REGINALD HETHERBGB 
 
 AND 
 
 LEIGHTON COUET 
 
The Works of 
 HENRY KINGSLEY. 
 
 The Recollections of Geoffry Hamlyn. 
 
 Ravenshoe. 
 
 The Hillyars and the Burtons. 
 
 SlLCOTE OF SlLCOTES. 
 
 Stretton. 
 
 Austin Elliot and The Harveys. 
 
 Mademoiselle Mathilde. 
 
 Old Margaret, iind Other Stories. 
 
 Valentin, and Numbeb Seventeen. 
 
 Oaksuott Castle and The Grange Garden. 
 
 Reginald Hetherege and Leighton Couet. 
 
 The Boy in Grey, and Other Stories. 
 
THE GHOST AT HOLLINGSCROFT 
 {From a Drawing by Gordon Browne.) 
 
 Reginald Hetherege.] 
 
 [Page 160. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE 
 
 AND 
 
 LEIGHTON COURT 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRY KINGSLEY 
 
 NEW EDITION 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY GORDON BROWNE 
 
 LONDON 
 
 WARD, LOCK & BO WD EN, LIMITED 
 
 WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C 
 
 NEW YORK AND MELBOUKNE 
 1895 
 
 [All rights reserved\ 
 
REGINALD HETHEBEGE 
 
 823888 
 
REGINALD HE THERE GE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MR. DIGBY DOES THE BEST HE CAN UNDER THE CIRCUMSTANCES. 
 
 Reginald Hetherege made so many failures, and accomplished 
 such remarkable successes in his life, that the story of it would be 
 worth telling, even had he, the principal character in it, no more 
 moral value or capacity of expression than the buoy at the Nore ; 
 to which most excellent arrangement of staves and iron hoops he 
 has been frequently likened by our mutual friend Goodge, the great 
 traveller, who was naturally an excessively good-humoured man 
 about town, but who ended by being made F.R.S. for verifying 
 other people's discoveries. 
 
 Whether Reginald was anything more worthy of description than 
 the buoy at the Nore our readers must judge for themselves ; it is 
 most absolutely certain that he at one time earned the love and 
 respect of all who knew him. He floated, like the great buoy, 
 passively through calm weather and foul weather, sometimes with 
 the waves rippling pleasantly about him, sometimes with the great 
 northern seas pouring over his head, until the last ship he waited 
 to pilot came safe into port ; and then he broke from his moorings, 
 and was towed comfortably into port himself. So much for Goodge 's 
 simile. 
 
 In the long course of his life he had many opportunities for 
 making friends and enemies — for making, as we before remarked, 
 successes and failures. He availed himself of these opportunities 
 to the utmost extent of his genius — which we rank high — during 
 all periods of his existence. In the way of failures and blunders, 
 his genius never served him so well through his life as it did on 
 the first instance when he utilised it. The most magnificent 
 blunder which Reginald ever made was being born at all, or, to be 
 
 3 
 
4 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 more correct, being brought into the world exactly when he was. 
 In all his future transactions, remarkable as they were, he never 
 approached his first masterly fiasco. 
 
 He was humbly conscious of this throughout his life : up to quite 
 a late period in his existence he would coolly and bravely face any 
 member of the family on any other point, but always grew sheepish 
 when it was pointed out to him (as at one time it very often was) 
 that he had inflicted awful wrong upon the family by being born 
 on a Sunday night. It was too frightfully true to be gainsaid, and 
 he, the poor man of the family, suffered for it heavily. The 
 majority of the family, or, rather, of the five families, were rich, 
 and consequently moral ; at all events, it Avas not worth their 
 while to put him out of the way ; still he went near expiating his 
 crime, or worse, his blunder, on many occasions. The circum- 
 stances surrounding his birth were nearly the same as those in the 
 " Juif errant " of Eugene Sue, and there was nothing to prevent his 
 having been the hero of a similar romance, except that he lived 
 in England, and that the estate was contended for, not by Jesuits, 
 but by the legal advisers of some rich families. 
 
 The origin of the five families to whom Reginald was about to 
 become the victim is lost in the mists of obscurity. Their names 
 were Digby (the great merchant), Simpson, Talbot, Murdoch, and 
 Hetherege. They had originally, all of them, it was said, come 
 from the North, but they never cared very much for going into 
 their ancestry, with the exception of the Talbots, who had some 
 very dim and remote connection with Alton Towers, and also with 
 the recently ennobled family of Snizort ; which, at the time when 
 our story begins, was represented by MacSnufrles of Sneeze, the 
 Barony of Cackle having been in abeyance since 1748. 
 
 At the time of Reginald's birth the head of all the families was 
 acknowledged to be old Digby, the last of his name, as he declared 
 (though by looking about him he might have found a few poor 
 relations). He, however, for reasons of his own, hated all his 
 relations, both poor and rich, and even the richer relations seldom 
 darkened his doors at No. 1, Bolton Bow, and when they did, met 
 with but a sorry reception. Other company was very welcome 
 there, but it was not of the sort, brilliant in one way as it might 
 be, which would in any way suit a British merchant's wife. 
 Whereby our readers doubtless gather that old Digby was un- 
 married. 
 
 In the year 1780 few men were better known in the mercantile 
 world than Mr. Digby, M.P., the merchant. Originally, people 
 said at the time, of highly respectable extraction, everything which 
 he had touched had turned to gold, and he was one of the richest 
 
REGINALD HETHEKEGE. 5 
 
 men in England, though he had the reputation of being one of 
 the most disreputable. He had never been married, and so had 
 no heir, the destination of his money being utterly unknown to 
 all relations, who were not very numerous, and, with one excep- 
 tion, rich. Even the exceptional one, however, was a clerk in the 
 House of Commons with a very good income, which of course died 
 with him ; and so, when a man's poorest relation has an income 
 of £800 a year, he may bo said not to be plagued with those 
 troublesome pests, poor relations, at all — for kinship, with some 
 people, does not imply relationship. Such was the account which 
 the world gave of the great Digby in his old age. 
 
 Mr. Digby was very much sought after by his recognised rela- 
 tions, in spite of his invariably bullying them when they came to 
 see him, and in spite also of a great scandal, almost of European 
 dimensions, which ended in the House of Lords, a duel, and the 
 total exclusion of the great capitalist from court, or even from 
 office, for a long time. The loudly-expressed anger of the King 
 and Queen soured him, and he retired from the world of society, 
 though not from that of politics. Middle-aged when the scandal 
 happened, he was in the prime of his debating powers, and his 
 voice, on certain subjects which he had made the study of his life, 
 was law in the House of Commons. 
 
 The lady to whom the scandal attached died without his having 
 made her the reparation in his power. That his conduct with re- 
 gard to her in this respect was considered highly dishonourable, in 
 a not very particular age, he was soon made aware of by the most 
 free-living of his acquaintances. What his reasons were no one 
 knew, but he used to say that no one ever forgave his behaviour 
 but his own relations. 
 
 Towards these relations the old man, disappointed and miser- 
 able, with all his vast wealth, conceived a detestation bordering, 
 they thought, upon lunacy. One of them only was often admitted 
 to see him — William Hetherege, the clerk in the House of Com- 
 mons. He, as he roughly expressed it, got more kicks than 
 halfpence. 
 
 Scandals die out to a certain extent after a time, more easily, 
 perhaps, in the case of great capitalists and great orators than in 
 the case of common people. As for the great scandal of all in 
 this case, people began to say that the unhappy cause had mainly 
 brought it on herself, and that old Digby had his reasons for what 
 he did. A man may be a considerable villain in certain societies 
 if he has a million and a half of money ; and although certain 
 people had helped to treat Digby as a social Timon, yet thuy 
 remembered that Timon had not lost his money by any means, 
 
6 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 and remembered the times when " Timon's gold trod heavy on 
 their lips "—for the merchant used to entertain well, and was 
 generous with his money. After ten years, Digby might have 
 been pretty much where he liked— in men's society, at all events : 
 he liked, however, to be at his office, his home, and the House of 
 Commons. 
 
 His family, though they paid him all the court they were allowed 
 to, spread the most remarkable rumours about him, which no one 
 believed, and which, getting round to his ears again, did them no 
 good at all. The most popular of these rumours among the family 
 was that he had sold himself to the devil. This must have come 
 to the old man's ears, and we shall see what very grim mischief 
 he made among them in return for their kind suggestion. It was 
 the most expensive piece of nonsense ever set afloat by any human 
 family, and, but for the tender care of the lawyers, might have 
 paid off a large part of the national debt. 
 
 At last the old man failed rather suddenly: he had a quiet 
 warning, which he and his doctor kept to themselves, but he knew 
 his end was near. The doctor asked him if he had made his will, 
 "For now," he said, "that you are recovered, it is the time to 
 do so." The old man grinned sardonically as he told the doctor 
 that he had made it the day before. He then began laughing in 
 a strange way, and gave the doctor to understand that " they," as 
 he always spoke of his relations, would find themselves consider- 
 ably puzzled. 
 
 He sent for his four principal relations (he had none — recognised 
 — of his own name, as we have said before), Talbot, Simpson, 
 Murdoch, and Hetherege, and when they came he received them 
 with friendly cordiality. He told them that his end was near, and 
 Talbot, Murdoch, and Simpson all concurred in saying that they 
 hoped he had many happy years to live. Hetherege, on the other 
 hand, said not one single word, and looked so exactly as if it was 
 no business of his, and a matter of profound indifference to him, 
 that the sardonic old sinner was delighted ; and stepping across 
 the room, he took from a glass cabinet a snuff-box set in diamonds 
 of immense value, and gave it to Hetherege, who thanked him, 
 and put it in his pocket with an unmoved countenance. 
 
 He then informed his relations that his will was already made, 
 and that the various branches of the family were handsomely pro- 
 vided for, to the latest generation, which they were extremely glad 
 to hear. While he was speaking the door opened, and a most 
 beautiful boy, about eight years old, dashed into the room, and 
 climbed on the old man's knee, throwing his arms round his neck 
 and kissing him. None of the four had ever seen such a beautiful 
 
KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 7 
 
 boy, so splendidly dressed. Three of them could not conceal their 
 extreme vexation at the boy's appearance, for they saw that the 
 rumour was true which they had heard, but had constantly denied : 
 that there was a son in the family on whose innocent head was 
 visited the merchant's anger against the mother. This boy, they 
 thought, would run away with a large sum of money. 
 
 William Hetherege alone spoke. 
 
 " Cousin Digby, you owe some reparation here. Of your past 
 affairs I know very little, of the motives for your strange conduct, 
 nothing. But I hope that you have done your duty by this child ? " 
 
 "Yes, I have," said old Digby. "He returns to his natural 
 position in life ; he must make his own way in the world." 
 
 "It is a question between yourself and your God, Digby," said 
 Hetherege. "Poor little innocent! My child, if you ever want 
 a friend— and, God knows, I am afraid you will — remember 
 William Hetherege . ' ' 
 
 The boy laughed and said, "Yes, he would remember, and so 
 would his sister Isabel ; " and the four said good-bye, and departed, 
 seeing their kinsman for the last time. 
 
 The merchant sent the boy away, and sat a long while musing, 
 as if undecided in purpose. At last he said, " No, I will not give 
 it up. Good heavens ! what a rage they will be in ! " Here he 
 laughed a laugh rather horrible to hear than otherwise. The grim, 
 heartless old sinner, with the power of his wealth only a matter of 
 a few days, was laughing as he thought of the fiendish mischief 
 which he could make with it after his death. 
 
 He ordered his carriage, and, greatly to his valet and house- 
 keeper's dismay, told the coachman to drive to the House of 
 Commons. " There will be a row about the first clause in my 
 will," he said to himself, "and Murdoch and Simpson are quite 
 noodles enough to try and set it aside on the grounds of insanity. 
 I must show in the House, and talk the hardest common sense. 
 Let us see, the Canal Bill is on. That will be just the thing." 
 
 Great astonishment was expressed at seeing him come in to 
 take his place ; several members offered their arms, and many more 
 their congratulations. He had scarcely sat down when he was on 
 his legs again, and made the speech known as the " Tea-kettle 
 Speech," in what took place subsequently. For a short time some 
 people thought that the end of his speech was a little flighty ; but, 
 after a very few years, everybody recognised it to be, what many 
 knew it to be at the time, a speech of consummate power and 
 ability. 
 
 After alluding to his illness, and asking for their patience if he 
 spoke slowly, he begged the House to pause before inflicting a 
 
8 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 heavy tax on posterity by granting excessive concessions to canals, 
 as was at that time proposed. After giving a vast number of 
 invaluable facts from his own experience, he went on to say that 
 canals were merely the precursors of far more rapid and extensive 
 modes of transport, and that he believed that before very long we 
 should be doing the greater part of our national work by means of 
 boiling water. He never was more calm or logical in his life than 
 when he pointed out the fact of the great power exerted by boiling 
 water on the lid of a tea-kettle. Knowing him to be a man who 
 had made great sums by buying inventions before they were known 
 to the world, the House listened and wondered. He passed to 
 other things, and then sat down, leaving even those who were in 
 doubts about the tea-kettle, forced to say that scarcely any man 
 in the House could have made a more valuably lucid speech, with 
 that exception. 
 
 Three days afterwards the shutters were up at his house : Mr. 
 Digby was dead. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 The will came on the assembled family like a thunderclap. The 
 first impression of every one was that the old man was mad : the 
 opening clause was so astonishing and strange, that, as the old 
 man himself had foreseen, it ultimately caused a few of his more 
 foolish relations to try and set it aside on the score of insanity. 
 The first clause, combined with his speech in the House of Commons, 
 made up a piece of mischief particularly intended to plague the 
 two most litigious of his relations, and which was perfectly success- 
 ful. Here are the contents of the will, abridged. It somewhat 
 diners from Thellusson's, but made nearly as much trouble. 
 
 "I, Thomas Digby, having been a great sinner, having accumulated 
 vast wealth, and having got no good from it, but great evil, do by 
 this, my last will and testament, give and bequeath the whole of 
 my property to my friend the devil, for his sole use and benefit 
 during his lifetime, hoping that he will repent, and make a better 
 use of it than I have done. 
 
 " In case, however, of his dying before me, or his not appearing 
 in person to claim the property, I make the following dispositions." 
 
 After the above beginning they were pretty well prepared for 
 anything, but scarcely for what followed. 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. D 
 
 He appointed Geoffry Talbot and William Hetherege his 
 executors, leaving them £10,000 a-piece. 
 
 "In order to secure my faithful servants, Robert and Anne 
 Dicker, from any possibility of legal troubles, I have already pro- 
 vided for them by deed of gift during my lifetime. In the same 
 manner I have done all which I intend to do for my illegitimate 
 son, who at present bears my name, and for his half-sister. Robert 
 and Anne Dicker are appointed his guardians, and the boy will 
 bear the name which I have given to them in my instructions. If 
 the boy does well, he has my blessing ; if he does badly, I love 
 him far too well to give him my curse." 
 
 The whole of his estate was then to be realised and placed in 
 the English funds. No one of his four principal relations, 
 Hetherege, Talbot, Simpson, or Murdoch, or any of their male 
 descendants living at the time of his death, were to take any 
 further benefit from his property. After the death of his last 
 living relation in either of the four families named, that was to say, 
 after the death of Alfred Hetherege, son of William Hetherege 
 (who being now twenty-four, might last to sixty-four), possibly in 
 the year 1820, a settlement was to take place. The eldest male 
 descendant of the Hethereges, not alive at his death, was to take 
 one-half of the property then existing ; the other half was to be 
 divided equally among the living male descendants of the Simpson, 
 Talbot, and Murdoch who were alive at his death.* 
 
 Such was the will. It entirely prevented any one save the 
 executors from touching a penny, and left them exactly as they had 
 been before. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 REGINALD COMMITS THE CROWNING VILLANY OF HIS LIFE. 
 
 Not very long afterwards, Lord North was speaking to Lord 
 Thurlow, of course about indifferent matters, for they were no 
 longer colleagues. " Have you seen this lunatic merchant's will ? " 
 he asked. "Who would have thought that Digby would have 
 gone mad at last ? ' ' 
 
 " It is," said the great lawyer, " one of the cleverest wills I 
 ever saw. The man has clone as he always did, exactly what he 
 
 * The Thellusson will was far more absurd than this one. The result 
 would have been 170,000,000 of money. 
 
10 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 wanted to do. He wanted to annoy his relations, and he has 
 done it ; I could not have succeeded in doing it better for him 
 myself. Nothing could have prevented his locking up his property 
 for a certain number of lives, or leaving it to Bedlam. He has 
 done more — he has left exactly such a will as will tempt his 
 relations into law." 
 
 " Why did he hate them so ? " said the other. 
 
 " It runs in some families," said Lord Thurlow. " What 
 would become of us lawyers if it did not ? ' ' 
 
 " Will the law set the will aside ? " said the other. 
 
 ' ' Kill the goose that lays the golden eggs ? I should fancy 
 not easily," said the lawyer. " There will be money enough 
 come into the lawyers' pockets to rebuild the temple at Jerusalem, 
 if the Templars will join us Lincoln's Inn men. Good-bye." 
 
 The Hethereges, like most poor people, had the habit of marry- 
 ing early. AVilliam Hetherege had married early, and his son 
 Alfred, the youngest male relative of Digby, the last on the black 
 list, had been married nearly the prescribed time which is laid 
 down as that when an addition to the family may be looked for 
 with tolerable certainty. The Hethereges, father and son, were 
 of no great importance to the family, not being rich, and the con- 
 sequence was that the state of health of Mrs. Alfred was a matter 
 of profound indifference to them. The nurse, however, was in 
 waiting at the very time when Mr. Digby made his extraordinary 
 speech in the House of Commons on the subject of tea-kettles. 
 
 Alfred was a junior clerk in the House, under his father, and oi 
 course heard his speech. He was at first under the impression 
 that his cousin, the great Digby, had been drinking ; but his 
 speech was so fine, and yet so very absurd, that he determined to 
 make his wife laugh about it. She wanted a good laugh, for she 
 had been low in her mind ever since the nurse had come into the 
 house. 
 
 In fact, Nurse Smart was not at all a reassuring person. She 
 was aristocratic and expensive, or the Hethereges, as poor people, 
 would not have had her at any price. She was very religious, 
 warranted very temperate, very lady-like, and was supposed to be 
 the daughter of an archdeacon or magistrate, no one ever knew 
 which ; but she was not reassuring. And the only fault to be 
 found with her, said the doctors, was that she was used by over- 
 precaution to make young mothers too nervous. One of the great 
 doctors of the day said that she was the most ignorant old humbug 
 in London ; but he was always violent. 
 
 She had talked persistently about nothing but the coming event 
 to Mrs. Alfred, until that young lady was as close on a nervous 
 
REGINALD HETHEKEGE. U 
 
 fever as need be. She had got hold of a Prayer-Book, and had 
 read the first sentence of the Churching Service, which was less 
 assuring than the conversation of Nurse Smart. She was very- 
 glad to forget the " pain and peril" mentioned there by seeing 
 Alfred come smiling in from the House of Commons. 
 
 " My darling," he said, " I have such a joke for you ! Cousin 
 Digby came down to the House and made one of the most 
 masterly speeches ever heard, after which he said that he in- 
 tended to be dragged to Manchester by a tea-kettle. He is as 
 mad as a hatter." 
 
 This was too much for Mrs. Alfred. She shut up her Prayer- 
 Book, rose to her feet, stretched out her hand, and said in a loud, 
 shrill voice — 
 
 "My child, my child! My unfortunate, neglected, unborn 
 child ! My last hope is gone — the hope that would have sustained 
 me through everything is taken from me. I thought that Cousin 
 Digby would have taken to it, and provided for it ; now I hear 
 that he is a raving maniac. Let me die." 
 
 She fell into his arms as Nurse Smart came rushing in. " Why, 
 what is the matter with the poor lady, sir ? You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself." 
 
 " Say it was me," said Alfred, with ungrammatical reckless- 
 ness. " Yes, say it was me. yes. Ha, ha ! I did it ; quite 
 so." 
 
 Here Mrs. Alfred, who had sank back on the sofa, grew ex- 
 tremely faint, and murmured, " Let me die." 
 
 She was really very ill indued, and the nurse told Alfred, with 
 a scared face, that she had received a severe nervous shock. It 
 was undoubtedly true. She was a little fragile being, who had 
 been a long time ailing. Any sudden intelligence would have been 
 most dangerous for her. The intelligence which Alfred brought 
 appeared to her, in her overwrought state, to be overwhelming, 
 and she sunk under it. She, in fact, never ultimately recovered 
 the effects of that unlucky joke. 
 
 Nurse Smart begged Alfred in heaven's name to fetch the 
 doctor. Alfred fled and roused Saville Row, sending every doctor 
 he found at home away to his house at once, and leaving word for 
 every one to follow post-haste. There were so many carriages at 
 his door that night that the link-men thought he was giving a 
 party, and assembled in some force, until undeceived, when they 
 sulkily departed. 
 
 Actually before he got home the child was born. The first 
 doctor was only just in time to usher the child into the world, and 
 be able, with the nurse and two other hastily arrived doctors, to 
 
12 BEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 swear as to the date of its birth. The minute was of very little 
 matter, the hour was very little matter : the wretched little 
 swindler was born nearly two days before the death of l)igby. 
 And until that child was dead and buried not a human being could 
 touch a penny of Digby's money, with the exceptions previously 
 mentioned. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FAMILY FORGETS CERTAIN FACTS ABOUT DIGBY, BUT 
 REMEMBER HIS MONEY. 
 
 There was fearful consternation among the assembled relatives 
 when the will was read. Even Geoffry Talbot and William 
 Hetherege were disappointed. Practically no one was to feel the 
 direct benefit of the old man's money until after they were as dead 
 as he was : a rather ghostly idea. When they first realised the 
 facts, the first effect on some of them were muttered curses. If 
 the old man had risen from his grave then and seen them, he 
 would have been amply revenged, and might have altered his will. 
 But the most able and benevolent of our theologians doubt whether 
 departed spirits are allowed to see the fruition of their actions in 
 the next world, or the spirit of the departed Digby might have 
 laughed a laugh so grim and happy as to be entirely out of place 
 either in the nether or higher regions. 
 
 The youngest living man, as we have said, was Alfred, then 
 twenty-four, and of weak health. Before his death nothing could 
 be done — unless they could set aside the will. 
 
 That was improbable, but possible. Each man saw that at 
 once ; but, then, each man profoundly distrusted his neighbour, 
 and no man was lawyer enough to say what the effect of success 
 would be. It was evident that unless something could be done 
 by united action they could only calculate on their descendants 
 inheriting the money. That was something, for, with the excep- 
 tion of Hetherege, they were all rich, and the possible succession 
 of their heirs male would reflect its splendour on them. They 
 had enough, and might live the more easily and freely as their 
 descendants were provided for. Still the will was a terrible dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Geoffry Talbot seemed to be out of the reckoning altogether, 
 for he was a childless widower, gutting old. 
 
REGINALD HE THEREGE. 13 
 
 William Hetherege had a son Alfred, who was married and 
 expecting a child. As matters stood, this young man's child, if a 
 son, would be the first to participate in the will. But none of 
 them knew exactly when the child would be born. 
 
 Richard Murdoch had one son, consumptive and dissipated, who 
 might marry. 
 
 Robert Simpson had a daughter who had married her cousin, 
 was thirty-two years of age, and had not as yet had any 
 children. 
 
 Geoffry Talbot was the first man who spoke. " You see, 
 cousins, that we have made a mess of it. We flattered and 
 harassed the old man so continually, that he lost confidence in all 
 of us except Hetherege. As it stands, it seems to me that 
 Hetherege has every chance of seeing his grandson in possession 
 of half the money — when he and his son are in heaven. I take 
 my £10,000, and retire from the contest. Cousin Dick Murdoch, 
 your son may marry. Let him be quick about it, or he will die 
 of drink : his son will share. Cousin Bob Simpson, your daughter 
 will have no children, and you are only forty-nine. Marry again. 
 To recur to you, Dick Murdoch, I should say the same thing. 
 You are a widower, and if Tom sticks to the brandy bottle, you 
 are as likely to have a son as he is — for, perhaps, no woman 
 would marry him. It is obvious, cousins, that the money must 
 come to our children or our children's children. Why worry our- 
 selves about the matter ? ' ' 
 
 Mr. Robert Simpson said, " Cousin Talbot, you are laying- 
 down the law without any evidence. My daughter may have 
 children yet." 
 
 " She may not have a boy, Cousin Simpson," said Geoffry 
 Talbot, who had the family failing of delighting in annoying his 
 relations, though he was one of the most agreeable and placid- 
 tempered man in Europe. " Besides, in the case of a vast 
 inheritance like this, it would cost £20,000 to prove whether the 
 old man, from his wording of the will, meant the money to go 
 through the female branch at all. No ; I should marry again. 
 Alfred's expected child may be a girl, in which case I might think 
 it worth my while to marry again, even at my age." 
 
 William Hetherege spoke. "You are not aware, then, that 
 Alfred's wife was confined two days before the old man's death. 
 The boy is a very fine boy, and is likely to do well. I did not 
 mention the matter, because I did not know, any more than you, 
 the contents of this will, and I did not think that my affectionate 
 relations particularly cared to know of the circumstance." 
 
 " This is a swindle," said Simpson. 
 
14 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " There will be no settlement till about 1860, if the boy lives," 
 said Murdoch. 
 
 Talbot burst out laughing. " Come, Hetherege," he said, 
 " will you walk ? I shall marry now. If I have a son, it will 
 be a race between him and Alfred's. ' Solountur risu tabula* 
 cousins. Let the old man's money go to the devil, to whom he 
 originally left it." 
 
 Simpson and Murdoch, however, were not quite so cynical as 
 Talbot. They laid their heads together, and resolved on law ; 
 and to law they went. 
 
 So began the great lawsuit, which, at one time, seemed as 
 though it would last for ever. It began with an effort on the part 
 of Simpson to get it set aside on the grounds of insanity ; but this 
 was only the beginning. Other pleas and other interests came in, 
 until in 1830 there were nearly forty suitors in the case, while the 
 man who stopped the way — Reginald — was only fifty. But here 
 we anticipate. Much had come and gone before that, which we 
 shall have to narrate. Geoffry Talbot married, and had two sons ; 
 they had eleven sons ; the two eldest of these eleven had, the one 
 three sons, the other two. Again, Murdoch married, and had 
 nine grandsons, who assisted in peopling Australia with sons. 
 Mrs. Simpson, who married her cousin, had two sons, who had 
 seven sons, who assisted in the population of the United States 
 and British North America. All these men and boys had some 
 hazy interest in the estate, down to Murdoch's youngest grandson 
 James, and Simpson's eldest grandson George. 
 
 In startling contrast to this wonderful increase of possible 
 claimants in the other branches of the family, the Hethereges did 
 not increase at all. Alfred died, leaving one son — the auctor mali 
 — Reginald, who, after the death of old Talbot, Simpson, and 
 Murdoch, was devoutly wished dead by his numerous relations. 
 Reginald, again, had only one son, Charles, of whom we shall see 
 a great deal more, but who had rather less right (at least, so the 
 family considered at one time) to exist in this world than his 
 father had. 
 
 At the beginning of the great lawsuit the family quarrelled 
 pretty heavily ; but in the lapse of ages, seeing that there was no 
 likelihood of a settlement without murdering our friend Reginald 
 (who has to go hand in hand with us through the story), they 
 became as fond of one another as relations usually are, and 
 assisted one another to accumulate rather handsome fortunes. 
 They came originally of a hard griping stock, and were all pretty 
 well off when the genius of the family, Digby, died. We shall 
 not sec very many of them out of all the host, but it is 
 
REGINALD HETHEItEGE. 15 
 
 necessary to say something about the numerous sons and grand- 
 sons. 
 
 Talbot had shaken the pagoda tree rather heavily, and so the 
 Talbots had a perfect Pleiades of stars against their name at the 
 India House ; and, besides this, they had a tradition that if a 
 certain deed could ever be found, Alton Towers was their own — a 
 tradition which gave them great prestige, and which caused them 
 to treat Lord Shrewsbury publicly as an interloper. 
 
 Murdoch's spScialite was woolstapling. He was one of the first 
 to see the capabilities of Australia, and so his nine grandsons 
 either ruled small principalities in the new South land, and drove 
 to their offices in London in tilburys. 
 
 Simpson was a Manchester man, and his seven grandsons found 
 both Manchester and Charlestown very agreeable places. 
 
 William Hetherege had started at a disadvantage with his 
 richer relations. He was, as we have mentioned before, a clerk 
 in the House of Commons, and was a man very highly respected 
 and looked up to — a man of grooves and routine, who had been 
 so long in office that he remembered Speaker Onslow and Sir 
 Robert Walpole. He was in very good society ; indeed, in far 
 better than any of the others were, who, with the exception of 
 Talbot, were not by any means refined. His son Alfred came 
 to the desk while his father was still there, and married on his 
 appointment. The result was, as we have seen, the unfortunate 
 baby. 
 
 William Hetherege took his £10,000 without dispute, and 
 partly spent it in good living. Such as he did not spend got into 
 the whirl of the lawsuit and disappeared, causing him to die very 
 poor, leaving Alfred nothing but his salary, his young wife's grave, 
 and his motherless child Reginald. The family saw little of 
 Alfred, and less of the child : indeed, the wit of the family averred 
 that the child Reginald was never invited to see any of his little 
 cousins, unless they had scarlet fever, measles, or small-pox. 
 Whatever truth there was in this cruel allegation, one thing 
 is certain — the boy grew up without any serious ailment, and, 
 not content with robbing all his young relations of their inheri- 
 tance, insisted on being much better looking, more amiable, and 
 more clever than any one of them. Alfred, being a man of 
 moderate means, naturally chose an expensive school for the boy, 
 and he was sent to Eton, with a view of going into the army. 
 He displayed considerable talents at Eton, and in the opinion of 
 all who knew him, he was much too good for a marching regiment. 
 However, he entered one, and managed to be very highly respected 
 and loved by his brother officers, and adored by his men. His 
 
16 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 necessary allowances were, of course, of some trouble to his father ; 
 but Reginald was so very careful, that they got on very well, to 
 the great astonisment of the family, who considered them as very 
 little better than mendicants. When they heard that Reginald 
 was about to unite his fortunes and handsome person to those 
 of a young lady of beauty and wealth, they said it was really time 
 something did turn up in that quarter. When it was understood, 
 however, that the young lady had only £900, they washed their 
 hands of the whole beggarly business, and left father and son to 
 go to destruction together. 
 
 Reginald's charming manners and great ability made him some 
 powerful friends ; and the young lady he had married, though not 
 rich, was exceedingly well connected. It was thought eminently 
 necessary that he should be provided for, and his friends, not his 
 relations, contrived to ring such continuous peals of bells in his 
 praises into the ears of a minister, that at length, with much bad 
 language, the minister gave Reginald a place which he wanted 
 for some one else : and he left the army for the writing table, with 
 a salary of £500 a year, rising to £800. 
 
 He lost his father and wife nearly at the same time, and was 
 left alone with his only child Charles. One affliction brought on 
 another, each of which he bore with a curious gentle endurance, 
 which was one of the most remarkable traits in his character, and 
 which never, during all which followed, deserted him. His father 
 died, and he had scarcely recovered the grief which this event 
 caused to an extremely sensitive and affectionate disposition, when 
 the overwhelming affliction of his wife's death followed ; she being 
 the third Mrs. Hetherege in succession who had died leaving only 
 one son, which the other branches of the family considered a 
 judgment on the Hethereges for the iniquity of existing at all. 
 Reginald had always been a very careful accountant, but in the 
 absence of mind which followed his last grief he let the affairs 
 of his office get into irretrievable confusion. By signing wrong 
 papers without examination, he had permitted a fraudulent clerk 
 to embezzle some £18,000, for which he was made answerable. 
 He was left with a growing boy and a salary of £200 a year until 
 the monstrous debt was paid. 
 
 There now came to Reginald a period of continual debts and 
 duns and anxiety, Avhich would have soured for ever a man with 
 a less philosophical mind than his. Executions in his house 
 occurred more than once — always, fortunately, when the boy 
 Charles was away. He made acquaintance with the bailiff's 
 man, and learnt many curious things from him. When he was 
 arrested he used to make friends in the sponging houses. All 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 17 
 
 these debts, which so cruelly worried the innocent, stricken man, 
 were mere comparative trifles contracted when he was in a good 
 and rising position, perhaps amounting to about one year of his 
 old income. The policy of the family invariably was the same— 
 to let matters come to a crisis as above mentioned, then pay the 
 sum required, taking it in turn, and afterwards have their money's 
 worth out of Reginald in a good scolding ; after which they would 
 go to church in pewsful, and confess themselves miserable' sinners 
 with extreme satisfaction. Charles used to say that these were 
 the only true words they ever spoke ; but we shall see what kind 
 of young gentleman he was immediately. 
 
 On more than one occasion, when tlie deputed member of the 
 family arrived at the scene of the disaster, he found everything 
 paid and most entirely comfortable. Whenever this happened^ 
 and the member asked who had paid, it was always the same 
 people— Messrs. Cox and Greenwood, Craig's Court, Charing 
 Cross. That eminent firm seemed to have "quite a passion for 
 Reginald, which was as great a mystery to the family as it was 
 to Reginald himself. Neither the family nor he, however, had 
 the least wish to make impertinent inquiries, or to look at one 
 single tooth in the mouth of that gift horse. 
 
 Well fitted for society, and liking it, Reginald gave it up 
 entirely, and, much against his will, lapsed into a Bohemian sort 
 of life. He had no cause to complain of his old friends, but he 
 was perforce shabby when not at his office, at which place one 
 well-cut frock coat was made to last him four years. He certainly 
 kept up acquaintance with his more intimate friends, but his visits 
 to them were few and far between. 
 
 The boy Charles grew up a fine, handsome lad, with a great 
 deal of promise, and a very sharp tongue. He was in a very 
 different position to his father, as far as the family were con- 
 cerned. Nothing could possibly take place until that wretched 
 Reginald was- out of the way. Then the boy would be heir to 
 untold thousands. Lionel Talbot, a young barrister with nothing 
 on earth to do but to mind other people's affairs, made out, by 
 a careful calculation, that Charles would be worth about three 
 millions of money. Aunt Hester Simpson, on the other hand, 
 calculated the sum at five hundred pounds ; the plain truth being 
 that, according to one theory, Charles would have come into about 
 ten millions, and to another, that he would have to go into the 
 bankruptcy court the moment he came of age. Charles and the 
 vast majority of the family, however, believed him to be possessed 
 of almost incredible wealth. The family, considering his father 
 a drag in the market, a person only to be tolerated, and hardly 
 
 8 
 
18 REGINALD hetherege. 
 
 that, took considerable notice of the boy at one time as a possible 
 heir. The father, with some of them, was a certainty and no 
 good whatever. He had gone to the bad. The boy probably 
 would also ; but, as church-goers, they read in the Funeral 
 Service that a man brought nothing into this world, and that 
 it was certain that he could take nothing out. Consequently 
 Charles Hetherege could not possibly take a million or so of 
 money away with him. He must leave it behind him : he might 
 as well leave it in their direction as in another. The boy, there- 
 fore was a person to be cultivated. Unfortunately the boy knew 
 his own power, and was utterly bumptious, even with Aunt 
 Hester. 
 
 He liked her the best of his relations, but he was utterly 
 devoted to his father, and looked on the family as his natural 
 enemies. Aunt Hester was supposed to have testamentary 
 designs towards the boy to the sum of a few hundreds, but she 
 was entirely wrapped up in a certain cousin James Murdoch, who 
 would get the main part of her property. 
 
 Miss Hester Simpson, the great novelist, whose name is known 
 from China to Peru, was the nearest relation which the boy 
 Charles had next to his father. She was third cousin once 
 removed. When and how she was removed, we are unable to 
 find out, but she was almost certainly third cousin. She had 
 no interest in the lawsuit at all, but was generally considered 
 head of the family, for what reasons does not exactly appear. 
 She loved her relations as well as the dead merchant Digby, or 
 the boy Charles. 
 
 As regards the latter, the mention of any one of their names 
 brought a howl from him. He had to go and stay at their 
 different houses, and his father was always under pecuniary 
 obligations to them. He repaid their hospitality by behaving 
 as bad as he could. He had always a certain sense of reserved 
 power, and the knowledge that the family wished his father out 
 of the way. On one occasion, in early youth, he was extremely 
 naughty in the house of Aunt Hester. Aunt Hester rebuked him, 
 pointing out that boys who took stolen apples to bed with them, 
 not only lost their chance of eternal bliss in the next world, but 
 ruined their insides in this. The boy replied, " Fiddle-de-dee ! 
 You are precious careful of my inside, because I shall have a heap 
 of money when pa dies. But I wouldn't trust any one of you " 
 (meaning the family) " to make pa's tea." After Aunt Hester 
 told this to the family, some of them deliberated whether poisoning 
 the boy as well as the father would not be a justifiable action, and 
 she sat silent. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 10 
 
 Aunt Hester was as capable of doing such a thing as we are. 
 But she wrote a great number of novels (we mean a great many 
 for that time ; the exact number is six) , and consequently had 
 to put herself, theoretically, into a vast number of situations, into 
 which she could not have got in the ordinary course of affairs, any 
 more than she could have poisoned Charles Hetherege. She used 
 to get herself nearly sent to the bad by a wicked man (a noble- 
 man, of course), and get out of the scrape in the most wonderful 
 manner : in her great novel, " The Triumph of Virtue," she 
 actually marries the villain who has planned her ruin. She wrote 
 such a transcendently virtuous novel, that the world read it with 
 aAve, and went to its ordinary places of amusement in sackcloth 
 and ashes. The very loosest people read it, because Aunt Hester, 
 in her tremendous virtue, sailed a little near the wind — as was 
 of course necessary, for how can you make vice hideous without 
 describing it? Aunt Hester saw that her great moral purpose 
 would fall dead unless she let her readers know what she meant, 
 and she did it, so that there was no doubt about her meaning. 
 Her first four great novels, after lying unread for a time, were 
 twenty years ago taken up again and praised very highly. Some 
 people said that they were almost improper, and others said that 
 they were outrageously dull : we consider the people who said 
 so to have been idiotic. Still the four novels became the fashion 
 again, and it was demanded, in some quarters, that all writers 01 
 fiction must model themselves on Aunt Hester. Some of them 
 did so, and were highly successful. 
 
 Aunt Hester's four novels were a great success ; her fifth was 
 not so. While she wrote about young ladies, she was masterly ; 
 whenever she attempted men, she made a failure, for the simple 
 reason that she knew nothing of them. In her fifth novel, how- 
 ever, she showed really great genius. She depicted the boy 
 Charles Hetherege as she thought that he would be in his future 
 life. She was very nearly right, and all the twaddle she ever 
 wrote may be forgiven for that one sketch. It is of no use to us, 
 because she wrote of him in posse, and we only in esse. It was 
 a dead failure, because her mistakes about the details of young 
 men's lives were really too absurd. Still we think it her best 
 novel. It embodied the idea that a boy like Charles Hetherege 
 could come to no good ; in fact, that he was what the Americans 
 call " a limb." She expressed that opinion to Charles frequently, 
 while writing her novel, and the rest of the family were quite of 
 her opinion. 
 
 Charles was rather glad of this. He liked his father's company 
 best of all, though his father talked very little to him. 
 
20 REGINALD HETHERE.GE. 
 
 " You can't have any money till I die," the father said once. 
 
 " Let us do without, then," said the hoy. 
 
 On another occasion the hoy said, "I say, pa, what do you 
 think of Aunt Hester's novels ? " 
 
 " They analyse female souls which are not in any way worth 
 it," said the father. 
 
 It is evident to all rightminded persons that the more the hoy 
 was away from this awful heretic of a father, who denounced Aunt 
 Hester's novels as " bread and butter spiced with impropriety," 
 the better for him. The family took action. "Limb" as the 
 hoy might he, it was evident that the boy would have a large sum 
 of money some day, and that he would be a valuable parti for 
 some pretty young" cousins— for the family had gone in not only 
 for wealth, but for beauty, and, breeding from selected stocks, 
 had attained a very high average of the latter quality. The boy 
 might have married any one of his cousins. Had the family been 
 Mahomedan instead of Christian, he might have had a harem. 
 As it was, the boy was a disreputable young scapegrace — a limb 
 of Satan— a brand to be snatched from the burning, in spite of 
 its violent, and partly successful efforts to get burnt. The family 
 continued to burn their fingers more or less severely about this 
 brand for a number of years. At last, in comparing excoriations 
 of fingers in a grand family conclave or palaver, it was unani- 
 mously thought that the brand must go to a hot place, with its 
 lather Reginald, and that the only thing to be tried was cold 
 water. We anticipate much here, however, because that 
 resolution was only come to when Reginald was seen to be 
 good for eighty. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 REGINALD BEGINS TO SOW THE WIND. 
 
 Reginald gave his son Charles a very good education. The 
 obstructive Reginald had read a great deal, and he gave the 
 benefit of his reading to his boy. The family had no difficulty at 
 all in placing the boy at Eton;" it was as easy to them as appren- 
 ticing him to a blacksmith. 
 
 Reginald thought that it was for the best, the more so that by 
 the boy's being at Eton, he could go furtively down by the coach 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 21 
 
 and see him. The expenses of a King's scholar were not large, 
 and the father worked extra hard at journalism, so as to take a 
 few guineas to the boy, and possibly distribute a few to his friends. 
 Charles remembered himself at Eton as a well-dressed and rich 
 boy, well repandu with every one except the masters. The 
 Sunday afternoons on the terrace at Windsor with his father 
 and his companions were golden Sundays for him. His father 
 was, in the eyes of the family, a man beggared by his own care- 
 lessness : he had signed away, at one stroke, £18,000 of the 
 public money, and the nation had treated him very kindly in 
 allowing the chance of signing away £18,000 more, with a salary 
 of £200 a year. But the boys cared nothing for this. To them 
 Hetherege's father was the most agreeable and popular man they 
 had ever met : a very easy-going gentleman in a blue coat and 
 brass 'buttons — a lazy gentleman. But on one occasion the lazy 
 gentleman, who was sitting and watching the bathers, was seen 
 to hurl himself (blue coat, brass buttons, and all) in a parabolic- 
 curve into the water, over the heads of the assembled swimmers. 
 A boy in the middle of the river had got the cramp ; another boy 
 had tried to help him in the struggle, but could not cry out for 
 the water in his mouth. Reginald Hctherege was the first to see 
 the disaster, and had got to the drowning boys before any one. 
 A hundred and fifty bare young arms bore him to the bank with 
 his prize. After this the boys would have done anything for him. 
 He was an old Etonian himself, and if universal suffrage was any- 
 thing but a sham, he would have been head-master. He was 
 taken to the tutor to be dried, and the tutor pointed out to him 
 the awful responsibility which he incurred in forming the mind 
 of a great capitalist such as his son, a boy who would certainly, 
 if he gave up his eccentricities, be in the House of Lords. 
 Reginald, who was in a shirt and a pair of trousers belonging to 
 the tutor, looked at his drying clothes dolefully, and wondered 
 if the tutor would want the five-and-twenty pounds which he had 
 to pay that afternoon. He thought he had better not say any- 
 thing about it, but quietly pay it. If he asked for time it would 
 look mean, for the money was for luxuries which the boy had 
 ordered for himself; and, besides, the non-payment might hurt 
 the boy. So he put on his own trousers sorrowfully, and, with 
 the independence of a Briton not in debt, asked the tutor whether 
 he would explain to him what his son Charles's eccentricities 
 were. 
 
 " He," said Reginald, buttoning his coat, " has been two years 
 at Eton, and this is the first complaint I have heard of him." 
 
 The tutor called to his assistance a master, and then Reginald 
 
22 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 heard such a tale about his son's eccentricities as surprised even 
 him, Bohemian as lie was. It was obvious that the " family " 
 were right, and that he had for a son, either by incubus or 
 succubus, a very remarkable young gentleman indeed. 
 
 This perfectly graceless man went to London on the box seat 
 of the coach next morning, and when he was deposited in London, 
 the coachman deposed that the box-seat was mad, for that he had 
 done nothing but giggle all the way from Windsor, and had given 
 him a sovereign. Reginald had chosen to laugh at his son's 
 eccentricities instead of rebuking them ; though to his credit it 
 must be said he never heard a hundredth part of them, or he 
 would never have laughed. 
 
 Charles's eccentricities were grave enough. Eton was pretty 
 free and easy in those days, and, by the noble old way of giving 
 boys liberty, of letting each boy find his place, was turning out 
 ■men, not dummies. It is objected to some of our public schools 
 that they throw boys into temptation. We ask which of them 
 throws a boy into half as much temptation as a boy of the 
 labouring class has to endure ? We ask the oldest college tutor 
 this question — What class of boys are the most trouble to him, 
 the public school boys, who have seen life and know to some 
 extent the value of money, or the poor unhappy babies who come 
 straight from their mothers' apron strings ? We think that 
 college tutors will say that the public school men give them the 
 least trouble. 
 
 Free, easy, and liberal as Eton was and is, she might seem to 
 some people a little behind the inarch of intellect in the case of 
 Charles Hetherege. Either that audacious young fellow was 
 before his time, or Eton was behind hers. We express no opinion 
 whatever ; in these days of liberty, no one likes to express an 
 opinion. If we dared to express an opinion, however, we should 
 be inclined to say that Eton on the whole was right, and that 
 Charles Hetherege was wrong. He kept both tutor and father in 
 ignorance of things like these : they would have thought that a 
 boy of fifteen i-c not the person to decide about the mortality of 
 the soul. Charles Hetherege did that at fifteen years old, and 
 was very emphatic on the matter. 
 
 Later on, he was in holy orders, preaching beautifully at Arcis- 
 sur-Mer, after having gained a great reputation as a preacher. 
 That is perfectly correct. Charles Hetherege tried to prove 
 logically the mortality of the soul, and the utter extinction of the 
 spiritual part of us after death. But that was at Eton. It would 
 have been a good thing if that had been his only eccentricity in 
 that great school of learning. 
 
REGINALD HETHEHEGE. 23 
 
 The fact was that Charles was "fast." So fast, in fact, that 
 a poor, wretched old lumbering machine like Eton, felt it very 
 difficult to keep up with him. Eton has seen her great radicals. 
 She has nourished to her bosom such astounding democratic poets 
 as Shelley, but she will not stand everything. When a youth at 
 Eton takes to cursing things in general in good iambics, Eton 
 hopes that the time may come when that youth, if of promise, may 
 take to bU'-shif/ things in general. But when a youth takes to 
 cursing things in particular, Eton will not stand it without con- 
 sideration. If a youth sings the praises of wine in Latin hexa- 
 meters, that youth will be rewarded and extolled. But if that 
 youth carries out his theory of the pleasures of wine by drinking 
 with the soldiers in Windsor, Eton will have none of it. Another 
 pleasure to which youth is addicted, that of fighting, may be cele- 
 brated in theoretical Latin, but not in practice. (Here we are 
 trenching on very low grounds.) Once more, a Latin epigram is 
 a fine thing against a Roman Emperor, but when directed against 
 a blameless head-master is not to be tolerated. 
 
 Here we feel inclined to draw a veil. Aunt Hester always used 
 to tell us that she was going to draw the veil, whenever she came 
 across anything at all inconvenient to be mentioned. She always 
 told you that she was going to draw the veil very solemnly. 
 Then she did it with two rows of asterisks at the end of a chapter. 
 Then she started another chapter, and told you every mortal 
 thing that she had said that nothing on earth would induce her 
 to reveal, and a great deal more. It was this feminine habit of 
 not being able to hold her tongue that gives that air of frank 
 reality to her stories, which Reginald called more than once in 
 print extreme impropriety. We will copy her method of art as 
 little as possible at this point. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AND BEGINS TO REAP THE WHIRLWIND. 
 
 Charles Hetherege just saved going to the bad publicly. His 
 genius covered a multitude of sins : with all his faults, faults of 
 which Eton knew little, Eton as a whole was proud of him. 
 The books which had been put into his hands were almost 
 exclusively pagan, and he not only imitated their style in a 
 
24 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 marvellous manner, about which Eton knew, but unfortunately 
 assimilated their contents in a manner which Eton could never 
 know. 
 
 His splendid scholarship saved him from expulsion, and he went 
 in due course of time to King's, where he was received with more 
 curiosity than welcome. Six months after he had been at Cam- 
 bridge his servant, coming into his room, found that he had not 
 been in bed all night. No one had seen him go out : he had been 
 cheerful, nay, more than cheerful in Hall, but he was gone. A 
 tremendous sensation was made about his disappearance, and the 
 Cam was dragged. A week after a letter came to the Provost 
 from his father, stating that his son was with him ; that, finding 
 himself sickening for a dangerous fever, he had fled in the begin- 
 ning of his delirium to his natural protector, his father. That 
 was perfectly satisfactory to the college authorities. 
 
 What passed in the week before his father wrote ? Where 
 was he during those six days before his father wrote to the 
 Provost ? 
 
 Money was not very abundant with Reginald Hetherege, yet 
 Avery, the Cookham boatman, mysteriously started a beershop, 
 which afterwards grew into a public-house, with a spirit license. 
 He called his beershop " The Reginald," and persistently held 
 his tongue to the day of his death whilst tolerably sober. We 
 will not give the long details made by Avery to Reginald Hetherege, 
 which were ended by Avery saying that Charles was as innocent 
 about the matter as a babe unborn. Mr. Avery's notions of 
 " innocence " are of one kind, yours and ours are different. It is 
 perfectly certain that Charles did not believe in his own innocence, 
 though he was in the world's way innocent. Queer fellow as 
 Charles was, he was incapable of villainy to a woman. Had he 
 been less romantic on that point, matters might have gone 
 differently with him ; and here we must quit this part of the 
 subject. 
 
 There has been a Roman Catholic settlement and an old Roman 
 Catholic family not one hundred miles from Cookham ever since — 
 when ? Let us say since the times of Augustine himself. The 
 family fought against the Spanish Armada, refused to have any- 
 thing to do with the Gunpowder Plot, and refused to touch the 
 later Stuarts with the tongs. Yet Roman Catholic they remained, 
 ruling a large tenantry of Protestants with a gentle, kindly rule, 
 and making about one convert in a century, and that rather 
 against their wills, and after due examination. This family 
 always had a priest as their spiritual director, who was always 
 a finished gentleman, and who was very often consulted by 
 
REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 25 
 
 Protectants in matters which related more to this wicked world 
 than to those of the next. 
 
 Monscigneur Morton, the family priest of these times, had two 
 ohjects in view : the one to keep the family in the faith, and the 
 other to demolish and destroy Mosheim. The first of his objects 
 
 was a very easy one. A was as likely to turn Protestant, as 
 
 the Sultan is to turn Jew. To begin with, it would be bad ton ; 
 and, moreover, it would carry with it an incalculable loss of 
 prestige in the best society in France and Italy. Conversion in 
 that family was never thought of ; the idea was impossible ; so, 
 as far as regarded his spiritual cure, Monseigneur Morton thought 
 that he earned his position rather easily. The heretic Mosheim, 
 however, gave him more trouble than he had calculated on, and 
 he worked like a horse to demolish him, not staying to supper 
 after complines, giving the housekeeper great anxiety. 
 
 " Woman," he said to her once, when she brought him up some 
 cold chicken and a glass of wine, "Avaunt! I am fighting the 
 devil, and, like St. Anthony, I will do it fasting." 
 
 It was the feast of the patron saint of the house he loved so 
 well. The family were away — the main of them in Italy and 
 France. The three boys of the family, sons of the good old 
 man's heart, were at their different employments in the world — 
 one in the army, one in the navy, and one, his own Benjamin, 
 with the Austrian mission on the Upper Nile — and so the old 
 man determined to have a dissipation, and the housekeeper 
 assisted him in his nefarious object. He had grilled chicken, 
 with weak claret and water, in his own room, and then he got 
 out Mosheim and his manuscript. 
 
 Under the influence of the weak claret and water, Mosheim 
 appeared to him a low contemptible dog. Mosheim had made 
 the same petitio principii as himself, therefore Mosheim had no 
 right to carry it out half-way. Then he took some more weak 
 claret and water, and saw the end of all Protestantism. He was 
 so elated that he looked round, and then locked the door of his 
 room. 
 
 He went to a closet guiltily, unlocked it carefully, and took out 
 something stealthily. It was a box. He listened carefully at the 
 door, and then he opened the box. 
 
 He shut it again. " The servants may not be gone to bed," 
 he said; "I might be discovered." The silence of night was 
 over the house, however, and his was the only light burning. He 
 opened the box again, and took out 
 
 A cigar. He lit it, and, as he sank back in his chair, smoking 
 it, the beautiful old face seemed to ripple into quiescence ; and 
 
2(3 REGINALD HETHEI1EGE. 
 
 our opinion is that if Mosheim and his patron, Frederick the 
 Great, could have entered the room at that moment, they would 
 have had a hearty welcome. 
 
 A-ha ! Captain Morton, of Napoleon's Cuirassiers, you are 
 not the first man whom the women have driven into the Church. 
 Let us see, Monseigneur Morton, it was before you went to 
 Moscow that she gave you the last kiss. When you met her 
 after Leipzig she had just been married. A-ha ! Captain and 
 Monseigneur Morton, she seduced you from your allegiance to 
 England, and then threw you over like an old shoe. The women 
 will do it. 
 
 Monseigneur, they will never fight fair. They stab you to the 
 heart and leave you to groan. Cruel ? Yes ; but who would 
 miss their cruelty ? 
 
 "Yet," said Monseigneur, "she drove me into the bosom oi 
 the Church, and I have found peace. Yes, yes ! yes, yes ! She 
 has boys now. I should like to get hold of one of them and train 
 
 him for the — Church Well, her boys ought to make good 
 
 soldiers, if they have their mother's eyes. 
 
 "He is an infidel, and so I suppose that her boys will go to 
 mischief. I should like to save one of them, for I was very fond 
 of her. I shall have another cigar, I think ; tobacco seems to 
 bring back old memories. Raleigh was not a real heretic, you 
 know; that old catamaran, Queen Bess, believed in the real 
 presence ; besides, it stands to reason that no heretic could have 
 invented tobacco. Ho ! I am getting sleepy, and the ghost of 
 Mosheim may rest in his grave for to-night. The barometer is 
 very low. Ha ! I thought so ; there is hail." 
 
 It was not hail, however, but gravel thrown against the window. 
 He opened it at once, and asked, " Who is there ? " 
 
 " A soul in desperate distress," said a young voice. 
 
 "Go to the door at the left," said the old priest, promptly, 
 " and I will let you in. Are you alone ? " 
 
 " Yes ; she is gone where I shall never go," was the answer. 
 
 " Come in quickly. It might be one of Iter boys," he added. 
 
 He went down to the postern door with a shaded candle. He 
 admitted some one. When he came up to his own room he 
 looked to see who it was. A tall, handsome young man, with a 
 budding beard and a deadly pale face, evidently in the first phase 
 of some desperate illness. 
 
 The priest laid his hand on his shoulder, and said, " What are 
 you ? ' ' 
 
 " An infidel, a villain, and a murderer. Can you give me 
 peace ? ' ' 
 
ItEGINALD HETHEIIEGE. 27 
 
 "No. Do you mean that you are an actual murderer, or only 
 one by construction ? " 
 
 " By construction." 
 
 " A woman, I suppose," said the priest. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " That is bad, very bad. What do you want me to do ? Can 
 the law convict you ? ' ' 
 
 " No ; I wish to God it could." 
 
 " Once more," said the priest, " what am I to do ? " 
 
 " You Romanists have monasteries, places of seclusion, where 
 a man may repent of his sins, and lead a new life. I want to go 
 into one of them. I have heard of you, and I want your assis- 
 tance. I will believe anything, and accept anything, if you will 
 give me peace." 
 
 "I know nothing," said Monseigneur Morton. "You have 
 a conscience, which is something. Have you any rela- 
 tions?" 
 
 " Yes ; my father is Reginald Hethcrege, of the Home Office." 
 
 " And your name? " 
 
 "Charles." 
 
 "It is a pity that you half ruined some at Eton with your 
 opinions before you left," said the Roman Catholic. " But you 
 have come to me for advice. We must go to your father — you 
 are not in a fit state to judge for yourself. Drink that glass of 
 claret, and keep awake." 
 
 The Roman Catholic grooms and their horses were not long in 
 getting ready on the summons of the director. On this occasion 
 the doctor and the master of the house were away, and so the 
 spiritual head had the grooms out of bed in live minutes, and the 
 carriage ready in twenty. The master of the house might have 
 whistled to get the same arrangement accomplished in an hour. 
 We heretics, who have had the thunders of the Vatican hurled at 
 our heads so long, and without any visible effect, may wonder at 
 this ; but it is undoubtedly the fact that, although the anger of 
 the Vatican may pass over the head of a king without hurting it, 
 yet that at second hand, in the hands of a priest, is very powerful. 
 A sensible priest acting on Irish servants is either the master of 
 the house or a weak man. 
 
 It was in the cold, dull daybreak of a rainy morning, when 
 Reginald was awakened from his sleep by a double knock. His 
 servants paid not the smallest attention to it, and by long 
 experience he knew that he must answer the door himself. He 
 did so. He was at once pushed aside by a Popish priest and an 
 Irish groom, who carried a young man between them into the. 
 
28 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 dining-room, and laid him on the sofa. Reginald recognised his 
 own son, and in his confusion said, " Is he dead ? " 
 
 " No," said the priest " not yet ; he is very ill. Thank God, 
 he gave me your direction correctly. See, he is going to speak 
 again. Dennis, away with yon in a hurry. Take the carriage to 
 tlie nearest mews, and run to that direction and fetch the doctor 
 out of his bed." 
 
 The priest and Reginald were alone with the sick man. Charles 
 was fearfully ill, and was beginning to mutter. 
 
 " Send your servants out of the way, he is going to talk," said 
 Monseigneur Morton. 
 
 Reginald locked a door at the end of the passage, and then said, 
 " What is the matter?" 
 
 "I can't say ; something terrible, I fear. He came to me last 
 night, apparently believing himself to have committed some awful 
 crime. He wanted to join the Holy Church, and become a monk. 
 I, as an old soldier, saw that it was a case more for the doctor than 
 the priest, and so I brought him to you." 
 
 " Yes. I thank you a thousand times," said Reginald. " Has 
 there been any esclandre ? " 
 
 " I fancy not, from what he told me on the road, before he got 
 utterly delirious ; I should say not. What he says to me per- 
 sistently is that he was not the principal in some great crime. 
 Hush ! he is going to speak again. You have locked the outside 
 door." 
 
 The sick man rose up in one of those paroxysms of brain fever 
 which are more horrible than insensibility — even than death. He 
 knew his father, and spoke to him with a dreadful, hoarse voice — 
 
 " Father, father ! come to me, my own father ! " 
 
 Reginald had his arm round his neck in a moment. He kissed 
 his son, and the breath from the unhappy boy's lungs came on his 
 face like a hot flame. 
 
 " Father, it was the wretch himself; she told me so." 
 
 " What wretch, my darling ? " 
 
 " James Murdoch. Hell gapes for him." 
 
 " Has he been with you, my boy ? " 
 
 " Always, when you were not. Has he any reason to drag me 
 to the devil?" 
 
 " Yes, he may have his objects to serve ; but he is our relation, 
 and Aunt Hester's favourite. Confide in me, my boy ; I would 
 die to help you." 
 
 " Is it true what James insists on — that death is extinction ? " 
 
 " No ; you know it is false. Where did you get such notions ? 
 Put your trust in God," 
 
REGINALD HETHEHEGE. 29 
 
 "Ay, ay; so cold, so calm. She hardly seemed dead. I 
 thought that she smiled when I kissed her forehead. They had 
 done up her hair as she used to wear it. They had dried it, too — 
 that was kind of them. Be good to Mrs. Avery for doing that, 
 father ; the child looked so pretty in death. 
 
 " Hark ! " he cried, in a terrible voice, " that is the last trump. 
 We are all ready here. Arraign James Murdoch first, oh, Lord 
 of Heaven ! Dog ! come from your hiding-place, or I will take 
 you single-handed before the judgment seat. To kill my father — 
 my poor innocent father ! Gentlemen, I have done my best, and 
 I thank you for your compliments. My father will be glad to 
 hear of my double first. How they knock at her coffin lid, but 
 she sleeps souud." 
 
 Dr. Benson, whose loud knock had produced the last outbreak, 
 was of opinion that Charles was suffering from brain fever brought 
 on by overwork. He had a son at Trinity, who had told him this. 
 Charles, with an excitable brain, had taken up with the most 
 singular opinions at Eton. He had read English and French 
 authors until the last few months, to the neglect of real study, 
 and had utterly overworked himself to keep a high place in classics. 
 Dr. Benson felt it his duty to say to the young man's father that he 
 had a character for dissipation — not, however, in the way of drink. 
 There was nothing to prevent the young man saving both his life 
 and his reason, if he were kept from bad companions. 
 
 "When I speak of bad companions, sir," said Dr. Benson, 
 " you know to whom I allude. How could you possibly allow such 
 an intimacy to spring up ? Your feelings as a father, sir, might 
 have prevented you from handing over your only child to the 
 machinations of a young man like James Murdoch, whose 
 character at Cambridge is pretty notorious, according to my 
 son." 
 
 The unfortunate Reginald was so used to getting into trouble 
 on every possible or impossible occasion, that he was not in the 
 least degree surprised by this outbreak of the doctor's. He had 
 not the very wildest idea what the doctor was talking about. He 
 supposed he was in the wrong, he always was. He had long come 
 to the conclusion that to be in the wrong might be predicated of 
 him as an inseparable accident, almost a quality. So he only 
 asked the doctor about his son's medicine, and bowed him out. 
 After that, he and the priest carried the now quiet Charles upstairs, 
 and put him to bed. 
 
 "He is right enough now," said the priest, when they came 
 downstairs ; "let us have some breakfast." 
 
 "I do not expect we shall get any," said Reginald : "at least, 
 
30 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 not before the usual time. You see that I have no power of 
 command — I never had ; and if I tell my servants to do anything, 
 they at once leave the house with a portion of my plate. I never 
 prosecute, they know that. My family object to me that I do not 
 prosecute ; but then if I did they would equally object to my doing 
 so. I am mainly dependent on my family, and my family natur- 
 ally object to me. Still, being always in a state of siege by my 
 servants, I keep my garrison furtively victualled. If you can 
 breakfast off pork-pie and claret, I can unlock that cupboard and 
 give it you. I never have any words with my servants, because I 
 let them have their own way. On two occasions they have set the 
 house on fire by reading the novels of my cousin Hester in bed ; 
 but, although I have put the fire out, I have never complained. 
 On one occasion, when I saved a young woman's life, she violently 
 assaulted me, and said what was not true. Since then I have 
 doubled my insurance, and they may all burn together. As a 
 matter of detail, Hester Simpson is not my aunt at all ; we only 
 call her so for testamentary purposes ; she is, as I believe, my third 
 cousin. I only retain the key of this cupboard as the last remnant 
 of my independence as a man and a Briton. Will you breakfast 
 on such fare as I can give you ? You will have this sauce with it 
 — the gratitude of a broken heart, which still beats on, for your 
 conduct to my boy." 
 
 " I want to talk to you," was the priest's sudden answer, with 
 a keen look. " I want to talk to you very much. I know more 
 about you than you think. You wrote that article in the — 
 about the action of the Bishop of Macon." * 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' You ought to be ashamed of yourself. 
 
 " I always am," said Reginald. 
 
 " That is a sign of repentance," said Monseigncur. " I hardly 
 know how to go on with the dialogue. At your death your son 
 has a large fortune ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "And others? " 
 
 " Others? I tried to make it out once, and stopped short at 
 sixty of them, or forty, or some number." 
 
 " Is James Murdoch one ? " 
 
 " Yes. James Murdoch will come in for a considerable sum; 
 that is to say, in the bounds of possibility. If he is hung, his 
 share of the money goes to the others." 
 
 " You know his character ? " 
 
 * Of course we mean the Bishop of A n, but there are personalities 
 
 enough flying about in the world without our adding to them. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 31 
 
 " I don't know much about him. He was in the Turkisn army, 
 but he made a mess of his affairs, and they would not stand him. 
 He returned to England, with a view of taking holy orders. He 
 will have Hester Simpson's money. He is needy, because he 
 came to me to borrow ten pounds, as a relation. I had eight-and- 
 sixpence in the house, and I gave him five shillings, which he 
 afterwards paid." 
 
 ''That looks very black ; I never knew him do that before," 
 said Monseigneur. "It so happens that I know the man, and so 
 does Benson, who attends most of our Roman Catholic families. 
 When he mentioned his name I knew it. If he has an interest 
 in your death, be careful." 
 
 11 But I don't want to live," said Reginald. 
 
 " Then your interests are identical," said Monseigneur. " I 
 hardly know what to say. I can tell you this : that fellow whom 
 you allowed your son to associate with — is — no better than he 
 ought to be. You heard what your son said, and he will tell you 
 more, I dare say. The young man is a renegade from nothing to 
 Catholicism, from Catholicism to Mahomedanism. From that 
 faith he returned to the bosom of the Church, from which he has 
 been excommunicated. I wish to say little about him. We have 
 young fools in our faith as you have in yours, and the man knows 
 
 more than . Well, I would not trust my life in his hands. 
 
 He is a spy, to begin with, and he lives on that." 
 
 " A Jesuit spy? " asked Reginald. 
 
 " You foolish man ! Do you suppose that the Jesuits trust 
 their work to such foul hands as his ? You little know them." 
 
 11 What the boy said just now was only babble," said Reginald. 
 
 " Was it? " said Monseigneur. 
 
 " Then I had better live on eggs, so as to avoid poison," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " Nonsense ! only take care of that man." 
 
 "But there arc forty others, as I make out," said Reginald. 
 " Let us talk no more nonsense. Hark ! the boy is talking again. 
 Come to me in the afternoon." 
 
 " I will," said Monseigneur, and walked away saying to himself, 
 " I will do nothing unfair, but if that boy lives he is almost certain 
 to come to us. The terror of the crime which has evidently been 
 proposed to him, and the reaction from his infidelity, will certainly 
 bring him." 
 
 There were, however, accidents in the way, and Charles lived 
 to be an ornament of the Established Church of Great Britain 
 and Ireland. 
 
32 REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE STRUGGLE. 
 
 Charles's illness was a long one, but Dr. Benson and his fine 
 constitution pulled him through. By degrees, after being utterly 
 delirious for a long time, lie began to recover consciousness. 
 During his extreme delirium he had always shown the greatest 
 horror at the sight of his father — so great that the poor gentleman 
 was forbidden the room. The first sign of his mending was his 
 asking for his father. He asked this of a tall gentleman in black, 
 who was sitting beside him, and with whom he had been feebly 
 trying to join in prayer. 
 
 There was a little stir in the room, and his father was beside 
 him. 
 
 "Father," he said, " I had an evil dream, but I am thoroughly 
 awakened from it. Is James Murdoch dead ? " 
 
 "No, my boy." 
 
 " Ah ! I suppose it was all a dream, was it not ? " 
 
 "Oh, all a dream," said Reginald. "Was it not, Mr. 
 Morley?" 
 
 But Mr. Morley was gone, and had left father and son alone 
 together. 
 
 " I am very weak, father ; shall I die ? " 
 
 " No, boy, no." 
 
 " I am glad of that. I was not fit for it. I wish, father, that 
 you would send for Monseigneur Morton." 
 
 That was promised, and Reginald went away to talk to the Rev. 
 Mr. Morley. 
 
 " He is better," said Reginald. 
 
 "I know it," said the rector. " I am glad you sent for me. 
 The boy has been trying to pray with me." 
 
 " Thank God ! " 'said Reginald. 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that much, Mr. Hetherege." 
 
 "I am going to be scolded, I know," said Reginald; "but 
 I am so used to it, that I really have ceased to care much about 
 it. But might I ask what you mean, for you mean more than 
 you say ? ' ' 
 
 " I do," said the rector. " It is notorious that you winked at 
 the boy's dissipation, and encouraged him in his infidelity." 
 
 "Who told you that?" 
 
 " Several members of your own family, sir." 
 
 " My family. Oh, I see. Yes, I quite understand." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 33 
 
 " Is it true, Mr. Hetherege ? " 
 
 " Well, if it is," said Reginald, " it is the first word of truth 
 they have ever spoken of me or the hoy. All which the school- 
 masters practically told me about him was that he was a strange 
 boy, and held strange opinions. I have been with them since ; 
 they knew no more, and they could tell me no more. I never 
 rebuked the boy, for I knew nothing either ; and if I had rebuked 
 him, he might have quarrelled with me, and then I should have 
 quarrelled with the only friend, except my father Alfred, which I 
 ever had in this wicked world ; so help me God ! " 
 
 Reginald did not bluster or talk loud when he said this, but he 
 said it so quietly and so mournfully, that the rector was deeply 
 touched, and said, like a man, " Can you make a friend of me, 
 Mr. Hetherege?" 
 
 " I'll try," said Reginald, without a spark of emotion, " if God 
 takes my boy from me. Do you think He will ? " 
 
 "No, no! I do not think He will. Come, Mr. Hetherege, 
 tell me everything ; you must have some confidence in me, 
 or you would not have sent to me when your boy was 
 dying." 
 
 " I have. I have fought your battle pretty hard for you when 
 every shilling was of value to me. I have suffered for you, and so 
 I sent for you to suffer with me." 
 
 " That was natural; but where have you fought my battle, my 
 dear sir ? ' ' 
 
 " In the Apollo— who else ? " 
 
 " Good heavens ! Was it you who took my part ? " 
 
 11 Yes ; I saw that you were as foully misrepresented as I was, 
 and I stuck to you. The last famous article I delayed until nearly 
 one o'clock in the day, and the editor was gone. I knew that 
 they could not go to press without it, and I knew that it would 
 lead to my dismissal. I was dismissed ; the Apollo, instead of 
 disclaiming it, tried to back out of it. I lost £100 a-year, and 
 the Apollo was ruined." 
 
 " I owe you more than I can repay, sir ; that was the turning- 
 point of our success. More of this another time. Tell me, your 
 boy has been very dissipated." 
 
 " I have not known of it. I have hushed up a great scandal, in 
 which I believe my boy to be innocent. If he had ever been 
 ruined it would have been from the harm he did not do, more 
 than from the harm he has done. Come, sir, here is the truth : 
 I got it all at Eton — from the men by the water- side." 
 
 And then followed the truth, and it was very bad. But the 
 rector said — 
 
 4 
 
34 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " He has been punished in a fearful manner. Will no justice 
 overtake this scoundrel ? ' ' 
 
 " The justice of God, I suppose," said Reginald. 
 
 " But it is the most infernal villainy I ever heard of, to entrap 
 your son into a promise of marriage. Still, there is always reason 
 to believe your son innocent, as far as the world's ideas of innocence 
 go ; in fact, the result proves his innocence." 
 
 " So I always thought since I knew the truth," said Reginald. 
 
 " Well, iioav we will all hope for the best," said the rector. 
 " He has had a frightful warning ; if he neglects it, he is hopeless." 
 
 " I wish to tell you, rector, that he has asked to see Monseigneur 
 Morton." 
 
 " That is good," said the rector. 
 
 " Is there not danger that, in his present state of mind, he may 
 become a Romanist ? " 
 
 " H'm ! Well, he might do worse," said the rector, "but I 
 think that I will take care of that, if no one else gets at him. 
 
 Mind, if Morton brings or with him, I won't answer ; 
 
 but I think that I am safe with a pragmatical old gentleman like 
 Morton." 
 
 "He is a man of seductive and persuasive manners," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " Quite so," said the rector. " And also an extremely vain 
 man, who thinks himself quite a match for any three of his more 
 highly-instructed co-religionists ; an old English Catholic, who 
 considers himself slighted by Rome, and will take this case in 
 hand himself jealously as his own, and already sees the Digby 
 money — if there is such a thing — safe in the Church's coffers, he 
 the divine agent. I think I know the length of his foot. A Jesuit 
 would, if he got hold of the boy now, begin by frightening into 
 fits, and then take dominion of him body and soul. Morton will 
 do nothing of the kind. He will only offer him religious peace, 
 without any freedom at all ; I shall offer him religious peace, 
 with freedom of debate and discussion. Morton will cut him off 
 from one-half of the literature which he loves ; I will read Machia- 
 velli with him if he likes. The Church of Rome, sir, is founded 
 on such a rotten basis that she is afraid of the truth ; the Church 
 of England, sir, is so firmly founded, that she takes science to 
 her bosom as her twin sister, and says " 
 
 What the Church of England was supposed to say to science, 
 according to the rector, we do not know, because Reginald inter- 
 rupted him, and said — 
 
 ' ' I wanted to tell you how he came to go to this Monseigneur 
 Morton." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 35 
 
 11 A-ha ! " said the rector, very attentive at once. " Yes ; tell 
 me that. I was puzzled, and I meant to have asked you." 
 
 " Why, one of his great friends at Eton was Lord Rotherfield, 
 who has since turned Romanist ; and he, in his arguments with 
 my boy, used often to talk about this Monseigneur, his holy, quiet 
 life, and that sort of thing." 
 
 " No mystery there, then," said the rector, disappointed. 
 
 Charles, during his convalescence, was very penitent and humbled, 
 and received both his clerical friends with quiet gratefulness, with- 
 out the least idea that his two mentors were playing for him, and 
 that his father was looking on, an intensely interested spectator, 
 wondering whether Cuddesdon would win, or Stonyhurst. (This 
 is a slight historical anticipation, because one at least of those 
 seminaries was not in existence, but it expresses our meaning.) 
 His son never talked to him about religious matters at all — it was 
 the only closed book between them ; he merely knew the result. 
 
 "Father," said Charles, suddenly, one morning when they were 
 walking slowdy under the elms in Kensington Gardens, " have you 
 got any money? " 
 
 Reginald's trembling hand went on his son's arm. "How 
 much ? " he said. 
 
 ' ' I mean this — have you enough to send me back to Cambridge 
 with?" 
 
 " Thank God ! " cried Reginald, and struggled to a seat. Even 
 when he was there, a tall Life -guardsman came suddenly and put 
 his arms round him. "Your lather is ill, sir," he said; "hold 
 him while I get him some water." 
 
 "No, my good man, thank you," said Reginald; "I am only 
 overpowered with joy." 
 
 " Curious, ain't it?" said the Life-guardsman. "The day I 
 got my first stripe I was just the same. Why, you are all abroad, 
 sir, now. What is this guinea for ? " 
 
 "For you," said Reginald; "and now go away, like a good 
 young man." 
 
 The corporal looked at the guinea, looked at Reginald, looked 
 at Charles, and tried to look at himself. It was all unreal ; nothing 
 was real but the guinea. That even might turn to be a withered 
 leaf, like a witch's money, the next time he looked at it ; so, 
 having saluted, he marched off quickly to the nearest tavern, to 
 change it into silver and beer. 
 
 "Father," said Charles, "why are you so agitated? " 
 
 "I am agitated at your decision, my son. I feared that you 
 might go to Rome, and that the priests would come between you 
 and me, and take you from me — or, at least, take your heart from 
 
36 EEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 me. But now you have decided, and we are both free. Oh, God 
 be blessed that this load is off my mind ! " 
 
 "Father," said Charles, "I see that I have been very incon- 
 siderate. I ought to have told you before, that I never really 
 wavered. But " 
 
 " You did not like to speak to me on the subject. It was quite 
 natural ; we have never spoken on religious subjects, more shame 
 to me. You have cast in your lot with the Church which allows 
 freedom. Say not another word. About money to go back to 
 Cambridge — yes, I have plenty of money to keep you there in 
 decency. You need want for nothing to live like a gentleman." 
 
 "Where on earth did you get the money, father?" said 
 Charles. " Have you got any great appointment on a news- 
 paper ? " 
 
 "No — on my honour." 
 
 " Has the family ? " 
 
 "Has your delirium returned, that you ask the question, 
 Charles?" 
 
 "Is it Mr. Morley?" 
 
 ' ' Mr. Morley has enough to do to keep himself, as you know : 
 every atom of his income goes in his parish." 
 
 "Then who is it?" 
 
 " The moment I tell you that, the money stops," was Reginald's 
 reply, given so full in Charles's eyes that he asked no further 
 questions, but kissed his father, and promised that he would be a 
 good boy. So they walked happily home to tea. 
 
 Charles could not sleep for thinking about this money, and how 
 his father got it. His father was an attractive man, and might 
 be going to marry a widow. He had half a dozen theories, none 
 of which would fit. Perhaps we had better tell our readers more 
 than Charles ever knew. 
 
 Charles had not been ill three weeks when Reginald received 
 the following letter : — 
 
 " Craig's Court, June 20th, 1828. 
 
 " Messrs. Cox and Greenwood are requested by their client, 
 General Anders, to make the following communication to Mr. 
 Reginald Hethercge : — 
 
 "In case of his son Charles making the determination, of his 
 own free will, to return to Cambridge, and to behave himself there 
 with tolerable decency and propriety, all his necessary expenses 
 will be paid by General Anders, under these conditions — 
 
 " First. That his father never mentions this fact to him until 
 he has made his own decision. For the carrying out of this 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 37 
 
 stipulation, General Anders entirely trusts to the honour of Mr. 
 Reginald Hetherege. 
 
 "Secondly. That the General's name is never mentioned to 
 any human creature, including Mr. Charles Hetherege. The 
 General has his private reasons for making this stipulation. He 
 has no desire to get the name of being free with his money — he 
 has been cheated and robbed in his life quite enough already. 
 The money will be immediately stopped if Mr. Reginald Hetherege 
 violates his word in this respect. 
 
 " The General would be glad to know if Mr. Reginald Hetherege 
 requires any assistance from the General, who wishes to say that 
 he thinks, although Mr. Hetherege has been very indiscreet, he 
 has not been dishonest. 
 
 "If Mr. Hetherege is at all surprised at this assistance coming 
 from a man whom he never saw or heard of in his life, he begs to 
 inform Mr. Hetherege that it is part of a very old debt. 
 
 "Any inquiries as to General Anders's antecedents will be 
 singularly offensive, as, indeed, will be any allusion to this 
 matter, direct or indirect, in any way whatever." 
 
 Reginald scratched his head, and wrote a suitable reply. For 
 himself, he wanted nothing, but accepted the General's assistance 
 to his son with profound gratitude, and promised to comply with 
 all stipulations. "Of course," he added, "as the General puts 
 it in this way, I will not allude to the transactions between us, and 
 will scrupulously attend to his wishes." He took this letter, open, 
 to Craig's Court himself, and saw the head of the firm, who said 
 that nothing could be more proper, and who made arrangements 
 for his drawing the money. 
 
 " Then you ask nothing, Mr. Hetherege ? " 
 
 " Nothing." 
 
 " I have the pleasure to hand you a cheque for £200, however," 
 said the head partner. " Will you give me a receipt, please ? This 
 is a present from the General to yourself, personally." 
 
 Reginald cashed the cheque, putting the notes in his breeches 
 pocket. He then walked away, wondering more than ever at the 
 mystery of Cox and Greenwood. 
 
 The fact of the matter was that General Anders and he were 
 intimate acquaintances, and that he owed General Anders five 
 shillings, for which he was certain to be asked the next time he 
 met him. The General and he had got up a small paper on 
 military matters, and the General had found the money. The 
 paper did not pay, and the General and he had words over the 
 matter, each saying that it was the other's fault. The General was 
 
38 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 notoriously poor, and a fearful screw with what money he had got ; 
 so Reginald could not understand it. He went, however, to General 
 Anders's house, determining to pay the five shillings. 
 
 "He is one of the hest men in the army," said Reginald to 
 himself, " and a really good and nohle person. It was only last 
 week that he told me that he had taken his children's bread and 
 cast it to the dogs, over the Red, White, and Blue Gazette. Well, 
 he will be at home, and I shall know. Can he be the man who 
 has helped me so often before ? If so, why did he keep his secret' 
 until now? " 
 
 He was shown in to General Anders, who received him with 
 kind-hearted fury. 
 
 " You will never do any good in this world, Hetherege," he said, 
 wringing his hand. " The whole thing is a smash, sir. We must 
 stop, sir — stop, sir — do you hear me ? — and I shall lose £50. 
 The Duke won't stand it, sir : he mentioned the Gazette to me at 
 levee, angrily. Gazette ! I shall be in the Gazette, and my poor 
 little beggars will be cast into the street. Bankrupt, after so many 
 years' honourable service to my country — £500 gone in one smash, 
 all my poor savings of a lifetime. I am sorry for you, Hetherege 
 — you always were a good, genial, biddable fellow ; but you stand 
 to lose nothing, because you have nothing to lose. You don't 
 know what it is to get a snub from the Duke, and lose £5,000, as 
 I do this day." 
 
 " £5,000'! " said Reginald ; " you began with £50." 
 
 "I say £,5000; prospectively," I grant you. I'll say £50,000 
 if I choose, sir. The property of that journal, well conducted, was 
 worth all £50,000." 
 
 "He is not the man," thought Reginald, who said — "Pray, 
 General, remember one thing — you insisted on conducting the 
 journal yourself." 
 
 "I did, sir. I allow it. I did not blame you: dare you look 
 me in the face and say I did ? " 
 
 "No, General." 
 
 " Then don't bully me, sir. I am a quiet fellow." (He looked 
 it, as he was rampaging up and down the room, with his clenched 
 fists rammed to the bottom of his breeches pockets, and his face 
 scarlet.) "But I will have you know, sir — ay, and I will have 
 His Grace the Duke of Wellington know that I am not to be bullied 
 either by him or by you. What are you looking at, sir ? What 
 are you waiting for ? ' ' 
 
 " I was waiting until you had done making a fool of yourself," 
 said Reginald. 
 
 " Lord bless you ! " said the General, sitting down, " we all do 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 39 
 
 it at times. I dare say you do, quiet as you are. There, it is all 
 right ; I sha'n't drop more than fifty. I did lose my temper, not 
 so much over the fifty — though that is the deuce to a screw like me, 
 who has to lie awake all night, thinking how the dickens he can 
 live without getting into debt — as over the Duke's snubbing. We 
 must not kick against the pricks. I am glad you came in, because 
 I wanted some one to quarrel with, and you take it so quietly, and 
 yet stand up in such a manly, kindly way, that you are the very 
 best fellow to quarrel with in the world. Let us have a cigar. 
 Hang this fifty pounds, though ! " 
 
 " Does it really bother you ? " said Reginald, when they began 
 smoking. 
 
 " I should think it did" said the General, biting his nails. " I 
 don't know where the dewe to turn for it. It is for compositor's 
 wages, you see, and the other fellows' wages. I have paid down 
 on the nail until now. I say, Hetherege, you have been very 
 poor." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Did you ever — I don't know how to speak exactly, but these 
 men are to be paid this week — honour binds me, you know. Did 
 you ever, eh ? " 
 
 11 1 don't know." 
 
 "Go to the— jewellers ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ' ' Would you go for me ? I can give you diamonds to the amount 
 of £100. Can you take them to a jeweller's for me ? I cant go." 
 
 "There is no need, Anders. I can lend you £100," and he 
 pulled out his notes. 
 
 There was no mistake about one thing — the astonishment of this 
 General Anders was utterly genuine. 
 
 " Where did you get that money? " he asked, aghast. 
 
 " I don't know. Will you borrow some? " 
 
 " I will take fifty for a month, as you are in luck. Heaven is 
 my witness I would have seen you further before I would have lent 
 you fifty." 
 
 "I know that," said Reginald, laughing; "and I know, also, 
 that you are about the only man in England who would have had 
 the rare honesty to say so." 
 
 "To say what?" 
 
 " That you would have seen me further before you would have 
 lent me that sum." 
 
 "Did I say that?" said the General, blushing deeply, "that 
 was a most blackguardly thing to say. But I never can keep my 
 tongue in order. It is true, however. The only words I ever had 
 
40 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 with my poor wife, who is gone, were about that habit of saying 
 what I meant. Shall I give you a bill ? " 
 
 " No, name a day : your word is as good as your bond. How 
 many Anderses are there in the army of whom one could say the 
 same?" 
 
 " Well," said the General, going over them on his fingers, 
 " there are only two generals in the King's service besides me : 
 you might say the same of both of them. Then there is another 
 in the Indian service, but he is a lunatic — religious, or something 
 of that sort. Reads the Bible, you know, and prays before he 
 goes into action. Been in India all his life, and had a coup de 
 soldi, for aught I know. As for the two men in the King's 
 service, there is Bob, that is my cousin, retired — the man the 
 row was about with the organ-grinders — always disputing 
 hackney-coach fares, you know ; fellow with a bumble foot and 
 a cast in his eye. You must have seen him a hundred times 
 at Crooks 's." 
 
 Reginald had never seen anything of that establishment but 
 the outside, and mentioned the fact. 
 
 "True," said the General. "A-ha! my boy, the play would 
 be too high for you ; I have dropped my thousands there. Well, 
 then there is Doddery Anders : you know him, of course. Bless 
 me, I was forgetting the old fellow only died last week, and I have 
 never called on him since. The poor fellow will be buried before 
 I have time to leave my card on him. I must really go this very 
 afternoon. Good-bye, Hetherege, and thank you. I will be true 
 to the day, and thank you." 
 
 Reginald departed, musing as to which General Anders it 
 was who had done him this especial kindness. It was not his 
 acquaintance, that was certain. It was certainly not the bumble- 
 footed, one-eyed General ; that also was certain. It was not 
 Doddery Anders either, because he had been dead a week. 
 Therefore it was evidently the Indian General with the coup de 
 soldi. 
 
 This seemed the more probable, as it was exactly the sort of 
 thing which a man with a coup de soleil would have clone. In 
 fact, it seemed perfectly certain that no one short of a lunatic 
 could have done it. Not that his Indian General was a lunatic — 
 he was a most sensible fellow. No man could have behaved in a 
 more reasonable way than to give him £200 to spend, and keep 
 his son at college, without knowing anything whatever about them. 
 Such things certainly, he argued, were more often done inside 
 Bedlam in intention, than outside Bedlam in practice. Still, there 
 were a great many people called mad who were not mad, and the 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 41 
 
 merchant Digby was a case in point. No, the Indian General 
 was the man, and a most sensible fellow, too. 
 
 Yes ; the mad General was the man. Yet, what did he mean 
 by talking about an " old debt " ? That, doubtless, was part of 
 his innocent delusion. He was evidently the man ; and he, 
 Reginald, was bound in honour to make no inquiries, so he went 
 home peacefully. 
 
 His friend General Anders never had a new Army List, from 
 motives of economy, otherwise he would have known that there 
 had been a new General Anders this four years — a man he had 
 known as Colonel Anders, and whom he was to know better 
 before he died. This was Eeginald's benefactor. Reginald, 
 however, settled on the Indian General, and remembered him in 
 his prayers, as often as he said them, the Indian General never 
 having heard of him in his life at that time, and, after having 
 made his acquaintance, considered him as an objectionable person, 
 entirely without any hopes of happiness in the next world, in 
 consequence of his religious opinions, which were entirely different 
 from those of the General. 
 
 One particular effect of the conversation between Reginald and 
 his quaint honest friend the General was this : Reginald fixed 
 upon the Indian General as his benefactor, and, retiring into his 
 books, asked no further questions. We hope that when you see 
 the real General you will not dislike him, or think that he is a 
 lunatic in any way. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE HEIR TO THE PROPERTY IS DISCUSSED. 
 
 Charles, therefore, departed to Cambridge with money in his 
 pocket. The least that Reginald could do was to ask the rector 
 and Monseigneur to meet him at dinner before he started. They 
 came, and everything went off very pleasantly. At half-past ten 
 the two reverend gentlemen were in the hall, putting on their 
 coats and hats. Monseigneur, who was nervous about the night 
 air on his tonsure, had a natty little velvet cap, which fitted under 
 his hat. In putting it on he dropped it, and the rector picked it 
 up and gave it to him. 
 
 "Yes," said the rector, "you create wants, and gain your 
 power by supplying them," 
 
42 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 '• How utterly dead your argument falls ! " said Monseigneur, 
 promptly. " What power is there in my poor little esq 
 
 The rector laughed heartily. " Well, I am no match for a 
 Jesuit, and you had me there. I like to exasperate a Romanist, 
 though, on every occasion." 
 
 ■• Your logic must be a little better before you exasperate me, 
 you good man," said the priest, heartily. "But walk with me, 
 I have something to say to you very particularly." And so they 
 walked away. 
 
 •• Will you come to my hotel ? " said the priest ; " it is close 
 
 "I will, with pleasure. I am unhappily a widower, and there 
 is no one to wait up and scold me if I am late." 
 
 ■■A widower!" said the priest. " Have you any children, 
 recto: 
 
 " Yes; three." 
 
 " That was the unfulfilled dream of my heart. Yet why should 
 - ,, for I have three whom I love most dearly, the sons of my 
 patron. Enough of this — here is our hotel." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of Sir Walter Raleigh '? " 
 
 " What about him just now 
 
 "Oh, many things. He lost his head for trying to do one too 
 manv. He was a hero ; he discovered tobacco, a thing I like." 
 
 '•Then we will smoke, if you never tell your bishop. Her.- are 
 cigars. Now, forget all that I have said, and we will talk of your 
 youth." 
 
 •• What do you think of him ? " said the rector. 
 
 " Well, I have been talking so very freely to you, that I will 
 continue my confidence. I am glad you have won him ; I could 
 never have done anything with him — Heaven send you may." 
 
 " You really mean that ? " said the rector. " But I see you 
 do. I join in your prayer, and perfectly agree with you. He 
 is a difficult subject. Now we are so comfortable together, will 
 you tell me, as one English gentleman to another, what do yon 
 think of him?" 
 
 " I will, most heartily," said Monseignenr. " He is not to be 
 trusted." 
 
 " Quite so," said the rector. " I have no doubt that his 
 Cambridge tradesmen will be of the same opinion three years 
 
 
 " I don't mean in monetary matters— I mean morally." 
 
 " Y 
 
 ■• He lias undergone, in consequence of his late lamentable 
 catastrophe, what you heretics would call -" 
 
LEGIXALD HETHERI 
 
 "IaniL -aid the IB 
 
 of the liomisL 
 
 '" 
 
 " I am not a Piw 
 
 - 
 '•Yon Al_ 
 
 I shook] ljicI I hope i: : 
 
 I i 
 
 Bpioe 
 
 by di.; \ -11. He . : devil, and 
 
 and incal- 
 culal^ 
 witht v 
 
 . - - ming 
 
 -.1 a ehari; . .: r ' 
 
 " He i " 3 - : » than tfa toe. 
 
 "I thrrr . or. "En: « sl When 
 
 j 3 on find fit 
 At firsl . 
 
 nit- ; an. I 1 - . en 
 
 •• Most nobly." 
 
 " E ._ 
 
 _ tempted to mnrder fak 
 
 of the same kii. 
 
 "Yes. Said " '. " Widk 
 
 . - -- now. Bnt 
 ma I Emoen 
 
 opinions, and I 
 
 *• I do, said . 1 se Eromn 
 
 that I am irlad thai soul — not 
 
 I." 
 
 mp i . . I i his soul. 
 
 I think the lad fa : of mud 
 
 and not a little evil. 
 
 7.11 talk abont a block of mm 
 \ I I ' • ■ ■ 
 
 " ' " " . -.-... da on him. He wil 
 
 _ 
 I wish I had his way - _ fl n i 
 
 world:; • . _ — 111 ruin a lad li 
 
 lion of n 
 " T. 
 "I 
 
44 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "Come," said Monseigneur, laughing, "you are rather too 
 frank, my friend. Tell me what you know first." 
 
 " Very little. Old Dighy, in the last century, left his property 
 to the devil, to prevent it falling into the hands of the Romish 
 Church. Ever since which the Romish Church has been 
 negotiating with the devil for it, hitherto unsuccessfully." 
 
 " That, is very funny, Mr. Rector," said Monseigneur; "hut, 
 unfortunately, it is not true ; and, saving your presence, you 
 commit a piece of bad manners in making the joke." 
 
 "I beg a thousand pardons," said the Rector; "you correct 
 me most righteously. I really know very little about the matter — 
 forgive my poor joke." 
 
 "Forgiven at once. As for knowing anything about the 
 matter, very few do. There are an innumerable number of 
 claimants under this will, and at the death of our friend Reginald 
 there will be an immense sum cf money to divide. I have heard 
 it said, on Jesuits' authority, that Charles Hetherege will take two 
 millions of money." 
 
 " Two millions ? That is impossible ! " 
 
 " Well, I think not. Charles believes that he will come into 
 a larger sum at his father's death, and that will make him very 
 careless." 
 
 " But if there was any truth in this the Jews would advance 
 him money." 
 
 " General Anders asked that question ; not of the Jews, but of 
 people who stand higher. The answer was that Reginald's life 
 was as good as Charles's, if not better ; that if Charles died with- 
 out issue they were nowhere ; and that if Reginald were to die 
 out of the way, the Chancery suit might go on for another twenty 
 years before any one touched one penny." 
 
 " General Anders got that opinion, did he ? " said the rector. 
 " And who is General Anders, and what earthly business is it of 
 his?" 
 
 Monseigneur had said a little more than he meant. " You see, 
 my dear rector, the boy believes he will have money, and that will 
 do him all the harm in the world. Let us hope for the best." 
 
 " But who, in the name of all confusion, is General Anders ? " 
 asked the rector. 
 
 " Bless me ! " said Monseigneur, " it is half-past one, and they 
 have turned the gas off. Let me light you down. Mind that 
 step ; now there are three. Oh, there is the hall porter. Good- 
 night, and good-bye ; I am off to Henley to-morrow." 
 
 Naval and Military Intelligence. — General Arthur Anders, 
 C.B., sailed yesterday for the Cape, in H.M.S. Blonde. In military 
 
EEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 45 
 
 circles his mission is considered important. From the Cape the 
 gallant General will proceed in the Blonde to Aden, at the mouth 
 of the Red Sea, and Perim, an island in the neighbourhood. The 
 Blonde will then pass up the Red Sea to Suez, at which point, it 
 is understood, the gallant General will disembark and proceed 
 to Acre. 
 
 That was Reginald's General Anders, and it will be a long time 
 before they meet. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE SECOND STATE OF THAT MAN. 
 
 Charles returned dutifully to Cambridge, and no one knew any- 
 thing at all about his affairs. He was received very well by all 
 the dons, and only a few of the undergraduates had heard that 
 there was a strange story about him. 
 
 What that story was exactly the undergraduates themselves 
 could not make out. In fault of knowing anything about him, 
 they invented several different stories. All these inventions 
 tended one way — that he had had a desperate affair de cceur, 
 and that did him no harm at all. 
 
 He worked very hard at a college where he need not have 
 worked, and then, per contra, he lived very expensively in a 
 college where he might have lived cheaply. He was extremely 
 religious in his way, and yet he and his friend, the rector, had a 
 few words now and then about sumptuary extravagance. 
 
 " Charles," the rector would say, "you are not keeping your 
 first promise." 
 
 "As how?" 
 
 "You are so extravagant." 
 
 " I can pay." 
 
 " I doubt that," said the rector. " What did that ring 
 cost?" 
 
 " £125," said Charles. 
 
 " Is it paid for ? " 
 
 " No ; but it will be." 
 
 " At your father's death?" 
 
 " Xo ; I can raise money." 
 
 " A hundred thousand times I tell you that you cannot. Don't 
 be a perfect fool ! " 
 
4G REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "I do not think that I am." 
 
 " There is nothing to prevent your being a beggar at present. 
 In case of your father's dying, you may have to wait twenty years 
 for a sixpence. And are you moral? You went to Eton on 
 charity — your father could never have afforded to send you there ; 
 and even' now the money you spend on luxuries is out of your 
 father's pocket. Such is gratuitous education." 
 
 Charles always turned the matter off at these points. There 
 was money coming somehow, and so he did not very much care. 
 His perfectly blameless life, and his hard and successful work, 
 told well for him ; still, the Provost and tutors lamented over a 
 singular and remarkable extravagance on his part. 
 
 His old Atheistic theories were sent to the wind now. A 
 certain division began at that time in the Church, and Charles 
 took his side with the rector in the strongest manner. He was 
 utterly indiscreet in his partisanship. Certain good men required 
 a subscription for certain purposes, and had a sermon for the 
 furtherance of their cause. Charles dropped his diamond ring 
 into the plate (having no cash), which was not paid for, and which 
 was politely returned. 
 
 He got a great deal of credit, both in Cambridge and in Lon- 
 don. He was a ward in Chancery, and although cash was scarce 
 — none, in fact, being obtainable in spite of all his efforts — yet 
 credit was abundant. The only cash he had was that which he 
 had from his father, which, as we know, came through General 
 Anders. 
 
 When he entered holy orders he had these things in hand. 
 He was third wrangler, and second in classics. He had a fellow- 
 ship of £250 a year, and he owed £2,500. The fact that he had 
 been quietly married, three months before he came into his 
 fellowship, to a young orphan governess without a prospect, was 
 a matter unknown, at first, to the world. 
 
 But so it was. There was no earthly reason for his getting 
 married in that private way. Before he committed this crowning 
 act of folly, he had made himself a name which would have 
 pulled any* woman through. He would have had to forfeit his 
 fellowship", but he could have put a bold face on the world. To 
 save the £250 a year he forfeited his own honour, and dragged 
 his wife's name 'through the dirt. He took his ordination vow 
 with a lie in his mouth. He alienated every old friend from him 
 except his father. Poor Mrs. Charles, in her anxiety about her 
 firstborn, went to the rector and told him the truth. 
 
 The rector refused to keep the secret, and Charles was forced 
 to acknowledge his wife and resign his fellowship. He had 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 47 
 
 entirely ruined himself, and the family were the first to acknow- 
 ledge the fact. They had certainly never done much for him, 
 but now they openly discarded him. Until Reginald's death he 
 was nobody, and Reginald's quiet temperate habits were likely to 
 keep him alive for forty years. 
 
 Five years of alternate success and disaster followed. Charles 
 took to tutorship and preaching, and made a small success at the 
 first, and a very great success at the second. He might have 
 preached himself into a good living had he been left alone ; but, 
 in this wicked world, people who have money owing to them like 
 to see it paid. His fellowship was gone, and nobody after that 
 seemed to believe in his inheritance. At all events the Jews did 
 not, and so Charles could get no money, not even at sixty per 
 cent. 
 
 His creditors closed on him. Mrs. Charles exerted herself 
 as far as she could, but, with all her fine words, she could not 
 butter the parsnips. Cox and Greenwood wrote to Reginald to 
 mention the fact that General Anders declined, for the present, to 
 assist the Hethereges any further. 
 
 Reginald was not entirely broken-hearted by this. He had his 
 £200 a year, and Charles got half the same sum for each pupil. 
 There were no children alive, for the first two had died in infancy. 
 It was when George was first born that the crash came. 
 
 Reginald had clone all he could. His salary, such as was left 
 of it, was secure for his lifetime, and he raised money on it to 
 help his son Charles with his most furious creditors. By this act 
 he made himself a beggar, and he had to go and live with his son 
 Charles, eking out their income with his literary work. A garret 
 was good enough for him, so long as he could keep the roof of it 
 over Charles's head. 
 
 Reginald, Charles, and Mary really worked like horses to keep 
 the house from ruin, but it was an extremely difficult thing to do. 
 At the time when the first of his infants which lived, George, was 
 born, Charles had but one pupil— George Barnett, its godfather, 
 only son of the great county baronet, Sir Lipscombe Barnett, of 
 Dorsetshire. From Sir Lipscombe Charles could often get an 
 advance, though that awful personage had but little idea of the 
 real state of Charles's affairs. Reginald also got plenty to do 
 from the publishers, and was very well paid ; but he, with the 
 time consumed at his office, had not sufficient leisure to do any 
 vast amount of his extremely careful and refined work. Charles 
 actually advertised writing sermons, and got a good many, but it 
 did not pay. He advertised for a religious lady in a clergyman's 
 family, but he never got one. He then advertised for an imbecile 
 
48 REGINALD HETHEREGB. 
 
 or aged lady requiring the comforts of a home ; and, lastly, for a 
 lady of intemperate habits, desiring to be cured ; but in every- 
 thing he failed. He at that time had a small church, with almost 
 nominal duties, and an almost nominal income, which gave him 
 abundance of time to use his talents for preaching nearly every 
 Sunday ; but it went very little way. It was perfectly obvious 
 that a break-down must come, sooner or later, and it came sooner 
 instead of later. 
 
 For three years Charles had taken the summer duty of Arcis- 
 sur-Mer, by which he got a holiday free of expense. This 
 particular year he arrived at that watering-place before his con- 
 gregation had come, or before the gravel was laid down at the 
 etablisseinent. So small a number had he of English permanent 
 residents, that he considered it scarcely worth while to disturb 
 the Huguenot minister, and held his services in the apartments 
 of General Talbot, a distant relation, who acted as his church- 
 warden. London had got far too hot for him, and he had fled, 
 leaving his father, his wife, his infant son, and his pupil, to take 
 the best care of themselves they could with an execution in the 
 house. Three of the four considered his retreat as one of the 
 most masterly things ever done, and, never thinking of them- 
 selves, rejoiced in his safety ; for Charles was one of those men 
 who somehow got all their women folks, and many of their friends, 
 to take them at their own valuation. Young George Barnett 
 (who, like almost every one else, succeeded afterwards in getting 
 Reginald into trouble) considered his tutor as a model man, with 
 perhaps a few of the eccentricities always to be found with great 
 genius, and assisted at Charles's departure for Arcis with great 
 shrewdness and devotion, forgetting, in the hurry of affairs which 
 immediately followed it, to mention the matter to his father. How 
 long he would have continued this very culpable omission, we 
 cannot say — possibly until Reginald had written himself ; but the 
 great Sir Lipscombe became acquainted with the state of things 
 with his own horrified eyes. 
 
 Sir Lipscombe Barnett, on looking over his banking-book, 
 discovered that Charles had drawn two quarters in advance, and 
 was, at the same time, rather surprised that he had heard nothing 
 very lately from his son and heir. The most anxiously indulgent 
 of fathers, he at once determined to go to town and make inquiries 
 of his son's welfare. He put on his buff waistcoat and trousers, 
 his blue coat and brass buttons, and came to town, determining 
 to hear a debate or so on the Reform Bill, then in the moment of 
 projection in the House of Commons, before he went down. 
 
 On alighting at the garden gate before Charles's house, he was 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 49 
 
 surprised to see an abnormal quantity of straw and paper, not 
 only in the garden, but scattered all about the road, evidently 
 having connection with the rev. gentleman's house, for it lay 
 thicker at his door than it did anywhere else. On knocking, he 
 was at once admitted by a greyish, military-looking man, who 
 drew himself up and saluted his old officer, and to whom Sir 
 Lipscombe said, " What are you doing here, Malony? Have 
 you left the army? " 
 
 " Yes, your honour ; I have served my time, and I am engaged 
 by Mr. Richards, the auctioneer. I am watching the few things 
 which have not been sould, your honour." 
 
 11 Sold ! Has there been a sale here ? " 
 
 " Surely. His riverence is sould up entirely." 
 
 " And where is he ? " 
 
 11 Divvle a body knows," said Malony. " You surely wouldn't 
 have him here. Mayhap he's been trated so bad in this country, 
 that he's gone abroad to convart the haythen." 
 
 "Where are the others?" 
 
 " Upstairs, in the top of the house, wid the baby. There is 
 the scholar there that his riverence was teaching all the elegant 
 diversions. I never " 
 
 "Good heavens! my son!" said Sir Lipscombe, giving five 
 shillings to the old soldier, and walking up. 
 
 Why had not his son fled to his aunt's — anywhere ? What a 
 scene for him ! 
 
 Sir Lipscombe went up the bare staircase, looking into the 
 empty rooms — so cheerless, even on the bright April clay. How 
 hollow and loud everything sounded ! What echoes came to 
 answer the intruding footfalls, as if ghosts of all the people who 
 had lived and died there before were come to see how the last 
 tenants had treated their old haunts, and in what state they had 
 left them. The voices of some people talking upstairs sounded 
 very out of place and loud, and when some one burst into a roar 
 of laughter above, it sounded strangely — the more so as, in the 
 laugh, Sir Lipscombe recognised the voice of his son and heir. It 
 was a very catching laugh, however, and he joined in it himself, 
 though in a more subdued tone. 
 
 Peeping into a top front-room, he saw the family group en- 
 camped there. Reginald was at a table, writing ; on one side 
 of the fireplace was Mrs. Charles, with an infant, and in the front 
 of the fire was his son and heir, actually helping to cook the 
 dinner, under Mrs. Hetherege's instructions. It was the laughter 
 at this humorous arrangement which the worthy baronet had 
 heard when he was coming upstairs. 
 
50 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 He ought to have been very angry, hut he was so very sorry 
 for the Hethereges that his anger was changed to pity. Moreover, 
 the chief culprit was absent, taking his usual course of leaving 
 others to bear the brunt, and so there practically was no one to 
 be angry with, except his son — and it was very hard to say what 
 he had done. Besides, Sir Lipscombe was one of those soft- 
 hearted men who can't stand the sight of a woman and child in 
 distress ; and that poor, pale, pretty, defenceless Mrs. Charles 
 Hetherege, with her baby, sitting amidst the poor remains of her 
 furniture in her dismantled nursery, made the kind widower's 
 heart full in thinking of days gone by for him for ever. He 
 advanced quickly, saying — 
 
 " Mr. Hetherege, my dear sir, you have been unfriendly in 
 not writing to me. My good sir, pray tell me all about it at 
 once. My dear madam, pray do not rise, I beg of you. Really, 
 I am angry with you too ; surely I am a sufficiently old friend 
 to be trusted. Come, I must scold you. George, my dear, how 
 do you do ? " 
 
 " I was waiting for instructions from Charles before I could do 
 anything, Sir Lipscombe," said the poor lady. 
 
 " Surely, surely — quite right," said Sir Lipscombe. " My dear 
 Mr. Hetherege, I wish for a word or two with you downstairs ; " 
 and so they went into an empty room. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! " said Sir Lipscombe. " I suppose, when things 
 have come to the worst that they must mend, Mr. Hetherege." 
 
 " They have not come to the worst, my dear sir," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " Can that be ? " 
 
 " We have a roof over our heads to-day, to-morrow we shall 
 have none. She is rapidly sickening, and her life and the child's 
 will be in danger unless I can nourish and house her better— and 
 that baby the heir to millions ! " 
 
 " Well, well ! he must anticipate some of his property. I will 
 lend the child a hundred pounds, and put it into your hands, to 
 do as you please with ; but the wife and child must be permanently 
 provided for by a member of the family." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Reginald, with a great laugh, " but by which ? " 
 " Is there more than one, that you could hesitate? Get that 
 mother and child once inside Miss Hester Simpson's house, and 
 I will be sworn that she will not go out again in a hurry. Don't 
 you see what I mean ? " 
 "I do— but I tremble." 
 
 " Tremble at what ? You are the only one of the family who 
 was never afraid of her. She can't eat you." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 51 
 
 11 But she hates Charles so." 
 
 11 Bad taste on her part. When she knows what a perfect 
 charming little jewel his wife is, she won't hate her." 
 
 " But I have given her such desperate offence. I have abused 
 her novels so." 
 
 " The last woman in the world to resent that; you know she 
 has never been different to you on that score." 
 
 11 That is true ; but how am I to manage it ? " 
 
 " You do right to ask an old soldier. I will tell you how. 
 Knock at the door when she is at home ; go in — for you are 
 never refused — show the mother and child into the dining-room, 
 and go coolly upstairs and take the bull by the horns. Is Goodge 
 in town?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Confound that fellow ! he never is when he is wanted. Still 
 I would only have used him after I had failed, were I in your 
 place. You must do without him." 
 
 " It is a wild plan." 
 
 "It is a perfectly certain one. Another thing: has she or 
 any one other member of the family been apprised of this child's 
 birth?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " That was extremely foolish, and the sooner it is known the 
 better. You will see that for yourself if you think it out." 
 
 "Sir Lipscombe," said Reginald, "I am profoundly in your 
 debt, and the thing shall be done, or risked. The deuce is in it 
 if I don't succeed in such a good cause ; but I wish Goodge was 
 here." 
 
 " Well, I will make my adieux upstairs, and take the boy 
 home. Let me know at once of your success or ill-success. I 
 will write that little document upstairs, in case of failure." 
 
 From the parting scene between young George Barnett and 
 Mrs. Hetherege and Reginald, few would have guessed that the 
 boy was leaving a squalid, uncomfortable house, to go to every 
 pleasure of a country house and the arms of an over-indulgent 
 father. The boy cried heartily, and was so very sorry, that even 
 the pleasures of the town, to which his father had resort to calm 
 him, were only partially successful. Years after, when Sir Lips- 
 combe joined in the great quarrel against Reginald, two parties, 
 at all events, remembered his great kindness. But we must bid 
 good-bye to him and to his son for a very long time, and follow 
 Reginald while he unfolded to Mary part of his desperate project. 
 
 Terrified as poor Mary was, for the child's sake she consented 
 to go and sec the terrible Miss Simpson. And so those two 
 
52 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 babes in the wood started together, taking the unconscious baby 
 George. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE OGRESS'S CASTLE IS STORMED. 
 
 Although Reginald was very anxious to follow the suggestion 
 of Sir Lipscombe, and get Mrs. Charles and the baby into Aunt 
 Hester's house, he knew perfectly well that it would require all 
 his audacity and courage to do it. " Once in," he said to him- 
 self, " the old girl " (so disrespectfully did he speak of that great 
 genius) " dare not turn her out, for shame's sake ; and Charles's 
 wife is a woman who will win her way to any one's heart, leave 
 alone that of a sentimental old woman." 
 
 Aunt Hester was so far from being considered in any way 
 sentimental by the family, that they trembled when they men- 
 tioned Fitzroy Square — the square which was honoured by the 
 residence of that great authoress. The younger and more 
 audacious of the Talbots, Murdochs, and Simpsons, used flatly to 
 refuse to go and see her on some occasions. She was extremely 
 wealthy, having been left an heiress by a partial failure of the 
 Simpsons' main branch. Whether she would take anything 
 under the great will was not very clear, but she always said she 
 would stand by her rights, if they were only fifty pounds. If the 
 will was set aside to-morrow, however, she would have a fine 
 penny to leave ; and so, with the more thoughtful of the family 
 — though most of them were very well off — she was considered 
 as most eccentric relations are considered who have £3,000 a 
 year and spend one, with the power of leaving it where they 
 choose ; that is to say, as a relation not to be lost sight of. Her 
 money, if one of the Talbot or Murdoch girls were to have it, 
 might bring a peerage into the family — a thing which General 
 Talbot, of Arcis-sur-Mer, always prayed against. 
 
 From the conduct of Aunt Hester to her relations, however, 
 the chances seemed very strong that the family would never be 
 blessed with a peerage, unless they could get it with their own 
 money. She seemed to entertain an objection to her relations 
 quite as strong as that of the great Digby himself. She had made 
 one exception, and that exception was so utterly hopeless a one, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 53 
 
 that she was apparently confirmed in considering her relations as 
 her natural enemies. 
 
 She had loved one of them, and there were dark rumours afloat 
 about the strange old woman, to the effect that she loved him still. 
 James Murdoch had been a handsome, clever, bright lad, when 
 she took him up, sent him to school, where he did badly, and to 
 college, where he did worse. He treated her with the most utter 
 ingratitude. Some said — that is to say, her own servants said — 
 that he robbed her, and got money by threats from her. She was 
 not a young woman when she saw his evil boy's face, but even now, 
 when she was getting old, it was noticed that this spendthrift and 
 blackleg was never without money, and held his own somehow. 
 The family's theory about him was that he knew something about 
 her, and traded on it. Reginald, more shrewd in his way, saw 
 the truth. Never having had a child of her own, she had loved 
 and adopted this one, and though her heart was half broken by 
 disowning him, she would not cast him entirely away. Perhaps 
 that is why Reginald felt some confidence in his designs on this 
 old woman now over fifty, whom he called a fool at one time, and 
 a sentimental old woman at another. 
 
 " I wish," Reginald had often said to himself, " that she could 
 have taken a fancy to my Charles, instead of to that fox-eyed 
 young vagabond, James Murdoch." 
 
 But she never could, and Charles had always remained her pet 
 abomination. These reflections forced themselves on Reginald's 
 mind now, when he was going to thrust Charles's wife (whom Aunt 
 Hester had never recognised) into Aunt Hester's house. 
 
 Aunt Hester had heard something of Charles's escapades, and 
 from that day forbade any of her relations to mention his name in 
 her house. Miss Rose Talbot, hearing of this restriction, called 
 on Aunt Hester at once, though she had not been near her for a 
 year, and persistently talked of no one but Charles. Aunt 
 Hester was perfectly civil to her, and the day she was married to 
 George Talbot, her cousin, sent her a splendid jewel, on which 
 was engraved, "For her who spoke well, at all risks, of her un- 
 worthy cousin." That circumstance, among others, illustrative of 
 the softer side of Aunt Hester's character, naturally came into 
 Reginald's mind this day. 
 
 The society of Aunt Hester, like that of many great geniuses, 
 could not bo enjoyed without the persons enjoying it becoming 
 aware of certain trifling matters of manner different from those 
 usual among the mere herd. Aunt Hester, for example, used to 
 say exactly what she thought, which was tolerably dreadful ; but 
 then, she would consider it necessary to say nothing at all some- 
 
54 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 times during a whole visit, but sit looking at her visitor with a 
 strong gaze from behind spectacles. She was also reported to 
 have resorted to personal violence on more than one occasion, but 
 of this there was not the slightest proof. Goodge certainly never 
 denied it when he was asked about it, but became silent, and left 
 her younger relations to infer what they chose ; and they chose to 
 infer that, on the whole, they had better leave Aunt Hester alone, 
 which was probably what he wanted. 
 
 She tolerated from Reginald a great deal more than she would 
 from any one else. Reginald was a poor courtier, and had actually 
 done her considerable injury. He thought some of her novels 
 nonsense, and he wrote reviews of them saying so. She was no 
 less friendly to him after this than before ; and although she never 
 helped him openly, yet Reginald had some assistance from certain 
 quarters, which he was often inclined to put down to Aunt Hester. 
 
 Aunt Hester still continued to dress in the fashions of 1815, 
 which rendered walking exercise highly inconvenient for her, in 
 consequence of the boys. She therefore confined herself to car- 
 riage exercise, and drove in her carriage round the park at regular 
 hours in the season. Reginald calculated on those hours very 
 carefully, and intended to arrive with his perfectly submissive 
 companion during her absence. On arriving at her door, he was 
 informed that she was at home, whereupon he said audibly to the 
 butler, " Confound it ! I'll see her, Jamieson." He indeed saw 
 nothing for it now but to follow Sir Lipscombe's plan of the 
 campaign. " Just wait while I help this lady in." 
 
 Jamieson showed the way into the dining-room, where the poor 
 trembling lady sat down with the baby, and then took Reginald 
 upstairs, announcing him. 
 
 Hester Simpson was sitting at a little table, writing. She rose. 
 
 A tall, hawk-nosed woman, with a pair of keen grey eyes and 
 heavy eyebrows. Her grizzled hair was nearly as short as some 
 boys', with only a few little curls in front. She was a woman of 
 fine presence, with a well-formed figure. Her drapery was very 
 scanty, though long, and her waistband was under her armpits. 
 She swept a most beautiful curtsey, and said — 
 
 " To what have I the honour ?" when Reginald inter- 
 rupted her. 
 
 " Now, don't get in a tantrum, my good Hester, but be a 
 reasonable woman : you and I can be friendly enough if we like. 
 I am in trouble, and I want your help — I must have it." 
 
 Aunt Hester sat down, put on her spectacles, took her cheque- 
 book from her desk, dropped the pen in the ink, and said, sepul- 
 chral!)* — 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 55 
 
 11 How much? " 
 
 "I don't want any money, I tell you," said Reginald. 
 
 Aunt Hester shut up her cheque-book, put it back in her desk, 
 wiped her pen, took off her spectacles and put them in their case, 
 and then sat utterly silent, waiting for instructions. 
 
 " I tell you I don't want any money, Hester." 
 
 Aunt Hester pointed to the last arrangement which she had 
 made in her writing-table, elevated her eyebrows, waved her hands, 
 and then folded them. Still she was utterly silent. 
 
 " Confound it, Hester, won't you speak to me ? " 
 
 " I was waiting for you to speak." 
 
 " Well, then, I will. Charles is sold up, and is gone to his old 
 quarters at Arcis-sur-Mer. His wife has had another baby born 
 — a son and heir to a bedstead, a couple of chairs, and a million 
 or so of money, and I have brought her here to be under your 
 protection for the present, as she is far too ill to be moved about. 
 You cannot, as a Christian woman, turn her out of your house, 
 and she is downstairs in the dining-room now, with her baby." 
 
 Aunt Hester suddenly arose and fell upon Reginald. She seized 
 him by one breast of his coat with her left hand, while with her 
 right she pummelled him soundly, until the dust flew out ol his 
 old unbrushed coat in clouds. 
 
 " Oh, you villain, you villain, you villain ! " she said, when she 
 was tired, and paused for breath. 
 
 " Are you better, Hester ? " he asked, quietly. 
 
 She immediately flew at him again, and pulled his right ear 
 violently. 
 
 " You are a villain ! " she said when she sank down in her 
 chair. " You have plotted that the child shall be brought into 
 my house, and that it shall be under my protection. As for your 
 worthless son's wife, she shall stay here to-night, but I shall 
 provide for her elsewhere in the morning. The hospital is the 
 best place for her, but I will see to her for to-night — and to-night 
 only, mind. You write to your precious son by this post, and tell 
 him that. Tell him that he may make his mind assured of that. 
 You leave my house instantly, Reginald. I never thought or spoke 
 ill of you, and you have served me this cruel trick. It is unworthy 
 of you, Reginald. I am a lonely old woman, and every one plots 
 against me ; ta quoque — the man I did trust before every one 
 except Goodge. Go away, and tell your son that nothing shall 
 harm his wife, but that out of my house she goes." 
 
 " You will be kind to her to-night, at all events, Hester," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " Am I a savage ? " said Hester Simpson. 
 
56 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " May I tell her so ? " 
 
 11 That I am a savage — certainly." 
 
 " No, don't be silly. That you will be kind to her." 
 
 " You had just better march out of this house and mind your 
 own business until to-morrow morning," said Hester. 
 
 And Reginald, quite agreeing with her, departed hurriedly, 
 past an astonished butler, leaving Aunt Hester a terrible figure 
 on the lower stairs. 
 
 11 Where is Mrs. Prodit ? " said Aunt Hester, in a lofty voice. 
 Mrs. Prodit was the housekeeper, and was at once fetched. 
 
 " Mrs. Prodit," said Aunt Hester to the housekeeper, butler, 
 and also the footman, who had joined from a laudable curiosity, 
 and was detected putting his coat on before he had shut the 
 staircase door. The servants were all attention. 
 
 11 In all well-regulated houses it is customary for servants to 
 dress themselves in their offices, and not in the hall." 
 
 This awful allusion to James disconcerted the party, and made 
 James's face the colour of his plush breeches. 
 
 " Mrs. Prodit." 
 
 " Yes, madam." 
 
 " I am expecting a baby and its mother " 
 
 "La!" said Mrs. Prodit. 
 
 " And its young mother, to stay in the house for a considerable 
 time," continued Hester, sternly. 
 
 " Pretty dear ! " said Mrs. Prodit, not exactly knowing what to 
 say in her astonishment. 
 
 "I do not know whether she is pretty or ugly, Prodit. I sup- 
 pose she is handsome, for these fools always do marry pretty girls. 
 But I am not pretty, Prodit, and you are for a woman of your 
 age : you women without any brains always keep your looks. It 
 is the same with the men. If Jamieson there had not been 
 originally ugly, he would have kept his looks till he was seventy." 
 (Jamieson was very handsome, like every one who was allowed 
 near Hester.) " You, Prodit, take your doll's face into the 
 dining-room, and tell the lady that Miss Simpson will have the 
 pleasure of waiting on her directly ; then come out at once. 
 Jamieson, tell the coachman to slip round to the mews, and have 
 the street laid down in straw at once — instantly. You also tie 
 up the door knocker with a white kid glove, and, if any one calls 
 — any one, mind — and asks how I am, say I am as well as can 
 be expected. If you say one word more, old services shall count 
 for nothing, and you leave my house." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, madam, a thousand times," said Jamieson, 
 " but if Mr. Goodse were to come ? " 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 57 
 
 " Of course, send him up directly. I forgot him — thanks, 
 Jamieson, for reminding me. But I fear that there is no such 
 luck to be looked for as his advice just now." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE NEW HOME. 
 
 Alas ! poor fluttering, trembling, deserted Mary, where was she 
 all the twenty minutes ? 
 
 In the cold, cruel, inexorable dining-room of a power which 
 she knew to be hostile, and which she feared to be inexorably 
 so. "A mad doctor with a paying connection ought to furnish 
 his rooms with dark mahogany, horsehair, and mirrors in black 
 frames. He would never lose a patient as long as life lasted," 
 thought Mary. " I should soon go mad in this room." 
 
 Here she made a low curtsey, and flushed up with a trembling 
 at her heart. It was herself, or rather her shadow, to whom she 
 was bowing, shown in one of the looking-glasses. She lay down 
 on one of the cold black horsehair couches, and began to cry, and 
 also to think. All this time little George was behaving as good 
 as gold, as he continued to do during all which ensued. Let us 
 pay him a compliment which we can rarely pay to babies or 
 schoolboys ; he was so little of a nuisance that we need not 
 mention him any more at present, and only do so now to show 
 that we have not forgotten his existence. 
 
 What an insane folly, she thought, she had committed in 
 allowing Reginald to bring her here ! and yet she had never 
 known Reginald's judgment go wrong. She knew, poor lady, 
 that she was utterly beyond thinking for or helping herself, 
 and so she must trust utterly to him. She could not under- 
 stand, and had given up trying, for she knew from previous 
 experience that she was beyond the regions of clear judgment. 
 She would have given half her life to have had Charles with 
 her now — her own gallant, brave, tender husband — who in their 
 worst straits had given her the kindest words, and made fun of 
 all their troubles. Poor boy, he could not be here — he would 
 be in prison if he stayed in England. Reginald would not 
 leave her — no, ho would never leave her without assistance, in 
 the hands of this terrible old woman. 
 
58 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 She heard the front door shut, and looked out of the window. 
 Reginald was crossing the square slowly, evidently in no great 
 hurry to come back again. Then she felt alone and utterly 
 deserted, and a dead sickness, which she knew too well, came 
 over her. 
 
 Some one was in the room, who said — 
 
 " Miss Simpson, madam, desires me to say that she will see 
 you directly." 
 
 " I wish to be taken to a hospital," said Mary, and, getting 
 back to the sofa, sank heavily upon it, and became almost 
 unconscious. 
 
 The door was opened again, and the terrible Hester Simpson, 
 previously described, as far as our feeble art would allow us (she 
 was infinitely more awful in reality), approached her. Mary knew 
 it must be Aunt Hester, and feebly recurred to the request about 
 the hospital. 
 
 " Why, my pretty one," said Aunt Hester, kneeling beside her, 
 " you are in the hospital. You are in my house, and you are 
 going to stay in it until you are fit to go back to your husband." 
 
 " Where is Reginald, madam ? Let Reginald write and tell 
 him that." 
 
 " Good, to think of Charles first," said Aunt Hester ; " but the 
 fact is, that I have packed Master Reginald out of the house with 
 a flea in his ear. He is not going to play the fool with me, so / 
 tell him. Now, first and foremost, what do you fancy ? Are 
 you hungry ? " 
 
 " No, madam ; but " 
 
 " She wants champagne and water — that is what she wants," 
 said Hester, ringing the bell violently ; " that will bring back her 
 appetite. Bring some champagne here, some of you, or am I to 
 be eaten out of house and home by idle servants ? " 
 
 The champagne and water came, and it refreshed Mary so 
 much, that she submissively mounted two flights of stairs ; and 
 after several efforts to thank Hester Simpson, which, like all 
 other conversation, were nipped in the bud, she found herself 
 in a most luxurious bed, in a handsome room, with waving plane 
 trees outside the window. As she sank back among the fresh 
 smelling sheets, she said hazily, by way of saying something — 
 
 ''You don't take long to air sheets, Miss Simpson." 
 
 " My dear," said Hester Simpson, " we always keep them aired 
 for Mr. Goodge. You never know when he is coining. He might 
 be here to-night, or he might not be here for three weeks. There 
 are another pair airing for him now." 
 
 "I hope I haven't incommoded " began Mary. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 50 
 
 " What, Goodge ? Bless you ! no. He would as soon sleep 
 in the sink as anywhere ; and, in my belief, would, if he wasn't 
 seen to bed like a Christian. General Anders says he would pull 
 down a tatty and sleep in that if he could get nothing better. 
 Does that noise annoy you, dear ? " 
 
 11 No, Miss Simpson." 
 
 " It does me. It's his cockatoo, and if it belonged to any one 
 else I would make the page wring its neck. But what I say is, 
 when you get a real profound man of science like Goodge, you 
 must allow for his peculiarities. Goodge's peculiarities show 
 him to be the man of genius that he is. I said to him myself, 
 1 Goodge, you are a fool to go to Tackshend.' He replied to me, 
 ' Hester, it is you that are the fool. Come also.' ' As what ? ' 
 I said. ' As my wife,' said he. But I did not see my way to it 
 at fifty, and he not thirty-five, though he looks sixty. Well, now, 
 my dear, a bit of this chicken, a little more champagne, and then 
 to sleep. Reginald will be here in the morning." 
 
 " I should like to talk a little to you, Miss Simpson," said 
 Mary. 
 
 " Well, do, my dear, if it does not tire you." 
 
 "I am sure my darling Charles is very sorry for all that has 
 happened." 
 
 " So he ought to — I mean, no doubt he is, dear. An affec- 
 tionate husband, I suppose ? " 
 
 " The kindest, best of men." 
 
 11 With the best of wives," said Aunt Hester, cheerily. 
 
 " I have done my best since the troubles came upon us. But 
 
 I was only used to poverty, you know, and it came easy to me. 
 Any home would be a heaven to me with him." 
 
 " Well, everything will come right, I dare say. I am not 
 going to give him money, because I might just as well put it into 
 a watering-pot, and water the flowers with it. But I'll mayhap 
 do so some day or another ; and I'll consult Goodge. Come, I 
 can't say anything more than that." 
 
 Hester Simpson considered this tantamount to saying that she 
 would behave in the handsomest way. Poor Mary was obliged to 
 be content. 
 
 Reginald repaired to a coffee-shop, from which he wrote a 
 succinct account of the day's proceedings, winding up by saying 
 that, if Aunt Hester did not relent in the morning, he should 
 make an effort to bring Mary and the child over to Arcis-sur-Mer. 
 
 II The poor girl has been pining for you, my own boy, and I should 
 be glad to bring you together. I can get leave from the office, 
 and I have over £120. Expect us when you see us." 
 
CO REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CHAKLES MAKES A FAILURE IN HIS SERMON. 
 
 11 Give them according to their deeds, and according to the 
 wickedness of their endeavours : give them after the work of their 
 hands; render to them their desert." — Psa. xxviii. 4. 
 
 Such was the text given out hy the Rev. Charles Hetherege to 
 the congregation of Arcis-sur-Mer in General Talbot's drawing- 
 room. The habitues of the pretty little church in the Rue des 
 Chenes at once settled themselves comfortably to listen to a good 
 thing— much as in a theatre one settles one's self comfortably 
 when the curtain goes up on a favourite, well-known piece, with 
 a few of our best liked actors in it. A good thing seldom fails — 
 men never get tired over Hamlet or Twelfth Night — the congre- 
 gation knew from the text that they were going to have a 
 denunciatory sermon from the Rev. Charles, against some persons 
 unknown. These sermons used to come nearly every Sunday in 
 the season, and no man could preach them better than the hand- 
 some temporary chaplain of Arcis-sur-Mer. 
 
 Among the permanent English residents, and among those of 
 the visitors who stayed long enough to become initiated into the 
 ways of the place, there were many theories as to the people who 
 had so greatly aroused the Rev. Charles's anger ; for — although 
 they might be the Assyrians one day, the Canaanites another, 
 the Babylonians a third — it was perfectly clear, obvious, and 
 evident that no man, not even such a genius as the Rev. Charles, 
 could get into such a state of white heat against people who had 
 been dead many thousand years, and who had never done him 
 any wrong. It was certain that he had his enemies in the flesh, 
 and that he used his pulpit, like some others of his reverend 
 brethren, to ease his mind without the remotest chance of contra- 
 diction. 
 
 The young men of the small Easter vacation reading party 
 were unanimously of opinion that the denounced ones were his 
 University creditors, and that, as he could not pay them in cash, 
 he took this rather peculiar method of paying them in kind. 
 Their tutor, however, who had been a contemporary of the Rev. 
 Charles, was of another opinion — it was evidently, from his point 
 of view, the London creditors who were denounced. He was 
 accustomed, in fact, to use the Rev. Charles Hetherege as an 
 example to illustrate some of those invaluable pieces of worldly 
 
REGINALD IIETHEREGE. 61 
 
 wisdom with which, in more confidential moments with his 
 pupils, he varied conic sections and Juvenal. 
 
 " See," he would say, "what a fool a man makes of himself 
 by getting in debt in London, where people won't wait, when he 
 may have any amount of tick at his University, where people will. 
 Charles Hetherege might owe three times as much as he does, 
 and walk the streets of Cambridge now." 
 
 These invaluable bits of advice were treasured up and acted on 
 duly by his fortunate pupils. 
 
 General Talbot, the gentle, wise Indian officer, who lived here 
 for his health, and who was the richest of all Charles's congrega- 
 tion, knew a great deal more about Charles's enemies than any 
 one else. He was Charles Hetherege's churchwarden, his guide, 
 and his friend. He knew perfectly well that the Hivites, Hittites, 
 and Perizzites, who were doomed to eternal perdition in such 
 masterly language, were only the people who refused to lend 
 Charles any more money, or who impertinently asked for their 
 own back again. He never was denounced from the pulpit. In 
 the first place, he always did lend the money; in the second 
 place, he never asked for it back again ; and- in the third, Charles 
 never came to him as long as he had a franc to pay for his 
 morning's bath in the sea. 
 
 General Talbot used to say to himself, " The handsome 
 scatter-brain genius is honest enough, after all. When he gets 
 the money he will pay it, and I can't see what is to prevent his 
 getting it. The devil of it is that he can't raise money on his 
 chance." 
 
 It was evident, on this particular Sunday (to General Talbot), 
 that there was something rather more wrong than usual with the 
 reverend gentleman's affairs. General Talbot said once that his 
 eloquence in the pulpit was so great that Arcis-sur-Mer would 
 have gone into mourning had any one paid his debts and launched 
 him on his legitimate career as a great popular preacher in 
 England. Talbot said that people stayed at Arcis-sur-Mer on 
 their way to Paris to hear him. The vice and frivolity of the 
 latter city he continually denounced, pointing out, per contra, the 
 gentle, pastoral life of Arcis-sur-Mer, of which town his church- 
 warden, General Talbot, used to say very little. 
 
 The English hotel-keepers declared that he filled the place, 
 and would have died on their own hearthstones for him. If 
 Charles had chosen to borrow money in Arcis-sur-Mer, he could 
 have done it ; but he was a queer fellow, and paid his way, partly 
 with his own money, and partly with other people's. He once 
 owed a tradesman 1,000 francs at Arcis, and the tradesman 
 
G2 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 pressed. M. Victor, of the Hotel Royal, came to Charles 
 Hetherege, and offered him the money. 
 
 Charles Hetherege said, " No, M. Victor — you, as a foreigner, 
 have no security, as it seems to me. My English friends will all 
 be paid when I have my own, either by myself or my family. But 
 I cannot answer for any money." 
 
 Was this only to make a better name here than he had at 
 home, or was it from real care ? 
 
 Knowing this man, General Talbot was very much puzzled by 
 the sermon. As a general rule his usual sermons were cha- 
 racterised by splendid eloquence, always manly, like the man 
 himself, and never florid. He used to begin with a magnificent 
 text of Scripture, written by the Jews, the first great nation of 
 all time, and translated by the English, the second great nation 
 of all time (as he, owing money to both nations was perfectly 
 assured). Before you had recovered from his magnificent text, 
 in which you were bound to believe, he at once made a splendid 
 and audacious petitio principii, in which you were not bound to 
 believe, but to which you were obliged to submit, because the 
 rules of modern civilisation prevent you rising in your pew and 
 telling the clergyman that he is talking nonsense. But when 
 once you had swallowed the petitio principii, the man had you 
 body and bones. He then became faultlessly logical, and if he 
 had proved to you that Jacob wore Abraham's stockings, you 
 would scarcely see the flaw in his sorites. 
 
 As a general rule, he was more logical in these denunciatory 
 sermons than in any others. It is very easy to get up a case 
 against the world ; a man must be a poor fool if he cannot do 
 that. The repentant garrotter, who has had the misfortune to 
 hammer an old gentleman's head flat, tells the chaplain that it 
 all came from his mother not having warned him against Sabbath- 
 breaking. Any one can make a case against the world, and the 
 Rev. Charles Hetherege could make a very good one, all said 
 and done. In these sermons he spoke only out of the lips of 
 David, Daniel, Susannah, Mordecai, and other ill-used persons. 
 Everybody knew he meant himself, even when he got logically 
 furious about the wrongs of Susannah ; but his argument was 
 always good after the first start. On one occasion, by using 
 an old argument about the divisions of the soul, he proved 
 clearly, and in his best style, that he was three people, and that 
 no one had been ever worse treated than himself since the three 
 holy children. 
 
 Everybody, on the day of the sermon we speak of, was rather 
 disappointed at first with it. The Cambridge men, who always 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 63 
 
 watched for his petitio principii, found it wanting ; there would 
 be no fun for them at lunch. The ladies were utterly puzzled 
 with him. General Talhot hardly knew what to think of it — his 
 pet, nay, his friend, seemed to have lost his head ; he wandered 
 from his text. He was furious enough and angry enough — some 
 one had offended him terribly. Was it his bishop ? Was it any 
 individual creditor ? That was hardly possible, because none of 
 his creditors expected any money at present. Was it a French 
 creditor ? He had none. There was some deadly offence given, 
 however, and the Rev. Charles seemed very angry about it, though 
 there was a strange light in his eyes which General Talbot could 
 not fathom. 
 
 The preacher jumbled matters strangely. Magnificent and 
 awful as his words were, even General Talbot could not follow 
 him. He was putting the words of David, quoted at the head 
 of this chapter, into the mouth of Hagar, when she was turned 
 into the desert by Sara. His burning fury against Sara was 
 something awful to hear. The young men from Cambridge, used 
 to good sermons, looked at one another in amazement ; and Mr. 
 Dormer said to his favourite pupil, " I have never heard anything 
 like this." 
 
 All in a moment the preacher, in describing the desert scene, 
 bent down his head and burst into tears, for the first and last 
 time in his public life. He was no whimpering preacher — he 
 despised a man who was capable of tears ; yet here he was, 
 with his head down on the velvet cushion, not whimpering, like 
 a beaten hound, but fairly sobbing from his great chest, like a 
 strong man beaten down to the level of a woman by great, over- 
 powering emotion. 
 
 " My friends," he said, when he raised his head, " I beg your 
 pardon for this emotion. I cannot explain it here. My heart is 
 too full of mingled joy and sorrow to explain anything. Stay — 
 some of you who have borne with my petulant ways so long 
 deserve confidence. I have denounced Sara, departing from my 
 text, and putting the words of David in her mouth. Will you 
 forgive me when I tell you that Sara has sent Hagar into the 
 desert as soon as Ishmacl is born, and that there is no one to 
 meet her there but myself ? " 
 
CI REGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 GOODGE. 
 
 Reginald, having written to Charles, found himself once more in 
 the street, quite unconscious of what he was going to do with 
 himself. He had been so long used to worry, duns, and vexation 
 of all kinds, that he felt like a boy with a holiday. He considered 
 what use he would make of that holiday, for he felt very much 
 inclined to think that Aunt Hester would do no more than put 
 Mary into lodgings, and see after her. However, she had a roof 
 over her head that night, at all events, and he would enjoy him- 
 self. Where ? Why, where an Englishman naturally goes to— 
 his club. 
 
 He belonged to a cheap but very select club at the West End, 
 which was instituted for poor gentlemen mainly, though fre- 
 quented by many rich ones. His ten pounds' entrance fee had 
 been paid long ago, and he had always kept up his subscription. 
 Since the more fantastic of Charles's pecuniary irregularities, he 
 had not cared to go there, for in the latter of the few years we 
 have skipped over so cavalierly, Charles, also a member, had 
 owed money to the waiters, had even owed money for cards, all of 
 which he (Reginald) had paid, but which transactions were not in 
 any way pleasant. 
 
 "I'll go, however," he said to himself. " I don't owe any- 
 thing. I shall meet some one there, and can get a bed at an 
 hotel once in a way." So he turned south-westward, musing. 
 
 " Charles has made a fearful mess of it ; he will never rein- 
 state himself after this. Hundreds of men without a tithe of his 
 prospects owe six times as much, but he owes it in such an 
 absurd fashion. And adversity has done him no good. At the 
 time of his great trouble, when those priests fought for him, I 
 thought that there was some stuff in him, and that he would 
 make a spoon, whereas he has only spoilt a horn. He has 
 deteriorated very much — there is a total want of moral energy 
 about him which develops every year. He does not drink, he 
 docs not do anything which you could exactly lay hold of; but in 
 Borne of his moods he would laugh if his house was burnt down. 
 He had a faith at one time, but I would not give much for it now. 
 How he preaches so splendidly now without brandy, I don't know, 
 but he is as sober as a judge ; and yet, after a fit of apathy, put 
 him in the pulpit, and there is no one like him. It is a puzzling 
 world. It has treated me very well, however, and so I won't 
 
REGINALD HETUEKEGE. 05 
 
 grumble. I never pretended to deserve anything from the world 
 at all : I made the fiasco far greater than any of Charles's and 
 yet here I am with really all I want. Charles, instead of making 
 one fine and really grand mess, as I did, has made fifty small 
 ones, which in the aggregate do not amount to my one, and he 
 is a beggar and an outcast, while I am in clover. By-the-bye, I 
 have £100 of his which I must account for. What the deuce is 
 to become of it ? Here is another example of his way of manag- 
 ing matters. If I send it to him, I assist him in defrauding his 
 creditors ; if I don't, what has his wife to live on if Aunt Hester 
 were to turn Turk ? Charles was born to trouble, as the sparks 
 fly upwards. I'll pay that washerwoman out of it, though — be 
 hanged if I don't ! Good heavens ! what an awful Bedlam that 
 house has been lately ; it is like awaking from an evil dream to 
 get out of it. 
 
 He was awakened from his reverie by a smiling face, and he 
 found that he had walked into the coffee-room of his club, and had 
 sat down in his old familiar place. The smiling face was that of 
 the steward. 
 
 "It is a pleasure indeed, sir," said he, "to see two such old 
 faces, and yet two such unfrequent ones, on the same day, and in 
 the same hour." 
 
 " You mean mine for one, I suppose," said Reginald, cheerfully, 
 "and your own in the looking-glass behind me for the other. 
 Though why you call your own an unfrequent one I don't know, 
 for you must see it pretty often. Perhaps you have arrived at 
 the same conclusion that I have — the older one gets the less one 
 cares to look in the glass. The other face not yours ! whose 
 then?" 
 
 " Mr. G-oodge's, sir." 
 
 " Goodge ! " cried Reginald. " Where is he ? " 
 
 " In the smoking-room, sir ; just fresh from California — ■ 
 somewhere in the Indies. And ain't he laying down the law 
 neither?" 
 
 Reginald asked if he had ordered dinner, and finding that he 
 was alone, told him to order double portions, for that he should 
 dine with Mr. Goodge. 
 
 He opened the door of the smoking-room, the first sanctum of 
 that kind instituted at any club in London, and looked in. 
 
 Before the fire stood an immensely tall man, narrow shouldered, 
 beardless, and without any colour in his face save a dark brown, 
 evidently got from the sun. His hair was closely cropped, show- 
 ing the splendid form of his skull. He might be any age from 
 five -and -thirty to sixty : that grey blue eye, in its quaint expres- 
 
 6 
 
66 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 sion, might belong to a clever, mischievous schoolboy ; that 
 firmly-set mouth, with the large, almost ugly jaw beneath it, 
 belonged to a man, and no common one. His dress was well cut, 
 but made to show his figure more than the common hideous dress 
 of 1831, when handsome men like Palmerston or Melbourne 
 swathed themselves up in the ghastly garments invented by an 
 unhealthy king. His throat, for instance, was bare, and loosely 
 knotted in a bine handkerchief under a turn-down collar ; and 
 that wiry throat was as brown as his face or his long sinewy hands. 
 
 Such was Goodge the traveller, as Reginald looked at him. 
 He had only to say " Robert," when the giant strode towards him, 
 and raised him from the floor. 
 
 " Here is a welcome for a fellow," he said, in his usual cheery 
 voice. " Why, Reginald, I have got a hundredweight of talk to 
 have with you ! You must dine with me." 
 
 " I have made that arrangement already," said Reginald. 
 " Welcome home, scalps and all ! " 
 
 "Scalps, quotha," said Goodge. "Mind your own, you old 
 capitalist, or that curly wig of yours, without a grey hair in it yet, 
 as I see, will hang in a wigwam of the tribe of Murdoch some day. 
 How's scapegrace ? Over the water, I hear, saving his scalp. 
 Well, Wolff says that the Indians are the lost tribes of Israel, but 
 I'll be hanged if I wouldn't face all the Indians in America sooner 
 than their brethren of Cursitor Street. Depend upon it, the lost 
 t lilies are not half so bad as those who have taken the trouble to 
 remain with us. Here, however, is dinner. I am going to kick 
 up a row with the committee, because there was no buffalo hump : 
 it is just in season now. Well," he continued, when they were 
 settled at dinner, " now tell us everything about yourself." 
 
 " Charles has not been going on well." 
 
 " He never did, did he? " said Goodge. 
 
 "I won't go as far as to say that," said Reginald, " but he is 
 going on worse than ever." 
 
 " That must lie pretty bad," said Goodge. 
 
 " It is," said Reginald ; "there is no moral tone about him at all. 
 He is sold out of house and home, and has left his wife pretty 
 much on my hands. I have a hundred pounds of his, and I don't 
 see wli.it to do with her when that is gone. Meanwhile, she has a 
 boy; the other two children died at once. I have a presenti- 
 ment that this one will live." 
 
 " Well, we must quarter it on Hester, then," said Goodge. 
 
 "I have already done so," said Reginald — "prospectively, that 
 is. I have got her into Hester's house. She declares that she 
 will turn her out to-morrow mornins." 
 
REGINALD HETHEIIEGE. G7 
 
 "Fiddle-de-dee!" said Goodge. "Don't trouble your mind 
 about her. Hester would never do that : if she proposed it, I 
 would forbid it. I thought you and Hester were at variance. 
 How did you manage it ? " 
 
 " The courage of desperation, which gives one impudence." 
 
 ' ' What do you expect from it ? " 
 
 " I don't very much know. I had an idea — you will think me 
 a fool — that the child ought to be under her protection, for it has 
 none other." 
 
 11 Not a bad notion. With a kind fool of a woman like Hester 
 — a very good notion. What is the mother like ? " 
 
 11 A sensible, sharp, plucky little woman." 
 
 "It is possible, then," said Goodge, " that the child may not 
 turn out as great a fool as its father. And so the Jews won't have 
 anything to say to Charles? " 
 
 " No ; they don't see their way to it. My life is as good as his." 
 
 " And a precious sight better ! " said Goodge. " Now, tell me 
 fairly, do you expect that Charles will ever take anything under 
 this will?'" 
 
 " At my death there will be, of course, a settlement of some 
 kind, and a vast deal must come out of the fire." 
 
 " A great deal will come out of the fire," said Goodge ; " there 
 must be a million, or a dozen, somewhere. With all that the 
 lawyers have taken, there must be twelve millions at least." 
 
 " There is nothing like that— there is nothing approaching to 
 it," said Reginald. " If it were the case, why have not my family 
 moved more strongly in the matter ? They never cared about the 
 suit at all. And if Charles is to have such a vast sum of money, 
 why have they not helped him more ? ' ' 
 
 "Because they are all rich, because you are eternally in the 
 way, because your life is better than Charles's, because half a 
 hundred things may happen — there are innumerable reasons why 
 they should let things drift. Charles has lost two children lately, 
 for example. Will this one live ? If it dies, what becomes of the 
 whole will ? The devil, to whom the money was originally left, 
 can only tell ; the lord chancellor could not. Old Thellusson 
 made some wild provision, after scheming out an almost impos- 
 sible succession, to spite his relation, that his money should go to 
 pay the national debt. Do you think Digby was such a fool as 
 that? There is onlij one man alive now who ever knew Digby in 
 the flesh intimately. He knew him as intimately as one human 
 being can know another." 
 
 " Of whom do you speak ? " said Reginald. " What you say is 
 almost impossible. Any one who was old enough to know Digby 
 
G8 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 as intimately as you say, would now be between eighty and 
 ninety, for he would not have confided his affairs to a man under 
 thirty." 
 
 " Never you mind about that," said Goodge. " I am not here 
 to mention the age of this man, of whom I am speaking. I only 
 say that he is one of my most intimate friends. One of them — 
 why, he is the truest and bravest friend I have in the world, and 
 the best comrade in bush or jungle I ever wish to have. We shot 
 tigers together last year — he wanted to show me the sport, and it 
 is poor work. This friend of mine knew Digby well, and his 
 opinion is that the whole suit, will and all, will blow up together, 
 like a burst balloon, some day." 
 
 " Has he got any reason for thinking so ? " 
 
 "Apparently not, or none which he would tell, even to me. I 
 have told you more than I ought, Reginald, because things spoken 
 over pipes in jungle or bush are not supposed to be repeated. I 
 only tell you that I sometimes have a suspicion that the whole 
 lawsuit is moonshine. The old man made his will to plague his 
 relations : like all spiteful people, he has failed at present. Your 
 grandfather was the only one he cared about and really provided 
 for, and he and his descendants are the only ones Avho have 
 suffered. My friend does not think that that was the old man's 
 wish." 
 
 " Then you think " 
 
 " On the contrary. I only suppose that the old man did not 
 wish his money to be wasted entirely among lawyers, or to go into 
 unworthy hands. Further than that I say nothing. I say that if 
 you were to die to-morrow I would not give sixpence one way or 
 another, unless something happened." 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked Reginald. 
 
 " Never mind. I don't know, so how can I tell you ? I want 
 t<> say sonic more to you. You to a certain extent give your life 
 to lliis son of yours — I know more about you than you have ever 
 told me yourself, from a certain quarter. The boy began very 
 badly ; he mended for a while, and did well. He is now, according 
 to your own showing, doing worse and worse every year. Did you 
 do your duty by him, old friend? " 
 
 " No ; 1 was a fool with him. I put notions into his head, or, 
 rather, Let notions grow there, which 1 should have combated. I 
 let him have liis own way too much. But what would you have, 
 Goodge? lie — the only friend I have -could I quarrel with 
 him? I am so used to be blamed, that T am hanged if I care for 
 it; but you are right in saying that 1 did not do my duty by that 
 boy. If I had, he would have gone to the devil years ago." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. C9 
 
 This view of matters struck Goodge as something new. Never 
 in all his travels had he met with such singular sentiment, and 
 yet it was, apparently, true. 
 
 " I fancy you are right there, Reginald. You are certainly the 
 only confidant he ever made. But I put a case to you. This 
 child just horn is a hoy : will you allow him to grow up under his 
 father's influences ? " 
 
 " I am not his father." 
 
 "But would you use your influence with Charles to make him 
 put the child under the care of other people, who would provide 
 for him ? I do not say separate him from his mother until his 
 education began ; I mean, do you think that Charles would to 
 some extent give the child up to other influences ? ' ' 
 
 " I should say that Charles, the most affectionate fellow in the 
 world, would never stand in his child's light. But the child is 
 very young." 
 
 " Well, I can only tell you that the child has more friends than 
 you know of. Could you do nothing with the father to save him 
 from ruin ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, if I could pay his dehts and give him a chance of con- 
 tracting fresh ones," said Reginald. 
 
 "There is where it is," said Goodge. "You yourself could 
 have what you liked to-morrow ; you had it once, and then you 
 gave it all to him. I could get you money, if you could give your 
 honour that it did not go to your son." 
 
 " Ah ! hut, you see, T can't," said Reginald. 
 
 "It is a great pity," said Goodge that evening to himself, 
 " that that fellow Charles stands in the way so. Anders would do 
 anything for Reginald if he could get rid of Charles." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AN IMPORTANT FAMILY CONCLAVE. 
 
 A member of the family, more than a week afterwards, coming to 
 call on Aunt Hester, found Fitzroy Square clown in straw, and the 
 door knocker clone up with a white kid glove. He at once drove 
 round to the other members of the family, and announced that 
 Aunt Hester was dying. An immediate family conclave was 
 ordered, and invitations sent out for the next day, at lunch-time, 
 
70 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Jamieson, the butler, hud merely done as he was told, and said 
 that the lady was as well as could be expected. He had also 
 added, on his own account, that she was very weak, and that they 
 were very anxious. 
 
 The family assembled solemnly at the house of Alfred Murdoch. 
 They ate their lunch, and then, instead of separating as usual, 
 began to drink sherry. The ladies not only stopped witli the 
 gentlemen, but drank sherry also. Each member primed his or 
 herself pretty liberally before any of them belled the cat. Every- 
 body knew what everybody else had come about, but no one liked 
 to begin. At a funeral the conversation is very often much more 
 about the deceased's property than about deceased. So in the 
 present case the conversation was led up to by the Mrs. Simpson 
 of that generation asking the Mr. Murdoch of that generation 
 over the table what he thought " Aunt Hester would be worth 
 now." 
 
 "Three thousand a year, Jane, and has never spent £1,500, 
 that is my opinion," said Murdoch. 
 
 Mrs. Simpson, a fat and viciously ill-tempered woman, whose 
 fat has exasperated her temper, instead of softening it, as it does 
 in most cases, replied — 
 
 " She has paid such sums away for that wicked boy of yours, 
 that I doubt if she has much left." 
 
 Mr. Murdoch at once rose, and requested of Mr. Simpson to ask 
 his wife " what the devil she meant by that." 
 
 Mr. Simpson, who, like most men with violent wives, was a 
 peaceable person, begged Murdoch to pretermit the question. 
 
 " They were not there," he said, " to inquire about the amount 
 of Hester's property, but to see what the state of her health was, 
 and, if it were possible, to find out what testamentary dispositions 
 she had made." 
 
 He was proceeding to say that it was a matter in which they 
 were all interested, when Miss Laura Talbot rose and spoke. Her 
 words were very few. She only asked her Cousin Simpson whether 
 her Cousin Murdoch had ever been in the dock for forgery, and 
 then sat down. 
 
 The fact of the matter was that there was a blacker sheep in 
 tlic Simpson fold than ever there had been in the Murdoch. 
 Things not to be spoken of happen in the best regulated families. 
 James Murdoch was a very great rascal ; but George Simpson 
 had come under the clutches o^i the law for bad spelling — he spelt 
 some one else's name instead of his own. Let us hope that such 
 mistakes will become less frequent with the spread of education. 
 Mi^s Laura Talbot was, like most other young ladies, very fond of 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 71 
 
 James Murdoch, and although he had treated her rather badly, 
 stood up for him because, as she had told her sister, Cousin Simp- 
 son's manner was enough to exasperate a mouse. 
 
 She, however, had rather rudely called her fat Cousin Simpson's 
 attention to the fiasco of her firstborn, and had constructively 
 reminded her of the £5,000 bail she had had to pay to get the 
 sweet youth out of the country. It was necessary for Cousin 
 Simpson to say something, or for ever to lose her position as being 
 the worst-tongued woman in every branch of the family. 
 
 It is always supposed that she would at once have withered the 
 audacious Laura Talbot, and left her in tears. But she never 
 did so— she, like Bazaine, lost her opportunity. She often told 
 her friends afterwards what she was going to say to that young 
 lady, but she never said it. She was interrupted, as many 
 another orator had been, by excited interpellations, delivered 
 without previous notice. 
 
 "They did not come there to quarrel," said one. "Pray," 
 said another, " let them discuss the matter in hand temperately." 
 It was unanimously voted that the family was to observe the 
 utmost decorum, and the assembled members of it sat down with 
 wrath in their hearts, to see if they could be civil to one another 
 for the first time in their lives ' when gathered in conclave ; 
 though sometimes, when divided into groups, they got on very 
 well, and only abused one another behind each other's backs. 
 
 They got on tolerably for a considerable time. The sherry, 
 however, while it made the ladies amiable and even reasonable at 
 first, acted differently on the men, who wanted to smoke. 
 
 The drinking even of the best brown East India sherry in the 
 middle of the day would produce its effect on the temper of a 
 saint. The family hauled Aunt Hester over the coals in the most 
 handsome manner, under the firm impression that she was very 
 ill in bed, and, in tact, bound to a better world. They were all 
 pretty well-to-do people, and her property was not of very much 
 consequence to any of them ; and it had better be kept in the 
 family. If she had made her will, why she had made it ; any- 
 how, it would be better to know which way the money was gone— 
 or, better, to see if any member of the family could use his 
 influence with her to make her do her duty to her kindred, a 
 thing in which she had been sadly remiss. At this point (of the 
 sherry) there was not a more united family in Christendom, for 
 each member had a son or daughter which he would have been 
 most glad to marry to his or her cousin, provided extraneous cash 
 was forthcoming. Aunt Hester's cash was, so to speak, ex- 
 traneous, and any member of the family would have married his 
 
72 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 son or daughter for it, though he know that lie gained the undying 
 enmity of the rest of his kindred. It was a tree game, like 
 football : some one would have to kick some one else's shins in it, 
 and apologise afterwards. But as no one was in the least degree 
 aware as to whose shins were going to be kicked, or who was 
 going to kick them, there was really no mutual animosity, and 
 the whole matter might perfectly well be looked at quietly under 
 a haze of sherry. 
 
 But "Canary" (which one may suppose the sherry of Shak- 
 speare's time) is — says Mrs. Quickly — a very searching wine ; 
 and, as the conversation proceeded, the gentlemen of the party 
 began to got snappish and fractious towards one another. 
 
 "Has any one heard anything of Cousin Reginald, lately?" 
 said Mr. Murdoch. 
 
 "I should not much care if I never heard of him again," 
 said Mr. Simpson. 
 
 "Very likely," said Mr. Murdoch; "but everybody may not 
 be your way of thinking, you see. I rather like poor Reginald — 
 he is nobody's enemy but his own." 
 
 " I ask your pardon," said Mr. Simpson : "he is my enemy, 
 and the enemy of every one in this room." 
 
 " Pray do not enter into an altercation, Mr. Simpson," said his 
 wife. 
 
 " I will not be quiet, I tell you, Jane," said Mr. Simpson, 
 valiant with the three glasses of wine which he had taken. " I 
 consider that Reginald could be very easily spared out of this 
 world indeed. He has not adorned it so much as to justify him 
 in living over sixty." 
 
 " He is not fifty," said Mr. Talbot. 
 
 Mr. Murdoch knew that he was about fifty, but as he thought 
 it would annoy Mr. Talbot to contradict him, he did so, and said 
 thai Reginald was seventy. Reginald's name being thus brought 
 on the carpet, a rather lively wrangle followed on the subject oi 
 the will. 
 
 " It would be a rather curious thing, after all, if Charles were 
 to die without children," said Mr. Simpson. " He has lost two, 
 and it is quite possible that he may lose another, or, indeed, not 
 bave any more." 
 
 " I would not take any more of that wine if I were you, Mr. 
 Simpson," said Mis. Simpson. " Your last remark was as nearly 
 as possible imbecile." 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Murdoch, " Simpson's last remark was not a 
 very bright one, certainly." 
 
 " It was as bright as any you are likely to make, Mr, 
 
EEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 73 
 
 Murdoch," said the offended lady, who allowed no one to abuse 
 her husband but herself. " My husband has not much brains, 
 maybe, but he has as much as some who think themselves wiser. 
 I don't hold with the way he put what he said, but I hold with 
 the substance of it. It would be a curious thing if Charles died 
 without children ; it would be curiously lucky for some of us. I 
 don't know whatever he will do now, until his father's death — he 
 can't go on as he is doing much longer, that is very certain." 
 
 "My firm belief is," said Mr. Talbot, "that* if Hester had 
 lived, she would very likely have done something for him, to spite 
 the family. Perhaps it is better as it is." 
 
 There was a general murmur of assent. Mr. Talbot was, 
 from that remark, head of the family for at least ten minutes. 
 
 " You are right, Cousin Talbot," said Murdoch. " Have 
 you heard anything as to what is going on in the law business 
 lately?" 
 
 "It is a dead lock till Reginald's death, I understand," said 
 Talbot. " I am going to spend no money ; are you ? " 
 
 "Not I; Reginald is good for twenty years, and the suit 
 is good for fifty. I have given up thinking about the 
 matter." And they all agreed that they never gave the thing 
 a thought. 
 
 The conversation had become general and noisy ; it principally 
 ran on the approaching decease of Aunt Hester. Mrs. Simpson 
 by degrees talked every one else down by superior lungs, and 
 possibly an extra glass of sherry. She was nodding the Paradise 
 bird in her bonnet, she was smoothing her green satin gown with 
 one of her cream-coloured gloves, while she extended her other 
 arm, from which drooped a black lace shawl, oratorically. She 
 was going away ; her carriage had been rung for, and she stood 
 up to conclude. 
 
 "Mark my words, my dear souls," she said, with her back 
 towards the door, in the midst of a strange silence, which she was 
 too excited to notice. " Mark my words, I say — that man Goodge 
 has designs upon Hester, and it will be well if we are not all left 
 out in favour of that man. If ever I saw villainy in a human face, 
 I see it in the face of Goodge. You take my advice, you two 
 gentlemen, the moment the breath is out of Hester's body, dash 
 off to Fitzroy Square, and put your seals on everything, and see 
 after the machinations of that villain Goodge." 
 
 She turned to go majestically, but brought up short with a loud 
 scream. Goodge and Aunt Hester were standing before her, 
 waiting until she had done. There was nothing for it but to roar 
 with laughter — the discomfiture of Mrs. Simpson, the most dis- 
 
74 REGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 agreeable of the whole kith and kin, was too absurd. It was 
 
 exactly the joke for sardonic old Aunt Hester. Had Mrs. 
 Simpson been less eager to hear her own voice, she might have 
 heard the servant announce the new comers, but Aunt Hester had 
 heard quite enough to suit her grim humour. 
 
 Still Aunt Hester looked like anything but laughing. Her air 
 was wild, her eyes were red with weeping, and there was an 
 appearance of horror in her face. Goodge, too, the man of a 
 thousand escapes, looked very anxious and uneasy. There was 
 something about the pair which produced a terrified silence among 
 those who had been so noisy just before. Aunt Hester spoke with 
 a trembling voice — 
 
 " My dear souls, have you seen Reginald ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " was the murmured answer from all quarters. 
 
 Aunt Hester began to weep again. " He has heard all 
 about it, and has gone, God knows whither. I fear he will make 
 away with himself. I am afraid he has done so already, for 
 he went away with nothing but his hat, the moment he got the 
 news.*' 
 
 " News? what news ? " said Mr. Talbot. 
 
 " About Charles, of course." 
 
 " What about him? " asked Mr. Murdoch. 
 
 11 Dead, dead, dead ! Drowned last night, coming across to 
 see his wife. Alas, poor Charles ! alas, poor Charles 1 " 
 
 And they all echoed in a frightened whisper — 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 A POOR BUBBLE BURSTS. 
 
 A DAY or two after the descent on Aunt Hester, Reginald wrote 
 to Charles to say thai everything was going on well, and that Aunt 
 Hester had entirely taken to both the mother and son. But by 
 the next post came a letter saving that the mother had been 
 suddenly and violently seized with illness, and was in danger. 
 Poor Charles ! What could he do. He loved his wife tenderly, 
 and the thought of never seeing her again overwhelmed him. To 
 go to England was madness, and yet how could he stay ? He 
 took his griefs to General Talbot. 
 
REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 75 
 
 " My dear cousin," said General Talbot, " you ought to go, 
 certainly, but the risks are very great." 
 
 " Well, I will risk it all. I would sooner go to prison than 
 suffer what I do. She may be dead now." 
 
 " But the packet does not sail till the day after to-morrow." 
 
 " 1 wonder how much a fishing-boat would charge to take me 
 across ? ' ' 
 
 " Make your bargain, cousin, and I will be your banker." 
 
 " When 'is there a tide?" 
 
 " At seven o'clock." 
 
 " Then I will go to Pollet at once." 
 
 The bargain was not long in making, for both parties were 
 willing. A large fishing-boat with a crew of three men was 
 hired, and they were to sail for Brighton on the top of the tide at 
 seven. 
 
 General Talbot bid good-bye to him at the door of his house, 
 and walked along the quay to the end to see him off. He had 
 not long walked up and down by the lighthouse, when he noticed 
 that Charles would have a wet passage, for there were heavy 
 clouds away towards Treport, to the east, from which the thunder 
 growled ominously. Still there was but little wind, and that off 
 shore. 
 
 At last the long-drawn row of toiling women in blue and red 
 petticoats with white caps were seen approaching. They were 
 towing the boat out, whose sails were scarcely full. 
 
 When the women came to the end of the pier they ceased 
 towing, and stood in a group, casting the tow-rope into the water. 
 Then they began talking. 
 
 " Ha ! " said one, "it is the luck of Pere Roncy always. He 
 gets a fine price for to-night's work — five thousand francs, they 
 say." 
 
 "But that is impossible." 
 
 " Truly, then, impossible, but true. He is paid beforehand 
 also." 
 
 " I tell you," said another, " that the passenger is the Pro- 
 testant clergyman, whose wife is ill, and that Roncy gets two 
 hundred and eighty francs." 
 
 The truth was unpalatable : women like wonders. The first 
 speaker said — 
 
 " It is either Charles X., I tell you, or one of his court. Why, 
 we all know that the King left Paris four days ago, and at once 
 we have a stranger flying from our port. He is a great man, this 
 one. If my husband had had the chance, he would have asked a 
 thousand francs," 
 
76 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " And not got it," said another. " There is the man, 
 standing by Pere Roncy himself; it is the Protestant English 
 minister." 
 
 The boat was underneath the General's feet now, and he hailed 
 Charles. 
 
 " Good-bye ; be sure you will meet her in safety. Good-bye." 
 
 Charles waved his hand but said nothing audible, and the boat, 
 catching the shore wind, sped away over the darkening waters, 
 under the continuous blink of the approaching lightning. With 
 a heavy heart the General turned away, with none but gentle 
 thoughts for his eccentric and unfortunate kinsman. 
 
 The Blonde frigate, one of the swiftest of her class, was in the 
 Channel, off Brighton, with orders to look out for any open boats 
 or small craft making for the English shore. The astonishing 
 events at Paris had only just reached London, and it was believed, 
 in the highest quarters, that nothing short of a Red Republic 
 would settle down on that unhappy city before the end of July. 
 Some fugitives were, it was thought, very likely to make in open 
 boats from Dieppe to Newhaven. The Blonde, having nothing to 
 do, was ordered to look out for them. 
 
 The captain of the Blonde, looking at his glass and at the 
 weather, and considering also that he was on a lee shore, sent 
 down his top-gallant masts, and gave himself plenty of sea-room. 
 He was wise. He would have liked to pick up Charles X., as well 
 as another, but it was going to blow, and he had six hundred of 
 the King's men to think about. 
 
 The night of the 3rd of Augus t, 1830, settled down with a 
 most fearful thunderstorm from the south-east, followed by a gale 
 of wind from the same quarter, so sudden and so terrible, that 
 the Blonde put her pretty sides into it, and thrashed away to sea 
 with every bit of canvas she could carry. Sudden and sharp as 
 the wind was, it hardly blew long enough to lash up a sea, when 
 it lulled for half-an-hour, and then came down again from west 
 stronger than ever. The captain of the Blonde had been in the 
 China seas, and had seen the same thing before; but the cyclone 
 was a little too quick for him, and he lost his foretop-mast. 
 During the ten p >rary confusion caused by this, they sighted a 
 fishing-boat flying French colours, with one rag of a brown sail 
 (her jib), lying to, and apparently making good weather of it. 
 Sin; was undecked, however, and something was evidently wrong 
 with her, for she ceased riding over the seas in a very few 
 minutes, and went down head foremost, a little to the windward of 
 them, leaving only one man visible, floating on a spare spar in the 
 ugly cross sea, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 11 
 
 It was impossible to launch a boat just then, but the Blonde 
 would do anything but talk, and her head was put towards the 
 Frenchman, who was now being borne rapidly towards them, 
 clinging to a spar. 
 
 " It is an old man," said Tom Robertson, captain of the foretop. 
 "You will let me go, sir, won't you? " And the captain of the 
 Blonde said, " Yes." 
 
 Robertson, with a rope under his armpits, pitched himself into 
 the sea just in front of the old man, who was driving upon them. 
 The spar struck him heavily in the chest, but he held on, and 
 brought his man alongside. * When they got him on deck they 
 found that he was very old, and that he could not talk English. 
 It was Pere Roncy. 
 
 " You have had a narrow escape, my man," said the captain, in 
 French. 
 
 " The devil drives when one has a handsome offer, and a rotten 
 boat well insured. Hein ! I am sorry for the young men, and I 
 am sorry for my passenger." 
 
 " Who was your passenger ? Was he escaping from Paris ? " 
 
 " No. Had he been a Parisian he would have had the peculiar 
 protection of the patron saint of Paris — the devil. As it was, 
 he was merely a heretic, a sort of Christian, to whom the devil 
 himself gives no protection. They say you should not sail with 
 heretics, but this one has brought me good luck. I net a 
 thousand francs by this. I never could have insured my boat for 
 another voyage, so thanks to the ever Blessed Virgin. I will walk 
 barefoot through the streets to her shrine for this." 
 
 11 For your preservation ? " 
 
 " No ; for my new boat and my thousand francs in pocket. A 
 man must die, and I am safe ; heaven owes me much." 
 
 " You infernal, ungrateful old scoundrel ! Who was your pas- 
 senger ? " 
 
 " The English Protestant minister at Arcis." 
 
 " Charles Hetherege ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Go and get yourself dried, you old rascal," said the Captain. 
 " I knew that man somewhat," he said to his first lieutenant. " A 
 great many people will be sorry for his loss. Goodge told me that 
 lie was the most splendid preacher alive. We must bear up for 
 Portsmouth, and I will send an enclosure to Goodge to be for- 
 warded, for I think he is in town." 
 
 The ship reached Portsmouth in ten hours. The letter to the 
 Admiralty, detailing the reasons of the Blonde's coming into 
 Portsmouth, reached Whitehall in nine hours. The Secretary to 
 
78 BEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the Admiralty was at his post, and he knew Reginald very well. 
 Without forwarding the enclosed letter to Goodge, he wrote round 
 to Reginald at his' office, which was close by, and gently told him 
 the whole truth as told him by the Captain of the Blonde. 
 
 Reginald read the letter, and then looked at the messenger, 
 lie wus deadly pale, but he rose and got his hat and coat, and 
 walking steadily, went round to the Admiralty, where he was at 
 once admitted. 
 
 "Mr. Secretary," he said, m a calm voice, "do you believe 
 this?" 
 
 " My dear Mr. Hetherege, there is not the remotest doubt about 
 the matter. Your son is drowned, sir. Pray do not build up idle 
 hopes about his safety. God knows how I feel for you, and how 
 every one feels for you ; but I must say that, from Captain Ark- 
 wright's letter, there is no doubt at all. I could tell you a piece 
 of good news, sir, if any news could be of any value to you now. 
 I heard your chief speak of it to-day." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " In consequence of your long and honourable services, your 
 one mistake has been overlooked. You are not only reinstated in 
 your original income, but you are raised one grade, and are con- 
 sidered as entitled to a pension, when the ordinary time of your 
 service expires." 
 
 " Yesterday I should have been glad," said Reginald, " but to- 
 day this ridiculous report has unnerved me. I am away to seek 
 my son : if it is true, there is room enough in the sea for both of 
 us." 
 
 It was his not believing in the disaster at first which saved him 
 from suicide or madness. He went away to the sea-side, not 
 believing that it was true. But it was true enough. Charles was 
 drowned on the very eve of a new lease of prosperity. Reginald's 
 last wild words being reported to Goodge by the Secretary, made 
 him fear that the father would throw himself into the arms of his 
 drowned son. 
 
 For two or three days there was an awful suspense in the family, 
 for nothing at all was heard of him. The great case of the will 
 was brought up again, after lying dormant so long: they talked oi 
 nothing else. If Reginald was dead, there would he a settlement, 
 and the heads of the family began to hint to one another about a 
 compromise. It was a terrible time for all of them. Rut at the 
 end of a week he returned to Hester, quietly, telling her that he 
 had been seeking for some tidings about Charles's remains, and 
 that he had satisfied himself that it was nearly impossible that the 
 sea would give up her dead. 
 
REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 79 
 
 At Hester's solicitation lie took up his abode at her house, and 
 his temporary residence with her was soon recognised as perma- 
 nent. Few ever knew how near poor Reginald, in the first burst 
 of his despair, had been to a suicide, which the family thought 
 would have solved much, and made most of them rich. Reginald 
 never knew the deep curses which came from one throat, at all 
 events, when he reappeared. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MENDING MATTERS. 
 
 For a long time the life of the poor widow trembled in the balance. 
 For five long years she had stood faithfully beside Charles, through 
 poverty and evil report, and now she only heard the news of better 
 days with a dull, aching sorrow — he had beeii taken from her just 
 as he would have been enabled to take his place in the world, wiser 
 through misfortune, and with an increased motive for exertion 
 should the child live. To her poor affectionate little heart every 
 pleasure now became as pain, because he could not share it. The 
 very beauties of her child were a disappointment to her, for they 
 wore- admired alone. 
 
 It was determined silently by Aunt Hester, that she was never 
 to be separated from her. Aunt Hester discovered that she had 
 lived too long alone, and determined to have a little more company 
 about her, in the shape of a brooding woman, and a melancholy, 
 stricken, middle-aged man. The care of these two did her great 
 good, and very much softened her heart towards her relations — 
 even the implacable Mrs. Simpson. There is no doubt that had 
 Charles lived she would have set him right in the world for his 
 wife's sake, and have given him another chance ; but it was too 
 late — affairs were to take another course. It was pretty evident 
 now which way Aunt Hester's money would go. It was a bad job, 
 but it could not be helped, so there was no use thinking any more 
 about it. 
 
 As Hester evidently, in remorse for her wicked conduct in 
 shielding Reginald and Mary, and openly speaking of her testa- 
 mentary designs on the baby, was more pleased than before to 
 receive the visits of her relations, why, the relations had no objec- 
 
80 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 tion to pay those visits. They were not only accepted, but returned. 
 In a very short time Hester was received on familiar and affection- 
 ate term's by the family generally, as one who had been for a time 
 estranged through a misconception which had now been cleared 
 away. 
 
 Reginald also was in a very different position with his amiable 
 connections. He was a well-to-do man now, and apparently a 
 great favourite with the kind minister who had reinstated him : he 
 had done yeoman's service, and had his reward. They treated him 
 with great respect, and Reginald, though his hair got rather quickly 
 white, was a very handsome and agreeable man, who might marry 
 any day ; and should he show any tendency that way, he would 
 find very little difficulty in being accommodated in the family. But 
 Reginald had no such intention ; he was quite settled on far other 
 matters. 
 
 Aunt Hester was found to be a most valuable person in the 
 family conclave, as she was the only person who could manage the 
 fat and furious Mrs. Simpson. Miss Laura Talbot always gave 
 battle to that estimable woman ; but, though they might both scold 
 themselves red, there was never any decided victory on either side. 
 Aunt Hester showed herself mistress from the very first — after 
 what may be called the reconciliation — by letting Mrs. Simpson 
 scold herself hoarse, while she, on the other hand, sat perfectly 
 dumb, looking at her. When Mrs. Simpson was morally and 
 physically exhausted, and everybody thought it was all over, tlini 
 Aunt Hester began such a withering onslaught on to the fat 
 woman, that she was reduced to tears and a glass of sherry in five 
 minutes. 
 
 Poor Mary was voted a very gentle and biddable person, with 
 whom no fault could be found. The story went that Charles had 
 married her for her wit: she showed none now — she seemed a 
 peculiarly colourless person. 
 
 The child grew and throve amazingly. A child of many prayers 
 and many anxieties, it was called George, after young Barnett and 
 Mr. Groodge, the latter of whom was soon to be away again on one 
 of his expeditions. Aunt Hester and Reginald had many a long 
 talk as to the future : one thing was always determined on, that 
 George Hetherege's education was to be diametrically opposite to 
 that of his father. 
 
 Goodge demurred: he always did. " You should wait and see 
 what the child promises to be before you decide. If he exhibits 
 the same qualities as his fattier, educate him differently ; but if he 
 seems different, why trouble ? His fattier had a very good educa- 
 tion, but did not make a good use of it : some do and some don't. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 81 
 
 Give the boy a faith of some kind, however, and don't leave him 
 as his father was left." 
 
 And so time went on. There were many marriages and many 
 funerals, among the numerous family, who were, between the 
 weddings, generally in a chronic state of black for some relation 
 or another. There were some great events, as when the Talbots 
 moved to Highgate into a grander house, and when Mr. Murdoch's 
 housemaid was murdered by the butler, who was hanged ; on which 
 occasion Aunt Hester made all her servants go to the execution, 
 in order to show them the probable end of their careers. But in 
 general they talked about little but dressing, eating, and going out 
 to parties, principally among themselves and their own business 
 connections. Something was occasionally heard about the Chancery 
 suit, but no one cared much about it. When the suit had been 
 started, fifty years before, there had been some interest in it. 
 Two members of the family only were never mentioned, James 
 Murdoch and George Simpson, though they were occasionally 
 heard of — the first by Aunt Hester, the second by his mother. 
 Goodge, after each return from his expeditions, used to ask if 
 either of them were authentically hung, and on being told no, 
 used to express the most profound disgust and disappointment. 
 
 With these few exceptions, there was nothing but peace within 
 their walls, and prosperity within their palaces, while at the same 
 time none of them got any younger. Meanwhile, a theory was 
 erected by the family, which grew into a deep and settled belief. 
 The theory and the belief alike were that they were the most pro- 
 foundly respectable and prosperous family in England, and that, 
 as there had never been any scandal in it in the past, so there 
 would never be any in the future. James Murdoch and George 
 Simpson were both alive, certainly ; but in spite of those facts, the 
 family passed into such a state of complacent infallibility, that Aunt 
 Hester and Reginald began to believe in it. The attitude of the 
 family was the attitude which the Papacy assumes at certain times, 
 that of being beyond human accidents. We shall show how this 
 illusion came to be dissipated. 
 
 Reginald grew more and more quietly famous in what was now 
 the speciality of his life, theoretical finance. As a writer, he had 
 few equals in this line, and his undoubted talents were such as to 
 meet with solid recognition in his department. Mr. Murdoch, and 
 other merchants not of the family, spoke of him as one of the 
 longest-headed men of the day, as he certainly was theoretically. 
 Murdoch actually offered him means to reduce his theories to 
 practice. But Reginald at that time said no ; that he preferred 
 to study finance in the abstract, without any of the anxieties of 
 
 7 
 
82 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the concrete, which might disturb his judgment. A man who will 
 decline a loan of ten thousand pounds for such excellent reasons, 
 was, undoubtedly, the first financier of his age. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 FOOTFALLS. 
 
 Absolute silence in London proper is now almost impossible. 
 Even in a place where there is no thoroughfare, a few footsteps 
 are sure to break the stillness of the night, at uncertain times, 
 and cheer the sick wakers with a sense of companionship. In a 
 place like Bolton Row, with the narrow alley behind the Duke of 
 Devonshire's gardens, into Berkeley Square, open to pedestrians 
 at all times of the night, silence is never secured at all. Foot- 
 steps come and go until morning, with intervals long enough to 
 enable the waking listener to give a character to each one in his 
 imagination. He hears them coming in the distance ; he says, 
 now he is by that lamp, now he is by another, now he is passing, 
 now he is between the walls, now he is in the square, for he is 
 singing, and by the sound of his voice he is past the alley. It is 
 easier to sleep in the noisiest thoroughfare in London where even 
 the confused roar of the traffic becomes no more to you than the 
 rhythmical breaking of the waves upon the shore, than it is to sleep 
 in the end of Bolton Bow, nearest to the Duke of Devonshire's 
 garden, where each footstep becomes individualised. 
 
 Gentlemen who have been in the late bombardments have said 
 that, after the first, silence awoke them more than the roar of the 
 cannon kept them from sleep. The reason of this is obvious : the 
 bombardment had become the normal state of things, and silence 
 was a startling incident, not without hope of escape. So, at some 
 time in the world's history, the cessation of footfalls in Bolton 
 Bow became events, because two who lay in bed together would 
 say to one another, " He may come to-night ; the next footstep 
 may be his." 
 
 Watching at intervals, for many years, for the sound of one foot- 
 fall union-- flic many thousand which passed at night, is a habit 
 which begets morbid dreams and fancies. With our two watchers, 
 these fancies grew on them more and more strongly as many years 
 passed on, and their wish was only gratified every two or threo 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 83 
 
 years. They were a childless husband and wife, and they had 
 peopled the house with ghosts before many years were over their 
 heads. They had, after about ten years, filled the house with so 
 many, and had seen them too, that they did not care for them. 
 They were latterly much more fearful of robbers than of ghosts, 
 and so they suborned a strong young man, of unimpeachable prin- 
 ciples, to take care of them with a blunderbuss. This young man, 
 who grew tolerably old in the service, was born on the second 
 Friday in Leap Year, and consequently had not the power given 
 to ordinary mortals of seeing ghosts and spectres. He being sup- 
 posed to be an honest young man, always declared that he never 
 saw any ghosts in the house at all, a fact which he attributed, most 
 modestly, to the unfortunate day of his birth, adding that he was 
 not to be blamed for it. 
 
 Consequently our couple never used to arouse the man in the 
 mere case of a ghost, though as years went on they saw more and 
 more. At last the husband, having seen a ghost in broad day- 
 light, without the wife's assistance, Mrs. Dicker insisted that he 
 should see no ghosts unless they were seen by her, and received 
 the stamp of authenticity from her hand. " It was bad enough," 
 she said, " at night.'' 
 
 It would have been very disagreeable at night, had they dis- 
 turbed any one but themselves, but they never did : they lived in 
 an atmosphere ot complacent horror. There was a closed room 
 in the house, at the back of the first floor, which contained the 
 ghosts. Iron shutters had been put outside the windows when 
 they first took possession, and they had closed the door with lath 
 and plaster, and papered the same as the walls. Whenever the 
 paper was renewed, the new paper was put over the old, so that the 
 inhabitants of the room never had any idea of the fact that there 
 was a room beyond. Yet this was the room where the ghosts lived. 
 
 In 1784 young Mr. Pitt, finding a deficit of three millions, 
 boldly reduced the tax on tea, from fifty per cent, to twelve and a 
 half per cent., so as to stop smuggling. It was a great success 
 in the end, but for the time doubtful, and so he laid on other 
 taxes with a view to avoid mistakes. Amongst other things he 
 increased the window tax, and bade the collectors see that it was 
 properly collected. Nay, if a Chelsea legend be true, he was 
 riding down the King's Road, Chelsea, to meet the King, when 
 he saw them building a bay window with three mullioned divisions. 
 He at once determined that three windows should be charged for 
 in such cases, and not one. The tax was more carefully col- 
 lected. A certain sharp tax collector oi St. George's, Hanover 
 Square, noticed that there was a blocked window at the back of 
 
84 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 No. 1, Bolton Row, which was not paid for. He entered the 
 house to verify it, but to his horror he found that there was one 
 more window outside the house them inside. The Dickers had to 
 admit him to their confidence, and paid for the window. The 
 collector asked, as a matter of curiosity, to see the room out of 
 which the shut room opened, which the ghosts haunted. It was 
 impossible to see the place where the door was. He never let the 
 story out in its truth, for he knew the Dickers as acquaintances 
 and regular payers, but he let out quite enough to frighten the 
 watchman, and possibly the watchman (and the young man with 
 the blunderbuss) frightened the thieves. No. 1, Bolton Row, got 
 rather an ill name in the neighbourhood. 
 
 But not out of it. For many years — a few, indeed, before the 
 footfall came at night for the first time — the house was well 
 known, among a certain connection, as a fashionable lodging- 
 house during the season. Possibly the first recommendations to 
 it may have come from the "family" of which we have been lately 
 reading, but from which we are at present dissociated. At all 
 events, the Dickers and their house got a reputation for comfort, 
 good cookery, and first-rate attendance, and were seldom without 
 customers — getting large prices among the most recherche people 
 during the season, and respectable prices off and on during the 
 rest of the year. Possibly the guests were all born the second 
 Friday in Leap Year, for none of them ever saw any ghosts ; and 
 as for the resolute young man, he was dressed in livery, and 
 waited at table without the blunderbuss. 
 
 It was the ground and first floors that were let : the third floor, 
 which was more handsomely furnished even than the other two, was 
 kept sacred, amply swept and garnished, expectant of the footfall, 
 though it might be far away, dragging wearily through the fever 
 marshes of Holland, brushing through the vines of Spain, or 
 awakening the echoes of American forests. All the house was 
 furnished in a singularly luxurious manner, but the precious trea- 
 sures were all collected on the third story. Sometimes a very 
 favoured lodger would be allowed to see the rooms, which were 
 always kept ready — there were few more sumptuous suites of 
 rooms in London. 
 
 11 I clean them with my own hand," Mrs. Dicker would say. 
 " My boy may come at any time, and he always comes at night, 
 and on foot — that is an old fancy of ours. If he is killed, we 
 shall hear the footfall just the same, for he will come to us in the 
 spirit, if not in the flesh." 
 
 The owner of the footstep had been bred in the house, which 
 was the only home he had ever known. Until 1783 the step was 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 85 
 
 frequent enough about the house in every direction ; but then it 
 went away for a time, and then the intervals between it became 
 more and more lengthy, and the house, to its permanent in- 
 habitants, more and more dull. At last, in 1787, the brightest 
 creature which the house contained went away into the world, fol- 
 lowed by prayers and tears. From 1790 to 1793 his absence 
 was continuous, and at last a wandering soldier came to them and 
 told them that their boy was lying wounded at Dunkirk. Three 
 months afterwards, in the night, a halting step was heard at the 
 door, and in two minutes a handsome young officer was in their 
 arms — a lieutenant now, highly mentioned by the Duke of York. 
 
 As years went on, the boy officer became a man — captain, 
 major, and at last colonel, covered with honour in every quarter 
 of the world — always the hero of these two faithful old people. 
 He kept to his bargain, half humorous, half melancholy, of coming 
 back after a campaign at night, on foot and alone. 
 
 Time dragged along with the old people ; the roar of London 
 invaded their locality, and rendered the passing footsteps a little 
 more difficult to hear. The unimpeachable young man began to 
 get mature in the service, but they still considered him a youth. 
 The world had been fiercely ablaze ever since they had entered on 
 the possession of that house, and wherever the fire had blazed 
 fiercest their boy had been, not without glory, but very much the 
 reverse. Wherever blows were going, he, backed by both luck 
 and interest, was to be found. 
 
 He found time to get married, and to make a splendid match. 
 He married the great East India heiress of the day, remembered 
 by the dwellers in Bolton Row as a pale, feeble lady, who occupied 
 the whole house for eight months, when she died there, leaving 
 behind her the impression of a gentle, kindly woman, with nothing 
 whatever remarkable about her except ninety thousand pounds 
 aud half a province worth of jewels, which were entirely her hus- 
 band's property. The Colonel seemed to have found something 
 more remarkable about her than her money, however, for he 
 utterly refused to be comforted, and moped and brooded so about 
 the house after her death, that they heard him tramping about 
 the house, regardless of ghosts, at all hours in the night. He 
 had never had time for love in his busy and continually active 
 life. He had loved her with the passion of a man who tails in 
 love for the first time- at thirty-four, and she was taken from him 
 before he thought that he had realised his happiness. She may 
 have had faults, which he might have discovered later : she died 
 in the odour of love's sanctity, and remained a saint to him, 
 though she was but a kind ordinary mortal to others. 
 
86 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 A short pause took place in his life after her death : his service 
 had been almost continual since he joined the army in 1787, until 
 1802. The antecedents of his wife were little known ; very little 
 more was known about her than that she was a great heiress, a 
 little older than himself it was said, and that her name was 
 Kitwell. Her father had been a friend of Clive and of Hastings, 
 but had made most of his money under the Portuguese flag. No 
 one remembered him very much, and in a few years no one 
 thought of her. Still people were surprised at the Colonel 
 mourning so much for such a rather second-class woman, whom 
 he coulcf not have seen very often before he married her, and 
 who had left him worth half a million (in reality £100,000) of 
 money. 
 
 He married at the Peace of Amiens, and stayed with her until 
 she died in November. Then he mourned for her five months, 
 living at the house in Bolton Row, during which time his footsteps 
 came and went every night. The peace lasted but little over the 
 year : during that time he had seen what perfect happy married 
 life was, and the old people said, " He will marry again." 
 
 But he never did. The breach of the Peace of Amiens started 
 him again, and Bolton Row knew him only at long and uncertain 
 intervals. Meanwhile, his wife was the last lodger ever seen 
 there. After her decease, and her husband's departure, no other 
 lodgers darkened the doors except the permanent lodgers, the 
 ghosts. 
 
 The old couple— for they were getting very old now — put the 
 whole house in order for his return, but he very seldom came. 
 The house was now his own. During the Peace of Amiens the 
 old couple had made it over to him, with nearly all its contents, 
 by a deed of gift, and only remained tenants-at-will. He accepted 
 the gift with a laugh, and also acquiesced gladly in the provisions 
 of their will, which he witnessed, thereby proving that he was not 
 interested in it. He then went away, only to return thrice before 
 Waterloo ; for, in good truth, what had once been his happy home, 
 now only represented the grave oi his dearest hopes, and Bolton 
 Row for many years was hateful to him. He came to see the 
 place only three times between the Peace of Amiens and the 
 pause after Waterloo. 
 
 He never neglected his kind old friends. He would write to 
 them from bloody fields after each victory (and there were 
 little but victories then). He would say from Spain, at the 
 end, " We caught them again yesterday ; if we go on like this 
 you will hear my footfall on the stones soon ; " but the last they 
 heard of them was when he came home on important business in 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 87 
 
 1812. He stayed three days with them then, and told them that 
 he was General and C.B. Then he went away, and they found 
 that he stayed at an hotel before he returned to Spain. " He has 
 not forgotten her," they said ; "he hates the house now, though 
 he loves us as well as ever." Then he went back to Spain, to 
 Wellington, and was in London no more until the great peace, 
 though he wrote to them until the last, and after the last. 
 
 They wrote to him sometimes, but not often. The last letter 
 they wrote was signed by both of them, and gave the General 
 singular anxiety, although it was just after the battle of Vittoria, 
 an event which had given him great personal satisfaction. What 
 that letter contained is of no great consequence at present, 
 but he considered it important and disturbing in the highest 
 measure. 
 
 A brother general asked him if he had had bad news. 
 
 11 1 have had the worst of all bad news. I have to decide on a 
 point of duty, and I cannot decide." 
 
 " Put me your case." 
 
 " The wishes of a dead man on the one side, and the possibility 
 of preventing a great injustice on the other." 
 
 "H'm," said General H ; "you are a sound Church- 
 man?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, neither the wishes nor even the bequests of dead men 
 have found much favour since the Reformation. Do you suppose 
 that Wolsey meant Christ Church to be what it is now ? " 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " said our General, " that is all very well ; but, at 
 the same time, suppose the dead man's wishes were those of the 
 man to whom you owe everything in the world ? " 
 
 " Well, Arthur, the man to whom you owe everything in the 
 world is yourself : no one knows that better than I do. But, if 
 you put it that way, respect the dead man's wishes, and let the 
 injustice right itself." 
 
 " And either of us might fall to-morrow," said our General. 
 
 In the glorious confusion of events which hurled themselves so 
 thick on Europe during the three years between 1812 and 1815, 
 and which are so consistently vast, that the grand bouleversement 
 of 1870-71 reads like a pantomime after a tragedy, the General 
 was never in England at all until the autumn of 1815. It was 
 entirely his own fault — he might have been in England fifty times 
 over, but he always preferred some mission on the Continent. 
 He cared little for England, for he said that he had few friends 
 there, and had forgotten insular manners. On the night of the 
 
88 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 14th of November, 1815, he delivered despatches at the Horse 
 Guards, and turned away up Parliament Street towards Bolton 
 Row. 
 
 " They will expect me," he said to himself; " they always wait 
 for my footfall, and they must have got my letter from Paris. 
 But it is cold, and London is hateful. Who could get men to 
 fight such a night as this ? The devil ? If that arch rascal 
 Napoleon, guided by his patron saint, could have come on London 
 in a fog like this, he might have sacked the Bank." 
 
 It was a deadly night. The fog was so dense that the new gas, 
 or, as he called them, gauze lights, could do nothing at all with 
 it. His nearest way would have been across the Mall, but he 
 preferred the streets. He had to ask the way of the watch twice 
 before he could find Pall Mall. 
 
 He had a club there, one of the few there then, and he went 
 into it and looked round. He had not been in the place for 
 nearly four years. They had altered it, and there was a new 
 porter, who asked his name. He gave it, and walking on into 
 the coffee-room, sat down, and laid his sword on the table before 
 him. 
 
 There was not a man in the room whom he knew. It was 
 miserable — so many years away, and not a friend to welcome him 
 — and the cursed fog was in here, too. He rose, put on his 
 sword again, and went to the fire. 
 
 A waiter, seeing a general officer in full war paint and orders 
 (he had posted to the Horse Guards, it must be remembered) 
 standing by the fire, went up to him humbly, and asked for his 
 orders. 
 
 " I beg your pardon ? " said the terrible -looking General, very 
 gently. 
 
 The waiter, alarmed at a gentleness very uncommon in those 
 times, asked feebly if he wanted anything. 
 
 " Yes," said the General, " I want sun. I also want forgetful- 
 ness of the past, and guidance for the future. How do you get 
 these things in England, you people ? N'importe." 
 
 The scared waiter, knowing nothing but his trade, said — 
 
 "Port, sir? Yes, sir." 
 
 "He is right, this fellow," said the General; "the climate 
 would make Rechab drink. That is exactly the way some of our 
 people have been managing matters lately. I never tried it in my 
 life ; I wonder what it is like ? I'll try it : I want a little Dutch 
 courage before I go out into the fog. But it strikes me that I am 
 hungry ; I have eaten nothing since breakfast." 
 
 The General soon found himself before a plate of beef, with a 
 
REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 80 
 
 bottle of port wine beside him. In a short time he felt better and 
 more courageous. He rose, paid, gave half a guinea to the waiter 
 for himself, and walked out with his sword under his arm. 
 
 "Pitt used to drink four bottles a day of that stuff," he re- 
 marked, as he walked along ; " half a bottle is quite enough for 
 me. I am perfectly courageous with regard to the fog now, but I 
 doubt if my moral sense is any higher. Another bottle, and I 
 would do the deed to-night. Shall I go back and have one ? 
 Why, no. Hang them all ! Let them be plagued with the whips 
 which they make of their own avarice. No, my father, I will do 
 your bidding — at least for the present." 
 
 The fog was denser and denser, and when he had mounted into 
 Piccadilly, and was walking westward, he could not tell where the 
 houses oil the other side of the street ended ; but at last he found 
 the east wall of Devonshire House, and guided himself by it until 
 he came to the alley. 
 
 What if anything should be amiss ? He had not heard from 
 them for some time. What if they were dead, and had left the 
 house with the secret room unprotected ? He paused, and in 
 mere absence of mind mechanically took off his cocked hat and 
 looked at the feathers, while he drummed with his foot. 
 
 Not a step moved in the Row, and the front of the house was 
 dark. He passed it stealthily and watched, then he came towards 
 it quickly, at his accustomed pace, and knocked loudly at the 
 door. 
 
 For a short time there was no response, and the footsteps were 
 heard approaching the door. His heart grew cold within — they 
 were steps he knew, but not those of either of his old friends. A 
 man's voice said — 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 "It is I, Thomas, the General." 
 
 The door was at once unfastened, and a man admitted him, 
 once the young man of the blunderbuss. 
 
 " You are welcome, General. God knows I am glad to see 
 you." 
 
 " Is anything the matter ? " 
 
 " They are both dead." 
 
 " I will come in," and he passed into the dining-room. 
 
 " And when did this happen ? " 
 
 " Six months ago, General." 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " I have done as they ordered ; I have kept the house for you." 
 
 "Intact?" 
 
 " Perfectly so, General." 
 
90 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " You have been a good servant, and you shall be rewarded. 
 Have you been alone ? " 
 
 " No, General. The old people sent at last for Miss Mortimer. 
 She came, of course, and has remained ever since. She has seen 
 to all business matters." 
 
 "I am very much obliged to her and to you. Go and rouse 
 her, and tell her I am here." 
 
 11 1 think it is unnecessary, General. I hear her coming down- 
 stairs." 
 
 The door was at once opened, and a tall pale lady draped in 
 black entered the room, with a candle held close to her face. She 
 looked about forty, and her hair was looped up carelessly on each 
 side of a calm, beautiful face, over which sorrow never seemed to 
 have passed, if one only looked at it when it was animated, but 
 which showed hard worn lines in repose. It was now animated. 
 Isabel Mortimer advanced and kissed the General, who hastily 
 returned her kiss. 
 
 " Brother, dear, has Thomas told you that they are dead ? " 
 
 " Yes. Why, sister, you look young again ! " 
 
 " I knew your footstep, and I was ten years younger at once, 
 Arthur. I have been waiting for your step a long while. Your 
 clothes are ready in your room ; you have been so long away that 
 they are old-fashioned." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 BROTHER AND SISTER. 
 
 "Light some lire for your master, Thomas," said Isabel, " and 
 air the sheets which are ready laid for him in the wardrobe in his 
 room. You know where to find them. Now, Arthur," she added, 
 sitting down, " you arc come home to live with me at last." 
 
 "No, Isabel, 'I shall not be at home for long. But now, my 
 dear, a hundred thanks for coining to my house so promptly." 
 
 " My dear, why should I not ? I sold the school, and was for 
 the first time in my life an idle woman. I could do no less than 
 come to them. They have urged me all their lives to come and 
 live with them, but, as you know, I refused to cat the bread of 
 idleness at their expense, and chose to provide for myself. I 
 have worked on and made money, and they have left me all except 
 the house and its contents. How much do you think ? " 
 
KEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 91 
 
 14 1 cau't tell at all. In my father's time they saved much ; I 
 cannot guess by a thousand pounds. I know that I witnessed 
 their will in your favour." 
 
 " They have left me eighteen thousand pounds. Dicker had, 
 from intercourse with our father, some of his knowledge of 
 speculation, and his speculations turned out well. This eighteen 
 thousand pounds will be a vast sight more some day. In short, I 
 am a rich woman." 
 
 44 They were a strange couple," said the General, thoughtfully. 
 
 44 Yes, they were very strange. How strange it was that they 
 should have loved us both so truly ! " 
 
 44 Eighteen thousand pounds, Isabel ! " said the General, still 
 in amazement. " Why, they were letting lodgings when they 
 could have hired them." 
 
 44 It is true. They gave themselves few pleasures in this 
 world, and one of them was amassing money ; another was being 
 generous with it to two people who had less than no claims on 
 them. The solution is very simple : they had no children, and 
 they loved you and myself. They gave me such a splendid 
 education, that I utilised it for the sake of independence, believing 
 them to be poor. This they disapproved of until I succeeded, and 
 after that I was nearly as much a goddess to them as you were a 
 god. Your footstep was more precious to them than mine ever 
 was. You know that." 
 
 44 It is time you should rest, old sister." 
 
 44 I have had a wearisome life, Arthur, and I want rest. I have 
 worked so many years, that the past is only a dream of faces which 
 I shall never again see as they once were. I am not old, yet I 
 seem to have lived a hundred lives. Arthur ! " 
 
 44 Yes, old sister." 
 
 44 How many comrades and friends have you lost in these 
 wars ? " 
 
 44 Ah, Isabel ! how many ? Nearly every one of them, so help 
 me God ! " 
 
 44 Dead?" 
 
 44 Yes." 
 
 44 And young ? " 
 
 44 Yes ; for I always took to the young, even in preference to 
 those of my own age. It was a peculiarity." 
 
 li And you have seen many of the young comrades you have 
 loved lying dead on an honourable field ? " 
 
 44 Ay, Isabel, I have helped to drag many fine young fellows 
 whom I loved into the trenches before now." 
 
 44 Thank God for it, Arthur ; it is better so. Have you never 
 
92 REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 thought so yourself? Sec, I will put it in another way: have 
 you never seen a young man join your regiment who has not been 
 killed, but has lived on, and have you never said, ' It would have 
 been better that he should have failen while some nobility was left 
 in him, than have lived on to be what he is now ' ? " 
 
 11 Yes, I have often envied the dead," said the General ; " and 
 some are alive now who had much better be lying under the 
 Spanish vines. Well, sister?" 
 
 " It is the same in our profession, brother. I have sent girls 
 into the world as I thought formed, but the world has spoilt them, 
 and they have come to see me, vain, frivolous, worldly, silly, 
 extravagant, having forgotten even the mere mechanical teaching 
 which I gave them. Two, whom I believed angels, have dragged 
 their names down to degradation, and have ruined families. I say 
 to you, as I would say before God, that I have striven to do my 
 duty by every girl who has been put under my charge. When 
 they first came to me I studied their characters ; where I found 
 wrong instincts I combated them, where I found good ones I 
 encouraged them. I made the mistake of trying to form God's 
 creatures, in which he has put such infinite diversity of disposi- 
 tion, into Mrs. Hannah More's and Mrs. Chapone's models. I 
 have made ten failures for one success. In spite of all I can do, 
 the woman, shortly after she has left me, becomes very much the 
 same as the girl was when she came to me, only her faults seem 
 rather intensified. My forming is only varnishing, brother, after 
 all, and the world soon rubs that off, and the real wood most 
 inexorably appears underneath it. I don't know anything about 
 boys. I consider them a mistake on the part of Providence. You 
 may be able to form a boy after he is ten, but you can't form a 
 girl — at least, / can't with my system." 
 
 " Yet you have had great successes, sister. Your name ranks 
 nigh." 
 
 " Yes, with girls who were made too good lor me to spoil. My 
 girls are perfect gentlewomen ; no fault can ever be found with 
 their manners, and they know a great deal ; yet two of them have 
 turned Roman Catholic, and two — never mind — they are not 
 received. In short, I have toiled hard, and have made a failure. 
 Do you know why I have failed ? " 
 
 " Because you believed that every girl and woman was as good 
 as yourself." 
 
 11 Nonsense ! I have failed because my profession was to train 
 girls for the world. What do I know of the world ? Why, abso- 
 lutely nothing. I ask you how could I ? I was only a nameless, 
 penniless child, from some whim of our strange father's utterly 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 93 
 
 unprovided for — but for those dear folks lately dead I might have 
 gone to the workhouse. Well, no more of that — it was long 
 before I knew that you were my half-brother. I had no means of 
 knowing the world. As a governess, what could I hear ? and 
 when, through my own exertions, I made a connection, what could 
 I learn ? In that set the very book of the world is closed. I 
 sent my girls into the world utterly innocent, to sink or swim. 
 Most of them have swum, thanks more to themselves than to me. 
 I am tired of the whole thing, in short, and I am going to see the 
 world for myself." 
 
 " You can't do that, my Isabel ; you can't know about men." 
 
 11 1 don't want to ; I want to know about women. If I want 
 to know about men, I can always get the truth from you." 
 
 11 Yes ; and you propose ? " 
 
 " That you should let me have this house, and I will start as a 
 fine lady. I am not old, I am not ill-looking, I have money, I 
 have a connection, I know as much of society as will keep me in 
 talk — there is nothing to prevent my seeing this world into which 
 I have sent so many girls." 
 
 " As for the house," said the General, "why, it is yours as 
 long as you choose. No one knows who you are." 
 
 11 Oh, no ; the secret has been well kept. I am not sure that 
 I know the whole truth myself." 
 
 " Take the house, my dear, by all means, and ask me to your 
 parties. You will end by keeping a school for dowagers. But, 
 Isabel, come upstairs with me. Do you know the secret of the 
 house?" 
 
 She looked so puzzled that it was evident she did not. 
 
 "I see you do not," he said, when they were on the third floor. 
 " But here, beyond this room there is a third. If you have this 
 room re-papered, keep the old paper up." 
 
 ' ' Another room ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes. Did the old folks say nothing to you about it? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " Did they ever mention anything ? " 
 
 11 Never one word." 
 
 " It is, perhaps, as well," he said. " The secret of Vittoria 
 shall be kept. I say, Isabel, have you seen anything of the great 
 family lately ? " 
 
 "I see some of them, sometimes — Miss Simpson oftenest. I 
 have made a very queer discovery." 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 " That not one of the living members of that family have the 
 remotest idea who you are," 
 
94 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " That is extremely amusing," said the General. " Now bed, 
 my dear, and to-morrow an inventory of the furniture. They 
 don't know who I am, that is very good. Pray do not tell them." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 A MARRIAGE, AN ADOPTION, AND A CAUTION. 
 
 When the General and Isabel Mortimer came to examine his 
 inheritance, it was found to be far more valuable than he had any 
 conception of. The more valuable of the things, the rare carpets, 
 the pictures, the wonderful china, had been carefully packed away 
 at the top of the house, and such as required attention or airing, 
 had had it from the methodical old couple, so everything was in 
 excellent order. There was lace in old drawers ; there was one 
 glass cabinet filled with miniatures, many of them set in diamonds. 
 The furniture which had been in use was good, but a great deal 
 was packed away which was better. Neither the General nor 
 Isabel were surprised when they found that the Dickers had in- 
 sured the contents of the house in the Westminster for £18,000. 
 
 " And so you are going to lend me all this," she said. 
 
 " Everything, for as long as you like ; you, in fact, keep house 
 for me. You had better send to the bankers for the plate." 
 
 " I shall have a start in life. Some of my old pupils will die 
 of envy at this lace. I shall have to set a new fashion." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " That of appearing without jewels, for I have none." 
 
 " I won't lend you any jewels, Isabel, but I can give you some. 
 I should not like to see you in jewels borrowed even from me." 
 
 " No # , I will not take any jewels, Arthur. I will set the fashion 
 of going without. I shall puzzle people quite enough with what 
 you have lent me, without being hung over with jewels which I 
 shall be supposed to have stolen." 
 
 No. 1, Bolton Row, very soon began to be a famous house, and 
 people said, "See what a woman makes by keeping a boarding- 
 school for fifteen years." 
 
 Miss Mortimer, ex-boarding-school mistress, started in society 
 in a very modest manner, but she soon had a very considerable 
 and select circle about her. Her introduction to that society was 
 from the families whose young ladies she had so perfectly trained 
 
REGINALD HETHEIIEGE. 95 
 
 that they were actually recognisable as her young ladies ; until, as 
 she herself expressed it, the varnish wore off, and the real wood 
 appeared underneath. She made no pretensions, and was very 
 humble. Miss Hester Simpson, an acknowledged wit, said that 
 she made her way by talking three foreign languages fluently, and 
 not wearing jewels. Though she wore no jewels, she wore what 
 was more startling ; she was always dressed in black satin or black 
 velvet, with a prince's ransom of lace over it. She never yielded 
 to any fashion at all ; she never did anything with her hair except 
 dress it a la Madonna ; her dresses were always worn high, with 
 a little frill round her beautiful throat, and long, simple, sweeping 
 skirts. She was the ideal of II Penseroso. 
 
 A woman who never asserted herself, who had a house full of 
 things as valuable as the things in Manchester Square, though 
 fewer, and of whom no one knew anything save that she was very 
 clever and beautiful, and talked three languages, was a great 
 success. II Penseroso was a politician too, and could hold her 
 own with most people. Men of eminence began to be seen in her 
 rooms, and she paid her court to them very dexterously, but 
 independently. She astonished a high official once, by putting 
 him right (let us suppose by a million or so). She had got it all 
 up that morning, and quietly forced him to lead the conversation 
 to it, as a conjuror forces a card ; and after she had done it she 
 apologised, saying, "You see, sir, that although we women do 
 not pretend to anything like originality, yet we are a thousand 
 times better than men at details. When I was a poor struggling 
 governess, I should have sent my favourite pupil to bed for such 
 an error as your clerks have committed." 
 
 " I wish I could send the leader of the Opposition to bed," 
 said the Under Secretary. " So you were a governess, Miss 
 Mortimer?" 
 
 "Yes, I rather miss my occupation now. I have lost power, 
 and that, according to Chaucer, is what women love best. It is a 
 great thing to be able to send any one to bed who disagrees with 
 you, is it not ? Don't you wish you had the powers of a poor 
 governess, sir ? " 
 
 So it was said among men that that curious woman in Bolton 
 Row had got a good deal to say for herself, and knew more than 
 most women. A great many men came to Bolton Row, and among 
 them a great many foreigners. One foreigner came more often 
 than others. Thomas, of the blunderbuss, now a butler, and fat, 
 used to let this gentleman in in the morning, and treat him with 
 great civility. Thomas was under a very strong impression that 
 this foreign gentleman would very shortly be his master. 
 
96 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 From Isabel to the General, at Edinburgh Castle. 
 
 "Dear Arthur, — Toll me all you know about the Prince 
 d'Amandvilliers. He was sent here by you. Give me his 
 character. — Isabel . ' ' 
 
 The General to Isabel, Bolton Row. 
 
 " Dear Isabel, — Unless very much changed for the worse, 
 D'Amandvilliers is brave, just, affectionate, honest, and rich. 
 I took him prisoner at Vimiera, since which time we have been 
 fast friends. He is one of the finest fellows I know. I imitate 
 your brevity and your extravagance. You have sent four lines 
 for eightpence — I send twelve. Why did you not get a frank ? — 
 Arthur." 
 
 Isabel to Arthur. 
 
 " I did not get a frank because I was in a hurry. D'Amand- 
 villiers wants to marry me, and I should like to marry him. Will 
 you let me ? — Isabel." 
 
 Arthur to Isabel. 
 " You can't possibly do better. — Arthur." 
 
 Isabel to Arthur. 
 
 " My dear Arthur, — I would not be absurd, if I were in your 
 place. You say nothing about that of which I wished you to 
 speak. I have accepted Louis, and we are going to be married, 
 now you have given your leave. But can I keep this house on ? 
 Can I retain my present position. He is only prince, with fifty 
 thousand francs a year. He may not be Due de St. Privat for 
 ten years more, for his father is not likely to die. I have ex- 
 plained my position to him, and he says, ' If your cousin likes to 
 lend you the things, why let us use them ; if not, we will take 
 another house.' Let me know how I stand. — Isabel." 
 
 Arthur to Isabel. 
 
 " Dear Sister, — The house and its contents are entirely at 
 your service for a perfectly indefinite period. Tell D'Amand- 
 villiers so. You have explained, of course, to him all you know 
 or guess about your parentage. That, with a man of his strict 
 honour, would be most necessary. With D'Amandvilliers you 
 may do anything except deceive him. — Arthur," 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 97 
 
 Isabel to Arthur. 
 
 " Dear Arthur, — I told D'Amandvilliers all I knew or guessed 
 about myself before I allowed him to conclude his proposal. I 
 have never mentioned my real relationship with you. With such 
 a man as he, would it not be better to trust him with the whole 
 truth ? I thank you a thousand times for your generosity ; but I 
 am perfectly certain that it would be much better for you to take 
 Louis into your confidence entirely. He has trusted me so truly 
 that I think it would be ignoble on my part if I did not urge this 
 on yours. Remember, that he still believes you to be my cousin, 
 and cousins do not always behave to their cousins as you have 
 towards me. Think of this. — Yours, Isabel." 
 
 In four days the General was in London, and closeted with the 
 Prince d'Amandvilliers and Isabel. The arrangements among 
 them were in the highest degree satisfactory. The General was 
 to keep the third floor nominally, and the Prince was indoctrinated 
 into the mysteries of the closed room. He enjoyed this mystery 
 immensely, and nothing stood in the way of the marriage save the 
 fact that the Due de St. Privat, in the most emphatic way, abso- 
 lutely refused to allow it to take place until he had the pedigree 
 of Mademoiselle written down by the College of Heralds and 
 signed by the King. 
 
 The General at once departed with a laugh to Lorraine. The 
 Due was not inexorable by any means. The General, so well 
 known and distinguished, was the xenos of his beloved son. She 
 was a Protestant, and why not then ? There were Catholics and 
 Protestants ; he (the Due) was, for his own part, Voltairean, 
 but went to mass — saprieti ? Why not ? The lady had no 
 pedigree : his son must find enough for both. The lady was 
 forty and more ; well, his young rascal was nearly fifty, let him 
 not pretend to be less, and it was high time that he settled. 
 In short, certain monetary explanations, combined with the ex- 
 tremely agreeable manners of the General, softened matters 
 amazingly, and the marriage took place, Isabel becoming the 
 Princess d'Amandvilliers, and being presented at the Court of 
 St. James's. 
 
 Some happy years passed after her marriage. It had never 
 been expected that she would have children, and so the absence 
 of them was not felt as a disappointment. 
 
 After some years, however, all cards of introduction were 
 addressed to the Prince and Princess d'Amandvilliers and Miss 
 Murdoch, 
 
 a 
 
98 REGINALD HETHEItEGE. 
 
 "My soul ! " the Prince had said one day, " you are dull at 
 home sometimes." 
 
 " Not with you." 
 
 "Nay, hut without me. Did you ever think of adopting a 
 child ? " 
 
 " I have thought of adopting some one, and bringing her 
 out, but not a child." 
 
 "It is equal to me, so that I make you happy." 
 
 " You have done that already ; hut as you mention the matter, 
 there is a girl who was with me for some time, whom I should 
 like to see again." 
 
 "Her name?" 
 
 " Helen Murdoch. She was my favourite pupil. I should like 
 to see her again ; and she is an orphan, living now for a time 
 with an aunt. She is dull there, and I do not think that her 
 aunt cares for her. She would be happier with me, and I am 
 sure the family would not object." 
 
 " Has she a family then ? " 
 
 " yes ; the great family — the family of the Chancery suit. 
 She is a ward herself, I believe. If she is, I am sure the 
 Chancellor would not object." 
 
 " I should like to catch him objecting to anything you desired. 
 
 I would But of what family do you speak ? " said the 
 
 Prince. 
 
 "Oh, the Digby family. Their name is legion — Simpsons, 
 Murdochs, Hethereges, and Talbots." 
 
 "Let her come at all events, if she is willing," said the 
 Prince; "preliminaries are soon arranged when every one is 
 willing ; " and James Murdoch's sister was introduced into the 
 house. 
 
 At this time her brother was going through one of his re- 
 pentant resurrections, and was experiencing a radical and per- 
 manent reform of his evil courses for about the fifth time, with 
 such assistance as he could get from Aunt Hester which assis- 
 tance was by no means so easily obtainable now she had new 
 cans and new affections to take part of his place in her warm 
 old heart. The Princess had the very strongest dislike to him, 
 but she could not interfere between brother and sister. James 
 Murdoch could come and go in the house as he liked, and his 
 sister adored him. 
 
 The Prince and Princess never had what is called "words" 
 from the day on which they were married until the day on 
 which death separated them. They never quarrelled, and 
 almost always agreed on everything. Had they been foolish 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 99 
 
 people, they would have had their first quarrel about this man ; 
 as it was, they had a decided difference of opinion, but argued 
 it out with the most perfect good humour, and, without abating 
 one jot of their opinions, remained as affectionate as ever. The 
 Prince conceived a strong liking for this handsome young English- 
 man ; Isabel disliked him like poison — unjustly, her husband 
 thought, for he had the manners of a Frenchman — had been 
 very much in France — and was a pleasant contrast to the 
 boorish young Englishman. Were not French manners in men 
 better than English? 
 
 " Undoubtedly," said his wife ; " but as a rule I dislike 
 Frenchified Englishmen, and I have reasons for disliking this 
 young man. He is heartless, and he has given much trouble 
 to tender hearts. Besides, there are many things — I do not 
 know what, I say — the General distrusts him. I beg you, my 
 best beloved, to be careful with him. Do not let him sleep in the 
 house again" 
 
 The Prince pulled a long face and whistled. "Do you 
 mean " 
 
 " I don't mean anything, you foolish man. I mean that he 
 goes to bed and gets up again when we are asleep. He walks in 
 his sleep : I met him three nights ago, on the stairs, fast asleep. 
 yes, as fast asleep as a weasel." 
 
 ' ' What was he doing ? ' ' 
 
 " Sleeping." 
 
 " Well, perhaps he had better somnambulise in another 
 establishment," said the Prince ; and in fact he did not sleep 
 in the house any more. It is possible that he might have slept 
 there once too often. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 REGINALD GETS A PRACTICAL HINT THAT HE IS IN THE WAY. 
 
 Before Reginald's first crop of troubles was well over, he used 
 to go very seldom to his club, as we have mentioned before, but 
 used to get his dinner in the middle of the day somewhere, very 
 much depending upon the money in his pocket. He was much 
 employed at one time by a certain very famous publishing firm at 
 the West End, who were bringing out certain important articles 
 
100 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 of his. It was necessary that he should see them nearly every 
 day, and as their office hours almost exactly coincided with his 
 own, the only time for an interview was during the two hours in 
 the middle of the day which he devoted to dinner. Nothing, 
 therefore, was more natural than that he should seek out a 
 modest house of refreshment in the locality, which was at once 
 cheap and secluded. Such a place he discovered in a street near 
 Berkeley Square, which suited him exactly. 
 
 It was a clean eating-house, connected with and yet partly 
 disconnected from a superior sort of public -house. The eating 
 parlour was approached by a private entrance, but with only 
 a partition half-way to the ceiling, so that the private guests, 
 mainly consisting of clerks or superior shopmen and some trades- 
 men, had the benefit of the conversation of such gentlemen as 
 used the public parlour of the public-house. This, though 
 certainly a drawback, was not a great one, for, from the con- 
 versation in the parlour, Reginald guessed that its occupants 
 were only upper servants, and that the place seemed to be select. 
 
 He got to like the place, and to be liked there as a quiet, 
 inoffensive gentleman. " After all," he said to himself, " it is 
 quite as good as the club, and much more private. Nobody ever 
 talks to me here, and I can read the newspaper, or look through 
 my proofs, without minding any one or any one minding me." 
 So the habit of having his chop there in the middle of the day 
 became a fixed one with him, and when his brighter days came 
 he still used to step round there to have his lunch almost every 
 day, though his club lay half-way between his office and the 
 " Swan," and directly in the route. 
 
 One day he was at his mutton chop and Times, when two 
 people came into the next room, and began talking in a low 
 voice. To his unutterable astonishment, he heard his own name 
 mentioned twice. 
 
 What could this mean ? Had he a right to listen ? He did 
 so, and at first heard little more. Then a man came in, and 
 said, " A pint of brandy, gentlemen," and he heard it paid for, 
 and partially drunk before the conversation was resumed. It was 
 then obvious, when the talking began in a higher tone, that one 
 of the gentlemen was like the brandy — that is to say, partially 
 drunk. 
 
 "You see," said another voice, incontestably sober, "you 
 stand to lose nothing at all. Whatever comes, you are safe. 
 You have blabbed quite enough in your drink to put yourself in 
 my power." 
 
 "Ay, master, and you have said enough to put yourself in 
 
Reginald heThekege. 101 
 
 mine. I have drank heavens hard for many years now — that 
 bursted old house would make any man drink. But no man ever 
 saw me drunker than I am now. I assimilated it by degrees. 
 Give me another glass of brandy, and I shall be sober. I am 
 never wrong after the middle of the day. It is only the mornings 
 which play the devil with me." 
 
 The glass of brandy was drunk, and the man's voice was totally 
 different. 
 
 " Now, Master Murdoch," he said, firmly, " I am a man, your 
 match, or any one else's. They never dream that I drink at 
 home ; the Prince has a high opinion of me, but treats me as 
 no Englishman ought to be treated by a Frenchman. She hates 
 me, and I am sick of the old place. What is your little game ? 
 I'll reel it off for you and save you the trouble of speaking. Your 
 little game is to know what I choose to tell you. What do I 
 know ? — I know what I do know, and what you want to know. 
 W T as there a document ? — Yes, there were a document, for I have 
 heard the old ones speak of it when I have been listening. Where 
 is that little document ?— I know where that little document is, 
 and so does another. What does that little document contain ? — 
 I don't know and I don't care. What do I think you want that 
 little document for? — Why, to take and burn it. What do I 
 want for that little document ? — I want ten thousand pounds for 
 that little document, in cash, and not in promises. Will I give 
 you tho whereabouts of that little document until I am paid ? — 
 No ; I'll see you further first. Did you try to find that little 
 document for yourself ? — Yes, you did try to find that little docu- 
 ment for yourself, and the Princess a-ketched you on the stairs ; 
 that's what she done. A-ah ! " 
 
 " Well, I suppose you had better finish up that brandy and go 
 
 to as fast as you can. I can do nothing with you, and I 
 
 believe that you are a humbug. When I first asked you to drink 
 with me, which was when my sister went there, you gave me the 
 first hint of the whole business when you were drunk- sober. I 
 suppose, now that you are sober-drunk, you will deny it." 
 
 " Not I. I did tell you part of what I know. I thought you 
 would make it right again with Miss Simpson, and that she would 
 give you anything. You have been a fool with that old woman, 
 and your time is short with her unless you do what I always have 
 done, keep up a show of respectability. You can't pay for my 
 secret, and I must take care of myself. That old house sees my 
 back very shortly." 
 
 " Have you saved much ? " 
 
 "Devil a farthing to speak of. I have been quietly drinking 
 
102 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 most of it away for many years : what I have saved I have given 
 to my mother." 
 
 "If your secret is of such value, why do you not lower your 
 terms and see what I can do ? " 
 
 " You see your character ain't good," said the drunk-sober 
 man, with amiable frankness, "and you in consequence can't 
 depend on your Aunt Hester. Besides, I am afraid that another 
 knows it." 
 
 11 Who ? Come, I will give you five pounds if you will tell me. 
 Is it Reginald Hetherege ? " 
 "No." 
 
 " On your soul! " 
 "Yes.*" 
 
 "There is your money. Here is another five pounds if you 
 will tell me who does know it." 
 
 " The General, I am nearly sure." 
 " The devil ! But the secret is no use to him." 
 There was a dead silence, which was broken by the tipsy man 
 beginning to whistle. 
 
 "Well," he added, "it is all over. You can't pay me, and 
 you must go back to your original proposition of putting Mr. 
 Reginald Hetherege out of the way ; forcing on a settlement — 
 which no one would oppose now, for they are all sick and tired oi 
 the matter— and going to the devil with your share of the swag. 
 If that were to happen I might be inclined to engage, for a 
 reasonable sum, that yours truly would take care that the little 
 document was not in any way forthcoming. Meanwhile the 
 General is a sharp man, and I don't think I shall be on the 
 spot to watch him, or to burn the house down." 
 " Would that be necessary ? " 
 
 " Pre-eminently so ; that would be the first thing. Who gave 
 you the office about that document now ? ' ' 
 " Why, you did yourself." 
 
 " To be sure, I forgot ; and nobody knows what is in it. That 
 is so odd. The old ones didn't, the General can't, and I'll be 
 
 d a if I do." 
 
 " I dare say that it is of no value." 
 
 " I dare say it is, though. You somehow know something 
 more than I do about it, or you would not be so keen." 
 " I swear I know nothing more." 
 
 " You swear ! Yes, but who the devil would believe you ? " 
 "You insolent scoundrel, I will denounce you to your master 
 and mistress." 
 
 "And I will denounce you to your Aunt Hester. Come, 
 
REGINALD HETHEftEGE. 103 
 
 keep your hands off that bottle. I am three times the man 
 you are ! ' ' 
 
 No more was said, and they left the room. Reginald dashed 
 out of the door, and was in time to see them depart by another. 
 They came together. One was a very handsome and well 
 dressed man, whom he at once recognised as James Murdoch ; 
 the other was apparently a butler, for he was dressed in black, 
 with a white tie. The two worthies parted, and Reginald con- 
 fronted young Murdoch. 
 
 " You do not know me, sir ? " he said, quietly. 
 
 "I confess that you have the advantage of me," said the 
 other. 
 
 " I am Reginald Hetherege ! " 
 
 " My dear cousin," said the other, coolly. "I am most de- 
 lighted to know you. As the grandfather of the future head 
 of the family, I bow down before you. I should very much like 
 to make your acquaintance." 
 
 " The feeling is quite mutual, I assure you," said Reginald. 
 
 " Will you dine with me ? " said James Murdoch. 
 
 " With pleasure. To-day?" 
 
 " By all means. Say at the Bedford, at eight o'clock." 
 
 Reginald was there at the time appointed, and found the 
 dinner table laid in a private room, and James Murdoch waiting. 
 
 " Will you have a glass of sherry and bitters before dinner ? " 
 said James Murdoch. " I have been having one, and have filled 
 one for you." Reginald took it with a smile. 
 
 "Cousin," he said, "do you ever drink two glasses before 
 dinner?" 
 
 " Well, I am afraid I do," said James. " The fact is, we do 
 drink too much about town." 
 
 " Will you drink two to-day if I do ? " 
 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " Then drink this," said Reginald. 
 
 " Nay, I am not going to drink two before you begin," said 
 James, turning pale. 
 
 " But to please me," said Reginald. 
 
 " Well, give me hold of it, then," and Reginald handed it 
 to him. He pretended to put his lips to it, and with a curse 
 threw it violently on the fire. The spirit in the wine flashed up 
 blue, and then a lambent green flame began creeping about 
 among the coals. 
 
 "I think we understand one another now, cousin Murdoch," 
 said Reginald ; " or shall I speak more explicitly? I wish you 
 a good afternoon." 
 
104 REGINALD ftETHEKEGE. 
 
 11 That is a murderous young vagabond," thought Reginald, 
 as he walked away homewards. " I must warn Hester about 
 him. The question is whether she will be warned or not. She 
 wraps herself up in those idiotic novels, so that she would never 
 be convinced that there was a murderer in the family, however 
 often she might find it necessary to describe one. However, 
 here goes ; " and when he got home he wrote — 
 
 "Hester, — Have you made your will in favour of James? — 
 Reginald." 
 
 This he sent downstairs to her by the page, for he did not want 
 to talk to her, he would have had possibly to say more than he 
 wished. She seemed to have understood this, for she sent her 
 answer back by hand. It was concise. 
 
 " No.— Hester." 
 
 Reginald's answer was : — ■ 
 
 " My dear Hester, — I am very much pleased with your reply. 
 Don't make any kind of will at present in favour of James, and 
 make the fact notorious. — Reginald." 
 
 Answer : — 
 
 " Dear Reginald, — I know what you mean ; but you need 
 not fear. I will save him from the temptation of wishing me 
 out of the way. — Hester." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A YOUNG LADY APPEARS ON THE STAGE. 
 
 A rather unexpected circumstance occurred immediately after- 
 wards. Thomas Morris, butler to the Prince d'Amandvillers, 
 was brought before Mr. Harrison, at Bow Street, charged with 
 robbing his employer. 
 
 The Prince d'Amandvilliers, who was accommodated with • a 
 seat on the bench, said : "The prisoner is my butler. The 
 
Reginald hetherege. ios 
 
 frincess had him with a character of thirty years from the late 
 occupants of the house in which I now reside. I never had 
 any reason to suspect him of anything, except lately I thought 
 that he drank too much. I had gone to bed on the night of last 
 Friday, when I was aroused by a knocking at the door. I dis- 
 covered him to be in the hands of the police, with the things I 
 see produced in court upon him." 
 
 " Are these things yours, Prince? " said the attorney defending 
 the prisoner. 
 
 " No," was the answer. 
 
 " Are they your wife's ? " 
 
 " I don't think that that matters." 
 
 "Perhaps not, Prince. Will you swear that your landlord is 
 not the prisoner's brother ? " 
 
 " I never heard of it," said the puzzled Prince. 
 
 "Very possibly," said the attorney, "but will you swear 
 it?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Will you swear that the prisoner is not brother to the 
 Princess, your wife?" 
 
 There was a ghastly silence. The Prince buried his head in 
 his hands, while the whole court waited for his reply. In a 
 moment he saw that it was possible. In a moment he saw that 
 he did not know who his wife was. He knew not, and, as far 
 as he was concerned, cared less. But if this could be proved, 
 it was ruin to her — to her who was all the world to him. She 
 might be the sister of all the convicts in New South Wales, but 
 she was his Isabel. Still he was a Frenchman, and a match 
 for all these insular idiots. The audience watched the bowed 
 head as it slowly rose from between the hands ; the face was 
 convulsed with laughter, and peal after peal went ringing through 
 the court. It was infectious, and " the gravity of the court was 
 visibly disturbed . ' ' 
 
 " I apologise for my laughter," he said ; " but what will you? 
 Yes, I will most emphatically swear that this man is not the 
 brother of my wife. Will he call his own mother, the former 
 charwoman, to prove it. If he does not I will. Ask the prisoner 
 if, when he put his mother into Pettit's almshouses, she had not 
 to produce her marriage certificate, and the certificate of his 
 birth. I, in the unutterable astonishment of your impudent 
 question, forgot this, and became confused. I have been used to 
 live among gentlemen, and the facts I hear about dogs like this 
 are not always to be remembered at once." 
 
 What the Prince said was, unfortunately for the prisoner, 
 
106 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 taken for truth. The prisoner was none other than Thomas, 
 whilom the young man with the blunderbuss, who had drank 
 hard and secretly for many years, and who, as he had confessed 
 to James Murdoch, did not always know what he was about in 
 the morning. In a crapulous state, after a night in the cells, 
 he had suggested this audacious line of defence to his attorney, 
 but in a confused way, forgetting that he had told the Prince 
 a totally different story. He was remanded, sent for trial, and 
 convicted. On his trial he caused his attorney to make his 
 counsel ask such singular and absurd questions, that the court 
 got impatient. For instance, the Princess was called to swear to 
 the things taken on him. The counsel asked if they were hers. 
 She emphatically swore that they were. That was true at the 
 time, because the General had given them to her in order to 
 simplify matters, and avoid talk ; but it was certainly not true of 
 them when they were stolen ; at that time they were lent. The 
 prisoner, who was suffering slightly from delirium tremens, in 
 consequence of many years' habitual liquor being suddenly 
 stopped, made a rambling statement, which was attributed to 
 that malady. When he came to stating that there were more 
 windows in No. 1, Bolton Row than would fit the rooms, the 
 judge asked him if he thought he was doing himself any good 
 by talking such nonsense as that. When he complained that 
 his attorney had refused to call a certain window-tax collector 
 (who had been dead some years), the court stopped him. He was 
 transported for ten years. 
 
 That was satisfactory, so far, but Isabel's position had been 
 endangered. People in this world do not, as regards a woman, 
 care much who she was not, but they do care about who she was. 
 If a woman has no pedigree, it is of no very great consequence ; 
 but if she has a bad one, it matters a very great deal. Isabel 
 had no pedigree, and was safe ; a single objectionable relation 
 would have ruined her. Even as it was, the world had to be 
 satisfied about her once more, and there was nothing to satisfy 
 the world with. The world was quite happy to believe that she 
 was not any one at all, but now the question was aired, they 
 rather wished that she had been somebody. At length, however, 
 a French friend of the Prince d'Amandvilliers hinted that there 
 was no actual proof of her being a Doria, which made every one 
 at once firmly believe that she was. 
 
 So that small storm passed over, and one of the dangerous 
 men was happily transported. The other one, James Murdoch, 
 transported himself. He was caught cheating at cards, and 
 slapped in the face by Lord Peterton. That young gentleman 
 
REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 107 
 
 expected a challenge from him, but as none came, he was cut ; 
 and on the settlement for the Derby was found to be £2,000 to 
 the bad. This Hester of course refused to pay, and James 
 Murdoch left England and went abroad once more, indefinitely. 
 
 Indefinitely, because he could not show among gentlemen ; 
 but he was very often in England. On these occasions he was 
 generally arrested, for some small debt, by the first tradesman 
 who caught him, at which times he was always paid out by 
 Aunt Hester, and sent abroad again. This process was re- 
 peated as long as there was anything to pay, and then James 
 Murdoch was free of England once more, though he was not 
 free of gentlemen's society, as he had utilised his various returns 
 to England by proving, beyond all doubt, that he was the 
 real hopeless blackguard which the world had always supposed 
 him to be. 
 
 The Prince and Princess d'Amandvilliers would have nothing 
 to do with him ; but his sister would sometimes see him 
 privately, and give him money. At one of these interviews 
 he told her something which sent her home with a very scared 
 look. 
 
 The kind Princess had the secret out of her in no time. With 
 shuddering horror she told her kind second mother that her 
 brother had asked her to let him into the house at dead of night. 
 The frightened girl said that there was a secret in the house 
 which he wanted to discover, and that she was terrified. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said the Princess, " there is a secret in the 
 house, and the General means to keep it for a time, on foolish 
 grounds, I think. In my opinion Master James would be none 
 the better if it was revealed, but we do not know in any way what 
 it is. Pray never talk about it unless you talk about it to your 
 brother, and tell him that he is a fool." 
 
 Bliss Murdoch, the beautiful girl, with £10,000 on her wedding- 
 day, was not married so quickly as some people thought she 
 would have been. There were one or two things to account for 
 this. In the first place, her brother was a sufficiently notorious 
 rascal, and although a man of the world may be perfectly willing 
 to marry a young lady, yet when it comes to marrying a dis- 
 reputable brother, he thinks twice. As a general rule, the 
 brother of the object of a man's affections is almost as important 
 as the lady herself, if he is in any way presentable or respectable. 
 We knew a gentleman of high family and great wealth who 
 married a labourer's daughter. The brother of this lady, whose 
 daughter is one of ftie highest and most beautiful ladies in the 
 land, carrying a title dear to every English heart, was not 
 
108 REGINALD HETHEftEGE. 
 
 presentable, in a social point of view, but eminently good and 
 respectable. For him, nothing was too good to the day of his 
 death ; his brother-in-law loved him, and took care that he 
 should die rich. Most men are not ashamed of such a brother- 
 in-law ; but a man of the world must be very desperately in love 
 with a woman to marry her if she has such a hopeless sponging 
 cad of a brother as James Murdoch. 
 
 The men of the world, we say, fought shy of this match. Many 
 men not belonging to the world were very desperately smitten 
 with Miss Murdoch, and would have married her. The only 
 objection to this arrangement was that she did not care for any 
 of them. Her friends thought that she would have, at one time, 
 accepted almost any presentable man who would have given her 
 a grand position, and have tried to forget her only love. Such a 
 man did not offer, and she was spared the trial of marrying a man 
 first and forcing herself to love him afterwards. When a woman 
 marries a man she does not love, and who knows it, it must be 
 rather uphill work for the woman without great assistance from 
 the man. Given that assistance, all may, and probably will, go 
 well, but after-marriage courtships are dangerous unless there is 
 determination on both sides. The French, on the whole, find 
 them succeed ; but then the French are infinitely more polite and 
 attentive in little things than we are. Petits soins have as much 
 to do with domestic felicity as anything. 
 
 There was another and a stronger reason, possibly, than all 
 the others which we have set forth above, which prevented Miss 
 Murdoch from marrying. She happened to be in love with 
 Captain Hickson. At first she did not quite know her own mind 
 about him, and at one time she might have been tempted to marry 
 elsewhere. But she always said to herself from the first that no 
 man could ever be the same to her as Richard Hickson. She 
 met him first at Lady Atterbury's, when she was first out — a 
 gallant, brown sailor, a little older than herself, and, as she told 
 him afterwards, she fell in love with him there and then. He 
 had been a mite of a midshipman in the Shannon, and he had 
 done his part in the awful day of Algiers. He was so modest, so 
 brave, and so intelligent, that most people liked him : she loved 
 him, and told the Princess so. Isabel said that he had not got 
 any money, and so she could not marry him. The Prince, on the 
 other hand, said that he was a young officer of distinction in the 
 greatest navy in the world, and she might do worse. When 
 the fact came to be acknowledged between the Prince and 
 Princess, that she was not likely (with her brother round her 
 neck) to do better, Captain Hickson' s visits were somewhat 
 
REGINALD HETHEHEGE. 109 
 
 encouraged, to her great pleasure. When wo say that Captain 
 Hickson's visits were somewhat encouraged, we go possibly a 
 little too far : they could not possibly, in one sense, have been 
 encouraged in any way, as his ship was at the Cape of Good 
 Hope, and he was in her, and communication was difficult. 
 Helen Murdoch was quietly informed by the Prince and Princess 
 that Captain Hickson was possessed of every Christian virtue, 
 was rising in the service, that his ship was ordered to beat up 
 the west coast of Africa in coming home, and that if he escaped 
 the fever she might do worse. She was perfectly contented. She 
 thought him far too clever to catch the fever. 
 
 He did, however. He had a roving commission to call at 
 Bonny, Brass, Whydah, Cape Coast, and Sierra Leone. He was 
 of a scientific turn, however, and he had read " Pigafetta " and 
 " Andrew Battel." Somehow his wilful ship carried him to St. 
 Thomas, and then — without his consent, of course — carried him 
 to the Gaboon, right along the Equator. Making the long white 
 sand, he naturally was determined to catch a gorilla alive, and 
 place it in the Tower. The gorillas were from home ; but, for- 
 tunately for Captain Hickson, while the gorillas were behaving in 
 a decent manner — only fixing themselves on an elephant's nose 
 till he went mad, or boxing a lion's ears until the lion was sick of 
 the one-sided game — the human counterparts of the gorilla were 
 extremely active. Between the Bight of Biafra and Whydah, 
 Captain Hickson captured five slavers, which he took to Cape 
 Coast. At that time such a feat was as good at the Admiralty as 
 taking five French frigates had been shortly before ; so when he 
 went to Parliament Street he was received with open arms. He went 
 to the Admiralty in a fright, under the impression that he would be 
 attacked with strong language on the subject of taking his ship to 
 the Gaboon, where he had no business, and that his 2,300 slaves 
 would weigh as nothing in the balance against that fact. He mildly 
 mentioned his expedition with his first lieutenant after the gorillas, 
 and excused it on scientific grounds. When he discovered that 
 the Under Secretary thought that the gorilla was an anti- scorbutic 
 fruit, only to be found on the Gaboon, and that Captain Hickson 
 at the risk of his own life had gone there to get it for a scurvy - 
 stricken crew, why then Captain Hickson held his tongue. The 
 Secretary was uncertain about the amount of prize-money, but 
 that would be considerable. Captain Hickson's eminent services 
 brought with them their own retribution. His (the Under Secre- 
 tary's) services had their retribution in constant work. Captain 
 Hickson's services were so great that his Majesty could not allow 
 him to waste his valuable time on shore, He was appointed to 
 
110 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the Blonde frigate, now first commissioned. It would be idle for 
 the Secretary to pretend that the Government were not partially 
 influenced by political motives in this appointment. Sir James 
 Hickson's services to the Government were so eminent, that the 
 least recognition they could make was to give a ship to his 
 nephew. 
 
 "And where is the Blonde to go, sir?" said the delighted 
 captain. 
 
 " She will go to the West Coast first, and then round to Celebes 
 Timor and Sydney." 
 
 " My old uncle is sharp," said Captain Hickson ; " but I will 
 bother him." 
 
 "I don't see what you mean," said the Secretary. 
 
 " Why, I am the next baronet, don't you see ? He wants to get 
 rid of me, the last in entail, so that my cousin, who is illegitimate, 
 may come into the estates under his will." 
 
 "Not another word, my dear sir," said the Secretary. "I see 
 it. We have done all we can, and he can't grumble. The Blonde 
 shall not go to the West Coast. We don't want to lose all our good 
 officers." 
 
 Captain Hickson went out into Parliament Street a glad man. 
 He was to have the most beautiful frigate in the world, and with 
 his name he could ship her crew ten times over. If she was one 
 half what had been said about her, he would do anything with 
 her. Like her predecessor, the French Blonde, she would go 
 within five points of the wind. By the lord ! it was a splendid 
 chance tor a man. 
 
 At this point a young gentleman, heated with running, touched 
 him on the arm. 
 
 " Captain Hickson ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Note from the Secretary ; " and so he departed. 
 
 "Dear Hickson" — the note ran — "the Blonde will not be 
 ready for three months. She will then go on the North American 
 station for one year." 
 
 What a prize for a sailor without any interest, save that of an 
 uncle who wished him drowned, and who would gladly have 
 drowned six hundred men with him, so long as he could have put 
 his puny cousin in his place. One thing only was wanting ; the 
 woman he loved best in the world could not share his honours 
 with him. Nearly all great things are done for the applause of 
 some loved woman. Captain Hickson loved only one woman in 
 the world, and on this, the most triumphant day of his life, he 
 missed her % 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. Ill 
 
 He went home to his lodgings, and there was a letter on his 
 table. He tore it open. 
 
 " You have been two days in England, and we have heard 
 nothing of you. Nothing, I say. Well ; we heard that you were 
 dead with fever, and that it was only by a sudden accession of 
 intelligence on the part of your coxswain that you were not buried 
 alive. To-day, at dinner, we have soup a la Palestine, craw-fish, 
 entrees, veal, and many other nice things, including a Blonde 
 (who is not to be eaten, but looked at). If you can digest human 
 food, after your experiences among the cannibals in Africa, come 
 to dinner to-day, and come early. — Yours ever, 
 
 " D'Amandvilliers." 
 
 Sailors are quick in love matters, far quicker than landsmen. 
 Their time, you see, is so very short. Like a Conservative 
 Ministry in these days, they have to make the most of it. Captain 
 Hickson went to dinner with the D'Amandvillierses, but went an 
 hour before the time. Of course he did not do so on purpose ; ot 
 course the Princess was out driving, and the Prince at his club ; 
 of course there was no one in the drawing-room but that imperial 
 beauty, Helen ; of course the crisis in both their lives took place. 
 
 Not half an hour had passed before it was all over. She told 
 him the truth, that she had never loved any man but him, but that 
 she would have married others; "and from that I am saved." 
 Then she told him about her brother. The sailor said that there 
 were scoundrels in all families, and dismissed the subject as un- 
 worthy of regard. He told her that he was appointed to the 
 Blonde, and must sail in three months ; that he could not give 
 up his ship, as if he did, he was not sure of another. Ships were 
 not easy to obtain under the present reductions. They were 
 married in a month, and he sailed in three, leaving her with the 
 Prince and Princess. He was seven months away. 
 
 Out there beyond the Scillys it is not so easy to get your pilot 
 on board when your ship is at all lively. The Blonde was lashing 
 in close-hauled before a N.E. wind, when she sighted a pilot-boat 
 making towards her. The pilot was got on board by the skin of 
 his teeth, and the merry little craft danced away to leeward. The 
 pilot, approaching the captain, said, after saluting the quarter- 
 deck — 
 
 " I seen your good lady last night, sir." 
 
 "Yes. Where?" 
 
 " At Plymouth. And I see the baby too." 
 
 "Yes," 
 
112 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " The loveliest little girl ever eyes looked on. Both well." 
 
 " Here are my watch and chain for you, pilot. They cost sixty 
 guineas between them, and the watch is as good as any chrono- 
 meter. Shall we make a short leg towards the parson and clerk, 
 or keep her as she is ? " 
 
 " As she is, sir," said the pilot, putting on the watch and chain ; 
 " she'll do very well. I thank you, sir, a thousand times." 
 
 " Then, if you will take charge for a time, I will go to my cabin, 
 for I have a thankful word or so to say to God Almighty." 
 
 So Captain Hickson was in charge of the Blonde ; Helen, his 
 wife, was in charge of him ; and the young lady just bom was 
 kind enough to take charge of both of them, and manage them 
 both, which she did perfectly. As Lady Snizort said to Reginald 
 once, " That child was born to command us all," to which Regi- 
 nald agreed ; but her ladyship added something in a lower tone 
 about a minx, which Reginald pretended not to hear. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 CONFIDENCE BETWEEN COMRADES. 
 
 Our General walked into the United Service Club one day about 
 
 this time, and there he met General H , who had just returned 
 
 from Vienna. They dined together, and, as old comrades, had a 
 vast deal of conversation by no means interesting to the reader, 
 and some which was. 
 
 "And now," said General II— — , "tell us about the Great 
 Family. Is there anything new about them ? " 
 
 " They are in a general state of prosperity. Everything is 
 going so well with them that they must have an accident soon. 
 Even Reginald Hethercge is rich." 
 
 "Is it true that his son is dead ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and has left a son." 
 
 " That is rather a pity, is it not ? It will complicate matters 
 in the great lawsuit." 
 
 " The great lawsuit will never be ended, and the family have 
 given up caring about it." 
 
 " Then you are not going to act." 
 
 " Why should I ? and what could I do if I did ? " 
 
REGINALD HETHEKEGE. 113 
 
 "But do you mean to say that you are going to keep»up this 
 absurd farce any longer ? ' ' 
 
 " What absurd farce ? " 
 
 11 Why, having an entirely unnecessary concealment, and a 
 whole lot of nonsense talked about it." 
 
 "Who talks?" 
 
 " No one ; but they would if they knew it. I have never opened 
 my mouth. I only know what you told me at Vittoria." 
 
 " There was nothing very much in that," said our General. " I 
 only said that a certain secret was entrusted to me under a certain 
 condition, and that I intended to keep it." 
 
 ' ' Is what you are doing moral ? ' ' 
 
 " I think so. I am told in the handwriting of a certain man, 
 to whom I owe everything in the world, not to enter a certain 
 room except under certain contingencies. What there is in that 
 room I have no idea, absolutely none — at least, really none. I do 
 not see that I am doing wrong. I will show you the paper if you 
 like." 
 
 "Well, do." 
 
 General H read it: "'At your own discretion.' Hey! 
 
 well, that is curious. ' Ruin of your own peace of mind for ever ! ' 
 Good heavens, Arthur ! ' A crime not forgiveable by Divine 
 mercy ' — that is — that re very strange. ' No pecuniary benefit to 
 yourself.' — Heavens ! I should hope not. 'In case of your mar- 
 riage, open the room and burn every paper except the one which 
 it would be felony to burn.' But you were married, Arthur, and 
 did not do that." 
 
 " I had not the heart." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that you have been about the world all 
 these years, Arthur, with this secret on your heart? " 
 
 "Yes. Can you begin to understand why I have not opened 
 that room ? ' ' 
 
 " Arthur, do you think it affects your family honour ? " 
 
 " I do not know. I have no family." 
 
 " But who were your rather and mother ? " 
 
 " My father — well, I know who my father was, but who my 
 mother was I have not the wildest idea." 
 
 " Whew ! You don't say so. Suppose that this paper was 
 some document putting you in possession of a vast sum of 
 
 money i 
 
 ■) " 
 
 "You see it cannot be; he says distinctly, 'No pecuniary 
 advantage.' " 
 
 " Well, why not burn the house down ? " 
 " I don't think that would do." 
 
114 BEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " Then you dare not go in ? " 
 
 " That is it." 
 
 " What relation are you to all this crowd of Simpsons, Mur- 
 dochs, and Talbots? " * 
 
 " None at all. They do not know me." 
 
 " H'm ! And yet you always speak of them as ' the family.' 
 You will not tell me the whole truth." 
 
 "Well, I will then." 
 
 The General whispered a few words to General H :, who grew 
 
 extremely grave, and sat very silent for some time. At last he 
 said — 
 
 "You have given me your confidence, alone of all men in the 
 world. I can understand your motives, hut I think that you are 
 not acting rightly. You are the very last man I should have sup- 
 posed to have yielded to such a crochet, which, mark me, if in- 
 dulged in will grow into a craze, and will produce incalculable 
 misery to yourself and others. Y r ou are not acting with justice, 
 and will most assuredly live to regret it." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF TWO LONG FRIENDSHIPS. 
 
 Charles's widow and child got on extremely well, and were as 
 happy as they were likely to he in the establishment of Aunt 
 Hester. That is to say, that they had everything which the world 
 could give them in the way of eating and drinking, combined with 
 every possible kindness and consideration. Every wish they could 
 form w;is anticipated, until at last Mrs. Hetherege began to feel 
 the surfeits of prosperity, and when she was low in her mind rather 
 missed the old excitement of debt. 
 
 There was no change in the house, and hers was not a mind in 
 any way formed for regularity. In her happy-go-lucky (we might 
 rather say unlucky) life with Charles she had rather enjoyed her- 
 self than otherwise. She had always felt the glorious uncertain- 
 ties of a campaign, on the losing side, certainly, but which was 
 not without its pleasurable excitement. She had often, in the old 
 times, when the presence of Charles was alone enough to make 
 her happy, known the want of five shillings ; and when Reginald, 
 or more seldom Charles, had brought her home a pound or so, she 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 115 
 
 had clutched the money with a glad little cry, dear to both of them, 
 and had committed some pretty, trivial extravagance, dearer still. 
 Now she had as much money as she wanted, but she had nothing 
 on earth to do with it, which was extremely provoking. 
 
 She wanted, for instance, on one occasion a particular garment 
 for George, as a birthday present — some kind of cloak of an ex- 
 pensive material, trimmed with swansdown. She had twenty 
 guineas which Reginald had given her, and she intended to buy 
 it. When Hester asked her where she would like to be driven 
 that afternoon, she mildly suggested Rhinds in Sloane Street. 
 Hester, sitting beside her, gave the word of command to her 
 coachman as if she was ordering a squadron of cavalry to capture 
 guns. To Rhinds they went, ventre a tcrrc, the cloak was bought, 
 and she brought out the money. But Aunt Hester would not let 
 her pay for it, and she put her poor little guineas back. Hester 
 meant nothing but kindness, but she had spoilt the poor woman's 
 afternoon, and made her feel her dependence. She was so dis- 
 traught going home that Hester said that she must be ill, and 
 made her take port wine, a thing she hated, and which spoilt her 
 dinner, a thing she loved. 
 
 The hours at Hester Simpson's were extremely objectionable to 
 her. She had never kept them, certainly, except by fits and 
 starts, and though not a word was ever said on the subject, yet 
 she knew that her unpunctuality was inconvenient. When she 
 chose to be unwell she could keep her rooms, and gain a certain 
 amount of independence that way ; but she hated shamming ill, 
 and being made a prisoner of. Very green freshmen sham ager, 
 and get off lectures, but they generally find that the escape from 
 chapel and lecture is hardly bought by being confined to college. 
 Mary liked to go out walking very early in the morning, and if 
 she did this she was of course supposed to be well. So Hester 
 would wait prayers for her to any hour, which was specially 
 objectionable. For if Mary had a pet objection in this world, it 
 was that of family prayer, as conducted by Aunt Hester. She 
 was a religious woman, a clergyman's daughter and widow, and 
 upholder, even to fierceness, of everything connected with the 
 Thirty-nine Articles ; but she could not stand Hester's way of 
 reading prayers. Her emphasis, she used to say to Reginald in 
 certain precious little confidences, of which we shall see more 
 presently, was always wrong. She always, according to Mary, 
 read at her congregation. She managed by her way of reading to 
 turn the meaning of the parables upside down. When she read 
 about the Pharisee and the publican, she read it as if she were 
 the only just person in the world, and the servants were nothing 
 
116 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 better than a set of broken-down licensed victuallers. All the 
 servants thought the publicans of the Scripture kept inns, and 
 that when Hester had done with the extortioners, unjust, &c, and 
 said, " even as this publican," she meant the butler, who had 
 once kept a public-house ; and insinuated that, bad as they all 
 were, he was the worst of the lot. Aunt Hester got a hint about 
 this piece of mistranslation from Reginald. She was then at 
 trouble to explain to the servants that the publicans of holy writ 
 were tax-gatherers for the Romans. The servants, considering 
 that there was no appeal from their mistress as a literary lady, 
 concluded that the publicans combined licensed victualling and 
 Romish practices with the still more objectionable practice of 
 putting executions into poor people's houses, and that the 
 Pharisees were an estimable body of gentlemen who denounced 
 their evil doings, and so they were just as much edified as before. 
 
 Reginald was writing a great deal now, but in a desultory way, 
 leaving the great subject of which he was master to take care of 
 itself for a time, and trying for his own purposes to make a mark 
 in other fields. For example, he wrote a great article in a lead- 
 ing quarterly on iEschines. It was grand, and not a single fault 
 could be found with it, except that there was not an original 
 thought in it from beginning to end. It was merely a precis of 
 known books on the subject, put together in a masterly way. The 
 very accents in the Greek quotations were done by a tipsy, broken- 
 down scholar, whom he had known in his adversity ; but the thing 
 took, and made him a great reputation. He had written a hundred 
 finer things, with the bailiff's at his son's door, against time : but 
 he was rich now, and so his article was successful — so successful 
 that the other great review had an article on iEschines, in which 
 they proved that Reginald, with all his vast scholarship, was a 
 fool. Reginald's publishers asked him to reply in a pamphlet, 
 but he said what was the exact truth, " that he had only crammed 
 the thing up, and had now forgotten all about it. On looking at 
 it for the second time, he thought that it was great nonsense, and 
 that the other man evidently knew more about the subject than he 
 did." 
 
 The other party got up, from an eminent hand, a great article 
 on the Draconic laws. This Reginald picked to pieces most 
 thoroughly and ably, but with a ferocity and power of personal 
 abuse with which no one had ever credited him. Asked for an 
 explanation by Goodge, he merely said that he wanted to see if he 
 could make a literary blackguard of himself, and that he had 
 succeeded beyond his hopes. 
 
 A few years went on, and there was no change. Reginald was 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 117 
 
 nearly all day at his office, and half the night at his stand-up 
 desk in his room. To this desk, every night, used to come 
 Mary, and discuss the botherations of the day with him. They 
 were both discontented, and would have been glad enough to get 
 away and be free. Neither of them, however, dared to mention 
 the matter. Had it not been for their private confidences they 
 would both have run away and set up for themselves. The 
 greatest statesmen and historians seem to agree that the best way 
 to promote revolution is to deny private discussion. As in the 
 State, so in the household ; how many estimable women, who 
 have gained the position of being " mistresses in their own 
 house," dream they are walking every day on the edge of a 
 volcano ? that when a woman can say, " My word is law," she 
 forgets that the end of Caesarism is revolution on the first 
 opportunity. 
 
 Aunt Hester was at first saved from sheer revolution by no 
 merit of her own. Her anger against Reginald and Mary was 
 great, because she knew that they " collogued," and that she was 
 not in their confidence. It was because she could not prevent 
 their colloguing that they did not rebel. 
 
 For five years or more this devoted woman tried to tame these 
 two rather radical souls into her own way of thinking. The 
 child, on whom she had set her brave old heart, was growing up, 
 and she could see that the child did not love her as he did the 
 two others. It was a bitter grief to her at first, and she was 
 angry, because no human being could possibly deny that Reginald 
 and Mary were under great obligations to her. She was, how- 
 ever, a woman among a thousand, and she thought it out for 
 herself. 
 
 She was a genius also. We have never denied her that great 
 quality. However her novels may have been ridiculed by 
 Reginald, she was always spoken of with some respect by him ; 
 and she could think, and act after she had thought. 
 
 "What," she began thinking, " was her best novel, according 
 to the best critics, and the men who were far above all critics — 
 the men of the world ? Why, Camilla ! What did Camilla do ! 
 She tried to form a man, in most respects her superior, on her 
 own model, and to bring him and his senses into subjection to her 
 own petty ways of life. Was she not doing the same thing with 
 Reginald and Mary ? Yes. Did Camilla fail ? No ; she yielded, 
 and so at the last moment saved failure. She would do the same. 
 It was hard at her age to yield, and to yield to those who were 
 certainly under obligations to her, but she would swallow her 
 pride. She could no longer bear the bitterness of seeing that the 
 
118 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 child looked on her as a bugbear, and that the constant and 
 continuous kindness of Reginald and Mary was an effort, always 
 studiously concealed, but still obvious to her sharp sense. She 
 would have probably thirty years more in this world, and, God 
 help her ! she had not made an intimate friend, even of the gentle 
 Reginald." 
 
 We have said before that there had been no rebellion. Natures 
 unfixed, and possibly shifty in their honourable cowardice, like 
 those of Reginald and Mary, must be pushed very hard before 
 they rebel openly. They could ease their minds, one to another, 
 and be theoretically seditious (the government which stops theo- 
 retical sedition is idiotic), but they never reduced their sedition to 
 practice. Had they done so, theirs would have been an easy but 
 ignoble victory. The perverse old woman's heart was always 
 warm to them, and she would have yielded at once : she yielded 
 in the end without violence. 
 
 Reginald and Mary never attributed her yielding to the right 
 cause until they knew her better. They always thought that their 
 tacit and confidential opposition to her and her ways was unnoticed 
 by her. She had yielded long before they had dreamt of it. She 
 would have spoken to them and taken them into her confidence 
 long before the opportunity came. Circumstances created an 
 opportunity, however, and she seized on it. 
 
 Reginald was at his desk one night, and Mary was sitting in 
 her dressing-gown on a stool at his feet. They had been 
 " colloguing " about Aunt Hester, when she came suddenly in. 
 If they thought that she did not see their guilty start, they 
 were mistaken. They both cried out at once in unfeigned 
 astonishment — 
 " Aunt Hester ! " 
 
 She sank into a chair, and burst into tears. It was such an 
 unusual thing for her that they were both alarmed. Reginald 
 said — 
 
 " Good heavens, Hester ! what is the matter ? " 
 " My heart is broken," she said. 
 
 Reginald had heard of that accident happening to her on 
 several previous occasions, consequently he was not greatly 
 alarmed. Mary, however, was rather terrified, for she had been 
 passing observations on Aunt Hester, immediately before, which 
 were not wholly complimentary, and so she felt guilty. Reginald 
 coolly said — 
 
 " I suppose it is James again, Hester ? " 
 
 "It is all over," said Aunt Hester. " Knowing as little as we 
 do about the origin of things, one is rather disposed to ask with 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 119 
 
 some impatience, who invented boys ? They are an inconceivable 
 mistake. / never knew any good come of them." 
 
 II We were all boys once, Hester," said Reginald. 
 
 " I can lay my head on my pillow and swear that I never was," 
 said Aunt Hester. 
 
 II I am not speaking of you. I merely said that I was a boy 
 once." 
 
 "And a nice mess you made of it," said Aunt Hester. "If 
 you could have waited two days to be born, my poor saint James 
 would never have been thrown into all these temptations, and wo 
 should all have been happy." 
 
 Reginald did not see his way to this logic, and merely asked — 
 
 " What has he been doing now '? " 
 
 " Forging my name, Reginald. What am I to do now ? " 
 
 " Pay the money, I suppose. Is this the first time ? " 
 
 " Why, there you have me, Reginald. It is not, I have been 
 very weak about it, and have managed to put matters square. 
 But this time I cannot. The people who hold his bill have 
 written to me to say that they have discovered it to be a forgery ; 
 that he is in league with George Simpson, and that the payment 
 of the money will not avail, for that I have lent myself to his 
 swindles two or three times before, by taking up paper which I 
 knew I had not signed. They want me to prosecute James, and 
 say that I am lending myself to his disreputable courses. Reginald 
 and Mary, we have not been so happy together as we might have 
 been ; that is all past, and it was my fault. Try to love me, you 
 two, and above all things give me your advice." 
 
 Mary's arm was round her waist and her head was on her 
 breast in a moment. 
 
 " Father Reginald," she said, " shall advise you." 
 
 Reginald was walking up and down the room in thought. It 
 was a few minutes before he spoke. 
 
 " Hester," he said at last, " I have been deeply wrong. I 
 have not done my duty by you. You have been a kind and 
 tender friend to me and this lass here, but your ways have not 
 fitted ours, and we have been too unyielding. You have asked 
 our confidence and our love : the latter you have always had. 
 Now you shall have the former for ever. Advice — well. Come 
 and kiss me, Hester." 
 
 With two little sobs she did so. 
 
 "Reginald," she said, "I am an old woman, and am very 
 penitent." 
 
 " Y T ou an old woman?" said Reginald. "Humbug! Peni- 
 tent ? What the deuce have you got to be penitent about ? We 
 
120 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 must see to this matter though. When will Goodge be in 
 town?" 
 
 " Next week." 
 
 " Bother ! Now we are all so happy together I should have 
 liked a conversation about the education of our boy. But about 
 this matter, I must consult some one else. I should fancy that 
 you could get off this time by paying the money, but I don't 
 know. Now that we are in such happy confidence, Hester, I 
 would walk barefoot to save you one hour's annoyance. To think 
 that I have been such a brute to you, Hester " 
 
 " Yes, Reginald, I am so newly happy because this last mis- 
 fortune has brought us three together, that I am confused in my 
 thoughts. Guide me." 
 
 " Guide you, you silly woman? Why I am just going to ask 
 you to guide me. Goodge is away, and we must have a friend in 
 council. I know no one except members of the family, who had 
 better know nothing about the matter. Have you a friend you 
 can trust ? Nay, don't blush, because I know you have. You 
 have a friend of whom I know nothing — Arthur." 
 
 " Well, leave Arthur alone. He has been particularly anxious 
 not to be known to you. He has never met you, and that is his 
 business. Would you mind going to General Anders to-morrow 
 morning for me ? " 
 
 " In the first place, I don't think he is at all your man, and in 
 the second he is Governor of Sierra Leone." 
 
 " Might there not be two General Anders ? " said Aunt Hester. ' 
 
 It flashed across Reginald that there were two, and that this 
 might be the one he had been forbidden to inquire after years 
 before. 
 
 " Of course there might be two," he said. " My General 
 Anders is at Sierra Leone ; where is yours ? ' ' 
 
 " At No. 1, Bolton Row," said Aunt Hester. 
 
 11 Well, I will go," said Reginald. " It is rather an awkward 
 matter to approach a total stranger with." And he added, 
 internally, " The murderous young scoundrel, that I should take 
 pains for him ! What would she say if she knew that he had 
 tried to poison me ? " 
 
 " Well, you go," said Aunt Hester, " and he will see every- 
 thing right for us, if mortal man can accomplish it. I have laid 
 a trap for you and for him, Reginald. Good men should know 
 one another." 
 
 "At No. 1, Bolton Row!" thought Reginald. "How very 
 strange ! " 
 
 For Reginald knew that it was the house of the old merchant 
 
REGINALD HE THERE GE. 121 
 
 Digby — the house at which all the original mischief was con- 
 cocted. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIY. 
 
 THE MYSTERY ABOUT COX AND GREENWOOD IS SOLVED. 
 
 Reginald, leaving word at his office that he would not be there 
 before one, walked across the Green Park to Bolton Row, and 
 asked for General Anders. He was informed by a very smart 
 footman that General Anders was not down, but that the Duchess 
 de St. Privat was. Should he take up his name ? 
 
 Reginald sent up his card, and was shown into the dining- 
 room. Who on earth was the Duchess de St. Privat, and what 
 was she doing in the old house of Digby, the merchant — the house 
 which ought to be his grandson's some day, surely ? 
 
 He looked round with eager curiosity. Certainly it was a very 
 splendid room — old, slightly gloomy, but immensely rich. At 
 one end of the room was a triptych by Memling of the resurrec- 
 tion ; which a document underneath, after giving the description 
 of the picture, said was acquired by the late Thomas Digby from 
 the Due de Penthievrue in exchange for a Gainsborough. It 
 might be worth, he thought, as a tolerable judge, about six 
 thousand pounds. He had no time to appraise anything further, 
 for he was requested to walk upstairs to the presence of the 
 Duchess. Reginald, on whom a Duchess would produce about 
 the same effect as a chimney-sweep, walked up into her presence. 
 
 The drawing-room beat the dining-room in beauty and richness, 
 but everything was very old, and no vandalisms had been com- 
 mitted by the beautiful hand which was held out to him, or had 
 been conceived in the grand head which bowed to him. 
 
 He thought her very beautiful, for her age, and wondered very 
 much how she seemed to be so much at home among the dead 
 merchant's furniture. It was evidently, from its date, the furni- 
 ture. It had been given away by the old man, he remembered, 
 to obscure people ; and here was a Parisianly dressed Duchess, 
 in very deep mourning, apparently in full possession of it ! 
 
 11 1 am delighted to see you, Mr. Hetherege," said the Duchess. 
 " The General is down very late to-day, but he did not expect you 
 so soon. I know that he had a letter warning him of your visit 
 this morning. I will go and see after him/' 
 
122 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Reginald Lowed and said something, bnt was absent. This 
 was the room where the old man must have seen his relatives for 
 the last time, fifty odd years ago, almost on the day when he, 
 Reginald, was born. What was he like ? and what was his 
 grandfather ; and what were Talbot, Simpson, and Murdoch like ? 
 They would have sat round the hearthrug ; yes, and the old man 
 would have sat in that corner by the fire. The whole scene came 
 before him, even the pig-tails, silk stockings, and breeches of 
 the men. He was getting perfectly certain that Murdoch, for 
 instance, was dressed in a mulberry-coloured coat, had sausage 
 knees, and was generally a humbug, when he was startled by a 
 hand upon his shoulder, and a charming voice behind him, which 
 said — " Well, cousin, how are you? " 
 
 He started, and turned, lacing a very beautiful woman leading 
 an equally beautiful little girl about five years old. He could 
 only ejaculate — 
 
 11 Cousin ! You have the advantage of me." 
 
 11 Have I now, Reginald ? Well, you do wisely to forget our 
 old love-making, for I am married now, and steadier ; yet what 
 tender kisses we used to interchange, dear me ! I loved you 
 more passionately than I ever loved a man before. I used to 
 watch for your footsteps, and weep bitterly when you did not 
 come. Now you have forgotten me." 
 
 " Why," said Reginald, radiantly, "it is never my old sweet- 
 heart ? " 
 
 " Oh dear no, Cousin Reginald, it is not Helen Murdoch, the 
 little orphan whom you were so kind to — oh dear no ! Come 
 give me a kiss for old times — ha ! Do you remember how you 
 used to take me from school, and how solemn the Duchess used 
 to be with you? " 
 
 "What Duchess?" 
 
 "The Duchess of St. Privat, who has just left the room. Do 
 you mean to say that you did not recognise Miss Mortimer ? She 
 has adopted me." 
 
 " I understood that you were adopted by the Prince of Almond- 
 water, or some such person." 
 
 - We were the Prince of Aniandvilliers, but our papa is dead, 
 and we are the Due de St. Privat. We have got about 150,000 
 francs a year, and we are in Lorraine burying our papa and 
 taking possession. For myself, Cousin Reginald, I am married 
 to a sailor — one of the best men in the world." 
 
 " How strange that we should meet here ! " said Reginald. 
 " Tell me, while we are alone together, my old friend, who is 
 General Anders. Docs he live here ? " 
 
KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 123 
 
 11 Yes, when be is in England he always lives with the Duke 
 and Duchess. They were enemies in war, and actually fought 
 hand to hand ; but in some bloody battle our General saved his 
 life, and they are more than brothers." 
 
 " What is General Anders like ? " 
 
 "Hush! here he is." 
 
 There was a presence in the room which Reginald felt almost 
 before he saw the man himself. He had come in very silently, 
 and was standing before Reginald as he turned, looking very 
 curiously at him. 
 
 He must have been nearly sixty, though his lean, shaven 
 cheeks showed no wrinkle of age — his greyish, curled moustache 
 only told of that. The face was squarely built, and the features 
 were singularly good. What his mouth was like it was impossible 
 to say, seeing that no one, himself included, had ever seen it 
 since he was nineteen, but as one might judge from the shape 
 of the moustache, it was accustomed to a slight smile, which 
 elevated the corners of the upper lip. In physique he was upright 
 and imposing, and his well-cut clothes showed off his figure as 
 well as any clothes could in that hideous period of transition. He 
 was a shapely, magnificent-looking man ; but one thing attracted 
 you more than his carriage — his eyes, large, grey and with very 
 little mobility, were the part of his face which struck you most. 
 To describe them is impossible ; to write down their expression 
 is not only possible, but easy — they expressed a gentle and kindly 
 curiosity. There was a something more lurking in the face some- 
 where — possibly about the eyebrows. Was it an expression, or 
 the latent power of an expression ? and of what ? Not of painful 
 horror? Surely not. Yet 
 
 " I have very great pleasure in meeting you, Mr. Hetherege," 
 he said, " though I wish that it was on a more agreeable 
 business. Now, my dear Mrs. Hickson, I want Mr. Hetherege 
 all to myself." 
 
 " It seems to me that you want most things to yourself," said 
 the child Emily, speaking for the first time. " The instant that 
 an agreeable person enters this house I am always sent out of the 
 room. If there is one thing I like more than another it is society, 
 and I never get any but that of a parcel of children." 
 
 " Come again as soon as you can, Reginald," said Mrs. 
 Hickson, laughing. " Kiss Cousin Reginald, Emily. He was 
 kind to me when very few were ; but for the matter of that, 
 he was always kind to every one." 
 
 The beautiful little girl was held up to kiss him, and con- 
 descended to do so, evidently to her mother's relief. And the 
 
124 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 mother whispered in his ear, "Spare my brother;" then they 
 were gone, and he was alone with General Anders. 
 
 Neither spoke for a short time, they were looking at one 
 another. 
 
 " We have never met before," said the General at last. 
 
 "No; but I think that I am not wrong in saying that I am 
 under deep obligations to you." 
 
 "That was the payment of an old debt; I am deeply to 
 blame that I did not continue my advances, most deeply. But 
 the fact is, that I feared they were doing no good to your son, 
 and that any help I gave you was frittered away on his selfish 
 extravagance. Forgive me if I speak rudely ; I only speak the 
 truth to clear myself, in your eyes, for what must appear to you 
 selfish harshness." 
 
 " It never appeared to me as anything of the kind. With my 
 son I sowed folly, and I reaped it. But he was the dearest 
 friend I ever had, and the best of men. With my grandson 
 I intend to do differently, so I suppose that he will hate me. 
 I only give you my hearty thanks for what you did. Now, you 
 have used a phrase which you have used before, through Cox and 
 Greenwood ; you talk about some old debt. What was it, and 
 when was it incurred?" 
 
 " It was incurred by your grandfather, long ago." 
 
 " I cannot understand it," said Reginald. 
 
 " Walk into the next room with me," said the General. " Now, 
 look at this picture." 
 
 It was a picture to look at fifty times : it was by Gainsborough. 
 An old man, seated at the other side of a table, stared you in the 
 face, so that you felt a slight nervous movement in the muscles 
 at the back of your neck and head, as you do when you are 
 attacked, either verbally or physically, by another man — the 
 feeling of defiance and anger, which causes the cobra to swell 
 his neck and raise his head before striking. He was sitting, as 
 we said, on the other side of a table, he had his arms folded 
 closely, and on the table before him there was money. The hair 
 was grey and close cropped, and the complexion was of a burning 
 brickdust, but not unhealthy. The eyebrows were whiter than 
 the hair, and beneath them were a pair of scowling eyes, rather 
 close together, but large and intelligent. The face was round 
 and smooth, without fat, and would have made that of a handsome 
 hatcher's boy, even when the hair was grey. The mouth was the 
 terrible feature in it — broad, not sensuous, but with a pouting, 
 well-cut under-lip, which told of sardonic defiance, not of secret 
 lust, A picture, which, by the immense and almost unconscious 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 125 
 
 skill of the artist, gave you the face of the man himself : that of 
 one set in furious hatred against the world. 
 
 " Do you know who that is ? " said the General. 
 
 " A man who has suffered great wrong, or who has inflicted 
 it," said Reginald, " and who is defying the world. I would tame 
 that fellow, General," he continued with animation ; "I'd tame 
 that fellow with kindness." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 ' ' Why ? You have not studied so many fine portraits as 1 
 have. Those eyes are capable of tears, my soldier, and those 
 bitter set lips have kissed a child." 
 
 " God knows they have," said the General, quietly, " for they 
 have often kissed mine." 
 
 Reginald turned to him. He was only stroking his grey mous- 
 tache and looking at the picture. 
 
 " Who is the man, General ? " 
 
 "My father." 
 
 " I beg your pardon for anything I have said," replied 
 Reginald. " He was " 
 
 " Digby, the merchant." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " 
 
 " Yes, and the Duchess is my half- sister. Come into the 
 other room now. The affair of James Murdoch can be settled 
 at once if Aunt Hester pays the money by instalments to me. 
 Now, come and sit down, and I will give you a true account 
 of myself. Trouble yourself no more about James Murdoch 
 in any way. Tell Hester that I have got the paper in my 
 capacity as Director of the Behrat Mining Company, and that 
 I am answerable." 
 
 " Good," said Reginald. " I did not know that you went 
 in for finance." 
 
 " Yes, very heavily. I have my father's blood in my veins, 
 and I have nothing to do now." 
 
 " Would you repeat what you said in the next room," said 
 Reginald, " for I am completely stunned ? " 
 
 " Well, I am the son of old Digby, the merchant. Do you 
 remember your grandfather ? ' ' 
 
 " Well." 
 
 "Did he ever describe the scene which took place in this room 
 before his death ? ' ' 
 
 "Often." 
 
 " Did he ever tell you of a boy who came in and sat on his 
 knee." 
 
 "Yes, often." 
 
126 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " I am that boy. Your grandfather offered ine his assistance 
 when he thought I should want it, and I never forgot it. I have 
 only paid part of my debt to you; I hope the time may come 
 when I shall pay the rest in some form." 
 
 " May it long he distant ! " said Reginald. 
 
 " I am in some sort saving you indirectly from annoyance 
 now," said General Anders; "for I need not tell you that I 
 am paying this money for that arch-rascal, James Murdoch." 
 
 "I know it." 
 
 "He dare not appear in England again with this forgery 
 hanging over his head. We are well quit of him — he is off 
 to America, where he must perforce stay." 
 
 1 ' Is he in poverty ? ' ' 
 
 "No; make your mind easy on that score. I believe that 
 he is thriving. Hester, of course, would not prosecute him; and 
 if she did, he would only be out of our way for a few years. As 
 it is, he is out of our way for ever, without any public scandal." 
 
 " But we none of us ever knew anything about you," said 
 Reginald. " You dropped out of all human knowledge." 
 
 " It was my wish to do so. I was left to the care of that 
 old couple, the Dickers ; I had known no other friend except my 
 father, and they had no child save me. I took the name which 
 they gave me ; they fulfilled their trust as regards me, and I 
 repaid them with affection and diligence. I got into the Artillery 
 without much difficulty, and having no interest, I made it by my 
 own hand. I never wanted money ; I never wanted employment ; 
 I made friends for myself, and made myself necessary to them ; 
 I married well, as far as money is concerned, and I am rich. 
 Three people only know who I am — Hester, Goodge, and yourself 
 — unless I except my sister Isabel. I have the most particular 
 reasons for begging you to keep my counsel." 
 
 " There will be no difficulty about it, my dear General. Do 
 you know anything about a very old friend of mine, another 
 General Anders ? " 
 
 " Yes. Curiously enough, I am connected with him in busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " I mistook him for you once." 
 
 " Curious. He is not a man very likely to have been senti- 
 mental in a case like yours. He is a sharp man of business, 
 but, like the rest of us, has the chance of dying rich." 
 " I am very glad to hear it. He used to be very poor." 
 " Yes; but 1 throw, for him, a great deal in his way. He is 
 rather too shrewd, and not bold enough. Yet I should say that, 
 even with what I have put in his way, he will die worth his 
 
KEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 127 
 
 hundred thousand pounds or so ; I should say not loss, possibly 
 more. It stands to reason that he will, in his five years' 
 governorship, find out all we want to know, and sell his in- 
 formation. Whether we shall throw very much money in that 
 direction or not I can't say ; I am for putting half a million in 
 those quarters, hut others say no. Still, Anders is safe for the 
 sum I have named." 
 
 "Then you " 
 
 " Well, it is hard to say what I do not do," said the General. 
 " I have made more than half a million in a few years ; I have 
 nothing else to do. It is very easy. My father did not give me 
 much money, and left me none. But he left me the history 
 of his life, which is worth four or five millions to any man out 
 of Bedlam. If you ever are fool enough to want to make your 
 fortune, I shall be most happy to do it for you. I don't want 
 money, but ' il faat s'amuser,'' and I make it. Well, good-bye, 
 now ; I must away to the Commander-in-Chief. Let us see much 
 of one another. Army matters and money are not eveyJiing, 
 and I know not so very many pleasant faces in the world as to 
 refuse to make another familiar to me." 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 REGINALD AND THE GENERAL TAKE TO FLYING KITES. 
 
 Did you ever have occasion to be called away from your favourite 
 garden in April, and come back to it in the middle of June ? 
 The difference is so great that it is scarcely recognisable. 
 
 " Crescit occulto velut arbor a3Vo." 
 
 The lily which you left a few green leaves is a tall spike 
 of incomparable flowers ; the standard rose, which was no more 
 lovely than a broom with its handle in the ground, is now a mass 
 of beauty and fragrance ; and the earth, which was all bare mould, 
 now is covered and hidden with objects so rare and lovely, that 
 all the jewels of the world cannot compare with them. A miracle 
 in short has been performed in your absence, and it is your 
 absence only which makes it startling. Had you been there and 
 watched the development going on under your eyes, the miracle 
 
128 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 would have happened all the same, and yet you would scarcely 
 have wondered. 
 
 The garden, of which Reginald is our favourite flower, 
 llourished out in such an astonishing manner the next seven 
 years, that if we did what we could perfectly well do without 
 injuring this narrative — that is to say, skip those seven years 
 altogether, and go on at the end of them — you would find things 
 so changed that you would accuse us of improbability. Changed 
 we say? Why, no; probably "developed" would he a better 
 word, because the flowers, all which we are to see in full bloom 
 directly, were good strong plants when we left them just now. 
 Nevertheless, you would scarcely know at least one of them, and 
 so a few Avords must be said in explanation of the altered circum- 
 stances among which we shall find our friends. 
 
 Reginald's theoretical talent for finance has been previously 
 more than once mentioned ; it has been also mentioned that on 
 more than one occasion he had determined to confine himself 
 strictly to theory, and he would probably have kept to that reso- 
 lution altogether, had it not been for the close intimacy and 
 friendship which now arose between himself and General Anders, 
 and which continued unabated through everything which followed. 
 
 Knowing, as we now do, who the General was, it is easy t.o see 
 in his speculative career a mere case of transmitted hereditary 
 genius. Many, very many, military officers take to — we will not 
 say speculation, but to operations with money, after their occu- 
 pation is gone, from sheer want of some daily business ; and they 
 show, as a general rule, neither more nor less ability than any 
 one else. Now, there is no doubt that the best men oi business 
 who were thrown against General Anders perceived at once that 
 the brilliant and successful soldier was a still more brilliant and 
 successful operator in the money market. Had they known who 
 lie was, they would, doubtless, not have wondered at his abilities, 
 but only would have been surprised at such a gentle creature 
 being the son of such a hard, griping old termagant as Digby. 
 In fact, General Anders had only inherited two qualities from 
 that gentleman — powers of calculation and secrctiveness. He 
 very soon, in short, became one of the best known and "luckiest" 
 men of his day. 
 
 It was impossible for Reginald to be in continual communi- 
 cation and close consultation with General Anders without, 
 practically, being drawn into his operations. When he actually 
 began for himself, when the first egg was laid which was to 
 produce the peacock, when the grain of mustard seed was 
 sown which was to grow into such a great tree, we know not. 
 
Reginald hetheregU. 120 
 
 Whether he began with a loan from General Anders, or whether 
 he, like so many other wealthy men, began with nothing at all, or 
 whether, like Sir Richard Whittington, he began with a cat, it is 
 impossible to say. The probability is that he raised some money 
 on his life ; but speculation is idle, for he never told any one. 
 
 Leaving the realms of speculation, we come to those of fact. 
 His wealth increased as fast as that of the lucky farmer who got 
 his landlord to give him one grain of wheat next market day, 
 and double it every day for two years ; in four years he was 
 worth a tolerable sum of money, in six years he had doubled it, 
 in seven years he was an extremely wealthy man. His rise was 
 nearly as great in proportion as that of the mighty linen-draper 
 of York, which took place nearly at the same time, though 
 neither the General nor Reginald confined themselves ex- 
 clusively to railways. The General, in fact, by far the largest 
 capitalist, put considerable sums of money into other things 
 when, during the railway mania, they were at their lowest ; 
 and then sold out at a great advance afterwards ; at which 
 time it was a great convenience to him. 
 
 Reginald's house in Berkeley Square was not his own : he had 
 hired its furniture, pictures, and everything from the Duke of 
 Murcia's assignees. As that gentleman's affairs were so curiously 
 involved in different parts of the world, that the settlement of 
 them would probably occur about the time when the Digby will 
 was settled, Reginald considered that he was practically in per- 
 manent occupation, the more so as he was one of the great 
 Duke's creditors. He had, some time previous to this, turned 
 his back with mingled feelings of regret and relief on his old 
 office, which he had held so long, and where he had undergone 
 so much. The old hall-porter cried when he went away, and 
 refused to be comforted ; and when the doors swung behind 
 Reginald, they closed on him for the last time, for he never 
 had the heart to go near the place any more. When he went 
 away he forgot a favourite plant, and the messenger brought it 
 to him next day. "It is the first old friend I have forgotten in 
 my prosperity," said Reginald sadly, " and it shall be the last." 
 
 Always both the General and he had one rule from which they 
 never departed. They realised in land. No land was ever in 
 the market, but what either one or the other of them was after 
 it. Their operations in this way were very considerable, so 
 considerable that men high up in the city were surprised. With 
 their increasing system of intelligence they had little difficulty 
 in making very large percentages on their money in those days, 
 even before the electric telegraph. People, therefore, were rather 
 
 10 
 
130 REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 surprised that they should he content with two and a half, which 
 was the outside of what they got on land. They were, however, 
 considered to he safe men, all the safer for proving that they had 
 a stake in the country in the form of land. 
 
 There was no partnership hetween them individually, and yet 
 it was observed that they always, or nearly always, worked 
 together, and always with certain very safe old houses. In any 
 Indian contract you would find the names Talbot, Anders, and 
 Hetherege. Australia was at that early time requiring money 
 (and in pretty handsome sums too) from the mother country ; for 
 what is debt (according to some political economists) save a 
 proof of credit, and consequently of civilisation ? In all trans- 
 actions, Imperial or other, you found the names of Murdoch, 
 Hetherege, and Anders. America also required cash, and occa- 
 sionally Anders, Simpson, and Hetherege would send them some, 
 but always on cotton bonds, or some extremely trustworthy 
 security. The property which the Simpsons held in the United 
 Stales would have been entire security for the interest on the 
 National Debt, but General Anders and Reginald Hetherege were 
 such extremely cautious people, that they did not send much of 
 their money in that direction. The Simpsons were inclined to 
 be angry at this sometimes, for they had property, of course 
 inalienable, in negroes, which was security enough ; but the 
 General and Reginald were unfortunately Abolitionists, and 
 prejudiced. In Spain, in Mexico, in the South American 
 Republics, the names of Anders, Hetherege, Talbot, Murdoch, 
 and Simpson were unknown. The only mistake they committed 
 was in distrusting France. Reginald certainly went heavily in 
 for continental railways, but entirely alone. 
 
 We need not say that the "family" and he were perfectly 
 reconciled now. Ho had brought into the family the great 
 financier General Anders, who, with his originally vast wealth, 
 had put them in the way of doubling their fortunes. That 
 General Anders should become a millionaire was nothing, because 
 he really had rJl(X),000 to start with; but that he should make 
 a rich man of such an extremely slow person as Reginald, 
 showed him to be a financier indeed. Yet the family remem- 
 bered that, even at the time when Reginald was living with his 
 son, when his son was glad to gain money by taking pupils into 
 his house -when there were executions in that house, and there 
 Mas not a bed to lie on— at that same time Reginald was writing 
 those masterly financial articles which had helped to reinstate 
 him in his place. General Anders had discovered the great 
 financial genius of Reginald, and had utilised it. What was 
 
' EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 131 
 
 more natural ? General Anders had the money — Reginald had 
 the genius. They rallied round them with their money, and sent 
 out sprats to catch whales. The best of it was, that they caught 
 their whales, and spent part of the money in a style of living in 
 which they, though with a good idea of comfort, had never 
 indulged before. 
 
 From the flimsy and absurd speculations which went on in 
 those days both General Anders and Reginald kept aloof. Our 
 readers will remember many of them — the flying machine, and so 
 on. At one time they classed the electric telegraph with the 
 flying machine, and rather laughed at it. They, however, went 
 into railways with most of the money left after investment in 
 land, and they believed in railways so heartily, that it was diffi- 
 cult to make a railway for any long distance without bringing it 
 through some of their land, and having to pay for it. Conse- 
 quently it follows that land may, in the times which the late Mr. 
 Mills calls "critical," be made to pay more than two and a half 
 per cent, if it gets into the hands of financiers. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 A NEW GLIMPSE OF REGINALD BY TWO OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 Two men were waiting in a crowd in front of the Houses of 
 Parliament, and were touching one another. One was an old 
 man, in the dress of an ecclesiastic of some kind ; the other was 
 obviously an English priest of some rather strict sect. The elder 
 man was a little feeble, and when the crowd swayed seemed 
 nervous. 
 
 The younger clergyman got hold of the elder one's arm, and 
 said, " Hold on by me, sir ; I am younger than you are." 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said the other. "I am so little used to 
 London that I get nervous about it as I get older. I live in the 
 country, and among books, while you " 
 
 " I am a London clergyman, and do not care for any crowd ; 
 hush, my dear sir, there is the news." 
 
 It came roaring towards them like a sea, and they had difficulty 
 in keeping their feet. A great man had resigned. 
 
 " I am glad of it," said the old man, pulling off his hat, and 
 showing to the experienced eye of his companion a priest's 
 tonsure. 
 
132 REGINALD HETHEKEGE 
 
 The cry was taken up by the dispersing crowd. The two 
 clergymen walked away together. 
 
 "I think we should know one another," said the Anglican, 
 "we have met before." 
 
 "I do not remember," said the Roman Catholic ; " and stay — 
 no, I do not remember." 
 
 "We arc both some years older," said the Anglican. "I 
 fought you for a soul once." 
 
 " Why, yes. Mr. Morlcy," said Monseigneur Morton. " My 
 dear sir, I am so glad to see you. What strange time for a 
 meeting ! Walk with me a little way. Well, and what became 
 of that poor boy ? Living among my books, I know nothing of 
 the world save through my newspaper." 
 
 " He did no good," said Mr. Morley ; "he took to popular 
 preaching, and preached well ; but in the end he died without any 
 convictions, I am afraid." 
 
 "Died ?" 
 
 " Yes ; he was drowned." 
 
 " And his father ? " 
 
 " His father is alive and well. I shall go and see him soon, 
 and beg of him for my poor. He went through very bitter poverty 
 in consequence of his son's misconduct, but he has had a large 
 accession of wealth. I lost sight of him for a long time. The 
 sight of me was painful to him, and his house was at one time so 
 very disreputable that he disliked any one to come near it. A 
 friend of mine, however — Mr. Goodge — tells me that he bore his 
 poverty very well, and I am curious to see how he bears his riches, 
 which I understand are great." 
 
 " I remember hearing about it," said Father Morton ; "he had 
 to come into half the National Debt under some lawsuit. So that 
 is settled ? " 
 
 " No ; it is as far from settlement as ever ; but he is very 
 rich, and very much sought after. I am told that he is going into 
 Parliament." 
 
 " Some one has left him a fortune, then ? " 
 
 " Why, not that, either. He has made some bank, or found 
 some mine, or something. I know nothing of such things. I 
 only know that he is very rich, and that I am not." 
 
 " Let us go and see him together," said the priest. "Let us 
 go now. Where does he live ? " 
 
 " In Berkeley Square. Come, it is not far." 
 
 And so the two good men walked, on across the Green Park, 
 and that Mas slightly out of their way ; but the priest wanted, 
 like a countryman, to look at the scaffolding round the arch, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 133 
 
 by means of which Waterloo was to be avenged by the present 
 statue. 
 
 Having allowed his country companion to stare at the timber- 
 work long enough, Mr. Morley passed on, and naturally came 
 into Bolton Row ; at No. 1 the door was open, and two or three 
 carriages were waiting. 
 
 " I should like to go in there," said the priest. " I know the 
 man who lives there — the Due de St. Privat ; he, like your friend, 
 has been making a great deal of money. See, who is this coming 
 out ? This is surely our man himself." 
 
 It was Reginald without doubt, not showing his age at all, 
 but placid, calm, handsome, and mild-looking as ever. The 
 footman attached to a splendid carriage held the door open for 
 him, but he said very quietly, " Thank you, James, I will walk 
 home." And the carriage drove away, leaving him standing in 
 the street. 
 
 They went up to him, and he knew them at once. He was 
 deeply affected. 
 
 " After so many years ! " he said, in a low tone, with their 
 hands in his. "You did all you could to save him — would God 
 he were here now ! Say nothing against him, for the greatest 
 light of my life went out when he died. I am rich enough now, 
 but I would live in poverty if I could have him back again. I 
 like to see any one who reminds me of him and of my long and 
 bitter humility. I pray God never to let me forget my lesson, 
 and to grant me strength to avoid pride. Come with me and let 
 us talk about old times." 
 
 In the narrow alley behind the Duke of Devonshire's, he walked 
 first to show them the way, and the priest whispered to the parson, 
 " Money will do him no harm." 
 
 " No," said the parson ; " I think that he will do." 
 
 When they were together again, Reginald said, " You come to 
 me singularly well to-day, for I am in anxiety. My boy is down 
 at Chatham, passing his examination, and we are all deeply 
 anxious about the result." 
 
 "Your boy?" 
 
 " Yes ; my grandson, Charles's son. He has had every care, 
 and he seems a fine fellow. I have educated him myself, with 
 the assistance of the best tutors ; he has only been away from me 
 for two years at the Naval College. I should like to tell you all 
 about him. Come in to lunch with me. Hark ! What is that 
 the man is crying ? " 
 
 " Have you not heard the news ? Lord has resigned." 
 
 " I thought he would have lasted another month ; but as it is ? 
 
134 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 I must be in the city at once. Can you dine with me at seven ? 
 You shall then hear all about my boy, and something about me. 
 Come early ; I must run before my horses are taken out. You 
 will come. Yes ; then good-bye until seven." 
 
 " This is something of an adventure," said Father Morton to 
 Mr. Morley. " Let us follow it up." 
 
 "By all means," said the parson. " I wish he would find 
 a mine for me. This dinner shall cost him a hundred pounds 
 for my poor." 
 
 " I wonder if he will see his way to my reredos," said Father 
 Morton laughing. 
 
 " No, I won't stand that," said Mr. Morley. " I won't have a 
 true churchman's money diverted for Popish practices." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THEODOEIDES. 
 
 Our two old friends were early, and found no one arrived ; so they 
 were received by a very beautiful young lady, of about eleven years 
 in age, and thirty in self-possession. She was perfectly cool, and 
 filled them with astonishment and admiration. 
 
 " Mr. Hetherege is dressing," she said, and added with engag- 
 ing frankness, " and a terrible time he always takes about it. 
 Landsmen generally do stay finicking about themselves like that. 
 I've seen pa tumble up at the second bell, and be in to prayers in 
 five minutes, as fine as the rest of them. He is not in yet, but he 
 won't be last, I engage." 
 
 11 Your father is a sailor, then ? " said the old priest. 
 
 "Yes— Captain Hickson. My name is Miss Hickson — Miss 
 Emily Hickson. I am an only daughter. Ma was a Miss 
 Murdoch ; she married pa from 'the Due de St. Privat's house. 
 The Due de St. Privat adopted ma, so I always call the Duke and 
 Duchess grandpa and grandma. They are very amiable, and give 
 me many presents— for example this etui, which is certainly 
 elegant." Here she rung the bell, and said to the servant who 
 answered the bell, " Tell cook that I am certain Mr. and Mrs. 
 Hetherege will wait dinner for no one." 
 
 " This is not my house, you know," she exclaimed ; " but it 
 is much the same thing. 'The St, Privats, the Hicksons, the 
 
KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 135 
 
 Hethereges, and Aunt Hester live so much together that we have 
 all things in common. The fact is that, pa being always at sea, 
 we actually have no house at all of our own, but live with the Duke 
 and Duchess at Bolton Row, in a very agreeable house. General 
 Anders also has apartments in our house. He is the most amiable 
 and generous of beings, single through a disappointment in love 
 early in life. Odd he has never married again ; if he were to ask 
 me, I would have him, I know that." 
 
 " And throw over the present young gentleman— for shame ! " 
 said the voice of General Anders behind her. 
 
 The young lady was not one whit abashed. " I am not going 
 to be teased about that boy," she said. 
 
 "No," said the General ; " but don't break with him, because 
 I am old, you know, and he might come in as second string to 
 your bow after I am dead." 
 
 They all laughed at this, and Reginald, coming in, found them 
 quite merry; he was quickly followed by his daughter-in-law 
 Mary. 
 
 A very sweet and lady-like woman, nearer forty than thirty, 
 very well dressed, and having a pleasant brisk voice. She gave 
 one the idea of having lived in a bandbox all her life, and only 
 coming out of it at rare intervals for the express gratification of 
 her friends. No one would dream, looking at her now, of what 
 she had gone through while the wife of the luckless Charles. To 
 Reginald himself she was like an unreal person at times. Never 
 in their worst trouble had she ever been untidy, though, like all 
 women who cannot afford new clothes, she may have been a little 
 shabby. To remember the old debts and duns, and the pupil 
 whom they took in, and young Barnett frying sausages, and then 
 to look at' that fine, matronly woman in pink satin and lace, and 
 her pretty hands, now all innocent of house work, covered with 
 rings, was a strange, almost incredible thing. 
 
 Aunt Hester, looking not a bit older, soon followed with her 
 constant friend and squire, Goodge, who was browner and greyer 
 than of yore, but as wiry as ever. To them succeeded the Duke 
 and Duchess, Isabel carrying her age remarkably well ; and the 
 party only awaited Captain Hickson, C.B., and his wife. 
 
 The wife came in last— the young lady whose remarkable ex- 
 periences of courtship we have seen. She had lost some of her 
 beauty, and certainly her complexion had not been improved by 
 yellow fever in Jamaica, nor by sitting up all night when her 
 husband was at sea, and it happened to blow in England—she 
 being under the impression, apparently common to sailors' wives 
 in all parts of the world, that when it blows in England it natur- 
 
136 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 ally blows hard over every square mile of sea which Britannia rules, 
 and on every acre of land in an empire on which the sun never 
 sets. From a fashionable young lady, she had become a diligent, 
 thrifty, affectionate sailor's wife. Her ideas of education were 
 peculiar, and consisted in letting her only child do exactly as she 
 liked, for fear the child should not be fond of her. The results 
 were to be seen in Miss Hickson, to whom the reader was intro- 
 duced in her early childhood, ages ago. She was many years 
 older than her mother now. 
 
 11 Do let me ring for dinner," said that young lady, almost 
 before the various people had exchanged greetings. "Pa may 
 not be here for an hour, and these gentlemen have been here this 
 half-hour." Without waiting for an answer she rung the bell, and 
 so committed Mrs. Hetherege to saying " dinner," the moment the 
 servant appeared. When it was announced she dashed downstairs, 
 and was discovered, when the guests arrived at the dining-room, 
 to be eating maccaroons, as a preparation for a grand dinner of nine 
 plats, of all of which she partook freely. 
 
 The two clergymen, both of them well used to good society, 
 were rather surprised that a gentleman like Reginald should display 
 so much ostentation. There were too many things, and too much 
 of them ; it seemed bad ton to the priest particularly, until he 
 noticed that there were two covers vacant, one of which was 
 removed after the soup. 
 
 "Now," said Reginald, laughing, "we are all old friends 
 together, for he is not coining. Father Morton and Mr. Morley, 
 I apologise for giving you such a grand dinner, but I expected a 
 Greek merchant, and he would have thought very little of me if I 
 hud not had a dinner for a king." 
 
 " My husband will miss his share of the feast, I fear," said 
 Mrs. Hickson. " He was to have been to the Admiralty, but ho 
 must have had to go somewhere else." 
 
 " I have got an idea," said Aunt Hester. " I think this means 
 something good." 
 
 " About my boy ? " said Mrs. Hetherege. 
 
 "You are always thinking of your boy," said Reginald. 
 "Hester, what do you mean?" 
 
 " I think it may mean an errand to sea." 
 
 " For one or both ? " said Reginald. 
 
 "For both." 
 
 Then the conversation became general, and Reginald explained 
 to his two new-found friends that there were hopes of Captain 
 Hickson getting another ship, but that they wore a little doubtful 
 at present. He desirecl continual active service, which was just 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 137 
 
 now difficult to get. The boy at Chatham, too, was a source of 
 anxiety, for the examinations got harder day by day. 
 
 At this moment the butler whispered to Mrs. Hickson, and she 
 went out of the room. She returned very quickly ; but her eyes 
 were red, and she trembled. 
 
 " Come, my love, tell us all," said Reginald. 
 
 " They are both here. Richard has got the Inconstant " 
 
 There was a general cheer. Goodge, the irrepressible, got on 
 a chair and cried, " Now about the boy." 
 
 11 Fourth on the list, and first prize for mathematics," said 
 Mrs. Hickson, weeping ; " goes with Richard to the Pacific." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " shouted Reginald, and he headed towards the 
 door, followed by all the good people save one. Father Morton 
 and Mr. Morley did not consider that they were sufficiently inti- 
 mate with the family to follow them, and kept their places. 
 
 The one member of the family coterie who did not follow the 
 rest of jubilant friends and relations was the little girl. Mr. 
 Morley had conceived that she was a very pert and objectionable 
 little girl, who required strong discipline. He thought so more 
 than ever now. She (that child) was the only one who in any way 
 preserved her equanimity amidst the general joy. She did not 
 seem to care twopence about the matter, and he watched her 
 beautiful still face as she sat in her chair, very pale at first, and 
 very careless. By degrees the face flushed, the eyes grew more 
 prominent and brilliant, and the bosom began to heave ; then 
 there was a movement very slight at the corners of the mouth, 
 accompanied with a lowering of the eyelids, and a knitting of the 
 brows, telling of emotion which would not long be suppressed, 
 and then the child buried her face in her hands and burst into 
 tears. 
 
 " That is a fine girl," whispered the Rector to Father Morton ; 
 " she feels more than any of them. Look at her pride. She does 
 not think that we are looking at her, or she would have broken her 
 heart sooner than do that." 
 
 "I am not so sure," said Father Morton. "I think you are 
 wrong;" and he went round to the girl and said in his quiet 
 way— 
 
 " My dear, tell an old man why you cry." 
 
 "I am so glad and proud." 
 
 " About your father getting his ship ? " 
 
 " Oh no " — laughing now — " I don't consider that she is good 
 enough for him. He ought to have a fleet. I am so glad and 
 proud about George doing so well. I have taken such pains with 
 that boy — I have had such sleepless nights about him — I have 
 
138 REGINALD HE THERE GE. 
 
 tried so bard to form his character, that I naturally am glad and 
 proud when I see him doing so well. You would he glad yourself, 
 you know. Go away, there is a dear old man, for they are coming 
 hack, and they will see that I have been crying." 
 
 " There is a great deal of stuff in that girl," said the priest to 
 the parson when he went back to him. 
 
 Meanwhile the others had come back, swarming around Captain 
 Hickson. They were all in their places again before it was 
 noticed that George and Aunt Hester were missing. Reginald 
 went in search of them, and, coming back, whispered to Emily. 
 That young lady said — 
 
 II He won't come unless I go and fetch him, the foolish boy." 
 She went, and they came in together, she leading him. It 
 
 was with intense interest naturally that Father Morton and Mr. 
 Morley looked at the son of the man who had been such a deep 
 source of anxiety to them years before. 
 
 He was a tail, strong lad, very manly looking, in appearance 
 more like sixteen than fourteen, which latter was his real age. 
 He had very keen, intelligent eyes, and, on the whole, a very 
 modest and pleasing expression. He was handsome, and rather 
 striking ; still, to the slight disappointment of those who saw him 
 for the first time, he had certainly none of his father's restless, 
 agreeable vivacity of look. Mr. Morley thought him a consider- 
 able improvement on his father, though, and was glad to see how 
 very like he was to his grandfather. 
 
 He was sitting between his grandfather and Mr. Morley, while 
 Miss Emily came and sat behind him. 
 
 "What will you have for your dinner, my boy?" said 
 Reginald. "There is whitebait — you always liked that." 
 
 II I am too happy to eat," said the boy quietly. 
 
 11 Fudge ! " said Emily ; " get him whitebait ; he won't get any 
 in the Pacific. Who on earth is that nasty man coming in, 
 bothering us just when we were all so happy together ? Count 
 Thcodorides," she repeated, as the name was announced by the 
 footman. " Bother the man ! it is the Greek merchant come, 
 after all. Get him his dinner, in goodness' name, and he will 
 keep George and pa in countenance. George, dear, make room 
 for me between you and Mr. Morley, and we three will love one 
 another very particularly, and talk nonsense. Yes, indeed, Mr. 
 Morley, we will. You saw me crying when I heard that boy had 
 got the prize, and I am going to show you that I don't care two- 
 pence for him. Look at the General and Mr. Hetherege, Grandpa 
 Duke and Grandma Duchess, all crowding round that brute of a 
 Greek, and being civil to him. He is one of the Jews, Turks, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 139 
 
 infidels, and heretics ; or, as the Sunday-school girl said, Judys, 
 Turkeys, fiddlers, and architects, for whom we pray — with very 
 small effect hitherto it seems to me. I can't hear any of the lot. 
 Look at Aunt Hester — do, I beg of you. She is of my opinion 
 evidently. She does not like that man ; I know her, old dear. 
 Her instinct about people is as true as magnetised steel to the 
 pole. Whenever you see Aunt Hester look like that there is a 
 scoundrel in the room. At this moment she might sit at Madame 
 Tussaud's, ticketed as ' Marie Therese, as she appeared on hearing 
 of the invasion of Silesia ; ' only Marie Therese was young enough 
 to be her daughter, and was not half as handsome." 
 
 This young lady was, with all her pertness, excessively smart, 
 and had remarked what no one else did in the confusion caused by 
 the entrance of the great Greek financier, nearly an hour late for 
 his dinner. It has been said once before in this chronicle, that 
 one of Aunt Hester's peculiarities was that of assuming a position 
 of exasperating silence. On this occasion there had not been a 
 merrier or more genial lady in the three kingdoms than Aunt 
 Hester. She was drinking her wine and chatting pleasantly, 
 almost noisily, with Mrs. Hetherege, Mrs. Hickson, the Captain, 
 and Goodge ; but when she had once set eyes on the great Greek 
 financier, she became rigidly dumb, and remained so all the even- 
 ing off and on, until her carriage was called. In the course of the 
 evening the great Greek financier was introduced to her. She 
 rose and gave him a sweeping curtsy, looking him straight in the 
 face. He did the same by her, with a pleasant smile, and she 
 looked very much puzzled. Still she remained silent and distraite. 
 Goodge went home with her, and, as he said a long time after- 
 wards, he remembered that she seemed as though she wanted to 
 tell him something, but was afraid. She also went next morning 
 privately to the city, and sold out some Greek mining shares she 
 had, with which M. Theodorides was connected ; but of this she 
 said not one word, not even to Goodge. Old people have singular 
 fancies sometimes. 
 
 As she took her candlestick on the night of Reginald's party, 
 she was very nearly speaking to Goodge. 
 
 " But he would say that I was mad," she said. " Well, I hope 
 I did not make myself disagreeable to them in the midst of their 
 happiness. I say, Goodge, my dear, that man Theodorides speaks 
 with a strong American accent." 
 
 " Yes," said Goodge, yawning ; "he has been an immense deal 
 in America. I don't believe he is a Greek at all — he looks a great 
 rascal." 
 
 " Did you ever see anv one like him ? " said Hester, 
 
140 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " Can't say I ever did, or ever want to," said Goodge. " Good- 
 night." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 GENERAL ANDERS EXHIBITS HIS CRAZE MORE STRONGLY. 
 
 "Why," asked the world, " was this boy, probably heir to almost 
 fabulous wealth, both from the lawsuit and from his inheritance 
 from his grandfather Reginald — why was he to have his hands in 
 the tar bucket ? He ought to be in the Guards ; he ought to he 
 a plunger ; he ought to go to Eton, and be nothing. Why, with 
 all trades to choose from, did they send such a valuable life to sea ? 
 They had far better have made him a blacksmith." 
 
 There were one or two reasons for the decision, one of which 
 was that from the earliest years they never could get the boy to 
 turn his mind to anything else. He always coolly assumed that 
 he was to be a sailor, like his early idol, Captain Hickson ; and 
 he also assumed (to himself privately) that he should marry 
 Emily Hickson, and that she would sit up windy nights thinking 
 about him when he was at sea. Reginald was the boy's natural 
 guardian, and no one would have dreamed of interfering with any 
 decision he and the boy's mother chose to make ; but really the 
 boy decided for himself in such a very pronounced way, took his 
 decision so much as a matter of course, that it was never disputed. 
 George was therefore brought up for the sea from his earliest 
 youth. 
 
 Reginald had possibly seen that public schools, while they 
 succeed in ninety cases out of a hundred, fail in ten. He had 
 no desire that the boy should go to Eton, of all places — his 
 memories of that place were too bitter ; yet, when it became 
 obvious that the boy, even as a preparation for the sea, must go 
 somewhere, he did not object to the Portsmouth school. Captain 
 Hickson told him that if the boy could not stand that he was 
 unfit to stand anything. So it came about that George was taken 
 from his mother's apron-strings, and seemed on the whole none 
 tlic worse for it, perhaps better. At all events, he left the school 
 with the highest character and with actual success, as we have 
 already seen. 
 
 So George departed with Captain Hickson to be made a real 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 141 
 
 sailor of. Emily Hickson immediately gave herself all the airs of 
 a sailor's wife, not only religiously, but in other ways. She gave 
 nearly all her pocket-money to the life-boat association, and with 
 the remainder she bought a barometer, which she carefully studied 
 for above a fortnight. At the end of that time she got a fright, 
 or said she did, in the middle of the night about the weather, and 
 came downstairs to the back room in the third storey, in her night- 
 gown, with a candle, to look at her barometer. It was much as 
 she had left it, and she was consoled. But her peering curiosity 
 led her to examine its external construction. It was an old- 
 fashioned barometer, with a pool of quicksilver in an ornamental 
 stoup at the bottom. She addressed the instrument sentimentally, 
 as the guardian of her loved one, which gave her notice of his 
 dangers. She then pulled out the tube to see how it did act. 
 The mercury at once shot over her, and down to her feet. She 
 gave a wild yell, and cried " Thieves " as loud as she could. The 
 house, or at least one member of it, was by her side with singular 
 rapidity. She had scarcely discovered that nothing was the 
 matter, when General Anders, in his shirt and trousers, was in 
 the room, with a light in one hand and a Colt's revolver in the 
 other. He uttered a noun substantive — since converted into, and 
 used as, an adjective by the Americans — simply as an interjection, 
 and then passed the candle rapidly round the walls. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess were in the room almost immediately, 
 in their dressing gowns. Emily thought that they would be 
 angry with her, and took her usual method of getting out of a 
 difficulty — that of telling the exact truth. 
 
 She did this with such perfect and entire frankness as regards 
 detail, that it is not necessary to follow her. To prove that she 
 was in no way departing from fact, she showed them her right 
 shoe, half full of mercury, and declared that she had caught her 
 death of cold. No one minded her, for the Duke and the General 
 were talking. 
 
 " What a farce this is, my friend ! " said the Duke. " All the 
 ghost castles in Lorraine are not so ridiculous as this house. 
 The child comes to see her plaything in the night ; she pours the 
 mercury on her bosom ; she screams. The bravest, wisest, most 
 shrewd old friend I have comes down like a lunatic, and we like 
 lunatics follow. Do put an end to this absurd mystery, old 
 friend." 
 
 " You do not know of what you speak," said General Anders ; 
 " nothing will prevent my taking my own course in the matter. 
 I am by no means the fool you take me to be ; at least, I will 
 have my own way in this business." 
 
142 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 He was singularly confused and unlike himself, and the Duke 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Would any one believe this of you?" he said; but before 
 there was time for reply, Emily said — 
 
 " If there is any mystery, pray let me know nothing of it. My 
 present opinion is that the present company have all made fools 
 of themselves, myself among the number. Suppose we go to bed." 
 
 They did so without more words ; but it was painfully evident 
 to the Duke and Duchess that the shrewdest financier of the day 
 was quite as crotchety as his eminent father, on one point at all 
 events, and that there was a latent vein of unreasoning obstinacy 
 in his character which developed more as time went on. 
 
 " Every man," said the Duke to his wife that night sentcntiously, 
 " has a bee in his bonnet. I have one, but it is generally quiet. 
 Anders has got a gigantic bee, and you never know when it will 
 buzz." 
 
 " Exactly," said Isabel, who seemed to understand her lord's 
 simile. " He is right on every other point; on this one he is 
 morally insane. It is a strange psychological study." 
 
 " It is a great nuisance ! " said the Duke. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 REGINALD GOES INTO PARLIAMENT. 
 
 The lightest student of history must have remarked that great 
 characters are occasionally urged on by their Daimon to do things 
 which live in immortal story, without apparently any adequate 
 reason. As examples wj should quote the expedition of the first 
 Napoleon to Moscow ; the attack of the second Napoleon on the 
 Prussians ; and the entirely gratuitous assumption on the part of 
 most of the recent rulers of France, that the nation generally does 
 not wish to see all and sundry of them at the bottom of the sea. We 
 strongly suspect that the Daimon's real name is Legion, and that 
 he is merely the representative of partial friends. A man is told 
 that he must do a thing, and so he does it, very often when he 
 would a thousand times sooner leave it alone. We suspect that a 
 twice-desolated France owes her position more to the flatterers 
 of her rulers than to any wickedness and folly of those rulers 
 personally. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 143 
 
 Not that we wish these remarks to apply to that portion of our 
 tale which we are ahout to tell, or at least only in part. It is 
 certain that Reginald did himself no harm hy the action he took, 
 but rather good. We only mean to say that he would never have 
 gone into Parliament had he not been urged by his friends ; and, 
 indeed, the fact that he did so is so unimportant, that we only 
 chronicle a part of his history, showing his painful feebleness of 
 will when collective persuasions were brought to bear upon him. 
 
 Business had been getting greater and greater, until it began 
 to be overwhelming. A great banking and bill-discounting house 
 was now almost entirely in the hands of Anders, Hetherege, Tal- 
 bot, Murdoch, and Simpson ; but no name appeared except that 
 of the original founders of the house, Lorton & Co., who had 
 realised, and left scarcely anything but their names behind them. 
 Not a single member of the great firm was in Parliament, except 
 two members of the old firm, who had long since really left it, 
 and Lord Snizort in the House of Lords, who had still a trifle of 
 interest in the concern. It was thought that some one of the 
 new men should be in Parliament to represent the new blood. 
 Reginald was pitched upon as the man, and he at once flatly 
 refused. 
 
 Then the Daimon, in the form of partial friends, began to act 
 on him. Aunt Hester began, the most consistent and powerful of 
 his friends. His reply to her was, that if one of the firm had to 
 go into Parliament, General Anders was the man. Aunt Hester 
 retired then, and said no more. By this action of Aunt Hester, 
 Reginald knew that he was a doomed man. A general gets ready 
 his artillery, his cavalry, his infantry, his mitrailleuses, his 
 pontoon trains, his commissariat, and war correspondents for the 
 daily newspaper press of the world. He shows a bold front to 
 the enemy, and the enemy retreats. He clashes forward with his 
 correspondents ready for a victory, and lo ! the enemy is not to 
 be found. However far forward he may push his cavalry outposts, 
 still no enemy ! Then dead, dull fear settles on his heart, for he 
 knows that he is outflanked. He then retreats to his base of 
 operations, and finds that the enemy is between safety and him- 
 self. When Aunt Hester retreated so calmly, he felt himself at 
 once in Parliament making a fool of himself. He was certain that 
 she would take him in the rear somehow, and on the principle that 
 a man's foes are they of his own household, he concluded that she 
 would not hesitate to use the dearest and tenderest feelings of his 
 heart against him. Still he meant to fight, for he perfectly well 
 knew that this move against him was only the precursor to 
 another ; and we shall see how right he was. He was getting 
 
144 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 old ; he had a great deal to do — for General Anders was some- 
 times very rash, and he required all his wits about him. He 
 thought, most sincerely, that it would do the new firm no good if 
 his head was removed from its councils. It would, he felt sure, 
 be infinitely better if another man was sent to Parliament, and he 
 was left to use all his genius and diligence in preserving some 
 homogeneity in the vast speculations. He meant to express his 
 opinion about the whole matter ; but he never expected to win 
 after Aunt Hester had fired her one shot, limbered up and gone 
 away full gallop. 
 
 He remained strictly on the defensive, however. The enemy 
 did not show at all. Except that there was a most transcendent 
 and unnatural civility exhibited towards him by the whole clique, 
 from Aunt Hester down to Miss Emily, he would have guessed 
 that he had won, and that the enemy was in cantonments, or 
 departed entirely. But their devotion to him was so ostentatiously 
 great, that he felt nothing was open to him but an honourable 
 surrender, after a protest. He had some curiosity, however, to 
 see in what manner they would make a victim of him. 
 
 He believed that he should not be attacked singly and in detail 
 by the enemy, but that they would appear in force. One evening, 
 at Bolton Row, he found them all assembled in the drawing-room, 
 such as had not come to dinner having arrived afterwards, and 
 gone upstairs. It was evident that the time was come. 
 
 "I am getting very old," said Aunt Hester, getting closer to 
 the fire. " I don't expect that I shall last much longer." 
 
 " We are all getting older," said the General. "I am more 
 than seventy." 
 
 " I am more than sixty," said Hester. 
 
 " I am of an unknown age," said the Duchess ; " but certainly 
 sixty." 
 
 " I am forty," said Mary. 
 
 " I do not choose to tell my age," said Mrs. Hickson. 
 
 "I am thirteen," said Emily. 
 
 " And I," said Reginald, " am sixty-six." 
 
 Then there was a pause. No one seemed to know what to say 
 next. 
 
 " It would be a good thing if you were to go into Parliament, 
 General," said Aunt Hester. "It would be the honourable end 
 to a useful life." 
 
 "You mean that Parliament would finish him at once," said 
 Reginald. " I quite agree with you there ; and so, as I can't do 
 without him, I would rather that he stayed out." 
 
 " I have no intention of doing anything of the kind," said the 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 145 
 
 General. "It is certainly necessary that one connected with the 
 firm should be in Parliament — that is a matter of paramount and 
 overwhelming importance ; and so I have written to young Simp- 
 son, asking him to stand for Tolliton, which will be vacant in a 
 few days. I have no fear but that he will do as he is asked." 
 
 " That is a very good idea of yours, General," said Aunt Hester. 
 11 The man is a fool about anything but his trade, and will, no 
 doubt, make a great mess of it. He understands absolutely 
 nothing but American business ; whereas we should have had a 
 man with a general view of all our affairs. Still w r e must have 
 what we can get." 
 
 " It will be rather ruinous for us, will it not," said Mary, " to 
 have a man like that, who absolutely cares for nothing whatever 
 in this world but himself? And the antecedents of his lost 
 brother can scarcely be forgotten. It is bad enough to be con- 
 nected with the brother of a forger, but to send him to represent 
 one iii Parliament is rather strong." 
 
 "If we cannot do anything else we must do that, I suppose," 
 said the Duchess, who had always great influence with her brother. 
 " It is a sad pity ; but I know that Arthur only thought about 
 it after a great deal of worry and trouble. I quite back Arthur 
 up, but bad is the best. I should have asked Arthur to go, but 
 he is too old, and has too much upon his shoulders." 
 
 Miss Emily said that when they had all said what they really 
 wanted to say, she would express her opinion. Meanwhile, 
 Reginald had been sitting at the writing-desk and busily writing, 
 pretending not to listen, though every one knew that he was 
 attending to every word. At last he rose with a paper in his 
 hands, and said — 
 
 " My dear friends, allow me to read this to you. I think you 
 will agree ; " and so he read — 
 
 " To the Enlightened and Independent Electors of Tolliton. 
 
 " Gentlemen, — Having been almost unanimously called upon by 
 you to solicit your suffrages at the election of a Member of Parlia- 
 ment for your Borough as soon as the breath is out of the body of 
 your present Member, I beg to inform you that I, with the greatest 
 reluctance, propose to step into his shoes." (Murmurs of delighted 
 applause from the audience, which Reginald suppressed with a 
 wave of his hand). 
 
 " I have no qualifications for a Parliamentary life, and I have 
 no desire to undertake one. I have been a very heavy and 
 successful speculator in various ways, and the gentlemen with 
 
 IX 
 
146 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 whom I am connected in business think it necessary that one of 
 them should enter Parliament. Great pressure has been put upon 
 me, and I am now willing to do so. The only question which 
 remains is the price. I think your price too high, and I must 
 request you to lower it. Your present Member bought you, body 
 
 and bones, for £5,600 ; but then he was backed by the 
 
 Club, which I am not. I consider £5,000 the utmost that I can 
 pay, when I consider the interests of my partners. This money 
 will come out of the pockets of my firm, and not from any club. 
 
 " Every member of the firm with which I have the honour of 
 being connected is, like myself, a Liberal. I shall, however, on 
 the question of the day, vote consistently against the Repeal of 
 the Corn Laws, entirely against my conscience. My reason for 
 this course of action is that if I did not so pledge myself, an 
 opposition might be raised against me, which might cost me 
 money. The Right Honourable Baronet at the head of the 
 Government is going to rat : the only political pledge which I 
 publicly make is, that I will not rat with him." 
 
 "I think that will do," said Reginald, folding up the paper, 
 and handing it to the General. " You and I had better go down 
 to-morrow, had we not ? It is no use waiting till the man is 
 dead ; no one does it now." 
 
 There was a general laugh, for they had won. But Reginald 
 most solemnly declared that nothing should induce him to go 
 down to Tolliton unless that address was agreed to. 
 
 It was agreed to without much trouble, for they knew that it 
 was only a joke of his ; and the matter dropped, for that evening 
 at all events. Reginald had consented to buy the little borough, 
 and there was no difficulty at all about the business. He was to 
 go into Parliament, though what he was to do when he got there 
 was quite another affair. 
 
 Mary came up to his bedroom that night, as she usually did, 
 when ho was sitting before the fire previous to going to bed. It 
 may be remembered that this was an old arrangement between 
 Hi. in. She kissed him and thanked him, saying that it was so 
 noble of him. 
 
 " Not at all, my dear," he said ; "it is all part of the day's 
 work. At one time I thought that my role in life was to be the 
 poorest and most unfortunate of men ; now it appears that I am 
 to be the richest and most successful. It is so great a nuisance 
 to a man of quiet tastes like myself to be in this prominent 
 position, that the mere fact of being in Parliament is very little 
 extra, r>esidcs, now I find that I must go, I have a sort of 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 147 
 
 amused curiosity about the whole thing. I cannot conceive what 
 I shall be next ! I suspect that I shall live ten years. I 
 wonder what will happen in that time ? Were it not for the boy, 
 it would be very amusing to find myself a beggar again." 
 
 " No chance of that, papa," said Mary, laughing. 
 
 "I don't know," said Reginald. "Anders is a very queer, 
 crotchety fellow, clever as he is. He is pursuing a course ot action 
 now, and undertaking a responsibility, which I would not under- 
 take for the revenues of India." 
 
 11 Financially? " asked Mary. 
 
 "Oh no! I was laughing when I said we might be beggars 
 again. I don't distrust his finance very much. What I allude to 
 is a very different thing. I am afraid he knows something which 
 he is foolishly afraid to speak about." 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 SOME GHOSTS BEGIN TO RISE. 
 
 The preparations for Reginald's getting into Parliament were very 
 simple. He had got the money ; he had given the pledge, the 
 only one asked at that time ; he had only to pay it and become 
 M.P. Before he had time to do so, however, an event occurred 
 which made his election rather a matter of secondary importance. 
 
 Simpson, the partner in the firm (if firm it could be called), 
 was the partner most entrusted with the American business. His 
 wife has appeared once before in these pages — a fat, evil-tempered 
 woman, whom no one liked. There was nothing in any way 
 remarkable about her, except that her son had committed forgery 
 and had disappeared. She was certainly a managing woman — 
 nay, rather a bullying woman. The first mark she left upon the 
 affairs of those who were connected with her was to die in a rather 
 singular and unexpected manner. 
 
 She was not given to going out by herself ; she was a very lazy 
 woman. Yet she went out one morning from her home at Chelsea 
 quite alone, and was last seen going on board a steamboat at the 
 Cadogan pier. She never came home any more. She was found 
 dead in Rosherville Gardens by Count Theodorides, who happened 
 to be walking there. He raised an alarm and brought assistance 
 to the spot, but the unhappy lady was dead, and nearly cold. Mr. 
 
148 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Simpson was a very well-known man in London, and there was a 
 great stir over the matter. There was a post mortem examination 
 and an inquest. Count Theodorides was the principal witness. Mr. 
 Simpson refused to attend the inquest. It leaked out that the 
 sudden shock had been to much for his intellect, and that he was 
 out of his mind. 
 
 To Count Theodorides had fallen the very painful duty of bringing 
 the intelligence. With a delicacy which could not be too highly 
 appreciated, he came first to Reginald, and broke the matter to 
 him. " You are so used to see the dark and light side of the 
 world, Mr. Hetherege, that you would do my lamentable errand 
 better than I could do it myself." 
 
 Reginald never in his life hesitated in an errand of mercy or 
 good-nature, and he went. 
 
 One would sooner be hung than carry such news, and Reginald 
 felt it. He did his miserable errand as gently as possible. He 
 pointed out to Simpson, his cousin, that we were all mortal, and 
 that he, Reginald, had lived so many lives that he cared not how 
 soon his own time came. Then he told Simpson quietly that he 
 would never see the woman who had been a kind and gentle 
 partner to him for so many years any more. When the first burst 
 of grief, violent and honest, was over, Simpson asked for explana- 
 tion (as Reginald thought) in a very sensible, manly way. Reginald 
 told him everything — that she had been found dead in the garden 
 at Rosherville. Mr. Simpson was aghast with astonishment, 
 which showed itself through his grief. Then Reginald explained 
 how Count Theodorides, walking there, had found her. From that 
 moment Simpson never spoke one word good or bad. 
 
 The lady had died of heart disease, it appeared. She had on 
 her usual rings, with a great deal of money, and in her purse she 
 had bank-notes for a thousand pounds. The papers got hold of 
 all the facts at the inquest, and it became in their hands, " The 
 mysterious death of a lady in Rosherville Gardens." 
 
 "It was a mercy," said the coroner, " that the unhappy lady 
 was found by Count Theodorides. She would have been a rich 
 booty for any straggling thief." 
 
 The town had scarcely recovered its equanimity, when it received 
 another shock. Mr. Simpson died, it was strongly suspected, 
 by his own hand, though that was never exactly proved. A 
 temporary difficulty occurred in the administration of his affairs, 
 as his eldest son was at Charleston : it was the younger to whom 
 General Anders had written to stand in Parliament. Rumours 
 got about in the city that his affairs were not in good order, and 
 our friends had a temporary run upon them, which they met with 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 149 
 
 perfect fortitude. When Mr. Simpson's affairs were cleared up, it 
 was found that he had died very wealthy, but that his connection 
 with Lorton and Co., though at one time large, was now smaller 
 than any one had anticipated. The whole affair was important at 
 one time, and was not easily forgotten. Meanwhile, the member 
 for Tolliton was dead. 
 
 On his death, Reginald was of course ready. The whole matter 
 was perfectly understood by all parties, and Reginald had very 
 little to do. A certain pledge was entered into which never was 
 broken, and then he went clown to the nomination and made his 
 speech. It was a singularly able one, to the surprise of those who 
 did not know that the ex-clerk, who had resigned without pension, 
 was one of the best financial writers of the day. There were 
 leading articles about it ; and Reginald, by merely talking over 
 again his old essays, found himself famous as a strikingly original 
 statesman. He entered Parliament, in short, with a career before 
 him. 80 General Anders told him the night he came home after 
 his election, and Hester concurred. 
 
 "A career," said Reginald; "yes, at sixty-five. Anders and 
 Hester, I have been tired of the world ever since Charles died." 
 
 " I also am tired of the world," said the General ; " but 
 I mean to live and work on." 
 
 " I wish, then, that you had gone into Parliament instead of 
 me," said Reginald. 
 
 " Well, I will be plain with you, Hetherege. I dare not. I 
 cannot trust myself. Now that you have done what I asked you 
 to do, I will tell you the truth. I am subject to dangerous 
 illusions ; I might make some fearful fiasco." 
 
 "Yes," said Reginald. 
 
 " I have not led a healthy life. I have never known a family 
 life. Ever since I was born I have lived more with the dead than 
 with the living ; and the older I grow, the dead are more con- 
 tinually and constantly with me. I was never afraid of the dead 
 in the old house at Bolton Row, but my nerves get so bad that I 
 see dead people in broad daylight. Why, it is not a fortnight 
 ago that I saw a man who has been dead this five years — dead, 
 ay, and scalped too, according to Goodge — in the flesh, talking to 
 
 you." 
 
 " There is no insanity about that," said Hester quietly, " for 
 I saw him also. At least I saw the man you mean. It is a 
 remarkable likeness ; but the man is not the same man, as I can 
 perfectly well prove. I was very much startled by the likeness, 
 but I have entire proofs as to who the man is. He is quite as 
 near a relation to us as the man we took him for, but not legiti- 
 
150 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 mate. Theodorides is merely an illegitimate Simpson from 
 Virginia. Scamp I believe him to be, but he is not the 
 man." 
 
 " Well, I will believe that he is not. Put him by — I see others 
 whom I have known, and whom I know are dead. If I told you 
 whom I saw you would disprove the fact over and over again ; but 
 I have lost credit in my own senses. Hetherege, let me whisper 
 in your ear." 
 
 The calm face of Reginald got troubled as he did so. When 
 the General had finished, he said — 
 
 "I'll tell you what, my friend, that is sheer Midsummer 
 madness. You have been burning the candle at both ends, and 
 you want rest. You had better break that ridiculous old room of 
 yours open, I think. You really must not talk such nonsense. 
 Wc must get these cobwebs out of his brain, Hester." 
 
 " Which is the last ? " said Hester. 
 
 " He says that he saw that tipsy vagabond, Thomas Morris, 
 alive, and walking in the street," said Reginald. 
 
 " Oh, nonsense," said Hester ; " the man died at Hobart Town 
 of drink, five years ago, in a penitent and godly manner. Why, 
 we had the letter from the clergyman himself describing the death- 
 bed scene. Come, Reginald, we must have him to ' fresh scenes 
 and pastures new.' Unfold your project, and we will all be 
 buried in the same churchyard. I shall have the place nearest 
 the yew. Come, no more of this nonsense ; unfold your plans, 
 and let us be happy." 
 
 Lest our readers should accuse us of keeping them in the dark 
 about matters which they should know, we beg to inform them 
 that General Anders was not in the least mad. Thomas Morris 
 was not only alive, but had given up drinking, except on occasions, 
 finding that it did not agree with him. Nothing was more common, 
 under the old system, than for partially-freed convicts to exchange 
 passports and names. Thomas Morris had done this. The man 
 who had changed names with him had also used that name to 
 marry with ; and having a wife and family, likewise being 
 possessed of human feelings, he had used certain information he 
 possessed about Thomas Morris to provide for his wife and family 
 by a claim ad misericordiam on the General when he was dying. 
 The General had handsomely responded, and Isabel had sent 
 something. The spurious widow was at that present moment 
 keeping an exceedingly disreputable public-house on the Christian 
 charity of these two, which a misguided clergyman had unwittingly 
 helped to procure for them. The real Thomas Morris was alive 
 and well, a farmer near Sydney — so prosperous that he could leave 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. l5l 
 
 his farm to the care of his wife, and come to England on the best 
 of all Australian speculations at that time : that of buying a stud 
 horse of good pedigree. He had met General Anders full face in 
 Piccadilly ; and, after giving £350 for a horse, had departed with 
 it, meditating an early return to Australia. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 REGINALD BECOMES A SljUIKE. 
 
 It has been mentioned that General Anders and Reginald both 
 had a fancy for investing their money in land — in the line of a 
 railway if possible ; if not, elsewhere. The General never bought 
 land on sentimental grounds ; Reginald, on the other hand, very 
 often did. This enabled Aunt Hester to follow up her victory 
 about Parliament by one more dear to her heart, and Reginald 
 made but little resistance in the second case, for he very much 
 wished to be forced into doing the thing he wished to do himself. 
 
 He was now, in his young old age, the gentle, biddable, unselfish 
 being he had always been, about as happy in his wealth as he was 
 in his poverty as regarded himself. As far as regarded other 
 people, he was much happier. Never having cared for himself, 
 he had stood the checks of adversity or prosperity with a perfectly 
 equal mind — only feeling for others. He had a great object in his 
 mind now. He must die soon, and he wished to leave something 
 tangible behind him besides mere money. He wanted to leave to 
 his boy, the sailor, a visible pledge of the love which he had borne 
 alike to the boy and the boy's father. 
 
 " My money will never remind the boy of me," he argued. " So 
 many sovereigns are so many sovereigns, each like the other, and 
 with an abominable bad likeness of the boy's Sovereign on every 
 one. He will think far more of Her Majesty than he will of me if 
 I only leave him money. I will leave him something which shall 
 force him to remember me. When he is old and storm-tossed at 
 sea in his profession, and land-tossed by the disgraceful behaviour 
 of an ungrateful Admiralty, he shall have a place to go to, with 
 his children about him, and defy the Admiralty from his own 
 castle." 
 
 He took the boy's mother, his most intimate friend, into his 
 counsel. The two good souls laid their heads together, and their 
 
152 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 nefarious designs were just ready when Reginald went into Parlia- 
 ment, and Mr. Simpson died. To explain what their plans were, 
 it is necessary to go back to the eleventh century of the Christian 
 era. We shall not be long ; but unless we are exhaustive we 
 are nought. 
 
 Overwhelmed and distracted by centuries of civil war, cast from 
 one dynasty to another — often from a dozen or so at nearly the 
 same time — unhappy England found a temporary peace under the 
 strong hand of William the Conqueror. The most turbulent of 
 his so-called barons, and consequently the most difficult to satisfy, 
 was Geoffry de Pierrepont (Pierrepont is in Lorraine, not very far 
 from St. Privat ; but this is merely a coincidence). William of 
 Normandy, to satisfy Pierrepont, gave him twenty-five thousand 
 acres in Dorsetshire, which did not belong to him ; but that in 
 those times did not at all matter. Pierrepont built a castle which 
 his subsequent neighbour, the famous Godfrey, at Bouillon, copied 
 as closely as possible, and which was several times burnt down in 
 successive ages. At length, in the end of the reign of Elizabeth, 
 when the twenty-five thousand acres had diminished to ten, the 
 then Pierrepont built a very beautiful Tudor house out of the 
 ruins of the last Bouillonesque castle, combined with the masonry 
 from the Abbey of the Holy Cross, granted to the family by 
 Henry VIII., and betook himself to trade (principally slaves) 
 and politics. 
 
 Nothing ever went right with this family, but, as the country 
 people said, they took a deal of killing. The end came, in a 
 disgraceful bankruptcy at the end of George the Fourth's reign, 
 when the house, with the last remaining four thousand acres, was 
 put up for sale. 
 
 An extremely public- spirited citizen bought it, and started as 
 country gentleman. He had been Lord Mayor, and had done 
 splendidly in that capacity, worlcing the city of London as a good 
 parson or squire works his parish. But he was not content with 
 civic honours ; he had been made a baronet, and, regardless of the 
 experience of the old Venetian families, he had come to the con- 
 clusion that a baronet must of necessity become a country gentle- 
 man. He bought Hollingscroft, and started in that capacity, 
 having, meanwhile, brought up his sons as dandies. 
 
 They rapidly ruined his town business by carelessness and 
 extravagance. As to his country estate, he ruined that for him- 
 self. Being neither a Mechi nor a Waterlow, he attempted to 
 carry his habits of city order, thrift, supply and demand, into the 
 country. Without one scintilla of the genius of the two gentlemen 
 above named, he tried the experiment ot farming for himself. A 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 153 
 
 lease of a farm of 1,500 acres had run out; lie took it into his 
 own hands, and made experiments with it, in advance of the 
 agriculture of the day. Mr. Meclii can tell us best what Tiptree 
 cost him before he proved to the world that high farming on bad 
 lands will pay if you have capital at your back. Mr. Meclii has 
 been a benefactor to the State ; Alderman Jones, on the other 
 hand, was only so far a benefactor to the State as to prove 
 emphatically that the most amusing way of ruining yourself is 
 by fancy-farming, if you know exactly nothing at all about the 
 matter. 
 
 With one thing or another, however, Sir James Jones finished 
 up the property rather more suddenly than the Pierreponts could 
 have managed. They had been out-at-elbows for many centuries, 
 and had learnt, in the school of adversity, the value of economy ; 
 they were, therefore, notoriously the bitterest screws in the county 
 of Dorset. Their general rule was to pay nobody they could 
 possibly help, and to pay the rest as little as possible. Their 
 smash came by the Pierrepont of the time carrying the principle a 
 little too far. He not only inherited the accumulated debts ot 
 his family, but he determined to accumulate as many more as 
 could be managed during the limited time which he allotted himself 
 for life. At his death the exasperated creditors of the family, ill 
 conclave assembled, determined that they would know the worst 
 at once. The estate was sold, and gave about eighteen pence in 
 the pound. Sir James Jones bought it, and began sowing money 
 broadcast. He was hailed with acclamation. 
 
 He soon began to feel the want of money. Things got worse 
 and worse in the city, and tolerably bad in the country. At this 
 time Jones began selling land, and Reginald Hetherege began 
 buying it from him acre by acre. 
 
 The process was slow, but inexorable. Reginald hemmed Jones 
 in by a cordon as complete as that put round Paris. Capitulation 
 was only a matter of time. Sir James Jones found the time when 
 he could not drive to the nearest post town without passing through 
 the land of Reginald Hetherege. 
 
 Then came a somewhat disgraceful smash in the city through 
 the misconduct ot one of his sons. It was evident to Sir James 
 that he must give up Hollingscroft in order to keep his head above 
 water. He wrote to Reginald a very frank and manly letter, 
 worthy of one of the best aldermen which London ever saw. 
 
 "Dear Sir, — You have so much of my land, that I think you 
 had better take the remainder. 
 
 " The deuce fly away with all country pursuits ! I am back to 
 
154 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 town again, and will never move any further from London than 
 Highgate. 1 have lost £50,000 here ; for treble that sum you 
 may succeed me. I am sick of it altogether. I have never had 
 a moment's peace since I have been here. I am going back to 
 my desk : I will soon put things right there. 
 
 "If you buy this estate you will lose a fearful sum of money 
 over it. They say that if you put money into the land it will 
 come out again. I don't see it. I have put half the Lobos 
 Islands into this land in the form of guano, not to mention super- 
 phosphate, and the only result has been straw instead of grain, 
 and greens instead of turnips. Meanwhile, the trout-fishing 
 association of the River Low are going to prosecute me for 
 poisoning the river and destroying the fish. 
 
 "I have built new cottages, and killed off all the old people 
 suffering from rheumatism by putting them in strong draugkts 
 under the new system of ventilation. I have drained all the old 
 cottages, and introduced typhus by stirring up old stinks. I have 
 refused to prosecute a single poacher, and consequently all the 
 young men have taken to the practice of that art, and the neigh- 
 bourhood has become debauched. In short, I have been a model 
 landlord in every way, and have consequently made the devil's 
 own mess of it. 
 
 " If you like to succeed me, say the word, and I am your man. 
 If you are a brute you may possibly avoid ruin ; otherwise, nothing 
 will save you. I, as you know, actually gave up my seat in 
 
 Parliament for your borough to old C , because the truth 
 
 is " 
 
 (What the truth was need not be mentioned here. Sir James 
 
 was not in cash, and Mr. C was.) 
 
 " I hope you did not give . It was far too much. 
 
 " One or two will regret me, but very few, I fear. There is 
 one thing I wish to speak to you about. I am not without means, 
 my dear Mr. Hetherege, in spite of my losses. There are one or 
 two tenants in arrears, and I should like to help them if I could. 
 The widow Austin must go to the workhouse for a time, but I will 
 get her into an almshouse. Her son must enlist. I think that 
 will be best. He is a very high-spirited young man, and possibly 
 is better in the army. 
 
 " I shall be at Garrard's on Thursday. 
 
 " James Jones." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 155 
 
 General Anders acted for Reginald in the purchase, going down 
 by himself, and deciding what stock and furniture he would retain. 
 Reginald wished him to buy the whole thing as it stood, and the 
 General yielded. " We may as well buy the clock going in perfect 
 order," he said ; "it would cost you more to wind it up yourself 
 afresh." So everything was taken as it stood, and Reginald had 
 now the wish of his heart. He would have Hollingscroft for his 
 boy, r and his boy should found a family there — for the money was 
 no difficulty. He spoke to General Anders about it, and the 
 General was overjoyed. He offered to advance the money on the 
 most advantageous rate: "For you see, Hetherege, that what 
 Hester says is true. I have been too busy. Get this place on 
 any terms. You and I cannot do without each other now. Let 
 us make you head ol the family, and let me come and lay my 
 aching old head in your country-house. What did Hester say, 
 that she was to have the place nearest the yew-tree in the church- 
 yard ? Nay, Reginald, she shall not ; that place is mine. I 
 could not understand her when she said that, but I understand 
 her now that this beautiful scheme is unfolded. Reginald, I am 
 so tired ; make a place for me to die in. All that I have is yours, 
 except a little, comparatively little, to Isabel. We are getting 
 old, Reginald, but we may leave much behind us to those we love 
 — unless," he added, with a sudden fierce scowl, " scoundrels 
 intervene ; and the Lord help them if they do. Reginald, I am 
 like you ; I have never lived for myself. As far as I am person- 
 ally concerned I would die to-morrow, and bear no one ill-will. 
 But let no man, born of woman, come between me and those I 
 love. I have met in the circle which has drawn itself around you 
 so naturally — for you are the most amiable and constant of all — 
 rest, peace, and love. I desire that this little circle, amidst 
 which I have found the only home I ever knew, should benefit by 
 my death, and remember me in their prayers. God help the man 
 who comes between me and my wish ! " 
 
 " Is there anything at Bolton Row which might prevent it ? " 
 asked Reginald. 
 
 " Oh no ; certainly not. Never think of it ; never allude to it. 
 There can be nothing there to trouble us. There may be death 
 for me, but nothing to hurt you. I dare not speak of it ; I am 
 not myself when I think of it, and the dread of that room has 
 become a mental disease. There may be something there worse 
 than hell. Why, foolish man, what could there be concerning 
 us ? — ha ! ha ! All the money we have has been made by our- 
 selves. If the devil were to break out of that room to-morrow he 
 could not take from us what we have got. Keep your eyes abroad 
 
156 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 in every direction, and realise — that has been our rule from the 
 first. Stick to it, old friend, and mark my words, now for ever, 
 Hetherege : the time will come when you must withdraw from 
 these speculations, and make a home for us all. I shall never 
 cease ; but you must. The time will come when you must get 
 quietly out of the firm. I will never go beyond possibility of 
 payment in full ; but I might come to yon. an honest beggar, with 
 perfectly clean hands, having injured no one — or I might die with 
 a million. It shall be one thing or another. You get round you 
 a place where we may all assemble sometimes, talk over old times, 
 and die." 
 
 Estates of this magnitude are not so rapidly transferred, even 
 on payment of cash, as they might be. There is a cry in certain 
 quarters now for " free land." Not knowing what that means 
 exactly, but finding it coupled with a " free breakfast-table," we 
 suppose it means an easy transfer of land, which would certainly 
 be a great boon both to buyer and seller. The idea among some 
 people, however, is that we are going to breakfast at the charge 
 of the State gratis, and peg out eighty-acre allotments in Windsor 
 Park. Much is to be done in the way of legislation, however, 
 before the waste lands of England can be occupied by that class 
 of gentry called in Australia " cockatoo " farmers. Reginald had 
 been a Member of Parliament for three weeks (though, as the 
 House was not sitting, it did not much matter) before he took 
 possession of Hollingscroft. He at once got ready to take posses- 
 sion ; but before he started he got the following note from Mr. 
 Morlcy :— 
 
 " Dear old Friend, — I hear you are going to be a county 
 gentleman. I know two people on your estate very well ; I think 
 you would like to know about them. 
 
 " The first is the rector (by the way, you have the presentation). 
 The rector is very old and bed-ridden, but he knows every man, 
 woman, and child in the parish. He has done splendidly by that 
 parish, and has pretty nearly spent his income — £460 — there, 
 having a considerable private fortune. He is an old saint, and 
 will give you good advice, spiritual and temporal. 
 
 "The second is Charles Owthwaite, the curate. He is an 
 extremely singular person. He was at Oriel with me, and would 
 have had his Fellowship, only that he insisted on marrying. He 
 does not belong to this world at all, except in the way of sharing 
 its evils ; his mind is entirely fixed on the next. I can hardly 
 tell you how to get on with him, he is so fearfully inexorable. If 
 you err in the slightest manner he will rebuke you heavily ; and, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 157 
 
 possibly, in the pulpit — that he does not consider too sacred a 
 place for personalities. You will find him very difficult to deal 
 with, but worth his weight in diamonds. 
 
 " The rector will not last long, and I have a request to make to 
 you. Use your influence with the next rector to get Owthwaite 
 kept on. He gets £130 a year for the charge of the parish, and 
 he would break his heart if he was moved from among his people. 
 I am not so poor as I was once, and if there is any difficulty about 
 his salary, I will help to make it good. Try not to move him, like 
 a kind soul." 
 
 Reginald went down, and took possession alone. He had taken 
 furniture and everything with the house, and on a moonlight night 
 he found himself driving up to the house which was now his own. 
 He had not known the previous occupant, and so the place was 
 new to him. He saw vast lawns and dark shrubberies bathed in 
 the moonlight, while a fountain backed with thickets and groups 
 of trees pierced the night air like a needle of silver. His man 
 dismounting, rang the bell, which echoed through the house ; but 
 no dog barked welcome, and Reginald somehow felt sad in the 
 midst of his satisfaction. " Poor fellow ! " he thought ; " how 
 he must have loved this place ! I feel most desperately like an 
 intruder. I wish he had left a favourite dog behind him ; I would 
 have taken care of it for him." 
 
 The night was chilly, and Reginald had to ring twice. At last 
 a light was seen passing many windows, and the door was unbarred 
 by a very demure old lady, who looked at him with profound scorn, 
 and at once took the key out of the door and gave it to him. He 
 put it in his pocket, and, having seen his portmanteau in, shut his 
 servant out to see after the horses. Then he stood with the demure 
 old lady in what appeared to him a noble old hall, with pictures, 
 antlers, skins, armour, and many other things hung on the wall. 
 The windows were very high, and the moonlight streamed in, and 
 patched the floor with the stains of many- coloured glass. The 
 thing was so grand and sombre that he was awed in spite of him- 
 self, and he shuddered. 
 
 " So this is mine ! " he said. " After so many years' toil and 
 misfortune I have come to this. It is utterly unreal. Is it actually 
 mine ? " 
 
 The old lady said, " Yes, sir ; it is all yours. An improvement 
 on Brixton." 
 
 " Why, I don't know that," said Reginald. " I was very happy 
 at Brixton, Did you know me there ? " 
 
158 REGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 11 1 was your next-door neighbour, and I gave warning in con- 
 sequence of what went on there." 
 
 "Did you now, really?" said Reginald. "That was very 
 public- spirited. I suppose that you have often talked about old 
 times down here ? " 
 
 " Never one word, sir. I know my position. I return to my 
 brother at the end of the week, and I hope to give you satis- 
 faction in the meantime. I have been housekeeper here some 
 years now." 
 
 " I hope you will remain so," said Reginald. " Can you show 
 me to a fire ? " 
 
 The old lady relented, and Reginald was shown to a nice suite 
 of apartments to the rear. Everything was ready for him, and he 
 was waited on at supper by a nice little maid. There was very 
 admirable wine, and he asked the superintending old lady where 
 she got it. She informed him that it was his own, and then he 
 remembered that he had taken one hundred and twenty dozen of 
 choice wine, which was, by a mistake, classed among the " fix- 
 tures " in the estimate. The wine was exceedingly good, however, 
 and he drank two or three glasses of it ; after which he began to 
 feel that he was actually in possession. 
 
 The old lady came in and said, " Sir, I am very much obliged 
 to you for your offer of staying, but I have elected to go before 
 your family come. I think I should be happier." 
 
 "Yes," said Reginald, "but you are not going, for all that. 
 Come here and sit down ; I want very much to talk to you." 
 
 The old lady said, " I thank you for your condescension, sir. 
 I will do so, if you please, for the first and last time in your 
 presence." 
 
 " Now have a glass of wine, Mrs. " 
 
 " Davies, sir." 
 
 " Mrs. Davies ; yes, I remember you now. My servant and 
 horses are bestowed ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir. And I have a petition to make you ; I am sure you 
 will not be angry with me." 
 
 "It is granted without anger," said Reginald. " What is 
 it?" 
 
 "It is about a dog, sir. I am going away, and I can't take 
 the dog and her puppy with me. Will you take care of 
 them?" 
 
 " Will I ? " said Reginald. " Only try me." 
 
 Mrs. Davies opened the door, and called. There came in a 
 very old bloodhound and her puppy, the puppy nearly as big as 
 its mother. The old dog was about the size of a young lion, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 159 
 
 the young one about the size of a panther. The old one smelt 
 Reginald, and then set up a long sonorous howl. The puppy 
 idiotically got inside the fender, and threw itself down to sleep 
 as if the preliminary to this action was to break every bone in its 
 body. 
 
 " You will take care of these dogs, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, most truly," said Reginald. "Now, what do these 
 dogs mean ? they mean something more than you choose to say. 
 A woman never told the whole truth at once. What is it ? You 
 want me to take care of some one else ? " 
 
 " You guess well, sir." 
 
 " Who is it, then ? " 
 
 " Mr. Owthwaite. Oh, sir, the rector is dying, and when the 
 new rector comes he will never take to Mr. Owthwaite's ways 
 without a strong recommendation. Make it a point with your 
 new rector to keep Mr. Owthwaite, or he will break his heart — he 
 has been father of this parish, under and with the rector, so many 
 years. Say a good word for him, sir." 
 
 " You see," said Reginald, " that the matter does not rest with 
 me at all ; it rests with the next rector. Mr. Owthwaite is a very 
 outspoken man, I hear, and there will be difficulty. I will do all 
 I can." 
 
 " Well, sir, you can do no more. I would say one word 
 about the widow Austin ; but you must see to that for yourself." 
 
 "I will," said Reginald; and so the old woman departed, 
 leaving Reginald and the dogs together. 
 
 He sat long ; then he roused the dogs and took the candle. 
 The housekeeper had shown him his room, which adjoined the one 
 in which he had had his supper, and he looked into that ; all was 
 very quiet there, and he saw that his bed was ready. The dogs 
 waited on his orders as though he had been their master for years. 
 He called them by the names which the old woman had given 
 them, and they came fawning to him. A sudden thought struck 
 him — he would go over his new house, his own house, alone with 
 the dogs. 
 
 He took them back into the room where he had his supper, and 
 gave them the bits of it ; he was their master now. It was only 
 a change of ministry, he thought. They never barked when he 
 rang the bell : they were instructed not to do so. He had heard 
 similar directions given to clerks when a new head was coming 
 into office. " Poor brutes, though," he said ; " they are only 
 
 bloodhounds, like P and C , who tried to hunt me down 
 
 and get my place when I made that mess in my accounts. Come 
 on, you dogs, and follow the rising sun," 
 
160 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 It was a wonderfully beautiful old house ; and, with the dogs at 
 his heels, he went from corridor to gallery, from gallery to draw- 
 ing-room, from drawing-room to picture-gallery, ever, at intervals, 
 encountering the moon looking in through the nmllioned windows. 
 " Can it he all mine ? " he said half a dozen times ; and on look- 
 ing at the pictures left in the gallery he came to the conclusion 
 that it probably was. "That Madonna," he said aloud, "is a 
 beastly bad copy, a copy from a copy. It is not worth twenty 
 pounds." A short examination showed him that the valuer had 
 certainly done his duty by his employer, and he really began to 
 believe that the house was not only his own, but that he had paid 
 rather heavily for some speculations of the* late Jones in the 
 picture way which were, for some unknown reason, ticketed in the 
 valuation as " heirlooms." 
 
 Still the house was beautiful, mysterious, and vast. The family 
 portraits of the Pierreponts were impressive, and he ought not in 
 the least degree to have wondered if one of them had come out of 
 the frame and denounced him as an intruder. (We believe that 
 this is nearly the twentieth time on which this idea has done duty, 
 and that Reginald would have been unutterably astonished if any- 
 thing of the kind had taken place.) He was, however, extremely 
 surprised at one thing. He was prepared for any number of 
 ghosts, but yet was very much astonished at seeing one. 
 
 At the end of the great drawing-room he sat down, and put the 
 candle on the table. The dogs came to him for more bones ; the 
 candle suddenly burnt into the socket, went out, and he was left 
 darkling, with the charming reflection that he was in his own 
 house with two bloodhounds, but that he did not know how on 
 earth to get back to his own bedroom. 
 
 The inconstant moon appeared, for purposes of her own, to be 
 on the other side of the house, and so he could see nothing at all. 
 Tennyson's live soul in the Palace of Art was not more desolate. 
 If he had seen a corpse of three months old which stood against 
 the wall, he would have asked his way of it. The bloodhounds, 
 bitch and puppy, considered that they were brought there to go to 
 bed, and to bed they went with heavy sighs. It became obvious 
 that he must pass the night there, unless he roused the house, 
 which seemed a difficult thing to do, even if he had tried. He 
 calculated that he had walked about a quarter of a mile through 
 various apartments, and that he was that distance removed from 
 human help. He resigned himself to despair and morning, when 
 he saw a ghost. 
 
 A door opened at the end of the room, and a very beautiful 
 young lady, in a white dressing-gown, came in. She carried a 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 161 
 
 light, and she peered about ; she went towards a writing-table, 
 where there were pens, ink, and paper. There she wrote a note, 
 which she closed and left on the table. She then exited, and all 
 this time the foolish dogs had taken no notice at all. 
 
 Reginald fancied that she was a singularly real ghost, and when 
 he was in darkness again bethought himself that he had really 
 better move. How ? There was a wax taper on the writing- 
 table, and if he could light that he could get to his bedroom. He 
 had cigar-lights, and felt his way to the table. The bloodhounds 
 followed him. 
 
 He got hold of the taper, and struck a light. One went out, 
 and he lit another. Lucifers were not then in their full perfec- 
 tion, and would ignite anywhere except on the box, to the con- 
 fusion of insurance offices. He got the taper alight, and looked 
 at the letter on the table. It was directed to himself. At this 
 moment both the bloodhounds went mad with sudden, savage 
 fury. 
 
 " Quiet, you fools ! " said Reginald, opening the letter. Almost 
 as he did so three things happened together. There was an 
 explosion outside the window ; a crinkling smash of glass followed, 
 and a bullet buried itself in the table before him. He put out 
 the light, holding the letter in his hand. Then he ran to the 
 window, keeping behind the mullion, and opened it. The hounds 
 leapt out. There were two sharp shots in the shrubbery, and one 
 smothered sound, half sob, half yell. The puppy came back 
 through the window, cowed and whining ; the old bitch did not 
 come back at all. She had tried to do her best, poor thing. In 
 her stupid brain she had made out that Reginald was her new 
 master, and she had died for him : she could do no more. 
 " Poor dumb thing ! " said Reginald to himself. " This is the 
 only home she has ever known, and she has done the best for its 
 master." 
 
 He whistled, and called the dog by her name ; but she did not 
 come. To go out to her help was death among these moon- 
 bathed shrubberies. He knew what had happened. 
 
 He dared not show a light now, but keeping the puppy close to 
 him, he groped his way from one room to another until at last he 
 saw the fire in his own room still burning. The shutters were 
 closed, and so he advanced with some sort of security. He lit the 
 candle, and read the letter which the ghostly young lady had laid 
 on the writing-table. 
 
 " Sir, — I am accidentally the inmate of your house, for I 
 have come to see Mrs. Davies. I lay this letter on the tablo 
 
 12 
 
162 REGINALD HETHEHEGE. 
 
 which your steward uses, so that you may have it the first thing 
 in the morning. 
 
 " I have just come from the rector very late, and have asked a 
 bed from Mrs. Davies. I beg to inform you that the rector is 
 much worse, and will not probably last over to-morrow ; he says 
 that he cannot die without seeing you. He will probably wake 
 about eleven. — Your obedient servant, 
 
 Laura wth waite . ' ' 
 
 So this was the business of the ghostly young lady. He slept 
 in his chair, and so passed the first night in his new house. He 
 began to believe that it was his now — not as a new home of plea- 
 sure and peace, but a place with a hundred new responsibilities. 
 As for danger, he laughed at it. " They are utter idiots," he 
 said, " to attempt my life here. I don't approve of the game laws, 
 but I will double my gamekeepers for all that. I wonder if this 
 last night's attack comes from James Murdoch. What idiots they 
 are, to be sure ! they might have had me a dozen times over. 
 Still, on second thoughts, it was not a bad idea following me down 
 here and taking me by surprise. Still, they are fools ; they won't 
 have very long to wait now. I must go and see after that poor 
 dog in the morning." 
 
 The dog was easily found. She lay dead among some dwarf 
 rhododendrons and kalmias, and appeared to have died with 
 scarcely a struggle. Reginald and his servant went out to look 
 for her in the early morning, before the house was astir. Regi- 
 nald bent over the poor faithful clog for an instant silently ; then 
 he said to his servant, " Let her be buried here, where she died 
 for me." 
 
 Then he rose and looked around, for the first time, at the out- 
 side of his new home, and stood dazed at its beauty. Sheets of 
 smooth lawn, wildernesses of flowers, terraces, pools, shrubberies 
 of rhododendrons and azaleas. Dominating everything, the vast 
 square house of dull red stone, with long deep-set windows and 
 endless gables. Climbing over all the house was a tangle of roses, 
 mixed with jessamine, passion-flower, and cobosa. Around were 
 great elm woods, above and beyond them downs, with here and 
 there a grey limestone crag. Beyond, again, in the distance, 
 mountains. A bright, clear river dashed forward past the grounds 
 towards a cleft in the hill, through which you could see the sea. 
 It was a place for a king ! and at his feet lay the poor dead dog 
 among the trampled flowers. 
 
 The gardener buried the dog where she lay, and Reginald went 
 sadly back into the house. It was, as he had guessed in the dark, 
 
REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 103 
 
 a very splendid place. " It is a pity that I had not had it twenty 
 years ago," he thought ; " Charles would have enjoyed it." 
 
 After a hurried breakfast he went out again, and Mrs. Davies 
 pointed out the way to the rectory. Past the stables he came to 
 the home farm, among embowering elms ; and there the little 
 thirteenth -century church, a jewel of art, stood among fish-ponds, 
 with the needle of a spire reflected in the water among floating 
 lily pads. The carters and the farm boys were getting out their 
 horses ; a beautiful herd of Alderney cows was at one of the ponds. 
 He asked a man to whom the deep-uddered kino belonged. He 
 was told " to Squire Hethcrege, the new squire." Yes, they were 
 his, and he remembered that he had taken them in the valuation. 
 He remembered also when he had had expostulations from the 
 milkman in Brixton for not paying Charles's milk-bill. 
 
 Against the churchyard, where villagers lay thick as if for 
 warmth — the interior of the church being reserved for Pierreponts : 
 not in consequence of their superior godliness, but merely to show 
 that they were not common clay — he found the rectory, a little 
 replica of his own house, smothered in flowers of the rarest kind, 
 planted and tended by some loving hand. A very old gardener 
 was among them, and he spoke to him. 
 
 II You and I, friend," said Reginald, " should love flowers well ; 
 for we ought to know the lesson which they teach us. If we tend 
 them well, they will reward us by their blooms ; if we neglect 
 them, they " 
 
 Reginald stopped short. He had tried to make a pretty speech, 
 and had failed entirely. The gardener, who, when he first began, 
 had an animated expression, looked disappointed also. Reginald 
 made a mental note that he would never try to speak extempore 
 any more. Better than making fine speeches was to watch the 
 old man gather a few of the choicest blooms as he led him up to 
 the rectory door, and better than any high-flown nonsense of his 
 own was the old man's remark — 
 
 II I am gathering these for him : he never cared for anything 
 but his flowers and his parishioners. If you be going to see him, 
 heft 'em and take 'em in to him." 
 
 The rector was so very much worse, that he might be said to be 
 considerably better. All pain had ceased, and he was going to 
 die. When Reginald was shown to his bedside, the sublime, 
 statuesque beauty of death was nearly settled on his face. In a 
 great number of cases nature makes a bargain with death, and 
 restores for a short time to the face of the dying, and still more 
 often to the face of the dead, the pristine beauty which has been 
 lost for many years in the natural process of decay. It was so 
 
164 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 here. The old man was perfectly sensible and very quiet. The 
 calmness of the face and the brilliancy of the complexion were not 
 surpassed by the beautiful face which was bending over him — the 
 face of Miss Laura Owthwaite. 
 
 He knew who Hetherege was, and asked the young lady to 
 withdraw. Then he prepared himself to speak at some length, 
 but found the effort too great for him. He only said — 
 
 " Ask the new rector to keep Owthwaite, and be tender with 
 the widow Austin. Don't let her go to the workhouse if you 
 can help it. You must turn them out of the farm, but the son 
 will make you a good gamekeeper, and might support his mother. 
 I can say no more. Good-bye, and take care of my people — take 
 care of Owthwaite above all." 
 
 " I will, sir," said Reginald, and then he went out and spoke 
 to Miss Owthwaite. " I fear that he is dying," he said. 
 
 " I fear so," said the girl. " It is an awful loss for the parish. 
 He was the brain, my father the hand. We must go now, for my 
 father is determined on it. He has got the offer of a new curacy 
 this morning and has accepted it. He could never work under 
 another rector, and the people where we are going know him, and 
 we shall be very happy." 
 
 Reginald passed out into the sunshine, and went to his strange 
 new home. The bailiff was ready for him, and so was the country 
 attorney who acted as agent for the estate, and whom he had met 
 in London. He dismissed the bailiff until the next day, but had 
 a long talk with the agent. 
 
 The agent said, when he had seen the room in which the 
 attempt on Reginald's life had taken place, " I should not put the 
 county police on to the business, my dear sir. I should certainly 
 communicate with the chief constable ; but I would not make any 
 hue and cry. Double the number of your gamekeepers if you like 
 — I should say yes to that ; but, believe me, this attempt will 
 never be repeated if you make friends with the Haddensmouth 
 people. It is the first time, is it not ? " 
 
 " Why, no ; it is the second," said Reginald. 
 " H'm ; that is certainly awkward. Could not some compromise 
 be come to, which would make murder useless in your case ? I 
 mean such a compromise as would put a few thousand pounds 
 into my pockets, you know. Several fortunes have been 
 made out of the great law-suit; why should I not have my 
 share?" 
 
 " Not to be thought of," said Reginald. " Digby took uncom- 
 monly good care about that. Now to other matters : I suppose 
 I must turn this widow Austin out ? " 
 
REGINALD HETHEllEGE. 165 
 
 u You see, you must. She is ruining the land, and she owes 
 you £180 at this moment." 
 
 " Well, I must make the estate pay, and I will do my duty. 
 Come back to dinner." 
 
 A busy day. At one o'clock the bell tolled for the rector, and 
 at two his servant announced "Mr. Owthwaite." 
 
 A tall, fine, up-standing man, with iron-grey hair close cropped 
 to his well- shaped head — a man with a cheek as smooth as a 
 boy's ; of ruddy complexion, and a stern, lean, handsome face. 
 Reginald asked him to be seated, and as he rose to do so, saw the 
 reflection of his own face in a glass behind Mr. Owthwaite's head. 
 He started ; there was a great likeness between the two faces — 
 the faces of two men who were not in the remotest degree con- 
 nected, and whose lives had been so very different. 
 
 " Our introduction to one another, sir," said Mr. Owthwaite, 
 " conies at a very sad time. That is, however, of little conse- 
 quence, because our acquaintance will be extremely short. I do 
 not see that there is any need for what is called an acquaintance 
 at all. We merely meet to fulfil our different duties. You have 
 to do your duty in the sight of God by this estate ; I have to do 
 my duty by the poor." 
 
 " Exactly," said Reginald, looking curiously at him. 
 
 "I wish to put before you, Mr. Hetherege, the case of the 
 widow Austin. She is terribly in your debt, and I see no chance 
 of her paying the money." 
 
 " Is she in debt elsewhere ? " asked Reginald. 
 
 " No," said Mr. Owthwaite, " not one farthing ; I am careless : 
 I mean that she owes nothing beyond her rent which I will not 
 pay myself. Practically, her only debt is to you." 
 
 " My predecessor hinted at the fact. Has she any means of 
 paying?" 
 
 " I fear none. She must go, no one disputes that. But I 
 want to keep her out of the workhouse, and if I could get any 
 employment for the son, that could be managed. If I cannot, she 
 must go to the house, and he must emigrate. That will break 
 her heart." 
 
 "My heart was broken many long years ago, sir," said 
 Reginald; " she will get used to it. Assure her, with my com- 
 pliments, that it is nothing. Is she honest ? " 
 
 " She is a lady, sir, in every way worth mentioning, and her 
 son is a noble young fellow. I see I have no hope" ; I might 
 have known that there are natures in this world incapable of 
 being changed either by poverty or wealth, by affliction or success. 
 I suppose I can take my leave? " 
 
166 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "Can the woman say nothing for herself?" said Beginald. 
 " I am asked to employ the son, and I have never seen him ; I 
 am asked to forgive the widow, and she sends a priest to bully 
 me. Is that exactly fair ? I say that it is not. I have had a 
 great deal of bullying and ill-treatment in my life, but I never 
 pleaded through a second person. Can I hear the woman's own 
 story ? " 
 
 " She is without, sir. Shall I fetch her ? " 
 
 "Do so," said Reginald ; and Mr. Owthwaite departed. 
 
 " That is a fine fellow," said Reginald ; " but I will be master. 
 He would be too great a bully unless he was managed. Aunt 
 Hester and Anders will be a match for him. Bother it ! I must 
 do it." 
 
 Mr. Owthwaite returned, bringing in a fine-looking old lady, 
 and an intelligent-looking young man, who stared with peculiar 
 interest at Reginald, who was at the writing-table, with his papers 
 and books before him. 
 
 11 Well, madam," he said, when she had sat down, " about 
 this £180 ? It seems that it is your only debt, but that in four 
 days you will owe me another £80. When I bought the estate I 
 bought the debt with it, and so I wish to see my money, you 
 know. I think you will allow that to be perfectly natural on my 
 part. "What do you think ? " 
 
 "I have struggled hard, sir," said the widow. " My son and 
 I have done no injury to the land, sir ; I appeal to Mr. Owth- 
 waite, if we had the money to go on with we should be rich." 
 
 " That is true, sir," said Owthwaite. 
 
 "How did you get into this state of debt, ma'am ? " asked 
 Reginald. 
 
 "My poor husband was security for his brother, sir. Then 
 he died." 
 
 " The first proceeding was immoral, the second was probably 
 involuntary," said Reginald. "I think that the best way out of 
 the business is this : I forgive you all arrears, including the £80 
 due next week. I will lend you a little money until harvest. 
 You and your son had better keep the farm on. You see, you 
 came to that farm when you were a bride, and your son was born 
 there ; I suppose, therefore, that you have some attachment to 
 the place. I never had a home myself, but people who have 
 say there is a great deal of weak sentimentality connected with 
 such places. Keep the land in good heart, you know. Go away 
 at once, please, for I am very busy, and I want to talk to Mr. 
 Owthwaite." 
 
 The widow Austin was so utterly stunned, that she looked at 
 
REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 167 
 
 her son speechless, and then bent down her head ; she tried to 
 thank him, but could not. The son looked at Reginald with 
 flushing face and brightening eyes ; he found it hard to speak 
 also. At last he said, as he took his mother's arm — 
 
 11 God will reward you for this somehow, sir ! " 
 
 " My friend," said Reginald, " I have long known that this 
 world is not the place for rewards or punishments — that is a very 
 idle fallacy. The highest reward which this world gave to the 
 Son of God was crucifixion." 
 
 They went away, and Owthwaite, with a wondering face, was 
 left alone with Reginald. 
 
 " You have modified the opinions which have heen attributed 
 to you — the Talbots said that you were an Atheist." 
 
 " Yes, rector, a man's foes are they of his own household." 
 
 " What do you mean by ' rector ' ? " 
 
 " Why, that you are Rector of Hollingscroft. Do you suppose 
 that I would give the living to anybody else ? " 
 
 There was a short pause, and then Owthwaite hid his face, 
 saying, "Oh, my son! oh, my poor son!" and left the room 
 hurriedly, in dead silence. 
 
 " And I thought he would have been so glad ! " said Reginald. 
 " It is a most disappointing world, after all." 
 
 Miss Owthwaite was lying in wait to hear the result of the 
 negotiation about the widow Austin. When she heard it in the 
 housekeeper's room from her own lips, she clasped her hands with 
 joy, and kissed the widow. She would have laughed aloud in her 
 pleasure, but it was a day of death and change, and she was 
 solemn and anxious. Suddenly her father came into the room, 
 and said in his sternest voice, " He has made me rector ; I shall 
 not leave my people." 
 
 Then she broke down, and began saying, " Oh, my brother ! 
 oh, my brother ! " 
 
 Reginald got the story from Mrs. Davies. Owthwaite had been 
 so very poor that he could not give his son a proper education. 
 The son, a youth of promise, saw no possibility of living as a 
 gentleman, and had enlisted in the 14th Light Dragoons, and was 
 killed at Chillianwallah. Owthwaite's good fortune had come to 
 him like Reginald's, when it was not worth so much as it might 
 have been. 
 
168 REGINALD fiETHEREGE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 THE COUNTRY HOUSE. 
 
 Reginald was now a country squire, in full possession of his own 
 house and his own land, entirely determined that nothing should 
 move the house from over his head, or the land from under his 
 feet. He never for a moment dreamed of having his own way in 
 his own house — he never had had — and he looked on any idea of 
 the kind as a dangerous, and most prohably unsuccessful, innova- 
 tion. Had he ever entertained such a notion, the fallacy of it 
 would have been driven out of his head at once by the arrival of 
 Aunt Hester and Mary. 
 
 Aunt Hester moved in and took possession about six weeks 
 after his arrival. In a short letter from Fitzroy Square she told 
 him that, as he had never been able to take care of his own 
 affairs, she was determined, in spite of her advanced age and 
 settled habits, to come down and see after him permanently. 
 She was not only coining herself, but was going to bring her 
 furniture and servants. Reginald had no particular objection to 
 the servants, but begged her to think twice about the furniture. 
 She apparently thought twice about the furniture, for she sent it 
 down, every stick, without saying another word, with strict orders 
 that not a piece of it was to be placed until she came. It 
 remained, therefore, in the back offices for a short time, for it 
 came by railway ; whereas Aunt Hester would not trust herself to 
 one, but came down in her own carriage with four horses, as 
 became her position. A deficiency of post-horses having arisen 
 at Dorchester, she was horsed the last stage by the undertaker, 
 and arrived with all the speed and dignity of a funeral. 
 
 She was extremely pleased with Reginald's purchase, and was 
 ] (leased, in short, with everything except his having given away 
 the living without consulting her. Mr. Owthwaite was, from all 
 accounts, by no means the man she liked ; she had heard of him 
 and his peremptory ways, and was most emphatically determined 
 that he should not make a tool of Reginald. She rather dis- 
 approved of some of the arrangements in the grounds, and 
 suggested alterations ; but Reginald would not have any inter- 
 ference out of doors — within doors she might be mistress. He 
 was so emphatic about this, that Aunt Hester was mindful about 
 her old lesson on over-interference, and gave way ; the fact being, 
 wlicn all was said and done, that Mary was the real mistress, 
 without appearing to be. She always spoke to the servants of 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 109 
 
 Miss Simpson as being the lady who was to be first consulted in 
 everything ; and yet the servants knew perfectly well that Mary 
 was mistress, and Aunt Hester let them know it also. Still, 
 Aunt Hester had every wish consulted, and every whim flattered. 
 
 A day or two after her arrival, Aunt Hester sat down to dinner 
 and declared herself tired out. " But I have arranged everything 
 now, my dear Reginald," she said. "You must have the rooms 
 in the east wing. That postern door will let you go out to your 
 farm without troubling any one ; your grooms can come to you 
 there for their orders without making the whole house smell of 
 the stable. The large room will serve you for your study and 
 your justice-room — for I suppose that you will be in the com- 
 mission of the peace now. In case of any prisoner being 
 infectious, you can try him in the stable-yard. I am going to 
 give Goodge the rooms over yours ; of course, it is very incon- 
 venient to him, my leaving London, but we must make the best 
 of it for him. He must have upper rooms, because his specimens 
 smell like unsuccessful mummies and would poison the house. 
 We have broken one of his bottles in moving his collection, and 
 there is a stench like a pest-house ; but one must put up with 
 such things for the sake of having a great scientific man like him 
 in the house. Thank heaven, his cockatoo is dead of a shirt 
 button, so you won't hear him — insolent brute ! In my own 
 house, when I only asked the bird how he found himself — such 
 language to me indeed ! The Duke and Duchess must have the 
 ground-floor of the west wing ; they had better have the whole of 
 it assigned to them, for they will be here a good part of the year. 
 I shall take the back of the house, with the little pleasure garden. 
 The General will have three rooms on the first floor ; and Mary 
 is rather undecided at present. There will be plenty of room for 
 all of us, without any crowding." 
 
 Reginald acquiesced, but put in a word. 
 
 " Where is the boy to go ? " 
 
 " I never thought of that," said Aunt Hester. 
 
 " You must see that he has the best rooms in the house, 
 Hester," said Reginald. " He is master here, you know ; " and 
 he said, almost to himself — 
 
 " ' To the tossed sea-boy in an hour so rude.' 
 
 And you seem to have made no provision for Hickson and his 
 wife. They have no home but this, you know." 
 
 So there was a reconsidering of matters, and nearly every 
 person of our little story was comfortably quartered on Reginald, 
 permanently, and as a matter of course. 
 
170 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Not one word was said by Reginald ab^ut the bullet which had 
 been fired at him to any of the women. It was known elsewhere, 
 however ; the fact was known perfectly well to young Austin, the 
 farmer, though how he knew it is not certain. Reginald had, by 
 a singular accident, been put on the same side of the house as 
 that on which the accident had happened. He was sometimes 
 uneasy about it, and often spoke to his servant on the matter, 
 cautioning him not to mention it. He developed one or two 
 tastes now which puzzled Aunt Hester and Mary. He filled the 
 house with dogs, animals which Aunt Hester generally classed 
 with those which had eaten Jezebel. She had the most tre- 
 mendous detestation for them, but she had to overcome it ; for 
 Reginald was resolute on the matter, and told her that he was 
 not going to have his throat cut in his bed to please her or any 
 one else. She having brought all her plate down, rather fell into 
 that way of looking at things, and, like a kind, generous soul as 
 she was, took to the dogs, and what is more, got very fond of 
 them. 
 
 There was plenty of game on the estate — a great deal too 
 much, in spite of the poachers whom Sir James Jones had not 
 prosecuted — and Reginald had no intention of increasing it. He 
 puzzled his farmers about game matters, rather. When he first 
 came he rode over to see his principal farmer, and looked over the 
 farm. They came to a large swede field, and as Reginald led his 
 horse through the gate he looked at the turnips. 
 
 "You are not much of a farmer," he said. "Why, these 
 swedes will be half rotten after the first frost — they are all 
 vermin-bitten, even as early as this." 
 
 " It is the hares and rabbits, sir. Look at them at the other 
 end of the field " ; and, speaking, the farmer sent his dog through 
 the young swedes, and the place seemed brown with hares, while 
 the grey rabbits went scuttling into a covert at the further end of 
 the tii 'Id by dozens. 
 
 " I low much do these beasts cost you ? " 
 
 " / don't know, sir. I'd pay every labourer of mine two 
 shillings a week more, and carters three, to get rid of them. 
 But they are yours, not mine; I can't touch them. Sir James 
 Jones sublet the shooting to a Londoner yearly, and left the 
 power of keeping them to a moderate head out of his hands. 
 Now it's in yours." 
 
 " I must have game to entertain my friends," said Reginald. 
 
 "Certainly, sir," said the farmer, whistling. 
 
 " But I will take you at your word ; if you will see after the 
 partridges and winged game for me, and make that increase in 
 
KEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 1 7 1 
 
 the labourer's wages, I will give you over the whole of the ground 
 game as your own." 
 
 11 You are a gentleman ! " said the farmer. " You know what 
 is what, for a Londoner, sir." 
 
 " I have studied the question," said Reginald, " and written 
 on it." 
 
 He had no reason to regret his decision ; no man had a better 
 head of beneficial partridge or half-harmless pheasants. The 
 farmers and their better-paid labourers were his best game- 
 keepers ; and yet he increased the number of idle young men, 
 to look after the winged game — a strange perversity ! A man 
 could not walk at night in his plantations and coverts, for any 
 purpose, without meeting a gamekeeper. The fisher-boys and 
 their sisters from the bay could not stroll into the woods for a 
 late bird's nest or an early blackberry without noticing the 
 change. 
 
 The stream which ran through the grounds soon lost its bright, 
 flashing habit, and began to sweep more slowly through the 
 meadows, until, at one point, where there was a bridge, it was 
 checked twice a day by the tide from the Channel. The estuary, 
 pent in by the limestone hills, was proportionably as short as 
 that of the Tweed, so that the place where the land-water lost its 
 continued power was within easy hearing of the surf ; and at the 
 bridge, just at the end of the park, the fishing village began. 
 The rib of low limestone hills, through a cleft of which the river 
 found its way to the Channel, protected house and park from the 
 sea wind, and the dense belts of timber were scarcely bent, save 
 on the extreme south-western edge of them, where the south-west 
 wind had power in spring. The red- sailed fishing-boats lay 
 among nearly over-arching trees, and the deer would come down 
 close to the silent face of the fisher-boy sleeping on a stowed sail, 
 look on him, and withdraw once more into the thicket. 
 
 The harbour was nearly land-locked, and had in one part ten 
 feet of water at low tide. The entrance was just wide enough to 
 allow two or three boats abreast, and so well land-marked that 
 the fishing-boats could make it with almost entire certainty 
 during the day in all weathers, and at night the fisher folks on 
 shore took extremely good care that lights should be shown as 
 certain as those of the Trinity Board. Immediately all round 
 the little village rose suddenly dense copse -woods and the rougher 
 forest land of the park. 
 
 Gamekeepers have a strong objection to having their game 
 disturbed, and country gentlemen, in the old times, who lived 
 near the sea, were known to possess rather a prejudice than 
 
172 REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 
 
 otherwise against the excise duties. The Pierreponts had always 
 entertained a strong repugnance for coast-guard in any form, and 
 the consequence was that Haddensmouth was one of the most 
 abominable little smuggling holes in England, as long as 
 smuggling was worth while. 
 
 That great trade having been put a stop to, Haddensmouth 
 found itself rather in Schedule A than otherwise. It had always 
 produced a splendid, virtuous, moral, and extremely religious 
 population. (When there was a large congregation in old times, 
 the parson always knew, by the extreme devoutness of his flock, 
 that a magnificent run was going on.) When the smuggling died 
 away, and their honest bread was taken out of their mouths, the 
 population very much deteriorated in every way, and became 
 rather a sad set of blackguards for some time. They were, such 
 as were left of them, rather on the mend now, and were producing 
 a feeble kind of respectability, very different to the heroic virtues 
 of their smuggling forefathers. Still, there were blackguards left 
 among them, who had the traditions of the grand old times when 
 gangers and coast-guardmen had a singular facility for meeting 
 with fatal accidents. Reginald Hetherege, after due inquiries, 
 wished the place a great deal further. Young Austin told him 
 plainly one day that there was a strange yacht in the harbour the 
 night of his arrival, which had gone again the next morning. 
 
 If there was one thing Reginald had hitherto disbelieved in 
 more than another, it was buccaneering sensationalism. He had 
 always lived an orderly life, and he considered that every one else 
 ought to do the same. He was of that singularly constituted 
 mind which is continually in a state of holy horror and extreme 
 astonishment at the commission of a great crime. It was at one 
 time useless to point out to Reginald that great and fearful crimes 
 were of everyday occurrence, far more common than great and 
 sensational acts of virtue and generosity ; you might point out 
 to a man like him that precedents in the slave trade, the coolie 
 trade, a shipwreck, or a railway accident were all extremely 
 unlikely and improbable, and yet that they were occurring day 
 after day— but they were in his newspaper, not under his eyes. 
 He had never happened even to see a man run over in the street ; 
 and the only awful thing which had occurred in the family which 
 had affected him was the death of Charles. Certainly, Mr. 
 Murdoch's butler was hung, hut that did not touch him nearly. 
 lie had now been warned twice; he knew that it was in the 
 interest of some people — notoriously two — to put an end to his 
 life ; yet he never entirely realised the fact until he got this 
 house over his head, and his first welcome to it was a bullet 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 173 
 
 through his window. He was absolutely certain that James Mur- 
 doch made a most utterly clumsy attempt to poison him, which, 
 like most crimes of the kind, would have been almost certain 
 of immediate detection. As James Murdoch had tried it once, 
 why should he not try it again ? But James Murdoch was older 
 and wiser now, and he would certainly not act by his own hand. 
 Reginald began to see that there was one man at least alive, an 
 interminable rascal, whose crimes had been only against members 
 of his own family, who was in the last degree likely to be 
 prosecuted after so long an interval, and who would become rich 
 by his death. 
 
 He therefore bought a yacht — which he never intended to use, 
 but which might be useful for his guests — and manned her with 
 five of the most amiable and clever, but possibly the most dis- 
 contented, of the population of Haddensmouth. Conceiving then 
 that he had taken all reasonable precautions, he laid himself out 
 to enjoy himself, and see the best of life. 
 
 Reginald's original idea, that if he went into Parliament he 
 should not know what to do when he got there, was singularly 
 fulfilled. The first session he scarcely opened his mouth on any 
 subject at all, and was not preternaturally brilliant when he did ; 
 his figures were extremely good, and he was listened to — but no 
 more. Still it was generally considered by the affectionate clique 
 which surrounded him, that he was an ornament to them all, 
 and added dignity to the concern. They had persuaded him to 
 go in, and so they were extremely proud when a letter came 
 addressed to Reginald Hetherege, Esq., M.P., Hollingscroft Hall, 
 Dorset. These were often begging letters, but the effect was 
 equally grand. 
 
 The general move on Hollingscroft took place in August, and 
 then the house was full from garret to cellar — not with the very 
 large number of people, but with the extraordinary amount of 
 room which they took. Aunt Hester thought that she had pro- 
 vided ample room for every one, and that no fault could possibly 
 be found with her arrangements. But Miss Emily Hickson 
 objected to the apartments allotted to herself and her mother, 
 because she could not see the cows being milked out of window 
 while she was dressing. Her mother reasoned with her ; but 
 she said, " I don't care twopence. Miss Simpson has been 
 arranging the rooms, and I am not going to be dictated to by her. 
 If you have no proper pride, ma, I have ; this house will be mine, 
 and I intend to be mistress of it." 
 
 " My dear, you do not know what you are talking about." 
 
 " Ah ! but I do, though ; I am going to marry George, and 
 
174 KEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 the house will be his, and therefore mine ; therefore I do know 
 what I am talking about." In fact, this very emphatic little lady 
 was the most difficult to please in the whole house. 
 
 However, they got settled down somehow, in a very pleasant 
 way, because no one knew exactly who was mistress of the house, 
 or 'who was master, and so they all did exactly as they chose, 
 which was very delightful, and removed a vast deal of responsibility 
 from the shoulders of the servants, who did very much what they 
 pleased. General Anders took his natural position, as a military 
 man, as master of the horse, and had in fact come down to 
 Hollingscroft and attended to the details of carriages and horses 
 for Reginald, who knew nothing whatever about the matter, was 
 proud of the fact, and proved himself to be right by emptying 
 Aunt Hester into a ditch while driving a cob which had previously 
 been driven for several years by a decrepit bishop. After that 
 he was not allowed to drive himself, ipso aurigante, but was 
 handed over to the care of a groom. 
 
 The county came to call upon them — we should of course say 
 Reginald, but we mean on the coterie. Sir Lipscombe Barnett, 
 one of the greatest men in those parts, came first, with almost 
 undignified haste. He had known Reginald in his adversity. 
 He had seen him at the very worst of it, when his own son 
 was frying sausages in the room with Mrs. Charles Hetherege — 
 " Therefore," he argued, " I should be the very first man to take 
 him by the hand under his altered circumstances, and show him 
 that I fully feel what a true and real gentleman he remained 
 through it all. George, you and I will ride over to-morrow." 
 George, now eight-and-twenty, and a captain in the Guards, 
 acquiesced at once, as he did to everything which his father 
 proposed — he holding before all comers that there never was 
 such a gentleman in the land of England as his father, and that 
 there never would be. We have seen the same delusion exist in 
 the minds of other young gentlemen, whose fathers thought that 
 the best of everything was not good enough for them, and who 
 also thought that their sons were the finest fellows in the empire. 
 Sir Lipscombe had never for one instant tolerated that 
 eminently reputable gentleman, Sir James Jones — he was not 
 a gentleman ; Reginald was (in spite of the execution in the 
 house and the sausages). If he had ever had anything to do 
 with Alderman Jones, he would have patronised him. The idea 
 of patronising Reginald never entered into his head. Reginald 
 was a gentleman of vast ability, ruined for a time by an eccentric 
 son of more ability even than his father. Reginald had been 
 under obligations to him at one time, and the time was come 
 
KEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 175 
 
 when, as an English gentleman, he ought to show that those 
 obligations were utterly forgotten. 
 
 Sir Lipscombe was considered by some people in the county 
 to be an ass ; Goodge was of opinion that it was a pity there 
 were not more asses like him. 
 
 Reginald was in the picture-gallery, which room was now 
 adopted as the general camping-ground of the somewhat Arab 
 tribe which surrounded him, when Sir Lipscombe and George 
 were announced. There were present Aunt Hester, Mary 
 Hetherege, Miss Emily Hickson, and Miss Owthwaite. It struck 
 Reginald that Captain George Barnett and Miss Owthwaite had 
 met before, because they made such an elaborate effort to appear 
 utter strangers as would have attracted the attention of everybody, 
 had everybody not had something better to think about. 
 
 " My dear old friend," said Sir Lipscombe, " well met after so 
 many years. My dear madam (to Mary), how can I ever forget 
 our last meeting ? I was deeply obliged to you on that occasion ; 
 I wish that I or George had some power of showing our gratitude. 
 I cannot sometimes help laughing at the absurd trouble which 
 my son gave me ; and yet I do not like to laugh, because it was 
 so soon before your great and irreparable bereavement. Alas ! 
 madam, I have known what that is ; but I live in my son here, 
 as you do in yours — and he is a fine fellow, madam." 
 
 Here George came out like a lion, to the astonishment of his 
 father, who gave him a new horse the next morning for it. 
 
 "The happiest days," he said, "which I ever spent out of 
 my father's house were spent in the house of my old tutor, 
 Charles Hetherege — your husband, Mrs. Hetherege ;' and I never 
 received such gentle kindness, except from my own mother, as I 
 did from you. I hope you will let me renew our acquaintance, 
 or rather friendship, where it left off." 
 
 George Barnett was not handsome, though the army had made 
 his great person presentable. He looked so noble when he said 
 this, and his face flushed so modestly and so naturally that the 
 two young ladies in the room thought him extremely handsome. 
 
 Very few words had Mary and Reginald to say, for Sir Lips- 
 combe left them no time. 
 
 " But George and I are talking of old times, when we should be 
 anticipating new ones. I think— I almost dare to hope, that this 
 may be the celebrated Miss Simpson. If you say that it is not, 
 if you doom me to disappointment, I beg' of you to tell me at 
 once." 
 
 It was the celebrated Miss Simpson ; and he was presented. 
 
 " Ah, madam, we owe you a debt, a debt indeed. You are an 
 
176 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 acquisition to this county — for, to tell the truth, we arc sadly in 
 want of talent here, and two such famous writers as yourself and 
 my old friend, Reginald Hetherege, will hrighten us up. I have 
 never read one word of yours, or one word of his ; it is extremely 
 probahle that I never shall. I have at present no intention of 
 doing so ; the opinions expressed by both, as I am given to 
 understand, are totally divergent to my own : so why read them ? 
 Do I want my opinions unsettled at my time of life ? — Far from 
 it. Do you wish me to unsettle yours ? " 
 
 Aunt JEestcr, who had no particular opinions, as far as any one 
 ever found out, replied — 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 " Then why, my dear madam, do geniuses like yourself, whose 
 fame is in every one's mouth, refuse the homage and respect of 
 one who has no claims to your talents, but only begs humbly 
 to admire, and still more humbly to disagree. I ask you, madam, 
 are you right in this ? My only claim is to disassociate myself 
 from the common herd of flatterers and admirers who naturally 
 throng round your footstool, and stand before you in my native 
 form of an unbiassed but admiring man." 
 
 On these terms Sir Lipscombe sat at Aunt Hester's feet, and 
 agreed with every word she said. Reginald and Mary joined in, 
 and before half an hour they were on the most excellent of terms. 
 The arrival of Mr. Owthwaite rather disturbed them, for Sir 
 Lipscombe and that reverend gentleman were at daggers -drawn 
 over the game laws, and Sir Lipscombe had expressed a pious 
 wish to his son George, some days previously, that he hoped 
 Hetherege would not commit suicide when he discovered what 
 a pestilent viper he had put into the living. Miss Emily Hickson 
 afterwards told her mother that, at the time when Mr. Owthwaite 
 arrived, Miss Owthwaite was alone with Captain Barnett in the 
 garden, and that they seemed very comfortable together. 
 
 Lord Snizort soon followed Sir Lipscombe Barnett, though 
 he regarded it as a liberty on the part of Sir Lipscombe Barnett 
 to have gone first. Lord Snizort had been raised to the peerage 
 principally for his great wealth and high character for learning ; 
 he had, it is said, taken his title from the Skye parish, where he 
 had no property, from very abstruse reasons. His arrival was of 
 rather a singular character. The Duke, Reginald, and Goodge 
 were in the hall with the ladies after lunch, when Reginald espied 
 Lord Snizort driving up to the door. 
 
 " Save and preserve us ! " he ejaculated, " there is that man." 
 
 " What man ? " said the other two. 
 
 " Lord Snizort," answered Reginald ; and the three men 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 177 
 
 looked at one another, and at once made an excited rush to a 
 side door, which they closed behind them. 
 
 11 This is too awful," said Goodge. " We ought to have gone 
 out ; we can't now." 
 
 " When I was ill with fever at Vienna," said the Duke, " I 
 heard that he had arrived. I gave strict orders to my servant 
 that he was not to be admitted, for that I should die if I saw him. 
 My poor Louis, seeing me in a peaceful sleep, went out to get 
 a mouthful of fresh air in the Prater. I woke up during his 
 absence, and there was Snizort at my bedside, come to nurse me." 
 
 Looks of sympathising horror from Reginald and Goodge. 
 
 " At first I thought that it was merely a hideous fantasy of my 
 delirium ; but no — some idiotic Kellner had been over-officious 
 and let the beast in, and there he sat. With a vague idea of 
 freedom I bounded out of bed and made for the dressing-room 
 door. He was too quick for me ; he seized me in his arms — 
 I was as weak as a rat — and held me down in bed while he 
 shouted for assistance. The whole house came swarming in, and 
 there was the mischief to pay. My supposed delirium, however, 
 as described by him in his lively voice, gave me an excellent 
 opportunity for escape. I excitedly accused him of having 
 attempted to murder me, and said that he was associated with 
 a band of assassins. I reiterated this so strongly that the doctor 
 requested him to withdraw, and afterwards Louis slept before the 
 door." 
 
 " There he is ; hark to his sweet musical tones. ' Lord and 
 Lady Snizort ! ' Why, the wretch has brought his wife ! " said 
 Goodge. " I wonder what she is like ? " 
 
 Their heads were close to the door, but they were whispering 
 too earnestly together to hear the footman's approach ; he, coming 
 swiftly the way he had seen them disappear, threw the door wide 
 open, almost upsetting them, and there they were face to face 
 with the terrible Snizort himself, who, with one thumb in his 
 arm-hole, his chest expanded, his bristly hair straight on end, his 
 legs very wide apart, stood snorting fiercely in front of the door in 
 all the fearful majesty of six feet two. 
 
 Beside him was Lady Snizort, a most awful lady with an 
 enormous bonnet of 1834, gigot sleeves, a striking plaster-and- 
 straw reticule, and an umbrella. When Lord Snizort left her 
 among the Arabs at Damascus, while he explored the ruined 
 cities of Bashan, she wore exactly the same dress. Aunt Hester, 
 we have before remarked, stuck closely to the fashion of 1800, 
 and was, with a slight inconsistency, glaring defiance at Lady 
 Snizort for making such a ridiculous figure of herself. 
 
 13 
 
178 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 To Lady Snizort there was but one man in the world worthy 
 of any notice at all, and that was her husband ; in intellect, in 
 manners, in habit, she considered him perfect, and modelled 
 herself on him as far as a mere inferior nature like hers could. 
 Lord Snizort's powers of conversation she considered unequalled. 
 They consisted of never leaving off talking unless for an instant 
 at a time, just long enough to give his interlocutor time to say 
 something, which he immediately contradicted. The consequence 
 was that, as Lady Snizort formed her style of conversation on her 
 husband's, neither of them practically ever left off talking at all ; 
 and the only difference between them was that Lord Snizort talked 
 in a roar, and she in a screech. 
 
 Before the alarmed and guilty Reginald could make an attempt 
 to look at his guest, Lord Snizort began — 
 
 "Welcome to Dorsetshire, Mr. Hetherege. Now, I know 
 what you are going to say, and so I will save you the trouble 
 of saying it, by flatly contradicting you and. telling you that you 
 are speaking without book. This place of yours is not damp. 
 Yes, yes, my good sir, you may fidget and fume " (Reginald was 
 doing neither), " but I tell you that I am right and you are wrong. 
 Mr. Goodge, I think that you and I have met before, though not 
 under the pleasantest circumstances." Here he began talking 
 in Arabic to Goodge, who answered him in that language, saying 
 something which made Lord Snizort turn excessively red, and 
 talk still more continuously in that language. The more his 
 lordship talked, the more Goodge talked ; and at last the conver- 
 sation between them took the form of two never-ceasing state- 
 ments, without one second's pause on either side. At the end 
 it was obvious that neither was listening to the other, but that 
 the Arabic conversation had degenerated into a talking match, 
 in which Lord Snizort was losing wind (he lost his temper at 
 first). This was very agreeable for the onlookers, for they had 
 not the least idea of what it was all about. In the end Goodge, 
 being in better training, won, and only stopped a good distance 
 ahead of the learned nobleman, who remained his mortal enemy. 
 
 Meanwhile, Reginald had got out of it by laying himself at 
 the feet of Lady Snizort, and introducing her to Aunt Hester, 
 who chose to be on her very worst behaviour, and would do 
 nothing but look fixedly at Lady Snizort's bonnet, after a formal 
 bow, without saying one word. Her ladyship, however, nothing 
 daunted, looked at Aunt Hester through an eye-glass, and started 
 talking against time, as if she was anxious to run a good second 
 to her husband. Seeing that Goodge had won, however, she left 
 off ; but not one word could be got out of Aunt Hester. Mary, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 179 
 
 however, came to the rescue, and introduced herself as Mrs. 
 Hetherege ; whereupon Lady Snizort told her that her husband 
 seemed a great deal older than she was, and that such matches 
 were rarely successful. Upon this Aunt Hester rose and left the 
 room, leaving Lady Snizort wondering what she meant by that. 
 Mary had to explain that Reginald was not her husband, but her 
 father-in-law ; and Lady Snizort was excessively angry with him 
 for it, and showed her just indignation by bridling and sniffing 
 at him. 
 
 Miss Emily Hickson did not leave her long alone. " You have 
 offended Aunt Hester," said that young lady, " and you should 
 be very careful. She has been very much looked up to, and very 
 properly, all her life, and she is not used to tag-rag and bob-tail." 
 The eye-glass of Lady Snizort was at once turned on that dread- 
 ful young lady, without the remotest effect. Lady Snizort had 
 not got precise orders from head-quarters as to her behaviour to 
 these people — my lord had said that he would look at them first 
 himself; so she declined battle, and said to Mary, " Is this lovely 
 little girl yours," for instance. There were explanations, and 
 Lady Snizort went off at score, and never stopped talking again 
 until the visit was concluded. 
 
 Lord Snizort, having had the worst of it with Goodge, pursued 
 the same policy, not heing sure ot his ground. He was afraid 
 that Goodge might take it into his head to talk Hindostanee to 
 him, in which language he was slightly deficient, but of which he 
 knew Goodge was a perfect master. He therefore talked with the 
 Duke, or rather to the Duke, and gave him a categorical account 
 from memory of his having saved the Duke's life, at the risk of 
 his own, when he tried to jump out of the window. Like most 
 great talkers, he was a magnificent originator, and the Duke 
 heard more about his illness than ever he did before. 
 
 At last the visit was over, Reginald scarcely having opened his 
 lips. When Lord and Lady Snizort were seated in the carriage, 
 my lord said — 
 
 "Those people will do. That fellow Hetherege is a very 
 shrewd, clever fellow, with great powers of conversation — we 
 must cultivate them. Goodge is an impertinent fellow — a very 
 shallow man. Did you notice that he dared not talk English 
 or Hindostanee with me ? I should have smashed him if he had." 
 
 "That little girl Hickson seems intolerably vulgar and pert," 
 said Lady Snizort ; ''and I fancy that Miss Simpson drinks — she 
 has all the appearance of it." 
 
 " Oh, you know, if you come to that," said Lord Snizort, 
 " you really must not be too particular about the manners of 
 
180 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 such people as these ; they are mere yahoos, with the exception 
 of Hetherege, who, I must say, judging from his conversation and 
 his way of expressing himself, seems a thorough gentleman. If 
 Miss Simpson does drink, it is no husiness of ours. General 
 Anders — who, I regret to say, was not at home to-day, but for 
 whom I left my card — is the sort of preit.v chevalier who is rapidly 
 dying out. We must know these people ; I want to utilise both 
 Hetherege and the General." 
 
 And so Lord Snizort began talking very loud about one 
 thing, and Lady Snizort began talking very loud about another. 
 Neither of them left off for one second, and neither attended 
 to a word the other said ; consequently, when they arrived home, 
 they both said what a pleasant drive they had had, and what 
 excellent company the other was. Above all, Lord Snizort was 
 assured more than ever of the powers of conversation possessed 
 by Reginald. 
 
 Many other people came — some exceedingly charming, un- 
 affected people, some very tiresome and vulgar people ; but all 
 were very kindly received. The visiting process was very soon 
 over, and then the process of returning the visits had to be 
 thought of. Nobody said that that subject was to be spoken 
 of on a certain day at dinner, but everybody knew the fact 
 perfectly well. General Anders had been in town, and no one 
 wished to air their opinions thoroughly till he was present ; 
 consequently, whatever might be thought about the various 
 people, nothing was said, save from one to another of the house- 
 hold in groups of twos, or, at most, threes. To take an example, 
 no one had ever got one word out of Aunt Hester about Lady 
 Snizort : when that lady was mentioned, Aunt Hester at once 
 took off her spectacles and was dumb. Even Emily Hickson 
 did not dare to have a skirmish with her about Lady Snizort 
 unsupported ; she waited for the field-day, when she could 
 manoeuvre her little regiment with support from some quarter 
 or another. She knew that every one in the house was afraid 
 of her except Aunt Hester, and she determined to frighten that 
 lady herself — "Because," she said to her mother, "I am not 
 going, at my time of life, to stand Lady Snizort ; that would 
 be a little too much. And I am not going in single-handed 
 against the vulgar old trot ; the whole family shall back me and 
 we will never allow her to enter the house again." 
 
 General Anders began to look very old and anxious. Kind 
 he had always been, but he seemed to get more and more anxious 
 to be kinder ; the old General got more and more humble as time 
 went on. The old jokes which he had loved seemed to pall upon 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 181 
 
 him ; the old music seemed to jar on his ear, or to fall dead upon 
 it. He never seemed older, more anxious, or more distraught 
 than he did on the day when he came back to Hollingscroft, and 
 was welcomed by all of them. 
 
 He was very quiet before dinner, and after dinner opened the 
 subject of their neighbours himself. 
 
 " And who has called ? " he asked generally. 
 
 " The Barnetts," said Aunt Hester. 
 
 " Very nice people, I dare say," said the General; "he is 
 rather a bore, is he not ? I don't know him." 
 
 " He is very nice," said Emily, looking straight at Laura 
 Owthwaite (it may here be mentioned that Mr. Owthwaite and 
 his daughter were now of the family group), " and I am in love 
 with him. He is ugly, but not vulgar, and I like him. I always 
 have fought him on the subject of his son, and I always shall." 
 
 "Never mind them," said the General; "who are the next 
 people ? " 
 
 Many people were mentioned. He took little or no notice of 
 any of them — he passed them by. Some he knew, and some he 
 did not. Then there was a dead lock in the conversation ; 
 nobody would bell the cat about the Snizorts, for they knew they 
 were acquaintances of his. At last he said — 
 
 " I am sorry the Snizorts have not called." 
 
 " They have,'" said Goodge. 
 
 " I hope you liked them," said the General. 
 
 There was a general silence, broken by Emily Hickson. 
 
 " Nasty impertinent vulgar things ! — no, we do not like them 
 at all ! they are absolutely unbearable. Their manners are not 
 fit for the society of costermongers or chimney-sweeps. I don't 
 care about his rank or hers, but they are snobs, utter and entire 
 snobs, and as long as I am in this house they don't enter it with 
 my consent." 
 
 " Emily ! " said her mother, " if you speak in that way, I must 
 request you to leave the room." 
 
 "I am all obedience," said Emily, " but before I go I should 
 like the General to hear you elders repeat to the General what 
 you have said about them among yourselves. They have no 
 consideration for other people's feelings, and think of no one but 
 themselves ; and so I say that they are snobs. I will take my 
 dessert in my room, as I am not fit company for my own mother ; " 
 and so she bounced out of the room. 
 
 "I am not sorry that our dear little girl is gone," said the 
 General, " but I wish to speak to you about these Snizorts, 
 Have they been very disagreeable? Speak, Hester," 
 
182 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " The woman," said Aunt Hester, with a radiant smile, " is 
 very good indeed. She is a great study ; she is the best fun 
 I have seen for years. I refused emphatically to speak to her, 
 turned my back on her, and walked out of the room — since which 
 time no member of our circle lias dared twice to mention the 
 woman's name in my ears." 
 
 Here there was a sudden reappearance of Miss Emily Hickson, 
 who said, " I'd have said the same, but no one would have backed 
 me up." It set them all laughing and at ease, and Reginald 
 caught the young lady and brought her back to her seat. 
 
 "Well, now, look here," said the General. "I know these 
 two people are very disagreeable, but I am very anxious that you 
 should be civil to them. Goodge, you know him ? " 
 " Well," said Goodge. 
 
 11 Let us all let him talk. The man is utterly unendurable, 
 I will allow that ; but he is very clever, very honest, and, I fairly 
 tell you, very necessary to us. I want his voice in the House 
 of Lords." 
 
 " But, General," said the Duke, " do you know the man well ? 
 With his never-ceasing twaddle, he spoils every cause he takes 
 up, however good it may be. I will speak more fully when the 
 ladies are gone." 
 
 " Then we had better go," said Aunt Hester, " if there is 
 money in it. Come along, my dears. If you put Lady Snizort 
 on business grounds, I will stop my ears with cotton, and smile 
 as I used to when I was young and handsome. You remember 
 me like that, Reginald ? " 
 
 " Not a bit," said Reginald, flipping her with his napkin. 
 " I never remember you being as liandsome as you are now. 
 Go along ! " And so the men were left alone. 
 
 We have noticed above that Miss Owthwaite was present ; Mr. 
 Owthwaite also was very frequently a guest at Reginald's table, 
 but hardly ever spoke unless he had a brother clergyman to speak 
 to. He used to say grace, and then eat his dinner. He had 
 instituted an evening service at eight o'clock for the labourers, 
 and so, dinner being at seven, or generally half-past, he used to 
 slip away, perforin service, and take his daughter home in the 
 evening. On this occasion, dinner being late, and it being a 
 Friday, he had left after the fish. He returned, however, as 
 the ladies left the room, and was generally welcomed. He took 
 some wine and sat perfectly silent, while the men began to talk. 
 We must remember the fact that there were only four men besides 
 himself. 
 
 " Now that we are alone," said the General, "I want very 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 183 
 
 much to say that if my dear friend Hetherege does not object, 
 I wish very much that these fantastic people, the Snizorts, should 
 be treated with every civility, and humoured to the top of their 
 bent — fooled to the top of their bent if you like ; there is money 
 to be made out of that blatant ass, and we must make it." 
 
 " I am in the scheme then," said the Duke, laughing. " He 
 shall bleed for putting me back into bed." 
 
 " How are you going to make money out of him ? " said Goodge. 
 "He is the greatest screw on earth : he is much more careful of 
 his money than you ever were, General." 
 
 " That man was Senior Optime at Cambridge, and he is as 
 good a surveyor as you are, Goodge. That man knows every 
 foot of the Euphrates Valley, as well as I do the valley of the 
 Thames. That man has Arabic at his fingers' ends, and has 
 talked with the natives on their own ground. That man is well 
 disposed towards our railway, and would speak with authority 
 in the House of Lords, which no one could dispute. Reginald 
 here will do our business in the House of Commons ; if we get 
 the right side of that man he will do it in the Lords." 
 
 " But," said Reginald, " this is the first I have ever heard 
 about the Euphrates Valley scheme. It can't succeed yet. We 
 should not pay a dividend for fifty years." 
 
 " We'll post you up," said the General ; "I want to get hold 
 of this man. Theodorides proposed to me to try him, but I 
 pointed out to Theodorides that he was inexorably honest. 
 Theodorides, who is in reality a Simpson, you know, and a 
 Yankee, thought that we might try him, but he must be talked 
 over. We can surely do that. 
 
 Reginald was eating a peach, and Goodge was looking at the 
 eager General with deep pain. There was another man looking 
 at the group with a very different expression. 
 
 " I will talk to you about this to-morrow morning, General," 
 said Reginald, rather sadly. 
 
 11 Not to-morrow morning, Mr. Hetherege," said a deep voice 
 which electrified them all. " Now, sir, now ! Do not truckle or 
 evade for a moment, sir, on your soul. I am commissioned by 
 my Master to speak, and when I hear his voice, as I heard it 
 just now, I will not be silent. I would not be silent if I stood 
 face to face with Nero. This is a scheme to make money by 
 raising shares to a fictitious price, and then letting the unfor- 
 tunate shareholders take care of themselves. I protest against 
 it as dishonest. General Anders has covered himself with well- 
 earned glory ; he has seen stricken fields and the flight of widows 
 and orphans from villages, which it has been necessary to burn 
 
184 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 in the awful course of war. In his old age, with more money 
 than would rebuild the Temple of Jerusalem, he still seeks to 
 make more. Satiated with the lust of honour, he panders to 
 a meaner lust, that of gain, which in a few short years will he 
 useless to him, Never mind who suffers, General Anders must 
 have more money. In the name of my Master, for what ? In 
 the name of my Master I protest against it, and I leave you." 
 
 And so he went away, and they sat staring at one another in 
 silence. Reginald and Goodge were very sorry about this sudden 
 explosion of Mr. Owthwaite's, for they could easily have persuaded 
 the General into another course ; they could have reasoned gently 
 and affectionately with him, but Mr. Owthwaite had done more 
 harm than good it seemed at first. The Duke, with all the care- 
 lessness of a Frenchman, was in no whit disconcerted, and he 
 spoke first, which was a considerable relief to the others. 
 
 " Well, I see," he said, " that we must hold to my old rule — 
 never talk business before a woman or a priest. Bless them 
 both, they are too good for this world ! But now the women and 
 the priests are all out of the way, and the lodge is safely tiled, I 
 should like to ask the assembled company what any or all of them 
 know of this man Theodorides. I have important reasons for 
 asking, and I am so earnest about the matter that I must ask 
 that the question of Lord Snizort is deferred for the present." 
 
 Goodge said afterwards that he could have kissed him. The 
 General was sitting scowling and deadly pale, when this pleasant 
 Frenchman, with singular dexterity, put them all at their ease at 
 once. The General was extremely angry, and this question gave 
 him an excellent opportunity for being irritable about a small 
 matter instead of about a great one. He was on the Duke at 
 once, to every one's great satisfaction. 
 
 "What do you want to know about the man?" he said 
 abruptly. 
 
 " Who is he, my friend ? " said the Duke eagerly, delighted 
 to draw the irritation on his own good-natured head. " I want to 
 know who he is, and what character you have got with him, for I 
 believe that he is no other than that young forger Simpson come 
 to light again." 
 
 " There you are utterly wrong," said Goodge. "I know who 
 the man is perfectly well. I knew that young Simpson, and I 
 know this man. They are two distinct people. This man is 
 some connection of the American Simpsons, but he is a grandson 
 of old Theodorides at Panama. They are distinct people. Why, 
 surely his own brother would know him ! " 
 
 " I should not know my own brother if he had committed 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 185 
 
 forgery," said the Duke ; " and I firmly believe that this is the 
 man." 
 
 ' ' Would you like to attach a perfectly unsustained condemna- 
 tion against any other of my friends, Duke ? " said the General. 
 " Perhaps Mr. Hetherege is a murderer ; or my friend, Mr. 
 Goodge, a coiner. Upon my soul, I am deeply obliged to you." 
 
 " So you ought to be, for warning you against a skulking 
 rogue," said the Duke. " That man is at no good at all, I tell 
 you. I suppose you know that he is on the most intimate terms 
 with Bevan." 
 
 " I introduced them, sir." 
 
 " When?" 
 
 "Last week." 
 
 " Well, to my certain knowledge they have been as thick as 
 thieves this three months. I met them arm in arm in St. James's 
 Street, certainly all that time ago. Do you mean to say that they 
 shammed not knowing one another ? " 
 
 " Sir, I will not sit here and listen to you, while you take away 
 the character of my friends. I say that Count Theodorides and 
 Mr. Bevan are both gentlemen of high honour. Mr. Bevan is one 
 of the greatest merchants in America, a member of the State 
 Legislation of New Jersey ; a most eminent man ; his knowledge 
 of both American and Australian finance is incomparable. I 
 really think that I will go upstairs, for, after being called a 
 rogue, I am not exactly prepared to be called a fool ; " and so he 
 went. 
 
 " He rides rusty under it," said Goodge. "I am very glad 
 of that." 
 
 " So am I. He is changing very much," said Reginald, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " We can all see that," said Goodge. " What is the reason of 
 it, in Heaven's name ? I cannot bear to see it. He sometimes 
 seems as though he would do anything for money." 
 
 " He has not fully confided to me. There is something behind 
 it all. I suspect that there is some secret. You know where I 
 mean, Duke?" 
 
 11 Oh, nonsense, there is nothing there. Don't you begin to 
 craze yourself over that nonsense. If ever that room is opened, I 
 suspect that you will find a number of extremely disreputable love- 
 letters. The old man fancied that every one cared about his affairs 
 as much as he did himself." 
 
 " No, there is something more than that," said Goodge. "His 
 moral nature is deteriorating with this insatiable thirst for money. 
 We must talk to him, or rather you must. Don't let that son of 
 
186 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 thunder —that rector of yours — pitch into him. He won't stand 
 it at all." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 Reginald's old luck begins to return. 
 
 A secret mistake, a secret fault, confessed at once, remedied at 
 once, is as harmless as a trifling slide of snow from a roof-top, 
 which falls over the playing children's heads in the court, and 
 makes them laugh. But a secret mistake, kept in one solitary 
 bosom, grows, as year after year goes on, into a potential avalanche, 
 which is a continually increasing source of terror to the man who 
 keeps it and who knows of the existence of the Vast snowdrift over- 
 head. A man with a great secret, kept for years concealed, says 
 every year, as time goes on, "I cannot solve it now ; it is too 
 late." Every year it becomes more impossible to speak, until at 
 last the great secret is only discovered by death or by accident. 
 
 The dark, sealed room at Bolton Row was General Anders's 
 secret, and as the years passed he was more and more unwilling 
 to open that room. Our readers know already the conditions 
 made by the old merchant as to its being opened. Had he done 
 after Vittoria what he might have'done, he would have known the 
 worst. Nothing could induce him to face that solidary fact. He 
 had reason to believe that there were documents there relating to 
 the mother whom he had never known. The morbid fear of 
 knowing more about her than was consistent with her honour 
 grew on him ; and at last warped his judgment, nay, even his 
 moral feeling. The awful words written on the paper which he 
 had actually shown to his old fellow-soldier were bad enough ; but, 
 as we have said before, there was more than he had spoken of. 
 
 His fellow-soldier was dead, and he was alone in his own coun- 
 sel. He had seen the effect of money in the world, and he deter- 
 mined to have money. Knowing only one-half the truth, he 
 thought that he knew all. It matters little here what he knew or 
 did not know, that will be seen hereafter ; but he thought that he 
 must have money to a very vast extent. He took Reginald into 
 his confidence as far as that. Reginald said that they had money 
 enough ; General Anders said that he was in ignorance about con- 
 tingencies, and that he considered that they would want at least a 
 million, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 187 
 
 Reginald wondered, but he knew afterwards that the General 
 intended a great legal campaign about the Digby will. This 
 intention was mixed up with such an obliquity of moral vision as 
 astounded Reginald utterly. Affairs afterwards explained them- 
 selves : for a time General Anders, brooding over one theme, did 
 not know right from wrong. It is not a very uncommon case, nor 
 is superstitious cowardice so very uncommon, among the bravest 
 men that we should condemn him entirely. 
 
 He was very angry with Mr. Owthwaite, and went away. But 
 all his going away could not prevent Reginald from beginning to 
 reciprocate the hospitalities of the county ; and he considered that 
 the arrival of Mr. Bevan, the great American financier, w T as the 
 proper opportunity for a grand banquet or dinner. Goodge, when 
 he heard of it, remembered that he had a particular appointment 
 in Patagonia, but his clothes and dressing things were removed 
 from his room until he consented to stay. 
 
 It took a week to consider who was to be asked first. Reginald 
 wrote down the Barnetts, the Snizorts, the Owthwaites, Mr. Bevan, 
 and Emily Hickson. 
 
 Every one except Reginald was dead against the Owthwaites 
 being asked, but Reginald insisted on it, and it was carried. 
 
 Aunt Hester then desired it to be known that, if Emily Hick- 
 son dined at table, she requested to have her dinner in her own 
 room ; whereupon Emily said that she had much better do 
 so. 
 
 The eminent and aged novelist looked at that young lady with 
 the most withering scorn, and as if she were going to say some- 
 thing. 
 
 " Ah, you are thinking about what you are going to say," said 
 Miss Hickson. " Come, say it out if you are ready with it, 
 and don't keep us all waiting. You say that if I dine at table 
 you won't ; well, as I am going to dine at table, I am glad to 
 hear it." 
 
 " Emily ! " said Mrs. Hickson, setting her mouth at her 
 daughter. " Silence ! " 
 
 " Don't screw your mouth about, ma, as if you were feeling 
 for your wisdom teeth. You would be as beautiful as Aunt 
 Hester if you did not make faces at me. But I have done. 
 Don't be angry with me for being naughty, for I am not really 
 so, you know. I won't dine at table at all. I shall be certain to 
 say something to Lady Snizort : I had much better not." 
 
 She was therefore left an open question. Then, nem. con., 
 came the Barnetts. The list was subsequently agreed upon to 
 the amount of thirty, including the people in the house, Such as 
 
188 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 are worthy of notice will be introduced to the reader in the course 
 of the entertainment. 
 
 People not used to giving dinners or entertainments of any 
 kind are generally fussy, and make their guests as little at ease 
 as they are themselves. You ought to attend to your guests cer- 
 tainly, but only in an indirect manner ; you ought to put every- 
 thing in order for them to enjoy themselves, and then leave it 
 alone, or to your servants. If you cannot give a properly ordered 
 dinner party, why, then the remedy is perfectly easy — that is, not 
 Jo give one at ali ; but ask a few friends to a leg of mutton, they 
 will enjoy themselves far more. Reginald and Hester had no 
 trouble about their guests. They had a trained stolos of servants, 
 and were utterly careless of details. Hester was used to grand 
 entertainment, and had given her advice ; Mary had followed it, 
 and seen to everything. Reginald had told Mary that she must 
 not appear to know that anything particular was going on, and 
 was to try to look as if they dined in that way every day of their 
 lives. He himself was utterly careless about the whole matter, 
 and so he awaited his guests with perfect equanimity ; although 
 he was quite aware that one-half of his guests were, politically 
 speaking, deadly enemies to the other half, and that there was a 
 fearful family feud between the Snizorts and the Barnetts about 
 the right of way through a wood. Mr. Bevan had arrived, and 
 Reginald had seen him for a moment, after which he had gone 
 upstairs to dress. 
 
 The first arrivals were the Owthwaites. Laura Owthwaito 
 looked exceedingly pale and anxious, and Mr. Owthwaite dan- 
 gerously calm. There was something extremely uncomfortable in 
 that quarter — Reginald did not know what in any way. He had 
 comforted himself with the assurance that everybody was prepared 
 to quarrel with everybody else, and that he would have to bear the 
 blame. He was so used to this state of things ever since he was 
 bom, that he did not particularly care. Goodge, too, was there, 
 that marvellous man, who, by good humour, shrewdness, and tact, 
 could manage any one, from a Nile slave-dealer to Aunt Hester. 
 No one of his friends minded anything when Goodge was by their 
 side. 
 
 The next arrival was Mr. Bevan from upstairs. He was a fine- 
 looking man, with an enormous jet-black board and blue spec- 
 tacles. He was extremely agreeable, but he spoke with a fearful 
 Yankee accent and expression, and about nothing in this world 
 but America and American doings and habits. He was presented 
 to Aunt Hester, who was very gracious indeed. Poor lady ! 
 To say that he talked exactly like Artemus Ward, would be to 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 189 
 
 deceive our readers ; he not only talked like Artemus Ward, but 
 ten times worse. Goodge was very much interested in him at 
 once ; he entered into conversation with him, and seemed to take 
 to him. Aunt Hester was rather puzzled by some of his expres- 
 sions, and Goodge said to him — 
 
 " Miss Simpson has never been out of England, and does not 
 quite understand some of your Australianisms." 
 
 " My Americanisms, I fear you mean," said Mr. Bevan ; " for, 
 as we say in the States, I will take my colonial oath that I 
 never was in Australia in my life." 
 
 Goodge had a little more conversation with him, and then went 
 to Reginald. 
 
 " Reginald," he said, " mind that fellow Bevan. He is not an 
 American at all, he is nothing but a whitewashed Yankee of very 
 recent date. He is an Australian, shamming Yankee — fancy an 
 American gentleman saying ' my colonial oath ! ' That fellow is 
 a thundering liar." 
 
 Reginald smiled ; but there was no time to do anything else, 
 for the butler announced " Sir Lipscombe Barnett," and at 
 the same time, but with a second's pause, " Lord and Lady 
 Snizort." 
 
 Here was a pretty kettle of fish ! Here was a nice beginning ! 
 The butler had better have been in his grave than have done such 
 a thing as to announce Sir Lipscombe before Lord Snizort. It 
 was all over now, and Reginald, with a glance at Goodge, re- 
 signed himself for an evening's amusement, knowing that the 
 whole awful miscarriage would, as usual, be laid at his door. 
 Some people would have tried to mend mutters by an exhibition 
 of that peculiarly shallow humbug called " tact " ; Reginald knew 
 that a man or woman who exhibits "tact," when both parties 
 concerned in a misunderstanding are perfectly well aware of all 
 circumstances, only makes an enemy of both parties, and is set 
 down as a cowardly enemy by both. Reginald let the matter 
 arrange itself, and spoke to Sir Lipscombe first, shortly and 
 warmly, after which he passed on to the infuriated Snizort and his 
 lady. The horror generally inflicted on society by this very 
 worthy and learned couple arose from the fact that, when either 
 of them was set talking, they neither could be got to leave off 
 again any more. On this occasion, for the first and last time, 
 they inflicted a new and more terrible horror on our unfortunate 
 friends. Neither of them would utter a single word, or do any- 
 thing except follow Sir Lipscombe Barnett about the room with a 
 stony and baleful stare coming out of their four eyes. It was 
 horrible. The first visible effect of it was to make Laura Owth- 
 
190 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 waite, who bad been extremely ill and nervous before, rise and 
 leave the room hurriedly. 
 
 Sir Lipscombe was in high feather, most genial and charming. 
 Having exchanged a good-humoured bow with Lord Snizort, he 
 sat by Aunt Hester and made himself entirely agreeable. Mary 
 went to assist Reginald in the apparently hopeless task of ap- 
 peasing the Snizorts ; but the Duke and Duchess joined Aunt 
 Hester and Sir Lipscombe. Sir Lipscombe told them that he 
 had at last read one of Aunt Hester's novels ; he was utterly and 
 entirely converted to her way of thinking on all points. He had 
 been prepared to disagree, from what he had heard at second 
 hand ; but her story of " Jessie " had caused him to throw over 
 all preconceived opinions, and frankly and humbly lay his pali- 
 node at her feet, as he did now. Aunt Hester, not being classical, 
 glanced towards her footstool, and then saw that he spoke 
 metaphorically. In short, Sir Lipscombe, with his kind-hearted 
 truthfulness, made himself extremely agreeable ; while Lord 
 Snizort, with more than all his brains, and fifty times his know- 
 ledge, was, assisted by his wife, making himself a vast nuisance. 
 
 As the guests came, however, they gathered about Lord 
 Snizort more than about Sir Lipscombe. They were mostly 
 important county squires, and Snizort was a great man among 
 them. Bevan shone out prodigiously ; even Snizort's airs were 
 nothing to his ; his railway company had a concession of land 
 half as big as Ireland, which you had only to scratch with a 
 plough to produce thirty bushels an acre of wheat. Bound the 
 Snizort lighthouse all craft came to an anchor, and listened to the 
 wonderful American as he spoke, aye, and spoke almost truly, as 
 regarded fact, of the great nation of the future. 
 
 "We ain't no better 'n other folks, I reckon," he said, "but 
 we've got the experience of other nations heaped up ; and we've 
 got the richest inheritance that ever God Almighty sent to any 
 nation. Guess we mean to hold it and improve it. We air the 
 richest nation on the face of the earth." 
 
 A man had joined the group whom no one had noticed — a 
 powerful, tall, pale, and ugly man ; if every one had not been 
 so eager they might have heard him announced as Lord Arthur 
 Sebright. 
 
 "What, are you here, Bevan, raising the wind?" said his 
 lordship ; and then dinner was announced before any one had 
 time to notice that Bevan seemed not only surprised, but, on the 
 whole, sorry that Lord Arthur was there. It is possible, how- 
 ever, that blue spectacles and a black beard are calculated to 
 conceal emotion ; for Goodge never saw any. 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 191 
 
 The Duke took down Lady Snizort, Lord Snizort Aunt Hester, 
 Reginald a squiress, and Goodge Mrs. Hickson. Beyond this 
 there was no preconcerted arrangement ; Mary made a few- 
 attempts at order, but the people arranged themselves. The 
 child, Emily Hickson, who had come down very late, and who 
 looked very pretty, went quickly up to Lord Arthur Sebright, and 
 put her hand on his arm. " I want to speak to you," she 
 whispered anxiously. 
 
 Lord Arthur was pleased with the pretty little spoilt girl, 
 and invited her confidence. It was of the most alarming 
 character, but was not given until Mr. Owthwaite had said 
 grace. 
 
 Grace before meat, in the hands of a justly exasperated man, 
 is a very powerful engine of offence. We have seen previously 
 how Aunt Hester, by merely reading aloud the formularies of the 
 Church of England, which are carefully prepared so as to give as 
 little offence as possible, could nevertheless, by the mere use of 
 emphasis, launch poisoned arrows of sarcasm and rebuke at her 
 servant's heads. The sermon, of course, allows of greater 
 latitude than any formalised liturgy, and we have seen how the 
 late Charles Hetherege used to ease his mind in a sermon by 
 denouncing, in the strongest biblical language, people who were 
 not in the least degree aware that he was preaching, and could 
 by no means ever become aware of a single word which he said. 
 The pulpit is a splendid vehicle for denunciation ; but then the 
 remedy, or counter, always remains. If the denounced one does 
 not happen to go to church, the personal allusions to him fall 
 rather dead — much as do the personal denunciations of any man 
 in a public journal which he never casts eyes on from one year's 
 end to another. From Grace before meat, however, there is no 
 escape ; you may, and many do, make fifty excuses for not going 
 to church, but it takes all your time to excuse yourself from going 
 to dinner. When you are there, the parson has you, if he is 
 clever enough. Mr. Owthwaite was quite clever enough to make 
 himself a skeleton at Reginald's banquet, and he did it. He was 
 asked, as the Scotch say, to "bless the victual," and he did it 
 like Boileau's priest. 
 
 He prayed shortly that vain, causeless, and frivolous quarrels 
 might cease between the rich and the powerful of this world (this 
 meant Snizort and Barnett). He hoped that those who had 
 newly acquired wealth would not be puffed up by it, but would 
 remember the fatherless and the widow while enjoying the 
 bounties spread before them (this was for Reginald) ; and he 
 also hoped that none of the assembled guests would ever feel 
 
192 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the bitterness of rebellious and unthankful children (this was a 
 cut at his daughter) ; after which whet to the appetite he sat 
 down. 
 
 Then Emily began whispering to Lord Arthur Sebright. 
 
 11 You are a great friend of George Barnett's ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have no such friend." 
 
 " And I want to be a great friend of Laura Owthwaite's." 
 
 ''Well?" 
 
 " I shall not say one word if you speak to me like that. You 
 know what I allude to ; you — but you men are so mean." 
 
 " Now, let us be friends. I am not mean at all ; but don't you 
 see, my dear young lady, that I am responsible for every word I 
 say, whereas you are not." 
 
 " There is a good deal in that, and I will trust you. You know 
 that they are in love with one another." 
 
 " I really cannot commit myself in any way." 
 
 " Then I must do it all myself," said Emily. " I suppose you 
 are right ; but let me tell my story. They are — you need not 
 contradict me — desperately in love with one another. The thing 
 has been going on long before we came here, secretly, but she has 
 told me, because I saw — well, because I saw them together the 
 first day the Barnetts came to call. Mr. Owthwaite's son enlisted 
 in the army, and he has some terrible prejudice against it. He 
 has said often that he would curse his daughter if she married a 
 soldier, and you know what he is. Mr. Owthwaite and Sir 
 Lipscombe are at daggers-drawn about Mr. Owthwaite's Radicalism. 
 He says nothing better of him than that he is a rick-burner, 
 without the courage to fire the match. This love for Laura is the 
 only thing which George has concealed from his father, who 
 would forgive him anything except an imprudent marriage. He 
 means him to marry Lady Jane Dove, with a million or so of money. 
 It is all arranged as far as the old people are concerned, but 
 George hates her. Mr. Owthwaite has discovered it, and has 
 been furious with her to-day. I believe that Reginald might 
 make peace in some way, because he always does so; no one can 
 resist him. Now, I want you to use your influence with George 
 not to " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Not to press her. I am frightened about her. She has used 
 very wild words to me about your friend. Her lather has been 
 very bitter with her ; I am sure that you will do your best to keep 
 Mr. Owthwaite and George Barnett apart. Persuade him to go 
 back to his regiment — to go to London for a time to be out of her 
 way. I am sure that it will all end happily then." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 193 
 
 " Allow mo to observe, my dear young lady," said Lord 
 Arthur, " that you are at once very indiscreet in trusting so much 
 to a mere stranger like myself, and yet extremely sensible at 
 the same time. I will speak to the young lady herself, if you 
 wish me, after dinner. I know her well, and I promise that 
 George shall behave with the most entire discretion. Where 
 is Miss Owthwaite ? I do not see her at the other side of the 
 table." 
 
 " She must be sitting this side, I suppose. I left her in 
 my room, and she said she was coming down. Where is Miss 
 Owthwaite?" she whispered to the butler, when he came round 
 again. 
 
 "Miss Owthwaite is gone home, Miss," said ho, "very 
 poorly." 
 
 "I wonder why George did not come to-night," said Lord 
 Arthur. " Now Miss Hickson, we are so deep in one another's 
 confidence through your indiscretion, that we must make acquain- 
 tance. What do you like most ? " 
 
 " My dinner just now." 
 
 " What do you dislike most ? " 
 
 " The ridiculous conventionalisms which would have rendered it 
 impossible for mo to say what I have just said to you about two 
 good people, unless I had a will of my own." 
 
 " Do you like me ? " 
 
 "Immensely. They say that you arc a prig, you know, and 
 perhaps you are. But I like you very much indeed." 
 
 So they made friends in their way, and their frank friendship 
 lasted, because they could laugh at one another without anger or 
 temper. 
 
 Meanwhile the grand banquet proceeded with very indifferent 
 results in other quarters. As it was the first, so it was the most 
 disastrous and the last of all the general banquets which Reginald 
 ever gave. Lord Snizort would not talk to a human being except 
 Bevan, save to contradict flatly. He was only civil to Bevan 
 because he was a foreigner ; and that gentleman reciprocated his 
 advances so very warmly that before dinner was half over he had 
 been invited to stay at Lord Snizort's as soon as ever he had 
 finished his visit to Reginald's. He accepted it with great pleasure, 
 and my lord called down the table to Reginald — 
 
 " I hope that you will not keep Mr. Bevan too long, Mr. 
 Hetherege. He has promised to come to me, immediately after 
 leaving you ; and as his visit is timed to exactly fit a promised 
 visit from your friend General Anders, it will be an admirable 
 thing to make two such great financiers known to one another." 
 
 14 
 
194 REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 
 
 "That fellow has played his cards devilish well to get the 
 General alone in a country house. He means no good," muttered 
 Goodge. And Reginald wished that the General was going any- 
 where else, for he had a painful feeling that he had in some way 
 lost a friend, and that his old General was dead. 
 
 Politics took a very violent turn. There was only one very 
 highly talented Tory there, Lord Arthur, and he was taken up 
 witli Emily, Goodge, and Reginald. 80 the Tories made up in 
 denunciation what they wanted in argument. Lord Snizort was 
 a famous Whig, and had a more intelligent following than could 
 be found in the disorganised ranks of the enemy. The conse- 
 quences were extremely unpleasant, and every one was glad when 
 dinner was over. Then came the memorable disaster which lost 
 Reginald a dear friend, and did so much to embitter the peace he 
 should have found in his new home. 
 
 Belgium is the cockpit of Europe. She certainly escaped last 
 time, but by all accounts the Belgians expect that the next war 
 between Germ any and France will be settled in their corn and 
 turnip fields. Why should Belgium or Reginald Hetherege's 
 house be always selected for the theatres of wars, dynastic and 
 family, with which they have nothing to do? Nobody, except 
 such men as Napoleon the First, who could fight anywhere, ever 
 goes and fights out an extraneous quarrel in Switzerland — by no 
 means a powerful state. There must be a fatality over some 
 nations like Belgium, and some individuals like Reginald 
 Hetherege, which makes them the natural prey of war. An 
 affair had been quietly going on for some time between the houses 
 of Burnett and Owthwaite ; it now culminated, and the principle 
 parties, with an unerring instinct, selected Reginald's unfortunate 
 house for the denouement. He knew nothing of it, and had 
 nothing to do with it; but his neutral fields, so to speak, were the 
 first to be desolated, and the first shock of war fell on his devoted 
 head. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIY. 
 
 Reginald's misfortunes accumulate. 
 
 Mr. Owthwaite had left the dinner table without being noticed, 
 for he came and went in that house like a shadow. The men 
 
KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 195 
 
 were still at wine, when the butler came in and quietly called out 
 Reginald and Sir Lipscombe. 
 
 They went into the library at the butler's desire, and there they 
 found Mr. Owthwaite, white as a sheet, and looking wild and 
 dangerous. 
 
 "Mr. Hetherege," he said, "the sanctity of your house has 
 been violated by this man's son." 
 
 Reginald at first thought that Mr. Owthwaite, for the first time 
 in his life, had been taking too much wine, but he soon unfortu- 
 nately found that Mr. Owthwaite was perfectly sober. 
 
 " My daughter has been here very much lately, Mr. Hetherege. 
 She has been very much in the companionship of Mr. George 
 Barnett here. I think you will allow that." 
 
 " They have certainly both been here very often," said Reginald. 
 
 "With your knowledge, Sir Lipscombe?" demanded Mr. 
 Owthwaite. 
 
 " I suppose that I am above being a spy upon my son, sir. 
 He is an officer in her Majesty's army, and is not responsible for 
 his coming and going to any one save the military authorities." 
 
 " He is a scoundrel, sir," said Mr. Owthwaite. 
 
 11 Your cloth protects you, sir," said Sir Lipscombe. " Goon." 
 
 " If my son were alive," said Mr. Owthwaite 
 
 "If your son were alive, sir, my son would castigate him 
 in the public streets, sir, or call him to account in another way, 
 a way which, as a Christian, I will not mention," said Sir 
 Lipscombe. 
 
 " I am the most unlucky man on the face of the earth," said 
 Reginald. " I shall have no peace but in the grave. Will you 
 two tell me what has happened, and not stand snorting defiance 
 at one another." 
 
 "My daughter has eloped from your house with Captain 
 Barnett, sir." 
 
 "Is that all?" said the unlucky Reginald. "Well, I hope 
 they will be happy. They are a handsome couple." 
 
 They were both down on him at once. Sir Lipscombe began 
 before Mr. Owthwaite had time. 
 
 " How dare you speak of my son's dishonour with such dis- 
 gusting levity, sir ! I ask, how you dare do it ! My son, my 
 only son, the soul of honour and probity, began his moral 
 deterioration in your son's house, and has completed his ruin in 
 yours. I wish that I had never heard your name, sir. Was it 
 not enough that my son should be sent into scenes which he had 
 never previously contemplated, save in novels — the scenes, I 
 mean, which went on in your son's house at Brixton — but he must 
 
196 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 be trepanned here, sir, to break my heart ? He has had every- 
 thing he wanted from a boy ; he has been everything that a father 
 could wish except on one occasion, when pressure was brought to 
 bear on Lord Hardinge not to force him to sell out. Mr. Owth- 
 waite, to show you how guiltless I am in this matter, let me tell you 
 that I had a splendid match in prospect for him. Let us cast the 
 dust oil' our feet, sir, as we leave this house, and mourn our 
 mutual and irreparable loss in secrecy and shame." 
 
 Mr. Owthwaite had not the smallest intention of mourning in 
 secret with Sir Lipsconihe, until he had had an interview with 
 Reginald. 
 
 " My child — my ewe lamb," he said, "was allowed to come 
 and go to this unhallowed house without suspicion, without 
 inquiry. Always the best of daughters to me, we mourned to- 
 gether in secret over the loss of my only sou. Never, until she 
 made the acquaintance of Miss Emily Hickson, did one word of 
 rebellion ever pass her lips. Since then she has been different. 
 She has defied me on more than one occasion ; she has now 
 crowned her defiance by this act. We have parted, and I am 
 alone for the rest of my life." 
 
 " What are the details of this affair ? " asked Reginald. 
 
 Both Sir Lipscombe and Mr. Owthwaite laughed sardonically, 
 and looked at one another as much as to say, "You hear this 
 fellow." 
 
 " I should have thought that you knew more about it than we 
 did," said Owthwaite. 
 
 " I should have thought so also," said Sir Lipscombe. "But 
 you had better tell him, and indeed I have some remote curiosity 
 about the matter myself." 
 
 " Oh, it is very simple. She was last seen with Miss Emily 
 Hickson, and was supposed to be lying down in her bedroom. 
 She went downstairs, and was seen to ask one of your servants, 
 Sir Lipscombe, to see her across to the rectory. The man was 
 your son's creature. Half-way there she was met by him and 
 another of your servants, and they are away together. It is all 
 over." 
 
 Goodge had privately followed Reginald and the baronet out, 
 and had sat down in the room in the dark ; he now spoke out of 
 the darkness. 
 
 " And what are you two gentlemen going to do ? " said Goodge. 
 " You have made a thundering mess of it between you. Sir 
 Lipscombe, you had no right to force your son's inclinations. 
 Mr. Owthwaite, you should have been more tender to your 
 daughter." 
 
REGINALD ilETHEItEGE. 197 
 
 "You are laying down the law, sir," said Sir Lipscombe. 
 
 " I am, sir. I am speaking for my friend, your son. I have 
 been fearful of this for some time ; ' but here is Lord Arthur 
 Sebright, whom I asked to follow me. Let him speak for his 
 friend also." 
 
 "I am exceedingly angry," said Lord Arthur, "at George 
 having taken such a step without consulting me. I would have 
 done anything to prevent it. He has done it in self-defence 
 against a father whom he worships as an idol, and whose good 
 will and affection he calculates on as a certainty, as I do myself ; 
 but meanwhile he has put the future Lady Barnett, the mother of 
 your grandchildren, the possessors of your wealth, in a false and 
 absurd position. It follows that both* you and I are extremely 
 angry. We shall both get over it." 
 
 " And what are my feelings ? " said Mr. Owthwaite. 
 
 " I don't know what they are," said Goodge, exasperated by 
 the treatment which Reginald had undergone. "I should say 
 that you suffered remorse for not having put the matter fairly 
 before Sir Lipscombe the moment you knew of it. You must 
 certainly have known of it for a long time. You may sniff, sir, 
 but you won't sniff that away. Is your daughter's happiness to 
 be sacrificed because you quarrel with Sir Lipscombe about the 
 game laws ? " 
 
 It looked as if the allied powers were winning, and that the 
 two fathers would go away without a victim, which would bo a 
 great pity and extremely provoking. Reginald, however, was 
 there ready decorated for the altar, as he had been all his life. 
 They were not going to depart without their prey. The most 
 sensible plan would have been to renew their violent quarrel with 
 one another, for which there were strong grounds ; but they were 
 both, having quarrelled off and on for the last ten years without 
 either having gained an inch, slightly afraid of one another. As 
 neither of them cared about a fight, and as they must pitch into 
 somebody, they renewed their attack on the perfectly inoffensive 
 Reginald. They would listen to Goodge or Lord Arthur on any 
 other subject in the world, in fact they listened to a great deal in 
 the hall, when they were leaving, from both those gentlemen. But 
 one demanded, and the other backed him up in his demand, that 
 the name of Mr. Reginald Hetherege was never mentioned to 
 either of them again. The thing was done, and they would try 
 to make the best of it. Both fathers agreed that it had been 
 concerted in Mr. Hetherege's house, by his connivance and that 
 of Miss Hickson. They repeated the request that their names 
 might never be spoken in their hearing. 
 
198 BEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 It was made obvious to the county that Reginald, Mary, Aunt 
 Hester, Miss Hickson, and Miss Hickson's mother (who had some 
 sympathy for having such a wicked daughter), had behaved most 
 shamefully. Every one who loved Sir Lipscombe (nearly all the 
 nicest people in the county) wondered what on earth could have 
 induced him to take up with such strange people after what he 
 had known of them in old times. The worthy baronet in his 
 anger let out the story about the execution in the house and the 
 discovery of his son,' and the greater part of the county would 
 have nothing to do with them. The Duke and Duchess, as dis- 
 tinguished "foreigners, and General Anders, as a man of great 
 mark, were considered exceptions ; but Reginald and the rest of 
 his belongings got most emphatic cold shoulder. 
 
 He would really have been glad, as far as he was concerned, to 
 have been left alone. But now that Sir Lipscombe Barnett had 
 violently quarrelled with him, he naturally and at once became 
 the dearest bosom friend of Lord and Lady Snizort. They never 
 were out of the house now ; the ghastly saw of one or other of 
 their estimable voices was in the house every day. Lord Snizort 
 insulted everybody about Reginald, and pleaded his cause with 
 such persistency and long-wordedness that Reginald's popularity 
 became about as great as his own. Previously, when society was 
 unaware what subject his lordship would choose for conversation, 
 Lord Snizort had been a great nuisance. Now, when everybody 
 knew that he was going to talk about Reginald's wrongs for an 
 hour without leaving oif, he was a greater one than ever. All his 
 1 tattles in Reginald's favour were reported in full by him and his 
 lady at Hollingscroft ; and Aunt Hester said at last, in confidence 
 with Reginald and Mary, that if something did not happen to 
 those two horrors, it would become a question between suicide 
 and emigration. 
 
 In fact there seemed a fate against Reginald's being, in the 
 common sense of the word, happy. But even Goodge did not- 
 pity him, for he said, "You may be sorry, vexed, disappointed, 
 but your temper will always prevent yon from being really un- 
 happy. You will be the happiest of us all, Reginald, when all is 
 said and done. Still you are the most unfortunate man ever 
 born. Why were you ? You have always been told that it was a 
 mistake." 
 
Reginald hetherege. 199 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 IN WHICH WE FOLLOW THE HE IK. 
 
 A sudden though extremely natural change — a change for which 
 we hope our readers have been wishing, from the extremely stormy 
 sea on which Reginald found himself launched to the Pacific 
 Ocean, may not be unacceptable. To the Pacific Ocean, however, 
 we must undoubtedly go, having left matters in that quarter of 
 her Majesty's dominion to take care of themselves quite long 
 enough. 
 
 Peace being within our walls, and prosperity within our palaces ; 
 Acre having been demolished, and the Pritchard affair settled, 
 there was nothing very particular for her Majesty's ships to do 
 except to cruise. This they did diligently : an exhibition of order 
 and beauty at every port at which they touched. None of our 
 cruisers attracted more attention, or was received with greater 
 applause, than the frigate commanded by Captain Hickson, C.B. 
 He occasionally got orders to go somewhere, and he went at once ; 
 the sweet little Admiralty cherub aloft giving him his orders, and 
 he obeying them as a British sailor should. He kept his ship, his 
 sailors, and his officers, in the most perfect state. 
 
 A question having arisen about the existence of some islands 
 south of Campbell Islands, he got orders to go south and explore. 
 He found the Macquarie Islands and the Emerald Islands, as he 
 was bound to do. But finding nothing remarkable except ice in 
 62° south, he headed north again for New Zealand, to await fresh 
 orders to do nothing with all the diligence in his power, and the 
 might of the British Empire at his back. 
 
 They had been now more than four months in that desolate 
 southern sea — so little known then, so familiar now — when he 
 turned his head northward. The weary blinding ice was still all 
 around them, but the wind was fair, and civilisation was not far. 
 The crew and officers were in high spirits — there was a chance of 
 shore at all events ; and the midshipmen began discussing what 
 they would have for dinner. 
 
 One morning, as the rising sun smote the highest crag of a 
 neighbouring iceberg and made it shine like silver, a large ship 
 appeared from behind it, and crossed their path. It was H.M.S. 
 Beacon. A boat was alongside of her in a quarter of an hour. 
 In an hour all the news had been interchanged, and was known 
 all over the ship. The Beacon had been sent to look for Captain 
 
'200 ftEGINALD HETHEBEGE. 
 
 Hickson's ship, and be had orders to proceed immediately to 
 Sydney. 
 
 In two hours more she was away northward, with the Beacon 
 far astern. Every wind from the bitter south seemed to follow 
 and drive the good ship racing through the cold cruel sea. Even 
 Hickson, not given to relenting into a joke, save with his best 
 trusted oiHcers, said that the hotel keepers in Pitt Street had got 
 hold of the tow-rope. 
 
 Sydney ! the sailors' paradise of those times, what extraordinary 
 service had Hickson done to get such luck ? Sydney was enjoyed 
 ten times over before they were within five hundred miles of it. 
 A few on board had seen it, but very few ; they were for a time 
 important personages. It was a most amazing place by all 
 accounts, where the pigs were fed on peaches, and grapes and 
 pomegranates grew in the street. The mere word " Sydney " 
 roused up the whole crew. 
 
 A likely and beautiful country when they sighted it one evening 
 with the setting sun blazing behind the forest-crowned peak of 
 Cape Howe, and the ship was becalmed within five miles of land. 
 The men got into the rigging to look at the land, of which so 
 many of them had heard, and where so many of them were to 
 lay their bones, when the weary tossing and tumbling at sea was 
 over for ever. The approach to all the cast coast of Australia is 
 dull and solemn, though the first navigators were terrified at it, 
 and said that it was possessed by devils. But it is a kindly-looking 
 coast for all that, and is tenderly loved by those who know the 
 peace, silence, and beauty of the creek and river side beyond the 
 mountain forests, which look a little forbidding to the mariner 
 approaching from the south-east. 
 
 Two midshipmen were together by a gun, with their arms 
 entwined, talking quietly together. 
 
 "A pretty country," said the tallest of them. "When I quit 
 the service i will come and see it in my yacht ; it is not half 
 examined yet." 
 
 "When you quit the service!" said the other; "but you 
 always said you would never do that." 
 
 " I am getting sick of it. I might do better under another 
 captain, but he is so cold and repulsive to me. I get the hardest 
 work, even when it is not my turn. I get everything except one 
 word of praise. I went overboard after that jolly, and held him 
 up for twenty minutes : what did he say to me ? He said, ' You 
 are very wet, sir, and had better get dry, for if you come on your 
 watch with those clothes you will have the rheumatism.' That is 
 pretty encouragement. 
 
HEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 261 
 
 11 1 don't think ho likes you," said the other midshipman. " I 
 
 would sooner go to sea with the devil than with my uncle." 
 
 " Uncle ! he is no relation of mine. I wish he was. I am 
 head of a great family, and if he was my uncle he would treat me 
 differently. But the strange thing is this : on shore he is the 
 finest fellow you ever met. I came to sea partly because I — well, 
 don't laugh at me — adored him. And he treats me like this. It 
 is too hard ; I am sick of it all — utterly sick of it." 
 
 There was a little more talk, during which the younger mid- 
 shipman tried to comfort the elder. Then the captain's steward 
 was heard inquiring for Mr. Hetheregc. 
 
 " Here he is," said George, the taller midshipman, turning 
 round. " Now, mark my words, Barton, this is to prevent my 
 going ashore, as he did at Tahiti." 
 
 George followed the steward into the captain's cahin. Captain 
 Hickson had got his lamp lighted and was writing. He pointed 
 to a seat. 
 
 George Hetherege sat down and the captain went on writing. 
 At last he said, "I am writing home a letter to be posted at 
 Sydney." 
 
 " I hope you will try to say the best of me, sir," said the lad, 
 with a choking voice. " Before God, I have tried to do my best, 
 sir ; I have indeed. I know you don't like me, but you need not 
 tell them so. I thought that you liked me very much, and I 
 came on board with you so full of hope. And I was so very fond 
 of you, sir. I know I can't do right, but it is not for want of 
 trying ; I'll go on trying if you will tell them at home that I am 
 not an entire failure. Pray say that I tried, sir." 
 
 " There spoke your own grandfather," said Captain Hickson. 
 " Reginald himself all over. Whatever goes wrong it is his fault ; 
 he has no powers of sell-assertion, no powers of self-defence, when 
 he knows he is in the right. These Hethereges are born to go to 
 the wall. Non-success for four generations has ingrained the 
 habit of self- depreciation into their very blood. If you were to 
 kick a Hetherege he would give you a terrible thrashing and 
 humbly apologise for doing so afterwards. Come here, my boy." 
 
 George went to him, and the captain put his hand on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 "I always had a strong personal feeling towards you. You 
 come of one of the most perfectly amiable families which ever 
 existed. But there is a terrible fault in that family, that of weak 
 self-depreciation. Your ancestor William caused you to inherit a 
 vast estate by his mere honesty and self-assertion ; since then the 
 quality seems to have died out of the family. Your grandfather, 
 
202 BEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 in spite of all his wealth, is a perfect tool in the hands of Goodge 
 and Aunt Hester, but fortunately honest people. Of your father 
 I say little, except that he was far weaker than your grandfather. 
 I saw this quality, self-depreciation, existing in you, and I have 
 tried to correct it. You know what friends we were on shore — 
 who knows it better than you do ? We have been strangers at sea, 
 have we not? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " I wanted to try you. I was a little in hopes that you would 
 have protested against my treatment of you ; but you have done 
 nothing of the kind. I only like you better for that. You are 
 as God made you, a gentle biddable creature, incapable of a lie, 
 incapable of a mean action ; and yet, with that singular instinct 
 of obedience, knowing so strangely how to command." 
 
 " To command, sir ! " 
 
 " Aye. I have not a better officer in my ship. I am writing 
 home to our people to tell them so. I am mentioning you to the 
 Admiralty. Let the farce be done with, my boy, and let us be as 
 we were on shore." 
 
 George turned his face on his. " Are you my old friend again, 
 as I knew you on shore ? " 
 
 "Aye, every inch of it, and ten times more so. Never doubt 
 it," said Hickson. 
 
 " How could you have kept up the farce so cruelly and so long 
 then ? For nearly two years I have been in this misery. Would 
 you not have broken your heart over it ? " 
 
 " I am not a Hetherege," said Hickson. " The Hicksons have 
 temper ; the Hethereges none. I have treated you very hardly, 
 and possibly not wisely, my boy. It is all over between us now, 
 and we are friendly for ever." 
 
 The officers on the quarter-deck were rather surprised to see 
 the despised midshipman Hetherege sitting and talking earnestly 
 and affectionately with the captain that night. A junior officer 
 ventilated the theory that the Beacon had brought news of 
 Hetherege having come into his property. But that idea was 
 scouted at once, because if one thing was more certain than 
 another, it was that Hickson hated having a man independent of 
 the service on board his ship. The theory of George's friend 
 was much better, that the captain was forced at last to confess 
 that the much -bullied Hetherege was one of the best officers of 
 his years. That was the theory accepted, and Captain Hickson 
 was rather surprised at the; extraordinary geniality of his officers 
 the next day. They were always most friendly, but as they were 
 sliding along under the coast they were more than that, they were 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 203 
 
 genial. He attributed it to the approach to Sydney. But his 
 first lieutenant told him the truth — that it was his new kindness 
 to the most popular youngster in the ship was the cause. 
 
 He walked up and down the deck a few times, and then he 
 came hack to his first lieutenant, and said — 
 
 "Do you know, Lamb, our officers are a devilish good set of 
 fellows." 
 
 " That is their opinion about you," said the lieutenant. 
 " What made you try the boy so hard ? " 
 
 " I wanted to see whether he was worth it," said Captain 
 Hickson. " Mind your own business. There is the Sydney 
 head-light on the lee bow. Now for Sydney, old fellow." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 SYDNEY. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the arrival of a man-of-war at the 
 great port of Sydney creates half so much sensation in these days, 
 when Sydney is one-fourth larger, and when the colonists have 
 ships of their own, as it did in 1847. The arrival of such a fine 
 ship was a great sensation ; salutes were exchanged with the two 
 other ships there, and the names of all the officers were published 
 in the papers next morning. 
 
 Visits were at once interchanged with the other ships : and then 
 the most hospitable of cities in the Pacific surpassed herself ; balls 
 and picnics took place nearly every day, and both soldiers and 
 civilians vied with one another in giving the blue-jackets a most 
 hearty welcome. 
 
 Crowds of new faces passed so very quickly over the eye that 
 many were forgotten almost as soon as seen, and the whirl of new 
 scenes and new amusements was so great that George was quite 
 confused, and more than once made the mistake of calling people 
 by their wrong names, which was amusing to the people, but a 
 source of overwhelming confusion to the young gentleman himself, 
 he being of an extremely modest and retiring disposition. But a 
 week had not passed when he began to think that he saw one face 
 oftener and in a greater variety of places than any other. At first 
 he thought that it was fancy, but at last he was perfectly sure of 
 it. An amiable-looking old man, with a very full complexion and 
 
564 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 rather stout, certainly met him in a great many strange places, 
 though he never addressed him. The old man was dressed in 
 well-made clothes, such as a gentleman would wear, white trousers 
 and waistcoat, and a maize-coloured coat, with an expensive 
 Panama hat. Somehow, in spite of his good clothes and his 
 heavy watch-chain, George came to the conclusion that he was not 
 a gentleman. 
 
 Yet he attracted his curiosity. He was in the theatre, in the 
 bar-room, in the billiard-room, in the church, in Pitt Street, on 
 the Quay, in the Domain, but never at any private house, or at 
 any entertainment where the officers of George's ship were invited. 
 He asked a few of his Sydney acquaintances who the old gentle- 
 man was, but none of them had noticed him or knew anything 
 about him. 
 
 One morning, riding ten miles from the town, he met him on a 
 very beautiful horse, which he seemed unable to manage. He 
 seemed so extremely disturbed and nervous that George, who was 
 of an obliging disposition, and very much attached to the society 
 of old people, proffered his assistance, which was at once thank- 
 fully accepted, and words for the first time passed between 
 them. 
 
 " I am getting old, sir," he said, in a very cheerful voice,' " and 
 my nerve is not quite what it was. I remember the time when I 
 could have tried conclusions with this fellow, but that time is gone 
 by." 
 
 George held his horse while he dismounted, and then the old 
 gentleman said that he would walk home. "It is only three 
 miles," he said, "and although I am lame I can manage it in 
 time. I will cut a tea- stick at the next creek, and I daresay I 
 shall get along." 
 
 " Oh, I can't hear of such a thing as that ! " said the good- 
 natured George. " You ride my horse — lie is quiet enough — and 
 I will ride yours. I am not a bit afraid of him." 
 
 " No, really," said the old gentleman, " from a perfect stranger 
 I could not think . You are too good." 
 
 " Don't mention it. Pray get on my horse at once, and I will 
 soon manage years. " They were mounted directly, and started 
 along a side load amidst a profusion of thanks from the old gentle- 
 man. George found the horse to be the most docile and easy- 
 tempered beast he had ever been on, the very thing for an old 
 gentleman. He wondered at this, until he thought, " I suppose 
 it is because the horse's head is turned homewards." He was 
 surprised that he should not have seen this ; it of course never 
 entered his head that the old gentleman had expressly got up the 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 205 
 
 whole scene for the purpose of making acquaintance with him, 
 and had at last succeeded in doing what was very difficult for a 
 man like himself, not known in Sydney society, to do— had got on 
 speaking terms with an officer in the Royal Navy. 
 
 The road wound very pleasantly under over-arching trees, the 
 sandy track being bounded on each side by fern and heath. Some- 
 times there was a pretty clearing, fenced with posts and rails, 
 which were concealed by towering hedges of scarlet geranium, a 
 wonder to George. Each wooden farmhouse stood in a wilder- 
 ness of flowers, while the orchards consisted, not of apple and 
 pear trees, but of peach and orange. The summer air was faint 
 with scents of all kinds, partly European, certainly, but over- 
 whelmed by the rich aromatic smell of the bush, which in addition 
 to scent emitted sound in the shape of large insects and the 
 pleasant whistling of parrots, or rather parakeets. They came to 
 a small town, with a little church and court-house, where the 
 young men were playing at cricket ; then they came down to a 
 pleasant river, bubbling over stones now, in the summer, but 
 spanned with a noble wooden bridge thirty feet above its level, 
 which was so built, George's companion told him, to provide 
 against the winter floods. The old gentleman's conversation was 
 very interesting and agreeable, and George liked him more and 
 more. He knew more" of the interior of the country and of the 
 strange life and ways there than any of his aristocratic acquaint- 
 ances in the town, some few of whom, at all events, had, George 
 thought, the fault of being " genteel," a very sad fault, never 
 committed by a gentleman. They rode on until at a smaller river 
 they saw a charming little stone house in a nook among gently 
 sloping heights, which came down to the stream. The wooden 
 verandah surrounding it was nearly as large as the house itself, 
 and had one specialitS, which took George's sailor-boy fancy 
 immensely. On the roof of the verandah had been planted water- 
 melons, which had rambled clean over the highest ridge of the 
 house, covering it and hiding it from sight with a mass of broad 
 leaves, yellow flowers, and enormous green fruit. He had never 
 seen such a garden on the housetop before, and seldom such a 
 garden as there was on the ground, covering the earth with gaudy 
 masses of colour ; and climbing up the pillars of the verandah, 
 there were creepers of all kinds to mix with the water-melons on 
 the roof. 
 
 " That is the house I should like to live in," said George. 
 
 " It is at your disposal, sir," said the old gentleman, " for it is 
 mine. I am sure that you will not have come almost to the door 
 without coming in." 
 
206 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "I should very much like to see it. I should like to come in 
 very much." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to eat an early dinner with me and 
 ride back to Sydney in the cool of the evening ? " 
 
 "Well '" said George. 
 
 " I am delighted at your consent, sir ; I do not know what there 
 will be, for I was not expected back ; I was to have had dinner in 
 Sydney (this, singularly enough, was perfectly true), but I dare 
 say my wife and her daughter Ada will make us comfortable. 
 Here is my groom, who will take our horses. Will you walk in 
 the garden while I go in and prepare them ? " 
 
 George did so, and made friends with a colly dog ; but his eye 
 caught his host after he had entered a room out of the verandah, 
 and he distinctly saw him take down a picture, and move three or 
 four books from the centre table. Then he had a look at his 
 faultless boots and knee-breeches, and wondered if any one could 
 possibly take him for a sailor ; and felt extremely conceited, when 
 he saw a very pretty girl indeed coming down the garden walk 
 towards him. He at once shotted his guns and went into action ; 
 that is to say, into a grand flirtation. 
 
 The young lady gave him no trouble at all ; she was not in the 
 least degree " arch " or shy ; she had no petty whims or tyrannies 
 of any kind. She was very singularly well-dressed in her degagS 
 style, and she knew that also. She looked at George once, with 
 one of those lazy southern looks out of her large dark eyes, which 
 says at once " Do come and make love to me to pass away the 
 time, it is too hot for anything else," and George immediately 
 reciprocated, with a sailor's will for that sort of pastime, almost 
 before she had time to lower the sleepy lids over those two liquid 
 violet orbits which had for one moment met his own. 
 
 He had met with a delightful adventure, and he determined, 
 boy-like, to follow it up. The old gentleman was rather a long 
 time in seeing after domestic matters ; but George was not in the 
 slightest hurry. Once or twice there were distinct sounds ot 
 objurgation from a female voice in the house, and George set it 
 down to a trifling difficulty with some of the convict servants. It 
 was a pity, he thought, that such a lovely and charming young 
 lady should ever be exposed to such sounds. It was a great pity, 
 certainly, seeing that the foulest mouth in the whole kitchen was 
 that of her own mother, the celebrated lady coiner. 
 
 Of course, he had never dreamt for an instant that he had got 
 into very queer hands indeed. It never struck him that the old 
 gentleman wished to gain his confidence, and that the girl was 
 used for the purpose. Had he made the most diligent inquiries 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 207 
 
 in Sydney about the old gentleman, he would not have heard a 
 word to his disadvantage, further than this — he had married a 
 successful convict woman. Had he told any of his new Sydney 
 friends how he had passed the afternoon, they would have done 
 nothing more than tell him that fellows older than himself were 
 very careful not to get too thick with Miss Ada Honey, for her 
 father notoriously wanted to marry the poor girl above her station, 
 and would most certainly bring any man to book who gave him 
 the chance. There was not one breath against the girl's character 
 in any way ; she was a very good girl, but would most certainly 
 marry the first gentleman who would ask her ; and she would have 
 a very nice penny of money. 
 
 We are obliged to explain this, though George knew nothing of 
 it, and after he had found this fairy bower hardly talked about the 
 matter at all, thinking that he would keep a good thing to himself. 
 He was only a boy of little more than seventeen, and was of a 
 privileged age, when a lad may play fast and loose with any woman. 
 Had he mentioned the matter at all, men a little older would have 
 said that they would be glad to be in his place, but they dare not be. 
 
 We are keeping him standing in the garden rather long, how- 
 ever agreeably employed. After a time the lady-mother came out 
 in full dress, a very fine woman, and extremely lady-like in her 
 manner. George never from the first gave the old gentleman the 
 credit of being a gentleman, but from the very first he thought that 
 his wife w r as a thorough lady. Having been a first-class lady's- 
 maid for many years before the time of her transportation at about 
 thirty-three, she was so lady-like as to take in a well-bred lad like 
 George Hetherege. 
 
 The dinner was very good ; the mistress of the house had been 
 still-room maid first, then kitchen maid, before her personal 
 attractions had caused her to be moved to the position of lady's- 
 maid ; so she not only knew what good eating and drinking was, 
 but she knew how to produce it. George had certainly lighted on 
 his legs. 
 
 The afternoon passed most agreeably, and he was pleased in 
 every way. What with the agreeable company of the young lady 
 and her saint-like mamma, the day slipped on so that' he had to 
 ride like mad into Sydney, to get on board his ship in proper time. 
 He tumbled into the last of his ship's boats in a great hurry, and 
 next morning asked for five days' leave. 
 
 " I expect that we shall sail as soon as the Torch comes in," 
 said Captain Hickson. " Where do you want to go ? " 
 
 " A gentleman I have met in the bush, sir, tells me that he can 
 show me some fine kangaroo hunting only forty miles south." 
 
208 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " Well, I have no objection," said Hickson. "Yes ; you and 
 your messmate may go if you like. I suppose you want leave for 
 a messmate as well — put a name to him." 
 
 " The invitation only extends to myself, sir." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! A flirtation — and so Claridge is too good-look- 
 ing to go with you, eh ! She is very pretty, no doubt, and old 
 enough to be your mother. The service is going to the devil. 
 Here is a boy of seventeen giving himself the airs of a man, and 
 being jealous of a boy of fifteen. You can go, but mind, five days 
 — and five only." 
 
 George blushed and laughed, and went over the side, leaving 
 the name of his new acquaintance with Captain Hickson. Captain 
 Eickson took that address to the club that same afternoon, and 
 inquired about it of an eminent police magistrate. The results 
 were not satisfactory. The old gentleman, Mr. Clumber, had 
 come from no one knew where, but was tolerably rich, and he had 
 married a distinguished convict woman, long emancipated, who 
 had been a leading dressmaker in Pitt Street. The girl was her 
 daughter, not his. There was nothing whatever against the girl — 
 in fact, everything in her favour. She had been well educated, 
 and was very careful in her conduct. If it were not for her 
 mother, many ladies would take the girl up out of pity. The boy 
 could get no harm there at all : if he wanted a spree in the bush 
 he might go to fifty worse places. On the whole, the police 
 magistrate thought that he, mere boy as he was, was much better 
 there than knocking about in Sydney. Still it was not satisfac- 
 tory, and Hickson was uneasy. 
 
 He would have been more so had he heard the conversation 
 between Mr. and Mrs. Clumber after George's departure. 
 
 "What are you going to do now you have got him?" said 
 Mrs. Clumber. 
 
 " I don't know," said Clumber. 
 
 " It is nerfectly obvious," said Mrs. Clumber, "that it is not 
 the slightest use attempting to get him to promise marriage to 
 Ada. He is a mere child, though he looks like a man." 
 
 " He has fallen in love with her," said the husband. 
 
 " Yes," said the worthy lady ; " but as I tell you again, he is 
 a child ; and he must be on board ship in a week." 
 
 " Suppose we stopped that. Suppose we got him away just too 
 long, until he was afraid and ashamed to go back. Did you see 
 that I asked him to get five days' leave to come kangaroo 
 hunting?" 
 
 " That was very clever, my dear love. You are the cleverest 
 man I ever knew, and so clever as this, that you are not above 
 
REGINALD HETHEIIEGE. 200 
 
 taking the advice of a woman like myself, with half your brains. 
 But even suppose that you forced him to miss his ship, what 
 follows?" 
 
 "In a year and a half he would be old enough to marry her ; 
 and then things would be square." 
 
 " After Reginald's death," said the lady. " He is not at all 
 old as yet. Haven't we cross-examined the cub this very after- 
 noon? Don't we know that Reginald is good for eighty, and 
 after that silly attempt by that ass Simpson, of which we heard 
 underground, he is surrounded by gamekeepers. Just let me put 
 the case before you, my dear old man, and listen patiently. At 
 Reginald's death there will be a settlement, and this boy will be 
 rich. Well and good ; others will be rich with him — among 
 others, Simpson and James Murdoch : at least, so say the 
 lawyers, and so they believe. Supposing the boy to die, what 
 then ? Follow me. There would certainly be a settlement at 
 Reginald's death ; on which, according to the advice which 
 Simpson and James Murdoch have, they will be ten times 
 richer in case of the boy's death. The Hetherege line ends 
 with this boy. Simpson tried to put Reginald out of the way 
 once, as James Murdoch did once, to gain a settlement, and 
 bring about a compromise with the family, who would never 
 trouble either of them now, for very shame's sake. Let 
 Reginald be for a time ; your power gains tenfold by this boy's 
 death." 
 
 " Rut, my dear " 
 
 " Rut, your dear ! What was your first plan : to attract the 
 boy by throwing Ada in his way, and then follow him to England 
 with her, keeping him to his bargain. It looked very well ; but 
 I thought that the boy was much older. Say that you had 
 succeeded. We should have had her Mrs. Hetherege, the wife 
 of the great heir. But it can't succeed ; the boy is not old 
 enough to let it succeed. Captain Hickson would find out enough 
 here to blow upon me, and render it impossible. Do you see, old 
 man, that it would not do ? " 
 
 "I am afraid you are right, old girl," said the worthy Mr. 
 Clumber. "I thought that I had made it out all square — but a 
 woman against the world." 
 
 Mrs. Clumber kissed him. " Now listen to me all over 
 again. If anything were to happen to this boy — I leave alone 
 anything happening to Reginald — how do we stand ? Why our 
 secret is worth ten times more to Simpson and James Murdoch 
 than it was before. I would not take less than thirty thousand 
 pounds for it." 
 
 15 
 
210 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "No, my love; I don't suppose that it would be worth less 
 than that. Still, as it stands, it is worth a good deal, and, one 
 way or another, I must go to England and see after it." 
 
 " Where did you put it?" said the lady. 
 
 "Thank you, my dear, I would rather not tell you. I have 
 seen you in that hysterical temper with the servants that you 
 would let out anything : and I think, on the whole, that you had 
 better trust it to me." 
 
 He did not look at Mrs. Clumber's countenance, because he 
 had no curiosity. He was perfectly aware that she looked at him 
 as if she would like to murder him ; it was an expression in which 
 that lady so often indulged that he did not care, one way or 
 another, to sec it again. 
 
 " I will leave it to you, if you like," she said sweetly; but if 
 anything was to happen to you, you might be sorry not to have 
 told me." 
 
 Mr. Clumber, having often thought over the extreme pro- 
 bability of something happening to him if he ever did part 
 with the secret of his heart to the wife of his bosom, said only, 
 "Will you further unveil your plans, my love; I am all at- 
 tention?" 
 
 "You have got the boy, and find him only a boy, not fit for 
 your plan. He has got five days' absence. Make him overstay 
 it ; there is plenty of scrub to the south where you can trust him 
 for days, for weeks, for months — for ever. Then, when the 
 thing has blown over, go to London, sift what you know of, and 
 make your bargain." 
 
 "Did it ever strike you, my love, that I might make a bargain 
 with Reginald?" 
 
 " No ; Reginald is too honest ; you can't do anything with an 
 honest man — no sensible being ever could." 
 
 " Or General Anders ? " said Clumber. 
 
 " No ; confound him, he is honest too. You must not try 
 him." 
 
 " And did you propose, my dear, that I should put this youth 
 out of the way by my own hand ? " 
 
 "I do not go so far as that. I think that you have eaten 
 the bread of his family so long, that it would not be respectable." 
 Here she rose and swept her silk skirt along the floor with the air 
 of a Marquise Brinvilliers, or a lady much more familiar to us, the 
 agreeable and charming Mrs. Manning. " I can manage all that 
 part of the matter without troubling you." 
 
 " Then, if you did not mind, my dear, I think that I will leave 
 it with you," said Mr. Clumber ; and the lady departed. 
 
KEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 2il 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF DEATH. 
 
 Geokge was back at Mr. Clumber's house soon after ten. He 
 had left the ship by the first boat, with a hurried farewell to 
 Captain Hickson, and a promise to be punctually back from his 
 leave. He had some wild idea that he might want money, and 
 so he put a bill for fifty pounds in his pocket ; he was in such a 
 hurry to see the house of the flowers and the agreeable young 
 lady again that he cared for no breakfast, but trusted to getting it 
 on shore. As the boat pushed off, he gave a look at the dear 
 old ship, in which he had learnt so much, and suffered not a 
 little. 
 
 " The tall masts quivered as they lay afloat." 
 
 He felt that he loved the old ship dearly, but more dearly than 
 her the man who stood upon her quarter-deck — the man who had 
 done him the compliment of trying him so hardly, and who had 
 done him the high honour of telling him that he had been more 
 than worthy of his trial. The boy left the ship with his heart beat- 
 ing wild with new hopes, new thoughts and ambitions, all to be told 
 to the beautiful girl who was his friend, before the sun was high. 
 He was not a handsome fellow, but the bare-necked, bare-breasted 
 sailors at the oars could not help but notice that the most 
 popular youngster in the ship looked more gay and pleasant than 
 ever. 
 
 The bank was open early in that hot weather, and he got his 
 bill cashed. Then he got his breakfast at the hotel, and ordered 
 the horse which he had hired during the stay of the ship : for he 
 was always in funds — the richest of his messmates. Then he 
 dressed himself carefully in the best costume of the country, and 
 rode away through the suburbs to his pleasant new acquaintances 
 who lived among the flowers in the aromatic forest. 
 
 According to the rules of a certain kind of high art, he ought 
 to have ridden over a black snake in the grass, as a warning not 
 to go on. Aunt Hester, in her style of art, would most certainly 
 have done so, and would cither have made him turn back and be 
 saved, or proceed to his destruction. We no more pretend to 
 emulate Aunt Hester's genius than we do to emulate her virtues. 
 We can only say that he saw no snake in the grass, and that if 
 he had he would certainly not have turned back for it. 
 
 When he arrived at Mr. Clumber's his young lady was on the 
 
212 REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 lawn in a riding-habit. Her eyes were not so bright as they 
 were the clay before, and George, with the pleasant boldness of a 
 sailor, asked her if she had been crying for his absence. She 
 said no, but she seemed very much inclined to cry then ; for she 
 had heard enough of the conversation between her mother and 
 stepfather on the afternoon before to make her very anxious, little 
 as it was. And she had reason to cry, for, honest and good girl 
 as she was, she knew more of the ways of this wicked world than 
 George did : and George — God help her ! — was the first gentle- 
 man she had ever met in her life, and she loved him. 
 
 Her stepfather came out, and George heard him say, " Go 
 and tell your mother he is come, and bid her see to breakfast." 
 But Mrs. Clumber was ill, and did not appear. They had 
 breakfast, and then they rode southward, followed by two grooms 
 and one dog, a colly. 
 
 Ada was not herself by any means ; beautiful she was, with that 
 blazing Australian beauty which fades so soon, but her vivacity 
 was gone this morning. The conversation was principally between 
 Mr. Clumber and George for many miles. 
 
 The Blue Mountains on their right, they rode pleasantly on 
 through forest and over plain, through a beautiful English-like 
 country all the morning, and stayed at a settler's house at mid- 
 day. It was as good a house as many which he had passed or 
 had entered, but there was a je ne sais quoi about the people in 
 it which puzzled him extremely. They were utterly different to 
 the squatters he had met in Sydney ; they were not ladies and 
 gentlemen, and were extremely constrained in their manners 
 before him. They were dressed much the same as other people, 
 but there were a hundred points of want of refinement which he 
 noticed, and, as a general rule, they seemed very much surprised 
 at his capture by Clumber, and rather afraid of him. The 
 children, however, particularly the boys, came out in their true 
 colours as the unmitigated little savages they were. George 
 devoutly hoped that there would be no children at the next house 
 they stayed at. 
 
 There were not, and the people were a slight improvement on 
 the last, but by no means up to the Sydney mark. They slept 
 here, and were to hunt the next day. 
 
 In the morning they started out into the delicious air, full of 
 scent of flowers and song of birds, before the sun was up, and 
 when the east was in colour a primrose green. The dogs barked 
 joyfully, and the horses neighed their pleasure ; it was impossible 
 to resist the air and the beauty of all things round, and George 
 gave loose to his spirits and became confidential to the strangers 
 
EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 213 
 
 who surrounded him, numbering about seven or eight, and forgot 
 the fact that they were a sad contrast to the real bush gentlemen 
 he had met. If he had only known the fact, he was among one 
 of the rowdiest set of blackguards in the colony. They talked 
 with their grooms like equals on all kinds of subjects, and were by 
 no means improving society. 
 
 Neither Mr. Clumber nor Ada went with them, the former 
 pleading age and fatigue, and the latter, of course, her sex and 
 weakness. The ground over which they began to ride was almost 
 mountainous, deeply timbered, with open valleys of exquisite 
 beauty between the ridges. They had ridden scarcely a quarter 
 of a mile when George saw something large in front of them 
 moving slowly up and down : it was a large brown kangaroo. 
 The next instant the dogs had seen him ; the beast was off at full 
 speed, and the sticks were flying about like mad. George forgot 
 everything at once in the wild gallop which followed. The great 
 creature, with infinite dexterity and speed, was going in a manner 
 which would be thought impossible by those who have only seen 
 them in a menagerie. Up hill and down hill were alike to them 
 all now ; a mile or two passed, some heavy in and out leaps were 
 taken by George among the branches of giant trees fallen in the 
 forest, but still the pretty animal steered ahead among the bushes 
 and obstacles nearly in a straight line, as fast as ever ; and still 
 close to George rode one of Clumber's grooms, whom he after- 
 wards found out to be his head stockman, encouraging him and 
 guiding him. 
 
 At the foot of a very steep hill, in a very secluded valley, the 
 kangaroo went to soil in a water hole and was killed. The whole 
 party were up at the death, and they at once, as the horses were 
 fresh, agreed to hunt another; "And," said one of the young 
 men, "let us turn him homeward, and we shall come in for 
 lunch." Every one agreed to that as a "very good idea." 
 George took occasion quietly to thank the stockman for his advice 
 and assistance, and, considering himself the guest of the party, 
 thought it only proper to slip two sovereigns into the stockman's 
 hand. In doing so he looked at him. He was a rough-looking 
 fellow about thirty, but in spite of the strange, defiant, sulky look, 
 which all of the present company had, he did not seem to be 
 entirely a bad fellow. He looked at the money and hesitated, 
 then he looked rather earnestly into George's face, and seemed 
 to deliberate, as if he was thinking of a very important matter. 
 At last he seemed resolved, and put George's money in his 
 pocket with an oath, and no other kind of recognition or thanks 
 whatever. 
 
214 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 George thought these strange manners, hut he reflected that 
 he was at the Antipodes, where everything is exactly the reverse 
 of everything in Europe, consequently that it might possibly he 
 the correct thing for a man to swear at you for giving him a 
 couple of sovereigns. A diversion to his thoughts soon occurred, 
 which made him think again that he was at the Antipodes : the 
 determination of the whole party was to hunt the next kangaroo 
 towards home : the instant the animal was seen, however, the 
 host's son most dexterously turned it in exactly the opposite 
 direction to that of the way home. It was certainly the longest, 
 for the kangaroo Avould have had to go round the world in the 
 present cruise to take them one foot nearer the station. One or 
 two of the party swore and turned back, hut the others swore and 
 went on ; as they none of them seemed to do anything without 
 swearing, this did not surprise George. He went off at a good 
 pace after the dogs, with his friend, the stockman, keeping close 
 to him. This was a harder run than the other, for the dogs 
 were a little tired, and the horses were getting so. One by 
 one the party tailed off, only George and the stockman following 
 the chase, which seemed very long ; at last, as they got into a 
 thick scrub, the kangaroo seemed likely to have by far the best of 
 it, and the stockman drew his bridle, causing George to do the same. 
 
 "It is bellows to mend, young master," he said; "we had 
 better follow in the trail of the dogs, for there is one I should not 
 like to lose. Will you come on with me ? " 
 
 George at once consented, and followed his companion through 
 scrub denser than he had ever seen before, for several miles, 
 
 "I am glad you are with me," said George, with no notion 
 of danger ; " for I should never be able to find my way back ! " 
 
 " No, master," said the stockman. "There's me and about 
 five others could get out of this here scrub alive. If I was to 
 have your life and blood at this here minute, and pitch you in 
 there, all the traps in Sydney side would never find your bones. 
 You can't see the sun, that's what beats you, and you goes 
 rambling round and round till your tongue gets dry and swoU, 
 and then you goes mad and busts up ; and then the eagle hawk 
 lias your flesh and the warragals picks your bones, that's nigh 
 about the size of it. But I'll fetch you to a place of safety, 
 and you sha'n't be harmed, because of them sovereigns what you 
 gave me." 
 
 George rather wished that he would have shown an inclination 
 to assist him without the sovereigns, but as that seemed to please 
 him he said that he should be most happy to give him a couple 
 more when they got home, 
 
EEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 215 
 
 " No, no," said the man ; " them first was given willing ; I'll 
 do all I can for you." 
 
 George began to get uneasy, he knew not why. The stockman 
 was talking very strangely to him, and he could not make it out. 
 He was utterly unarmed, and no match for the man either in 
 strength or courage. He had heard strange tales of bushrangers 
 from his friends in Sydney, and some were out now. What if this 
 man were one ? 
 
 He might have made his mind perfectly easy on that score. 
 The man, undiscovered, unconvicted, was one of the greatest go- 
 betweens or " fences " among all the bushrangers in New South 
 Wales, and probably might now and then do a little amateur 
 business himself. 
 
 " Had we not better turn back ? " said George. 
 
 "Burn me if I don't think we had," said the other, and he 
 reversed his horse's head, passed George, and began apparently 
 riding in the opposite direction. He was doing nothing of the 
 kind, and had made a perfect semicircle in half a mile, carrying 
 George further and further away from the station, with a view, it 
 is very possible, to "plant" him, or hide him away for his own 
 purpose ; but nothing was ever proved against the man, for acci- 
 dent upset all calculations, and no one ever knew the truth for 
 some time after, except those principally concerned. 
 
 They passed through the scrub, and came into an open cheerful 
 valley, down which ran a small creek, murmuring over iron-stone 
 boulders, with here and there some lightwood on its banks, and 
 here and there blue gum. They rode down to cross it, George 
 taking his line under an aged gum. Suddenly the stockman cried 
 out " Mind! " and before George had time to attend, his horse 
 gathered himself together and was clambering up the boulders on 
 the other side, while George's chest was brought sharply against 
 an overhanging bough which would not give way. George 
 checked him suddenly, and he and the horse came clattering 
 down together on the cruel stones. The horse rolled partly over 
 him and injured him, then got up and trotted away. George lay 
 perfectly helpless, in agony of mind and body inconceivable, 
 unable to move. 
 
 The stockman dismounted, and said, " Now you have done it, 
 young master ; who would have thought of this ? " He took him 
 up gently, and laid him on the grass close to the water, and gave 
 him drink out of a flask he had. He propped up his head with 
 the saddle which he took from George's horse, and then he care- 
 fully examined his body, giving him great pain. It was quite 
 evident to a man who had been as often smashed as himself that 
 
216 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the small bono of the right log was broken, and he mentioned the 
 fact. Then ho coolly mounted his horse and rode away in a 
 different direction to that by which he had come. George saw 
 him go silently, and his heart misgave him. 
 
 " Come back and say one word more," he cried aloud ; "I will 
 give you any money to save me." But the man only looked back 
 cunningly at him and rode away. 
 
 The poor boy lay in his agony until the sun was gilding the 
 tops of the highest trees, and the swift twilight was settling down 
 into darkness. He saw it all clearly now ; the man had left him 
 here to die, so that he might rob his body when he was dead. 
 " I would have given him ten times the worth of my watch and 
 chain, and rings, if he would have stayed by me ; but he might 
 have been to the station and back long ago. I am deserted, and 
 must die alone." Hour after hour of the night passed, and he 
 saw that his short and happy life, with all its brilliant prospects, 
 had come to an end. 
 
 " The captain will think that I have broken my faith with him, 
 and have disgraced the service. Night — I — how silent the forest 
 is — how cold it grows — this must be death. Good-bye, grand- 
 father — good-bye, Emily. — Oh, God ! in mercy upon me make it 
 short. Our Father " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 The stockman was at the station late in the afternoon, about 
 three or four hours later than, with his knowledge of the bush, ho 
 need have been. He went into the kitchen and had his tea ; the 
 people of the house noticed his arrival very soon, and came out 
 asking where he had last seen George. 
 
 He said that ho had put him on his way home long before 
 noon, but had gone himself further into the scrub after the dogs. 
 He thought that the young gentleman would have been home 
 some hours ago. He supposed he must have got bushed. He 
 offered to go and look after him as soon as he had done his tea. 
 
 "Where did you part from him?" asked Mr. Clumber very 
 anxiously. 
 
 " The other side of the first belt of scrub, among the ranges." 
 
 " You must have been out of yourmiud," said one of the young 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 217 
 
 men angrily, " to leave him there. Why, the chances are ten to 
 one against his getting anywhere." 
 
 It was certainly true. That scrubby range, nearly without 
 water, was a very dangerous place for any man to get hushed in, 
 leave alone a new chum, and a sailor hoy. There was instant 
 alarm, and the search was hegun. The alarm was spread to 
 Sydney that an officer was lost in the bush, and the whole 
 resources of the colony were set to work to find him, but without 
 the least result whatever. The governor was extremely anxious 
 from the very first, and said so plainly. " If he has got into that 
 scrub on those mountains, we may not find his bones for a year," 
 was his very first remark. " The horse we may get ; but unless 
 the young gentleman is peculiarly guided by Providence, we shall 
 never see him any more. Very few of the police like to venture 
 into it. A few stockmen may know their way about it, but you 
 will get very little assistance from them. It is the Arcadia of 
 the bushrangers, and we cannot drive them out of it." 
 
 Everything was tried, however. The horse was found grazing 
 in a township, fifty miles from the last place where poor George 
 was seen, without the saddle, of course. No trace could be found 
 of the poor lad, and one day Captain Hickson's ship was put in 
 mourning, with flags half-mast high, and ropes all loose, for the 
 most popular among her midshipmen. 
 
 Orders came for her to sail, and farewells were made to the 
 hospitable city in due form. The Sydney young ladies who had 
 driven their Australian lovers wild with jealousy for a time, once 
 more relented towards them. The ship sailed away homeward 
 bound, and with her crew was at once forgotten. She, if re- 
 membered at all, was only remembered from the memory of the 
 merry young officer who died in the bush. 
 
 Captain Hickson saw Australia a dim blue line on the horizon, 
 and then he went into his cabin saying, « This will kill Reginald. 
 What a noble boy he was ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 THE DARKNESS BEFORE THE STORM. 
 
 Reginald had long allowed that Job was the most sensible person 
 in the world, when he said that man was born unto trouble, as the 
 
218 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 sparks fly upwards. Everything went completely wrong with him 
 in every way. He was rich, he had no anxiety ahout the future 
 as far as he personally was concerned ; hut one vexation followed 
 another so very fast that he really wished himself poor again. 
 He said to Aunt Hester and Mary that he was as hadly served as 
 Hie wicked uncle in the "Babes in the Wood." 
 
 " I told you how it would be," said Goodge one evening ; " you 
 should have made yourself pretcrnaturally disagreeahle at first ; 
 you have not, and, therefore, you are bullied and patronised by 
 every one, high and low. You are getting down in the mouth. 
 Why can't you pluck up spirit and tell Snizort that he is a 
 bumptious ass." 
 
 " I don't think that would do," said Reginald. 
 
 " Then write to Owthwaite's bishop and complain of him for 
 preaching against you every Sunday. He let those two candles of 
 his burn on the altar last Sunday when there was light enough to 
 thread a needle by. I will swear to that for you in the Court of 
 Arches. Tell the'bishop, that what with his Romanising practices, 
 and what with his denunciations of you, you cannot any longer 
 worship in the church of your forefathers." 
 
 "I don't want any more quarrelling, there is quite enough as 
 it is." 
 
 " Of course there is. I have observed the same thing with 
 nations. Everybody knows you won't fight, and so everybody 
 insults you. I wish I was squire here ; I would make lively times 
 for some of them . ' ' 
 
 " What would you do ? " said Reginald. 
 
 " I should begin by kicking Bevan," said Goodge. " He is 
 utterly alienating the General from us. I should have an expen- 
 sive row with Owthwaite in the Arches, and you with your money 
 could leave him a beggar for life. I should then have a turn at 
 Barnett over that decision of his on the Bench about the woman 
 picking up his own sticks. I should write to the Home Secretary 
 about that without any warning. I should begin an action against 
 Snizort for trespass in that business of Halfacre's four-acre. I 
 should give every farmer on the estate notice that his lease would 
 not be renewed ; and I would find a case against the union which 
 would cost them a few hundred pounds or so. Thus you would 
 bo usefully employed and happy. As it is, you are idle and 
 miserable." 
 
 " And you, Goodge, the peacemaker, give me this advice," 
 said Reginald. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I was once in Arabia and wanted to get 
 home. I, therefore, seeing no other way of getting to Mocha, set 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 219 
 
 four tribes by the ears, and got them to declare war against one 
 another individually. When they had had enough fighting I 
 called their attention to the fact that they were a parcel of fools 
 and offered to act as mediator. My services were accepted with 
 acclamation, and the four sheiks brought me, with a large and 
 enthusiastic escort, to the gates of Mocha. There is nothing like 
 a good row if you are bored." 
 
 " Your conduct was scarcely moral, old fellow, was it ? " 
 
 " My dear Reginald, they had always been cutting one another's 
 throats before I went among them, and they began doing it again 
 the moment I left them ; they will also continue to do it until 
 they are annexed by Turkey. Surely I was not so very wrong to 
 utilise their habitual pastime for my own ends. We won India 
 so ; you should set these people more by the ears. They would 
 all quarrel furiously with one another if there was a little more 
 mischief made ; meanwhile, they are making a holy alliance 
 against you, because you will not fight." 
 
 "Well, the boy must come home and fight them," said 
 Reginald. " Goodge, I am too old for much of it. I have lived 
 a very hard uphill life, and I don't want any more quarrelling." 
 
 " You mean you have never had any of it," said Goodge. 
 
 " Well, I am ready to go when the boy is ready to take my 
 place." 
 
 The friends which Reginald had of his own little circle had 
 stuck bravely to him, with one solitary exception. Since Bevan 
 had met General Anders, he had grown more and more cold to 
 Reginald, and had shown him less and less confidence in monetary 
 affairs. General Anders had also come less to Hollingscroft ; his 
 continued absence was attributed to his larger and ever-increasing 
 speculations, into which Reginald had not entered ; but in truth, 
 Reginald had spoken to him very seriously about some of the 
 later ones, and General Anders had resented it. 
 
 There was no change among any of the rest. Aunt Hester was 
 quite as self-possessed as ever she was in her life, and quite as 
 uncertain in her behaviour. Mary was the pleasant little person 
 she had always been, and Mrs. Hickson only spoiled her daughter 
 a little more than usual. All these women in a state of quiescence, 
 in a state of prosperity, appeared quite commonplace. In fact, a 
 woman who is always exhibiting the strong side of her character 
 when she is not wanted to do so — a woman who makes oppor- 
 tunities for showing off, is more or less a considerable nuisance to 
 her friends and family in proportion as she does it. These women 
 worked in the garden, fed chickens, drove ponies, looked after the 
 poor, and paid visits in a most humdrum fashion. They had 
 
220 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 their anxieties, for two they loved were at sea, and one, Reginald, 
 seemed always troubled in his mind. But there was nothing 
 startling in their lives : they were a kind of Landwehr — went 
 through their drill regularly, but had plenty of fight in them 
 should they ever bo called out. 
 
 Miss Emily Hickson was the flower of the family, and a flower 
 who required a great deal of tending. She attached herself 
 principally to the Duke and Duchess, who lived much in town in 
 the old house at Bolton Row, where they had the company of 
 General Anders almost continuously. 
 
 Among the rest of Reginald's troubles was a slight coldness 
 between him and the Duke about money matters. Reginald had 
 thought it necessary to say that he thought the General was on 
 some points ill-advised, and the good-natured Duke had thought 
 that Reginald was not the man to speak so about his old friend. 
 But the tiff was a very slight one, though they were not exactly 
 the same to one another for a little time afterwards. 
 
 The rancour of Sir Lipscombe Barnett and Mr. Owthwaite was 
 never, it seemed, to be got over. Nothing which Goodge could 
 say would induce either of them to believe that Reginald had not 
 encouraged those two lovers. It was idle to point out that he 
 could not possibly have done anything of the kind. The match 
 had prevented George from making a splendid marriage, and so 
 Sir Lipscombe's anger was easily understood ; but it was not so 
 easy to understand Mr. Owthwaite's anger. Reginald wrote to 
 Mr. Morley to make the peace between them, and Mr. Morley 
 tried, but without the smallest success. Morley wrote : — " Owth- 
 waite has been desperately wounded in his secret point — his 
 vanity. He is, with all his great virtues, a bully, and he believes, 
 and will continue to believe, that you encouraged his daughter, 
 who ought to have been his slave, in rebellion. He will forgive 
 his daughter long before he forgives you, the more particularly 
 because he is under a great obligation to you. It is dangerous to 
 confer a great obligation on a man who is always contemplating 
 himself like Owthwaite. When I say contemplating himself, I do 
 not wish it to be inferred that he is selfish — a more unselfish 
 being, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, does not exist. 
 But he is always thinking about himself, and watching how near 
 a state of perfection he attains. A mind like that is sure to be 
 subjected to long fits of vanity and harshness. I would never 
 have given him the living myself— saint as he is — but you would 
 not consnlt me." 
 
 This was highly satisfactory as an analysis of character, but it 
 did not make more pleasant the fact that Mr. Owthwaite set most 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 221 
 
 of the labourers, and as many of the farmers as he could get to 
 listen to him, against Reginald. Nor was the continued hostility 
 of Sir Lipscombe at all more agreeable, for he acted on the 
 county, and took every occasion to thwart Reginald in every way. 
 They had ceased speaking for some time, and Reginald noticed 
 that Sir Lipscombe always left the Bench when he appeared. A 
 worm will turn, and after this Reginald never missed a petty 
 session ; so that the county was entirely deprived of the magis- 
 terial assistance of Sir Lipscombe. Sir Lipscombe being pricked 
 sheriff this year, had his married sister out of Gloucestershire, 
 and gave a terrific ball in a marquee, to which every one in the 
 county went except the Hollingscroft people. All the ladies whom 
 they knew came and called on them immediately afterwards, and 
 all and sundry of them were astonished beyond measure at not 
 having met them there. Lady Dory was so particular in her 
 cross-examinations as to their non-appearance, that Aunt Hester 
 cut her short by telling her that Sir Lipscombe had not had the 
 impudence to ask any of them after his shameful treatment of 
 Reginald, and that if he had he would have had his card returned ; 
 which did a great deal of good. 
 
 Minor troubles were in abundance also, which we must come 
 to before we mention the great and crowning trouble of all. 
 Reginald, with his financial theories brought into practice, found 
 that he must be a much harder landlord than the late landlord, 
 Sir James Jones. Widow Austin and her son were not the worst 
 farmers now on the estate, but better than the average. In spite 
 of his yielding the ground -game to the famers, the labourers were 
 no better paid than they were before ; and there seemed no chance 
 of their ever being so. He helped some labourers to migrate to 
 other parts of England, and some to the Colonies and the States ; 
 he infuriated the farmers by this, and unluckily his labourers were 
 of the cowardly, helpless class which are never successful here or 
 elsewhere. Emigration commissioners and Mr. Arch will find out, 
 some day or other, that it is not much use, as regards present 
 results, to draft off the least helpful of the labourers into lands 
 where ten times more self-help is required than is required here. 
 These unsuccessful labourers wrote back such dismal accounts of 
 the Colonies and the States to their friends, that Reginald was 
 looked upon as a swindler by the labouring population generally."' 
 
 Of all the people to rise out of the past and plague him, who 
 should turn up but Monseigneur Morton. That worthy and good 
 old man came to stay at the great castle near, where Giant Pope 
 
 * This was written many months before the lock-out. As it merely 
 is the experience of thirty years, it is of no value. 
 
222 BEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 dwelt, and he came to see Reginald, who received him with open 
 arms. He repaid his hospitality finely. He discovered the grave 
 of a Saxon saint (a black letter saint with us) close to the north 
 aisle of the church, beside a holy well. What does he do on his 
 return to the Castle but turn out all the sacred things necessary 
 from the chapel, and institute a pilgrimage to the shrine of this 
 saint, with a large portion of the Catholic tenantry, in broad day- 
 light. They came with vestments, banners, incense, and holy 
 water, and, having defiled slowly past Owthwaite's study window, 
 they drew up slap in the middle of his own churchyard, chanting 
 and swinging censers. Since the Gunpowder Plot no such popish 
 atrocity had been committed. Owthwaite was a High Churchman, 
 and so his kind friends thought that it was done with his con- 
 nivance and consent, whereas he was a furious Anti-papist, and 
 was nearly foaming at the mouth about the whole thing. Reginald 
 asked the pilgrims to take refreshment in his house, which they 
 readily did, just giving time for the villagers to assemble and hunt 
 them out of the place with turnips and with bad language. 
 
 Mrs. Davies also, who had been kept on as housekeeper, turned 
 sadly ungrateful, telling everything she knew to Reginald's dis- 
 advantage when he lived at Brixton. 
 
 He thought it would have been a very innocent, nay, possibly, 
 useful thing, to keep a yacht at Haddensmouth, but that turned 
 out quite unsuccessful. He never sailed in it, and, now that 
 he quarrelled with everybody, or rather, when everybody had 
 quarrelled with him (except Lord Snizort), nobody else sailed in 
 it. It was a floating source of demoralisation, and a public 
 scandal, like everything else which this unfortunate man under- 
 took. Details are, of course, impossible here, but something 
 disagreeable happened connected with Reginald's yacht, and he 
 was spoken to on the Bench about it. Even his defiantly 
 fast friend, Lord Snizort, who never left him, told him that 
 Haddensmouth had been pretty bad before he came, but was con- 
 siderably worse now. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 A SMALL FAMILY DISCUSSION. 
 
 These tilings all of them made him miserable, but the great 
 misery of all has to be told. General Anders was in, high and 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 223 
 
 low, with Theodorides and Bevan. Bevan especially seemed to 
 have taken entire possession of him, and General Anders appeared 
 to he like wax in his hands. Even Theodorides, possibly for 
 reasons of his own, said a few words about Bevan which alarmed 
 Reginald. Reginald went to town to speak to the Simpson of that 
 day, and ask his advice. 
 
 The Simpson of that day and the Murdoch of that day were 
 both young men, one of them actually under thirty, and the other 
 very little over that age. They heard of Reginald's coming, and 
 they happened to be together. As he came in they looked 
 curiously at one another. 
 
 The Simpsons and the Murdochs were doing very little business 
 with Anders and Hetherege just now. Their fathers had both 
 retired into a state of sleeping partnership in the country before 
 the arrival of Count Theodorides and Bevan. The immediate 
 fathers of these two young gentlemen had had enough of business, 
 and only obliged from a distance. Had they been personally 
 much in London, they might have known more. The advice 
 they gave, however, was excellent enough according to their light, 
 and the burden of it was, have nothing more to do with General 
 Anders, save in the way of friendship. 
 
 The two young fellows, Murdoch and Simpson, were very fine 
 manly young English gentleman, and liked Reginald very much. 
 They would do anything in the way of kindness for him ; even 
 had he been poor, Would have done more for him than tiie family 
 in old times had ever clone. But they were extremely shrewd, 
 and their parents had told them to be cautious. They had 
 married sisters, and the sisters had permitted them to be fast 
 friends, which is not always the case in this wicked world. So 
 the each was in full confidence of the other, and knew what the 
 other would say. 
 
 "I am glad to find you both here," said Reginald, "for I 
 wished to speak to both of you." 
 
 "And," said Simpson, "as we have only one voice between 
 us, that voice says, we both wanted to speak to Cousin Reginald 
 very particularly* and we both wish Cousin Reginald well, for we 
 are under obligations to him, and we are anxious to repay them." 
 
 " By warning me ? " said Reginald. 
 
 " Exactly," said Murdoch. 
 
 " I think that I am pretty well warned," said Reginald smiling ; 
 " but I want some information." 
 
 " Quite so," said Simpson. " Suppose that we told you that 
 we wanted some information, and were going to ask you for it." 
 
 " I will tell you all I know, save on one subject." 
 
224 REGINALD HETHEBEGE. 
 
 "And \vc know what that subject is," said Murdoch. "A 
 shut-up room and a dead secret, eh, cousin ? " 
 
 "No, I don't mean that folly," said Reginald. "I simply 
 don't care anything at all about that. I don't fancy there is 
 much there, except matters which had better be left alone. I 
 don't indeed." 
 
 They were both evidently puzzled and disappointed, and they 
 showed it. 
 
 " Will there be no end to this silly lawsuit then, cousin ? " 
 
 11 At my death, of course, there will be a compromise of some 
 kind. But I did not come here to speak of that. I want to ask 
 you, firstly, what do you know of Bevan ? " 
 
 " Nothing. But, to be frank, we know enough to make us 
 withdraw from any business transactions with General Anders as 
 long as he has his ear." 
 
 " Who was he ? " said Reginald. 
 
 "■ If he was a certified convict from Sydney we should not so 
 much care ; but he cannot be traced. He came out of Mexico, 
 and we know no more of him. Speaking, as being strictly in 
 the bosom of the family, we think him a scoundrel ; in the same 
 way as we think General Anders mad. We have withdrawn from 
 all connection with the latter gentleman, as we said before ; but 
 we shall be happy to remain in business connections with you, 
 Reginald, for you are safe — you have realised. There is no 
 business connection between you and Anders — no partnership ? " 
 
 " There never was and there never will be," said Reginald, 
 looking quietly at them " We have speculated heavily together, 
 very often dividing the risks. The frank truth about the matter 
 is that when we were better friends he told me that he was 
 getting old and tired of it, and asked me to realise, so that we 
 might have something safe in our old age. I have done so. I 
 have not a sixpence in common with him now. If he goes wrong 
 beyond a certain extent, he can come and share with me. If he 
 goes wrong beyond a certain extent, why then he ruins me with 
 him. That is what makes me so anxious." 
 
 " We don't see how he can ruin you," said Murdoch. " What 
 you have — some £200,000 — is all your own. There is no ghost 
 of a pretence of partnership between you. And he was very 
 clever in persuading you to realise." 
 
 "Yes; but if he went wrong I should have to give up every 
 penny to put him right, don't you see ? " 
 
 " That is nonsense," said they. 
 
 "But it is common sense — it is common honour," said 
 Reginald. " He put me in the way of making my fortune, and 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 225 
 
 because he is misguided, am I to see him go to his grave a 
 bankrupt in order to keep a few comforts round me ? Nonsense 
 again, my dear young cousins. Anders would die of a broken 
 heart if he could not pay everybody ; and I consider my realised 
 estate as much his as it is my own." 
 
 "You are as mad as General Anders, cousin," said Murdoch. 
 
 "No; not so mad," said Reginald. "There are matters of 
 which you know nothing at all. There are matters of old 
 standing which it would be difficult to make you understand. Do 
 you know who General Anders is ? Do you know who the father 
 of General Anders was ? ' ' 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Ha! then you cannot understand matters. My grandfather, 
 William Hetherege, did a great kindness to General Anders, 
 when my grandfather thought that he wanted help. He never 
 did want help, but he has repaid that kindness ten times over, 
 not merely in putting me in the way of making money, but in 
 pecuniary assistance long ago. It is a matter of absolute 
 certainty, that if Anders were to go, all I possess must go after 
 him, and I must begin the world again." 
 
 " After so many years, Cousin Reginald ? " 
 
 " After so many years. I put it to both of you : could I leave 
 Anders in the lurch after what he has done for me ? " 
 
 " Would it not be better to share what you have with him, if 
 anything happened, than to share it with his creditors ? " 
 
 " You don't know Anders. He would die by his own hand if 
 every one was not paid," said Reginald. 
 
 " You are singularly obtuse, Cousin Reginald. Is his honour 
 so fine that he would ruin you to save his own reputation before 
 the world?" 
 
 " I know my duty," said Reginald, " and I shall do it. He 
 will never be consulted." 
 
 The cousins looked at one another, and then one said, with 
 the evident approval of the other — 
 
 " But the boy George, Cousin Reginald — have you considered 
 him ? We thought that one of your main objects in realising 
 was for his sake ; you must think of him. You spoke once about 
 a pleasant happy home for him when he left the sea. Have you 
 given that idea up ? Should things go wrong in any way, would 
 you deprive him of Hollingscroft and all its healthy, peaceful 
 pleasures ? " 
 
 " I wish," said Reginald, solemnly, " that Hollingscroft had 
 originally belonged to the merchant Digby, that he had left it, as 
 he originally did the whole of his property, to the Devil, and that 
 the will had never been disputed." 
 
 16 
 
226 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " Are you not happy there, cousin ? " said young Simpson. 
 
 " No, l am not" said Reginald ; " and I would sooner that 
 that boy of mine stayed in his profession until my death, than 
 that he should undertake the management of the place. Let him 
 learn the management of a ship ; he may do that. He can lash 
 a man up and give him two dozen for looking saucy, and no 
 questions asked. What would be said in Parliament if I fixed up 
 the rector and gave him two dozen, as I should dearly like to do. 
 Fancy old Snizort under the cat-o'-nine tails; how I should 
 laugh. No ; let the boy stay at sea, if everything goes wrong, 
 until my death. It is a weary life without him, but the sea will 
 make a man of him." 
 
 " Yet you must be anxious about him sometimes," said Simp- 
 son. 
 
 " For all those that travel by land or by sea," replied 
 Reginald. "Yes; when it blows hard I am anxious; but I 
 know that he is safe. This is not business, however. If Anders 
 goes to the bad, I go with him, that is to be understood — the 
 chances are equal that he will not. Help me to prevent it, if you 
 can. What do you know about Theodorides ? " 
 
 " Why, nothing. He claims kinship with us on the wrong side 
 of the blanket ; but we know nothing of him. Twice some of 
 our American cousins have been over here, and he has always 
 avoided them. You see, Cousin Reginald, that now you are out 
 of General Anders's confidence, we really know very little more 
 than you do. If you have made this resolution to share with the 
 General, we can only say that we think you very foolish, and the 
 possibilities are that you will die head clerk in our house with a 
 salary of £600 a year." 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 THE NEWS COMES HOME. 
 
 Miss Emily Hickson, not being " out," found time in London 
 extremely dull with the Duke and Duchess. She signified her 
 royal intention of removing to Hollingscroft to see her mother. 
 Neither the Duke nor the Duchess offering any strong objections, 
 she went there. No one was in very good humour at Hollings- 
 croft, and she found the place rather duller than London. She 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 227 
 
 considered herself spitefully used by the general arrangements of 
 Providence, and she mentioned the fact to Goodge. 
 
 "What is the good of being in Bolton Row?" she said. 
 " There's grandma always dressed up and going out, and there's 
 the Duke always dressed up and going out. What is there for 
 me to do ? I am a mere dolly of a school-girl — not even that ; 
 I wish I was, for I could plague the governess. Then I came 
 here — everything seems wrong here ; there is no society ; no one 
 comes. I dress and look my best, but there is no one to look at 
 me ; and the people seem all to have lost their tempers. I think 
 I shall lose mine." 
 
 " I would not do that," said Goodge. 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 11 Our friends are getting old, and you should not be frivolous 
 and silly, but should be like a sunbeam in the house, enlivening 
 them. Child, the time may come when you will look back to 
 these present days as the happiest in your life. Every one has 
 spoilt you ; be careful that you do not spoil yourself. Think of 
 others more, my child." 
 
 Emily looked at him thoughtfully. 
 
 "I do not say that you are selfish ; I only say that you are 
 thoughtless. Try not to be so. What should you do if sorrow 
 and trouble fell on these good people, who have been more than 
 friends to you ? " 
 
 The girl began to grow red. She answered — 
 
 " I would give up all my life to help any one of them, or be a 
 comfort to them in any way I could." 
 
 1 ' Are you a comfort to them now ? ' ' 
 
 The girl was silent. At last she said — 
 
 11 You mean that I am more plague than profit ? " 
 
 " Exactly what I do mean," said Goodge ; " and I am very 
 glad that you see the matter as I do. You have an idea that if 
 there was trouble in the house you would at once become the 
 angel in it. You should practise the role a little more. Your 
 ways are very pretty and your impertinences are amusing, but 
 they are quite out of place here and now. You discount the love 
 which people bear to you by continually drawing on it. You are 
 worthy of better things than being a doll and puppet, and you 
 are getting to be a very troublesome doll. I can assure you that 
 unless you take up the present tone of the house more than you 
 seem inclined to do at present, you will by no means add to its 
 comfort by your vivacity." And Goodge left her standing there, 
 and departed in an extremely ill humour for his walk. 
 
 " There," he said to himself as he started, "I think that I 
 
228 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 have given that young lady a piece of my mind. I cannot always 
 keep my temper with her. She has got herself surrounded so 
 with a circle of self that she has become an intolerable nuisance. 
 There is bother enough without her." 
 
 Going through the farmyard he met Reginald. " I am going 
 for the letters," he said, "will you walk with me?" But 
 Reginald said "No." He was looking after his farm. Reginald 
 saw the gaunt figure, in a pith helmet, go striding across the 
 park among the deer, and thought very little about it then. 
 Still, that figure brushing through the fern, under the overhang- 
 ing oak boughs, from light to shadow, from shadow to light, 
 never left his eye on this side of the grave. 
 
 He was in his justice room — his study, when Goodge came 
 back; he looked up cheerfully. Goodge looked very pale. 
 Reginald was writing, and he put down his pen. 
 
 " What is the matter, Goodge ? " he said very slowly. 
 
 " Reginald, the very worse conceivable." 
 
 11 Is Anders dead ? " 
 
 " No ; nothing of the kind ; far otherwise." 
 
 " Is any one else dead ? " 
 
 "Yes."* 
 
 "Hickson?" 
 
 "No. Some one else." 
 
 " You are not going to tell me the disaster which I see in your 
 eyes. Goodge, have mercy upon me. After so many years' 
 friendship, don't be my murderer." 
 
 But Goodge buried his nice in his hands and was silent. 
 
 " This simplifies matters," said Reginald. " I ccjn go to him 
 now ; I am coming to you, George. My darling, I am coming ! " 
 
 Goodge rose and put his hand on his shoulder. " Reginald, 
 do you think that God would let you meet our boy in heaven if 
 you came before His judgment throne with the bloody hand of a 
 suicide ? " 
 
 " I was not thinking of that, I tell you truly," said Reginald. 
 " I should have done that long ago, if I had ever intended to do 
 it ;it all. I am, as you see, perfectly coherent and calm. I have 
 borne so very much, Goodge, that I think I could bear anything 
 now, except joy. Am I never to see my darling again, then ? " 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " God's will be done ; but He has been hard upon me. I was 
 sorry for adversity because of others, for I never cared much for 
 myself. I was glad of prosperity, and rejoiced in it, until God 
 turned it into ashes in my mouth. It is all over now, Goodge. 
 God must give me rest soon. Will you tell me how it happened ? " 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 229 
 
 11 1 have a letter from Hickson, telling all about it ; there is 
 another for you, no doubt containing the same intelligence. The 
 boy was lost in the bush, kangaroo hunting, and has perished." 
 
 "Alone?" 
 
 11 Yes : all alone, poor fellow." 
 
 11 Goodge, you have been near to it yourself. Do they suffer 
 much ? ' ' 
 
 " No. Oh, dear, no," said Goodge, choking with emotion. 
 " They get delirious, as I did myself, and they know no more. 
 They die as easily as you would in your bed." 
 
 " Hush ! he was a pretty boy — at least, in my eyes. Was he 
 much disfigured when they found him ? Where is he buried ? " 
 
 " Reginald, do face facts once and for all : he perished in the 
 bush, and his body has never been found — almost certainly never 
 will be." 
 
 Reginald looked full at Goodge ; he looked ten years older than 
 he did when the conversation began, but he was perfectly firm 
 and self-possessed. He opened Hickson' s letter and read it care- 
 fully through ; he made no comment on it at first, but after a time 
 he said, " There is no proof that the boy is dead at all." 
 
 " He is, however," said Goodge. " Don't be insane enough 
 to buoy yourself up with such foolish hopes. The poor lad is 
 dead, and we must break it to the women." 
 
 " True. I did not think of that. I thought only of myself. 
 You think, on your soul, Goodge, that there is no hope ? " 
 
 " My dear Reginald, cannot you understand that the boy is 
 dead, and that you never will see him any more ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I suppose I shall realise it soon. You had better 
 tell Hester ; I will tell Mary. We have been through so much 
 together, that I think it would come better from me." 
 
 He went to the drawing-room, where Mary was sitting with 
 Aunt Hester, and asked her to come with him into his own room. 
 Goodge heard the door close behind them, and in a few minutes 
 poor Mary, who had suffered so long and so patiently, was send- 
 ing shriek after shriek ringing through that happy home which 
 Reginald had secured for himself and for her in their quiet old 
 age. The last hope for which they lived was gone from them, 
 but those two remained — a broken-down old man and a desolate - 
 hearted widow. 
 
 "Let me go to her," said Aunt Hester, rising. "What is 
 the matter, Goodge ? " 
 
 " George is dead," said Goodge; " and he has broken it to 
 her. Leave them alone together, I tell you. Don't disturb 
 such grief, as you live : let them be — let them be ! " 
 
230 REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 In the horror, the tears, the confusion which followed, one 
 person was quite unnoticed. The poor little, tiny Emily, whom 
 they had petted, spoilt, and played with so long, seemed to feel it 
 less than any of them. Perfectly dry-eyed, she was about among 
 them all, pervading the house, and doing kind little services for 
 every one. No one seemed to notice her coming and going, yet 
 one man had his eyes on her with regret and distress, for he had 
 been unkind to her that morning, and he saw how humble and 
 penitent she was. "Before God I will never speak harshly to a 
 woman again," thought Goodge. Late in the afternoon, when 
 Mary was quiet on her bed, and Reginald had seen them for one 
 instant to tell them so, a circumstance occurred which made 
 Goodge firmer in his resolution. Aunt Hester, Mrs. Hickson, 
 and he were sitting quietly talking in the drawing-room, where 
 the blinds were drawn down, when the poor little maid Emily 
 appeared with a tray and three cups of tea upon it. She had 
 made it for them herself, she said, and was afraid that it was very 
 bad, because she had never made tea before ; but she hoped that 
 they would drink it, and try to forgive her for any trouble she 
 had caused them in old times ; " they are gone by for ever now," 
 she said, and in trying to say more threw herself on her mother's 
 bosom, and lifted up her voice and wept, refusing to be comforted. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 A PROMISING ROMANCE COMES TO AN END. 
 
 Mrs. Clumber had an entirely thorough -going way of doing 
 business, which, as we have said before, reminded us of the late 
 lamented Mrs. Manning. Her husband, on the other hand, 
 had less genius than his wife in that particular direction. Mrs. 
 Clumber's plan was simply this : 
 
 Her husband had a very valuable secret — or, at all events, had 
 told her that he had — about the Digby will case. Her woman's 
 intellect told her that the secret was worth £30,000 to Messrs. 
 Thcodorides and Bevan, and that the best thing to do was to 
 clear every one out of the way who stood between her and a good 
 bargain. Clumber, on the other hand, was of opinion that the 
 more parties left to bargain with, the greater was the chance of a 
 good arrangement. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 231 
 
 Matters were tolerably understood between the worthy couple on 
 the morning of the kangaroo hunt. Clumber had entirely fallen 
 into his wife's plan, and praised her for her sagacity, with every 
 intention in the world of entirely thwarting her, by merely delay- 
 ing George until his ship was sailed, and then think what he 
 would do next. Like all irresolute men he hated words, and 
 so he saw his wife closeted with the stockman before-mentioned 
 without exhibiting the least symptom of interfering. 
 
 Had George been done with as Mrs. Clumber directed, we 
 should have seen nothing more of him. A hint in certain 
 quarters that a young gentleman was bushed in that scrub, 
 accompanied with the extra information that he had a gold watch 
 and chain and two diamond rings, would have been quite enough 
 to prevent his returning home any more, without the slight re- 
 fresher of a couple of ten-pound notes. Most likely no under- 
 standing in words was ever come to between Mrs. Clumber and 
 the stockman, but she made him understand her perfectly well. 
 The stockman incidentally came to her husband for the two ten- 
 pound notes, and so saved him the trouble of asking any im- 
 pertinent questions. Clumber knew that she had given them to 
 the stockman for necessary expenses. He merely doubled the 
 sum on the condition of safely "planting" the young gentleman 
 with certain friends of his until the ship was gone. That was 
 the stockman's intention when the lamentable accident happened, 
 which put him out of his reckoning. He was most terribly afraid 
 that he had unwittingly obeyed his mistress's orders instead of 
 his master's, and that the boy would die. They were ten miles 
 short of the place where George would have been cooped up long 
 enough to serve Clumber's vague purposes. The boy had gained 
 on the stockman's rude nature by his frankness, and he was 
 bitterly sorry that he had ever had anything to do with the 
 matter. Having left the boy, he rode away into the mountains, 
 vowing never to have his hand in such a business again. 
 
 It was very late, as we said, when he got back to the station, 
 and Clumber was a little time before he could get him alone 
 without suspicion. At last they were together, and Clumber 
 asked — 
 
 "Is it all right?" 
 
 " It is as right as I have been able to make it. He came to 
 terrible grief : his horse came down. I went away like mad for 
 assistance as soon as I had made him comfortable. I found Jim 
 at home, and he said he would be with him soon after nightfaU. 
 He won't be able to move for three weeks, but they will take 
 good care of him. Jim is as good as a doctor. You need not 
 
232 KEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 
 
 fret yourself about him in any way, I think. I will be away again 
 soon, and let you know how he gets on." 
 
 " Do, like a good soul. I will pay you well if he lives. Not 
 one word to the missis." 
 
 "In course not. You had better smuggle some brandy away, 
 for I doubt Jim has got nothing but whiskey. I'll take it to him." 
 
 " Where will he be ? " said Clumber. 
 
 The stockman looked at Clumber, and deliberately shut up 
 one eye. That inquiry was no use, and Clumber laughed at his 
 simplicity in asking it. 
 
 "How soon will you be back?" asked Clumber, going on 
 another tack. 
 
 11 Four hours," was the incautious answer. 
 
 " I know where he is now then," said Clumber. " He is safe 
 enough there. I will get you a bottle of wine and a bottle of 
 brandy ; but mind he does not see you." 
 
 The man came into Clumber's bedroom out of the verandah 
 about two o'clock, and found him snoring heavily. He got hold 
 of one of his hands, and squeezed it gently. The snoring ceased, 
 but the old man did not move or speak ; he knew that old convict 
 signal well enough. 
 
 "He is right enough," said the stockman. " They have got 
 him to bed and to sleep. They couldn't get him the length of 
 the place you know of — it was too far. They've got him in an 
 old mimi, not a mile from where he fell down, and the deuce 
 won't find him there." 
 
 "How far did you get him before it happened, then?" 
 whispered the old man. 
 
 " The upper end of Damper Creek," was the answer. 
 
 " He is safe enough in the scrub round there," Clumber replied; 
 and so they parted. 
 
 In the morning, of course, the search was renewed, and the 
 alarm given in Sydney. Miss Ada rode away to tell her mother, 
 but she never arrived at home ; in fact, she had no intention of 
 doing so. She was perfectly well accustomed to ride about by 
 herself, and was prepared to do so this very morning — in fact, 
 was standing before her horse in the verandah when one of the 
 young ladies of the house came out, and created some coi] fusion 
 by saying— 
 
 " Law, Ada, dear ! however will you ride with that skirt under 
 your habit; you'll be so uncomfortable ! " 
 
 But the young lady said that she wanted to take it home, and, 
 looking as if she wished her friend at a considerable distance, 
 rode away, and disappeared down the road among the trees. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 233 
 
 She bad been listening at her father's window the night before. 
 Anxious beyond all measure at what she had heard previously, 
 she had never undressed herself, and at last heard in the middle 
 of the night the sound of a horse's feet approaching. Then she 
 heard the rails go down and go up again ; and then she heard the 
 horse neigh as he was sent loose in the paddock ; then she heard 
 the steps of a man coming cautiously through the garden towards 
 her father's window. 
 
 She heard as much as she wished to hear. She knew the 
 creek at the point where it came into the main river, and she 
 determined to follow it up. Armed with her knife, and a skirt 
 on under her riding-habit, she found herself at the junction of 
 the creek and the river by twelve o'clock in the morning. She at 
 once began forcing her way up it. 
 
 At first there were cattle tracks through the thick tea-scrub, 
 and she got on pretty well ; but her difficulties increased, the 
 further she went, until she came to a dense mass of fallen timber 
 and thick Eucalyptus scrub, beyond which neither cattle nor horse 
 seemed to have passed. She was an hour getting through, not 
 without a little hard work with her knife, and sometimes, poor 
 thing, sitting down to refresh herself with a good cry. But once 
 past the barrier, the valley of the creek opened out into ground 
 where it was possible to ride. It was an impregnable native 
 fastness ; but she was determined to do what she had in hand. 
 
 It was three o'clock, before, peering about her, she came in an 
 open glade on the signs of the accident. The boy was only a 
 short distance from here ; she at once began to sing, and to stop 
 between every verse. 
 
 Her ruse was successful : she was reconnoitered. Had she 
 been a policeman she would have been welcomed with a shot ; as 
 a solitary woman she was allowed an interview. An evil-looking 
 old man, coming from a direction contrary to the real one, showed 
 himself. She at once took possession of him in an imperial 
 manner. 
 
 " Oh, here you are. Look here, my father has sent me to 
 nurse the young officer who is planted here. We did not mean 
 him to get hurt ; his life is fearfully valuable to us. If you don't 
 mind what you are about with him, we will make this crib too 
 warm for you. Is Jim here ? " 
 
 He had been listening to every word. " You are a plucky 
 young lady, Miss Honey," said the bushranger, whom some said 
 was worthy of better things. " You are safe and welcome." 
 
 "I mean to make myself both," said the young lady, showing 
 her knife. " Where is he ? " 
 
234 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " We have made hini as comfortable as we can ; here he is, and 
 my wife with him." 
 
 The poor hoy was undoubtedly very ill, without fever sufficient 
 to induce actual delirium, but quite sufficient to make him per- 
 fectly careless about surrounding objects. During the day they 
 got more and more bark, and made a really nice hut with a bed- 
 place for him ; he was as comfortable as circumstances would 
 permit ; and the bushranger's wife and Ada were kind nurses to 
 him. 
 
 It was after the second visit of the stockman that he discovered 
 whore Ada was, and he told her father. He was not sorry that 
 she should be there, for a new scheme at once entered into his 
 irresolute brain : suppose the boy should retain sufficient gratitude 
 for him to marry her when he was old enough. The Lord 
 Chancellor might object, but that might be got over. 
 
 Three weeks they kept him there before he really could move 
 at all ; and it was ten days more before Ada, who had left him 
 and returned many times now, took him for a short walk alone, 
 and, kneeling before him, told him her tale. 
 
 He was among the bushrangers, and they would try to make an 
 immense demand for his ransom, or kill him. She had acci- 
 dentally found out what had befallen him from an old servant ; 
 and so on, with an endless rigmarole, part of which she had pre- 
 viously concocted, and part of which she made up on the spot. 
 She pointed out to him that if he betrayed her, she was lost. He 
 promised not to betray her, and they exchanged their only kiss. 
 She had so contrived that they could escape, and she and the 
 stockman got him romantically to the station from which he had 
 started, and from thence back to Sydney, where he first learnt that 
 his ship had sailed. 
 
 His story was considered extremely romantic and queer, but his 
 injuries were undoubtedly real, and not much inquiry was made 
 about the matter. The captain of the Doris stared con- 
 siderably ; but on the whole thought that George had better go 
 home in the next ship and explain himself to his captain, remark- 
 ing that it was no business of his to express an opinion one way or 
 another. 
 
 Clumber knew perfectly well that should the truth ever be 
 known about his action in this foolish matter to his wife, he would 
 not be particularly comfortable in her hands. He was so per- 
 fectly satisfied on this point, that he got her to agree to his going 
 to England, and taking her daughter with him. This arrange- 
 ment had been agreed upon before the reappearance of George 
 before an astonished and somewhat scandalised Sydney. 
 
REGINALD HETHEEEGE. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 TWO OLD FRIENDS COME TOGETHER. 
 
 It was a foolish plot carried out with a feeble and hesitating hand 
 on the part of Clumber. It led, however, to singularly unfortunate 
 and disastrous results at home. For six weeks Reginald believed 
 George to be dead, and so just at the time when he should have 
 kept his wits about him most, he was simply carelessly desperate, 
 without a solitary aim in life. 
 
 He told Goodgc that his head was going, and laid before him a 
 little plan of which Goodge, after a deal of questioning, consented. 
 It was only the executing of a deed of gift for £30,000 to Mary. 
 This he had done at once ; he then let affairs take their course, 
 and appeared to be totally unconcerned about anything. 
 
 He was not morose, but he declined to see any one except his 
 family. When the news of the disaster came, his enemies relented 
 at once, and would have been very kind, but he would see no one 
 at all. Mr. Owthwaite and Sir Lipscombe had made mutually the 
 wonderful discovery that the runaway match was not such a 
 disaster after all, and that Reginald was not in any way to blame 
 about it. They wrote a joint note asking to see him, but he re- 
 turned an evasive answer. Every one was extremely kind to him 
 now ; but he did not want kindness, he wanted peace, and he 
 was likely to get none at all. 
 
 The supposed death of this boy caused very singular complica- 
 tions in the great lawsuit which had been waiting on Reginald's 
 death. The Simpsons, Murdochs, and Talbots began to arouse 
 themselves about it, after many years, and Reginald for the first 
 time heard the word " compromise " from young Murdoch, within 
 a fortnight of the news of the boy's death. It passed in at one ear 
 and out at the other ; he thought nothing more about the matter. 
 Murdoch and Simpson did, however, and the Digby will case began 
 to grow silently a very lively thing indeed, from this failure of 
 heirs under the Hetherege branch of the family. 
 
 Goodge was called into consultation with Murdoch and Simpson, 
 and left them with a rather brightened face, but he said nothing 
 to Reginald, because at least a year would have to pass before 
 anything could be done in the way of a compromise, and they, at 
 that time of speaking, could not say one word about any offer. 
 Simpson thought that if two deaths could be proved, they might 
 give Reginald ten thousand a year for his life ; but Murdoch 
 laughed at this, and said that no one knew what money was left. 
 
236 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Said Gooclge, " Which two lives do you speak of ? " 
 
 " Those of James Murdoch and George Simpson. You will 
 think it absurd, but we have no proofs of their death. I don't see 
 how we can move without them." 
 
 " I don't believe the}' are dead," said Goodge. " Are you 
 quite sure that Theodorides is not your uncle, Simpson? " 
 
 " No, we are sure of that" said Simpson. " What we are not 
 
 so sure about is . Well, never mind. See if you can rouse 
 
 old Reginald about the matter. It will do him good." 
 
 This happened only in the third week of the mourning time, 
 other things meanwhile had happened of which they knew 
 nothing. 
 
 After the first news of George's death, General Anders had 
 come at once to Hollingscroft, had come into Reginald's study, 
 and had sat down beside him quickly, with his arm on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 They talked long together. Not a cloud was between them in 
 any way now. They were only two old men whose lives were 
 drawing to a close, and who called up pleasant old memories 
 from the past. Anders was his own self again in the presence 
 of his friend's great affliction ; not one word of business was 
 spoken of between them, when General Anders rose to ring for 
 his fly. 
 
 "You won't stay to-night, then?" said Reginald. "They 
 would all like to see you so much." 
 
 "I! No," said the General. "My dear fellow, I am up to 
 the eyes in business. I have no time now ; I am busy night and 
 day. Snizort, Bevan, and I do not let grass grow under our 
 feet. Our last thing is the great thing. The Danube and Don 
 Canal will be an enormous work certainly. Politically speaking, 
 it is immoral, because it will play the mischief with Turkey. 
 But our great canalisation and irrigation scheme in the Salt Lake 
 basin is far finer. Shares are at par now ; let us get five per cent, 
 over, and out I go." 
 
 " You have too many irons in the fire," said Reginald. 
 
 " Not I. I come of a good money-getting stock. I wish you 
 would give us a little of your advice sometimes." 
 
 " I will give it at once," said Reginald. " Sell out, and live 
 like a reasonable being." 
 
 General Anders smiled, and went away, waving his hand. 
 
 Reginald went upstairs to the boy's room the first time that 
 day. It was all as he had arranged it for his return from sea, and 
 he sat and pondered deeply about the short future which was left 
 him in life. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 237 
 
 11 1 am no use at all now," he said. " Now I have provided 
 for Mary there is nothing left for me to do. This house is very 
 sad. I will stay here a week, and then I will go to Anders in 
 London. I may possibly prevent him making a fool of himself. 
 I would do that if I could, hut it is hopeless ; everything must go 
 to the devil its own way. Still, I will go to London. I wish I 
 was ill ; hut I am perfectly well. If I was ill, I could rest, and 
 attend to my symptoms ; hut I have no such resource. Hang it 
 all, I will go to London, and at all events get rid of the miserable 
 round of petty botherations here. I shall get into trouble, I have 
 no doubt, but that will amuse me. I have not been in my place 
 in Parliament more than five times since February. I will go 
 there. Snizort will be there, but he will only amuse me. Yes, I 
 will go to the Duke and Duchess at Bolton Row." 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 REGINALD TRIES TO PAY HIS DEBT TO GENERAL ANDERS. 
 
 Reginald took leave of his sorrowing household, and told them 
 where he was going. He went into Mary's room and bid her 
 good-bye, and she told him that he was doing right. She tried to 
 ask him something several times, but at last she wrote it down. 
 It was a request, not a very great one ; she wanted him to get for 
 her the boy's sword and such things as he had left in the ship. 
 
 "My dear," said Reginald, simply, " Hickson will bring 
 them." 
 
 11 Don't name him to me," she said, eagerly and angrily. " I 
 can't bear to hear his name mentioned. He tempted my boy to 
 sea, and then let him go ashore to die in that hideous place. And 
 tell Mrs. Hickson that I won't see her, nor that horrid little 
 creature of a daughter of hers. They were both in it, and I won't 
 see them. Tell Hester." 
 
 So Reginald left his "happy" home. His last words were, 
 as he got into the carriage : " Hester, don't think me a coward for 
 flying, but I should go mad here." 
 
 She kissed him and patted him on the shoulder. " Kind, 
 long-suffering old boy, for you will never be anything else, you 
 are quite right to go. You are only an additional cause of 
 anxiety to us, for we try so hard to save you trouble. Try to 
 
238 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 forget yourself in London, my clear ; we women will manage one 
 another here." 
 
 "Best of women, good-bye," said Reginald, jumping into the 
 carriage. He was whirled away, and left Aunt Hester standing 
 motionless on the steps, with the Times on her head to keep off 
 the sun. There was something in that paper which might have 
 interested her, if she ever read the City Article. 
 
 Reginald was very comfortable in his carriage, and, at one time, 
 calculated the results of driving all the way to London in it. It 
 was only one hundred and twenty miles, and the thing was by no 
 means impossible. He had every earthly comfort packed by his 
 servant in it and about it ; the only reason why he did not do so 
 was that he had never heard of anybody doing it before. He, 
 however, dismissed the idea, and relapsed into the Spectator, 
 left the Times behind for Aunt Hester, and thought no more about 
 the matter. 
 
 Arriving at the station, he was aroused by finding a carriage 
 blocking the way. It was Lord Snizort's carriage, and the ser- 
 vants were getting the luggage down. A porter left Lord Snizort's 
 servants, and ran to Reginald's carriage. 
 
 " Is Lord Snizort here ? " asked Reginald. 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 " I will get out then, James," he whispered to his servant. 
 " Don't move a thing, as you love me ; I don't know but what I 
 may drive a station further on, and catch the next train." 
 
 He went into the station, and there was the great Snizort, with 
 his head rammed close to the hole where they gave the tickets, 
 abusing the clerk. Reginald at once saw that a journey to town 
 with that man would add a year to his life. His resolution was 
 taken at once. It might have been better, on the whole, if he had 
 endured his lordship, because from Lord Snizort's habit of never 
 leaving off talking he would probably, during the journey, have 
 told Reginald a great many things which it would have been better 
 for him to know. However, he there and then made up his mind 
 to drive to London, and, with his usual luck, lost his opportunity 
 of hearing much. "Not," as he said afterwards to Goodge, 
 " that it would have made the least difference to me, I never was 
 lucky." 
 
 Lord Snizort having, purse in hand, bullied the clerk on the 
 subject of the lateness of a train the day before yesterday, until 
 the unhappy young man retreated, put his head through the 
 tickut-hole and glared round the interior in search of that young 
 man, with a view to further objurgation. In the meantime, a 
 farmer coming for his ticket, and seeing nothing in the usual place 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 239 
 
 but a human stern, there and then shoved it, not knowing — as 
 how should he ? — that it belonged to one of the first noblemen in 
 the county. Lord Snizort, finding himself assaulted in the rear, 
 at once made a violent effort to recover himself, during which he 
 dropped his hat on the clerk's side of the hole, hit himself violently 
 on the back of the head, and sent about forty pounds in sovereigns 
 and shillings flying all over the office. He then, bareheaded, 
 advanced furiously on Reginald, and asked him what the devil he 
 meant by doing that. 
 
 Reginald explained, and offered to help him to pick up his 
 money. Lord Snizort was going to begin talking, and had got as 
 far as — " My dear Hetherege, what can I say about this fearful 
 
 disaster which has befallen you ? " when Lady Snizort came 
 
 sharply out of the ladies' waiting-room, bonnet, reticule, and all. 
 
 " The human mind," said her ladyship, not in the least degree 
 knowing what she was going to say next, but conscious, like some 
 extempore preachers, that if she once got on her legs it was not 
 easy to stop herself, "is so variously constituted that its ramifica- 
 tions are with difficulty followed by the most profound of ancient 
 or modern sages. Taking grief and sympathy to be co-existent 
 always in every class of being above the mere brutes, can I look on 
 at the disaster " 
 
 But by this time Lord Snizort had picked up some of his sove- 
 reigns and the servants were picking up the rest. He may be said 
 to have got his wind, and started off on his own score — not that 
 her ladyship ever dreamed of leaving off. 
 
 " The interests of a vast dominion like the British Empire," 
 said Lord Snizort, " thrown too often, as they are, into the hands 
 of the ignorant and ignoble, are more often benefited by the know- 
 ledge and experience of such men as my friend Hetherege. When 
 I see such a man, rending himself from a once happy home, under 
 the shadow of a great affliction, to take part in the councils of the 
 nation, then I say that my heart warms to that man. Hetherege, 
 I am devilish sorry for you." 
 
 "Manfully spoken, and kindly, Lord Snizort. I shall not be 
 in London, however, for three days." 
 
 At this moment Lord Snizort was accosted from behind by his 
 servant. " Will you put your hat on, my lord ? " 
 
 " What the ? " said Lord Snizort furiously. " I have got 
 
 my hat on, sir. Do you think that I would stand bareheaded in 
 a railway station ? ' ' 
 
 Lady Snizort had to stop her talk to point out to him that he 
 had really knocked his hat off in the ticket-hole, and that his 
 servant had fetched it. Lord Snizort looked at the footman as if 
 
240 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 he would very much like to catch him at it again, and then put it 
 on in a suspicious manner, as if he was by no means sure even 
 now. 
 
 But the train came, and Reginald helped to push Lady Snizort 
 into the carriage, which was a process very similar to getting a 
 fortnight's bundle of family linen for the wash down a narrow 
 staircase. She talked the whole time, and Lord Snizort never 
 left off. Then Reginald went out and spoke to his servants on 
 the subject of driving to London. They fell into the plan willingly, 
 and a message being despatched for horse and man necessaries to 
 meet them by train, away went Reginald with every independent 
 comfort in that little microcosm, his carriage, through one of the 
 most beautiful parts of England. 
 
 From village to town, from town to city, from city to village 
 again ; under overarching elms, across bright rivers, past stately 
 houses and flower-encircled cottages : the weather beautiful and 
 bright, the roads perfection, and the interest continual. Old 
 market-houses, quaint streets in village and town, bridges, and, 
 lastly, churches too numerous to count or to remember : some 
 small, half-hidden among the graves, seeming nothing more than 
 larger tombstones themselves, some tall, solemn, and majestic, 
 only requiring a Benedictine monk or two round the porch to 
 carry you in imagination back some four centuries, when the 
 " Bishop of Rome " had authority in these realms such as neither 
 king nor kaiser has now, and when the dissenting minister in his 
 garden, or the Rector on his brown cob, would by no means have 
 found that the lines had fallen to them in pleasant places, but the 
 contrary ; nay, when Mrs. Rector and her pony carriage did not 
 exist — a most wonderful thing to think of. Then the great city, 
 with its red roofs and the high chalk downs staring down the 
 ends of streets, close overhead : the swarming schoolboys pervading 
 the town in every direction, and seeming almost as numerous as 
 the townsfolk. And last, not least, the long cathedral, into which 
 it was pleasant to saunter before dinner, and hear the splendid 
 evening service while the afternoon sun came flaming through the 
 many-coloured windows, making the white-robed clergymen as 
 gay as though the old times had come back and they were in 
 Catholic vestments. Then the summer's evening settling down 
 over the town, and the ramble among the lawns and groves behind 
 the great fane of Wykeham, and the bright chalk river forcing 
 its crystal water everywhere under the quaint over-hanging 
 houses. 
 
 " Why have I never travelled before," thought Reginald. 
 " I have heard of change of scene. Matters look so very diflerent 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 241 
 
 to me now from what they did at home. The post equitem 
 theory is partly humbug. I will certainly travel, and travel 
 alone, too." 
 
 Things did not look quite so bright when he woke the next 
 morning ; but when he was on the road again he cheered up, and 
 passed a pleasant day with the books he had bought at Winchester, 
 with looking at the passing landscape, and with getting a walk 
 up-hill now and then, or sauntering along the road for his carriage 
 to overtake him. By the time he arrived in London he felt 
 wonderfully cheered and refreshed, and the unfeigned welcome 
 which he got at Bolton Row was very pleasant indeed. He had 
 proposed to go to a private hotel, but they would not hear of it : 
 he would be free as air there, and there he must stay. 
 
 On the whole, he was not sorry at the arrangement ; it gave 
 him society without any trouble, and the freedom of avoiding it 
 if he thought proper. The Duke and Duchess were seeing a 
 great deal of company, more than ever Reginald remembered. 
 Isabel certainly received at least once or twice a week, in some 
 way or another, and was out to two or three places every night. 
 Reginald ought, by right, to have offered the use of his horses in 
 addition to her own, but he knew how good servants dislike being 
 at the orders of any one but their masters, and so did not. Isabel 
 knew his motive, and never asked for the carriage once. 
 
 Isabel had, on the whole, been disappointed with her prottujee ; 
 Miss Murdoch ought to have married better somehow. It was 
 true that disgraceful brother of hers had prevented it, and it was 
 no fault of hers ; but it was such a disappointment that she should 
 become a mere sailor's wife. Certainly she would be a baronet's 
 wife as soon as Captain Hickson's uncle had the decency to die, 
 but she ought to have done much better. She had become a 
 very second-rate person, and her little daughter was unendurable. 
 Isabel, to forget a rather disappointed life, mixed in Society more 
 and more, and General Anders was nothing loth to accompany her 
 and her husband. 
 
 Reginald allowed the necessity of society, but he did not care 
 for it, and wondered that Anders did. Anders laughed, and said 
 that it was necessary to his position, and so turned the matter off. 
 
 The General's friendship towards him had entirely revived. 
 They were together as they had been at the best of times, and all 
 their old confidence was fully restored. They began almost the 
 first day to have long talks over the present state of affairs, and 
 Reginald's face grew longer and longer as matters were disclosed 
 to him. The General was getting uneasy himself, by no means 
 too soon. 
 
 17 
 
242 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 The speculations were so extremely intricate, that Reginald, 
 with all his head for figures, found it very difficult to understand 
 them. The General seemed to be in everything ; Lord Snizort 
 in several ; but in the largest and most doubtful of all the affairs 
 he found first Bevan, and next Theodorides, almost supreme. It 
 gave him extreme uneasiness, and he said so. 
 
 "You seem rather to have lost your head, Anders," he said 
 frankly. " It would have been much better if I had never left 
 you." 
 
 "I confess that now," said the General; "but I am a great 
 fool, and I have dwelt too much on one idea — on the forbidden 
 subject. Don't speak of it ; we can do very well yet, depend 
 upon it." 
 
 " We may still," said Reginald ; " but we must make haste. 
 You might make a terrible mess of affairs as we now stand. It 
 is perfectly obvious that you must get out of at least one-half 
 these things, and take very great care about the other half." 
 
 " I allow it, Hetherege ; I perfectly allow it ; but don't you see 
 that it is impossible : the removal of my name would bring on a 
 smash. I am the only responsible person in at least three of 
 the largest affairs, unless you consider Theodorides and Bevan 
 responsible." 
 
 " I profoundly distrust both of them. We have not the remotest 
 proof that they are either of them sound men. The smallest 
 check now would be extremely disastrous. These schemes are all 
 good enough in the end, but they have been so fearfully promoted. 
 Who did all our advertising and puffing ? " 
 
 " Principally, nay entirely, Theodorides and Bevan." 
 
 " I will go to work at once and see what can be done ; mean- 
 while we must give confidence. We are both members of the 
 Stock Exchange, it will therefore be necessary for me to enter into 
 public partnership with you as a stockbroker. I am known as a 
 safe, man, and that will be the best thing we can do. It will give 
 us time, and I believe that I can put things right in time ; but we 
 must be very careful in future." 
 
 "But, my dear Hetherege, you risk all you have in case of 
 matters turning out badly. You are safe : why rush into danger 
 forme?" 
 
 " I have provided for Mary, and the boy is dead. I am only 
 paying oil' an old debt," said Reginald smiling; "do you 
 remember when you used those words to me ? I wanted the 
 money you gave me then ten times more than you do now. Don't 
 bury your face in your hands now ; we shall get through very 
 well. I have no one left to work for but you ; the deuce is in it 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 243 
 
 if we don't manage. Why, old warrior, rouse yourself for the 
 battle : with an extra £200,000 we shall be rich enough. Don't be 
 cast down in any way." 
 
 " What will you do first, you best and most generous of men ? " 
 
 "I'll go and see Bevan," said Reginald very resolutely. "I 
 will go and see what I think of the man." 
 
 "Do so," said the General. " I had best tell Snizort of your 
 resolution, I suppose? " 
 
 " Yes : the question is how much more you ought to tell him — it 
 is a difficult problem. I may have to sacrifice everything ; but if 
 matters go wrong he must be warned in time. He is an awful 
 nuisance, but he is very frank and honest. The first thing to do 
 is to execute the deed of partnership. See to that above all 
 things." 
 
 And so Reginald went out on foot, saying to himself, " If we do 
 not mind Theodorides and Bevan, we shall all die in the work- 
 house." He went to call on Mr. Bevan, but Mr. Bevan was not 
 at home ; he therefore left his card. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 TWO WORTHIES ', OR, OLD FRIENDS WITH A NEW FACE. 
 
 James Murdoch and his long-lost cousin, Simpson the forger, sat 
 comfortably together in the apartments of the former in Piccadilly. 
 These excellent gentlemen were at breakfast, on admirable terms 
 with themselves and the world. From the breakfast before them, 
 and the various things to drink on the breakfast-table, a close 
 observer of human nature would have concluded that both gentle- 
 men were in the habit of taking quite as much stimulant as was 
 good for them overnight, if not a little more. 
 
 il I was infernally cut last night," said George Simpson ; " but 
 I won like blazes. Give me the curacoa again, James, before you 
 begin business." 
 
 " Now don't mop up more than another glass, cousin, because I 
 want to talk seriously to you." 
 
 " Well, then, give me a cigar, and then I shall be as sound as 
 a bell. Now fire away." 
 
 "I am going," said James Murdoch, alias Mr. Bevan, the 
 
244 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 great American financier, who, without his blue spectacles, looked 
 an extremely handsome scoundrel of between forty and fifty, "to 
 go into a general review of all our joint affairs." 
 
 "And I," said George Simpson, otherwise Count Theodorides, 
 who, with his dyed and beautifully-curled moustaches and hair, 
 looked not in the least like the young gentleman who had in a 
 weak moment committed a great forgery, "am all attention. I 
 suppose you will agree with me that some change must be made 
 soon. We are both running the risk of detection every day, and 
 that would be uncomfortable, to say the least of it." 
 
 "Pish," said James Murdoch, "we are so deep in that they 
 dare not blow upon us." 
 
 " There you are wrong," said George Simpson. " The family 
 have quietly all withdrawn from any business connected with us, 
 and General Anders, should anything go in any way wrong, would 
 merely set himself right with the world by becoming the injured 
 innocent ; and besides, Anders is a creature I hate — an honest 
 man." 
 
 " He has gone pretty close to the wind in that character," said 
 James Murdoch. 
 
 "He fancies himself one, however," said George Simpson, 
 " which is quite as bad as if he were one 4 for our purposes. 
 Besides, you are in a different position from what I am. You 
 were staying there down at Hollingscroft, at the house of that 
 illimitable idiot, Reginald, with your own sister, Mrs. Hickson, 
 and meeting her twenty times a day : she did not know you from 
 Adam. The first moment I set eyes on Aunt Hester, she knew 
 me, and a fine cock-and-bull story I had to make up to put her 
 off the scent. I was surprised at her biting, but she did ; and 
 those boys, Alfred Simpson and Lionel Murdoch, took the whole 
 story in also ; though if their fathers ever met me, I should be 
 blown upon at once. I tell you that I consider my sacred person 
 in danger, and that I intend to realise and vumos the ranche. 
 London is very nice, but Vienna is much nicer." 
 
 " I would not cut partnership yet, old boy," said James 
 Murdoch. " Remember when we met in New York. You, the 
 Greek merchant, were devilishly out at the elbows, while I had 
 made money in a certain ring ; and had not only money, but 
 credit. Remember that." 
 
 "I do remember," said George Simpson. " You were devilish 
 land to me, I allow. But do let us get out of it soon. Let me 
 be an honest man again. Let me put my foot upon my native 
 heath, and my name be Dickinson. Let me be quit of this 
 humiliating disguise, and appear in a red wig and a wooden leg, 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 245 
 
 if necessary. Let me once more be free to meet the eyes of my 
 fellow-creatures without a blush." 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense," said James Murdoch. "We can do 
 much better than vamposing. Why did we come here at all ? " 
 
 " We came here on an exceedingly foolish errand, relating to a 
 supposed second will of old Digby's ; and you have discovered that 
 it does not exist." 
 
 " I know that it does. But you are not putting the case truly ; 
 we came here first to force on a settlement under the old will, 
 and take our chance of our share from the honour of the two 
 families." 
 
 " I got my part done there," said George Simpson. 
 
 " Capitally ; but glass turns bullets, and your fool was a fool 
 in every respect. If he had imitated the cry of a British female 
 in distress, he would have had the old idiot outside in one instant, 
 and then, you know " 
 
 " Well, I am very glad it did not succeed," said George Simpson, 
 downright. 
 
 "Then," continued James Murdoch, without heeding him, 
 "our plan was to get possession of this will, and make a grand 
 bargain out of it. I discovered that it had been removed, and, 
 until this morning, I thought myself sold." 
 
 " I don't believe in it," said George Simpson. 
 
 " I do, however," said James ; " and I will tell you why 
 directly. Meanwhile, I, through my reputation for finance, got 
 myself and you introduced to that ass, General Anders, and I 
 think that you will allow that we have made a good thing of it." 
 
 " So much so that the will may go to the devil as far as I am 
 concerned," said George Simpson. 
 
 " Yes ; but you are in with me, old fellow, and I must really 
 trouble you to stay in. Our interests are precisely identical." 
 
 " The death of this cub, George, may make a difference 
 certainly." 
 
 " The cub is not dead," said James Murdoch. " Clumber got 
 hold of him, and got him planted in the bush — for what reason he 
 is not likely to tell me. The thing will be known all over London 
 in three weeks ; and, meanwhile, he is coming to London to try a 
 bargain with me first." 
 
 "Who is this Clumber?" 
 
 " That old sinner, don't you know? Why, that man Thomas, 
 who used to keep the house for the Duchess, and was transported 
 for robbing the Duke years ago. He knew the trick of the shutters 
 of that empty room, which that arch-idiot, Anders, keeps shut up, 
 and he got in — a baby might get in — and, from what he over- 
 
246 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 heard from the old couple, laid his hand on the right paper, and 
 decamped." 
 
 "When did he do that?" 
 
 " When he was last in England. He had tried a bargain with 
 me long before, but I could not find the cash, and it fell through. 
 I did not know the whole truth then — he lied so ; and not finding 
 himself comfortable in England, and being at that time in a state 
 of muddle, he went back to Australia with his secret. He has done 
 well out there, it seems ; but he is an undecided fool, and I have 
 no doubt that I shall make a bargain with him ; in which case, of 
 course, we dictate our terms to the family." 
 
 "Some people are too clever by half," said George Simpson. 
 " Suppose this wonderful will was to go against our claims ? " 
 
 "If it did he would hardly offer to make a bargain with me. 
 I suspect that it puts the Hethereges in a far worse position than 
 it does you or I." 
 
 "But the document will not be worth much after so many 
 years," said George Simpson : " much better sell out and go." 
 
 " I shall see it and decide," said James. " It will probably 
 lead to a compromise in which we shall certainly take a very large 
 sum of money. What I want is for you to wait and see. If you 
 vaunts, things will come to a smash ; I want you to wait and see 
 what we can make out of this business." 
 
 "Very well," said George Simpson, " I will wait. But with 
 that frankness which is so agreeable in families, and which has 
 been practised so long in ours, I think that you are no better than 
 a fool. Your whole plan appears to me to be mops and brooms. 
 We have done thundering well by finding such gulls on the wing 
 as Anders and Snizort. In my opinion we had better clear out ; 
 we have run fearful risks together, and I am getting rather sick of 
 it. You don't seem to see that by concealing this will you com- 
 mit a cool felony. Oakum is very nasty to the fingers, and those 
 new cells in Coldbath Fields are, as I am told, exquisitely uncom- 
 fortable." 
 
 So Count Theodorides went out for a walk whistling. He was 
 dressed most perfectly, and looked like a bridegroom, when he 
 came into Storr and Mortimer's. The eminent Greek merchant 
 had an interview with one of the partners, to their mutual satis- 
 faction. The financier simperingly let the jeweller know that he 
 was about to contract a matrimonial alliance, and wanted some 
 diamonds. He selected £14,000 worth, and paid for them with 
 a cheque on the spot, remarking casually that he was not certain 
 of his exact balance at Grlyn's, and said that he would wait while 
 one of their clerks stepped round with the cheque. " We never 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 247 
 
 know," he said, " how we may stand at any particular moment. 
 I give you my word," he added, laughing, " that I was actually 
 overdrawn at Drummond's the other day. It was extremely 
 amusing, but an actual fact." The partner laughed heartily at 
 the absurdity of the great Count Theodorides being overdrawn 
 anywhere ; but it was a remarkable fact that the diamonds re- 
 mained in his hands until the clerk returned with the money ; 
 after which, rumour said that he winked at his head clerk, and in 
 the course of the afternoon sent a private note to Messrs. Howell 
 and James, receiving for answer that Count Theodorides had 
 bought diamonds to the extent of £8,000 there that afternoon, 
 and had paid for them like a gentleman. Drawing about £6,000 
 more out of two banks, he reluctantly left £2,000 in the hands 
 of the London and County Bank, not because he would not have 
 drawn it out, but because he arrived there after the bank was shut, 
 and the Scotch train to Edinburgh, then not so very long established, 
 started at eight, and he did not intend to wait till next day. From 
 Leith to Rotterdam, with a passport from the Lord Provost, then 
 from Rotterdam to Hamburg, was not a journey which took very 
 long even then. Delaying in the neighbourhood of that pleasant 
 city until a ship started for New York, he went on board of her, 
 and at last turned his back upon an ungrateful Europe with about 
 £28,000 of convertible property in his pockets, leaving his com- 
 mercial liabilities in England to take care of themselves. He was 
 of a humble and contented spirit, and left others to suffer those 
 evils which are inseparable from inordinate avarice. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 JAMES MURDOCH MAKES HIS RESOLUTION. 
 
 Such an extremely important and agreeable man as Count Theo- 
 dorides was very soon missed from the commercial circles which 
 he adorned, and where everything about him was popular except 
 his credit. Reginald's open partnership with General Anders cer- 
 tainly counterbalanced to some extent the disappearance of Theo- 
 dorides, but the credit of certain great speculators was extremely 
 lowered by it, and people began to sell out in the most ominous 
 manner. 
 
 Bevan was very cheerful over the matter, but in reality was 
 
248 EEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 desperately savage about it ; and it is very probable that violence 
 would have been done had he met Simpson in a safe place. Still, 
 he was tolerably secured for the future, having a pretty warm nest. 
 The thing which exasperated him was, that had Simpson stayed on 
 he might have done better. He only awaited the arrival of Clumber 
 to decide on his future action. 
 
 He went to meet that gentleman the day he landed, and they 
 had a long and intimate talk together. Neither would trust tlie 
 other, and James Murdoch found that a sea voyage, combined with 
 the absence of a furious and ill-tempered wife, and the companion- 
 ship of an amiable daughter, had very much changed Clumber for 
 the worse, according to Murdoch, though possibly some might 
 think slightly for the better. 
 
 11 1 got an interesting letter from you from Australia," began 
 James Murdoch. 
 
 "Well, it was a foolish letter to have written," said Clumber, 
 11 and I am sorry I wrote it. I said too much ; but I was always 
 frank and honest in my dealings. Well, what have you to say 
 about it now ? " 
 
 " Do you know the contents of the paper you have in your 
 possession ? " said Murdoch. 
 
 " It is not in my possession," said Clumber. 
 
 11 There you lie, of course," said Murdoch. " I wonder you take 
 the trouble to do it." 
 
 " I do not lie," said Clumber. " If I did you could beat me 
 at it." 
 
 "Well, we will not quarrel," said Murdoch. "Do you know 
 the contents of this paper, or do you not? " 
 
 "Yes I do." 
 
 "Is it favourable to me ? " 
 
 " That you must decide. On the whole, I should say yes ; you 
 must judge about that for yourself, when you have read it." 
 
 ' ' How soon will that be ? " 
 
 " When you have paid me £10,000 for the privilege." 
 
 " But I don't know what is in it." 
 
 " You can't tell till you have read it." 
 
 " You want to break with me entirely, I see," said James. 
 
 " I don't say that. I only want £10,000 for a sight of it. That 
 is my only oiler. It is worth every penny of that to others, and I 
 give you till to-morrow." 
 
 " Where shall I meet you to-morrow to see it? " said James. 
 
 Clumber named the place — a tavern near Piccadilly, extremely 
 public, and refused to name any other, so James was forced to be 
 contented. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 249 
 
 When he was alone in the street he began thinking very deeply. 
 " I am by no means sure that Simpson was not right when he called 
 me an ass. I came over here, years ago, to see whether anything 
 could be done with this old rascal Thomas, now Clumber, whom I 
 knew to have information for some years. He refuses to deal, and 
 goes back to Australia. I came here to try and find out some- 
 thing for myself, and utterly fail, but get in connection with 
 Anders and do well with my talents. I am safe — I am unrecog- 
 nised — no one knows who I am but this old Thomas. I have a 
 good mind to realise, and leave the whole matter of the will alone. 
 I can get out of the principal things perfectly well now Reginald 
 has come to back up Anders. I certainly ruin them both ; but 
 that can't be helped. I don't see anything to prevent my openly 
 selling out every single penny. I am not actually fraudulent, like 
 Simpson, who never knew how to keep the right side of the hedge, as 
 I always do, and who consequently has had to sneak away like a 
 thief for fear of his accounts coming into court. No, I shall de- 
 nounce Simpson for swindling me, and get out with all comfort 
 myself. That will be the best way. I will come Bevan, the 
 scrupulous financier, over them ; I will expose Simpson to my own 
 honour and glory." 
 
 CHAPTER XL VII. 
 
 RUIN. 
 
 Reginald sat in his study in Bolton Row late on the night of 
 the day when the above-mentioned interview between James Mur- 
 doch and old Clumber had taken place. It was a wild, wet night, 
 with such weather as often comes in the middle of July. Cold 
 driving squalls of wind and rain swept round the corners of the 
 streets, and made the buffetted passengers giddy with the stinging 
 on their faces and the booming of the wind on their ears. It was 
 a desolate night, with a hundred ghosts in every gust : a night for 
 a long walk and a contention with the elements, and then a brisk 
 fire. 
 
 Reginald had a fire, and sat before it listening to the wind. His 
 was a comfortable room, and the light of candle and fire shone 
 pleasantly on everything around ; yet Reginald cared no more for 
 the fire than he did for the wind. A highly honourable letter was 
 in his hand, and the crash was as good as come. Mr. Bevan, in 
 
250 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 a kind, almost affectionate letter to Reginald, announced that he 
 was about to withdraw from all speculations in England, and invest 
 more largely in America. He also, in a friendly way, said that he 
 believed that Lord Snizort was going to realise, and that he knew 
 him to be thoroughly suspicious since the disappearance of Theo- 
 dorides. 
 
 Why many words ? The letter meant practically that General 
 Anders and he were left entirely alone, and almost certainly ruined. 
 If Bevan and Snizort had held firm, there was a chance, with 
 Reginald's talents, that they would have pulled through ; but 
 Bevan had deserted, and the great name of Snizort was no more 
 a tower of strength. Nothing was left save two weary and penni- 
 less old men to hide their heads, and die if possible without 
 disgrace. 
 
 He was very sorry for Anders, far more than for himself. 
 Anders had been such a noble, generous friend to him and to 
 everybody. Latterly his mind had gone a little wrong about 
 money matters, and he had done things which he might never 
 have done had he thought twice ; but it was all over now. He 
 was very old, and this news would kill him ; then the film which 
 had come over his eyes would be removed for ever, and the soul 
 would shine out after death with a brilliancy greater than had ever 
 emanated from it on earth. 
 
 Alas, poor General ! was ever story sadder than his ? after such 
 a career to die in poverty, nay, possibly in disgrace. It did not 
 matter to Reginald now the boy was gone : he had been used to it 
 all his life. " I," he thought, " have never known honour of any 
 kind. I had riches once, but they were a misery to me. All I 
 love are provided for — Hester and Mary are well oft". I do not 
 care at all. I have been in the way ever since I was born, and 
 whether I go out of the world rich or poor is of very little con- 
 sequence. But Anders is different. Yes, Anders is very different. 
 The sooner he knows it the better. He had far better know it 
 to-night." 
 
 He went downstairs, knowing where he should find the General. 
 He was sitting before a lamp, reading. Reginald entered the room 
 so quietly that the General did not hear him. 
 
 He was sitting in the old, old room where Digby had last seen 
 his relations, where he once, a beautiful boy, had sat on his father's 
 knee — where William Hetherege had said to him, " My boy, if 
 you ever want a friend come to me." He sat there now, an old 
 man, and William Hetherege's grandson was in the room to tell 
 him that he was ruined and must die in poverty. 
 
 Reginald felt the situation more keenly than he had ever felt 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 251 
 
 anything in his life since the loss of Charles, or the news of the 
 boy's death. Could not the bitter blow come from any hand but 
 his ? Was God always to afflict him through those he loved best ? 
 There sat the noble old man, handsome still, with the drooping 
 grey moustache and the white short-cropped hair. His head was 
 erect still ; but the hand benefited ten times over by the old 
 man's generosity was upraised in the dark to inflict a blow upon 
 it which would smite it down to rise no more. 
 
 Yet it must be done. Perhaps it had better be done by his 
 hand than by the hand of a stranger. Reginald advanced within 
 the light of the lamp, and laid his hand on the General's 
 shoulder. 
 
 11 1 know that hand well," said the General. " How well one 
 knows the hand of a friend who brings good news." 
 
 " Anders, my old friend — my kind friend, be a man. We are 
 ruined ! " 
 
 The General put down his book, and looked up into Reginald's 
 face. 
 
 "I am glad you brought the news, Reginald. I had a feeling 
 about it, because everything seemed to be going so well. Will 
 many go with us ? " 
 
 " Oh, no one. I will answer for that." 
 
 " Then you must try to forgive me, Reginald. I was insane 
 when I let you sign that deed of partnership. I had hopes that 
 you might have saved things for us. Is all gone ? " 
 
 " Everything, I fear." 
 
 " Reginald, say you forgive me. If you will only say that, I 
 will never complain at all. I have been an evil friend for you, my 
 poor fellow. I have done no good in this world. Only say that 
 you forgive me, and I will face facts with you, and go through 
 everything with a bold heart." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive," said Reginald. " I have no feel- 
 ing in my heart toward you but the most profound sorrow and 
 compassion. You have always been the most sincere and constant 
 friend I ever had. Forgive ! — I have nothing to forgive. I say 
 it ten times over." 
 
 "I do not ask you if there is any hope," said the General. 
 " I know there is none. How has it happened so suddenly ? " 
 
 " Snizort and Bevan are going to withdraw." 
 
 " H'm. We might have withdrawn, and left them in the lurch, 
 if I had taken your advice sooner. Well, Reginald, I have ruined 
 you, and you have not one word of anger for me." 
 
 11 You are putting the case wrongly," said Reginald. " But 
 you fully realise the fact that we are both utterly broken men." 
 
252 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "Yes. It is a lamentable pity about this house. My sister 
 will break her heart about it. It is mine, you know, and it must 
 
 go." 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 " Shall we have enough to live on ? " said the General. 
 
 " That I cannot say. I fear not. I fear that we are dipped so 
 that it will be a bankruptcy." 
 
 " All your powers of finance will not stop that? " 
 
 "Not with honesty, I fear. We may compound ; but affairs 
 are very intricate." 
 
 " And you do not complain ? " 
 
 "No. I have no complaint. Of whom should I complain? 
 Certainly not of you." 
 
 They sat silent for a long time, and amidst all the rich furni- 
 ture of the dead merchant, the ghosts, of which the old couple 
 here, lonely so long, used to speak, seemed as though they moved 
 again. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess were away ; there was no one in the 
 house awake but themselves and the hall porter. The wind had 
 ceased, but the rain was coming down more strongly, and the 
 footfalls in Bolton Bow, getting less and less frequent, were 
 rendered less audible than usual by the dripping of the water 
 from the eaves and spouts, which confused themselves with the 
 footfalls, and seemed to mock and mimic them. 
 
 " Those old people," said Anders, lighting a cigar, and thrust- 
 ing his hands deep into his pockets, "used year after year to 
 watch for my footfall in that street. One will come to-night, not 
 mine ; one will come to you ; and then, quiet as you are, and 
 nobly as you have behaved, you will rise and curse me." 
 
 His mind was evidently affected, but Reginald let him be, and 
 smoked also. He wished that he would go to bed, and he urged 
 it on him ; but he got nothing but an emphatic " No," and they 
 sat on and listened to the footfalls passing : some swift, some 
 slow, some hesitating, some resolute, until, at last, there came a 
 footfall swifter than the others, running on the pavement and in 
 the roadway, splashing in the rain pools. It paused at the door, 
 and there was a hesitating knock, to which the door was at once 
 opened. The footfall came bounding up the stairs ; some one 
 burst open the door, and there, in the lamplight, stood the dead 
 George with the rain-drops in his curls, looking about for 
 Reginald with parted lips. 
 
 " Now will you curse me ? " shouted General Anders, standing 
 up and raising his hand on high. " Now will you tell me that 
 you wish I had lain dead among the Spanish vineyards before you 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 253 
 
 set eyes on me ? Do you see I have not only ruined you, but I 
 have ruined one whom you love better than yourself. I have 
 taken from over your head the pleasant home which you had 
 prepared for him, and left him in the most important time of his 
 life a beggar. Curse me now, Reginald ; and I will never reply, 
 Reginald." 
 
 The boy's head was on Reginald's bosom, pressed close against 
 a heart from which no curses ever came. The moment was 
 intensely bitter, and intensely sweet also. For the first time in 
 his life * Reginald was physically overcome. Trying to stretch a 
 hand out to the General, he fell heavily on the floor, like a dead 
 man. 
 
 " I have done well by this man," said the General, " for I have 
 killed him." 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A PAUSE. 
 
 The General had known of George's safety all the afternoon, and 
 of his having come in a certain ship from which he had landed at 
 Portsmouth. Bevan had also written to him a similar note to 
 that which he had sent to Reginald. He had seen that matters 
 were come to a crisis, and he was in hopes that Reginald would 
 have gone to bed without a conversation. He was actually certain 
 that the boy would come on that evening, and he wanted Reginald 
 to have one happy night before he broke the desperate intelli- 
 gence to him. Finding that Reginald was as well informed as 
 himself, he had still not heart to speak, but sat in his bitter 
 misery until the boy should come. Now it was all over, and he 
 was bending over Reginald, who lay cold and pale before him. 
 
 He put his hand upon his heart. The palpitations were very 
 strong, but irregular. He sent the boy for the hall porter, who 
 raised his head. They got him wine, and by degrees revived 
 him. When he sat up he called for the boy, who came at once 
 to him, dazed and frightened. 
 
 "I don't care much now," he said; "I have got him. 
 General, old fellow, we shall be quite right now. We will 
 manage somehow. I have been ill for the first time in my life. 
 My heart seemed to stop all in one moment. We must keep this 
 perfectly quiet," he added with great emphasis. "It won't do to 
 
254 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 have it known just now. I have given the boy's mother money, 
 too, lately ; I am not certain how the law stands : they might 
 take it from her if the worst came to the worst, and we made a 
 had composition. All these things must be seen to, and I must 
 live to see to them. If this gets about it will play the mischief 
 with us, and confuse matters entirely. Don't any of you say 
 anything about it." 
 
 There came a thundering knock at the door, and the porter 
 went away. 
 
 " That is the Duchess," said Reginald. " Give me my cravat. 
 Don't tell her or the Duke ; they are good people, but they might 
 talk. Say nothing to them of anything at present." 
 
 The Duke and Duchess came from their last party, and reeled 
 with astonishment at seeing George. Down went Isabel's grand 
 cloak on the floor ; down went her fan ; down went her scent 
 bottle. The Duke, on the other hand, seized George and covered 
 him with kisses after the French manner. The two good souls 
 were perfectly overwhelmed with joy. Isabel was the first of them 
 who spoke any sense. 
 
 " Does his mother know? " she asked. " No ! Why, then, 
 who will break it to her ? Would it not be better for George and 
 I to start at daybreak ? Why, of course it would. I will take 
 him down. But meanwhile we must hear the whole story. She 
 will die of joy unless it is broken to her. Reginald, you look 
 very ill ; had you not better go to bed ? ' ' 
 
 ''Yes; I am not very bright," said Reginald. "Anders and 
 the boy will see me to bed ; and so, good-night." 
 
 An hour passed in Reginald's bedroom in explanations. The 
 boy told his whole story about his bush adventure, and then it 
 came out that he had sailed home in the very ship which brought 
 Clumber and his daughter ; and moreover, that George seemed 
 very violently in love with that young lady, which was, seeing 
 that he was only a boy of seventeen, somewhat amusing. His 
 grandfather and General Anders made great fun of him on this 
 point, and George, having no idea that anything was wrong, 
 beyond his grandfather's having fainted, expressed his determina- 
 tion of marrying that young lady as soon as he was of age, and if 
 she said yes, when he asked her. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 255 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 ADA IS A MATCH FOR JAMES MURDOCH. 
 
 There is no doubt that Clumber intended a great deal of vague 
 villainy about a certain discovery which he had made. Having 
 lived in the house in Bolton Row for so many years, he knew 
 everything about it. And he had overheard the old couple speak 
 very often of the document which they had witnessed the night 
 before the death of the merchant Digby, and which they believed 
 to be a new will, or, at least, some document of very great 
 importance. This was the document about which they communi- 
 cated with General Anders after Vittoria, in case of their death. 
 For the first time General Anders knew that a certain room in 
 the house was closed at the merchant's desire, and that the 
 document was supposed by the old people to be there. In 
 another paper they had sent to him, in his father's hand, there 
 were hints of something dark and terrible, quite sufficient to 
 make a bolder man than General Anders hesitate to enter the 
 room ; and as years went on, hesitation grew to dislike, dislike to 
 horror. What the old couple actually knew in detail was buried 
 in their graves, but it was quite enough, as we have seen, to 
 make them carry out their master's dying wish, and to conceal 
 the room by any artifice in their power, and keep the secret 
 among as few as possible. 
 
 Thomas Morris, now Mr. Clumber, had got hold of the secret 
 of the last document, and had known where it was put in the old 
 man's drawers. He had, quite late in life, possessed himself of 
 it by opening an iron shutter which every one would have thought 
 secure, and had, since that time, held it as a kind of stock-in- 
 trade to be bargained for some day or another, with some one of 
 the innumerable claimants in Chancery, he cared not which. 
 Latterly, since he had, by the very old ruse of changing his 
 name, got rid of the convict taint, at least in his own person, he 
 had been doing extremely well, and did not care to trouble about 
 the matter. But in an evil hour for him he married the beautiful 
 and accomplished lady whom we have previously met — greatly to 
 his deterioration as far as she was concerned, but greatly to his 
 amelioration as far as her pretty and really charming daughter 
 was concerned. 
 
 In an evil moment he confided to his wife that he knew some- 
 thing about the great lawsuit which would put quite another face 
 on it. By degrees she got it out of him, and inflamed his brain 
 
256 KEGINALD HETHEKEGE. 
 
 with schemes of potential wealth, of which he could never have 
 dreamt for himself. A man of utterly undecided purpose, who 
 had drunk a great deal in early and middle life, he had not one 
 clear scheme, such as his wife would have carved out for him, and 
 executed too, if need were, but a dozen confused ones. Every 
 one of his own schemes about this miserable document was 
 feasible, and without great danger ; every one of his wife's was 
 highly dangerous, and the most of them impossible. 
 
 He never had even the pluck to carry away the document out 
 of England. During that period of his life when he indulged 
 habitually in strong drinks, he had determined plans about it ; 
 but they were never carried out. A great criminal would have 
 made money out of it years before ; a small criminal — he never 
 could make up his mind about it. It was in one of his moods of 
 indecision that he got possession of George's person, with what 
 feeble results we have seen. 
 
 It was more accident than design that threw George on board 
 the same ship with Clumber and his daughter. There were few 
 ships for Europe in those days, and both requiring to go to 
 Europe at the same time they could hardly have avoided such an 
 accident had they wished it, which none of them certainly did ; in 
 fact, it was a very pleasant arrangement for all parties. 
 
 Ada and George were very much together on deck, and very 
 great confidence existed between them. He was the first gentle- 
 man she had ever been with, and his conversation was so fresh, 
 frank, and intelligent, that it became a necessity to her. The 
 poor girl seemed to live in a different atmosphere when she was 
 with him, and she determined to possess herself thoroughly of her 
 stepfather's confidence. 
 
 It was not difficult : her influence over him was all for good, 
 and now he was away from his savage wife it had great effect. 
 Besides, old and battered as he was, the ministrations of such a 
 really charming daughter were extremely pleasant and soothing. 
 It was not very long before the girl knew almost as much as her 
 father did, and emphatically determined to use it for her own 
 purposes, that is to say, for the benefit of her young friend. 
 
 She opened the trenches on her father very cautiously, but she had 
 a good time for her siege, for a three months' voyage then was not 
 by any means an uncommon thing. Always pleasant in her con- 
 versation, she spoke now to him about subjects of which she never 
 heard at home. We do not mean to say that she enlisted religion 
 in her cause, her instincts were too good to do such a thing as 
 that ; the idea of using sacred subjects for worldly ends, however 
 innocent, would not have seemed to her justifiable, more particu- 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 257 
 
 larly as she might have to tread on some extremely doubtful 
 ground. Her talk was of quiet peaceful subjects, and above all 
 of a happy and virtuous old age, unclouded by anything which 
 might weigh heavily upon his conscience. He listened to her by 
 no means unwillingly, and she got more and more into his confi- 
 dence as the voyage went on. 
 
 At last he told her plainly that he had deeply committed him- 
 self to James Murdoch, who knew his history, and that it would 
 be extremely difficult to back out. He had written to James 
 Murdoch, who was in London under a false name, some weeks 
 ago, and he was afraid of his vengeance if he played fast and 
 loose with him. The girl asked him point blank what James 
 Murdoch could possibly do to him. 
 
 The question was a puzzling one, and he had never faced it 
 before. The clear, honest purpose of the girl gave a clearness to 
 her intellect, and made it of vast use to him. She dwelt on that 
 point : what could James Murdoch do to him, after all ? 
 
 He told her that he w r as capable of anything ; that he had 
 once, at least, compassed Reginald's death ; that he was a 
 swindler and a scoundrel, and would fight to the very last. She 
 let that question go by for a time. 
 
 She pointed out to him that now for many years he had been 
 groping with a weak, undecided hand, through crooked ways, and 
 that a great opportunity had arisen for putting himself right by a 
 frank surrender of his powers. " You want money for your 
 secret," she said ; " of what use is money to you except to be a 
 burden and misery to you in your old age ? You have as much 
 as you want, that you have gained honestly. Why now make it 
 more by dishonesty ? Why try for more money, at least in this 
 
 wav 
 
 "Your mother, my dear, would like it, and you would marry 
 better." 
 
 " My mother is not to be trusted with money: she has never 
 made a good use of it. As for me, I tell you fairly that I can 
 never marry. My origin would prevent my ever marrying a 
 gentleman, and after my association with this boy, whom I love 
 like a brother, I most certainly cannot endure the society of a 
 man in our set. I do not intend to return to Australia at all. 
 Pray dismiss both my mother and myself from your thoughts. 
 You have been a kind stepfather to me, and sooner than see you 
 run into new danger for my sake, I myself would go straight to 
 Reginald Hetherege, and tell him what I know." 
 
 " Which is nothing in reality, my love, and which would lead 
 me into great trouble." 
 
 18 
 
258 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 ''True; I was speaking too fast. But this James Murdoch, 
 if he is the swindler you say he is, turn the tables on him. 
 Threaten to expose him unless he leaves the country ; then take 
 your secret to Reginald Hetherege like a man. Say I meant to 
 clo so and so, but I have repented of it. The document is of 
 value to you ; if you approve of my conduct make me a present to 
 satisfy my wife. If you give me nothing, give me at least the 
 credit of acting straightforwardly in my old age. I have eaten 
 the bread of the house of Digby for many years. I am not far 
 from the grave, and I wish to make reparation for what I did so 
 many years ago." 
 
 These arguments, repeated many times, had overwhelming 
 effect at last. The pleasant company of George also had much 
 to do with the result possibly. At all events, the battle was won 
 before the voyage was over. The only stipulation which the old 
 man made to Ada being that he should break with James Murdoch 
 in his own way. 
 
 What his way was we have seen. Half afraid of his man, he 
 imposed an impossible condition. James Murdoch gave the 
 business up, and retired from the speculation, setting to work 
 publicly to sell out everything in which he was interested in 
 common with General Anders and Reginald. He suffered very 
 little in pocket, for the different speculations were by no means in 
 a bad odour as yet, being, on an average, at par, some over, 
 some under. Things which he had come into for a song were 
 worth twice what they were at first, it must be owned, partly by 
 his masterly talent of puffing and promoting, though mainly by 
 the great names of Anders and Reginald, the former of whom had 
 the character of being one of the cleverest men in Europe, and 
 the luckiest. The latter, too, being known to have made a very 
 large fortune out of absolutely nothing, which was in some 
 quarters a great recommendation, though not so great a one in 
 others. 
 
 One little cloud remained on James Murdoch's horizon. If 
 that old rascal, Clumber, would not come to terms, he must be 
 silenced as to his (James's) identity. James calculated this 
 " raw " on him would be about two thousand pounds. He would 
 have put the old man out of the way had it not been dangerous in 
 this country, and he thought, unnecessary. He therefore gave up 
 his mind to realising with remarkable rapidity, and Lord Snizort 
 followed suit with great promptitude. Things looked more and 
 more ruinous for General Anders and Reginald. A sounding 
 smash in those quarters was most undoubtedly pending. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 259 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 
 BREAKING UP. 
 
 Reginald worked night and day with Anders and by himself, 
 hut it seemed to be no use whatever. They warned all the 
 pleasant little set at Hollingscroft that the house was gone from 
 over their heads ; hut Mary did not care, for she had got her 
 boy. Mrs. Hickson did not care, for her husband was coining 
 home. Aunt Hester discovered that the place was damp, and 
 that it bored her — the old house in Fitzroy Square was far pre- 
 ferable. She opined that there would be plenty of room for them 
 all there, and why on earth they ever came to this ridiculous 
 Hollingscroft she could not conceive. She should only be too 
 glad to get out of it. " What do you say, little maid?" she 
 asked Emily Hickson, lately a great favourite of hers. " Will 
 you not be happier in Fitzroy Square ? " 
 
 " Oh, far happier ; and Mr. Hetherege, I am sure, will be glad 
 to get back to his old town life, instead of being bothered with 
 these stupid country people. Mark my words," said the young 
 lady, " they will, if we stay here, come sympathising with Mr. 
 Hetherege about losing his money, as they did when we thought 
 George was drowned. I can only say that if any of them take 
 the unwarrantable liberty of sympathising with me, I shall slap 
 their faces, and so I don't deceive them. If the General and 
 Mrs. Hetherege have lost their money it is the duty of all of us to 
 rally round them in a phalanx, and prevent audacious people from 
 letting them hear any more about it. I suppose it is a misfortune 
 for them to lose their money, but while they had it they made 
 us very happy with it. What we must do is to prevent their 
 suffering from the sympathy and compassion of their fellow-men. 
 Whatever errors they may have committed, they have not deserved 
 that. While they are among us they will be kept cheerful and 
 made happy, not driven wild by sympathy. I put it to you, as 
 sensible people, who could ever endure the sympathy of the 
 Snizorts ? I should go mad myself, and send Lady Snizort's 
 ridiculous old bonnet flying on to the top of the fire." 
 
 But in spite of Emily's manifesto, she slipped into Aunt 
 Hester's bed that night, and, when she had done crying, had a 
 long talk with her. Whatever they or the others might say, they 
 loved Hollingscroft dearly, and it was a bitter blow for them to 
 leave it. Still it must be done, and they all agreed that General 
 Anders and Reginald were the first people to be thought about. 
 
260 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Goodge, who was going off by the night- train to London, 
 applauded Emily highly before she went to bed, getting her alone 
 in the picture gallery. " My dear," he said, " you must forget 
 every word I said to you once. You are behaving most nobly. 
 Yet if I were to speak to you much, I know you would cry. Are 
 you so very sorry over this matter ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Because we have lost the house ? " 
 
 " Yes, for I loved it dearly ; but more on other grounds." 
 
 " Selfish, I fear," said Goodge. 
 
 " Yes, entirely selfish. I am sorry for the General, I am sorry 
 for Mr. Hetherege ; but think of that boy. We shall be separated 
 now, and what will he ever do without me ? That Australian girl 
 will never be to him what I should have been. He will bitterly 
 find his mistake in choosing her instead of me, when it is too 
 late. I would have been a mother to that boy ; but all you men 
 are exactly alike. I may live to be a second mother to his 
 children. It is all I hope for now." 
 
 CHAPTER LI. 
 
 THE CLOSED ROOM IS OPENED. 
 
 Goodge had been summoned to London by what was a rare thing 
 in those days — a telegram. Generally, before the Crimean war, 
 those now familiar documents used to burst into a house like a 
 shell, and frighten every one nearly out of their mind ; they 
 generally in those times foreboded death, dangerous illness, or the 
 sudden stoppage of a bank. The quiet people who now send their 
 shilling's worth to say that they shall not be home to dinner till 
 after the sou]), have no idea of the effect of those missives in old 
 times. Goodge got one telling him to be in town without fail the 
 next day, shortly after noon, to meet Reginald at the Reform 
 Club, and he started, perfectly certain that something new had 
 occurred, but not in the least degree surprised. As he was 
 totally disassociated from all human speculations, and as any 
 matter which might have arisen could be no earthly business of 
 his in any way whatever, he concluded that he was called in as 
 arbitrator in something or another of which he was profoundly 
 ignorant. We have seen certain potentates in the same position. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 261 
 
 Goodge resembled some of those potentates in one thing, he was 
 determined to arbitrate on one particular side, if he should be 
 called on to arbitrate at all. 
 
 Reginald met him on the steps of the Club, and they lunched 
 together. Goodge noticed that Reginald was singularly reticent, 
 and would not talk about his affairs or prosperity in any way. 
 After lunch General Anders came. 
 
 He looked fearfully old and anxious ; but quite calm. Ho 
 said — 
 
 " Goodge , do you know why we sent for you ? " 
 
 11 Of course I do not." 
 
 " We have singular and most remarkable intelligence," said 
 the General. "It is extremely probable that the great law-suit 
 will come to an end within a month." 
 
 " Aye ! " said Goodge, fairly astonished. 
 
 " We think so ; but we want your kind common sense to help 
 us. We have heard much which will entirely surprise you ; but 
 before anything is told to you, I want you as a witness to attend 
 Reginald and myself to open the closed room in Bolton Row." 
 
 " I am at your service," said Goodge ; and they walked away 
 through the streets together. 
 
 " We shall know the secret now," said General Anders. " I 
 have been weak, knowing as much as I have known, not to make 
 myself master of the truth before. But I had awful reasons for 
 leaving matters alone. Nothing induces me to act now but a sense 
 of duty ; the denouement may kill me ; but I have lived long 
 enough." 
 
 " I expect we shall find," said Goodge, " that there is nothing 
 the matter after all. Mind, I only suspect it, only don't prepare 
 a tragedy and give us a farce after all these years." 
 
 " They have been bitter, dark years to me," said the General. 
 
 " You will brighten your remaining ones by finding the truth," 
 said Goodge. 
 
 No more was said. They went up to the third storey in 
 Bolton Row, and into the back room, the room which opened 
 into the concealed one. 
 
 The Duke and Duchess were there, both looking very grave. 
 Two other people were there, an old man, Clumber, and his 
 beautiful daughter. The latter both rose, as Anders, Reginald, 
 and Goodge, came in, and remained standing. 
 
 " We will all sit down, if you please," said the Duke, "and 
 talk of perfectly indifferent matters for a time. Some gentlemen 
 have yet to arrive, and to witness a very curious statement, which 
 Mr. Clumber is about to make to us. They will not be very long, 
 
262 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 I know. They very naturally desired witnesses on their part, 
 and one of them has gone to seek General Anders, your name- 
 sake, my dear General, and the other Mr. Morley." 
 
 They sat there rather awkwardly ; the Duchess sat beside Ada 
 Clumber and kept her hand in hers. The girl's other hand was 
 in her father's. She was very pale, but looked resolute and calm. 
 The old man sat close to her, strong in his resolution. Reginald 
 went and talked to them both, kindly and with animation. 
 General Anders sat apart, and would speak with no one. 
 
 The door opened, and there were ushered in old General 
 Talbot, young Simpson, young Murdoch, General Anders (our 
 General's namesake), and Mr. Morley. Then the door was 
 shut, and Reginald, when every one had bowed to the other, 
 spoke. 
 
 "I think, Mr. Clumber, that the time has come for you to 
 speak, and to open all eyes to a matter which might have been 
 known long ago, and which might have saved us all from a great 
 deal of trouble if it had been discovered. Speak without fear of 
 offence, sir ; whatever your life may have been, you have now 
 ample time to make atonement for anything you have done. 
 Gentlemen, I am bound to say that Mr. Clumber has, in this latest 
 act of his life, behaved like an honest man." 
 
 Clumber rose and spoke while they all sat silent. 
 
 " I am a very old man, gentlemen, and I have a deal to answer 
 for ; but my daughter here has been talking to me a good deal, 
 and I am determined to make a clean breast of the whole matter. 
 I came to England, gentlemen, for the purpose of making a 
 bargain about what I know with Mr. Bevan." 
 
 " With Mr. Bevan ? " said Reginald ; " what had he to do with 
 it?" 
 
 " Mr. Bevan, sir, is James Murdoch ; and Count Theodorides 
 is George Simpson, the forger," said the old man quietly, and 
 every one looked at every one else. Young Murdoch and young 
 Simpson did not appear to be half as much astonished as might 
 have been anticipated. 
 
 " That is the state of the case, gentlemen. Well, on the 
 voyage my daughter here — she ain't my daughter, but a better 
 daughter than one in a thousand — she takes me in hand. She 
 points out to me that I am old and not poor, and that I can never 
 die happy with this on my mind. Consequently I determines to 
 do what is right. If you gentlemen choose to make my wife a 
 present for my thwarting her and doing what is right, why it will 
 save words and worse. But I want you to understand that my 
 daughter's words have took effect with me, and that I am doing 
 
KEGINALD HETHEEEGE. 263 
 
 what is right because it w right and not wrong. Consequently I 
 tell you that merchant Digby made a will subsequent to that 
 which was found, proved, and bedevilled, till his original will, in 
 which he left his whole property to the devil, might just as well 
 have been carried out in full, according to his original instruc- 
 tions. That second will, in which the devil was not so much as 
 mentioned once, was witnessed by the Dickers the night after he 
 spoke in Parliament for the last time, and on the night before he 
 died. How much General Anders knows of that will I cannot say 
 at all." 
 
 " I swear to you, my friends, that I merely suspected that the 
 document was a will, but nothing more. I knew that there was 
 some document in there (pointing to the wall), but my father's 
 curse, and some nameless terror which is there still, prevented my 
 daring to look for it. I have been very weak, you must try to 
 forgive me." 
 
 Clumber continued amidst dumb silence : " The Dickers used 
 to speak to one another about this paper, and it was always on 
 their consciences. The old man always told them that the 
 opening of that room would be the ruin of the boy. So they kept 
 on thinking of it until they were as frightened about it as he is 
 now. They covered the door with plaster from the outside and put 
 up iron shutters from the outside ; then they made out that the 
 old man's ghost was there, and with one thing and another they 
 humbugged themselves, the General, and everybody but me. 
 Living in the house as I did, I saw the shutters put up ; they 
 would not let the man go into the room, and so they were put on 
 with simple screws from the outside. After I went wrong I 
 always thought how easy it was to get into that room from the 
 outside, by merely drawing the screws with a driver, I knowing 
 that there were no nuts inside ; and once when I was in England 
 I did so. I found the paper ; and I come into this house to-night 
 to make a clean breast of it, and give that paper up." 
 
 "This man," said young Murdoch, "has communicated with 
 all of us in the most frank manner, and I believe that he is honest 
 in his present intentions. Still we must guard ourselves from a 
 great fraud. If such a will exists, I think that I speak but the 
 authority of my father, of Simpson's father, and of you General 
 Talbot, that it will never be disputed whatsoever its provisions may 
 be ; we, however, require the stoutest proofs of its antiquity. At 
 present we know absolutely nothing. This gentleman gives us to 
 understand that he possessed himself of this will. Where is it, 
 then ? have you got it here ? " 
 
 "I have not," said Clumber. 
 
264 KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 "Where is it, then?" said young Murdoch. "You will do 
 yourself no good by playing with us. Where is this will ? and how 
 soon can we see it ? " 
 
 " The will is in the next room, and you can see it in ten 
 minutes if General Anders is agreeable to open the old room 
 at last." 
 
 " In the next room ! " cried young Simpson. " Do you mean 
 in the closed room ? " 
 
 "I do. I never dared take it from there ; I only hid it. If 
 my wife knew that she would kill me. When I got in there and 
 found it I was frightened to bring it away, and I planted it. I 
 never was a man who could go through with anything." 
 
 " Then you mean to say," said General Talbot, " that the will 
 is in there now? " 
 
 "Yes. I always calculated on getting through those shutters 
 again, and fetching it away ; but what with old age and lumbago 
 — I mean what with my daughter's persuasions to lead a better life 
 — I determined to be an honest man over the matter. There is 
 nothing between you and the will but some lath and plaster and 
 General Anders's permission." 
 
 " Isabel, you had better go away," said General Anders firmly ; 
 and Isabel went. 
 
 "Now, gentlemen," said General Anders, "I suppose after 
 what has passed that you will require me to open this room ? " 
 
 " General," said Talbot, " there is not a man in the room but 
 what is your hearty friend. You are, it is said, ruined in pocket, 
 but let that pass. If you are ruined, it has come about mainly by 
 this ridiculous secret ; and I tell you fairly, that from what we 
 have heard now it must be solved, at whatever sacrifice to your 
 feelings." 
 
 " Cousin Talbot," said the General, " you shall not have much 
 trouble." 
 
 " Did you say ' cousin ? ' " said General Talbot. 
 
 " I did. The time is come when all of you must know what is 
 only known at present to Reginald Hetherege, and my sister, and 
 Mr. Goodge." 
 
 " Your sister ! " exclaimed Talbot. 
 
 "Yes," said General Anders. "I am the son of Digby the 
 merchant ; the Duchess is his daughter also. Can you now 
 conceive my hesitation in opening this room ? Can you now 
 understand what you must have considered my insanity about the 
 matter ? In this room lies the secret of my mother's dishonour, 
 and that, I fear, of Isabel's mother also. I have been preparing 
 to open this room for years : follow me into it, and learn with 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 265 
 
 prying eyes the secret of some crime too great for Divine 
 mercy." 
 
 "My dear fellow," said Goodge, "I think that everybody 
 present understands your delicacy. I am one of the few to whom 
 you have confided your origin. Let us be practical. Let us 
 get the wall broken down, and let us take this gentleman, Mr. 
 Clumber, in, escorted by a Hetherege, a Talbot, a Simpson, and 
 a Murdoch. I will go as arbitrator. Not one single paper beyond 
 the will shall be disturbed : whatever secrets Digby left behind 
 him are no one's property save yours and the Duchess's. Come, 
 I was not sent for here to-night for nothing. Is that your will, 
 gentlemen all? " 
 
 "I say yes," said General Talbot; "but I am utterly over- 
 whelmed. Are you the ' handsome boy ' f " 
 
 " I am," said General Anders. " I have kept my secret well. 
 Do you gentleman understand and forgive me now ? " 
 
 There was a general murmur of sympathy for him in the midst 
 of their curiosity. He left the room. 
 
 11 Did you know this, Reginald ? " said young Murdoch. 
 
 " Of course I did. Goodge and Hester and I have known it 
 for years." 
 
 General Anders returned with a small crowbar and a key. 
 Five minutes sufficed to remove the lath and plaster sufficiently 
 to allow the passage of a man. A pair of folding doors covered 
 with cobwebs appeared beyond. General Anders fitted the key 
 in the door, and after a few efforts made it turn ; he passed into 
 the room — the room of mystery and terror to him, and then came 
 out, asking them to follow him and bring a light. 
 
 CHAPTER LII. 
 
 OLD DIGBY' S REAL, WILL. 
 
 The first thing which struck every one when they followed, and 
 the room was quite illuminated, was the fact that two pictures 
 were in extremely prominent places on each side of a tall escri- 
 toire — those of a beautiful boy and a beautiful girl. In the face 
 of the boy General Talbot recognised the face of General Anders 
 who stood beneath it ; in the face of the girl the Duke recognised 
 his wife. " Yet," he thought, " she must have been a child when 
 
266 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 the room was closed, and that is a woman of thirty ; it must be 
 her mother." There was a name under the picture, and before 
 any one had time to read it, the Duke quietly broke off the pro- 
 jecting piece of plaster on which the name was written, with the 
 crowbar, and put it in his pocket. 
 
 The room was deeply covered with dust everywhere. Only one 
 human beiug had entered it for more than half a century, and 
 that being was Clumber. He coolly came in and asked Murdoch 
 and Simpson to look around them, and see where the dust had 
 been disturbed. They could not see any difference anywhere, but 
 Goodge held them back and laughed low. 
 
 " If this man speaks truth," he said, "I will find this paper 
 without his assistance. No one has been in this room for several 
 years ; no one was in the tomb of Asifiat for twenty years before I 
 entered, yet I could trace the footsteps of Belsoni. Mr. Clumber, 
 you came in at that window, you came straight to this desk. You 
 trampled about it a great deal ; then you went straight to the 
 fireplace, and put the paper there ; then you came back again and 
 paused irresolutely once. Then you went back to the window. 
 Just hold your light here, and you will see his feet in the dust, 
 covered pretty deeply, but still pretty visible." 
 
 Now he showed it to them it was obvious enough. Goodge 
 went to the fireplace and stood perfectly puzzled. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Clumber, I want you here ; I am quite beaten." 
 
 The fireplace was an old brick one, with dogs, and with Dutch 
 tiles spreading out on the floor. Clumber brushed the dust away 
 from one of the Dutch tiles and raised it ; he took out a paper 
 and gave it to General Talbot. They went out, into the other 
 room, Clumber and General Anders bringing up the rear. 
 
 " There is lots more there," he whispered to General Anders, 
 as they lagged behind. " There is all you want to know there. 
 That is where your father used to hide all his things, and that is 
 why he left the will in the desk, so that it might be more easy 
 found. I heard of his hiding-place from the old folks when I was 
 listening. I put the will there so as no one should find it. From 
 what I heard them tell, I should burn all the papers there if I 
 was in your place. They are no good to you or the Duchess. 
 He was* an awful old man by all accounts. I wouldn't make or 
 meddle with reading them if he had been my father." And so 
 they passed into the lighted room and sat down. 
 
 Young Murdoch opened the will and read it to himself. "I 
 do not suppose," he said, " speaking on my own responsibility, 
 that it will be in the least degree likely that any member of this 
 family will be foolish enough to dispute this. I will go further. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 267 
 
 I do not believe that it is any one's interest to do so. The 
 principal persons concerned in it are all well represented here ; 
 is any one dissatisfied as to its antiquity ? Are we to believe this 
 man Clumber's story, or are we not ? If we do not, we must at 
 once charge him with an impudent fraud, committed some years 
 ago, and place him at once in the first rank of clever criminals. 
 If we do believe his story, a very great difficulty is solved, and 
 there will be no trouble about a compromise. The water-mark 
 on the paper is that of 1770. The ink is brown, the date of the 
 will is a day after the famous one." 
 
 11 Look at the edges of the paper," said Goodge, "it may be 
 torn out of some book in a public library." 
 
 "All four edges are white," said young Murdoch. 
 
 " Try it with water," said General Anders the second. "It 
 may be forged in sepia. Let us have no humbug." 
 
 It resisted water, however. There was no doubt about its 
 antiquity ; they were all obliged to admit that. 
 
 " Then," said young Murdoch, " I should say that many 
 lawyers will be thrown out of employment. Digby, our great 
 relative, in this will makes proportionably nearly the same 
 division of his property as he did in the other will; but he 
 alters it in one remarkable manner. Instead of deferring the 
 administration of his property to the time when every male rela- 
 tive alive at the time of his death should be dead, he limits the 
 time to twenty years after his decease. I, like the rest of our 
 family, have been sick of this long Chancery suit, and have been 
 only waiting to move in the matter on our cousin Reginald's 
 death. Our cousin Reginald has so greatly endeared himself to 
 all of us, by his patience under difficulties, and his generosity 
 during his prosperity, that I am sure the whole family would feel 
 in his death that they had suffered an irreparable loss. If any 
 kind of compromise can be come to under this will, it is evident 
 to me, from the action I and my cousin Simpson took when we 
 believed George dead, and from the inquiries we made then, that 
 I must congratulate our cousin Reginald on the possession of at 
 least half a million of money. It will probably, I should say, be 
 a great deal more, and will certainly be no less. We all profit 
 more or less by this will, the most unfortunate thing is that it will 
 be published." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " It makes General Anders and the Duchess very little richer 
 than they were before ; there is no disgrace to either of them in 
 it, but it is a sad expose of a wicked old man's life." 
 
 General Anders looked at it, and let it drop on the floor. 
 
268 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 " I have made myself an honourable place in the world by my 
 own exertions, and in my old age I am dragged into disgrace by 
 my father. I have deserved it. But Isabel, she will die at having 
 her shame published." 
 
 " The Duchess," said the Duke, airily and pleasantly, " is, like 
 her brother, far too good and too noble a person to be dragged 
 into any infamy at all. Given all this to be true, it is very bad, 
 it is horrible, it is inconceivable, but, ma foi, I cannot conceive 
 how it affects the Duchess in any way. You English have no 
 sense. My grandfather was a notorious reprobate, and only 
 became a political saint by being most righteously guillotined. 
 General, my dear, you have ruined your life over the sentimental 
 folly of your father's sins ; I pray you learn wisdom. As for the 
 Duchess's honour, that is in my keeping. Have you not had 
 lessons enough about this nonsense ? Here, through all kinds of 
 trouble, is everything right again. Cease your restless specula- 
 tions, and be happy with us." 
 
 There was a general conversation and a general agreement on 
 all points ; at last a woman's voice was heard, which commanded 
 attention at once. It was the voice of Ada, the Australian girl. 
 
 " Then I understand, gentlemen, that this compromise which 
 you are proposing does not benefit Mr. George Hetherege in any 
 way. It is very hard upon me, for I worked for him, and for him 
 solely." 
 
 "And nobly too, my girl," said Reginald. "Everything I 
 have is his ; you have done a brave day's work. You say that it 
 is no benefit to him ; remember that I am not long for this world, 
 and that what you have done for me you have done for him." 
 
 The girl was contented, but the father pleaded for himself. He 
 said that he was an honest man, and hoped they would reward 
 him. They said that they knew nothing certain as yet ; and his 
 daughter led him away and left them talking. 
 
 CHAPTER Lin. 
 
 HOLLINGSCROFT AGAIN. 
 
 No great difficulty occurred as regards the compromise over the 
 great suit, except an attempt on the part of Bevan to get his share 
 in an underhand way, which gave rise to certain complications. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 269 
 
 The agreement of James Murdoch was formally necessary, accord- 
 ing to his own showing ; and after a wrangle, in which their strong 
 card was the threat of exposing his real name and position, and 
 his was stopping all proceedings, his agreement was bought for 
 more than it was really worth, and he departed to America with 
 his financial genius and a large sum of money. 
 
 It was everybody's interest to get the whole matter settled, and 
 it did not take very long to do so. There was more money left 
 than any one expected, as in the Thellusson case. Reginald was 
 now in a splendid position as head of the family, and his financial 
 difficulties were easily tided over by the unanimous support of the 
 other principal members. His security secured the position of 
 General Anders, and he quietly withdrew from all his bolder 
 schemes with no very great loss to himself or any one else. Once 
 more Reginald had peace before him, and laid himself out to 
 enjoy it, and end his long and stormy life. 
 
 Hollingscroft was now unanimously pronounced to be the most 
 delightful place in the world, and every cruel word which had been 
 said of it was quite forgotten. The house was soon as full, as 
 cheery, and as bright as it had ever been in its best times ; every 
 one was master there except Reginald. It pleased him very 
 much, for he said that it would divert his mind from ordinary 
 matters, and leave him, he said laughing, leisure to complete the 
 great work of his life. 
 
 " And what is that ? " asked Goodge. 
 
 " The history of my parliamentary career," said Reginald. 
 " That will be one of the great books of the future." 
 
 Goodge urged that it would tax his brain too much, and begged 
 him to leave the materials behind him to be written after his 
 death. 
 
 "No; but really," said Reginald, "to leave joking, I must 
 take the Chiltern Hundreds. My presence in Parliament is too 
 awful a scandal. I was not there fifteen times the whole of last 
 session ! You people never ought to have forced me in : I have 
 out-heroded Herod in my cool laziness." 
 
 "Never mind," said Goodge, "you can do more in future. 
 Don't leave Parliament, it will do you all the good in the world ; " 
 and Reginald yielded, sorely against his will, and, as usual, 
 allowed himself to be disposed of, when he had ten thousand 
 times better have taken his own way. 
 
 Hollingscroft was now also discovered by the county generally 
 to be the most charming place in the whole of Dorsetshire, and 
 Reginald to be the most popular man. He had been that once 
 before, and did not very particularly care about it one way or 
 
270 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 another. He, however, said now, in confidence to Aunt Hester, 
 that if they could only quarrel with the Snizorts, there was nothing 
 to prevent their being happy. 
 
 11 My dear soul," said Aunt Hester, " I have quarrelled with 
 the woman violently four times, but she will make it up again. I 
 can't do anything with her at all." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Duchess smiling, " if I had my old spirit I 
 would have managed her. She is certainly intolerable — she is 
 enough to drive one into a nunnery : I am too nervous now to 
 fight her." They looked at her with great sympathy, and Mrs. 
 Hickson silently bent over her and kissed her. She was more 
 than a daughter to her now, for a terrible shock had befallen her. 
 In spite of every kind effort to the contrary, she had managed to 
 see the awful will made by the godless old man just before his 
 death. From it she learned the shameful secret of her birth and 
 of her half-brother ; she never appeared in the world any more, 
 and left London, where she had been so popular, for ever. The 
 Duke was devoted and unremitting in his attentions to her, more 
 like a lover than a husband, but the cruel old man's blow had 
 fallen, and had fallen heavily. The Duke tried Lorraine for her, 
 and took her to St. Privat, but the long hedgeless, treeless fields, 
 the long military roads, and the weary drives to Briey, which was 
 dull, and to Metz, which was noisy, bored her ; and the Duke 
 very soon got tired of it himself, and at the first faint signal from 
 her brought her back to England. She would not face Paris now, 
 for she supposed that everybody would know all about her. This 
 worthy couple settled permanently in England close to Hollings- 
 croft, to be near her brother ; for he never left that place now. 
 Nearly sixty years of honour and excitement had very much aged 
 him, and the dreadful blow inflicted on him by this esclandre about 
 his father's domestic relations (he had always known that his 
 father and mother were not married, and used to consider himself 
 a Falconbridge, but never had known the worst), entirely drove 
 him from the world. The soldier and the dandy, the financier 
 and capitalist, wore now represented by a tall humble old gentle- 
 man with a grey moustache, who walked swiftly about the country, 
 talking to labourers, and travelling tinkers and gipsies even, 
 asking them curious simple questions about their trades, and 
 always leaving them with the idea that he had made a grand dis- 
 covery for improving their way of doing their trade, or their mode 
 of life. At dinner he would expatiate with almost childish eager- 
 ness on something which a travelling chair or clock mender had 
 told him, and enlarge on some scheme for teaching them their 
 trade better than they knew it themselves. 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 271 
 
 At last, in his wanderings, the good old man found an old 
 soldier, who had served with him, going to the workhouse with 
 his wife. He stopped that, and came back to dinner very much 
 Hurried and nervous. He had a new scheme, which, as he told 
 Goodge, he was determined to hammer on while the iron was hot. 
 He had still between eighty and ninety thousand pounds left, and 
 his scheme was to expend the whole of it on a grand almshouse 
 which should stand between old couples going to the workhouse, 
 as far as the money could go. " The sum is utterly insufficient," 
 he said, " and my great age renders it absolutely necessary that I 
 should set to work on the scheme at once, so as to attend to the 
 details. I might have been in the workhouse myself, you know, 
 if it had not been for you, Reginald." He was with great diffi- 
 culty prevented from carrying out his scheme in its entirety, and 
 only yielded from his profound belief in Reginald's powers of 
 theoretical finance and Goodge's shrewdness as a man of the 
 world. He, however, after they had pointed it out to him that he 
 might do better with his money, and might personally superintend 
 a smaller establishment, built an almshouse on his own plan, the 
 care of which kept him healthily busy and fussy for the rest of 
 his life. Reginald insisted on giving the land, and General 
 Anders begrudgingly allowed him to do so. 
 
 Reginald's yacht, a totally useless institution, was, on the 
 arrival home of Captain Hickson, C.B., at once taken possession 
 of by that gallant officer, newly rigged, and newly painted. Had- 
 densmouth was rather inclined to resent Captain Hickson' s inter- 
 ference with their property, for the inhabitants had long considered 
 the yacht to belong to them, and Hickson declared that she was 
 used as a storehouse for stolen goods. It is certain that she would 
 have been seized a dozen times over for smuggling had not the 
 coastguard officers entertained a most wholesome fear of troubling 
 the Haddensmouth people in any way. Captain Hickson, how- 
 ever, had a mortal prejudice against these people, because he was 
 perfectly certain that some of them must have connived at the 
 attack made on Reginald's life on the night of his arrival. He 
 got them into excellent good order, and ruled them with a rod 
 of iron. The scandal which the place had given rise to was 
 removed. 
 
 The yacht, bought like a pig in a poke by Reginald, was found 
 by Captain Hickson to be an exceedingly beautiful and valuable 
 craft. Reginald consulted Hickson, and came to a determination 
 about her, which he ultimately carried out, but which must be 
 passed over now in favour of far weightier matters. The long 
 slumbering squabble between Lord Snizort and Sir Lipscombe 
 
272 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 Barnett had come to a culmination, and the lord lieutenant of the 
 county, being old, nervous, and infirm, had shut himself up in his 
 castle with a view of escaping to Italy, by the secret assistance of 
 a staunch and loyal tenantry, until less dangerous times should 
 dawn upon his distracted county. 
 
 The chances against the escape of the lord lieutenant to Italy 
 were very strong. The county was out from Weymouth to Poole, 
 and the Pilgrimage of Grace in Yorkshire was nothing to the pre- 
 sent war. The women, as is usual in war, were hottest over the 
 matter, and they involved their husbands, who, like the lazy brutes 
 they are, would gladly have kept out of it. The Archers, who 
 were the most overwhelmingly powerful body in the county were 
 mostly on the side of Sir Lipscombe. Very few of them joined 
 the ranks of Lord Snizort. The first actual skirmish was at the 
 meeting of the Dorset Toxopholites, at which the forces on both 
 sides were present in full numbers, the Barnett faction being, how- 
 ever, in a strong majority. Matters assumed the form of an armed 
 neutrality, until Mrs. Pennyfeather (Snizort), and Miss Gold 
 (Barnett), had a violent fracas over the latter lady's score. One 
 lady was led away by her husband, the other by her father ; the 
 two gentlemen were now committed to war. In the meantime, the 
 lord lieutenant, having secreted himself for a time at the house of 
 
 Cardinal at , succeeded in reaching Poole, 
 
 from whence he took ship to Cherbourg, and so got safely to Italy. 
 He elected to die there, and carried out his intention some years 
 afterwards, full of years and of honour. 
 
 The cause of the great county war was the absolute refusal 
 of Lady Snizort to receive Mrs. George Barnett. Not only to 
 receive her, but to enter any house where she was received. Most 
 people would have got over the last difficulty with the greatest ease, 
 for Lady Snizort was a terror to the county ; but the Snizorts were 
 very powerful people, and gave very great entertainments. A 
 minority therefore rallied round the Snizorts, while the vast 
 majority of young ladies and matrons, seeing that George Barnett 
 was irrevocably lost, made up their minds to the theory that he 
 had been deceived and coney-catched by an artful girl and her 
 father, but emphatically refused to permit their husbands and 
 fathers to quarrel with Sir Lipscombe in consequence of the shame- 
 less behaviour of his son. 
 
 The lord lieutenant was an old bachelor who used to entertain 
 a great deal, and who, being an ancient Whig of reverent age, was 
 politically offensive to nobody. The Snizort-Barnett affair had 
 been at once referred to him. He, seeing no way out of it, was 
 at once taken ill, and, ultimately, as we have seen, took refuge in 
 Italy. 
 
KEGINALD HETHEREGE. 273 
 
 Having no other victim, the county naturally came on Reginald. 
 If there was no other victim to be found, he was of course the man. 
 Now the most popular man in the county, he was made arbitrator, 
 and his foes were those of his own household. 
 
 They took various sides in the great controversy. Aunt Hester 
 stood out boldly for the Barnetts, and was followed by the other 
 women of the family. Reginald himself was strongly adverse to 
 having anything whatever to do with the matter ; and for a time 
 very much longed to follow the lord lieutenant to Italy, when a 
 disaster occurred to him which had been long foreseen. He was 
 on the list of sheriffs for the year, and Her Majesty, not in the 
 least degree desiring to do him any mortal injury, pricked him. 
 
 It became necessary for him to declare himself. Mrs. George 
 and her husband were openly asked to the sheriff's ball ; the 
 Snizorts and he were deadly enemies from that time forward, and 
 the Snizorts at once went to Persia, and stayed there a long time. 
 Lady Snizort wore trousers and smoked, but she never parted from 
 her bonnet or umbrella. " After all," said Reginald, "it cuts 
 both ways — we get rid of the Snizorts, which is something, and we 
 have offended no one of any importance. If we had, it would not 
 be of the remotest consequence to me. I am a little too old to 
 care for anything now ; but they might have left me alone." 
 
 The changeful life which he had led, and the strange shifts in 
 it, seemed to repeat themselves continually before his eyes in a 
 curious manner now. Aunt Hester was exactly the same as ever, 
 an extremely bright and lively old lady, but who had taken in her 
 age to flowers — things she previously used to despise, and spent 
 her time in an endless wrangle with the gardener. She had a 
 novel on the stocks, and she showed him two volumes of it. He 
 liked it very much, and wrote a review of it, before it was finished, 
 in the most complimentary style. The review and the novel may 
 both be found in their unpublished posthumous works. Mary was 
 the same, only that she was getting a little grey, and, for the first 
 time in her life, a little obstinate on the subject of George's going 
 to sea again. The Duke and Duchess were the same, save that 
 the Duke had in his old age become earnest about something, and 
 that thing was roses, and the Duchess was backing him up through 
 thick and thin, in opposing Aunt Hester and the gardener in their 
 way of managing Reginald's flower-beds. Goodge was the same, 
 except that he was a little greyer and rather more beloved by every 
 one than even he was before. Hickson and his wife had not 
 changed at all since the time when he was a poor captain and she 
 a London beauty. Anders was changed a little, but very little. 
 He was as eager and earnest now over his new scheme of the 
 
 19 
 
274 EEGINALD HETHEBEGE. 
 
 almshouses as he ever had been over a battle or a speculation. 
 All Reginald's friends seemed to have some hope in life except 
 himself. He seemed to have outlived all hope or all sorrow, and 
 to be waiting for the end. 
 
 A request was a command with him now. It always had been, 
 but in old times he would merely acquiesce passively, now, the 
 only activity he showed was in exerting himself to oblige other 
 people. Mr. Owthwaite spoke solemnly to him on this point as 
 his spiritual adviser, but he was petulant with Mr. Owthwaite over 
 the matter, and indeed that gentleman and he never got on very 
 well together, the clergyman saying that Reginald was ridiculously 
 weak, and Reginald saying, in confidence to Aunt Hester, that 
 Owthwaite was a spiritual bully. In this Sir Lipscombe Barnett 
 entirely agreed. Mr. Owthwaite and Sir Lipscombe had once 
 made it up at Reginald's expense, and retired to mourn in secret : 
 but now that their mutual enemy, Snizort, had departed to Persia, 
 they lived what Mrs. Quickly called " a very frampold life " 
 together, neither of them ever saying anything which the other 
 did not, as a Christian, a gentleman, and a Briton, find it neces- 
 sary flatly to contradict on the spot and refer to Reginald as 
 arbitrator. Reginald always arbitrated wrong in the opinion of 
 one party, and very often in the opinion of both, so he ended his 
 days with the opinion that the proper end for insoluble national 
 difficulties was the old one — war. " For," he said, " arbitration 
 gives both parties the power of making a deadly enemy of the 
 third and innocent party, who has no earthly business in the 
 matter at all." 
 
 CHAPTER THE LAST. 
 
 After one of these arbitrations Emily Hickson came to him as ho 
 was sitting on the lawn. She had been up to London buying her 
 clothes for the ball at which she was first to appear as a full-grown 
 woman : that is to say, she was going to " come out." She was 
 very pretty, and she had endeared herself to all of them by the 
 capital way in which she had behaved during the troubles, now 
 three years passed. She sat down at his knee. 
 
 "Mr. Hetherege," she said, "I wish I could be more to you 
 than I am. I wish you would try me. I wish that you would 
 make a friend of me. I am really to be trusted," 
 
 " My dear, you are my friend." 
 
REGINALD HETHEREGE. 275 
 
 "Then I am the only one you have got," she said, " except 
 George and his mother. George, come here and sit by me, and 
 let us tell him what we mean." 
 
 George came and sat down by her upon the grass. He took 
 one of Reginald's hands in his, while he gave the other to Emily. 
 
 "Mr. Hetherege," said Emily, "you have been good and kind 
 to every one, but you have no friends who understand you as we 
 do. Cast your eyes round on the people you have benefited so 
 deeply ; they are all good ; but does any of them know you ? Are 
 you not always ' Poor Reginald ' with them all except with Mrs. 
 Hetherege, who went through it all with you — I mean Mary, the 
 mother of this boy? We three never call you ' Poor Reginald.' 
 To us you are Mr. Hetherege, the best, wisest, and noblest of 
 men. From Mrs. Hetherege I have heard the story of your whole 
 life, and it seems to me that you have always cared for others 
 more than for yourself. I want you to think that George and I 
 will try to do the same. The others do not understand you as we 
 do. The reason is, I suppose, that we are children, and that you 
 will be a child till you die." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I know it ; I have been nothing but a child all 
 my life. I suppose I could not help it ; I never could help any- 
 thing. Yes, I am a child." 
 
 ". Aye ! " said the girl rising, " ' and He took one and set him 
 in the midst of them all.' That is what He did. Grandfather ! " 
 
 " Why do you call me so, dearest ? " 
 
 " Give George and me your blessing, for we are going to share 
 the rest of our lives together." 
 
 A bright flush, like the dying sunset on the window of a 
 cathedral, showing a blaze of light to the outer world, but casting 
 a heaven of jewelled glory through the darkening aisles within, 
 shone over Reginald's face as he blessed them. "It is all as I 
 wished ; I will die as I have lived — a child among children." 
 
 " Take him with us," said the brisk Emily ; "we know where 
 to find our mother, do we not, George. Come with us, child 
 Reginald, and we will gather flowers together. Come, for there 
 is some one to see you — the prettiest flower of them all, I think, 
 and George was in love with her, and she was in love with George. 
 Come along, my dear, no one understands you but us." 
 
 Reginald went away with them, but more feeble in his walk than 
 in old times. One on each side of him, the noble pleasant-faced 
 youth, and the pretty brisk girl, gathered flowers as they passed 
 on, and gave them to him to hold for them, petulantly telling him 
 to be very careful of them, for that they were all for him, and that 
 the other people who were always getting him into trouble when 
 
276 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 they ought to have left him quiet, never attended to the flowers in 
 his study. So they talked and prattled beside him until they came 
 to a turn in one of the alleys before one of the windows of the 
 hall. 
 
 Reginald knew the place well. Under the towering mass of 
 rhododendrons before him was the grave of the bloodhound, who 
 had died for him on the night of his first arrival at Hollingscroft. 
 In front of the flowers, walking up and down, were his old Mary 
 and a beautiful young lady, whom he at once recognised as Ada 
 Honey. 
 
 "It is a strange place to meet, Miss Honey," he said. She 
 did not understand him, but came forward and bowed to him. 
 
 11 1 trust that everything is well with you, Miss Honey," said 
 Reginald. 
 
 " I am Miss Honey no longer," said that young lady. "lam 
 happily married, and I came here to take leave of you, sir, and to 
 thank you for all your kindness. I have married an American 
 gentleman, and I am going to Illinois with him, taking my 
 father ; and so we shall see the weary old Australia no more for ever." 
 
 " Take this ring to him, madam," said Reginald, " and tell him 
 that he has a jewel in his wife brighter than that stone. Good-bye. 
 He has heard what took place here ; " and so he turned away with 
 George and Emily, not seeing the extremely anxious glance which 
 Mary sent after him. 
 
 "My dears," he said to George and Emily, when they were 
 alone together among the flowers, " the place where she was stand- 
 ing was the very place from which they shot at me. At me, who 
 never injured a human being ! The poor dog died to defend me, 
 the only creature, before heaven, who ever risked its life for me. 
 When I am gone, remember that dog's grave ; but now let us be 
 children among the flowers. You must carry some of these, you 
 two, for my hands are full ; but we will have plenty while we are 
 at it, I beg of you." 
 
 In one of the garden walks, blazing with flowers, they met 
 Captain Hickson and Goodge, who had come from the sea, and 
 who had been dredging (in Reginald's yacht, of course). They 
 were horribly dirty and very much excited ; they had a beastly 
 conglomeration of creatures from the bottom of the sea, never 
 originally happy, but now in all phases of misery, ranging from 
 fury to degradation, at being removed from the places where Divine 
 Providence had placed them, that is to say, as far out of reach as 
 possible. Reginald was called upon to admire these, but he laughed, 
 and said that lie was busy with the flowers. So Goodge and Hick- 
 son went home and pickled them, 
 
REGINALD HETHEHEGE. 27? 
 
 " Would you like the yacht, George ? " said Reginald. 
 
 George drew his breath. "I can sail her, grandpa. I don't 
 know what I should do if you gave me the yacht. You should not 
 talk of such things." 
 
 " She is yours, my dear," said Reginald. " We will get some 
 more flowers now, and to-morrow morning I will go and see you 
 sail her." 
 
 George was dumb, and even Emily shook her head as if she 
 could not understand it. George had got a real ship of his own, 
 none of your twopenny-halfpenny Admiralty appointments, but a 
 real ship of one hundred tons, all his own for ever. 
 
 "I don't think, grandpa," he said solemnly, " that any human 
 being ever gave any one else such intense pleasure as you have 
 given me. Come down to Haddensmouth to-morrow morning and 
 see me beat her out to sea. You will come, won't you ? " 
 
 11 1 said that no one understood him but ourselves," said Emily. 
 "I shall go." 
 
 And so the three rambled home through the alleys of the garden 
 with their flowers. 
 
 All that night the boy George, like a true man-of-war's man, was 
 down at Haddensmouth, cleaning away Goodge's dirt, and setting 
 the beautiful craft to rights. In the morning he was at Reginald's 
 bedroom, and his valet told him that his master had not been well 
 in the night, but was better. 
 
 Reginald, however, was bent on seeing how George could sail 
 the yacht, and, having had his breakfast, went in a pony-carriage 
 to the harbour, where he took up a place on the cliff with Mary 
 and Emily, in a comfortable corner facing the south-west, from 
 which quarter the wind was blowing. They had not been there a 
 quarter of an hour before they saw George at work. Two boats 
 towed him just beyond the rocks, and then up went his canvas like 
 lightning, and he began beating to windward, playing with tho 
 pretty vessel as if she was a new toy. Reginald seemed to 
 watch with great interest for a long time, and then he said, 
 " Mary ! " 
 
 She was beside him at once. 
 
 " Don't ever say a single unkind word to Anders. He was very 
 foolish about that closed room, but he was not so much to blame. 
 And always think of me at my best. Don't think of me as a clever 
 man ; I have been that, but then I was at my worst ; think of me 
 as I am now — one who never willingly injured anybody, a mere 
 child. Good-bye." 
 
 She hurriedly put her hand upon his heart, but it had ceased to 
 beat for ever. The flower which Emily had put into his hand had 
 
278 REGINALD HETHEREGE. 
 
 fallen from it on the grass, and the patient soul of Reginald 
 Hetherege, with all its weakness and errors, was face to face with 
 its God at last. 
 
 They made a pleasant grave for him in the shadow of the church 
 on the north side, where the snow laid long in winter and where 
 the summer shadows were coolest and most profound — the quietest 
 spot in the whole churchyard. For some years the passing 
 villagers would often see a bent lady and gentleman, both very 
 old, who sat silently together by the simple headstone. After a 
 time there were two graves, and the bent old General slept in one 
 of them, while the old lady used to be brought there by children, 
 and left for a time alone. At last there were three graves side by 
 side, all tangled together in summer with flowers planted by loving 
 hands, and in winter swept by the same winds and beaten by the 
 same rains. Reginald lay in the centre between his two friends ; 
 and the children — George and Emily's children — got to believe 
 from a dream of the youngest of them, some years after his death, 
 that he would rise first from the dead on the resurrection morning, 
 and then would awaken General Anders and Aunt Hester, and 
 that the three would come and tell them that Christ was coming ; 
 a foolish dream which had got into the little maid's head from 
 hearing the three old people so continually talked of by those who 
 were left. The child was so full of her fancy for a time, that she 
 would climb from her bed in the early summer morning and look 
 towards the churchyard without fear, to see if the good and gentle 
 Reginald had awakened, and was bringing the others to tell them 
 the great news. For they all spoke of him as one who had lived 
 without blame and fallen asleep without death. So the child had 
 no terrors about such a passing away as his. In the summer she 
 would go quietly by herself, and whisper through the grass into 
 his ear, to know if Christ would come to-morrow , and when she 
 died in autumn, they laid her by Reginald's head at her desire, so 
 that she might take the hand of the good man, whom she had 
 never seen but had learned to love from hearsay, and pass into the 
 Eternal Presence with him. 
 
 So he sleeps — happy at last. 
 
 Thou wilt not turn upon thy bed. 
 Chaunteth not the brooding bee 
 Sweeter tones than calumny : 
 
 Let them rave. 
 Thou wilt never raise thine head 
 From the green that folds thy grave 
 
 Let them rave." 
 
LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The River Wysclith, though one of the shortest in course of the 
 beautiful rivers of Dartmoor, still claims a high place among them. 
 None sooner quits the barren granite, and begins to wander sea- 
 ward through the lower and richer country which lies between the 
 Moor and the sea. None except Dart sends a larger body of water 
 to the sea, and none forms a smaller or less dangerous estuary. 
 
 Indeed, its course is so exceedingly short, that the members of 
 the Wysclith Vale Hunt, whose kennels were within a mile of the 
 sea, were well acquainted, from frequent observation, with the vast 
 melancholy bog in which it took its rise. More than once, more 
 than twenty times, within the memory of old Tom Squire, the lean, 
 little old huntsman, had the fox been run into in the midst of that 
 great waste of turbary, from whence the infant stream issues ; on 
 ground which no man, leave alone a horse, dared to face. Laura 
 Seckerton has a clever sketch in her portfolio, of the wild, desolate, 
 elevated swamp as it appeared on one of these occasions. A sweep 
 of yellow grass, interspersed with ling, and black bog pits : in the 
 centre, far away from human help, a confused heap of struggling 
 hounds killing their fox : round the edges, as near as they dared 
 go, red-coated horsemen, most cleverly grouped in twos and threes ; 
 beyond all, a low ugly tor of weather-worn granite. Laura 
 Seckerton could paint as well as she could ride, which is giving 
 her very high praise indeed. 
 
 On a hot summer's day, if }-ou had crossed the watershed from 
 the northward, from the headwaters of the Ouse for instance ; and 
 if you found yourself in this desolate lonely swamp, with no signs 
 of animal life except the cry of the melancholy peewit, or the 
 quaint dull note of the stonechat ; you would find it hard to 
 believe that anything so wild, fierce, and loud as the river Wys- 
 clith, could be born of such solitary silence. But if you hold on 
 
282 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 your way, round the bases of the low granite tors, between the 
 tumbled rocks and the quaking bog, for four or five miles, you will 
 begin, afar off, to hear a tinkling of waters, you will meet a broad 
 amber- coloured stream, and find that the many trickling rills from 
 the great swamp have united, and are quietly preparing for their 
 journey to the sea ; are making for that gap in the granite, below 
 which the land drops away into an unknown depth, and from which 
 you can see a vista of a gleaming glen miles below, in which the 
 river, so quiet and so small up here, spouts and raves and roars 
 like a giant as he is. Right and left, far, far below you, are crags, 
 tors, castles of granite. Twenty streams from fifty glens, from a 
 hundred sunny lonely hills, join our river far below ; until tired of 
 fretting and fuming among the granite crags in the glen of ten 
 thousand voices, he finds his way out into the champaign country, 
 and you see him wandering on in wide waving curves towards his 
 estuary. All this you can see even on a blighty easterly day ; 
 with a clear south wind, Laura Seckerton used to say, that stand- 
 ing within two miles of the river's source, you can make out the 
 fisher boats on the sands at its mouth, and the setting sun blazing 
 on the windows of Leighton Court, which stands on a knoll of new 
 red sandstone at the head of the tideway. I cannot say that either 
 there or elsewhere I have ever distinguished drawing-room windows 
 at a distance of eighteen miles as the crow flies : but I confess to 
 have seen the vast tower and dark long facade of Berry Morc- 
 combe, which lies on the other side of the river, blocking the 
 westerly sun and casting a long shadow over the sands towards 
 Leighton Court, when I have stood on a summer's evening at the 
 tip of the lonely marsh in which the Wysclith takes his rise, 
 fifteen hundred feet above the sea. Standing just where he begins 
 to live, and whimper like a new-born babe, over his granite rocks. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There were only three families in this part of the country : the 
 Downes, the Scckcrtons, and the Poyntzs. We shall meet them 
 all directly ; but it is necessary even here to say that the Downes 
 (represented by Sir Peckwich Downes) were eminently respectable 
 and horribly rich. That the Seckertons (Sir Charles Seckerton) 
 were eminently respectable, very rich, though not so rich as the 
 Downes ; but that they had entirely taken the wind out of their, 
 
LEIGHTON COU11T. 283 
 
 Downes', sails, by Sir Charles marrying Lady Emily Lee, a sister 
 of the Earl of Southmolton, and by taking the hounds nearly at 
 the same time. And lastly, coming to the Poyntzs (represented 
 by Sir Harry Poyntz, younger by a generation than either of the 
 other baronets), we are obliged to say that the family had grown 
 so utterly disreputable, that a respectable Poyntz was considerably 
 rarer than a white crow. The third family, these Poyntzs, were 
 what the Americans call "burst up," and their seat, Berry More- 
 combe Castle, was now let on a lease to Mr. Huxtable, a Man- 
 chester cotton -spinner. 
 
 Sir William Poyntz, that very disreputable old gentleman, had 
 been the last master of the hounds, and had handsomely finished 
 his ruin by taking them. He was a sad old fellow, and kept a sad 
 establishment there in the castle. The only signs of decency which 
 the old fellow showed, was that he would not allow any of his sons, 
 legitimate or other, to come near the place. Harry Poyntz, now 
 the baronet, used to come and stay at Leighton Court ; Kobert, 
 the younger, was only dimly remembered by a few of the older 
 servants, as a petulant, wayward, handsome child. There was a 
 third one yet, whom some remembered, a very beautiful, winning 
 boy ; but he had no name, he was not acknowledged. 
 
 When Sir Charles Seckerton took the hounds, Mr. Huxtable 
 took the castle, and very shortly after the wife of the latter died, 
 leaving him with a little girl, heir to all his wealth. Sir William 
 Poyntz left Sir Charles Seckerton a legacy also ; he left him old 
 Tom Squire, the huntsman. He was a silent, terrier- faced little 
 fellow, who seemed to know more than he chose to tell, as indeed 
 he did. He was a jewel, however ; he had hunted that difficult 
 country for many years, and if you had not taken him with the 
 hounds, you might as well have left the hounds alone. 
 
 A very difficult hunting country ? Why, yes. Irish horses 
 strongly in request, not to mention Irish whips and second horse- 
 men. A stone-wall country in part, and in part intersected by 
 deep lanes and high hedges. Not a safe or promising country by 
 any means. Bad accidents were not unknown ; one very severe 
 one had but recently happened, just before my tale begins. The 
 first whip, a young Irishman, O'Ryan by name, had ridden into 
 one of those deep red lanes, which intersect the new red sandstone 
 hereabouts, and had so injured his spine as to be a cripple pro- 
 bably for life. Sir Charles had pensioned him with a pound a 
 week ; and being determined to try an Englishman this time, 
 wrote to a friend in Leicestershire for a first-rate man, fit to suc- 
 ceed old Tom Squire, the wiry terrier-faced ex-Poyntz retainer 
 aforesaid, as huntsman, when he should retire to the chimney- 
 
284 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 corner, and twitter on the legends of the Poyntz family till he 
 twittered no longer. 
 
 An answer had come by return of post. There had never been 
 such a chance as now, wrote Sir George Herage. A young man, 
 possessed of all the cardinal virtues, with several to spare ; who 
 was the most consummate rider ever seen, could tell the pedigree 
 of a hound with one moment's glance, of gentle temper with man, 
 horse, and dog. A young man who had hunted not only in 
 Leicestershire and Berwickshire, but at Pau ; a young man entirely 
 up to every conceivable sort of country. Such a young man was 
 To Let. And Sir George Herage's advice was, " Snap him up on 
 any price ; the more especially as he had expressed to me strongly 
 his intense anxiety to improve his already great experience by 
 hunting in that very county of yours ; indeed, has given me warn- 
 ing the instant he heard of your want." On further examination 
 of Sir George's letter, it appeared that this young Crichton, 
 Bayard, Philip Sidney, St. Huberts' price was extremely moderate, 
 considering his amazing virtues and talents. His very name, too, 
 sounded well, Hammersley. Sir George was also anxious to im- 
 press on his friend's mind the fact that he was no ordinary person ; 
 that he was a deuced presentable fellow, and a fellow who would 
 not stand much talking to, but was perfect at his work. Sir 
 Charles thought himself in luck, and passed the letter over the 
 breakfast table to Lady Emily, his wife, to see what she thought of 
 it : by no means an unimportant matter. 
 
 Lady Emily was making a somewhat witchlike mess in a china 
 basin, the basis of which was chocolate. Sir Charles had seen her 
 put ill sugar, brown bread, baked yam, and cream, and began to 
 wonder when she would begin to eat it. She delayed her pleasure, 
 however, and he grew impatient. 
 
 " Emily," said Sir Charles at last, " I wish, when you have 
 gone through your morning ceremonies with your olla podrida, 
 that you would look at that letter." 
 
 " My love," she said, " I will do so directly." And she went 
 on with her preparations quite regardless of the impatient ex- 
 asperated way in which Sir Charles tore the Times open, pitched 
 the supplement on the ground, and rattled the other part open. 
 
 At last she had done. She read the letter steadily, put it down 
 again, and gazed into space. 
 
 " Well," said Sir Charles, testily, " will that man do or no? " 
 
 " I do wonder," she said, with her great, cool, high-bred voice ; 
 " now I really do wonder." 
 
 " I wonder at our luck in getting such a man at such a time," 
 said Sir Charles. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 285 
 
 " I don't mean that," said Lady Emily. " I wonder what on 
 earth this paragon of a creature has been doing which makes Sir 
 George Herage so exceeding anxious to foist him off upon us, and 
 get him three hundred miles out of his own way. That is what I 
 am wondering at." 
 
 "You look on it in that light, do you, Emily?" said Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 "I wonder," said Lady Emily, going on in her own line, 
 " whether the fellow is good-looking, and has been making love 
 to one of those red-haired, horse-breaking Herage girls. That is 
 it, depend on it. Not another word, Charles — here comes 
 Laura." 
 
 11 My dear Mother, good morning." 
 
 "You think he ought to come, then, Emily?" said Sir 
 Charles. " You think he will do ? " 
 
 " My dear Charles ! Do ! Such a paragon of a creature ! 
 The question is not whether he will do, but what he has been 
 doing. I have the deepest curiosity to see the man. I suppose 
 he will take his meals with us ; what rooms shall I get ready for 
 him?" 
 
 " Then he had better come ? " 
 
 "It is not in my line at all to say yes or no. If my personal 
 wishes were consulted, I should say let him come. You seem to 
 have collected all the available rogues and fools in the South of 
 Devon about your stable and kennel, and I am getting tired of 
 them. I want to see a rogue from another county for a change. 
 Have the man down." 
 
 "My dearest Emily, why are you so disagreeable this morn- 
 ing?" 
 
 " I did not mean to be so to you, Charles," said his wife, kissing 
 him as she passed him. " Since you have taken me out of society, 
 I have no one to whet my tongue on but you, you selfish man. 
 And it is rather cool of Sir George Herage to try and foist off a 
 man, who evidently has made the country too hot to hold him, on 
 to us." 
 
 " But, Emily dear, I won't have him if you think so." 
 
 " Have him down, Charles, by all means have him down." 
 
 And so the paragon Hammersley came. And no one having 
 said anything against it, it must be supposed that every one was 
 perfectly satisfied. But Lady Emily determined to find out the 
 reason of this wonderful recommendation of Sir George Herage, or 
 perish in the attempt. She neither did the one thing nor the 
 other at first ; but she was not easily to be beaten. 
 
 Her sister, Lady Melton, on being appealed to by letter, at first 
 
286 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 could find out nothing more about the young man than that Sir 
 George Herage had picked him up at Pau, where he was hunting 
 the hounds during the illness of the huntsman, and had brought 
 him home ; that he certainly understood his business in a masterly 
 way, but was uncivil, loutish, quarrelsome, and rode very little 
 under twelve stone. Lady Melton added that she had never seen 
 the young man, that he had never appeared with the Quorn ; and 
 that was all she knew about him. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I have described the lay of the country as you look from the 
 mountain down to the sea, and will describe for you directly the 
 appearance of that country, looking up from the tideway towards 
 the mountain, from the terraces of Leighton Court. But my eye 
 rests on something in the immediate foreground which arrests it. 
 
 I find I cannot describe the dark, purple moor, with Wysclith 
 leaping from rock to rock down its side, without first getting rid 
 of two figures in the foreground. From the terraces of Leighton 
 Court, which surround the house east, seaward, and westward, one 
 looks over the sandbars of the river, here beginning to spread into 
 its little estuary, on to the red county, beyond on to the flashing 
 cascades of the river ; above all on to the dark, black-blue moor. 
 But there are two figures in the foreground, which seem to im- 
 personate the scenery, and being animate, they must be looked to 
 first. 
 
 Lady Emily stands nearest to us. A large, handsome, gipsy- 
 looking woman, whose real age was five -and -forty, but whose 
 constant good humour, and the fact of her having had her own 
 way both in the county and in her family, for some twenty years, 
 caused to look ten years younger. She was a noble, kindly, nay 
 jolly-looking woman, so very like the nearer parts of the land- 
 scape ; so rich in colour, so bold in rounded outlines. 
 
 If Lady Emily stood well as a central figure to the blazing reds 
 and greens of the fertile red sandstone country, her daughter 
 might well represent to our fancy, the dark purple moor which 
 hung aloft in the distance, furrowed by deep rifts which in their 
 darkest depths showed the gleams of the leaping torrent ; and yet 
 which, through ten miles of atmosphere seemed little more than a 
 perpendicular plane, without cape or bay, prominence or depth, 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 287 
 
 She was a little taller than her mother, her face though like her 
 mother's, was more refined, with the refinement of youth ; her 
 face might get a trifle coarser by age (who knows ?), or might be 
 swept by storms of passion ; but at present, she was as placid, as 
 delicately tinted, as lofty, and apparently a thousand times more 
 unapproachable, than the mountain on which she gazed. 
 
 People tell one that at the end of the last century there was a 
 school or party among people of rank, whose specialite was the 
 extreme care with which they educated their women — a party who 
 hailed Mrs. Hannah More as their leader and example. Very few 
 of us have so little experience of life, as not to have seen and 
 respected one of the old ladies thus trained, and to reflect, one 
 hopes, on the very great deal we owe to them and to their influ- 
 ence. None of us, however, have probably had the luck to see a 
 more perfect specimen of this type of lady than was the old 
 Countess of Southmolton, the bosom friend of Hannah More, 
 grandmother of Laura Seckerton, whose gentle influence was still 
 felt in her daughter's house. She had formed Lady Emily upon 
 the most perfect model, and Lady Emily had fully answered her 
 expectations, but partly from the natural vivacity of her disposi- 
 tion, and partly from her having married a sporting baronet, she 
 had become a trifle corrupted ; so that her manners, beside her 
 more sedate mother, appeared almost brusque and jovial. She, 
 however, had vast reverence for her mother, and for her mother's 
 system. And so Laura had been brought up, not so much by her 
 mother as by her grandmother, in the very straightest mode of 
 Queen Charlottism. 
 
 And she had taken to the style of thing kindly enough. As a 
 child she was too slow and dreamy, too " good," as her grand- 
 mother would have said, to make any flat rebellion, and as she 
 grew up, her grandmother, as having more talent, attracted her 
 perhaps more than her mother ; besides the style of thing suited 
 her. She was idle and dreamy, and she liked rules for life ; and 
 such wells of passion as were in her were as yet unruffled by any 
 wind. So it was that her manner was far more staid, and her 
 habits of thought far narrower than those of her mother. 
 
 A grand, imperial, graceful-looking girl, with a Greek face, 
 bearing not much colour, and an imperial diadem of dark black 
 hair, dark as the moor after a thunderstorm ; was there a fault 
 in her face ? Only one ; the mouth was rather large. 
 
288 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 These two figures were so very prominent, as being perhaps the 
 only two things visible in the landscape I have in my mind's 
 eye, that I could see nothing, or make you see nothing, till they 
 were disposed of. We will soon have done with the rest of the 
 landscape, at which the reader will possibly rejoice. 
 
 Leighton Court was what is generally called Tudor, of a sort ; 
 stone-built, mullions and transoms of granite. Length 105 ft., 
 depth 50 ft. It was very like Balliol, uncommonly like Oriel, and 
 a perfect replica of University. It stood near the extreme end 
 of a promontory of the red country, some 400 acres in extent, 
 and say 100 ft. in extreme height, densely wooded, down to the 
 very shore : which divided the little estuary of the Wysclith from 
 the larger estuary of the Avon. 
 
 An old Tudor house, say, standing on a promontory of red rock, 
 feathered with deep green woods, whose base lost itself in an 
 ocean of wide -spreading sea sand. As you looked towards the 
 sea from the hill landward of the house, you saw narrow sandy 
 Wysclith on your right, broad sandy Avon on your left ; the house 
 deep bosomed in feathering woods, which ran down and fringed the 
 sands, in front, and beyond sands and sands bounded by the blue 
 Channel with toiling ships. 
 
 Wysclith, on your right, made but a small estuary, hardly could 
 carry the tide a mile above the house, for he had to make the 
 sea between the rib of sandstone on which Leighton Court stood, 
 and another higher rib, three hundred yards to the westward, on 
 the summit of which stood the great Norman keep of Morecombe 
 Castle, which, at the equinoxes, threw its long shadows across 
 the narrow tideway, and in March and September, at sunset, lay 
 the shade of its tallest battlements on the smooth shorn turf of 
 Leighton Court pleasance. At those two periods of the year 
 'when the sun was due west, and began to darken towards his 
 setting, the tower of the keep of Morecombe seemed to hang 
 minatory and darkly over its more peaceful neighbour the hall ; 
 but at all other times the castle was a thing of beauty for the 
 inhabitants of the Court. At morn it rose a column of grey, 
 tinged with faint orange ; at noon pure pearl grey with purplish 
 shadows ; in the evening dark leaden colour, with the blaze ol 
 the sunset behind it, and its shadow barring the narrow river, and 
 creeping towards the feet of those who sat on the terrace of the 
 Court. 
 
 The river just began to narrow in opposite Leighton Court and 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 289 
 
 Morecombe Castle, and not a quarter of a mile up, left creeping 
 among sand-bars and took to chafing among vast shingle beds. 
 There is no town on the river, only the big red village of South 
 Wyston round a turn in the river. So you looked up a reach in 
 the river, feathered with wood and ribbed with reddish purple 
 rocks, up to the cornfields, wooded hedgerows and woodlands of 
 the red country, and above and beyond at the blue brown moor, 
 with young Wysclith raving down in a hundred cascades through 
 a rift in the granite. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Profound as was Sir Charles' respect for his wife, and his 
 reverence for his mother-in-law, there was one point in Laura's 
 education on which, once for all, he had so coolly and calmly 
 opposed them, that they, like sensible women, knew he was in 
 earnest, and gave up the contest there and then. 
 
 Laura was to learn to ride ; nay, oh Shade of Hannah More ! 
 to hunt. He was so very distinct about this, the first point 
 on which he had ever opposed them, that they — knowing that 
 although he was so easy going to them, yet had among men the 
 character of being a resolute, valiant man — gave way at once, 
 and did not even openly protest. 
 
 Laura was strong and healthy, and got very fond indeed of 
 the sport. One need hardly say that under Sir Charles' tuition she 
 turned out a first-rate horsewoman. The country was a difficult, 
 nay dangerous country, but then, with its continually recurring 
 copses, it was a very slow country, by no means a bad country 
 for a lady who knew every gap, low stile, and gate, for ten miles 
 round ; a better country, for a lady, perhaps, than faster countries 
 nearer London, certainly easier than Leicestershire. 
 
 So she got very fond of the sport, and if the pace got too great 
 for her, there was nothing to prevent her riding home alone. Mr. 
 Sponge, not to mention Mr. Jorrocks, don't make hunting tours 
 in the West. There were no strangers for her to meet, except 
 perhaps an officer or so from Plymouth. And very few officers 
 were at Plymouth many weeks without making her father's 
 acquaintance, so that of real strangers there were none. She 
 very much enjoyed the times when she got thrown out among the 
 stone-walls, and had to ride home alone through the deep lanes, 
 dreaming. 
 
290 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Dreaming ! What could she do but dream ? When she sat 
 on her horse alone, on the hill which lay half-way between the sea 
 and the moor, she looked round on the widest horizon she had 
 ever seen. She had heard of a great world which roared and 
 whirled beyond that horizon : but she had never seen it, or seen 
 a glimpse of it with her own eyes. She heard her grandmother 
 and her mother talking of this world ; she had been expressly 
 trained, carefully trained, for moving in this world. She could 
 have gone, with her training and her nerve, into the best drawing- 
 room in London, or more, in Paris, and have found herself per- 
 fectly at home. Lady Southmolton confessed that she was 
 perfectly formed ; but meanwhile they could not go to London 
 this year, and then they couldn't go next year. Sir Charles was 
 hard to move, and the hounds had cost a deal of money — a great 
 deal too much money, indeed. 
 
 So she heard of the world only from without. She heard her 
 grandmother and her mother talking of the great governors of the 
 country, and the great givers of parties, which were reported in 
 the Times, most familiarly ; heard a great Liberal nobleman talked 
 of as " dear Henry," and came to the conclusion that if dear 
 Henry had taken her grandmother's advice, things would not have 
 come to the present dead-lock. She heard these two women 
 continually living in the past among the great men they had 
 danced with, growing more familiar in the mention of their names 
 as time went on, expanding and developing their legends and 
 recollections about these people, and egging one another on until 
 a doubtful recollection became an article of faith, and a third- 
 hand story became a personal experience. She heard all this, 
 and possibly laughed at it. But she knew well that her mother 
 had known the War God, and sometimes she thought it rather 
 tiresome that she could not know him also. 
 
 She heard of the world, too, a very different world from the 
 soldiers and sailors who came over to them from Plymouth. Her 
 mother startled her one night by telling her, that of all the sailors 
 and soldiers she had ever entertained for the space of twenty years, 
 Captain Fitzgorman was the only one who had ever thoroughly 
 known the great world. She was startled, for she had set him 
 down as the dullest and most unmitigated noodle she had ever had 
 inflicted on her ; a man who could talk about lords and ladies, 
 their marryings and intermarry ings, and nothing else. She had 
 asked her mother not to ask him again. 
 
 " My dear, he knows the world ! " 
 
 " He knows the peerage," said Laura peevishly ; " and I don't 
 want to have the peerage talked to me. If I want to know any- 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 291 
 
 thing out of the peerage, I get it down and refer to it. He seems 
 to have got it up. I listened to him, and you, and grandma to- 
 night, until I was sick. The whole conversation amounted to a 
 competitive examination on those sort of people. And while we 
 are on the subject, allow me to tell you, having listened through 
 curiosity, that you got considerably the worst of it. That noodle 
 was better up in that particular kind of talk than the pair of you 
 put together." 
 
 Jovial Lady Emily had to stand on her dignity. 
 
 "Because I withdrew myself from the world when I married 
 your dear father, I cannot see that it is becoming for my daughter 
 to cast in my teeth my forgetfulness of the world." 
 
 Though her grammer was involved, as it always was when she 
 tried to be grand, Laura did not laugh at it. She only said 
 good-humouredly — 
 
 "Well, mother, I maybe wrong, but it seems to me ridiculous 
 for a younger son to talk about nothing but his own and other 
 people's connections." 
 
 She had a sharper arrow in her quiver than that for young 
 " Fitz ; " but who could snarl or say a bitter thing in the 
 presence of her genial mother, who kissed her, called her a 
 radical, and went to bed. 
 
 Laura, you see, did not believe in the grand monde. She 
 believed that the real great world was the wide world the sailors 
 and soldiers told her of. West Coast of Africa, India, and all 
 that sort of thing, which the reader may supplement, out of the 
 history of these wonderful thirty millions of islanders who have 
 seized on the strongest and richest parts of the world, according 
 to his fancy. But this world was as much shut out to her as 
 the London world, and she was thrown on to her own, a very 
 small one, more the pity. 
 
 The peasantry were all her world. Poor visiting had always 
 been one of the rules of the family, and Laura took to it not 
 unkindly. She got to love the people, she understood their wants, 
 she excused their faults, and got more deeply, than she was aware, 
 imbued with their superstitions. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh was a young man of great promise aged 
 twenty-two, who wore goloshes, carrying a bulgy umbrella, and 
 took dinner pills, 
 
292 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Generally he took them in the hall, getting a confidential glass 
 of water from the butler. But if he had been somewhat late, and 
 had forgot them, he would have no hesitation in taking them after 
 his soup, or even after his fish, before an admiring dinner-table. 
 Lord Hatterleigh's inside was the most wonderful inside ever 
 known. It was a complicated and delicate piece of machinery, 
 which required continual oiling. He was exceedingly proud of it. 
 Two or three doctors had set it right for him, but he found 
 himself somewhat lost if it was not out of order. A subject of 
 conversation was lost to him. He could talk peerage by the 
 yard ; he could pipe out feeble wishy-washy politics by the hour ; 
 but to the dearest friends of his heart he always led the con- 
 versation to his inside. 
 
 It was a great joke in the county for some time, that Lord 
 Hatterleigh had appointed Sam Bolton his chaplain, because 
 Bolton had a complication in his liver or somewhere, nearly as 
 fine as the hitch in Lord Hatterleigh's " ilia." It was notorious, 
 and what is very different, perfectly true, that he was very fond of 
 Samuel Bolton, and that they would sit up half the night com- 
 paring their symptoms. Sam Bolton was the most intimate 
 friend he had, and it was as plain as the nose on one's face, that 
 as soon as the present rector dropped, Lord Hatterleigh would 
 give him the living of Hatterleigh to keep him near him. Sam 
 Bolton got engaged on the strength of it. The Rector himself, 
 a lean old gentleman, a bishop's man, who preached in his 
 surplice, turned to the east at the creed, and in spite of it kept 
 his church full, recognised him as his successor. 
 
 " When I am gone, my dear Mr. Bolton," he would say, " you 
 will find that the dilapidation money will hardly make the house 
 fit for a family man. You are going to marry, and you will have 
 to build, sir, you will have to build." 
 
 The Rector " dropped" suddenly, through attending a typhus 
 case on a fast day without a good dinner and a glass of port, but 
 Sam Bolton never was Rector of Hatterleigh. Lord Hatterleigh 
 wrote off to Dr. Arnold to send him the best available parson he 
 could lay his hands on. Doctor Arnold did so, and the Rector 
 of Hatterleigh was not Sam Bolton. 
 
 Sam Bolton sulked, and at last one evening grew pathetic, nay, 
 got near to a state of injured indignation. 
 
 11 I never promised you the living, Bolton," said his lordship, 
 nursing his big knee. " I like you very much, but I don't think 
 your are fit for it. Besides, your digestion, my dear fellow, your 
 digestion ! " 
 
 A high-minded man enough, this Lord Hatterleigh, always 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 293 
 
 putting before him, according to his light, a lofty ideal, and 
 lighting up to it with the obstinacy of a mule and the cunning of 
 a fox. The world called him false and untrustworthy, but if you 
 catechised the world, you would find that he had never departed 
 from his pledged word, and had never disappointed hopes which 
 he himself had given. 
 
 He had tried Rugby, but his health wouldn't stand it (so said 
 he and his grandmother). He had gone to a great private tutor's 
 and had read continuously and diligently (as for reading hard, it 
 was not in the man) and in due time had made his appearance in 
 Peckwater. Here he was recognised at once as a young man of 
 great promise. He could, give him a bottle of water, talk you 
 washy politics by the yard, by the hour. But the union, most 
 patient of assemblies, very soon got impatient of him, and 
 certain square-headed, bright-eyed young rascals from Balliol and 
 University began to make terrible mincemeat of him. Still he 
 was a young nobleman of promise. 
 
 Of great promise out of little performance ; he was so very 
 steady and studious that outsiders put him clown for all sorts of 
 degrees, treble first, said some, for he had sent a gigantic order 
 to Shrimpton for chemical and geological books, and was evidently 
 going in to win. But after dandering about the University for 
 three years, he got a bad fourth in the classics and merely passed 
 in the other schools. After which, he transferred himself and 
 his talents to his paternal acres and the House of Lords. On his 
 own estates he did his duty manfully and well. In the House of 
 Lords he spoke on the Address and none afterwards. He found 
 he was out of his depth, and had the sense to float without trying 
 to swim. Most likely his" failure at Oxford had done him good. 
 There he had been measured with a moiety of the talent of the 
 country, and had failed. I think that in his way he understood 
 this. 
 
 But with perfect good temper. If he was sly, it was only 
 through a kind ot half physical, half nervous cowardice. There was 
 none of the cat-like bitterness of the real coward about him. He 
 hated a scene beyond all things, but he would face a scene, and 
 go through with it to the end if one of his principles was at stake, 
 and win. Temper ! his temper was angelic, so long as he had not 
 lost his umbrella, mislaid his goloshes, or forgot his dinner pills ; 
 and then his temper only showed itself in a kind of plaintive 
 peevishness. When any one of these three things happened, 
 Laura could always bring him into good temper again. The rules 
 of society prevented her talking over his complaints with him, but 
 she could talk genealogies and marriages with so many mistakes 
 
294 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 as to rouse him into animation to set her right, and she was fond 
 of the poor creature. She was very tender to the village idiot, 
 too, and had prevented the boys from bullying him into madness 
 many times. Lord Hatterleigh had been her butt from childhood, 
 and Laura had never cared to look for such finer qualities as there 
 might be in him. They used to call him Ursa Major. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 The little affair of Assewal scarcely deserves to be called a battle, 
 it was merely a prelude ; nay, not even that, only a tuning of 
 fiddles for the " Grand Devil's Opera," which crashed and roared 
 so late into the next day that the last mutter of it was heard as 
 the sinking sun flamed upon the Eastern ghaut ; and night, and 
 silence, only half-broken by the low wails and moans of the 
 wounded, settled down upon another great field, whose name 
 henceforth is one of the landmarks of history. 
 
 Yet a remarkable thing happened there. The advance-guard 
 of the enemy, as well as one can understand, were in a strongish 
 position, on the other side of a nullah, and were keeping up an 
 infernal fire of artillery at a native regiment of ours, which was 
 only half sheltered by a roll in the ground. It was absolutely neces- 
 sary that this regiment should stay in its present position, for it 
 was the extreme of our left flank in that little affair, and our 
 general was engaged in turning their left flank, and forcing them 
 into that disadvantageous position in which they gave us battle 
 the next day, and got so terribly beaten. 
 
 Sir Charles had deputed the work to be done on his right to 
 three or four men whose names have since been burnt deep into 
 the memories of their countrymen, and therefore he knew that 
 the work on the right was being as efficiently done as if he had 
 been there himself. 
 
 It was necessary, however, for the Eagle's eye to watch this 
 left flank, which was our weakest place. And so the Eagle was 
 there with his great hooked beak stretched towards the enemy, 
 from time to time shaking out his ruffled feathers ready to swoop 
 and strike. 
 
 As he was. The 140th Dragoons were behind the tope in 
 which he stood ; and if the Sikh artillery did not soon feel the 
 pressure which he was putting on their left, it would become 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 295 
 
 necessary to hurl our cavalry at this artillery, and silence it with 
 the loss of half of one of our best regiments. 
 
 No one could doubt that. The plain — more correctly the 
 glacis— which lay between the Sikh artillery and the half- 
 concealed native regiment in the lower ground, was beinf 
 ripped and torn and riven by their furious cannonade. Life°, 
 even for a single individual, seemed to be impossible there. 
 What would be the fate of seven hundred close-packed horse- 
 men — Thermopylae or Balaclava ? 
 
 Some of the shot were reaching the native regiment, and they 
 were getting fidgety. If they could be kept there until the pres- 
 sure on the enemy's left was felt ? If the sacrifice of the 140th 
 could be saved ? But a good many shot had come ripping in 
 on the flank companies, which were exposed on each side of the 
 roll in the ground, and they were getting unsteady. 
 
 "Go and tell him to draw his flank companies behind the 
 ridge," he said, and turning found himself face to face with a 
 cornet of the 140th, a handsome pensive-looking boy, who by 
 some accident had been sent up to him with a message. 
 
 The boy, a scarlet-and-gold thing, all over golden fripperies 
 and tags and bobtails, topped with a white pith helmet, a very 
 beautiful and expensive article (receiving one-third the pay of 
 a Staffordshire iron-puddler), went jingling down the hill and 
 passed behind the native regiment till he came to the Colonel. 
 They saw him deliver his message, and thought he was coining 
 back again. 
 
 So he was, but by a very queer route. He rode past the left 
 flank of the wavering regiment, and then, mounting the hill, 
 turned, and came coolly jingling back at a sling trot over that 
 terrible plain slope, which was being ripped and torn and sent 
 into the air in all directions by the enemy's shot, and on which 
 human life appeared impossible. Fountains and showers of 
 stones and sand were rising and falling all around him as he 
 rode, but he came coolly clanking on, and while the staff were 
 expecting to see him cut in two every instant, he managed to 
 knock his helmet oft*. 
 
 He stopped, dismounted, picked it up, put it on hindside before, 
 altered it, and prepared to mount. His horse was restive, and he 
 gave it a good-natured little kick in the ribs, got on again, and 
 came jangling slowly up to the tope where the Eagle was posted. 
 The Eagle never liked that sort of thing. He was very angry ; 
 he shook his feathers and opened on him. 
 
 "Are you a Frenchman, sir, that you play these Tom-fool's 
 games under fire? Do you know, sir, that your life is your 
 
296 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 country's, sir, and that death is a very solemn thing ? Do you 
 know, that if it were not for an extraordinary instance of God's 
 mercy, you would be lying howling and dying in the grass yonder ? 
 What did you do it for : eh, sir ? " 
 
 The boy looked at him with his great melancholy eyes, and 
 said — 
 
 " The 84th seemed getting unsteady, sir; and I thought I 
 would show them that it was not so bad as it looked." 
 
 "Hem! that is another matter. That is a different affair 
 altogether. You have acted with great valour and discretion ; 
 you have done a noble deed at the right time. Such actions 
 as yours, sir, elevate the tone of the army, and deserve to live 
 in the mouths of men for ever. What is your name ? " 
 
 " George Hilton." 
 
 "He is Jack's boy," said a general who stood near. 
 
 "Why couldn't you have said so before?" snapped out the 
 Eagle. 
 
 "Because I didn't want to spoil the fun of hearing you make 
 a set complimentary speech to Jack's boy. Fancy such a torrent 
 of fervid eloquence being poured out on his head. It's as good 
 as a play." 
 
 The great warrior was very much amused, and held out his 
 hand to the lad. 
 
 "You are at your father's tricks, are you, you monkey? Go 
 back to your regiment. I shall write to your mother." 
 
 And so he did, and kept his eye on the boy. Young George 
 Hilton soon changed into an infantry regiment, partly because 
 his mother had lost some money, and partly because his patron 
 and his father's friend wished it. In time his patron died ; but 
 he fought his way steadily on through the weary nights of 1854, 
 through the dark and terrible hour of 1855, leaving his mark on 
 everything he undertook, and getting his name well known, not 
 only at the Horse Guards, but to the most careless of the general 
 public. Here we find him now on the terrace beside Laura. 
 Colonel Hilton, C.B., V.C. a tall man of remarkable personal 
 beauty, with a dark-brown beard, and large melancholy eyes ; and 
 with a low-pitched, but singularly distinct voice. A dangerous 
 man for any girl to listen to, among the lengthening summer 
 twilight shadows, particularly after having had Lord Hatterleigh 
 gobbling and spluttering out insane political twaddle the whole 
 
LEIGHTOtf COURT. '207 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 "And how do you like Cain, my love?" said Lady Emily, 
 sweeping in full dressed into Sir Charles's dressing-room, just 
 as he was tying his cravat for dinner. 
 
 "Cain, my dear?" 
 
 " The new young man." 
 
 " Why do you call him Cain ? " 
 
 "Because he must have murdered his brother, or something 
 as bad, to get such a recommendation. Don't you see, you foolish 
 old man, that if what Sir George Herage says about him is in any 
 way true, he would sooner have pulled out his few remaining teeth 
 than part with him ? I hope we sha'n't have our throats cut." 
 
 "I thought you called yourself a Christian," growled Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 " I was under the same impression myself," laughed Lady 
 Emily. 
 
 " Then why do you go on comparing an innocent young man 
 to Judas Iscariot ? ' ' 
 
 " I did not compare him to Judas Iscariot. I compared him 
 to Cain." 
 
 " If Cain was such a splendid -looking fellow as he is, he was 
 a remarkable man." 
 
 " Oh ! is he so very grand ? Does he talk well ? " 
 
 " He talks very little, and seems a little surly." 
 
 "Can he ride?" 
 
 " Don't ask me. I have nearly broken my neck looking after 
 him. Absolutely superb ! " 
 
 " Tell me some more about him." 
 
 " What makes you so eager ? " 
 
 " Never you mind ; are his manners good ? " 
 
 " Yes, I should say so. He is perfectly Tom Squire's master, 
 by-the-bye. The fellow's London assurance has completely 
 quelled the old man ; he takes orders from his subordinate which 
 he could never take from me." 
 
 " Now," said Lady Emily, " comes my turn. Suppose I was 
 to tell you that I had found out all about him and refused to tell 
 you." 
 
 " You know you couldn't keep it to yourself. I should hear all 
 about it if I waited. Better tell it at once." 
 
 " I suppose I had. By-thc-bye, this young gentleman's name 
 will be George." 
 
 " It is so. How did you guess ? " 
 
298 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 " My love, I know all about everything. My sister has found 
 it all out. You know that Sir William Poyntz had two sons, 
 Harry and Bob?" 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " Did you ever hear of a third, an illegitimate one ? " 
 
 "I know there was such a son. The old man's favourite. 
 Well?" 
 
 " This is the man." 
 
 " No ! Is it really ? That is very strange." 
 
 " Sir Harry Poyntz has been in the neighbourhood and has 
 told my sister everything. This George has been a sadly dis- 
 sipated fellow." 
 
 " That is one of Harry's lies. The fellow's eye is as clear as 
 mine," intercalated Sir Charles. 
 
 " Well, that is Sir Harry's account of the matter — very 
 dissipated. He, it seemed, got hold of Robert Poyntz, now in 
 India, and led him into all kinds of dissipation. All this brought 
 on a serious misunderstanding between Sir Harry and his brother, 
 and led to this George Hammersley being utterly ignored by Sir 
 Harry, and sent to live on his wits. And that is your Adonis." 
 
 " The best thing about our Adonis seems to be his good looks 
 and good manners, and the fact that Harry Poyntz has taken 
 away his character." 
 
 " The last item is the most important," said Lady Emily. " I 
 never knew Harry Poyntz tell the truth yet ; did you ? " 
 
 "Not I. But Poyntz is coming here soon; in six months, 
 1 believe. He refuses to renew Huxtable's lease. What will 
 Adonis do then? " 
 
 " That is distinctly his business," said Lady Emily. " We shall 
 see." 
 
 "I wonder why he left Leicestershire, this paragon," said 
 Sir Charles, just as they got to the drawing-room door. 
 
 " He admired, or was admired too much by one of the Herage 
 girls. Don't say a word about that, it is not fair. Laura will 
 take uncommon L'ood care that he don't make love to her." 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 "And who is going to make love to our Laura? " said a little 
 voice, very like a tiny chime of silver bells, from the other end 
 of the room, as they entered. 
 
 There sat, all alone, a little old lady with a white lace cap 
 
LEIGHTON COUI1T. 299 
 
 on her head, and a white lace shawl over her shoulders. She 
 wore her own grey hair, and her complexion was nearly as delicate 
 now as in her youth, but slightly paler, and covered with tiny 
 wrinkles, only visible when one was quite close to her. A most 
 wonderfully beautiful old lady (how beautiful old women can be), 
 with a cheerful peaceful light in her face, which made one love 
 her at once : and yet with a look of complacent, self-possessed, 
 self-conscious goodness, too, which, after a time became provoking, 
 and which tempted outsiders and sinners to contradict her, and 
 to broach heretical opinions for the mere sake of aggravation. 
 
 "And who is going to make love to our Laura? " she repeated. 
 
 Lady Emily would have done a great deal sooner than have 
 repeated before her mother the audacious joke she had just made 
 with her husband ; the old lady would have been too painfully 
 shocked at it ; she turned it off by a little fib. 
 
 " Oh, you can guess whom I mean, mamma. I hate mention- 
 ing names." 
 
 " Poor Ursa Major is terribly smitten, I fancy," said the old 
 lady, smiling. " I am fond of Ursa Major. He comes of a good 
 stock. All the Hortons are good. He will make the woman he 
 marries very happy if she will only let him." 
 
 " Yes, he is a good match for any woman," said Lady Emily, 
 seizing her opportunity with admirable quickness, and speaking 
 in a free off-hand way, as though it was a mere abstract question. 
 11 He has sixty thousand a year. He is very amiable and talented, 
 and young. That is a great point. He is not beyond forming, 
 and Laura would form him." 
 
 " Laura ! " shouted Sir Charles. 
 
 " My love we are not deaf," said Lady Emily, with lofty 
 quietness. 
 
 These two good ladies never told Sir Charles anything impor- 
 tant, they always broke it to him, administered it in gentle doses, 
 as beef tea is given to starving persons ; sometimes driving him 
 half wild in the process. This seemed a fair occasion, though 
 an accidental one, of "breaking" to Sir Charles the fact that 
 Lord Hatterleigh was most undoubtedly smitten with Laura. 
 They were considerably anxious, and had reason to be. But they 
 did not show it. 
 
 "I beg pardon," said Sir Charles, "but you gave me such 
 a start." 
 
 " I merely said," remarked Lady Emily, shutting her eyes, 
 pulling the string, and letting off the cannon, bang ! — " that 
 in case Laura married him, the excellent training she has received 
 from her grandmother would " 
 
300 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " Laura marry him, that Guy Fawkes booby ! What monstrous 
 rubbish is this " 
 
 "Would polish him, remove any little uncouthness, and so 
 on," continued Lady Emily, with steady severity. 
 
 "She's a clever girl," said Sir Charles, "but she will never 
 make him anything but what he is, an awkward lopsided gaby, 
 the butt of every club he belongs to. Besides, the man is not 
 a marrying man. There is something wrong with him. He 
 keeps a doctor ; and he has not had a proper education ; he can't 
 ride or shoot. He couldn't ride about with her. It would never 
 Jo — s hall never be. How could you dare to think of such a 
 monstrous arrangement, Emily? But Laura can take care of 
 herself, that is one comfort. There he comes himself, by all 
 that's awkward ! " 
 
 Somebody was heard lumbering downstairs and objurgating 
 somebody else, in a voice compounded of a gobble and a growl. 
 Some one slipped down the last two stairs. That it was the 
 owner of the gorilla voice was evident from that voice exclaiming 
 aloud, "Bless my soul, I have broke my back I " 
 
 " Sweet youth," said Sir Charles, " I hope he won't cry." 
 
 Before Lord Hatterleigh had finished a plaintive wrangle with 
 his valet, as to whether his slipping downstairs was his own or 
 the valet's fault, two other people entered the drawing-room 
 together — Laura and Colonel Hilton ; a most splendid pair of 
 people, indeed ; they had evidently been saying something kindly 
 wicked about Lord Hatterleigh' s accident, and were both smiling. 
 He was slightly behind her, and being the tallest was bending 
 towards her; she, saying the last word of their little joke, was 
 t uniing her beautiful head back to him, and showing the soft 
 curves of her splendid throat as though Millais were lying in wait 
 for her. They were a wonderfully beautiful pair of people, and 
 the three folk in the drawing-room were obliged to confess 
 it. 
 
 Said Lady Southmolton to herself : " That would do, perhaps, 
 under other circumstances. But he hasn't got any fortune, and 
 she don't care for him, and never will. He flatters her too 
 grossly and too openly, and she hates being flattered; with all 
 his personal beauty and his gallantry, she despises him. I could 
 tell him how to win that girl, but I won't. He has neither birth 
 nor money. That young man don't understand women of her 
 stamp ; very few soldiers do." 
 
 Said Lady Emily : "I wish that could come about ; he is 
 so handsome and so good. But it can't. He has got no money, 
 and what I can't understand is, that she don't like him. I wish 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 301 
 
 he had Hatterleigh's money, and that she would fall in love with 
 him." Two things which happened to be impossible. 
 
 Said Sir Charles : " Sometimes I wish the hounds were at the 
 devil. If it was not for them I should be beforehand with the 
 world, instead of getting behindhand year after year. I wish this 
 fellow had Hatterleigh's money. But he hasn't. She is evidently 
 in love with this fellow. (Was she, Sir Charles ? The mother 
 and grandmother did not think so, and ladies are generally con- 
 sidered judges of that sort of thing.) I suppose it will end in 
 her marrying that booby, the women seem set on it." 
 
 That was the way with Sir Charles and with a great many 
 others ; a furious rebellion against the women, and then a dull 
 sulky acquiescence. Stronger men than Sir Charles have been 
 fairly beaten by female persistency. He gave up the battle, 
 however, the moment he saw that the enemy were going to show 
 fight. He hated the very sound of Lord Hatterleigh's voice. 
 He had thought, half an hour ago, that the sacrifice of such 
 a being as Laura to such a booby as Lord Hatterleigh, was a 
 monstrous thing ; but — but Lord Hatterleigh was rich ; and if 
 Laura, noble, honest Laura, could say she loved him, what had 
 he to say; it would be a great match, and so on, only there lurked 
 in his heart a strong half-formed desire, that Laura would box 
 his lordship's ears, the first moment he ventured to speak to her. 
 
 " Aha, my young lady," he said to himself, " I have no doubt 
 you would give the hair off your head to have him talk to you in 
 the tone he does to Laura. But you run after him too openly, 
 my poor Maria." 
 
 This remark arose from the entrance of the Huxtables, father 
 and daughter. Mr. Huxtable was a fine-looking North -country- 
 man, and his daughter Maria a very fine specimen of a Lancashire 
 lass, by no means unlike Laura, but coarser. Sir Charles, who 
 was standing close to her, had noticed the shade of vexation which 
 passed over her handsome face, when she saw Colonel Hilton 
 bending over Laura, and made the above remark, which he 
 supplemented by another. 
 
 " What fools soldiers are ! There is Hilton dangling about 
 after Laura, who don't care for him, and sixty thousand pounds 
 ready to drop into his mouth." 
 
 The great mighty master of Tomfoolery, Levassor, blundering 
 on to the stage with his breeches up to his ears, just as Rachel 
 had drooped into one of her sublimest attitudes, could hardly have 
 been a greater foil to her than was Lord Hatterleigh to Colonel 
 Hilton ; yet Laura left the Colonel directly, and going to the 
 other, began kindly to laugh at him about his tumbling downstairs. 
 
302 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 He was extremely flattered and pleased by her kindness, and 
 held himself as gallantly as he could. He had made his valet 
 take particular pains with his toilette, but as the valet had said 
 to himself, it wasn't the fault of the clothes, but of the man inside 
 them. Ho remained silent, only smiling radiantly until it became 
 time to take Lady Emily in to dinner. 
 
 He sat next Laura, but his silence continued until he had 
 finished his soup and his fish. He did nothing but smile. He 
 had invented something pretty in the retirement of his chamber 
 which he was to say to Laura, but he had forgotten it, and his 
 soul was consumed in spasmodic efforts to remember it. Laura 
 saw this to her intense amusement. At the end of the fish she 
 thought he had got it, for he brightened up and gave a sigh of 
 relief. She was wrong, he had only abandoned the effort. He 
 slopped out a glass of water, looked sweetly at her, and said — 
 
 " I take it that the great duration of the Liverpool ministry 
 arose mainly from the absence of anything like decision or force 
 of character in the chief. The whole, too, was a mere coalition 
 as profligate as that between Fox and North. The very possi- 
 bility of a coalition argues an entire absence of principle in the 
 coalescing parties, and of policy in the coalition itself." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Hunting was nearly the only irregular pursuit which Laura had, 
 the only one the duration of which could not be calculated. With 
 this single exception her life was as perfectly methodical as her 
 grandmother's. The system on which she had been brought up 
 consisted mainly of perfect regularity of time and uniformity of 
 thought. This hunting was an eccentric incalculable comet in 
 the regular planetary system of her mother. It was the only 
 exception ; the rest of her life was perfectly regular, nearly as 
 regular as a religious sister's. 
 
 A morning walk from six to seven. Religious reading in her 
 own room till half-past. Breakfast at nine. Poor people from 
 ten to twelve. Solid reading (but very few novels admitted into 
 the house) till one. Lunch. Drive out with grandma in the 
 afternoon. Dinner at seven. Prayers and bed at half-past 
 ten. 
 
 So much for a non-hunting day ; one of the days after her 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 303 
 
 grandmother's own heart. Idleness, said her grandma, was the 
 source of all temptation ; days spent like this could lead to no 
 temptation (except that of suicide, perhaps ?), and therefore 
 would help to preserve from sin. But a hunting day was a very 
 different sort of thing. What must the poor old lady have 
 suffered on one of them, with her well-regulated mind lacerated 
 at every point ! She had learnt to suffer and smile in far more 
 terrihle affairs than this. 
 
 On those happy hunting days all the old rules were hroken 
 through. Waking from some happy dream to the consciousness 
 of an existence still happier, Laura would find herself in her 
 riding habit, hat in hand, in the dim grey morning passing 
 through the great hall to the breakfast-room to meet her father. 
 And oh, what divine feasts were those tete-a-tete breakfasts with 
 him, and him alone, before the roaring logs. All her nature 
 seemed changed on these occasions. She felt as some old knight 
 must have felt, when, after being mewed up in his castle for a 
 weary week he found himself on the road. She had a day of 
 adventure, of unknown adventure, before her. On other days she 
 was watching the clock to see when it was time to leave off working 
 and begin reading. On these there was no rule, no law. Liberty 
 — wild, mad liberty ! 
 
 Then came the ride with her father in the cold wild morning up 
 one of the more secluded lowland valleys through ever rising 
 lanes, which grew more steep until the cottages grew scarcer, and 
 the hedges less cared for, until there were no lanes and no 
 hedges, but tracks among scattered oak and holly, and the 
 trickling trout-stream in the bottom gleaming among his alders. 
 And at last, after the stream had divided into three or four little 
 channels, came opener country, and rising above the highest 
 combe, the gentle roll called Whinny Hill, a hundred acres of 
 gorse, now made brilliant by the redcoats which awaited their 
 arrival. Then the summit with a hundred pleasant greetings, the 
 moor in the distance, dark purple wreathed with silver mist. 
 
 And the coining home at night, draggled and happily tired, 
 and, last of all, the sweet confused dreams of all the day's wild 
 adventures. What though to-morrow should be a dull routine — 
 there were other hunting days to come ! 
 
 So she had two lives, as it would seem — the one of respectable 
 not unpleasant routine, the other of glorious abandon. " In case 
 of overwhelming trouble," she often asked herself, "to which of 
 these lives should I fly for comfort, for consolation ? " Surely a 
 nature so noble as hers was capable of fighting sorrow with the 
 weapons of quiet, order, and industry with which her grandmother 
 
304 LEIGHTON COUHT. 
 
 had so perfectly armed her, and of winning a glorious peace, such 
 as her grandmother had won ? So she said to herself, until she 
 looked in the glass, and then she found it difficult to believe. 
 Could that imperial diadem of hair ever come to be smoothed 
 down under a white-laced cap ? Could those steady-set hawk-like 
 eyes ever get into them the tender hare-like look of Lady South- 
 molton : and, more than all, could that somewhat large stern 
 mouth ever learn to set itself into the peaceful eternal smile 
 which sat like some gleam of heaven on the beautiful old woman's 
 lips ? Mrs. Hannah More was a wise woman, but Laura used to 
 doubt her power of having done that even were she alive. " They 
 will never make a saint of me," she used to say to herself. 
 " I'll be a good woman, but I shall never be a saint. Papa has 
 spoilt me. If anything does happen, I will stay by him. He 
 and his ways suit me best, I fear. I shall always have my horse, 
 and be able to ride myself tired among these long-drawn valleys. 
 I wish I was better, but he has spoilt me ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Laura had a great curiosity to see that personage who was called 
 by her grandmother "the new young man." She had been 
 detained at home by some accident on the day of his first appear- 
 ance. Her father, however, had so consistently bored every one 
 to death that evening by his account of the run, which would 
 have filled three columns of Bell, and by the manifold ex- 
 cellences of his new St. Hubert, that Laura remembered that old 
 Mrs. Squire, the huntsman's aged mother, had not been so well 
 for two or three days, and that she was very much to blame for 
 not having been to see her ; and moreover, by-the-bye, that 
 there was a new litter of puppies at the kennels, and she might 
 as well step on from old Mrs. Squire's and sec them. It pleased 
 her father that she should sympathise with his favourite pursuits. 
 Since the expedition of St. Ursula and the eleven thousand 
 virgins, there never was a more innocent, more necessary expedi- 
 tion than this of Laura that winter morning. It was plainly her 
 duty. Of course, if the New Young Man happened to be at 
 the kennels, she would be rewarded by seeing that remarkable 
 character. That he couldn't, by the wildest possibility, be 
 
LEIGHTON COUIIT. 305 
 
 anywhere else at that time of the day never struck her — of 
 course ! 
 
 Still the Hannah-More half of her was in the ascendant to-day. 
 It was a non-hunting day. She felt a craving to bolster herself 
 up with formulas and precedents, after the manner of that school. 
 Old Elspie, her Scotch nurse, was a great crony of Mrs. Squire, 
 both being advanced Calvinists. Laura would just step up and 
 ask her what she thought of Mrs. Squire's state, and if it was 
 not necessary for her to go, why of course she would stay at home. 
 She was going to do one of the most simple, natural things 
 possible, to gratify her curiosity by looking at a new servant. 
 
 And yet , she would be glad of a false excuse for doing so ; 
 
 she would have been almost disappointed if Mrs. Squire had been 
 better. 
 
 She went upstairs into a room, whose long-mullioned window 
 looked upon the distant moor ; and there she found an old and, 
 physically speaking, very ugly old Scotchwoman, with a long 
 hooked nose, and gleaming grey eyes. This old woman was 
 dressed for walking, with an awful fantastic bonnet, and a crutched 
 stick like Mother Bunch's. Her father's joke struck her forcibly 
 — Elspie did look very like a witch indeed ! 
 
 "Elspie, dear," she said, "have you heard how Mrs. Squire 
 
 " She is just deeing," was the answer, "and I'm awa to see 
 her. There'll be manifestations when she is caught up, I'm 
 thinking. Last night, while I sat with her, there came a sough 
 of wind round the house, which would have swelled into music, if 
 that ill-faured auld witch, Mother Carden, hadna been there. I 
 ken of her tickling a paddock wi twa barley straes held crosswise, 
 to change the wind. She should be burnt in bear strae herself, 
 the witch. To depart from the gude honest auld practice of 
 knouting aught thrums of hempen cord, with saxteen knots apiece, 
 and calling twal times on — guide us where's my sneeshin — , 
 which mony a time I've done myself, Gude forgie me, with the 
 best success." 
 
 Laura laughed loudly, kissed the old woman, and said she would 
 go with her. 
 
 They walked slowly together through the shadows of the park, 
 which comprised all the promontory between the narrow estuary 
 of the Wysclith on the left, and the broad dangerous sands of the 
 Avon on the right. Betwixt the tree- stems on either side they 
 could see gleams of yellow sand and sea-green water. Where 
 the trees broke, Morecombe Castle loomed up grandly on the 
 other side of the river close at hand. There was no regular 
 
 21 
 
306 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 avenue, but beyond the trees which bordered the carriage-way, 
 the Moor, the mother of waters, was visible, aud seemed to 
 gladden old Elspie's Highland eyes. 
 
 She tattled on incessantly. It was a beautiful country, she 
 said, to the blinded eyes of those who had never seen solitary 
 Rannoch and lonely majestic Schehallion. God had left the 
 people here to wax fat until they kicked, in proof of which He 
 sent no snow ; and twaddling on uncontradicted with her argu- 
 ment, no whisky and deil a screed of the pipes from ae year's end 
 to the ither. The trout were but poor things, and the blessed 
 salmon themselves were naething to the Scottish salmon, though, 
 with her wonderful honesty, she confessed that she had never 
 seen but one at Rannoch in her life. The Gospel in all its 
 purity was preached here, she allowed, but in holes and corners ; 
 and then she gave Laura a piece of her mind about the High 
 Church rector, and about what would happen to her (Laura) for 
 the prominent part she was taking in the Christmas decorations 
 of the church. But Laura only half heard her, for she was 
 away on horseback, over a particular line of country, over which 
 she had always hoped the fox would go, but over which he never 
 did. Then Elspie went on to say that the people here were sunk 
 in the grossest superstition, after which she rambled on into 
 describing a never-failing spell of her own for doing something or 
 another, " and then ye pit the thimmle halfway betwixt the twa 
 bannocks, and ye turn to the four airts, and ye say four times 
 to ilka airt — ' Hech sirs, see to yon hoodie, she's waur I'm 
 thinking.' " 
 
 The last sentence was not Elspie's incantation — it was only a 
 natural exclamation. If she had said, " your twa dizzen hoodies," 
 it would have been equally correct. They had arrived at Mrs. 
 Squire's cottage, the last house in the village, close to the tideway, 
 and there were Royston crows enough about in every direction. 
 
 They went in, but there was no one on the ground -floor. A 
 man's voice was audible upstairs, apparently talking to the sick 
 Woman. Elspie immediately prepared for going upstairs in 
 extreme wrath. The voice, as far as they could hear it, was the 
 voice of Mr. Parsons the Tractarian rector. In Elspie's eyes the 
 sin of a Romanising Episcopalian, like- the Rector, daring to 
 trouble the deathbed of an elected Calvinist with his miserable 
 soulless formalisms, was a sin too horrible to be tolerated for a 
 moment. She charged the stairs, and Laura shoved her up right 
 willingly, knowing that her Highland respect for rank would pre- 
 vent her insulting a guest of her father's house in his daughter's 
 presence. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 307 
 
 They came silently into the room of death, for it was so. She 
 saw at once that is was not the Rector who was bending over the 
 dying woman, but a stranger. She heard him say, " Mother, 
 your assurance of salvation is so great that if I were a duke I 
 would change with you. Think of your future, and think of the 
 hell which is betore me. Do you think I would not change with 
 you?" 
 
 That w r as all they heard, for the next instant the stranger 
 turned and saw them. Before he had time to do so, Laura's 
 heart was melted with pity towards him ; and when he did so, 
 she looked on the most magnificent young man she had ever seen 
 in her life. 
 
 There was more mischief done in the next five minutes than 
 was thoroughly undone in the next five years. It was very 
 wrong, and Mrs. Hannah More would have been very angry ; but 
 it will happen, you know, and it does. Poor Laura tried hard to 
 undo that five minutes' work, but she never entirely did — circum- 
 stances were so fearfully against her. 
 
 A wonderfully splendid young fellow, very young, so young as 
 to be beardless, yet well-grown and graceful. In her memory he 
 lived as a perfectly beautiful young man, with large steadfast 
 eyes, and a look of deep sorrow in them and in the whole of his 
 face, which had not yet developed into despair. 
 
 As Elspie moved towards the bed, he rose and came towards 
 them. He was singularly well-dressed, and looked the gentleman 
 he was, every inch of him ; there was no man in that part of the 
 country who could compare with him. Hilton was grand enough 
 in his way, but he wanted the keen vitality which dwelt in every 
 look, every action of this one. Laura had never seen any one 
 like him at all. She was very plainly dressed, as she generally 
 was when about home. They could scarcely help speaking to one 
 another. They both felt they were in the presence of death, and 
 thought but little of forms or introductions. Each was only 
 conscious that the other was wondrously attractive, and they 
 talked like two children. He began — 
 
 " Death in such a form as he takes here loses all his terrors. 
 The most selfish sybarite would hold out his white hands, and 
 take him to his bosom, if he came in this form." 
 
 The young lady was the very last young lady in England to 
 yield to any one in a conversation of this kind. She loved it 
 with her whole soul. She plunged into it at once, looking frankly 
 into the stranger's eyes — 
 
 11 The death is beautiful. Yes ! of course it is. But it is 
 merely the corollary of the life. How could it be anything but 
 
308 LEIGHTON COTJKT. 
 
 beautiful, after such a life : brutal ingratitude met with patient 
 love and forgiveness — grinding poverty endured with saintlike 
 patience — a charity which hoped all things and believed all 
 things — helpful diligence towards those in affliction, and genial 
 sympathy for those in prosperity ? Of course her death is 
 beautiful." 
 
 " So you think that the death will be peaceful according as the 
 life has been good ? " 
 
 "Of course I do." 
 
 "Do you believe in the converse of your proposition ? Do 
 you believe that no man after a life of misused opportunities, of 
 anger, of frivolity which he despised, of aimless idleness which 
 he loathed, would not take death in his arms as his dearest friend, 
 just as this old woman is doing ? " 
 
 " No, I do not. Death to him would be the executioner with 
 the mask and axe, not the angel with the crown of glory." 
 
 ' ' That is not a very comfortable creed for those who seek 
 death as a rest from misfortune and life-long trouble, which 
 troubles evermore and will not cease troubling." 
 
 "No, it is not," replied Laura. "I did not mean it to be. 
 If I ever met any one who was so supremely and sentimentally 
 silly as to say in earnest what you have been advancing as a 
 speculation, I should have much more to say on the subject." 
 
 For she suddenly had to fall back on Mrs. Hannah More and 
 the straitlaced regularities double-quick ; for this tall youth was 
 dropping these sentimental platitudes out of his handsome mouth 
 in such a careless, graceful, melodious manner, that she began to 
 find that she must either get angry or cry- 
 
 They passed out of the house together, and parted with a bow. 
 Laura was so trained to habit that she seldom departed from a 
 plan she had laid down. She went on towards the kennels, more 
 because she had started with that intention than because she 
 cared to see much of the puppies. Her deeply-hidden design of 
 seeing the New Young Man was no more ; she had forgotten all 
 about him. 
 
 The old huntsman, a little vveasened lean old man about sixty, 
 son of the woman who was dying ; a man with a keen grey eye, 
 which, though half hidden under his eyebrows, was always on 
 yours, received her. They were on the flags together in amicable 
 dispute about some one of the young hounds, which had been 
 brought out for inspection, when the stranger whom she had only 
 just left, and of whom she had not yet ceased thinking, came up 
 and said to the huntsman — 
 
 " I'll go across to Clercombe then, and fetch that puppy home. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 309 
 
 I shall take Xicotencatl, or he'll be too fresh for you to-morrow. 
 Mind you look at that dog's foot again, do not forget it." And so 
 he went. 
 
 Laura had voice to ask Squire who that might be. 
 " The new gentleman, Miss," said the voice, which came from 
 under the keen grey old eye. 
 
 " Do you mean the new whip ? " she asked, in blank astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 " I calls him the new master, Miss. I give way to him at 
 once, and so he's took to ordering Sir Charles about now, and he 
 seems to like it." 
 
 " You seem to like it too ? " said Laura ; " you take it very 
 easily?" 
 
 " If gentlemen takes the place of whips, such as I must obey 
 their orders," said Squire. " You weren't out a Tuesday, 
 Miss?" 
 
 " You know I was not." 
 
 "Did Sir Charles mention to you or to her ladyship the fact 
 that he wouldn't ride in a frock ? " 
 
 "No. You mean the new whip, I suppose ? " 
 
 " The new Dook I mean, of course, come out in a swallow- 
 tailed pink like a gentleman. I point it out to him very gentle. 
 'I'm not going to ride in a frock,' he snaps. 'The master 
 himself does,' I urged. ' The devil he does ! ' says he ; ' then I 
 suppose I must. Bat I am not going to wear that beastly thing 
 the tailor sent home for me. I will have one built at Plymouth. 
 Is there a decent tailor there ? ' And so he picks his horse and 
 goes over. And he has been snapping my nose off because the 
 tailor has not sent his coat in, and he is going to ride in his 
 swallowtail to-morrow, and says he will apologise to Sir Charles if 
 he thinks about it." 
 
 " Are all the Leicestershire men such dandies ? " said Laura. 
 
 "It's to be hoped not, Miss," said old Squire, looking keenly 
 at her with his grey old eye. " Foxhunting would be expensive 
 if they were." 
 
 " Does he understand his business ? " 
 
 "Not he. But he thinks he do, which is much ; and he is a 
 capital hand at giving orders, which is more. And he is cool." 
 
 " Cool over his fences, you mean ? " said Laura. 
 
 " Cool with the field 1 mean," said Squire. " A Tuesday he 
 rode The Elk, and he went over a big thing in front of your 
 father, and waits for him. And Sir Charles comes up and he 
 funks it, for it were a awful big thing, for fegs it were ! And 
 Mr. Hammersley goes round and opens the gate for him ; and I 
 
310 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 hearn him say, ' We shouldn't have funked that ten years ago, 
 Sir Charles— hey ? ' And your father says, ' That is a regular 
 Leicestershire trick, to ride "a man's best horse, that could carry 
 his ten pounds extra, and then chaff him for not taking his 
 fences.' But he laughed again, and he said, ' No, Sir Charles, 
 it won't do. It's the ten years, not the ten pounds. Old Time 
 has handicapped us all.' And when we checked the first time, 
 he offered his cigar-case to Tom Downes who asked to be intro- 
 duced, and looked mad when he found out who he was. That is 
 what I call coolness. But he always were the best of the lot, say 
 what you will." 
 
 " Best of what lot ? " asked Laura. 
 
 "Of the Leicestershire lot, Miss," replied the old fellow, 
 quickly. " They are a troublesome lot for the most part, Miss, 
 as you will find when you get to know the world as well as I do. 
 Too gentlemanly, for instance. But this young man, he is what 
 I call a model." 
 
 " Are they all gentlemen ? " asked Laura. 
 
 " Not all on 'em, Miss. This young man is perhaps rather 
 exasperating gentlemanlike. But they all have the same ways, in 
 some degree." 
 
 Laura went home again : knowing in the inmost recesses of 
 her soul, in her consciousness, that something had happened to 
 her, which the intelligent and the emotional part of her equally 
 refused to recognise — a something, which those two -thirds of her 
 soul, which lay nearest to the surface, absolutely refused to name. 
 Her intelligence would not, as yet, tell herself, nor would her 
 emotions, as yet, allow her to tell anybody else, that she had 
 fallen in love with this young gentleman. If her intelligence had 
 told this fact to herself, or if her emotions had got so far out of 
 the guidance of Hannah -Moreism as to allow her to tell it to any 
 one else, she would have been covered with shame and indigna- 
 tion. But she knew it perfectly well ; and was most heartily 
 frightened, as was the German student, when he left his monster 
 in his room, and feared to come back there for fear of meeting it, 
 in all its monstrous horror. There are three ways of knowing 
 things ; she had only got to the first as yet. Familiar intercourse 
 was to give her the second, grief the third. 
 
 Meanwhile that most unaccountable old trot Mother Nature 
 had been casting her kevel-ropes, and had arranged that these 
 two young people should fall in love with one another. What 
 that means exactly we none of us know. But it happened here 
 most unmistakably. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 311 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Laura passed the rest of that day in the most praiseworthy 
 activity. Her poor people done, she armed herself with a 
 Biographical Dictionary, and settled steadily down to Froude's 
 first volume, which had just arrived, to work at it till lunch-time. 
 What had passed that morning she chose to ignore utterly to 
 herself. She once went so far as to make the admission, " I was 
 very nearly heing silly this morning. I was not at all myself. 
 It was that poor woman's approaching death upset me." Nothing- 
 more than this. She determined on an expansive course of study 
 of the Tudor times, got out a new manuscript book, in the which 
 to take notes, determined to be utterly sceptical about Mr. 
 Froude's conclusions, and diligently to spy out every deficiency. 
 She got her pens, ink, MS. book, and blotting-paper all ready, 
 settled herself at the writing-table with the volume before her, 
 and then sat down and began thinking about the incomprehen- 
 sible impudence of this wonderful Hammersley, until she found 
 it wouldn't do, and went to work in serious sober earnest. 
 Her diligence met with its reward ; for after reading steadily 
 till lunch-time, practising until the carriage came round, making 
 herself agreeable to Lord Hatterleigh and her grandmother 
 during their drive, and writing letters for her father till the 
 dressing-bell rang, she found that the little something which 
 had existed in the morning had ceased to exist, and that she 
 was in a mood of lofty scorn with herself, for having in the 
 deepest, dimmest, seven-fold depths of her soul allowed that 
 anything of that kind had for an instant existed. 
 
 A mood of lofty self- scorn is seen probably to better advantage 
 on the stage than in the drawing-room. The drawing-room, I 
 take it, is, to use our modern elegant language, a sphere devoted 
 to the gentler and more elegant emotions. The proper place for 
 tantrums is the library, or, if you have such an apartment, the 
 ancestral hall, with the portraits of your forefathers scowling 
 gloomily down on the petty passions of their ephemeral and 
 degenerate successors. Laura had no business to bring her 
 scorn into the drawing-room and frighten her grandmother, not 
 to mention astonishing (no, he couldn't be astonished, he never 
 got so high as that), surprising Lord Hatterleigh to that extent 
 that he feared there was an insufficient quantity of pepsine in his 
 dinner-pills. 
 
 "What have you done to-day, Miss Seckerton ? " he asked 
 her, leaning back with his legs stretched out and folded before him. 
 
312 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " Been foolish all the morning, and trying to persuade myself 
 that I had been nothing of the kind all the afternoon," replied 
 Laura. " Do you ever do that ? " 
 
 " What ! make a fool of myself ? " 
 
 " No ; of course you do that ; we all do. I mean, do you ever 
 try to persuade yourself that you haven't ? " 
 
 This being considerable nonsense sounded obscure and difficult, 
 and Lord Hatterleigh brought his mind to bear upon it. He 
 refolded his legs slowly, putting the one lately underneath upper- 
 most, folded his hands on the pit of his stomach, and said, to 
 begin — " Say that again, will you, Miss Seckerton ? " 
 
 " It was hardly worth saying the first time," she answered ; "I 
 certainly can't say it twice over." 
 
 This was very disconcerting, and he sat perfectly silent for a 
 time, and then made another attempt to talk. But she would 
 not talk to him to-day. She was not in the humour to tolerate 
 his weary platitudes, and she let him see it. She was unkind to 
 him for the first time in her life. She disturbed him so much by 
 her brusquerie and petulance that he felt it necessary to go for a 
 jog-trot ride on one of his three hobbyhorses to forget it. The 
 medical horse was unavailable in the present company ; he had 
 been riding his political horse all day, to Sir Charles's intense 
 exasperation. So he mounted the genealogical palfrey, and went 
 out for a ride with old Lady Southmolton. He put her gently in 
 her saddle when he gave her his arm in to dinner, and witli the 
 exception of a blundering gallop on his political cob, when the 
 men were left over their wine, rambled with her through green 
 lanes of pedigrees until bedtime ; and even over his wine-and- 
 water at eleven, after she had gone to bed, seemed strongly in- 
 clined to penetrate as far as her venerated bedroom, and correct 
 her for some blunder which he averred she had made, were it 
 only through the keyhole. 
 
 "Who was that Lady Mary Saunders we saw to-day?" he 
 began, as lie was taking her in ; " the little yellow woman with 
 the wig, at the red-brick house with the beehives on the lawn — a 
 very well-bred woman indeed, husband a Tory." 
 
 " She was a Spettigue." 
 
 " Which Spettigues, the Cromer or the Scilly Spettigues ? " 
 
 " Neither. She belongs to the half-way house ; she is the 
 third daughter of Lord Mapledurham." 
 
 " Oh, a Spettigoo" (so he pronounced it). "They have 
 dropped the ' e,' my dear Lady Southmolton, in the present 
 generation. Wasn't there something about one of her brothers ? 
 I seem to fancy that there was." 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 313 
 
 " Nothing very much ; Charles lives away from his wife." 
 
 II Aha ! " said Lord Hatterleigh, " and how was that ? " 
 
 II I hardly know. There were two sides to the story. She has 
 got her party, and he has got his. Some say that he treated her 
 very badly, and some say she gave him good cause. Sir Harry 
 Poyntz was furious at having his name mixed up in it." 
 
 " Oh, he was in it, was he ? " 
 
 " He says he was not." 
 
 " All the more . Do you know Sir Harry Poyntz, my dear 
 
 Lady Southmolton ? " 
 
 " I have known him and his from a boy." 
 
 " What do you think of him ? " 
 
 " I try to think the best of him." 
 
 "I should not like to have his character," said Lord Hatter- 
 leigh. " They say he is profligate beyond precedent, false 
 beyond contempt, and avaricious beyond — beyond thingamy ! " 
 
 " It is rather hard to accuse him of avarice, I think," said the 
 kind old lady. " He has succeeded in clearing the estate, which 
 was dipped so shamefully by his father." 
 
 " No, really ; I thought it would have taken years more to do 
 it. 
 
 " So did every one else. But see, he has done it. He has 
 refused to renew Mr. Huxtable's lease of the Castle, and is to be 
 our next-door neighbour after the end of this year." 
 
 " Then, will people call on him ? " 
 
 "I should suppose, of course, they will," said Lady South- 
 molton. "He has done nothing which would give them any 
 excuse for such an extreme measure as not doing so." 
 
 " Why, no. But I could like a man more, far more, who had 
 made one grand fiasco. For instance, Colonel Ikey has made a 
 mess of it, an awful mess, and he don't show. But I tell you 
 honestly, I would sooner be Ikey behind his cloud, than I would 
 keep my name on my club -books with Sir Harry Poyntz' reputa- 
 tion. He will never step over the line, but if he ever did, no man 
 would be found to say, ' Poor Harry Poyntz ! ' " 
 
 "I want to make the best of him," said Lady Southmolton. 
 
 " You always want to make the best of everybody ; you Lees 
 always do, you know. You can't help it ; goodness is in your 
 blood ; you have given yourselves to peacemaking for these two 
 centuries. But all the Lees since the Conquest won't whitewash 
 this fellow ; he is too utterly ill-conditioned. He has a brother, 
 has he not? " 
 
 " Yes ; just gone to India." 
 
 " By the same mother ? " 
 
314 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " Oh yes. Robert Poyntz ; I remember him as a pretty bright 
 boy — a very nice boy." 
 
 " There is another brother, I heard of the other day only — a 
 Falconbridge, a splendid fellow by all descriptions ; have you ever 
 heard of him ? ' ' 
 
 " I have heard of such a person, but I never, never heard of 
 his splendour. I have always understood him to be a sad mauvais 
 siijet. A very disreputable person, is he not? " 
 
 " No. I have heard no harm of him worse than that he was 
 riding steeplechases, or acting as huntsman or something, in 
 Leicestershire last year. He seemed to be a somewhat remark- 
 able fellow — a youth who seemed to play Count Saxe to old Sir 
 George Poyntz' August der Starke. What do you know about 
 Robert Poyntz, the brother? " 
 
 " 1 am afraid but very little good," said Lady Southmolton. 
 " I fear he is very dissipated. Why ? " 
 
 " Because he will soon be in possession. Sir Harry Poyntz is 
 a doomed man ; he has ruined his constitution by profligacy, and 
 has had one or more attacks of angina pectoris. You will have 
 this Robert Poyntz at the Castle in a couple of years, mark my 
 words ! " 
 
 So Lord Hatterleigh and Lady Southmolton. Let us see what 
 the others were talking about. Laura was sitting next to Lord 
 Hatterleigh ; but he did not speak to her, for she had frightened 
 him. He calmed himself by talking to that well-conducted old 
 Lady Southmolton. As I said before, he did not feel equal to 
 Laura for the rest of the evening. She was very much pleased 
 at not having to amuse him, and most willingly left him to talk 
 with her grandmother. But we shall have to follow the conver- 
 sation at what may properly be called the noisy end of the table, 
 as distinguished from the quiet end where Lord Hatterleigh 
 mumbled and spluttered as above to Lady Southmolton. Lady 
 Emily tried not to yawn, and Sir Peckwich Downes, who, from 
 Lis figure, seemed to have three stomachs, ruminated over his 
 dinner, listening to Lord Hatterleigh, and confined his observa- 
 tions to saying in a deep voice, " Sherry ! " whenever the butler 
 offered him champagne, or any frivolous drinks of that kind. We 
 will take up the conversation at the noisy end. 
 
 The Vicar. — " I deny your position, Colonel Hilton. The 
 great Bithynian Council was merely assembled for the purpose of 
 condemning Arianism. That was its speciality . I deny that I 
 am bound by it further than that. As regards sumptuary laws 
 for the priesthood, it did absolutely nothing. It left them to be 
 developed by the Western Church " 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 315 
 
 Colonel Hilton.— " The Papists." 
 
 The Vicar.— " The Western Churcli, sir. Thus our chasuble 
 is developed from the blanket of the shepherd of the Campagna, 
 
 our dalmatic from " 
 
 Sir George. — " But where are you to stop in your develop- 
 ment. We fox-hunters, about the middle of the last century, 
 developed our vestments into breeches and top-boots, and there 
 we have stuck for a hundred years. But lately a number of 
 young fellows have shown signs of moving forward again, and 
 have appeared in grey cords and butchers' boots. One of your 
 boys, Huxtable, rode last week in knickerbockers, and went very 
 well forward indeed. I was very much offended ; I could not 
 bear the sight of it. But if you allow that Pu — , I mean that 
 Church vestments, were developed out of something which went 
 before, I cannot see at what point you are to stop that develop- 
 ment, any more than I can stop breeches and top-boots from 
 developing into knickerbockers and gaiters." 
 
 The Vicar. — " The development should stop, sir, the instant 
 that the original idea of the vestment is lost." 
 
 Laura (from her end). — " I agree with the Vicar. Let us use 
 these Church vestments as long as any idea worth preserving is 
 preserved by them. I believe in symbols. If you are to wear 
 anything at all, let it mean something. A gown and surplice 
 mean nothing at all. Now, Mr. Spurgeon, when he goes into the 
 pulpit with a blue necktie and a white hat, does mean something 
 — a something I don't like ; but, at all events, he means some- 
 thing, however offensive it may be to me." 
 
 Colonel Hilton. — "I am converted. Miss Seckerton has 
 put it so well. I see that we must either have Bryan King, with 
 his albs and his dalmatiques, or we must have Spurgeon, with his 
 white bowler hat and blue tie." 
 
 Laura. — " You are very easily converted, Colonel Hilton." 
 
 Colonel Hilton. — " Very easily indeed — by you." 
 
 Laura. — "Thank you. That means that you are never in 
 earnest about anything." 
 
 Colonel Hilton (in his softest voice). — " Only very much in 
 earnest about one thing." 
 
 Laura (looking at him with strong disfavour). — " And what 
 may that be, for instance ? " 
 
 The Colonel, reduced to silence for a moment, and feeling that 
 he had somehow done just what he did not want to do, said, " Is 
 it really true, Mr. Huxtable, that we are to lose you, and that Sir 
 Harry Poyntz is coming to the castle ? " 
 
 Mr. Huxtable, a jolly Lancashire giant, said, "Indeed it is. 
 
316 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 He will neither sell, nor give me another lease. And I have 
 offered him a fancy price too. It is a sad pity for the Conserva- 
 tive interest. If I had lived in that dear inconvenient old castle 
 a few years more, I should have turned a Tory. Lord bless you ! 
 No one could stand the atmosphere ot the dear old place. Lock 
 John Bright up a year or two in a Norman keep, with a deer park, 
 and you would find him walking arm-in-arm with Disraeli into the 
 Carlton." 
 
 The Vicar. — " The atmosphere of " 
 
 Mr. Huxtable. — " That is just what I mean. As the atmo- 
 sphere of Magdalen turned you Tractarian, so the atmosphere of 
 the dear old place would turn me Tory, I shall go back to 
 Manchester, build a red-brick house, or go in for a six-pound suffrage 
 to begin with — only begin with, understand. And I shall also 
 turn dissenter. Ha ! ha ! " 
 
 The Vicar. — "My good Sir " 
 
 " I know all about that, Vicar. It's all a matter of atmosphere, 
 you know. Hey? k kwruu urofxaxov — hey? But, seriously, it 
 does make a man talk radically and wildly, to find himself turned 
 out of such glorious quarters as these, to make room for a 
 profligate usurer." 
 
 The Vicar. — " I can quite conceive it. I wish to heaven that 
 Sir Harry would sell to you. Since you have been here you have 
 done nothing but good. You have strengthened my hands at 
 every point, although you have often disagreed with me. And 
 now you are to make room for a profligate atheistic usurer." 
 
 Sir Charles. — " My dear Vicar ! " 
 
 The Vicar only looked at Sir Charles, and Sir Charles held his 
 tongue and carved the venison." 
 
 Colonel Hilton. — " I am afraid that Mr. Huxtable has been 
 pauperising the labourers hereabouts with his liberality. They 
 have got to depend on him as a deus ex Machind. Nothing can 
 be more demoralising than that. You are a capital political 
 economist, Miss Seckerton ; you will agree with me." 
 
 Laura. — " I don't see how Mr. Huxtable, with all his ingenuity, 
 can have succeeded in pauperising men with eleven shillings a 
 week, three to five children, two shillings a week oft* for rent, a 
 pound a year to the doctor, which brings them down to little over 
 eight shillings, out of which they have to find boots, clothes, and 
 firing." 
 
 Colonel Hilton (somewhat nettled at having put his foot in it 
 again). — " It's a case of supply and demand, I suppose." 
 
 Laura. — " So I suppose. It is a positive fact that the agri- 
 cultural population could not get on at all without artificial 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 317 
 
 assistance from the gentry ; and I suppose we don't help them 
 from Christian good-will, but only to prevent the ricks from 
 catching fire. Is that what you mean ? " 
 
 Laura was behaving very badly. Her father was pained and 
 astonished. What she said might be true, but she had no busi- 
 ness to speak in that way. What right had she to talk about 
 rick-burning ? No lady ever did. 
 
 Kind Mr. Huxtable saw all this, and came to the rescue with 
 the best intentions — with one of those intentions with which a 
 silly, lying old proverb says that " hell is paved." He made, on 
 the whole, a rather worse mess of it ; but his meaning was good ; 
 and by no means the sort of thing with which to pave hell. He 
 tried to " change the conversation," a thing I have never yet seen 
 done with the slightest success. If the conversation gets awkward, 
 diligently try to lead it into a new channel ; but don't change it, 
 and leave the whole of the company in a nervous disconcerted 
 frame of mind, each wondering whether or not he or she has said 
 the Dreadful Thing which made such a terrible remedy necessary. 
 
 " That is a splendid young fellow — that new whip of yours — 
 Sir Charles, if I may take the liberty of calling him so." 
 
 Sir Charles agreed that he was. 
 
 " Thrown away here though," continued Huxtable. — " Goes 
 too straight for this country ; won't learn to potter. He will go 
 at something half a size too big for him some day, and come to 
 grief. I saw him go at some terrible things the day before 
 yesterday." 
 
 " I wonder if I could enlist him," said Colonel Hilton. " He 
 would make a capital dragoon." 
 
 "He is a cut above that sort of thing, I fancy," said Laura, 
 who seemed determined to behave worse as the evening got later. 
 
 Colonel Hilton was getting angry with her. She had given 
 him the door two or three times without the slightest offence on 
 his part, and he was not going to stand it. 
 
 " Do you think, then, that a whip to hounds holds a higher 
 position than that of the light cavalry who were at Balaclava? " 
 
 "I say nothing about them," said Laura. "-But you must 
 acknowledge, as a general rule, that the army is recruited from 
 the lowest class in the community, and that you never get a man 
 to enlist if he can do anything else with himself." 
 
 " That is hardly to the point. I deny it ; but that has nothing 
 to do with the argument. What I asked was, do not you think 
 that the position of a trooper, who may have the Victoria Cross, 
 which I wear myself, pinned on to his coat by the most august 
 person in the world, is superior to a menial servant dressed in a 
 
318 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 private livery, who feeds the hounds, and drowns the blind 
 puppies ? " 
 
 " It depends very much on the way you take it," said Laura, 
 who had nothing whatever to say, and so said that. 
 
 " I don't think it does," said Colonel Hilton. " To bring the 
 matter to practice. I sit at mess with a man whose father, till 
 last year, was working as a journeyman blacksmith on Finsbury 
 Pavement. He was sergeant-major in the 14th Hussars, and got 
 his commission for service ; and as it is best for a man who rises 
 from the ranks to change his regiment, he came to us. We 
 received him with open arms. That man is a trusted companion 
 of mine, one of the best officers I have. I can make a friend of 
 that man, but I don't think I could stand a menial servant — a 
 mere minister to luxury, a kennel-boy. If there are to be any 
 rules about that sort of thing, I am right ; if not, I am wrong." 
 
 These sentiments were far too near the creed of most present 
 to be contradicted. A short silence ensued, which was more 
 flattering than applause, during which Laura was thinking, 
 
 " So you have got a temper, and wont always stand contra- 
 diction, eh, Colonel Hilton ? Well, I like you the better for it." 
 
 It was broken by Sir Peckwich Downes, who, as he had 
 finished his venison, and had as much sherry as he wanted, got 
 tired of thinking what a queer lopsided young gaby Lord Hatter- 
 leigh was, and felt conversational. He put a knife up his sleeve, 
 and said : — 
 
 " This winter venison of yours is too fat. Winter venison 
 always is. But it is not bad-flavoured. Give me the old rule : a 
 buck a week till September ; neck o' Tuesday week, haunch o' 
 Thursday week. There is the same difference between a Paris 
 chicken and a nice young spring Dorking, in my estimation.* 
 Your fawn, again, is new-fashioned and hasty." 
 
 Sir Charles thought that the conversation was changed, and 
 that there were better times before him. He tried to catch Sir 
 Peekwich's eye, and bring him into the talk. But his eye had a 
 long way to travel, and before it got to Sir Peckwich it was 
 arrested by a stony stare from the Vicar. 
 
 "I suppose," said the Vicar to the unhappy baronet, in a 
 severe" clerical voice, " that when Sir Harry Poyntz comes to the 
 castle, you will find it necessary to dismiss your new master of 
 the buckhounds." 
 
 That finished him. When the ladies were gone, he sat down 
 over his wine, saying to himself — 
 
 * The worthy baronet is possibly obscure to some of our readers, but 
 in these clays we cannot edit him. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 319 
 
 " Confound these moles of parsons ! How the deuce did he 
 find that out ? And how, in the name of all confusion, did he 
 know that I knew it ? " 
 
 But he was not to be beat by fifty vicars, when he was in an 
 obstinate mood. In spite of the Vicar's deprecation, he insisted 
 on seeing him through the darkest part of the park, and as he left 
 him said — 
 
 " What did you mean, Vicar, by saying that I must discharge 
 my man when Sir Harry Poyntz came ? " 
 
 " You know as well as I do," said the Vicar. 
 
 " Do you think," asked Sir Charles, " that Harry Poyntz 
 knows the relation in which this young man stands to him ? ' ' 
 
 " As well as you or I do," said the Vicar. " Henry is, as you 
 know, my relation. I got the living from his father, and am in 
 constant communication with himself. He knows who this young 
 man is as well as I do." 
 
 " I am afraid it won't do to keep him here, then," said Sir 
 Charles. 
 
 " It won't do for one instant," said the Vicar. "It is not to 
 be thought of for a moment." 
 
 " I suppose not," said Sir Charles, stroking his chin. " Well, 
 I am very sorry, for he is a charming gentleman, and I should 
 have liked such a son." 
 
 "You haven't seen much of him yet, have you?" said the 
 Vicar. 
 
 " Why no," said Sir Charles. 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Vicar, " so I thought." 
 
 "Is he a very bad fellow, then ? " asked Sir Charles. 
 
 " There is a natural depravity in our human nature " — began 
 the Vicar, very slowly. 
 
 "I didn't mean that sort of thing," replied Sir Charles, 
 quickly. 
 
 " I know you didn't," said the Vicar, looking steadily at him. 
 " I know what you mean, and I answer that the human heart is 
 naturally depraved. You are depraved, you know. As for me, 
 I am a most graceless sinner." 
 
 " Well, well ! " said Sir Charles, impatiently. " Is this young 
 gentleman so extra depraved that I must send him about his 
 business ? " 
 
 " Y T ou want an excuse," said the Vicar. 
 
 " I don't want any excuse," said Sir Charles. "Is he any 
 worse than you or I, then ? " 
 
 "Not much, but it won't do to have him here after Harry 
 Poyntz comes." 
 
320 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 " Does he know who he is ? " 
 "Perfectly." 
 
 " Does he know that you know who he is ? " 
 " Not in the least," said the Vicar. " Pack him off ahout his 
 business. Do you know the dew is very heavy? Good-night." 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 It is one thing to go to bed with your brain active from conver- 
 sation and company, brimful of to-morrow's plans ; and quite 
 another to find, after you are in bed, that this tiresome brain of 
 yours will go on grinding, utterly refusing to stop, like Mrs. 
 Crowe's mechanical church organ, and declines to sink into sleep ; 
 nay, sooner than do that, will go on playing foolish old psalm- 
 tunes, against your pillow, until you don't know whether the 
 weary measure comes from your head or from the pillow. Under 
 these circumstances, as hour after hour of the weary night goes 
 on, the plans of the morning become hateful ; every past sin, 
 every past omission, every future contingency of evil becomes 
 prominent and immediate. Life seems a weary mistake, and that 
 darkest midnight thought of all, that death must and will come 
 sooner or later, is apt to sit and brood upon your pillow. 
 
 Laura did not feel all this. It was to come to her. But she 
 had what her mother or her grandmother would have called " a 
 wretched night." There was a little dumb, dull imp abroad this 
 night, which was not to be named, whose existence was not to be 
 allowed under penalties too horrible for contemplation — a fiend 
 unnamed, unrecognised, yet horribly real. For as she lay awake, 
 with all the phantasmagoria of an excited brain passing before her 
 so distinctly that some of the most vivid images were actually 
 reflected on her retina, this little imp contrived at every oppor- 
 tunity, at every pause in the procession of incongruous images, to 
 hold up the face of one man before her, and grin from behind it — 
 the face of the man whom she wished she had never seen, whom 
 she hated, and wished dead. 
 
 Why should she hate him and wish him dead ? Because she 
 knew she was going to fall in love with him, and did not yet 
 actually realise that she had. And she had teased Colonel 
 Hilton until, quite unconsciously on his part and on hers, he had 
 given her three or four deep stabs in the heart. He had spoken 
 so dreadfullv of this man. 
 
LEIGHTON COU11T. 321 
 
 At last these brain phantasmagoria grew so exceeding incon- 
 gruous that she began to hope she was asleep, but only found that 
 she was not by watching the dull silvered light of the moon upon 
 her window-blinds. At last it came like a dim grey cloud. The 
 last feeling of outward sensation was a happy weariness upon her 
 eyelids, which drooped and drooped till they opened no more. 
 Then the images were as incongruous as ever, but their incon- 
 gruity was no longer felt. She had passed into the land where 
 incongruity becomes logical, nay, commonplace. There was the 
 form of a beautiful woman lying in a bed, with no outward signs 
 of vitality except a gentle heaving at the breast ; but where that 
 woman was for the next two hours I don't know, and none of the 
 authors I have consulted seem able to tell me. 
 
 11 Easier to prove the existence of spirit than to prove the 
 existence of matter ? " I should rather think it was ! 
 
 The appearance of a very commonplace maid, very sleepy, and 
 in reality very cross, although making a praiseworthy effort to 
 look good-humoured, with a candle and a jug of warm water at 
 seven o'clock on a cold November morning, acts as a foil for this 
 sort of thing. I deny the charge of bathos, or of an ad captandum 
 contrast. If life had not perpetually these commonplace turns, 
 we should wander sentimentally through this life with Shelley, 
 Byron, and Heine, bemoaning the state of a world which we have 
 never raised a finger to mend. Thank Heaven ! we have got out 
 of that sort of thing now. From the Saturday Renew down 
 to the 'Tiser every man has got his shoulder honestly to the 
 wheel. Where they are going to shove us to is a question which 
 has all the pleasures of profound uncertainty. 
 
 If ever there was a young lady in an unsentimental — not to say 
 cross — frame of mind, it was Laura on that November morning. 
 If ever there was a young lady who wondered why on earth that 
 idiot of a girl couldn't have had the tact to oversleep herself, or 
 to say that she (Laura) was ill, it was Laura. If ever there was 
 a young lady who thought that foxhunting could only yield to the 
 national game of cricket, as a gigantic and intolerable humbug, it 
 was Laura. 
 
 It was only duty, or the habit of duty, which made her get up 
 at all. Her father would miss her — 
 
 " And still her sire the wine would chide, 
 If it was not filled by Rosabel." 
 
 It is a good thing to get up early of a morning for the sake of 
 other folks. The kindest and least cynical of men said that 
 getting-up early made you conceited all the morning, and sleepy 
 
 22 
 
322 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 all the afternoon, but that is scarcely fair. She found her reward 
 quickly. The dark nonsensical waking dreams of the night were 
 gone, and her temper had come back. While her maid was doing 
 her hair, she was so far herself as to ask, " What sort of morning 
 is it, Susan ? " 
 
 " A bittiful scenting morning, Miss. You've only got to put 
 your nose out of doors to see it," said Susan, who was the 
 huntsman's daughter. " They meets to Winkworthy, don't em, 
 Miss?" 
 
 "Yes ; and I suppose we shall go straight for the moors and 
 get home about midnight. I don't feel up to a long run. I wish 
 we met nearer home." 
 
 Her father was helping himself to tongue at the sideboard when 
 she got into the breakfast-room. "My darling," he said, "I 
 don't want to startle you, but I forgot to speak to you last night. 
 I want you to ride ' The Elk ' to-day. Are you afraid ? " 
 
 " Not I," laughed Laura ; "but why ? Has he ever carried a 
 lady ? " 
 
 " He has carried a lady. Colonel Seymour warranted him to 
 do so, and Hammersley has been riding him with a cloth, and 
 pronounced him perfect. The reason I want you to ride him is 
 that, as Hammersley pointed out, Witchcraft is not up to your 
 weight in those heavy upland clays. I think he is right." 
 
 " That settles the matter," said Laura. " If our new lord and 
 master has issued his orders that I am to ride ' The Elk ' I submit, 
 of course. Have you made any arrangements for getting me on 
 to the top of him ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Charles ; " Lord Hatterleigh is going to hoist 
 you on from the top of a pair of steps." 
 
 "And if I get thrown?" 
 
 "If you get thrown, you must drive him against an eight-foot 
 stone -wall, and get up on to him from that, in the best way you 
 can." 
 
 And so they laughed away over their breakfast, and were 
 happy, and Laura's long night was as though it had never 
 been. 
 
 This horse "The Elk" was a character in his way, and in 
 consequence of what happened afterwards, is still remembered 
 well in the family. His height was eighteen hands and a trifle, 
 his colour very light chestnut, his temper that of a Palmerston : 
 not a very handsome horse — no concentration of vast speed, 
 beauty, and mad vitality, like " Lord Cliefden ; " a horse with 
 the forehand of " Fisherman," with Barclay and Perkins' quarters, 
 and the gaskins of "Umpire ; " a great deal more like William 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 323 
 
 Pocock than like Robert Coombes — a great deal more like Thomas 
 King than Thomas Savers : a vast sweet-tempered horse, whose 
 speed and staying qualities were like the military excellence of the 
 British and American armies, requiring time to show them, but 
 when once shown, amazing : an elephantine, clumsy, Teutonic sort 
 of beast, with his shoulders sloped back to his girth, and his ribs 
 back to his flank : nothing Norman about him at all, except a 
 beautiful thin arched neck, and a little nervous head : out of 
 which, however, gleamed a large, speculative, kindly, and most 
 thoroughly Teutonic eye. 
 
 Sir Charles refused five hundred guineas for him. His early 
 history is extremely obscure, merely, I think, legendary. If he 
 was ever in the service of Messrs. Chaplin and Home, how did he 
 get to Dublin ? — though it is equally certain that he was never 
 bred, and most certainly never broken, in Ireland. Even his 
 temper would never have stood an Irish breaking. After what I 
 have said, it will be evident that " The Elk's " pedigree was still 
 more obscure than " The Elk's " education. 
 
 He first made his appearance in civilised society at Plymouth. 
 Haskerton, of Bear Down, who stood six-feet-two in his stockings, 
 and weighed nineteen stone, married a Scotch lady, who was six 
 feet in her stockings, and weighed, say, twelve. They had a big 
 baby, height and weight unknown, purchased a six-foot groom out 
 of a dragoon regiment, a pair of eighteen-hand horses, of which 
 " The Elk " was one, and had the biggest phaeton built that old 
 Long Acre had ever turned out ; and with this elephantine 
 equipage used to charge up and down the roads in the neighbour- 
 hood of Plymouth, to the terror of the peaceable inhabitants. 
 
 " Talk to me about the decadence of Englishmen ! " said Sir 
 Peckwich Downes to Lady Southmolton on one occasion. " Why, 
 if Haskerton, with those horses, that wife, that phaeton, that 
 groom, and that baby, were to charge full- speed against the whole 
 French army, they would fly like sheep ! ' ' 
 
 Lady Southmolton was obliged to allow that such a thing was 
 very probable. She herself was possessed of the hereditary 
 courage of an Englishwoman ; yet whenever she, in her pony- 
 carriage, met this terrific engine of war, guided by Haskerton of 
 Bear Down, in a narrow lane, she always (to use yachting slang) 
 put her helm down, took a strong pull on the starboard rein, got 
 into the ditch, and remained there, bowing like a Limoges china 
 figure, until the terrible Squire, baby and all, had raged on past 
 her like a cyclone. 
 
 Sir Charles had looked " the Elk " over ; had offered Haskerton 
 another horse of the same size, and ten pounds. Haskerton didn't 
 
324 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 see his way to the ten pounds — rather thought the ten pounds 
 should go the other way ; thought Sir Charles wrong ahout the 
 horse ; but still Sir Charles said he was never wrong about a 
 horse, and so the horse was sent home. 
 
 And now Laura found herself mounted on his vast carcass, 
 declaring she should roll off, and making the dull misty morning 
 beautiful with her ringing laughter. 
 
 It was a very dull morning, with a slow- sucking wind from the 
 southward. There was no fog on the lower country, but after they 
 had risen about a hundred feet the trees began to drop, and they 
 were enveloped in the mist. Sometimes it would lift and brighten, 
 and rise to higher elevations as the day went on ; but it was a 
 dull melancholy day to all non- foxhunting mortals, but a bright 
 one enough to Laura and her father. They had one another ; all 
 the world was behind them, and a day's sweet enjoyment before. 
 
 As they shogged on comfortably together they came round the 
 turn of a lane, and lo ! a gleam of white and a forest of waving 
 tails ; in another moment the hounds had seen their master, had 
 rushed forward to meet him, and were crowding joyously around. 
 A pleasant sight always, as I remember it, was the meeting of 
 hounds and master in the fresh morning. 
 
 The approach to Winkworthy was through ground which was 
 not yet reclaimed from its original state, although rich and 
 cultivable ; heavy yellow clay, with forest of oak and holly ; and 
 passing along through the dim aisles of it, they came at last on 
 the breezy hill of Winkworthy, and a few faithful ones who faced 
 the dark morning and the distant meet. 
 
 Sir Charles was the tallest man there ; his very lean spare figure 
 and his broad shoulders looked very well on horseback, not to 
 mention his leg, which he and others thought to be the finest leg 
 in Devonshire, and which was certainly as v?e\l-<Iresst'd a leg as 
 any in that county or any other : — altogether a most gallant- 
 looking gentleman, as straight as a dart. 
 
 Dickson, the attorney from Totridge, who had ridden up and 
 looked keenly at him, was speaking to him when the hounds were 
 put in ; but Laura called him away, and they took their places, 
 with three or four other hard-goers, at the upper corner of the 
 little patch of gorsc. The rest of the field were not in order — 
 were talking, smoking, and so on ; but our friends knew what they 
 wire about. The hounds were no sooner in than they were out 
 again on the other side, with a long-legged mountain fox before 
 them, and going fifteen miles an hour straight for the moor. 
 
 As soon as Laura got used to the elephantine stride of " The 
 Elk," she found that she was away from the others, with only her 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 325 
 
 father and the huntsman alongside of her, and Hammersley, who 
 had kept out of her sight till now, sailing gallantly on in front, 
 showing them the way. He could ride, there was no doubt of 
 that ; and a man master of his horse, going hard, is one of the 
 most beautiful sights in the world. Hammersley knew that as 
 well as you or I. 
 
 Laura went storming along, enjoying herself thoroughly. They 
 were rapidly approaching the moor, when, after leaping some not 
 very difficult timber, she missed her father. He had come to 
 grief, and was chasing his horse into a corner of the stone wall, so 
 there was nothing much the matter with him. And Laura went 
 on, the more particularly as it was doubtful whether she could 
 have pulled Elk with any great success. She had just begun to 
 realise that she was away alone with Hammersley, when they were 
 up and out on the moor, and into a dense mist ; and he had 
 drawn back and was riding nearer to her, as was absolutely 
 necessary. 
 
 How far they went she did not know then. The ground was 
 tolerably smooth — heather with very little rock — and they went 
 fast, just keeping sight of the hounds. They were going along a 
 ridge, for Laura saw, first on one side and then on the other, a 
 precipitous slope below her, with hanging cliffs festooned by the 
 mist — saw and did not like it. 
 
 At last, suddenly, Hammersley held up his hand and shouted 
 to her to stop. She pulled up in time, but he, watching her, was 
 too late. They had come suddenly on a loose broken slope of 
 weatherworn granite boulders among the heather, and he had 
 ridden on to it before he could pull up. There was a fierce 
 struggling clatter for half a minute, and then horse and man came 
 crashing down together among the cruel pitiless rocks. 
 
 He was thrown clear of his horse, and fell partly behind a small 
 rock, so that she could only see his leg. At first the knee was 
 raised, but after a moment it fell over on its side and remained 
 still. She began to get frightened. " Are you hurt ? " she cried 
 out ; but there was no answer, he lay quite still. Around in the 
 mist she could only hear the faint cry of the running hounds 
 getting fainter each moment, and the trickling of some hidden 
 runnel beneath the stones hard by. She cried for help — there was 
 but little chance of that. Her voice only echoed among the rocks 
 for an instant — after that silence again, and she began to feel 
 that she was alone with Death ! 
 
 Dead or alive, she must go to him ; the higher law told her that. 
 She had never seen death yet, but she must look on him for the 
 first time, now, here, in the darkened face of that man — of that 
 
326 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 man of all others ! She slipped from her horse, and scrambled 
 towards him. 
 
 Was this death, this loose attitude of all the limbs, this quiet 
 resting of the cheek upon the arm ? If so it was hardly terrible, 
 nay, somewhat beautiful ! But it was not death ; for the head 
 shifted, the soul came back, and a sharp cry told that pain had 
 returned with consciousness. 
 
 Laura's face flushed up with sheer honest joy. She would have 
 felt the same glad bound at her heart, had he who was lying before 
 her been the merest old lazar which lay by the roadside. Our 
 hatred of death is so ingrained into our nature, as the greatest 
 and most terrible of evils, that we rejoice beyond measure when 
 his threatened darkness passes away from the most worthless face, 
 and leaves the light of life flickering there again, however foul 
 and worthless that light may be. Poor Laura did not know as yet 
 how precious this life was to get to her ! It was only in the 
 reaction of her terror that she rejoiced now, and went innocently 
 to his assistance. She was strong, and she raised him into an 
 easier position. She was knowing, to a certain extent, in the way 
 of nursing, and she unloosed his neck. She was curious, and she 
 wondered what was this thick gold chain about his neck, and 
 whether it was his sweetheart's portrait which hung so heavy from 
 it down on his breast : and she was an artist, and she saw that he 
 was very, very handsome. She raised her voice once more, and 
 cried " Help ! " three times, and the circumambient mist and the 
 rocky hollows around re-echoed " Help ! " Poor child, she wanted 
 it as much as he did ; God help her ! 
 
 It was not long before " The Elk," who had been elephantinely 
 grazing, raised his head and whinnied. He had heard, quicker 
 than could she, swift horses' feet brushing through the heather. 
 When she caught the sound she cried, " Pull up, we have had an 
 accident. Father! is that you?" She heard the approaching 
 horse pass into a walk, and then out of the mist came not her 
 father but Tom Squire the old huntsman. 
 
 He saw what had happened directly. He jumped from his horse 
 and came towards them, with his little bright terrier eyes sparkling 
 from one to the other. " Is he dead ? " he said first, and then 
 he took off his cap. " Go and get it full of water, Miss. Your 
 father is close behind. Quick ! " 
 
 She went, and as she came back she heard her father pricking 
 on towards them, and called on him to draw rein. What did she 
 see ? The old huntsman bending down over the hurt man, moving 
 his hair from his eyes, and using such endearments towards him 
 as a father uses towards a favourite son ; and the wounded man 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 327 
 
 smiling back into his face with a patronising kindly confidence, 
 which puzzled her exceedingly. 
 
 Her father came up, and they took stock of the disaster. The 
 man was only stunned, and his collar-bone put out, and he could 
 ride home with assistance. Colonel Hilton and Sir Charles' 
 second horseman came next. Colonel Hilton cleverly tied him up 
 in pocket-handkerchiefs, and he was sent home on the second horse 
 with the groom. Others came up then, and it was determined to 
 hunt the hounds, who must be a few miles off by this time, and 
 make a clay of it. 
 
 So they did. A glorious day they had ! Laura rejected with 
 scorn the idea of going home, was hoisted on "The Elk" by 
 Colonel Hilton, and went on. But all that concerns us in that day 
 is this. 
 
 Sir Charles and the huntsman rode first, Laura and the Colonel 
 behind. The Colonel was in one of his complimentary humours 
 again, for his theory was that, although women kicked against 
 that sort of thing, they must like it, and that it told in the long 
 run. So he and Laura (who never could bear him when he did not 
 contradict her) had (if you will let me say so) fallen together by 
 the ears — I mean quarrelled — to that extent that Laura, after a 
 biting sarcasm, not handed down to us in the family archives, and 
 therefore suppliable by the reader's imagination, had, with her 
 riding- whip, banged and thwacked " The Elk" into a canter, and 
 pushed on to join her father and the huntsman, leaving Colonel 
 Hilton to fall back on the society of a talkative horse-doctor with 
 a grievance against Lieutenant James. 
 
 As she came up she heard her father and the huntsman talking 
 together. 
 
 " Then you knew him and liked him in his youth ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir Charles. The best of the bunch, Sir — the best of 
 the bunch ! ' ' 
 
 " He has not been treated fairly, say what you will," replied 
 Sir Charles. " Is there no hope for mercy for him ? " 
 
 "There is no mercy there, Sir Charles," said the little old 
 man, looking up at him. "Let those who have to ask mercy 
 remember that." 
 
 Her father, she saw, turned sharply on the old man as he said 
 this, but he turned away again, and rode on as stiff and as grand 
 as ever. 
 
 " His is a sad story," she heard him say. 
 
 " A very, very sad story, Sir ! — sadder than you dream of," 
 said the huntsman. And when she came up to them they began 
 talking of where the hounds might be. 
 
B28 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The only woman of bur own age whom Laura called friend was 
 Maria Huxtable, the tenant of the Castle's daughter ; a tall, 
 beautiful, though somewhat loud daughter of Lancashire : as 
 handsome in person as Laura, as like her as she could manage 
 to be in manners, by unassisted unguided imitation, and a still 
 more successful replica of Laura in her dress, in which particular 
 a reproduction of ideas is more mechanical, and therefore more 
 easy. The only particular difference between them seemed at 
 first sight to be, that Laura had that trained far-gazing look of 
 eye, the " not speak till you're spoken to " look, which is mainly 
 got by education from a woman of the world, or by unconscious 
 imitation of such ; and Maria Huxtable had not. Laura seldom 
 looked at you, except so far as was necessary to fix your image 
 on her retina for the purpose of recognition, until you spoke to 
 her ; then she could look straight enough at you. Maria Hux- 
 table used actually to lorgner you and, what is more, every one 
 else, to that excruciating degree that you were forced to speak to 
 her. At a lawn-party there would be half-a-dozen young country 
 gentlemen round Maria Huxtable, leaning on their mallets, and 
 neglecting their game, only on account of those eyes ; while 
 Laura, in solitary imperial state, would be standing alone, waiting 
 until it should please them to go on. 
 
 Noticeable to Maria the good-natured was this : that the 
 moment a field-officer, or naval man of any mark, or dandy 
 lawyer on circuit, or any man who, as those benighted savages 
 down there would say, had " been in London," appeared, they 
 made up to Laura immediately, and got amazingly intimate with 
 her. On the other hand, Maria was very much amused by 
 noticing that six young Oxford Christchurch men, down in these 
 parts on a reading-party, used at these croquet rabbles to sneak 
 past Laura with all the grace and self-possession which young 
 Englishmen usually display on similar occasions. The two were 
 tenderly devoted to one another, and their affection was of the 
 most ostentatious kind, far surpassing any demonstrations ever 
 made towards such unimportant people as lovers. Previous to 
 any temporary separation they used to spend every precious hour 
 with one another ; during it they corresponded constantly, and 
 were frantically, feverishly eager to rejoin one another at the first 
 possible moment. Now a permanent separation was coming on 
 they spent most of their time together. 
 
 " I will come across to the Castle to-morrow, dearest Maria," 
 
LEIGHTON COTJKT. 329 
 
 said Laura one evening. " I will come in the morning ; the tide 
 will be low at ten, and James can push me across in the dinghy." 
 
 11 My sweetest Laura," said Maria, " I shall be out all day." 
 
 11 And where are you going then? " asked Laura, surprised at 
 this sudden announcement. 
 
 " I do not know. I am at papa's orders for the day ; that is 
 all." 
 
 So it was arranged that Laura should stay at home on that day, 
 but the fates ordained otherwise. The next morning a box arrived 
 from London, containing a beautiful parting present for dear Maria. 
 How nice it would be to go and put it on her table in her absence, 
 or take the chance of catching her ! She delayed till evening in 
 the hope that Maria would come home, and then she went. 
 
 She called one of the gardeners, who followed her down over 
 the sands, and put her across the little channel of the river which 
 was left at low tide. Climbing a steep path, partly cut into steps, 
 up the low red cliff, she soon came to the platform above and 
 stood before the castle, in the castle grounds, with the great keep 
 hanging dark aloft. 
 
 She paused for an instant, to look back across the river at the 
 Court embosomed in trees, standing on its promontory among the 
 yellow sea-sands, and to think how many happy hours she had 
 spent with Maria under the shadow of this keep where she stood, 
 all of which had come to an end for ever ! The Castle would be 
 closed to her when Sir Harry Poyntz came. 
 
 She let herself in by a postern, and passing through many long 
 dark pleasant rooms, and meeting no one, began to climb the 
 stairs towards the second storey of the keep, where Maria had 
 romantically made her bower ; her hand was on the door-handle, 
 when she started and drew back, for she heard Hammersley's 
 voice on the other side of the door. 
 
 There was no doubt of it ; in another moment his question, 
 put in an easy tone, to Mr. Huxtable apparently, was answered 
 by that gentleman's voice. 
 
 She determined to satisfy her curiosity at once without further 
 listening, and went in. The room took up the whole of that floor 
 of the keep, and was furnished with only four narrow windows, 
 calculated to avoid archery more than to give light — one on each 
 side. She saw the old prospects through each of them, partly 
 with her outward eye, and partly in her memory, at one glance 
 round. On the north the purple moor ; on the south the grey 
 sea getting greyer, as night settled down ; to the east the Court, 
 on its terraces, and the wide sand all around, with the tide crawling 
 up ; and to the west the sunset, which threw the shadow of this 
 
330 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 keep towards her home. And now between her and the sunset was 
 another shadow, the shadow of a man who sat in the window, 
 talking to Huxtable — of a man she had never seen, and yet who 
 had been speaking with Hammersley's voice. 
 
 Mr. Huxtable hurriedly said, " Oh, here is Maria ! Come in, 
 my love ; I will be back directly," and hurried past her without 
 recognition or explanation. Laura saw that he had mistaken her 
 for Maria, and was determined to satisfy her curiosity by a view 
 of this man with the other man's voice. She therefore sat down 
 in the half-darkness, and allowed good Mr. Huxtable to go 
 blundering down the stone stairs in error. 
 
 The reader knows more than poor Laura did, and therefore 
 can guess who this man was, left with her here in semi-dark- 
 ness, and why his voice was so like Hammersley's. Laura was 
 in deep curiosity. There was no mistake about the similarity of 
 the voice, however ; for when he spoke to her, she could hardly 
 help starting, and stared keenly into the dusk to see what he was 
 like, without success. He leaned against the western window, 
 and entered into conversation with her. 
 
 " Much obliged to you, Miss Huxtable, for letting me come in 
 here. I had an object. I never pay compliments, or I should 
 say that I was sorry I was going to turn you out of this room, 
 whereas I am glad." 
 
 Laura's voice was a wonderfully well-trained one. She was 
 more careful than usual with it as she replied out of the gloom — 
 
 " I am not Miss Huxtable ; I am only Miss Huxtable's 
 friend." 
 
 " Has Miss Huxtable made friends with a lady, then ? On 
 what false pretences ? My ear never deceives me, though my 
 eyes are bad. I beg your pardon for my mistake." 
 
 Laura was somewhat indignant for her friend, and thought the 
 compliment coarse, or would have thought so but for her educa- 
 tion. But she knew in a moment, from the way in which he 
 spoke, that she was speaking to what her mother and grandmother 
 had taught her to call a gentleman. And she spoke accordingly, 
 " refusing," as Colonel Hilton might have said, the subject of 
 Laura Seckerton, and coining into action with her other wing 
 Mini, what spitefully, fancying somehow that this man was some 
 led captain of Sir Harry Poyntz, instead of being the man himself, 
 as of course it was. I have shown you how naughty she could be ; 
 on this occasion she was rather naughtier than usual — 
 
 " The Huxtables are by far the nicest people about here. The 
 whole county will miss them. It will be a sad change from them 
 to Sir Harry Poyntz ! " 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 331 
 
 "What has he been doing, then?" said the man in the 
 dark. 
 
 " Getting his estate right," replied Laura ; " more's the pity ; 
 a dreadful crime in these parts, where no one wants him. From 
 all accounts it will be an evil day for the poor when these good 
 Huxtables go, and we have an exchange." 
 
 " A very bad exchange, you think ? " 
 
 11 A very bad one indeed, I fear ! " 
 
 " Then, you have heard no good of Sir Harry ? " 
 
 " No good whatever." 
 
 '•Much harm? " 
 
 " Oh dear no, not the least. Have you ever seen the view out 
 of these windows before ? " 
 
 "Yes, I know it well," said the man in the dark. " If I 
 were Sir Harry Poyntz, I would take this room as my own. He 
 was born in this room, you know. And I would sit here every 
 day, summer and winter, and I would look north, south, east, and 
 west, and I would say — ' Before I die, every acre, from the moor 
 to the sea, from the promontory westward to the sands eastward, 
 shall be mine.' I would sit in this old robber-tower, and say to 
 myself, ' You arc the first of your name for a thousand years who 
 has been forced to lend your castle for a pittance to a Manchester 
 radical, a man who would destroy your order. Make war against 
 his order in return. They have fought for their trade. Buy 
 until there is no room in the land, until the middle class here- 
 abouts are your creatures. The little freeholders are dropping 
 like rotten pears under free-trade. Rick them up, and make 
 yourself a Peer.' " 
 
 Laura was amused and interested by this singular confidence 
 from the unknown. She went about with him at once. 
 
 " Cursed be they that add house to house, and field to field ! 
 you know," she said. 
 
 " Oh, I would risk the curse, if I could get the land ; and so 
 would you, and so would any of us. Let's have none of that 
 now, coniu ! " 
 
 "Perhaps you are right," she said; "but it would be an 
 awkward thing for some of us — for us in particular — if Sir Harry 
 Poyntz were wicked enough to do such a thing ! " 
 
 "Sir Harry Poyntz is wicked enough to do anything," he 
 replied. " I am Sir Harry Poyntz, and so I ought to know." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Laura to herself. " Have I made your ears 
 tingle for you, my gentleman ? " and began trying to remember 
 what she had said. Sir Harry thought he had " shut her up," 
 but he had done nothing of the kind. She was only longing to 
 
332 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 look on what should he, hy all accounts, the wickedest, meanest, 
 most worthless face that ever troubled this unhappy earth. She 
 sat in the dark, trying to picture it to herself— trying to anticipate 
 the reality, with the same feeling which make men madly bet — not 
 from avarice, but as a proof of sagacity— on some sporting event 
 which will be decided in the next three minutes. She could see 
 that he was tall, and she pictured him satanic : a dark melan- 
 cholic man, with sloping eyebrows, wicked little eyes, and an 
 upward curl at the corner of his mouth ; the man she knew so 
 well by Cruikshank's art ; the swaggering fiendish cavalier who 
 has come home from the Spanish main, and who is no less than 
 the fiend himself ; a man with a wicked leer for a woman, and 
 a twopenny-halfpenny, who-are-you, Haymarket scowl for a man. 
 As she looked at him in the darkness, this fanciful image grew 
 on her imagination till it was nearly reflected on her retina. 
 
 Huxtable, coining in with a candle, upset all her fine theories. 
 She saw, instead of her corsair, a bland, fat, flabby, lymphatic 
 man, with a flat pale blue eye, with less depth in it than a wafer ; 
 who was too fat for his apparent age ; a man who had apparently, 
 by some mistake in Nature's cookery, been boiled instead of 
 roasted ; a man who would not even grill well, but would remain 
 mere flabby meat, with a coating of brown. He was so utterly 
 unlike what she had thought, that she forgot Hannah More and 
 all that sort of thing, and burst out laughing. But the nasty, 
 shallow, light-blue, dangerous eye was steadily on hers, with a 
 look of power too ; and she stopped laughing. 
 
 I think, if the reader will allow me, that I will leave to her or 
 his imagination, to conceive good Huxtable's fuss when he came 
 back with the candle, and found that he had left not Maria but 
 Laura alone with Sir Harry Poyntz ; and his explanations, and 
 the grand kootooing, and bowing and scraping, the utter ignoring 
 of all passages of arms in the dark, which went on after Laura 
 and Sir Harry were introduced to one another, may be also 
 omitted with advantage, in order to get on to what is more 
 intcrcstiii'C. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Below, Laura was pounced upon by Maria, who to her surprise, 
 late as it was, with a rising tide, insisted on coming home with 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 333 
 
 her. There was not the slightest possible danger in crossing the 
 Wysclith at any time of night, so Laura let her come. 
 
 Laura called her a traitor and a storyteller for saying she was 
 out when she was not, for the sake of preventing a meeting 
 between her and Sir Harry Poyntz. Maria said she had only 
 done exactly what her father had told her, and had fully believed 
 that she should be out ; that Sir Harry Poyntz had come one 
 single day on business, and did not wish to be recognised. 
 
 But when they were alone on the Court side of the river, Maria 
 changed the conversation, and became very serious. 
 
 " Laura, I want to ask a question, and I am frightened." 
 
 " What are you afraid of ? " 
 
 " Your answer. What do you think of Sir Harry Poyntz ? " 
 
 11 Think of him ? What I always have ever since I played with 
 him as a child. And now I have seen him again, I must say that 
 his face does not belie his character, but is the most false, 
 mean, and cruel one I ever saw ! " 
 
 Maria gave a little cry, and laid her hand on Laura's mouth — 
 
 " Oh, Laura, Laura ! No, no ! For my sake, no ! " 
 
 " What have you to do with the man ? Why should I not say 
 what I please about him ? " 
 
 " Because I am going to marry him, I believe. Oh ! do have 
 mercy on me, and make the best of him." 
 
 " Marry him ! Where have you seen him ? " 
 
 " In the North, many times." 
 
 "Do you love him ? " 
 
 "Yes — yes, of course ! It's a family arrangement, and he 
 has been shamefully illused and misrepresented, and " 
 
 " He has been nothing of the kind, Maria. You know you 
 are ashamed of what you are doing, or you would have told 
 me of it before. Sir Harry Poyntz is a thoroughly worthless 
 person. Men wonder how it is that his name is kept on the 
 books of his clubs — a man whom my father would never allow 
 to darken his doors for one instant. You don't love him, and 
 you know you don't. You have withheld your confidence from 
 me in this manner, not in the most friendly way, and therefore 
 I cannot tell at all what is urging you on to this most miser- 
 able folly. If it is that you think it a fine thing to be Lady 
 Poyntz, and live at the Castle, I can assure you that you had 
 ten thousand times better be plain Mrs. Hilton. And you could 
 be Mrs. Hilton to-morrow ; I know that as well as any one. I 
 have taught him to hate me like poison. He don't suit me, 
 and I have let him see it most unmistakably. But Harry 
 Poyntz — good heavens ! " 
 
334 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 The shoe pinched a little tight here, it seemed. Laura soon 
 found what she had done with that tongue of hers. Poor 
 Maria turned upon her immediately. That one name had roused 
 her to anger ; she turned on Laura, and Laura soon found, for the 
 first time too, that Maria had naturally every whit as much deter- 
 mination and strength as she had herself, and that at a battle- 
 royal she was her superior, using weapons which Laura had been 
 taught to believe unchivalrous and unladylike. 
 
 At this point Maria Huxtable lost her temper. 
 
 " Better be Mrs. Hilton ! " she said furiously. " I have no 
 doubt you think that I had better take up with him, and marry 
 the man you encouraged, until you determined to sell yourself to 
 a titled booby. Laura, you have behaved more wickedly than I 
 thought it possible. I loved that man, and if you had not come 
 between us I know he would have loved me. Loved me ! You 
 hear what I say, and see if you can sleep after it. I love him 
 now ; and I am going to marry Sir Harry Poyntz, who is all 
 that you say and perhaps more. What fiend made you mention 
 him by name, and drive me mad ! I could have gone on 
 smiling, and lying, and pretending I didn't hate you, if you had 
 not brought his name up. Nay, I didn't know I hated you 
 before. You must make me know it, forsooth. You have stood 
 between that man and me, and now, when Lord Hatterleigh 
 comes forward, you coolly recommend the man to my attention, 
 when it is too late for ever ! Laura, you have made an enemy of 
 me, and you will live to wish you were dead before you had 
 done so." 
 
 All this was so horribly, ridiculously untrue, that if poor Laura 
 had kept her temper she might have cleared the cobwebs from the 
 poor girl's eyes, and saved infinite woe. She was angry herself, 
 however; and one angry woman going about with another is as 
 vinegar poured upon nitre. She lost her temper now : she turned 
 on the poor girl and said — 
 
 " What you have been saying about me is so very impertinent, 
 and so ridiculously false, that I shall not condescend to any ex- 
 planation whatever. You have often taken my advice ; this is the 
 last time I shall ever offer it, and it is this — that you cross the 
 river, go to your bedroom, and pray to God to forgive you your 
 wickedness." And since tall talk inexorably leads to taller, and 
 since if you begin talking big you will say a deal more than 
 you mean, she continued : "I have done with you. You told me 
 a lie to-day, in saying that you were out. I thought till now it 
 was the first ; now I see it is the last of many — the very last. 
 (jo back across the river to your fate. You have made your bed, 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 335 
 
 and must lie on it. Your servant is waiting for you at the 
 steps." 
 
 And so they parted. Laura was only in time to dress for 
 dinner, and very soon sailed into the drawing-room, looking very 
 beautiful, only a little tired, as her mother and grandmother, two 
 of the wise women of Gotham, could not help remarking. 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh was there, got up carefully, with a twice- 
 round white tie, looking as if he was at the meeting of a Young- 
 Men's Christian Association, and was only waiting for the chair- 
 man's summons to rise and make the speech of the evening. He 
 looked at her in what he considered an amatory sort of way, and 
 tumbled over a footstool, and kicked her father, before he bowed 
 himself stern-foremost into Lady Emily's stand of camellias. 
 There was also Colonel Hilton, who was dressed like a box- 
 keeper, and might have passed for one — only that his clothes 
 were so perfectly cut, his beard (the Duke of Cambridge not 
 having published his order) was so very long, and his Victoria 
 Cross was peeping out on the left side of his whiskers. There 
 was Papa, tall, grey, elegant — in blue and brass buttons ; there 
 was Mamma, stout and respectable, yet with twopennyworth of 
 esjner/lerie to carry it off ; there was Grandma, with her waxen 
 complexion, and her lace cap, looking as if she was sitting there 
 until the angels Respectability and Routine came and carried her 
 to heaven, to join Hannah More ; and here, in the midst of them, 
 stood Laura herself, with a secret gnawing at her heart, which to 
 her was guilty and dreadful. She loved the gallant young Ham- 
 mersley, and she knew it. Though she said to herself loudly that 
 it was a monstrous falsehood, yet she knew it to be true. 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh twaddled on about the Whigs, that incom- 
 prehensible and undefinable body, who form the staple of all 
 political talk and speculation. Her father dexterously helped the 
 turbot, and turned his graceful highbred head and face towards 
 the Vicar, now and then making a little mild fun with him about 
 the rest of his dinner — this being a Friday, and the Vicar being 
 a ferocious high-churchman. That preux chevalier, Colonel 
 Hilton, flirted solemnly and gracefully with Constance Downes. 
 Sir Peckwich Downes beamed over his white waistcoat at his 
 fish. Mamma and Grandma chirruped and cackled away as usual. 
 Richardson the butler, master of the feast, administered stimu- 
 lants according to his will and pleasure, getting vexed with Sir 
 Peckwich 's perpetual growl of " Sherry ! " as showing want of 
 confidence. There were their own three footmen in crimson 
 plush, and Sir Peckwich's man in orange plush. Was there ever 
 a more respectable gathering ? 
 
336 LEIGHTON COUliT. 
 
 Poor Laura was excited and upset this evening. It came into 
 her head : "What if she should rise up and tell them all the 
 
 truth, that she was ? " She couldn't say it, not to herself; 
 
 she could not articulate it even to her second consciousness, 
 though she knew it was there, fatally sure enough, in her third 
 and innermost soul. Suppose she was to get up and say, 
 
 " Ladies and getlemen, I am in love with ." That way lies 
 
 madness. What would Lord Hatterleigh do ? — The Fox-and- 
 North coalition was nothing to this. Would her father rise and 
 curse her? Would Colonel Hilton's look of distrust develop into 
 a look of contempt, and how? The footmen would "tehee," to 
 borrow an expression from Mr. Carlyle. As for her mother and 
 grandma, she knew what they would do — order her to her room. 
 What Sir Peckwich Downes would do she couldn't think : whether 
 he would have a fit, or order his carriage, or lose his temper, or 
 get tipsy, she could not settle. But she found herself smiling 
 over that little speculation, and was surprised to find that her 
 smile swelled into a laugh, so loud that every one asked her what 
 the joke might be, but she would not tell them. 
 
 So they sat over their meat and drink, as though there were no 
 tragedy in the world, and never had been : as if, because you 
 buried an ugly thing and didn't talk about it, that there were to 
 be no more ugly things for ever : as if the butler's cousin had not 
 been hung for sheep stealing ; as if one of the footmen's sisters 
 had not thrown her baby down a well ; as if Sir Peckwich 's 
 brother had not fled to happier and more easy-going climes ; as 
 if the golden lock of hair which Colonel Hilton wore round his 
 neck were not his sister's, red with the blood of the Khyber Pass ! 
 And quite right too. 
 
 "And what had she done?" she asked herself in scorn. 
 " The man was a gentleman ; there was no one in the room who 
 could compare with him, except Hilton. What had made him 
 commit this fatal folly, put on this degrading masquerade ? And 
 yet, if he had not, she could never have seen him." She rebelled 
 against the notion that her love for him was disgraceful one 
 moment, and then the next she denied that it existed ; but she 
 sat silent, and let them tattle on. 
 
LEIGHTON COUBT* 337 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Pooh Maria Huxtable ! Prowling among the desolate and empty 
 flower-beds, lurking behind the shrubs, she got glimpses of the 
 party through the half-drawn blinds. The man she loved was 
 there, gay and cheerful, little dreaming who was watching him ; 
 and the woman who could have saved her, had she been more 
 patient, was beside him, laughing and talking loudly and almost 
 boisterously. "Laura has a bad heart," thought Maria; "can 
 she laugh so soon after my story ? " — Alas, yes ! she has her own 
 story too, Maria. — "And yet I loved that woman once." And 
 so she delayed there in the growing darkness, tormenting her 
 poor heart by looking into the house she never would enter again 
 as a friend, and watching eagerly the man she loved so dearly, to 
 think of whom was a crime. At last she turned to go towards 
 her home and her fate. The servant who had rowed them over 
 was asleep in the boat before she came back ; behind her, as she 
 crossed, the wood and the low long facade of the Court were 
 bathed in the dim dull light of a young moon : but before, the 
 cruel keep of her future home rose black and ominous, with the 
 blurred crescent behind its topmost battlement, and the wooded 
 cliff so dark that you could scarcely tell when the boat touched 
 the shore. 
 
 Dinner would not be till half-past eight. There was time before 
 her yet — precious time ! Before she went to bed that night her 
 fate would be sealed. She knew that if she said yes, she could 
 never unsay it ; she felt terribly sure of that. All that Laura 
 had said of Sir Harry was true ; yet wealth and title were great 
 things. The wish not to leave her dear old home, where her 
 sunny life had been passed, and anger against Laura and pique 
 against Colonel Hilton were terrible assistants, and there was 
 none by to help her. The hour of grace went by ; and as she 
 swept into the drawing-room, covered with jewels and lace, her 
 father saw that she was dressed for attraction, and that the deed 
 was done. 
 
 It was done indeed. These three were alone in the house, and 
 when Sir Harry and Mr. Huxtable rose from their wine, the host 
 gave Sir Harry ten minutes' grace. At the end of that time, 
 coming into the drawing-room, he found Maria sitting calmly on 
 one side of the fire, while Sir Harry warmed his knees, and 
 examined his face in the pier-glass. As Huxtable entered he 
 turned — 
 
 " I have been asking Maria not to leave the Castle with you, 
 
 23 
 
338 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 but to remain as its mistress. She has said ' yes.' She has 
 had the matter put before her in the most favourable manner by 
 you, and has, I doubt not, heard every word that those two cack- 
 ling old idiots Lady Emily Seckerton and Lady Southmolton, not 
 to mention Miss Laura, have had to say against me. She has 
 had the good sense to say ' yes.' " 
 
 Dare a man's eye follow the unhappy girl to her room that 
 night — dare a man's hand, and no light one, write what she felt 
 and what she said ! Not mine. But she knew full well what she 
 had done ; and there was no shadow of turning with her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Maria departed next day to visit an aunt ; and Sir Harry Poyntz, 
 keeping in strict seclusion, stayed over another day to see after 
 some business. r 
 
 Immediately after lunch that next day, Mr. Huxtable got into 
 his phaeton and drove round, announcing his daughter's engage- 
 ment to the master of the Castle. 
 
 He drove all the short afternoon, from one country-house to 
 another, generally finding some members of the family at home at 
 each house. As he drove he looked more aged, and more worn 
 as he left each neighbour's. These old-fashioned country-folks 
 none of them concealed their opinion about the matter. From 
 house to house up the left bank of the Wysclith, they (some 
 member of each family at all events) let him know their opinion 
 of the business unmistakably. Generally the announcement was 
 received with astonished silence ; but some few spoke. Among the 
 latter was Sir Peckwich Downes, who spoke to the purpose — 
 
 "I am very sorry to lose sight of my dear little sweetheart 
 Maria ; but you see of course, Huxtable, that it is impossible for 
 me to know anything of her husband, or to exchange any more 
 courtesy with him beyond a bow when we meet on the bench." 
 
 " He has been wild," said poor Huxtable. 
 
 " I never heard of that" said Sir Peckwich. " I was wild. I 
 may have fought one Simon Stockfish, a fruiterer, behind Gray's 
 Inn. My eldest son was very unsteady before he married — so 
 unsteady, that I used to go away from home when he proposed a 
 visit, and left him to the care of his mother and sisters. They 
 brought 'him right, and he is as good a son as ever stepped since 
 he married. But this — this ' man.' " 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 339 
 
 " He may reform, too," said Huxtable. 
 
 "Huxtable! how can you look me in the face and talk like 
 that ? Who in the name of confusion has induced you to consent 
 to this shameful arrangement ? I can only tell you one thing : if 
 this affair comes off, which I can hardly believe possible, I must 
 take the same measure with you as I did with my son — be out 
 whenever you call." 
 
 There was nothing more to be said. They neither spoke again. 
 The next house was the Vicarage — the next person the Vicar. 
 
 It happened to be the vigil of St. Thomas of Moorstanton (a 
 saint whom the Vicar had evolved, it was said, out of his own 
 internal consciousness originally, but whom the Vicar had " de- 
 veloped," in spite of three or four sarcastic letters from the 
 Bishop of Exeter), whose body had been brought and buried here 
 at Wysclith, in spite of the strenuous opposition of five hundred 
 thousand ass panier loads of small devils. So the Vicar had got 
 out the school-children, and was doing a wonderful service over 
 the grave of the saint in whom no one ever believed but himself, 
 in the churchyard. Consequently poor Huxtable was received by 
 the Vicaress, a childless and submissive lady of fifty, who wore 
 scarlet gloves, in deference to her husband's orders. 
 
 Huxtable had been so very much bullied to-day that he was 
 very humble here. Even to this woman, the fool of the neigh- 
 bourhood — who had brought the Vicar money, and who never had 
 a say in her own house — who followed blindly all her husband's 
 vagaries, while the sounder heads of his party cried out against 
 him for ruining their cause with his folly : even before this woman 
 (the " Umbrella," as Laura had christened her) he was humble 
 to-day. He broke the news to her apologetically ; and as he did 
 so, she by degrees took off her scarlet gloves. 
 
 " And now, my dear madam," he said, " what is your opinion ? " 
 
 11 My opinion," said the " Umbrella," " most decidedly is that 
 you haven't got the feelings of a man about you. If that clear 
 girl's blessed mother had been alive, you never would have the 
 impudence to propose such a thing." 
 
 If one of his own Leicester lambs had, after this, ran at him 
 barking, and bitten him in the calf of his leg, he could not have 
 been surprised. If a mere umbrella of a woman like this gave 
 him such a reception, what could be expected of her husband, 
 coming fresh, in a state of supramundane pietism, in a green 
 chasuble, from the tomb of a saint ? Huxtable fled without 
 confronting the Vicar ; and as he took the reins, and set the 
 horses' heads towards the Court, said aloud — 
 
 " Let us have it over at once ; let us get through with it." 
 
340 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 "I beg your pardon, sir," said the groom beside him. 
 " Let us have a finish and end of it ; I'll stand no more of this 
 after to-day." 
 
 The young groom's conscience was troubled somehow, for he 
 said — 
 
 "It was all along of the Court servants, sir. And we was in 
 afore twelve after all." 
 
 Huxtable laughed, but his laugh did him no good. He felt 
 like a beaten dog in this matter. Every one had turned against 
 him, and why ? If this Sir Harry Poyntz was outside the pale of 
 all society, why had no one ever told him of it ? Most certainly 
 no one ever had. His twenty-one years' lease of the Castle was 
 nearly up, and he had, during that time, heard nothing more 
 against Sir Harry Poyntz than he had heard against the eldest 
 young Downes, or against half-a-dozen others ; and yet, now it 
 came to the pinch, the county, which had submitted to his coming 
 back there, who had talked of the Poyntz as of themselves, burst 
 out on him in furious rage, at the first mention of his marrying 
 an honest man's daughter ! Are class prejudices so strong that 
 they would keep a secret like this from him ? And now he had 
 to face the Court, Lady Southmolton and Lady Emily, who gave 
 laws hereabouts, and announce it to them. But he would go 
 through with it. He was an honest Manchester man, and would 
 know the truth. He would not have half- statements from Lady 
 Southmolton. 
 
 "I shall get the truth there" he said to himself, with that 
 noble instinct which makes honesty recognise honest folks. And 
 
 so he would have — but 
 
 As he came thundering along in his mail-phaeton through the 
 park, he turned round the corner of a plantation, and caught 
 sight of a group before him. 
 
 Laura was riding side by side with a very gallant-looking young 
 fellow in a black coat, but otherwise dressed as a foxhunter, who 
 was leading a horse ; and they were almost alone, talking to- 
 gether in an animated manner. A hundred yards ahead rode 
 Sir Charles on " The Elk," looking every inch the perfect gentle- 
 man and gallant horseman that he was. His long but perfectly- 
 shaped and beautifully-clothed legs seemed made to clip that vast 
 mass of horseflesh, and his upright not too broad back moved 
 gracefully, under the perfectly-cut red coat, with every movement 
 of the horse. A gallant gentleman, yet his close-cropped grey 
 head was rather bent down to-day, and he seemed tired with his 
 hunting. 
 
 As the phaeton bore down on them, the talkers parted and rode 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 341 
 
 aside on to the. turf. He saw both their faces ; Laura's was 
 animated and interested. He looked at the dandy in the black 
 coat, and to his unutterable amazement beheld Hammer&ley, and 
 he was laughing. He was very much astonished; but Laura 
 was, in her high-and-mighty way, very familiar with servants and 
 dogs, he thought : still this was going rather far. 
 
 " Does this young man hunt in black? " he asked his groom. 
 
 " Yes, sir. He says every one wears pink now. He would not 
 hunt in a frock at first, and now he has given up red altogether." 
 
 " Does Sir Charles allow these airs ? " 
 
 " Allow, sir ! He orders Sir Charles about everywhere, and he 
 only laughs." 
 
 But it soon went out of his head ; for Sir Charles stopped and 
 waited for him, and trotted along with him gaily when he came 
 up, telling him of the run, some part of which, as a matter of 
 course, was one of the finest things ever seen. When they got to 
 the front-door, and had dismounted, Sir Charles said, of course, 
 " Come in, my dear Huxtable." 
 
 Huxtable said, "No, come into the pleasance with me;" and 
 Sir Charles went, seeing that Huxtable had something to say ; 
 and they walked up and down along the terrace, not six hundred 
 yards from the great keep across the river. It never occurred to 
 either of them that Sir Harry Poyntz was watching them through 
 a field-glass, but he was. 
 
 " Seckerton, our intercourse has been a very pleasant one for 
 twenty years." 
 
 Sir Charles' hand was on his shoulder in a moment ; he needed 
 to say nothing. 
 
 11 1 fear your hand will be moved directly, Seckerton ; I fear 
 this will be our last interview. I have got it over with Sir Peck- 
 wich Downes, and have gone out of his house without waiting to 
 be ordered out. I have given my consent to Maria's marriage with 
 Sir Harry Poyntz." 
 
 Sir Charles' hand was withdrawn indeed ; he put both his hands 
 suddenly to his head, and cried out, " Oh, good heavens ! " 
 
 " It is quite true," said Huxtable, delighting in his own torture 
 in a strange kind of way, " and the match is principally of my 
 seeking. He is desperately in love with her — sixty thousand 
 pounds ; and I have put before her forcibly, as a man of the 
 world, and a prudent and affectionate 'father, the rank, prestige, 
 and title which she will gain by such a match. I have done every- 
 thing to forward it in every way. I have got my will, and I wish we 
 were both dead, dead, dead, lying quietly asleep beside her mother 
 in the cemetery at Manchester." 
 
342 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 " It would be much better," said Sir Charles, quietly. And 
 Huxtable, turning, saw that he was scared and shocked. He 
 grew frightened himself now, and waited for Sir Charles to go on. 
 
 " This has come on me rather suddenly. Are you aware of the 
 character Sir Harry bears in the county? " 
 
 " Something between Judas Iscariot and Beelzebub, apparently," 
 said Huxtable, " though no one has had the friendliness to give 
 me any details until it is too late." 
 
 "It is not too late now, is it ? Surely not ; your daughter 
 would listen to you ? ' ' 
 
 " Not now. I know Maria better than you. And there is 
 something the matter about some one else ; and there's a good 
 deal of spite in the business, that is the truth. And it is too 
 late ; Maria won't go back now." 
 
 " But he, my dear sir — he ? " 
 
 " He give up sixty thousand pounds ! " laughed Huxtable ; 
 "he'd sooner prosecute her for breach ! " 
 
 " But remove the sixty thousand; cut her off with a penny; 
 disin " and there he stopped like a bullet on the target. 
 
 Huxtable began slowly : " There seems to be something that 
 
 no one dares tell me. And I'd sooner do that than . What 
 
 is it ? Is it friendly or manly in you, Sir Charles, to keep me in 
 the dark on such a subject ? Come ! " 
 
 Sir Charles remained as dumb as a stone for a minute ; his thin 
 brown handsome face seemed pinched up, as though with a spasm. 
 At last he said — 
 
 "I am taken by surprise. Will you go away now, and come 
 to me again to-morrow morning ? And will you be assured of one 
 thing : that I believe that you have acted in the dark about this 
 matter, and that nothing shall ever alter the relations between us ? 
 Stick by me, Huxtable, and I will stick by you through everything." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 That night, after dinner, Sir Charles, with his wife, and mother, 
 and Laura, were together in the drawing-room. Sir Charles, 
 standing with his back to the fire, and looking steadily over the 
 tops of the women's heads at a Raeburn of himself sitting on his 
 mother's shoulder, told them about Maria Huxtable's engagement. 
 Laura was not surprised, of course ; Lady Emily bounced — 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 343 
 
 yes, indeed, bounced — off her chair in an acute attack of virtuous 
 indignation ; while Lady Southmolton only took off her spectacles, 
 laid down her work, and began rubbing her two waxen withered 
 old hands one over the other. 
 
 What Lady Emily said was much the same as what every one 
 else had said, and so the reader may guess at it. Sir Charles 
 had expected her outbreak, but was more anxious to hear what 
 her mother would say. It was some time before he heard it, for 
 his wife took a long time running down. When she had subsided 
 into a state of occasional indignant interjections, her mother-in- 
 law began, in a style which gave Sir Charles great surprise. That 
 she always made the best of things with the most wonderful tact, 
 and an amount of Christian charity he had never seen elsewhere, 
 he was perfectly aware ; but he was not prepared for the way in 
 which the old lady, in her optimism, supplied him with the very 
 arguments he was dying to find for himself — 
 
 " Maria might have married anyone," she said : " and I think 
 myself, not that it is any business of ours in any way whatever, that 
 she is throwing herself away. Still, we must remember that Harry 
 Poyntz has been much steadier lately — nay, seems to be growing 
 into a model young man altogether. He had a bad start in life. 
 His morals were corrupted by the example of his father, and his 
 estate dipped, I thought beyond all hope, by his father's and 
 latterly by his brother's extravagance. He has brought the estate 
 right, or nearly so, and is going to put it right entirely by a most 
 prudent match with a most estimable girl. I have every wish for 
 their happiness. And I should say — you know how used I am to 
 giving advice, my dears, and you must forgive me — that our duty 
 is not to stand in the way, by any means whatever, of the repent- 
 ance and the reception into a higher atmosphere of a misguided 
 and unfortunate young man, who seems to be trying to retrieve 
 himself, financially and morally." 
 
 They heard a measured beat of oars, coming across the river 
 towards the Court. 
 
 Lady Emily, as she heard her mother's infallible saintlike voice 
 putting the case in this form, grew awestruck, and began to get 
 thoroughly ashamed of her late outbreak. Sir Charles was very 
 uneasy, but allowed that the old lady had put it marvellously well. 
 But Laura — the gentle, highly-trained, perfectly-formed, submis- 
 sive Laura — rose suddenly up in flat furious rebellion, and 
 frightened them all three (though they were too cunning to show 
 it) out of their wits. 
 
 " I say," she burst out, " that is a wicked and shameful busi- 
 ness from beginning to end, and I'll stop it ! Grandma, how can 
 
344 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 you use your tact to find excuses ? No, ma, I am not in the 
 schoolroom ! Father, you seem tame and acquiescent over the 
 matter ; am I to distrust you ? But if we talk about it any more 
 we shall quarrel, for the first time in our lives ; and I can only 
 say one thing, that it can't be and sha'n't be, and that I'll stop it ! 
 Colonel Hilton's little finger is worth Sir Harry's whole body, and 
 I will put things right, and put a stop to it." 
 
 If she had been an older campaigner, after having charged the 
 enemy, she would have held the ground won, and waited for her 
 supports, which were close at hand, for her mother was rallying 
 and forming fast. Instead of this she committed the error of re- 
 tiring, being contented with the astonishment inflicted, leaving the 
 enemy only temporarily paralysed — in other words, flounced out of 
 the room, and gave them time to reform. 
 
 Not in the most dignified fashion though, for she came full-tilt 
 against a footman, unobserved by the whole party, who was holding 
 the door open ; and having nearly knocked him down, found her- 
 self immediately after cast against a fierce and severe-looking 
 gentleman, in evening dress, with two orders on his coat ; who on 
 seeing her bowed a great deal too low, leered a great deal too much, 
 backed against a table like dear Lord Hattcrleigh himself, and in 
 dashing to hold the next door open for her, trod on her gown, and 
 tore it out of the gathers. She gave him that particular woman's 
 bow which means, " There is some one in the neighbourhood some- 
 where," and wrathfully disappeared. 
 
 Before the capsized footman was discovered by the three left 
 behind, Lady Southmolton had looked across her son-in-law to her 
 daughter, and said quietly — 
 
 " This is your foxhunting ; this is your galloping about alone at 
 all hours." The grievance was ten years old, and had not been 
 turned up before. The retort was not less precious to the old lady 
 for that. 
 
 " Captain Southcot, sir, wishes to speak to you in the ante- 
 room." 
 
 11 And who on earth is Captain Southcot ? And what on earth 
 prevents Captain Southcot from coming at a decent hour in the 
 day ? " snapped our poor irritated Sir Charles in a loud voice, and 
 at the same moment caught sight of that gentleman standing 
 within ten feet of him, and recognised him — one of the very men 
 in this world he was least anxious to offend. He was very much 
 taken aback, but perfectly up to the emergency. He burst out 
 into a laugh, and advanced towards Captain Southcot with his hand 
 extended, repeating — 
 
 " And who on earth is Captain Southcot? And why the deuce 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 345 
 
 has he dared to come into the neighbourhood without knocking his 
 father's old friend up before this ? " 
 
 Poor Sir Charles ! Baden would be better than this sort of 
 thing — to be driven to lying for the first time in a life, and old 
 age fast creeping on. He felt this — it came on him like a shock ; 
 he tried to sustain the effort, but it was too much for him ; he 
 began to get forgetful, and talk nonsense. 
 
 With the greatest emprcssement he had Captain Southcot in, and 
 introduced him. The two ladies saw in one moment that he was 
 what our late lamented friend Major Pendennis would have called 
 a "tiger." He was a man with a complexion, a nose, and a 
 moustache which didn't cover his teeth. He had eyes, too, some- 
 where, arguing by analogy, or he couldn't have got there without 
 a dog or a boy ; but if any one had told you so, you would almost 
 have felt inclined to deny it. His face was too small and too 
 short, and his hair was parted in the middle — the sort of man one 
 has a morbid desire to contradict flatly, if not to go further. 
 
 "Your father was an old friend of mine at school," said Sir 
 Charles, " and I remember your mother, Lady Joanna Southcot 
 well." 
 
 " Lady Mary Southcot," said the captain, grinning. 
 
 "Lady Mary, of course: what am I thinking of? Poor dear 
 Joanna Southcot ! I ought to remember her, too, well enough ; 
 she was your aunt." 
 
 Lady Emily rapped the table two or three times, and said, 
 impatiently, " My dear Charles, you are wool-gathering ! " 
 
 Conversation is generally hopeless when three people are 
 wondering what on earth the fourth one has come for ; but it was 
 more hopeless still after Sir Charles's dreadful blunder. It had 
 not become quite monosyllabic, when Lady Southmolton came to 
 their assistance by making preparations for bed, by moving from 
 the chair she occupied all day to the bed she occupied all night — 
 a transition which had something of solemnity in it to these good 
 devoted people ; for she was so feeble now, that none of them 
 knew but that the next morning the chair might be empty. 
 
 As soon as her work was put in the bag, and her little books of 
 devotion which lay around her all day were gathered up, and she 
 had gone away on her daughter's arm, Sir Charles shut the door 
 behind them, and turning round on Captain Southcot, said 
 quietlv — 
 
 "Now, sir?" 
 
 He looked so big, so grand, and so melancholy, as he looked 
 down on the miserable little ape before him, that that gentleman 
 was abashed, and only handed him a note. For the fulfilment of 
 
346 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 the rest of his commission, to report how Sir Charles looked on 
 reading it, he had recourse to his imagination, and lied horribly, 
 but so clumsily that he got himself sworn at. 
 
 Sir Charles read the note carefully, folded it up again, put it in 
 his waistcoat-pocket, and began staring at Captain Southcot with 
 his great hazel eyes, which looked awfully prominent under his 
 grey eyebrows. After an interval, longer than was quite polite, 
 he said — 
 
 " Do you know the contents of this letter ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And now won't you take something before you go ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, thank you." 
 
 " Quite sure ? " 
 
 " Quite sure." 
 
 " Will nothing tempt you ? " said Sir Charles, ringing the 
 bell : " Sherry and seltzer, brandy and soda-water, noyeau and 
 lemonade ? " 
 
 " Nothing, thank you," said Captain Southcot, who didn't like 
 the look of the old gentleman, and was bowing himself out. 
 "There is no answer to the letter, then?" 
 
 "None whatever. You may tell your master not to send you 
 here again if you like. But are you quite sure you won't take 
 anything ? It is to be had in one moment : gingerbeer and 
 bitters, brimstone and treacle — anything ! They are going to 
 supper in the servants' -hall ; won't you join them ? Good-night. 
 Don't let me catch you here again." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Poor Sir Charles was in very sad trouble indeed — in a fearful 
 dilemma ; but he would not face it out, and took the consequences. 
 It becomes necessary to see what these troubles arose from, and 
 how they had accumulated. 
 
 About the best way for a gentleman of easy disposition with four 
 thousand a year to ruin himself, is for him to take the hounds and 
 keep open house. If these two things will not do it, let him farm 
 five or six hundred acres of his own land ; if that does not finish 
 him he must have the most astonishing good fortune. Now Sir 
 Charles had done all these three things, and his fortune had been 
 bad. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 347 
 
 When Sir William Poyntz died, and his son, the present baronet, 
 declined to keep the hounds on, Sir Charles " nobly came forward," 
 as the county paper had it, and offered to take them ii the county 
 would give him a thousand a-year. An enthusiastic meeting of the 
 hunt and the farmers was called, who voted that sum by acclama- 
 tion, and, what is more, paid it — for the first year ; after that, the 
 subscriptions had got rapidly less and less, so that, for the last ten 
 years, Sir Charles had had little to depend on beyond the regularly- 
 paid fifty guineas of Sir Peckwich Downes, and his own pocket. 
 
 He had everything perfectly though not extravagantly done ; and 
 he found that the hounds cost him just about £2,000 a year. 
 Devonshire is a cheap county, and Lady Emily was a most thrifty 
 and excellent manager, so she managed to keep house with £4,000 
 a year, whereas Lady Downes could not do nearly as much for 
 five ; put another thousand on for sundries, and you will get a very 
 pretty yearly deficit, which had been going on for twelve years. But 
 this was not the worst. Sir Charles could calculate all this ; but he 
 never knew, never could dare to think, even to this day, what he 
 lost upon the home-farm. I have known £30,000 lost on 1,200 
 acres, and the muddle in that case was certainly not worse than 
 in that of the home-farm at Leighton Court. He may have lost 
 anything. Meanwhile he had not been over-anxious, for the whole 
 of the Shropshire property came to him at the death of Miss 
 Seckerton of Brignal, who, however, was only six-and-forty. 
 
 Of course his estate w r as deeply mortgaged, but no one knew of 
 it, and many would not have believed it. Sir Charles had such a 
 character in the neighbourhood for foresight and prudence, that he 
 was resorted to for advice by all his neighbours, on subjects vary- 
 ing from the choosing of a gun to the marrying of a daughter ; and, 
 indeed, he deserved this confidence, for a clearer head for other 
 folks' business never was on human shoulders. It would have been 
 an inexpressibly sad thing for Sir Charles to have confessed himself 
 a poor and unthrifty man before these simple people ; but a greater 
 evil than that had threatened him for this year past, and had made 
 him wish sometimes that he could say, once for all, " Neighbours, 
 I have been deceiving you all ; I am but the most foolish and the 
 poorest among you. I only ask to die with your faces around me." 
 He thought that he would retrench and get his estate right before 
 the Shropshire money fell in, but he began to think so when it was 
 too late ! 
 
 His man of business had come to him one day, and informed 
 him that he had discovered that every mortgage on the estate was 
 in the hands of Sir Harry Poyntz. When Sir Charles, aghast, asked 
 how he had discovered it, he replied that that was the strangest 
 
348 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 part of the business ; that Sir Harry Poyntz, whom he had never 
 spoken to, had stopped him in the street and informed of the fact 
 in a very few words, had then laughed and ridden off. 
 
 From that day Sir Charles's head had begun to bow. Nearly 
 a year had passed, and Sir Harry Poyntz made no sign. The latter 
 had improved his acquaintance with his tenant Mr. Huxtable and 
 his charming daughter in the North, and had clinched that matter 
 by coming down to the Castle and proposing to Maria. Until the 
 day after that, no communication had passed between him and Sir 
 Charles. But he had watched Huxtable and him through a glass, 
 and had noticed the attitude of disgust and horror with which Sir 
 Charles received the intelligence, and he saw that he must act. 
 
 That evening he sent across his toady, henchman, or what you 
 call that sort of man, a particularly worthless young fellow, with 
 the note of which we have seen the arrival and reception. 
 
 There was no actual threat in it. He merely pointed out Sir 
 Charles's great influence over Huxtable, and that if it was used 
 to prevent his marriage with Maria, he (Sir Harry) would miss 
 sixty thousand pounds, for which he should indemnify himself (so 
 he said) if his own father stood in the way. 
 
 That was all, and enough too for poor Sir Charles ! Forced as 
 it were to lie — he who had always been so acutely proud of his 
 honour and straightforwardness, to be driven to this ! 
 
 Laura, coining in late into his dressing-room, found him with 
 his head buried in his hands, and the letter lying before him. 
 She came in softly. She was accustomed to coming in softly on 
 these occasions, and to passing a few golden happy minutes in 
 loving talk with the man she loved best in the world. There was 
 once perfect confidence between those two ; their hearts had 
 been so drawn, as it were, to one another, that their friendship 
 had become greater than that between two men who had tried 
 and who trusted one another — greater than the mere instinctive 
 love of father and daughter. 
 
 But all this was past. One thing Sir Charles had unhappily 
 concealed from his daughter — his difficulties. One thing Laura 
 would fain have concealed even from herself, but could not. 
 Something had disturbed their confidence, and each thought they 
 were the guilty one. 
 
 As she came behind him to-night, she saw the letter lying open 
 before him, and, before she knew what she was doing, she had 
 read, "Yours very truly, Harry Poyntz." The look of wonder 
 was still on her face when ho turned, and saw that she had read 
 it. He angrily crumpled it up in his hand and turned towards 
 her, 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 349 
 
 " Laura," be said, coldly, "I see by your eyes tbat you bave 
 read tbe signature of tins letter." 
 
 "Accidentally." 
 
 " Of course I mean accidentally, my love ! Laura, when you 
 left the room tbis evening you said that you could and would put 
 a stop to tbe match between him (touching the letter) and poor 
 Maria." 
 
 "I did, and I will." 
 
 11 Now, my child, I charge you, on your duty, to remain 
 absolutely neutral in the matter." 
 
 " Oh, father— father ! " 
 
 11 Absolutely neutral ! It is not your business to interfere in 
 any way. Older and wiser heads than yours are at work upon 
 it." 
 
 " You surely are not going to let it take place ? " 
 
 " You talk like a perfect child. In the first place, I have not 
 decided what course to pursue ; and in the second, what right 
 have I to dictate to Huxtable who his daughter may or may not 
 marry ? I meanwhile insist that the influence of this family shall 
 be used through me, and through me only." 
 
 Poor Laura saw that her father was sold to the enemy, but 
 would not acknowledge it to himself. She was too sick at heart 
 to say anything more. For the first time he had spoken harshly 
 to her. She would wait for better times ; she turned away and 
 left him. 
 
 When Mr. Huxtable called at eleven o'clock the next day, he 
 was shown into the breakfast-room, where he found only Sir 
 Charles and Lady Southmolton, who had evidently waited there 
 for him, before taking up her usual seat by the little drawing- 
 room fire. Sir Charles merely gave him "good morning": he 
 left Lady Southmolton to speak. 
 
 She soon began. " We heard a piece of news last night," she 
 said, " and it is my turn to congratulate you on it. The more I 
 have thought of this match between your daughter and Sir Harry 
 Poyntz, the better I think of it. It is an eminently good match ; 
 he has family, a large and increasing fortune, youth, and health. 
 He is not worthy of her — no man is, you say — but she would 
 wait a long time before she did better. Sir Harry might marry 
 nearly any one he chose in London. It is a good match." 
 
 And so she honestly believed. She had been so very much 
 used to see very happy marriages made on mere worldly grounds, 
 that she had got to regard the thing rather as a matter of course. 
 She would not have thought that she was doing her duty had she 
 stood between Maria and such a match — so she spoke as above. 
 
350 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Her word was law to Mr. Huxtable, and the thing was done : 
 Sir Charles sitting by silent, and trying to believe that what his 
 mother-in-law said was true, but not in the least degree suc- 
 ceeding. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 This year, on Christmas Eve, the gout, which had for some years 
 been twitching at the long fingers and tugging at the small well- 
 formed feet of long Jim Pollifex of Longworthy, flew to his 
 stomach in a kind of pet, killed him, and went off to seek 
 another victim. 
 
 " He was a great loss to the county," said the bucolic interest ; 
 " a great loss to county society," said every one who had ever 
 been in it ; "a great loss to the bucolic interest," said both Tory 
 and Whig. The Whigs determined on a fight for that division 
 of the county, and spent £155 10s. 9d. on a patriotic address, 
 setting forth the claims of Colonel Hilton. 
 
 Pollifex had been a somewhat remarkable man — a longer, 
 leaner, shrewder, wittier edition of his younger brother and heir, 
 Abiram, the great Australian statesman. He made his last joke 
 to the doctor when he was told things were getting serious, and 
 nominated Sir Peckwich Downes as his successor. The Liberals 
 withdrew the instant his name appeared in print, and their 
 £155 10s. 9d. worth of stationery was pelted with mud by 
 children scarce out of arms. The Tories had played too big a 
 card for them. Sir Peckwich Downes had done so much work 
 for the Tories in Parliament before — was so very big, so very 
 good, so very rich, so perfectly convinced of the infallibility of his 
 opinions — such a model landlord, such a model husband, such a 
 capital horseman, such a thoroughly kind-hearted gentleman, that 
 the Liberals felt they could not play even such a card as Colonel 
 Hilton, V.C., C.B., against him. They retired, and called Sir 
 Peckwich Downes an ass, in which they were mistaken. There 
 was no opposition. 
 
 So the Downes went off to London early in February, and 
 Lady Downes gave herself such airs before she went, that our 
 people were not very sorry when she was gone. She knew — 
 every one knew — that Sir Peckwich 's peerage was certain, should 
 the Tories come into power, as they were sure to do with this 
 reaction going on ; and she took to patronising Lady Southmolton, 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 351 
 
 until that old lady furbished up her old arms, and did a little mild 
 fighting. However, she was gone, and Hoxworthy was empty, 
 and the servants gave a ball in the gallery. 
 
 It turned out also that the Liberal agent had been a little too 
 quick in using Colonel Hilton's name. With a laudable effort to 
 be first in the field, he had started that gentleman without any 
 attempt at consultation with him or others. That gentleman, his 
 enemies said, as soon as ever he saw that his chance was hope- 
 less, resented the liberty which had been taken with his name, 
 by writing a letter to the county paper, indignantly denying any 
 complicity in the matter, and showing that he had, contempora- 
 neously with the Liberal manifesto, accepted an official mission to 
 Chalons. 
 
 It was perfectly true. He had been appointed by the Horse 
 Guards to go and look at the great French camp, and he went 
 away and out of the way. " What he ever came in the way for," 
 said Lady Southmolton, " is a question which, with our limited 
 knowledge of the ways of Providence, it will be impossible for us 
 to solve on this side of the grave : " in saying which Lady South- 
 molton spoke too fast. 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh, with his hat on the very back of his head — 
 with his respirator, umbrella, and goloshes, keeping both windows 
 up all the way — had likewise departed for London, to attend to 
 his Parliamentary duties. Maria Huxtable had gone the day 
 after her quarrel with Laura, and had never come back. She 
 and her father were in London, where they were joined, very 
 soon after the beginning of the season, by Sir Harry Poyntz and 
 innumerable north-country friends, while preparations for the 
 wedding were going on most briskly. No one, in short, was left 
 in the neighbourhood but our people and the Vicar, who, after a 
 long wrangle with a dissenting granite -splitter on the moor, had 
 wrought himself into a Torquemada vein and excommunicated 
 him. 
 
 All else was very still and peaceful ; and as the spring went on 
 day after day, even the Vicar and the stone- splitter ceased to 
 wrangle, and were out trout-fishing together before April was 
 over. Nature felt spring in every vein. Even on the solitary 
 mountain-top of Fern Tor quaint little plants came forth and 
 sunned themselves ; the great bog got himself a fringe of gold, 
 and in the deep granite glen of the "hundred voices," down 
 which Wysclith hurried night and day, his roar was dulled and 
 softened by the over-arching bowers of greenery. 
 
 But down in the slate and red -sandstone country spring showed 
 brightest. There the greens were more vivid, the shadows 
 
352 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 deeper, the water in the streams clear as crystal, untinged by 
 peat. The beautiful half-cultivated valleys, which stretched in 
 all directions, deeply wooded, had each one a sleepy brook which 
 murmured on from shallow to pool, crowned with new yellow 
 shoots of king-fern and lady-fern, hazel and alder. Bright and 
 rare butterflies and insects shot to and fro across the surface of 
 the water, and trout, hardly less gaudy than the butterflies, poised 
 themselves below in the crystal, above the pale-blue gravel. It 
 was a beautiful season, a foolish romantic season ; everywhere 
 too was the jubilant flute -voice blackbird, filling the air with 
 song. 
 
 As for Lady Emily and her mother, they had nothing whatever 
 to trouble them, and were happy enough ; but to Laura and her 
 father, with their two wearying secrets, it was a season of rest 
 which they were glad of. They both pursued the same plan, the 
 foolish old plan we have all pursued in turn : making believe 
 because our trouble does not make itself heard, that it is getting 
 distant, while we know well all the time that it is creeping 
 steadily nearer. They both succeeded pretty well, and were gay 
 enough, riding together along the sands, or up aloft on the moor; 
 but their old confidence in one another was gone, and they knew it. 
 
 Neither of them chose to know the exact day of Maria's 
 marriage. No one ever talked of it except Lady Southmolton, 
 who did so occasionally on principle, to show that a thing to 
 which she had given her approval was of necessity a perfectly 
 eligible subject of conversation : however, she did not know the 
 day, and no one else cared to inquire. Sir Charles had heard so 
 little about it that he began to hope it was all over and done. 
 One day Laura followed him into his justice-room or study after 
 breakfast, and said — 
 
 " I have heard from Constance Downes, father. She has been 
 to the Queen's ball." 
 
 " Oho ! indeed ! " said Sir Charles. " And is there any other 
 news from the gay folks, eh ? " 
 
 " Not much," said Laura, looking out of window. " Lady 
 Poyntz and her husband are at Ems." 
 
 "Hem!" said Sir Charles. "And when— when did the 
 
 " Wedding take place ? Last week." 
 
 " There was no bell-ringing ; why were the bells not rung ? " 
 " The Vicar found the young men in the belfry getting ready, 
 and he turned them all out, locked it up, and took the keys away. 
 He said that if one of them liked to be locked in by himself he 
 might toll, but that there should be no chiming." 
 
LETGHTON COURT. 353 
 
 " The man is mad ! " 
 
 " Quite mad! " 
 
 So it was all over. " And a good job too," said (not thought) 
 Sir Charles to himself. "They'll be able to pay their way, 
 which is a great thing in these times. She hasn't done badly." 
 Alas ! Alexander in debt and Alexander out of debt talk very 
 differently. 
 
 At the end of July all the old set were back again, with the 
 addition of the Poyntzes, who came back last of all. But before 
 that a great deal that was very mischievous and sad had occurred, 
 as we must show you. "It is very hard for idle hands to keep 
 out of mischief," says old Watts. Certainly Miss Laura, that 
 opinionated and self-sufficient young lady, was exceedingly idle 
 this spring ; all the more solid of her new books from Exeter lay 
 unread on the table ; while she, as Edie Ochiltrie would say, 
 went " (laundering " by burnsides with "Maude" and "Aurora 
 Leigh." Idle she was, certainly, and contrived to get into a 
 labyrinth of mischief such as is inconceivable by folks who try to 
 fight against circumstances in any way, and do not altogether 
 give up and believe that " the nice " is co-existent, conterminous, 
 and scientifically identical with " the common-sensible." 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Laura had better, for some reasons, have been in pension ii? 
 a third-class boarding-house at Boulogne, than have stayed 
 " daundering " there in Devonshire that spring. Her father and 
 she had lost confidence in one another. There was just one little 
 matter — the Hammersley matter, to wit — which prevented her 
 telling all things to the Vicar as heretofore : a mere twopenny- 
 halfpenny little business, but one which she was afraid to tell him, 
 and which, after all, was no earthly business of his. Her mother 
 was — her mother — a perfectly commonplace woman ; and as for 
 her grandmother, good as she was, and sensible according to her 
 lights, Laura had seen her little store of experience exhibited so 
 often, that she, had she lived among betting people, might have 
 kept herself in gloves, by betting on what her grandmother would 
 say on any given subject. The only woman who seemed to have 
 any originality in her whatever was old Elspie, her nurse, the 
 most romantic and superstitious old trot in the three kingdoms. 
 
 24 
 
354 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 And I must, sooner or later, come en visage with my reader 
 about another matter. Let us get it over, and let the reader 
 make the worst of it, or the best of it, as he chooses. Laura 
 was thinking a great deal too much about this Hammersley — this 
 incomprehensible young preux chevalier — a great deal too much. 
 
 It is hard to blame her much. Of course she was very 
 indiscreet in ever thinking of him for a moment, but her father 
 was more indiscreet still ; knowing what he knew about the man's 
 quasi-position, he should not have allowed her so much inter- 
 course with this splendid Falconbridge. But debt and anxiety 
 had clouded his mind ; and, moreover, this young fellow was 
 getting very dear to him. He had wished for a son, but had 
 never had one. His daughter was not to him what she had been, 
 and in this young man the old gentleman seemed to see the son 
 of his imagination. Hammersley' s continual affectionate atten- 
 tion to him was very pleasant ; there was such grace about the 
 young fellow that, even when Hammersley bullied him and 
 ordered him about, he, on the whole, liked it, and did not rebel. 
 It was so well and so kindly done, so well and so gently, that Sir 
 Charles, who thought he had but few years' happiness before him, 
 delighted in this young man's presence, and, forgetting the un- 
 happy circumstances of his birth, treated him as an equal, 
 contrasting him favourably with his half-brother, " Harry the 
 Wicked," with his sallow ruthless face, and his cold blue eye ; 
 and Robert (now in India), whom he remembered a fierce, savage, 
 but beautiful boy— a boy more disagreeable for the contrast of 
 his wondrous beauty and his uncontrollable temper. "I am 
 in the hands of Harry Poyntz," he used to think; "and if 
 Harry dies before my ruin, I am in the hands of that young fiend 
 Robert. I wish this fellow were other than he is. I could 
 plead to him" 
 
 Not one word of what was passing did Laura's mother or 
 grandmother know. They had not given Hammersley two. 
 thoughts since he had first come ; and even if they had done so, 
 the possibility of Laura's being indiscreet enough to interchange 
 words with him never entered into their heads. But they noticed 
 that Laura was always with her father now ; that she had given 
 up all her old orderly habits, and came and went like a wild sea- 
 bird on the shore. All this gave her mother great uneasiness. 
 
 "I have lost all power over her. I dare not say anything to 
 her. I wonder if she means to have Hatterleigh. This don't 
 look much like it." 
 
 " My dear," said the elder lady, " in my opinion she has made 
 up her mind to have him, and is enjoying her freedom before 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 355 
 
 going into harness. That is it, depend upon it. There is not a 
 more sensible girl in England ; she is far too wise to refuse such 
 an establishment as Grimwood." 
 
 Lady Emily could only hope so. She knew Laura a great deal 
 better than her mother. Many a furious outburst of childish 
 temper had been concealed from the old lady, and remained a 
 secret between mother and daughter. Laura could be headstrong 
 when she chose, and she chose now. 
 
 Meanwhile she looked on herself as a model of discretion, and 
 indeed never, first or last, did she take any step unworthy of a 
 lady. She kept Hammersley carefully at bay, and very rarely 
 spoke to him ; on one or two occasions she had so far forgotten 
 who he was as to enter into conversation with him, as when 
 Huxtable overtook them in the park ; at these times she found 
 him to be, just what he looked, one of the most charming fellows 
 she had ever met. Of course she saw he was a gentleman. She 
 would have given a great deal to know his history, but her father 
 and mother kept that (at least all they knew of it) to themselves. 
 
 Her father, during these months, was as restless and as 
 reticent as herself. The passion almost the pursuit of his life 
 had been horse-riding. Save that he had done his duty as land- 
 lord and magistrate, he had done nothing else. Now, with a 
 prospect of Baden or Wiesbaden before him — now that he saw 
 that it only rested with an utter scoundrel to ruin him, and to 
 make him walk afoot till he was too old to ride — he took to his 
 horses and his dogs more diligently than ever ; his grooms and 
 his dog-feeders acquired new importance in his eyes. The poor 
 gentleman saw that his power over them was ephemeral — that the 
 time would soon come when they would call him master no longer. 
 He had always been a kind and indulgent master — now he grew 
 kinder and more indulgent than ever. Anxiety acts on some 
 souls like that. Poor Sir Charles knew that his reign was 
 coming to an end, and wished that his subjects should have none 
 but kindly recollections of the banished prince. Laura had got 
 hold of a foolish negro song, " So Early in the Morning ! " a very 
 pretty little song too — 
 
 " Master's dead and gone to rest, 
 Of all the masters he was best." 
 
 She sang it once, but he asked her not to sing it again. He 
 gave every reason but the right one ; it was silly — the lilt was a 
 mere vulgar jingle, and so on. Poor fellow ! the truth was that 
 the silly pretty song touched him too nearly. 
 
356 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Ah ! poor fellow ; if he would only have told the truth to 
 Laura ! He could not tell it to his wife or Lady Southmolton — 
 he dared not ! They, had they taken any pains to calculate 
 matters, might have found it out for themselves ; but no. Some- 
 times he asked himself, now and afterwards, did they ever guess 
 or care to guess the truth ? They certainly never gave any sign. 
 The household, so utterly bankrupt, was kept up in the same 
 respectable manner : prayers at nine — lunch at two ; service in 
 the hall on wet Sunday mornings — sermon every Sunday evening, 
 wet or dry, in the dining-room at nine ; the whole dead-and-alive 
 old routine kept up as though there were no merciless creditor, as 
 though ruin were not knocking at the door. It would have been 
 better if he had told Laura first than last. 
 
 But he could not. The dark nameless secret in Laura's heart 
 showed itself in her eyes, and Sir Charles saw that there was a 
 cloud between them. He knew he had sinned, and sinned deeply, 
 in the matter of Maria Huxtable ; and he thought that the in- 
 decision in Laura's eye, the unwillingness with which she met his 
 look arose from contempt— that she could not forgive him about 
 that matter. He knew that he was guilty, but he never dreamt 
 that she could have anything to conceal too. He was so unused 
 to having anything to conceal, that now, when he had erred, and 
 found himself, through circumstances, left without a friend, he got 
 cowardly and reckless. 
 
 But though Sir Charles had no more confidence with his 
 daughter, still he had her. Though his position was a fiction, 
 an air-raised castle which might tumble down any moment, still 
 he had Laura. She was his daughter, the beauty of Devon, the 
 best horsewoman and the best-trained lady in the county. And 
 she loved him still, in spite of this cloud between them. It 
 would all vanish soon, into thin air ; and alter that the dreary 
 hot white streets of Baden. Meanwhile he had his daughter, his 
 dogs, his grooms, and his horses, and no one knew anything ; he 
 need not walk afoot and see other folks on horseback. 
 
 He was never out of the saddle now. He would ride as long 
 as he could. As for Laura, she would ride you from cock-crow to 
 curfew, and she rode with him, loving him as he loved her, while 
 neither dared say the few words which would have restored con- 
 fidence. In either case it would have been too terrible. 
 
 So these two reprobates went about on horseback — away before 
 prayers, home too late for dinner — committing every sin of 
 omission conceivable. The Vicar came down on Laura for miss- 
 ing church on Easter Eve, pathetically noticed her entire neglect 
 of the Easter decorations, and plaintively rebuked her for her 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 357 
 
 backslidings. Laura gave a little laugh, which puzzled the 
 Vicar, and promised amendment. After he was gone she laughed 
 again, louder. How quaint his language seemed to her ! His 
 rebuke, earnest though it was, seemed taken out of some book ; 
 not a word in it seemed wrong. Yet all that had had a meaning 
 for her three months ago. How far off seemed Christinas — how 
 long she had lived since then ! Was the rapt worshipper of 
 Christmas the same being as the wild gipsy-like Laura of Easter ? 
 She laughed again ; there was nothing irreverent or mocking in 
 her laugh ; it was merely a laugh of wonder, such as a savage 
 gives when he sees a new toy. 
 
 But her riding habit was on, and her father was waiting for 
 her in the stableyard. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 So Laura — still laughing, still vaguely puzzled about the change 
 in herself, still vaguely wondering where it would lead — went into 
 the stable-yard, with the skirts of her habit gathered in her hand. 
 Her father had mounted " The Elk," and was at the further end 
 of the yard. Hammersley was leaning against his leg, and talk- 
 ing to him, with the bridle of his horse he was evidently going to 
 ride, over his arm. Laura looked, and saw that the horse he had 
 appropriated was the very horse she had ordered for herself. The 
 grooms meanwhile were bringing out for her another horse, a horse 
 she did not like particularly. She rebelled. 
 
 " I ordered Avoca," she said. " I shall not go out to-day, on 
 this horse." 
 
 One of the grooms said that "Mr. Hammersley had counter- 
 manded the order, and had said that Miss was to ride the 
 chestnut." 
 
 And at the same moment Hammersley said to her father : "I 
 want to ride that horse to-day. His mouth has been pulled about 
 sadly lately; I want to ride him myself." 
 
 This was going too far. Sir Charles was very angry. He said, 
 in Hammersley' s hearing alone — 
 
 11 You are taking liberties. I will allow no liberties. Do you 
 think, because — because — that I will allow you to speak in that 
 way? I know the secret of your birth, Hammersley, and I 
 have treated you as if you were the first-born. But I will not 
 stand this." 
 
358 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 " I am a fool," said Hammersley ; and he went quietly for- 
 ward, and told the grooms to change the saddles, without looking 
 at Laura. They obeyed him in a moment ; they knew who was 
 practically master. When the arrangement was accomplished he 
 went back to Sir Charles, without once offering to put Laura on 
 her horse. One of the grooms did that. 
 
 Sir Charles and he had time for a minute's private conver- 
 sation, away from the others. Sir Charles was still angry, but 
 his anger was passing away. He said to Hammersley : " You 
 forced me to speak to you. And there is another thing I wished 
 to say. From your manner, you seem to assert an equality with 
 us, which, under the circumstances, you are scarcely warranted in 
 assuming. Do you know anything which others do not ? Is 
 there any chance of your assuming the place in the world to 
 which you are fitted ? If so, I will serve you with purse and with 
 influence to the utmost of my power." 
 
 Hammersley pressed his hand. " Let it be as it is for the 
 present." They had time to say no more. 
 
 To-day Sir Charles and his daughter were bent on an aimless 
 expedition to the wildest and farthest of their farms, on the very 
 moor itself — Fern worthy : a solitary stone house, in the centre of 
 about eighty acres of poor arable land, reclaimed from the moor, 
 lying at the edge of the great Wysclith bog, at the sources of 
 the river, in the heart of the mountains. There were some 
 puppies at walk there, and he made believe he wanted to see 
 them, so as to get a day's riding with his daughter. By a 
 similar kind of self-deception, he persuaded himself that his new 
 favourite, Hammersley, had better come too and see them. The 
 pad-groom was ordered back, and Hammersley followed. 
 
 So they rode away from the sound of the sea, through the deep 
 red lanes, through the rich overarching boscage of the first band 
 of country ; and then through a long-drawn valley of yellow clay, 
 through which the blue slate peeped here and there, among world- 
 old oaks, thickly clustered, underlaid with holly — the home of the 
 woodcock. Then, facing on to the culminating height of the 
 slate hills, they rode across the desolate scratch-and-scramble- 
 farmed, infanticide -producing twenty-acre freehold, ten-bushel 
 country, which lies between the thirty-bushel civilisation of the 
 red lands, and the vast barbarous granite desert beyond ; lastly 
 they came to the country of heather and bleating peewits — to the 
 hot silence of the moor ; Wysclith, five hundred feet below them, 
 hungrily gnawing at the ribs of the earth to win his passage to 
 the sea. 
 
 But as they rose to this height, great clouds — which un- 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 359 
 
 poetical folks call " cabbage-headed," but which more senti- 
 mental folks call either " blue piled thunder-loft," or else " Alp- 
 formed cirro-cumuli " — kept rising also from the south-east, and 
 now hovered so closely overhead that Sir Charles remarked, as if 
 there were the least necessity for doing so, that they were going 
 to have a thunderstorm. 
 
 Wysclith only makes one great bound or waterfall in his 
 passage from the hills to the sea, and that is in his very youth, 
 shortly after he leaves the bog, and before he gets into that great 
 grey glen — the " glen of the hundred voices" as we have called 
 it — which stills his roaring by degrees till he comes into the 
 softer strata below. The ford across to Fernworthy crosses the 
 infant stream about one hundred yards above the waterfall ; and 
 as they splashed through it, they saw the little trout scouring 
 away in all directions over the yellow gravel, and heard the first 
 thunder-crash over Fern Tor. 
 
 There is no need to describe Fernworthy, because we shall not 
 want it again. Yet we will give three lines to a genuine moor- 
 farm. A low grey stone house, with a wall enclosing what our 
 Scotch brothers call ''policies" (and why?); low granite hills, 
 breaking sometimes into low weathered tors, blocking the horizon ; 
 a dozen ill-grown fir-trees, dogs which bark all day, and, for want 
 of anything to do, hunt the cats (with a distinct understanding, 
 however, on the part of the cats). Besides this, muck, mess, 
 mad mismanagement, cider and brandy, immorality and ignor- 
 ance : you must go to the backwoods to match some moor- 
 farms. 
 
 The farmer, a vast, untidy, good-humoured, slab-sided giant, 
 held the gate open for them. " You' in just in time, Sir 
 Charles," he said. "Listen to mun ; and how she stinketh ! 
 mussy." 
 
 The " she " referred to the air, which certainly deserved to be 
 so spoken of, for a sulphureous electrical smell penetrated their 
 nostrils most disagreeably. Hammersley took their horses to the 
 stables, and he had hardly come into the kitchen when the rain 
 began to roar upon the roof, and the first red blink of lightning 
 was visible in the room. 
 
 It was a very fearful storm, such as the livers in the lowlands 
 seldom remembered, but which were frequent enough, said the 
 farmer, among the hills. Laura sat beside her father in the 
 middle of the room, away from the chimney ; and though she to 
 a certain extent disliked the glare of the lightning, which was 
 almost perpetual, she could not help looking at the window ; for 
 Hammersley stood there, looking coolly out into the livid blaze 
 
3G0 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 perfectly unconcerned. At each variety in the lightning his face 
 assumed a different colour — now green, now purple, now flushed 
 with red ; and as she watched, she began to fancy that his face 
 was changing rapidly from one fierce passion to another with a 
 grotesque diablerie exceedingly terrifying. At last, during a 
 flash of lightning more white, brighter, and more prolonged than 
 the rest, which was accompanied by three or four sharp snaps, 
 and then a roar which shook the house, she saw his face take the 
 colour and the rigidity of death. 
 
 Her nerve gave way, and she screamed out, " Oh, he's killed ! " 
 and sprang towards him. She had seized his arm before she was 
 aware of it ; and he turned very coolly towards her, saying, in his 
 usual voice, looking very steadily at her — 
 
 " It was the effect of the lightning on my face, I dare say, Miss. 
 I will come away from the window." 
 
 Laura felt a trifle silly at the exhibition of a self-possession 
 greater than her own, and began wondering whether or no she 
 hadn't made a fool of herself. She thought more of this question 
 on finding that her father had suddenly tuned his fiddle up a full 
 octave higher, and had become afflicted with a somewhat offensively 
 polite silence. Laura was terribly frightened. 
 
 If her father's eyes had been for one moment opened, they 
 were very soon shut again. I believe that in the terror of what 
 happened instantly after, he forgot the little circumstance alto- 
 gether, or, if not, that it dwindled into insignificance. The storm 
 was soon over, and they rode away. 
 
 The ford before mentioned, where they had seen the trout 
 scudding over the yellow quartz gravel, was now a whirling porter- 
 coloured torrent of uncertain depth. Sir Charles pulled up at it. 
 When they passed before they could hear the noise of the waters 
 in the glen below ; now every sound, even that of the thunder, 
 which was still growling in the N.E., was swallowed up in the 
 roar of the waterfall, which was a bare hundred yards to the 
 right ; he could see the water shelve away smooth and glassy and 
 disappear, while from the chasm the spray rose and floated among 
 the rocks, telling of the hell of waters below. 
 
 This was all uncommonly pretty. He had an eye for scenery, 
 and admired it, but as a master of hounds he was obliged to 
 call it a very ugly thing. He wondered aloud how deep it was. 
 
 " I'll see, sir," said Hammcrsley, and went clattering and 
 splashing into it then and there. His big Irish horse went at it 
 in true Irish fashion. It looked dangerous, and there was a 
 chance of being killed, and so " at it you go ; " and he got 
 through. It wasn't half so bad as it looked. The water had 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 361 
 
 barely reached to his feet — they were only splashed. Sir Charles 
 and Laura instantly followed, "The Elk" striding through it 
 like an elephant, and Laura's smaller horse seeming to make as 
 little of it as the elephantine Elk himself. 
 
 The Australians are probably the most reckless riders in the 
 world, and the younger of them think nothing so fine as swimming 
 a flooded river. But you find that the older they get the less 
 they like it. After they have had a horse " capsize " under them 
 a few times they get rid of their superfluous vitality by dangerous 
 forms of steeplechasing, and " funk" the water. 
 
 Who can tell at what particular moment what we call an 
 " accident" begins? Something suddenly happens, and while 
 people are wondering what is the matter, limbs are broken and 
 lives lost. The train begins to jump, and you have not time to 
 look up from your Saturday Review before you find yourself 
 amidst a ruin of wood and iron, with a lady screaming herself to 
 death before you, and the last piece of fun in the small-print 
 article in full possession of your brain. You watch a dipping sail 
 in the Solent, and think it is dipping too deep ; and before you 
 can realise that anything has happened, the boatman bring you 
 ashore a trembling idiot who, an hour ago, was a gallant young 
 man, and tell you that he was to have been married to the young- 
 lady who was just drowned, and that he held her up until his 
 arm gave way, and he was obliged to let her go. This is too 
 terribly true ! 
 
 Sir Charles saw Laura go safely on before him till she was 
 almost at the other side, when her horse seemed to stumble and 
 feel the pressure of the current ; for he rolled on his side, and 
 threw Laura beneath him. When he saw the horse's near hoofs 
 rising to the surface, and Laura's arms only appearing above the 
 water, and her little white gloves clutching about at anything and 
 everything, then he realised the fact that there was an accident, 
 and a terrible one; and tried to spur " The Elk" towards her, 
 and towards the destruction which awaited them both in the 
 seething cataract below. 
 
 But the good horse only floundered through the ford, and, 
 getting on land, burst into one of his pachydermatous gallops ; by 
 the time Sir Charles, half-mad with terror, had turned him and 
 had got back to the bank, he only saw this — 
 
 Laura's horse landing himself about ten yards above the water- 
 fall ; Hammersley's horse grazing, and Hammersley himself in 
 the water, with his feet still off the ground holding on to an oak- 
 root, with his arm round Laura's waist. Their faces were close 
 together, and they were within five seconds of death, and he was 
 
362 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 encouraging her to hold on. She held on. Sir Charles shouted 
 wildly to them : to her to save herself for his sake — to Hammers- 
 ley to save her, giving wild promises, which were luckily wasted, 
 as they neither of them heard him. Before he had time to think 
 of what he had said, they got their feet upon a shelf of granite, 
 and came on land safe. 
 
 Laura was dripping from head to foot ; she was trembling too, 
 but she was also in " a mood," as her father saw in a moment. 
 He who had watched her so long and so well saw that she was 
 agitated by something more than sheer physical fright at her 
 terrible danger. He saw that she was in a mood, and guessed 
 the cause, sagacious creature ! 
 
 " Laura, dear, you can't blame me. How could I guess that 
 your horse would have stumbled ? I tried to ride down and help 
 you, but this old brute of a horse wouldn't turn." 
 
 " I don't blame you at all, father ; I have no one but myself to 
 blame. Bring me my horse, if you please, as quick as you can. 
 Father, I am frightened ; take me home to my mother." 
 
 Hammersley had caught her horse and brought it up, holding 
 the reins of his own horse by his arm, and standing by her 
 horse's head ; he spoke first — 
 
 " Would you be kind enough to put Miss Seckerton on her 
 horse, sir ? I have frightened her a little pulling her out of the 
 water." 
 
 Sir Charles did so, appreciating the high-bred instinct of the 
 young man. The moment they were all mounted, the young 
 gentleman, looking as sulky as a thunderstorm, said — 
 
 " I think I had better ride home, sir, and tell them that Miss 
 Seckerton is wet and frightened." And without any more words 
 away he went, as if he were a gentleman, without waiting for 
 leave. 
 
 "Laura, dear," said Sir Charles, who had got very much afraid 
 of her since the cessation of their confidence, " let us go to the 
 Downes ; you are wet through, and the housekeeper will rig you 
 out in Constance's things in a quarter of an hour." 
 
 " I asked you to take me to my mother, father ! " 
 
 " But your chest, dear ? " 
 
 " Take me to my mother ; I want to go to my mother ! " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 3G3 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 But now came a crisis in matters which led to strange results. 
 Poor Laura will remember the 17th of June as long as she lives ; 
 and there are more still who will remember the next day quite as 
 well. 
 
 What encouragement poor Hammersley had ever received, which 
 induced him to commit the most fatal act of folly he did, we shall 
 never know. From Laura certainly none ; she had scarcely thanked 
 him for saving her life. For the present we must suppose that 
 Sir Charles had so far spoilt him, as to make him so utterly forget 
 his position, and what was due to Laura, as to speak to her in the 
 way he did. 
 
 It was very late in the June evening, and the few workmen who 
 had been employed in doing a few stingy repairs in preparation 
 for Sir Harry and Lady Poyntz were gone, and the Castle grounds 
 were left in seclusion. Laura went over to walk there. 
 
 We know now that Hammersley had watched her and crossed 
 by the bridge higher up, for another watched and followed him, 
 impelled by an overwhelming curiosity. 
 
 He met her in a dark walk, and, going to her, spoke to her 
 more familiarly than he had ever done before. He did not go far 
 — she did not give him time. She stopped him the very instant 
 he had gone far enough to make it necessary, but did not let him 
 go a step too far. She had not been well-formed for nothing ; no 
 one could do it better than she. 
 
 She was very quiet indeed with him. She first pointed out the 
 extreme act of folly of which he had been guilty, and then dwelt 
 on the extreme degradation and aimlessness of his present way of 
 life. 
 
 " If you are what you seem," she said, " I mean a gentleman, 
 throw off this miserable disguise and way of life, and do some- 
 thing worthy of yourself — something which will make your fellow- 
 men respect you. Take the advice of one who wishes you sincerely 
 well, and go from here at once. Now go ; and, believe me, I shall 
 be always glad to hear of your welfare. Good-bye ! " 
 
 He went quickly, without a word. When she turned round to 
 see if he was gone she was alone in the gathering gloom, and saw 
 him no more. 
 
 "Could her grandmother have been more discreet ?" was the 
 first thing she asked herself. The answer her conscience gave 
 her was, " Certainly not!" The very echoes of the summer's 
 evening seemed to tell of " Coelebs in Search of a Wife," and 
 
364 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 other high-toned books of that kind. She recalled every word 
 she had said. It was in her grandmother's best style — nothing 
 could be more eminently satisfactory. And then she began to 
 cry. 
 
 As soon as she had moved away to a safe distance, no other 
 person than old Tom Squire crept cautiously out, and looked after 
 her round the corner. Ho was very nearly caught, for Laura 
 turned and looked back suddenly ; and he saw that she was crying 
 bitterly. 
 
 " What ! looking back to see if he'd come again, eh ? " the old 
 fellow chuckled. " There'd be a fine to-do if the lad had brains 
 to follow you now, my young lady. Well, if gentlefolks don't 
 know their own minds it's no business of mine ; but he shall know 
 of this, though he breaks my head for watching ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Those dreadfully inexorable people the chemists insist that there 
 is just as much oxygen in the atmosphere on one day as there is 
 on another, but it is very hard to believe. They make up their 
 account with ozone, which is a very nasty thing. It is hard that 
 one may not believe, in this age of toleration, that there is not 
 more oxygen in the air on a brilliant crystalline morning, than on 
 a dim, wild, murky autumn evening. However they are right, one 
 supposes, and air cannot be oxygenated like water ; otherwise the 
 atmosphere round Leighton Court must have been represented by 
 a ficsh formula, on the morning after Laura's adventure in the 
 castle shrubbery. 
 
 There was something in the air that morning, however, ozone 
 or barometric pressure or something else, which got into the lungs 
 of Sir Charles Seckerton, as he lay in bed, with his window open 
 as usual, and made him get up and shave at seven, and moreover 
 caused him to ring up Lady Emily's maid, and send her to 
 Laura's room to challenge her to a gallop on the sands before 
 breakfast. 
 
 The lady's-maid — a most superior woman, who " messed " 
 alone with old Elspie the nurse, since a great quarrel in the house- 
 keeper's room, which has nothing to do with this story — answered 
 the bell with wonderful alacrity, and before Sir Charles had time 
 to deliver his message, delivered her own : to wit, that the hunts- 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 365 
 
 man and the stud-groom had been waiting in the servants' -hall 
 for him since six, and that she believed there had been an 
 accident. 
 
 " An accident ! To whom ? " 
 
 One of the grooms, or helpers, or some one of the stable-people 
 was drowned, she believed — young Hammersley, she thought. 
 She belonged to the female side of the house, and shared in the 
 opposition to horse-riding in any form, which was their creed, and 
 which had led to the secession of her and Elspie from the house- 
 keeper's and steward's room. 
 
 " Go and fetch them up instantly," said Sir Charles. "And 
 don't wake Miss Seckerton on any account whatever." 
 
 On ordinary occasions Madam would have as soon had her 
 dinner in the servants' -hall as show up any of the " stable-people." 
 This time, however, she made no further objection than gathering 
 her petticoats round her and sniffing ; she wanted to hear the 
 news. 
 
 "Good heavens! what has happened, Dickson?" said Sir 
 Charles to the stud-groom, who stood forwardest. 
 
 " Mr. Squire will explain, Sir Charles," he said ; "lam only 
 here to make my story good about the horse." 
 
 Sir Charles glanced impatiently at the terrier-faced little hunts- 
 man, and said " Go on." 
 
 He still kept in the back, with his grey eyes fixed keenly on Sir 
 Charles. He began at once — 
 
 " Last night I went to bed at ten o'clock. I had been in bed 
 about ten minutes, when he came in in a hurry." 
 
 " He ! Who ? Hammersley ? " 
 
 The old man nodded. Sir Charles looked for a moment from 
 him to Dickson, and then back again, as though he would ask, 
 " Does he know anything ? " And Squire shook his head " No," 
 and went on — 
 
 " He came straight to my room with a light, and said at once, 
 1 Get up, I must go far and fast to-night. I want " The Elk," and 
 I want you to get him for me, for,' he said, ' that infernal cross- 
 grained old pig Dickson,' meaning him you know (pointing at him 
 with his hat), 'would never let me have the horse at this time of 
 night.' I immediately did as he required." 
 
 "And I, Sir Charles," said Dickson, pompously, "following 
 the routine of the establishment, complied with Mr. Squire's 
 astounding request, and sent out the horse." 
 
 " You did perfectly right, my good Dickson. You may go 
 now." 
 
 Dickson the astonished retired, and the old man resumed — 
 
366 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 " He got on ' The Elk.' I asked no questions, I clurnst. He 
 is a Poyntz, you know, or as good as one I should say, and he 
 was in one of his moods ; but knowing Sir Harry was nearly due 
 home, I thought it was a case of good-bye. I waited to hear him 
 say it, but he did not till the very last ; and then he said, ' I'm 
 off. I can't stand this. Good-bye ! You shall hear of the horse.' 
 And I said nothing. Then he said, ' Good-bye, and God bless 
 you ! Come here.' And I came to him, and he bent down and 
 kissed my forehead." 
 
 A pause. Sir Charles turned away, and went on with his dress- 
 ing. The old terrier took up his story as soon as he found his 
 voice ; not a moment before — 
 
 "He turned to the left out of the Bell Yard, and broke into a 
 gallop. Then I saw that he was going to try the sands that night, 
 and I cried out, like a man in the falling sickness, ' The tide's 
 making ! the tide's making ! ' Perhaps he did not hear, at all 
 events he did not heed. I ran, but what was the good of that ? 
 I heard him only a few minutes, but I ran on, guessing which 
 way he had gone ; and all I could find of him was the way that 
 the deer still stood gazing as he had startled them. I heard him 
 open the gate, and rattle down the lane ; and when I got to the 
 cliff above the Avon Sands, I saw that he was lost. He was three 
 hundred yards out on them going like mad, and the breakers were 
 not a quarter of a mile to his right, growling up fast before a 
 strongish south wind. That's the last I saw of him, and the last 
 any man ever will." 
 
 11 Good God ! " said Sir Charles ; " you don't actually mean to 
 say that Mr. Poyntz is drowned ? I wouldn't have had this happen 
 for a thousand pounds. He was worth the two other brothers put 
 together. What makes you think he is drowned ? " 
 
 " What makes me think he is drowned, Sir Charles ? You 
 have me there. I am afraid there is no hope at all." 
 
 " But hang it, man, it can't be true ; it is too horrible! An 
 author wouldn't dare to put such a horrid thing in a novel, except 
 Scott, of course, who has some devilish horrid things in his novels. 
 Such things don't happen in real life. I won't believe it. Pish ! 
 I don't choose to believe it. I don't want to be shocked just now ; 
 we were going on so nicely, as if we weren't all walking blindfold 
 among venetian-glass ; and now this comes. Poyntz was no fool ; 
 he would have turned from the tide and headed landward. That 
 horse would beat any tide that ever flowed. You are talking 
 folly!" 
 
 "He is drowned and dead. You say he was no fool. He was 
 a madman last night ; and I know they as drove him so. He got 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 367 
 
 on the Musselbank and was surrounded. Why do you talk non- 
 sense, Sir Charles, about his heading up the bay ? Don't you 
 know he is dead ? Ride his darndest, and suppose the sands were 
 sound, where could he possibly make in time ? " 
 
 " Barcombe." 
 
 11 1 was in a boat as soon as there was water to carry one, and 
 I have been all along the other shore, to Barcombe and to Sea- 
 mouth, higher up, but they've heard nought of him. When the 
 sea gives up her dead, Sir Charles, you will meet the best of all 
 the Poyntzes, not before. Oh, my noble boy — oh, my noble, noble 
 lad! " 
 
 Poor Sir Charles ! He tried to fight against the probability of 
 its being true, but facts were too strong for him. He had got 
 very fond of this unhappy young man, and had more than a dozen 
 times thought how well he would have liked such a son. Since 
 he had known that his own ruin was only a matter of time, he had 
 relieved the ghastly, sleepless watches of the night by picturing 
 in the dark, when he was afraid to turn and toss for fear of 
 arousing and making anxious the innocent unconscious wife at his 
 side, what sort of a graceful home he could make himself at Wies- 
 baden or Paris ; and this young Hammersley Poyntz, or what you 
 choose to call him, had always made part of the home-group. And 
 now he was dead, and in this dreadful manner ! 
 
 Although he felt certain that it was true, yet he refused to 
 believe it. For twenty-four hours he was able to say to neighbours 
 that he did not believe it ; that the young man had gone off with 
 the horse, and all that sort of thing ; but on the next morning there 
 was no doubt about the fate of Poyntz -Hammersley, the nameless 
 man, and they searched no more. 
 
 Riding under the red cliffs, Sir Charles and old Squire came 
 upon a little cove or bay of golden sand, which ran up among sea- 
 weed-grown rocks ; and here, with his head resting on a pillow of 
 purple sea-tang, they found " The Elk" drowned and dead. 
 
 It was as well. The cruel quicksands had done their work 
 thoroughly. The carcass of a drowned horse may pose itself 
 artistically, and look grand and noble for a little while, but nothing 
 can make the loose wet lips of a drowned man look otherwise 
 than horrible. The mermaidens had kept their ghastly toy to 
 themselves ; or, to put it otherwise, the horse had had strength to 
 struggle from the shifting quicksand, while the weaker man had 
 been sucked down and buried for ever. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 The wild July weather set in for a few clays now. Nature gene- 
 rally gives us a reminder just about the middle of summer, that 
 there is something to think of in this English climate besides deep 
 green forest boskage, and calm cloudless summer days. Generally 
 about this time she comes tearing back in her strength, to toss 
 the boughs wildly to and fro, to flood the streams and beat down 
 the ripening corn, and to say plainly, " You English, you nation 
 of pirates, you and I are always at war ! I am not beaten, but 
 will beat you yet. Here are some wrecks for you ; I will come 
 again at the equinox, and fight with you all through your long 
 dreary winter." And then up goes the drum and cone from Peter- 
 head to Penzance, and the telegraph clicks out from one end of 
 Britain to another — "Here she comes; lookout!" And those 
 of the small fry who abide her coming are hurled on leeshores, or 
 tossed, terrified and storm-beaten, into holes and corners to hide 
 themselves ; while the larger ships and steamers toil grandly on, 
 defiant. 
 
 Laura was looking from her window, and watched the dark 
 weather booming and rushing from the south-west across the 
 sands. The evening was darkening so much, and night was so 
 near, that the few toiling ships passing up and down the Channel 
 were getting too dim to distinguish through the haze. 
 
 The news of the accident had found its way early that morning from 
 the servants' -hall to the steward's room, and from thence upwards 
 into that sacred eyrie, which those two eagles of respectability — 
 Elspie the Scottish nurse, and Lady Emily's maid — had got built 
 for themselves alone above the base scolding of the shorter-winged 
 birds below, and where they sat all day with their long beaks 
 together over the table, turning over the bones of dead scandals, 
 and scenting new ones. A little wide-eyed dove of a stillroom 
 maid got bold enough, under the general excitement, to fly into 
 their Golgotha, and tell them the news without having heard their 
 bell : after which she wisely fluttered out again. 
 
 A- soon ;is she was gone, old Elspie rose up and said to the 
 Englishwoman, "I'll just gang up at once, and break it to her 
 myself." 
 
 " I think you are wise, my dear soul," said Mistress Bridget. 
 "Break it to her gently, my dear soul. That it should come to 
 this ! Break it to her gently. How very, very dreadful ! But it 
 is all for the best. Be gentle with it, my dear soul, whatever you 
 do. Poor young man ! But I didn't see my way out of the mess 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 369 
 
 till this happened. We have a deal to be thankful for in this, 
 Mistress Campbell. Mercies are showered down on us every day. 
 Break it to her gently, my dear soul ; but I fear she will break her 
 heart over it, anyhow." 
 
 Elspie, as the saying goes, looked her through and through. 
 Mistress Bridget had before made some feeble skirmishing attempts 
 on Elspie of this kind — attemps to make Elspie acknowledge that 
 there was some kind of mild flirtation between Poyntz- Hammer sley 
 and Laura, and Elspie had always stopped her advance with a 
 dead- wall of Scotch caution. Her own darling Laura should never 
 be talked about, by that woman at any rate ! She considered 
 Mistress Bridget's last speech as a treacherous attack on her 
 works at a moment of sentimental confidence, and she was very 
 
 an S' 1 T- 
 
 " Ye'll no sell stinking herrings in Kirkcaldy, woman," she said. 
 
 " And why should Miss Laura break her heart because one of her 
 
 father's retainers is drowned in the sand, if ye please ? " 
 
 Mistress Bridget "caved in." It was very horrible — such a 
 fine young man ! — and so on ; she had not meant anything. 
 
 " Ye'd better not mean anything, woman," replied Elspie, 
 leaving the room, " because I ain't just in the temper to stand 
 it." 
 
 So she, who knew how matters stood as well as you or I, went 
 upstairs and broke it to Laura in the fashion which her keen intel- 
 lect told her was the best. 
 
 Laura was in her combing-jacket, combing her hair, when she 
 came in. She stood at the door, and knocked her stick on the 
 floor. 
 
 " A bonnie morn, lassie ! " 
 
 11 A beautiful morning, nurse." 
 
 " Ye ken young Hammersley, yer father's favourite man? " 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 "He's drowned, drowned, drowned ; buried sax feet in the 
 wicked treacherous sand, and his ain mither will never wail over 
 his bonny corpse ! Sirs, he was a bonny lad ! I've a tear or twa 
 left for him in my dry eye yet. The horse fought out of the quick- 
 sand and got drowned fairly — they found him just now in the cove 
 below the Castle cliff — but your bonnie Hammersley is deid, 
 smoored in the sand, halfway between this and Barcombe ! " 
 
 And so she shut the door on Laura, and went downstairs to see 
 if Mistress Bridget was inclined for a fight, which she felt would 
 do her good, saying as she went — 
 
 " There, she has got it a' ! Poor dear, poor darling, she loved 
 him ; and he was a bonny boy, a bonny boy, worth sax hun- 
 
 25 
 
370 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 dred of your fushionless, doited potato-bogle Hatterleighs ! She 
 shall stay alone to-day. I'll tell that roundabout whisky-barrel 
 woman Lady Emily, and that feckless auld dolly Lady South- 
 molton, that she is ill. They lang nebbit hawk-eyed women are 
 best left alone in their grief. I mind me of a red-haired seceder 
 lass taking the jocktaleg to her ain mither, but that's no exactly 
 to the purpose. Laura is too lang in the neb, and too keen in the 
 eye, to be meddled with this clay." 
 
 " But," groaned out the old woman, " the Papister ! If that man 
 get hold of her now, in her trouble, she'll be a Papist in three 
 months ; and she'll fly to him now, and he'll pass her on to the 
 abomination, the villain, before I am dead. I shall have to see 
 it. I'll go in and see if Mistress Bridget will have a turn of words 
 with me, and help me to put poor Laura out of my mind. They 
 lang nebbit women — it's either Calvinism or Romanism with them. 
 They must have it hot either way." 
 
 Poor Laura had been devising fifty plans to avoid seeing 
 Hammersley again, supposing he had not done as she had asked 
 him, and gone. One plan was to ask to go to her aunt's in 
 London ; another was to fall ill, and get taken to Bournemouth ; 
 another to tell her father just enough to make him send Ham- 
 mersley away. But now her difficulty had been solved in this 
 horrible way. She spent all the day by herself in a state of 
 stupefied terror, sending excuses downstairs to say that she was 
 shocked by the accident, and that it had made her ill. All day 
 she stayed in her room, looking over the desolate sands until day 
 began to decline. She felt alternately terror at his death, and 
 terror at what she had escaped ; tenderness, too, tried to make 
 itself heard, but she resolutely beat it. " Not to-day, at all events 
 — not to-day," she said resolutely. 
 
 As the day went on a resolution grew into a settled purpose, 
 and at evening she rose to put it into practice. In her terror and 
 her grief she fled back to those old rules of life in which she had 
 been brought up. She would appeal to them for protection against 
 herself ; they had seemed to do much for her grandmother — let 
 her see what they would do for her, now they were wanted. 
 
 She dressed herself very carefully, and went down to dinner. 
 As she shut the door of her room, she said — " There ! the 
 discipline is begun ; the last six months are shut in that room 
 for ever ! " 
 
 When she got down Lady Southmolton and her mother were 
 laughing together, but they left off as she came in. 
 
 " My dearest girl," said the older lady, "you have had a sad 
 shock." 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 371 
 
 " Why, yes — rather," said Laura, in her dryest, hardest voice ; 
 " it actually made me ill for a little, Elspie announced it so sud- 
 denly. It seemed to me particularly horrihle, that a fellow-crea- 
 ture was struggling for life within sight of our windows while we 
 were comfortahly laughing and joking. At what time was he 
 drowned ? ' ' 
 
 "At about a quarter to eleven." 
 
 " Singular! There was a light in my room just at the time, 
 probably the only one on that side of the house. That must have 
 been the last object his eyes rested on before he sank. Of course 
 it is not so shocking in this case, as it was only a servant, but 
 it is very sad ! " 
 
 This I give as an instance of the mental torture she began to 
 inflict on herself. Not an idle hour in the day was allowed now. 
 The next day she walked up to the Vicar in the morning, con- 
 fessed to him, and received absolution. He imposed a few 
 penances upon her, which seemed to make her much happier, but 
 they were very light ones indeed ; for the Vicar was not only glad 
 to have her back, having missed her sadly, but he thought, on the 
 whole, that she had behaved uncommonly well. The principal 
 thing he insisted on was, that there should be no more foxhunt- 
 ing ; all the mischief had come from that, and there should be an 
 end to it. 
 
 And Sir Charles put up a tablet on the church-wall to poor 
 Poyntz-Hammersley, and "The Elk" sleeps beneath the im- 
 memorial elms in the corner of the Park, 
 
 END OF PART I. 
 
 FART II. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 By the end of July, before the cub-hunting began, all the neigh- 
 bours came cackling back again, with new ideas, new dresses, new 
 people to talk about, new combinations to discuss ; and poured 
 into the Court, first of all, as being the most popular house there- 
 abouts, to give the folks there — Laura especially — the results of 
 their experience ; as if there had been no change down here — as 
 
372 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 if there had not something happened here which made their mere 
 cacklings ridiculously unimportant — as if she had not lived a life 
 longer than any of theirs since they had gone ambling away into 
 the world. 
 
 There was a dinner-party, with some of the first arrivals, on a 
 Friday — a haunch-day, as Sir Peckwich Downes called it. Laura 
 appeared in grey silk, with no ornament but a crucifix ; and, as 
 it was a fast-day, mortified the flesh by taking nothing for dinner 
 but turbot and lobster-sauce, oyster-patties, some omelette, a little 
 cream, and some peaches and grapes. Her conversation, also, 
 was purely theological. In short, with the highest and noblest 
 intentions, she was overdoing the thing altogether ; and when it 
 was over, and Laura had gone upstairs, her father followed her 
 into her room, and said — 
 
 "My sweetest Laura, I am not going to argue, to dictate, to 
 command, or even to advise. I merely want to put this before 
 you. Does not your admirable good sense point out to you that 
 your suddenly-changed dress and manner are calculated to make 
 people talk?" 
 
 " Dear me, father — let them talk ! " 
 
 " After what has happened?" said Sir Charles, and thought 
 wistfully. 
 
 " It shall be as you wish," said Laura. " I quite see what you 
 mean, dear ; and don't be impatient. The old confidence will 
 come back in happier times. There — go ! " 
 
 " It will come back in ruin and disaster," thought Sir Charles. 
 But his heart was lighter. " It will come back, at all events," 
 said he. 
 
 After this Laura never made any public — not to say offensive — 
 renegation of the vanities of this world, but let her own common- 
 sense have full play. She was thoroughly in earnest, though, and 
 worked away like a cart-horse at her good resolutions. I suppose 
 most of us have done what she was doing at one period of our 
 lives, and have found, or have thought we found, peace in facti- 
 tious activity about small things ; and have ended by finding out 
 that, like opium or brandy, the remedy destroys itself, and that 
 " peace of mind " is not the greatest object in this world. But 
 with this we have little to do ; we must attend to more trivial 
 matters. We have more to do with the succession of arrivals, 
 which came on the Court people like a deluge of cold water ; and 
 had the effect, among others, of making Sir Charles quite forget 
 that he was a bankrupt. 
 
 Constance Downes was about the very first of the arrivals. She 
 was a fine, roundabout, bounceable, two-to-a-pew young lady 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. '6T6 
 
 before she went ; but now she had sewed pillows to all her arm- 
 holes, and was two breadths more round the skirt than she had 
 ever been before. She embraced Laura, and, as she said, brought 
 the news herself. She was engaged : to Count Ozoni Galvani, an 
 Italian nobleman, it appeared ; who, if his brother, the Duke of 
 Pozzo di Argento, a most dissipated and unhealthy man, died, 
 would become golden pump himself ; but who at all events, even 
 if that miserable little creature married, would have his mother's 
 money. She was Miss Butts, it appeared, the banker's daughter, 
 at Whitby. Laura congratulated her, but wondered how it was 
 that Constance, with her beauty and her fifteen thousand pounds, 
 had not picked up something better : moreover, wondered how 
 much Constance Downes' dress had cost; and whether " his 
 mother's money " would stand such a tug-of-war as a dozen of 
 such dresses a year : got entirely worldly, in fact, as she con- 
 fessed to the Vicar next day, who was very impatient with her, 
 though from a cause quite different to what she supposed. 
 
 With Constance, of course, came Sir Peckwich and Lady 
 Downes, vastly deteriorated in everything which made them 
 worthy, by their visit to London. They had both developed, or, 
 more properly speaking, thought they had developed. Sir Peck- 
 wich, from an honest county baronet, had developed into a two- 
 penny-halfpenny politician, and, what is worse in a story about 
 mere social relations, an absolute bore. Lady Downes, an honest, 
 roundabout, country-squire's wife, was now by way of being a fine 
 lady, with about the same capabilities for being one, or of under- 
 standing what one is, as a donkey has of winning the Derby. A 
 fine lady is a very rare and peculiar article, like certain wines. 
 Any wine-merchant can charge you for them, but it takes three 
 generations — three bottlings off, and a voyage to India, say, to 
 supply the article. What it is worth when you get it is another 
 matter. But your real fine lady is a thing of time and tradition ; 
 you can't, to take the very lowest qualification of all, get at that 
 unutterably graceful impudence in one generation. Mere Becky 
 Sharp genius won't do it ; it wants tradition. The art is, they 
 say, rapidly becoming extinct in England ; but there are a few 
 fine ladies left still. We have lost utterly the art of designing- 
 decent buildings and statues, and of making bells ; but those who 
 ought to know tell one, we have a few fine ladies left, though none 
 coming in. One would say that fine ladies would, in the coming 
 bouleversement, be found last in Prussia. Bismarck, though of 
 the other sex, is, as far as we have been taught to understand the 
 fine lady, the finest instance of the fine lady to be found out of 
 England. 
 
374 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 It is humiliating to confess that poor dear Lady Downes tried 
 to be the fine lady before Lady Southmolton : but she did. She 
 sat, and fal-lalled, and patronised, and talked about the Court, and 
 cross-examined Lady Southmolton on the peerage, and on people. 
 And Lady Southmolton sat and looked at her. 
 
 Colonel Hilton appeared next. He had been to Chalons, but 
 not, as was proposed to him, to America. He looked handsomer 
 than ever. He had found so much to do at Chalons, in studying 
 the new military movements, that he had got another man sent to 
 America. It had been very pleasant there and at Paris. The 
 Poyntz people, Sir Harry and his bride, had been there. " At 
 Chalons or at Paris ? "— " At both." " How was Lady Poyntz ? " 
 — " Lady Poyntz was quite well," he believed. 
 
 Next the Poyntzes themselves came. Every one at one time 
 had declared they would not call on them, but now, somehow, 
 everybody did. Lady Southmolton went with singular prompti- 
 tude, in the most public manner ; thundering through Winkworthy 
 ostentatiously, in the family Ark. It is supposed that Sir P. 
 Downes would have refused to call, but his women-folks were too 
 many for him. It was understood that Sir Harry would keep up 
 the house much as the Huxtables had done, and Constance had a 
 hundred pounds' worth of finery which she must wear out before 
 the fashions changed ; and she, as bully of the establishment, 
 had no idea of having a house closed to her down here, where 
 there were so few. So they went, and everybody went. And Sir 
 Harry received them with the most high-headed nonchalance, and 
 showed them all, as plainly as possible, that he did not care 
 whether they came or stayed away. 
 
 So the land became peopled again ; and before they had well 
 heard and communicated all the news, Laura, one afternoon 
 coming out of her room, heard Lord Hatterleigh cackling and 
 screeching in the hall. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 About a fortnight after their arrival at the Castle, Lady Poyntz 
 was sitting at breakfast, in her own room in the keep, the quaint 
 four-windowed room in which Laura once met Sir Harry Poyntz. 
 
 Poor woman ! She had got back to the dear old Castle as its 
 mistress — she had got title and position, such as it was ; but she 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 875 
 
 had made a sad blunder, and she had found it out three days after 
 she had married. 
 
 Sir Harry puzzled and shocked her. He was unutterably false, 
 but he was never in the very least ashamed of it ; and as for 
 physical cowardice, he boasted of it. With all this he had shown 
 hitherto such a perfectly equable temper, and such an immoveable 
 persistency in gaining his end, that, on the two or three occasions 
 in which their wills had crossed already, she had yielded, although 
 a person of considerable strength of character. Once she had 
 made him a scene, but it was no use : the more she stormed the 
 more he laughed, in such an exasperating way that he left her pale 
 with rage. She vowed to herself that he should never see her 
 tears again. 
 
 Still it was his interest to treat her well, for only half her 
 money was in his power, and he did so whenever she did not come 
 between him and his object : when that was the case, his gigantic 
 selfishness would have made him use cruelty towards her, had it 
 been necessary. 
 
 " Lady Poyntz, I wish you would tell your women to get the 
 blue room ready for to-morrow," he said on this particular morning. 
 
 11 Certainly, clear : who is coming ? " 
 
 " Captain Wheaton." 
 
 " Sir Harry Poyntz," she said indignantly, " you promised that 
 you w r ould not let that man enter the house ! " 
 
 "I did not promise." 
 
 " You did, and, what is more, you know you did." 
 
 " Well, that was before we were married, when I wasn't sure of 
 you." 
 
 " Or my money ? " 
 
 " Or your money : exactly, and I can't keep my promise now — 
 lovers' oaths, you know. I must have the fellow. He's an awful 
 blackguard, but he is necessary to me. I will keep him in order 
 for you. He is afraid of me — physically afraid I mean — as great 
 a hound as that." 
 
 Lady Poyntz remained silent, considering how she should act, 
 and, while doing so, fixed her fine dark eye steadily on her hus- 
 band's. What a curious, shallow, cold, dangerous eye it was — 
 the lightest blue she had ever seen with a kind of moonlight gleam 
 about it ! She would have died sooner than have turned her own 
 eye away, and yet she would have been glad to do so. She made 
 as though she were brushing flies away from her forehead, and at 
 last said — 
 
 11 Well, I have made up my mind ; I suppose he will come." 
 
 11 Most assuredly ! " 
 
376 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " Then I shall not speak to him, and not allow him in the 
 drawing-room. I must sit at dinner with him, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Well, I think so. I am glad you are not going to speak to 
 him ; it will teach him his place. So that is settled ; I thank you 
 very much." 
 
 ''Harry" said Lady Poyntz, " do you ever hear from your 
 brother in India? " 
 
 " My brother in India is an extravagant and dissipated rascal," 
 said Sir Harry ; "I wish he was at Jericho ! He has been costing 
 me more money." 
 
 " Is there any chance of his coming home soon ? " she asked. 
 
 " I should like to catch him at it," said Sir Harry. " Oh, I 
 should so very much like to catch him at it ! " 
 
 Maria had asked him this in good-natured curiosity, to see how 
 he was disposed towards his brother, and to try and find out some- 
 thing of his character. She had been set on to this by her old 
 friend, Sir Charles Seckcrton. It was an important question 
 to him, for he knew the state of Sir Harry Poyntz 's health. She 
 left the result here, as being somewhat unsatisfactory. There 
 was another matter on which she wished to satisfy herself, and 
 thought it a good opportunity. She, as nonchalantly as she could, 
 said — 
 
 " What a sad accident the Seckertons have had with their new 
 huntsman ! " 
 
 The light-blue eyes were on her in a moment. She thought 
 that the fowl sat, and she stalked on. 
 
 He said, " Yes, I heard of it." 
 
 " Did you know anything of the young man ? " 
 
 "I suppose you do, from your manner, my pretty fencer. I 
 guess that you know that he was our illegitimate brother. Is that 
 not true?" 
 
 Maria laughed. "You are very cunning," she said; but the 
 blue eye was on her, still inquiringly. 
 
 " Who told you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Lady Emily Seckerton," she said. " What sort of man was 
 he ? Were you fond of him ? " 
 
 " Very much so. I liked him better than any other human 
 being — except you, you know, of course." 
 
 "You seem to have taken his loss pretty easily; I did not 
 notice that you were much affected." 
 
 " I wished to spare your feelings ; I was unwilling to disturb 
 the happiness of your honeymoon by any exhibition of grief. 
 Besides, it is one of the traits of my character that I never do 
 show my grief. The remarkable fortitude I showed at the death 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 377 
 
 of my father drew tears from the nurse. She was drunk, and 
 wanted to kiss me ; but I am sure she was in earnest." 
 
 "I suppose you could show equal fortitude at my death?" 
 said Maria. 
 
 " That would depend entirely on what you did with the 
 thirty thousand pounds which is settled on yourself. If you left 
 it to me, as Christianity dictates, I should spend five-and- 
 twenty pounds on a cheap tombstone for you, tear my hair, and 
 take to drink. If you let it go back to your family, I should show 
 my fortitude by looking out for another woman with money, as 
 soon as — nay, long before — it was decent." 
 
 " Harry ! Harry ! " said Maria reproachfully, " are you ever 
 in earnest? " 
 
 " Sometimes on money matters — on sentimental business, 
 never. So drop it. Now, have you satisfied your curiosity about 
 Poyntz-Hammersley ? " 
 
 "I have satisfied my own. Now to raise yours. Do you like 
 Laura Seckerton ? " 
 
 " I love her ! She is a paragon of a woman — so beautiful, so 
 discreet, so careful not to wound with her tongue. Oh, I love 
 her!" 
 
 " Shall I tell you something about her — your paragon ? " 
 
 " Do ; you will never bore me as long as you speak of her." 
 
 " Why, then, I will tell you," said the unhappy woman. 
 " She fell in love with Poyntz-Hammersley ; she made every kind 
 of advance to him, which he, for decency's sake, reciprocated. 
 When he was drowned, she took to her long-forgotten devotions, 
 and went into mourning, until her father and mother forced her, 
 with threats, to behave more reasonably. All this time she 
 believed him to be a common groom from the stableyard. I 
 know that she knows no more of him — no, nor does any one else, 
 except her mother and her father. And this is your Laura : it is 
 the scandal of the place." 
 
 Sir Harry drew his chair up against hers, and said, " Say 
 that again." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because it is delicious ; because it does me good ; because it 
 makes me love you. Wheaton shall dine in the housekeeper's 
 room, in the still-room, in the coal-hole, before he insults my 
 peerless wife by his presence ! Say it again." 
 
 She told the story over, with additions. 
 
 II That is very good," he said ; " you love her, don't you ? " 
 
 II I hate her ! " said Maria, but said no more. 
 
 " And I," said Sir Harry Poyntz, grasping his wife's arm — " I 
 
378 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 hate her with a hatred which your spasmodic female nature has 
 no power of understanding, leave alone of feeling ! She hates me, 
 and she nearly turned you against me (and your sixty thousand 
 pounds, you know; let us have no sentimentality). She has ased 
 language about me here, there, and everywhere which a dog 
 wouldn't forgive — and a dog will forgive, from his heart of* hearts, 
 far more than any Christian. I hate her ! I can ruin her father 
 any hour after six months ; but the pleasure of ruining her will 
 be greater than taking possession of the Court. How are 
 matters going on with Lord Hatterleigh ? ' ' 
 
 Maria roused herself, and said : " I expect the engagement to 
 be announced every day. The booby is always there. How long 
 he will take about proposing, Providence only knows. When, 
 where, and how he will do it I dare not think, but do it he will : 
 and she will have him, and stop slander." 
 
 " Look here," said Sir Harry, with his wife's wrist still in his 
 hand. " You have said you hated her, and I must do you the 
 credit to say that you never lie, if that be any credit. We must 
 let this engagement go on until it is talked of all over the county 
 until it is in the Morning Post ; and then we must revive this 
 scandal, get it broken off, and drag her down in the dust. Tell 
 me, woman (for I am blind about such things), is Hatterleigh, as 
 they say in their cant, man enough to pitch her overboard for 
 this?" 
 
 "He is one of the first men who would do so. But I am not 
 prepared " 
 
 " Then I will prepare you. It was well done in her to trifle 
 and play with our dear friend, Colonel Hilton, and then throw 
 him over for a roughrider ! " 
 
 Maria could not help catching her arm away. "Have I 
 married the Fiend?" she thought, and Sir Henry Poyntz 
 laughed and left the room. 
 
 This interview had opened both their eyes a little. Maria saw, 
 by this last unutterably wicked speech of his, that her husband 
 knew that she had been in love with Colonel Hilton, and that he 
 had tried to see whether that was the case still. He, from the 
 snatching- away of her arm when Hilton and Laura's names were 
 mentioned together, had seen that it was. Alas ! he was right. 
 Poor Lady Poyntz had tried to get over it ; but the first few days 
 with Sir Harry had opened her eyes, and Chalons and Paris had 
 done the rest. She found herself tied to a hopeless, shameless 
 liar and coward ; while that glorious melancholy-eyed hero Hilton 
 had, now that Laura's baleful dark eyes were out of the way, 
 fallen in love with her. It was all Laura's fault ; she would have 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 379 
 
 won him in time if it had not been for Laura. So, when her 
 husband had asked her, she had said, " I hate her ! " 
 
 But had that very unaccountable scoundrel, Sir Harry Poyntz, 
 known anything about the better class of women, which he did 
 not, he would have observed that Maria's "I hate her! " was 
 said in a snappish tone, which, with a very little extra passion, 
 would have gone over the hysterical border, and come to be, "I 
 love her." The fact was that there was nothing more than 
 temper, and a very little matter of that, between her and Laura 
 just now. Lady Poyntz had thought a good deal since she had 
 flown out at Laura on the subject of Colonel Hilton just before 
 she was married : had reflected what a high-minded, noble friend 
 Laura had been to her ; how the real fact was that Laura had 
 never encouraged Colonel Hilton, whereas Colonel Hilton had 
 undoubtedly made, in his cool procrastinating dandy-soldier way, 
 a considerable deal of love to Laura ; and that Laura had only 
 told her the truth about her husband, after all. But still she had 
 a little devil of jealousy and evil temper at work in her heart — a 
 little devil who was sometimes almost powerless, but who got very 
 active and powerful whenever her husband had the management 
 of him. 
 
 Sir Harry had just been showing off the paces of that little 
 fiend, and he was full rampant. But even now, in the hour of 
 that fiend's power, poor Lady Poyntz knew in her own mind that 
 she could never bring herself to join her husband in his scheme 
 for ruining Laura. She felt pleasure in the indulgence of her ill- 
 temper towards her, but only in imagination : she knew she would 
 never reduce it to practice, although she went to bed indulging in 
 the anticipation of doing so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Poor Laura, terrified, had retired into her shell, and was by no 
 means the genial outspoken woman of old times. Besides, Maria 
 Poyntz had given the first offence, and should therefore make the 
 first advance, which Maria, after the extremely precise, not to say 
 demure, manner in which Laura had received her, felt very little 
 inclined to do. 
 
 " She might surely come and see me ? " sulked Lady Poyntz. 
 11 1 have not committed any crime." But assuredly she did not ; 
 
380 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 and as sulks grow by indulgence, the chances of a reconciliation 
 seemed to get more hopeless as time went on. 
 
 Laura's mother and grandmother were astonished to find all 
 their old influence over her completely restored. They were such 
 very wise women that they never mentioned this astonishment 
 even to one another. They perfectly understood one another, and 
 agreed without speech that the reins now recovered must not be 
 drawn too tight, and, moreover, must be loosened on the first 
 symptom of restiveness. They need not have been uneasy ; they 
 might have driven her hard enough now. Part of her scheme was 
 the giving up of her own will, and the more they had asked from 
 her the more she would have yielded. One difficulty she had — a 
 comical, foolish little difficulty enough, but one which gave her a 
 deal of trouble : she was determined to yield to the Vicar's wish 
 about foxhunting, and she dreaded telling her father of this 
 resolution. Moreover, she was afraid of giving rise to remarks. 
 Something occurred, however, before cub-hunting began, which 
 made this matter easy for her. 
 
 We were great admirers of the late Admiral Fitzroy, and at one 
 time thought Mr. Burder a most shocking man for doubting his 
 entire infallibility. Certainly, some of the admiral's hits about 
 the weather were nearly miraculous ; but it was a low class of 
 cunning. It was done mechanically, and he was always telling us 
 how he did it — a great mistake in a thaumaturgist. It was almost 
 a low class of cunning compared with the foresight which even an 
 ordinary woman will exhibit, not even empirically, but intuitively, 
 about the social weather. Compared to such a woman as Laura, 
 the late Admiral was quite behindhand, and would have confessed 
 it in a moment. 
 
 There was bidden a great picnic party to the place which we, 
 with our fine imagination, have hitherto called " the glen of the 
 hundred voices," but which is marked on the Ordnance Map as 
 " Crab's Gut." They were all to start from the Court at twelve ; 
 and when Laura had finished her breakfast, and found herself 
 alone in the room with her grandmother and her mother, she saw 
 that there was something in the wind — that they were going to 
 say something important to her. She couldn't tell you exactly, 
 like Admiral Fitzroy, the process by which she arrived at her 
 conclusion, but the conclusion was no less certain. They were, 
 especially the elder, both well-trained women ; and Laura knew 
 that they would take, with their wonderful tact, a long time in 
 telling her. She knew perfectly well what they were going to 
 say, had her answer ready, and wished it done. Nevertheless, 
 she was a ritualist : forms must be gone through. They did not 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 381 
 
 ask her to stay in the room. She looked at them and saved them 
 the trouble, stayed without being asked ; looking at them both 
 steadily. 
 
 Lady Southmolton, looking out of the window: "What a 
 glorious day for it ! I wish I was going. I wonder if I dared 
 trundle round in my pony- carriage and see you all. I am afraid 
 not." 
 
 11 You must not think of such a thing, mother," said Lady 
 Emily ; " it would be too much for you." She had by this time 
 come round to Laura, and was stroking her hair. 
 
 " That'll do, mamma," said Laura to herself. She said aloud, 
 "I don't think you had better, grandma. It's a long way, and 
 the roads are rough. No, I wouldn't." 
 
 "How are you going, dear?" asked Lady Southmolton, 
 sweetly, as her mother kissed her back- hair, in irrepressible 
 admiration. 
 
 " With peas in my shoes. It is Friday, you know," said 
 Laura ; and didn't say anything more, which was worse still. It 
 was abominable and undutiful of her, in the highest degree, to 
 pull out (if one may be allowed a simile, taken from Lady South - 
 molton's constant occupation) her grandmother's knitting like 
 this ! However, the old lady gathered up as many stitches as 
 she could, and clicked away again. Lady Emily, getting 
 frightened, and being (as was always the case when she was 
 wanted) utterly useless, continued to stroke Laura's hair, till 
 Laura very nearly went to the extreme length of asking her to 
 leave off. 
 
 Lady Southmolton got up a ghost of a giggle, and said some- 
 thing about their dear Laura's spirits, which, seeing that dear 
 Laura was sitting before her, looking very stern, and getting 
 paler each moment, seemed to be somewhat misplaced. She was 
 a brave old lady, however, and went on with her business, as per 
 arrangement with Lady Emily — plans rather traversed by Laura's 
 vulgar answer about the peas in her shoes. 
 
 " Colonel Hilton is coming with his phaeton, my love ; he 
 would be delighted to drive you." This had been part of the 
 leading-up business, but went amiss : it came in the wrong place, 
 and didn't fit. 
 
 Said Laura : " If he don't drive Maria Poyntz he may drive 
 any one else. But he sha'n't drive me. And if he drives her, I 
 shall not go. Neither would you, mother, would you ? " facing 
 round on her mother at the same time. 
 
 Lady Emily kissed her daughter, and most loyally answered, 
 " No, I would not ; " after which she gave the whole business up 
 
382 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 to Lady Southmolton, and confined herself to kissing Laura at all 
 the important pauses. 
 
 " Now go on, grandma," said Laura. 
 
 In spite of this traversing of plans by a slightly contemptuous 
 Laura, the old lady nailed the last rags of the original programme 
 to the mast, and fought for them to the end. She had been 
 going to do the thing in the proper way, as that sort of thing was 
 always done. The responsibility of any deviation from the pro- 
 gramme should fall on Laura's shoulders. She solemnly played 
 her next card, just as if Laura hadn't just trumped one of the 
 same suit. 
 
 "Lord Hatterleigh," she said, in as offhand a manner as 
 she could manage — which was very badly, for Laura had been 
 "odd" with her, and she hated "oddness," and was nearly 
 eighty — "Lord Hatterleigh has borrowed your mother's pony- 
 carriage, and will be delighted to drive you. Will you go with 
 him?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 This was worse than before — enough to make Mrs. Hannah 
 More rise from her grave. Here was a young woman with 
 opinions of her own, with some shadowing-forth of a character. 
 That transcendently perfect and angelical muff and ass Coelebs 
 would never have got on with Laura : a young person who 
 exasperated her own grandmother with such answers as that 
 about the peas, or, failing that, monosyllables like this last 
 " yes," and drove her to make her grand speech before she had 
 half got through the hour's fencing and "beating about the 
 bush " laid down in the programme. It was intolerable ! Lady 
 Southmolton came to the " toast of the evening " at once — 
 
 " My love, all that I have previously said, and which you have 
 somewhat impatiently heard, was intended to prepare your mind 
 for this great fact : Lord Hatterleigh has been to see your 
 mother! " 
 
 Why does one feel inclined to laugh at a funeral ? Laura felt 
 so much inclined to laugh at her grandmother's bathos, that she 
 gave herself great credit for keeping her countenance. Yet she 
 l mew — w ho better? — that it meant a life-important decision. 
 She was all alone, poor girl ! Her heart was with Poyntz-Ham- 
 merslcy, who was drowned in the quicksands : that we know well. 
 Her father and she were estranged. It was not a matter for the 
 Vicar's ear, for it was not all her own matter — one half was Lord 
 Hatterlcigh's. She had, she thought, nearly done a great wrong 
 to her family, and would atone for it at all risks. No : she had 
 no soul to whom to go to for advice and assistance ; for she had 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 383 
 
 travelled out of the grooves of her mother and grandmother's ways 
 of life and thought, and could not return to them again, try she 
 never so hard. And, above all, she really was fond of that Guy 
 Fawkes Lord Hatterleigh ; she knew his worth, and so she said — 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, dear, we were going to say that in all human pro- 
 bability he will speak to you this morning ; and that if you could 
 give us the very slightest hint as to what answer you would give 
 him, you would remove a great load from our minds." 
 
 "I will give him any answer you please; I will say exactly 
 what you like. What do you wish me to say ? " 
 
 Lady Emily kissed her and wept ; Lady Southmolton went on. 
 She would not influence her for one moment, she said ; but then 
 went on to point out to her the innumerable advantages of such a 
 match, if Laura could only bring her mind to it, and so on. 
 
 " I gather from all this," said Laura, " that I am to say < yes.' 
 Well, then, ' yes ' it shall be. Now I think I will go and get 
 ready. Here are the carriages coming round." 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh had come over to breakfast that morning, but 
 had spoken word to no one, save salutations — except to Granby 
 Dixon, M.P., the man who knows everybody, and turns up every- 
 where. Lord Hatterleigh had eagerly seized on Granby Dixon 
 the moment he came into the house, had sat next him at breakfast, 
 and talked to him incessantly and pertinaciously about the Limited 
 Liability Bill. And that kind and worthy little soul, under the 
 impression that he was doing a good-natured action by under- 
 taking Lord Hatterleigh, had led him on. Not that he wanted 
 much" leading, however, for he was evidently determined to stick 
 to the Member for Brentford like a leech ; and after breakfast 
 took him out into the garden, and stumbled up-and-down beside 
 him, offering a strange contrast to his dapper companion. All 
 this was somewhat irritating to Lady Emily, who knew what was 
 coming ; but her wrath rose to a towering pitch when she heard 
 Lord Hatterleigh say to Granby Dixon, just before they started— 
 " Come with me, Granby, and we will have it out in the carriage." 
 
 " This is too bad ! " she said to herself. " His own arrange- 
 ment too ! However, he shall not play with me like this." 
 
 She saw that Granby Dixon had gone upstairs to put on his 
 boots, and that Lord Hatterleigh was in the porch. She stoodby 
 the stairs. Granby' s dandy little boots were soon heard tripping 
 down the stairs ; him she seized, and eagerly said — 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, my dear friend, don't go with Lord Hatterleigh : 
 Laura is to go. I have known you so many years, I know I may 
 trust you." 
 
384 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Ho grew grave. " It is easily managed, my dear Lady Emily ; 
 where is Miss Seckerton ? " 
 
 " In the library. Thank you very much ! " 
 
 Granby Dixon went after her with his brightest smile and his 
 lightest trip, and found her sitting alone in the library, ready- 
 dressed. 
 
 "Lord Hatterleigh is waiting for you, Miss Seckerton," he 
 said cheerily ; and she rose at once without a word, and took his 
 arm. She was rather pale, and he felt her arm tremble just once, 
 but she was perfectly self-possessed when they got among the 
 other people ; and Granby chattered away merrily, and continued 
 to do so until he had packed her into the pony-carriage beside 
 Lord Hatterleigh, who had got in and was sitting on the left side, 
 waiting for Granby himself — having made the last feebly desperate 
 effort to gain a little more time. 
 
 Granby saw them drive off, and found his warm little heart 
 nearer to his eyes than he liked. He chattered and made himself 
 agreeable all day to every one, but at night he said to himself 
 when he was alone in his bedroom — " God help that poor girl ! 
 God Almighty help her ! Oh, it is monstrous — monstrous ! " 
 
 Meanwhile Lord Hatterleigh had said to Laura : " Will you 
 drive, Miss Seckerton, as you are on the right side?" And 
 Laura said " Yes," and away went the pony (an Exmoor — that is 
 to say, having a considerable share of Barb blood, and standing 
 fourteen hands) like a steam-engine. They were out of the park 
 and through Winkworthy before either of them seemed to find 
 time for speaking ; but when the pony slackened up the first hill, 
 Lord Hatterleigh laughed, not with his ordinary idiotic cackle, by 
 any means, but pleasantly enough, and said — 
 
 " I am glad you drove. I am such an outrageous muff that I 
 can't even drive a pony. This pony would have found me out 
 before this, and run up a tree, or done something or another." 
 
 " You should practise," said Laura. 
 
 " No good — no good ! I have practised shooting, but I shoot 
 so badly that my own brother swears at me. I was sent into the 
 world with two left sides ; I am an ambisinister. I can't even 
 catch trout — at least I only catch junior and inexperienced trout, 
 and I fall into the water in doing that. Now, who is to answer 
 for this state of things ? What is the good of my having sixty 
 thousand a-year if I have two left legs and another man's arms?" 
 
 Laura suggested that he might do a great deal with his money. 
 She mentioned hospitals, industrial exhibitions for the working- 
 classes ; but found herself dwelling on flower-shows, being in a 
 foolish frame of mind, and naturally harping on the most foolish 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 385 
 
 idea. She forced home the necessity of these flower-shows upon 
 him with considerable volubility ; but finding herself somewhat 
 entangled in proving the moral effects of china -asters, she saw 
 that she was talking unutterable nonsense to gain time, and wisely 
 held her tongue until it was all over. 
 
 "Well, I do go in for that sort of thing, Laura," he said. 
 " God knows I do heartily whatever my hand finds to do, but I 
 am what they call a muff; and if you married me, you would 
 make me little else. The time is gone by — nay, the time never 
 existed. But, Laura, I am neither coward nor liar, as you will 
 find if you say ' yes ' to the question I am going to ask you. 
 Can you marry me ? There is no hurry for your answer. 1 urge 
 nothing in my own favour, you observe. Give me an answer 
 before we reach the end of the next mile, and that shall be final." 
 
 Laura could not help turning and looking at him. She had 
 her answer ready, and was determined to deliver it face to face, 
 with her eyes on his. So she turned ; and she saw him as she 
 had never seen him before, and knew him for the first time. 
 Now that he was sitting in perfect repose — now that his fantastic 
 manner was out of the play — she saw what a noble creature he 
 was. She was clever enough to know that his brain was not first- 
 class — that his family was getting worn out ; but she had sense 
 enough to see that his face, now that it was at rest, was a very 
 noble one — and to feel that the calm patience with which he 
 waited for her answer, showed that he had a gentleman's soul 
 in spite of his fantastic habits. I suppose it was her woman's 
 instinct which told her that he was in love with her ; but woman's 
 instinct is a thing which I don't understand, nor you, and least of 
 all the women themselves. 
 
 He soon felt that she was looking at him. He turned on her 
 kindly and, to say the truth, grandly, and said — 
 
 " Well, is the answer ready so soon ? " 
 
 Laura said : " The answer has been ready since this morning. 
 My mother prepared me for all this. The answer is, 'Yes.' If 
 you had asked me at breakfast-time this morning, the answer 
 would have been a complimentary ' yes ; ' now it is a very decided 
 ' yes ' indeed." 
 
 " Then you think you can get to love me?" 
 
 " Not better than I do at present ! I always loved you, Lord 
 Hatterleigh, and I love you better than ever now. I think you 
 are a noble person ; but you do not do yourself justice. Let me 
 give you our first confidence. This morning I was ready to 
 submit — now I am ready to acquiesce. I think " 
 
 Ah ! that one glance at the wild tide-beaten sands, far below 
 
 26 
 
386 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 their feet, which showed her that she was speaking falsely, though 
 she meant so earnestly and so honestly every word she said ! Step 
 out, old pony, and carry us deep into the green woodlands beside 
 the rushing river ; and leave the sands far behind, with the dead 
 man buried in them. The dead man's memory walks there like a 
 ghost, and will walk for ever ; but like other ghosts, if not seen, 
 will be forgotten and discredited. On into the woodlands then ! 
 
 They all met in the glen, at a place where the trees were so 
 high, large, and dense, that you could only see the overhanging 
 cliffs here and there among the topmost boughs. The river, tired 
 of streaming from crag to crag of granite, slept in a deep black 
 pool, over whose surface the foam-flakes slowly travelled in gentle 
 curves. There was silence close at hand all around ; but, 
 farther off, the ceaseless rush of water came softly and pleasantly 
 to the ear. About the edge of the water were broad shelves of 
 granite, mostly carpeted with moss ; while on the edge which ran 
 farthest into the pool, there stood a great Logan-stone, which 
 seemed as if a child's hand might topple it into the river. The 
 summer sun streamed through a deep boskage of king-fern and 
 hazel. It was a perfect place for a picnic ! 
 
 Laura and Lord Hatterleigh noticed to one another, as soon as 
 they looked round, that the central figure in the landscape was a 
 very singular one. Sir Harry Poyntz happened to be standing 
 apart from every one, on the edge of the water, looking about 
 him. He had dressed himself, as he usually did, very oddly, 
 and looked utterly unlike any one else. With the exception of 
 the blazing breloques on his waistcoat, and the rings on his 
 fingers, everything about him was brilliantly black and white — 
 white trousers, waistcoat, and hat, -but a black-velvet coat and 
 lacquered shoes, all in a state of catlike cleanliness and neatness. 
 "Look how that fellow's clothes are cut," said Lord Hatter- 
 leigh. " They won't make such clothes for me ; and it's no use 
 my going to his tailor. Look at him, Laura ! Do you see that 
 he is blowing his nose, and that he has a tinted handkerchief and 
 primrose-coloured gloves, which have the effect of making his 
 waxen complexion look healthly ? Did you ever see such a clever 
 fellow?" 
 
 Laura had no time to laugh, as she felt very much inclined to 
 do, for Sir Harry Poyntz came towards the pair ; and with a 
 smile on his face, but none in the cold shallow blue eye, asked 
 Laura, to her great surprise, if she had seen Colonel Hilton ? 
 
 "He is not coming ; indeed, he was not asked, I believe," said 
 Laura, with the most perfect coolness — a coolness which had the 
 effect of irritating her mother extremely. She wanted to get 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 387 
 
 some hint of the result of the drive in the pony-carriage : " Had 
 that booby spoken ? " Laura gave no sign. 
 
 " Oh ! bother it all," said Sir Harry ; " isn't he coming ? Then 
 I shall have to take care of my own wife ; this is too bad ! " 
 
 "I can take care of myself, Harry, I daresay," said Lady 
 Poyntz, bridling. 
 
 " Can you ? " said he. " From watching you and him together, 
 I should have thought that you could scarcely have cut up your 
 own dinner without him ! ' ' 
 
 " What a reckless lunatic that man is, George, to speak so to 
 that poor woman ! " said Laura, aside, to Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 It was the first time she had ever called him by his Christian 
 name ; he turned, and looked at her gratefully ; and Laura was 
 astonished, he really looked very handsome. Could this be the 
 booby of this morning ? 
 
 " Where will this end ? " he said to Laura. " What can the 
 man be doing it for ? To gird at her in society before they have 
 been six weeks married ! I can't endure that fellow, Laura. I 
 know nothing of him, except this, that I hate him ! " 
 
 " You should not hate anybody, George." 
 
 " Very like — very like ! But I hate that man, however. Are 
 you fond of cats? " 
 
 " For the sake of argument, no. But why ? " 
 
 " Because that man is a cat. Look at him ; look at his 
 stealthy grace — look at his perfect cleanliness and neatness, 
 and look at his hopeless, unutterable selfishness. I'll go up, 
 and make him purr for you directly. Did you ever see anything 
 more wonderfully bizarre and attractive than the fellow's dress ? 
 If he chose to be decently civil to his wife, that sentimental 
 whiskerando Hilton would have no chance with him. Hiltons 
 are as common as blackberries ; any one could manage him — 
 there would be no credit to her in dragging him at her chariot- 
 wheels. But there is only one Harry Poyntz. If he would only 
 allow her, before society, the reputation of having mastered such 
 a notoriously dangerous tiger as he is, she would be proud of 
 him, and would get to love him. But he won't ; it is not his 
 game ; I can't understand his game the least in the world. I 
 suspect there is a good deal of caprice and whim about the man. 
 Those effeminate men acquire feminine vices, I expect : childish 
 love of power, causeless ill-temper, and cap " 
 
 Laura looked at him with the corners of her mouth drawn down 
 demurely, and they both burst out laughing. 
 
 Sir Harry and Lady Poyntz were having a few words mean- 
 while. 
 
388 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 "I cannot conceive, Harry," she said, "what you propose to 
 yourself in treating me like this in public. If you could help it 
 I shall be glad ; if you can't, I shall retaliate. I could be very 
 disagreeable, mind ! " 
 
 " Oh no, you couldn't, my love ; you couldn't say anything 
 which these dear friends of ours have not said a hundred times 
 over. Bless the dear little fool, you haven't heard half the lies 
 about me yet ! But there is no cause for anger in this case ; I 
 only chaffed you about Hilton because I saw it annoyed Laura 
 Seckerton." 
 
 " I wish you would not sharpen your wits on your wife. Why 
 don't you bring Captain Wheaton, and make him your foil ? " 
 
 "The people won't have my helot ; my helot gets drunk and 
 becomes offensive, and what is amusing to me is disgusting to 
 them. Take care where you are standing, you will catch fire. 
 By Jove, you are on fire ; take care ! " 
 
 It was true. The grooms had made a fire on the rock, as 
 being a necessary part of any picnic ; and Lady Poyntz, in drawing 
 herself up tragically before her husband, had backed against it, 
 and her flowered muslin dress was sending up half-a-dozen tiny 
 wreaths of white smoke, just preparing to burst into a blaze. 
 
 Laura and Lord Hatterleigh were watching the pair, and saw 
 the accident. Laura gave a wild scream, and Lord Hatterleigh 
 a roar. He rose up, tore off his coat, and, as he hurled his 
 ungainly length towards them, was heard by the terrified spectators 
 to cry out — 
 
 " Throw her down, Poyntz ; throw her down into the wet moss. 
 The fool, why does he stand staring there ! Are you fit for nothing 
 in heaven or earth ? Throw her down." 
 
 By the time he had relieved his feelings so far, he had got hold 
 of her and fairly tumbled her down, trying with his coat to smother 
 the fire. Fortunately for her, they fell together among deep wet 
 moss at the edge of the water, with the fire underneath. But the 
 fire was strong ; and Laura, standing horror-struck, saw his long, 
 lean, delicate white hand in the midst of it four or five times as 
 he tried to smother it with his coat, before his own groom, the 
 first man who recovered his senses, put it out by baling water on 
 it from his hat. 
 
 Then Lord Hatterleigh got up, and Lady Poyntz was helped 
 up ; and there was a general shrieking and gabbling, in the midst 
 of which Laura came up to Lord Hatterleigh's side, and found 
 him thanking his groom. 
 
 "I am personally obliged to you, Sanders. Your family has 
 served our house for many years now, and has always been dis- 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 389 
 
 tinguished, with one solitary exception " (brother of this Sanders, 
 say the Archives, who got himself bored to the borders of Bedlam, 
 and enlisted in the 16th Light Dragoons — a rebellious Sanders) 
 " for their dexterity and devotion. This shall not be forgotten." 
 The present Sanders merely touched his hat in acknowledgment, 
 and pointed out to Laura, as being a thing which decidedly con- 
 cerned her more than any one else, that his Lordship's left hand 
 was terribly burnt ; after which he went for old Doctor Buscombe, 
 who happened luckily to be one of the party, and who was wander- 
 ing in the wood with Lady Emily, gathering bilberries, and hearing 
 all about Lady Southmolton's symptoms. 
 
 Laura took Lord Hatterleigh's arm, and led him away. When 
 she dared to look at his left hand she nearly cried out. It was 
 all burnt up into great bladders — but no more of that. He tried 
 to laugh, but it ended in a feeble cackle. 
 
 " Lucky it wasn't the right one — eh, Laura ? Shouldn't have 
 been able to write. I should have been obliged to dictate my 
 Limited Liability pamphlet to you; and you're so stupid, you 
 know ; you'd have made a hundred blunders, wouldn't you, 
 now?" 
 
 " I should, indeed. Sit down here, and let me tie my handker- 
 chief over your hand. I don't like this." 
 "Don't like what?" 
 
 " This, all of this. It is all getting so tragical, and so terrible. 
 Oh, George ! George ! do, whatever happens, stay by me, and see 
 me through it. Do let me believe that there is one other human 
 soul in whom I can trust. Be friendly to me, George ; I have no 
 friend left but you. I always loved you, George — I always trusted 
 you. Be a friend to me, George, for I am all alone, George — all 
 alone, all alone ! " 
 
 This from his imperial bride, whom he thought so hard to win ! 
 It set him thinking. He could think rapidly, and generally to 
 the purpose ; besides, to use a term, which I cannot replace by a 
 better term, " his heart was in the right place. His answer was 
 soon ready, rough as it was — 
 
 " Laura, if the Old Gentleman himself comes between you and 
 me, let him take care. I am a peer of England, with sixty 
 thousand a year ; that still counts for something, even in these 
 latter days. What is the social status or income of the gentle- 
 man just alluded to, I don't know; but let him take care — a 
 British peer is still a very terrible person ! Make me your 
 husband as soon as you can, and we will face it out together. 
 Pitch me overboard to-morrow, and we will face it out just the 
 
390 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Their tete-a-tete was ended. The Doctor was seen approaching 
 rapidly with Sir Harry Poyntz, who was trying to look as if he 
 had been to fetch him. While the Doctor was untying Laura's 
 pocket-handkerchief from the burnt hand, Sir Harry spoke to 
 Lord Hatterleigh in a gentle quiet voice, without one touch of 
 scorn, and apparently without the slightest arriere pensee — with 
 the strange recklessness of a man who has offended the world past 
 forgiveness, and has become utterly contemptuous of it — 
 
 "I have to thank you for saving my wife's life. That is, I 
 believe, supposed to be a great obligation, although it has cost 
 me thirty thousand pounds. I am very much obliged to you, and 
 all that sort of thing. I was utterly taken aback when the acci- 
 dent happened, and she would have been burnt to death before I 
 should have realised it, and then I shouldn't have known what to 
 do. You have shown an extraordinary amount of courage and 
 sagacity — you must see that yourself. I have entirely changed 
 my opinion of you. I always thought you a half-witted booby ; 
 and so did you, you know, Miss Seckerton ? " 
 
 It was horribly, viciously true — it was as wicked a thing as ever 
 was said ; but Lord Hatterleigh 's quiet beautiful good -humour 
 took the sting out of it in a moment, and made it perfectly 
 innocuous — 
 
 " I don't know whether she thought so ; I can only answer for 
 her having diligently told me so for the last ten years. Eh, 
 Laura?" 
 
 " My Lord," said the Doctor, " we must get home and have 
 this dressed." 
 
 " But I don't want to go home." 
 
 "You must." 
 
 " Pish, Doctor ! I am determined to stay out and enjoy 
 myself." 
 
 "Enjoy yourself! You know you are in terrible torture?" 
 
 " By no means ; I am enjoying myself thoroughly. Take 
 Sanders home, and bring your bandages, your cotton-wool, your 
 fiddle-faddles back. You needn't be gone half an hour. Home," 
 quoth he—" not if I know it ! " 
 
 " Hah ! " said the Doctor to Laura, " the symptoms are worse 
 than I thought. Fever is setting in ; he is getting tete montee. — 
 My dear lord, I am astonished that one who has always taken 
 such care of his most valuable health should trifle with a serious 
 accident of this kind." And here they all three burst out 
 laughing. 
 
 "Don't let him chaff me, Laura. But, seriously, is there any 
 danger in my staying out ? " 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 391 
 
 11 No danger" said the Doctor ; " only, if you persist in staying 
 out, I shall think that Sir Harry Poyntz's former estimate of your 
 character was — was — well, I won't say what." 
 
 " And Miss Seckerton's too, remember. A half-witted booby, 
 eh ? Well, I'll submit ; I must act up to my new character. I 
 suppose you couldn't quit this festive scene, Laura, and drive me 
 home. By-the-bye, Doctor, I ought to tell you I am engaged to 
 Miss Seckerton." 
 
 " A bad thing for me," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Very bad. If you are the man I take you for, you will go 
 and get the pony-carriage for us. I'd do the same for you." 
 
 "We shall see," said the Doctor to himself, as chorus, going 
 on his errand, " what stuff there is in this good-humoured gaby. 
 There may be something. He comes of a good stock, and has 
 shown pluck and resource to-day; but I fear he has thought 
 about himself and his inside too long, and that this is only a 
 grand show-off. Noblesse oblir/e, but noblesse and dinner-pills — 
 bah ! I can't believe in it yet. He has got that peerless girl to 
 consent to marry him, and he is bent on showing that he is not 
 the miserable effeminate ass which the world has written him 
 down. When the necessity for showing off before her is gone, 
 he will sink back into his own valetudinarian selfishness again. 
 A man don't study himself for fourteen years, to the exclusion of 
 all other matters, and then turn out a hero at the end. She, 
 pretty storyteller, has been telling him that she loves him — oh, 
 woman ! woman ! woman ! — and he has believed her. When he 
 finds out how she has lied, the last state of that man will be worse 
 than the first ! ' ' 
 
 But when the Vicar heard of it, he said: "I always thought 
 well of that young man from a boy. His mother nearly spoilt 
 him, but he will do now. He only wanted arousing." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 And so Laura was enabled to say, without exciting any surprise, 
 on the day before the cub -hunting began — 
 
 " I shall not hunt this year, my dear father. George has 
 pressed me very eagerly to do so, but I don't think it would be 
 fair on him. He can't hunt himself." 
 
 There was, undeniably, good sense in this. Sir Charles sighed 
 
392 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 and gave up the question, seeing that he should have to hunt his 
 short remaining time by himself. But he found her waiting for 
 him at his early breakfast. She made him his tea as of old, paid 
 the little attentions to his necktie, and made him as smart and as 
 spruce as possible ; and she sent him off with a kiss, and stood 
 laughing at the door in the early autumn morning, as the tall, 
 spare, gentlemanly figure rode down the avenue alone. She 
 noticed how bent he was getting, and said with a sigh — 
 
 " Well, and so there's an end of all that ! I shall wonder at 
 nothing now. I knew a young lady once, called Laura Seckerton, 
 and a jolly young lady she was ; but I don't know what has 
 become of her. There is the church-bell ! " 
 
 The Vicar had been profoundly astonished at this engagement 
 with Lord Hatterleigh. If he was in any way offended with 
 Laura for not having asked his advice, he was too sensible, with 
 all his fantastic ritualisms, to show it. He knew that if Laura 
 had ever had the slightest idea of following his advice, she would 
 certainly have asked it. Therefore, when she told him of it, he 
 only gave her his affectionate blessing ; and as soon as he could 
 get rid of her, went and told his wife, saying to her what we have 
 mentioned above as per contra to the Doctor's opinion. 
 
 The " Umbrella" was rather more savage about this engage- 
 ment than she was about Maria Huxtable's. Her life is only 
 noticeable for these few outbreaks, as the history of a volcano is 
 only the history of its eruptions. On this occasion she made an 
 a.d. 63 business of it. After twenty years' quiescence she rose 
 upon her husband, and overwhelmed him ; he being as unsuspect- 
 ing of such a thing being possible, as ever were the inhabitants of 
 Pompeii, when they saw something like a fir-tree fifteen thousand 
 feet high. Yes, she turned on him for the first and last time. 
 Their servant (probably an idle and untrustworthy minx, given to 
 leasing) put it about afterwards, that she actually shook her 
 scarlet-gloved fist in his reverend face : it is pretty certain, seeing 
 that he told the whole business to his most excellent gossip Sir 
 Charles Seckerton, that she " went in on him " very much in this 
 style : — " This is a most villainous business ! Those exasperating 
 old trots, Lady Southmolton and Lady Emily, are allowing the girl 
 to sell herself. Do they know that she was in love with Poyntz- 
 Hammersley ? " 
 
 " With whom ? I didn't catch the name." 
 
 " Yes, you did. With Poyntz-Hammersley, the man who was 
 down here in disguise. Do they know that — that they arc allow- 
 ing the poor girl to sell herself, for bare respectability's sake, to 
 this tomfool ? I daresay they do. You do ! " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 393 
 
 11 How do you know that ? " 
 
 " I know it now, at all events, because you don't dare to deny 
 it. And knowing it, why didn't you prevent her making this 
 engagement ? ' ' 
 
 ''What power had I?" 
 
 " None, I hope ; for I should be sorry to think that, if you had 
 any, you would have been such a coward as not to exert it. Why 
 can't you confess at once that you had no power, after all your 
 boasting ?" 
 
 " My power is limited at a certain point." 
 
 " So it seems ; stops short of the useful point — very short." 
 
 " Georgina, you are losing your temper " 
 
 11 I am not ! " 
 
 " But I could easily forgive you if you were. I don't like 
 it, but will you be good enough to tell me what I could have 
 done ? " 
 
 Only indignant twitching of the red gloves. The Vicar had 
 administered a puzzler ; and he, seeing his opportunity, dex- 
 terously and at once soared up into a vast moral height, and 
 regarded the red gloves, as though through the wrong end of a 
 telescope, in infinite perspective — 
 
 " Your instincts, like tho'se of most women, are good ; your 
 capacity of judgment and your knowledge of logic are, as in the 
 case of all women, contemptible. I would have prevented this if 
 I could, but I could not. No one knows better than yourself that 
 the wholesome power of the priest is, for the present, circum- 
 scribed in a shameful manner." 
 
 " You might have done something. You might have gone to 
 dinner there Friday week — fast-day — what is a fast day to Laura's 
 happiness ? Besides, there were filleted soles and crimped skate 
 — Mrs. Border showed me her bill-of-fare — and you might have 
 spoken your mind. You might have spoken out quietly to Lord 
 Hatterleigh, that he was notoriously the greatest gaby and goose 
 in the Three Kingdoms, and that he never could be happy with 
 Laura ; or you might have wrapped the whole thing up in an 
 allegory." 
 
 "As how ?" 
 
 " That's entirely your business. You are clever enough at 
 allegories, when you choose. I never know when you are speak- 
 ing in allegories or speaking the truth. I thought it was all true 
 about Saint Bristow, till you told me it was an allegory, and the 
 school- children believe it as much as the Babes in the Wood to 
 this day. If you had gone to dinner on Friday week, and wrapped 
 it up in an allegory, the thing would have been stopped. As it is, 
 
394 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 Laura Seckerton is, entirely owing to you, going to marry Guy 
 Fawkes 1 " 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Guy Fawkes, however, as the Vicar's wife called him, made a 
 most attentive lover : he used to ride or drive over from Grim- 
 wood every clay, and spend many hours with Laura, interfering 
 sadly with the regularity of her life, and her methodical arrange- 
 ments ; and of course she submitted uncomplainingly. 
 
 Nay, more. These interruptions of Lord Hatterleigh were far 
 from unpleasant. Those good folks who said to one another, 
 " How can that noble girl endure that booby for ten minutes ? " 
 knew very little either of Laura or of Lord Hatterleigh. In the 
 first place, all her hundred -and -one rules and regulations, though 
 bravely persisted in, were, so far from being any relief, becoming 
 intolerably irksome. They had always been tiresome to her in 
 the old times ; but she had grown into the creed that the only 
 difference between an Englishwoman and a foreign woman, the 
 only difference between an immaculate saint and an ordinary 
 sinner, consisted in the adherence to these aforesaid rules. That 
 the immaculate saints, when they did fall, made a far worse mess 
 of it than the ordinary sinners, who had not pitched their pipes 
 too high, she had long suspected ; but she had been brought up 
 to consider that the only life possible for a decent woman was that 
 of the well-regulated British female of the superior classes, and 
 on to this belief she had engrafted the Tractarianism she had 
 learned from the Vicar. Whether the creed she had knocked up, 
 between Hannah-More regularities and ultra-high-church regu- 
 larities would not hold together, or whether her mind had all 
 along been too extremely ill-regulated for either, is a question 
 we must leave to abler hands to decide. We have only to do with 
 results ; and the results were, first and last, unsatisfactory. 
 
 Last, more particularly : when she had that terrible fright 
 about Poyntz-Hammersley, she began to believe her grandmother 
 once more, and fled back to her old formulas. She found them 
 deader than ever — so very dead, that when she recognised that 
 the submitting to Lord Hatterleigh's attentions was part of her 
 duty, she found at the same time that his babble was the only 
 thing in life that she cared for. When he was absent she went 
 on with her other duties — her regular reading, her poor, her 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 395 
 
 schools, or what-not. But as day after day went on she began 
 to look more eagerly for his coming, and, to his great delight, to 
 chide him for being late. She had always liked the man, and 
 she liked him better day by day. Though he at first gobbled like 
 a turkey-cock, and blundered about like a hobbled donkey, yet 
 what he said was far better worth hearing than anything else she 
 heard ; and as for clumsiness, he improved rapidly. 
 
 " I wish," he said once, " that I could put you on your horse." 
 
 " Why ?" she asked. 
 
 " Because then we could ride together ; and it seems shame- 
 ful to me that you should have given up your riding on my 
 account." 
 
 " Would you like to ride with me, then ? " 
 
 " I would give anything to do so ; but I should pitch you over. 
 And I can't ride." 
 
 "You ride well enough, and the stud-groom can put me on. 
 Do you desire that I should ride with you ? " 
 
 He laughed, and so did she. " I make a formal request that 
 you ride with me." 
 
 " I obey, of course," she said. " Will you ride with me 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 11 Shall we go with your father to the meet ? " he said eagerly. 
 " I know you would like it." 
 
 " What can we want at the meet, my dear George ? Every 
 man can't ride to hounds, and you can't. I don't love you or 
 respect you one whit the less for it, but I don't want you to be 
 sneered at by all the horsebreakers and horsedealers on that 
 account. Come with me over the sands." 
 
 So they went — farther and farther each day ; poor and schools 
 being more and more neglected for a week. At the end of that 
 time, Laura made her appearance one night in her father's 
 dressing-room, as of old, and, putting her arm round his neck, 
 said — 
 
 " George and I have got such a quarrel with you, you wicked 
 and unfeeling old man ! " 
 
 "My darling, why?" 
 
 " You never come and ride with us ; you treat us like the dust 
 under your feet. If you want us ever to speak to you again, you 
 will come and ride with us to-morrow." 
 
 He could only kiss her and cry. Poor old gentleman ! with 
 all the ruin hanging over their heads, and he afraid to realise it 
 to himself, still more afraid to tell Lord Hatterleigh the truth. 
 But he came with them day after day, and, for the first time for 
 so many years, was sorry when a hunting-day came, and they 
 
396 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 were separated. He forgot that he was ruined during these rides; 
 he only remembered it in the dark watches of the night, while 
 the unconscious Lady Emily murdered sleep by his side. They 
 rode everywhere, these three, Sir Charles pioneering — by the 
 river, through the woodlands, up the glen, on the mountain 
 ridge, along the sands. They talked of everything — of hounds, 
 politics, other folks' housekeeping, Constance Downes' match, 
 bullocks, ploughs, cottages and their improvement, horses, and 
 servants. But there was one horse they never spoke of — "The 
 Elk;" there was one servant they never mentioned — Poyntz- 
 Hammersley ; and there was one ride they never rode — the bay 
 under Leighton Castle, where "The Elk " lay dead on the 
 morning after the dark night in which Poyntz-Hammersley had 
 been lost in the quicksands. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 "It is all getting so terrible and so tragical," said Laura once 
 before. So it was, though she knew nothing of her father's 
 impending ruin. She could see that her mother and her grand- 
 mother knew nothing, or would know nothing, of the great tragedy 
 which was being played around them : of her state of mind, for 
 instance, with regard to Poyntz-Hammersley and Lord Hatter- 
 leigh ; or, again, of the relations between Sir Harry Poyntz, his 
 wife, and Colonel Hilton ; which last were getting horribly con- 
 fused in Laura's mind. Whatever happened, she was sure that 
 they would have a respectability handy, and would get over it : 
 " My clear, he was a handsome fellow, and Laura behaved with 
 great discretion — far better than poor dear Lady Becky ; " or, 
 " My dear, he used her shamefully, and she went off with Colonel 
 Hilton. She must never be mentioned again." Laura was right. 
 If they had known of Sir Charles' difficulties, they would only 
 have said, "Poor dear Charles has been living too fast!" 
 That would have been their formula for ruin ; and they would 
 have gone to Baden with the utmost complacency, and without 
 any loss of dignity. The thing had happened before to dozens 
 of people in their rank of life, and with their way of living ; 
 therefore, there was nothing shocking about it — nothing parti- 
 cular to grieve about. Laura knew this, and knew that it would 
 be a more shocking thing, in her grandmother's eyes, if Sir 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 397 
 
 Charles had sold his grapes or his game, than if he had lived 
 beyond his income in doing usual extravagances, and had landed 
 them an premier at Brussels. 
 
 She had done with these two ladies, and she felt less inclined 
 to renew her confidence with them every day ; for she had found 
 a friend— Lord Hatterleigh. Every day she felt more respect for 
 him, and every day she felt more and more that, with that noble, 
 high-minded, highly- educated oddity at her side, she could face 
 the world in arms. There was not perfect confidence between 
 them, and that made her at times uneasy. Much as she loved 
 him, he was no lover of hers. One night, while Sir Harry Poyntz 
 was walking up and down his room, and thinking when he should 
 begin to poison Lord Hatterleigh's mind against her, she was 
 tossing on her bed, brimful of the resolution of breaking off her 
 engagement with Lord Hatterleigh, and taking him for her friend. 
 She never did so. She let things drive ; she did not move in the 
 matter any more than did Sir Harry Poyntz. They both bided 
 their time. 
 
 But the pleasure she felt in the confidence and conversation of 
 this man was very great; she revelled in it. She told him 
 everything (save that one, and got to forget that, and to act 
 about it as she did when it first happened — to shove it back 
 into her deepest consciousness, with such success that she 
 thought it was going to stay there). She told him of her sys- 
 tematic bringing-up and her early rebellions— and he laughed ; 
 of her religionism— and he spoke gravely and well, praising her 
 and blaming her confidentially and sensibly : showing her the 
 absurdity of running into these extremes, and, in the end, per- 
 suading her to return in a moderate manner to her old routine ; 
 and, as part of it, took to going to church on saints' days with her 
 himself. Her grandmother could not have been more discreet 
 than this youth ; sometimes, however, she was forced to laugh 
 when he got too priggish. There was perfect equality between 
 them ; it was all give-and-take. He was a strong anti-Trac- 
 tarian— would have been, if he could, leader of the Oxford 
 Liberals ; and they had many a fine fight over that matter. 
 She, on the other hand, was merciless about untidiness, and 
 bullied him systematically about his personal appearance, until 
 he got to put on his clothes in a decent manner, and to come 
 into the room without falling into the fireplace. In short, they 
 did one another a great deal of good — as any two honest people 
 may, if they will only speak the truth to one another. She by 
 degrees laughed him out of his sententious Daniel-come-to- 
 judgment way of talking; and he, though sometimes in a 
 
398 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 fantastical way, put more good sense and knowledge of the way 
 in which the world wags into her head than ever had been 
 there before. 
 
 In the full luxury of the new-found confidence between them, 
 the following dialogue took place one day when they were riding 
 together : — 
 
 " George," she said, "there is something very near my heart, 
 and you must share it." 
 
 He said — &c. &c. &c. — just what you or I would say. 
 
 " Don't cackle ; and you shouldn't giggle after such a speech 
 as that ; and you have got your feet too far in your stirrups, and 
 are turning your toes out. Men who don't hunt shouldn't ride 
 like grooms. Keep your toes in as if you were in the Row." 
 
 " Is that what was so near your heart ? " 
 
 " Now, pray, don't be funny ; remember the bull in the china- 
 shop." 
 
 " I will — and turn my toes in too. There ! Now then, Laura ; 
 if you are going to be serious, be so." 
 
 "I am not at all sure that you are in a fit state of mind to 
 be consulted with ; you are a trifle rebellious, and I have a good 
 
 mind But, George dear, let us be in earnest ; I want to speak 
 
 to you about Maria Poyntz." 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh looked over his shoulder to the groom and 
 said, "Go home to the Court, and borrow me a clean pocket- 
 handkerchief from Sir Charles's valet." And he went. 
 
 " What about her ? " 
 
 " Is there nothing to be done ? Is there no way to warn them 
 — to warn her? " 
 
 " Do you wish to try ? " 
 
 " I only want your sanction." 
 
 11 Then you have it. God speed you ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 "Has Captain Wheaton come in?" said Sir Harry Poyntz to 
 his valet one day, about half an hour before dinner. 
 
 " He has been in some time, Sir Harry ; he is smoking in the 
 library." 
 
 " He has no business to smoke there, unless I am present. 
 Did you tell him that he was to come to me the moment he came 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 399 
 
 "I did, Sir Harry." 
 
 " Then why the devil didn't he come ? Lawrence, that man 
 is getting too much of a gentleman for us ; he must have a 
 lesson." 
 
 "The best lesson you could give him, Sir Harry, would be 
 to pack him about his business." 
 
 "But who is to do the dirty work — the spying, informing, 
 mischief- making, gaining information, and so on ? You won't. 
 I have asked you more than once, and you flatly refused. Who 
 is to do it ? " 
 
 " Nobody, Sir Harry ; leave it undone." 
 
 "Ah! but you're a fool, you know. There is not a man 
 or woman within ten miles who is not a rogue — except you, you 
 know, of course, and my Lady Poyntz — of course I except my 
 Lady Poyntz — and roguery must be met by finesse. Send him 
 
 He soon came, whistling : an evil-looking creature, with his 
 eyes too near, too deeply set, and too shifty, and a nasty grin 
 on the mouth of him, which fortunately could only be guessed 
 at, not seen, under his beard. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Wheaton," said Sir Harry ; "I'll give you 
 five pounds if you'll shave." 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 " I love my money better than anything in this world — except, 
 of course, virtue, and my Lady Poyntz ; but I would give five 
 pounds to see your villainous face without all that hair on it : 
 only as a matter of curiosity I would. I hate this beard-and- 
 moustache movement. One used to be able to tell a rascal by 
 his mouth ; now one has to look at his eyes. However, it don't 
 much matter in your case ; in more difficult ones it might be 
 different." 
 
 "Have you called me up here to insult me?" said Captain 
 Wheaton. 
 
 ' ' Yes : partly that, and partly to hear your report of your 
 rascally eavesdropping expedition." 
 
 " The devil is on you strong to-night ; Lawrence had better 
 sit up with you again. Bedlam isn't such a nice place as Poyntz 
 Castle." 
 
 " Bedlam, you fool ! In the first place, I am not in the least 
 degree mad ; and in the second place, I have had another attack 
 of angina pectoris this morning, so you'll soon be in Newgate. 
 You won't be out of jail six weeks after my death, and I can't last 
 many months. Now then, report progress, and let us have no 
 more nonsense." 
 
400 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 "I went," said Captain Wheaton, "at your desire, into the 
 pleasance and watched Miss Seckerton and Lady Poyntz, and 
 I was lucky enough to hear some of their conversation." 
 
 " Sagacious touter ! And' neither of them horsewhipped you, 
 as the boy Custance did at Newmarket ? And how did the fillies 
 gallop?" 
 
 Wheaton never looked at him, but went on: "I heard their 
 conversation. Miss Seckerton was telling her what a fool she 
 had been to pitch Colonel Hilton overboard, loving him as she 
 did, in a fit of ill-temper, for such a worthless, effeminate, shallow 
 knave as you." 
 
 Such a silly lie ! But he, who disbelieved every other word 
 the man said, believed this. He had exasperated himself against 
 Laura : this man Wheaton had helped in it to his utmost, hating 
 her with his deepest hatred for the utter scorn which always 
 shone on him out of her eyes ; and Sir Harry Poyntz believed 
 him. 
 
 " I really must play the deuce with this young lady — I really 
 must. I am very sorry, for I rather like her when she is wicked. 
 Go on." 
 
 " And then I came round the corner on them." 
 
 " What an infernal hang-dog scoundrel you must have looked ! 
 What did they say ? " 
 
 " Do you want me to drive a knife in you, you brute ! " cried 
 Wheaton, rising in a catlike rage. "I'll do it some day if you 
 go on torturing me and insulting me like this. Do you think 
 I can't feel?" 
 
 " If I thought you couldn't feel, I shouldn't do it." 
 
 " You make my work too hard for me. I didn't mean to lose 
 my temper. You are ungenerous — you are ungentlemanly to use 
 me so. And it is such bosh ! You can be kind enough at times. 
 Why do you madden me against you like this ? You know you 
 ain't half such a devil as you want to make out." 
 
 " Silence ! You interrupt my line of thought. Well, I won't 
 do it any more ; if you weren't such a hound I shouldn't do 
 it at all. About this young lady : I'd let her be Lady Hatter- 
 leigh, and madden her life away when she found out the truth, 
 only I shouldn't be alive and shouldn't see it. Besides, she's 
 a shrew, and I hate her ; but she is too good for that. I think 
 I shall merely administer a severe castigation, which I shall have 
 the pleasure of seeing, and teach her to keep her tongue between 
 her teeth. I shall not give you any money to-day ; I will not be 
 threatened with knives." 
 
 "That's it ! Devil's pay ! You never gave me anything for 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 401 
 
 making the huntsman drunk, and getting him to tell me that 
 he saw them kissing one another in the garden ; and now you 
 are going to ruin her on my information." 
 
 " There is scarcely a word of truth in what you say. In the 
 first place, it wasn't in the garden — it was in the shrubbery ; 
 in the second, they didn't kiss one another, but fell together 
 by the ears, and blew one another up consumedly ; and in the 
 third place, I am not going to ruin her at all, but only to give 
 her a lesson about the management of her tongue. Saving her 
 from Lord Hatterleigh cannot be ruining her. She can marry 
 Bob ; he would take her with any reputation for the sake of the 
 estate. Lastly, if either you or the huntsman say one word — you 
 know what I mean— I will pitch you overboard (and you know 
 what that means) ; and I will ruin his master, and take un- 
 common good care that that rascal Robert shall turn him off the 
 estate." 
 
 " About Lady Poyntz and Colonel Hilton ? " 
 
 " Silence, sir. My domestic affairs are none of your busi- 
 ness." 
 
 " Are you going to sell up Sir Charles Seckerton ? " 
 
 " That is a matter of detail. Go and ask Lawrence for my 
 cheque-book." (He brought it.) " You don't deserve anything 
 — you and your knives. How much do you want? Want, I 
 say ; what matter is it how much water one pours into a sieve ? " 
 
 Wheaton mentioned five-and-twenty pounds. 
 
 " Then you will want the dog-cart to drive to Exeter, and 
 I charge you five pounds for that ; that makes twenty. A man 
 of any gumption would bring back a couple of hundred. But you 
 can't play billiards, and you never will. Why do you go on 
 trying? None of you catfaced men ever can play. I would 
 give you points, and have all this money back to-night, if you 
 dared to play me. Here's fifty pounds for you : in the name 
 of decency take a fortnight in losing it ; I don't want you before 
 that." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 'L<<\ 
 
 11 You have got your hat on the back of your head again, Geor^ 
 said Laura, one afternoon. " I wish you wouldn't ; I am always 
 telling you of it." 
 
 " Why shouldn't I ? It's very nice." 
 
 27 
 
402 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " If looking like a lunatic is nice, that's nice. No one does 
 it out of Bedlam ; it makes you look as mad as a hatter." 
 
 " does it?" He mentioned a statesman, at the sound 
 
 of whose name the earth quakes to its centre. 
 
 " Then he's mad," said Laura, " and ought to be locked up." 
 
 " You can think better when your hat's like that," said Lord 
 Hatterleigh, " and I was thinking." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 " I was thinking when we ought to be married." 
 
 " That's my business. I have thought about that, and come 
 to a decision. My decision is, next year." 
 
 " I will see if I can make you alter it." 
 
 " There is not the least use. George, I want time. George, 
 I must and will have time. Do you accept my decision ? " 
 
 " I suppose I must." 
 
 " So I suppose. Now go and dress for dinner." 
 
 " It is very early." 
 
 " Use the interval in abstraction from worldly affairs and con- 
 templation. No great work of art is accomplished without that. 
 Put the whole force of your intellect into the subject for the next 
 half-hour, and then, when your valet comes to you, you will have 
 grasped the subject yourself, and will not be dependent on a mere 
 expert. Get to feel yourself safe without your expert. Why, if 
 anything was to happen to him, you wouldn't be able to dress 
 yourself, and would have to put the thing in commission. Look 
 at the Admiralty, will you ? ' ' 
 
 And with these whirling words she left him, and went in, but 
 not to dress just yet. She went upstairs past her own room, 
 higher yet, to the room which old Elspie inhabited with Lady 
 Emily's maid, and she found her alone. 
 
 11 Elspie, dear, how are you ? " 
 
 " I'm braw, my bonny bird. And I'm as strong as maist of 
 these southern lasses yet, praise be to God ! And how is my 
 Lord?" 
 
 " He is very well — and he is very kind and very good, Elspie, 
 which is better still." 
 
 " Bless him ! A noble heart ! I wish I had had the nursing 
 of him. Your feckless queans of southern nurses — see what 
 they've done with him ! His heid gangs ane gate, and his legs 
 the ither." 
 
 "He is mending, Elspiu ; he is mending." 
 
 " I'd mend him ! Why does his Lordship keep the Tullibardie 
 Moor, that his brother Lord Charles should kill the grouse, and 
 send them south to him ? Why does he no go north, and brush 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 403 
 
 the bare lean legs of him through the heather ? When he came 
 south again he'd he for kicking your Colonel Hilton downstairs. 
 Laura dear ? " 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " When you are married, take his Lordship to Scotland ; and 
 oh ! my darling, take me with you. It's a bonnie country, this 
 England, and I love it; but let me see Scotland again before 
 I die. I am an auld fule, and I'll confess that Fern Tor is 
 grander than Schehallion, and that Wysclith is bonnier than 
 Tummle ; but take me back to Rannoch, darling, once more, 
 before I die. I'm a hale old woman, I'll no dee on the road. 
 If I dee there — I icill dee there, Laura, and lie with him on 
 Tummle side, with the roar of the Waxing Burn in my ear, until 
 the dawn which knows no night begins to wax in the Cairn of 
 Schehallion ' ' 
 
 " That's all about long ago, and about long to come," said 
 Laura, looking out of the window across the sands. " Elspie, 
 tell me this : how long does it take to live down love ? " 
 
 The old woman had risen, and had been getting a little excited, 
 as the images of the crystal mountain, the long-drawn lake, the 
 snarling river, the whirling snowdrift, the crashing thunderstorm 
 — all the wild incidents of that wondrous fairyland, Perthshire, 
 came flashing on her aged brain. But she sat down now 
 suddenly, and watched the back of Laura's head with her keen 
 grey eye. 
 
 "How long does it take to live down love?" she repeated 
 slowly. " Weel, that just depends on the person ye speir of. 
 There was Luckie Macdonald of Dall ; Sandy Macpherson of Aber- 
 feldy died in the snaedrift aboon Rousemount, coming over to 
 see her, and she married Rab Grant, one of Lord Breadalbane's 
 keeper's before her second sacrament. (The deil mend the pair 
 of 'em !) Then there's my ain case, again. I have been forty 
 years forgetting him, and have not done it yet ; but then I have 
 no tried, ye ken. Of whom were ye speiring ? " 
 
 " Of no one in particular ; of such a person as myself, say." 
 
 " 0, yersell. Oh, forty-five hundred and saxty-seven years ; 
 and ye'll no do it at that, lassie. Gang down and dress for 
 dinner. Mistress Bridget will be here the now for her tea. I'm 
 loth that she should hear you talking your nonsense. Gang down 
 — gang down to my Lord. ' ' 
 
404 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 Time went on, until the months had nearly made up another 
 year ; but nothing happened of any sort worth relating, and only 
 two things progressed which are worth mentioning by us. 
 
 One thing which progressed was Sir Charles Seckerton's ruin. 
 There was no doubt now that he was in the hands of Sir Harry 
 Poyntz, for the interest on the mortgages was openly paid to his 
 man of business ; yet neither man took any step. Sir Charles 
 lived on the same as ever, and Sir Harry Poyntz never made the 
 slightest allusion to his affairs. That some contraction in the 
 household expenses must be made, and that the hounds must 
 go, was pointed out continually by Sir Charles' man of business, 
 but entirely without effect. 
 
 " I am cheating no one ; they will all be paid with interest. 
 I want to keep my daughter and my hounds one year more ; when 
 she goes they may go. Laissez-aller. I have lived with all these 
 faces round me, and I don't want to see the old style changed, 
 and the old circle broken up. Either in my time, or soon after 
 it, the Yorkshire money will set everything straight." 
 
 " Not at this rate, Sir Charles." 
 
 "Pish, man! Lord Hatterleigh is a model young man, who 
 knows every sixpence he spends. He will put the whole matter 
 right, after my death." 
 
 " The smash may come any day, Sir Charles." 
 
 " Well, I shall not make the smash myself; I am not going 
 to take to shambling about the pump-rooms at Aix-la-Chapelle till 
 I am forced." 
 
 No sense could be got into his head. The old prestige had 
 become too dear to him. A grand handsome crash would have 
 pleased him better than saving himself by any retrenchment. He 
 even stopped the ordinary cut of timber that year, to the actual 
 detriment of his woods. And it seems curious enough that he 
 confessed afterwards, to a certain acquaintance of mine and of 
 the reader's, that the man towards whom he had the greatest 
 jealousy — the man from whom he most jealously and proudly 
 concealed his difficulties, was his old tried friend Sir Peckwich 
 Downes — a man who would have lent him a hundred thousand 
 pounds on moderate interest, and put him square. 
 
 His man of business, in despair, made a schedule of his 
 liabilities, and tried to get him to look at it, but he refused 
 point-blank — 
 
 " I know in a general way that the estate will pull through, 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 405 
 
 if we get time. I'll make the change when Laura is married. 
 There will be an excuse then. I shall miss my daughter, and 
 so on. At all events, I will go on for another season; and 
 there are fifty contingencies in my favour— Lord Hatterleigh — 
 the Yorkshire property — I know not what. Let he." 
 " But if Sir Harry Poyntz comes down ? " 
 " Let him. Let me hear no more about it ; only keep the 
 whole thing quiet." 
 
 That was all his distracted man of business could get out of him. 
 In some unlucky moment that most innocent attorney had bought 
 and hung up in his parlour Hogarth's print, in " Marriage a la 
 Mode," of the morning after the rout, in which the old steward 
 is going out of the room with only one bill on the file, and all the 
 rest in his hand. It became so offensive to him now that he had 
 it removed. He could do nothing more, except wonder at the 
 extraordinary reticence of Sir Harry Poyntz, and the equally 
 extraordinary insolence of Sir Charles Seckerton towards Sir 
 Harry, the 'man who could ruin him at any moment. 
 
 For Sir Charles was riding the high-horse with his neighbour 
 of the Castle. The relations between Lady Poyntz and Colonel 
 Hilton were not pleasing to Sir Charles Seckerton. They were 
 going about too much together ; Colonel Hilton had got his leave 
 of absence unreasonably prolonged. The whole state of affairs 
 between those two was of a sort which had never been tolerated 
 in this extremely moral county of Devon : and Sir Charles found 
 it incumbent on him to put on fawn-coloured pantaloons, a buff 
 waistcoat, a blue coat and brass buttons ; and mounting his most 
 solemn cob— the property of a late Bishop, picked up for a song 
 (sixty guineas) at that prelate's death— and followed by the most 
 solemn and handsomest of all his enormous choice of grooms 
 mounted on a vast hack (another bargain), he rode round to the 
 Castle to give Sir Harry a piece of his mind. 
 
 The solver of difficulties says, in his reckless way, that both 
 this horse and this groom went into the undertaking trade— the 
 one as a hearse-horse, and the other as a mute. He talks too 
 fast sometimes ; but there is no doubt that Sir Charles on the 
 Bishop's cob, followed by the hearse-horse and mute, looked most 
 awfully and severely respectable, and would have frightened any 
 one except that strange, fantastically incomprehensible creature, 
 Sir Harry Poyntz, who, as he viewed the enemy's approach from 
 the window, broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, which he 
 was unable to stop. t 
 
 " You're going to catch it," he said to his wife. " I wouldn t 
 be in your shoes for a hundred pounds. Just look at the solemn 
 
406 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 pomposity of the old fool, will you, Maria ? What have you been 
 up to, eh ? Hallo, it's me he wants ! I hope I shall keep my 
 countenance." 
 
 After a solemn shake of the hands, Sir Charles went gravely 
 into his business, more in sorrow than in anger. Sir Harry 
 listened patiently, and made reply — 
 
 "I assure you I think you labour under a great mistake. I 
 cannot say how much I think you are mistaken. I have honestly 
 the fullest confidence in Maria — dear me, the utmost confidence, 
 not only in her, but still more in Hilton." 
 
 " Well, I have done my duty. I have known you from a boy, 
 and have taken the liberty of telling you what the county said." 
 
 " The county are a parcel of cackling idiots — all except, you 
 know — in short, with the exceptions which common politeness 
 requires. If they knew anything about present society, they 
 would know that every woman of any pretensions to fashion has a 
 follower." 
 
 I * It is a shameless custom ! " 
 
 II I don't see it. You, at all events, should not complain of it 
 in this case. You knew all about me from a boy, and it was you 
 who sold the girl to me, and it is you who are spending the 
 money now." 
 
 The poor old gentleman rose up deadly white, and laying his 
 hands to his heart, gave a pitiable groan. Such a bitter, bitter 
 stab ! — so reckless, so needless, so horribly cruel, and yet so 
 bitterly true ! He turned towards the window, and leant his head 
 on his arm. 
 
 Sir Harry Poyntz rose at the same time. He cursed himself 
 and his own tongue with a refined sort of blasphemy which none 
 of us need guess at. He cried out to Sir Charles to witness that 
 he was a fool, a lunatic, who didn't know what he was saying ; 
 and, lastly, besought his pardon on his knees. 
 
 Sir Charles turned on him at last and said : " Leave me alone 
 a few minutes, and I am at your orders. Let the pain of the 
 wound go off a little before you give me another." 
 
 And Sir Harry went back to his chair, and took up a book of 
 pictures — no other a book than our " Tom and Jerry " ; and when 
 Sir Charles turned on him after a considerable interval, he was to 
 all appearance deeply engrossed in it. 
 
 He knew that Sir Charles had turned towards him, and instantly 
 began the conversation — 
 
 " The cleverest thing in this most marvellous book is the figure 
 of the beggar scratching himself. Now, did your Hogarth beat 
 this man? " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 407 
 
 " I want you to be serious, Harry." 
 
 " I'll be perfectly serious, my dear Sir Charles ; I have much 
 more to be serious about than you have." 
 
 " How can that be ? " 
 
 "I have been to London to the doctors — real doctors, none of 
 your tin-pot, twopenny-halfpenny, secondhand leech apothecaries, 
 but Savile Row, you know. And they say I am dying ; I have 
 angina pectoris. I could have told them that. But it appears 
 that my brain has been softening for years, and that if the one 
 thing don't carry me oft' I shall die a drivelling idiot. It appears 
 that I can seldom have been sane since I was sixteen, and that 
 my lucid intervals will get rarer. Do you forgive those wicked 
 words I said to you just now ? " 
 
 "Most heartily, Harry; but I can never forget them — they 
 were so terribly true ! " 
 
 " Fiddle-de-dee ! — you'll forget them fast enough. I'll send 
 you out of this room six inches higher than you were when you 
 came into it. Sit down." 
 
 Sir Charles did so, wondering what was to come next. 
 
 " You feel humiliated. Of course you do. So you ought, if 
 you have any of the feelings of a gentleman left. You see I can 
 be keen enough in my lucid intervals. You thought, forsooth, 
 that you were going to incur pecuniary liabilities, and then march 
 out of the whole business at twelve-and-sixpence in the pound, 
 with your nose in the air. Now, no man with the feelings of a 
 gentleman ever did that yet, and you have the feelings of a 
 gentleman. I am sorry I spoke so cruelly to you just now, 
 because I love you very much ; but it is an uncommonly good 
 lesson for you. You lay it to heart, and don't get yourself up 
 in the heavy-father style again, and come here to lecture me." 
 
 " I take my rebuke, Harry. But be merciful ; I am an old 
 man. You shall have your bond to-morrow ; I will announce 
 my ruin to-morrow morning. But don't say any more cruel 
 things." 
 
 " Announce your ruin ! For God's sake, Sir Charles, don't be 
 a lunatic ! I have got this pain in my chest coming on again, 
 and I cannot talk much more ; this attack may kill me. Listen 
 to what I say, and go home and think about it, without any 
 further discussion. Your daughter Laura irritated me, in one 
 way and another, beyond what my temper could bear. I had a 
 plan for ruining you and disgracing her. But I have given it up. 
 I am a bad fellow and a great rascal, as you, who have known 
 me from a boy, well know. But I am ridiculously superstitious, 
 and I want to die without leaving any one anything to forgive. 
 
408 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 Come, there is nothing foolish in that. I could ruin you to- 
 morrow, but I won't. While I live you are safe (Why you don't 
 retrench I don't know — that is your business). But during my 
 lifetime you will have mercy, afterwards none. What do you 
 know of my brother Robert ? Come, speak out." 
 
 " I have heard that he was very dissipated and wild, but that 
 we attribute to " 
 
 " To false reports spread by me? Come, speak out, man; 
 you don't know how much depends on it. Is it not so ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Ask any one who knows him — but you don't know any one, 
 though — if I am not right, half spendthrift, half miser. Even I 
 had to send him off. You will get no mercy from him ; you'll be 
 sold up, body and bones, as soon as I am dead." 
 
 " You are not dead yet, Harry." 
 
 " Ah ! but I may die to-night. Have you not brains to see 
 your only course ? " 
 
 " I can't say I do." 
 
 " Break off this match with Lord Hatterleigh," said Sir 
 Harry, looking very keenly at Sir Charles. " I was going to do 
 it once from far other motives, but will do it still if you hesitate. 
 Break off this match, and marry her to my brother. He will 
 come home from India in a most marriageable frame of mind. 
 Those two queer rumpty-tumpty old trots of yours, Lady South- 
 molton and Lady Emily, would have him to book in a week." 
 
 Sir Charles passed over this disrespectful mention of his 
 womankind, but rose in wrath on the other side of the ques- 
 tion — 
 
 " Sell my daughter, sir ? Never ! " 
 
 " Hang it, old fellow! You know," said Sir Harry, nursing 
 his knee, "you sold Maria to me, as you have confessed. And 
 you have sold your own daughter to a Guy Fawkes who wears 
 his boots hind-side before. Surely you can do it again ? But 
 whether or no, you think of it, and bring your mind to it. It 
 seems shocking now ; but it is wonderful what you can bring 
 your mind to, if you only put yourself en visage with it soon 
 enough. Now go home, and don't say a word to me, or I shall 
 die before it will be convenient to you. Only remember this : 
 break off this unnatural match between your daughter and Lord 
 Hatterleigh, or else I shall have to do it myself." 
 
 Sir Charles rode back again. The groom and the horse which 
 followed him were as portentously solemn as ever ; but Sir Charles 
 sat huddled together in an undignified manner, and rode badly. 
 And the cob stumbled once or twice — a thing we must attribute 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 409 
 
 to the uncertain hand of poor Sir Charles ; for when ridden by 
 his late master, the Bishop, that cob had never been known to 
 stumble. But then, his Lordship was a man so certain of his 
 conclusions, that his certainty communicated itself to his horse ; 
 whereas poor Sir Charles was in a perfect sea of bewilderment. 
 No wonder the pony stumbled ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 This last conversation must have taken place nearly a year after 
 the eventful midsummer on which we have had to dwell so long — 
 not long before the time when fresh and startling changes took 
 place ; which changes conclude that period in the lives of our 
 friends which seemed to me worth speaking of, and which also 
 bring my story to an end. It is now my duty to speak somewhat 
 at large of Colonel Hilton. 
 
 "What business he had here at all," said Lady Emily one 
 day, " was a thing which no one could find out." But, whether 
 he had any business here or no — here he was ; and we must 
 decidedly agree with the county that he had much better have 
 been anywhere else. 
 
 He had returned invalided from the Crimea, but had soon got 
 well ; and had found himself in the course of duty at Plymouth, 
 doing some work or another, nothing very much the matter with 
 him. He was in a deservedly high position, and was able to 
 take things very comfortably. He was asked, of course, to 
 Leighton Court ; and at once it occurred to him that it would 
 be a very nice thing to fall in love with Laura, which he im- 
 mediately did — in a sort of way. What was unfortunate was, 
 that Laura did not fall in love with him ; and, what was 
 worse still, Maria Huxtable did, and, not being so well-formed a 
 young lady as our poor Laura, let him see it. Of course, he 
 was flattered and pleased by this ; though to himself he said 
 that it was a most unfortunate and unhappy business, that a 
 very beautiful girl with sixty thousand pounds should have 
 shown herself ready to be asked by him, as it was impossible 
 that he could return her affection, and all that sort of thing. 
 He pitied the poor girl extremely, and was very kind to her 
 indeed. 
 
 Fall in love with her he could not. She was vulgar beside 
 
410 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 Laura, he said ; and she had a dog-like way of following him 
 about and persecuting him, which exasperated him to the pitch 
 of madness. If the poor silly girl had only waited for him to 
 make love to her, instead of making play at him, she might have 
 been Mrs. Hilton. But she wouldn't. She had no mother, and 
 had had no training. She thought, in her simplicity, that her 
 little artifices to get near him, to touch him, to get him to speak 
 kindly to her, were utterly unsuspected ; while Hilton was driving 
 back in his dogcart to Plymouth, and saying, " Hang it all, that 
 girl is worse than any girl who ever made a dead set at a man 
 in India ! It is perfectly sickening. The women in England 
 are losing all sense of modesty. But I like her better than the 
 other one, after all." 
 
 For his imperial majesty, after having bound himself to Laura's 
 chariot-wheels for a few weeks, and having received nothing but 
 impertinence from that young lady, had begun to dislike her 
 amazingly, and to show it. He had got a certain sort of con- 
 tempt for her. She sets up for strength of character, but she 
 lets herself be led by the nose by a priest. She is positive, and 
 will never confess herself wrong ; but she is as often wrong as 
 right ; and she has such a deuce of a tongue ! Colonel Hilton, 
 after all his knockings about, did not feel at all inclined to " hang 
 up his hat," as the soldiers say, with Laura. Besides, he did not 
 want to marry at all, if it came to that. 
 
 A few weeks made a great change in his sentiments about 
 marriage. Hitherto he had been getting all the kicks and none 
 of the halfpence of this world. And now, just when he could 
 look about him. he neither felt inclined to tie himself for life to 
 such a very positive and contradicting person as Laura, or to a 
 jealous spaniel of a woman like Maria. He went back to his 
 work, leaving Maria, who had created a fiction that Laura had 
 stood between him and her, in a state of jealousy and anger 
 against Laura. 
 
 It gave him a pang, however, when he heard that Maria was 
 married to Sir Harry Poyntz. Every one knew everything about 
 Sir Harry Poyntz except those most concerned. Hilton, who 
 knew that she was in love with him, was shocked and distressed 
 at such a shameful sacrifice ; and while at Chalons, hearing 
 
 that the Poyntzes were at Paris, left his duty to see what ? 
 
 Who can say ? Let us put it thus — to see how they were getting 
 on together. 
 
 Sir Harry had received him with a most cordial welcome. He 
 found in him a most agreeable companion, not only for himself, 
 but for Lady Poyntz. He could not, would not, pay much 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 411 
 
 attention to her— Hilton was able and apparently willing to do 
 so. He knew she had been fond of him, but with that strange 
 unreasoning recklessness which was part of his disease, he, 
 merely because he took a great liking to the man, pressed his 
 friendship on him, and as a matter of course thrust his society 
 on his wife. 
 
 The mischief must have begun very soon, probably in the rush 
 and roar and glitter of Chalons, for he got off going to America 
 on the score of his health ; and those who knew and loved 
 him best were grieved to see the Hero of Assewal obviously 
 malingering, and getting himself talked of with another man's 
 wife. 
 
 The county, as we know, strongly rebelled, but no one dared to 
 speak. Some said that Sir Harry connived at it — others said he 
 was a besotted idiot. The last opinion was more nearly true 
 than the former. Sir Harry's head was going. He began to 
 find that he had not brain to execute the schemes which his 
 cunning had originated. He had early confided what was the 
 matter to Hilton, and Hilton had often acted for him. But 
 something happened once which gave him firmer confidence in 
 Hilton, and which gave Colonel Hilton supreme power over Sir 
 Harry. 
 
 Poor Sir Harry began to get into a new phase of his disease. 
 His fits of irritability became more acute, and began to develop 
 into violence. His wife one night irritated him extremely ; she 
 had no tact whatever, and he threw something at her. The 
 ridiculous part of the matter was that it was only an anti- 
 macassar ; but the pathetic part of it was that the poor fellow 
 had cunning enough to see that he had by that act overstepped a 
 certain boundary, and that he could never step back again. He 
 was on his knees before her directly, and she, not having wit to 
 see, laughed at the whole matter, and threatened to box his ears. 
 He said nothing more to her ; but he rode over to Plymouth, and 
 told the whole business to Colonel Hilton. 
 
 "If it had been the poker, you know, Hilton, it would have 
 been just the same. And it would be in the highest degree un- 
 gentlemanly if I laid my hand on that woman. She hasn't 
 behaved badly, and she brought me, first and last, sixty thousand 
 pounds. It's an awful nuisance, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Why did you marry, Poyntz ? " 
 
 " Heaven only knows ! Why the deuce did they let me ? If 
 they had all done their duty they could have stopped it. My 
 character was bad enough to have justified the county in burning 
 down the Castle." 
 
412 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 " Poyntz, I can't make head or tail of you ; you are the most 
 confusing fellow I ever met." 
 
 "I know I am a disturbing cause among you sane people. 
 You generalise from an accumulation of facts which you consider 
 as sufficient, and then I come cranking in, and send your calcula- 
 tions to the four winds of heaven — make you all in your bewilder- 
 ment a hundred times madder than myself. For instance, you 
 are all mops and brooms now. You don't know what to do — I 
 do. I want watching, and some one ought to watch me ; some 
 one I respect and like ought to have his eye on me. If it was 
 only once a week it would be something." 
 
 " Go home and fight against it, man ; you have plenty of 
 resolution and plenty of brains, though they are most decidedly 
 addled, God help you ! I never saw anything like you in all my 
 born days," cried the Colonel, in a bewilderment which would 
 have been comical under any other circumstances. " Go home 
 and keep your temper, man." 
 
 " But will you speak to Maria, and persuade her not to exas- 
 perate me to the pitch of murder ? " 
 
 « Well— yes, I will. What did she do to you ? " 
 
 " She kept on agreeing to every word I said. I tried to make 
 her contradict me for an hour and a half, but she wouldn't. She 
 sat there smiling, and agreeing with every word I said till I 
 thirsted for her blood, and hurled the antimacassar at her. I 
 talked of everything in heaven or earth. I turned high-church- 
 man and low-churchman, Whig, Tory, doctrinaire Radical, pot- 
 house Radical — pitched into Popery, pitched into Whalley ; but 
 there she sat and smiled, and agreed to every word I said, till at 
 last I did what can never be undone — I used violence towards 
 her." 
 
 " You haven't hurt her much, have you ? " said Hilton, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Don't be a fool ! If you can't see the importance of what I 
 have told you, leave us alone ! " 
 
 So Colonel Hilton thought it his duty to see more of that 
 establishment, as being the only person who had any power over 
 Sir Harry. He made very light of this antimacassar business ; 
 Sir Harry was so fantastic about it. A circumstance which 
 happened a few days afterwards showed him that the poor fellow 
 (we may call him so now) was right, and that a strong head was 
 needed in that house. 
 
 Sir Harry Poyntz had lately drunk nothing but water ; ho was 
 a very abstemious man. Therefore one evening, when Colonel 
 Hilton was over at the Castle, he felt no anxiety when he left 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 413 
 
 Captain Wheaton and Sir Harry alone over the wine (Captain 
 Wlieaton drinking like a fish, and Sir Harry eating grapes like a 
 famished hound), and went up to the drawing-room to Lady 
 Poyntz. 
 
 He had hardly been there ten minutes, when Wlieaton came 
 in, as pale as a ghost, and called on Colonel Hilton to defend him. 
 
 Hilton thought he was drunk. "I thought I had — that you 
 were forbidden this room, sir ? " 
 
 "For God's sake come and help us ! Sir Harry is going to 
 murder me ; he has gone for his revolver ! ' ' 
 
 Hilton went at once ; from a noise he heard he directed his 
 feet towards Sir Harry's bedroom. There he found three or four 
 servants round the door, begging Sir Harry to be calm ; he, in a 
 furious rage, had just finished loading his revolver. 
 
 " Now, clear out of the way; I'll shoot the first man who stands 
 between that dog and me!" 
 
 All got out of the way except a young footman, who cleverly 
 kept his eye on the pistol, intending to run in at his master. 
 He was just going to make a dart, when he was thrust gently on 
 one side ; and Colonel Hilton, walking calmly in, took the pistol 
 away from Sir Harry as if he was a child. 
 
 " You can all go. Thomas, you have behaved uncommonly 
 well; Sir Harry will reward you. Now, Poyntz, how did this 
 come about? " 
 
 "He was drunk, and he amused himself by irritating and 
 insulting me the moment you were gone." 
 
 " Didn't you begin nagging at him ? " 
 
 "Nothing of the kind, I assure you." 
 
 " Well, we must take care it don't happen again. You have 
 pretty well frightened him this time." 
 
 " He would do it again when he was drunk ; we had better 
 kick him out." 
 
 " I think that ought to have been done a long while ago ; but 
 — I beg your pardon, Poyntz — are you quite sure you mean what 
 you say ? " 
 
 "Quite sure? Yes." 
 
 " You are quite sure the fellow don't know too much — is not 
 dangerous ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear no ; he knows nothing more than you do. I 
 certainly did keep him on, partly because I did not want it known 
 that I was odd in my head ; but the main reason was that I liked 
 to tease and insult him, and see how much the dog would stand. 
 As far as I am concerned, kick him out to-night ! You are not 
 afraid yourself, are you ? " said Sir Harry. 
 
414 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " What should I be afraid of? What is the dog to me ? " 
 
 " He will blacken your character and, I fear, Maria's too. But 
 anything is better than murder ! " 
 
 " I will give the rascal a hint of my vengeance if he dares. I 
 will go now and send him off." 
 
 And so Captain Wheaton got what he elegantly called his 
 " walking ticket," and disappeared. Instantly on his disappear- 
 ance, rumour got tenfold more busy with Lady Poyntz 's name, 
 with Hilton's name, and with Sir Harry's name. Lady Poyntz 
 was an abandoned woman, and gambled ; Hilton was lost to all 
 honour, and drank ; Sir Harry was abandoned, gambled, drank, 
 and was a dangerous lunatic all at the same time. Of course 
 these reports were set about by our friend Wheaton, but most 
 people believed them ; and not long after Wheaton' s departure, 
 Sir Charles Seckerton had the interview we know of with Sir 
 Harry Poyntz, and came home with his feathers ruffled. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir Harry clung more and more closely to Hilton, 
 as the only man in this world whom he could trust. And Hilton 
 hung on about the house, and saw more and more of Maria, till 
 now he and Lady Poyntz were standing on the very verge of ruin 
 unutterable. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 "Did you see Lady Poyntz this morning, Laura?" asked Lord 
 Hatterleigh, as he and Laura met on the stairs, going down to 
 dinner, and dawdled together for a chat. 
 
 " Yes ; I saw her and walked with her, but there was no result. 
 She held me completely at bay, and talked and rattled on just as 
 she has done since I went back to her to try to gain her confi- 
 dence. She is perfectly friendly, but will talk nothing but common- 
 place. I must give the business up, George." 
 
 "Don't do that; persevere, my love. Think for a moment 
 what is involved in giving her up." 
 
 " You are right. I will persevere on the mere chance of some 
 accident giving me my old hold on her. George, there was a 
 time when that woman hung on every word I said — when I could 
 have made her jump off the keep or turn Roman Catholic." 
 
 " How did you lose it?" 
 
 " You are rather provoking ; but I will stick to our bargain, 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 415 
 
 and tell the truth. Through niy own conceit and folly, not to 
 mention my tongue ; I bullied her too much." 
 
 " And she thought you stood between her and Colonel Hilton 
 at the time you encouraged him to pay you so much attention ? " 
 
 II If snapping his nose off every time he opened his mouth meant 
 encouragement, you are quite right." 
 
 "I know," said Lord Hatterleigh, giving one of his own 
 " Alcedo gigantea " guffaws. "I used to watch you. What on 
 earth made you hate the man so ? " 
 
 " The same thing which makes me dislike you so much — he is 
 a gaby ! " 
 
 II I don't think he is a gaby at all — at all events, not such a 
 gaby as I was." 
 
 " I never examined into the degrees of gabyism." 
 
 " Bless thy sweet tongue, Kate ! And you wonder you lost 
 your power over Maria Poyntz ? " 
 
 "Bless thy sweet temper, George! Did any one ever make 
 you cross ? I have tried hard enough." 
 
 " No, I never was cross. My mother remarks it in public often 
 — a great deal too often. She damages my reputation, and makes 
 people take liberties with me, but always representing me a lamb. 
 It would do me infinite good in the world if people could be got 
 to believe that I was a terrible tiger at bottom ; but they won't. 
 By-the-bye, do you remember that you told me once that the 
 reason you hated Colonel Hilton was that he agreed with every 
 word you said ? Now that is singular, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Come to your dinner, will you, and don't stay exasperating 
 me on the stairs. The cases are utterly different. You contra- 
 dict me, and argue with me in perfect good-humour ; he flattered 
 one until he made one contradict him, and only opposed one when 
 he was thoroughly angry. Now that is quite enough to carry 
 you on for the rest of the evening ; I cannot be always flattering 
 you." 
 
 " Very well ; I can take care of myself." 
 
 " They are coming to-night," said Laura. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " The Poyntzes and Colonel Hilton. That is the last civil 
 thing I shall say to-night. As an illustration, you knew who I 
 meant well enough, only for the chance of another spar you pre- 
 tend you didn't." 
 
 They both burst out laughing. There was something very 
 pretty in the friendship between these two. They sparred 
 at times, but Laura always lost. She sometimes lost her temper, 
 for instance, which that sweet-natured gorilla of a nobleman never 
 
416 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 did. They did one another a deal of good. She civilised him to 
 an extent which his own mother had never conceived possible ; 
 and he, by his persistent good-humour, broke her of her petulance, 
 and cured her of her unfortunate habit of speaking her mind. 
 When on this occasion they had both done laughing, she answered 
 him — 
 
 " The Poyntzes and the other gaby — you know whom I mean 
 by the first one — are coming. Now." 
 
 " Pax, be serious ! I am in earnest, Laura. I want to speak 
 to you ; I want to consult you. There, now let us be wise." 
 
 They were at once as wise as Solomon. 
 
 " I wish he was gone from here," said Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 "We all wish that." 
 
 "If he has a spark of honour or manliness left in him — and 
 the man is a noble soldier, Laura — he will go after hearing to- 
 day's news." 
 
 "What news?" 
 
 " News ! " cried Lord Hatterleigh, and looking sternly at her. 
 "Heavens! have you heard nothing? — that India is lost; that 
 the Sepoys have risen, and are driving the British before them like 
 sheep ; that the European men and women are being shot down 
 like dogs, and treated worse ; that the whole remnant of British 
 rule in India consists in a few hopeless garrisons, shut in, with 
 their women and children, in the principal towns, holding out, 
 through thirst and hunger, lest a fate worse than death befall 
 them ? India is lost — gone — hopelessly gone ! " 
 
 "That is very dreadful, Hatterleigh! Are we really to lose 
 India ? But we shall get on pretty well without it, sha'n't we ? " 
 
 " Heaven help her ! " said Lord Hatterleigh, addressing a case 
 fall of stuffed birds, which stood in the hall close before him. 
 " My mother was right ; I can't lose my temper. Laura dear, 
 you can understand this. We have suffered a fearful disaster in 
 India — more fearful, more terrible, than you can understand ! I 
 will teach you to understand it, dear, and you shall be as angry 
 and as fierce as I am. But this terrible disaster strikes home 
 here in two ways." 
 
 " As how ? I cannot understand." 
 
 " Colonel Hilton's brother is there in the thick of it. Surely 
 the danger of his only brother, his favourite, will be sufficient to 
 arouse him from this unmanly sloth ? Surely he will exchange 
 into some regiment ordered for service, and quit this place for 
 ever? " 
 
 " It would be an excellent solution ; let us hope so." 
 
 " Then there is Poyntz's brother Robert. He is in the thick 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 417 
 
 of it too. Now would be the time for some one to say a kind 
 word for him to his brother, and to reconcile them." 
 
 " Is their quarrel very bitter ? " 
 
 "Very so. He was very wild. There, your mother has rung 
 for dinner ; we shall catch it." 
 
 " Not we," said Laura, laughing ; " my mother never scolds 
 you." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 During dinner, and after dinner, they talked of only one thing — 
 the Indian Mutiny ; and more particularly that part of it which 
 was illustrated by a wonderful letter just received by Sir Peckwich 
 Downes from his son George, who was in the heart of the whole 
 matter. 
 
 The party was complete, with the exception of Colonel Hilton, 
 who could not come. Sir Peckwich looked seven sizes larger than 
 usual, and tried to be as pompous as ever, but failed. A radiant 
 genial smile overspread his features continually ; and more than 
 once, like our clear Sir Hugh, he manifested a mighty disposition 
 to cry. All the best part of the man (and he was a noble man 
 enough) was coining out of him as he talked of his son's heroism, 
 and his son's friend's heroism. And Lord Hatterleigh and Laura 
 noticed, as a curious thing, that he addressed himself almost 
 entirely to Sir Harry Poyntz, to whom he had hardly deigned to 
 speak before. He appealed to him, and he flattered him : when 
 he told the most exciting part of the noble story, as he did by 
 request half-a-dozen times over, he addressed himself almost 
 entirely to Sir Harry Poyntz. Once, when his utterance was 
 stopped, and his great chest began heaving, he sat calmly looking 
 at Sir Harry, until he had succeeded in smothering the sobs which 
 were trying to rise. And Sir Harry, with his shallow pale-blue 
 eye, sat watching and listening to him with his head on one side, 
 like a parrot. No one but Hilton could have read that intense 
 look: it meant, " My brain is getting dull; but I think I know 
 what you are after, old gentleman ! " Lord Hatterleigh couldn't 
 make it out at all. 
 
 The gist of the story was this. The garrison of Gorumpore, 
 reduced to about sixty European soldiers, one hundred Sikhs, and 
 the civilian volunteers, had, finding their position untenable, made 
 
 28 
 
418 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 a glorious retreat, with the women and children, back in safety 
 to a nucleus of the army, which was now sufficiently large to 
 retreat the next day into communication with the base of opera- 
 tions at Calcutta — and this through masses of swarming Sepoys. 
 You can read a hundred such stories. Their rear had been sorely 
 pressed by rebel cavalry. The handful of mounted Europeans 
 and Sikhs had charged back, against overwhelming superior 
 numbers, time alter time through the burning day. At last, at 
 evening, when the main body were just getting into safety, within 
 hearing of British bugles, George Downes, in command of the 
 party, had ordered one last charge. But the rebels, getting more 
 reckless as they saw their prey escaping, were too strong for them 
 — the British got the worst of it. Several of the Sikhs went to 
 Paradise with closed teeth, laying about them like glorious fellows as 
 they are ; but the rest cut their way through the rebels, and, led 
 by a certain Cornet, were in a fair way to get home ; when this 
 Cornet, now their leader, looking round, missed Downes, and, 
 crying out to the rest of his handful of Sikhs and Europeans, 
 turned bridle and rode back again as hard as he could go. 
 
 The main body of the rebels had found themselves too near the 
 British bugles, and had retreated. But in the centre of the 
 plain there were left somewhere near fifty of them, riding round 
 and round one another in a circle — the inner ones of them cutting 
 and slashing at something with their sabres. The Comet, sailing 
 straight away into this embroglio, never looking as to who were 
 following, and making himself felt right and left, discovered that 
 the something they were cutting at was George Downes, standing, 
 dismounted, over the body of a wounded British trooper, fighting 
 the whole fifty of them single-handed.* 
 
 The Cornet dashed at the whole of them alone ; and whether 
 it was that he laid about him so stoutly, or whether the mere 
 appearance of " an angry sahib " — which, as Mr. Trevelyan tells 
 us, is sufficient to produce any amount of panic among Indians — 
 caused it, we cannot say : at all events there was a general 
 "skedaddle," which is one fact; and another is, that we agree 
 with Mr. Trevelyan that an angry Englishman is a very terrible 
 business indeed. 
 
 * I have not drawn on my imagination here. I met a quiet man at a 
 country dinner-party, not many years ago, on whose dress-coat I detected 
 the Victoria Cross. In the half-hour before dinner I got introduced to 
 him, for the purpose of having a look at his shabby bit of gun-metal, a 
 decoration which I had never seen closely before. A few years after- 
 wards I saw his sword-arm, and then I btgan to understand what war 
 meant. He had eight- and-twenty sabre-cuts in various parts of his 
 body. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 419 
 
 However, the Cornet and the Cornet's tail got Captain Downes 
 out of his terrible situation in triumph, and that was the story. 
 
 " And what I say is," thundered Sir Peckwich Downes, "that 
 nobly as that most noble boy of mine has behaved, the Cornet has 
 behaved more nobly still. Just think of it, by Jove ! — coming 
 back after poor George — all alone, single-handed, by Jove ! And 
 you talk to me of your ancient Romans," he continued, turning 
 with sudden asperity on Sir Charles, as if that innocent and 
 perfectly silent gentleman had just finished a string of highly 
 offensive classical allusions — "your Quintus Curtius, your 
 Leonidas, your rubbish ! What were they to this glorious self- 
 devoted Cornet — eh, sir ? Go along with you, sir ; don't talk 
 that nonsense to me ! " 
 
 " A glorious fellow truly," said Sir Charles; "a noble fellow 
 — a hero among heroes ! " 
 
 " We have not had his name yet," said Laura. " Let us have 
 this noble man's name." 
 
 "Ask Sir Harry Poyntz," said Sir Peckwich, with a toss of 
 the head and a puff. 
 
 Laura did so, with her eyes flashing, and her whole face 
 animated by the glorious story. Sir Harry looked at her steadily, 
 and thought, "I shall have to play the mischief with you to- 
 morrow, my dear young lady — I shall indeed ; " and then said 
 slowly, aloud — " I do not know his name. I know nothing of the 
 story but what I have heard here. But I begin to make a guess, 
 from Sir Peckwich Downes' exceedingly personal gaze, that this 
 hero is no other than that lunatic young rascal, my brother Bob : 
 it's exactly like a piece of his tomfoolery." 
 
 "Right, by Jingo ! " said Sir Peckwich, bringing his fist on 
 the table with a crash : a piece of vulgarity which, coupled with 
 the lowness of the remark which accompanied it, would at an 
 ordinary time have raised extreme anger in the aristocratic soul of 
 Lady Downes ; but she now only sat, flushed and proud, looking 
 so really noble that Laura remarked it, and pointed it out to 
 Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 "Wonderful!" he whispered; "and such a very common- 
 place-looking person on ordinary occasions ! " 
 
 " We have all got a little extra fire in our eyes to-night — not 
 one of us but looks nobler," said Laura ; " but the proud mother 
 beats us all. I wonder whether that strange creature Sir Harry 
 will notice his brother now : he is going to speak." 
 
 " It was not a difficult guess of mine, Sir Peckwich. I know 
 now that he must have changed into that Clanjam fry because your 
 son was there. They were boy-lovers at Eton, you remember." 
 
420 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " I congratulate myself on the result," said Peckwich. 
 
 "I say," said Sir Harry, with some show of interest, "what 
 does one do in these cases ? " 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Sir Peckwich, puzzled. 
 
 " In these cases, when a man's brother or son distinguishes 
 himself like this : do you send them a present, or merely write 
 them a complimentary letter? What are you going to do in 
 George's case, for instance ? " 
 
 " I shall write to him, sir, a letter he'll remember to the day 
 of his death. And I shall pay a thousand pounds into Cox 
 and Greenwood's, for him to spend in the way he likes best. 
 That is what I am going to do, sir." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! You are going to do that. Should you say 
 that in my case half would be enough ? " 
 
 " Give me your hand, Poyntz," said Sir Peckwich ; and the 
 other did so, laughing. 
 
 "Much obliged to you for giving me a precedent. Bob has 
 never done so in his own person. He has never behaved in any 
 way approaching to common decency till now. Here's my diffi- 
 culty about the letter : all the letters I have ever written to him 
 have been of a violently exasperating and abusive nature, and 
 now to begin gushing . However, it must be done." 
 
 By-and-by a servant came in and announced " Sir Harry 
 Poyntz 's boat." 
 
 " It is very early," said he. 
 
 "I think you are wanted at home, Sir Harry: something 
 about Colonel Hilton." 
 
 ' ' Is anything the matter with him ? ' ' 
 
 "Is he dead?" said Lady Poyntz, in a voice which made 
 them all start. 
 
 "No, my lady, I believe not — nothing at all the matter with 
 him." 
 
 But she passed out, very pale ; and Laura went with her to 
 wrap her up, for the night was chill. Her husband stayed 
 behind, and paused while wishing Lord Hatterleigh good-night. 
 He was a little more fantastic than usual — 
 
 " Good-night ! I hope you will sleep well to-night." 
 
 " Thank you — I generally do, Poyntz — thank you," said Lord 
 Hatterleigh. 
 
 " And I hope you will sleep well to-morrow night also. Inside 
 all right now ? " 
 
 " Quite right, thank you," said the other, laughing. 
 
 "Hah! don't let it go wrong again, if anything happens to 
 you. Put a bold face on it, you know. Good-night ! " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 421 
 
 11 Put a bold face on what? " asked Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 " On anything that may happen," said Sir Harry. " Don't 
 think so much of your inside. Bless you, there is no greater 
 mistake in life than beginning to study your inside ! If I had 
 done so I should have been in Bedlam ten years ago. Short 
 of turning Papist, I know of no superstition so mischievous as 
 that of believing one's inside to be in an exceptional and ab- 
 normal state. That is the great temptation of your life ; don't 
 you yield to it after you get my letter to-morrow." 
 
 At the door Sir Harry came across his wife, Laura, and Sir 
 Charles Seckerton. He bid Laura " good-night," and paused 
 with her as he had with Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 " That was a fine story about George Downes," he said. 
 
 " A noble story ! And your brother too ! " 
 
 " And my brother Bob, eh ? A fine fellow — a fine fellow ! I 
 will send him five hundred pounds, and I'll bet another hundred 
 that he makes that five hundred go further than scatter-brained 
 George Downes does his thousand. A fine fellow Bob, after all, 
 Sir Charles ; only one fault, he is such a miserly screw ! " 
 
 " I can hardly believe that about such a hero," said Laura. 
 
 " You'll have to believe it, Miss Seckerton. And now, as we 
 shall never meet again in this world, let me say good-bye once 
 more. Reserve your judgment of me ; all I ask of you is to 
 reserve your judgment of me." 
 
 And before puzzled Laura had replied, he was down the 
 pleasance-walk after his wife ; and soon they heard the throb 
 of the rowlocks, as the boat carried them across the tideway 
 towards the dark Castle which threatened in the westward before 
 the sinking moon. " Seen him for the last time ! Reserve her 
 judgment on him I The man was mad ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 It was a cold night, and a cold and wailing wind came down the 
 river from the moor ; but it was hardly cold enough to account 
 for Lady Poyntz trembling and shivering as she did. 
 
 " How you shake, old woman ! " said Sir Harry ; " you have 
 caught a cold. Take my coat." 
 
 11 1 am warm enough, Harry ; at least I shall get warm walking 
 up to the Castle. I hate dining at the Court ! I shall catch 
 
422 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 my death crossing this river some night. However, here we 
 are." 
 
 She sprang on shore ; and the moment they were alone 
 together, she said — 
 
 " Hilton has got some ill-news, or he is going to India. Go 
 and speak to him." 
 
 " India ! For God's sake don't let him go away from me ! I 
 shall he ruined. I can't do without him now. I tell you fairly, 
 I have no one who will act for me but him." 
 
 " Go to him, Harry ; see if anything is wrong." 
 
 " I wish you would go," said Sir Harry. " I hate a scene. 
 Besides, you have ten times the influence with him that I have. 
 Do go, to oblige me." 
 
 " Let it be so then," she said, with a sigh. 
 
 " Thank you ! I will go to my room." 
 
 Colonel Hilton, the servant said, was in the library. She 
 passed quickly to the door, and paused when she had her hand 
 on the handle. 
 
 She felt sick and faint ; she was terrified beyond measure. 
 The poor woman knew that, although as yet innocent, she was 
 on the edge of a precipice, and that any movement might be her 
 ruin. What was Hilton doing ; why had he sent for them home ? 
 She knew, poor creature, that she was in his power ; that he had 
 got perfect control over her ; and that if he was scoundrel enough 
 to say the word this night, she would follow him to the ends of the 
 earth ! She wished she was dead ; she wished that she had never 
 been born. At last she said to herself, " Oh, if he will only have 
 mercy ! " 
 
 She let the handle go. A thought came into her head so 
 maddening, so terrifying, that she nearly screamed aloud. Her 
 father ! For one moment in the darkness she saw the dear old 
 face, as it would be when he got the news ; incredulity, horror, 
 and a wild grief which was beyond wailing, were torturing every 
 sacred line. The ghastly vision was gone again in an instant ; 
 and she stood gasping for breath before the door, knowing that she 
 must enter to her fate. 
 
 She was terrified suddenly by a sound in the room, at the door 
 of which she stood trembling : a word — a word in Hilton's voice 
 — a loud, furious, terrible oath ! She went in now, and as she 
 looked at him, she thought her doom was sealed. 
 
 He was perfectly white, and his hair was disordered, and hung 
 over his forehead. On his face there was a scowl so fearful, so 
 utterly unlike anything she had seen there before, that her terror 
 was almost lost in amazement. He was standing with his back 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 423 
 
 to the fire and his face towards her as she came in, and so she 
 took it all in at a glance. 
 
 " Is that you, Lady Poyntz ? " he croaked out. 
 
 " Yes, it is I ; you sent for us." 
 
 " To hear the news, the gallant news, my Lady Poyntz. Have 
 you heard the news of my brother Jack, of my bonny little Jack, 
 the lad I swore to protect, to my mother on her deathbed ? Only 
 he and I left in the world together ! " 
 
 " Has anything happened to him ? " 
 
 " Murdered ! " he shouted, in a voice which rang through the 
 silent house, and startled the distant servants. " Murdered, 
 foully and cruelly, by his own men, while I, like a thrice-cursed 
 fool,' was mincing here ! That is brave news for you, my Lady 
 Poyntz ! " 
 
 She could only weep — she had nothing to say. 
 
 "But, Maria, I will have vengeance for this — sweet, noble 
 vengeance ! I am off to-night ; I only stayed to say good-bye, 
 and before you see me again, I shall have waded knee-deep in 
 blood. Our fellows are at the glorious work now, and I am away 
 to join them. And now good-bye once more, Maria ; say good-bye 
 to your husband for me. I have been here too long already." 
 And so, without another word, he was gone. 
 
 A sad frame of mind for such a genial noble creature to find 
 himself in. It is easy enough to be philosophical over this state 
 of feeling, and to be shocked at it at this distance of time. We, 
 however, have nothing to do either with excusing it or condemning 
 it ; all we need say about it is that it existed to an immense 
 extent, and that its existence in the breast of Colonel Hilton 
 probably saved him and Lady Poyntz from hopeless ruin. 
 
 She was saved, and she knew it. Half an hour after Hilton 
 was gone, her husband, prowling round the house with catlike 
 tread, came to the library-door and looked in. Lady Poyntz was 
 kneeling at the table, with the light in her face, and her hands 
 held before as though she prayed ; while her lips, though moving 
 rapidly, did not disturb the beautiful smile which was settled on 
 her mouth. She had not been weeping, for her magnificent 
 lustrous eyes were as clear and more brilliant than ever ; but 
 what was more noticeable than anything, was a look of unutterable 
 joy which overspread her face, and had its origin in too many 
 infinitely intricate sources for it to be possible to analyse it, or 
 to say it was expressed so, or so. There was something so 
 solemnly beautiful about her, that Sir Harry drew back, and 
 looked on puzzled — 
 
 "How wonderfully beautiful she looks! Why is she glad 
 
424 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Hilton is gone ? I hope I have not been too careless. She is 
 looking like her dead mother now. I never saw her mother, 
 hut I know she is. Well, it is no good trying to get her to 
 help me in this business while she is in this saintlike frame of 
 mind ; I might as well ask that Madonna there. I see I must 
 do it all myself." 
 
 And so with catlike stealth he crept away through the silent 
 house, and left her kneeling with her hands before her, indulging 
 the long-lost but newly-found luxury of prayer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh came over earlier than usual the next 
 morning. Laura heard his horse come to the hall door, and 
 heard him come rattling along to the door of the breakfast- 
 room, where she sat alone. She thought he was in a great 
 hurry, but until he had shut the door behind him took very 
 little notice. When he had done so she looked up, and was 
 filled with astonishment and fear. 
 
 Poor gentleman, he was a sad spectacle ! He looked pale 
 and wild, and, what was more extraordinary, all the latent 
 "Guy" element in the man had come out stronger than ever, 
 as the Doctor said it would on the first strain of circumstances. 
 He had got his hat on the back of his head, his necktie was on 
 one side, and one of his shoe-strings was untied. Laura saw 
 that something had happened, but she preserved her equanimity, 
 for she had really no anticipation of anything overwhelming. 
 She spoke first — 
 
 " What is the matter, George ? " 
 
 " Oh, Laura ! Laura ! I have got such a dreadful letter." 
 
 11 Is that any reason why you should keep your hat on, not to 
 say wear it on the back of your head, like a lunatic ? Sit down, 
 and tell me all about it." 
 
 " I hardly know where to begin," said poor Lord Hatterleigh, 
 sitting down. 
 
 "Begin anywhere ; and as for leaving off, leave off as soon as 
 I order you." 
 
 It was the last piece of her kindly shrewishness which she ever 
 gave to him or any one else. Lord Hatterleigh saw the old effort 
 to be smart and epigrammatical, and saw the failure also. She 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 425 
 
 was frightened. He paused before he went on, and there was a 
 dead silence. She would not speak, and he was forced to begin. 
 He sat, and looked steadily and kindly at her, and began speak- 
 ing. She thought he had never looked so manly, so noble, or so 
 good as he looked now, when every word he spoke was like a dull 
 blow on her heart, which by God's mercy deadened its sensation, 
 and prevented her going mad. 
 
 " Laura," he said, " do you remember once that you turned 
 to me suddenly, when I, to tell the truth, was not prepared for 
 your doing so ; when I, in fact, was only hoping that you could 
 get to love me after getting used to my uncouthness, and finding 
 out by degrees my better qualities ; you remember that at such a 
 time once you turned to me spontaneously, and told me that you 
 had always liked me and trusted me?" 
 
 " I went further than that. I said I had always loved you; 
 and so I always did, and so I always shall in a sort of way. I 
 always laughed at you, and, unless my heart is broken and the 
 wells of laughter get dry, I always shall whenever you are 
 ridiculous. I would laugh at you now if you were not so serious. 
 Go on." 
 
 " Do you remember that you said to me on that occasion, that 
 you had no one left whom you could trust to but me ; and, more- 
 over, that I gave you my knightly word of honour, as a Peer of 
 Great Britain, that whatever happened would make no difference 
 to me — that I would stand by your side and see you through 
 it?" 
 
 " I remember all that. Go on." 
 
 11 Now I wish, before you see this letter, to renew that vow, 
 and to tell you that this letter makes no difference to me ; that I 
 swear by my title, by my position, by my sixty-thousand a-year, 
 that no cloud shall come between me and you ! Will you read 
 it?" 
 
 " I had better. I would have made you a shrewish joke about 
 the absurdity of your swearing by your income, but I fear I 
 shall make few more jokes in this world. Give it to me ; and 
 give me one kiss, George, before I read it." 
 
 He tried to kneel to her, but she would not have it. " We 
 must be very cool over this matter," she said. "If we were 
 only Jemmy and Jessamy it would be different. You are Lord 
 Hatterleigh, and I am Laura Seckerton. Now for the letter ; 
 I suppose the signature is Harry Poyntz." 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh gave it to her without a word. It was 
 infinitely worse than she had anticipated ; there was ruin in the 
 first two lines of it. She had often laughed to herself at the idea 
 
426 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 of her, with her secret, being received into the bosom of a family 
 so rampantly offensively particular as that of the Hatterleighs, 
 and she had lately determined that it would not do. She knew 
 that she loved the dead Poyntz- Hammer sley still : and her plan 
 had been to keep Lord Hatterleigh dangling after her, nominally 
 engaged to her ; to form him as well as she was able, to cure him 
 of his Guy Fawkes habits, and so by degrees show him that their 
 engagement was only a thing of words ; to quietly dismiss him as 
 soon as an eligible young lady appeared in the field, and to keep 
 up a platonic friendship with him for the rest of her life, while 
 she herself went into the high-church nursing-sisterhood busi- 
 ness. That was her programme — not a bad one if that unac- 
 countable bedlamite Sir Harry Poyntz had not drawn a wet 
 sponge through the whole matter. As she read his letter to 
 Lord Hatterleigh, she saw that her engagement to him must 
 come to an end at once ; and, what was more, that there was 
 left, over and above, a frightful personal scandal against herself. 
 She had not read three sentences of it before she looked up at 
 Lord Hatterleigh, and said — 
 
 " I wonder why he did this. I cannot conceive what his 
 motive can be. But a lunatic has no motives. Perhaps it is 
 better that he has done it." And then she went on, finished 
 it, folded it up, and gave it back to Lord Hatterleigh, with a 
 sigh, saying : " Well, that's all over ! " 
 
 The letter was as follows : — 
 
 " My dear Hatterleigh, — I have been waiting for some 
 one else to perform this exceedingly unpleasant task, but as no 
 one seems inclined to do it, I must open your eyes myself. 
 
 " Miss Seckerton's close intimacy with young Hammersley — a 
 noble young fellow, certainly, but only huntsman, or something 
 of that kind, to her father — renders it impossible and ridiculous 
 for her to become your Countess. 
 
 " One particular and private meeting which took place in my 
 shrubberies was witnessed. The indiscretion in this particular 
 instance will, I suppose, accomplish my object. 
 
 " Yours very sincerely, 
 
 " Harry Poyntz." 
 
 " And what do you think of that for a false villain ? " said 
 Lord Hatterleigh. " You must commission me to go to him 
 and give him the lie to his face ! " 
 
 " I can't do that ; it is all true enough," she said, wearily. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 427 
 
 " All true enough ! " he cried, aghast. 
 
 " All true enough to ruin me, I mean," she said ; " though of 
 course, my Lord," she added, suddenly and fiercely, " you under- 
 stand that I acted with the most perfect discretion throughout the 
 business." 
 
 II Of course you did. Did you dream that I distrusted you ? " 
 Lord Hatterleigh answered, proudly. " I only ask you to explain 
 so far as to enable me to go and tell that villain he lies in his 
 throat — not a word more than that ! " 
 
 She liked him better now she had lost him than she had ever 
 liked him before. She had intended to break off her engage- 
 ment ; Sir Harry Poyntz had done it for her, and ruined her 
 besides. The world seemed all such a ghastly, weary waste ! 
 Only one hand seemed held out to her, and she was going to cast 
 that hand away — 
 
 II I can give you no explanations. As he has put the matter 
 it is utterly false, but I am wearied of the subject, and it is 
 hateful to me. Our engagement is at an end ! " 
 
 "It is nothing of the kind; I will not have it so for an 
 instant." 
 
 " Do not you see that it is wholly impossible for you to continue 
 it if I refuse you those explanations ? And I do refuse them. 
 Here is your ring." 
 
 " Laura, one moment before it is too late " 
 
 " Not another word until you have taken your ring." 
 
 He was forced to take it, and said, " What have I left to live 
 for now?" 
 
 " Much," she answered. " Now we can talk as friends. You 
 have me to live for ; I am in want of a friend." 
 
 The poor gentleman did not accept his position at all kindly, 
 but sat ruefully silent. 
 
 " I can speak no more on the subject this morning," she said ; 
 " I am ill. Go away now. What can I have done to make Sir 
 Harry Poyntz use me so cruelly ? " 
 
 She said this as she passed out, and said it in such a piti- 
 able tone, that it went to Lord Hatterleigh's heart. He thought 
 a few minutes, and then hurled himself down the stairs out of 
 the room, across the hall, and out of the house. " Send my 
 horse and groom after me " was all he said to the wondering 
 butler, and strode away gesticulating across the park. 
 
428 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 CHAPTER XL. 
 
 Lady Emily and her mother sat alone in the library, no more 
 suspecting that there was anything wrong in their domestic 
 affairs, than believing that the granite tors of the moor were 
 breaking from their bases, and coming crashing about their 
 heads. They had never had a hint of Sir Charles' difficulties ; 
 and he used to see them day after day utterly unconscious, 
 cheerful, and peaceful, in a circle of circumstances, which to 
 them appeared a well-kept English gentleman's establishment, 
 but which to him seemed only a ghastly heap of fraudulent bank- 
 ruptcy and ruin. 
 
 They were talking, as they always were now, of Laura's 
 approaching marriage, and were indeed getting busy about it. 
 It was very charming to Lady Emily to have the management of 
 such a great affair, and not less pleasant for her mother to be 
 consulted (as she was a hundred times a-day) on every detail, and 
 not only consulted but implicitly followed. The presents were 
 dropping in. The Downes's only the day before had sent in a 
 magnificently ostentatious offering from Howell and James, and 
 there it stood ; even Lady Downes' and Constance Downes' com- 
 paratively humble contributions towering above all the others on 
 the table, while Sir Peckwich himself was represented by an 
 almost offensively beautiful centrepiece for flowers, which, like 
 Sir Peckwich himself, was head and shoulders higher than the 
 other two. 
 
 " I hear Laura's footstep : she is coming to look at the 
 Downes' presents." 
 
 If she was she had made strange preparations for doing so. 
 It would seem much more likely that she had been getting her- 
 self ready to act the part of " Medea." She was deadly, ghastly 
 pale, and somehow — perhaps by some frenzied motion of her 
 body, perhaps by the mere clasping of her hands to her heated 
 head — one large band of her hair had come down and hung 
 across her face. She was very calm, and her mouth was set 
 firmly ; but the instant the two ladies looked at her, they saw 
 plainly enough that she would never be Countess of Hatterleigh. 
 
 "I am come to tell you both that I have broken off my 
 engagement with Lord Hatterleigh, in a manner which renders 
 all reconsideration impossible. Will you tell people about it 
 for me, and all that sort of thing ? I am very tired, and am 
 unable to speak any more on the subject." 
 
 " If Lord Hatterleigh has dared " began Lady Emily. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 429 
 
 II Lord Hatterleigh has not dared anything, my dearest mother ! 
 The whole thing is of my doing— my fault from beginning to end. 
 Lord Hatterleigh has behaved like a very noble and true-hearted 
 gentleman, and has left me very unwillingly." 
 
 Lady Emily immediately went down on her knees. " Laura," 
 she said, " let your own mother on her bended knees implore you 
 to say the one word to that unhappy young man, which will bring 
 him back to your side, and save us from the intolerable ridicule 
 which always attaches to the breaking-off a match when it has 
 gone as far as this one has ! " 
 
 " Mother, get up." 
 
 II I know this is your doing. I know that Hatterleigh was too 
 infatuated — loved you too dearly. Oh, say the word — oh, say the 
 word, and save us ! " 
 
 " Mother, I think I can bear what I have to bear. You may 
 make it harder for me by these scenes, but I will try. I wish you 
 to understand, once for all, that it is all over between us, and that 
 no power on earth can ever make me alter my decision." 
 
 She left the room ; and Lady Emily, getting up from her knees 
 — by no means so easy a process as going down on them — turned 
 to her mother, and said, " Here is a pretty business ! " 
 
 " I never thought it would do," said Lady Southmolton. 
 
 "I am aware of that, my dear mother; I have heard that 
 before," replied Lady Emily, with perfect truth, but with more 
 tartness than was necessary. " The question is, ' what is to be 
 done?' " 
 
 " Nothing, that I am aware of, except writing to Jane Clark." 
 
 " Jane Clark is dead," said Lady Emily, still snappishly. " Do 
 you mean to advise me to sit down under this ? " 
 
 " Whether I advise you to do so or not, my clear Emily, you 
 will have to do so. You had better stop any further expense." 
 
 " The milliner will put it all about London." 
 
 " Not she : a hundred others will have done it for her," said 
 Lady Southmolton, who had never been spoken to sharply by her 
 daughter before, and had no idea of standing it. 
 
 "It is so sudden," said Lady Emily; and we have had it 
 talked about so much. It was in the Post" 
 
 11 It is the most sudden and scandalous business I have ever 
 had to do with," replied her mother. "I thought I could have 
 crept to my grave without being mixed up in a business of this 
 kind. But I will not complain ; I will bear my cross, Emily." 
 
 " You seem bent on driving me out of my mind, mother. Will 
 you tell me what to do ? " 
 
 11 With the greatest pleasure. Was her veil ordered ? " 
 
430 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " You know it was." 
 
 : ' Then you must compromise. The milliner is a most excellent 
 woman, and will let you off your bargain far cheaper than Madame 
 Mantalini would ; but I should tell her all the circumstances of 
 the case, out of mere courtesy. Then you must write to G-unter 
 and tell him all about it ; say you don't want the cake. Then you 
 will have to tell Harry Emmanuel about it, and so on." 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! why are you so cruel ? " 
 
 "Because I am angry with you, Emily!" said the little old 
 lady, stamping her foot upon the floor. " Would you have dared 
 to rebel against me in this manner ? Why don't you do your 
 duty as a mother, and send for Lord Hatterleigh yourself ? Why 
 do you allow Laura to dictate to you in this shameful way ? Order 
 Laura to her room, and sit down and write to Lord Hatterleigh 
 yourself." (The little old lady had shaken and wagged her head, 
 and stamped her foot so much by now, that she might almost have 
 frightened a rabbit). " Do you think that at Laura's age I should 
 have so far forgotten every moral and religious duty as to allow 
 you for one instant to behave as Laura is behaving now ? 
 Never ! " 
 
 " I know you would not, mother. But I am afraid of Laura ; 
 I dare not speak to her ! " 
 
 Old Lady Southmolton was so filled with unutterable contempt 
 by this expression of weakness, that she had nothing to say. She 
 looked up to heaven as though praying for patience. 
 
 " Do speak to her yourself, mother, and make her obey you," 
 said poor Lady Emily. 
 
 At this very alarming proposition, Lady Southmolton came back 
 to earth again with the most startling rapidity ; she actually 
 tumbled down, headlong. Her first act on arriving on this earth, 
 after a serene contemplation of the deterioration of the human 
 species since the days of Hannah More — after falling suddenly, 
 from a height of moral speculation, down on to the floor of 
 extremely disagreeable personal practice — was, so to speak, to sit 
 up and look round her, to see if her daughter was in earnest, or 
 was daring to make game of her. Poor Lady Emily was perfectly 
 in earnest — there was no doubt in that. Lady Southmolton said, 
 quietly scornful — 
 
 " She is not my daughter ; she is yours. I am not her mother, 
 any more than my sainted Southmolton was her father. I wash 
 my hands of her ! Do not drive me to say that I wash my hands 
 of you — of my own daughter ! " 
 
 The idea of Lady Southmolton washing her hands of her was so 
 dreadful to Lady Emily, that she went through the action of 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 431 
 
 washing her own, and moaned and wailed herself into silence, as 
 ladies do in such cases. When everything had been quite quiet 
 for a quarter of an hour, from Lady Emily's last sob, Lady 
 Southmolton, solemnly but on the whole in a conciliatory manner, 
 said — 
 
 "Emily!" 
 
 Lady Emily threw herself on her mother's bosom, and went 
 through the sobbing business again — but three octaves lower, and 
 many minutes shorter ; after which they talked together in a 
 reasonable manner. But all that they arrived at was that girls 
 were not as they used to be, and that dear Laura was very strange ; 
 that, on the whole, they — they — were both horribly afraid of her, 
 could not in the least degree calculate what she would do next, 
 and so had better leave her to herself : which they did. 
 
 CHAPTER XLL 
 
 Sir Harry Poyntz was sitting at his library-table turning over 
 his papers. This became day after day a more difficult and tire- 
 some business for him. He knew that his brain was softening, 
 and he had submitted to his fate in that matter with that quaint 
 godless fatalism which possibly was part of his disease. He had 
 told Hilton that the only thing which annoyed him was, that those 
 fits of irritability were beyond his control. He said, in his queer 
 way, that it was so unutterably exasperating to find that he 
 couldn't keep his temper. But these fits had grown milder as the 
 disease went on, and had altogether ceased ; but as they ceased a 
 new cause of irritation seemed arising. He had always been the 
 most methodical as well as the most catlike cleanly of men, and 
 now he began to find that his papers got wrong, and that he 
 was getting untidy in his dress. This vexed him considerably. 
 
 He was in a mess with his papers this morning. He had found 
 himself getting angry, and, being fearful of one of his old fits of 
 fury coming on, had dismissed the steward with a sweet smile, on 
 pretence of a headache. He had made an effort to bring his mind 
 to a focus, and to get his papers in order ; but he found that the 
 effort was beyond him — and there was no one to help him. 
 
 11 The game is very nearly up," he thought ; " I wish Bob was 
 here." 
 
 Suddenly there came, as there will in such cases, a sudden 
 
432 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 activity of brain, a more rapid passage of blood, or if not tbat 
 something else. He suddenly saw, in one instant, that he was 
 all alone, without a single friend in this world, and utterly without 
 hope or belief in the next. The first effect of this flash of intelli- 
 gence was infinitely mournful — the second most ghastly and most 
 horrible. There came on him, for one moment, that sense of 
 illimitable distance from others, which no man can feel for many 
 seconds and keep his reason. The nightmare passed away, and 
 left him sitting there, careless, stupid, and desperate. 
 
 When the brain quickened again, he began thinking about his 
 brother Robert, and wishing that he would come back, and that 
 he might hear that Robert had forgiven him from his own lips. 
 He did not acknowledge to himself that he had been to blame in 
 their life-long quarrel ; he only wished that Robert would tell him 
 they were good friends. " I wish we could start afresh. How 
 was I to know that Bob was a hero? I suppose," went on the 
 poor fellow, " that I must be wrong. Every one loved him, and 
 every one hated me. Why did he always hate and despise me so ? 
 Why did he irritate me, and make me hate him ! Well, Master 
 Bob, I have brains enough to be even with you yet ! " 
 
 Some one laid a light hand on his shoulder. He said, " Bob, 
 I'll be even with you. You'll be devilish sorry for me when I am 
 gone." And then he looked up and found his wife standing over 
 him. 
 
 " Maria, I am glad to see you ; I have had the nightmare. Do 
 you wish me dead ? " 
 
 " Harry ! Harry ! give up talking so wildly." 
 
 " I am not talking wildly at all. Maria, do you think, for the 
 short time we have left to live together, that you could be friends 
 with me ? It is so horrible to die without one single friend ! " 
 
 "I will be a faithful and good wife to you, Harry. We have 
 both made a mistake. You have so often and, let me say, so 
 coarsely put that before me, times innumerable, that I have no 
 delicacy in speaking about it. I have been saved from unutterable 
 woe by God's providence, and my heart is tender towards you, my 
 poor Harry — very tender ! Why are you so hopelessly wicked as 
 to make it impossible for me to love you ? ' ' 
 
 " What have I been doing so unutterably wicked lately ? " 
 
 ' ' Harry, why have you ruined Laura Seckerton ? Why did 
 you write that horrible letter ? I have just been with her ; she 
 seems the same to the world, but you have driven her half-mad. 
 We have come together again after all our misunderstanding, and 
 I tell you, Harry, that she is broken-hearted." 
 
 " Serve her right ! " said Sir Harry Poyntz, laughing ; " she 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 433 
 
 wanted a lesson. Let her keep her tongue between her teeth 
 another time." 
 
 Maria was so exasperated by this brutality that she rose up, 
 and paced up and down the room in furious heat, denouncing him. 
 There was nothing she did not say of him. When she had some- 
 what cooled, she, in a very imperial manner, without in the least 
 degree thinking what she was about, declared she would live with 
 him no longer, and formally demanded a separation. Meanwhile 
 Sir Harry laughed louder and louder as she went on, which, 
 however she might conceal it, drove her nearly wild. 
 
 " Separation ! " he said at last, amidst his laughter. " Why, 
 Sir Charles Seckerton came over here once to represent to me 
 your goings-on with Hilton. I knew and trusted you, Maria, and 
 I sent him back shorn. Come, Maria, be sensible ; come and hear 
 all about it. Let us have no nonsense." 
 
 Poor Lady Poyntz had nothing more to say. She was obliged 
 to listen, however indignantly ; innocent as she was, she was 
 obliged to be calm. She came and sat down beside him. 
 
 " Maria," he said, " I did write that letter." 
 
 "No one doubts it; you signed your name to it. I came in 
 here to-night in a softened mood, to behave as a wife to you ; 
 and you, by your hopeless wickedness, have exasperated me to 
 that extent that I have utterly lost my temper with you. Why 
 have you ruined Laura ? " 
 
 " You mean, why have I broken off her engagement to that 
 Guy Fawkes booby, Hatterleigh ? " 
 
 " You may put it as you will. Why have you involved her 
 name with Hammersley, sir ? " 
 
 " Because," said Sir Harry, calmly, " I want her to marry my 
 brother Bob. I have bought up every mortgage on that estate, 
 and I could sell Sir Charles up to-morrow. By my arrangements, 
 Laura, with her damaged reputation " 
 
 "Her damaged reputation, sir!" blazed out Lady Poyntz. 
 " How dare you, sir ? " 
 
 " I am aware of her perfect discretion, but I was not speaking 
 of that ; I was speaking of her reputation. With her reputation 
 she will be glad to marry Bob, and the two estates will be joined, 
 you see ; and her father's creditor will be his own son-in-law, and 
 they will all live happy for the rest of their lives." 
 
 " It is a cunning scheme," she said, " and I so far like your part 
 in it as to see that you mean well by your brother. But you little 
 know Laura ; she would sooner be burnt alive than marry a man 
 under such circumstances." 
 
 11 But I have put her reputation at zero ; I have told 
 
 29 
 
434 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 others about it. I tell you she will be glad to marry any 
 one." 
 
 (i I have no patience with you ! You have ruined her for nothing. 
 All she will do will be to go into a convent." 
 
 " I thought she was a sound churchwoman." 
 
 " A desperate woman soon gets over a few little difficulties of 
 creed. Besides, another thing will show you the absolute folly 
 of your plan. Your brother Robert — he — this heroic man, with 
 all the pride and bloom of his heroism fresh upon him, is to marry 
 this woman, whose reputation you have so carefully undermined. 
 You have gone muddling and scheming on, until you have done 
 irreparable mischief, and ruined a noble woman." 
 
 She turned and left him in indignation, and looked back after 
 she passed the door. Sir Harry was looking at her with a half- 
 silly, half-sly expression, and was laughing at her. There was 
 more about him than she could understand. She was sorry to 
 have lost her temper with him, and she went back and kissed 
 him. After that she passed out, and left him sitting in his 
 chair. 
 
 CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 The next morning Laura had risen early, had taken her sketch- 
 book, put some food in her hunting- canteen, and walked away 
 alone through the park to the Vicarage. 
 
 The Vicar was away that morning — she knew that well enough ; 
 but she only wanted the Vicar's wife, whom she found alone. 
 
 11 I only want the key of the church." 
 
 Mrs. Vicar hardly spoke, but seemed to think the more. She 
 had actually given the key to Laura, and Laura was turning away, 
 when the two scarlet gloves were whipped suddenly round her 
 neck ; and she found herself violently kissed, and the next instant 
 "The Umbrella" was standing before her, nourishing a scarlet 
 fist within an inch of her nose. 
 
 11 Oh, if I only had the trouncing of some of them ! Oh, if I 
 could get Tom Downes to play Benedict to a certain gentleman's 
 Claudio ! " 
 
 11 Hush ! hush ! " said Laura ; " there is no one to blame. Just 
 think of what you are saying ; how very dreadful ! " 
 
 " I am not an image," said the Vicar's wife. "I am not a 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 435 
 
 stone gargoyle, to have a mouth and never speak. I am furious, 
 I tell you." 
 
 " Quiet— quiet, old friend," said Laura ; " you should help me 
 to be quiet, and not make me angry." 
 
 "I should, but I can't," said she of the red gloves. " Oh, 
 Laura, if I only had Lord Hatterleigh here ! " 
 
 " What would you do with him ? " 
 
 " I would give him such a piece of my mind. Oh, Laura, they 
 have used you so shamefully ! " 
 
 " Indeed, my dear, I cannot see that at all. In the first place, 
 Lord Hatterleigh : Do you know that I might be Lady Hatterleigh 
 now, in spite of all that has passed, and rule him with a rod°of 
 iron ? Do you know that Lord Hatterleigh is the most perfect 
 gentleman and the most highminded man I have ever met ? My 
 dear soul, I have committed an indiscretion, and am suffering for 
 it — that is all ! " 
 
 " There is a villain somewhere, Laura." 
 
 11 1 don't see why Sir Harry Poyntz should have been so cruel. 
 But it is all for the best." 
 
 " Why are you going into the church ? " 
 
 " To practise the organ. All my old habits are cut away. I 
 will not ride again. I cannot look at the poor people ; they will 
 sympathise with me, and I cannot cure them of it ; and I won't be 
 sympathised with. They have no manners, those poor folks. And 
 the regulation of hours of business won't do now. Your husband 
 and my grandmother would recommend it, I know, but it won't 
 do ; I have got the ' snatches ' on me too strong for that. And I 
 have tried to paint, but — but what is the use of losing your 
 temper over a thing of that kind ? — and so it is all gone but my 
 most wickedly-neglected music, and I am going to try that ; there- 
 fore give me the key, and I will call at the school for a boy to 
 blow, and I will see what that will do." 
 
 And so she went ; and she of the red gloves said to herself— 
 " They have played old gooseberry with a very fine girl among 
 them. _ Why," she said indignantly to the ambient air, as if the 
 very winds of heaven were to blame, "there wasn't a finer girl 
 than that in the Three Kingdoms ! What have you been doing 
 with her, you two old trots " (which was personal), " and you 
 extravagant old zany in topboots ? " (which was more personal 
 still). "I wish I had the trouncing of you ! Got nothing left 
 but the organ, and can't play that ! If I was her I'd go to 
 Rome, out of sheer spite ; that would be the way to exasperate 
 them." 
 
 If the Vicar could only have heard her ! But he was away at 
 
436 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 Exeter at the Visitation. They called her, in joke, " The 
 Umbrella," partly from her figure, and partly from her inanimate 
 submission to her husband. She let him do as he would with 
 her ; the red gloves were a case in point. But sometimes, to 
 every one's astonishment and confusion, "The Umbrella," so to 
 speak, put herself up, and refused to be got through narrow 
 high-church passages and doorways after her husband, or to be 
 put down again — a most obstinate old umbrella with a very rusty 
 spring. 
 
 Laura, laughing to herself, went into the church ; and soon 
 afterwards the boy came, and she began playing. The church 
 was very dear to her, and she wished to get back once more 
 into the old church -routine. Nothing had ever satisfied her so 
 well as that, after all. As for communicating — as for returning 
 to the old pretty woman's ministrations (in the way of ornament, 
 and so on, about the altar), that was impossible to her. There 
 was a vindictive chord in her heart, which was vibrated twenty 
 times a day ; and at every vibration she said, " Oh, if I had a 
 brother." The old church-peace was not attainable, now that she 
 had fully put before herself her utter exasperation against Sir 
 Harry Poyntz. He came to church, and she could not kneel and 
 pray with him. She hated him, and she did not in the least 
 conceal it from herself. He had gratuitously ruined her, and she 
 hated him ! 
 
 She had tried all her old round of duties and pleasures, and 
 they were all dead and dull. She had a fancy to shut herself up 
 in the old church and play the organ — to take once again to her 
 long-neglected music. The poor girl was hunted and ill-used, and 
 she had nothing else to look to. "I will practice, and then I can 
 play on Sundays, and so have some part in the worship ; and I 
 can sit here behind the curtain, and see them communicating. It 
 is better than nothing." 
 
 So she in her Galilee. She was not very clever, or very devout, 
 or very sentimental ; but she was very truthful, very brave, and 
 surely as hard beset as a woman need be. The chords all went 
 wrong : her hands had got strong enough with her riding to grip 
 any keys ever made, but she had lost the fingering of the keys, 
 and the trick of the stops, and what-not ; and she could get no 
 harmony out of the old instrument, which she had heard sounding 
 so sweetly under other hands. Her foolish fancy of speaking her 
 sorrows by the organ to those of the congregation who still dared 
 approach the altar was gone ; even this quaint fancy, her last 
 hope, was unattainable. There was no resource left. She sent 
 away the boy who blew the bellows, and began to cry. It is hard 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 437 
 
 to laugh at an utterly lone woman crying over the keys of an 
 organ. I cannot, and I am quite sure that you cannot either. 
 
 To find her father beside her was no surprise. She only said, 
 in a low, indignant, almost objurgative tone, " I have forgotten 
 my music, now I wanted to play for them in church. But I can't 
 play — I have lost everything. I have behaved so well, too. What 
 have I done that I should be treated so ? I have told Hatterleigh 
 everything, and he would have me now if I had not been so honest 
 as to refuse him. What have I done to Harry Poyntz that he 
 should ruin my character ? " 
 
 " Laura," said her father, " Harry Poyntz is dead ! " 
 
 " What ! " she cried, starting up and looking at him. " Come 
 out of this place ; let me hear no more here. Come into the 
 churchyard — no, not in the churchyard, out on to the mill-green. 
 Dead is he ? Who has killed him ? Oh, father ! father 1 there 
 has been nothing between him and Hatterleigh ? " 
 
 Her father looked surprised, but went on — 
 
 "He was found dead. Lady Poyntz had left him sitting in 
 his chair, and soon after the servant brought him a letter which 
 a man on horseback had brought over from Plymouth. Harry 
 went and lay on the sofa to read it, and very soon after the man 
 heard him laughing uproariously. He laughed so loud and so 
 long that the servant feared he would hurt himself. At last he 
 was silent, and silent so long that the servant went back " 
 
 " Well," said Laura. 
 
 " He was quite dead, my love. He had gone off with a spasm 
 of the heart, perhaps brought on by his laughter— a strange end 
 to a strange life ! " 
 
 11 Oh, may God have mercy on him ! " said Laura. " Oh, 
 Harry ! Harry ! I forgive you so heartily." 
 
 " They sent for me early this morning, and among other things 
 showed me the letter which had caused the poor fellow such 
 amusement. It was from Hatterleigh. He called Harry liar and 
 coward, and informed him that he waited for him at Dessin's, 
 at Calais, with a friend." 
 
 " And he only laughed at it ! You see that he died in charity 
 with him, at all events. Poor fellow, what could I have done to 
 make him use me so ? " 
 
 "Laura," answered her father, "it is time you knew the 
 reasons for his line of action. He had set his heart on your 
 marriage with his brother Robert, and the union of the two 
 estates." 
 
 " How did he dare ! I forgot. But he must have been 
 
 mad, for I never saw the man, and the man never saw me." 
 
438 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 "lam aware of that ; but Harry has broached the idea to hhn, 
 and he has taken most kindly to it. In fact, there is nothing 
 whatever to prevent you becoming Lady Poyntz, if you feel any 
 inclination for such an honour." 
 
 " Oh, father ! father ! how utterly you would despise me if 
 I did so ! " 
 
 " I really cannot see why," he angrily broke out ; "I really, 
 God grant me patience, can — not. It is high time you were 
 settled in life — you must be aware of it. We have none of us 
 said a word to you about your behaviour to Hatterleigh. You 
 might have had him and his sixty thousand a-year back by saying 
 one word, and you wouldn't say it. I don't believe yoTi would 
 say it to save your old father from ruin. Now I tell you once for 
 all, that if Sir Robert makes you the subject of this magnificent 
 offer, and you refuse him on sentimental grounds, it will materially 
 alter the relations between yourself and the rest of your family." 
 
 Laura had become very pale, but her heart was going fast and 
 furious. 
 
 " Now look here," she said, turning to her father and forcing 
 him to look at her; "you talk about altered relations. They 
 are altered — they have long been altered. And as for this Sir 
 Robert Poyntz, I would not marry a royal person on such terms. 
 Who is he that he DARE make me a part of one of his schemes 
 for increasing his estate, the least important element in which 
 seems to be considered my consent to marry him ? It is mon- 
 strous — the whole of it — monstrous ! " 
 
 Poor Sir Charles was now driven to despair, and spoke as a 
 desperate man, lost to sense of shame, but with a dim hope of his 
 object beyond a sea of degradation, and determined to plunge in 
 and wade through. As he went on, Laura was shocked and 
 frightened to see how his nature had given way under the wear- 
 and-tear of concealed difficulties, and that the best half of it 
 seemed to have disappeared. She remembered a noble, grand, 
 upright gentleman — the worthy magistrate, the generous patron, 
 the courteous host, the wise friend — whom she had loved and 
 called " Father ; " she saw before her a miserable, bent, selfish 
 old man, unable to look his daughter in the face, who went 
 through his wretched part with the air and the whine of a 
 begging-letter writer. 
 
 " Laura, I must tell you at once that, if we cannot make this 
 arrangement with him, your poor unhappy old father is ruined ! " 
 
 "Ruined! " 
 
 "Ruined utterly! Our existence in this place has been a 
 fiction for a year or two past. Sir Harry Poyntz spared me in 
 
LEIGHTON COUET. 439 
 
 hopes of executing his darling scheme. If we disappoint this man, 
 there is no hope whatever ! " 
 
 11 Let me sit down," she said — " I cannot stand any longer ; " 
 and she sat down on the root of a tree, and heard him go on. 
 
 "He is my only creditor ; the arrangement would be actually 
 perfect in every way. I would give up the hounds, if he insisted 
 on it. Nothing stands in the way but yourself. And what is all 
 that your poor father asks of you ? To make one of the finest 
 matches in England, and save a father from ruin ! " 
 
 " Cannot we do anything ? Is there no hope elsewhere ? " 
 
 "None!" 
 
 " Has grandma no money she can lend you ? " 
 
 " She has twenty thousand pounds, and I want eighty thous- 
 and," said Sir Charles, curtly. 
 
 " But other people get ruined. I should not mind it except 
 for you. And I would take such care of you, and work for 
 
 you Believe me, father, we might be quite as happy without 
 
 all these miserable superfluities ! Dear father, do think " 
 
 " You speak like a child, my poor Laura ! There is one other 
 point which you force me to mention, though I would rather have 
 avoided it. With this ruin will come disgrace ! " 
 
 11 Disgrace ! what disgrace ? " asked Laura. 
 
 " You may spare your father, Laura. It is hard to have to 
 make the confession — spare me the details. It should be enough 
 for you to know that it is disgrace so deep that none of our name 
 could survive it. Now you know all ! " 
 
 She sat perfectly silent for a long while ; he could not tell 
 whether she had yielded or not. When she spoke at last her 
 voice was changed, and she spoke in a hard resolute tone. She 
 rose, too, without any help, and seemed perfectly firm — 
 
 " We will talk no more of this ; the subject is distasteful. I 
 suppose Sir Robert Poyntz will have the tact and propriety to 
 behave as if he knew nothing about these arrangements ; and I 
 hope that a proper time will be allowed to elapse. Now I will go 
 and look at the church. I think I should prefer to walk home 
 alone, please." 
 
 So she went back towards the church ; and, when she came to 
 the gate, turned and saw him walking away, with bowed head, 
 under the shadow of the elms. 
 
 "I must save him," she said to herself; "and what is more, 
 I must not think, or I shall go mad. I only want a little more 
 hardening, and it will come easy enough. I must be as Maria 
 was when she married poor Harry — if I can. She might help me, 
 but she is so strangely changed and softened I must go 
 
440 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 through it by myself. I must become desperate, lest my father's 
 blood should lie at my door." 
 
 She was alone, desperate and forlorn ; the dead, so much 
 happier than she, lay all around her, and she envied them. She 
 sat on one of the green mounds, and thought of her position. 
 
 " I would have been so good if Hammersley had never come " 
 (for she was getting desperate, taking leave of her better self for 
 ever, and concealed nothing), " but he came and spoilt it all, and 
 ruined everything. And I know now that I love him still as well 
 as ever, and should have done poor Lord Hatterleigh a wrong. 
 I saw that after I broke with him. And I put all thoughts of him 
 aside so loyally while I was engaged to George, and only thought 
 of him again when I was free ; I thought they might have left me 
 alone, and not driven me to this pass. I am sure I don't want 
 to accuse anybody ; but why has my father gone on with this 
 selfish ostentation until he is obliged to sacrifice the creature he 
 loves best in the world — to put on his own dear daughter's face 
 a brazen defiant look, which she must wear till her death ? And 
 my mother and my grandmother, how much do they know of this 
 horrible business of my father's ruin ? They will stroke my hair 
 and praise me for being dutiful, while I am getting hardened and 
 desperate. I shall have to dress and to flaunt it out. I can stare 
 down Constance Downes, but I can never face Maria Poyntz in her 
 new mood. I shall die if that woman turns her great eyes on me. 
 She has been through it all, and has come out again with a face 
 like a saint ; and I, who was so bitter and harsh with her, must 
 go through it all, with those eyes of hers eating into my soul. I 
 wish I was dead — I do wish I was dead ! " 
 
 She rose up and went into the church, and looked round. Their 
 seat (Sir Charles was lay impropriator) was in the chancel ; but 
 she would not enter what was to her, in her belief, the more 
 sacred part of the church — she thought herself unworthy. She 
 went round the building, and wished the dear old place good-bye. 
 She had always loved the church from childhood, as a solemn 
 peaceful place, which seemed to hold the very presence of God. 
 She had sat there year after year, under long weary services and 
 dull weary sermons, with the sunlight sloping on the tombs, and 
 glimpses of the wild moor — the fairyland of her childhood — seen 
 through the windows ; building fancies about the dead Poyntzes, 
 Seckertons, and Downes's, whose effigies crowded the chancel ; 
 and since the Vicar had come, she had got to love it better still. 
 In spite of all his fantastic ritualisms, the man knew what a 
 church was originally designed to mean, and had taught it to her. 
 Then she had taken a new delight in it — had decorated it with a 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 441 
 
 wilderness of glowing flowers at Easter, and carefully-woven 
 patterns of box and holly at Christmas, believing that she was 
 doing good service the while. Now the hard world had come 
 crashing in, and had thrown down her dear loved images. All 
 that was passed and gone, and could never come back again ; but 
 the remembrance of those times was most melancholy and most 
 pleasant. She took one last farewell of the old place, put on her 
 new look as well as she could, locked the door, and passed out of 
 the porch — 
 
 To meet the Vicar leaning against a grave-stone : who said, 
 looking keenly at her — 
 
 " You are at your old pious duties, I see ? " 
 
 To whom Laura, trying to look hardened and worldly, an- 
 swered, " Not at all ; I was taking my farewell of the church. I 
 thought you were away." 
 
 " So I was, but I am at home now. My wife told me you were 
 here. Have you been saying farewell to the church ? Are you 
 not coming to church any more, then ? " 
 
 " I suppose I may," said Laura. 
 
 "You suppose you may?" said the Vicar. " To-morrow is 
 the Feast of St. Ebba of Moorwinstow. Are you coming to- 
 morrow ? " 
 
 " No, I am not," said Laura. 
 
 " Are you coming to confession this week — eh ? " 
 
 II Certainly not." 
 
 "Then are you coming to church on Sunday?" asked the 
 Vicar. " I would if I was you : every one does." 
 
 II I may or I may not — I am not well — most probably not." 
 
 " I think I shall see you at church on Sunday," said the Vicar. 
 " I say, Laura, don't be down-hearted over this business." 
 
 " What business ? " 
 
 " This business ; you know what I mean." 
 
 He looked so good, and so kind, and so little pretre, that she 
 felt very much inclined to melt, and tell him everything. But it 
 would never do to begin like that. She put on the new and 
 hitherto unsuccessful hard look again, and said — 
 
 " I cannot be expected to understand you, Vicar." 
 
 He laughed — a right jolly laugh too, and said — 
 
 " Have you heard the news ? " 
 
 " What news can matter to me ? " 
 
 "None, of course ; but I will tell it. Sir Robert Poyntz has 
 arrived at the Castle." 
 
 She saw he knew all. In trying to tell him how cruel she 
 thought him — in trying to tell him that it was mean in him to 
 
442 LEIGHTON COUET. 
 
 laugh at her, she broke down, and bursting into tears left him 
 standing where he was. 
 
 "Poor child," he said, as he looked after her, " she has been 
 hardly tried ! But it will do her good — and God has been very 
 merciful to her. Many a woman has had her heart broken for 
 less before now. Well, let her go ; I really can't pity her so very 
 much." 
 
 The Vicar took a turn round the churchyard, and stopped 
 against Hammersley's tablet, and said, "Hum — ha!" Going 
 closer to it he noticed that some one had chipped off a little angle 
 of the stone. " Now I would bet a hundred pounds that she did 
 that," he said. " And what the curious part of it is, it hasn't 
 been done a week. I wonder if she did do it ! Well, we shall 
 see. It is all in God's hands now. Heaven help us fairly 
 through it!" 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 Laura soon wiped her tears. All the world was banded together 
 against her, but not one of them should see that she had been 
 crying. She had to make her face hard ; she had to be cool and 
 defiant towards the world in future. Maria Poyntz had done it, 
 and she, who had six times her brains, could surely do it also ! 
 
 Why, no — at least not without practice, for the tears which 
 had been dried began to flow again. Lady Poyntz, with less 
 heart and fewer brains, could manage the matter better than 
 Laura. Powder as she would, her eyes were red at lunch ; but 
 she was singularly cool and self-possessed, though her mother and 
 her grandmother nearly drove her out of her mind. 
 
 They were wonderfully high-bred women. Tact with them had 
 become almost a science. They had no written rules of tact, but 
 they had so many unwritten laws of that great science that it was 
 almost reduced to exactitude. They, especially the elder, could 
 pronounce in an instant whether a person had tact or had not ; 
 the consequence was that they had no tact at all. They had 
 infinite finesse doubtless, all according to rule. It is humiliating 
 enough to hear a costermonger telling his wife what he thinks of 
 her in the vernacular, but it is still more humiliating to a quick- 
 witted person to watch a woman, who has forgotten her art, trying 
 her miserable little ruses upon him. Laura was such a quick- 
 witted person, and saw in two minutes what these two good ladies 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 443 
 
 knew, and what they did not know. Her feelings towards them, 
 as in some other cases, were — first curiosity, then contempt, and 
 then indignation. 
 
 Their buoyant and pious gaiety in the first instance, though 
 not overdone (they knew better than that), was perfectly obvious. 
 There was no reason for this exhibition of Christian cheerfulness. 
 Poor Harry Poyntz had died dreadfully the night before ; and on 
 any other similar occasion her grandmother would have kept her 
 room except for meals, and would have improved the occasion as 
 soon as her soup and glass of sherry had put life enough in her 
 to talk. Therefore, why did she twitter like an old dicky-bird the 
 moment Laura appeared ? Moreover her mother, the inferior 
 actor of the two, was arch. Now, if there was one thing Laura 
 hated more than another, it was archness. She saw in the first 
 three minutes that they knew all about Sir Robert Poyntz 's 
 intentions, and were, as far as that went, in her father's con- 
 fidence. 
 
 That they knew nothing of the impending cloud of ruin hang- 
 ing over their heads, she saw well enough also. " Poor father ! " 
 she thought, " he has behaved badly enough, but he has confided 
 in me, and I will serve him. They would merely sell me to the 
 highest bidder to-morrow." She saw, moreover, that they were 
 both afraid of her, and she behaved, in manner only, with a cool 
 recklessness which they must perfectly have understood. 
 
 One wonders if they had sense to see her own terror — a terror 
 which grew on her as minutes went on : the terror of first seeing 
 this bete noire — this detestable Sir Robert Poyntz, to whom she 
 was sold like a sheep, to save her father from ruin. I doubt 
 if they had ; Laura's honest, cool recklessness puzzled them, I 
 fancy. But the terror was there. At one time she hated him ; 
 at another time she made wild schemes of throwing herself on his 
 
 generosity — appealing to his manhood to she knew not what. 
 
 She saw her own folly while she nursed the hope of its success. 
 She was like a hare in a snare — deliverance would only come with 
 death. 
 
 And this man was within three hundred yards of her. She had 
 once coolly asked where her father was, and they had told her that 
 he was over at the Castle with Sir Robert. Would her father bring 
 him home to dinner ? she asked herself. Of course he would ; she 
 would see her fate at seven o'clock. 
 
 The man had acted heroically in India. Yes ; but there were 
 heroes and heroes, as she knew well. One man, whose glorious deed 
 of arms in the Crimea had sent her wild with enthusiasm, had been 
 quartered at Plymouth. Her father had asked him over. She had 
 
444 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 dressed herself with extra care to meet him, and had conned a 
 pretty speech for him. She found her hero — a scowling, ill- 
 tempered, vulgar fool, with no visible quality save ferocity. 
 
 So as the afternoon went on, and time got shorter, she found 
 herself hating and dreading this man beyond conception. She 
 discussed with herself whether she could best face it out by coming 
 down to dinner first or last. Last she thought, on the whole ; and 
 so she let the second gong sound, and after five minutes' law came 
 sailing resolutely into the room, " all eyes, mouth, and black 
 velvet," as the Vicar — who was there— described her to his wife. 
 
 Sir Robert was not there. She chafed at this new prolongation 
 of her misery, but she was calm, cool, and polite. There was 
 another fifteen hours of anxiety before her. The Vicar, who knew 
 everything, says that she behaved with the courage of a lion. Her 
 father hardly spoke to her, and the weary evening wore through, 
 the Vicar staying long and late, doing his duty like a man. 
 
 The next morning she knew her fate. She slept long and 
 heavily, as the men who are to be hung at eight generally sleep — 
 a forgetful, dreamless, Sancho-Panza sleep. At ten o'clock she 
 was in the breakfast-room alone, trying to read " Adam Bede," w r hen 
 she heard the hall door opened, and the footsteps of two people 
 crossing the flags straight towards the room where she sat. 
 
 The butler threw open the door and said, " Sir Robert Poyntz, 
 Miss " — and then shut it again, which was the best thing he could 
 do ; and although he had been bribed for doing so very heavily, 
 he did it well. She was alone in the room with him. 
 
 She ought to have risen to receive him, but the thing was sud- 
 den ; and she felt faint and ill, as women do sometimes. She half 
 turned her head towards him, bowed, and said, " My father is in 
 the library." 
 
 " I did not come to see your father," he said ; " I came to see 
 you. I have bribed all your father's servants to watch you, that I 
 might catch you alone ; and I have succeeded." 
 
 It was partly the sound of the voice, and partly an indefinite 
 feeling of anger, that made her rise and look at him. She saw 
 before her the most magnificent man she had ever seen — a man of 
 extraordinary beauty, with a high, square, resolute forehead — a 
 man so young that the golden beard which was beginning to mantle 
 his cheeks and his chin had no shadows in it as yet ; you could 
 still see beneath the golden haze that his beautiful mouth was 
 parted in eagerness, curiosity, and admiration. 
 
 Why did she put her hands before her eyes to shut out the sight 
 of him ? Why did that quaint little sound — half-moan, half-cry 
 — rise from her overloaded heart ? And why did her lips begin 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 445 
 
 to murmur a prayer of thanksgiving ? Questions easily answered. 
 This detestable Sir Robert Poyntz — this inexorable creditor — the 
 man who held them all in the hollow of his hand, and who stood 
 before her in all the promise of a noble manhood — this man was 
 the only man she had ever loved, and for whose love she had 
 suffered so much. It was Hammersley himself, risen from the 
 dead, with the wild lurid light of his Indian glory still blazing in 
 his eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 He spoke first. " I have done as you bid me," he said ; " and I 
 have come back to ask you if I have done it amiss." 
 
 She had no answer ready. The poor girl was so utterly undone 
 by her last day's misery, and so deeply happy and thankful at the 
 discovery that the terrible Sir Robert was no worse a person than 
 the one she loved best in the world, that she had no answer for 
 him, and could make no fight. She was, or ought to have been, 
 very angry ; she had a hundred things to say to him. But she was 
 taken by surprise — was like one awakening from a horrible dream, 
 to find himself in the world once more, and she had nothing at all 
 ready. She should have made her fight at once, no doubt, but 
 for these reasons she could not. It simplified matters immensely. 
 
 It gave him hope. He saw that his wild dream was like to come 
 true — nay, would certainly come true if he could only help speak- 
 ing too fast (which he could not : a man just come out of such a 
 wild, dark hurly-burly as the Indian Mutiny could not be expected 
 to be so very cool). From the moment he saw her sit silent, after 
 her recognition of him, he began to be certain of her. He knew 
 she loved him once, but he did not know what had happened since. 
 He would have been less eager — would have let matters take their 
 course for a much longer time — if it had not been for Laura's 
 emotion at seeing him again. That made him push on fiercely, 
 and forgot all his worldly-wise resolutions. He saw that affairs 
 was as he left them ; but he was far too wise to claim any acknow- 
 ledgment of love from her. He did not know all. He little thought 
 for whom she was prepared, and for what she was prepared. 
 
 " I have come back again, Miss Seckerton, to know whether I 
 have done enough to gain your respect." Some sudden impulse 
 or instinct showed him that he must change his tone before her 
 
446 LEIGHTON COUBT. 
 
 tears were dried, and he knelt at her feet and said, " Laura ! 
 Laura ! you loved me once ; do you love me still ? " 
 
 She found her voice : " Yes ! yes ! But why have you all used 
 me so cruelly? " 
 
 When they had done being sentimental — which was very soon, 
 seeing that a great deal of sentiment had been knocked out of 
 both of them in a somewhat rough school — they returned to com- 
 mon-sense, of which both had a considerable stock. He began by 
 asking her what she meant by her having been used cruelly. 
 
 " Never mind that now," she said. " Once and for all, tell me 
 how all this has happened? You have surprised me into an 
 admission by the suddenness of your appearance ; it is only due 
 to me to explain your incomprehensible conduct. Let what I have 
 undergone through that conduct pass for a time ; I only ask you 
 to explain." 
 
 He did so, of course — partly in narrative, and partly by ques- 
 tion and answer. I must be allowed to shape his story for him, 
 only giving Laura's remarks when they are at all illustrative. 
 
 " You have heard of my father, and I wish to say little about 
 him. He has, I fear, not left a good name in this part of the 
 world." 
 
 " We need not begin so early," said Laura ; "I have heard a 
 great deal about your father." 
 
 " You must not believe all you have heard. He had very good 
 qualities ; I cannot bear to hear my father ill-spoken of. There 
 were many worse men than my father. In time I will make you 
 know my father as he really was ; you have only heard the worst 
 side of him yet. He was a very clever man, and very pious latterly. 
 As for his riding — I think there would be only one opinion about 
 that." 
 
 Laura loved him the better for his silly breakdown in trying to 
 whitewash the memory of that most miserable old sinner his father, 
 but she would not help him out. She had admitted more than she 
 meant to already ; she sat silent. 
 
 " But that is beside the mark, possibly," said Sir Robert. 
 ''Friends of the family, whose judgment I would be the last to 
 impugn, but whose advice was certainly never asked, were of opinion 
 that his establishment was not on the whole calculated to raise the 
 moral tone of such an exceedingly ill-conditioned and turbulent boy 
 as myself. Now I look on this as being an exceedingly fine point in 
 my father's character ; and I am sure you will agree with me about 
 this. Although my father had never asked these people's advice, 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 447 
 
 yet he yielded to it. Their advice was forced on him in the most 
 offensive way. Tom Squire (you know him) was in the room when 
 it was forced on him, in the most eminently offensive way, by 
 Sir Pickwich Downes and some one else — never mind who. They 
 said, ' You are a most disreputable and wicked old man ; and you 
 are lost to all sense of decency if you bring those boys here.' 
 That's what they said to him ; and see how nobly my father 
 behaved. He took their advice, at least as far as concerned my- 
 self. He used to have poor Harry down, as you know yourself, 
 having met him there." 
 
 "Never mind your father," she said. 
 
 " But I do mind my father. My father is an ill-understood man. 
 What are the accusations against him ? That he used to drink, 
 and have in the servants to drink with him. And Harry, poor 
 fellow, used to deny it in the strongest terms. No servant ever 
 sat down before my father except old Tom Squire, whose mother 
 was our nurse. Who is your Downes, that he is to dictate to a 
 man in his own house ? " 
 
 Laura didn't know. 
 
 " He had Harry down. Who is your Downes, that he is to part 
 a father from his eldest son ? Me he never had down. One of 
 the best points in my father's character, one that showed his 
 knowledge of human nature best, was that he couldn't bear the 
 sight of me." 
 
 Laura burst out laughing, but she had to stop it again, lest she 
 should get hysterical ; recent events had been too much for her. 
 
 " I mean what I say," continued he. " I was one of the most 
 turbulent ill-conditioned young rascals that ever lived. The whole 
 aim and object of my life, till six months ago, seems to me to have 
 been quarrelling with my own brother. Laura, I never hated him ; 
 but his better, and higher and gentler nature irritated me." 
 
 Laura gave a start. Had she given her heart to an absolute 
 fool? 
 
 " I never saw this," he continued, without having noticed her 
 start, " until six months ago. I did something in India, no matter 
 what ; they have given me the Victoria Cross for it, so it counts for 
 something ; and that dear fellow who lies dead across the river 
 wrote me the kindest and tenderest letter that ever one brother 
 received from another — a letter written to me who had never done 
 anything but vilify and backbite him ! " 
 
 " About this letter ? " said Laura. " Attend, please. Did he 
 never vilify and backbite you ? " 
 
 " Harry had an infirmity," said Sir Robert. " From childhood 
 Harry was very acute about money-matters, but I never held 
 
448 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Harry accountable. He had an infirmity — his brain softened, 
 you know — he used to forget what he said last. It might happen 
 to you or I to-morrow, you know." 
 
 " About this letter once more," said Laura ; " did he say any- 
 thing about me in it ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " Did he ever mention me to you in any of his letters ? " 
 
 "Never. I never had but one. He never said one word to me 
 about you. Now I will go on with my story. 
 
 "My father, you must know, for some reason of his own — I 
 think because he never liked me — left me entirely dependent on 
 Harry, who I always thought liked me still less than my father did. 
 Now, the most unfortunate thing was that Harry and I never got on 
 together. My excuse for this is that Harry would be master, and 
 I would never submit. I was sent to Eton to be out of his way, 
 and kept from home. As we grew up we got on worse and worse, 
 and at eighteen I found myself left in the world — free certainly, 
 but entirely dependent on Harry. 
 
 " My father left me no guardians ; I was entirely in Harry's 
 hands. And now I must allude to another infirmity of the poor 
 fellow's — I must, in justification : he had such a terrible tongue ! " 
 
 " Ah ! well I know it," said Laura. 
 
 " He used to say such horrible things, and then laugh at them, 
 that he drove you almost mad. I have heard him use his tongue 
 so to that poor creature Wheaton — who, by-the-bye, must be pro- 
 vided for — that I wonder he never murdered him. He soon gave 
 up this habit to me, at all events, as a general rule. But it would 
 come back to him ; he couldn't help it. When we were boys I 
 used to thrash him for it. But when we got too old for that, his 
 fear of me left him, and he was pretty near as bad as ever. After 
 our father's death he told me, with a stinging insult, that he would 
 allow me three hundred a year — that I might go anywhere, and do 
 anything. I thought this a somewhat grand revenue, and went to 
 London an independent gentleman. 
 
 "What did I do there ? Why, I went there with three hundred 
 a year, and spent nine hundred. How did I spend it ? In muddle. 
 You know how our family vacillated between extravagance and 
 stinginess, often in the same individual. Well, I was in the 
 economical mood when I went to London, and I apportioned out 
 my income carefully — so much for my rooms and living, so much 
 for my horse and groom, and so on ; and I left a margin of £50 
 a year for contingencies. At the end of the year I was six hundred 
 pounds in debt. I struggled and floundered on until I made it up 
 to a clear thousand, and then I wrote and told my brother. He 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 449 
 
 was furious : he paid it, but stopped my allowance, formally re- 
 nounced me, and left me to shift for myself with a hundred 
 pounds. 
 
 " 1 had been living a very pleasant life in London. Many of 
 my Eton friends had not gone to the University — more than one 
 of them was in the Guards. Their families received me very 
 kindly — most of them from mere goodwill, but some because they 
 foresaw what has actually happened — that Harry would die with- 
 out a family, and that I should be rich. So, boy as I was, I was 
 not merely had out for my dancing, which is admirable, but as a 
 lad whom it was worth while to have one's eye on. I have been 
 very civilly bespoke, do you know, by very great people indeed — 
 political people, I mean. Harry seemed to me always to be a 
 known man, I cannot tell why or how ; it is a puzzle to me. 
 Whether it was his tongue, which he could use in one case like a 
 delicate poniard, and in another (when among his dependents and 
 relatives) a brutal cudgel ; whether it was his credit as a pushing 
 unscrupulous man, who must rise in spite of a reputation even then 
 damaged ; or what it was, I cannot tell. There was something odd 
 about Harry which made him a well-known man. I have, in the 
 corners of drawing-rooms, and on staircases, among the men, heard 
 him called every name under the sun. What puzzled me was that 
 he should be so known, so talked about, and — what seemed to me 
 stranger still — so feared." 
 
 " Did you never speak up for your brother ? " asked Laura. 
 
 " No ; it was impossible. Harry had earned his reputation, and 
 he had it. I have not learned to lie yet." 
 
 " This fits well with your extravagant praise of him ten minutes 
 ago. I thought that he was the saint then, and you the sinner." 
 
 Sir Robert laughed aloud, and did not stop quickly ; and as poor 
 Laura found that she could laugh now without crying, she joined 
 in. They should not have laughed, you think, so soon after poor 
 Sir Harry was dead. Well, they did : most of us have laughed 
 between a death and a funeral. 
 
 Sir Robert went on : "I never made him out a saint, save by 
 contrasting him with my own wicked self." 
 
 " You are coming to your confessions, then. Pray, did you ever 
 meet poor Harry in society ? " 
 
 " Never but once. I was only in society part of one season, and 
 all that time he was getting the family affairs together. Near the 
 end of my only season I was at a ball at Tulligoram House, and 
 was attending to poor old Mrs. Smallwood. I had got her an ice, 
 and was talking to her. The crowd was very close, and I noticed 
 that she was back to back, at very close quarters, with Gordon 
 
 30 ' 
 
450 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Dunbar, a six-foot guardsman. His back was towards hers, and 
 he pushed her so close to me that she had to eat her ice under my 
 nose ; for the Righter of all Wrongs and the Poet of the Domestic 
 Affections were backing me up from the other side. All would 
 have gone well had not the big guardsman who was backing 
 up Mrs. Smallwood been introduced to some one. He made such 
 a low bow, that he shot Mrs. Smallwood on to me head -foremost, 
 and me on to the Righter of Wrongs, who, from his physical and 
 moral elevation apologised. When I had finished blushing, and 
 had got her right, I looked Gordon-Dunbar way again. It was my 
 brother he had been introduced to ; and my brother was standing 
 in the centre of a circle looking at Gordon Dunbar : perfectly 
 dressed, perfectly at ease, looking at the guardsman, with an ex- 
 pression on his pale puffed face, and his shallow blue eyes, which 
 said plainly, ' Now what is your metier ! How much are you 
 worth?'"* 
 
 " Did they speak to him ? " 
 
 " Oh yes, they spoke to him ; but they seemed to look on him 
 as some dreadful curiosity. Do you know, he did look very curious. 
 His dress, to begin with : it was only black and white, of course. 
 I can dress myself as well as any man alive ; but he could beat me. 
 I dealt with the same tailor (who, by-the-bye, must be paid), but 
 I never could wear my clothes as he did. You know the story about 
 1 Good heavens, sir, walking trousers ! Why, you have been 
 sitting down in them.' It illustrates what I mean — Harry wore 
 his clothes marvellously well. And add to this, he had a calm 
 look with him, not a stare, which did wonders. When any one 
 spoke he, by some twist in his neck, some turn in his eye, gave 
 all present the idea that this fellow might be worth listening to or 
 might not, and then, with a quiet but very slight turn-up of the 
 chin, decided in the negative. I tell you, Laura, solemnly, that 
 no angel in heaven has the temper which would have borne with 
 him. The unutterable exasperation which he was capable of 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! " said Laura, " we must forget that. Did he 
 speak this time you met him ? ' ' 
 
 « Yes — to Gordon Dunbar, in his usual style. I never would 
 have dared to say what he said : ' You have made a great mess of 
 it in the Crimea. You have let the French beat us at all points. 
 We seem to have as much pluck as they, but we want the brains — 
 at least, I mean our army seems to want brains. Our system is 
 wrong altogether. No man enters the Army, either as officer or 
 private, who has the chance of a career elsewhere.' ' 
 
 " Did he dare sav that ? " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 451 
 
 11 He dare say anything." 
 
 " Did Gordon Dunbar strike him down ? " 
 
 " No ; lie is a gentleman. And lie carried in his own person 
 such a refutation of Harry's nonsense, that every one laughed. 
 Dunbar only bowed, and withdrew from the discussion." 
 
 11 Did poor Harry say anything to you ? " 
 
 "Tome? No. But he behaved so queerly. He looked me 
 perfectly straight in the face, and then began talking to Mrs. 
 Smallwood, with his face almost touching mine, about me. He 
 gave her my character, speaking of me as 'my brother here,' but 
 not addressing himself personally to me, or even after the first 
 look glancing my way. He told her (this was to my face, mind !) 
 that I was idle, extravagant, and, he feared, deceitful ; but that I 
 was generous and brave, and that (so he said — don't laugh) my 
 extraordinary personal beauty would make me friends everywhere, 
 and that he hoped those friends would not find themselves deceived. 
 And then he walked on." 
 
 "Poor Harry was mad, you know," said Laura. "No sane 
 man ever acted or spoke like that." 
 
 ' ' Do you mean what he said about my personal appearance ? ' ' 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, shall I go on with my story ? " 
 
 " I think so. I want to hear, sir, what you did when you were 
 left in London with your debts paid and one hundred pounds to 
 spend." 
 
 " I say, by-the-b} r e," said Sir Robert, looking at his watch, " do 
 you know, Laura, that I have been with you tete-a-tete an hour 
 and a half? I must go to your father." 
 
 " And leave the story of Cambuscan half untold : is this what 
 you call an explanation of your extraordinary conduct ? ' ' 
 
 "No; you shall have it. You can surely trust me. But let 
 me go to your father. Laura, you shall have every word ; but 
 there is a dark passage or two to come. Let there be no cloud 
 over to-day's sun. 
 
 CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 They say that a large proportion (I am sure it is one-third, and 
 think it is more) of all the folks who go mad, arc driven so by 
 long-continued anxiety about their pecuniary affairs. Whether 
 Sir Charles Seckerton would ever have gone mad I cannot say . 
 
452 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 we know that his relief had come, but he as little dreamt of it as 
 he deserved it. 
 
 There seldom has lived a man with a sweeter disposition than 
 had he. His careless, generous, laissez-aller temper had been one 
 cause, though only one, of his ruin. But it was a very sweet 
 temper. No one had ever seen the dark side of it but Laura ; and 
 she only once, for a minute, on the occasion when he proposed to 
 her a marriage with Sir Robert Poyntz, and she resented it. Sir 
 Charles' character among men was that of a perfectly determined 
 person, thoroughly trustworthy, sensible, and decided — as well 
 able to manage his own affairs as any man in the County. The 
 truth never leaked out — circumstances saved that. Tell any man 
 in that part of the County at this clay, that Sir Charles had been 
 recklessly extravagant, and had only saved his position in the 
 world by a scandalous sale of his own daughter ; and tell them, 
 again, that the beautiful glorious Lady Poyntz was at one time 
 hunted and driven into such a state of desperation as to acquiesce 
 in the arrangement — tell them this, and they will laugh at you. 
 But so it was. 
 
 Sir Charles' temper had lasted till this very day, and this very 
 day it had given way. He had borne the misery and anxiety of 
 debt, with a tolerably certain prospect of ruin, well enough. I 
 have no doubt that he would have gone to Baden most decently, 
 had it not been for that irrepressible Sir Harry Poyntz, who 
 showed him how he could retrieve everything, or at least keep the 
 whole thing in the family, by the marriage of Laura and Robert. 
 His fate was in his daughter's hands. The first symptom of 
 temper he had ever shown was when she rejected his hint about 
 that matter with scorn. She had seemed to agree on that occa- 
 sion, but had said not one word this last two days on the subject. 
 He could not tell for certain what she would do ; if she rejected 
 him there was ruin ; if she accepted him all would be well, in a 
 sort of way ; but he could not trust her. He had seen her 
 obstinate as a child, and since ; he had seen her show fight to 
 more than one person : suppose she were to do so now ? 
 Ruin ! 
 
 He had not recognised Sir Robert, to that young gentleman's 
 vast amusement. He had " seen the likeness," but nothing more. 
 Tom Squire, the huntsman, had come up to him this very morn- 
 ing, and Sir Charles had mentioned the likeness to him : adding, 
 to poor old Tom's puzzlement, that poor Hammersley was the 
 better-looking fellow of the two. Tom had been set on by Sir 
 Robert, and told poor Sir Charles, with many exaggerations, the 
 passages he had seen between Laura and Hammersley. Tom 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 453 
 
 couldn't make out, for the life of him, what Sir Charles knew and 
 what he didn't. He played his part faithfully, and left him. 
 
 Sir Charles knew that Robert was coining this morning, and he 
 was deeply anxious to know how Laura would receive him. Ho 
 determined to make one more last appeal to her. He could not 
 make up his mind what she meant to do. For two days she had 
 kept silence, but she had worn a hunted desperate look, which 
 gave him infinite disquiet in every way. He could see plainly that 
 she had made some resolution, but what was it ? Did she mean 
 to acquiesce in the arrangement, or had she determined to lay the 
 whole matter before Sir Robert Poyntz ? I don't know what put 
 that last idea into his head, but it was there, and would not go 
 away. It got stronger as the two days went on — got so strong 
 now that it seemed a certainty ; and in going to seek for Laura, 
 he felt that he was going to hear his doom from her lips. 
 
 " Where is Miss Seckerton ? " he asked of a servant in the hall. 
 " In the breakfast-room, Sir Charles. Sir Robert Poyntz is 
 with her." 
 
 " How came he there ? Who showed him in? " 
 " Parker (the butler) showed him in, a quarter of an hour ago," 
 said the guilty-looking man, turning scarlet. 
 " Who opened the door to him? " 
 11 1 did, Sir Charles." 
 
 11 You and Parker pack out of this house in an hour ! How 
 much did Sir Robert give you, you rascal ? " 
 
 " Only two sovereigns, sir ; upon my soul, only two 
 sovereigns ! ' ' 
 
 " Go and tell Parker to be out of the house in an hour — never 
 to set face on me again ; I shall do him a mischief if he does." 
 
 And so he was too late ! And Laura was alone with the man — 
 at this moment, in her desperation, betraying her father's cause to 
 Sir Robert. What was actually passing in that room we have seen 
 already. Meanwhile Sir Charles' temper and judgment had both 
 given way, under the long-continued strain of anxiety ; and he 
 strode towards the drawing-room, believing himself ruined, to 
 announce his ruin to his wife and her mother. 
 
 They were sitting in their usual places — Lady Emily writing 
 letters* and Lady Southmolton, having just finished her devotional 
 reading for the morning, knitting. The dear old lady had three 
 times the quickness of wit of her daughter. She no sooner set 
 eyes on her son-in-law's face than she rolled up her knitting, stuck 
 the pins in it, put it aside on the Bible, and folding her hands, 
 said, "My poor Charles — my poor dear Charles ! Come, tell us 
 all about it quietly ; what is it ? " 
 
454 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 At these words Lady Emily looked up, and when she saw her 
 husband's ghastly terrible face, she began to cry. All the train- 
 ing in the world would never make that fat silly body into a 
 heroine, like her mother. She was almost entirely in a state of 
 useless collapse in the conversation which followed. 
 
 " I want to ask you two some questions, and to tell you some 
 news. First, I want to ask you this : Had either of you any idea 
 that Laura became attached to that unfortunate young gentleman 
 Poyntz-Hammersley, whom I, like a ruined old lunatic as I am, 
 admitted into familiarity ? " 
 
 The old lady did not answer Sir Charles at once. She addressed 
 herself to her daughter, who, as her experienced eye showed her, 
 was making every possible preparation for making a fool of herself, 
 and was very nearly ready to begin the performance. She said : 
 " Emily, my love, there is nothing like the most perfect calmness 
 in family affairs of this kind. If you do not find yourself equal to 
 being calm, I shall use such influence as I possess as a mother to 
 persuade you to leave the room." 
 
 Lady Emily went no further with her preparations. She merely, 
 forgetting that weight had come with years, cast herself into an 
 easy-chair, which creaked, but bore up nobly, and bided her time. 
 A little bird tells me that at this time, feeling safe under the guid- 
 ance of that noble old generalissimo her mother, her face assumed 
 an expression of the most intense curiosity ; but this is merely 
 hear say tittle-tattle. 
 
 The old lady turned then to her son-in-law, and said: "My 
 dearest Charles, you take us utterly by surprise. That sort of 
 thing has happened, I know, and will probably happen again ; but 
 with regard to our Laura, I won't believe a word of it." 
 
 " Why was the match broken off between Laura and Hatter- 
 leigh ? Had this anything to do with it ? " 
 
 "Laura broke off the match. Neither of them have ever 
 deigned any explanations ; but this had nothing to do with it. It 
 is utterly untrue from beginning to end. May I ask what grounds 
 you have for such a monstrous question ? " 
 
 " You are very good to me. Why don't you upbraid me with 
 my insensate folly for allowing them to ride about together ? It 
 is all too true ! " 
 
 " Charles, come here and kiss me." (He did so.) " My poor 
 dear boy, who has been putting this nonsense into your head ? 
 Come, tell me." 
 
 " Squire." 
 
 " A tipsy old goose ! Let us dismiss the subject ; it is so utterly 
 below our contempt. What on earth has made you bring up such 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 455 
 
 a subject, at the very time when we are all so anxious that matters 
 should go well with our gallant young friend over the water ? " 
 
 "I fear it is terribly true. Now let me ask you, what sort of 
 mood is Laura in this morning ? ' ' 
 
 " Now we are coming to common-sense," said the kind old 
 lady. " Why, I am sorry to say our Laura is not in one of her 
 best moods— a trifle rebellious against our designs for her happi- 
 ness. I don't suppose for an instant that you have let those little 
 designs of ours reach her ; but they have reached her, and she is 
 in a mood. She must not meet that man at present. You must 
 take us to London, and all will go well. Time ! time ! " 
 
 Sir Charles leant his back against the chimney-piece. " I have 
 told her," he said quietly, " with my own fool's lips, all those little 
 designs for her happiness ; and he has bribed my servants, and at 
 this present moment is closeted with her in the breakfast- 
 room." 
 
 Lady Southmolton lost her self-possession, for the first and only 
 time in that part of her history which we have to relate. She 
 unfolded her two white hands, and spread them abroad before her. 
 "Then I can only say," she said, in a tone which was almost 
 shrill, " that the whole thing is oft', and that we may give it up 
 utterly and for ever ! Laura is in a mood this morning which I 
 decline to describe. She has turned on her mother and on me, 
 and has denounced us for selling her to the highest bidder ; has 
 told us to our faces that if there were such a thing as an Anglican 
 convent, she would enter it to-morrow. She said that all which 
 prevented her entering a Papist one was, first that she loathed 
 Popery, and secondly that there was some other reason — in short, 
 got incoherent in her anger. My sweet Charles, it was a good 
 scheme enough ; but since that foolish young man has chosen to 
 treat her as he would have treated a girl sent out to India to 
 marry the first man she could catch, the whole thing is over. It 
 was a pretty scheme, but it is a scheme of the past. Think no 
 more about it. We shall do well enough with her yet." 
 
 " Have you any idea what Laura's second reason for not enter- 
 ing a convent was ? " asked Sir Charles. 
 
 "Not the slightest." 
 
 "I can tell you. Robert Poyntz is my creditor for eighty 
 thousand pounds. He can ' annex ' this estate whenever he 
 chooses. Our only chance of pulling through was his marriage 
 with Laura." 
 
 At this point Lady Emily did make a fool of herself. I don't 
 think that anything would be gained by describing a silly woman 
 in hysterics. It was her first trial, and she broke down under it. 
 
456 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 I only wish the reader to understand that she did it thoroughly, 
 and took her time ahout it. 
 
 But she was quiet enough at last to let the conversation proceed. 
 Lady Southmolton — who had risen from her chair, and had helped 
 Sir Charles to pacify her — was the first to resume the conversa- 
 tion. She took her old attitude and said, with her kind old smile — 
 
 11 Well, my dearest Charles, my dear friend and son for so many 
 years, and so you are ruined ? " 
 
 "Utterly!" 
 
 "Well, son, we shall have to go to Germany, and live on my 
 money. The principal thing we have to think of is where. I 
 should like Brunswick ; but the Duke is not married, and he is 
 horribly rich ; and it is not cheap, whatever they may say. 
 Dresden, dear, is very pleasant and gay, but it is horribly cold 
 in winter ; and I am a fanciful old woman, and object to the 
 statues of August der Stark — they are an outrage to public 
 morality ! Hesse is dull, Ems and Wiesbaden dissipated." 
 
 " But is there no hope from Laura ? " asked Sir Charles. 
 
 "Not the least," she answered. " She is in one of her obsti- 
 nate moods. I don't blame your family. The Seckerton blood, 
 my dear Charles, never shows any obstinacy. This is the Sans- 
 merci blood, which I have unfortunately transmitted to your 
 family, and for which I owe you all apologies. She is behaving 
 to-day so exactly like Southmolton's father, that I am ashamed 
 to look you in the face. She has not certainly put the red-hot 
 poker in the coal-scuttle, as Lord Southmolton did to annoy me, 
 the first time we went and stayed with him ; but she shows the 
 blood. It is all my fault, Charles. Come, can't I make you 
 
 laugh ? Well, then, listen to an old woman, and let us 
 
 return to the subject in hand. My dearest boy — Brussels " 
 
 The dear old lady's quaint consolations came to an end here, 
 and were never resumed again. The butler — the proscribed and 
 banished Parker — threw open the room -door, and announced 
 
 " Sir Robert Poyntz ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XLYI. 
 
 Sir Charles was still standing with his back against the chimney- 
 piece : Lady Emily had sunk back in a chair, and the old lady 
 was as she always was. Sir Charles advanced with empressement : 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 457 
 
 Lady Emily rose and bowed, but was in terror of her red eyes. 
 The only one of the three who kept their presence of mind was 
 the old lady. She resumed her knitting very carefully, and said : 
 " Now, here is Sir Robert Poyntz, for instance. If he has his 
 family's manners, he will back an old woman up against both of 
 you. ' Don't you think Brussels the most charming place on the 
 Continent, sir ? You have never been there — well, you may 
 admire it for all that. I have never been to the Mauritius ; but 
 I admire ' Paul and Virginia.' " 
 
 " What do you want me to say, Lady Southmolton ? " said Sir 
 Robert, laughing ; " I will say anything you wish." 
 
 "You are very maladroit, young gentleman. India is a good 
 school of arms ; don't force me to say that it is a bad school of 
 manners. You should have known what I wanted you to say ; or, 
 failing that, should never have committed such a tjaucherie as to 
 ask me." 
 
 "I am very sorry," said the young fellow, laughing; "but 
 something has happened this morning which has made me forget 
 the few manners I ever had." 
 
 " We can see that, sir," said Lady Southmolton. " None of 
 your Indian manners here, sir ! Do you know, sir, that I am 
 one of the most terrible old women in England ; and that if you 
 forfeit my good word, society is closed to you, sir ? You are 
 behaving with the most unbecoming levity in my most awful 
 presence, sir ; what do you mean by it ? " 
 
 " I am not a bit afraid of you, Lady Southmolton," said Sir 
 Robert ; "lam afraid of no one this morning." 
 
 The kind old lady looked round to see if any more of what some 
 folks call " chaff" was necessary. No ; the brave old lady had 
 held the field long enough. Sir Charles and Lady Emily were 
 both perfectly calm ; but as she looked round, her eye lighted on 
 the face of Sir Robert Poyntz. She said at once, " Come here 
 to me, immediately ; I want to look at your face." 
 
 He came, and knelt before her. She looked into his face three 
 or four times, but she was baffled. She recognised his wondrous 
 personal beauty in a moment ; and she saw something else at once 
 which puzzled her extremely — it was the look of his eyes. She 
 knew well enough what was the cause of that tender brilliance in 
 those eyes. The man was a successful lover — she could see that 
 fast enough. And the man had just been closeted with her own 
 Laura, with a previously-declared intention of making love to that 
 imperially obstinate young lady ; he had come from that audience- 
 chamber with that flash in his eyes, instead of looking like a 
 whipped hound. Had Laura been false to all her teaching? 
 
458 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Had she allowed this man to be successful with her after his 
 declared intention, on the very first interview, instead of decently 
 fencing him off for weeks, for months, to save appearances ? Her 
 own Laura could never have done that — it was a monstrous im- 
 possibility ! Yet there was that light in the man's eyes, which 
 she could not mistake ; and then came, sudden and swift, the 
 thought, " What if Laura had acted up to my teaching — what 
 else could she have done ? " If she had ruined all her future 
 prospects of happiness by allowing herself to be won too easily by 
 this man, whom had she, poor Laura, to thank for giving herself 
 to this enraptured fool, Sir Robert Poyntz ? No one but Lady 
 Southmolton herself. She was puzzled and frightened. She 
 said, " Get up, sir, and tell your story — you puzzle me. I am 
 an old woman. Get up, and explain that light in your eyes." 
 
 He rose up, and turned to Sir Charles Seckerton. "My dear 
 Sir Charles," he said, " I am your debtor for five hundred 
 pounds." 
 
 " It pleases you to say so." 
 
 " I owe you five hundred pounds for a horse of yours, which I 
 borrowed, and which was drowned. I mean ' The Elk.' Do 
 you really mean to say that you have not recognised me yet, and 
 I laughing in your face all yesterday ? " 
 
 1 ' Are you Hammersley ? ' ' 
 
 " Of course I am. Has my beard altered me so much then ? " 
 
 Lady Southmolton cared to hear no more. She went on with 
 her work. The story had lost its interest for her, for she had 
 read the denouement in Sir Robert's eyes. Her only thought 
 was, " Can I get these three to hold their tongues ? Everything 
 has gone well, and will go well, if they will only talk about the 
 weather and the crops, and let the Laura business stand over for 
 a month. This man must have made it safe with her, when he 
 was down here masquerading. What did Lady Herage mean by 
 deceiving us so shamefully? And to think of the madness of 
 Charles ! He must — unless he is blind, unless he had got utterly 
 idiotic over his pecuniary affairs — have seen the whole of this 
 going on under his own nose, at the very time that he believed 
 this young gentleman to be penniless and illegitimate. And 
 Laura ! This accounts for much, however. One never knows 
 these girls. I would have gone bail for her discretion — in fact, I 
 did so not ten minutes ago. I hope to goodness there will be no 
 declaration for a month : wo can defy the world then ! I wonder 
 how far she went with him ? And the man was drowned, and 
 buried — at least had a stone put up to him, which is the same 
 thing. I am not in the habit of being utterly puzzled : but I am 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 459 
 
 now. I wonder if the four have brains enough among them to 
 avoid any sentimentalism for a month? " 
 
 They had. Sir Charles had shown his wish to have no further 
 explanations at present, by testifying the most elaborate common- 
 place surprise and pleasure in a humorous manner. Lady 
 Emily, after having done the same thing in a less degree, left 
 the room and returned with Laura, who was formally introduced 
 to the man who had kissed her a quarter of an hour before, as 
 an utter stranger. Laura ! Laura ! you artful young lady, you 
 carried the farce too far, when you looked at him with languid 
 curiosity. You overdid your part, my Lady Poyntz ; and very 
 nearly caused your outraged grandmother to forget her manners 
 for the first time in her life, and burst out laughing. 
 
 "Will you walk, my dear Sir Robert?" asked Sir Charles; 
 and it appeared that he would. They went out on to the terrace 
 together, and then Sir Charles said, turning suddenly on him — 
 
 " I must have explanations, Robert, on all except one point. 
 That I can't allow to be touched. I — I can't explain. Now I 
 have you to deal with — Hammersley to deal with. I — I won't 
 explain. I am not afraid of you. I am Sir Charles Seckerton 
 of Leighton Court once more, and you are little Bob Poyntz, the 
 ill-tempered boy. I won't explain what point I refer to. I have 
 been looking at your face, and I am puzzled. I know how you 
 bribed my servants, and where you have been : on that point I 
 will not have one word of explanation." 
 
 "Not for worlds!" said Sir Robert. "You must be very 
 angry with me. I have served you very badly. We must leave 
 that * point quite alone at present ; then we can defy the world ! 
 Are you very angry with me, sir ? Can you ever forgive me?" 
 
 " One will try to forgive a man to whom one owes as much as 
 eighty thousand pounds." 
 
 " So much as that ! Then I must take the hounds from you as 
 
 soon as What am I talking about ? I was trespassing on 
 
 forbidden ground. Dear Sir Charles, what explanations do you 
 want ? ' ' 
 
 Sir Charles wanted to know his history, and how he had come 
 here. 
 
 Poyntz told him the same story he had told Laura, up to the 
 point where he was left nearly penniless in London. 
 
 " And what did you do then, sir? " said Sir Charles, severely. 
 " I must have everything explained ; my position demands it." 
 
 Poyntz looked once at the old man, and did not know whether 
 to be pained or pleased. He knew the awful strait that Sir 
 Charles was in ; and he did not know whether to be pained or 
 
460 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 pleased at this fresh self-assertion on the part of the poor old 
 gentleman, the very first moment he felt himself safe. Knowing 
 everything, he was a little pained on the whole. Knowing every- 
 thing, he could not help wishing that this extravagant and some- 
 what selfish old gentleman had tried, after the terrible lesson he 
 had had, to develop himself into something better and newer, 
 instead of trying to reassert himself back into his old position. 
 As the day went on, Sir Robert Poyntz wished this more and 
 more, as Sir Charles grew more and more stilted and pompous ; 
 but, shrewd as he was, he did not know everything. Sir Charles' 
 self-assertion for the next week was only what vulgar people call 
 " company manners." It was the height of discretion. Things 
 had to be hushed up, and among them all they hushed up the 
 matter most perfectly — the proof of which is that no one but you 
 and I know the real truth of it. The Downes faction don't know 
 the truth yet. " He vowed he would win her. He came down 
 disguised, disclosed himself to her father and mother, and won 
 her affections. He fled to India to avoid his creditors." That 
 is Constance Duchess of Pozzi d'Oro's story to this day. 
 
 Poyntz said, while walking on the terrace, " You ask me for 
 explanations about my life after I was left destitute ? You have 
 no right to do so now. Do you understand that ? " 
 
 " Most perfectly, Robert — most perfectly." 
 
 " But in a week or so you will have the right. Do you under- 
 stand that also ? " 
 
 " No," said Sir Charles. " Don't you see, my dear boy, that, 
 under present circumstances, I musn't understand that ? Your 
 good sense will show you that I am Sir Charles Seckerton and you 
 are Sir Robert Poyntz for the next three weeks, or, if the women 
 don't object, say a fortnight. Before a fortnight has passed I 
 couldn't outrage the County by understanding anything of the 
 kind." 
 
 " Well, then," said Sir Robert, with a laugh in his eyes, which 
 would have been visible in his mouth also had it not been clouded 
 with his golden beard, " will you receive my explanation as a dear 
 old friend of our family ? ' ' 
 
 "No, Robert. I demanded them as my right in my position 
 as chief man of this part of the County. Consider me as dead, 
 and that you are making them to Downes, who will succeed me. 
 But go on." 
 
 " Do you remember me as a boy ? " he asked. 
 
 " I can remember you." 
 
 " Was I not a fearful young ruffian ? " 
 
 " You and your brother used to quarrel and fight a great deal." 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 4G1 
 
 " I was a fearful young ruffian. Perhaps it is complaisance, 
 perhaps it is want of recollection, which makes you shake your 
 head, but it is true. Shall I prove it to you ? When I had been 
 about two months at Eton, the master of my house and Hawtrey 
 were talking about me. My master said, ' That boy is more like 
 a devil than a human being ; I cannot think what to do with 
 him.' ' Shall I expel him ? ' said the Doctor. ' No,' said the 
 other, ' for he is not vicious, and would burn his right hand 
 off sooner than lie ; but he's so fiendishly fierce and wild.' 
 ' Won't the others lick him into shape ? ' said the Doctor. 
 'No,' said the other; 'there is no one in the house dare face 
 him ; he is the most fearful irreclaimable little savage I ever 
 saw.' So they spoke of me that day. That night was probably 
 the most eventful of my whole life. 
 
 " The last thing I did before I went to bed was to have a 
 perfectly causeless fight with a boy a stone heavier than myself, 
 about a matter provoked entirely by my own evil temper. He 
 thrashed me at last, and I went to bed swearing, and when I was 
 alone sobbed myself to sleep with impotent rage. I had slept but 
 very little time when I was awoke by a light in my eyes ; and I 
 started wildly up, with clenched fists, thinking they were come to 
 bully me. 
 
 " There was a touch, sir, on my clenched hand which made me 
 open it. Ah, sir, I can feel it now — the touch of five long delicate 
 bony fingers, very warm and dry, but very gentle. I sat up in 
 bed, and looked into the face of the owner of those fingers, and 
 grew still, and stayed the curse which was on my lips. I never 
 uttered that curse, sir, and (I speak no romance) I never spoke to 
 that person before then or since. 
 
 " It was Lorimer, one of the biggest boys in the school : a tall, 
 gaunt, weak boy, who could never play, but who must have played 
 at some time or another, for he was appealed and referred to in 
 almost everything by the others. I had noticed him about often. 
 I had seen him gently making the peace between little boys, and 
 preventing their fighting. I had seen him walking with masters. 
 He had been ill once, and I had heard all the boys asking one 
 another how the ' Colonel ' was that morning ; whereas other 
 boys had died, and there had been no great talk about it. I was 
 so utterly unpopular that I had no confidant to ask about him ; 
 yet I had got up a sort of languid interest in him. He was not 
 in my house, and yet here he was, sitting on my bed, holding the 
 candle to my face, and stroking my hair. 
 
 " I spoke not one word— he began. He told me, word for 
 word, the conversation he had overheard about me, between the 
 
462 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 Doctor and the Master, but I remained perfectly dumb ; then he 
 said — 
 
 ' My poor fellow, try to do better. I know you can if you 
 choose. Such a one as you were never made for destruction. 
 Has no one ever told you of the Christ who died for you ? ' 
 
 " Before heaven, Sir Charles Seckerton, nobody ever had, save 
 one — old Mrs. Squire, my nurse, the woman at whose deathbed 
 I first met Laura ! With the exception of her quaint Calvinistic 
 teaching, I was as utterly neglected, as regards religious thought, 
 as any wretched boy who sweeps the streets. I knew my Cate- 
 chism, Old Testament chronology, and so forth, just as I knew 
 my Ovid ; but with regard to my religious teaching, hers was all 
 I had ever had, for my tutors had given me none whatever. 
 What wonder that I shook my head at him?" 
 
 ' Will you come to me, my boy, and let me talk to you ? ' 
 
 " I remained silent as Memnon at midnight. He little dreamed 
 how soon the sun would rise on me, and raise harmonies from my 
 dead granite. He gave me one more melancholy look from his 
 large brown sunken eyes — I shall never forget those eyes any 
 more, Sir Charles " 
 
 A long silence. Two turns up and down the terrace, without 
 a word spoken on either side. 
 
 "His footfall had scarcely died away upon the stairs when I 
 arose. I was at that time, poor little wretch of thirteen as I was, 
 in a general rebellion against the world. I think that my idea 
 was, that anything in the shape of constituted authority was a 
 thing to be opposed, kicked, bitten, and generally defied by every 
 person of the least spirit. I don't know why I took that resolu- 
 tion into my head, but I know that I held to it with the most 
 astounding resolution — with as great resolution as I did to the 
 new line of conduct on which I had determined when I got out of 
 bed, lit a candle, and picked up my Riddle and Arnold and my 
 Livy out of the corner where I had hurled them in a paroxysm of 
 rage, before I put out the light. Part of my plan had been to 
 refuse learning anything, to make myself celebrated as the very 
 worst boy in the school, and revenge myself on the world by 
 getting expelled. I never slept that night till my work was 
 finished. 
 
 " I rose in the morning a perfectly different person. I rose in 
 my class. I was very gentle and civil to every one ; I gave way 
 in every direction. I made no concealment, nor any assertion of 
 the change in me ; and before a fortnight was gone, I began to 
 be recognised as a good fellow. The bitterest thing of all was 
 that they said, in my hearing, that it was the thrashing Yelverton 
 
LEIGHTON COUKT. 463 
 
 had given me before I went to bed that had changed me so. 
 Could you have stood that and made no sign ? ' ' 
 
 " No ! I couldn't have stood that." 
 
 11 I did ; and won popularity in spite of it. You wonder at this 
 sudden change — indeed, I do myself. You say ' he was more 
 like a fiend than a boy, by all accounts ; and yet, because another 
 boy sat on his bed for ten minutes, he turned out one of the best- 
 remembered fellows at Eton.' You know I was popular." 
 
 11 Indeed, George Downes represented you as being most 
 popular." 
 
 " I don't know that one ought to wonder. I am very resolute 
 — I was very resolute to prove myself a mauvais sujet, and was 
 equally so to make myself the most popular fellow in Eton— 
 equally so after somebody said something which sent me to India. 
 I wish some one would guide my resolutions — I will be answerable 
 for carrying them out. Besides, poor Lorimer's visit had a senti- 
 mental effect on me. Do you know that I am a bit of a poet, and 
 have written verses ? ' ' 
 
 Sir Charles, not seeing what else to say, said that many other 
 perfectly respectable people had done the same thing. 
 
 "I know," said Sir Robert. " But I want to tell you about 
 Lorimer again. I never spoke to that fellow, and never would 
 speak to him. Not one living soul in the world, except you and 
 I, knows that he came to my bedside that night. I made one 
 of my mulelike resolutions ; and I said, ' He shall see the fruits 
 first, and then we shall talk more as equals.' The last time I 
 saw him was nearly the end of the half-year. I had been doing 
 what I had often done lately — making peace between two boys, 
 one of whom had called the other a liar. I did not succeed, 
 because one must fight over that, you know ; but I was trying to 
 get a retraction, and I said, ' What is the good of giving the 
 lie? — He believed what he said — Do be reasonable, old fellow,' 
 and all that sort of thing ; Avhen I turned round and saw Lorimer. 
 He stopped the fight, and then he turned smiling to shake hands 
 with me. But the half-year was not over, and I was perfectly 
 resolute in my muleishness ; I turned away. I never saw him 
 again." 
 
 "Left, I suppose?" said Sir Charles, who was thinking of 
 a good many things. 
 
 "I went away for the holidays to our cousins, the Dorsetshire 
 Poyntzes (where I always went for vacations), who were exceed- 
 ingly sorry to have such a young ruffian foisted upon them. But 
 I won the battle there, sir*. The girls cried when I came away. 
 I was resolute that they should love me, and I made them. 
 
464 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 Then my half-year's silence with Lorimer was finished ; and I 
 girded up my loins, and ran from Slough, in nine minutes forty 
 secondsj to meet him, leaving my things to come on in a fly." 
 
 " And I guess that he had left ? " 
 
 " Dead, sir — dead of consumption! When it was announced 
 in school they wondered why I hurst in such a tempest of tears. 
 Others cried too, a few of them, hut none like me. And that 
 interview betwixt him and me is known only to you and I — to 
 God and himself. The fellows of my time, at Eton, believe to 
 this day it was the thrashing I got from poor dear Yelverton the 
 night before." 
 
 Several turns were taken up and down the terrace before either 
 spoke. Sir Charles had by this time found out that things were 
 going well with him. He was the first to speak — 
 
 " Now, I am going to have no more sentimentality. I have 
 adjured you, on your allegiance to the County, to tell me, the 
 head of that County, what you did with yourself that year in which 
 you were missing. You have practically refused, and put me off 
 with romantic stories which have made me cry, whereas I want 
 to laugh. Come Bob, old boy, tell me all about it. I used to 
 tip you ; let me have my fun for my money. What did you 
 do?" 
 
 " I had rather not say ; I am ashamed of myself. But what 
 could I do?" 
 
 "Out with it." 
 
 " Well, I rode steeplechases. Let's have no more of this." 
 
 " I suppose I mustn't ask your imperial highness how it was 
 you favoured vie with a visit ; and what the deuce Sir George 
 Herage meant by sending you here under false colours ? " 
 
 " I hardly know what you mean. The facts are these. I 
 was riding a horse for sale there, and Sir George Herage recog- 
 nised me, and I rode some horses for him ; and he promised to 
 hold his tongue about me, and who I was ; and then there was 
 a confounded row about one of the girls — I never said six words 
 to the girl ; and then Harry came to stay there, and there was a 
 general row. Harry denounced me in the stableyard ; and then 
 Sir George told me privately that you wanted a fellow, and I 
 thought I would come and see the old place, for I was hunted to 
 death ; and I came, and no one knew me but Tom Squire and 
 his mother. I was very happy here. I got very fond of you. 
 I bullied you royally, though, didn't I ? " 
 
 " You did indeed. But they said you had hunted at Pau ? " 
 
 " That will pass for truth ; I was there six weeks." 
 
 " Steeplechasing ? " 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 4G5 
 
 11 Oh, hang the steeplechasing ! Don't bring that up again." 
 
 " But we were always hearing from your brother that you were 
 in India? " 
 
 "A pure fiction of Harry's, which he put about when I dis- 
 appeared from society. It was convenient enough for me. / 
 never contradicted it. I never went to India, as you will hear, 
 until a year ago." 
 
 " There is one other thing I must ask you. Lady Herage sent 
 us word that you were the illegitimate brother (don't laugh) of 
 yourself and Harry ; that is why I received you as I did ? " 
 
 " That must be poor Harry's doing ; that bears his mark 
 altogether." 
 
 " Is there such a person ? " 
 
 " There is. Harry wrote to me about him the other day, 
 asking me to take care of him ; but I have never seen him in my 
 life. Now, I want to ask you one thing. When you take into 
 consideration how utterly lonely and neglected I have been all my 
 life, do you pronounce that I have done well or ill? " 
 
 " I think you have done wonderfully well ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 "In time," said Sir Charles, "we shall find out how you came 
 to be drowned. How pleasant and old-timelike your voice sounds 
 to me, Robert ! I was very fond of you." 
 
 Sir Robert laid his hand on the old gentleman's shoulder and 
 went on — 
 
 '■'■ I was very happy here. I could not have stayed after Harry 
 came, of course, but my visit was cut short accidentally." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 "Yes. It happened all in one minute, that an irrepressible 
 sense of my degradation and uselessness came over me — was 
 forced on me. I took one of my sudden resolutions, and in ten 
 minutes was turning old Squire out of bed to put it in force." 
 
 Sir Charles asked no questions about the cause of this singular 
 resolution, but thought the more. 
 
 "I wanted him to get me ' The Elk ; ' I ordered him to do 
 so. I need not tell you he would sooner obey a Poyntz than a 
 Seckerton. In ten minutes more I was in the saddle, ready for 
 
 31 
 
466 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 a wild ride of five miles across the sands to Berry Head, before 
 the flowing tide." 
 
 " In the name of heaven what made you so mad ? " 
 
 " I partly wanted to fly from the place, and partly I wanted, 
 with my usual impetuosity, to get into action at once ; and the 
 doing something desperate and wild suited my humour too. Tom 
 Squire did not know where I was going until he saw me turn for 
 the sands ; and then he startled the night with a cry which I 
 should have thought would have reached you, and ran after me. 
 When I was a few hundred yards out on the sands, I turned. 
 The Point was black behind me, and nothing was distinguishable 
 under the dark hanging woods ; but their came a wild shout of 
 despair from them, which was repeated twice and died off into a 
 wild wail ; and I was alone far out on the sands, with the crawling 
 sea on my right. I steered by the light on Brinkley Cleve. 
 When I looked back I could see only one light — that from a 
 window in your house. It was the only light for very far, and I 
 waved my hand in farewell to it." 
 
 "It was the light in my daughter's room; we calculated on 
 the circumstance at the time." 
 
 "When I was, as I guessed, about halfway across, I began to 
 see the utter folly of which I had been guilty : before I guessed 
 that the water was less than two hundred yards off, it suddenly 
 slid past the horse's feet ; and though I managed to splash out 
 of it again, it was only for a moment, for it was all round. My 
 pace became a walk, and I was, I guess, two miles from shore. 
 I had a presentiment, which almost amounted to a certainty, that 
 I should come to no harm ; but things began to look very awk- 
 ward indeed, and I began to shout. The water was above the 
 horse's girths before a boat was near enough to answer me. I 
 got on board. The poor horse neighed to me, as though to ask 
 me by what means we had come into this strange position, but 
 contentedly followed the boat out into water deep enough for him 
 to swim. I held his bridle, and encouraged him with my voice ; 
 but the swell was a little too heavy, and before we were halfway 
 to the shore his head went down ; and I, finding that I was only 
 dragging a deadweight, let go of the bridle, and that was the last 
 of ' The Elk.' 
 
 " Now a new idea seized me, which was in many ways pleasing 
 to me. I determined to disappear, leaving no traces of myself. 
 By giving the men — who were Teignmouth men, not likely to land 
 here — a couple of pounds, and pretending that I should get into 
 trouble about the horse, I persuaded them to say nothing about it. 
 They, after a night's fishing, landed me at Teignmouth, I 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 407 
 
 immediately wont off to London, to Harry. I threw myself upon 
 his generosity, and asked him to get me a commission in a 
 regiment going to India. The negotiation would have gone right 
 from the first, if I had not somewhat foolishly threatened, in case 
 of his refusal, to disgrace the family by enlisting in a dragoon 
 regiment. To my dismay he jumped at the idea, and was very 
 much taken with it indeed. He said it was a capital way to 
 make an ass of myself without any expense, and strongly urged 
 me to do so. He saw he was teasing me, and went on ; but my 
 imperturbable patience was too much for him, and he yielded. I 
 think you know everything now." 
 
 " Are you going to stay in the Army ? " asked Sir Charles, in 
 an offhand manner, as if it was no concern of his. 
 
 " That is exactly as Laura chooses," said the heedless Robert. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Sir Charles, quickly. 
 
 " I was saying," answered Robert, reddening, " that is just 
 exactly as Lawrence chooses — Sir John Lawrence, you know. 
 He has been kind to me, and I shall be entirely guided by him in 
 this matter." 
 
 Sir Charles said " Yes, I understand ; " and the next time that 
 Robert made a joke he laughed at it very loud and long, to make 
 up for his self-denial on this occasion. 
 
 " There remains but little more to tell. Another chapter, and 
 our tale is finished. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 A year or more passed by, and the Great Indian Mutiny had 
 burnt itself into darkness and silence. It was all over, except 
 telling the tale of the dead. Still, in London and elsewhere, 
 after each mail houses would be seen with the shutters up for a 
 week ; and bevies of girls, who but a week ago were dancing in 
 their finest clothes, would begin to creep out at dusk in deepest 
 mourning, and say, to those who knew them well enough to speak 
 to them in their grief, " that mamma was not so wild to-night, 
 but oh, that it was so very very dreadful ! " 
 
 In these times — the times when the excitement had died out, 
 and the dull grief was making itself felt, and we were beginning 
 to count the cost — it so happened that Lord Hatterleigh was 
 spending the last few days of his honeymoon at Dover. 
 
 He had married a lady who was pleased to call herself Scotch, 
 
468 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 for what reason I am unable to explain. Her father, the Marquis 
 of Ericht, had certainly large possessions in Scotland ; but if he 
 claimed to be of any particular race, it should have been to be 
 Scandinavian-French. However, he chose to call himself Scotch, 
 to wear a kilt, and to have that other barbarous English inven- 
 tion, the bagpipes, to play to him at meals. His daughter also 
 was a perfect devotee on the matter of Scotch nationality, and it 
 was no one's business but their own ; and therefore we will yield 
 so far, under protest, as to say that Lord Hatterleigh had married 
 a Scotch lady — and an excellent good business he had made of it. 
 
 With her we have nothing to do. She was a lady at all points, 
 and we can or need say no more. With regard to him we may 
 say a few words : — 
 
 He had grown into a big and somewhat handsome man ; now 
 that he had let his long black beard grow, he would pass muster 
 anywhere — nay, do more than pass muster. His broad shoulders 
 were still so loosely hung, that one could not help wishing that 
 some drill-sergeant had taken him in hand, and forced him to 
 hold his really fine head higher. There was only one symptom 
 of his old muffishness left about him. He had clung to that old 
 valetudinarian self-considering creed, which he had got, after all, 
 from his mother, as long as he could ; but he had been driven 
 from point to point of it — first by Laura Seckerton (now Lady 
 Poyntz), and secondly by Lady Jane Portobello, his present bride 
 — until he had hardly any of it left. The old creed was very dear 
 to him, but he had been laughed out of it. He made a stand at 
 a certain point : he took to wearing spectacles. That there w r as 
 nothing the matter with his eyesight he had to confess to Brad- 
 bury, at whose shop he bought his spectacles. And so Bradbury 
 gave him a pair with flat glass lenses. These spectacles were 
 only the last appeal for extra-consideration by a man who had 
 been taught by his mother to appeal to the pity of society, and 
 who was growing out of that humbug rapidly. What need to say 
 more of Lord Hatterleigh ? Some say they know him, and that 
 he is showing an honesty and, what is more, a power which is 
 making itself felt. You could count on your fingers the men who 
 are able, so well as he, to remember old inconsistencies, and to 
 hang them up to ridicule. 
 
 It so happened that Lord Hatterleigh and his wife were walking 
 on the pier at Dover, up-and-down, taking their airing in the full 
 blast of a south-easterly wind, when they noticed a movement 
 among the sailors on the quay, and at the same time saw that a 
 large ship was coming into the harbour. He asked the reason of 
 the harbourmaster, who was known to him. 
 
LEIGHTON COURT. 409 
 
 "It is the Supply, my lord, with invalided troops from India. 
 We sent a boat out to her, and the officer commanding the soldiers 
 has persuaded the captain to put in here. He prefers taking his 
 men on by rail to Chatham, to forcing the ship round to Chatham 
 by sea. There are many dead, and many dying." 
 
 " My love," said Lord Hatterleigh to his bride, " we had better 
 go home to lunch." 
 
 "George," she said, "I must see these men land. I don't 
 want to go back to lunch ; I must see this." 
 
 " It will not be at all a fit sight for you," said Lord Hatter- 
 leigh. " Your mother would be furious if she heard of it." 
 
 11 But we needn't tell her," said Lady Hatterleigh. 
 
 "But my mother would never forgive me," said Lord Hatter- 
 leigh. 
 
 " Then tell her to mind her own business. Do let me stay, 
 George ! " 
 
 After this appeal there was no more to be said, and there never 
 is. When will women gain the secret of power ? 
 
 The ship was alongside the pier by this time, and the London, 
 Chatham, and Dover Company had a special train ready for them ; 
 and the victims of the war began to creep ashore — some nearly 
 well, but looking like old men ; some maimed, walking on 
 crutches ; some beyond everything, carried with hanging limbs 
 in the arms of the sailors. 13 ut there was one among them on 
 whom every one looked with greater interest than the others, and 
 that was the officer in command of this regiment of ghosts, 
 himself the most ghostly object there. 
 
 He was a very tall and handsome man, in full uniform, covered 
 with Crimean and the older Indian decorations. One arm- 
 less sleeve was looped up over his breast ; but it was not that 
 which drew all eyes to him, for there was plenty like him in that 
 respect — it was his face. There were pale faces there, but none 
 so deadly white as his ; and there were sad faces too, but none 
 so sad and worn as his. Lady Hatterleigh called her husband's 
 attention to him, saying — 
 
 "If I look at that man much longer I shall begin to cry." 
 
 Lord Hatterleigh turned and looked the way she indicated, and 
 as he did so exclaimed — 
 
 " Bless me, how dreadful ! It is Hilton ; and his arm gone." 
 
 His good-natured soul overflowed at the sight of his old 
 acquaintance in such a plight ; and he made towards Hilton, and 
 took his solitary hand in both of his. A very faint smile came 
 over Hilton's face when he recognised Lord Hatterleigh behind 
 his beard and spectacles, but it died away again. 
 
470 LEIGHTON COURT. 
 
 " Come, you can laugh still, you see ; was it my spectacles you 
 were laughing at, or my beard ? I won't ask how you are, 
 for you are very ill indeed, and must be taken care of. You must 
 come to Grimwood instantly, and my wife shall nurse you. I am 
 married now, you know. Hilton ! Hilton ! what have you been 
 doing with yourself ? You have been at death's door. You must 
 come home with us to Grimwood directly, and be nursed. The 
 women will all be fighting who is to attend on you. The Duchess 
 of Pozzo d'Oro is at Hoxworthy with her father ; you remember 
 Constance Downes ? And again," he continued, taking off his 
 spectacles, and fixing an honest manly eye on General Hilton's, 
 "there is Lady Poyntz ; she would form one of the Nightingale 
 sisterhood, my dear fellow. How you and Laura used to squabble 
 and fight, to be sure ! She is down there also " 
 
 "Lady Poyntz! " said Hilton., clutching his arm; " is she 
 there?" 
 
 "Not the dowager, you know; not Maria Huxtable — Laura 
 Seckerton, I mean. She pitched me overboard, you know, and 
 married Sir Robert Poyntz, who had been down there before, 
 masquerading, as a foxhunter from Leicestershire, and got drowned, 
 and buried, and sundry. Not that Miss Seckerton did not behave 
 nobly, sir — but that is not to the purpose. You must come to 
 Grimwood and all the old set will vie with one another in taking 
 care of their dear old Bayard." 
 
 General Hilton did not speak for nearly a minute ; and then he 
 said, very low, but without a quaver in his voice — 
 
 " How monstrous kind you are, Hatterleigh ! If I ever had 
 been upset in a sentimental way, I should be so now. I am not 
 at all sure that I could have answered you a moment sooner than 
 I did, though. I am very weak and ill, and your wonderful kind- 
 ness has, I will confess, discomposed me. Will you do something 
 forme?" 
 
 " Is there anything I would not ? " said Lord Hatterleigh. 
 
 " I want you to go to the ' Lord Warden,' and ask if any one 
 is waiting for me there. Lest you should be puzzled, I must tell 
 you that I had persuaded the captain to come in close enough to 
 land me here. I thought that Chatham, or even London, would 
 not do so well under the circumstances. We have all had to land 
 here, as you see." 
 
 Lord Hatterlcigh's face grew pensive, but rapidly began to 
 brighten again. 
 
 "It is well as it is," he said. " I was beginning to get uneasy 
 at what seemed to me an extraordinary conjunction of circum- 
 stances : now I see it was designed. You asked me if I would 
 
LEIGHTON COUUT. 471 
 
 go to the ' Lord Warden ' for you with an inquiry. I can 
 answer that inquiry for you, and the answer is « Yes.' ' : 
 
 Nothing more worth mentioning was said. The special train, 
 with the wounded soldiers, moved away, leaving General Hilton, 
 with Lord and Lady Hatterleigh, standing on the pier. There 
 were a few feeble cheers as the carriages moved on, and a few 
 wasted hands were waved towards the kind and gentle general, 
 who, in all his own agonies, had crept about from deck to deck, 
 to see to the wants of the strange soldiers who had been committed 
 to his care. 
 
 Then the three walked to the hotel; and Hilton soon was 
 alone in his rooms, lying on a sofa, watching the door, waiting 
 eagerly for each footfall on the corridor. But no footfall came, 
 and after a time he turned from the door, and buried his face in 
 his hands. 
 
 There was no footfall in the corridor, and he never heard the 
 door open ; but after a time he was aware of a presence in the 
 room, and he said, " Is it you ? " 
 
 And a voice answered, " George ! " 
 
 " Maria, come to me — oh, Maria, come to me ! I have been 
 through one hell of blood, ferocity, and doubt about the righteous- 
 ness of my cause ; and since then through another of physical 
 agony, of ghastly remorse, of wild triumph. Ever since I lost my 
 arm, and the fever came on me, and brought me to what you see, 
 there has been a devil dancing before me, and crying, ' On which 
 side is the Dacoitee ? On which side is the Dacoitee ? — on theirs 
 or on yours ? ' Come to me, and drive him away. Come to me, 
 and never leave me again ! " 
 
 And so she came to him ; for there was no cloud between them 
 now. Lord Hatterleigh, coming in later, found the wild mournful 
 look gone from his face, and the old Hilton of last year, smiling 
 and happy, before him. " We will come to you at Grimwood 
 after our honeymoon, Hatterleigh," he said— a promise which 
 was fulfilled before two happy months had rolled past. 
 
 Leighton Court, Berry Morecombe (otherwise Poyntz Castle), 
 Hoxworthy of the Downes's, and Grimwood of the Hatterleigh' s, 
 and a new one — Ewbank, the residence of General and Mrs. 
 Hilton — are very charming country-houses, somewhat too far 
 from London perhaps, but still very charming indeed, whose 
 history for eighteen months seemed to be worth the telling. 
 Their present occupants are in possession of health and happiness, 
 apparently unclouded. 
 
472 LEIGHTON COUKT. 
 
 In conclusion let me say, using far more beautiful words than 
 any which I could write : — 
 
 " In vertue and in holy almesse dede, 
 They liven alle, and never asonder wende, 
 Till deth departeth hem this lif they lede. 
 And fareth now wel, my tale is at an ende, 
 Now Jesu Christ, that of His might may send 
 Joye after wo, governe us in His grace, 
 And kepe us alle that ben in this place." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 UNWIN BROTHEBS, THE OIIESHAM PiiESS, CHILWOKTH AND LONDON. 
 
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