THE DANVERS JEWELS 
 
 BY 
 
 MARY CHOLMONDELEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' DIANA TEMPEST,' * SIR CHARLES DANVERS, ETC. 
 
 A NEW EDIT/ON 
 
 LONDON 
 RICHARD BENT LEY AND SON 
 
 ^publishers in (nrbin.irn to 3;)cr Majesty 
 1898 
 
?R b005 
 
 1893 
 MA 11^ 
 
 TO MY SISTER 
 
 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THE STORY 
 WHICH SHE HELPED ME 
 TO WRITE. 
 
 063 
 
PART I 
 
THE DANVERS JEWELS 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 I WAS on the point of leaving India and 
 returning to England when he sent for me. 
 At least, to be accurate— and I am always 
 accurate— I was not quite on the point, but 
 nearly, for I was going to start by the mail 
 on the following day. I had been up to 
 Government House to take my leave a few 
 days before, but Sir John had been too ill to 
 see me, or at least he had said he was. And 
 now he was much worse— dying, it seemed, 
 from all accounts ; and he had sent down a 
 native servant in the noonday heat with a 
 note, written in his shaky old hand, begging 
 
€9e ®ant)er0 3eit)ef0 
 
 me to come up as soon as it became cooler. 
 He said he had a commission which he was 
 anxious I should do for him in England. 
 
 Of course I went. It was not very con- 
 venient, because I had to borrow one of our 
 fellows' traps, as I had sold my own, and 
 none of them had the confidence in my 
 driving which I had myself. I was also 
 obliged to leave the packing of my collection 
 of Malay krises and Indian kookeries to my 
 bearer. 
 
 I wondered as I drove along why Sir John 
 had sent for me. Worse, was he ? Dying ? 
 And without a friend. Poor old man ! He 
 had done pretty well in this world, but I was 
 afraid he would not be up to much once he 
 was out of it ; and now it seemed he was 
 going. I felt sorry for him. I felt more 
 sorry when I saw him — when the tall, long- 
 faced A.D.C. took me into his room and left 
 us. Yes, Sir John was certainly going. 
 There was no mistake about it. It was 
 written in every line of his drawn fever-worn 
 
<t^c ©antjere ^enjefe 
 
 face, and in his wide fever-lit eyes, and in the 
 clutch of his long yellow hands upon his 
 tussore silk dressing-gown. He looked a 
 very sick, bad old man as he lay there on his 
 low couch, placed so as to court the air from 
 without, cooled by its passage through 
 damped grass screens, and to receive the 
 full strength of the punkah, pulled by an 
 invisible hand outside. 
 
 * You go to England to-morrow ?' he asked 
 sharply. 
 
 It was written even in the change of his 
 voice, which was harsh, as of old, but with 
 all the strength gone out of it. 
 
 ' By to-morrow's mail,' I said. I should 
 have liked to say something more — something 
 sympathetic about his being ill and not likely 
 to get better ; but he had always treated me 
 discourteously when he was well, and I could 
 not open out all at once now that he was ill. 
 
 'Look here, Middleton,' he went on; 'I 
 am dying, and I know it. I don't suppose 
 you imagined I had sent for you to bid you 
 
€^e ©antjete ^enjefe 
 
 a last farewell before departing to my long 
 home. I am not in such a hurry to depart 
 as all that, I can tell you ; but there is some- 
 thing I want done — that I want you to do 
 for me. I meant to have done it myself, but 
 I am down now, and I must trust somebody. 
 I know better than to trust a clever man. 
 An honest fool — but I am digressing from 
 the case in point. I have never trusted 
 anybody all my life, so you may feel honoured. 
 I have a small parcel which I want you to 
 take to England for me. Here it is.' 
 
 His long lean hands went searching in his 
 dressing-gown, and presently produced an 
 old brown bag held together at the neck by 
 a string. 
 
 ' See here !' he said ; and he pushed the 
 glasses and papers aside from the table near 
 him and undid the string. Then he craned 
 forward to look about him, laying a spasmodic 
 clutch on the bag. ' I'm watched! I know 
 I'm watched!' he said in a whisper, his pale 
 eyes turning slowly in their sockets. * I shall 
 
t^e ©antjere Senjefe 
 
 be killed for them if I keep them much 
 longer, and I won't be hurried into my grave. 
 I'll take my own time.' 
 
 ' There is no one here,' I said, ' and no 
 one in sight except Cathcart smoking in the 
 veranda, and I can only see his legs, so he 
 can't see us.' 
 
 He seemed to recover himself, and laughed. 
 I had never liked his laugh, especially when, 
 as had often happened, it had been directed 
 against myself; but I liked it still less now. 
 
 * See here !' he repeated, chuckling ; and 
 he turned the bag inside out upon the table. 
 
 Such jewels I had never seen. They fell 
 like cut flame upon the marble table — 
 green and red and burning white. A large 
 diamond rolled and fell upon the floor. I 
 picked it up and put it back among the 
 confused blaze of precious stones, too much 
 astonished for a moment to speak. 
 
 ' Beautiful ! aren't they ?' the old man 
 chuckled, passing his wasted hands over 
 them. ' You won't match that necklace in 
 
€^e ^anvexa ^enjefs 
 
 any jeweller's in England. I tore it off an 
 old she-devil of a Rhanee's neck after the 
 Mutiny, and got a bite in the arm for my 
 trouble. But she'll tell no tales. He ! he ! 
 he ! I don't mind saying now how I got 
 them. I am a humble Christian, now I am 
 so near heaven — eh, Middleton ? He! he! 
 You don't like to contradict me. Look at 
 those emeralds. The hasp is broken, but it 
 makes a pretty bracelet. I don't think I'll 
 tell you how the hasp got broken — little 
 accident as the lady who wore it gave it to 
 me. Rather brown, isn't it, on one side ; 
 but it will come off. No, you need not be 
 afraid of touching it, it isn't wet. He ! he ! 
 And this crescent. Look at those diamonds. 
 A duchess would be proud of them. I had 
 them from a private soldier. I gave him two 
 rupees for them. Dear me ! how the sight 
 of them brings back old times ! But I won't 
 leave them out any longer. We must put 
 them away — put them away.' And the 
 glittering mass was gathered up and shovelled 
 
€^e ©antjers 2icxt)ef6 
 
 back into the old brown bag. He looked 
 into it once with hungry eyes, and then he 
 pulled the string and pushed it over to me. 
 * Take it,' he said. ' Put it away now. Put 
 it away,' he repeated, as I hesitated. 
 
 I put the bag into my pocket. He gave 
 a long sigh as he watched it disappear. 
 
 * Now what you have got to do with that 
 bag,' he said, a moment afterwards, ' is to 
 take it to Ralph Danvers, the second son of 
 Sir George Danvers of Stoke Moreton in 
 
 D shire. Sir George has got two sons. 
 
 I have never seen him or his sons, but I don't 
 mean the eldest to have them. He is a 
 spendthrift. They are all for Ralph, who is 
 a steady fellow, and going to marry a nice 
 girl — at least, I suppose she is a nice girl. 
 Girls who are going to be married always are 
 nice. Those jewels will sweeten matrimony 
 for Mr. Ralph, and if she is like other women 
 it will need sweetening. There, now you 
 have got them, and that is what you have 
 got to do with them. There is the address, 
 
t^e ®ant)et6 ^eiDefe 
 
 written on this card. With my compliments, 
 you perceive. He ! he ! I don't suppose 
 they will remember who I am/ 
 
 * Have you no relations ?' I asked ; for I 
 am always strongly of opinion that property 
 should be bequeathed to relatives, especially 
 near relatives, rather than to entire strangers. 
 
 * None,' he replied, * not even poor relations. 
 I have no deserving nephew or Scotch cousin. 
 If I had, they would be here at this moment, 
 smoothing the pillow of the departing saint, 
 and wondering how much they would get. 
 You may make your mind easy on that 
 score.' 
 
 * Then who is this Ralph whom you have 
 never seen, and to whom you are leaving so 
 much ?' I asked, with my usual desire for 
 information. 
 
 He glared at me for a moment, and then 
 he turned his face away. 
 
 ' D — n it ! What does it matter, now I'm 
 dying?' he said. And then he added, 
 hoarsely, * I knew his mother.' 
 
Z^c VanvcxB ^cwefs 
 
 I could not speak, but involuntarily I 
 put out my hand and took his leaden 
 one and held it. He scowled at me, and 
 then the words came out, as if in spite of 
 himself: 
 
 ' She — if she had married me, who knows 
 
 what might But she married Danvers. 
 
 She called her second son Ralph. My first 
 name is Ralph.' Then, with a sudden change 
 of tone, pulling away his hand, ' There ! now 
 you know all about it ! Edifying, isn't it ? 
 These death -bed scenes always have an 
 element of interest, haven't they ? Good- 
 evening ' — ringing the bell at his elbow — ' I 
 can't say I hope we shall meet again : it 
 would be impolite. No, don't let me keep 
 you. Good-bye again.' 
 
 * Good-bye, Sir John,' I said, taking his 
 impatient hand and shaking it gently. ' God 
 bless you.' 
 
 * Thankee,' grinned the old man, with a 
 sardonic chuckle ; * if anything could do me 
 good that will, I'm sure. Good-bye.' 
 
lO 
 
 €9e ®ant)et0 ^etuefe 
 
 As I breakfasted next morning previously 
 to my departure, I could not help reflecting 
 on the different position in which I was now 
 returning to England, as a Colonel on long 
 leave, to that in which I had left it many — 
 I do not care to think how many — years ago, 
 the youngest ensign in the regiment. 
 
 It was curious to remember that in my 
 youth I had always been considered the fool 
 of the family ; most unjustly so considered, 
 when I look back at my quick promotion, 
 owing to casualties, and at my long and 
 prosperous career in India, which I cannot 
 but regard as the result of high principles 
 and abilities, to say the least of it, of not the 
 meanest order. On the point of returning 
 to England, the trust Sir John had with his 
 usual shrewdness reposed in me was an 
 additional proof, if proof were needed, of the 
 confidence I had inspired in him — a confi- 
 dence which seemed to have ripened suddenly 
 at the end of his life, after many years of 
 hardly concealed mockery and derision. Just 
 
Z^c ©antjere ^icvocU ii 
 
 as I was finishing my reflections and my 
 breakfast, Dickson, one of the last joined 
 subalterns, came in. 
 
 'This is very awful,' he said, so gravely 
 that I turned to look at him. 
 
 • What is awful ?' 
 
 ' Don't you know ?' he replied. * Haven't 
 you heard about — Sir John — last night ?' 
 
 ' Dead ?' I asked. 
 
 He nodded, and then he said : 
 
 ' Murdered in the night. Cathcart heard 
 a noise, and went in, and stumbled over him 
 on the floor. As he came in he saw the 
 lamp knocked over, and a figure rush out 
 through the veranda. The moon was bright, 
 and he saw a man run across a clear space in 
 the moonlight — a tall, slightly-built man in 
 native dress, but not a native, Cathcart said ; 
 that he would take his oath on, by his build. 
 He roused the house, but the man got clean 
 off, of course.' 
 
 *And Sir John?' 
 
 * Sir John was quite dead when Cathcart 
 
12 $5e ®anuer0 genjefs 
 
 got back to him. He found him lying on his 
 face. His arms were spread out, and his 
 dressing-gown was torn as if he had struggled 
 hard. His pockets had been turned inside 
 out, his writing-table drawers forced open ; 
 the whole room had been ransacked. Yet the 
 old man's gold watch had not been touched, 
 and some money in one of the drawers had 
 not been taken. What on earth is the 
 meaning of it all i*' said young Dickson below 
 his breath. ' What was the thief after ?' 
 
 In a moment the truth flashed across my 
 brain. I put two and two together as quickly 
 as most men, I fancy. T/ie jewels! Some- 
 one had got wind of the jewels, which, at 
 that moment, were reposing on my own 
 person in their old brown bag. Sir John 
 had been only just in time. 
 
 *What was he looking for .^' continued 
 Dickson, walking up and down. 'The old 
 man must have had some paper or other 
 about him that he wanted to get hold of. 
 But what ? Cathcart says that nothing what- 
 
t^e ©antjetff genjefe 13 
 
 ever has been taken, as far as he can see at 
 present.' 
 
 I was perfectly silent. It is not every man 
 who would have been so in my place, but I 
 was. I know when to hold my tongue, thank 
 Heaven ! 
 
 Presently the others came in, all full of the 
 same subject ; and then suddenly I remem- 
 bered that it was getting late, and there was 
 a bustle and a leave-taking, and I had to post 
 off before I could hear more. Not, however, 
 that there was much more to hear, for every- 
 thing seemed to be in the greatest confusion, 
 and every species of conjecture was afloat as to 
 the real criminal, and the motive for the crime. 
 I had not much time to think of anything 
 during the first day on board ; yet, busy as I 
 was In arranging and re-arranging my things, 
 poor old Sir John never seemed quite absent 
 from my mind. His image, as I had last 
 seen him, constantly rose before me, and the 
 hoarse whisper was for ever sounding In my 
 ears, 'I'm watched! I know I'm watched!' 
 
14 Z^e ®ant)er0 3ewefg 
 
 I could not get him out of my head. I was 
 unable to sleep the first night I was on board, 
 and as the long hours wore on I always 
 seemed to see the pale, searching eyes of the 
 dead man ; and above the manifold noises of 
 the steamer and the perpetual lapping of the 
 calm water against my ear came the whisper, 
 ' I'm watched ! I know I'm watched!' 
 
[ 15 ] 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 I WAS all right next day. I suppose I had 
 had what women call ' nerves.' I never 
 knew what nerves meant before, because no 
 two women I ever met seemed to have the 
 same kind. If it is slamming a door that 
 upsets one woman's nerves, it may be coming 
 in on tiptoe that will upset another's. You 
 never can tell. But I am sure it was nerves 
 with me that first night ; I know I have 
 never felt so queer since. Oh yes, I have, 
 though — once ! I was forgetting ; but I have 
 not come to that yet. 
 
 We had a splendid passage home. Most 
 of the passengers were in good spirits at the 
 thought of seeing England again, and even 
 the children were not so troublesome as I 
 have known them. I soon made friends 
 
1 6 $5e ©antjere ^ewefs 
 
 with some of the nicest people, for I generally 
 make friends easily. I do not know how I 
 do it, but I always seem to know what people 
 really are at first sight. I always was rather 
 a judge of character. 
 
 There was one man on board whom I took 
 a great fancy to from the first. He was a 
 young American, travelling about, as Ameri- 
 cans do, to see the world. I forget where he 
 had come from — though I believe he told me — 
 or why he was going to London ; but a nicer 
 young fellow I never met. He was rather 
 simple and unsophisticated, and with less 
 knowledge of the world than any man I ever 
 knew ; but he did not mind owning to it, and 
 was as grateful as possible for any little hints 
 which, as an older man who had not gone 
 through life with his eyes shut, I was of 
 course able to give him. He was of a shy 
 • disposition, I could see, and wanted drawing 
 out ; but he soon took to me, and in a sur- 
 prisingly short time we became friends. He 
 was in the next cabin to mine, and evidently 
 
wished so much to have been with me, that I 
 tried to get another man to exchange ; but 
 he was grumpy about it, and I had to give it 
 up, much to young Carr's disappointment. 
 Indeed, he was quite silent and morose for a 
 whole day about it, poor fellow. He was a 
 tall, handsome young man, slightly built, with 
 the kind of sallow complexion that women 
 admire, and I wondered at his preferring my 
 company to that of the womankind on board, 
 who were certainly very civil to him. 
 
 One evening when I was rallying him on 
 the subject, as we were leaning over the side 
 (for, though it was December, it was hot 
 enough in the Red Sea to lounge on deck), 
 he told me that he was engaged to be married 
 to a beautiful young American girl. I forget 
 her name, but I remember he told it me — 
 Dulcima Something — but it is of no conse- 
 quence. I quite understood then. I always 
 can enter into the feelings of others so 
 entirely. I know when I was engaged 
 myself once, long ago, I did not seem to care 
 
 2 
 
1 8 J^e ®ant)er0 gewefe 
 
 to talk to anyone but her. She did not feel 
 the same about it, which, perhaps, accounted 
 for her marrying someone else, which was 
 quite a blow to me at the time, But still, I 
 could fully enter into young Carr's feelings, 
 especially when he went on to expatiate on 
 her perfections. Nothing, he averred, was too 
 good for her. At last he dropped his voice, 
 and after looking about him in the dusk to 
 make sure he was not overheard, he said : 
 
 ' I have picked up a few stones for her on 
 my travels — a few sapphires of considerable 
 value. I don't care to have it generally 
 known that I have jewels about me, but I 
 don't mind teWmg you.' 
 
 ' My dear fellow,' I replied, laying my 
 hand on his shoulder, and sinking my voice 
 to a whisper, ' not a soul on board this vessel 
 suspects it, but so have I.' 
 
 It was too dark for me to see his face, but 
 I felt that he was much impressed by what I 
 had told him. 
 
 * Then you will know where I had better 
 
Z^c ©antjere Senjefe 19 
 
 keep mine,' he said a moment later, with his 
 impulsive boyish confidence. ' How fortu- 
 nate I told you about them ! Some are of 
 considerable value, and — and I don't know 
 where to put them that they will be absolutely 
 safe. I never carried jewels about with me 
 before, and I am nervous about losing them, 
 you understand ' — and he nodded significantly 
 at me. ' Now where would you advise me 
 to keep them ?' 
 
 ' On you,' I said significantly. 
 
 ' But where }' 
 
 He was simpler than even I could have 
 believed. 
 
 ' My dear boy,' I said, hardly able to 
 refrain from laughing, ' do as I do : put them 
 in a bag with a string to it. Put the string 
 round your neck, and wear that bag under 
 your clothes night and day.' 
 
 ' At night as well ?' he asked anxiously. 
 
 ' Of course. You are just as likely to lose 
 them, as you call it, in the night as in the 
 day.' 
 
 2 — 2 
 
20 t^e ©anthers Senjefc 
 
 ' I'm very much obliged to you/ he replied. 
 * I will take your advice this very night. I 
 say,' he added suddenly, ' you would not care 
 to see them, would you ? I would not have 
 anyone else catch sight of them for a good 
 deal, but I would show them you in a mo- 
 ment. Everyone else is on deck just now, 
 if you would like to come down into my 
 cabin.' 
 
 I hardly know one stone from another, and 
 never couM tell a diamond from paste ; but 
 he seemed so anxious to show me what he 
 had that I did not like to refuse. 
 
 ' By all means,' I said ; and we went 
 below. 
 
 It was very dark in Carr's cabin, and after 
 he had let me in, he locked the door carefully 
 before he struck a light. He looked quite 
 pale in the light of the lamp after the red 
 dusk of the warm evening on deck. 
 
 * I don't want to have other fellows coming 
 in,' he said in a whisper, nodding at the 
 door. 
 
Z^e ©antjere Senjefe 21 
 
 He stood looking at me for a moment as 
 if irresolute, and then he suddenly seemed to 
 arrive at some decision, for he pulled a small 
 parcel out of his pocket and began to open it. 
 
 They really were not much to look at, 
 though I would not have told him so for 
 worlds. There were a few sapphires — one 
 of a considerable size, but uncut — and some 
 handsome turquoises, but not of perfect 
 colour. He turned them over with evident 
 admiration. 
 
 * They will look lovely, set in gold, as a 
 bracelet on /ler arm,' he said softly. He was 
 very much in love, poor fellow. And then 
 he added humbly : * But I dare say they are 
 nothing to yours.* 
 
 I chuckled to myself at the thought of his 
 astonishment when he should actually behold 
 them ; but I only said : 
 
 * Would you like to see them, and judge 
 for yourself?' 
 
 * Oh, if it is not giving you too much 
 trouble !' he exclaimed gratefully, with shining 
 
22 t^e ^mioexB $evodB 
 
 eyes. ' It's very kind of you. I did not like 
 to ask. Have you got them with you ?' 
 
 I nodded, and proceeded to unbutton my 
 coat. 
 
 At that moment a voice was heard shouting 
 down the companion-ladder : ' Carr ! I say, 
 Carr, you are wanted !' and in another mo- 
 ment someone was hammering on the door. 
 
 Carr sprang to his feet looking positively 
 savage. 
 
 * Carr !' shouted the voice again. ' Come 
 out, I say ; you are wanted !' 
 
 * Button up your coat,' he whispered, scowl- 
 ing suddenly ; and, with an oath, he opened 
 the door. 
 
 Poor Carr ! He was quite put out, I could 
 see, though he recovered himself in a moment, 
 and went off laughing with the man who had 
 been sent for him to take his part in a 
 rehearsal which had been suddenly resolved 
 on ; for theatricals had been brewing for 
 some time, and he had promised to act in 
 them. I had not been asked to join, so I 
 
 I 
 
saw no more of him that night. The follow- 
 ing morning as I was taking an early turn on 
 deck he joined me, and said with a smile, as 
 he linked his arm in mine : 
 
 ' I was put out last night, wasn't I ?' 
 
 ' But you got over it in a moment,' I 
 replied. ' I quite admired you ; and, after 
 all, you know — some other time.' 
 
 ' No,' he said, smiling still, * not some other 
 time. I don't think I will see them — thanks 
 all the same. They might put me out of 
 conceit with what I have picked up for my 
 little girl, which are the best I can afford.' 
 
 He seemed to have lost all interest in the 
 subject, for he began to talk of England and 
 of London, about which he appeared to have 
 that kind of vague half-and-half knowledge 
 which so often proves misleading to young- 
 men newly launched into town life. When 
 he found out, as he soon did, that I was to a 
 certain extent familiar with the Metropolis, he 
 began to question me minutely, and ended 
 by making me promise to dine with him at 
 
24 €^c ©antjetg gewefe 
 
 the Criterion, of which he had actually never 
 heard, and go with him afterwards to the 
 best of the theatres the day after we arrived 
 in London. 
 
 He wanted me to go with him the very 
 evening we arrived, but on that point I was 
 firm. My sister Jane, who was living with a 
 hen canary (called Bob, after me, before its 
 sex was known) in a small house in Ken- 
 sington, would naturally be hurt if I did not 
 spend my first evening in England with her, 
 after an absence of so many years. 
 
 Carr was much interested to hear that I 
 had a sister, and asked innumerable questions 
 about her. Was she young and lovely, or 
 was she getting on ? Did she live all by 
 herself, and was I going to stay with her for 
 long ? Was not Kensington — was that the 
 name of the street ? — rather out of the 
 world, etc. 
 
 I was pleased with the interest he took in 
 any particulars about myself and my relations. 
 People so seldom care to hear about the 
 
t^e ©antjerc ^ewefs 25 
 
 concerns of others. Indeed, I have noticed 
 as I advance in life, such a general want of 
 interest on the part of my acquaintance in the 
 minutiae of my personal affairs, that of late I 
 have almost ceased to speak of them at any 
 length. Carr, however, who was of what I 
 should call a truly domestic turn of character, 
 showed such genuine pleasure in hearing 
 about myself and my relations, that I asked 
 him to call in London in order to make Jane's 
 acquaintance, and accordingly gave him her 
 address, which he took down at once in his 
 note-book with evident satisfaction. 
 
 Our passage was long, but it proved most 
 uneventful ; and except for an occasional 
 dance, and the theatricals before mentioned, 
 it would have been dull in the extreme. The 
 theatricals certainly were a great success, 
 mainly owing to the splendid acting of young 
 Carr, who became afterwards a more special 
 object of favour even than he was before. 
 It was bitterly cold when we landed early in 
 January at Southampton, and my native land 
 
26 $^e ©ant)er0 3en)ef6 
 
 seemed to have retired from view behind a 
 thick veil of fog. We had a wretched 
 journey up to London, packed as tight as 
 sardines in a tin, much to the disgust of Carr, 
 who accompanied me to town, and who, with 
 his usual thoughtfulness, had in vain en- 
 deavoured to keep the carriage to ourselves, 
 by liberal tips to guards and porters. When 
 we at last arrived in London, he insisted on 
 getting me a cab and seeing my luggage on 
 to it, before he looked after his own at all. 
 It was only when I had given the cabman 
 my sister's address that he finally took his 
 leave and disappeared among the throng of 
 people who were jostling each other near the 
 luggage-vans. 
 
 Curiously enough when I arrived at my 
 destination an odd thing happened. I got 
 out at the green door of 23, Suburban 
 Residences, and when the maid opened it 
 walked straight past her into the little 
 drawing-room. 
 
 * Well, Jane !' I cried. 
 
2^0e ©antjere 3en)efe 27 
 
 A pale, middle-aged woman rose as I came 
 in, and I stood aghast. It was not my 
 sister. It was soon explained. She was a 
 little pettish about it, poor woman. It 
 seemed my sister had quite recently changed 
 her house, and the present occupant had 
 been put to some slight inconvenience before 
 by people calling and leaving parcels after 
 her departure. She gave me Jane's new 
 address, which was only in the next street, 
 and I apologized and made my bow at once. 
 My going to the wrong house was such a 
 slight occurrence that I almost forgot it at 
 the time, until I was reminded of it by a very 
 sad event which happened afterwards. 
 
 Jane was delighted to see me. It seemed 
 she had written to inform me of her change 
 of address, but the letter did not reach me 
 before I started for England with the 
 Dan vers Jewels, about which I have been 
 asked to write this account. Considering 
 this is an account of the jewels, it is 
 wonderful how seldom I have had occasion 
 
28 $5e ®anDeif0 ^enjefs 
 
 to mention them so far ; but you may rest 
 assured that all this time they were safe in 
 their bag under my waistcoat ; and knowing 
 I had them there all right, I did not trouble 
 my head much about them. I never was 
 a person to worry about things. 
 
 Still, I had no wish to be Inconvenienced 
 by a hard packet of little knobs against my 
 chest any longer than was necessary, and 
 I wrote the same evening to Sir George 
 Danvers, stating the bare facts of the case, 
 and asking what steps he or his second son 
 wished me to take to put the legacy In the 
 possession of its owner. I had no notion of 
 trusting a packet of such Immense value to 
 the newly - organized Parcels Post. With 
 jewels I consider you cannot be too cautious ; 
 indeed, I told Jane so at the time, and she 
 quite agreed with me. 
 
[ 29] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I DID not much like the arrangement of 
 Jane's new house when I came to stay in it. 
 The way the two bedrooms, hers and mine, 
 were shut off from the rest of the house by 
 a door, barred and locked at night for fear 
 of burglars, was, I thought, unpleasant, 
 especially as, once in my room for the night, 
 there was no possibility of getting out of it, 
 the key of the door of the passage not being 
 even allowed to remain in the lock, but re- 
 tiring with Jane, the canary cage, and other 
 valuables, into her own apartment. I re- 
 monstrated, but I soon found that Jane had 
 not remained unmarried for nothing. She 
 was decided on the point. The outer door 
 would be locked as usual, and the key would 
 
30 tH ®ant)et6 gewefe 
 
 be deposited under the pin-cushion in her 
 room as usual ; and it was so. 
 
 The next morning, as Jane and I went 
 out for a stroll before luncheon, we had to 
 pass the house to which I had driven by 
 mistake the day before. To our astonish- 
 ment, there was a crowd before the door, 
 and a policeman with his back to it was 
 guarding the entrance. The blinds were all 
 drawn down. The image of the pale, lonely 
 woman sitting by her little fire whom I had 
 disturbed the day before came suddenly back 
 to me with a strange qualm. 
 
 ' What is it ?' I hurriedly asked a baker's 
 boy, who was standing at an area railing, 
 rubbing his chin against the loaf he was 
 waiting to deliver. The boy grinned. 
 
 ' It's murder !' he said, with relish. 
 * Burgilars in the night. I've supplied her 
 reg'lar these two months. One quartern 
 best white, one half-quartern brown, every 
 morning, French rolls occasional ; but it's 
 all up now.' 
 
€^e ©antjere ^ewcfe 31 
 
 And he went off whistling a tune which 
 all bakers' boys whistled about that time, 
 called ' My Grandfather's Timepiece,' or 
 something similar. 
 
 A second policeman came up the street 
 at this moment, and from him I learned 
 the little there was to know. The poor lady 
 had not been murdered, it seemed, but, being 
 subject to heart complaint, had died in the 
 night of an acute attack, evidently brought 
 on by fright. The maid, the only other 
 person in the house, sleeping as maids-of-all- 
 work only can, had heard nothing, and 
 awoke in the morning to find her mistress 
 dead in her bed, with the window and door 
 open. Strangely enough, the policeman 
 added, although nothing in the house had 
 been touched, the lock of an unused bedroom 
 had been forced, and the room evidently 
 searched. 
 
 Poor Jane was quite overcome. She 
 seemed convinced that it was only by a 
 special intervention of Providence that she 
 
32 t^e ®ant)et0 3[en)efg 
 
 had changed her house, and that her suc- 
 cessor had been sacrificed instead of herself. 
 
 'It might have been me!' she said over 
 and over again that afternoon. 
 
 Wishing to give a turn to her thoughts, 
 I began to talk about Sir John's legacy, in 
 which she had evinced the greatest interest 
 the night before, and, greatly to her delight, 
 showed her the jewels. I had not looked at 
 them since Sir John had given them to me, 
 and I was myself astonished at their mag- 
 nificence as I spread them out on the table 
 under the gas-lamp. Jane exhausted herself 
 in admiration ; but as I was putting them 
 away again, saying it was time for me to be 
 dressing and going to meet Carr, who was 
 to join me at the Criterion, she begged me 
 on no account to take them with me, affirm- 
 ing that it would be much safer to leave 
 them at home. I was firm, but she was 
 firmer ; and in the end I allowed her to lock 
 them up in the tea-caddy, where her small 
 stock of ready-money reposed. 
 
i0e ©anuere 3emefe 33 
 
 I met Carr as we had arranged, and we 
 had a very pleasant evening. Poor Carr, 
 who had seen the papers, had hardly ex- 
 pected that I should turn up, knowing the 
 catastrophe of the previous night had taken 
 place at the house I was going to, and was 
 much relieved to hear that my sister had 
 moved, and had thus been spared all the 
 horror of the event. 
 
 The dinner was good, the play better. 
 I should have come home feeling that I 
 had enjoyed myself thoroughly, if it had not 
 been for a little adventure with our cab-driver 
 that very nearly proved serious. We got a 
 hansom directly we came out of the theatre, 
 but instead of talking us to the direction we 
 gave him, after we had driven for some 
 distance I began to make out that the 
 cabman was going wrong, and Carr shouted 
 to him to stop ; but thereupon he lashed up 
 his horse, and away we went like the winds, 
 up one street, and down another, till I had 
 lost all idea where we were. Carr, who was 
 
34 t^e ®ant)et0 ^enjefs 
 
 young and active, did all he could ; but the 
 cabman, who, I am afraid, must have been 
 intoxicated, took not the slightest notice, and 
 continued driving madly, Heaven knows 
 where. 
 
 At last, after getting into a very dingy 
 neighbourhood, we turned up a crooked 
 dark street unlit by any lamp — a street so 
 narrow that I thought every moment the cab 
 would be overturned. In another moment 
 I saw two men rush out of a doorway. One 
 seized the horse, which was much blown by 
 this time, and brought it violently to a stand- 
 still, while the other flew at the cab, and, 
 catching Carr by the collar, proceeded to 
 drag him out by main force. I suppose 
 Carr did his best, but, being only an 
 American, he certainly made a very poor 
 fight of it ; and while I was laying into the 
 man who had got hold of him, I was suddenly 
 caught by the legs myself from the other 
 side of the cab. I turned on my assailant, 
 saw a heavy stick levelled at me, caught at 
 
t^e ©antjcrs 3en)ef0 35 
 
 it, missed it, beheld a series of fireworks, 
 and remembered nothing more. 
 
 The first thing I heard on beginning to 
 come to myself was a series of subdued but 
 evidently heartfelt oaths ; and I became 
 sensible of an airy feeling unpleasant in the 
 extreme, proceeding from an open condition 
 of coat and waistcoat quite unsuited to the 
 time of year. A low chorus of muffled 
 whispering was going on round me. As I 
 groaned involuntarily it stopped. 
 
 ' He's coming to,' I heard Carr say. * Go 
 and fetch some brandy.' 
 
 And I felt myself turned right side upper- 
 most, and my hands were rubbed, while Carr, 
 in a voice of the greatest anxiety, asked me 
 how I felt. I was soon able to sit up, and 
 to become aware that I had a splitting head- 
 ache, and was staring at a tallow candle 
 stuck in a bottle. Having got so far, I got 
 a lltde further, and on looking round found 
 myself reclining on a sack In a corner of a 
 
36 i^e ©antjete gewefe 
 
 disreputable-looking room, dingy with dirt, 
 and faithful to the memory of bad tobacco. 
 Then I suddenly remembered what had 
 occurred. Carr saw that I did so, and in- 
 stantly poured forth an account of how we 
 had been rescued from a condition of great 
 peril by the man to whom the house we were 
 in belonged, to whom he hardly knew how 
 to express his gratitude, and who was now 
 gone for some brandy for me. He told me 
 a great deal about it, but I was so dizzy that 
 I forget most of what he said, and it was not 
 until our deliverer returned with the brandy 
 that I became thoroughly aware of what was 
 going forward. I could not help thinking, 
 as I thanked the honest fellow who had come 
 to our assistance, how easily one may be 
 deceived by appearances, for a more for- 
 bidding-looking face under its fur cap I 
 never saw. That of his son, who presently 
 returned with a four-wheeler which Carr had 
 sent for, was not more prepossessing. In 
 fact, they were two as villainous-looking men 
 
as I had ever seen. After recompensing 
 both with all our spare cash, we got our- 
 selves hoisted stiffly into the cab, and Carr 
 good-naturedly insisted on seeing me home, 
 though he owned to feeling, as he put it, 
 * rather knocked up by his knocking down.' 
 We were both far too exhausted to speak 
 much, until Carr gave, a start and a gasp, 
 and said, ' By Jove !' 
 
 ' What ?' I inquired. 
 
 'They are gone,' he said tremulously — 
 ' my sapphires ! They are gone — stolen ! 
 I had them in a bag round my neck, as you 
 told me. They must have been taken from 
 me when I was knocked down. I say,' he 
 added quickly, ' how about yours ? Have 
 you got them all right ?' 
 
 Involuntarily I raised my hand to my 
 throat. A horrid qualm passed over me. 
 
 * Thank Heaven !' I replied, with a sigh of 
 relief, * they are safe at home with Jane. 
 What a mercy ! I might have lost them.' 
 
 * Might /' said Carr. ' You would have 
 
38 t^e VamexB genjefe 
 
 lost them to a dead certainty ; and mine are 
 gone!' And he stamped and clenched his 
 fists, and looked positively furious. 
 
 Poor Carr ! I felt for him. He took the 
 loss of his stones so to heart, and I am sure 
 it was only natural. I parted from him at 
 my own door, and was glad on going in to 
 find Jane had stayed up for me. I soon 
 figured in her eyes as the hero of a thrilling 
 adventure, while her clever hands applied 
 sticking-plaster ad libitum. We were both 
 so full of the event of the evening, and the 
 letter which I was to write to the Thnes 
 about it the next day, that it never entered 
 the head of either of us on retiring to bed 
 to remove Sir John's jewels from the tea- 
 caddy into which they had been temporarily 
 popped in the afternoon. 
 
[39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I REALLY think adventures, like misfortunes, 
 never come singly. Would you believe it ? 
 Our house was broken into that very night. 
 Nothing serious came of it, wonderful to 
 relate, owing to Jane's extraordinary presence 
 of mind. She had been unable to sleep after 
 my thrilling account of the cab accident, and 
 had consoled herself by reading Baxter's 
 ' Saint's Rest ' by her night-light, for the 
 canary became restless and liable to sudden 
 bursts of song if a candle were lighted. 
 While so engaged she became aware of a 
 subdued grating sound, which had continued 
 for some time before she began to speculate 
 upon it. While she was speculating it ceased, 
 and after a short interval she distinctly heard 
 a stealthy step upon the stair, and the handle 
 
40 Z^e ©antjere $evoefB 
 
 of the passage door before mentioned was 
 gently, very gently, turned. 
 
 Jane has some of that quickness of per- 
 ception which has been of such use to myself 
 through life. In a moment she had grasped 
 the situation. Someone was in the house. 
 In another moment she was hanging out of 
 her bedroom window, springing the police- 
 man's rattle which she had had by her for 
 years with a view to an emergency of this 
 kind, and at the same time — for she was a 
 capable woman — blowing a piercing strain 
 on a cabman's whistle. 
 
 To make a long story short, her extra- 
 ordinary presence of mind was the saving of 
 us. With her own eyes she saw two dark 
 figures fly up our area steps and disappear 
 round the corner, and when a policeman 
 appeared on the scene, half an hour later, he 
 confirmed the fact that the house had been 
 broken into, by showing us how an entrance 
 had been effected through the kitchen 
 window. 
 
Z^e ©antjere 3ctt?cf6 
 
 There was, of course, no more sleep for us 
 that night, and the remainder of it was 
 passed by Jane in examining the house from 
 top to bottom every half-hour or so, owing 
 to a rooted conviction on her part that a 
 burglar might still be lurking on the premises, 
 concealed in the cellarette, or the jam cup- 
 board, or behind the drawing-room curtains. 
 
 By that morning's post I heard, as I ex- 
 pected I should do, from Sir George Danvers, 
 but the contents of the letter surprised me. 
 He wrote most cordially, thanking me for 
 my kindness in undertaking such a heavy 
 responsibility (I am sure I never felt it to 
 be so) for an entire stranger, and ended by 
 sending me a pressing invitation to come 
 down to Stoke Moreton that very day, that 
 he and his son, whose future wife was also 
 staying with them, might have the pleasure 
 of making the acquaintance of one to whom 
 they were so much indebted. He added 
 that his eldest son Charles was also going 
 down from London by a certain train that 
 
42 €H ©tintjere 3en)ef0 
 
 day, and that he had told him to be on the 
 look-out for me at the station in case I was 
 able to come at such short notice. I made 
 up my mind to go, sent Sir George a tele- 
 gram to that effect, and proceeded to fish up 
 the jewels out of the tea-caddy. 
 
 Jane, who had never ceased for one Instant 
 to comment on the event of the night, 
 positively shrieked when she saw me shaking 
 the bag free from tea-leaves. 
 
 * Good gracious, the burglars !' she ex- 
 claimed. ' Why, they might have taken 
 them if they had only known.' 
 
 Of course they had 7io^ known, as I had 
 been particularly secret about them ; but I 
 wished all the same that I had not left them 
 there all night, as Jane would insist, and 
 continued insisting, that they had been ex- 
 posed to great danger. I argued the matter 
 with her at first ; but women, I find, are 
 impervious as a rule to masculine argument, 
 and it is a mistake to reason with them. It 
 is, in fact, putting the sexes for the moment 
 
on an equality to which the weaker one is 
 unaccustomed, and consequently unsuitcd. 
 
 A few hours later I was rolling swiftly 
 towards Stoke Moreton in a comfortable 
 smoking-carriage, only occupied by myself 
 and Mr. Charles Danvers, a handsome young 
 fellow with a pale face, and that peculiar 
 tired manner which (though, as I soon found, 
 natural to him) is so often affected by the 
 young men of the day. 
 
 ' And so Ralph has come in for a legacy 
 in diamonds,' he said listlessly, when we had 
 exchanged the usual civilities, and had 
 become to a certain degree acquainted. 
 * Dear me ! how these good, steady young 
 men prosper in the world. When last I 
 heard from him he had prevailed upon the 
 one perfect woman in the universe to consent 
 to marry him, and his aunt (by the way, you 
 will meet her there, too — ^Lady Mary Cun- 
 ningham) had murmured something vague, 
 but gratifying, about testamentary intentions. 
 A week later Providence fills his brimming 
 
44 €^e ©antjetfi genjefs 
 
 cup with a legacy of jewels, estimated 
 
 at ?' Charles opened his light sleepy 
 
 eyes wide and looked inquiringly at me. 
 ' What are they estimated at ?' he asked, as 
 I did not answer. 
 
 I really had no idea, but I shrugged my 
 shoulders and looked wise. 
 
 ' Estimated at a fabulous sum,' he said, 
 closing his eyes again. ' Ah ! had they been 
 mine, with what joyful alacrity should I have 
 ascertained their exact money value. And 
 mine they ought to have been, if the sacred 
 law of primogeniture (that special Providence 
 which watches over the interests of eldest 
 sons) had been duly observed. Sir John 
 had not the pleasure of my acquaintance, 
 but I fear he must have heard some reports 
 — no doubt entirely without foundation — 
 respecting my career, which induced him 
 to pass me over in this manner. What a 
 moral ! My father and my Aunt Mary are 
 always delicately pointing out the difference 
 between Ralph and myself. I wish I were 
 
 i 
 
€^c ©antjcre ^cnjefe 45 
 
 a good young man, like Ralph. It seems to 
 pay best in the long run ; but I may as well 
 inform you, Colonel Middleton, of the painful 
 fact that I am the black sheep of the 
 family.' « 
 
 ' Oh, come, come !' I remarked uneasily. 
 
 ' I should not have alluded to the subject 
 if you were not likely to become fully aware 
 of it on your arrival, so I will be beforehand 
 with my relations. I was brought up in the 
 way I should go,' he continued, with the 
 utmost unconcern, as if commenting on some- 
 thing that did not affect him in the least ; 
 ' but I did not walk in it, partly owing to the 
 uncongenial companionship that it involved, 
 especially that of my Aunt Mary, who took 
 up so much room herself in the narrow path 
 that she effectually kept me out of it. From 
 my earliest youth also I took extreme 
 interest in the parable of the Prodigal, and 
 as soon as it became possible I exemplified 
 it myself I may even say that I acted the 
 part in a manner that did credit to a be- 
 
46 t^e ®ant?et0 genjefs 
 
 ginner; but the wind-up was ruined by the 
 lamentable inability of others, who shall be 
 nameless, to throw themselves into the spirit 
 of the piece. At various intervals,' he con- 
 tinued, always as if speaking of someone 
 else ; ' I have returned home, but I regret 
 to say that on each occasion my reception 
 was not in any way what I could have 
 wished. The flavour of a fatted calf is 
 absolutely unknown to me ; and so far from 
 meeting me half-way, I have in extreme 
 cases, when impelled homewards by urgent 
 pecuniary considerations, found myself obliged 
 to walk up from the station.' 
 
 * Dear me ! I hope it is not far ?' I 
 said. 
 
 * A mere matter of three miles or so up- 
 hill,' he resumed; 'nothing to a healthy 
 Christian, though trying to the trembling 
 legs of the ungodly after a long course of 
 husks. There, now I think you are quite 
 ate fait as to our family history. I always 
 pity a stranger who comes to a house 
 
 If 
 
t^e ®ant)er6 ^emefs 47 
 
 ignorant of little domestic details of this 
 kind ; he is apt to make mistakes. Oh ! 
 pray don't mention it ' — as I murmured some 
 words of thanks — * no trouble, I assure you ; 
 trouble is a thing I don't take. By the way, 
 are you aware we are going straight into a 
 nest of private theatricals at Stoke Moreton ? 
 To-night is the last rehearsal ; perhaps I had 
 better look over my part. I took it once 
 years ago, but I don't remember a word 
 of it.' 
 
 And after much rummaging in a magnifi- 
 cent silver - mounted travelling bag, the 
 Prodigal pulled out a paper-covered book 
 and carelessly turned over the leaves. 
 
 I did not interrupt his studies, save by a 
 few passing comments on the weather, the 
 state of the country, and my own health, 
 which I am sorry to say is not what it was ; 
 but as I only received monosyllabic answers, 
 we had no more conversation worth mention- 
 ing till we reached Stoke Moreton. 
 
[ 48 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Stoke Moreton is a fine old Elizabethan 
 house standing on rising ground. As we 
 drove up the straight wide approach between 
 two rows of ancient, fantastically - clipped 
 hollies, I was impressed by the stately 
 dignity of the place, which was not lessened 
 as we drew up before a great arched door- 
 way, and were ushered into a long hall sup- 
 ported by massive pillars of carved white 
 stone. A roaring log fire in the immense 
 fireplace threw a ruddy glow over the long 
 array of armour and gleaming weapons which 
 lined the walls, and made the pale winter 
 twiliorht outside look bleak indeed. Charles, 
 emerging slim and graceful out of an ex- 
 quisite ulster, sauntered up to the fire and 
 asked where Sir George Danvers was. As 
 
$9e ©antjere 3en)ef6 49 
 
 he stood inside the wide fireplace, leaning 
 against one of the pillars which supported 
 the towering white stone chimneypiece 
 covered with heraldic designs and coats of 
 arms, he looked a worthier representative of 
 an ancient race than I fear he really was. 
 
 ' So they have put the stage at that end, 
 in front of the pillars,' he remarked, nodding 
 at a wooden erection. ' Quite right. I 
 could not have placed it better myself. 
 What, Brown ? Sir George is in the draw- 
 ing-room, is he? and tea, as I perceive, is 
 going in at this moment. Come, Middleton.' 
 
 And we followed the butler to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 I am not a person who easily becomes 
 confused, but I must own I did get confused 
 with the large party into the midst of which 
 we were now ushered. I soon made out Sir 
 George Danvers, a delicate, but irascible- 
 looking old gentleman, who received me with 
 dignified cordiality, but returned Charles's 
 greeting with a certain formality and cold- 
 
 4 
 
50 Z^e ©auDets 3eit?ef0 
 
 ness which I was pained to see, family 
 affection being in my opinion the chief 
 blessing of a truly happy home. Charles I 
 already knew, and with the second son, 
 Ralph, a ruddy, smiling young man with any 
 amount of white teeth, I had no difficulty ; 
 but after that I became hopelessly involved. 
 I was introduced to an elderly lady whom I 
 addressed for the rest of the evening as 
 Lady Danvers, until Charles casually men- 
 tioned that his mother was dead, and that 
 until the Deceased Wife's Sister Bill was 
 passed he did not anticipate that his aunt 
 Mary would take upon herself the position 
 of step-mother to her orphaned nephews. 
 The severe elderly lady, then, who beamed 
 so sweetly upon Ralph, and regarded Charles 
 with such manifest coldness, was their aunt, 
 Lady Mary Cunningham. She had known 
 Sir John slightly in her youth, she said, as 
 she graciously made room for me on her 
 sofa, and she expressed a very proper degree 
 of regret at his sudden death, considering 
 
t^c ©antjere Semefg 51 
 
 that he had not been a personal friend in any 
 way. 
 
 ' We all have our faults, Colonel Middleton,' 
 said Lady Mary, with a gentle sigh which 
 dislodged a little colony of crumbs from the 
 front of her dress. * Sir John, like the rest 
 of us, was not exempt, though I have no 
 doubt the softening influence of age would 
 have done much, since I knew him, to smooth 
 acerbities of character which were unfor- 
 tunately strongly marked in his early life.' 
 
 She had evidently not known Sir John in 
 his later years. 
 
 As she continued to talk in this strain I 
 endeavoured to make out which of the young 
 ladies present was the one to whom Ralph 
 was engaged. I was undecided as to which 
 it was of the two to whom I had already 
 been introduced. Girls always seem to me 
 so very much alike, especially pretty girls, 
 and these were both of them pretty. I do 
 not mean that they resembled each other in 
 the least, for one was dark and one was fair ; 
 
 4—2 
 
52 $5e ©antjerg ^enjefe 
 
 but which was Miss Aurelia Grant, Ralph's 
 fiancee, and which was Miss Evelyn Derrick, 
 a cousin of the family, I could not make out 
 until later in the evening, when I distinctly 
 saw Ralph kiss the fair one in the picture- 
 gallery, and I instantly came to the con- 
 clusion that she was the one to whom he was 
 engaged. 
 
 I asked Charles if I were not right, as we 
 stood in front of the hall fire before the 
 rest of the party had assembled for dinner, 
 and he told me that I had indeed hit the nail 
 on the head in this instance, though for 
 his own part he never laid much stress 
 himself on such an occurrence, having found 
 it misleading in the extreme to draw any 
 conclusion from it. He further informed 
 me that Miss Derrick was the young lady 
 with dark hair who had poured out tea, and 
 whom he had favoured with some of his 
 conversation afterwards. 
 
 I admired Ralph's taste, as did Charles, 
 who had never seen his future sister-in-law 
 
t^e ©antjere 3en)ef6 53 
 
 before. Aurelia Grant was a charming little 
 creature, with a curly head and a dimple, and 
 a pink and white complexion, and a suspicion 
 of an Irish accent when she became excited. 
 
 Charles said he admired her complexion 
 most because it was so thoroughly well done, 
 and the colouring was so true to nature. 
 
 I did not quite catch his meaning, but it 
 certainly was a beautiful complexion, and 
 then she was so bright and lively, and showed 
 such pretty little teeth when she smiled. She 
 was quite delightful. I did not wonder at 
 Ralph's being so much in love with her, and 
 Charles agreed with me. 
 
 ' There is nothing like a good complexion,' 
 he remarked gravely. ' One may be led 
 away to like a pale girl with a mind for a 
 time, but for permanent domestic happiness 
 give me a good complexion, and — a dimple,' 
 he added, as if it were an afterthought. ' I 
 feel I could not bestow my best affections on 
 a woman without a dimple. Yes, indeed, 
 Ralph has chosen well.' 
 
54 t^e V)mt)ctB 3en)ef6 
 
 Now I do not agree with Charles there, 
 as I have always considered that a woman 
 should have a certain amount of mind ; just 
 enough, in fact, to enable her to appre- 
 ciate a superior one. I said as much to 
 Charles, but he only laughed, and said it 
 was a subject on which opinion had always 
 varied. 
 
 ' How did he meet her ?' I inquired. 
 
 ' On the Rigi last summer,' said Charles. 
 * I am thinking of going there myself next 
 year. Lovely orphan sat by Lady Mary at 
 table d'hote. Read tracts presented by Lady 
 Mary. Made acquaintance. Lovely orphan's 
 travelling companion or governess discovered 
 to be live sister of defunct travelling com- 
 panion or governess of Lady Mary. Result, 
 warm friendship. Ralph, like a dutiful 
 nephew, appears on the scene. Fortnight 
 of fine weather. Interesting expeditions. 
 Romantic attachment, cemented by diamond 
 and pearl ring from Hunt and Roskell's. 
 There is the whole story for you.' 
 
€^c ©antjere 3^^^^^ 55 
 
 Evelyn Derrick joined us as he finished 
 speaking. She was a tall, graceful girl, 
 gentle and dignified in manner, with a pale, 
 refined face. She was pretty in a way, but 
 not to compare to Aurelia. Evelyn had an 
 anxious look about her, too. Now I do not 
 approve of a girl looking grave ; she ought 
 to be bright and happy, with a smile for 
 everyone. It is all very well for us men, 
 who have the work of the world to do, to 
 look grave at times, but with women it is 
 different, and a woman always looks her best 
 when she smiles — at least, I think so. 
 
 First, Aurelia came down, perfectly dazzling 
 in white satin ; then George, then Ralph, 
 giving an arm to Lady Mary, who suffered 
 from rheumatism in her foot. Then came 
 the gong, and afterwards a rustle down of 
 more people, young and old, friends of the 
 family who had come to act, or to see their 
 sons and daughters ; but as I never could 
 o^et even their names rii'ht I shall not 
 attempt to give any account of them, 
 
56 Z^c ®antjet0 $evod6 
 
 especially as they are not of importance 
 in any way. 
 
 After dinner, on entering the drawing- 
 room, I found that great excitement pre- 
 vailed among the ladies respecting Sir John's 
 death. About his sad fate and costly legacy 
 they all seemed well informed. I had myself 
 almost forgotten the reason of my taking 
 any interest in my new surroundings, not 
 having even as yet given up the jewels to 
 Sir George Danvers or Ralph ; but at the 
 urgent request of all the ladies at once, Ralph 
 begged me to bring them down to be seen 
 and admired then and there, before the 
 rehearsal began. 
 
 * They will all be yours, you know,' Ralph 
 said to Aurelia. * You shall wear them on 
 your wedding-day.' 
 
 ' You are always talking about being 
 married,' said Aurelia, with a little pout. 
 ' I wish you would try and think of some- 
 thing else to say. I was quite looking 
 forward to it myself until I came here, and 
 
€^e ©antjete 3en?ef0 57 
 
 now I am quite, c/ui'/c tired of it before- 
 hand.' 
 
 Ralph laughed delightedly, and Sir George 
 reminding me that everyone was dying of 
 anxiety, himself included, I ran upstairs to 
 take the brown bag from around my neck, 
 and in a few minutes returned with it in my 
 hand. They were all waiting for me — Lady 
 Mary drawn up in an armchair beside an 
 ebony table, on which a small space near her 
 had been cleared, Charles alone holding 
 rather aloof, sipping his coffee with his back 
 to the fire. 
 
 * Don't jostle,' he said, as they all crowded 
 round me. ' Evelyn, let me beg of you not 
 to elbow forward in that unbecoming manner. 
 Observe how Aunt Mary restrains herself. 
 Take time, Middleton ! your coffee is getting 
 cold. Won't you drink it first ?' 
 
 As he finished speaking I turned the 
 contents of the hug upon the table. The 
 jewels, in the bright lamplight, seemed to 
 blaze and burn into the ebony of the 
 
58 $^e ©antjets ^evoefz 
 
 table. There was a general gasp, a silence, 
 and then a chorus of admiration. Charles 
 came up behind me and looked over my 
 shoulder. 
 
 * Good gracious !' said Lady Mary solemnly. 
 ' Ralph, you are a rich man. Why, mine 
 are nothing to them !' and she touched a 
 diamond and emerald necklace on her own 
 neck. ' I never knew poor Sir John had so 
 much good in him.' 
 
 ' Oh, Ralph, Ralph !' cried Aurella, clasping 
 her little hands with a deep sigh. ' And 
 will they really be my very own ?' 
 
 Ralph assured her that they would, and 
 that she should act in them the following 
 night if she liked. 
 
 I think there was not a woman present 
 who did not envy Aurella as Ralph took 
 up a flashing diamond crescent and held 
 it against her fair hair. I saw Evelyn turn 
 away and begin to tear up a small piece of 
 paper In her hand. Women are very jealous 
 of each other, especially the nice, by which I 
 
t^c ©antjere 3enjef6 59 
 
 mean the pretty, ones. I was sorry to see 
 jealousy so plainly marked in such a charming- 
 looking girl as Evelyn ; but women are all 
 the same about jewels. Aurelia blushed and 
 sparkled and pouted when the clasp caught 
 in her hair, and shook her little head Im- 
 patiently, and was altogether enchanting. 
 
 After the first burst of admiration had 
 subsided. General Marston, an old Indian 
 officer, who had been somewhat in the rear, 
 came up, and looked long at the glittering 
 mass upon the table. 
 
 ' Are you aware,' he said at last to Ralph, 
 pointing to the crescent, ' that those diamonds 
 are of enormous value? I have not seen 
 such stones In any shop In London. I dare 
 not say what that one crescent alone is worth, 
 or that emerald bracelet. Jewels of such 
 value as this are a grave responsibility.* He 
 stood, shaking his head a little, and turning 
 the crescent in his hand. ' Wonderful !' he 
 said. * Wonderful ! Do not tear up that 
 piece of rice-paper, Miss Derrick,' he added, 
 
6o Z^e ®ant)er0 ^ewefs 
 
 taking it from her. ' The crescent was 
 wrapped in it, and I will put it round it 
 again. All these stones want polishing, and 
 many of them resetting. They ought not to 
 be tumbled together in this way in a bag, 
 with nothing to prevent them scratching each 
 other. See, Ralph, here is a clasp broken, 
 and here are some loose stones, and this star 
 has no clasp at all. You must take them up 
 to some trustworthy jeweller, and have them 
 thoroughly looked over.' 
 
 ' I suppose the second son was specially 
 mentioned, Middleton ?' said Charles, as I 
 drew back to let the rest handle and 
 admire. 
 
 * Of course,' said Lady Mary sharply, * and 
 a very fortunate thing, too.' 
 
 * Very — for Ralph,' he replied. ' It is really 
 providential that I am what I am. Why, I 
 might have ruined the dear boy's prospects 
 if I had paid my tailor's bill, and lived in the 
 country among the buttercups and daisies. 
 Ah ! my dear aunt, as I see you are about 
 
Z^e ®ant)er0 geiDefe 6i 
 
 to remark, how all things here below work 
 together for good !' 
 
 ' I was not going to remark anything of 
 the kind,' retorted Lady Mary, drawing 
 herself up ; ' but,' she added spitefully, ' I 
 do not feel the less rejoiced at Ralph's good 
 fortune and prosperity, when I see, as I so 
 often do, the ungodly flourishing like a green 
 bay-tree.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Charles, shaking his head, 
 ' if that is your own experience, I bow before 
 it. But for my own part, I must confess I 
 have not found it so. Flourish like a ereen 
 bay-tree ! No, Aunt Mary, it is a fallacy. 
 They don't. I am sure I only wish they did. 
 But I see the rehearsal is beginning. May 
 I give you an arm to the hall ?' 
 
 The offer was entirely disregarded, and it 
 was with the help of mine that Lady Mary 
 retired from an unequal combat, which she 
 never seemed able to resist provoking anew, 
 and in which she was invariably worsted, 
 causing her, as I could see, to regard Charles 
 
62 $^e ©anuers 3eiDef0 
 
 with the concentrated bitterness of which a 
 severely good woman alone Is capable. 
 
 I soon perceived that Charles was on the 
 same amicable terms with his father ; that 
 they rarely spoke, and that it was evidently 
 only with a view to keeping up appearances 
 that he was ever invited to the paternal roof 
 at all. Between the brothers, however, in 
 spite of so much to estrange them, a certain 
 kindliness of feeling seemed to exist, which 
 was hardly to have been expected under the 
 circumstances. 
 
 The rehearsal now began, and Sir George 
 Danvers, who had remained behind to put 
 by the jewels and lock them up in his 
 strong-box among his papers, came and sat 
 down by me, again thanking me for taking 
 charge of them, though I assured him it had 
 been very little trouble. 
 
 * Not much trouble, perhaps, but a great 
 responsibility,' he said courteously. 
 
 * A soldier. Sir George,' I replied, with a 
 slight smile, ' becomes early inured to the 
 
t^c Vanvevs 3en)efe 63 
 
 gravest responsibility. It is the air we 
 breathe ; it is taken as a matter of course.' 
 
 He looked keenly at me, and was silent, 
 as if considering something — perhaps what I 
 had said. 
 
 I was delighted to find the play was one of 
 those which I had seen acted during our 
 passage home. There is nothing I like so 
 much as knowing a play beforehand, because 
 then one can always whisper to one's 
 companion what is coming next. The stage, 
 with all its adjustments, had been carefully 
 arranged, the foot-lights were lighted, the 
 piece began. All went well till nearly the 
 end of the first act, when there was a cry 
 behind the scenes of 'Mr. Denis!' Mr. 
 Denis should have rushed on, but Mr. Denis 
 did not rush on. The play stopped. Mr. 
 Denis was not in the library, the improvised 
 green-room ; Mr. Denis did not appear when 
 his name was called in stentorian tones by 
 Ralph, or in pathetic falsetto by Charles. In 
 short, Mr. Denis was not forthcoming. A 
 
64 $5e ©anuere 3en)ef0 
 
 rush upstairs on the part of most of the 
 young men brought to light the awful fact 
 that Mr. Denis had retired to his chamber, a 
 prey to sudden and acute indisposition. 
 
 * Dear me !' said Charles to Lady Mary, 
 with a dismal shake of his head, * how 
 precarious is life ! Here to-day, and in bed 
 to-morrow. Support your Aunt Mary, my 
 dear Evelyn ; she wishes to retire to rest. 
 Indeed, we may as well all go to bed, for 
 there will be no more acting to-night without 
 poor Denis. I only trust he may be spared 
 to us till to-morrow, and that he may be 
 well enough to die by my hand to-morrow 
 evening.' 
 
 We all dispersed for the night in some 
 anxiety. The play could not proceed without 
 Mr. Denis, who took an important part ; and 
 Sir. George ruefully informed me that all the 
 neighbouring houses had been filled for these 
 theatricals, and that great numbers of people 
 were expected. There was to be dancing 
 afterwards, but the principal feature of the 
 
€^e ®ant?er6 3en)ef6 65 
 
 entertainment was the play. We all retired 
 to rest fervently hoping that the health of 
 Mr. Denis might be restored by the following 
 morning. 
 
[ 66 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 But far from being better the following 
 morning, Denis was much worse. Charles, 
 who had sat up most of the night with him, 
 and who came down to breakfast more cool 
 and indifferent than ever, at once extinguished 
 any hope that still remained that he would be 
 able to take his part that night. 
 
 Great was the consternation of the whole 
 party. A vague feeling of resentment against 
 Denis prevailed among the womankind, who, 
 having all preserved their own healths intact 
 for the occasion (and each by her own 
 account was a chronic invalid), felt it was 
 extremely inconsiderate, not to say indelicate, 
 of * a great man like him ' to spoil everything 
 by being laid up at the wrong moment. 
 
 But what was to be done ? Denis was ill. 
 
€^e ©antjere ^et^ocfs 67 
 
 and without Denis the play could not proceed. 
 Must the whole thing be given up ? There 
 was a general chorus of lamentation. 
 
 * I see no alternative,' said Charles, * unless 
 some Curtius will leap into the gulf, and go 
 through the piece, reading the part ; and 
 that is always a failure at the best of times.' 
 
 At that moment I had an idea. It broke 
 upon me like a flash of lightning. Valentine 
 Carr ! I had seen him act the very part 
 Denis was to have taken, in the theatricals 
 on the steamer. How wonderfully fortunate 
 that it should have occurred to me. 
 
 I told Charles that I had a friend who had 
 acted that part only the week before. 
 
 * Yo2i /' cried Charles, losing all his 
 customary apathy. * You don't say so ! 
 Great heavens, where is he ? Out with 
 him ! Where is he at this moment ? 
 England, Ireland, Scotland, or Wales? 
 Where is this treasure concealed ?' 
 
 'Oh, Colonel Middleton ! Oh, how 
 delightful !' cried a number of gentle voices ; 
 
68 $5e ®ant)et0 ^ewefe 
 
 and I was instantly surrounded, and all 
 manner of questions put to me. Would he 
 come ? Was he tall ? And oh ! had he a 
 beard ? He had not a beard, had he ? 
 because it would not do for the part. Did 
 he act well ? When had he acted ? Where 
 had he acted ? 
 
 Sir George interrupted the torrent of inter- 
 rogation. 
 
 ' Do you think he would come ?' he asked. 
 
 ' I am almost sure he would,' I said ; ' he 
 is a great friend of mine.' 
 
 * It would be an exceedingly good-natured 
 and friendly act,' said Sir George. * Charles 
 — no, I mean Ralph — bring a telegraph form ; 
 and if you will write a telegram at once, 
 Middleton, I will send it to the station 
 directly. We shall have an answer by twelve 
 o'clock, and, until then, we will not give up 
 all hope, though, of course, we must not 
 count on your friend being able to come at 
 such short notice.' 
 
 The telegram was written and despatched, 
 
<tdc ®ant)er6 ^evotfa 69 
 
 Carr having given me an address where 
 letters would find him, though he said he did 
 not put up there. I sincerely hoped he would 
 not be out of the way on this occasion, and I 
 was not a little pleased when, a few hours 
 later, I received a telegram in reply, saying 
 that he could come, and should arrive by the 
 afternoon train which had brought me the 
 day before. 
 
 The spirits of the whole party revived. I 
 (as is often the case) was in high favour 
 with all. Even poor Denis, who had been 
 very much depressed, was sufficiently relieved 
 by the news, so Charles said, to smile over 
 his beef-tea. Lady Mary, who appeared at 
 luncheon time, treated me with marked con- 
 sideration. I had already laid them under 
 an obligation, she said graciously, by under- 
 taking the care of the jewels, and now they 
 were indebted to me a second time. Was 
 Mr. Carr one of Lord Barrantyne's sons, or 
 was he one of the Crampshire Carrs ? She 
 had known Lady Caroline Carr in her youth, 
 
70 Z^e 'BanvcvB 3en)ef6 
 
 but had not met her of late years. She 
 seemed surprised when I told her that Carr 
 was an American, and he sank, I could see, 
 at once in her estimation ; but she was kind 
 enough to say that she was not a person who 
 was prejudiced in any way by a man's nation- 
 ality, and that she believed that very respect- 
 able people might be found among the 
 Americans. 
 
 The day passed in the usual preparations 
 for an entertainment. If I went into the hall, 
 I was sure to run against gardeners carrying 
 in quantities of hothouse plants, with which 
 the front of the stage was being hidden from 
 the footlights to the floor ; if I wandered into 
 the library, I interrupted Aurelia and Ralph 
 rehearsing their parts alone, with their heads 
 very close together ; if I hastily withdrew into 
 the morning- room, it was only to find Charles 
 upon his knees, luring Evelyn to immediate 
 flight, in soul-stirring accents, before an ad- 
 miring audience of not unenvious young- 
 ladyhood. 
 
Z^e ©antjere ^evoefa 71 
 
 ' Now, Evelyn, I ask you as a favour,' said 
 Charles, as I came in, moving towards her 
 on his knees, ' will you come a little closer 
 when I am down ? I don't mind wearinof 
 out my knees the least in a good cause ; but 
 I owe it to myself, as a wicked baron in hired 
 tights, not to cross the stage in that position. 
 Any impression I make will be quite lost if I 
 do ; and unless you keep closer, I shall never 
 be able to reach your hand and clasp it to a 
 heart at least two yards away. Now' — 
 rising, and crossing over to the other side — 
 *I shall begin again. **Ah! but my soul's 
 adored 
 
 ' Is Middleton here ?' asked a voice in the 
 doorway. It was Sir George who had put 
 his head into the room, and I went to him. 
 
 ' I say, Middleton,' he began, twirling his 
 stick, and looking rather annoyed, * it is ex- 
 cessively provoking. I never thought of it 
 before, but I find there is not a bed in the 
 house. Every cranny has been filled. It 
 never occurred to me that we had not a 
 
72 $5e ^anvetB 3en)ef0 
 
 room for your friend, now that he is kind 
 enough to come. And it looks so rude, 
 when it is so exceedingly good-natured of 
 him to come at all.' 
 
 * Oh, dear ; anywhere will do !' I said. 
 
 * There is not even room for Ralph in the 
 house,' continued Sir George. ' I have put 
 him up at the lodge ' — pointing to a small 
 house at the end of the drive, near the great 
 entrance gates. ' There is another nice little 
 room leading out of his,' he added, hesitating, 
 * but, really, I don't like to suggest ' 
 
 ' Oh, that will do perfectly !' I broke in. 
 ' Carr is not the sort of fellow to care a straw 
 how he is put up. He will be quite content 
 anywhere.' 
 
 ' Come and see it,' he said, leading the 
 way out of doors. * I would have turned out 
 Charles in a moment, and given Carr his 
 room ; but Denis is really rather ill, and 
 Charles sees to him, as he is next door.' 
 
 I could not help saying how much I liked 
 Charles. 
 
Z^e ®ant?er6 Senjefg 73 
 
 ' Strangers always do,' he replied coldly, 
 as we walked towards the lodge. ' I con- 
 stantly hear him spoken of as a most agree- 
 able young man.' 
 
 ' And he is so handsome.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Sir George, in the same hard 
 tone, ' handsome and agreeable. I have no 
 doubt he appears so to others ; but I, who 
 have had to pay the debts and hush up the 
 scandals of my handsome and agreeable son, 
 find Ralph, who has not a feature in his face, 
 the best-looking of the two. I know Charles 
 is head over ears in debt at this moment, 
 but' — with sudden acrimony — 'he will not 
 get another farthing from me. It is pouring 
 water into a sieve.' 
 
 * Ralph is marrying a sweetly pretty 
 creature,' I said with warmth, desirous of 
 changing the subject. 
 
 ' Yes, she is very pretty,' said Sir George 
 without enthusiasm. ' But I wish she had 
 belonged to one of our county families. It 
 is nothing in the way of connection. She 
 
74 t^e ®ant?er0 2ien)cfB 
 
 has no relations to speak of — one uncle living 
 in Australia, and another, whom she goes to 
 on Saturday, in Ireland. There seems to be 
 no money either. It is Lady Mary's doing. 
 She took a fancy to her abroad ; and, to say 
 the truth, I did not wish to object, for, at 
 one time, there seemed to be an attraction 
 between himself and his cousin, Evelyn 
 Derrick, which his aunt and I were both 
 glad to think had passed over. I do not 
 approve of marriages between cousins.' 
 
 We had reached the lodge by this time, 
 and I was shown a tidy little room leading 
 out of the one Ralph was occupying, in 
 which I assured Sir George that Carr 
 would be perfectly comfortable, much to the 
 courteous old gentleman's relief, though I 
 could see that he was evidently annoyed at 
 not being able to put him up in the house. 
 
 In the afternoon, towards five o'clock, Carr 
 arrived. I went into the hall to meet him, 
 and to bring him into the drawing-room 
 myself. Just as we came in, and while I 
 
Z^e ©antjere 3emef6 75 
 
 was introducing him to Sir George, Ralph 
 and AureHa, who were sitting together as 
 usual, started a lovers' squabble. 
 ' Oh my /' said Ralph suddenly. 
 
 * It is all your fault. You jogged my 
 elbow,' came Aurelia's quick rejoinder. 
 
 ' My dearest love, I did no^/ returned 
 Ralph on his knees, pocket-handkerchief in 
 hand. 
 
 It appeared that, between them, they had 
 managed to transfer Aurelia's tea from her 
 cup to the front of her dress. 
 
 ' You did ; you know you did !' she said, 
 evidently ready to cry w^ith vexation. ' I 
 was just going to drink, and you had your 
 arm round the back of my ' 
 
 ' Hush, Aurelia, I beg !' expostulated 
 Charles. * Aunt Mary and I are becoming 
 embarrassed. It is not necessary to enter 
 into particulars as to the exact locality of 
 Ralph's arm.' 
 
 * Round the back of my chair,' pouted 
 Aurelia. 
 
76 t^e ®anuet6 3ett}ef6 
 
 ' It Is all right, Aunt Mary,' called Charles 
 cheerfully to that lady. * Only the back of 
 her chair. We took alarm unnecessarily. 
 Just as it should be. I have done the same 
 myself with — a different chair.' 
 
 * He is always doing it,' continued Aurelia, 
 unmolllfied. ' I have told him about It before. 
 He made me drop a piece of bread-and-butter 
 on the carpet only yesterday.' 
 
 ' I ate It afterwards,' humbly suggested 
 Ralph, still on his knees, 'and there were 
 hairs in It. There were Indeed, Aurelia.' 
 
 * And now It Is my tea-gown,' continued 
 Aurelia, giving way to the prettiest little out- 
 burst of temper Imaginable. ' I wish you 
 would get up and go away, Ralph, and not 
 come back. You are only making it worse 
 by rubbing it in that silly way with your wet 
 handkerchief.' 
 
 * Here Is another,' said Charles, snatching 
 up Lady Mary's delicate cambric one, which 
 was lying on her work-table, while I was In 
 the act of Introducing Carr to her; and before 
 
t^c ©antjere jievoefe 77 
 
 that lady's politeness to Carr would allow her 
 to turn from him to expostulate, Charles was 
 on his knees beside Ralph, wiping the offend- 
 ing stain. 
 
 * " Out, damned spot !" or rather, series of 
 spots. What, Aurelia ? you don't wish it 
 rubbed any more ? Good ; I will turn my 
 attention to the Aubusson carpet. Ha ! 
 triumph ! Here, at least, I am successful. 
 Aunt Mary, you have no conception how 
 useful your handkerchief is. The amount of 
 tea, or dirt, or both, which is leaving the 
 carpet and taking refuge in your little square 
 of cambric, will surprise you when you see it. 
 Ah !' — rising from his knees as I brought up 
 Carr, having, by this time, presented him to 
 Sir George — * very happy to see you, Mr. 
 Carr. Most kind of you to come. Evelyn, 
 are you pouring out some tea for Mr. Carr .'^ 
 Nature requires support before a last re- 
 hearsal. May I introduce you to my cousin, 
 Miss Derrick ?' 
 
 After Carr had also been introduced to 
 
78 t-^e ®ant)et6 3en)ef0 
 
 Aurelia, who, however, was still too much 
 absorbed in her tea-gown to take much notice 
 of him, he seemed glad to retreat to a chair 
 by Evelyn, who gave him his tea, and talked 
 pleasantly to him. He was very shy at first, 
 but he soon got used to us, and many were 
 the curious glances shot at him by the rest 
 of the party as tea went on. There was to 
 be a last rehearsal immediately afterwards, 
 so that he might take part in it ; and there 
 was a general unacknowledged anxiety on 
 the part of all the actors as to how he 
 would bear that crucial test on which so 
 much depended. I was becoming anxious 
 myself, being in a manner responsible for 
 him. 
 
 ' You're not nervous, are you ?' I said, 
 taking him aside when tea was over. ' Only 
 act half as well as you did on the steamer, 
 and you will do capitally.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am nervous,' he replied, with a 
 short, uneasy laugh. * It is enough to make 
 a fellow nervous to be set down among a lot 
 
Z^e ®ant)er6 Settjefg 79 
 
 of people whom he has never seen before — 
 to act a principal part, too. I had no idea 
 it was going to be such a grand affair, or I 
 would not have come. I only did it to 
 please you.' 
 
 Of course, I knew that, and I tried to 
 reassure him, reminding him that the audience 
 would not be critical, and how grateful every 
 one was to him for coming. 
 
 ' Tell me who some of the people are, 
 will you ?' he went on. * Who is that tall 
 man with the fair moustache ? He is looking 
 at us now.' 
 
 ' That is Charles, the eldest son,' I replied ; 
 ' and the shorter one, with the pleasant face, 
 near the window, is Ralph, his younger 
 brother.' 
 
 * That is a very good-looking girl he is 
 talking to,' he remarked. ' I did not catch 
 her name.' 
 
 'Hush!' I said. 'That is Miss Grant, 
 to whom he is engaged. They have just 
 had a little tiff, and are making it up. He 
 
8o tH ®ant)er0 3en)ef6 
 
 does talk to her a good deal ; I have noticed 
 it myself. Such a sweet creature !' 
 
 * Is she going to act ?' 
 
 *Yes,' I replied. 'They are going to 
 begin at once. You need not dress ; it is 
 not a dress rehearsal.' 
 
 ' I think I will go and get my boots off, 
 though,' said Carr. ' Can you show me 
 where I am ?' 
 
 * I am afraid you are not in the house at 
 all,' I said. ' The fact is — did not Sir George 
 tell you ?' 
 
 And then I explained. 
 
 For a moment his face fell, but it cleared 
 instantly, though not before I had noticed 
 it. 
 
 * You don't mind !' I said, astonished. 
 ' You quite understand ' 
 
 ' Of course, of course,' he interrupted. 
 ' It is all right. I have a cold, that is all ; 
 and I have to sing next week. I shall do 
 very well. Pray don't tell your friends I 
 have a cold. I am sure Sir George is kind- 
 
2^0e ®ant?er6 ^icvods 8i 
 
 ness itself, and it might make him uneasy to 
 think I was not in the house.' 
 
 The rehearsal now began, and in much 
 trepidation I waited to see Carr come on. 
 The moment he appeared all anxiety vanished ; 
 the other actors were reassured, and acted 
 their best. A few passages had to be re- 
 peated, a few positions altered, but it was 
 obvious that Carr could act, and act well, 
 though, curiously enough, he looked less 
 gentlemanlike and well-bred when acting 
 with Charles than he had done when he was 
 the best among a very mixed set on the 
 steamer. 
 
 * You act beautifully, Mr. Carr,' said 
 Aurelia when it was over. ' Doesn't he, 
 Ralph ?' 
 
 * Doesn't he ?' replied Ralph, hot, but 
 good-humoured. ' I am sure, Carr, we are 
 most grateful to you.' 
 
 ' So am I,' said Charles. * Your death 
 agonies, Carr, are a credit to human nature. 
 No great vulgar writhings with legs all over 
 
 6 
 
82 $5e ©dttDere ^ewefs 
 
 the stage, like Denis, but a chaste, refined 
 wriggle, and all was over. It is a pleasure 
 to kill a man who dies in such a gentleman- 
 like manner. If only Evelyn will keep a 
 little closer to me when I am on my wicked 
 baronial knees, I shall be quite happy. You 
 hear, Evelyn ?' 
 
 * How you can joke at this moment,' said 
 Evelyn, who looked pale and nervous, ' I 
 cannot think. I don't believe I shall be 
 able to remember a word when it comes to 
 the point.' 
 
 'Stage -fever coming on already,' said 
 Charles, in a different tone. ' Ah, it is your 
 first appearance, is it not ? Go and rest now, 
 and you will be all right when the time 
 comes. I have a vision of a great success, 
 and a call before the curtain, and bouquets, 
 and other delights. Only go and rest 
 now.' 
 
 And he went to light a candle for her. 
 He seemed very thoughtful for Evelyn. 
 
 It was the signal for all of us to disperse — 
 
Z^c ©antjers Senjefs 83 
 
 the ladies to their rooms, the men to the 
 only retreat left to them, the smoking-room. 
 As Aurelia went upstairs, I saw her beckon 
 Ralph and whisper to him : 
 
 ' Am I really to wear them ?' 
 
 'Wear what, my angel? The jewels? 
 Why, good gracious! I had quite forgotten 
 them. Of course, I want you to wear 
 them.' 
 
 'So do I, dreadfully,' she replied, with a 
 killing glance over the banisters. ' Only, if 
 I am, you must bring them down in good 
 time, and put them on in the green-room. 
 I hope you have got them somewhere safe.' 
 
 ' Safe as a church,' replied Ralph, for- 
 getting that in these days the simile is 
 not a good one. ' Father has them in his 
 strong-box. I will ask him to get them out 
 —at least, all that can be worn — and I will 
 give them a rub up before you wear them.' 
 
 ' Ah,' said Charles sadly, as we walked 
 upstairs, ' if only I had known Sir John !' 
 
PART II. 
 
[«7 ] 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was nearly eight o'clock when I came 
 down. The play was to begin at eight. The 
 hall, which was brilliantly lighted, was one 
 moving mass of black coats, with here and 
 there a red one, and evening dresses many 
 coloured, the people in them chatting, bowing, 
 laughing, being ushered to their places. 
 Lady Mary and Sir George Danvers side 
 by side received their guests at the foot of 
 the grand staircase, Lady Mary resplendent 
 in diamond tiara and riviere, smiling as if 
 she could never frown ; Sir George upright, 
 courteous, a trifle stiff, as most English 
 country gentlemen feel it incumbent on 
 themselves to be on such occasions. 
 
 Presently the continual roll of the carriages 
 outside ceased, the lamps were toned down, 
 
88 t^e ®ant)et6 3en)ef6 
 
 the orchestra struck up, and Sir George and 
 Lady Mary took their seats, looking round 
 with anxious satisfaction at the hall crowded 
 with people. People lined the walls ; chairs 
 were being lifted over the heads of the sitting 
 for some who were still standing ; cushions 
 were being arranged on the billiard-table at 
 the back for a covey of white waistcoats who 
 arrived late ; the staircase was already crowded 
 with servants ; the whole place was crammed. 
 I wondered how they were getting on 
 behind the scenes, and, slipping out of the 
 hall, I traversed the great gold and white 
 drawing-room, prepared for dancing, and 
 peeped into the morning-room, which, with 
 the adjoining library, had been given up to 
 the actors. They were all assembled in the 
 morning-room, however, waiting for one of 
 the elder ladies who had not come down. 
 The prompter was getting fidgety, and walk- 
 ing about. The two scene-shifters — pale, 
 weary-looking men who had come down with 
 the scenery — were sitting in the wings, 
 
^^e %anvcv6 JemefB 89 
 
 perfectly apathetic amid the general excite- 
 ment. Charles and several other actors were 
 standing round a footman who was opening 
 champagne bottles at a surprising rate. I 
 saw Charles take a glass to Evelyn, who 
 was shivering with a sharp attack of stage- 
 fever in an arm-chair, looking over her part. 
 She smiled gratefully, but as she did so her 
 eyes wandered to the other side of the room, 
 where Ralph, on his knees before Aurelia, 
 was fastening a diamond star in her dress. 
 Diamonds, rubies, and emeralds flashed in 
 her hair and on her white neck and arms. 
 Ralph was fixing the last ornament on to 
 her shoulder with wire off a champagne bottle, 
 there being no clasp to hold it in its place. 
 I saw Evelyn turn away again, and Charles, 
 who was watching her, suddenly went off to 
 the fire, and began to complain of the cold 
 and of the thinness of his silk stockings. 
 
 The elder lady — ' the heavy mother,' as 
 Charles irreverently called her — now arrived ; 
 the orchestra, which was giving a final 
 
90 $9e ®anuer0 3en)ef0 
 
 flourish, was begged in a hoarse whisper to 
 keep going a few minutes longer ; eyes were 
 applied to the hole in the curtain, and then, 
 everyone being assembled, it was felt by all 
 that the awful moment had come at last. A 
 more miserable-looking set of people I never 
 saw. I always imagined that the actors 
 behind the scenes were as gay off the stage 
 as on it ; but I found, to my astonishment, 
 that they were all suffering more or less from 
 severe mental depression. Ralph and Aurelia 
 were now sitting ruefully together on an 
 ottoman beside the painting-table, littered 
 with its various rouges and creams and stage 
 appliances. Even Charles, who had estab- 
 lished Evelyn on a chair in the wings at the 
 side she had to come on from, and was now 
 drinking champagne with due regard to his 
 paint — even Charles owned to being nervous. 
 ' I wish to goodness Mrs. Wright would 
 begin !' he said. * Ah, there she goes ' — as 
 she ascended the stage steps. ' There goes 
 the bell. We are in for it now. She starts, 
 
€^c ©antjere 3en)ef6 91 
 
 and I come on next. Up goes the curtain. 
 Where the devil has my book got to ?' 
 
 In another moment he was in the wings, 
 intent on his part ; then I saw him throw 
 down his book and go jauntily forward. A 
 moment more, and there was a thunder of 
 applause. All the actors looked at each 
 other and smiled a feeble smile. 
 
 ' He will do,' said General Marston, the 
 Indian officer, who, now in the dress of an 
 old-fashioned livery servant, proceeded to 
 mount the steps. It dawned upon me that 
 I was missing the play, and I hurried back, 
 to find Charles convulsing the audience with 
 the utmost coolness, and evidently enjoying 
 himself exceedingly. Then Evelyn came 
 
 on But who cares to read a description 
 
 of a play ? It is sufficient to say that Aurelia 
 looked charming, and many were the whis- 
 pered comments on her magnificent jewels ; 
 but on the stage Evelyn surpassed her, as 
 much as Aurelia surpassed Evelyn off it. 
 
 Ralph and Carr did well, but Charles 
 
92 Z^c ®ant)er0 3enjef0 
 
 was the favourite with everyone, from the 
 Duchess of Crushington in the front seat to 
 the scullery- maid on the staircase. He was 
 so bold, so wicked, so insinuating, in his 
 plumed cap and short cloak, so elegantly 
 refined when he wiped his sword upon his 
 second's handkerchief. He took everyone's 
 heart by storm. Ralph, who represented all 
 the virtues, with rather thick ankles and a 
 false moustache, was nowhere. When the 
 curtain fell for the last time, amid great and 
 continued applause, the 'heavy mother,' 
 Ralph, Aurelia, all were well received as 
 they passed before it ; but Charles, who 
 appeared last, was the hero of the evening. 
 
 * He is engaged to his cousin. Miss 
 Derrick, isn't he ?' said a lady near me in a 
 loud whisper to a friend. 
 
 'Hush! no. Charles can't marry. Head 
 over ears in debt. They say s/ie is attached 
 to one of her cousins, but I forget which. 
 I am not sure it was not the other one.' 
 
 * Then it is the second son who is going 
 
€^e ©antjere Jcrtjefe 93 
 
 to be married, is it ? I know I heard some- 
 thing about one of them being engaged.' 
 
 ' Yes, the second son is engaged to that 
 good-looking girl in diamonds, who acted 
 Florence Mordaunt. A lot of money, I 
 believe, but not much in the way of family. 
 Grandfather sold mousetraps in Birmingham, 
 so people say.' 
 
 ' She looks like it !' replied the other, who 
 had daughters out, and could not afford to 
 let any praise of other girls pass. ' No 
 breeding or refinement ; and she will be 
 stout later, you will see.' 
 
 The play being over, a general movement 
 now set in towards the drawing-room, where 
 the band was already installed, and making 
 its presence known by an inspiriting valse 
 tune. In a few moments twenty, thirty, 
 forty couples were swaying to the music ; 
 Aurelia, in her acting costume, was dancing 
 away with Ralph in his red stockings, Carr 
 with the ' heavy mother,' and Charles in 
 prosaic evening-dress was flying past with 
 
94 t^e ^anvexB genjefs 
 
 Evelyn, who, now that she had effaced her 
 beautiful stage complexion, looked pale and 
 grave as ever. 
 
 I suppose It was a capital ball. Everyone 
 seemed to enjoy it. I did not dance myself, 
 but I liked watching the others ; and after a 
 time Charles, who had been dancing inde- 
 fatigably with two schoolroom girls with 
 pigtails, came and flung himself down on the 
 other half of the ottoman on which I was 
 sitting. 
 
 * Three times with each !' he said, in a 
 voice of extreme exhaustion. ' No favouritism. 
 I have done for to-night now.' 
 
 * What ! Are you not going to dance any 
 more ?' 
 
 * No, not unless Evelyn will give me 
 another turn later, which she probably won't. 
 There she goes with Lord Breakwater again. 
 How I do dislike that young man ! And 
 look at Carr, valsing with Aurelia ! He 
 seems to be leaping on her feet a good deal, 
 and she looks as if she were tellinor him so, 
 
<t^c ®ant?er6 ^enjcfs 95 
 
 1 
 
 does not she ? There ! they have subsided 
 into the bay window. I thought she would 
 not stand it long. He does not dance as 
 well as he acts. Heigh-ho ! Come in to 
 supper with me, Middleton. The supper- 
 room will be emptier now, and I am dying 
 of hunger. You must be the same, for you 
 had no regular dinner any more than we 
 had. Come along. We will get a certain 
 little table for two that I know of in the bay 
 window, where I took the fair pigtail just 
 now, to the evident anxiety of the parental 
 chignon, who was at the large table. We will 
 have a good feed in peace and quietness.' 
 
 In a few minutes we were established in a 
 quiet nook in the supper-room, which was 
 now half empty, and were making short 
 work of everything before us. 
 
 ' How well Carr acted !' said Charles at 
 last, leaning back, and leisurely sipping his 
 champagne. ' I can think of something 
 besides food now. Did not you think he 
 acted well ?' 
 
96 $5e ^amoevB ^erodz 
 
 ' Yes/ I said ; ' but you cut him out.' 
 
 * Did I ?' said Charles absently, beckoning 
 to some lobster salad which was passing. 
 ' Have some ? Do, Middleton. We can 
 but die once. You won't ? Well, I will ! 
 Have you often seen Carr act before ?' 
 
 ' Never,' I said. ' I never met him till he 
 came on board the Bosphorus at ' 
 
 'Indeed! Oh, I fancied you were quite 
 old friends !' 
 
 * We made great friends on the steamer.' 
 
 * Did you see much of him in London .^' 
 he asked, filling up his glass and mine. 
 
 ' Not much, naturally,' I said, laughing. 
 ' I was only in London two nights.' 
 
 * Ah ! I forgot. Very good of you, I am 
 sure, to come down here so soon after your 
 arrival. You would hardly have seen him 
 at all since you landed, then ?' 
 
 ' Carr ? Yes,' I replied, thinking Charles's 
 talk was becoming very vague ; though when 
 I rallied him about it next day he assured 
 me it had been very much to the point 
 
Z^c ©anverg 3emef6 97 
 
 indeed. * We dined and went to the play- 
 together, and had rather a nasty accident 
 into the bargain on our way home.' 
 
 ' What kind of accident ?' 
 
 I told him the particulars, which seemed 
 to interest him very much. 
 
 ' And you had all those jewels of poor Sir 
 John's with you, no doubt,' continued Charles. 
 ' You said you had them on you day and night. 
 I wonder you were not relieved of them.' 
 
 ' That is just what Carr said,' I went on ; 
 ' for he lost something of his, poor fellow. 
 However, I had left them with Jane in a — 
 in a safe place.' 
 
 I did not think it necessary to mention the 
 tea-caddy. 
 
 ' Oh ! so Carr knew you had charge of 
 them, did he ?' said Charles. ' Have some 
 of these grapes, Middleton ; the white ones 
 are the best.' 
 
 ' Yes,' I said ; ' he was the only person 
 who had any idea of such a thing. I am 
 very careful, I can tell you ; and I did not 
 
 7 
 
98 Z^e ^anvexB ^enjefe 
 
 mean to have half the ship's company know 
 that I had valuables to such an amount upon 
 
 me. When I told Jane about them ' 
 
 ' Oh ! then Jane — I beg her pardon, Miss 
 Middleton — was aware you had them with 
 you ?' 
 
 * Of course !' I replied ; * and she was 
 quite astonished at them when I showed 
 them to her/ 
 
 ' I hope/ continued Charles, with his 
 charming smile — all the more charming 
 because it was so rare — ' that Miss Middle- 
 ton will add me to the number of her friends 
 some day. I live in London, you know ; 
 but I wonder at ladies caring to live there. 
 No poultry or garden, to which the female 
 mind usually clings.* 
 
 * Jane seems to like it,' I said. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Charles meditatively. * I 
 dare say she is very wise. A woman who 
 lives alone is much safer in town than in an 
 isolated house in the country, in case of fire, 
 or thieves, or ' 
 
it^e ©antjere 3^^^^^ 99 
 
 'Well, I don't know that,' I said. *I 
 don't see that they are so very safe. Why, 
 only the night before I came down here ' 
 
 I stopped. I had looked up to catch a 
 sudden glimpse of Carr's face, pale and 
 uneasy, watching us in a mirror opposite. 
 In a moment I saw his face turn smiling to 
 another — Evelyn's, I think — and both were 
 
 gone. 
 
 Charles's light steel eyes were fixed full 
 upon me. 
 
 ' " Only the night before you came down 
 here," you were saying,' he remarked, lean- 
 ing back and half shutting them, as usual. 
 
 ' Yes, only the night before I came down 
 here our house was broken into ;' and I 
 gave him a short account of what had 
 happened. * And only the night before ///a/,' 
 I added ; ' a poor woman was murdered in 
 Jane's old house. I remember it especially, 
 because I went to the house by mistake, not 
 knowing Jane had moved, and I saw her, 
 poor thing, sitting by the fire. I don't see 
 
loo $3e ©anuere geitjefc 
 
 that living in town is so much safer for life 
 and property, after all.' 
 
 ' Dear me ! no. You are right, perfectly 
 right,' said Charles dreamily. * Your sister's 
 experience proves it. And that other poor 
 creature — only the night before — and in 
 Miss Middleton's former house, too. Well, 
 Middleton,' with a start, * I suppose we 
 ought to be going back now. I have got 
 all I want, if you have. I wonder what 
 time it is ? I'm dog tired.' 
 
 We re-entered the ball-room to find the 
 last valse being played, and a crowd of 
 people taking leave of Lady Mary. 
 
 ' Where's father ?' asked Charles, as Ralph 
 came up. * He ought to be here to say 
 good-night.' 
 
 * He's gone to bed,' said Ralph. ' Aunt 
 Mary sent him. He was quite done up. 
 He has been on his legs all day. I expect 
 he will be laid up to-morrow.' 
 
 In a quarter of an hour the ball-room was 
 empty, and Lady Mary, who was dragging 
 
i^e ©antjere ^enjefe loi 
 
 herself wearily towards the hall as the last 
 carriage rolled away, felt that she might 
 safely restore the balance of her mind by a 
 sudden lapse from the gracious and benevo- 
 lent to the acid and severe. 
 
 ' To bed ! to bed !' she kept repeating. 
 • Where is Evelyn ? I want her arm. 
 General Marston, Colonel Middleton, will 
 you have the goodness to go and glean up 
 these young people ? Mrs. Marston and 
 Lady Delmour, you must both be tired to 
 death. Let us go on, and they can follow.' 
 
 General Marston and I found a whole 
 flock of the said young people in the library, 
 candle in hand, laughing and talking, think- 
 ing they were going that moment, but not 
 doing it, and all, in fact, listening to Charles, 
 who was expounding a theory of his own 
 respecting ball-dresses, which seemed to meet 
 with the greatest feminine derision. 
 
 ' First take your silk slip,' he was saying 
 as we came in. * There is nothing indis- 
 creet in mentioning a slip, is there, Evelyn ? 
 
I02 $§e ®ant)er0 ^enjefe 
 
 I trust not ; for I heard Lady Delmour 
 telling Mrs. Wright that all well-brought-up 
 young ladies had silk slips. Then ' 
 
 * He exposes his ignorance more entirely 
 every moment/ said Evelyn. * Let us all 
 go to bed, and leave him to hold forth to 
 men who know as little as himself.' 
 
 ' Oh, Ralph,' said Aurelia, pointing to the 
 jewels on her neck and arms ; ' before we go 
 I want you to take back these. I don't 
 like keeping them myself; I am afraid of 
 them.' 
 
 And she began to take them off and lay 
 them on the table. 
 
 ' Nonsense, my pet ! keep them yourself, 
 and lock them up in your dressing-case,' 
 And Ralph held them towards her. 
 
 ' I haven't got a dressing-case,' said 
 Aurelia, pouting ; ' and my hat-box won't 
 lock. I don't like having them. I wish you 
 would keep them yourself.' 
 
 ' Bother !' said Ralph ; * and father has 
 gone to bed. He can't put them back into 
 
€^e ©antjere 3^^^^^ 103 
 
 his safe, and he keeps the key himself. 
 Where is the bag they go in ?' 
 
 Aurelia said that she had seen him put it 
 behind a certain jar on the chimney-piece in 
 the morning-room, and Carr went for it, she 
 following him with a candle, as all the lamps 
 had been put out. They presently returned 
 with it, and Ralph, who had been collecting 
 all the jewels spread over the table, shovelled 
 them in with little ceremony. 
 
 ' Bother !' he said, again looking round and 
 swinging the bag ; . ' what on earth am I to 
 do with them ? Ah, well, here goes !' and he 
 opened a side drawer in a massive writing- 
 table and shoved the bag in. 
 
 ' There !' he said, locking it, and putting 
 the key in his pocket ; ' they will do very 
 well there till to-morrow. Are you content 
 now, Aurelia ?' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' she said ; * I am, if you are.' 
 And she bade us good-night and followed in 
 the wake of the others, who were really under 
 way at last. 
 
I04 ^0e VanvexB gewefe 
 
 As we all tramped wearily upstairs to the 
 smoking-room, I saw Charles draw Ralph 
 aside and whisper something to him. 
 
 * Nonsense !' I heard Ralph say. ' Safe 
 enough. Besides, who would suspect their 
 being there ? Just as safe as in the strong- 
 box. Brahma lock. Won't be bothered any 
 more about them.' 
 
 Charles shrugged his shoulders and 
 marched off to bed. Ralph and Carr like- 
 wise went off shortly afterwards to their 
 rooms in the lodge. Carr looked tired to 
 death. I went down with them, at Ralph's 
 request, to lock the door behind them, as all 
 the servants had gone to bed. 
 
 It was a fine night, still and cold, with a 
 bright moon. It had evidently been snow- 
 ing afresh, for there was not a trace of 
 wheels upon the ground ; but it had ceased 
 now. 
 
 ' Good-night !' called Ralph and Carr, as 
 they went down the steps together. I 
 watched the two figures for a moment in 
 
€^e ®ant)er6 3emef6 105 
 
 the moonlight, their footsteps making a 
 double track in the untrodden snow. The 
 cold was intense. I drew back shivering, 
 and locked and bolted the door. 
 
[ io6] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It is very seldom I cannot sleep, but I could 
 not that night. There was something in the 
 intense quiet and repose of the great house, 
 after all the excitement of the last few hours, 
 that oppressed me. Everything seemed, as 
 I lay awake, so unnaturally silent. There was 
 not a sound in the wide grate, where the last 
 ashes of the fire were silently giving up the 
 ghost, not a rumble of wind in the old 
 chimney, which had had so much to say the 
 night before. I tossed and turned, and 
 vainly sought for sleep, now on this side, 
 now on that. At last I gave up trying, half 
 in the hope that it might steal upon me 
 unawares. I thought of the play and the 
 ball, of poor Charles and his debts — of any- 
 thing and everything, but it was no good. 
 
it^c ©antjere 3en)ef6 107 
 
 In the midst of a jumble of disconnected 
 ideas I suddenly found myself listening 
 again to the silence, listening as if it had 
 been broken by a sound which I had not 
 heard. My watch ticked loud and louder on 
 the dressing-table, and presently I gave quite 
 a start as the distant stable clock tolled out 
 the hour — one — two — three — four. I had 
 gone to bed before three. Had I only been 
 awake an hour? It seemed incredible. 
 Getting up on tip-toe, vaguely afraid myself 
 of breaking the silence, I noiselessly pushed 
 aside the heavy curtains and looked out. 
 
 The moon had set, but by the frosty star- 
 light the outline of the great snow-laden trees 
 and the wide sweep of white drive were still 
 dimly visible. All was silent without as 
 within. Not a branch moved or let fall its 
 freight of snow. There was not a breath of 
 wind stirring. I was on the point of getting 
 back into bed, when I thought in the distance 
 I heard a sound. I listened intently. No ! 
 1 must have been mistaken. Ah ! again, and 
 
io8 $5e ©antjers ^emefs 
 
 nearer. I held my breath. I could distinctly 
 hear a stealthy step coming up the stairs. 
 My room was the nearest to the staircase end 
 of the corridor, and anyone coming up the 
 stairs must pass my door. With a presence 
 of mind which I am glad to say rarely deserts 
 me, I blew out my candle, slipped to the door, 
 and noiselessly opened it a chink. 
 
 Someone was coming down the corridor 
 with the lightness of a cat, candle in hand, as 
 a faint light showed me. Another moment 
 and I saw Charles, pale and haggard, still in 
 evening dress, coming towards me. He was 
 without his shoes. He passed my door and 
 went noiselessly into his own room, a little 
 further down the passage. There was the 
 faintest suspicion of a sound, as of a key 
 being gently turned in the lock, and then all 
 was still again — stiller than ever. 
 
 * What could Charles have been after ?' I 
 wondered. He could not have been return- 
 ing from seeing Denis, who was not only 
 much better, but was in the room beyond his 
 
€d^ ©ant?ere ^cvocfs 109 
 
 own. And why had he still got on his 
 evening clothes at four o'clock in the 
 morning ? I determined to ask him about 
 it next day as I got back into bed again, and 
 then, while wondering about it and trvine 
 to get warm, I fell fast asleep. I was only 
 roused, after being twice called, to find that 
 it was broad daylight, and to hear the boxes 
 being carried down of many of the guests 
 who were leaving by an early train. 
 
 I was late, but not so late as some. 
 Breakfast was still going on. Evelyn and 
 Ralph had been up to see their friends off, 
 but General and Mrs. Marston and Carr, 
 who were staying on, came in after I did. 
 Lady Mary and Aurelia were having break- 
 fast in their own rooms. I think nothing is 
 more dreary than a long breakfast-table, laid 
 for large numbers, with half a dozen picnicing 
 at it among the debris left by earlier ravages. 
 Evelyn behind the great silver urn looked 
 pale and preoccupied, and had very little to 
 say for herself when I journeyed up to her 
 
no $3e ®ant)er0 3etDef6 
 
 end of the table and sat down by her. She 
 asked me twice if I took sugar, and was not 
 bright and alert and ready in conversation, 
 as I think girls should be. Carr, too, was 
 eating his breakfast in silence beside Mrs. 
 Marston. 
 
 It was not cheerful. And then Charles 
 came in, listless and tired, and without an 
 appetite. He sat down wearily on the other 
 side of Evelyn, and watched her pour out his 
 coffee without a word. 
 
 * The Carews and Edmonts and Lady 
 Delmour and her daughters have just gone,* 
 said Evelyn, ^ and Mr. Denis.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Charles, seeming to pull 
 himself together ; ' Denis came to my room 
 before he went. He looked a wreck, poor 
 fellow, but not worse than some of us. 
 These late hours, these friskings with 
 energetic young creatures in the schoolroom, 
 these midnight revels, are too much for me. 
 I feel a perfect wreck this morning, too.' 
 
 He certainly looked it. 
 
Z^e ©antjere ^enjefe 
 
 ' Have you had bad letters ?' said Evelyn, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 He laughed a little — a grim laugh — and 
 shook his head. ' But I had yesterday,' he 
 added presently, in a low tone. ' I shall 
 have to try change of air again soon, I am 
 afraid.* 
 
 I was just going to ask Charles what he 
 had been doing walking about in his socks 
 the night before when the door opened, and 
 Ralph, whose absence I had not noticed, 
 came in. He looked much perturbed. It 
 seemed his father had been taken suddenly 
 and alarmingly ill, while dressing. In a 
 moment all was confusion. Evelyn pre- 
 cipitately left the room to go to him, while 
 Charles rushed round to the stables to send 
 a groom on horseback for the nearest doctor. 
 Ralph followed him, and the remainder of 
 the party gathered in a little knot round the 
 fire, Mrs. Marston expressing the sentiment 
 of each of us when she said that she thought 
 visitors were very much in the way when 
 
€^e ^anvexB gewefc 
 
 there was illness in the house, and that she 
 regretted that she and her husband had 
 arranged to stay over Sunday, to-day being 
 Friday. 
 
 ' So have I,' said Carr ; ' but I am sure I 
 had better have refused. A stranger in a 
 sick house is a positive nuisance. I think I 
 shall go to town by an afternoon train, if 
 there is one.' 
 
 ' Upon my word I think we had better do 
 the same,' said Mrs. Marston. 'What do 
 you say, Arthur ?' And she turned to her 
 husband. 
 
 ' I must go to-day, anyhow — on business,' 
 said General Marston. 
 
 * I hope no one is talking of leaving,' said 
 Charles, who had returned suddenly, rather 
 out of breath. 
 
 As he spoke his eyes were fixed on Carr. 
 
 ' Yes, that is exactly what we were doing,' 
 said Mrs. Marston. ' Nothing is so tiresome 
 as having visitors on one's hands when there 
 is illness in the house. Mr. Carr was think- 
 
€^e ©antjere ^enjefs 113 
 
 ing of going up to London by the afternoon 
 train ; and I have a very good mind to go 
 away with Arthur, instead of staying on, and 
 letting him come back here for me to- 
 morrow, as we had intended.' 
 
 ' Pray do not think of such a thing !' said 
 Charles, really with unnecessary earnestness. 
 * Mrs. Marston, pray do not alter your plans. 
 Carr !' in a much sterner tone, ' I must beg 
 that you will not think of leaving us to-day. 
 Your friend. Colonel Middleton, is staying 
 on, and we cannot allow you to desert us so 
 suddenly.' 
 
 It was more like a command than an 
 invitation ; but Carr, usually so quick to 
 take a slight, did not seem to notice it, and 
 merely said that he should be happy to go or 
 stay, whichever was most in accordance with 
 the wishes of others, and took up the news- 
 paper. He and Charles did not seem to get 
 on well. I could see that Charles had not 
 seemed to take to him from the very first ; 
 and Carr certainly did not appear at ease in 
 
 8 
 
114 €^e ©antjete 3eit)ef6 
 
 the house. Perhaps Charles felt that he had 
 rather failed in courtesy to him, for during 
 the remainder of the morning he hardly let 
 him out of his sight. He took him to see 
 the stables, though Carr openly declared that 
 he did not understand horses ; he showed 
 him his collection of Zulu weapons in the 
 vestibule ; he even started a game of billiards 
 with him till the arrival of the doctor. I did 
 not think Carr took his attentions in very 
 good part, though he was too well-mannered 
 to show it ; but he looked relieved when 
 Charles went upstairs with the doctor, and 
 pitched his cue into the rack at once, and 
 came to the hall fire where I was sitting, and 
 where Aurelia presently joined us, fresh and 
 smiling, in the prettiest of morning gowns. 
 Everyone met in the hall. It was in the 
 centre of the house, and every one coming up 
 or down had to pass through it. Just now it 
 was not so tempting an abode as usual, for 
 the flowers and part of the stage had already 
 been removed, and the bare boards with their 
 
t^e ©antjete Semefe 
 
 15 
 
 wooden supports gave an air of discomfort to 
 the whole place. 
 
 Aurelia opened wide eyes of horror at 
 hearing Sir George was ill. She even got 
 out a tiny laced pocket-handkerchief; but 
 before she had had time to weep much into 
 it and spoil her pretty eyes the doctor 
 reappeared, accompanied by Charles and 
 Ralph, and we all learned to our great relief 
 that Sir George, though undoubtedly ill, was 
 not dangerously so at present, though the 
 greatest care would be necessary. Lady 
 Mary had undertaken the nursing of her 
 brother-in-law, and in her the doctor ex- 
 pressed the same confidence which parents 
 are wont to feel in a stern schoolmaster. 
 In the meantime, the patient was to be kept 
 very quiet, and on no account to be disturbed. 
 
 When the doctor had left, Ralph and 
 Aurelia, who had actually seen nothing of 
 each other that morning, sauntered away 
 together towards the library. Charles 
 challenged Carr to finish his game of 
 
 8—2 
 
ii6 J^e ®ant)et6 Senjefs 
 
 billiards ; and Marston and I retired upstairs 
 to the smoking-room, where we could talk 
 over our Indian experiences, and perhaps 
 doze undisturbed. We might have been so 
 occupied for half an hour or more when a 
 flying step came up the stairs, the door was 
 thrown open, and Ralph rushed into the 
 room. 
 
 ' General Marston ! Colonel Middleton !' 
 he gasped out, breathing hard, ' will you both 
 of you come to my father's room at once ? 
 He has sent for you.' 
 
 * Good gracious ! Is he worse ?' I ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 * No. Hush! Don't ask anything, but 
 just come,' and he turned and led the way 
 to Sir George Danvers' room. 
 
 We followed in wondering silence, and, 
 after passing along numerous passages, were 
 ushered into a large, oak-panelled room with 
 a great carved bed in it, in the middle of 
 which, bolt upright, sat Sir George Danvers, 
 pale as ivory, his light steel eyes (so like 
 
 m 
 
Charles's) seeming to be the only living 
 thing about him. As we came in, he looked 
 at each of us in turn. 
 
 * Where is Charles ?' he said, speaking in a 
 hoarse whisper. 
 
 * Dear me ! Sir George,' I said sympatheti- 
 cally, ' how you have lost your voice !' 
 
 He looked at me for a moment, and then 
 turned to Ralph again. 
 
 ' Where is Charles ?' he asked a second 
 time, in the same tone. 
 
 ' Here !' said a quiet voice. And Charles 
 came in, and shut the door. 
 
[ ii8] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The two pairs of steel eyes met and looked 
 fixedly at each other. 
 
 A tap came to the door. Sir George 
 winced and made a sign to Ralph, who 
 rushed to it and bolted it. 
 
 ' I am coming in, George,' said Lady 
 Mary's voice. 
 
 * Send her away,' came a whisper from the 
 bed. 
 
 This was easier said than done. But it 
 was done after a sufficiently long parley ; and 
 Lady Mary retired under the impression that 
 Ralph was sitting alone with his father, who 
 thought he might get a little sleep. 
 
 ' Now,' whispered Sir George, motioning 
 to Ralph. 
 
 ' The fact is,' said Ralph, ' the jewels 
 
Z^e ©antjere 3en)efs 119 
 
 are gone. They have been stolen in the 
 night.' 
 
 He blurted out with this one sentence, and 
 then was silent. Marston and I stared at 
 him aghast. 
 
 ' Is there no mistake?' said Marston at 
 last. 
 
 ' None,' replied Ralph. ' I put them in a 
 drawer in the orreat inlaid writinor-table in the 
 library last night, before everybody. I went 
 for them this morning, half an hour ago, at 
 father's request. The lock was broken, and 
 they were gone.' 
 
 There was another long silence. 
 
 ' I was a fool, of course, to put them there/ 
 resumed Ralph. ' Charles told me so ; but I 
 thought they were as safe there as anywhere, 
 if no one knew — and no one did, except the 
 house party.' 
 
 ' Were any of the servants about ?' asked 
 Marston. 
 
 ' Not one. They had all gone to bed 
 except one of the footmen, who was putting 
 
I20 
 
 €^e ®ant)er0 ^enjefs 
 
 out the lamps In the supper-room, miles 
 away.' 
 
 Another silence. 
 
 'That is the dreadful part of it,' burst out 
 Ralph. ' They must have been taken by 
 someone staying in the house — someone who 
 saw me put them there. The first thing I 
 did was to send for the housemaids, and they 
 assured me that they had found every shutter 
 shut, and every door locked, this morning, 
 as usual. Anyone with time and wits 7night 
 have got in through one of the library 
 windows by taking out a pane and forcing 
 the shutter. I suppose a practised hand 
 might have done such a thing ; but I went 
 outside, and there was not a footstep in the 
 snow anywhere near the library windows, or, 
 for that matter, anywhere near the house at 
 all, except at the side and front doors, which 
 are impracticable for anyone to force an 
 entrance by.' 
 
 ' When did it leave off snowing }' asked 
 Marston. 
 
t^e ©antjere ^cnjefe 121 
 
 ' About three o'clock,' replied Ralph. * It 
 must have snowed heavily till then, for there 
 was not a trace of all the carriage-wheels on 
 the drive when we went out last night, but 
 our footprints down to the lodge are clear in 
 the snow now. There has been no snow 
 since three o'clock this morning.' 
 
 * It all points to the same thing,' said 
 Charles quietly, speaking for the first time. 
 • The jewels were taken by someone staying 
 in the house.' 
 
 ' One of the servants ' began Marston. 
 
 'No,' said Charles, cutting him short, ' not 
 one of the servants.' 
 
 ' It is impossible it should have been one of 
 them,' said Ralph, after some thought. ' First 
 of all, none of them saw the jewels put into 
 that drawer, and secondly, how could they 
 suspect me of hiding them in a place where 
 I had never thought of putting them myself 
 till that moment ? Besides, that one drawer 
 only was broken open — the centre drawer in 
 the left-hand set of drawers. All the others 
 
122 
 
 <t^e ®ant)eir0 3en)ef6 
 
 were untouched, though they were all locked. 
 No one who had not seen the jewels put in 
 would have found them so easily. That is 
 the frightful part of it.' 
 
 For a few minutes no one spoke. At last 
 Marston raised his head from his hands. 
 
 ' There is no way out of it,' he said very 
 gravely. * The robbery was committed by 
 one of the visitors staying in the house.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Charles. 
 
 * Yes,' echoed a whisper from the bed. 
 Charles looked up slowly and deliberately, 
 
 and the eyes of father and son met again. 
 
 ' We do not often agree, father,' he said 
 in a measured voice. ' I mark this exception 
 to the rule with pleasure.' 
 
 * When I had made out as much as this,' 
 continued Ralph, ' father told me to call 
 both of you and Charles, to consider what 
 ought to be done before we make any 
 move.' , 
 
 * Have you an inventory of the jewels ?' 
 asked Marston at length. 
 
i^c ®ant?cr6 3emef6 123 
 
 * None/ said Sir George, ' unless Middleton 
 had one from Sir John.' 
 
 I thereupon recapitulated in full all the 
 circumstances of the bequest, finally adding 
 that Sir John had never so much as mentioned 
 an inventory. 
 
 * So much the better for the thief,' said 
 Marston, his chin in his hands. * It is not a 
 case for a detective,' he added. 
 
 ' I think not,' said Charles. 
 A kind of hoarse ghostly laugh came from 
 the bed. 
 
 * Charles is always right,' whispered the 
 sick man. 'Quite unnecessary, I am sure.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know,' I said, feeling I had 
 not yet been of as much assistance as I could 
 have wished. ' Now / think detectives are 
 of use — really useful, you know, in finding 
 out things. There was a detective, I re- 
 member, trying to trace the people who 
 murdered that poor lady at Jane's old house 
 since my return.' 
 
 * But who could it have been ? — who could 
 
124 Z^e V)anvetB ^enjefe 
 
 it have been ?' burst out Ralph, unheeding. 
 ' They were all friends. It is frightful to 
 suspect one of them. One could as easily 
 suspect one's self. Which of them all could 
 have done a thing like that ? Out of them 
 all, which was it ?' 
 
 ' Carr !' replied Charles quietly, looking 
 full at his father. 
 
 If a bombshell had fallen among us at that 
 moment it could not have produced a greater 
 effect than that one word, uttered so deliber- 
 ately. Sir George started in his bed, and 
 clutched at the bedclothes with both hands. 
 My brain positively reeled. Carr ! — my friend 
 Carr ! — introduced into the family by myself, 
 was being accused by Charles. I was speech- 
 less with indignation. 
 
 * I am sorry, Middleton,' continued Charles. 
 ' I know he is your friend, but I can't help 
 that. Carr took the jewels. I distrusted him 
 from the moment he set foot in the house.' 
 
 ' Where is he at this instant i^' said Marston, 
 getting up. ' Is no one with him.f^' 
 
Z^c VanvcxB ^enjcfe 125 
 
 * There is no reason to be anxious on his 
 account/ replied Charles. ' I took him u[) to 
 the smoking-room before I came here, and I 
 turned the key in the door. The key Is here.* 
 And he laid it on the table. 
 
 Marston sat down again. 
 
 * What are your grounds for suspecting 
 Carr ?' he asked. ' Remember, this is a 
 very serious thing, Charles, that you have 
 done in locking him up if you have not 
 adequate reason for it.' 
 
 ' You had better leave Carr alone, Charles/ 
 said Ralph significantly. 
 
 * Let him go on,' said Sir George. 
 
 * I have no proof,' continued Charles ; ' I 
 did not see him take them, but I am as 
 certain of it as if I had seen it with my own 
 eyes. The jewels could only have been 
 stolen by someone staying In the house. 
 That is certain. Who, excepting Carr, was 
 a stranger among us ? Who, excepting 
 Carr ' 
 
 ' Stop, Charles !' said Ralph again. ' Don't 
 
126 J^e ®cint)et6 ^ewefs 
 
 you know that Carr slept with me down at 
 the lodge ?' 
 
 Charles turned on his brother and gripped 
 his shoulder. 
 
 ' Do you mean to say,' he said sharply, 
 * that Carr did not sleep in the house last 
 night ?' 
 
 ' Dear me, Charles, that was an oversight 
 on your part,' came Sir George's whisper. 
 
 'No,' replied Ralph, *he did not. The 
 house was full, and we had to put him in that 
 second small room through mine in the lodge. 
 If Carr had been dying to take them he had 
 not the opportunity. He could not have left 
 his room without passing through mine, and 
 I never went to sleep at all. I had a sharp 
 touch of neuralgia from the cold, which kept 
 me awake all night.' 
 
 ' He got out through the window,' said 
 Charles. 
 
 'Nonsense!' said Ralph, getting visibly 
 angry ; * you are only making matters worse 
 by trying to put it on him. Remember the 
 
t^c ©antjere ^en^efs 127 
 
 size of the window. Besides, you know how 
 the lodge stands, built against the garden 
 wall. When I came out this morning there 
 was not a single footstep in the snow, except 
 those we had made as we went there the night 
 before. I noticed our footmarks particularly, 
 because I had been afraid there would be 
 more snow. No one could by any possibility 
 have left the house during the night. Even 
 Jones himself had not been out, for there was 
 a little eddy of snow before the back door, 
 and I remember calling to him that he would 
 want his broom.' 
 
 ' The snow clinches the matter, Charles,' 
 said Marston gravely. ' You have made a 
 mistake.' 
 
 ' Quite unintentional, I'm sure,' whispered 
 Sir George. 
 
 There was something I did not like about 
 that whisper. It seemed to imply more than 
 met the ear. 
 
 Charles did not appear to hear him. He 
 was looking fixedly before him, his hand had 
 
128 Z^e ©antjers ^ewefs 
 
 dropped from Ralph's shoulder ; his face was 
 quite gray. 
 
 * Then,' he said slowly, as if waking out of 
 a dream, ' it was 7io^ Carr/ 
 
 'No,' said Sir George ; * I never thought 
 it was.' 
 
 * Good God !' ejaculated Charles, sinking 
 into a low chair by the fire, and shading 
 his face with his hand. ' Not Carr, after 
 all!' 
 
 But my indignation could not be restrained 
 a moment longer. I had only been kept 
 silent by repeated signs from Marston, and 
 now I broke out. 
 
 'And so, sir, you suspect my friend,' I 
 said, ' and insult him in your father's house 
 by turning the key on him. You endeavour 
 to throw suspicion on a man who never 
 injured you in the slightest degree. You 
 insult me in insulting my friend, sir. Sus- 
 picion is not always such an easy thing to 
 shake off as it has been in this instance. I, 
 on my side, might ask what yozc were doing, 
 
walking about the passages in your socks at 
 four o'clock this morning? In your socks, 
 
 sir, still in your evening clothes ' 
 
 I had spoken in anger, not thinking much 
 what I was saying, and I stopped short, 
 alarmed at the effect of my own words. 
 
 * I knew it ! I knew it !' screamed Sir 
 George, in a sort of suffocated whistle, and 
 he fell back gasping among his pillows. 
 
 Charles took his hand from his face, and 
 looked hard at me with a strange kind of 
 smile. 
 
 'At any rate, we are quits, Middleton,* 
 he said. ' You have done it now, and no 
 mistake.' 
 
 I did not quite see what I had done, but it 
 soon became apparent. 
 
 * I knew it !' gasped out the sick man again. 
 ' I knew it from the first moment that he tried 
 to throw suspicion on Cam* 
 
 'Sir George,' said Marston gravely, 
 * Charles made a mistake just now. Do not 
 you on your side make another. Come, 
 
 9 
 
I30 €^e ®antjer0 ^evoeU 
 
 Charles,' turning to the latter, who was now 
 sitting erect with flashing eyes, ' tell us about 
 it. What were you doing when Middleton 
 saw you ?' 
 
 * I was coming upstairs,' said Charles 
 haughtily. 
 
 * From the library ?' asked Sir George. 
 Charles bit his lip and remained silent. 
 
 I would not have spoken to him for a good 
 deal at that moment. He looked positively 
 dangerous. 
 
 ' From the library, of course,' he said at 
 last, controlling himself, and speaking with 
 something of his old careless manner, * laden 
 with the spoils of my midnight depredations. 
 Parental fondness will supply all minor 
 details, no doubt ; so, as the subject is a 
 delicate one for me, I will withdraw, that it 
 may be discussed more fully in my absence.' 
 
 ' Stop, Charles,' said Marston ; ' the case 
 is too serious for banter of this kind. My 
 dear boy,' he added kindly, ' I am glad to 
 see you angry, but nevertheless you must 
 
condescend to explain. The longer you 
 allow suspicion to rest on yourself, the longer 
 it will be before it falls on the right person. 
 Come, what were you doing in the passage 
 at that time of night ?' 
 
 Charles was touched, I could see. A very 
 little kindness was too much for him. 
 
 ' It is no good, Marston,' he said, in quite 
 a different voice ; ' I am not believed in this 
 house.' 
 
 He turned away and leant against the 
 mantelpiece, looking into the fire. Ralph 
 cleared his throat once or twice, and then 
 suddenly went up to him, and laid his hand 
 affectionately on his shoulder. 
 
 ' Fire away, old boy !' he said in a con- 
 strained tone, and he choked again. 
 
 Charles turned round and faced his brother 
 with the saddest smile I ever saw. 
 
 ' Well, Ralph !' he said, * I will tell you 
 everything ; and then you can believe me or 
 not, as you like. I have never told you a 
 lie, have I ?' 
 
 9—2 
 
' Not often,' replied Ralph unwillingly. 
 
 * You at least are truth itself,' said Charles, 
 reddening ; ' and if you are biassed in your 
 opinion of me, perhaps it is more the fault of 
 that exemplary Christian, Aunt Mary, than 
 your own. According to her, I have told 
 lies enough to float a company or carry an 
 election, and I never like to disappoint her 
 expectations of me in that respect ; but you I 
 have never to my knowledge deceived, and 
 I am not going to begin now.' 
 
 ' You will be a clergyman yet,' whispered 
 the sick parent. ' There is a good living in 
 the family, Charles, I shall live to see the 
 Reverend Charles Danvers in a surplice, 
 preaching his first sermon on the ninth com- 
 mandment.' 
 
 *At any rate he is practising the fifth 
 under difficulties at this moment,' said 
 Marston, as Charles winced and turned his 
 back on the parental sick-bed. * Come, my 
 boy, we are losing time.' 
 
 ' Will somebody have the goodness to 
 
t^c ©antjers 3en)ef6 i33 
 
 restrain Middleton if he gets excited/ said 
 Charles. ' I am afraid he won't like part of 
 what I have got to say.' 
 
 'Nonsense, sir!' I replied with warmth. 
 
 * I hope I can restrain myself as well as any 
 man, even under such provocation as I have 
 lately received. You may depend on me, sir, 
 that ' 
 
 'We lose time,' said Marston, seating him- 
 self by me, and cutting short what I was 
 saying in an exceedingly brusque manner. 
 
 * Come, Charles, you shall not be interrupted.' 
 
 But he was. I interrupted him the whole 
 time, in spite of continual efforts on the part 
 of Marston to make me keep silence. I am 
 not the man calmly to let pass black insinua- 
 tions against the character of a friend. No, 
 I stood up for him. I am glad to think how 
 I stood up for him, not only metaphorically, 
 but in the most literal sense of the term ; for 
 I found myself continually getting up, and 
 Marston as often pulling me down again into 
 my chair. 
 
134 €^e ®ant)er0 3en)ef0 
 
 'Am I to speak, or is Middleton?' said 
 Charles at last, in despair. ' I will do a solo, 
 or I will keep silence ; but really I am 
 unequal to a duet.' 
 
 * Sir George,' said Marston, 'will you have 
 the goodness to desire Colonel Middleton to 
 be silent, or to leave the room till Charles 
 has finished his story.' 
 
 I was justly annoyed at Marston's manner 
 of speaking of me, but as I had no intention 
 to leave the room and miss what was going 
 on, I merely bowed in answer to a civil 
 request from Sir George, and took up an 
 attitude of dignified silence. I felt that I had 
 done my part in vindicating my friend, and 
 after all no one evidently was accustomed to 
 believe what Charles said. 
 
 ' As I was saying,' he continued, ' I 
 suspected Carr from the first. I did not like 
 the look of him, and I purposely pumped 
 Middleton about him last night at supper.' 
 
 I nearly burst out at the bare idea of 
 Charles daring to say he had pumped me ; 
 
t^e ©antjere 3en)ef6 135 
 
 but, as will be seen, he could twist anything 
 that was said to such an extent that it was 
 perfectly useless to contradict him any longer. 
 I said not a single word, and he went on : 
 
 'All Middleton told me confirmed me in 
 my suspicions. Sir John had been murdered 
 the night before Middleton sailed for 
 England, a whisper of the jewels having no 
 doubt gone abroad. Carr came on board 
 next day, and made friends with Middleton. 
 Whether he had anything to do with the 
 murder or not, God knows ! but he found out 
 — nay, Middleton openly told him that he 
 had jewels of great value in his possession, 
 which he carried about on his person. Carr 
 was the only person aware of that fact. 
 What follows ? Carr has Middleton's address 
 in London. Middleton goes to the house, 
 and finds that his sister has moved to the 
 next street. The house to which he first 
 went is broken into, and the poor woman in 
 it is murdered, or dies of fright, that same 
 night. I mention this as coincidence number 
 
136 $9e ®ant)et0 ^enjefs 
 
 one. The following evening Middleton, 
 having by chance left the jewels at home, 
 dines and goes to the theatre by appointment 
 with Cam Unique cab accident occurs, in 
 which Middleton is knocked on the head and 
 rendered unconscious. Coincidence number 
 two. Miss Middleton's house is broken into 
 that same night on Middleton's return to it. 
 Coincidence number three. When I put all 
 this together last night, remembering that 
 Carr, by Middleton's own account, was the 
 only person aware that he had jewels of great 
 value in his keeping, I felt absolutely certain 
 (as I feel still) that he had accepted the 
 invitation and come down from London solely 
 for the purpose of stealing them. It was 
 pure conjecture on my part, and I dared say 
 nothing beyond begging Ralph not to leave 
 the jewels in the library — which, however, he 
 did. I went straight off to my room when 
 the others went to smoke, but I did not go 
 to bed. The more I thought it over, the 
 more certain I felt that Carr would not let 
 
 i' 
 
€^e ®ant?er6 Senjefe 137 
 
 slip such an opportunity, the more convinced 
 that an attempt would be made that very- 
 night. I did not know that he was not 
 sleeping in the house, but I knew Ralph was 
 at the lodge, so I could not go and consult 
 with him as I should otherwise have done. 
 I thought of going to Middleton, whose room 
 was close to mine, but on second thoughts I 
 gave up the idea. I am glad I did. At last 
 I determined I would wait till the house was 
 quiet, and that then I would go down alone, 
 and watch in the library in the dark. I lay 
 down on my bed in my clothes to wait, and 
 then — I had been up most of the night 
 before with Denis, and was dead beat with 
 acting and dancing — by ill luck I fell asleep. 
 When I woke up, I found to my horror that 
 it was close on four o'clock. I instantly 
 slipped off my shoes, and crept out of my 
 room and down the stairs. I could not get 
 to the library from the hall, as the stage 
 blocked the way, and I had to go all the way 
 round by the drawing-room and morning- 
 
138 €^e ©anueirs genjefc 
 
 room. As I went I thought how easy it 
 would be for Carr to force the lock of the 
 drawer ; and so, it flashed across me, could I. 
 Oh! Ralph,' said Charles, *I went down 
 solely to look after your property for you, 
 but I did think of it. I hope I should not 
 have done it, but I suddenly remembered 
 how hard pressed I was for money, and I did 
 think of the crescent, and how you would 
 hardly miss it, and how — but what does it 
 matter now ? When I got to the library I 
 found I was too late. The lock of the 
 drawer had been forced, and it was empty. 
 There was nothing for it but to go back to 
 my room. I felt as certain that Carr had 
 done it as that I am standing here ; but I 
 dared say nothing this morning, for fear of 
 drawing an ever-ready parental suspicion on 
 myself — which, however, Middleton did for 
 me. All I could do was to keep Carr well 
 in sight until the theft was found out, to pre- 
 vent any possibility of his escaping, and then 
 to accuse him. There !' said Charles, ' that 
 
€^e ®ant)cr6 ^cmcfa 139 
 
 is the whole truth. Carr did not take the 
 jewels. That is absolutely proved, and the 
 sooner he is let out the better. Who took 
 them, Heaven only knows ! I don't. But I 
 know who meant to, and that was Carr.' 
 
 ' Charles,' said Ralph, with glistening eyes, 
 ' if ever I get them back, you shall have the 
 crescent.' 
 
 ' A very neat little story altogether,' said 
 Sir George, ' and the episode of temptation 
 very effectively thrown in. It does you 
 credit, my son, and is a great relief to your 
 old father's mind.' 
 
 'Thank you, Charles,' said Marston, getting 
 up. ' Sir George, it is close on luncheon 
 time, and Carr must be let out at once. Now 
 that Charles has so completely cleared him- 
 self, I don't see that anything more can be 
 done for the moment ; and of one thing I 
 am certain — namely, that you are making 
 yourself much worse, and must keep abso- 
 lutely quiet for the rest of the day. If I 
 may advise, I should suggest that Carr 
 
I40 €^e ®ant?er0 ^enjefs 
 
 should be allowed to leave, as he wishes to 
 do, by the afternoon train, and should not 
 be pressed to stay. There is nothing more 
 to be got out of him, and, considering the 
 circumstances, I should say the sooner he is 
 out of the house the better. As he has been 
 wrongly suspected, I think the robbery had 
 better not be mentioned to anyone, even the 
 ladies in the house, until after he has left.' 
 
 * Aurelia knows,' said Ralph. ' She was 
 with me in the library. I left her crying 
 bitterly about them.' 
 
 ' Let her cry, if she will only hold her 
 tongue,' said Sir George, making a last effort 
 to speak, but evidently at the extreme point 
 of exhaustion. ' And you, Marston, you are 
 right about Carr. See that he goes this 
 afternoon. There is nothing more to be 
 done at present. Charles, you will remain 
 here, though I have no doubt you have an 
 engagement in London. I cannot spare you 
 just yet.' 
 
 Charles bowed, and he and Marston went 
 
J^e ®ant}er6 3^^^^^ 141 
 
 out. I remained a second behind with 
 Ralph. 
 
 ' I see it quite clearly,' said Sir George. 
 ' I know Charles. He is sharp enough. 
 He saw Carr meant mischief, and he was 
 beforehand with him ; and he took what Carr 
 meant to take. It was not badly imagined, 
 but he should have made certain Carr was 
 sleeping in the house. It all turned on that. 
 He never reckoned on the possibility of Carr 
 being cleared.' 
 
 ' Middleton is still here,' said Ralph, who 
 was pouring out something for his father, 
 significantly. 
 
 * Is he .'^ I thought he was gone !' said Sir 
 George, so sharply that I considered it ad- 
 visable to retire at once. 
 
 Charles and Marston were talking together 
 earnestly in the passage. 
 
 ' He does not believe a word I say,' said 
 Charles, as I joined them ; ' and, what is 
 more, I could see he had told Ralph he sus- 
 pected me before we came in. Did not you 
 
142 Z^e ®ant?er6 3enjef0 
 
 see how Ralph tried to stop me when he 
 thought I was committing myself by accusing 
 Carr, who, it seems, was quite out of the 
 question ? I am glad you cut it short, Mar- 
 ston. He was making himself worse every 
 moment.' 
 
 * Come on with that key of yours, and let 
 us go and let Carr,' out replied Marston, 
 patting Charles kindly on the back, 'or he 
 will be kicking all the paint off the door.' 
 
 * Not he,' said Charles. 'An honest man 
 would have rung up the whole household 
 and nearly battered the door down by this 
 time, thinking it had been locked by mistake. 
 Carr knows better.' 
 
 We had reached the smoking-room by this 
 time, just as the gong was beginning to sound 
 for luncheon, and, under cover of the noise, 
 Charles fitted the key into the keyhole and 
 unlocked the door. He and Marston went 
 slowly in, talking on some indifferent subject, 
 and I followed. 
 
 f 
 
 f 
 
[ 143] 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The room seemed strangely quiet after the 
 stormy interview in the sick-chamber which 
 we had just left. The pale winter sunlight 
 was stealing in aslant through the low win- 
 dows. The fire had sunk to a deep-red 
 glow, and in an armchair drawn up in front 
 of it, newspaper in hand, was Carr, evidently 
 fast asleep. 
 
 ' " Oh, my prophetic soul !" ' whispered 
 Charles, nudging Marston ; and then he went 
 forward and shouted * Luncheon !' in a voice 
 that would have waked the dead. 
 
 Carr started up, and rubbed his eyes. 
 
 * Why, I believe you have been here ever 
 since I left you hours ago,' said Charles 
 in a surprised tone, though, really, under the 
 circumstances, it did not require a great 
 
144 €^e ©antjerg 3en)ef0 
 
 stretch of the imagination to suppose any 
 such thing. 
 
 *Yes,' said Carr, still rubbing his eyes. 
 ' Have you been gone long ? I expect I fell 
 asleep.' 
 
 ' I rather thought you were inclined for a 
 nap when I left you,' replied Charles airily ; 
 'and now let us go to luncheon.' 
 
 It was a very dismal meal. Lady Mary 
 did not come down to it, and Aurelia sat with 
 red eyes, tearful and silent. Ralph was evi- 
 dently out of favour, for she hardly spoke to 
 him, and snubbed him decidedly when he 
 humbly tendered a peace-offering in the form 
 of a potato. Evelyn, too, was silent, or made 
 spasmodic attempts at conversation with Mrs. 
 Marston, the only unconstrained person of 
 the party. Evelyn and Aurelia had appeared 
 together, and it was evident from Evelyn's 
 expression that Aurelia had told her. What 
 conversation there was turned upon Sir 
 George's illness. 
 
 * We must go by the afternoon train, my 
 
Z^c ©antjere 3emef6 145 
 
 dear,' said Marston down the table to his 
 wife. ' In Sir George's present state a// 
 visitors are an incubus.' 
 
 Carr looked up. ' I think I ought to go 
 too,' he said. ' I wished to arrange to do so 
 this morning, but Mr. Danvers ' — glancing 
 at Charles — ' would not hear of it. I am 
 sure when there is illness in a house, strangers 
 are always in the way.' 
 
 ' I have seen my father since then,' replied 
 Charles, ' and I fear his illness is much more 
 serious than I had any idea of That being 
 the case, I feel it would be wrong to press 
 anyone, even Middleton, to stay, and share 
 the tedium of a sick house.' 
 
 After a few more civil speeches it was 
 arranged that Carr should, after all, leave by 
 the train which he had proposed in the morn- 
 ing. It was found that there was still time for 
 him to do so, but that was all. He was evi- 
 dently as anxious to be off as the Danvers were 
 that he should go. The dog-cart was ordered, 
 a servant despatched to the lodge in hot 
 
 10 
 
146 $5e ©antjer0 ^enjefs 
 
 haste to pack his portmanteau, and in half an 
 hour he was bidding us good-bye, evidently 
 glad to say it. Poor fellow ! he little guessed, 
 as he shook hands with us, how shamefully 
 he had been suspected, how villainously he 
 had been traduced behind his back. Some- 
 how or other I had not had a moment of 
 conversation with him since the morning, or 
 a single chance of telling him how I had 
 stood up for him in his absence. Either 
 Charles or Marston was always at hand, 
 and when he took leave of me I could only 
 shake his hand warmly, and tell him to come 
 and see me again in town. I watched him 
 spinning down the drive in the dog-cart, little 
 thinking how soon I should see him again, 
 and in what circumstances. 
 
 *We shall have more snow,' said Ralph, 
 coming indoors. ' I feel it in the air.' 
 
 General and Mrs. Marston were the next 
 to leave, starting an hour later, and going in 
 the opposite direction. I saw Marston turn 
 aside when his wife was taking leave of the 
 
others, and go up to Charles. The young 
 hand and the old one met, and were locked 
 tight. 
 
 ' Good-bye, my dear boy,' said Marston. 
 
 * Don't go,' said Charles, without looking 
 up. 
 
 • I must !' said Marston. * I am due at 
 Kemberley to-night, on business ; but ' — in 
 a lower tone — ' I shall come back to-morrow 
 in case I can be of any use.' 
 
 They were gone, and I was the only one 
 remaining. It has occurred to me since that 
 perhaps they expected me to go too, but I 
 never thought of it at the time. I had been 
 asked for a week, and to go before the end 
 of it never so much as entered my head. 
 
 There was no chance of going out. The 
 early winter afternoon was already closing 
 in, and a few flakes of snow were drifting 
 like feathers in the heavy air, promising 
 more to come. Everyone seemed to have 
 dispersed, Ralph upstairs to his father, 
 Charles out-of-doors somewhere, in spite 
 
 lO — 2 
 
148 t^e ©antjere ^etDefe 
 
 of the weather. I remembered that I had 
 not written to Jane since I left London, and 
 went into the Hbrary to do so. As I came 
 in I saw Evelyn sitting in a low chair by 
 the fire, gazing abstractedly into it. She 
 started when she saw me, and on my saying 
 I wished to write some letters, showed me 
 a writing-table near the fire, with pens, ink 
 and paper. 
 
 * You will find it very cold at the big table 
 in the window,' she said, looking at it with 
 its broken drawer, a chink open, with a 
 visible shudder. 
 
 I installed myself near the fire, talking 
 cheerfully the while, for it struck me she 
 was a little low in her spirits. She did not 
 make much response, and I was settling 
 down to my letters when she suddenly 
 said : 
 
 ' Colonel Middleton !' 
 
 *Yes, Miss Derrick.' 
 
 ' 1 am afraid I am interrupting your writing, 
 but ' 
 
t^c ©anthers 3enjef6 149 
 
 I looked round. She was standing up, 
 nervously playing with her rings. 
 
 ' But — I know I am not supposed to — but 
 I know what happened last night. Aurelia 
 told me.' 
 
 'It is very sad, isn't it .^' I said. 'But 
 cheer up. I dare say we may get them back 
 yet.' And I nodded confidentially at her. 
 ' In the meantime, you know, you must not 
 talk of it to anyone/ 
 
 ' Do you suspect anyone in particular ?' 
 she asked very earnestly, coming a step 
 nearer. 
 
 I hardly knew what to say. Carr, I need 
 hardly mention, I had never suspected for 
 
 a moment ; but Charles Marston had 
 
 evidently believed what Charles had said, 
 but I am by nature more cautious and less 
 credulous than Marston. Besides, I had not 
 forgiven Charles yet for trying to incriminate 
 Carr. Not knowing what to say, I shrugged 
 my shoulders and smiled. 
 
 ' You do suspect someone, then ?' 
 
15° Z^e ©antjete ^enjefs 
 
 * My dear young lady,' I replied, 'when 
 jewels are stolen one naturally suspects some- 
 one has taken them.' 
 
 * So I should imagine. Whom do you 
 naturally suspect ?* 
 
 I could not tell her that I more than 
 suspected Charles. 
 
 * I know nothing for certain,' I said. 
 
 * But you have a suspicion ?' 
 ' I have a suspicion.' 
 
 She went to the door to see if it were shut, 
 and then came back and said in a whisper : 
 
 'So have I.' 
 
 ^ Perhaps we suspect the same person ?' 
 I said. 
 
 She did not answer, but fixed her dark 
 eyes keenly on mine. I had never noticed 
 before how dark they were. 
 
 I saw then that she knew, and that she 
 suspected Charles just as Sir George had 
 done. 
 
 I nodded. 
 
 * Nothing is proved,' I said. 
 
€^c ©antjere ^enjefe 151 
 
 * I dared not say even so much as this 
 before,' she continued hurriedly. * It is only 
 the wildest, vaguest suspicion. I have 
 nothing to take hold of. It is so horrible 
 to suspect anyone ; but ' 
 
 She stopped suddenly. Her quick ear 
 had caught the sound of a distant step 
 coming across the hall. In another moment 
 Aurelia came in. 
 
 * Are you there, Evelyn ?' she said. * I 
 was looking for you, to ask where the time- 
 table is. I want to look out my journey 
 for to-morrow. Ralph ought to do it, but he 
 is upstairs,' with a little pout. 
 
 * You ought not to have quarrelled with 
 him until he had made it out for you,' said 
 Evelyn, smiling. ' It is a very cross journey, 
 isn't it ? Let me see, you are going to your 
 uncle in Dublin, are not you ? You had 
 better go to London, and start from there. 
 It will be the shortest way in the end.' 
 
 The two girls laid their heads together 
 over the Bradshaw, Evelyn's dark soft hair 
 
152 t^e ®ant)et0 ^enjefe 
 
 making a charming contrast to Aurelia's 
 yellow curls. At last the journey was made 
 out and duly written down, and a postcard 
 despatched to her uncle in Dublin. 
 
 * Have you seen Ralph anywhere ?' asked 
 Aurelia when she had finished it. ' I am 
 afraid I was a litde tiny wee bit cross to him 
 this morning, and I am so sorry.' 
 
 Evelyn always seemed to stiffen when 
 Aurelia talked about Ralph, and, under 
 pretext of putting her postcard in the letter- 
 bag for her, she presently left the room and 
 did not return. 
 
 Aurelia sat down on the hearthrug, and 
 held two plump little hands to the fire. It 
 was quite impossible to go on writing to 
 Jane while she was there, and I gave it up 
 accordingly. 
 
 ' I am glad Evelyn is gone,' she said con- 
 fidentially. ' Do you know why I am glad ?' 
 
 I said I could not imagine. 
 
 * Because,' continued Aurelia, nodding 
 gravely at me, ' I want to have a very. 
 
2^5e ©antjete 3en)ef6 153 
 
 very, very serious conversation with you, 
 Colonel Middleton.' 
 
 I said I should be charmed, inwardly 
 wondering what that little curly head would 
 consider to be serious conversation. 
 
 ' Really serious, you know,' continued 
 Aurelia, ' not pretence. About that !' point- 
 ing with a pink finger at the inlaid writing- 
 table. ' You know I was with Ralph when 
 he found it out, and I am afraid I was a little 
 cross to him, only really it was so hard, and 
 they were so lovely, and it was partly his 
 fault, now, wasn't it, for leaving them there '^ 
 He ought to have been more careful.' 
 
 ' Of course he ought,' I said. I would not 
 have contradicted her for worlds. 
 
 ' And you know I am to be married next 
 month, and Aunt Alice in Dublin, who is 
 getting my things, says as it is to be a winter 
 wedding, I am to be married in a white 
 frisd velvet, and I did think the diamonds 
 would have looked so lovely with it. Wouldn't 
 they r 
 
154 
 
 t^e ®ant)er0 ^ewefe 
 
 I agreed, of course. 
 
 * But I shall never be married in them 
 now,' she said with a deep sigh. ' And I 
 was looking forward to the wedding so much, 
 though I dare say I did tell a naughty little 
 story when I said I was no^ to Ralph the 
 other night. Of course, Ralph is still left,' 
 she added as an afterthought ; ' but it won't 
 be so perfect, will it ?' 
 
 I was morally certain Charles would have 
 to give them up, so I said reassuringly : 
 
 * Perhaps you may be married in them 
 after all.' 
 
 * Oh,' she said, clasping her hands together, 
 ' do you really think so ? Do you know 
 anything ? I have not seen Ralph since to 
 ask him about it. Do you think we shall 
 really get them back ?' 
 
 ' I should not wonder.' 
 
 'Oh, Colonel Middleton, I see you know. 
 You are a clever, wise man, and you have 
 found out something. Who is it ? Do 
 tell me.' 
 
€^c ©antjcre gciDefe 155 
 
 * Will you promise not to tell anyone ?' 
 
 ' Mayn't I tell Ralph ? I tell him every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' Well, you may tell Ralph, because he 
 knows already ; but no one else, remember. 
 The truth is, we are afraid it is Charles.' 
 
 There was a long pause. 
 
 * I know Evelyn thinks so,' said Aurelia in 
 a whisper, ' though she tries not to show it, 
 because — because ' 
 
 * Because what ?' 
 
 ' Well, of course, you can't have helped 
 seeing, can you, that she and Charles ' 
 
 I had not seen it. Indeed, I had fancied 
 at times that Evelyn had a leaning towards 
 Ralph ; but I never care to seem slower than 
 others in noticing these things, so I nodded. 
 
 ' And then, you know, people can't be 
 married that haven't any money, and Charles 
 and Evelyn have none,' said Aurelia. * Oh ! 
 I am glad Ralph is well off.' 
 
 A light was breaking in on me. Perhaps 
 it was not Charles after all Perhaps 
 
156 t^e ©antjetg ^emefs 
 
 ' I am afraid Evelyn is very unhappy,' 
 continued Aurelia. * Her room is next to 
 mine, and she walks up and down, and up 
 and down, in the night. I hear her when I 
 am in bed. Last night I heard her so late, 
 so late that I had been to sleep and had 
 waked up again. Do you know ' — and she 
 crept close up to me with wide, awe-struck 
 eyes — * I am going away to-morrow, and I 
 don't like to say anything to anyone but you; 
 but I think Evelyn knows something.' 
 
 ' Miss Derrick !' I said, beginning to 
 suspect that she possibly knew a good deal 
 more than any of us, and then suddenly re- 
 membering that she had been on the point 
 of telling me something and had been inter- 
 rupted. I was getting quite confused. She 
 certainly would not have wished to confide 
 in me if my new suspicion were correct. 
 Considering there was a mystery, it was 
 curious how everyone seemed to know some- 
 thing very particular about it. ft 
 
 * Yes,' replied Aurelia, nodding once or 
 
^§e ©antjere 3en)ef6 157 
 
 twice. ' I am sure she knows something. 
 I went into her room before luncheon, and 
 she was sitting with her head down on the 
 dressing-table, and when she looked up I 
 saw she had been crying. I don't know what 
 to say about it to Ralph ; but you know ' 
 — with a shake of the curls — * though people 
 may think me only a silly little thing, yet 
 I do notice things, Colonel Middleton. Aunt 
 Alice in Dublin often says how quickly I 
 notice things. And I thought, as you were 
 staying on, and seemed to be a friend, I 
 would tell you this before I went away, as 
 you would know best what to do about it.' 
 
 Aurelia had more insight into character 
 than I had given her credit for. She had 
 hit upon the most likely person to follow out 
 a clue, however slight, in a case that seemed 
 becoming more and more complicated. I 
 inwardly resolved that I would have it out 
 with Miss Derrick that very evening. Lady 
 Mary now came in, and servants followed 
 shortly afterwards with lamps. The dreary 
 
158 $^e ©antjere ^ewefc 
 
 twilight, with its dim whirlwinds of driving 
 snow, was shut out, the curtains were drawn, 
 and tea made its appearance. Evelyn pre- 
 sently returned, and Charles also, who civilly 
 wished Lady Mary good-morning, not having 
 seen her till then. She handed him his tea 
 without a word in reply. It was evident 
 that she also was aware of the robbery, and 
 it is hardly necessary to add that she suspected 
 Charles. 
 
 * How is my father ?' he asked, taking no 
 notice of the frigidity of her manner. 
 
 ' He is asleep at this moment,' she replied. 
 * Ralph is remaining with him.' 
 
 * He is better, then, I hope ?' 
 
 * He is in a very critical state, and is likely 
 to remain in it. His illness was quite serious 
 enough, without having it increased by one 
 of his own household.' 
 
 * Ah, I was afraid that had been the case,' 
 returned Charles. * I knew you had been 
 doctoring him when he was out of sorts 
 yesterday. But you must not reproach 
 
yourself, Aunt Mary. We are none of us 
 infallible. No doubt you acted for the best 
 at the time, and I dare say what you gave 
 him may not do him any permanent injury.' 
 
 * If that is intended to be amusing,' said 
 Lady Mary, her teacup trembling in her 
 hand, * I can only say that, in my opinion, 
 wilfully misunderstanding a simple statement 
 is a very cheap form of wit.' 
 
 * I am so glad to hear you say so,' said 
 Charles, rising, * as it was at your expense.' 
 
 With which Parthian shot he withdrew. 
 
 I endeavoured in vain to waylay Evelyn 
 after tea, but she slipped away almost before 
 it was over, and did not appear again till 
 dinner-time. In the meanwhile my brain, 
 fertile in expedients on most occasions, could 
 devise no means by which I could speak to 
 her alone and without Charles's knowledge. 
 I felt I must trust to chance. 
 
PART III. 
 
 II 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
[ 1^3 ] 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 When I came down before dinner, I found 
 Ralph and Charles talking earnestly by the 
 hall fire, Ralph's hand on his brother's 
 shoulder. 
 
 ' You see, we are no farther forward than 
 we were,' he was saying. 
 
 * We shall have Marston back to-morrow,' 
 said Charles, as the gong began to sound. 
 * We cannot take any step till then, especially 
 if we don't want to put our foot in it. I 
 have been racking my brains all the after- 
 noon without the vestige of a result. We 
 must just hold our hands for the moment.' 
 
 Dinner was announced, and we waited 
 patiently for a few minutes, and impatiently 
 for a good many more, until Evelyn hurried 
 down, apologizing for being late, and with a 
 
 I I — 2 
 
i64 <t^e ®ant)er0 3en>ef0 
 
 message from Lady Mary that we were not 
 to wait for her, as she was dining upstairs in 
 her own room — a practice to which she seemed 
 rather addicted. 
 
 * And where is AureHa ?' asked Ralph. 
 
 * She is not coming down to dinner either,' 
 said Evelyn. ' She has a bad headache 
 again, and is lying down. She asked me 
 to tell you that she wishes particularly to 
 see you this evening, as she is going away 
 to-morrow, and if she is well enough she will 
 come down to the morning-room at nine ; 
 indeed, she said she would come down 
 anyhow.' 
 
 After Ralph's natural anxiety respecting 
 his lady-love had been relieved, and he had 
 been repeatedly assured that nothing much 
 was amiss, we went in to dinner, and a more 
 lugubrious repast I never remember being 
 present at. The meals of the day might 
 have been classified thus : Breakfast, dismal ; 
 luncheon, dismaller (or more dismal) ; dinner 
 dismallest (or most dismal). There really 
 
t^c ®ant)etf6 Jenjefe 165 
 
 was no conversation. Even I, who, without 
 going very deep (which I consider is not in 
 good taste), have something to say on almost 
 every subject — even I felt myself nonplussed 
 for the time being. Each of us in turn got 
 out a few constrained words, and then re- 
 lapsed into silence. 
 
 Evelyn ate nothing, and her hand trembled 
 so much when she poured out a glass of 
 water that she spilt some on the cloth. I 
 saw Charles was watching her furtively, and 
 I became more and more certain that Aurelia 
 was right, and that Evelyn knew something 
 about the mystery of the night before. I 
 must and would speak to her that very 
 evening. 
 
 * Bitterly cold,' said Ralph, when at last 
 we had reached the dessert stage. 'It is 
 snowing still, and the wind is getting up.' 
 
 In truth, the wind was moaning round the 
 house like an uneasy spirit. 
 
 * That sound in the wind always means 
 snow,' said Charles, evidently for the sake 
 
1 66 Z^c ^arxvexB 3eii}ef0 
 
 of saying something. * It is easterly, I should 
 think. Yes ' — after a pause, when another 
 silence seemed imminent — ' there goes the 
 eight o'clock train. It must be quite a 
 quarter of an hour late, though, for it has 
 struck eight some time. I can hear it dis- 
 tinctly. The station is three miles away, 
 and you never hear the train unless the wind 
 is in the east.' 
 
 ' Come, Charles, not three miles — two and 
 a half,' put in Ralph. 
 
 ' Well, two and a half from here down to 
 the station, but certainly three from the 
 station up here,' replied Charles. 
 
 And so silence was laboriously avoided by 
 diligent small-talk until we returned to the 
 drawing-room, thankful that there at least 
 we could take up a book and be silent if we 
 wished. We all did wish it, apparently. 
 Evelyn was sitting by a lamp when we came 
 in, with a book before her, her elbow on the 
 table, shading her face with a slender, delicate 
 hand. She remained motionless, her eyes 
 
t^e ®ant?er6 3enjef6 167 
 
 fixed upon the page, but I noticed after some 
 time that she had not turned it over. 
 Charles may have read his newspaper, but 
 if he did, it was with one eye upon Evelyn 
 all the time. Between watching them both 
 I did not, as may be imagined, make much 
 progress myself. How was I to manage to 
 speak to Evelyn alone, and without Charles's 
 knowledge ? 
 
 At last Ralph, who had gone into the 
 morning-room, opened the drawing-room 
 door and put his head in. 
 
 ' Aurelia has not come down yet, and it is 
 a quarter past nine. I wish you would run 
 up, Evelyn, and see if she is coming.' 
 
 ' She is sure to come,' replied Evelyn, 
 without raising her eyes. * She said she 
 mus^ see you.' 
 
 Ralph disappeared again, and the books 
 and papers were studied anew with un- 
 swerving devotion. At the end of another 
 ten minutes, however, the impatient lover 
 reappeared. 
 
1 68 $^e ®ant)etr0 Jfenjefs 
 
 * It is half-past nine,' he said in an injured 
 tone. * Do pray run up, Evelyn. I don't 
 think she can be coming at all. I am afraid 
 she is worse.' 
 
 Evelyn laid down her book and left the 
 room. Ralph sauntered back into the 
 morning-room, where we heard him beguiling 
 his solitude with a few chords on the piano. 
 
 Presently Evelyn returned. She was pale 
 even to the lips, and her voice faltered as she 
 said : 
 
 ' She has not gone to bed, for there is 
 a light in her room ; but she would not 
 answer when I knocked, and the door is 
 locked.' 
 
 * All of which circumstances are not 
 sufficient to make you as w^hite as a ghost,' 
 said Charles. * I think even if Aurelia has 
 a headache, you would bear the occurrence 
 with fortitude. My dear child, you do not 
 act so well off the stage as on it. There is 
 something on your mind. People don't 
 upset water at dinner, and refuse all food 
 
except pellets of pinched bread, for nothing. 
 What is it ?' 
 
 Evelyn sank into a chair, and covered her 
 face with her trembling hands. 
 
 ' Yes, I thought so,' said Charles, kneeling 
 down by her, and gently withdrawing her 
 hands. ' Come, Evelyn, what is it ?' 
 
 ' I dare not say.' And she turned away 
 her face, and tried to disengage her hands, 
 but Charles held them firmly. 
 
 ' Is it about what happened last night?' he 
 asked, in a tone that was kind, but that 
 evidently intended to have an answer. 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And do you know that I am suspected ?* 
 
 ' You, Charles ? Never !' she cried, start- 
 ing up. 
 
 ' Yes, I. Suspected by my own father. 
 So if you know anything, Evelyn — which I 
 see you do — it is your duty to tell us, and to 
 help us in every way you can.' 
 
 He had let go her hands now, and had 
 risen. 
 
jyo t^e ®ant)et0 ^enjefs 
 
 * I don't know anything for certain,' she 
 said, ' but — but we soon shall. Aurelia 
 knows, and she is going to tell Ralph.' 
 
 * Miss Grant ! I exclaimed. * She knew 
 nothing at tea-time. She was asking me 
 about it.' 
 
 * It is since then,' continued Evelyn. * I 
 went up to her room before dinner to ask her 
 for a fan that I had lent her. She was 
 packing some of her things, and the floor was 
 strewn with packing paper and parcels. She 
 gave me my fan, and was going on putting 
 her things together, talking all the time, 
 when she asked me to hand her a glove-box 
 on the dressing-table. As I did so, my eye 
 fell on a piece of paper lying together with 
 others, and I instantly recognized it as the 
 same that had been wrapped round the 
 diamond crescent when Colonel Middleton 
 first showed us the jewels. I should never 
 have noticed it — for though it was rice paper, 
 it looked just like the other pieces strewn 
 about — if I had not seen two little angular 
 
tears, which I suddenly remembered making 
 in it myself when General Marston asked me 
 not to pull it to pieces, which I suppose I 
 had been absently doing. I made some sort 
 of exclamation of surprise, and Aurelia 
 turned round sharply and asked me what 
 was the matter. As I did not answer, she 
 left her packing and came to the table. She 
 saw in a moment what I was looking at. I 
 had turned as red as fire, and she was quite 
 white. '' I did not mean you to see that," she 
 said at last, quietly taking up the paper. " I 
 meant no one to know until I had shown it 
 to Ralph. Do you hiow where I fotmd it 7' 
 and she looked hard at me. I could only 
 shake my head. I was too much ashamed 
 of a suspicion I had had to be able to get out 
 a word. " I am very sorry," continued 
 Aurelia, " but 1 am afraid it will be my duty 
 to tell Ralph, whatever the consequences 
 may be. I have been thinking it over, and 
 I think he ought to know. I am going to 
 show it him to-night after dinner,' and she 
 
172 €9e ©antjere ^ewefs 
 
 put it in her pocket and then began to cry. 
 I did not know what to say or do, I was so 
 frightened at the thought of what was 
 coming ; and, as the dressing-bell rang at 
 that moment, I was just leaving the room 
 when she called me back. 
 
 * " I can't come down to dinner," she said. 
 *' I hate Ralph to see me with red eyes. 
 Tell him I shall come down afterwards at 
 nine o'clock, and that I want to see him 
 particularly ; only don't tell him what it is 
 about, or mention it to any one else. I did 
 not mean anyone to know till he did." 
 
 * She began to cry afresh, and I made her 
 lie down and put a shawl over her, and then 
 left her, as I had still to dress, and I knew 
 that Aunt Mary was not coming down. I 
 was late as it was.' 
 
 * Is that all ?' said Charles, who had been 
 listening intently. 
 
 'All,' replied Evelyn. * We shall soon 
 know the worst now.' 
 
 'Very soon,' said Charles. 'Ralph may 
 
Z^e ®ant)er6 ^evocfs 173 
 
 come in here at any moment. Evelyn and 
 Middleton, will you have the goodness to 
 come with me ?' And he led the way into 
 the hall. 
 
 We could hear Ralph in the next room, 
 humming over an old Irish melody, with an 
 improvised accompaniment. 
 
 ' Now show me her room !' said Charles, 
 'and be quick about it.' 
 
 Evelyn looked at him astonished, and then 
 led the way upstairs, along the picture- 
 gallery to another wing of the house. She 
 stopped at last before a door at the end of a 
 passage, dimly lighted by a lamp at the 
 further end. There was a light under the 
 door, and a bright chink in the keyhole, but 
 though we listened intently we could hear 
 nothing stirring within. 
 
 * Knock again,' said Charles to Evelyn. 
 ' Louder !' as her hand failed her. 
 
 There was no answer. As we listened 
 the light within disappeared. 
 
 * Bring that lamp from the end of the 
 
174 t^e ®ant)er6 ^evoefs 
 
 passage,' said Charles to Evelyn, and she 
 brought it. 
 
 * Hold it there !' he said ; ' and you, 
 Middleton, stand aside.' 
 
 He took a few steps backward, and then 
 flung himself against the door with his whole 
 force. It cracked and groaned, but resisted. 
 
 * The lock is old. It is bound to go,' he 
 said, panting a little. 
 
 * Really, Charles,' I remonstrated — ' a 
 lady's private apartment! Miss Derrick, I 
 wonder you allow this.' 
 
 Charles retreated again, and then made 
 a fresh and even fiercer onslaught on the 
 door. There was a sound of splintering 
 wood and of bursting screws, and in another 
 moment the door flew open inwards, and 
 Charles was precipitated head foremost into 
 the room, his evening pumps flourishing 
 wildly in the air. In an instant he was on 
 his feet again, gasping hard, and had seized 
 the lamp out of Evelyn's hand. Before I 
 had had time to remonstrate on the liberty 
 
that he was taking, we were all three in the 
 room. 
 
 It was empty ! 
 
 In one corner stood a box half-packed, 
 with various articles of clothing lying by it. 
 On the dressing-table was a whole medley of 
 little feminine knick-knacks, with a candle- 
 stick in the midst, the dead wick still smoking 
 in the socket, and accounting for the dis- 
 appearance of the light a few minutes before. 
 The fire had gone out, but on a chair by it 
 was laid a little black lace evening-gown, 
 evidently put out to be worn ; while over 
 the fender a dainty pair of silk stockings had 
 been hung, and two diminutive black satin 
 shoes were waiting on the hearthrug. The 
 whole aspect of the room spoke of a sudden 
 and precipitate flight. 
 
 ' Bolted !' said Charles, when he had re- 
 covered his breath. ' And so the mystery 
 is out at last ! I might have known there 
 was a woman at the bottom of it. Unpre- 
 meditated, though,' he continued, looking 
 
176 i^e ®anuer0 3en)ef6 
 
 round. ' She meant to have gone to-morrow ; 
 but your recognition of that paper frightened 
 her, though she turned it off well to gain 
 time. No fool that. She only had an hour, 
 and she made the most of it, and got off, no 
 doubt, while we were at dinner, by the 8.2 
 London train, which is the last to-night ; 
 and after the telegraph-office was closed, 
 too ! She knew nothing could be done till 
 to-morrow. She has more wit than I gave 
 her credit for.' 
 
 * I distrusted her before, though I had no 
 reason for it, but I never thought she was 
 gone,' said Evelyn, trembling violently, and 
 still looking round the room. 
 
 *I knew it,' said Charles, 'from the 
 moment I saw the light through the key- 
 hole. A keyhole with a key in it would not 
 have shown half the amount of light through 
 it ; and a locked door without a key in it is 
 safe to have been locked /rom the outside. 
 Had she a maid with her T 
 
 'No,' replied Evelyn, 'she used to come 
 
to me, next door, when she wanted help — 
 but not often — because I think she knew I 
 did not like her, though I tried not to 
 show it.' 
 
 ' Well, we have seen the last of her, or I 
 am much mistaken,' said Charles. ' And 
 now,' he added, compressing his lips ; * I 
 suppose I must go and tell Ralph.' 
 
 ' Oh, Ralph ! Ralph !' gasped Evelyn, with 
 a sudden sob ; ' and he was so fond of her !' 
 
 ' And so you distrusted her before, Evelyn? 
 And why did you not mention that fact a 
 little sooner ?' 
 
 * Without any reason for it ? And when 
 
 Ralph Oh, I couldn't ! I couldn't I' said 
 
 the girl, crimsoning. 
 
 Charles gazed intently at her as she 
 turned away, pressing her hands tightly 
 together, and evidently struggling with some 
 sudden emotion for which there really was 
 no apparent reason. She was overwrought, 
 I suppose ; and indeed, the exertion of 
 breaking in the door had been rather too 
 
 12 
 
1 78 <t^e ©antjere ^enjefg 
 
 much for Charles too ; for, now that the 
 excitement was over, his hand shook so 
 much that he had to put down the lamp, 
 and even his voice trembled a little as he 
 said : 
 
 * I don't think Ralph is very much to be 
 pitied. He has had a narrow escape.' 
 
 •Don't come down again, either of you,' 
 he continued a moment later, in his usual 
 voice. ' I had better go and get it over at 
 once. He will be wondering what has 
 become of us if I wait much longer. Evelyn, 
 good-night. Good-night, Middleton. If it 
 is too early for you to go to bed, you will 
 find a fire in the smoking-room.' 
 
 I bade Evelyn good-night, and followed 
 Charles down the corridor. He replaced the 
 lamp with a hand that was steady enough 
 now, and went slowly across the picture- 
 gallery. The way to my room led me 
 through it also. Involuntarily I stopped at 
 the head of the great carved staircase which 
 led into the hall, and watched him going 
 
t-^c ©antjere ^ewefe 179 
 
 down, step by step, with lagging tread. 
 From the morning-room came the distant 
 sound of a piano, and a man's voice singing 
 to it, singing softly as though no Nemesis 
 were approaching ; singing slowly, as if 
 there were time enough and to spare. But 
 Nemesis had reached the bottom of the 
 staircase ; Nemesis with a heavy step was 
 going across the silent hall — was even now 
 opening the door of the morning-room. 
 The door was gently closed again, and then, 
 in the middle of a bar the music stopped. 
 
[ i8o] 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I PASSED an uneasy night. The wind 
 moaned wearily round the house, at one 
 moment seeming to die away altogether, at 
 another returning with redoubled fury, roar- 
 ing down the wide chimney, shaking the 
 whole building. It dropped completely 
 towards dawn, and after hours of fitful 
 slumber I slept heavily. 
 
 In the gray of the early morning I was 
 awakened by someone coming into my room, 
 and started up to find Charles standing by 
 my bedside, dressed, and with a candle in 
 his hand. His face was worn and haggard 
 from want of sleep. 
 
 ' I have come to speak to you before I go, 
 Middleton,' he said, when I was thoroughly 
 awake. * Ralph and I are off by the early 
 
^0e ©anoere ^ewefe i8i 
 
 train. Will you tell my father that we 
 may not be able to return till to-morrow — 
 if then ; and may I count upon you to 
 keep all you saw and heard secret, till after 
 our return ?' 
 
 ' Where are you going ?' 
 
 * To London. We start in twenty minutes. 
 I don't think it is the least use, but Ralph 
 insists on going, and I cannot let him go 
 alone.' 
 
 ' My dear Charles,' I said (all my anger 
 had vanished at the sight of his worn face) ; 
 ' I will accompany you.' 
 
 'Not for worlds !' he replied hastily. * It 
 would be no good. Indeed, I should not 
 wish it.' 
 
 But I knew better. 
 
 ' An old head is often of use,' I replied, 
 rapidly getting into my clothes. * You may 
 count on me, Charles. I shall be ready in 
 ten minutes.' 
 
 Charles made some pretence at annoyance, 
 but I was not to be dissuaded. I knew very 
 
1 82 $9e ©an^erg Senjefs 
 
 well how invaluable the judgment of an 
 elder man of experience could be on critical 
 occasions ; and besides, I always make a 
 point of seeing everything I can, on all 
 occasions. In ten minutes I was down in 
 the dining-room, where, beside a spluttering 
 fire, the brothers, both heavily booted and 
 ulstered, were drinking coffee by candle- 
 light. A hastily laid breakfast was on the 
 table, but it had not been touched. The 
 gray morning light was turning the flame of 
 the candles to a rusty yellow, and outside, 
 upon the wide stone sills, the snow lay high 
 against the panes. 
 
 Ralph was sitting with bent head by the 
 fire, stick and cap in hand, his heavy boot 
 beating the floor impatiently. He looked 
 up as I came in, but did not speak. The 
 ruddy colour in his cheeks was faded, his 
 face was drawn and set. He looked ten 
 years older. 
 
 ' We ought to be off,' he said at last, in a 
 low voice. 
 
Z^c ^anvcxB Semefs 183 
 
 •No hurry,' replied Charles; 'finish your 
 coffee.' 
 
 1 hastily drank some also, and told Charles 
 that I was coming with them. 
 
 ' No !' said Charles. 
 
 * Yes !' I replied. ' You are going to 
 London, and so am I. I have decided to 
 curtail my visit by a few days, under the 
 circumstances. I shall travel up with you. 
 My luggage can follow.' 
 
 As soon as Charles grasped the idea that 
 I was not going to return to Stoke Moreton, 
 his opposition melted away. He even seemed 
 to hail my departure with a certain sense of 
 relief. 
 
 ' As you like,' he said. ' You can leave 
 at this unearthly hour, if you wish, and 
 travel with us as far as Paddinofton.' 
 
 I nodded, and went after my great-coat. 
 Of course I had not the slightest inten- 
 tion of leaving them at Paddington ; but 
 I felt that the time had not arrived to 
 say so. 
 
1 84 <t^e %anvetB ^evoeU 
 
 ' Here comes the dog-cart/ said Charles, 
 as I returned. 
 
 Ralph was already on his feet. But the 
 dog-cart, with its great bay horse, could not 
 be brought up to the door. The snow had 
 drifted heavily before the steps, and right up 
 into the archway, and the cart had to go 
 round to the back again before we could get 
 in and start. Charles took the reins, and 
 his brother got up beside him. The groom 
 and I squeezed ourselves into the back seat. 
 I could see that I was only allowed to come 
 on sufferance, and that at the last moment 
 they would have been willing to dispense 
 with my presence. However, I felt that I 
 should never have forgiven myself if I had 
 let them go alone. Charles was not thirty, 
 and Ralph several years younger. An ex- 
 perienced man of fifty to consult in case of 
 need might be of the greatest assistance in 
 an emergency. 
 
 ' Quicker !' said Ralph ; ' we shall miss the 
 train.' 
 
t^e ®ant?er6 3en?ef6 185 
 
 * No quicker, if we mean to catch it,' said 
 Charles. * I allowed ten minutes extra for 
 the snow. We shall do it if we go quietly, 
 but not if I let him go. An upset would 
 clinch the matter.' 
 
 We drove noiselessly through the great 
 gates with their stone lions on either side, 
 rampant in wreaths of snow, and up the 
 village street, where life was hardly stirring 
 yet. 
 
 The sun was rising large and red, a ball 
 of dull fire in the heavy sky. It seemed 
 to be rising on a dead world. Before us 
 (only to be seen on my part by craning 
 round) stretched the long white road. At 
 intervals, here and there among the shrouded 
 fields, lay cottages half hidden by a white 
 network of trees. Groups of yellow sheep 
 stood clustered together under hedgerows, 
 motionless in the low mist, and making no 
 sound. A lonely colt, with tail erect, ran 
 beside us on the other side of the hedge as 
 far as his field would allow him, his heavy 
 
i86 $5e ©antjers ^enjefe 
 
 hoofs falling noiseless in the snow. The 
 cold was intense. 
 
 ' There will be a drift at the bottom of 
 Farrow Hill,' said Ralph; * we shall be late 
 for the train.' 
 
 And, in truth, as we came cautiously down 
 the hill, on turning a corner we beheld a 
 smooth sheet of snow lapping over the top 
 of the hedge on one side, like iced sugar on 
 a cake, and sloping downwards to the ditch 
 on the other side of the road. 
 
 * Hold on !' cried Charles, as I stood up to 
 look ; and in another moment we were push- 
 ing our way through the snow, keeping as 
 near the ditch as possible — too near, as it 
 turned out. 
 
 But it was not to be. A few yards in 
 front of us lay the road — snowy, but practi- 
 cable ; but we could not reach it. We 
 swayed backwards and forwards ; we tilted 
 up and down. Charles whistled, and made 
 divers consolatory and encouraging sounds 
 to the bay horse; but the bay horse began 
 
t'^c ©antjers Senjefe 187 
 
 to plunge ; he made a side movement ; one 
 wheel crunched down through the ice in the 
 ditch, and all was over — at least, all in the 
 cart were. We fell soft, I most providentially 
 alighting on the groom, who was young and 
 inclined to be plump, and thus breaking a 
 fall which to a heavy man of my age might 
 have been serious. Charles and Ralph were 
 up in a moment. 
 
 ' I thought I could not do it. But it was 
 worth a trial,' said Charles, shaking himself. 
 * George, look after the horse and cart, and 
 take them straight back. Now, Ralph, we 
 must run for it, if we mean to catch the train. 
 Middleton, you had better go back in the 
 cart.' 
 
 And off they set, plunging through the 
 snow without further ceremony. I watched 
 the two dark figures disappearing, aghast 
 with astonishment. They were positively 
 leaving me behind ! In a moment my mind 
 was made up, and leaving the gasping young 
 groom to look after the horse and cart, I set 
 
off to run too. It was only a chance, of 
 course, but In this weather the train might 
 be late. It was all the way downhill. I 
 thought I could do it, and I did. My feet 
 were balled with snow ; I was hotter than I 
 had been for years ; I was completely out of 
 breath ; but when I puffed into the little 
 roadside station, five minutes after the train 
 was due, I could see that it was not yet in, 
 and that Ralph and Charles were waiting on 
 the platform. 
 
 ' My word, Middleton !' said Charles, 
 coming to meet me. ' I thought I had seen 
 the last of you when I left you reclining on 
 George in the drift. I do believe you have 
 got yourself into this state of fever-heat 
 purely to be of use to us two ; and I treated 
 you very cavalierly, I am sure. Let bygones 
 be bygones, and let us shake hands while 
 you are in this melting mood.' 
 
 I could not speak, but we shook hands 
 cordially, and I hurried off to get my ticket. 
 
 'You can only book to Tar borough,' he 
 
t^c ©antjetfi 2iett)cf6 189 
 
 called after me, ' where we change, and catch 
 the London express.' 
 
 The station-master gave me my ticket, 
 and then approached Charles, and touched 
 his cap. 
 
 ' Might any of you gentlemen be going to 
 London, sir ?' he inquired. 
 
 * All three of us.' 
 
 ' I don't think you will get on, sir. The 
 news came down this morning that the even- 
 ing express from Tarborough last night was 
 thrown off the rails by a drift and got 
 knocked about, and I don't expect the line 
 is clear yet. There will be no trains running 
 till later in the day, I am afraid.' 
 
 ' The night express !' said Ralph suddenly. 
 * Do you mean the 9 train, which you can 
 catch by the 8.2 from here ?' 
 
 * Yes, sir.' 
 
 * She was in it !' said Ralph in a hoarse 
 voice, as the man walked away. 
 
 * How late the train is !' said Charles. 
 ' Quarter of an hour already. I say, Jervis ' 
 
I90 €^e ©antjete ^enjefe 
 
 — calling after him — ' any particulars about 
 the accident ? Serious ?' 
 
 ' Oh dear no, sir, not to my knowledge. 
 Never heard of anything but that the train 
 had been upset and had stopped the traffic' 
 
 * Not many people travelling in such 
 weather, at any rate. I dare say there was 
 not a creature who went from here by the 
 last train last night.' 
 
 ' Only two, sir. One of the young gentle- 
 men from the Rectory, and a young lady, 
 who was very near late, poor thing, and all 
 wet with snow. Ah, there she is, at last!' 
 as the train came in sight ; and he went 
 through the ceremony of ringing the bell, 
 although we were the only travellers on 
 the platform. 
 
 It was only an hour's run to Tarborough, 
 where we were to join the main line. 
 
 ' What are we to do now ?' said Charles, as 
 the chimneys of Tarborough hove in sight 
 and the train slackened. 'Ten to one we 
 shall not be able to get on to London.' 
 
• Nor she either!' said Ralph. ' I shall see 
 her ! I shall see her here !' 
 
 There was an air of excitement about the 
 whole station as we drew up before the 
 platform. Groups of railway officials were 
 clustered together, talking eagerly ; the bar- 
 maids were all looking out of the refreshment- 
 room door ; policemen were stationed here 
 and there ; and outside the iron gates of the 
 station a little crowd of people were waiting 
 in the trodden yellow snow, peering through 
 the bars. 
 
 We got out, and Charles went up to a 
 respectable-looking man in black, evidently 
 an official of some consequence, and asked 
 what was the matter. The man informed 
 him that a special had been sent down the 
 line with workmen to clear the rails, and that 
 its return with the passengers in the ill-fated 
 express was expected at any moment. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say the wretched 
 passengers have been there all night ?' ex- 
 claimed Charles. 
 
192 Z^c ©antjerfi ^etuefs 
 
 From the man's account it appeared that 
 the travellers had taken refuge in a farm near 
 the scene of the accident, and, the snowstorm 
 continuing very heavily, it had not been 
 thought expedient to send a train down the 
 line to bring them away till after daybreak. 
 * It has been gone an hour,' he said, looking 
 at the clock ; * and it is hardly nine yet. Con- 
 sidering how late we received notice of the 
 accident — for the news had to travel by night, 
 and on foot for a considerable distance — I 
 don't think there has been much delay.' 
 
 ' Will all the passengers come back by this 
 train ?' asked Ralph. 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' We will wait !' said Ralph ; and he went 
 and paced up and down the most deserted 
 part of the platform. The man followed 
 him with his eyes. 
 
 ' Anxious about friends, sir ?' he asked 
 Charles. 
 
 •Yes,' I heard Charles say as I went off 
 to warm myself by the waiting-room fire, 
 
t^e ©anthers 3en)ef6 193 
 
 keeping a sharp look-out for the arrival of 
 the train. When I came out some time 
 later, wondering if it were ever going to 
 arrive at all, I found Charles and the man 
 in black walking up and down together, 
 evidently in earnest conversation. When I 
 joined them they ceased talking (I never can 
 imagine why people generally do when I 
 come up), and the latter said that he would 
 make inquiry at the booking-office, and 
 left us. 
 
 ' Who is that man ?' I asked. 
 
 * How should I know ?' said Charles 
 absently. ' He says he has been a London 
 detective till just lately, but he is an inspector 
 of police now. Well ?' as the man returned. 
 
 * Booking-clerk can't remember, sir ; but 
 the clerk at the telegraph office remembers a 
 young lady leaving a telegram last night, to 
 be sent on first thing this morning.' 
 
 * Has it been sent yet ?' 
 'Yes, sir; some time.' 
 
 ' Where was it sent to ?' 
 
 13 
 
194 €9e ©angers ^ewefs 
 
 ' That is against rules, sir. The clerk has 
 no right to give information. Anyhow, it is 
 as good as certain from what you say that the 
 party was in the train, and at all events you 
 will not be kept in doubt much longer ;' and 
 he pointed to the long-expected puff of white 
 smoke in the direction in which all eyes had 
 been so anxiously turned. The train came 
 slowly round a broad curve, and crawled into 
 the station. Ralph had come up, and his 
 eyes were fixed intently upon it. The hand 
 he laid on Charles's arm shook a little as he 
 whispered in a hoarse voice : 
 
 * I must speak to her alone before any- 
 thing is said.' 
 
 ' You shall,' replied Charles ; and he moved 
 forward a little, and waited for the passengers 
 to alight. I felt that any chance of escape 
 which lay in eluding those keen light eyes 
 would be small indeed. 
 
 Then ensued a scene of confusion, a Babel 
 of tongues, as the passengers poured out 
 upon the platform. ' What was the meaning 
 
^^c ©antjere 3enjcf6 195 
 
 of it all ?' hotly demanded an infuriated little 
 man before he was well out of the carriage. 
 Why had a train been allowed to start if it 
 was to be overturned by a snow-drift ? What 
 had the company been about not to make 
 itself aware of the state of the line ? What 
 did the railway officials mean by, etc., etc. ? 
 But he was not going to put up with such 
 scandalous treatment. He should cause an 
 inquiry to be made ; he should write to the 
 Ttmes, he should — in short, he behaved like 
 a true Englishman in adverse circumstances, 
 and poured forth abuse like water. Others 
 followed — some angry, some silent, all cold 
 and miserable. A stout woman in black, 
 who had been sent for to a dying child, was 
 weeping aloud ; a dazed man with bound-up 
 head and a terrified wife was pounced upon 
 immediately by expectant friends, and borne 
 off with voluble sympathy. One or two 
 people slightly hurt were helped out after the 
 others. The train was emptied at last. 
 Aurelia was not there. Charles went down 
 
 13—2 
 
196 t^e ®ant)et0 ^enjefe 
 
 the length of the train, looking into each 
 carriage, and then came back, answering 
 Ralph's glance with a shake of the head. 
 The man in black, who seemed to have been 
 watching him, came up. 
 
 * Have al/ come back by this train ?' 
 Charles asked. 
 
 * All, sir, except ' — and he hesitated — 
 
 * except a few. The doctor who went has 
 not returned ; and the guard says there were 
 some of the passengers badly hurt that he 
 would not allow to be moved from the farm 
 when the train came for them. The engine- 
 driver and one or two others were ' 
 
 Charles made a sign to him to be silent. 
 ' How far is it ?' he asked. 
 ' Twenty miles, sir.' 
 
 * Are the roads practicable ?' 
 
 ' No, sir. At least, they would be very 
 uncertain once you got into the lanes.' 
 
 'We can walk along the line,' said Ralph. 
 
 * That must be clear. Let us start at 
 once.' 
 
 II 
 
Z^c ^anvcxB 2icrt>efB 197 
 
 ' Could not the station-master send us down 
 on an engine ?' asked Charles. ' We would 
 pay well for it.' 
 
 The police-inspector shook his head, but 
 Charles went off to inquire nevertheless, and 
 he followed him. I thought him a very 
 pushing, inquisitive kind of person. I have 
 always had a great dislike to the idle curiosity 
 which is continually prying into the concerns 
 of others. Ralph and I walked up and down, 
 up and down the now deserted platform. I 
 spoke to him once or twice, but he hardly 
 answered ; and after a time I gave it up, and 
 we paced in silence. 
 
 At last Charles returned. His request for 
 an engine had been refused, but a further 
 relay of workmen was being sent down the 
 line in a couple of hours' time, and he had 
 obtained leave for himself and us to go with 
 them. After two long interminable hours of 
 that everlasting pacing we found ourselves 
 in an open truck full of workmen steaming 
 slowly out of the station. i\t the last 
 
moment the man in black jumped in and 
 accompanied us. 
 
 The pace may have been great, but to us 
 it seemed exasperatingly slow, and in the 
 open truck the cold was piercing. The 
 workmen, who laughed and talked among 
 themselves, appeared to take no notice of it ; 
 but I saw that Charles was shivering, and 
 presently he made his brother light his pipe, 
 and began to smoke hard himself. 
 
 Ralph's pipe, however, went out unheeded 
 in his fingers. He sat quite still, with his 
 back against the side of the truck, his 
 eyes fixed upon the gray horizon. Once he 
 turned suddenly to his brother, and said, as 
 if unable to keep silence on what was in his 
 mind : 
 
 ' What was her object ?' 
 
 Charles shook his head. 
 
 * They were hers already,' he went on. 
 * She would have had them all. If she had 
 had debts, I would have paid them. What 
 could her object have been ?' And seem- 
 
t^c ©antjere Semefe 199 
 
 ingly without expecting reply, he relapsed 
 into silence. 
 
 We had left the suburbs now, and were 
 passing through a lonely country. Here and 
 there a village of straggling cottages met the 
 eye, clustering round their little church. In 
 places the hedgerows alone marked the lie 
 of the hidden lanes ; in others men were 
 digging out the roads through drifts of snow, 
 and carts and horses were struggling pain- 
 fully along. In one place a little walking 
 funeral was labouring across the fields from a 
 lonely cottage in the direction of the church 
 high on the hill, the bell of which was tolling 
 through the quiet air. The sound reached 
 us as we passed, and seemed to accompany 
 us on our way. I heard the men talking 
 among themselves that there had been no 
 snow-storm like this for thirty years ; and as 
 they spoke some of them began shading their 
 eyes, and trying to look in the direction in 
 which we were going. 
 
 We had now reached a low waste of unen- 
 
200 
 
 €^e ^anvetti 3eit)ef0 
 
 closed land, with sedge and gorse pricking up 
 everywhere through the snow, and with long 
 lines of pollards marking the bed of a frozen 
 stream. Near the line was a deserted brick- 
 kiln surrounded by long uneven mounds and 
 ridges of ice, with three poplars mounting 
 guard over it. Flights of rooks hung over 
 the barren ground, and wheeled in the air 
 with discordant clamour as we passed — the 
 only living moving things in the utter desola- 
 tion of the scene. As I looked there was an 
 exclamation from one of the workmen, and 
 the engine began to slacken. We were there 
 at last. 
 
[ 20I ] 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The engine and trucks stopped, the men 
 shouldered their tools and tumbled out, and 
 we followed them. A few hundred paces in 
 front of us was a railway bridge, over which 
 a road passed, and under which the rail went at 
 a sharp curve. The snow had drifted heavily 
 against the bridge with its high earth em- 
 bankment, making manifest at a glance the 
 cause of the disaster. 
 
 The bridge was crowded with human 
 figures, and on the line below men were 
 working in the drift, amid piles of ddbris and 
 splintered wood. The wrecked train had all 
 been slightly draped in snow ; the engine 
 alone, barely cold, lying black and grim, like 
 some mighty giant, formidable in death. A 
 sheet of glassy ice near it showed how the 
 
202 $5e ©antjete ^enjefs 
 
 boiler had burst. Some of the hindermost 
 carriages were still standing, or had fallen 
 comparatively uninjured ; but others seemed 
 to have leaped upon their fellows, and 
 ploughed right through them into the drift. 
 It was well that it began to snow as we 
 reached the spot. There were traces of 
 dismal smears on the white ground, which 
 it would be seemly to hide. 
 
 Our friend in black went forward and asked 
 a few questions of the man in charge, and 
 presently returned. 
 
 * The remainder of the passengers are at 
 the farm,' he said, pointing to a house at a 
 little distance ; and, without further delay, we 
 began to scramble up the steep embankment, 
 and clamber over the stone wall of the bridge 
 into the road. 
 
 My mind was full of other things, but I 
 remember still the number of people as- 
 sembled on the bridge, and how a man was 
 standing up in his donkey-cart to view the 
 scene. It was Saturday, and there were 
 
€^e ©anijere 3^^^^^ 203 
 
 quantities of village schoolboys sitting astride 
 on the low wall, or perched on adjacent 
 hurdles, evidently enjoying the spectacle, 
 jostling, bawling, eating oranges, and throw- 
 ing the peel at the engine. Some older 
 people touched their hats sympathetically, 
 and one went and opened a gate for us into 
 a field, through which many feet seemed to 
 have come and gone ; but, for the greater 
 number, the event was evidently regarded as 
 an interesting variation in the dull routine of 
 everyday life, and to the schoolboys it was 
 an undoubted treat. 
 
 Ralph and Charles walked on in front, 
 following the track across the field. It was 
 not particularly heavy walking after what 
 we had had earlier in the day, but Ralph 
 stumbled perpetually, and presently Charles 
 drew his arm through his own, and the two 
 went on together, the police-inspector follow- 
 ing with me. 
 
 In a few minutes we reached the farm, and 
 entered the farmyard, which was the nearest 
 
204 t^e ©anueifg ^croefB 
 
 way to the house. A little knot of calves, 
 entrenched on a mound of straw in the centre 
 of the yard, lowered their heads, and looked 
 askance at us as we came in, and a party of 
 ducks retreated hastily from our path with a 
 chorus of exclamations, while a thin collie 
 dog burst out of a barrel at the back door 
 and made a series of gymnastics at the end 
 of a chain, barking hoarsely, as if he had not 
 spared himself of late. 
 
 An elderly woman with red arms met us 
 at the door, and, on a whisper from the 
 police-inspector, first shook her head, and 
 then, in answer to a further whisper, nodded 
 at another door, and, a voice calling her from 
 within, hastily disappeared. 
 
 The inspector opened the door she had 
 indicated, and went in, I with him. Charles, 
 who had grown very grave, hung back with 
 Ralph, who seemed too much dazed to notice 
 anything in heaven above or the earth be- 
 neath. The door opened into an outhouse, 
 roughly paved with round stones, where 
 
€^c ®ant?er6 ^enjefe 205 
 
 barrels, staves, and divers lumber had been 
 put away. There was straw In the further 
 end of it, out of which a yellow cat raised two 
 gleaming eyes, and then flew up a ladder 
 against the wall, and disappeared among the 
 rafters. In the middle of the floor, lying a 
 little apart, were three figures with sheets 
 ov^er them. Instinctively we felt that we 
 were in the presence of death. I looked 
 back at Charles and Ralph, who were still 
 standing outside in the falling snow. Charles 
 was bareheaded, but Ralph was looking 
 absently in front of him, seemingly conscious 
 of nothing. The inspector made me a sign. 
 He had raised one of the sheets, and now 
 withdrew it altogether. My heart seemed 
 to stand still. // was Aurelia ! — Aurelia, 
 changed in the last great change of all, but 
 still Aurelia. 
 
 The fixed artificial colour in the cheek 
 consorted ill with the bloodless pallor of the 
 rest of the face, which was set in a look of 
 surprise and terror. She was altered beyond 
 
2o6 Z^e ©antjetB 3en)ef0 
 
 what should have been. She looked several 
 years older. But it was still Aurelia. Those 
 little gloved hands, tightly clenched, were the 
 same which she had held to the library fire as 
 we talked the day before ; even the dress was 
 the same. Alas ! she had been in too great 
 a hurry to change it before she left, or her 
 thin shoes. Poor little Aurelia ! And then 
 — I don't know how it was, but in another 
 moment Ralph was kneeling by her, bending 
 over her, taking the stiffened hands in his 
 trembling clasp, imploring the deaf ears to 
 hear him, calling wildly to the pale lips, which 
 had done with human speech, to speak to 
 him. I could not bear it, and I turned 
 away and looked out through the open door 
 at the snow falling. The inspector came 
 and stood beside me. 
 
 In the silence which followed we could 
 hear Charles speaking gently from time to 
 time ; and when at last we both turned 
 towards them again, Ralph had flung himself 
 down on an old bench at the further end of 
 
t^c ®ant?er6 ^cvoefs 207 
 
 the outhouse, with his back turned towards 
 us, his arms resting on a barrel, and his head 
 bowed down upon them. He neither spoke 
 nor moved. 
 
 Charles left him and came towards us, and 
 he and the inspector spoke apart for a mo- 
 ment ; and then the latter dropped on his 
 knees beside the dead woman, and after 
 looking carefully at a dark stain on one of 
 the wrists, turned back the sleeve. Crushed 
 deep into the round, white arm gleamed 
 something bright. It was an emerald brace- 
 let, which we both knew. Charles cast a 
 hasty glance at Ralph ; but he had not 
 moved, and he drew me beside him, so as to 
 interpose our two figures between him and 
 the inspector. The latter quietly turned 
 down the sleeve, and recomposed the arm. 
 
 * I knew she would have them on her, if 
 she had them at all,' he said, in a low voice. 
 * We need look no further at present. Not 
 one will be missing. They are all there.' 
 
 He gazed long and earnestly at the dead 
 
2o8 $9e ©antjets ^enjefe 
 
 face, and then to my horror he suddenly 
 unfastened the little hat. I made an in- 
 voluntary movement as if to stop him, but 
 Charles laid an iron grip upon me and 
 motioned me to be still. The stealthy hand 
 quietly pushed back the fair curls upon the 
 forehead, and in another moment they fell 
 still further back, showing a few short locks 
 of dark hair beneath them, which so 
 completely altered the dead face that I 
 could hardly recognize it as belonging to the 
 same person. The inspector raised his head 
 and looked significantly at Charles. Then 
 he quietly drew forward the yellow hair over 
 the forehead again, replaced the hat, and 
 rose to his feet. Charles and I glanced 
 apprehensively at Ralph, but he had not 
 stirred. As we looked, a hurried step came 
 across the yard, a hand raised the latch of 
 the door, and someone entered abruptly. It 
 was Carr. For one moment he stood in the 
 doorway, for one moment his eyes rested, 
 horror-struck, or the dead woman, then 
 
Z^c ©antjers Sewefe 209 
 
 darted at us, from us to the inspector, who 
 was coolly watching him, and — he was gone ! 
 gone as suddenly as he had come, gone 
 swiftly out again into the falling snow, 
 followed by the wild barking of the dog. 
 
 Charles, who had had his back to the door, 
 turned in time to see him, and he made a 
 rush for the door, but the inspector flung 
 himself in his way and held him forcibly. 
 
 ' Let me go ! Let me get at him !' panted 
 Charles, struggling furiously. 
 
 ' I shall do no such thing, sir. It can do 
 no good, and might do harm. He is armed 
 and you are not ; and he would not be over- 
 scrupulous if he were pushed. Besides, what 
 can you accuse him of? Intent to rob.'* 
 For he did not do it. If you have lost 
 anything, remember you have found it again. 
 If you caught him a hundred times, you have 
 no hold on him. I know him of old.' 
 
 * You !' exclaimed Charles. 
 
 ' Yes ; I have known him by sight long 
 enough. He is not a new hand by any 
 
 14 
 
2IO $5e ©anDere Senjefs 
 
 means — nor she either, as to that, poor 
 thing.' 
 
 * But what on earth broug^ht him here ?' 
 
 ' He was waiting for news of her in 
 London most Hkely, and he knew she would 
 have the jewels on her, and came down when 
 he got wind of the accident.' 
 
 * Knew she would have the jewels ! Then 
 do you mean to say there was collusion 
 between the two ?' 
 
 The inspector glanced furtively at Ralph, 
 but he had never stirred or raised his head 
 since he had lain it down on his clenched 
 hands. 
 
 * They are both well known to the police,' 
 he said at last, ' and I think it probable there 
 was collusion between them, considering they 
 were man and wife f 
 
[211 ] 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I AM told that I ought to write something in 
 the way of a conclusion to this account of the 
 Dan vers Jewels, as if the end of the last 
 chapter were not conclusion enough. Charles, 
 who has just read it, says especially that his 
 character requires what he calls ' an elegant 
 finish,' and suggests that a slight indication 
 of a young and lovely heiress in connection 
 with himself would give pleasure to the 
 thoughtful reader. But I do not mean at 
 the last moment to depart from the exact 
 truth and dabble in fiction just to make a 
 suitable conclusion. If I must write some- 
 thing more, I must beg that it will be kept in 
 mind that if further details concerning the 
 robbery are now added against my own 
 judgment, they will rest on Charles's authority, 
 
 14—2 
 
212 t^e ® anthers gewefe 
 
 not mine, as anything I afterwards heard 
 was only through Charles, whose information 
 I never consider reliable in the least degree. 
 
 * :^ * * * 
 
 It was not till three months later that I 
 saw him again, on a wet April afternoon. 
 I was still living in London, with Jane, when 
 he came to see me, having just returned from 
 a long tour abroad with Ralph. 
 
 Sir George, he said, was quite well again, 
 but the coolness between himself and his 
 father had dropped almost to freezing-point 
 since it had come to light that he had been 
 innocent after all. His father could not 
 forgive his son for putting him in the wrong. 
 
 ' I seldom disappoint him in matters of 
 this kind,' he said. * Indeed, I may say I 
 have, as a rule, surpassed his expectations, 
 and I must be careful never to fall short of 
 them in this way again. But ah ! Miss 
 Middleton, I am sure you w^ill agree with 
 me how difficult it is to preserve an even 
 course without relaxing a little at times.' 
 
^§e ©antjere ^enjefe 213 
 
 * My dear Mr. Charles,' said Jane, beam- 
 ing at him over her knitting, but not quite 
 taking him in the manner he intended, ' you 
 are young yet, but don't be down-hearted. 
 I am sure by your face that as you grow 
 older these deviations, which you so properly 
 regret, will grow fewer and fewer, until, 
 as life goes on, they will gradually cease 
 altogether.' 
 
 * I consider it not improbable myself,' said 
 Charles, with a faint smile, and he changed 
 the conversation. I really cannot put down 
 here all that he proceeded to say, in the most 
 cold-blooded manner, concerning Carr and 
 Aurelia, or, as he zvoicld call them. Mr. and 
 Mrs. Brown, alias Sinclair, alias Tibbits. I 
 for one don't believe a word of it ; and I 
 don't see how he could have found it all out, 
 as he said he had, through the police, and 
 people of that kind. I don't consider it is 
 at all respectable consorting with the police 
 in that way ; but then Charles never was re- 
 spectable, as I told Jane after he left, arousing 
 
214 €9e ®ant)er6 3en)ef6 
 
 excited feelings on her part which made me 
 regret having mentioned it. 
 
 According to him, Carr, who had never 
 been seen or heard of since the day after the 
 accident, was a professional thief who had 
 
 probably gone to , in India, with the 
 
 express design of obtaining possession of Sir 
 John's jewels, which had, till near the time of 
 his death, been safely stowed away in a bank 
 in Calcutta. He and his wife usually worked 
 together, but on this occasion she had, by 
 means of her engaging manners and youthful 
 appearance, struck up an acquaintance abroad 
 with Lady Mary Cunningham, who, it will be 
 remembered, had jewels of considerable value, 
 with a view to those jewels. Ralph she had 
 used as her tool, and engaged herself to him 
 in the expectation that on her return to 
 England she might, by means of her intimacy 
 with the family, have an opportunity of taking 
 them. Lady Mary having left them, while 
 abroad, with her banker in London. The 
 opportunity came while she was at Stoke 
 
€^c ©antjcre Senjefs 215 
 
 Moreton, but in the meanwhile Sir John's 
 priceless legacy had arrived, having eluded 
 her husband's vigilance. (That certainly 
 was true. The jewels were safe enough as 
 long as I had anything to do with them.) 
 Her husband, who followed them, saw that 
 he was suspected, and threw the game into 
 her hands, devoting himself entirely to putting 
 his own innocence beyond a doubt, in which, 
 with Ralph's assistance, he succeeded. 
 
 * I see now,' continued Charles, 'why she 
 spilt her tea when Carr arrived. She was 
 taken by surprise on seeing him enter the 
 room, having had probably no idea that he 
 was the friend whom you had telegraphed for. 
 I suspect, too, that same evening, after the 
 ball, when she and Carr went together to 
 find the bag, it was to have a last word 
 to enable them to play into each other's 
 hands, being aware, if I remember rightly, 
 that father had gone to bed in company with 
 the key of the safe, and that consequently the 
 jewels might be left within easier reach than 
 
i 
 
 2i6 $0e ©anthers 3en)ef0 
 
 usual. No doubt she weighed the matter in 
 her own mind, and decided to give up all 
 thought of Lady Mary's jewels, and to secure 
 those which were ten times their value. She 
 could not have taken both without drawing 
 suspicion upon herself. Like a wise woman, 
 she left the smaller, and went in for the larger 
 prize ; a less clever one would have tried for 
 both and have failed. She failed, it is true, ^ 
 
 by an oversight. She could never have 
 noticed that the piece of paper wrapped round 
 the crescent was peculiar in any way, or she 
 would not have left it on the table among the 
 others. She turned it off well when Evelyn 
 recognized it, and made the most of her time. 
 She was within an ace of success, but fate 
 was against her. And Carr lost no time 
 either, for that matter ; for I have since found 
 out that the telegram she sent was to Birming- 
 ham, where he was no doubt hiding, bidding 
 him meet her in London earlier than had 
 been arranged. Of course he set off for the 
 scene of the accident directly he heard of it, 
 
t^e ©antyere 3emefs 217 
 
 having received no further communication 
 from her. We only arrived ten minutes 
 before him. For my part, I admired /ler 
 more than I ever did before, when the truth 
 about her came out. I considered her to be 
 a pink and white nonentity without an idea 
 beyond a neat adjustment of pearl-powder, and 
 then found that she possessed brains enough 
 to outwit two minds of no mean caHbre, 
 namely, yours, Middleton, and my own. 
 Evelyn was the only person who had the 
 slightest suspicion of her, and that hardly 
 amounted to more than an instinct, for she 
 owned that she had no reason to show for it.' 
 
 * I wonder Lady Mary was so completely 
 taken in by her to start with,' I said. 
 
 ' I don't,' replied Charles. ' I have even 
 heard of elderly men being taken in by young 
 ones. Besides, suspicious people are always 
 liable to distrust their own nearest relatives, 
 especially their prepossessing nepliews, and 
 then lay themselves open to be taken in by 
 entire stangers. She wanted to get Ralph 
 
2i8 Z^e ®antjet0 3ett)ef0 
 
 married, and she took a fancy to this girl, 
 who was laying herself out to be taken a 
 fancy to. In short, she trusted to her own 
 judgment, and it failed her, as usual. I wrote 
 very kindly to her from abroad, telling her 
 how sincerely I sympathized with her in her 
 distress at finding how entirely her judgment 
 had been at fault, how lamentably she had 
 been deceived from first to last, and how 
 much trouble she had been the innocent 
 means of bringing on the family. I have 
 had no reply. Dear Aunt Mary ! That 
 reminds me that she is in London now ; 
 and I think a call from me, and a per- 
 sonal expression of sympathy, might give 
 her pleasure.' And he rose to take his 
 leave. 
 
 I had let Charles go without contradicting 
 a word he had said, because, unfortunately, I 
 was not in a position to do so. As I have 
 said before, I am not given to suspecting a 
 friend, even though appearances may be 
 against him ; and I still believed in Carr's 
 
t^c ©antjere 3en)efs 219 
 
 innocence, though I must own that I was 
 sorry that he never answered any of the 
 numerous letters I wrote to him, or ever 
 came to see me in London, as I had particu- 
 larly asked him to do. Of course, I did not 
 believe that he was married to Aurelia, for it 
 was only on the word of a stranger and a 
 police-inspector, while I knew from his own 
 lips that he was engaged to a countrywoman 
 of his own. However, be that how it may, 
 my own rooted conviction at the time, 
 which has remained unshaken ever since, is 
 that in some way he became aware that 
 he was unjustly suspected, and being, like 
 all Americans, of a sensitive nature, he retired 
 to his native land. Anyhow, I have never 
 seen or heard anything of him since. I am 
 aware that Jane holds a different opinion, 
 but then Charles had prejudiced her against 
 him ; so much so, that it has ended by 
 becoming a subject on which we do not 
 converse together. 
 
2 20 $5e ©anuere ^enjefs 
 
 I saw Charles again a few months later, on 
 a sultry night in July. I was leaving town 
 the next day to be present at Ralph's 
 wedding, and Jane and I were talking it over 
 towards ten o'clock, the first cool time in the 
 day, when he walked in. He looked pale 
 and jaded as he sat down wearily by us at 
 the open window and stroked the cat, which 
 was taking the air on the sill. He said that 
 he felt the heat, and he certainly looked very 
 much knocked up. I do not feel heat myself, 
 I am glad to say. 
 
 ' I am going abroad to-morrow,' he said, 
 after a few remarks on other subjects. ' It 
 is not merely a question of pleasure, though 
 I shall be glad to be out of London ; but I 
 have of late become an object of such in- 
 creasing interest to those who possess my 
 autograph, that I have decided on taking 
 change of air for a time.' 
 
 ' Do you mean to say you are not going 
 down to Stoke Moreton for Ralph's wedding?' 
 I exclaimed. ' I thought we should have 
 
<t^c ©antjere ^enjefe 321 
 
 travelled together, as we once did six months 
 ago/ 
 
 ' I can't go,' said Charles, almost sharply. 
 ' I have told Ralph so.' 
 
 ' I am sure he will be very much dis- 
 appointed, and Evelyn too ; and the wedding 
 being from her uncle's house, as she has no 
 home of her own, will make your absence all 
 the more marked.' 
 
 ' It 7nus^ be marked, then ; but the young 
 people will survive it, and Aunt Mary will 
 be thankful. She has not spoken to me 
 since I made that little call upon her in the 
 spring. When I pass her in the Row she 
 looks the other way.' 
 
 ' I am glad Ralph has consoled himself,' I 
 said. ' A good and charming woman like 
 Evelyn, and a nice steady fellow like Ralph, 
 are bound to be happy together.' 
 
 * Yes,' said Charles, ' I suppose they are. 
 She deserves to be happy. She always liked 
 Ralph, and he is a good fellow. The model 
 young men make all the running nowadays. 
 
$9e ®ant)er6 3ett)ef6 
 
 In novels the good woman always marries 
 the scapegrace, but it does not seem to be 
 the case in real life.' 
 
 ' Anyhow, not in this instance,' I remarked 
 cheerfully. 
 
 ' No, not in this instance, as you so justly 
 observe/ he replied, with a passing gleam of 
 amusement in his restless tired eyes. * And 
 now,' producing a small packet, * as I am not 
 going myself, I want to give my wedding- 
 present to the bride into your charge. Per- 
 haps you will take it down to-morrow, and 
 give it into her own hands, with my best 
 wishes.' 
 
 ' Might we see it first?' said Jane, with all 
 a woman's curiosity, evidently scenting a 
 jewel-case from afar. 
 
 Charles unwrapped a small morocco case, 
 and, touching a spring, showed the diamond 
 crescent, beautifully re-set and polished, 
 blazing on its red satin couch. 
 
 * Ralph said I should have it, and he sent 
 it me some time since,' he said, turning it in 
 
J^e ©antjere Jemefe 223 
 
 his hand ; ^ but it seems a pity to fritter it 
 away in paying bills ; and,' in a lower tone, 
 * I should like to give it to Evelyn. I hear 
 she has refused to wear any of Sir John's 
 jewels on her wedding-day, but perhaps — if 
 you were to ask her — she and I are old 
 friends — she might make an exception in 
 favour of the crescent.' 
 And she did. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD. 
 
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