fZMANN & HAMPSTEAD" ROAE "MR TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD, LONDON). Orders per -fast receive prompt and cartful attention. SHAPED BROWN WICKER SEAT. Well upbuUlentl ami .i!ii-::. .illv ilruped in tapestry, 29.6 POLISHED BRASS DWARF TABLE LAMP, fitted with best duplex burner, coloured or en- graved globe, &c. ... 156 Similar Lamp, in all ruby or blue glass 10 g ^C^0Bj> S2T %2"T' WALNUT OVERMANTEL." 3 tier a ft., 6a >. With 6 silvered glass plates, 1 ft. vide by 8 ft. in "*. * it. iilgh, 7o/- )!igh 786 Ditto, with all bevelled plates ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE, Th<> 45. T W P: N T I E T II T II U H A K I) DEAD! BY THE HAND OF MAY O S T L E R E ALL 11 I G II T S 11 E S E il V E D . LONDON: TBISCHLEK AND CO., 18, NEW BRIDGE STREET, E.G. DR. DE SANCTIS'S RHEUMATIC GOUT PILLS, Prepared from the recipe of the late BARTHOLOMEW DE SANCTIS, M.D., Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians, London. THE unfailing efficacy of DR. DE SANCTIS'S PILLS for the cure of Gout and Rheumatism, having been tried in an extensive practice with great success, fully warrants their being offered for general use as a specific, and the only one, for these complaints, and also for Lumbago, and all pains in the limbs and muscles; in fact in many cases of muscular Rheumatism they operate like a charm. Sold in Boxes at Is. IJd. and 2s. 9d. each, BY EDWARD CLEAVER, 39, GREAT PORTLAND STREET, LONDON, And forwarded free by post to any part of the Kingdom on receipt of a Postal Order for 1s. 2d. and 2s. 9d. OMPOSE, Of5B"mtU,.. "THE DREAM " EE CHAM WALTZES, "HOME RUL E,- .,*. imr litl? of Lly and mind, and am completely restored to iSSE-Yonr. faithfully, " F. ARTHUR SiBLY, ALA., LL.M. "To C. B. HARNESS, Esq., fc!, Oxford Street, London, W. CAUTION TO DRUG TAKERS. Before it is too late let us advise our readers not to rum their con- stitutions with quack medicines and poisonous drugs which, although posnblr affording slight temporary relief in certain common ailments, doimpMftble mischief to the entire system, and frequently sow the seeds of fatal diseases. If people wish to prolong their lives and wonderful rapport to the various organs of the body, they are very comfortable to wear, and the mild continuous currents of electricity which they imperceptibly generate naturally and speedily invigorate the debilitated constitution, assist digestion and assimilation, giving strength to every nerve and muscle of the body ; and effectually pre- ' chills and rheumatic pains which so many people are unfor- tunately subject to. It seems, and is, a simple remedy, but it is as mire as it is simple, and the multitude of unsolicited testimonials we hare received from all classes of society amply prove that we do not exaggerate when we say that Harness' Electropathic Belts have com- pletely cured thousands of men and women in all parts of the known world, most of whom had obtained no relief from medicine, and many of them bad lieen pronounced by their family doctors as 'positively " . The following is a list of some of the ailments that have been i flt-ctnally cured by simply wearing one of these genuine- Electropathic Appliances : Nervous Exhaustion, Torpid Liver, Neuralgia, Sleepless- nets, Melancholia, Loss of Appetite, Indigestion, Constipation, Spasms, Flatulence, Nervous and Bilious Headache, Rheumatism, Gout, Sciatica, Lumbago, "Weak Back," Kidney Complaints, Hysteria, d Weakness, Poorness of Blood, Feeble Circulation, Heart-burn, tropical ailments, &c. This is not a rash statement, but an tual fact, which can bo verified by referring to the Book of Testi- iMttals, published at 6L>, Oxford Street, London, W., by the Proprietors, ttery Company, Limited. A copy will be sent free by twt, with descriptive pamphlet, on application to the Medical Battery , liUd, at the above address, which, by the way, is the ic Institution in the world, and is known nstho Woctronh Klcctmpathic and Zander Intituto. CON T E N T S I. PAGE 13 II. 39 III. 57 IV. - 78 t V. H5 VI. 140 VII. 161 2017393 THE PILLS PURIFY THE BLOOD, AKD CORRECT ALL DISORDERS OP TUB V WVER, STOMACH, KIDNEYS & BOWELS, They are Invaluable for Female Complaints. THE OINTMENT IS THB MOST RELIABLE REMEDY FOR BAD LEGS, SORES, ULCERS, AND OLD WOUNDS, FOR COLDS, COUGHS, SORE THROATS, BRONCHITIS, OUT, BaEUMATISJl, GLAHDULAB SWELLIHGS, AND ALL DISEASES OF THE SKIN IT HAS NO EQUAL. MANUTACTOHED ONLY AT 78. NXW OXFORD STREET. LONDON. W.O. Adict Gratis (UUy, betw.ta 11 mad 4. or by Uttet DEDICATION. THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO MY CRITICS, WITH THE EARNEST HOPE THAT AS THEY ARE STRONG, SO WILL THE\ BE M E R C I- FUL. BOTTLES OF WARNER'S "SAFE" CURE doctor* combined. NO OTHER COMPOUND ON EARTH CAN SHOW A SIMILAR RECORD. The lilaliwt Medical Authorities In the World pronounce it the only known KIDNEY AND LIVER DISEASES. Such lights In the Profewion as GCNN and LEWIS, of America WEBER and :.of Germany, TKNXKKT and LEGGALD, of Australia, having ratted bv numerous investigations. the claims put forth by its Proprietors luvr written In the iuot commendatory manner of the marvellous virtues ot thlt wonderful Remedy. . , , In the I'nitod .States nearly One Million voluntary Testimonials have been received from people whose health has been restored, or whose lives have been saved by thi ir Ifbrated medicine. These statements are from Senators, Oounwrnen. Bishops, Bankers, Clergymen, Doctors, Barristers, Councillors, IteehanU, and all cuuse* of men and women, whose grateful words confirm in wary particular every claim made by the Proprietors as to the medicinal value of WARNER'S "SAFE" CURE. Here. In England, where conservative business methods have been followed, tb<- sale ha* Ix-en proportionately great, 513,083 BOTTLES HAVING BEEN SOLD LAST YEAR, bowing an average Increase per year of 210 per cent. Thousands of Testimonial* have been received from eminent people in the I'r.Sinl Kingdom, who sjx-ak in no uncertain terms regarding the merits of Warner's " Safe" Cure. Tlx- marvrllotu tucocss of WARNER'S "SAFE" CURE throughout the world it accounted for by reason of the fact that it is a high- rut* wirntific ti-iiiidy. It cures disease by removing the cause, cleansing the l.mnuii.*. i\ml enriches tin- blood. Itgives strength and vigour to the digestive rulmr h.vtc-in, ajid is restorative and liealir.g in its nature. It has won, a/fording to Ute testimony of eminent i>ersons, the most deserved reputation IT acronU-d to any know n compound. It has Iwen referred to by physicians as "THE WORLD'S GREATEST MEDICAL BLESSING." > I* " i''t*ry medicine that lias ever received the approval of the ' r '!"i,"'iV M n' ', he """H 11 " 8 " Government has, within the present t and only conccKsion ever given to a proprietary DEAD!! CHAPTEK I. T HAD just landed in Southampton from India. I can't tell you why I did not go straight on to London, except that as I had been away ten years I'm hanged if I knew to whom I'd go when I got there. Most of my relatives had gone to join the great happy majority during my exile ; an exile, which was, I may say in passing, completely successful, for with more than ordinary luck ten years had sufficed for me to amass a fortune which some fellows would have spent a lifetime in not getting. What WAS I to do with it now I had got it ? I know. I \ DEAD. Once the prospect of wealth appeared to hold all the charms for me possible in this sublunary sphere as people put it when they want to hold forth in the flowers of rhetoric ; but now it was mine, and I was still what would be called young thirty-three yet I landed in my native country, helpless, hopeless, aimless, and indifferent. What was wrong ? Nothing. Liver perhaps. It's awful to come home and know nobody. Every passenger in the steamer but myself had happy meetings and welcomes, and went their several ways rejoicing and being glad. It was nearing Cliristmas time, too, so everyone seemed to be prospectively elated and jubilant, as English people generally are, at the thoughts of plum- pudding and turkeys of absurd overgrown sizes. These huge animals met my gaze on all sides ; even in the dull town of Southampton the shops were hollied, the fatted beevlings had been killed, and the shopmen rubbed their hands and sharpened long knives ready for any emergency in the shape of custom. I strolled around the DEAD. ] 5 town, diluting my thoughts with weak moral- ising the shadows of things I had culled from Thackeray, Dickens, et cie., rechauffeeing them for my own use, and imagining that I was a philosopher on the strength of them. The most dangerous epoch in a human being's life is the instant he (or she) becomes convinced that he (or she) is a philosopher. It is just like a skater who realises for the first time that he can keep his feet, and skims along alone with a feeling of delightful security. Then is the witch- ing moment, when crash ! he falls to the ground and grovels. So with your merry philosopher. You may be quite sure, when he is ready with his self- guarantee, that he is on the eve of making the biggest kind of a fool of himself that he has yet made. It was morning a bright, clear, biting morn- ing. I had ordered my luncheon, and asked the waiter what he could suggest to occupy my time until I could with decency eat again. " Well, sir," he said, " there's the shops, sir, and fg DEAt). lh , building and the drives-^ shivered)-oli, there's beautiful drives, sir; then there's the (l uay, and the boats from Eyde, or to Byde. What do you say to a trip across, sir ? " " At this season thanks ! " "Oh, plenty of people go; it's a nice little jaunt."] The prospect was not a gladdening one, and I admit frankly that in my thoughts I anathe- matised Southampton with everything beginning with big D's. However, I went to the quay, smoked a cigar, and looked around. The passengers were waiting for the boat for Ryde ; there were not many, and they all looked cold and wretched. Leaning on the rails moodily, and wondering . how soon I'd turn into an icicle, I overheard the following conversation : " Mademoiselle" this in a sweet, young, clear voice, "I think marrying is just horrid!' " 3faw, ma petite " "Well, so it is. Is there anything more hate- DEAD. 17 ful than having to be always saying good-bye to husbands, and seeing them off to foreign climes. Why climes, by the way ? nobody climbs there." " Mdlle. Keith, I am very astonished. You must not talk of marriage ; it is not proper. Madame has telled to me that the young ladies in this country never converse about men." " Oh, don't they ! " with a light laugh ; " that shows what an old fool she must be." " Ma petite I " in a tone of shock. " So she is. They talk about nothing else in my dormitory " (I was longing to look round, but life was so empty of interest at the moment that I was afraid to scare the pretty speaker 'away pretty I was certain she must be !), "but the subject has no interest for me. I've had enough of them ! He'd have to be a real nice man that I'd care to talk about. Bother that boat ! I'm so cold, mademoiselle ; and I feel a hideous certainty that my nose is getting red." " Would you like to walk a little, ma petite ? Eh? " jo DEAD. "Not whilst that good cigar is smoked for'avd ? I wish / could smoke." My dear chile, the gentleman may hear you." "No fear." (A little pause. I felt they were taking stock of me. I was not mistaken.) "What a queer coat he has on ; it's not an Eng- lish cut. Oh, I know, because it's the same sort of rig that Lennard comes home in from India. Isn't he brown, too?" (I felt painfully red.) Oh, mademoiselle, I feel so sad ! I hate going back ; and I hate the thought of Lilian's white miserable face when we left her and " (this with a little half sob) " and I hate everything, but mostly husbands ! " " J/ais, Mees Keith, you must not hate. No ! Young ladies in this country never hate ; it is not considered chic to be intense." " Oh, but I am intense VERY intense ! ! and so is Lilian ; that's why I feel so wretched about her, now Lennard has gone. I really believe for a wonder that that idiotic boat is going to be in time. Jupiter and Moses ! " DEAD. 19 " Mademoiselle ! " " Oh, do leave me alone, Mdlle. Allard. Can't I be natural for once ? You never will trim me, so there's no use trying. Young ladies in this country can't be trimmed." This last in such a ridiculous imitation of her governess's manner, for such she was, that I involuntarily broke into a laugh and looked round. What a sweet, sweet face met my view ! Ye powers ! shall I ever forget my first sight of that lovely girl ! Do I want to forget it ? No ! a thousand times no ! although she is lost to me mayhap for ever. Let me rather imprint it on my memory, that it will be my last sight when my eyes close on this world for eternity. Such pretty blushing confusion, for she saw that I had overheard ; such sweet, shy eyes, such wavy, curly hair! Unconsciously almost I had lifted my hat and moved away ; away, yes, but only as far as the ticket-office ; I, too, would go to Eyde. I hurried, returned, yet in the bustle and stir of embark- ing and disembarking passengers the young girl DEAD. and the duenna were nowhere to be seen ! I thought, can they have only been meeting some one. Can they have really escaped me, can they? but no ! I'm sure they must have gone on lx>ard, I'll risk it and follow them. Once on board I made a reconnoitring party >f myself, went everywhere, even to the refresh- ment bar, had a brandy and soda (bad brandy vile soda), but saw nothing of them. There was yet time to draw back. I thought of my waiting luncheon. I thought of the cold wind crossing; my foot was on the gangway, .. u tty my mind full of that face, those eyes. I heard a shout, felt something move from beneath my feet, stumbled, was falling forward, \\ht-n someone gripped me from behind, gave me a tremendous lurch, and I fell backwards on tho deck. In my absurd mooning, for which I offer no excuse, being an old and experienced t raveller, I had stepped on the gangway just as it was being withdrawn. My hat fell ofl and rolled down the deck. Jumping up quickly to recover it and thank my DEAD. 21 preserver, I alighted on my feet face to face with the pretty darling girl, Mademoiselle Keith as the governess called her. " What a squeak you had," she said. "Yes ," putting up my hand unconsciously to raise my hat, and finding it had been raised for me ; .what a merry laugh she gave ! " Here's your hat. I picked it up." " I should have had a bad ducking if someone hadn't hauled me backwards." " Oh, worse than that, its a mighty bad place to fall into, I tell you ; only last week another idiot was drowned just like that." " Mademoiselle," I replied, with my best party pTandisonian bow, " your frankness though un- flattering is truthful and refreshing, and now will you add to my obligations by informing me which of these gentlemen I'm to thank for saving me from the perils of the deep ? " I'm rather a common-place man, and when I have to speak to anyone I fall into a stilted style of stereotype which is anything but in- ter estinsr. DEAD. 22 -Oh," * know, I just happened to see you don't you know, no one else did; and it was the easiest thing in the world to drag you back as you were lurching forward-a child might have led you /" She laughed merrily again. - A child has led me," I said, softly, as I walked along the deck by her side. " A child, indeed," she said, tossing her pretty head slightly. " You may not know it, but I am seventeen years old" (Oh the dignity of it !) " rising eighteen ! and anyhow I'm anything but childish. I must go now. I'm glad you didn't get wet!" ** How can I thank you Mademoiselle Keith ? " " What ! Do you know my name ? " " I ought to be ashamed to own it, but I must confess to having overheard part of your conver- sation on the quay ; and - " "Were you the man smoking the cigar ? " "Yes." "Then I hope you didn't hear what I said about your coat," DEAD. 23 " Yes, I did." " Oh " " But, mademoiselle, do let me thank you for your pluck." " Oh, don't." " I must. I think it was a downright heroic thing to do. Why, my child, don't you know that instead of saving me from getting wet, as you call it, I might have caught you and dragged you down with me." I looked at her bright, lovely eyes, in which was expressed a mixture of eager hopefulness, curiosity, and timidity, and thought, with an intensity that surprised me then, how sweet how inexpressibly sweet it would have been so to meet death with her in my arms for ever, and ever. " Ah ! but you didn't, you see ; and I just hate to be told I'm heroic. I never did a heroism in my life, and am not likely to, so don't say it again. As to thanking me for catching your arms, why, who wouldn't ? The only thing was that / saw you and no one else did. I had just come upstairs behind you. There's no heroism 94 DEAD. iu doing what comes along-everyone must ; there's nothing in it," " So speak heroes." Well, anyhow, I'm going down below again to see how Mademoiselle Allard is. She always lies down in the ladies' cabin whenever she * boats,' as she calls it, because it gives her ' ill- ness to be on the sea.' " ' Won't you come up again ? " I felt that my manner was idiotically eager, and the child looked at me with a surprised frankness that re- called me to a more conventional mode of speech. " I.mean, do let me see you again before we say good-bye. You are my preserver, you know ; you must let me explain to your governess how grateful I am." " Oh I no, no ! you mustn't," this in a tone ot horror, some recollection suddenly striking her, " Oh, she would be so shocked ! and she'd tell madame. I should be dismissed expelled. You don't know how strict they are at our school. We are not allowed to speak to a man unless he is a relation, and the very idea of a girl speak- DEAD. 25 ing to a male person to whom she has never been introduced would be enough to break up the credit of the whole establishment. Oh, my goodness gracious, don't think of it ! " My dear, dear girl ! How pretty, how sweet she looked in her earnestness. "My child " it was rude of me to be so familiar, I know, but the innocent darling did not appear to notice it, and I admit to being a perfect fool from the minute I saw her "I would rather cut off my right hand than cause you one moment's uneasiness or one instant of trouble." This method of speech from a man to a woman , is, as a rule, a mere formula, and is often the forerunner of ruin and unhappiness to the latter. In my case I swear it is no metaphor to say that I would rather die than hurt one wavy hair on her pretty head. She was dear to me then, she is dear to me still, though I MAY never look upon her face again. " Well," she said, in an uncertain tone, yot 20 DEAD. with a half smile on her lips, " I'll tell you what I'll do I feel fearfully wicked, but its rather fun after all, and I can tell the girls in the dormitory to-night. I'll go below and see that Allard is all right, and if she is I'll come up again for a little while." " We've an hour yet, you know." "Yes, we have; its jolly cold up here, though." " Til get something rigged up to shield you ; I'm an old sailor you know, up to ways of keep- ing off the heat and keeping out the cold. Now don't stay away long," as she turned to go ; " allow me that's right, now you're safe." She looked up with a merry smile from the bottom of the ladder, and fled lightly towards the ladies' cabin. The sweet, guileless darling ! I bribed the steward ; we hunted up rugs, cushions, blankets, umbrellas as a bit of an awning, and fixed up a fine little shanty on the most sheltered side of the boat. When it was all ready I made him furbish up a little tiffin of all the daintiest things DEAD. 2 7 he had on board that's not saying much but the sweet biscuits and such things that school- girls like weren't so bad. Sweet champagne and glasses flanked one side of our improvised dining-room, and the forage the other. Then my darling came along (I must call her my darling for once), looking so but what can I say she looked ? Shall I ever forget the fluttering in the wind of that long fur boa as she walked along the deck, or the streaks of sunlight cold, winter sun- light falling across her rippling hair ? What a merry meal we had how she laughed when, in my awkwardness, I spilt the cham- pagne and sent half a pork-pie flying into the briny ocean. Of course, I call it the " briny ocean," that's another of my stereotypes. She told me little stories of her child-life before her mother died and their home was broken up ; before Lilian was married ; before her father, who was the captain of a large steamer, went down with all hands in the Atlantic Ocean, homeward bound. DKAD. Her pretty eyes looked strangely wistful and pathetic when she alluded to these things ; tears trembled on her lids, and her under lip quivered in a way that made me long to kiss her and 1-lnrr her up generally. "And so then you know," she continued, " I had no home but Lilian's, and she and Lennard were so good to me ; but Lennard thought I was "ruing spoiled so they sent me to school, worse luck. I never cared for school. I am an utter dunce I know ! " " I don't believe that." " Of course you say so ; that's quite the proper way for a man to talk to a woman." She drew herself up as she saw my smile. " Yes, a woman. You needn't laugh ! I'm really much older than seventeen in my mind ! " " Does * Lilian ' live in London ? " "Yes ; and Lennard has had to go abroad with liis regiment, and oh ! Lilian is so so miserable, she can't bear to be left, and is not well enough to ' O go. Poor Lilian 1 Her face haunts me, she looked so white and so strange after lie left her. DEAD. Z\) They are awfully fond of each other you know." " Of course they are ; are they not husband and wife ? " " Oh, but that doesn't follow at all, / know." She wagged her head most mysteriously. "How?" " Because there's a girl in my class, 'Jennie Hackett, and her sister is married to a fellow an awfully good-looking man, Jennie says but they fight like cats and dogs she says, and he treats her so badly." Her eyes grew rounder and rounder as she told this blood-curdling tale. "And, besides, I lived for three whole weeks with Uncle Eogers and his wife, and he did nothing but tell her to ' shut up ' and ' mind her own business ' all the time ! Oh, it was dreadful ! And he said dam to her too, wasn't that unfair ! and her maid told me that husbands were all alike, so I think I prefer men who are not husbands, because men seem all right. Eh ? don't you think ? " 30 - DEAD. Pretty artless thing. 44 Yes, oh yes, they are all right I think. Is that why you said husbands were horrid, Miss Keith?" 44 Did you hear that, too ? " 44 1 believe I heard all you said, and for a moment almost believed you had a dozen or so of husbands knocking around, and turning up, and going away, when you didn't want them ! " 44 Oh, you didnt I " 44 1 did; and I wanted to offer you a cigar, too. Why don't you try one now ? You'll have some- thing more to tell Jennie Hackett ! " 44 1 can't smoke." " You've tried, then ? " 44 Of course ; all the girls in my dormitory have. But it made me feel too fuzzy. We all smoked cigarettes one holiday night when madame was out, and nearly all the girls were ill. I guess the cigarettes were bad. We made toffee that night, too, I remember, and burnt it ; also spilt it all over the floor. Yes, we've had some good times altogether there." DEAD. 31 " How long are you going to remain at school ? " " Lilian says till I'm eighteen and a-half, but Lennard says nineteen is quite soon enough for a girl to leave which is just nonsensical when I'm such a grown-up sort of girl already." I smiled as I watched her changing face, smiled at her pretty earnestness and sweet young innocent talk ; smiled as I realised how really alarmingly grown up she was ! " The other night such fun you know Jennie Hackett and I mesmerised a cock, and brought it into the dormitory." " How could you mesmerise a cock ? " " Easily ; you just catch him and turn him round and round ever so often till he is in a kind of trance, and he doesn't wake up for hours. Well when we'd done it we fixed him up on the top of the partition that divides Mdlle. Allard's room from our dormitory, and he wakened up about two in the morning with a frightful napping of wings, and he crowed like everything. What a screaming there was ! and 32 DEAD. how Jennie and myself tried to smother our laughs under the blankets ; and oh what a rage mademoiselle was in ! We never told her who did it, but I think she suspects us because we are always up to things." " Are you going home for the holidays ? " I asked, laughing heartily at the barn-door fowl incident. "No," she said, looking quite sad, "we only have a week, and Lilian is going to a house-party somewhere, and can't take me because I'm not out. Such nonsense ! isn't it ? Lennard does that, he's such a prig about girls not being seen here and there, and wives not doing this and that. If he saw me now I wonder what he'd say; he would be simply horrified. I think I'm just a wee bit horrified myself, you know. I never did anything as wicked as this ! \Vhat if Mademoiselle came up ? " " But she won't ; besides, if she does I'll explain." "No good." " I'd tell her it was my fault." DEAD. 66 " She won't believe it." " But it ivas, anyhow; for if I had looked where I was going, like a sensible being ; though I'm glad I didn't." "Why?" " Because it gave me a chance of talking to the dearest girl in the world." " Do you think I'm a dear girl ? " she asked simply, looking at me with large serious eyes. " Yes, indeed and indeed ! " "I'm so glad." " Why are you glad, little one ? " Unconsciously I moved nearer to her. " Why are you glad ? " " Because ." Here she hesitated and looked down. " Because well after all I don't exactly know why, but it pleases me, that's all." " Thank God ! " I said, with a strange feeling all round my heart that I had received some great and good treasure into my keeping. Miss Keith glanced at me with an expression of surprise, then laughed. " I must laugh, you know, because it's such a queer and a funny thing to thank God about. B :;i DEAD. I'm afraid you are intense, too. Oh, my goodness ! " she exclaimed, suddenly jumping up from her bundle of rugs and cushions, " we are Hearing Kyde ! and I'm so sorry and I haven't felt cold a bit and thank you very much for taking such care of me ; you've been real kind." All this was said in a hurried manner. She was evidently afraid of the ogre pouncing upon her from below. " I must go now, I really must and I begin to feel wickeder than ever now its over, and I know I mustn't tell. I can't bear having things I mustn't, tell, you know ; it seems so mean." Suddenly I realised what " Hearing Hyde" meant ; it meant losing her the dearest girl in the world, the prettiest and the sweetest ; it meant the light fading once more out of my life ; 11 meant a feeling nearly akin to despair for, if my love was sudden it was intense, is so still, now that it is hopeless. But what could I do what could I do ? I must not JM the darling child into trouble. Yet see her again I MU at, come what may. DEAD. 35 " Why do you look so gloomy ? you have a murderous glare in your off eye that is positively terrifying! " she laughed gaily. I smiled. " Are you thinking of suicide, homicide, or what ? " " Well, I think a vision of Mdlle. Allard lying cold and dead upon the deck carries with it a degree of comfort which is alarming to a peace- loving man like myself! " " Poor Mademoiselle ! What a shame ! " " Miss Keith," I said, earnestly, and with, I am perfectly sure, loveTin my eyes and in my voice, only she never dreamt it, "don't think me cheeky, or rude, or anything unpleasant, but I must see you again ; I can't say good-bye to you now here without the happy assurance that sometime or another we will meet again ! Say you wish it, too ! " I was holding her little hand, and she did not withdraw it. " Say you will be sorry if you don't see me again ; let me have one little kind word from you to take away with me and cherish till I see you again." " Yes," she said, hesitating, and blushing a wild rose colour, " I will be sorry. I can't B 2 36 DEAD - help that; but I don't see how I can see you again; besides, Lilian would be vexed if she knew." " But, child " my voice deepened, and I feel now that I was making an awful fool of myself " you don't know you can't know what you have done in these short hours ! You have turned a life, which only this morning was utterly devoid of interest, into one of hope and joy. I came home sad and lonely, knowing that the friends whom I left ten years ago would not be here to greet me with their smiling faces ; the mother, whom I left so well and strong, dead ; my sister, dead, too ; no one to come to, no one to care for me ; and now I've found YOU ! I can't and won't lose you out of my life again, madman though you will think me for speaking so like what you'd call an idiot ! But, child child, forgive me, and tell me you will see me if you can. I'll call at the college." " No, no ! " " I'll introduce myself to madame." "No, no!" DEAD. 37 " Bring credentials." " Oh, don't ! " " Say I'm the cook's brother-in-law from abroad." " Oh ! " laughing. " I'll interview your sister." " Oh, you can't ; you mustn't ! " " Write to your brother." " Oh, no, not that ! " "I won't leave Eyde. I'll telegraph for my baggage, and will be a fixture at the hotel nearest your college. I'll watch when you come out, and dog your footsteps like an Italian bravo." How she laughed, and how happy she was. " I'll do everything foolish and everything extraordinary until I see you again. So be- ware ! " " Perhaps I might meet you in London some day who knows ? when I leave school and am ' out.' You may know lots of people we know, you know. How many knows make a yes ? Give it up ? " Dear little innocent thing. 38 HEAD. " It's very jolly to think I may meet you in two years' time, isn't it ? But I know what I'll do ; when I get to town I'll manage somehow to he introduced to your sister. You must tell me her name and address, and . Hallo ! where has she gone ? " The latter portion of my sentence was ad- dressed to empty space, for my dear little girl had flown. Mdlle. Allard was seen in the distance coming to claim her pupil, and I never got another chance of a single little word with her. As she left the boat she glanced back perhaps to see if I were following (could she doubt it !) and I fancied there was regret in her pretty eyes, and that she was sorry to go. Be that as it m:i v, she went. CHAPTER II. T M. hopelessly, madly in love, and for the first time in my life. Yes, it may seem strange that a man of ordi- nary temperament should reach the age of thirty- three without making a fool of himself about some woman or another. Yet it is true. Up in the hills of Assam, among tea planta- tions, there's not much opportunity for love- making. You never see a woman from one year's end to another ; if you do, she is sure to be some- body else's wife, and although India has become proverbial as the happy hunting ground of pro- miscuous flirtation, somehow it has never been in niy line. I was* always inclined to be a trifle serious, and am of a reserved disposition natu- rally, so these frisky matrons and blastes maids, 40 DEAD. who abound in Anglo-Indian society, never had any attraction for me. But here was a daisy, a buttercup, a fresh wild rose ! and was she to be plucked by some other lucky feUow and I left out in the cold, simply because we " hadn't been introduced ? " No ; ten thousand times, no! Conventionality never appeared to me so base and hideous as it does now. I always revered Mrs. Grundy as a first-rate British institution, without which our social life would go to the dogs. A kind of moral putty to keep the windows of life in, you know. But now Grundyism has become utterly abhor- rent to me, and restlessly, day by day, I turn scheme after scheme over in my mind, by which I can conquer obstacles and set rules aside. I've been in this infernal hotel one solid week. I've watched the college with the watchfulness of a dog for another dog's bone. I've seen my darling I don't even know her Christian name -just once, going to church with all the rest, DEAD. 41 happy Jennie Hackett, doubtless, walking close beside her. They both looked up to the hotel windows has she confided in her companion in " larks " ? Most probably. I think from the inquire-within nose and gene- ral turned-up-ness of Jennie's face, that she would have found some way of seeing me had she been in my little girl's place. I can't even get a note sent to her ; they guard that school like gorgons. I pumped the lodge- keeper one day, but there was nothing to be gained in that direction I soon found out. No visitors are admitted unless they are rela- tions ; even then they must have a written guarantee from the immediate relative who deposited the " young lady " into the care of " Madame." The weather has been brutal; hence no walks. The grounds are surrounded by a high wall and trees. I can only catch a glimpse of one corner, where there is a swing. Thank goodness, an old salt on the pier has 4 '2 DEAD. prophesied unto me fair weather, bright and clear, lie says ; and then the " girls " from the college will trail out in a walking serpent once more. He says we're going to have a green Christ- mas ; I'm glad of it, though he also says it makes a full churchyard, I know I'm acting like a senseless fool ; I ought to clear out, go to town, and forget my poor little girl inaround of gaiety and dissipation, but I can't. If I could only see her once, just once, to hear her sister's name, I would feel more happy, because then I could ; but this won't do, I must pull myself together ; it's absurd that a man of my age should be so bowled over about a mere child, for what else is she but a child ? but how dear and sweet ! I'll go back to town, look up a few old pals, and try to have a good time. Why, I am quite nisiy; haven't been to a theatre for years ; there will be lots for me to see. I'll soon get into the t again. I must llot drift into morbid drivelling and all about a girl ! Absurd ! DEAD. 43 I've seen her again ! They all went on the pier I, too. She smiled and blushed as I passed and repassed. I wonder if the governess recog- nised me. I think not. Jennie Hackett I'm sure it must be Jennie Hackett smiled, too. I wonder if she thinks I'm a lunatic at large. I'll write a note and try to slip it into my darling's hand to morrow if they go out again. * * * * To-morrow. Oh, Lord ! more weather! This is a cursed country. I'll go back to India by the next steamer, I swear. * * * * Next day. Clear, lovely, and bright. I think 111 wait a bit. After all I'm in no hurry ; I can wait. I have succeeded. I wrote my note and she has it, she and "inquire-within" were leaning over the side of the pier a little apart from the others. I slipped it into her hand as I passed, and left her blushing with sweet ashamed confusion. 44 DEAD. watching the college gates this afternoon I saw a telegraph boy go in. Everything that I see in connection with the college interests me, and I fdl to wondering who the telegram was for, and from whom it came ; what tidings it contained, and surmising vaguely whether it could have anything to do with Her ! But no, peaceful little soul. Why should telegrams, perhaps of a disturbing nature, enter into her young life. To relieve the monotony of my own existence at present, I often talk with James, the waiter. He is a rum old chap, carefully preserved, who has been, " man and boy," as he says, in the hotel for the last fifty years. I discovered that he was an occultist, and a firm believer in second sight and everything unaccountable through natural means. Occultism in humans does not run in strea,ks a believer in theosophy is always either a most cultured, highly intelligent person, or an igno- ramus among the most ignorant. I can't explain DEAD. 45 this, but there is something in the blind faith required that appeals to an ignorant man and also to a hyper-educated one ; in the latter, perhaps, it is a relief from the accumulation in his brain of explainable facts. But James was not cultured ; far from it. James knew a chop when he saw one, he knew the all-round fakes of the wine list to a T none better ; and he could talk Lord, how that man could talk when he started and you gave him his head ! One room in the hotel he declares to be possessed by some mysterious powers. If you sleep in it you have visions, or visitations, or premoni- tions, or something. I've asked him to put me there but he shakes his head solemnly and says : " Don't joke with spirrits, sir, doant 'ee now. I've known 'em do it an' be sorry them as does it's always sorry. You must never make free with spirrits as it were, Captain " (he had a way of calling me Captain. God only knows why). " No James, certainly not ; bring me another 46 i* Al) - brandy and soda, will you ? and then tell me what dread deeds have occurred in your lethal chamber." James never quite knew what I was getting at, but he gleaned enough from what I said to answer me all right. Well, sir-well Cap- tainthere ain't not much to tell that I haven't told ye already, sir; but as to puttin' yew in that room when ye ask it, no sir ; no one is put there onless the hotel is so full up that some 'un must go there, tkeu it's Fate in a sense, sir, an' they must work it out. Mrs. Barker, she knows full well about the room an' keeps it aired and disfected, but, Lord bless you, it ain't not no use, them there ghosteses ain't goin 1 to be laid with disfections." Mrs. Barker, cheery old soul, was the housekeeper. " No, sir, no." James wagged liis carefully-preserved head and sighed a sigh, not too deep a one, but a kind of patient save- your-breath sigh as if he feared he would not live long if he pumped all his breath out at once. " Who slept there last, James ? " " Well, Captain, it was a man, the loneliest DEAD. 47 kind of lonely man you ever did see. He were that lonely well, there, his very clothes had a lonely look about 'em as they hung behind the door ; an' 'is portmanty kind a made ye groan in yer innards thinkin' of folks that had died an' left ye " (you will observe that James was poetical), " when ye were young an' 'appy. When I see'd 'is 'at on the 'all rack, sir, it a'most cried out to me, ' put yer 'ed in me, put yer 'ed in, I'm that lonely an' empty I can't abide ! ' Once wen I went to 'is room for somethink, I sawr 'is gloves a-tyin' on the twoilet. table, an' they looked so lonely they gave me quite a turn, they did. I can assure you, sir, I had to go to Mrs. Barker's pantry an' 'ave a drain o' rum an' milk afore I could pull myself together again ! " " You surprise me, James, but go on ; how about the man himself? " " Well, sir, the man hisself, sir, he were the loneliest of all the lonelies ; never in the whole spell o' my life 'ave I see'd sich a lonely gint ; 'ee never spoke to no one, 'ee never met no one in 'is walks, 'ee came 'ere alone an' [lived alone, 48 DEAD. 'ee never drank or eat with living soul. 'Ee never said as much as ' with-yer-leave,' or ' by- yer-leave,' nor 'good-day te ye, James,' nor nothin'. Is eyes 'ad a brooding, lonely look, an' 'is back, as he walked out o' the hotel, said as plainly as a back could, ' comfort me, rub me, put a friendly 'and on me shoulder, for I 'aven't a 'ope in life.' " I had hard work to restrain a smile ; but James did not .like to be ridiculed. "How was it that you came to put such a solitary person into the haunted room then ? " " Well, ye see, it was, 'oliday week, an' the place was full up, some chaps even sleepin' on the billiard-table, an' under it too ; but they all seemed such 'appy-go-luckies we 'esitated to put any 'o them there lest they should 'ave their little outin' spoilt. Lord love ye, the noise them young sparks made ! It was James, 'ere, and James, there, an' 'hurry up,' an' 'look sharp,' till I was fair muddled, I was. But it did me good-it did me good-ha, ha! I was young once myself." He gave a peculiar hoarse DEAD. 49 cackle, which lie meant for a laugh it sounded like a thick chain dragging over a ship's side. " An' then when this .'ere lonely gint comes along we says, ' The werry man ! it can't hurt the likes o' him,' says we, so we up an' puts 'im in it. Ah ! but we was real sorry for it after." "How?" " Arter 'ee'd bin a week in the 'ouse an' never spoken a word to living soul, one mornin' 'ee came down lookin' whiter an' queerer like than ever. 'Ee was havin' his brecfus, an' I made bold to say to 'im, says I, ' Don't ye feel well, sir ? ' I says ; ' you look poorly this mornin', sir,' I says ; an' 'ee says, sezee an' oh, 'is voice, sir ! it was the loneliest kind of lonely voice I ever 'eard. It was just like as if 'ee'd spoken into some 'ollow kind of drain-pipe, or under a rail- way arch years ago an' we was only 'earin' a kind a heccer of it now. Back it floated over sad an' lonely things that 'ad 'appened to 'im all 'is life, sir. There it was, comin' over memories of dead an' gone-ness, halting here an 1 there at a 50 grave, now stopping at a friend that 'ad failed 'in, in 'is need, an' now at 'is best gal when she proved untrue" (what a queer old fossil it is ! I should never have thought of these things), " there it was floatin', floatin' I can 'ear it now, poor chap ! poor, lonely old chap." "Was he old?" 'Ee was, an' he wasn't. In 'is age 'ee might a bin, say forty ; but in 'is loneliness 'ee must a bin at least two hundred, sir Captain." " What did he say when he spoke to you ? " I was getting interested in this isolated being. " Well, 'ee said, ' James,' sezee ('ee knew my name, poor chap), ' James, I've 'ad a bad night, a bad night, a damned lad night ' (beg pawdon, sir, but that's wot 'ee said). ' Sorry for that, sir,' sez I. "'Yes, James,' 'ee sez, 'I've had an ugly dream a dream which I can't explain.' " Oh ! Lord forgive me, Captain, but I knew wot was comin'. " ' A dream ! but, pshaw ! a dream is nothing; wot was it, sir ? ' sez I. DEAD. 51 " ' Well, James,' 'ee sez, tryin' to talk more light like ; ' I dreamt I saw myself tracked down by the man whom I befriended, and who deceived me ; and by the woma-n whom I 'loved, yet who betrayed me ; tracked, lured into a quiet spot, murdered, and robbed.' " ' No, no, sir ; doan't 'ee say that now, doan't 'ee ; mayhap ye've fancied it. Ye . might be- " ' No, James, no ; it was more like life than sleep. I was not mistaken ; it has left a bad impression, that is all. But no matter, I'll shake it off when I get out in the sunlight/ "I was quite upset, sir ; I shook like an aspic leaf, an' the lonely man looked at me in a kind o' surprise. I was that dazed, too, I just mind me o' seein' 'im kind o' pull hisself together, an' then I see'd 'is lonely back agoin' down the stairs, an' I never see'd 'irn no more." " You never saw him again ! Where did he go, then ? " " 'Ee never came back, sir. The next mornin' * some lads were seagull nesting alon<>- the coast, 52 DEAD - an' they came upon the body of a man washed up by the waves. It was a lonely place, where no one ever 'ardly gits to, an' there was the lonely man, lonelier than ever, murdered and robbed not a penny piece on 'is body, sir ; not a bit o' paper, not even an envelep, to show where 'ee came from or was goin' to. I went to the inkwige to indentify 'im, sir." " But what about the portmanteau ? Wouldn't that have given some clue ? " " No, Captain, that's the funny part of it ; wen we came to look in 'is room, the portmanty was gorn, sir, gorn, neck an' crop, an' no one never 'card tell on it since." " Do you mean to tell me that no one knows now who murdered the man ? " " That's just wot I do mean, sir ; to this day no one has found out a blessed thing about it. There's a woman in it o' coorse, darn 'em, they're never far out wen there's tfmdjedies." " And that's all you know, is it ? " t "Well, Captain, I don't mind tellin' you that there was a little hitem wich were never told at DEAD. 53 the liinkwige. At that time we had a silly wench o' a 'ousemaid, a romancing lass not worth her salt, an' wen' she was makin' the poor chap's bed that mornin' she come upon a pho- tergrarph of a young woman, darn 'er, like enough 'er its worked the mischief, an' the silly wench pocketed it thinkin' sure enough she'd git a tip from the gentleman. Well, wen 'ee turned out to be murdered she never said a word, thinkin' she might git some other lass into trouble she were alluz thinkin' some bletherin trash, darn 'er ! She got the sack soon arter." " What became of the photograph ? " " Oh, / kept that, sir, I 'ave it now. There wasn't no use stirrin' up any more mud over the poor lonely chap, an' like enough 'ee was fond o' the gal an' would rather she were kep out of it." " Do you mind showing it to me ? " " No, Captain no sir I'll fetch it now." (I may mention, in passing, that the "lonely chap " has nothing to do with me or my story, 54: DEAD. except as a strange link in a chain of circum- stances which might never have been unravelled but for the coincidence of the photograph. His murderers, as far as my knowledge goes, have never been found out, probably never will be found out.) * * * * James returned with the photograph, and I looked upon the picture of a sweet-faced inno- cent (as far as I could judge) young girl. No devihshness here, I should say ; no plottings oi murder, no faithlessness ; she had a tranquil, almost holy, expression which you sometimes see in pictures of the Madonna. " This might have been some clue, James, but as you say, perhaps the poor fellow would rather be left in oblivion than drag the name of a sweet young creature like this through all the horrors of a police court." " Yes, sir I yes, Captain no doubt, no doubt." " The photographer might know something ot her and him. By the way, James, have you any objection to my taking it with me when I go to DEAD. 55 London ? I might just make a few inquiries privately for our own satisfaction. I must admit that your story has interested me vastly. Perhaps the poor child was his daughter, and is left in poverty, ignorant of her father's fate ! Perhaps- who knows ? she may be his sweet- heart and in despair at his desertion. Someone ought to see into it for the sake of the good that might be done." " Yes, sir ! certainly, sir ! you're quite right. Take the photergrarph, an' welcome, only I don't want to git no poor lass into trouble, an', savin' yer presence, I don't want to git into no trouble myself, sir, an' they might drop on me for a 'idin' of it an' bein' excessenary arter the fact, sir." " I'll take care of that, I promise you." I put the photograph in my pocket meaning to do as I said directly I arrived in London, and no doubt would have done so had not events occurred which soon put James and his story, the lonely man and the virgin-faced girl, out of my thoughts for some time at any rate. CHAPTER III. AND now all I write will be retrospective, for at the time I had neither heart nor spirit to think of anything but the loss of my darling girl. Yes, loss; for I lost her lost her as com- pletely and surely as if she had been carried up to the realms above by the angels, to whom she belongs. On the day following that on which I saw the telegraph boy enter the gates of the college, I lingered about as usual to catch a glimpse of her. I sauntered up and down the bright but cold pier, and mooned around the town gene- rally, until the longed-for and unsatisfactory moment should arrive. At last I saw the trail of the serpent, with the DEAD. 57 serpent herself this time at the head of it. Yes, the dread " Madame " was guarding the " young ladies in this country " herself, and very impor- tant she looked, too. As they neared me and I could see the features of them all I realised with an amount of dismay quite disproportionate to the occasion, that one scholar was missing, and that that one scholar was Mdlle. Keith. Where could she be ? Why did she not come out ? How was it ? Could she be ill ? Could she be in disgrace ? Ah, yes ; that was it, of course. She and Jennie Hackett the giddy little Jennie, with her monkey tricks mes- merising cocks in the dormitory again, no doubt, had got my dear girl into disgrace, and she was kept in durance vile in consequence. Poor little sweetheart ! How well I could imagine those merry tender eyes, looking out over the tree-tops, from her punishment cell, at the blue cold sea, and per- haps why not? thinking just a little of the man she saved from getting wet ! I wended my way towards the college ; I sur- 58 DEAI) - rounded it (metaphorically speaking); I gazed longingly at the windows ; but I saw no rosy, lau"hin" little face at any of them ; no white o hand was waved, no blind drawn aside. A strange sensation of desolation crept over me ; it was absurd, of course and all about a girl whom I had only seen once, and whose Christian name I did not even know ! What a fool I was ! Although not an occultist (like James !), and certainly not a superstitious man by any means, yet I have sometimes experienced a presentiment which has haunted me by its inexplicable accom- paniment of weight and load of dread at my heart. 1 suppose I inherit a certain amount of that sort of thing from my great-grandmother, who was a Cameron of Lochiel, and is talked about to this day in the North as being wonderfully gifted with second sight. Well, as I returned sadly to my hotel and .James, I experienced an odd feeling of something wrong somewhere ; no amount of reasoning with m\ self brought me to a proper frame of mind. DEAD. 59 There it was. I suppose it was the result of James and his ghastly stories and liver mixed. " You don't eat to-night, Captain. Nothing wrong with the beef, sir, I 'ope ? " "No, James ; nothing wrong with that, thanks," I answered, absently. " I think it's lowerin' for rain, sir, or snow, or somethin'. Not seasonable weather, is it, Cap- tain? Wy, Christmas '11 be on us afore we know w'ere we are, that it will." Yes, it was true ; ten days would see us at that festive time. Where should I spend it? Enjoying a wild-goose chase of hopelessness in the unpleasant town of Eyde ? cooling, not only my heels (who minds cold heels?), but simply icing my whole being, waiting in absurd lunacy for a chance of seeing a little girl, who most probably regai'ds me as an old fogie of the deepest dye. Should I start for town the next day ? What ! without knowing whether she was ill, or only in disgrace ? never ! It would be mean, unmanly and I could not. DEAD. I wondered if by some diabolical chance my passionate little note to her had fallen into other hands ; if so, my poor child would be in sorry plight indeed ! If so they would most probably expel her from the school awful ! It did not really seem very awful to a seared old man of the world like myself, but I knew, in spite of her careless way of alluding to it, that it would be life and death to her. " James, I believe it's raining ? " " Yes, sir, so it be." " Go out and ask that old man on the pier what he thinks of the weather. Say ask him if he thinks it will clear up by the afternoon," " and kill him if he says ' no,' " I added to my- self, when James had hobbled off. "Well, sir, 'ee sez as 'ow it might an' it mightn't; an' 'ee's about our oldest inhabitant, an' if 'ee don't know, nobody does ! " " Oh, James, James ! this town will be the of me; what with the wind and the rain DEAD. 61 and the weather generally, I'll only be fit to frighten crows off a field directly." " Well, sir Captain far be it from the likes o' me to scare the likes o' yew out o' this yere town ; but it ain't just a too cheerful place at this season o' the year. Now, if I was you, sir, I'd take a run over to S'thampton now an' agin, or take a trip to London, an' see the doin's. It's fair an' dull fer yew here, Captain - fair an' dull." Well, it rained like the devil for the rest of that day rained as it just does know how to rain in this never-to-be-too-much-cursed climate; rained with a steadiness of purpose, and a thorough understanding between each rain -drop that would go a long way towards accounting for the original never-to-be-too-much-lamented deluge. But everything comes to an end if you wait long enough ; so one bright morning the school came out came out, alas ! but again without the dear girl who had become so precious to me* I grew desperate, and determined to take matters into my own hands. DEAD. Fortune favoured me so far. That evening I saw Mdlle. Allard all alone, going to church, most probably. She was a devout creature. I followed her, and at length mustered up courage to speak to her. She was horribly shocked ; indeed the poor woman seemed so frightened and nervous that I have reproached myself ever since for my boldness. " Mdlle. Allard," I said, " do forgive me ; but I must speak with you a few moments ! No, don't turn away ; wait till you have heard my 8 tory wait, DO; you will see that I mean nothing impertinent. I am in deep distress, mademoiselle, and I am sure your kind heart will feel for me." " Monsieur," she replied, in a trembling voice, " I cannot do you help ; I myself am very little money." "Oh, mademoiselle! surely you don't think I'm begging ! Look at me ! do I look like a " DEAD. 63 ' ; No, monsieur, you have the air noble iiiais ' "Yes, I know all you would say: you would tell me it is not proper to talk without introduc- tion ; but, mademoiselle, remember there are some cases where there may be some excuse. Only listen to me ! I want to talk to you of your pupil, Mdlle. Keith." " Mdlle. Keith ! are you a friend for her ? " " Yes, yes, more than a friend ; and I want to know, mademoiselle, where she has gone. You won't deny me ? I love her yes, love her, and am not. ashamed of it, although I am double her age/' " But, monsieur " " Ah, mademoiselle, take pity ! take pity ! Here have I been for a week a whole week, without a sight of her lovely face ! Is she in the college ? is she ill ? in disgrace, away, what? Only tell me ! " " But monsieur talks so fast, you give me not of time to answer you. I am sorry, but I cannot tell you any of these tiling which you say to me." 64 DEAD. "Can't tell me! Ah, mademoiselle, you are cruel ! " I am not cruel, monsieur ; but I cannot tell you what I know not to tell." You know not ! you know not ! In Heaven's name, Mademoiselle Allard, you do not mean me to believe that you don't know where Miss Keith is ! Is she not in the college ? " "No, Monsieur, she has gone a week since to day." " Oh, God," I groaned, " but where has she oone ? did she run away ? was she sent away ? , did Madame Oh, Mademoiselle, do for pity sake tell me all you do know. I wiU reward you. I will do anything for you if you will help me. I am rich, free. I will " " Oh, Monsieur, I want not nothing for me, I work for me and myself." " But tell me, tell me " But yes, if you are tranquille and attract not the attention. Come." . She turned towards the beach, where the wind was slicing everything, and must have gone straight through herself, for DEAD. 65 she was thinly, almost poorly clad. She glanced furtively around as though she were afraid that some one would see her in company with the monster " man." I suppose Madame would give her the sack if she heard of it old fool. On the way to the beach she hardly spoke, though I told her in a few words how it was that I was so interested in my darling girl ; the poor governess had a spice of romance in her after all like James's " silly wench " at the hotel for as I spoke she turned on me the kindest eyes, wet with sympathetic tears. I resolved there and then to make the poor soul's lot a happier one, whether she was able to help me or not. The look of appeal in the eyes of a dumb animal or a governess always goes straight to my heart, somehow. In all my anxiety I found myself wondering what Mdlle. Allard's life was, how much her salary, what she did with it, how many poor relations she kept, did she love anyone, was she beloved by anyone ; when, God knows, it was of c 66 no moment to me, my whole being tingling with mingled dread and anxiety. "Now, Mademoiselle, now, Mademoiselle, surely this is quiet enough. Speak, speak. Where is Miss Keith ? " " Monsieur, I told you what was the truth. I know nossings of Mademoiselle ! " " She is not in the college ? " " No, Monsieur." " Was she sent away ? " " No, Monsieur." " Then how in God's name " Ah, Monsieur, have the patience." " All right, go ahead your own way, I'll dry up." "Well, one day, wen Mam'selle Keith was in my class, a message from Madame came to her. ' Parlor ! ' she said, and ran with laughs to the door. The pauvre petite, she was glad for friends to come. When I saw her more, she was all wet, tears big were rolling, and her cheek was white color. ' Ma cheriej I said to her, * what have you ? a scold from Madame ? ' because DEAD. (>'<* % she was in a anger at Mdlle. Keith for often, because she make play. ' No, no, Mam'selle,' she say, with tears big and soon, 'but much worse ; much much worse,' but no more ! She cry too much voyez vous ? " " Yes, yes ; go on, go on." " Well, and then Madame's bell ring, ' ting ! ' it was for me, myself, that she wanted. Then I go. She say, Madame say, 'Mam'selle Allard, you go to Londres with Miss Keith, at once and soon, you understand ? ' ' Yes, Madame,' J\ii (lit, epuis ; and after, ' a someone will meet her in station, and from then you will return. Do you understand ? ' I made my obedience, Monsieur, and habilled me myself. Then the cab of brougham was came to the door, Mees Keith was arranged, and we earned." " Gamed ! " I echoed, wondering. " Yes, but yes, arrived you would say nest ce pas ? " " Yes, yes, go on ; but didn't Miss Keith talk to you ; did she say nothing ? " " She s'iy, ' Oh I am so miserable, so miserable,' c 2 68 DEAD - all the way in the train. On the boat I was of very ill, and she roll tears of cry." "Is that all? Didn't she mention anyone? No name, or anything ? Oh God ! " " But, Monsieur, she said, ' Lilian, Lilian,' often times ; that is her sister, you comprenez, her only one sister she has ! " " Yes, yes, I know ; but what is her name ? " " I do not know that." " But some one must know it ; doesn't Madame ? " " But yes, Monsieur ; certainly." " Well, can't you get it for me and let me know ? " " That will be difficile, but I will try." " Tell me, Mademoiselle, did not Miss Keith nay anything more to you in the train about where she was going, or what had happened ? " " But no ; she cry, cry all the way, and say, * poor Lilian,' and when we earned at Londres a Monsieur was there to take her in a voiture, and I returned here." How puzzling all this was ! my poor little DEAD. 69 / girl in trouble of some sort ; perhaps her sister dead or dying, her brother-in-law abroad and no one to comfort her ; it was too horrible. I cursed all girls' schools, with their absurd rules and regulations ; I almost cursed Madame for her reticence and prudery. What idiocy that the governess should not know the addresses of the pupils ! However, there was nothing more to be made out of Mdlle. AUard, unless she would do as I asked her, and write and tell me. All she said only made me more anxious. Why, the poor child might have been expelled for all she knew. Most probably Madame would not wish it to be known to the other boarders, so kept it dark from the governess. I suppose all men are alike in feeling more obstinate and determined as obstacles and diffi- culties accumulate ; it was the case with me, anyhow, and now I made up my mind to solve the mystery of my poor darling's disappearance, or die in the attempt. If she were expelled from school 1 was 70 DEAD. the cause of it, that's certain ; therefore it was my duty, as a man of honour, to disabuse her sister's mind of any wrong impression about matters, in the event of her seeing my letter to the child. I thanked Mdlle. Allard for her courtesy, made apologies for the abrupt manner in which I had forced my acquaintance on her, begged of her to write to me and give me the address of Lilian if she could get it, and walked quickly away to my hotel revolving in my mind some plan of action. At least I would wait till the next day before I took any step, then if Mdlle. Allard did not send me the address I should beard the Douglas in his hall and go and demand it from Madame herself. She could only refuse, and show me the door, and that wouldn't make things any worse. Poor old James was quite concerned about me that night ; I could not eat, and that grieved him very much. I did not even drink, at which he wondered. DEAD. 71 " Well, sir," he said once, " if I 'adn't known for sure I'd a thought you'd bin sleepin' in the 'aunted room, you're that restless ; just like the young Miss as slep' there one Easter, wen we was crowded out again." " Tell me about that James, I want something gloomy." "She were a governess, sir; a poor, pale tired thing, washed out an' limp like ; looked like as if she'd bin reared on the multiplication table an' Greek roots them thar nasty forrin things as Mrs. Barker calls troofleys. Well, she told Mrs. Barker as she was a teacher in a school an' that 'er only brother was a tooterin' some young lord in Idleberg nice sort o' name for a learnin' place, sir, ha ! ha ! but every year, at Easter time, they both got a week's 'oliday an' alms spent it together.. She was expectin' 'im the next day arter she come 'ere, sir. Well, she 'ad to sleep in the 'aunted room, an' wen Mrs. Bar- ker took 'er into it she 'ad a shudderin' fit, an' said, " ' I feel a strange sensation of coming trouble, I 'opes as 'ow I won't get ill 'ere,' DEAD. willing to recount them on the shortest notice, and only too glad to find a listener. " Mrs. Barker sez it turned 'er 'art cold to 'ear the pore young gal, an' see 'er briny tears, as she sez was the briniest tears she'd ever seen shed, and she'd seen a many. ' There, there,' sez Mrs. B., soothin' 'er again ; ' come into my room, there's a good lass, and bide with me till mornin's dawn ; it'll be all right wen the sun shines,' sez she. The pore young gal went with 'er, but it wain't a bit o' use, she moaned an' wept all the rest o' the night, an' refused to be comforted, as it sez in the Book." " Did the brother turn up all right ? " *' No, Captain, she never sot eyes on 'im again, that's the curiousest part of it. Mrs. Barker kep 'er ez quiet ez she could all the next day ; but wen the boat arrived without 'im, words couldn't tell the grief o' the pore young creechur, an' she ups and telegrarphs to Idleberg, she did, with 'er address to git a answer. She 'ad a letter from one of 'er brother's pals the day arter; an', sure enough, it was to break the DEAD. 75 noos as gently as 'ee could thet 'er brother 'ad bin killed in a jewel, coz lie quarreled about some woman an' the young Lord 'ee was a tooterin' of." " What did the girl do ?" " Oh, she took on somethin' awful ! Mrs. Barker 'ad 'er 'ands full an' no mistake ! We was both right sorry for the gal, hows- ever, an' were fair grieved wen she left us to 2fO back to 'er teachin', with 'er face ez O 7 pale, an' 'er eyes ez big, 'an 'er 'ands ez thin ez never ! " Somehow, James's yarns have a way of leaving you in a very depressed condition. This evening, particularly ; for the wind, ever and anon, would surround the house in long swishy moans, making little raids on special corners, then retreating, as if vanquished and going for reinforcements, and come back with redoubled strength to apparently conquer the stronghold. It was not a rainy night, nor a snowy night ; yet I felt as if it were both, there were such 74 DEAD. willing to recount them on the shortest notice, and only too glad to find a listener. " Mrs. Barker sez it turned 'er 'art cold to 'ear the pore young gal, an' see 'er briny tears, as she sez was the briniest tears she'd ever seen shed, and she'd seen a many. ' There, there,' sez Mrs. 13., soothin' 'er again ; ' come into my room, there's a good lass, and bide with me till mornin's dawn ; it'll be all right wen the sun shines,' sez she. The pore young gal went with 'er, but it wain't a bit o' use, she moaned an' wept all the rest o' the night, an' refused to be comforted, as it sez in the Book." " Did the brother turn up all right ? " 4 No, Captain, she never sot eyes on 'im again, that's the curiousest part of it. Mrs. Barker kep 'er ez quiet ez she could all the next day ; but wen the boat arrived without 'im, words couldn't tell the grief o' the pore young creechur, an' she tips and telegrarphs to Idleberg, she did, with 'er address to git a answer. She 'ad a letter from one of 'er brother's pals the day arter; an', sure enough, it was to break the DEAD. 75 noos as gently as 'ee could tliet 'er brother 'ad bin killed in a jewel, coz he quarreled about some woman an' the young Lord 'ee was a tooterin' of." " What did the girl do ? " " Oh, she took on somethin' awful ! Mrs. Barker 'ad 'er 'ands full an' no mistake ! We was both right sorry for the gal, hows- ever, an' were fair grieved wen she left us to go back to 'er teachin', with 'er face ez pale, an' 'er eyes ez big, 'an 'er 'ands ez thin ez never ! " Somehow, James's yarns have a way of leaving you in a very depressed condition. This evening, particularly ; for the wind, ever and anon, would surround the house in long swishy moans, making little raids on special corners, then retreating, as if vanquished and going for reinforcements, and come back with redoubled strength to apparently conquer the stronghold. It was not a rainy night, nor a snowy night ; yet I felt as if it were both, there were such 7G DEAD. suggestions of them in the way the wind was behaving. The hotel was old, in some parts very old ; and you would have thought the wind owed it some special grudge for having withstood its at- tacks for so long. Now it would make a fierce rush and croon hollow sounds down the chimney; again, it would swoop down with malice prepense on the solitary poplar tree, swaying it, bending it, almost breaking it in its fury. Now it swithered through the badly-fixed windows, making zithering sounds as of an army of cold and frozen-out mosquitoes ; and, again, it attacked a broken water-spout in fitful gusts, beating with it a little ran-tan on the roof that may have been fun to it but was death to me. I felt utterly lonely, wretched, and out of sorts almost as lonely as James's loneliest man that ever was lonelied. I wished myself back in Assam a thousand times half determined to go right away ; then DEAD. 77 pulled myself up with a round turn, as I remem- bered my poor, lost little girl. Who was the man who met her at the station, I wondered ; had she any other relations ? I suppose so ; yet she never mentioned them. Oh, how little I knew of her, how little ! CHAPTER IV. WHEN Mdlle. Allard's promised letter arrived it only brought me more disappointment. From what I could make out she had asked Madame, and had been so severely snubbed that she could make no further attempt. Well, I put on my Sunday best manners, and went forth, armed to the teeth in them, to tackle the gorgon myself. Never shall I forget that interview ! When Madame discovered that I was not related to Miss Keith, and that I did not even know her address, her scathing satire was simply withering. She the great Madame give the address of one of her pupils to a strange man, preposterous ! DEAD. 79 She, betray the trust that parents, and justly, too, reposed in her, never ! What my intentions were she could not tell, yet she might have a good guess ; she knew what army men were ! (I was not in the army but she chose to think so) would I give myself the pain and trouble to leave her establishment at once, and not give myself further trouble by calling again ! I bowed, and left the house. No chance here, no mercy to be hoped for from that stony-hearted pedagogue in petticoats by the way she was rigged in petticoats ; I suppose a draped skirt would have been weak minded. I don't want ever to see her again. " Captain," said James, confidentially, on my / return, " you look fair an' worried, sir, air there anythink I can do fer yer, sir." " Well, James, I'm thinking of taking a run up to London for a day or two, to pursue a little matter of investigation about which I don't mind owning I am very anxious I'll leave the 80 bulk of my luggage here as I shall certainly return, but as I may not come back till after Christmas, don't keep my room, I know you want all the space you can get about that time. I'll take my chance." " I'm sorry you're goin', Captain, but I 'opes it'll cheer yer like. London's a gay place, fair an' gay, sir. Now if I can help yer in any way " All right, James, just toss a few things into the largest portmanteau, and I'll lock the rest and leave them in your charge." " Ye don't mind ef yer traps is put in the 'aunted room, do ye, sir ? We're fair pressed for box-rooms Christmas week." " Not at all, certainly not, trunks don't have bad dreams. Eh ? James." " Well, I dunno, sir, leastways they don't tell 'em he, he there's nothin' like leather fer 'oldin' its tongue, as the man said wen 'is missus cort 'ers in the clasp of 'is private pocket-book he, he ! I suppoge she was a-prizen of it hopen with'er heye teeth ! Wimmin's curious creechurs ! " DEAD. 81 " How was it you never married, James ? I should have thought a man of your attractions would never have escaped all this time ? " " No, no, sir ; marry ! no fear, not much. I've seen the waxing an' the waning of too many 'oneymoons fer that. This is a very favourite spot for 'oneymooners, Captain, they come 'ere wen its 4 duckie ' an' ' darlin,' an' chairs close up together at meals, an' arms round waistses in the moon- light, an' wen ye darserit go into the room suddent like, but must allus give a cough er two an' a by-yer-leave. They come yere agin later on with a babby er two, just fer the sake o' old times, may be ; but there ain't no more ' duckie,' an' ther' ain't no more moonlight ; ther cheers is planted at each end o' the table, an' its, ' no, my dear,' er ' don't bother me, Edward ! ' ' 'ow on- reasonable you air, Millicent,' an' its cough-no- more fer me wen I want te go into the room suddent like he, he ! I've seen a thing er two, I'll lay odds ! " As I was leaving later in the day, James said apologetically : " Beg pardon for asting yer, 82 DBAD - Captain, but ye wont forgit that there photer- grarpli o' the gel, belongm to the lonely ok chap wot was slew down the coast." enough I had forgotten it ; my anxiety about my darling girl had driven it out of my mind com- pletely. When in the train I took it from my pocket to look for the photographer's name, and saw that it was by Durode, 263, Oxford Street. Well, I could easily go there surely I could make tune enough for that. It was close to the Langham, too, where I intended to hang out. You will think me a strange, unbridled being, but I determined to put matters in the hands of a private detective. I felt a strange, an over- powering conviction that something was seriously wrong with Miss Keith, my dear, sweet girl, whose name I didn't know. She was in trouble perhaps in danger, who knows ! and it was my task to find her, and help her if money and persistence could accomplish it. I drove to Scotland Yard could I have dreamt when I left India that my first visit in DEAD. 83 London would be to Scotland Yard ! had a long talk to a man there who seemed to know his work, called Davis. " No difficulty I should say, sir ; none what- ever. You know the day she left Eyde, you know her name Keith is not a common name in London. We have her description, and we presume she came to her sister's house. I wish all our jobs looked as promising as this one, sir." I left him with a feeling of comfort and hope that had been a stranger to me for a week. I thought, blind fool that I was, that my quest would be at an end in a few hours at any rate not more than one day, or two at the very outside ! I calculated without my host of imbeciles. I always believed blindly in our police force and detective service. You see I had been away so long, and did not follow the English newspapers very closely, though an odd copy of the Star and a Graphic or two found their way out to me occasionally ; so that was my excuse. Everyone has to suffer for their faith, it 84 DEAD. appears, and I suffered for mine ! Suffered in pocket, not that I grudged that, and suffered in temper ! What a dance they led me ! What wild goose chases ! What will-o'-the-wisps ! What mys- terious visitations, almost raids, into the wrong people's houses. Harmless, peace-loving individuals in quiet back streets were invaded by me and Davis, turned outside in (metaphorically), squeezed dry, and left wondering. Girls of all kinds, with sisters and without, who "arrived in London the same day as my darling, were hunted down with tremendous perspicacity and precaution, only to turn out some other girl's sister, don't you know. How maddening it was ! My heart was glad and sad, sick and hopeful, several times each day, till at length in my des- pair I thought of killing Davis, the detective, so as to give Scotland'Yard an easy job where they could shine and score. One day I received the following note from DEAD. 85 Mdlle. Allard, forwarded by the faithful James : " Monsieur, I tink Mam'selle is going return. Her clothes are having arranged to-day. L. ALLARD." That decided me ; I squared up Davis with such royal munificence that I think he ima- gined I had escaped from the care of Dr. Forbes Winslow, and was glad that no paroxysm had seized me whilst in his company. Then with a lighter heart I hied me back to Ryde. It seemed to me that all the world was going to Ryde. The stations were crowded with people and luggage ; and, cold as it was, the boat was crowded, too. My friend James met me with a look of scared surprise. " Oh, Captain ! Ye said yer wouldn't be back this side o' Christmas ! An' yer room's let, and the house cram full. Christmas, fallin' ez it does this year makes us fuller than ever ; an' 'ere ye are turnin' up on the 23rd " " Like a bad shilling, eh, James ? Well, never mind put me anywhere. You haven't let out 86 the haunted room, have yon? Put me there if you can't do better." "No, sir ! no, Captain ! I 'aven't got no one in that room, sir. I ain't goin* to put no one there, sir! never no more, More perticler not you, sir ! " Oh, bosh! I'm not going anywhere else, so on my head be it. In fact, I've always wanted to have a try and tempt the ghostses ! " "Doant 'ee laff, Captain, doant 'ee, er ye'll laff on the other side o' yer mouth in the mornin', I reck!" "Don't damp my spirits, James. I feel strangely happy to-day. I've had good news, James ! Good news, old boy, think of that ! so bring out the best things your cellar holds, and have a bumper with me. We'll drink the health of the prettiest, and the sweetest, and the most innocent girl in the world." James stared hard at me. He had never seen me elated like this, and doubtless he, too, had visions of Forbes Winslow. However, he went to obey my behest,, mutter- DEAD. 87 ing something about being " fey," and wagging his old head with a grieved sapience. The haunted chamber ! 1 laughed at it ! What could it or a thousand disembodied spirits do to me? The idea was absurd. James had treasured up and half invented a lot of wheezes wherewith to beguile himself and Mrs. Barker on quiet nights. I was not superstitious, never was, and never would be. Haunted, begad haunted I What rot ! Are we in the 19th century, 'or are we not, that's what 1 want to know. Poor old James, he was certainly in his second childhood, that is to say, if he had ever recovered from his first, which I doubted. Well, life was all beer and skittles to me that night, at any rate. James brought the wine, and poured it out with greater solemnity than if it had been con- secrated for special libations to the gods. I believe if James were pouring out ginger or gooseberry wine, or even cod-liver oil, he could do it with such a flourish of pretension as to make you believe it was vintage '62 ! "Say, James, if ever I have a honeymoon I'll come down here to ' duckie ' and ' darling,' and instead of wedding cake I'll send out boxes of cough-no-more lozenges ! The idea is grand more wine Eh ? No, no thanks, I feel as if I'd had enough already. Yes, I think I will have a peg of brandy, James, and a cup of black coffee, a cigar and " But James was gone. I threw open the window and looked across at the college ; there were lights in a good many of the windows ; the moon (frozen to death I'm certain) was sending cold pale rays athwart the trees and the lawn ; bells Christmas bells were ringing somewhere for evening service, no doubt, and I felt good yes, good don't laugh ! I don't often feel good, but when I do I'm certain something must be going to happen ! Some strange meteorological development, some eclipse of the moon or depression in the barometer ! Now the organ of the college church pealed forth " Adeste fideles; " perhaps she was there, DEAD. 89 perhaps that was her fresh young voice, or perhaps it was Jennie Hackett's. She looked as if her voice were of a higher timbre than most girls ; a retroussee, annoying voice deuce take her ! I wish it had been she who was spirited away ! A burst of ribald laughter from the billiard- room. I wonder who those fellows are ; I just felt like joining them, and making a night of it. She was safe back again, and all would go right. Yet, no ; Mdlle. Allard did not say for certain ; she might still be away. I could not make merry with strangers till I was sure she was safe and happy again. I would go to bed " If you please, sir, did you make any inquiries about that thar photergrarph ? I am rayther in a stoo fer fear o' getting let in like ? " " Why, James, you just remind me ! What a beastly shame, I've quite forgotten it again till this minute ! Never mind, I'll be up in town again shortly, and I give you my word I'll go and see the man the first thing, really. What an oblivious sort of fool I'm getting to be. It's 90 DEAD. old age, James, depend upon it, softening of the brain, and various other evils which follow the course of the wicked ; all right, I won't forget it again. Now, James, show me a light to the haunted chamber; order my coffin, and prepare the faculty to come and perform my necropsy, for I have only a short time to live ! And I went off laughing heartily at the old man's face of grieved surprise at my levity. I felt happy, unreasonably happy ; alas, alas ! Cheerfully to bed in the haunted chamber, which certainly had an eerie look in the moon- light, that streamed through the diamond-shaped window-panes, and flooded the dingy old carpet with a light-like luminous paint. (I wasn't going to think of anything more romantic than that.) Cheerfully to bed, with a last glance across at the house which contained my dear '.iii, murmuring a blessing on her pretty head as I foil into a deep, heavy sleep. It was the dreamless sleep of the tired-out DEAD. 91 man ; for I was absolutely tired and done up, from days of swooping around London, with a mind full of anxiety and growing disappoint- ment. Many people will give no credence to the following incident, yet many people have had similar experiences ; and no one who knows me would agree that I am in the very least imagina- tive, neurotic, or superstitious. So, among my friends it is accepted as a fact, knowing as they do that the statement comes from one upon whose word they have had ren.son to place absolute reliance. It seemed to me that I had only been asleep about half an hour, but in reality it was three hours, for a clock struck two as I awoke awoke with a strange tightening sensation at my heart that I never remember feeling before. But where was I ? Certainly not in the room in which I fell asleep. Certainly not in the haunted chamber. Certainly not in any room that I'd ever been before, and I was not in bed even. I was up, clothed, but surely not in my right mind. I seemed to be in the room, 92 DEAD. yet not in the room ; .for, in looking back at the awful scene that met my eyes, I cannot place myseli at all. It was a bed-room a luxuriously-furnished room, evidently belonging to some one who was somebody. There was a lavislmess about the arrangements, a nameless air of elegance over everything, which showed that the occu- pant was a person of artistic habits and tastes. At first I thought there was no one in the room, but, as my eyes got accustomed to the half light for the blinds were all drawn down I saw a man ; only his back, however, for he was bending down, rummaging amongst papers in an escritoire which stood in a recess near one of the windows ; a pretty little corner it was, too. V There was no one else in the room. The lace- draped bed stay, was there nothing on the bed? What was that? Was there not a cold, stiff outline of something beneath the silk and lace which hung around in graceful profusion in spite of that awful suggestive contour that grew DEAD. 93 upon me till I felt a sickening certainty that my fears were correct ? A corpse ! ! Oh, horror ! why was I here in the deathly stillness of the night, watching a stiff, dead body and a man, whose face I could not see, searching amongst papers at a desk ? It was a COBPSE ! ! But WHOSE ? And why was I rooted to the spot in that horrible yet beautiful death chamber ? Beads of cold, clammy perspiration stood out upon my forehead. I tried to wipe them off, but found that I was completely paralysed and motionless ; do what I liked I could not move one finger. I gazed with a horrible fascination at the motionless, nameless something on the bed, and experienced a gruesome longing to tear aside the silken shroud i and solve the mystery of who or what it was ! But I couldn't. I was literally glued to the ground, and ever and anon came the tightening DEAD. sensation closing in round my heart, till 1 felt with an appalling horror that I I myself and none other, must be the ghastly figure whom I could not see, lying there with the utterly pathetic inotioidessness of death ! I was alive, yet I could not move ; awake, yet I could not speak ; strong, healthy, and fit, yet I appeared unable to breathe, and my blood seemed to coagulate and clog, my heart to beat in sluggish thuds, my entire vitality to be sus- pended. I saw every article in the room distinctly, in every corner of it, without apparently moving my eyes the fraction of an inch, or even turning iny head. I had never been there before ; of that I was quite, quite sure. Nothing in it was familiar to me. The portrait, an enlarged photograph, over the mantelpiece, of a handsome, happy-looking young fellow in uniform was entirely strange to me. He had been loved, too, this fellow, for the DEAD. 95 portrait was draped and garlanded with flowers and ribbons in the prettiest fashion. I remem- ber, too, it had a little stuffed kitten peeping over one corner of it. Handsome and happy he looked, yet firm and masterful withal, a man not to be trifled with too often. In a corner of the room, also, I saw a strange collection of what were evidently mementoes or relics ; they were arranged on the wall with pretty effect, though they were in themselves incongruous to their surroundings. A disused rusty sword, an old worse-for-the- wear battledore and shuttle-cock, an ornamented dog's collar, pathetic in its emptiness, a riding whip, a compass, an old-fashioned horse-pistol, a girl's sampler, worked at school evidently, a strange foreign weapon with which I was un- familiar, and a sailor's gold badge, the whole tied together by an old skipping-rope and strings of American sea beans. With a curious, lifeless interest I took in all these things; I even remember to feeling a cer- 96 DEAD. tain knowledge of their meaning which now I cannot recall, yet ever and again my eyes re- turned to the still, stark something beneath the silken coverlet, and I felt the same intense long- ing to tear it aside and see what lay there in such appealing muteness. Stay; now the man at the desk has finished his quest ; he has taken one paper, a letter, from it and put it in his breast-pocket ; he has walked across the room, and now I see him. No, I've never seen him before ! How strange, yet how awful. He is not the man in the photograph, but he is a handsome man, too; darker, and older, though, and with a sinister look in his bright I O black eyes. He is standing for a moment looking down at the bed ; why does he not grieve and sigh, I wondered ? Does his enemy lie there, prone and helpless, impotent for ever to work him good or ill? God pity his enemy, thought I ; short shrift he'd give him. DEAD. 97 If ever there was a wicked, dissolute face his was one. If ever there was a man to hew down with ruthless cruelty anyone who stood in his path he was the one. If ever there was a be- trayer of woman, a wronger of men, there he stood, unscrupulous, pitiless, murderous in in- tent if not in deed. This was borne in upon me with a strange prescience, for there was not much in the fea- tures of a tall handsome man in the prime of life to excuse my conclusions. -He was muttering to himself softly ; now he smiles, a gleaming, triumphant smile, flashing out as he did so a row of the whitest teeth I ever remember to have seen on anyone but a nigger. Listen 1 what is he saying ? " God ! what luck ! Turned at last, by Jove ! Well, well ; the Devil takes care of his own, they say ; I never believed it till now. Curse those bonds ! must be met within the week, too. It'll be a close shave, but I must manage it. If I can't fix it I dare say old Solomon will do one last turn for me ; no fear of him refusing when he D 98 DEAD. knows I've got the coin. Mean old shark ; had enough out of me, anyhow ; serve him right if I rooked him now and did a bolt." He moved a step nearer the bed ; was I now to see ? No ; he put his hands in his pockets and stood in a nonchalant attitude gazing moodily at the quiet, still, nameless thing that was only an outline. He was speaking again. " The poor child is dead ! Well, what of it ! Why not she before me ? / couldn't help it ; she was in my way, and now she's removed " (God ! was the man a murderer then) ; " a kind heaven has protected my interests, that's all. It's an ill wind that blows nobody any good ; we've all got to die some time, curse the luck ! God knows I didn't want the kid to die, but now she's gone there's no use making a fuss about it. Langford can't say I didn't do the thing handsomely! There's 'flowers and wreaths enough to stock a florist's shop ; much good they'll do her, or him, poor devil ! I've spared no expense (and I might have, considering DEAD. 99 the pickle I'm in myself) ; the coffin " and he looked down. I followed his glance, and there from beneath the bed the side of a coffin was just to be seen peeping through the wreaths and hangings a ghastly object which hitherto I had not noticed. So the corpse was that of a girl ; what girl ? Whose daughter or sister could she be that had none to mourn for her, stricken down as she was in the bright and joyous spring- time of her life ! Signs of wealth and luxury everywhere, yet signs of grief nowhere. Yet was I not wrong, for in the stillness which followed did I not hear a sound of weeping, weeping ? a woman's tears, surety ; mayhap her mother's. Now there was a lull, as though the mourner had exhausted her strength and her tears ; then a fresh burst, as the fulness of her desolation made itself felt ouce more. Poor woman ! poor mother ! but I could not move to comfort her. I could not breathe, or speak, or move I The man speaks again, hist ! D 2 100 "Curse these plaguey women, I say, with all my heart; dn their tears ! ha, ha ! not bad that, dn their tears not even a swear if you look at it in the right light. I guess she'll think I'm a cruel brute not to go and speak to her. Devil take it ! how can I comfort her ? I can't even comfort myself." He smiled bitterly. " They'll nail her down to-night, poor girl. She hasn't changed a bit! she's as pretty as a pic- ture always was ; it's soft of me, but I'll just take another look, then go and talk to that whining fool in the next room. I hate a crying woman ! " He moved quite close to the bed, kicked the coffin inadvertently, and it gave out a hollow sound like a wooden death-knell, making me shudder and grow colder with a dreadful horror of I know not what! He stretched his hand towards the silken shroud, hesitated, drew it back again, looked round the room as though in fear ; then, uttering " what a d d fool I am," quickly tore the cover from the dead, pure face Oh, God! God! What was it? WHOSE DEAD. 101 was it ? Am I mad ? Am I alive ? Cold per- spiration poured from my brow ; my hair appeared to be lifted electrically ; my eyes started from their sockets ; life appeared to be leaving me ; I was choking ! That curl-crowned head, those lovely features, that child-like inno- cent face it was MY DARLING GIRL! And she was DEAD ! DEAD ! Oh, God ! God of mercy, I'm choking ! and I heard the heavy thud of my own fall to the ground, and the hoarse and piercing shriek given by the man ; her murderer (in intent, if not in deed), as he discovered me in the room, and knew I had heard and seen ah 1 ! My hand, how it aches ! I have dislocated my thumb ! All grows dark choke choking. Ah ! water ! WATER ! in God's name ! DEAD ! " Wake hup, sir ! wake hup ! oh, dear ! oh, deary me ! 'ere's a pretty to-do ; 'ere, Captain, hi ! Mrs. Barker I drat the woman, she sleeps like a a rhiney$0rus arter a beanfeast ! The angel Gabreeil with 'is last trump ain't goin' to 102 DEAD. waken 'er wen she gits 'er 'ead that way ! 'ees in a dead faint, poor chap. I'll go and git 'im a sup o' brandy. 'Ere, hi ! Mrs. Barker ! Come along, woman. I thort ye was dead ! just lend me a 'and with the Captain, bless you, 'ees mortal bad, 'ee is. ' " What's the matter with 'im, James ? " " I think he's had a kind o' fit or summat. I was arf awake an' I 'eard a kind o' screech, an' wen I got 'ere, the Captain was struggling, an' choking most 'orrible, then 'ee went orf like this, an' nothin' '11 move 'im. " "Bide by him a bit, James, and I'll run and fetch the vinegar, and some feathers to burn," " Bring the brandy first, Mrs. Barker ; darn yer feathers an' trash." " Very well, Mr. James, very well." " Them wimmin ! ! Drat 'em, rubbin' 'is 'and doan't seem to do no good. I'll hopen the winder : there, that's better, mortal cold, hows- ever ! That there Mrs. Barker now, bein' a woman, knows heverythink better than henny man that ever was breeched ; whiles she's not DEAD. 103 so bad, an' whiles she's that onbearable with 'er airs an' graces as never ! An now she's taken to wearing a bustle, she's arrived at that prerogative she can't consume ! I aint goin' to hindure much more on it. Oh, 'ere yer come, now 'elp me raise 'im, there, that's it, just a trifle more, that's better, easy now. 'Ere now, Captain, try a sup o' this, it'll pull yer round, beeootiful .... waigh ! yer lettin' it all run out at the side of 'is mouth, Mrs. Barker." " You mean you are letting it run out at the side of his mouth, James. I'm sadly afraid your sight is failing you." " Never better ma'am, never better ! my eyes '11 last my time I reck. I ken see through a stone wall now better 'an most folks ! Yer see I haint spiled 'em wi' knitting of useless things, ma'am ! " " Small print's just as bad, Mr. James, and fills your head wi' a lot o' useless w-mance ! % and where'd you be wi'out them socks I made you a year come to-morrow ? " " Hush, ma'am, 'ee's beginnin ; to take notice, I 104 believe ! drink a drop more, sir ; that's right, now yer better, aint ye ? what? Eh? 'ee's murmurin' somethink to 'isself ; 'ere, pour the rest o' that brandy down 'is throat an' then knock 'im down with yer burnt feather." " Lie him down straight and let him alone, James." "Eight you are; what's he say in', Mrs. Barker ? " " I can't catch it, hark at him groaning ; shall We fetch a doctor, do you think ? " "Bide-a-bit, bide-a-bit, the poor chap's in pain of some sort, but 'ee'll pull round direckly, may be. Hush ! " " My darling girl, my pretty one, DEAD ! ! MUEDEKED!! by that cold-hearted villain. Oh, horrible, horrible!! But I'll track him down. Yes, track him to his doom, if God gives me strength and life to do it. Oh, my pretty " '* Lie down now, sir, an' keep quiet. You was much better wen yer lay flat, tossin' about an' exciting yerself ain't no use." DEAD. 105 " Murdered, murdered, dead ! and I can't find her." " Come, come, sir, there ain't nobody dead an' murdered ; 'ee's thinkin' o' the lonely cove, I well believe : yer 'ere safe and sound, rouse ' hup, sir ! " ".Where am I, James ? " " That's better, that's better." " Where am I ? " "Yer 'ere, sir, in yer bed, me an' Mrs. Barker's bin bringin' yer round wi' brandy an' things. You must er bin 'avin' a bad dream, sir." " Dream, James ? dream ? Why, I'm in the haunted chamber again." " Yes, sir, you air ; an' right down sorry is Mrs. Barker an' myself that yew should a bin put 'ere. "A dream? no, that was no dream! Ye powers above ; could it only have been a dream ? Have I been out of bed, James ? " " No, sir, I found you 'ere wen I came runnin' in after 'earin' yer yell, sir." 10G Yell? I gave no yell, it was the villain, the wretch who robbed her and gloated over her death; it was "No sir, it warnt, it were you yerself as gave the piercinest kind o' yell, an' I 'card yer ! " " My hand hurts horribly, James ; what can I have done to it. " Let me see, sir. W'y ! as I live I believe yer thumb's out o' joint, sir ; however could ye ha' done it?" " When I fell ! ah, just Heaven, it was no dream ; no, no. Oh, God, murdered., how horrible ! o//, liow horrible ! ! " Now don't take on' so, sir ; there's a young doctor chap in the 'ouse fer 'is 'olidays an' I'll ast 'im to step up an' see to yer thumb an' have a look at ye generally/' * * * * " How do feel now, my dear fellow ? " " Much better, doctor, thanks." " Thumb not so painful since I set it ? " " Not nearly, thanks ; it was an awful shame to rake you out of your bed so early." DEAD. 10? " Nonsense, nonsense ; only too glad to be of any use, I assure you. I'm quite accustomed to be raked up at all hours of the night, worse luck ! " "But not on your hardly-earned holidays beastly shame," " Don't say another word, my dear boy ; I'nt as right as the bank. And now tell me all about it, James has quite roused my curiosity ; and as I'm a firm believer in psychology and unex- plained phenomena of all descriptions, I will take it as a personal favour if you will tell me all about your dream, and why this is called the haunted room. I'm a member of the Theoso- phical Society, you know." " Well, doctor, I will. It's the least I can do after giving you all such a fright ; but first I want to know when the boat starts, I must be in London to-day unless I receive a letter which I am expecting." " My dear fellow ! surely you won't travel in your shaken up condition ! Must ? Eh ? Well, well, obstinate, I suppose. I don't like to be interfered with myself. However, you have 108 DEAD. clear three hours to the good ; do you know it's not six o'clock yet? " Dr. Forbes was a slender, dark, clever-looking fellow about my own age, or younger. His age was hard to guess, as his face was prematurely lined, his forehead abnormally wrinkled, and his hair sprinkled with grey ; although, as I heard later from himself, he had had lots of trouble and worry, he was always cheerful, almost gay, in his manner. I took a liking to him from the first, and before we parted we exchanged addresses, mutually promising to see more of each other in town. " All right, doctor, and now since you are good enough to be interested in my story I'll tell it all to you from the beginning. I admit that I feel strangely upset, and will be glad of advice from one so capable of giving it as yourself." He listened with eager attention as I related to him every incident that had occurred from the moment of my landing in Southampton to the time when James called him to fix up my thumb. DEAD. 109 Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he looked grave and thoughtful, but never for one instant did he relax his interest and attention. I described minutely to him the room where I saw my darling lying dead, and he took pencilled notes to remember by if ever he or I had a chance to solve the mystery. When I had finished, he said : " You interest me immensely ; my dear fellow, you must really promise to keep me informed as you go on, and tell me the sequel to this strange story, if any." " There will be one doctor, whatever it is ; that you may depend on. I am a very resolute man, obstinate you called it ! " " Your calculations would be considerably thrown out," continued the doctor, thought- fully, " if you hear from your friend, the governess, that Miss Keith is back again in the college." " Ah, if! ' If ' is the biggest word in our language, doctor." " I really think it is " laughing. 1JO DKAD. "How do you account for my dislocated thumb?" " Well, you know, Marsh, there's a prosaic way to account for everything. Suppose, for the sake of argument, we sum it up this way : you come back from London in a very neurotic condition, you hear what you think good news, and the relief to the tension you have endured renders you exalte, or hyper-a3sthetic, as I would call it. You drink an unusual quantity of some of James's special cellar; you peg up with brandy, coffee, a bad cigar (most probably). Jalnes talks of ghosts, haunted chambers. You yourself say in jest that you will be dead by the morning. What more natural than that you should have such a dream as you describe ? Nothing. As for your thumb, no doubt when you were writhing in the contorted horrors of nightmare you twisted it in the rails of your bed somehow, and the pain caused thereby wakened you up, and drew from you the horrible yell which so startled James. This, of course, is a reasonable supposition, mind DEAD. Ill you. I don't say it is so, but that it may be so." " God grant it, doctor. God grant that the poor child is safe and well, and her own bright self, even though I may never meet her again ! " " Tut, tut, my dear boy, you'll meet her, never fear ! There's a sweet little demon that sits down below to look after the life of marriages, which are made in Heaven, you know Ha ! He never lets a chance go by to mate two unfortunate devils for their own and each other's eternal misery ! " " How cynical you are ! " " With good reason. Some day, when we are better acquainted, which, as Fate plays us such tricks, may be never, and may be right soon, I'll tell you a chapter out of my life if you care to hear it, that is to say. Now, tell me, what do you propose to do when you arrive in town this is Christmas Eve, you know ; unfortunately, I can't go back till to- morrow, or I'd ask you to come and share a chop with me. I'm down here with another man, you DEAD. another medical and we must both be back in town for. Boxing Day casualties broken noses, black eyes, and over-worked stomachs ! Sticking plaisters, blue pills, and podophyllin are our stock prescriptions on Boxing Day. Chokings come on Christmas Day, but I always contrive to miss those. Ah, here is your letter ; bad news, I S ee don't faint again, there's a good fellow ; take a little more brandy." " Eead, doctor." "Dear Monsieur, Mdlle. Keith returns not never to the college. Her luggage hess been sent chez elk, the address I know not still." " L. ALLABD." * * * * As I left the house on the way to the boat, the doctor accompanying me to see me off, I passed the door of the billiard-room in time to hear one of the young bloods say : " What's the matter with that cove, James ? He looks awful white ! I say, is that the bloke that yelled out in the night ? Oh, I see, got 'em again, poor devil!" DEAD. 113 Yes ; I had " got 'em again," and mighty bad too. Mdlle. Allard's letter roused my worst fears. My dear girl never coming back again ! What could it mean but one thing she was dead! perhaps murdered, and Providence had appointed me, me ! to be avenger, if foul play had been done. I knew the villain's face, it was engraved on my memory, and it would be the worst day in all his rascally career when he met me face to face ! " Good-bye, Marsh, good-bye ; don't forget to look me up soon. Harley Street, you know." " Good-bye, doctor ; many thanks. When will this plaguey thumb be better ? " " Not long ; come and let me see it again soon. Good-bye." And so I left Eyde. I determined to try my luck once more at Scotland Yard ; then, leaving the case in their hands, make my way to the Langham, deposit my luggage, and if it were not then too late, call 1 1 4 DEAD. at Diirode's about that photograph which had been James's last reminder to me. Not that I needed reminding, for my own awful experience . had recalled the poor lonely man so vividly to me, that I almost felt it to be a sacred duty to make any inquiries about him that I could. If at the same time I could find any clue to his mysterious end so much the better. My heart was heavy with dread about the fate of my poor girl, the tightening feeling of suffocation had not quite left me. Surely the lonely old chap himself never felt quite so lonely on a Christmas Eve as I, returning to my own country after so long an exile, and finding no one to welcome or even recognise me ! My darling girl dead f The idea was too horrible ! Murdered ! Oh not that surelv not that ! CHAPTER V. CHEISTMAS Eve in London. Christmas Eve anywhere after you have passed thirty is only the association of ideas in a charnel house full of the bones of buried memories ; but Christmas Eve in London is a peculiarly depressing thing. Take a walk round Hoxton, Whitechapel, Leather Lane, or Westminster about ten o'clock and tell me if you feel cheered by the spectacle, the exhibition of all that is wretched and hope- less. Christinas Eve in a photographer's studio " when the lights are low," and you want to get home to your holly-decked dinner table and your happy children's merry voices and clinging little hands, is not much better. So at least thought Durode, all alone in his 116 DEAD. premises amongst weird cameras and dark rooms full of spirit developments. All alone that is, except for a clerk in the basement, for Durode had given his operators and assistants the full benefit of the holidays, and they had sped off with light hearts to their respective homes with three clear days to blow the collodion, and " pommey " stone the nitrate of silver out of them. He had also good naturedly and somewhat recklessly promised to see to any work that might turn up, though naturally none was expected, little dreaming what a nuisance he would find it when the wading-in time came ! However, it was about time he could safely leave, and he gave a sigh of satisfaction and hunger mixed, and thought with pleasant anticipation of some friends of the right sort who were to dine with him that night, and wondered if that last lot of port wine was in proper condition, or if he'd kept it too long. When "ting!" crisp and clear, rang the DEAD. 117 electric bell that told of an entrance in the premises below. A whistle through the tube. " Now by all the gods," exclaimed Durode, in what he considered a very provoked tone of voice, " who is that ! I shan't see any one, that's all ; " calling down the tube, " Who's there ? " "A gentleman who wants to see you, if possible, sir." " What does he want ? " " To see you, sir." " Can't, too late, ask him his business." " He won't keep you long he says, merely to ask a question." " Impossible." " And show you a photograph." " Well, all right, I'll give him five minutes ; send him up." When the necessary journey had been per- formed, Durode saw before him a tall, singularly good-looking man, bronzed by foreign suns, square and resolute-looking, with a long brown moustache and earnest blue eyes. 118 1>EAI>. " WeU, sir, and what can I do for you v why, no, yes it must be ! Cyril Marsh, don't you remember me ? come to the light man ! " "Remember you? No, yet surely I do I why Durode old fellow, I'm right glad to meet you aain ! Who the dickens would have dreamt of n finding you here ! You've grown a beard, perhaps that's why I never guessed it was you ; forget you ! not likely, nor the old college days and the good times we had ! my dear, dear fellow ; this is a pleasure ! " These men had not met for nearly thirteen years never thought to meet again. They were close chums at college, but lost sight of each other soon after they both left to fulfil their several destinies. They shook hands warmly, showing as much emotion as Englishmen, in their fear of making fools of themselves, ever do; and then well, then I suppose they talked about the weather, as men always do in this country when suffering from deep emotion. " Now, old chap, where are you putting up ? " WAD. 110 'The Langliam." " Stuff ! you must come to us, Christmas time and all ! You bet I'm not going to leave you to blue mould in a hotel, when I have a home and a welcome for you with us ! " " Us ? then you're married, are you ? " " Married, rather ; and she'll be delighted to see you. I've often talked about you to her ; now come along ; let's just finish up these few little things and be off." Another whistle through the tube. " Now who, in the name of all that's aggra- vating, can that be ? " " Gentleman says he must see you, sir." " Who is it ? " " Gave no name." " Say I'm gone, or anything you like." " He says its most important, wants you to go and take a photograph." " Do you hear that ? " said Durode, turning to Marsh ; " impudence could no further go ; 'pon my life I think I'll go and have a look at the man just as a curiosity." Down the tube again: 120 "I'm coming down! Stay here, Marsh, and amuse yourself; some awfully pretty girls in that book ; shan't be long ; " and he ran lightly down the long staircase to the reception-room below. He was not long. Marsh, occupied with his own sad thoughts, scarcely missed him. Nor did he amuse himself with the photographs of pretty actresses ; he nervously paced the room, stopping now and then to gaze restlessly from the win- dow on- to the tops of omnibuses and vehicles of all descriptions in the street below. He was glad to see his old friend again, yet so full was he of his own misery that he could not pick up a new interest without an effort. In about ten minutes Durode returned, having succeeded in polishing off his unwelcome visitor. " Got rid of him ? " asked Marsh. " Well, after a fashion ; but I had to say I'd go." "Go?" "Yes." DEAD. 121 " What ! take a photograph at this hour ? why the light is surely too bad. Can't you send some one else ? " " Well, just as it happens, oddly enough, I can't ; and then this is a very exceptional case the woman, as a matter of fact, is dead." "Dead?" " Yes ; and as she is a relative of a very good patron of mine I can't very well refuse, though it's very annoying. It can't be put off either, as they say the undertaker's men are going to nail her into her coffin to night." " Taking the photograph of a corpse how awful ! Do you often have these congenial sort of tasks, old fellow ? " " Well, honestly, I don't court them ; but once in a way I have to do it to oblige somebody. I've driven straight from taking a happy wedding group to a death chamber before now. The one comfort in photographing a dead body is that they can't chip in with the chronic re- mark about preferring to have a tooth out, and rot of that sort. You never know the inanity J 22 DEAD. of human nature till you've had to pose and group them for ' sittings.' " "Now you begin to talk, Durode, you're just the same as ever, always moralising about something ; why didn't you go in for the Church, as you said you would ? " " Because I prefer example to precept," laughing ; " but now I'm ready ; my posthumous client will be impatient. Hang it, I wouldn't go at all only its a peculiar case, the poor girl was so young, too ; but you look strange, old man, what's up ? Surely not affected at the idea of a dead body are you ? " Cyril shook his head, yet did not look quite himself. ' Why I was just going to ask you to come along with me. Bather a gruesome occupation for a Christmas Eve; but I won't ask you. What have you done to your hand, eh ? I'm awfully sorry, but I'll tell you how you can oblige me; let me give you a letter of introduc- tion to my wife, and go and dine at my place ; say I may be late and don't let them wait." But DEAD. 123 Cyril was in no mood for mirth and friendly dinners, so he apologised, declined, and " By the way " a sudden impulse impelled him to ask the question " is this woman, the corpse you are going to photograph, is she young do yon say ? " " Yes, so I believe." " Is she is it a young girl,? " " Xo, oh no ; she's young, you know, but she is a married woman." Cyril sighed ; it was only a chance after all. Then, as if determined to make quite certain, " Do you mind telling me, Durode I assure you 'tis no idle question wherewith to waste your time do you know her maiden name ? Was it Keith?" " No, dear boy ; I don't know why you want to know, but it was not ; her maiden name was let me see ; yes, I know, it was Forrester." Cyril sighed again wearily, despondency in every line of his handsome face. Durode was now all ready, so they both went out together and drove oft'. It was not a 124 DEAD. journey; Marsh dropped the photographer at the door of a large house in Portland Gardens, then drove on to his hotel. On the way, Durode said : " By-the-bye, old fellow, you had something to ask me when you came to my show ; what was it?" " Oh ah yes ; so I had. Can you tell me anything about the original of this portrait ? " " Yes, I can. I don't see how you became possessed of it, but I do know something of her. Poor girl! it's a sad story; she had an unfortunate fate." "Had? Is die dead, then?" "Yes, poor thing! but I'll tell you all to- morrowhere we are, now. You'll dine with us to-morrow, of course. Let me have one day, at least with you to talk over old times." "All right, my dear fellow, I can't refuse you that; though if you knew all you would see I'll only be a death's head at the feast ; but I'll come." "All right, then; it's a promise. At the DEAD. 125 Langham, aren't you ? Well, good-bye, good- bye." The large doors closed upon Mr. Durode and his camera. If the truth were known, perhaps, in his heart he was regretting his leniency with regard to the operators' holiday, for, being a genial, kindly being, he was not at any time anxious to be thrust more than necessary into scenes of woe and death. Such an operation as he was now about to perform was never pleasant at the best of times ; but on an afternoon like the present, the sad winter daylight fast ebbing away, and with no one to accompany him to share the weirdness of the business, it was a doubly painful task. He met no one on his way up the broad staircase. There did not appear to be a soul about, except the old housekeeper who showed him in. The poor old creature appeared bowed down with grief, and spoke not one word, except to tell Durode to ring the bell if he wanted anyone, and she would come. 126 i> EAD He didn't suppose lie would want anyone, and intended to hurry on his unwelcome task all he knew. Little did he dream of the strange experiences he would go through in that house before he left it ! Dinner and friends waited, but had to calcu- late without their host, Children with golden, fluffy curls and ribbon shoulder-knots trotted in for dessert, and wanted to see " Dad " and "Kiss- miss pezzants ;" .but there was no Dad, and the presents had to wait till to-morrow, like Hayden Coffin with the queen of his heart. * * * A lonely man, with bronzed face and droop- ing moustache, sat moodily in the coffee-room at the Langham, after a futile journey to Scot- land Yard and a puzzling interview with a police inspector. His dislocated thumb gave him pain enough to turn the current of his thoughts in that direc- tion now and again, and he was glad to think that his friend, Dr. Forbes, would return to town to-morrow, for he felt an awful longing to tear DEAD. 127 off the strappings which he had fixed on so neatly only the day before. ' ; Shall I take a turn around London," he mused, " and see all the other devils who are more miserable than myself ? Why not ? There's nothing more to be done to-night. Unfortu- nately it does not comfort me in the least to know that some one suffers more than I ; quite the contrary. I never could understand the principle of consolation instilled by nurses and parents in,to children of tender years, when they fall and hurt themselves perhaps cut a finger or break a toe : ' Never mind ; it might be worse. Look at little Johnnie, he's cut two fingers and broken two toes ! ' Somehow, if I broke one leg I should derive no consolation from the fact that one of my friends had broken a leg, too, and an arm as well." He sighed. "My poor little girl, I suppose I'll never hear of her again, or know her fate." He did not know how near he had been to her that very afternoon. What impotent, helpless beings we are after 128 DEAD. all ! A dog will scent out his master through an iron door, or hear his footsteps from an almost incredible distance; birds know all about the changes in the weather and take precautions accordingly, long before we humans have any suspicion of it ; horses know when storms are brewing, or danger near ; even black snails show an amount of intelligence in their out- comings and in-goings, for which they get little credit ; but feeble, puerile man ! what does he know ? Nothing ; absolutely nothing Death is by his side, his sickle raised to strike. Eternity yawns beneath him, yet he laughs on the brink of it. Little recks he of danger, nor would he believe it if it were told him. His love, for whom he has been searching f) and grieving, may be in the next room, but he guesses it not ; how can he, poor fool ! Poor helpless fool ! I have an infinite pity for men, because they always appear so impotent in their blind fatu- ousness. They say, if we could even see a month DEAD. 129 ahead we would all become maniacs ; but how about the many who become maniacs because they can not see a month ahead ? Cyril Marsh was as tender-hearted as any woman, in spite of being six feet high and broad to match. Human suffering in any form appealed to him very strongly, arid he longed to put an end to it as far as lay in his power. So now this absurd young fellow, instead of trying to enjoy himself, set about thinking what he could do to make other people happy this Christmas Eve ! First of all he wrote a grateful letter to poor lonely Mdlle. Allard at the college, enclosing her a cheque, which sent her into hysterics when she received it with amazement and joy. He never knew half the good he did with that cheque, for he never saw the poor governess again, although she wrote him a letter that made him blush. Then he bethought himself that, though he knew no one to help, there were always miser- 130 DEAIJ - able children to be made glad ; and lie went forth among the highways and byways to see what he could see. By this time it was quite dark, except for the glare of the shop windows and the dingy street lamps dingier in London, these latter, than in any town in the provinces, goodness knows why ! A mixture of snow and rain, yclept sleet, was levastating around in Wet slants, melting muddily wherever it fell and rendering unto Csesar the things which did not belong to him. Where did Cyril Marsh go that night? Where did he not go ! He never quite knew himself. J)own back streets, hideous and grotesque in the light ol flaring naphtha, where stalls laden with fruit, vegetables, fish, aniseed lozenges, and children's toys, flanked each side of the narrow causeway ; where gory-looking butchers yelled and sold by auction chunks of nondescript ilesh called by courtesy beef and mutton ; where miserable t-muciated turkeys, that had evidently been foift grds-ed. out of all semblance to the festive Christ- DEAD. 131 mas bird of that ilk, hung out as a reminder to the poor people of the neighbourhood that they too had " seen better days," and that in their opinion a bird in the hand was not worth two in the bush ! Down turnings (Clare Market perhaps) where, in spite of the elements and the rain which rained upwards, organ grinders played, and children danced not children only, grown up people dancing in rings of four or six, waists clasped by each arm adjoining, like merry-go- rounds they were, in a mad carnival of sleet and hunger. Oh, the poor people ! The poor, poor people ! Through back streets, again, where cook-shops were a feature ; where penn'orths o' peas-pudjding in papers, and slices of corned beef to those who could run to it, were disbursed with careful hand by shopmen of greasy appearance ; where faggots oh, the savouriness of faggots ! were eagerly bought by fortunate little boys, the proud pos- sessors of unexpected pennies, to be eaten greedily round wet corners. 1 32 DEAD. " What are you eating, little man ? ' " Faggots, sir." " Faggots ! sticks ? " " No ; yew jist 'ave a sniff an' see ! " " Could you eat some more ? " " Could I eat some more ? oli, all ! wot d' yew think!" " All right, my lad, here you are." " Hi ! Bill ! come 'ere ! Look there, see that cove ? that big chap ! well, 'ee's got more money 'n 'ee knows 'ow ter spend ; look wot 'ee's guv' me!" " Shares, Tommy ! " " Shares ! rayther ! an' we'll take some 'ome ter Florrie fer a Christmas-box, eh ? Come orne ! ain't it larks, just ! " Little noses glued on steaming windows, little hungry, longing eyes, little hands laden with nothing but chilblains, little aching patient hearts ! Tender little souls ; where'er they be, bless them ! bless all the children ! Christmas time and other time, God keep them. DEAD. 133 " Where are you going, my little fellow ? " " Home, sir." " Don't you find it hard to walk with those crutches ? " " Yes, sir ; but Lizzie's worse nor me, sir." " How's that, little man ? " " Well, yer see, wen she missed 'er footin' an' tumbled under the dray w'eels I went ter drag 'er out, an' they on'y went arf over me, an' all over 'er ; an' I allus thinks as how I orter a'bin spryer, an' it wuz hall my fault. I'm on'y out t'night fer the fust time, an' she'll never be hout, sir." "Why did you come out on such a bad night ? " "It's Crissmuss Eve, sir, an' I've on'y bin a step er two ; but I r ad ter come coz well, a chap down our Court 'ee guv me three fardens ter spend, and I've bin a-spendin', I 'ave." " What did you buy with all that money ? " " W'y, I got tew things, sir, fer Lizzie's Oissmussin ; 'ere look ! This 'ere's a glass peacock, it wuz two fardens an' this tother's a 134 . . mouse made o' real chopcalitt-that's Lizzie's fancy, an' on'y a fardeu ! ! " "My poor little chap! Here, take tliis and give it to' Lizzie, and keep this for yourself." ' Well, I'm giggered ! ! Wot a rum start ! Thet cove must be dotty ! an' 'ee spoke kind o' chokin' like in 'is throat, 'ee did; p'raps 'ee's the chap thet's bin murderin' people olesale, an' this is some o' the swag. Oh, Jerrimy ! Strike me blind! I'll go back an' by that painted steamboat, an' a choccalitt seegar, and I'll take this bit 'ome ter mother, if she won't tell father she's got it. Oh my eye ! " " Don't cry, little woman ; there, there, why there's nothing worth crying for in this world ! " " Oh, ain't there ! thet's hall yew know ! If yew'd bin an' spilt father's supper beer, 'an broke mother's noo jug, it she saved up 'er spare coin fer, I Reckon yew'd cry tew ! " " How did you manage to break it ? " ** W'y, I just stepped acrost ter see that there DEAD. 135 Crissmuss tree in old mother Green's toffee-shop winder, an' Sally Green come out an' shoved me, she did, an' said, ' git 'long, yer hain't gwine ter by nothink,' sez she, an' nuther a waz, an' I .slithered along on a bit o' peel, sir, an' it was done in the twinklin' ov a heye bohoo, bohoo." " All right, dry up your tears." " Father '11 lather me ! " " Don't cry." " An' I won't git no puddin'." "Here, take this and buy another, there's a good little girl ; run away now." "Yer don't MEAN it-? 'ee's gorne ! Well, T'lti cusst ! 'ee's a real gennelman, 'ee is, and no 'mistake ! Oh (jolly ! Ilirray ! ! " " Ah me, good kind gintleman, wad'nt ye help a poor divil that's down oil's luck, sorr, wid a little coin av the relluin, sorr ? " " Now, my bo'y, what do you want ? " " Well, yer arner, mother's starvin', 'an father's 136 bin batiii av er, and aal the cliilder, sorr, is bloind as badgers, an' begorra we're in a tumble state at all, at all." " Now, my lad, look me straight in the face there, that's it ; now tell me honestly what yon really want the money for, and I give you my word of honour you shall have it ; but mind, I must have the truth ! " " Oh, yer arncr ! Arrah, be aisy Tim Doolan, an' tell the gintleman the troof ! He can only refuse annyway! Well, me lord, the facts av the case are just in this way : Me little cousin on me mother's side, Nora, good luck to her ! is goin' to make her first Communion to-morrow o for the blessed Christmus of it, sorr ; an' plase, yer worship, she's bin badjerin' the sowl out o' me to get her a daisy wreath, an' oi can boie it fer noinpins, sorr, an' oi've gat three-pince towards it already ; an' the rale troof, yer arner, is, that if oi'd towld annybody hwhat oi wanted it far, they wadn't av given me a capper, an' so oi towld a loie, God forgive me, an' resfme sowl all the same ! " DEAD. 137 " Well, you shall have your daisy wreath ; there you are." " Arrah, more power to yer ilbow, sorr, begorra who'd a thought it now ! The tap o' the mornin' to him, whoever he is, allanah ! oi believe it must be Parnell himself, God bless him ! Whoi, Nora can have thim white cotton gloves as well as the daisies. Tim Doolan, me spalpeen, honesty 's the best policy after all. God save Oirland ! " * . * * * Cyril was tired, but not down-hearted, when he reached the Langham that night ; the sight of all that rollicking Christmas-ing Heaven save the mark ! had done him good. The poor little dirty souls whom he had left happier for having seen him, the treats he had " stood " at savoury cook-shops to starved little ones, the absurdly Quixotic way in which he had helped a miserable old hag to buy the Christmas dinner, had been like so much dew to his parched nature, for he had long ago discovered that the only true happiness lay in 138 DEA1)i making the happiness of others, and letting your own take care of itself. " There's been a gentleman here for you, sir, and he seemed very excited, sir, and disturbed ; and he left this note." "The Scotland Yard man," Cyril thought, and tore it open. No ; it was signed "Durode." "Dear Marsh, Awfully sorry you are out, I want you particularly. The strangest, oddest thing, has happened, and you might he of the greatest assistance to me. Too late now, how- ever (11 p.m.), and things must remain as they are till to-morrow. I'm tired out, and going home, if possible, now first time to-night. Call at my studio early to-morrow, if pos. Yours in haste, DURODE." It was now 12.30. No use disturbing them at this hour, they might all be in bed ; so Cyril determined to lose no time in going to the studio in the morning. He felt a sickening sense of disappointment DEAD. 1 3t) at not hearing from the Yard as promised, and, although delighted to be of use to his old chum, knew that no affairs of his could concern him personally. So he passed, in spite of the pain in his thumb, an unusually tranquil night. Had he but known what was even then taking place not a stone's-throw from where he slept had he but guessed ! ! But no ; his eyes were closed in sleep, whilst danger ay, more than danger threatened her he loved. GHAPTEK VI. WHEN Durode was left alone in the chamber of death he first pulled up all the blinds. The light, however, even then was bad, and was every moment growing worse. However, he fixed his camera, and thought he'd try at all events, and do his best. The young girl lying there in the majestic stillness of eternal sleep was very, very pretty. Durode thought, with an involuntary shudder, that he had never seen such a beautiful face. Rings of golden-brown curls crowned her head, and her face had the oval outline of youth. Her sweet lips were not blanched, but were red and lovely, as though the rosy tint had been loth to leave such a dwelling-place, and refused to be ousted even by the grim spectre himself. DEAD. 141 So Durode mused in his poetic way, and sighed to think that she should die. He felt rather eerie, too, all alone in the room, even though there was nothing unlovely in the surroundings, and death for once appeared so beautiful. But the light was dying, and cast strange, flickering shadows across the hands of the girl ; and ever and again as he watched, Durode could almost have persuaded himself that they moved. The same experience has come to many when keeping vigil by some well-beloved form in its last sleep ; but, alas ! 'tis only an optical illusion, born of overstrung nerves and a sorrowing con- sciousness of the irretrievable. The room was a large one, and well furnished ; the bed upon which the young girl was laid was luxuriant, and elegant in its appointments. She had been gotten ready by loving and artistic hands for the last portrait, and there was absolutely no sign of death about her. Yet after he had set the camera straight, inserted the and arranged all, Durode turned his HEAD. back to the picture as being one too painful to dwell upon, and gazed through the window towards the desolate gardens and the dripping trees. "I'm afraid it's no use," he said to himself, as, watch in hand, he waited till the necessary time had elapsed for the photographic process to be successful, " no plate would be of the least use as late as this, for it's almost dusk ; but I'll give it ten minutes, and chance it." Ten weary minutes lagged by, and the photo- grapher turned round, looking once more to. wards the improvised flower-decked bier ; " very strange," he muttered, in meditative surprise ; " odd, very odd ; I could have sworn I placed that hand so, but pshaw ! I'm getting imagina- tive ; what next, it's impossible, I must be mistaken,! There, I'll re-arrange it, so ; now for another try, twenty minutes this time. Hang it, how terribly bad the light is getting ; poor child for she looks only a child, married or not married what a pretty picture she makes ! dear me, dear me ; " and he sighed again. DEAD. Another weary wait, this time spun out to thirty minutes, and again Durode turned towards the bed. " Good God ! " he exclaimed, " now surely there can be no mistake ; that hand has moved ! What can it mean ? Is the girl alive ? no, she can't be ! she is quite cold, and her heart- not a sound. Oh ! I must be mad ! how horrible, how horrible ! ! Nailed into her coffin to-night ! Not whilst I entertain this terrible doubt, not whilst I live ; but I must not alarm the relatives or fill them with false hopes ; no, I must go about it carefully. I'll gain time, somehow, I must say I fear these pictures, are no good I must take some more to-morrow, or I might leave the lot here to-night, and that would give my suspicion time to be proven by natural developments ; now I'll ring up the old woman," but only a young servant appeared in answer to his summons. " Where is the old lady whom I saw just f~i " now r ( ' Mrs. Meadows, sir ? Do yon want her ? " 144 DEAD> "Yes, will you kindly ask her to spare me a few moments?" Mrs. Meadows came ; a little old woman she was, with an old-fashioned cap on her head, and eyes red with weeping. The tears of the aged are pathetic beyond measure. " Did you please to want me, sir ? " " I'm afraid these portraits are no good, Mrs. Meadows. It is practically dark now. I should like, if possible, to come to-morrow morning and take some more." " Nay, nay, sir, that cannot be ! " " Why, may I ask ? " "The men are coming to-night, dear heart ," and Mrs. Meadows turned aside she could not finish her sentence. " But surely there is no absolute necessity ! There is no special hurry, that I can see." "Well, sir, the funeral is all fixed for to-morrow at two o'clock, and that cannot be put off. Oh, my blessed lamb, my blessed lamb ! " she 'wrung her poor withered hands in speechless sorrow. DEAD. 145 " You were very much attached to her ? " " Aye, sir. I was her nurse, and her mother's nurse afore her, God bless and keep her." "Where is her husband ? " " Well, we don't know, sir, but we've tele- graphed to Madeira three or four times, and he may be on his way home now ; poor lad, it's a sorry home-coming." "Who is there seeing to the arrangements, then ? " "The young mistress's cousin, sir, Captain Forrester him that inherits her property, under her grandmother's will ; not but what he's done all that's proper and handsome by way of the poor lamb ! " " Can I see him." " No doubt, sir, no doubt ; but he's not in the house, and we are expecting the men every minute now its dark." " Well, you must send them away again, that's all." "I darsen't go fur to do it, if you please, sir ; it's against orders, and the Captain was H G DEAD. mighty particular about his orders being obeyed; even in little matters." " But, my good woman, surely you want the photographs, I presume, for the husband ; well, if they could not be done to-night, surely it would not be asking very much to leave the poor girl as she is until the morning ? " " Nay, sir ; I'd be only too willing, but what am I to do ? Captain Forrester may not be in till late, and the last words he said were that nothing was to delay the screwing down, not even the photographs; because, he says, the men wouldn't agree to do it on Christmas, sir." A knock at the door. " Please, Mrs. Meadows, the men's 'ere, and says they're in a hurry." " Jell them to wait ! " said Durode, in a tone of such commanding authority and decision that the maid and the old housekeeper stared at him in astonishment. He had quite made ^up his mind what to do. She should not be screwed into her coffin that night ; no! not for fifty Captain Forresters ! He, DEAD. 147 himself, would take the responsibility, if he had to keep watch in that chamber till to-morrow's dawn ! Buried oil Christmas Day! Not until he had developed his negatives ! Not whilst a doubt remained in his mind as to whether the lovely being laid amongst the white ilowers were really dead, or only in one of those strange, and luckily rare, trances of which he had read from time to time ! The awful doom of a living burial, even the barest chance of one, should not be perpetrated on human being whilst Durode and his camera were in the land of that he was determined. " Now, Mrs. Meadows," he said, in the same authoritative tone, closing the door gently as he spoke, " I am going to speak to you quite frankly, and to trust you with a suspicion of mine which I ask you to promise you will not repeat." He led the way into a dressing-room adjoining the large bedroom, as though afraid that even the poor corpse itself would overhear what he had to say. DEAD. He spoke for about ten minutes, persuading and arguing ; Mrs. Meadows wept, and wrung her hands in a helpless, old-age sort of way, but gave no credence to the views expressed by Durode. " Nay, sir, nay, sir, it's not possible. The poor angel has bin dead these three days, God rest her soul ! Cold and stark, cold and stark she is ! " " Yes, so she seems ; but stranger things have happened, Mrs. Meadows, especially when, as in this case, the patient has sustained some heavy shock or sudden grief." " Grief it was, sir. The poor lass has gone from one swoon into another ever since Captain Forrester told her about the ship that her hus- band sailed in." "What did he tell her?" " He said there'd bin rumours that it had gone down with all hands." " And it hadn't, of course ? " " No, sir ; but the poor lamb never knew it ; slir died thinking she'd meet her husband in Heaven ; aye, deary me, deary me." DEAD. 1 49 " Now, Mrs. Meadows, promise me that this room shall remain undisturbed until I return ; but first I'll go and send away the undertaker's men." -. / Whilst he was away, Mrs. Meadows softly approached the bed, sighing and weeping resignedly. She touched the hands, kissed the cold brow, and felt the heart of her nurse-child ; then, as if convinced once more, covered her face with the silken shroud. " Well, the men are gone, and will not return until twelve o'clock to-morrow. I've made it all right with them, and this will give me time to test the truth and consult the medical man who, you say, gave the death certificate." " Dr. Danby, sir, yes." " And if, when Captain Forrester returns, he makes any objections to my proceedings, just send a special messenger to my studio, where I shall be till I hear from yon, and I'll come round at once." . " Very well, sir," said Mrs. Meadows, sighing. 150 MAI). "And just to make sure that this room will be left as it is, I'm going to lock the door and take the key in my pocket. I will not Be long in any case before I return, but I must see Dr. Danby, and test the evidence of the negatives. You understand ? And mind, not a word to Captain Forrester about my suspicions, they may prove fallacious after all ; just say I must have more photographs to-morrow." " Yes, sir ; alas, I fear you are wrong ! " Durode was as good as his word, he locked the door on the still, quiet figure, and so left the house. Durode's adventures that night in search of a physician would take too long to tell. Dr. Danby was away; so were many others. Those whom he did see with one accord agreed that the man who gave the death certificate was the man to give an opinion on the case now ; it would not In' professional etiquette for another medical to interfere in the matter. 44 Just Heaven ! Is a human life to be cant away for the sake of the paltry rags of * profes DEAD. 151 sional etiquette,' with which these sapient hum- bugs clothe themselves as in a wedding garment," thought Durode. ' Yes, and yes again ; many a one, many a one, has been so cast away, and will be so cast away as long as cant and mistaken notions hold a place in our midst; and when will they not?' After a hopeless quest, Durode returned to his studio, thinking that the proofs of the unde- veloped negatives might alter this opinion. At the door he found a Commissionaire, with this note : " Dear Sir, Captain F. has just returned, and he is very angry at what you have done. The door is to be broken open, and the coffin closed to-night. He will have no more pictures taken. Come if you can at once, though I fear it is too late now. Yours respectfully, "ANN MEADOWS." Quickly jumping into a hansom, Durode set out once more. He called (to no purpose as we know) at the Langham, then proceeded to tackle Captain Forrester. 152 DEAD. " What right have you, sir," said the latter, angrily, " to possess yourself of the key of my cousin's room ? " "The right which every honest man has to protect a helpless woman, sir ! " " What do you mean, fellow ? are you talking of my cousin my poor dead cousin ? What need has she of your protection, or of any other man's, now!" " Captain Forrester, we may as well discuss this matter after the manner of gentlemen, and not argue in the hall to be overheard by servants and undertaker's men " (for they were again in the house, waiting for orders). " When a man behaves as a gentleman I treat him as one, not unless, Mr. Durode ! " He turned sullenly into the library, however, and Durode followed him. " Now, Captain Forrester. I have something to O say to you. Listen or not as you please, but it will be the worse for you if you don't. I have some reason (which I will explain^ater) to believe that your cousin is not dead ! " DEAD. 153 " Not dead ! Good God ! what do you mean ? " Captain Forrester turned from white to red, and from red to green. " Not dead. I mean what I say. I can't prove it at present ; but I will if you give me time. I may be wrong, most probably am ; but whilst one doubt remains in my mind one iota or shadow of a doubt that woman's body shall stay as it is ! Now, sir, what have you to say to that ? " " That you are a meddling, insolent fool, sir ! an ignorant ignorant idiot ! Not dead ha, ha ! that's a probable story ! Why the poor girl died three days ago. Dr. Danby everybody knows Danby, Wimpole Street gave the certifi- cate himself! You can see it, sir, when you choose ; and since you constitute yourself med- dler in general in my cousin's house, you shall see it ! What you are to gain by this insolent interference in what does not concern you, you know best yourself; but one thing you won't gain you won't gain time for your worthless photographs. If those you took to-day are no 154 WAD. good, we'll go without them do you hear? The men are waiting now ; give me that key ! " " Captain Forrester," Durode tried to preserve his calm, " will you wait until I have developed the plates which I have taken ? " " No, sir, I will not. Give me that key, I tell you." '* Will you wait till to-morrow, when, perhaps, your cousin's husband will return, or at least be heard from ? " " No, I tell you." *' The undertakers were quite willing to come at twelve to-morrow ; and, for that matter, why hurry the funeral in this unseemly way whilst there is any doubt on such a vital matter as this ! " " Unseemly ! hurry ! No such thing, sir. li it is not done to-morrow it cannot be till Monday ; and as to doubt, there's not a shadow of a doubt, sir not one shadow. Come up again now, and see for yourself." "I tell you, Cap tain Forrester, I believe the gill's hand moved whilst 1 was taking the photograph ; DEAD. 155 surely, in the face of my statement, you will not take the risk of nailing her into her coffin until I have proved it, one way or another ! " " Eisk ! I tell you there's no risk. Your in- fernal imaginative folly is not to be regarded in the light of a serious statement by a sane man. Once more, give me that key, or the door shall be forced open ! " " May I ask first, Captain Forrester, do you gain anything by your cousin's death ? " " What do you mean to insinuate, you scoun- drel ! Do you imply that I'm a murderer ? " Durode smiled slightly on seeing how his question had staggered Forrester, who leant back against the bookcase, breathing heavily. " I only threw it out as a suggestion that your present actions might be misunderstood. From what I have been told, I glean that you inherit your cousin's fortune if she dies childless." " What of that, sir ! What right have you or any other man to insinuate that I could desire her death for the sake of " " Be that as it may, sir, one thing I do know. 156 and that is that you are not going to bury that corpse until I am sure it is a corpse, if I have to stand by the door all night and call in the aid of the police to prevent you." Forrester thought deeply for a few minutes. " Well, sir, whether I like it or not, you have gained your point. I cannot draw a scandal round the bed of Death of my dear cousin. If you persist in your insolent demands, in the absence of her husband I must agree. I will give you till to-morrow at twelve o'clock to pro- duce your proofs, and also a medical man of reputable character. I do not believe you, remember ; and, in any case, T regard you as an impertinent, meddling fool do you understand that!" Durode left the house, but took the key with him. * * * * What was the little white-robed figure that stole down the stairs when he had gone whose was that golden curl-crowned head ? What tender, tear-dimmed eyes were those DEAD. 157 whose timid little hand opened the study door ? What childish voice was that ? Surely not, surely not yet how like, how like ! Captain Forrester started from his fit of savage brooding, and paled as he saw the vision for it , seemed like a vision. Pulling himself together, however, he said, in a surly voice " What do you want ? " " Oh ! Archie, don't be angry, but I heard such loud talking, and I thought something was the matter ; what is it nothing wrong ? Has anyone arrived ? " / " No ; don't be silly, go to bed. Do you know it is nearly two [o'clock in the morning who could arrive at this hour ? " " Don't be vexed, Archie, I won't bother you ; but I felt so lonely, and " " There, for God's sake, child, don't cry ; I'm worried and upset enough already, without any- thing else. What does Mrs. Meadows mean by letting you tear about the house like this ? " " Oh ! the poor old dear is quite worn out 1 58 DEAD. with watching and weeping. She lias fallen asleep, and I'm glad. I wish I could sleep, too, but I can't I can't, Archie. Couldn't I watch Inside her for a little to-night ? I promise faith- fully I won't lie frightened, or bother anyone." "Now, now, little goose, what (Jo you call this I eh ? wandering about like an unquiet spirit ; enough to frighten anyone with your pale face. But there, I won't get angry, I know you don't mean to worry me. Sit up ! No, no, don't be stupid ; go off to bed, remember you will have a try ing. day to-morrow." "Oh, Archie, do you remember that this is Christmas Eve? Isn't it awful! We used to have such happy -t times." 4 What, crying again ? This will never do ! My dear little girl, you distress me ; 3-011 can't think how bothered I am." " Can I help you, Archie ? What is it ? " "You? pooh! not very likely. I wish you could. No; my worries are of the nature that all my relatives are already tired of helping me out of," " What, money ? " DEAD. 159 "Yes," moodily, "money, no less/' " But, Archie," this in a puzzled tone, " surely we have plenty. Why can't you have some? I know / have heaps somewhere!' 1 "Yes, that's just it; but somewhere is no- where in this case, bad luck to it." " What have you done with all yours ? " "Ah, what, indeed ! Nothing good, I'm afraid ; nothing I could tell you little one ; nothing you would understand." " Oh, I understand much more than you imagine, and I'd like to help you out of your worries anyhow." " It's impossible, child at all events not now ; so go away, there's a good girl ! I expect to square things all right next week." " I'm very glad." " Good night, dear, don't cry when you go to bed." " No, Archie. Good night." He led her to the bottom of the staircase, and watched her slender lithe form as she wended her upward way slowly and listlessly. 160 DEAD. On reaching the landing she turned, looked down, and, on seeing Forrester still there, waved a little white hand to him before she disappeared. " Poor little soul," he muttered, as he returned to the library, "I believe that's the only soft spot I've got in my hard heart ! But who could be unkind to her ? No one. I'll have a brandy, I think. Now the devil take that mad idiot Durode ! God knows, I didn't want my cousin to die ; but now she is dead this delay is mighty awkward for me ! It can't make any difference to her now, she might as well be buried to- morrow as Monday ; but it makes all the difference to me. Just like my luck always some infernal thing cropping up when I least expect it. I shan't delay the funeral though ; that's all settled." * * * CHAPTEK VII. /YY'RIL MARSH lost no time in going to Durode's studio on Christmas morning, but it was not open ; there was no sign of life in the padlocked iron gate and the drawn blinds. So he waited, walking restlessly up and down watching the early milkmen, amused in spite of himself at their unnatural and noisy way of announcing their presence. " I'd horsewhip a coolie for less," he mused, pensively. Durode arrived about 9.30, looking fagged-out and anxious. " You'll think I'm late, old fellow, but I've just gone through the mill of argument with a pig- headed medical man. Not but what they are all 162 DUAD. pig-headed more or less. .But come in, and I'll tell you my story. I wish I had found you last night." As he unlocked doors and unpacked his slides, &c., Durode quickly went over the in- cidents of the night before. Cyril listened with eager interest. * You don't think that Forrester wants to bury a living woman, do you ? " " No, because I can't prove she is living, it might have been my fancy about the hand moving ; but it will soon be decided if these plates are any good. I shan't be long. I could have had it all settled last night if I could have got a doctor, but none of them would stir in the matter. The pompous asses would rather risk the burial of a living woman than infringe the copyright of 'professional etiquette'; and then which of these smaller fry would risk makiii"- I . O out the great Daiiby to be mistaken ! pah ! it makes me sick." He was now in the dark room, developing the plates. Cyril waited patiently as the minutes went by. He felt strangely excited by Durode's DEAD. 1G3 story, and anxious to hear the end of it. An exclamation from the photographer interrupted his thoughts. " What is it, old fellow ? Anything wrong ? " " Everything wrong ; not a blessed mark on one plate. I think it must be the last one I took when the light was gone. Here goes for the other!" / Another silence, longer this time. " Good God, what's the matter ? " this from f Vril, as his friend opened the door and walked unsteadily into the studio, his face pale, his eyes gleaming. " Marsh ! it is true ! She did move her hand ! ! She is ALIVE, I tell you ! and they are going to /;??/ her to-day at two ! Come, come to the light ; look, see ! where the blur is on the negative, you'll see take care man, you nearly made me drop it ! " Why, why Cyril old man, what is the matter with you ! ! Sit down here no, lie on this sofa. Quick ! stay, I'll put the negative down first. Have a pull at this flask, old fellow. Are you all 1G4 DEAD. right now ; there, I've opened the window that's better. Are you often taken like this your thumb, perhaps." " No, Phil ; and what's more, I'm not going to give away to it now. That" starting up excitedly, "that portrait, is the portrait of the girl Hove, for whom I've been searching ; the girl of my dream, who was murdered. Oh God, it is too horrible ! " Durode thought he'd gone mad ! " Impossible, Marsh, she is married you know that, don't, you ? " '* Married or not it's all the same to me ; she was not married when I knew her, and Hove her, I tell you ! " " You're dreaming, old chap." BURIED ALIVE ! ! not whilst we two men live ! Over my corpse first ! Don't delay ; every moment means an hour ! You are sure she moved, Phil jutte sure ! Let me see the thing again ; aye, sure enough ! my poor girl, what does it mean," and he groaned in an anguish of grief. DEAD. 165 " Quick, quick ; let us go." " I must fix it first." " Think what delay means." " What about a doctor ? " " No doctor could refuse to go on the face of such evidence as this ! Stay ; I know the very man, if he is at home, but I fear not. I'll rush there whilst you get ready, and if I don't bring him back with me I'll get another, if I've to drag him by brute force ! " and in the wildest excite- ment he was down the stairs without another word. " Dr. Forbes, has he returned ? " " Hillo, Marsh, is that you ? I thought I recognised the voice ; surprised to see me back, aren't you ? Oddly enough, I had a wire from a rich patient soon after you left, and I caught" the next boat." * " Thank God ; come, come quickly there's no time to be lost ; jdon't delay one second if you're human ! " " My dear fellow, what is wrong ? Come ! Why of course I'll come if I can be of any service to you. Just let me change my togs." ICfi DEAD. "No, no!" "My coat then, here we are." I'll tell you all as we drive along my dream doctor, my dream has come true ; you can indeed do me a service, and perhaps save the life of the girl I love, if only " "If only what?" " Wait till you hear all." He heard all, and, almost, as much excited as either of the two men, he agreed to accompany them to Portland Gardens. Eleren o'clock was striking as they drove up to the door. In the library they found Captain Forrester, a good deal more polite than he had been the night before, when, perhaps, thought Pnroile in excuse, he had been drinking. " Good morning, gentlemen ; may I ask what has been the result of your investigations ? " * Captain Forrester," replied Durode, gravely, " this is Dr. Forbes, of Harley Street, who is prepired to test the assertion, to which I still DEAD. 167 adhere, that your cousin may not be dead, but in a trance ; will you look at the negative ? " Cyril, who, with a paralysed horror, had recog- nised the man of his dream, could scarcely contain himself as Forrester examined the photo.- graph, puffing the while at a huge cigar in a leisurely manner, peculiarly aggravating to his over-strung sensibilities. Forrester frowned displeasedly as he looked, and the photographer explained what the blur on the plate meant ; it was quite evident that even now he did not believe it. ."Well, sir," he said at length, "and what further proof do you propose to show ? " " I propose," Dr. Forbes interposed, " to open a" small vein in the arm, when all doubt will be set al rest one way or the other.'' Forrester bowed gravely, and thought for a moment. Cyril, in the pause which ensued, could hear his heart beating heavily and irregularly ; all the men looked pale and drawn, in the cold winter light. 168 DEAD - Christmas bells were beginning to ring in all directions, resounding with a joyful significance that jarred upon the feelings of more than one in that house of mourning. Durode, perhaps from force of habit in the stillness, took out his watch. The action roused Captain Forrester. " What you propose to do, Dr. Forbes, appears to me little short of a desecration of a dead body. I am unwilling to permit it, more especially as I've had a telegram from the lady's husband who may be here any moment." ** Captain Forrester," the doctor exclaimed, in a loud voice in the tension of the scene no one noticed that the door had partly opened " as a doctor, I say to you, at your peril delay any longer ! If your cousin is not dead, but only in a trance " What was that wild shriek that rang through the room, thrilling everyone with a sudden fear, as a slender, white-clad, girlish form flew into their midst? Durode staggered Do back, and almost fell. "The CORPSE! "he cried. . DEAD. 169 " This the corpse ! ? " said the doctor, in amaze- ment. . "Not dead! NOT DEAD! my little girl. Thank God, thank God ! " murmured Cyril. The girl took no notice of either of them, but flew across to Captain Forrester, clasping his arm wildly. " Oh, Archie, Archie, what does it mean I Not dead in a trance ! ! tell me, tell me oh, tell me!" Not the corpse, and not dead by any means, but what a wonderful likeness ! The same brown curls, with their golden streaks ; the same oval face and tender mouth ; the same lovely eyes. Captain Forrester's hard, reckless face softened somewhat at the sound of the childish voice and the touch of the clinging hands. " What was that doctor saying, Archie ? Oh, sir, tell me what you said, and were you talking about my own Lilian ? " Cyril was beginning dimly to comprehend " did you say she might not be dead ! tell me, tell me." She ran lightly 170 across the room, and, laying her hand on the doctor's arm, gazed earnestly into his face. ' My dear young lady," he answered, sadly and gently, " do not allow yourself to hope anything. Prepare for disappointment, for a case of the kind does not happen once in years. Still, we propose to put a test which will settle all doubts, only your cousin does not appear willing." " Oh, Archie, surely you could not object he shall not object," she drew her slender, girlish figure to its full height, her eyes flashing indig- nation, " for 7 shall order the test to be put. She is MY sister ! ! " Here she looked across and saw Cyril Marsh. " Ah, my friend, my friend ! } 'fit here ! Oh, I have wanted so to see you " she was by his side now " and oh, I am so Miserable, and have Jieen fto wretched! I can trust you, can't I? You won't let my my d-d-darlincr I^lilian be buried, when perhaps she is not dead! Oh She broke down in a pas- sionate burst of weeping. Cyril made her sit down on the sofa; he took his seat beside her, speaking low, and comforting her as best DEAD. 1 7 1 lie could. The others looked on in astonish- ment. Rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat ! ! ! A peremptory knock that ; surely one given by a man who knew he was at his own door. Captain Forrester went out into the hall. " My wife ? " exclaimed a man's anxious voice. " Alas ! Lemiard, I fear " "What! dying !J No answer! Archibald, for Heaven's sake not DEAD ! ! " But Lilian's sister heard the voice, and, rush- ing out, t-hrew herself into Lilian's husband's arms, for he it was. " Oh, Lennard, Leunard ! they are going to bury Lilian. Stop them ! stop them ! " but the poor girl could say no more, and fell fainting on the mat outside the library door. Dr. Forbes and Cyril were soon on the spot, and carried the poor child into the room, laying her on the sofa, and trying to revive her. Captain Langford meanwhile, with uneven steps and a face of ghastly whiteness, was slowly making his way to his wife's chamber. 172 DEAD. " Don't stop me, Archibald, for God's sake! I must, and shall see her ! " He appeared quite dazed and strange. Cap- tain Forrester took him gently by the arm : " One word first, Lennard. We have something to say to you something which these gentle- men in the library say is important, very im- portant urgent" as Lennard did not appear to be heeding him. " Speak with them first ; hear their story before you go up to poor Lilian." " When did she die ? " " Three days ago." " I never heard." " We wired you." tk I only got one Come at once ; Lilian very ill.' And I'm too late." Captain Langford and Dr. Forbes were closeted together for some little time. The doctor told him all as gently as he could, and showed him the photograph, which affected the poor fellow deeply. In the meantime, Durode handed the key once DEAD. 173 more to Captain Forrester, waiting the husband's decision. " But why this delay, doctor ? For Heaven's sake, come come ! " dragging him by the arm ; " do what you will what you can ; but oh ! if you can restore my darling to me, I'll " " You will have others to thank, not me ; but come only don't give way to unreasonable hope. Durode's negative may speak falsely." " Let us try. Great Heaven help me, if you fail ! " Once in the death chamber, poor Langford's emotion was painful to witness ; he threw him- self on the ground by his wife's coffin in a paroxysm of grief, and wept the painful tears of a strong man unused to emotion. "Now, Captain Langford," said the doctor, " may I be allowed to direct this affair ? I suggest, to begin with, that everyone leaves the room except those whom your wife has known well and loved. Let the flowers and all this be cleared away, and the bed left as usual, so that as pray God it may be ! if 174 our hope is realised, she may know nothing of what has occurred, for it might even then prove fatal. Calm yourself; show no emotion, and answer her quietly, if she asks how you are here, with some commonplace explanation." Laugford rang the bell, and Mrs. Meadows came and made the necessary alterations. The still, quiet, corpse-like figure, so pathetic in its lifelessness, was arranged anew ; all signs of death were removed. "Please, sir," from a servant at the door, " the men has come again, and they say it's past twelve, and there's no time to lose." "Send them up here," said the doctor, promptly. A shudder seized the unhappy husband, and even Forrester turned a shade paler. "Remove this coffin.'' "Well, sir, we don't want to hurry you, but " " Do as you are bid. I will tell you when you are wanted again." The ineii did as they were told, but sullenly, DEAD. 175 as though under protest. No wonder they did. not understand, and muttered to each other of the strange doings in this house. Lilian's sister, now quite herself again, was still with Marsh and Durode, who persuaded her to stay down stairs for a little ; at last, how- ever, she could bear the anxiety no longer, and crept up to the door of the bedroom followed by the two men, who thought that, considering all the circumstances, such conduct was ex- cusable. At first there was an intense stillness in the room, broken only by the suppressed sobs of Lennard Langford, who could no longer hope in the death-like presence of his beautiful young wife. Mrs. Meadows moved softly about the room, weeping, too, and in the quietness you could even hear the ticking of the doctor's O watch. Seconds seemed hours and hours weeks to the anxious watchers and listeners ; never whilst any of them live will they forget that hour for it was only an hour of misery ! 176 " Pull up the blinds, Mrs. Meadows." "Don't you think I might go in, Mr. Marsh?" whispered the terrified girl at the door. " No, my child ! better not ; they don't want you, and you might not be able to restrain your emotion." Will any of them ever forget the cough that the doctor gave now and then, or the sound of his footsteps as he walked round the bed ! " Plenty of hot water, Mrs. Meadows Ig the brandy there ? Yes, all right ; just help me to move her a little on one side, Captain Langford, please; there, not quite so much that will do. If this is a trance it is a most remarkable one," he whispered ; yet every word rould be heard on the landing out- side. " Kindly hold this basin, so ; don't let it touch her hand. Now." A long, long silence, but oh ! how full that silence was ! DEAD. 177 More Christmas bells ringing softly in the dis- tance. Anxious moments passed. The girl at the door of the room put her little hand in Cyril's with a movement of simple trust that touched him deeply. He did not know that everyone, from children and dogs upwards, trusted in him from the minute they looked into his honest, kindly eyes and felt the manly grasp of his hand. Even in that solemn hour he thought of his sudden, strange love for this child ; and swore to win her if it lay in his power, and to worship and protect her for evermore. A long, heavy sigh from the death chamber startled him once more. Who sighed? "Mrs. Meadows, go round to the other side of the bed, hold her other hand, rub it briskly that's right. Now, sir, I'm going to open this vein if the blood flows she is not dead I " Ah ! whose convulsive sob of sudden agony, or sudden joy rang through the silent room 178 Lilian's sister darted forward, but Marsh clutched her hand tightly, and prevented her entering. Oh, my God, I thank theefor Thy great rttfrties she is SAVED ! " * Hush hnsh ! not a word not a sonnd ! Captain .Forrester, yon had better not be here when she comes round." Who can describe the scene in that fateful room? Certainly not Dr. Forbes, assuredly not Captain Langford ; and as to the poor girl- wife Lilian she never knew there had been a scene. She never heard of the anxious group on the landing ; no one ever told her of the grim contingent of men and coffin below. All this 'was a sealed book to her, and is so to this day. She knows she has a new doctor to whom her husband says he owes a debt of gratitude, and who always has a \v:irm welcome in their house, DEAD. 179 She knows that she has been ill, and that her husband got leave of absence, and has sold out of the army since. She feels that into their life has come a new tenderness, and more love to her from him than she feels she can ever deserve ; and she knows, too, that Lennard has suddenly developed a mania for having photographs taken in every position under the sun, and in having hers taken, and recommending all his friends to have theirs taken ; and she chaffs him about his vanity, and called him "Durode's Advertising Agent ! " But she has never seen one blurred negative that is kept safely locked in a tin case, which is again locked in a desk in her husband's study ; she never has heard of it, and she never will. And last, not least, she is aware of the almost constant presence of a tall, bronzed fellow with earnest eyes, who literally seems to worship the ground on which 'her sister, "little Keith Forrester," walks. " ' Keith Forrester ' was ever a name so pretty ! " thought Cyril Marsh, as he walked from 180 the Langham, for the hundredth time almost, to Portland Gardens. He was laden with flowers for Keith and Lilian, as he was every day ; and Lilian was going out to-day, for the first time, in a closed carriage. As he reached the door he glanced around, and thought what a different significance there was in the bare winter trees in such a short, comparatively short, time. When the carriage drove to the door, and Lilian, pale and sweet, was being tenderly lifted into it by her husband and Cyril, who was this to be seen hurrying along in the distance what burly form with frosted beard and bright blue eyes ? Who but Durode, carrying baskets of grapes and hot-house peaches, as a good- luck offering on the " first day out " of his own special negative ! For who else saved her life, he'd like to know ! Something more in photography than meets the eye, he says ; and thinks he has scored off those pig-headed " professional etiquettes ! " DEAD. 1.81 Pine trees and blue sky ; hillsides and heather ; rocks with fairy, coral-lined, sea-weedy pools ; waves dashing high on sandy beach ! Time : any time you like. " Let's have sunsets and things when we go for honeymoons, Cyril," Keith had said, in her quaint way, " and moons, and sea, and wood- pigeons' nests, with squirrels and things buzzing amongst the heather ! and strawberries growing wild, and strange lights nickering at night on the ocean, coming up in flashing streaks from no- where at all, and tearing about like mad on the sky ; and let me see boats coming in, laden with glittering, scaly herrings ; and picturesque men in red caps yelling things in strange tongues as they ' haul upon the bowlin' you know ! " and she laughed merrily. " You expect a good deal of all-roundness, Keith, my little girl ; do you think all this galaxy of delight grows wild in one place ? " Cyril had answered, laughing, too. "Well, I don't know; but I thought that somewhere in the Highlands, where you told me 182 DEAD. your aunt, or grandmother, or something, Cameron of Loch 1 don't know what lived, there might be some of this combined-ness ! But, Cyril, I don't much care where it is as long as I am with YOU ! " FINIS THE CABtrLE PRESS, 23, 21 AXD 25, CHARTERHOUSE. S^U LO.NDOX, E.C. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS AN EPISODE BY EDGAR SALT US AUTHOR OF "EDEN," "THE TRUTH ABOUT TRISTREM VARICK," ETC; ' ' Pour estre bien aim6, II fault aimer bien peu." RONSARD. COPYRIGHT LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL GLASGOW : 335 ST. VINCENT STREET, MANCHESTER : 76 MOSLEY STREET 1889 [All Rights Reserved] THE LUDGATE NOVELS. NADINE. By MRS. CAMPBBLL PRAED. MURDER OR MANSLAUGHTER ? By HELEN MATHERS. BLACKMAIL. By R. MOUNTENEY JKPHSON. THE BROTHER OF THE SHADOW. By MRS. CAMPBELL PRAED. THE SECRET OF BARRAVOE. By LADY VIOLET GREVILLE. 7 TO 12 ; A DETECTIVE STORY. By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN. MR. BARNES OF NEW YORK. By ARCHIBALD C. GUNTER. FREE JOE. By the Author of "Uncle Remus." HERR RICHTER'S STRANGE EXPERIMENT. By W. H. STACPOOLE. MONSIEUR MOTTE. By GRACE KING. MR. BAZALGETTE'S AGENT: A DETHCTIVE STORY. By LEONARD MERRICK. WELL OUT OF IT. By JOHN HABBERTON. BY THE NIGHT EXPRESS. By KEITH FLEMING. EDEN. By EDGAR SALTUS. THE TRUTH ABOUT TRISTREM VARICK. BY EDGAR SALTUS. COME. By GERTRUDE FRANKLIN MISS DAVIS OF BROOKLYN. By WENONA OILMAN. ' E A AN AMERICAN WOMAN. By GERTRUDE FRANKLIN /VTHBRTON. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. By EDGAR SALTUS. TO HELEN. Ntw York, ig/// March, i88q. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. I. rPHE quiet of the morning was punctuated by a housemaid who, aware that the master was astir, was singing, for his benefit, "Jesus loves me," in a treble of irritating insistence. Already the carriage had arrived, and as Gonfallon drew on his gloves he wondered by what token he should recognize the sister of his wife. He had the vaguest memory of her, a slip of a girl who years before had sat opposite him at dinner, the eyes lowered, the hair in pendent plaits. And as his thoughts went back to earlier days, Ruth called to him from the floor above, " If you don't 8 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS, see her at once, ask the captain; she is in his cnarge." Gonfallon was not a whit more unselfish than the best of us, yet that morning his routine upset, his coffee undigested, the paper barely skimmed, and, paramount of all, Ruth's neuralgia, which forced him to the wharf alone, made him conscious that, momentarily, for all of him, in the captain's charge the girl might remain. But he assented smilingly, as was his wont; and when, after a long sweep down the avenue and a brisk drive through hideous little streets, he caught a sniff of salt water, his equanimity re- turned, and as the carriage rolled into the domed and creaking peninsula, the momentary annoyance was forgot. Already the Bourgogne was in the offing, and Gonfallon had but a few moments in which to kick his heels, before the great ship was moored and the gang-plank let down. As the vessel swung round he had gazed up at the faces that lined the rail, trusting to his own intuition to recognize the girl unprompted ; but as yet among A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 9 the passengers he saw no one that in any way resembled the shy little maid whom he had come to meet. " H'm," he mused, " I dare say she has recognized me, and is too timid to make a sign." And, reflecting that after all, in view of his cloth, it would be more dignified to make inquiry of some one than to stand staring women out of countenance, he descended into the caverns of memory and recovered a sen- tence in French. "Where is the purser to be found?" he asked of an official at his side. " Le voila," the man answered, not over- suavely, and nodded towards an individual be- braided with gold, who stood within hailing distance. Gonfallon turned to the person thus designated, and presently succeeded in catching his eye. " Would you be good enough ' he began, and, as the purser leaned forward the better to catch his speech, Gonfallon added, " I am looking for Miss Bucholz." 10 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. The purser lifted his arms and assumed an expression of the civilest and most amiable per- plexity. "Really, sir, I regret, perhaps- And as he shrugged his shoulders and bowed, as who would say, " It is a grief that I cannot gerve you," a young man dressed Piccadilly- fashion touched him on the arm. " I beg pardon : Dr. Gonfallon, I believe. My name is Mr. Yarde. Miss Bucholz is yon- der." And as Gonfallon, in obedience to the sum- mons, turned again, he heard the purser, pre- sumably to a sympathetic ear, exclaim, " Ah, ca ! Does he think I have his Miss Bucholz in my pocket?" But Gonfallon had no opportunity of meditating on the variation of demeanour which is peculiar to the French : a moment or two later the guide whom Providence or his sister-in-law had sent had led him through coils of descending passengers to a corner of the deck, which, so nearly as his vision permitted him to discern, was occupied by but one person, a pouting, good-looking lad, such as one A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 11 may see any day at Eton during term-time, who stood leaning against the back of a steamer-chair in such a manner that only the head and shoulders were visible. " Here," said the guide, greatly to Gonfallon's astonishment, " here is your quest, Miss Bucholz, can I be of further assistance ? " Immediately the pout disappeared, and a hand gloved in Suede was extended. " Is Ruth not with you?" And then for the first time Gonfallon realized that he was in the presence of her whom he sought. "Yes," he answered "no, I mean. She is at the house " In amusement at his own sur- prise, he smiled a little. " I have a carriage, though " The girl turned to the young man who had introduced himself as Mr. Yarde. " You may go," she said, abruptly; and to her lips the pout returned. The young man made as if he would speak, but evidently he thought better of it, and, raising his hat, took himself off. As he moved away, 12 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Gonfallon glanced at him, and as he glanced there bubbled within him that unmotived, instinctive dislike of which antipathy is born. " Detestable little cad ! " the girl muttered, and issued from her barricade. Gonfallon eyed her curiously. Whatever manner of gown she wore was covered by an ulster. On her head was a sailor-hat, about her neck was a high white collar, the ends bent, and beneath it was a scarf such as is worn by men. She was worse than pretty. In her skin was the hue of that white rose which has a sulphur heart. Her features had the surety of an intaglio; her head was small, the brow low ; in her hair, which was short and curled, was the glisten of gold-leaf shown to the sun. Her eyes were of porcelain blue, the under lids retreating and shorter than the upper. The effect of her mouth, now that the pout had gone, was that of lips untouched and unaware of love. In height she was a trifle taller than the average New York girl. She held herself with the erectness of, one accustomed to the saddle. And when again she spoke, Gonfallon felt the A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 13 charm of that undulant intonation which is the sweetest heritage of English speech. "Father, I suppose, was too busy to meet me, was he not ? " Too busy, indeed ! Gonfallon thought of the sodden mortal he had seen the week before ambling down a side street, the estray of millions and of health, and then, remembering that Claire was as yet uninformed of the successive disasters in which he had foundered, he nodded cheerily and smiled. " Yes, yes, of course. Ruth would have come too, but she is a martyr no, but really a martyr, you know." For a second he paused, as though in some dumb fashion he might console the girl for the absence of those she loved. " You had a pleasant trip, I hope?" he added. "If you will come with me I will put you in the carriage and see to your traps. Have you the keys?" An hour later, without further incident necessary of record, the house was reached, and Gonfallon, leaving the girl to her sister's ministrations, went to his study to sandpaper an address for the 14 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. morrow. But, whether because his routine had been disturbed, or because he was personally out of trim, certain it is that he felt in no mood for the chastening of homilies that noon. For a little while he still fingered the manuscript, striving to coerce his thoughts, until, conscious of the futility of the endeavour, he abandoned further effort and lounged back into the past. At the time contemporaneous to the episodes with which these pages have to deal, Christopher Gonfallon was in his fortieth year. Across his forehead was a sabre-cut which thought had dealt, near the temples was a suspicion of grey, on either side of his nostrils were the beginnings of furrows, but otherwise the years had been gentle. In his face and bearing was the fragrance of the fields. He wore no beard, his lip was unmous- tached. His eyes were of that green-black which is noticeable in dysodile coal. His profile suggested sensitiveness, the full-face strength. Lavater would not have praised his chin. At first sight you would have taken him for a maker of songs and of laws, but his coat betrayed him. By profession A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 15 he was an ecclesiastic, a priest of the Episcopal Church, On the conferment of orders he had accepted a call at Bronx, a somnolent New England hamlet, and there during an entire decade he had wasted his fervours on a collection of cattle, surreptitiously beloved the while by a procession of parochial maids. Throughout the parish, however, there was at most but one person capable of appreciating the imageries of his speech, and that person, the Countess of Cinq-Cygne, was deaf. To this lady his subsequent and metropolitan success was indirectly due. The countess, born a Chisolm-Jones, lived in a great stone house that overlooked the village and patches of the surrounding country as well. And this stone house each summer and autumn she was accustomed to populate with detachments and reinforcements of guests. The winter she passed in meditation, though not, presumably, of the count. For De Cinq-Cygne, who had enjoyed the formidable reputation of being the handsomest 16 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. member of the Jockey Club, had, after marrying the heiress of Bronx, as the countess was known in her youth, and promenading her through the Tuileries, returned with her to the New England hamlet, from which he one day disappeared com- panioned by his wife's nearest friend. It was rumoured that he had returned to the Tuileries and the Jockey Club. But from the countess no mention of him could be wrung. After Sedan she put on black, and it was taken for granted that the count had fallen with the eagle and the imperial bees. Of the fate of the companion of his flight her kinsfolk never asked. During the lost months of winter Gonfallon was a frequent guest at the house on the hill. The countess was too infirm to attend services with any satisfaction to herself, but she was devout, and the visits of the pastor were grateful to her. She was appreciative, and, despite her encroaching deafness, pleasant and intelligent of speech. She had a smile of singular indulgence, and, though her beauty was that of a city razed to the ground, still, you divined among the vestiges the seduc- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 17 tions of earlier charm. By repute she had been indeed a belle ; and as for her manner, time had coped with it in vain : she was still the high-bred woman who had shown the pinchbeck marechales and marchionesses of the Tuileries how to walk, and who, when the Emperor on learning that her bap- tismal name was Helen had exclaimed, " Ah, that I were Paris ! " had answered, " Sire, you are France." Of connections she had many, yet of relations but one, a nephew, Mr. A. B. Fenwick Chisolm- Jones by name, familarly known as Alphabet, a young gentleman of literary promise which thus far he .had failed to fulfil. To the aunt in the sultriness of the summer months the nephew came, and with him anyone else who could be lured that way. But in the winter the great house was almost uninhabited; and so it came about that in the soundless dusks the one man in the village who could speak English correctly was. made wel- come there and at home. The countess, as has been intimated, was devout. In the old cosmogony she had the amplest faith. 18 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. To her, heaven was just beyond the stars, and hell beneath the ferrule of her crutch. To the truth of any miracle she would have testified on oath. Had anyone so much as hinted before her that the precepts of the synoptic gospels were due to Socrates and the Socratics, she would have routed the blasphemer with the sign of the cross. It was rumoured that in youth she had been less ortho- dox. But with age religion held her like a vice ; it was her ultimate refuge ; and as Gonfallon pene- trated its abysses he fell to wondering whether his own creed might not be as futile as was hers. Yet to argue with her would have been profitable as the chiding of a river. As a consequence, he held his peace, perplexed at times, but endeavour- ing in the saddle, in long stretches over bleak, unfrequented roads, to starve his thoughts into submission and sponge his mind of doubt. Meanwhile, the tenor of his discourses remained unchanged. Long since he had discovered that to move his congregation he needed not spirituality of metaphor, but powder and shot; and yet, through that obstinacy which inhibits the poet A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 19 from writing to the crowd, he continued to preach, not to his listeners, but to the lintels above. And to them his lessons bore no trace of the dogmatic. Now and then would come a warning, but the detached and terrible maledictions in which the provincial divine delights were never voiced by him. It was to souls he did not see he spoke, and in his speech were exhortations to virtue and pictures of the perfect peace of conscience at rest. His weapons were parables ; the ground- work of his instruction was built on compassion. Did he plead, it was for patience, for abnegation of self; did he exhort, it was to charity, to forgiveness of sin. Christopher Gonfallon did not preach to the lintels wholly in vain. One green afternoon in June, while he was engaged with the litany, a little man, rather stout, rather pompous, yet shrewd of eye, an individual unknown to the villagers, entered the church and dropped into the first convenient pew, the which, thereupon, apparently interested him no further. During the services he remained apathetic ; during the sermon that followed he did not once take his eyes from 20 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. the preacher. And when, to the accompaniment of the usual "Let your light so shine," the warden handed him, tentative fashion, the plate, that gentleman was bewildered at the receipt, not of the fraction of a dollar which he had expected, but of the most majestic contribution which he had as yet borne to the rail. In a village a bit of gossip seems rather to permeate the air than to circulate from mouth to mouth ; it reaches the sojourner whether he will it or not. Before tea-time that evening every- one in Bronx knew that the little man was Bucholz, the monopolist, a visitor with his daughters, at the house on the hill, piloted there, it was rumoured, by the countess's nephew, Alpha- bet Jones. To the house on the hill that evening Christopher Gonfallon was bidden. In summer it was the custom of the countess not to sup, but to dine ; and when the doors of the semi-baronial hall were thrown open and a servant announced that her ladyship was served, Gonfallon discovered that it was his privilege to lead to the repast one A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 21 of the two daughters of the monopolist alluded to. She was, he presently observed, a very fetching young woman. Her skin was eburnean in its clarity, her eyes of iserine, and in her features something there was that suggested a pastel of a politer age, a Psyche on a fan. Across the table her sister sat, an undeveloped slip of a girl, at whom Gonfallon glanced but once. It was to the elder that he gave his attention, and it took him but a moment to perceive that that attention was not thrown away. She was breezy of speech though not of manner, and she was garmented in a mode and texture which her neighbour did not remember to have remarked before. When he addressed her, he detected her thought running just in advance of his own, completing it as it were with little embroideries of home manufacture ; and when in turn she led the talk, she seemed, in comparison to his parochial dames and damsels, the visitant from a larger world. Beside her he felt himself the rustic : for a little space he fancied that he must seem awkward ; a fancy which did not tend to an increase of confidence ; and when, 22 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. later on, he journeyed over the yellow road to the parsonage, he noted with a pang of mortification that unconsciously he had been envying the easy assurance of Alphabet Jones. The Bucholz family disappeared noiselessly as it had arrived ; and when the stifle of summer had disappeared as well, one of that family was still remembered in Bronx. Now and then, in some leaf-bound quietude that was stirred if at all but by the call of some ruffian bawling to the cows, Gonfallon had caught himself wishing for the wider spheres that lay beyond the hills and musing through fringes of melancholy on the desolatenesss of his life. Thus far the feminine had been apart from, his existence. In the first fervours of the calling which he had adopted, the celibacy of the priesthood in the Mother Church had seemed to him obligatory on whomso devoted his energies to Christ, and un- prompted he had paraphrased a familiar dictum a cleric married is a cleric marred. As an adolescent he had been of too shy and vibrant a nature to consort in comfort with the combustible maidens of the Massachusettsian town in which his boy- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 23 hood had been passed, and at the university the mysticisms of the. spirit had dulled the virility of the flesh. But now the first fervours had gone. He had weighed the Mother Church; her laws had no hold on him. The mysticism with which he had spurned the earth had faded like spilt wine ; while of his energies, nothing, apparently, had resulted. In his pastorate he was not disliked, but he was not appreciated. His predecessor had been oafish as his charges, and by that very oafish- ness the good-will of the parish had been won he had been of themselves ; whereas Gonfallon was of a clay so fine that they felt him above them, a fact which in itself was a reproach. Moreover, he was a bachelor : save his mother, their women-folk had no one to receive them did they perpetrate a contribution party; and about the stove in the village store the misdeeds of unmarried divines to which the press gave prominence had been chuckled over with envious and suspicious glee. Presently the summer spent itself, the stifle departed ; but before the earliest frost had used its palette on the leaves there came an invitation 24 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. from the metropolis beyond. The Church of Gethsemane, nicknamed that of the Holy Bilk that edifice which from the corner of Fifty-second Street and Fifth Avenue projects sheer up into carolling azure the brownest and steepest of steeples, was in need of a new incumbent. The former rector an exegete and eschatologist of more than passing note, a scholar possessed of rare controversial ability, and, parenthetically, English by birth, a man whose mere attitude and manner were persuasive with a seduction so allur- ing that through it depopulated pews had been repeopled and filled suddenly had come to grief. In spite of the wage, ten thousand a year paid quarterly and in advance, he had managed to run up a hillock of debts, which if not fabulous in size had been noisy and unseemly of utterance. At the initial clamour there had been a hush ; then a murmur and an effort to suffocate the scandal in its cradle, but inarticulate whispers floated the facts abroad, the rector vanished, and Gethsemane, dubbed there and then the Church of the Holy Bilk, witnessed a procession of clerics ascending A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 25 and descending the pulpit stair. But apparently no one of them had more than momentarily pleased. Then a call, prompted by Bucholz, had been voiced in Gonfallon's ears. If he hesitated, not even his mother knew it. The dust of Bronx he shook from him. He came, he preached, and when the benediction was given, the rectorship was his. At the hour when that intelligence was con- veyed to him he escaped into solitude, and with a finger beat a tattoo on his teeth. During that tattoo his thoughts went forward and back. He reviewed the negligent years, he interrogated the future. Behind him were bundles of baseless ap- pearances, the mysticism which had shrouded his youth, the akosmism into which Berkeley had led him, then the long halt, the lintels of the village church; but now Fifth Avenue lay at his feet, beyond were the insignia of the episcopate, while in him pulsed that strength which brings the strophium to the conqueror. And as he peered at the stranger that was himself, anyone who had chanced that way would have discerned, not a 26 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. man, but an aim. That day he called on Bucholz, and, not finding him at home, gave an hour to his daughter Ruth. Gonfallon's metropolitan success was immediate. He made no attempt to theorize with history ; he did not meddle with Paul ; the expounding of the gospels he left to others. With a set of people that fancied themselves in possession of advanced views and were still in the Middle Ages, he achieved the impossible : he not only consoled, he flattered, he persuaded and fascinated as well. In a word, he detained attention, not with home truths, however, but with issues and questions which few have energy enough to probe for them - selves, and of which everyone wishes to be in- formed. And therewith he could be austere, stern even, and he could wield an epigram like a glaive. He was in earnest, too. It was towards the close of a political contest that he first donned the rector's gown. On that occasion the President happened to be in the middle aisle. Gonfallon, however, with an appo- site text for foreword, took up the question at A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 27 once. For three-quarters of an hour he held the most indifferent congregation in New York with the topic for which they cared the least. And at the close, with a gesture that swept the church, " Not politics," he cried, " but religion, is the nation's soul." It was in this wise that the con- gregation was won. Incidentally he did not neglect Bucholz, nor yet Bucholz's daughter. The girl was shyly willing ; as for Gonfallon, he was wholly in love. The dream of celibacy faded, as dreams ever do. He asked, and with sweet reluctance it was given. His mother, who had migrated with him from Bronx, departed to the Massachusettsian home- stead ; and after the brief honeymoon, he settled down to his pastorage charge. Meanwhile, Bucholz's younger daughter, Claire, had been sent abroad in search of masters of foreign arts and tongues ; and abroad for four years she remained in fact, until Bucholz, caught in a mouse-trap which that arch-hunter Jerolomon had set for him saw the amassments of his own booty, twenty million at least, evaporate in a 28 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. night, six weeks later Claire landed in New York. And now, the morning of her arrival, as Gonfallon lounged back through the past, the episodes of his career paraded unsummoned before him. He saw himself on the singing sands of the Beverly coast, he saw the elms of the village street, he heard the unprompted prayers of his youth and the sound of his own voice vibrating for the first time through the aisles of Gethsemane. Faces long forgotten returned to him and smiled. Incidents that were trivial ousted others that were grave, the trick the countess had of polishing the handle of her crutch, the vividness of certain dreams, one in particular that had hunted him, sporadically, for years the idea that he had ascended the pulpit in pajamas and was unable to hide, the tennis match in which Ruth had played, and which, a sunstroke and a check of perspiration aiding, had resulted in the neuralgia which kept her to her room. At the thought of her he drew a breath that resembled a sigh. For Ruth, in her enforced A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 29 seclusion, seemed to have resigned herself to invalidism and the matter of fact. The breeziness which had won him to her had gone, gone too the impromptu of her speech, the savours that had so allured. Three years of marriage, and in place of the sensitive, high-strung girl there was a languid woman who each day at stated intervals consumed a furtive pill. His love for her, that love which he had accounted measureless, and which in the earliest transports of the unexpected had thrown him at her feet, impelling him in the belief there was none that could fill his life as she, and prompting him in the utterance, Non Jtodie solum, sed in ceternum te adorabo that love which in the possibilities of its expansion had seemed a contingent of the infinite had narrowed into an unsuggesive bond. Where is the Vandal that invented marriage ? Gonfallon put to himself no such query. Unquestionably he was happy in his household ; but to the happiest of households there comes a moment of regret. 30 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. II. pLAIRE transplanted took root at once. It ^ was only now and then, in a bow not from the neck but from the waist, in an intonation, in a hap-hazard phrase, that you divined the foreign- bred girl. A month had not spent itself before she was in possession of a list. Each day was marked by scrawls from people she had met no one knew how or when. In the evening and in the late afternoons the sitting-room of the rectory, a room which Gonfallon in the earliest awkwardness of prosperity had fitted in that lovable Latin fashion which excludes everything but the necessary, and inhibits every adornment introduced for ornament's sake, the bare tableless sitting-room, with its infrequent chairs and pedestalled lamps, was peopled with guests astonished enough to find A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 31 themselves in so sedate a home. Mrs. Manhattan, on the wing from Newport to New Jersey, had happened in twice, a signal mark of favour from one as socially occupied as she. And with her, or without her, yet inevitably in her train, were other ladies of lesser note Miss Nevers, for instance, a young woman who had preferences for everybody and attractions for none; Miss Pickett, whom Claire had encountered in that vague region which is known as Abroad; Mrs. Usselex, a parishioner of Gonfallon's, the bride of a year, at the time being rather peaked by the enervation of approach- ing possibilities ; the Pondirs, mere etfitte, recruit- ing, as usual, for their musicales; Miss Raritan, with whom scandal had been busy, and who ignored that scandal as only the virtuous may; the Duchess de la Deche, born a Wainwaring, very fetching in her widow's weeds, now courted, it was rumoured, by Mr. Incoul. And with these ladies there was a contingent of men Dugald Maule, a young lawyer who dreamed of the Bench, famous for the art with which he abandoned a sweetheart and preserved her good will ; Harry 32 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Tandem, a youth of such lively taste in dress that the previous winter, on asking Nicholas Manhattan to suggest a costume that he might wear to the Amsterdams' fancy ball, had been answered, " Go as you are, Harry j you are fancy enough as it is"; George Rerick, an individual so vacuous of expres- sion that he had been nicknamed It; Trement Yarde, Claire's fellow-passenger on the voyage over, a scion of the house of Yarde & Company, bankers, and, last and least, Alphabet Jones the novelist. The sudden infatuation of these people for his sister-in-law was a phenomenon which Christopher Gonfallon was at a loss to explain. Everything about her, the innocence of her eyes, the purity of her lips, the atmosphere which she exhaled, every- thing, even to the ripple of her laugh, seemed at variance with such as they. That she should be admired was a thing which he accepted as a matter of course : she was, he had already discovered, admirable in manifold respects. But she was not a catch; the recent disasters of her father must have bespattered her not a little; she was not, never had been, and in all probability never would A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 33 be, in what is colloquially known as the swim ; and yet, seemingly, without an effort on her part, a bouquet of the flowers of the upper four was claim- ing her as its own. Truly he could not make it clear. Now and then, on returning to the rectory, he had loitered a second at the sitting-room door, surprised at the murmur of voices, the hum of a conversation that seemed to flutter from the ear, interrupted, if at all, by a laugh, or the click of a fan furled suddenly; and through it he would catch Claire's intonation, undulatory yet vibrant as a child's, and he would see her, behind the tea- cups, in her face the flush of the rose, in her expression the guilelessness of one too young to be aware of wrong. Once only, on the impulse of the moment, he had ventured in, but his cloth must have jarred, for immediately there had been an escape, delayed only by Mrs. Manhattan's superior tact, which had led him into a corner, and forced him into plati- tudes on the subject of the Bond of Hope, a benevolent institution for deserving poor, over which as rector he presided. 34 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Ah, yes, the Bond of Hope was doing famous work. And even as he asserted it he remembered a smothered scandal of the month before, a Sun- day-school teacher indoctrinating the pupils with other principles than those of religion, and the consequent assault of a mother enlightened by chance, screaming for redress and calmed only by the prompt application of discreet largesse. Ah, yes; the Bond of Hope, indeed ! But as he smiled assuredly he caught in Mrs. Manhattan's congratu- lations an inflection which told him she was not the fool she looked; and when Mrs. Manhattan had taken her Directoire coat away and the other visitors had departed, he himself had lingered, re- freshed by Claire's limpid smile, the guilelessness of her face. Guileless she wasso guileless, so pure and chaste of face and way that a day or two later, when Gonfallon, outwcaried with the effort of setting new thoughts into archaic frames, dropped his pen, determining, if need were, that he would exhume a sermon from the package he had brought from Bronx, the charm was upon him. Already he had A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 35 discerned in her something of the confidence of a flower, a flexibility which a passing wind might disarray, that innocence which a breath will tarnish, and which it was for him who stood quasily in loco parentis to preserve unsullied by the world. For a moment he pondered on the possibility of mating her to some earnest young cleric, Mr. Qualms, for instance, one of his own assistants, a recent graduate of Trinity, a sturdy servant of Christ, who possessed a look of feverish determination and trousers that bagged at the knee. Yet, somehow, the idea seemed incon- gruous and unpleasant ; this thought took a tan- gential flight, and he fell to musing as to what Claire could have in common with her guests and they with her. So far as the feminine element was concerned, little there was to be said. Mrs. Manhattan was indeed a butterfly of fashion, rather mature and stout, but still a butterfly, yet did she not each Sunday occupy a pew that fronted the pulpit, under the very drippings of the sanctuary as it were, and was not her husband warden of the 2 2 36 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS church? Miss Nevers, he understood, had been taxed with inconsequences; but society he knew to be censorious. Besides, was she not the originator of the Girl's Friendly Aid Association ? and, moreover, when after some sudden peroration he had extended his arm, with that gesture with which all New York was familiar, and asked the congregation, as though it embodied a unit, Are you one of those miserable sinners? he had watched Miss Nevers and marked that not so much as an eyelid had quivered at the taunt. With Miss Pickett no fault whatever could be found : her attendance at communion had the exactitude of an eclipse. And so far as the duchess was concerned, albeit on marrying a Frenchman she had renounced the Episcopal Church, was there not, poor, errant lamb! a chance of winning her back to the fold ? But of the men he was by no means so sure. Jones, certainly, apart from the ribaldry of his fiction and a mania he had for collecting plots, was harmless as a strawberry festival, and an old friend to boot. Maule was of a different class ; A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 37 he had a coarse mouth, and his reputation was sour. Rerick was not a bit better. Tandem he dismissed with an epithet popinjay. But Yarde detained his thoughts. Concerning him he had obtained information information which the young man's appearance refuted, for he was fra- grant, colourful, and grateful to the eye, evidence, however, which Gonfallon was not inclined to accept in his favour. And in declining he was logical ; for if Satan be not seductive how can he ever enthrall ? As he thought of Yarde his perplexity increased. He was welcomed from one end of Fifth Avenue to the other. Outwardly he was not ill-behaved, a little effeminate, perhaps, but not actually offensive ; and yet about him was an atmosphere which Gonfallon could not breathe. It seemed to him that beneath the affectations of a peacock he concealed the beak and talons of a bird of prey the sort of man that ought to have the danger-signal hoisted wheresoever he went. But still, if Claire chose to receive him, what manner of complaint could be made ? Because he himself happened to 38 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. be of the cloth there was little reason why he should expect his wife's sister to be as exclusive as a nun. Were the girl under any other roof than his own, no form of remonstrance could be voiced. Nevertheless he felt that some remonstrance should be forthcoming. That afternoon he had seen Yarde's brougham at the door ; he had seen it there the day previous, and the day before that. He felt vexed at Claire, at himself the more so, perhaps, in that he was unable to put his finger on the exact cause of the vexation and display it guardian-wise to her. The only plank that drifted to him seemed to inhibit speech. Claire was so evidently innocent-minded that did he venture to warn her, either she would not understand, in which case explanations would be impossible, or in comprehending she might feel herself aggrieved. In consequence, but one course seemed open to him, to speak to Ruth and ask her to catechise the girl in his stead. Despite the lancinating neuralgia which im- prisoned her for days at a stretch, Ruth preserved the disposition of a sundial : it was A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 39 only serene hours of which she took count. There was nothing dolent in her tone; her manner, if languicler than before, was unwarped by pain. About her husband, the parish, every- thing in fact, down to the minutiae of domestic economy, she was still alert. The servants adored her. In moments when the agony of her temples was acute enough to turn each indi- vidual hair above them red, when a pang would scatter through the cheek-bones, loiter under the teeth, and then distend in zigzags and spirals through every nerve of the face, a moan might come from her, but never a complaint. Dr. McMasters, who attended her a physician who had passed his prime among the poor, and whom the resuscitation of a stock-jobber en- countered by chance had lifted from the purlieus of Abingdon Square to the precincts of Fifth Avenue expressed full confidence in her re- covery ; but meanwhile he marvelled not alone at her self-control, but at the solicitude which she was able to maintain in those of his indigent patients whom he had not the heart to abandon, 40 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. and whose sufferings, if less acute than her own, poverty rendered more poignant, In these, as in many others, Ruth's interest was unrelaxing, and her assistance life. While as to her pleasures, the which indeed had become scanty of late, the greatest, the uniquest of all was the touch of her husband's hand. To her he was always the perfect lover whose charm had won her heart and the attention of all New York. She was proud of him as only a woman can be whose love has idealized a man into something more than flesh. And when, with the selfishness of those who know themselves adored, he would come to her in some momentary depression, it was joy to her to encourage him anew. To her indivi- dualism rarely an allusion did she make, and then so casually that you would have thought her discussing the momentary malaise of some stranger whose indisposition rumour had brought to her, or else so hopefully that you expected on the morrow to find her with health restored. Indeed, she was sclf-abnegatory, fretting only at the imprisonment which kept her from her bus- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 41 band's side, supervising from her chair every- thing, even to the coal in the cellar, and in her darkened room clairvoyant as a nyctalop and weariless in thoughts and devices for him. And this evening as he entered the room, " Chris ! " she murmured, it is so good of you ! " In her smile, in her gesture, in the expression which her lips took on, there was an ambient gratitude, a welcome, and a delight. " You are better, are vou not ? " w " All day I thought if I could only get away from the pain ; but see, you come, and the wish is fulfilled. Yes, I am better now. And you? Were you at the Bond to-day ? " " I was ; and as I came from it I saw Yarde's brougham at the door. What does Claire have him for ? " " Really, Chris, it is not her fault. He insists on coming. But if you object I will speak to her." " It is she that should object, not you, nor I." " Yes, Chris, it is for us. Claire ! why, she is a child yet : anyone can see that. Besides, she does not like him ; she told me so." 42 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. "H'm! she has an odd way of showing it, then." "Do you know, Chvis, she really does dislike him ! When she met him in Paris, she was taken, oh, just a little, as a girl might be, it appears that there are no young men in Paris, and so, as he seemed nice and agreeable, she was a little flattered, and, I suppose, just a little bit pleased as well. It is so easy to please a young girl. Well, from what she told me, he did not act right. He met Miss Pickett, Claire even introduced him, and then, how ever it came about I don't know, but the attention which he had previously given to Claire be bestowed on her friend. He sees his mistake now, that is evident; but Claire will have none of him." " She has him here every day." " Chris, really, I think she hates him. She admitted as much the other night. When he comes here she snubs him. On the ship she was barely civil." " He hasn't enough reputation to last over night. Jones told me any number of things A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 43 about him. It is an outrage that lie should pursue her here. As for hating him, that's all stuff and nonsense : she is too sweet-tempered to hate anyone. Besides, even if she did, it would only show that she was dead in love with him." " That is not like you, to be cynical." And into Ruth's face a sudden sadness came. " There, sweetheart, forgive me. I am irritated to-day. I would not vex you : you know that. I will speak to Claire myself." As he spoke, he took her hand in his, and Ruth, comforted by the caress and by the title, smiled anew. " Yes, Chris, speak to her ; and I will speak to her too." For a while husband and wife sat together, discussing matters of common interest the illness of the bishop, the condition of Ruth's father, the possibility that before the winter set in she herself would be able to assume the duties in the sphere to winch she had been called ; and when at last he rose to go, she declared that every ill had vanished. When a woman loves a man, his mere presence is a tonic. 44 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. As Gon fallen descended the stair, however, liis thoughts were not of his wife. The brougham which had stood before the rectory that afternoon had, in departing, carried his fancy afar. It had roamed in and out of the possibilities of that young man's career, and it had not roamed with approval. According to Jones, Trement Yarcle was hardly such an one as a young girl should know. Among women he had the reputation of a free- booter; the men, Jones asserted, were more lenient. But, then, are not men always that? Provided their own families be secure from attack, at deeds of a certain kind they are apt to wink, and approvingly too. Moreover, though the young man had a number of zeros behind him, those zeros were fronted with figures. The house of Yarde & Co. was, with that of Usselex, foremost in the Street. Of course the men were lenient and the women as well. Gonfallon was not a fool. He knew that every- thing, virtue, genius, beauty everything can be talked away, but never wealth. He had not A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 45 lived under the shadow of the Bleeckers for nothing. But now, as he descended the stair, even that was forgot. One thing was present with him his antipathy to Yarde, and the warning he must give. That young man, he decided, might disport himself wheresoever he listed, but Claire he should not approach. And with this .decision, to which, since his conversation with Ruth, he made certain the girl would concur, he entered the room where she sat. Claire was lounging on one of those sofas in which the occupant can fall asleep without being preached to. At Gonfallon's entrance she looked up, and a book which she held fell from her. Her head was on one cushion and her feet on another. Leilah swinging in a hammock in a garden of Ispahan was less clothed, perhaps, but not more indolent, than she. At sight of her he seemed to catch some echo of ghuzlas and sithars. Prom above the lamp-light shuttled her curls. On one ankle which the negligent fold of her frock disclosed, glittered a gold thread, 46 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. the clock-work of the stocking. As he approached there came to greet him the clean odour of acorns and of pines. Suddenly the curtain must have claimed his attention, for for a moment he busied himself with it. Then he turned again to where she lay. "Did you ride this morning?" he asked, and, without waiting for an answer, he added at once, " You don't get this Indian summer over there, do you? H'm. Rather close, though, don't you think? By the way" he had been talking at the wall, but now he looked at her " by the way, Claire, whose trap was that at the door this afternoon ? Rather neat, I thought." And Claire, with that inappositeness which constitutes one of the crimes which the law cannot, reach, murmured from the tips of her lips, " I say, would you mind lowering that wick ? " Gonfallou did as he was bidden, adding, as he moved to the lamp, " That brougham, I mean. The man on the box had two pairs of reins; 1 counted them." " Is Ruth coming down ? " A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 47 "I think not. She is expecting McMasters. Whose affair did you say it was ? " "The brougham, you mean? bottle-green, with yellow wheels ? Yarde's, I fancy." "Ah, yes that young fellow that crossed in the steamer with you. I thought h'm how- ever Claire, do you know he is not at all the kind of a man for you to know ? Some one hap- pened to speak of him the other day. To oblige Ruth and myself, I wish the next time he calls you would send word you are not visible. You see " The girl interrupted him with a yawn: "It was that lamp over there that I meant." And as she spoke she covered her mouth with her hand. "You see, Claire," Gonfallon continued, after he had attended to her behest "you see, while I presume that this young man is not in any way personally offensive, yet, er well, he is not of a class that we care to have you associate with." "Ah?" "Not of that class at all." 48 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Claire raised herself a little on the lounge and looked up at Gonfallon. "And what class is it that you prefer? " she asked. "H'in. Well, Claire, this Mr. Yarde is notoriously a loose fish. It is unnecessary that I should particularize; but we prefer that you only see men whose intentions are honourable." Claire laughed. " There aren't any," she answered, and then let her head fall back on the cushion. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 49 III. a moment Gonfallon stared, open-mouthed, astonished as a yokel at a thimble-rigger. And as Claire picked up the book which she had dropped at his entrance, he stood quite still, groping among the obscurities of her speech. But it was impossible, he told himself, that a girl so fragrant of innocence should wittingly make a remark as paradoxically unanswerable as was that. It was a mistake ; he had not heard her words aright, or else she had uttered them as a child utters hap- hazard a phrase caught up and retained. But something in her attitude, the manner in which she turned the page, the carriage of her head, the abandonment of the body, the indiscretion of a foot uptilted on a cushion, the contraction of the under lip betokening a smile suppressed and sug- 50 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. gestive of merriment aroused not by the book she held, but by some picture which memory had just disclosed these things, intercepted in a glance, revealed a Claire unknown and wholly un- divined. Noiselessly as he had entered he turned and left the room. Across the hall was his study ; and as he sank on the ample lap of an easy-chair in which it was his custom to scaffold his homilies, suddenly his pulse was stirred. At the moment he made no attempt to dominate, he sat in wonder at himself, the will refractory and perverse. But presently he was on his feet again, his teeth set, and in his eyes that expression which the horseman has when he masters with curb and with knee. On the mantel before him was a mirror, a con- venience serviceable on those occasions when, sur- prised by some unawaited visit, it was necessary to filch a reflection for the adjustment of neckcloth or of hair. But now in the surprise at a visitant such as he had never encountered before he fronted the mirror, his teeth still set, the jaw unrelaxed ; and as he stood the rumour of the inward conflict A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 51 moved his lips. "Ah, Tartufe!" he muttered, " is it for this you toiled ?" In his ears a ripple of laughter still rang, a laugh that was sylvan, the laugh of a young faun made merry by the sorceries of spring. "Ah, Tartufe ! " he repeated. And still the ripple con- tinued, insistent, insinuating, jubilant in wanton- ness, clear and heady as the upper notes of a flute. "Is it for this?" With the grimace of a hound at a vagabond, he glared at his image. He was angered and distraught at the intussusception of a presence more terrible than that which Luther outfaced in his cell. "Do you think," he cried in menace at himself, "do you think that I have fear of you?" At the unanswering mirror he raised his hand. "What have you to do with her, or she with you ? " And as his arm fell again to his side some fume of disgust must have mounted to his brain, for he added, in a murmur, " I am as a Jesuit : I argue with myself." "Did you call, Chris?" Gonfallon turned with a start of a subject 32 52 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. awakening from a trance. In the door-way was Ruth. " Did you call ? " she repeated. He blinked, but made no answer. And Ruth, gazing at him from the door-way, one hand on the wood-work, the other upholding the curtain her eyes full of interrogations, her lips just parted, her head nimbused with the jonquil of her hair, had about her a suggestion of that grace with which Boucher pleasured the Pompadour. To one as my ops as her husband, the lines that extended from the edge of the nostril, the circles that shadowed the cheek bones like inverted circumflexes over an i, were unperceived. Through the saffron shade of the lamp she appeared younger, more tentative, than she had for months, and in her voice, which now seemed to reach him across inordinate distances, was the caress he had loved so well. But he was still im- prisoned in himself. He shook his head and blinked as one does who passes from darkness into light. " No," he said at last, " no " A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 53 "Oh, Chris, you are composing your sermon. Forgive me : I did not mean to interrupt." With a finger she threw him an apology and a kiss. The curtain fell again, and she was gone. Sermon, indeed! The sermon was in that patient face that just had disappeared. He sat down again on the chair, and let his thoughts roam back again to Bronx and the wooing of his wife. When first she had put her hand in his it was as though life were fulfilled to its tips : he had con- ceived no greater earthly joy than the possibility of calling her his own, to his after- days she had brought the blithest airs, and now, after three years of marriage, if nothing remained save that friendship which is born of love and which the fabulist has declared to be better than love itself, if of the ardours which he had believed inextinguish- able only cinders remained, was the fault his own ? Surely he had been sincere. It is a maxim in law that against a promise to do something in the future no charge of fraud can lie. And if the maxim hold good in law, why not in love as well ? When before God and man he had promised to 54 A TRANSACTION IN HEAliTS. love her always, had he not as fully intended to keep that promise as the honest trader does who makes a note ? If bankruptcy intervene and the note be protested, it is humiliating, no doubt, but conscience at least is undisturbed. And yet an elenchicism such as this one, with which, as was his duty, he would have dulled the remorse of any parishioner who had come to him in similar strait, left him rudderless and derelict. Truly the advice we give is rarely that to which we hold. Gonfallon sounded its sophistry with a sneer. He would have given hope itself to be able to touch Ruth's hand and feel again the electricity which it had once communicated, that spasm which in days gone by had seized him between the shoulder blades and gone pulsing down the spinal cord, leaving him during the moment that followed quasi-dumb, and ineffectual of speech ; indeed he would have given much could the old thrill have outlasted satiety, and, though it were through the very force of love that satiety had been begot, he wondered could the fault be nature's, not his own. To Ruth he had brought his first-fruits, and A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 55 in the bringing he had deemed them imperishable as the apples of the Hesperides. He had revelled in the offering of them; he had laid them glistening at her feet; he had marvelled at the blossoms with which she crowned the gift ; he had thought them both enduring as the stars : he would have staked his soul that their twin hearts made one would mount, inseparate, into those realms no eye has scanned, but which the gracious Christ, his Master, has vouchsafed to whom so does believe in Him. These things had been the securest tenets of his marriage-pact. And then, as sometimes happens with those mated over hastily, he awoke one day to the knowledge that it was the woman he had loved, not the individual the bottle, not the wine. Of sweeter than she, one fairer and more gentle, a woman kindlier, juster, yet more debonair, it was not within his power to conceive. She was still admirable to him in each respect, a woman whom as sister he would have adored, as another's sister he would have envied, but 50 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. who as wife left him as marble is, immallcable, and chilling to the touch. Where had the emotions gone? Where were the roses of the yester-year? Where was the vision he had sought to clasp? Though the flutter of her kiss still hovered, ambient, in the air, he told himself that her love had departed like his own, that between them but one thing subsisted the sanctity of the marriage vow, unbreakable by either. Of her, in that regard, he had, of course, no fear. And it was perhaps that very confidence, that security and facility in love, that had brought him to his present pass. Whoso has nothing to desire has nothing left to dread. But for himself he had trembled indeed. Claire had exhaled an atmosphere headier than the headiest breath of spring. There was about her an attraction, undisccrned till that night, but which, latent perhaps for days gone by, had suddenly enveloped and coerced him with its force. But now that too was gone. Ah, yes, it was gone indeed; and he cracked the joints of his fingers in testimony to his deliver- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 57 ance from its spell. For a second he had been weaker, more unstable than water ; and now, as he smiled a trifle grimly at the remembrance, he be- thought him of the legends of the saints, of Saint Anthony, Saint Doniinick, Saint Main*. It was a disaster which overtook all men. But it needed strength to combat, he woidd have added faith, but something choked the utterance down, it needed strength; and that strength was his. Again he smiled. He would have no need to cope again. Yet, for the moment, he wondered what sudden invocation of the flesh could have oppressed him so. Nothing, he could have sworn, in connection with that girl that lay sprawled on the sofa across the hall. No, it was not that ; it was one of those ills which had afflicted and would continue to afflict many another more steadfast than he. Besides, independent of that, what had he of all men to do with such a thing ? aside from his cloth, were not his temples gray ? and, save spectacles, what better guarantee against love can there be ? In thought he had really tried to trick himself, 58 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. but in an instant he was at the mirror again. At school, at the seminary, even so recently as the preceding summer, he had been spoken of as That Handsome Gonfallon. And as he sprang from his seat he remembered 'a bit of gossip that had been brought him, an anecdote culled in the vestibule of the church, a conversation overheard and apposite to the infatuation of his parishioners, in which the first speaker was reported to have said something about Dr. Gonfallon's congregation, while the second, interrupting, had interjected a remark unreportable here. But now, as he stood again before the glass, it was as though it pictured not the present alone, but the past as well. He saw a lithe, dark-eyed, lad, clean of feature and of mind, hurrying to same distant goal, arrested by a mirror that showed him back not youth, but age. Through the window a moon luminous as sulphur shone. Beyond, the spires of Gethsemane pierced the night. The street was quiet. From afar came the accent of the Elevated Railway, rushing, dragon-wise, in mid-air, lulling the neighbourhood A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 59 with the strain of its incessant surge. After a dusk in dead rose, the sky had become visibly blue. And as lie stood, interviewing the night, de- termining that the pulses should subside with years, from the hall came the rustle of a dress. For a second's space he clutched at the wainscot. The glass gave him forty years, his blood nineteen. Then at once he was at the door, drawing the cur- tain on its rings aside. "ITm" he affected a little cough, and held himself as though an accident had brought him there, " h'm, Claire, is that you ? I thought you had gone to bed." " Going," the girl answered negligently, and yawned as she spoke. " One has to come to New York to go to bed early." Then, something that he could not afterwards explain, some one of those unanalyzed causes that transform the gentle to the brute, claimed him as its own. His cloth, his vows, the rectory itself, everything, even to the presence of Ruth on the floor above, vanished as had they never been. With a spring his arm was about her neck, his lips (50 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. were on hers, the odour of her hair, of her face, the moist ure of her mouth, were his, and just as he strove to clasp her closer yet, with an iindulant movement the girl slipped from his embrace. "There, don't hurt a fellow," she exclaimed; and she retreated, smiling yet breathless to a step beyond his reach. Froin strength to weakness there is but a kiss. During the moments that followed Gonfallon felt as were he astride a runaway horse. At first, as he plunged through unimagmed thickets, striv- ing as best he could with knee and curb to stay the flight a stirrup went, then another; the beast had got its head, and as with ever-increasing speed it bore him over quagmires, obstacles, and inter- vales, at last his own brain caught fire, and he urged with incitements of spur and of whip. In the distance was everything he had held most dear, the route was strewn with his illusions, gone were his unprompted vows, the truths that had been savours of life unto life fell from him undetained, the white assumptions of conscience at rest vanished with retiring landmarks. And, A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS, 01 still in fancy propelled, suddenly he discerned a sense of that freedom which is the synonym of joy. It was good to feel one's self untrammelled, delivered of the compunctions of the herd ; with every breath he drew came a foretaste of larger life, his lungs expanded with fresh odours, beyond was a new horizon, brutally beautiful, wholly solid, dreamless and real, and in it, fairer than the desire of a fallen god, was Claire, her arms outstretched. 02 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. IV. morrow was a blank. Gonfallon attended *- to his duties with the air of a somnambulist. In the morning at the meeting of the Church- Workers, in the afternoon at the Friendly Aid, the echo of Claire's laughter rippled through the tidings which it was his office to proclaim ; and when the last rite had been performed he shook from him a young licentiate who fain would have passed a moment in Christian converse, and strode out into the gathering dusk, and on to the outlying regions of the Park. Above him was a sky of zinc. Beyond, to the west, the sun had slashed the horizon with belts of amber and agonizing green. The air was chill : he raised the collar of his coat, and as he hurried A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 63 on unimpressed, unobservant even of the saluta- tions of acquaintances whom he chanced to encounter, never yet had he felt more averse to his cloth. Yet, did he relinquish it, what was there left ? He was too old to begin life afresh : he lacked that energy which permits and even forces some men to turn from one calling to another; he had a wife to support, and down in a Mas- sachusettsian village was his mother dependent on his wage. Truly it was easier to keep up a brave face and draw ten thousand per annum than to pull a wry one and advertise in the papers for an occupation suited to a man of scholarly attainments. If Bucholz had not gone under, there, indeed, would be a different guitar : he could have leaned on him, he could have entered, if need were, into his employ. As it was, instead of the opulence which Ruth one day might have inherited, it seemed not improbable that he would be called upon to contribute to Bucholz's support. Not later than the previous day a whisper, a breeze that loiters, had told him that his father-in-law passed his hours in extracting, and not painlessly either, 64 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. small loans from former companions of his banditti- days. No, that dream had gone. There was no one to whom he could turn. However unfitted he might be, the pastorate was a refuge still. Yet, even supposing, for argument's sake, he relinquished it, and another cleric mounted the pulpit in his stead, would the congregation be bettered by the change ? He knew his parishioners through and through. Half of them were superstitious as ballads, the other half sceptical as himself. There were those who sat very erect and said " Amen " to impress their neighbours, and there were those who allowed themselves to be impressed thereby ; there was a collection of boys and girls to whom the church was indeed a meeting-house ; there was also an assortment of neurosthenes ; and did he leave these people, in what manner would their salvation be affected ? The mere query was peurile. He shrugged his shoulders in annoyance at himself. Eastward, a splatter of stars, some livid, some as light seen through canvas slit, betokened the advance of A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 65 night. He turned, and, musing still, retraced his steps. When he reached the rectory his eyes were eager and his face was flushed. The hall was silent, the sitting-room untenanted. He put his hat and coat aside and ascended the stair. To the left was Claire's room, the door ajar. At the threshold he lingered a moment and listened. Then, hearing no sound, he pushed the door and entered in. On the sofa some raiment was strewn a gown, a petticoat, a corset ; from the latter a white string hung pendent, the steel tip idling on the floor. At his feet a rose had fallen. On a table beneath the gas-jets utensils were scattered, instruments for the hands, in stained ivory, brushes with silver backs, quaint little boxes, curious of form, a rumpled sachet stamped Cordova leather, a few bonnet- pins, a curling-iron, and a collar. In the air was the aroma which women exhale. Beyond was a bed, the coverlet smooth as an anapest, surmounted by monogrammed pillows. It was white, virginal as its owner, alluring as spring ; and as Gonfallon gazed at it the flush on C3 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. "I wonder," mused Coiifallon, "that He who made space for the infinite and eternity for time should not have created a being capable of mounting sheerly to some fringe of His mantle of stars, instead of a groping phantom incom- petent to leave behind so much as a shadow on a wall. I wonder " And as he mused he was visited by an idea which at first he repulsed and then beckoned back. It was that, however ephemeral life might be, it was yet clothed with radiant possibilities. Throughout the length and breadth of the dio- cese there was no ecclesiastic more prominent than himself: it was he who would be nominated for the bishopric. While he still mused, the door opened and Claire appeared. " Did you miss me, Chris ? " She was in street costume, a trim skirt, a cloth jacket descending to her waist, her hands cased in suede, her face unveiled, and on her head a low- crowned hat of felt. "Did you miss me, Chris?" A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 69 As she spoke, her lips parted as a flower opens to the sun : he could see the edges of her teeth, and in the lamp-light they seemed to reflect the rose of her mouth and tongue. " And Ruth ? Is she no better ? " Her hat she removed and tossed pin-pierced aside. Her jacket she had already unbuttoned, and as she raised her arm to divest herself of it Gonfallon sprang to her aid. " There, let me help you/' he said. As he caught at the sleeve, he touched her wrist. From her hair came the clean smell of acorns and of pines that had greeted him the night before; and as he bent to aid her, there was a cleft in her neck which might have tempted a saint. " I didn't hear you come in," he added. "Thanks, put it anywhere. Oh, didn't you? 1 have a key, you know. Pickett came in this afternoon and wanted me to dine with her: her people have gone to Lakewood, and she was alone. What of Ruth?" She had turned to Gonfallon, who stood, her C3 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. "I wonder," uiuscd Confallon, "that He who made space for the infinite and eternity for time should not have created a being capable of mounting sheerly to some fringe of His mantle of stars, instead of a groping phantom incom- petent to leave behind so much as a shadow on a wall. I wonder " And as he mused he was visited by an idea which at first he repulsed and then beckoned back. It was that, however ephemeral life might be, it was yet clothed with radiant possibilities. Throughout the length and breadth of the dio- cese there was no ecclesiastic more prominent than himself : it was he who would be nominated for the bishopric. While he still mused, the door opened and Claire appeared. " Did you miss me, Chris ? " She was in street costume, a trim skirt, a cloth jacket descending to her waist, her hands cased in suede, her face unveiled, and on her head a low- crowned hat of felt. " Did you miss me, Chris ? " A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 69 As she spoke, her lips parted as a flower opens to the sun : he could see the edges of her teeth, and in the lamp-light they seemed to reflect the rose of her mouth and tongue. " And Ruth ? Is she no better ? " Her hat she removed and tossed pin-pierced aside. Her jacket she had already unbuttoned, and as she raised her arm to divest herself of it Gonfallon sprang to her aid. " There, let me help you/' he said. As he caught at the sleeve, he touched her wrist. From her hair came the clean smell of acorns and of pines that had greeted him the night before; and as he bent to aid her, there was a cleft in her neck which might have tempted a saint. " I didn't hear you come in," he added. "Thanks, put it anywhere. Oh, didn't you? 1 have a key, you know. Pickett came in this afternoon and wanted me to dine with her: her people have gone to Lakewood, and she was alone. What of Ruth?" She had turned to Gonfallon, who stood, her TO A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. jacket in his hand. At the question he made a gesture indicative of discouragement. "Give it me," she continued. "I will go to her now." And as she stretched her hand, Gon- fallon caught it in his own. " Sit with me a moment, Claire." " I might have a cigarette, don't you think ? Pickett" and she ushered a memory with the ripple of her laugh " Pickett was afraid to have me smoke, on account of the servants." She moved from him and drew out a case, a toy of fair gold, on the mirror-like surface of which she glanced at her own reflection. " Try one," she added, and extended the case. " No, Claire, I do not smoke, nor should you. But there," he continued, hastily, for on the girl's lips a sudden pout had appeared. " Do as you will." "What's gone wrong? The ten command- ments are gayer than you, sir." And to her lips, from which the pout had retreated, a smile returned. ' You were not annoyed at me last night, were A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 71 you, Claire?" And as the girl, answering nothing, stood gazing at him, her virginal eyes a trifle dilated, her lips just parted, her head drawn back, he added, huskily, " You know I love you," and hesitated for encouragement, perhaps, or else rebuke. Then, as she seemed about to move from him, he detained her with a gesture that was at once an apology and a plea, the gesture of a mendi- cant accustomed to rebuff. " Claire, let me tell you I know, none better, that it is wrong for me to speak to you as I do. I have no excuse. Yet when you came see, it is but a month ago you brought a gladness and a sorcery. At first I did not understand, but last night it was as a sense recovered I knew that all my life I had hungered for you. You were the odour of a feast at which I had longed to sit, the shadow of a hope which I had dreamed to claim. Claire, listen to me. It is not years that make our age : I was old at twenty, I am young to-day, and it is youth that loves best and most. Let me love you. There, I will ask 72 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. nothing in return, but I have such need of you. Each emotion I compressed expands to you, every illusion that I lost you can restore. You are to me the fulfilment of an anterior promise, the requital of an earlier mistake. Were I free I would speak to you less gravely, but I am bound as never Tantalus was. I can ask no- thing, I can take nothing, I can only give. And there the misery of it is; for my power of giving is slight indeed. Were I master of fate instead of slave, and had you a wish, like a spaniel that wish should nestle at your feet. But this is idle speech; forgive it me. The fact remains, I love you, not alone with all my heart, but as no other has loved you yet, as no other can love you now." The initial phrases of this address had come from Gonfallon haltingly, but as he warmed to the work they fell from him in rounded periods, as they were wont to when he preached. And that magnetism which was in him, the electricity which he diffused and which had made him what he was, the foremost ecclesiastic in the A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 73 largest of provincial cities, seemed now to be coercing the girl, despite herself, to his mood. Her eyes drooped, her lips were compressed, in her cheeks the colour rose and subsided, vacil- lating, as it were, with retroacting and contending currents. And Gonfallon, as he scanned her face, felt an exultant throb. With a movement of the arm that would have encircled an oak, he caught her in his embrace. The jacket had gone from her, the gold toy had dis- appeared. For a second that was an eternity he was conscious of her emollient mouth on his, his fingers intertwisted with her own. In that second he really lived perhaps he really loved. Undulantly she disengaged and freed herself, She stooped for her jacket, and when she stood up again there was no sign of vacillation in her face. The back of her hand she drew across her lips, but whether to brush away the kiss that had been placed on them, or the smile that hovered in their moisture, Gonfallon was unable to decide. She had retreated a little, and he 74 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. made a step to her, but as he moved she retreated yet farther away. " Claire " he murmured. " Oh, I say, Chris," she interrupted, " drop all that." The curtain parted and she had gone. In a second he was in the hall, but already she had reached the floor above, and, foreseeing the futility of pursuit, he entered his study and threw himself on a chair. For a while he sat palpitant in alternations of elation and remorse. His path, doubtless, was straight, but it was by no means clear. The mystic penumbra of accepted tenets was still about him, yet through them shone the wonder of landscapes undivined. He was as one who awakes at dawn and finds the night still there. And as he alternately detained and dismissed now elation, now regret, he was aware of that confusion of purpose which visits those that puzzle over a problem they are in haste to solve. The signification of his own attitude was that which stirred him most. At the moment it A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 75 seemed to him impossible that he should have acted to the girl as he had, and not impossible alone, but cowardly as well. Of the two, was not he the stronger? was it not for him to guide, to protect her, if need be, even from herself? And yet, without even the excuse of celibacy, without receiving from her so much of an invitation as can be conveyed in the quiver of an eyelid, he had performed the most ignoble role that man can play. Had it been love that had impelled him, some excuse might there be. But it was not that. Love would have slit his lips to the ears rather than let him touch her own. There would have been no elation then, no remorse, only an abandonment in spirit, the escape of a dream that might have come true, and then oblivion which is the novitiate of death. But no ; it was not that. He needed no one to prompt him that in his heart were none of those choirs which love awakes ; not a hymn had been summoned, not a harmony evoked. No, it was not that; it was the beast that is in us all, lashed down, kept cowering and hidden 7(5 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. in the deepest cavern of our being, till in the inadvertent moment it leaps into light and claims its prey at last. Through the silence of the house he heard a door open and another shut. From above, over- head, came the faint fall of moving feet, She had left Ruth, he knew; she had gone to her room. Now she had latched the door; no, she was at the window, he heard the shutters close. The footfalls seemed to cross the room, and for the moment he pictured her standing as he had seen her once, before the glass, her arms raised, the fingers interlocked behind her head. What was it, after all, he wondered, that had impressed him so ? It was not the refinement of her nature ; there were times when he thought her almost coarse. Her mind was a rendezvous of platitudes ; and as for her beauty, he could have sent a prayer-book skimming from the pulpit, and in whatever aisle of Gcthsemane it chanced to fall would be a girl fairer, more ufeminine, more appetizing yet, than she. But there, though ? A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 77 An almost imperceptible footfall from the room above aroused him from his reverie. The sound was fainter than before ; the feet that stirred were unshod, stockingless, perhaps. Their faint tinkle ushered a fresh vision into the chambers of his mind ; he saw her in a fabric so delicate of texture that it could be drawn through a ring, a garment immaterial as a moonbeam, her neck uncovered, and about her half-closed eye and red moist lips the subtle smile of a faun. In anger at himself he sprang to his feet. On the table before him was a heap of the manu- factures of rationalist, of sophist, and of sage. Every one of those who have taken the nimbus from a god and pointed to an eternal grave had left a text-book there. For some time they had been accumulating on back book-shelves ; but the day before, with some sermon in view, he had got them within reach. It is good to be valiant in the pulpit, it is good to confute ; and the pri- vilege of demolishing any doctrine that conflicts with Christianity, particularly when there is not the slightest danger of being answered back, is a 7 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS pleasure in itself. But each time Gonfallon had handled a materialist, zest in his own creed declined. An Englishman, Clifford, who described the universe as an immense Sir Roger de Coverly, in which the dancers are atoms and the ball- room space, had the power to take him into an abyss so dank that the candle of faith was snuffed. A Frenchman, Havet, had shown him the prov- enance of the parables. In Assyrio-Accadian myth, Schrader, a German, had displayed to him the fabric of the Pentateuch. An idle task, Voltaire has said, an idle task it is, this pulling down of enchanted castles. It is better far to examine truths than lies. But where are the truths ? Gonfallon had asked him- self the same thing not once, but many times. As vet no answer had been vouchsafed. tf And now, in anger at himself, in an effort to banish Claire, he picked up the book that lay nearest to his hand. " Comprends," it shouted at him, "comprends que tu portes ton paradis ct ton enfer en toi-meme." " Perhaps," he muttered. A TRANSACTION- IN HEARTS. 79 He put the book down and took another. It happened to be one of Kenan's melodious fumis- teries; and as he opened it a phrase jumped out and stabbed him in the eyes: "La vertu est une supreme illusion." " Perhaps," he repeated. A third volume, a summary of German meta- physics lay within reach. " The heavens are void," it insisted. " There has been nothing, there is nothing, there will be nothing, save a constant evolution, a continuous development, with death for a goal." "Nothing?" He left the table and its blasphemies and turned to the window. His anger had gone, his thoughts of Claire as well, and in their train seemed to have departed the strength or the weakness, was it? which had visited him the preceding night. Yet as he looked up into the taciturn sky, something must have rebelled within him ; for he groaned to the stars, " O Chaos, take that Nothing back and give us Satan in its stead ! " 80 A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. V. "TvECIDEDLY the days were shorter. As Gon- -*-^ fallon let himself in with a latch-key, it was barely five, yet already night had come. The hall was dark ; and as he drew off his gloves, straight- ening and folding them methodically as was his custom, he told himself that Jane must have forgotten the gas. From the sitting-room came a murmur, and through the portiere a thread of light. " It is Ruth," lie reflected. For that morning she had appeared at breakfast, declaring that she had rested well, and that for the time being at least she was free of pain. "It is Ruth and some visitor," he reflected, Mr. Qualms, perhaps, and he made to enter the room, but at once he drew A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 81 back. The glimpse which he caught had shown him not Ruth, but Claire, and at her side Trement Yarde. They were standing a little apart from each other, their backs turned to the door, and for a moment Gonfallon* hesitated, his hand on the curtain's fringe. Since the preceding night he had not seen the girl. She had breakfasted, as she usually did, in her room, and, shortly after the morning meal, matters connected with the bishop's decease had demanded his presence abroad, detaining him until now. And as lie hesitated, Yarde, who had been speaking in a monotone, pitched his voice in higher keys. Gonfallon's fingers tightened on the fringe. He hated the man, he hated his looks, the cut of his coat, his intonation, everything, even to his manner and the trick he had of contemplating his finger-nails. " This is the third time I have asked you," Gon- fallon heard him say. " If it is the last," Claire answered, " there must be luck in odd numbers, after all." 82 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. "You are decided, then?" " Fully." " Very good. It remains to me there, listen a moment, won't you?" During the pause that' followed Gonfallon fancied the young man eyeing the polished tips of his fingers. " It is this. Some day you may be in need of assistance. If you are, believe me, there is no one to whom you can turn more readily than to me. You know where I live, and, parenthetically, I can assure you that the walls of my apartment are dumb " " Leave the room." The command reached Gonfallon with the reson- ance of a bell. " Certainly, since you wish it, In fact, I was on the point of doing so. Save at your invitation, 1 will not venture to enter it again." It was evident that Yarde had turned. Gon- fallon dropped the fringe and groped back into the shadows. " I am sorry to have annoyed you," the young A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 83 man added. He had reached the threshold, and Gonfallon moved yet farther away. "If you do not leave I will ring." " And I must assure yon," he continued, " that I would not have made this suggestion had I not unless, h'm, well I saw my father this afternoon. He is in Wall Street, you know. Good night, Miss Bucholz." There was a rush of light, the curtain fell again, the front door opened and closed. Gonfallon still stood in the darkness, one arm extended along the wall, the other pendent at his side. His head was bent, his eyes fixed on the stair. From the adjoining room came the sound of Claire's uneasy tread : she seemed to be pacing the room, restless as a panther is, lashing the furniture with her skirt. What manner of girl was she that Yarde should permit himself such a speech? And what manner of man was he that he should suffer such a speech to pass unpunished? Gon- fallon's hand clinched, and the arm which had extended along the wall he raised in anger. 84 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. But it was himself ho could have struck he was humiliated at his own attitude. He knew, none better, that it had been his duty to interrupt, to protect, and to force that libertine from the door. And Claire ! He heard her cross the room again, and felt that the indignity was smarting still. If she had repulsed the man at first, might it not be because of him? He left the shadows ; in a moment he was with her. The promenade had ceased : she had thrown herself on a lounge, and sat, her feet crossed, her virginal eyes upturned and pen- sive. "I saw that man Yardc go out," he began abruptly. "What was he doing here?" Claire lowered her eyes from the ceiling to the wall. "Really," she answered, "I took no note of his action. He spoke of the weather, 1 believe, and let me see; oh, yes, he quoted a passage from Horace, which if I understood I would repeat, and and asked after you. Ruth seems better to-day, doesn't she?" A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 85 Gonfallon's breath came quicker. The change in Claire, a change which since the preceding night was greater than that of an August dis- placed by March, the flippancy of her indifference, the enervations of the day, the conflicts with himself, the conversation overheard and uninter- preted, the unexplained presence of a man whom he loathed and whom he could give himself no valid reason for loathing these things had put him in a state of irritation which is comparable only to that which comes of a sudden depletion of force. But of the inward ferment there was little if any outward show. He eyed her narrowly, his lip austere, " At your age, Ruth would have felt herself contaminated by such a man," he said, at last, and paused expectant of some reply. But Claire answered nothing. Her eyes had gone up again to the ceiling. Prom beneath her skirt a patent-leather shoe, narrow and pointed, moved in and out. " Did you not hear me?" he asked. " Yes," she answered with her negligent drawl, 8(5 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. " yes, I heard ; but you see, Chris, customs have changed since the fall of Troy." To this Gonfallon feigned assent, his lip austerer than before. " Very true," he said. " Yet, if I may not ad- monish you, it is at least my duty to inform your father that you receive a ruffian to insult you in my house." " Ah ! " As though battle were imminent, she straightened herself. Her expression had lost its flippancy ; it had become frosty and brilliant. " Do you know, I thought you were listening ? In regard to father, do as you like ; only don't tell him you mistook his daughter's for a seraglio." The speech was like a bugle blown through the crimson of an autumn eve. It was harmonious, it was inspiring, but it jarred. It awoke Gonfallon from a trance. Claire's eyes were no longer pen- sive ; they had the chill and glitter of steel. And now as she laughed her voice was hard and metallic as her eyes. " There, Chris," she added in lighter tone ; " I am not one of your congregation yet," A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 87 She had arisen and was about to pass him by, but something in his face seemed to detain her steps. Through one of those influences occult yet recognized, her lips took on their former sweetness, her eyes glowed, and she smiled. " Claire " he murmured, and would have caught and held her, perhaps, but a voice in the hall, unheard by him, must have alarmed her ; she eluded him, and disappeared in the dining-room beyond. "Mr. Bucholz, sir, and can he see vou?" It tf was Jane the housemaid, angular as a hendecagon and prim as a Puritan Sunday. G on fallen started. He was as an aeronaut dropped from colourless ether into some dank moraine. " He says it's most important," the woman added, and patted her apron flat. As yet he was not wholly himself; the variety and multiplicity of emotions had not had the effect of a sedative ; but he nodded gravely enough, and presently he caught a whiff of alcohol : Mr. Bucholz was before him. 88 ' A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. " Take a seat," said Gonfallon, mechanically. " Thanks, I've just had one." The tone in which he spoke arrested attention. For a second Gonfallon eyed him suspiciously. Could it be that Claire But no; such a supposition was absurd. " Gonfallon, I want a moment with you. Are you busy ? " Mr. Bucholz spoke with the air of one to whom the possible occupation of his host was a matter of no importance. To Gonfallon's hands came a sudden moisture. " No," he replied. Mr. Bucholz had a forehead that was wide yet low, the forehead of a murderer. His face was thin, his body obese. Since his disasters his com- plexion had assumed the hue of a brandied cherry. lie looked shabby, and he was unshorn. His manner was a compound of alternate pompousness and jocularity. To Gonfallon he was revolting. To Jane, and possibly to others, it was a matter of wonder that such a man could be the father of a girl like Claire. " You arc well, I hope? " Gonfallon added. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 89 At this Mr. Bucholz laughed aloud ; but his laugh was nervous, yet unsonorous as a muffled bell a laugh that came wholly from within. " See here, parson, I want you to do something for me something how shall I put it? Well, let us call it ad major cm Dei gratiam. That is technical, it is not ? " " And concise." " And concise, as you say. By the way, I think I will change my mind. Suppose you sit down too." Mr. Bucholz found a seat, and Gonfallon, relieved of his sudden panic, followed suit. "You remember," Mr. Bucholz continued, " that when Jerolomon got me in that corner everything went. Twenty million ; not a penny less. The place at Irvington, the house on Fifth Avenue, the yacht, the stable, stocks, bonds, all the tra-la-la of wealth, evaporated in a night. I lost my grip. The few hundred thousand that re- mained followed in a fortnight. The last fifty- dollar bill I could call my own was a drop in the bucket-shop. Curious, isn't it ? " And Mr. 90 A TRANSACTION IN HEART?. Bucholz put his hand to his head and for the moment seemed to lose himself in thought. " Well ! " " Ah, yes." And Mr. Bucholz looked up again. "Well, after that, as you know, Usselex gave me his gold-business. It was good of Usselex, for I had squeezed him once myself. Jerolomon, I have reason to believe, suggested it to him. However, it was four thousand a year just the salary I paid the gardener who did picturesque geometry for me at Trvington : why, you get almost three times as much yourself. Or rather," he added, in an undertone, as though reflecting on the point of the speech, " or rather I got it for you. But that's as may be. A week ago I learned, accidentally, as I then thought, that Jerolomon was engineering another corner in wheat. I went to him and asked a loan. He laughed at me. I told him he had taken everything I had. ' Bucholz/ he answered, ' I took back at compound interest what you once took from me. I am not lending money to-day : I am paying off old scores. Good morning to you.' And he turned on his heel. In the course of the TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 91 afternoon I got ten thousand dollars : I went in and bought. Yesterday the market fell : the ten thousand were wiped out." " Dear me ! " " And now/' continued Bucholz, " that ten thousand must be repaid." "Of coarse it must be. Only " " Only you haven't got it, I suppose. Not even ad majorem Dei gratiam. Well, sir, you have got to get it." As he spoke, he rose from his seat and fronted his host. His face had changed. Up to this it had conveyed the varying shades of indif- ference, apathy, and disgust ; but now it was reso- lute, it expressed a determination menacing as a bayonet, and of which Gonfallon seemed to feel the point and the chill. " You have got to get it," he repeated, " and be- fore Saturday, at that." And as Gonfallon made no answer, Bucholz bent over him until his face almost touched his listener's ear. " I put Usselex's name on the cheque," he whispered, and drew himself up. 92 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. YOU you say you put Usselex's name on the cheque?" And as Bucholz nodded encouragingly, invit- ingly even, to the dawn of understanding which he discerned breaking in Gonfallon's eyes, the latter cowered in his chair. " Why, that is forgery ! " he gasped. " Be still," hissed Bucholz ; " be still." Then, seeing that the shot had told, he nodded again, and added, with a negligent, musing air, "yes, that, I believe, is what it is called." He laughed a little or was it a laugh? a sound that had in it the ghoulish mock of the graphophone, a tone that runs cracked and thin, like a man's laughter, as Swinburne puts it, heard in hell, far down. Gonfallon still cowered in his chair. Bucholz assumed a graver mien, and, affecting to ignore his son-in-law's attitude, monologued at the wall. 11 There was a time," he said" but bah ! what is the use? Why, I couldn't turn a block that some one didn't rush to me with hands out- stretched : ' Oh, my dear Mr. Bucholz, how are A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 93 you?' To-day the same people and to every man jack of them I have been of use the very same ones, people whom I lifted not out of the dust alone, but out of the mud, will not loan me a dollar. After all, they are only human, I suppose. What is that line in the catechism? However, that is not to the point. I am sorry about it all, but it was not for myself I worked, it was for Ruth and for Claire. It was for them I made myself rich, respected, famous even. It was for them I got into that trap of Jerolomon's ; it was for them I did this thing. Ruth you can always look after, but Claire- Well, I used to think she would be the richest girl in the land. The hope of SL parvenu, you will say. I grant it; but it was for her I cared, for her and for Ruth, not for myself." " I can do nothing/' said Gonfallon. In his eyes was the look of one who has sounded an abyss. " No, nothing. The very utmost I could raise would not cover a quarter of the the "Forgery is the word, but theft will do." " Of the amount," he continued, in a dogged 94 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. effort to pass the interruption unheeded. " And there is no one to whom I could go," he added, reflectively, " save perhaps to Nicholas Manhattan. And if I went to him 1 should have to explain ; which of course is impossible." " Not impossible in the least," said Bucholz, very gravely ; " not impossible in the least. I don't see at all why you should say so. Nothing could be more proper. Mr. Manhattan is your parishioner; he is even a warden, isn't he? I haven't the pleasure of knowing him personally, and yet I am quite sure that he wouldn't let a trifle like ten thousand weigh with him if he knew your good repute and that of Gethsemane were concerned." " My good repute ! My good repute has nothing to do in the matter." ' You are mistaken, dear boy ; it has. When I am promenading a striped suit through the corridors of Sing-Sing, it \vere facetious indeed did my son-in-law continue to ofticiate in the Church of the Holy Bilk I mean Gethsemane. Your parishioners, in whom you have instilled so A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 95 well all the beautiful precepts of Christian charity, will show you the difference between theory and practice. Not an atom of charity will you get from them. Why, dear boy, you might just as well begin to pack up at once. If this thing gets out, never will they let you preach again. Really, they won't. I think you can take my word for that Why, Claire, where did you spring from?" Unobserved by either, the girl had entered the room. To her father's query she made no direct answer ; she hastened towards him and gave him a fleeting caress. Then, turning to Gonfallon, " Ruth wants you," she explained. " Can she have heard ? " he wondered. He scanned her face; it was untroubled and, as she spoke, her voice assured. " She has not heard," he decided, and, waving at Bucholz, " I will be back presently," he said. " Saturday is the first of the month," that gen- tleman announced. "The bank-account will be balanced then." 96 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. But Gonfallon had already left the room. As he ascended the stair, he felt as though it were giving way beneath him. On each side were threatening hands. Yet above no haven was discernible, while below was an abyss. " Of us two," he muttered, " the nobler still is he ; " and then mentally he bolted at the eccen- tricity of his own thought. " I am daft," he told himself. The stair, however, did not give way beneath him, the threatening hands did not detain his steps ; he reached his wife in safety and sank in a chair at her side. " Were you busy, Chris ? " she asked ; " I could have waited. It is merely a line from Mrs. Manhattan : she wants us all to dine with her on the 12th. I, of course, cannot go. But you will take Claire, will you not ? " " No, no," he answered, impatiently. The 1 2th, indeed ! He would be in little mood for dining then. " No," he repeated. " Send a regret." " But, Chris, Claire will want to go. Do " " Then let her go alone : as for me " He A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 97 halted abruptly : an expression in Ruth's face warned him that he was betraying an obsession of which no sign should be conveyed. " I am tired," he added, inconsequently. " Chris, you work so hard " To this, with a despondent air, he assented remotely. " And a little gaiety will do you good; Be- sides- " " If I could only get away ! " he thought. " Is there no place where I can hide ? " "It is one of your duties to go about among your parishioners. I believe it is even a canoil in ecclesiastical law." Ruth laughed as she spoke, and gave . her husband a look in which pride and love commingled. " There," he said, " do as you will." After all, what did it matter? When the time came, Mrs. Manhattan would expect neither him nor Claire. And through his thoughts but one thing fluttered the longing for a place to hide. "That is sweet of you, Chris. I will write to Mrs. Manhattan at once. Come in." 5 08 TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Some one had rapped on the door, and in a moment Jane entered. "A letter for you, sir," she said, and extended a note on a salver. Instinctively he shuddered. It was about that accursed cheque, he knew. But the superscription reassured him. " It's from Jones," he mumbled, and tore the envelope apart. " DEAR GONFALLON," it ran, " / have just received a t clef/ram from Bronx. My aunt is dying. She begs you to come to her. I go down in the eight o clock train. Will you not meet me at the Grand Central ? In haste, yours always, "A. B. FENWICK CHISOLM-JONES.'' " It is there," thought Gonfallon, " there that I can hide." He turned to the servant and handed the note to Ruth. " Is any one waiting ? Very good. Tell him to say to Mr. Jones that I will be there." He stood up, and added, in an undertone, " Tell Mr. Bucholz- But whatever message he had wished to send was lost. " He's gone, sir," the woman interrupted. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 99 And Ruth, intent on the note, murmured, as Jane withdrew, " To think that it was in her house we met ! It seems but yesterday to me." " I must hurry," said Gonfallon : " it is seven now." ; 2 100 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. VI. TT was midnight when the train halted at Bronx. During the journey Jones had been loquacious and Gonfallon dumb. To the one the illness of the countess represented an eternal farewell to the exigencies of syndicates and publishers ; to the other, a refuge from the scandal with which New York would presently resound. Jones, enveloped in an Inverness, wandered out into voluptuous anticipations of wealth to be. " I can go to Constantinople," he confided to his companion, " or, like Stevenson, I can sail the Southern seas. I can lounge in Quaritch's, or on the Grand Canal. I can go to Ecuador and foment a revolution. I can turn Buddhist and penetrate Thibet. From an editor's chair I can A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 101 bombard my friends and caress my enemies. I shall have time to be noble, to be just, and to forgive. I can disappear as though the earth had swalloAved me, or I can write a book to please myself. I can live as Baudelaire wanted to, in a grot of basalt surrounded by slaves whose sole duty it will be to discover the secret of my immense ennui. Like Flaubert, I can call to a chimera to lift me on its wings. Like the Chimera, I can whisper to the Sphinx, ' Unknown, I am amorous of thine eyes.' On the fingers of my mistresses I can put the crystallized essence of bank-notes. I can even pay my debts some of them, at least. I can " And while Jones rambled on, discounting his inheritance in advance, Gonfallon's thoughts had also taken him afar. In the abruptness of. the departure he had no time to make so much as an effort to stay the approaching joust ; and now, as he tormented himself with its possibilities, some breath of the philosophies to which the preceding night had been given rose to him, graciously as a balm. "Whatever will be, is," 102 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. he mused. "No one can combat the inevitable. If it is written that Bucholz is to founder in the mire and bespatter us all with the mud, no act of mine can prevent it." But, even as his fancy was comforted, abruptly before him the reef to which he was veering loomed, and in the wreck which it menaced he saw the bishopric gone for ever, Gethsemane lost as well. He saw himself a wanderer in unfamiliar parishes, the pulpit loaned on trial, the subsidence in some Western town, and then that most terrible trial of all the attempt to begin life anew. In his misery he moaned, dumbly and vaguely afflicted. In an effort to console himself he re- flected that Jesus had been a vagabond too one who had not where to lay His head. Yet Jesus, he instantly remembered, had conquered the world, while he could not conquer himself. Presently his thoughts deserted father for daughter, and as the train flashed through the night, something in the roll of the car seemed to echo the music of her voice. The irritation which had visited him in the afternoon faded, as irritation A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 103 ever does. He closed his eyes : he was alone with her again, in his ears was the bubbling ripple of her laugh, his lips were on hers, his were the savours of her skin, his the wonders and caresses of her hair. Yes, the poets were right ; nothing in all the world imitated happiness more perfectly than did love. And if only that nightmare would disap- pear ! If the memory of Bucholz and of his visit would vanish, life, full surely, would be a pleasant gift. But Bucholz declined to be dismissed. He surged like a partition between happiness and Claire. He dominated and appalled. It was all very well to rememorate the precepts of the mas- ters, yet in the rememoration Gonfallon recalled that speech of the warrior Frederick, " Against the ills of the past or of the future, philosophy is the best of remedies ; but against the ills of the present it is without effect." And as the train cleft the darkness he blamed himself for his cowardice, for his haste, for the weakness which had made him accept the first excuse for flight, and wished him- self back in town, imploring aid there of Usselex, 101 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. of Manhattan, of Jerolomon even, of anyone who had the power to throttle this thing at its birth. Again he groaned and writhed as Laocoon did. "It. is Wednesday," he told himself; "by to-morrow noon I can be back in town. Cost what it may, I will get that money, and every- thing may yet be well. Surely Manhattan will not refuse; and if he does, and Jerolomon declines, then will I mortgage the homestead. H'm, it is odd I should have thought of that last. Meanwhile " " Bronx ! " The door before him had opened, and a brakeman was bawling in his face. " We are punctual as a comet," he heard Jones exclaim. Gathering their traps, they descended into the night. At the station but one vehicle was dis- cernible, and that, from a loutish driver, who stood dandling his whip, they presently discovered vus for them. " You ought to have come earlier," he remarked, with the affectionate familiarity which is peculiar to the New-Englander. " It was sun- down when she died." A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 105 " Well," said Jones, when they had seated them- selves in the carriage, "she was a good woman and a Christian. It's deuced rough I couldn't have got here in time. I was her favourite rela- tive," he added, meditatively. And with that he drew out a large cigar, which he lighted with infinite care. Through the window Gonfallon gazed at the frost-bitten road which he knew so well. Over there, to the right, was the parsonage he had occupied. And here, to the left, was Sever's house. How small it looked ! And as the carriage rattled over the ruts, one after another he recalled the names of retreating structures. " Yes, indeed," he answered ; yes, indeed." " A woman," Jones continued, " who may have been misunderstood, as good women often are, but who was never the subject of gossip. I was in knickerbockers when her husband ran off, but I can see him now. He looked like a young emperor of old Rome. And from her never a murmur could be wrung. She did not so much as mention him, or her friend, even, who dis- 106 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. appeared at the same time Mira Wheat her name was, the Admirable Miranda I remember she was called, a famous beauty, and a catch to boot. The count went down at Gravelotte, but whatever became of his travelling companion no one ever heard. It's odd, those abrupt dis- appearances. You knew of the Besaluls, didn't you? There's a case in point. Besalul married a girl a Miss Forbush, I think. To all intents and purposes they were dead in love with each other. Two months afterwards, when Besalul, after bring- ing his wife home from some reception, was sitting in the parlour over the Post, the butler announced dinner. ' Go upstairs,' said Besalul, ' and tell my wife.' The butler went up and came down Mrs. Besalul was undiscoverable. They searched the house. In her room were the mantle and bonnet which she had worn at the reception, but of the lady herself not a trace. The night changed to morning, and morning into noon, and still no sign of the absentee. No one had heard her leave the house, and it seemed impossible for her to have done so unobserved. Detectives were summoned, A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 107 rewards were offered, but all in vain. Three or four years later, when she was practically for- gotten, a friend of Besalul's happened, in journey- ing through France, to stop at Toulouse, and while wandering about the town recognized my lady in a rose garden. She had run off with a man with whom no one knew she was even acquainted." And Jones, flicking the ashes from his cigar, added, " I would have worked it up into a novel, but somehow it lacked the dramatic. It never seemed to get a climax. Ah ! here we are." A servant, a pensioner rather, Rebecca Hays by name, a woman white of face and of hair, whom Gonfallon remembered well, met and led them into the hall. Grief or excitement seemed to have made her vague of speech. The lids of her eyes were watery and pink, her lips twitched spasmodically. <( Elle est devenue idiote" Jones remarked. "I suppose we had better go up." And, motioning to the woman to precede them, the novelist, followed by the clergyman, mounted the creaking stair. It was a large room which they presently entered, 109 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. a room that leaned to the south. Across one wall was a stretch of tapestry, not Gobelins, but Gothic, and pictorial of the visit of the Magi. The angle was bare, the other walls were cut by win- dows that gave on the valley below. The floor was of lacquered wood, the centre protected by a rug. Between the rug and the tapestry was a bed draped with curtains that fell from a panoply affixed to the ceiling above. On either side of the bed was a chest of oak. And on these chests candles had been placed. Very reverently Gonfallon drew one of the cur- tains aside, and then, as he took a candle and held it aloft that he might see the better, Jones peered over his shoulder. Death had dealt gently with the occupant of that bed. The hue of the skin was little different from what it had been, the folded hands were not a whit more transparent than before. Even the expres- sion of the face had not altered : in the elevation of the brow which death had not lowered, in the resignation of the mouth which it had been im- potent to distort, the countess looked in the shroud A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 109 as she Lad looked in life as though under her something had been killed, a hope, an illusion, or a dream. " I am the resurrection and the life," Gonfallon through sheer force of habit repeated, and turned to his companion ; but Jones had already left him ; he stood a little beyond, reading some paper which the white-haired woman who hovered in the door- way presumably had brought. Ah, yes, the resurrection and the life ! He let the curtain fall and moved to a window. Save for the uncertain rustle of the paper which Jones was reading, the house was so still that one might have thought the countess had already elected it for her tomb. The air> too, was still. Gonfallon looked out into the shadows. To the left some leafless trees crossed their arms, beyond them others, blurred by the night, seemed to crouch in suspense, while beneath in the valley was the shimmer of a lake in which the hill-side had turned upside-down and the moon beams danced with the ripples. " The resurrection and the life, indeed ! Where 110 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. is the faith to which I clung? Gone are its flowers," he mused, and with a finger beat a muffled tattoo 0:1 the window pane. "Well do I remember the days when death to me was an illusion, a mask of the continuity of life. Now, what is it? At most a chasm into which the stars fall and nations disappear, a depth from which no spar returns, a silence from which no cry ascends. Is there in its darkness a flicker, au intimation even other than that of the ephemeralness of man? There may be. Yes, there may be, but to me no sign is vouchsafed. The countess who died . steadfast in the unalter- ableness of her perfect faith must at the last have caught the flutter of angels' wings. The grace which eh?" " Read that." And Jones, who had approached him, thrust a letter in his hand. Gonfallon crossed the room to the candles and leaned on one of the chests. The paper which Jones had given him was undated, but evidently it was old : the ink had faded a little, the writing was not wholly legible, and from the paper itself A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Ill came, a faint odour of must and of decay. So nearly as Gonfallon could discern, it ran as follows : " Should you, my dear nephew, survive me, as I trust you may, you will find by my will that your wants are provided for. In return for this, I wish to ask of you a last favour. In my bedroom, where this letter, should you ever receive it, will be gioen you, are two chests clamped with iron. These chests I beg you to carry, ioith Rebecca's aid, to the dining hall below. They contain nothing of value; merely a few odds and ends, mementos of my late husband, that are of interest to no one but myself. When I die, they can be burned, and no one will be the poorer. Take them, then, unopened, to the dining hall ; they are not too large to go in the fireplace, and by putting in one at a time they can be easily destroyed. I rely on you, Fenwick, to do as I bid. " Your afftctionate aunt, " HELEN or CINQ-CYGNE," 112 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. And beneath, by way of postscriptum, though evidently of more recent date, was written : " Rebecca seems to be failing. If possible, yet Dr. Gonfallon to assist I ' "Well?" said Jones. Gonfallon had read the letter, and stood eyeing the superscription. "Well," he answered, "there is a law, whether common or statute I am uncertain, but there is a law which inhibits just such a thing as this. To oblige your aunt is an easy matter. The question is " " The law be blowed ! The question is whether you will assist me. Whether or not the mementos consist of the frippery of a dead soldier, what does it matter, after all ? My aunt speaks of her late husband : who knows Avhat she meant ? Women have odd circumlocutions. It is my duty to do as she bids, and do it I will." As he spoke he turned to one of the chests, and, removing the candles, drew it to the centre of the room. "See," he added, "if it were A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 113 packed with tracts it couldn't be lighter." A.nd the gesture which he made was so cynical yet so sincere that Gonfallon, divining the uselessness of argument, nodded his assent. " Now," continued Jones, " if you will take one end I will take the other. Yet wait a second." He left the room, and presently returned. " The way is clear. The sooner we get them down, the better." At once then, the chest between them, they moved out into the hall. From the floor above came the faint waver of a light. Beneath, a lamp was burning. As they moved, the flooring creaked; the great house was alive with echoes. On the landing Jones stopped and lowered his end of the chest. "I will get a candle," he said, as he did so. But his movement must have been ill calculated or over-abrupt both, perhaps for the added and unexpected weight which Gonfallon was then called upon to maintain found his fingers unprepared; the chest slipped from him and with the reverberation of thunder bounded down the giant stair, Barely had it 114 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. started in its tumultuous descent before it seemed to leap sheer into the air and fall with a final crash on the floor below. Yet even in that infinitesimal space of time, above the reverbera- tions soared the anguish of a woman's cry; and for one second, leaning on the bannister above them, in the uncertain flicker both caught a glimpse of the white-haired retainer, her eyes dilated and mouth agape. Then, at once, you could have heard a lizard move. " H'm," muttered Jones, with an uncomfortable shrug ; " let's ask the other chest to be good enough not to be in such a hurry." " Look ! " Gonfallon exclaimed ; " it has either split in two or the lid has been wrenched open." The novelist extracted a monocle from his waist- coat and gazed into the shadows. " Serves it right," he answered, and leisurely de- scended the stair. " And of the remnants " he continued, but midway in the quotation he halted. On the floor at his feet was something that sent a thrill down his spine, an object but a trifle larger than a Dutch cheese, one that had A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. It ossified and turned from dull red to dingy white, an unpleasant tiling that had no business there. He stooped and eyed it. Near the base was the rictus which the New-England lad cuts in the face of a pumpkin, and above it near the top was a fissure that resembled the signature of an axe. By it a scrap of paper had fluttered, and just be- yond, the chest lay yawning and empty. When Jones stood up again the paper was in his hand a square bit of parchment stamped with ensigns armorial, under which for legend ran the splendid device, Maty re tout. Beneath, three or four lines had been written. " ' This/ " he read aloud, " ' this is the head of Jean-Renest-Marie, Count of Cinq-Cygne, Seigneur of Dol, at one time second lieutenant in the 19th Dragoons. May God have mercy on his soul ! ' " He tossed the paper in the chest and turned to Gonfallon. The latter was livid. " What do you say to that?" he asked. And then, as his friend steadied himself against the wall, " I will wager," he continued, "that a companion-piece 116 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. is in the other chest, another memento on the floor, and another document couched perhaps somewhat as follows : ' This is the head of Mira Aimer Wheat, daughter of Arthur Percy Wheat, of New York, esquire ; ' and for epitaph, ' Wheat is not cmickened except it die." 3 " Hush ! for heaven's sake, hush ! Some one may hear you." " Bah ! The servants sleep in the wing ; in this part of the house there is no one but Kebecca an accomplice, I presume, an imbecile, I am sure. And to think," Jones added, after a moment, " to think that for twenty years that aunt of mine sholud not only have jockeyed the world, but that each night of those twenty years those chests should have been on either side of her, the last things she saw before closing her eyes, the first she saw on awakening! Why, Gonfallon, they were with her sleeping or waking ; they were in her dreams, in her nightmares; she had made the dead her life, revenge a sustenance. What a plot! Shade of Balzac, what a plot!" A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 117 "Jones," expostulated Gonfallon, "you are indecent." " Ah ! I am indecent, am I ? Well, perhaps perhaps. But if you knew what a trade fiction is ! Whoso enters there leaves every blush behind." He picked up the skull, and turning it in his hand, half to it, half to his shuddering companion, he continued in a lower tone, " I am not a whit worse than another, and yet the desire for exact representation is such that if I hold a girl in my arms I study her abandonment; does she weep, I seek a smile in her tears : in her smile is the possibility of a metaphor ; I even count my own pulse. To one in my trade nothing imaginable comes amiss. When a fellow adopts letters he must analyze his own sensations. Has he an emotion, he detains it ; a grief, he enjoys it; a pleasure, he torments it into a phrase. He lives not alone in his own individual skin, but in that of everyone he encounters. The expression of a face is significant as a panic on the Exchange. A bow in the street will tell him as much as a page of Montaigne. He is in pursuit of the 118 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. evanescent, a seeker after the key of the little dramas we all of us live and all of us conceal. If need be, he will hold his own linen to the cackle of the public. He is the comedian of the pen : it is his duty to amuse, to entertain or else to hold his peace. No wonder the critics bark ; though, to be sure, they have nothing better to do. No, a viler profession never was. I hate it, I love it. It sends you rummaging where you have no business to be, it burns your fingers, it destroys your eyesight, alienates your friends, bars you from the sunlight, and for reward it offers what? A back book-shelf and a reproach. Ah, Gonfallon, preach to your congregation, but not to me. No sermon ever delivered is worth one of my aspirations. You see, 1 am indecent no longer." And, shoving the skull back in the chest, he murmured, with the grimace of an East-side actor, "Alas! poor Yorick ! " "And now," he added, "let us get these odds and ends away." A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 119 VII. A T the breakfast-table on the morrow Jones ^-*~ was taciturn and Gonfallon white. When a little before, in the dim baronial hall the flames had lapped at the climax of three lives, there had come to them unawares one of those emotions that are as potent for good as the conglomerate precepts of sayers of sooth. It was not that sin had appalled, for that it always does : it was that forgiveness had been impossible to one they deemed a saint. And before their vision, as the drama unrolled, each had pictured it according to his nature, but both had dreamed. To Gonfallon it had displayed another of the uncircuitable labyrinths of the human heart. To Jones it had been a document. Gonfallon had imagined the countess pleading with her husband, 120 A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. pleading with her friend, until forbearance had been warped and the deed was done. Jones had evoked the jealousy of a woman accustomed to reign ; he had seen, as in a glass, the first suspicion, the affected cecity, the studied calm, the uncertainty, the vigilance, yet still the smile, the laughing yet observant eyes, then the accumu- lating trifles, some partial evidence, the lure, the surprise, the axe, and death. Where Gonfallon had been perplexed at the absence of a tenet which he strove to hold para- mount, that tenet which the Christ instilled, which turned the pagan into the knight, founded courtesy and banished the boor, charity to the failings of others and abnegation of self, where he had been perplexed at the absence of this sweetest virtue in one whom he thought little short of perfection itself, Jones had seen the artist in life, one who, having tried every means to retain supremacy and, failing, had not hesitated to crush. And as both pondered on the two decenniums in which the countess, with her skulls in her bed- chamber and her skeletons in the cellar, had A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 121 fronted the world without once betraying her secret that secret which now was theirs " It is hideous," thought Gonfallon : " It is great," thought Jones. And both were wrong and both were right. And now, as they sat together, one was taciturn and the other white. Gonfallon broke his bread absently. Into the horrors through which he had strayed, there surged the lancinating dread of the scandal at home, and by way of accompaniment to his thoughts was the memory of Claire. Already he meditated some plan of escape. Truly the office for which he had been summoned was fulfilled, and was he not free to go ? " Jones," he ventured, at last, " it is the same to you, is it not, if I leave to-day ? " At this the novelist started with the air of a man awakened abruptly, and Gonfallon felt himself called upon to address the question again. "Absolutely," Jones answered, as its meaning reached him, and at once relapsed into dream. Apparently, to him, everything had ceased to be. 122 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Gonfallon left the room and interviewed the coachman. Then, his valise repacked, his pre- parations completed, he descended the stair and rejoined his host. But during his absence a mourner had come, a little old lady, her face full of wrinkles and benevolence, a friend of the deceased, and a former parishioner of his own. Jones, seemingly, was annoyed at the intrusion, for he sat gnawing his thumb, his face one great scowl. " Oh, doctor 1 " the lady exclaimed, as Gonfallon entered, " is it not sad ? What shall we ever do without her ? And Mr. Jones ! Oh, doctor ! don't let him sit there eating his tears ; tell him that in the midst of life we are in death, tell him he should not grieve, tell him his dear aunt has gone to a better world, tell him " " Gag that woman, can't you? " Jones muttered, in an aside to his friend ; and, rising from his seat, he nervously paced the room. At this the poor lady, anxious only to console, nay, even to distract, waded through the feeble channels of her thought till she encountered her A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 123 son, a young man who was endeavouring to become one of the ten thousand lawyers with whom New York is blessed. " And Alfred ! Mr. Jones, the countess always liked him so much ; she even promised to give him a case one of her tenants who kept sending her bills for repairs. Do you ever see him, Mr. Jones ? He is very studious ; he works I forget how many hours. But the law is slow, is it not?" " And so is the turtle," snarled Jones, " but it gets in the soup all the same." " Oh, Mr. Jones, you do say such, encouraging things ! I must write that to Alfred. He will value it coming from you. You know he is a great admirer of yours, Alfred is. I haven't read any of your works myself, but he says they are great. Tell me, Mr. Jones, do you write, as he does, with a quill?" And Jones, almost brutally, with a shrug of the shoulders that was tantamount to a slap in the face, answered, " No, madam, I write with my nerves," and stalked from the room, 124 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Gon fallen lingered a moment with the bene- volent lady, and then, with a murmured apology, followed his host, Already the carriage had arrived, and on the porch was Jones. "You will be back for the funeral, will you not ? " he asked. " I would rather you officiated than the ignoramus that is here. Besides," he added, " it would be more becoming." Gonfallon flicked from his sleeve a speck of dust. To the sensitive there are few things so contagious as irritation, and the irritation which Jones exhaled had not left him unruffled. But immediately he recovered himself. Because Jones happened to be vicious there was little reason why he should imitate him. " I shall be back, of course," he answered, sedately. " But, Jones, if I were you I wouldn't let this thing h'm, you know what I mean it's bad enough, in all conscience, and I can under- stand that you are upset, but "Upset? You think I am upset? Is that what you call it ? I am in a rage beside which the anger of Achilles was a fleeting annoyance. A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. 125 Upset, indeed ! Gonfallon, this morning no, let me begin : last night I was imbecile enough to build the usual castle in Castile I had a right to, hadn't I? I was my aunt's favourite relative. She had forty fifty thousand a year. AVith an income like that, and strict economy, a man can go far. I intended to. I saw myself in Tahiti, in Japan, at the same time even. There is not an inviting shore in the world that I did not propose to visit in my own yacht at that, and with a picked orchestra in the forecastle. And this morning, before I was so much as able to get the taste of last night out of my mouth, Taplin turned j> up " The attorney, you mean ? " "Yes, the attorney; and from what I could squeeze out of him, that dear aunt of mine, for whom I am guilty of compounding a felony, has left me this this cemetery and eighteen hundred a year to keep it up with. Eighteen hundred a year, Gonfallon ; fancy the infamy of that ! " "And the rest?" Jones gave his head the shake which a bull 126 A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. gives at a toreador. " To the devil to some other Jones to you, perhaps. As if I cared. It's gone : that's the end of it." " I'm sorry; really I am. I can understand " Yes," replied Jones, " I am sorry too." He paused and gazed at the points of his patent- leather shoes. His anger seemed to have spent itself. "You have no plans, have you?'' Gonfallon asked, as a servant appeared with his valise. " No," Jones answered, pensively. " No ; for the moment, none at all. I may stay in the coun- try and raise hexameters, or return to town and dabble in experimental physiology. But as for Tahiti and Japan, I must give them up. Here- after I can travel, as I have hitherto, on the map. Well, I am sorry you have to go. Remember me to your wife." " And now," murmured Gonfallon, as the car- raige swept down the hill, " to the rescue," A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 127 VIII. TYUT for that day the rescue was of necessity M postponed. Shortly after leaving Bronx the train in which Gonfallon was seated hesitated and halted, barricaded by the derailment of the Boston Express. And there between open fields for four mortal hours Gonfallon sat and twirled his thumbs. Instead of arriving in town at noon, the encroach- ments of dusk had begun before the station was reached. As he drove to the rectory, he weighed the feasi- bility of bearding Usselex in his house or of way- laying Manhattan at his club. On Jerolomon no attempt could be made, for that vulture took wing each night to an eyry on the Palisades whither pur- suit were futile. The cab moved slowly ; a stream of carriages was descending from the Park, and 123 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. suddenly the rumble of the Avenue was punctuated by a stroke of brass, the trailing cry of a horn, and a coach swept by displaying for a second's space a panorama of high hats, smart bonnets, and grooms with arms folded, impassible, correct. In its wake came a landau, the panel decorated with a coat of arms that was haughtier than a closed crown, and for occupant a brewer's mistress. And behind it, interrupted by drays and hansoms, came traps from the stables of Robinson, of Madden, Dimwoodie, Eorbush, and Attersol, men whose signatures could ransom popes, to whose daugh- ters princes offered their hands, not the left either, but both, and whose wives could not find houses large enough for the plenitude and atrocities of their taste. These people Gonfallon passed on his way to the rectory, and as the cab turned into Fifty- Second Street an omnibus lumbered by, and in it he caught a glimpse of Bleecker Bleecker, the richest man out of mythology, who sat caressing his chin, his coat-collar turned up, and in his face that vacuity which only omnipotence can bring. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 129 It was to these people that each Sunday he spoke. At their marriages he officiated; when death came among them, so did he. It was he that baptized their children, it was he that gave them Bread and Wine at the Supper of our Lord, it was he that counselled and that warned. He was their spiritual guide, their friend as well, one whom they welcomed and feasted and in whose converse they took delight. Yet did he in the direness of his distress go to anyone of them now, what metamorphoses might he not encounter, interest changed to apathy, cordiality to rebuff, and, for climax, the door! As he stepped from the cab there came to him the giddiness of a sudden fall. On one side he saw the frayed coat of the mendicant priest, and in it an outcast that was himself; on the other gleamed the rochet, the satin robe, the insignia of the episcopate. It was for him to choose ; and as he let himself into the rectory, about the muscles of his jaw there seemed to rise the stamp of that force which is known as Will. "That money shall be got," he muttered, "ay, 6 130 A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. though I dig it from the earth with my teeth." And as he threw his coat from him, raging at the pusillanimity which had sent him careering over the country, losing him hours of which each moment was a treasure, and determining that, however late it might be, he would not sit himself down until the means of intercepting that forgery were obtained, his eye fell on a telegram that lay awaiting him on the table. " More about the bishop, I suppose." And thereat he opened it with a stab of the thumb. " God will reward you" it ran, " I have only tlianksr And for signature, BUCHOLZ. Godfallon read the message twice, gazing at it the while with the air and attitude of a lunatic who thinks himself the proprietor of the asylum in which he dwells. For the moment it even occurred to him that Bucholz through some sym- pathetic intussusception might have divined the current of his thought and was expressing in advance his gratitude for the effort about to be made in his behalf. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 131 " He is rnad," he muttered. " What can he mean ? " " Chris ! " Rumpling the telegram, he turned. " Chris ! " From the floor above Ruth's voice descended, and as he looked he saw the jonquil of her hair. "Yes," he answered, "in a moment." And presently, the telegram in his pocket, his gloves withdrawn and folded, he mounted, still perplexed, to where she stood. " He is mad," he kept repeating. " Oh, Chris, I am so glad you are come ! I hardly expected you to-day." As she spoke her voice wavered as if she too were thinking of other things. "Your father has been here, has he not?" he asked, abruptly. ''No," she replied; "no one has been here. Is she better ? " Evidently she was referring to the countess, and by way of answer Gonfallon made a vague gesture. But the question seemed to have slipped from her, 6 2 132 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. and to the gesture she gave no heed. She turned and appeared to listen. " What can he mean ? " he repeated to himself. "What new abomination is he at?" " Come with me," she continued, and motioned him to her room. " I must go to him," he thought, " or I must write." But he followed her, and when he found a seat he added, aloud, " She died before we got there." "Ah!" " Yes ; and I must get back for the funeral that is, if I can manage it. How is your head? " " Oh, as for my head ! " And she made a movement as though her head and she were separate, as were it a thing that existed only when other things ceased to be. She went to the door and closed it, and then at once, still standing, she turned to where he sat. In her attitude, in the expression of her eyes, was a fixidity so unusual that mentally Gonfallon gasped. For the time being Bucholz passed from A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 133 his thoughts and the telegram was forgotten. " She knows all," he reflected. " Claire has con- fessed." But of the inward perturbation his face gave no sign, and for the movement, as the earlier danger sank in sight of this newer one, he told himself, " If she believes it, she will leave me." " Yes," he repeated, " she died before we got there. I suppose I should have remained ; but the bishop, you know " And thereat he nodded, as though the death of that prelate had absolved him from every tie. And as he nodded he eyed her, prepared at the first accusation to affect an appearance of speechless indignation, under cover of which he could not only stalk from the room but slam the door as well. Her lips trembled; she shook her head, almost absently it seemed to him, and one hand which had detained the fold of her gown she now raised, and, drawing it, palm foremost across her brow, let it fall again to her side. " Chris, listen to me. Last evening you had barely gone Claire rang for a messenger she 134 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. often does, you know and sent some note. I thought nothing of it, and asked no questions. For a while she sat here talking about a habit she was trying to get, and a little later, it was barely ten o'clock, she said something about being tired, and went to her room. H'm. I t hink I must have fallen asleep. In any event, I heard a noise such as the front door makes. At first I thought you might have returned. I listened a moment, and then went out into the hall. There was no sound. I went to Claire's room and tapped ; she did not answer. I tried the door ; it was locked. 'She is asleep,' I told myself, and listened again ; but I heard nothing more, and, deciding that I had been mistaken, came back here and tried to read. But I must have dozed off ; for suddenly I awoke again with a start ; I was sure I had heard that noise a second time. In a moment I was in the hah 1 , and there, on the stairs, was Claire." " Claire ! " " Yes, Claire ; it was then after one. She had been out at least two hours perhaps even three." " But where ? Where had she been ?" A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS 135 " I asked her, and she said she had been to Miss Pickett's." " But she is often there. She was there only the other night." " Yes, I know. She told me that Miss Pickett was having a dance, and that she thought she might as well go. The messenger, she explained, was for the cab." " Really, Ruth, it was unconventional, I admit, and you must tell her not to go out in that way again, but, aside from that no, really, I see no cause for anxiety." As his wife had spoken, a great load had been lifted from him one, however, that was immedi- ately replaced by another. " I must attend to Bucholz at once," he decided. "No, perhaps not," Ruth answered, pensively. " Only she did not seem to be in ball-dress, and- But Gonfallon had no time to listen further. " Ruth," he exclaimed, " I have many things to attend to. If you don't mind, I will get Jane to give me a bite, and then I must go. Don't sit up 130 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. for me ; and there," he added, " I will see that the front door does not creak." She had fallen on a lounge, and, bending to her, he brushed her forehead with his lips and left the room. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 137 IX. you ever see a ventriloquist ? The ven- triloquist speaks, a manikin answers. The questions are so adroit, the answers so natural that everyone, even to the manikin, thinks that the dialogue is real. Such, Miss Raritan, is love a duo in which one of the vocalists grimaces while the other sings for two." " Mr. Jones, I knew your wit was copyrighted ; I did not know it was profound." For centre-piece that evening the dinner-table had blue lilies afloat in a silver pond. About it were a handful of people, fourteen at most, who had assembled at the bidding of Mrs. Manhattan, partly to greet Mrs. Jerold Fox, a lady who some years before had deserted New York for the allurements of Paris and the Mediterranean coast, 138 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. and partly to enjoy the primeur of a bishop cit hcrbc. Mrs. Manhattan, be it said, was just the person to do things by halves. And there, at the hostess's right, as Gonfallon, expressing in eye and in mien the indulgence which comes of dishes perfectly served, sat listening to the conversation that fluttered about him, attentive the while to Mrs. Manhattan, affecting even to chide her for a jest which she had invented for the evening and which consisted in bestowing on him the title of Lord with which the English gratify their bishops, it was apparent that he was at peace with the world. The episcopate, indeed, was not yet his, but during the fortnight that had elapsed since the ter- rible journey from Bronx, many things had hap- pened which pointed directly to him as its future possessor. Moreover, the nightmare which Bucholz induced had vanished as abruptly as it had come. An anonymous benefactor, one whom Bucholz fancied to be none other than Gonfallon, had sent him the amount in time. And that anonymous benefactor, whom, in the earliest perplexity which A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 139 beset them when Gonfallon on the evening of his return from Bronx learned from Bucholz's own lips that the money had been brought to him and Bucholz learned from Gonfallon that he knew no- thing of the sender, that anonymous benefactor, at first unimaginable as Abistek, they ultimately de- cided must surely be Jerolomon, and, presto ! in the eyes of both, the vampire changed to a dove. Relieved of this burden, Gonfallon had returned to Bronx, departing only when the grave had closed and the last rite had been performed, but not, however, before his old parishioners, radiating in the presence of the now famous cleric who once had been their own, had insisted on his delivering one of his spiritual harangues again. Then, the dust of Bronx barely shaken from him, his mother had been taken ill, and he had been forced to jour- ney to the prim Massachusettsian village in which shed welt, and to linger there until, through an un- expected turn in the malady, his mother had been declared out of danger, and he was suffered to return to his pastorate in town. Meanwhile, he had caught but infrequent glimpses of Claire ; 140 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. indeed, during his absence such a mass of duties had accurmilated, so many parochial matters de- manded his attention, that until this evening he had had barely a moment which he could call his own. But now as he sat at his hostess's right, inter- rupting the conversation that fluttered about him, now with one of those pleasantries which the popular divine can permit himself, now interject- ing some apposite sally sounding as he did so that resonant accent with which his famous phrase, " Religion, not politics, is the nation's soul," had been fired point-blank at the President he looked once again a maker of songs and of laws and every inch a prelate. With Bucholz inoffensive and the bishopric full in sight, he could well afford to be himself. It was good to smile, and his smile was contagious. There was but one thing that jarred. On the opposite side of the table, at the farther end, between Mrs. Fox and Miss Raritan, Jones was seated, his recent mourning noticeable only in two microscopic studs of onyx, or of sapphire, the A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 141 which, parenthetically, give the same effect. On the other side of Miss Raritan was Trement Yarde, and next to him was Claire. To Nicholas Manhattan, the gentlest yet the most easily bored of men, and to whomsoever else would listen, Mrs. Fox was relating a few of her triumphs. Her conversation, such of it at least as reached Gonfallon's ear, was a glittering spangle of noble names. During her sojourn abroad, seemingly with no one of lesser degree than a baronet had she ever exchanged a word. Her speech was striated with foreign idioms, and occasionally she lapsed wholly into French. But it was not Mrs. Fox that jarred on Gonfallon : it was Claire and Yarde. From the first, through one of those illogical processes which often hold the core of logic itself, Gonfallon had detested the young fellow ; everything about him, from the part of his hair to the soles of his St. James Street shoes everything, even to the trick he had of contemplating his finger tips, was antipathetic in the extreme. Later, when Yarde had become a visitor at the rectory, haunting it 142 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. as it were with his unwelcome presence, the antipathy had changed to detestation; and now that he was talking to Claire, and talking to her moreover in a voice so modulated that no one save the girl herself could hear him, Gonfallon's detestation addled into rage. For the moment he pitied the girl, and sorrowed for her that she should have for neighbour a man she loathed. But suddenly his pity was shot with wonder his anger with surprise. During the early part of the meal Claire had chatted amiably enough to the man seated between Mrs. Manhattan and herself, and Yarde had delivered himself up to the fascinations of Miss Raritan. But now the conversation had changed, and Yarde was devoting himself to Claire. That the former should address the girl whom he had taken in to dinner was a thing which, how- ever objectionable in the abstract, was in the circumstances perfectly proper. Indeed, Gonfallon told himself that although Claire in that conversa- tion which he had overheard had snubbed the fellow right roundly, still the dinner-table of a A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 143 third person must and should interrupt the continuity of a quarrel subsisting between a man and a woman whom the hostess had placed side by side. And now, in spite of that snubbing, did Yarde not address Claire, and did Claire not respond, it would be unmannerly of the one and unseemly of the other. Platitudes are easy of utterance, and the weather, however beastly, has never caused a shipwreck yet. But as Gonfallon watched them it was clear to him that no exchange of common-places was taking place. When he had last seen the two together, Claire's attitude had been that of an insulted princess ; in her voice had been a threat ; now disdain had vanished; where the menace had been was now a smile. On her part the transformation was greater than any regard for the proprieties demanded; while as for Yarde, in place of the sulk of a whipped spaniel there had come an air of confidence which was insolent to a degree. Through some jugglery which Gonfallon felt himself incompetent to fathom, he seemed to be engaged in filching from him a thing which 144 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. nay, with the episcopate was more precious than all things else. And at this jugglery, at this open pillage of his own chattels, conventionality compelled him to assist, inhibiting him even from so much as warning the marauder off, and demanding that he should laugh, that he should jest, that his flow of small-talk should not tarry. " Don't you agree with me, doctor?" In the little drama Gonfallon played the heroe's role. Of the jealousy which had sprung into being within him, that jealousy which spends itself not in a scene but in a crime, of the revulsion of feeling, of the anger and surprise, he gave no outward sign ; not an eyelid had twitched, not a muscle of his face had altered. His observations, however long in the telling, had in reality not outlasted a moment; and Mrs. Manhattan, who had been expressing her views on some subject which was doubtless of importance, never dreamed that the guest who appeared to be giving her his fullest attention, had in the moment traversed the world, unconscious of her presence, deaf to her speech. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 145 " Perfectly, my clear Mrs. Manhattan," lie answered. " I agree with you in every respect." From the other end of the table came the falsetto laugh which Mrs. Fox used as fanfare to sound the retreat of some illustrious personage from her speech. She was in great good spirits, and looked around, for admiration perhaps, at Jones. Presumably she had been informed of his calling, one which doubtless was to her incom- patible with the usages of the selectest set, for over the oysters she had ignored him entirely, over the roast she had given him a glance which she was prepared on the instant to bestow on some one else. But with the sweets she was surprised into remarking that he looked enough like the secretary of the Austrian Legation to be that gentleman's brother. " Who did you say he was ? " she asked of her host. " I called him Alphabet," Manhattan answered, " but his name is Chisolm- Jones." " Not a nephew of Madame do Cinq-Cygnc? " " Her nephew." 146 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. The questions and answers Gonfallon garnered unconsciously. He was in the cerebral condition of a chess-player whom the remark of a bystander addressed during the absorption of the game reaches only when the move is made. Do what he might, his attention was centred on Claire ; and through that attention filtered the conversa- tion of the other guests. Miss Raritan was talking across the table, praising Massenet and the inspiration which that composer displays. Mrs. Manhattan had turned to the man on her left. For the moment both Claire and Yarde were silent. Mrs. Pox was captivating Jones. " And that dear countess ! How is she ? " " Better than she has been for some time," Jones answered. " She is dead." "I am so glad," Mrs. Fox rejoined; it was evident that only the initial sentence had reached her. " I am so glad. There are few whom I have known among my own compatriots, of course who speak French as well as she. Do you know, it is really difficult for me now to A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 147 accustom myself to my own tongue ? You must have experienced the same thing yourself? " " Often, Mrs. Fox." " I was sure of it. Nous autres, n'est ce pas ? Mais tout le monde parle Francais maintenant. Figurez-vous qu'a Cannes, 1'hiver passe, j'etais vraiment etonnee de trouver ma langue dans la bouche du Prince de Galles ! " " Son Altesse aussi sans doute," Jones answered, with a sniff. " What do you think of her ? " asked Miss Rari- tan, in a whisper. " Fox et praeterea nihil," he replied ; a jest which the young lady did not wholly grasp, but at which, as was her wont, she smiled approv- ingly. " And now, do tell me," Mrs. Fox continued, ' you know I have been away so long, what is, the last scandal ? " "The last scandal? Let me see." And the novelist seemed to meditate. " Ah, yes. You re- member Mrs. Gwathmeys, don't you ? " " Cyntliia Van Dam that was ? " 148 A TRANSACTION IN HEART*. "Exactly. Well, the other day her husband picked her pocket." " Mr. Chisolm-Jones ! " " You don't understand. It was a pleasantry on his part. He saw a bit of paper peeping out of her bodice, and snatched it from her." " You said her pocket." " Isn't a bodice a woman's pocket ? However, Gwathmeys seized the paper and suddenly he cried, ' What is this ? My Jove, my chosen, hut not mine, I send my whole heart to you in these words I write. Who is it wrote that ? ' ' Owen Meredith/ his wife answered." " The_shameless thing ! " interjected Mrs. Fox. " ' I will kill him ! ' shouted Gwathmeys." As Jones spoke he imitated the voice of an ogre in a fairy-tale. " And quite right, too." " As you say." "And did he?" But Jones' answer was lost. Mrs. Manhattan had moved, and at that signal her guests rose from the table. When the men, after accompanying A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 149 the women-folk into the drawing-room, returned for coffee and liqueurs, the novelist seemed ab- sorbed. He took little part in the conversation, and, until his host suggested that it might be well to join the ladies, he sat now puffing at a huge cigar, now flicking the ashes on the floor. The drawing room which they then entered, the smallest of the three which the house contained, was so cunningly furnished with everything that you would have expected most, that it was even comfortable and unsuggestive of a sheriff's sale. At one end a screene served as a partition between two sofas. Near to one of the sofas was a mantel, near to the other a piano. Throughout the room other nooks had been arranged. It was one of the few places where a tete-a-tete can be enjoyed in a crowd. When the men entered, Miss Raritan was at the piano. On the sofa nearest the mantel Claire had just seated herself. The other women were in a group. Gonfallon at once took up a position by the mantel, on which he leaned, his back turned to his sister-in-law ; Manhattan lounged near the 150 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. piano; and Trement Yarde sat himself next to Claire. For a moment the room was resonant with that accent which is peculiar to the after-dinner speech. Then, as Miss Raritan's fingers strayed over the keys, there was a lull. Presently the girl's voice sounded, low as yet, for she was heating her throat; then suddenly it rose, and dilating filled the room, and, as she sang, each note was evoca- tive of fancies, each word clear as the token on a coin. Baise-moy, mignonne, cent fois rebaise-moy. With an effort Gonfallon roused himself from a reverie into which he had sunk. " She sings well, does she not ? " he remarked. " I wish I could in- duce her to join the choir." And, as Jones an- swered nothing, he added, after a moment, " You are the last person I expected to meet to-night." "Because of my aunt? What nonsense! Though, to be sure, after the manner in which I was treated one might easily expect me to be in sackcloth. No, Mrs. Manhattan asked me before the Bronx episode occurred, and, having accepted A TRANSACTION JN HEARTS. 151 her invitation, I saw no reason to back out. Yesterday I got together a change of linen and a metaphysical theory, and here I am. It is ghastly in the country. If it were not for my man, I give you my word, I- believe I would keep myself full as a harvest-moon." " Your man ? " Jones had been speaking in the leisurely growl that was usual to him, in a voice in which a drawl and a snarl seemed to struggle for prominence. But now his face lit up, he straightened himself, and with a glance at the sofa as though to assure himself of the inattention of its occupants, he plucked again at his beard and continued, in a clearer key : " Yes, the one luxury that my aunt's munificence has permitted me. I have only had the beggar a week, but I have told him that if he behaves him- self I will promote him from valet to secretary. His life has been a magic-lantern ; he has visited all sorts of impossible places ; he has been to Bok- hara, to Quito, to Boston to Mars, for all I know. Jf I had had a fraction of his adventures I could 152 A TRANSACTION TAT HEARTS. busy a roomful of stenographers with the dicta- tion of plots. He keeps me in a fever with his anecdotes ; he " " Is he an Englishman ? " " No ; he is a Swiss, or a Pole both, perhaps. However, I wouldn't rely on his veracity. He tells me he has only been in this country a few weeks, two of which he passed as servant to some young man here who sent him adrift because he couldn't marrow-bone his boots." "H'm." The refrain of her song drifted from her in a murmur of applause. When she had finished, Jones crossed the room to where Gonfallon stood, and, leaning against the mantel, for a moment he gazed at Claire, still seated with Yarde on the sofa just beyond, and plucked at his yellow beard. ' Yes, so he said. He told me something odd about him, too rather typical, I thought. The substance of it, I fancy, he must have obtained through the keyhole and his master's correspond- encea supposition winch may account for his dismissal. But to come to the point. It appears A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 153 that the young man, after the fashion of his kind, was smitten in a certain quarter. The object of his affections, poor, parenthetically, but pre- sumably virtuous, would have none of him. In fact, she detested him as only a girl can who has nothing better to do. It may be " Godfallon has ceased to listen ; his thoughts had wandered to the dinner-table, and then, returning, settled on the occupants of the sofa at his back. At the earliest possible moment he determined to take Claire and go. " It may be," Jones continued, " that the young fellow, in the vivacity which youth will cause, had played some little trick on her which she resented. Joseph my man described her as haughty as a Wittelsbach, and of course, as such, not one to take things lightly. Be that as it may, one after- noon our hero sauntered forth, his boots radiant though unboned, a flower in his coat, and the smell of iris on his linen. It was evident to Joseph that he intended to conquer or to die. An hour or so later our hero h'm his name was er no, Joseph told me, but I have forgotten, however, 154 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. our here returned, looking blacker than Cain, abused Joseph about the first thing that came in his head, and shut himself up in his room. Joseph, as a good servant should, loitered within call. Presently, a ring at the bell, a messenger and a note. No sooner did our hero read it than his face changed from Cain's to Abel's. It was then eight o'clock. Ten minutes later he was in evening dress. ' I will dine at the Club/ he said : 'meanwhile, do you go to Klunder's and get all the flowers he has in his shop : cover the room with them, cover the carpet, fill the vestibule, if you can.' Joseph did as he was bid. He secured a hundred dozen roses, a basket of mignonette, and yards of smilax. When his master returned, the apartment had the breath of the Fortunate Isles. I mentioned that he lived in an apartment, didn't I?" At the question Gonfallon looked up. Jones seemed to be speaking less to him than to an audience behind his back. Mechanically he turned : apparently Claire and Yarde were talked out, for they sat as though listening to the novelist. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 155 Gonfallon felt for his watch and consulted it furtively : five minutes more and his cab would be at the door. " Yes, yes, of course," he answered, absently. " Well, what then ? " " Then our hero dismissed Joseph for the night ; but Joseph must have preferred to await develop- ments. He declares that he had some brushing up to attend to, over which he fell asleep, and on awakening did not wish to make his presence known. But my own opinion is that during his master's absence he found the note that had been brought, and that that note so piqued his curiosity that he hid in some closet in the hall. However, to make a long story short, just before midnight he heard the bell ring, and presently the sound of a girl's voice. It was evident that she was excited. She entered the apartment like a tempest, and as she spoke, her words came from her by jerks, as though wrenched by the effort of one whose patience or whose breath is gone, ' See,' said our hero, attempting to soothe her, 'these roses are in welcome of you.' ' It is not for roses I come, but for money. You told me the walls of your apart- 156 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. ment were dumb ; I am here.' Then the door of the room which they entered was closed. For a moment there was a murmur, then an exclamation. Immediately the door reopened, and Joseph heard them pass out. This time the girl's voice was assured. ' Will you ever forgive me ? ' she asked. ' Will you think better of me than before ? ' he answered. Seemingly " Gonfallon, weary of Jones and of his tiresome tale, consulted his watch again. Down the room some of the guests had encircled Mrs. Fox. At the piano Miss Raritan was still seated, her ex- quisite face upturned to some man who was finger- ing a sheet of music. From behind, Gonfallon heard a rustic,- Jones ceased speaking, and abruptly the room was in commotion. Miss Raritan, rising from her seat, hurried forward, followed by Mrs. Manhattan, and in a moment by the other guests. Gonfallon started and turned. On the sofa, Claire, her eyes closed, her head on her shoulder, her face but little less white than her frock, seemed to have sunk into a heap. " She fainted," A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 157 he heard Miss Raritan exclaim, and saw Mrs. Man- hattan raise the girl up and beat her small hands with her own. Almost immediately the girl opened her eyes, and Gonfallon rushed to her aid. Yarde, who had stood up, glanced down at her and then over at Jones. " There, I am right enough," she lisped. Again Yarde glanced at her, and then, as though assured of her well-being, he moved to where the novelist stood and looked him in the face. "You brute " Jones caught him by the arm. " Listen to me, Trement. There, don't struggle ; she's over it already. Besides, Gonfallon has his eye on you. Did you ever hear of Balzac? Of course not. Well, Balzac was a machine that blackened paper. One day, or rather one night, someone said to him, * There's a pretty girl.' He answered, ' You mean a plot/ Not a novel did he write that he had not dug from a woman's heart. For a week I have been hunting for a climax. This evening I tried an experiment; it succeeded. I have my climax now. Call me a brute if you care to, but be good 158 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. enough to understand that I am perfectly domesti- cated and thoroughly well trained. I always mask rny heroine. There, Miss Bucholz is motioning to you." And with that Jones turned on his heel and adjusted his cravat. " I wonder," he mused, " I wonder what that little imbecile would thing of Vernet, who lashed himself to a mast- head that he might study a storm ? " A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 159 X. drive from Mrs. Manhattan's to the rectory was always a short one, but on this occasion it was brief indeed. The noise of the wheels brought to Gonfallon the echo of Miss Raritan's song ; and as in a constant resummons of the same refrain it beset and pursued him, forcing him, whether he willed it or not, into a lunatic duo with the vehicle in which he sat ; a disorganized lamp- post caught and detained the obsession, and he fell to wondering whether electricity was preferable to gas. Then at once the query departed of itself. Jones was standing opposite, relating less to him than to an audience behind his back, some endless story of nothing at all. And that story, to which five minutes before he had accorded only the show of 160 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. interest which civility exacts, suddenly became poignant and fraught with interest. At Mrs. Manhattan's, in the earliest surprise at the unexpected, he had attribuetd Claire's collapse to fatigue, to the heat of the room, and the strain of her stays ; but now, in fumbling about for the logic of Jones' anecdote, he recalled the novelist's significant forgetfulness of his hero's name, the manner in which he had talked at the occupants of the sofa recurred to him, he remembered the epithet which Yarde had blurted out, and at once a panorama unrolled. He had not been the auditor of a pointless tale ; he had assisted at the fabulization of a masquerade; but the clock had struck, the dominoes had fallen, the masks were raised. In a confusion of visions he saw Clare dismiss- ing her suitor like a lackey, the interview between Bucholz and himself, interrupted by her and indu- bitably overheard; he divined the conflict within her, the rememoration of Yarde's offer, the know- ledge of her father's guilt. Then, one after another, he comprehended the first incitement, the inward TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 161 revolt, the renewed assault, the rebellion in her of all that was best, the martyrdom that ensued, the self-crucifixion, the tension of nerves, the defeat that was a victory, the agony over the wording of the note, the despatch of the message, the comedy played for Ruth, the suffocation hid with a smile, the anguish of the preparation, the dread, perhaps the hope, of detention, the horror of the unlighted stairs, the tragedy of the cab that waited there, the agony of her thoughts as she was driven away, her hysterical entrance into Yarde's apartment, and then, to the man she loathed, the offer of her honour in payment of her father's shame. No, it was more than noble ; it was Greek. Of her possible contempt of him, Gonfallon gave no thought. And as his fancy veered from Claire to Yarde it was with a little undercurrent of applause. Truly he had misjudged the man, not much perhaps, but still misjudgment there had been. He could have throttled him on that afternoon when he had heard him, in anger at his rejection, make that offer which he had coupled with the insulting assurance that the 162 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTH. walls of his rooms were dumb. Yes, he could have throttled him then with delight. And yet, when Claire, in her haste to rescue her father, had in her helplessness knocked at his door, he had been better than his word : assistance had been accorded unexactingly, and so soon as rendered, immediately he had let her go. How- ever the episode might be viewed, in this respect at least Yarde's conduct had in it a dash of the falon rouge. No wonder Claire's attitude had changed: it were ungracious of her had it not. But there the matter should rest. Claire should be under no further obligation to smile at this subtler Lovelace. The money he would find means of repaying. As for Jones, he could be hushed with a word. The cab had stopped, but it needed a movement from his companion to remind him that the journey was done. He got out, aided her to alight, and unlatched the door. As yet, neither had spoken. On entering the house Claire made directly for the stairs. " Don't go up yet ; I want a word with you," A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 163 he muttered, and glanced at the banisters above. "What is it? " She halted and turned. The cheeks were still pale, and the white fur of her wrap increased the pallor of her face. He put his hat and coat aside, and, raising the curtain of the sitting-room, motioned her to enter. For a second she hesitated and looked at him inquisitorially, the brow contracted; then, gather- ing a fold of her frock, she obeyed the gesture, and, entering the room, she stood, her wrap drawn about her, her head thrown back, one foot beating a measure impatiently on the floor. Gonfallon glanced again at the banisters and let the curtain fall. " Claire," he began, " there is but one explanation of what occurred this evening. The fault, perhaps, is partly mine. I had intended on my return from Bronx to take immediate action in regard to your father, but you forestalled me. You forestalled me, moreover, in a manner which which well, of which the least said the better. Fortunately, matters are not as bad as they might 72 164 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. be. You have been exceedingly imprudent, and I have been remiss. As for that young man, his mere presence is sufficient to tarnish a dawn. From your own demeanour, from things which Ruth has let fall, I understand that he is as objectionable to you as he is to me. The obligation which he has placed us all under must of course be cancelled, and to that I will attend ; but hereafter it is impossible for you to see him again. You agree with me, do you not? " In and about the girl's mobile lips a sneer hovered like a bee on a rose. Leisurely she undid her cloak. " Not in the least," she answered. " But you know I dislike him ; you know " "And why should you?" Her head, which had been thrown back, she now held a trifle to one side. "And why should you? Has he ever done you a kindness?" She paused a second, and added, "You dislike my father too, don't you?" The thrust was keen and venomous as the tooth of a rat. But on her mouth the sneer was so quickly effaced by a smile that one might have A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 165 thought that in her heart a bird had suddenly burst into song. At the change in her expression, Gonfallon for- got to heed the taunt. " He is unprincipled, Claire " " Ah ! He is unprincipled, is he ? And what of it? You have no principles of your own to boast of. No, Chris, you have none." She pointed at him. On the end of her finger were all sorts of pretty gestures, and in her face, to which some trace of colour had returned, was the inimic of a child saying, Fi ! " You must find a better reason than that." At the movement of her hand the wrap fell from her. She was bare of neck and of arm. Her frock was after that English model which gives some freedom to the limbs yet keeps the waist well girt. It was colourless yet scintillant, and in it, with the white of the fur at her feet, it needed little imagination to fancy her a statue of Injustice vacating its niche. The slender finger still extended seemed to pierce him like a gibe. " You must find a better 166 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. reason than that," she repeated; "you must, indeed." Her smile had bubbled into a ripple, her eyes laughed, and she flushed. Gonfallon's breath came faster. He had been staring at her. " It is because I love you, Claire," he whispered. And in a moment he caught her to him and pressed hei 1 lips of silk to his. At their emollient touch his anger evaporated as utterly as had it never been. " Sweetheart," he murmured, " it is because you are more than all the world to me." He gazed into her deep eyes' depth. Instead of an answering gleam, there was in them an apathy, stagnant and unmoved. " Sweetheart," he repeated, and as he did so the eyes into which he gazed dilated as at some sudden dread. From behind him came a smothered cry. His arms fell again to his side, and he wheeled about. In the doorway Ruth stood, her face barred by a shadow. Claire stooped for her cloak and Gonfallon bit his lip. Ruth advanced to where they stood. Her face now they could see had on it the stamp of un- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 167 vanquishable pain, seared in, immutable and already cold. She glanced from one to the other. " Claire," she said, and as she spoke her words fell from her very swiftly, unseparated by intervals, as though in speech relief might be, " Claire, our mother died when you were born. The first thought I ever had was of your good. The earliest effort I ever made I made for you. I tried to be not a sister alone, I tried to replace the mother you had lost. I have failed." Claire made as though to speak, but already Ruth had turned to Gon fallen. "Christopher, the first dream of my girlhood belonged to you. The only thoughts I did not give to Claire were those you took. You took so many, Christopher! I gave you my whole heart ; I thought you gave me yours. I was wrong." "Wrong?" cried Claire; "you are stark staring mad, that is what is the matter with you, Mrs. Gonfallon." " I am sure," Gonfallon hazarded, " I don't see " 168 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTH. " I did," said his wife. The monosyllables fell like a sentence. " Well, Ruth," Claire broke in, " if you object to Chris kissing me on an occasion like this " "Like this? What occasion can it be?" "Why, Chris was congratulating me on my engagement. Don't you think you are absurd ? " A light as from some new dawn seemed to break in Ruth's eyes. She turned to Claire again. " I am engaged to Trement Yarde," the girl added. Gonfallon felt the blood mount to his temples. " It is a lie," he told himself. " Or if by chance she is telling the truth, then " " He asked me again to-night," Claire continued, " It was the fourth time ; I was afraid he might not ask again "Is this true, Christopher?" Ruth's voice was almost joyous. " It is true," he answered, and ground his nails into his flesh. " But you don't love him ! " And already A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 169 Ruth's arm had wound itself about her sister's waist. Claire nodded eagerly. " Oh, but I do, though lots and lots corner lots." " Claire, dear," expostulated Ruth, " you said you hated him." " H'm, perhaps. It's the same thing, isn't it ? " Ruth turned again from her sister to her husband. " Chris, Claire has forgiven me : will not you ? ' " Gonfallon answered nothing. He tried to give his face some suitable expression, and evidently he succeeded, for Ruth, with the dawn still in her eyes, led her sister away. When they had gone, Gonfallon dropped on a chair and mopped his forehead. " Hatred indeed ! " he muttered. " It is I that hate." It was monstrous, he told himself, that she should treat him as she had. From a delight she had changed into a reproach. The desire which she had in- spired, and against which he had struggled with all the feebleness of his strength, the hope unforrnu- lated yet sentient which she had evoked, and 170 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. against whose luminousness he had hid his eyes, these things had passed, the one into a mockery, the other into a taunt. The innocence which she exhaled, the guilelessness which she displayed, that savour and fragrance of youth which in alluring him despite himself had made him forget his office and his vows, was an acquired, a premeditated trick. Everything about her, even to the serpentine move- ment of her neck, was the understudy of a lie. And it was such an one as she that had the power to stir his pulse and leave him for hours after to dully with the protocols and uselessness of regret ! It was she who had brought him visions of larger life, of new horizons and fresher creeds ; it was she with whom he had seen himself straying beyond the conventional, far out of reach of the matter-of- fact to that ultimate meadow where the flowers distil the reason of love ! And this was she ! Full surely, then, he had been bereft. He raised his hand to his head and let his head fall back. He was tired, outwearied by the emotions of the night, and for a little while he toyed absently with a handkerchief, rumpling it A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 171 into a ball and moulding it with forefinger and thumb. " I am no longer a lover," he mused. " I am a judge." His eyelids drooped, he sank yet farther in the chair and sighed. " Of heart," he continued, " she has none. Beneath her stays is some flesh on a stone." A little longer he rested, then, slowly, with the hesitant air of one perplexed, he rose from his seat, the handkerchief still rumpled in his hold. " She is an adder ! " he exclaimed, and, throwing the bit of cambric from him, he repeated, in yet louder tone, " An adder that I will fang." The next moment, without conscious effort on his part, he found himself at her door. Should he knock ? he wondered. But no ; the time for cere- mony was gone. With a wrench at the knob and a blow at the panel he entered in. Claire was before the mirror. She had removed her frock, but her arms and neck were no longer bare ; she had some loose wrapper on, and in it all trace of the manishness which she affected disappeared. At the sudden noise she started and turned. Gonfallon was livid. As she stared at him he 172 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. gazed at her, and in that gaze he put something that was like a knee pressed on a breast. " Wanton ! " he hissed. The girl's hands fluttered like falling leaves. "Christopher," she cried, "what are you doing here?" " Wait ; you shall see." He made towards her, and as he approached, the girl drew back. " Christopher," she moaned, " you frighten me." " Is it my face that frightens ? Could you see my heart ! " And still the girl retreated. Her back now was against the wall, her eyes agonized with fear. With a bound he was upon her, and, catching her wrist in his hand, he threw her on the floor. Vainly she struggled ; the grip on her wrist was a vice. " What are you going to do ? " she gasped. And Gonfallon, still holding her down, turned his head towards the table and across the room as though seeking for something of which he had immediate need. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS, 173 "1 do not know," he answered; "but say your prayers." " Help ! " she cried, her voice soaring to its utmost tension. " Help ! " And as Gonfallon placed his hand over her mouth to hush the cry, the crouching form faded from before him. He felt an undefinable sensa- tion of discomfort. In his ears was the roar of water displaced. With an effort he looked about him. He was still in the chair in which he had dropped asleep, and through rifts of returning consciousness he heard a loving voice : " Chris, are you not coming up ? See, it is after one." It was Ruth, bending over him, entreating him to rise. 174 XI. A LREADY a handful of guests had filled the -*-*- sitting room. In the study across the hall, Gonfallon, robed in full canonicals, stood motion- less and alone. Once only at the champing of hits and the noise of hoofs he had turned to the window. It was Miss Pickett, garmented in that terra-cotta which affects the eye as a pistol-shot affects the ear. He had heard her rustle past the door and her laugh mingle with Mrs. Manhattan's. Then 9 brougham had stopped, and Tandem, in a cut-away coat, a flower in his button-hole, had alighted and loitered an instant until Yarde had alighted too. For the moment, Gonfallon, at the possibility of their entering the room where he stood, had knit his brow; but Tandem, in his quality of best man, had convoyed the groom to A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 175 some other refuge. From above came the sound of hurrying feet. The rectory was articulate, its quiet stirred with vocables. In the room over- head he pictured Claire standing before the glass, her head held sideways, eyeing the last touches to her gown. Beyond, somewhere, through the walls he saw Yarde contemplating his finger-tips, and to the prayer-book which he held, Gonfallon gave a tighter clasp. Since the dinner and its epilogue Gonfallon had barely seen his sister-in-law. The day after she had gone with the Picketts to Washington, and before returning to New York had managed to pass a full month with Yarde's relatives in the South. Since then her hours had been given to the trousseau. To-day she was to be married, and at the ceremony, at her mating to that man, instead of forbidding the banns he was to officiate. It was through him the Church was to sanction a thing against which every fibre of his being rebelled. In an effort to gain some mastery over the expression of his face, he turned again to the street. 1T6 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. There had been a flurry of snow an hour before, but now in the sunlight high noon rang every- where. On the pavement was an eager glitter like that of broken glass, and at the corner the spiies of Gethsemane pointed to a gulf of blue. " And not a reason for refusing," he muttered 'not one." During the preceding weeks he had told himself that this thing should never be. The touch of her lips had sealed her to him. He had felt the willingness, the courage even, to abandon the rochet already in his grasp, his high estate, his reputation, his cloth, Ruth, everything, even to honour, and carry the girl to some one of those lovely lands to which we never go, but which beckon to us ceaselessly from afar. In conflicts with himself conscience vanquished had been impotent to coerce. His ordinary duties he had performed with the perfunctoriness of a somnambulist. In his eyes but one light shone, and that light was Claire. And in that light all else slipped by, and he had relied now on the girl herself, now on a whim of chance, and again on some effort of his own on something, he knew A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 177 not what, but still on something that should happen in the nick of time and sunder this hateful pact. In more rational moments he had reflected that, distasteful as the engagement was, it was rendered doubly so by the fact that the other contracting party was one whom of all others in the world he loathed the most ; and into that loathing, as though to mock him, there would creep at times the knowledge banished again and again, but ever returning that between hi in and Yarde a girl such as Claire would not hesitate for a second's space. What chance have forty years, however well carried they may be, against the fragrance and seductions of youth? And as Gonfallon had thought of this, he would have, had he dared, clapped there and then on that fragrance some one of those masks which disfigure and distort. He would have corroded and blasted. And instead of that he was called upon to stand, the sacerdos, and consecrate his nuptials with Claire. Instead of maiming he was to marry ; in- stead of cursing he was to bless. Could this cup 178 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. pass from him ? But he had no excuse not one. It was for him to deliver the girl he loved into the arms of the man he loathed. And as he gazed down at the eager glitter of the street, there came to his face an expression which Goya would have given to a gibbeted fiend. Was it not a woman that changed into Satan the angel that was Lucifer ? " Doctor, the bride is coming down." It was Tandem hailing him from the doorway. Gonfallon drew one long breath and turned ; and as he turned he thrust his hate back in him as a soldier sheathes his sword. " I am ready," he answered; and to himself he added, " Calvary was easy of ascent." Tandem had already gone. Gonfallon drew the portiere aside, and, crossing the hall, his head bent, the prayer-book in his hand, he entered the sitting room beyond. At his entrance the voices subsided and ceased. The guests parted into twin rows, and between them Gonfallon advanced to a mirror, before which two cushions had been placed. There he turned and stood, his head still lowered, waiting the coming of the bride. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS.. 179 Presently, in the lull, Yarde entered, led by Tandem, and, bowing to Gonfallon, a salute which, parenthetically, was not returned, he took up a position on the right. From beneath his lowered eyelids Gonfallon saw him fumble at a pocket. " He is feeling for the ring," he reflected, and straightened himself just a little. Then came a rustle, a murmur, and Claire entered, leaning on her father's arm. Gonfallon raised his eyes, Yarde stepped forward to greet, Bucholz, in a worthy parental manner, dropped his daughter's arm, and the two young people stood before him who was to make them one. "Dearly beloved," began Gonfallon, in that voice which those present knew so well " Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God." And as he repeated from memory the subse- quent phrases of the opening formula, he looked down at the bride. In her cheeks that hue of the white rose which has the sulphur heart was untouched by the faintest flush. The porcelain blue of her eyes was untroubled, and her mouth 180 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. still looked inviolate and unaware of love. From the tangles of her curls came the breath of brooks. She was in street-dress, but unbonneted and ungloved. " ' I require and charge .you both, as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgment " His eyes were still on hers, but as he delivered the warning which is customary he lowered his own beneath the directness of her gaze. " Trement," he continued, " wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife, to live " "I will," the young man interjected, and flushed at his precipitance. " Together after God's ordinance in the holy state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her " And as the question fell from him, Gonfallon outwardly impassible, clutched tighter at the book he held. For a second his voice wavered, and, turning to the bride " Claire," he continued, " wilt thou take this man ? " Again his eyes were on her, and so convulsed were they that to a weaker than she dismay would A TRANSACTION N HEARTS. 181 have come. He paused, and Claire, as though her thoughts had preceded and interpreted his own, in a voice quasily defiant, her head held like a challenge, her eyes a trifle contracted, and fixed maliciously on his wn, made the conventional response. " Who giveth this woman " In speaking he caught an expression on Yarde's face, a look of smothered mirth, as though the mute dialogue had been intercepted and enjoyed. Willingly would he have hurled the prayer-book at his teeth, and with his two hands about his throat crushed out his hated life. He bit his lip until it bled, and with an effort dominated himself again. Bucholz had stepped forward, and, after making a gesture, moved back. He seemed so pompous, so spruce, and yet so unnecessary, that Gonfallon, detecting another quiver in Yarde's expression, understood his mirth, and in his semi-hysterical condition, felt his own lips twitch with a smile. The troth then plighted, bride and groom kneeled on the cushions at his feet, and, the prayer delivered, rose up again. 182 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. " ' Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder. For inasmuch ' " he con- tinued, and, mumbling the archaic phrases that follow, he added, with a gasp, "Amen." The next moment Claire was in her sister's arms and Tandem was shaking Yarde energetically by the hand. The twin ranks of the company fused into a solid square that bore down on the bride and groom. Gonfallon watched his opportunity and escaped to the study beyond. Thus far he had held himself well. Not one of those present had divined the rebellion that was in him. But now the farce was done, and, tearing the canonicals from him, he rumpled and tossed them in a heap on the floor. The prayer-book which he had held fell from him, and he sank on a chair. Into his mouth had come a sour taste. He raised his handkerchief to his lips, and, looking at it, saw that it was flecked with red. He passed his hand across his eyes, they were dry and hot ; and suddenly remembering Bucholz, he chuckled and tried to laugh. The hubbub of sixty people talking at once came A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 183 to him from across the hall. For a fraction of an hour he listened unhearingly. But presently something stirred him from his mental swoon, He had heard Claire's voice, he was sure. He started and moved to the door; yes, it was she. He drew the portiere ever so little and peered into the hall. Before him the bride stood exchanging a farewell with Miss Pickett. Then the two separated, Miss Pickett turning to the sitting room and Claire to the stairs. For a moment he waited; then, seeing that he could leave the study unobserved, he hurried out into the hall. Already the girl had reached the floor above, but he called to her, and she stopped. " What is it ? " she asked, and looked down at him from over the rail. Without a word he mounted to where she stood. "Claire," he whis- pered, and strove to take her hand, " tell me, you do love me, do you not ? " And the girl, drawing from him, answered, almost sadly, with a gesture that was pathetic in the sorrow it conveyed, "Love you, Gonfallon? It is not I that love you ; it is Ruth." 184 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. A door closed and she was gone. Gonfallon steadied himself and gazed blankly enough at the door which had shut in his face. " And it was for this I toiled," he mused. For the moment everything seemed to disappear; then, mindful as he always was of form, and arguing with himself as to what he was doing there, he got into his study again, and roamed about it, likening his restlessness to that of a gyrfalcon in a cage; striving not only to forget, but to cease to think as well. Beyond, the hubbub still continued. A luncheon was in progress, and he knew that his absence would be remarked. Yet still he could make no effort to leave the room. From time to time he passed his hand across his face and let it Ml again to his side. And presently the voices approached; it was evident that the guests were assembling in the hall. From the window he could see a trim brougham, bottle-green, the straw-coloured wheels picked out with black, and by it a miniature groom, in his lapel a bunch of white flowers, while at the ear of the horse nearest A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 185 the rectory Gonfallon noticed that a similar bunch had been placed. " Chris, where are you ? " It was Ruth calling to him, as Tandem had done, from the uplifted fringe of the curtain. " Chris ! They are coming. Hurry ! " Again he moved out into the hall, bowing this time right and left to the guests that had assembled there. Mrs, Manhattan was prompt at nabbing, and she had him at once. " How sweet Claire looked ? " she murmured. "Very," Gonfallon answered, and smilingly caressed his chin. " Such a good match, too," she added. " You ought to be tickled to death." " Yes, yes, he is a splendid young fellow." " Just the man for her. Nicholas was so sorry he couldn't come. Trement, you know, is a connection of ours. I even had a hand in his bringing up." " I was sure of it." " And how impressive you did make the service. Ah ! here they are." 186 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. About the corner bride and groom had turned. The face of the latter was flushed as were he the sacrifant ; the former held her head erect, and her mouth seemed at the slightest provocation prepared to bubble into a laugh. There was a gurgle, a hum, an undulant shout, and they had gone. Through the open door- way Miss Pickett threw a slipper which hit the coach- man on the cheek. Tandem had obtained a handful of rice, which he scattered lavishly in the air. And as the brougham drove off, Yarde was seen, his head bent, fumbling at the nape of his neck for a furtive grain that had lodged in his collar. For a while yet the guests lingered, com- panioned by Gonfallon and Ruth. Then, little by little the handful diminished and shrunk, until husband and wife were alone. " It will be dreary without Claire, will it not ? " Ruth remarked, as the ultimate loiterer passed from the house. There was no doubt about it Dr. McMasters was not only a physician, but a sorcerer as well. The neuralgia which had fed upon her had been exorcised long since. A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 187 In the adjoining room the maid was busy with the detritus of the wedding-feast. "Will it not?" she repeated, and without waiting for an answer, suddenly her arm had wound around him, and for a moment her head rested on his breast. Then, conscious, seemingly, of the presence of the maid, she moved from him, and Gonfallon, turning on his heel, entered the study again. On the floor before him the prayer-book lay, and he stooped to pick it up. It was not large, hardly bigger than a good resolution, but as prayer-books go it was a gem. The text was illuminated, and for binding it had tortoise-shell clamped with gold. In the morning Ruth had brought it to him with the request that he would use it at the service which was to be. And now as he raised it from the floor it opened in his hand. On the fly-leaf was an inscription in characters thin as hair: "To Ruth, from her loving sister. Christmas, 1879." And as he read it he understood why the request had been made. 188 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. Idly lie turned the pages. Between the covenants of the marriage-pact a blue flower had been pressed. During the agitations of the ceremony it had been unnoticed, but now some- thing about it seemed to evoke a memory, and he went back again to the slopes and intervales of Bronx. Idly still he turned the leaves. Before the psalm, "With my whole heart thy praise I will proclaim," another flower had been placed, but this one was yellow, as though the hope of the first betokened had mellowed with fulfilment. And as he turned again, facing the collect for Ash- Wednesday he found a clipping from some Poet's Corner, a bit of school-girl verse : I wait for the story : the birds cannot sing it, Not one, as he sits on the tree, The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh, bring it, Such as I Avish it to be. He read it twice, and very gently, almost reverently, he put the book aside. Anger seemed to take itself visibly away ; he saw it leaving him, and made no effort to detain. Already hatred was departing, and in its train an illusion had un- A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. 189 masked. " It is not I that love you," some one was saying ; " it is Ruth." He had fallen in a chair, and sat, his face buried in his hands. Back again from the past one memory after another came to him unreproached : first his wooing of her, her shy willingness, the sweet profanation, the earliest reluctant kiss, then the altar-rail, the blush of girlhood abandoned, the wifely solicitude, the unalterable charm with which illness had coped in vain, the tenderness of her nature, the unwavering allegiance, the trust, the belief, the pride in him. " It is I," he mused, " with whom she cove- nanted; it is I whose praise she proclaimed. I am the story she waited." And, raising his face from his hands, he added, " If that story were only true ! " Already the afternoon had taken itself off. And as the light decomposed and decreased, something that was like to weariness seemed to fill the room. On the ceiling an uncertain dimness gathered. Here and there a gilt nail on the wood-work detained as with a pin a fringe of the mantle of 190 A TRANSACTION IN HEARTS. day, but in the background was a somnolence in which objects disappeared mysteriously, one by one. In the corners shadows came and crouched. Under the chairs pits had formed, and out of them crept an obscurity which effaced and devoured the floor. On the ceiling the dimness deepened, the crouching shadows elongated and lapped the walls. A rumble from the street put an accent on the gloom, and presently, by way of vespers, the voice of the housemaid chanting "Jesus loves me'" climbed on a treble from the regions below. For a little space Gonfallon moved uneasily. Then, when night had wholly come, he found his way from the study, and groped through the darkness to Ruth. THE END. DALZIEL BROTHERS, CAMDEN PRESS, LONDON N.W THE CROOKED BILLET. [ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.! FURNISH THROUGHOUT (Reao.). OETZMANN AND ., 67, 69, 71, 73, 75, 77 and 79, HAMPSTEAD ROAD (NEAB TOTTENHAM COURT ROAD, LONDON). ORDERS PER POST RECEIVE PROMPT AND CAREFUL ATTENTION, Ebonized OP Walnut Overmantel. Well made, with Six Bevelled-edge Best French Plates, 4ft. 6in. wide by 4ft. high, 2 12s. 6d. A large Stock of Chimney Glasses and Over- mantles, from 35s. EBONIZED OR WALNUT OCCASIONAL TABLE. With Shell under Top; 17in. by 17in., 2tJin. kigb- og. 9d. WALNUT OR EBONIZED CORNER CABINET. With two bevelled silvered plates, 18s. 9d. Very Comfortable Easy Chair. Well Upholstered, 23s. 6d. DINING'-ROOM EASY CHAIRS, From 18s. to 10 guineag. DRAWING-ROOM EASY CHAIRS, From 21s. to 12 guineas. ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE, the Best Furnishing Guide Extant, post free TWENTY-FIFTH THOUSAND. THE CROOKED BILLET: f BY VERO SHAW. The dramatic rights of this Story art reserved by the Proprietors of the Copyrights, who are preparing a dramatised version themselves. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. THE HANSOM CAB PUBLISHING COMPANY 6u, LUDGATE HILL, E.C, 7 GOLD & SILVER MEDALS SINCE CLARK'S COFFEE A Cup or any qu;i, tity of line Coffee t! be made in an instru without waste. A si penny bottle of CLARK'S COFFKE AND CHICORY EXTRACT will make fifty snu cups of strong Coffee. CLARK'S COFFEE EX- TRACT is specially recom- mended by Sir CHARLES CAMERON, M.D., Analyst for Dublin, &c., as THE BEST ARTICLE of the KIN EXTRACTS ARE THE CHEAPEST. THE BEST IN THE WORLE USED IN THE ROYAL NURSERIES. MATTHEWS'S PURIFIED FULLER'S EARTH MATTHEWS'S FULLER'S EARTH-for the face. for the hands, to prevent freckles, to care sunburn, to preserve the complexion, to heal chafings. for roughness and redness, of Chemists and Perfumers, in boxes, 6d. and Is. PURIFIED SPECIALLY FOR THE NURSERY AND TOILET, CONTENTS. CHAPTER. PAot. I. CHIEFLY RETROSPECTIVE ... n II. JEM ARMSTRONG'S FIRST TROUBLE .zo III. SOWING THE WIND ^y IV. JACK HEATHCOTE 41 V. FRANK'S VILLAINY 50 VI. A WOMAN SLIGHTED ... ... 57 VII. MR. CORNELIUS TRIMMER ... 63 VIII. BEHIND THE DITCH 67 IX. MR. TRIMMER'S LITTLE GAME ... ... 73 X. NAT PRICE PUTS DOWN HIS FOOT 81 XI. THE MAY RACES ... , * ... ... ... <)2 XII. PARSON HEATHCOTE PUTS A QUESTION ... yy XIII. JACK HEATHCOTE is OSTRACISED 107 XIV. NELLIE REMAINS LOYAL ... ... ... 117 XV. CYCLOPS' DERBY... ... ... 124 XVI. JACK HEATHCOTE IN LONDON 131 XVII. FRANK CHAMPNEYS GOES THE PACE ... 137 XVIII. NELLIE CHAMPNEYS STANDS TO HER GUNS 146 XIX. GAD MOSES CALLS ON JACK HEATHCOTE ... 156 XX. WHO is MR. HARTLEY ? 162 XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND ... 165 XXII. JEM ARMSTRONG ON THE TRACK 171 XXIII. JEM ARMSTRONG GETS A JOB 175 XXIV. THE KEMPTON HANDICAP 178 XXV. Two CONFABULATIONS ... ... 185 XXVI. OUEM DECS VULT PERDERE .188 XXVII. CLOSING IN i'J3 XXVIII. JACK HEATHCOTL TAKES ins DEGREE ... 195 SIR JAMES MURRAY'S PURE FLUID MAGNESIA, As prepared by the Discoverer, Sir James Murray, M.D. For over 60 years In use as an excellent Remedy for all Diseases of the Stomach and Liver. In summertime and in warm climates It Is Invaluable, as it cools the Blood and improves the System generally. Is the only known drug which cures that most unpleasant of all maladies, viz., a Headache. In cases of Gout and Indigestion It Is indispensable. And In the Nursery It Is invaluable. Spoken of most highly by all the Profession. Sold by all respectable Chemists, in LARGE-SIZED Bottles (the 1 size containing nearly DOUBLE THE QUANTITY usually sold at that price) at 1. -, 2 6, and 3 6 each. Also in Winchester Quarts for Dispensary and Hospital use. CAUTION, Observe the Signature of the Inventor on ever Label. MURRAY'S nuro MAorasTX W*! 5 ^! 1 SIR JAMES MURRAY & SON, Chemical Works, Temple Street, DUBLIN. WHOLESALE AGENTS- BARCLAY & SONS, 95, FARRINGDON STREET, LONDON. HOLLOWAY'S PILLS AND OINTMENT. These Remedies have stood the test of upwards of FIFTY YEARS' EXPERIENCE AND ARE PRONOUNCED THE BEST MEDICINES FOR FAMILY USE THE PILLS purify the Blood, correct all disorders of the LIVER, STOMACH, KIDNEYS and BOWELS, and are invaluable in all complaints incidental to Females. THE OINTMENT is the most reliable remedy for BAD LEGS, SORES, ULCERS, AND OLD WOUNDS. For Colds, Coughs, Sore Throats, Bronchitis, Gout, Rheumatism, Glandular Swellings, and all Skin Diseases it has no equal. Manufactured only at 78, NEW OXFORD ST., LONDON, And sold by all Medicine Vendors throughout the World. Advice Gratis, at the abovt address, daily, between the hours of 11 and 1 or by letter. TO MY OLD FRIEND HUGH E. C. BEAVER, THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED WITH EVERY EXPRESSION' OF REGARD AND AFFECTION BY THE AUTHOR. MR. G. B. HARNESS'S WORLD-FAMED GUARANTEED GENUINE CURATIVE Electropathic Belt Should be worn by all in search of HEALTH, STRENGTH, and VITALITY. It imparts NEW LIFE & VIGOUR To the Debilitated Constitution, assists the Digestion, improves Nutrition, and is unquestionably the best known cure for RHEUMATIC & NERVOUS AFFECTIONS, LIVER & KIDNEY DISEASES, FUNCTIONAL DISORDERS, LADIES' AILMENTS, ETC, Book of testimonials, descriptive pamphlet and advice gratis, personally or by letter, on appli- cation to THE MEDICAL BATTERY 00,, Ltd., 52, OXFORD STREET, LONDON, W. (Corner of Rathbone Place). Sufferers should call, if possible, and person- ally inspect the Belts before purchasing them. THE CROOKED BILLET. CHAPTER I. CHIEFLY RETROSPECTIVE. VERY possibly the sign of the " Crooked Billet " is un- familiar to the travellers on the road between New- market and Cambridge, and consequently, as the existence of the above hostel, at one time or another in the world's history, is essential to the existence of our tale, a few words relating to the establishment may not be out of place. To speak candidly, it is more than doubtful whether the most regular frequenter of the house at any time felt prepossessed by its outward appearance. A couple of small windows, one upon each side of the narrow doorway, and three still more tiny casements upon the upper floor, commanded an uninterrupted view of the bye-lane which led direct from the high road to the tumble-down porch. On the right, in the entrance, was the so-called tap-room, the beer-stained tables, and the general unsavouriness of which, bore silent testi- mony to the disregard of the proprietor for the comforts of his humble gmests ; whilst on the left was the bar, and through this again, the sanctum of the landlord was situated. The only access to this apartment was to be gained by passing through the bar, as since the present tenant had occupied the place, he had caused a door which originally led out into the passage at the back to be bricked up. At the same time he had taken care to see that the solitary window, which gave light to the apartment, was securely fastened up, and its lower panes obscured by the application of an evil-smelling, and highly adhesive compound made up of beeswax mixed with blacking. 12 THE CROOKED BILLET. These arrangements aroused no feelings of astonish- ment in the minds of the habitues of the " Crooked Billet," as rumour had prepared them to expect myste- rious alterations, and, in fact, the majority of the regular customers were rather disappointed at no greater innovations being instituted by the coming new host. In truth, the arrival of Nat Price, for such was the landlord's name, was rather an event in the lives of the thirsty souls who nightly drained their mugs of ale, and bellowed forth bucolic choruses in the tap-room of the " Crooked Billet." The new-comer's fame had travelled before him from Newmarket, full seven miles away, and his present neighbours were therefore quite prepared to welcome the great man as cordially as in their powers lay. The existence of this feeling, on the part of the rustic population of the locality, did not arise from any sympathy with the previous vocation of Nat Price, but rather from their admiration of him as a man who had, upon many occasions, successfully defied the authorities, Jockey Club, police, and others holding sway over the metropolis of the turf. The plain truth is, that the new proprietor of the "Crooked Billet " had been for years one of the most generally recognized past masters in the art of watching horses at their work at Newmarket, and his numerous adventures had lost nothing by repetition, in the public-houses of the neighbourhood. It was therefore quite according to the eternal fitness of things that the yokels should feel kindly disposed to a man who had, upon the whole, got the better of his masters, by sheer force of superior, tactical genius. Nat himself was no fool, few successful horse- watchers could be ; he was, indeed, a man quite superior to the common herd. He had graduated, with honours *\ might almost be said, at the university of clever- ness, for he commenced his turf career as a stable-boy in a palatial training-stable, whose owner laid himself put for the capture of important handicaps, and ended it when he, then a light-weight jockey, contrived to get warned off the turf for life for "pulling" the favourite in a hundred-pound plate. Thus, during the earlier portion of his existence, Nat had plenty of opportunities afforded him for picking up a knowledge of the world ; and, in justice to our friend, it may be THE CROOKED BILLET. 13 truthfully observed of him, that he availed himself of them to the uttermost. " Vice triumphant, and virtue " as he expressed it " a very bad second," were familiar spectacles to him ; and though in later, life Nat would not deny that honesty might possibly after all be the bast policy, he never failed to openly return thanks to Providence that, up to the time of speaking, he had done pretty well upon the other tack. Not that Price was much worse than the rest of mankind, for he invariably did his best for such patrons as treated him well, and was never known to go back upon a " pal." At the same time, he deserved the repu- tation he had gained for being a first-class hater, as most people who quarrelled with him found to their cost. Spare of figure, smart and brisk, and a fair speaker, Nat Price, when dressed for the day, might have been very well mistaken for a stud groom out of a situation. Nor was he entirely uneducated, in addition to which, his knowledge of the world and its inhabi- tants stood him in good stead, when associating with his superiors in position. Fifty-five or sixty years of age, Nat looked a much younger man ; for his figure was as straight, and his eye as bright as ever, whilst his energy seemed to sharpen up as he grew older. A proof of his shrewdness was given when he invested some of his savings in the " Crooked Billet," at a time when a lucky selection made by him had put his supporters in liberal humours, and conse- quently himself in ample funds. For some time previously, Nat had promised himself a speedy rest for ever from the cares and labours attendant upon the active profession of a tout ; and he had, in consequence, begun to rely more and more upon the services and opinions of the three or four young fellows, whom he had educated, as his assistants, in the trade of watching horses. Thus, having the means to retire upon, or, as he expressed it, " Earned his hay and corn for life," Nat decided upon purchasing the " Crooked Billet," which was in the market at the time, and henceforth directed the operations of his satellites upon the heath from that coigrie of vantage. Nat Price generally spoke his mind pretty freely upon all subjects except horseflesh ; but he was not 14 THE CROOKED BILLET. quite candid when he gave out as his reason for retiring to the proprietorship of a roadside inn, the desire to end his days in peace. There was still plenty of time before him ere he need think himself an old man ; but he somehow felt himself constrained to pre- varicate in this matter, and his morals being blunted by his long association with undesirable members of society, he promptly went a step farther, and lied without the slightest hesitation. The truth was, that the old, old inducement a petticoat was at the bottom of Nat's determination ; all the ambition and all the hope of his life were wrapped up in his motherless daughter Eve. Her mother had not been a good wife to Nat, and there were circumstances connected with the birth of their younger child, a boy named William, for he had resolutely declined to permit the infant to be christened after him which caused her husband to regard her decease rather in the light of a happy relief for him- self than as a subject for regret. Possibly, under different circumstances, the existence of his infant daughter would have aroused very little emotion in the breast of Nat, but being left with two young children to provide for, one of whom he would never recognise as his own, although, for the sake of appearances, he provided the boy with food and shelter, yet he bestowed all the affection he possessed upon his little fair-haired girl. Her precociousness and her beauty pleased Nat greatly, and the undisguised admiration of the neighbours, for her, gratified his paternal pride as she emerged from childhood. Little by little, Eve Price began to know a good deal of her father's busi- ness secrets, and as a matter of course, she soon be- came acquainted with many of his patrons, who were accustomed to visit the neat little villa which they inhabited on the outskirts of Newmarket. The notice which Eve attracted, caused her father to form ambi- tious views concerning her, and so it came about that, in process of time, a good marriage for Eve remained the only object of his life. To see his daughter a lady was Nat's sole desire, and he denied himself many a little luxury in order that he might save enough money to send her to a good THE CROOKED BILLET. 15 school. The girl learnt well and quickly, but there was a , good deal too much, perhaps of our first mother, whose name she bore, in the composition of Eve Price. " Progress satisfactory, but conduct in- different," was the burden of many a quarterly report that found its way, from the seminary of the Misses Ratclyffeat Cheltenham, to the snug Newmarket Villa ; and eventually Nat, bearing in mind the disposition of the mother who bore her, determined upon having his girl home, in order that she might blossom into woman- hood beneath his own eye. To carry out this arrange- ment in a satisfactory manner, Price made up his mind that a retirement from the active practice of his voca- tion in life was indispensable, and therefore he, without compunction, invested a portion of his savings in the purchase of the " Crooked Billet." At the time our story opens, Eve Price was in that charming, intermediate stage of girls' existence which, whilst partaking both of the nature of childhood and of womanhood, yet belongs absolutely to neither. She had turned her eighteenth birthday, and though for- ward for her age, possessed, at the same time, many of the attractions belonging to a much younger girl. Rather above the middle height, with a clear com- plexion and a glorious head of golden hair, which was set off by her sharply-chiselled features, and pearly teeth, and being additionally possessed of a faultless figure, Eve Price could pass muster anywhere. Were it not, in fact, on account of her rather large feet and hands, and cold, unkindly grey eyes, no beauty in the land could have afforded to despise the pretensions of the horse-watcher's daughter to be con- sidered one of the loveliest of her sex. Nat himself had not seen her for three years, during which period she had been placed under the maternal care of the Misses Ratclyffe aforesaid. He had not wished to bring her home for the holidays, as he feared the effects of her school discipline might wear off in New- market, where the society in which he moved was not select ; whilst for many cogent reasons, he felt dis- inclined to present himself in propria persona at the Misses Ratclyffe's Academy for young ladies. * Under these circumstances, Eve's arrival was eagerly expected l6 THE CROOKED BILLET. by her father, and the pony trap, which was destined to convey her to her new home, some six months before our story opens, was, as a consequence, at Six Mile Bottom Railway Station a full half-hour before the train, by which she travelled, was due on the eventful morning when she first appeared upon the scene. Nat Price was naturally solicitous about the daughter whose welfare he had so much at heart, and felt terribly disconcerted, and uncomfortable as Eve emerged from the recesses of the second-class carriage, in which she had been seated. His daughter had left him a raw, unformed child, and returned to him, in looks at all events, an almost matured woman. All the gaiicheric and wildness of the little Eve, whose figure he so fondly cherished in his heart, had dis- appeared, and a cool, self-confident looking woman of the world had taken possession of her place. Accus- tomed as he had been all his life to sum up the points of a horse at a glance, Nat could not possibly fail to notice the change that had taken place in his daughter's appearance ; but, although gratified at her increased beauty, and not at all dissatisfied at her ladylike style, there was one feature, belonging to her face, which caused the innkeeper to acknowledge to himself that, the Misses Ratclyffe spoke the truth when they advised him in a letter to keep the girl well in hand. It was the cold, unfeeling glitter in her beautiful, grey eyes which told her father that Eve might give him trouble if he were not careful ; but Nat never quailed, and had quite made up his mind to accept the situation, as best he could, by the time he had helped her into the pony trap that bore them home to the " Crooked Billet." The innkeeper's heart nevertheless failed him a little, as he thought over what Eve's opinion of his establish- ment might be. She had never set eyes on the place, and Nat was naturally anxious that she might be con- tented there. He therefore felt relieved on hearing her praises of the inn, and her genuine expressions of satis- faction at the arranging of her little room, were very soothing to hisears. Eve Priceinher heart of hearts de- spised the " Crooked Billet," and all its surroundings, yet she was wise enough to feel that she had no THE CROOKED BILLET. J7 option but to make the best of what she found there, and like a sensible girl did her utmost to simulate the satisfaction she did not feel. She liked her father well enough, in fact quite as well as she could care for anyone but her- self; she was a selfish beauty, was this innkeeper's lovely daughter, and the desire to avoid giving him unnecessary pain was, to do her credit, present in her mind when she praised the place. Eve had formed ideas for her future, which were very much in harmony with those entertained by Nat, and although, up to this time, no conversation had passed between them on the subject, each intuitively felt the thoughts of the other. The girl, on her side, took good care to be in the way when eligible clients, or sporting Cambridge men, appeared upon the scene, but she was clever enough to withdraw after a few words had been exchanged, and she had been on view, long enough to display her per- sonal attractions to the uttermost. The sound, good sense, which prompted this line of action, was soon made apparent by the increased number of University men who frequented the "Crooked Billet," and many were the subscriptions gained by Nat for his WEEKLY RACING GUIDE AND PROPHECY SHEET, through the instru- mentality of his fair daughter Eve. Holding a sub- scription gave a man a good excuse for personally con- sulting the compiler of the periodical, and although Nat was quite equal to charging an extra fee for consulta- tions of the sort, the eniv&c into the mysterious bar parlour of the " Crooked Billet" was freely and ungrudgingly purchased by amorous undergraduates, of a sporting turn of mind. Such was the state of affairs at the inn shortly before our story opens. The winter had been well got over, and a Newmarket-trained outsider, which had been strongly recommended for support, by Nat Price in his PROPHECY SHEET, having carried off the Lincoln Handicap, he had commenced the season well, and was at peace with himself and all the world. His selections for the Craven meeting had also been successful, and clients were both jubilant and generous over the exceptionally good beginning they had made. Eve he found to be a 18 THE CROOKED BILLET. great assistance to him in his business, as a good deal of the correspondence, connected with its transaction, passed through her fair hands, whilst the interior of the inn was rendered all the more attractive by the presence of so fair a creature within its dingy walls. Nat trusted his daughter implicitly, as far as business matters went, for he felt certain that her object in life was identical with his own, and that a good dowry and an aristocratic husband for Eve were the ends they both had equally in view. He scouted the bare idea that a woman with such a pair of eyes in her head could, by any possibility, fall a victim to the tender flame, and thus viewed the undisguised adoration, with which she was regarded by certain undesirable admirers, with supreme indifference. The girl, on her side, though no doubt heartless to the core, was fond of being looked at and complimented, and she therefore accepted the homage that was offered her with secret gratification. The presence of the tandems and pony traps from Cam- bridge were such substantial proofs of her powers of attraction, that Eve began to feel exultant, and was fully convinced in her own mind that the stake she was playing for would be duly landed. In the previous winter, during the vacation, and before the existence of the " Beauty of the Billet," as she had come to be styled, was known about the neighbourhood, Eve had been compelled to fall back upon the attentions of local folks ; and the de- votion of stalwart Jem Armstrong, the Bottisham blacksmith, for Nat Price's fair daughter soon grew to be the great topic of conversation amongst the yokels who frequented the Inn. Eve herself could not help admiring the man, who in the course of a short six months, had so thoroughly become her slave, especially as Jem was one of Nature's favourites, and was good-looking beyond his fellows. Standing full six feet six, and owning an honest, English countenance, whilst possessed of a physique that Hercules himself might have envied, the brawny blacksmith was handsome enough to cause a flutter in any maiden's breast. Jem was a well-to-do man moreover, as his father had made money before him in THE CROOKED BILLET. If) the smithy, and all the old man's savings had been left to his only son. The latter was a sober, hard-working fellow, who had extended his connexion beyond the limits of his native village, and had earned the reputation of being the best shoer of horses for miles round. Tempting offers had in fact been made him to come and settle in Newmarket, but he preferred to remain in the old home, which suited all his wants, and those of his only sister, Sue. This was the man to whom, either from the absence of a more aristocratic swain, or because of his good looks, Eve Price had given a good deal of tacit encouragement. Almost from the commencement of their acquaintance, the " Beauty of the Billet " had permitted Jem to drive her over on Sunday mornings to the little parish church of Quy. He had accom- panied her and her father to Ely, upon the occasion of the Cambridge University trial eights rowing their annual race upon the waters of the cathedral city, and had taught her . to skate, when the neighbouring fens were frozen over. A good deal less than all this in the way of encouragement from a pretty girl is sufficient to make a young fellow hope, and set a country place alive with gossip. The science of flirtation is not thoroughly understood in rustic circles, and therefore the good people of Bottisham were not acting far beyond their lights when they decided, amongst them- selves, that James Armstrong and Eve Price were destined, in due course to become one flesh. Jem himself, in his simple, earnest style, paid loyal court to the innkeeper's daughter ; never doubting that the hope of his heart was not known to her, and con- fident, from the graciousness of her demeanour, that his suit would not be pressed in vain. It was, of course, impossible for a subject, that had become the talk of the village, to pass unnoticed by the lynx-eyed Nat, and weeks before this tale commenced, he had bluntly asked his daughter whether she meant to settle down in life as the spouse of Jem Armstrong, the black- smith? Eve answered him as plainly as he had spoken, and the nature of her reply, to the only question he had ever put her upon such a subject, quite con- vinced her parent that, a marriage above her was quite 2O THE CROOKED BILLET. as much the object of his daughter's life as of his own. Thus it came about that poor, simple-minded Jem was allowed to get deeper into the toils of his fair enchantress, and thus no suspicion of her playing him false had ever entered his somewhat slow brain. It is true that the salutations and the, in some in- stances, somewhat effusive compliments which were addressed to Eve, by certain of her father's patrician clients, were not as acceptable to the honest blacksmith as to the damsel herself ; and it was, perhaps, fortunate for Jem's peace of mind that his business, of a neces- sity, kept him a good deal away from the vicinity of the" Crooked Billet." At the same time, however, that Armstrong was walking blindly in the light of his sweetheart's eyes, a very different opinion was formed of that lady by his sister Sue. The latter, a fine strapping wench, was the acknowledged belle of the country-side, until the appearance of Nat Price's daughter, who at once was promoted to first favourite in the Beauty Stakes. This, naturally enough, made Sue a little jealous of Eve, but to do the girl justice she was above a mean or dirty action, and t^poke her mind honestly when she hinted, as delicately as she could to her brother Jem, that things might not turn out in the end as smoothly as he wished. Unfor- tunately, her good intentions were not received as she hoped they would have been, and thus Eve Price was the unintentional cause of the first difference, that had ever existed, between the Bottisham black- smith and his good-looking sister Sue. CHAPTER II. JEM ARMSTRONG'S FIRST TROUBLE. IN spite, nowever, of Jem Armstrong's ungracious reception of his sister's well-meant advice, he could not help feeling, when he came to think the matter THE CROOKED BILLET. 21 over, that there might, after all, be some truth in what she had said. Such men as the blacksmith are by nature unsuspicious of those they like, and it usually requires a good deal of provocation to goad them into action against such individuals. On the other hand, when their feelings once become aroused and it may here be observed that this effect is generally produced by a silent communion with their own thoughts it is remarkable how soon they proceed to take decisive steps. It was thus with Jem, who, though for the time very much annoyed with Sue, had no sooner begun to think quietly over what had passed between them, than he came to the opinion that possibly Eve's temper might one day cause him pain. He had no idea of her ever ceasing to care for him ; his simple soul was incapable of grasping the mysteries of the art of flirtation, for in his heart he was positive she meant to be his wife one day, " or else," as he put it to himself, " she'd never have encouraged me as she has." At the same time, now that he had begun to criticise his idol, Jem made up his mind to satisfy himself upon one or two little matters that, almost without his know- ing it at the time, had ruffled his temper a little. He suddenly found it necessaiy to confess to himself that, there had been occasions, when lie had thought that the " Beauty of the Billet " had been a little too civil to- certain of her father's sporting clients. The vision, too, of a Mr. Frank Champneys, an undergraduate, belonging to St. Nicholas College, Cambridge, kept on rising up before his memory. The presence of this young gentleman had for some tinie past become distasteful to Jem, but the latter had never before quite brought himself to acknowledge that he was getting jealous of his sweetheart. The manners of Mr. Champneys were not of such a nature as to make him popular with his inferiors in position, and the black- smith, until remonstrated with by Sue, had quite believed that he disliked the Cantab on this account, and not because of his politeness to Eve. Frank Champneys was one of Nat Price's best customers, and backed the innkeeper's selections with a persistency worthy of a bettci cause, and for what 22 THE CROOKED BILLET. represented a good deal of money in the eyes of an undergraduate whose father happens to be neither a Duke nor a millionaire contractor. He was the only son of Squire Champneys, of Champneys, in Berkshire, where the family had resided almost from time im- memorial in a great grey, ivy-covered mansion, whose lofty battlements and still existing moat bore silent testimony to the fact that the Champneys^of a bygone age had been militant members of the society in which they moved. The present Squire, however, was more interested in the progress of his herd of shorthorns than in political questions, and reserved any martial tendencies, which he might have inherited from his ancestors, for the destruction of his partridges and pheasants. Although possessed of ample means, the owner of Champneys was seldom known to leave the confines of the county in which he was born, and which he loved so dearly. A month or so in town during the season, just to let his daughter Nellie enjoy some of the pleasures of society under the fostering wing of his sister, Miss Matilda Champneys, for the Squire was a widower, and to enable him to "just pop down and see the Derby run," or " the boys play cricket at Lord's," as the case might be, was the full extent of his annual outing. Still, Mr. Champneys was a power in the district in which he lived, and did his duty nobly. The county ball knew no more liberal patron. He had occupied a prominent position on the council of its Agricultural Society for years, and the entertainments at the Grange were invariably conducted upon a scale of magnificence that was unapproached for miles round. His hand was always in his pocket in the interests of sport, or to assist any deserving case, and no wonder, therefore, that the name of Champneys Champneys was one to conjure with amongst both rich and poor. His son Frank was always a mystery, not only to those who knew the family, but even to the Squire him- self. In many respects, notably in the love of sport, he was a chip of the old block; but he took his pleasures in a manner of his own. " Nobody seems to be able to get to the bottom of Frank," quoth the Squire to his old crony, Parson THE CROOKED BILLET. ^3 Heathcote, the rector of Champneys, a few months before our story opens ; "he doesn't seem to get about much, and yet is always short of money ; but I can't believe there is much vice in him." " And do you know, John," he added to his friend, " it worries me that he doesn't look more like a Champneys. We're all fair and burly, but he's as black as a gipsy, and as thin as a board." " Oh, Frank's all right ; don't worry yourself about him," replied the parson, good-naturedly. " But I don't feel quite happy all the same, John. I don't like this perpetually writing home for money. You know he has a good allowance, and one of his chief failings in my eyes is that he doesn't give much away," complained the Squire. " You're surely not going to complain of his being careful, are you, Champneys ? and very likely it costs more up at Cambridge now than it did when you and I were there to keep up the position of a country gentle- man's son." This was judicious on the part of the peaceful- minded rector, who knew that his life-long friend was very accessible on the subject of the importance of the Champneys. The two men had been friends at Harrow and at Cambridge, and the first act of the Squire, when he succeeded his father at the Grange was to pension off the old, purblind rector, and present the living to- his altev ego, Heathcote. Thus, for close on half a century, the two had fought the battle of life side by side; their affection for, and implicit reliance on the wisdom of each other, unquestionably exceeded that of many brothers. It so happened that, at the time the Squire and his friend the parson were discussing Frank, the gentleman in question was closeted with Nat Price in the latter's sanctum at the " Crooked Billet." It was only a day or two after the arrival of Eve upon the premises, and the undergraduate had seen her for the first time, when she happened, to enter the apartment for the purpose of delivering a message of importance to her father. Frank was astonished at her beaut)', and after she had retired, observed to Nat ".I did not know you were a family man, Price." 24 THE CROOKED BILLET. "Yes, Mr. Champneys ; that's my daughter Eve," was the reply, -the speaker not being in the least astonished at the want of information on the part of his guest, as he had never mentioned her existence to any of his clients, and his son William was not a member of the establishment. Nothing more passed between them on the subject, but from that day, until the men went down from Cam- bridge for the Christmas vacation, Frank's well- appointed dog-cart was to be seen, at least two or three times a week, standing outside the inn, whilst the undergraduate was either closeted with the tout, or waiting for his arrival home within the privacy of the bar parlour. A singular coincidence in connection with these later visits of Frank was the ill-luck that attended his efforts to find Nat Price at home. The visitor was always appearing just at the time when the publican " had gone over to Newmarket to see a gent," or had to be away on some business or other. This was, of course, annoying to Frank, as there was the bother of waiting in the stuffy parlour behind the bar, where there was nothing to do beyond reading the day's sporting papers, which he had already studied, and only Eve to entertain him. To do that young lady justice, however, it is only fair to state that she did her best to while away the time for her father's patron, and she succeeded tolerably well in doing so. It was, moreover, a remarkable coincidence that she was invariably arrayed in all her best when he came upon her so unexpectedly. She was not so attentive to her attire during the vacation, when the men had gone down from Cambridge, but It was scarcely likely that Eve would dress up for the country folks, and so Nat Price felt perfectly satisfied within himself, that all things were working for the best. Thus matters had gone on at the " Crooked Billet " since the eventful afternoon upon which Squire Champ- neys had spoken, rather doubtfully, of his son to his friend the parson. Nat Price happened to be on par- ticularly good terms with himself upon the day after Sue Armstrong spoke her mind to her brother, for the Two Thousand Guineas had been a winning race THE CROOKED BILLET. 25 for his patrons, and he had profited accordingly. Frank Champneys, too, felt almost light-hearted as he bowled along the well-kept turnpike road that leads to Bottisham ; for, although he was, as usual, in a scrape through want of money, his spirits rose when he had left the town behind him. " Good evening, Miss Eve ; is your father inside ? " was his rather hurried greeting to the " Beauty of the Billet," as he descended from his trap, and gave the cob into the care of Nat's outdoor factotum. Our heroine was standing in the porch, having tem- porarily vacated her position behind the bar at the sound of wheels approaching ; but before she could reply to Frank's inquiry, the innkeeper himself appeared at the door of his sanctum, and politely requested his visitor to enter the apartment. In availing himself of this invitation, Frank had to make the best of his way through the little knot of customers, who happened to be standing at the bar, amongst whom was Jem Arm- strong, by the door discussing local topics with a neighbour. By some unfortunate fatality, the undergraduate, in passing him, was awkward enough to nudge his elbow, with the result that the contents of the mug which he held in his hand were spilled upon the floor. The contretemps caused no concern to Frank, who merely requested Eve " to give that man another pot of beer, and charge it to me," and then pro- ceeded into the inner parlour, without taking any further notice of the matter. This exasperated Jem, and he forthwith made up his mind that he \vould use what influence he possessed over Eve, in order that there should be less cordiality in the rela- tions between herself and the undergraduate, who had insulted him before his friends. The frequenters of the house, morover, heaped fuel on the flame by roundly abusing Mr. Champneys, all of whose little short- comings were trotted out, and who ultimately, it was decided by those present, " was a gallus bad sort, who would never come to no good in the end." The, perhaps, natural satisfaction which the black- smith would have experienced at this very sweeping condemnation of a man, who had not only treated him 26 THE CROOKED BILLET. with contempt before his sweetheart, but who, he con- sidered, was too attentive to the damsel herself, wag considerably discounted in Jem's eyes by the effect which he could see it created upon Eve. Once or twice, upon hearing some peculiarly offensive remark directed against Frank, the girl's face had flushed up, and she seemed about to speak out and take his part. At another time she would get as far away as possible from his detractors, and somewhat ostentatiously busy herself with her duties behind the bar, with the evident desire to avoid hearing any more. These marks of sympathy with his enemy were gall and wormwood to the angry Jem, and he eagerly seized the opportunity of her leaving the bar to inquire, if she would see him a bit of his way home a little later on. " Not to-night, thank you, James," was the quiet response. They had been James and Eve to each other for a good few weeks now. " But I want you particularly to come just a little way." " I said I didn't feel inclined for a stroll, and have no idea of changing my mind to suit your wishes," was the irritable response, for the Beauty felt put out, and had experienced some difficulty in answering her admirer in so friendly a style as before. " Surely my wishes should have some weight with you, Eve ! But let that pass ; I can say all I want to say here as well as outside, only its fresher in the open air." Eve Price had, by this time, crossed the narrow passage that divided the house, and had entered the kitchen behind the unsavoury tap-room. The apart- ment was unoccupied, as the old domestic, who was attached to the premises, had gone into the village to do a little shopping, and the barmaid being fully occu- pied by her duties in the bar, Jem had spoken quite correctly when he observed before that he could speak out where he was. Eve looked up rather sharply as the blacksmith delivered his sentence, and turning her head away as he gently closed the door of the kitchen, stood gazing into the twilight through the open window. Jem, tenderly approached the girl he loved, laid his hand lightly on her shoulder with the words THE CROOKED BILLET. 27 " Sit down one minute, lass. I want to say a word to you that has been on my lips for many a day past." This was not exactly what Eve had desired, for she- had been dreading a formal offer of Jem's hand and smithy for some time. She was therefore surprised when her companion further remarked - " It's that Mr. Champneys that I want to warn you against ; he's a bad lot, and is a deal too polite to you, Eve." Of course, such an utterance as the above at once proved Jem to be a bad tactician, as he had not made his own position safe before attacking the enemy's lines. " And what right have you to lecture me, or criticise Mr. Champneys, I should like to know ? " viciously responded the girl. " I can't see, lass, what reason you have to ask that question, seeing what we have been to each other for these months past." " To what do you allude, may I inquire ? " This reply, poor Jem had wit enough to see, had the effect of placing him at a disadvantage, and he began to appreciate the gravity of the mistake he had just been guilty of. Still, his heart yearned toward the angry beauty before him, and he meekly rejoined " I've not the learning you've had, Eve, and I've not read books, and I don't know the world as you do ; but I do think that the way I've followed you about, and done all I could to please you, would have made you see that I hoped one day you'd listen to me when I told you what I wanted you to do." " You are speaking in riddles. Explain yourself, please." " Well then, Eve, you shall not blame me for not speaking out again," answered Jem ; " so now I'll tell you plainly what I mean. For months past you have been the light of my eyes, and the dream of my heart. I have done all that was in my power to gain your love, and you encouraged me in every way that I could see to go on and try to win you for my wife. I neglected my work to be with you, and I never went into Cam- bridge, or Ely, or Newmarket, without bringing you home a present. You must have seen and known I cared for you, and what was in my mind at all events 28 THE CROOKED BILLET. if you didn't the nefghbours did, and we were talked of in every house in the parish. I know well enough, Eve," he went on, checking her attempt to interrupt him, "what your father has done for you, and that he has educated you as well as any lady in the land, but if you never cared for me, and never intended to listen to me, you should have told me so before." This outburst proves conclusively what has been before suggested, that James Armstrong, although a very skilful person in the manipulation of iron, was decidedly behind the times in the art of making love. Eve, literally boiling over with indignation, advanced a step towards him. " How dare you suggest that my father educated me beyond my station ? you coward, to insult a woman thus ! And what do you mean by saying that I en- couraged you ? If, by permitting you to be seen in my company in public upon two or three occasions, I have been unfortunate enough to set all the old harridans in the neighbourhood talking about me, the opportunity for their doing so will not be given them again. Your trumpery presents were intended as bribes, were they ? and you were good enough to neglect your work and spend your money in order that you might buy me, body and soul ; that was your object, eh ! Mr. " " 1 didn't mean it that way ; 1 didn't indeed, Eve. I only wanted to ." " Perhaps you will allow me to finish what I was say- ing ; it is the usual custom, except amongst the lowest savages," responded the girl, with bitterness; " I want to stop this talk, and tell you plainly that I never had any more notion of marrying you for that, I suppose, is what you mean than you would have of taking a beggar off the road for your wife. After the bringing up which I have had, and to which you so delicately alluded just now, I should be foolish to think of marry- ing a man like you ; and as for Mr. Champneys, you are just fit to do what your trade entitles you to shoe his horse. Now you understand me, I hope." Haying thus given vent to her feelings, Eve swept by her discomfited admirer, and retired to her own room to relieve her temper by a flood of tears, in which the THE CROOKED BILLET. 29 elements of rage and mortification were pretty equally divided. Rage at being hasty enough to show her indifference to Jem Armstrong, and mortification at having been so foolish as to allude in flattering terms to his rival, Frank Champneys. As for poor Jem, the sudden shattering of his hopes was as nothing, when compared with the grief and shame he felt at the interpretation that had been put upon his words by the woman he adored. " It's bad enough to lose her, without my making her think me mean," was the pith of his communion with his thoughts, as Jem Armstrong slowly wended his way home that evening in the rapidly-fading twilight. CHAPTER III. ROWING THK W I X D . WHILST the interview was taking place between Eve Price and her admirer in the kitchen of the inn, Nat Price had been holding solemn conclave with the undergraduate in his sanctum. Things had not been going well of late with Frank, and the money, he had won by backing the selections of the tout, had been melted by reckless extravagance and losses at cards. His father, Squire Champneys, was generously dis- posed, and the allowance made by him to his only son was a very liberal one. Still his University career had left Frank deeply dipped in debt, not only to the tradesmen in Cambridge, but to the local usurer, Mark Flanders, whose patience was rapidly becoming ex- hausted by the delay in paying up. A couple of nights' losses had " cornered " Frank, and his present visit to Nat Price was conceived with the desperate object in view of persuading the latter to assist him in his difficulties. The innkeeper grasped the situation in a moment, but lie was not going to throw a chance away by over- eagerness. " It's the. old story, Mr. Champneys, and I can 3O THE CROOKED BILLET. understand the fix you're in, sir ; but what I can do in the matter I don't quite see." " You might be able, Nat, to put me in the way of raising a few hundreds," whined his visitor, becoming familiar in his eagerness to conciliate the tout ; " you know such a lot of men who speculate, and some of them would do a bit of good stiff. If you were to help me, I'd never forget you," he added with emphasis. " I don't think you would, sir," drily rejoined his companion ; " in fact, I'm quite positive you wouldn't," he continued, as he saw before him an unexpected prospect of landing a fish whose dimensions had been quite beyond his wildest expectations ; " but if you sit down there," pointing to the table, " and just write me a line saying exactly what it is you wish, I will think the matter over, and see what a friend of mine will do to oblige us." Frank forthwith set to work, and finally succeeded in concocting an epistle, the burden of which was to the effect that, if the sum of six hundred pounds sterling were handed to him, he would covenant to pay back seven hundred pounds on demand. He moreover undertook to make Nat a present of fifty pounds for his trouble, which sum the tout might deduct from the required advance before paying the money over to Frank. " That's a fair offer, Mr. Champneys, as far as it goes," quoth Price, when he had read and pocketed the letter, " but there isn't much security about it, is there ? Now, if you could get a friend to back a bill for you as well, why I think I could almost promise you the six hundred in a day or two. You see, lenders don't alto- gether care for minors' signatures ; at least, that's been the case with men I've done business with for gentlemen before, and it's no good my promising to undertake what I can't fulfil, is it, sir?" "I think I might get a college friend to get up behind, Price, if that would be of any use ; but I don't want my governor to know about the mess I'm in ; he cut up so awfully rough last term, when I got him to pay off some duns for me." " Well, sir, I'll do my best, you may be sure of that, when you bring me over a bill with the other gentle- THE CROOKED BILLET. 3! man's name on it. But there's another matter I'd like to mention to you, Mr. Champneys, and there's money hanging to it, by-and-bye." " Thank Heaven for that, Price," devoutly mur- mured his listener ; " let's hear the news." " It's this way, Mr. Champneys. I know I can trust you, if you promise me as a gentleman, to hold your tongue about it." " You know me well enough by this time, I should think, but as you require it, I pledge you my word to consider private all you say to me," retorted Frank, feeling rather nettled at the want of confidence, which he thought was being shown him. " Well, sir, you know that some of the ring are very bad against Cyclops for the Derby, and seeing that, since he took the Guineas in the style he did, there's no chance of their getting out, unless he's stopped somehow, the men are now trying to get the business settled. There are only three or four of them in it, besides myself, and I only came to know of it because they did not quite see how to get to work. The money's there, sir, for the job, but it's the how and the wherefore that are puzzling me." " I only hope you'll put me in the know, when the thing comes off," eagerly put in Frank ; who was not in the least indignant at being told of the contemplated fraud,, but, on the contrary, was sincerely thankful that his good genius had brought him an inkling of what was on the tapis. " You can be in it, and stand a good stake to nothing, if you like. It's well to be plain, Mr. Champ- neys, sometimes, and the fact is, I want some one like yourself to help me carry the matter out." " You infernally impudent ruffian ! " shouted Frank, springing to his feet ; " do you dare to try and tempt me into nobbling a horse? You black- guard !" "Steady! steady! steady! my fast young friend," replied the innkeeper, coolly; "just sit down again, and don't cut capers with a man who can read you like a book. You're not a success when on the injured innocence lay, and I call it dirty hypocrisy when a gentleman, who is willing enough to stand in, in a bit of a 32 THE CROOKED BILLET. do, jumps up and tears his hair, and talks about ruffians, and that sort of bosh, when he's called upon to do his share of the work. The gentleman" and he again laid peculiar emphasis on the word, " who isn't above profiting by a plant, is, we all know, the first to be down on the poor devil of a jockey, or stable-boy, whom he has tempted into being his tool, but I'm damned if there's much difference between them, or if there is, the rich man's the bigger thief of the pair! That's straight, isn't it ?" Frank was standing on the hearthrug, flushed and excited at the thoughts of the proposal that had been made to him ; but sulkily resumed his seat as the innkeeper concluded his little homily. " Fill up your glass," continued Nat, once more changing his tone, "and just listen to reason, Mr. Champneys. I don't often let my temper loose, but you fairly riled me just now, and I want you to look things in the face. You came to me this evening, and told me you were in want of my assistance to get you out of a mess. I can do so, and put money plenty of it in your pocket, too, if you'll let me. You can't suppose I'm ass enough to ever tell a man like you to hit a horse over the hock with a broom-handle, or give him a drink, or anything of the kind. I didn't want you to do much for your share of the brass ; but as you don't fancy it, you needn't bother to think more of the matter. I can do without you, a sight better than you can get on without me. I wanted to help you, but you won't let me, and so the business ends." By this time Frank's rather hysterical indignation had cooled down, and though he possessed sufficient remains of honesty to shrink from accepting the offer that had been made him, he was at the same time fully alive to the unpleasantness of the position in which he was placed. He, therefore, proceeded to try and effect a compromise. " If you let me know what it is that you want me to do, I'd see about it," he put in, cautiously. " If you take me to be such a fool as to give my plans to a man who hasn't the pluck for it's funk that's keeping you back, not honesty, not it to carry THE CROOKED BILLET. 33 them out, Fyou 're very much mistaken in me, Mr. Champneys. I've said more than is wise already, but I'm not afraid of you're breaking your promise and rounding on me it wouldn't pay you." Nat's words iwent straight home to Frank; he knew that the man was right when he attributed his hesitation to a want of courage; he also was per- fectly well aware that it would be a bad job for him, and for more reasons than one, if he broke with his companion. " You're in such a devil of a hurry to-day, Price ! " was his response. " It might be as well if you gave a fellow time to consider your proposal. You didn't walk into this affair off-hand yourself, I'll swear! and I've not said I won't go into it with you." Nat saw that the game was his, and having won it, was disposed to be magnanimous. The fish in fact was fairly hooked, and it only required a little finessing on his part to land it safely on the bank, so he cheerfully replied " Take twenty minutes, Mr. Champneys, and then give me your answer. I must be over in Newmarket by nine o'clock, and, therefore, cannot give you longer. If you agree, I'll have to teach you your part before Igo." " He who hesitates is lost, and I'm desperate, Price ; fetch another bottle of Irroy, and turn up the light. I don't want to consider the matter, but am with you, and there's my word for it ! " sharply ejaculated Frank, striking the table a blow with his fist, as he uttered the last words, which made the glasses jingle. The landlord soon brought the wine, for his better class of customers were champagne men, and he was wise enough to have a stock of decent liquor on the premises, so that there should be no excuse for their not spending money in his house as freely as they wished. " The game's simple enough, as far as you are con- cerned, Mr. Champneys," the host resumed, as he sat down at the table : " it's me and the others who run the risk. Cyclops must be stopped somehow, but we can't get at him till we fix his boy. Now, you know as well as I do, that if I showed myself, or if any of us c 34 THE CROOKED BILLET. horse-watching fellows turned up near the stables, that John Perkins would soon be on our tracks " the said John Perkins being, it may be observed, the trainer of Cyclops " and the blooming boys would be touted, too, so as to give us no chance of speaking to them. John's a devilish clever customer ; makes his lads turn up at three services' on Sunday, then gets up for them read- ings at home ; but for all his devotion, he'd sooner see one of them chatting with Old Nick than with a tout. You know one or two gents who train at Rowley Lodge, and I want you to get taken over the stables, and to ready Cyclops' boy, if you get the chance, so that he may write me somehow." "That should not be difficult, if the lad only hold his tongue," replied Frank, considerably relieved at discovering that so little was expected of him. " I don't feel so sure about that, Mr. Champneys. The boy's to be squared, no doubt ; every man has his price we all know r , but the difficulty is, how are you to get at him, so as to tell him how to act ?" " The best thing would be to get over the stables first, and then trust to what turns up. I have no doubt I can get a glimpse of Cyclops if I go with Mr. Forsyth, to see his horses at Perkins's." " There's no time to be lost, so try and settle for going there at once. But I must be off, and am glad to be able to tell the others that I've got the matter a bit on the road." " It's not necessary to mention my name to them, is it, Price ? I don't care for that if it can be avoided." " Of course it isn't necessary, Mr. Champneys. Besides, a man's a fool who lets everyone in the swim know as much as he does himself, if he can help it. Always keep a bit up your sleeve, is my rule. It's useful to yourself, and goes a long way toward pre- venting the others throwing you over at the finish." The pair then separated, after arrangements had been made for them to meet the next day at an hotel at New- market, where the subject of the desired loan and the Cyclops matter might be discussed in peace and pri- vacy. Nat Price had engaged to persuade his friend into advancing the six hundred pounds if Frank could procure another name, and this he had the strongest THE CROOKED BILLET. 35 hopes of being able to do. The business was in reality Nat's own affair, as he had a nice little balance in the bank, and trade was good at the " Crooked Billet." He knew the bill would be as good as gold, for he had heard what sort of man the Squire was, and that what- ever he might do to Frank for signing the document, he would never let the name of Champneys remain for a moment longer than he could help on a bill belonging to a money-lender. Besides, for reasons of his own, which are not difficult to see, the innkeeper was anxious to weave a web round the Squire's son, but for all that he intended to have another name, lest the old man should die, and. Frank plead infancy later on. The feelings of the undergraduate were none of the pleasantest as he bade his host good night after their long interview, and paying no heed to the absence of Eve from her accustomed corner behind the bar, where she usually ensconced herself whilst he was closeted with her father, he was soon in his trap, and on his way to Cambridge, deeply engaged in his own reflections. The St. Nicholas man was no fool, but he was reckless in money matters, and not particular about the methods by which he kept his head above the stream of liabili- ties which threatened to engulf him. A duller man would long before have gone to the wall, for the sums won by Frank upon the turf were a good deal less than those he had of late almost nightly lost at cards. Besides, his personal extravagancies were greatly beyond those which even the liberal allowance made him by the Squire could be expected to cover, and the last occasion on which his debts had been paid led to a stormy interview between the Champneys, pere etfils. " I shall only settle your bills once more, Frank," quoth the old gentleman, " and then it will be a case of the colonies, and a hundred a year for you. The property is unentailed, at least a great portion of it is, and the charges upon the entail will make my successor a poor man unless he succeed to the other portion, too, when I am gone. Nellie shall have as much as I can settle on her for her dowry, if you, her brother, prove yourself incapable of living within your income, for I don't mean ducks and drakes to be made of Champneys, if I can help it. Mind, I don't require any promises of 36 THE CROOKED BILLET. reformation from you. Send in a list of your bills, and Forbes shall see they are paid, but remember, I keep my word. Good night ! " Such was the way in which the Squire had expressed himself some little time previously, and Frank, being per- fectly well aware of his father's resolute disposition, had hitherto continued to keep the deplorable state of his finances from the old man's knowledge, and was in consequence, at least so he believed, restored to favour. " It's a beastly business altogether, and I only wish to Heaven I were out of the wood," soliloquised Frank. "By Jove," he continued to himself, as he left the lights of Bottisham behind him. '* what an infernal idiot I have been ! If Nat's mysterious capitalist doesn't come up to the scratch to-morrow I'm fairly in for it, and there's that beggar Mark vowing he'll write to the governor for a settlement. I wonder if Jack will turn out trumps, he's always been a friend, and is awfully fond of Nellie, but then he's so deucedly straight about money matters ; all these damned athletic coves are, and is always slanging me about my goings on. Anyhow, an hour will settle the business as far as Jack's concerned, and it's lucky I'm going to feed quietly at his rooms to-night. Poor old Jack ! he said he wanted to talk to me ; by Jingo, he'll be surprised when 7 begin to talk to him. He's a good sort, is |i.ck, and it would be a shame to let him in, but number one is an important consideration in all business trans- actions. Then there's that confounded mess I'm in with the girl ; I can't consult Nat about that, anyhow, and Jack would be nearly as bad a person to mention the subject to. Still, by the Lord Harry, something must be done, or there'll be the very Devil to pay and no . Get up, you clumsy beast," this to the cob, who had suddenly taken it into his head to shy across the road at the imminent risk of smashing the trap and his owner's neck in the ditch. " What's up, you brute?" Frank's whip was raised to administer the unne- cessary castigation which is so commonly dealt out to frightened horses, and which is, apparent!)', applied with the sole object of increasing their timidity, when THE CROOKED BILLET. 37 his arm was arrested by the sound of a woman's voice. " Frank ! Frank ! it is I ; I want you." " The Devil," muttered the undergraduate between his teeth ; "just think of her turning up to worry me ! " " Let me get up, .Frank. You can take me for a bit of a drive, for I must speak to you ; and dad won't be home for an hour or more." " Well, then, look sharp, for the cob won't stand, and I have to keep my gates to-night," growled Frank, and he spoke truthfully. " Give me your hand, please, the step is rather high. Thank you, now I'm safe," and a very pretty figure, enveloped in a loose cloak, took up a position beside the undergraduate. "What brought you here, Eve? "was the ungra- cious reception that awaited the innkeeper's daughter, for it was the " Beauty of the Billet " to whom Frank- spoke. "A desire to see you, and the intention of getting some satisfactory reply to the letter I wrote you a week ago." The sentence was delivered in a calm unfalter- ing voice, which conveyed no intimation of the speaker's feelings. She might, for all that could have been gathered from her voice, be alluding to a most im- portant question of life or death, or she might have been discussing a topic of the slightest consequence. Frank tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but the darkness precluded him. " What letter a week ago? it isn't anything like so long as that since I was over last." " Oh, yes it is, Frank, and you know it well enough," which he did " but, never mind, you got the letter ; what do you mean to do ? " "Why, Eve darling," our Cambridge friend began to cringe, "I've had so much to bother me in the shape of money matters that I swear I've not had time to think of what is best to be done. But you know I'll see you through it, Eve, don't you now ? " " If I didn't it would not be well for you," hissed out the girl by his side, " but I did not come out here to listen to such every-day talk. I want to hear )'our intentions plainly, so that I can shape my plans accord- 38 THE CROOKED BILLET. ingly. You see that I'm straightforward, at all events." " Well, Eve, it's a terrible business, but you're not afraid of me, surely ? " " Not a bit, Frank. I'll take care of myself, for I don't mean to be disgraced and turned out of my father's house, a ruined woman throxigh you, unless I make you feel it too. I was always called the selfish beauty by the girls at Miss Radclyffe's, and I certainly deserve the character sufficiently to be quite alive to my own interests." " You've no right to threaten me like that, Eve, and I won't stand it from anyone ! " shouted Frank, in a voice that made the cob start i fresh, and, in con- sequence, get himself into trouble with the whip, which was all the more liberally applied because his driver wanted something to vent his temper upon. " Very well, Frank, have it your own way," resumed the unruffled Eve, " only, bear in mind, when it is too late, that I gave you full warning. We sink or swim together, Frank," she continued, more tenderly, " and remember that the affection of a woman, such as I, is far easier to lose than it is to gain. I did and do love you, Frank, and your promises fairly won me over. I have, by my folly, put myself to a certain extent in your power, but, as I said just now, I can bring you down with me if you play me false. Hear me out," she exclaimed, as her companion was about to speak ; " I don't want you to think that I wish to bring any unnecessary trouble upon you, Frank ; our interests are too closely allied for that to be possible. I have thought the whole matter carefully over during the past week, and I know that it is so.". " Well, and what decision have you arrived at in addition ? " muttered Champneys. " I thought just now you said you had come to consult me, but from all that has passed, since you got into the trap, it appears you have everything cut and dried already." " A girl situated as I am would be very foolish if she were not provided with an idea or two, although, un- happily for herself, very often she is not," quietly remarked his companion; " but, I repeat, I did not come here to quarrel, but to try and arrive at an understanding THE CROOKED BILLET. 39 with you. You are aware of my situation from my letter ? " " Yes," was the laconic reply. " And what answer have you to give me, Frank ? " " I have told you that I've been worried to death over money matters ; irr fact, I've just been trying to get your father to negotiate a loan for me. Therefore, as I've not been able to think properly over the matter, you tell me what you think is the best thing to be done ? " " I have already given you an idea what I shall do if you break the promise you made rne some weeks ago, and so there is no necessity for repeating that. Will you answer me plainly, whether you intend to keep your word if I suggest a plan for enabling you to do so without inconvenience to yourself ? " " Of course I will," eagerly responded Frank, who saw some hopes of escaping from the dilemma in which he was situated. "Swear it." " What nonsense you do talk, Eve. But, there, I solemnly swear to keep my word to you, on condition that no disclosures are made that would injure us both." " Then, you want to qualify what you have given me ! A really fine, manly course, Mr. Champneys," ejaculated the girl, furiously ; " if I were only free, I'd show you what I thought of your views of honour. After this, all idea of trusting to your word is, of course, useless ; so I'll tell you plainly what I mean to do. If you keep to your bargain I won't insult your engagement by calling it a pledge I will stand to my word. If you fail me, I'll do my best or worst to ruin you. You must marry me privately within a reasonable time, and allow me a suitable allowance until you succeed to your family estates, when I shall assert myself as your lawful wife. Should you not agree to this proposal, or attempt to evade it, I shall go straight to your father and tell him the whole truth." " A lot of good that would do you." " I quite recognise the fact that it would be injurious to my prospects, but revenge for an injury done me is, to my mind, far sweeter than silence purchased at a 4O THE CROOKED BILLET. low figure. I've been brought up to look upon my fellow-c reatures as things to be robbed, and the two great ambitions of my life have been a good marriage and plenty of money. Unfortunately for myself, I met you, and for once felt that I had a heart, and then foolishly or wisely, as time alone will show was weak enough to be cajoled by your attentions." ' Now, Eve, what right have you to imply that -'' " I really must insist upon you not interrupting me," icily continued the girl by his side. " You have taught me the value of your sympathy and affection by not even replying to my letter, and also by the tone of your remarks to-night. I am therefore determined to let any feelings of tenderness, that I may entertain towards you be of secondary consideration, and devote my whole energy to the development of the ideas 1 formed when associating with my superiors at Miss Raclclyffe's school." " Caught by a schemer," uttered Frank, between his teeth; he then added aloud, "well, Eve, you're candid, anyway. You say you're in no hurry for a bit. Keep yourself quiet, and I'll be over in a few days, and then we can settle everything satisfactorily. You speak very fairly from your point of view, but so coldly that I feel horrified. Here we are again at Bottisham, and you had better get down, for I shall be late for my gates as it is, I'm afraid." Speaking thus, Frank pulled up the cob, and after kissing Eve, who silently re- sponded to his embrace, he helped her down, and recommenced his journey back to St. Nicholas at as rapid a pace as his horse could travel. " What a she-devil it is," mused the undergraduate ; " and what an unlucky beggar I am to be mixed up with such a Tartar in petticoats. By Jove, I see no way out of it but the one she says. If the governor were to get hold of the truth, I should certainly lose Champ- neys, and anything would be better than that. Money will quiet her for a bit, and I must contrive to get her some at once, though Heaven only knows how, if Jack doesn't respond to my appeal to-night." Thus Frank meditated during his drive back to College. THR CROOICF.D Is II.:. FT. 41 CHAPTER IV. JACK IHEATHCOTE. *' STICK the dishes and things in the fender before the fire, Fletcher; they will keep warm there with the covers on ; Mr. Champneys is sure not to be long, for he'll be gated at ten. That's right ; now you can go ; good night." " Call you at the usual time, sir ? " " Yes, of course ; you know that well enough." " Yessir, good-night, sir," and the ubiquitous and in- comparable Fletcher disappeared from the presence of the most important and highly honoured of his six or seven masters. John Heathcote, whom we have thus rather abruptly introduced to our readers, is the identical individual upon whose good offices Frank Champneys has been already described as relying. The two men had been intimate friends from the earliest period of their lives, and had, in fact, grown up together, as their fathers had before them. Forty years before the time we are writing of, Squire Champneys and Parson Heathcote were as inseparable at St. Nicholas as they had been before at Harrow, and the dearest wish of the old men's hearts had come to be that their boys' intimacy should be as their own. The Rector's comfortable, stone-built house was almost included in the extensive park belonging to the Grange, and so the two families grew up as one, to the lively satisfaction of their elders, who observed, with pleasure, the unfeigned affection with which the young people regarded one another. Each of the old cronies possessed a son and a daughter, and great hopes of cross unions being arranged between their children were entertained by the parents on either side. Squire Champneys, in fact, made no secret of his intense de- light when, one winter's morning Jack Heathcote, in that sheepish, stammering fashion particularly affected by young men in love, plucked up the courage to inform the old gentleman that he was devoted to his daughter Ellen. 42 THE CROOKED BILLET. The Squire maliciously let the lover flounder on for some minutes ; but ultimately his inherent good nature and sincere affection for the youth came to the rescue. " Wait till you take your degree, Jack, and then come to me again, my boy, and we'll see what can be done, if Nellie don't object. But you needn't keep out of her way in the meantime on my account," was the encouraging reply that the trembling Jack received. For his own part the Squire was rendered supremely happy by the communication, and he therefore lost no time in trotting across the park to the parsonage', in order that he might be the first to convey the good news to " Brother John," as he was wont to term his friend. Mr. Champneys had all his life been very fond of pouring his joys and sorrows into the sympathising ears of his old chum, and the habit had grown upon him since the death of his wife, which occurred when Ellen was in her thirteenth year. Nor was the parson much behind the Squire in the exchange of mutual confidences, as, though Mrs. Heathcote was perfectly alive, there was little in common between that narrow-minded individual and her genial, gene- rally popular husband. John Heathcote the elder, was himself as fine a specimen of a liberal-minded English ecclesiastic as could be found, whilst his wife, unfortu- nately, was no fitting helpmate for such a man. It did not take the parson many years of married life to find out that, one great mistake of his existence had been the indulgence of the belief that, Miss Priscilla Atkins was destined by nature to develop into Mrs. Keath- cote. A good sportsman, a good Tory, a charitable man to the poor, and very tolerant of their many weaknesses, the Rector of Champneys was in reality as uncon- genial a mate for his ailing, querulous wife as could possibly be conceived. At the same time, although his married life was shorn of many of its happinesses, there was the consolation left Mr. Heathcote that neither of his children showed any disposition to take after the maternal side of the house ; and for this crumb of comfort the parson was wont to thank Provi- dence heartily as he retailed his matrimonial grievances to the Squire. But Jack has been left too .long alone in his rooms THE CROOKED BILLET. 43 at St. Nicholas, at which, along with their occupant, it may be worth while to take a glance, pending the arrival of Frank Champneys on his return from his interview with Eve. Jack Heathcote was a fine, manly-looking young fellow, just turned twenty, and gave, even to strangers who met him, the impression of being what he was an English gentleman all over. Though a fairly steady reader, Jack was no bookworm, a Poll degree being quite the summit of his ambition. His idea of greatness lay in the direction of " a clean bill of health," by which he implied keeping out of serious disgrace, and at the same time winning dis- tinction in the cricket field and on the river. He was a good man across country, too, for whilst still quite a youngster, his father encouraged his lad to go out with the Queen's ; and he, in spite of his many other engagements at Cambridge, frequently contrived to get a day with the Fitzwilliam or some other pack. Since coming up to the University, Jack had taken a good deal to the river, and now, an unusual thing for a Harrow man, occupied the proud position of Captain of the St. Nicholas Boat Club, and stroke of the College eight. He had got his Blue, for he was lucky enough to get a seat in the 'Varsity eight, but this he was eccentric enough to regard as an inferior honour, when compared to his position as captain of the College Club. Not that St. Nicholas was high up on the river, for it was rather a cricketing College ; but Jack had worked hard with his men during the preceding term, and we find him now, on the eve of the May races, the proud captain of undoubtedly the fastest crew that the old College had turned out for years. Jack Heathcote was sitting alone in front of the fire, which he had caused Fletcher to light, waiting for his friend's arrival. An anxious, troubled look threw a cloud over his handsome, ruddy, clean-shaven face, whilst the manner in which he kept on moving his close-cropped head of yellow hair about was indicative of the impatience he felt at being kept waiting. Jack Was a punctual man himself, and liked his friends to be the same ; more especially in the present instance, for in the first place he knew Frank was gated, and so had to be inside the College by ten ; and secondly, as 44 THE CROOKED BILLET. he was himself in strict training, he was compelled to retire to bed at an early hour. A fine old room it was in which the St. Nicholas man was seated, graced as the apartment was by dark oak -panelled walls and oriel windows. Before the new buildings belonging to St. Nicholas had been erected, Jack's present quarters had been reserved for Fellows of the College, and were no doubt, as w r as often asserted by their present tenant, " a great deal too good for the accommodation of old buffers who stuck to Greek roots by day and logarithms by night." It has been stated by a well-known writer that if you showed him a man's library, he would read you the owner's character. The gentleman who made this observation would, however, have found Jack Heathcote a difficult subject to deal with, as the St. Nicholas stroke was not a believer in an array of books. A few volumes relating to the Law Special, in which our friend hoped he had just pulled through, though the list was not yet out, and a battered novel or two left behind by some friend or other, Avho had dropped in to chat with Jack, comprised the sum total of young Heathcote's collection of books. There were other articles, however, in his rooms that were amply suffi- cient to give the curious an insight into his character. A couple of heads which Jack had got hold of whilst deer stalking "at a friend's place in Scotland, during the pre- vious long vacation, and a fox's nirisk, fairly earned after a long run with the Fitzwilliam, adorned a portion of his walls, and bore silent testimony to the steadiness of his hand and the firmness of his seat. A couple of cricket bats stowed away in a corner, with some pads, gave evidence of our hero's intentions when the May races were over ; but the great feature in his rooms were the trophies won upon the river. Though not a bit a pot-hunter, our friend was a lucky man, and two silver medals for wins in the Trial Eights, a similar memento of a Putney triumph in the 'Varsity eight, the silver challenge sculls offered for competition by his College Club, together with silver cups galore, all occupied posi- tions of honour in the apartment. A few large photo- graphs of Harrow and Cambridge cricket elevens, and such-like groups, were dotted round the walls here and THE CROOKED BILLET. 45 there, whilst an excellent, coloured portrait of Ellen Champneys, a birthday present from the young lady herself, and quite Jack's treasure of treasures, adorned the space over his mantlepiece, vice the conventional College looking-glass, banished to the other side of the room to give it place. " I wish to goodness he'd come," Heathcote was mut- tering to himself, when a quick step was heard on the oaken staircase, and Frank entered the room in a bustle, and, as was his custom, without knocking. " Where on earth have you been, old man, and what makes you look so glum?" was the greeting the new arrival received, and certainly merited, as the expression on his face was scarcely one that might be expected on an invited guest. " Oh, I've been for a drive, and found I was all behind- hand, and had to hurry like the very deuce. As it was, I was late for my gates, and the consequence will be that I'll be hauled in the morning. Old Irish is incor- ruptible, and won't be squared not to send my name in bad luck to the old beast." " Serve you right, Frank, old man ; but oh, for Heaven's sake, look a bit less solemn : there's a spread- eagle in the fender, so pitch into it. I fed over an hour ago. Late spreads don't do for men in training, and St. Nick is going to make a bump or two this year fora change. But what will you drink, Frank ? By Jove, what's the matter ? Isn't it good, or are you seedy ? let's hear, old fellow." Poor Jack, in rattling oh, had not paid much attention to his companion, and had only just noticed that he had pushed his plate away with the contents barely tasted. " I'm not hungry, that's all, but you needn't make such a devil of a fuss about it. I'll have a brandy and soda, and pipe, if the smoke won't interfere with your confounded training," replied Frank, pettishly. Jack looked hard at his friend, and, shrugging his shoulders at the above little ebullition of temper, proceeded to produce the refreshment demanded of him, without speaking a word. He thought a good deal, all the same, for he knew Frank's manner when put out, and was wondering to himself what the new difficulty would turn out to be. 46 THE CROOKED BILLET. Champneys emptied his tumbler, filled his pipe, and sat sullenly smoking for some minutes. " You're not very entertaining to-night, Jack," he suddenly jerked out, almost angrily. " No, old man, I'm not, I confess, but you're the cause of it. Don't get wild, Frank," Champneys had got up, and was about to leave the room " you had better tell me what's the bother this time. It surely can't be so bad but that we can tide it over together, somehow." This gave Frank the chance he had been hoping for, and pocketing his irritation why is it that men in difficulties invariably get angry with the people whose assistance they require to set them straight ? growled out "I got hammered two nights running last week, at Carston's rooms, and Mark Flanders won't let go another shilling, damn him !" " By Jove, Frank, you're a wonderful fellow," said Jack ; " is it a big lump this time ? " . " I've got to find over a monkey to square right up, Mark and all," grunted his friend. " Well, you know I'm no good for anything like that, old boy. I wish I were. The deuce of it is, that if you don't pay up, and the governor gets to hear that you're in debt again, he'll cut up very roughly." " You excel in the role of Job's comforter, if not precisely as a capitalist, Jack, but the truth is that you can help me to get the money, to-morrow, and so save a smash, if you like." " That's something to know, at all events* and you may be sure I'll do my best, if my intercession is likely to have the least influence over Mark," cheerfully put in Heathcote, who totally misunderstood the drift of his companion's remarks. " I'll see him before going on the river to-morrow, and pitch the old Shylock such a tale of woe that eren his stony heart will melt. But how on earth can you ever hope to pay him back ? " ' You're all wrong in your surmises, Jack. Mark won't part with a cent, but I've seen a man to-day who can, and will, get me what I want to-morrow, if I get another name to a bill for seven hundred." THE CROOKED BIT, LET. 47 " Good Heavens ! man, you can't seriously believe that my name would be worth a quarter of that amount on stamped paper ; and even if. it were, I wonder at your asking me to give it, and thereby risk certain ruin, considering the relations that exist between your sister and myself." " That's the very reason I thought of you, for it's scarcely credible that a man would care to see his future brother-in-law disgraced for the want of a few hundreds, which he is sure to repay before the time agreed on. But, I suppose, as Nellie would reap the benefit of my being disinherited, you, whilst laying the flattering unction to your soul that you advised me differently, will pocket her increased dowry with a sublime complacency." Jack's face flushed up scarlet as his companion hissed out the latter portion of his sentence, and he was only restrained from driving his fist into the speaker's face by a glance he accidentally caught of the features over the mantelpiece. This checked his passion, for he remembered that it was Ellen's brother who had so grievously insulted him, and he controlled his feelings, though with difficulty. " If you were in your senses, Champneys, you would never have made such a remark, and unless you can behave as a gentleman, we had better postpone all further communication until you arrive at a more decent frame of mind." This would not have suited Frank at all, so he forthwith made haste to atone for his mistake. His was not a great nature at best, and his present accumulation of misfortunes had rendered him simply rabid. Still, a sense of his utter helpless- ness came over him as Jack was speaking, and he fully recognised the loss which his friend's support would be to him. " For God's sake, Heathcote, don't pay any attention to what I say," he faltered out. " I'm worried to death, and, by Heaven, Jack, once out of this scrape, and I'll give up racing and betting, and punting. I mean it this time," he added, energetically. " I wish I could believe that, Frank; but former experiences have taught me differently. Still, cheer up, and let us see the state of affairs, and if there's a 48 THE CROOKED BILLET. way out. Sit down, and make a clean breast of it ; I'll not interrupt you, and you know me well enough to be sure that your confidences will not be betrayed." His old playmate's kind words affected Frank Champneys for the moment, and he mentally resolved that, come what might, Jack Heathcote should never suffer on his behalf. A quarter of an hour was enough for him to place his friend in possession of a portion of the facts connected with his case, for he was wise, or foolish, enough to ignore the interview with Eve Price entirely : nor, of course, was any allusion made to his conversation with the tout respecting the nobbling of the Derby favourite. His " clean breast," in fact, was very similar to the usual statements made to their friends by men in difficulties. They tell half their story pretty fairly, and after prevaricating and misleading everybody they consult, about the remaining portion of it, are surprised and disgusted when, in the end, things go from bad to worse. Thus it was with Frank ; he spoke truthfully enough when he confessed to having experienced some bad nights at cards, and his trans- actions with Mark Flanders being well known to Heathcote, who, in fact, had upon more than one occa- sion lent him money to wriggle out of a pressing diffi- culty, there was no necessity for concealment on that part of the question. Still, the state of his affairs, as disclosed by Frank, proved him to be in a most desperate plight. An appeal to the Squire was not to be thought of for an instant, and as far as the two youths could see, there was no other source available. Jack Heathcote struggled hard with his emotions : on one side there was his friend, for whom he enter- tained a most sincere affection ; on the other was his duty to himself, and the girl he hoped one day to make his wife. " I can't do it, Frank; it's on her account," said Jack, after a short interval of silence, motioning as he spoke to the portrait hanging in front of them; "you know I'd like to, but I can't." " Yes, you can, and you will when I tell you some- thing else that will astonish you, my respectable young man," hissed out Champneys, who suddenly broke out THE CROOKED BILLET. 49 in a fury. " You.'ll be glad, and no doubt proud, to hear that your future brother-in-law, her brother," he added, brutally, " has got himself into a devil of a scrape with an innkeeper's daughter Eve Price, if you must know it, and she'll have to be reckoned with. I can't quiet her without money, nor her respectable papa either. Now, will you help me, eh ? I wanted to spare your delicate feelings a shock ; but as you won't help me as a friend, I'm bound to put the facts straight." " You're worse than I thought, Champneys," quietly responded our hero ; " and in a bigger mess, too," he added. " But I don't intend to reproach you ; we can quarrel by-and-bye. What will quiet the girl ? " " Perhaps a couple of hundred," answered Frank, who, though feeling pretty well satisfied in his own mind that Eve would require a good deal more than that, was still true to the custom of those in diffi- culties, and prevaricated accordingly. " Now, look here, Champneys," was the reply he received, " I will write this night to my father, and ask him to let me have two hundred pounds forthwith, as if I were in debt myself. No doubt he will be angry, and may possibly want to know the quarter into which the money is going. This I pledge you my word he never shall, and for all our sakes will cheerfully put up with the rowing I shall get. The only proviso I make is, that I pay the money t to the girl myself; for Frank, I'm ashamed to say, I can't trust you. Are you agreed ? " " By Jove, Jack, you are a brick ! Of course I agree, and I don't know how to thank " " Don't attempt to try to thank me, Champneys, as you consent, and it's late. Good-night ; I must write to the governor before I turn in." Thus Jack Heathcote and Frank Champneys parted for the night. 5<3 THE CROOKED BILLET. CHAPTER V . FRANK'S VILLAINY. THEUE was certainly no apparent necessity for Champ- neys to rise with the lark on the morning after his interview with Jack Heathcote, yet he was up betimes, and mwabilt diet it, actually put in an appearance at early chapel, to the astonishment of old Irish, the porter, who, in his excitement, almost forgot to register the attendance in his book, as was his bounden duty. To speak truthfully, Frank had experienced a wretched night ; to sleep was quite impossible, and all his worries and troubles came upon him in battalions, and nearly drove him frantic. He had left Jack Heath- cote's rooms in a very bitter frame of mind against that hero, whose calm reception of his news, and thinly- veiled disgust at this crowning act of folly, aroused feelings of the deepest indignation within his breast. " What right has he to preach to me ? damn him ! " was the tenor of Frank's oft-repeated soliloquies ; and the feelings of animosity against the friend who was risking a serious difference with his father in order to serve his interests, unfortunately increased as the hours flew by. Frank Champneys suddenly discovered that in his heart he hated Jack, whose popularity in the College, and exploits as an exponent of muscular Christianity, had on frequent occasions excited his envy. " I'll make the beast sit up yet," muttered the young squire, as he tossed to and fro in bed ; " and I'll just set my wits to work to find a way. A sneaking cur who won't help a pal unless he's forced, and then by Jove, I have it !" and Frank fairly leapt out of bed in his excitement. What his design was will in due course be seen; but the arrangement of its full details was evidently a matter of some difficulty, for Frank did not return to his former position between the sheets. Having dressed himself, and drawn back the curtains in his sitting- room to admit the genial rays of the morning sun, Champneys proceeded to rummage in the drawers of his writing-table for certain sheets of paper, chiefly letters THE CROOKED BILLET. 5! of invitation to supper, or card parties, with many casual communications from acquaintances. Appa- rently his search was unproductive of the results he had anticipated, for Frank suspended his labours with an oath. "Nothing from him," he muttered; "but there must be, somewhere ;" and his eyes were turned around the room. " Yes, there's that infernal album ! " And, jumping up, he reached down a splendidly- bound volume from its place on a side table, and undid the silver clasps. " FRANK CHAMPNEYS, From his Affectionate Friend, JOHN HEATHCOTE, Christmas 186 -," were the words that met his gaze. " Not a difficult fist to imitate, that's one thing, and Heathcote's an ass to write so clearly, that's another," observed Champneys, as he scrutinised the writing carefully. He next proceeded to carry the album to the table, and for some time occupied himself by writing a couple of words over and over again very carefully, upon pieces of paper, which he subsequently destroyed by setting them alight in his fire-place. The arrival of his gyp, and bedmaker had the effect of bringing Frank's exercises to an end, and, being wide awake, he came to the conclusion that the best way for killing time, whilst his rooms were being set straight, was to attend morning chapel. Having returned from his devotions, and despatched a hasty breakfast, the young squire proceeded to the post office and indited a telegraphic "message to Nat Price, in which he desired the tout to meet him at the Grey- hound Hotel, Newmarket, at one o'clock. His next visit was to a stationer's shop, where he purchased two or three bill stamps, after which he returned to his rooms, and making the excuse that he was going to read, promptly sported his oak. Once more with the album before him, Frank Champneys set to work, but upon this occasion he devoted his energies to 52 THE CROOKED BILLET. imitating Jack Heathcote's autograph upon one of the oblong slips of blue paper which he had just pur- chased. Apparently fortune smiled upon his efforts, for, with a grunt of satisfaction, the undergraduate suspended his labours almost as soon as he had sat down. Frank's next move was to fold the paper very care- fully, and place it in a note case, which he placed in an inner pocket. He then lit his pipe, and smoked steadily for a couple of hours, when he rose, and sauntered leisurely to the railway station, where he provided himself with a first-return ticket to New- market. Arrived at that deadly dull when out of season corner of the earth, Champneys, finding ht- was behind his time, hastened to the " Greyhound," where he soon discovered the object of his search, ensconced in a quiet corner of the deserted billiard- room, and anxiously awaiting his arrival. " Morning, Mr. Champneys. You've got the name, I suppose, as you wired me to come over ? So, as I knew you were in a hurry for the brass, I turned out early, and have seen my friend about the matter. It's all right if the man's a good one." The innkeeper was, so far, speaking truthfully that the money would be forthcoming, but as he meant to advance the sum himself, out of a store he had set by for the benefit of his daughter Eve, he was scarcely accurate in his remarks about his friend. Nat Price's position was a very easy one. He was, in spite of exterior appearances, a fairlv rich man, his sole object in life being the advancement of his girl. In lending the undergraduate this money, he therefore stood on velvet, so to speak, for if the interest and debt were paid, a substantial addition would be made to her fortune ; whereas, if the borrower broke down, the ex tout was sanguine enough to hope he might be brought to book in some other way, or even marry the girl, if his father, the Squire, threw him off. No suspicion of the true state of affairs that existed between the two young people had ever crossed Price's mind ; had it done so, his behaviour to his companion would have been widely different. "Yes, Nat, here's the kite," observed Frank, rather THF rK.ooiir.n Rir.i.r.r. 53 dolefully, for a feeling that he was getting into rather deep water had begun to take possession of him. " Who is John Heathcote, sir ? " inquired Mr. Price; "you see, my friend may inquire, and perhaps might like to call upon him just to see his form," he added. "No, no, for God's sake don't let him do that ! " almost shrieked the undergraduate ; " he'd go mad ! " Then, seeing that his excitement had carried him too far, he added, " You see, Nat, he's a steady, old- fashioned sort, son of the parson of our parish at home, captain of the College Boat Club, and one of the 'Varsity Crew, and would not like to be interviewed on such a matter. In fact, he made me promise that he should not be bothered, as he's reading for an examination and in training, and all that." The innkeeper did " see," but not exactly as Frank- desired that he should. His knowledge of the world, and experience of rogues of all denominations, told him there was something wrong about the bill, and he rejoiced accordingly, as its possession placed the undergraduate still more fully in his power. However, he dissembled. " Very well, Mr. Champneys. your friend shall not be bothered ; I'll make that all square, so, if you'll wait here, I'll step across to my friend, and see what can be done. I suppose you'll take a ready monkey for the bill, and give me a commission out of it for my trouble, as you promised ? " " A monkey's devilish little, Nat ; why, the bill's as good as gold ; you know we're bound to win a pot over the Derby ; besides you talked about my having a lot more than that the other day." " Yes ; I know the bill will do ; but money's scarcer than I thought ; my friend isn't keen upon the deal, so, to save trouble, will you agree to take a clear ^475 for the seven hundred ? It's no good seeing him without I know your views. I'm only asking a pony com- mission, now." " All right, if I must ; but it's a cruel bargain. Hurry away, I want to get back." Turning round frequently to see that he was not being followed, for he much mistrusted Champneys, 54 THE CROOKED BILLET. Nat Price proceeded, by a circuitous route, to the bank, whence he soon returned with the four hundred and seventy-five pounds in crisp Bank of England notes, and minus the acceptance, which he had deposited there for safety. The undergraduate was anxiously awaiting his return. " Here you are, sir, ninety-five little beauties, sweet and crackly. Now I hope you're on your legs, Mr. Champneys, and will be able to attend to business ; it's a poor game this borrowing money when there's plenty to be picked up if one's smart." Frank received the notes silently ; his conscience smote him, and in addition to this, he quite realised the fact that he was now outside the law. The notes seemed to sting his fingers as he counted them, but with an effort he fought down his better feelings and replied " Yes, now that I'm here I may as well go over to Perkins' stables and see if there's any chance of getting hold of the boy, or that cursed horse. I read in the papers that they're beginning to field against him strongly." " That's because I told tUem I had got a good man to help us. We can't draw back now even if we wished, Mr. Champneys." His companion understood the covert allusion to the bill, and fully appreciated the force of Nat's observa- tions. It was impossible for him to draw back, as pay that bill he must, or incur the vengeance of the inn- keeper, who, he knew, would stick at nothing if he sold him. " Well, you had better cut it, Price, and I'll go over to Perkins' and have a chat. I know him well, and perhaps he'll offer to take me round the place ; he often does at stable time. Good-bye ; I'll come over or write if there's anything to say." The force of Frank's observations was so evident that the innkeeper at once betook himself home, whilst the undergraduate, having fortified himself with a brandy-and-soda, strolled leisurely up the High Street in the direction of Rowley Lodge. Arrived at his destination, he had the good fortune to meet the master of the establishment returning from some business in THE CROOKED BILLET. 55 the town, and the two men entered the house in com- pany. " You're very welcome, Mr. Champneys," observed the trainer ; " in fact, your visit has saved me the exer- tion of writing to you, for I heard you say the other day, when you were over here with Mr. Forsyth, that you were the buyer of a smart cob. I forgot it at the time, but I remembered after you left that I had the very thing to suit you, and what's more, he's in the stable now. Will you step round and have a look at him ?" Of course Frank was delighted at the opportunity, thus provided, for getting a chance of a word with the lad who had the care of Cyclops, and the pair were soon engaged in discussing the merits of a very decent- looking chesnut cob, which the undergraduate seemed disposed to buy. His game, however, was to waste time, in order that an opportunity might be given him for discovering the identity of the attendant upon that famous horse. He had not, however, long to wait, for the trainer, addressing the person at the cob's head, remarked, "You can take the pony in, Mike, and we'll just look at Cyclops before we go back to the house." " A smart lad, that of yours, Mr. Perkins," observed Champneys, as they walked towards the loose box of the Derby favourite ; " has he been with you long ? " " Yes, some years, and I've not had much trouble to get him into my ways ; but, like all the rest of us, when he gets money he likes to go away and spend it." " A little flighty at times, eh, Mr. Perkins ? " " Well, I can't say that, or he should never have had Cyclops to see to ; but he enjoys a holiday, and means to have one, I daresay, after we have won the Derby. He's an avaricious beggar I believe, though, and would leave me to-morrow if he saw a better opening, but he's a good lad, and honest, I feel sure. But here we are." Before the trainer had concluded his sentence, he and Champneys had entered the box, and were in the presence of the Derby favourite, at whose head stood the redoubtable Mike, looking as full of importance as a Provincial Mayor at his inauguration banquet. The 56 TIIK CROOKED BILLET. undergraduate's thoughts were coursing so rapidly through his brain that he could scarcely comprehend the nature of Mr. Perkins' remarks about the horse. He had, nevertheless, the sense to drop his stick quietly in a corner of the box ; then followed the master of the establishment back to the house. They had, however, but barely reached the threshold, when Frank ex- claimed, "I've dropped my stick somewhere ; excuse me one moment, Mr. Perkins, whilst I run back to look for it." Suiting the action to his words, Champneys hurried back to the box, at which he arrived in time to find Mike extracting the key from the door, Avhich he had carefully locked. " I think 1 dropped my stick inside ; just see for me, please," quoth Frank, in terror lest Mr. Perkins, who had followed him leisurely from the door of the house, should come up before they entered. Mike, however, A\as expeditious in his movements-, and promptly admitted the undergraduate to the box where, sure enough, the stick was discovered, lying three parts covered by straw in a corner near the door. " Thank you very much," said Champneys, "please accept this for your trouble; and, by-the-bye, I want to speak to you about that cob before I buy him ; Avill you meet me on Friday evening at the back of the stand on the July course ? " Saying which, he slipped one of his recently-acquired five-pound notes into the lad's hand. The effect of the tip was electrical. Mike closed his ringers tightly over the crackly paper, and with a most significant wink responded "Thank ye, sir; I'll be there; 8.30 sharp, but for God's sake, don't let the governor know." The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when the voice of Mr. Perkins was heard outside, inquiring whether the missing article had been found ? "Yes; almost buried in the straw, against the Avail ; it must have slipped doAvn in the litter Avhen I weni; up to Cyclops," quoth Champneys, who was certainly justifying his selection, by Nat Price, as a promising, if somewhat timid, rogue. At the gate of Mr. Perkins' garden, the tAvo men parted, Frank having firmly resisted his host's ho.s- THE CROOKED BILLET. 57 pitable invitation to come in and have supper, and a rubber the trainer was a great whist player yet he was, at heart, rather pleased at Champneys' declining to do so, as he had some long-neglected correspondence to get through. "I'll write to you about the cob in three or four days, Mr. Perkins. I think he'll do for me, but I should like to get out of one I have at present first, if I can." "All right, Mr. Champneys; good-night;" and the great master of the art of training thoroughbreds was soon seated in his study, hard at work, with sundry papers spread out before him. Frank Champneys quickly found himself back at Cambridge, where, on his way from the station, he despatched a peremptory message to Nat Price, direct- ing him to meet him at an obscure public-house in Barnwell, on the following morning. To speak can- didly, the undergraduate had no desire to meet Eve, until he could hit upon some modus vivendi between them, and as he expected that Jack Heathcote would have an interview with the aggrieved damsel in the course of a few days, he wisely concluded that he had better wait and see what came of it, before throwing himself in her way. CHAPTER VI. A WOMAN SLIGHTED. A COUPLE of days after the occurrence of the events detailed in the last chapter, Jack Heathcote received a letter from his father, in reply to his request that two hundred pounds might be sent him. The parson en- closed his son a cheque for the amount, but did not hesitate to let him feel that he was surprised at his requiring so large a sum. "You must know, Jack," wrote the old man, "that my means are limited, and that others, beside your- self, are dependent on me. As a matter of fact, we 5 THE CROOKED BILLET. have to be careful, for your College expenses are quite as much as I can afford, and it would be absurd to think that, after you are called to the Bar, you will earn enough to live upon for several years at best. However, my boy, I don't mean to reproach you, but remember, Jack, if you feel disposed to run riot again, that you will be doing so at the expense of your mother and sister. My own wants, thank God, are few, and as luck would have it, I can spare you the two hundred without much sacrifice. So pay up your bills, my boy mind you, I don't wish to know what particular ex- travagance it is that you've been committing and come back to us at the end of term, a full-blown B.A., and clear with all the world." Such a letter would have appealed to a worse nature than Jack Heathcote's. To him the perusal was very gall and wormwood, and for the moment he felt dis- posed to make a clean breast of it to his father, but the remembrance of his solemn pledge to Frank restrained him. The two old Harrovians had scarcely spoken since they parted that night in Jack's rooms. The feelings enter- tained by Champneys towards his future brother-in-law have already been described, but to do him justice the thoughts of the crime he had been guilty of against his friend made him feel reluctant to meet the straight- forward athlete, whose glance seemed to go right through him, when their eyes met in chapel or in the hall. On his side Jack was very angry with the offender, and, moreover, it must be confessed that he was not looking forward to his interview with Eve Price with any peculiar feelings of satisfaction. However, the receipt of the cheque left him no alternative but to go across to Frank's rooms and settle preliminaries. " I have got that money, Frank, with an awfully kind letter from my father, who seems a good deal cut up at my requiring it," was his greeting to Champneys, as he entered the apartment where that worthy was lying in bed. " He'd be a deuced sight more cut up if he knew what it was for, I expect," grunted his companion, un- graciously. " Well, we won't discuss that at present ; sup THE CROOKED BILLET. 59 pose you endeavour to rouse yourself sufficiently to talk matters over about this girl." " Damn the girl ! " ejaculated the voice from between the sheets , " what a fellow you are, Heathcote, to keep on lecturing and bullying a fellow about his troubles." This was scarcely fair,, but the truth was that Frank, like his companion, was getting nervous as the hour for belling the cat approached, and would have given worlds to have postponed the interview. Jack kept him to his bargain, mercilessly. " If the business is not settled to-night, Champneys, I'll send the confounded money back to my governor, and wash my hands of the whole concern I swear I will." " Well, what the devil do you want me to do ? " " To arrange matters so that the girl can meet me at the ' Swan ' at Bottisham this evening. You may lead her to expect that you'll be there yourself if you like. Send her a line to say Mr. Banks, of Cambridge, will be upstairs in a private room, and tell her to ask for him. She'll think it's you. These are the rough details of a scheme; you must elaborate them." " All right ; I'll get a letter taken over to her if you insist, and she'll be there, sure enough, for I happen to know her father will be out on business to-night. You did not mention a time ; will eight o'clock do ? I'll lend you my trap, so you can get home easily, and as early as you wish." " That will suit, and if you'll order the pony to be ready by seven I'll start then, so as to be first upon the scene. It's a hateful task I've undertaken, Frank." " Yes, old man," responded his companion, whose conscience was well at work within him, " and she has the very devil of a temper. But," he added, " to change the subject, I raised some of that money, and have paid up Flanders and the men to whom I owed coin." " Very glad to hear it, Frank ; good-bye until seven, and be sure the trap is ready in time," and the St. Nicholas Captain strode out of the room. The hour of eight o'clock found Jack Heathcote safely ensconced in one of the two private sitting-rooms be- longing to the historic "Swan," and awaiting the arrival of Eve Price with some degree of trepidation. Fortu- 60 THE CROOKED BILLET. nately, however, for the peace of mind of our hero, the " Beauty of the Billet " was punctual at the tryst, and was ushered into the apartment by the astonished land- lord himself, who, wondering what on earth could cause a strange gentleman to desire a private interview with his neighbour's daughter, lost no time in bringing the two young people together. Eve swept into the somewhat dingy room with the majesty of a Juno. The girl was incensed against Frank Champneys for his neglect of her since the evening when she had acquainted him with her condition, and had, in fact, only kept the appointment he had made in the hope that she would be able to have it out with the undergraduate in a manner satisfactory to her. What was her indignation, therefore, to find herself in the presence of a stranger, and one, moreover, who was evidently expecting her arrival. The first impulse of the girl was to leave the room, but Eve Price was no coward, and so she determined to face the position and ascertain precisely what her false lover's intentions towards her were. Jack opened the proceedings as follows " Pray be seated, Miss Price, and allow me to intro- duce myself as John Heathcote, of St. Nicholas College, the friend and confidant of Frank Champneys, upon whose behalf I am here this evening." Eve bowed slightly in acknowledgment of his remarks, but deigned no reply, upon which Heathcote added " No doubt you are surprised to see me here, and I can assure you that this interview is not of my seeking. I am, however, compelled by the long-standing friend- ship that has existed between Champneys and myself to represent him in this most unfortunate affair. He has explained the whole of the circumstances to me, Miss Price, and I am deputed to act for him in the matter." Still no reply came from the lips of the immovable Eve, who, to all intents and purposes, might have been a marble statue placed opposite our hero, who pro- ceeded "Frank Champneys, as you are doubtless aware, is entirely dependent upon his father, whom he has already offended by his repeated extravagances, and THE CROOKED BILLET. 6l consequently, is absolutely prohibited from looking to him for any assistance in this or any other difficulty. At the same time, Frank is most anxious to make every possible provision for your comfort, and has commissioned me to assure you that he most bitterly repents of his treatment of you." At this point, Jack thought that he noticed symptoms of an explosion of temper on the part of his listener, and prudently ceased speaking, in order to try and let the storm blow over. Eve, however, contented herself with another stately bow, and a gently expressed " Proceed, Mr. Heathcote, if you kindly will." Our hero began to feel more uncomfortable than ever. From the moment in which he first saw Eve, he felt convinced that Frank's allusion to her temper was no exaggeration, and he recognised that he was placed at a disadvantage by being compelled to do all the verbal skirmishing. Still, as no alternative was left to him, he recom- menced by saying "I trust, therefore, Miss Price, you will have the good sense to fall in with Frank's views, and endeavour to aid him in hushing up what would be a most deplorable scandal were it to become public property. His idea is that you should, upon some good excuse which no doubt you can eastly find," he put in diplomatically, as he thought " retire to some quiet seaside town for a while, and later on, no doubt, arrangements can be made for keeping matters private. Mind you, Miss Price, though I come here on behalf of my friend, I do not desire to identify myself with his actions or defend his conduct. All I can possibly hope to achieve is an arrangement, by which you may both escape from the consequences of this most unfortunate affair with as little unpleasant- ness as possible. As a proof of his good intentions towards you, and his desire that you should be fully provided for, Frank Champneys has commissioned me to discuss the pecuniary aspect of the case with you." Here Eve's bosom swelled and her eyes flashed fire ; but Jack, being by this time thoroughly wound up, proceeded, after fumbling in his pocket for the roll of notes which it contained : " He has, in fact, as he fully 62 TilE CROOKED BILLET. recognises that an interview between you would be very painful, instructed me to provide you with ample means for carrying out his proposition ; and he further " but Eve stopped him in the middle of his sentence by springing to her feet, and shrieking out " Stay, Mr. John Heathcote ! I will have my say now. I was brought up to believe that University men were gentlemen, now I know the contrary. I don't exactly blame you for your share of this night's proceedings, although I think that an honourable man would have declined the unenviable task that you have apparently accepted with avidity. I decline your proposition, and I reject your preferred generosity with scorn"; saying which, the girl drew herself up, and seizing the roll of bank notes which lay on the table, she tore them into fragments, and scattered them on the floor. Then she added, in a still higher key: " There is now war be- tween us, Mr. Heathcote. You have slighted a wronged woman, and shall repent this evening's work, as surely as these pieces of paper lie at your feet. Go back to St. Nicholas, and may the remembrance of our meet- ing mar the brightest moments of your life. Good- evening." If Eve's entry into the room were correctly described as majestic, her exit was certainly sublime. At all events, her reception of his diplomacy completely paralysed Jack Heathcote, and for a while he sat gazing vacantly at the door through which she had departed, half expecting that she might return, and direct the volume of her eloquence against him once again. " It's no good waiting here," he remarked to himself, after a few minutes spent in collecting his thoughts, " to give that little vixen an opportunity of abusing me again. By Jove, she is a Tartar, but," after a pause, " I believe she's right. It's a damned, cowardly thing " Jack was not in the habit of indulging in strong language, except upon occcasions when his feelings were much exercised "of a fellow to get a girl into a fix like this, and then try to stave her off with a few pounds. And the man who carries his messages is a little worse than' his principal. Yes, Eve is right, THE CROOKED BILLET. 63 though Mrs. Grundy says she's wrong. But I'll get off back to St. Nicholas." He carried out his intentions forthwith, and in a couple of hours' time, Frank Champneys was in full possession of all the facts of the interview, which naturally did not contribute to his peace of mind. CHAPTER VII. MR. CORNELIUS TRIMMER'. MISFORTUNES proverbially hunt in packs, and con- sequently, it is not in the least surprising to find that the ill luck of Frank Champneys and Jack Heathcote did not end with the refusal of Eve Price to acquiesce in the arrangements they had made. It so happened,therefore, that upon the very night when the last-mentioned young people met at the "Swan," Mr. Cornelius Trimmer, of London, was driving on the road from Newmarket to Cambridge, to which town he was bound. It also turned out that the horse attached to the conveyance in which Mr. Trimmer was seated had the inconsideration to cast a shoe as they ap- proached the village of Bottisham, and consequently the traveller was compelled to alight at the "Swan" whilst the professional services of Jem Armstrong, the black- smith, were requisitioned on behalf of the quadruped. Now, Mr. Cornelius Trimmer was by no means an ordinary mortal, even if of a somewhat undignified ap- pearance. He was a little, short individual, inclined towards embonpoint, with a red face, bald head, and a most aggressive pair of bright, gold spectacles. No description of Mr. Trimmer would be complete if his glasses were not included in his personal appearance, for they were never absent from his nose,- and to their existence his friends invariably attributed his success in life. Mr. Cornelius Trimmer was the proprietor and " director" editor is not a term that could, with any sense of propriety, be applied to the little man of th? 64 THE CROOKED BILLET. " Society Sp3'glass," a wishy-washy, little " organ of society and fine arts, 1 ' though where the analogy between the institutions lay, no one but Mr. Trimmer himself could tell. The self-importance of Mr. Trimmer was unbounded. He conscientiously believed that the " Society Spyglass " was a power in the land, and that he, as the director of such a journal, was of immense influence, politically, socially, and morally. How he could delude himself upon the first and last of these points it is impossible to surmise, as he had, for the last ten years, been snubbed by every member of each successive Government, down to the very footmen who answered his knocks ; whilst in charity, the least said about his morals the better. Not that Mr. Trimmer was a bit worse than his neighbours, but that his opportunities for trickery were more numerous than those vouchsafed to many of his fellows. A decade passed in one desperate but successful attempt to evade the law of libel, in the retailing of a weekly budget of domestic scandals, is enough to blunt any man's sense of decency, and Mr. Trimmer was only mortal. There was no doubt, however, that Mr. Trimmer was of some importance in Society. He knew everybody, not that everybody knew him, and possessed an altogether unique aptitude for revenging himself upon those who had offended him, in the columns of the " Society Spyglass." Thus it was that plenty of in- vitations were showered upon the little man by matrons who had daughters to marry, and whose beauty they desired to see alluded to in print, or by those ladies who, whilst desiring to escape the annoyance of an ill- natured reference to themselves, had nevertheless plenty to impart to him concerning the shortcomings of their dearest friends. Mr. Cornelius Trimmer had been staying with some people in the neighbourhood of Champneys, during the preceding summer, and having thus made the ac- quaintance of the squire and the parson, soon contrived to develop the introduction into something approach- ing terms of intimacy. Nor was it by any means his fault that he had not seen a great deal more of the Champneys' family, as, though not impressionable, the little man was terribly smitten by the charms of Nellie.. TIIK CROOKED BILLET. 65 The fact, however, of her being practicably engaged to Jack Heathcote told the sighing swain that if he meant to win her, he must abide a more favourable opportunity to attract her notice than any he received during the time he was in the neighbourhood, but he had not by any means got over his infatuation. Being, therefore, in the neighbourhood of Cambridge on a business matter connected with the " Society Spyglass " it was, by the way, a desire to obtain an interview, and expression of his opinions on the morality of the turf, from an eminent trainer which had brought him down- Mr. Trimmer, his object having been accomplished, made up his mind to run over to Cambridge, and see the two undergraduates. His precise object was to ascertain by judicious pumping, if necessary, whether their people were coming up for the May races, and if so, where they proposed to stay for the week. At the time we find him, his intentions were temporarily frustrated by the accident to the horse. Mr. Cornelius Trimmer alighted sulkily, at the door of the "Swan," and inquired of the landlord whether he could have a chop or anything to eat, as he knew he would be late for dinner at Cambridge, and thought that he might as well kill time by feeding where he was. Having been assured that he could be well attended to, the little man was ushered into the room adjoining the one in which Jack Heathcote and the " Beauty of the Billet" were holding their discussion. A door connected the two apartments, and Trimmer, having nothing to do, and being naturally inquisitive, forgot himself so far as to deliberately sit down on the floor and listen at the keyhole. It was the sound of a woman's voice, raised in anger, that first attracted his curiosity, and what he heard amply repaid the eaves- dropper for the contretemps that detained him on the road. " I decline your proposition. ... I reject your profferred generosity with scorn. There is now war between us, Mr. Heathcote. ... a wronged woman. . . . go back to St. Nicholas. . . . moments of your life." It was not Mr. Trimmer's fault that he did no; hear E 66 THE CROOKED BILLET. more of the conversation, but Eve raised and lowered her voice whilst addressing Frank, as the vehemence of her feelings, or her physical weakness took possession of her. The effect upon the director of the " Society Spyglass " was stupendous. In his confusion, he actually forgot to run after the speaker when she left the room, and remained seated on the floor, quite lost in thought, until surprised by the landlord, who, entering suddenly with the dinner things, at first imagined his guest was in a fit. "Please go away and leave me; I am quite well. I I often sit on the floor before dinner," stammered Mr. Trimmer, anxious to be alone, and at a loss for a better excuse. The host withdrew reluctantly, being quite convinced that the little man was mad, and feeling anxious for the safety of his glass and crockery. In fact, his suspicions, as retailed to his cronies in the bar parlour, were briefly " The gent's not ill for certain, and don't look as if he was in liquor ; but what licks me entirely is his sitting on the floor afore dinner. He says he often does it ; damn it, he must be cracked ! If it w T as after dinner, now, that he had the habit but there's his bell." Upstairs crept worthy Boniface, not without trepi- dation, though fortified by the presence of his cronies on the stairs, whither they had resorted in order to succour the proprietor of the house in the event of the supposed lunatic developing murderous tendencies. " Isn't that confounded horse ready ? " was the greeting he received, delivered in a tone that fully confirmed his worst suspicions. " Yessir, I think he is," replied the trembling host ; " perhaps you'd like your bill," he added, true to the traditions of his profession, in spite of his emotion. " Take it out of this sovereign, and charge the driver's refreshment to me also. And be good enough to instruct him to convey me back to Newmarket ; I shall not go on to Cambridge to-night. I don't want to be bothered with giving orders to perhaps the stupidest flyman in existence. By the way, I think I THE CROOKED BILLET. 67 saw a lady come out of die adjoining room. Who may she be ? " " The daughter of Mr. Price, of the ' Crooked Billet,' sir, and as fine a looking girl as could be " " Thank you, that will do ; I'm not interested in the young person. Now, if you'll show me downstairs, I will be off." " I needn't write down the names in my pocket- book," thought Mr. Trimmer to himself, as the fly jolted him along. " A man does not often forget what suit is trumps when he holds a good hand of them. What I've just heard will suit my style of play. Ace, the wronged woman ; king, Cornelius yourself, my boy ; queen, Nellie Champneys ; and knave, Mr. J. H. A very pretty hand, indeed ; could almost play itself! " CHAPTER VIII. BEHIND THE DITCH. AT the very moment when Jack was being reproached by Eve Price, her father was proceeding stealthily across Newmarket Heath in the direction of the July course, where he expected to meet the attendant upon Cyclops Mike. It had been arranged at their inter- view at Cambridge between himself and Frank Champ- neys, that Nat had better open negotiations with the lad at once. Consequently, he had driven over to Newmarket in the early evening, and having left his conveyance in charge of one of his satellites, with in- junctions to hold his tongue, and meet him with the trap at the foot of the hill on the other side of the Devil's Dyke at nine o'clock, the ex tout set off to the appointed rendezvous. Whilst he is on his way thither, we must retrace our steps to the afternoon when Frank presented Mike with the five-pound note, and asked him to meet him at the July Stand. The lad was neither fool nor rogue. He was acute enough to guess that, in the vernacular of the 68 THE CROOKED BILLET. society in which he moved, " some game was up," and he was not quite unprincipled enough to sell his em- ployer off-hand to the first bidder. Yet Mike was a lad who always had an eye to the main chance, and saw clearly that the transaction would turn out to his advantage if he acted cautiously. To begin with, he had a five-pound note in his pocket not a bad begin- ning, by any means ; but his main idea was to make a good deal more. He had heard of lads having been " squared," and that they had received large sums of money as the wages of their infamy. Still, he could not call to mind, on the spur of the moment, a single instance of their having prospered in after life, for they had, without exception, soon run through their money, and having lost their reputations, each and all had come to want. Now Mike entertained a wholesome respect for Cambridge Jail, and was not keen to enter the workhouse ; in addition to which, he was both proud of having been selected to take charge of Cyclops, and grateful to Perkins for many little acts of kindness. He therefore walked straight up to the back door of Rowley Lodge, and asked to see the master, being determined to make a clean breast of the affair to him. The trainer received him in his sanctum anxiously, as he was alarmed lest some ill news might be forth- coming about Cyclops. " The horse isn't wrong, is he, Mike ?" he eagerly inquired, as the servant closed the door behind the lad. " No, sir, he's not, thank God ; but I'm afraid he soon will be if we don't look out," was the reply he received. " What the Devil do you mean, Mike ? Now, look here, if you have been playing any tricks with that horse I'll kill you ! " hotly put in the trainer. " No, sir, it's not me ; I love my horse, and I wouldn't quarrel with you, sir, for a trifle. It's that Mr. Champs " Mike couldn't quite hit the name of the Cantab " who's on the cross; he give me this to meet him Friday night, to talk about the cob you was look- ing at." And he produced the five-pound note from the recesses of his breeches pocket, and laid in on the table in front of his employer. THE CROOKED BILLET. 69 " Was that all, Mike ? " quietly responded Mr. Perkins, a shade overclouding his manly countenance. "Yessir; that's all up to now," was the reply; "I promised to meet him, sir, but have come all the same to you straight." Perkins grasped the situation at a glance. A con- spiracy was evidently on foot against Cyclops, and Champneys had been put up to work the boy. About Mike's integrity he was not quite so confident ; but he still thought he saw his way. " Now, Mike, you've behaved well, and it's your own fault if your future is not made if you follow my in- structions. Now, listen to me. You must go and meet this man, agree to his terms, get all the money out of him you can before the race, tell me all he says to you, and you shall stand five hundred to nothing on Cyclops with me." "Well, Mr. Perkins, you are a wonder, sir! "broke forth the lad, whose admiration for his master's talent, as a diplomatist, broke down for the moment all his powers of self-restraint ; " of course, I see your game now ; I'm to take his money, and am to win five hundred over the Derby, too ; why my future is made, and no mistake." " Very well, my lad, take up your money, and mind you hold your tongue, and follow my orders. You may now go," said Mr. Perkins, upon which Mike retired, inwardly amazed at the genius of his employer, who could so quickly find a clear way out of such a difficulty. " To think of me or anyone else trying to put the double on him," thought Mike, as he left the house. " I wonder if that little devil is speaking the truth," was the burden of the trainer's reflections at the same instant. We left Nat Price on his way to the place of appoint- ment, which he succeeded in reaching a few minutes before the time fixed, and consequently in advance of Mike, who was a little late. The innkeeper, however, was not the first arrival upon the scene, as Perkins, actuated by a laudable desire to satisfy himself of the lad's honesty, had previously concealed himself inside the stand, the keys of which he had procured from the \ 76 THE CROOKED BILLET. official who had them in charge, in the hopes that he might, unknown to either of them, pick up something of the conversation that passed between the con- spirators. The innkeeper grew impatient as the minutes flew by, and growled to himself about the inconvenience he was put to, as the night was cold and showery. "Ah, here he comes," at length ejaculated Nat, as a shadow seemed to creep out of the ditch, and make its way towards the very spot where he was standing. " Here, boy, this way," he added, in a hoarse whisper ; " cob's the word-, ain't it ? You're infernally late." " Sorry for that, sir ; was kept by the governor ; but it's not you, sir, that's there, is it ? " responded Mike. " No," observed Nat, taking no notice of the Hiber- nianism, " the gentleman who spoke to you about the cob is ill, and asked me to come over instead. It's a nice pony, ain't it ? But come up close to the stand, it'll keep the rain off a bit." Saying which, the pair approached that part of the building which concealed Perkins, and consequently the trainer could hear every word of what passed between them. " Yes, it's a good 'un, and the gentleman ought to have it," was the reply. " What would you make out of the deal, my lad ? I heard that you showed the cob.", " Nothing." "Well, your governor's not over liberal, at all^ events. A smart lad like you should be earning good " money, anyhow ! " This was put in as an inquiry by Nat, and his meaning was fully comprehended by his companion, who answered " I suppose most of us -would like to better ourselves if. we had the chance." " Of course we would, and if that's your idea, lad, 3'ou're bang in luck, for Mr. Champneys has taken a great fancy to you, and I daresay would engage you as groom if you suited. It would be good wages, and no work to speak of." " I'm agreeable if I see my way, and I'm not afraid of work if the money's right." THE. CROOKED BILLET. 71 " That's fair ; would you like to earn a couple of hundred easily ? " put in Nat, who saw an opening. " What do you think, covey ? " replied the boy, with alacrity. " Get out! you're kiddin'." " Not I," answered the tout. " Now, listen. You don't know who I am" (" Don't I, though?" thought Mike ; " you're Nat Price ") " and Mr. Champneys knows nothing of what I am going to say ; but can you hold your tongue if paid to ? " " Try me, governor." "Well, I don't much care if you do split, for it's not my game that's being played. But will you take a couple of hundred to stop Cyclops ? " " Why, Mr. Perkins would kill me if I got spotted at it," answered Mike, quoting the trainer's own words. " He couldn't spot you, boy. All that's wanted of you is to inject a few drops of watery-looking stuff under the horse's skin, half an hour before the race. He's in your charge, and so you'd have no difficulty; there's no hocussing, or damned nonsense of the sort, about us." " Humph, you see, I don't know you, you say, and one can't trade with strangers. How do I know I'd ever get the brass, after the horse was stopped ? " " If you shake hands on the deal, I'll give you fifty now, and another fifty the night before the race, when I bring you the bottle and squirt," responded Price, eagerly ; adding, " I've got the flimsies in my pocket, all ready, if you like to have them." " Yes, and when I've stopped the horse, I guess I'd have to whistle for my hundred. It's bad pay for' the job, too, governor. You'll have to spring a bit, if you want me to work it." " Well, lad, I daresay the gentleman I'm here for will be generous, if you earn the brass, but you can't expect the coin before you earn it." " I expect two hundred of it," grunted Mike, who was quite shrewd enough to see he had the game pretty well in his hands. " Half now, and half when you give me the stuff ; and a letter from a good man I know, to say I'm standing a hundred with him against the horse. That's my price, not a penny less." "You can't have it then, my joker; d'ye think you're the only lad ? " 72 THE CROOKED BILLET. " Not by a many, governor, so you go and try 'em ; only recollect, though, that if you come to me again, my price for the job'll go up a bit. I'm off, good- night." Nat Price didn't half like the turn affairs were taking. In the first place, Mike was sharper, and alto- gether a better hand at a deal than he had anticipated; and secondly, he saw he was compromised, for he fancied the lad's voice was familiar to him. If so, he argued, " it's just as likely as not that the young devil knows me, and will split to Perkins, if he's not squared right off." Therefore he relented. " Now, look here, boy. We don't know each other, do we ? And so you see we've got to trust you, just as you'll have to trust us. It's no good your cutting capers and showing temper, but I don't want to be hard on you, for you seem to know your book. I couldn't give you more than the fifty now, for I haven't got it ; the gents as I work for only gave me that ; but you'll get a hundred when I bring the lotion, and then I'll bring you the promise of a gentleman that he'll stand another after you've done the trick." "Give us the fifty," put in Mike, adding, as he pocketed the notes, " and now we'll shake hands on the deal, Mr. Price. You see I twig you, so you can't round on me, if you wished." " I don't want to, my lad, for you're the right sort," replied the ex-tout, making a virtue of necessity, and returning the boy's grip with great apparent heartiness, though inwardly vexed at the recognition ; " where shall I write you to fix a meeting ?" " Not to Rowley Lodge, Mr. Price, for the governor dcn't stand letters; why, he'd as soon open one as came there for me, as he'd break my bloomin' head when he read what was in it," said the youthful diplomatist. " Send it to Mike Martin, at old Jerry's, the baccy shop ; you know him ; he's straight. But I must cut it, or Mr. Perkins will be on my track if I'm home late. He's hot as mustard, he is ; good night." " Hook it, then, boy ; I'll write the week before the Derby perhaps earlier, if anything should turn up. You might let me know if the horse goes amiss, though," replied Nat ; not that he expected that Mike would be THE CROOKED BILLET. 73 so blind to his own interests, but on the chance that he might so far forget himself; and with mutual "Good nights " the precious couple parted, Mike making the best of his way to Rowley Lodge, the happy possessor of more money than he had ever had in his hands before; and Nat to the "Crooked Billet," whence he despatched a letter to Frank Champneys, assuring him that " good business had been done." Nor was Mr. Perkins less jubilant than either of the conspirators, as the result of his eavesdropping assured him that Mike was running straight for the present, at all events. Nor did there appear to be any probability of his changing over to the enemy, as he was standing a better stake with the stable than with the enemies of the horse. " He's a clever young devil, but an infernal little liar," was the verdict pronounced by his employer upon Cyclops' attendant. " As for Nat Price and his gang, we'll be upsides with them at the finish, if the boy keeps on the square, and I think he'll do that if I keep my eye well on him." CHAPTER IX. MR. TRIMMER'S LITTLE GAME. A VERY few hours after the events recorded in the two last chapters had taken place, Mr. Cornelius Trimmer was to be found ensconced in a first-class railway carriage en route for Champneys. Not that he proposed to proceed direct to the Grange ; he was scarcely upon a sufficiently familiar footing with its owner to justify a self-invited visit, but his friends, the Carwardines, were always delighted to see the little man, and it was to them that he looked for "a day or two in the country," as the telegram announcing his intentions put it. His reception was, as he knew it would be, a very cordial one, for the Carwardines occupied that somewhat invidious position ascribed to those who are half in and half out of county society. The head of the 74 THE CROOKED DILLliT. family was a decent man enough, and no possible objection could be raised against his women folks. He, on his part, subscribed to everything connected with the county for which donations were solicited, whilst his wife and two daughters sons he had none were a stylish-looking trio, devoid of any nonsense, and unassuming to a degree. Still, the neighbourhood in which their lot was cast happened to be an exclusive one, the old families hanging closely together, and rather looking down upon successful City men such as Mr. Carwardine chanced to be. Mr. Trimmer, was therefore, an invaluable ally to " the retired operator in bulls and bears," as Nellie Champneys expressed it, with a profound contempt for the exact nature of Mr. Simon Carwardine' s late avocation, and was heartily welcomed by the ladies of the family on his alighting at the little roadside station, whither they had come to meet him. "We were delighted to get your telegram, Mr. Trimmer ; it's so good of you to come down and dispel our dulness for a few days," quoth the lady of the house as the friends met. " Thank you, Mrs. Carwardine, for letting me feel that my acceptance of your general invitation to spend a short visit at your charming home is not regarded in the light of an intrusion," replied the courteous little man, whose spirits rose within him at hearing in- cidentally, that the Champneys had not yet left for the neighbourhood for their annual month in town. " In fact, Miss Heathcote mentioned to me the other day that it was quite possible the Squire would take all four of the young people to Norway for a trip instead, after the boys came home," replied Miss Irene Carwardine to a cleverly worded inquiry as to the date of their probable departure. The little director of the " Society Spyglass" fully realized that his game, as he was playing it, was not entirely a safe one, at the same time he was so con- vinced of the strength of the hand he held, that he had not hesitated to lead off with trumps. In short, Mr. Trimmer proposed to assume a virtue which his inner .consciousness told him plainly he did not possess, and acquaint the parents of Jack and Nellie with the THE CROOKED BILLET. 75 infamy of the former young person: At the same time the little man did not intend to incriminate himself more deeply than he could help, his sole object being to get the match broken off, and at the same time keep his share in the transaction as great a secret as possible. All this being so, he determined to approach Jack's fafher, and leave the matter to that worthy man, by whom, his knowledge of the world told him, his wishes would be studied, and his plans unwittingly furthered. Mr. Trimmer was therefore highly delighted to see Miss Heathcote driving off from the door of the Rectory just as he was approaching the establishment, by a different route, on the morning following his arrival at the Carwardines'. His knowledge of the family told the visitor that, provided the parson were at home, the interview between them would be uninterrupted, and moreover, that his victim's sister would be ignorant of his presence in the house. His fortune, still in the ascendant, further ordained that he should meet the Rector face to face in the shrubbery, through which a winding path was leading him to the front door. " Why, Mr. Trimmer, glad to see you, but I'd no idea you were in the neighbourhood," remarked the divine, 'cheerfully not that he much cared for his visitor, but because hospitality was inborn in him. " Come in and sit you down. Pretty warm, isn't it. How did you leave London, where are you staying ?" he rattled on. " The heat in town is frightful, and I was glad to accept an invitation from the Carwardines for a day or two, the more so as I was desirous of a few words with you, if you will allow me, Mr. Heathcote," rejoined the little man, somewhat uneasily, as, in spite of his natural audacity, he was not altogether certain of his reception now that the supreme moment had arrived. The Rev. John Heathcote arched his eyebrows with surprise at the substance of this reply, his first idea being that friend Cornelius was desirous of negotiating a loan, the next that an appeal was about to be made on behalf of the Carwardines, for his vote and influence to assist them into society. " I am quite at your service, Mr. Trimmer." The small Cockney before him, by this time, felt 76 THE CROOKED Bit. LET. thoroughly uncomfortable, but there were no means of retreat from the position, so he floundered " The nature of my communication will, I am afraid, be very unpleasant to you, Mr. Heathcote, but still, knowing what I do, I feel that it is my bounden duty to speak plainly. It concerns your son at St. Nicholas." "What, Jack!" exclaimed the parson, for the instant dismayed at the mention of his boy's name, as the thought of the loan flashed across his mind. An instant's reflection, however, allayed his fears, for he consoled himself by the reflection that Jack had been in trouble, and Cornelius was going to try and get an advance for him, unknown to his son. His heart warmed to Trimmer for his kindliness. " You're a kind man, sir," he continued ; " but my boy wrote to me himself, and I sent him the money, so he's clear *by now. Thank you, heartily, all the same." " Oh, I wasn't aware that you knew of the matter ! " replied Cornelius, feeling very much disconcerted at the failure of his scheme. " But," he added, mali- ciously, " I trust your son has finally settled with the girl ? A young fellow like that should employ a solicitor in such cases, to make all sure." " A girl ! did you say, Mr. Trimmer ? " ejaculated the clergyman, aghast. " Oh, Mr. Heathcote, I must apologise, if I have betrayed a secret," replied the little man. " Not that I fancy it's a great secret ; boys will be boys, we all know, and my only object in coming down to speak to you on the matter was that, from what I heard, your son was conducting his own case, and as I fancy the lady is very clever, he will probably be no match for her after all. My respect for your family must be my excuse for interfering." Mr. Trimmer was quite shrewd enough to see that his opening remarks, intended to influence the Rector of Champneys, required some modification, hence the purport of his last sentence. " Pray make no apologies, sir," responded Mr. Heathcote. " I am quite sensible of your good in- tentions, though 1 would have cut off a hand sooner than have had to listen to your revelations. My boy THE CROOKED D.'LI.ET. 77 wrote for money, and I sent him a cheque for ^"200, thinking he had overrun the constable a bit, as young fellows will; but, my God, to think of him being mixed up with a girl ! Are you sure it's true, Mr. Trimmer is it a disgraceful business perhaps the whole thing's been exaggerated ? " he inquired, imploringly. " My dear sir, compose yourself," said Cornelius, almost sorry for the grief of the father in the midst of his triumph over the son; " I fear it's quite true. But that's nothing," he added, consolingly, " boys will be boys ; all I wanted to suggest to you was that, as from what I hear, the young woman is still dissatisfied, and, no doubt, your son is very naturally reluctant to make a clean breast of the affair to you, it might be well if you made inquiries into the business yourself, in order to save more troubles later on. I have heard it mentioned that she is the daughter of a beerhouse- keeper." The old man was pacing up and down his, study as Trimmer concluded his observations, but suddenly stopped in front of his visitor, and inquired of him shortly "You have satisfied yourself of the truth of this abominable scandal, sir ? " " Unfortunately, I have no reason to doubt the accuracy of my statements, Mr. Heathcote, and nothing but a desire to benefit your son, and save you and your family from annoyance, would have induced me to mention it to you. Before retiring, however, I must request you as a personal favour to keep my name out of the business, for, although my conscience tells me that I have acted properly, it is a painful case for one outside your family, and that of Mr. Champneys, to be concerned in." " I quite appreciate your good offices, Mr. Trimmer," replied the Rector, " and your wishes shall be respected in every v/ay. I should like, however, to obtain your permission to give you as my authority to the Squire. Of course, it would be in confidence." " I could not fairly object to your doing so, Mr. Heathcote, and I will now withdraw, trusting that you will rely upon my assistance hereafter, should you desire to do so, although of course I do not wish to 78 THE CROOKED BILLET. come prominently forward in the matter if it can be avoided." Saying which, Mr. Cornelius Trimmer bowed himself out of the room, and proceeded leisurely to the Car- wardines', where he discovered a telegram from his office awaiting him. This, it may be observed, was part of a preconcerted scheme the little man, before he left town, having instructed his sub-editor to dispatch a message recalling him to London in the morning, as he had no desire to prolong his visit to Champneys longer than was essential to the success of his plot. His hostess was inconsolable at the departure of her guest, who, assuring her of his intention, subject to her permission, to pay her another visit very shortly, was soon on his way back to his office, jubilant at the turn matters had taken at the Rectory. It was altogether different in the case of John Heath- cote the elder, who, finding it impossible in his heart to doubt the truth of his informant's story, felt humiliated beyond description by the narrative of Jack's entanglement. " It isn't as if the boy were free," muttered the Rector to himself ; " but he's behaved like a blackguard to my old friend's daughter. I might forgive him for disgracing himself and his family, but, by Heavens ! this is too much." The parson was a man of action, and having shaken off his emotion, at once set out to break the tidings to his life-long friend and patron, who, though more deeply injured than himself, he knew would sympathise with him, and advise him how to act in this matter of great difficulty. "Ah, John, my friend, good-morning!" was the cheery greeting the agitated divine received on his arrival at the Grange. "But what ails you, John?" added the Squire, concernedly ; ".you look all wrong, and out of sorts. All well at home, I hope ?" " Yes, Champneys, thank you, but I'm in sore distress, and so you'll be, too, when you've heard my story." " God bless my soul," jerked out the master of the house ; " I'm grieved to hear that, John, but out with it ; we've seen troubles before now, old man, and have fought 'em down together. What is it, friend ? " THE CROOKED BILLET. V9 " My son's a villain, Champneys, and has disgraced us all ; that's what it is." " Tut, tut, friend John, villain's a big word. What has the boy been up to ? Spending money, I'll be bound, and wants you to pay the piper. Now, look you, John," here the Rector made an ineffectual attempt to stem the torrent of his friend's eloquence " I love that boy, as if he were my own son, and he'll be half that one day, 'when he marries Nellie, so we'll get him out of his bother between us. You write, and blow him up, and I'll send the rascal a cheque. Jack's all right, I'll be bound." Tears of mortification dimmed the worthy parson's eyes, as he replied " Champneys, it's not a matter of money, but of honour. My unhappy son has betrayed us all ; he has got involved in a disgraceful affair with some girl, and the tongue of scandal has already begun to wag. Mr. Trimmer, between ourselves, is my informant," he added, as an afterthought. " Phew, John ! I can't and won't believe it. That garrulous little, mischief-making devil, has discovered a mare's nest. The boy's straight, I know he is, and would never go back on my Nellie. If I thought he were capable of such an action, I think I could shoot him ; but no, friend John, no ; I want something more than the tattle of a thing like Trimmer to make me doubt the boy." " God bless you, Champneys," sobbed his friend, wringing the Squire's hand affectionately, " but I fear it is true. You must know that John wrote to me a few days since for a couple of hundred pounds, and that I sent it him. He has since been paying money to the daughter of a publican, and the affair appears to be pretty well known about Cambridge." " Is all this true, old fellow ? May it not be capable of some explanation ? I confess, John, that things look bad, deucedly bad, but for all our sakes, let's dis- cover the entire truth before we condemn the boy we both love." " You're a noble fellow, Champneys, but something tells me the story is no fiction," mournfully replied Heathcote ; " what course would you suggest ? Your SO THE CROOKED BILLET. head is clearer than mine, and besides that, old friend, the blow will fall heavier upon your house than upon us down at the Rectory" ; and the honest man's eyes again became suffused with tears. " Upon my word, I hardly know what to recommend for the best," replied the Squire; "but I don't think we ought to mention it to Nellie, and make her miserable, besides acting unfairly to Jack, until we hear further particulars." " You are right there, as usual, Champneys," said his friend ; " but how are we to ascertain the facts, without taxing Jack ? He will, of course, insist upon being told our authority, and that we cannot give him without breaking faith with Mr. Trimmer." "Damn Mr. Trimmer!" ejaculated the Squire, heartily. " Yes, yes, Champneys ; I'll go the length of anathe- matizing him myself, if his tale turn out to be un- founded ; but I gave him my word that his name should not come out in the affair, except to you, and so we are bound, so far as that goes." " Why the Devil, if the man's speaking the tr,uth, does he want to hide his name ?" angrily rejoined Mr. Champneys. "Now, look you here, friend, I don't like the fellow ; he may, of course, be right, and if so, though I say it to you, John, your boy is a blackguard, and has behaved like one to my girl. But what busi- ness has Mr. Trimmer to come down and retail his infernal gossip here ? You kicked him downstairs, I hope?" " No, old friend, I didn't. And why seek his motives until we ascertain the truth ? Tell me what to do ; I feel distracted." " Well, John, how would this suit you ?" replied the Squire. " Nellie is very anxious to go up to Cambridge to see the May races. Jack " here the speaker's voice faltered a little " wrote and asked her to persuade us to take the girls up, and she's been full of it ever since. I meant to talk the matter over with you this morning. Suppose we go, and then we might find out something, or anyway, we could tackle Jack." " A?, you will, Champneys ; I'm in your hands." " Candidly, 1 don't see a better plan, though I own CROOKED BILLET. Si that in my heart I hate the idea of seeming to play the detective on Jack ; and what's more, I wouldn't do so if I didn't feel sure that the boy is innocent." " Please God he may prove himself to be so, Champ - neys 1 So we'll consider the trip to Cambridge as being decided upon," said the Rector; " and now I'll go home and have a good think." " Dear old John, I won't ask you to stop now, and besides, I too would like to be alone for a bit, for, though I won't believe Jack's a scoundrel, your story, or rather the story of that little reptile Trimmer, has upset me. Promise, though, that you'll come over after lunch, and stay to dinner." "Yes, Champneys, I will I would add, with pleasure, but that would be impossible under the circumstances," and the parson turned his steps homeward. Those two old men spent a very wretched morning, in spite of the Sqiu'rc's sanguine utterances. CHAPTER X. NAT PRICE PUTS DOWN HIS FOOT. A FEW days after the Rector of Champneys had been visited by Mr. Cornelius Trimmer, Eve Price was sitting alone in her little bedroom, thinking seriously over the difficulties of her position. The excitement caused by her interview with Jack Heathcote at the "Swan" had quite worn off, and the girl was perfectly alive to the fact that something must be done to provide for the future that was in store for her. A sullen recklessness had taken the place of the emo- tion she displayed before Jack, but callous as she was, Eve was not entirely forgetful of her interests. It sur- prised her to think how indifferent she had suddenly become to the possibility of her father discovering her condition, as, before she had seen Heathcote, her chief desire was to escape detection by the tout. Now she was reconciled to the idea of a confession to her parent, F THE CROOKED BILLET. aud only hesitated from making a clean breast of all from the fear that a premature avowal might have the effect of frightening her lover out of the country. Frank Champneys had made no sign, and his pro- longed absence from the " Crooked Billet" had some- what astonished the proprietor of the inn, who was accustomed to a visit from the undergraduate two or three times a week. Nat, however, laboured under the impression that Frank, being temporarily in the pos- session of money, was enjoying himself according to his own lights, and therefore paid no particular attention to his keeping away. In the case of his daughter, however, matters wore a very different aspect. The " Beauty of the Billet " had half expected to receive a letter from Frank subsequently to the visit of his friend, and conse- quently his continued silence, combined with his hold- ing aloof from all communication with her father, had convinced her that if her admirer had to be brought to book, something should at once be done in that direction. The subject of her present meditations was therefore the expediency, or otherwise, of taking her father into her confidence forthwith, and the damsel, on thinking the matter over carefully, had arrived at the conclu- sion that there was a good deal to be said both for and against the proposition. In the first place, she was convinced that her father would be furious when he learned the truth, and, though the prospects of a scene did not concern her greatly, Eve was half afraid that in his rage Price might be guilty of some act of folly which would either lessen her influence over Frank, or render his position so desperate that he would bolt to regions unknown. On the other hand, the girl was absolutely friendless, and in addition to the difficulties she saw before her if she elected to approach the St. Nicholas man single- handed, she realised the possibility of her father dis- covering all whilst negotiations were being carried on with Frank, under which circumstance she felt sure that he would insist upon taking a share in the pro- ceedings, and possibly all that she desired to avoid would then take place, owing to some outbreak on his part. TIIF. CROOKED P.ILLF.T. 83 Eve ultimately arrived at the determination to adopt the former course, and argued to herself that, as she possessed undoubted influence over her father, she would, by paying him the compliment of consulting him on the matter, be able the better to control his passion. She consequently descended from her bed- room after the house was closed for the night, and having found Nat in an exceptionally gracious mood, began her recital without any beating about the bush whatever. " I want to speak seriously to you, dad," said the " Beauty of the Billet," as she took the seat opposite to her parent in his little sanctum behind the bar. The innkeeper was not exactly drunk ; he was simply jovial, and consequently disposed to be humorous. " All right, my dear. What's up. Thinking of getting married ? " he answered facetiously, not having the slightest idea how closely he had approached the subject which his daughter had in her mind. " Perhaps I am, and perhaps not," replied Eve, " but before I answer you, dad, tell me what you think of your girl," and as she spoke the Beaut}' rose from her seat, and kissed her father with more apparent feeling then she had ever before betrayed. The old man seemed quite affected by her caress,, which no doubt acted soothingly upon his already somewhat maudlin condition, and he murmured huskily "My darling, you know I think the world of you, and that the wish of my life is to see you a lady. . I know I'm only a rough sort of fellow, Eve, and not much given to talking soft to any one, but I loved your mother, girl, once upon a time, when you were a little one, and before anything came between us. After a bit we didn't get on quite so well, Eve, but there- she's dead and gone, and I don't want to rake up old scores. You're wonderfully like what she was when I went courting her, lass, but I don't think you're the same temper, thank God, for she went all but there, we'll let that pass." Eve Price did not possess a very tender heart, but for all that she was touched by her father's words, as well as by his generosity towards his erring wife, whose S-f THE CROOKED BILLET. story was partly known to her. Her big, grey eyes were quite full of tears, therefore, as she asked " Suppose, dad, you found me very like her, what would you do ? " The man's whole nature seemed to change within him at the sound of her words, for he was naturally of a suspicious disposition, and thought that he had begun to see what was coming. He therefore replied " I'm not good at answering questions of that sort, my girl, and I tell you plainly that I think you've got some- thing to say that takes a lot of bringing out. If I'm right, let's have it ; I'm not a fool, to be humbugged about by you or any other woman." , The tone in which the ex-tout expressed himself was decidedly aggressive ; it consequently had the immediate effect of dispelling all tender emotions from his mind. The girl was at once her old calm, calculating self again, and she icily rejoined " It is no [use you and I coming to words, father. I know the reason for which you sent me to a good school, and I can assure you that our views for my future are iden- tical. I know also that, however much you may disagree with anything I have done, or any mistakes I may have made, you will have the good sense to keep your indig- nation to yourself, if you still see any chance of our object being secured, and therefore of your getting your wish, though perhaps not exactly in the manner you desired." This was diplomatic of Eve, who knew her father's temper, and so was pretty certain that though he would never forgive her in his heart, he would for the sake of obtaining his end give her the best assistance in his power, when his rage had once blown itself out. For her own part, all she cared for was to get out of her difficulty with as little inconvenience as possible. At one time certainly she had loved Champneys as far as it was in her nature to care for any man ; but now that he had attempted to throw her off, her great object was to make him smart for his treatment of her. Nat Price heard her out patiently, a dim fore- boding of some approaching trouble having taken full possession of his brain. "Damn it, girl, what's up, ! ask you ? It'll be time THE CROOKED BILLET. 8j for me to make -up my mind when I know what ails you." " Well, dad, you're right, so here's the truth. Mr. Frank Champneys " at the name the innkeeper started " asked me to marry him long ago, and now I'm in trouble he's shuffling, and, and " "What!" roared Nat Price, springing to his feet. " You young she-devil ! to come to my house, and disgrace yourself after me doing all I have for you, you slut, you f And as for him," he gasped out, " by Heaven! I'll kill him, I will, by G ! " and in the excess of his emotion, the ex tout fell flat on his face in a fit. Eve set herself to work, very deliberately, to loosen his collar and necktie, and moisten his forehead with some water which she fetched from the bar. Her father, when in liquor, had before now experienced similar attacks, and therefore she was accustomed to seeing him in his present condition ; besides, she was glad in her heart that an opportunity had been afforded her for thinking over the state of affairs. Naturally enough, the girl was incensed at the tone of Nat's observations and the expressions he had made use of towards her whilst he had been speaking. Eve, in fact, had made up her mind to hear him out, and then to walk ooit of the house and leave him to his own t devices ; but the moment's reflection she had gained convinced her that she had better wait until he regained consciousness, and then hear if he had anything to add to his former remarks. The girl therefore made him as comfortable as she could by placing a cushion from the sofa under his head, and sat down calmly to await what destiny had in store for her. After some time, Nat Price began to show signs of becoming himself again, and he eventually raised himself upon one elbow, and took a long look at Eve, who returned his gaze steadily. " So I didn't get drunk, and dream it," grunted the owner of the establishment from his position on the floor. " I shouldn't like to answer for your being sober, father, but we certainly had some words before you were taken ill," returned his daughter icily. Nat Price snorted angrily, for though conscious, he well knew that his brain, what with the drink he had consumed and the fit that had followed it, was not as 86 THE CROOKED HIT T.F.T. clear as it might have been. At the same time he fully remembered Eve's story, though feeling that he, in his present state, was no match for her he wisely refrained from entering upon a new course of reproaches. " Give us a hand up, lass, and fetch a drop of soda with a dash of brandy, and \ve'll have a talk," he said, meekly. Nat was, in fact, in just the condition that Eve desired, and she therefore carried out his instructions with alacrity, in the meantime inwardly blessing the fit, that had so opportunely taken possession of her parent. Nat emptied his glass at a gulp, and for some minutes sat quite silerft, being apparently engaged in collecting his thoughts, and reviewing the situation. " Well, Eve, what have you got to say to it all ?" he at length observed. "Nothing," shortly replied the girl, who was still smarting under the recollection of the epithets he had applied to her. " Couldn't say less if you tried," was the answer; " but just let's hear straight if 3*011 want to have a row with me, or if I'm to try and help you." " Judging from your remarks just now, I should think you could answer the first half of the question better than I can ; as for the other part of it, of course I want someone to advise me." Nat was a little bit afraid of his handsome daughter, and besides that, he had begun to see that a scene would not mend matters in the least, so he said, quietly "Well, lass, I was wild at hearing what )'ou had to say, and how I'd been fooled by you, but you're my own flesh and blood, and I'm bound to stick by you, so come and give me a kiss, and we'll have a talk." " I should think you could manage to exist without my kisses, father; and if you couldn't, still I'd sooner keep them to myself," replied the angry girl ; " and look here had we not better stop this nonsense of talking about flesh and blood, and all that, and come to busi- ness "That's just what I said, Eve," responded the ex- tout. "Excuse me for not having made my meaning sufficiently clear. I now know that in your heart you THE CKOOKKU BILLET. 8? nrv( r could have cared for me ; your language just ROAV told me that. This I don't blame you for, as I never made any professions of affection for anybody myself, except in one instance, which we now regret. Now, hear me out," proceeded the " Beauty of the Billet " ; " you intended me to marry a gentleman, and you can have your wish if you help me to play the cards properly." " Go on," grunted Nat. " Of course your experience is greater than mine, but even I can see that if we work him right, Mr. Champneys is bound to marry me. I hate the man, but I hate the idea of what may happen to me hereafter if I let him slip through my fingers now. Besides, he's called a gentleman, and when his father dies will have money, so I may be a lady yet." " And would you, with your infernal pride and temper, marry a man you hated just to become a lady, Eve ? " said the astonished tout. "I'd sooner have believed you'd have gone out and shot him." " Bah, father, don't be idiotic ! " replied his daughter. "I'm no better than a lady now, and don't many of them marry men they hate, or at least, don't care for, to get a name and money ? Besides, I'd give one of my hands for the opportunity of making that coward repent the day he tried to throw me off. I'm calm enough in all conscience, and I've had one or two good thinks over the matter, so don't you imagine I'd shrink from the sacrifice, though sacrifice it would be." Nat's face darkened, for whilst he was glad to know that Eve's temper would not be a bar to the marriage if it could only be arranged somehow, he could not help regretting that all the struggles and schemes of the last ten years were being so inadequately rewarded. The man was not a good one, but in spite of the fact that his future son-in-law was a gentleman and would have money one day, the ex tout hated him for his shabby conduct towards the girl by his side. "Well, Eve, we'll sleep on it. Good-night, lass." The pair then separated, not to sleep, but rather to concoct a scheme for the entanglement of Mr. Frank Champneys, undergraduate of St. Nicholas College, Cambridge. 88 THE CROOKED BILLET. On the following morning, Nat Price and his daughter -were closeted for some considerable time in the little room behind the bar, the result of which prolonged con- fabulation was that after he had hastily despatched a very early luncheon, the innkeeper set off in his pony trap to Cambridge, in quest of the young man who had dared to injure his daughter. Having failed to find Frank at his rooms, Nat betook himself to the college stables with no better result, though he learned at the latter place that Mr. Champneys was likely to be heard of in the billiard-room of the Hoop Hotel. Thither Nat re- paired, but only to find that his bird had flown, so he retraced his steps to St. Nicholas, at whose gates he encountered the object of his search. The two men greeted each other with evident uneasiness, one feeling that he had been grievously wronged, the other ignorant of how much his visitor knew, and consequently dis- concerted at his appearance. "What, Price! What brings you over? Good morning to you," was the St. Nicholas man's remai'k as the ex tout's dapper figure approached within hail. " Good morning, Mr. Champne3 7 s. Can I speak to you privately for ten minutes ? " was the greeting he received. Frank did not half-like Nat's style of speaking, but there was no alternative left him but to invite his unwelcome guest to walk up into his rooms. Having arrived at his host's quarters, Nat quietly sported the oak, and having thus insured absolute privacy, entered the room in which Champneys was already seated with- out any further delay. " You infernal scoundrel !" he observed quite calmly, after a short interval of silence. "What the devil do you me? n, you ?" shouted Frank, springing to his feet, and advancing towards him with a threatening gesture. " Now, just you stop that rubbish, Mr. Frank Champneys, Esquire," interrupted Price offensively. "You tried the injured innocence lay with me once before, and it didn't go down ; don't waste it again. You know what 1 mean. You're a damned scoundrel ! " " I'll pitch you out of the window, you blackguard, if you are not careful ! " almost shrieked Frank, well- THE CROOKED BILLET. % nigh beside himself with rage and fear, for the inn- keeper's manner was unmistakably hostile in spite of his outward calmness. " I don't think you could if you tried, and I'm quite certain you wouldn't try if you could," said Nat, very coolly, adding after a pause, " do you mean to say you're not what I said just now ?" " I repeat, what do you mean?" ansAvered the under- graduate, more civilly. " You know well enough, you coward," replied his guest ; " but in case you've forgotten, I'll tell you why first, and ask you a question afterwards. You've ruined my girl, that's what you've done ; and what are you going rt eageriy watched the young man as he spraBig at his visitor. M Yov youndrH ! " he shouted, in his fnry. " By Heareas, I*H pitch ^'oo out of the window, you miamous wretch ! " and seizing Xat, lie would in all probabihty hare carried his threat into execution, had his seniors " Be jtnet , Jade, and listen to what the man says," cried hts father, as Price was released from die grasp 01 the young tmn, ** Blow, I ade we, erortrmrn," said the imperturbable Hat, ** if ifs fan- of Mr. Heathcote to fly at an old man like me Hke that ? Not that I haven't the means of bringing him to book, and not that I won't do it too/' M What is your charge, sir ?" inmiired the Squire, gravely. "My charge? whv, that he's ruined my girl, the scoundrel," here the accuser and accused glared ovageiy at each other "and then deserts her enti: because she'd enough spirit to refuse come dirty money :--': Jack sudden)? thought that he saw light, and pat in all a nmtak^ it >s, I swear. I'm not the man THE 115 who injured your daughter, though 1 know him well, and I certainly went over on his account to try and arrange matters between them. My friend promised to be here soon, and explain matters to these gentlemen, one of whom is my father.' Upon my word, you're entirely wrong," lie repeated emphatically. '* Now, look you here, my young spark," answered Nat, " I don't believe your yarn, and I don't like being messed about as if I was a fool. 1 know that what's done can't be helped, and if you'd acted like a man I'd have tried to meet you friendly, but as you're try- ing to make my girl out a liar, suppose we have her up ? She's over there waiting," pointing as he spoke to the other side of the street, Neither of the party volunteered a reply, as the two old men appeared to be lost in thought, and Jack him- self had lost the power of speech through absolute amazement. Nat Price walked to the window, and beckoned to Eve, who was shortly standing beibre them look- ing straight in front ol her, and apparently indif- ferent to the existence of Jack, who half rose as she entered. " I say my lass," commenced the innkeeper, '* I want to ask you beibre these gentlemen if you know that young man ?" " 1 do," was the response. *' And you know his name ? " Yes ; John Hcathcote, son of the Rector of Champ- neys, in Berkshire." Hid you ever have words with him ? " "Yes; we had words one night at the 'Swan/ at Bottisham, when he offered me two hundred What for?" Eve's grey eyes glanced at Jack, \\l\o hung upon her \\oids, but "she lowered them to the eaipei as :>lu u plied, after a pause "To provide for the baby I'm expecting, and to make me eomtoi table tot the time. ' Had \ou met him otten brt. " Yes."" alter a p.uisr ; " I " 1 should like to immiie, ' said the Smite. nC THE" CROOKED BILLET. last hope, " whether you have any claims upon this gentleman ? " Eve's eyes were still fixed upon the carpet, as she answered him deliberately word by word. " As the father of my unborn baby, I have." " Liar ! " screamed Jack, springing from his seat. " False, designing wretch, who, to shield your guilty lover, would accuse an innocent man, and wreck his life ! You have been put up to this ; confess it, as you hope for Heaven ! For God's sake, do not ruin one who has never harmed you ! " he added, imploringly, almost kneeling at her feet. "I do not wish to harm you, I swear I do not," answered Eve, with some emotion, " but I can assure you I was not put up to coming here by anyone. It was my own idea entirely, and the only one, I saw, by means of which I could get my rights." " Father," said Jack, drawing himself up to his full height, " and you, too, Mr. Champneys, who have always been a second father to me I stand here the victim of as abominable a conspiracy as was ever devised against an innocent man. I have been the tool I see it now of a false friend, in whom I trusted, and who has repaid my loyalty to him by laying the charge which he should bear upon my shoulders." "Tell us his name," said the Squire, sternly, for the Rector was beside himself with grief. " That I can never do, until I receive his permission, or his death releases me from my pledge. I passed my word of honour voluntarily, that I would keep his secret, and though disgrace stares me in the face, I cannot break my promise." " Then your blood must rest upon your own head," replied the Rector; "but perhaps this lady and gentle- man will now retire, in order that we may bring this excessively painful interview to a close ?" Nat and Eve took their departure in silence, and Mr. Heathcote proceeded " Up to the present, I have permitted Mr. Champ- neys to speak on my behalf, but now out of respect to his feelings, and from a desire to spare you richly though you deserve them the reproaches which he would THE CROOKED BILLET. II J most justly level at you, I shall act entirely upon my own responsibility. You will leave Cambridge by the earliest possible train, and seek a lodging in town. To-morrow you will communicate your address to my solicitors, and they will, at some future date, inform you of the plans I have formed for your future. Should you require money for your immediate neces- sities, here are twenty pounds," placing some notes on the table as he spoke, " and if you have any liabilities, and will furnish Dales with a list of them, they shall at once be paid. In the meantime, I must insist upon your not attempting to hold any communication what- soever with the members of your own or Mr. Champ- neys* family." Having thus passed sentence upon Jack, who received it with a look of silent reproach, Mr. Heath- cote linked his arm within that of his friend, and left the room without uttering another word. The good old Squire's eyes were full of tears as the door closed behind them, but he never spoke, though he squeezed his companion's hand, as they descended the staircase slowly. On passing out into the street, they encountered Frank, hastening into College. "Why, what's the matter?" exclaimed the youth, excitedly, as he came up to them ; " there's nothing gone wrong no accident, I hope ?" " No, Frank, no accident," replied the Rector, gravely; " but we wish you to accompany us to the ' Bull ' ; " and the trio made their way along the King's Parade in silence, the old man wondering how they should break the news to the others of their party, and Frank Champneys inwardly rejoicing at the success of his nefarious scheme. CHAPTER XIV. NELLIE REMAINS LOYAL. IT was a lovely summer's evening upon the river at Chumpneys, and Nellie and Maud were enjoying the IlS THK CROOKED BILLET. fragrant air from the bottom of a capacious punt, which the latter young lady managed very cleverly, and in which they were in the habit of going upon the water alone. Of late, however, their daily outings could scarcely have been regarded as very jovial foregather- ings, for the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts of each was by tacit consent avoided by them. The girls on this particular evening had reached a favourite and retired backwater, and Maud had taken the opportunity of fastening the head of her punt to the over-hanging branch of a willow tree, and set herself to work collecting water-lilies, which abounded in the locality. Nellie, a little paler than when we saw her last, lay in the stern, and watched her in silence for a time ; at last she broke silence. " Maudie, dear, I wonder what Jack is doing ?" Her friend discontinued plucking the lilies, and sadly answered her " I often think that myself, Nell poor Jack!" and her eyes filled with tears as she sighed. Nellie rose, and throwing herself into her friend's arms, immediately gave way to a paroxysm of grief, which was the more affecting on account of its being totally unexpected. Up to this minute the girl had con- ducted herself in a fashion that had been inexplicable to those who knew her nature. She had received from her father such information as he considered necessary to support him in his imperative command that she was to hold no further communication with her lover, who had become entangled in a disgraceful affair with some common woman, she was told. The Squire had expected a scene, but his fears were groundless, as Nellie simply bowed her head when he concluded his remarks, and left the room without uttering a sound. " My brave little girl," moaned the old man to him- self, as the door closed upon her scared, white little face, " I knew she loved that scoundrel, God bless her ! How the iron has entered into her soul ! I'll take her abroad for a year." But Nellie absolutely refused to leave home, even for a trip to the seaside. " Why should we go away from Champncys when it's at its best, and the peaches are getting ripe ? You THE CROOKED BILLET. 119 know how I dote on peaches, papa, and yet you want to take me away. It's very cruel of you, and I shall not go there." " You're a very self-willed little girl, my darling," said the Squire, kissing her fondly, for he knew what was in her heart, and muttering something unintelligible about a colt, he hastily retired to his study, and shut himself in. One day he got Maud Heathcote on one side, and asked her tenderly " Does she ever speak of him ? " " No, never, Mr. Champneys. A day or two after we got home I began the subject, but the imploring look she gave me took the words out of my mouth, and I have never alluded to it again. Have you heard any- thing of him, dear Mr. Champneys?" she added pleadingly; "I dare not ask papa, he's so incensed against him." " Not one word, my child ; but when I do, and I'm sure I shall, I promise you shall know it all," said the Squire, speaking as if he too had a big lump in his throat. Maud Heathcote was therefore very naturally sur- prised at Nellie's sudden outburst ; but she possessed sufficient good sense to endeavour to compose the sobbing girl. " Have patience, my darling oh, have patience; it may all come right yet." Nellie indignantly drew herself away from Maud's embrace, and looked at her through her tears. " May come right," she almost hissed out "may, indeed ! Do you mean to say that you, his sister, entertain the slightest doubt concerning my darling's innocence ? " Her companion felt rather awkward for the moment, as for a matter of fact she entertained no doubts at all upon the matter, for she was quite certain from her father's treatment of Jack, that the latter had incrimi- nated himself. "Do you know, Nellie," she replied, fondly kissing her friend, " that your words have given me hope yes, hope, dear ? " she added, for she felt it. " Oh, Maudie, if you only knew what a comfort it has 42O THE CROOKED BILLET. been to me to mention my darling to somebody! Only this morning I made up my mind that I would never breathe his name again, and I've been so miserable all day. Yes, I will talk about him ! Jack Jack ! There, you see, I have mentioned his name, and I feel happier too," she ran on : " How could you ever think him guilty of any dishonourable action ! and towards me, of all people ? " " I don't know, I'm sure, my dear ; but it was very wicked of me to judge my brother, Nellie." " It was wicked of you, and I almost hate you for it, and it's very wicked of papa and Mr. Heathcote to do so. If he has injured anyone, it is me, and I don't blame him, or say he has done so." " Nellie, you're an angel," said her delighted friend. " No, Maudie," replied her companion, very seriously, " I'm not an angel ; but a few weeks ago I was a silly girl, whereas I'm a woman now. When papa began to speak to me that dreadful evening at the ' Bull,' I at first thought his words would kill me." After a little gasp the girl went on : " As he proceeded, the thought came into my mind, ' They are judging Jack, and have made up their minds that he has done something very dreadful ; ' but I shall not believe the story, and I have not believed it, Maudie, and I won't believe it, until my darling comes to me himself, and tells me from his own lips that he has wronged me, and then " " Then what, Nellie ? " " Then I shall go on loving him all the same, for I cannot live without my darling." Miss Heathcote clasped her in her arms, and the two girls wept tears of gladness upon each other's breasts, rejoicing in their hearts that the barrier between them had been broken down, and determined on either side that the wanderer was innocent of the charge laid at his door. " Oh, Nellie, if you'd only spoken to me before, I don't think I could have ever doubted Jack, for I cannot believe such love as yours could possibly be slighted by any man." " And yet you thought Jack, my Jack, could be quite easily dismissed from my thoughts, you wicked thing," laughed Nellie, and her companion noticed the old THE CROOKED BILLET. 121 familiar look once more upon her face for the first time since they had returned from Cambridge. Both families from that time noticed the improve- ment in Miss Champneys' spirits, and great was the satisfaction caused by the discovery, for nobody save Maud was in her confidence, and consequently a totally erroneous cause was attached to the change. The girls discussed the absent one every hour of the day, and speculated as to what he was about. That he was in London they knew, as the Squire had con- fided the fact to Maud, and fortunately ' forgot to inquire of her in return whether Nellie had begun to talk about her lover or her troubles. The information that was available was, however, of a very meagre character, for neither Jack's father nor his lawyer knew much about his movements. He had refused to leave the country, and had declined the offers of pecuniary assistance which had been made him ; in fact, the twenty pounds that his father had given him upon the occasion of their parting had been found untouched upon his table by his astonished gyp, Fletcher, when he came to see if his master required anything before retiring to rest. Jack, in fact, had taken very little with him. His favourite pictures, including that of Nellie Champneys, were missing from the walls after he had departed, and one solitary portmanteau contained all the wearing apparel he had selected. Mr. Dale had seen him but once, and had undertaken the custody of a flat deal box, which Tack evidently prized highly. Beyond that, nothing had been heard of him for six weeks, though he had told Mr. Dale he did not intend to leave London if he could help it, and promised to inform him if he proposed doing so. His conduct was regarded by the Rector as a proof of his guilt, and the worthy man never ceased deploring the mischief that his only son had brought about. Mr. Champneys said nothing, but his heart still contained a warm corner for Jack, and he kept on hoping against hope that some fine morning the truth would out, and the lad's character would be cleared of all asper- sions. One evening, the Champneys were surprised by the 122 THE CROOKED BILLET. unexpected appearance of Mr. Cornelius Trimmer, who had come down to spend a flying visit at the Carwardines', and seized the opportunity for renewing his acquaintance with the Squire and his family. They had seen a good deal of the little man, in spite of Nellie's antipathy towards him, during their sojourn in Cambridge, and his behaviour at the time of Jack's disgrace had been simply perfect. Nevertheless, Mr. Champneys was not impressed by the sincerity of Mr. Trimmer, whom he cordially detested as a mischief- making prig, arid a man to be avoided. The Squire was consequently much surprised to notice the affability with which his daughter received the director of the " Society Spyglass." Not content with inviting him over to assist her in selecting the most appropriate works upon the river for a series of sketches she was about to make, Nellie suddenly became enthusiastic upon the subject of his friends, the Carwardines, whom, she said, she should much like to know better. " What the deuce does it all mean ? " said the Squire to himself, " my little girl is either becoming a pronounced coquette, or else that little prig has im- pressed her by his inanities. No, it can't be that," he added, " she'd not so soon forget Jack. Poor Jack ! I'd like to know what that boy is up to, blackguardly though he behaved to us all." Mr. Trimmer's visit to the neighbourhood was drawing to a close, and even Maud Heathcote was becoming anxious about Nellie, who saw a great deal of the little Cockney, and encouraged him to the house. It was the last evening of his stay at the Carwar- dines, and Cornelius had been over to the Grange Rectory to bid their inmates adieu, before returning to his labours in town. The two girls were strolling in a retired part of the grounds, belonging to the former residence, when Nellie suddenly commenced " Maudie, dear, have I been very wicked, do you think ? " Her companion did not pretend to misunderstand her allusion, and replied, gravely " You are the best judge of that, at present, Nell. I can't profess to know your mind." THE CROOKED BILLET. 123 Nellie burst out sobbing. " I've been doing penance the last few days, Maudie. Oh, that horrid little man ! Thank Heaven, he's gone, for I'm sure I couldn't have kept it up much longer." Maud, greatly perplexed, responded " Nellie, darling, what do you mean ? Surely there isn't " The girl stopped her instantly. " How dare you, Maud, you cruel, wicked thing ? " then . relapsing into tears, " Mr. Trimmer has promised me to find out Jack and to be good to him " and with a sudden dash at the words, " I have sent my darling a little note by him just a little one," she sobbed out, apologetically. " Dear, darling Nellie, what a naughty little self- willed thing you are, and how angry they would be if they found it out," whispered Maud, putting her arm round the slender waist. " I don't care I know it's very, very wicked of me what they think, if it cheers up Jack, my Jack," pouted Nellie defiantly. " Well, darling," replied the wiser girl, " dry up your eyes and let us go indoors. We'll go out on the river, to-morrow, if it's fine, and have a long talk over all our troubles." Whilst Nellie was detailing her little intrigue to her confidante, Mr. Trimmer was preparing for his journey on the succeeding day, not that he had much in the way of packing to do, but that he was anxious to be alone, and made out that he had an excuse for retiring early to his chamber. " That girl is still fond of the fellow," he mused, as he sat in the window-seat of his room, gazing out in the still night; "but I must play my cards, and will win the rubber if I do so carefully. By Jove, here's her letter to her lover." He turned it over in his hand. "Poor little innocent," he proceeded; "to think I don't read your thoughts ! You would use me as a tool, to bring you together again. Thank you for the compliment, my dear ; but my name's not Trimmer if you succeed in your pious desire. I'll dig the 'man out, though, if I can, and when I become admitted to 124 T " E CROOKED BILLET. the confidences of both, it will be very hard if I don't turn them to my advantage." Then Mr. Trimmer prepared for bed. CHAPTER XV. CYCLOPS* DERBY. MEANWHILE the past few weeks had formed a most eventful epoch in the career of Frank Champneys. The young man, upon the disgrace of Jack, had been fortu- nate enough to arrive at a better understanding with the Squire, who was delighted at his getting his degree, and gave him a handsome sum before leaving Cam- bridge for Champneys. The money thus received was the means of keeping Frank afloat at a critical moment, as it enabled him to pay off all his smaller liabilities, and left a balance that was amply sufficient for his support until the Derby, when, he quite satisfied himself, that he was certain of gain- ing a good stake, as he had lost no opportunity of laying against Cyclops. He had been favoured by circum- stances in this respect, as in addition to most of his friends being anxious to back the horse, Nat Price introduced him to many of his clients, who were similarly disposed, and who took advantage of Frank's having opened a book on the Derby. The relations between Frank, his wife, and his respected father-in-law had so far improved, that whilst Eve tolerated his presence when he visited the " Crooked Billet," Nat Price, having him safely in his clutches, was disposed to be friendly. It was, more- over, agreed between them that all discussion on money matters should be left over until after Epsom ; and the two men devoted the short interval before them to getting as much money out of the horse as was possible. Nat Price had written to Mike at the address agreed upon between them, and had arranged an interview for the Sunday before the Derby. THE CROOKED BILLET. 125 ^ It was the evening of the day in question, and Frank Champneys and his father-in-law were closeted in a private sitting room at the Hoop Hotel in Cambridge. They had finished their dinner, and were discussing the events of the day, and the prospects of the coming week. " It's right, I tell you," remarked the innkeeper. " I saw the lad to-day, and gave him the stuff and the money. The young rascal took them, and the letter I brought him, saying he should have another hundred after the race if it comes off as we wish." " You were ass enough to give him a letter, eh ? " growled Frank. " Yes, a beautiful letter, but a fake all the same." " You're a still greater ass if you go larking with people's names." "Lord bless you, I'm no forger" Frank winced " it's only a sham name and address, and I didn't write it. Not quite such a fool as that," responded Nat, indignantly. " Well, it's done, anyhow ; so we'll look ahead ; is the boy straight ? " " If I know anything of the world, and I think I do, the horse is as dead as a stone. And I'll tell you why. The lad is wonderfully keen on earning the money that's promised him ; and besides, I let him know that if this conies off, and he cares for the work, he can sell us lots of information about Perkins's horses." " What's done can't be helped, and we must push on now," rejoined Frank. " I shall go down to-morrow, as you know, so we had better see how we stand over this cursed race, and arrange where to meet at Epsom." At that very moment Mike was being ushered into the presence of his master, Mr. Perkins, at Rowley Lodge. " I've seen him, sir, safe enough, and he's given me the money and these," quoth the virtuous Mike, pro- ducing a package and Nat's letter. The trainer hurriedly ran his eye over the latter, and observing, "This won't do you any good, lad;" he placed it in a drawer ; " whilst as for this stuff," 126 THE CROOKED IUU.F.T. glancing at the packet, " you just leave it there, I'll tell you what to do with it later on." Mike retired promptly, and Mr. Perkins carefully opened the little parcel and inspected its contents. "So they wanted the lad to work the oracle this way, did they ? " he muttered to himself. " It's a clever dodge, and if it had come off, why, bless my soul, what a hole we all should have found ourselves in ! Confound these scientific coves ! Who'd ever have thought it would have come to injecting morphia, or some other drug, under a horse's skin ! " Three days later, and Cyclops was holding a levee under the shade of the historic hawthorn bush in the paddock at Epsom. Mr. Perkins had never left the horse from the time he had entered the enclosure, and kept his eye on Mike, as if suspicious of that individual's honesty. The lad had been thoroughly coached in the part he was to play, and whilst Cyclops was being saddled in one of the stalls at the lower end of the paddock, Nat Price, who was standing by in company with Frank Champneys and one or two others, was delighted to notice the favourite give a sudden start, as though a gnat had stung him. Mike at the self-same instant had one of his hands underneath the sheet that was thrown over the horse's quarters, and exchanged signi- ficant glances at the innkeeper as their eyes met a minute afterwards. Perkins seemed to be annoyed at the idea of Cyclops becoming fidgetty, and sharply bade Mike bring him out of the stable and walk him round. The horse looked grand, and would have been an even money chance, had not certain bookmakers, who were usually well informed, kept on offering odds against him. Naturally enough, the other ring men followed suit, and " seven to four the field " was an offer all over the course as the flag fell to an excellent start, in which Cyclops got off as well as anything in the race. Frank Champneys and his father-in-law had some- how contrived to find excellent places on the top of the Grand Stand ; and their faces as the field came along through the furze, with the favourite going like great guns, were studies for a painter. THE CROOKED BILLET. 13! son, emphatically, for in his heart he, blackguard as he was, was fond of his parent. " I believe yon do, my boy, but everybody has to go some day. I was about to say, though, that I shall pay the rent of your chambers, and, to begin with, shall make you an allowance of ,"1,000 a year, which ought to keep you like a gentleman, and prevent your running into debt. You know that you will have your mother's money, some ^"40,000, upon my death, in addition to the estate, but in event of your dying before me, all will go to Nellie." " Oh, don't let us discuss such a topic now, sir. Please God, it will be man)-, many years before that becomes necessary. Thank you, very much, for your generosity," and the pair shook hands cordially. That evening, Frank returned to town, and a couple of days later, the Squire received from his solicitors the acceptance, which had done so much to alienate his sympathies from the unfortunate Jack Heathcote. CHAPTER XVI. JACK HEATHCOTE IN LONDON. MEANWHILE Jack Heathcote was faring somewhat indifferently in London, though entirely ignorant of this new act of treachery on the part of his quondam friend. When the two old gentlemen left him in his rooms at St. Nicholas on that fatal afternoon, the unfortunate and persecuted youth sat for some time thinking what on earth he should do next. He was thunderstruckat first at the perfidy of Frank Champneys, to whom he gave all the credit of educating Eve and Nat Price in their plausible tale. His first thought was to follow his father and the senior to the " Bull," and there to denounce Frank and his co-conspirators ; but in addi- tion to feeling an aversion to breaking his word even to such a scoundrel as Champneys, a moment's reflection 132 THE CROOKED BILLET. showed him that in the face of Eve's statement and Frank's denial, his story would be very unlikely to gain credence. He felt indignant, too, with the Rector for so readily believing the accusations brought against him, and therefore made up his mind to make his way to London with as little delay as possible. His preparations did not take long, and in an hour's time, after arriving at this determination, Jack was hurrying away from the scene of his disgrace. Upon arriving at King's Cross, Jack was at first a little perplexed how to proceed, but he eventually decided to remain at the Station Hotel for the night, and to peek for lodgings in the morning. This idea he pro- ceeded to carry into execution, and by the midday following had so far succeeded in his purpose as to find himself located in a decently clean and apparently very respectable house, kept by a mouldy-looking widow, in Great Ormond Street. Mrs. Cumberpatch, for such was the name of the lady whose establishment had become honoured by the patronage of Jack Heathcote, was the struggling parent of a youthful brood, whose never-ending requirements were slowly but surely wearing out their unfortunate mamma. When her apartments remained vacant for any lengthened period, the widow well-nigh became dis- traught from apprehension, and she consequently wel- comed her new lodger with enthusiasm. Jack's appearance had prepossessed the dame in his favour ; not that the poor woman would have refused any solvent- looking lodger, however forbidding he might have been, and the good impressions she had already formed of him were heightened when they renewed their acquaint- ance. " I hope, if I am comfortable, and can afford to do so, to remain some time with you, Mrs. Cumberpatch," said Jack, on the evening of his arrival, " and therefore I should like to hang up a few pictures and things to make the place look more like home," and he sighed a little at the word. " Do whatever you like, Mr. Hartley," Jack had adopted this name for reasons of his own "we shall make you comfortable, I know, and as for being able to afford it, why, I'm sure my terms are reasonable, sir." THE CROOKED BlLLET t 133 "Yes, I know they arc reasonable, Mrs. Cumber- patch, but I've come to London to seek my fortune, and employment may not be easily obtained," replied her lodger, " but we'll hope for the best, so I'll set to work and make myself as snug as possible. Good evening." " Poor young gentleman, for he is a gentleman I can see," thought Mrs. Cumberpatch, as she descended to the lower regions ; " he's got a struggle before him. I wonder who he is? he seems to have had some trouble." Next morning Jack sent for a carpenter, and had a strong case made to enclose Nellie Champneys' picture, which, under the present circumstances, he did not feel justified in hanging up in his sitting-room, and the sight of which made him feel wretched., for he believed that she too had thrown him off. He therefore took the box with him to Mr. Dale, and begged that gentleman to keep it safely for him, as he prized the contents, the nature of which he did not divulge to the lawyer when he took charge of the parcel, upon the understanding that it was to be given up to no one but himself. Mr. Dale was most kind in his manner towards Jack, and pressed him to confide in him at any time, but the youth, whilst thanking him for his offers of assistance, declined all aid, and went his way without enlighten- ing the friendly solicitor as to his address or present intentions. Jack Heathcote, in fact, would have found a very considerable difficulty in enlightening anybody as to his intentions. He, of course, had some hazy idea before him of making enough to live upon, but when he set himself down to think, upon the evening that succeeded his interview with Mr. Dale, he quickly arrived at the conclusion that the future did not present any features of attraction so far as he was con- cerned. Jack's worldly riches only amounted to a few pounds, the balance of the allowance which his father had allowed him for his College expenses, and he therefore fully recognised that an immediate effort to obtain employment was an absolute necessity. Still, situated as he was, without friends, and consequently without interest, it is scarcely a matter for surprise that his spirits began to sink within him. 134 TIIE CROOKED BILLET. Jack Heathcote, however, was not the sort of man to be cast down by difficulties, and before he retired to rest for the night had conceived a scheme, which he proceeded to carry into execution in the morning. Noon found him seated in the chambers of an old St. Nicholas' man, Mr. Turner, barrister-at-law, of Hare Court, Temple, and of the South-Eastern Circuit, who was listening sympathetically to his story. Turner had left the University some little time before Heathcote w r ent up, but the two had become acquainted owing to the attention that the former still paid to the welfare of his old College Boat Club, and the acquaint- ance had developed, by degrees, into a warm friend- ship between the two men. The barrister was doing well in his profession, his swift advance being due to his talents and the remarkable rapidity with which he collected the tangled threads of a complicated case. His powers of perception told him, at a glance, that Jack was speaking the truth, and doubtless his ready acceptance of the statements laid before him was increased by the aversion he felt towards Frank Champneys, whom he had always regarded as a worth- less member of society, and a disagreeable man to boot. " My dear fellow," said Mr. Turner, when Heathcote had concluded his narrrative of facts, " I'm devilish sorry for you, as I see you're in a hole, from which it will be difficult for you to escape. " At the same time, I'm sincerely glad you have paid me the compliment of asking my advice, for, in the first place, 1 think I can assist you to get a little work, and in the second, I daresay I can help you, by-and-bye, to clear yourself of this confounded accusation. I need hardly say, Heathcote," he added, feelingly, "that I unreservedly believe every word you have told me, and regard you entirely as the victim of as infernal a con- spiracy as was ever hatched against an innocent man." " Thank you very much for those last w r ords," an- swered Jack, huskily, "you're the first person who has said as much. When may I come and see you again ? " "This evening, at six, my boy; we'll have a quiet dinner at my Club, and afterwards go and see some- THE CROOKED BILLET. 1^5 tiling in the way of amusement just to cheer us up a bit." Jack readily assented, and at once retired, so as to leave the barrister at leisure to work up the facts of a case upon which he was engaged when he entered an hour previously. That night, after the two friends left the theatre, they went to Turner's rooms in the Temple, when the proprietor resumed the great subject. " I think you made a mistake, Heathcote, in taking your rooms under an assumed name. An alias is always to my mind suggestive of something wrong, and you're too well known a man, amongst a certain class, to be able to get about London for long without being recognised." "Perhaps you're right," replied Jack, "but as my people don't wish to recognise me, I certainly should be disinclined to give them the remotest grounds for imagining that I wanted to run after them. When, if ever, I clear myself, I shall not be ashamed of giving my reasons, but until that much-wished-for opportunity arrives, I don't care to alter my idea." " But don't you see, my good fellow," rejoined his friend, " that it puts me in a difficulty ? for if I introduce you to people with a view to get you employment, it's not pleasant to have to give a wrong name." " My dear Turner, you can't imagine that I would wish you to do so. Before I go to see anyone, I must ask you to tell my story to your friend, as I would upon no account enter upon any employment with the prospect of being accused of sailing under false colours." " Well, if you will be obstinate, why, of course I can't help it ; and now I tell you what I hope to do for you," replied his friend. " I know I can get you a little work from a law stationer, but the pay is cruelly bad, and I daresay there's something to be made out of some of the newspapers, but, with few exceptions, the money to be earned in that quarter is nearly as small as the other thing." " Never mind that," said Jack ; " I'm only too grate- ful to you for thinking of putting me in the way of 136 THE CROOKED BILLET. anything at all, and perhaps a poor beginning may lead to something better." " I have another scheme, though," went on Turner, "and I'll 'go and see a man to-morrow, who may be able to further it ; come up and dine at six, and I'll then be able to tell you how I've succeeded. If it fail, we must have a shot at one or both of the others I have mentioned." " I'll come round at nine o'clock, if you'll let me," answered Heathcote. " It's awfully good of you to ask me to dine, but I have a little business in the afternoon, and probably it won't be completed till late." Turner guessing the reason for this excuse perfectly well, admired him for it, and said, " That's all rubbish, Heathcote ; I know what you mean, old man ; now, to oblige me, and possibly to further your own interests for I may have to make an appointment for you later on in the evening be with me by six to-morrow." " I don't like half it, Turner, thank you all the same. Suppose we feed together at some restaurant, and then come back to your rooms and have a quiet smoke?" he suggested. " All right, my boy, so be it ; you are determined to be obstinate, as I said before. So, good-night" ; and the friends parted. Fortune favoured the barrister in his good-natured efforts on behalf of Jack Heathcote, and he awaited the arrival of that young man the next evening with impatience. " I have done a good stroke of business on your account," he cheerfully remarked to his guest ( "and if you will sit down quietly, I'll tell you all about it." " You must know," Turner went on, " that I've done a little literary work from time to time for Hemmings and Layton, the publishers, and I thought I'd just turn in there, and see if there were any opening for you on their staff. Well, as luck would have it, I tumbled across old Layton as I was entering the premises, and finding he was in a fairly good humour he's an ungrammatical old bear, generally speaking, though a demon for busi- THE CROOKED BILLET. 137 ness I got him back into his private room, and unburdened my mind to him." " It's awfully kind of you, Turner," said Heathcote, " to take so much trouble on my behalf." " Now, don't interrupt, there's a good fellow, for I'm hungry, and we can't go out to feed until I've told you exactly what took place. Layton, you must know, has just had a row with his secretary, and, after hearing all I had to say, is disposed to see you with a view to engaging you as that young man's successor. As I said just now, the old chap is rough and uncouth, but I'm sure he's good-hearted, and he'll give you three pounds a week if he like you, and you care for the post." Jack readily assented to the further proposal made by Turner, which was that he should go and call upon Mr. Layton in the morning, which he did, and as the pub- lisher liked his looks, it was arranged that he should enter upon his duties on the Monday morning following. This he did, and to his intense satisfaction, and that of his friend Turner, soon worked his way into the good graces of his employer, who, conscientiously believing that his secretary was likely to develop into a valuable member of the staff, took every care to see that he was made as comfortable as circumstances would permit. CHAPTER XVII. FRANK CHAMPNEYS GOES THE PACE. IT was eight months after Jack Heathcote had engaged himself to Hemmings and Layton, in the capacity of private secretary to the latter, that Frank Champ- neys was sitting alone one evening in his luxurious chambers, in Duke Street, St. James's. On the table by his side lay the remains of a hardly tasted dinner, and he had rung the bell to have it removed, as his appetite had failed him utterly. . Young Champneys had been seeing life with a ven- geance since that memorable day in May when, thanks 138 THE CROOKED BILLET. to his infam} r , Jack Heathcote had been disowned. Unfortunately, however, his initiation into the mysteries of a London West End existence had not been attended with the happiest financial results. As a born gambler, the youth had already earned the unenviable reputation for being the heaviest punter amongst the set in which he moved. His taste for racing, too, had increased, as a fuller scope was permitted him for in- dulging in it. Here the experience of Nat Price served him greatly ; for that worthy, having an eye for both his own and his daughter's pecuniary interest, had practically assumed the control of Frank's small stud of racehorses, which he ran under an assumed name, for fear of the Squire becoming aware of his proceedings. The young man's own horses had consequently paid their way, and left a fair margin over ; but this had been a great deal more than exceeded by his losses at cards with a series of disastrous investments at Newmarket and other meetings. Frank's matrimonial chains pressed very lightly on him, as neither Eve nor her father ever forced the sub- ject of his duties as a parent to heavily upon him. In fact, he very rarely visited Nat's humble establishment in the suburbs, and discreetly arranged to be away on the Continent at the time his son was born. Still, he went out and saw the child from time to time ; not that he cared about it, but from a desire to keep Eve from calling at his chambers in Duke Street, as she threatened to do, if she ever thought he were neglecting his paternal duties to the child. So long as her husband provided her with money, and bestowed some recogni- tion upon her boy, the girl was quite prepared to stand loyally by her bargain, and not annoy him, until the time arrived for him to acknowledge her publicly as his lawful wife. Frank Champneys was a good deal worried by money matters that evening, and was anxiously expecting th(i advent of Nat Price, not that he expected much from him in the way of sympathy, but merely because ho was the only person to whom he could talk unreservedly. He was, consequently, glad to hear his father-in-law's voice upon the stairs, and greeted him almost cordially when he was announced by his valet, Johnson. THE CROOKED BILLET. 139 " Good evening, Price ; glad to see you, for, as it happens, I'm not going out, and want to have a busi- ness talk with you. All well at home ? " he asked. " Yes, all quite well and hearty. What mess are you in now ? " inquired Nat, as he took the arm-chair opposite the speaker. " You never want to talk busi- ness with me unless you're in a hole, I notice ; but what is it ?" " First of all, help yourself," responded Frank, pointing to a spirit stand and a box of cigars that stood upon the table between them, " then I'll go right ahead without being interrupted." His father-in-law obeyed him dutifully, and having mixed himself a drink to his liking, and got a big Inti- midad into full swing, proceeded to express himself as " ready to hear anything." " Well, to cut the matter short," commenced Frank, " I got devilishly well hammered last night at the club, and had it not been that they let me anticipate my allowance at the bank and overdraw a tidy bit, I couldn't have paid this morning. Now I'm stone broke, so what's to be done ? " Nat received the confession with absolute composure. He had, in fact, been the repository of one or two similar confidences from the same quarter already, and, moreover, had been expecting the present one for some time. " The Jews ?" he replied, laconically. " Yes, the Jews ; I knew you'd say the Jews," replied Frank, testily, " but I don't want, first, all London, and then the governor, to know I'm flying kites ; besides, how the devil am I to work the Jews ? I've nothing but an allowance." " Post-obits are about your mark, I think," responded the imperturbable Nat. " Damn it all, man, that's no answer to my objec- jections," snarled his companion, angrily. " I told you I don't want everyone to know my business." Price laid down his cigar, and leaning forward with his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, answered very seriously " Now, look you here, my friend, I've seen this coming for some time, for it's been my business to look 140 THE CROOKED BILLET. after your affairs so far as the interests of others are concerned. Now, don't you get firing up." Frank was fidgetting in his ckair. " I'm sure you can't accuse any of us of bothering you, but we don't mean to get left behind, I can tell you. If you go straight, well and good; if not, I'll play my own game. Which is it to be ?" " Of course I shall go straight with you. What a fellow you are ! Have I ever done otherwise ? " inquired Champneys. 'I don't know that you have, leastways, not to my knowledge. Still you're a bit shifty at times ; all of us are," responded his visitor ; " but now listen to me I'm a man of business, after my own fashion, and can help you to go to the Devil your own way, if you only satisfy me that my girl and her child won't get robbed of their rights. It's no good advising you, I'm sick of it. How much will you get of your mother's money, and how much do you owe ? " ' If I survive my father, I shall have forty thousand down, which he can't touch. I daresay I owe a monkey to tradesmen ; not more, certainly." "That's all right, and about what I calculated. Suppose I was to put you on to a party who would let you have a few thousands on the quiet, would you act the honourable by me and mine ? " " You know I would, Price ; why, I'd give her " " Perhaps you'd better listen to me first. I've made my plans. You'll have to settle ten thousand on Eve and the child, and insure your life against your father's for the amount, in case you die first, and you'll have to stump up a monkey ready, which is two years' payment, in advance, of the allowance you make her. If you agree to this, I can put you in the way of touching the ready in two or three days." " Pretty stiff, isn't it, Price ? " was the answer. " Not a bit," replied Nat. " Every man is bound to provide for his family, if he can ; and as you seem to be doing your level best to lose every penny you're ever likely to have, I must look after Eve and the kid.' ' " Supposing I won't agree ? " suggested Champneys. " Well, I think you will ; but if not, I can tell you once, and for all, that I won't see you burke my girl's THE CROOKED BILLET. I.J.I rights without doing something nasty. But come," Nat continued, " we're not babies, and you must see your game is mine, and mine yours in the long run." " You've a devilish, disagreeable way of putting things, Price," responded the young man ; " and if I dared, I tell you most candidly, I'd often kick you downstairs." " No, you wouldn't, you've too much sense," replied his visitor, coolly. "Well, are you on, or off? For I must be getting home." " If you can promise me the coin at once, I'll do it," answered Frank ; " if not, I must hunt about on my own account." " My man is a big man, and likes post-obits. If you like, I'll call for you at twelve to-morrow, and tell you what to do." "All right; good night"; and the precious pair parted. Next morning the great bill discounter, Gad Moses, was disturbed in the perusal of his rather voluminous correspondence by the entrance of his confidential clerk, who informed him that Mr. Price was in the outer office, and desired to see him at once, upon an urgent matter of business. " Show him in, Raikes," shortly replied his master ; and in the course of a few minutes, the ex-tout was in the presence of the greatest usurer of the day. The briefest greeting having been exchanged, for the pair evidently knew each other well, Moses com- menced " Well, our young friend's doubled up at last, I hear ?" "Yes, of course he is ; but how came you to know of it, Mr. Moses ?" inquired Nat. " That's my business, and doesn't concern you ; but as you're here, I suppose he'll follow on later in the day. Have you come to any arrangement with him as regards what you want done on your side?" "Yes, that's right enough, if he's kept up to his word, and I'll see to that," responded his companion. " He will get forty thousand of his mother's money down, if he survives the old man. That, I believe, is 142 THE CROOKED BILLET. right, and he has promised to settle ten thousand on the girl, and hand her over a monkey ready." " Which, with the commission I shall pay you, will make up a pretty tidy day's work for you, eh ?" observed the Hebrew. " When'll he be here ?" " About twelve. I thought I'd come round and see you, as after our talk the other day about Mr. Champ- neys, I was a bit afraid you'd not take his word. You see, he'll get into trouble with the Squire if you let the business out." " Send him round. I can take care of him myself, and when you hear the thing is through, you can call round for your cheque,' as you've done before when you have brought me clients." Nat Price quickly took the hint, and the usurer, when left to himself, proceeded to look up the information he had already in his possession concerning Frank Champ- neys and his affairs. Gad Moses was a well-known figure in the West End, and his influence amongst a certain set was practi- cally unlimited. At the same time the Hebrew was a man who very rarely resorted to legal proceedings in enforcing his claims against a defaulting debtor. His method of transacting business was such a safe one, and the rate of interest so enormously high, that the few bad debts he made were amply covered by the profits arising from other loans. Moses was consequently a popular, as well as a powerful man, and more espe- cially so as he was a liberal friend to many impecunious members of the beau utonde, whose society the Hebrew either found attractive to himself, or else useful in his vocation. Nothing pleased the usurer better than to have good men about him, for not only did he -learn much from their casual conversation regarding likely clients of the future, but his presence in their company was an advertisement, which even he, great man as lie was in his particular sphere, could not afford to be indifferent to. Gad Moses had been in business for nearly twenty 3'ears, and at the time when the possibility of a Champ- neys loan was first suggested to him by Nat Price, was reputedly one of the wealthiest men in London. Some five and forty years of age, nearly six feet in height, THE CROOKED BII.LF.T, 743 and possessing a decided tendency to obesity, the usurer attracted a good deal of notice when lie appeared upon the Heath at Newmarket or the Spa at Scarborough a very favourite haunt of his and bowed familiarly to most of the best men upon the scene. His close-cropped beard certainly assisted the Semitic cast of countenance in betraying his origin ; but nevertheless, few, save those who were acquainted with his profession, would have guessed that the quietly dressed, soft-spoken individual before them, who was one moment chatting pleasantly about partridges with the heir to a dukedom, and the next interrogating a bookmaker upon the question of the odds, was none other than Gad Moses, the famous London usurer, the terror of family solicitors and of nervous guardians of ambitious minors. The Hebrew was not long in laying his hand upon a bundle of papers, neatly folded up in an escritoire, and labelled " Champneys of Champneys," Having pos- sessed himself of the package, he sat himself down to refresh his memory by a perusal of its contents, which consisted of reports received from many a trusted agent. One feature in Moses's business was the enor- mous number of amateur detectives he employed in ferreting out information concerning young men with expectations. At the University, and garrison towns he was strongly represented, nor was there an im- portant club in London, or the provinces, in which he had not at least one of the servants in his pay. It therefore followed that innumerable communica- tions bearing upon the extravagances and prospects of Frank Champneys had reached him from time to time. These he had sorted out and docketed for future reference, and the time had now arrived for making use of the information contained in them. " The young gentleman paid up Flanders like a man," murmured Mr. Moses to himself, as he perused a letter from the Cambridge usurer to that effect ; " but he's tricky, is he?" continued the Hebrew as he went on reading. " Well, he'll have to be if he means to put me in a hole. Ah ! here's the copy of his marriage certificate," and he smiled. " Plow dumfoundered friend Price was when he was here the other day, and found out that I knew all about that little affair. Well, 144 THE CROOKED BILLET. it shows how careful one must be ; also, that the records of marriages at Somerset House are well worth search- ing. That agent fellow, Jenkins, is a treasure. I must really Come in ! " "A gentleman to see you, sir Mr. Champneys," said the faithful Raikes, who had entered the room in obedience to his employer's voice. " Show him in," replied his master. Frank was presently ushered into the presence of Gad Moses, who betrayed not the slightest knowledge of his identity, but rather formally invited his visitor to be seated. After a few seconds' pause, the Jew com- menced. " May I inquire, Mr. " here he looked at the card which Frank had sent in by Raikes, and which lay on the table beside him " Champneys, the motive which prompted you to honour me with a call ? " His companion felt awkward, and hesitated before he replied. " I was told by a friend that, if I applied to you, I might be able to raise some money, of which I am in need." Gad Moses made it a rule to hurry no man's cattle, and so placidly responded " Of course, if the nature of the security you offer is good, I might possibly be able to assist you ; but permit me to inquire who it was that suggested to you to consult me, and secondly, what is the character of the business? " Champneys answered the first question somewhat diffidently. 11 1 heard of you from a man called Price a turf- advising fellow ; " here the Jew smiled behind his hand at his unsuspecting visitor's description of his father-in-law, "perhaps you don't know him, but he tells me that some of his supporters have been assisted by you from time to time." " A good number of them, and very frequently too, Mr. Champneys," rejoined Gad, cheerfully, for he didn't wish to frighten his visitor by a prolonga- tion of the distant manner with which he received him. " I'm a turf man myself, and of course know THE CROOKED BILLET. 1415 Nat Price. He's a clever tout, but not infallible. Now," he continued, pleasantly, " let me hear exactly what you wish ? " Frank was not long in acquainting his companion with his position and his prospects, which, as Mr. Moses already knew all about him, was almost an act of supererogation on his part. The Hebrew, however, professed the profoundest interest in the recital, and at the conclusion was graciously pleased to express the opinion that something might be done. " I think, Mr. Champneys, that I can see my way to assist you out of your difficulties if you will consent to assign your reversion to me, and at the same time make a statutory affidavit to the effect that you have not in any way, either directly or indirectly, effected any charges on it," was the purport of his reply, after a few seconds' reflection. "I may tell you, however, that you would certainly make a far more advantageous arrangement if you applied to your family solicitors, but possibly you have considered this matter." " I certainly must repeat my request that they should not be informed of the transaction," replied Frank, fearful of his father; "please understand that, and promise me that you will be good enough to , respect my wishes." " I quite appreciate your motives, Mr. Champneys," said Gad, " but you should know that in carrying out your instructions, I am incurring additional risk, and possibly future troubles. We shall have to arrange for insuring your life, and you must therefore see about that part of the business at once. By the time that is through, my solicitor will have the papers ready, and we can complete, without further delay, upon the basis I now suggest, viz., that I advance you four thousand pounds upon the balance of thirty thousand pounds, to which you are entitled upon the death of your father. I understood you to say that you have already settled ten thousand upon a lady. Am I correct ? " "Not exactly, Mr. Moses,'.' answered Frank; " I am about to do so, and thought, to avoid any mistakes, I had better acquaint you with my intentions at once." ' Quite right, Mr. Champneys, quite right," replied K 146 THE CROOKED BILLET. the Hebrew ; " always go straight with me, and you'll find I shall go straight with you. Now, if you want to expedite matters, you can jtake this card to the Actuary of the Universal, General, and National Life Office. The medical man will be in attendance until three o'clock, and, if he passes your life, we can settle all by the day after to-morrow. In the meantime, if you want a hundred or two, and will sign me an acknowledgment, you can have it." Frank was profuse in his thanks, and having placed his name at the foot of the document drawn out by Raikes in the outer office, and given his address to Moses, in order that the latter could communicate with him, and make an appointment to complete, departed with the Jew's cheque in his pocket, and at peace with all the world. The wily Gad locked up his cheque-book with a smile of satisfaction on his countenance, as his visitor left the room. " That hundred clenches the bargain between us," he soliloquised ; " he can't pay it back the day after to-morrow if he wanted to, and if he kicks at the terms we offer, why I'll have to threaten to send the bill to his father ! " CHAPTER XVIII. NELLIE CHAMPNEYS STANDS TO HER GUNS. THE families at Champneys had spent an unusually dreary autumn ; Christmastide had been a still more depressing period for the girls, and especially for Nellie, who was secretly breaking her heart about Jack, of whom nothing had been heard since his interview with Mr. Dale. Frank's presence at the family gathering in the winter had naturally tended to make her lover's absence still more keenly felt, and her spirits visibly flagged. The Squire, in fact, had become extremely anxious about his daughter, and had suggested a six weeks' trip to the THE CROOKED BILLET. 147 South of France, but Nellie emphatically vetoed the proposal. " Oh, no, papa ; I really am quite well, and have the greatest horror of leaving Champneys," was the only reply she vouchsafed to his proposition. " My dear, I cannot bear to see you looking like you have been for the last few weeks. It breaks my heart it does, indeed, Nellie." " I shall be quite myself when the spring comes," replied the girl at his side; "Champneys is a little quiet I know, but that is just what I love it for." The two were sitting by themselves one evening by the library fire, and the Squire looked wistfully into his child's face as she uttered the words. " I must ask you a very painful question, Nellie," he said, earnestly, but very gently ; " are you worrying still about him, tell me, my darling ?" Their eyes met, and before his daughter answered, the old man knew full well that her affection for the outcast was strong within her. " I shall never forget him or cease to love him, papa," she replied, softly. " My darling, it grieves me to say it, but young Heathcote, whom I loved as my own son, has proved himself to be a villain." " Papa ! papa ! if you love me you will forbear from adding to the load of suffering I have striven to bear patiently for so long, and refrain from such allusions to the man I love. I know you believe that he has behaved very wickedly to his father and to us. If he ever injured me, I have forgiven him long ago; is there no hope of pity for him from you and his father ? " " No, my darling, it grieves me sorely to say so, and to you especially," replied the old man, sadly, " but there was a good deal of method in his wrong-doing, Nellie. Did you ever hear that he let your brother in for seven hundred pounds which he raised for the pur- poses of his intrigue ? " " I certainly never heard anything of the sort, papa, and before judging Jack Heathcote, who has no doubt been convicted in his absence by you and his father, I should like to hear what he has to say on the matter," quoth Nellie, hotly. 148 THE CROOKED BILLET. " My dear girl, I can't pretend to misunderstand your remarks. The Rector knows nothing of the matter. I wouldn't add to his troubles by telling him of it, and as far as I know, Frank and myself are the only people in the place who are in the secret," said the Squire, uneasily, for he did not quite like the turn the conversation was taking. " Papa, please don't talk to me again as you have done to-night," was Nellie's answer, as she put her arms around the old man's neck, and added, " I shall never believe Jack Heathcote guilty of a dishonourable action, until he confesses to it ; but at the same time, dear papa, you may be quite sure that I respect and love you too much to marry any man against your wishes." " God bless you, my darling," said the Squire, as his favourite child uttered these words ; " I will not allude to the subject any more ; but Nellie, dear, it makes me so wretched to see you as you are. Do come abroad for a short time, and see if the change will not do you good?" " No, papa dear, please don't ask me that, and now I must be off to bed, for I'm feeling very tired to-night," replied the daughter.. Jack Heathcote had been having a pretty busy time of it at Messrs. Hemmings and Layton's great esta- blishment. Old Layton fully bore out the character that Turner the barrister had given him, for though cross- grained and disposed to be dictatorial in his manner at times, he possessed a kindly heart, and unfeignedly liked Jack. He soon found out that his secretary did not belong to the ordinary run of clerks, and began to consult him in a disagreeable, indirect sort of way, about many little matters of business that did not exactly enter into the scope of his duties. The life was a terribly humdrum one, but it suited Jack, as it enabled him to pay his way, and he always had his evenings to himself. These he spent after his own fashion, in writing at home for Jack was a little bit of an author, and often picked up a stray guinea or two by his pen or going to the theatre, of which he soon became a devoted adherent. He was a good deal with his friend Turner, and had THE CROOKED BILLET. 149 made a few friends at Hemmings', in whose company he sometimes passed the evening. Mr. Cornelius Trimmer he saw very little of, for he distrusted the conductor of the "Society Spyglass," as he somehow connected him with the subject of his disgrace. On his side Mr. Trimmer was all eagerness to be friendly, for he was desirous of finding out what Jack was doing, as he received no information on the subject in reply to some pretty direct hints which he let fall. The sagacious Cornelius, however, omitted to deliver Nellie's note to Jack: and was disposed to reply vaguely to the inquiries he made about " them all down at Champneys." Nor, in fact, did the little man know much of their move- ments, for he had kept himself well out of their way during the autumn. The communications between the two were consequently limited to the few occasions upon which they accidentally met each other at a place of amusement, or in the streets, and Jack always avoided Trimmer's society when he could. Singularly enough, at the very hour upon that winter's evening, when the Squire and Nellie Champ- neys discussed the disgraced lover, Jack himself was gratified by receiving a letter from the Secretary of the Agility Theatre Company, Limited, informing him that a burlesque, which he had written to amuse him- self during some of the long winter evenings, and had sent in to the manager without a hope of even having it read, had been accepted, subject to an arrangement being come to with regard to payment. The writer proceeded to inform Mr. " Hartley " that the favour of an early call would be esteemed a favour, as the management was very anxious to put on a new piece at Easter, and considered " Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis " would, with a little judicious writing up, exactly meet their requirements. Jack was naturally delighted at this piece of unlooked- for good fortune, and repaired to the stage-door of the Agility Theatre the next morning, in the hope of obtaining an interview with^Mr. Foster, the manager. The stage-door keeper directed him "to the front of the house, and very shortly afterwards Heathcote found himself in the presence of the person whose society he sought. 150 THE CROOKED BILLET. Mr. Foster was, as far as appearance went, about as unlikely looking a man to manage a burlesque house as anyone would expect to find. He was a little wizen- looking individual, afflicted by an unfortunate and most aggravating impediment in his speech, and his features were characterised by a scared expression, which bore silent testimony to many a desperate passage of arms - between their owner and the female members of his company. His "ladies," indeed, appeared to have combined together with the idea of making their manager's life as miserable as they possibly could ; and the little man, knowing full well the powers of attraction possessed by an united chorus, gifted with unexceptionable sets of legs, was in the habit of submitting meekly to endless persecutions from the fair enchantresses. He received Jack effusively, and requested him to be seated, when he proceeded " Well, Mr. Ha-Hartley ; you've come about the p-piece ? Very neatly constructed. D-d-do you wish to sell it ? " " Well, I hardly know," replied Jack, who, having got permission from Layton to be out until the afternoon, had sought the counsel of his friend Turner ; " perhaps, as I'm an unknown man, you'd prefer to pay me by royalties? " "Y-yes," sputtered Mr. Foster, who began to see that his visitor knew the direction in which his own interests lay ; " I c-could not offer you much if we b-b-bought the rights, but w-what about the f-fees for per-per-performance? Would a g-guinea a night suit you ? " Jack thought he saw his way to better terms, but still remembered that money was a scarce commodity with him ; nor was he forgetful of the advantages he would derive from having a piece produced at the "Agility." " That would scarcely pay me, Mr. Foster," he replied ; " my idea was ten pounds a week for the first ten weeks, and after that twice the amount if the piece ran." The manager held up his hands in simulated horror at the extortionate proposal, and gasped THE CROOKED BILLET. 15! ' Imp imp-impossible ; what with d-dresses and the like, the the-theatre wouldn't stand it. It ca-can't be thought of." Heathcote, however, stood bravely to his proposal, the upshot of the interview being that his terms were accepted, subject to his undertaking to re-write and re-model t e:tain passages as Mr. Foster suggested. The latter was secretly delighted at his bargain, and then and there drew up an agreement in duplicate, which they each signed, and Jack then took his leave, having promised to call upon the manager in the course of a week to discuss the alterations that might be considered necessary. A few days afterwards, Jack Heathcote was seized with an uncontrollable desire to visit Champneys. Not that he wished to force his presence upon his family and friends, but from a yearning, which he could not combat, to see the old place once more, if only from a distance. Sunday, he knew, would be the best day in the week for the furtherance of his scheme, as neither of the families were in the habit of venturing beyond the confines of the park on that day, and he would, in consequence, be less liable to be encountered by any of them. He therefore took an early train from Paddington, on the first bright Sunday morning that followed his arrival at a decision upon the subject, and by noon had delivered up his ticket at. the little station next to Champneys in the direction of London. Thence he strolled leisurely to the river side, where he hired a boat, and was soon proceeding upon his way up the river. An hour's sculling brought him to the point he desired to arrive at, and fastening his skiff to the over* hanging branch of a huge, horse-chestnut tree, under whose generous shade Jack had passed many a happy summer hour, he made his way by the old familiar route across a meadow and through a little spinney to the high road. The spot at which young Heathcote emerged from the trees brought him out at a distance of less than a quarter of a mile from his father's Rectory, which lay back from the road, from which it was hidden by a belt of trees, and a quickset hedge of phenomenal density. 152 THE CROOKED BILLET. Jack's heart throbbed within him, as a bend in the road brought his old home once more in sight, and for the moment the outcast almost determined to march up the gravel drive and boldly enter the house. A moment's reflection, however, dissuaded him from any such idea, as it enabled him to remember that he was considered guilty, by his father, of conduct which he, the Rector, would never be likely to forgive. Beyond the Rectory, the visitor could see the blue smoke curling upwards from the chimneys of the Grange, but it was impossible for anyone to catch a glimpse of the place from the road. Jack therefore determined to avail himself of the knowledge he possessed of the locality, and soon climbed the fence which divided a pretty extensive wood from the road on which he stood. Proceeding cautiously, for he was not desirous of being seen, by any of the Squire's keepers, hanging about the place like a felon, the traveller made the best of his way between the trees, in the direction in which he knew the Grange lay. A quarter of an hour's walking brought Jack to the outskirts of the thicket, and then, standing back a few feet in the underwood, he saw the home of the being he loved best in all the world. A rush of fancies crowded into his mind. For a moment he thought that the past must be all a dream, a hideous nightmare which had disturbed his reason, and that Nellie would soon come down the lawn to meet him as she had so often done twelve months ago. There lay the path their feet had so often trodden in company, and the wanderer involuntarily turned and proceeded towards the point where the narrow strip of gravel entered the wood. "There would be no one about," he argued to him- self, " and I'd like to see the path that leads from home to the Grange once more, if only for a moment." His surmises proved correct, for not a living soul was in sight, and Jack found it was impossible to restrain himself from the luxury of walking down the path on which Nellie's footsteps had passed, perhaps, only a few short hours before. Two hundred yards along the way he suddenly caught sight of a tall ash tree, upon whose trunk Nellie and her boyish lover had, years and. years THE CROOKED BILLET. 153 ago it seemed to him, inscribed their initials when strolling through the wood. "I wonder if they're there still?" mused Jack to himself ; " at all events, I'll have a look and see." His curiosity was soon satisfied ; the J. H. and E. C. stood out boldly on ;he smooth trunk of the old ash, as if they had only been cut into the bark the day before. No moss or any other substance filled up the letters, which circumstance was surprising to the visitor, as it was a good six years since he had cut them in. However, his reflections on the subject were speedily interrupted, and in the most unpleasant manner, by the sound of some animal forcing its way through the underwood in the direction of the place where he was standing. Jack knew it must be a dog, and, as the Squire preserved strictly, felt perfectly assured that the animal was accompanied by a human being. He therefore concealed himself behind a thick thorn-bush, where he remained perfectly still in the hope that the intruders would soon pass by, and leave him at liberty to take his departure unperceived. The fugitive, for thus he really was, had barely taken up his position, when the dog appeared, and its arrival certainly increased Jack's dilemma. It was Nellie's dog a fox terrier he had given her himself, and where that creature was his mistress was certain to be near at hand. From his place of hiding, young Heathcote was soon treated to a view of the girl he loved, as she turned away from the path in the direction of the ash tree, at whose base the terrier, Max, was already lying, as if accustomed to the spot.- Jack's heart beat so loudly as Nellie approached that he really began to fear that she would discover him behind the thorn bush. She was looking pale and thinner than when they had parted at the " Bull," upon that fatal evening. Still, her eyes looked bright, and her features lighted up as she came near the ash, and Jack watched her with a dull feeling of utter helpless- ness, which contrasted sadly with the comparative happiness of a few minutes previously. Nellie went straight up to the tree, and for some time stood gazing wistfully at the four letters cut deep into the bark. No sound escaped her until she turned to go 154 THE CROOKED BILLET. away, when she murmured softly to herself, in loving accents, just loud enough to reach the spot where the lover stood concealed " Oh, Jack, dear Jack, how long is this to be ? " The girl's words and manner electrified the outcast, who, for an instant, thought of coming forth from his retreat, and appearing before her. Then doubts arose in his mmd, and he decided to remain as he was, lest she might be unwilling to see him under such circum- stances. Max, however, arranged matters after his own fashion, for his suspicions having been aroused by some involuntary movement on the part of Jack, he rushed to the thorn bush, and having recognized his old master, proceeded to give forth such a series of joyous barks that the attention of Nellie was attracted to the spot, up to which she boldly walked. " What is it, Max ? " she cried ; " why, it's Frank come down to surprise us," she added, as she caught a glimpse of the figure behind the bush, and recognized from the clothes that it was a gentleman who stood concealed there. Jack had no alternative but to advance. " Great Heavens ! " screamed Nellie, as she saw her lover before her, and she fell in a swoon at his feet. Heathcote, sorely troubled, used every effort to rouse the fainting girl, and was soon gratified by seeing her open her eyes slowly. " Is it really yourself, Jack ? " she whispered. " Oh, I am so glad to see you, dear, once more ! But what are you doing here ? you know how angry papa would be with me if he saw us." Jack, now that Nellie had recovered her composure, began to feel at ease again, and lost no time in answer- ing her questions, to the best of his ability. He told her how he had longed for one more glimpse of Champ- neys, and how he had made his way to the old ash-tree to see the letters of her name and his once again. " And I come here and look at them every time I pass the spot alone, Jack, dear," she said, tenderly. " No one knows of them but myself, and see how I THE CROOKED BILLET. 155 have cleared away the moss, and made them look quite fresh and new. But, you know, Jack, you have be- haved very wickedly to us all, and I'm forbidden to speak to you or notice you in any way." " My darling, I know it ; but I swear to you, Nellie, that the story you have heard is utterly false, and I'll prove it some day." The girl looked at him earnestly for an instant, and then replied " I thought so once, Jack, but that horrid money affair between you and Frank seemed to make their tale a true one." Her companion replied, with unfeigned surprise " What money affair, Nellie ? I don't understand your meaning I don't, indeed." " Oh, don't deceive me, Jack ! " the girl replied, excitedly. " Do you mean to tell me you never got Frank to sign his name to .some cheque or something for a great deal of money, and then left him to pay it ? " " Upon my honour, Nellie, I never did anything of the kind," responded Jack, fervently. " Thank Heaven I nave seen you, dear, I never quite believed it ; but I was wicked enough to doubt a little ; but I was never angry with you, Jack." " God bless you, Nellie, dear ! The day will come when they will all see you were right, and they wrong. But tell me about yourself." The lovers spent a happy half-hour beneath the old ash that afternoon, and discussed their prospects from every possible point of view. Jack on his side was in- formed of the duplicity of Mr. Trimmer, and vowed that he would be revenged somehow upon the little man for detaining Nellie's note ; whilst the girl was rendered supremely happy by the knowledge that her lover was doing well. " I shall tell Maudie all, and try to get papa to take us up to see your play, Jack, dear," she said, gaily. " But, now you must be going, or I shall be missed. Good-bye, dear Jack ; I will write to you often, dear ; and remember, that through good report and evil, I will never, never, never be wicked enough to doubt you for a single minute." 156 THE CROOKED BILLET, In spite of all the difficulties which beset his path, there was no happier man in all London that night than the outcast Jack Heathcote. CHAPTER XIX. GAD MOSES CALLS ON JACK HEATHCOTE. ABOUT a fortnight after Jack's visit to Champneys he was surprised on his return to his lodgings to learn, from the voluble Mrs. Cumberpatch, that a gentleman had called upon him in the course of the afternoon, and would return again at seven o'clock. " Which he has left his card with his name on it," added the widow significantly, " and a proper gentle- man he is too, sir." " All right, Mrs. Cumberpatch, show the gentleman up when he calls ; I shall not be going out this evening," replied Jack, who imagined it was some emissary of the redoubtable Foster, who had come to look him up about " Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis." " Mr. Gad Moses, 1009, Piccadilly," mused Jack. " Who the deuce can the fellow be ? " and he put the card down upon the table again. " It can't be the old Shylock one hears so much about come to offer me the loan of a thousand pounds. Yet it must be, for it's his name, and I know he lives somewhere near that part of the world. But here he is, no doubt. We don't get many visitors here in hansoms." Mrs. Cumberpatch' s lodger was perfectly correct in his prophecy, for the words were scarcely out of his mouth before the widow ushered Mr. Moses into his room with much solemnity. Jack begged his visitor to be seated, and waited patiently for him to unfold the object of his call. " I must apologize for intruding upon you at so late an hour, Mr. Hartley," commenced the Hebrew, " but I learnt to-day at the Agility that you will most probably deliver the manuscript of a burlesque to the manage- THE CROOKED BILLET. 157 ment \try shortly, and before you do so I am anxious to speak to you on the subject." " Certainly," responded Jack laconically, at the same time wondering what on earth was coming. " The truth is, that I desire to ask a favour of you, Mr. Hartley ; and permit me to add, and I hope without offending you, that I'm not an ungrateful man, and trust to be able to repay you one day." ^ " I really am quite at a loss to imagine what it is that I can do for you. You are not a member of the company, I presume ?" said Jack, quietly surveying the ample proportions of the Hebrew. " Not I ; fancy me an actor," chuckled Gad; "but you must know, Mr. Hartley, that I am extremely interested in the dramatic success of Miss Tottie de Tompkins, who is to appear in your piece." " I don't know the lady," responded the author. " Foster told me that the only new artiste would be Miss Woodward, who is now appearing at the Thespian, and I asked him particularly who was to be in my burlesque in order that I might try and arrange the parts to suit their peculiar styles." Mr. Moses answered very quickly " My dear sir, Miss Tottie de Tompkins is in the chorus, and the addition of a few lines for her to speak is the favour which I came to beg of you. If you can possibly contrive to manage it, you will place me under the deepest obligations to you, as I am con- siderably interested in the career of the lady. I think she is possessed of great dramatic talent, I do, indeed." " I fear it will be impossible for me to promise anything until I have an opportunity of judging the abilities of Miss de Tompkins. However, the first call will be in two or three days at latest, and then I will try and see what I can do in the matter," said Jack, good-naturedly. " I am extremely obliged to you, Mr. Hartley," answered Gad. " I shall make it my business to be at the theatre at the call. Foster is an old friend, so there will be no difficulty about that. In the mean- time, I hope you will excuse the liberty I have taken in calling upon you with reference to such a matter ; and 158 THE CROOKBD BILLET. I further trust that I may be permitted to hope that our acquaintance will not terminate with this visit." " You are very good," said Jack, as his visitor took his departure, but he was not impressed with the Hebrew all the same. A few days later, Heathcote, having obtained the permission of Mr. Layton to be absent from his duties, attended at the Agility, and was formally introduced by Mr. Foster to the principal members of the company as the writer of the burlesque. Gad Moses was there, too, and after the business of the morning was com- pleted, insisted upon Jack remaining behind to make the acquaintance of his protegb, Miss Tottie de Tomp- kins, a showily-dressed, ^bold-looking young person, whose features somehow seemed remarkably familiar to him, as the Hebrew introduced them to each other. Heathcote possessed a wonderful memory for faces, and though he was at first puzzled as to where he had seen Miss de Tompkins before, he satisfied his curiosity by telling himself that no doubt he must have observed her in the chorus, on one of the many evenings when he had attended the Agility. The girl evidently did not recognise him in the slightest, and departed with Mr. Moses, after strongly supporting that gentleman's appeal for a few lines to be given her. Jack soon afterwards left the theatre on his way to the establishment presided over by Messrs. Hemming and Layton, but had not gone many paces before he was aware that he was being followed. On turn- ing round to take a good look at the individual, who was watching his movements, he encountered a fine strapping man, dressed in the style of a well-to-do mechanic, who was evidently desirous of speaking to him, but was restrained by shyness. " I've seen you somewhere, my good fellow, and I fancy you know me too," said Jack, good naturedly. " Do you wish to speak to me ? " "Yes, that I do, indeed, Mister Heathcote, sir," replied the man. " You'll be remembering Jem Arm- strong, the smith, at Bottisham ? I've mended the riggers of your boat for you, many a time." " Of course I do, and I'm glad to see you, Armstrong. But. what on earth brings you up to London ? I THE CROOKED BILLET. 159 never thought to have seen you so far away from the forge." "The forge's cold now, Mr. Heathcote, and I'm up here to. seek a blackguard, and when I gets a chance I'll . But it's a long story. Are you well, sir ? " " As fit as a fiddle, Armstrong, but very sorry to hear you're in trouble. I remember your skating on the fens " here Jem's brow clouded " and how you thrashed those bargee fellows for insulting your sister but what's the matter, man ? Are you ill ? " " No, sir ; not ill a bit, thank God. But don't you go on talking that like, or you'll soon have me mad." Jack was really sorry for the speaker, whom he remembered as a well-to-do man, and a person of importance in the district, not only on account of his proficiency as an athlete, but from his general popularity. " I can't talk any longer now," he said, in a kindly tone, " for f have my business to attend to, but if you'll call on me this evening, I shall be very glad indeed, to see you. Here's my address, and be sure you ask for Mr. Hartley. I'll tell you why I've changed my name by-and-bye." Jem Armstrong eagerly accepted the invitation thus accorded him, and the same night, about eight o'clock, was duly ushered into Jack's presence by Mrs. Cumber- patch. "Well, Armstrong, what the deuce has made you leave Bottisham, and take to wandering about the streets of London ?" inquired Jack. " As I said this morning, a blackguard, Mr. Heath- cote, and I want get a chance to punish him in my own way." "Why, what a bloodthirsty fellow you have be- come!" answered Jack. "I hope you won't be fool enough to get yourself into trouble when you come across him." " No, sir ; I'd not lay my hands upon him. I'd try and hurt him worse nor pounding him," replied his guest. " It's a long story," he continued, " but if you'll hear it, sir, you shall, and welcome, for you ought to know it." Heathcote having expressed his desire to be ac- l6o THE CROOKED BILLET. quainted with all that Armstrong had to tell, the brawny blacksmith proceeded " Begging your pardon, sir, my bothers began just as you went away so suddenly from Cambridge. You must know, sir, as I was right down over head and ears in love with Eve Price, and when it got put about as how you had wronged her, I swore to be even with you. I know now I was wrong" Jack was about to speak " but at the time I was regular mad, for I never had heard tell of your speaking to her. Mr. Champneys was the man I had always suspected, but he came over to my place a bit in ;he summer when he was over to see Nat Price, who was backwards and forwards between London and the ' Billet,' and he soon got it right into my head that he had never bothered himself about the girl." " I can't blame you, Armstrong, but it was a lie all the same," interrupted Jack. " I know it, sir, I know it, and I was a blamed fool to believe the blackguard," candidly responded Jem ; "but I'm only an ignorant man, after all, Mr. Heathcote, and was regular mad with rage at times. Well, sir, you must know as how Mr. Champneys he comes .down and stays at the ' Swan ' pretty frequently last back end, for he said he hated Newmarket to live in, and yet wanted to see his horses that were trained there. We never saw much of him, though, but I used to meet him sometimes of a night as I left the ' Swan ' at closing time, and often wondered what kept him out so late in the country, now that Price and his girl had left the ' Billet.'" "Stay a minute, Armstrong," said Jack; "when did you say all this occurred ?" " Last October and a bit of November, sir, he was at the ' Swan ' a good bit, damn him," replied Jem, " but the long and short of it all was that my sister Sue bolted with him, the ruffian, and it's that that's brought me up to town." The two men sat gazing into the fire for some minutes without speaking. Jack was the first to break the silence by observing " You must not think me heartless, Armstrong, if I THE CROOKED BILLET. l6l tell you candidly that I thank God to see you here. My family have thrown me off because they believe I injured Eve Price,' and my lips are so sealed by a solemn promise that I cannot disprove the charge. That has made me come here as Mr. Hartley, but now I begin to see dawn breaking, so to speak. Will you help me to clear myself if I call upon you to do so by- and-bye ? " The blacksmith arose slowly to his feet, and made reply " Would you be above taking my hand, Mr. Heathcote? It's an honest man's, and I'll swear to you, sir, on the word of a man who has lost his sweetheart and -his sister through a villain, that I'll do my best to serve you faithfully if you ask it." The men shook hands cordially, and Jem went on " He left the poor wench in a week or two, and now she's taken up with a Jew. I see them come out of the theatre just afore you, sir. I don't blame the Jew ; he took Sue as he found her. It's that Mr. Champneys I've got to be even with." Jack saw it all now. It was Sue Armstrong who had blossomed into Miss Tottie de Tompkins. "I thought I knew her face," he replied; "but I don't think I ever spoke to your sister when I saw her at your place." "That's Sue, sir, right enough, poor girl; but it's getting late, and I'll be going, with your leave. If you should wish to see rne, sir, please write a line to me at the 'Cross Keys' in Leather-lane. I've been there ever since I was in London." " I will with pleasure, Armstrong; but I hope you'll come and see me again soon. Neither of us have so many friends that we can afford to neglect the few we have." "Thank you kindly, Mr. Heathcote. Good night, sir," and Jem Armstrong departed for his inn. 162 THE CROOKED BILLET. CHAPTER XX. WHO IS MR. HARTLEY ? AT length the eventful evening arrived upon which "Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis " was to be produced at the Agility. Jack Heathcote was very naturally anxious, as the favourable reception, or otherwise, of the burlesque meant much to him. He therefore arrived at the theatre in great trepidation, and took his seat, in company with his friend Turner in a private box, which was specially reserved for the accom- modation of Mr. Foster and his friends. The house was crowded in all parts, and Jack's spirits sank within him as the audience displayed unmistakable evidence of being diss: ' isfied with the opening piece, and signified the sa^.e in the usual manner observed among playgoers. Poor Foster was almost frantic, and was scarcely able to render his wishes intelligible to his friends or subordinates, so tremendously did the impedi- ment in his speech effect him. The manager had experienced a more than usually trying time of it during the past few weeks, as the rehearsals of 11 Lucretia Borgia " had been rendered memorable by a series of more than usually acute differences of opinion between the ladies of the chorus and himself. For the sake of " Auld Lang Syne," Jack Heathcote had been good-natured enough to write in a few lines for Miss De Tompkins to speak, and this concession on his part incensed several of the other girls, who expressed their opinion strongly upon the subject to the unhappy Foster. The company, moreover, was divided into two hostile camps, which were severally composed of the blondes and brunettes ; the point at issue between them being the colours selected for their costumes. Not only did every member of the chorus decline to wear the dress assigned her, upon the ground that the shade allotted to her neighbour would suit her own complexion better than the one she had ; but there were some very stormy outbreaks about their places upon the stage. THE CROOKED BILLET. 163 For instance, Miss Agneta Montague, the proud possessor of the shapeliest limbs upon the London boards, insisted upon appropriating a certain favoured corner position, which in the former production had been occupied by Miss Sallie Lapelle, a lady whose powers of attraction amongst the jeunesse doree were exceptionally great. As Mr. Foster could not be found at the termination of the rehearsal, at which the arrangement of places had been made he, scenting a storm, had wisely locked himself up in his office the fair artistes had settled their grievances by recourse to fisticuffs, in which considerable injury was done to their wearing apparel. No wonder, therefore, that the little manager was nervous as the curtain rose upon the opening scene of " Lucretia Borgia" ; but his feelings rose rapidly as he noticed the most unruly members of his audience settling themselves down to enjoy the fun that Jack had provided for them. A number of the writer's friends were in the front of the house, and applauded loudly; old Layton, in particular, was most emphatic in his approval. Jack had been obliged to tell his employer all about the burlesque, but only did so from the conviction that if the old man heard of it from any other source, he would be excessively annoyed with his secretary for not having informed him. To the surprise of Jack, old Layton expressed himself as highly pleased at the acceptance of his piece, and not only gave his full per- mission to attend all necessary rehearsals, but at once declared his intention of making up a large party to be present on the opening night. " Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis" went swimmingly from the first, as the music, specially composed for it by the conductor of the Agility orchestra, and Jack's libretto were both bright, sparkling, and altogether above the average. The principals engaged in the piece, more- over, surpassed themselves ; and even Miss Tottie de Tompkins got through the few lines allotted to her without a hitch. This happy result was possibly owing, in a great measure, to the author's considera- tion, as he had carefully selected the words he put into her mouth, so that any symptoms of the peculiar Cam- I&4 THE CROOKED BILLET. bridgeshire accent which she possessed might be avoided. As the piece proceeded, Mr. Foster became so ex- cited that it was with difficulty those about him could prevent him from doing something desperate. The fortunes of the Agility had been waning somewhat of late ; but the little man now saw an immediate prospect of replenishing his empty coffers. "Ma ma ma my dear H H Hartley," he gasped, in a lucid interval, "this is j j j jam. Your f f fortune's made, my b b boy." Then he rushed off without waiting for Jack's reply to the side of one of the capitalists who, being an admirer and patron of dramatic instinct in the ladies of the chorus, was the chief member of the syndicate that financed the Agility. " S S see what a wr wr writer I've dug out, M Mr. Morris. Money in it, ai ain't there, eh?" he spluttered, proudly. Turner congratulated his friend most warmly on his triumph, for such it most undoubtedly was, and boldly prophesied that the provincial rights of "Lucretia Borgia" would bring him in a golden harvest, and that commissions from other theatres would pour in from all sides. At last the curtain descended upon the last scene, and the audience called loudly for the principal artistes who had worked so well. After their appearance, cries of " Author " were raised from all parts of the house, and before he knew what he was about, Jack Heathcote found himself being dragged upon the stage by Mr. Foster, who insisted upon his appearing before the curtain to bow his acknowledgments. This was exactly what Jack desired to avoid ; but there was no option left him, and he duly went on and thanked his many friends, known and unknown, in the customary manner amongst successful dramatists. His reception was immense ; the pit, upper boxes, and gallery applauded his appearance vociferously, and even the stalls were, visibly impressed by the success of " Lucretia Borgia." Jem Armstrong roared out his congratulations from the front row of the pit, and half Hemmings' staff, who were scattered about the house, applauded their col- THE CROOKED BILLET. 165 league energetically. Old Layton split his gloves in his enthusiasm, and loudly expressed his opinion that "Young Hartley will be a credit to the firm before long," which was the highest praise that he could bestow upon any man or thing. Next morning, Nellie Champneys betrayed unusual anxiety to obtain possession of the " Thunderer," which she carried off to her own room to peruse at leisure. One paragraph which occurred in a column headed " Agility Theatre," brought tears of gladness to her eyes. It ran as follows : " In conclusion, it can only be observed of Mr. Hartley's efforts that, whoever he may be, for his identity is at present a subject of conjecture, a brilliant future appears to lie before him. His libretto is bright, but never vulgar, and his sense of humour most pronounced. In short, ' Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis ' is the work of one who is likely to become a favourite with the theatre-going public, and the management of the Agility may be congratulated upon having secured the services of a writer of such undoubted genius. ' Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis' is an assured success." That evening, Nellie observed to her maid " I wish you would go down and bring me up to- day's ' Thunderer,' Eliza ; I remember there's some- thing in it I wish to cut out, and perhaps it might get torn up if I leave it until the morning." CHAPTER XXI. REAPING THE WHIRLWIND. FRANK CHAMPNEYS, like many another young man about town had failed to profit by his earlier experiences, and consequently the money he received from Gad Moses was disposed of almost as soon as it came into his possession. His bad luck at cards had come to be proverbial, but, unluckily his taste for gambling appeared to increase as fortune frowned upon him. 1 66 THE CROOKED BILLET. Gad Moses, however, seemed well disposed towards the young man, and had made him several more advances during the few months that had elapsed since the date of their introduction. His behaviour towards Frank, was, indeed, that of an old and intimate friend, rather than of a professional usurer. Champneys, consequently, was indebted to the Hebrew for more than his reversion was worth in the market, and owed him a good deal of money, which he had obtained on the security of I O U's. Still, Gad Moses went on trusting him, certainly not . for any great amounts at a time, but for smaller sums, which the involved gambler found extremely useful in assisting him to pay his way. The Hebrew gave him plenty of good advice as well, as the pair sat over their cigars, and discussed matters after dining together at the usurer's luxurious little pied a terre at Fulham. " You'll come to eternal smash, Champneys, if you go on punting when the luck's against you," Moses remonstrated one evening; "I have stuck to you for reasons of my own for a long time, but helping you is like throwing money into the sea." " You've behaved devilish handsomely to me all through the piece," replied Frank, " and whatever your motives may be, I don't know what I should have done without you." " Yes, that's all right enough, but it can't last for ever. How do you expect to go on as you have been going ? " " The only chance that I can see is that infernal Kempton Handicap," answered his companion. " You know as well as I do that North Star has been tried so that he can't lose, and I've backed him all over the place down to three to one ; and mean going on if they'll stand me," he added. " It's a great pity you didn't stick to your horses and leave the cards alone," said Moses. " Nat Price is a clever fellow, and serves you well, I think ; whilst Harris is a good honest trainer. You'd have kept your head up on the turf, I think." " If North Star goes down, I go with him, that I know, unless something turns up in the meantime," Frank responded gloomily ; " you'll be all right, though. THE CROOKED BILLET. 167 I know the governor too well to believe he'd allow any paper with the name of Champneys on it to go floating about. He'd cut me off with the proverbial shilling all the same." " Do you owe much to tradesmen ? " inquired Moses. " I see your name now and again figuring in the con- fidential circulars that pass amongst business men." " A good deal more than I can pay, I fear, and that's what I fear more than anything. Suppose some beggar writted me, and, having got a judgment, went on to seize North Star. It would sew me up." " How do you stand with Harris ?" "I'm square with him, he gets paid every month. Don't you remember I told you, the other day, I settled his account when I sold the Mary Ann Colt at Four Oaks ?" " Yes, I don't forget your saying so, but, excuse my saying it, you romance a little sometimes, Champneys. But don't you think you might secure North Star by selling him to me ?" Frank did not exactly like the proposal, but saw no other alternative before him. He therefore said, " I know you're straight, Moses, but I hate the idea of parting from the horse. Something tells me the sale will turn my luck on the turf, and that if I sell North Star, he'll not win at Kempton." " Don't be superstitious, my good fellow," quoth his host. " It would only be a dummy transaction to save you running risks. The horse would not be taken away from Harris' stables, and no one would be a bit the wiser, unless, within the next day or two, you were to be writted by some creditor. It's only a fortnight to the day of the race, and if none of them become nasty, I'll tear up our agreement before we go on the course. Remember, I've backed it myself." " Perhaps you're right, so if you draw up the agree- ment, or whatever it is, I'll sign it," responded Frank. Gad Moses was a man of business, and therefore proceeded to carry out his scheme at once. Having got his visitor to accompany him to his dressing-room upstairs, he produced pens, ink, and paper, from an escritoire, and soon had the document prepared in due form, 1 68 THE CROOKED BILLET. " That's better," he observed, as Frank signed his name at the foot of the page, and Gad's factotum attested it as witness. "I'll get that stamped to- morrow, and then it will go to keep company with your other autographs in the safe yonder." " What safe ? " inquired Frank. "Why, this one, to be sure!" replied the Jew, at the same time pointing to a handsomely upholstered ottoman that stood in a corner of the room. " You don't mean to say that you risk valuable papers in that thing ? " observed Champneys, in- credulously. " Why not, my good fellow?" replied Gad. "Just go up to it and push it over here, will you ? " Frank rose from his seat, and tried to move the ottoman, but it resisted all his efforts. " It's screwed on to the floor," he observed, shortly. " Net it ; but it weighs the best part of a ton," laughed Gad. " I had it specially made for me, as I'm bound to keep some papers here for reference, though at the same time I like to sink the shop when I'm away from it. They had to bring in the safe first through the window, and then do the fittings up here." After they had again descended to the dining-room, Gad said " Look here, Champneys, I know you are short of ready mone) r , but I won't help you with a sovereign, unless you give me your word that you won't touch a card until after Kempton." " I'll do that gladly," responded Frank. " Then I'll lend you fifty at once, and if you like tc> go down and stay quietly in the neighbourhood of the racecourse for a few days, that will keep you hand- somely, and you'll avoid any risk of being bothered by duns, as they'll never hunt for you there.'' " I'll do that too," said his visitor. " What a good fellow you are, Moses ! " " Perhaps my motives are not altogether as disin- terested as jrou may imagine," answered Gad. " Has it never occurred to you that I may have some ulterior object in view ? " " Well, I can't exactly say that it has up to the pre- sent, but now that you have drawn my attention to the THE CROOKED BILLET. 169 possibility of such being the case, I suppose there is something of the sort. What the dickens is it ? " Moses came close to his guest and took a chair beside him. " Very likely you may be put out by what I'm about to say, Champneys, but, nevertheless, I want you to hear me out patiently. Will you promise not to interrupt, and I'll begin ? " Frank having acquiesced, the usurer proceeded quietly. " I know a good deal more about you and your affairs than you may imagine ; in fact, your name was quite familiar to me long before you left Cambridge. I have two or three good agents there." " Yes, that's likely enough," said Frank. " I heard all about your marriage within a week of it's taking place, and there are some strange stories contained in the papers in that safe upstairs about some row you had with a man called Heathcote. The girl was mixed up in it, somehow, if I remember rightly." Champneys grew ashy pale, and hissed out between his teeth " That villain Nat's been chattering, I suppose." " No, he has not done anything of the kind, I pledge my word," answered Gad. " He was as much asto- nished as I was when he found that I knew. How- ever," he went on, " I attached no importance to it at all until a short time ago. Then I began to think my knowledge might be turned to good account." " What the devil are you driving at ? " inquired Frank, who began to feel uneasy within himself. " Have patience and you shall hear, and, remember, I want to be your friend if you will let me ; if iiot, look out. Do you understand ?" Frank nodded, and Moses proceeded. " A few weeks ago the date is immaterial I was at the Agility Theatre one evening, and I saw you in a box in the company of two ladies and an elderly gentle- man. From inquiries that I have caused to be made, I learn that they were your father, sister, and a Miss Heathcote ; the latter, I presume, is some relation to your Cambridge friend ?" " His sister ! " sai<4 Champneys ; " but what on earth I7O THE CROOKED BILLET. does it all mean ? Don't you think it was a great liberty to make these inquiries about my people ? " " Yes, I know it was," calmly responded Gad ; " but I had my reasons for doing so. The truth is, that your sister's beauty attracted me, and I was determined to find out who she was. Now can you understand my motive ? " " No, that I can't," answered the bewildered Frank. "I wish to be introduced to her;" here his visitor started as if stung; but the Jew took no notice of his emotion, and went on : " and you must manage it for me unless you wish to make an enemy of a friend." Frank gasped with excitement and rage, but remained silent as Moses proceeded " I need not appear, in fact I will not do so, under the name I bear at present, which is not my own. I am willing to pour out money like water to win your sister's regard, and will cheerfully abandon business for the chance of gaining it. If you consent to work with me, I will detail my scheme at some future time. In the meantime, remember that I am worth a quarter of a million, and that I can afford to be liberal if you agree to further my objects." To do Frank justice, his first impulse was to knock Mr. Moses down, but a little reflection convinced him that the Jew would immediately set to work and ruin him if he were to do so. Most men would not have considered this, but Champneys was one of the calcu- lating sort, and did not mean to spoil his own game for the sake of his sister, or anybody else. He, therefore, decided to temporise, and so replied " This is very sudden, Moses, and you can scarcely expect me to answer right off at once." " Of course not," said Gad, " take a fortnight, say till after Kempton." " Besides, I know she is almost engaged to a fellow already," Champneys continued ; " and therefore I think we had better wait until I go down home next month, by which time," he added sotto voce, " I hope to be clear of you, you insolent brute." > "We'll talk the matter over again in a few 'Jays, when you have had time to think of it, Champneys. But it's getting late, and you'd better send round for TIIK CROOKED BILLET. 171 your cab," said Gad. " Call on me in the morning for the fifty." ***** " He's hooked," said the Jew, as his guest drove of! ten minutes later. " Damn him, I'd not sell Nellie even if I could," muttered Frank to himself at the same instant. CHAPTER XXII. JEM ARMSTRONG ON THE TRACK. ONE evening, shortly after Gad Moses had opened his heart to Champneys, Jem Armstrong called upon Jack Heathcote at his lodgings. The face of the blacksmith bore a troubled expression that could not fail to be noticed by his host, who inquired kindly what caused him to look so serious. " Well, Mr. Heathcote, I can't make out what that scamp is about. Pardon my speaking of him like this before you, but I get right-down mad when I think of his villainy. There's more between him and that Price, not to say Eve, than we know on." " What makes you think anything of the sort ? " asked Jack ; " we know the child is his." " Yes, sir, that's right enough, but you must know I've struck up a friendship like with his man, and he tells me a good lot. I mean paying his master out when I gets the chance, but the man don't know that, and chatters a bit sometimes." " Yes, but you see, Mr. Champneys is not the man to discuss his business with his servant," observed Heathcote. * " No, sir, he ain't, but servants get to find out a bit, and his man told me last night, when he'd had a glass, that he heard Price tell his master that he never said 1 a word to Mr. Moses about the marriage.' Now, what does that mean, Mr. Heathcote ? " 172 THE CROOKED BILLET. Jack sat silent for a [few seconds, and then slowly replied " It may mean a very great deal, Jem, but, on the other hand, your informant may have misunderstood what he heard. Besides, it's not very probable that they would discuss such a matter with a servant in the room." " Lord bless you, sir, he was outside the door listen- ing unbeknown to them," replied Jem, who was evi- dently convinced that his discovery was important. "I'm sure I don't know how we can proceed in the matter," said Jack, " but Jem, I have a friend who is a lawyer, and I'll ask him to put us in the way of finding out for ourselves. He is out of town for a few days, but I'll call on him and let you hear next week." " I think I'll be busy then myself, Mr. Heathcote, perhaps. His man " it was remarkable how persis- tently the blacksmith avoided alluding to his enemy by name " tells me that he has a horse running at Kempton Park races next week, and I'm bound to be there. I always follow him about to races and the like, on the off-chance that my turn will come on all of a sudden." " If that's so, I can begin to work alone, if I hear, from my friend, that any inquiries can be made. At all events you must let me know when you come back to town." " Yes, sir, that I will," replied the blacksmith, " but there's another matter, Mr. Heathcote, as I'd like to speak to you about. It's Sue, sir." " Ah, poor girl! She'll find out, one day, when it's too late, how foolish she has been," said Jack. "Does she know you're in London ? " " I can't say as how she does, sir, exactly. When I found out where she was, I wrote to her and begged her to come home, or any way to meet me, but the poor lass never sent an answer." " Surely she must have seen you hanging about the theatre," observed his companion. " Maybe she has, and maybe not," answered the blacksmith, " any way, I'd like her to know that there's a decent home waiting for her if she'd come back to it. I don't mean 'to say, Mr. Heathcote," he went on, THE CROOKED BILLET: 173 " that I'd care to go back to Bottisham again, but I've a bit put by, and the business would fetch something. There'd be plenty left for a start elsewhere after I've paid him, if Sue'd come." " I don't think she has the faintest recollection of my face, or in fact that she ever saw me before the other day," said Jack. " But I'll tell you what I'll do, Armstrong; I'll try and make friends with Sue, and see if I can, bit by bit, get her to talk about herself." " That's just what I was hoping for, Mr. Heathcote, sir, but I was afeared to ask it of you," eagerly responded Jem, " and if you'd do it, sir, you'd be doing what would make me never able to thank you enough. There's no need to bustle her, as you say, and if I turned up, why she'd be certain to get scared and cut-up rough." " All right, Armstrong, I'll see if I can help you, and gladly will I do so. I'm glad you took my advice, and put a man into your business to keep it together whilst you are away." " Yes, sir, that was a good thought of yours. He's a decent chap too, and returns me every week pretty nigh as much money as I used to earn myself. The folks about stick to the old shop. Did I tell you, sir, as how he offered to buy me out if I wished to go?" "No, I never heard that." " Well, he did, sir," resiimed Jem ; " he's got a sweetheart, and her father has a tidy bit of money, and will help him on, he said in a letter." " You had better do nothing just yet," said the cautious Heathcote ; " the money is coming in all right, you say, and if you rush at the bid, ten to one you'll find his price will go down." " Right again, sir," responded the admiring black- smith ; " I'd do nothing without asking you first, sir, if you'll be so kind." " With pleasure, Jem ; as I said before, we're com- panions in misfortune, whom fate has thrown together. Ah, must you be off? Well, good-night, and mind if you leave town, that you send me your address, for I may want to write to you." 174 T THE CROOKED BILLET. " I'll do that, sir, you may depend. Good-night, and thank you kindly for what you've promised about Sue." After Jem had taken his departure, Jack Heathcote sat for a long time thinking over over what the black- smith had told him about Nat's words to Frank. " If the marriage is a fact, and can be proved," he soliloquised, " I'm cleared when the fact becomes known ; and, in the face of all the blackguard tricks that have been played me, what with that bogus debt which I'm supposed to have let Frank in for, I cer- tainly think I am absolved from my promise of secrecy." He rose and paced up and down the room. "I can't wait for days until Turner comes back, before making an effort to find out the truth," Jack continued, anxiously. " By Jove, I have it, though," he pro- ceeded, and then having, as he imagined, discovered a way out of the dilemma, the author of " Lucretia Borgia in Excelsis " retired to rest. At ten o'clock next morning, Jack was knocking at the outer door of Turner's chambers, and was fortunate enough to obtain the address of the barrister, from his clerk, who happened to be within. Five minutes later the following telegraphic message was despatched from the Fleet Street post office : From To HARTLEY, TURNER, Hemmings and Layton, Bath Hotel, Farringdon Street. Ryde. " Is there a Register of Marriages open for public reference ; if so, where ? " By noon the reply reached him. From To TURNER. HARTLEY, Hammings and Layton, Farringdon Street, London. "Yes; Somerset House." THE CROOKED BILLET. 175 " I'll soon know now, thank God ! " said Jack to him- self as he placed the telegram in his pocket. CHAPTER XXIII. JEM ARMSTRONG GETS A JOB. IN spite of the feelings of indignation which he enter- tained towards Gad Moses, in consequence of his over- night confession, Frank Champneys was at the usurer's office at a comparatively early hour the next morning, to receive the cheque that had been promised, and he found the redoubtable Israelite in an exceedingly amiable frame of mind. " Here's the stuff, my boy; but mind you keep your word like a wise man, and get off quietly at once," said Gad, as he handed the amount in Bank of England notes to his visitor, and added, " I thought as I had the money by me it would save trouble if I gave it you this way. No, I don't want an I.O.U. for it, Champneys; take it as a private loan for luck, and pay me when it is convenient, which I hope, for your own sake, will be very soon." Frank thanked him heartily, and forthwith took his leave, having promised to write to his friend at once should any circumstances arise that rendered his doing so desirable. " He's not a bad fellow, after all," said young Champ- neys to himself, as he sat musing in the train that bore him away from town ; "but," he added, "I'd be devilish sorry to suggest to the governor that he'd be an eligible parti for Nellie." The selection of Sunbury as thie locality for Frank's temporary retirement was, for a diversity of reasons, an excellent one. In the first place, the village is so near to Kempton Park that he would have the satisfaction of being close to North Star, when that noble quadruped arrived upon the scene. Secondly, there was the river, and plenty of goo4 drives in the neighbourhood to 176 THE CROOKED BILLET. amuse him ; and thirdly, the comforts of the " Magpie" Hotel have passed into traditions amongst voyagers upon the Thames. The traveller very soon, therefore, found himself comfortably ensconced in a charming little sitting-room, overlooking the river, which flows past the house, and with the roar of the weir in his ears, and an excellent dinner beneath his waistcoat, he soon began to feel at peace with all mankind. His reflections, however, were interrupted about nine o'clock by the appearance of his worthy host himself the son of a well-known coaching-man, who came up to inform him personally that his groom and dog-cart, which had come by road, had arrived in safety. Frank having no orders to give to his servant, and being assured of the welfare of his horse, invited the landlord to sit down and have a chat, and was soon listening intently to some interesting details of the doings of the old Oxford coach, as well as to a number of exciting Indian reminiscences supplied him by the entertaining proprietor of the " Magpie," whose expe- rience of the world was both varied and extensive. Thus the time flew by, between trips on the river, and drives into the surrounding country by day, and long confabulations with Mr. Fredericks of an evening, until the eventful afternoon upon which the first batch of Newmarket horses were to arrive to do battle for the little town in Cambridgeshire upon the Sunbury course. Frank had passed the morning anxiously, for he was tormented by all sorts of absurd misgivings, which even the ever-cheerful conversation of Clark, the boat-builder, who was his constant com- panion whilst upon the water, could not remove. Having staked his all upon the success of North Star, Champneys was naturally solicitous for his safety, and fervently expressed his pleasure when he saw the horse emerge in safety from the box in which he had come down. "Glad to see that there's nothing wrong so far, Harris," he remarked to his trainer, as, having seen North Star comfortably put by for the night, the two men stood outside his box. " I shall come up and see him do his exercise in the morning; but don'fc be sur- THE CROOKED BILLED i;? prised if I'm not on the course to-morrow. I may have some business to do." " Very well, Mr. Champneys, I think of having my string out by half-past seven, for Mr. Giles' Buzzard is in the second race, and I don't want her to be out later than I can help. She's worth having a bit on, I think," replied the trainer. " And then there's Hector in the All Aged Stakes that shouldn't be let run loose." "Well, you may put me a tenner on both each way, if you don't see me again ; but I'll be up in the Park by half-past seven. So, good-night, Harris," said the owner of North Star. There was trouble in store for the trainer the next morning but one, as when the time came for putting the racing plates on North Star's hoofs, it appeared that the blacksmith, upon whom he had depended for the job, had been Iqcked up on a charge of being drunk and disorderly on the course. In vain Harris pleaded with the inexorable guardians of the peace, who turned a deaf ear to his impor- tunities. He offered to bring the horse np to the station if they would only permit their prisoner to come out into the yard and do his duty. " Can't do it ; and besides, the man's not sober yet," replied the inspector in charge to the latter suggestion. The trainer was at his wits' end what to do, for he did not care to employ an unknown man for such a delicate task, and he was pondering over the position lugubriously, when he suddenly ran up against Jem Armstrong, whom he had often employed in days gone by. " I'm doubly glad to meet you, Jem," said Harris, " for I'm in trouble about North Star's plates ; will you fix them for me ? " " Of course, Mr. Harris ; I can borrow the tools easy." Thus Jem earned a job, which he executed to the trainer's entire satisfaction. 178 THE CROOKED BILLET. CHAPTER XXIV. THE KEMPTON HANDICAP. FRANK CHAMPNEYS made his way to the race-course at an unnecessarily early hour on the day that the Spring Handicap was to be decided, for this was his chance of extricating himself from the meshes that surrounded him. His anxiety had increased to such a pitch, as the eventful moment approached, that the genial Mr. Fredericks who, of course, was in perfect ignorance of the true state of affairs had become quite unhappy about his guest. " There's Mr. Champneys gone off to the races without his lunch, and his breakfast was scarcely tasted," observed his spouse to the proprietor of the "Magpie," as the young jnan left the house, shortly after noon. " Yes, and last night he never touched the bishop I brewed for him," sighed Mr. Fredericks. " At first he said the old Oxford recipe beat anything he had ever known produced at Cambridge ; and he liked my punch, too, when he ordered some before he turned in that wet evening, but lately he has seemed all out of sorts." " He can't be worried about his horses, I'm sure," replied the hostess, " for he told me himself that he had won all the bets he made to-day." "Yes, that may be so, but he didn't go on to the course, all the same, I hear from his man. But it's no business of ours, though I, for one, hope he isn't going to be ill, for Mr. Champneys is a jolly fellow, or at least was so for the first few days after he came to stay here," answered Mr. Fredericks gravely. Meanwhile, the subject of his good wishes was eagerly watching North Star as he was being walked round and round in the paddock on the racecourse preparatory to being placed in retirement in one of the boxes adjoining the enclosure. Nat Price stood beside him, discussing the probable result of the Spring Handicap in an under- tone ; but Mr. Harris was engaged upon the toilet of the' Buzzard, who having won her race easily upon the preceding day, had been entered for an event on the THE CROOKED BILLET. 179 card that had closed over night, and which was run first. "There'll be a big field," said Nat, " a lot more have come than I expected, but I don't fear anything." " Nor do the public apparently," rejoined his son-in- law, "for it's their money that's keeping the horse favourite. I stopped before he came to twos, as you know. I'd like to find out who is backing him." " I saw a friend yesterday who told me that Mr. Moses put a couple of hundred on at the Club on Monday, and would have gone on at the price, but they wouldn't lay," answered Nat. " Here's the only one I fear, and I'm not really afraid of him, that's Stormer," and he pointed to a great raking chestnut which had just appeared upon the scene. " He ran deuced well at Liverpool all the same," said Frank. " Now, I'll tell you what I dread the only one Ntfsegay ! " " She's all right, take my tip ; her people are going for our horse; Harris told me that much ; she's running a bye this time ; and as for Stormer, he looks short of work," replied Nat to his companion. Just then Gad Moses came up to them, and having greeted Frank effusively, as was his wont, proceeded to remove a weight from his friend's mind by remarking " I've come to have a look at Stormer. I thought that on paper he had a good chance of bowling us over, but they are peppering him like blazes in the ring." " I was just saying he's big," said Price, " and he's the only one that can make North Star gallop at the weights," he continued. " They are backing the Danebury one, Slipshod, kindly at fours now," said Gad, "you could have had sevens for the asking in town. Do you know her, Price ? " " Never saw her in my life, sir. But she won a race at Winchester, last season, and, I think, ran well at Chester. There's a racing looking filly that brown one I mean. What's her name?" he inquired of the lad at her head. " Slipshod," was the laconic response. " She is a beauty," said the Jew, " and I'll not be a loser over her, so shall go back to the ring. Besides, ISO THE CROOKED BILLET. the numbers are going up for the first race. I suppose the Buzzard's good goods, eh, Champneys ?" " Damn the Buzzard, I don't know or care," was the ungracious response. " I backed the Devil yesterday, and she won, so I suppose she's in form, and can win again if they ]et her." " You're not amiable, Champneya, but I suppose its excitement, and not a permanent relapse into barbarism," answered Mr. Moses, as he made his way off in the direction of the ring, where he put a hundred on Slip- shod to win and a place, for the handicap, and twenty on the Buzzard for the opening event, for which her price was five to two. The Buzzard won, pulling her jockey out of the saddle, by a couple of lengths, and as a consequence, the form behind her having been fairly good, North Star became still firmer in the market. As usually is the case at race meetings, the favourite was sur- rounded by a crowd of admirers as he came out of his box, a:nd once more joined the string of horses that were being walked round and round in a gigantic circle. Frank's feelings were beyond description, as the numbers went up, and the odds against the favourite were reduced to offers of five to four. By hedging judiciously, he could have stood to win a good stake, and he knew it, but at the same time the fact remained that a big coup, such as he would win by the success of the horse if he stood him without laying anything off, would alone be of any service in the present crisis. " It's neck or nothing," said Champneys to his father- in-law, as they took their places in the front row on the top of the grand stand; " Cyclops' Derby was bad enough, but this is something fearful." " Don't funk now," answered Price, " our horse will win sure enough. I've every penny I have on him and more. But why what's this ?" he suddenly exclaimed, as the field swept past them on their way to the post. "Look at North Star! he's lame; see his near fore- leg ! We're done if we can't get out." But the discovery came too late. The ring saw the defect in the favourite's action just as quickly as did the clever Mr. Price ; and immediately shouts ot " Here, two to one North Star, " Five to two North THE CROOKED BILLET. l8l Star," " Four to one North Star," were heard in all directions. Frank Champneys' face went deadly pale as the odds expanded against his horse, and grew more timorous as he saw that the opposition which had so suddenly broken out against the favourite was justified by facts. " We can't get out of our money now, even if we wanted to," whispered Nat in his ear. "And, perhaps, after all, he'll pull through if he's not pressed at first. I've seen many a three-legged' un win in my time, so keep your pluck up till it's all over. We'll know in two or three minutes, anyway." " It's all very well you playing the comforter," grunted Frank, " but I remember your cutting up devilish badly that day at Epsom. But, thank Heaven ! the distance flag is up, and it "11 be over soon." The next instant a roar from many thousands of throats signified the fact that the starter had got his field away at the first attempt. For a few seconds it was impossible to distinguish which of the horses was leading, but before long the white jacket worn by Nosegay's rider was seen to be well in front. Next to her lay a couple of light -weighted outsiders, and behind them came Stormer and North Star racing side by side. They ran thus to the com- mencement of the bend, when the leaders began to come back to their horses, and a few strides later on Nosegay fell back beaten. In the course of the next two hundred yards one or two of the runners, including the Danebury filly, Slipshod, drew up towards the front, and by the time they came into the straight, it was difficult to tell exactly which of three or four held the lead. Another second, however, showed that Stormer, who had been favoured by the inside place next the rails, was nearly clear of North Star, at whose girths was the rank outsider, Hairsprite, who had just come with a rattle, and behind him, close up, was the hope of Dane- bury pulling double. " Stormer a pony ! " " North Star wins ! " " Hair- sprite!" "Who'll lay Slipshod?" and other such shouts were heard on all sides, as the field came along at a tremendous pace, At the distance, Hair- 182 THE CROOKED BILLET. sprite cracked and fell back, and fifty yards 'farther on Stormer was in trouble. A hundred yards from home North Star had beaten him, but at the very instant in which Frank's colt got in front, the head of Slipshod, who was brought along with one rush, was at his shoulders, and in a couple of strides the filly was just up. The jockey who was on the favourite rode a desperate race, but there was no effort left in North Star, who, faltering on his lame leg, was unable to respond to the frequent calls made upon him, and suffered defeat by a neck, with the Stormer a bad third, and the rest beaten off. There was very little enthusiasm aroused over the victory of the Danebury filly, for though the public were principally upon North Star, the ring had laid her extensively, as the stable commission, which was a very heavy one, had been well and quietly worked. That North Star must have won had it not been for his falling lame on his way to the post was a generally conceded fact, and the defeated favourite was loudly cheered as he limped back to the Paddock with his jockey, who had dismounted after they had passed the post, at his head. The horse had run gamely under difficulties, and that satisfied his backers as far as the animal was concerned, but they grumbled loudly at the ill-luck that had befallen them. Frank Champneys suffered himself to be led down the stairs by Nat Price without offering the slightest resistance or uttering a syllable. He mechanically drained a tumbler of champagne which was placed before him, and silently, as one in a dream, accom- panied his father-in-law into the paddock. The first object which .attracted their notice on arriving at the spot, was the unfortunate North Star, who was standing in a stall, with Harris at his side. " I can't understand this business, Mr. Champneys," said the trainer. " The colt was sound enough when he had his last gallop at home, and since he's been here, he has done nothing but canter." The sound of his voice loused Frank a little, and he replied, huskily " I don't blame you, Harris ; get him off as soon as possible," and he turned away. I shall go back to THE CROOKED BILLET. 183 my hotel and think matters over quietly," he said to Nat. " Look out for me this evening, or to- morrow." As he was leaving the enclosure, the discomfited owner of North Star encountered Gad Moses, who greeted him most sympathetically. " I am sorry for you, old man," quoth the usurer ; " but, you know, I'll see you through it yet, if I can, and if you'll consent to work with me. I shall be at Fulham to-night, alone. Come over, and let's go through your affairs together." " I can't promise to-night, for certain," answered Frank, "for this business has completely stunned me. But I will, if I feel up to it : if not, I'll write you a line, and fix a time." " Very well, my boy," replied Gad. " I've been lucky myself on the day. Began betting ready money and have punted a pony up to something substantial. You'd better take a bit," and he produced a roll of notes from an inner pocket designed for their reception. Dazed though he was, Frank had sense enough to accept a loan, and bidding his friend good-bye, pro- ceeded on his way along the deserted road in the direction of the " Magpie." Champneys had barely reached that famous hostelry, when Mr. Fredericks knocked at the door.Jand informed him that a person was below who desired to speak to him for a minute, privately. " Send him up," answered Frank, who was now indifferent to all danger, and throwing himself into an easy chair which stood by the window, he sat waiting for his visitor, and absently gazing across the river at the men at work in Clark's boathouse. So insensible, indeed, was he to passing events, that Mr. Fredericks had ushered in the stranger and closed the door behind him, ere the stricken man was aware that he was not alone in the room. A movement on the part of the intruder had, however, the effect of causing Frank to raise his eyes. A sudden start showed plainly that he recognised an unwelcome visitor. " You're surprised to see me, Mr. Champneys," said Jem Armstrong, for it was the blacksmith who had entered the room, "but you needn't be frightened 184 THE CROOKED BILLET. about me staying long. I only wanted to see you and say a few words." " What the devil do you mean by daring to come into my room, you impudent rascal ?" vociferated Frank, now thoroughly aroused. " I'll tell you, quick enough," replied Jem viciously, as he coolly took a chair opposite to his victim. " You, a gentleman, played me some scurvy tricks. You robbed me of my sweetheart and you .ruined my sister, you blackguard. I feel I'd like to strangle you, and I would, only I'd sooner you'd live to be tortured and disgraced." Frank quailed beneath the gaze that the blacksmith fixed upon him, but never said a word, and Armstrong proceeded " I've followed you for months, and bided my time to pay you out for the injury you did to me, and Sue. I believe you've made Eve Price an honest woman " " It's a lie, and you know it ! " shouted Frank. " Well, then, the greater villain you ; but let that pass. Now, I'll tell you why I'm here. I knew you had backed this blessed horse of yours, and that if he lost you'd be ruined. That was my chance, d'ye see?" " You're ruffian enough for anything, I believe," responded Frank ; " but I don't see, all the same." " Well, I'll tell you. I got the smith here drunk, and as he wasn't fit to put the plates on North Star, I got the job. Now, d'ye see, eh?" " You lamed the horse, you scoundrel! I'll have you punished!" exclaimed Champneys, springing to his feet. " No, you won't, my gentleman, there's no case, and if a nail did go into the quick, that's not criminal. I wish you good-day, and long life and happiness"; and Jem stalked out of the room, with a laugh. THE CROOKED BILLET. 185 CHAPTER XXV. TWO CONFABULATIONS. FRANK CHAMPNEYS stood staring at the door through which his unwelcome visitor had left the room, for some minutes, as though he were in a dream. After a time, however, he aroused himself, and having sent for his servant, and given him his instructions, he paid his bill at the " Magpie," and departed alone in his dog-cart. In due course, the vehicle which bore him arrived at the door of Nat Price's humble suburban residence, and having left his horse in charge of a boy who was passing at the time, Frank walked up the steps and pulled the bell. His ring was answered by Eve, who greeted him with the utmost indifference, and informed him that her father was not yet back from the races, but that she expected him very shortly. " Then I'll go and put up my horse, if you'll tell me of a place," said Frank. " There's one just round the corner, the ' White Swan,' and I daresay dad will be back by the time you return," answered his wife. Her surmises proved correct, and consequently Price and his worthy son-in-law were soon closeted together. "What do you think?" began the latter; "that infernal villain, Armstrong, the blacksmith fellow, lamed the horse; he came and told me about it, damn him!" " The Devil and all, he did !" exclaimed Price, " the revengeful scoundrel ! but we'll be even with him if we ever get out of t,his hole. The horse would have won many a length if he had not been got at." " Yes, we all know that. But I'm broke, and there's no hope of any help from Moses now." " There's none in that quarter ; your only chance is to go and make a clean breast of it to your father. He'll cut up rough, of course, but he'll pay up, and no doubt give you some allowance," answered Price, and continued : " It's awful hard, I know, but there's nothing else to be done. I thought it all over coming up in the 186 THE CROOKED BILLET. ' " Do you know what Gad Moses suggested to me the other day ? " inquired Frank. * " No, blest if I do 1 What was it ? " " He wants to marry my sister," Price looked astonished, " and says, if I try and work it, he'll set me on my legs." " Can you work it that's the question ? " observed Nat, grimly. " I can't say that I see my way a little bit towards doing so. You know she was fond of that prig Heathcote, and I believe that in her heart she is so still. Besides, even if I cared to see my sister married to a man like Moses, I feel sure the governor would kick me out of doors when he found out my friend's vocation." " Couldn't that be kept dark ? " said his companion. " Yes, for a bit, it might be. But for how long ? No, the whole idea is impossible," sighed Frank. " We're both done, then," rejoined his father-in-law. " I can't pay up, and so won't be able to show my face on a racecourse, and I don't suppose Kve will keep me on the interest of the money you settled on her. Besides, she hasn't got it yet, and won't till your father dies. It's lucky you insured your life against his for the amount, and paid the interest up in a lump." " I have one idea it's a desperate one : but if you say you will join me in it, I'll risk all to carry it out. Mind, before I tell you what it is, it's dangerous." " It can't hurt you to tell me, any way," said Price. " I will, then ; " and the two men sat for some time in close deliberation, the subject of which will be con- tained in another chapter. Jack Heathcote has, however, been left. too long, and it is necessary that his movements for the past few days should be inquired into. After receiving his friend Turner's telegram, Jack repaired with all haste to Somerset House, and pro- ceeded to search the Register of Marriages for the past year. His labours were soon rewarded by the discovery of the information he required, and having obtained this, he at once wrote to the clergyman who officiated at the ceremony for a copy of the certificate. THE CROOKED BILLET. 187 Thankful though he was at the good fortune which had attended him so far, Jack resolved to do nothing without consulting Turner, and he therefore once more sent his friend a message, imploring him to return without delay, and hinting that his presence was required to assist in clearing the sender's character. The good-natured barrister replied that he would expedite his movements, and hoped to be at his chambers on a certain day, when he trusted Jack would meet him. It so happened, however, that some unavoidable delays detained him and it was not until the day upon which the Kempton Park Spring Handi- cap was run, that the friends met again for the first time. Turner expressed his full conviction that a sight of the certificate would have the effect of vindicating Jack's character with his parents and the Squire, and volunteered to go down to Champneys himself the next afternoon to see the old men upon the subject. He, moreover, entirely overcame Jack's scruples con- cerning the pledge he had given Frank, and ended by assuring him that as he, Turner, was bound by no such promise, he would, whether his friend liked it or not, lay the matter before the Rector upon his own responsibility. Heathcote thanked him warmly for this additional proof of his friendship and kindly feeling towards him ; but the barrister impatiently checked all his attempts at expressing his gratitude, and sat down to write a letter to the Rector. The epistle was purely a formal communication, in which Mr. Alfred Turner presented his compliments to Mr. Heathcote, and begged the favour of an interview upon the next afternoon, when he would call at the Rectory. " I think we can see blue sky now, Jack, old man,'" the barrister said, cheerfully, as he directed the envelope. " It will be one of the happiest days of my life, if I can put it right between you and your people." " I feel sure of that, Turner," answered Jack, as a mist seemed to rise before his eyes. " You've behaved in a manner that not one man in a million could or would have done, Heathcote; and I may tell you now that you have not a firmer friend in the l8S THE CROOKED BILLET. world than old Layton. You'd be surprised to hear how much interest he has taken in your troubles, and how often he has been here to speak tome about you." " He has always been very kind, I know," responded his companion ; " and I'm going to ask for a day off to-morrow, so as to come to the station and see you start for dear old Champneys. If you should see Nell I mean Miss Champneys, and get the chance, you might give her a hint." " I shall condole with her upon the probable return to her society of a most unmitigated rascal, meaning your noble self," laughed Turner. " But, seriously, old man, I don't think she ought to know until everything is put right, and then she'll find out quickly enough, you may be quite certain." " As you think best," answered his friend; "you've the clearest head ; I'll call for you to-morrow, about twelve, for I know I'll get Layton's permission to be absent, when I tell him the reason why I ask for leave." CHAPTER XXVI. QUEM DEUS VULT PERDERE. GAD MOSES dined by himself at his Fulham Cottage on the evening of the day upon which the Spring Handi- cap was run. From the manner in which Champneys had spoken, the Hebrew scarcely expected that the discomfited owner of North Star would arrive before it was late, if, indeed, he put in an appearance at all. At the same time, Mr. Moses was fully aware that an early visit was certain, as the desperate state of the young man's financial position, and the utter absence of any other friend but the Jew, left no alternative to Frank. ^Gad Moses, was, therefore, in no wise disconcerted by the non-appearance of his friend, and consoled himself by surveying his own position, which he did with great complacency. His winnings on the day THE CROOKED BILLET. 189 were large, but the amount was really insignificant to a heavy speculator such as the Jew. Nevertheless, the Chosen Race possess a weakness for collecting the shekels, and the addition of a few hundreds to his already bulky personal estate was a gratifying item in the reflections of Mr. Moses. " That young spendthrift has fired his last shot," mused Gad to himself, as he sat sipping his claret in his comfortable dining-room ; " and I wonder what he will be up to next. Not anything reputable, I can quite believe, for he's about as bad a lot as I ever came across." He walked to the window, and looked out into the night, and continued : " No, I don't think he'll turn up here this evening. Poor devil, his white face haunts me. I'll do my best for him, though, if he runs straight with me over the business of his sister." Then Mr. Moses fell into a reverie, and sat building castles in the air, until eleven o'clock, when he ascended to the floor above, and proceeded to disrobe for the night. Something, however, persuaded Gad to look over the papers and documents relating to his transactions with Frank Champneys. He therefore entered his dressing-room, and having opened the safe concealed in the ottoman, sat down to sort the contents. Gad Moses, in spite of possessing a considerable share of the innate caution of his race, was, in many respects, a careless man in looking after his ready cash. In his search for Frank's papers, he turned up several rolls of notes of greater or less bulk, and he placed these, together with his ready-money transactions at the races that day, in an inviting-looking heap before him. It was midnight before Gad had finished his cal- culations, which appeared to be of a satisfactory character, for he shut up the safe with the roll of notes on the top, and laughed gently to himself, as he turned the key in the complicated lock. " And now for bed," he muttered serenely to him- self, " and for action in the morning." It is possible, however, that Mr. Moses would have felt less pleasure in his perusal of the papers before him, had he been aware of the fact that his movements IQO THE CROOKED BILLET. were being watched by two pairs of sharp eyes, which were evidently highly interested in all they saw. His house was a lonely one, even for the rural district in which it was situated, and his servants an old cavalry trooper and his wife, who acted respectively as major domo and cook slept in a far-off room in the basement, to where few sounds could penetrate. Gad's bed-room looked on to the back garden, whilst the dressing-room in which the safe was placed opened out of it and faced the front. There were a few steps up to the main entrance of the house, the door of which was approached through a porch ; whilst for the purpose of rendering the habitation dry and healthy in the lower regions, a sort of stone-flagged area ran all round out- side the basement, thereby providing a full supply of air and light to the kitchen and other offices. The porch, to which allusion has already been made, was so con- structed that its roof formed a small balcony to which access could be obtained by means of French windows, which opened out of the landing just outside the door of Gad's dressing-room. A former occupant of the cottage had been an enthusiastic admirer of flowers, and had had the sills of all the windows considerably widened, so that they would be capable of accommo- dating a greater number of the plants which he had delighted to see about the place. Moses, however, possessed a soul above gardening of this description, and consequently the window sills remained bare. It was upon the ledge outside his dressing-room window that the two men Avho were watching his movements were crouched, their position having been easily reached by means of the porch, from the flat roof of which it was a comparatively easy feat to step on to the sill. One pressed the other's hand in silence as the Jew turned out the gas and retired to his bed-room, slam- ming the door of communication behind it, and turning the key in the lock. A stifled grunt of satisfaction escaped the lips of one of the watchers as the .sound reached them ; and the pair crept cautiously back to the roof of the porch, upon which they took their seats in silence. The clocks in the neighbourhood struck two ere a TttE CROOKED BILLET. tQt word was spoken by either of them, but at last the taller figure whispered gently in his companion's ear '" By Jove, he's full of money. Come on, it's neck or nothing." " All right, you look out; I'll soon work the job," was the reply, delivered in a similar train. * * * * * Gad Moses slept restlessly that night. His sleep was broken by fantastic dreams, and more than once he sat up in his bed, and listened anxiously to the sound of the rising wind sighing amongst the branches of the surrounding trees. " What a fool I am to be nervous," he muttered to himself for the twentieth time. " One would think I was some stupid woman, and not a man of fourteen stone, to be frightened by the wind. Hullo ! what's that, though ? " he said softly, below his breath. " That's not the wind, that's a chair moved in my dressing room," and he gently crept out of bed, and stood in the middle of the floor. Another second and Gad distinctly saw a light below the door ; it flickered for a minute, and then disap- peared, but was soon succeeded by another. The Jew was no coward : he listened intently, as he was con- sidering the best course to pursue. Again the light showed. " Professionals certainly," he whispered to himself. " Those are silent matches, and I must be up and doing." Another instant, and Gad Moses, revolver in hand, was at the door of his bedroom, which opened on to the landing, his intention being to surprise the burglars by entering the apartment in which they were at work, not by the door of communication between the two rooms, which he very wisely considered might be fastened on their side, but by the entrance near the French window which led on to the veranda. Unfortunately for the success of his scheme, the handle grated as it turned, and the sound disturbed the men, who at once rushed from the dressing-room, and attempted to escape by the French window, which stood open, and through which they had evidently made their entrance. IQ2 THE CROOKED BILLET. It was pilch dark, and a drizzling rain had set in, so Gad Moses was unable to see clearly what was going on. He could not even discern how many men there were, but he was determined to effect a capture if he could. He consequently raised his revolver and fired. A shriek, a sound of a heavy body falling on the veranda, a struggle, a muttered oath, and a fearful thud on the stone flags of the area beneath, followed the re- port, and all for a moment remained silent as the grave. At first, Moses stood as though petrified, as the thoughts of what had occurred began to dawn upon him. The arrival of his male attendant in a deplorable state of deshabille, however, soon aroused him, and the two commenced a search of the premises. A fearful sight presented itself to their gaze, as Gad and his attendant arrived at the veranda. A man lay there on his back, his feet towards the French windows, with the blood gushing from a fearful wound in his throat, and evidently at his last gasp. Gad's bullet had clearly hit him as he was running sideways, and had severed the carotid artery. "Run for a doctor; never mind your clothes; and whistle like mad for a policeman ; don't you see the man is dying ! " shouted Moses. And before the words were well out of his mouth, the servant was on his way, having borrowed one of Gad's top-coats -which hung up in the hall. " There's another of 'em outside, sir ! " he shouted, as he ran down the path ; " I can hear him groanin' awful," and he tore off like a maniac. Gad hurriedly threw on some clothes, and then went on the veranda, and placed a pillow under the head of the dying man, whose features were undiscernible in the darkness. He then attempted to get the sufferer to swallow a little brandy, but the man was past that, and lay silently bleeding to death at his feet. In five minutes a policeman made his appearance, and with his aid the Hebrew carried the wounded man into the dressing-room and laid him gently on the-sofa. As the light fell on the burglar's face, Gad uttered an exclamation of horror, and stepping back, exclaimed " My God ! the other one ! There's another one down below ; come with me to him." THE CROOKED BILLET. 193 Leaving the wounded man in the care of the cook, Moses and the officer proceeded to the garden, and, lying in the stone area, discovered another motionless figure. The policeman turned his bull's-eye on the face in silence. " I feared so I thought so," said Gad. " Is he dead, constable ? I know the person well. Poor fellow, I never thought it would have come to this," he sighed, almost tenderly. The figure at their feet was that of Frank Champ- neys. Nat Price lay bleeding to death upstairs. CHAPTER XXVII. CLOSING IN. " YES, father ; I feel I'm going fast, and I know my life has been a discredit to you all." The speaker was Frank Champneys, and the scene lay in the bedroom of Gad Moses, whither the injured man had been carried by the orders of the doctor, who, from the moment of his arrival, pronounced the case hopeless, as the spine was fatally injured by the fall from the veranda. The Hebrew, to his credit be it said, had behaved like a gentleman. He at once telegraphed to Squire Champneys to come immediately, which he did, accom- panied by his friend the parson and the two girls. Gad Moses met them at the door of the house, and having briefly explained the nature of the affair, he proceeded, with the greatest delicacy, to assure the sufferers' friends that his house was entirely at their disposal, and that he, in order that their feelings might be spared as much as possible, would not return to the establishment, which they were to consider entirely as their own. Frank received the party gratefully, for he was quite aware of the position in which he lay. " Do you mind sending for Jack Heathcote, father?" 194 THH CROOKED BILLET. he inquired, as the shades of evening began to fall ; " I wish to shake hands with him, and beg him to for- give me for all the injuries I have done him." The Squire willingly consented, and Gad's servant was at once dispatched to try and find Jack, whose address and assumed name were gladly provided by Nellie. " Father, I want to speak to you and Mr. Heathcote alone for five minutes. No, no, after all, don't let the girls go," he added immediately. " Nellie should hear all from me direct ; much of it concerns her." He lay silent for a few minutes and then proceeded " I've been a blackguard It was I who compromised with Eve Price, not Jack. I was actually married to her at the time she and her father told you, at St. Nicholas, that he was the parent of her unborn child. I forged his name to the bill ; and I have anticipated every penny of my mother's money. Can you forgive me ? Can Jack forgive me ?" Nellie was the first to break the silence that ensued. " He can, and will, dear Frank. On his behalf, and as his future wife, I, who have never wavered in my allegiance to him or in my belief in his innocence, take upon myself to answer for him, and for all the others standing here." The Squire utterly broke down at these words. " Let us pray," solemnly said the Rector. Frank Champneys died with his hand clasped in that of Jack Heathcote. His last word was addressed to his injured friend, and the last sound that fell upon his ears were the words of Jack in which he assured him that he was fully, freely, and frankly forgiven. CHAPTER XXVIII. JACK HF.ATHCOTE TAKES HIS DEGREE. TWELVE months and more had passed away since Frank Champneys was laid to rest in the churchyard at Champneys. The Mav races were on at Cambridge, and an eager, happy little party of five three gentlemen and two ladies were seated in a waggonette at Grassy Corner upon the last night of the week. " Oh, Jack, I shall be a happy woman if dear old St. Nicholas makes its bump to-night. What a glorious combination of circumstances it would be ! St. Nicholas to get head of the river, you to take your degree, and our wedding to take place all in the same fortnight." " Hush, there's the gun they're off!" was Jack's reply. " Here comes the Hall," cried the excited Squire, as the black-bladed oars of the head of the river eight came sweeping round First Post Corner. " St. Nicholas is overlapping them, by all that's sacred!" he yelled. '' They'll catch them in six strokes." But that was not to be. That performance was deferred by a fortunate chain of accidents until the spot where the Champneys parly were situated was reached. Then it came. Up went the black-sleeved arm of the Trinity Hall coxswain, in acknowledgment of defeat, and the St. Nicholas crew r put into the bank, literally at the feet of the man who, of all others, had contributed so largely to their success by the good style and system of coaching which he had introduced into the College two years before. Five of the crew had rowed with him two years ago, when he stroked the eight, and they all knew Nellie, as the Squire and his party had been up in Cambridge for a week, and Jack had introduced his future wife to many friends. It was, therefore, decided that she should have the honour of placing the venerated flag, indicative of victory, in the stern of the victorious boat, ere the crew rowed off after giving " three hearty cheers for John Heathcote, who taught us all to row." " There's a lot of truth in the old words, brother John," said the Squire to his friend, as " Labor ipse voluptas" the College motto, floated proudly in the breeze. The following week, Jack Heathcote took his Degree, 196 THE CROOK Kb UILLLI'. to which he had been so long entitled, though he had left Cambridge without receiving it. Ten days later, Nellie Champneys ceased to exist, having blossomed into Ellen Heathcote in the course of a ceremony performed in the old church in which she and^her husband had worshipped all their lives. A little Nellie, and a juvenile Jack have now taken the places of their parents in the affections of the Squire and the Parson, who vie with each other in spoiling their grandchildren. Turner has " taken silk," and his name has become a terror to evil-doers throughout the length and breadth of the land. Maud Heathcote, however, has viewed his talents from a totally different point, and has promised to become his wife at the commencement of the long vacation. Of the other friends who have come and gone during the progress of our tale, it can be honestly said that all have done extremely well. Eve Champneys and her son reside at Brighton, where the boy is receiving a good education, and the widow lives comfortably, at the expense of the Squire. Jem Armstrong has prospered in Australia, and writes to Jack that he has made a pile, and now that Sue has found a good husband, he thinks of coming home to end his days in the old place. The " Society Spyglass " still exists, with Mr. Cor- nelius Trimmer at its head, as a vehicle for retail- ing tittle-tattle, and Gad Moses has finally settled down in Maida Vale, with a wife of his own per- suasion, who indulges lavishly in diamonds, and attempts to force her way into Society, by sheer weight of metal. FINIS. ALLEN, SCOTT & Co., 30, Bouverie Street, Fleet Street, E.G. A 000 046 020 4