments of your life. Before I went away, I ought to have 
 remembered this, and to have told you that the manager of 
 the autumn concerts at the opera-house is an old friend of 
 mine. He will be only too glad to place a box at your dis- 
 posal, on any night when his programme attracts your notice; 
 I have already made amends for my forgetfulness, by writing 
 to him by this mail. Miss Minerva will be your companion 
 at the theatre. If Mr. Le Frank (who is sure to be on the 
 free list) pays you a visit in your box, tell him from me to put 
 a wig on his bald head, and to try if that will make him look 
 like an honest man ! 
 
 'Did I forget anything else before my departure ? Did I 
 tell you how precious you are to me ? how beautiful you are 
 to me ? how entirely worthless my life is without you ? I 
 daresay I did ; but I tell it all over again — and, when you are 
 tired of the repetition, you have only to let me know. 
 
 ' In the meanwhile, have I nothing else to say ? have I no 
 travelling adventures to relate ? You insist on hearing of 
 everything that happens to me ; and you are to have your own 
 way before we are married, as well as after. My sweet Car- 
 mina, your willing slave has something more serious than 
 common travelling adventures to relate — he has a confession 
 to make. In plain words, I have been practising my profes- 
 sion again, in the city of Montreal ! 
 
 ' I wonder whether you will forgive me, when you are 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 131 
 
 informed of the circumstances ? It is a sad little story ; bnt 
 I am vain enough to think that my part in it will interest 
 you. I have been a vain man, since that brightest and best 
 of all possible days when you first made your confession — 
 when you said that you loved me. 
 
 ' Look back in my letter, and you will see Mr. Morphew 
 mentioned as a new friend of mine, in Canada. I became 
 acquainted with him through a letter of introduction, given 
 to me by Benjulia. 
 
 ' Say nothing to anybody of what I am now going to tell 
 you — and be especially careful, if you happen to see him to 
 keep Benjulia in the dark. I sincerely hope you will not see 
 him. He is a hard-hearted man — and he might say some- 
 thing which would distress you, if he knew of the result 
 which has followed'his opening to me the door of his friend's 
 house. 
 
 ' Mr. Morphew is a worthy busy old gentleman, who fol- 
 lows his professional routine, and whose medical practice, 
 consists principally in bringing infant Canadians into the 
 world. His services happened to be specially in request, at 
 the time when I made his acquaintance. He was called away 
 from his table, on the day after the musical party, when I 
 dined with him. I was the only guest — and his wife was left 
 to entertain me. 
 
 ' The good lady began by speaking of Benjulia. She 
 roundly declared him to be a brute — -and she produced my 
 letter of introduction (closed by the doctor's own hand, before 
 he gave it to me) as a proof. Would you like to read the 
 letter, too ? Here is a copy : — " The man who brings this 
 is an overworked surgeon, named Ovid Vere. He wants rest 
 and good air. Don't encourage him to use his brains ; and 
 give him information enough to take him, by the shortest way, 
 to the biggest desert in Canada." You will now understand 
 that I am indebted to myself for the hospitable reception 
 which has detained me at Montreal. 
 
 ' To return to my story. Mr. Morphew 's services were 
 again in request, ten minutes after he had left the house. 
 This time the patient was a man — and the messenger declared 
 that he was at the point of death. 
 
 ' Mrs. Morphew seemed to be at a loss what to do. " In 
 this dreadful case," she said, " death is a mercy. What I 
 cannot bear to think of is the poor man's lonely position. In 
 
 k2 
 
132 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 his last moments, there will not be a living creature at his 
 bedside." 
 
 'Hearing this, I ventured to make some inquiries. The 
 answers painted such a melancholy picture of poverty and 
 suffering, and so vividly reminded me of a similar case in my 
 own experience, that I forgot I was an invalid myself, and 
 volunteered to visit the dying man in Mr. Morphew's place. 
 
 ' The messenger led me to the poorest quarter of the city, 
 and to a garret in one of the wretchedest houses in the street. 
 There he lay, without anyone to nurse him, on a mattress on 
 the floor. What his malady was, you will not ask to know. 
 I will only say that any man but a doctor would have run out 
 of the room, the moment he entered it. To save the poor 
 creature was impossible. For a few days longer, I could keep 
 pain in subjection, and could make death easy when it came. 
 
 ' At my next visit he was able to speak. 
 
 ' I discovered that he was a member of my own profession 
 — a mulatto from the Southern States of America, by birth. 
 The one fatal event of his life had been his marriage. Every 
 worst offence of which a bad woman can be guilty, his vile 
 wife had committed — and his infatuated love clung to her 
 through it all. She had disgraced and ruined him. Not once, 
 but again and again he had forgiven her, under circumstances 
 which degraded him in his own estimation, and in the estima- 
 tion of his best friends. On the last occasion when she left 
 him, he had followed her to Montreal. In a fit of drunken 
 frenzy, she had freed him from her at last by self-destruction. 
 Her death affected his reason. When he was discharged 
 from the asylum, he spent his last miserable savings in placing 
 a monument over her grave. As long as his strength held 
 out, he made daily pilgrimages to the cemetery. And now, 
 when the shadow of death was darkening over him, his one 
 motive for clinging to life, his one reason for vainly entreating 
 me to cure him, still centred in devotion to the memory of his 
 wife. " Nobody will take care of her grave," he said, " when 
 I am gone." 
 
 'My love, I have always thought fondly of yon. After 
 hearing this miserable story, my heart overflowed with grati- 
 tude to God for giving me Carmina. 
 
 'He died yesterday. His last words implored me to 
 have him buried in the same grave with the woman who had 
 dishonoured him. Who am I that I should judge him? 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 133 
 
 Besides, I shall fulfil his last wishes as a thank-offering for 
 You. 
 
 ' There is still something more to tell. 
 
 ' On the day before his death he asked me to open an old 
 portmanteau — literally, the one thing that he possessed. He 
 had no money left, and no clothes. In a corner of the port- 
 manteau there -was a roll of papers, tied with a piece of string 
 — and that was all. 
 
 ' " I can make you but one return," he said ; " I give you 
 my book." 
 
 'He was too weak to tell me what the book was about, or 
 to express any wish relative to its publication. I am ashamed 
 to say I set no sort of value on the manuscript presented to 
 me — except as a memorial of a sad incident in my life. Waking 
 earlier than usual this morning, I opened and examined ray 
 gift for the first time. 
 
 ' To my amazement, I found myself rewarded a hundred- 
 fold for the little that I had been able to do. This unhappy 
 man must have been possessed of abilities which (under 
 favouring circumstances) would, I don't hesitate to say, have 
 ranked him among the greatest physicians of our time. The 
 language in which he writes is obscure, and sometimes 
 grammatically incorrect. But he, and he alone, has solved 
 a problem in the treatment of disease, which has thus far 
 been the despair of medical men throughout the whole civilised 
 world. 
 
 ' If a stranger was looking over my shoulder, he would 
 be inclined to say, This curious lover writes to his young lady 
 as if she was a medical colleague ! We understand each other, 
 Carmina, don't we ? My future career is an object of interest 
 to my future wife. This poor fellow's gratitude has opened new 
 prospects to me ; and who will be so glad to hear of it as you ? 
 
 ' Before I close my letter, you will expect me to say a 
 word more about my health. Sometimes I feel well enough 
 to take my cabin in the next vessel that sails for Liverpool. 
 But there are other occasions, particularly when I happen to 
 over-exert myself in walking or riding, which warn me to be 
 careful and patient. My next journey will take me inland, to 
 the mighty plains and foi^ests of this grand country. When I 
 have breathed the health-giving air of those regions, I shall 
 be able to write definitely of the blessed future day which is 
 to unite us once more. 
 
134 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' My mother lias, I suppose, given her usual conversazione 
 at the end of the season. Let me hear how you like the 
 scientific people at close quarters, and let me give you a useful 
 hint. When you meet in society with a particularly positive 
 man, who looks as if he was sitting for his photograph, you 
 may safely set that man down as a Professor. 
 
 ' Seriously, I do hope that you and my mother get on well 
 together. You say too little of each other in your letters to 
 me, and I am sometimes troubled by misgivings. There is 
 another odd circumstance, connected with our correspondence, 
 which sets me wondering. I always send messages to Miss 
 Minerva ; and Miss Minerva never sends any messages back 
 to me. Do you forget ? or am I an object of perfect indifference 
 to your friend ? 
 
 ' My latest news of you all is from Zo. She has sent me a 
 letter, in one of the envelopes that I directed for her when I 
 went away. Miss Minerva's hair would stand on end if she 
 could see the blots and the spelling. Zo's account of the 
 family circle (turned into intelligible English), will I think 
 personally interest you. Here it is, in its own Human brevity 
 — with your pretty name shortened by two syllables : " Except 
 Pa and Car, we are a bad lot at home." After that, I can add 
 nothing that is worth reading. 
 
 ' Take the kisses, my angel, that I leave for you on the 
 black morsel of paper below, and love me as I love you. There 
 is a world of meaning, Carmina, even in those commonplace 
 words. Oh, if I could only go to you by the mail steamer, in 
 the place of my letter ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 The answers to Ovid's questions were not to be found in 
 Carmina's reply. She had reasons for not mentioning the 
 conversazione ; and she shrank from writing to him of his 
 mother. Her true position in Mrs. Gallilee's house — growing, 
 day by day, harder and harder to endure ; threatening, more 
 and more plainly, complications and perils to come — was re- 
 vealed in her next letter to her old friend in Italy. She wrote 
 to Teresa in these words : 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 135 
 
 'If you love me, forget the inhuman manner in which I 
 have spoken of Miss Minerva ! 
 
 1 After I had written to you, I would have recalled my 
 letter, if it could have been done. I began, that evening, to 
 feel ashamed of what I had said in my anger. As the hours 
 went on, and bedtime approached, I became so wretched that 
 I ran the risk of another harsh reception, by intruding on her 
 once more. It was a circumstance in my favour that she was, 
 to all appearance, in bad spirits too. There was something in 
 her voice, when she asked what I wanted, which made me 
 think — though she looks like the last person in the world to 
 be guilty of such weakness — that she had been crying. 
 
 ' I gave the best expression I could to my feelings of 
 repentance and regret. What I actually said to her, has 
 slipped out of my memory ; I was frightened and upset — and 
 I am always stupid in that condition. My attempt at recon- 
 ciliation may have been clumsy enough ; but she might surely 
 have seen that I had no intention to mystify and distress her. 
 And yet, what else could she have imagined ? — to judge by 
 her own actions and words. 
 
 'Her bedroom candle was on the table behind me. She 
 snatched it up and held it before my face, and looked at me 
 as if I was some extraordinary object that she had never seen 
 or heard of before ! " You are little better than a child," she 
 said ; " I have ten times your strength of will — what is there 
 in you that I can't resist ? Go away from me ! Be on your 
 guard against me ! I am false ; I am suspicious ; I am cruel. 
 You simpleton, have you no instincts to protect you ? Is there 
 nothing in you that shrinks from me ? " 
 
 ' She put down the candle, and burst into a wretched 
 mocking laugh. "There she stands," cried this strange 
 creature, " and looks at me with the eyes of a baby that sees 
 something new ! I can't frighten her. I can't disgust her. 
 What does it mean ? " She dropped into a chair ; her voice 
 sank almost to a whisper — I should have thought she was 
 afraid of me, if such a thing had been possible. " What do 
 you know of me, that I don't know of myself ? " she asked. 
 
 ' It was quite beyond me to understand what she meant. 
 I took a chair, and sat down by her. " I only know what you 
 said to me yesterday," I answered. 
 
 ' " What did I say ? " 
 
 '"You told me you were miserable." 
 
136 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' " I told you a lie ! Believe what I have said to you to- 
 day. In your own interests, believe it to be the truth ! " 
 
 'Nothing would induce me to believe it. "No," I said. 
 " You were miserable yesterday, and you are miserable to- 
 day. That is the truth! " 
 
 ' What put my next bold words into my head, I don't know. 
 It doesn't matter ; the thought was in me — and out it came. 
 
 ' "I think you have some burden on your mind," I went 
 on. " If I can't relieve you of it, perhaps I can help you to 
 bear it. Come ! tell me what it is." I waited ; but it was 
 of no use — she never even looked at me. Because I am in 
 love myself, do I think everybody else is like me ? I thought 
 she blushed. I don't know what else I thought. " Are you 
 in love ? " I asked. 
 
 4 She jumped up from her chair, so suddenly and so vio- 
 lently that she threw it on the floor. Still, not a word passed 
 her lips. I found courage enough to go on — but not courage 
 enough to look at her. 
 
 '" I love Ovid, and Ovid loves me," I said. " There is 
 my consolation, whatever my troubles may be. Are you not 
 so fortunate ? " A dreadful expression of pain passed over 
 her face. How could I see it, and not feel the wish to sym- 
 pathise with her ? I ran the risk, and said, " Do you love 
 somebody, who doesn't love you ? " 
 
 ' She turned her back on me, and went to the toilet-table. 
 I think she looked at herself in the glass. " Well," she said, 
 speaking to me at last, " what else ? " 
 
 ' " Nothing else," I answered — " except that I hope I have 
 not offended you." 
 
 ' She left the glass as suddenly as she had approached it, 
 and took up the candle again. Once more she held it so that 
 it lit my face. 
 
 ' " Guess who he is," she said. 
 
 1 " How can I do that ? " I asked. 
 
 ' She quietly put down the candle again. In some way, 
 quite incomprehensible to myself, I seemed to have relieved 
 her. She spoke to me in a changed voice, gently and sadly, 
 
 1 " You are the best of good girls, and you mean kindly. 
 It's of no use — you can do nothing. Forgive my insolence 
 yesterday ; I was mad with envy of your happy marriage en- 
 gagement. You don't understand such a nature as mine. So 
 much the better ! ah, so much the better ! Good-night 1 " 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 137 
 
 ' There was such hopeless submission, such patient suffer- 
 ing, in those words, that I could not find it in my heart to 
 leave her. I thought of how I might have behaved, of the 
 wild things I might have said, if Ovid had cared nothing for 
 me. Had some cruel man forsaken her ? That was her 
 secret. I asked myself what I could do to encourage her. 
 Your last letter, with our old pinest's enclosure, was in my 
 pocket. I took it out. 
 
 ' " Would you mind reading a short letter," I said, " be- 
 fore we wish each other good-night ? " I held out the priest's 
 letter. 
 
 ' She drew back with a dark look ; she appeared to have 
 some suspicion of it. " "Who is the writer ? " she inquired 
 sharply. 
 
 ' "A person who is a stranger to you." 
 
 ' Her face cleared directly. She took the letter from me, 
 and waited to hear what I had to say next. " The person," I 
 told her, " is a wise and good old man — the priest who mar- 
 ried my father and mother, and baptised me. We all of us 
 used to consult Father Patrizio, when we wanted advice. My 
 nurse Teresa felt anxious about me in Ovid's absence ; she 
 spoke to him about my marriage engagement, and of my exile 
 — forgive me for using the word ! — in this house. He said he 
 would consider, before he gave her his opinion. The next 
 day, he sent her the letter which you have got in your hand." 
 
 * There, I came to a full stop ; having something yet to 
 say, but not knowing how to express myself with the necessary 
 delicacy. 
 
 « " Why do you wish me to read the letter ? " she asked 
 quietly. 
 
 ' " I think there is something: in it which might " 
 
 . DO 
 
 ' There, like a fool, I came to another full stop. She wa3 
 as patient as ever ; she only made a little sign to me to go on. 
 
 '"I think Father Patrizio's letter might put you in a 
 better frame of mind," I said ; " it might keep you from des- 
 pising yourself." 
 
 ' She went back to her chair, and read the letter. Yon 
 have permitted me to keep the comforting words of the good 
 Father, among my other treasures. I copy his letter for you 
 in this placs — so that you may read it again, and see what I 
 had in my ~nind, and understand how it affected poor Miss 
 Minerva. 
 
138 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 " Teresa, my well-beloved friend, — I have considered the 
 anxieties that trouble you, with this result : that I can do my 
 best, conscientiously, to quiet your mind. I have had the ex- 
 perience of forty years in the duties of the priesthood. In 
 that long time, the innermost secrets of thousands of men and 
 women have been confided to me. From such means of ob- 
 servation, I have drawn many useful conclusions ; and some 
 of them may be also useful to you. I will put what I have to 
 say, in the plainest and fewest words : consider them carefully, 
 on your side. The growth of the better nature, in women, is 
 perfected by one influence — and that influence is Love. Are 
 you surprised that a priest should write in this way ? Did 
 you expect me to say, Religion ? Love, my sister, is Religion, 
 in women. It opens their hearts to all that is good for them ; 
 and it acts independently of the conditions of human happi- 
 ness. A miserable woman, tormented by hopeless love, is still 
 the better and the nobler for that love ; and a time will surely 
 come when she will show it. You have fears for Carmina — 
 cast away, poor soul, among strangers with hard hearts ! I 
 tell you to have no fears. She may suffer under trials ; she 
 may sink nnder trials. But the strength to rise again is in 
 her — and that strength is Love." 
 
 ' Having read our old friend's letter, Miss Minerva turned 
 back, and read it again — and waited a little, repeating some 
 part of it to herself. 
 
 ' " Does it encourage you ? " I asked. 
 
 1 She handed the letter back to me. " I have got one 
 sentence in it by heart," she said. 
 
 ' You will know what that sentence is, without my telling 
 you. I felt so relieved, when I saw the change in her for the 
 better — I was so inexpressibly happy in the conviction that 
 we were as good friends again as ever — that I bent down to 
 kiss her, on saying good-night. 
 
 ' She put up her hand and stopped me. " No," she said, 
 " not till I have done something to deserve it. You are more 
 in need of help than you think. Stay here a little longer ; I 
 have a word to say to you about your aunt." 
 
 ' I returned to my chair, feeling a little startled. Her eyes 
 rested on me absently — she was, as 1 imagined, considering 
 with herself, before she spoke. I refrained from interrupting 
 her thoughts. The night was still and dark. Not a sound 
 reached our ears from without. In the house, the silence was 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 '39 
 
 softly broken by a rustling movement on the stairs. It came 
 nearer. The door was opened suddenly. Mrs. Gallilee 
 entered the room. 
 
 ' What folly possessed me ? "Why was I frightened ? I 
 really could not help it — I screamed. My aunt walked 
 straight up to me, without taking the smallest notice of Miss 
 Minerva. " What are you doing here, when you ought to 
 be in your bed ? " she asked. 
 
 ' She spoke in such an imperative manner — with such 
 authority and such contempt — that I looked at her in astonish- 
 ment. Some suspicion seemed to be roused in her by finding 
 me and Miss Minerva together. 
 
 ' " No more gossip ! " she called out sternly. " Do you 
 hear me ? Go to bed ! " 
 
 ' Was it not enough to rouse anybody ? I felt my pride 
 burning in my face. " Am I a child or a servant ? " I said. 
 " I shall go to bed early or late as I please." 
 
 ' She took one step forward ; she seized me by the arm, 
 and forced me to my feet. Think of it, Teresa ! In all my 
 life I have never had a hand laid on me except in kindness. 
 Who knows it better than j'ou ! I tried vainly to speak — I 
 saw Miss Minerva rise to interfere — I heard her say, " Mrs. 
 Gallilee, you forget yourself ! " Somehow I got out of the 
 room. On the landing, a dreadful fit of trembling shook me 
 from head to foot. I sank down on the stairs. At first, I 
 thought I was going to faint. No ; I shook and shivered, 
 but I kept my senses. I could hear their voices in the room. 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee began. " Did you tell me just now that I 
 had forgotten myself? " 
 
 ' Miss Minerva answered, " Certainly, madam. You did 
 forget yourself." 
 
 ' The next words escaped me. After that, they grew 
 louder ; and I heard them again — my aunt first. 
 
 ' " I am dissatisfied with your manner to me, Miss Minerva. 
 It has latterly altered very much for the worse." 
 
 4 " In what respect, Mrs. Gallilee ? " 
 
 ' " In this respect. Tour way of speaking to me implies 
 an assertion of equality " 
 
 ' " Stop a minute, madam ! I am not so rich as you are. 
 But I am at a loss to know in what other way I am not your 
 equal. Did you assert your superiority — may I ask — when 
 you came into my room without first knocking at the door ? " 
 
l 4 o HI-: ART AND SCIENCE, 
 
 1 " Miss Minerva ! Do you wish to remain in my ser- 
 vice ? " 
 
 ' " Say employment, Mrs. Gallilee — if you please. I am 
 quite indifferent in the matter. I am equally ready, at your 
 entire convenience, to stay or to go." 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee's voice sounded nearer, as if she was ap- 
 proaching the door. " I think we arranged," she said, " that 
 there was to be a month's notice on either side, when I first 
 engaged you ? " 
 
 ' " Yes — at my suggestion." 
 
 4 " Take your month's notice, if you please." 
 
 ' " Dating from to-morrow ? " 
 
 ■ " Of course ! " 
 
 ' My aunt came out, and found me on the stairs. I tried 
 to rise. It was not to be done. My head turned giddy. She 
 must have seen that I was quite prostrate — and yet she took 
 no notice of the state I was in. Cruel, cruel creature ! she 
 accused me of listening. 
 
 ' " Can't yon see that the poor girl is ill ? " 
 
 ' It was Miss Minerva's voice. I looked round at her, 
 feeling fainter and fainter. She stooped ; I felt her strong 
 sinewy arms round me ; she lifted me gently. " I'll take care 
 of you," she whispered — and carried me downstairs to my 
 room, as easily as if I had been a child. 
 
 ' I must rest, Teresa. The remembrance of that dreadful 
 night brings it all back again. Don't be anxious about me, 
 my old dear ! You shall hear more to-morrow.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 On the next day events happened, the influence of which upon 
 Carmina's excitable nature urged her to complete her un- 
 finished letter, without taking the rest that she needed. Once 
 more — and, as the result proved, for the last time — she wrote 
 to her faithful old friend in these words : 
 
 1 Don't ask me to tell you how the night passed ! Miss 
 
 Minerva was the first person who came to me in the morning. 
 
 ' She had barely said a few kind words, when Maria inter- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 141 
 
 rupted us, reminding her governess of the morning's lessons. 
 " Mrs. Gallilee has sent her," Miss Minerva whispered ; " I 
 •will return to you in the hour before the children's dinner." 
 
 ' The next person who appeared was, as we had both an- 
 ticipated, Mrs. Gallilee herself. 
 
 'She brought me a cup of tea; and the first words she 
 spoke were words of apology for her conduct on the previous 
 night. Her excuse was that she had been " harassed by 
 anxieties which completely upset her." And — can you believe 
 it? — she implored me not to mention " the little misunder- 
 standing between us when I next wrote to her son ! " Is 
 this woman made of iron and stone, instead of flesh and 
 blood ? Does she really think me such a wretch as to cause 
 Ovid, under any provocation, a moment's anxiety while he is 
 away ? The fewest words that would satisfy her, and so send 
 her out of my room, were the only words I said. 
 
 ' After this, an agreeable surprise was in store for me. 
 The familiar voice of good Mr. Gallilee applied for admission 
 — through the keyhole ! 
 
 '"Are you asleep, my dear? May I come in?" His 
 kind, fat old face peeped round the door when I said Tes — 
 and reminded me of Zo, at dinner, when she asks for more 
 pudding, and doesn't think she will get it. Mr. Gallilee had 
 something to ask for, and some doubt of getting it, which 
 accounted for the resemblance. " I've taken the liberty, 
 Carmina, of sending for our doctor. You're a delicate plant, 
 
 my dear " Here his face disappeared, and he spoke to 
 
 somebody outside) — "You think so yourself, don't you, Mr. 
 Null ? And you have a family of daughters, haven't you ? " 
 (His face appeared again; more like Zo than ever.) "Do 
 please see him, my child ; I'm not easy about you. I was 
 on the stairs last night — nobody ever notices me, do they, 
 Mr. Null ? — and I saw Miss Minerva — good creature, and, 
 Lord, how strong! — carrying you to your bed. Mr. Null's 
 waiting outside. Don't distress me by saying No ! " 
 
 ' Is there anybody cruel enough to distress Mr. Gallilee ? 
 The doctor came in — looking like a clergyman ; dressed all 
 in black, with a beautiful frill to his shirt, and a spotless 
 white cravat. He stared hard at me ; he produced a little 
 glass-tube ; he gave it a shake, and put it under my arm ; he 
 took it away again, and consulted it; he said "Aha! " he 
 approved of my tongue ; he disliked my pulse ; he -gave hia 
 
1 42 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 opinion at last. " Perfect quiet. I must see Mrs. Gallilee." 
 And there was an end of it. 
 
 'Mr. Gallilee observed the medical proceedings with awe. 
 " Mr. Null is a wonderful man," he whispered, before he fol- 
 lowed the doctor out. Ill and wretched as I was, this little 
 interruption amused me. I wonder why I write about it here ? 
 There are serious things waiting to be told — am I weakly 
 putting them off? 
 
 ' Miss Minerva came back to me as she had promised. " It 
 is well," she said gravely, " that the doctor has been to see you." 
 
 ' I asked if the doctor thought me very ill. 
 
 ' " He thinks you have narrowly escaped a nervous fever ; 
 and he has given some positive orders. One of them is that 
 your slightest wishes are to be humoured. If he had not 
 said that, Mrs. Gallilee would have prevented me from seeing 
 you. She has been obliged to give way ; and she hates me — 
 almost as bitterly, Carmina, as she hates you." 
 
 ' This called to my mind the interruption of the previous 
 night, when Miss Minerva had something important to tell 
 me. When I asked what it was, she shook her head, and 
 said painful subjects of conversation were not fit subjects in 
 my present state. 
 
 ' Need I add that I insisted on hearing what she had to 
 say ? Ob, how completely my poor father must have been 
 deceived when he made his horrible sister my guardian ! If 
 I had not fortunately offended the music-master, she would 
 have used Mr. Le Frank as a means of making Ovid jealous, 
 and of sowing the seeds of dissension between us. Having 
 failed so far, she is (as Miss Minerva thinks) at a loss to dis- 
 cover any other means of gaining her wicked ends. Her 
 ragre at finding herself baffled seems to account for her furious 
 conduct when she discovered me in Miss Minerva's room. 
 
 'You will ask, as I did, what has she to gain by this 
 wicked plotting and contriving, with its shocking accompani- 
 ments of malice and anger ? 
 
 ' Miss Minerva answered, " I still believe that money is 
 the motive. Her son is mistaken about her ; her friends are 
 mistaken ; they think she is fond of money — the truer conclu- 
 sion is, she is shoi't of money. There is the secret of the 
 hard bargains she drives, and the mercenary opinions she 
 holds. I don't doubt that her income would be enough for 
 most other women in her position. It is not enough for a 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 143 
 
 woman who is jealous of her rich sister's place in the world. 
 Wait a little, and you will see that I am not talking at 
 random. You were present at the grand party she gave some 
 weeks since ? " 
 
 1 " I wish I had stayed in my own room," I said. " Mrs. 
 Gallilee was offended with me for not admiring her scientific 
 friends. With one or two exceptions, they talked of nothing 
 but themselves and their discoveries — and, oh, dear, how ngly 
 they were ! " 
 
 ' " Never mind that now, Carmina. Did you notice the 
 profusion of splendid flowers, in the hall and on the staircase, 
 as well as in the reception-rooms ? " 
 
 '"Yes." 
 
 ' " Did you observe — no, you are a young girl — did you 
 hear any of the gentlemen, in the supper-room, expressing 
 their admiration of the luxuries provided for the guests, the 
 exquisite French cookery and the delicious wine ? Why was 
 all the money which these things cost spent in one evening ? 
 Because Lady JNorthlake's parties must be matched by Mrs. 
 Gallilee's parties. Lady Northlake lives in a fashionable 
 neighbourhood in London, and has splendid carriages and 
 horses. This is a fashionable neighbourhood. Judge what this 
 house costs, and the carriages and horses, when I tell you that 
 the rent of the stables alone is over a hundred pounds a year. 
 Lady Northlake has a superb place in Scotland. Mrs. Gallilee 
 is not able to rival her sister in that respect— but she has her 
 marine villa in the Isle of Wight. When Mr. Gallilee said 
 you should have some sailing this autumn, did you think he 
 meant that he would hire a boat ? He referred to the yacht, 
 which is part of the establishment at the sea-side. Lady 
 Northlake goes yachting with her husband ; and Mrs. Galli- 
 lee goes yachting with her husband. Do you know what it 
 costs when the first milliner in Paris supplies English ladies 
 with dresses ? That milliner's lowest charge for a dress 
 which Mrs. Gallilee would despise — ordinary material, my 
 dear, and imitation lace — is forty pounds. Think a little — 
 and even your inexperience will see that the mistress of this 
 house is spending more than she can afford, and is likely (un- 
 less she has resources that we know nothing about) to be, 
 sooner or later, in serious need of money." 
 
 ' This was a new revelation to me, and it altered my opinion 
 of course. But I still failed to see what Mrs. Gallilee's 
 
144 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 extravagances had to do with her wicked resolution to prevent 
 Ovid from marrying me. Miss Minerva's only answer to this 
 was to tell me to write to Mr. Mool, while I had the chance, 
 and ask for a copy of my father's Will. " I will take the 
 letter to him," she said, " and bring the reply myself. It will 
 save time, if it does nothing else." The letter was written in 
 a minute. Just as she took it from me, the parlourmaid 
 announced that the early dinner was ready. 
 
 ' Two hours later, the reply was in my hands. The old 
 father had taken Maria and Zo for their walk ; and Miss 
 Minerva had left the house by herself — sending word to Mrs. 
 Gallilee that she was obliged to go out on business of her own. 
 
 ' " Did Mrs. Gallilee see you come in ? " I asked. 
 
 ' " Yes. She was watching for me, no doubt." 
 
 ' " Did she see you go upstairs to my room ? " 
 
 '"Yes." 
 
 ' " And said nothing ? " 
 
 '"Nothing." 
 
 'We looked at each other; both of us feeling the same 
 doubt of how the day would end. Miss Minerva pointed im- 
 patiently to the lawyer's reply. I opened it. 
 
 ' Mr. Mool's letter was very kind, but quite incomprehen- 
 sible in the latter part of it. After referring me to his private 
 residence, in case I wished to consult him personally later in 
 the day, he mentioned some proceeding, called " proving the 
 Will," and some strange place called " Doctors' Commons." 
 However, there was the copy of the Will, and that was all 
 we wanted. 
 
 ' I began reading it. How I pitied the unfortunate men 
 who have to learn the law ! My dear Teresa, I might as well 
 have tried to read an unknown tongue. The strange words, 
 the perpetual repetitions, the absence of stops, uttei'ly be- 
 wildered, me. I handed the copy to Miss Minerva. Instead 
 of beginning on the first page, as I had done, she turned to 
 the last. With what breathless interest I watched her face ! 
 First, I saw that she understood what she was reading. 
 Then, after a while, she turned pale. And then she lifted her 
 eyes to me. " Don't be frightened," she said. 
 
 ' But I was frightened. My ignorant imagination pictured 
 some dreadful unknown power given to Mrs. Gallilee by the 
 Will. " What can my aunt do to me ? " I asked. 
 
 'Miss Minerva composed me — without concealing the 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 145 
 
 truth. " In her position, Carmina, and with her intensely 
 cold and selfish nature, there is no fear of her attempting to 
 reach her ends by violent means. Your happiness may be in 
 danger — and that prospect, God knows, is bad enough." 
 
 ' When she talked of my happiness, I naturally thought 
 of Ovid. I asked if there was anything about him in the 
 Will. 
 
 'It was no doubt a stupid thing to say at such a time; 
 and it seemed to annoy her. " You are the only person con- 
 cerned," she answered sharply. " It is Mrs. Gallilee's interest 
 that you shall never be her son's wife, or any man's wife. If 
 she can have her way you will live and die an unmarried 
 woman." 
 
 ' This did me good ; it made me angiy. I began to feel like 
 myself again. I said, " Please let me hear the rest of it." 
 
 ' Miss Minerva first patiently explained to me what she had 
 read in the Will. She then returned to the subject of my aunt's 
 extravagance ; speaking from experience of what had happened 
 in her own family. " If Mrs. Gallilee borrows money," she 
 said, "her husband will, in all probability, have to repay the 
 loan. And, if borrowings go on in that way, Maria and. Zoe 
 will be left wretchedly provided for, in comparison with Lady 
 Northlake's daughters. A fine large fortune would wonder- 
 fully improve these doubtful prospects — can you guess, Car- 
 mina, where it is to come from ? " I could easily guess, now 
 1 understood the Will. My good Teresa, if I die without 
 leaving children, the fine large fortune comes from Me. 
 
 ' You see it all now — don't you ? After 1 had thanked 
 Miss Minerva, I turned away my head on the pillow over- 
 powered by disgust. 
 
 ' The clock in the hall struck the hour of the children's tea. 
 Miss Minerva would be wanted immediately. At parting, she 
 kissed me. " There is the kiss that you meant to give me 
 last night," she said. " Don't despair of yourself. I am to 
 be in the house for a month longer ; and I am a match for 
 Mrs. Gallilee. We will say no n:o:e now. Compose your- 
 self, and try to sleep." 
 
 ' She went away to her duties. Sleep was out of the ques- 
 tion. My attention wandered when 1 tried to read. Doing 
 nothing meant, in other words, thinking of what had hap- 
 pened. If you had come into my room, I should have told 
 you all about it. The next best thing was to talk to you in 
 
 L 
 
146 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 this way. You don't know what a relief it has been to me 
 to write these lines.' 
 
 ' The night has come, and Mrs. Gallilee's cruelly has at 
 last pi'oved too much even for my endurance. 
 
 ' Try not to be surprised ; try not to be alarmed. If my 
 mind to-morrow is the same as my mind to-night, I shall 
 attempt to make my escape. I shall take refuge with Lady 
 Northlake. 
 
 ' Oh, if I could go to Ovid ! But he is travelling in the 
 deserts of Canada. Until his return to the coast, I can only 
 write to him to the care of his bankers at Quebec. I should 
 not know where to find him, when I arrived; and what a 
 dreadful meeting — if I did find him — to be obliged to acknow- 
 ledge that it is his mother who has driven me away ! There 
 will be nothing to alarm him, if I go to his mother's sister. 
 If you could see Lady Northlake, you would feel as sure as I 
 do that she will take my part. 
 
 ' After writing to you, I must have fallen asleep. It was 
 quite dark, when I was awakened by the striking of a match 
 in my room. I looked round, expecting to see Miss Minerva. 
 The person lighting my candle was Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 ' She poured out the composing medicine which Mr. Null 
 had ordered for me. I took it in silence. She sat down by 
 the bedside. 
 
 '"My child," she began, "we are friends again now. 
 Yon bear no malice, I am sure." 
 
 ' Distrust still kept me silent. I remembered that she 
 had watched for Miss Minerva's return, and that she had seen 
 Miss Minerva go up to my room. The idea that she meant to 
 be revenged on us both for having our secrets, and keeping 
 them from her knowledge, took complete possession of my mind. 
 
 ' " Are you feeling better ? " she asked. 
 
 '"Yes." 
 
 ' " Is there anything I can get for you ? " 
 
 ' " Not now — thank you." 
 
 ' " Would you like to see Mr. Null again, before to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 '"Oh, no! " 
 
 'These were ungraciously short replies — but it cost me an 
 effort to speak to her at all. She showed no signs of taking 
 offence ; she proceeded as smoothly as ever. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 147 
 
 ' " My clear Carmina, I Lave my faults of temper ; and, 
 with such pursuits as mine, I am not perhaps a sympathetic 
 companion for a young girl. But I hope you believe that it 
 is my duty and my pleasure to be a second mother to you ? " 
 
 ' Yes ; she did really say that ! Whether I was only 
 angry, or whether I was getting hysterical, I don't know. 
 I began to feel an oppression in my breathing that almost 
 choked me. There are two windows in my room, and one of 
 them only was open. I was obliged to ask her to open the 
 other. 
 
 ' She did it ; she came back, and fanned me. I submitted 
 as long as I could — and then I begged her not to trouble her- 
 self any longer. She put down the fan, and went on with 
 what she had to say. 
 
 ' " I wish to speak to you about Miss Minerva. You are 
 aware that I gave her notice, last night, to leave her situa- 
 tion. For your sake, I regret that I did not take this step 
 before you came to England." 
 
 ' My confidence in myself returned when I heard Miss 
 Minerva spoken of in this way. I said at once that I con- 
 sidered her to be one of my best and truest friends. 
 
 '"My dear child, that is exactly what I lament! This 
 person has insinuated herself into your confidence — and she is 
 utterly unworthy of it." 
 
 ' Could I let those abominable words pass in silence ? 
 " Mrs. Gallilee ! " I said, "you are cruelly wronging a woman 
 whom I love and respect ! " 
 
 '"Mrs. Gallilee?" she repeated. "Do I owe it to Miss 
 Minerva that you have left off" calling me Aunt ? Your obsti- 
 nacy, Carmina, leaves me no alternative but to speak out. If 
 I had done my duty, I ought to have said long since, what I 
 am going to say now. You are putting your trust in the 
 bitterest enemy you have ; an enemy who secretly hates you 
 with the unforgiving hatred of a rival ! " 
 
 ' Look back at my letter, describing what passed between 
 Miss Minerva and me, when I went to her room ; and you 
 will know what I felt on hearing her spoken of as " a rival." 
 My sense of justice refused to believe it. But, oh, my dear 
 old nurse, there was some deeper sense in me that said, as if 
 in words, It is true ! 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee went on, without mercy. 
 ' " I know her thoroughly ; I have looked into her false 
 l2 
 
148 heart and science. 
 
 heart. Nobody has discovered her but me. Charge her with 
 it, if you like ; and let her deny it if she dare. Miss Minerva 
 is secretly in love with my son." 
 
 ' She got up. Her object was gained : she was even with 
 me, and with the woman who had befriended me, at last. 
 
 ' " Lie down in your bed again," she said, " and think over 
 what I have told yon. In your own interests, think over 
 it well." 
 
 ' I was left alone. 
 
 ' Shall I tell you what saved me from sinking under the 
 shock? Ovid — thousands and thousands of miles away — 
 Ovid saved me. 
 
 ' I love him. with all my heart and sonl; and I do firmly 
 believe that I know him better than I know myself. If Lis 
 mother had betrayed Miss Minerva to him, as she has betrayed 
 her to me, that unhappy woman would have had his truest 
 pity. I am as certain of this, as I am that I see the moon, 
 while I write, shining on my bed. Ovid would have pitied 
 her. And I pitied her. 
 
 ' I wrote the lines that follow, and sent them to her by the 
 maid. In the fear that she might mistake my motives, and 
 think me angry and jealous, I addressed her with my former 
 familiarity by her christian name : — 
 
 ' " Last night, Frances, I ventured to ask if you loved 
 some one who did not love you. And you answered by saying 
 to me, Guess who he is. My aunt has just told me that he is 
 her son. Has she spoken the truth ? " 
 
 ' I am now waiting to receive Miss Minerva's reply. 
 
 ' For the first time since I have been in the house, my door 
 is locked. I cannot, and will not, see Mrs. Gallilee again. All 
 her former cruelties are, as I feel it, nothing to the cruelty of 
 her coming here when I am ill, and saying to me what she 
 has said. 
 
 ' The weary time passes, and still there is no reply. Is 
 Frances angry ? or is she hesitating how to answer me — per- 
 sonally or by writing ? No ! she has too much delicacy of 
 feeling to answer in her own person. 
 
 'I have only done her justice. The maid has just asked 
 me to open the door. I have got my answer. Read it. 
 
 ' "Mrs. Gallilee has spoken the truth. 
 
 ' " How I can have betrayed myself so that she has dis- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 1 49 
 
 covered my miserable secret, is more than I cau tell. I will 
 not own it to her, or to any living creature but yourself. Un- 
 deserving as I am, I know that I can trust you. 
 
 ' "It is needless to dwell at any length on this confession. 
 Many things in my conduct, which must have perplexed you, 
 will explain themselves now. There has been, however, one 
 concealment on my part, which it is due to you that I should 
 acknowledge. 
 
 ' " If Mrs. Gallilee had taken me into her confidence, I 
 confess that my jealousy would have degraded me into be- 
 coming her accomplice. As things were, I was too angry and 
 too cunning to let her make use of me without trusting me. 
 
 1 " There are other acts of deceit which I ought to acknow- 
 ledge — if I could summon composure enough to write about 
 them. Better to say at once — I am not worthy of your pardon, 
 not worthy even of your pity. 
 
 1 " With the same sincerity, I warn you that the wicked- 
 ness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee calculated, may be in me 
 still. The influence of your higher and better nature — helped 
 perhaps by that other influence of which the old priest spoke 
 in his letter — has opened my heart to tenderness and penitence 
 of which I never believed myself capable : has brought the 
 burning tears into my eyes which make it a hard task to write 
 to you. All this I know, and yet I dare not believe in myself. 
 It is useless to deny it, Carmina — I love him. Even now, 
 when you have found me out, I love him. Don't trust me. 
 Oh, God, what torture it is to write it — but I do write it, I 
 will write it — don't trust me ! 
 
 ' " One thing I may say for myself. I know the utter 
 hopelessness of that love which I have acknowledged. I know 
 that he returns your love, and will never return mine. So 
 let it be. 
 
 '"I am not young; I have no right to comfort myself 
 with hopes that I know to be vain. If one of us is to suffer, 
 let it be that one who is used to suffering. I have never been 
 the darling of my parents, like you ; I have not been used at 
 home to the kindness and the love that you remember. A 
 life without sweetness and joy has well fitted me for a loveless 
 future. And, besides, you are worthy of him, and I am not. 
 Mrs. Gallilee is wrong, Carmina, if she thinks I am your rival. 
 I am not your rival ; I never can be your rival. Believe 
 nothing else, but, for God's sake, believe that ! 
 
150 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 '"I have no more to say — at least no more that I can re- 
 member now. Perhaps, you shrink from remaining in the 
 same house with me ? Let me know it, and I shall be ready 
 — I might almost say, glad — to go." 
 
 ' Hare you read her letter, Teresa ? Am I wrong in feeling 
 that this poor wounded heart has surely some claim on me ? 
 If I am wrong, oh, what am I to do ? what am I to do ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 The last lines addressed by Carmina to her old nurse were 
 completed on the seventeenth of August, and were posted 
 that night. 
 
 The day that followed was memorable to Carmina, and 
 memorable to Mrs. Gallilee. Doctor Benjulia had his reasons 
 also for remembering the eighteenth of August. 
 
 Still in search of a means to undermine the confidence 
 which united Ovid and Carmina, and still calling on her in- 
 vention in vain, Mrs. Gallilee had passed a sleepless night. 
 Her maid, entering the room at the usual hour, was ordered 
 to leave her in bed, and not to return until the bell rang. On 
 ordinary occasions, Mrs. Gallilee was up in time to receive the 
 letters arriving by the first delivery ! the correspondence of 
 the other members of the household being sorted by her own 
 hands, before it was distributed by the servant. On this 
 particular morning (after sleeping a little through sheer ex- 
 haustion), she entered the empty breakfast room two hours 
 later than usual. The letters waiting for her were addressed 
 only to herself. She rang for the maid. 
 
 ' Any other letters this morning ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Two, for my master.' 
 
 1 Xo more than that ! ' 
 
 ' Xothing more, ma'am — except a telegram, for Miss Car- 
 mina.' 
 
 ' When did it come ? ' 
 
 ' Soon after the letters.' 
 
 ' Have you given it to her ? ' 
 
 ' Being a telegram, ma'am, I thought I ought to take it to 
 Miss Carmina at once.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 151 
 
 ' Quite right. You can go.' 
 
 A telegram for Carmina ? Was there some private corre- 
 spondence going on ? And were the interests involved too 
 important to wait for the ordinary means of communication 
 by post ? Considering these questions, Mrs. Gallilee poured 
 out a cup of tea and looked over her letters. 
 
 Only one of them especially attracted her notice in her 
 present frame of mind. The writer was Benjulia. He dis- 
 pensed as nsual with the customary forms of address. 
 
 ' I have had a letter about Ovid, from a friend of mine in 
 Canada. There is an allusion to him of the complimentary 
 sort, which I don't altogether understand. I want to ask you 
 about it — but I can't spare the time to go a-visiting. So 
 much the better for me — I hate conversation, and I like work. 
 You have got your carriage — and your fine friends are out of 
 town. If you want a drive, come to me, and bring your last 
 letters from Ovid with you.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee decided on considering this characteristic 
 proposal later in the day. Her first and foremost interest 
 took her upstairs to her niece's room. 
 
 Carmina had left her bed. Robed in her white dressing- 
 gown, she lay on the sofa in the sitting-room. When her 
 aunt came in, she started and shuddered. Those signs of 
 nervous aversion escaped the notice of Mrs. Gallilee. Her 
 attention had been at once attracted by a travelling bag, 
 opened as if in preparation for packing. The telegram lay 
 on Carmina's lap. The significant connection between those 
 two objects asserted itself plainly. But it was exactly the 
 opposite of the connection suspected by Mrs. Gallilee. The 
 telegram had prevented Carmina from leaving the house. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee paved the way for the necessary investiga- 
 tion, by making a few common-place inquiries. How had 
 Carmina passed the night ? Had the maid taken care of her 
 at breakfast-time ? Was there anything that her aunt could 
 do for her ? Carmina replied with a reluctance which she 
 was unable to conceal. Mrs. Gallilee passed over the cold 
 reception accorded to her without remark, and pointed with a 
 bland smile to the telegram. 
 
 ' No bad news, I hope ? ' 
 
 Carmina handed the telegram silently to her aunt. The 
 change of circumstances which the arrival of the message had 
 produced, made concealment superfluous. Mrs. Gallilee 
 
IS 2 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 opened the telegram, keeping her suspicions in reserve. It 
 had been sent from Rome by the old foreign woman, named 
 ' Teresa,' and it contained these words : 
 
 ' My husband died this morning. Expect me in London 
 from day to day.' 
 
 'Why is this person coming to London?' Mrs. Gallilee 
 inquired. 
 
 Stung by the insolent composure of that question, Carmina 
 answered sharply, ' Her name is on the telegram ; you ought 
 to know ! ' 
 
 ' indeed ? ' said Mrs. Gallilee. ' Perhaps she likes Lon- 
 don ? ' 
 
 ' She hates London ! You have had her in the house ; yon 
 have seen us together. ISTow she has lost her husband, do you 
 think she can live apart from the one person in the world 
 whom she loves best ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, these matters of mere sentiment escape my 
 notice,' Mrs. Gallilee rejoined. ' It's an expensive journey 
 from Italy to England. What was her husband ? ' 
 
 ' Her husband was foreman in a manufactory till his health 
 failed him.' 
 
 'And then,' Mrs. Gallilee concluded, 'the money failed 
 him, of coui'se. What did he manufacture ? ' 
 ' Artists' colours.' 
 
 ' Oh ! an artists' colourman ? Not a very lucrative busi- 
 ness, I should think. Has his widow any resources of her own ? ' 
 ' My purse is hers ! ' 
 
 ' Very generous, I am sure ! Even the humblest lodgings 
 are dear in this neighbourhood. However — with your assist- 
 ance — your old servant may be able to live somewhere 
 near you.' 
 
 Having settled the question of Teresa's life in London in 
 this way, Mrs. Gallilee returned to the prime object of her 
 suspicion — she took possession of the travelling bag. 
 
 Carmina looked at her with the submission of ntter 
 bewilderment. Teresa had been the companion of her life ; 
 Teresa had been received as her attendant, when she was first 
 established under her aunt's roof. She had assumed that her 
 nurse would become a member of the household again, as a 
 matter of course. With Teresa to encourage her, she had 
 summoned the resolution to live with Ovid's mother, until 
 Ovid came back. And now she had been informed, in worda 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 153 
 
 too plain to be mistaken, that Teresa must find a home for 
 herself when she returned to London ! Surprise, disappoint- 
 ment, indignation, held Carmina speechless. 
 
 ' This thing,' Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, holding up the bag, 
 ' will be only in your way here. I will have it put with our 
 own bags and boxes, in the lumber-room. And, by-the-bye, 
 I fancy you don't quite understand (naturally enough, at our 
 age) our relative positions in this house. My child, the 
 authority of your late father is the authority which your 
 guardian holds over you. I hope never to be obliged to exer- 
 cise it — especially, if you will be good enough to remember 
 two things. I expect you to consult me in your choice of 
 companions ; and to wait for my approval before you make 
 arrangements which — well ! let us say, which require the bag 
 to be removed from the lumber-room.' 
 
 Without waiting for a reply, she turned to the door. After 
 opening it, she paused — and looked back into the room. 
 
 ' Have you thought of what I told you, last night ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 Sorely as they had been tried, Carmina's energies rallied 
 at this. ' I have done my best to forget it ! ' she answered. 
 
 ' At Miss Minerva's request ? ' 
 
 Carmina took no notice of the question. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee persisted. ' Have you had any communica- 
 tion with that person ? ' 
 
 There was still no reply. Preserving her temper, Mrs 
 Gallilee stepped out on the landing, and called to Miss 
 Minerva. The governess answered from the upper floor. 
 
 ' Please come down here,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 Miss Minerva obeyed. Her face was paler than usual ; 
 her eyes had lost something of their piercing brightness. She 
 stopped outside Carmina's door. Mrs. Gallilee requested her 
 to enter the room. 
 
 After an instant — only an instant — of hesitation, Miss 
 Minerva crossed the threshold. She cast one quick glance at 
 Carmina, and lowered her eyes before the look could be re- 
 turned. Mrs. Gallilee discovered no mute signs of an under- 
 standing between them. She turned to the governess. 
 
 ' Have you been here already this morning ? ' she inquired. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Is there some coolness between you and my niece ? ' 
 
 ' None, madam, that I know of.' 
 
154 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 Then, why don't you speak to her when you come into 
 the room ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Carmina has been ill. I see her resting on the sofa 
 — and I am unwilling to disturb her.' 
 
 ' Not even by saying good-morning ? ' 
 
 ' Not even that ! ' 
 
 ' You are exceedingly careful, Miss Minerva.' 
 
 ' I have had some experience of sick people, and I have 
 learnt to be careful. May I ask if you have any particular 
 reason for calling me downstairs ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee prepared to put her niece and her governess 
 to the final test. 
 
 ' I wish you to suspend the children's lessons for an hour 
 or two,' she answered. 
 
 ' Certainly. Shall I tell them ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I will tell them myself.' 
 
 ' What do you wish me to do ? ' said Miss Minerva. 
 
 ' I wish you to remain here with my niece.' 
 
 If Mrs. Gallilee, after answering in those terms, had 
 looked at her niece, instead of looking at her governess, she 
 would have seen Carmina — distrustful of her own self-control 
 — move on the sofa so as to turn her face to the wall. As it 
 was, Miss Minerva's attitude and look silently claimed some 
 explanation. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee addressed her in a whisper. ' Let me say a 
 word to you at the door.' 
 
 Miss Minerva followed her to the landing outside. Carmina 
 turned again, listening anxiously. 
 
 ' I am not at all satisfied with her looks, this morning,' 
 Mrs. Gallilee proceeded ; ' and I don't think it right she 
 should be left alone. My household duties must be attended 
 to. Will you take my place at the sofa, until Mr. Null 
 comes ? ' (' Now,' she thought, ' if there is jealousy between 
 them, I shall see it ! ') 
 
 She saw nothing : The governess quietly bowed to her, 
 and went back to Carmina. She heard nothing : although 
 the half-closed door gave her opportunities for listening. 
 Ignorant, she had entered the room. Ignorant, she left it. 
 
 Carmina lay still and silent. With noiseless step, Miss 
 Minerva approached the sofa, and stood by it, waiting. 
 Neither of them lifted her eyes, the one to the other. The 
 woman suffered her torture in secret. The girl's sweet eyes 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 155 
 
 fileld slowly with tears. One by one the minutes of the 
 morning passed — not many in number, before there was a 
 change. In silence, Carruina held out her hand. In silence, 
 Miss Minerva took it and kissed it. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee saw her housekeeper as usual, and gave her 
 orders for the day. ' If there is anything forgotten,' she 
 said, ' I must leave it to you. For the next hour or two, 
 don't let me be disturbed.' 
 
 Some of her letters of the morning were still unread, 
 others reqnh'ed immediate acknowledgment. She was not as 
 ready for her duties as usual. For once, the most unendurably 
 industrious of women was idle, and sat thinking. 
 
 Even her unimaginative nature began to tremble on the 
 verge of superstition. Twice had the subtle force of circum- 
 stances defeated her in the attempt to meddle with the con- 
 templated marriage of her son. By means of the music-master, 
 she had planned to give Ovid jealous reasons for doubting 
 Carmina — and she had failed. By means of the governess, 
 she had planned to give Carmina jealous reasons for doubting 
 Ovid — and she had failed. When some people talked of 
 Fatality, were they quite such fools as she had hitherto sup- 
 posed them to be ? It would be a waste of time to inquire. 
 What next step could she take ? 
 
 Urged by the intolerable sense of defeat to find reasons for 
 still looking hopefully to the future, the learned Mrs. Gallilee 
 lowered herself to the intellectual level of the most ignorant 
 servant in the house. The modern Muse of Science uncon- 
 sciously opened her mind to the vulgar belief in luck. She 
 said to herself, as her kitchenmaid might have said, We will 
 see what comes of it, the third time ! 
 
 Benjulia's letter was among the other letters waiting on 
 the table. She took it up and read it again. 
 
 In her present frame of mind, to find her thoughts occu- 
 pied by the doctor, was to be reminded of Ovid's strange 
 allusion to his professional colleague, on the day of his 
 departure. Speaking of Carmina, he had referred to one 
 person whom he did not wish her to see in his absence ; and 
 
1$6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 that person, be had himself admitted to be Benjulia. He had 
 been asked to state his objection to the doctor — and how had 
 he replied ? He had said, ' I don't think Benjulia a fit person 
 to be in the company of a young girl.' 
 
 Why ? 
 
 There are many men of mature age who are not fit persons 
 to be in the company of young girls — but they are either men 
 who despise, or men who admire young girls. Benjulia 
 belonged neither to the one nor to the other of these two 
 classes. Girls were objects of absolute indifference to him — ■ 
 with the one exception of Zo, aged ten. Never yet, after 
 meeting him in society hundreds of times, had Mrs. Gallilee 
 seen him talk to young ladies or even notice young ladies. 
 Ovid's alleged reason for objecting to Benjulia stood palpably 
 revealed as a clumsy excuse. 
 
 In the present posture of events, to arrive at that conclu 
 sion was enough for Mrs. Gallilee. Without stopping to 
 pursue the idea, she rang the bell, and ordered her carriage to 
 be ready that afternoon, at three o'clock. 
 
 Doubtful, and more than doubtful, though it might be, the 
 bare prospect of finding herself possessed, before the day was 
 out, of a means of action capable of being used against 
 Carmina, raised Mrs. Gallilee's spirits. She was ready at 
 last to attend to her correspondence. 
 
 One of the letters was from her sister in Scotland. Among 
 other subjects, it referred to Carmina. 
 
 ' Why won't you let that sweet girl come and stay with 
 us ? ' Lady Northlake asked. ' My daughters are longing 
 for such a companion ; and both my sons are ready to envy 
 Ovid the moment they see her. Tell my nephew, when you 
 next write, that I thoroughly understand his falling in love 
 with that gentle pretty creature at first sight.' 
 
 Carmina's illness was the ready excuse which presented 
 itself in Mrs. Gallilee's reply. With or without an excuse, 
 Lady Northlake was to be resolutely prevented from taking 
 a foremost place in her niece's heart, and encouraging the 
 idea of her niece's marriage. Mrs. Gallilee felt almost pious 
 enough to thank Heaven that her sister's palace in the High- 
 lands was at one end of Great Britain, and her own marine 
 villa at the other ! 
 
 The marine villa reminded her of the family migration to 
 the sea-side. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 157 
 
 When would it be desirable to leave London ? Not until 
 her mind was relieved of the heavier anxieties that now 
 weighed on it. Not while events might happen — in connec- 
 tion with the threatening creditors or the contemplated 
 marriage — which would baffle her latest calculations, and 
 make her presence in London a matter of serious importance 
 to her own interests. Miss Minerva, again, was a new obstacle 
 in the way. To take her to the Isle of Wight was not to be 
 thought of for a moment. To dismiss her at once, by paying 
 the month's salary, might be the preferable course to pursue 
 — but for two objections. In the first place (if the friendly 
 understanding between them really continued) Carmina might 
 communicate with the discarded governess in secret. In the 
 second place, to pay Miss Minerva's salary before she had 
 earned it, was a concession from which Mrs. Gallilee's spite, 
 and Mrs. Gallilee's principles of paltry economy, recoiled in 
 disgust. No ! the waiting policy in London, under whatever 
 aspect it might be viewed, was, for the present, the one policy 
 to pursue. 
 
 She returned to the demands of her correspondence. Just 
 as she had taken up her pen, the sanctuary of the boudoir was 
 violated by the appearance of a servant. 
 
 ' What is it now ? Didn't the housekeeper tell you that I 
 am not to be disturbed ? ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, ma'am. My master ' 
 
 ' What does your master want ? ' 
 
 ' He wishes to see you, ma'am.' 
 
 This was a circumstance entirely without parallel in the 
 domestic history of the house. In sheer astonishment, Mrs. 
 Gallilee pushed away her letters, and said ' Show him in.' 
 
 When the boys of fifty years since were naughty, the 
 schoolmaster of the period was not accustomed to punish them 
 by appealing to their sense of honour. If a boy wanted a 
 flogging, in those days, the educational system seized a cane, 
 or a birch-rod, and gave it to him. Mr. Gallilee entered his 
 wife's room, with the feelings which had once animated him, 
 on entering the schoolmaster's study to be caned. When he 
 said ' Good-morning, my dear ! ' his face presented the ex- 
 pression of fifty years since, when he had said, ' Please, sir, let 
 me off this time ! ' 
 
 ' Now,' said Mrs. Gallilee, ' what do you want ? ' 
 
 ' Only a little word. How well you're looking, my dear !' 
 
158 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 After a sleepless night, followed by her defeat in Carmina's 
 room, Mrs. Gallilee looked, and knew that she looked, ugly 
 and old. And her wretched husband had reminded her of it. 
 ' Go on ! ' she answered sternly. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee moistened his dry lips. ' I think I'll take a 
 chair, if you will allow me,' he said. Having taken his chair 
 (at a respectful distance from his wife), he looked all round 
 the room with the air of a visitor who had never seen it 
 before. ' How very pretty ! ' he remarked softly. ' Such 
 taste in colour. I think the carpet was your own design, 
 wasn't it ? How chaste ! ' 
 
 ' Will you come to the point, Mr. Gallilee ? ' 
 
 ' With pleasure, my dear — with pleasure. I'm afraid I 
 smell of tobacco ? ' 
 
 ' I don't care if you do ! ' 
 
 This was such an agreeable surprise to Mr. Gallilee, that 
 he got on his legs again to enjoy it standing up. ' How kind ! 
 Really now, how kind ! ' He approached Mrs. Gallilee con- 
 fidentially. ' And do you know, my dear, it was one of the 
 most remarkable cigars I ever smoked.' Mrs. Gallilee laid 
 down her pen, and eyed him with an annihilating frown. In 
 the extremity of his confusion Mr. Gallilee ventured nearer. 
 He felt the sinister fascination of the serpent in the expression 
 of those awful eyebrows. ' How well you ai'e looking ! How 
 amazingly well you are looking this morning ! ' He leered at 
 his learned wife, and patted her shoulder ! 
 
 For the moment, Mrs. Gallilee was petrified. At his time 
 of life, was this fat and feeble creature approaching her with 
 conjugal endearments ? At that early hour of the day, had 
 his guilty lips tasted his favourite champagne, foaming in his 
 well-beloved silver mug, over his much-admired lump of ice ? 
 And was this the result ? 
 
 ' Mr. Gallilee ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear ? ' 
 
 'Sit down!' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee sat down. 
 
 ' Have you been to the club ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee got up again. 
 
 'Sit down!' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee sat down. ' I was about to say, my dear, 
 that I'll show you ever the club with the greatest pleasure — 
 if that's what you mean.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 159 
 
 'If you are not a downright idiot,' said Mrs. Gallilee, 
 
 'understand this! Either say what you have to say, or ' 
 
 she lifted her hand, and let it down on the writing-table with 
 a slap that made the pens ring in the inkstand—' or, leave the 
 room ! ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee lifted his hand, and searched in the breast- 
 pocket of his coat. He pulled out his cigar-case, and put it 
 back in a hurry. He tried again, and produced a letter. He 
 looked piteously round the room, in sore need of somebody 
 whom lie might appeal to, and ended in appealing to himself. 
 ' What sort of temper will she be in ? ' he whispered. 
 
 ' What have you got thei'e ? ' Mrs. Gallilee asked sharply. 
 ' One of the letters you had this morning ?' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee looked at her with admiration. ' Wonderful 
 woman ! ' he said. ' Nothing escapes her ! Allow me, my 
 dear.' 
 
 He rose and presented the letter, as if he was presenting a 
 petition. Mrs. Gallilee snatched it out of his band. Mr. 
 Gallilee went softly back to his chair, and breathed a devout 
 ejaculation. ' Oh, Lord ! ' 
 
 It was a letter from one of the tradespeople, whom Mrs. 
 Gallilee had attempted to pacify with a payment ' on account.' 
 The tradesman felt compelled, in justice to himself, to appeal 
 to Mr. Gallilee, as master of the house (!). It was impossible 
 for him (he submitted with the greatest respect) to accept a 
 payment, which did not amount to one-third of the sum owing 
 to him for more than a twelvemonth. ' Wretch ! ' cried Mrs. 
 Gallilee. ' I'll settle his bill, and never employ him again ! ' 
 She opened her cheque-book, and dipped her pen in the ink. 
 A faint voice meekly protested. Mr. Gallilee was on his legs 
 again. Mr. Gallilee said, ' Please don't ! ' 
 
 His incredible rashness silenced his wife. There he stood ; 
 his round eyes staring at the cheque-book, his fat cheeks 
 quivering with excitement. ' You mustn't do it,' he said, 
 with a first and last outburst of courage. ' Give me a minute, 
 my dear — oh, good gracious, give me a minute ! ' 
 
 He searched in his pocket again, and produced another 
 letter. His eyes wandered towards the door ; drops of per- 
 spiration oozed out on his forehead. He laid the second letter 
 on the table ; he looked at his wife, and — ran out of the room. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee opened the second letter. Another dis- 
 satisfied tradesman ? No : creditors far more formidable than 
 
160 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 the grocer and the butcher. An official letter from the bankers, 
 informing Mr. Gallilee that ' the account was overdrawn.' 
 
 She seized her pass-book, and her paper of calculations. 
 Never yet had her rigid arithmetic committed an error. 
 Column by column she revised her figures — and made the 
 humiliating discovery of her first mistake. She had drawn 
 out all, and more than all, the money deposited in the bank ; 
 and the next half-yearly payment of income was not due until 
 Christmas. 
 
 There was but one thing to be done — to go at once to the 
 bank. If Ovid had not been in the wilds of Canada, Mrs. 
 Gallilee would have made her confession to him without hesi- 
 tation. As it was, the servant called a cab, and she made her 
 confession to the bankers. 
 
 The matter was soon settled to her satisfaction. It rested 
 (exactly as Miss Minerva had anticipated) with Mr. Gallilee. 
 In the house, he might abdicate his authority to his heart's 
 content. Out of the house, in matters of business, he was 
 master still. His ' investments ' represented excellent ' secu- 
 rity ; ' he had only to say how much he wanted to borrow, and 
 to sign certain papers — and the thing was done. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee went home again, with her pecuniai'y anxie- 
 ties at rest for the time. The carriage was waiting for her at 
 the door. 
 
 Should she fulfil her intention of visiting Benjulia ? She 
 was not a person who readily changed her mind — and, besides, 
 after the troubles of the morning, the drive into the country 
 would be a welcome relief. Hearing that Mr. Gallilee wa3 
 still at home, she looked in at the smoking-room. Unerring 
 instinct told her where to find her husband, under present 
 circumstances. There he was, enjoying his cigar in comfort, 
 with his coat off and his feet on a chair. She opened the 
 door. ' I want you, this evening,' she said — and shut the 
 door again ; leaving Mr. Gallilee suffocated by a mouthful of 
 his own smoke. 
 
 Before getting into the carriage, she only waited to restore 
 her face with a flush of health (from Paris), modified by a 
 sprinkling of pallor (from London). Benjulia's humour was 
 essentially an uncertain humour. It might be necessary to 
 fascinate the doctor. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 161 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 The complimentary allusion to Ovid, which Benjulia had not 
 been able to understand, was contained in a letter from Mr. 
 Morphew, and was expressed in these words : — 
 
 ' Let me sincerely thank you for making us acquainted 
 with Mr. Ovid Vere. Now that he has left us, we really feel 
 as if we had said good-bye to an old friend. I don't know 
 when I have met with snch a perfectly unselfish man — and I 
 say this, speaking from experience of him. In my unavoid- 
 able absence, he volunteered to attend a serious case of illness, 
 accompanied by shocking circumstances — and this at a time 
 when, as you know, his own broken health forbids him to un- 
 dertake any professional duty. While he could preserve the 
 patient's life — and he did wonders, in this way — he was every 
 day at the bedside, taxing his strength in the service of a per- 
 fect stranger. I fancy I see you (with your impatience of 
 letter- writing at any length) looking to the end. Don't be 
 alarmed. I am writing to your brother Lemuel by this mail, 
 and I have little time to spare.' 
 
 Was this ' serious case of illness ' — described as being 
 ' accompanied by shocking circumstances ' — a case of disease 
 of the brain ? 
 
 There was the question, proposed by Berjnlia's inveterate 
 suspicion of Ovid ! The bare doubt cost him the loss of a 
 day's work. He reviled poor Mr. Morphew as ' a born idiot ' 
 for not having plainly stated what the patient's malady was, 
 instead of wasting paper on smooth sentences, encumbered by 
 long words. If Ovid had alluded to his Canadian patient in 
 his letters to his mother, his customary preciseness of langaaso 
 might be trusted to relieve Benjulia's suspense. With that 
 purpose in view, the doctor had written to Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 Before he laid down his pen, he looked once more at Mr. 
 Morphew's letter, and paused thoughtfully over one line : ' I 
 am writing to your brother Lemuel by this mail.' 
 
 The information of which he was in search might be in 
 that letter. If Mrs. Gallilee's correspondence with her son 
 failed to enlighten him, here was another chance of making 
 the desired discovery. Surely the wise course to take would 
 be to write to Lemuel as well. 
 
1 62 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 His one motive for hesitation was dislike of Lis younger 
 brother — dislike so inveterate that he even recoiled from com- 
 municating with Lemuel through the post. 
 
 There had never been any sympathy between them ; but 
 indifference had only matured into downright enmity, on. the 
 doctor's part, a year since. Accident (the result of his own 
 absence of mind, while he was perplexed by an unsuccessful 
 experiment) had placed Lemuel in possession of his hideous 
 secret. The one person in the world who knew how he was 
 really occupied in the laboratory, was his brother. 
 
 Here was the true motive of the bitterly contemptuous 
 tone in which Benjulia had spoken to Ovid of his nearest re- 
 lation. Lemuel's character was certainly deserving of severe 
 judgment, in some of its aspects. In his hours of employment 
 (as clerk in the office of a London publisher) he steadily and 
 punctually performed the duties entrusted to him. In his 
 houi^s of freedom, his sensual instincts got the better of him ; 
 and his jealous wife had her reasons for complaint. Among 
 his friends, he was the subject of a wide diversity of opinion. 
 Some of them agreed with his brother in thinking him little 
 better than a fool. Others suspected him of possessing 
 natural abilities, but of being too lazy, perhaps too cunning, 
 to exert them. In the office he allowed himself to be called 
 ' a mere machine ' — and escaped the overwork which fell to 
 the share of quicker men. When his wife and her relations 
 declared him to be a mere animal, he never contradicted them 
 — and so gained the reputation of a person on whom repri- 
 mand was thrown away. Under the protection of this unen- 
 viable character, he sometimes said severe things with an air 
 of perfect simplicity. When the furious doctor discovered 
 him in the laboratory, and said, ' I'll be the death of you, if 
 you tell any living creature what I am doing ! ' — Lemuel 
 answered, with a stare of stupid astonishment, ' Make your 
 mind easy ; I should be ashamed to mention it.' 
 
 Further reflection decided Benjulia on writing. Even 
 when he had a favour to ask, he was unable to address 
 Lemuel with common politeness. ' I hear that Morphew has 
 written to you by the last mail. I want to see the letter.' 
 So much he wrote, and no more. What was barely enough 
 for the purpose, was enough for the doctor, when he addressed 
 his brother. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 Between one and two o'clock, the next afternoon, Benjulia 
 (at work in his laboratory) heard the bell which announced 
 the arrival of a visitor at the house. No matter what the 
 circumstances might be, the servants were forbidden to dis- 
 turb him at his studies in any other way. 
 
 Very unwillingly he obeyed the call, locking the door 
 behind him. At that hour it was luncheon-time in well-regu- 
 lated households, and it was in the last degree unlikely that 
 Mrs. Galhlee could be the visitor. Getting within view of 
 the front of the house, he saw a man standing on the door- 
 step. Advancing a little nearer, he recognised Lemuel. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' cried the elder brother. 
 
 ' Hullo ! ' answered the younger, like an echo. 
 
 They stood looking at each other with the suspicious 
 curiosity of two strange cats. Between Nathan Benjulia, the 
 famous doctor, and Lemuel Benjulia, the publisher's clerk, 
 there was just family resemblance enough to suggest that 
 they were relations. The younger brother was only a little 
 over the ordinary height ; he was rather fat than thin ; he 
 wore a moustache and whiskers ; he dressed smartly — and his 
 prevailing expression announced that he was thoroughly well 
 satisfied with himself. But he inherited Benjulia's gipsy com- 
 plexion ; and, in form and colour, he had Benjulia's eyes. 
 
 ' How-d'ye-do, Nathan ? ' he said. 
 
 'What the devil brings you here ? ' was the answer. 
 
 Lemuel passed over his brother's rudeness without notice. 
 His mouth curled up at the corners with a mischievous smile. 
 
 ' I thought you wished to see my letter,' he said. 
 
 ' Why couldn't you send it by post ? ' 
 
 ' My wife wished me to take the opportunity of calling on 
 you.' 
 
 ' That's a lie,' said Benjulia quietly. ' Try another excuse. 
 Or do a new thing. For once, speak the truth.' 
 
 Without waiting to hear the truth, he led the way into 
 the room in which he had received Ovid. Lemuel followed, 
 still showing no outward appearance of resentment. 
 
 ' How did you get away from your office ? ' Benjulia 
 inquired. 
 
 v 2 
 
164 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 'It's easy to get a holiday at this time of the year. Easi- 
 ness is slack, old boy ' 
 
 ' Stop ! I don't allow you to speak to me in that way.' 
 
 ' No offence, brother Nathan ! ' 
 
 ' Brother Lemuel, I never allow a fool to offend me. I 
 put him in his place — that's all.' 
 
 The distant barking of a dog became audible from the 
 lane by which the house was approached. The sound seemed 
 to annoy Bcnjulia. ' What's that ? ' he asked. 
 
 Lemuel saw his way to making some return for his 
 brother's reception of him. 
 
 ' It's my dog,' he said ; ' and it's lucky for you that 1 have 
 left him in the cab.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 'Well, he's as sweet-tempered a dog as ever lived. But 
 he has one fault. He doesn't take kindly to scientific gentle- 
 men in your line of business.' Lemuel paused, and pointed 
 to his brother's hands. ' If he smelt that, he might try his 
 teeth at vivisecting You.' 
 
 The spots of blood which Ovid had once seen on Ben- 
 julia's stick, were on his hands now. With unruffled com- 
 posure he looked at the horrid stains, silently telling their 
 tale of torture. 
 
 'What's the use of washing my hands,' he answered, 
 ' when I am going back to my work ? ' 
 
 He wiped his finger and thumb on the tail of his coat. 
 'Now,' he resumed, ' if you have got your letter with you, let 
 me look at it.' 
 
 Lemuel produced the letter. ' There are some bits in it,' 
 he explained, ' which you had better not see. If you want 
 the truth — that's the reason why I brought it myself. Head 
 the first page — and then I'll tell you where to skip.' 
 
 So far, there was no allusion to Ovid. Benjulia turned to 
 the second page — and Lemuel pointed to the middle of it. 
 ' Read as far as that,' he went on, ' and then skip till you 
 come to the last bit at the end.' 
 
 On the last page, Ovid's name appeared. He was men- 
 tioned, as a' delightful person, introduced by your brother,' — 
 and with that the letter ended. In the first bitterness of his 
 disappointment, Benjulia conceived an angry suspicion of 
 those portions of the letter which he had been requested to 
 pass over unread. 
 
HEART AMD SCIENCE. 165 
 
 ' What Las Morpbew got to say to you that I mustn't 
 read ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Suppose you tell me first, what you want to find in the 
 letter,' Lemuel rejoined. ' Morphew is a doctor like you. Is 
 it anything medical ? ' 
 
 Benjulia answered this in the easiest way — he nodded his 
 head. 
 
 ' Is it Vivisection ? ' Lemuel inquired slily. 
 
 Benjulia at once handed the letter back, and pointed to 
 the door. His momentary interest in the suppressed passages 
 was at an end. ' That will do,' he answered. ' Take yourself 
 and your letter away.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Lemuel, ' I'm glad you don't want to look at 
 it again ! ' He put the letter away, and buttoned his coat, 
 and tapped his pocket significantly. ' You have got a nasty 
 temper, Nathan — and there are things here that might try 
 it.' 
 
 In the case of any other man, Benjulia would have seen 
 that the one object of these prudent remarks was to irritate 
 him. Misled by his profound conviction of his brother's stu- 
 pidity, he now thought it possible that the concealed portions 
 of the letter might be worth notice. He stopped Lemuel 
 at the door. ' I've changed my mind,' he said ; ' I want to 
 look at the letter again.' 
 
 'You had better not,' Lemuel persisted. ' Morphew's 
 going to write a book against you — and he asks me to get it 
 published at our place. I'm on his side, you know ; I shall 
 do my best to help him ; I can lay my hand on literary fellows 
 who will lick his style into shape — it will be an awful ex- 
 posure ! ' Benjulia still held out his hand. With over-acted 
 reluctance, Lemuel unbuttoned his coat. The distant dog 
 barked again as he gave the letter back. ' Please excuse my 
 dear old dog/ he said with maudlin tenderness ; ' the poor 
 dumb animal seems to know that I'm taking his side in the 
 controversy. Bow-wow means, in his language, Fie upon the 
 cruel hands that bore holes in our heads and use saws on our 
 backs. Ah, Nathan, if you have got any dogs in that horrid 
 place of yours, pat them and give them their dinner ! You 
 never heard me talk like this before — did you ? I'm a new 
 man since I joined the Society for suppressing you. Oh, if I 
 only had the gift of writing ! ' 
 
 The effect of this experiment on his brother's temper failed 
 
r 
 
 166 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 to fulfil Lemuel's expectations. The doctor's curiosity was 
 roused on the doctor's own subject of inquiry. 
 
 ' You're quite right about one thing,' said Benjulia gravely; 
 ' I never heard you talk in this way before. You suggest some 
 interesting considerations, of the medical sort. Come to tlie 
 light.' He led Lemuel to the -window — looked ab him with 
 the closest attention — and carefully consulted his pulse. 
 Lemuel smiled. ' I'm not joking,' said Benjulia sternly. 'Tell 
 me this. Have you had headaches lately ? Do you find your 
 memory failing you ? ' 
 
 As he put those questions, he thought to himself — seriously 
 thought — ' Is this fellow's brain softening ? I wish I had him 
 on my table ! ' 
 
 Lemuel persisted in presenting himself under a sentimental 
 aspect. He had not forgiven his elder brother's rudeness j'efc 
 — and he knew, by experience, the one weakness inBenjulia's 
 character which, with his small resources, it w#ts possible to 
 attack. 
 
 ' Thank you for your kind inquiries,' he replied. ' Never 
 mind my head, so long as my heart's in the right place. I 
 don't pretend to be clever — but I've got my feelings ; and I 
 could put some awkward questions on what you call Medical 
 Research, if I had Morphew to help me.' 
 
 'I'll help you,' said Benjulia— interested in developing the 
 state of his brother's brain. 
 
 'I don't believe you,' said Lemuel — interested in develop- 
 ing the state of his brother's temper. 
 
 ' Try me, Lemuel.' 
 
 ' All right, Nathan.' 
 
 The two brothers returned to their chairs ; reduced for 
 once to the same moral level. 
 
 ^ CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ' Now,' said Benjulia, ' what is it to be ? The favourite public 
 bugbear ? Vivisection ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Very well. What can I do for you ? ' 
 
 ' Tell me first,' said Lemuel, ' what is Law ?' 
 
 ' Nobody knows.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 167 
 
 ' Well, then, what ought it to be ? ' 
 
 ' Justice, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Let me wait a bit, Nathan, and get that into my mind.' 
 
 Benjulia waited with exemplary patience. 
 
 ' Now about yourself,' Lemuel continued. ' You won't be 
 offended — will you ? Should I be right if I called you a dis- 
 sector of living creatures ? ' 
 
 Benjulia was reminded of the day when he had discovered 
 his brother in the laboratory. His, dark complexion deepened 
 in hue. His cold gray eyes seemed to promise a coming out- 
 break. Lemuel went on. 
 
 ' Does the Law forbid you to make your experiments on a 
 man ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Of course it does ! ' 
 
 ' Why doesn't the Law forbid you to make your experi- 
 ments on a dog ? ' 
 
 Benjulia's face cleared again. The one penetrable point 
 in his ironclad nature had not been reached yet. That appa- 
 rently childish question about the dog appeared, not only to 
 have interested him, but to have taken him by surprise. His 
 attention wandered away from his brother. His clear intellect 
 put Lemuel's objection in closer logical form, and asked if 
 there was any answer to it, thus : 
 
 The Law which forbids you to dissect a living man, allows 
 you to dissect a living clog. Why? 
 
 There was positively no answer to this. 
 
 Suppose he said, Because a dog is an animal? Could he ; 
 as a physiologist, deny that a man is an animal too ? 
 
 Suppose he said, Because a dog is the inferior creature in 
 intellect ? The obvious answer to this would be, But the lower 
 order of savage, or the lower order of lunatic, compared with 
 the dog, is the inferior creature in intellect; and, in these 
 cases, the dog has, on your own showing, the better right to 
 protection of the two. 
 
 Suppose he said, Because a man is a creature with a 
 soul, and a dog is a creature without a soul ? This would be 
 simply inviting another unanswerable question: How do you 
 know ? 
 
 Honestly accepting the dilemma which thus presented itself, 
 the conclusion that followed seemed to be beyond dispute. 
 
 If the Law, in the matter of Vivisection, asserts the prin- 
 ciple of interference, the Law has barred its right to place 
 
1 68 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 arbitrary limits on its own action. If it protects any living 
 creatures, it is bound, in reason and in justice, to protect all. 
 
 'Well,' said Lemuel, ' am I to bave an answer ? ' 
 
 ' I'm not a lawyer.' 
 
 With this convenient reply, Benjulia opened Mr. Mor- 
 pbew's letter, and read the forbidden part of it which began 
 on the second page. There he found the very questions with 
 which his brother had puzzled him — followed by the conclusion 
 at which he had himself arrived ! 
 
 'Tou interpreted the language of your dog just now,' he 
 said quietly to Lemuel ; ' and I naturally supposed your brain 
 might be softening. Such as it is, I perceive that your memory 
 is in w T orking order. Accept my excuses for feeling your pulse. 
 You have ceased to be an object of interest to me.' 
 
 He returned to his reading. Lemuel watched him — still 
 confidently waiting for results. 
 
 The letter proceeded in these terms : 
 
 1 Your employer may perhaps be inclined to publish my 
 work, if I can satisfy him that it will address itself to the 
 general reader. 
 
 ' We all know what are the false pretences, under which 
 English physiologists practise their cruelties. I want to ex- 
 pose those false pretences in the simplest and plainest way, 
 by appealing to my own experience as an ordinary working 
 member of the medical profession. 
 
 ' Take the pretence of increasing our knowledge of the 
 curative action of poisons, by trying them on animals. The 
 very poisons, the action of which dogs and cats have been 
 needlessly tortured to demonstrate, I have successfully used 
 on my human patients in the practice of a lifetime. 
 
 ' I should also like to ask what proof there is that the 
 effect of a poison on an animal may be trusted to inform us, 
 with certainty, of the effect of the same poison on a man. To 
 quote two instances only which justify doubt — and to take 
 birds this time, by way of a change — a pigeon will swallow 
 opium enough to kill a man, and will not be in the least 
 affected by it ; and parsley, which is an innocent herb in the 
 stomach of a human being, is deadly poison to a parrot. 
 
 ' I should deal in the same way, with the other pretence, 
 of improving our practice of surgery by experiment on living 
 animals. 
 
 ' Not long since, I saw the diseased leg of a dog cut off at 
 
HEAR! AND SCIENCE. 169 
 
 the tip joint. When the limb was removed, not a single 
 vessel bled. Try the same operation on a man — and twelve 
 or fifteen vessels must be tied as a matter of absolute neces- 
 sity. 
 
 ' Again. We are told by a great authority that the baking 
 of dogs in ovens has led to new discoveries in treating fever. 
 I have always supposed that the heat, in fever, is not a cause 
 of disease, but a consequence. However, let that be, and let 
 us still stick to experience. Has this infernal cruelty produced 
 results which help us to cure scarlet fever ? Our bedside 
 practice tells us that scarlet fever runs its course as it always 
 did. I can multiply such examples as these by hundreds 
 when I write my book. 
 
 ' Briefly stated, you now have the method by which I 
 propose to drag the scientific English Savage from his shelter 
 behind the medical interests of humanity, and to show him in 
 his true character, — as plainly as the scientific Foreign Savage 
 shows himself of his own accord. He doesn't shrink behind 
 false pretences. He doesn't add cant to cruelty. He boldlv 
 proclaims the truth : — I do it, because I like it i ' 
 Benjnlia rose, and threw the letter on the floor. 
 ' I proclaim the truth,' he said ; ' I do it because I like it. 
 There are some few Englishmen who treat ignorant public 
 opinion with the contempt that it deserves — and I am one of 
 them.' He pointed scornfully to the letter. ' That wordy old 
 fool is right about the false pretences. Publish his book, and 
 I'll buy a copy of it.' 
 
 ' That's odd,' snid Lemuel. 
 ' What's cdd ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Nathan, I'm only a fool — but if you talk in that 
 way of false pretences and pnblic opinion, why do you tell 
 everybody that your horrid cutting and carving is harmless 
 chemistry ? And why were you in such a rage when I got 
 into your workshop, and found you out ? Answer me that ! ' 
 ' Let me congratulate you first,' said Benjulia. 'It isn't 
 every fool who knows that he is a fool. Now you shall have 
 your answer. Before the end of the year, all the world will 
 be welcome to come into my workshop, and see me at the 
 employment of my life. Brother Lemuel, when you stole your 
 way through my unlocked door, you found me travelling on 
 the road to the grandest medical discovery of this century 
 You stupid ass, do you think I cared about what you could 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 find out ? I am in such perpetual terror of being forestalled 
 by my colleagues, that I am not master of myself, even -when 
 such eyes as yours look at my work. In a month or two more 
 — perhaps in a week or two — I shall have solved the grand 
 problem. I labour at it all day. I think of it, I dream of it, 
 all night. It will kill me. Strong as I am, it will kill me. 
 What do you say ? Am I working myself into my grave, in 
 the medical interests of humanity ? That for humanity ! I 
 am working for my own satisfaction — for my own pride — for 
 my own unutterable pleasure in beating other men — for the 
 fame that will keep my name living hundreds of years hence. 
 Humanity ! I say with my foreign brethren — Knowledge for 
 its own sake, is the one god I worship. Knowledge is its own 
 justification and its own reward. The roaring mob follows us 
 with its cry of Cruelty. We pity their ignorance. Know- 
 ledge sanctifies cruelty. The old anatomist stole dead bodies 
 for Knowledge. In that sacred cause, if I could steal a 
 living man without being found out, I would tie him on my 
 table, and grasp my grand discovery in days, instead of 
 months. Where are you going ? What ? You're afraid to 
 be in the same room with me ? A man who can talk as I do, 
 is a man who would stick at nothing ? Is that the light in 
 which you lower order of creatures look at us ? Look a little 
 higher — and you will see that a man who talks as I do is a 
 man set above you by Knowledge. Exert yourself, and try to 
 understand me. Have I no virtues, even from your point of 
 view ? Am I not a good citizen ? Don't I pay my debts ? 
 Don't I serve my friends ? You miserable creature, you have 
 had my money when you wanted it ! Look at that letter on 
 the floor. The man mentioned in it is one of those colleagues 
 whom I distrust. I did my duty by him for all ±hat. I gave 
 him the information he wanted : I introduced him to a friend 
 in a land of strangers. Have I no feeling, as you call it ? My 
 last experiments on a monkey horrified me. His cries of 
 suffering, his gestures of entreaty, were like the cries and ges- 
 tures of a child. I would have given the world to put him 
 out of his misery. But I went on. In the glorious cause I 
 went on. My hands turned cold — my heart ached — I thought 
 of a child I sometimes play with — I suffered — I resisted — I 
 went on. All for Knowledge ! all for Knowledge ! ' 
 
 His brother's presence was forgotten. His dark face 
 turned livid ; his gigantic frame shuddered ; his breath came 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 171 
 
 and went in deep sobbing gasps — it was terrible to sec him 
 and hear him. 
 
 Lemuel slunk out of the room. The jackal had roused the 
 lion ; the mean spirit of mischief in him had not bargained for 
 this. ' I begin to believe in the devil,' he said to himself 
 when he got to the house door. 
 
 As he descended the steps, a carriage appeared in the lane. 
 A footman opened the gate of the enclosure. The carriage ap- 
 proached the house, with a lady in it. 
 
 Lemuel ran back to his brother. ' Here's a lady coming ! ' 
 he said. ' You're in a nice state to see her ! Pull yourself 
 together, Nathan — and, damn it, wash your hands ! ' 
 
 He took Benjulia's arm, and led him upstairs. 
 
 "When Lemuel returned to the hall, Mrs. Gallilee was 
 ascending the house-steps. He bowed profoundly, in homage 
 to the well-preserved remains of a fine woman. ' My brotliLr 
 will be with you directly, ma'am. Pray allow me to give 
 you a chair.' 
 
 His hat was in his hand. Mrs. Gallilee's knowledge of the 
 world easily set him down at his true value. She got rid of 
 hiin with her best grace. ' Pray don't let me detain you, sir ; 
 I will wait with pleasure.' 
 
 If she had been twenty years younger the hint might 
 have been thrown away. As it was, Lemuel retired. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 An unusually long day's work at the office had fatigued good 
 Mr. Mool. He pushed aside his papers, and let his weary 
 eyes rest on a glass vase full of flowers on the table — a present 
 from a grateful client. As a man, he enjoyed the lovely 
 colours of the nosegay. As a botauist, he lamented the act 
 which had cut the fiowei'S from their parent stems, and 
 doomed them to premature death. ' I should not have had 
 the heart to do it myself,' he thought ; ' but tastes differ.' 
 
 The office boy came into the room, with a visiting card in 
 his hand. 
 
 ' I'm going home to dinner,' said Mr. Mool, ' The parson 
 must call to-morrow.' 
 
t72 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 The boy laid the card on the table. The person was Mrs. 
 Gallilee. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee, at seven o'clock in the evening ! Mrs. 
 Gallilee, without a previous appointment by letter ! Mr. 
 Mool trembled under the apprehension of some serious family 
 emergency, in imminent need of legal interference. He sub- 
 mitted as a matter of course. ' Show the lady in.' 
 
 Before a woi'd had passed between them, the lawyer's 
 mind was relieved. Mrs. Gallilee shone on him with her 
 sweetest smiles ; pressed his band with her friendliest warmth ; 
 admired the nosegay with her readiest enthusiasm. ' Quite 
 perfect,' she said — ' especially the Pansy. The round flat 
 edge, Mr. Mool ; the upper petals perfectly uniform — there is 
 a flower that defies criticism ! I long to dissect it.' 
 
 Mr. Mool politely resigned the Pansy to dissection (mur- 
 derous mutilation, he would have called it, in the case of one 
 of his own flowers), and waited to hear what his learned 
 client might have to say to him. 
 
 ' I am going to surprise you,' Mrs. Gallilee announced. 
 ' No — to shock you. No — even that is not strong enough. 
 Let me say, to horrify you.' 
 
 Mr. Mool's anxieties returned, complicated by confusion. 
 The behaviour of Mrs. Gallilee exhibited the most unaccount- 
 able contrast to her language. She showed no sign of those 
 strong emotions to which she had alluded. ' How am I to 
 put it ? ' she went on, with a transparent affectation of embar- 
 rassment. ' Shall I call it a disgrace to our family ? ' Mr. 
 Mool started. Mrs. Gallilee entreated him to compose him- 
 self; she approached the inevitable disclosure by degrees. ' I 
 think,' she said, ' you have met Doctor Benjulia at my house ? ' 
 
 ' I have had that honour, Mrs. Gallilee. Not a very 
 sociable person — if I may venture to say so.' 
 
 ' Downright rude, Mr. Mool, on some occasions. But that 
 doesn't matter now. I have just been visiting the doctor.' 
 
 Was this visit connected with the ' disgrace to the family ' ? 
 Mr. Mool ventured to put a question. 
 
 ' Doctor Benjulia is not related to you, ma'am — is he ? ' 
 
 ' Not the least in the world. Please don't interrupt me 
 again. I am, so to speak, laying a train of circumstances before 
 you ; and I might leave one of them out. When Doctor 
 Benjulia was a young man — I am returning to my train of 
 circumstances, Mr. Mool — he was at Rome, pursuing his pro- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 173 
 
 fessional studies. I have all this, mind, straight from the 
 doctor himself. At Rome he became acquainted with my late 
 brother, after the period of his unfortunate marriage. Stop ! 
 I have failed to put it strongly enough again. I ought to 
 have said, his disgraceful marriage.' 
 
 ' Really, Mrs. Gallilee ' 
 
 ' Mr. Mool ! ' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, ma'am.' 
 
 ' Don't mention it. The next circumstance is ready in my 
 mind. One of the doctor's fellow-students (described as being 
 personally an irresistible man) was possessed of abilities which 
 even attracted our unsociable Benjulia. They became friends. 
 At the time of which I am now speaking, my bi'other's dis- 
 gusting wife — oh, but I repeat it, Mr. Mool ! I say again, his 
 disgusting wife — was the mother of a female child.' 
 
 ' Your niece, Mrs. Gallilee.' 
 
 4 No ! ' 
 
 ' Not Miss Carmina ? ' 
 
 ' Miss Carmina is no more my niece than she is yonr niece. 
 Carry your mind back to what I have just said. I mentioned 
 a medical student who was an irresistible man. Miss Car- 
 mina's father was that man.' 
 
 Mr. Mool's astonishment and indignation would have in- 
 stantly expressed themselves, if he had not been a lawyer. 
 As it was, his professional experience warned him of the im- 
 prudence of speaking too soon. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's exultation forced its way outwards. Her 
 eyes glittered ; her voice rose. ' The law, Mr. Mool ! what 
 does the law say ? ' she broke out. ' Is my brother's "Will no 
 better than waste-paper ? Is the money divided among his 
 only near relations ? Tell me ! tell me ! ' 
 
 Mr. Mool suddenly plunged his face into his vase of 
 flowers. Did he feel that the air of the office wanted purify- 
 ing ? or was he conscious that his face might betray him un- 
 less he hid it ? Mrs. Gallilee was at no loss to set her own 
 clever interpretation on her lawyer's extraordinary proceeding. 
 
 ' Take your time,' she said with the most patronising 
 kindness. ' I know your sensitive nature ; I know what I felt 
 myself when this dreadful discovery burst upon me. If you 
 remember, I said I should horrify you. Take your time, my 
 dear sir — pray take your time.' 
 
 To be encouraged in this way— as if he was the emotional 
 
174 " HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 client, and Mrs. Gallilce the impassive lawyer — was more than 
 even Mr. Mool could endure. Shy men are, in the innermost 
 depths of their nature, proud men : the lawyer had his pro- 
 fessional pride. He came out of his flowery retreat with a 
 steady countenance. For the first time in his life, he was not 
 afraid of Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 ' Before we enter on the legal aspect of the case ' he 
 
 began. 
 
 ' The shocking case,' Mrs. Gallilee interposed, in the in- 
 terests of virtue. 
 
 Under any other circumstances Mr. Mool would have 
 accepted the correction. He actually took no notice of it 
 now ! ' There is one point,' he proceeded, ' on which I must 
 beg you to enlighten me.' 
 
 ' By all means ! I am ready to go into any details, no 
 matter how disgusting they may be.' 
 
 Mr. Mool thought of certain ' ladies ' (objects of perfectly 
 needless respect among men) who, being requested to leave 
 the Court at unmentionable Trials, persist in keeping their 
 places. It was a relief to him to feelr — if his next questions 
 did nothing else — that they would disappoint Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 ' Am I right in supposing that you believe what you have 
 told me ? ' he resumed. 
 
 ' Most assuredly ! ' 
 
 ' Is Dr. Benjulia the only person who has spoken to you on 
 the subject ? ' 
 
 ' ' The only person.' 
 
 ' His information being derived from his friend — the fellow- 
 student whom you mentioned just now ? ' 
 
 ' In other words,' Mrs. Gallilee answered viciously, ' the 
 father of the wretched girl who has been foisted on my care.' 
 
 If Mr. Mool's courage had been in danger of failing him, 
 he would have found it again now. His regard for Carmina, 
 his respect for the memory of her mother, had been wounded 
 to the quick. Strong on his own legal ground, he proceeded 
 as if he was examining a witness in a police court. 
 
 ' I suppose the doctor had some reason for believing what 
 his friend told him ? ' 
 
 ' Ample reason ! Vice and poverty generally go together 
 — this man was poor. He showed Doctor Benjulia money re- 
 ceived from his mistress — her husband's money, it is needless 
 to say.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. - 175 
 
 ' Her motive might be innocent, Mrs. Gallilee. Had the 
 man any letters of hers to show ? ' 
 
 ' Letters ? From a woman in her position ? It's noto- 
 rions, Mr. Mool, that Italian models don't know how to read 
 or write.' 
 
 1 May I ask if there are any f nrther proofs ? ' 
 
 ' You have had proofs enough.' 
 
 ' With all possible respect, ma'am, I deny that.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee had not been asked to enter into disgusting 
 details. Mrs. Gallilee had been contradicted by her obedient 
 humble servant of other days. She thought it high time to 
 bring the examination to an end. 
 
 ' If you are determined to believe in the woman's inno- 
 cence,' she said, ' without knowing any of the circum- 
 stances ' 
 
 Mr. Mool went on from bad to worse : he interrupted her 
 now. 
 
 ' Excuse me, Mrs. Gallilee, I think you have forgotten 
 that one of my autumn holidays, many years since, was spent 
 in Italy. I was in Rome, like Doctor Benjulia, after your 
 brother's marriage. His wife was, to my certain knowledge, 
 received in society. Her reputation was unblemished ; and 
 her husband was devoted to her.' 
 
 ' In plain English,' said Mrs. Gallilee, ' my brother was a 
 poor weak creature — and his wife, when you knew her, had 
 not been found out.' 
 
 ' That is just the difficulty I feel,' Mr. Mool rejoined. 
 ' How is it that she is only found out now ? Years have passed 
 since she died. More years have passed since this attack on 
 her character reached Doctor Benjulia's knowledge. He is an 
 old friend of yours. Why has he only told you of it to-day ? 
 I hope I don't offend you by asking these questions ? ' 
 
 'Oh, dear, no! your questions are so easily answered. I 
 never encouraged the doctor to speak of my brother and his 
 wife. The subject was too distasteful to me — and I don't 
 doubt that Doctor Benjulia felt about it as I did.' 
 
 ' Until to-day,' the lawyer remarked ; ' Doctor Benjulia 
 appears to have been quite ready to mention the subject 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' Under special circumstances, Mr. Mool, Perhaps you 
 will not allow that special circumstances make any dif- 
 ference ? ' 
 
176 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 On the contrary, Mr. Mool made every allowan^. At 
 the same time, he waited to hear what the circumstances 
 might be. 
 
 Bat Mrs. Gallilee had her reasons for keeping silence. It 
 was impossible to mention Benjulia's reception of her without 
 inflicting a wound on her self-esteem. To begin with, he had 
 kept the door of the room open, and had remained standing. 
 ' Have you got Ovid's letters ? Leave them here ; I'm not 
 fit to look at them now.' Those were his first words. There 
 was nothing in the letters which a friend might not read : she 
 accordingly consented to leave them. The doctor had ex- 
 pressed his sense of obligation by bidding her get into her 
 carriage again, and go. ' I have been put in a passion ; I 
 have made a fool of myself ; I haven't a nerve in. my body 
 that isn't quivering with rage. Go ! go ! go ! ' There was 
 his explanation. Impenetrably obstinate, Mrs. Gallilee faced 
 him — standing between the doctor and the door— without 
 shrinking. She had not driven all the way to Benjulia's 
 house to be sent back again without gaining her object ; she 
 had her questions to put to him, and she persisted in pressing 
 them as only a woman can. He was left — with the education of 
 a gentleman against him — between the two vulgar aliei-natives 
 of turning her out by main force, or of yielding, and getting 
 rid of her decently in that way. At any other time, he would 
 have flatly refused to lower himself to the level of a scandal- 
 mongering woman, by entering on the subject. In his pre- 
 sent mood, if pacifying Mrs. Gallilee, and ridding himself of 
 Mrs. Gallilee, meant one and the same thing, he was ready, 
 recklessly ready, to let her have her own way. She heard 
 the infamous story, which she had repeated to her lawyer; 
 and she had Lemuel Benjulia's visit, and Mr Morphew's con- 
 templated attack on Vivisection, to thank for getting her 
 information. 
 
 Mr. Mool waited, and waited in vain. He reminded his 
 client of what she had just said. 
 
 ' You mentioned certain circumstances. May I know 
 what they are ? ' he asked. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee rose, before she replied. 
 
 ' Your time is valuable, and my time is valuable,' she 
 said. ' We shall not convince each other by prolonging our 
 conversation. I came here, Mr. Mool, to ask you a question 
 about the law. Permit me to remind you that I have not 
 
HEART AXD SCIENCE. x >ft 
 
 had my answer yet. My own impression is that the girl now 
 in my house, not being my brother's child, has no claim on 
 my brother's property ? Tell me in two words, if you please 
 — am I right or wrong ? ' 
 
 ' I can do it in one word, Mrs. Gallilee. Wrono-.' 
 
 'What!' 
 
 Mr. Mool entered on the necessary explanation, triumphing 
 in the reply that he had just made. ' It's the smartest thing,' 
 he thought, ' I ever said in my life.' 
 
 ' While husbands and wives live together,' he continued, 
 ' the Law holds that all children, born in wedlock, are the 
 husband's children. Even if Miss Carmina's mother had not 
 been as good and innocent a woman as ever drew the breath 
 of life ' 
 
 'That will do, Mr. Mool. You really mean to say that 
 this girl's interest in my brother's Will ' 
 
 ' Remains quite unaffected, ma'am, by all that you have 
 told me.' 
 
 ' And I am still obliged to keep her under my care ? ' 
 
 ' Or,' Mr. Mool answered, 'to resign the office of guardian, 
 in favour of Lady Northlake — appointed to act, in your 
 place.' 
 
 ' I won't trouble you any further, sir. Good-evening ! ' 
 
 She turned to leave the office. Mr. Mool actually tried to 
 stop her. 
 
 ' One word more, Mrs. Gallilee.' 
 
 'No ; we have said enough already.' 
 
 Mr. Mool's audacity arrived at its climax. He put his 
 hand on the lock of the office door, and held it shut. 
 
 ' The young lady, Mrs. Gallilee ! I am sure you will never 
 breathe a word of this to the pretty, gentle young lady ? 
 Even if it was true; and, as God is my witness, I am sure it's 
 false ' 
 
 ' Good-evening, Mr. Mool ! ' 
 
 He opened the door, and let her go ; her looks and tones 
 told him that remonstrance was worse than useless. From 
 year's end to year's end, this modest and amiable man had 
 never been heard to swear. He swore now. ' Damn Doctor 
 Benjulia!' he burst out, in the solitude of the office. His 
 dinner was waiting for him at home. Instead of putting on 
 his hat, he went back to his writing-table. His thoughts 
 projected themselves into the future— and discovered possi- 
 
 N 
 
178 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 bilities from -which they recoiled. He took up his pen, and 
 began a letter. ' To John Gallilee, Esquire : Dear Sir, — 
 Circumstances have occurred, which I am not at liberty to 
 mention, but which make it necessary for me, in justice to 
 my own views and feelings, to withdraw from the position of 
 legal adviser to yourself and family.' He paused and con- 
 sidered with himself. 'No,' he decided ; ' I may be of some 
 use to that poor child while I am the family lawyer.' He tore 
 up bis unfinished letter. 
 
 When Mr. Mool got home that night, it was noticed that 
 he had a poor appetite for his dinner. On the other hand he 
 drank more wine than usual. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 ' I don't know what, is the matter with me. Sometimes 3 
 think I am going to be really ill.' 
 
 It was the day after Mrs. Gallilee's interview with ber 
 lawyer — and this was Carmina's answer, when the governess 
 entered her room, after the lessons of the morning, and asked 
 if she felt better. 
 
 ' Are you still taking medicine ? ' Miss Minerva inquired. 
 
 ' Yes. Mr. Null says it's a tonic, and it's sure to do me 
 good. It doesn't seem to have begun yet. I feel so dreadfully 
 weak, Frances. The least thing makes me cry; and I put oil 
 doing what I ought to do, and want to do, without knowing 
 why. You remember what I told you about Teresa? She 
 may be with us in a few days more, for all I know to the con- 
 trary. I must find a nice lodging for her, poor dear — and 
 here I am, thinking about it instead of doing it.' 
 
 ' Let me do it,' Miss Minerva suggested. 
 
 Carmina's sad face brightened. ' That's kind indeed ! ' 
 she said. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! I shall take the children out, after dinner 
 to-day. Looking over lodgings will be an amusement to me 
 and to them.' 
 
 ' Where is Zo ? Why haven't you brought her with you? ' 
 
 ' She is having her music lesson — and I must go back to 
 keep her in order. About the lodging ? A sitting-room and 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 179 
 
 bedroom will be enough, I suppose ? In this neighbourhood, 
 I am afraid the terms "will be rather high.' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind that ! Let us have clean, airy rooms — 
 and a kind landlady. Teresa mustn't know it, if the terms 
 are high.' 
 
 ' Will she allow you to pay her expenses ? ' 
 
 'Ah, you put it delicately ! My aunt seemed to doubt if 
 Teresa had any money of her own. I forgot, at the time, that 
 my father had left her a little income. She told me so herself, 
 and wondered, poor dear, how she was to spend it all. She 
 mustn't be allowed to spend it all. We will tell her that the 
 terms are half what they may really be — and I will pay the 
 other half. Isn't it cruel of my aunt not to let my old nurse 
 live in the same house with me ? ' 
 
 At that moment, a message arrived from one of the persons 
 of whom she was speaking. Mrs. Gallilee wished to see Miss 
 Carmina immediately. 
 
 ' My dear,' said Miss Minerva, when the servant had with- 
 drawn, ' why do you tremble so ? ' 
 
 ' There's something in me, Frances, that shudders at my 
 aunt, ever since ' 
 
 She stopped. 
 
 Miss Minerva understood that sudden pause — the unde- 
 signed allusion to Carrnina's guiltless knowledge of her feeling 
 towards Ovid. By unexpressed consent, on either side, they 
 still preserved their former relations as if Mrs. Gallilee had 
 not spoken. Miss Mineiwa looked at Carmina sadly and 
 kindly. ' Good-bye for the present ! ' she said — and went up- 
 stairs again to the schoolroom. 
 
 In the hall, Carmina found the servant waiting for her. 
 He opened the library door. The learned lady was at her 
 studies. 
 
 ' I have been speaking to Mr. Null about you,' said Mrs. 
 Gallilee. 
 
 On the previous evening, Carmina had kept her room. 
 She had breakfasted in bed — and she now saw her aunt for 
 the first time> since Mrs. Gallilee had left the house on her 
 visit to Ben julia. The girl was instantly conscious of a change 
 — to be felt rather than to be realised — a subtle change in her 
 aunt's way of looking at her and speaking to her. Her heart 
 beat fast. She took the nearest chair in silence. 
 
 ' The doctor,' Mrs. Gallilee proceeded, ' thinks it of im- 
 n 2 
 
I So HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 portance to your health to be as much as possible in the air. 
 He wishes you to drive out every day, while the fine weather 
 lasts. I have ordered the open carriage to be ready, after 
 luncheon. Other engagements will pi'event me from accom- 
 panying you. You will be under the care of my maid, and 
 you will be out for two hours. Mr. Null hopes you will gain 
 strength. Is there anything you want? ' 
 
 ' Nothing — thank you.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you wish for a new dress ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, no ! ' 
 
 ' You have no complaint to make of the servants ? ' 
 
 ' The servants are always kind to me.' 
 
 ' I needn't detain you any longer — I have a person coming 
 to speak to me.' 
 
 Carmina had entered the room in doubt and fear. She left 
 it with strangely-mingled feelings of perplexity and relief. 
 Her sense of a mysterious change in her aunt had strengthened 
 with every word that Mrs. Gallilee had said to her. She had 
 heard of reformatory institutions, and of discreet persons 
 called matrons who managed them. In her imaginary picture 
 of such places, Mrs. Gallilee's tone and manner realised, in the 
 strangest way, her idea of a matron speaking to a penitent. 
 
 As she crossed the hall, her thoughts took a new direction. 
 Some indefinable distrust of the coming time got possession 
 of her. An ugly model of the Colosseum, in cork, stood on 
 the hall table. She looked at it absently. ' I hope Teresa 
 will come soon,' she thought — and turned away to the stairs. 
 
 She ascended slowly ; her head drooping, her mind still 
 preoccupied. Arrived at the first landing, a sound of footsteps 
 disturbed her. She looked up — and found herself face to face 
 with Mr. Le Frank, leaving the schoolroom after his music 
 lesson. At that sudden discovery, a cry of alarm escaped her 
 — the common little scream of a startled woman. Mr. Le 
 Frank made an elaborately formal bow : he apologised with 
 sternly stupid emphasis. ' I beg your pardon.' 
 
 Moved by a natural impulse, penitently conscious of those 
 few foolish words of hers which he had so unfortunately over- 
 heard, the poor girl made an effort to conciliate him. ' I have 
 very few friends, Mr. Le Frank,' she said timidly. ' May I 
 still consider you as one of them ? Will you forgive and 
 forget ? Will you shake hands ? ' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank made another magnificent bow. He was 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. i8r 
 
 proud of his voice. In his most resonant and mellifluous 
 
 tones, he said, ' You do me honour ' and took the offered 
 
 hand, and lifted it grandly, and touched it with hia lips. 
 
 She held by the baluster with her free hand, and controlled 
 the sickening sensation which that momentary contact with 
 him produced. He might have detected the outward signs of 
 the struggle, but for an interruption which preserved her from 
 discovery. Mrs. Gallilee was standing at the open library 
 door. Mrs. Gallilee said, ' I am waiting for you, Mr. Le 
 Frank.' 
 
 Carmina hurried up the stairs, pursued already by a sense 
 of her own imprudence. In her first confusion and dismay, 
 but one clear idea presented itself. ' Oh ! ' she said, • have I 
 made another mistake ? ' 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Gallilee had received her music-master 
 with the nearest approach to an indulgent welcome, of which 
 a hardened nature is capable. 
 
 ' Take the easy chair, Mr. Le Frank. You are not afraid 
 of the open window ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, dear, no ! I like it.' He rapidly unrolled some leaves 
 of music which he h?,d brought downstairs. ' With regard to 
 the song that I had the honour of mentioning ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee pointed to the table. ' Put the song there 
 for the present. I have a word to say first. How came you 
 to frighten my niece ? I heard something like a scream, and 
 naturally looked out. She was making an apology ; she asked 
 you to forgive and forget. What does all this mean ? ' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank exhausted his ingenuity in efforts of polite 
 evasion — without the slightest success. From first to last (if 
 the expression may be permitted) Mrs. Gallilee had him under 
 her thumb. He was not released, until he had literally re- 
 ported Carmina's opinion of him as a man and musician, and 
 had exactly described the circumstances under which he had 
 heard it. Mrs. Gallilee listened with an interest, which (under 
 less embarrassing circumstances) would have even satisfied 
 Mr. Le Frank's vanity. 
 
 She was not for a moment deceived by the clumsy affecta- 
 tion of good humour with which he told his story. Her pene- 
 tration discovered the vindictive feeling towards Carmina, 
 which offered him, in case of necessity, as an instrument ready 
 made to her hand, By fine degrees, she presented herself in 
 the new character of a sympathising friend. 
 
182 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' I know now, Mr. Le Frank, why yon declined to be my 
 niece's music-master. Allow me to apologise for having igno- 
 rantly placed you in a false position. I appreciate the delicacy 
 of your conduct — I understand, and admire you.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank's florid cheeks turned redder still. His cold 
 blood began to simmer, heated by an all-pervading glow of 
 flattered self-esteem. 
 
 ' My niece's motives for concealment are plain enough,' 
 Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. ' Let me hope that she was ashamed 
 to confess the total want of taste, delicacy, and good manners 
 which has so justly offended you. Miss Minerva, however, 
 has no excuse for keeping me in the dark. Her conduct, in 
 this matter, offers, I regret to say, one more instance of her 
 habitual neglect of the duties which attach to her position in 
 my house. There seems to be some private understanding 
 between my governess and my niece, of which I higbly dis- 
 approve. However, the subject is too distasteful to dwell on. 
 You were speaking of your song — the last effort of your 
 genius, I think ? ' 
 
 His ' genius ' ! The inner glow in Mr. Le Frank grew 
 warmer and warmer. ' I asked for the honour of an inter- 
 view,' he explained, ' to make a request.' He took up his 
 leaves of music. ' This is my last, and, I hope, my best effort 
 at composition. May I dedicate it ? ' 
 
 ' To me ! ' Mi's. Gallilee exclaimed with a burst of enthu- 
 siasm. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank felt the compliment. He bowed gratefully. 
 
 ' Need I say how gladly I accept the honour ? ' With this 
 gracious answer Mrs. Gallilee rose. 
 
 Was the change of position a hint, suggesting that Mr. Le 
 Frank might leave her to her studies, now that his object was 
 gained ? Or was it an act of homage offered by Science to 
 Art ? Mr. Le Frank was incapable of placing an unfavourable 
 interpretation on any position which a woman — and such a 
 woman — could assume in his presence. He felt the compli- 
 ment again. ' The first copy published shall be sent to you,' 
 he said — and snatched up his hat, eager to set the printers at 
 work. 
 
 ' And five-and-twenty copies more, for which I subscribe,' 
 cried his munificent patroness, cordially shaking hands with 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank attempted to express his sense of obligation. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 1S3 
 
 Generous Mrs. Gallilee refused to hear him. He took his 
 leave ; he got as far as the hall ; and then he was called back 
 — softly, confidentially called back to the library. 
 
 'A thought has just struck me,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 'Please 
 shut the door for a moment. About that meeting between 
 yon and my niece ? Perhaps, I am taking a morbid view ? ' 
 
 She paused. Mr. Le Frank waited with breathless in- 
 terest. 
 
 ' Or is there something out of the common way, in that 
 apology of hers ? ' Mrs. Gallilee proceeded. ' Have you any 
 idea what the motive might be ¥ ' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank's ready suspicion was instantly aroused. 
 ' Not the least idea,' he answered. ' Can you tell me ? ' 
 
 'I am as completely puzzled as you are,' Mrs. Gallilee re- 
 joined. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank considered. His suspicions made an imagi- 
 native effort, assisted by his vanity. ' After my refusal to 
 teach her,' he suggested, ' that proposal to shake hands may 
 
 have a meaning .' There, his invention failed him. He 
 
 stopped, and shook his head ominously. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's object being attained, she made no attempt 
 to help him. 'Perhaps, time will show,' she answered dis- 
 creetly. ' Good-bye again — with best wishes for the success 
 of the song.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 The solitude of her own room was no welcome refuge to Car- 
 mina, in her present state of mind. She went on to the 
 schoolroom. 
 
 Miss Minerva was alone. The two girls, in obedience to 
 domestic regulations, were making their midday toilet before 
 dinner. Carmina described her interview with Mrs. Gallilee, 
 and her meeting with Mr. Le Frank. ' Don't scold me,' she 
 said ; ' I make no excuse for my folly.' 
 
 ' If Mr. Le Frank had left the house, after you spoke to 
 him,' Miss Minerva answered, ' I should not have felt the 
 anxiety which troubles me now. I don't like his going to 
 Mrs. Gallilee afterwards — especially when you tell me of that 
 change in her manner towards yon. Yours is a vivid ima<n- 
 
184 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 nation, Carolina. Are you sure that it has not been playing 
 you any tricks ? ' 
 
 ' Perfectly sure.' 
 
 Miss Minerva wa3 not quite satisfied. ' Will you help me 
 to feel as certain about it as you do ? ' she asked. ' Mrs. 
 Gallilee generally looks in for a few minutes, while the child- 
 ren are at dinner. Stay here, and say something to her in 
 my presence. I want to judge for myself.' 
 
 The girls came in. Maria's perfect toilet, reflected Maria's 
 perfect character. Sbe performed the duties of politeness 
 with her usual happy choice of words. ' Dear Carmina, it is 
 indeed a pleasure to see you again in our schoolroom. We 
 are naturally anxious about your health. This lovely weather 
 is no doubt in your favour ; and papa thinks Mr. Null a re- 
 markably clever man.' Zo stood by frowning, while these 
 smooth conventionalities trickled over her sister's lips. Car- 
 mina asked what was the matter. Zo looked gloomily at the 
 dog on the rug. ' I wish I was Tinker,' she said. Maria 
 smiled sweetly. ' Dear Zoe, what a very strange wish ! 
 What would you do, if you were Tinker ? ' The dog, hearing 
 his name, rose and shook himself. Zo pointed to him, with 
 an appearance of the deepest interest. ' He hasn't got to 
 brush his hair, before he goes out for a walk; his nails don't 
 look black when they're dirty. And, I say ! ' (she whispered 
 the next words in Carolina's ear) ' he hasn't got a gover- 
 noss.' 
 
 The dinner made its appearance ; and Mrs. Gallilee fol- 
 lowed the dinner. Maria said grace. Zo, always ravenous 
 at meals, forgot to say Amen. Carmina, standing behind her 
 chair, prompted her. Zo said ' Amen ; oh, bother ! ' the first 
 word at the top of her voice, and the last two in a whisper. 
 Mrs. Gallilee looked at Carmina as she might have looked at 
 an obtrusive person who had stepped in from the street. ' You 
 had better dress before luncheon,' she suggested, 'or you will 
 keep the carriage waiting.' Hearing this, Zo laid down her 
 knife and fork, and looked over her shoulder. ' Ask if I may 
 go with you,' she said. Carmina made the request. 'No,' 
 Mrs. Gallilee answered, ' the children must walk. My maid 
 will accompany you.' Carmina glanced at Miss Minerva on 
 leaving the room. The governess replied by a look. She too 
 had seen the change in Mrs. Gallilee's manner, and was at a 
 loss to understand it. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 185 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's maid Marceline belonged to a quick-tem- 
 pered race : she was a Jersey woman. It is not easy to say 
 which of the two felt most oppressed by their enforced com- 
 panionship in the carriage. 
 
 The maid was perhaps the most to be pitied. Secretly 
 drawn towards Carmina like the other servants in the house, 
 she was forced, by her mistress's private instructions, to play 
 the part of a spy. ' If the young lady changes the route which 
 the coachman has my orders to take, or if she communicates 
 with any person while you are out, you are to report it to me.' 
 Mrs. Gallilee had not forgotten the discovery of the travelling 
 bag ; and Mr. Mool's exposition of the law had informed her, 
 that the superintendence of Carmina was as much a matter of 
 serious pecuniary interest as ever. 
 
 But recent events had, in one respect at least, improved 
 the prospect. 
 
 If Ovid (as his mother actually ventured to hope !) broke 
 off his engagement, when he heard the scandalous story of 
 Carmina's birth, there was surely a chance that she, like other 
 girls of her sensitive temperament, might feel the calamity 
 that had fallen on her so acutely as to condemn herself to a 
 single life. Misled, partly by the hope of relief from her own 
 vile anxieties ; partly by the heartless incapability of appi'eci- 
 ating generous feeling in others, developed by the pursuits of 
 her later life, Mrs. Gallilee seriously contemplated her son's 
 future decision as a matter of reasonable doubt. 
 
 In the meanwhile, this detestable child of adultery — this 
 living obstacle in the way of the magnificent prospects which 
 otherwise awaited Maria and Zoe, to say nothing of their 
 mother — must remain in the house, submitted to her guar- 
 dian's authority, watched by her guardian's vigilance. The 
 hateful creature was still entitled to medical attendance when 
 she was ill, and must still be supplied with every remedy that 
 the doctor's ingenuity could suggest. A liberal allowance was 
 paid for the care of her; and the trustees were bound to in- 
 terfere if it was not fairly earned. 
 
 Looking after the carriage as it drove away — Marceline on 
 the front seat presenting the picture of discomfort ; and Car- 
 mina opposite to her, unendurably pretty and interesting, with 
 the last new poem on her lap — Mrs. Gallilee's reflections took 
 their own bitter course. ' Accidents happen to other car- 
 riages, with other girls in them. Not to my carriage, with 
 
186 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 that girl in it ! Nothing will frighten my horses to-day ; and, 
 fat as he is, my coachman will not have a fit on the box ! ' 
 
 It was only too true. At the appointed hour the carriage 
 appeared again — and (to complete the disappointment) Mar- 
 celine had no report to make. 
 
 Miss Minerva had not forgotten her promise. When she 
 returned from her walk with the children, the rooms had been 
 taken. Teresa's London lodging was within five minutes' 
 walk of the house. 
 
 That evening, Carmiua sent a telegram to Rome, on the 
 chance that the nurse might not yet have begun her journey. 
 The message (deferring other explanations until they met) 
 merely informed her that her rooms were ready, adding the 
 address and the landlady's name. Gnessing in the dark, Car- 
 mina and the governess had ignorantly attributed the sinister 
 alteration in Mrs. Gallilee's manner to the prospect of Teresa's 
 unwelcome return. ' While you have the means in your 
 power,' Miss Minerva advised, ' it may be as well to let your 
 old friend know that there is a home for her when she reaches 
 London.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 The weather, to Carmina's infinite relief, changed for the 
 worse on the next day. Incessant rain made it impossible to 
 send her out in the carriage again. 
 
 But it was an eventful day, nevertheless. On that rainy 
 afternoon, Mr. Gallilee asserted himself as a free agent, in the 
 terrible presence of his wife ! 
 
 ' It's an uncommonly dull day, my dear,' he began. This 
 passed without notice, which was a great encouragement to go 
 on. ' If you will allow me to say so, Carmina wants a little 
 amusement.' Mrs. Gallilee looked up from her book. Fearing 
 that he might stop altogether if he took his time as usual, Mr. 
 Gallilee proceeded in a hurry. ' There's an afternoon per- 
 formance of conjuring tricks ; and, do you know, I really think 
 I might take Carmina to see it. We shall be delighted if you 
 will accompany us, my dear ; and they do say — perhaps you 
 have heard of it yourself P— that there's a good deal of science 
 in this exhibition.' His eyes rolled in uneasy expectation, as 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 187 
 
 he waited to hear what his wife might decide. She waved 
 her hand contemptuously in the direction of the door. Mr. 
 Gallilee retired with the alacrity of a young man. ' Now we> 
 shall enjoy ourselves ! ' he thought as he went up to Carmina's 
 room. 
 
 They were just leaving the house, when the music-master 
 arrived at the door to give his lesson. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee immediately put his head out of the cab 
 window. ' We are going to see the conjuring ! ' he shouted 
 cheerfully. ' Carmina ! don't you see Mr. Le Frank ? He is 
 bowing to you. Do you like conjuring, Mr. Le Frank ? Don't 
 tell the children where we are going ! They would be dis- 
 appointed, poor things — but they must have their lessons, 
 mustn't they ? Good-bye ! I say ! stop a minute. If you 
 ever want your umbrella mended, I know a man who will do 
 it cheap and well. Nasty day, isn't it ? Go on ! go on ! ' 
 
 The general opinion which ranks vanity among the lighter 
 failings of humanity, commits a serious mistake. Vanity 
 wants nothing but the motive power to develop into absolute 
 wickedness. Vanity can be savagely suspicious and diaboli- 
 cally cruel. What are the two typical names which stand 
 revealed in history as the names of the two vainest men that 
 ever lived ? Nero and Robespierre. 
 
 In his obscure sphere, and within his restricted means, the 
 vanity of Mrs. Gallilee's music-master had developed its in- 
 herent qualities, under her cunning and guarded instigation. 
 Once set in action, his suspicion of Carmina passed beyond all 
 limits. There could be no reason but a bad reason for that 
 barefaced attempt to entrap him into a reconciliation. Every 
 evil motive which it was possible to attribute to a girl of her 
 age, no matter how monstrously improbable it might be, oc- 
 curred to him when he recalled her words, her look, and her 
 manner at their meeting on the stairs. His paltry little mind, 
 at other times preoccupied in contemplating himself and his 
 abilities, was now so completely absorbed in imagining every 
 variety of conspiracy against his social and professional posi- 
 tion, that he was not even capable of giving his customary 
 lesson to two children. Before the appointed hour had ex- 
 pired, Miss Minerva remarked that his mind did not appear to 
 be at ease, and suggested that he had better renew the lesson 
 on the next day. After a futile attempt to assume an appear- 
 ance of tranquillity — he thanked her and took his leave. 
 
iS8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 On hi3 -way downstairs, he found the door of Carmina's 
 room left half open. 
 
 She was absent with Mr. Gallilee. Miss Minerva remained 
 upstairs with the children. Mrs. Gallilee was engaged in 
 scientiBc research. At that hour of the afternoon, there were 
 no duties which called the servants to the upper part of the 
 house. He listened — he hesitated — he went into the room. 
 
 It was possible that she might keep a journal : it was 
 certain that she wrote and received letters. If he could only 
 find her desk unlocked and her drawers open, the inmost 
 secrets of her life would be at his mercy. 
 
 He tried her desk ; he tried the cupboard under the book- 
 case. They were both locked. The cabinet between the 
 windows and the drawer of the table were left unguarded. 
 No discovery rewarded the careful search that he pursued in 
 these two repositories. He opened the books that she had left 
 on the table, and shook them. No forgotten letter, no private 
 memorandum (used as marks) dropped out. He looked all 
 round him ; he peeped into the bedroom ; he listened, to make 
 sure that nobody was outside ; he entered the bedroom, and 
 examined the toilet-table, and opened the doors of the ward- 
 robe — and still the search was fruitless, persevere as he might. 
 
 Returning to the sitting-room, he shook his fist at the 
 writing-desk. ' You wouldn't be locked,' he thought, ' unless 
 you had some shameful secrets to keep ! I shall have other 
 opportunities ; and she may not always remember to turn the 
 key.' He stole quietly down the stairs, and met no one on his 
 way out. 
 
 The bad weather continued on the next day. The object 
 of Mr. Le Frank's suspicion remained in the house — and the 
 second opportunity failed to offer itself as yet. 
 
 The visit to the exhibition of conjuring had done Carmina 
 harm instead of good. Her head ached, in the close atmo- 
 sphere — she was too fatigued to be able to stay in the room 
 until the performance came to an end. Poor Mr. Gallilee 
 retired in disgrace to the shelter of his club. At dinner, even 
 his perfect temper failed him for the moment. He found fault 
 with the champagne — and then apologised to the waiter. 
 ' I'm sorry I was a little hard on you just now. The fact is, 
 I'm out of sorts — you have felt in that way yourself, haven't 
 you ? The wine's first-rate ; and, really the weather is so, 
 discouraging, I think I'll try another pint,' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 189 
 
 But Carmina's buoyant heart defied the languor of illness 
 and the gloomy day. The post had brought he.- a letter from 
 Ovid — enclosing a photograph, taken at Montreal, which pre- 
 sented him in his travelling costume. 
 
 He wrote in a tone of cheerfulness, which revived Car- 
 mina's sinking courage, and renewed for a time at least the 
 happiness of other days. The air of the plains of Canada he 
 declared to be literally intoxicating. Every hour seemed to 
 be giving him back the vital energy that he had lost in his 
 London life. He slept on the ground, in the open air, more 
 soundly than he had ever slept in a bed. But one anxiety 
 troubled his mind. In the roving life which he now enjoyed, 
 it was impossible that his letters could follow him — and yet, 
 every day that passed made him more unreasonably eager to 
 hear that Carmina was not weary of waiting for him, and that 
 all was well at home. 
 
 ' And how have these vain aspirations of mine ended ? ' — 
 the letter went on. ' They have ended, my darling, in a 
 journey for one of my guides — an Indian, whose fidelity I 
 have put to the proof, and whose zeal I have stimulated by a 
 promise of reward. 
 
 ' The Indian takes these lines to be posted at Quebec. He 
 is also provided with an order, authorising my bankers to 
 trust him with the letters that are waiting for me. I begin a 
 canoe voyage to-morrow ; and, after due consultation with the 
 crew, we have arranged a date and a place at which my mes- 
 senger will find me on his return. Shall I confess my own 
 amiable weakness ? or do you know me well enough already to 
 suspect the truth ? My love, I am sorely tempted to be false 
 to my plans and arrangements — to go back with the Indian to 
 Quebec — and to take a berth in the first steamer that returns 
 to England. 
 
 ' Don't suppose that I am troubled by any misgivings 
 about what is going on in my absence ! It is one of the good 
 signs of my returning health that I take the brightest view of 
 our present lives, and of our lives to come. I feel tempted to 
 go back, for the same reason that makes me anxious for letters. 
 I want to hear from you, because I love you— I want to return 
 at once, because I love you. There is longing, unutterable 
 longing, in my heart. No doubts, my sweet one, and no fears. 
 
 ' But I was a doctor, before I became a lover. My medical 
 knowledge tells me that this is an opportunity of thoroughly 
 
•90 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 fortifying my constitution, and (with God's blessing) of 
 securing to myself reserves of health and strength which will 
 take us together happily on the way to old age. Dear love, 
 you must be my wife — not my nurse ! There is the thought 
 that gives me self-denial enough to let the Indian go away by 
 himself.' 
 
 Carmina answered this letter as soon as she had read it. 
 
 Before the mail could carry her reply to its destination, 
 she well knew that the Indian messenger would be on the way 
 back to his master. But Ovid had made her so happy that 
 she felt the impulse to write to him at once, as she might 
 have felt the impulse to answer him at once if he had been 
 present and speaking to her. When the pages were filled, 
 and the letter had been closed and addressed, the effort pro- 
 duced its depressing effect on her spirits. 
 
 There now appeared to her a certain wisdom in the loving 
 rapidity of her reply. 
 
 Even in the fulness of her joy, she was conscious of an 
 underlying distrust of herself. Although he refused to admit 
 it, Mr. Null had betrayed a want of faith in the remedy from 
 which he had anticipated such speedy results, by writing 
 another prescription. He had also added a glass to the daily 
 allowance of wine, which he had thought sufficient thus far. 
 Without despairing of herself, Carmina felt that she had done 
 wisely in writing her answer, while she was still well enough 
 to rival the cheerful tone of Ovid's letter. 
 
 She laid down to rest on the sofa, with the photograph in 
 her hand. No sense of loneliness oppressed her now ; the 
 portrait was the best of all companions. Outside, the heavy 
 rain pattered; in the room, the busy clock ticked. She listened 
 lazily, and looked at her lover, and kissed the faithful image 
 of him — peacefully happy. 
 
 The opening of the door wa3 the first little event that 
 disturbed her. Zo peeped in. Her face was red, her hair was 
 tousled, her fingers presented inky signs of a recent writing 
 lesson. 
 
 ' I'm in a rage,' she announced ; ' and so is the Other One.' 
 
 Carmina called her to the sofa, and tried to find out who 
 this second angry person might be. ' Oh, you know ! ' Zo 
 answered doggedly. ' She rapped my knuckles. I call her a 
 Beast.' 
 
 'Hush ! you mustn't talk in that way.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 191 
 
 'She'll be here directly,' Zo proceeded. 'You look out! 
 She'd rap your knuckles — only you're too big. If it wasn't; 
 raining, I'd run away.' Carmina assumed an air of severity, 
 and entered a serious protest adapted to her young friend's 
 intelligence. She might as well have spoken in a foreign 
 language. Zo had another reason to give, besides the rap on 
 the knuckles, for running away. 
 
 ' I say ! ' she resumed — ' you know the boy ? ' 
 
 ' What boy, dear ? ' 
 
 1 He comes round sometimes. He's got a hurdy-gurdy. He's 
 got a monkey. He grins. He says, Alia- gimmee-hay penny. I 
 mean to go to that boy ! ' 
 
 As a confession of Zo's first love, this was irresistible. 
 Carmina burst out laughing. Zo indignantly claimed a hear- 
 ing. ' I haven't done yet ! ' she burst out. ' The boy dances. 
 Like this.' She cocked her head, and slapped her thigh, and 
 imitated the boy. ' And sometimes he sings ! ' she cried with 
 another outburst of admiration. ' Yali-yali-yah-bellah-vitali- 
 yah ! That's Italian, Carmina.' The door opened again 
 while the performer was in full vigour — and Miss Minerva 
 appeared. 
 
 When she entered the room, Carmina at once saw that Zo 
 had correctly observed her governess. Miss Minerva's heavy- 
 eyebrows lowered ; her lips were pale ; her head was held 
 angrily erect. ' Carmina ! ' she said sharply, 'you shouldn't 
 encourage that child.' She turned round, in search of the 
 truant pupil. Incurably stupid at her lessons, Zo's mind 
 had its gleams of intelligence, in a state of liberty. One of 
 those gleams had shone propitiously, and had lighted her out 
 of the room. 
 
 Miss Minerva took a chair : she dropped into it like a 
 person worn out with fatigue. Carmina spoke to her gently. 
 Words of sympathy were thrown away on that self-tormentinf 
 nature. 
 
 'No; I'm not ill,' she said. 'A night without sleep; a 
 perverse child to teach in the morning ; and a detestable 
 temper at all times — that's what is the matter with me.' She 
 looked at Carmina. 'You seem to be wonderfully better to- 
 day. Has stupid Mr. Null really done you some good at last ? ' 
 She noticed the open writing-desk and discovered the letter. 
 ' Or is it good news ? ' 
 
 ' I have heard from Ovid,' Carmina answered. The photo- 
 
192 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 graph was still in her hand ; but her inbred delicacy of feeling 
 kept the portrait hidden. 
 
 The governess's sallow complexion turned little by little 
 to a dull grayish white. Her hands, loosely clasped in her 
 lap, tightened when she heard Ovid's name. That slight 
 movement over, she stirred no more. After waiting a little, 
 Carmina ventured to speak. 'Frances,' she said, 'you have 
 not shaken hands with me yet.' Miss Minerva slowly looked 
 np, keeping her hands still clasped on her lap. 
 
 ' When is he coming back ? ' she asked. It was said quietly. 
 
 Carmina quietly replied, ' Not yet — I am sorry to say.' 
 
 ' I am sorry too.' 
 
 ' It's good of you, Frances, to say that.' 
 
 'No: it's not good of me. I'm thinking of myself — not 
 of you.' She suddenly lowered her tone. ' I wish you were 
 married to him,' she said. 
 
 There was a pause. Miss Minerva was the first to speak 
 again. 
 
 ' Do you understand me ? ' she asked. 
 
 'Perhaps you will help me to understand,' Carmina 
 answered. 
 
 ' If you were married to him, even my restless spirit might 
 be at peace. The struggle would be over.' 
 
 She left her chair, and walked restlessly up and down the 
 room. The passionate emotion which she had resolutely 
 suppressed began to get beyond her control. 
 
 'I was thinking about you last night,' she abruptly re- 
 sumed. ' You are a gentle little creature — but I have seen 
 you show some spirit, when your aunt's cold-blooded insolence 
 roused you. Do you know what I would do, if I were in 
 your place ? I wouldn't wait tamely till he came back to mo 
 — I would go to him. Carmina ! Cai'mina ! leave this horrible 
 house!' She stopped, close by the sofa. 'Let me look at 
 yon. Ha ! I believe you have thought of it yourself ? ' 
 
 ' I have thought of it.' 
 
 'What did I say? You poor little prisoner, yon have t!:e 
 right spirit in you ! I wish I could give you some of my 
 strength.' The half-mocking tone in which she spoke, suddenly 
 failed her. Her piercing eyes grew dim ; the hard lines in her 
 face softened. She dropped on her knees, and wound her 
 lithe arms round Carmina, and kissed her. ' You sweet 
 child ! ' she said — and burst passionately into tears. 
 
HEAR7" AND SCIENCE. 193 
 
 Even then, the woman's fiercely self-dependent nature 
 asserted itself. She pushed Carmina back on the sofa. 
 ' Don't look at me ! don't speak to me ! ' she gasped. ' Leave 
 me to get over it.' 
 
 She stifled the sobs that broke from her. Still on her 
 knees, she looked up, shuddering. A ghastly smile distorted 
 her lips. ' Ah, what fools we are ! ' she said. ' Where is that 
 lavender water, my dear — your favourite remedy for a burning 
 head ? ' She found the bottle before Carmina could help her, 
 and soaked her handkerchief in the lavender water, and tied 
 it round her head. 'Yes,' she went on, as if they had been 
 gossiping on the most commonplace subjects, 'I think you're 
 right : this is the best of all perfumes.' She looked at the 
 clock. ' The children's dinner will be ready in ten minutes. 
 I must, and will, say what I have to say to you. It may be 
 the last poor return I can make, Carmina, for all your 
 kindness.' 
 
 She returned to her chair. 
 
 ' I can't help it if I frighten you,' she resumed ; ' I must 
 tell you plainly that I don't like the prospect. In the first 
 place, the sooner we two are parted — oh, only for a while ! — 
 the better for you. After what I went through last night — ■ 
 no, I am not going to enter into any particulars ; I am only 
 going to repeat, what I have said already — don't trust me. I 
 mean it, Carmina ! Your generous nature shall not mislead 
 you, if I can help it. When you are a happy married woman 
 — when lie is farther removed from me than he is even now — 
 remember your ugly, ill-tempered friend, and let me come to 
 you. Enough of this ! I have other misgivings that are 
 waiting to be confessed. You know that old nurse of yours 
 intimately — while I only speak from a day or two's experi- 
 ence of her. To my judgment, she is a woman whose fond- 
 ness for you might be turned into a tigerish fondness, on 
 very small provocation. You write to her constantly. Does 
 she know what you have suffered ? Have you told her the 
 truth ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Without reserve ? ' 
 
 ' Entirely without reserve.' 
 
 ' When that old woman comes to London, Carmina — and 
 sees you, and sees Mrs. Gallilee — don't you think the conse- 
 quences may be serious ? and your position between thern 
 
 
 
194 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 something (if you were ten times stronger than you are) that 
 no fortitude can endure ? ' 
 
 Carmina started up on the sofa. She was not ahle to 
 speak. Miss Minerva gave her time to recover herself — after 
 another look at the clock. 
 
 ' I am not alarming you for nothing,' she proceeded ; ' I 
 have something hopeful to propose. Your friend Teresa has 
 energies — wild energies. Make a good use of them. She 
 will do anything you ask of her. Take her with you to 
 Canada! ' 
 
 ' Oh, Frances ! ' 
 
 Miss Minerva pointed to the letter on the desk. ' Does 
 he tell you when he will be back ? ' 
 
 'No. He feels the importance of completely restoring 
 his health — he is going farther and farther away — he has 
 sent to Quebec for his letters.' 
 
 ' Then there is no fear of your crossing each other on the 
 voyage. Go to Quebec, and wait for him there.' 
 
 ' I should frighten him.' 
 
 ' Not you ! ' 
 
 ' What can I say to him ? ' 
 
 ' What you must say, if you are weak enough to wait for 
 him here. Do you think his mother will consider his feelings, 
 when he comes back to marry you ? I tell you again I am 
 not talking at random. I have thought it all out ; I know 
 how you can make your escape, and defy pursuit. You have 
 plenty of money ; you have Teresa to take care of you. Go ! 
 For your own sake, for his sake, go ! ' 
 
 The clock struck the hour. She rose and removed the 
 handkerchief from her head. ' Hush ! ' she said. ' Do I hear 
 the rustling of a dress on the landing below ? ' She snatched 
 up a bottle of Mr. Null's medicine — as a reason for being in 
 the room. The sound of the rustling dress came nearer and 
 nearer. Mrs. Gallilee (on her way to the schoolroom dinner) 
 opened the door. She instantly understood the purpose which 
 the bottle was intended to answer. 
 
 ' It is my business to give Carmina her medicine,' she said. 
 ' Your business is at the schoolroom table.' 
 
 She took possession of the bottle, and advanced to Car- 
 mina. There were two looking-glasses in the room. One, in 
 the usual position, over the fireplace ; the other opposite, on 
 the wall behind the sofa. Turning back, before she left the 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 195 
 
 room, Miss Minerva saw Mrs. Gallilee's face, when she and 
 Carmina looked at each other, reflected in tbe glass. 
 
 The girls were waiting for their dinner. Maria received 
 the unpunctual governess with her ready smile, and her ap- 
 propriate speech. ' Dear Miss Minerva, we were really almost 
 getting alarmed about yon. Pardon me for noticing it, you 
 
 look ' She caught the eye of the govercess, and stopped 
 
 confusedly. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Miss Minerva. ' How do I look ? ' 
 Maria still hesitated. Zo spoke out as usual. ' You look 
 as if somebody had frightened you.' 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 After two days of rain, the weather cleared again. 
 
 It was a calm, sunshiny Sunday morning. The flat country 
 round Benjulia's house wore its brightest aspect on that clear 
 autumn clay. Even the doctor's gloomy domestic establish- 
 ment reflected in some degree the change for the better. 
 When he rose that morning, Benjulia presented himself to 
 his household in a character which they were little accustomed 
 to see — the character of a good-humoured master. He as- 
 tonished his silent servant by attempting to whistle a tune. 
 ' If you ever looked cheerful in your life,' he said to the man, 
 ' look cheerful now. I'm going to take a holiday ! ' 
 
 After working incessantly — never leaving his laboratory ; 
 eating at his dreadful table ; snatching an hour's rest occa- 
 sionally on the floor — he had completed a series of experiments, 
 with results on which he could absolutely rely. He had 
 advanced by one step nearer towards solving that occult pro- 
 blem in brain disease, which had thus far baffled the investi- 
 gations of medical men throughout the civilized world. If 
 his present rate of progress continued, the lapse of another 
 month might add his name to the names that remain im- 
 mortal among physicians, in the Annals of Discovery. 
 
 So completely had his labours absorbed his mind that he 
 only remembered the letters which Mrs. Gallilee had left with 
 him, when he finished his breakfast on Sunday morning. 
 Upon examination, there appeared no allusion in Ovid's cor- 
 respondence to the mystei'ious case of illness which he had 
 
 o2 
 
196 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 attended at Montreal. The one method now left, by which 
 Benjnlia could relieve the doubt that still troubled him, was 
 to communicate directly with his friend in Canada, He de- 
 cided to celebrate his holiday by taking a walk ; his destination 
 being 1 the central telegraph office in London. 
 
 But, before he left the house, his domestic duties claimed 
 attention. He issued his orders to the cook. 
 
 At three o'clock he would return to dinner. That day 
 was to witness the celebration of his first regular meal for 
 forty-eight hours past ; and he expected the strictest punc- 
 tuality. The cook — lately engaged — was a -vigorous little 
 woman, with fiery hair and a high colour. She, like the 
 man-servant, felt the genial influence of her master's amia- 
 bility. He looked at her, for the first time since she had 
 entered the house. A twinkling light showed itself furtively 
 in his dreary gray eyes : he took a dusty old hand-screen 
 from the sideboard, and made her a present of it ! ' There,' 
 he said with his dry humour, ' don't spoil your complexion 
 before the kitchen fire.' The cook possessed a sanguine tem- 
 perament, and a taste to be honoured and encouraged — the 
 taste for reading novels. She put her own romantic construc- 
 tion on the extraordinary compliment which the doctor's 
 jesting humour had paid to her. As he walked out, grimly 
 smiling and thumping his big stick on the floor, a new idea 
 illuminated her mind. Her master admired her; her master 
 was no ordinary man — it might end in his marrying her. 
 
 On his way to the telegraph office, Benjulia left Ovid's 
 letters at Mrs. Gallilee's house. 
 
 If he had personally returned them, he would have found 
 the learned lady in no very gracious humour. On the previous 
 day she had discovered Carmina and Miss Minerva engaged 
 in a private conference — without having been able even to 
 guess what the subject under discussion between them might 
 be. They were again together that morning. Maria and Zo 
 had gone to church with their father; Miss Minerva was kept 
 at home by a headache. At that hour, and under those cir- 
 cumstances, there was no plausible pretence which would 
 justify Mrs. Gallilee's interference. She seriously contem- 
 plated the sacrifice of a month's salary, and the dismissal of 
 her governess without notice. 
 
 When the footman opened the door, Benjulia handed in 
 the packet of letters. After his latest experience of Mrs. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 197 
 
 Gallilee, lie had no intention of returning her visit. He walked 
 away without uttering a word. 
 
 The cahle took his message to Mr. Morphew, in these 
 terms : — ' Ovid's patient at Montreal. Was the complaint 
 brain disease ? Yes or no.' Having made arrangements for 
 the forwarding of the reply from his club, he set forth on the 
 walk back to his house. 
 
 At five minutes to three, he was at home again. As the 
 clock struck the hour, he rang the bell. The man-servant 
 appeared, without the dinner. Benjulia's astonishing amia- 
 bility — on his holiday — was even equal to this demand on 
 its resources. 
 
 ' I ordered roast mutton at three,' he said with terrifying 
 tranquillity. ' Where is it ? ' 
 
 ' The dinner will be ready in ten minutes, sir.' 
 
 ' Why is it not ready now ? ' 
 
 ' The cook hopes you will excuse her, sir. She is a little 
 behindhand to-day.' 
 
 ' What has hindered her, if you please ? ' 
 
 The silent servant — on all other occasions the most im- 
 penetrable of human beings — began to tremble. The doctor 
 had, literally, kicked a man out of the house who had tried to 
 look through the laboi'atory skylight. He had turned away a 
 female-servant at half an hour's notice, for forgetting to shut 
 the door, a second time in one day. But what were these 
 high-handed proceedings, compared with the awful composure 
 which, being kept waiting for dinner, only asked what had 
 hindered the cook, and put the question politely, by saying, 
 ' if you please ' ? 
 
 ' Perhaps you were making love to her ? ' the doctor sug- 
 gested, as gently as ever. 
 
 This outrageous insinuation stung the silent servant into 
 speech. ' I'm incapable of the action, sir ! ' he answered 
 indignantly ; ' the woman was reading a story.' 
 
 Benjulia bent his head, as if in acknowledgment of a highly 
 satisfactory explanation. ' Oh ? reading a story ? People 
 who read stories are said to have excitable braius. Should 
 you call the cook excitable ? ' 
 
 ' I should, sir ! Most cooks are excitable. They say it's 
 the kitchen fire.' 
 
 ' Do they ? You can go now. Don't hurry the cook — ■ 
 I'll wait,' 
 
198 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 He waited, apparently following some new train of thought 
 which highly diverted him. Ten minutes passed — then a 
 quarter of an hoar — then another five minutes. "When the 
 servant returned with the dinner, the master's private reflec- 
 tions continued to amuse him : his thin lips were still widen- 
 ing grimly, distended by his formidable smile. 
 
 On being carved, the mutton proved to be underdone. 
 At other times, this was an unpardonable crime in Benjulia's 
 domestic code of laws. All he said now was, ' Take it away.' 
 He dined on potatoes, and bread and cheese. When he had 
 done, he was rather more amiable than ever. He said, ' Ask 
 the cook to come and see me ! ' 
 
 The cook presented herself, with one hand on her palpitat- 
 ing heart, and the other holding her handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 ' What are you crying about ? ' Benjulia inquired ; ' I 
 haven't scolded yon, have I ? ' The cook began an apology ; 
 the doctor pointed to a chair. ' Sit down, and recover your- 
 self.' The cook sat down, faintly smiling through her tears. 
 This otherwise incomprehensible reception of a person who 
 had kept the dinner waiting twenty minutes, and who had not 
 done the mutton properly even then (taken in connection 
 with the master's complimentary inquiries, reported down- 
 stairs by the footman), could bear but one interpretation. It 
 wasn't every woman who had her beautiful hair, and her rosy 
 complexion. Why had she not thought of going upstairs 
 first, just to see whether she looked her best in the glass ? 
 Would he begin by making a confession ? or would he begin 
 by kissing her ? 
 
 He began by lighting his pipe. For a while he smoked 
 placidly with, his eye on the cook. ' I hear you have been 
 reading a story,' he resumed. 'What is the name of it ? ' 
 
 '" Pamela; or Virtue Rewarded," sir.' 
 
 Benjulia went- on with his smoking. The cook, thus far 
 demure and downcast, lifted her eyes experimentally. He was 
 still looking at her. Did he want encouragement ? The cook 
 cautiously offered a little literary information. 
 
 ' The author's name is on the book, sir. Name of Richard- 
 son.' 
 
 The information was graciously received. ' Yes ; I've 
 heard of the name, and heard of the book. Is it interesting ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, sir, it's a beautiful story ! My only excuse for being 
 late with the dinner ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 199 
 
 < Who's Pamela ? ' 
 
 ' A young person in service, sir. I'm sure I wish I was 
 mora like her ! I felt quite broken-hearted when you sent the 
 mutton down again ; and you so kind as to overlook an error 
 in *Jie roasting ' 
 
 Benjulia stopped the apology once more. He pursued his 
 own ends with a penitent cook, just as he pursued his own 
 ends with a vivisected animal. Nothing moved him out of 
 his appointed course, in the one case or in the other. He 
 returned to Pamela. 
 
 ' And what becomes of her at the end of the story ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 The cook simpered. ' It's Pamela who is the virtuous 
 young person, sir. And so the story comes true — Pamela, or 
 Virtue Rewarded.' 
 
 ' Who rewards her ? ' 
 
 Was there ever anything so lucky as this ? Pamela's 
 situation was fast becoming the cook's situation. The bosom 
 of the vigorous little woman began to show signs of tender 
 agitation — distributed over a large surface. She rolled her 
 eyes amorously. Benjulia puffed out another mouthful of 
 smoke. ' Well,' he repeated, ' who rewards Pamela ? ' 
 
 ' Her master, sir.' 
 
 ' What does he do ? ' 
 
 The cook's eyes sank modestly to her lap. The cook's 
 complexion became brighter than ever. 
 
 ' Her master marries her, sir.' 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 That was all he said. He was not astonished, or confused, 
 or encouraged — he simply intimated that he now knew how 
 Pamela's master had rewarded Pamela. And, more dispirit- 
 ing still, he took the opportunity of knocking the ashes out of 
 his pipe, and filled it, and lit it again. If the cook had been 
 one of the few miserable wretches who never read novels, she 
 might have felt her fondly founded hojDes already sinking from 
 under her. As it was, Richardson sustained her faith in 
 herself; Richardson reminded her that Pamela's master had 
 hesitated, and that Pamela's Virtue had not earned its reward 
 on easy terms. She stole another look at the doctor. The 
 eloquence of women's eyes, so widely and justly celebrated in 
 poetry and prose, now spoke in the cook's eyes. They said, 
 ' Marry me, dear sir, and you shall never have underdone 
 
2co HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 mutton again.' The hearts of other savages have been known 
 to soften under sufficient influences — why should the scientific 
 savage, under similar pressure, not melt a little too ? The 
 doctor took up the talk again : he made a kind allusion to the 
 cook's family circumstances. 
 
 1 When you first came here, I think you told me you had 
 no relations ? ' 
 
 ' I am an orphan, sir.' 
 
 ' And you had been some time out of a situation, when I 
 engaged you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; my poor little savings were nearly at an end ! 
 Could he resist that pathetic picture of the orphan's little 
 savings — framed, as it were, in a delicately-designed reference 
 to her fellow-servant in the story ? ' I was as poor as Pamela,' 
 she suggested softly. 
 
 ' And as virtuous,' Benjulia added. 
 
 The cook's eloquent eyes said, ' Thank you, sir.' 
 
 He laid down his pipe. That was a good sign, surely ? 
 He drew his chair nearer to her. Better and better ! His 
 arm was long enough, in the new position, to reach her waist. 
 Her waist was ready for him. 
 
 ' Tou have nothing particular to do, this afternoon ; and 
 I have nothing particular to do.' He delivered himself of this 
 assertion rather abruptly. At the same time, it was one of 
 those promising statements which pave the way for anything. 
 He might say, ' Having nothing particular to do to-day — why 
 shouldn't we make love ? ' Or he might say, ' Having nothing 
 particular to do to-morrow — why shouldn't we get the mar- 
 riage license ? ' Would he put it in that way ? No : he made 
 a proposal of quite another kind. He said, ' Tou seem to be 
 fond of stories. Suppose I tell you a story ? ' 
 
 Perhaps, there was some hidden meaning in this. There 
 was unquestionably a sudden alteration in his look and man- 
 ner ; the cook asked herself what it meant. 
 
 If she had seen the doctor at his secret work in the labo- 
 ratory, the change in him might have put her on her guard. 
 He was now looking (experimentally) at the inferior creature 
 seated before him in the chair, as he looked (experimentally) 
 at the other inferior creatures stretched under him on the 
 table. 
 
 His story began in the innocent, old-fashioned way. 
 
 ' Once upon a time, there was a, master and there was a 
 
HEAR! AND SCIENCE. 201 
 
 maid. We "will call the master by the first letter of the alpha- 
 bet — Mr. A. And we will call the maid by the second letter 
 —Miss B.' 
 
 The cook drew a long breath of relief. There ivas a hidden 
 meaning in the doctor's story. The unfortunate woman thought 
 to herself, ' I have not only got fine hair and a beautiful com- 
 plexion : I am clever as well ! ' On her rare evenings of 
 liberty, she sometimes gratified another highly creditable taste, 
 besides the taste for reading novels. She was an eager play- 
 goer. That notable figure in the drama — the man who tells 
 his own story, under pretence of telling the story of another 
 person — was no unfamiliar figure in her stage experience. 
 Her encouraging smile made its modest appearance once 
 more. In the very beginning of her master's story, she saw 
 already the happy end. 
 
 'We all of us have our troubles in life,' Benjulia went on ; 
 ' and Miss B. had her troubles. For a long time, she was out 
 of a situation ; and she had no kind parents to help her. Miss 
 B. was an orphan. Her little savings were almost gone.' 
 
 It was too distressing. The cook took out her handker- 
 chief, and pitied Miss B. with all her heart. 
 
 The doctor proceeded. 
 
 ' But virtue, as w T e know when we read " Pamela," is sure 
 of its reward. Circumstances occurred in the household of 
 Mr. A. which made it necessary for him to engage a cook. He 
 discovered an advertisement in a newspaper, which informed 
 him that Miss B. was in search of a situation. Mr. A. found 
 her to be a young and charming woman. Mr. A. engaged 
 her.' At that critical part of the story, Benjulia paused. 
 'And what did Mr. A. do next ? ' he asked. 
 
 The cook could restrain herself no longer. She jumped 
 out of her chair, and threw her arms round the doctor's neck. 
 
 Benjulia went on with his story as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. 
 
 ' And what did Mr. A. do next ? ' he repeated. ' He put 
 his hand in his pocket — he gave Miss B. a month's wages — 
 and he turned her out of the house. You impudent hussy, 
 you have delayed my dinner, spoilt my mutton, aud hugged 
 me round the neck ! There is your money. Go.' 
 
 With glaring eyes and gaping mouth, the cook stood look- 
 ing at him, like a woman struck to stone. In a moment more, 
 the rage burst out of her in a furious scream. She turned to 
 
202 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 the table, and snatched up a knife. Benjulia wrenched it out 
 of her hand, and dropped back into bis chair completely over- 
 powered by the success of his little joke. He did what he 
 bad never done within the memory of his oldest friend — be 
 burst out laughing. ' This has been a holiday ! ' he said. 
 ' Why baven't I got somebody with me to enjoy it ? ' 
 
 At that laugh, at those words, the cook's fury in its fiercest 
 heat became frozen by terror. There was something super- 
 human in the doctor's diabolical joy. Even he felt tbe wild 
 horror in the woman's eyes as they rested on him. 
 
 ' What's the matter with you ? ' he asked. She muttered 
 and mumbled — and, shrinking away from him, crept towards 
 the door. As she approached the window, a man outside 
 passed by it on his way to the house. She pointed to him ; 
 and repeated Benjulia's own words : 
 
 ' Somebody to enjoy it with you,' she said. 
 
 She opened the dining-room door. The man-servant ap- 
 peared in the hall, with a gentleman behind him. 
 
 The gentleman was a scrupulously polite person. He 
 looked with alarm at the ghastly face of the cook as she ran 
 past him, making for the kitchen stairs. ' I'm afraid I intrude 
 on you at an unfortunate time,' he said to Benjulia. ' Pray 
 excuse me ; I will call again.' 
 
 ' Come in, sir.' The doctor spoke absently, looking towards 
 the ball, and thinking of something else. 
 
 The gentleman entered the room. 
 
 ' My name is Mool,' he said. ' I have had the honour of 
 meeting you at one of Mrs. Gallilee's parties.' 
 
 ' Veiy likely. I don't remember it myself. Take a seat.' 
 
 He was still thinking of something else. Modest Mr. Mool 
 took a seat in confusion. The doctor crossed the room, and 
 opened the door. 
 
 ' Excuse me for a minute,' he said. ' I will be back 
 directly.' 
 
 He went to the top of the kitchen stairs, and called to the 
 housemaid. ' Is the cook down there ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' What is she doing ? ' 
 
 1 Crying her heart out.' 
 
 Benjulia turned away again with the air of a disappointed 
 man. A violent moral shock sometimes has a serious effect 
 on the brain — especially when it is the brain of an excitable 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 203 
 
 woman. Always a physiologist, even in those rare moments 
 when he was amusing himself, it had just struck Benjulia 
 that tbe cook — after her outbreak of fury — might be a case 
 worth studying. But she had got relief in crying ; her brain 
 was safe ; she had ceased to interest him. He returned to 
 the diniug-room. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 'You look hot, sir; have a drink. Old English ale, out of 
 the barrel.' 
 
 Tbe tone was hearty. He poured out the sparkling ale 
 into a big tumbler, with hospitable good-will. Mr. Mool was 
 completely, and most agreeably, taken by surprise. He too 
 was feeling the influence of the doctor's good humour — en- 
 riched in quality by pleasant remembrances of his interview 
 with the cook. 
 
 ' I live in the suburbs, Doctor Benjulia, on this side of 
 London,' Mr. Mool explained ; ' and I have had a nice walk 
 from my house to yours. If I have done wrong, sir, in visit- 
 ing you on Sunday, I can only plead that I am engaged in 
 business during the week ' 
 
 'All right. One day's the same as another, provided you 
 don't interrupt me. You don't interrupt me now. Do you 
 smoke ? ' 
 
 ' No, thank you.' 
 
 ' Do you mind my smoking ? ' 
 
 ' I like it, doctor.' 
 
 ' Very amiable on your part, I'm sure. What did you say 
 your name was ? ' 
 
 ' Mool.' 
 
 Benjulia looked at him suspiciously. Was he a physi- 
 ologist, and a rival ? ' You're not a doctor — are you ? ' he 
 said. 
 
 ' I am a lawyer.' 
 
 One of the few popular prejudices which Benjulia shared 
 with his inferior fellow-creatures was the prejudice against 
 lawyers. But for his angry recollection of the provocation 
 successfully offered to him by his despicable brother, Mrs. 
 Gallilee would never have found her way into his confidence. 
 But for his hearty enjoyment of the mystification of the cook, 
 
io^ HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Mr. Mool would Lave been requested to state the object of bis 
 visit in writing, and would have gone borne again a baffled 
 man. The doctor's holiday amiability had reached its full 
 development indeed, when he allowed a strange lawyer to sit 
 and talk with him ! 
 
 ' Gentlemen of your profession,' he muttered, ' never pay 
 visits to people whom they don't know, without having their 
 own interests in view. Mr. Mool, you want something of me. 
 What is it ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool's professional tact warned him to waste no time 
 on prefatory phrases. 
 
 ' I venture on my present intrusion,' he began, c in conse- 
 quence of a statement recently made to me, in my office, by 
 Mrs. Gallilee.' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' cried Benjulia. ' I don't like your beginning, I 
 can tell you. Is it necessary to mention the name of that 
 
 old ? ' He used a word, described in dictionaries as 
 
 having a twofold meaning. (First, ' A female of the canine 
 kind.' Second, ' A term of reproach for a woman.') It 
 shocked Mr. Mool ; and it is therefore unfit to be reported. 
 
 ' Really, Doctor Benjulia ! ' 
 
 ' Does that mean that you positively must talk about her ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool smiled. ' Let us say that it may bear that 
 meaning,' he answered. 
 
 ' Go on, then — and get it over. She made a statement in 
 your office. Oat with it, my good fellow. Has it anything 
 to do with me ? ' 
 
 ' I should not otherwise, Doctor Benjulia, have ventured 
 to present myself at your house.' With that necessary expla- 
 nation, Mr. Mool related all that had passed between Mrs. 
 Gallilee and himself. 
 
 At the outset of the narrative, Benjulia angrily laid aside 
 his pipe, on the point of interrupting the lawyer. He changed 
 his mind ; and, putting a strong constraint on himself, listened 
 in silence. ' I hope, sir,' Mr. Mool concluded, ' you will not 
 take a hard view of my motive. It is only the truth to say 
 that I am interested in Miss Carmina's welfare. I felt the 
 sincerest respect and affection for her parents. You knew 
 them too. They were good people. On reflection, you must 
 surely regret it, if you have carelessly repeated a false report. 
 Won't you help me to clear the poor mother's memory of this 
 horrid stain ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 205 
 
 Benjulia smoked in silence. Had that simple and touching 
 appeal found its way to him ? He began very strangely, when 
 he consented at last to oj)en his lips. 
 
 ' You're what they call, a middle-aged man,' he said. ' I 
 suppose you have had some experience of women ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool blushed. ' I am a married man, sir,' he replied 
 gravely. 
 
 ' Very well ; that's experience — of one kind. When a man's 
 out of temper, and a woman wants something of him, do you 
 know how cleverly she can take advantage of her privileges 
 to aggravate him, till there's nothing he won't do to get her 
 to leave him in peace ? That's how I came to tell Mrs. Gallilee, 
 what she told you.' 
 
 He waited a little, and comforted himself with his pipe. 
 
 'Mind this,' he resumed, 'I don't profess to feel any 
 interest in the girl ; and I never cared two straws about her 
 parents. At the same time, if you can turn to good account 
 what I am going to say next — do it, and welcome. This 
 scandal began in the bragging of a fellow-student of mine at 
 Rome. He was angry with me, and angry with another man, 
 for laughing at him when he declared himself to be Mrs. 
 Robert Gray well's lover : and he laid us a wager that we 
 should see the woman alone in his room, that night. We 
 were hidden behind a curtain, and we did see her in his room. 
 I paid the money I had lost, and left Rome soon afterwards. 
 The other man refused to pay.' 
 
 ' On what ground ?' Mr. Mool eagerly asked. 
 
 ' On the ground that she wore a thick veil, and never 
 showed her face.' 
 
 'An unanswerable objection, Doctor Benjulia!' 
 
 'Perhaps it might be. I didn't think so myself. Two 
 hours before, Mrs. Robert Graywell and I had met in the 
 street. She had on a dress of a remarkable colour in those 
 days — a sort of sea-green. And a bonnet to match, Avhich 
 everybody stared at, because it was not half the size of the big 
 bonnets then in fashion. There was no mistaking the strange 
 dress or the tall figure, when [ saw her again in the student's 
 room. So I paid the bet.' 
 
 ' Do you remember the name of the man who refused to 
 pay ? ' _ 
 
 ' His name was Egisto Baccani.' 
 
 ' Have you heard anything of him since ? ' 
 
206 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' Yes. He got into some political scrape, and took refuge, 
 like the rest of them, in England ; and got his living, like the 
 rest of them, by teaching languages. He sent me his prospectus 
 — that's how I came to know about it.' 
 
 ' Have you got the prospectus ? ' 
 
 ' Torn np, long ago.' 
 
 Mr. Mool wrote down the name in his pocket-book. ' Thero 
 is nothing more you can tell me ? ' he said. 
 
 'Nothing.' 
 
 ' Accept my best thanks, doctor. Good-day ! ' 
 
 ' If you find Baccani let me know. Another drop of ale ? 
 Are you likely to see Mrs. Gallilee soon ? ' 
 
 * Yes — if I find Baccani.' 
 
 ' Do you ever play with children ? ' 
 
 'I have five of my own to play with,' Mr. Mool answered. 
 
 ' Very well. Ask for the youngest child when you go to 
 Mrs. Gallilee's. We call her Zo. Put your finger on her 
 spine — here, just below the neck. Press on the place — so. 
 And, when she wriggles, say, With the big doctor's love.' 
 
 Getting back to his own house, Mr. Mool was surprised to 
 find an open carriage at the garden gate. A smartly-dressed 
 woman, on the front seat, surveyed him with an uneasy look. 
 ' If you please, sir,' she said, ' would you kindly tell Miss 
 Carmina that we really mustn't wait any longer ? ' 
 
 The woman's uneasiness was reflected in Mr. Mool's face. 
 A visit from Carmina, at his private residence, could have no 
 ordinary motive. The fear instantly occui'red to him that 
 Mrs. Gallilee might have spoken to her of her mother. 
 
 Before he opened the drawing-room door, this alarm 
 passed away. He heard Carmina talking with his wife and 
 daughters. 
 
 ' May I say one little word to you, Mr. Mool ? ' 
 
 He took her into his study. She was shy and confused, 
 but certainly neither angry nor distressed. 
 
 ' My aunt sends me out every day, when it's fine, for a 
 drive,' she said. 'As the carriage passed close by, I thought 
 I might ask you a question.' 
 
 ' Certainly, my dear ! As many questions as you please.' 
 
 ' It's about the law. My aunt says she has the authority 
 over me now, which my dear father had while he was living. 
 Is that true ? ' 
 
HEAR! AND SCIENCE. 207 
 
 ' Quite true.' 
 
 ' For bow long is she my guardian ? ' 
 
 ' Until you are twenty-one years old.' 
 
 The faint colour faded from Carmina's face. ' More than 
 three years perhaps to suffer ! ' she said sadly. 
 
 ' To suffer ? What do you mean, my clear ? ' 
 
 She turned paler still, and made no reply. ' I want to ask 
 one thing more ? ' she resumed, in sinking tones. ' Would 
 my aunt still be my guardian — supposing I was married ? ' 
 
 Mr. Mool answered this, with his eyes fixed on her in grave 
 scrutiny. 
 
 ' In that case, your husband is the only person who has 
 any authority over you. Tbese are rather strange questions, 
 Carmina. Won't you take me into your confidence ? ' 
 
 In sudden agitation she seized his hand and kissed it. ' I 
 must go ! ' she said. ' I have kept the carriage waiting too 
 long already.' 
 
 She ran out, without once looking back. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's maid looked at her watch, when the carriage 
 left Mr. Mool's house. 'We shall be nearly an hour late, 
 before we get home,' she said. 
 
 ' It's my fault, Marceline. Tell your mistress the truth, if 
 she questions you. I shall not think the worse of you for 
 obeying your orders.' 
 
 ' I'd. rather lose my place, Miss, than get you into trouble.' 
 
 The woman spoke truly. Carmina's sweet temper had 
 made her position not only endurable, but delightful: she had 
 been treated like a companion and a friend. But for that 
 circumstance — so keenly had Marceline felt the degradation of 
 being employed as a spy — she would undoubtedly have quitted 
 Mrs. Gallilee's service. 
 
 On the way home, instead of talking pleasantly as usual, 
 Carmina was silent and sad. Had this change in her spirits 
 been caused by the visit to Mr. Mool ? It was even so. The 
 lawyer had innocently decided her on taking the desperate 
 course which Miss Minerva had proposed. 
 
 If Mrs. Gallilee's assertion of her absolute right of autho- 
 
2o3 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 rity, as guardian, Lad been declared by Mr. Mool to be in- 
 correct, Carmina (hopefully forgetful of her aunt's temper) 
 had thought of a compromise. 
 
 She would have consented to remain at Mrs. Gallilee's 
 disposal until Ovid returned, on condition of being allowed, 
 when Teresa arrived in London, to live in retirement with 
 her old nurse. This change of abode would prevent any 
 collision between Mrs. Gallilee and Teresa, and would make 
 Carmina's life as peaceful, and even as happy, as she could 
 wish. 
 
 But now that the lawyer had confirmed her aunt's state- 
 ment of the position in which they stood towards one another, 
 instant flight to Ovid's love and protection seemed to be the 
 one choice left — unless Carmina could resign herself to a life 
 of merciless persecution and perpetual suspense. 
 
 The arrangements for the flight were already complete. 
 
 That momentary view of Mrs. Gallilee's face, reflected in 
 the glass, had confirmed Miss Minerva's resolution to interfere. 
 Closeted with Carmina on the Sunday morning, she had pro- 
 posed a scheme of escape, which would even set Mrs. Gallilee's 
 vigilance and cunning at defiance. No pecuniary obstacle 
 stood in the way. The first quarterly payment of Carmina's 
 allowance of five hundred a year had been already made, by 
 Mr. Mool's advice. Enough was left — even without the assist- 
 ance which the nurse's resources would render — to purchase 
 the necessary outfit, and to take the two women to Quebec. 
 On the day after Teresa's arrival (at an hour of the morning 
 while the servants were still in bed) Carmina and her com- 
 panion could escape from the house on foot — and not leave a 
 trace behind them. 
 
 Meanwhile, Fortune befriended Mrs. Gallilee's maid. No 
 questions were put to her ; no notice even was taken of the 
 late return. 
 
 Five minutes before the carriage drew up at the house, a 
 learned female friend from the country called, by appointment, 
 on Mrs. Gallilee. On the coming Tuesday afternoon, an event 
 of the deepest scientific interest was to take place. A new 
 Professor had undertaken to deliver himself, by means of a 
 lecture, of subversive opinions on ' Matter.' A general dis- 
 cussion was to follow ; and in that discussion (upon certain 
 conditions) Mrs. Gallilee herself proposed to take part. 
 
 ' If the Professor attempts to account for the mutual action 
 
HEART AXD SCIENCE. 209 
 
 of separate atoms,' she said, 'I defy liim to do it, without 
 assuming the existence of a continuous material medium in 
 space. And this point of view being accepted — follow me 
 here ! — what is the result? In plain words,' cried Mrs. Galli- 
 lee, rising excitedly to her feet, ' we dispense with the idea 
 of atoms ! ' 
 
 The friend looked infinitely relieved by the prospect of 
 dispensing with atoms. 
 
 ' Now observe ! ' Mrs. Onllilee pi'oceeded. ' In connection 
 with this part of the subject, I shall wait to see if the Pro- 
 fessor adopts Thomson's theory. Yon are acquainted with 
 Thomson's theory ? No ? Let me put it briefly. Mere 
 heterogeneity, together with gravitation, is sufficient to ex- 
 plain all the apparently discordant laws of molecular action. 
 You understand ? Very well. If the Professor passes over 
 Thomson, then, I rise in the body of the Hall, and take my 
 stand — follow me again ! — on these grounds.' 
 
 While Mrs. Gallilee's grounds were being laid out for the 
 benefit of her friend, the coachman took the carnage back to 
 the stables ; the maid went downstairs to tea ; and Carmina 
 joined Miss Minerva in the schoolroom — all three being pro- 
 tected from discovery, by Mrs. Gallilee's rehearsal of her per- 
 formance in the Comedy of Atoms. 
 
 The Monday morning brought with it news from Rome — 
 serious news which confirmed Miss Minerva's misgivings. 
 
 Carmina received a letter, bearing the Italian postmark, 
 but not addressed to her in Teresa's handwriting. She looked 
 to the signature before she began to read. Her correspon- 
 dent was the old priest — Father Patrizio. He wrote in these 
 words : 
 
 ' My dear child, — Our good Teresa leaves us to-day, on 
 her journey to London. She has impatiently submitted to 
 the legal ceremonies, rendered necessary by her husband having 
 died without making a will. He hardly left anything in the 
 way of money, after payment of his burial expenses, and his few 
 little debts. What is of far greater importance — he lived, and 
 died, a good Christian. I was with him in his last moments. 
 Offer your prayers, my dear, for the repose of his soul. 
 
 ' Teresa left me, declaring her purpose of travelling night 
 and day, so as to reach you the sooner. 
 
 ' In her headlong haste, she has not- even waited to look 
 p 
 
210 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 over her husband's papers ; but has taken the case containing 
 them to England — to be examined at leisure, in your beloved 
 company. Strong as this good creature is, I believe she will 
 be obliged to rest on the road for a night at least. Calculating 
 on this, I assume that my letter will get to you first. I have 
 something to say about your old nurse, which it is well that 
 you should know. 
 
 ' Do not for a moment suppose that I blame you for having 
 told Teresa of the unfriendly reception, which you appear to 
 have met with from your aunt and guardian. Who should 
 you confide in — if not in the excellent woman who has filled 
 the place of a mother to you ? Besides, from your earliest 
 yeai's, have I not always instilled into you the reverence of 
 truth ? You have told the truth in your letters. My child, I 
 commend you, and feel for you. 
 
 ' But the impi-ession produced on Teresa is not what you 
 or I could wish. It is one of her merits, that she loves you 
 with the truest devotion ; it is one of her defects, that she is 
 fierce and obstinate in resentment. Your aunt has become an 
 object of absolute hatred to her. I have combated — success- 
 fully, as I hope and believe — this unchristian state of feeling, 
 
 ' She is now beyond the reach of my influence. My purpose 
 in writing is to beg you to continue the good work that I 
 have begun. Compose this impetuous nature : restrain this 
 fiery spirit. Your gentle influence, Carmina, has a power of 
 its own over those who love you — and who loves you like 
 Teresa ? — of which perhaps you are not yourself aware. Use 
 your power discreetly ; and, with the blessing of God and his 
 Saints, I have no fear of the result. 
 
 ' Write to me, my child, when Teresa ai*rives — and let me 
 hear that you are happier, and better in health. Tell me also, 
 whether there is any speedy prospect of your marriage. If I 
 may presume to judge from the little I know, your dearest 
 earthly interests depend on the removal of obstacles to this 
 salutary change in your life. I send you my good wishes, and 
 my blessing. If a poor old priest like me can be of any service, 
 do not forget ' Father Patetzio.' 
 
 Any lingering hesitation that Carmina might still have 
 felt, was at an end when she read this letter. Good Father 
 Patrizio, like good Mr. Mool, had innocently urged her to 
 set her guardian's authority at defiance. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 When the morning 1 lessons were over, Carmina showed the 
 priest's letter to Miss Minerva. The governess read it, and 
 handed it back in silence. 
 
 ' Have you nothing to say ? ' Carmina asked. 
 
 ' Nothing. You know my opinion already. That letter 
 says what I have said — with greater authority.' 
 
 ' It has determined me to follow your advice, Frances.' 
 
 ' Then it has done well.' 
 
 ' And you see,' Carmina continued, ' that Father Patrizio 
 speaks of obstacles in the way of my marriage.' 
 
 ' Teresa has evidently shown him my letters. Do you think 
 he fears, as I do, that my aunt may find some means of 
 separating us, even when Ovid comes back ? ' 
 
 ' Very likely.' 
 
 She spoke in faint weary tones — listlessly leaning back in 
 her chair. Carmina asked if she had passed another sleepless 
 night. 
 
 'Yes,' she said, 'another bad night, and the usual martyr- 
 dom in teaching the children. I don't know which disgusts 
 me most — Zoe's impudent stupidity, or Maria's unendurable 
 humbug.' 
 
 She had never yet spoken of Maria in this way. Even 
 her voice seemed to be changed. Instead of betraying the 
 usual angry abruptness, her tones coldly indicated impene- 
 trable contempt. In the silence that ensued, she looked up, 
 and saw Carmina's eyes resting on her anxiously and kindly. 
 
 ' Any other human being but you,' she said, ' would find 
 me disagreeable and rude — and would be quite right too. I 
 haven't asked after your health. You look paler than usual. 
 Have you, too, had a bad night ? ' 
 
 ' I fell asleep towards the morning. And — oh, I had such 
 a delightful dream ! I could almost wish that I had never 
 awakened from it.' 
 
 ' Who did you dream of?' She put the question mechani- 
 cally — frowning, as if at some repellent thought suggested to 
 her by what she had just heard. 
 
 ' I dreamed of my mother,' Carmina answered. 
 
 Miss Minerva raised herself at once in the chair. What- 
 p2 
 
212 HEART AXD SCIENCE. 
 
 ever that passing impression might have been, she was free 
 from it now. There was some little life again in her eyes ; 
 some little spirit in her voice. ' Take me out of myself,' she 
 said ; ' tell me your dream.' 
 
 ' It is nothing very remarkable, Frances. "We all of us some- 
 times see our dear lost ones in sleep. I saw my mother again, as 
 I used to see her in the nursery at bedtime — tall and beautiful, 
 with her long dark hair falling over her white dressing-gown to 
 the waist. She stooped over me, and kissed me ; and she looked 
 surprised. She said, " My little angel, why are you here in a 
 strange house ; I have come to take 3-ou back to your own cot, 
 by my bedside." I wasn't surprised or frightened ; I put my 
 arms round her neck ; and we floated away together through 
 the cool starry night ; and we were at home again. I saw my 
 cot, with its pretty white curtains and pink ribbons. I heard 
 my mother tell me an English fairy story, out of a book 
 which my father had given to her — and her kind voice grew 
 fainter and fainter, while I grew more and more sleepy — and 
 it ended softly, just as it used to end in the happy old days. 
 And I woke, crying. Do you ever dream of your mother 
 now ? ' 
 
 ' I ? God forbid ! ' 
 
 ' Ob, Frances, what a dreadful thing to say ! ' 
 
 ' Is it ? It was the thought in me, when you spoke. And 
 with good reason, too. I was the last of a large family — the 
 ugly one ; the ill-tempered one ; the encumbrance that made 
 it harder than ever to find money enough to pay the house- 
 hold expenses. My father swore at my mother for being my 
 mother. She reviled him just as bitterly in return ; and 
 vented the rest of her ill-temper on my wretched little body, 
 with no sparing hand. Bedtime was her time for beating me. 
 Talk of your mother — not of mine ! You were very young, 
 were you not, when she died ? ' 
 
 ' Too young to feel my misfortune — but old enough to 
 remember the sweetest woman that ever lived. Let me show 
 3 r ou my father's portrait of her again. Doesn't that face tell 
 you what an angel she was ? There was some charm in her 
 that all children felt. I can just remember some of my play- 
 fellows who used to come to our garden. Other good mothers 
 were with us — but the children all crowded round my mother. 
 They would have her in all their games ; they fought for 
 places on her lap when she told them stories ; some of them 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 213 
 
 cried, and some of them screamed, when it was time to take 
 them away from her. Oh, why do we live ! why do we die ! 
 I have bitter thoughts sometimes, Frances, like you. I have 
 read in poetry that death is a fearful thing. To me death 
 is a cruel thing, — and it has never seemed so cruel as in 
 these later days, since I have known Ovid. If my mother 
 had but lived till now, what happiness would have been 
 added to my life and to hers ! How Ovid would have loved 
 her — how she would have loved Ovid ! ' 
 
 Miss Minerva listened in silence. It was the silence of 
 true interest and sympathy, while Carmina was speaking of 
 her mother. When her lover's name became mingled with 
 the remembrances of her childhood — the change came. Once 
 more, the tell-tale lines began to harden in the governess's 
 face. She lay back again in her chair. Her fingers irritably 
 platted and unplatted the edge of her black apron. 
 
 Carmina was too deeply absorbed in her thoughts, too 
 eagerly bent on giving them expression, to notice these 
 warning signs. 
 
 ' I have all my mother's letters to my father,' she went on, 
 ' when he was away from her on his sketching excursions. 
 You have still a little time to spare — I should so like to read 
 some of them to you. I was reading one, last night — which 
 perhaps accounts for my dream ? It is on a subject that 
 interests everybody. In my father's absence, a very dear 
 friend of his met with a misfortune ; and my mother had to 
 prepare his wife to hear the bad news — oh, that reminds me ! 
 There is something I want to say to you first.' 
 
 ' About yourself ? ' Miss Minerva asked. 
 
 'About Ovid. I want your advice.' 
 
 Miss Minerva was silent. Carmina went on. ' It's about 
 writing to Ovid,' she explained. 
 
 ' Write, of course ! ' 
 
 The reply was suddenly and sharply given. ' Surely, I 
 have not offended you ? ' Carmina said. 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Let me hear your mother's letter.' 
 
 ' Yes — but I want you to hear the circumstances first.' 
 
 ' You have mentioned them already.' 
 
 ' No ! no ! I mean the circumstances, in my case.' She 
 drew her chair closer to Miss Minerva. ' I want to whisper 
 ■ — for fear of somebody passing on the stairs. The more I 
 think of it, the more I feel that I ought to prepare Ovid for 
 
214 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 seeing me, before I make my escape. You said when we talked 
 of it ' 
 
 ' Never mind what I said.' 
 
 1 Oh, bat I do mind ! You said I could go to Ovid's 
 bankers at Quebec, and then write when I knew where he 
 was. I have been thinking over it since — and I see a serious 
 risk. He might return from his inland journey, on the very 
 day that I get there ; he might even meet me in the street. 
 In his delicate health — I daren't think of what the conse- 
 quences of such a surprise might be ! And then there is the 
 dreadful necessity of telling him, that his mother has driven 
 me into taking this desperate step. In my place, wouldn't you 
 feel that you could do it more delicately in writing ? ' 
 
 ' I dare say ! ' 
 
 ' I might write to-morrow, for instance. To-morrow is 
 one of the American mail days. My letter would get to 
 Canada (remembering the roundabout way by which Teresa 
 and I are to travel, for fear of discovery) days and days 
 before we could arrive. I should shut myself up in an hotel 
 at Quebec ; and Teresa could go every day to the bank, to 
 hear if Ovid was likely to send for his letters, or likely to call 
 soon and ask for them. Then he would be prepared. Then, 
 when we meet ! ' 
 
 The governess left her chair, and pointed to the clock. 
 
 Carmina looked at her — and rose in alarm. ' Are you in 
 pain ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Yes — neuralgia, I think. I have the remedy in my room. 
 Don't keep me, my dear. Mrs. Gallilee mustn't find me here 
 again.' 
 
 The paroxysm of pain which Carmina had noticed, passed 
 over her face once more. She subdued it, and left the room. 
 The pain mastered her again ; a low cry broke from her when 
 she closed the door. Carmina ran out : ' Frances ! what is 
 it ? ' Frances looked over her shoulder, while she slowly 
 ascended the stairs. ' Never mind ! ' she said gently. ' I 
 have got my remedy.' 
 
 Carmina advanced a step to follow her, and drew back. 
 
 Was that expression of suffering really caused by pain of 
 the body ? or was it attributable to anything that she had 
 rashly said ? She tried to recall what had passed between 
 Frances and herself. The effort wearied her. Her thoughts 
 turned self- reproachfully to Ovid. If he had been speaking 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 215 
 
 to a friend whose secret sorrow was known to him, would he 
 have mentioned the name of the woman whom they both 
 loved ? She looked at his portrait, and reviled herself as a 
 selfish insensible wretch. ' Will Ovid improve me ? ' she 
 wondered. ' Shall I be a little worthier of him, when I am 
 his wife ? ' 
 
 Luncheon time came ; and Mrs. Gallilee sent word that 
 they were not to wait for her. 
 
 ' She's studying,' said Mr. Gallilee, with awe-struck looks. 
 ' She's going to make a speech at the Discussion to-morrow. 
 The man who gives the lecture is the man she's going to pitch 
 into. I don't know him ; but — how do you feel about it your- 
 self, Carmina ? — I wouldn't stand in his shoes for any sum of 
 money you could offer me. Poor devil ! I beg your pardon, 
 my dear ; let me give you a wing of the fowl. Boiled fowl — 
 eh ? and tongue— ha ? Do you know the story of the 
 foreigner? He dined out fifteen times with his English 
 friends. And there was boiled fowl and tongue at every 
 dinner. The fifteenth time, the foreigner couldn't stand it 
 any longer. He slapped his forehead and he said, " Ah, 
 merciful Heaven, cock and bacon again ! " Ton won't men-- 
 tion it, will you ? — and perhaps you think as I do ? — I'm sick 
 of cock and bacon, myself.' 
 
 Mr. Null's medical orders still prescribed fresh air. The 
 carriage came to the door at the regular hour ; and Mr. Gal- 
 lilee, with equal regularity, withdrew to his club. 
 
 Carmina was too uneasy to leave the house, without seeing 
 Miss Minerva first. She went up to the schoolroom. 
 
 There was no sound of voices, when she opened the door. 
 Miss Minerva was writing, and silence had been proclaimed. 
 The girls were ready dressed for their walk. Industrious 
 Maria had her book. Idle Zo, perched on a high chair, sat 
 kicking her legs. ' If you say a word,' she whispered, as Car- 
 mina passed her, ' you'll be called an Imp, and stuck up on a 
 chair. I shall go to the boy.' 
 
 ' Are you better, Frances ? ' 
 
 ' Much better, my dear.' 
 
 Her face denied it ; the look of suffering was there still. 
 She tore up the letter which she had been writing, and threw 
 the fragments into the waste-paper basket. 
 
 ' That's the second letter you've torn up,' Zo remained. 
 
 * Say a word more — and you shall have bread and water 
 
216 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 for tea! ' Miss Minerva was not free from irritation, although 
 she might be free from pain. Even Zo noticed how angry the 
 governess was. 
 
 ' I wish you could drive with me in the carriage/ said 
 Carmina. ' The air would do you so much good.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! But you may soothe my irritable nerves in 
 another way, if you like.' 
 
 ' How ? ' 
 
 ' Relieve me of these girls. Take them out with you. Do 
 you mind ? ' 
 
 Zo instantly jumped off her chair ; and even Maria looked 
 up from her book. 
 
 ' I will take them with pleasure. Must we ask my aunt's 
 permission ? ' 
 
 'We will dispense with your aunt's permission. She is 
 shut up in her study — and we are all forbidden to disturb her. 
 I will take it on myself.' She turned to the girls with another 
 outbreak of irritability. ' Be off ! ' 
 
 Maria rose with dignity, and made one of her successful 
 exits. ' I am sorry, dear Miss Minerva, if I have done any- 
 thing to make you angry.' She pointed the emphasis on ' I,' 
 by a side-look at her sister. Zo bounced out of the room, and 
 performed the Italian boy's dance on the landing. ' For 
 shame ! ' said Maria. Zo burst into singing. ' Yah-yah-yah- 
 belldh-vitah-yah ! Jolly ! jolly jolly ! — we are going out for a 
 drive ! ' 
 
 Carmina waited, to say a friendly word, before she followed 
 the girls. 
 
 ' You didn't think me neglectful, Frances, when I let you 
 go upstairs by yourself ! ' 
 
 Miss Minerva answered sadly and kindly. ' The best thing 
 you could do was to leave me by myself.' 
 
 Carmina's mind was still not quite at ease. ' Yes — but 
 you were in pain,' she said. 
 
 ' You curious child ! I am not in pain now.' 
 
 1 Will you make me comfortable, Frances ? Give me a kiss.' 
 
 ' Two, my dear — if you like.' 
 
 She kissed Carmina on one cheek and on the other. ' Wow 
 leave me to write,' she said. 
 
 Carmina left her. 
 
 The drive ought to have been a pleasant one, with Zo in 
 the carriage. To Marceline, it was a time of the heartiest 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE, 217 
 
 enjoyment. Maria herself condescended to smile, now and 
 then. There was only one dull person among them. 'Miss 
 Carmina was but poor company,' the maid remarked when 
 they got back. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee herself received them in the hall. 
 
 ' Yon will never take the children out again without my 
 leave,' she said to Carmina. ' The person who is really re- 
 sponsible for what you have done will mislead you no moi'e.' 
 With those words, she entered the library and closed the door. 
 
 Maria and Zo, at the sight of their mother, had taken to 
 flight. Carmina stood alone in the hall. Mr3. Gallilee had 
 turned her cold. After awhile, she followed the children as 
 far as her own room. There, her resolution failed her. She 
 called faintly upstairs — ' Frances ! ' There was no answering 
 voice. She went into her room. A small paper packet was 
 on the table ; sealed and addressed to herself. She tore it 
 open. A ring with a spinel ruby in it dropped out : she 
 recognised the stone — it was Miss Minerva's ring. 
 
 Some blotted lines were traced on the paper inside. 
 
 ' I have tried to pour out my heart to you in writing — and 
 I have torn up the letters. The fewest words are the best. 
 Look back at my confession — and you will know why I have 
 left 3'ou. You shall hear from me, when I am more worthy 
 of you than I am now. In the meantime, wear my ring. It 
 will tell you how mean I once was. — F. M.' 
 
 Carmina looked at the ring. She remembered that Frances 
 had tried to make her accept it as security, in return for the 
 loan of thirty pounds. 
 
 She referred to the confession. Two passages in it were 
 underlined : ' The wickedness in me, on which Mrs. Gallilee 
 calculated, may be in me still.' And, again : ' Even now, 
 when you have found me out, I love him. Don't trust me.' 
 
 Never had Carmina trusted her more faithfully than at that 
 bitter moment ! 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 The ordinary aspect of the schoolroom was seen no more. 
 
 Installed in a position of temporary authority, the parlour- 
 maid sat silently at her needlework. Maria stood by the 
 window, in the new character of an idle girl — with her hand- 
 
2i8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 kerchief in her hand, and her everlasting hook dropped un- 
 noticed on the floor. Zo lay flat on her back, on the hearth- 
 rug, hugging the dog in her arms. At intervals, she rolled 
 herself over slowly from side to side, and stared at the ceiling 
 with wondering eyes. Miss Minerva's departure had struck 
 the parlour-maid dumb, and had demoralised the pupils. 
 
 Maria broke the silence at last. ' I wonder where Car- 
 mina is ? ' she said. 
 
 ' In her room, most likely,' the parlour-maid suggested. 
 
 ' Had I better go and see after her ? ' 
 
 The cautious parlour-maid declined to offer advice. Maria's 
 well-balanced mind was so completely unhinged, that she 
 looked with languid curiosity at her sister. Zo still stared at 
 the ceiling, and still rolled slowly from one side to the other. 
 The dog on her breast, lulled by the regular motion, slept 
 profoundly — not even troubled by a dream of fleas ! 
 
 While Maria was still considering what it might be best 
 to do, Carmina entered the room. She looked, as the servant 
 afterwards described it, ' like a person who had lost her way.' 
 Maria exhibited the feeling of the schoolroom, by raising her 
 handkerchief in solemn silence to her eyes. Without taking 
 notice of this demonstration, Carmina approached the parlour- 
 maid, and said, ' Did you see Miss Minerva before she went 
 away ? ' 
 
 ' I took her message, Miss.' 
 
 ' What message ? ' 
 
 ' The message, saying she wished to see my mistress for a 
 few minutes.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Miss, I was told to show the governess into the 
 library. She went down with her bonnet on, ready dressed 
 to go out. Before she had been five minutes with my mistress 
 she came out again, and rang the hall-bell, and spoke to 
 Joseph. " My boxes are packed and directed," she says ; " I 
 will send for them in an hour's time. Good day, Joseph." 
 And she stepped into the street, as quietly as if she was going 
 out shopping round the corner.' 
 
 ' Have the boxes been sent for ? ' 
 
 * Yes, Miss.' 
 
 Carmina lifted her head, and spoke in steadier tones. 
 
 ' Where have they been taken to ? ' 
 
 ' To the flower-shop at the back — to be kept till called for.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 219 
 
 ' No other address ? ' 
 
 ' None.' 
 
 The last faint hope of tracing Frances was at an end. 
 Carmina turned wearily to leave the room. Zo called to her 
 from the hearth-rug. Always kind to the child, she retraced 
 her steps. ' What is it ? ' she asked. 
 
 Zo got on her legs before she spoke, like a member of 
 parliament. ' I've been thinking about that governess,' she 
 announced. c Didn't I once tell you I was going to run away ? 
 And wasn't it because of Her ? Hush ! Here's the part of 
 it I can't make out — She's run away from Me. I don't bear 
 malice ; I'm only glad in myself. No more dirty nails. No 
 more bread and water for tea. That's all. Good morning.' 
 Zo laid herself down again on the rug ; and the dog laid him- 
 self down again on Zo. 
 
 Carmina returned to her room — to reflect on what she had 
 heard from the parlour-maid. 
 
 It was now plain that Mrs. Gallilee had not been allowed 
 the opportunity of dismissing her governess at a moment's 
 notice : Miss Minerva's sudden departure was unquestionably 
 due to Miss Minerva herself. 
 
 Thus far, Carmina was able to think clearly — and no 
 farther. The confused sense of helpless distress which she had 
 felt, after reading the few farewell words that Prances had 
 addressed to her, still oppressed her mind. There were mo- 
 ments when she vaguely understood, and bitterly lamented, 
 the motives which had animated her unhappy friend. Other 
 moments followed, when she impulsively resented the act which 
 had thrown her on her own resources, at the very time when 
 she had most need of the encouragement that could be afforded 
 by the sympathy of a firmer nature than her own. She began 
 to doubt the steadiness of her resolution — without Frances to 
 take leave of her, on the morning of the escape. For the first 
 time, she was now tortured by distrust of Ovid's reception of 
 her ; by dread of his possible disapproval of her boldness ; by 
 morbid suspicion even of his taking his mother's part. Be- 
 wildered and reckless, she threw herself on the sofa — her 
 heart embittered against Frances — indifferent whether she 
 lived or died. 
 
 At dinner-time she sent a message, begging to be excused 
 from appearing at the table. Mrs. Gallilee at once presented 
 herself, harder and colder than ever, to inspect the invalid. 
 
220 HEAR! AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Perceiving no immediate necessity for summoning Mr. Null, 
 she said, ' Ring, if you want anything,' and left the room. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee followed, after an interval, with a little sur- 
 reptitious offering of wine (hidden under his coat) ; and with 
 a selection of tarts crammed into his pocket. 
 
 ' Smuggled goods, my dear,' he whispered, ' picked up 
 when nobody happened to be looking my way. When we are 
 miserable — has the idea ever occurred to you ? — it's a sign 
 from kind Providence that we are intended to eat and drink. 
 The sherry's old, and the pastry melts in your mouth. Shall 
 I stay with you ? You would rather not ? Just my feeling ! 
 Remarkable similarity in our opinions — don't you think so 
 yourself? I am sorry for poor Miss Minerva. Suppose you 
 go to bed ? ' 
 
 Carmina was in no mood to profit by this excellent advice. 
 
 She was still walking restlessly up and down her room, 
 when the time came for shutting up the house. With the 
 sound of closing locks and bolts, there was suddenly mingled 
 a sharp ring at the bell ; followed by another unexpected event. 
 Mr. Gallilee paid her a second visit — in a state of transforma- 
 tion. His fat face was flushed : he positively looked as if he 
 was capable of feeling strong emotion, unconnected with cham- 
 pagne and the club ! He presented a telegram to Carmina — ■ 
 and, when he spoke, there were thrills of agitation in the tones 
 of his piping voice. 
 
 ' My dear, something very unpleasant has happened. I 
 met Joseph taking this to my wife. Highly improper, in my 
 opinion, — what do you say yourself? — to take it to Mrs. 
 Gallilee, when it's addressed to you. It was no mistake ; he 
 was so impudent as to say he had his orders. I have reproved 
 Joseph.' Mr. Gallilee looked astonished at himself, when he 
 made this latter statement — then relapsed into his customary 
 sweetness of temper. ' No bad news ? ' he asked anxiously, 
 when Carmina opened the telegram. 
 
 ' Good news ! the best of good news ! ' she answered 
 impetuously. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee looked as happy as if the welcome telegram 
 had been addressed to himself. On his way out of the room, 
 he underwent another relapse. The footman's audacious 
 breach of trust began to trouble him once more : this time in 
 its relation to Mrs. Gallilee. The serious part of it was, that 
 the man had acted under his mistress's orders. Mr. Gallilee 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 221 
 
 said — be actually said, without appealing to anybody — ' If 
 this bappens again, I shall be obliged to speak to my wife.' 
 
 The telegram was from Teresa. It bad been despatched 
 from Paris that evening ; and the message was thus expressed : 
 
 ' Too tired to get on to England by to-night's mail. Shall 
 leave by the early train to-morrow morning, and be with you 
 by six o'clock.' 
 
 Carmina's mind was exactly in the state to feel unmingled 
 relief, at the prospect of seeing the dear old friend of her hap- 
 piest days. She laid her head on the pillow that night, with- 
 out a thought of what might follow the event of Teresa's 
 return. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 TnE next day — the important Tuesday of the lecture on 
 Matter ; the delightful Tuesday of Teresa's arrival — brought 
 with it special demands on Carmina's pen. 
 
 Her first letter was addressed to Frances. It was frankly 
 and earnestly written : entreating Miss Minerva to appoint a 
 place at which they might meet, and assuring her, in the 
 most affectionate terms, that she was still loved, trusted, and 
 admired by her faithful friend. Helped by her steadier flow 
 of spirits, Carmina could now see all that was worthiest of 
 sympathy and admiration, all that claimed loving submission 
 and allowance from herself, in the sacrifice to which Miss 
 Minerva bad submitted. How bravely the poor governess 
 bad controlled the jealous misery that tortured her ! How 
 nobly she had renounced Carmina's friendship for Carmina's 
 sake ! 
 
 Later in the da} T , Marceline took the letter to the flower- 
 shop, and placed it herself under the cord of one of the boxes 
 — still waiting to be claimed. 
 
 The second letter filled many pages, and occupied the re- 
 mainder of the morning. 
 
 With the utmost delicacy, but with perfect truthfulness at 
 the same time, Carmina revealed to her betrothed husband 
 the serious reasons which had forced her to withdraw herself 
 from his mother's care. Bound to speak at last in her own 
 defence, she felt that concealments and compromises would be 
 alike unworthy of Ovid and of herself. What she had already 
 
222 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 written to Teresa, she now wrote again — with bat one modi- 
 fication. She expressed herself forbearingly towards Ovid's 
 mother. The closing words of the letter were worthy of 
 Carmina's gentle, just, and generous nature. 
 
 ' You will perhaps say, Why do I only hear now of all that 
 you have suffered ? My love, I have longed to tell you of it ! 
 I have even taken up my pen to begin. But I thought of you, 
 and put it down again. How selfish, how cruel, to hinder 
 your recovery by causing you sorrow and suspense — to bring 
 you back perhaps to England before your health was restored ! 
 I don't regret the effort that it has cost me to keep silence. 
 My only sorrow in writing to you is, that I must speak of 
 your mother in terms which may lower her in her son's 
 estimation.' 
 
 Joseph brought the luncheon up to Carmina's room. 
 The mistress was still at her studies ; the master had gone 
 to his club. As for the girls, their only teacher for the present 
 was the teacher of music. When the ordeal of the lecture 
 and the discussion had been passed, Mrs. Gallilee threatened 
 to take Miss Minerva's place herself, until a new governess 
 could be found. For once, Maria and Zo showed a sisterly 
 similarity in their feelings. It was hard to say which of the 
 two looked forward to her learned mother's instruction with 
 the greatest terror. 
 
 Carmina heard the pupils at the piano, while she was eat- 
 ing her luncheon. The profanation of music ceased, when she 
 went into the bedroom to get ready for her daily drive. 
 
 She took her letter, duly closed and stamped, downstairs 
 with her — to be sent to the post with the other letters of the 
 day, placed in the hall-basket. In the weakened state of her 
 nerves, the effort that she had made in writing to Ovid had 
 shaken her. Her heart beat uneasily ; her knees trembled, a3 
 she descended the stairs. 
 
 Arrived in sight of the hall, she discovered a man walking 
 slowly to and fro. He turned towards her as she advanced, 
 and disclosed the detestable face of Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 The music-master's last reserves of patience had come to 
 an end. Watch for them as he might, no opportunities had 
 presented themselves of renewing his investigation in Car- 
 mina's room. In the interval that had passed, his hungry 
 suspicion of her had been left to feed on itself. The motives 
 for that incomprehensible attempt to make a friend of him re- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 223 
 
 maincd bidden in as thick a darkness as ever. Victim of 
 adverse circumstances, he had determined (with the greatest 
 reluctance) to take the straightforward course. Instead of 
 secretly getting his information from Carmina's journals and 
 letters, he was now reduced to openly applying for enlighten- 
 ment to Carmiua herself. 
 
 Occupying, for the time being, the position of an honour- 
 able man, he presented himself at cruel disadvantage. He 
 was not master of his own glorious voice ; he was without the 
 self-possession indispensable to the perfect performance of his 
 magnificent bow. ' I have waited to have a word with you,' 
 he began abruptly, ' before you go out for jour drive.' 
 
 Already unnerved, even before she had seen him — pain- 
 fully conscious that she had committed a serious error, on the 
 last occasion when they had met, in speaking at all — Car- 
 mina neither answered him nor looked at him. She bent 
 her head confusedly, and advanced a little nearer to the house 
 door. 
 
 He at once moved so as to place himself in her way. 
 
 ' I must request you to call to mind what passed between 
 us,' he resumed, 'when we met by accident some little time 
 Bince.' 
 
 He had speculated on frightening her. His insolence 
 stirred her spirit into asserting itself. ' Let me by, if you 
 please,' she said ; ' the carriage is waiting for me.' 
 
 ' The carriage can wait a little longer,' he answered 
 coarsely. ' On the occasion to which I have referred, you 
 were so good as to make advances, to which I cannot consider 
 myself as having any claim. Perhaps you will favour me by 
 stating your motives ? ' 
 
 ' I don't understand yon, sir.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes — you do ! ' 
 
 She stepped back, and laid her hand on the bell which 
 rang below stairs, in the pantry. ' Must I ring ? ' she said. 
 
 It was plain that she would do it, if he moved a step nearer 
 to her. He drew aside — with a look which made her tremble. 
 On passing the hall-table, she placed her letter in the post- 
 basket. His eye followed it, as it left her hand : he became 
 suddenly penitent and polite. ' I am sorry if I have alarmed 
 you,' he said, and opened the house-door for her — without 
 showing himself to Marceline and the coachman outside. 
 
 The carriage having been driven away, he softly closed 
 
224 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 the door again, and returned to the ball-table. He looked 
 into the post-basket. 
 
 Was there any danger of discovery by the servants ? The 
 footman was absent, attending his mistress on her way to the 
 lecture. None of the female servants were on the stairs. He 
 took up Carmina's letter, and looked at the address : To Ovid 
 Vere, Esq. 
 
 His ej-es twinkled furtively; his excellent memory for 
 injuries reminded him that Ovid Vere had formerly en- 
 deavoured (without even caring to conceal it) to prevent Mrs. 
 Gallilee from engaging him as her music-master. By subtle 
 links of its own forging, his vindictive nature now connected 
 his hatred of the person to whom the letter was addressed, 
 with his interest in stealing the letter itself for the possible 
 discovery of Carmina's secrets. The clock told him that there 
 was plenty of time to open the envelope, and (if the contents 
 proved to be of no importance) to close it again, and take it 
 himself to the post. After a last look round, he withdrew 
 undiscovered, with the letter in his pocket. 
 
 On its way back to the house, the carriage was passed by 
 a cab, with a man in it, driven at such a furious rate that there 
 was a narrow escape of collision. The maid screamed ; Car- 
 mina turned pale ; the coachman wondered why the man in 
 the cab was in such a hurry. The man was Mr. Mool's head 
 clerk, charged with news for Doctor Benjulia. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 The mind of the clerk's master had been troubled by serious 
 doubts, after Carmina left his house on Sunday. 
 
 Her agitated manner, her strange questions, and her abrupt 
 departure, all suggested to Mr. Mool's mind some rash project 
 in contemplation — pei'baps even the plan of an elopement. To 
 most other men, the obvious course to take would have been 
 to communicate with Mrs. Gallilee. But the lawyer preserved 
 a vivid remembrance of the interview which had taken place 
 at his office. The detestable pleasure which Mrs. Gallilee had 
 betrayed in profaning the memory of Carmina's mother, had 
 60 shocked and disgusted him, that he recoiled from the idea 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 225 
 
 of holding any further intercourse -with her, no matter how 
 pressing the emergency might be. Tt was possible, after what 
 had passed, that Carmina might feel the propriety of making 
 some explanation by letter. He decided to wait until the next 
 morning, on the chance of hearing from her. 
 
 On the Monday, no letter arrived. 
 
 Proceeding to the office, Mr. Mool found, in his business- 
 correspondence, enough to occupy every moment of his time. 
 He had purposed writing to Carmina, but the idea was now 
 inevitably pressed out of his mind. It was only at the close 
 of the day's work that he had leisure to think of a matter of 
 greater importance — that is to say, of the necessity of dis- 
 covering Benjulia's friend of other days, the Italian teacher 
 Baccani. He left instructions with one of his clerks to make 
 inquiries, the next morning, at the shops of foreign booksellers. 
 There, and there only, the question might be answered, whether 
 Baccani was still living, and living in London. 
 
 The inquiries proved successful. On Tuesday afternoon, 
 Baccani's address was in Mr. Mool's hands. 
 
 Busy as he still was, the lawyer set aside his own affairs, 
 in deference to the sacred duty of defending the memory of the 
 dead, and to the pressing necessity of silencing Mrs. Gallilee's 
 cruel and slanderous tongue. Arrived at Baccani's lodgings, 
 he was informed that the language-master had gone to his 
 dinner at a neighbouring restaurant. Mr. Mool waited at the 
 lodgings, and sent a note to Baccani. In. ten minutes more 
 he found himself in the presence of an elderly man, of ascetic 
 appearance ; whose looks and tones showed him to be apt to 
 take offence on small provocation, and more than half ready 
 to suspect an eminent solicitor of being a spy. 
 
 But Mr. Mool's experience was equal to the call on it. 
 Having fully explained the object that he had in view, he left 
 the apology for his intrusion to be inferred, and concluded by 
 appealing, in his own modest way, to the sympathy of an 
 honourable man. 
 
 Silently forming his opinion of the lawyer, while he lis- 
 tened, Baccani expressed the conclusion at which he had 
 arrived, in these terms : 
 
 ' My experience of mankind, sir, ha3 been a bitterly bad 
 one. You have improved my opinion of human nature since 
 you entered this room. That is not a little thing to say, at 
 my age and in my circumstances.' 
 
 Q 
 
226 HEAR! AND SCIENCE. 
 
 He bowed gravely, and turned to Ins bed. From under 
 it, be pulled out a clumsy tin box. Having opened the rusty 
 lock with some difficulty, he produced a ragged pocket-book, 
 aud picked out from it a paper which looked like an old letter. 
 
 1 There,' he said, handing the paper to Mr. Mool, ' is the 
 statement which vindicates this lady's reputation. Before you 
 open the manuscript I must tell you how I came by it.' 
 
 He appeared to feel such embarrassment in approaching 
 the subject, that Mr. Mool interposed. 
 
 'I am already acquainted,' he said, 'with some of the cir- 
 cumstances to which you are about to allude. I happen to 
 know of the wager in which the calumny originated, and of 
 the manner in which that wager was decided. The events 
 which followed are the only events that I need trouble you to 
 describe.' 
 
 Baccani's grateful sense of relief avowed itself without re- 
 serve. ' I feel your kindness,' he said, ' almost as keenly as T 
 feel my own disgraceful conduct, in permitting a woman's 
 reputation to be made the subject of a wager. From whom 
 did you obtain your information ? ' 
 
 ' From the person who mentioned your name to me — 
 Doctor Benjulia.' 
 
 Baccani lifted his hand with a gesture of angry protest. 
 
 ' Don't speak of him again in my presence ! ' he burst out. 
 ' That man has insulted me. When I took refuge from poli- 
 tical persecution in this country, I sent him my prospectus. 
 From my own humble position as a teacher of languages, I 
 looked up without envy to his celebrity among doctors ; I 
 thought I might remind him, not unfavourably, of our early 
 friendship — I, who had done him a hundred kindnesses in 
 those past days. He has never taken the slightest notice 
 of me ; he has not even acknowledged the receipt of my pro- 
 spectus. Despicable wretch ! Let me hear no more of him.' 
 
 ' Pray forgive me if I refer to him again — for the last 
 time,' Mr. Mool pleaded. ' Did your acquaintance with him 
 continue, after the question of the wager had been settled ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir ! ' Baccani answered sternly. ' When I was at 
 leisure to go to the club at which we were accustomed to meet, 
 he had left Rome. From that time to this — I rejoice to Bay 
 it — I have never set eyes on him.' 
 
 The obstacles which had prevented the refutation of the 
 calumny from reaching Benjulia were now revealed. Mr. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 227 
 
 M'ool Lad only to hear, next, how that refutation had been 
 obtained. A polite hint sufficed to remind Baccani of the 
 explanation that he had promised. 
 
 'I am naturally suspicions,' he began abruptly; 'and I 
 doubted the woman when I found that she kept her veil down. 
 Besides, it was not in my way of thinking to believe that an 
 estimable married lady could have compromised herself with 
 a scoundrel, who had boasted that she was his mistress. I 
 waited in the street, until the woman came out. I followed 
 her, and saw her meet a man. The two went together to a 
 theatre. I took my place near them. She lifted her veil as 
 a matter of course. My suspicion of foul play was instantly 
 confirmed. When the performance was over, I traced her back 
 to Mr. Robert Graywell's house. He and his wife were both 
 absent at a party. I was too indignant to wait till they came 
 back. Under the threat of charging the wretch with stealing 
 her mistress's clothes, I extorted from her the signed confes- 
 sion which you have in your hand. She was under notice to 
 leave her place for insolent behaviour. The personation which 
 had been intended to deceive me, was an act of revenge ; 
 planned between herself and the blackguard who had em- 
 ployed her to make his lie look like truth. A more shameless 
 creature I never met with. She said to me, " I am as tall as 
 my mistress, and a better figure ; and I've often worn her fine 
 clothes on holiday occasions." In your country, Mr. Mool, 
 such women — so I am told — are ducked in a pond. There is 
 one thing more to add, before you read the confession. Mrs. 
 Robert Gray well did imprudently send the man some money 
 — in answer to a begging letter artfully enough written to 
 excite her pity. A second application was refused by her 
 husband. What followed on that, you know already.' 
 
 Having read the confession, Mr. Mool was permitted to 
 take a copy, and to make any use of it which he might think 
 desirable. His one remaining anxiety was to hear what had 
 become of the person who had planned the deception . ' Surely, ' 
 he said, ' that villain has not escaped punishment ? ' 
 
 Baccani answered this in his own bitter way. 
 
 ' My dear sir, how can you ask snch a simplo question ? 
 That sort of man always escapes punishment. In the last ex- 
 treme of poverty his luck provides him with somebody to 
 cheat. Common respect for Mrs. Robert Graywell closed my 
 lips ; and I was the only person acquainted with the circum- 
 
 q2 
 
228 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 stances. I wrote to our club declaring the fellow to be a 
 cheat — and leaving it to be inferred that he cheated at cards. 
 He knew better than to insist on my explaining myself — here- 
 signed, and disappeared. I dare say he is living still — living 
 in clover on some unfortunate woman. The beautiful and the 
 good die untimely deaths. He, and his kind, last and live.' 
 
 Mr. Mool had neither time nor inclination to plead in favour 
 of the more hopeful view, which believes in the agreeable fiction 
 called 'poetical justice.' He tried to express his sense of 
 obligation at parting. Baccani refused to listen. 
 
 ' The obligation is all on my side,' he said. ' As I have 
 already told you, your visit has added a bright day to my 
 calendar. In our pilgrimage, my friend, through this world 
 of rogues and fools, we may never meet again. Let us 
 remember gratefully that we have met. Farewell.' 
 
 So they parted. 
 
 Returning to his office, Mr. Mool attached to the copy of 
 the confession a brief statement of the circumstances under 
 which the Italian had become possessed of it. He then added 
 these lines, addressed to Benjulia: — ' You set the false report 
 afloat. I leave it to your sense of duty, to decide whether you 
 ought not to go at once to Mrs. Gallilee, and tell her that the 
 slander which you repeated is now proved to be a lie. If you 
 don't agree with me, I must go to Mrs. Gallilee myself. In 
 that case please return, by the bearer, the papers which are 
 enclosed.' 
 
 The clerk instructed to deliver these documents, within 
 the shortest possible space of time, found Mr. Mool waiting 
 at the office, on his return. He answered his master's inquiries 
 by producing Benjulia's reply. 
 
 The doctor's amiable humour was still in the ascendant. 
 His success in torturing his unfortunate cook had been fol- 
 lowed by the receipt of a telegram from his friend at Mont- 
 real, containing this satisfactory answer to his cmestion : — 
 ' Not brain disease.' With his mind now set completely at 
 rest, his instincts as a gentleman were at full liberty to con- 
 trol him. 'I entirely agree with you,' he wrote to Mr. Mool. 
 ' I go back with your clerk ; the cab will drop me at Mrs. 
 Gallilee's house.' 
 
 Mr. Mool turned to the clerk. 
 
 ' Did you wait to hear if Mrs. Gallilee was at home ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 229 
 
 4 Mrs. Gallilee was absent, sir — attending a lecture. 
 
 • What did Doctor Benjulia do ? ' 
 
 ' Went into the house, to wait her return.' 
 
 CHAPTER XL1V. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's page (attending to the house-door, in the 
 footman's absence) had just shown Benjulia into the library, 
 when there was another ring at the bell. The new visitor was 
 Mr, Le Frank. He appeared to be in a hurry. Without any 
 preliminary questions, he said, ' Take my card to Mrs. Gal- 
 lilee.' 
 
 ' My mistress is out, sir.' 
 
 The music-master looked impatiently at the hall-clock. 
 The hall-clock answered him by striking the half hour after 
 five. 
 
 ' Do you expect Mrs. Gallilee back soon ? ' 
 
 'We don't know, sir. The footman had his orders to be 
 in waiting with the carriage, at five.' 
 
 After a moment of irritable reflection, Mr, Le Frank took 
 a letter from his pocket, ' Say that I have an appointment, 
 and am not able to wait. Give Mrs. Gallilee that letter the 
 moment she comes in.' With those directions he left the house. 
 
 The page looked at the letter. It was sealed ; and, over 
 the address, two underlined words were written : — ' Private. 
 Immediate.' Mindful of visits from tradespeople, anxious to 
 see his mistress, and provided beforehand with letters to be 
 delivered immediately, the boy took a pecuniary view of Mr. 
 Le Frank's errand at the house. ' Another of them,' he 
 thought, 'wanting his money.' 
 
 As he placed the letter on the hall-table, the library door 
 opened, and Benjulia appeared — weary already of waiting, 
 without occupation, for Mrs. Gallilee's return. 
 
 ' Is smoking allowed in the library ? ' he asked. 
 
 The page looked up at the giant towering over him, with 
 the envious admiration of a short boy. He replied with a 
 discretion beyond his years : ' Would you please step into the 
 smoking-room, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Anybody there ? ' 
 
 ' My master, sir.' 
 
230 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Benjulia at once declined the invitation to the smoking- 
 room. ' Anybody else at home ? ' he inquired. 
 
 Miss Carmina was upstairs — the page answered. ' And I 
 think,' he added, ' Mr. Null is with her.' 
 
 ' Who's Mr. Null ? ' 
 
 ' The doctor, sir.' 
 
 Benjulia declined to disturb the doctor. He tried a third, 
 and last question. 
 
 1 Where's Zo ? ' 
 
 1 Here ! ' cried a shrill voice from the upper regions. 'Who 
 are You ? ' 
 
 To the page's astonishment, the giant-gentleman with the 
 resonant bass voice answered this quite gravely. ' I'm Ben- 
 julia,' he said. 
 
 ' Come up ! ' cried Zo. 
 
 Benjulia ascended the stairs. 
 
 ' Stop ! ' shouted the voice from above. 
 
 Benjulia stopped. 
 
 ' Have you got your big stick ? ' 
 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' Bring it up with you.' Benjulia retraced his steps into 
 the hall. The page respectfully handed him his stick. Zo 
 became impatient. ' Look sharp ! ' she called out. 
 
 Benjulia obediently quickened his pace. Zo left the school- 
 room (in spite of the faintly-heard protest of the maid in 
 charge) to receive him on the stairs. Tbey met on the land- 
 ing, outside Carmina's room. Zo possessed herself of the 
 bamboo cane, and led the way in. ' Carmina ! here's the big 
 stick I told you about,' she announced. 
 
 ' Whose stick, dear ? ' 
 
 Zo returned to the landing. ' Come in, Benjulia,' she said 
 — and seized him by the coat-tails. Mr. Null rose instinctively. 
 Was this his celebrated colleague ? 
 
 With some reluctance, Carmina appeared at the door; 
 thinking of the day when Ovid had fainted, and when the 
 great man had treated her so harshly. In fear of more rude- 
 ness, she unwillingly asked him to come in. 
 
 Still immovable on the landing, he looked at her in silence. 
 
 The serious question occurred to him which had formerly 
 presented itself to Mr. Mool. Had Mrs. Gallilee repeated, in 
 Carmina's presence, the lie which slandered her mother's 
 memory — the lie which he was then in the house to expose ? 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 231 
 
 Watching Benjulia respectfully, Mr. Null saw, in that 
 grave scrutiny, an opportunity of presenting himself under a 
 favourable light. He waved his hand persuasively towards 
 Carmina. ' Some nervous prostration, sir, in my interesting 
 patient, as you no doubt perceive,' be began. ' Not such 
 rapid progress towards recovery as I had hoped. I think of 
 recommending the air of the seaside.' Benjulia's dreary eyes 
 turned on him slowly, and estimated his mental calibre at its 
 exact value, in a moment. Mr. Null felt that look in the very 
 marrow of his bones. He bowed with servile submission, and 
 took his leave. 
 
 In the meantime, Benjulia had satisfied himself that the 
 embarrassment in Carmina's manner was merely attributable 
 to shyness. She was now no longer an object even of 
 momentary interest to him. He was ready to play with Zo — 
 but not on condition of amusing himself with the child, in 
 Carmina's presence. ' I am waiting till Mrs. Gallilee returns,' 
 he said to her in his quietly indifferent way. 'If you will 
 excuse me, I'll go downstairs again ; I won't intrude.' 
 
 Her pale face flushed as she listened to him. Innocently 
 supposing that she had made her little offer of hospitality in 
 too cold a manner, she looked at Benjulia with a timid and 
 troubled smile. ' Pray wait here till my aunt comes back,' 
 she said. ' Zo will amuse you, I'm sure.' Zo seconded the 
 invitation by hiding the stick, and laying hold again on her 
 big friend's coat-tails. 
 
 He let the child drag him into the room, without noticing 
 her. The silent questioning of his eyes had been again directed 
 to Carmina, at the moment when she smiled. 
 
 His long and terrible experience made its own merciless 
 discoveries, in the nervous movement of her eyelids and her 
 lips. The poor girl, pleasing herself with the idea of having 
 produced the right impression on him at last, had only suc- 
 ceeded in becoming an object of medical inquiry, pursued in 
 secret. When he companionably took a chair by her side, 
 and let Zo climb on his knee, he was privately regretting his 
 cold reception of Mr. Null. Under certain conditions of 
 nervous excitement, Carmina might furnish an interesting 
 case. ' If I had been commonly civil to that fawning idiot,' 
 he thought, ' I might have been called into consultation.' 
 
 They were all three seated — but there was no talk. Zo 
 set the example. 
 
232 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' You haven't tickled me yet,' she said. ' Show Carolina 
 how yon do it.' 
 
 He gravely operated on the back of Zo's neck ; and his 
 patient acknowledged the process with a wriggle and a scream. 
 The performance being so far at an end, Zo called to the dog, 
 and issued her orders once more. 
 
 ' Now make Tinker kick his leg ! ' 
 
 Benjulia obeyed once again. The young tyrant was not 
 satisfied yet. 
 
 ' Now tickle Carmina ! ' she said. 
 
 He heard this without laughing : his fleshless lips never 
 relaxed into a smile. To Carmina's unutterable embarrass- 
 ment, he looked at her, when she laughed, with steadier atten- 
 tion than ever. Those coldly-inquiring eyes exercised some 
 inscrutable influence over her. Now they made her angry ; 
 and now they frightened her. The silence that had fallen on 
 them again became an unendurable infliction. She burst into 
 talk ; she was loud and familiar — ashamed of her own bold- 
 ness, and quite unable to control it. ' Yon are very fond of 
 Zo ! ' she said suddenly. 
 
 It was a' perfectly commonplace remark — and yet it seemed 
 to perplex; him. 
 
 ' Am I ? ' he answered. 
 
 She went on. Against her own will, she persisted in speak- 
 ing to him. 'And I'm sure Zo is fond of you.' 
 
 He looked at Zo. 'Are yon fond of me ?' he asked. 
 
 Zo, staring hard at him, got off his knee ; retired to a little 
 distance to think ; and stood staring at him again. 
 
 He quietly repeated the question. Zo answered this time 
 — as she had formerly answered Teresa in the Gardens. ' I 
 don't know.' 
 
 He turned again to Carmina, in a slow, puzzled way. ' I 
 don't know either,' he said. 
 
 Hearing the big man own that he was no wiser than her- 
 self, Zo returned to him — without, however, getting on his 
 knee again. She clasped her chubby hands under the inspi- 
 ration of a new idea. ' Let's play at something,' she said to 
 Benjulia. ' Do you know any games ? ' 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 ' Didn't you know any games, when you were only as big 
 as me ? ' 
 
 ' I have forgotten them.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 233 
 
 ' Haven't you got children ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Haven't you got a wife ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Haven't you got a friend ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Well, you are a miserable chap ! ' 
 
 Thanks to Zo, Carmina's sense of nervous oppression burst 
 its way into relief. She laughed loudly and wildly — she was 
 on the verge of hysterics, when Benjulia's eyes, silently 
 questioning her again, controlled her at the critical moment. 
 Her laughter died away. Bat the exciting influence still 
 possessed her ; still forced her into the other alternative of 
 saying something — she neither knew nor cared what. 
 
 ' I couldn't live such a lonely life as yours,' she said to 
 him — so loudly and so confidently that even Zo noticed it. 
 
 ' I couldn't live such a life either,' he admitted, ' but for 
 one thing.' 
 
 ' And what is that ? ' 
 
 'Why are you so loud?' Zo interposed. 'Do you think 
 he's deaf?' 
 
 Benjulia made a sign, commanding the child to be silent — 
 without turning towards her. He answered Carolina as if 
 there had been no interruption. 
 
 'My medical studies,' he said, 'reconcile me to my life.' 
 
 ' Suppose you got tired of your studies ? ' she asked. 
 
 'I should never get tired of them.' 
 
 ' Suppose you couldn't study any more ? ' 
 
 ' In that case I shouldn't live any more.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that it would kill you to leave off ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Then what do you mean ? ' 
 
 He laid his great soft fingers on her pulse. She shrank 
 from his touch ; he deliberately held her by the arm. ' You're 
 getting excited,' he said. ' Never mind what I mean.' 
 
 Zo, left unnoticed and not liking it, saw a chance of 
 asserting herself. 'I know why Carmina's excited,' she said. 
 ' The old woman's coming at six o'clock.' 
 
 He paid no attention to the child.*; he persisted in keeping 
 watch on Carmina. ' Who is the woman ? ' he asked. 
 
 'The most lovable woman in the world,' she cried; 'my 
 dear old nurse ! ' She started up from the sofa, and pointed 
 
234 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 with theatrical exaggeration of gesture to the clock on the 
 mantelpiece. ' Look ! it's only ten minutes to six. In ten 
 minutes, I shall have my arms round Teresa's neck. Don't 
 look at me in that way ! It's your fault if I'm excited. It's 
 your dreadful eyes that do it. Come here, Zo ! I want to 
 give you a kiss.' She seized on Zo with a roughness that 
 startled the child, and looked wildly at Benjulia. ' Ha ! you 
 don't understand loving and kissing, do you ? What's the use 
 of speaking to you ahout my old nurse ? ' 
 
 He pointed imperatively to the sofa. ' Sit down again.' 
 
 She obeyed him — but he had not quite composed her yet. 
 Her eyes sparkled ; she went on talking. ' Ah, you're a hard 
 man ! a miserable man ! a man that will end badly ! You never 
 loved anybody. You don't know what love is.' 
 
 ' What is it ? ' 
 
 That icy question cooled her in an instant : her head sank 
 on her bosom : she suddenly became indifferent to persons and 
 things about her. ' When will Teresa come ? ' she whispered 
 to herself. ' Oh, when will Teresa come ! ' 
 
 Any other man, whether he really felt for her or not, 
 would, as a mere matter of instinct, have said a kind word to 
 her at that moment. Not the vestige of a change appeared in 
 Benjulia's impenetrable composure. She might have been a 
 man — or a baby — or the picture of a girl instead of the girl 
 herself, so far as he was concerned. He quietly returned to 
 his question. 
 
 ' Well,' he resumed — ' and what is love ? ' 
 
 Not a word, not a movement escaped her. 
 
 'I want to know,' he persisted, waiting for what might 
 happen. 
 
 Nothing happoned. He was not perplexed by the sudden 
 change. 'This is the reaction,' he thought. 'We shall see 
 what comes of it.' He looked about him. A bottle of water 
 stood on one of the tables. ' Likely to be useful,' he concluded, 
 'in case she feels faint.' 
 
 Zo had been listening; Zo saw her way to getting 
 noticed again. Not quite sure of herself this time, she ap- 
 pealed to Carmiua. ' Didn't he say, just now, he wanted to 
 know ? ' 
 
 Carmina neither heard nor heeded her. Zo tried Benjulia 
 next. ' Shall I tell you what we do in the schoolroom, when 
 we want to know ? ' His attention, like Carmina's attention, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 235 
 
 seemed to be far away from her. Zo impatiently reminded 
 him of her presence — she laid her hand on his knee. 
 
 It was only the hand of a child — an idle, quaint, perverse 
 child — but it touched, ignorantly touched, the one tender place 
 in his nature, unprofaned by the infernal cruelties which made 
 his life acceptable to him ; the one tender place, hidden so 
 deep from the man himself, that even his far-reaching intellect 
 groped in vain to find it out. There, nevertheless, was the 
 feeling which drew him to Zo, contending successfully with 
 his medical interest in a case of nervous derangement. That 
 unintelligible sympathy with a child looked dimly out of his 
 eyes, spoke faintly in his voice, when he replied to her. ' Well,' 
 he said, ' what do you do in the schoolroom ? ' 
 
 'We look in the dictionary,' Zo answered. ' Carolina's 
 got a dictionary. I'll get it.' 
 
 She climbed on a chair, and found the book, and laid it on 
 Benjulia's lap. ' I don't so much mind trying to spell a word,' 
 she explained. ' What I hate is being asked what it means. 
 Miss Minerva won't let me off. She says, Look. J won't let 
 you off. I'm Miss Minerva and you're Zo. Look ! ' 
 
 He humoured her silently and mechanically — just as he 
 had humoured her in the matter of the stick, and in the matter 
 of the tickling. Having opened the dictionary, he looked 
 again at Carmina. She had not moved ; she seemed to be 
 weary enough to fall asleep. The reaction — nothing but the 
 reaction. It might last for hour's, or it might be at an end in 
 another minute. An interesting temperament, whichever way 
 it ended. He opened the dictionary. 
 
 'Love?' he muttered grimly to himself. 'It seems I'm 
 an object of compassion, because I know nothiug about love. 
 Well, what does the book say about it ? ' 
 
 He found the word, and ran his finger down the paragraphs 
 of explanation which followed. ' Seven meanings to Love,' he 
 remarked. ' First : An affection of the mind excited by beauty 
 and worth of any kind, or by the qualities of an object 
 which communicate pleasure. Second : Courtship. Third : 
 Patriotism, as the love of country. Fourth : Benevolence. 
 Fifth : The object beloved. Sixth : A word of endearment. 
 Seventh : Cupid, the god of love.' 
 
 He paused, and reflected a little. Zo, hearing nothing to 
 amuse her, strayed away to the window, and looked out. He 
 glanced at Carmina. 
 
236 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' Which of those meanings makes the pleasure of her life r ' 
 he wondered. ' Which of them might have made the pleasure 
 of mine ? ' He closed the dictionary in contempt. ' The very 
 man whose business is to explain it, tries seven different ways, 
 and doesn't explain it after all. And yet, there is such a 
 thing.' He reached that conclusion unwillingly and angrily. 
 For the first time, a doubt about himself forced its way into 
 his mind. Might he have looked higher than his torture-table 
 and his knife ? Had he gained from his life all that his life 
 might have given to him ? 
 
 Left by herself, Zo began to grow tired of it. She tried 
 to get Carmina for a companion. ' Come and look out of 
 window,' she said. 
 
 Carmina gently refused ; she was unwilling to be disturbed. 
 Since she had spoken to Benjulia, her thoughts had been 
 dwelling restfully on Ovid. In another day she might be on 
 her way to him. When would Teresa come ? 
 
 Benjulia was too preoccupied to notice her. The weak 
 doubt that had got the better of his strong reason, still held 
 him in thrall. 'Love !' he broke out, in the bitterness of his 
 heart. ' It isn't a question of sentiment : it's a question of 
 use. Who is the better for love ? ' 
 
 She heard the last words, and answered him. ' Every- 
 body is the better for it.' She looked at him with sorrowful 
 eyes, and laid her hand on his arm. ' Everybody,' she added, 
 ' but you.' 
 
 He smiled scornfully. 'Everybody is the better for it,' 
 he repeated. ' And who knows what it is ? ' 
 
 She drew away her hand, and looked towards the heavenly 
 tranquillity of the evening sky. 
 
 ' Who knows what it is ? ' he reiterated. 
 
 ' God,' she said. 
 
 Benjulia was silent. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 The clock on the mantelpiece struck six. Zo, turning sud- 
 denly from the window, ran to the sofa. ' Here's the carriage ! ' 
 she cried. 
 
 ' Teresa ! ' Carmina exclaimed. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 237 
 
 Zo crossed the room, on tiptoe, to the door of the bed- 
 chamber. ' It's mamma,' she said. ' Don't tell. I'm going 
 to hide.' 
 
 ' Why, dear ? ' 
 
 The answer to this was given mysteriously in a whisper. 
 ' She said I wasn't to come to you. She's a quick one on her 
 legs — she might catch me on the stairs.' With that explana- 
 tion, Zo slipped into the bedroom, and held the door ajar. 
 
 The minutes passed — and Mrs. Gallilee failed to justify the 
 opinion expressed by her daughter. Not a sound was audible 
 on the stairs. Not a word moi'e was uttered in the room. 
 Benjulia had taken the child's place at the window. He sat 
 there thinking. Carmina had suggested to him some new 
 ideas, relating to the intricate connection between human faith 
 and human happiness. Slowly, slowly, the clock recorded 
 the lapse of the minutes. Carolina's nervous anxiety began 
 to forecast disaster to the absent nurse. She took Teresa's 
 telegram from her pocket, and consulted it again. There was 
 no mistake : six o'clock was the time named for the traveller's 
 arrival — and it was close on ten minutes past the hour. In 
 her ignorance of railway arrangements, she took it for granted 
 that trains were punctual. But her reading had told her that 
 trains were subject to accident. ' I suppose delays occur,' she 
 said to Benjulia, ' without danger to the passengers ? ' 
 
 Before he could answer — Mrs. Gallilee suddenly entered 
 the room. 
 
 She had opened the door so softly, that she took them 
 both by surprise. To Carolina's excited imagination, she 
 glided into their presence like a ghost. Her look and manner 
 showed serious agitation, desperately suppressed. In certain 
 places, the paint and powder on her face had. cracked, and re- 
 vealed the furrows and wrinkles beneath. Her hard eyes 
 glittered ; her laboured bi'eathing was audible. 
 
 Indifferent to all demonstrations of emotion which did not 
 scientifically concern him, Benjulia quietly rose and advanced 
 towards her. She seemed to be unconscious of his presence. 
 He spoke — allowing her to ignore him without troubling him- 
 self to notice her temper. ' When you are able to attend to 
 me, I want to speak to yon. Shall I wait downstairs ? ' Ho 
 took his hat and stick — to leave the room ; looked at Carmina 
 as he passed her; and at once went back to his place at the 
 window. Her aunt's silent and sinister entrance had frightened 
 
238 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 her. Benjulia waited, in the interests of physiology, to see 
 how the new nervous excitement would end. 
 
 Thus far, Mrs. Gallilee had kept one of her hands hidden 
 behind her. She advanced close to Carmina, and allowed her 
 hand to be seen. It held an open letter. She shook the letter 
 in her niece's face. 
 
 In tbe position which Mrs. Gallilee now occupied, Carmina 
 was hidden, for the moment, from Benjulia's view. Biding 
 his time at the window, he looked out. 
 
 A cab, with luggage on it, had just drawn up at the house. 
 
 Was this the old nurse who had been expected to arrive at 
 six o'clock ? 
 
 The footman came out to open the cab-door. He was fol- 
 lowed by Mr. Gallilee, eager to help the person inside to alight. 
 The traveller proved to be a grey-headed woman, shabbily 
 dressed. Mr. Gallilee cordially shook hands with her — patted 
 her on the shoulder — gave her his arm — led her into the house. 
 The cab with the luggage on it remained at the door. The 
 nurse had evidently not reached the end of her journey yet. 
 
 Carmina shrank back on the sofa, when the leaves of the 
 letter touched her face. Mrs. Gallilee's first words were now 
 spoken, in a whisper. The inner fury of her anger, struggling 
 for a vent, began to get the better of her — she gasped for 
 breath and speech. 
 
 ' Do you know this letter ? ' she said. 
 
 Carmina looked at the writing. It was the letter to Ovid, 
 which she had placed in the post-basket that afternoon ; the 
 letter which declared that she could no longer endure his 
 mother's cold-blooded cruelty, and that she only waited Teresa's 
 arrival to join him at Quebec. 
 
 After one dreadful moment of confusion, her mind realised 
 the outrage implied in the stealing and reading of her letter. 
 
 In the earlier time of Carmina's sojourn in the house, Mrs. 
 Gallilee had accused her of deliberate deceit. She had instantly 
 resented the insult by leaving the room. The same spirit in 
 her — the finely-strung spirit that vibrates unfelt in gentle 
 natures, while they live in peace — steadied those quivering 
 nerves, roused that failing courage. She met the furious eyes 
 fixed on her, without shrinking ; she spoke gravely and firmly 
 ' The letter is mine,' she said. ' How did you come by it ? ' 
 
 1 How dare you ask me ? ' 
 
 ' Hosv dare you steal my letter ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 239 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee tore open the fastening of her dress at the 
 throat, to get breath. 'You impudent bastard !' she burst 
 out, in a frenzy of rage. 
 
 Waiting patiently at the window, Benjulia heard her, 
 1 Hold your damned tongue ! ' he cried. ' She's your niece.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee turned on him : her fury broke into a scream- 
 ing laugh. ' My niece ? ' she repeated. ' You lie — and you 
 know it ! She's the child of an adulteress ! She's the child 
 of her mother's lover ! ' 
 
 The door opened as those horrible words passed her lips. 
 The nurse and her husband entered the room. 
 
 She was in no position to see them : she was incapable of 
 hearing them. The demon in her urged her on ; she attempted 
 to reiterate the detestable falsehood. Her first word died 
 away in silence. The lean brown fingers of the Italian woman 
 had her by the throat — held her as the claws of a tigress might 
 have held her. Her eyes rolled in the mute agony of an appeal 
 for help. In vain ! in vain ! Not a cry, not a sound, had 
 drawn attention to the attack. Her husband's eyes were 
 fixed, horror-struck, on the victim of her rage. Benjulia had 
 crossed the room to the sofa, when Cai'mina heard the words 
 spoken of her mother. Prom that moment, he was watching 
 the case. Mr. Gallilee alone looked round — when the nurse 
 tightened her hold in a last merciless grasp ; dashed the in- 
 sensible woman on the floor ; and, turning back, fell on her 
 knees at her darling's feet. 
 
 She looked up in Carmina's face. 
 
 A ghastly stare, through half-closed eyes, showed death 
 in life, blankly returning her look. The shock had struck 
 Carmina with a stony calm. She had not started, she had 
 not swooned. Rigid, immovable, there she sat ; voiceless and 
 tearless; insensible even to touch; her arms hanging down; 
 her clenched hands resting on either side of her. 
 
 Teresa grovelled and groaned at her feet. Those ferocious 
 hands that had laid the slanderer prostrate on the floor, feebly 
 beat her bosom and her grey head. ' Oh, Saints beloved of 
 God ! Oh, blessed Virgin, mother of Christ, spare my child, 
 my sweet child ! ' She rose in wild despair — she seized Ben- 
 julia, and madly shook him. ' Who are you ? How dare you 
 touch her ? Give her to me, or I'll be the death of you. Oh, 
 my Carmina, is it sleep that holds you? Wake! wake! 
 wake ! ' 
 
240 
 
 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 Listen to me,' said Benjulia, sternly. 
 
 She dropped on the sofa by Carmina's side, and lifted one 
 of the cold clenched hands to her lips. The tears fell slowly 
 over her haggard face. ' I am very fond of her, sir,' she said 
 humbly. ' I'm only an old woman. See what a dreadful 
 welcome my child gives to me. It's hard on an old woman — - 
 hard on an old woman ! ' 
 
 His self-possession was not disturbed — even by this. 
 
 ' Do you know what I am ? ' he asked. ' I am a doctor. 
 Leave her to me.' 
 
 ' He.'s a doctor. That's good. A doctor's good. Tes, yes. 
 Does the old man know this doctor — the kind old man ? ' 
 She looked vacantly for Mr. Gallilee. He was bending over 
 his wife, sprinkling water on her deathly face. 
 
 Teresa got on her feet, and pointed to Mrs. Gallilee. ' The 
 breath of that Sbe-Devil poisons the air,' she said. ' I must 
 take my child out of it. To my place, sir, if you please. Only 
 to my place.' 
 
 She attempted to lift Carolina from the sofa — and drew 
 back, breathlessly watching her. Her rigid face faintly re- 
 laxed : her eyelids closed, and quivered. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee looked up from his wife. ' "Will one of you 
 help me ? ' he asked. His tone struck Benjulia. It was the 
 hushed tone of sorrow — no more. 
 
 ' I'll see to it directly.' With that reply, Benjulia turned 
 to Teresa. ' Where is your place ? ' he said. ' Far or near ? ' 
 
 ' The message,' she answered confusedly. ' The message 
 says.' She signed to him to look in her hand-bag — dropped 
 on the floor. 
 
 He found Carmina's telegram, containing the address of 
 the lodgings. The house was close by. After some con- 
 sideration, he sent the nurse into the bedroom, with instruc- 
 tions to bring him the blankets off the bed. In the minute 
 that followed, he examined Mrs. Gallilee. 'There's nothing 
 to be frightened about. Let her maid attend to her.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee again surprised Benjulia. He turned from 
 his wife, and looked at Carmina. ' For God's sake, don't leave 
 her here ! ' he broke out. ' After what she has heard, thia 
 house is no place for her. Give her to the old nurse ! ' 
 
 Benjulia only answered, as he had answered already — ' I'll 
 see to it.' Mr. Gallilee persisted. ' Is there any risk in 
 moving her ? ' he asked. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 241 
 
 ' It's the least of two risks. No more questions ! Look to 
 your wife.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee obeyed in silence. 
 
 When he lifted his head again, and rose to ring the bell 
 for the maid, the room was silent and lonely. A little pale 
 frightened face peeped out through the bedroom door. Zo 
 ventured in. Her father caught her in his arms, and kissed 
 her as he had never kissed her yet. His eyes were wet with 
 tears. Zo noticed that he never said a word about mamma. 
 The child saw the change in her father, as Benjulia had seen 
 it. She shared one human feeling with her big friend — she, 
 too, was surprised. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 The first signs of reviving life had begun to appear, when 
 Marceline answered the bell. In a few minutes more, it was 
 possible to raise Mrs. Gallilee, and to place her on the sofa. 
 Having so far assisted the servant, Mr. Gallilee took Zo by 
 the hand, and drew back. Daunted by the terrible scene 
 which she had witnessed from her hiding-place, the child stood 
 by her father's side in silence. The two waited together, 
 watching Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 She looked wildly round the room. Discovering that she 
 was alone with the members of her family, she became com- 
 posed : her mind slowly recovered its balance. Her first 
 thought was for herself. 
 
 ' Has that woman disfigured me ? ' she said to the maid. 
 
 Knowing nothing of what had happened, Mai'celine was at 
 a loss to understand her. ' Bring me a glass,' she said. The 
 maid found a hand-glass in the bedroom, and presented it to 
 her. She looked at herself — and drew a long breath of relief. 
 That first anxiety at an end, she spoke to her husband. 
 
 ' Where is CaiTaina ? ' 
 
 ' Out of the house — thank God ! ' 
 
 The answer seemed to bewilder her : she appealed to 
 Marceline. 
 
 « Did he say, thank God ? ' 
 
 'Yen. ma'am.' 
 
 ' Can you tell me nothing ? Who knows where Carmina 
 has gone ? ' 
 
242 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' Joseph knows, ma'am. He heard Dr. Benjulia give the 
 address to the cabman.' With that answer, she turned 
 anxiously to her master. ' Is Miss Carmina seriously ill, sir ? ' 
 
 Her mistress spoke again, before Mr. Gallilee could reply. 
 'Marceline! send Joseph up here.' 
 
 ' ISTo,' said Mr. Gallilee. 
 
 His wife eyed him with astonishment. ' Why not ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 He said quietly, ' I forbid it.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee addressed herself to the maid. 4 Go to my 
 room, and bring me another bonnet and a veil. Stop ! ' Shfe 
 tried to rise, and sank back. ' I must have something to 
 strengthen me. Get the sal volatile.' 
 
 Marceline left the room. Mr. Gallilee followed her as far 
 as the door— still leading his little daughter. 
 
 ' Go back, my dear, to your sister in the schoolroom,' he 
 said. 'I am distressed, Zo ; be a good girl, and you will 
 console me. Say the same to Maria. It will be dull for yon, 
 I am afraid. Be patient, my child, and try to bear it for a 
 while.' 
 
 ' May I whisper something ? ' said Zo. ' Will Carmina 
 die?' 
 
 ' God forbid ! ' 
 
 ' Will they bring her back here ? ' 
 
 In her eagerness, the child spoke above a whisper. Mrs. 
 Gallilee heard the question, and answered it. 
 
 ' They will bring Carmina back,' she said, ' the moment I 
 can get out.' 
 
 Zo looked at her father. ' Do you say that ? ' she asked. 
 
 He shook his head gravely, and told her again to go to 
 the schoolroom. On the first landing she stopped, and looked 
 back. ' I'll be good, papa,' she said — and went on up the 
 stairs. 
 
 Having reached the schoolroom, she became the object of 
 many questions — not one of which she answered. Followed 
 by tlie dog, she sat down in a corner. 'What are you think- 
 ing about ? ' her sister inquired. This time she was willing 
 to reply. ' I'm thinking about Carmina.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee closed the door when Zo left him. He took 
 a chair, without speaking to his wife or looking at her. 
 
 ' What are you here for ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' I must wait,' he said. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 243 
 
 1 What for ? ' 
 
 ' To see what you do.' 
 
 Marceline returned, and administered a dose of sal volatile. 
 Strengthened by the stimulant, Mrs. Gallilee was able to rise. 
 ' My head is giddy,' she said, as she took the maid's arm ; 
 ' but I think I can get downstairs with your help.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee silently followed them out. 
 
 At the head of the stairs the giddiness increased. Firm 
 as her resolution might be, it gave way before the bodily 
 injury which Mrs. Gallilee had received. Her husband's help 
 was again needed to take her to her bedroom. She stopped 
 them at the ante-chamber ; still obstinately bent on following 
 her own designs. ' I shall be better directly,' she said ; ' put 
 me on the sofa.' Marceline relieved her of her bonnet and veil, 
 and asked respectfully if there was any other service required. 
 She looked defiantly at her husband, and reiterated the order — ■ 
 ' Send for Joseph.' Intelligent resolution is sometimes shaken ; 
 the inert obstinacy of a weak creature, man or animal, is im- 
 movable. Mr. Gallilee dismissed the maid with these words : 
 ' You needn't wait, my good girl — I'll speak to Joseph myself, 
 downstairs.' 
 
 His wife heard him with amazement and contempt. ' Are 
 you in your right senses ? ' she asked. 
 
 He paused on his way out. ' Tou were always hai'd and 
 headstrong,' he said sadly ; ' I knew that. A cleverer man 
 than I am might — I suppose it's possible — a clear-headed man 
 might have found out how wicked you are.' She lay, think- 
 ing ; indifferent to anything he could say to her. ' Are you 
 not ashamed ? ' he asked wonderingly. ' And not even sorry ? ' 
 She paid no heed to him. He left her. 
 
 Descending to the hall, he was met by Joseph. ' Doctor 
 Benjulia has come back, sir. He wishes to see you.' 
 
 ' Where is he ? ' 
 
 ' In the library.' 
 
 ' Wait, Joseph ; I have something to say to you. If your 
 mistress asks where they have taken Miss Carmina, you 
 mustn't — this is my order, Joseph — you mustn't tell her. If 
 you have mentioned it to any of the other servants — it's quite 
 likely they may have asked, you, isn't it ? ' he said, falling 
 into his old habit for a moment. ' If you have mentioned it 
 to the others,' he resumed, ' they mustn't tell her. That's all, 
 my good man; that's all.' 
 
244 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 To his own surprise, Joseph found himself regarding- hia 
 master with a feeling of respect. Mr. Gallilee entered the 
 library. 
 
 ' How is she ? ' he asked, eager for news of Carmina. 
 
 'The worse for being moved,' Benjulia replied. 'What 
 about your wife ? ' 
 
 Answering that question, Mr. Gallilee mentioned the pre- 
 cautions that he had taken to keep the secret of Teresa's 
 address. 
 
 ' Ton need be under no anxiety about that,' said Benjulia. 
 1 1 have left orders that Mrs. Gallilee is not to be admitted. 
 There is a serious necessity for keeping her out. In these 
 cases of partial catalepsy, there is no saying when the change 
 may come. When it does come, I won't answer for her niece's 
 reason, if those two see each other again. Send for your own 
 medical man. The girl is his patient, and he is the person on 
 whom the responsibility rests. Let the servant take my card 
 to him directly. We can meet in consultation at the house.' 
 
 He wrote a line on one of his visiting cards. It was at 
 once sent to Mr. Null. 
 
 '. There's another matter to be settled before I go,' Benjulia 
 proceeded. ' Here are some papers, which I have received 
 from your lawyer, Mr. Mool. They relate to a slander, which 
 your wife unfortunately repeated ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee got up from his chair. ' Don't take my mind 
 back to that — pray don't ! ' he pleaded earnestly. ' I can't 
 bear it, Doctor Benjulia — I can't bear it ! Please to excuse 
 my rudeness : it isn't intentional — I don't know nryself what's 
 the matter with me. I've always led a quiet life, sir ; I'm not 
 lit for such things as these. Don't suppose I speak selfishly. 
 I'll do what I can, if you will kindly spare me.' 
 
 He might as well have appealed to the sympathy of the 
 table at which they were sitting. Benjulia was absolutely in- 
 capable of understanding the state of mind which those words 
 revealed. 
 
 ' Can you take these papers to your wife ? ' he asked. ' I 
 called here this evening — being the person to blame — to set 
 the matter right. As it is, I leave her to make the discovery 
 for herself. I desire to hold no more communication with, 
 your wife. Have you anything to say to me before I go ? ' 
 
 ' Only one thing. Is there any harm in my calling at tha 
 house, to ask how poor Carmina goes on ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 245 
 
 'Ask as often as you like — provided Mrs. Gallilcc doesn't 
 accompany you. If she's obstinate, it may not be amiss to 
 give your wife a word of warning. In my opinion, the old n arse 
 is not likely to let her off, next time, with her life. I've had a 
 little talk with that curious foreign savage. I said, " You have 
 committed, what we consider in England, a murderous assault. 
 If Mrs. Gallilee doesn't mind the public exposure, you may 
 find yourself in a prison." She snapped her fingers in my 
 face. " Suppose I find myself with the hangman's rope 
 round my neck," she said, "what do I care, so long as Car- 
 mina is safe from her aunt ? " After that pretty answer, she 
 sat down by the girl's bedside, and burst out crying.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee listened absently : his mind still dwelt on 
 Carmina. 
 
 ' I meant well,' he said, ' when I asked you to take her 
 out of this house. It's no wonder if I was wrong. What I 
 am too stupid to understand is — why you allowed her to be 
 moved.' 
 
 Benjulia listened with a grim smile ; Mr. Gallilee's pre- 
 sumption amused him. 
 
 ' I wonder whether there was any room left for memory, 
 when nature furnished your narrow little head,' he answered 
 pleasantly. ' Didn't I say that moving her was the least of 
 two risks? And haven't I just warned you of what might 
 have happened, if we had left your wife and her niece together 
 in the same house ? When I do a thing at my time of life, 
 Mr. Gallilee — don't think me conceited — I know why I do it.' 
 
 While he was speaking of himself in these tenns, he might 
 have said something more. He might have added, that his 
 dread of the loss of Carmina's reason really meant his dread 
 of a commonplace termination to an exceptionally interesting 
 case. He might also have acknowledged, that he w r as nob 
 yielding obedience to the rules of professional etiquette, in 
 confiding the patient to her regular medical attendant, but 
 following the selfish suggestions of his own critical judgment. 
 
 His experience, briet as it had been, had satisfied him that 
 stupid Mr. Null's course of action could be trusted to let the 
 instructive progress of the malady proceed. Mr. Null would 
 treat the symptoms in perfect good faith — without a suspicion 
 of the nervous hysteria which, in such a constitution as Car- 
 mina's, threatened to establish itself, in course of time, as the 
 hidden cause. These motives — not only excused, but even 
 
246 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ennobled, by their scientific connection with the interests of 
 Medical Research — he might have avowed, under more favour- 
 able circumstances. While his grand discovery was still 
 barely within reach, Doctor Benjulia stood committed to a 
 system of diplomatic reserve, which even included simple Mr. 
 Gallilee. 
 
 He took his hat and stick, and walked out into the hall. 
 1 Can I be of any further use ? ' he asked carelessly. ' Tou 
 will hear about the patient from Mr. Null.' 
 
 ' You won't desert Carmina ? ' said Mr. Gallilee. ' You 
 will see her yourself, from time to time — won't you ? ' 
 
 ' Don't be afraid ; I'll look after her.' He spoke sincerely 
 in saying this. Carmina's case had already suggested new 
 ideas. Even the civilised savage of modern physiology (where 
 his own interests are concerned) is not absolutely insensible 
 to a feeling of gratitude. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee opened the door for him. 
 
 ' By-the-bye,' he added, as he stepped out, ' what's become 
 of Zo ? ' 
 
 ' She's upstairs, in tbe schoolroom.' 
 
 He made one of his dreary jokes. ' Tell her, when she 
 wants to-be tickled again, to let me know. Good-evening ! ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee returned to the upper part of the house, with 
 the papers left by Benjulia in his hand. Arriving at the dress- 
 ing-room door, he hesitated. The papers were enclosed in a 
 sealed envelope, addressed to his wife. Secured in this way 
 from inquisitive eyes, there was no necessity for personally 
 presenting them. He went on to the schoolroom, and beck- 
 oned to the parlour-maid to come out, and speak to him. 
 
 Having instructed her to deliver the papers — telling her 
 mistress that they had been left at the house by Doctor Ben- 
 julia — he dismissed the woman from duty. ' You needn't 
 return,' he said ; ' I'll look after the children myself.' 
 
 Maria was busy with her book ; and even idle Zo was 
 employed ! 
 
 She was writing at her own inky desk ; and she looked up 
 in confusion, when her father appeared. Unsuspicious Mr. 
 Gallilee took it for granted that his favourite daughter was 
 employed on a writing lesson — following Maria's industrious 
 example for once. ' Good children ! ' he said, looking affec- 
 tionately from one to the other. ' I won't disturb you ; go 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 247 
 
 on.' He took a chair, satisfied — comforted, even — to be in 
 the same room with the girls. 
 
 If he had placed himself nearer to the desk, he might havo 
 seen that Zo had been thinking of Carmina to some purpose. 
 
 What could she do to make her friend and playfellow well 
 and happy again ? There was the question which Zo asked 
 herself, after having seen Carmina carried insensible out of 
 the room. 
 
 Possessed of that wonderful capacity for minute observa- 
 tion of the elder persons about them, which is one among the 
 many baffling mysteries presented by the minds of children, 
 Zo had long since discovered that the member of the house- 
 hold, preferred to all others by Carmina, was the good brother 
 who had gone away and left them. In his absence, she was 
 always talking of him — and Zo had seen her kiss his photo- 
 graph before she put it back in the case; 
 
 Dwelling on these recollections, the child's slowly-working 
 mental process arrived more easily than usual at the right 
 conclusion. The way to make Carmina well and happy again, 
 was to bring Ovid back. One of the two envelopes which he 
 had directed for her still remained — waiting for the letter 
 which might say to him, ' Come home ! ' 
 
 Zo determined to write that letter — and to do it at once. 
 
 She might have confided this design to her father (the one 
 person besides Carmina who neither scolded her nor laughed 
 at her) if Mr. Gallilee had distinguished himself by his mas- 
 terful position in the house. But she had seen him, as every- 
 body else had seen him, ' afraid of mamma.' The doubt 
 whether he might not ' tell mamma,' decided her on keeping 
 her secret. As the event proved, the one person who informed 
 Ovid of the terrible necessity that existed for his return, was 
 the little sister whom it had been his last kind effort to console 
 when he left England. 
 
 When Mr. Gallilee entered the room, Zo had just reached 
 the end of her letter. Her system of composition excluded 
 capitals and stops ; and reduced all the words in the English 
 language, by a simple process of abridgment, to words of one 
 syllable. 
 
 ' dear ov you come bach car is ill she wants you be quick be 
 quick don't say i writ this miss min is gone i hate books i like 
 you zo.' 
 
248 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 With the pen still in her hand, the wary writer looked 
 round at her father. She had her directed envelope (sadly 
 crumpled) in her pocket ; but she was afraid to take it out. 
 ' Maria,' she thought, ' would know what to do in iny place. 
 Horrid Maria ! ' 
 
 Fortune, using the affairs of the household as an instru- 
 ment, befriended Zo. In a minute more her opportunity 
 arrived. The parlour-maid unexpectedly returned. She ad- 
 dressed Mr. Gallilee with the air of mystery in which English 
 servants, in possession of a message, especially delight. ' If 
 you please, sir, Joseph wishes to speak to you.' 
 
 ' Where is he ? ' 
 
 * Outside, sir.' 
 
 ' Tell him to come in.' 
 
 Thanks to the etiquette of the servants' hall — which did 
 not permit Joseph to present himself, voluntarily, in the re- 
 gions above the drawing-room, without being first represented 
 by an ambassadress — attention was now diverted from the 
 children. Zo folded her letter, enclosed it in the envelope, 
 and hid it in her pocket. 
 
 Joseph appeared. ' I beg your pardon, sir, I don't quite 
 know whether I ought to disturb my mistress. Mr. Le Frank 
 has called, and asked if he can see her.' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee consulted the parlour-maid. ' Was your 
 mistress asleep when I sent you to her ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir. She told me to bring her a cup of tea.' 
 
 On those rare former occasions, when Mrs. Gallilee had 
 been ill, her attentive husband never left it to the servants to 
 consult her wishes. That time had gone by for ever. 
 
 ' Tell your mistress, Joseph, that Mr. Le Frank is here.' 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 The .slander on which Mrs. Gallilee had reckoned, as a means 
 of separating Ovid and Carmina, was now a slander refuted 
 by unanswerable proof. And the man whose exertions had 
 achieved this result, was her own lawyer — the agent whom 
 she had designed to employ, in asserting that claim of the, 
 guardian over the ward which Teresa had defied. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 249 
 
 As a necessary consequence, the relations between Mr. 
 Mool and herself were already at an end. 
 
 There she lay helpless — her authority set at naught; her per- 
 son outraged by a brutal attack — there she lay, urged to action 
 by every reason tbat a resolute woman could have for asserting 
 her power, and avenging her wrong — without a creature to 
 take her part, without an accomplice to serve her purpose. 
 
 She got on her feet, with the resolution of despair. Her 
 heart sank — the room whirled round her — she dropped back 
 on the sofa. In a recumbent position, the giddiness subsided. 
 She could ring the hand-bell on the table at her side. ' Send 
 instantly for Mr. Null,' she said to the maid. 'If he is out, 
 let the messenger follow him, wherever he may be.' 
 
 The messenger came back with a note. Mr. Null would 
 call on Mrs. Gallilee as soon as possible. He was then en- 
 gaged in attendance on Miss Carmina. 
 
 At that discovery, Mrs. Gallilee's last reserves of inde- 
 pendent resolution gave way. The services of her own medi- 
 cal attendant were only at her disposal, when Carmina had 
 done with him ! At the top of his letter the address, which 
 she had thus far tried vainly to discover, stared her in the 
 face : the house was within five minutes' walk — and she was 
 not even able to cross the room ! For the first time in her 
 life, Mrs. Gallilee's imperious spirit acknowledged defeat. For 
 the first time in her life, she asked herself the despicable 
 question : Who can I find to help me ? 
 
 Someone knocked at the door. 
 
 ' Who is it ? ' she cried. 
 
 Joseph's voice answered her. ' Mr. Le Frank has called, 
 ma'am — and wishes to know if you can see him.' 
 
 She never stopped to think, She never even sent for the 
 maid to see to her personal appearance. The horror of her 
 own helplessness drove her on. Here was the man, whose 
 timely betrayal of Carmina had stopped her on her way to 
 Ovid, in the nick of time ! Here was the self-devoted instru- 
 ment, waiting to be employed. 
 
 1 I'll see Mr. Le Frank,' she said. ' Show him up.' 
 
 The music-master looked round the obscurely lit room, and 
 bowed to the recumbent figure on the sofa. 
 
 ' I fear I disturb you, madam, at an inconvenient time.' 
 
 ' I am suffering from illness, Mr. Le Frank ; but I am able 
 to receive you — as you see,' 
 
250 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 She stojDped there. Now, when she saw him, and heard 
 him, some perverse hesitation in her began to donht him. 
 Now, when it was too late, she weakly tried to pnt herself on 
 her guard. What a decay of energy (she felt it herself) in 
 the ready and resolute woman, equal to any emergency at 
 other times ! ' To what am I to attribute the favour of your 
 visit ? ' she resumed. 
 
 Even her voice failed her: it faltered in spite of her efforts 
 to steady it. Mr. Le Frank's vanity drew its own encouraging 
 conclusion from this one circumstance. 
 
 ' I am anxious to know how I stand in your estimation,' he 
 replied. ' Early this evening, I left a few lines here, enclosing 
 a letter — with my compliments. Have you received the 
 letter ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Have you read it ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee hesitated. Mr. Le Frank smiled. 
 
 ' I won't trouble you, madam, for any more direct reply,' 
 he said ; ' I will speak plainly. Be so good as to tell me 
 plainly, on your side, which I am — a man who has disgraced 
 himself by stealing a letter ? or a man who has distinguished 
 himself by doing you a service ? ' 
 
 An unpleasant alternative, neatly defined ! To disavow 
 Mr. Le Frank or to use Mr. Le Frank — there was the case for 
 Mrs. Gallilee's consideration. She was incapable of pronounc- 
 ing judgment ; the mere effort of decision, after what she had 
 suffered, fatigued and irritated her. 'I can't deny,' she said, 
 with weary resignation, 'that you have done me a service.' 
 
 He rose, and made a generous return for the confidence 
 that had been placed in him — he repeated his magnificent 
 bow, and sat down again. 
 
 ' Our position towards each other seems too plain to bo 
 mistaken,' he proceeded. ' Your niece's letter — perfectly use- 
 less for the purpose with which I opened it — offers me a 
 means of being even with Miss Carmina, and a chance of 
 being useful to You. Shall I begin by keeping an eye on the 
 young lady ? ' 
 
 ' Is that said, Mr. Le Frank out of devotion to me ? ' 
 
 ' My devotion to you might wear out,' he answered 
 audaciously. ' You may trust my feeling towards your niece 
 to last — I never forget an injury. Is it indiscreet to inquire 
 how you mean to keep Miss Carmina from joining her lover 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 251 
 
 in Quebec ? Does a guardian's authority extend to locking 
 her up in her room ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee felt the underlying familiarity in these 
 questions — elaborately concealed as it was under an assump- 
 tion of respect. 
 
 1 My niece is no longer in my house,' she answered coldly. 
 
 ' Gone ! ' cried Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 She corrected the expression. 'Removed,' she said, and 
 dropped the subject there. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank took the subject up again. ' Removed, I 
 presume, under the care of her nurse ? ' he rejoined. 
 
 The nurse ? What did he know about the nurse ? ' May 
 I ask ? ' Mrs. Gallilee began. 
 
 He smiled indulgently, and stopped her there. ' You are 
 not quite yourself to-night,' he said. ' Permit me to remind 
 you that your niece's letter to Mr. Ovid Vere is explicit, and 
 that I took the liberty of reading it before I left it at your 
 house.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee listened in eilence, conscious that she had 
 committed another error. She had carefully excluded from 
 her confidence a man who was already in possession of her 
 secrets ! Mr. Le Frank's courteous sympathy forbade him to 
 take advantage of the position of superiority which he now 
 held. 
 
 'I will do myself the honour of calling again,' he said, 
 ' when you are better able to place the right estimate on my 
 humble offers of service. I wouldn't fatigue you, Mrs. 
 Gallilee, for the world ! At the same time, permit me to put 
 one last question which ought not to be delayed. When Miss 
 Carmina left you, did she take away her writing-desk and 
 her keys ? ' 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Allow me to suggest that she may send for them at any 
 moment.' 
 
 Before it was possible to ask for an explanation, Joseph 
 presented himself again. Mr. Null was waiting downstairs. 
 Mrs. Gallilee arranged that he should be admitted when she 
 rang her bell. Mr. Le Frank approached the sofa when they 
 were alone, and returned to his suggestion in a whisper. 
 
 ' Surely, you see the importance of using your niece's 
 keys ? ' he resumed. ' We don't know what correspondence 
 may have been going on, in which the nurse and the governess 
 
252 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 have been concerned. After we have already intercepted a 
 letter, hesitation is absurd ! You are not equal to the effort 
 yourself. I know the room. Don't be afraid of discovery ; I 
 have a naturally soft footfall — and my excuse is ready, if 
 somebody else has a soft footfall too. Leave it to me.' 
 
 He lit a caudle as he spoke. But for that allusion to 
 the nurse, Mrs. Gallilee might have ordered him to blow it out 
 again. Eager for any discovery which might, by the barest 
 possibility, place Teresa at her mercy, she silently submitted 
 to Mr. Le Frank. ' I'll call to-morrow,' he said — and slipped 
 out of the room. 
 
 When Mr. Null was announced, Mrs. Gallilee pushed up 
 the shade over the globe of the lamp. Her medical atten- 
 dant's face might be worth observing, under a clear light. 
 
 His timid look, his confused manner, when he made the 
 conventional apologies told her at once that Teresa had 
 spoken, and that he knew what had happened. Even he had 
 never before been so soothing and so attentive. But he forgot, 
 or he was afraid, to consult appearances by asking what was 
 the matter, before he felt the pulse, and took the temperature, 
 and wrote his prescription. Not a word was uttered by Mrs. 
 Gallilee, until the medical formalities came to an end. ' Is 
 there anything more that I can do ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' You can tell me,' she said, ' when I shall be well again.' 
 
 Mr. Null was polite ; Mr. Null was sympathetic. Mrs. 
 Gallilee might be herself again in a day or two — or Mrs. 
 Gallilee might be unhappily confined to her room for some 
 little time. He had hope in his prescription, and hope in 
 perfect quiet and repose — he would suggest the propriety of 
 going to bed at once, and would not fail to call early the 
 next morning. 
 
 ' Sit down again,' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 Mr. Null turned pale. He foresaw what was coming. 
 
 ' Yon have been in attendance on Miss Carmina. I wish 
 to know what her illness is.' 
 
 Mr. Null began to prevaricate at the outset. ' The case 
 causes us serious anxiety. The complications are formidable. 
 Doctor Benjulia himself ' 
 
 ' In plain words, Mr. Null, can she be moved ? ' 
 
 This produced a definite answer. ' Quite impossible.' 
 
 She only ventured to put her next question after waiting 
 a little to control herself. 
 
Heart and science. 253 
 
 'la that foreign woman, the nurse — the only nurse — in 
 attendance ? ' 
 
 ' Don't speak of her, Mrs. Gallilee ! A dreadful woman ; 
 coarse, furious, a perfect savage. When I suggested a second 
 nurse ' 
 
 ' I understand. You asked just now if you could do 
 anything for me. You can do me a great service — you can 
 recommend me a trustworthy lawyer.' 
 
 Mr. Null was surprised. As the old medical attendant of 
 the family, he was not unacquainted with the legal adviser. 
 He mentioned Mr. Mool's name. 
 
 ' Mr. Mool has forfeited my confidence,' Mrs. Gallilee 
 announced. ' Can you, or can you not, recommend a lawyer ? ' 
 
 ' Ob, certainly ! My own lawyer.' 
 
 ' You will find writing materials on the table behind me. 
 I won't keep you more than five minutes. I want you to 
 Write from my dictation.' 
 
 ' My dear lady, in your present condition ' 
 
 ' Do as I tell you ! My head is quiet while I lie down. 
 Even a woman in my condition can say what she means to do. 
 I shall not close my eyes to-night, unless I can feel that I 
 have put that wretch in her right place. Who are your 
 lawyers ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null mentioned the names, and took up his pen. 
 
 'Introduce me in the customary form,' Mrs. Gallilee pro- 
 ceeded ; ' and then refer the lawyers to my brother's Will. Is 
 it done ? ' 
 
 In due time it was done. 
 
 ' Tell them next, how my niece has been taken away from 
 me, and where she has been taken to.' 
 
 To the best of his ability, Mr. Null complied. 
 
 'Now,' said Mrs. Gallilee, 'write what I mean to do ! ' 
 
 The prospect of being revenged on Teresa revived her. 
 For the moment, at least, she almost looked like herself 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Null turned over to a new leaf with a hand that 
 trembled a little. The dictating voice pronounced these 
 words : 
 
 ' I forbid the woman Teresa to act in the capacity of 
 nurse to Miss Carmina, and even to enter the room in which 
 that young lady is now lying ill. I further warn this person, 
 that my niece will be restored to my care, the moment her 
 
254 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 medical attendants allow her to be removed. And I desire 
 my legal advisers to assert my authority, as guardiao, to- 
 morrow morning.' 
 
 Mr. Null finished his task in silent dismay. He took out 
 his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. 
 
 ' Is there any very terrible effort required in saying thoso 
 few words, even to a shattered creature like me ? ' Mrs. 
 Gallilee asked bitterly. ' Let me hear that the lawyers have 
 got their instructions when you come to-morrow ; and give 
 me the name and address of a nurse whom you can thoroughly 
 recommend. Good-night ! ' 
 
 At last, Mr. Null got away. As he softly closed the 
 dressing-room door, the serious question still dwelt on his 
 mind : What would Teresa do ? 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 Even in the welcome retirement of the schoolroom, Mr. Gal- 
 lilee's mind was not at ease. He was troubled by a question 
 entirely new to him — the question of himself, in the character 
 of husband and father. 
 
 Accustomed through long years of conjugal association to 
 look up to his wife as a superior creature, he was now con- 
 scious that her place in his estimation had been lost, beyond 
 recoveiy. If he considered nest what ought to be done with 
 Maria and Zo, he only renewed his perplexity and distress. 
 To leave them (as he had hitherto left them) absolutely sub- 
 mitted to their mother's authority, was to resign his children 
 to the influence of a woman, who had ceased to be the object 
 of his confidence and respect. He pondered over it in the 
 schoolroom ; he pondered over it when he went to bed. On 
 the next morning, he arrived at a conclusion in the nature of 
 a compromise. He decided on applying to his good friend, 
 Mr. Mool, for a word of advice. 
 
 His first proceeding was to call at Teresa's lodgings, in 
 the hope of hearing better news of Carmina. 
 
 The melancholy report of her was expressed in two words : 
 No change. He was so distressed that he asked to see the 
 landlady; and tried, in his own helpless kindhearted way, to 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 255 
 
 get a little hopeful information by asking questions — useless 
 questions, repeated over and over again in futile changes of 
 words. The landlady was patient: she respected the undis- 
 guised grief of the gentle modest old man ; but she held to 
 the hard truth. The one possible answer was the answer 
 which her servant had already given. When she followed 
 him out, to open the door, Mr. Gallilee requested permission 
 to wait a moment in the hall. ' If you will allow me, ma'am, 
 I'll wipe my eyes before I go into the street.' 
 
 Arriving at the office without an appointment, he found 
 the lawyer engaged. A clerk presented to him a slip of paper, 
 with a line written by Mr. Mool : ' Is it anything of im- 
 portance ? ' Simple Mr. Gallilee wrote back : ' Oh, dear no ; 
 it's only me ! I'll call again.' Besides his critical judgment 
 in the matter of champagne, this excellent man possessed 
 another accomplishment — a beautiful handwriting. Mr. Mool, 
 discovering a crooked line and some ill-formed letters in the 
 reply, drew his own conclusions. He sent word to his old 
 friend to w r ait. 
 
 In ten minutes more they were together, and the lawyer 
 was informed of the events that had followed the visit of Ben- 
 julia to Fairfield Gardens, on the previous day. 
 
 For a while, the two men sat silently meditating — daunted 
 by the prospect before them. When the time came for speak- 
 ing, they exercised an influence over each other, of which both 
 were alike unconscious. Out of their common horror of Mrs. 
 Gallilee's conduct, and their common interest in Carmina, they 
 innocently achieved between them the creation of one reso- 
 lute man. 
 
 ' My dear Gallilee, this is a very serious thing.' 
 
 ' My dear Mool, I feel it so — or I shouldn't have disturbed 
 you.' 
 
 ' Don't talk of disturbing me ! I see so many complica- 
 tions ahead of us, I hardly know where to begin.' 
 
 '■Just my case! It's a comfort to me that you feel it 
 as I do.' 
 
 Mr. Mool rose and tried walking up and down his room, as 
 a means of stimulating his ingenuity. 
 
 ' There's this poor young lady,' he resumed. ' If she gets 
 better ' 
 
 ' Don't put it in that way ! ' Mr. Gallilee interposed. ' It 
 sounds as if you doubted her ever getting well — you see it 
 
itf HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 yourself in that light, don't yon ? Be a little more positive, 
 Mool, in mercy to me.' 
 
 'By all means,' Mr. Mool agreed. ' Let us say, when she 
 gets better. But the difficulty meets us, all the same. If 
 Mrs. Gallilee claims her right, what are we to do ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee rose in his turn, and took a walk up and down 
 the room. That well-meant experiment only left him feebler 
 than ever. 
 
 ' What possessed her brother to make her Carmina's guar- 
 dian ? ' he asked — with the nearest approach to irritability of 
 which he was capable. 
 
 The lawyer was busy with his own thoughts. He only 
 enlightened Mr. Gallilee after the question had been repeated. 
 
 ' I had the sincerest regard for Mr. Robert Gray well,' he 
 said. ' A better husband and father — and don't let me forget 
 it, a more charming artist — never lived. But,' said Mr. Mool, 
 with the air of one strong-minded man appealing to another : 
 ' weak, sadly weak. If you will allow me to say so, your 
 wife's self-asserting way — well, it was so unlike her brother's 
 way, that it had its effect on him I If Lady Northlake had 
 been a little less quiet and retiring, the matter might have 
 ended in a very different manner. As it was (I don't wish to 
 put the case offensively) Mrs. Gallilee imposed on him — and 
 there she is, in authority, under the Will. Let that be. We 
 must protect this poor girl. We must act ! ' cried Mr. Mool 
 with a burst of energy. 
 
 ' We must act ! ' Mr. Gallilee repeated — and feebly clenched 
 his fist, and softly struck the table. 
 
 ' I think I have an idea,' the lawyer proceeded ; ' suggested 
 by something said to me by Miss Carmina herself. May I ask 
 if you are in her confidence ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee's face brightened at this. ' Certainly, he an- 
 swered. ' I always kiss her when we say good-night, and kiss 
 her again when we say good-morning.' 
 
 This proof of his friend's claims as Carmina's chosen ad- 
 viser, seemed rather to surprise Mr. Mool. ' Did she ever hint 
 at an idea of hastening her marriage ? ' he inquired. 
 
 Plainly as the question was put, it thoroughly puzzled 
 Mr. Gallilee. His honest face answered for him — he was not 
 in Carmina's confidence. Mr. Mool returned to his idea. 
 
 ' The one thing we can do,' he said, 'is to hasten Mr. Ovid's 
 return. There is the only course to take — as I see it.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 257 
 
 'Let's do it at once ! ' cried Mr. Gallilee. 
 
 'But tell me,' Mr. Mool insisted, greedy for encourage- 
 ment — ' does my suggestion relieve your mind ? ' 
 
 ' It's the first happy moment I've had to-day ! ' Mr. Gal- 
 lilee's weak voice piped high : he was getting firmer and firmer 
 with every word he uttered. 
 
 One of them produced a telegraph-form ; the other seized 
 a pen. ' Shall we send the message in your name ? ' Mr. Mool 
 asked. 
 
 If Mr. Gallilee had possessed a hundred names he would 
 have sent them (and paid for them) all. ' John Gallilee, 14 
 
 Fairfield Gardens, London, To ' There the pen stopped. 
 
 Ovid was still in the wilds of Canada. The one way of com- 
 municating with him was through the medium of the bankers 
 at Quebec. To the bankers, accordingly, the message was 
 sent. ' Please telegraph Mr. Ovid Vere's address, the moment 
 you know it.' 
 
 When the telegram had been sent to the office, an interval 
 of inaction followed. Mr. Gallilee's fortitude suffered a re- 
 lapse. ' It's a long time to wait,' he said. 
 
 His friend agreed with him. Morally speaking, Mr. Mool's 
 strength lay in points of law. No point of law appeared to 
 be involved in the present conference : he shai'edMr. Gallilee's 
 depression of spirits. ' We are quite helpless,' he remarked, 
 ' till Mr. Ovid comes back. In the interval, I see no choice 
 
 for Miss Carmina but to submit to her guardian ; unless ' 
 
 He looked hard at Mr. Gallilee, before he finished his sentence. 
 ' Unless,' he resumed, 'you can get over your present feeling 
 about your wife.' 
 
 ' Get over it ? ' Mr. Gallilee repeated. 
 
 ' It seems quite impossible now, I dare say,' the worthy 
 lawyer admitted. ' A very painful impression has been pro- 
 duced on you. Naturally ! naturally ! But the force of habit 
 — a married life of many years — your own kind feeling ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' asked Mr. Gallilee, bewildered, 
 impatient, almost angry. 
 
 ' A little persuasion on your part, my good friend — at the 
 interesting moment of reconciliation — might be followed by 
 excellent results. Mrs. Gallilee might not object to waive her 
 claims, until time has softened existing asperities. Surely, a 
 compromise is possible, if you could only prevail on yourself 
 to forgive your wife.' 
 
 S 
 
258 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 Forgive her ? I should be only too glad to forgive her ! ' 
 cried Mr. Gallilee, bursting into violent agitation. 'How am 
 I to do it ? Good God ! Mool, how am I to do it ? You 
 didn't hear those infamous words. You didn't see that dread- 
 ful death-struck look of the poor girl. I declare to you I 
 turn cold when I think of my wife ! I can't go to her when 
 I ought to go— I send the servants into her room. My chil- 
 dren, too — my dear good children — it's enough to break one's 
 heart — think of their being brought up by a mother who 
 could say what she said, and do — What will they see, I ask 
 you what will they see, if she gets Carmina back in the house, 
 and treats that sweet young creature as she will treat her ? 
 There were times last night, when I thought of going away 
 for ever — Lord knows where — and taking the girls with me. 
 What am I talking about ? I had something to say, and I 
 don't know what it is ; I don't know my own self ! There, 
 there ; I'll keep quiet. It's my poor stupid head, I suppose 
 — hot, Mool, burning hot. Let's be reasonable. Yes, yes, 
 yes ; let's be reasonable. You're a lawyer. I said to myself, 
 when I came here, " I want Mool's advice." Be a dear good 
 fellow — set my mind at ease. Oh, my friend, my old friend, 
 what can I do for my children ? ' 
 
 Amazed and disti'essed — utterly at a loss how to interfere 
 to any good purpose — Mr. Mool recovered his presence of 
 mind, the moment Mr. Gallilee appealed to him in his legal 
 capacity. ' Don't distress yourself about your children,' he 
 said kindly. ' Thank God, we stand on firm ground, there.' 
 
 ' Do you mean it, Mool ? ' 
 
 ' I mean it. Where your daughters are concerned, the 
 authority is yours. Be firm, Gallilee ! be firm ! ' 
 
 ' I will ! You set me the example — don't you ? You're 
 firm — eh ? ' 
 
 ' Firm as a rock. I agree with you. For the present, at 
 least, the children must be removed.' 
 
 1 At once, Mool ! ' 
 
 ' At once ! ' the lawyer repeated. 
 
 They had wrought each other up to the right pitch of 
 resolution, by this time. They were almost loud enough for 
 the clerks to hear them in the office. 
 
 ' No matter what my wife may say ! ' Mr. Gallilee stipu- 
 lated. 
 
 ' Wo matter what she may say,' Mr. Mool rejoined, ' the 
 father is master.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 259 
 
 • And you know the law.' 
 
 'And I know the law. You have only to assert yoursjll'.' 
 
 ' And you have only to back me.' 
 
 'For your children's sake, Gallilee ! ' 
 
 ' Under my lawyer's advice, Mool ! ' 
 
 The one resolute Man was produced at last — without a 
 flaw in him anywhere. They were both exhausted by tho 
 effort. Mr. Mool suggested a glass of wine. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee ventured on a hint. ' You don't happen to 
 have a drop of champagne handy ?' he said. 
 
 The lawyer rang for his housekeeper. In five minutes, 
 they were pledging each other in foaming tumblers. In five 
 minutes more, they plunged back into business. The question 
 of the best place to which the children could be removed, was 
 easily settled. Mr. Mool offered his own house ; acknowledging 
 modestly that it had perhaps one drawback — it was within 
 easy reach of Mrs. Gallilee. The statement of this objection 
 stimulated his friend's memory. Lady Northlake was in Scot- 
 land. Lady Northlake had invited Maria and Zo, over and 
 over again, to pass the autumn with their cousins ; but Mrs. 
 Gallilee's jealousy had always contrived to find some plausiblo 
 reason for refusal. ' Write at once,' Mr. Mool advised. ' You 
 may do it in two lines. Your wife is ill ; Miss Carmina is ill ; 
 you are not able to leave London — and the children are pining 
 for fresh air.' In this sense, Mr. Gallilee wrote. He insisted 
 on having the letter sent to the post immediately. ' I know 
 it's long before post-time,' he explained. ' But I want to 
 compose my mind.' 
 
 The lawyer paused, with his glass of wine at his lips. ' I 
 say ! You're not hesitating already ? ' 
 
 ' No more than you are,' Mr. Gallilee answered. 
 
 ' You will really send the girls away ? ' 
 
 ' The girls shall go, on the day when Lady Northlake in- 
 vites them.' 
 
 ' I'll make a note of that,' said Mr. Mool. 
 
 He made the note ; and they rose to say good-bye. Faithful 
 Mr. Gallilee still thought of Carmina. ' Do consider it again ! ' 
 he said at parting. ' Are you sure the law won't help her ? ' 
 
 ' I might look at her lather's Will,' Mr. Mool replied. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee saw the hopeful side of this suggestion, in 
 the brightest colours. 'Why didn't you think of it before ?' 
 he asked. 
 
 s2 
 
260 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Mr. Mool gently remonstrated. ' Don't forget how many 
 things I have on my mind,' he said. ' It only occurs to me 
 now that the Will may give ns a remedy — if there is any 
 oyten opposition to the ward's marriage engagement, on the 
 guardian's part.' 
 
 There he stopped ; knowing Mrs. Gallilee's methods of 
 opposition too well to reckon hopefully on such a result as 
 this. But he was a merciful man — and he kept his misgivings 
 to himself. 
 
 On the way home, Mr. Gallilee encountered his wife's maid. 
 Mai'celine was dropping a letter into the pillar-post-box at the 
 corner of the Square ; she changed colour, on seeing her 
 master. ' Corresponding with her sweetheart,' Mr. Gallilee 
 concluded. 
 
 Entering the house with an unfinished cigar in his mouth, 
 he made straight for the smoking-room — and passed his 
 youngest daughter, below him, waiting out of sight on the 
 kitchen stairs. 
 
 ' Have you done it ? ' Zo whispered, when Marceline re- 
 turned by the servants' entrance. 
 
 ' It's safe in the post, dear. Now tell me what you saw 
 yesterday, when you were hidden in Miss Carmina's bedroom.' 
 
 The tone in which she spoke implied a confidential agree- 
 ment. With honourable promptitude Zo, perched on her 
 friend's knee, exerted her memory, and rewarded Marceline 
 for posting her letter to Ovid. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 It was past the middle of the day, before Mr. Le Erank paid 
 his promised visit to Mrs. Gallilee. He entered the room 
 with gloomy looks ; and made his polite inquiries, as became 
 a depressed musician, in the minor key. 
 
 ' I am sorry, madam, to find you still on the sofa. Is there 
 no improvement in your health ? ' 
 
 ' None whatever.' 
 
 ' Does your medical attendant give you any hope ? ' 
 
 ' He does what they all do — he preaches patience. No 
 more of myself ! You appear to be in depressed spirits.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank admitted with a sigh that appearances had 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 261 
 
 not misrepresented him. ' I have been bitterly disappointed,' 
 he said. ' My feelings as an artist are wounded to tbe quick. 
 But why do I trouble you with my poor little personal affairs? 
 I humbly beg your pardon.' 
 
 His eyes accompanied this modest apology with a look of 
 uneasy anticipation : he evidently expected to be asked to 
 explain himself. Events had followed her instructions to 
 Mr. Null, which left Mrs. Gallilee in need of employing her 
 music-master's services. She felt the necessity of exerting 
 herself; and did it — with an effort. 
 
 ' You have no reason, I hope, to complain of your pupils ? ' 
 she said. 
 
 ' At this time of year, madam, I have no pupils. They are 
 all out of town.' 
 
 She was too deeply preoccupied by her own affairs to 
 trouble herself any further. The direct way was the easy 
 way. She said wearily, ' Well, what is it ? ' 
 
 He answered in plain terms, this time. 
 
 ' A bitter humiliation, Mrs. Gallilee ! I have been made 
 to regret that I asked you to honour me by accepting the 
 dedication of my Song. The music-sellers, on whom the sale 
 depends, have not taken a tenth part of the number of copies 
 for which we expected them to subscribe. Has some extra- 
 ordinary change come over the public taste ? My composition 
 has been carefully based on fashionable principles — that is to 
 say, on the principles of the modern German school. As little 
 tune as possible; and that little strictly confined to the accom- 
 paniment. And what is the result ? Loss confronts me, 
 instead of profit — my agreement makes me liable for half the 
 expenses of publication. And, what is far more serious in my 
 estimation, your honoured name is associated with a failure ! 
 Don't notice me — the artist nature — I shall be better in a 
 minute.' He took out a profusely-scented handkerchief, and 
 buried his face in it with a groan. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's hard common sense understood the heart- 
 broken composer to perfection. 
 
 ' Stupid of me not to have offered him money yesterday,' 
 she thought : 'this waste of time need never have happened.' 
 She set her mistake right with admirable brevity and direct- 
 ness. ' Don't distress yourself, Mr. Le Frank. Now my 
 name is on it, the Song is mine If }'our publisher's account 
 is not satisfactory — be so good as to send it to we.' Mr. Le 
 
262 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Frank dropped his dry handkerchief, and sprang theatrically 
 to his feet. His indulgent patroness refused to hear him: to 
 this admirahle woman, the dignity of Art was a sacred thing. 
 ' Not a word more on that subject,' she said. ' Tell me how 
 you prospered last night. Your investigations cannot have 
 been interrupted, or I should have heard of it. Come to the 
 result ! Have you found anything of importance in my niece's 
 room ? ' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank had again been baffled, so far as the confir- 
 mation of his own suspicions was concerned. But the time 
 was not favourable to a confession of personal disappointment. 
 He understood the situation ; and made himself the hero of it, 
 in three words. 
 
 ' Judge for yourself,' he said — and held out the letter of 
 warning from Father Patrizio. 
 
 In silence, Mrs. Gallilee read the words which declared her 
 to be the object of Teresa's inveterate resentment, and which 
 charged Carmina with the serious duty of keeping the peace. 
 
 ' Does it alarm you ? ' Mr. Le Frank asked. 
 
 'I hardly know what I feel,' she answered. 'Give me 
 time to think.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank went back to his chair. He had reason to 
 congratulate himself already : he had shifted to other shoulders 
 the pecuniary responsibility involved in the failure of his 
 Song. Observing Mrs. Gallileo, he began to see possibilities 
 of a brighter prospect still. Thus far she had kept him at a 
 certain distance. Was the change of mind coming, which 
 would admit him to the position (with all its solid advantages) 
 of a confidential friend ? 
 
 She suddenly took up Father Fatrizio's letter, and showed 
 it to him. 
 
 'What impression does it produce on you,' she asked, 
 ' knowing no more than you know now ? ' 
 
 ' The priest's cautious language, madam, speaks for itself. 
 You have an enemy who will stick at nothing.' 
 
 She still hesitated to trust him. 
 
 ' You see me here,' she went on, ' confined to my room ; 
 likely, perhaps, to be in this helpless condition for some time 
 to come. How would you protect yourself against that 
 woman, in my place ? ' 
 
 ' I should wait.' 
 
 ' For what purpose ? ' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 263 
 
 'If you will allow me to use the language of the card-table, 
 I should wait till the woman shows her hand.' 
 'She has shown it.' 
 ' May I ask when ? ' 
 ' This morning.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank said no more. If he was really wanted, Mrs. 
 Gallilee had only to speak. After a last moment of hesitation, 
 the pitiless necessities of her position decided her once more. 
 ' You. see me too ill to move,' she said ; ' the first thing to do, 
 is to tell you why.' 
 
 She related the plain facts ; without a word of comment, 
 without a sign of emotion. But her husband's horror of her 
 had left an impression, which neither pride nor contempt had 
 been strong enough to resist. She allowed the music-master 
 to infer, that contending claims to authority over Carmina had 
 led to a quarrel which provoked the assault. The secret of 
 the words that she had spoken, was the one secret that she 
 kept from Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 ' While I was insensible,' she proceeded, ' my niece was 
 taken away from me. She has been suffering from nervous 
 illness ; she was naturally terriBed — and she is now at the 
 nurse's lodgings, too ill to be moved. There you have the 
 state of affairs, up to last night.' 
 
 ' Some people might think,' Mr. Le Frank remarked, ' that 
 the easiest way out of it, so far, would be to summon the nurse 
 for the assault.' 
 
 ' The easiest way compels me to face a public exposure,' 
 Mrs. Gallilee answered. ' In my position that is impossible.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank accepted this view of the case as a matter of 
 course. ' Under the circumstances,' he said, ' it's not easy to 
 advise you. How can you make the woman submit to your 
 authority, while you are lying here ? ' 
 
 ' My lawyers have made her submit this morning.' 
 In the extremity of his surprise, Mr. Le Frank forgot 
 himself. ' The devil they have ! ' he exclaimed. 
 
 ' They have forbidden her, in my name,' Mrs. Gallilee con- 
 tinued, 'to act as nurse to my niece. They have infoi-med 
 her that Miss Carmina will be restored to my care, the moment 
 she can be moved. And they have sent me her unconditional 
 submission in writing, signed by herself.' 
 
 She took it from the desk at her side, and read it to him, 
 in these words : 
 
264 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' I humbly ask pardon of Mrs. Gallilee for the violent and 
 unlawful acts of which I have been guilty. I acknowledge, 
 and submit to, her authority as guardian of Miss Carmina 
 Graywell. And I appeal to her mercy (which I own I have 
 not deserved) to spare me the misery of separation from Miss 
 Carmina, on any conditions which it may be her good will and 
 pleasure to impose.' 
 
 ' Now,' Miss Gallilee concluded, ' what do you say ? ' 
 
 Speaking sincerely for once, Mr. Le Frank made a startling 
 reply. 
 
 ' Submit on your side,' he said. ' Do what she asks of 
 you. And when you are well enough to go to her lodgings, 
 decline with thanks if she offers you anything to eat or drink.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee raised herself on the sofa. ' Are you insult- 
 ing me, sir,' she asked, ' by making this serious emergency the 
 subject of a joke ? ' 
 
 ' I never was more in earnest, madam, in my life.' 
 
 ' Tou think — you really think — that she is capable of try- 
 ing to poison me ? ' 
 
 ' Most assui-edly I do.' 
 
 Mi-s. Gallilee sank back on the pillow. Mr. Le Frank stated 
 his reasons ; cheeking them off, one by one, on his fingers. 
 
 ' Who is she ? ' he began. ' She is an Italian woman of 
 the lower orders. The virtues of the people among whom she 
 has been born and bred, are not generally considered to include 
 respect for the sanctity of human life. What do we know 
 already that she has done ? She has alarmed the priest, who 
 keeps her conscience, and knows her well ; and she has attacked 
 you with such murderous ferocity that it is a wonder you have 
 escaped with your life. What sort of message have you sent 
 to her, after this experience of her temper ? You have told 
 the tigress that you have the power to separate her from her 
 cub, and that you mean to use it. On those plain facts, 
 as they stare us in the face, which is the soundest con- 
 clusion ? To believe that she really submits — or to believe 
 that she is only gaining time, and is capable (if she sees no 
 other alternative) of trying to poison you ? ' 
 
 ' What would you advise me to do ? ' In those words 
 Mrs. Gallilee — never before reduced to ask advice of anybody 
 — owned that sound reasoning was not thrown away on her. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank answered the demand made on him without 
 hesitation. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 265 
 
 1 The nurse has not signed that act of submission,' he said, 
 ' without having her own private reasons for appearing to give 
 Avay. Rely on it, she is prepared for you — and there is at 
 least a chance that some proof of it may be found. Have all her 
 movements privately watched — and search the room she lives 
 in, as I searched Miss Carmina's room last night.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Mrs. Gallilee. 
 
 ' Well ? ' Mr. Le Frank repeated. 
 
 She angrily gave way. ' Say at once that you are the 
 man to do it for me ! ' she answered. ' And say next — if you 
 can — how it is to be done.' 
 
 Mr. Le Frank's manner softened to an air of gentle gal- 
 lantry. 
 
 ' Pray compose yourself!' he said. 'lam so glad to be 
 of service to you, and it is so easily done ! ' 
 
 ' Easily ? ' 
 
 ■ ' Dear madam, quite easily. Isn't the house a lodging- 
 house ; and, at this time of year, have I anything to do ? ' He 
 rose, and took his hat. ' Surely, you see me in my new cha- 
 racter now ? A single gentleman wants a bedroom. His 
 habits are quiet, and he gives excellent references. The ad- 
 dress, Mrs. Gallilee — may I trouble you for the address ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 Towards seven o'clock on the evening of Thursday, Carmina 
 recognised Teresa for the first time. 
 
 Her half-closed eyes opened, as if from a long sleep : they 
 rested on the old nurse without any appearance of surprise. 
 ' I am so glad to see you, my dear,' she said faintly. ' Are you 
 very tired after your journey ? ' None of the inquiries which 
 might have been anticipated followed those first words. Not 
 the slightest allusion to Mrs. Gallilee escaped her ; she ex- 
 pressed no anxiety about Miss Minerva ; no sign of uneasiness 
 at finding herself in a strange room, disturbed her quiet face. 
 Contentedly reposing, she looked at Teresa from time to time 
 and said, 'You will stay with me, won't you?' Now and 
 then, she confessed that her head felt dull and heavy, and 
 asked Teresa to take her band. ' I feel as if I was sinking 
 away from you,' she said ; ' keep hold of my hand and I shan't 
 
266 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 be afraid to go to sleep.' The words were hardly spoken, be- 
 fore she sank into slumber. Occasionally, Teresa felt her hand 
 tremble, and kissed it. She seemed to be conscious of the 
 kiss, without waking — she smiled in her sleep. 
 
 But, when the first hours of the morning came, this state 
 of passive repose was disturbed. A violent attack of sickness 
 came on. It was repeated again and again. Teresa sent for 
 Mr. Null. He did what he could to relieve the new symptom ; 
 and he despatched a messenger to his illustrious colleague. 
 
 Benjulia lost no time in answering personally the appeal 
 that had been made to him. 
 
 Mr. Null said, ' Serious derangement of the stomach, sir.' 
 Benjulia agreed with him. Mr. Null showed his prescription. 
 Benjulia sanctioned the prescription. Mr. Null said, ' Is there 
 anything you wish to suggest, sir ? ' Benjulia had nothing to 
 suggest. 
 
 He waited, nevertheless, until Carmina was able to speak 
 to him. Teresa and Mr. Null wondered what he would say 
 to her. He only said, ' Do you remember when you last saw 
 me?' After a little consideration, she answered, ' Yes, Zo 
 was with us ; Zo brought in your big stick ; and we talked 
 
 ' She tried to rouse her memory. ' What did we talk 
 
 about ? ' she asked. A momentary agitation brought a flush 
 to her face. ' I can't remember it,' she said : ' I can't remem- 
 ber when you went away : does it matter ? ' Benjulia replied, 
 ' Not the least in the world. Go to sleep.' 
 
 But he still remained in the room — watching her as she 
 grew drowsy. ' Great weakness,' Mr. Null whispered. And 
 Benjulia answered, 'Yes ; I'll call again.' 
 
 On his way out, he took Teresa aside. 
 
 ' No more questions,' he said — ' and don't help her memory 
 if she asks you.' 
 
 'Will she remember, when she gets better?' Teresa 
 inquired. 
 
 ' Impossible to say, yet. Wait and see.' 
 
 He left her in a hurry ; his experiments were waiting for 
 him. On the way home, his mind dwelt on Carmina's case. 
 Some hidden process was at work there : give it time — and it 
 would show itself. 'I hope that ass won't want me,' he said, 
 thinking of his medical colleague, ' for at least a week to come.' 
 
 The week passed — and the physiologist was not disturbed. 
 
 During that interval, Mr. Null succeeded in partially over- 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 267 
 
 coming the attacks of sickness : they were less violent, and 
 they were succeeded by longer intervals of repose. In other 
 respects, there seemed (as Teresa persisted in thinking) to be 
 some little promise of improvement. A certain mental ad- 
 vance was unquestionably noticeable in Carmina. It first 
 showed itself in an interesting way : she began to speak of 
 Ovid. 
 
 Her great anxiety was, that he should know nothing of her 
 illness. She forbade Teresa to write to him ; she sent mes- 
 sages to Mr. and Mrs. Gallilee, and even to Mr. Mool, entreat- 
 ing them to preserve silence. 
 
 The nurse engaged to deliver the messages — and failed to 
 keep her word. This breach of promise (as events had or- 
 dered it) proved to be harmless. Mrs. Gallilee had good 
 reasons for not writing. Her husband and Mr. Mool had de- 
 cided on sending their telegram to the bankers. As for Teresa 
 herself, she had no desire to communicate with Ovid. His 
 absence remained inexcusable, from her point of view. Well 
 or ill, with or without reason, it was the nurse's opinion that 
 he ought to have remained at home, in Carmina's interests. 
 No other persons were in the least likely to write to Ovid — 
 nobody thought of Zo as a correspondent — Carmina was 
 pacified. 
 
 Once or twice, at this later time, the languid efforts of her 
 memory took a wider range. 
 
 She wondei'ed why Mrs. Gallilee never came near her; 
 owning that her aunt's absence was a relief to her, bnt not 
 feeling interest enough in the subject to ask for information. 
 She also mentioned Miss Minerva. ' Do you know where she 
 has gone ? Don't you think she ought to write to me ? ' 
 Teresa offered to make inquiries. She turned her head wearily 
 on the pillow, and said, ' Nevermind ! ' On another occasion, 
 she asked for Zo, and said it would be pleasant if Mr. Gallilee 
 would call and bring her with him. But she soon dropped 
 the subject, not to return to it again. 
 
 The only remembrance which seemed to dwell on her mind 
 for more than a few minutes, was her remembrance of the last 
 letter which she had written to Ovid. 
 
 She pleased herself with imagining his surprise, when he 
 received it ; she grew impatient under her continued illness, 
 because it delayed her in escaping to Canada ; she talked to 
 Teresa of the clever manner in which the flight had been 
 
268 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 planned — with this sti'ange failure of memory, that she at- 
 tributed the various arrangements for setting discovery at 
 defiance, not to Miss Minerva, but to the nurse. 
 
 Here, for the first time, her mind was approaching dan- 
 gerous ground. The stealing of the letter, and the events that 
 had followed it, stood next in the order of remembrance — if 
 she was capable of a continued effort. Her weakness saved 
 her. Beyond the writing of the letter, her recollections were 
 unable to advance. Not the faintest allusion to any later cir- 
 cumstances escaped her. The poor stricken brain still sought 
 its rest in frequent intervals of sleep. Sometimes, she drifted 
 back into partial unconsciousness ; sometimes, the attacks of 
 sickness returned. Mr. Null set an excellent example of pa- 
 tience and resignation. He believed as devoutly as ever in 
 his prescriptions ; he placed the greatest reliance on time and 
 care. The derangement of the stomach (as he called it) pre- 
 sented something positive and tangible to treat : he had got 
 over the doubts and anxieties that troubled him, when Car- 
 mina was first removed to the lodgings. Looking confidently 
 at the surface — without an idea of what was going on below 
 it — he could tell Teresa, with a safe conscience, that he under- 
 stood the case. He was always ready to comfort her, when 
 her excitable Italian nature passed from the extreme of hope 
 to the extreme of despair. ' My good woman, we see our way 
 now : it's a great point gained, I assure you, to see our way.' 
 
 ' What do you mean by seeing your way ? ' said the down- 
 right nurse. ' Tell me when Carmina will be well again.' 
 
 Mr. Null's medical knowledge was not yet equal to this 
 demand on it. ' The progress is slow,' he admitted, ' still Miss 
 Carmina is getting on.' 
 
 ' Is her aunt getting on ? ' Teresa asked abruptly. ' When 
 is Mistress Grallilee likely to come here ? ' 
 
 ' In a few days ' Mr. Null was about to add ' I hope ; ' 
 
 but he thought of what might happen when the two women 
 met. As it was, Teresa's face showed signs of serious dis- 
 turbance : her mind was plainly not prepared for this speedy 
 prospect of a visit from Mrs. Gallilee. She took a letter out 
 of her pocket. 
 
 1 1 find a good deal of sly prudence in you,' she said to Mr. 
 Null. ' You must have seen something, in your time, of the 
 ways of deceitful Englishwomen. What does that palaver 
 mean in plain words ? ' She handed the letter to him. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 269 
 
 With some reluctance he read it. 
 
 ' Mrs. Gallilee declines to contract any engagement with 
 the person formerly employed as nurse, in the household of 
 the late Mr. Robert Graywell. Mrs. Gallilee so far recognises 
 the apology and submission offered to her, as to abstain from 
 taking immediate proceedings. In arriving at this decision, 
 she is also influenced by the necessity of sparing her niece any 
 agitation which might interfere with the medical treatment. 
 When the circumstances appear to require it, she will not 
 hesitate to exert her authority.' 
 
 The handwriting told Mr. Null that this manifesto had not 
 been written by Mrs. Gallilee herself. The person who had 
 succeeded him, in the capacity of that lady's amanuensis, had 
 been evidently capable of giving sound advice. Little did he 
 suspect that this mysterious secretary was identical with an 
 enterprising pianist, who had once prevailed on him to take a 
 Beat at a concert : price five shillings. 
 
 ' Well ? ' said Teresa. 
 
 Mr. Null hesitated. 
 
 The nurse stamped impatiently on the fl^nr. 'Tell me 
 this ! When she does come here, will she part me from Car- 
 mina ? Is that what she means ? ' 
 
 ' Possibly,' said prudent Mr. Null. 
 
 Teresa pointed to the door. ' Good-morning ! I want 
 nothing more of you. Oh, man, man, leave me by myself! ' 
 
 The moment she was alone, she fell on her knees. Fiercely 
 whispering, she repeated over and over again the words of 
 The Lord's Prayer : ' " Lead us not into temptation, but deliver 
 us from evil." Christ, hear me ! Mother of Christ, hear me ! 
 Oh, Carmina ! Carmina ! ' 
 
 She rose and opened the door which communicated with 
 the bedroom. Trembling pitiably, she looked for a while at 
 Carmina, peacefully asleep — then turned away to a corner of 
 the room, in which stood an old packing-case, fitted with a 
 lock. She took it up ; and, returning with it to the sitting- 
 room, softly closed the bedroom door again. 
 
 After some hesitation, she decided to open the case. In the 
 terror and confusion that possessed her, she tried the wrong 
 key. Setting this mistake right, she disclosed — strangely 
 mingled with the lighter articles of her own dress — a heap of 
 papers; some of them letters and bills; some of them faded 
 instructions in writing for the preparation of artists' colours. 
 
270 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 She recoiled from tlie objects which her own act had dis- 
 closed. Why had she not taken Father Patrizio's advice ? If 
 she had only waited another day ; if she had only sorted her 
 husband's papers, before she threw the things that her trunk 
 was too full to hold into that half-empty case, what torment 
 might have been spared to her ! Her eyes turned mournfully 
 to the bedroom door. ' Oh, my darling, I was in such a hurry 
 to get to You ! ' 
 
 At last, she controlled herself, and put her hand into the 
 case. Searching it in one corner, she produced a little tin 
 canister. A dirty label was pasted on the canister, bearing 
 this quaint inscription in the Italian language : 
 
 ' If there is any of the powder we employ in making some 
 of our prettiest colours, left in here, I request my good wife, 
 or any other trustworthy person in her place, to put a seal on 
 it, and take it directly to the manufactory, with the late fore- 
 man's best respects. It looks like nice sugar. Beware of 
 looks — or you may taste poison.' 
 
 On the point of opening the canister she hesitated. Under 
 some strange impulse, she did what a child might have done : 
 she shook it, and listened. 
 
 The rustle of the rising and falling powder — renewing her 
 terror — seemed to exercise some irresistible fascination over 
 her. ' The devil's dance,' she said to herself, with a ghastly 
 smile. ' Softly up — and softly down — and tempting me to 
 take off the cover all the time ! Why don't I get rid of it ? ' 
 
 That question set her thinking of Carolina's guardian. 
 
 If Mr. JSTull was right, in a day or two Mrs. Gallilee might 
 come to the house. After the lawyers had threatened Teresa 
 with the prospect of separation from Carmina, she had opened 
 the packing-case, for the first time since she had left Rome — 
 intending to sort her husband's papers as a means of relief 
 from her own thoughts. In this way, she had discovered the 
 canister. The sight of the deadly powder had tempted her. 
 There were the horrid means of setting Mrs. Gallilee's authority 
 at defiance ! Some women in her place, would use them. 
 Though she was not looking into the canister now, she felt 
 that thought stealing back into her mind. There was but ouo 
 hope for her : she resolved to get rid of the poison. 
 
 How ? 
 
 At that period of the year, there was no fire in the grate. 
 Within the limits of the room, the means of certain destruction 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 271 
 
 were slow to present themselves. Her own morbid horror of 
 the canister made her suspicious of the curiosity of other 
 people, who might see it in her hand if she showed herself on 
 the stairs. But she was determined, if she lit a fire for the 
 purpose, to find the way to her end. The firmness of her 
 resolution expressed itself by locking the case again, without 
 restoi'ing the canister to its hiding-place. 
 
 Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a 
 corner — between the bedroom door on one side, and a cup- 
 board in an angle of the wall on the other — and began the 
 work of destruction by scraping off the paper label. The 
 fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a 
 vow to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next 
 ■ — and then the empty canister would be harmless. 
 
 She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, 
 when it occurred to her that the lighting of a fire, on that 
 warm autumn day, might look suspicious if the landlady or 
 Mr. Null happened to come in. It would be safer to wait till 
 night-time, when everybody would be in bed. 
 
 Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended 
 the use of her knife. 
 
 In the moment of silence that followed, she heard some- 
 one enter the bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs. 
 Immediately afterwards, the person turned the handle of the 
 second door at her side. She had barely time enough to open 
 the cupboard, and hide the canister in it — when the landlady 
 came in. 
 
 Teresa looked at her wildly. The landlady looked at the 
 cupboard : she was proud of her cupboard. 
 
 'Plenty of room there,' she said boastfully: 'not another 
 house in the neighbourhood could offer you such accommo- 
 dation as that ! Yes — the lock is out of order ; I don't deny 
 it. The last lodger's doings ! She spoilt my tablecloth, and 
 put the inkstand over it to hide the place. Beast ! there's her 
 character in one word. You didn't hear me knock at the bed- 
 room door ? I. am so glad to see her sleeping nicely, poor 
 dear ! Her chicken broth is ready when she wakes. I'm late 
 to-day in making my inquiries after our young lady. You see 
 we have been hard at work upstairs, getting the bedroom l'eady 
 for a new lodger. Such a contrast to the person who has just 
 left. A perfect gentleman, this time — and so kind in waiting 
 a week till I was able to accommodate him. My ground floor 
 
272 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 rooms were vacant, as you know — but he said the terms were 
 too high for him. Oh, I didn't forget to mention that we had 
 an invalid in the house ! Quiet habits (I said) are indeed an 
 essential qualification of any new inmate, at such a time as 
 this. He understood. " I've been an invalid myself " (he 
 said) ; " and the very reason I am leaving my present lodgings 
 is that they are not quiet enough. " Isn't that just the sort of 
 man we want ? And, let me tell you, a handsome man too. 
 With a drawback, I must own, in the shape of a bald head. 
 But such a beard, and such a thrilling voice ! Hush ! Did I 
 hear her calling ?' 
 
 At last, the landlady permitted other sounds to be audible, 
 besides the sound of her own voice. It became possible to 
 discover that Carmina was now awake. Teresa hurried into 
 the bedroom. 
 
 Left by herself in the sitting-room, the landlady — ' purely 
 out of curiosity,' as she afterwards said, in conversation with 
 her new lodger — opened the cupboard, and looked in. 
 
 The canister stood straight before her, on an upper shelf. 
 Did Miss Carmina's nurse take snuff ? She examined the 
 canister : there was a white powder inside. The mutilated 
 label spoke in an unknown tongue. She wetted her finger 
 and tasted the powder. The result was so disagreeable that 
 she was obliged to use her handkerchief. She put the canister 
 back, and closed the cupboard. 
 
 ' Medicine, undoubtedly,' the landlady said to herself. 
 ' Why should she hurry to put it away, when I came in ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 In eight days from the date of his second interview with Mrs. 
 Gallilee, Mr. Le Frank took possession of his new bedroom. 
 
 He had arranged to report his proceedings in writing. In 
 Teresa's state of mind, she would certainly distrust a fellow- 
 lodgei", discovered in personal communication with Mrs. Gal- 
 lilee. Mr. Le Frank employed the first day after his arrival 
 in collecting materials for a report. In the evening, he wrote 
 to Mrs. Gallilee — under cover to a friend, who was instructed 
 to forward the letter. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 273 
 
 1 Private and confidential. Dear Madam, — I have nob 
 wasted my time and my opportunities, as yon will presently 
 see. 
 
 ' My bedroom is immediately above the floor of the bouse 
 wbich is occupied by Miss Carmina and her nurse. Having 
 some little matters of my own to settle, I was late in taking 
 possession of my room. Before the lights on the staircase 
 were put out, I took the liberty of looking down at the next 
 landing. 
 
 ' Do you remember, when you were a child learning to 
 write, that one of the lines in your copy-books was, "Virtue 
 is its own reward " ? This ridiculous assertion was actually 
 verified in my case ! Before I had been five minutes at my 
 post, I saw the nurse open her door. She looked up the stair- 
 case (without discovering me, it is needless to say), and she 
 looked down the staircase — and, seeing nobody about, returned 
 to her rooms. 
 
 ' Waiting till I heard her lock the door, I stole downstairs, 
 and listened outside. 
 
 ' One of my two fellow-lodgers (yon know that I don't 
 believe in Miss Carmina's illness) was lighting a fire — on such 
 a warm autumn night, that the staircase window was left 
 open ! I am absolutely sure of what I say : I heard the 
 crackle of burning wood — I smelt coal smoke. 
 
 ' The motive of this secret proceeding it seems impossible 
 to guess at. If they were burning documents of a dangerous 
 and compromising kind, a candle would have answered their 
 purpose. If they wanted hot water, surely a tin kettle and a 
 spirit lamp must have been at hand in an invalid's bedroom ? 
 Perhaps, your superior penetration may be able to read the 
 riddle which baffles my ingenuity. 
 
 ' So much for the first night. 
 
 ' This afternoon, I had some talk with the landlady. My 
 professional avocations having trained me in the art of making 
 myself agreeable to the sex, I may say without vanity that I 
 produced a favourable impression. In other words, I contrived 
 to set my fair friend talking freely about the old nurse and the 
 interesting invalid. 
 
 ' Out of the flow of words poured on me, one fact of very 
 serious importance has risen to the surface. There is a sus- 
 picious canister in the nurse's possession. The landlady calls 
 the powder inside, medicine. I say, poison. 
 
 T 
 
274 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 'Am I rushing at a fanciful conclusion ? Please wait a 
 little. 
 
 ' During the week of delay which elapsed, before the lodger 
 in possession vacated my room, you kindly admitted me to an 
 interview. I ventured to put some questions, relating to 
 Teresa's life in Italy and to the persons with whom she asso- 
 ciated. Do you remember telling me, when I asked what you 
 knew of her husband, that he was a foreman in a manufactory 
 of artists' colours ? and that you had your information from 
 Miss Carmina herself, after she had shown you the telegram 
 announcing his death ? 
 
 ' A lady, possessed of your scientific knowledge, does not 
 require to be told that poisons are employed in making artists' 
 colours. Remember what the priest's letter says of Teresa's 
 feeling towards you, and then say — Is it so very unlikely that 
 she has brought with her to England one of the poisons used 
 by her husband in his trade ; and is it quite unreasonable to 
 suppose (when she looks at her canister) that she may be 
 thinking of you ? 
 
 ' I may be right or I may be wrong. Thanks to the dila- 
 pidated condition of a lock, I can decide the question, at the 
 first opportunity offered to me by the nurse's absence from the 
 room. 
 
 ' My next report shall tell you that I have contrived to pro- 
 vide myself with a sample of the powder — leaving the canister 
 undisturbed. The sample shall be tested by a chemist. If he 
 pronounces it to be poison, I have a bold course of action to 
 propose. 
 
 ' As soon as you are well enough to go to the house, give 
 the nurse her chance of poisoning you. 
 
 1 Dear madam, don't be alarmed ! I will accompany you ; 
 and I will answer for the result. We will pay our visit at 
 tea-time. Let her offer you a cup — and let me (under pre- 
 tence of handing it) get possession of the poisoned drink. 
 Before she can cry §top ! — I shall be on my way to the chemist. 
 
 ' The penalty for attempted murder is penal servitude. If 
 you still object to a public exposure, we have the chemist's 
 report, together with your own evidence, ready for your son 
 on his return. How will he feel about his marriage engage- 
 ment, when he finds that Miss Carmina's dearest friend and 
 companion has tried — perhaps, with her young lady's knowledge 
 — to poison his mother ? 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 275 
 
 'Bcfoi'o concluding, I may mention that I had a narrow 
 escape, only two hours since, of being seen by Teresa on the 
 stairs. 
 
 ' I was of course prepared for this sort of meeting, when I 
 engaged my room ; and I have therefore not been foolish 
 enough to enter the house under an assumed name. On the 
 contrary, I propose (in your interests) to establish a neigh- 
 bourly acquaintance — with time to help me. But the matter 
 of the poison admits of no delay. My chance of getting at it 
 unobserved may be seriously compromised, if the nurse re- 
 members that she first met with me in your house, and dis- 
 trusts me accordingly. Your devoted servant, L. F.' 
 
 Having completed his letter, he rang for the maid, and 
 gave it to her to post. 
 
 On her way downstairs, she was stopped on the next land- 
 ing by Mr. Null. He too had a letter ready : addressed to 
 Doctor Benjulia. The fierce old nurse followed him out, and 
 said, ' Post it instantly ! ' The civil maid asked if Miss Car- 
 mina was better. ' Worse ! ' — was all the rude foreigner said. 
 She looked at poor Mr. Null, as if it was his fault. 
 
 Left in the retirement of his room, Mr. Le Frank sat at 
 the writing-table, frowning and biting his nails. 
 
 Were these evidences of a troubled mind connected with 
 the infamous proposal which he had addressed to Mrs. Gallilee ? 
 Nothing of the sort ! Having sent away his letter, he was 
 now at leisure to let his personal anxieties absorb him without 
 restraint. He was thinking of Carolina. The oftener his 
 efforts were baffled, the more resolute he became to discover 
 the secret of her behaviour to him. For the hundredth time 
 he said to himself, ' Her devilish malice reviles me behind my 
 back, and asks me before my face to shake hands and be 
 friends.' The more outrageously unreasonable his suspicions 
 became, under the exasperating influence of suspense, the 
 more inveterately his vindictive nature held to its delusion. 
 After meeting her in the hall at Fairfield Gardens, he really 
 believed Carmina's illness to have been assumed as a meaus of 
 keeping out of his way. If a friend had said to him, ' But 
 what reason have you to think so ? ' — he would have smiled 
 compassionately, and have given that friend up for a shallow- 
 minded man. 
 
 He stole out again, and listened, undetected, at their door. 
 
 T 2 
 
276 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Carmina was speaking ; but the words, in those faint tones, 
 were inaudible. Teresa's stronger voice easily reached his 
 ears. ' My darling, talking is not good for you. I'll light 
 the night-lamp — try to sleep.' 
 
 Hearing this, he went back to his bedroom to wait a little. 
 Teresa's vigilance might relax if Carmina fell asleep. She 
 might go downstairs for a gossip with the landlady. 
 
 After smoking a cigar, he tried again. The lights on the 
 staircase were now put out : it was eleven o'clock. 
 
 She was not asleep : the nurse was reading to her from 
 some devotional book. He gave it up, for that night. His 
 head ached ; the ferment of his own abominable thoughts had 
 fevered him. A cowardly dread of the slightest signs of ill- 
 ness was one of his special weaknesses. The whole day, to- 
 morrow, was before him. He felt his own pulse ; and deter- 
 mined, in justice to himself, to go to bed. 
 
 Ten minutes later, the landlady, on her way to bed, ascended 
 the stairs. She too heard the voice, still reading aloud — and 
 tapped softly at the door. Teresa opened it. 
 
 ' Is the poor thing not asleep yet ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Has she been disturbed in any way ? ' 
 
 ' Somebody has been walking about, overhead,' Teresa 
 answered. 
 
 1 That's the new lodger ! ' exclaimed the landlady. ' I'll 
 speak to Mr. Le Frank.' 
 
 On the point of closing the door, and saying good-night, 
 Teresa stopped, and considered for a moment. 
 
 ' Is he your new lodger ? ' she said. 
 
 ' Yes. Do you know him ? ' 
 
 'I saw him when I was last in England.' 
 
 1 Well ? ' 
 
 'Nothing more,' Teresa answered. ' Good-night ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 Watching through, the night by Carmina's bedside, Teresa 
 found herself thinking of Mr. Le Frank. It was one way of 
 getting through the weary time, to guess at the motive which 
 had led him to become a lodsrer in the house. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 277 
 
 Common probabilities pointed to tbe inference that be 
 might have reasons for changing bis residence, which only 
 concerned himself. Bat common probabilities — from Teresa's 
 point of view — did not apply to Mr. Le Frank. On meeting 
 him, at the time of her last visit to England, his personal 
 appearance had produced such a disagreeable impression on 
 her, that she had even told Carmina ' the music-master looked 
 like a rogue.' With her former prejudice against him now 
 revived, and with her serious present reasons for distrusting 
 Mrs. Gallilee, she rejected the idea of his accidental presence 
 uuder her landlady's roof. To her mind, the business of the 
 new lodger in the house was, in all likelihood, the business of 
 a spy. While Mr. Le Frank was warily laying his plans for 
 the next day, he had himself become an object of suspicion to 
 the very woman whose secrets he was plotting to surprise. 
 
 This was the longest and saddest night which the faithful 
 old nurse had passed at her darling's bedside. 
 
 For the first time, Carmina was fretful, and hard to please : 
 patient persuasion was needed to induce her to take her 
 medicine. Even when she was thirsty, she had an irritable 
 objection to being disturbed, if the lemonade was offered to 
 her which she had relished at other times. Once or twice, 
 when she drowsily stirred in her bed, she showed symptoms 
 of delusion. The poor girl supposed it was the eve of her 
 wedding-day, and eagerly asked what Teresa had done with 
 her new dress. A little later, when she had perhaps been 
 dreaming, she fancied that her mother was still alive, and re- 
 peated the long-forgotten talk of her childhood. ' What have 
 I said to distress you r ' she asked wonderingly, when she 
 found Teresa crying. 
 
 Soon after sunrise, there came a long interval of repose. 
 
 At the later time when Benjulia arrived, she was quiet 
 and uncomplaining. The change for the worse which had 
 induced Teresa to insist on sending for him, was peiversely 
 absent. Mr. Null expected to be roughly rebuked for having 
 disturbed the great man by a false alarm. He attempted to 
 explain : and Teresa attempted to explain. Benjulia paid not 
 the slightest attention to either of them. He made no angry 
 remarks — and he showed, in bis own impenetrable way, as 
 gratifying an interest in the case as ever. 
 
 'Draw up the blind,' he said; 'I want to have a good 
 look at her.' 
 
27 S HEART /ND SCIENCE. 
 
 Mr. Null waited respectfully, and imposed strict silence on 
 Teresa, while the investigation was going on. It lasted so long 
 that he ventured to say, ' Do you see anything particular, sir.' 
 
 Benjulia saw his doubts cleared up : time (as he had an- 
 ticipated) had brought development with it, and had enabled 
 him to arrive at a conclusion. The shock that had struck 
 Carmina had produced complicated hysterical disturbance, 
 which was now beginning to simulate paralysis. Benjulia's pro- 
 found and practised observation detected a trifling inequality 
 in the size of the pupils of the eyes, and a slightly unequal 
 action on either side of the face — delicately presented in the 
 eyelids, the nostrils, and the lips. Here was no common 
 affection of the brain, which even Mr. Null could understand ! 
 Here, at last, was Benjulia's reward for sacrificing the precious 
 hours which might otherwise have been employed in the 
 laboratory ! From that day, Carmina was destined to receive 
 unknown honour : she was to take her place, along with the 
 other animals, in his note-book of experiments. 
 
 He turned quietly to Mr. Null, and finished the consulta- 
 tion in two words. 
 
 'All right!' 
 
 1 Have you nothing to suggest, sir ? ' Mr. Null inquired. 
 
 ' Go on with the treatment — and draw down the blind, if 
 she complains of the light. Good-day ! ' 
 
 ' Are you sure he's a great doctor ? ' said Teresa, when the 
 door had closed on him. 
 
 ' The greatest we have ! ' cried Mr. Null with enthusiasm. 
 
 ' Is he a good man ? ' 
 
 ' Why do you ask ? ' 
 
 ' I want to know if we can trust him to tell us the truth ? ' 
 
 ' Not a doubt of it ! ' (Who could doubt it, indeed, after 
 he had approved of Mr. Null's medical treatment ?) 
 
 ' Thei'e's one thing you have forgotten,' Teresa persisted. 
 ' You haven't asked him when Carmina can be moved.' 
 
 ' My good woman, if I had put such a question, he would 
 have set me clown as a fool ! Nobody can say when she will 
 be well enough to be moved.' 
 
 He took his hat. The nurse followed him out. 
 
 ' Are you going to Mrs. Grallilee, sir ? ' 
 
 ' Not to-day.' 
 
 ' Is she better ? ' 
 
 ' She is almost well again.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 279 
 
 CHAPTER LIU. 
 
 Left alone, Teresa went into the sitting-room : she was afraid 
 to show herself at the bedside. 
 
 Mr. Null had destroyed the one hope which had supported 
 her thus far — the hope of escaping from England with Car- 
 mina, before Mrs. Gallilee could interfere. Looking stead- 
 fastly at that inspiriting prospect, she had forced herself to 
 sign the humble apology and submission which the lawyers 
 had dictated. What was the prospect now ? Heavily had 
 the merciless hand of calamity fallen en that brave old soul — 
 and, at last, it had beaten her down ! While she stood at the 
 window, mechanically looking out, the dreary view of the 
 back street trembled and disappeared. Teresa was crying. 
 
 Happily for herself, she was unable to control her own 
 weakness ; the tears lightened her heavy heart. She waited 
 a little, in the fear that her eyes might betray hei% before she 
 returned to Carmina. In that interval, she heard the sound 
 of a closing door, on the floor above. 
 
 ' The music-master ! ' she said to herself. 
 
 In an instant, she was at the sitting-room door, looking 
 through the keyhole. It was the one safe way of watching 
 him — and that was enough for Teresa. 
 
 His figure appeai'ed suddenly within her narrow range of 
 view — on the mat outside the door. If her distrust of him 
 was without foundation, he would go on downstairs. No ! 
 He stopped on the mat to listen — he stooped — his eye would 
 have been at the keyhole in another moment. She seized a 
 chair, and moved it. The sound instantly drove him away. 
 He went on, down the stairs. 
 
 Teresa considered with herself what safest means of pro- 
 tection — and, if possible, of punishment as well — lay within 
 her reach. How, and where, could the trap be set that might 
 catch him ? 
 
 She was still puzzled by that question, when the landlady 
 made her appearance — politely anxious to hear what the 
 doctors thought of their patient. Satisfied so far, the weari- 
 some woman had her apologies to make next, for not having 
 yet cautioned Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 ' Thinking over it, since last night,' she said confidentially, 
 
280 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' I cannot imagine how you heard him walking about overhead. 
 He has such a soft step that he positively takes me by surprise 
 when he comes into my room, He has gone out for an hour ; 
 and I have done him a little favour which I am not in the 
 habit of conferring on ordinary lodgers — I have lent him my 
 umbrella, as it threatens rain. In his absence, I will ask you 
 to listen while I walk about in his room. One can't be too 
 particular, when rest is of such importance to your young lady 
 ■ — and it has struck me as just possible, that the floor of his 
 room may be in fault. My dear, the boards may creak ! I'm 
 a sad fidget, I know ; but, if the carpenter can set things 
 right — without any horrid hammering, of course ! — the sooner 
 he is sent for, the more relieved I shall feel.' 
 
 Through this harangue, the nurse had waited, with a 
 patience far from characteristic of her, for an opportunity of 
 saying a timely word. By some tortuous mental process, that 
 she was quite unable to trace, the landlady's allusion to Mr. 
 Le Frank had suggested the very idea of which, in her undis- 
 turbed solitude, she had been vainly in search. Never before, 
 had the mistress of the house appeared to Teresa in such a 
 favourable light. 
 
 ' You needn't trouble yourself, ma'am,' she said, as soon 
 as she could make herself heard; 'it was the creaking of the 
 boards that told me somebody was moving overhead.' 
 
 'Then I'm not a fidget after all? Oh, how you relieve 
 me ! Whatever the servants may have to do, one of them shall 
 be sent instantly to the carpenter. So glad to be of any 
 service to that sweet young creature ! ' 
 
 Teresa consulted her watch before she returned to the 
 bedroom. 
 
 The improvement in Carmina still continued : she was 
 able to take some of the light nourishment that was waiting 
 for her. As Benjulia had anticipated, she asked to have the 
 blind lowered a little. Teresa drew it completely over the 
 window : she had her own reasons for tempting Carmina to 
 repose. In half an hour more, the weary girl was sleeping, 
 and the nurse' was at liberty to set her trap for Mr. Le 
 Frank. 
 
 Her first proceeding was to dip the end of a quill pen 
 into her bottle of salad oil, and to lubricate the lock and key 
 of the door that gave access to the bedroom from the stairs. 
 Having satisfied herself that the key could- now be used 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 281 
 
 without making the slightest sound, she turned to the door of 
 communication with the sitting-room next. 
 
 This door was covered with green baize. It had handles 
 but no lock ; and it swung inwards, so as to allow the door of 
 the cupboard (situated in the angle of the sitting-room wall) 
 to open towards the bedroom freely. Teresa oiled the hinges, 
 and the brass bolt and staple which protected the baize door 
 on the side of the bedroom. That done, she looked again at 
 her watch. 
 
 Mr. Le Frank's absence was expected to last for an hour. 
 In five minutes more, the hour would expire. 
 
 After bolting the door of communication, she paused in 
 the bedroom, and wafted a kiss to Carmina, still at rest. She 
 then left the room by the door which opened on the stairs, 
 and locked it, taking away the key with her. 
 
 Having gone down the first flight of stairs, she stopped 
 and went back. The one unsecured door, was the door which 
 led into the sitting-room from the staircase. She opened it 
 and left it invitingly ajar. ' Now,' she said to herself, ' the 
 trap will catch him ! ' 
 
 The hall clock struck the hour when she entered the land- 
 lady's room. 
 
 The woman of many words was at once charmed and 
 annoyed. Charmed to hear that the dear invalid was resting, 
 and to receive a visit from the nurse : annoyed by the absence 
 of the carpenter, at work somewhere else for the whole of the 
 day. ' If my dear husband had been alive, we should have 
 been independent of carpenters ; he could turn his hand to 
 anything. Now do sit down — I want you to taste some cherry 
 brandy of my own making.' 
 
 As Teresa took a chair, Mr. Le Frank returned. The two 
 secret adversaries met, face to face. 
 
 ' Surely I remember this lady ? ' he said. 
 
 Teresa encountered him, on his own ground. She made 
 her best curtsey, and reminded him of the circumstances under 
 which they had formerly met. The hospitable landlady pro- 
 duced her cherry brandy. 'We are going to have a nice little 
 chat ; do sit down, sir, and join us.' Mr. Le Frank made his 
 apologies. The umbrella which had been so kindly lent to 
 him, had not protected his shoes ; his feet were wet ; and he 
 was so sadly liable to take cold that he must beg permission 
 to put on his dry things immediately. 
 
282 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Having bowed himself out, he stopped in the passage, and, 
 standing on tiptoe, peeped through a window in the wall, by 
 which light was conveyed to the landlady's little room. The 
 two women were comfortably seated together, with the cherry 
 brandy and a plate of biscuits on a table between them. ' In 
 for a good long gossip,' thought Mr. Le Frank. ' Now is my 
 time ! ' 
 
 Not five minutes more had passed, before Teresa made an 
 excuse for running upstairs again. She had forgotten to leave 
 the bell rope, in case Carmiua woke, within reach of her hand. 
 The excellent heart of the hostess made allowance for natural 
 anxiety. 'Do it, you good soul,' she said; ' and come back 
 directly ! ' Left by herself, she filled her glass again, and 
 smiled. Sweetness of temper (encouraged by cherry braudy) 
 can even smile at a glass — unless it happens to be empty. 
 
 Approaching her own rooms, Teresa waited, and listened, 
 before she showed herself. No sound reached her through the 
 half-open sitting-room door. She noiselessly entered the bed- 
 room, and then locked the door again. Once more she listened ; 
 and once more there was nothing to be heard. Had he seen 
 her on the stairs ? 
 
 As the doubt crossed her mind, she heard the boards creak 
 on the floor above. Mr. Le Frank was in his room. 
 
 Did this mean that her well-laid plan had failed ? Or did 
 it mean that he was really changing his shoes and stockings ? 
 The last inference was the right one. 
 
 He had made no mere excuse downstairs. The serious 
 interests that he had at stake, were not important enough to 
 make him forget his precious health. His chest was delicate ; 
 a cold might settle on his lungs. The temptation of the half- 
 open door had its due effect on this prudent man; but it 
 failed to make him forget that his feet were wet. 
 
 The boards creaked again ; the door of his room was softly 
 closed — then there was silence. Teresa only knew when he had 
 entered the sitting-room by hearing him try the bolted baize 
 door. After that, he must have stepped out again. He next 
 tried the door of the bed-chamber, from the stairs. 
 
 There was a quiet interval once more. Teresa noiselessly 
 drew back the bolt; and, opening the baize door by a mere 
 hair's-breadth, admitted sound from the sitting-room. She 
 now heard him turning the key in a cheffonier, which only con- 
 tained tradesmen's circulars, receipted bills, and a few books. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 283 
 
 (Even with the canister in the cupboard, waiting to be 
 opened, bis uppermost idea was to discover Carmina's vin- 
 dictive motive in Carmina's papers !) 
 
 The contents of the cheffonier disappointed him — judging 
 by the tone in which he muttered to himself. The next sound 
 startled Teresa ; it was a tap against the lintel of the door 
 behind which she was standing. He had thrown open the 
 cupboard. 
 
 The rasping of the cover, as he took it off, told her that he 
 was examining the canister. She had put it back on the 
 shelf, a harmless thing now — the poison and the label having 
 been both destroyed by fire. Nevertheless, his choosing the 
 canister, from dozens of other things scattered invitingly 
 about it, inspired her with a feeling of distrustful surprise. 
 She was no longer content to find out what he was doing by 
 means of her ears. Determined to see him, and to catch him 
 in the fact, she pulled open the baize door — at the moment when 
 he must have discovered that the canister was empty. A faint 
 thump told her he had thrown it on the floor. 
 
 The view of the sitting-room was still hidden from her. 
 She had forgotten the cupboard door. 
 
 Now that it was wide open, it covered the entrance to the 
 bedroom, and completely screened them one from the other. 
 For the moment she was startled, and hesitated whether to 
 show herself or not. His voice stopped her. 
 
 ' Is there another canister ? ' he said to himself. ' The 
 dirty old savage may have hidden it ' 
 
 Teresa heard no more. ' The dirty old savage ' was ati 
 insult not to be endured ! She forgot her intention of stealing 
 on. him unobserved ; she forgot her resolution to do nothing 
 that could awaken Carmina. Her fierce temper urged her 
 into furious action. With both hands outspread, she flew at 
 the cupboard door, and banged it to in an instant. 
 
 A shriek of agony rang through the house. The swiftly 
 closing door had caught, and crushed, the fingers of Le 
 Frank's right hand, at the moment when he was putting it 
 into the cupboard again. 
 
 Without stopping to help him, without even looking at 
 him, she ran back to Carmina. 
 
 The swinging baize door fell to, and closed of itself. No 
 second cry was heard. Nothing happened to falsify her 
 desperate assertion that the shriek was the delusion of a vivid 
 
284 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 dream. She took Carmina in her arms, and patted and fondled 
 her like a child. ' See, my darling, I'm with you as usual ; 
 and I have heard nothing. Don't, oh, don't tremble in that 
 way ! There — I'll wrap you up in my shawl, and read to you. 
 No ! let's talk of Ovid.' 
 
 Her efforts to compose Carmina were interrupted by a 
 muffled sound of men's footsteps and women's voices in the 
 next room. 
 
 She hurriedly opened the door, and entreated them to 
 whisper and be quiet. In the instant before she closed it 
 ag-ain, she saw and heard. Le Frank lay in a swoon on the 
 floor. The landlady was kneeling by him, looking at his in- 
 jured hand; and the lodgers were saying, ' Send him to the 
 hospital.' 
 
 CHAPTER LIV. 
 
 On Monday morning, the strain on Mrs. Gallilee's powers of 
 patient endurance came to an end. With the help of Mr. 
 Null's arm, she was able to get downstairs to the library. 
 On Tuesday, there would be no objection to her going out for 
 a drive. Mr. Null left her, restored to her equable flow of 
 spirits. He had asked her if she wished to have somebody 
 to keep her company — and she answered briskly, ' Not on any 
 account ! I prefer being alone.' 
 
 On the morning of Saturday, she had received Mr. Le 
 Frank's letter; but she had not then recovered sufficiently to 
 be able to read it through. She could now take it up again, 
 and get to the end. 
 
 Other women might have been alarmed by the atrocious 
 wickedness of the conspiracy which the music-master had 
 planned. Mrs. Gallilee was only offended. That he should 
 think her capable — in her social position — of favouring such 
 a plot as he had suggested, was an insult which she was 
 determined neither to forgive nor forget. Fortunately, she 
 had not committed herself in writing ; he could produce no 
 proof of the relations that had existed between them. The 
 first and best use to make of her recovery would be to dismiss 
 him — after paying his expenses, privately and prudently, in 
 money instead of by cheque. 
 
 In the meantime, the man's insolence had left its revolting 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 2S 5 
 
 impression on her mind. The one way to remove it was to 
 find some agreeable occnpation for her thoughts. 
 
 Look at your library table, learned lady, and take the 
 appropriate means of relief that it offers. See the lively 
 modern parasites that infest Science, eager to invite your 
 attention to their little crawling selves. Follow scientific 
 inquiry, rushing into print to proclaim its own importance, 
 and to declare any human being, who ventures to doubt or 
 differ, a fanatic or a fool. Respect the leaders of public 
 opinion, writing notices of professors, who have made dis- 
 coveries not yet tried by time, not yet universally accepted 
 even by their brethren, in terms which would be exaggerated 
 if they were applied to Newton or to Bacon. Submit to 
 lectures and addresses by dozens which, if they prove nothing 
 else, prove that what was scientific knowledge some years since, 
 is scientific ignorance now — and that what is scientific know- 
 ledge now, may be scientific ignorance in some years more. 
 Absorb your mind in controversies and discussions, in which 
 Mr. Always Right and Mr. Never Wrong exhibit the natural 
 tendency of man to believe in himself, in the most rampant 
 stage of development that the world has yet seen. And when 
 you have done all this, doubt not that you have made a good 
 use of your time. You have discovered what the gentle 
 wisdom of Faraday saw and deplored, when he warned the 
 science of his day in words which should live for ever : ' The 
 first and last step in the education of the judgment is — 
 Humility.' 
 
 Having agreeably occupied her mind with subjects that 
 were worthy of it, Mrs. Gallilee rose to seek a little physical 
 relief by walking up and down the room. 
 
 Passing and repassing the bookcases, she noticed a remote 
 corner devoted to miscellaneous literature. A volume in faded 
 binding of sky-blue, had been placed upside down. She 
 looked at the book before she put it in its right position. 
 The title was ' Gallery of British Beauty.' Among the illus- 
 trations — long since forgotten — appeared her own portrait, 
 when she was a girl of Carolina's age. 
 
 A faintly contemptuous smile parted her hard lips, pro- 
 voked by the recollections of her youth. 
 
 What a fool she had been, at that early period of her life ! 
 In those days, she had trembled with pleasure at the singing 
 of a famous Italian tenor ; she had flown into a passion when 
 
286 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 a new dress proved to be a misfit, on the evening of a ball ; 
 she had given money to beggars in the street ; she had fallen 
 in love with a poor young man, and had terrified her weak- 
 minded hysterical mother, by threatening to commit suicide 
 when the beloved object was forbidden the house. Comparing 
 the girl of seventeen with the matured and cultivated woman 
 of later years, what a matchless example Mrs. Gallilee pre- 
 sented of the healthy influence of education, directed to scien- 
 tific pursuits ! 'Ah ! ' she thought, as she put the book back 
 in its place, ' my girls will have reason to thank me when 
 they grow up ; they have had a mother who has done her 
 duty.' 
 
 She took a few more turns up and down the room. The 
 sky had cleared again ; a golden gleam of sunlight drew her 
 to the window. The next moment she regretted even this 
 concession to human weakness. A disagreeable association 
 presented itself, and arrested the pleasant flow of her thoughts. 
 Mr. Gallilee appeared on the door-step ; leaving the house on 
 foot, and carrying a large brown-paper parcel under his arm. 
 
 With servants at his disposal, why was he carrying the 
 parcel himself ? 
 
 The time had been, when Mrs. Gallilee would have tapped 
 at the window, and would have insisted on his instantly re- 
 turning and answering that question. But his conduct, since 
 the catastrophe in Carmina's room, had produced complete 
 estrangement between the married pair. All his inquiries 
 after his wife's health had been made by deputy. When he 
 was not in the schoolroom with the children, he was at his 
 club. Until he came to his senses, and made humble apology, 
 no earthly consideration would induce Mrs. Gallilee to take 
 the slightest notice of him. 
 
 She returned to her reading. 
 
 The footman came in, with two letters — one arriving by 
 post ; the other having been dropped into the box by private 
 messenger. Communications of this latter sort proceeded, 
 not unfrequently, from creditors. Mrs. Gallilee opened the 
 stamped letter first. 
 
 It contained nothing more important than a few lines from 
 a daily governess, whom she had engaged until a successor to 
 Miss Minerva could be found. In obedience to Mrs. Gallilee's 
 instructions, the governess would begin her attendance at ten 
 o'clock on the next morning. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 287 
 
 The second letter was of a very different kind. It related 
 the disaster which had befallen Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 ]\lr. Null was the writer. As Miss Carmina's medical 
 attendant, it was his duty to inform her guai'dian that her 
 health had been unfavourably affected by an alai-m in the 
 house. Having described the nature of the alarm, he pro- 
 ceeded in these words : ' You will, I fear, lose the services 
 of your present music-master. Inquiries made this morning 
 at the hospital, and reported to me, appear to suggest serious 
 results. The wounded man's constitution is in an unhealthy 
 state ; the surgeons are not sure of being able to save two of 
 the fingers. I will do myself the honour of calling to-morrow 
 before you go oat for your drive.' 
 
 The impression produced by this intelligence on the lady 
 to whom ifc was addressed, can only be reported in her own 
 words. She — who knew, on the best scientific authority, that 
 the world had created itself — completely lost her head, and 
 actually said, ' Thank God ! ' 
 
 For weeks to come — perhaps for months if the surgeons' 
 forebodings were fulfilled — Mrs. Gallilee had got rid of Mr. 
 Le Frank. In that moment of infinite relief, if her husband 
 had presented himself, it is even possible that he might have 
 been forgiven. 
 
 As it was, Mr. Gallilee returned late in the afternoon ; 
 entered his own domain of the smoking-room ; and left the 
 house again five minutes afterwards. Joseph officiously opened 
 the door for him ; and Joseph was surprised, precisely as his 
 mistress had been surprised. Mr. Gallilee had a large brown- 
 paper parcel under his arm — the second which he had taken 
 out of the house with his own hands ! Moreover, he looked 
 excessively confused when the footman discovered him. That 
 night, he was late in returning from the club. Joseph (now 
 on the watch) observed that he was not steady on his legs — 
 and drew his own conclusions accordingly. 
 
 Punctual to her time, on the next morning, the new governess 
 arrived. Mrs. Gallilee received her, and sent for the children. 
 
 The maid in charge of them appealed alone. She had no 
 doubt that the young ladies would be back directly. The 
 master had taken them out for a little walk, before they be- 
 gan their lessons. He had been informed that the lady who 
 had been appointed to teach them would arrive at ten o'clock. 
 And what had he said ? He had said, ' Very good.' 
 
2 S8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 The half hour struck — eleven o'clock struck — and neither 
 the lather nor the children returned. Ten minutes later, some- 
 one rang the door bell. The door being duly opened, nobody 
 appeared on the house-step. Joseph looked into the letter- 
 box, and found a note addressed to his mistress, in his master's 
 handwriting. He immediately delivered it. 
 
 Hitherto, Mrs. Gallilee had only been anxious. Joseph, 
 waiting for events outside the door, heard the bell rung 
 furiously ; and found his mistress (as he forcibly described it) 
 'like a woman gone distracted.' Not without reason — to do 
 her justice. Mr. Gallilee's method of relieving his wife's 
 anxiety was remarkable by its brevity. In one sentence, he 
 assured her that there was no need to feel alarmed. In another, 
 he mentioned that he had taken the girls away with him for 
 change of air. And then he signed his initials — J. G. 
 
 Every servant in the house was summoned to the library, 
 when Mrs. Gallilee had in some degree recovered herself. 
 
 One after another they were strictly examined ; and one 
 after another they had no evidence to give — excepting the 
 maid who had been present when the master took the young 
 ladies away. The little she had to tell, pointed to the in- 
 ference that he had not admitted the girls to his confidence 
 before they left the house. Maria had submitted, without 
 appearing to be particularly pleased at the prospect of so early 
 a walk. Zo (never ready to exert either her intelligence or 
 her legs) had openly declared that she would rather stay at 
 home. To this the master had answered, ' Get your things on 
 directly ! ' — and had said it so sharply that Miss Zoe stared at 
 him in astonishment. Had they taken anything with them — 
 a travelling bag for instance ? They had taken nothing, ex- 
 cept Mr. Gallilee's umbrella. Who had seen Mr. Gallilee last, 
 on the previous night ? Joseph had seen him last. The lower 
 classes in England have one, and but one, true feeling of sym- 
 pathy with the higher classes. The man above them appeals 
 to their hearts, and merits their true service, when he is un- 
 steady on his legs. Joseph nobly confined his evidence to 
 what he had observed some hours previously : he mentioned 
 the parcel. Mrs. Gallilee's keen perception, quickened by her 
 own experience at the window, arrived at the truth. Those 
 two bulky packages must have contained clothes — left, in 
 anticipation of the journey, under the care of an accomplice. 
 It was impossible that Mr. Gallilee could have got at the girls' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 289 
 
 dresses and linen, and Lave made the necessary selections from 
 them, without a woman's assistance. The female servants 
 were examined again. Each one of them positively asserted 
 her innocence. Mrs. Gallilee threatened to send for the police. 
 The indignant women all cried in chorus, ' Search our boxes ! ' 
 Mrs. Gallilee took a wiser course. She sent to the lawyers 
 who had been recommended to her by Mr. Null. The mes- 
 senger had just been despatched, when Mr. Null himself, in 
 performance of yesterday's engagement, called at the house. 
 
 He, too, was agitated. It was impossible that he could 
 have heard what had happened. Was he the bearer of bad 
 news ? Mrs. Gallilee thought of Carmina first, and then of 
 Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 ' Prepare for a surprise,' Mr. Null began, 'a joyful surprise, 
 Mrs. Gallilee ! I have received a telegram from your son.' 
 
 He handed it to her as he spoke. 
 
 ' September 6th. Arrived at Quebec, and received infor- 
 mation of Carmina's illness. Shall catch the Boston steamer, 
 and sail to-morrow for Liverpool. Break the news gently to 
 C. For God's sake send telegram to meet me at Queenstown.' 
 
 It was then the 7th of September. If all went well, Ovid 
 might be in London ten days more. 
 
 CHAPTER LV. 
 
 Mrs. Galltlee read the telegram — paused — and read it again. 
 She let it drop on her lap ; but her eyes still rested mechani- 
 cally on the slip of paper. When she spoke, her voice startled 
 Mr. Null. Usually loud and hard, her tones were strangely 
 subdued. If his back had been turned towards her, he woidd 
 hardly have known who was speaking to him. 
 
 'I must ask you to make allowances for me,' she began 
 abruptly; 'I hardly know what to say. This surprise comes 
 at a time when I am badly prepared for it. I am getting 
 well ; but, you see, I am not quite so strong as I was before 
 that woman attacked me. My husband has gone away — I 
 don't know where — and has taken my children with him. 
 Bead his note : but don't say anything. You must let me be 
 quiet, or I can't think.' 
 
 She handed the letter to Mr. Null. He looked at her — 
 V 
 
290 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 read the few words submitted to liirn — and looked at her again. 
 For once, his stock of conventional phrases failed him. Who 
 conld have anticipated such conduct on the part of her hus- 
 band ? Who could have supposed that she herself would 
 have been affected in this way, by the return of her son ? 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee drew a long heavy breath. ' I have got it 
 now,' she said. c My son is coming home in a hurry, because 
 of Carmina's illness. Has Carmina written to him ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null was in his element again : this question appealed 
 to his knowledge of his patient. ' Impossible, Mrs. Gallilee — 
 in her present state of health.' 
 
 ' In her present state of health ? I forgot that. There was 
 something else. Oh, yes ! Has Carmina seen the telegram ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null explained. He had just come from Cai'mina. 
 In his medical capacity, he had thought it judicious to try the 
 moral effect on his patient of a first allusion to the good news. 
 He had only ventured to say that Mr. Ovid's agents in Canada 
 had heard from him on his travels, and had reason to believe 
 that he would shortly return to Quebec. Upon the whole, 
 the impression produced on the young lady 
 
 It was useless to go on. Mrs. Gallilee was pursuing her 
 own thoughts, without even a pretence of listening to him. 
 
 ' I want to know who wrote to my son,' she persisted. 
 ' Was it the nnrse ? ' 
 
 Mr, Null considered this to be in the last degree unlikely. 
 The nurse's language showed a hostile feeling towards Mr. 
 Ovid, in consequence of his absence. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee looked once more at the telegram. ' Why,' 
 she asked, ' does Ovid telegraph to You ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null answered with his customary sense of what was 
 due to himself. 'As the medical attendant of the family, your 
 son naturally supposed, madam, that Miss Carmina was under 
 my care.' 
 
 The implied reproof produced no effect. ' I wonder 
 whether my son was afraid to trust us ? ' was all Mrs. Gallilee 
 said. It was the chance guess of a wandering mind — but it 
 had hit the truth. Kept in ignorance of Carmina's illness by 
 the elder members of the family, at what other conclusion 
 could Ovid arrive, with Zo's letter before him ? After a 
 momentary pause, Mrs. Gallilee went on. ' I suppose I may 
 keep the telegram ? ' she said. 
 
 Prudent Mr. Null offered a copy — and made the copy, 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 291 
 
 then and there. The original (he explained) was his authority 
 for acting on Mr. Ovid's behalf} and he must therefore beg 
 leave to keep it. Mrs. Grallilee permitted him to exchange 
 the two papers. 'Is there anything more?' she asked. 
 ' Your time is valuable of course. Don't let me detain 
 you.' 
 
 ' May I feel your pulse before I go ? ' 
 
 She held out her arm to him in silence. 
 
 The carriage came to the door while he was counting the 
 beat of the pulse. She glanced at the window, and said, 
 ' Send it away.' Mr. Null remonstrated. ' My dear lady, the 
 air will do you good.' She answered obstinately and quietly, 
 'No ' — and once more became absorbed in thought. 
 
 It had been her intention to combine her first day of car- 
 riage exercise with a visit to Teresa's lodgings, and a personal 
 exertion of her authority. The news of Ovid's impending 
 return made it a matter of serious importance to consider 
 this resolution under a new light. She had now, not only to 
 reckon with Teresa, but with her son. With this burden on 
 her enfeebled mind — heavily laden by the sense of injury 
 which her husband's flight had aroused — she had not even 
 reserves enough of energy to spare for the trifling effort of 
 dressing to go out. She broke into irritability, for the first 
 time. ' I am trying to find out who has written to my son. 
 How can I do it when you are worrying me about the carriage? 
 Have you ever held a full glass in your hand, and been afraid 
 of letting it overflow ? That's what I'm afraid of — in my 
 
 mind — I don't mean that my mind is a glass — I mean ' 
 
 Her forehead turned red. ' Will you leave me ? ' she cried. 
 
 He left her instantly. 
 
 The change in her manner, the difficulty she found in 
 expressing her thoughts, had even startled stupid Mr. Null. 
 She had herself alluded to results of the murderous attack 
 made on her by Teresa, which had not perhaps hitherto 
 sufficiently impressed him. In the shock inflicted on the 
 patient's body, had there been involved some subtly-working 
 influence that had disturbed the steady balance of her mind ? 
 Pondering uneasily on that question, he spoke to Joseph in 
 the hall. 
 
 ' Do you know about your master and the children ? ' he 
 said. 
 
 ' Tes, sir.' 
 
292 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 1 wish you had told me of it, when you let me in.' 
 
 ' Have I done any harm, sir ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know yet. If you want me, I shall be at home to 
 dinner at seven.' 
 
 The next visitor was one of the partners in the legal firm, 
 to which Mrs. Gallilee had applied for advice. After what 
 Mr. Null had said, Joseph hesitated to conduct this gentle- 
 man into the presence of his mistress. He left the lawyer in 
 the waiting-room, and took his card. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's attitude had not changed. She sat looking 
 down at the copied telegram and the letter from her husband, 
 lying together on her lap. Joseph was obliged to speak 
 twice, before he could rouse her. 
 
 ' To-morrow,' was all she said. 
 
 ' What time shall I say, ma'am ? ' 
 
 She put her hand to her head — and broke into anger 
 against Joseph. ' Settle it yourself, you wretch ! ' Her head 
 drooped again over the papers. Joseph returned to the 
 lawyer. ' My mistress is not very well, sir. She will be 
 obliged if you will call to-morrow, at your own time.' 
 
 About an hour later, she rang her bell — rang it uninter- 
 mittingly, until Joseph appeared. ' I'm famished,' she said. 
 ' Something to eat ! I never was so hungry in my life. At 
 once — I can't wait.' 
 
 The cook sent up a cold fowl, and a ham. Her eyes de- 
 voured the food, while the footman was carving it for her. 
 Her bad temper seemed to have completely disappeared. She 
 said, ' What a delicious dinner ! Just the very things I like.' 
 She lifted the first morsel to her mouth — and laid the fork 
 down again with a weary sigh. ' No : I can't eat ; what has 
 come to me ? ' W ith those words, she pushed her chair away 
 from the table, and looked slowly all round her. ' I want the 
 telegram and the letter.' Joseph found them. ' Can you help 
 me?' she said. 'I am trying to find out who wrote to my 
 son. Say yes, or no, at once ; I hate waiting.' 
 
 Joseph left her in her old posture, with her head down 
 and the papers on her lap. 
 
 The appearance of the uneaten dinner in the kitchen pro- 
 duced a discussion, followed by a quarrel. 
 
 Joseph was of opinion that the mistress had got more 
 upon her mind than her mind could well bear. It was useless 
 to send for Mr. Null ; he had already mentioned that he 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 293 
 
 would not be home until seven o'clock. There was no superior 
 person in the house to consult. It was not for the servants to 
 take responsibility on themselves. Fetch the nearest doctoi', 
 and let him be answerable, if anything serious happens.' Such 
 was Joseph's advice. 
 
 The women (angrily remembering that Mrs. Gallilee had 
 spoken of sending for the police) ridiculed the footman's 
 cautious proposal — with one exception. When the others 
 ironically asked him if he was not accustomed to the mis- 
 tress's temper yet, Mrs. Gralblee's own maid (Marceliue) said, 
 ' What do we know about it ? Joseph is the only one of us 
 who has seen her, since the morning.' 
 
 This perfectly sensible remark had the effect of a breath of 
 wind on a smouldering fire. The female servants, all equally 
 suspected of having assisted Mr. Gallilee in making up his 
 parcels, were all equally assured that there was a traitress 
 among them — and that Marceline was the woman. Hitherto 
 suppressed, this feeling now openly found its way to expres- 
 sion. Marceline lost her temper ; and betrayed herself as her 
 master's guilty confederate. 
 
 'I'm a mean mongrel — am I ? ' cried the angry maid, re- 
 peating the cook's allusion to her birthplace in the Channel 
 Islands. ' The mistress shall know, this minute, that I'm the 
 woman who did it ! ' 
 
 ' Why didn't you say so before ? ' the cook retorted. 
 
 ' Because I promised my master not to tell on him, till he 
 got to his journey's end.' 
 
 ' Who'll lay a wager ? ' asked the cook. ' I bet half-a- 
 crown she changes her mind, before she gets to the top of the 
 stairs.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she thinks the mistress will forgive her,' the 
 parlour-maid suggested ironically. 
 
 ' Or perhaps,' the housemaid added, ' she means to give 
 the mistress notice to leave.' 
 
 ' That's exactly what I'm going to do ! ' said Marceline. 
 
 The women all declined to believe her. She appealed to 
 Joseph. ' What did I tell you, when the mistress first sent 
 me out in the carriage with poor Miss Carmina ? Didn't I 
 say that I was no spy, and that I wouldn't submit to be made 
 one ? I would have left the house — I would ! — but for Miss 
 Carmina's kindness. Any other young lady would have made 
 me feel my mean position. She treated me like a friend — and 
 
294 HEART AND SCIEXCE. 
 
 I don't forget it. I'll go straight from this place, and help to 
 nurse her ! ' 
 
 With that declaration, Marceline left the kitchen. 
 
 Arrived at the library door, she paused. Not as the cook 
 had suggested, to ' change her mind ; ' but to consider before- 
 haud how much she should confess to her mistress, and how 
 much she should hold in reserve. 
 
 Zo's narrative of what had happened, on the evening of 
 Teresa's arrival, had produced its inevitable effect on the 
 maid's mind. Strengthening, by the sympathy which it ex- 
 cited, her grateful attachment to Carmina, it had necessarily 
 intensified her dislike of Mrs. Gallilee — and Mrs. Gallilee's 
 innocent husband had profited by that circumstance ! 
 
 Unexpectedly tried by time, Mr. Gallilee's resolution to 
 assert his paternal authority, in spite of his wife, had failed 
 him. The same timidity which invents a lie in a hurry, can con- 
 struct a stratagem at leisure. Marceline had discovered her 
 master putting a plan of escape, devised by himself, to its 
 first practical trial before the open wardrobe of his daughters 
 — and had asked slily if she could be of any use. Never re- 
 markable for presence of mind in emergencies, Mr. Gallilee 
 had helplessly admitted to his confidence the last person in 
 the house, whom anyone else (in his position) would have 
 trusted. ' My good soul, I want to take the girls away quietly 
 for change of air — you have got little secrets of your own, like 
 me, haven't you? — and the fact is, I don't quite know how 
 
 many petticoats .' There, he checked himself ; conscious, 
 
 when it was too late, that he was asking his wife's maia to 
 help him in deceiving his wife. The ready Marceline helped 
 him through the difficulty. ' I understand, sir ; my mistress's 
 mind is much occupied — and you don't want to trouble her 
 about this little journey.' Mr. Gallilee, at a loss for any other 
 answer, pulled out his purse. Marceline modestly drew back 
 at the sight of it. ' My mistress pays me, sir ; I serve you for 
 nothing.' In those words, she would have informed any other 
 man of the place which Mrs. Gallilee held in her estimation. 
 Her master simply considered her to be the most disinterested 
 woman he had ever met with. If she lost her situation through 
 helping him, he engaged to pay her wages until she found 
 another place. The maid set his mind at rest on that subject. 
 ' A woman who understands hairdressing as I do, sir, can 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 295 
 
 refer to other ladies besides Mrs. Gallilee, and can get a place 
 whenever she wants one.' 
 
 Having decided on what she should confess, and on what 
 she should conceal, Marceline knocked at the library door. 
 Receiving no answer, she went in. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was leaning back in her chair : her hands 
 hung down on either side of her ; her eyes looked up drowsily 
 at the ceiling. Prepared to see a person with an overburdened 
 mind, the maid (without sympathy, to quicken her percep- 
 tions) saw nothing but a person on the point of taking a nap. 
 
 ' Can I speak a word, ma'am ? ' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee's eyes remained fixed on the ceiling. ' Is 
 that my maid ? ' she asked. 
 
 Treated — to all appearance — with marked contempt, Mar- 
 celine no longer cared to assume the forms of respect either 
 in language or manner. ' I wish to give you notice to leave,' 
 she said abruptly ; ' I find I can't get on with my fellow- 
 servants.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee slowly raised her head, and looked at her 
 maid — and said nothing. 
 
 ' And while I'm about it,' the angry woman proceeded, ' I 
 may as well own the truth. You suspect one of us of helping 
 my master to take away the young ladies' things — I mean 
 some few of their things. Well ! you needn't blame innocent 
 people. I'm the person.' 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee laid her head back again on the chair — and 
 burst out laughing. 
 
 For one moment, Marceline looked at her mistress in blank 
 surprise. Then, the terrible truth burst on her. She ran into 
 the hall, and called for Joseph. 
 
 He hurried up the stairs. The instant he presented him- 
 self at the open door, Mrs. Gallilee rose to her feet. ' My 
 medical attendant,' she said, with an assumption of dignity ; 
 ' I must explain myself.' She held up one hand, outstretched ; 
 and counted her fingers with the other. ' First my husband. 
 Then my son. Now my maid. One, two, three. Mr. Null, 
 do you know the proverb ? " It's the last hair that breaks 
 the camel's back." ' She suddenly dropped on her knees. 
 ' Will somebody pray for me ? ' she cried piteously. ' I don't 
 know how to pray for myself. Where is God ? ' 
 
 Bareheaded as he was, Joseph ran out. The nearest doctor 
 
296 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 lived on the opposite side of the Square. He happened to be 
 at home. When he reached the house, the women servants 
 were holding their mistress down by main force. 
 
 CHAPTER LVI. 
 
 On the next day, Mr. Mool — returning from a legal consulta- 
 tion to an appointment at his office — found a gentleman, whom 
 he knew by sight, walking up and down before his door; ap- 
 parently bent on intercepting him. ' Mr. Null, I believe ? ' 
 he said, with his customary politeness. 
 
 Mr. Null answered to his name, and asked for a moment 
 of Mr. Mool's time. Mr. Mool looked grave, and said he was 
 late for an appointment already. Mr. Null admitted that the 
 clerks in the office had told him so, and said at last, what he 
 ought to have said at first : ' I am Mrs. Gallilee's medical at- 
 tendant — there is serious necessity for communicating with 
 her husband.' 
 
 Mr. Mool instantly led the way into the office. 
 
 The chief clerk approached his employer, with some 
 severity of manner. ' The parties have been waiting, sir, for 
 more than a quarter of an hour.' Mr. Mool's attention 
 wandered : he was thinking of Mrs. Gallilee. ' Is she dying? ' 
 he asked. ' She is out of her mind,' Mr. Null answered. 
 Those words petrified the lawyer : he looked helplessly at the 
 clerk — who, in his turn, looked indignantly at the office clock. 
 Mr. Mool recovered himself. ' Say I am detained by a most 
 distressing circumstance ; I will call on the parties later in the 
 day, at their own hour.' Giving those directions to the clerk, 
 he hurried Mr. Null upstairs into a private room. ' Tell me 
 about it ; pray tell me about it. Stop ! Perhaps, there is not 
 time enough. What can I do ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null put the question, which he ought to have asked 
 when they met at the house door. ' Can you tell me Mr. 
 Gallilee's address ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly ! Care of the Earl of Northlake ' 
 
 ' Will you please write it in my pocket-book ? I am so 
 upset by this dreadful affair that I can't trust my memory.' 
 
 Such a confession of helplessness as this, was all that was 
 wanted to rouse Mr. Mool. He rejected the pocket-book, and 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 297 
 
 wrote the address on a telegram. ' Return directly : your 
 wife is seriously ill.' In five minutes more, the message was 
 on its way to Scotland ; and Mr. Null was at liberty to tell 
 his melancholy story — if he could. 
 
 With assistance from Mr. Mool, he got through it. ' This 
 morning,' he proceeded, ' I have had the two best opinions in 
 London. Assuming that there is no hereditary taint, the 
 doctors think favourably of Mrs. Gallilee's chances of re- 
 covery.' 
 
 ' Is it violent madness ? ' Mr. Mool asked. 
 
 Mr. Null admitted that two nurses were required. ' The 
 doctors don't look on her violence as a discouraging symptom,' 
 he said. ' They are inclined to attribute it to the strength of 
 her constitution. I felt it my duty to place my own know- 
 ledge of the case before them. Without mentioning painful 
 family circumstances ' 
 
 ' I happen to be acquainted with the circumstances,' Mr. 
 Mool interposed. ' Are they in any way connected with this 
 dreadful state of things ? ' 
 
 He put that question eagerly, as if he had some strong 
 personal interest in hearing the reply. 
 
 Mr. Null blundered on steadily with his story. ' I thought 
 it right (with all due reserve) to mention that Mrs. Gallilee 
 had been subjected to — I won't trouble you with medical lan- 
 guage — let us say, to a severe shock ; involving mental dis- 
 turbance as well as bodily injury, before her reason gave way.' 
 
 ' And they considered that to be the cause ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null asserted his dignity. ' The doctors agreed with 
 Me, that it had shaken her power of self-control.' 
 
 ' Tou relieve me, Mr. Null — you infinitely relieve me ! If 
 our way of removing the children had done the mischief, I 
 should never have forgiven myself.' 
 
 He blushed, and said no more. Had Mr. Null noticed the 
 Blip of the tongue into which his agitation had betrayed him ? 
 Mr. Null did certainly look as if he was going to put a ques- 
 tion. The lawyer desperately forestalled him. 
 
 ' May I ask how you came to apply to me for Mr. Gallilee's 
 address ? Did you think of it yourself ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null had never had an idea of his own, from the day 
 of his birth, downward. 'Avery intelligent man,' he answered, 
 ' reminded me that you were an old friend of Mr. Gallilee. In 
 short, it was Joseph — the footman at Fairfield Gardens.' 
 
298 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Joseph's good opinion was of no importance to Mr. Mool's 
 professional interests. He could gratify Mr. Null's curiosity 
 without fear of lowering himself in the estimation of a client. 
 
 ' I had better, perhaps, explain that chance allusion of 
 mine to the children,' he began. ' My good friend, Mr. Gal- 
 lilee, had his own reasons for removing his daughters from 
 home for a time — reasons, I am bound to add, in which I 
 concur. The children were to be placed under the care of 
 their aunt, Lady Northlake. Unfortunately, her ladyship was 
 away with my lord, cruising in their yacht. They were not 
 able to receive Maria and Zoe at once. In the interval that 
 elapsed — excuse my entering into particulars — our excellent 
 friend had his own domestic reasons for arranging the — the 
 sort of clandestine departure which did in fact take place. It 
 was perhaps unwise on my part to consent — in short, I per- 
 mitted some of the necessary clothing to be privately deposited 
 here, and called for on the way to the station. Very unpro- 
 fessional, I am aware. I did it for the best ; and allowed my 
 friendly feeling to mislead me. Can I be of any use ? How 
 is poor Miss Carmina ? No better ? Ob, dear ! dear ! Mr. 
 Ovid will hear dreadful news, when he comes home. Can't 
 we prepare him for it, in any way ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null announced that a telegram would meet Ovid at 
 Queenstown — with the air of a man who had removed every 
 obstacle that could be suggested to him. The kind-hearted 
 lawyer shook his head. 
 
 ' Is there no friend who can meet him there ? ' Mr. Mool 
 suggested. ' I have clients depending on me — cases, in which 
 property is concerned, and reputation is at stake — or I would 
 gladly go myself. You, with your patients, are as little at 
 liberty as I am. Can't you think of some other friend ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null could think of nobody, and had nothing to pro- 
 pose. Of the three weak men, now brought into association 
 by the influence of domestic calamity, he was the feeblest, be- 
 yond all doubt. Mr. Mool had knowledge of law, and could 
 on occasion be incited to energy. Mr. Gallilee had warm 
 affections, which, being stimulated, could at least assert them- 
 selves. Mr. Null, professionally and personally, was incapable 
 of stepping beyond his own narrow limits, under any provoca- 
 tion whatever. He submitted to the force of events as a 
 cabbage-leaf submits to the teeth of a rabbit. 
 
 After leaving the office, Carolina's medical attendant had 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 299 
 
 liia patient to see. Since the unfortunate alarm in the lionse, 
 he had begun to feel doubtful and anxious about her again. 
 
 In the sitting-room, he found Teresa and the landlady in 
 consultation. In her own abrupt way, the nurse made him 
 acquainted with the nature of the conference. 
 
 'We have two worries to bother us,' she said; 'and the 
 music-master is the worst of the two. There's a notion at the 
 hospital (set agoing, I don't doubt, by the man himself), that 
 I crushed his fingers on purpose. That's a lie ! With the 
 open cupboard door between us, how could I see him, or he 
 see me ? When I gave it a push-to, I no more knew where 
 his hand was, than you do. If I meant anything, I meant to 
 slap his face for prying about in my room. We've made out 
 a writing between us, to show to the doctors. You shall have 
 a copy, in case you're asked about it. Now for the other 
 matter. You keep on telling me I shall fall ill myself, if I 
 don't get a person to help me with Carmina. Make your mind 
 easy — the person has come.' 
 
 ' Where is she ? ' 
 
 Teresa pointed to the bedroom. 
 
 ' Recommended by me ? ' Mr. Null inquired. 
 
 ' Recommended by herself. And we don't like her. That's 
 the other worry.' 
 
 Mr. Null's dignity declined to attach any importance to 
 the 'other worry.' ' No nurse has any business here without 
 my sanction ! I'll send her away directly.' 
 
 He pushed open the baize door. A lady was sitting by 
 Carmina's bedside. Even in the dim light, there was no 
 mistaking that face. Mr. Null recognised — Miss Minerva. 
 
 She rose, and bowed to him. He returned the bow stiffly. 
 Nature's protecting care of fools supplies them with an instinct 
 which distrusts ability. Mr. Null had never liked Miss 
 Minerva. At the same time, he was a little afraid of her. This 
 was not the sort of nurse who could be ordered to retire at 
 a moment's notice. 
 
 ' I have been waiting anxiously to see you,' she said — and 
 led the way to the farther end of the room. ' Carmina terri- 
 fies me,' she added in a whisper. 'I have been here for an 
 hour. When I entered the room her face, poor dear, seemed 
 to come to life again ; she was able to express her joy at seeing 
 me. Even the jealous old nurse noticed the change for the 
 better. Why didn't it last ? Look at her — oh, look at her ! ' 
 
300 HEART AMD SCIENCE. 
 
 The melancholy relapse that had followed the short in 
 terval of excitement was visible to anyone now. 
 
 There was the ' simulated paralysis,' showing itself plainly 
 in every part of the face. She lay still as death, looking 
 vacantly at the foot of the bed. Mr. Null was inclined to 
 resent the interference of a meddling woman, in the discharge 
 of his duty. He felt Carmina's pulse, in sulky silence. Her 
 eyes never moved ; her hand showed no consciousness of his 
 touch. Teresa opened the door, and looked in — impatiently 
 eager to see the intruding nurse sent away. Miss Minerva 
 invited her to return to her place at the bedside. ' I only ask 
 to occupy it,' she said considerately, ' when you want rest.' 
 Teresa was ready with an ungracious reply, but found no 
 opportunity of putting it into words. Miss Minerva turned 
 quickly to Mr. Null. ' I must ask you to let me say a few 
 words more,' she continued ; ' I will wait for you in the next 
 room.' 
 
 Her resolute eyes rested on him with a look which said 
 plainly, ' I mean to be heard.' He followed her into the 
 sitting-room, and waited in sullen submission to hear what 
 she had to say. 
 
 ' I must not trouble you by entering into my own affairs,' 
 she began. ' I will only say that I have obtained an engage- 
 ment much sooner than I had anticipated, and that the con- 
 venience of my employers made it necessary for me to meet 
 them in Paris. I owed Carmiua a letter ; but I had reasons 
 for not writing until I knew whether she had, or had not, left 
 London. With that object, I called this morning at her 
 aunt's house. You now see me here— after what I have heard 
 from the servants. I make no comment, and I ask for no 
 explanations. One thing only, I must know. Teresa refers 
 me to you, Is Carmiua attended by any other medical 
 man ? ' 
 
 Mr. Null answered stiffly, 'I am in consultation with 
 Doctor Benjulia ; and I expect him to-day.' 
 
 The reply startled her. ' Dr. Benjulia ? ' she repeated. 
 
 1 The greatest man we have ! ' Mr. Null asserted in hi3 
 most positive manner. 
 
 She silently determined to wait until Doctor Benjulia 
 arrived. 
 
 ' What is the last news of Mr. Ovid ? ' she said to him, 
 after an interval of consideration. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 301 
 
 He told her the news, in the fewest words possible. Even 
 he observed that it seemed to excite her. 
 
 ' Ob, Mr. Null ! who is to prepare him for what he will 
 see in that room ? Who is to tell him what he must hear of 
 his mother ? ' 
 
 There was a certain familiarity in the language of this 
 appeal, which Mr. Null felt it necessary to discourage. ' The 
 matter is left in my hands,' he announced. ' I shall telegraph 
 to him at Queenstown. When he comes home, he will find 
 my prescriptions on the table. Being a medical man him- 
 self, my treatment of the case will tell Mr. Ovid Vere every- 
 thing.' 
 
 The obstinate insensibility of his tone stopped her on the 
 point of saying what Mr. Mool had said already. She, too, 
 felt for Ovid, when she thought of the cruel brevity of a 
 telegram. ' At what date will the vessel reach Queenstown ? ' 
 she asked. 
 
 ' By way of making sure,' said Mr. Null, ' I shall telegraph 
 in a week's time.' 
 
 She troubled him with no more inquiries. He had pur- 
 posely remained standing, in the expectation that she would 
 take the hint, and go ; and he now walked to the window, and 
 looked out. She remained in her chair, thinking. In a few 
 minutes more, there was a heavy step on the stairs. Benjulia 
 had arrived. 
 
 He looked hard at Miss Minerva, in unconcealed surprise 
 at finding her in the house. She rose, and made an effort to 
 propitiate him by shaking hands. ' I am very anxious,' she 
 said gently, ' to hear your opinion.' 
 
 'Your hand tells me that,' he answered. 'It's a cold 
 hand, on a warm day. You're an excitable woman.' 
 
 He looked at Mr. Null, and led the way into the bedroom. 
 
 Left by herself, Miss Minerva discovered writing materials 
 (placed ready for Mr. Null's next prescription) on a side table. 
 She made use of them at once to write to her employer. ' A 
 dear friend of mine is seriously ill, and in urgent need of all 
 that my devotion can do for her. If you are willing to release 
 me from my duties for a short time, your sympathy and in- 
 dulgence will not be thrown away on an ungrateful woman. 
 If you cannot do me this favour, I ask your pardon for putting 
 you to inconvenience, and leave some other person, whose 
 mind is at ease, to occupy the place which I am for the 
 
302 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 present unfit to fill.' Having completed her letter in those 
 terms, she waited Benjulia's return. 
 
 There was sadness in her face, hut no agitation, as she 
 looked patiently towards the bedroom door. At last — in her 
 inmost heart she knew it — the victory over herself was a 
 victory won. Carmina could trust her now ; and Ovid him- 
 self should see it ! 
 
 Mr. Null returned to the sitting-room alone. Doctor 
 Bcnjulia had no time to spare : he had left the bedroom by 
 the other door. 
 
 ' I may say (as you seem anxious) that my colleague 
 approves of a proposal, on my part, to slightly modify the 
 last prescription. We recognise the new symptoms, without 
 feeling alarm.' Having issued this bulletin, Mr. Null sat down 
 to make his feeble treatment of his patient feebler still. 
 
 When he looked up again, the room was empty. Had she 
 left the house ? No : her travelling hat and her gloves were 
 on the other table. Had she boldly confronted Teresa on her 
 own ground ? 
 
 He took his modified prescription into the bedroom. 
 There she was, and there sat the implacable nurse, already 
 persuaded into listening to her ! What conceivable subject 
 could there be, which offered two such women neutral ground 
 to meet on ? Mr. Null left the house without the faintest 
 suspicion that Carmina might be the subject. 
 
 ' May I try to rouse her ? ' 
 
 Teresa answered by silently resigning her place at the 
 bedside. Miss Minerva touched Carmina's hand, and spoke. 
 ' Have you heard the good news, dear ? Ovid is coming back 
 in little more than a week.' 
 
 Carmina looked — reluctantly looked — at her friend, and 
 said, with an effort, ' I am glad.' 
 
 ' You will be better,' Miss Minerva continued, ' the moment 
 you see him.' 
 
 Her face became faintly animated. ' I shall be able to say 
 good-bye,' she answered. 
 
 ' Not good-bve, darling. He is returning to you after a 
 long journey.' 
 
 ' I am going, Frances, on a longer journey still.' She closed 
 her eyes, too weary or too indifferent to say more. 
 
 Miss Minerva drew back, struggling against the tears that 
 fell fast over her face. The jealous old nurse quietly moved 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 303 
 
 nearer to her, and kissed her hand. ' I've been a brute and a 
 fool,' said Teresa ; ' you're almost as fond of her as I am.' 
 
 A week later, Miss Minerva left London, to wait for Ovid 
 at Queenstown. 
 
 CHAPTER LVII. 
 
 Mr. Mool was in attendance at Fairfield Gardens, when his old 
 friend arrived from Scotland, to tell him what the cautiously 
 expressed message in the telegram really meant. 
 
 But one idea seemed to be impressed on Mr. Gallilee's 
 mind — the idea of reconciliation. He insisted on seeing his 
 wife. It was in vain to tell him that she was utterly incapable 
 of reciprocating or even of understanding his wishes. Absolute 
 resistance was the one alternative left — and it was followed 
 by distressing results. The kind-hearted old man burst into 
 a fit of crying, which even shook the resolution of the doctors. 
 One of them went upstairs to warn the nurses. The other 
 said, ' Let him see her.' 
 
 The instant he showed himself in the room, Mrs. Gallilee 
 recognised him with a shriek of fury. The nurses held her 
 back — while Mr. Mool dragged him out again, and shut the 
 door. The object of the doctors had been gained. His own 
 eyes had convinced him of the terrible necessity of placing his 
 wife under restraint. She was removed to a private asylum. 
 
 Maria and Zo had been left in Scotland — as perfectly 
 happy as girls could be, in the society of their cousins, and 
 under the affectionate care of their aunt. Mr. Gallilee re- 
 mained in London ; but he was not left alone in the deserted 
 house. The good lawyer had a spare room at his disposal ; and 
 Mrs. Mool and her daughters received him with true sympathy. 
 Coming events helped to steady his mind. He was comforted 
 in the anticipation of Ovid's return, and interested in hearing 
 of the generous motive which had led Miss Minerva to meet 
 his stepson. 
 
 ' I never agreed with the others when they used to abuse 
 our governess,' he said. ' She might have been quick-tempered, 
 and she might have been ugly— I suppose I saw her in some 
 other light, myself He had truly seen her under another 
 light. In his simple affectionate nature, there had been in- 
 stinctive recognition of that great heart. 
 
304 HEART AND SCIENCE 
 
 He was allowed to see Carmina, in the hope that pleasant 
 associations connected with him rnight have a favourable in- 
 fluence. She smiled faintly, and gave him her hand when she 
 saw him at the bedside — but that was all. 
 
 Too deeply distressed to ask to see her again, he made his 
 inquiries for the future at the door. Day after day, the answer 
 was always the same. 
 
 Before she left London, Miss Minerva had taken it on her- 
 self to engage the vacant rooms, on the ground floor of the 
 lodging-house, for Ovid. She knew his heart, as she knew her 
 own heart. Once under the same roof with Carmina, he would 
 leave it no more — until life gave her back to him, or death 
 took her away. Hearing of what had been done, Mr. Gallilee 
 removed to Ovid's rooms the writing-desk and the books, 
 the favourite music and the faded flowers, left by Carmina 
 at-. Fairfield Gardens. ' Anything that belongs to her,' he 
 thought, 'will surely be welcome to the poor fellow when he 
 comes back.' 
 
 On one afternoon — never afterwards to be forgotten — 
 he had only begun to make his daily inquiry, when the door 
 on the ground floor was opened, and Miss Minerva beckoned 
 to him. 
 
 Her face daunted Mr. Gallilee : he asked, in a whisper, if 
 Ovid had returned. 
 
 She pointed upwards, and answered, ' He is with her now.' 
 
 ' How did he bear it ? ' 
 
 ' We don't know ; we were afraid to follow him into the 
 room.' 
 
 She turned towards the window as she spoke. Teresa was 
 sitting there — vacantly looking out. Mr. Gallilee spoke to her 
 kindly : she made no answer ; she never even moved. ' Worn 
 out ! ' Miss Minerva whispered to him. ' When she thinks of 
 Carmina now, she thinks without hope.' 
 
 He shuddered. The expression of his own fear was in 
 those words — and he shrank from it. Miss Minerva took his 
 hand, and led him to a chair. ' Ovid will know best,' she 
 reminded him; 'let us wait for what Ovid will say.' 
 
 'Did you meet him on board the vessel?' Mr. Gallilee 
 asked. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' How did he look ?' 
 
 ' So well and so strong that you would hardly have known 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 305 
 
 him again — till lie asked about Carmina. Then he turned 
 pale. I knew that I must tell him the truth — but I was 
 afraid to take it entirely on myself. Something Mr. Null 
 said to me, before I left London, suggested that I might help 
 Ovid to understand me if I took the prescriptions to Queens- 
 town. I had not noticed that they were signed by Doctor 
 Benjulia, as well as by Mr. Null. Dou't ask me what effect 
 the discovery had on him ! I bore it at the time — I can't 
 speak of it now.' 
 
 'You good creature! you dcir good creatui'e ! Forgive 
 me if I have distressed you ; I didn't mean it.' 
 
 ' You have not distressed me. Is there anything else I can 
 tell you ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee hesitated. ' There is one thing more,' he said. 
 ' It isn't about Carmina this time ' 
 
 He hesitated again. Miss Minerva understood him. 'Yes,' 
 she answered; 'I spoke to Ovid of his mother. In mercy to 
 himself and to me, he would hear no details. " I know 
 enough," he said, "if I know that she is the person to blame. 
 I was prepared to hear it. My mother's silence could only be 
 accounted for in one way, when I had read Zo's letter." — 
 Don't you know, Mr. Gallilee, that the child wrote to Ovid ?' 
 
 The surprise and delight of Zo's fond old father, when he 
 heard the stoiy of the letter, forced a smile from Miss 
 Minerva, even at that time of doubt and sorrow. He de- 
 clared that he would have returned to his daughter by the 
 mail train of that night, but for two considerations. He must 
 see his stepson before he went back to Scotland ; and he 
 must search all the toy-shops in London for the most magnifi- 
 cent present that could be offered to a young person of ten 
 years old. ' Tell Ovid, with my love, I'll call again to- 
 morrow,' he said, looking at his watch. 'I have just time 
 to write to Zo by to-day's post.' He went to his club, for the 
 first time since he had returned to London. Miss Minerva 
 thought of bygone days, and wondered if he would enjoy his 
 champagne. 
 
 A little later Mr. Null called — anxious to know if Ovid 
 had arrived. 
 
 Other women, in the position of Miss Minerva and Teresa, 
 might have hesitated to keep the patient's room closed to the 
 doctor. These two were resolved. They refused to disturb 
 Ovid, even by sending up a message. Mr. Null took offence. 
 
 x 
 
3 o5 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 Understand, both of yon,' be said, ' wben I call to-morrow 
 morning, I shall insist on going upstairs — and if I find this 
 incivility repeated, I shall throw up the case.' He left 
 tbe room, triumphing in bis fool's paradise of aggressive 
 self-conceit. 
 
 They waited for some time longer — and still no message 
 reached them from upstairs. ' We may be wrong in staying 
 here,' Miss Minerva suggested ; ' he may want to be alone 
 when he leaves her — let us go.' 
 
 She rose to return to the house of her new employers 
 They respected her, and felt for her : while Carmina's illness 
 continued, she had the entire disposal of her time. Tbe 
 nurse accompanied her to the door ; resigned to take refuge in 
 the landlady's room. ' I'm afraid to be by myself,' Teresa 
 said. ' Even that woman's chatter is better for me than my 
 own thoughts.' 
 
 Before parting for the night they waited in the hull, 
 looking towards the stairs, and listening anxiously. Not a 
 sound disturbed the melancholy silence. 
 
 CHAPTER LVIII. 
 
 Among many vain hopes, one hope had been realised : they 
 had met again. 
 
 In the darkened room, her weary eyes could hardly have 
 seen the betrayal of what he suffered — even if she had looked 
 up in his face. She was content to rest her head on his 
 breast, and to feel his arm round her. ' I am glad, dear,' she 
 said, ' to have lived long enough for this.' 
 
 Those were her first words — after the first kiss. She had 
 trembled and sighed, when he ran to her and bent over her : 
 it was the one expression left of all her joy and all her love. 
 But it passed away as other lesser agitations had passed away. 
 One last reserve of energy obeyed the gentle persuasion of 
 love. Silent towards all other friends, she was able to speak 
 to Ovid. 
 
 ' You used to bi'eathe so lightly,' she said. ' How is it 
 that I hear you now. Oh, Ovid, don't cry ! I couldn't bear 
 that.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 307 
 
 He answered lier quietly. 'Don't be afraid, darling; I 
 won't distress you.' 
 
 ' And you will let me say, what I want to say ? ' 
 
 1 Oh, yes ! ' 
 
 This satisfied her. ' I may rest a little now,' she said. 
 
 He too was silent ; held down by the heavy hand of 
 despair. 
 
 The time had been, in the days of his failing health, when 
 the solemn shadows of evening falling over the fields — the 
 soaring song of the lark in the bright heights of the midday 
 sky — the dear lost remembrances that the divine touch of 
 music finds again — brought tears into his eyes. They were 
 dry eyes now ! Those once tremulous nerves had gathered 
 steady strength, on the broad prairies and in the roving life. 
 Could trembling sorrow, seeking its way to the sources of 
 tears, overbear the robust vitality that rioted in his blood, 
 whether she lived or whether she died ? In those deep 
 breathings that had alarmed her, she had indeed heard the 
 struggle of grief, vainly urging its way to expression against 
 the masterful health and strength that set moral weakness at 
 defiance. Nature had remade this man — and Nature never 
 pities. 
 
 It was an effort to her to collect her thoughts — but she 
 did collect them. She was able to tell him what was in her 
 mind. 
 
 'Do you think, Ovid, your mother will care much what 
 becomes of me, when I die ? ' 
 
 He started at those dreadful words — so softly, so patiently 
 spoken. 'You will live,' he said. 'My Carmina, what am I 
 here for but to bring you back to life ? ' 
 
 She made no attempt to dispute with him. Quietly, 
 persistently, she returned to the thought that was in her. 
 
 ' Say that I forgive your mother, Ovid — and that I only 
 a<-k one thing in return. I ask her to leave me to you, when 
 the end has come. My dear, there is a feeling in me that I 
 can't get over. Don't let me be buried in a great place all 
 crowded with the dead ! I once saw a picture — it was at 
 home in Italy, I think — an English picture of a quiet little 
 churchyard in the country. The shadows of the trees rested 
 on the lonely graves. And some great poet had written — oh, 
 such beautiful words about it. The redbreast loves to build 
 and warble there, And little footsteps lightly print the ground. 
 
 x2 
 
3 o8 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 Promise, Ovid, you will take me to some place, far from 
 crowds and noise — where children may gather the flowers on 
 my grave.' 
 
 He promised — and she thanked him, and rested again. 
 
 ' There was something else,' she said, when the interval 
 had passed. ' My head is so sleepy. I wonder whether I can 
 think of it ? ' 
 
 After a while, she did think of it. 
 
 ' I want to make you a little farewell present. Will you 
 undo my gold chain ? Don't cry, Ovid ! oh, don't cry ! ' 
 
 He obeyed her. The gold chain held the two lockets — 
 the treasured portraits of her father and her mother. ' Wear 
 them for my sake,' she murmured. ' Lift me up ; I want to 
 put them round your neck nryself.' She tried, vainly tried, 
 to clasp the chain. Her head fell back on his breast. ' Too 
 sleepy,' she said; 'always too sleepy now ! Say you love me, 
 Ovid.' 
 
 He said it. 
 
 ' Kiss me, dear.' 
 
 He kissed her. 
 
 ' Now lay me down on the pillow. I'm not eighteen yet 
 — and I feel as old as eighty ! Rest ; all I want is rest.' 
 Looking at him fondly, her eyes closed little by little — then 
 softly opened again. ' Don't wait in this dull room, darling ; 
 I will send for you, if I wake.' 
 
 It was the only wish of hers that he disobeyed. From 
 time to time, his fingers touched her pulse, and felt its feeble 
 beat. From time to time, he stooped and let the faint coming 
 and going of her breath flatter on his cheek. The twilight 
 fell, and darkness began to gather over the room. Still, he 
 kept his place by her, like a man entranced. 
 
 CHAPTER LIX. 
 
 The first trivial sound that broke the spell, was the sound of 
 a match struck in the next room. 
 
 He rose, and groped his way to the door. Teresa hod 
 ventured upstairs, and had kindled a light. Some momentary 
 doubt of him kept the nurse silent when he looked at her. 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 509 
 
 He stammered, and stared about him confusedly, -when lie 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Where — where — ? ' He seemed to have lost his hold on 
 his thoughts — he gave it up, and tried again. ' I want to be 
 alone,' he said ; recovering, for the moment, some power of 
 expressing himself. 
 
 Teresa's first fear of him vanished. She took him by the 
 hand like a child, and led him downstairs to his rooms. He 
 stood silently watching her, while she lit the candles. 
 
 ' When Carmina sleeps now,' he asked, ' does it last long ? ' 
 
 ' Often for honrs together,' the nnrse answered. 
 
 He said no more ; he seemed to have forgotten that there 
 was another person in the room. 
 
 She found courage in her pity for him. ' Try to pray,' she 
 eaid, and left him. 
 
 He fell on his knees; but still the words failed him. He 
 tried to quiet his mind by holy thoughts. No ! The dumb 
 agony in him. was powerless to find relief. Only the shadows 
 of thoughts crossed his mind ; his eyes ached with a burning 
 heat. He began to be afraid of himself. The active habits of 
 the life that he had left, drove him out, with the instincts of 
 an animal, into space and air. Neither knowing nor caring in 
 what direction he turned his steps, he walked on at the top of 
 his speed. On and on, till the crowded houses began to grow 
 more rare — till there were gaps of open ground, on either side 
 of him — till the moon rose behind a plantation of trees, and 
 bathed in its melancholy light a lonely high road. He fol- 
 lowed the road till he was tired of it, and turned aside into a 
 winding lane. The lights and shadows, alternating with each 
 other, soothed and pleased him. He had got the relief in 
 exercise that had been denied him while he was in repose. 
 He could think again ; he could feel the resolution stirring in 
 him to save that dear one, or to die with her. Now at last, he 
 was man enough to face the terrible necessity that confronted 
 him, and fight the battle of Art and Love against Death. He 
 stopped, and looked round ; eager to return, and be ready for 
 her waking. In that solitary place, there was no hope of 
 finding a person to direct him. He turned, to go back to the 
 high road. 
 
 At the same moment, he became conscious of the odour of 
 tobacco wafted towards him on the calm night air. Some one 
 was smoking in the lane, 
 
310 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 He retraced his steps, until he reached a gate — with a 
 barren field behind it. There was the man, whose tobacco 
 smoke he had smelt, leaning on the gate, with his pipe in his 
 mouth. 
 
 The moonlight fell full on Ovid's face, as he approached to 
 ask his way. The man suddenly stood up — stared at him — ■ 
 and said, ' Hullo ! is it you or your ghost ? ' 
 
 His face was in shadow, but his voice answered for him. 
 The man was Benjulia. 
 
 ' Have you come to see me ? ' he askecL 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' Won't you shake hands ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 ' What's wrong ? ' 
 
 Ovid waited to answer until he had steadied his temper. 
 
 ' I have seen Carmiua,' he said. 
 
 Benjulia went on with his smoking. 'An interesting case, 
 isn't it ? ' he remarked. 
 
 ' You were called into consultation by Mr. Null,' Ovid con- 
 tinued ; ' and you approved of his ignorant treatment — you, 
 who knew better.' 
 
 ' I should think I did ! ' Benjulia rejoined. 
 
 ' You deliberately encouraged an incompetent man ; you 
 let that poor girl go on from bad to worse — for some vile end 
 of your own.' 
 
 Benjulia good-naturedly corrected him. ' No, no. For an 
 'excellent end — for knowledge.' 
 
 ' If I fail to l^emecly the mischief, which is your doing, and 
 yours alone ' 
 
 Benjulia took his pipe out of his mouth. ' How do you 
 mean to cure her ? ' he eagerly interposed. ' Have you got a 
 new idea ? ' 
 
 'If I fail,' Ovid repeated, 'her death lies at your door. 
 You merciless villain — as certainly as that moon is now shining 
 over us, your life shall answer for hers.' 
 
 Astonishment — immeasurable astonishment — sealed Ben- 
 julia's lips. He looked down the lane when Ovid left him, 
 completely stupefied. Thejone imaginable way of accounting 
 for such language as he had heard — spoken by a competent 
 member of his own profession ! — presented the old familiar 
 alternative. ' Drunk or mad ? ' he wondered while he lit his 
 pipe again. Walking back to the house, his old distrust of 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 31 1 
 
 Ovid troubled him ouce more. He decided to call at Teresa's 
 lodgings in a day or two, and ascertain from the landlady 
 (and the chemist) how Carmina was being cured. 
 
 Returning to the high road, Orid was passed by a trades- 
 man, driving his cart towards Loudon. The man civilly offered 
 to take him as far as the nearest outlying cabstand. 
 
 Neither the landlady nor Teresa had gone to their beds 
 when he returned. Their account of Carmina, during his 
 nbsence, contained nothing to alarm him. He bade them good- 
 night — eager to be left alone in his room. 
 
 In the house and out of the house, there was now the per- 
 fect silence that helps a man to think. His mind was clear ; 
 his memory answered, when he called on it to review that 
 part of his own medical practice which might help him, by 
 experience, in his present need. But he shrank — with Car- 
 mina's life in his hands — from trusting wholly to himself. 
 A higher authority than his was waiting to be consulted. He 
 took from his portmanteau the manuscript presented to him 
 by the poor wretch, whose last hours he had soothed in the 
 garret at Montreal. 
 
 The work opened with a declaration which gave it a special 
 value, in Ovid's estimation. 
 
 ' If this imperfect record of experience is ever read by other 
 eyes than mine, I wish to make one plain statement at the out- 
 set. The information which is presented in these pages is 
 wholly derived from the results of bedside practice ; pursued 
 under miserable obstacles and interruptions, and spread over 
 a period of many years Whatever faults and failings I may 
 have been guilty of as a man, I am innocent, in my profes- 
 sional capacity, of ever having perpetrated the useless and 
 detestable cruelties which go by the name of Vivisection. 
 "Without entering into any of the disputes on either side, which 
 this practice has provoked, I declare my conviction that no 
 asserted usefulness in the end, can justify deliberate cruelty 
 in the means. The man who seriously maintains that any 
 pursuit in which he can engage is independent of moral re- 
 straint, is a man in a state of revolt against God. I refuse to 
 hear him in his own defence, on that ground.' 
 
 Ovid turned next to the section of the work which was 
 entitled ' Brain Disease.' The writer introduced his observa- 
 tions in these prefatory words ; 
 
312 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 1 A celebrated physiologist, plainly avowing the ignorance 
 of doctors in the matter of the brain and its diseases, and 
 alluding to appearances presented by post-mortem examina- 
 tion, concludes his confession thus : " We cannot even be 
 sure "whether many of the changes discovered are the cause 
 or the result of the disease, or whether the two are the con- 
 joint results of a common cause." 
 
 ' So this man writes, after experience in Vivisection. 
 
 ' Let my different experience be heard next. Not know- 
 ing into what hands this manuscript may fall, or what unex- 
 pected opportunities of usefulness it may encounter after my 
 death, I purposely abstain from using technical language in 
 the statement which I have now to make. 
 
 ' In medical investigations, as in all other forms of human 
 inquiry, the result in view is not infrequently obtained by 
 indirect and unexpected means. What I have to say here on 
 the subject of brain disease, was first suggested by experience 
 of two cases, which seemed in the last degree unlikely to help 
 me. They were both cases of young women ; each one having 
 been hysterically affected by a serious moral shock ; termi- 
 nating, after a longer or shorter interval, in simulated paralysis. 
 One of these cases I treated successfully. While I was still 
 in attendance on the other (pursuing the same course of treat- 
 ment which events had already proved to be right) a fatal 
 accident terminated my patient's life, and rendered a post- 
 mortem examination necessary. From those startiug points, 
 I arrived — by devious ways which I am now to relate — at 
 deductions and discoveries that threw a new light on the 
 nature and treatment of brain disease.' 
 
 Hour by hour, Ovid studied the pages that followed, until 
 his mind and the mind of the writer were one. He then re- 
 turned to certain preliminary allusions to the medical treat- 
 ment of the two girls — inexpressibly precious to him, in Car- 
 mina's present interests. The dawn of day found him prepared 
 at all points, and only waiting until the lapse of the next few 
 hours placed the means of action in his hands. 
 
 But there was one anxiety still to be relieved, before he 
 lay down to rest. 
 
 He took off his shoes, and stole upstairs to Carmina's door. 
 The faithful Teresa was astir, earnestly persuading her to 
 take some nourishment. The little that he could hear of her 
 voice, as she answered, made his heart ache — it was so faint 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 313 
 
 and so low. Still she could speak ; and still there was the 
 old saying to remember, which has comforted so many and 
 deceived so many : While there's life, there's hope. 
 
 CHAPTER LX. 
 
 After a brief interview with his stepson, Mr. Gallilee returned 
 to his daughters in Scotland. 
 
 Touched by his fatherly interest in Carmina, Ovid engaged 
 to keep him informed of her progress towards recovery. If 
 the anticipation of saving her proved to be the sad delusion 
 of love and hope, silence would signify what no words could 
 say. 
 
 In ten days' time there was a happy end to suspense. The 
 slow process of recovery might extend perhaps to the end of 
 the year. But, if no accident happened, Ovid had the best 
 reasons for believing that Carmina's life was safe. 
 
 Freed from the terrible anxieties that had oppressed him, 
 he was able to write again, a few days later, in a cheerful tone, 
 and to occupy his pen at Mr. Gallilee's expi-ess request, with 
 such an apparently trifling subject as the conduct of Mr. Null. 
 
 ' Tour old medical adviser was quite right in informing 
 you that I had relieved him from any further attendance on 
 Carmina. But his lively imagination (or perhaps I ought to 
 say, his sense of his own consequence) has misled you when 
 he also declares that I purposely insulted him. I took the 
 greatest pains not to wound his self-esteem. He left me in 
 anger, nevertheless. 
 
 ' A day or two afterwards, I received a note from him ; 
 addressing me as " Sir," and asking ironically if I had any 
 objection to his looking at the copies of my prescriptions in 
 the chemist's book. Though he was old enough to be my 
 father (he remarked) it seemed that experience counted for 
 nothing ; he had still something to learn from his junior, in 
 the treatment of disease — and so on. 
 
 ' At that miserable time of doubt and anxiety, I could only 
 send a verbal reply, leaving him to do what he liked. Before 
 I tell you of the use that he made of his liberty of action, I 
 must confess something relating to the prescriptions them- 
 
3 i4 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 selves. Don't be afraid of long and learned words, and don't 
 suppose that I am occupying your attention in this way, with- 
 out a serious reason for it which you will presently understand. 
 
 ' A note in the manuscript — to my study of which, I owe, 
 under God, the preservation of Cannula's life — warned me 
 that chemists, in the writer's country, had either refused to 
 make up certain prescriptions given in the work, or had taken 
 the liberty of altering the new quantities and combinations of 
 some of the drugs pi'escribecl. 
 
 ' Precisely the same thing happened here, in the case of 
 the first chemist to whom I sent. He refused to make up the 
 medicine, unless I provided him with a signed statement 
 taking the whole responsibility on myself. 
 
 ' Having ascertained the exact nature of his objection, I 
 dismissed him without his guarantee, and employed another 
 chemist ; taking care (in the interests of my time and my 
 temper) to write my more important prescriptions under re- 
 serve. That is to say, I followed the conventional rules, as to 
 quantities and combinations, and made the necessary additions 
 or changes from my own private stores when the medicine 
 was sent home. 
 
 ' Poor foolish Mr. Null, finding nothing to astonish him in 
 my course of medicine— as represented by the chemist — ap- 
 pears, by his own confession, to have copied the prescriptions 
 with a malicious object in view. " I have sent them (he 
 informs me, in a second letter) to Doctor Benjulia ; in order 
 that he too may learn something in his profession from the 
 master who has dispensed with our services." This new 
 effort of irony means that I stand self-condemned of vanity, in 
 presuming to rely on my own commonplace resources — repre- 
 sented by the deceitful evidence of the chemist's book ! 
 
 ' But I am grateful to Mr. Null, notwithstanding : he has 
 done me a seiwice, in meaning to do me an injury. 
 
 ' My imperfect prescriptions have quieted the mind of the 
 man to whom he sent them. This wretch's distrust has long 
 since falsely suspected me of some professional rivalry pursued 
 in secret; the feeling showed itself again, when I met with 
 him by accident on the night of my return to London. Since 
 Mr. Null has communicated with him, the landlady is no 
 longer insulted by his visits, and offended by his questions — 
 all relating to the course of treatment which I was pursuing 
 upstairs. 
 
HEART AND SCIEXCE. 315 
 
 1 You now understand why I ventured to trouble you on a 
 purely professional topic. To turn to matters of more interest 
 — our dear Carmina is well enough to remember you, and to 
 send her love to you and the girls. But even this little effort 
 is followed by fatigue. 
 
 ' I don't mean only fatigue of body : that is now a question 
 of time and care. I mean fatigue of mind — expressing itself 
 by defect of memory. 
 
 ' On the morning -when the first positive change for the 
 better appeared, I was at her bedside when she woke. She 
 looked at me in amazement. " Why didn't you warn me of 
 your sudden return?" she asked, "I have only written to 
 you to-day — to your bankers at Quebec ! What does it 
 mean ? " 
 
 ' I did my best to soothe her, and succeeded. There is a 
 complete lapse in her memory — I am only too sure of it ! She 
 has no recollection of anything that has happened, since she 
 wrote her last letter to me — a letter which must have been lost 
 (perhaps intercepted ?), or I should have received it before I 
 left Quebec. This forgetfulness of the dreadful trials through 
 which my poor darling has passed, is, in itself, a circumstance 
 which we must all rejoice over for her sake. But I am dis- 
 couraged by it, at the same time ; fearing it may indicate 
 some more serious injury than I have yet discovered. 
 
 'Miss Minerva — what should I do without the help and 
 sympathy of that best of true women ? — Miss Minerva has 
 cautiously tested her memory in other directions, with en- 
 couraging results, so far. But I shall not feel easy until I 
 have tried further experiments, by means of some person who 
 does not exercise a powerful influence over her, and whose 
 memory is naturally occupied with what we older people 
 call trifles. 
 
 ' When you all leave Scotland next month, bring Zo here 
 with you. My dear little correspondent is just the sort of 
 quaint child I want for the purpose. Kiss her for me till she 
 is out of breath — and say that is what I mean to do when we 
 meet.' 
 
 The return to London took place in the last week in 
 October. 
 
 Lord and Lady ISTorthlake went to their town residence, 
 taking Maria and Zo with them. There were associations 
 
Ji6 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 connected with Fairfield Gardens, which made the prospect of 
 living there — without even the society of his children — tin- 
 endurable to Mr. Gallilee. Ovid's house, still waiting the 
 return of its master, was open to his stepfather. The poor 
 man was only too glad (in his own simple language) ' to keep 
 the nest warm for his son.' 
 
 The latest inquiries made at the asylum were hopefully 
 answered. Thus far, the measures taken to restore Mrs. Gal- 
 lilee to herself had succeeded beyond expectation. But one 
 unfavourable symptom remained. She was habitually silent. 
 When she did speak, her mind seemed to be occupied with 
 scientific subjects : she never mentioned her husband, or any 
 other member of the family. Time and attention would re- 
 move this drawback. In two or three months more perhaps, 
 if all went well, she might return to her family and her friends, 
 as sane a woman as ever. 
 
 Calling at Fairfield Gardens for any letters that might be 
 waiting there, Mr. Gallilee received a circular in lithographed 
 writing ; accompanied by a roll of thick white paper. The 
 signature revealed the familiar name of Mr. Le Frank. 
 
 The circular set forth that the writer had won renown and 
 a moderate income, as pianist and teacher of music. ' A ter- 
 rible accident, ladies and gentlemen, has injured my right 
 hand, and has rendered amputation of two of my fingers 
 necessaiy. Deprived for life of my professional resources, I 
 have but one means of subsistence left — viz : — collecting sub- 
 scriptions for a song of my own composition, N.B. — The 
 mutilated musician leaves the question of terms in the hands 
 of the art-loving public, and will do himself the honour of 
 calling to-morrow.' 
 
 Good-natured Mr. Gallilee left a sovei-eign to be given to 
 the victim of circumstances — and then set forth for Lord 
 Northlake's house. He and Ovid had arranged that Zo was 
 to be taken to see Carmina that day. 
 
 On his way through the streets, he was met by Mr. Mool. 
 The lawyer looked at the song under his friend's arm. ' What's 
 that you're taking such care of?' he asked. 'It looks like 
 music. A new piece for the young ladies — eh ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee explained. Mr. Mool struck his stick on the 
 pavement, as the nearest available means of expressing in- 
 dignation. 
 
 ' Never let another farthing of your money get into that 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 317 
 
 rascal's pocket ! It's no merit of his that the poor old Italian 
 nurse has not made her appearance in the police reports.' 
 
 With this preface, Mr. Mool related the circumstances 
 under which Mr. Le Prank had met with his accident. ' His 
 first proceeding when they discharged him from the hospital,' 
 continued the lawyer, ' was to summon Teresa before a magis- 
 trate. Fortunately she showed the summons to me. I appeared 
 for her, provided with a plan of the rooms which spoke for 
 itself ; and I put two questions to the complainant. What 
 business had he in another person's room ? and why was his 
 hand in that other person's cupboard ? The reporter kindly 
 left the case unrecorded ; and when the fellow ended by 
 threatening the poor woman outside the court, we bound him 
 over to keep the peace. I have my eye on him — and I'll catch 
 him yet, under the Vagrant Act ! ' 
 
 CHAPTER LXI. 
 
 Aided by time, care, and skill, Carmina had gained strength 
 enough to pass some hours of the day in the sitting-room ; 
 reclining in an invalid-chair invented for her by Ovid. The 
 welcome sight of Zo — brightened and developed by happy 
 autumn days passed in Scotland — brought a deep flush to her 
 face, and quickened the pulse which Ovid was touching, under 
 pretence of holding her hand. These signs of excessive ner- 
 vous sensibility warned him to limit the child's visit to a short 
 space of time. Neither Miss Minerva nor Teresa were in the 
 room : Carmina could have Zo all to herself. 
 
 ' Now, my dear,' she said, in a kiss, ' tell me about Scotland.' 
 
 ' Scotland,' Zo answered, with dignity, ' belongs to uncle 
 Northlake. He pays for everything ; and I'm Missus.' 
 
 ' It's true,' said Mr. Gallilee, bursting with pride. ' My 
 lord says it's no use having a will of your own where Zo is. 
 When he introduces her to anybody on the estate, he says, 
 " Here's the Missus." ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee's youngest daughter listened critically to the 
 parental testimony. ' You see he knows,' she said to Ovid. 
 ' There's nothing to laugh at.' 
 
 Carmina tried another question. ' Did you think of me, 
 dear, when you were far away ? ' 
 
318 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 ' Think of you ? ' Zo repeated. ' You're to sleep in my 
 bedroom when we go back to Scotland — and I'm to be out of 
 bed, and one of 'em, when you eat your first Scotch dinner. 
 Shall I tell you what you'll see on the table ? You'll see a 
 big brown steaming bag in a dish — and you'll see me slit it 
 with a knife — and the bag's fat inside will tumble out, all 
 smoking hot and stinking. That's a Scotch dinner. Oh ! ' 
 she cried, losing her dignity in the sudden interest of a new 
 idea, ' oh, Carmina, do you remember the Italian boy, and his 
 song? ' 
 
 Here was one of those tests of her memory for trifles, ap- 
 plied with a child's happy abruptness, for which Ovid had 
 been waiting. He listened eagerly. To his unutterable relief, 
 Carmina laughed. 
 
 ' Of course I remember it ! ' she said. ' Who could forget 
 the boy who sings and grins and says Gimm.ee haypenny ? ' 
 
 ' That's it ! ' cried Zo. ' The boy's song was a good one 
 in its way. I've learnt a better in Scotland. You've heard 
 of Donald, haven't you ? ' 
 
 'No.' 
 
 Zo turned indignantly to her father. ' Why didn't you 
 tell her of Donald ? ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee humbly admitted that he was in fault. Car- 
 mina asked who Donald was, and what he was like. Zo 
 unconsciously tested her memory for the second time. 
 
 ' You know that day,' she said, ' when Joseph had an errand 
 at the grocer's and I went along with him, and Miss Minerva 
 said I was a vulgar child ? ' 
 
 Carmina's memory recalled this new trifle, without an 
 effort. ' I know,' she answered ; ' you told me Joseph and the 
 grocer weighed you in the great scales.' 
 
 Zo delighted Ovid by trying her again. 'When they put 
 me into the scales, Carmina, what did I weigh ? ' 
 
 ' Nearly four stone, dear.' 
 
 ' Quite four stone. Donald weighs fourteen. What do 
 you think of that ? ' 
 
 Mr Gallilee once more offered his testimony. ' The biggest 
 Piper on my lord's estate,' he began, ' comes of a Highland 
 family, and was removed to the Lowlands by my lord's father. 
 A great player ' 
 
 ' And my friend,' Zo explained, stopping her father in full 
 career. ' He takes snuff out of a cow's horn. He shovels it 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 319 
 
 up his fat nose with a spoon, like this. His nose wags. He 
 says, " Try my sneeshin." Snceshin's Scotch for snuff. He 
 boos till he's nearly double when uncle Northlake speaks to 
 him. Boos is Scotch for bows. He skirls on the pipes — 
 skirls means screeches. "When you first hear him, he'll make 
 your stomach ache. You'll get used to that — and you'll find 
 you like him. He wears a purse and a petticoat ; he never 
 had a pair of trousers on in his life; there's no pride about 
 him. Say you're my friend and he'll let you smack his 
 legs ' 
 
 Here, Ovid was obliged to bring the biography of Donald 
 to a close. Carmina's enjoyment of Zo was becoming too keen 
 for her strength ; her bursts of laughter grew louder and 
 louder — the wholesome limit of excitement was being rapidly 
 passed. 'Tell us about your cousins,' he said, by way of 
 effecting a diversion. 
 
 ' The big ones ? ' Zo asked. 
 
 ' No ; the little ones, like }*ou.' 
 
 ' Nice girls — they play at everything I tell 'em. Jolly 
 boys — when they knock a girl down, they pick her up again, 
 and clean her.' 
 
 Carmina was once more in danger of passing the limit. 
 Ovid made another attempt to effect a diversion. Singing 
 would be comparatively harmless in its effect — as he rashly 
 supposed. 'What's that song you learnt in Scotland?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' It's Donald's song,' Zo replied. ' He taught me.' 
 
 At the sound of Donald's dreadful name, Ovid looked at 
 his watch, and said there was no time for the song. Mr. Gal- 
 lilee suddenly and seriously sided with his stepson. ' How 
 she got among the men after dinner,' he said, ' nobody knows. 
 Lady Northlake has forbidden Donald to teach her any more 
 songs ; and I have requested him, as a favour to me, not to let 
 her smack his legs. Come, my dear, it's time we were home 
 again.' 
 
 Well intended by both gentlemen — but too late. Zo was 
 ready for the performance ; her hat was cocked on one side ; 
 her plump little arms were set akimbo ; her round eyes opened 
 and closed facetiously in winks worthy of a low comedian. 
 ' I'm Donald/ she announced : and burst out with the song : 
 ' We're gayly yet, were gayly yet; We're not very foil, but we're 
 gayly yet: Then sit ye aivhile, and tipple a bit; For we're not 
 
320 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 very full,, l>ut ice re gayly yet.'' She snatched up Carolina's medi- 
 eine glass, and waved it over her head with a Bacchanalian 
 screech. ' Fill a brimmer, Tammie ! Here's to Redshanks ! ' 
 
 ' And pray who is Redshanks ? ' asked a lady, standing in 
 the doorway. 
 
 Zo turned round — and instantly collapsed. A terrible 
 figure, associated with lessons and punishments, stood before 
 her. The convivial friend of Donald, the established Missus 
 of Lord Northlake, disappeared — and a polite pupil took their 
 place. ' If you please, Miss Minerva, Redshanks is nickname 
 for a Highlander.' Who would have recognised the singer of 
 ' We're gayly yet,' in the subdued young person who made 
 that reply ? 
 
 The door opened again. Another disastrous intrusion ? 
 Yes, another! Teresa appeared this time — caught Zo up in 
 her arms — and gave the child a kiss that was heard all over 
 the room. ' Ah, mia Giocosa ! ' cried the old nurse — too happy 
 to speak in any language but her own. ' What does that 
 mean ? ' Zo asked, settling her ruffled petticoats. ' It means,' 
 said Teresa, who prided herself on her English, ' Ah, my Jolly.' 
 This to a young lady who could slit a haggis ! This to the 
 only person in Scotland, privileged to smack Donald's legs ! 
 Zo turned to her father, and recovered her dignity. Maria 
 herself could hardly have spoken with more severe propriety. 
 ' I wish to go home/ said Zo. 
 
 Ovid had only to look at Carolina, and to see the necessity 
 of immediate compliance with his little sister's wishes. .No 
 more laughing, no more excitement, for that day. He led Zo 
 out himself, and resigned her to her father at the door of his 
 rooms on the ground floor. 
 
 Cheered already by having got away from Miss Minerva 
 and the nurse, Zo desired to know who lived downstairs ; 
 and, hearing that these were Ovid's rooms, insisted on seeing 
 them. The three went in together. 
 
 Ovid drew Mr. Gallilee into a corner. 'I'm easier about 
 Carmina now,' he said. ' The failure of her memory doesn't 
 extend backwards. It begins with the shock to her brain, on 
 the day when Teresa removed her to this house — and it will 
 end, I feel confident, with the end of her illness.' 
 
 ' Mr. Gallilee's attention suddenly wandered. ' Zo ! ' he 
 called out, ' don't touch your brother's papers.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 321 
 
 The one object that had excited the child's curiosity was 
 the writing-table. Dozens of sheets of paper were scattered 
 over it, covered with writing, blotted and interlined. Some 
 of these leaves had overflowed the table, and found a resting- 
 place on the floor. Zo was amusing herself by picking them 
 up. ' Well ! ' she said, handing them obediently to Ovid, 
 ' I've had many a rap on the knuckles for writing not half as 
 bad as yours.' 
 
 Hearing his daughter's remark, Mr. Gallilee became 
 interested in looking at the fragments of manuscript. ' What 
 an awful mess ! ' he exclaimed. ' May I try if I can read a 
 bit ? ' Ovid smiled. ' Try by all means ; you will make one 
 useful discovery at least — you will see that the most patient 
 men on the face of the civilised earth are Printers ! ' 
 
 Mr. Gallilee tried a page — and gave it up before he turned 
 giddy. ' Is it fair to ask what this is ? ' 
 
 ' Something easy to feel, and hard to expi'ess,' Ovid 
 answered. ' These ill-written lines are my offering of grati- 
 tude to the memory of an unknown and unhappy man.' 
 ' The man you told me of, who died at Montreal ? ' 
 'Yes.' 
 
 ' You never mentioned his name.' 
 
 ' His last wishes forbade me to mention it to any living 
 creature. God knows there were pitiable, most pitiable, 
 reasons for his dying unknown ! The stone over his grave 
 only bears his initials, and the date of his death. But,' said 
 Ovid, kindling with enthusiasm, as he laid his hand on his 
 manuscript, ' the discoveries of this great physician shall 
 benefit humanity ! And my debt to him shall be acknow- 
 ledged, with the admiration and the devotion that I truly 
 feel ! ' 
 
 4 In a book ? ' asked Mr. Gallilee. 
 
 ' In a book that is now being printed. You will see it 
 before the New Year.' 
 
 Finding nothing to amuse her in the sitting-room, Zo had 
 tried the bedroom next. She now returned to Ovid, dragging 
 after her a long white staff that looked like an Alpenstock. 
 ' What's this ? ' she asked. ' A broom-stick ? ' 
 ' A specimen of rare Canadian wood, my dear. Would 
 you like to have it ? ' 
 
 Zo took the offer quite seriously. She looked with 
 longing eyes at the specimen, three times as tall as herself — - 
 
 Y 
 
322 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 and shook her head. ' I'm not big enough for it yet,' she 
 said. ' Look at it, papa ! Ben Julia's stick is nothing to this.' 
 
 That name — on the child's lips — had a sound revolting to 
 Ovid. 'Don't speak of him ! ' he said irritably. 
 
 'Mustn't I speak of him,' Zo asked, ' when I want him to 
 tickle me ? ' 
 
 Ovid beckoned to her father. ' Take her away now,' he 
 whispered — ' and never let her see that man again.' 
 
 The warning was needless. The man's destiny had de- 
 creed that he and Zo were never more to meet. 
 
 CHAPTER LXII. 
 
 Bexjulia's servants had but a dull time of it, poor souls, in 
 the lonely house. Towards the end of December, they sub- 
 scribed among themselves to buy one of those wonderful 
 Christmas Numbers — presenting year after year the same 
 large-eyed ladies, long-legged lovers, corpulent children, 
 snowy landscapes, and gluttonous merry-makings — which 
 have become a national institution : say, the pictorial plum 
 puddings of the English nation. 
 
 The servants had plenty of time to enjoy their genial 
 newspaper, before the dining-room bell disturbed them. 
 
 For some weeks past, the master had a°;ain begun to 
 spend the whole of his time in the mysterious laboratory. On 
 the rare occasions when he returned to the house, he was 
 always out of temper. If the servants knew nothing else, 
 they knew what these signs meant — the great man was 
 harder at work than ever ; and in spite of bis industry, he 
 was not getting on so w r ell as usual. 
 
 On this particular evening, the bell rang at the customary 
 lime — and the cook (successor to the unfortunate creature 
 with pretensions to beauty and sentiment) hastened to get 
 the dinner ready. 
 
 ' The footman turned to the dresser, and took from it a 
 little heap of newspapers ; carefully counting them before he 
 ventured to carry them upstairs. This was Doctor Benjulia's 
 regular weekly supply of medical literature; and here, again, 
 the mysterious man presented an incomprehensible problem 
 to his fellow-creatures. He subscribed to every medical 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 323 
 
 publication in England — and he never read one of them ! 
 The footman cut the leaves ; and the master, with his fore- 
 finger to help him, ran his eye up and down the pages ; 
 apparently in search of some announcement that he never 
 found — and, still more extraordinary, without showing the 
 faintest sign of disappointment when he had done. Every 
 week, he briskly shoved his unread periodicals into a huge 
 basket, and sent them downstairs as waste paper. 
 
 The footman took up the newspapers and the dinner to- 
 gether — and was received with frowns and curses. He was 
 abused for everything that he did in his own department, and 
 for everything that the cook had done besides. ' Whatever 
 the master's working at,' he announced, on returning to the 
 kitchen, ' he's farther away from hitting' the right nail on the 
 head than ever. Upon my sonl, I think I shall have to give 
 warning ! Let's relieve our minds. Where's the Christmas 
 Number ? ' 
 
 Half an hour later the servants were startled by a tremen- 
 dous bang of the house-door which shook the whole building. 
 The footman ran upstairs : the dining-room was empty ; the 
 master's hat was not on its peg in the hall ; and the medical 
 newspapers were scattered about in the wildest confusion. 
 Close to the fender lay a crumpled leaf, torn out. Its position 
 suggested that it had narrowly missed being thrown into the 
 fire. The footman smoothed it out, and looked at it. 
 
 One side of the leaf contained a report of a lecture. This 
 was dry reading. The footman tried the other side, and 
 found a review of a new medical work. 
 
 This would have been dull reading too, but for an extract 
 from a Preface, stating how the book came to be published, 
 and what wonderful discoveries, relating to peoples' brains, it 
 contained. There were some curious things said here — 
 especially about a melancholy deathbed at a place called 
 Montreal — which made the Preface almost as interesting as 
 a story. But what was there in this to hurry the master out 
 of the house, as if the devil had been at his heels ? 
 
 Doctor Benjulia's nearest neighbour was a small farmer 
 named Gregg. He was taking a nap that evening, when his 
 wife bounced into the room, and said, ' Here's the big doctor 
 gone mad ! ' And there he was truly, at Mrs. Gregg's heels, 
 clamouring to have the horse put to in the gig, and to be 
 driven to London instantly. He said, 'Pay yourself wbat 
 
 y2 
 
324 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 you please ' — and opened his pocket-book, fall of bank-notes. 
 Mr. Gregg said, ' It seems, sir, this is a matter of life or 
 death.' Whereupon he looked at Mr. Gregg — and considered a 
 little — and, becoming quiet on a sudden, answered, ' Yes, it is.' 
 
 On the road to London, he never once spoke — except to 
 himself — and then only from time to time. 
 
 It seemed, judging by what fell from him now and then, 
 that he was troubled about a man and a letter. He had 
 suspected the man all along ; but he had nevertheless given 
 him the letter — and now it had ended in the letter turning 
 out badly for Doctor Benjulia himself. Where he went to in 
 London, it was not possible to say. Mr. Gregg's horse was 
 not fast enough for him. As soon as he could find one, he 
 took a cab. 
 
 The shopman of Mr. Barrable, the famous publisher of 
 medical works, had just put up the shutters, and was going 
 downstairs to his tea, when he heard a knocking at the shop 
 door. The person proved to be a very tall man, in a violent 
 hurry to buy Mr. Ovid Vere's new book. He said, by way of 
 apology, that he was in that line himself, and that his name 
 was Benjulia. The shopman knew him by reputation, and 
 sold him the book. He was in such a hurry to read it, that 
 he actually began in the shop. It was necessary to tell him 
 that business hours were over. Hearing this, he ran out, and 
 told the cabman to drive as fast as possible to Pall Mall. 
 
 The library waiter at Doctor Benjulia's Club found him in 
 the library, busy with a book. 
 
 He was quite alone ; the members, at that hour of the 
 evening, being generally at dinner, or in the smoking-room. 
 The man whose business it was to attend to the fires, went in 
 during the night, from time to time, and always found him 
 in the same corner. It began to get late. He finished his 
 reading ; but it seemed to make no difference. There he sat 
 — wide awake — holding his closed book on his knee, seemingly 
 lost in his own thoughts. This went on till it was time to 
 close the Club. They were obliged to disturb him. He said 
 nothing ; and went slowly down into the hall, leaving his book 
 behind him. It was an awful night, raining and 'sleeting — 
 but he took no notice of the weather. When they fetched a 
 cab, the driver refused to take him to where he lived, on such 
 a night as that. He only said, ' Very well ; go to the nearest 
 hotel.' 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 325 
 
 The night porter at the hotel let in a tall gentleman, and 
 showed him into one of the bedrooms kept ready for persons 
 arriving late. Having no luggage, he paid the charges before- 
 hand. About eight o'clock in the morning, he rang for the 
 waiter — who observed that his bed had not been slept in. All 
 he wanted for breakfast was the strongest coffee that could be 
 made. It was not stroug enough to please him when he tasted 
 it ; and he had some brandy put in. He paid, and was liberal 
 to the waiter, and went away. 
 
 The policeman on duty, that day, whose beat included the 
 streets at the back of Fairfield Gardens, noticed in one of 
 them, a tall gentleman walking backwards and forwards, and 
 looking from time to time at one particular house. When he 
 passed that way again, there was the gentleman still patrolling 
 the street, and still looking towards the same house. The 
 policeman waited a little, and watched. The place was a 
 respectable lodging house, and the stranger was certainly a 
 gentleman, though a queer one to look at. It was not the 
 policeman's business to interfere on suspicion, except in the 
 case of notoriously bad characters. So, though he did think it 
 odd, he went on again. 
 
 Between twelve and one o'clock in the afternoon, Ovid 
 left his lodgings, to go to the neighbouring livery stables, and 
 choose an open carriage. The sun was shining, and the air 
 was brisk and dry, after the stormy night. It was just the 
 day when he might venture to take Carmina out for a drive. 
 
 On his way down the street, he heard footsteps behind him, 
 and felt himself touched on the shoulder. He turned — and 
 discovered Benjnlia. On the point of speaking resentfully, he 
 restrained himself. There was something in the wretch's face 
 that struck him with horror. 
 
 Benjulia said, ' I won't keep you long ; I want to know one 
 thing. Will she live or die V ' 
 
 ' Her life is safe — I hope.' 
 
 ' Through your new mode of treatment ? ' 
 
 His eyes and his voice said more than his words. Ovid 
 instantly knew that he had seen the book ; and that the book 
 had forestalled him in the discovery to which he had devoted 
 his life. Was it possible to pity a man whose hardened nature 
 never pitied others ? All things are possible to a large heart. 
 Ovid shrank from answering him. 
 
 Benjulia spoke again. 
 
326 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 'When we met that night at my garden gate/ he said, 
 'yon to]d me my life should answer for her life, if she died. 
 My neglect has not killed her — and you have no need to keep 
 3 r our -word. But I don't get off, Mr. Ovid Yere, without 
 paying the penalty. You have taken something from me, 
 which was dearer than life. I w T ished to tell you that — I have 
 no more to say.' 
 
 Ovid silently offered his hand. 
 
 Benjulia's head drooped in thought. The generous protest 
 of the man whom he had injured, spoke in that outstretched 
 hand. He looked at Ovid. 
 
 ' No ! ' he said — and walked away. 
 
 Leaving the street, he went round to Fairfield Gardens, 
 and rang the ball at Mr. Gallilee's door. The bell was an- 
 swered by a polite old woman — a stranger to him among the 
 servants. 
 
 'Is Zo in the house ?' he inquired. 
 
 ' Nobody's in the house, sir. It's to be let, if you please, 
 as soon as the furniture can be moved.' 
 
 ' Do you know where Zo is ? I mean, Mr. Gallilee's 
 youngest child.' 
 
 'I'm sorry to say, sir, I'm not acquainted with the family.' 
 
 He waited at the door, apparently hesitating what to do 
 next. ' I'll go upstairs,' he said suddenly ; ' I want to look 
 at the house. You needn't go with me ; I know my way.' 
 
 'Thank you kindly, sir ! ' 
 
 He went straight to the schoolroom. 
 
 The repellent melancholy of an uninhabited place had fallen 
 on it already. The plain furniture was not worth taking care 
 of : it was battered and old, and left to dust and neglect. 
 There were two common deal writing-desks, formerly used by 
 the two girls. One of them was covered with splashes of ink : 
 varied here and there by barbarous caricatures of faces, in 
 which dots and strokes represented eyes, noses, and mouths. 
 He knew whose desk this was, and opened the cover of it. In 
 the recess beneath wei'e soiled tables of figures, torn maps, and 
 dogseared writing-books. The ragged paper cover of one of 
 these last, bore on its inner side a grotesquely imperfect in- 
 scription : — my cop book zo. He tore off the cover, and put it 
 in the breast-pocket of his coat. 
 
 'I should have liked to tickle her once more,' he thought, 
 as he went downstairs again. The polite old woman opened 
 
HEART Ah T D SCIENCE. 327 
 
 the door, curtseying deferentially. He gave her half a crown. 
 ' God bless you, sir ! ' she burst, out, in a gush of gratitude. 
 
 He checked himself, on the point of stepping into the 
 street, and looked at her with some curiosity. ' Do you believe 
 in God ? ' he asked. 
 
 The old woman was even capable of making a confession 
 of faith politely. 'Yes, sir,' she said, 'if you have no objec- 
 tion.' 
 
 He stepped into the street. ' I wonder whether she is 
 right ? ' he thought. ' It doesn't matter; I shall soon know.' 
 
 The servants were honestly glad to see him, when he got 
 home. They had taken it in turn to sit up through the night ; 
 knowing his regular habits, and feeling the dread that some 
 accident had happened. Never before had they seen him so 
 fatigued. He dropped helplessly into his chair ; his gigantic 
 body shook with shivering fits. The footman begged him to 
 take some refreshment. ' Brandy, and raw eggs,' he said. 
 These being brought to him, he told them to wait until he 
 rang — and locked the door when they went out. 
 
 After waiting until the short winter daylight was at an 
 end, the footman ventured to knock, and ask if the master 
 wanted lights. He replied that he had lit the candles for 
 himself. No smell of tobacco smoke came from the room ; and 
 he had let the day pass without going to the laboratory. These 
 were portentous signs. The footman said to his fellow- servants, 
 'There's something wrong.' The women looked at each other 
 in vague terror. One of them said, 'Hadn't we better cive 
 notice to leave ? ' And the other whispered a question : 
 ' Do you think he's committed a crime ? ' 
 
 Towards ten o'clock, the bell rang at last. Immediately 
 afterwards they heard him calling to them from the hall. ' I 
 want you, all three, up here.' 
 
 They went up together — the two women anticipating a. 
 sight of horror, and keeping close to the footman. 
 
 The master was walking quietly backwards and forwards 
 in the room : the table had pen and ink on it, and was covered 
 with writings. He spoke to them in his customary tones ; 
 there was not the slightest appearance of agitation in his 
 manner. 
 
 ' I mean to leave this house, and go away,' he began. ' You 
 are dismissed from my service, for that reason only. Take 
 your written characters from the table ; read them, and say if 
 
323 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 there is anything to complain of.' There was nothing to com- 
 plain of. On another part of the table there were three little 
 heaps of money. ' A month's wages for each of you,' he ex- 
 plained, ' in place of a month's warning. I wish you good 
 luck.' One of the women (the one who had suggested giving 
 notice to leave) began to cry. He took no notice of this 
 demonstration, and went on. ' I want two of you to do me a 
 favour before we part. You will please witness the signature 
 of my Will.' The sensitive servant drew back directly. ' No ! ' 
 she said, ' I couldn't do it. I never heard the Death- Watch 
 before in winter time — I heard it all last night.' 
 
 The other two witnessed the signature. They observed 
 that the Will was a very short one. It was impossible not to 
 notice the only legacy left ; the words crossed the paper, just 
 above the signatures, and only occupied two lines : ' I leave to 
 Zoe, youngest daughter of Mr. John Gallilee, of Fairfield 
 Gardens, London, everything absolutely of which I die pos- 
 sessed.' Excepting the formal introductory phrases, and the 
 statement relating to the witnesses — both copied from a handy 
 book of law, lying open on the table — this was the Will. 
 
 The female servants were allowed to go downstairs ; after 
 having been informed that they were to leave the next morn- 
 ing. The footman was detained in the dining-i^oom. 
 
 ' I am going to the laboratory,' the master said ; 'and I 
 want a few things carried to the door.' 
 
 The big basket for waste paper, three times filled with 
 letters and manuscripts ; the books ; the medicine che3t ; and 
 the stone jar of oil from the kitchen — these, the master and 
 the man removed together ; setting them down at the labora- 
 tory door. It was a still cold starlight winter's night. The 
 intermittent shriek of a railway whistle in the distance, was 
 the only sound that disturbed the quiet of the time. 
 
 ' Good-night ! ' said the master. 
 
 The man returned the salute, and walked back to the 
 house, closing the front door. He was now more firmly per- 
 suaded than ever that something was wrong. In the hall, the 
 women were waiting for him. ' What does it mean ? ' they 
 asked. ' Keep quiet,' he said ; ' I'm going to see.' 
 
 In another minute he was posted at the back of the house, 
 behind the edge of the wall. Looking out from this place, he 
 could see the light of the lamps in the laboratory streaming 
 through the open door, and the dark figure of the master 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 329 
 
 coming and going, as be removed the objects left outside into 
 the building. Then the door was shut, and nothing was 
 visible but the dim glow that found its way to the skylight, 
 through the white blind inside. 
 
 He boldly crossed the open space of ground, resolved to 
 try what his ears might discover, now that his eyes were use- 
 less. He posted himself at the back of the laboratory, close 
 to one of the side walls. 
 
 Now and then, he heard — what had reached his ears when 
 he had been listening on former occasions — the faint whining 
 cries of animals. These were followed by new sounds. Three 
 smothered shrieks, succeeding each other at irregular inter- 
 vals, made his blood run cold. Had three death-strokes been 
 dealt on some suffering creatures, with the same sudden and 
 terrible certainty ? Silence, horrible silence, was all that an- 
 swered. In the distant railway there was an interval of peace. 
 
 The door was opened again ; the flood of light streamed out 
 on the darkness. Suddenly the yellow glow was spotted by 
 the black figures of small swiftly-running creatures — perhaps 
 cats, perhaps rabbits — escaping from the laboratory. The 
 tall form of the master followed slowly, and stood revealed 
 watching the flight of the animals. In a moment more, the 
 last of the liberated creatures came out — a large dog, limping 
 as if one of its legs was injured. It stopped as it passed the 
 master, and tried to fawn on him. He threatened it with his 
 hand. ' Be off with you, like the rest ! ' he said. The dog 
 slowly crossed the flow of light, and was swallowed up in 
 darkness. 
 
 The last of them that could move was gone. The death 
 shrieks of the others had told their fate. 
 
 But still, there stood the master alone — a grand black 
 figure, with its head turned up to the stars. The minutes fol- 
 lowed one another : the servant waited, and watched him. 
 The solitary man had a habit, w r ell known to those about him, 
 of speaking to himself ; not a word escaped him now ; his up- 
 turned head never moved ; the bright wintry heaven held him 
 spellbound. 
 
 At last, the change came. Once more the silence was 
 broken by the scream of the railway whistle. 
 
 He started like a person suddenly roused from deep sleep, 
 and went back into the laboratory. The last sound then 
 followed — the locking and bolting: of the door. 
 
330 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 The servant left his hiding-place : his master's secret was 
 no secret now. He hated himself for eating that master's 
 bread, and earning that master's money. One of the ignorant 
 masses, this man ! Mere sentiment had a strange hold on his 
 stupid mind ; the remembrance of the poor wounded dog, 
 companionable and forgiving under cruel injuries, cut into 
 his heart like a knife. His thought, at that moment, was an 
 act of treason to the royalty of Knowledge, — ' I wish to God 
 I could lame him, as he has lamed the dog ! ' Another 
 fanatic ! another fool ! Oh, Science, be merciful to the 
 fanatics, and the fools ! 
 
 When he got back to the house, the women were still on 
 the look-out for him. ' Don't speak to me now,' he said. 
 'Get to your beds. And, mind this — let's be off to-morrow 
 morning before he can see us.' 
 
 There was no sleep for him when he went to his own bed. 
 
 The remembrance of the dog tormented him. The other 
 lesser animals were active ; capable of enjoying their liberty 
 and finding shelter for themselves. Where had the maimed 
 creature found a refuge, on that bitter night ? Again, and 
 again, and again, the question forced its way into his mind. 
 He could endure it no longer. Cautiously and quickly — in 
 dread of his extraordinary conduct being perhaps discovered 
 by the women — he dressed himself, and opened the house- 
 door to look for the dog. 
 
 Out of the darkness on the step, there rose something 
 dark. He put out his hand. A persuasive tongue, gently 
 licking it, pleaded for a word of welcome. The crippled 
 animal could only have got to the door in one way ; the gate 
 which protected the house-enclosure must have been left open. 
 First giving the dog a refuge in the kitchen, the footman — 
 rigidly performing his last duties — went to close the gate. 
 
 At his first step into the enclosure he stopped panic- 
 stricken. 
 
 The starlit sky over the laboratory was veiled in murky 
 red. Roaring flame, and spouting showers of sparks, poured 
 through the broken skylight. Yoices from the farm raised 
 the first cry — ' Fire ! fire ! ' 
 
 At the inquest, the evidence suggested suspicion of in- 
 cendiarism and suicide. The papers, the books, the oil 
 betrayed themselves as combustible materials, carried into the 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 331 
 
 place for a purpose. The medicine chest was known (by its 
 nse in cases of illness among the servants) to contain opium. 
 Adjourned inquiry elicited that the laboratory was not insured, 
 and that the deceased was in comfortable circumstances. 
 "Where were the motives ? One intelligent man, who had 
 drifted into the jury, was satisfied with the evidence. He 
 held that the desperate wretch had some reason of his own 
 for first poisoning himself, and then setting fire to the scene 
 of his labours. Having a majority of eleven against him, 
 the wise juryman consented to a merciful verdict of death by 
 misadventure. The hideous remains of what had once been 
 Benjnlia, found Christian burial. His brethren of the torture- 
 table attended the funeral in large numbers. Vivisection had 
 been beaten on its own field of discovery. They honoured the 
 martyr who had fallen in their cause. 
 
 CHAPTEE LXIII. 
 
 The life of the New Tear was still only numbered by weeks, 
 when a modest little marriage was celebrated — without the 
 knowledge of the neighbours, without a crowd in the church, 
 and even without a wedding breakfast. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee (honoured with the office of giving away the 
 bride) drew Ovid into a corner before they left the house. 
 ' She still looks delicate, poor dear,' he said. ' Do you really 
 consider her to be well again ? ' 
 
 ' As well as she will ever be,' Ovid answered. ' Before I 
 returned to her, time had been lost which no skill and no 
 devotion can regain. But the prospect has its bright side. 
 Past events which might have cast their shadow over all her 
 life to come, have left no trace in her memory. I will make 
 her a happy woman. Leave the rest to me.' 
 
 Teresa and Mr. Mool were the witnesses ; Maria and Zo 
 were the bridesmaids : they had only waited to go to church, 
 until one other eageidy expected person joined them. There 
 was a general inquiry for Miss Minerva. Carmina astonished 
 everybody, from the bridegroom downwards, by announcing 
 that circumstances prevented her best and dearest friend from 
 being present. She smiled and blushed as she took Ovid's 
 arm. ' When we are man and wife, and I am quite sure of 
 
332 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 you,' she whispered, ; I will tell you, what nobody else must 
 know. In the meantime, darling, if you can give Frances the 
 highest place in your estimation — next to me — you will only 
 do justice to the noblest woman that ever lived.' 
 
 She had a little note hidden in her bosom, while she said 
 those words. It was dated on the morning of her marriage : 
 ' When you return from the honeymoon, Carmina, I shall be 
 the first friend who opens her arms and her heart to you. 
 Forgive me if I am not with you to-day. We are all human, 
 my dear — don't tell your husband.' 
 
 It was her last weakness. Carmina had no excuses to 
 make for an absent guest, when the first christening was 
 celebrated. On that occasion the happy young mother 
 betrayed a conjugal secret to her deai'est friend. It was at 
 Ovid's suggestion that the infant daughter was called by Miss 
 Minerva's christian name. 
 
 But when the married pair went away to their happy new 
 life, there was a little cloud of sadness, which vanished in 
 sunshine — thanks to Zo. Polite Mr. Mool, bent on making 
 himself agreeable to everybody, paid his court to Mr. Gallilee's 
 youngest daughter. 'And who do you mean to marry, my 
 little Miss, when you grow up ? ' the lawyer asked with feeble 
 drollery. 
 
 Zo looked at him in grave surprise. ' That's all settled,' 
 she said ; ' I've got a man waiting for me.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed ! And who may he be ? ' 
 
 1 Donald ! ' 
 
 ' That's a very extraordinary child of yours,' Mr. Mool 
 said to his friend, as they walked away together. 
 
 Mr. Gallilee absently agreed. ' Has my message been given 
 to my wife ? ' he asked. 
 
 Mr. Mool sighed and shook his head. ' Messages from 
 her husband are as completely thrown away on her,' he 
 answered, ' as if she was still in the asylum. In justice to 
 yourself, consent to an amicable separation, and I will ar- 
 range it.' 
 
 ' Have you seen her ? ' 
 
 ' I insisted on it, before I met her lawyers. She declares 
 herself to be an infamously injured woman — and, upon my 
 honour, she proves it, from her own point of view. " My 
 husband never came near me in my illness, and took my 
 
HEART AND SCIENCE. 333 
 
 children away by stealth. My children were so perfectly 
 ready to be removed from their mother, that neither of them 
 had the decency to write me a letter. My niece contemplated 
 shamelessly escaping to my son, and wrote him a letter vilify- 
 ing his mother in the most abominable terms. And Ovid 
 completes the round of ingratitude by marrying the girl who 
 has behaved in this way." I declare to you, Gallilee, that 
 was how she put it! "Am I to blame," she said, "for be- 
 lieving that story about my brother's wife ? It's acknow- 
 ledged that she gave the man money — the rest is a matter of 
 opinion. "Was I wrong to lose my temper, and say what I 
 did say to this so-called niece of mine ? Yes, I was wrong, 
 there : it's the only case in which there is a fault to find with 
 me. But had I no provocation ? Have I not suffered ? 
 Don't try to look as if you pitied me. I stand in no need of 
 pity. But I owe a duty to my own self-respect ; and that 
 duty compels me to speak plainly. I will have nothing more 
 to do with the members of my heartless family. The rest of 
 my life is devoted to intellectual society, and the ennobling 
 pursuits of science. Let me hear no more, sir, of you or your 
 employers." She rose like a queen, and bowed me out of the 
 room. I declare to you, my flesh creeps when I think of her.' 
 
 ' If I leave her now,' said Mr. Gallilee, ' I leave her in 
 debt.' 
 
 ' Give me your woixl of honour not to mention what I am 
 going to tell you,' Mr. Mool rejoined. ' If she needs money, 
 the kindest man in the world has offered me a blank cheque 
 to fill in for her — and his name is Ovid Vere.' 
 
 As the season advanced, two social entertainments which 
 offered the most complete contrast to each other, were given 
 in London on the same evening. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Ovid Vere had a little dinner party to cele- 
 brate their return. Teresa (advanced to the dignity of house- 
 keeper) insisted on stuffing the tomatoes and cooking the 
 macaroni with her own hand. The guests were Lord and 
 Lady Northlake ; Maria and Zo ; Miss Minerva and Mr. Mool. 
 Mr. Gallilee was present as one of the household. While he 
 was in London, he and his children lived under Ovid's roof. 
 When they went to Scotland, Mr. Gallilee had a cottage of 
 his own (which he insisted on buying) in Lord Northlake's 
 park. He and Zo drank too much champagne at dinner. The 
 
334 HEART AND SCIENCE. 
 
 father made a speech ; and the daughter sang, ' We're gayly 
 yet.' 
 
 In another quarter of London, there was a party which 
 filled the street with carriages, and which was reported in the 
 newspapers the nest morning. 
 
 Mrs. Gallilee was At Home to Science. The Professors of 
 the civilised universe rallied round their fair friend. France, 
 Italy, and Germany bewildered the annonncing servants with 
 a perfect Babel of names — and Great Britain was grandly re- 
 presented. Those three superhuman men, who had each had 
 a peep behind the veil of creation, and discovered the mystery 
 of life, attended the party and became centres of three circles 
 — the circle that believed in ' protoplasm,' the circle that be- 
 lieved in ' bioplasm,' and the circle that believed in ' atomised 
 charges of electricity, conducted into the system by the oxygen 
 of respiration.' Lectures and demonstrations went on all 
 through the evening, all over the magnificent room engaged 
 for the occasion. In one corner, a fair philosopher in blue 
 velvet and point lace, took the Sun in hand facetiously. ' The 
 sun's life, my friends, begins with a nebulous infancy and a 
 gaseous childhood.' In another corner, a gentleman of shy 
 and retiring manners converted ' radiant energy into sonorous 
 vibrations ' — themselves converted into sonorous poppings by 
 waiters and champagne bottles at the supper table. In the 
 centre of the room, the hostess solved the serious problem of 
 diet ; viewed as a method of assisting tadpoles to develope 
 themselves into frogs — with such cheering results that these 
 last lively beings joined the guests on the carpet, and gratified 
 intelligent curiosity by explorations on the stairs. Within 
 the space of one remarkable evening, three hundred illustrious 
 people were charmed, surprised, instructed, and amused ; and 
 when Science went home, it left a conversazione (for once) 
 with its stomach well filled. At two in the morning, Mrs. 
 Gallilee sat down in the empty room, and said to the learned 
 friend who lived with her, 
 
 ' At last, I'm a happy woman ! ' 
 
 Spottisicoode &• Co., Printers, New-street Square, London. 
 
October, 1883. 
 
 CHATTO & WlNDUS'S 
 
 List of Books. 
 
 About. — The Fellah: An Egyp- 
 tian Novel. By Edmond About. 
 Translated by Sir Randal Roberts. 
 Post8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Adams (W. Davenport), Works 
 by: 
 
 A Dictionary of the Drama. Being 
 a comprehensive Guide to the Plays, 
 Playwrights, Players, and Play- 
 houses of the United Kingdom and 
 America, from the Earliest to the 
 Present Times. Crown 8^0, half- 
 bound, 12s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Latter-Day Lyrics. Edited by W. 
 Davenport Adams. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Quips and Quiddities. Selected by 
 W. Davenport Adams. Post 8vo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Advertising, A History of, from 
 
 the Earliest Times. Illustrated by 
 Anecdotes, Curious Specimens, and 
 Notices of Successful Advertisers. By 
 Henry Sampson. Crown 8vo, with 
 Coloured Frontispiece and Illustra- 
 tions, cloth gilt, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Agony Column (The) of "The 
 
 Times," from 1800 to 1870. Edited, 
 with an Introduction, by Alice Clay. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Aide (Hamilton), Works by: 
 
 Carp of Carrlyon. Post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Confidences. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 Alexander (Mrs.) Maid, Wife, 
 
 or Widow? A Romance. By Mrs. 
 Alexander. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. ; cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 88. ML 
 
 Allen (Grant), Works by: 
 
 Colin Clout's Calendar. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 The Evolutionist at Large. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 Vignettes from Nature. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Architectural Styles, A Hand- 
 book of. Translated from the German 
 of A. Rosengarten, by W. Collett- 
 Sandars. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, with 
 639 Illustrations, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Art (The) of Amusing: A Col- 
 lection of Graceful Arts, Games, Tricks, 
 Puzzles, and Charades. By Frank 
 Bellew. With 300 Illustrations. Cr. 
 8vo, cloth extra, 4S. 6d. 
 
 Artemus Ward : 
 
 Artemus Ward's Works: The Works 
 of Charles Farrer Browne, better 
 known as Artemus Ward. With 
 Portrait and Facsimile. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Artemus Ward's Lecture on the 
 Mormons. With 32 Illustrations. 
 Edited, with Preface, by Edward P 
 Hingston. Crown 8vo, 6d. 
 
 The Genial Showman: Life and Ad- 
 ventures of Artemus Ward. By 
 Edward P. Kingston. With a 
 Frontispiece, Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Ashton (John), Works by : 
 
 A History of the Chap-Books of the 
 Eighteenth Century. With nearly 
 400 Illustrations, engraved in fac- 
 simile of the originals. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Social Life in the Reign of Queen 
 Anne. Taken from Original Sources. 
 With nearly One Hundred Illustra- 
 tions. New and cheaper Edition, 
 crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Humour, Wit, and Satire of the 
 Seventeenth Century. Witrmearly 
 100 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Balzac's " Comedie Humaine " 
 
 and its Author. With Translations by 
 H. H. Walker. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Bankers, A Handbook of Lon- 
 don; together with Lists of Bankers 
 from 1677. By F. G. Hilton Price. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Bardsley (Rev. C.W.),Works by : 
 
 English Surnames: Their Sources 
 and Significations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Curiosities of Puritan Nomencla- 
 ture. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Bartholomew Fair, Memoirs 
 
 of. By Henry Morley. A New Edi- 
 tion, with One Hundred Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Beauchamp. — Grantley 
 
 Grange: A Novel. By Shelsley 
 Beauchamp. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 Beautiful Pictures by British 
 
 Artists : A Gathering of Favourites 
 from our Picture Galleries. In Two 
 Series. All engraved on Steel in the 
 highest style of Art. Edited, with 
 Notices of the Artists, by Sydney 
 Armytage, M.A. Imperial 4to, cloth 
 extra, gilt and gilt edges, 21s. per Vol. 
 
 Bechstein. — As Pretty as 
 
 Seven, and other German Stories. 
 Collected by Ludwig Bechstein. 
 With Additional Tales by the Brothers 
 Grimm, and 100 Illusts. bv Richter. 
 Small 4to, green and gold, 63. 6d. ; 
 gilt edges, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Beerbohm. — Wanderings in 
 
 Patagonia"; or, Life among the Ostrich 
 Hunters. By Julius Beerbohm. With 
 Illusts. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Belgravia for 1883. One 
 
 Shilling Monthly, Illustrated. — " Maid 
 of Athens," Justin McCarthy's New 
 Serial Story, Illustrated by Fred. 
 Barnard, was begun in the January 
 Number of Belgravia, which Number 
 contained also the First Portion of a 
 Story in Three Parts, by Ouida, en- 
 titled " Frescoes ; " the continuation of 
 Wilkie Collins's Novel, " Heart and 
 Science;" a further instalment of Mrs. 
 Alexander's Novel, "The Admiral's 
 Ward ; " and other Matters of Interest. 
 *** Now ready, the Volume for J uly 
 to October, 1883, cloth extra, gilt edges, 
 7s. 6d.; Cases for binding Vols., 2s. each. 
 
 Belgravia Annual : Christmas, 
 
 1883. With Stories by James Payn, 
 F. W. Robinson, Dutton Cook, J. 
 Arbuthnot Wilson, and others. 
 Demy 8vo, with Illustrations, Is. 
 
 [ In preparation, 
 
 Bennett (W.C.,LL.D.),Works by : 
 
 A Ballad History of England. Post 
 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 Songs for Sailors. Post 8vo, cloth 
 
 limp, 2s. 
 
 Besant (Walter) and James 
 
 Rice, Novels by. Each in post 8vo, 
 illust. boards, 2s. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. ; 
 or crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 
 My Little Girl. 
 
 The' Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 
 By Cella's Arbour. 
 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 
 The Seamy Side. 
 
 The Ten Years' Tenant. 
 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 Besant (Walter), Novels by: 
 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men: 
 An Impossible Story. With Illustra- 
 tions by Fred. Barnard. Crowa 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Capta : ns' Room, &c. With 
 Frontispiece by E. J. Wheeler. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 All in a Garden Fair. Three Vols., 
 crown Svo, 31s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
CHATTO &■ WINDVS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Birthday Books:— 
 
 The Starry Heavens: A Poetical 
 Birthday Book. Square 8vo, hand- 
 somely bound in cloth, 2s. Gd. 
 
 Birthday Flowers: Their Language 
 and Legends. By W. J. Gordon. 
 Beautifully Illustrated in Colours by 
 Viola Boughton. In illuminated 
 cover, crown 4to, 6S. 
 
 The Lowell Birthday Book. With 
 Illusts., small 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Blackburn's (Henry) Art Hand- 
 books. Demy 8vo, Illustrated, uni- 
 form in size tor binding. 
 
 Aeademy Notes, separate years, from 
 1675 to 1882, each Is. 
 
 Academy Notes, 1883. With Illustra- 
 tions. Is. 
 
 Academy Notes, 1875-79. Complete 
 in One Volume, with nearly 6oo 
 Illustrations in Facsimile. Demy 
 Svo, cloth limp, 6s. 
 
 Grosvenor Notes, 1877. 6d. 
 
 Grosvenor Notes, separate years, from 
 1878 to 1882, each Is. 
 
 Grosvenor Notes, 1883. With Illus- 
 trations. Is. 
 
 Grosvenor Notes, 1877-82. With 
 upwards of 300 Illustrations. Demy 
 8vo, cloth limp, 6s. 
 
 Pictures at South Kensington. With 
 70 Illustrations. Is. 
 
 The English Picturesatthe National 
 Gallery. 114 Illustrations. Is. 
 
 The Old Masters at the Nationa. 
 Gallery. 12S Illustrations. Is. 6d. 
 
 A Complete Illustrated Catalogue 
 to the National Gallery. With 
 Notes by H. Blackburn, and 242 
 Illusts. Demy Svo, cloth limp, 3s. 
 
 The Paris Salon, 1883. With over 
 3C0 Illustrations. Edited by F. G. 
 Dumas. (English Edition.) Demy 
 8vo, 3s. 
 
 At the Paris Salon. Sixteen large 
 Plates, printed in facsimile of the 
 Artists' Drawings, in two tints. Edited 
 by F. G. Dumas. Large folio. Is. 
 
 The Art Annual, 1882-3. Edited by 
 F. G. Dumas. Demy Svo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Art Annual, 1883-4. Edited by 
 F. G. Dumas. With 300 full-page 
 Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 5s. 
 
 Blake (William) : Etchings from 
 his Works. By W. B. Scott. With 
 descriptive Text. Folio, half-bound 
 boards, India Proofs, 21s. 
 
 Boccaccio's Decameron ; or, 
 
 Ten Days' Entertainment. Translated 
 into English, with an Introduction by 
 Thomas Wright, F.S. A. With Portrait, 
 and Stothard's beautiful Copper- 
 plates. Cr. Svo, cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Bowers'(G.) Hunting Sketches: 
 
 Canters in Crampshire. Oblong 4to, 
 
 halt-bound boards, 21s. 
 Leaves from a Hunting Journal. 
 
 Coloured in facsimile of the originals. 
 Oblong 4to, half-bound, 21s. 
 
 Boyle (Frederick), Works by: 
 
 Camp Notes: Stories of Sport and 
 Adventure in Asia, Africa, and 
 America. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post Svo, illustrated bds., 2s. 
 
 Savage Life. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated bds., 2s. 
 
 Brand's Observations on Pop- 
 ular Antiquities, chiefly Illustrating 
 the Origin of our Vulgar Customs, 
 Ceremonies, and Superstitions. With 
 the Additions of Sir Henry Ellis. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, with 
 numerous Illustrations, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Bret Harte, Works by : 
 
 Bret Harte's Collected Works. Ar- 
 ranged and Revised by the Author. 
 Complete in Five Vols., crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. each. 
 Vol. I. Complete Poetical and 
 Dramatic Works. With Steel 
 Plate Portrait, and an Introduction 
 by the Author. 
 Vol. II. Earlier Papers— Lwck of 
 Roaring Camp, and other Sketches 
 —Bohemian Papers — Spanish 
 and American Legends. 
 Vol. III. Tales of the Argonauts 
 
 — Eastern Sketches. 
 Vol. IV. Gabriel Conroy. 
 Vol. V. Stories — Condensed 
 Novels, &c. 
 The Select Works of Bret Harte, in 
 Prose and Poetry. With Introduc- 
 tory Essay by J. M. Bellew, Portrait 
 of the Author, and 50 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 Gabriel Conroy: A Novel. Post 8vo, 
 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 An Heiress of Red Dog, and other 
 Stories. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 
 2s. ; cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 The Twins of Table Mountain. Fcap. 
 8vo. picture cover, Is. ; crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 The Luck of Roaring Canv, and 
 other Sketches. Po3t Svo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 Jeff Briggs's Love Story. Fcap Svo, 
 picture cover, Is. ; cloth extra, 2s. 6d. 
 Flip. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Brewer (Rev. Dr.), Works by : 
 
 The Reader's Handbook of Allusions, 
 References, Plots, and Stories. 
 
 Third Edition, revised throughout, 
 with a New Appendix, containing a 
 Complete English Bibliography. 
 Crown Svo, 1,400 pages, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 A Dictionary of Miracles: Imitative, 
 Realistic, and Dogmatic. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Buchanan's (Robert) Works : 
 
 Ballads of Life, Love, and Humour. 
 With a Frontispiece by Arthur 
 Hughes. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Selected Poemsof Robert Buchanan. 
 With Frontispiece by T. Dalziel. 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Undertones. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 6s. 
 
 London Poems. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 6s. 
 
 The Book of Orm. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 6s. 
 
 White Rose and Red: A Love Story. 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Idylls and Legends of Inverburn. 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 St. Abe and his Seven Wives : A Tale 
 of Salt Lake City. With a Frontis- 
 piece by A. B. Houghton. Crown 
 Svo, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 The Hebrid Isles: Wanderings in the 
 Land of Lome and the Outer He- 
 brides. With Frontispiece by W. 
 Small. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 A Poet's Sketch Book: Selections 
 from the Prose Writings of Robert 
 Buchanan. Crown Svo, cl. extra, 6a. 
 
 Robert Buchanan's Complete Poeti- 
 cal Works. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 The Shadow of the Sword: A Ro- 
 mance. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. 
 
 A Child of Nature: A Romance. Wi'h 
 a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 God and the Man : A Romance. With 
 Illustrations by Fred. Barnard. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Martyrdom of Madeline: A 
 Romance. With a Frontispiece by 
 A. W. Cooper. Crown Svo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Love Me for Ever. With a Frontis- 
 piece by P. Macnab. Crown 8vo, 
 clcth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Annan Water: A Romance. Three 
 Vols., cr. 8vo, 31s. Get. [Immediately. 
 
 Brewster(SirDavid), Works by: 
 
 More Worlds than One: The Creed 
 of the Philosopher and the Hope of 
 the Christian. With Plates. Post 
 Svo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 The Martyrs of Science: Lives of 
 Galileo, Tycho Brahe, and Kep- 
 ler. With Portraits. Post 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Letters on Natural Magic. A New 
 Edition, with numerous Illustrations, 
 and Chapters on the Being and 
 Faculties of Man, and Additional 
 Phenomena of Natural Magic, by J. A. 
 Smith. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Bri I lat-Savarin.— Gastronomy 
 
 as a Fine Art. By Brillat-Savarin. 
 Translated by R. E. Anderson, M.A. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Browning.— The Pied Piper of 
 
 Hamelin. By Robert Browning. 
 Illust. by George Carline. Large 
 4to, ilium, cover. Is. [In p reparation. 
 
 Burnett (Mrs.), Novels by: 
 
 Surly Tim, and other Stories, Post 
 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 Kathleen Mavourneer- Fcap. 8vo, 
 
 picture cover, Is. 
 Lindsay's Luck. Fcap. Svo, picture 
 
 cover, Is. 
 Pretty Polly Pemberton. Fcap. 8vo, 
 
 picture cover, Is. 
 
 Burton (Robert): 
 The Anatomy of Melancholy. A 
 New Edition, complete, corrected 
 and enriched by Translations of the 
 Classical Extracts. Demy 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Melancholy Anatomised : Being an 
 Abridgment, for popular use, of Bur- 
 ton's Anatomy of Melancholy. 
 Post 8vo, cloth lim p, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Burton (Captain), Works by: 
 To the Gold Coast for Gold : A Per- 
 sonal Narrative. By Richard F. Bur- 
 ton and Verney Lovett Cameron. 
 With Maps and Frontispiece. Two 
 Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 21s. 
 The Book of the Sword: Being _ 
 History of the Sword and its Use in 
 all Countries, from the Earliest 
 Times. By Richard F. Burton. 
 With over 400 Illustrations. Square 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3 2s. [In preparation. 
 
 Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress. 
 
 Edited by Rev. T. Scott, f, With 17 
 Steel Plates by Stothard, engraved 
 by Goodall, and numerous Woodcuts. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth extra, gilt, 78. 6d. 
 
CHATTO & W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Byron (Lord) : 
 
 Byron's Letters and Journals. With 
 Notices of hi$ Life. By Thomas 
 Moore. A Reprint of the Original 
 Edition, newly revised, with Twelve 
 full-page Plates. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, gilt, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Byron's Don Juan. Complete in One 
 Vol., post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Cameron (Commander) and 
 
 Captain Burton. — To the Gold Coast 
 for Gold: A Personal Narrative. By 
 Richard F. Burton and Verney 
 Lovett Cameron. With Frontispiece 
 and Maps. Two Vols., crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 21s. 
 
 Cameron (Mrs. H. Lovett), 
 
 Novels by: 
 
 Juliet's Guardian. Post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. ; crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 38. 6d. 
 
 .Deceivers Ever. Post Svo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. ; crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 8s.6d. 
 
 Campbell.— White and Black: 
 
 Travels in the United States. By Sir 
 George Campbell, M.P. Demy 8vo, 
 Cloth extra, 14s. 
 
 Cariyle (Thomas) : 
 
 Thomas Cariyle: Letters and Re- 
 collestions. By Moncure D. Con- 
 way, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 with Illustrations, 6s. 
 
 On the Choice of Books. By Thomas 
 Carlyle. With a Life of the Author 
 by R. H. Shepherd. New and Re- 
 vised Edition, post 8vo, cloth extra, 
 Illustrated, Is. 6d. 
 
 The Correspondence of Thomas 
 Cariyle and Ralph Waldo Emerson, 
 1834 t0 1872. Edited by Charles 
 Eliot Norton. With Portraits. Two 
 Vols., crown Svo, cloth extra, 24s. 
 
 Century (A) of Dishonour: A 
 
 Sketch of the United States Govern- 
 ment's Dealings with some of the 
 Indian Tribes. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Chapman's (George) Works: 
 
 Vol. I. contains the Play3 complete, 
 including the doubtful ones. Vol. II., 
 the Poems and Minor Translations, 
 with an Introductory Essay by Alger- 
 non Charles Swinburne. Vol. III., 
 the Translations of the Iliad and Odys- 
 sey. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 18s. ; or separately, 63. each. 
 
 Chatto& Jackson. — A Treatise 
 
 on Wood Engraving, Historical and 
 Practical. By Wm. Andrew Chatto 
 and John Jackson. With an Addi- 
 tional Chapter by Henry G. Bohn ; 
 and 450 fine Illustrations. A Reprint 
 of the last Revised Edition, Large 
 4to, half-bound, 28s. 
 
 Chaucer : 
 
 Chaucer for Children: A Golden 
 Key. By Mrs. H. R. Haweis. With 
 Eight Coloured Pictures and nu- 
 merous Woodcuts by the Author. 
 New Ed., small 4to, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Chaucer for Schools. By Mrs. H. R. 
 Haweis. Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 2s.6d. 
 
 Cobban —The Cure of Souls : 
 
 A Story. By J. Maclarkn Cobban. 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Collins (C. Allston).— The Bar 
 
 Sinister: A Story. By C. Allston 
 Collins. Post8vo, illustrated boards, 
 2s. 
 
 Collins (Mo.rtimer & Frances), 
 
 Novels by : 
 
 Sweet and Twenty Post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Frances. Post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s. i 
 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. Post Svo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. ; crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Village Comedy. Post Svo, illust. 
 boards, 2s. ; cr. Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6<L 
 
 You Play Me False. Post 8vo, illust. 
 boards, 2s.; cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Collins (Mortimer), Novels by : 
 
 Sweet Anne Page. Post 8vo, illus- 
 trated bsards, 2s. ; crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Transmigration. Post Svo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. ; crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. 
 
 From Midnight to Midnight. Post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 A Fight with Fortune. Post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Colman's Humorous Works: 
 
 " Broad Grins,'' " My Nightgown and 
 Slippers," and other Humorous Works, 
 Prose and Poetical, of George Col- 
 man. With Life by G. B. Buckstone, 
 and Frontispiece by Hogarth, Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d- 
 
6 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED Bt 
 
 Collins (Wllkle), Novels by. 
 
 Each post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s; 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. ; or crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, Illustrated, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Antonina. Must, by A. Concanen. 
 
 Basil. Illustrated by Sir John Gil- 
 bert and J. Mahoney. 
 
 Hide and Seek. Illustrated by Sir 
 John Gilbert and J. Mahoney. 
 
 The Dead Secret. Illustrated by Sir 
 John Gilbert and A. Concanen. 
 
 Queen of Hearts. Illustrated by Sir 
 John Gilbert and A. Concanen. 
 
 My Mlsoellanles. With Illustrations 
 by A. Concanen, and a Steel-plate 
 Portrait of Wilkie Collins. 
 
 The Woman In White. With Illus- . 
 trations by Sir John Gilbert and 
 
 F. A. Fraser. 
 
 The Moonstone. With Illustrations 
 
 byG.Du Maurier and F. A. Fraser. 
 
 Man and Wife. Must, by W. Small. 
 
 Poor Miss Finch. Illustrated by 
 
 G. Du Maurier and Edward 
 Hughes. 
 
 Miss op Mrs.? With Illustrations by 
 
 S. L. FiLDESand Henry Woods. 
 The New Magdalen. Illustrated by 
 
 G. Du Maurier and C. S. Rands. 
 The Frozen Deep. Illustrated by 
 
 G. Du Maurier and J. Mahoney. 
 The Law and the Lady. Illustrated 
 
 by S. L. Fildes and Sydney Hall. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 The Haunted Hotel. Illustrated by 
 
 Arthur Hopkins. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 
 Heart and Science: A Story of the 
 Present Time. New and Cheaper 
 Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Convalescent Cookery: A 
 
 Family Handbook. By Catherine 
 Ryan. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Conway (Moncure D.), Works 
 
 by: 
 
 Demonology and Devil-Lore. Two 
 Vols., royal 8vo, with 65 Illusts.,28s. 
 
 A Necklace of Stories. Illustrated 
 by W. J Hennessy. Square 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 The Wandering Jew. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Thomas Carlyle: Letters and Re- 
 collections. With Illustrations, 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s, 
 
 Cook (Dutton), Works by : 
 Hours with the Players. With a 
 
 Steel Plate Frontispiece. New and 
 
 Cheaper Edit., cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 Nights at the Play: A View of the 
 
 English Stage. New and Cheaper 
 
 Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 Leo: A Novel. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 
 boards, 2S. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. Post 8vo, 
 
 illustrated boards, 2s. ; crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Copyright.— A Handbook of 
 
 English and Foreign Copyright In 
 Literary and Dramatic Works. By 
 Sidney Jerrold, of the Middle 
 Temple, Esq., Barrister -at-Law. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp , 2s. 6d. 
 
 Cornwall. — Popular Romances 
 
 of the West of England; or, The 
 Drolls, Traditions, and Superstitions 
 of Old Cornwall. Collected and Edited 
 by Robert Hunt, F.R.S. New and 
 Revised Edition, with Additions, and 
 Two Steel-plate Illustrations by 
 George Cruikshank. Crown 8vo, 
 _cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Creasy. — Memoirs of Eminent 
 
 Etonians: with Notices of the Early 
 History of Eton College. By Sir 
 Edward Creasy, Author of " The 
 Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World." 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, with 13 
 Portra it s, 78. 6d. 
 
 Cruikshank (George): 
 
 The Comic Almanack. Complete in 
 Two Sbries : The First from 1835 
 to 1843 ; the Second from 1844 to 
 1853. A Gathering of the Best 
 Humour of Thackeray, Hood, May- 
 hew, Albert Smith, A'Beckett, 
 Robert Brough, &c. With 2,000 
 Woodcuts and Steel Engravings by 
 Cruikshank, Hine, Landells, &c. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, two very thick 
 volumes, 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 The Life of George Cruikshank. By 
 Blanchard Jerrold, Author ot 
 "The Life of Napoleon III.," &c. 
 With 84 Illustrations. New and 
 Cheaper Edition, enlarged, with Ad- 
 ditional Plates, and a very carefully 
 compiled Bibliography. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7S. 6d. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe. A choicely-printed 
 Edition, with 37 Woodcuts and Two 
 Steel Plates, by George Cruik- 
 shank. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 100 Large Paper copies, carefully 
 printed on hand-made paper, with 
 India proofs of the Illustrations, 
 price S6s. [In preparation. 
 
CHATTO 6- W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Cumming. — In the Hebrides. 
 
 By C. F. Gordon Cumming, Author 
 ot ' : At Home in Fiji.'' With Auto- 
 type Facsimile and Illustrations. Demy 
 8vo, cloth extra, 8s. 6d. 
 
 Cussans.— Handbook of Her- 
 aldry; with Instructions for Tracing 
 Pedigrees and Deciphering Ancient 
 AISS., &c. By John E. Cussans. 
 F.ntirely New and Revised Edition, 
 Liustrated with over 400 Woodcuts 
 and Coloured Plates. Crown 6vo, 
 cbth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Cyples.— Hearts of Gold : A 
 
 Novel. By William Cyples. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Daniel. — Merrie England in 
 
 the Olden Time. By George Daniel. 
 With Illustrations by Robt. Cruik- 
 shank. Crown 8vo, cioth extra, 3s 6d. 
 
 Daudet. — Port Salvation ; or, 
 
 The Evangelist. By Alphonse 
 Daudet. Translated by C. Harry 
 Meltzer. New and Cheaper Edition. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 Davenant. — What shall my 
 
 Son be ? Hints for Parents on the 
 Choice of a Profession or Trade for 
 their Sons. By Francis Davenant, 
 M.A. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Davies' (Sir John) Complete 
 
 Poetical Works, including Psalms I. 
 to L. in Verse, and other hitherto Un- 
 published MSS., for the first time 
 Collected and Edited, with Memorial- 
 Introduction and Notes, by the Rev. 
 A. B. Grosart, D.D. Two Vols., 
 crown 8vo, cloth boards, 12s. 
 
 De Maistre A Journey Round 
 
 My Room. By Xavier de Maistre. 
 Translated by Henry Attwell. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Derwent (Leith), Novels by: 
 
 Our Lady of Tears. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Circe's Lovers. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 33. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Dickens (Charles), Novels by : 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2a. each. 
 Sketches by Boz. 
 The Pickwick Papers. 
 Oliver Twist. 
 Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 Dickens (Charles\ continued — 
 The Speeches of Charles Dickens. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Speeches of Charles Dickens, 
 1841-1S70. With a New Bibliography, 
 revised and enlarged. Edited and 
 Prefaced by Richard Herne Shep- 
 herd. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 About England with Dickens. By 
 Alfred Rimmer. With 57 Illustra- 
 tions by C. A. Vanderhoof, Alfred 
 Rimmer, and others. Sq. 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Dictionaries: 
 
 A Dictionary of Miracles: Imitative, 
 Realistic, and Dogmatic. By the 
 Rev. E. C. Brewer, LL.D. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. [Preparing. 
 
 A Dictionary of the Drama: Being 
 a comprehensive Guide to the Plays, 
 Playwrights, Players, and Playhouses 
 of the United Kingdom and America, 
 from the Earliest to the Present 
 Times. By W. Davenport Adams. 
 A thick volume, crown 8vo, half- 
 bound, 12s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Familiar Allusions: A Handbook 
 of Miscellaneous Information ; in- 
 cluding the Names of Celebrated 
 Statues, Paintings, Palaces, Country 
 Seats, Ruins, Churches, Shies, 
 Streets, Clubs, Natural Curiosities, 
 and the like. By Wm. A. Wheeler 
 and Charles G. Wheeler. Deny 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Reader's Handbook of Allu- 
 sions, References, Plots, ard 
 Stories, By the Rev. E. C. Brewer, 
 LL.D. Third Edition, revised 
 throughout, with a New Append:*, 
 containing a Complete English Bib- 
 liography. Crown 8vo, 1,400 pages, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Short Sayings of Great Men. With 
 Historical and Explanatory Notes. 
 By Samuel A. Bent. M.A. Demy 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Slang Dictionary: Etymological, 
 Historical, and Anecdotal. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s 6d. 
 
 Worda, Facte, and Phrases: A Dic- 
 tionary ot Curious, Quaint, and Out- 
 of-the-Way Matters By Eliezpr 
 F-riwARDF. Crown 8vo, half-bound, 
 12S. 6d. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Dobson (W. T.), Works by : 
 
 Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies, 
 and Frolics. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentri- 
 cities. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Doran. — Memories of our 
 
 Great Towns; with Anecdotic Glean- 
 ings concerning their Worthies and 
 their Oddities. By Dr. John Doran, 
 F.S.A. With 38 Illustrations. New 
 and Cheaper Edition, crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Drama, A Dictionary of the. 
 
 Beiog a comprehensive Guide to the 
 Plays, Playwrights, Players, and Play- 
 houses of the United Kingdom and 
 America, from the Earliest to the Pre- 
 sent Times. By W. Davenport 
 Adams. (Uniform with Brewer's 
 " Reader's Handbook.") Crown 8vo, 
 half-bound, 12s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Dramatists, The Old. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, with Vignette Por- 
 traits, 6s. per Vol. 
 
 Ben Jonson's Works. With Notes 
 Critical and Explanatory, and a Bio- 
 graphical Memoir by Wm. Gifford. 
 Edited by Colonel Cunningham. 
 Three Vols. 
 
 Chapman's Works. Complete in 
 Three Vols. Vol. I. contains the 
 Plays complete, including the doubt- 
 ful ones; Vol. II., tne Poems and 
 Minor Translations, with an Intro- 
 ductory Essay by Algernon Chas. 
 Swinburne ; Vol. III., the Transla- 
 tions of the Iliad and Odyssey. 
 
 Mar-owe's Works. Including his 
 Translations. Edited, with Notes 
 and Introduction, by Col. Cunning- 
 ham. One Vol. 
 
 Massinger's Plays. From the Text of 
 William Gifford. Edited by Col. 
 Cunningham. One Vol. 
 
 Dyer. — The Folk- Lore of' 
 
 Plants. By T. F. Thiselton Dyer, 
 
 M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 Edwards, Betham-. — Felicia: 
 
 A Novel. By M. Betham-Edwards. 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; 
 crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Edwardes(Mrs. A.), Novels by: 
 
 A Point of Honour. Post 8vo, illus 
 * trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Archie Lovell. Post 8vo, illust. bds. 
 2s. ; crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Early English Poets. Edited, 
 
 with Introductions and Annotations, 
 by Rev. A. B.Grosart, D.D. Crown 
 8vo, cloth boards, 6s. per Volume. 
 
 Fletcher's (Giles, B.D.J Complete 
 Poems. One Vol. 
 
 Davies' (Sir John) Complete 
 Poetical Works. Two Vols. 
 
 Herrick's (Robert) Complete Col- 
 lected Poems. Three Vols. 
 
 Sidney's (Sir Philip) Complete 
 Poetical Works. Three Vols. 
 
 Herbert (Lord) of Cherbury's Poems. 
 Edited, with Introduction, by J. 
 Churton Collins. Crown 8vo' 
 parchment, 8s. 
 
 Eggleston.— Roxy: A Novel. By 
 Edward Eggleston. Post 8vo, illust. 
 boards, 2s. ; cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d! 
 
 Emanuel.— On Diamonds~and 
 
 Precious Stones : their History, Value 
 and Properties ; with Simple Tests for 
 ascertaining their Reality. By Harry 
 Emanuel, F.R.G.S. With numerous 
 Illustrations, tinted and plain. Crown 
 8vo, cloth ex tra, gilt, 6s. 
 
 Englishman's House, The : A 
 
 Practical Guide to all interested in 
 Selecting or Building a House, with 
 full Estimates of Cost, Quantities, &c. 
 By C. J. Richardson. Third Edition! 
 With nearly 600 Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo, cloth ex tra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Ewald [Alex. Charles, fITaT 
 
 Wor*»by: 
 Stori« from the State Papers 
 
 With an Autotype Facsimile. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 The Life and Times of Prince 
 Charles Stuart, Count of Albany 
 commonly called the Young Pre- 
 tender. From the State Papers and 
 other Sources. New and Cheaper 
 Edition, with a Portrait, crown Svo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Eyes, The.— How to Use our 
 
 Eyes, and How to Preserve Them. By 
 John Browning, F.R.A.S., &c. With 
 37 Illustrations. Crown Svo, Is.; cloth 
 Is. 6d. 
 
 Fairholt.— Tobacco : Its His- 
 
 tory and Associations ; with an Ac- 
 count of the Plant and its Manu- 
 facture, and its Modes of Use in all 
 Ages and Countries. By F. W Fair- 
 holt, F.S.A. With Coloured Frontis- 
 piece and upwards of 100 Illustra- 
 tions by the Author. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 6s. A 
 
CHATTO &- W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Familiar Allusions: A Hand- 
 book of Miscellaneous Information; 
 including the Names of Celebrated 
 Statues, Paintings, Palaces, Country 
 Seats, Ruins, Churches, Ships, Streets, 
 Clubs, Natural Curiosities, and the 
 like. By William A. Wheeler, 
 Author ot " Noted Names of Fiction ; " 
 and Charles G. Wheeler. Demy 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Faraday (Michael), Works by : 
 
 The Chemical History of a Candle : 
 
 Lectures delivered before a Juvenile 
 Audience at the Royal Institution. 
 EditecJby William Crookes, F.C.S. 
 Post 8vo, cloth extra, with numerous 
 Illustrations, 4s 6d. 
 On the Various Forces of Nature, 
 and their Relations to each other: 
 Lectures delivered before a Juvenile 
 Audience at the Royal Institution. 
 Edited by William Crookes, F.C.S. 
 Post Svo, cloth extra, with numerous 
 Illustrations, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Fin-Bee. — The Cupboard 
 
 Papers : Observations on the Art of 
 Living and Dining. By Fin-Bec. Post 
 Svo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Fitzgerald (Percy), Works by : 
 
 The Recreations of a Literary Man ; 
 or, Does Writing Pay ? With Re- 
 collections of some Literary "Men, 
 and a View of a Literary Man's 
 Working Life. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 6s. 
 
 The World Behind the Scenes. 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 Bella Donna. 
 Never Forgotten. 
 The Second Mrs. Tillotson. 
 Polly. 
 Seventy-five Brooke Street. 
 
 Fletcher's (Giles, B.D.) Com- 
 plete Poems: Christ's Victoria in 
 Heaven, Christ's Victorie on Earth, 
 Christ's Triumph over Death, and 
 Minor Poems. With Memorial-Intro- 
 duction and Notes, by the Rev. A. 
 B. Grosart, D.D. Crown 8vo, cioth 
 boards, 6s. 
 
 Fonblanque. — Filthy Lucre: A 
 
 Novel. By Albany de Fonblanque. 
 Post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Francillon (R. E.), Novels by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ; 
 post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. each. 
 
 Olympia. 
 
 Queen Cophetua. 
 
 One by On e. 
 
 Esther's Glove. Fcap. 8vo, picture 
 cover, Is. 
 
 French Literature, History of. 
 By Henry Van Laun. Complete in 
 3 Vols., demy 8vo, cl. bds., 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 Frost (Thomas), Works by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 Circus Life and Circus Celebrities. 
 The Lives of the Conjurers. 
 The Old Showmen and the Old 
 London Fairs. 
 
 Fry. — Royal Guide to the Lon- 
 don Charities, 1883-4. By Herbert 
 Fry. Showing, in alphabetical order, 
 their Name, Date of Foundation, Ad- 
 dress, Objects, Annual Income, Chief 
 Officials, &c. Published Annually. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth, Is 6d. 
 
 Gardening Books: 
 
 A Year's Work in Garden and Green- 
 house : Practical Advice to Amateur 
 Gardeners as to the Management of 
 the F'lower, Fruit, and Frame Garden. 
 By George Glenny. Post Svo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Our Kitchen Garden The Plants we 
 Grow, and How we Cook Them. 
 By Tom Jerrold, Author of "The 
 Garden that Paid the Rent," &c. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Household Horticulture: A Gossip 
 about Flowers. By Tom and Jank 
 Jerrold. Illustrated. Post Svo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 The Garden that Paid the Rent. 
 By Tom Jerrold. Fcap. Svo, illus- 
 trated cover, Is.; cloth limp, Is. 6d. 
 
 My Garden Wild, and What I Grew 
 there. By Francis George Heath. 
 Cr. 8vo, cl. extra, 5s. ; gilt edges, 6s. 
 
 Gentleman's Magazine (The) 
 
 for 1883. One Shilling Monthly. 
 "The New Abelard," Robert Bu- 
 chanan's New Serial Story, was begun 
 in the January Number. "Science 
 Notes," by W. Mattieu Williams, 
 F.R.A.S., is also continued monthly. 
 %* Now ready, the Volume for January 
 
 to June, 1883, doth extra, price 8s. 6d. ; 
 
 Cases for binding, 2s. each. 
 
 Gentleman's Annual (The). 
 
 Christmas, 1883. Containing Two 
 Complete Novels by Percy Fitz- 
 gerald and Mrs. Alexander. Demy 
 8vo, illuminated cover, is. [Preparing. 
 
BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Garrett.— The Capel Girls: A 
 
 Novel. By Edward Garrett. Post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. ; crown 8vo 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 German Popular Stories. Col- 
 
 lected by the Brothers Grimm, and 
 Translated by Edgar Taylor. Edited, 
 with an Introduction, by John Ruskik 
 With 22 Illustrations on Steel by 
 George Cruikshank. Square 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s . 6d. ; gilt edges, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Gibbon (Charles), Novels by: 
 
 Each in crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d/ 
 or post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Robin Gray. 
 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 
 What will the World Say? 
 
 In Honour Bound. 
 
 In Love and War. 
 
 For the King. 
 
 Queen of the Meadow. 
 
 In Pastures Green. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 The Dead Heart. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s! 6d. each. 
 The Braes of Yarrow. 
 The Flower of the Forest. 
 A Heart's Problem. 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High Degree. 
 
 Fancy-Free. Three 
 8vo, 31s. 6d. 
 
 Vols., crown 
 [In the press. 
 
 Gilbert (William), Novels by : 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 James Duke, Costermonger. 
 Gilbert (W. S.), Original Plays 
 
 by: In Two Series, each complete in 
 itself, price 2s. 6d. each. First Series 
 contains The Wicked World— Pygma- 
 lion and Galatea — Charity — The 
 Princess— The Palace of Truth— Trial 
 by Jury. The Second Series con- 
 tains Broken Hearts — Engaged — 
 Sweethearts— Gretchen— Dan'l Druce 
 —Tom Cobb— H. M.S. Pinafore— The 
 Sorcerer— The Pirates of Penzance. 
 
 Glenny.— A Year's Work \n 
 
 Garden and Greenhouse: Practical 
 Advice to Amateur Gardeners as to 
 the Management of the Flower, Fruit 
 and Frame Garden. By George 
 Glenny. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Godwin.— Lives of the Necro. 
 
 mansers. By William Godwin 
 Post ttvo, cl otMimp, 2s. 
 
 Golden Library, The: 
 
 Square i6mo (Tauchnitz size), cloth 
 
 limp, 2s. per volume. 
 Bayard Taylor's Diversions of the 
 Echo Club. 
 
 Bennett's (Dr. W. C.) Ballad History 
 
 of England. 
 Bennett's (Dr. W. C.) Songs for 
 
 Sailors. 
 Byron's Don Juan. 
 Godwin's (William) Lives of the 
 
 Necromancers. 
 Holmes's Autocrat of the Break 
 fast Table. With an Introduction 
 by G. A. Sala. 
 Holmes's ? o'essor at the Break 
 
 fast Tab.e 
 Hood's Whims and Oddities. Com- 
 plete. All the original Illustrations. 
 Irving's (Washington) Tales of a 
 
 Traveller. 
 Irving's (Washington) Tales of the 
 
 Alhambra. 
 Jesse's (Edward) Scenes and Oc- 
 cupations of a Country Life. 
 Lamb's Essays. of Eiia. Both Series 
 
 Complete in One Vol. 
 Leigh Hunt's Essays: A Tale for a 
 Chimney Corner, and other Pieces. 
 With Portrait, and Introduction by 
 Edmund Ollier. 
 Mallory's (Sir Thomas) Mort 
 d'Arthur: The Stories of King 
 Arthur and of the Knights of the 
 Round Table. Edited by B. Mont- 
 gomery Ranking. 
 Pascal's Provincial Letters. A New 
 Translation, with Historical Intro- 
 duction and Notes.byT. M'Crie.D.D. 
 Pope's Poetical Works. Complete. 
 Rochefoucauld's Maxims and Moral 
 Reflections. With Notes, and In- 
 troductory Essay by Sainte-Beuve. 
 St. Pierre's Paul and Virginia, and 
 The Indian Cottage. Edited, with 
 Life, by the Rev. E. Clarke. 
 Shelley's^Early Poems, and Queen 
 Mab. With Essay by Leigh Hunt. 
 Shelley's Later Poems: Laon and 
 
 Cythna, &c. 
 Shelley's Posthumous Poems, the 
 
 Shelley Papers, &c. 
 Shelley's Prose Works, including A 
 Refutation of Deism, Zastrozzi, St. 
 Irvyne, &c. 
 White's Natural History of Sel- 
 borne. Edited, with Additions, by 
 Thomas Brown, F.L.S. 
 
o 
 
 CHATTO 6- W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 Golden Treasury of Thought, 
 
 The: An Encyclopedia of Quota- 
 tions from Writers' of all Times and 
 Countries. Selected and Edited by 
 Theodore Taylor.; : Crown 8vo, cloth 
 gilt and gilt edges, 7S. 6<L 
 
 Gordon Cumming — In the 
 
 Hebrides. By C. F. Gprdon Cumming, 
 Author of " At Home in Fiji." With 
 Autotype Facsimile" and numerous 
 full-page Illustrations. Demy 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 8s. 6d. 
 
 Graham. — The Professor's 
 
 Wife : A Story. By Leonard Graham. 
 Fcap. 8vo, picture cover, Is. ; cloth 
 extra, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Greeks and Romans, The Life 
 
 of the, Described from Antique Monu- 
 ments. By Ernst Guhl and W. 
 Koner. Translated from the Third 
 German Edition, and Edited by Dr. 
 F. Hueffer. With 545 Illustrations. 
 New and Cheaper Edition, demy 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Greenwood (James), Works by: 
 
 The Wilds of London. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Low-Lite Deeps : An Account of the 
 
 Strange Fish to be Found There. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Dick Temple: A Novel. Post 8vo, 
 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Guyot.— The Earth and Man ; 
 
 or, Physical Geography in its relation 
 to the History "of Mankind. By 
 Arnold Guyot. With Additions by- 
 Professors Agassiz, Pierce, and Gray; 
 12 Maps and Engravings on Steel, 
 some Coloured, and copious Index. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Hair (The): Its Treatment in 
 Health, Weakness, and Disease. 
 Translated from the German of Dr. J. 
 Pincus. Crown 8vo, Is. ; cloth, ls.6d. 
 
 Hake (Dr. Thomas Gordon), 
 
 Poems by : 
 Maiden Ecstasy. Small 4to, cloth 
 
 extra, 8s. 
 New Symbols. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 6s. 
 Legends of the Morrow. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 The Serpent Play. Crowe 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, fjs, 
 
 Half-Hours with Foreign Nov- 
 elists. With Notices of their Lives 
 and Writings. By Helen and Alice 
 Zimmern. A New Edition. Two Vols., 
 crown 8vo, cloth extra, 12s. 
 
 Hall.— Sketches of Irish Cha- 
 racter. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. With 
 numerous Illustrations on Steel and 
 Wood by Maclise, Gilbert, Harvey, 
 and G. Cruikshank. Medium 8vo, 
 cloth extra, gilt, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Halliday.— Everyday Papers. 
 
 By Andrew Halliday. Post Svo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Handwriting, The Philosophy 
 
 of. With over ioo Facsimiles and Ex- 
 planatory Text. By Don Felix de 
 Salamanca. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Hanky-Panky: A Collection of 
 
 Very EasyTricks.Very Difficult Tricks, 
 White Magic, Sleiglit of Hand, Sec. 
 Edited by W. H. Cremer. With 200 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 4s. 6d. 
 
 Hardy (Lady Duffus). — Paul 
 Wynter's Sacrifice: A Story. By 
 Lady Duffus Hardy. Post Svo, illust. 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 j Hardy (Thomas). — Under the 
 Greenwood Tree. By Thomas Hardy, 
 Author of " Far from the Madding 
 Crowd." Crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Haweis (Mrs. H. R,), Works by : 
 
 The Art of Dress. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Small 8vo, illustrated 
 cover, Is. ; cloth limp, Is. 6d. 
 
 The Art of Beauty. New and Cheaper 
 Edition. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 with Coloured Frontispiece and Il- 
 lustrations, 6s. 
 
 The Art of Decoration. Square Svo, 
 handsomely bound and profusely 
 Illustrated, 10s. 61. 
 
 Chaucer for Children: A Golden 
 Key. With Eight Coloured Pictures 
 and numerous Woodcuts. New 
 Edition, small 4to, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Chaucer for Schools. Demy Svo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Haweis (Rev. H. R.). — American 
 Humorists. Including Washington 
 Irving, Oliver Wendell Holmes, 
 James Russell Lowell, Artemus 
 Ward.JUark Twain, and Bret Harte. 
 By the Rev. H. R. Haweis, M.A, 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
12 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Hawthorne (Julian), Novels by. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each; 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 
 Garth. 
 
 Ellice Quentln. 
 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 
 Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, illustrated cover, Is. ; 
 
 cloth extra, 2s. 6d. 
 Prince Saroni's Wife. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Dust: A Novel. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Fortune's Fool. Three Vols., crown 
 
 8vo, 31s. 6d. 
 
 Heath (F. G.). — My Garden 
 
 Wild, and What I Grew There. By 
 Francis Gborge Heath, Author of 
 " The Fern World," &c. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 5s. ; cloth gilt, and gilt 
 edges, 6s. 
 
 Helps (Sir Arthur), Works by : 
 
 Animals and their Masters. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Social Pressure. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Ivan de Biron : A Novel. Crown 8vo, 
 v cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Heptalogia (The) ; or, The 
 
 Seven against Sense. A Cap with 
 Seven Bells. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Herbert.— The Poems of Lord 
 
 Herbert of Cherbury. Edited, with 
 an Introduction, by J. Churton 
 Collins. Crown 8vo, bound in parch- 
 ment, 8s. 
 
 Herrick's (Robert) Hesperides, 
 
 Noble Numbers, and Complete Col 
 lected Poems. With Memorial-Intro- 
 duction and Notes by the Rev. A. B. 
 Grosart, D.D., Steel Portrait, Index 
 of First Lines, and Glossarial Index, 
 &c. Three Vols., crown 8vo, cloth 
 boards, 18s. 
 
 Hesse- Wartegg (Chevalier 
 
 Ernst von), Works by : 
 Tunis: The Land and the People. 
 With 22 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The New South West: Travelling 
 Sketches from Kansas, New Mexico, 
 Arizona, and Northern Mexico. 
 With ioo fine Illustrations and 3 
 Maps. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 
 «S. » [/» preparation. 
 
 Hindley (Charles), Works by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings : In- 
 cluding the Origin of Signs, and 
 Reminiscences connected with 
 Taverns, Coffee Houses, Clubs, &c. 
 With Illustrations. 
 
 The Life and Adventures of a Cheap 
 Jack. By One of the Fraternity. 
 Edited by Charles Hindley. 
 
 Holmes(OliverWendell),Works 
 
 by: 
 
 The Autocrat of the Breakfast- 
 Table Illustrated by J. Gordon 
 Thomson. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 6d. ; another Edition in smaller 
 type, with an Introduction by G. A. 
 Sala. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 The Professor at the Breakfast 
 Table ; with the Story of Iris. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Holmes. — The Science of 
 
 Voice Production and Voice Preser- 
 vation: A Popular Manual for the 
 Use of Speakers and Singers. By 
 Gordon Holmes, M.D. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth limp, with Illustrations, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Hood (Thomas): 
 
 Hood's Choice Works, in Prose and 
 Verse. Including the Cream ol the 
 Comic Annuals. With Life of the 
 Author, Portrait, and 200 Illustra- 
 tions. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Hood's Whims and Oddities. Com- 
 plete. With all the original Illus- 
 trations. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Hood (Tom), Works by: 
 From Nowhere to the North Pole: 
 A Noah's Arkaiologf ;al .Narrative. 
 With 25 Illustration 1 by W. Brun- 
 ton and E. C. Barnes. Square 
 crown Svo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 6s. 
 A Golden Heart: A Novel. Post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Hook's (Theodore) Choice Hu- 
 morous Works, including his Ludi- 
 crous Adventures.Bons Mots, Puns and 
 Hoaxes. With a New Life of the 
 Author, Portraits, Facsimiles, and 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 gilt, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Home.— Orion : An Epic Poem, 
 in Three Books. By Richard Hen- 
 gist Horne. With Photographic 
 Portrait from a Medallion by Sum- 
 mers. Tenth Edition, crown 8vo. 
 cloth extra, 7s, 
 
CHATTO & W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 13 
 
 Howell.— Conflicts of Capital 
 
 and Labour, Historically and Eco- 
 nomically considered : Being a His- 
 tory and Review of the Trade Unions 
 of Great Britain, showing their Origin, 
 Progress, Constitution, and Objects, in 
 their Political, Social, Economical, 
 and Industrial Aspects. By George 
 Howell. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Hugo. — The Hunchback of 
 
 Notre Dame. By Victor Hugo. 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Hunt.— Essays by Leigh Hunt. 
 
 A Tale for a Chimney Corner, and 
 other Pieces. With Portrait and In- 
 troduction by Edmund Ollier. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Hunt (Mrs. Alfred), Novels by : 
 
 Thornicroft's Model. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 The Leaden Casket. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Self-Condemned. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 Ingelow. — Fated to be Free : A 
 
 Novel. By Jean Ingelow. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Irving (Henry). — The Paradox 
 
 of Acting. Translated, with Annota- 
 tions, from Diderot's " Le Paradoxe 
 sur le Comedien," by Walter Her- 
 ries Pollock. With a Preface by 
 Henry Irving. Crown 8vo, in parch- 
 ment, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Irving (Washington),Works by: 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. each. 
 Tales of a Traveller. 
 Tales of the Alhambra. 
 
 James. — Confidence : A Novel. 
 By Henry James, Jun. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Janvier. — Practical Keramics 
 
 for Students. By Catherine A. 
 Janvier. Crown 8vo , cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Jay (Harriett), Novels by. Each 
 
 crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; or post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 28. 
 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 
 The Que en of Connaught. 
 
 Jefferies. — Nature near Lon- 
 don. By Richard Jefferies, Author 
 of "The Gamekeeper at Home,'' 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6b. 
 
 Jennings (H. J.).— Curiosities 
 
 of Criticism. By Henry J. Jennings. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Jennings (Hargrave). — The 
 
 Rosicrucians: Their Rites and Mys- 
 teries. With Chapters on the Ancient 
 Fire and Serpent Worshippers. By 
 Hargrave Jennings. With Five full- 
 page Plates and upwards of 300 Illus- 
 trations. A New Edition, crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Jerrold (Tom), Works by : 
 
 The Garden that Paid the Rent. 
 By Tom Jerrold. Fcap. 8vo, illus- 
 trated cover, Is. ; cloth limp, Is. 6d. 
 
 .Household Horticulture: A Gossip 
 about Flowers. By Tom and Jane 
 Jerrold. Illustrated. Post 8vo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Our Kitchen Garden: The Plants 
 we Grow, and How we Cook Them. 
 By Tom Jerrold. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Jesse. — Scenes and Occupa- 
 tions of a Country Life. By Edward 
 Jesse. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Jones (William, F.S.A.), Works 
 by: 
 Finger-Ring Lore: Historical, Le- 
 gendary, and Anecdotal. With over 
 200 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Credulities, Past and Present; in- 
 cluding the Sea and Seamen, Miners, 
 Talismans, Word and Letter Divina- 
 tion, Exorcising and Blessing of 
 Animals, Birds, Eggs, Luck, &c. 
 With an Etched Frontispiece. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Crowns and Coronations: A History 
 of Regalia in all Times and Coun- 
 tries. With One Hundred Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Jonson's (Ben) Works. With 
 
 Notes Critical and Explanatory, and 
 a Biographical Memoir by William 
 Gifford. Edited by Colonel Cun- 
 ningham. Three Vols., crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 18s. ; or separately, 6s. per 
 Volume. 
 
 Joseph us, The Com pleteWorks 
 
 of. Translated by Whiston. Con- 
 taining both " The Antiquities of the 
 Jews" and "The Wars of the Jews." 
 Two Vols., 8vo, with 52 Illustrations 
 and Maps, cloth extra, gilt, 14a, 
 
14 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Kavanagh— The Pearl Foun- 
 tain, and other Fairy Stories. By 
 Bridget and Julia Kavanagh. With 
 Thirty Illustrations by J. M«yr Smith. 
 Small 8vo, cloth gilt, 6s. 
 
 Kempt. — Pencil and Palette: 
 
 Chapters on Art and Artists. By 
 Robert Kempt. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Kingsley (Henry), Novels by: 
 
 Each crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; 
 or post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Oakshott Castle. 
 Number Seventeen. 
 
 Lamb (Charles): 
 
 Mary and Charles Lamb: Their 
 Poems, Letters, and Remains. With 
 Reminiscences and Notes by W. 
 Carew Hazlitt. With Hancock's 
 Portrait of the Essayist, Facsimiles 
 of the Title-pages of the rare First 
 Editions of Lamb's and Coleridge's 
 Works, and numerous Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 103. 6d. 
 
 Lamb's Complete Works, in Prose 
 and Verse, reprinted from the Ori- 
 ginal Editions, with many Pieces 
 hitherto unpublished. Edited, with 
 Notes and Introduction, by R. H. 
 Shepherd. With Two Portraits and 
 Facsimile of a Page of the "Essay 
 on Roast Pig.'' Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Essays of Elia. Complete Edi- 
 tion. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 2s. 
 
 Poetry for Children, and Prince 
 Dorus. By Charles Lamb. Care- 
 fully Reprinted from unique copies. 
 Small 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Lares and Penates ; or, The 
 
 Background of Life. By Florence 
 Caddy. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Lane's Arabian Nights, &c. : 
 
 The Thousand and One Nights: 
 commonly called, in England, " The 
 Arabian Nights' Entertain- 
 ments." A New Translation from 
 the Arabic, with copious Notes, by 
 Edward William Lane. Illustrated 
 by many hundred Engravings on 
 Wood, from Original Designs by 
 Wm. Harvey. A New Edition, from 
 a Copy annotated by the Translator, 
 edited by his Nephew, Edward 
 Stanley Poole. With a Preface by 
 Stanley Lane-Poole. Three Vols., 
 demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 Lane's Arabian Nights, &c. : 
 
 Arabian Society in the Middle Ages: 
 
 Studies from " The Thousand and 
 One Nights." By Edward William 
 Lane, Author of " The Modern 
 Egyptians," &c. Edited by Stanley 
 Lane-Poole. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 6s. 
 
 Larwood (Jacob), Works by: 
 
 The Story of the London Parks 
 
 With Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Clerical Anecdotes. Post 8vo, cloth 
 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 Forensic Anecdotes Post 8vo, cloth 
 
 limp, 2s. 61. 
 Theatrical Anecdotes. Post 8vo, cloth 
 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Leigh (Henry S.), Works by: 
 
 Carols of Cockayne. With numerous 
 
 Illustrations. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 
 2s. 6d. 
 Jeux d'Esprit. Collected and Edited 
 
 by Henry S. Leigh. Post 8vo, cloth 
 
 lim^ 2s. 6d. 
 
 Life in London ; or, The History 
 of Jerry Hawthorn and Corinthian 
 Tom. With the whole of Cruik- 
 shank's Illustrations, in Colours, after 
 the Originals. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Linton (E. Lynn), Works by: 
 Witch Stories. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 
 2s. 6d. 
 The True Story of Joshua Davidson. 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra. 3s. 6d. each ; post 
 Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 The World Well Lost. . 
 Under wnich Lord? 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 " My Love ! " 
 
 lone. Three Vols., crown Svo, 31s. 6d. 
 [Shortly. 
 
 Locks and Keys.— On the De- 
 velopment and Distribution of Primi- 
 tive Lock3 and Keys. By Lieut.-Gen. 
 Pitt-Rivers, F.R.S. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Demy 4to, half Ros- 
 burghe, 16s. 
 
CHATTO &> WINDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 £S 
 
 Longfellow : 
 Longfellow's Complete Prose Works. 
 Including "Outre Mer," "Hyper- 
 ion," "Kavanagh," "The Poets and 
 Poetry of Europe," and "Driftwood." 
 With Portrait and Illustrations by 
 Valentine Bromley. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 Longfellow's Poetical Works. Care- 
 fully Reprinted from the Original 
 Editions. With numerous fine Illus- 
 trations on Steel and Wood. Crown 
 8vo, clo th extra, 7s. 6d . 
 
 Lucy. — Gideon Fleyce: A Novel. 
 
 By Henry W. Lucy. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Lunatic Asylum, My Experi- 
 ences in a. By A Sane Patient. 
 Crown bvo, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Lusiad (The) of Camoens. 
 
 Translated into English Spenserian 
 Vsrse by Robert FFrench Duff. 
 Demy 8vo, with Fourteen full-page 
 Plates, cloth boards,_18s. 
 
 McCarthy (Justin, M.P.),Works 
 
 by: 
 
 A History of Our Own Times, from 
 the Accession of Queen Victoria to 
 the General Election of 1880. Four 
 Vols, demy 8vo, cloth extra, 12s. 
 each. — Also a Popular Edition, in 
 Four Vols, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 6s. each. 
 
 A Short History of Our Own Times. 
 One Volume, crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 6s. [Shortly. 
 
 History of the Four Georges. Four 
 Vols, demy Svo, cloth extra, 12s. 
 each. {In preparation. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. eauh. 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 Linley Rochford 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 Donna Quixote. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Maid of Athens. With 12 Illustra- 
 tions by F. Barnard. 3 vols., crown 
 8vo, 31s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 McCarthy (Justin H.), Works 
 
 Serapion, and other Poems. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 An Outline of the History of Ireland, 
 from the Earliest Times to the Pre- 
 sent Day. Cr. 8vo,ls. ; cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 MacDonald (George, L.L.D.), 
 Works by : 
 The Princess and Curdie. With n 
 
 Illustrations by James Allen. SmaU 
 crown Svo, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Gutta-Percha Willie, the WorRing 
 Genius. With 9 Illustrations by 
 Arthur Hughes. Square 8vo; cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. „ r 
 
 Paul Faber, Surgeon. With a Fron- 
 tispiece by J. E. Millais. Crown 
 Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8yo 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Thomas Wingfold, Curate. Wftov 
 Frontispiece by C. J. Staniland. 
 Crown Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Macdonell.— Quaker Cousins: 
 
 A Novel. By Agnes Macdonell. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Macgregor. — Pastimes and" 
 
 Players. Notes on Popular Games. 
 By Robert Macgregor. Post 8vo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Maclise Portrait-Gallery (The) 
 
 of Illustrious Literary Characters; 
 
 with Memoirs— Biographical, Critical, 
 Bibliographical, and Anecdotal— illus- 
 trative of the Literature of the former 
 half of the Present Century. By 
 William Bates, B.A. With 85 Por- 
 traits printed on an India Tint. Crowr 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. < 1 
 
 Macquoid (Mrs.), Works by. 
 
 In the Ardennes. With 50 fine Illus- 
 trations by Thomas R. Macquoid.. 
 Square 8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Pictures and Legends from Nor- 
 mandy and Brittany. With numer- 
 ous Illustrations by Thomas R 
 Macquoid. Square 8vo, cloth gilt, 
 10s. 6d. 
 
 Through Normandy. With go Illus- 
 trations byT. R. Macquoid. Square, 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Through Brittany. With numerous 
 Illustrations by T. R. Macquoid. 
 Square Svo, cloth extra, 7S. Gd. A 
 
 About Yorkshire. With 67 Illustr*. 
 tions by T. R. Mac2Uoid, Engraved 
 by Swain. Squaie Svo, cloth extra, 
 10s. 6d. 
 
 The Evil Eye, and other Stories. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Lost Rose, and other Stories. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
i6 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Mackay— Interludes and Un- 
 dertones: Poems of the End of Life. 
 By Charles Mackay, LL.D. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. \_ln theprea. 
 
 Magician's Own Book (The): 
 
 Performances with Cups and Balls, 
 Eggs, Hats, Handkerchiefs, &e. All 
 from actual Experienoe. Edited by 
 W. H. Crkmer. With 200 Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Magic No Mystery : Tricks with 
 Cards, Dice, Balls, &c, with fully 
 descriptive Directions; the Art of 
 Secret Writing ; Training of Perform- 
 ing Animals, &c. With Coloured 
 Frontispiece and many Illustrations. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Magna Charta. An exact Fac- 
 simile of the Original in the British 
 Museum, printed on fine plate paper, 
 3 feet by 2 feet, with Arms and Seals 
 emblazoned in Gold and Colours. 
 Price 5s. 
 
 Mallock (W. H.), Works by: 
 
 The New Republic; or, Culture, Faith 
 and Philosophy in an English Country 
 House. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s, 6d. ; 
 Cheap Edition, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 The New Paul and Virginia ; or, Posi- 
 tivism on an Island. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. Sd. 
 
 Poems. Small 4to, bound in parch- 
 ment, 8s. 
 
 Is Life worth Living P Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Mallory's (Sir Thomas) Mort 
 
 d'Arthur : The Stories of King Arthur 
 and of the Knights of the Round Table. 
 Edited by B. Montgomerie Ranking. 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Marlowe's Works. Including 
 
 his Translations. Edited, with Notes 
 and Introduction, by Col. Cunning- 
 ham. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Marryat (Florence), Novels by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra 3s. 6d. each ; or, 
 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 Open ! Sesame ! 
 Written in Fire. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 A Little Stepson. 
 Fighting the Air. 
 
 Mark Twain, Works by: 
 
 The Choice Works of Mark Twain. 
 Revised and Corrected throughout by 
 the Author. With Life, Portrait, and 
 numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. 
 With 100 Illustrations. Small 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. Cheap Edition, 
 illust rated boards, 2s. 
 
 An Idle Excursion, and other Sketches. 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 The Prince and the Pauper. With 
 nearly 200 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Innocents Abroad ; or, The New 
 Pilgrim's Progress : Being some Ac- 
 count of the Steamship " Quaker 
 City's " Pleasure Excursion to 
 Europe and the Holy Land. With 
 234 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. Cheap Edition (under 
 the title of" Mark Twain's Pleasure 
 Trip "), post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. 
 
 A Tramp Abroad. With 314 Illustra- 
 tions. Orown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Stolen White Elephant, &c. 
 Crown 8yo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Life on the Mississippi. With about 
 300 Original Illustrations. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. ) 
 
 Massinger's Plays. From the 
 Text of William Gifford. Edited 
 by Col. Cunningham. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Mayhew. — London Characters 
 and the Humorous Side of London 
 Life. By Henry Mayhew. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Mayfair Library, The: 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. per \ olume. 
 A Journey Round My Room. By 
 . Xavier de Maistre. Translated 
 
 by Henry Attwell. 
 Latter-Day Lyrics. Edited by W. 
 
 Davenport Adams. 
 Quips and Quiddities. Selected by 
 
 W. Davenport Adams. 
 The Agony Column of ''The Times," 
 
 from 1800 to 1870. Edited, with an 
 
 Introduction, by Alice Clay. 
 Balzac's "Comedie Humaine" and 
 
 its Author. With Translations by 
 
 H. H. Walker. 
 Melancholy Anatomised: A Popular 
 
 Abridgment oi " Burton's Anatomy 
 
 of Melancholy." 
 Gastronomy as a Fine Art. By 
 
 Brillat-Savarin. 
 
CHATTO & W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 17 
 
 Mayfair Library, continued— 
 
 The Speeches of Charles Dickens. 
 
 Literary Frivolities, Fancies, Follies, 
 and Frolics. By W. T. Dobson. 
 
 Poetical Ingenuities and Eccentrici- 
 ties. Selected and Edited by W. T. 
 Dobson. 
 
 The Cupboard Papers. By Fin-Bec 
 
 Original Plays by \V. S. Gilbert. 
 First Series. Containing: The 
 Wicked World — Pygmalion and 
 Galatea — Charity — The Princess— 
 The Palace of Truth— Trial by Jury. 
 
 Original Plays by W. S. Gilbert. 
 Second Series. Containing: Broken 
 Hearts — Engaged — Sweethearts — 
 Gretchen— Dan'l Druce — Tom Cobb 
 — H.M.S. Pinafore — The Sorcerer 
 — The Pirates ot Penzance. 
 
 Animals and their Masters. By Sir 
 Arthur Helps. 
 
 Social Pressure. By Sir Arthur 
 Helps. 
 
 Curiosities of Criticism. By Henry 
 J. Jennings. 
 
 The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table. 
 By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Il- 
 lustrated by J. Gordon Thomson. 
 
 Pencil and Palette. By Robert 
 Kempt. 
 
 Clerical Anecdotes. By Jacob Lar- 
 
 WOOD. 
 
 Forensic Anecdotes; or, Humour and 
 Curiosities of the Law and Men of 
 Law. By Jac»b Larwood. 
 
 Theatrical Anecdotes. By Jacob 
 Larwood. 
 
 Carols of Cockayne. By Henry S. 
 Leigh. 
 
 Jeux d'Esprit, Edited by Henry S. 
 Leigh. 
 
 True History of Joshua Davidson. 
 By E. Lynn Linton. 
 
 Witch Stories. By E. Lynn Linton. 
 
 Pastimes and Players. By Robert 
 Macgregor. 
 
 The New Paul and Virginia. By 
 W. H. Mallock. 
 
 The New Republic. By W. H. Mal- 
 lock. 
 
 Muses of Mayfair. Edited by H. 
 Cholmondeley-Pennell. 
 
 Thoreau : His Life and Aims. By 
 H. A. Page. 
 
 Puck on Pegasus. By H. Cholmonde- 
 ley-Pennell. 
 Puniana. By the Hon. Hugh Rowley. 
 More Puniana. By the Hon. Hugh 
 Rowley. 
 
 The Philosophy of Handwriting. By 
 Don Felix de Salamanca, 
 
 Mayfair Library, continued — 
 By Stream and Sea. By William 
 
 Senior. 
 Old Stories Retold. By Walter 
 
 Thornbury. 
 Leaves from a Naturalist's Note- 
 Book. By Dr. Andrew Wilson. 
 
 Medicine, Family. — One Thou- 
 sand Medical Maxims and Surgical 
 Hints, for Infancy, Adult Life, Middle 
 Age, and Old Age. By N. E. Davies, 
 Licentiate of the Royal College of 
 Physicians of London. Crown 8vo, 
 Is. ; cloth, Is. 6d. 
 
 Merry Circle (The) : A Book of 
 New Intellectual Games and Amuse- 
 ments. By Clara Bellew. With 
 numerous Illustrations. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Middlemass (Jean), Novels by: 
 
 Touch and Go. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 Mr. Dorillion. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 Miller. — Physiology for the 
 
 Young; or, The House of Life: Hu- 
 man Physiology, with its application 
 to the Preservation of Health. For 
 use in Classes and Popular Reading. 
 With numerous Illustrations By Mrs. 
 F. Fenwick Miller. Small 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6 A. 
 
 Milton^J. L.), Works by: 
 
 The Hygiene of the Skin. A Concise 
 Set of Rules for the Management ot 
 the Skin ; with Directions for Diet, 
 Wines. Soaps, Baths, &c. Small 8vo, 
 Is. ; cloth extra, Is. 6d. 
 
 The Bath in Diseases of the Skin. 
 Small 8vo, Is. ; cloth extra, Is. 6d. 
 
 The Laws of Life, and their Relation 
 to Diseases of the Skin. Small 8vo, 
 Is. ; cloth extra, Is. 6d. 
 
 Moncrieff. — The Abdication; 
 
 or, Time Tries All. An Historical 
 Drama. By W. D. Scott-Moncrieff. 
 With Seven Etchings by John Pettie, 
 R.A., W. Q. Orchardson, R.A., J. 
 MacWhirter, A.R.A., Colin Hunter, 
 R. Macbeth, and Tom Graham. Large 
 4to, bound in buc kram, 21s . 
 
 Murray (D. Christie), Novels 
 
 by: 
 
 A Life's Atonement. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated 
 
 boards, 2s. 
 Joseph's Coat. With Illustrations by 
 
 F. Barnard. Crown 8vo,clcth extra, 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 
18 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 D. C Murray's Novels, continued — 
 Coals of Fire. With Illustrations by 
 
 Arthur Hopkins and others. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 A Model Father, and other Stories. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 33. 6d. ; post 
 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 Val Strange : A Story of the Primrose 
 
 Way. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 Hearts. New and Cheaper Edition. 
 
 Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 By the Gate of the Sea. Two Vols., 
 
 post 8vo, 12s. 
 The Way of the World. Three Vols., 
 
 erown Svo, 31s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 North Italian Folk. By Mrs. 
 
 Comyns Carr. Illust. by Randolph 
 Caldecott. Sq. 8vo, cloth extra,7s. 6d. 
 
 Number Nip (Stories about), 
 
 the Spirit of the Giant Mountains. 
 Retold for Children by Walter 
 Grahame. With Illustrations by J. 
 Moyr Smith. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Oliphant. — Whiteladies : A 
 
 Novel. With Illustrations by Arthur 
 Hopkins and Henry Woods. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 O'Reilly. — Phoebe's Fortunes : 
 
 A Novel. With Illustrations by Henry 
 Tuck. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 O'Shaughnessy (Arth.), Works 
 
 by: 
 Songs of a Worker. Fcap. 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 Music and Moonlight. Fcap. Svo, 
 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 Lays of France. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Ouida, Novels by. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 5s. each ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. each. 
 
 Held in Bondage. 
 
 Strathmore. 
 
 Chandos. 
 
 Under Two Flags. 
 
 Idalia. 
 
 Cecil Castlemaine's Gage. 
 
 Tricotrin. 
 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 
 A Dog of Flanders. 
 
 Pascarel. 
 
 Two Little Wooden Shoes. 
 
 Ouida's Novels, continued— 
 Signa. 
 
 In a Winter City 
 Ariadne. 
 Friendship. 
 Moths. 
 Plpistrello. 
 A Village Commune. 
 
 In Maremma. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 5s. 
 Bimbi : Stories for Children. Square 
 
 8vo, cloth gilt, cinnamon edges,7s.6d. 
 Wanda: A Novel. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 3s. [Shortly. 
 
 Wisdom, Wit, and Pathos. Selected 
 
 from the Works of Ouida, by F. 
 
 Sydney Morris. Small crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 5s. [In the press. 
 
 Page (H. A.), Works by 5 
 
 Thoreau : His Life and Aims: A Study. 
 With a Portrait. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Lights on the Way : Some Tales with- 
 in a Tale. By the late J. H. Alex- 
 ander, B.A. Edited by H. A. Page. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Pascal's Provincial Letters. A 
 
 New Translation, with Historical In- 
 troduction and Notes, by T. M'Crie, 
 D.D. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Paul Ferroll : 
 
 Post Svo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 Paul Ferroll : A Novel. 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed His Wife. 
 
 Payn (James), Novels by : 
 
 Each crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; o; 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Lost Sir Massingberd. 
 
 The Best of Husbands. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 
 What He Cost Her. 
 
 Less Blaok than We're Painted 
 
 By Proxy. 
 
 Under One Roof. 
 
 High Spirits. 
 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 
 A Confidential Agent 
 
 Some Private Views. 
 
 From Exile. 
 
CHATTO & W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 19 
 
 Jame3 Payn's Novels, continued— 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 A Perfect Treasure. 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 Murphy's Master. 
 A County Family. 
 At Her Mercy. 
 A Woman's Vengeance. 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 The Clyffards of Clyffe. 
 The Family Scapegrace. 
 The Foster Brothers. 
 Found Dead. 
 Gwendoline's Harvest. 
 
 Humorous Stories. 
 
 Like Father, Like Son. 
 
 A Marine Residence. 
 
 Ma-rried Beneath Him. 
 
 Mirk Abbey. 
 
 Not Wooed, but Won. 
 
 Two Hundred Pounds Reward. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 A Grape from a Thorn. With Illus- 
 trations by W. Small. 
 For Cash Only. | Kit: A Memory. 
 
 Pennell (H. Cholmondeley), 
 
 Works by : Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 
 2s. 6d. each. 
 Puck on Pegasus. With Illustrations. 
 The Muses of Mayfair. Vers de 
 
 Socie'te, Selected and Edited by H. 
 
 C. Pennell. 
 
 Phelps.— Beyond the Gates. 
 
 By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps, 
 Author of " The Gates Ajar/ Fost 
 8vo,cloth limp, 2S. 6d Published by 
 special arrangement with the Author, 
 and Copyright in England and its 
 Dependencies. [Shortly. 
 
 Planche (J. R.), Works by: 
 
 The Cyclopaedia of Costume ; or, 
 A Dictionary of Dress — Regal, Ec- 
 clesiastical, Civil, and Military — from 
 the Earliest Period in England to the 
 Reign of George the Third. Includ- 
 ing Notices of Contemporaneous 
 Fashions on the Continent, and a 
 General History of the Costumes of 
 the Principal Countries of Europe. 
 Two Vols., demy 4to, half morocco, 
 profusely Illustrated with Coloured 
 and Plain Plates and Woodcuts, 
 £7 7s. The Vols, may also be had 
 separately (each complete in itself) 
 at £3 13s. 6d. each : Vol. I. The 
 Dictionary. Vol. II. A General 
 History of Costume in Europe, 
 
 Planche's Works, continued— 
 The Pursuivant of Arms ; or, Her- 
 aldry Founded upon Facts. With 
 Coloured Frontispiece and aoo Illus- 
 trations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 Songs and Poems, from 1819 to 1879. 
 Edited, with an Introduction, by his 
 Daughter, Mrs. Mackarness. Crown 
 8 vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 pj rK is. — Troopingwith Crows : 
 
 A Story. By Catherine Pirkis. Fcap. 
 8vo, picture cover, Is. 
 
 Play-time : Sayings and Doings 
 of Babyland. By Edward Stanford. 
 Large 4to, handsomely printed in 
 C olours, 5s. 
 
 Plutarch's Lives of Illustrious 
 
 Men. Translated from the Greek, 
 with Notes Critical and Historical, and 
 a Life of Plutarch, by John and 
 William Langhorne. Two Vols , 
 8vo, cloth extra, with Portraits, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Poe (Edgar Allan):— 
 
 The Choice Works, in Prose and 
 
 Poetry, of Edgar Allan Poe. With 
 an Introductory Essay by Charles 
 Baudelaire, Portrait and Fac- 
 similes. Cr. Svo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget, and 
 other Stories. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. 
 
 Popes Poetical Works. Com- 
 plete in One Volume. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 
 
 Price (E. C), Novels by: 
 
 Valentina: A Sketch. With a Fron- 
 tispiece by Hal Ludlow. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 The Foreigners. Three Vols , crown 
 8vo, 31s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 Proctor (Richd. A.), Works by ; 
 
 Flowers of the Sky. With 55 Illus- 
 trations. Small crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Easy Star Lessons. With Star Maps 
 for Every Night in the Year, Draw- 
 ings of the Constellations, &c. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Familiar Science Studies. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Myths and Marvels of Astronomy. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Pleasant Ways in Science. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Rough Ways made Smooth : A 
 Series of Familiar Essays on Scien- 
 tific Subjects. Cr. Svo, cloth extra,63. 
 
20 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 R. A. Proctor's Works, continued — 
 
 Our Place among Infinities : A Series 
 of Essays contrasting our Little 
 Abode in Space and Time with the 
 Infinities Around us. Crown Svo, 
 cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 The Expanse of Heaven : A Series 
 of Essays on the Wonders of the 
 Firmament. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Saturn and its System. New and 
 Revised Edition, with 13 Steel Plates. 
 Demy8vo, cloth extra, 10s. 6d. 
 
 The Great Pyramid: Observatory, 
 Tomb, and Temple. With Illus- 
 trations. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Mysteries of Time and Space. With 
 Illustrations. Crown Svo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Wages and Wants of Science 
 Workers. Crown 8vo, Is. 6d. 
 
 Pyrotechnist's Treasury (The); 
 
 or, Complete Art of Making Fireworks. 
 By Thomas Kentish. With numerous 
 Illustrations. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 4s. 6d. 
 
 Rabelais' Works. Faithfully 
 
 Translated from the French, with 
 variorum Notes, and numerous charac- 
 teristic Illustrations by Gu stave 
 Dore. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Rambosson. — Popular Astro- 
 nomy. By J. Rambosson, Laureate 
 of the Institute of France. Trans- 
 lated by C. B. Pitman. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth gilt, with numerous Illustrations, 
 and a beautifully executed Chart of 
 Spectra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Reader's Handbook (The) of 
 
 Allusions, References, Plots, and 
 Stories. By the Rev. Dr. Brewer. 
 Third Editkn, revised throughout, 
 with a New Appendix, containing a 
 Complete English Bibliography. 
 Crown 8vo, 1,400 pages, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Reade (Charles, D.C.L.), Novels 
 
 by. Each post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s.; or crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, Illustrated, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Peg Wofflngton. Illustrated by S. L. 
 Fildes, A. R.A. 
 
 Christie Johnstone. Illustrated by 
 William Small. 
 
 It Is Never Too Late to Mend. Il- 
 lustrated by G. J. Pinwell. 
 
 The Course of True Love Never did 
 run Smooth. Illustrated by Helen 
 Paterson, 
 
 Charles Reade's Novels, continued — 
 
 The Autobiography of a Thief; Jack 
 of allTrades; and James Lambert. 
 Illustrated by Matt Stretch. 
 
 Love me Little, Love me Long. Il- 
 lustrated by M. Ellen Edwards. 
 
 The Double Marriage. Illustrated 
 by Sir John Gilbert, R.A., and 
 Charles Keene. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. Il- 
 lustrated by Charles Keene. 
 
 Hard Cash. Illustrated by F. W. 
 Lawson. 
 
 Griffith Gaunt. Illustrated by S. L. 
 Fildes, A.R.A., and Wm. Small. 
 
 Foul Play. Illustrated by George 
 Du Maurier. 
 
 Put Yourself in His Place. Illus- 
 trated by Robert Barnes. 
 
 A Terrible Temptation. Illustrated 
 by Edward Hughes and A. W. 
 Cooper. 
 
 The Wandering Heir. Illustrated 
 by Helen Paterson, S. L. Fildes, 
 A. R.A .Charles Green, and Henry 
 Woods, A.R.A. 
 
 A Simpleton. Illustrated by Kate 
 Crauford. 
 
 A Woman-Hater. Illustrated by 
 Thos. Couldery. 
 
 Readiana. With a Steel Plate Portrait 
 of Charles Reade. 
 
 A New Collection of Stories. In 
 Three Vols., crown 8vo. [Preparing. 
 
 Richardson. — A Ministry of 
 
 Health, and other Papers. By Ben- 
 jamin Ward Richardson, M.D., &c. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 RicTdeTlTrvlrs. J.~h7), Novels by7 
 
 Her Mother's Darling. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illus- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 The Prince of Wales's Garden Party, 
 and other Stories. With a Frontis- 
 piece by M. Ellen Edwards. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Rimmer (Alfred), Works by : 
 
 Our Old Country Towns. By Alfred 
 Rimmer. With over 50 Illustrations 
 by the Author. Square 8vo, cloth 
 extra, gilt, 10s. 6d. 
 
 Rambles Round Eton and Harrow. 
 By Alfred Rimmer. With 50 Illus- 
 trations by the Author. Square 8vo 
 cloth gilt, 10s. 6d. 
 
 About England with Dickens. With 
 58 Illustrations by Alfred Rimmer 
 and C. A. Vanderhoof. Square 8vo, 
 Cloth gilt, lQs. 61. 
 
CHATTO & IV INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 2i 
 
 Robinson (F. W.), Novels by: 
 
 Women are Strange. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 The Hands of Justice. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Robinson (Phil), Works by: 
 
 The Poets' Birds. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 The Poets' Beasts. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 
 extra, 7s. 6d. [In preparation. 
 
 Robinson Crusoe : A beautiful 
 
 reproduction of Major's Edition, with 
 37 Woodcuts and Two Steel Plates by 
 George Cruikshank, choicely printed. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. ioo 
 Large-Paper copies, printed on hand- 
 made paper, with India proofs of the 
 Illustrations, price 36s. 
 
 Rochefoucauld's Maxims and 
 
 Moral Reflections. With Notes, and 
 an Introductory Essay by Sainte- 
 Beuve. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Roll of Battle Abbey, The; or, 
 
 A List of the Principal Warriors who 
 came over from Normandy with Wil- 
 liam the Conqueror, and Settled in 
 this Country, a.d. 1066-7. With the 
 principal Arms emblazoned in Gold 
 and Colours. Handsomely printed, 
 price 5s. 
 
 Rowley (Hon. Hugh), Works by : 
 
 Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. each. 
 Puniana: Riddles and Jokes. With 
 
 numerous Illustrations. 
 More Puniana. Profusely Illustrated. 
 
 Russell (Clark).— Round the 
 
 Galley-Fire. By W. Clark Russell, 
 Author of "The Wreck of the 
 Grosvenor." C r. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 Sala.— Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
 By George Augustus Sala. Post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Sanson. — Seven Generations 
 
 of Executioners: Memoirs of the 
 Sanson Family (1688 to 1847). Edited 
 by Henry Sanson. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Saunders (John), Novels by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each ; or 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 One Against the World. 
 Guy Waterman. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 The Two Dreamers, 
 
 Science Gossip: An Illustrated 
 Medium of Interchange and Gossip 
 for Students and Lovers of Nature. 
 Edited by J. E. Taylor, Ph.D., F.L.S., 
 F.G.S. Monthly, price 4d ; Annual 
 Subscription 5s. (including Postage). 
 Vols. I. to XIV. may be had 
 at 7s. 6d. each ; and Vols. XV. to 
 XVIII. (1882), at 5s. each. Among the 
 subjects included in its pages will be 
 found : Aquaria, Bees, Beetles, Birds, 
 Butterflies, Ferns, Fish, Flies, Fossils, 
 Fungi, Geology, Lichens, Microscopes, 
 Mosses, Moths, Reptiles, Seaweeds, 
 Spiders, Telescopes, Wild Flowers, 
 Worms, &c. 
 
 " Secret Out " Series, The : 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, profusely 
 Illustrated, 4s. 6d. each. 
 
 The Secret Out: One Thousand 
 Tricks with Cards, and other Re- 
 creations; with Entertaining Experi- 
 ments in Drawing-room or " White 
 Magic." By W. H. Cremer. 300 
 Engravings. 
 
 The Pyrotechnist's Treasury; or, 
 
 Complete Art of Making Fireworks 
 By Thomas Kentish. With numer- 
 ous Illustrations. 
 
 The Art of Amusing : A Collection of 
 Graceful Arts,Games,Tricks, Puzzles, 
 and Charades. By Frank Bellew. 
 With 300 Illustrations. 
 
 Hanky-Panky : Very Easy Tricks, 
 Very Difficult Tricks, White Magic, 
 Sleight of Hand. Edited by W. H. 
 Cremer. With 200 Illustrations. 
 
 The Merry Circle: A Book of New 
 Intellectual Games and Amusements 
 By Clara Bellew. With many 
 Illustrations. 
 
 Magician's Own Book: Performances 
 with Cups and Balls, Eggs, Hats, 
 Handkerchiefs, &c. All from actual 
 Experience. Edited by W. H. Cre- 
 mer. 200 Illustrations. 
 
 Magic No Mystery: Tricks with 
 Cards, Dice, Balls, &c, with fully 
 descriptive Directions; the Art oi 
 Secret Writing ; Training of Per- 
 forming Animals, &c. With Co- 
 loured Frontispiece and many Illus- 
 trations. 
 
 Senior (William), Works by : 
 Travel and Trout in the Antipodes. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 By Stream and Sea. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. 6cl. 
 
22 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Shakespeare : 
 The First Folio Shakespeare.— Mr. 
 William Shakespeare's Comedies, 
 Histories, and Tragedies. Published 
 according to the true Oi iginall Copies. 
 London, Printed by Isaac Iaggard 
 and Ed. Blount. 1623. — A Repro- 
 duction of the extremelyrare original, 
 in reduced facsimile, by a photogra- 
 phic process — ensuring the strictest 
 accuracy in every detail. Small 8vo, 
 half-Roxburghe, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Lansdowne Shakespeare. Beau- 
 tifully printed in red and black, in 
 small but very clear type. With 
 engraved facsimile of Droeshout's 
 Portrait. Post 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Shakespeare for Children: Tales 
 from Shakespeare. By Charles 
 and Mary Lamb. With numerous 
 Illustrations, coloured and plain, by 
 J. Moyr Smith. Crown 4to, cloth 
 gilt, 6s. 
 
 The Handbook of Shakespeare 
 Music. Being an Account of 350 
 Pieces of Music, set to Words taken 
 from the Plays and Poems of Shake- 
 speare, the compositions ranging 
 from the Elizabethan Age to the 
 Present Time. By Alfred Roffe. 
 4to, half-Roxburghe, 7s. 
 
 A Study of Shakespeare. By Alger- 
 non Charles Swinburne. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 8a. 
 
 Shelley's Complete Works, in 
 
 Four Vols., post 8vo, cloth limp, 8s. ; 
 or separately, 2s. each. Vol. I. con- 
 tains his Early Poems, Queen Mab, 
 &c, with an Introduction by Leigh 
 Hunt; Vol. II., his Later Poems, 
 Laon and Cythna, &c. ; Vol. III., 
 Posthumous Poems, the Shelley Papers, 
 &c. ; Vol. IV., his Prose Works, in- 
 cluding A Refutation of Deism, Zas- 
 trozzi, St. Irvyne, &c. 
 
 Sheridan's Complete Works, 
 
 with Life and Anecdotes. Including 
 his Dramatic Writings, printed from 
 the Original Editions, his Works in 
 Prose and Poetry, Translations, 
 Speeches, Jokes, Puns, &c. With a 
 Collection of Sheridaniana. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, with 10 full-page 
 Tinted Illustrations, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Short Sayings of Great Men. 
 
 With Historical and Explanatory 
 Notes by Samuel A. Bent, M.A. 
 Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 7?. 6d. 
 
 Sidney's (Sir Philip) Complete 
 
 Poetical Works, including all those in 
 " Arcadia." With Portrait, Meniorial- 
 Introduction, Essay on the Poetry of 
 Sidney, and Notes, by the Rev. A. B. 
 Grosart, D.D. Three Vols., crown 
 8vo, cloth boards, 18s. 
 
 Signboards: Their History. 
 With Anecdotes of Famous Taverns 
 and Remarkable Characters. By 
 Jacob Larwood and John Camden 
 Hotten. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 with 100 Illustrations, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Sketchley. — A Match in the 
 
 Dark. By Arthur Sketchley. Post 
 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Slang Dictionary, The: Ety. 
 
 mological, Historical, and Anecdotal. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, gilt, 6s. 6d. 
 
 Smith (J. Moyr), Works by : 
 
 The Prince of Argolis: A Story of trie 
 Old Greek Fairy Time. By J. Moyr 
 Smith. Small 8vo, cloth extra, with 
 130 Illustrations, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Tales of Old Thule. Collected and 
 Illustrated by J. Moyr Smith. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth gilt, profusely Il- 
 lustrated, 6s. 
 
 The Wooing of the Water Witch : 
 A Northern Oddity. By Evan Dal- 
 dorne. Illustrated by J. Moyr 
 Smith. Small 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 
 outh-West, The New : Travel- 
 ling Sketches from Kansas, New 
 Mexico.Arizona, and Northern Mexico. 
 By Ernst von Hesse-Wartegg. 
 With 100 fine Illustrations and 3 Maps. 
 8vo, cloth extra, 14s. [In preparation. 
 
 Spalding.-Elizabethan Demon- 
 
 ology : An Essay in Illustration of 
 the Belief in the Existence of Devils, 
 and the Powers possessed by Them. 
 By T. Alfred Spalding, LL.B. 
 Crown 8vc, cloth extra, 5s. 
 
 Speight. — The Mysteries of 
 
 Heron Dyke. By T. W. Speight. 
 With a Frontispiece by M. Ellen 
 Edwards. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Spenser for Children. By M. 
 
 H. Towry. With Illustrations by 
 Walter J. Morgan. Crown 4to, with 
 Coloured Illustrations, cloth gilt, 68, r 
 
CHATTO &- WINDUS. PICCADILLY. 
 
 23 
 
 Staunton.— Laws and Practice 
 
 of Chess; Together with an Analysis 
 of the Openings, and a Treatise on 
 End Games. By Howard Staunton. 
 Edited by Robert B. Wormald. A 
 New Edition, small crown tivo, cloth 
 ext ra, 5s. 
 
 Stedman. — Victorian Poets : 
 
 Critical Essays. By Edmund Cla- 
 rence Stedman. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 9s. 
 
 Sterndale.— The Afghan Knife: 
 
 A Novel. By Robert Armitage Stern- 
 dale. F.R.G.S. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Stevenson (R.Louis), Works by: 
 
 Familiar Studies of Men and Books. 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 New Arabian Nights. New and 
 
 Cheaper Edit. Cr.Svo, cloth extra, 6s. 
 The Silverado Squatters. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [In the press, 
 
 St. John. — A Levantine Family. 
 
 By Bayle St. John. Post 8vo, ih. s- 
 trated boards, 2s. 
 
 Stoddard. — Summer Cruising 
 
 in the South Seas. By Charles 
 Warren Stoddard. Illustrated by 
 Wallis Mackay. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 St. Pierre. — Paul and Virginia, 
 
 and The Indian Cottage. By Ber- 
 nardin de St. Pierre. Edited, with 
 Life, by the Rev. E. Clarke. Post 
 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Strahan. — Twenty Years of a 
 
 Publisher's Life. By Alexander 
 Strahan. Two Vols., crown 8vo, 
 with numerous Portraits and Illus- 
 trations, 24s. [In preparation. 
 
 Strutt's Sports and Pastimes 
 
 of the People of England; including 
 the Rural and Domestic Recreations, 
 May Games, Mummeries, Shows, Pro- 
 cessions, Pageants, and Pompous 
 Spectacles, from the Earliest Period 
 to the Present Time. With 140 Illus- 
 trations. Edited by William Hone. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Suburban Homes (The) of 
 
 London : A Residential Guide to 
 Favourite London Localities, their 
 Society, Celebrities, and Associations. 
 With Notes on their Rental, Rates, and 
 House Accommodation. With a Map 
 of Suburban London. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Swift's Choice Works, in Prose 
 and Verse. With Memoir, Portrait, 
 and Facsimiles of the Maps in the 
 
 . Original Edition of " Gulliver's 
 Travels.'' Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Swinburne (Algernon C), 
 
 Works by : 
 
 The Queen Mother and Rosamond. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, 5s. 
 Atalanta in Calydon. Crown 8vo, 6s. 
 Chastelard. ATragedy. Crown 8vo, 
 
 7s. 
 Poems and Ballads. First Series. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, 9s. Also in crown 8vo, 
 
 at same price. 
 Poems and Ballads. Second Series. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, 9s. Also iH crown 8vo, at 
 
 same price. 
 Notes on Poems and Reviews. 8vo, 
 
 Is. 
 William Blake: A Critical Essay. 
 
 With Facsimile Paintings. Demy 
 
 8vo, 16s. 
 Songs before Sunrise. Crown 8vo, 
 
 10s. 6d. 
 Bothwell: A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 
 
 12s. 6d. 
 George Chapman : An Essay. Crown 
 
 8vo, 7s. 
 Songs of Two Nations. Crown 8vo, 
 
 6S. 
 Essays and Studies. Crown Bvo, 
 
 12s. 
 Erechtheus : A Tragedy. Crown 8vo, 
 
 6s. 
 Note of an English Republican on 
 
 the Muscovite Crusade. Bvo, Is. 
 A Note on Charlotte Bronte. Crowa 
 
 8vo, 6s. 
 
 A Study of Shakespeare. Crown 
 8vo, 8s. 
 
 Songs of the Springtides. Crown 
 
 8vo, 6s. 
 Studies in Song. Crown Svo, 7s. 
 Mary Stuart: A Tragedy. Crown 
 
 Svo, 8s. 
 Tristram of Lyonesse, and other 
 
 Poems. Crown 8*0, 9s. 
 A Century of Roundels. Small 4to, 
 
 cloth extra, 8s. 
 
 Syntax's (Dr.) Three Tours: 
 
 In Search of the Picturesque, in Search 
 of Consolation, and in Search of a 
 Wife. With the whole of Rowland- 
 son's droll page Illustrations in Colours 
 and a Life of the Author by J. C. 
 Hottem. Medium 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
24 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Taine's History of English 
 
 Literature. Translated by Henry 
 Van Laun. Four Vols., small 8vo, 
 cloth boards, 30s. — Popular Edition, 
 in Two Vols., Grown Svo, cloth extra, 
 ISs. 
 
 Taylor's (Bayard) Diversions 
 
 of the Echo Club: Burlesques of 
 Modern Writers. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 
 2s. 
 
 Taylor's (Tom) Historical 
 
 Dramas: ' Clancarty," "Jeanne 
 Dare," "'Twixt Axe and Crown,'' 
 "The Fool's Revenge," " Arkwright's 
 Wife," "Anne Boleyn," "Plot and 
 Passion.'' One Vol., crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 *** The Plays may also be had sepa- 
 rately, at Is. each. 
 
 Thackerayana: Notes and Anec- 
 dotes. Illustrated by Hundreds of 
 Sketches by William Makepeace 
 Thackeray, depicting Humorous 
 Incidents in his School-life, and 
 Favourite Characters in the books of 
 his every-day reading. With Coloured 
 Frontispiece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Thomas (Bertha), Novels by : 
 
 Each crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; or 
 post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. 
 Cressida. 
 Proud Maisie. 
 The Violin-Player. 
 
 Thomson's Seasons and Castle 
 
 of Indolence. With a Biographical 
 and Critical Introduction by Allan 
 Cunningham, and over 50 fine Illustra- 
 tions on Steel and Wood. Crown 8vo, 
 oloth extra, gilt edges, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Thornbury (Walter), Works 
 
 by: 
 
 Haunted London. Edited by Ed- 
 ward Walford, M.A. With Illus- 
 trations by F. W. Fairholt, F.S.A. 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 The Life and Correspondence of 
 J. M. W. Turner. Founded upon 
 Letters and Papers furnished by his 
 Friends and fellow Academicians. 
 With numerous Illustrations in 
 Colours, facsimiled from Turner's 
 Original Drawings. Crown Svo, cloth 
 extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Old Stories Re-told. Post 8vo, cloth 
 limp, 2s. Gd. 
 
 Tales for the Marines. Post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Timbs (John), Works by: 
 
 The History of Clubs and Club Life 
 in London. With Anecdotes of its 
 Famous Coffee-houses, Hostelries, 
 and Taverns. With numerous Illus- 
 trations. Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 English Eccentrics and Eccen- 
 tricities: Stories of Wealth and 
 Fashion, Delusions, Impostures, and 
 Fanatic Missions, Strange Sights 
 and Sporting Scenes, Eccentric 
 Artists, Theatrical Folks, Men of 
 Letters, &c. With nearly 50 Illusts. 
 Crown Svcb, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Torrens. — The Marquess 
 
 Wellesley, Architect of Empire. An 
 Historic Portrait. By W. M. Tor- 
 rens, M.P. Demy 8vo, cloth extra, 14s. 
 
 Trollope (Anthony), Novels by: 
 
 The Way We Live Now. With Illus- 
 trations. Crown Svo, cloth extra, 
 3s. 6d. post 8vo, illust. boards, 2s. 
 
 The American Senator. Cr. Svo, cl. 
 extra, 3s. 6d.; post Svo, illust. bds. , 2s. 
 
 Kept in the Dark. With a Frontis- 
 piece by J. E. Millais, R.A. Crown 
 Svo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Frau Frohmann, &c. With Frontis- 
 piece. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Marion Fay. Cr. Svo, cl. extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. 
 
 The Land - Leaguers. Three Vols., 
 crown 8vo, 31s. 6d. [Shortly. 
 
 Trollope(FrancesE.), Works by: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 
 Mabel's Progress. 
 
 Anne Furness. 
 Trollope (T. A.). — Diamond Cut 
 
 Diamond, and other Stories. By 
 Thomas Adolphus Trollope. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 Tytler (Sarah), Novels by: 
 
 What She Came Through. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. ; post 8vo, 
 illustrated boards, 2s. 
 
 The Bride's Pass. With a Frontis- 
 piece by P. MacNab. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, 3s. (3d. 
 
 Van Laun.— History of French 
 
 Literature. By Henry Van Laun. 
 Complete in Three Vols., demy Svo, 
 cloth boards, 7s. 6d. each. 
 
 Villari. — A Double Bond- A 
 
 Story. By Linda Villari. Fcap. 
 Svo, picture cover, Is. 
 
CHATTO &■ WIN BUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 *5 
 
 Walcott.— Church Work and 
 
 Life in English Minsters; and the 
 English Student's Monasticon. By the 
 Rev. Mackenzie E. C. Walcott, B.D. 
 Two Vols., crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 with Map and Ground-Plans, 14s. 
 
 Walford (Edw.,M.A.),Worksby: 
 
 The County Families of the United 
 Kingdom. Containing Notices of 
 the Descent, Birth, Marriage, Educa- 
 tion, &c, of more than 12,000 dis- 
 nguished Heads of Families, their 
 Heirs Apparent or Presumptive, the 
 Offices they hold or have held, their 
 Town and Country Addresses, Clubs, 
 &c. The Twenty-third Annual Edi- 
 tion, for 1883, cloth, full gilt, 50s. 
 
 The Shilling Peerage (1883). Con- 
 taining an Alphabetical List of the 
 House of Lords, Dates of Creation, 
 Lists of Scotch and Irish Peers, 
 Addresses, &c. 32mo, cloth, Is. 
 Published annually. 
 
 The Shilling Baronetage (1883). 
 Containing an Alphabetical List of 
 the Baronets of the United Kingdom, 
 Short Biographical Notices, Dates 
 of Creation, Addresses, &c. 32mo, 
 cloth, Is. Published annually. 
 
 The Shilling Knightage (1883). Con- 
 taining an Alphabetical List of the 
 Knights of the United Kingdom, 
 short Biographical Notices, Dates 
 of Creation, Addresses, &.c. 32mo, 
 cloth, Is. Published annually. 
 
 The Shilling House of Commons 
 (1883). Containing a List of all the 
 Members of the British Parliament, 
 their Town and Country Addresses, 
 &c. 32mo, cloth, Is. Published 
 annually. 
 
 The Complete Peerage, Baronet- 
 age, Knightage, and House of 
 Commons (1883). In One Volume, 
 royal 32mo, cloth extra, gilt edges, 
 5s. Published annually. 
 
 Haunted London. By Walter 
 
 Thornbury. Edited by Edward 
 Walford, M.A. With Illustrations 
 by F. W. Fairholt, F.S.A. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Walton and Cotton sComplete 
 
 Angler; or, The Contemplative Man's 
 Recreation ; being a Discourse of 
 Rivers, Fishponds, Fish and Fishing, 
 written by Izaak Walton ; and In- 
 structions how to Angle for a Trout <x 
 Grayling jn a clear Stream, by Charles 
 Cotton. With Original Memoirs and 
 Notes by Sir Harris Nicolas, and 
 61 Copperplate Illustrations. Large 
 crown 8vo, cloth antique, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Wanderer's Library, The: 
 
 Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 Wanderings in Patagonia; or, Life 
 among the Ostrich Hunters. By 
 Julius Beerbohm. Illustrated. 
 
 Camp Notes: Stories of Sport and 
 Adventure in Asia, Africa, and 
 America. By Frederick Boyle. 
 
 Savage Life. By Frederick Boyle. 
 
 Merrie England in the Olden Time. 
 By George Daniel. With Illustra- 
 tions by Robt. Cruikshank. 
 
 Circus Life and Circus Celebrities. 
 By Thomas Frost. 
 
 The Lives of the Conjurers. By 
 Thomas Frost. 
 
 The Old Showmen and the Old 
 London Fairs. By Thomas Frost. 
 
 Low Life Deeps. An Account of the 
 Strange Fish to be found there. By 
 James Greenwood. 
 
 The Wilds of London. By James 
 Greenwood. 
 
 Tunis The Land and the People. 
 By the Chevalier de Hesse-War- 
 tegg. With 22 Illustrations. 
 
 The Life and Adventures of a Cheap 
 Jack. By One of the Fraternity. 
 Edited by Charles Hindley. 
 
 The World Behind the Scenes. By 
 Percy Fitzgerald. 
 
 Tavern Anecdotes and Sayings 
 Including the Origin of Signs, and 
 Reminiscences connected with Ta- 
 verns, Coffee Houses, Clubs, &c. 
 By Charles Hindley. With Illusts. 
 
 The Genial Showman: Life and Ad- 
 ventures of Artemus Ward. By E. P. 
 Hingston. With a Frontispiece. 
 
 The Story of the London Parks. 
 By Jacob Larwood. With Illusts. 
 
 London Characters. By Henry May- 
 hew. Illustrated. 
 
 Seven Generations of Executioners: 
 Memoirs of the Sanson Family 
 (1688 to 1847). Edited by Henry 
 Sanson. 
 
 Summer Cruising in the South 
 Seas. By Charles Warren Stod- 
 dard. Illust. by Wallis Mackay. 
 
 Warner. — A Roundabout Jour- 
 ney. By Charles Dudley Warner, 
 Author of " My Summer in a Garden." 
 Cr. 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. [In preparation. 
 
 Warrants, &c. :— 
 
 Warrant to Execute Charles I. An 
 
 exact Facsimile, with the Fifty-nine 
 Signatures, and corresponding Seals. 
 Carefully printed on paper to imitate 
 the Original, 22 in. by 14 in. Price 2s. 
 
26 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Warrants, &c, continued — 
 Warrant to Execute Mary Queen of 
 Scots. An exact Facsimile, includ- 
 ing the Signature of Queen Eliza- 
 beth, and a Facsimile of the Great 
 Seal. Beautifully printed on paper 
 to imitate the Original MS. Price 2s. 
 
 Magna Charta. An Exact Facsimile 
 of the Original Document in the 
 British Museum, printed on fine 
 plate paper, nearly 3 feet long by 2 
 feet wide, with the Arms and Seals 
 emblazoned in Gold and Colours. 
 Price 5s. 
 
 The Roll of Battle Abbey; or, A List 
 
 of the Principal Warriors who came 
 over from Normandy with William 
 the Conqueror, and Settled in this 
 Country, a.d. 1066-7. With the 
 principal Arms emblazoned in Gold 
 and Colours. Price 5s. 
 
 Westropp. — Handbook of Pot- 
 tery and Porcelain ; or, History of 
 those Arts from the Earliest Period. 
 By Hodder M. Westropp. With nu- 
 merous Illustrations, and a List of 
 Marks. Crown 8vo, cloth limp, 4s. 6d. 
 
 Whistler v. Ruskin : Art and 
 
 Art Critics. By J. A. Macneill 
 Whistler. Seventh Edition, square 
 8vo, Is. 
 
 White's Natural History of 
 
 Selborne. Edited, with Additions, by 
 Thomas Brown, F.L.S. Post 8vo, 
 cloth limp, 2s. 
 
 Wilson (Dr. Andrew, F.R.S.E.), 
 
 WorkB by: 
 Chapters on Evolution: A Popular 
 History of the Darwinian and 
 Allied Theories of Development. 
 Second Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth 
 extra, with 259 Illustrations, 7s. 6d. 
 
 Leaves from a Naturalist's Note- 
 book. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d. 
 
 Leisure-Time Studies, chiefly Bio- 
 logical. Second Ed tion. Crown 8vo, 
 cloth extra, with Illustrations, 6s. 
 
 Williams (W. Mattieu\ F.R.A.S.), 
 
 Works by : 
 Science in Short Chapters. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 A Simple Treatise on Heat. Crown 
 
 8vo, cloth limp, with Illustrations, 
 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Wilson (C.E.).— Persian Witand 
 
 Humour: Being the Sixth Book of 
 the Baharistan of Jaini, Translated 
 for the first time from the Original 
 Persian into English Prose and Verse, 
 With Notes by C. E. Wilson, M.R.A.S., 
 Assistant Librarian Royal Academy 
 of Arts. Crown 8vo, parchment bind- 
 ing, 4s. 
 
 Winter (J. S.), Stories by: 
 
 Cavalry Life. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 
 
 3s. 6d. 
 Regimental Legends. Crown 8vo, 
 
 cloth extra, 3s. 6d. » 
 
 Wood. — Sabina: A Novel. By 
 Lady Wood. Post 8vo, illustrated 
 boards, 2s. % 
 
 Words, Facts, and Phrases: 
 
 A Dictionary of Curious, Quaint, and 
 Out-of-the-Way Matters. By Eliezer 
 Edwards. Crown Svo, half-bound, 
 12s. 6d. 
 
 Wright (Thomas), Works by: 
 
 Caricature History of the Georges. 
 (The House of Hanover.) With 400 
 Pictures, Caricatures, Squibs, Broad- 
 sides, Window Pictures, &c. Crown 
 8vo, cloth extra, 7s. 6d. 
 
 History of Caricature and of the 
 Grotesque in Art, Literature, 
 Sculpture, and Painting. Profusely 
 Illustrated by F. W. Fairholt, 
 F.S.A. Large post Svo, cloth extra, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 Yates (Edmund), Novels by: 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 Castaway. 
 The Forlorn Hope. 
 Land at Last. 
 
CHATTO &• W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 27 
 
 NOVELS BY THE BEST AUTHORS. 
 
 NEW NOVELS at 
 
 All in a Garden Fair. By Walter 
 Besant. Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 Annan Water. By Robert Buchanan. 
 Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 Fancy Free, &c. By Charles Gibbon. 
 Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 Fortune's Fool. By Julian Haw- 
 thorne. Three Vols. 
 
 lone. By E. Lynn Linton. Three 
 Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 The Way of the World. By D.Chris- 
 tie Murray. Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 The Foreigners. By E. C. Price. 
 Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 every Library. 
 
 Maid of Athens. By Justin Mc- 
 Carthy, M.P. With 12 Illustrations 
 by Fred. Barnard. Three Vols. 
 
 [Shortly. 
 
 By the Gate of the Sea. By David 
 Christie Murray, Two Vols., post 
 8vo, 12s. 
 
 The Canon's Ward. By James Payn. 
 Three Vols. [Jan., 1884. 
 
 A New Collection of Stories by 
 Charles Reade is now in prepara- 
 tion, in Three Vols. 
 
 The Land Leaguers. By Anthony 
 Trollope. Three Vols. [Shortly. 
 
 THE PICCADILLY NOVELS. 
 
 Popular Stories by the Best Authors. Library Editions, many Illustrated, 
 crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d. each. 
 
 BY MRS. ALEXANDER. 
 
 Maid, Wife, or Widow? 
 BY W. BESANT & JAMBS RICE. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 My Little Girl. 
 The Case of Mr. Lucraft. 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 The Ten Years' Tenant. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 BY WALTER BESANT. 
 All Sorts and Conditions of Men. 
 The Captains' Room. 
 
 BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 God and the Man. 
 The Shadow of the Sword. 
 The Martyrdom of Madeline 
 Love Me for Ever. 
 
 BY MRS. H. LOVETT CAMERON. 
 Deceivers Ever. 
 Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 BY MORTIMER COLLINS. 
 Sweet Anne Page. 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 
 MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 The Village Comedy. 
 You Play ma False. 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS. 
 
 Anton ina. 
 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 Woman in White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs P 
 
 BY DUTTON COOK. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 BY WILLIAM CYPLES. 
 Hearts of Gold. 
 
 BY y. LEITH DERWENT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. 
 Circe's Lovers. 
 
 New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Law and the 
 
 Lady. 
 TheTwo Destinies 
 Haunted Hotel 
 The Fallen Leaves 
 Jezebel'sDaughter 
 The Black Robe. 
 Heart and Science 
 
2§ 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Piccadilly Novels, continued— 
 BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. 
 
 BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
 BY R. E. FRANCILLON. 
 Olympia. | Queen Cophetua. 
 
 One by One. 
 
 BY EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 BY CHARLES GIBBON. 
 Robin Gray. 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 In Love and War. 
 What will the World Say P 
 For the King. 
 In Honour Bound. 
 Queen of the Meadow. 
 In Pastures Green. 
 The Flower ef the Forest. 
 A Heart's-Problem. 
 The Braes of Yarrow. 
 The Golden Shaft. 
 Of High Degree. 
 
 BY THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
 BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. 
 
 Ellice Quentln. 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 Prince Saroni's Wife. 
 Dust. 
 
 BY SIR A. HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thorn icroft's Model. 
 The Leaden Casket. 
 Self-Condemned. 
 
 BY JEAN INGELOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 BY HENRY JAMES, Jim. 
 Confidence. 
 
 BY HARRIETT JAY. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 
 BY HENRY KINGSLEY. 
 Number Seventee.'. 
 Ockshott Castle. 
 
 Piccadilly Novels, continued— 
 BY E. LYNN LINTON. 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 The World Weir Lost. 
 Under which Lord? 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 " My Love ! " 
 
 BY HENRY W. LUCY. 
 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
 by justin McCarthy, m.p. 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 Linley Rochford. | A Fair Saxon. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 
 The Comet of a Season. 
 
 BY GEORGE MACDONALD, LL.D. 
 Paul Faber, Surgeon. 
 Thomas Wingfold, Curate. 
 
 BY MRS. MACDONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 Lost Rose. | The Evil Eye. 
 
 BY FLORENCE MARRY AT. 
 Open ! Sesame ! | Written in Fire. 
 
 BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
 Touch and Go. 
 
 BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 Life's Atonement. | Coals of Fire. 
 Joseph's Coat. Val Strange. 
 
 A Model Father. ' Hearts. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 Whiteladies. 
 
 BY JAMES PAYN. 
 
 Lost Sir Massing- High Spirits. 
 
 berd. 
 Best of Husbands 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 Halves. 
 
 Walter's Word. 
 What He Cost Her 
 Less Black than 
 
 We're Painted. 
 By Proxy. 
 
 Under One Roof. 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 A Confidential 
 
 Agent. 
 From Exile. 
 A Grape from a 
 
 Thorn. 
 For Cash Only. 
 Kit : A Memory. 
 
CHATTO &• WIN BUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 n 
 
 Piccadilly Novels, continued— 
 BY E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. 
 
 BY CHARLES READE, D.C.L. 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 Hard Cash. | Peg Wofflngton. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 The Autobiography of a Thief. 
 Put Yourself In His Place. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Wandering Heir. I A Simpleton. 
 A Woman-Hater. | Readlana. 
 
 BY MRS. J. H. RIDDELL. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
 
 BY F. IV. ROBINSON. 
 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
 BY JOHN SAUNDERS. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 Guy Waterman. 
 One Against the World. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 The Two Dreamers. 
 
 Piccadilly Novels, continued — 
 BY T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 
 BY R. A. STERNDALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 BY BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Proud Maisie. | Cressida. 
 The Violin-Player. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 The Way we Live Now. 
 The American Senator. 
 Frau Frohmann. 
 Marion Fay. 
 Kept in the Dark. 
 Mr. Scarborough's Family. 
 
 BY FRANCES E. TROLLOPE. 
 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
 Anne Furness. 
 Mabel's Progress. 
 
 BY T. A. TROLLOPE. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 BY SARAH TYTLER 
 What She Came Through. 
 The Bride's Pass. 
 
 BY J. S. WINTER. 
 Cavalry Life. 
 Regimental Legends. 
 
 CHEAP EDITIONS OF POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each. 
 
 [Wilkie Collins's Novels and Besant and Rice's Novels may also be had in 
 cloth limp at 2s. 6d. See, too, the Piccadilly Novels, for Library Editions.^ 
 
 BY EDMOND ABOUT. 
 The Fellah. 
 
 BY HAMILTON AIDE. 
 Carr of Carrlyon. 1 Confidences. 
 
 BY MRS. ALEXANDER. 
 Maid, Wife, or Widow P 
 
 BY SH ELS LEY BEAUCHAMP. 
 Grantley Grange. 
 
 BY W. BESANT & JAMES RICE. 
 Ready-Money Mortiboy. 
 With Harp and Crown. 
 This Son of Vulcan. 
 My Little Girl. 
 The Case of Mr. Lucraft, 
 
 By Besant and Rice— continued. 
 The Golden Butterfly. 
 By Celia's Arbour. 
 The Monks of Thelema. 
 'Twas in Trafalgar's Bay. 
 The Seamy Side. 
 The Ten Years' Tenant. 
 The Chaplain of the Fleet. 
 
 BY FREDERICK BOYLE. 
 Camp Notes. | Savage Life. 
 
 BY BRET HARTE. 
 An Heiress of Red Do£. 
 Gabriel Conroy. 
 The Luck of Roaring Camp. 
 Flip. 
 
30 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
 BY ROBERT BUCHANAN. 
 The Shadow of the Sword. 
 A Child of Nature. 
 
 BY MRS. BURNETT. 
 Surly Tfm. 
 
 BY MRS. LOVETT CAMERON. 
 Deceivers Ever. 
 Juliet's Guardian. 
 
 BY M ACL A REN COBBAN. 
 The Cure of Souls. 
 
 BY C. ALLSTON COLLINS. 
 The Bar Sinister. 
 
 BY WILKIE COLLINS. 
 Antonina. 
 Basil. 
 
 Hide and Seek. 
 The Dead Secret. 
 Queen of Hearts. 
 My Miscellanies. 
 The Woman In White. 
 The Moonstone. 
 Man and Wife. 
 Poor Miss Finch. 
 Miss or Mrs. P 
 The New Magdalen. 
 The Frozen Deep. 
 The Law and the Lady. 
 The Two Destinies. 
 The Haunted Hotel. 
 The Fallen Leaves. 
 Jezebel's Daughter. 
 The Black Robe. 
 
 BY MORTIMER COLLINS. 
 Sweet Anne Page. 
 Transmigration. 
 From Midnight to Midnight. 
 A Fight with Fortune. 
 
 MORTIMER & FRANCES COLLINS. 
 Sweet and Twenty. 
 Frances. 
 
 Blacksmith and Scholar. 
 The Village Comedy. 
 Vou Play me False. 
 
 BY DUTTON COOK. 
 Leo. 
 Paul Foster's Daughter. 
 
 BY J. LEITH DERWENT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued — 
 BY CHARLES DICKENS. 
 Sketches by Boz. 
 The Pickwick Papers. 
 Oliver Twist. 
 Nicholas Nickleby. 
 
 BY MRS. ANNIE EDWARDES. 
 A Point of Honour. 
 Archie Lovell. 
 
 BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
 Felicia. 
 
 BY EDWARD EGGLESTON. 
 Roxy. 
 
 BY PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 Bella Donna. 
 Never Forgotten. 
 The Second Mrs. Tillotson. 
 Polly. 
 Seventy-five Brooke Street. 
 
 BY ALBANY DE FONBLANQUE. 
 Filthy Lucre. 
 
 BY R. E. FRANCILLON. 
 Olympia. 
 Queen Cophetua. 
 One by One. 
 
 BY EDWARD GARRETT. 
 The Capel Girls. 
 
 BY CHARLES GIBBON. 
 Robin Gray. 
 For Lack of Gold. 
 What will the World Say? 
 In Honour Bound. 
 The Dead Heart. 
 In Love and War. 
 For the King. 
 Queen of the Meadow. 
 In Pastures Green. 
 
 BY WILLIAM GILBERT. 
 Dr. Austin's Guests. 
 The Wizard of the Mountain. 
 James Duke. 
 
 BY yAMES GREENWOOD. 
 Dick Temple. 
 
 BY ANDREW HALLIDAY. 
 Every Day Papers. 
 
 BY LADY DUFFUS HARDY. 
 Paul Wynter's Sacrifice. 
 
 BY THOMAS HARDY. 
 Under the Greenwood Tree, 
 
CHATTO &> W INDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 31 
 
 'Vheap Popular Novels, continued— 
 BY JULIAN HAWTHORNE. 
 Garth. 
 
 E 1 1 ice Quentin. 
 Sebastian Strome. 
 
 BY SIR ARTHUR HELPS. 
 Ivan de Biron. 
 
 BY TOM HOOD. 
 A Golden Heart. 
 
 BY VICTOR HUGO. 
 The Hunchback of Notre Dame. 
 
 BY MRS. ALFRED HUNT. 
 Thornicroft's Model. 
 The Leaden Casket. 
 
 BY JEAN INGELOW. 
 Fated to be Free. 
 
 BY HENRY JAMES, Jan. 
 Confidence. 
 
 BY HARRIETT JAY. 
 The Dark Colleen. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 
 BY HENRY KINGSLEY. 
 Oakshott Castle. 
 Number Seventeen. 
 
 BY E. LYNN LINTON. 
 Patricia Kemball. 
 -The Atonement of Learn Dundas. 
 The World Well Lost. 
 Under which Lord? 
 With a Silken Thread. 
 The Rebel of the Family. 
 " My Love! " 
 
 by justin McCarthy, m.p. 
 
 Dear Lady Disdain. 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. 
 
 My Enemy's Daughter. 
 
 A Fair Saxon. 
 
 Linley Rochford. 
 
 Miss Misanthrope. 
 
 Donna Quixote. 
 
 BY GEORGE MACDONALD. 
 Paul Faber, Surgeon. 
 Thomas Wingfold, Curate. 
 
 BY MRS. MACDONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 BY KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 The Evil Eye. | Lest Rose. 
 
 BY W. H. MALLOCK. 
 The New Republic. 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued — 
 BY FLORENCE MARRY AT. 
 Open ! Sesame ! 
 A Harvest of Wild Oats. 
 A Little Stepson. 
 Fighting the Air. 
 Written in Fire. 
 
 BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS. 
 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorilllotl. 
 BY D. CHRISTIE MURRAY. 
 A Life's Atonement. 
 A Model Father. 
 
 BY MRS. OLIPHANT. 
 Whiteladies. 
 
 BY MRS. ROBERT O'REILLY. 
 Phcebe's Fortunes. 
 
 BY OUIDA. 
 Library Editions of Ouida's Novels 
 may be had in crown 8vo, cloth extra, at 
 5s. each. 
 
 Held in Bondage. 
 Strathmore. 
 Chandos. 
 Under Two Flags. 
 Idalia. 
 Cecil Castle- 
 
 maine. 
 Tricotrin. 
 Puck. 
 
 Folle Farine. 
 A Dog of Flanders. 1 
 
 BY JAMES PAYN. 
 Lost Sir Massing- Gwendoline's Har- 
 
 
 Pascarel. 
 
 TwoLittleWooden 
 Shoes. 
 
 Signa. 
 
 In a Winter City. 
 
 Ariadne. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths, 
 
 Pipistrello. 
 
 A Village Com- 
 mune. 
 
 Trea- 
 
 berd. 
 
 A Perfect 
 sure. 
 
 Bentinck's Tutor. 
 
 Murphy's Master. 
 
 A County Family. 
 
 At Her Mercy. 
 
 A Woman's Ven- 
 geance. 
 
 Cecil's Tryst. 
 Clyffards of Clyffe 
 The FamilyScape- 
 
 grace. 
 Foster Brothers. 
 Found Dead. 
 Best of Husbands 
 Walter's Word. 
 Halves. 
 
 Fallen Fortunes. 
 What He Cost Her 
 Humorous Stories 
 
 vest. 
 
 , Like Father, Like 
 I Son. 
 A Marine Resi- 
 | dence. 
 Married Beneath 
 Him. 
 j Mirk Abbey. 
 I Not Wooed, but 
 
 Won. 
 j £200 Reward. 
 Less Black than 
 
 We're Paintted. 
 By Proxy. 
 Under One Roof. 
 High Spirits. 
 Carlyon's Year. 
 A Confidential 
 
 Agent. 
 Some Private 
 
 Views. 
 From Exile. 
 
32 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO & W INDUS. 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
 BY EDGAR A. POE. 
 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
 BY E. C. PRICE. 
 Valentina. 
 
 BY CHARLES READE. 
 It is Never Too Late to Mend. 
 Hard Cash. 
 Peg Woffington. 
 Christie Johnstone. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 Put Yourself in His Place. 
 The Double Marriage. 
 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth 
 The Course of True Love. 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
 A Terrible Temptation. 
 The Wandering Heir. 
 A Simpleton. 
 A Woman-Hater. 
 Readiana. 
 
 BY MRS. RIDDELL. 
 Her Mother's Darling. 
 
 BY BAYLE ST. JOHN. 
 A Levantine Family. 
 BY GEORGE AUGUSTUS SALA. 
 Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
 BY JOHN SA UNDERS. 
 Bound to the Wheel. 
 One Against the World. 
 Guy Waterman. 
 The Lion In the Path. 
 The Two Dreamers. 
 
 BY ARTHUR SKETCHLEY. 
 A Match in the Dark. 
 
 BY T. W. SPEIGHT. 
 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 
 BY R. A. STERN DALE. 
 The Afghan Knife. 
 
 BY BERTHA THOMAS. 
 Cressida. | Proud Maisie 
 
 The Violin-Player. 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
 BY WALTER THORNBURY. 
 Tales for the Marines. 
 
 BY T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 The Way We Live Now. 
 The American Senator. 
 
 BY MARK TWAIN. 
 Tom Sawyer. 
 An Idle Excursion. 
 A Pleasure Trip on the Continent 
 of Europe. 
 
 BY SARAH TYTLER. 
 What She Came Through. 
 BY LADY WOOD. 
 Sabina. 
 
 BY EDMUND YATES. 
 Castaway. 
 The Forlorn Hope. 
 Land at Last. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 Paul Ferroll. 
 
 Why Paul Ferroll Killed his Wife. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo, picture covers, Is. each. 
 Jeff Briggs's Love Story. By Bret 
 
 Harte. 
 The Twins of Table Mountain. By 
 
 Bret Harte, 
 Mrs. Gainsborough's Diamonds. By 
 
 Julian Hawthorne. 
 Kathleen Mavourneen. By Author 
 
 of " That Lass o' Lowrie's." 
 Lindsay's Luck. By the Author of 
 * " That Lass o' Lowrie's." 
 Pretty Polly Pe.mberton. By the 
 
 Author of " That Lass o' Lowrie's." 
 Trooping with Crows. By Mrs. 
 
 Pirkis. 
 The Professor's Wife. By Leonard 
 
 Graham. 
 A Double Bond. By Linda Villari. 
 Esther's Glove. ByR. E. Francillon. 
 The Garden that Paid the Rent. 
 
 By Tom Jerrold. 
 
 J. OGDEN AND CO., PRINTERS, 172, ST. JOHN STREET, E.C.