Mrs. HALLIBURTON'S 
 
 Mrs. Henry Wood
 
 mmsil\ Of CALIFORNIA 
 RIVERSIDE 
 
 Ex Libris 
 ► ISAAC FOOT 
 
 i
 
 e.a ft' 
 
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES-
 
 "This life of ours is a wild asolian harp of many a joyous strain, 
 But under them all there runs a loud perpetual wail, as of souls in pain. 
 
 .K. ***** * 
 
 All through life there are wayside inns, where man may refresh his soul with 
 
 love; 
 Even the lowest may quench bis thirst at rivulets fed by springs from above, 
 
 Longfellow.
 
 Mrs. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 BY 
 
 rilenCPH^e^^II^S. HENRY, WOOD, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 "east LYNNE," "the CHANNINGS," "johnny LUDLOW," ETC. 
 
 (Bm ll^untircU nnli ^lucniutl) ®l)ousnnt(. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, 
 
 ^ublisljtrs in ©riiHaru to fljcr fHajcstu tfjc ©urrti. 
 
 1895. 
 
 (W// rights reserved')
 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND fONS, Limited, 
 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CP. SS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAVTER 
 
 I. The Clergyman's Daughter ... 
 
 II. The Shadow becomes Suijstance 
 
 III. The Rev. Francis Tait 
 
 IV. New Plans 
 V. Margaret 
 
 VI. A Visit to the Physician 
 
 VII. Later in the Day 
 
 VIII. Suspense ... 
 
 IX. Looking out for a Home 
 
 X. A Dying Bed 
 
 XL IIelstonleigh 
 
 XII. Anna Lynn 
 
 XIII. Illness 
 
 XIV. A Christmas Dream 
 XV. The Funeral ... 
 
 XVL Trouble ... 
 
 XVII. Thomas Ashley 
 
 XVIIL Honey Fair 
 
 XIX. Mrs. Reece and Dobbs 
 
 XX. The Glove Operatives 
 
 XXI. The Ladies of Honey Fair ... 
 
 XXII, Mr. Brumm's Sunday Shirt 
 
 XXIII. The Messrs. Bankes ... 
 
 XXIV, Hard to Bear 
 XXV. Incipient Vanity 
 
 XXVI. Mr. Ashley's Manufactory 
 
 XXVII. The Forgotten Letter 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 lO 
 
 14 
 21 
 24 
 28 
 
 37 
 42 
 48 
 
 5° 
 56 
 61 
 64 
 69 
 
 77 
 82 
 
 89 
 96 
 
 99 
 104 
 110 
 118 
 121 
 
 125 
 
 129 
 
 ^33 
 138
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAI'TER PAGE 
 
 I. A Suggested Fear ... ... ... ... H^ 
 
 II. Shadows in Honey Fair ... ... ... 153 
 
 III. The Dares at Home ... ... ... ... 159 
 
 IV. Throwing at the Bats ... ... ... 164 
 
 V. Charlotte East's Present ... ... ... 171 
 
 VI. The Fear growing Greater ... ... 175 
 
 VII. The End ... ... ... ... ... 182 
 
 VIII. A ^YEDDING in Honey Fair ... ... 186 
 
 IX. An Explosion for Mrs. Cross ... ... 189 
 
 X. A Shilling in the Waste-Paper Basket ... 196 
 
 XI. The Schoolboys' Notes ... ... ... 201 
 
 XII. A Lesson for Philip Glenn ... ... 204 
 
 XIII. Making Progress ... ... ... ... 208 
 
 XIV. William Halliburton's Ghost ... ... 2H 
 
 XV. "Nothing Risk, Nothing Win" ... ... 219 
 
 XVI. Mrs. Dare's Governess ... ... ... 225 
 
 XVII. Taking an Italian Lesson ... ... ... 230 
 
 •XVIII. A Vision in Honey Fair ... ... .. 237 
 
 XIX. The Duplicate Cloaks ... ... ... 239 
 
 XX. A Hole dug by Starlight ... ... 246 
 
 XXI. A Present of Tea-leaves ... ... ... 253 
 
 XXII. Henry Ashley's Object in Life ... ... 260 
 
 XXIH. Atterly's Field ... ... ... ... 267 
 
 XXIV. Looking into the Shop Windows ... 276 
 
 XXV. Patience come to Grief ... ... ... 281 
 
 XXVI. The Governess's Expedition ... ... 287 
 
 XXVII. The Quarrel ... ... ... ... ... 295
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Vll 
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 I. Anna Lynn's Dilemma 
 
 II. Commotion 
 
 III. Accused 
 
 IV. Committed for Trial 
 V. A Bruised Heart 
 
 VI. One dying in Honey Fair 
 
 VII. Fruits coming home to the Dares 
 
 VIII. An Ugly Vision ... 
 
 IX. Sergeant Delves "looks up" 
 
 X. The Trial 
 
 XI. The Witnesses for the Alibi 
 
 XII. A Couch of Pain 
 
 XIII. A Ray of Light 
 
 XIV. Mr. Delves on his Beam Ends 
 XV. * A Loss for Pomeranian Knoll 
 
 XVI. Miss Ashley's Offer 
 
 XVII. The Explosion 
 
 XVin. Mr. Frank "called" 
 
 XIX. Glimpse of a Blissful Dream 
 
 XX. Ways and Means ... 
 
 X.\I. The Dream Realized... 
 
 XXII. The Bishop's Letter 
 
 XXIII. A Dying Confession ... 
 
 XXIV. The Downfall of the Dares 
 XXV. Assize Time ... 
 
 XXVI. The High Sheriff's Dinner Party 
 
 PAGE 
 310 
 
 325 
 
 330 
 
 333 
 339 
 346 
 351 
 354 
 ^62 
 
 370 
 375 
 378 
 
 385 
 392 
 
 399 
 409 
 414 
 422 
 428 
 
 431 
 434 
 443 
 
 451 
 456
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE clergyman's DAUGHTER, 
 
 I N a very populous district of London, somewhat north of Temple 
 Bar, there stood, many years ago, a low, ancient church, amidst 
 other churches — for you know that London abounds in them. The 
 doors of this church were partially open one dark evening in 
 December, and a faint, glimmering light might be observed inside 
 by the passers-by. 
 
 It was known well enough what was going on within, and why the 
 light was there. The rector was giving away the weekly bread. A 
 benevolent person had left, years ago, a certain sum to be spent in 
 twenty weekly loaves, to be given to twenty poor widows at the dis- 
 cretion of the minister. Certain curious provisos were attached to 
 the bequest. One was that the bread should not be less than two 
 days old, and should have been deposited in the church at least 
 twenty-four hours before its distribution. Another was, that each 
 recipient must attend in person. Failing personal attendance, no 
 matter how unavoidable her absence might have been, she lost the 
 loaf : no friend might receive it for her, neither might it be sent to 
 her. In that case, the minister was enjoined to bestow it upon "any 
 stranger widow who might present herself, even as should seem 
 expedient to him :" the word " stranger" being, of course, used in 
 contradistinction to the twenty poor widows who were on the books 
 as the charity's recipients. Four times a year, one shilling to each 
 widow was added to the loaf of bread. 
 
 A loaf of bread is not much. To us, sheltered in our abundant 
 homes, it seems as nothing. But, to many a one, toiling and starving 
 in this same city of London, a loaf may be almost the turning-point 
 between death and life. The poor existed in those days as they exist 
 in these ; as they always will exist : therefore it was no matter of 
 surprise that a crowd of widow women, most of them aged, all in 
 poverty, should gather round the church doors when the bread was 
 being given out, each hoping that, of the twenty poor widows, some 
 one might fail to appear, and that the clerk would come to the door 
 and call out her own particular name, as the fortunate substitute. 
 
 Mis. Halliburton's Troubles. l
 
 2 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 On the days when the shilHng was added to the loaf, this waiting 
 and hoping crowd would be increased fourfold. 
 
 Thursday was the afternoon for the distribution. And on the day 
 that we are now writing about, the rector entered the church at the 
 usual hour: four o'clock. He had to make his way through an 
 unusual number of outsiders : for this was one of the shilling days. 
 He knew them all personally ; was familiar with their names and 
 homes : for the Rev. Francis Tait was a hard-working clergyman. 
 And hard-working clergymen were more rare in those days than 
 they are in these. 
 
 Of Scotch birth, but chiefly reared in England, he had taken 
 orders at the usual age, and become curate in a London parish, 
 where the work was heavy and the stipend small. Not that the 
 duties attached to the church itself were heavy ; but it was a parish 
 filled with the poor. Those who are familiar with such parishes 
 know what that means, when the minister is sympathizing and con- 
 scientious. For twenty years he remained a curate, patiently toiling, 
 cheerfully hoping. Twenty years! It seems little, to write ; but, 
 to live, it is a great deal ; and Francis Tait, in spite of his hopeful- 
 ness, sometimes found it so. Then promotion came. The living of 
 this little church, that you now see open, was bestowed upon him. 
 A poor living, as compared with some others ; and a poor parish, 
 speaking of the social condition of its inhabitants. But the living 
 appeared wealth, compared with what he had earned as a curate ; 
 and, as to his flock being chiefly composed of the poor, he had 
 not been accustomed to anything else. Then the Rev. Francis Tait 
 married ; and another twenty years went by. 
 
 He stood in the church on this evening ; the loaves resting on the 
 shelf overhead, against the door of the vestry, all near the entrance 
 to the church. A flaring tallow candle stood on the small table be- 
 tween him and the widows who clustered opposite. He was sixty-five 
 years old now ; a spare man of middle height, with a clear, pale skin, 
 an intelligent countenance, and a thoughtful, fine grey eye. He had 
 a pleasant word, a kind inquiry for all, as he put the shilling into 
 their hands ; the lame old clerk at the same time handing over the 
 loaf of bread. 
 
 " Are you all here to-night ? " he asked, as the distribution went 
 on. 
 
 " No, sir," was the answer from several who spoke at once, 
 " Betty King's away." 
 
 " What is the matter with her ? " 
 
 " The rhcumaticks have laid hold on her, sir. She couldn't get 
 here nohow. She's in her bed." 
 
 " I must go and sec her," said he. " What, arc you here again, 
 Martha?" he continued, as a little deformed woman stepped from 
 behind the rest, where she had been hidden. " I am glad to see 
 you." 
 
 "Six blessed weeks this day, and I've not been able to come!" 
 exclaimed the woman, " But I'm restored wonderful."
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 3 
 
 The distribution was approaching its close, when the rector spoke 
 to his clerk. " Call in Eliza Turner." 
 
 The clerk placed on the table the four or five loaves remaining, 
 that each woman might help herself during his absence, and went 
 out to the door. 
 
 " 'Liza Turner, his rev^erence has called for you." 
 
 A sigh of delight from Eliza Turner, and a groan of disappoint- 
 ment from those surrounding her, greeted the clerk in answer. He 
 took no notice — he often heard it — but turned and limped into the 
 church again. Eliza Turner followed ; and another woman slipped 
 in after Eliza Turner. 
 
 " Now, Widow Booth," cried the clerk, sharply, perceiving the 
 intrusion, " what business have you here.'' You know it's again the 
 rules." 
 
 " I must see his reverence," murmured the woman, pressing on — 
 a meek, half-starved woman ; and she pushed her way into the 
 vestry, and there told her pitiful talc. 
 
 " I'm worse oft" than Widow Turner," she moaned piteously, not in 
 a tone of complaint, but of entreaty. " She has a daughter in service 
 as helps her ; but me, I've my poor unfortunate daughter lying in 
 my place weak with fever, sick with hunger ! Oh, sir, couldn't you 
 give the bounty this time to me ? I've not had a bit or drop in my 
 mouth since morning • and then it was but a taste o' bread and a 
 drain o' tea, that a neighbour give me out o' charity." 
 
 It was absolutely necessary to discountenance these personal 
 applications. The rector's rule was, never to give the spare bounty 
 to those who applied for it : otherwise the distribution might have 
 become a weekly scene of squabbling and confusion. He handed 
 the shilling and bread to Eliza Turner ; and when she had followed 
 the other women out, he turned to the Widow Booth, who was 
 sobbing against the wall ; speaking kindly to her. 
 
 " You should not have come in, Mrs. Booth. You know that I do 
 not allow it." 
 
 " But I'm starving, sir," was the answer. " I thought maybe as 
 you'd divide it between me and W^idow Turner. Sixpence for her, 
 and sixpence for me, and the loaf halved." 
 
 " I have no power to divide the gifts : to do so would be against 
 the terms of the bequest. How is it that you are so badly off this 
 week ? Has your work failed ? " 
 
 " I couldn't do it, sir, with my sick one to attend to. And I've a 
 gathering come on my thimble finger, and that has hindered me. I 
 took ninepence the day before yesterday, sir, but last night it was 
 every farthing of it gone." 
 
 " I will come round and see you b)'-and-by," said the clergyman. 
 
 She lifted her eyes yearningly. " Oh, sir! if you could but give 
 me something for a morsel of bread now ! I'd be grateful for a penny 
 loaf" 
 
 " Mrs. Booth, you know that, to give here would be altogether 
 against my rule," he replied, with unmistakable firmness. " Neither
 
 4 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 am I pleased when any of you attempt to ask it. Go home quietly : 
 I have said that I will come to you by-and-by." 
 
 The woman thanked him, and went out. Had anything been 
 needed to prove the necessity of the rule, it would have been the 
 eagerness with which the crowd of women gathered round her. Not 
 one of them had gone away. '' Had she got anything ? " To reply 
 that she had something, would have sent the whole crowd flocking 
 in, to beg in turn of the rector. 
 
 Widow Booth shook her head. " No, no. I knowed it before. He 
 never will. He says he'll come round." 
 
 They dispersed ; some in one direction, some in another. The 
 rector blew out the candle, and he and the clerk came forth ; and the 
 church was closed for the distribution of bread until that day week. 
 Mr. Tait took the keys to carry them home himself. They were 
 kept at his house. Formerly the clerk had carried them there ; but 
 since he had become old and lame, Mr. Tait would not give him the 
 trouble. 
 
 It was a fine night overhead, but the streets were sloppy ; and the 
 clergyman put his foot unavoidably in many a puddle. The streets 
 through which his road lay were imperfectly lighted. The residence 
 apportioned to the rector of this parish was adjoining a well-known 
 square, fashionable in that day. It was a very good house, bearing 
 a handsome outward appearance. If you judged by it, you would 
 have said the living must be worth five hundred a year at the least. 
 It was not worth anything like that ; and the parish treated their 
 pastor liberally in according him so good a residence. A quarter of 
 an hour's walk from the church brought Mr. Tait to it. 
 
 Until recently, a gentleman had shared this house with Mr. Tait 
 and his family. The curate of a neighbouring parish, the Rev. John 
 Acton, had been glad to live with them as a friend, partaking of their 
 society and their table. It was a little help ; and but for that, Mr. 
 and Mrs. Tait would scarcely have thought themselves justified in 
 keeping two servants, for the educational expenses of their children 
 ran away with a large portion of their income. But Mr. Acton had 
 now been removed to a distance, and they hoped to receive some one 
 or other in his place. 
 
 On this evening, as Mr. Tait was picking his way through the 
 puddles, the usual sitting-room of his house presented a cheerful 
 appearance, ready to receive him. It was on the ground floor, 
 looking to the street, spacious and lofty, and bright with fire. Two 
 candles, not yet lighted, stood on the table behind the tea-tray, but 
 the glow of the fire was quite sufficient for all the work that was 
 being done in the room. 
 
 It was no work at all; but play. A young lady was quietly 
 whirling round the room with a dancing step— quietly, because her 
 feet and movements were gentle ; and the tune she was humming to 
 herself, and to which she kept time, was carolled in an undertone. 
 She was moving thus in the happy innocence of heart and youth. 
 A graceful girl was she, of middle height ; one whom it gladdened
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S DAUGHTER, 5 
 
 the eye to look upon. Not for her beauty, for she had no very great 
 beauty to boast of ; but it was one of those countenances that win 
 their own way to favour. A fair, gentle face it was, openly candid, 
 with the same earnest, honest grey eye that so pleased you in the 
 Rev. Mr. Tait, and brown hair. She was that gentleman's eldest 
 child, and looked about eighteen. In reality she was a year older, 
 but her face and dress were both youthful. She wore a violet silk 
 dress, made with a low body and short sleeves : young ladies did 
 not keep their pretty necks and arms covered up then. In the day- 
 time, the dress would have appeared old, but it looked very well 
 by candle-light. 
 
 The sound of the latch-key in the front door brought her dancing 
 to an end. She knew who it was— no inmate of that house possessed 
 a latch-key, except its master— and she turned to the fire to light 
 the candles. 
 
 Mr. Tait came into the room, removing neither his overcoat nor 
 his hat. " Have you made tea, Jane ? " 
 
 " No, papa ; it has only just struck five." 
 
 " Then I think I'll go out again first. I have to call on one or 
 two of the women, and it will be all one wetting. My feet are 
 soaked already "^—looking down at his buckled shoes and his black 
 gaiters. "You can get my slippers warmed, Jane. But" — the 
 thought apparently striking him — "would your mamma like to 
 wait ? " 
 
 " Mamma had a cup of tea half an hour ago," replied Jane. " She 
 said it might do her good ; if she could get some sleep after it, she 
 might be able to come down for a little while before bedtime. The 
 tea can be made whenever you like, papa. There's only Francis at 
 home, and he and I could wait until ten at night, if you pleased." 
 
 " I'll go at once, then. Not until ten. Miss Jane, but until six, or 
 about that time. Betty King is ill ; but she does not live far off. 
 And I must step in to the Widow Booth's." 
 
 " Papa," cried Jane as he was turning away, " I forgot to tell you. 
 Francis says he thinks he knows of a gentleman who would like to 
 come here in Mr. Acton's place." 
 
 " Ah ! who is it ? " asked the rector. 
 
 " One of the masters of the schc'ol. Here's Francis coming down. 
 He only went up to wash his hands." 
 
 " It is our new mathematical master, papa," cried Francis Tait, 
 a youth of eighteen, who was being brought up to the Church. " I 
 overheard him ask Dr. Percy if he could recommend him to a 
 comfortable house where he might board, and make one of the 
 family; so I told him perhaps you might receive him here. He 
 said he'd come down and see you." 
 
 Mr. Tait paused. " Would he be a desirable inmate, think you, 
 Francis? Is he a gentleman? " 
 
 " Quite a gentleman, I am sure," replied Francis. " And wc all 
 like what little we have seen of him. His name's HaUiburton." 
 
 " Is he in Orders?"
 
 6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 " No. He intends to be, I think." 
 
 " Well, of course I can say nothing about it, one way or the 
 other," conchided Mr. Tait, as he went out. 
 
 Jane stood before the fire in thought, her fingers unconsciously 
 smoothing the parting of the glossy brown hair on her well-shaped 
 head, as she looked at it in the pier-glass. To say that she never 
 did such a thing in vanity, would be wrong ; no pretty girl ever 
 lived, but was conscious of her good looks. Jane, however, was 
 neither thinking of herself nor of vanity then. She took a very 
 practical part in home duties : she took, with her mother, a practical 
 part amidst her father's poor : and just now her thoughts were 
 running on the additional work it might bring to her, should this 
 gentleman come to reside with them. 
 
 "What did you say his name was, Francis?" she suddenly asked 
 of her brother. 
 
 "Whose?" 
 
 " That gentleman's. The new master at your school." 
 
 " Halliburton. I don't know his Christian name." 
 
 " I wonder," mused Jane, aloud, " whether he will wear out his 
 stockings as Mr. Acton did? There was always a dreadful amount 
 of darning to be done to his. Is he an old guy, Francis ? " 
 
 "Isn't he!" responded Francis Tait. "Don't you faint when 
 you see some one come in old and fat, with green rims to his 
 spectacles. I don't say he's quite old enough to be papa's father, 
 but " 
 
 " Why ! he must be eighty, then, at least ! " uttered Jane, in 
 dismay. " How could you propose it to him ? We should not care 
 to have any one older than Mr. Acton." 
 
 " Acton ! that young chicken ! " contemptu ously rejoined Francis. 
 " Put him by the side of Mr. Halliburton ! Acton was barely 
 fifty." 
 
 "He was forty-eight, I think," said Jane. "Oh, dear! how I 
 should like to have gone with Margaret and Robert this evening! " 
 she ex'claimed, forgetting the passing topic in another. 
 
 "They were not polite enough to invite me," said Francis, " I 
 shall pay the old lady out." 
 
 Jane laughed. "You are growing too old now, Francis, to be 
 admitted to a young ladies' breaking-up. Mrs. Chilham said so to 
 mamma " 
 
 Jane's words were interrupted by a knock at the front door, 
 apparently that of a visitor. "Jane!" cried her brother, in some 
 trepidation, " 1 should not wonder if it's Mr. Halliburton' He did 
 not say when he should come." 
 
 Another minute, and one of the servants ushered a gentleman 
 into the room. It was not an old guy, however, as Jane saw at a 
 glance : and she felt a sort of relief. A tall, gentlemanlike man 
 of five or six and twenty, with thin, aquiline features, dark eyes, and 
 a clear, fresli complexion. A handsome man, very prepossessing. 
 
 " You see I have soon availed myself of your permission lo call,"
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S DAUGHTER. J 
 
 said he, \\\ a pleasant tone, as he took Francis Tait's hand, and 
 glanced towards Jane with a slight bow. 
 
 "My sister Jane, sir," said f^rancis. "Jane, this is Mr. Halli- 
 burton." 
 
 Jane for once lost her self-possession. So surprised was she—in 
 fact perplexed, for she did not know whether Francis was playing 
 a trick upon her now, or whether he had previously played it; in 
 short, whether this was, or was not, Mr. Halliburton— that she 
 could only look from one to the other. "Are you Mr. Halliburton?" 
 she said, in her straightforward simplicity. 
 
 " I am Mr. Halliburton," he answered, bending to her politely. 
 " Can I have the pleasure of seeing Mr. Tait? " 
 
 " Will you take a seat.? " said Jane. " Papa is out, but I do not 
 think he will be very long." 
 
 "Where did he go to— do you know, Jane?" cried Francis, who 
 was smothering a laugh. 
 
 "To Betty King's ; and to Widow Booth's. He may have been 
 going elsewhere also. 1 think he was." 
 
 "At any rate, I'll just run there, and see. Jane, you can tell 
 Mr. Halliburton all about it while I am away. Explain to him 
 exactly how he will be here, and how we live. And then )'ou can 
 decide for yourself, sir," concluded Francis. 
 
 To splash through the wet streets to Betty King's or elsewhere, 
 was an expedition rather agreeable to Francis, in his eagerness ; 
 otherwise there was no particular necessity for his going. 
 
 " I am sorry that mamma is not up," said Jane. " She suffers 
 from occasional sick-headaches, and they generally keep her in bed 
 for the day. I will give you any information in my power." 
 
 " Your brother Francis thought— that it might not be disagree- 
 able to Mr. Tait to receive a stranger into his family," said Mr. 
 Halliburton, speaking with some hesitation. But the young lady 
 before him looked so ladylike, the house altogether seemed so well- 
 appointed, that he almost doubted whether the proposal would not 
 offend her. 
 
 " We wish to receive some one," said Jane. " The house is suffi- 
 ciently large to do so, and papa would like it for the sake of society : 
 as well as that it would help in our housekeeping," she added, in 
 her candour. " A friend of papa's was with us— I cannot remember 
 precisely how many years, but he came \\hen I was a little girl. 
 It was the Rev. Mr. Acton. He left us last October." 
 
 " I feel sure that I should like it very much : that I should think 
 myself fortunate if Mr. Tait would admit me," spoke the visitor. 
 
 Jane remembered the suggestion of Francis, and deemed it her 
 duty to speak a little to Mr. Halliburton of "how he would be 
 there," as it had been expressed. She might have done so without 
 the suggestion : she could not be otherwise than straightforward 
 and open. 
 
 " We live very plainly," she observed. " A joint of meat one day ; 
 cold, with a pudding, the next."
 
 8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I should consider myself fortunate to get the pudding," replied 
 Mr. Halliburton, smiling. " I have been tossed about a good deal 
 of late years. Miss Tait, and have not come in for too much com- 
 fort. Just now I am in very uncomfortable lodgings." 
 
 " I dare say papa would like to have you," said Jane, frankly, 
 with a sort of relief. She had thought he looked one who might be 
 over-fastidious. 
 
 " I have neither father nor mother, brother nor sister," he 
 resumed. "In fact, I may say that I am without relatives : for 
 almost the only one I have has discarded me. I often think how 
 rich those people must be who possess close connections and a 
 happy home," he added, turning his bright glance upon her. 
 
 Jane dropped her work, which she had taken up. " I don't 
 know what 1 should do without all my dear relatives," she ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 " Are you a large family ? " 
 
 " We are six. Papa and mamma, and four children. I am the 
 eldest, and Margaret is the youngest ; Francis and Robert are 
 between us. It is breaking-up night at Margaret's school, and she 
 has gone to it with Robert," continued Jane, never doubting but 
 that the stranger must take as much interest in "breaking-up 
 nights " as she did. " I was to have gone ; but mamma has been 
 unusually ill to-day." 
 
 " Were you disappointed?" 
 
 Jane bent her head while she confessed the fact, as if feeling it 
 were a confession to be ashamed of. "It would not have been 
 kind to leave mamma," she added, " and I dare say some other 
 pleasure will arise for me soon. Mamma is asleep now." 
 
 "What a charming girl!" thought Mr. Halliburton to himself. 
 " How I wish she was my sister ! " 
 
 " Margaret is to be a governess," observed Jane. " She is being 
 educated for it. She has great talent for music, and also for draw- 
 ing: it is not often that the two are united. Her tastes lie quite 
 that way — anything clever ; and as papa has no money to give us, 
 it was well to make her a governess." 
 
 "And you?" said Mr. Halliburton. The question might have 
 been thought an impertinent one by many, but he spoke it only in 
 his deep interest, and Jane Tait was of too ingenuous a disposition 
 not to answer it as openly. 
 
 " I am not to be a governess. I am to stay at home with mamma 
 and help her. There is plenty to do. Margaret cannot bear 
 domestic duties, or sewing either. Dancing excepted, I have not 
 learnt a single accomplishment — unless you can call French an 
 accomplishment." 
 
 " I am sure you have been well educated ! " involuntarily spoke 
 Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 " Yes ; in all things solid," replied Jane. " Papa has taken care 
 of that. He still directs my reading in literature. I know a good 
 bit — of— Latin," — she added, bringing out the concluding words
 
 THE CLERGYMAN'S DAUGHTER. 9 
 
 with hesitation, as one who repents his sentence — " though I do not 
 hke to confess it to you." 
 
 "Why do you not?" 
 
 " Because I think young ladies who know Latin are laughed at. 
 I did not regularly learn it, but I used to be in the room when 
 papa or Mr. Acton was teaching Francis and Robert, and I picked 
 it up unconsciously. Mr. Acton often took Francis ; he had more 
 time on his hands than papa. Francis is to be a clergyman." 
 
 " Miss Jane," said a servant entering the room, " your mamma 
 is awake, and wishes to see you." 
 
 Jane left Mr. Halliburton with a word of apology, and almost 
 immediately after, Mr. Tait came in. He was a little taken to when 
 he saw the stranger. His imagination had run, if not upon an " old 
 guy " in spectacles, certainly upon some steady, sober, middle-aged 
 mathematical master. Would it be well to admit this young and 
 good-looking man to his house? 
 
 If Jane Tait had been candid in her revelations to Mr. Halliburton, 
 that gentleman, in his turn, was not less candid to her father. He, 
 Edgar Halliburton, was the only child of a country clergyman, the 
 Rev. William Halliburton, who had died when Edgar was sixteen, 
 leaving nothing behind him. Edgar — he had previously lost his 
 mother — found a home with his late mother's brother, a gentleman 
 named Cooper, who resided in Birmingham. Mr. Cooper was a 
 man in extensive wholesale business, and he wished Edgar to go 
 into his counting-house. Edgar dechned. His father had lived 
 long enough to form his tastes : his greatest wish had been to see 
 him enter the Church ; and the wish had become Edgar's own. 
 Mr. Cooper thought there was nothing in the world like business : 
 he looked upon that most sacred of all callings, God's ministry, 
 only in the light of a profession. He had carved out his own career, 
 step by step, attaining wealth and importance, and he wished his 
 nephew to do the same. " Which is best, lad?" he coarsely asked : 
 "To rule as a merchant-prince, or to starve and toil as a curate? 
 I'm not a merchant-prince yet, but you may be." "It was my 
 father's wish," pleaded Edgar in answer, " and it is my own. I 
 cannot give it up, sir." The dispute ran high — not in words, but in 
 obstinacy. Edgar would not yield, and at length Mr. Cooper dis- 
 carded him. He turned him out of doors : he told him that, if he 
 must become a parson, he might get some one else to pay his 
 expenses at Oxford, for he never would. Edgar Halliburton pro- 
 ceeded to London, and obtained employment as an usher in a 
 school, teaching classics and mathematics. From that he became 
 a private teacher, and had so earned his living up to the present 
 time : but he had never succeeded in getting to the University. 
 And Mr. Tait, before they had talked together five minutes, was 
 charmed with his visitor, and invited him to take tea with him, 
 which Jane came down to make. 
 
 "Has your uncle never softened towards you?" Mr. Tait 
 inquired.
 
 lo MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Never. I have addressed several letters to him, but they have 
 been returned to me." 
 
 " He has no family, you say, Mr. Halliburton ? You ought — in 
 ♦justice, you ought to inherit some of his wealth. Has he other 
 relatives ? " 
 
 " He has one standing to him in the same relationship that I do 
 ■ — my cousin Julia. It is not likely that I shall ever mhcrit a 
 shilling of it, sir. I do not expect it." 
 
 ".Right," said Mr. Tait, nodding his head approvingly. " There's 
 no work so thriftless as that of waiting for legacies. Wearying, too. 
 I was a poor curate, Mr. Halliburton, for twenty years — indeed, so 
 far as being poor goes, I am not much else now — but let that pass. 
 I had a relative who possessed money, and who had neither kith nor 
 kin nearer to her than 1 was. For the best part of those twenty 
 years I was casting covert hopes to that money ; and when she 
 died, and nothing was left to me, I found out how foolish and 
 wasteful my hopes had been. I tell my children to trust to their 
 own honest exertions, but never to trust to other people's money. 
 Allow me to urge the same upon you." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton's lips and eyes alike smiled, as he looked grate- 
 fully upon the rector, the man so much older than himself. " I 
 never think of it," he earnestly said. " It appears, for me, to be as 
 thoroughly lost as though it did not exist. I should not have 
 mentioned it, sir, but that I consider it right that you should know 
 all particulars respecting me ; if, as I hope, you will admit me to 
 your home." 
 
 " I think we should get on together very well," frankly acknow- 
 ledged Mr. Tait, forgetting the prudent ideas which had crossed his 
 mind. 
 
 " I am sure we should, sir," warmly replied Edgar Halliburton. 
 And the bargain was made. 
 
 CHAPTER II, 
 
 THE SHADOW BECOMES SUBSTANCE. 
 
 And yet it had perhaps been well that those prudent ideas had been 
 allowed by Mr. Tait to obtain weight. Mr. Halliburton took up his 
 abode with them ; and, the more they saw of him, the more they 
 liked him. In which liking Jane must be included. 
 
 It was a possible shadow of the future, of the effects the step 
 would bring forth, which had whispered determent to Mr. Tait: a 
 very brief shadow, which had crossed his mind imperfectly, and 
 flitted away again. Where two young and attractive beings are 
 thrown into daily companionship, the result too frequently is, that 
 a mutual regard arises, stronger than any other regard can ever ]yQ 
 in this world. This result arrived here.
 
 THE SHADOW BECOMES SUBSTANCE. ir 
 
 A twelvemonth passed over from the period of Mr. Halliburton's 
 entrance — how swiftly for him and for Jane Tait they alone could 
 tell. Not a word had been spoken to her by Mr. Halliburton that 
 he might not have spoken to her mother or her sister Margaret; 
 not a look on Jane's part had been given by wliich he could infer 
 that he was more to her than the rest of the world. And yet both 
 were inwardly conscious of the feelings of the other ; and when the 
 twelvemonth had gone by, it had seemed to them but a span, for 
 the love they bore each other. 
 
 One evening in December, Jane stood in the dining-room, waiting 
 to make the tea, just as she had so waited that former evening. For 
 any outward signs, you might have thought that not a single hour 
 had elapsed since their first introduction — that it was the same 
 evening as of old. It was sloppy outside, it was bright within. The 
 candles stood on the table unlightcd, the fire blazed, the tea-tray was 
 placed, and only Jane was there. Mrs. Tait was upstairs with one 
 of her frequent sick-headaches, ^Margaret was with her, and the 
 others had not come in. 
 
 Jane stood in a reverie — her elbow resting on the mantelpiece, 
 and the blaze from the fire flickering on her gentle face. She was 
 fond of these few minutes of idleness on a winter's evening, between 
 the twilight hour and the lighting of the candles. 
 
 The clock in the kitchen struck five. It did not arouse her: she 
 heard it in a mechanical sort of manner, without taking note of it. 
 Scarcely had the sound of the last stroke died away when there was 
 a knock at the front door 
 
 That aroused her — for she knew it. She knew the footsteps that 
 came in when it was answered, and a rich damask arose to her 
 cheeks, and the pulses of her heart went on a little quicker than 
 they had been going before. 
 
 She took her elbow from the mantelpiece, and sat down cjuietly 
 on a chair. No need to look who entered. Some one, taller by 
 far than any in that house, came up to the fire, and bent to warm 
 his hands over the blaze. 
 
 ■' It is a cold night, Jane. We shall have a severe frost." 
 " Yes," she answered ; " the water in the barrel is already freezing 
 over." 
 
 " How is your mamma now ? " 
 
 "Better, thank you. ]\Iargarct has gone up to help her dress. 
 She is coming down to tea." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton remained a minute silent, and then turned to 
 Jane, his face glowing with satisfaction. " I have had a piece of 
 preferment offered me to-day." 
 
 " Have you ? " she eagerly said. " What is it ? " 
 " Dr. Percy proposes that, from January, I shall take the Greek 
 classes as well as the mathematics, and he doubles my salar}'. Of 
 course I shall have to give more attendance, but I can readily do 
 that. My time is not fully employed." 
 " I am very glad," said Jane.
 
 13 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " So am I," he answered. " Taking all my sources of emolument 
 together, I shall now be earning two hundred and eighty-three 
 pounds a year." 
 
 Jane laughed. " Have you been reckoning it up ?" 
 
 " Ay ; I had a motive in doing so." 
 
 His tone was a peculiar one, and it caused her to look at him, 
 but her eyelids drooped under his gaze. He drew nearer, and laid 
 his hand gently on her shoulder, bending down before her to speak. 
 
 "Jane, you have not mistaken me. I feel that you have read 
 what has been in my heart, what have been my intentions, as surely 
 as if I had spoken. It is not a great income, but it is sufficient, if 
 you can think it so. May I speak to Mr. Tait ? " 
 
 What Jane would have contrived to answer she never knew, but 
 at that moment her mother's step was heard approaching. All she 
 did was to glance shyly up at Mr. Halliburton, and he bent his head 
 lower and kissed her. Then he walked rapidly to the door, and 
 opened it for Mrs. Tait — a pale, delicate-looking lady, wrapped in 
 a shawl. These violent headaches, from which she so frequently 
 suffered, did not affect her permanent health, but on the days she 
 suffered she would be utterly prostrated. Mr. Halliburton gave her 
 his arm, and led her to a seat by the fire, his voice low and tender, 
 his manner sympathizing. " I am already better," she said to him, 
 " and shall be much better after tea. Sometimes I am tempted to 
 envy those who do not know what a sick-headache is." 
 
 " They may know other maladies as painful, dear Mrs. Tait." 
 
 "Ay, indeed. None of us can expect to be free from pain of one 
 sort or another in this world." 
 
 " Shall I make the tea, mamma ? " asked Jane. 
 
 " Yes, child ; I shall be glad of it, and your papa is sure to be in 
 soon. There he is! " she added, as the latch-key was heard in the 
 door. " The boys are late this evening." 
 
 The rector came in, and, ere the evening was over, the news was 
 broken to him by Mr. Halliburton. He wanted Jane. 
 
 It was the imperfect, uncertain shadow of twelve months ago 
 become substance. It had been a shadow of the future only, you 
 imderstand — not a shadow of evil. To Mr. Halliburton, personally, 
 the rector had no objection — he had learned to love, to esteem, and 
 to respect him — but it is a serious thing to give away a child. 
 
 "The income is very small to marry upon," he observed. " It is 
 also uncertain." 
 
 " Not uncertain, sir, so long as I am blessed with health and 
 strength. And I have no reason to fear that these will fail." 
 
 " I thought you were bent on taking Orders." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton's cheek slightly flushed. " It is a prospect I have 
 fondly cherished," he said ; " but its difficulties frighten me. The cost 
 of the University is great; and were I to wait until I had saved 
 sufficient money for that, I should be obliged, in a great degree, to 
 give up my present means of living. Who would employ a tutor 
 who must frequently be away for weeks .'' I should lose my con-
 
 THE SHADOW BECOMES SUBSTANCE. 13 
 
 hection, and perhaps never regain it. A good teaching connection 
 is more easily lost than won." 
 
 " True," observed Mr. Tait. 
 
 " Once in Orders, I might remain for years a poor curate. I 
 should most likely do so. I have neither interest nor influence. Sir, 
 in that case Jane and I might be obliged to wait for years : perhaps 
 go down to our graves, waiting." 
 
 The Rev. Francis Tait cast back his thoughts. How he had 
 waited ; how he was not able to marry until years were advancing 
 upon him ; how in four years now he should have attained three- 
 score years and ten — the term allotted to the life of man— while his 
 children were still growing up around him! No! never, never 
 would he counsel another to wait as he had been obliged to wait. 
 
 " 1 have not yet given up hope of eventually entering the Church," 
 continued Mr. Halliburton; "though it must be accomplished, if at 
 all, slowly and patiently. I think I may be able to keep one term, 
 or perhaps two terms yearly, without damaging my teaching. I 
 shall try to do so : try to tind the necessary means and the time. 
 My marriage will make no difference to that, sir." 
 
 Many might have suggested to Edgar Halliburton that he might 
 keep his terms first, and marry afterwards. Mr. Tait did not: 
 possibly the idea did not occur to him. If it occurred to Edgar, 
 Halliburton himself, he drove it from him. It would have delayed 
 his marriage to an indefinite number of years; and he loved Jane 
 too well to do that willingly. " I shall still get much better prefer- 
 ment in teaching than that which 1 now hold," he urged aloud to 
 the rector. " It is not so very small to begin upon, sir, and Jane is 
 willing to risk it." 
 
 " I will not part you and. Jane," said Mr. Tait, warmly. " If you 
 have made up your minds to share life and its cares together, you 
 shall do so. Still, I cannot say that I think your prospects golden." 
 
 " Prospects that appear to have no gold at all in them sometimes 
 turn out very brightly, sir." 
 
 " I can give Jane nothing, you know." 
 
 " I have never cast a thought to it, sir ; I have never expected 
 that she would have a shilling," replied Mr. Halliburton, his face 
 flushing with his eagerness. " It is Jane herself I want; not 
 money." 
 
 " Beyond a twenty-pound note which I may give her to put into 
 her pocket on her wedding morning, that she may not go out of my 
 house absolutely penniless, she will have nothing," cried the rector, 
 in his straightforward manner. " Far from saving, I and her 
 mother have been hardly able to make both ends meet at the end 
 of the year, I might have saved a few pounds yearly, had I 
 chosen to do so ; but you know what this parish is ; and the reflection 
 has always been upon me : how would my Master look upon my 
 putting by small sums of money, when many of those over whom I 
 am placed were literally starving for bread ? I have given what I 
 could : but I have not saved for my children."
 
 14 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " You have done well, sir." 
 
 Mr. Tait sought his daughter. "Jane," he began — " Nay, child, 
 do not tremble So ! There is no need for trembling, or for tears, 
 either: you have done nothing to displease me. Jane, I like Edgar 
 Halliburton; I like him much. There is no one to whom I would 
 rather give you. But I do not like his prospects. Teaching is very 
 precarious." 
 
 Jane raised her timid eyes. " Precarious for liini, papa ? For 
 one learned and clever as he ! " 
 
 " It is badly paid. See how he toils — and he will have to toil 
 more when the new year comes in — and only to earn two or three 
 hundred a year ! — in round numbers." 
 
 Tears gathered in Jane's eyes. Toil as he did, badly paid as he 
 might be, she would rather have him than any other in the world, 
 though that other might have revelled in thousands and thousands. 
 The rector read somewhat of this in her downcast face. 
 
 " My dear, the consideration lies with you. If you choose to 
 venture upon it, you shall have my consent, and I know that you 
 will have your mother's, for she thinks there's not such another in 
 the world as Edgar Halliburton. But it may bring you many 
 troubles.'' 
 
 " Papa, I am not afraid. If troul^les come, they — you — told us 
 only last night ■ " 
 
 " What, child ? " 
 
 " That troubles, regarded rightly, only lead us nearer to God," 
 whispered Jane, simply and timidly. 
 
 " Right, child. And trouble must come before that great truth 
 can be realized. Consider the question well, Jane, — whether it may 
 not be better to wait — and give your answer to-morrow. I shall 
 tell Mr. Halliburton not to ask for it to-night. As you decide, so 
 shall it be." 
 
 Need you be told what Jane's decision was.'' Two hundred and 
 eighty-three pounds a year seems a: large sum to an inexperienced 
 girl ; quite sufficient to buy everything that may be wanted for a 
 tireside. 
 
 And so she became Jane Halliburton. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE REV. FRANCIS TAIT. 
 
 A HOT afternoon in July. Jane Halliburton was in the drawing- 
 room with her mother, both of them sewing busily. It was a large 
 room, Avith three windows, more pleasant than the dining-room 
 beneath, and they were fond of sitting in it in summer. Jane had 
 been married some three or four months now, but she looked the 
 same young, simple, placid girl that she ever did ; and, but for the
 
 THE REV. FRANCIS TAIT. 15 
 
 wedding-ring upon hei" finger, no stranger would have supposed her 
 to be a wife. 
 
 An excellent arrangement had been arrived at — that she and her 
 luisband should remain inmates of Mr. Tait's house : at any rate, 
 for the present. When plans were being discussed, before making 
 the necessary arrangements for the marriage, and Mr. Halliburton 
 was spending all his superfluous minutes hunting for a house that 
 might suit him near to the old home, and not too dear, Francis 
 Tait had given utterance to a remark — " I wonder who we shall get 
 here in Mr. Halliburton's place, if papa takes any one else?" and 
 Margaret, looking up from her drawing, had added, " Why can't 
 Mr. Halliburton and Jane stay on with us.? It would be so much 
 pleasantcr." 
 
 It was the first time that the idea had been presented in any 
 shape to the rector. It seemed to go straight to his wishes. He 
 put down a book he was reading, and spoke impulsively. " It 
 would be the best thing; the very best thing! Would you like it, 
 Halliburton?" 
 
 " I should, sir ; very much. But it is Jane who must be consulted, 
 not me." 
 
 Jane, her pretty cheeks covered with blushes, looked up, and 
 said that she should like it also : she /uuf thought of it, but had not 
 liked to mention it, either to her mamma or to Mr. Halliburton. 
 " I have been quite troubled to think what mamma and the house 
 will do without me," she added, ingenuously. 
 
 " Let Jane alone for thinking and planning, when difficulties are 
 in the way," laughed Margaret. " My opinion is, that we shall 
 never get another pudding, or papa have his black silk Sunday 
 hose darned, if Jane goes from us." 
 
 Mrs. Tait burst into tears. Like Margaret, she was a bad 
 manager in a house, and had mourned over Jane's departure, 
 secretly believing that she should be half worried to death. " Oh ! 
 Jane, dear, say you'll remain ! " she cried. "It will be such a relief 
 to me ! Margaret's of no earthly use, and everything will fall on 
 my shoulders. Edgar, I hope you will remain with us! It will be 
 pleasant for us all. You knoW the house is large enough." 
 
 And remain they did. The wedding took place at Easter, and 
 Mr. Halliburton took Jane all the way to Dover to see the sea — a 
 long way in those days — and kept her there for a week. And then 
 they came back again, Jane to her old home duties, just as though 
 she were Jane Tait still, and Mr. Halliburton to his teaching. 
 
 It was July now, and hot weather; and Mrs. Tait and Jane were 
 sewing in the drawing-room. They were working for Margaret. 
 Mr. Halliburton, through some of his teaching connections, had 
 obtained an excellent situation for Margaret in a first-rate school. 
 Margaret was to enter as resident pupil, and receive every advan- 
 tage towards the completion of her own education; in return for 
 which, she was to teach the younger pupils music, and pay ten 
 pounds per annum. Such an arrangement was almost unknown
 
 i6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 then, though it has become common enough since, and Mr. and 
 Mrs. Tait thought of it very highly. Margaret Tait was only 
 sixteen; but, as if in contrast to Jane, who looked younger than 
 her actual years, Margaret looked older. In appearance, in 
 manners, and also in advancement, Margaret might have been 
 judged to be eighteen. 
 
 She was to enter the school, which was situated near Harrow, 
 in another week, at the termination of the holidays, and Mrs. Tait 
 and Jane had their hands full, getting her clothes ready. 
 
 "Was this slip measured, mamma?" Jane suddenly asked, after 
 attentively regarding the work she had on her knee. 
 
 " I think so, Jane," replied Mrs. Tait. " Why ? " 
 
 " It looks too short for Margaret. At least, it will be too short 
 when I have finished this fourth tuck. It must have been measured, 
 though, for here are the pins in it. Perhaps Margaret measured it 
 herself." 
 
 " Then of course it must be measured again. There's no trusting 
 to anything Margaret does in the shape of work. And yet, how 
 clever she is at music and drawing — in fact, at all her studies ! " 
 added Mrs. Tait. " It is well, Jane, that we are not all gifted alike." 
 
 " I think it is, mamma," acquiesced Jane. " I will go up to Mar- 
 garet's room for one of her slips, and measure this." 
 
 "You need not do that," said Mrs. Tait. " There's an old slip of 
 hers amongst the work on the sofa." 
 
 Jane found the slip, and measured the one in her hand by it. 
 "Yes, mamma! It is just the length without the tuck. Then I 
 must take out what I have done of it. It is very little." 
 
 " Come hither, Jane. Your eyes are younger than mine. Is 
 not that your papa coming towards us from the far end of the 
 square ? " 
 
 Jane approached the window nearest to her, not the one at 
 which Mrs. Tait was sittiiig. " Oh yes, that's papa. You might 
 tell him by his dress, if by nothing else, mamma." 
 
 " I could tell him by himself, if I could see," said Mrs. Tait, 
 quaintly. " I don't know how it is, Jane, but my sight grows very 
 imperfect for a distance." 
 
 " Never mind that, mamma, so that you continue to see well to 
 work and read," said Jane, cheerily. " How fast papa is walking ! " 
 
 Very fast for the Rev. Francis Tait, who was not in general a quick 
 walker. He entered his house, and came up to the drawing-room. 
 He had not been well for the last few days, and threw himself into 
 a chair, wearily. 
 
 " Jane, is there any of that beef-tea left, that was made for me 
 yesterday ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa," she said, springing up, that she might get it for him. 
 " I will bring it to you immediately." 
 
 " Stay, stay, child, not so fast," he interrupted. " It is not for 
 myself. I can do without it. I have been pained by a sad sight," 
 he added, looking at his wife. " There's that daughter of the Widow
 
 THE REV. FRANCIS TAIT. 17 
 
 Booth's come home again. I called in upon them, and there she 
 was, lying on a mattress, dying from famine, as I verily believe. 
 She returned last night in a dreadful state of exhaustion, the 
 mother says, and has had nothing within her lips since, but cold 
 water. They tried her with solid food, but she could not swallow 
 it. That beef-tea will just do for her. Have it warmed, Jane." 
 
 " She is a sinful, ill-doing girl, Francis," remarked Mrs. Tait. 
 " She does not really deserve compassion." 
 
 "All the more reason, wife, that she should be rescued from 
 death," said the rector, almost sternly. "The good may dare to 
 die ; the evil may not. Don't waste time, Jane. Put it into a 
 bottle, warm, and I'll carry it round." 
 
 " Is there nothing else that we can send her, papa, that may do 
 for her equally well?" asked Jane. "A little wine, perhaps? 
 There is very little of the beef-tea left, and it ought to be kept for 
 you." 
 
 " Never mind ; I wish to take it to her," said the rector. " A 
 little wine afterwards may do her good." 
 
 Jane hastened to the kitchen, disturbing a servant who was 
 doing something over the fire. " Susan, papa wants that drop of 
 beef-tea warmed. Will you make haste and do it, while I search 
 for a bottle to put it into ? It is to be taken round to Charity 
 Booth." 
 
 " What ! is she back again ? " exclaimed the servant, slightingly, 
 which told that her estimation of Charity Booth was no higher than 
 was that of her mistress. " It's just like the master," she continued, 
 proceeding to do what was required of her. " It's not often that 
 anything's made for himself; but if it is, he never gets the benefit of 
 it ; he's sure to drop across somebody that he fancies wants it worse 
 than he does. It's not right, Miss Jane." 
 
 Jane was searching a cupboard. She brought forth a clean green 
 bottle, which held about half-a-pint. "This will be quite large 
 enough, I think." 
 
 " I should think it would ! " grumbled Susan, who could not be 
 brought to look upon the giving away of her master's own peculiar 
 property as anything but a personal grievance. " There's barely a 
 gill of it left, and he ought to have had it himself, Miss Jane." 
 
 " Susan," said she, turning her bright face laughingly towards the 
 woman, " it is a good thing that you went to church and saw me 
 married, or I might think you meant to reflect upon me. How can 
 I be ' Miss Jane,' with this ring on ?" 
 
 " It's of no good my trying to remember it, miss. All the parish 
 knows you are Mrs. Halliburton, fast enough; but it don't come 
 ready to me." 
 
 Jane laughed pleasantly. " Where is Mary ? " she asked. 
 
 " In the back room, going on with some of Miss Margaret's 
 things. It's cooler, sitting there, than in this hot kitchen." 
 
 Jane carried the little bottle of beef-tea to her father, and gave 
 it into his hand. He looked very pale, and rose from his chair slowly. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. "
 
 i8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Oh, papa, you do not seem well ! " she involuntarily exclaimed. 
 '' Let me run and beat you up an egg. I will not be a minute." 
 
 " I can't wait, child. And I question if I could eat it, were it 
 ready before me. I do not feel well, as you say." 
 
 " You ought to have taken this beef-tea yourself, papa. It was 
 made for j'ou." 
 
 Jane could not help laying a stress upon the word. Mr. Tait 
 placed his hand gently upon her smoothly parted hair. " Jane, child, 
 had I thought of myself before others, throughout life, how should I 
 have been following my Master's precepts ? " 
 
 She ran down the stairs before him, opening the front door for 
 him to pass through, that even that little exertion should be spared 
 him. A loving, dutiful daughter was Jane; and it is probable that 
 the thought of her worth especially crossed the mind of the rector 
 at that moment. " God bless you, my child ! " he aspirated, as he 
 passed her. 
 
 Jane watched him across the square. Their house, though not 
 actually in the square, commanded a view of it. Then she returned 
 upstairs to her mother. " Papa thinks he will not lose time," she 
 observed. " He is walking fast." 
 
 " I should call it running," responded Mrs. Tait, who had seen the 
 speed from the window. " But, my dear, he'll do no good with that 
 badly conducted Charity Booth." 
 
 About an hour passed away, and it was drawing towards dinner- 
 time. Jane and ^Irs. Tait were busy as ever, when Mr. Halliburton's 
 well-known knock was heard. 
 
 " Edgar is home early this morning ! " Jane exclaimed. 
 
 He came springing up the stairs, two at a time, in great haste, 
 opened the drawing-room door, and just put in his head. Mrs. Tait, 
 sitting with her back to the door and her face to the window, did 
 not turn round, and consequently did not see him. Jane did ; and 
 was startled. Every vestige of colour had forsaken his face. 
 
 " Oh, Edgar ! You are ill ! " 
 
 " 111 ! Not I," affecting to speak gailv. " I want vou for a minute, 
 Jane." 
 
 Mrs. Tait had looked round at Jane's exclamation, but Mr. 
 Halliburton's face was then withdrawn. He was standing outside 
 the door w-hen Jane went out. He did not speak; but took her 
 hand in silence and drew her into the back room, which was their 
 own bedroom, and closed the door. Jane's face had grown as white 
 as his. 
 
 " My darling, I did not mean to alarm you," he said, holding her 
 to him. " I thought you had a brave heart, Jane. I thought that, 
 if I had a little unpleasant news to impart, it would be best to tell 
 you, that you may help me soothe it to the rest." 
 
 Jane's heart was not feeling very brave. " What is it ? " she asked, 
 scarcely able to speak the words from her ghastly lips. 
 
 "Jane," he said, tenderly and gravely, " before I say any more, 
 you must strive for calmness."
 
 THE REV. FRANCIS TAIT. 19 
 
 " It is not about yourself! You arc not ill ? " 
 
 The question seemed superfluous. Mr. Halliburton was evidently 
 not ill ; but he was agitated. Jane was frightened and perplexed : 
 not a glimpse of the real truth crossed her, " Tell me what it is at 
 once, Edgar," she said, in a calmer tone. " I can bear certainty 
 better than suspense." 
 
 " Why, yes, I think you are becoming brave already," he answered, 
 looking straight into her eyes, and smiling — which was intended to 
 reassure her. " I must have my wife show herself a woman to-day; 
 not a child. See what a bungler I am ! I thought to tell you all 
 c[uietly and smoothly, without alarming you ; and see what I have 
 done ! — startled you to terror." 
 
 Jane smiled faintly. She knew all this was only the precursor 
 of tidings that must be very ill and grievous. By a great effort she 
 schooled herself to calmness. Mr. Halliburton continued: 
 
 " One, whom you and I love very much, has — has — met with an 
 accident, Jane." 
 
 Her fears went straight to the right quarter at once. With that 
 one exception by her side, there was no one she loved as she loved 
 her father. 
 
 " Papa ? " 
 
 '• Yes. We must break it to Mrs. Tait." 
 
 Her heart beat wildly against his hand, and the livid hue was once 
 more overspreading her face. But she strove urgently for calmness : 
 he whispered to her of its necessity for her own sake. 
 
 " Edgar ! it is death ? " 
 
 It was death ; but he would not tell her so yet. He plunged into 
 the attendant details. 
 
 " He was hastening along with a small bottle in his hand, Jane. 
 It contained something good for one of the sick poor, I am sure, for 
 he was in their neighbourhood. Suddenly he was observed to fall; 
 and the spectators raised him and took him to a doctor's. That 
 doctor, unfortunately, was not at home, and they took him to another, 
 so that time was lost. He was quite unconscious." 
 
 " But you do not tell me ! " she wailed. " Is he dead ? " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton asked himself a question — WHiat good would be 
 done by delaying the truth ? He thought he had performed his task 
 very badly. " Jane, Jane ! " he whispered, " I can only hope to help 
 you to bear it better than I have broken it to you." 
 
 She could not shed tears in that first awful moment : physically 
 and mentally, she leaned on him for support. " Hoiu can we tell 
 my mother ? " 
 
 It was necessary that Mrs. Tait should be told, and without 
 delay. Even then the body was being conveyed to the house. By 
 a curious coincidence, Mr. Halliburton had been passing the last 
 doctor's surgery at the very moment the crowd was round its doors. 
 Unusual business had called him there ; or else it was a street he 
 did not enter once in a year. " The parson has fallen down in a fit," 
 said some of them, recognizing and arresting him.
 
 20 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " The parson ! " he repeated. " What ! Mr. Tait ? " 
 
 "Sure enough," said they. And Mr. HaUiburton pressed into 
 the surgeon's house, just as the examination was over. 
 
 " The heart, no doubt, sir," said the doctor to him. 
 
 " He surely is not dead ? " 
 
 " Quite dead. He must have died instan taneously." 
 
 The news had been wafted to the mob outside, and they were 
 already taking a shutter from its hinges. " I will go on first and 
 prepare the family," said Mr. Halliburton to them. " Give me a 
 quarter of an hour's start, and then come on." 
 
 So that he had only a quarter of an hour for it all. His thoughts 
 naturally turned to his wife : not simply to spare her alarm and 
 pain, so far as he might, but he believed her, young as she was, to 
 possess more calmness and self-control than did Mrs. Tait. As he 
 sped to the house, he rehearsed his task ; and he might have 
 accomplished it better, but for his tell-tale face. "Jane," he 
 whispered, " let this be your consolation ever : he was ready to go." 
 
 " Oh yes ! " she answered, bursting into a storm of most dis- 
 tressing tears. "If any one here was ever fit for heaven, it was my 
 dear father." 
 
 " Hark!" exclaimed Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 Some noise had arisen downstairs — a sound of voices speaking 
 in an undertone. There could be no doubt that people had come 
 to the house with the news, and were imparting it to the two 
 trembling servants. 
 
 " There's not a moment to be lost, Jane." 
 
 How Jane dried her eyes, and suppressed all temporary sign of 
 grief and emotion, she could not tell. A sense of duty was strong 
 within her, and she knew that the most imperative duty of the 
 present moment was the support and solace of her mother. She and 
 her husband entered the drawing-room together, and Mrs. Tait 
 turned with a smile to Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 " What secrets have you and Jane been talking together? " Then, 
 catching sight of Jane's white and quivering lips, she broke into 
 a cry of agony. "Jane! what has happened? What have you 
 both come to tell me ? " 
 
 The tears poured from Jane's fair young face as she clasped her 
 mother fondly to her, tenderly whispering: " Dearest mamma, you 
 must lean upon us now ! We will ail love you and take care of you 
 as we have never yet done."
 
 ( 21 ) 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 NEW PLANS. 
 
 The post-mortem examination established beyond doubt the fact, 
 that the Rev. Francis Tait's death was caused by heart disease. 
 In the carHer period of his life it had been suspected that he was 
 subject to it, but of late years unfavourable symptoms had not 
 shown themselves. 
 
 With him, died of course almost all his means ; and his family, 
 if not left utterly destitute, had little to boast in the v/ay of wealth. 
 Mrs. Tait enjoyed, and had for some time enjoyed, an annuity of 
 fifty pounds per annum ; but it would cease at her death, whenever 
 that event should take place. "What was she to do with her 
 children ? Many a bereaved widow, far worse off than Mrs. Tait, has 
 to ask the same perplexing question every day. Mrs. Tait's children 
 were partially off her hands. Jane had her husband ; Francis was 
 earning his own living as an under-master in a school ; with Margaret 
 ten pounds a year must be paid ; and there was still Robert. 
 
 The death had occurred in July. By October they must be 
 away from the house. " You will be at no loss for a home, Mrs. 
 Tait," Mr. Halliburton took an opportunity of kindly saying to her. 
 " You must allow me and Jane to welcome you to ours." 
 
 " Yes, Edgar," was Mrs. Tait's unhesitating reply ; " it will be the 
 best plan. The furniture in this house will do for yours, and you 
 shall have it, and you must take me and my small means into it— 
 an incumbrance to you. I have pondered it all over, and I do not 
 see anything else that can be done." 
 
 " I have no right whatever to your furniture, Mrs. Tait," he 
 replied, " and Jane has no more right to it than have your other 
 children. The furniture shall be put in my house, if you please ; 
 but you must either allow me to pay you for it, or else it shall 
 remain your own, to be removed again at any time that you may 
 please." 
 
 A house was looked for, and taken. The furniture was valued, 
 and Mr. Halliburton bought it— a fourth part of the sum Mrs. 
 Tait positively refusing to take, for she declared that so much 
 belonged to Jane. Then they quitted the old house of many years, 
 and moved into the new one : Mr. and Mrs. Halliburton, Mrs. Tait, 
 Robert, and the two servants. 
 
 " Will it be prudent for you, my dear, to retain both the servants? " 
 Mrs. Tait asked of her daughter. 
 
 Jane blushed vividly. "We could do with one at present, 
 mamma; but the time will be coming that I shall require two. 
 And Susan and Mary are both so good that I do not care to part 
 with them. You are used to them, too."
 
 22 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "Ah, child! I know that in all your plans and schemes you and 
 Edgar think first of my comfort. Do you know what I was think- 
 ing of last night as I lay in bed ? " 
 
 "What, maninia?" 
 
 "When Mr. Halliburton first spoke of wanting you, I and your 
 poor papa felt inclined to hesitate, thinking you might have made 
 a better match. But, my dear, I was wondering last night what we 
 should have done in this crisis, but for him." 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, gently. " Things that appear untoward at the 
 time frequently turn out afterwards to have been the very best 
 that could have happened. God directs all things, you know, 
 mamma." 
 
 A contention arose respecting Robert, some weeks after they had 
 been in their new house — or, it may be better to call it, a discussion. 
 Robert had never taken very kindly to what he called book-learning. 
 Mr. Tait's wish had been that both his sons should enter the 
 Church. Robert had never openly opposed this wish, and for the 
 calling itself he had a liking ; but particularly disliked the study and 
 application necessary to fit him for it. Silent while his father lived, 
 he was so no longer ; but took every opportunity of urging the point 
 upon his mother. He was still attending Dr. Percy's school daily. 
 
 " You know, mother," dropping down one day in a chair, close to 
 his mother and Jane, and catching up one leg to nurse — rather a 
 favourite action of his — " I shall never earn salt at it." 
 
 " Salt at what, Robert?" asked Mrs. Tait. 
 
 "Why, at these rubbishing classics, /shall never make a tutor, 
 as Mr. Halliburton and Francis do ; and what on earth's to become 
 of me? As to any chance of my being a parson, of course that's 
 over : where's the money to come from ? " 
 
 "What is to become of you, then? " cried Mrs. Tait. " I'm sure 
 I don't know." 
 
 " Besides," went on Robert, lowering his voice, and calling up 
 the most effectual argument he could think of, " I ought to be doing 
 something for myself. I am living here upon Mr. Halliburton." 
 
 " He is delighted to have you, Robert," interrupted Jane, quickly. 
 "Mamma pays " 
 
 " Be quiet, Mrs. Jane ! What sort of a wife do you call yourself, 
 pray, to go against your husband's interests in that manner ? I 
 heard you preaching up to the charity children the other day about 
 it being sinful to waste time." 
 
 "Weil?" said Jane. 
 
 " Well ! what's waste of time for other people is not waste of time 
 for me, I suppose?" went on Robert. 
 
 "You are not wasting your time, Robert." 
 
 " I am. And if you had the sense that people give you credit for, 
 Madam Jane, you'd see it. I shall never, I say, earn my salt at 
 teaching ; and — ^just tell me yourself whether there seems any chance 
 now that L shall enter the Church?" 
 
 " At present I do not see that there is," confessed Jane.
 
 NEW PLANS. 23 
 
 " There ! Then is it waste of time, or not, my continuing to study 
 for a career which I can never enter upon?" 
 
 "But what else can you do, Robert?" interposed Mrs. Tait. 
 "You cannot idle your time away at home, or be running about the 
 streets all day." 
 
 " No," said Robert, "better stop at school for ever than do that. 
 I want to see the world, mother." 
 
 "You— want — to — see — the — world! " echoed Mrs. Tait, bringing 
 out her words slowly in her astonishment, while Jane looked up 
 from her work, and fixed her eyes upon her brother. 
 
 " It's only natural that I should," said Robert, with equanimity. 
 " I have an invitation to go down into Yorkshire." 
 
 " What to do ? " cried Mrs. Tait. 
 
 " Oh, lots of things. They keep hunters, and " 
 
 " Why, you never were on horseback in your life, Robert," laughed 
 Jane. " You would come back with your neck broken." 
 
 "I do wish you'd be quiet, Jane!" returned Robert, reddening. 
 " I am talking to mamma, not to you. Winchcombe has invited 
 me to spend the Christmas holidays with him down at his father's 
 seat in Yorkshire. And, mother, I want to go ; and I want you to 
 promise that I shall not return to school when the holidays are 
 over. I will do anything else that you choose to put me to. I'll 
 learn to be a man of business, or I'll go into an office, or I'd go 
 apprentice to a doctor — anything you like, rather than stop at these 
 everlasting school-books. I am j'/VX.' of them." 
 
 " Robert, you take my breath away ! " uttered Mrs. Tait. " I have 
 no interest anywhere. I could not get you into any of these places." 
 
 " I dare say Mr. Halliburton could. He knows lots of people. 
 Jane, you talk to him : he'll do anything for you." 
 
 There ensued, I say, much discussion about Robert. But it is 
 not with Robert Tait that our story has to do ; and only a few 
 words need be given to him here and there. It appeared to them 
 all that it would be inexpedient for him to continue at school ; both 
 with regard to his own wishes, and to his prospects. He was allowed 
 to pay the visit with his schoolfellow, and (as he came back with 
 neck unbroken) Mr. Halliburton succeeded in placing him in a large 
 wholesale warehouse. Robert appeared to like it very much at tirst, 
 and always came home to spend Sunday with them. 
 
 " He may rise in time to be one of the first mercantile men in 
 London," observed Mr. Halliburton to his wife; "one of our mer- 
 chant-princes, as my uncle used to say by me, if only " 
 
 " If what? Why do you hesitate? " she asked. 
 
 " If he will only persevere, I was going to say. But, Jane, I fear 
 perseverance is a quality that Robert does not possess." 
 
 Of course all that had to be proved. It lay in the future.
 
 24 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 From two to three years passed away, and the Midsummer hohdays 
 were approaching. Margaret was expected as usual for them, 
 and Jane, dehghted to receive her, went about her glad preparations. 
 Margaret would not return to the school, in which she had been a 
 paid teacher for the last year ; but was to enter a family as gover- 
 ness. For one efficient, well-educated, accomplished governess to 
 be met with in those days, scores may be counted now — or who 
 profess to be so : and Margaret Tait, though barely nineteen, 
 anticipated a salary of seventy or eighty guineas a year. 
 
 A warm, bright day in June, that on which Mr. Halliburton went 
 to receive Margaret. The coach brought her to its resting-place, 
 the " Bull and Mouth," in St. Martin's-le-Grand, and Mr. Hallibur- 
 ton reached the inn as St. Paul's clock was striking midday. One 
 minute more, and the coach drove in. 
 
 There she was, inside ; a tall, fine girl, with a handsome face : a 
 face full of resolution and energy. Margaret Tait had her good 
 qualities, and she had also her faults : a great one, speaking of the 
 latter, was self-will. She opened the door herself, and leaped out 
 before any one could help her, all joy and delight. 
 
 " And what about your boxes, Margaret ? " questioned Mr. Halli- 
 burton, after a few words of greeting. " Have they come this time, 
 or not ? " 
 
 Margaret laughed. " Yes, they really have. I have not lost 
 them on the road, as I did at Christmas. You will never forget to 
 tell me of that, I am sure ! But it was more the guard's fault than 
 mine." 
 
 A few minutes, and Mr. Halliburton, Margaret, and the boxes 
 were lumbering along in one of the old glass coaches. 
 
 " And now tell me about every one," said Margaret. " How is 
 dear mamma ? " 
 
 " She is quite well. We are all well. Jane's famous." 
 
 " And my precious little Willy ? " 
 
 "Oh," said Mr. HaUiburton, quaintly, "he is a great deal too 
 troublesome for anything to be the matter with him. I tell Jane 
 she will have to begin the whipping system soon." 
 
 " And much Jane will attend to you ! Is it a pretty baby ? " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton raised his eyebrows. " Jane thinks so. I wonder 
 she has not had its likeness taken." 
 
 " Is it christened .''" continued Margaret. 
 
 " It is baptized. Jane would not have the christening until you 
 were at home." 
 
 " And its name ? "
 
 MARGARET. 25 
 
 " Jane." 
 
 " What a shame ! Jane promised me it should be Margaret. 
 Why did she decide upon her own name ? " 
 
 " I decided upon it," said Mr. Halhburton. " Yours can wait 
 until the next, Margaret." 
 
 Margaret laughed. " And how are you getting on ? " 
 
 " Very well. I have every hour of the day occupied." 
 
 " I don't think you are looking well," rejoined Margaret. " You 
 look thin and fagged." 
 
 " I am always thin, and mine is a fagging profession. Sometimes 
 I feel terribly weary. But I am pretty well upon the whole, 
 Margaret." 
 
 " Will Francis be at home these holidays ? " 
 
 " No. He passes them at a gentleman's house in Norfolk — tutor 
 to his sons. Francis is thoroughly industrious and persevering." 
 
 " A contrast to poor Robert, I suppose .'' " 
 
 " Well — yes ; in that sense." 
 
 " There has been some trouble about Robert, has there not ? " 
 asked Margaret, her tone becoming grave. " Did he not get dis- 
 charged ? " 
 
 " He received notice of discharge. But I saw the principals, and 
 begged him on again. I would not talk about it to him, were I 
 you, Margaret. He is sensitive upon the point. Robert's inten- 
 tions are good, but his disposition is fickle. He has grown tired of 
 his place, and idles his time away ; no house of business will put up 
 with that." 
 
 The coach arrived at Mr. Halliburton's. Margaret rushed out of 
 it, giving no one time to assist her, as she had done out of the other 
 coach at the " Bull and Mouth." There was a great deal of im- 
 petuosity in Margaret Tait's character. She was quite a contrast 
 to Jane — as she had just remarked, there was a contrast between 
 Francis and Robert upon other points — to sensible, lady-hke, self- 
 possessed Jane, who came forward, so calmly, to greet her, a glad 
 depth of affection in her quiet eyes. 
 
 A boisterous embrace to her mother, a boisterous embrace to 
 Jane, all in haste, and then Margaret caught up a little gentleman 
 of some two years old, or more, who was standing holding by Jane's 
 dress, his finger in his mouth, and his great grey eyes, honest, 
 loving, intelligent as were his mother's, cast up in a broad stare at 
 Margaret. 
 
 " You naughty Willy ! Have you forgotten Aunt Margaret ? Oh, 
 you darling child ! Who's this ? " 
 
 She carried the boy up to the end of the room, where stood their 
 old servant Mary, nursing an infant of two months old. The baby 
 had great grey eyes also, and they likewise were bent on noisy 
 Margaret, " Oh, Willy, she is prettier than you ! I won't nurse 
 you any more. Mary, I'll shake hands with you presently. I must 
 take that enchanting baby first." 
 
 Dropping discarded Willy upon the ground, snatching the baby
 
 26 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 from Mary's arms, Margaret kissed its pretty face until she made it 
 cry. Jane came to the rescue. 
 
 " You don't understand babies, Margaret. Let Mary have her 
 again. Come upstairs to your room, and make yourself ready for 
 dinner. I think you must be hungry." 
 
 " So hungry that I shall frighten you. Of course, with the thought 
 of coming home, I could not touch breakfast. I hope you have 
 something especially nice ! " 
 
 " It is your favourite dinner," said Jane, smiling. " Loin of veal 
 and broccoli." 
 
 "How thoughtful you are, Jane!" Margaret could not help 
 exclaiming. 
 
 " Margaret, my dear," called out her mother, as she was leaving 
 the room with Jane. 
 
 Margaret looked back. " What, mamma ? " 
 
 " I hope you will not continue to go on with these children as you 
 have begun ; otherwise we shall have a quiet house turned into a 
 noisy one." 
 
 " Is it a quiet house, mamma? " said Margaret, laughing. 
 
 " As if any house would not be quiet, regulated by Jane ? " replied 
 Mrs. Tait. And Margaret, laughing still, followed her sister. 
 
 It is curious to remark how differently things sometimes turn out 
 from what we intended. Had any one asked Mrs. Tait the day 
 that Margaret came home, what Margaret's future career was to be, 
 she had wondered at the question. "A governess, certainly," would 
 have been her answer ; and she would have thought that no power, 
 humanly speaking, could prevent it. And yet, Margaret Tait, as it 
 proved, never did become a governess. 
 
 The holidays were drawing to an end, and a very desirable situa- 
 tion, as was believed, had been found for Margaret by Mr. Halli- 
 burton, the negotiations for which were nearly completed. Mr. 
 Halliburton gave private lessons in sundry families of high connec- 
 tions, and he was thus enabled to hear where ladies were required 
 as governesses. Thus he had recommended Margaret. The recom- 
 mendation was favourably received, and a day was appointed for 
 Margaret to make a personal visit at the town house of the people 
 in question, when she would most probably be engaged. 
 
 On the previous evening at dusk Mr. Halliburton came home from 
 one of his numerous engagements. Jane was alone. Mrs. Tait, not 
 very well, had retired to rest early, and Margaret was out with 
 Robert. In this, a leisure season of the year, Robert had most of 
 his evenings to himself, after eight o'clock. He generally came 
 home, and he and Margaret would go out together. Mr. Hallibur- 
 ton sat down at one of the windows in silence. 
 
 Jane went up to him, laying her hand affectionately on his 
 shoulder. " You are very tired, Edgar ? " 
 
 He did not reply in words. He only drew her hand between his, 
 and kept it there. 
 
 " You shall have supper at once," said Jane, glancing at the tray
 
 MARGARET. 27 
 
 which stood ready on the tabic. " I am sure you must want it. 
 And it is not right to indulge Margaret every night by waiting for 
 her." 
 
 " Scarcely, when she docs not come in until ten or half-past," said 
 Mr. Halliburton. "Jane," he added, in a kind, confidential tone, 
 "do you think it well that Margaret should be out so frequently in 
 an evening .? " 
 
 " She is with Robert." 
 
 " She may not always be with Robert alone." 
 
 Jane felt her face grow rather hot. She knew her husband ; knew 
 that he was not one to speak unless he had some cause for doing so. 
 "Edgar! why do you say this.'' Do you know anything? Have 
 you seen Margaret .-'" 
 
 " I saw her a quarter of an hour ago " 
 
 "With Robert .-*" interrupted Jane, more impulsively than she 
 was accustomed to speak. 
 
 " Robert was by her side. But she was walking arm in arm with 
 Mr. Murray." 
 
 Jane did not much like the information. This Mr. Murray was 
 in the same house as Robert, holding a better position in it. Robert 
 had occasionally brought him home, and he had taken lea with 
 them. Mrs. Halliburton felt surprised at Margaret: it appeared, 
 to her well-regulated mind, very like a clandestine proceeding. 
 What would she have said, or thought, had she known that Mar- 
 garet and Mr. Murray were in the habit of thus walking together 
 constantly .'' Robert's being with them afforded no sui^cient 
 excuse. 
 
 Later, they saw Margaret coming home, with Robert alone. He 
 left her at the door as usual, and then hastened away to his own 
 home. Jane said nothing then, but she went to Margaret's room 
 that evening. 
 
 "Oh, Edgar has been bringing home tales, has he?" was Mar- 
 garet's answer, when the ice was broken ; and her defiant tone 
 brought, Jane hardly knew what of dismay to her car. " I saw him 
 staring at us." 
 
 " Margaret ! " gasped Jane, " what can have come to you ? You 
 are completely changed ; you— you seem to speak no longer as a 
 lady." 
 
 " Then why do you provoke me, Jane ? Is it high treason to take 
 a gentleman's arm, my brother being with me ? " 
 
 " It is not right to do it in secret, Margaret. If you go out osten- 
 sibly to walk with Robert " 
 
 "Jane, I will not hsten," Margaret said, with a flashing eye. 
 " Because you are Mrs. Halliburton, you assume a right to lecture 
 me. I have committed no grievous wrong. When I do commit it, 
 you may take your turn then." 
 
 "Oh, Margaret! why will you misjudge me?" asked Jane, her 
 voice full of pain. " I speak to you in love, not in anger ; 1 would 
 not speak at all. but for your good. If the family you are about to
 
 28 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 enter, the Chevasneys, were to hear of this, they might think you an 
 unsuitable mistress for their children." 
 
 " Compose yourself," said Margaret, scoffingly. Never had she 
 shown such temper, so undesirable a disposition, as on this night ; 
 and Jane might well look at her in amazement, and hint that she 
 was " changed." " I shall be found sufficiently suitable by the 
 Chevasney family — when I consent to enter it." 
 
 Her tone was strangely significant, and Jane Halliburton's heart 
 beat. "What do you imply, Margaret?" she inquired. "You 
 appear to have some peculiar meaning." 
 
 Margaret, who had been standing before the glass all this time, 
 twisting her hair round her fingers, turned and looked her sister full 
 in the face. "Jane, I'll tell you, if you will undertake to make 
 things straight for me with mamma. I am not going to the 
 Chevasneys — or anywhere else — as governess." 
 
 " Yes," — said Jane faintly, for she had a presentiment of what was 
 coming. 
 
 " I am going to be married instead." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret ! " 
 
 " There is nothing to groan about," retorted Margaret. " Mr. 
 Murray is coming to speak to mamma to-morrow, and if any of you 
 have anything to say against him, you can say it to his face. He is 
 a very respectable man ; he has a good income ; where's the objec- 
 tion to him ? " 
 
 Jane could not say. Personally, she did not very much hke Mr. 
 Murray ; and certain fond visions had pictured a higher destiny for 
 handsome, accomplished Margaret. " I hope and trust you will be 
 happy, if you do marry him, Margaret ! " was all she said. 
 
 " I hope I shall. I must take my chance of that, as others do. 
 Jane, I beg your pardon for my crossness, but you put me out of 
 temper." 
 
 As others do. Ay! it was all a lottery. And Margaret Tail 
 entered upon her hastily-chosen married life, knowing that it was so. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 A VISIT TO THE PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Several years went on ; and years rarely go on without bringing 
 changes with them. Jane had now four children. William, the 
 eldest, was close upon thirteen ; Edgar, the youngest, going on for 
 nine ; Jane and Frank were between them. Mrs. Tait was dead : 
 and Francis Tait was the Reverend Francis Tait. By dint of hard 
 work and perseverance, he had succeeded in becoming qualified for 
 Orders, and he was half starving upon a London curacy, as his 
 father had done for so many years before him. In saying "half 
 starving," I don't mean that he had not bread and cheese; but
 
 A VISIT TO THE PHYSICIAN. 29 
 
 when a clergyman's stipend is under a hundred a year, all told, 
 the expression "half starving" is justifiable. He hungers after 
 many things that he is unable to obtam, and he cannot maintain 
 his position as a gentleman. Francis Tait hungered. Over one 
 want, in especial, he hungered with an intensely ravenous hunger; 
 and that was, the gratification of his taste for literature. The books 
 he coveted to read were expensive ; impossibilities to him ; he 
 could not purchase them, and libraries were then scarce. Had 
 Francis Tait not been gifted with very great conscientiousness, he 
 would have joined teaching with his ministry. But the wants of his 
 parish required all his time ; and he had inherited that large share 
 of the monitor, conscience, from his father. " I suppose I shall 
 have a living some time," he would think to himself: "when I am 
 growing an old man, probably, as he was when he gained his." 
 
 So the Reverend Francis Tait plodded on at his curacy, and was 
 content to wait that far remote day when fortune should drop from 
 the skies. 
 
 Where was Margaret? Margaret had bidden adieu to old 
 England for ever. Her husband, who had not been promoted in 
 his house of business as rapidly as he thought he ought to have 
 been, had thrown up his- situation, his home and home ties, and 
 had gone out to the woods of Canada to become a settler. Did 
 Margaret repent her hasty marriage then '^. Did she find that her 
 thorough education, her peculiar tastes and habits, so unfitted for 
 domestic life, were all lost in those wild woods. Music, drawing, 
 languages, literature, of what use were (key to her now ? She might 
 educate her own children, indeed, as they grew up : the only chance 
 of education it appeared likely they would have. That IVIargaret 
 found herself in a peculiarly uncongenial sphere, there could be no 
 doubt ; but, like a brave woman as she proved herself, not a hint 
 of it, in writing home, ever escaped her, not a shadow of complaint 
 could be gathered there. It was not often that she wrote, and her 
 letters grew more rare as the years went on. Robert had accom- 
 panied them, and he boasted that he liked the life much ; a thousand 
 times better than that of the musty old warehouse. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton's teaching was excellent — his income good. He 
 was now one of the professors at King's College ; but he had not 
 yet succeeded in carrying out his dream — that of getting to the 
 University of Oxford, or Cambridge. Mr. Halliburton had begun 
 at the wrong end of the ladder : he should have gone to college first, 
 and married afterwards. He married first : and, to college he never 
 went. A man of moderate means, with a home to keep, a wife, 
 children, servants, to provide for, has enough to do with his money 
 and time, without spending them at college. He had quite given 
 up the idea now ; and, perhaps, he had grown not to regret it very 
 keenly : his home was one of refinement, of comfort, of thorough 
 happiness. 
 
 But about this period, or indeed, some time prior to it, Mr. 
 Halliburton had cause to believe that he was overtaxing his
 
 30 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 strength. For a long, long while, almost ever since he had been 
 in London, he was aware that he had not felt thoroughly strong. 
 Hot weather affected him and rendered him languid ; the chills of 
 winter gave him a cough ; the keen winds of spring attacked his 
 chesL He would throw off his ailments bravely and go on again, 
 not heeding them, or thinking that they might ever become serious. 
 Perhaps he never gave a thought to that, until one evening, when, 
 upon coming in after a hard day's toil, he sat down in his chair and 
 quietly fainted away. 
 
 Jane and one of the servants were standing over him when he 
 recovered — Jane's face very pale and anxious. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed," he said, smiling at her. " I suppose I 
 dropped asleep ; or lost consciousness in some way." 
 
 " You fainted, Edgar." 
 
 " Fainted, did I .'' How silly I must have been ! The room's 
 warm, Jane : it must have overpowered me." 
 
 Jane was not deceived. She saw that he was making light of it 
 to quiet her alarm. She brought him a glass of wine. He drank 
 that, but could not eat anything : he frequently could not eat now. 
 
 " Edgar," she said, you are doing too much. I have seen it for a 
 long time past." 
 
 " Seen what, Jane ? " 
 
 "That your strength is not equal to your work. You must give 
 up a portion of your teaching." 
 
 " My dear, how can I do so ?" he asked. " Does it not take all I 
 earn to meet expenses ? When accounts are settled at the end of 
 the year, have we a shilling to spare ? " 
 
 It was so, and Jane knew it ; but her husband's health was above 
 every consideration in the world. " We must reduce our expenses," 
 she said. " We must cease to live as we are living now. We will 
 move into a small house, and keep one small servant, and I will turn 
 maid-of-all-work." 
 
 She laughed as she spoke quite merrily; but Mr. Halliburton 
 detected a serious meaning in her tone. He shook his head. 
 
 " No, Jane ; that time, I hope, will never come." 
 
 He lay awake all that night buried in reflection. Do you knov/ 
 what this night-rcflcction is, when it comes to us in all its racking 
 intensity ? Surging over his brain, like the wild waves that chase 
 each other on the ocean, came the thought, " What will become 
 of my wife and children if I die ? " Thought after thought, they 
 all resolved themselves into that one focus : — " I have made no 
 provision for my wife and children : what will become of them if I 
 am taken ? " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton had one good habit — it was possible that he had 
 learnt it from his wife, for it was hers in no common degree — the 
 habit of looking steadfastly into the face of trouble. Not to groan 
 and grumble at it — to sigh and lament that no one else's trouble 
 ever was so great before — but to see how it might best be met and 
 contended with ; how the best could be made of it.
 
 A VISIT TO THE PHYSICIAN. 31 
 
 The only feasible way he could see, was that of insuring his life. 
 He possessed neither lands nor money. Did he attempt to put by 
 a portion of his income, it would take years and years to accumulate 
 into a sum worth mentioning. Why, how long would it take him to 
 economize only a thousand pounds ? No. There was only one way — 
 that of life insurance. It was an idea that would have occurred to 
 most of us. He did not know how much it would take from his 
 yearly income to eftcct it. A great deal, he was afraid; for he was 
 approaching what is called middle life. 
 
 He had no secrets from his wife. He consulted her upon every 
 point ; she was his best friend, his confidant, his gentle counsellor, 
 and he had no intention of concealing the step he was about to take. 
 Why should he } 
 
 " Jane," he began, when they were at breakfast the next morning, 
 " do you know what I have been thinking of all night ? " 
 
 " Trouble, I am sure," she answered. " You have been ^•ery 
 restless." 
 
 " Not exactly trouble, Jane," — for he did not choose to acknow- 
 ledge, even to himself, that a strange sense of trouble did seem to 
 rest on his heart, and to weigh it down. " I have been thinking 
 more of precaution than trouble." 
 
 " Precaution ? " echoed Jane, looking at him. 
 
 '"Ay, love. And the astonishing part of the business, to myself, is 
 that I never thought of the necessity for this precaution before." 
 
 Jane divined now what he meant. Often and often had the idea 
 occurred to her — ^" Should my husband's health or life fail, we 
 are destitute." Not for herself did she so much care, but for her 
 children. 
 
 " That sudden attack last night has brought reflection to me," he 
 resumed. " Life is uncertain with the best of us. It may be no- 
 more uncertain with me than with others ; but I feel that I must 
 act as though it were so. Jane, were I taken, there would be no 
 provision for you." 
 
 " No," she quietly said. 
 
 "And therefore I must set about making one without delay, so 
 far as I can. I shall insure my life." 
 
 Jane did not answer immediately. " It will take a great deal of 
 money, Edgar," she presently said. 
 
 " I fear it will : but it must be done. W^hat's the matter, Jane .-* 
 You don't look hopeful over it." 
 
 " Because, were you to insure your life, to pay the yearly pre- 
 mium, and our living, would necessitate your working as hard as 
 you do now." 
 
 " W' ell ? " said he. " Of course it would." 
 
 " In any case, our expenses shall be much reduced ; of that I am 
 determined," she went on, somewhat dreamily, more it seemed in 
 soliloquy than to her husband. '" But, with this premiuni to pay 
 in addition " 
 
 "Jane," he interrupted, "there's not the least necessity for my
 
 32 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 relaxing my labours. I shall not think of doing it. I may not 
 be very strong, but I am not ill. As to reducing our expenses, I see 
 no help for that, inasmuch as that I must draw from them for the 
 premium." 
 
 " If you only can keep your health, Edgar, it is certainly what 
 ought to be done — to insure your life. The thought has often 
 crossed me." 
 
 " Why did you never suggest it?" 
 
 " I scarcely know. I believe I did not like to do so. And I 
 really did not see how the premium was to be paid. How much 
 shall you insure it for?" 
 
 " I thought of two thousand pounds. Could we afford more?" 
 
 " I think not. What would be the yearly premium for that 
 sum?" 
 
 " I don't know. I will ascertain all particulars. What are you 
 sighing about, Jane?" 
 
 Jane was sighing heavily. A weight seemed to have fallen upon 
 her spirits. " To talk of life insurance puts me too much in mind 
 of death," she murmured. 
 
 " Now, Jane, you are never going to turn goose!" he gaily said. 
 " I have heard of persons who will not make a will, because it 
 brings them a fancy that they must be going to die. Insuring my 
 life will not bring death any the quicker to me : I hope I shall be 
 here many a year yet. Why, Jane, I may live to pay the insurance 
 over and over again in annual premiums ! Better that I had put 
 by the money in a bank, I shall think then." 
 
 " The worst of putting by money in a bank, or in any other way, 
 is, that you are not compelled to put it," observed Jane, looking up 
 a little from her depression. " What ought to be put by — what is 
 intended to be put by — too often goes in present wants, and putting 
 by ends in name only : whereas, in life insurance, the premium must 
 be paid. Edgar," she added, going to a different subject, " I 
 wonder what we shall make of our boys ? " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton's cheek flushed. " They shall go to college, 
 please God — though I have not been able to get there myself." 
 
 " Oh, I hope so ! One or two of them, at any rate." 
 
 Little difficulty did there appear to be in the plan to Mr. Halli- 
 burton. His boys should enter the University, although he had 
 not done so : the future of our children appears hopeful and easy to 
 most of us. William and Frank were in the school attached to 
 King's College : of which, you hear, Mr. Halliburton was now a 
 professor. Edgar — never called anything but " Gar " — went to 
 a private school, but he would soon be entered at King's College. 
 Remarkably well-educated boys for their years, were the young 
 Halliburtons. Mr. Halliburton and Jane had taken care of that. 
 Home teaching was more efficient than the school : both combined 
 had rendered them unusually intelligent and advanced. Naturally 
 intellectual, gifted with excellent qualities of mind and heart, Mrs. 
 Halliburton had not failed to do her duty by them. She spared
 
 A VISIT TO THE PHYSICIAN. 33 
 
 no pains ; she knew how children ought to be brought up, and she 
 did her duty well. Ah, my friends ! mothers of families ! only lay 
 a good foundation in their earlier years, and your children will 
 grow up to bless you. 
 
 "Jane, I wonder which office will be the best to insure in?" 
 
 Jane began to recall the names of some that were familiar to her, 
 
 "The Phoenix?" suggested she. 
 
 Mr. HalHburton laughed. " I think that's only for fire, Jane. I 
 am not sure, though." In truth, he knew little about insurance 
 offices himself. 
 
 " There's the Sun ; and the Atlas ; and the Argus — oh, and ever 
 so many more," continued Jane. 
 
 " I'll inquire all about it to-day," said he. 
 
 " I wonder if the premium will take a hundred a year, Edgar?" 
 
 He could not tell. He feared it might. " I wish Jane," he 
 observed, " that I had insured my life when I first married. The 
 annual premium would have been small then, and we might have 
 managed to spare it." 
 
 " Ay," she answered. " Sometimes I look back to things that I 
 might have done in the past years : and I did not do them. Now, 
 the time has gone by ! " 
 
 " Well, it has not gone by for insuring," said Mr. HalUburton, 
 rising from the breakfast-table, and speaking in a gay tone. " Half- 
 past eight?" he cried, looking at his watch. " Good-bye, Jane," 
 said he, bending to kiss her. " Wish me luck." 
 
 "A weighty insurince and a small premium," she said, laughing, 
 " But you are not going about it now?" 
 
 " Of course not. I should not find the offices open. I shall 
 take an opportunity of doing so in the course of the day." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton departed on his usual duties. It was a warm 
 day in April. His first attendance was King's College, and there 
 he remained for the morning. Then he set himself to gain informa- 
 tion about the various offices and their respective merits: finally 
 he fixed upon the one he should apply to, and bent his steps to it. 
 
 It was situated in the heart of the City, in a very busy part of 
 it. The office also appeared to be busy, for several people were in 
 it when Mr. Halliburton entered. A young man came forward to 
 know his business. 
 
 " I wish to insure my life," said Mr. Halliburton. " How must I 
 proceed about it?" 
 
 " Oh yes, sir, Mr, Procter, will you attend to this gentleman?" 
 
 Mr. Halliburton was marshalled to an inner room, where a 
 gentlemanly man received him. He explained his business in 
 detail, stated his age, and the sum he wished to insure for. Every 
 information was politely afforded him ; and a paper, with certain 
 printed questions, was given him to fill up at his leisure, and then 
 to be returned. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton glanced over it. " You require a certificate of 
 my birth from the parish register where I was baptized, I perceive," 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles- "
 
 34 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 he remarked. "Why so? In stating my age, I have stated it 
 correctly." 
 
 The gentleman smiled. " Of that I make no doubt," he said, 
 "for you look younger than the age you have given me. Our 
 office makes it a rule in most cases to require the certificate from 
 the register. All applicants are not scrupulous about telling the 
 truth, and we have been obliged to adopt it in self-defence. We 
 have had cases, we have indeed, sir, where we have insured a life, 
 and then found — though perhaps not until the actual death has 
 taken place — that the insurer was ten years older than he asserted. 
 Therefore we demand a certificate. It does occasionally happen 
 that applicants can bring well-known men to testify to their age, 
 and then we do not mind dispensing with it." 
 
 Mr. HaUiburton sent his thoughts round in a circle. There was 
 no one in London who knew his age of their own positive know- 
 ledge ; so it was useless to think of that. " There will be no 
 difficulty in the matter," he said aloud. " I can get the certificate 
 up from Devonshire in the course of two or three days, by writing 
 for it. My father was rector of the church where I was christened. 
 This will be all, then? To fill up this paper, and bring you the 
 certificate." 
 
 " All ; with the exception of being examined by our physician." 
 
 "What! is it necessary to be examined by a physician?" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Halliburton. "The paper states that I must hand in 
 a report from my ordinary medical attendant. He will not give 
 you a bad report of me," he added, smiling, " for it is little enough 
 I have troubled him. I believe the worst thing he has attended 
 me for has been a bad cold." 
 
 " So much the better," remarked the gentleman. " You do not 
 look very strong." 
 
 " Very strong, I don't think I am. I am too hard worked ; get 
 too little rest and recreation. It was suspecting that I am not so 
 strong as I might be, that set me thinking it might be well to 
 insure my life for the sake of my wife and children," he ingenu- 
 ously added, in his straightforward manner. " If I could count 
 upon living and working on until I am an old man, I should not 
 do so." 
 
 The gentleman smiled. " Looks are deceitful," he observed. 
 " Nothing more so. Sometimes those who look the most delicate 
 live the longest." 
 
 " You cannot say I look delicate," returned Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 " I did not say it. I consider that you do not look robust ; but, 
 that is not saying that you look delicate. You may be a perfectly 
 healthy man, for all I can say to the contrary." 
 
 He ran his eyes over Mr, Halliburton as he spoke; over his tall, 
 fine form, his dark hair, amidst which not a streak of grey mingled, 
 his clearly-cut features, and his complexion, bright as a woman's. 
 Was there suspicion in that complexion? "A handsome man, at 
 any rate," thought the gazer, " if not a robust one."
 
 A VISIT TO THE PHYSICIAN. 35 
 
 "It will be necessary, then, that I see your physician?" asked 
 Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 "Yes. It cannot be dispensed with. We would not insure 
 without it. He attends here twice a week. In the intervening 
 days, he may be seen in Savile-row, from three to five. It is Dr. 
 Carrington. His days for coming here are Mondays and 
 Thursdays." 
 
 "And this is Friday," remarked Mr. Halliburton. " I shall prob- 
 ably go up to him." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton said " Good morning," and came away with his 
 paper. "It's great nonsense, my seeing this doctor!" he said to 
 himself as he hastened home to dinner, which he knew he must 
 have kept waiting. " But I suppose it is necessary as a general 
 rule ; and of course, they won't make me an exception." 
 
 Hurrying over his dinner, in a manner that prevented its doing 
 him any good — as Jane assui'ed him — he sat down to his desk 
 when it was over, and wrote for the certificate of his birth. Folding 
 and sealing the letter, he put on his hat to go out again. 
 
 " Shall you go to Savilc-row, this afternoon?" Jane inq,uircd. 
 
 " If I can by any possibility get my teaching over in time," he 
 answered. " Young Finchley's hour is four o'clock, but I can put 
 him off until the evening. I dare say I shall get up there." 
 
 By dint of hurrying, Mr. Halliburton contrived to reach Savile- 
 row, and arrived there in much heat at half-past four. There was 
 no necessity for hurrying there on this particular day, but he felt 
 impatient to get the business over ; as if speed now could atone for 
 past neglect. Dr. Carrington was engaged, and Mr. Halliburton 
 was shown into a room. Three or four others were waiting there ; 
 whether ordinary patients, or whether mere applicants of form like 
 himself, he could not tell ; and it was their turn to go in before it 
 was his. 
 
 But his turn came at last, and he was ushered into the presence 
 of the doctor — a little man, fair, and reserved, with powder on his 
 head. 
 
 Reserved in ordinary intercourse, but certainly not reserved in 
 asking cjuestions. Mr. Halliburton had never been so rigidly 
 questioned before. What disorders had be had, and what had he 
 not had? What were his habits, past and present? One question 
 came at last : " Do you feel thoroughly strong i' — healthy, elastic?" 
 
 " I feel languid in hot weather," rephed Mr. Halliburton 
 
 " Um ! Appetite sound and good?" 
 
 " Generally speaking. It has not been so good of late." 
 
 " Breathing all right ? " 
 
 " Yes. It is a httle tight sometimes." 
 
 " Um ! Subject to a cough ? " 
 
 '* I have no settled cough. A sort of hacking cough comes on at 
 night occasionally. I attribute it to fatigue." 
 
 "Um! Will you open your shirt? Just unbutton it here" — 
 touching the front — " and your flannel waistcoat, if you wear one."
 
 36 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton bared his chest in obedience, and the doctor 
 sounded it, and then he put down his ear. Apparently his ear did 
 not serve him sufficiently, for he took some small instrument out of 
 a drawer, placed it on the chest, and then put his ear to that, 
 changing the position of the instrument three or four times. 
 
 " That will do," he said at length. 
 
 He turned to put up his instrument again, and Mr. Halliburton 
 drew the edges of his shirt together, and buttoned them. 
 
 " Why don't you wear flannel waistcoats ? " asked the doctor, 
 with quite a sharp accent, his head down in the drawer. 
 
 " 1 do wear them in winter ; but in warm weather I leave them 
 off. It was only last week that I discarded them." 
 
 " Was ever such folly known ! " ejaculated Dr. Carrington. " One 
 would think people were born without common sense. Half the 
 patients who come to me say they leave off their flannels in summer ! 
 Why, it is in summer that they are most needed ! And this warm 
 weather won't last either. Go home, sir, and put one on at once." 
 
 " Certainly, if you think it right," said Mr. Halliburton with a 
 smile. " I thank you for telling me." 
 
 He took up his hat and waited. The doctor appeared to wait 
 for him to go. " I understood at the office that you would give me 
 a paper, testifying that you had examined me," explained Mr. 
 Halliburton. 
 
 " Ah — but I can't give it," said the doctor. 
 
 " Why not, sir } " 
 
 " Because I am not satisfied with you. I cannot recommend you 
 as a healthy life." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton's pulses quickened a little. " Sir ! " he repeated. 
 " Not a healthy life ? " 
 
 " Not sufficiently healthy for insurance." 
 
 " Why ! what is the matter with me ? " he rejoined. 
 
 Dr. Carrington looked him full in the face for the space of a 
 minute before replying. " I have had that question asked me 
 before, by parties whom I have felt obliged to decline, as I am now 
 declining you," he said, " and my answer has not always been 
 palatable to them." 
 
 " It will be palatable to me, sir ; in so far as that I desire to be 
 made acquainted with the truth. What do you find amiss with me?" 
 
 " The lungs are diseased." 
 
 A chill fell over Mr. Halliburton. "Not extensively, I trust? 
 Not beyond hope of recoveiy ? " 
 
 " Were I to say not extensively, I should be deceiving you ; and 
 you tell me that you wish for the truth. They are extensively 
 
 diseased " 
 
 A mortal pallor overspread Mr, Halliburton's face, and he sank 
 into a chair. " Not for myself," he gasped, as Dr. Carrington drew 
 nearer to him. " I have a wife and children. If I die, they will want 
 bread to eat." 
 
 " But you did not hear me out,", returned the physician, proceeding
 
 LATER IN THE DAY. 37 
 
 with equanimity, as if he had not been interrupted. "They are 
 extensively diseased, but not beyond a hope of recovery. I do not 
 say it is a strong hope ; but a hope there is, as I Judge, provided 
 you use the right means, and take care of yourself." 
 
 " What am I to do ? " What are the means ? " 
 
 " You live, I presume, in this stifling, foggy, smoky London." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then get away from it. Go where you can have pure air and a 
 clear atmosphere. That's the first and chief thing ; and that's most 
 essential. Not for a few weeks or months, you understand me — 
 going out for a change of air, as people call it — you must leave 
 London entirely ; go away altogether." 
 
 " But it will be impossible," urged Mr. Halliburton. " My work 
 lies in London." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the doctor, " too many have been with me with whom 
 it was the same case. But, I assure you that you must leave it ; 
 or it will be London versus hfe. You appear to me to be one who 
 
 never ought to have come to London You were not born in 
 
 it .'' " he abruptly added. 
 
 " I never saw it until I was eighteen. I was born and reared in 
 Devonshire." 
 
 "Just so. I knew it. Those born and reared in London become 
 acclimatized to it, generally speaking, and it does not hurt them. 
 It does not hurt numbers who are strangers: they find London as 
 healthy a spot for them as any on the face of the globe. But there 
 are a few who cannot and ought not to live in London ; and I judge 
 you to be one of them." 
 
 " Has this state of disease been coming on long?" 
 
 "Yes, for some years. Had you remained in Devonshire, you 
 might have been a sound man all your life. My only advice to you 
 is — get away from London. You cannot live long if you remain 
 in it." 
 
 Mr. Halhburton thanked the physician and went out. How 
 things had changed for him ! What had gone with the day's 
 beauty ? — with the blue sky, the bright sun .'' The sky was blue 
 still, and the sun shining ; but darkness seemed to intervene between 
 his eyes and outward things. Dying .'' A shiver went through him 
 as he thought of Jane and the children, and a sick feeling of despair 
 settled on his spirit. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 
 LATER IN THE DAY. 
 
 The man was utterly prostrated. He felt that the fiat of death had 
 gone forth, and there settled an undercurrent of conviction in his 
 mind, that, for him, there would be no recovery, take what precau-
 
 38 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 tion he would. He could not shake it off— nay, he did not try to 
 shake it off. There lay the fact and the fear, as a leaden weight. 
 
 He bent his steps towards home, walking the whole way; he 
 moved along the streets mechanically. The crowds passed and 
 repassed him, but he seemed far away. Once or twice he lifted his 
 head to them with a yearning gesture. " Oh ! that I were like you ! 
 bent on business, on pleasure, on social intercourse !" passed through 
 his mind. " I am not as you ; and for me you can do nothing. You 
 cannot give me health ; you cannot give me life." 
 
 He entered his home, and was conscious of merry voices and 
 flitting footsteps. A httle scene of gaiety was going on : he knew 
 of this, but had forgotten it until that instant. It was the birthday 
 of his little girl, and a few young friends had been invited to make 
 merry. Jane, looking almost as young, quite as pretty, as when she 
 married him, sat at the far end of their largest room before a well- 
 spread tea-table. She wore festival attire. A dress of pearl-grey 
 watered silk, and a thin gold chain round her neck. The little girls 
 were chiefly in white, and the boys were on their best behaviour. 
 Jane was telling them that tea was ready, and her two servants were 
 helping to place the little people, and to wait upon them. 
 
 " Oh, and here's papa, too ! just in time," she cried, hfting her 
 eyes gladly at her husband. " That is delightful! " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton welcomed the children. He kissed some, he 
 talked to others, just as if he had not that terrible vulture, care, 
 within him. They saw nothing amiss ; neither did Jane. He took 
 his seat, and drank his tea ; all, as it were, mechanicall)'. It did 
 not seem to be himself; he thought it must be some one else. In 
 the last hour, his whole identity appeared to have changed. Bread 
 and butter was handed to him. He took a slice, and left it. jane 
 put some cake on to his plate : he left that also. Eat ! with that 
 awful fiat racking his senses ! No, it was not possible. 
 
 He looked round on his children. His. William, a gentle boy, 
 with his mother's calm, good face, and her earnest eyes ; Jane, a 
 lovely child, with fair curls flowing, and a bright colour, consciously 
 vain this evening in her white birthday robes and her white ribbons ; 
 Frank, a slim, dark-eyed boy, always in mischief, his features hand- 
 some and clearly cut as were his father's ; Gar, a delicate little chap, 
 with fair curls like his sister Jane's. Must he leave these children .^ 
 • — abandon them to the mercies of a cold and cruel world? — bequeath 
 them no place in it : no means of support 1 " Oh, God ! Oh, God ! " 
 broke from his bitter heart, " if it be Thy will to take me, mayst 
 Thou shelter them ! " 
 
 "Edgar!" 
 
 He started palpably ; so far in thought was he away. Yet it was 
 only his wife who spoke to him. 
 
 " Edgar, have you been up to Dr. Carrington's ? " she whispered, 
 bending towards him. 
 
 In his confusion he muttered some unintelligible words, which she 
 interpreted into a denial ; there was a great deal of buzzing just then
 
 LATER IN THE DAY. 39 
 
 from the young voices around. Two of the gentlemen, Frank being 
 one, were in hot contention touching a third gentleman's rabbits. 
 Mrs. Halliburton called Frank to order, and said no more to her 
 husband for the present. 
 
 "We are to dance after tea," said Jane. " I have been learning 
 one quadrille to play. It is very easy, and mamma says I play it 
 very welL" 
 
 " Oh, we don't want dancing," grumbled one of the boys. " We'd 
 rather have blindman's-buff." 
 
 Opinions were divided again. The girls wanted dancing, the 
 boys blindman's-buff. Mrs. Halliburton was appealed to. 
 
 " I think it must be dancing first, and blindman's-buff afterwards," 
 said she. 
 
 Tea over, the furniture was pushed aside, to make a clear space for 
 the dancers. Mr. Halliburton, his back against the wall, stood 
 looking at them. Looking at them, as was supposed; but, had 
 they been keen observers, they would have known that his eyes in 
 reality saw not : they, like his thoughts, were far away. 
 
 His Avife did presently notice that he seemed particularly 
 abstracted. She came up to him ; he was standing M'ith his arms 
 folded, his head bent. " Edgar, are you well ? " 
 
 " Well ? Oh yes, dear," he replied, making an effort to rouse 
 himself. 
 
 " I hope you have no more teaching to-night ? " 
 
 '' I ought to go to young Finchley. I put him off until seven 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Then " — was her quick rejoinder — " if you put off young Finch- 
 ley, how was it you could not get to Savile-row ? " 
 
 " I have been occupied all the afternoon, Jane," he said. Wanting 
 the courage to say how the matter really stood, he evaded the question. 
 
 But, to go to young Finchley, or to any other pupil that night, 
 Mr. Halliburton felt himself physically unequal. Teach! Explain 
 abstruse Greek and Latin rules, with his mind in its present state ! 
 It seemed to him that it little mattered — if he was to be taken 
 from them so soon — whether he ever taught again. He was in the 
 very depths of depression ! 
 
 Suddenly, as he stood looking on, a thought came flashing over 
 him as a ray of light. As a ray of light? Nay, as a whole flood 
 of it. What if Dr. Carrington were wrong? — if it should prove 
 that, in reality, nothing was the matter with him? Doctors — and 
 very clever ones — were, he knew, sometimes mistaken. Perhaps Dr. 
 Carrington had been ! 
 
 It was scarcely likely, he went on to reason, that a mortal disease 
 should be upon him, and he have lived in ignorance of it ! Why, 
 he seemed to have had very little the matter with him ; nothing 
 to talk of, nothing to lie up for, comparatively speaking, he had 
 been a healthy man — was in health then. Yes, the belief did pre- 
 sent itself, that Dr. Carrington was deceived. He, in the interests 
 of the insurance office, might be unnecessarily cautious.
 
 46 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton left the wall, and grew cheerful and gay, and 
 talked freely to the children. One little lady asked if he would 
 dance with her. He laughed, and felt half inclined to do so. 
 
 Which was the true mood— that sombre one, or this? Was there 
 nothing false about this one — was there no secret consciousness 
 that it did not accord with the actual belief of his mind ; that he 
 was only forcing it? Be it as it would, it did not last ; in the very 
 middle of a laughing sentence to his own little Janey, the old agony, 
 the fear, returned — returned with terrific violence, as a torrent that 
 has burst its bounds. 
 
 " I cannot bear this uncertainty ! " he murmured to himself. And 
 he went out of the room and took up his hat. Mrs. Halliburton, 
 who at that moment happened to be crossing from another room, 
 saw him open the hall-door. 
 
 " Are you going to young Finchley, Edgar?" 
 
 "No. I shall give him holiday for to-night. I shall be in soon, 
 Jane." 
 
 He went straight to their own family doctor ; a Mr. Allen, who 
 lived close by. They were personal friends. 
 
 To the inquiry as to whether Mr. Allen was at home, the servant 
 was about to usher him into the family sitting-room, but Mr. Halli- 
 burton stepped into the dusky surgery. He was in no mood for 
 ladies' company. " I will wait here," he said. " Tell your master 
 I wish to say a word to him." 
 
 The surgeon came immediately, a lighted candle in his hand. 
 He was a dark man with a thin face. " Why won't you come in?" 
 he asked. "There's only Mrs. Allen and the girls there. Is any- 
 thing the matter? " 
 
 " Yes, Allen, something is the matter," was Mr. Halliburton's 
 reply. " I want a friend to-night : one who will deal with me 
 candidly and openly : and I have come to you. Sit down." 
 
 They both sat down; and Mr. Halliburton gave him the history 
 of the past four and twenty hours : commencing with the fainting- 
 fit, and ending with his racking doubts as to whether Dr. Car- 
 rington's opinion was borne out by facts, or whether he might have 
 been deceived. "Allen," he concluded, "you must see what you 
 can make out of my state ; and you must report to me without dis- 
 guise, as you would report to your own soul." 
 
 The surgeon looked grave. " Carrington is a clever man," he 
 said. " One whom it would be difficult to deceive." 
 
 " I know his reputation. But these clever men are not infallible. 
 Put his opinion out of your mind : examine me yourself, and tell me 
 what you think." 
 
 Mr. Allen proceeded to do so. He first of all asked Mr. Halli- 
 burton a few general questions as to his present state of health, as 
 he would have done by any other patient, and then he sounded his 
 lungs. 
 
 " Now then— the truth," said Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 " The truth is — so far as I can judge — ^that you are in no present 
 danger whatever."
 
 ■ LATER IN THE DAY. 41 
 
 " Neither did Dr. Carrington say I was — in present danger," 
 hastily replied Mr. Halliburton. "Are my lungs sound?" 
 
 " They are not sound : but neither do I think they are extensively 
 diseased. You may live for many years, with care." 
 
 " Would any insurance office take me? " 
 
 " No. I do not think it would." 
 
 " It is just my death-knell, Allen." 
 
 "If you look at it in that hght, I shall be very sorry to have 
 given you my opinion," observed the surgeon. " I repeat that, by 
 taking care of yourself, you may stave off disease, and live many 
 years. I would not say this unless I thought it." 
 
 "And, would your opinion be the same as the doctor's — that I 
 must leave London for the country?" 
 
 " I think you would have a far better chance of getting well in 
 the country than you have here. You have told me over and over 
 again, you know, that you were sure London air was bad for you." 
 
 "Ay, I have," replied Mr. Halhburton. " I never have felt quite 
 well in it, and that's the truth. Well, I must see what can be done. 
 Good evening." 
 
 If the edict did not appear to be so irrevocably dark as that of 
 Dr. Carrington, it was yet dark enough; and Mr. Halhburton, 
 striving to look it full in the face, as he was in the habit of doing 
 by troubles less grave, endeavoured to set himself to think " what 
 could be done." There was no possible chance of keeping it from 
 his wife. If it was really necessary that their place of residence 
 should be changed, she must be taken into counsel ; and the sooner 
 she was told the better. He went home, resolved to tell her before 
 he slept. 
 
 The little troop departed, the children in bed, they sat together 
 over the fire : though the weather had become warm, an evening 
 fire was pleasant still. He sat nervous and fidgety. Now the 
 moment had arrived, he shrunk from his task. 
 
 " Edgar, I am sure you are not well ! " she exclaimed. " I have 
 observed it all the evening." 
 
 " Yes, Jane, I am well. Pretty well, that is. The truth is, my 
 darling, I have some bad news for you, and I don't like to tell it." 
 
 Her own family were safe and well under her roof, and her fears 
 flew to Francis, to Margaret, to Robert. Mr. Halliburton stopped 
 her. 
 
 " It does not concern any of them, Jane. It is about myself." 
 
 " But what can it be, about yourself? " 
 
 " They — will — not Will you listen to the news with a brave 
 
 heart?" he broke off to ask, with a smile, and the most cheering 
 look he could call up to his face. 
 
 " Oh yes." She smiled too. She thought it could be nothing 
 very bad. 
 
 " They will not insure my life, Jane." 
 
 Her heart stood still. " But why not? " 
 
 " They consider it too great a risk. They fancy I am not strong."
 
 42 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 A sudden flush to her face ; a moment's stilhiess ; and then Jane 
 Halhburton clasped her hands with a faint cry of despair. She 
 saw that more remained behind. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton sat in her chair, still enougn, except for the 
 wailing cry which had just escaped her lips. Her husband would 
 not look at her in that moment. His gaze was bent on the fire, 
 and his cheek lay in his hand. As she cried out, he stretched forth 
 his other hand and let it fall lightly upon hers. 
 
 " Jane, had I thought you would look at the dark side of the 
 picture, I should have hesitated to tell you. Why, my dear child, 
 the very fact of my telling you at all, should convince you that 
 there's nothing very serious the matter," he added, in a cheering 
 tone of reasoning. Now that he had spoken, he deemed it well to 
 make the very best he could of it. 
 
 " You say they will not insure your life ? " 
 
 " Well, Jane, perhaps that expression was not a correct one. 
 They have not declined as yet to do so ; but Dr. Carrington says 
 he cannot give the necessary certificate as to my being a thoroughly 
 sound and healthy man." 
 
 " Then you did go up to Dr. Carrington ? " 
 
 " I did. Forgive me, Jane : I could not enter upon it before all 
 the children." 
 
 She leaned over and laid her head upon his shoulder. " Tell me 
 all about it, Edgar," she whispered ; " as much as you know your- 
 self." 
 
 " I have told you nearly all, Jane. I saw Dr. Carrington, and he 
 asked me a great many questions, and examined me here" — touch- 
 ing his chest. " He fancies the organs are not sound, and declined 
 giving the certificate." 
 
 " That your chest is not sound? " asked Jane. 
 
 " He said the lungs." 
 
 " Ah ! " she uttered. " What else did he say ? " 
 
 " Well, he said nothing about heart, or liver, or any other vital 
 part so I conclude they are all right, and that there was nothing 
 to say," repHed Mr. Halliburton, attempting to be cheerful. " I 
 could have told him my brain was strong enough, had he asked 
 about that, for I'm sure it gets its full share of work. I need not 
 have mentioned this to you at all, Jane, but for a perplexing bit of 
 advice that the doctor gave me." 
 
 Jane sat straight in her chair again, and looked at Mr. Halli- 
 burton. The colour was beginning to return to her face. He con- 
 tinued :
 
 SUSPENSE. 43 
 
 " Dr. Carrington earnestly recommends mc to remove from 
 London. Indeed — he said — that it was necessary — if I would get 
 well. No wonder that you found my manner absent," he continued 
 very rapidly after his hesitation, " with that unpalatable counsel to 
 digest." 
 
 " Did he think you very ill?" she breathed. 
 
 " He did not say I was ' very ill,' Jane. I am not very ill, as 
 you may see for yourself. My dear, what he said was, that my 
 lungs were — were " 
 
 " Diseased?" she put in. 
 
 " Diseased. Yes, that was it," he truthfully replied. " It is the 
 term that medical men apply when they wish to indicate delicacy. 
 And he strenuously recommended me to lea\'e London." 
 
 " For how long? Did he say ? " 
 
 " He said for good." 
 
 Jane felt startled. " How could it be done, Edgar?" 
 
 " In truth I do not know. If I leave London I leave my living 
 behind me. Now you see why I was so absorbed at tea-time. 
 When you saw me go out, I was going round to Allen's." 
 
 " And what does he say?" she eagerly interrupted. 
 
 " Oh, he seems to think it a mere nothing, compared with Dr. 
 Carrington. He agreed with him on one point — that I ought to 
 live out of London." 
 
 " Edgar, I will tell you what I think must be done," said Jane, 
 after a pause. " I have not had time to reflect much upon it : but 
 it strikes me that it would be advisable for you to see ^.nother doctor, 
 and take his opinion : some man who is clever in affections of the 
 lungs. Go to him to-morrow, without any delay. Should he say 
 that you must leave London, of course we must leave it, no matter 
 what the sacrifice." 
 
 The advice corresponded with Mr. Halliburton's own opinion, and 
 he resolved to follow it. A conviction, amounting to a certainty, was 
 upon him, that, go to what doctor he might, the fiat would be the 
 same as Dr. Carrington's. He did not say so to Jane. On the 
 contrary, he spoke of these insurance-office doctors as being over- 
 fastidious in the interests of the office ; and he tried to deceive his 
 own heart with the sophistry. 
 
 " Shall you apply to another office to insure your life ? " Jane 
 asked. 
 
 " I would, if I thought it would not be useless." 
 
 " You think it would be useless ? " 
 
 " The offices all keep their own doctors, and those doctors, it is 
 niy belief, are unnecessarily particular. I should call them crotchet}', 
 Jane." 
 
 " I think it must amount to this," said Jane ; " that if there is 
 anything seriously the matter with you, no office will be found to 
 do it ; but, if the affection is only trifling or tcmporaiy, you may 
 be accepted." 
 
 *' That is about it. Oh, Jane ! " he added, with an irrepressible
 
 44 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 burst of anguish, " what would I not give to have insured my life 
 before this came upon me I All those past years 1 they seem to have 
 been allowed to run to waste, when I might have been using them 
 to lay up in store for the children ! " 
 
 How many are there of us who, looking back, can feel that our 
 past years, in some way or other, have not been allowed to run to 
 waste ? 
 
 What a sleepless night that was for him ! what a sleepless night 
 for his wife ! Both rose in the morning equally unrefreshed. 
 
 " To what doctor will you go ? " Jane inquired of him as she was 
 dressing. 
 
 " I have been thinking of Dr. Arnold of Finsbury," he replied. 
 
 " Yes, you could not go to a better. Edgar, you will let me 
 accompany you ? " 
 
 " No, no, Jane. Your accompanying me would do no good. You 
 could not go into the room with me." 
 
 She saw the force of the objection. " I shall be so very anxious," 
 she said, in a low tone. 
 
 He laughed at her: he was willing to make light of it if it might 
 ease her fears. " My dear, I will come home at once and report to 
 you : I will borrow Jack's seven-leagued boots, that I may come 
 to you the quicker." 
 
 " You know that I shall be anxious," she repeated, feeling vexed. 
 
 "Jane.' he said, his tone changing: "I see that you are more 
 anxious already than is good for you. It is not well that you should 
 be so." 
 
 " I wish I could be with you ! I wish I could hear, as you will. 
 Dr. Arnold's opinion from his own lips ! " was all she answered. 
 
 " I will faithfully repeat it to you," said Mr, Halliburton. 
 
 " Faithfully .'' — word for word .'' On your honour ? " 
 
 "Yes, Jane, I will. You have my promise. Good news I shall 
 only be too glad to tell you ; and, should it be the worst, it will be 
 necessary that you should know it." 
 
 " You must be there before ten o'clock," she observed ; " otherwise 
 there will be little chance of seeing him." 
 
 "I shall be there by nine, Jane. To spare time later would 
 interfere too much with my day's work." 
 
 A thought crossed Jane's mind — if the iiat were unfavourable, 
 what would become of his day's work then — all his days ? " But she 
 did not utter it. 
 
 " Oh, papa," cried Janey at breakfast, " was it not a beautiful 
 party ! Did you ever enjoy yourself so much before ? " 
 
 " I don't suppose you ever did, Janey," he replied, in a kind tone. 
 
 " No, that I never did. Alice Harvey's birthday comes in summer, 
 and she says she knows her mamma will let her give just such 
 another. Mamma!" — turning round to Mrs. Halliburton. 
 ^ " Well, Jane .? » 
 
 " Shall you let me have a new frock for it ? You know I tore mine 
 last night."
 
 SUSPENSE. 45 
 
 "All in good time, Janey. We don't know where we may all be 
 then." 
 
 No, they did not. A foreshadowing of it was already upon the 
 spirit of Mrs. Halliburton. Not upon the children ; they were spared 
 it as yet. 
 
 "Do not be surprised if you see me waiting for you when you 
 come out of Dr. Arnold's," said Jane to her husband, in a low tone, 
 as he was going out. 
 
 " But, Jane, why? Indeed, I think it would be foolish of you to 
 come. My dear, I never knew you like this before." 
 
 Perhaps not. But when, before, had there been cause for this 
 apprehension .'' 
 
 Jane watched him depart. Calm as she contrived to remain out- 
 wardly, she was in a terribly restless, nervous state ; little accustomed, 
 as she was, so to give way. A sick feeling was within her, a miserable 
 sensation of suspense ; and she could scarcely battle with it. You 
 may have felt the same, in the dread approach of some great calamity. 
 The reading over, Janey got her books about, as usual. Mrs. Halli- 
 burton took charge of her education in every branch, except music : 
 for that, she had a master. She would not send Jane to school. 
 The child sat down to her books, and was surprised at seeing her 
 mother come into the room with her things on. 
 
 " Mamma ! Are you going out .'' " 
 
 " For a little while, Jane." 
 
 " Oh, let me go ! let me go, too ! " 
 
 " Not this morning, dear. You will have plenty of work — pre- 
 paring the lessons that you could not prepare last night." 
 
 " So I shall," said Janey. " I thought perhaps you meant to 
 excuse them, mamma." 
 
 It was almost impossible for Jane to remain in the house, in her 
 present state of agitation. She knew that it did appear aljsurdly 
 foolish to go after her husband ; but, walk somewhere she must : how 
 could she turn a different way from that which he had gone ? It 
 was some distance to Finsbury ; half an hour's walk, at least. Should 
 she go, or should she not, she asked herself as she went out of the 
 house. She began to think that she might have remained at home, 
 had she exercised self-control. She had a great mind to turn back, 
 and was slackening her pace, when she caught sight of Mr. Allen at 
 his surgery window. 
 
 An impulse came over her that she would go in and ask his opinion 
 of her husband. She opened the door and entered. The surgeon 
 was making up some pills. 
 
 " You are abroad early, Mrs. Halliburton ! " 
 
 "Yes," she replied. "Mr. Halliburton has gone to Finsbury 
 
 Square, to see Dr. Arnold, and I Do you think him very ill ? " 
 
 she abruptly broke off. 
 
 " I do not, myself. Carrington Did you know he had been 
 
 to Dr. Carrington ? " asked Mr. Allen, almost fearing he might be 
 betraying secrets.
 
 46 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I know all about it. I know what the doctor said. Do you think 
 Dr. Carrington was mistaken .'' " 
 
 " In a measure. There's no doubt the lungs are affected, but I 
 believe not to the grave extent assumed by Dr. Carrington." 
 
 " He assumed, then, that they were affected to a grave extent?" 
 she hastily repeated, her heart beating faster. 
 
 " I thought you said you knew all about it, Mrs. Halliburton ? " 
 
 " So I do. He may possibly not have told me the very worst said 
 by Dr. Carrington; but he told me quite sufficient. Mr. Allen, _y<?/^ 
 tell me — do you think that there is a chance of his recovery ? " 
 
 " Most certainly I do," warmly replied the surgeon. " Every 
 chance, Mrs. Halliburton. I see no reason whatever why he should 
 not keep as well as he is now, and live for years, provided he takes 
 care of himself. It appears that Dr. Carrington very strongly urged 
 his removing into the country ; he went so far as to say that it was 
 his only chance for life — and in that I think he went too far again. 
 But the country would undoubtedly do for him what London will 
 not." 
 
 " You think that he ought to remove to the country ? " she 
 inquired, giving no token of the terror those incautious words 
 brought her — " his only chance for life." 
 
 " 1 do. If it be possible for him to manage his affairs so as to get 
 away, I should say, let him do so by all means." 
 
 " It must be done, you know, Mr. Allen, if it be essential." 
 
 " In my judgment, it should be done. Many and many a time I 
 have said to him myself, 'It's a pity but that you could be away 
 from this heavy London ! ' Fogs affect him, and smoke affects him 
 — the air altogether affects him : and I only wonder it has not told 
 upon him before. As Dr. Carrington observed to him, there are 
 some constitutions which somehow will not thrive here." 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton rose with a sigh. " I am glad you do not think 
 so very seriously of him," she breathed. 
 
 " I do not think seriously of him at all," was the surgeon's answer. 
 " I confess that he is not strong, and that he must have care. The 
 pure air of the country, and relaxation from some of his most press- 
 ing work, may do wonders for him. If I might advise, I should say, 
 Let no pecuniary considerations keep him here. And that is veiy 
 disinterested advice, Mrs. Halliburton," concluded the doctor, 
 laughing, " for, in losing you, I should lose both friends and 
 patients." 
 
 Jane went out. Those ominous words were still ringing in her 
 ears — " his only chance for life." 
 
 She forced herself to self-control, and did not go to meet Mr. 
 Halliburton. She returned home and took off her things, and gave 
 what attention she could to Jane's lessons. But none can tell the 
 suspense that was agitating her : the ever-restless glances she cast 
 to the window, to see him pass. By-and-by she went and stood 
 there. 
 
 At last she saw him coming along in the distance. She would
 
 SUSPENSE. 47 
 
 have liked to fly to meet him — to say, What is the news ? but she 
 did not. More patience, and then, when he came in at the front 
 door, she left the room she was in, and went with him into the 
 drawing-room, her face white as death. 
 
 He saw how agitated she was, strive as she would for calmness. 
 He stood looking at her with a smile. 
 
 "Weh, Jane, it is not so very formidable, after all." 
 Her face grew hot, and her heart bounded on. " What does Dr. 
 Arnold say ? You know, Edgar, you promised mc the truth without 
 disguise." 
 
 "You shall have it, Jane. Dr. Arnold's opinion of me is not 
 unfavourable. That the lungs are to a certain extent affected, is 
 indisputable, and he thinks they have been so for some time. But 
 he sees nothing to indicate present danger to life. He believes that 
 I may grow into an old man yet." 
 
 Jane breathed freely. A word of earnest thanks went up from 
 her heart. 
 
 " With proper diet — he has given me certain rules for living — 
 and pure air and sunshine, he considers that I have really little to 
 fear, I told you, Jane, those insurance doctors make the worst of 
 things." 
 
 " Dr. Ai'nold, then, recommends the country ? " observed Jane, 
 paying no attention to the last remark. 
 
 " Very strongly. Almost as strongly as Dr. Carrington." 
 Jane hfted her eyes to her husband's face. " Dr. Carrington said, 
 you know, that it was your only chance of life." 
 
 " Not quite as bad as that, Jane," he returned, never supposing 
 but that he must himself have let the remark slip, and wondering 
 how he came to do so. " What Dr. Carrington said was, that it was 
 London versus life." 
 
 "It is the same thing, Edgar. And now, what is to be done.'' 
 Of course we have no alternative ; into the country we must go. 
 The question is, where .'' " 
 
 " Ay, that is the question," he answered. " Not only where, but 
 what to do ? I cannot drop down into a fresh place, and expect 
 teaching to surround me at once, as if it had been waiting for me. 
 But 1 have not time to talk now. Only fancy ! it is half-past ten." 
 Mr. Halliburton went out, and Jane remained, fastened as it were 
 to her chair. A hundred perplexing plans and schemes were already 
 working in her brain.
 
 48 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 t LOOKING OUT FOR A HOME. 
 
 Plans and schemes continued to work in Mrs. Halliburton's brain 
 for days and days to come. Many and many an anxious consulta- 
 tion did she and her husband hold together — where should they go? 
 what should they do ? That it was necessary to do something, and 
 speedily, events proved, independently of what had been said by the 
 doctors. Before another month had passed over his head, Mr. 
 Halliburton had become so much worse that he had to resign his 
 post at King's College. But, to the hopeful minds of himself and 
 Jane, the country change was to bring its remedy for all ills. They 
 had grown to anticipate it with enthusiasm. 
 
 His thoughts naturally ran upon teaching, as his continued occu- 
 pation. He knew nothing of any other. All England was before 
 him ; and he supposed he might obtain a living at it, wherever he 
 might go. Such testimonials as his were not met with every day. 
 His cousin Julia was married to a man of some local influence (as 
 Mr. Halhburton had understood) in the city in which they resided, 
 the chief town of one of the midland counties ; and a thought crossed 
 his mind more than once, whether it might not be well to choose 
 that same town to settle in. 
 
 " They might be able to recommend me, you see, Jane," he 
 observed to his wife, one evening that they were sitting together, 
 after the children were in bed. " Not that I should much like to 
 ask any favour of Julia." 
 
 " Why not ? " said Jane. 
 
 "Because she is not a pleasant person to ask a favour of: it is 
 many years since I saw her, but I well remember that. Another 
 reason why I feel inclined to that place is, that it is a cathedral 
 town. Cathedral towns have many of the higher order of the clergy 
 in them ; learning is sure to be considered there, should it not be 
 anywhere else. Consequently there would be an opening for classical 
 teaching." 
 
 Jane thought the argument had weight. 
 
 "And there's yet another thing," continued Mr. Halhburton. 
 " You remember Peach ? " 
 
 "Peach? — Peach?" repeated Jane, as if unable to recall the 
 name. 
 
 " The young fellow that I had so much trouble with, a few years 
 ago — drilling him between his terms at Oxford. But for me, he 
 never would have passed either his great or his little go. He did 
 get plucked the first time he went up. You must remember him, 
 Jane : he has often taken tea with us here." 
 
 " Oh, yes — yes ! I remember him now. Charley Peach."
 
 LOOKING OUT FOR A HOMEi. 49 
 
 "Well, he has recently been appointed to a minor canonry in 
 that same cathedral," resumed Mr. Halliburton. *' Dr. Jacobs told 
 me of it the other day. Now, I am quite sure that Peach would be 
 delighted to say a word for me, or to put anything in my way. That 
 is another reason why 1 am inclined to go there." 
 " I suppose the town is a healthy one ? " 
 
 " Ay, that it is ; and it is seated in one of the most charming ol 
 our counties. There'll be no London fogs or smoke there." 
 "Then, Edgar, let us decide upon it." 
 
 " Yes, I think so — unless we should hear of an opening elsewhere 
 that may promise better. We must be away by Midsummer, if we 
 can, or soon after it. It will be sharp work, though." 
 
 " What trouble it will be to pack the furniture ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Pack what furniture, Jane ? We must sell the furniture." 
 " Sell the furniture ! " she uttered, aghast. 
 
 " My dear, it would never do to take the furniture. It would 
 cost almost as much as it is worth. There's no knowing, either, 
 how long it might be upon the road, or what damage it might receive, 
 I expect it would have to go principally by water." 
 " By water! " cried Mrs. Halliburton. 
 
 " I fancy so — by barge, I mean. Waggons would not take it, 
 except by paying heavily. A great deal of the country traffic is 
 done by water. This furniture is old, Jane, most of it, and will not 
 bear the knocking about of rough travelling. Consider how many 
 years your father and mother had it in use." 
 
 " Then what should we do for furniture when we get there ? " 
 asked Jane. 
 
 " Buy new with the money we receive from the sale of this. I 
 have been reflecting upon it a good deal, Jane, and I fancy it will 
 be the better plan. However, if you care for this old furniture, we 
 must take it." 
 
 Jane looked round upon it. She did care for the time-used furni- 
 ture ; but she knew how old it was, and was willing to do whatever 
 might be best. A vision came into her mind ot fresh, bright 
 furniture, and it looked pleasant in imagination. " It would cer- 
 tainly be a great deal to pack and carry," she acknowledged. " And 
 some of it is not worth it." 
 
 " And it would be more than we should want," resumed Mr. 
 Halliburton. " Wherever we go, we must be content with a small 
 house; at any rate, at first. But it will be time enough to go into 
 these details, Jane, when we have finally decided upon our destination." 
 " Oh, Edgar ! I shall be so sorry to take the boys from King's 
 College." 
 
 "Jane," he said, a flash of pain crossing his face as he spoke, 
 " there are so many things connected with it altogether that cause 
 me sorrow, that my only resource is not to think upon them. I 
 might be tempted to repine — to ask in a spirit of rebellion why this 
 affliction should have come upon us. It is God's decree, and it is 
 my duty to submit as patiently as I can." 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. **
 
 so MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 It was her duty 
 her weary brow. 
 Jane HalHburton! 
 
 It was her duty also : and she knew it as she laid her hand upon 
 her weary brow. A weary, weary brow from henceforth, that of 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DYING BED. 
 
 In a handsome chamber of a handsome house in Birmingham, an 
 old man lay dying. For most of his life he had been engaged in a 
 large wholesale business — had achieved local position, had accumu- 
 lated moderate wealth. But neither wealth nor position can ensure 
 peace to a death-bed ; and the old man lay on his, groaning over 
 the past. 
 
 The season was that of mid-winter. Not the winter following 
 the intended removal of Mr. Halliburton from London, as spoken 
 of in the last chapter, but the winter preceding it — for it is necessary 
 to go back a little. A hard, sharp, white day in January ; and the 
 fire was piled high in the sick chamber, and the large flakes of snow 
 piled themselves outside on the window frames and beat against the 
 glass. The room was iitted up with every comfort that the most 
 fastidious invalid could desire ; and yet, I say, nothing seemed to 
 bring comfort to the invalid lying there. His hands were clenched 
 as in mortal agony ; his eyes were apparently watching the falling 
 snow. The eyes saw it not : in reality they were cast back to where 
 his mind was — the past. 
 
 What could be troubling him ? Was it that loss, only two years 
 ago, by which one-half of his savings had been engulfed ? Scarcely. 
 A man dying — as he knew he was — would be unlikely to care about 
 that now. Ample competence had remained to him, and he had 
 neither son nor daughter to inherit. Hark! what is it that he is 
 murmuring between his parched lips, to the accompaniment of his 
 clenched hands ? 
 
 " I see it all now ; I see it all ! While we are buoyed up with 
 health and strength, we continue hard, selfish, obstinate in our 
 wickedness. But when death comes, we awake to our error ; and 
 death has come to me, and I have awakened to mine. Why did I 
 turn him out like a dog? He had neither kith nor kin, and I sent 
 him adrift on the world, to fight with it, or to starve! He was 
 the only child of my sister, and she was gone. She and I were of 
 the same father and mother ; we shared the same meals in child- 
 hood, tlie same home, the same play, the same hopes. She wrote 
 to me when she was dying, as I am dying now : ' Richard, should 
 my poor boy be left fatherless — for my husband's health seems to 
 be failing — be his friend and protector for Helen's sake, and may 
 Heaven bless you for it ! ' And I scoffed at the injunction when
 
 A DYING BED. 51 
 
 the boy oftcndcd me, and turned him out. Shall I have io aftswer 
 for it ? " 
 
 The last anxious doubt was uttered more audibly than the rest ; 
 it escaped from his lips with a groan. A woman who Avas dozing 
 over the fire, started up. 
 
 " Did you call, sir ? " 
 
 " No. Go out and leave me." 
 
 "But " 
 
 " Go out and leave me," he repeated, with anger little fitted to his 
 position. And the woman was speeding from the room, when he 
 caught at the curtain, and recalled her. 
 
 " Are they not come "i " 
 
 " Not yet, sir. But, with this heavy fall, it's not to be wondered 
 at. The highways must be almost impassable. With good roads 
 they might have been here hours ago." 
 
 She went out. He lay back on his pillow: his eyes wide open, 
 but wearing the same dreamy look. You may be wondering who 
 he is ; though you probably guess, for you have heard of him 
 once before as Mr. Cooper, the uncle who discarded Edgar 
 Halliburton. 
 
 I must give you a few words of retrospect. Richard Cooper 
 was the eldest of three children ; the others were a brother and 
 a sister : Richard, Alfred, and Helen. Alfred and Helen both 
 married ; Richard never did marry. It was somewhat singular that 
 the brother and sister should both die, each leaving^ an orphan ; 
 and that the orphans should find a home in the house of their 
 uncle, Richard. Julia Cooper, the brother's orphan, was the first 
 to come to it, a long time before Edgar Halliburton came. Helen 
 had married the Rev. William Halliburton, and she died at his 
 rectory in Devonshire — sending that earnest prayer to her brother 
 Richard which you have just heard him utter. A little while, and 
 her husband, the rector, was also dead ; and then it was that Edgar 
 went up to his Uncle Richard's. Fortunate for these two orphan 
 children, it appeared to be, that their uncle had not married, and 
 could give them a good home. 
 
 A good home he did give them. Julia left it first, to become 
 the wife of Anthony Dare, a solicitor in large practice in a distant 
 city. She married him very soon after her cousin Edgar came to 
 his uncle's. And it was after the marriage of Julia, that Edgar 
 was discarded and turned adrift. Years, many years, had gone by 
 since then ; and here lay Richard Cooper, stricken for death and 
 repenting of the harshness, which he had not repented of, or sought 
 to atone for, all through those long years. Ah, my friends ! what- 
 soever there may lie upon our consciences, however we may have 
 contrived to ignore it during our busy lives, be assured that it will 
 find us out on our death-bed ! 
 
 Richard Cooper lay back on his pillow, his eyes wide open with 
 their inward tribulation. "Who knows but there would be time 
 yet.'"' he suddenly murmured. And the thought appeared to rouse
 
 52 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 his mind and flush his cheek, and he Hfted his hand and grasped 
 the bell-rope, ringing it so loudly as to bring two servants to the 
 room. 
 
 " Go up, one of you, to Lawyer Weston's," he uttered. " Bring 
 him back with you. Tell him I want to alter my will, and that 
 there may yet be time. Don't send— one of you go," he repeated 
 in a tone of agonising entreaty. " Bring him ; bring him back with 
 you ! " 
 
 As the echo of his voice died away, there came a loud summons 
 at the street door, as of a hasty arrival. " Sir," cried one of the 
 maids, " they're come at last ! I thought I heard a carriage draw- 
 ing up in the snow." 
 
 " Who's come } " he asked in some confusion of mind. " Weston ? " 
 
 " Not him, sir : Mr. and Mrs. Dare," replied the servant as she 
 hurried out. 
 
 A lady and gentleman were getting out of a coach at the door. 
 A tall, very tall man, with handsome features, but an unpleasantly 
 free expression. The lady was tall also, stout and fair, with an 
 imperious look in her little turned-up nose. " Are we in time ? " 
 the latter asked of the servants. 
 
 " It's nearly as much as can be said, ma'am," was the answer. 
 " But he has roused up in the last hour, and is growing excited. 
 The doctors thought it might be so : that he'd not continue in the 
 lethargy to the last." 
 
 They went on at once to the sick chamber. Every sense of the 
 dymg man appeared to be on the alert. His hands were holding 
 back the curtain, his eyes were strained on the door. " Why have 
 you been so long?" he cried in a voice of strength that they were 
 surprised to hear. 
 
 " Dear uncle," said Mrs. Dare, bending over the bed, and clasp- 
 ing the feeble hands, " we started the very moment that the letter 
 came. But we could not get along— the roads are dreadfully 
 heavy." 
 
 " Sir," whispered a servant in the invalid's ear, " are we to go 
 now for Lawyer Weston ? " 
 
 "No, there's no need," was the prompt answer. "Anthony 
 Dare, you are a lawyer," continued Mr. Cooper ; " you'll do what 
 I want done as well as another. Will you do it? " 
 . " Anything you please, sir," was Mr. Dare's reply, 
 
 " Sit down, then ; Julia, sit down. You may be hungry and 
 thirsty after your journey ; but you must wait. Life's not ebbing 
 out of you, as it is out of me. We'll get this matter over, that my 
 mmd may be so far at rest ; and then you can eat and drink of 
 the best that my house affords. I am in mortal pain, Anthony 
 Dare." 
 
 Mrs. Dare was silently removing some of her outer wrappings, 
 and whispering with the servant at the extremity of the roomy 
 chamber; but Mr, Dare, who had taken off his great-coat and hat 
 in the hall, continued to stand by the sick bed.
 
 A DYING BED. 53 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it, sir," he said, in reply to Mr. Coopa-'s 
 concluding sentence. " Can the medical men afford you no relief.'' " 
 
 " It is pain of mind, Anthony Dare, not pain of body. That pain 
 has passed from me. 1 would have sent for you and Julia before, 
 but I did not think until yesterday that the end was so near. Never 
 let a man be guilty of injustice ! " broke forth Mr. Cooper, vehe- 
 mently. " Or let him know that it will come home to him to trouble 
 his dying bed." 
 , " What can I do for you, sir.?" questioned Mr. Dare. 
 
 "If you will open that bureau, you'll find pen, ink, and paper. 
 Julia, come here : and see that we are alone." 
 
 The servant left the room, and Mrs. Dare came forward, divested 
 of her cloaks. She wore a handsome dark -blue satin dress (much 
 the fashion at that time) with a good deal of rich white lace about 
 it, a heavy gold chain, and some very showy amethysts set in gold. 
 The jewellery was real, however, not sham ; but altogether her 
 attire looked somewhat out of place for a death-chamber. 
 
 The afternoon was drawing to a close. What with that and the 
 dense atmosphere outside, the chamber had grown dim. Mr. Dare 
 disposed the writing materials on a small round table at the invalid's 
 elbow, and then looked towards the distant window. 
 
 " I fear I cannot see, sir, without a light." 
 
 " Call for it, Julia," said the invalid. 
 
 A lamp was brought in, and placed on the table, so that its rays 
 should not affect those eyes so soon to close to all earthly light. 
 And Mr. Dare waited, pen in hand. 
 
 " I have been hard and wilful," began Mr. Cooper, putting up his 
 trembling hands. " I have been obdurate, and selfish, and unjust ; 
 and now it is keeping peace from me " 
 
 " But in what way, dear uncle ? " softly put in Mrs. Dare ; and it 
 may be as well remarked that whenever Mrs. Dare attempted to 
 speak softly and kindly, it seemed to bear an unnatural sound to 
 others' ears. 
 
 " In what way? — why, with regard to Edgar Halliburton," said 
 Mr. Cooper, the dew breaking out upon his brow. " In seeking to 
 follow the calling marked out for him by his father, he only did 
 his duty ; and I should have seen it in that light, but for my own 
 obstinate pride and self-will. I did wrong to discard him : I have 
 done wrong, ever since, in keeping him from me, in refusing to be 
 reconciled. Are you listening, Anthony Dare ! " 
 
 " Certainly, sir. I hear." 
 
 " Julia, I say that there was no reason for my turning him away. 
 There has been no reason for my keeping him away. I have 
 refused to be reconciled : I have sent back his letters unopened ; I 
 have held him at contemptuous defiance. When I heard that 
 he had married, I cast harsh words to him, because he had not 
 asked my consent, though I was aware, all the time, that I had 
 given him no opportunity to ask it — I had harshly refused all over- 
 tures, all intercourse. I cast harsh words to his wife, kno-yving her
 
 54 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 not. But I see my error now. Do you see it, Julia? Do you see 
 it, Anthony Dare.?" 
 
 "Would you like to have him sent for, sir?" suggested Mr. 
 Dare. 
 
 '' It is too late. He could not be here in time. " I don't know, 
 either, where he lives in London, or what his address may be. Do 
 you? " — looking at his niece. 
 
 " Oh dear, no," she replied, with a slightly contemptuous gesture 
 of the shoulders. As much as to imply that to know the address 
 of her cousin Edgar was quite beneath her. 
 
 " No, he could not get here," repeated the dying man, whilst 
 Mrs. Dare wiped the dews that had gathered on his pallid and 
 wrinkled brow. "Julia! Anthony! Anthony Dare! " 
 
 •'Sir, what is it?" 
 
 " I wish you both to listen to me. I cannot die with this injustice 
 unrepaired. I have made my will in Julia's favour. It is all left 
 to her, except a few trifles to my servants. When the property 
 comes to be realised, there'll be at least sixteen thousand pounds, 
 and, but for that late mad speculation I entered into, there would 
 have been nearer forty thousand." 
 
 He paused. But neither Mr. nor Mrs. Dare answered. 
 
 "You are a lawyer, Anthony, and could draw up a fresh will. 
 But there's no time, I say. What is darkening the room?" he 
 abruptly broke off to ask. 
 
 Mr. Dare looked hastily up. Nothing was darkening the room, 
 except the gradually increasing gloom of evenino-. 
 
 " My sight is growing dim, then," said the invalid. " Listen to 
 me, both of you. I charge you, Anthony and Julia Dare, that 
 you divide this money with Edgar Halliburton. Give him his full 
 share; the half, even to a farthing. Will you do so, Anthony 
 Dare?" 
 
 " Yes, I will, sir." 
 
 " Be it so. I charge you both, solemnly— do not fail. If you 
 would lay up peace for the time when you shall come to be where 
 I am— do not fail. There's no time legally to do what is right; I 
 feel that there is not. Ere the deed could be drawn up, I should 
 be gone, and could not sign it. But I leave the charge upon you; 
 the solemn charge. The half of my money belongs of right to 
 Edgar Halliburton : Julia has claim only to the other half Be 
 careful how you divide it : you are sole executor, Anthony Dare. 
 Have you your paper ready? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "•Then dot down a few words, as I dictate, and I will sign them. 
 * I, Richard Cooper, do repent of my injustice to my dear nephew, 
 Edgar Halliburton. And I desire, by this my last act on my 
 death-bed, to bequeath to him the half of the money and property 
 I shall die possessed of; and I charge Anthony Dare, the executor 
 of my will, to carry out this act and wish as strictly as though it 
 were a formal and legal one. I desire that whatever I shall die
 
 A DYING BED. 55 
 
 possessed of, save the bequests to my servants, may be equally 
 divided between my nephew Edgar and my niece Julia.'" 
 
 The dying man paused. " I think that's all that need be said," 
 he observed. " Have you finished writing it, Anthony Dare?" 
 
 Mr. Dare wrote fast and quickly, and was concluding the last 
 words. " It is written, sir." 
 
 " Read it." 
 
 Mr. Dare proceeded to do so. Short as the time was which it 
 took to accomplish this, the old man had fallen into a doze ere it 
 was concluded ; a doze or a partial stupor. They could not tell 
 which it was ; but, in leaning over him, he woke up with a start. 
 
 " I can't die with this injustice unrepaired ! " he cried, his 
 memory evidently ignoring what had just been done. " Anthony 
 Dare, your wife has no right to all my money. I shall leave half 
 of it to Edgar. I want you to write it down." 
 
 " It is done, sir. This is the paper." 
 
 " Where ? where ? Why don't you get light into the room ? It's 
 dark — dark. This ? Is this it ? " — as Mr. Dare put it into his hand. 
 " Now, mind ! " he added, his tone changing to one of solemn 
 enjoinder ; " mind you act upon it. Julia has no right to more than 
 her half share ; she must not take more : money kept by wrong, 
 acquired by injustice, never prospers. It would not bring you 
 good, it would not bring a blessing. Give Edgar his legal half; 
 and give him his old uncle's love and contrition. Tell him, if 
 the past could come over again, there should be no estrangement 
 between us." 
 
 He lay panting for a few minutes, and then spoke again, the 
 paper having fallen unnoticed from his hand. 
 
 "Julia, when you see Edgar's wife Did I sign that paper?" 
 
 he broke off. 
 
 " No, sir," said Mr. Dare. " Will you sign it now ? " 
 
 "Ay. But, signed or not signed, you'll equally act upon it. I 
 don't put it forth as a legal document ; I suppose it would not, in 
 this informal state, stand good in law. It is only a reminder to 
 you, Anthony Dare, that you may not forget my wishes. Hold me 
 up in bed, and have lights brought in." 
 
 Anthony Dare drew the curtain back, and the rays of the lamp 
 flashed upon the dying man. Mr. Dare looked round for a book 
 on which to place the paper while it was signed. 
 
 " I want a light," came again from the bed, in a pleading tone. 
 " Julia, why don't you tell them to bring in the lamp ? " 
 
 " The lamp is here, uncle. It is close to you." 
 
 "Then there's no oil in it," he cried. "Julia, I unll have lights 
 here. Tell them to bring up the dining-room lamps ; they give the 
 best light. Don't ring; go and see that they are brought." 
 
 Unwilling to oppose him, and doubting lest his sight should 
 really have gone, Airs. Dare went out, and returned with one of the 
 servants and more light. Mr. Cooper was then lying back on his 
 pillow, dozing and unconscious.
 
 56 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "Has he signed the paper?" Mrs. Dare whispered to her 
 husband. 
 
 He shook his head negatively, and pointed to it. It was lying 
 on the bed, just as Mrs. Dare had left it. Mrs. Dare caught it up 
 from any prying eyes that might be about, folded it, and held it 
 securely in her hand. 
 
 " He will wake up again presently, and can sign it then^" observed 
 Mr. Dare, just as a gentle ring was heard at the house d6or. 
 
 " It's the doctor," said the servant ; " I know his ring." 
 
 But the old man never did sign the paper, and never woke up 
 again. He lay in a state of lethargy throughout the night. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Dare watched by his bedside ; the servants watched ; 
 and the doctors came in at intervals. But there was no change in 
 his state; until the last great change. It occurred at daybreak; 
 and when the neighbours opened their windows to the cold and the 
 snow, the house of Richard Cooper remained closed. Death was 
 within it. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 HELSTONLEIGH. 
 
 I BELIEVE that most of the readers of "The Channings" will not 
 like this story less because its scene is laid in the same place, 
 Heist onleigh. 
 
 I narrate to you, as you may have already discovered, a great deal 
 of truth : of events that have actually happened, combined with 
 fiction. I can only do this from my own personal experience, by 
 taking you to the scenes and places where I have lived. Of this 
 same town, Helstonleigh, I could relate to you volumes. No place 
 in the world holds so green a spot in my memory. Do you remember 
 -Longfellow's poem— the one he has entitled " My Lost Youth " .-' 
 
 " Often I think of the beautiful town, 
 That is seated by the sea ; 
 Often in thought go up and down 
 The pleasant streets of that dear old town, 
 And my youth conies back to me. 
 And a verse of a Lapland song 
 ' Is haunting my memory still; 
 
 ' A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long ihoughts.' 
 
 I remember the gleams and glooms that dart 
 
 Across the schoolboy's brain ; 
 The song and the silence in the he.xrt, 
 That in part are prophecies, and in part 
 
 Are longings wild and vain.
 
 HELSTONLEIGH. 57 
 
 And the voice of that fitful song 
 Sings on, and is never still : 
 'A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth arc long, long thoughts.' 
 
 " There are things of which 1 may not speak ; 
 There are dreams that cannot die ; 
 There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, 
 And bring a pallor into the cheek. 
 And a mist before the eye. 
 
 And the words of that fatal song 
 Come over me like a chill : 
 'A boy's will is the wind's will, 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 
 
 " Strange to me now are the forms I meet 
 When I visit the dear old town ; 
 But the native air is pure and sweet. 
 And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street, 
 As they balance up and down, 
 
 Are singing the beautiful song. 
 Are sighing and whispering still : 
 ' A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." 
 
 " And Deering's woods are fresh and fair, 
 And with joy that is almost pain 
 My heart goes back to wander there, 
 And among the dreams of the days that were 
 ' I find my lost youth again. 
 
 And the music of that old song 
 Throbs in my memory still : 
 ' A boy's will is the wind's will. 
 And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."* 
 
 Those are some of its verses, and what " Deering " is to Long- 
 fellow, " Helstonleigh " is to me. 
 
 The Birmingham stage-coach came into Helstonleigh one sum- 
 mer's night, and stopped at its destination, the Star-and- Garter 
 Hotel, bringing with it some London passengers. The direct line 
 of rail, to Helstonleigh from London, was not then opened; and 
 this may serve to tell you how long it is ago. A lady and a little 
 girl stepped from the inside of the coach, and a gentleman and 
 three boys got down from the outside. The latter were soaking. 
 Almost immediately after leaving Birmingham, to which place the 
 rail had conveyed them, the rain had commenced to pour m 
 torrents, and those outside received its full benefit. The coach was 
 crammed, inside and out, but with the other passengers we have 
 nothing to do. We have with these; they were the Halliburtons. 
 
 For the town which Mr. Halliburton had been desirous to remove 
 to, the one in which his cousin, Mrs. Dare, resided, was no other 
 than Helstonleigh. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton drew a long face when she set eyes on her
 
 58 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 husband's condition. " Edgar ! you must be wet through and 
 through ! " 
 
 " Yes, I am. There was no help for it." 
 ' " You should have come inside when I wanted you to do so," she 
 cried, in a voice of distress. " You should indeed." 
 
 " And have suffered you to take my place outside ? Nonsense, 
 Jane!" 
 
 Jane looked at the hotel. " We had better remain here for the 
 night. What do you think ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so," he replied. "It is too wet to go about looking 
 after anything that might be less expensive. Inquire if we can 
 have rooms, Jane, while I see after the luggage." 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton went in, leading Janey, and was confronted by 
 the barmaid, a smart young woman in a smart cap. " Can we 
 sleep here to-night .'' " she inquired. 
 
 " Yes, certainly. How many beds ? " 
 
 " I will go up with you and see," said Mrs. Halliburton. " Be so 
 kind as not to put us in your more expensive rooms," she added, in 
 a lower tone. 
 
 The barmaid looked at her from top to toe, as it is much in the 
 habit of barmaids to do, when such a request is preferred. She 
 saw a lady in a black silk dress, a cashmere shawl, and a plain 
 straw bonnet, trimmed with white. Simple as the attire was, quiet 
 as was the demeanour, there was that about Mrs. Halliburton, in 
 her voice, her accent, her bearing altogether, which proclaimed her 
 the gentlewoman ; and the barmaid condescended to be civil. 
 
 " I have nothing to do with the rooms," she said ; " I'll call the 
 chambermaid. My goodness! You had better get those wet 
 things off, sir, unless you want to be laid up with cold." 
 
 The words were uttered in surprise, as her eyes encountered Mr. 
 Halliburton. He looked taller, and thinner, and handsomer than 
 ever ; but he had a hollow cough now, and his cheek was hectic, and 
 he was certainly wet through. 
 
 The chambermaid allotted them rooms, Mr. Halliburton, after 
 rubbing himself dry with towels, got into a warmed bed, and had 
 warm drink supplied to him. Jane, after unpacking what would be 
 wanted for the night, returned to the sitting-room, to which her 
 children had been shown. A good-natured maid, seeing the boys' 
 clothes were damp, had lighted a lire, and they were kneeling round 
 it, having been provided with bread and butter, and milk and 
 water. Intelligent, truthful, good-looking boys they were, with 
 clear skins and bright, honest eyes, and open countenances. Janey 
 had fallen asleep on a chair, her flaxen curls making her a pillow 
 on its elbow. The boys crowded to one side of the fireplace when 
 their mother came in, leaving the larger space for her ; and William 
 rose and gave her a chair. Mrs. Halliburton sat down, having 
 laid on the table a Book of Common Prayer, which she had brought 
 in her hand. 
 
 " Mamma, I hope papa will not be ill ! "
 
 HELSTONLEIGH. 59 
 
 " Oh, William, I fear it. Such a terrible wetting ! And to be so 
 long in it ! How is it that he was so much worse than you are ? " 
 
 " Because he sat at the end, and the gentleman next him did not 
 hold the umbrella over him at all. When it came on to rain, some 
 of the passengers had umbrellas and some had not, so they were 
 divided for the best. We three had one between us, and we were 
 wedged in between two fat old men, who helped to keep us dry. 
 What a pity there was not a place for papa inside ? " 
 
 " Yes ; or if he would only have taken mine! " cried Mrs. Halli- 
 burton. " A wetting would not have hurt me, as it may hurt him. 
 What place did they call that, William, where I got out to ask him 
 to change .'' " 
 
 " Bromsgrove Lickey. Mamma, you have had no tea ! " 
 
 " I do not care for any," she sighed. Hers was a hopeful nature ; 
 but something within her, this evening, seemed to whisper of trial 
 for the future. She turned to the table, where stood the remains of 
 the children's meal, cut a piece of bread from the loaf, and slowly 
 spread it with butter. Then she poured out a little milk. 
 
 "Dear mamma, do have some tea!" cried William; "that's 
 nothing but our milk and water." 
 
 She shook her head and took the milk. Tea would only be an 
 additional expense, and she was too completely dispirited to care 
 what she took. 
 
 " I will read now," she said, taking up the Prayer-book. "And 
 afterwards, I think, you had better say your prayers here, near the 
 fire, as you have been so wet." 
 
 She chose a short psalm, and read it aloud. Then the children 
 knelt down, each at a separate chair, to say their prayers in silence. 
 Not fis children's prayers are sometimes hurried over, knelt they ; 
 but with lowly reverence, their heads bowed, their young hearts 
 lifted, never doubting but they were heard by God. They had been 
 trained in a good school. 
 
 Did you ever have a sale of old things? Goods and chattels 
 which may have served your purpose, and looked well in their 
 places, seem so old when they come to be exhibited, that you feel 
 half-ashamed of them ? And as to the sum they realize— you will 
 not have much trouble in hoarding it. Had Mr. Halliburton known 
 the small sum that would be the result of his sale ; had Jane dreamt 
 that they would go for an " old song," they had never consented to 
 part with them. Better have been at the cost of carrying them to 
 Helstonleigh. Their bedding, blankets, etc., they did take: and 
 It was well they did so. 
 
 I feel almost afraid to tell you how very little money they had in 
 hand when they arrived. All their worldly wealth was little more than 
 a hundred and twenty pounds. Debts had to be paid before leaving 
 London ; and it cost money to give up their house without notice, 
 for their landlord was severe. 
 
 One hundred and twenty pounds ! And with this they had to 
 buy fresh furniture, and to live until teaching came in, A forlorn
 
 eo MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 prospect on which to re-commence the world ! No wonder that 
 jane shunned even tea at the inn, or any other expense that might 
 lessen their funds ! But hope is buoyant in the human heart : and 
 unless it were so, half the world might lay themselves down to die. 
 
 Morning came : a bright, sunny, beautiful morning after the rain. 
 Not, apparently, had Mr. Halliburton suffered. His limbs felt a 
 little stiff, but that would go off before the day closed. Their plans 
 were to take a small house, as cheap a one as they could find, in 
 accordance with — you really must for once excuse the word — 
 gentility. That— a tolerably fair appearance — was necessary to 
 Mr. Halliburton's success as a teacher. 
 
 " A dry, healthy spot, a little way out of the town," mused the 
 landlord of the " Star," to whom they communicated their desire. 
 " The London Road would be the place then. And you probably 
 will find there such a house as you require." 
 
 They found their way to the London Road — a healthy suburb of 
 the town ; and there discovered a house that they thought might 
 suit them : a semi-detached house of good appearance, inclosed by 
 iron railings, and standing a little back from the road. A sitting- 
 room was on either side of the entrance, a kitchen was at the back. 
 Three bedrooms were above ; and above these again was a garret. 
 A small garden was behind the house ; and beyond that was a field, 
 which did not belong to them. The adjoining house was similar to 
 this one; but that possessed a large and productive garden. An 
 inmate of that house showed them over this one. She was dressed 
 as a Quakeress. Her features were plain, but her complexion was 
 fair and delicate, and she had calm blue eyes. 
 
 " The rent of the house is thirty-two pounds per annum," she said, 
 in reply to Mrs. Halliburton's question. " It belongs to Thomas 
 Ashley ; but thee must not apply to him. I will furnish thee with 
 the address of the agent, who has the letting of Friend Ashley's 
 houses. It is Anthony Dare. You will find the house pleasant and 
 healthy, if you decide upon it," she added, speaking to both of 
 them. 
 
 The latter name had struck upon Mr. Halliburton's ear. 
 "Jane!" he whispered to his wife, ''that must be the Mr. Dare 
 who married my cousin, Julia Cooper. His name was Anthony 
 Dare." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton proceeded alone to the office of Mr. Dare, the 
 gentleman you met at Mr. Cooper's; Mrs. Halliburton returning to 
 her children at the hotel. They had decided to take the house. 
 Mr. Dare was not at home. " In London, with his wife," the head 
 clerk said. But the clerk had power to let the house. Mr. Halli- 
 burton gave him some particulars with regard to himself, and they 
 were considered satisfactory ; but he did not mention that he was 
 related to Mrs. Dare. 
 
 The next thing was about furniture. The clerk directed Mr. 
 Halliburton to a warehouse, where both new and second-hand 
 things might be obtained, and he proceeded to it, calling in at the
 
 ANNA LYNN. 6i 
 
 "Star "for his wife. She knew a great deal more about furniture 
 than he. They did the best they could, spending about fifty pounds. 
 A Kidderminster carpet was bought for the best sitting-room. The 
 other room, which was to be Mr. Halliburton's study, and the bed- 
 rooms, went for the present without any. " We will buy all those 
 things when we have succeeded a bit," said Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ANNA LYNN. 
 
 They slept that night again at the " Star," and the following morn- 
 ing early, they and their furniture took possession together of the 
 house. A busy day they found it, arranging things. Jane — who 
 had determined, as the saying runs, " to put her shoulder to the 
 wheel," not only on this day, but on future days — did not intend to 
 engage a regular servant. That, like the carpets, might be indulged 
 in as they succeeded ; but in the mean time, she thought, a young 
 girl might be found who would come in for a few hours daily, and 
 do what they wanted done. 
 
 In the course of the morning, the fair, pleasant face of the 
 Quakeress was seen approaching the back door, from the garden. 
 She wore a lilac print gown, a net kerchief, crossed under it on her 
 neck, and the peculiar net cap, with its high caul and neat little 
 border. 
 
 " I have stepped in to ask if I can help thee with thy work," she 
 began. " Thee hast plenty to do, setting things straight, and thy 
 husband does not look strong. I will aid if thee pleasest." 
 
 " You are very kind to be so thoughtful for a stranger," replied 
 Jane, charmed with the straightforward frankness of the Quakeress. 
 " Ihope you will first tell me to whom I am indebted." 
 
 " Thee can call me Patience," was the ready reply. " I live next 
 door, with Samuel Lynn and his daughter Anna. His wife died 
 soon after the child was born. I was related to Anna Lynn ; and 
 when she was departing she sent for me, and begged me not to 
 leave her child, unless Samuel should take unto himself another 
 wife. But that appears to be far from his thoughts. He loves the 
 child much ; she is as the apple of his eye." 
 
 " Is Mr. Lynn in business ? " asked Jane. 
 
 " Not on his own account now. He was a glove manufacturer, 
 as a young man, but he had not a large capital; and when the 
 British ports were opened for the admission of gloves from the 
 French, it ruined him — as it did many others in the city. Only 
 the rich masters could stand that. Numbers went then." 
 
 " Went ! " echoed Jane. " Went where ? " 
 
 " To ruin. Ah ! I remember it : though it is a long time ago 
 now. It was, I think, in the year 1825. I cannot describe to thee
 
 62 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 the distress and destruction it brought upon this city, until then so 
 flourishing. The manufacturers had to close their works, and the 
 men went about the streets, starving." 
 
 " Did the distress continue long? " 
 
 " For weeks, and months, and years. The town will never be 
 again, in that respect, what it has been. Samuel Lynn was a man 
 of integrity, and he gave up business while he could pay every- 
 one, and accepted the post of manager in the manufactory of 
 Thomas Ashley. Thomas Ashley is one of the first manufacturers 
 in the city, as his father was before him. When thee shall know 
 the place and the people better, thee will find that there is not a 
 name more respected throughout Helstonleigh than that of Thomas 
 Ashley." 
 
 " I suppose he is a rich man ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is rich," replied Patience, who was as busy with her 
 hands as she was in talking. " His household is expensive, and he 
 keeps his open and his close carriages ; but, for all that, he must 
 be putting by money. It is not for his riches that Thomas Ashley 
 is respected, but for his high character. There is not a more just 
 man living, than Thomas Ashley ; there is not a manufacturer in 
 the town who is so considerate and kind to his workmen. His rate 
 of wages is on the highest scale, and he is incapable of oppression. 
 He has a son and daughter. He, the boy, causes him much uneasi- 
 ness and cost." 
 
 "Is he — not steady ? " hastily asked Jane. 
 
 " Bless thee, it is not that ! " was the laughing answer of Patience. 
 "He is but a young boy yet. When he was fourteen months old, 
 the nurse let him fall from her arms, from the first landing to the 
 hall below. At first they thought he was not hurt : Margaret 
 Ashley herself thought it ; the doctors thought it. But in a little 
 time injury grew apparent. It lay in one of the hips ; he is often in 
 great pain, and will be lame for life. Abscess after abscess forms 
 in the hip. They take him to the sea-side; to doctors in London ; 
 Ijut nothing cures him. A beautiful boy as you ever saw ; but his 
 hurt renders him peevish. He is fond of books; and David Byrne, 
 who is a Latin and Greek scholar, goes daily to instruct him : but 
 the boy is thrown back by his fits of illness. It is a great grief to 
 
 Thomas and Margaret Ashley. They Why, Anna, is it thee .'' 
 
 What dost thou do here ? " 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton turned from the kitchen cupboard, where she 
 and Patience were arranging crockery, to behold a little girl, who 
 was no doubt Anna Lynn. Dark blue eyes were deeply set beneath 
 their long lashes, which lay on a damask and dimpled cheek ; her 
 pretty teeth shone like pearls between her smiling lips, and her 
 chestnut hair fell in a mass of careless curls upon her neck. Never, 
 Mrs. Halliburton thought, had she seen a fiice so lovely. Jane was 
 a pretty child ; but Jane faded into nothing in comparison with the 
 vision standing there. 
 
 "Thee has thy cap off again, Anna!" cried the Quakeress, with
 
 ANNA LYNN. 63 
 
 some asperity of tone. " Art thcc not ashamed to be so bold ? — 
 going about with thy head uncovered ! " 
 
 " The cap came off, Patience," gently responded Anna. She had 
 a sweetly timid manner ; a modest expression. 
 
 " Thee need not tell me what is untrue. When the cap is tied on, 
 it will not come off, unless purposely removed. Go home, and put 
 it on. Thee may come back again. Perhaps Friend Halliburton 
 will permit thee to stay awhile with her children, who are arranging 
 their books in the study. Is thy French lesson learnt .-' " 
 
 " Not quite," replied Anna, running away. 
 
 She returned with a pretty little white net cap on, the model of 
 that worn by Patience. Her luxuriant curls were pushed under it, 
 and the crimped border rested on the fair forehead. 
 
 " Nay, there is no call to put all thy hair out of sight, child," said 
 Patience. " Where are thy combs ? " 
 
 " In my hair. Patience." 
 
 Patience took off the cap, formed two flat curls, by means of the 
 combs, on either side the temples, put the cap on again, and tucked 
 the rest of the hair smoothly under it. Mrs. Halliburton then took 
 Anna's hand, and led her to her own children. 
 
 " What a pity it is to hide her hair ! " she said afterwards to 
 Patience. 
 
 " Dost thee think so ? It is the custom with our people. Anna's 
 hair is fine, and of a curly nature. Brush it as I will, it curls ; and 
 she has acquired a habit of taking her cap off when I am not 
 watching. Her father, I grieve to say, will let her sit by the hour 
 together, her hair down, as thee saw it now, and her cap anywhere. 
 I believe he thinks nothing she does is wrong. I talk to him 
 much." 
 
 " I never saw a more beautiful child ! " said Jane, warmly. 
 
 " I grant thee that she is fair ; but she is eleven years old now, 
 and her vanity should be checked. She is sometimes invited to the 
 Ashleys', where she sees the mode in which Mary Ashley is dressed, 
 according to the fashion of the world, and it sets her longing. 
 Samuel Lynn will not listen to me. He is pleased that his child 
 should be received there as Mary Ashley's equal ; he cannot forget 
 the time when he was in a good position himself." 
 
 " Who teaches Anna ? " 
 
 " She attends a small school for Friends, kept by Ruth Darby. 
 It is the holidays now. Her father educates her well. She learns 
 French and drawing, and other branches of study suitable for 
 girls. Take care ! let me help thee with that heavy table." 
 
 Presently they went to see how things were getting on in the 
 study. Jane could not keep her eyes from the face of that lovely 
 child. It partly hindered her work, which there was little need of 
 on that busy day ; a day so busy that they were all glad when it 
 was over, and they were at liberty to retire to rest. 
 
 Rarely had Jane witnessed so beautiful a view as that which 
 met her sight the following morning, when she drew up her
 
 64 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 blind. The previous day had been hazy — nothing was to be 
 seen; now the atmosphere had cleared. The great extent of 
 scenery spread around, the green fields, the growing corn, the 
 sparkling rivulets, the woods with their darker and their brighter 
 trees, the undulating slopes — all were charming. But beyond all, 
 and far more charming, bounding the landscape in the distant 
 horizon, stretched the long chain of the far-famed Malvern Hills. 
 As the sun cast upon them its light and shade, their outline so 
 clearly depicted against the sky, and their white villas peeping out 
 from the trees at their base — Jane felt that she could have gazed for 
 ever. A wondrous picture is that of Malvern, as seen from Helston- 
 leigh in the freshness of the early morning. 
 
 " Edgar ! " she impulsively exclaimed, turning to the bed — for 
 Mr. Halliburton had not risen — " you never saw anything more 
 beautiful than the view from this window. I am sure half the 
 Londoners never dreamt of anything like it." 
 
 There was no reply. " Perhaps he may be still asleep," she 
 thought. But upon approaching the bed, she saw that his eyes 
 were open. 
 
 " Jane," he gasped, " I am ill." 
 
 " 111! " she repeated, a spasm darting through her heart. 
 
 " Every limb is paining me. My head aches, and I am burning 
 with fever. I have felt it coming on all night." 
 
 She bent down ; she felt his hands and his hot face — all burning, 
 as he said, with fever. 
 
 " We must call in a doctor," she quietly said, suppressing every 
 sign of dismay, that it might not agitate him. " I will ask Patience 
 to recommend one." 
 
 " Yes ; better have a doctor at once. What will become of us ? 
 If I should be going to have an illness " 
 
 "Stay, Edgar; do not give way to sad anticipations," she gently 
 said. " A brave mind, you know, goes half way towards a cure. It 
 is the effect of that wetting ; the cold must have been smouldering 
 within you." 
 
 Smouldering only to burst out the fiercer for delay. Patience 
 spoke in favour of their own medical man, a Mr. Parry, who lived 
 near them, and had a large practice. He came; and pronounced 
 the malady to be rheumatic fever. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ILLNESS. 
 
 For nine weeks Mr. Halliburton never left his bed. His wife was 
 worn to a shadow; what with waiting upon him, and battling with 
 her anxiety. Her body was weary, her heart was sick. Do yon 
 know the cost of illness .^ Jane knew it then.
 
 ILLNESS. 65 
 
 111 two weeks more, he could leave his easy-chair and crawl 
 about the room ; and by that time he was all eagerness to com- 
 mence his operations for the future. 
 
 " I must have some cards printed, Jane," he cried, one morning. 
 '" Mr. Halliburton, Professor of the Classics and Mathematics, late 
 of King's Col — ' — or should it be simply 'Edgar Halliburton.?'" 
 he broke off, to deliberate. " I wonder what the custom may be, 
 down here ? " 
 
 " I think you should wait until you are stronger, before you order 
 your cards," was Jane's reply. 
 
 " But I can be getting things in train, Jane. I have been — how 
 manv weeks is it now .'"' 
 
 " Eleven." 
 
 " To be sure. It was June when we came; it is now September. 
 I have been obliged to neglect the boys' lessons, too ! " 
 
 " They have been very good and quiet ; have gone on with their 
 lessons themselves. If we have trouble in other ways, we have 
 a blessing in our children, Edgar. They are thoroughly loving and 
 dutiful." 
 
 " I don't know the ordinary terms of the neighbourhood," he 
 resumed, after an interval of silence. " And — I wonder if people 
 will want references ? Jane " — after another silence — " you must 
 put your things on, and go to Mrs. Dare's." 
 
 " To Mrs. Dare's !" she echoed. " Now ? I don't know her." 
 
 " Never mind about not knowing her," he eagerly continued. 
 " She is my cousin. You must ask whether they will allow them- 
 selves to be referred to. Peach will allow it also, I am quite certain. 
 Do go, Jane." 
 
 Invalids, in the weak state of Mr. Halliburton, are apt to be 
 restlessly impatient, when the mind is set upon any plan or project. 
 Jane found that it would vex him much if she declined to go to Mrs. 
 Dare, and she made ready for the visit. Patience directed her to 
 their residence. 
 
 It was situated at the opposite end of Helstonleigh. A handsome 
 house, inclosed in a high wall, and bearing the imposing title of 
 " Pomeranian Knoll." Jane entered the iron gates, walked round 
 the carriage drive that inclosed the lawn, and rang at the house 
 bell. A showy footman in light blue livery, with a bunch of cords 
 on his shoulder, answered it. 
 
 "Can I see Mrs. Dare?" 
 
 " What name, ma'am ? " 
 
 Jane gave in one of her visiting cards, wondering whether that 
 was not too grand a proceeding, considering the errand upon which 
 she had come. She was shown into an elegant room, to the pre- 
 sence of Mrs. Dare. That lady was in a costly morning dress, with 
 chains, rings, bracelets, and other glittering jewellery about her : as 
 she had worn the evening you saw her beside Mr. Cooper's death- 
 bed. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton?" she was repeating in doubt, when Jane 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. O 
 
 a
 
 66 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 entered, her eyes strained on the card. "What Mrs. Halliburton?" 
 she added, not very civilly, turning her eyes upon Jane. 
 
 Jane explained. The wife of Edgar Halliburton, Mrs. Dare's 
 cousin. 
 
 Mrs. Dare's presence of mind wholly forsook her. She grew 
 deathly white ; she caught at a chair for support ; she was utterly 
 luiable to speak, or to conceal her agitation. Jane could only look 
 at her in amazement, wondering whether she was seized with sudden 
 illness. 
 
 A few moments, and she recovered herself. She took a seat, 
 motioned Jane to another, and asked, as she might have asked of 
 any stranger, what her business might be. Jane explained it, 
 somewhat at length. 
 
 Mrs. Dare's surprise was great. She could not or would not, 
 imderstand ; and her face flushed a deep red, and again grew deadly 
 pale. "Edgar Halliburton come to live in Helstonleigh ! " she 
 repeated. " And you say you are his wife ? " 
 
 " I am his wife," was the reply of Jane, spoken with quiet dignity. 
 
 " What is it that you say he has in view, in coming here ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon ; I thought I had explained." And Jane 
 v.'ent over the ground again — why he had been obliged to leave 
 London, and his reasons for settling in Helstonleigh. 
 
 " You could not have come to a worse place," said Mrs. Dare, 
 who appeared to be annoyed almost beyond repression. " Masters 
 of all sorts are so plentiful here that they tread on each other's heels." 
 
 Discouraging news! And Jane's heart beat fast on hearing it. 
 " My husband thought you and Mr. Dare would kindly interest 
 yourselves for him. He knows that Mr. Peach will- " 
 
 " No," interrupted Mrs. Dare, in a decisive tone. " For Edgar 
 Halliburton's own sake I must decline to recommend him ; or, 
 indeed, to interfere at all. It would only encourage fallacious 
 hopes. ALasters are here in abundance — I speak of private masters ; 
 they don't find half enough to do. vSchools are also plentiful. The 
 best thing will be to go to some place where there is a better open- 
 ing, and not to settle himself here at all ! " 
 
 " But we have already settled here," replied Jane. 
 
 A thought suddenly struck Mrs. Dare. " It can never be Edgar 
 who has taken Mr. Ashley's cottage in the London Road .' I re- 
 member the name was said to be Halliburton." 
 
 " The same. It was let to us by Mr. Dare's clerk." 
 
 Mrs. Dare sat biting her lips. That she was grievously annoyed 
 was evident ; but, in deference to good manners, which were par- 
 tially returning to her, she strove to repress its signs. " I presume 
 your husband is poor, Mrs. Halhburton?" 
 
 " We are very poor." 
 
 " It is generally the case w-ith teachers . as I have observed. 
 Well, I can only give one answer to your application — that we 
 nuist decline all interference. I hope Edgar will not think of ap- 
 ])iying again to us upon the subject."
 
 ILLNESS. (>^ 
 
 Jane rose. Mrs. Dare remained seated. And yet she prided 
 herself upon her good breeding ! 
 
 " I had forgotten a question which my husband particularly 
 desired me to ask," Jane said, turning back, as she was moving to 
 the Soor. " Edgar saw by the papers that his uncle, Mr. Cooper, 
 died the beginning of the year. Did he remember him on his 
 death-bed, so far as to send a message of reconciliation ? " 
 
 Strange to say, the countenance of Mrs. Dare again changed : now 
 to a burning heat, now to a livid pallor. She hesitated in her answer. 
 
 " Yes," she said at length. " Mr. Cooper so far relented as to 
 send him his forgiveness. ' Tell my nephew Edgar, if you ever see 
 him, that I am sorry for my harshness ; that I w^ould treat him 
 differently, were the time to come over again.' I do not remember 
 the precise words ; but they were to that eficct. There is no douljt 
 that he would have wished to be reconciled : but time did not allow 
 it. I should have written to Edgar of this, had I been acquainted 
 with his address." 
 
 " A letter addressed to King's College would always have found 
 him. But he will be glad to hear this. He also bade me ask how 
 Mr. Cooper's money was left — if you would kindly give him the 
 information." 
 
 Mrs. Dare bent her head. She was busy playing with her bracelet. 
 " The will was proved in Doctors' CommonS: Edgar Halliburton 
 may see it by paying a shilling there." 
 
 It was not a gracious answer, and Jane paused. " He cannot go 
 to Doctors' Commons ; he is not in London," she gently said. 
 
 Mrs. Dare raised her head. A look, speaking plainly of defiance, 
 had settled itself on her features. " It was left to me; the whole of 
 it, except a few trifling legacies to his servants. What could Edgar 
 Halliburton expect ? " 
 
 " I am sure that he did not expect anything," observed Jane. 
 " Though I believe a hope has sometimes crossed his mind, that 
 Mr. Cooper might at the last relent, and remember him." 
 
 " Nay," said Mrs. Dare, " he had behaved too disobediently for 
 that. First, in opposing his uncle's wishes that he should enter into 
 business ; secondly, in his marriage." 
 
 "In his marriage ! " echoed Jane, a flush rising to her own face. 
 
 " It was so. Mr. Cooper was exceedingly exasperated when he 
 heard that Edgar had married. He looked upon the marriage, I 
 believe, as undesirable for him in a pecuniary point of view. You 
 must pardon my speaking of this to you personally. You appear to 
 wish for the truth." 
 
 The flush on Jane's face deepened to crimson. " It is true that I 
 had no money," she said. " But I am the daughter of a clergyman, 
 and was reared a gentlewoman ! " 
 
 " I suppose my uncle thought Edgar Halliburton should have 
 married a fortune. However, all that is past and gone, and it will 
 do no good to recall it. I am sorry that you should have been so 
 ill-advised for your own interests as to fix on this place to come to."
 
 68 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mrs. Dare rose. She had sat all this time ; Jane had stood. 
 " Tell Edgar, from me, that I am sorry to hear of his illness. Tell 
 him that there is no possible chance of success for him in Helston- 
 leigh ; no opening whatever ! When I say that I hope he will 
 speedily remove to some place less overdone with masters, I speak 
 only in his own interest ! " 
 
 She rang the bell as she spoke, and gave Jane the tips of two of 
 her fingers. The footman held open the hall door, and bowed her 
 out. Jane went down the gravel sweep, determined never again to 
 trouble Mrs. Dare. 
 
 " Joseph ! " cried Mrs. Dare, sharply. 
 
 " Ma'am ? " 
 
 " Should that lady ever call again, I am not at home, re- 
 member ! " 
 
 " Very well, ma'am," was the man's reply. 
 
 Mrs. Dare did not stay to hear it. She had flown upstairs to her 
 room in trepidation. There she attired herself hastily, and went 
 out, bending her steps towards Mr. Dare's office. It was situated 
 at the end of the town ; and the door displayed a brass plate : " Mr. 
 Dare, Solicitor." 
 
 Mrs. Dare entered the outer room. " Is Mr. Dare alone.''" she 
 asked of the clerks. 
 
 " No, ma'am. Mr. Ashley is with him." 
 
 Chaiing at the answer, for she was in a mood of great impatience, 
 of inward tremor, Mrs. Dare waited for a few minutes. Mr. Ashley 
 came out. A man of nearly forty years, rather above the middle 
 height, with a fresh complexion, dark eyes, and well-formed features. 
 A benevolent-looking, good man. His wife was a cousin of Mr. 
 Dare's. 
 
 Mr. Dare was seated at his table in his own room when his wife 
 came in. She had turned again of an ashy paleness, and she dropped 
 into a chair near to him. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " he asked in astonishment. " Are you 
 ill .? " 
 
 " I think I shall die," she gasped. " I have had a mortal fright, 
 Anthony." 
 
 Mr. Dare rose. He was about to get her some water, or to call 
 for it, but she caught his arm. " Stay, and hear me ! Stay ! 
 Anthony, those Halliburtons have come to Helstonleigh. Come to 
 live here ! " 
 
 Mr. Dare's mouth opened. " What Halliburtons } " he presently 
 asked. 
 
 " T/iey. He has come here to settle. He wants to teach ; and 
 his wife has been with me, asking us to be referees. Of course I 
 put the stopper upon that. The idea of our having poor relations 
 in the town who get their living by teaching! " 
 
 A \-ery disagreeable idea indeed ; for those who were playing first 
 fiddle in the town, and who expected to play it still. But, not for 
 thnt did the man and wife stand gazing at eagh other; and the
 
 A CHRISTMAS DREAM. 69 
 
 naturally bold look on Mr. Dare's face had faded considerably just 
 then. 
 
 " She asked about the will," said Mrs. Dare, dropping her voice 
 to a whisper, and looking round with a shiver. *' I thought I should 
 have died with fear." 
 
 Mr. Dare rallied his courage. Any little reminiscence that may 
 have momentarily disturbed his equanimity he shook off, and was 
 his own bold self again. 
 
 " Nonsense, Julia ! What is there to fear ? The will is proved 
 and acted upon. Whatever the old man may have uttered to us in 
 his death ramblings was heard by ourselves alone. If any one had 
 heard it, I should not much care. A will's a will all the world over; 
 and to act against it would be illegal." 
 
 Mrs. Dare sat wiping her brow, and gathering up lier courage. 
 It came back by slow degrees. 
 
 " Anthony, we must get them out of Helstonleigh. For more 
 reasons than one, we must get them out. They are in that house 
 of Mr. Ashley's." 
 
 He looked surprised. " They ! Ay, to be sure : the name in the 
 books is Halliburton. It never occurred to me that it could be 
 they. I wonder if they are poor ? " 
 
 " Very poor," the wife said. 
 
 "Just so," said Mr. Dare, with a pleasant smile. "I'll not ask 
 for the rent this quarter, but let it go on a bit. We may get them 
 out, Mrs. Dare." 
 
 You need not be told that Anthony Dare and his wife had omitted 
 to act upon Mr. Cooper's dying injunction. At the time they did 
 really intend to fulfil it ; they were not thieves or forgers. But 
 Edgar Halliburton was not present to remind them of his claims: 
 and, when the money came to be realised, to be in their own hands, 
 there it was suffered to remain. W^aiting for him, of course; they 
 did not know precisely where to find him, and did not take any 
 trouble to inquire. Very tempting and useful they found the money. 
 A large portion of their own share went in paying back debts, for 
 they lived at a high rate ; and — and in short they had intrenched 
 upon that other share, and could not now have paid it over, had 
 they been ever so willing to do so. No wonder that Mrs. Dare 
 had felt as one in mortal fear, when she met Jane Halliburton face 
 to face ! 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS DREAM. 
 
 Winter had come to Helstonleigh: frost hovered in the air and 
 rested on the ground. How was Mr. Halliburton.? He had never 
 once been out since his illness, and he sat by the fire when he did
 
 70 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 not lie in bed, and his cough was racknig him. He might, and 
 probably would, have recovered health under more favourable 
 auspices, but anxiety of mind was killing him. Their money was 
 dwindling to a close, and delicacies they dared not get for him. 
 Mr, Halliburton would say he did not require them ; could not eat 
 them if they were procured. Poor man ! he craved for them in his 
 inmost heart. Strange to say, he did not see his own danger. Or, 
 rather, it would have been strange, but that similar cases are met 
 with every day. " When this cold weather has passed, and spring 
 is in, then I shall get my strength up," was his constant cry. "Then 
 I shall set about my work in earnest, and make my arrival and my 
 plans known to Mr. Peach. It has been of no use troubling him 
 beforehand." False, false hopes ! fond, delusive hopes ! 
 
 Dr. Carrington had said that if he took care of himself, he might 
 live and be well. The other doctors had said the same. And there 
 was no reason to doubt their judgment. But they had not bargained 
 for any attack of rheumatic fever, or for the increased injury to the 
 lungs which the same cause, that past soaking, had induced. 
 
 On Christmas Eve, he and Jane were sitting over the fire in the 
 twilight. He could come downstairs now ; indeed, he did not 
 appear to be so ill as he really was. The surgeon who attended him 
 in the fever had been discharged long ago. '•' There's nothing the 
 matter with me now but debility ; and, only time will bring me out 
 of that," Mr. Halliburton said, when he dismissed him. Jane was 
 hopeful ; more hopeful by fits and starts than continuously so ; but 
 she did really believe he might get well when winter had passed. 
 They were sitting beside the fire, when a great bustle interrupted 
 them. All the children trooped in at once, with the noise that it is 
 the delight of children not to stir without. Frank, who had been 
 out, had entered the house with his arms full of holly and ivy, his 
 bright face glowing with excitement. The others were attending 
 him to show off the prize. 
 
 " Look at all this Christmas, mamma ! " cried he. " I have 
 bought it." 
 
 " i3ought it?" repeated Jane. " My dear Frank, did I not tell 
 you we must do without Christmas this year ? " 
 
 " But it cost nothing, mamma. Only a penny ! " 
 
 Jane sighed. She did not say to the children that even a penny 
 was no longer " nothing." 
 
 " You know that penny I have kept in my pocket a long while," 
 went on Frank in excitement, addressing the assemblage. " Well, 
 I thought if mamma would not buy some Christmas, I would." 
 
 " But you did not buy all that for a penny, Frank ? We should 
 pay sixpence for it in London." 
 
 " I did, though, mamma. I had it of that old man who lives in 
 the cottage higher up the road, with the big garden to it. He was 
 going to cut me more, but I told him this was plenty. You should 
 have seen the heaps he gave a woman for twopence : she wanted a 
 wheelbarrow to carry it away."
 
 A CHRISTMAS DREAM. ^t 
 
 J mcy clapped her hands, and began to dance. " I shall help to 
 dress tlie rooms ! We must have a merry Christmas ! " 
 
 Mr. Halliburton drew her to him. " Yes, wc must have a merry 
 Christmas, must we not, Jancy ? Jane " — turning to his wife — " can 
 you manage to have a nice dinner for us ? Christmas only comes 
 once a year." 
 
 He looked up with his haggard face : very much as though he 
 were longing for* a nice dinner then. 
 
 " I will see what I can do," said Jane in reply, smothering down 
 another sigh. " I am going out presently to the butcher's. A joint 
 of beef will be best to buy; and though the pudding's a plain one, 
 I hope it will be good. Yes, we must keep Christmas." 
 
 Christmas-day dawned, and in due tune they assembled as usual. 
 Jane intended to go to church that day. During her husband's ill- 
 ness she had been obliged to send the children alone. They had 
 been trained to know what church meant, and did not require some 
 one with them to keep them in order there. A good thing if the 
 same could be said of all children ! 
 
 It was a clear, bright morning, cold and frosty. Mr. Halhburton 
 came down just as they were starting. 
 
 '• I feel so much better to-day I " he exclaimed. " I could almost 
 go with you myself. Jane " — smiling at her look of consternation — 
 " you need not be startled : I do not intend to attempt it. William, 
 you are not ready." 
 
 '' Mamma said I was to stay with you. papa." 
 
 " Stay with me ! There's not the least necessity for that. 1 tell 
 you all I am feeling better to-day — quite well. You can go with the 
 rest, William." 
 
 William looked at his mother, and for a moment Jane hesitated. 
 Only for a moment. " I would rather he remained, Edgar," she 
 said. " Betsy will be gone by twelve o'clock. Indeed, I should not 
 feel comfortable at the thought of your being alone." 
 
 " Oh, very well," replied Mr. Halliburton, quite gaily. " I suppose 
 you must remain, William, or we shall have mamma leaving when 
 the service is only half over, to see whether I have not fallen into 
 the fire." 
 
 Jane had all the household care upon her shoulders now, and a 
 great portion of the household work. Though an active domestic 
 manager, she had known nothing practically of the more menial 
 work of a house ; she knew it only too well now. The old saying 
 is a very true one : " Necessity makes us acquainted with strange 
 bedfellows." This young girl, Betsy, who came in part of each day 
 to assist, was almost as much trouble as profit. She had said to 
 Jane on Christmas Eve : " If you please, mother says I am to be at 
 home to-morrow, if it's convenient." I am ! However, Jane and, 
 the young lady came to a compromise. She was to go home at twelve 
 and come back later to wash up the dishes. Of course it entailed 
 upon Jane all the trouble of preparing dinner. 
 
 Have you ever known one of these cases yourself.'' Where a lady
 
 72 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 — a lady, mind you, as Jane Avas — has had to put aside her habits 
 of refinement, pin up her gown, and turn to and cook ; roast the 
 meat and boil potatoes, and all the other essential items ? Many a 
 one is doing it now in real life. Jane Halliburton was not a solitary 
 example. The pudding had been made the day before, and partly 
 boiled : it was now on the fire, boiling again, and the rest of the 
 dinner she would do on her return from church. 
 
 It was something wonderful, the improvement in Mr. Halliburton's 
 health that day. He took his part with William in reading the 
 psalms and lessons while the rest were at church : it was what he 
 had been unable to do for a long time, in consequence of his cough 
 and his laboured breathing. The duty over, he lay back in his 
 chair; in thought apparently, not in exhaustion. 
 
 " Peace on earth, and good will towards men ! " he repeated 
 presently, in a fervent, but somewhat absent tone. " William, 
 my boy, I think peace must be coming to me at last. I do feel 
 so well." 
 
 " What peace, papa ? " asked William, puzzled. 
 
 " The peace of renewed health, of hope , freedom h'oni worry. 
 The Christmas season and the bright day have taken away all my 
 despondency. Let me go on like this, and in another month I shall 
 be out and at work." 
 
 William's eyes sparkled. He fully believed it all. Boys arc 
 sanguine. 
 
 They were to dine at three o'clock, and Jane did her best to pre- 
 pare it. During the process. Patience appeared at the back door 
 with a plate of oranges. " Will thee accept of these for thy children ? " 
 asked she. 
 
 " How kind you are ! " exclaimed Jane, in a grateful impulse, as 
 she thought of her children. Of such little treats they had latterly 
 cnioyed a scanty share. " Patience, I hope you did not buy them 
 purposely ? " 
 
 "Had I had to buy them, thee would not have seen them," re- 
 turned the candid Quakeress. " A friend of Samuel Lynn's, who 
 lives at Bristol, sends us a small case every winter. When I was 
 unpa':king it this morning I said to him, ' The young ones at the 
 next door would be pleased with a few of these ; ' but he did not 
 answer. Thee must not think him selfish ; he is not a selfish man ; 
 but he cannot bear to see anything go beside the child. Anna looked 
 at him eagerly ; she would have been pleased to send half the box : 
 and he saw it. ' Take in a few. Patience,' he cried." 
 
 " I am much obliged to him, and to you also," repeated Jane. 
 "Patience, Mr. Halliburton is so much better to-day ! Go in, and 
 see him." 
 
 l^atience went into the parlour, carrying the oranges with her. 
 When she came out again, there was a grave expression on her 
 serene face. 
 
 " Thee will do well not to count upon this apparent improvement 
 i.T thy husband."
 
 A CHRISTMAS DREAM. 73 
 
 Jane's heart went down considerably. " I do not exactly count 
 upon it, Patience," she confessed ; " but he does seem to have changed 
 so much for the better, that I feel in greater spirits than I have felt 
 this many a day. His cough seems almost well." 
 
 " I do not wish to throw a damp upon thee ; still, were I thee, I 
 would not reckon upon it. These sudden improvements sometimes 
 turn out to have been deceitful. Fare thee well ! " 
 
 Jane went into the parlour. The children were gathered round 
 the plate of oranges. " Mamma, do look ! " cried Janey. " Are they 
 not good .'' There are six : one apiece for us all. I wonder if papa 
 could eat one. Gar, you are not to touch. Papa, could you eat an 
 orange ? " 
 
 Unseen by the children, Mr. Halliburton had been straining his 
 eager gaze upon the oranges. His mouth parched with inward fever, 
 his throat dry, they appeared, coming thus unexpectedly before him, 
 what the long-wished-for sprmg of water is to the fainting traveller 
 in the Eastern desert. Jane caught the look, and handed the plate 
 to him. " You would like one, Edgar ? " 
 
 " I am thirsty," he said, in a tone savouring of apology, for the 
 oranges seemed to belong to the children rather than to him. " I 
 think I must eat mine before dinner. Cut it into four, will you ? " 
 
 He took up one of the quarters. " It is delicious ! " he exclaimed. 
 " It is so refreshing! " 
 
 The children stood around and watched him. They enjoyed 
 oranges, but scarcely with a zest so intense as that. 
 
 When Jane returned to the kitchen, she found a helpmate. The 
 maid from next door, Grace, a young Quakeress, fair and demure, 
 was standing there. She had been sent by Patience to do what she 
 could for half an hour. " How considerate she is ! " thought grateful 
 Jane. 
 
 They dined in comfort, Grace waiting on them. Afterwards the 
 oranges were placed upon the table. Master Gar caught up the 
 plate, and presented it to his mother. " Papa has had his," cpioth 
 he. 
 
 "Not for me. Gar," said Jane. "I do not eat oranges. I will 
 give mine to papa." 
 
 The three younger children speedily attacked theirs. William did 
 not. He left his by the side of the one rejected by his mother, and 
 set the plate by Mr. Halliburton. 
 
 " Do you intend these for me, William ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 Frank looked surprised. " I say, William, you don't mean to say 
 that you are not going to eat your orange ? Why, you were as glad 
 as any of us when they came." 
 
 " I eat oranges when I want them," observed William, with an 
 affectation of carelessness, which betrayed a delicacy of feeling that 
 might have done honour to one older than he. " I have had too 
 good a dinner to care about oranges." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton drew William towards him, and looked steadfastly
 
 74 MRS. ItALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 into his face with a meaning smile. "Thank you, my darling," hp 
 whispered : and William coloured excessively as he sat down. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton ate the oranges, and appeared as if he could have 
 eaten as many more. Then he leaned his head back on the pillow 
 which was placed over his chair, and presently fell asleep. 
 
 " Be very still, dear children," whispered Jane. 
 
 They looked round, saw why they were to be still, and hushed their 
 busy voices. William pulled a stool to his mother's feet, and took 
 his seat on it, holding her hand between his. 
 
 " Papa will soon be well again now," he softly said. " Don't you 
 think so, mamma?" 
 
 " Indeed I hope he will," she answered. 
 
 "But don't you tliink it?" he persisted; and Jane detected an 
 anxiety in his tone. Could there have been a shadow of fear upon 
 the boy's own heart? " He said, mamma, while you were at church, 
 that in another month he should be strong again." 
 
 " Not quite so soon as that, I fear, William. He has been so 
 much reduced, you know. Later : if he goes on as well as he 
 appears to be going on now." 
 
 Jane set the children to that renowned game, " Cross questions 
 and crooked answers." You may have had the pleasure of playing 
 at it: if so, you will remember that it consists chiefly of whispering. 
 It is difficult to keep children quiet long together. 
 
 "Where am I?" cried a sudden voice, startling the children in 
 the midst of their silent whispers. 
 
 It came from Mr. Halliburton. He had slept about half an hour, 
 and was now looking round in bewilderment, his head starting away 
 from the pillow. "Where am I ?" he repeated. 
 
 " You have been asleep, papa," cried Frank. 
 
 " Asleep ! Oh, yes ! I remember. You are all here^ and it is 
 Christmas Day. I have been dreaming." 
 
 " What about, papa?" 
 
 Mr. Halliburton let his head fall back on the pillow again. He 
 fixed his eyes on vacancy, and there ensued a silence. The children 
 looked at him. 
 
 " Singular things are dreams," he presently exclaimed. " I 
 thought I was on a broad, broad road — an immense road, and it 
 wa3 crowded with people. We were all going one way, stumbling 
 and tripping along^ — " 
 
 "What made you stumble, papa?" interrupted Janey, whose 
 busy tongue was ever ready to talk. 
 
 "The road was full of impediments," continued Mr. Halliburton, 
 in a dreamy tone, as if his mental vision were buried in the scene, 
 and he were relating what had actually occurred. " Stones, and 
 hillocks, and bramlilcs, and pools of shallow water, and long grass that 
 got entangled round our feet : nothing but difficulties and hindrances. 
 At the end, in the horizon, as far as the eye could reach — very, very 
 far away indeed — a hundred times as far away as Malvern Hills 
 appear to be from us— there shone a brilliant light. So brilliant J
 
 A CHRISTMAS t)REAM. 75 
 
 Vou have never seen anything hkc it in hfe, for the naked eye could 
 not bear such hght. And yet \vc seemed to look at it, and our 
 sight was not dazzled ! " 
 
 "Perhaps it was fireworks?" interrupted Gar, Mr. Halliburton 
 went on without heeding him. 
 
 "We were all pressing on to get to the light, though the distant 
 journey seemed as if it could never end. So long as we kept our 
 eyes fixed on the light, we could see how we walked, and we passed 
 over the rough places without fear. Not without difficulty. But 
 still we did pass them, and advanced. But the moment we took 
 our eyes from the light, then we were stopped : some fell ; some 
 wandered aside, and would not try to go forward ; some were torn 
 with the brambles ; some fell into the water ; some stuck in the 
 mud : in short, they could not get on any way. And yet they knev>^ 
 — at least, it seemed that they knew — that if they would only lift 
 their eyes to the light, and keep them steadfastly on it, they were 
 certain to be helped, and to make progress. The few who did keep 
 their ejes on it — very few they were ! — steadily bore onwards. The 
 same hindrances, the same difficulties were in their path, so that 
 at times they also felt tempted to despair — to fear they could not 
 get on. But their fears were groundless. So long as they did not 
 take their eyes from the light, it guided them in certainty and safety 
 over the rough places. It was a helper that could not fail ; and it 
 was ready to guide every one— all those millions and millions of 
 travellers. To guide them throughout the whole of the way until 
 they had gained it." 
 
 The children had become interested and were listening with 
 hushed lips. " Why did they all not let it guide them? " breathlessly 
 asked William. " Is^othing can be more easy that to keep our eyes 
 on a light that does not dazzle. What did you do, papa?" 
 
 " It seemed that the light would only shine on one step at a time," 
 continued Mr. Halliburton, not in answer to William, but evidently 
 absorbed in his own thoughts. "We could not see further than 
 the one step, but that was sufficient ; for the moment we had taken 
 it, then the light shone upon another. And so we passed on, pro- 
 gressing to the end, the light seeming brighter and brighter as we 
 drew near to it." 
 
 " Did you get to it, papa?" 
 
 " I am trying to recollect, William. I seemed to be quite close 
 to it. I suppose I awoke then." 
 
 Mr. Halliburton paused, still in thought : but he said no more. 
 Presently he turned to his wife. "Is it nearly tea-time, Jane? I 
 cannot think what makes me so thirsty." 
 
 " We can have tea now, if you like," she replied. " I will go and 
 sec about it." 
 
 She left the room, and Janey ran after her. In the kitchen, 
 making a great show and parade of being at work amidst plates 
 and dishes, was a damsel of fifteen, her hair curiously twisted about 
 her head, and her round, green eyes wide open. It was Betsy.
 
 76 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "That was good pudding," cried she, turning her face to Mrs. 
 Halliburton. " Better than mother's." 
 
 She alluded to a slice which had been given her. Jane smiled. 
 " We want tea, Betsy." 
 
 " Have it in directly, mum," was Miss Betsy's acquiescent reponse. 
 Scarcely were the words spoken, when a commotion was heard 
 in the sitting-room. The door was flung open, and the boys called 
 out, the tone of their voices one of utter alarm. Jane, the child, 
 and maid, made but one step to the room. All Jane's fears had 
 flown to " fire." 
 
 Fire had been almost less startling. Mr. Halliburton was lying 
 back on the pillow with a ghastly face, his mouth, and shirt-front 
 stained with iDlood. He could not speak, but he asked assistance 
 with his imploring eyes. In coughing he had broken a blood-vessel. 
 Jane did not faint; did not scream. Her whole heart turned 
 sick, and she felt that the end had come. Janey sank down on the 
 floor with a faint cry, and hid her face on the sofa. One glimpse 
 was sufficient for Betsy. The moment she had taken it, she sub- 
 sided into a succession of shrieks ; flew out of the house, and burst 
 into that of Mr. Lynn. There she terrified the sober family by 
 announcing that Mr. Halliburton was lying with his throat cut. 
 
 Mr. Lynn and Patience hurried in, ordering Anna to remain 
 where she was. They saw what was the matter, and placed him 
 in a better position ; Patience helping Mrs. Halliburton to sponge 
 his face. 
 
 "Shall I get the doctor for thee, friend?" asked the Quaker of 
 Jane. " I shall bring him quicker, maybe, than one of thy lads 
 would." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes 1 " 
 
 " I warned thee not to be sanguine," whispered Patience, when 
 Mr. Lynn had gone. " I feared it might be only the deceitfulness 
 of the ending." 
 
 The ending! what a confirmation of Jane's own fears! She 
 turned her eyes despairingly on Patience. 
 
 Mr. Halliburton opened his trembling lips, as though he would 
 have spoken. Patience stopped him. 
 
 "Thee must not talk, friend. If thee hast need of anything, can 
 thee not make a sign?" 
 
 He gave them to understand that he wanted water. This was 
 given to him, and he appeared to be more composed. 
 
 " There is nothing else that I can do just now," observed Patience. 
 " I will go back and take thy little girl with me. Sec her, hiding 
 there ! " 
 
 Patience did so. Betsy cowered over the fire in the kitchen, and 
 the three boys and their mother stood round the dying man. 
 " Children ! " he gasped. 
 
 " Oh, Edgar! do not speak ! " interrupted Jane. 
 He smiled as he looked at her, very much as though he knew 
 that it did not matter whether he spoke or remained silent. " I
 
 THE FUNERAL. 77 
 
 am at the journey's end, Jane ; close to the hght. Children," he 
 panted at slow intervals, " when I told you my dream, I little 
 thought it was only a type of the present reality. I think it was 
 sent to me that I might tell it you, for I now see its meaning. 
 You are travelling on to that light, as I thought I was — as I have 
 been. You will have the same stumbling-blocks to walk over ; 
 none are exempt from them ; trials, and temptations, and sorrows, 
 and drawbacks. But the light is there, ever shining to guide you, 
 for it is Heaven. Will you always look up to it?" 
 
 He gathered their hands together, and held them between his. 
 The boys, awe-struck, bewildered with terror and grief, could only 
 gaze in silence, and listen. 
 
 " The light is God, my children. He is above you, and below 
 you, and round about you everywhere. He is ready to help you 
 at every step and turn. Make Him your guide; put your whole 
 dependence upon Him, implicitly trust to Him to lighten your 
 path, so that you may sec to walk in it. He cannot fail. Look 
 up to Him, and you will be unerringly guided, though it may be — 
 though it probably will be — only step by step. Never lose )'our 
 trust in God, and then rest assured He will conduct you to His own 
 bright ending. Jane, let them take it to their hearts ! May God 
 bless you, my dear ones ! and bring you to me hereafter ! " 
 
 He ceased, and lay exhausted ; his eyes fondly seeking Jarie's, 
 her hand clasped in his. Jane's own eyes were dry and burning, 
 and she appeared to be unnaturally calm. Gradually, the fading 
 eyes closed. In a very short time, the knock of Samuel Lynn was 
 heard at the door. He had brought the doctor. William, passing 
 his handkerchief over his wet fixce, went to open it. 
 
 Mr. Parry stepped into the room, and Jane moved from beside 
 her husband to give place to him. "He sighed heavily a minute 
 or two ago," she whispered. 
 
 The surgeon looked at him. He bent his ear to the open mouth, 
 and then gently unbuttoned the waistcoat, and listened for the 
 beating of the heart. " His life passed away in that sigh," murmured 
 the doctor to Jane. 
 
 It was even so. Edgar Halliburton had gone into the light. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 Jane looked around her — looked at all the terrors of her situation. 
 The first burst of grief over, and a day or two gone on, she could 
 only look at it. She did not know which way to turn, or what to 
 do. It is true she placed implicit trust in God — in the light 
 spoken of by her husband when he was passing away. Through- 
 out her life she had borne an ever-present, lively trust in God's
 
 78 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 unchanging care; and she had incessantly striven to implant the 
 same trust in the minds of her children. But in this season of 
 dread anxiety, of hopeless bereavement, you will not think less well 
 of her for hearing that she did give way to despondency, almost to 
 despair. 
 
 From tears for him who had been the dear partner of her life, to 
 anxiety for the future of his children — from anxiety for them, to 
 pecuniary distress and embarrassment — so passed on her hours 
 from Christmas night. Calm she had contrived to be in the pre- 
 sence of others ; but it was the calm of an aching heart. She 
 dreaded her own reflections. When she rose in the morning she 
 said, " How shall I bear up through the day?" and when she went 
 to her bed, it would be, "How shall I drag through the night?" 
 Tossing, turning, moaning : walking the room in the darkness 
 when no eye was upon her ; kneeling, almost without hope, to 
 pour forth her tribulations to God — who would believe that, in the 
 daytime, before others, she could be so apparently serene ? Only 
 once did she give way, and that was the day before the funeral. 
 
 Patience sympathised with her in a reasoning sort of way. It 
 had been next to impossible for Jane to keep her pecuniary anxiety 
 from Patience, who advised and assisted her in making the various 
 arrangements. It was necessary to go to work in the most sparing 
 manner possible, and it ended in Jane's taking Patience into her 
 full confidence. 
 
 " If thee can but keep a house over thy head, so as to retain thy 
 children with thee, thee wilt get along. Do not be cast down." 
 
 " Oh, Patience, that is what I have been thinking about — how 
 I am to keep the house together. I do not see that I can do it." 
 
 " The furniture is thine," observed Patience. " Thee might let 
 two or three of thy rooms, so as to cover the rent." 
 
 " I have thought all that over and over again to myself," sighed 
 Jane. " But, Patience — allowing that the rent were made in that 
 way — how are we to live ? " 
 
 " Thee must occupy thy time in some way. Thee can sew ! Dost 
 thee know dressmaking?" 
 
 " No — only sufficient of it to make my own plain gowns and 
 Jane's frocks. As to plain sewing, I could never earn food at it — it 
 is so badly paid. And there will be the education of my boys, and 
 their clothing." 
 
 "Thee hast anxiety before thee — I see it," said Patience, in a 
 grave tone. " Still, I would not have thee be cast down. Thee 
 will make thyself ill, and that will not be the way to mend thy 
 condition." 
 
 Jane sat down, her hands clasped on her knees, her mind 
 viewing her dark troubles. " If I were but clear, I should have 
 better hope," she said, lifting her face in its sad sorrow. " Patience, 
 we owe half a year's rent ; and there will be the funeral expenses 
 besides. 
 
 " Hast thee no kindred that would aid thee in thy strait?"
 
 THE FUNERAL. 79 
 
 Jane shook her head. The only " kindred " that she possessed 
 in the whole world was one who had barely enough for his own poor 
 wants — her brother Francis. 
 
 " Hast thee no little property to dispose of?" continued Patience. 
 "Watches, or things of that kind?" 
 
 There was her husband's watch. But Jane's pale face crimsoned 
 at the idea of parting with it in that manner. It was a good watch, 
 and had long ago been promised to William. 
 
 " I can understand thy flush of aversion," said Patience, kindly. 
 " I would not be the one to suggest aught to hurt thy feelings ; but 
 thy necessities may leave no alternative." 
 
 A con\iction that they would leave none, with her, was already 
 stealing over Jane. She possessed a few trinkets herself, not of 
 much value, and a little silver. All might have to go, not excepting 
 the watch. " Would there be a difficulty in disposing of them, 
 Patience?" she asked aloud. 
 
 " None at all : there is the pawn-shop," said the plain-speaking 
 Quakeress. '• I do not know what many would do without it. I 
 can tell thee that some of the great ones of this city send their 
 -plate to it on occasion. Thee would not like to go to such a place 
 thyself, but thy servant's mother, Elizabeth Carter, is a discreet 
 woman ; she would render thee this little service. As I tell thee, if 
 thee can only surmount present difficulties, so as to secure a start, 
 thee may get on." 
 
 Surmount present difficulties! It seemed to Jane next door to 
 an impossibility. She had the merest trifle of money left, was in 
 debt, and without means, so far as she saw, of earning even food. 
 She paid her last night visit to the room which contained the 
 coffin, and went thence up to her bed, to toss the night through on 
 her wet pillow, with a burning brow and an aching heart. 
 
 It was a sad funeral to see, and one of the plainest of the plain. 
 The clerk of the church, who had condescended to come up to 
 escort it — a condescension he did not often vouchsafe to poor 
 funerals, for they aflbrded nothing good to eat and drink — walked 
 first, without a hatband. Then came the coffin, covered with a 
 pall, and William and P'rank behind it. Jane had not sent Gar, 
 poor little fellow ! She thought he might be better away. That 
 was all ; there were no attendants : the clerk, the two boys, the 
 coffin, and the men who bore it. 
 
 It was sad to see. The people stopped to look as it went along 
 the streets, following with their eyes the poor fatherless children. 
 One young man stood aside, raised his hat, and held it in his hand 
 until the coffin had passed. But the young man had lived in 
 foreign countries, where it is the custom to remain uncovered while 
 a corpse is borne by. 
 
 He was buried at St. Martin's Church ; and, singular to say, the 
 officiating minister was the Rev. Mr. Peach. Mr. Peach did not 
 know who he was interring : he had taken the service for St. 
 Martin's rector. William heard his name ; how manv times had
 
 8o MRS. HALLIIiURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 he heard his poor father mention the name in connection with 
 his hopeful prospects! He burst into wailing sobs at the thought. 
 Mr. Peach glanced off his book to look compassionately at the 
 sobbing boy. 
 
 The funeral was over, the last word of the service spoken, the 
 first shovel of earth flung rattling on to the coffin. The clerk did 
 not pay the compliment of his escort back again ; indeed, there was 
 nothing to escort but the two boys. They walked alone, with no 
 company but their hatbands. 
 
 In the evening, at dusk, they were gathered together — Jane and 
 all the children. Tears seemed to have a respite : they had been 
 shed of late all too plentifully. 
 
 " I must speak to you, children," said Jane, lifting her head, and 
 breaking the silence. " I may as well speak now, as let the days 
 go on first. You are young, but you are old enough to understand 
 me. Do you know, my darlings, how very sad our position is ? " 
 
 " In losing papa ? " said Janey, catching her breath. 
 
 " Yes, yes, in losing him," wailed Jane. " For that includes more 
 than you suspect. But I wish to allude more particularly to the 
 future. My dears, I do not see what is to become of us. We have 
 no money : and we have no one to give us any or to lend us any ; 
 no one in the wide world." 
 
 The children did not interrupt ; only William moved his chair 
 nearer to hers. She looked so young in her widow's cap : nearly 
 as young as when, years ago, she had married him who had that 
 day been put out of her sight for ever. 
 
 " If we can only keep a roof over our heads," continued Jane, 
 speaking very softly from the effort to subdue her threatening emo- 
 tion, " we may perhaps struggle on. Perhaps. But it will be 
 struggling; and you do not know half that the word implies. We 
 may not have enough to eat. We may be cold and hungry — not 
 once, but constantly ; and we shall certainly have to encounter and 
 endure the slights and humiliations attendant on extreme poverty. 
 I do not know that we can retain a home ; for we may, in a week 
 or two, be turned from this." 
 
 " But why be turned from this, mamma?" 
 
 " Because there is rent owing, and I have not the means to pay 
 it," she answered. " I have written to your uncle Francis, but I do 
 not believe he will be able to help me. He — — " 
 
 "Why can't we go back to London to live?" eagerly interrupted 
 little Gar. " It was so nice there! it was a better home than this." 
 
 " You forget. Gar, that — that^ — " here she almost broke down, 
 and had to pause a minute — " that our income there was earned by 
 your papa. He would not be there to earn it now. No, my dear 
 ones ; I have thought the future over in every way — thought until 
 niy brain has become confused — and the only possible chance that 
 1 can sec, of our surmounting difficulties, so as to enable us to exist, 
 is by endeavouring to keep this home. Patience suggests that I 
 should let part of it. I had already thought of that.; and I shall
 
 THE FUNERAL. it 
 
 endeavour to do so. It may cover the rent and taxes. And I must 
 try and do something else that will find us food." 
 
 The children looked perfectly thunderstruck, especially the two 
 elder ones, William and Jane. " Do something to find food ! " tlicy 
 uttered, aghast. " Mamma, what do you mean.?" 
 
 It is so difficult to make children understand these unhappy 
 things — those who have been brought up in comfort. Jane sighed, 
 and explained further. Little desolate hearts they were who listened 
 to her. 
 
 " William," she resumed, " your poor papa's watch was to have 
 been yours; but — I scarcely like to tell you — I fear I shall be 
 obliged to dispose of it to help our necessities." 
 
 A spasm shot across William's face. But, brave-hearted boy 
 that he was, he would not let his mother sec his disappointment, 
 and looked cheerfully at her. 
 
 "There is one thought that weighs more heavily on my mind 
 than all— your education. How I shall manage to continue it I do 
 not know. My darlings, I look upon this only in a degree less 
 essential to you than food : you know that learning is better than 
 house and land. I do not j-et see my way clear in any way : it is 
 very dark — almost as dark as it can be ; and but for one Lriend, I 
 should despair." 
 
 " What friend is that, mamma ? Do you mean Patience?" 
 
 " I mean God," replied Jane. " I know that He is a sure refuge 
 to those who trust in Him. In my saddest moments, when I think 
 how certain that refuge is, a ray of light flashes over me, bright as 
 that glorious light in your papa's dream. Oh, my dear children I 
 perhaps we shall be helped to struggle on ! " 
 
 "Who will buy us new clothes?" cried Frank, dropping upon 
 another phase of the difficulty. Jane sighed : it was all terribly 
 indistinct. 
 
 " In all the tribulation that will probably come upon us, the 
 humiliations, the necessities, we must strive for patience to bear 
 them. You do not yet understand the meaning of the term, /o 
 dear; but you will learn it all too soon. You must bear not only 
 for your own sakes, because it is your lot, and you cannot go from 
 it ; not only for mine, but chiefly because it is the will of God. This 
 affliction could not have come upon us unless God had permitted it, 
 and I am quite sure, therefore, that it is in some way sent for our 
 good. We shall not be utterly miserable if we can keep together in 
 our house. You will aid me in it, will you not? " 
 
 " In what way, mamma?" they eagerly asked, as if wishing to 
 begin something then. " What can we do? " 
 
 " You can aid me by being dutiful and obedient ; by giving me 
 no unnecessary anxiety or trouble; by cheerfully making the best 
 of our privations; and you can strive to retain what you have 
 already learnt by going diligently over your lessons together. All 
 this will aid and comfort me." 
 
 William's tears burst forth, and he laid his head on his mother's 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 6
 
 82 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 lap. " Oh, mamma dear, I will try and do for you all that I can," 
 he sobbed. " I will indeed." 
 
 " Take comfort, my boy," she whispered, leaning tenderly over 
 him. " Remember that your last act to your father was a loving 
 sacrifice, in giving to him the orange that you would have enjoyed. 
 I marked it, William. My darling children, let us all strive to bear 
 on steadfastly to that far-off light, ever looking unto God." 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 TROUBLE. 
 
 A WEEK elapsed, subsequent to the burial of Mr. Halliburton. By 
 that time Jane had looked fully into the best and worst of her con- 
 dition, and had, so to say, organised her plans. By the disposal of 
 the watch, with what little silver they possessed, and ornaments of 
 her own, she had been enabled to discharge the expenses of the 
 funeral and other small debts, and to retain a trifle in hand for 
 present wants. 
 
 On the last day of the week, Saturday, she received an applica- 
 tion for the rent. A stylish-looking stripling, of some nineteen 
 years, with light eyes and fair hair, called from Air. Dare to demand 
 it. Jane told him she could not pay him then, but would write and 
 explain to Mr. Dare. Upon which the gentleman, whose manners 
 were haughtily condescending, turned on his heel and left the house, 
 not deigning to say good morning. As he was swinging out at the 
 gate, Patience, coming home from market with a basket in her 
 hand, met him. " How dost thee ?" said she to him in salutation. 
 But there was no response from the other, except that his head went 
 a shade higher. 
 
 " Do you know who that is? " inquired Jane, afterwards. 
 " Of a surety. It is young Anthony Dare." 
 " He has not pleasing manners." 
 
 '■ Not to us. There is not a more self-arrogant youth in the town. 
 But his private character is not well spoken of" 
 
 Jane sat down to write to Mr. Dare. Her brother Francis, to 
 whom she had explained her situation, had promised her the rent 
 for the half-year due, sixteen pounds, by the middle of February. 
 He could not let her have it before that period, he said, but she 
 might positively count upon it then. She begged Mr. Dare to 
 accord her the favour of waiting until then. Sealing her note, she 
 sent it to him. 
 
 On the Monday following, all was in readiness to let; and Jane 
 was full of h:pe, looking for the advent of lodgers. The best par- 
 lour and the two best bedrooms had been vacated, and were in 
 order. Jane slept now with her little girl, and the boys had mat-
 
 TROUBLK. gj 
 
 tresses laid down for them on the lloor at the top of the hoiiso. 
 They were to nuike the study their sitting-room from henceforth ; 
 and a card in the window displayed the announcement " Lodgings." 
 The more modern word " apartments " had not then come into 
 fashion at Helstonleigh. 
 
 Patience came in after breakfast with a piece of grey merino in 
 her hand. 
 
 " Would thee like to make a frock for Anna? " asked she of Mrs. 
 HalHburton. " Sarah Locke docs them for her mostly, for it is 
 work that I am not clever at ; but Sarah sends me word she is too 
 full of work this week to undertake it. I heard thee say thee made 
 Janey's frocks. If thee can do this, and earn half-a-crown, thee 
 art welcome. It is what I should pay Sarah." 
 
 Jane took the merino in thankfulness. It was as a ray of hope, 
 come to light up her heart. But the instant before Patience entered, 
 she was wishing that something could arri\-e for her to do, never 
 supposing that it would arrive. And now it had come! — and would 
 bring her in two-and-sixpence ! " Two-and-sixpence ! " we may 
 feel inclined to echo, in undisguised contempt for the trifle. Ay ! 
 but we may never have known the yearning want of two-and-six- 
 pence, or of ten-and-sixpence cither ! 
 
 Jane cut out the skirt by a pattern frock, and sat down to make 
 it, her mind ruminating on the future. The children were at their 
 lessons, round the table. " I have just two pounds seventeen and 
 sixpence left," deliberated Jane. " This half-crown will make it 
 three pounds. I wonder how long we can live upon that? We 
 have good clothes, and for the present the boys' boots are good. 
 If I can let the rooms we shall have the rent, so that food is the 
 chief thing to look to We must spin the money out : we must 
 live upon bread and potatoes and a little milk, until something 
 comes in. I wonder if five shilling a week would pay for bare food, 
 and for coals ? I fear " 
 
 Jane's dreams were interrupted. The front gate was swung open, 
 ana two people, men or gentlemen, approached the house door and 
 knocked. Their movements were so quick that Jane caught only a 
 glimpse of them. " See who it is, will you, William?" 
 
 She heard them w^alk in and ask if she was at home. Putting 
 down her work, she shook the threads from her black dress and 
 went out to them, William returning to his lessons. 
 
 The visitors were standing in the passage— one well-dressed man 
 and one shabby one. The former made a civil demand for the half- 
 j-ear's rent due. Jane replied that she had written to Mr. Dare on 
 the previous Saturday, explaining things to him, and asking him to 
 wait a short time. 
 
 " Mr. Dare cannot wait," was the rejoinder of the applicant, still 
 speaking civilly. " You must allow me to remark, ma'am, that you 
 are strangers to the town, that you have paid no rent since you 
 entered the house " 
 
 "We believed it was the custom to pay half-yearly, as Mr. Dare
 
 8[ MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 did not apply for it at the Michaelmas quarter," interrupted J. inc. 
 " We should have paid then, had he asked for it," 
 
 " At any rate, it is not paid," was the reply. " And — I am sorry, 
 ma'am, to be under the necessity of leaving this man in possession 
 until you do pay ! " 
 
 They walked deliberately into the best parlour ; and Jane, amidst 
 a rushing feeling of despair that turned her heart to sickness, knew 
 that a seizure had been put into the house. 
 
 As she stood in her bewilderment, Patience entered by the back 
 door, the way she always did enter, and caught a glimpse of the 
 shabby man. She drew Jane into the kitchen. 
 
 "What docs that man do here?" she inquired. 
 
 For answer Jane sank into a chair and burst into sobs so violent 
 as to surprise the calm Quakeress. She turned and shut the door. 
 
 "Hush thee! Now hush thee! Thy children will hear and be 
 terrihcd. Art thee behind with thy taxes?" 
 
 For some minutes Jane could not reply. " Not for taxes," she 
 said; "they. are paid. Mr. Dare has put him in for the rent." 
 
 Patience revolved the news in considerable astonishment. " Nay, 
 but I think thee must be in error. Thomas Ashley would not do 
 such a thing." 
 
 " He has done it," sobbed Jane. 
 
 " It is not in accordance with his character. He is a humane 
 and considerate man. Verily I grieve for thee ! That man is 
 not an agreeable inmate of a house. We had him in ours last 
 year ! " 
 
 " You I " uttered Jane, surprise penetrating even to her own grief. 
 " You ! " 
 
 " They force us to pay church-rates," explained Patience. "We 
 have a scruple to do so, believing the call unjust. For years 
 Samuel Lynn had paid the claim, to avert consequences ; but last 
 year he and many more Friends stood out against it. The result 
 was, that that man, now in thy parlour, was put into our house. 
 The amount claimed was one pound nine sliillings ; and they took 
 out of our house, and sold, goods which had cost us eleven pounds, 
 and which were equal to new." 
 
 " Oh, Patience, tell me what I had better do ! " implored Jane, 
 reverting to her own trouble. " If we are turned out and our 
 tilings sold, we must go to the workhouse. We cannot lie in the 
 streets." 
 
 " Indeed, I feel incompetent to advise thee. Had thee not better 
 see Anthony Dare, and try thy persuasion that he would remove 
 the seizure, and wait ?" 
 
 " I will go to him at once," feverishly returned Jane. " You will 
 allow Janey to remain with you, Patience, while I do so?" 
 
 "Of a surety I will. She " 
 
 At that moment the children burst into the kitchen, one after the 
 other. "Mamma, who is that shabln'-looking man come into the 
 Study? He has seated himself right in front of the fire, and is
 
 TROUBLE. 85 
 
 knocking it about. And the other is looking at the tables and 
 chairs.'' 
 
 It was Frank who spoke; impetuous Frank. Mrs. Halliburton 
 cast a despairing look around her, and Patience drew their attention. 
 
 " That man is here on business," she said to them. " You must 
 not be rude to him, or he will be ten times more rude to you. The 
 other will soon loe gone. Your mother is going abroad for an 
 hour; perhaps when she returns she will rid the house of him. 
 Jane, child, thee can come with me and take thy dinner with ' 
 Anna." 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton waited until the better-looking of the two men 
 was gone, and then started. It was a raw, cold day — what some 
 people call a black frost. Black and gloomy it all looked to her, 
 outwardly and inwardly, as she traversed the streets to the office of 
 Mr. Dare. Patience had directed her, and the plate on the door, 
 " Mr. Dare, Solicitor," showed her the right house. She stepped 
 inside that door, which stood open, and knocked at one to the right 
 of the passage. " Clerks' room " was inscribed upon it. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 Three or four clerks were in it. In one of them she recognized 
 him who had just left her house. The other clerks appeared to 
 defer to him, and called him " Mr. Stubbs." Jane, giving her name, 
 said she wished to see Mr. Dare, and the request was conveyed to 
 an inner room. It brought forth young Anthony. 
 
 " My father is busy and cannot see you," was his salutation. " I 
 can hear anything you may have to say. It will be the same 
 thing." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Jane, in a courteous tone, very different 
 from his. " But I would prefer to see Mr. Dare." 
 
 " He is engaged, I say," sharply repeated Anthony. 
 
 " I will wait, then. I must see him." 
 
 Anthony Dare stalked back again. Jane, seeing a bench against 
 the wall, sat down. It was about half-past twelve when she arrived 
 there, and when the clock struck two, there she was still. Several 
 clients, during that time, had come and gone ; tliey were admitted 
 to Mr. Dare, but she sat on, neglected. At two o'clock Anthony 
 came through the room with his hat on. He appeared to be 
 going out. 
 
 " What ! are you here still ? " he exclaimed, in genuine or in 
 affected surprise ; never, in his ill manners, removing his hat — he 
 of whom it was his delight to hear it said that he was the most 
 complete gentleman in Helstonleigh. " I assure you it is not of the 
 least use your waiting. Mr. Dare will not be able to see you." 
 
 " Mr. Dare can surely spare me a minute when he has done with 
 others." 
 
 "He cannot to-day. Can you not say to me what you warit 
 to say ? " 
 
 " Indeed I must see Mr. Dare himself. I will wait on, if you will 
 allow me, hoping to do so."
 
 86 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Anthony Dare vouchsafed no reply, and went out. One or two of 
 the clerks looked round. They appeared not to understand why 
 she sat on so persistently, or why Mr. Dare refused to see her. 
 
 In about an hour's time the inner door opened. A tall man, with 
 a bold, free countenance, looked into the room. Supposing it to be 
 Mr. Dare, Jane rose and approached him. " Will you allow me a 
 few minutes' conversation ?" she asked. "I presume you are Mr. 
 Dare?" 
 
 He put up his hands as if to fence her off. " I have no time, 
 I have no time," he reiterated, and shut the door in her face. 
 Jane sat down again on the bench. " Stubbs, I want you," came 
 forth from Mr. Dare's voice, as he opened the door an inch to 
 speak it. 
 
 Stubbs went in, remained a few minutes, and then returned, put 
 on his hat, and walked out. His departui'e was the signal for 
 considerable relaxation in the office duties. " When the cat's 
 away — " you know the rest. Yawning, stretching, whispering, 
 and laughing supervened. One of the clerks took from his pocket 
 a paper of the biscuits called " Union" in Helstonleigh, and began 
 eating them. Another pulled out a bottle, and solaced himself with 
 some of its contents — whatever they might be. Suddenly the man 
 with the biscuits got off his stool, and offered them to Mrs. HalH- 
 burton. Her pale, sad face may have prompted his good-nature 
 ♦.0 the act. 
 
 " You have waited a good while, ma'am, and perhaps have lost 
 your dinnei- through it," he said. 
 
 Jane took one of them. " You are very kind. Thank you," she 
 fiiintly said. 
 
 But not a crumb of it could she swallow. She had taken a slice 
 of dry toast for her breakfast that morning, with half a cup of milk ; 
 and it was a long while since she had had a sufficiency of food at 
 any meal. She felt weak, sick, faint ; but anxiety and suspense 
 were at work within, parching her throat, destroying her appetite. 
 She held the biscuit in her fingers, resting on her lap, and, in spite 
 of her efforts, the rebellious tears forced themselves to her eyes. 
 Raising her hand, she cjuietly let fall her widow's veil. 
 
 A poor-looking man came in, and counted out eight shillings, 
 laying them upon the desk. " I couldn't make up the other two 
 this week ; I couldn't, indeed," he said, with trembling eagerness. 
 " I'll bring twelve next week, please to say." 
 
 " Mind you do," responded one of the clerks ; " or you know what 
 v.'ill be in store for you." 
 
 The man shook his head. He probably did know; and, in going 
 out, was nearly knocked over by a handsome lad of seventeen, who 
 ivas running in. Very handsome were his features ; but they were 
 marred by the free expression which characterized Mr. Dare's. 
 
 " I say, is the governor in ? " cried he, out of breath. 
 
 '■'Yes, sir. Lord Ilawkcsley's with him." 
 
 '•'fhc deuce take Lord Hawkesley, then ! " returned the young
 
 TROUBLE. 87 
 
 gentleman. " Where's Stubl)s ? I want my week's money, and I 
 can't wait. Walker, I say, where's Stubbs ? " 
 " Stubbs is gone out, sir." 
 
 " What a bother ! Halloa ! here's some money ! What is this ? " 
 continued the speaker, catching up the eight shillings. 
 " It is some that has just been paid in, Master Herbert." 
 " That's all right then," said he, slipping five of them into his 
 jacket pocket. " Tell Stubbs to put it down as my week's money." 
 
 He tore off. Jane sat on, wondering what she was to do. There 
 appeared to be little probability that she would be admitted to Mr. 
 Dare ; and yet, how could she go home as she came — hopeless— to 
 the presence of that man ? No ; she must wait still ; wait until the 
 last. She might catch a word with Mr. Dare as he was leaving. 
 Jane could not help thinking his behaviour very jjad m refusing to 
 see her. 
 
 The office was being lighted when Mr. Stubbs returned. One of 
 the clerks pointed to the three shillings with his pen. " Kinnerslcy 
 has brought eight shillings. He will make it twelve next week. 
 Couldn't manage the ten this, he says." 
 
 " Where are the eight shillings .'' " asked Stubbs. " I sec only 
 three." 
 
 " Oh, Master Herbert came in, and took off five. He said you 
 were to put it down as his week's money." 
 
 " He'll take a little too much some day, if he's not checked," was 
 the cynical reply of the senior clerk. " However, it's no business of 
 mine." 
 
 He put the three shillings in his own desk, and made an entry in 
 a book. After that, he went in to Mr. Dare, who was now alone. 
 A large room, handsomely fitted up. Mr. Dare's table was near one 
 of the windows : a desk, at which Anthony sometimes sat, was at 
 the other. Mr. Dare looked up. 
 
 " I could not do anything, sir," said Stubbs. " The other party 
 will listen to no proposal at all. They say they'll throw it into 
 Chancery first. An awful rage they are in." 
 
 " Tush ! " said Mr. Dare. " Chancery, indeed ! They'll tell 
 another tale in a day or two. Has Kinnersley been in ? " 
 
 '' Kinnersley has brought eight shillings, and promises to bring 
 twelve next Monday. Master Herbert carried off five of them, and 
 left word it was for his week's money." 
 
 "A smart blade!" cried Mr. Dare, apostrophizing his son with 
 personal pride. "'Take it when I can,' is his motto. He'll make 
 a good lawyer, Stubbs." 
 
 •' Very good," acquiesced Stubbs. 
 
 "Is that woman gone yet ? " 
 
 " No, sir. My opinion is, she means to wait until she sees you." 
 
 " Then send her in at once, and let's get it over," thundered Mr. 
 Dare. 
 
 In what lay his obiection to sec her? A dread lest she shoal. 1 put 
 forth their relationship as a plea for his clen-iency .'' If so, he \va5
 
 88 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 destined to be agreeably disappointed. Jane did not allude to it ; 
 would not allude to it. After that interview held with Mrs. Dare, 
 some three or four months before, she had dropped all remembrance 
 of the connection . even the children did not know of it. She only 
 solicited Mr. Dare's leniency now, as any other stranger might have 
 solicited it. Little chance was there of Mr. Dare's acceding to her 
 prayer : he and his wife both wanted H elstonleigh to be free of the 
 Halliburtons. 
 
 " It will be utter ruin," she urged. " It will turn us, beggars, into 
 the streets. Mr. Dare, I promise you the rent by the middle of 
 February. Unless it were certain, my brother would not have 
 promised it to me. Surely you may accord me this short time." 
 
 " Ma'am, I cannot — that is, Mr. Ashley cannot. It was a repre- 
 hensible piece of carelessness on my part to suffer the rent to go on 
 for half a year, considering that you were strangers. Mr. Ashley 
 will look to me to see him well out of it." 
 
 " There is sufficient furniture in my house, new furniture, to pay 
 what is owing three times over." 
 
 " May be, as it stands in it. Things worth forty pounds in a 
 house, won't fetch ten at a sale." 
 
 "That is an additional reason why I^^ " 
 
 " Now, my good lady," interrupted Mr. Dare, with imperative 
 civility, " one word is as good as a thousand ; and that word I have 
 said. I cannot withdraw the seizure, except on the receipt of the 
 rent and costs. Pay them, and I shall be most happy to do it. If 
 you stop here all night I can give you no other answer ; and my 
 time is valuable." 
 
 He glanced at the door as he spoke. Jane took the hint, and 
 passed out of it. As much by the tone, as by the words, she 
 gathered that there was no hope whatever. 
 
 The streets were bright with gas as she hurried along, her head 
 bent, her veil over her face, her tears falling silently. But when 
 she left the town behind her, and approached a lonely part of the 
 road where no eye was on her, no ear near her, then the sobs burst 
 forth uncontrolled. 
 
 " No eye on her ? no ear near her ? " Ay, but there was ! There 
 was one Eye, one Ear, which never closes. And as Jane's dreadful 
 trouble resolved itself into a cry for help to Him who ever listens, 
 there seemed to come a feeling of peace, of trust, into her soul.
 
 ( 89 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 THOMAS ASHLEY. 
 
 Frank met her as she went in. It was dark ; but she kept her 
 veil down. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, that's the most horrible man ! " he began, in a 
 whisper. " You know the cheese you brought in on Saturday, that 
 we might not eat our bread quite dry ; well, he has eaten it up, 
 every morsel, and half a loaf of bread ! And he has burnt the 
 whole scuttleful of coal! And he swore because there was no 
 meat ; and he swore at us because we would not go to the public- 
 house and buy him some beer. He said we were to buy it and pay 
 for it." 
 
 " I said you would not allow us to go, mamma," interrupted 
 William, who now came up. " T told him that if he wanted beer 
 he must go and get it for himself. I spoke civilly, you know, net 
 rudely. He went into such a passion, and said such things! It is 
 a good thing Jane was out." 
 
 " Where is Gar ? " she asked. 
 
 " Gar was frightened at the man, and the tobacco-smoke made 
 him sick, and he cried ; and then he lay down on the tloor, and 
 went to sleep." 
 
 S/ic felt sick. She drew her two boys into the parlour— dark 
 there, except for the lamp in the road, which shone in. Pressing 
 them in her arms, completely subdued by the miseries of her situa- 
 tion, she leaned her forehead upon William's shoulder, and burst 
 once more into a most distressing flood of tears. 
 
 They were alarmed. They cried with her. " Oh, mamma ! what 
 is it ? Why don't you order the man to go away ? " 
 
 " My bovs, I must tell you ; I cannot keep it irom you," she 
 sobbed. "That man is put here to stop, until I can pay the rent. 
 If I cannot pay it, our things will be taken and sold." 
 
 William's pulses and heart alike beat, but he was silent Frank 
 spoke. " Whatever shall we do, mamma ? " 
 
 " I do not know," she wailed. " Perhaps God will help us. There 
 is no one else to do it." 
 
 Patience came in, for about the sixth time, to sec whether Jane 
 had returned, and how the mission had sped. They called her into 
 the cold, dark room. Jane gave her the history of the whole day, 
 and Patience listened in astonishment. 
 
 " I cannot but believe that Thomas Ashley must have been mis- 
 informed," said she, presently. " But that you are strangers in the 
 place, I should say you had an enemy who may have gone to him 
 with a tale that thee can pay, but will not. Still, even in that case,
 
 go MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 it would be unlike Thomas Ashley. He is a kind and a good man ; 
 not a harsh one." 
 
 " Mr. Dare told me he was expressly acting for Mr. Ashley." 
 
 "Well, I say that I cannot understand it," repeated Patience. 
 " It is not like Thomas Ashley. I will give thee an instance of his 
 disposition and general character. There was a baker rented under 
 him, living in a house of Thomas Ashley's. The baker got behind 
 with his rent ; other bakers were more favoured than he ; but he 
 kept on at his trade, hoping times would mend. Year by year he 
 failed in his rent — Thomas Ashley, mark thee, still paying him 
 regularly for the bread supplied to his family. ' V/hy do you not 
 stop his bread-money ? ' asked one, who knew of this, of Thomas 
 Ashley. ' Because he is poor, and he looks to my weekly money, 
 with that of others, to buy his flour,' was Thomas Ashley's answer. 
 Well, when he owed several years' rent, the baker died, and the 
 widow was going to move. Anthony Dare hastened to Thomas 
 Ashley. 'Which day shall I levy a distress upon the goods?' 
 asked he. ' Not at all,' replied Thomas Ashley. And he went to 
 the widow, and told her the rent was forgiven, and the goods were 
 her own, to take with her when she left. That is Thomas Ashley." 
 
 Jane bent her head in thought. " Is Mr. Lynn at home?" she 
 asiced. " I should like to speak to him." 
 
 " He has had his tea and has gone back to the manufactory, but 
 he will be home soon after eight. I will keep Jane till bedtime. 
 She and Anna are happy over their puzzles." 
 
 " Patience, am I obliged to find that man in food ? " 
 
 " That thee art. It is the law." 
 
 The noise made by Patience in going away, brought the man 
 forth from the study, a candle in his hand. " When is that mother 
 of yours coming back ? " he roared out to the boys. Jane advanced. 
 " Oh, you are here ! " he uttered, wrathfuUy. " What are you going 
 to give me to eat and drink? A pretty thing this is, to have an 
 officer in, and starve him ! " 
 
 " You shall have tea directly. You shall have what we have," she 
 answered, in a low tone. 
 
 The kettle was boiling on the study fire. Jane lighted a fire in 
 the parlour, and she sent Frank out for butter. The man smoked 
 over the study fire, as he had done all the afternoon, and Gar slept 
 beside him, on the floor, but William went now and brought the 
 child away. Jane sent the man his tea in, and the loaf and butter. 
 
 The fare did not please him. He came to the parlour and said 
 he must have meat ; he had had none for his dinner. 
 
 " I cannot give it you," replied Jane. " We are eating dry toast 
 and bread, as you may see. I sent butter to you." 
 
 He stood there for some minutes, giving vent to his feelings in 
 rather strong language ; and then he went back to revenge himself 
 upon the butter for the want of meat. Jane laid her hand upon 
 her beating throat : beating with its tril^ulation. 
 
 Between cij,du and nine Jane \yent to the next door, Samuel
 
 THOMAS ASHLEY. oi 
 
 v 
 
 Lynn had come home for the evening, and was sitting at the table- 
 in his parlour, helping the two httle girls with a geographical 
 puzzle, which had baffled their skill. He was a little man, quiet in 
 movement, pale and sedate in feature, dry and unsympathising in 
 manner. 
 
 " Thee art in trouble, friend, I hear," he said, placing a chair for 
 Jane, while Patience came and called the children away. "It is 
 sad for thee." 
 
 " In great trouble," answered Jane. " I came in to ask if yon 
 would ser\e me in my trouble. I fancy, perhaps, you can do so if 
 you will." 
 
 " In what way, friend ?" 
 
 " Would you interest yourself for me with Mr. Ashley ? He 
 might listen to you. Were he assured that the money would be 
 forthcoming in P'ebruary, I think he might agree to give me time." 
 
 " Friend, I cannot do this," was the reply of the Quaker. " My 
 relations with Thomas Ashley are confined to business matters, 
 and I cannot overstep them. To interfere with his pri\-ate affair.s 
 would not be seemly ; neither might he deem it so. I am but his 
 servant, remember." 
 
 The words fell upon her heart as ice. She believed it her only 
 chance— some one interceding for her with j\Ir. Ashley. She 
 said so. 
 
 " Why not go to him thyself, friend ? " 
 
 "Would he hear me? "hastily asked Jane. "I am a stranger 
 to him." 
 
 "Thee art his tenant. As to hearing thee, that he certainly 
 would. Thomas Ashley is of a courteous nature. The poorest 
 workman in our manufactory, going to the master with a grievance, 
 is sure of a patient hearing. But if thee ask me would he grant thy 
 petition, there 1 cannot inform thee. Patience opines that thee, or 
 thy intentions, may have been falsely represented to him. I ne\er 
 knew him resort to harsh measures before." 
 
 "When would be the best time to see him? Is it too late 
 to-night ? " 
 
 "To-night would not be a likely time, friend, to trouble him. 
 He has not long returned from a day's journey, and is, no doubt, 
 cold and tired. I met James Meeking driving down as I came 
 home ; he had left the master at his house. They have been out 
 on business connected with the manufactory. Thee might see him 
 in the morning, at his breakfast hour." 
 
 Jane rose and thanked the Quaker. " I will certainly go," she 
 said. 
 
 " There is no need to say to him that I suggested it to thee, 
 friend. Go as of thy own accord." 
 
 Jane went home with her little girl. Their undesirable visitor 
 looked out at the study door, and began a battle about supper. It 
 ought to comprise, in his opinion, meat and beer. He insisted that 
 one of the boys should go out for beer. Jane steadily refused,
 
 92 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 She was tempted to tell him that the children of a gentleman were 
 not despatched to public-houses on such errands. She offered hmi 
 the money to go and get some for himself. 
 
 It aroused his anger. He accused her of wanting to get him out 
 of the house by stratagem, that she might lock hm\ out ; and he 
 lung the pence back amongst them, Janey screamed, and Gar 
 burst out crying. As Patience had said, he was not a pleasant 
 inmate, Jane ran upstairs, and the children followed her. 
 
 " Where is he to sleep ? " inquired William. 
 
 It is a positive fact that, until that moment. Jane had forgotten 
 all about the sleeping. Of course he must sleep there, though she 
 had not thought of it. Amidst the poor in her father's parish in 
 London, Jane had seen many phases of distress; but with this 
 particular annoyance she had never been brought into contact. 
 However, it had to be done. 
 
 What a night that was for her ? She paced her room nearly 
 throughout it, with quiet movement, Janey sleeping placidly — now 
 giving way to all the dark appearances of her position, to uncon- 
 trollable despondency ; now kneeling and crying for help in her 
 heartfelt anguish. 
 
 Morning came ; the black frost had gone, and the sun shone. 
 After breakfast Jane put on her shawl and bonnet. 
 
 Mr. Ashley's residence was very near to them — only a little higher 
 up the road. It was a large house, almost a mansion, surrounded 
 by a beautiful garden, Jane had passed it two or three times, and 
 thought what a nice place it was. She repeatedly saw Mr, Ashley 
 walk past her house, as he went to or came from the manufactory : 
 she was not a bad reader of countenances, and she judged him to 
 be a thorough gentleman. His face was a refined one, his manner 
 pleasant. 
 
 She lound that she had gone at an untoward time. Standing 
 before the hall door was Mr, Ashley's open carriage, the groom 
 standing at the horse's head. Even as jane ascended the steps 
 the door opened, and Mr, and Mrs, Ashley were coming forth. 
 Feeling terribly distressed and disappointed, she scarcely defined why, 
 Jane accosted the former, and requested a few minutes' interview. 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at her. A fair young widow, evidently a lady. 
 He did not recognize her. He had seen her before, but she was in 
 a different style of dress now. 
 
 Mr, Ashley raised his hat as he replied to her. " Is your business 
 with me pressing? I was just going out." 
 
 "Indeed it is pressing," she said; "or I would not think of 
 asking to detain you," 
 
 " Then walk in," he returned, " A little delay will not make 
 much difference," 
 
 Opening the door of a small sitting-room, apparently his own, 
 he invited her to a seat near the fire. As she took it, Jane untied 
 the crape strings of her bonnet and threw back her heavy veil. 
 She was as white as a sheet, and felt choking.
 
 THOMAS ASHLEY. 03 
 
 " I fciir you arc ill," l\Ir. Ashley remarked. " Can I j;el jou 
 nnythint,'^? " 
 
 " I shall be better in a minute, thank you," she panted. " Perhaps 
 you do not know me, sir. 1 live in your house, a little lower down. 
 I am Mrs. Halliburton." 
 
 " Oh, 1 beg )our pardon, madam ; I did not remember you at 
 first. I ha\e seen you in passing." 
 
 His manner was perfectly kind and open. Not in the least like 
 that of a landlord who had just put a distress into his tenant's 
 house. 
 
 " I have come here to beseech your mercy," she began in agita- 
 tion. " I have not the rent now, but if you will consent to wait 
 until the middle of P\'bruary, it will be ready. Oh, Mr. Ashley, do 
 not oppress me for it ! Think of my situation." 
 
 " I never oppressed any one m my life," was the quiet rejoinder 
 of Mr. Ashley, spoken, however, in a somewhat surprised tone. 
 
 " Sir, it is oppression. I beg your pardon for saying so. I 
 promise that the rent shall be paid to you in a few weeks : to f©rce 
 my furniture from me now, is oppression." 
 
 " I do not understand you," returned Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " To sell my furniture under the distress will be utter ruin to 
 me and my children," she continued. " We have no resource, no 
 home ; we shall have to lie in the streets, or die. Oh, sir, do not 
 take it ! " 
 
 " But you are agitating yourself unnecessarily, Mrs. Halliburton. 
 I have no intention of taking your furniture." 
 
 " No intention, sir ! " she echoed. '" You have put in a distress." 
 
 " Put in a what ? " cried he, in unbounded surprise. 
 
 " A distress. The man has been in since ycsterd;ly morning." 
 
 I\Ir. Ashley looked at her a few moments in silence. " Did the 
 man tell you where he came from ? " 
 
 " It was Mr. Dare who put him in — acting for you. I went to 
 Mr. Dare, and he kept me waiting nearly five hours in his outer 
 office before he would see me. When he did sec me, he dcchncd to 
 hear me. All he would say was, that I must pay the rent or he 
 should take the furniture : acting for Mr. Ashley." 
 
 A strangely severe expression darkened Mr. Ashley's face. 
 " First of all, my dear lady, let me assure you that I knew nothing 
 of this, or it should ne\er have been done. I am surprised at Mr. 
 Dare." 
 
 Could she fail to trust that open countenance — that benevolent 
 eye? Her hopes rose high within her. "Sir, will you withdraw 
 the man, and give me time ? " 
 
 " I will." 
 
 The revulsion of feeling, from despair and grief, was too great. 
 She burst into tears, having struggled against them in vain. 
 ]\Ir. Ashley rose and looked irom the window ; and presently she 
 grew calmer. When he sat down again she gave him the outline 
 of her situation ; of her present dilemma ; of her hopes — poor
 
 94 J^n^S. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 hopes that they were ! — of getting a scanty Hving through lettin* 
 her rooms and doing some sewing, or by other employment. " Were 
 I to lose my furniture, it would take from me this only chance," 
 she concluded. 
 
 " You shall not lose it through me," warmly spoke Mr. Ashley. 
 "The man shall be dismissed from your house in half an hour's 
 time." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, thank you ! " she breathed, rising to leave. " I 
 have not been able to supply him with great things in the shape of 
 food, and he uses very bad language in the hearing of my children. 
 Thank you, Mr. Ashley." 
 
 He shook hands with her cordially, and attended her to the hall 
 door. Mrs. Ashley, a pretty, lady-like woman, somewhat stately 
 in general, stood there still. Well wrapped in velvet and furs, she 
 did not care to return to the warm rooms. Jane said a few words 
 of apology for detaining her, and passed on. 
 
 Mr. Ashley turned back to his room, and drew his desk towards 
 him, and began to write. His wife followed him. "Who was that, 
 Thomas ? " 
 
 "Mrs. Halliburton: our widowed tenant, next door to Samuel 
 Lynn's. You remember I told you of meeting the funeral. Two 
 litl'ie boys were following alone." 
 
 " Oh, poor little things ! yes. What did she want ? " 
 
 iVIr. Ashley made no reply : he was writing rapidly. The note, 
 when finished, was sealed and directed to Mr. Dare. He then 
 helped his wife into the carriage, took the reins, and sat down 
 beside her. The groom took his place in the seat behind, and 
 Mr. Ashley drove round the gravel drive, out at the gate, and 
 turned towards Helstonleigh. 
 
 " Thomas, you are going the wrong way ! " said Mrs. Ashley, in 
 consternation. " What are you thinking of ? " 
 
 " I shall turn directly," he answered. There was a sc\'cre look 
 upon his face, and he drove very fast, by which signs Mrs. Ashley 
 knew something had put him out. She inquired, and he gave her 
 the outline of what he had just heard. 
 
 "How could Anthony Dare act so?" involuntarily exclaimed 
 Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " I don't know. I shall give him a piece of my mind to-morrow 
 more plainly than he will like. This is not the first tmie he has 
 attempted a rascally action under cover of my name." 
 
 " Shall you lose the rent ? " 
 
 " I think not, Margaret. She said not, and she carries sincerity 
 in her face. I am sure I shall not lose it, if she can help it. If I 
 do, I must, that's all. I never yet added to the trouble of those in 
 distress, and I never will." 
 
 He pulled up at Mrs. Halliburton's house, which she had just 
 reached also. The groom came to the horse, and Mr. Ashley 
 entered. The " man " was comfortably stretched before the study 
 fire, smoking his short pipe. Up he iumpcd when he saw Mr,
 
 THOMAS ASM LEV. 95 
 
 Ashley, nnd smiif^glcd his pipe into his pocket. His offensive 
 manner had ehanged to humble servility. 
 
 " Do you know me ? " shortly inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 The man pulled his hair in token of respect. " Certainly, sir. 
 Mr. Ashley." 
 
 "Very well. Carry this note to Mr. Dare." 
 
 The man received the note in his hand, and held it there, ap- 
 parently in some perplexity. " May I leave, sir, without the 
 authority of Mr. Dare?" 
 
 " I thought you said you knew me," was Mr. Ashley's reply, 
 haughty displeasure in his tone. 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir," replied the man, pulling his hair again, and 
 making a movement of departure. " 1 suppose I hain't a-coming 
 back, sir ? " 
 
 " You are not." 
 
 He took up a small bundle tied in a blue handkerchief, which he 
 had brought with him and appeared excessively careful of, caught 
 at his battered hat, ducked his head to Mr. Ashley, and left the 
 house, the note held between his fingers. Would you like to sec 
 what it contained ? 
 
 " Dear Sir, — I find that you have levied a distress on Mrs. Halli- 
 burton's goods for rent due to me. That you should have done 
 so without my authority astonishes me much ; that you should 
 have done so at all, knowing what you do of my principles, 
 astonishes me more. I send the man back to you. The costs of 
 this procedure you will either set down to me, or pay out of your 
 own pocket, whichc\'er you may deem the more just ; but you will 
 ;/^;/ charge them to Mrs. Halliburton. Have the goodness to call 
 upon me to-morrow morning in East Street. 
 
 "Thomas Ashley." 
 
 " He will not trouble you again, Mrs. Halliburton," observed Mr. 
 Ashley, with a pleasant smile, as he went out to his carriage. 
 
 Jane stood at her window. She watched the man go towards 
 Helstonlcigh with the note; she watched Mr. Ashley step into his 
 seat, turn his horse, and drive up the road. But all things were 
 looking misty to her, for her eyes were dim. 
 
 " God did hear me," was her earnest thought.
 
 96 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XVHL 
 
 HONEY FAIR. 
 
 Helstonleigh abounded with glove manufactories. It is a trade 
 that may be said to be a blessing to the localities where it is carried 
 on, since it is one of the very few employments that furnish to the 
 poor female population easy, clean, and profitable work at tlicir own 
 homes. The evils arising to women who go out to v.ork in factories 
 have been rehearsed over and over again ; and the chief evil — -we 
 will put others out of sight — is, that it takes the married woman from 
 her home and her family. Her young children drag themsel\-es up 
 in her absence, for worse or for better ; alone they must do it, for 
 she has to be away, toiling for daily bread. There is no home 
 privacy, no home comfort, no home happiness ; the factory is their 
 life, and other interests give way to it. But with glove-making the 
 case is different. While the husbands are abroad at the manufac- 
 tories pursuing their day's work, the wives and elder daughters are 
 earning money easily and pleasantly at home. The work is clean 
 and profitable ; all that is necessary for its accomplishment being 
 common skill as a seamstress. 
 
 Not five minutes' walk from Mrs. Halliburton's house, nearer to 
 Helstonleigh, a turning out of the main road led you to quite a 
 colony of workwomen— gloveresses, as they are termed in the local 
 phraseology. It was a long, wide lane ; the houses, some larger, 
 some smaller, built on cither side of it. A road quite wide enough 
 for health, if the inhabitants had only kept it as it ought to have 
 been kept : but they did not do so. The highway was made a 
 common receptacle for refuse. It was so much easier to open the 
 kitchen door (most of the houses were entered at once by the 
 kitchen), and to "chuck" things out, /t'/^-w^/t', rather than be at the 
 trouble of conveying to the proper receptacle, the dust-heap at 
 the back. Ashes, cabbage-leaves, bones, egg-shells, potato-peelings, 
 heads and tails of herrings, choked up the gutters in front ; a dead 
 dog or cat being often added by way of variety. Occasionally a 
 solitary policeman would come, picking his way through the dirt, 
 and order it to be removed; upon which, some slight improvement 
 would be visible for a day or two. The name of this charming place 
 was Honey Fair; though, in truth, it was redolent of nothing so 
 pleasant as honey. 
 
 Of the occupants of these houses, the husbands and elder sons 
 were all glove operatives ; several of them in the manufactory of Mr. 
 Ashley. The wives sewed the gloves at home. Many a similar 
 colony to Honey Fair was there in Helstonleigh, but in hearing of 
 one set you hear of all. The trade was extensively pursued. A very 
 few of the manufactories were of the large extent that \\as Mr.
 
 HONEY FAIR. 97 
 
 Ashley's ; and they gradually descended in size, until some comprised 
 not half a score workmen, all told ; but whose masters alike dignilicd 
 themselves by the title of " manufacturer." 
 
 There flourished a shop in the general line in Honey Fair, kept by 
 a Mrs. Buffle, a great gossip. Her husband, a well-meaning, steady 
 little man, mincing in his speech and gait, scrupulously neat and 
 clean in his attire, and thence called "the dandy," was chief work- 
 man at one of the smallest of the establishments. He had three men 
 and two boys under him ; and so he styled himself the "foreman.'' 
 No one knew half so much of the affairs of their neighbours as did 
 Mrs. Buffle; no one could tell of the ill-doings and shortcomings of 
 Honey Fair as she could. Many a gloveress girl, running in at dusk 
 for a halfpenny candle, did not receive it until she had first submitted 
 to a lecture from Mrs. Buffle. Not that her custom was all of this 
 ignoble description : some of the gentlemen's houses in the neigh- 
 bourhood would deal with her in a chance way, when out of articles 
 at home. Her wares were good ; her home-cured bacon was 
 particularly good. Amidst other olfactory treats, indigenous to 
 Jloney Fair, was that of pigs and pig-sties, kept by Mrs. Buffle. 
 
 Occasionally Mrs. Halliburton would go to this shop; it was 
 nearer to her house than any other ; and, in her small way, had been 
 extensively patronised by her. Of all her customers, Mrs. Halli- 
 burton was the one who most puzzled Mrs. Buffle. In the first 
 place, she never gossiped ; in the second, though evidently a lady, 
 she would carry her purchases home herself. The very servants 
 from the large houses, coming flaunting in their smart caps, would 
 loftily order their pound of bacon or shilling's worth of eggs sent 
 home for them. Mrs. Halliburton took hers away in her own hand ; 
 and this puzzled Mrs. Buffle. " But her pays ready money," observed 
 that lady, when relating this to another customer, " so 'tain't my 
 place to grumble." 
 
 During the summer weather, whenever Jane had occasion to walk 
 through Honey Fair, on her way to this shop, she would linger to 
 admire the women at their open doors and windows, busy over their 
 nice clean work. Rocking the cradle with one foot, or jogging the 
 baby on their knees, to a tune of their own composing, their hands 
 would be ever active at their employment. Some made the gloves; 
 that i^; seamed the fingers together and put in the thumbs, and these 
 were called " makers." Some welted, or hemmed the gloves round 
 at the edge of the wrist ; these were called " welters." Some worked 
 the three ornamental lines on the back ; and these were called 
 " pointers." Some of the work was done in what was called a patent 
 machine, whereby the stitches were rendered perfectly equal. And 
 some of the stouter gloves were stitched together, instead of being 
 sewn : stitching so beautifully regular and neat, that a stranger 
 would look at it in admiration. In short, there were, and are, 
 different branches in the making and sewing of gloves, as there are 
 in most trades. > 
 
 It now struck Jane that she might find employment at this work, 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 7
 
 98 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 until better times should come round. True, she had never worked 
 at it ; but she was expert with her needle, and it was easily acquired. 
 She possessed a dry, cool hand, too ; a great thing where sewing- 
 silk, sometimes floss silk has to be used. What cared she, to lower 
 herself to the employment only dealt out to the poor .'' Was she not 
 poor herself? And who knew her in Helstonleigh ? 
 
 The day that Mr. Ashley removed the dreaded visitor from her 
 house, Jane had occasion to speak to Elizabeth Carter, her young 
 servant's mother. At dusk, putting aside the frock she was making 
 for Anna, Jane proceeded to Honey Fair, in which perfumed locality 
 Mrs. Carter lived. An agreement had been entered into that Betsy 
 should still go to Mrs. Halliburton's to do the washing (after her 
 own fashion, but Jane could not afford to be fastidious now), and 
 also what was wanted in the way of scouring — Betsy being paid 
 a trifle in return, and instructed in the mysteries of reading and 
 writing. 
 
 " 'Taint no profit," observed Mrs. Carter to a crony, " but 'taint no 
 loss. Her won't do nothing at home, let me cry after her as I will. 
 Out her goes, gampusing to this house, gampusing to that ; but not 
 a bit of work'U her stick to at home. If these new folks can keep 
 her to work a bit, so much the better ; it'll be getting her hand in ; 
 and better still, if they teaches her to read and write. Her wouldn't 
 learn nothing from the school-missis." 
 
 Not a very favourable description of Miss Betsy. But, what the 
 girl chiefly wanted, was a firm hand held over her. Her temper and 
 disposition were good ; but she was an only child, and her mother, 
 though possessing a firm hand, and a firm tongue too, in general — 
 none more so in Honey Fair — had spoilt and indulged Miss Betsy 
 until her authority was gone. 
 
 After her business was over this evening with Mrs. Carter, Jane, 
 who wanted some darning cotton, turned into I\Irs. Buffle's shop. 
 That priestess was in her accustomed place behind the counter. She 
 curtseyed twice, and spoke in a low, subdued tone, in deference to 
 the widow's cap and bonnet — to the deep mourning altogether, which 
 Mrs. Buffle's curiosity had not had the gratification of beholding 
 before. 
 
 "Would you hke it fine or coarse, mum? Here's both. 'Taint 
 a great assortment, but it's the best quality. I don't have much call 
 for darning cotton, mum : the folks round about is always at their 
 gloving work." 
 
 " But they must mend their stockings," observed Jane. 
 
 " Not they," returned Mrs. Buffle. " They'd go in naked heels, 
 numi, afi)re they'd take a needle and darn 'em up. They have look 
 to wear them untidy boots, to cover the holes, and away they go with 
 'cm, unlaced ; tongue hanging, and tag trailing half a mile behind 
 'cm. Great big slatterns, they be ! " 
 
 " They seeni alwaj's at work," remarked Jane. 
 
 "Always at work!" repeated Mrs. Buffle. "You don't know 
 much of 'cm, mum, or you'd not say it. They'll play one day, and
 
 Mrs. reece And doibbs. 99 
 
 \vork tlic next ; that's their work. It's only a few of the steady ones 
 that'll work regular, all the week through." 
 
 " What could a good, steady workwoman earn a week at the 
 glove-making ? '' 
 
 " That depends, mum, upon how close she stuck to it," responded 
 Mrs. Buffle. 
 
 " I mean, sitting closely." 
 
 "Oh, well," debated Mrs. Buffle carelessly, "she might earn ten 
 shillings a week, and do it comfortable." 
 
 Ten shillings a week! Jane's heart beat hopefully. Upon ten 
 shillings a week she might manage to exist, to keep her children 
 from starvation, until better days arose. 67/^, impelled by necessity, 
 could sit longer and closer, too, than perhaps those women did. Mrs. 
 Buffle continued, full of inward gratulation that her silent customer 
 had come round to gossip at last. 
 
 " They be the improvidentest things in the world, mum, these 
 gloveress girls. Sundays they be dressed up as grand as queens, 
 tlowcrs inside their bonnets, and ribbuns out, a-setting the churches 
 and chapels alight with their finery ; and then off for walks with 
 their sweethearts, all the afternoon and evening. Mondays is mostly 
 spent in waste, gathering of themselves at each other's houses, talking 
 and laughing, or, may be, off to the fields again — anything for idle- 
 ness. Tuesdays is often the same, and then the rest of the week 
 they has to scout over their work, to get it in on the Saturday. Ah ! 
 you don't know 'em, mum." 
 
 Jane paid for her darning cotton and came away, much to Mrs. 
 Baffle's regret. " Ten shillings a week," kept ringing in her ears. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 MRS. REECE AND DOBBS. 
 
 Jane was busy that evening ; but the following morning she went 
 into Samuel Lynn's. Patience was in the kitchen, washing currants 
 for a pudding; the maid upstairs at her work. Jane held the body 
 of Anna's frock in her hand. She wished to try it on. 
 
 "Anna is not at home," was the reply of Patience. " She is gone 
 to spend the day with Mary Ashley." 
 
 Jane felt sorry; she had been in hopes of finishing it that day. 
 " Patience," said she, " I want to ask your advice. I have been 
 thinking that I might get employment at sewing gloves. It seems 
 easy work to learn." 
 
 " Would thee like the work ? " asked Patience. " Ladies have a 
 prejudice against it, because it is the work supplied to the poor. 
 Not but that some ladies in this town, willing to eke out their means, 
 do work at it in private. They get the work brought out to them 
 and taken in."
 
 IDO MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " That would be the worst for me," observed Jane : " taking in of 
 the work. I do fear I should not like it." 
 
 " Of course not. Thee could not go to the manufactory, and 
 stand amid the crowd of women, for thy turn to be served, as one 
 of them. Wait thee an instant." 
 
 Patience dried her hands upon the roller-towel, and took Jane into 
 the best parlour, the one less frequently used. Opening a closet, she 
 reached from it a small, peculiar-looking machine, and some unmade 
 gloves : the latter were in a basket covered over with a white cloth. 
 
 " This is different work from what the women do," said she. " It 
 is what is called the French point, and is confined to a few of the 
 chief manufacturers. It is not allowed to be done publicly, lest all 
 should get hold of the stitch. Those who employ the point have it 
 done in private." 
 
 " Who does it here?" exclaimed Jane. 
 
 " I do," said Patience, laughing. " Did thee think I should be 
 like the fine ladies, ashamed to put my hand to it ? I and James 
 Meeking's wife do all that is at present being done for the Ashley 
 manufactory. But now, look thee. Samuel Lynn was saying only 
 last night, that they must search out for some other hand who would 
 be trustworthy, for they want more of the work done. It is easy to 
 learn, and I know they would give it thee. It is a little better paid 
 iy-^n the other work, too. Sit thee down and try it." 
 . Patience fixed the back of the glove in the pretty little square 
 iHachine, took the needle— a peculiar one— and showed how it was 
 to be done. Jane, in a glow of delight, accomplished some stitches 
 readily. 
 
 " I see thee would be handy at it," said Patience. " Thee can take 
 the machine indoors to-day and practise. I will give thee a piece 
 of old leather to exercise upon. In two or three days thee may be 
 quite perfect. I do not work very much at it myself, at which 
 Samuel Lynn grumbles. It is all my own profit, what I earn, so 
 that he has no selfish motive in urging me to work, except that they 
 want more of it done. But I have my household matters to attend 
 to, and Anna takes up my time. I get enough for my clothes, and 
 that is all I care for." 
 
 " I know I could do it ! I could do it well, Patience." 
 
 " Then I am sure thee may have it to do. They will supply thee 
 with a machine, and Samuel Lynn will bring thy work home and 
 take it back again, as he docs mine. He ■" 
 
 William was bursting in upon them with a beaming lace. 
 " Mamma, make haste home. Two ladies are asking to see the 
 rooms." 
 
 Jane hurried in. In the parlour sat a pleasant-looking old lady 
 in a large black silk bonnet. The other, smarter, younger (but s/te 
 must have been forty at least), and very cross-looking, wore a 
 Leghorn bonnet with green and scarlet bows. She was the old 
 lady's companion, housekeeper, servant, all combined in one, as 
 Jane found afterwards.
 
 MRS. REECE AND DOBBS. lor 
 
 " You have lodgings to let, ma'am," said the old lady. " Can we 
 see them ? " 
 
 "This is the sitting-room," Jane was beginning; but she was 
 interrupted by the smart one in a snappish tone. 
 
 " This the sitting-room ! Do you call this furnished ? " 
 
 " Don't be hasty, Dobbs," rebuked her mistress. " Hear what 
 the lady has to say." 
 
 " The furniture is homely, certainly," acknowledged Jane. " But 
 it is WQw and clean. That is a most comfortable sofa. The bed- 
 rooms are above." 
 
 The old lady said she would see them, and they proceeded up- 
 stairs. Dobbs put her head into one room, and withdrew it with a 
 shriek. " This room has no bedside carpets." 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I ha\e no bedside carpets at present," 
 said Jane, feeling all the discouragement of the avowal. " I will 
 get some as soon as I possibly can, if any one taking the rooms 
 will kindly do without them for a little while." 
 
 " Perhaps we might, Dobbs," suggested the old lady, who appeared 
 to be of an accommodating, easy nature ; readily satisfied. 
 
 " Begging your pardon, ma'am, you'll do nothing of the sort," 
 returned Dobbs. " We should have you doubled up with cramp, if 
 you clapped your feet on to a cold floor. / am not going to do it." 
 
 " 1 never do have cramp, Dobbs." 
 
 " Which is no reason, ma'am, why you never should," authorita- 
 tively returned Dobbs. 
 
 " What a lovely view from these back wiildows ! " exclaimed the 
 old lady. " Dobbs, do you see the Malvern Hills .^" 
 
 " We don't eat and drink views," testily responded Dobbs. 
 
 " They are pleasant to look at though," said her mistress. " I 
 like these rooms. Is there a closet, ma'am, or small apartment 
 that we could have for our trunks, if we came ? " 
 
 " We are not coming," interrupted Dobbs, before Jane could 
 answer. " Carpetless floors won't suit us, ma'am." 
 
 " There is a closet here, over the entrance," said Jane to the old 
 lady, as she opened the door. " Our own boxes are in it now, but I 
 can have them moved upstairs." 
 
 " So there's a cock-loft, is there?" put in Dobbs. 
 
 "A what?" cried Jane, who had never heard the word. "There 
 is nothing upstairs but an attic. A garret, as it is called here." 
 
 " Yes," burst forth Dobbs, " it is called a garret by them that 
 want to be fine. Cock-loft is good enough for us decent folk : weV>: 
 never called it anything else. Who sleeps up there?" she sum- 
 marily demanded. 
 
 " Aiy little boys. This was their room, but 1 have put them up- 
 stairs that I may let this one." 
 
 '• There ma'am ! " said Dobbs, triumphantly, as she turned to her 
 mistress. " \'ou"ll believe me another time, 1 hope! I told you I 
 knew there was a pack of children. One of 'em opened the door 
 tQ us,"
 
 I02 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Perhaps they are quiet children," said the old lady, -who had 
 been so long used to the grumbling and domineering of Dobbs, that 
 she took it as a matter of course. 
 
 "They are, indeed," said Jane, "quiet, good children. I will 
 answer for it that they will not disturb you in any way." 
 
 " I should like to see the kitchen, ma'am," said the old lady. 
 
 "We only want the use of it," snapped Dobbs. "Our kitchen 
 fire goes out after dinner, and I boil the kettle for tea in the 
 parlour." 
 
 " Would attendance be required ?" asked Jane of the old lady. 
 
 " No, it wouldn't," answered Dobbs, in the same tart tone. " I 
 wait upon my missis, and I wait upon myself, and we have a woman 
 in to do the cleaning, and the washing goes out." 
 
 The answer gave Jane great relief. Attending upon lodgers had 
 been a dubious prospect, in more respects than one. 
 
 " It's a very good kitchen," said the old lady, as they went in, 
 and she turned round in it. 
 
 " I'll be bound it smokes," said Dobbs. 
 
 " No, it does not," replied Jane. 
 
 " Where's the coalhouse ? " asked Dobbs. "Is there two ? " 
 
 " Only one," said Jane. " It is at the back of the kitchen." 
 
 " Then — if we did come — where could our coal be put .'' " fiercely 
 demanded Dobbs. " I must have my coalhouse to myself, with a 
 lock and key. I don't want the house's fires supplied from my 
 missis's coal." 
 
 Jane's cheeks flushed as she turned to the old lady. " Allow me 
 to assure you that your property — of whatever nature it may be — 
 will be perfectly sacred in this house. Whether locked up or not, 
 it will be left untouched by me and mine." 
 
 "To be sure, ma'am," pleasantly returned the old lady. "I'm 
 not" afraid. You must not mind what Dobbs says : she means 
 nothing." 
 
 " And our safe for meat and butter," proceeded that undaunted 
 functionary. " Is there a key to it ? " 
 
 "And now about the rent?" said the old lady, giving Jane no 
 time to answer that there was a key. 
 
 Jane hesitated. And then, with a flush, asked twenty shillings 
 a-week. 
 
 " My conscience I " uttered Dobbs. " Twenty shillings a-week. 
 And us finding spoons and linen ! " 
 
 " Dobbs," said the old lady. " I don't see that it is so very out 
 of the way. A parlour, two bedrooms, a closet, and the kitchen, all 
 furnished — — • " 
 
 " The closet's an empty, dark hole, and the kitchen's only the use 
 of it, and the bedrooms are carpetlcss," reiterated Dobbs, drowning 
 her mistress's voice. " But, if anybody asked you for your head, 
 ma'am, you'd just cut it off and give it, if I wasn't at hand to stop 
 you." 
 
 "\Vcll, Dobbs, we have scon nothing else to suit us up here.
 
 MRS. REFXE AND DOBBS. 103 
 
 And you know I want to settle myself at this end of the town, on 
 account of it being high and dry. Parry says I must." 
 
 "Wc have not half looked yet," said Dobbs. 
 
 " A pound a-weck is a good price, ma'am ; and we have not paid 
 quite so much \\ here we are : but I don't know that it's unreason- 
 able," continued the old lady to Jane. '"What shall we do, Dobbs?" 
 
 " Do, ma'am ! Why, of course you'll come out, and try higher 
 up. To take these rooms without looking out for others, would 
 be as bad as buying a pig in a poke. Come along, ma'am. Bed- 
 rooms without carpets won't do for us at any price," she added to 
 Jane by way of a parting salutation. 
 
 They left the house, the lady with a cordial good morning, Dobbs 
 with none at all ; and went quarrelling up the road. That is, the 
 old lady reasoning, and Dobbs disputing. The former proposed, if 
 they saw nothing to suit them better, to purchase bedside carpeting : 
 upon which Dobbs accused her of wanting to bring herself to tho 
 workhouse. 
 
 Patience, who had watched them away, from her parlour window, 
 came in to learn the success. She brought in with her the machine, 
 a plain piece of leather, the size of the back of a glove, neatly fixed 
 in it. .Jane's tears were falling. 
 
 " I think they would have taken them had there been bedside 
 carpets," sighed she. "Oh, Patience, what a help it would havo 
 been ! I asked a pound a week." 
 
 " Did thee? That was a good price, considering thee would not 
 have to give attendance." 
 
 " How do you know I should not?" asked Jane. 
 
 " Because I know Hannah Dobbs waits upon her mistress," 
 replied Patience. " She is the widow of Joseph Reece, and he left 
 her well off. I heard they were coming to live up this way. Did 
 they quite decline them ? Because, I can tell thee what. We have 
 some strips of bedside carpet not being used, and I would not mind 
 lending them till thee can buy others. It is a pity thee should lose 
 the letting for the sake of a bit of carpet." 
 
 Jane looked up gratefully. " What should I have done without 
 you. Patience?" 
 
 " Nay, it is not much : thee art welcome. I would not risk the 
 carpet with unknown people, but Hannah Dobbs is cleanly and 
 careful." 
 
 " She has a very repelling manner," observed Jane. 
 
 " It is not agreeable," assented Patience, with a smile; " l)ut she 
 is attached to her mistress, and serves her faithfully." 
 
 Jane sat down to practise upon the leather, watching the road 
 at the same time. In about an hour she saw Mrs. Reece and 
 Dobbs returning. William went out, and asked if they would step in. 
 
 They were already coming. They had seen nothing they liked 
 so well. Jane said she believed she could promise them bedside 
 carpets. 
 
 " Then, I think we will decide, ma'am, said the old lady. " We
 
 I04 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 saw one set of rooms, very nice ones ; and they asked only seven- 
 teen shillings a-wcek : but they have a young man lodger, a pupil 
 at the infirmary, and he comes home at all hours of the night. 
 Dobbs questioned them till they confessed that it was so." 
 
 " I know what them infirmary pupils is," indignantly put in 
 Dobbs. " I am not going to suffer my missis to come in contract 
 with their habits. There ain't one of 'em as thinks anything of 
 stopping out till morning light. And before the sun's up they'll 
 have a pipe in their mouths, filling the house with smoke! It's 
 said, too, that there's mysterious big boxes brought to 'em, for 
 what they call the 'furtherance of science:' perhaps some of the 
 churchyard sextons could tell what's in 'em !" 
 
 "Well, Dobbs. I think we may take this good lady's rooms. 
 I'm sure we shan't get better suited elsewhere." 
 
 Dobbs only grunted. She was tired with her walk, and had 
 really no objection to the rooms ; except as to price : that, she 
 persisted in disputing as outrageous. 
 
 " I suppose you would not take less," said the old lady to Jane. 
 
 Jane hesitated ; but it was impossible for her to be otherwise 
 than candid and truthful. " I would take a trifle less, sooner than 
 not let you the rooms ; but I am very poor, and every shilling is a 
 consideration to me." 
 
 " Well, I will take them at the price," concluded the good- 
 natured old lady. "And Dobbs, if you grumble, I can't help it. 
 Can we come in— let me see? — this is Wednesday — ■ — " 
 
 " I won't come in on a Friday for anybody," interrupted Dobbs 
 fiercely. 
 
 "We will come in on Tuesday next, ma'am," decided the old 
 lady. "Before that, I'll send in a trolley of coal, if you'll be so 
 kind as receive it." 
 
 " And to lock it up," snapped Dobbs. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE GLOVE OPERATIVES. 
 
 At the hours of going to and leaving work, the Helstonleigh streets 
 were alive with glove operatives, some being in one branch of the 
 trade, some in another. There were parers, grounders, leather- 
 sorters, dyers, cutters, makers-up, and else: all being necessary, 
 besides the sewing, to turn out one pair of gloves ; though, I dare 
 say, you did not think it. The wages varied according to the par- 
 ticular work, or the men's ability and industry, from fifteen shillings 
 a week to twenty-five : but all could earn a good living. If a man 
 gained more than twenty-five, he had a stated salary; as was the 
 case with the foremen. These wages, joined to what was earned 
 by the women, were sufficient to maintain a comfortable home, and
 
 THE GLOVE OPERATIVES. icj 
 
 to bring up children decently. Unfortunately the same draw- 
 backs prevailed in Helstonlcigh that are but too common elsewhere : 
 and they may be classed under one general head — improvidence. 
 The men were given to idling away at the public-houses more 
 time than was good for theni : the women to scold and to quarrel. 
 Some were slatterns ; and a great many gave their husbands the 
 welcome of a home of discomfort, ill-management, and dirt : which, 
 of course, had the effect of sending them out all the more surely. 
 
 Just about this period, the men had their especial grievance — or 
 thought they had : and that was, a low rate of wages and not full 
 employment. Had they paid a visit to other places and compared 
 their wages with some earned by operatives of a different class, 
 they had found less cause to complain. The men were rather 
 given to compare present wages with those they had earned before 
 the dark crisis (dark so far as Helstonleigh's trade was concerned) 
 when the British ports were opened to foreign gloves. l>ut few, 
 comparatively speaking, of the manufacturers had weathered that 
 storm. Years had elapsed since then ; but the employment re- 
 mained scarce, and the wages (I have quoted them to you) low. 
 Altogether, the men were, many of them, dissatisfied. They even 
 went so far as to talk of a "strike:" strikes being less common in 
 those days than they are in these. 
 
 It was Saturday night, and the streets were crowded. The 
 hands were pouring out of the different manufactories; clean-look- 
 ing, respectable workmen, as a whole : for the branches of glove- 
 making are for the hiost part of a cleanly nature. Some wore 
 their white aprons ; some had rolled them up round their waists. 
 A few — very few, it must be owned — were going to their homes, but 
 the greater portion were bound for the public-house. 
 
 One of the most extensively patronised of the public-houses was 
 The Cutters' Arms. On a Saturday night, when the men's 
 pockets were lined, this would be crowded. The men flocked into 
 it now, and filled it, although its room of entertainment was very 
 large. The order from most of them was a pint of mild ale and 
 some tobacco. 
 
 "Any news, Joe Fisher?" asked a man, when the pipes were set 
 going. 
 
 Joe Fisher tossed his head and growled. He was a tall, dark 
 man ; clothes and condition both dilapidated. The questioner took 
 a few whiffs, and repeated his question. Joe growled again, but 
 did not speak. 
 
 " Well, you might give a chap a civil answer, Fisher." 
 
 " What's the matter, you two.''" cried a third. 
 
 "Ben Wilks asks me is there any news!" called out Fisher, 
 indignantly. " I thought he might ha' heered on't without asking. 
 Our pay was docked again to-night ; that's the news." 
 
 "No! "uttered Wilks. 
 
 " It were," said Fisher savagely. "A shilling a week less, good. 
 Who's a-going to stand it?"
 
 lo6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " There ain't no help for standing it," interposed a quiet-looking 
 man, named Wheeler. " I suppose the masters is forced to lower. 
 They say so." 
 
 " Have your master forced hisself to it?" angrily retorted Fisher. 
 
 "Well, Fisher, you know I'm fortunate. As all is, that gets in 
 to work at Ashley's." 
 
 "And precious good care they take to stop in!" cried Fisher, 
 much aggravated. " No danger that Ashley's hands'U give way 
 and afford outsiders a chance." 
 
 "Why should they give way?" sensibly asked Wheeler. " Von 
 need never think to get in at Ashley's, Fisher, so there's no cause 
 for you to grumble." 
 
 A titter went round at Fisher's expense. He did not like it. " I 
 might stand my chance with others, if there was room. Who says 
 I couldn't? Come, now!" 
 
 A man laughed. " You had better ask Samuel Lynn that ques- 
 tion, Fisher. Why, he wouldn't look at you ! You are not steady 
 enough for him." 
 
 " Samuel Lynn may go along for a ill-natured l^road-brim !" was 
 Fisher's retort. " There'd not be half the difficulty in getting in 
 with Mr. Ashley hisself." 
 
 " Yes, there would," said Wheeler, quietly. " Mr. Ashley pays 
 first wages, and he'll have first hands. Quaker Lynn knows what 
 he's about." 
 
 " Don't dispute alxnit nothing, Fisher," interrupted a voice, borne 
 through the clouds of smoke from the far end of the room. " To 
 lose a shilling a week is bad, but not so bad as losing all. I have 
 heard ill news this evening." 
 
 Fisher stretched up his long neck. "Who's that a-talking? Is 
 it Mr. Crouch?" 
 
 It was Stephen Crouch ; the foreman in a large firm, and a 
 respectable, intelligent man. " Do you remember, any of you, that 
 a report arose some time ago about Wilson and King? A report 
 that died away again?" 
 
 "That they were on their last legs," replied several voices. 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, they are off them now," continued Stephen Crouch. 
 
 Up rose a man, his voice shaking with emotion. " It's not true, 
 Mr. Crouch, sure— ly !" ' , t -n 
 
 " It is, Vincent. Wilson and King are going to wind up. It will 
 be announced next week." 
 
 " Mercy help us ! There'll be forty more hands throwed out ! 
 What's to become of us all?" 
 
 A dead silence fell on the room. Vincent broke it. Hope is 
 strong in the human heart. " Mr. Crouch, I don't think it can be 
 true. Our wages was all paid up to-night. And we have not 
 heard a breath on't." 
 
 " I Icnow all that," said Stephen Crouch. " I know where the 
 money came from to pay them. It came from Mr. Ashley."
 
 THE GLOVE OPERATIVES. 107 
 
 The assertion astonished the room. " From Mr. Ashley ! Did 
 he tell it abroad?" 
 
 "■ He tell it ! " indignantly returned Stephen Crouch. " Mr. Ashley 
 is an honourable man. No. Wilson and King have a tattler too 
 near to them ; that's how it came out. Not but what it would have 
 been known all over Helstonleigh on Monday, all particulars. 
 Every sixpence, pictty near, that Wilson and King have, is locked 
 up in their stock. 'I'hey expected remittances by the London mail 
 this morning, and they did not come. They went to the bank. 
 The bank was shy, and would not make advances ; and they had 
 nothing in hand for wages. They went to INIr. Ashley and told 
 him their perplexity, and he drew a cheque. The bank cashed that, 
 with a bow. And if it had not been for Mr. Ashley, Ned \'incent, 
 you and the rest of their hands would have gone home to-night with 
 empty pockets." 
 
 '■ Will Mr. Ashley lose the money?" 
 
 " Not he. He knew there was no danger of that, when he lent 
 it. Nobody will lose by Wilson and King. They have more than 
 enough to pay everybody in full ; only their money's locked up. 
 
 " Why are they giving up ? " 
 
 " Because they can't keep on. They have been losing a long 
 while. What do you ask — what will they do ? They must do as 
 others have done before them, who have been unable to keep on. 
 If Wilson and King had given up ten years ago, they had then 
 each a nice little bit of property to retire upon. But it has been 
 sunk since. There are too many others in this city in the same 
 case." 
 
 " And what's to become of us hands that's throwcd out ? " asked 
 Vincent, returning to his own personal grievance. 
 
 " You must try and get taken on somewhere else, Vincent," ob- 
 served Stephen Crouch. 
 
 " There ain't a better cutter than Ned \'incent going," cried 
 another voice. " He won't wait long." 
 
 "I don't know about that," returned \'incent gloomily. "The 
 masters is overdone with hands." 
 
 " Ot all the bad luck as ever fell upon a town, the opening of the 
 ports to them foreign French was the worst for Helstonleigh," broke 
 in the intemperate voice of Fisher. 
 
 " Hold th' tongue, Fisher ! " exclaimed a sensible voice. " Wc 
 won't get into them discussions again. Didn't we go over 'em, 
 night after night, and year after year, till we were heart-sick ? — and 
 what did they ever bring us, but ill-feeling? It's done, and it can't 
 be undone. The ports be open, and they'll never be closed again." 
 
 " Did the opening of 'em ruin the trade of Helstonleigh, or didn't 
 It ? Answer me that," said Fisher. 
 
 " It did. We know it to our cost," was the sad answer. " But 
 there's no help for it." 
 
 " Oh," returned P'ishcr ironically. " I thought you were going to 
 hold out that the opening of 'em was a boon' to the place, "and the
 
 io8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 keeping 'em open a blessing. That 'ud be a new dodge. W/iy do 
 they keep 'em open ? " 
 
 " Just hark at P'isher ! " said Mr. Buffle in a mincing tone. " He 
 wants to know why Government keeps open the British ports. 
 Don't every dozen of gloves that comes into the country pay 
 a heavy duty.'' Is it likely Government would give up that, 
 Fisher ? " 
 
 " What did they do afore they had it ? roared Fisher. " If they 
 did without the duty then, they could do without it now." 
 
 " I have heered of some gents as never tasted sugar," returned 
 Mr. Buffle ; " but I never heered of one, who had the liking for it, 
 as was willing to forego the use of it. It's a case in pint ; the 
 Government have tasted the sweets of the glove-duty, and they stick 
 to it." 
 
 " Avaricious v.-olves I " growled Fisher. " But you are a fool, 
 dandy, for all that. What's a bit of paltry duty, alongside of our 
 wants? If a few of them great Government lords had to go on 
 empty stomachs for a month, they'd know what the opening of ports 
 means." 
 
 " In all political changes, such as this, certain localities must 
 suffer," broke in the quiet voice of Stephen Crouch. " It will be 
 the means of increasing commerce wonderfully ; and we, that the 
 measure crushed, must be content to suffer for the general good. 
 The effects to us can never be undone. I know what you would 
 say, Fisher," he continued, silencing Fisher by a gesture. " I know 
 that the ports might be re-closed to-morrow, if Government so 
 willed it. But it could not undo for us what has been done. It 
 could not repair the ruin that was wrought on Helstonleigh. It 
 could not reinstate firms in business ; or refund to the masters their 
 wasted capital ; or collect the hands it scattered over the country, 
 to find a bit of work, to beg, or to starve ; or bring the dead back to 
 life. It could not do any of this. Neither would it restore a flourish- 
 ing trade to those of us who are left." 
 
 " What's that last. Crouch ? " 
 
 "It never would," emphatically repeated Stephen Crouch. "A 
 shattered trade cannot be brought together again. It is like a 
 shattered glass : you may mourn over the pieces, but you cannot 
 put them together. Believe me, or not, as )ou please, my friends, 
 but the only thing remaining for Helstonleigh is, to make the best 
 of what is left to us. There are other trades a deal worse off now 
 than we are." 
 
 " I have talked to ye about that there move — a strike," resumed 
 Fisher, after a pause. " We shall get no good till we try it " 
 
 " P'isher, don't you be a fool and show it," was the imperative 
 interruption of Stephen Crouch. " I have explained to you till I 
 am tired, what would be the effects of a strike. It would just finish 
 you bad workmen up, and send you and your children into the 
 nearest dry ditch for a tioor, with the open skies above you for a 
 roof."
 
 THE GLOVE OPERATIVES. 109 
 
 " \Vc have never tried a strike in Helstonleigh," answered Fisher, 
 holding to his own opinion. 
 
 " And I trust we never shall," returned the intelhgent foreman. 
 " Other trades may have their strikes if they choose, and it's not 
 our business to tind fault with them for it ; but the glove trade has 
 hitherto kept itself aloof from strikes, and it's to be hoped it always 
 will. You cannot understand how a strike works, Joe Fisher, or 
 you'd not let your head be running on it." 
 
 " Others' heads be running on it as well as mine. Master Crouch," 
 said Fisher, nodding significantly. 
 
 "It is not improbable," was the equable rejoinder of Stephen 
 Crouch. " Go and strike next week, half a dozen of you. I mean 
 the operatives of half a dozen firms." 
 
 " Every firm in the place must strike," interrupted Fisher hastily. 
 " A few on us doing it, would only make bad worse." 
 
 Stephen Crouch smiled. " Exactly. But the difficulty, Fisher, 
 will be, that all the firms luon't strike. Ask the men in our firm to 
 strike ; ask those in Ashley's ; ask others that we could name — and 
 wliat would their answer be ? Why, that they know when they arc 
 well off. Suppose, for argument's sake, that we did all strike ; suppose 
 all the hands in Helstonleigh struck next Monday morning, and the 
 manufactories had to be closed ? Who would have the worst of it 1 
 —wQ. ? or the masters .'' " 
 
 "The masters," returned Fisher in an obstinate tone. 
 
 " No. The masters have good houses over their heads, and their 
 bankers' books to supply their wants while they are waiting — and 
 their orders are not so great that they need fear much pressure on 
 that score. The London houses would dispatch a few extra orders 
 to Paris and Grenoble, and the masters here might enjoy a nice 
 little trip to the seaside while our senses were coming back to us. 
 But where should we be ? Out at elbows, out at pocket, out at 
 heart ; some starving, some in the workhouse. If you want to avoid 
 those contingencies, Joe Fisher, you'll keep from strikes." 
 
 Fisher answered by an ironical cheer. *■ Here, missis," said he to 
 the landlady, who was then passing him, "let's have another pint, 
 after that." 
 
 " That'll make nine pints that you owe for since Monday night, 
 Joe Fisher," responded the landlady. 
 
 "What if it do?" grunted Fisher irascibly. " I am able to pay. 
 / ain't out of work."
 
 no MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE LADIES OF HONEY FAIR. 
 
 It was Saturday night in Honey Fair. A night when the ladies 
 were at leisure to abandon themselves to their private pursuits. 
 The work of the past week had gone into the warehouses ; and the 
 fresh work, brought out, would not be begun until Monday 
 morning. Some of them, as Mrs. Buffle has informed us, did not 
 begin it then. The women chiefly cleaned their houses and 
 mended their clothes: some washed and ironed — Honey Fair was 
 not famous for its management — not going to bed till Sunday 
 morning ; some did their marketing ; and a few, careless and lazy, 
 spent it in running from house to house, or congregated in the road 
 to gossip. 
 
 About half-past eight, one of the latter suddenly pulled the latch 
 of a house door, and thrust in her head. It was Joe Fisher's wife. 
 Her face was red, and her cap in tatters. 
 
 "Is our Becky in here, Mrs. Carter ? " 
 
 Mrs. Carter was busy. She was the maternal parent of Miss 
 Betsy. Her kitchen fire was out, her furniture was heaped one 
 thing upon another; a pail of water stood ready to wash the brick 
 floor, when she should have finished rubbing up the grate, and her 
 hands and face were as grimy as the black-lead. 
 
 " There's no Becky here," snapped she. 
 
 " I can't find her," returned Mrs. Fisher. " I thought her might 
 be along of your Betsy. I say, here's your husband coming round 
 the corner. There's Mark Alason, and Robert East, and Dale 
 along of him. And — my ! what has that young 'un of East's 
 been doing to hisself .-^ He's black from head to foot. Come and 
 look." 
 
 Mrs. Carter disdained the invitation. She was a hard-working, 
 thrifty woman, but a cross one. Priding herself upon her cleanli- 
 ness, she perpetually returned loud thanks that she was not as 
 the dirty ones around her. She was the Pharisee amidst many 
 publicans. 
 
 "If I passed my time staring and gossiping as some does, 
 where 'ud my work be ? " was her rebuke. " Shut the door, Suke 
 Fisher," 
 
 Suke Fisher did as she was bid. She turned her wrists back 
 upon her hij)s, and walked to meet the advancing party, having 
 discerned their approach l)y the light of the gas-lamps. " Be you 
 going to be sold for a blackamoor ? " demanded she of the boy. 
 
 The boy laughed. His head, face, shoulders, hands, were orna- 
 mented with a thick, black liquid, not unlike blacking. He ap- 
 peared to enjoy the treat, as if he had been anointed with some 
 fragrant oil.
 
 THE LADIES OF HONEY EAIR. lil 
 
 "He is not a bad spectacle, is he, Dame Fisher?" remarked the 
 young man, whom she had called Robert East. 
 
 ''What's a-done it?" questioned she. 
 
 " Him and Jacky Brumm got larking, and upset the dye-pot upon 
 themselves. \\'e rubbed 'em down with the leather shreds, but it 
 keeps on dripping from their hair." 
 
 " Won't Charlotte warm his back for him ! " apostrophized Mrs. 
 Fisher. 
 
 The boy threw a disdainful look at her, in return for the remark. 
 " Charlotte's not so fond of warming backs. She never even scolds 
 for an accident." 
 
 The boy and Robert East were half-brothers. They entered one 
 of the cottages. Robert East and his sister were between twenty 
 and thirty, and the boy was ten. Their mother had died early, 
 and the young boy's mother, their father's second wife, died when the 
 child was born. The father also died. How Robert and his sister, 
 the one then seventeen, the other fourteen, had struggled to make 
 a living for themselves, and to bring up the baby, they alone knew. 
 The manner in which they had succeeded was a marvel to many : 
 none were more respectable now than they were, in all Honey Fair. 
 
 Charlotte, neat and nice, sat by her bright kitchen fire, a savoury 
 stew cooking on the hob beside it. It was her custom to have 
 something good for supper on a Saturday night. Did she make 
 home attractive on that night to draw her brother from the seductions 
 of the public-house? Most likely. And she had her reward: for 
 Robert never failed to come. The cloth was laid, the red bricks of 
 the floor were clean, and Charlotte's face, as she looked up from 
 her stocking-mending, was bright. It darkened to consternation, 
 however, when she cast her eyes on the boy. 
 
 " Tom, what have you been doing ? " 
 
 " Jacky Brumm threw a pot of dye over mc, Charlotte." 
 
 " There's not much real damage, Charlotte," interposed her 
 brother. " It looks worse than it is. I'll get it out of his hair 
 presently, and put his clothes into a pail of water. What have you 
 got to-night ? It smells good." 
 
 He alluded to supper, and took off the lid of the saucepan to 
 peep in. She had some stewed beef, with carrots, and the savoury 
 steam ascended to Robert's pleased face. 
 
 'V'^ery few in Honey Fair managed as did Charlotte East. How 
 she did her house-work no one knew. Not a woman, married or 
 single, got through more glovc-scwing than Charlotte. Not one 
 kept her house in better order : and her clothes and brothers' were 
 neat and respectable, week-days as well as Sundays. Her work 
 was taken in to the warehouse on Saturday mornings, and her 
 marketing was done. In the afternoon she cleaned her house, 
 and by four o'clock was ready to sit down to her mending. No one 
 ever saw her in a bustle, and yet all her work was done ; and well 
 done. Perhaps one great secret of it was, that she rose very early 
 in the morning, winter and summer.
 
 112 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Look, Robert, here is a nice book I have bought," said she, 
 putting a periodical into his hands. " It comes out weekly. I shall 
 take it in." 
 
 Robert turned over the leaves. " It seems very interesting," he 
 said presently. " Here's a paper that tells all about the Holy 
 Land. And another that tells us how glass is made ; I have often 
 wondered." 
 
 " You can read it to us of an evening while I work," said she. 
 " It will be quite a help to our getting on Tom : almost as good as 
 sending him to school. I gave ■" 
 
 The words were interrupted. The door was violently burst open, 
 and a woman entered the kitchen ; knocking at doors, before entering, 
 was not the fashion in Honey Fair. The intruder was Mrs. Brumm. 
 
 " I say, Robert East, did you see anything of my husband?" 
 
 " I saw him go into the Horned Ram." 
 
 " Then I wish the Horned Ram was into him ! " wrathfully retorted 
 Mrs. Brumm. " He vowed faithfully he'd come home with his wages 
 the first thing after leaving work. He knows I have not a thing in 
 the place for to-morrow — and Dame Buffle looking out for her 
 money. I have a good mind to go down to the Horned Ram, and 
 be on to him ! " 
 
 Robert East offered no opinion upon this delicate point. He 
 remembered the last time Mrs. Brumm had gone to the Horned 
 Ram to be " on " to her husband, and what it had produced. A 
 midnight cjuarrel that disturbed the slumbers of Honey Fair. 
 
 " Who was along of him .'' " pursued she. 
 
 " Three or four of them. Hubbard and Jones, I saw go in ; and 
 Adam Thorneycroft." 
 
 A quick rising of the head, as if startled, and a faint accession of 
 colour, told that one of those names had struck, perhaps unpleasantly, 
 on the ear of Charlotte East. " Where are your own earnings ? " 
 she asked of Mrs. Brumm. 
 
 " I have had to take them to Bnnkes's," was the rueful reply. 
 " It's a good deal now, and they're in a regular tantrum this week, 
 and wouldn't even wait till Monday. They threatened to tell Brumm, 
 and it frightened me out of my seventeen senses. And now, for 
 him to go into that dratted Horned Ram with his wages! and me 
 without a penny-piece ! It's not more for the necessaries I want to 
 get in, than for the things that is in pawn. I can't iron nothing : the 
 irons is there." 
 
 Charlotte, busy still, turned round. " 1 would not put in irons, 
 and such things, that I wanted to use." 
 
 " I dare say you wouldn't ! " tartly responded Mrs. Brumm. 
 " One has to put in what one's got, and the things our husbands 
 won't miss the siglit of. It's fine to be you, Charlotte East, setting 
 yourself up for a l:idy, and never putting your foot inside the pawn- 
 shop, with your clean hands and your clean kitchen on a Satur- 
 day night, silting down to a hot supper, while the rest of us is 
 a-scrubbing! "
 
 THE LADIES OF HONEY FAU<. 113 
 
 Charlotte laughed £^ood-humourcdly. " If I tried to set myself 
 up for a lady, I could not be one. I work as hard as anybody; 
 only I get it done betimes." 
 
 Mrs. Brumm sniffed — having no ready answer at hand. And 
 at that moment Tom East, encased in black, peeped out of the 
 brewhouse, where he had been sent by Charlotte to wash the djc 
 off his hands. " Sakes alive ! " uttered Mrs. Brumm, aghast at the 
 sight. 
 
 " Jacky's worse than me," responded Tom, rather proud of 
 having to say so much. Robert explained to her how it had 
 happened. 
 
 " And our Jacky's as bad as that ! " she cried. " Won't I wring 
 it out of him ! " 
 
 " Nonsense," said Robert ; " it was an accident. Boys will be 
 boys." 
 
 " Yes, they will : and it's not the men that have to wash for 'em 
 and keep 'em clean ! " retorted Mrs. Brumni, terribly wrathful. 
 "And me at a standstill for my irons! And that beast of a Brumm 
 stopping out." 
 
 " I will lend you my irons," said Charlotte. 
 
 " I won't take 'em," was the ungracious reply. " If I don't get 
 my own, 1 won't borrow none. Brumm, he'll be looking out for his 
 Sunday clean shirt to-morrow, and he won't get it ; and that'll punish 
 him more than anything else. There's not a man in Honey Fair 
 as likes to go sprucer on a Sunday than Brun^.m." 
 
 " So much the better," said Charlotte. " When men lose pride in 
 their appearance, they are apt to lose it in their conduct." 
 
 " You must always put in your word for folks, Charlotte East, let 
 'em be ever so bad," was Mrs. Brumm's parting salutation, as she 
 went off and shut the door with a bang. 
 
 Meanwhile Timothy Carter, Mrs. Carter's husband, had turned 
 into his own dwelling, after leaving Robert East. The first thing 
 to greet him was the pail of water. Mrs. Carter had completed her 
 grate, and was dashing her water on to the Hoor. Timothy received 
 it on his legs. 
 
 " What's that for ? " demanded Timothy, who was a meek and 
 timid little man. 
 
 " Why do you brush in so sharp, then ? " cried she. " Who was 
 to know you was a-coming .'' " 
 
 Timothy had not " brushed in sharp ; " he had gone in quietly. 
 He stood ruefully shaking the wet from his legs, first one, then the 
 other, and afterwards began to pick his w^y on tiptoe towards the 
 fireplace. 
 
 " Now, it's of no use your attempting to sit down yet," rebuked 
 his wife, in her usual cross accent. " There ain't no room for you 
 at the fire, and there ain't no warmth in it; it's but this blessed 
 minute lighted. Sit yourself on that table, again the wall, and then 
 your legs '11 be in the dry." 
 
 " And there I may sit for an hour, for you'll be all that time 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. b
 
 114 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 before you have finished, by the loolvS on't," he ventured to 
 remonstrate. 
 
 " And half another hour to the end of it," answered she. " There's 
 Betsy, as ought to be helping, gadding out somewhere ever since 
 she came home at seven o'clock." 
 
 " You says to me, says you, ' You come home to-night, Tim, as 
 soon as work's over, and don't go drinking ! ' You know you did," 
 repeated Timothy in an injured tone. 
 
 " And it's a good thing as you have come, or you'd have heard 
 my tongue in a way you wouldn't like ! " was Mrs. Carter's reply. 
 
 Timothy sighed. That tongue was the two-edged sword of his 
 life : how dreaded, none but himself could tell. He had mounted 
 the table, in obedience to orders, but he now got off again. 
 
 " What are you after now ? " shrilly demanded Mrs. Carter, who 
 was on her knees, scouring the bricks. 
 
 " I want my pipe and 'baccy." 
 
 "You stop where you are," was the imperative answer, "and 
 wait till I have time to get it ; " and Timothy humbly sat down 
 again. 
 
 "You might get this done afore night, 'Lizabeth, as I've said over 
 and over again," cried he, plucking up a little spirit. " When a 
 man comes home tired, even if there ain't a bit o' supper for him, 
 he expects a morsel o' fire to sit down to, so as he can smoke 
 his pipe in quiet. It cows him, you see, to find his place in this 
 ruck, where there ain't a dry spot to put the sole of his foot on, and 
 nothing but a table with unekal legs to sit upon, and " 
 
 "I might get it done afore?" shrieked Mrs. Carter. "Afore! 
 When, through that Betsy's laziness, leaving everything on my 
 shoulders, I couldn't get in my gloving till four o'clock this after-* 
 noon! Every earthly thing have I had to do since then. I raked 
 out my fire " 
 
 " What's the good of raking out the fire ? " interposed Timothy. 
 
 " Goodness help the simpleton ! Wanting to know the good of 
 raking out the fire — as if he was born yesterday ! Can a grate be 
 black-leaded while it's hot, pray ? " 
 
 " It might be black-leaded at some other time," debated he. " In 
 a morning, perhaps." 
 
 " I dare say it might, if I had not my gloving to do," she answered, 
 trembling with wrath. " When folks takes out shop work, they has 
 to get on with that — and is glad to do it. Where would you be if 
 I earned nothing? It isn't much of a roof we should have over 
 our heads, with your paltry fifteen or sixteen shillings a-week. You 
 be nothing but a parer, remember." 
 
 " There's no need to disparage of me, 'Lizabeth," he rejoined, 
 with a meek little cough. " You knowed I was a parer before you 
 ventured on me." 
 
 "Just take your legs up higher, or you'll be knocking my cap 
 with your dirty boots," said Mrs. Carter, who was nearing the table 
 in her scrubbing;
 
 THE LADIES OF HONEY FAIR. m; 
 
 " I'll stand outside the door a bit, I think," he answered. '' I am 
 in your way everywhere." 
 
 " Sit where you are, and lift up your legs," was the reiterated 
 command. And Timothy oljcyed. 
 
 Cold and dreary, on he sat, watching the cleaning of the kitchen. 
 The fire gave out no heat, and the squares of bricks did not dry. He 
 took some silver from his pocket, and laid it in a stack on the table 
 beside him, for his wife to take up at her leisure. She allowed him 
 no chance of squandering /lis wages. 
 
 A few minutes, and ^Irs. Carter rose from her knees and went 
 into the yard for a fresh supply of water. Timothy did not wait for 
 a second ducking. He slipped off the table, took a shilling fronx 
 the heap, and stole from the house. 
 
 Back came Mrs. Carter, her pail brimming. " You go over to 
 Dame Buffle's, Tim, and Why, where's he gone.'" 
 
 He was not in the kitchen, that was certain ; and she opened the 
 staircase door, and elevated her voice shrilly. "Are you gone 
 tramping up my stairs, with your dirty boots? Tim Carter, I say, 
 are you upstairs.''" 
 
 Of course Tim Carter was not upstairs. Or he had ne\er dared 
 to leave that voice unanswered. 
 
 " Now, if he has gone off to any of them sotting publics, he shan't 
 hear the last of it," she exclaimed, opening the door and gazing as 
 far as the nearest gas-light would permit. But Timothy was beyond 
 her eye and reach, and she caught up the money and counted it. 
 Fourteen shillings. One shilling of it gone. 
 
 She knew what it meant, and dashed the silver into a wide- 
 necked canister on the high mantelshelf, which contained also her 
 own earnings for the week. It would have been as much as meek 
 Tim Carter's life was worth, to touch that canister, and she kept 
 it openly on the mantelpiece. Many unfortunate wives in Honey 
 Fair could not keep their money from their husbands, even under 
 lock and key. As she was putting the canister in its place again, 
 Betsy came in. Mrs. Carter turned sharply upon her. 
 
 '' Now, miss ! where have you been? " 
 
 " Law, mother, how you fly out ! I have only been to Cross's." 
 
 "You ungrateful piece of brass, when you know there's so much 
 to be done on a Saturday night that I can't turn myself round I 
 You shan't go gadding about half your time. I'll put you from 
 home entire, to a good tight service." 
 
 Betsy had heard the same threat so often that its effect was gone. 
 Had her mother only kept her in one-tenth of the subjection that 
 she did her husband, it might have been better for the )oung lady. 
 " I was only in at Cross's," she repeated. 
 
 "What's the good of telling me that falsehood? I went to Cross's 
 after you, but you wasn't there, and hadn't been there. You want 
 a good sound shaking, miss." 
 
 " If I wasn't at Cross':^, 1 was at Mason's," was the imperturbable 
 reply of Miss Betsy. " 1 was at Mason's hrst. Mark ISIasou came
 
 n6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 home and turned as sour as a wasp, because the place was in a 
 mess. She was washing her children, and she's got the kitchen 
 to do, and he began blowing up. I left 'em then, and went in 
 to Cross's. Mason went back down the hill; so he'll come home 
 tipsy." 
 
 " Why can't she get her children washed afore he comes home?" 
 retorted Mrs. Carter, who could see plenty of motes in her neigh- 
 bours' eyes, though utterly blind to the beam in her own. Such 
 wretched management ! Children ought to be packed out of the 
 way by seven o'clock." 
 
 " You don't get your cleaning over, any more than she does," 
 remarked Miss Betsy boldly. 
 
 Mrs. Carter turned an angry gaze upon her; a torrent of words 
 breaking from her lips, "/get my cleaning over! I, who am at 
 work every moment of my day, from early morning till late at night ! 
 You'd liken me to that good-for-nothing Het Mason, who hardly 
 makes a dozen o' gloves in a week, and keeps her house like a 
 pigsty ! Where would you and your father be, if I didn't work to 
 keep you, and slave to make the place sweet and comfortable? Be 
 off to Dame Baffle's and buy me a besom, you ungrateful monkey : 
 and then you turn to, and dust these chairs." 
 
 Betsy did not wait for a second bidding. She preferred going 
 for besoms, or for anything else, to her mother's kitchen and her 
 mother's scolding. Her coming back was another affair; she would 
 be just as likely to propel the besom into the kitchen and make off 
 herself, as to enter. 
 
 She suddenly stopped now, door in hand, to relate some news. 
 
 " I say, mother, there's going to be a party at the Alhambra tea- 
 gardens." 
 
 " A party at the Alhambra tea-gardens, with frost and snow on 
 the ground ! " ironically repeated Mrs. Carter, " Be off, and don't 
 be an oaf." 
 
 " It's true," said Betsy. " All Honey Fair's going to it. I shall 
 go, too. 'Melia and Mary Ann Cross is going to have new things 
 for it, and — — " 
 
 "Will you go along and get that besom?" cried angry Mrs, 
 Carter. " No child of mine shall go off to their Alhambras, 
 catching of their death, on the wet grass." 
 
 " W^et grass ! " echoed Betsy. " WHiy, you're never such a gaby 
 as to think they'd have a party on the grass ! It is to be in the big 
 room, and there's to be a fiddle and a tam " 
 
 " bourine" never came. Mrs. Carter sent the wet mop flying 
 
 after Miss Betsy, and the young lady, dexterously evading it, flung- 
 to the door and departed. 
 
 A couple of hours later, Timothy Carter was escorted home, his 
 own walking none of the steadiest. The men with him had taken 
 more than Timothy ; but it was that weak man's misfortune to be 
 overcome by a little. You will allow, however, that he had taken 
 enough, having spent his shilling, and gone in debt besides. Mrs,
 
 THE LADIES OF HONEY FAIR. 117 
 
 Carter received him Well, I am rather at a loss to describe it. 
 
 She did not actually beat him, but her shrill voice might be heard 
 all over Honey Fair, lavishing hard names upon helpless Tim. 
 First of all, she turned out his pockets. The shilling was all gone. 
 "And how much more tacked on to it?" asked she, wise by experi- 
 ence. And Timothy was just able to understand and answer. He 
 felt himself as a lamb in the fangs of a wolf. " Eightpence half- 
 penny." 
 
 "A shilling and eightpence halfpenny chucked away in drink in 
 one night ! " repeated Mrs. Carter. She gave him a short, emphatic 
 shake, and propelled him up the stairs ; leaving him without a light, 
 to get to bed as he could. She had still some hours' work down- 
 stairs, in the shape of mending clothes. 
 
 But it never once occurred to Mrs. Carter that she had herself to 
 thank for his misdoings. With a tidy room and a cheerful fire to 
 receive him, on returning from his day's work, Timothy Carter 
 would no more have thought of the public-houses than you or I 
 should. And if, as did Charlotte East, she had welcomed him with 
 a good supper, and a pleasant tongue, poor Tim, in his gratitude, 
 had forsworn public-houses for ever. 
 
 Neither, when Mark Mason staggered home, and his wife raved 
 at and c[uarrelled with him, to the further edification of Honey 
 Fair, did it strike that lady that she could be in fault. As Mrs. 
 Carter had said, Henrietta Mason did not overburden herself with 
 work of any sort ; but she did make a pretence of washing her four 
 children in a bucket on a Saturday night, and her kitchen after- 
 wards. The ceremony was delayed througli idleness and bad 
 management to the least propitious part of the evening. So sure 
 as she had the bucket before the fire, and the children collected 
 round it ; one in, one just out, roaring to be dried, and the two 
 others waiting their turn for the water, all of them stark naked — for 
 Mrs. Mason made a point of undressing them at once to save 
 trouble — so sure, I say, as these al)lutions were in progress, the 
 children frantically crying, Mrs. Mason boxing, storming, and 
 rubbing, and the kitchen swimming, in would walk the father. 
 Words invariably ensued : a short, sharp quarrel ; and he would 
 turn out again for the nearest public-house, where he was welcomed 
 by a sociable room and a glowing fire. Can any one be surprised 
 that it should l)e so ? 
 
 You must not think these cases overdrawn ; you must not think 
 them exceptional cases. They are neither the one nor the other. 
 They are truthful pictures, taken from what Honey Fair was then. 
 I very much fear the same pictures might be taken from some 
 places still.
 
 ii8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 MR. BRUMM'S SUNDAY SHiKi". 
 
 But there's something to say yet of Mrs. Brumm. You saw her 
 turning away from Robert East's door, saying that her husband, 
 Andrew, had promised to come home that night and to bring his 
 wages. Mrs. Brumm, a bad manager, as were many of the rest, 
 would probably have received him with a sloppy kitchen, buckets, 
 and besoms. Andrew had had experience of this, and, disloyal 
 knight that he was, allowed himself to be seduced into the Horned 
 Ram. He'd just take one pint and a pipe, he said to his conscience, 
 and be home in time for his wife to get what she wanted. A little 
 private matter of his own would call him away early. Pressed for 
 a sum of money in the week, which was owing to his club, and not 
 possessing it, he had put his Sunday coat in pledge : and this he 
 wanted to get out. However, a comrade, sitting in the next chair 
 to him at the Horned Ram, had to get his coat out of the same 
 accommodating receptacle. Nothing more easy than for him to 
 bring out Andrew's at the same time ; which was done. The coat 
 on the back of his chair, his pipe in his mouth, and a pint of good 
 ale before him, the outer world was as nothing to Andrew Brumm. 
 
 At ten o'clock, the landlord came in. " Andrew Brumm, here's 
 your wife wanting to see you." 
 
 Now Andrew was not a bad sort of man by any means, but he 
 had a great antipathy to being looked after. A joke went round at 
 Andrew's expense; for if there was one thing the men in general 
 hated more than another, it was that their wives should come in 
 quest of them to the public-houses. Mrs. Brum received a sharp 
 reprimand ; but she saw that he was, as she expressed it, " getting 
 on," so she got some money from him and kept her scolding for 
 another opportunity. 
 
 She did not go near the pawnbroker's to get her irons out. She 
 bought a bit of meat and what else she wanted, and returned to 
 Honey Fair. Robert East was closing his door for the night as she 
 passed it. " Has Brumm come home?" he asked. 
 
 " Not he, the toper ! He is stuck fast at the Horned Ram, getting 
 in for it nicely. I have been after him for some money." 
 
 "Have you got your irons out.''" inquired Charlotte, coming to 
 the door. 
 
 "No, nor nothing else; and there's pretty near half the kitchen 
 in. It's him that'll suffer. He has been getting out his own coat, 
 but he can't put it on. Leastway, he won't, without a clean collar 
 and shirt ; and let him fish for i/wni. Wait till to-morrow comes, 
 Mr. 'Drew Brumm ! " 
 
 "Was his coat in?" returned Charlotte, surprised.
 
 MR. BRUMM'S SUNDAY SHIRT. I19 
 
 " That it was. Him as goes on so when I puts a thing or two in ! 
 He owed some money at his chib, and he went and put his coat in 
 for four shiUings, and Adam Thorneycroft has been and fetched it 
 out for him." 
 
 " Adam Thorneycroft ! " involuntarily returned Charlotte. 
 
 " Thorneycroft's coat was in, too, and he went for it just now, and 
 Brumm gave him the ticket to get out his. Smith's daughter told 
 me that. She was serving with her mother in the bar." 
 
 " Is Adam Thorneycroft at the Horned Ram still?" 
 
 " That he is : side by side with Brumm. A nice pair of 'em ! 
 Charlotte East, take my advice; don't you have anything to say to 
 Thorneycroft. A woman had better climl) up to the top of her top- 
 niost chimblcy and pitch herself off, head foremost, than marry a 
 man given to drink." 
 
 Charlotte East felt vexed at the allusion— vexed that her name 
 should be coupled openly with that of Adam Thorneycroft by the 
 busy tongues of Honey Fair. That an attachment existed between 
 herself and Adam Thorneycroft was true; but she did not wish 
 the fact to become too apparent to others. Latterly she had been 
 schooling her heart to forget him, for he was taking to frequent 
 public-houses. 
 
 Mrs. Brumm went home and was soon followed by her husband. 
 He was not much the worse for what he had taken : he was a little. 
 Mrs. Brumm reproached him with it, and there ensued a wordy 
 war. 
 
 They arose peaceably in the morning. Andrew was a civil, well- 
 conducted man, and but for Horned Rams would have been a 
 pattern to three parts of Honey Fair. He liked to be dressed well 
 on Sunday and to attend the cathedral with his two children : he 
 was very fond of listening to the chanting. Mrs. Brumm — as was 
 the custom generally with the wives of Honey Fair — stayed at home 
 to cook the dinner. Andrew was accustomed to do many odd jobs 
 on the Sunday morning, to save his wife trouble. He cleaned the 
 boots and shoes, brushed his clothes, filled the coal-box, and made 
 himself useful in sundry other ways. All this done, they sat down 
 to breakfast with the two children, the unfortunate Jacky less black 
 than he had been the previous night. 
 
 " Now, Jacky," said Brumm, when the meal was over, ''get your- 
 self ready : it has gone ten. Polly too." 
 
 " It's a'most too cold for Polly this morning," said Mrs. Brumm. 
 
 " Not a bit on't. The walk'U do her good, and give her an appe- 
 tite for dinner. What is for dinner, Bell.' I asked you before, but 
 you didn't answer." 
 
 " It ain't much thanks to you as there's anj'thing," retorted Mrs, 
 Brumm, who rejoiced in the aristocratic name of Arabella. " You 
 plant yourself again at the Horned Ram, and see if I worries 
 myself to come after you for money. I'll starve on the Sunday, 
 first." 
 
 " I can't think what goes ol your money," returned Andrew.
 
 I20 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " There had not used to be this fuss if I stopped out for half an 
 hour on the Saturday night, with my wages in my pocket. Where 
 does yours go to ? " 
 
 " It goes in necessaries," shortly answered Mrs. Brumm. But, 
 not caring, for reasons of her own, to pursue this particular topic, 
 she turned to that of the dinner. " I have half a shoulder of 
 mutton, and I'm going to take it to the bake'us with a batter pudden 
 under it, and to boil the taters at home." 
 
 "That's capital!" returned Andrew, gently rubbing his hands. 
 " There's nothing nicer than baked mutton and a batter pudden. 
 Jacky, brush your hair well : it's as rough as bristles." 
 
 " I had to use a handful of soda to get the dye out," said Mrs. 
 Brumm. " Soda's awful stuff for making the hair rough." 
 
 Andrew slipped out to the Honey Fair barber, who did an exten- 
 sive business on Sunday morning, to be shaved. When he returned, 
 he went up to wash and dress, and finally uncovered a deal box, 
 where he was accustomed to find his clean shirt. With all Mrs. 
 Brunim's faults, she had neat ways. The shirt was not there. 
 
 " Bell, where's my clean shirt?" he called out from the top of the 
 stairs. 
 
 Mrs. Bell Brumm had been listening for the words, and she 
 received them with satisfaction. She nodded, winked, and went 
 through a little pantomime of ecstasy, to the intense delight of 
 the children, who were in the secret, and nodded and winked with 
 her. " Clean shirt ? " she called back again, as if not understanding. 
 
 " My Sunday shirt ain't here." 
 
 " You haven't got no Sunday shirt to-day." 
 
 Andrew Brumm descended the stairs in consternation. " No 
 Sunday shirt! " he repeated. 
 
 " No shirt, nor no collar, nor no handkercher," coolly affirmed 
 Mrs. Brumm. " There ain't none ironed. They be all in the wet 
 and the rough, wrapped up in an old towel. Jacky and Polly 
 haven't nothing either. 
 
 Brumm stared considerably. " Why, what's the meaning of 
 that?" 
 
 "The irons are in pawn," shortly answered Mrs. Brumm. " You 
 know you never came home with the money, so I couldn't get 'em 
 out." 
 
 Another wordy war. Andrew protested she had no " call " to put 
 the irons in any such place. She impudently retorted that she 
 should put the house in if she liked. 
 
 A hundred such little episodes could.be related of the domestic 
 life of Honey Fair.
 
 ( 121 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE MESSRS. BANKES. 
 
 On the Monday morning, a troop of the gloveress girls flocked into 
 Charlotte East's. They were taking holiday, as was usual with 
 them on Mondays. Charlotte was a favourite. It is true, slie 
 " bothered " them, as they called it, with good advice, but they 
 liked her, in spite of it. Charlotte's kitchen was always tidy and 
 peaceful, with a bright fire burning in it : other kitchens would be 
 full of bustle and dirt. Charlotte never let them hinder her ; she 
 worked away at her gloves all the time. Charlotte was a glove- 
 maker ; that is, she sewed the fingers together, and put in the 
 thumbs, forgits, and quirks. Look at your own gloves, English 
 make. The long strips running up inside the fingers, are the 
 forgits ; and the little pieces between, where the fingers open, are 
 the quirks. The gloves Charlotte was occupied with now, were of a 
 very dark green colour, almost black, called corbcau in the trade, 
 and they were sewn with white silk. Charlotte's stitches were as 
 beautifully regular as though she had used a patent machine. The 
 white silk and the fellow glove to the one she was making, lay 
 inside a clean white handkerchief doubled upon her lap; other 
 gloves, equally well covered, were in a basket at her side. 
 
 The girls had come in noisily, with flushed checks and eager 
 eyes. Charlotte saw that something was exciting them. They 
 liked to tell her of their little difficulties and pleasures. Betsy 
 Carter had informed her mother that there was going to he a 
 "party" at the Alhambra tea-gardens, if you remember; and this 
 was the point of interest to-day. These "Alhambra tea-gardens," 
 however formidable and perhaps suggestive the name, were very 
 innocent in reality. They belonged "to a quiet roadside inn, half a 
 mile from the town, and comprised a large garden and extensive 
 lawn. The view from them was beautiful ; ind many a party from 
 Helstonleigh, far higher in the scale of society than these girls, 
 would go there in sunmier to take tea and enjoy the view. A 
 young, tall, handsome girl of eighteen had drawn her chair close 
 to Charlotte's. She was the half-sister of Mark INIason, and had 
 her home with him and his wife ; supporting herself, after a fashion, 
 by her work. But she was ahvays in debt to them, and she and 
 Mrs. Mark did not get along well together. She wore a new shawl, 
 and straw bonnet trimmed with blue ribbons : and her dark hair 
 fell in glossy ringlets— as was the fashion then. Two other girls 
 perched themselves on a table. They were sisters— Amelia and 
 Mary Ann Cross ; others placed themselves where they could. 
 Somewhat light were they in manner, these girls ; free in speech, 
 frothing farther. If an unhappy girl did, by mischance, turn out
 
 i22 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 badly, or, as the expressive phrase had it, " went wrong," she was 
 forthwith shunned, and shunned for ever. Whatever may have 
 been the fauhs and faihngs prevaihng in Honey Fair, this sort of 
 wrong-doing was not common amongst them. 
 
 " Why, Carohne, that is new ! " exclaimed Charlotte East, alluding 
 to the shawl. 
 
 Caroline Mason laughed. " Is it not a beauty ? " crie^J she. And, 
 it may be remarked, that in speech and accent she was superior to 
 some of the girls. 
 
 Charlotte took a corner of it in her hand. " It must have cost a 
 pound, at least," she said. " Is it paid for?" 
 
 Again Caroline laughed. " Never you mind whether it's paid 
 for, or not, Charlotte. You won't be called upon for the money 
 for it. As I told my sister-in-law yesterday." 
 
 "' You did not want it, Caroline ; and I am c[uite sure you could 
 not afford it. Your winter cloak was good yet. It is so bad a 
 plan, getting goods on credit. I wish those Bankeses had never 
 come near the place I " 
 
 " Don't you run down Bankes's, Charlotte East." interposed Eliza 
 Tyrrett, a very plain girl, with an ill-natured expression of face. 
 " We should never get along at all if it wasn't for Bankes's." 
 
 " You would get along all the better," returned Charlotte. " How 
 much are they going to charge you for this shawl, Caroline?" 
 
 Caroline and Eliza Tyrrett exchanged peculiar glances. There 
 appeared to be some secret between them, connected with the 
 shawl. " Oh, a pound, or so," replied Caroline. " What was it, 
 Ehza?" 
 
 Eliza Tyrrett burst into a loud laugh, and Caroline echoed it. 
 Charlotte East did not press for the answer. But she did press 
 the matter against dealing with Bankes's ; as she had pressed it 
 many a time before. 
 
 A twelvemonth ago, some strangers had opened a linen-draper's 
 shop in a back street of Helstonleigh ; brothers, of the name of 
 Bankcs. They professed to do business upon credit, and to wait 
 upon people at their own homes, after the fashion of hawkers. 
 Every Monday would -^ne of them appear in Honey Fair, a great 
 pack of goods on his back, which would be opened for inspection 
 at each house. Caps, shawls, gown-pieces, calico, flannel, and 
 finery, would be displayed in all their fascinations. Now, you who 
 are reading this, only reflect on the temptation ! The women of 
 Honey Fair went into debt; and it was three parts the work of their 
 lives to keep the finery, and the system, from the knowledge of 
 their husbands. 
 
 " Pay us so much weekly," Bankes's would say. And the women 
 did so: it seemed like getting a gown for nothing. But Bankes's 
 were found to be strict in collecting the ii.stalmcnts; and how 
 these weekly payments told upon the wages, I will leave you to 
 judge. Some would have many shillings to pay weekly. Charlotte 
 East, and a few more prudent ones, spoke against this system ; but
 
 THE Messrs. bankes. 123 
 
 they made no impression. The temptation was too great. Charlotte 
 assumed that this was how Carohne Mason's shawl had been 
 detained. In that, however, she was mistaken. 
 
 '• Charlotte, we arc going down to Bankes's. There'll be a belter 
 ehoice in his shop than in his pack. You have heard of the j^arty 
 at the Alhambra. Well, it is to be next Monday, and we want 
 to ask you what we shall wear. What would you advise us to get 
 for it?" 
 
 " Get nothing," replied Charlotte. " Don't go to Bankes's, and 
 don't go to the Alhambra." 
 
 The whole assembly sat in wonder, with open eyes. " Not go to 
 the party ! " echoed pert Amelia Cross. " What next. Charlotte East ?" 
 
 *• I told you what it would be, if you came into Charlotte East's," 
 said Eliza Tyrrett, a sneer on her countenance. 
 
 " I am not against proper amusement, though I don't much care 
 for it myself," said Charlotte. "But when you speak of going to 
 a party at the Alhambra, somehow it does not sound respectable." 
 
 The girls opened their eyes wider. "Why, Charlotte, what harm 
 do you suppose will come to us.'' We can take care of ourseh-es, 
 I hope?" 
 
 " It is not that," said Charlotte. " Of course you can. Still it 
 does not sound nice. It is like going to a public-house — you can't 
 call the Alhambra anything else. It is Cjuite different, this, from 
 going there to have tea in the summer. But that's not it, I say. 
 If you go to it, you would be running into debt for all sorts of things 
 at Bankes's, and get into trouble." 
 
 " My sister-in-law says you are a croaker, Charlotte; and she's 
 right," cried Caroline Alason, with good-humour. 
 
 " Charlotte, it is not a bit of use, your talking," broke in Mary 
 Ann Cross vehemently. " We shall go to the party, and we shall 
 buy new things for it. Bankes's have some lovely sarcenets, cross- 
 barred ; green, and pink, and lilac ; and me and 'Melia mean to 
 have a dress apiece off 'em. With a pink bow in front, and a white 
 collar— my I wouldn't folks stare at us ! — Twelve yards each it would 
 take, and they are one-and-eightpence a yard." 
 
 " Mary Ann, it would be just madness! There'd be the making, 
 the lining, and the ribbon : five or six-and-twenty shillings each, 
 they would cost you. Pray don't ! " 
 
 " How you do reckon things up, Charlotte! We should payoff 
 weekly : we have time afore us." 
 
 "What would your father say?" 
 
 " Charlotte, just hold your noise about father," quickly returned 
 Amelia Cross in a hushed and altered tone. " You know we don't 
 tell him about Bankes's." 
 
 Charlotte found she might as well have talked to the winds. The 
 girls were bent upon the evening's pleasure, and also upon the 
 smart things they deemed necessary for it. A few minutes more, 
 and they left her; and trooped down to the shop of the Messrs, 
 Bankes.
 
 124 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Charlotte was coming home that evenuig from an errand to the 
 town, when she met Adam Thorneycroft. He was somewhat above 
 the common run of workmen. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Charlotte?" he exclaimed, stopping her. " I say, 
 how is it that you'll never have anything to say to mc now?" 
 
 " I have told you why, Adam," she replied. 
 
 " You have told me a pack of nonsense. I wouldn't lose you, 
 Charlotte, to be made king of England. When once we are 
 married, you shall see how steady I'll be. I will not enter a public- 
 house." 
 
 " You have been saying that you will not for these twelve months 
 past, Adam," she sadly rejoined ; and, had her face been visible 
 in the dark night, he would have seen that it was working with 
 agitation. 
 
 " What does it hurt a man, to go out and take a quiet pipe and a 
 glass, after his work's over? Everybody does it." 
 
 " Everybody docs not. But I do not wish to contend. It seems 
 to bring you no conviction. Half the miseries around us in Honey 
 Fair arise from so much of the wages being wasted at the public- 
 houses. I know what you would say— that the wives are in fault 
 as well. So they are. I do not believe people were sent into the 
 world to live as so many of us live : nothing but scuffle, and dis- 
 comfort, and— I may almost say it— sinfulness. One of these 
 wretched households shall never be mine." 
 
 " My goodness, Charlotte ! How seriously you speak ! " 
 
 "It is a serious subject. I want to try to live so as to do my 
 duty by myself and by those around me ; to pass my days in peace 
 with the world and with my conscience. A woman beaten down, 
 cowed by all sorts of ills, could not do so ; and, where the husband 
 is unsteady, she must be beaten down. Adam, you know it is not 
 with a willing heart I give you up, but I am forced to it." 
 
 " How can you bring yourself to say this to me? " he rejoined. 
 
 " I don't deny that it is hard," she faintly said, suppressing with 
 difficulty her emotion. " This many a week I and duty have been 
 having a conflict with each other : but duty has gained the mastery. 
 
 I knew it would, from the first " 
 
 "Duty be smothered!" interrupted Adam Thorneycroft. "I 
 shall think you a born natural presently, Charlotte." 
 
 " Yes, I know. I can't help it. Adam, we should never pull 
 together, you see. Good-bye! We can be friends in future, if you 
 like; nothing more." 
 
 She held out her hand to hinr for a parting salutation. Adam, 
 hurt and angr)', flung it from him, and turned towards Helstonleigh : 
 and Charlotte continued her way home, her tears dropping in the 
 dusky night.
 
 ( 125 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 HARD TO BEAR. " • 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton struggled on. A struggle, my reader, that it 
 is to be hoped, for your comfort's sake, you have never experienced, 
 and never will. She had learnt the stitch for the back of the 
 gloves, and Mr. Lynn supplied her with a machine, and with work. 
 But she could not do it quickly as yet ; though it was a hopeful 
 day for her when she found that her weekly earnings amounted to 
 six shillings. 
 
 Mrs. Reece paid her twenty shillingG a week. Or, rather, Dobbs : 
 for Dobbs was paymaster-general. Of that, Jane could use (she 
 had made a close calculation) six shillings, putting by fourteen for 
 rent and taxes. Her taxes were very light, part of them being 
 paid by the landlord, as was the custom with some houses in 
 Helstonleigh. But for this, the rent would have been less. Sorely 
 tempted as she was, by hunger, by cold, almost by starvation, Jane 
 was resolute in leaving the fourteen shillings intact. She had 
 suffered too much from non-payment of the last rent, not to be 
 prepared with the next. But — the endurance and deprivation ! — 
 how great they were ! And she suffered far more for her children 
 than for herself. 
 
 One night, towards the middle ot February, she felt very down- 
 hearted : almost as if she could not struggle on much longer. 
 With her own earnings and the six shillings taken from Mrs. 
 Recce's money she could count little more than twelve shillings 
 weekly, and everything had to be found out of it. Coals, candles, 
 washing— that is, the soap, firing, etc., necessary for Miss Betsy 
 Carter to do it with ; the boys' shoe-mending and other trifles, 
 besides food. You will not, therefore, be surprised to hear that on 
 this night they had literally nothing in the house but part of a loaf 
 of bread. Jane was resolute in one thing— not to go into debt. 
 Mrs. Buffle would have given credit, probably other shops also; 
 but Jane believed that her sole chance of surmounting the struggle 
 eventually, was by keeping debt, even trifling debt, away. They 
 had on this morning eaten bread for breakfast ; they had eaten 
 potatoes and salt for dinner; and now, tea-time, there was bread 
 again. All Jane had in her pocket was two-pence, tvhich must be 
 kept for milk for the following morning, so they were drinking 
 water now. 
 
 They were round the fire ; two of the boys kneeling on the ground 
 to get the better blaze, thankful that they had a fire at all. Their 
 lessons were over for the day. William had been thoroughly well 
 brought on by his father, in Greek, Latin, Euclid, and in English 
 generally — in short, in the branches necessary to a -good education.
 
 126 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Frank and Gar were forward also ; indeed, Frank, for his age, was 
 a very good Latin scholar. But how could they do much good, or 
 make much progress of themselves? William helped his brothers 
 as well as he could, but it was somewhat profitless work ; and 
 Jane was all too conscious that they needed to be at school. 
 Altogether, her heart was sore within her. 
 
 Another thing was beginning to worry her — a fear lest her 
 brother should not be able to send the rent. She had fully counted 
 upon it ; but, now that the time of its promised receipt was at hand, 
 fears and doubts arose. She was dwelling on it now — now, as she 
 sat there at her work, in the twilight of the early spring evening. 
 If the money did not come, all she could do would be to go to 
 Mr. Ashley, tell him of her ill luck, and that he must take the 
 things at last. They must turn out, wanderers on the wide earth ; 
 no 
 
 A plaintive cry interrupted her dream, and recalled her to reality. 
 It came from Jane, who was seated on a stool, her head leaning 
 against the side of the mantel-piece. 
 
 " She is crying, mamma," cried quick Frank ; and Janey whispered 
 something into Frank's ear, the cry deepening into sobs. 
 
 " Mamma, she's crying because she's hungry." 
 
 "Janey, dear, I have nothing but bread. You know it. Could 
 you eat a bit ? " 
 
 " I want something else," sobbed Janey. " Some meat, or some 
 pudding. It is such a long time since we had any. I am tired of 
 bread ; I am very hungry." 
 
 There came an echoing cry from the other side of the fire-place. 
 Gar had laid his head down on the floor, and he now broke out, 
 sobbing also. 
 
 " I am hungry, too. I don't like bread any more than Janey does. 
 When shall we have something nice .'' " 
 
 Jane gathered them to her, one in each arm, soothing them with 
 soft caresses, her heart aching, her own sobs choked down, one 
 single comfort present to her — that God knew what she had to bear. 
 
 Almost she began to fear for her own health. Would the intense 
 anxiety, combined with the want of sufficient food, tell upon her? 
 Would her sleepless nights tell upon her? Would her grief for the 
 loss of her husband — a grief not the less keenly felt because she did 
 not parade it — tell upon her? All iltat lay in the future. 
 
 She rose the next morning early to her work; she always had to 
 rise early — the boys and Jane setting the breakfast. Breakfast ! 
 Putting the bread upon the table and taking in the milk. For two- 
 pence they had a quart of skimmed milk, and were glad to get it. 
 Her head was heavy, her frame hot, the result of inward fever, her 
 limbs were tired before the day began; worse than all, there was 
 that utter weariness of mind which predisposes a sufferer from it 
 to lie down and die. "This will never do," thought Jane; " I inust 
 bcdr up." 
 
 A dispute between Fi-ank and Gar! They were godd, affec-
 
 HARD TO BEAR, ic; 
 
 tionate boj's ; but little tempers must break out now and then. In 
 trying to settle it, Jane burst into tears. It put an end to the fray 
 more eticctually than anything else could have done. The boys 
 looked blank with consternation, and Jancy burst into hysterical 
 sobs. 
 
 " Don't, Jane, don't," said the poor motlier ; " I am not well ; but 
 do not j'ou cry." 
 
 " I am not well, either," sobbed Janey. '• It hurts me here, and 
 here." She put her hand to her head and chest, and Jane knew that 
 she was weak from long-continued insufficiency of food. There was 
 no remedy for it. Jane only wished she could bear for them all. 
 
 Some time after breakfast there came the postman's knock at the 
 door. A thickish letter — twopence to pay. The penny postal system 
 had come in, but letters were not so universally prepaid then as they 
 are now. 
 
 Jane glanced over it with a beating heart. Yes, it was her l^rother's 
 handwriting. Could the promised rent have really arrived ? She 
 felt sick with agitation. 
 
 " I have no money at all, Frank. Ask Dobbs if she will lend you 
 twopence." 
 
 Away went Frank, in his quick and not \-cry ceremonious man- 
 ner, penetrating to the kitchen, where Dobbs happened to be. 
 "Dobbs, will you please to lend mamma twopence.'' It is for a 
 letter." 
 
 " Dobbs, indeed ! Who's ' Dobbs ' ? " retorted that functionary in 
 wrath. " I am Mrs. Dobbs, if you please. Take yourself out of my 
 sight till you can learn manners." 
 
 " Won't you lend it ? The postman's waiting." 
 
 " No, I won't," returned Dobbs. 
 
 Back ran Frank. " She won't lend it, mamma. She says I was 
 rude to her, and called her Dobbs." 
 
 " Oh, Frank ! " But the postman was impatient, demanding 
 whether he was to be kept there all day. Jane was fain to apply to 
 Dobbs herself, and procured the loan. Then she ran upstairs with 
 the letter, and her trembling fingers broke the seal. Two bank- 
 notes, for lo/. each, fell out of it. The promised loan had been 
 sixteen pounds. The Rev. Francis Tait had contrived to spare four 
 pounds more. 
 
 Before Jane had recovered from her excitement — almost before a 
 breath of thanks had gone up from her heart — she saw Mr. Ashley 
 on the opposite side of the road, going towards Helstonleigh. Being 
 in no state to weigh her actions, only conscious that the two notes 
 lay in her hand — actual realities — she threw on her bonnet and 
 shawl, and went across the road to Mr. Ashley. In her agitation, 
 she scarcely knew what she did or said. 
 
 " Oh, sir — 1 beg your pardon — but I have at this moment received 
 the money for the back rent. May I give it to you now.'"' 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at her in surprise; A scarlet spot shone 'on 
 her thin cheeks — a happy excitement was spread over her face df
 
 128 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 care. He read the indications plainly — that she was an eager payer, 
 but no willing debtor. The open letter in her hand, and the postman 
 opposite, told the tale. 
 
 " There is no such hurry, Mrs. Halliburton," he said, smiling. " I 
 cannot give you a receipt here." 
 
 " You can send it to me," she said. " I would rather pay you than 
 Mr. Dare." 
 
 She held out the notes to him. He felt in his pocket whether he 
 had sufficient change, found he had, and handed it to her. " That 
 is it, madam — four sovereigns. Thank you." 
 
 She took them hesitatingly, but did not close her hand. " Was 
 there not some expense incurred when — when that man was put in ? " 
 
 " Not for you to pay, Mrs. Halliburton," he pointedly returned. 
 " I hope you are getting pretty well through your troubles ? " 
 
 The tears came into her eyes, and she turned them away. Getting 
 pretty well through her troubles ! " Thank you for inquiring," she 
 meekly said. " I shall, I believe, have the quarter's rent ready in 
 March, when it falls due." 
 
 " Do not put yourself out of the way to pay it," he replied. " If 
 it would be more convenient to you to let it go on to the half-year, 
 it would be the same to me." 
 
 Her heart rose to the kindness. " Thank you, Mr. Ashley, thank 
 you very much for your consideration ; but I must pay as I go on, 
 if I possibly can." 
 
 Patience stood at her gate, smiling, as she recrossed the road. 
 She had seen what had passed. 
 
 " Thee hast good news, I see. But thee wert in a hurry, to pay 
 thy rent in the road." 
 
 " My brother has sent me the rent, and four pounds over. Patience, 
 I can buy bedside carpets now." 
 
 Patience looked pleased. " With all thy riches, thee will scarcely 
 thank me for this poor three and sixpence," holding out the silver to 
 her. " Samuel Lynn left it ; it is owing thee for thy work." 
 
 Jane smiled sadly as she took it. Her riches ! " How is Anna ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " She is nicely, thank thee, and is gone to school. But she was 
 Avilful over her lessons this morning. Farewell. I am glad thee art 
 so far out of thy perplexities." 
 
 Very far, indeed ; and a great relief it was. Can you realize these 
 troubles of Mrs. Halliburton's? Not, I think, as she realized them. 
 We pity the trials and endurance of the poor ; but, believe me, they 
 are as nothing compared with the bitter lot of reduced gentlepeople. 
 Jane had not been brought up to poverty, to scanty and hard fare, 
 to labour, to humiliations, to the pain of debt. But for hope — and 
 some of us know how strong that is in the human heart— and for 
 that better hope, trust, Jane never could have gone through her 
 trials. Her physical privations alone were almost too hard to bear. 
 Can you wonder that an unexpected present of four pounds seemed 
 as a mine of wealth ?
 
 ( 1-^y ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 INCIPIENT VANITV. 
 
 But four pounds, however large a sum to look at, dwindles down 
 sadly in the spending ; especially when bedside carpets, and boys' 
 lioots — new ones, and the mending of old ones — have to be deducted 
 from it at the commencement. An idea had for some time been 
 looming in Jane's mind ; looming ominously, for she did not like to 
 speak of it. It was, that William must go out and enter upon some 
 employment, by which a little weekly money might be added to their 
 stock. He was eager enough ; indulging, no doubt, boy-hke, peculiar 
 visions of his own, great and grand. But these Jane had to dispel ; 
 to explain that for young boys, such as he, earning money implied 
 hard work. 
 
 His face flushed scarlet. Jane drew him to her, and pressed her 
 cheek upon his. 
 
 " There would be no real disgrace in it, my darling. No work in 
 itself brings disgrace ; be it carrying abroad parcels, or sweeping 
 out a shop. So long as we retain our refinement of speech, of 
 manner, our courteous conduct one to the other, we shall still be 
 gentlepeople, let us work at what we may. William, I think it is 
 your dj(ty to help in our need." 
 
 " Yes, I see, mamma," he answered. " I will try and do it ; any- 
 thing that may turn up." 
 
 Jane had not much faith in things " turning up." She believed 
 that they must be sought for. That same evening she went into Mr. 
 Lynn's, with the view of asking his counsel. There she found Anna 
 in trouble. The cause was as follows. 
 
 Patience, leaving Anna alone at her lessons, had gone into the 
 kitchen to give some directions to Grace. Anna seized the oppor- 
 tunity to take a little recreation : not that it was greatly needed, for 
 — spoilt child that she was ! — she had merely looked at her books 
 with vacant eyes, not having in reality learned a single word. First 
 of all, off went her cap. Next, she drew from her pocket a small 
 mirror, about the size of a five-shilling piece. Propping this against 
 her books on the table before her, so that the rays of the lamp might 
 fall upon it, she proceeded to admire herself, and twist her flowing 
 hair round her pretty fingers, to make a shower of ringlets. Sad 
 vanity for a little born Quakeress ! But it must be owned that never 
 did mirror, small or large, give back a more lovely image than that 
 child's. She had just arranged her curls, and was contemplating 
 their effect to her entire satisfaction, when back came Patience, 
 sooner than she was expected, and caught the young lady at her 
 impromptu toilette. What with the curls and what with the mirror, 
 Anna did not know which to hurry away first. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubk-s. J
 
 130 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Thee naughty child ! thee naughty, naughty child! \Vhat is to 
 become of thee ? Where did thee get this ? " 
 
 Anna burst into tears. In her perplexity she said she had " found " 
 the mirror. 
 
 " That thee did not," said Patience calmly. " I ask thee where 
 thee got it from ? " 
 
 Of a remarkably pliant nature, wavering and timid, Anna never 
 withstood long the persistent questioning of Patience. Amid many 
 tears, the truth came out. Lucy Dixon had brought it to school in 
 her workbox. It was a doll's mirror, and she, Anna, had given her 
 sixpence for it. 
 
 " The sixpence that thy father bestowed upon thee yesterday for 
 being a good girl," retorted Patience. " I told him thee would likely 
 not make a profitable use of it. Come up to bed with thee ! I will 
 talk to thee after thee are in it." 
 
 Of all things, Anna disliked to be sent to bed before her time. 
 She sobbed, expostulated, and promised all sorts of amendment for 
 the future. Patience, firm and quiet, would have carried her point, 
 but for the entrance of Samuel Lynn. The fault was related to 
 him by Patience, and the mirror exhibited. Anna clung around him 
 in a storm of sobs. 
 
 "Dear father! dear, dear father, don't thee let me go to bed! 
 Let me sit by thee while thee hast thy supper. Patience may keep 
 the glass, but don't thee let me go." 
 
 It was quite a picture — the child clinging there with her crim- 
 soned cheeks, her wet eyelashes, and her soft, flowing hair. Samuel 
 Lynn, albeit a man not given to demonstration, strained her to him 
 with a loving movement. Perhaps the crime of looking into a doll's 
 glass and toying with her hair, appeared to him more venial than 
 it did to Patience ; but then, she was his beloved child. " Will thee 
 transgress again, Anna ? " 
 
 " No, I never will," sobbed Anna. 
 
 " Then Patience will suffer thee to sit up this once. But thee 
 must be careful." 
 
 He placed her in a chair close to him. Patience, disapproving 
 very much, but saying nothing, left the room. Grace appeared with 
 the supper-tray, and a message that Patience would take her supper 
 in the kitchen. It was at this juncture that Mrs. Halliburton came 
 in. She told the Quaker that she had come to consult him about 
 William ; and mentioned her intentions. 
 
 " To tell thee the truth, friend, I have marvelled much that thee 
 did not, under thy circumstances, seek to place out thy eldest son," 
 was the answer. " He might be helping thee." 
 
 " He is young to earn anything, Mr. Lynn. Do you see a chance 
 of my getting him a place ? " 
 
 "That depends, friend, upon the sort of place he may wish for. 
 I could help him to a place to-morrow. But it is one that may not 
 accord with thy notions." 
 
 " What is it ? " eagerly asked Jane.
 
 INCIPIENT VANITY. 131 
 
 ''It is in Thomas Ashley's manufactory. We are in want of 
 another boy, and the master told me to-day I had better inciinre 
 for one." 
 
 "What would he have to do?" asked Jane. "And what would 
 he earn ? " 
 
 " He would have to do anything he may be directed to do. Thy 
 son is older than are our boys who come to us ordinarily, and he 
 has been dift'erently brought up ; therefore I might put him to some- 
 what better employment. He might also be paid a trifle more. 
 They sweep and dust, go on outdoor errands, carry messages 
 indoors, black the gloves, get in coal; and they earn, if they are 
 sharp, half-a-crown a week." 
 
 Jane's heart sank within her. 
 
 " But thy son, I say, might be treated somewhat differently. Not 
 that he must be above doing any of these duties, should he be 
 put to them. I can assure thee, friend, that some of the first 
 manufacturers of this town have thus begun their career. A 
 thoroughly practical knowledge of the business is only to be ac- 
 cjuired by beginning at the first step of the ladder, and working 
 upwards." 
 
 "Did Mr. Ashley so begin?" She could scarcely tell why she 
 asked the question. Unless it was that a feeling came over her that 
 if Mr. Ashley had done these things, she would not mind William's 
 doing them. 
 
 " No, friend. Thomas Ashley's father was a man of means, and 
 Thomas was bred up a classical scholar and a gentleman. He has 
 never taken a practical part in the working of the business : I do 
 that for him. His labours are chiefly confined to the correspondence 
 and the keeping of the books. His father wished him to embrace 
 a profession, rather than to be a glove manufacturer : but Thomas 
 preferred to succeed his father. If thee would like thy son to enter 
 our manufactory, I will try him." 
 
 Jane was dubious. She felt quite sure that William would not 
 like it. " He has been thinking of a counting-house, or a lawyer's 
 or conveyancer's office," she said aloud. "He would like to employ 
 his time in writing. Would there be difficulty in getting him into 
 one ? " 
 
 " I do not opine a lawyer would take a boy of his size. They 
 require their writing to be well and correctly done. About that, 
 I cannot tell thee much, for I have nothing to do with lawyers. He 
 can inquire." 
 
 Jane rose. She stood by the table, unconsciously stroking Anna's 
 flowing curls — for the cap had never been replaced, and Samuel 
 Lynn found no fault with the omission. " I will speak candidly," 
 said Jane. " I fear that the place you have kindly offered me would 
 not be liked by William. Other emplo\ments, writing for example, 
 would be more palatable. Nevertheless, were he unable to obtain 
 anything else, I should be glad to accept this. Will you give me 
 three or four days for consideration ? "
 
 132 MRS. HALLmURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "To oblige thee, I will, friend. When Thomas Ashley give^ 
 orders, he is prompt in having them attended to ; and he spoke, as 
 1 have informed thee, about a fresh boy to-day. Would it not be 
 a help to thee, friend, if thee got thy other two boys into the school 
 attached to the cathedral ? " 
 
 " But I have no interest," said Jane. " I hear that education 
 there is free ; but I do not possess the slightest chance." 
 
 " Thee may get a chance, friend. There's nothing like trying. 
 I must tell thee that the school is not thought highly of, in con- 
 sequence of the instruction being confined exclusively to Latin and 
 Greek, hi the old days this was thought enough ; but people are 
 now getting more enlightened. Thomas Ashley was educated there ; 
 but he had a private tutor at home for the branches not taught at 
 the college ; he had also masters for what are called accomplish- 
 ments. He is one of the most accomplished men of the day. Few 
 are so thoroughly and comprehensively educated as is Thomas 
 Ashley. I have heard say thy sons have begun Latin. It might be 
 a help to them if they could get in." 
 
 " I should desire nothing better," Jane breathlessly rejoined, a 
 new hope penetrating her heart. " I have heard of the collegiate 
 school here ; but, until very recently, I supposed it to be an expen- 
 sive institution." 
 
 "No, friend; it is free. The best way to get a boy in, is by 
 making interest with the head-master of the school, or with some 
 of the cathedral clergy." 
 
 A recollection of Air. Peach flashed into Jane's mind as a ray 
 of light. She bade good-night to Samuel Lynn and Anna, and to 
 Patience as she passed the kitchen. Patience had been crying. 
 
 " I am grieved about Anna," she explained. " I love the child 
 dearly, but Samuel Lynn is blind to her faults ; and it argues badly 
 for the future. Thee cannot imagine half her vanity ; I fear me, 
 too, she is deceitful. I wish her father could see it ! I wish he 
 would indulge her less, and correct her more ! Good night to thee." 
 Before concluding the chapter, it may as well be mentioned that 
 a piece of good fortune about this time befell Janey. She found 
 favour with Dobbs ! How it came about, perhaps Dobbs could not 
 herself have told. Certainly no one else could. 
 
 Mrs. Reece had got into the habit of asking Jane into her parlour 
 to tea. She was a kind-hearted old lady and liked the child. 
 Dobbs would afterwards be at work, generally some patching and 
 mending to her own clothes; and Dobbs, though she would not 
 acknowledge it, to herself or to any one else, could not see to 
 thread her needle. Needle in one hand and thread in the other, 
 she would poke the two together for five minutes, no result super- 
 vening. Janey hit upon the plan of threading her a needle in 
 silence, while Dobbs used the one; and from that time Jane kept 
 her in threaded needles. Whether this conciliated Dobbs, must 
 remain a mystery, but she took a liking for Jane; and the liking 
 grew into love. Henceforth Janey wanted for nothing. While
 
 MR. ASHLEY'S MANUFACTORY. 133 
 
 the others starved, she hved on the fat of the land. Meat and 
 pudding, fowls and pastry, whatever dinner in the parlour might 
 consist of, Janey had her share of it, and a full share too. At first 
 Mrs. Halliburton, from motives of delicacy, would not allow Jane to 
 go in ; upon which Dobbs would enter, boiling over with indigna- 
 tion, red with the exertion of cooking, and triumphantly bear her 
 off. Jane spoke seriously to Mrs. Reece about it, but the old lady 
 declared she was as glad to have the child as Dobbs was. 
 
 Once, Jancy came to a standstill over some apple pudding, which 
 had followed upon veal cutlets and bacon. " I am quite full," said 
 she, more plainly than politely : " I can't eat a bit more. May I 
 give this piece upon my plate to Gar ? " 
 
 " No, you may not," snapped Dobbs, drowning Mrs. Recce's 
 words, that she might give it and welcome. " How dare you, 
 Janey ? You know that boys is the loadstones of my life." 
 
 Dobbs probably used the word loadstones to indicate a heavy 
 weight. She seized the plate of pudding and finished it herself, lest 
 it should find its way to the suggested quarter — a self-sacrifice which 
 served to show her earnestness in the cause. Nothing gave Dobbs 
 indigestion like apple pudding, and she knew she should be a martyr 
 for four-and-twenty hours afterwards. 
 
 Thus Jane, at least, suffered from henceforth no privations, and 
 for this Mrs. Halliburton was very thankful. The time was to 
 come, however, when she would have cause to be more so. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MR. ASHLEY'S MANUFACTORY. 
 
 The happy thought, suggested by Samuel Lynn, Jane carried out. 
 She applied in person to Mr. Peach, and he obtained an immediate 
 entrance for Frank to the college school, with a promise for Gar 
 to enter at quarter-day, the 25th of March. He was perfectly 
 thunderstruck when he found that his old friend and tutor, Mr. 
 Halliburton, was dead ; had died in Helstonleigh ; and that he — 
 //t'/ — had buried him. There was no need to ask him twice, after 
 that, to exert his interest for the fatherless children. The school 
 (I have told you what it was many years ago) was not held in the 
 highest repute, from the cause spoken of by Samuel Lynn ; vacan- 
 cies often occurred, and admission was easy. It was one great 
 weight off Jane's mind. 
 
 William was not so fortunate. He was at that period very short 
 for his age, timid in manner, and no office could be persuaded to 
 take him. Nothing in the least congenial to him presented itself, 
 or could be found ; and the result was, that he resigned himself to 
 Samuel Lynn, who introduced him to Mr. Ashley's extensive manu- 
 factory — to be initiated by degrees into all the mysteries necessary
 
 134 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 to convert a skin into a glove. And, although his interest and 
 curiosity were excited by what he saw, he pronounced it a "hateful" 
 business. 
 
 When the skins came in from the leather-dressers they were 
 washed in a tub of cold water. The next day warm water, mixed 
 with yolks of eggs, was poured on them, and a couple of men, 
 bare-legged to the knee, got into the tub, and danced upon them, 
 skins, eggs, and water, for two hours. Then they were spread in a 
 field to dry. till they were as hard as lantern horn ; then they were 
 "staked," as it was called— a long process, to smooth and soften 
 them. To the stainers next, to be stained black or coloured ; next 
 to the parers, to have the loose flesh pared from the inside, and to 
 be smoothed again with pumice-stone — all this being done on the 
 outside premises. Then they came inside, to the hands of one of 
 the foremen, who sorted and marked them for the cutters. The 
 cutters cut the skins into tranks (the shape of the hand in outline) 
 with the separate thumbs and forgits, and sent them into the slitters. 
 The slitters slit the four fingers, and s/iapc'd the thumbs and forgits: 
 after that, they were ready for the women — three different women, 
 you may remember, being necessary to turn out each glove, so far 
 as the sewing went ; for one woman rarely worked at more than 
 her own peculiar branch, or was capable of working at it. This 
 done, and back in the manufactory again, they had to be pulled 
 straight, and " padded," or rubbed, a process by which they were 
 brightened. If black gloves, the seams were washed over with a 
 black dye, or else glazed ; then they were hung up to dry. This 
 done, they went into Samuel Lynn's room, a large room next to 
 Mr. Ashley's private room, and here they were sorted into firsts, 
 seconds, or thirds ; the sorting being always done by Samuel Lynn, 
 or by James Meeking, the head foreman. It was called '"making- 
 up." Next they were banded round with a paper in dozens, labelled, 
 and placed in small boxes, ready for the warehouses in London. A 
 great deal, you see, before one pair of gloves can be turned out. 
 
 The first morning that William went at six o'clock with Samuel 
 Lynn, he was ordered to light the fire in Mr. Ashley's room, 
 sweep it out, and dust it, first of all sprinkling the floor with 
 water from a watering-pot. And this was to be part ol his work 
 every morning at present ; Samuel Lynn giving him strict charge 
 never to disturb anything on Mr. Ashley's desk. If he moved 
 things to dust the desk, he was to lay them down again in the 
 same places and in the same position. The duster consisted of 
 some leather shreds tied up into a knot, the ends loose. He found 
 he should have to wait on Mr. Ashley and Samuel Lynn, bring 
 things they wanted, carry messages to the men, and go out when 
 sent. A pair of shears, which he could not manage, was put into 
 his hand, and he had to cut a damaged skin, useless for gloves, 
 into narrow strips, standing at one of the counters in Samuel Lynn's 
 room. William wondered whether they were to make another 
 duster, but lie found thcv were used in the manufactory in place
 
 MR. ASHLEY'S MANUFACTORY. 135 
 
 of string. That done, a round, polished slick was handed to him, 
 tapered at either end, which he had to pass over and over some 
 small gloves to make them smooth, after the manner of a cook 
 rolling out paste for a pie. He looked with dismay at the two 
 young errand bo)'S of the establishment, who were black with dye. 
 But Samuel Lynn had distinctly told him that he would not be 
 expected to place himself on their level. The rooms were for the 
 most part very light, one or two sides being entirely of glass. 
 
 On the evening of this first day, William, after he got home, sat 
 there in sad heaviness. His mother asked how he liked his em- 
 ployment, and he returned an evasive answer. Presently he rose to 
 go to bed, saying he had a headache. Up he went to the garret, 
 and flung himself down on the mattress, sobbing as if his heart 
 would break. Jane, suspecting something of this, followed him up. 
 She caught him in her arms. 
 
 '' Oh, my darling, don't give way ! Things may grow brighter 
 after a time." 
 
 " It is such a dreadful change ! — from my books, my Latin and 
 Greek, to go there and sweep out places like those two black boys 1 " 
 he said hysterically, all his reticence gone. 
 
 " My dear boy ! my darling boy ! I know not how to reconcile 
 you, how to lessen your cares. Your experience of the sorrow of 
 life is beginning early. You are hungry, too." 
 
 " I am always hungry," answered William, quite unable to affect 
 concealment in that hour of grief. " I heard one of those black 
 boys say he had boiled pork and greens for dinner. I did so envy 
 him." 
 
 Jane checked her tears ; they were rising rebelliously. " William, 
 darling, your lot seems just now very dark and painful, but it might 
 be worse." 
 
 "Worse!" he echoed in surprise. "How could it be worse? 
 Mamma, I am no better than an errand-boy there." 
 
 " It would be worse, William, if you were one of those poor black 
 boys. Unenlightened ; no wish for higher things ; content to remain 
 as they are for ever." 
 
 " But that could never be," he urged. " To be content with such 
 a life is impossible." 
 
 " They are content, William." 
 
 He saw the drift of the argument. " Yes, mamma," he acknow- 
 ledged; " I did not reflect. It would be worse if I were cjuite as 
 they are." 
 
 " William, we can only bear our difficulties, and make the best 
 of them, trusting to surmount them in the end. You and I must 
 both do this. Trust is different from hope. If we only hope, we 
 may lose courage ; but if we fully and freely /n/sf, we cannot. 
 Patience and perseverance, endurance and trust, they will in the 
 end triumph ; never fear. If I feared, William, I should go into 
 the grave with despair. I never lose my trust. I never lose my 
 conviction, firm and certain, that God is watching over me, that
 
 136 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 He is permitting these trials for some wise purpose, and that in His 
 own good time we shall be brought through them." 
 
 William's sobs were growing lighter. 
 
 " The time may come when we shall be at ease again," continued 
 Jane; "when we shall look back on this time of trial, and be 
 thankful that we did bear up and surmount it, instead of fainting 
 under the burden. God will take care that the battle is not too 
 hot for us, if we only resign ourselves, in all trust, to do the best. 
 The future is grievously dim and indistinct. As the guiding light 
 in your papa's dream shone only on one step at a time, so can I see 
 only one step before me." 
 
 "What step is that?" he asked somewhat eagerly, 
 
 "The one obvious step before me is to persevere, as I am now 
 doing, to try and retain this home for you, my children ; to work 
 as I can, so as to keep you around me. I must strive to keep you 
 together, and you must help me. Bear up bravely, William. Make 
 the best of this unpleasant employment and its mortifications, and 
 strive to overcome your repugnance to it. Be resolute, my boy, in 
 doing your duty in it, because it is your duty, and because, William 
 — because it is helping your mother." 
 
 A shadow of the trust, so firm in his mother's heart, began to 
 dawn in his. " Yes, it is my duty," he resolutely said. " I will try 
 to do it — -to hope and trust." 
 
 Jane strained him to her. " Were you and I to give way now, 
 darling, our past troubles would have been borne for nothing. Let 
 us, I repeat, look forward to the time when we may say, ' We did 
 not faint ; we battled on, and overcame.' It will come, William. 
 Only trust to God." 
 
 She quitted him, leaving him to reflection and resolve scarcely 
 befitting his young years. 
 
 The week wore on to its close. On the Saturday night, William, 
 his face flushed, held out four shillings to his mother. " My week's 
 wages, mamma." 
 
 Jane's face flushed also. " It is more than I expected, Wilham, 
 she said. " I fancied you would have three." 
 
 " I think the master fixed the sum," said William. 
 
 " The master? Do you mean Mr. Ashley? " 
 
 " We never say ' Mr. Ashley ' in the manufactory ; we say ' the 
 master.' Mr. Lynn was paying the wages to-night. I heard them 
 say that sometimes Mr. Lynn paid them, and sometimes James 
 Meeking. Those two black boys have half-a-crown a-piece. He 
 left me to the last, and when the rest were gone, he looked at me, 
 and took up three shillings. Then he seemed to hesitate, and 
 suddenly he locked the desk and went into the master's room, and 
 spoke with him. He came back in a minute, unlocked the desk, 
 and gave me four shillings. ' Thee hast not earned it,' he said, 
 * but I think thee hast done thy best. Thee will have the same 
 each week, so long as thee does so.' " 
 
 Jane held the four shilhngs. and f'^lt that she was growing quite
 
 I\IR. ASHLEY'S MANUFACTORY. 137 
 
 rich. The rest crowded round to look. " Can't we have a nice 
 dinner to-morrow with it ? " said one. 
 
 " I think we must," said Jane cheerily. " A nice dinner, for once 
 in a way. What shall it be? " 
 
 " Roast beef," called out Frank. 
 
 '• Pork with crackling," suggested Janey. " That of Mrs. Reece's 
 yesterday was so good." 
 
 " Couldn't we have fowls and a jam pudding? " asked Gar. 
 
 Jane smiled and kissed him. All the suggestions were beyond 
 her purse. " We will have a meat pudding," she said ; " that's 
 best." And the children cheerfully acquiesced. They had implicit 
 faith m their mother ; they knew that what she said was best, would 
 be best. 
 
 On this same Saturday night Charlotte East was returning home 
 from Helstonlcigh, an errand having taken her thither after dark. 
 Almost opposite to the turning to Honey F'air, a lane branched 
 off, leading to some farm-houses ; a lane, green and pleasant in 
 summer, but bare and uninviting now. Two people turned into 
 it as Charlotte looked across. She caught only a glance ; but 
 something in the aspect of both struck upon her as familiar. A 
 gas-lamp at the corner shed a liglit upon the spot, and Charlotte 
 suddenly halted, and stood endea\'Ouring to peer further. But 
 they were soon out of view. A feeling of dismay had stolen over 
 Charlotte. She hoped she was mistaken ; that the parties were not 
 those she had fancied ; and she slowly continued her way. A few 
 paces more, she turned up the road leading to Honey Fair, and 
 found herself nearly knocked over by one who came running against 
 her, apparently in some excitement, and in a great hurry. 
 
 " Who's this ? " cried the voice of Ehza Tyrrett. " Charlotte 
 East, I declare ! I say, have you seen anything of Caroline 
 Mason?" 
 
 Charlotte hesitated. She hoped she had not seen her; though 
 the misgiving was upon her that she had. '" Did you think I might 
 have seen her?" she returned. " Has she come this way? " 
 
 " Yes, I expect she has come this way, and I want to find her," 
 returned Eliza Tyrrett vehemently. " I saw her making off out of 
 Honey F"air, and I saw who was waiting for her round the corner. 
 I knew my company wasn't wanted then, and I turned into Dame 
 Buffle's for a talk ; and there I found that Madam Carry have been 
 telling falsehoods about me. Let me set on to her, that's all ! I 
 shall say what she won't like." 
 
 " Who do you mean was waiting for her ? " inquired Charlotte East. 
 
 Eliza Tyrrett laughed. She was beginning to recover her temper. 
 "You'd like to know, wouldn't you?" said she pertly. "But I'm 
 not going to tell tales out of school." 
 
 " I think I do know," returned Charlotte quietly. " I fear I do." 
 
 " Do you? I thought nobody knew nothing about it but me. It 
 has been going on this ten weeks. Did vou see her, though, 
 Charlotte?"
 
 138 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I thought I saw her, but I could not believe my eyes. She was 
 with — with — some one that she has no business to be with." 
 
 " Oh, as to business, I don't know about that," carelessly 
 answered Eliza Tyrrett. " We have a right to walk with anybody 
 we like." 
 
 " Whether it is good or bad for you } " returned Charlotte, 
 
 " There's no ' bad ' in it," cried Eliza Tyrrett indignantly. " I 
 never saw such an old maid as you are, Charlotte East, never ! 
 Carry Mason's not a child, to be led into mischief." 
 
 " Carry's very foolish," was Charlotte's comment. 
 
 " Oh, of course fou think so, or it wouldn't be you. You'll go 
 and tell upon her at home, I suppose, now." 
 
 " I shall tell /ier,'" said Charlotte. " Folks should choose their 
 acquaintances in their own class of life, if they want things to turn 
 out pleasantly." 
 
 " Were you not all took in about that shawl ! " uttered Eliza 
 Tyrrett, with a laugh. " You thought she went in debt for it at 
 Bankes's, and her people at home thought so. Het Mason shrieked 
 on at her like anything, for spending money on her back while she 
 owed it for her board. He gave her that." 
 
 " Eliza Tyrrett ! " 
 
 "He did. Law, where's the harm? He is rich enough to give 
 all us girls in Honey Fair one a-piece, and who'd be the worse for 
 it ? Only his pocket ; and that can afford it. I wish he would ! " 
 
 " I wish you would not talk so, Eliza. She is not a fit companion 
 for him, even though it is but to take a walk; and she ought to 
 remember that she is not." 
 
 "He wants her for a longer companion than that," observed Eliza 
 Tyrrett ; " that is, if he tells true. He wants her to marry him." 
 
 " He — wants her to marry him ! " repeated Charlotte, speaking 
 the words in sheer amazement. " Who says so ? " 
 
 "He does. I should hardly think he can be in earnest, though." 
 
 " Eliza Tyrrett, we cannot be speaking of the same person," cried 
 Charlotte, feeling bewildered. " To whom have you been alluding ? " 
 
 " To the same that you have, I expect. Young Anthony Dare." 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE FORGOTTEN LETTER. 
 
 It was the last day of March, and five o'clock in the afternoon. 
 The great bell had rung in Mr. Ashley's manufactory, the signal 
 for the men to go to their tea. Scuffling feet echoed to it from 
 all parts, and clattered down the stairs on their way out. The 
 ground floor was not used for the indoor purposes of the manu- 
 factory, the business being carried on in the first and second floors. 
 The first flight of stairs opened into what was called the serving-.
 
 THE FORGOTTEN LETTER. 139 
 
 room, a very large apartment ; through this, on the right, branched 
 off Mr. Ashley's room and Samuel Lynn's. On the left, various 
 passages led to other rooms, and the upper flight of stairs was 
 opposite to the entrance-stairs. The serving-counter, running com- 
 pletely across the room, formed a barrier between the serving-room 
 and the entrance staircase. 
 
 The men flocked into the serving-room, passed it, and rattled 
 down the stairs. Samuel Lynn was changing his coat to follow, 
 and William Halliburton was waiting for him, his cap on, for he 
 walked to and fro with the Quaker, when Mr. Ashle)''s voice was 
 heard from his room ; the counting-house, as it was frequently 
 called. 
 
 " William ! " It was usual to distinguish the boys by their Chris- 
 tian name only; the men by both their Christian and surnames. 
 Samuel Lynn was " Mr. Lynn." 
 
 " Did thee not hear the master calling to thee?" 
 
 William had certainly heard Mr. Ashley's voice ; but it was so 
 unusual for him to be called by it, that he had paid no attention. 
 He had very little communication with Mr. Ashley; in the three or 
 four weeks he had now been at the manufactory, Mr. Ashley had 
 not spoken to him a dozen words. He hastened into the counting- 
 house, taking off his cap in the presence of Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Have the men gone to tea ! " inquired Mr. Ashley, who was 
 sealing a letter. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied William. 
 
 "Is George Dance gone?" George Dance was an apprentice, 
 and it was his business to take the letters to the post. 
 
 " They are all gone, sir, except Mr. Lynn ; and James Meeking, 
 who is waiting to lock up." 
 
 " Do you know the post-office ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir. It is in West Street, at the other end of the town." 
 
 " Take this letter, and put it carefully in." 
 
 William received the letter from Mr. Ashley, and dropped it into 
 his jacket pocket. It was addressed to Bristol; the London mail- 
 bags were already made up. Mr. Ashley put on his hat and de- 
 parted, followed by Samuel Lynn and William. James Meeking 
 locked up, as it was his invariable business to do, and carried the 
 keys into his own house. He inhabited part of the ground floor of 
 the premises. 
 
 "Are thee not coming home with me this evening?" inquired 
 Samuel Lynn of William, who was turning off the opposite way. 
 
 " No ; the master has given me a letter to post. I have also an 
 errand to do for my mother." 
 
 It happened (things do happen in a curious sort of way in this 
 world) that Mrs. Halliburton had desired William to bring her in 
 some candles and soap at tea-time, and to purchase them at Lockett's 
 shop. Lockett's shop was rather far off; there were others nearer; 
 but Lockett's goods were of the best quality, and his extensive trade 
 enabled him to sell a halfpenny a pound cheaper. A l^alfpenny was
 
 I40 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 a halfpenny with Jane then. William went on his way, walking 
 fast. 
 
 As he was passing the cathedral, he came into contact with the 
 college boys, then just let out of school. It was the first day that 
 Gar had joined ; he had received his appointment, according to 
 promise. Very thankful was Jane ; in spite of the drawback of 
 having to provide them with good linen surplices. William halted 
 to see if he could discern Gar amidst the throng : it was not unna- 
 tural that he should look for him. 
 
 One of the boys caught sight of William standing there. It was 
 Cyril Dare, the third son of Mr. Dare, a boy older and considerably 
 bigger than William. 
 
 " If there's not another of that Halliburton lot, posted there ! " 
 cried he, to a knot of those around. " Perhaps he will be coming 
 amongst us next — because we have not enough with the two ! Look 
 at the fellow, staring at us ! He is a common errand-boy at 
 Ashley's." 
 
 Frank Halliburton, who, little as he was, wanted neither for spirit 
 nor pluck, heard the words, and confronted Cyril Dare. " That is 
 my brother," said he. " What have you to say against him ? " 
 
 Cyril Dare cast a glance of scorn on Frank, regarding him from 
 top to toe. " You audacious young puppy ! I say he is a snob. 
 There ! " 
 
 " Then I say he is not," retorted Frank. " You are one yourself, 
 for saying it." 
 
 Cyril Dare, big enough to have crushed Frank to death, speedily 
 had him on the ground, and treated him not very mercifully when 
 there. William, a witness to this, but not understanding it, pushed 
 his way through the crowd to protect Frank. All he saw was, that 
 Frank was down, and two big boys were kicking him. 
 
 " Let him alone! " cried he. " How can you be so cowardly as 
 to attack a little fellow .'' And two of you ! Shame ! " 
 
 Now, if there was one earthly thing that the college boys would 
 not brook, it was being interfered with by a stranger. William 
 suffered. Frank's treatment had been nothing to what he had to 
 submit to. He was knocked down, trampled on, kicked, buffeted, 
 abused ; Cyril Dare being the chief and primary aggressor. At 
 that moment the under-master came in view, and the boys made 
 off — all except Cyril Dare. 
 
 Reined in against the wall, at a few yards' distance, was a lad on 
 a pony. He had delicately expressive features, large soft brown 
 eyes, a complexion too bright for health, and wavy dark hair. The 
 face was beautiful ; but two upright lines were indented in the white 
 forehead, as if worn there by pain, and the one ungloved hand was 
 white and thin. He was as old as William within a year; but, 
 slight and fragile, would be taken to be much younger. Seeing and 
 hearing — though not very clearly^what had passed, he touched his 
 pony, and rode up to Cyril Dare. The latter was beginning to walk 
 away leisurely, in tlic wake of his companions ; the upper boys were
 
 the: forgotten letter. 141 
 
 rather fond of ignoring the presence of the under-master. Cyril 
 turned at hearing himself called. 
 
 "What! Is it you, Henry Ashley? Where did you spring 
 from ? " 
 
 "Cyril Dare," was the answer, "you are a wretched coward." 
 
 Cyril Dare was feeling anger yet, and the words did not lessen it. 
 " Of course, j)vw can say sol" he cried. "You know that you can 
 say what you like with impunity. One can't chastise a cripple like 
 you." 
 
 The brilliant, painful colour flushed into the face of Henry Ashley. 
 To allude openly to infirmity, such as this, is as iron entering into 
 the soul. Upon a sensitive, timid, refined nature (and those suffer- 
 ing from this sort of affliction are nearly sure to possess that nature), 
 it falls with a bitterness that can neither be conceived by others nor 
 spoken of by themselves. Henry Ashley braved it out. 
 
 " A coward, and a double coward ! " he repeated, looking Cyril 
 Dare full in the face, while the transparent flush grew hotter on his 
 own. " You struck a young boy down, and then kicked him ; and 
 for nothing but that he stood up, like a trump, at your abuse of his 
 l:)rother." 
 
 " You couldn't hear," returned C)ril Dare roughly. 
 
 " I heard enough. I say that you are a coward." 
 
 " Chut ! They are snobs, out-and-out." 
 
 " I don't care if they are chimney-sweeps. It does not make you 
 less a coward. And you'll be one as long as you live. If I had my 
 strength, I'd serve you out as you served them out." 
 
 " Ah, but you have not your strength, you know ! " mocked Cyril. 
 " And as you seem to be going into one of your heroic fits, I shall 
 make a start, for I have no time to waste on them." 
 
 He tore away. Henry Ashley turned his pony and addressed 
 William. Both boys had spoken rapidly, so that scarcely a minute 
 had passed, and William had only just risen from the ground. He 
 leaned against the w^all, giddy, as he wiped the blood from his face. 
 "Are you much hurt?" asked Henry kindly, his large dark eyes 
 full of sympathy. 
 
 " No, thank you ; it is nothing," replied William. " He is a great 
 coward, though, whoever he is." 
 
 " It is Cyril Dare," called out Frank. 
 
 " Yes, it is Cyril Dare," continued Henry Ashley. I have been 
 telling him what a coward he is. I am ashamed of him : he is ni)- 
 cousin, in a remote degree. I am glad you are not hurt." 
 
 Henry Ashley rode away towards his home. Frank followed in 
 the same direction ; as did Gar, who now came in view. William 
 proceeded up the town. He was a little hurt, although he had dis- 
 owned it to Henry Ashley. His head felt light, his arms ached; 
 perhaps the sensation of giddiness was as much from the want of a 
 piece of bread as anything. He purchased what was required for 
 his mother; and then made the best of his way home again. Mr. 
 Ashley's letter had gone clean out of his head.
 
 143 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TRUUBLLS. 
 
 Frank, in the manner usual with boys, carried hon\c so exaggerated 
 a story of WilHam's damages, that Jane expected to see him arrive 
 half-killed. Samuel Lynn heard of it, and said William might stop 
 at home that evening. It has never been mentioned that his hours 
 were from six till eight in the morning, from nine till one, from two 
 till five, and from six till eight. These were Mr. Lynn's hours, and 
 William was allowed to keep the sailie ; the men had half-an-hour 
 less allowed for breakfast and tea. 
 
 William was glad of the rest, after his battle, and the evening 
 passed on. It was growing late, almost bedtime, when suddenly 
 there flashed into his memory Mr. Ashley's letter. He put his hand 
 into his jacket-pocket. There it lay, snug and safe. With a few 
 words of explanation to his mother, so hasty and incoherent that 
 she did not understand a syllable, he snatched his cap, and flew 
 away in the direction of the town. 
 
 Boys have good legs and lungs ; and William scarcely slackened 
 speed until he gained the post-office, not far short of a mile. Drop- 
 ping the letter into the box, he stood against the wall to recover 
 breath. A clerk was standing at the door whistling ; and at that 
 moment a gentleman, apparently a stranger, came out of a neigh- 
 bouring hotel, a letter in hand. 
 
 " This is the head post-office, I believe ? " said he to the clerk. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Am I in time to post a letter for Bristol ? " 
 
 " No, sir. The bags for the Bristol mail are made up. It will be 
 through the town directly." 
 
 William heard this with consternation. If it was too late for this 
 gentleman's letter, it was too late for Mr. Ashley's. 
 
 He said nothing to any one that night ; but he lay awake thinking 
 over what might be the consequences of his forgetfulness. The 
 letter might be one of importance ; Mr. Ashley might discharge him 
 for his neglect — and the weekly four shillings had grown into an 
 absolute necessity. William possessed a large share of conscientious- 
 ness, and the fault disturbed him much. 
 
 When he came down at six, he found his mother up, and at work. 
 He gave her the history of what had happened. " What can be 
 done .'' " he asked. 
 
 ' Nay, William, put that question to yourself. What ought you to 
 do ? Reflect a moment." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to tell Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " Do not say ' I suppose,' my dear. You must tell him." 
 
 " Yes, I know I must," he acknowledged. " 1 have been thinking 
 about it all night. But I don't like to." 
 
 " Ah, child ! we have many things to do that we ' don't like.' But 
 the first trouble is always the worst. Look it fully in the face, and 
 it will melt away. There is no help for it in this matter, William; 
 your duty is plain. There's Mr. Lynn looking out for you." 
 
 William went out, heavy with the thought of the task he should 
 have to accomplish after breakfast. He knew that he must do it
 
 THE FOR(;OTTEN LETTER. 143 
 
 It was a duty, as his mother had said ; and she had fully impressed 
 upon them all, from their infancy, the necessity of looking out for 
 their duty and doing it, whether in great things or in small. 
 
 Mr. Ashley entered the manufactory that morning at his usual 
 hour, half-past nine. He opened and read his letters, and then was 
 engaged for some time with Samuel Lynn. By ten o'clock the 
 counting-house was clear. Mr. Ashley was alone in it, and William 
 knew that his time was come. He went in, and approached Mr. 
 Ashley's desk. 
 
 Mr. Ashley, who was writing, looked up. " What is it ? " 
 
 William's face grew red and white by turns. He was of a remark- 
 ably sensitive nature ; and these sensitive natures cannot help 
 betraying their inward emotion. Try as he would, he could not get 
 a word out. Mr. Ashley was surprised. " What is the matter ? " 
 he wonderingly asked. 
 
 "If you please, sir — I am very sorry — it is about the letter," he 
 stammered, and was unable to get any further. 
 
 "The letter!" repeated Mr. Ashley. "What letter? Not the 
 letter I gave you to post ? " 
 
 " I forgot it, sir," — and William's own voice sounded to his ear 
 painfully clear. 
 
 " Forgot to post it ! That was unpardonably careless. Where is 
 the letter ? " 
 
 " I forgot it, sir, until night, and then I ran to the post-office and 
 put it in. Afterwards I heard the clerk say that the Bristol bags 
 were made up, so of course it would not go. I am very sorry, sir," 
 he repeated, after a pause. 
 
 " How came you to forget it ? You ought to have gone direct 
 from here, and posted it." 
 
 " So I did go, sir. That is 1 was going, but " 
 
 " But what ? " returned Mr. Ashley, for William had made a dead 
 standstill. 
 
 " The college boys set on me, sir. They were ill-using my brother, 
 and I interfered ; and then they turned upon me. It made me for- 
 get the letter." 
 
 "It was you who got into an affray with the college boys, was 
 it ? " cried Mr. Ashley. He had heard his son's version of the affair, 
 without suspecting that it related to William. 
 
 William waited by the desk. " If you please, sir, was it of great 
 consequence ? " 
 
 "It might have been. Do not be guilty of such carelessness 
 again." 
 
 " I will try not, sir." 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked down at his writing. William waited. He 
 did not suppose it was over, and he wanted to know the worst. 
 " Why do you stay ? " asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I hope you will not turn me away for it, sir," he said, his colour 
 changing again. 
 
 " Well— not this time," replied Mr, Ashley, smiling to himself.
 
 144 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "But I'll tell you what I should have felt inclined to turn yoil 
 away for," he added — "concealing the iact from me. Whatever 
 fault, omission, or accident you may con mit, always acknowledge 
 it at once ; it is the best plan, and the e isicst. You may go back 
 to your work now." 
 
 William left the room with a lighter step. Mr. Ashley looked 
 after him. "That's an honest lad," thought he. "He might just 
 as well have kept it from me ; calculating on the chances of it not 
 coming out : many boys would have done so. He has been brought 
 up in a good school." 
 
 Before the day was over, William came again into contact with 
 Mr. Ashley. That gentleman sometimes made his appearance in 
 the manufactory in an evening — not always. He did not on this 
 one. When Samuel Lynn and William entered it on their return 
 from tea, a gentleman was waiting in the counting-house on busi- 
 ness. Samuel Lynn, who was, on such occasions, Mr. Ashley's 
 alter ego, came out of the counting-house presently, with a note in 
 his hand. 
 
 "Thee put on thy cap, and take this to the master's house. Ask 
 to see him, and say that I wait for an answer." 
 
 William ran off with the note : no fear of his forgetting this time. 
 It was addressed in the plain form used by the Quakers, "Thomas 
 Ashley ; " and could William have looked inside, he would have 
 seen, instead of the complimentary " Sir," that the commencement 
 was, " Respected Friend." He observed his mother sitting close at 
 her window, to catch what remained of the declining light, and 
 nodded to her as he passed. 
 
 " Can I see Mr. Ashley ? " he inquired, Avhen he reached the 
 house. 
 
 The servant replied that he could. He left William in the hall, 
 and opened the door of the dining-room ; a handsome room, of 
 lofty proportions. Mr. Ashley was slowly pacing it to and fro, 
 while Henry sat at a table, preparing his Latin exercise for his 
 tutor. It was Mr. Ashley's custom to help Henry with his Latin, 
 easing difficulties to him by explanation. Henry was very back- 
 ward with his classics ; he had not yet begun Greek : his own 
 private hope was, that he never should begin it. His sufferings 
 rendered learning always irksome, sometimes unbearable. The 
 same cause frequently made him irritable — an irritation that could 
 not be checked, as it would have been in a more healthy boy. The 
 man told his master he was wanted, and Mr. Ashley looked into 
 the hall. 
 
 " Oh, is it you, Wilham ? " he said. " Come in." 
 
 William advanced. " Mr. Lynn said I was to see yourself, sir, 
 and to say that he waited for an answer." 
 
 Mr. Ashley opened the note, and read it by the lamp on Henry's 
 table. It was not dark outside, and the chandelier was not lighted, 
 Init Henry's lamp was. " Sit down," said Mr. Ashley to William, 
 and left the room, note in hand.
 
 THE FORGOTTEN LETTER. 145 
 
 William felt it was something, Mr. Ashley's recognizing a dift'er- 
 ence between him and those black boys in the manufactory : they 
 would scarcely have been told to sit in the hall. William sat down 
 on the first chair at hand. Henry Ashley looked at him. He 
 recognized him as the boy who had been maltreated by the college 
 boys on the previous day ; but Henry was in no mood to be sociable, 
 or even condescending — he never was, when over his lessons. 
 His hip was giving him pain, and his exercise was making him 
 fractious. 
 
 " There ! it's always the case ! Another five minutes, and I 
 should have finished this horrid exercise. Papa is sure to go awa)', 
 or be called away, when he's helping me ! It's a shame." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley opened the door at this juncture, and looked into 
 the room. " I thought your papa was here, Henry." 
 
 "No, he is not here. He has gone to his study, and I am stuck 
 fast. Some blessed note has come, which he has to attend to; and 
 I don't know whether this word should be put in the ablative or the 
 dative ! I'll run the pen through it ! " 
 
 " Oh, Henry, Henry ! Do not be so impatient." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley shut the door again; and Henry continued to worry 
 himself, making no progress, except in fretfulness. At length 
 William approached him. " Will you let me help you ? " 
 
 Surprise brought Henry's grumbling to a standstill. "You!" he 
 exclaimed. " Do you know anything of Latin ? " 
 
 " I am very much farther in it than what you are doing. My 
 brother Gar is as far as that. Shall I help you ? You have put that 
 wrong ; it ought to be in the accusative." 
 
 " Well, if you can help me, you may, for I want to get it over," 
 said Henry, with a doubting stress upon the "can." "You can sit 
 down, if you wish to," he patronizingly added. 
 
 " Thank you, I don't care about sitting down," replied William, 
 beginning at once upon his task. 
 
 The two boys were soon deep in the exercise, William not doing 
 it, but rendering it easy to Henry ; in the same manner that Mr. 
 Halliburton, when he was at that stage, used to make it clear 
 to him. 
 
 " I say," cried Henry, "who taught you ?" 
 
 " Papa. He gave a great deal of time to me, and that got me on, 
 I can sec a wrong word there," added William, casting his eyes to 
 the top of the page. " It ought to be in the vocative, and you have 
 put it in the dative." 
 
 " You are mistaken, then. Papa told me that : and he is not 
 likely to be wrong. Papa is one of the best classical scholars of the 
 day — although he is a manufacturer," added Henry, who, through 
 his relatives, the Dares, had been infected with a contempt for 
 business. 
 
 " It should be in the vocative," repeated William. 
 
 " I shan't alter it. The idea of your finding fault with Mr, 
 Ashley's Latin ! Let us get on. What case is this ? " 
 Mrs, Halliburton's Troubles. IQ
 
 146 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 The last word of the exercise was being written, when Mr. Ashley 
 opened the door and called to William. He gave him a note for 
 Mr. Lynn, and William departed. Mr. Ashley returned to complete 
 the interrupted exercise. 
 
 " I siiy, papa, that fellow knows Latin," began Henry. 
 
 " What fellow ? " returned Mr. Ashley. 
 
 "Why, that chap of yours, who has been here. He has helped 
 me through my exercise. Not doing it for me : you need not be 
 afraid; but explaining to me how to do it. He made it easier to 
 me than you do, papa." 
 
 Mr. Ashley took the book in his hand, and saw that it was correct. 
 He knew Henry could not, or would not, have made it so himself. 
 Henry continued : 
 
 " He said his papa used to explain it to him. Fancy one of your 
 manufactory's errand-boys saying ' papa.' " 
 
 " You must not class him with the ordinary errand-boys, Henry. 
 The boy has been as well brought up as you have." 
 
 "I thought so; for he has impudence about him," was Master 
 Henry's retort. 
 
 " Was he impudent to you ? " 
 
 " To me ? oh no. He is as civil a fellow as ever I spoke to. 
 Indeed, but for remembering who he was, I should call him a 
 gentlemanly fellow. While he was telling me, I forgot who he was, 
 and talked to him as an equal, and he talked to me as one. I call 
 him impudent, because he found fault with your Latin." 
 
 "Indeed!" returned Mr. Ashley, an amused smile parting his 
 lips. 
 
 " He says this word's wrong. That it ought to be in the vocative 
 case." 
 
 " So it ought to be," assented Mr. Ashley, casting his eyes on the 
 word to which Henry pointed. 
 
 " You told me the dative, papa." 
 
 " That I certainly did not, Henry. The mistake must have been 
 your own." 
 
 " He persisted that it was wrong, although I told him it was your 
 Latin. Papa, it is the same boy who had the row yesterday with 
 Cyril Dare. What a pity it is, though, that a fellow so well up in 
 his Latin should be shut up in a manufactory ! " 
 
 " The only ' pity ' is, that he is in it too early," was the response 
 of Mr. Ashley. "His Latin would not be any detriment to his 
 being in a manufactory, or the manufactory to his Latin. I am 
 a manufacturer myself, Henry. You appear to ignore that some- 
 times." 
 
 " The Dares go on so. They din it into my ears that a manu- 
 facturer cannot be a gentleman." 
 
 " I shall cause you to drop the acquaintance of the Dares, if you 
 allow yourself to listen to all the false and foolish notions they may 
 give utterance to, Cyril Dare will probably go into a manufactory 
 liimself," ^ '
 
 THE FORGOTTEN LETTER. U7 
 
 Henry looked up curiously. " I don't think so, papa." 
 " I do," returned Mr. Ashley, in a significant tone. Henry was 
 surprised at the news. He knew his father never advanced a 
 decided opinion unless he had good grounds for it. He burst into 
 a laugh. The notion of Cyril Dare's going into a manufactory 
 tickled his fancy aniazinsjly.
 
 PART THE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A SUGGESTED FEAR. 
 
 One morning, towards the middle of April, IVIrs. Halliburton went 
 up to Mr. Ashley's. She had brought him the quarter's rent. 
 
 " Will you allow me to pay it to yourself, sir — now, and in future.'' 
 she asked. " I feel an unconquerable aversion to have further 
 dealings with Mr. Dare." 
 
 " I can understand that you should have," said Mr. Ashley. 
 "Yes, you can pay it to me, Mrs. HaUiburton. Always remember- 
 mg, you know, that I am in no huny for it," he added with a smile". 
 
 " Thank you. You are very kind. But I must pay as I go on." 
 
 He wrote the receipt, and handed it to her. " I hope you are 
 satisfied with William .'' " she said, as she folded it up. 
 
 " Quite so. I believe he gives satisfaction to Mr. Lynn. I have 
 little to do with him myself. Mr. Lynn tells me that he finds him 
 a remarkably truthful, open-natured boy." 
 
 " You will always find him that," said Jane. " He is getting more 
 reconciled to the manufactory than he was at first." 
 
 " Did he not like it at first ? " 
 
 "No, he did not. He was disappointed altogether. He had 
 hoped to find some employment more suited to the way in which he 
 had been brought up. He cannot divest himself of the idea that he 
 is looked upon as on a level with the poor errand-boys of your estab- 
 lishment, and therefore has lost caste. He had wished also to be 
 in some office — a hiwyer's, for instance — where the hours for leaving 
 are early, so that he might have had the evening for his studies. 
 But he is growing more reconciled to the inevitable." 
 
 " I suppose he wished to continue his studies ? " 
 
 " He did so, naturally. The foundation of an advanced education 
 has been laid, and he expected it was to go on to completion. His 
 brothers are now in the college school, occupied all day long with 
 their studies, and of course William feels the difference. He gets 
 to his Ijooks for an hour when he returns home in an evening; but 
 he is weary, and does not do much good." 
 
 "He appears to be a more persevering, thoughtful boy than are 
 some," remarked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Veiy thoughtful — veij persevering^. It has been the labour of
 
 A SUGGESTED FEAR. 149 
 
 my life, Mr. Ashley, to foster good seed in my children ; to reason 
 with them, to make them my companions. They have been 
 endowed, I am thankful to say, with admirable qualities of head 
 and heart, and I have striven unweariedly to nourish the good in 
 them. It is not often that boys are brought into contact with 
 sorrow so early as they. Their papa's death and my adverse 
 circumstances have been real trials." 
 
 " They must have been," rejoined Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " While others of their age think only of play," she continued, 
 " my boys have been obliged to learn the sad experiences of life ; 
 and it has given them a thought, a care, beyond their years. There 
 is no necessity to make Frank and Edgar apply to their lessons un- 
 remittingly ; they do it of their own accord, with their whole abilities, 
 knowing that education is the only advantage they can possess — 
 the one chance of their getting on in the world. Had William 
 been a boy of a different disposition, less tractable, less reflective, 
 less conscientious, I might have found some difficulty in inducing 
 him to work as he is doing." 
 
 " Does he complain .? " inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 "Oh no, sir! He feels that it is his duty to work, to assist so 
 far as he can, and he does it without complaining. I see that he 
 cannot help feeling it. He would like to be in the college with his 
 brothers ; but I cheer him up, and tell him it may all turn out for 
 the best. Perhaps it will." 
 
 She rose as she spoke. Mr. Ashley shook hands with her, and 
 attended her through the hall. '' Your sons deserve to get on, Mrs. 
 Halliburton, and I hope they will do so. It is an admirable promise 
 for the future man when a boy displays self-thought and self- 
 reliance." 
 
 " Mamma ! " suddenly exclaimed Janey, as they sat at breakfast 
 the morning after this, " do you remember what to-day is .? It is 
 my birthday." 
 
 Jane had remembered it. She had been almost in hopes that 
 the child would not remember it. One year ago that day the first 
 glimpse of the shadow, so soon to fall upon them, had shown itself. 
 What a_ change ! The contrast between last year and this was 
 almost incredible. Then they had been in possession of a good 
 home, were living in prosperity, in apparent security. Now— Jane's 
 heart turned sick at the thought. Only one short year ! 
 
 " Yes, Janey dear," she replied in a 3adly subdued tone. " I did 
 not forget it, I • " 
 
 A double knock at the door interrupted what she would have 
 further said. They heard Dobbs answer it : visitors were chiefly 
 for Mrs. Reecc. 
 
 Who should be standing there but Samuel Lynn ! He did not 
 choose the familiar back way, as Patience did, had he occasion to 
 call, but knocked at the front. 
 
 " Is Jane Halliburton within?" 
 
 " You can go and see," said crusty, disappointed Dobbs, flourish-
 
 ISO MRS. HALLlBURTOiN'S TROUBLES. 
 
 ing her hand towards the study door. " It's not often that she's 
 out." 
 
 Jane rose at his entrance ; but he dechned to sit, standing while 
 he dchvered the message with which he had been charged. 
 
 " Friend, thee need not send thy son to the manufactory again in 
 an evening, except on Saturdays. On the other evenings he may 
 remain at home from tea-time and pursue his studies. His wages 
 will not be lessened." 
 
 And Jane knew that the considerate kindness emanated from 
 Thomas Ashley. 
 
 She managed better with her work as the months went on. By 
 summer she could do it quickly ; the days were long then, and, by 
 dint of sitting closely to it, she could earn tvvelve shillings a week. 
 With William's earnings, and the six shillings taken from Mrs. 
 Recce's payments, that made twenty-two. It was quite a fortune, 
 compared with what had been. But, like most good fortunes, it 
 had its drawbacks. In the lirst place, she could not always earn it : 
 she was compelled to steal unwilling time to mend her own and the 
 children's clothes. In the second place, a large portion of it had 
 to be devoted to buying their clothes, besides other incidental 
 expenses ; so that in the matter of housekeeping they were not much 
 better off than before. Still, Jane did begin to think that she should 
 see her way clearer. But there was sorrow of a different nature 
 looming in the distance. 
 
 One afternoon, which Jane was obliged to devote to plain sewing, 
 she was sitting alone in the study, when there came a hard short 
 thump at it, which was Dobbs's way of making known her presence 
 there. 
 
 " Come in ! " 
 
 Dobbs came in and sat herself down opposite Jane. It was 
 summer weather, and the August dust blew in at the open window. 
 "I want to know what's the matter with Janey," began she, without 
 circumlocution. 
 
 "With Janey?" repeated Mrs. Halliburton. "What should be 
 the matter with her.? I know of nothing." 
 
 "Of course not," sarcastically answered Dobbs. "Eyes appear 
 to be given to some folks only to blind 'em — more's the pity! 
 You can't see it; my missis can't see it; but I say that the child 
 is ill." 
 
 " Oh, Dobbs ! I think you must be mistaken." 
 
 " Now, I'd thank you to be civil, if you please, Mrs. Halliburton," 
 retorted Dobbs. " You don't take me for a common servant, I 
 hope. Who's 'Dobbs?'" 
 
 " I had no wish to be uncivil," said Jane. " I am so much 
 accustomed to hear Mrs. Rcece call you Dobbs, that " 
 
 " My missis is one case, and other folks is another," burst forth 
 Dobbs, by way of interruption. " I have a handle to my name, 
 I hope, which is Mrs. Dobbs, and I'd be obleeged to you not to 
 forget it again. What's the reason that Janey's always tired now,
 
 A SUGGESTED FEAR. 151 
 
 I ask? — don't want to stir — gets a bright pink in the checks and 
 inside the hands ? " 
 
 " It is only the effect of the hot weather." 
 
 The opinion did not please Dobbs. "There's not a earthly thing 
 happens, but it's laid to the weather," she angrily cried. " The 
 weather, indeed! If Janey is not going off after her pa, it's an odd 
 thing to me." 
 
 Jane's heart-pulse stood still. 
 
 " Does she have night-prespirations, or does she not?" demanded 
 Dobbs. "She tells me she's hot and damp; so I conclude it 
 is so.'' 
 
 " Only from the heat — only from the heat," panted Jane eagerly. 
 She dared not admit the fear. 
 
 " Well, the first time I go down to the town, I shall take her to 
 Parry. It won't be at your cost," she hastened to add in an un- 
 gracious tone, for Jane was about to interrupt. " If she wants to 
 know what she is took to the doctor's for, I shall tell her it is to 
 have her teeth looked at. She has a nasty cough upon her : per- 
 haps you haven't noticed that ! Some can't see a child decaying 
 under their very nose, while strangers can see it palpable." 
 
 " She has coughed since last week, the day of the rain, when she 
 went with Anna Lynn into the field at the back, and they got their 
 feet wet. Oh, I am sure there is nothing seriously the matter with 
 her," added Jane, resolutely endeavouring to put the suggested fear 
 from her. " I want her in : she must help me with my sewing." 
 
 " Then she's not a-going to help," resolutely returned Dobbs. 
 " She has had a good dinner of roast lamb and sparrow-grass and 
 kidney potatoes, and she's sitting back in my easy chair, opposite 
 to my missis in hers. Her wanting always to rest might have told 
 some folks that she was ailing. When children are in health, their 
 legs and wings and tongue are on the go from morning till night. 
 You never need pervide 'em with a seat, but for their meals ; and, 
 give 'em their way, they'd eat them standing. Jane's always want- 
 ing to rest now, and she shall rest." 
 
 " But, indeed she must help me to-day," urged Jane. " She can 
 sew straight seams, and hem. Look at this heap of mending ! and 
 it must be finished to-night. I cannot afford to be about it to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " What sewing is it you want done ? " cjuestioned Dobbs, lifting 
 up the work with a jerk. " I'll do it myself, sooner than the child 
 shall be bothered." 
 
 " Oh no, thank you. I should not like to trouble you with it." 
 
 " Now, I make the offer to do the work," crossly responded 
 Dobbs ; " and if I didn't mean to do it, I shouldn't make it. 
 You'd do well to give it me, if you want it done. Janey shan't work 
 this afternoon." 
 
 Taking her at her word, and indeed glad to do so, Jane showed 
 Dobbs a task, and Dobbs swung off with it. Jane called after her 
 that she had not taken a needle and cotton. Dobbs retorted that
 
 152 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 she had needles and cotton of her own, she hoped, and needn't be 
 beholden to anybody else for 'em. 
 
 Jane sat on, anxious, all the afternoon. Janey remained in Mrs. 
 Reece's parlour, and revelled in an early tea and pikelets. Jane 
 was disturbed from her thoughts by the boisterous entrance of 
 Frank and Gar; more boisterous than usual. Frank was a most 
 excitable boy, and he had been told that evening by the head 
 master of the college school, the Reverend Mr. Keating, that he 
 might be one of the candidates for the vacant place in the choir. 
 This was enough to set Frank off for a week. " You know what a 
 nice voice you say I have, mamma ; what a good ear for music ! " 
 he reiterated. "As good as, you tell us, Aunt Margaret's used to 
 be. I shall be sure to gain the place, if you will let me try. We 
 have to be at college for an hour morning and afternoon daily, but 
 we can easily get that up if we are industrious. Some of the best 
 Helstonleigh scholars, who have shone at Oxford and Cambridge, 
 were choristers. And I should have about ten pounds a-year paid 
 to me." 
 
 Ten pounds a-year! Jane listened with a beating heart. It 
 would more than keep him in clothes. She inquired more fully into 
 particulars. 
 
 The result was that Frank had permission to try for the vacant 
 choristership, and gained it. His voice was the best of those tried. 
 He went home in .a glow. " Now, mamma, the sooner you set 
 about a new surplice for me the better." 
 
 " A new surplice, Frank I " Ah, it was not all profit. 
 
 " A chorister must have two surplices, mamma. King's scholars 
 can do with one, having them washed between the Sundays : 
 choristers can't. We must have them always in wear, you know, 
 except in Lent, and on the day of King Charles the Martyr." 
 
 Jane smiled ; he talked so fast. " What is that you are running 
 on about .'' " 
 
 " Goodness, mamma, don't you understand ? All the six weeks 
 of Lent, and on the 30th of January, the cathedral is hung with 
 black, and the choristers have to wear black cloth surplices. They 
 don't find the black ones : the college does that." 
 
 Frank's success in gaining the place did not give universal 
 pleasure to the college school. Since the day of the disturbance in 
 the spring, in which William was mixed up, the two young Halli- 
 burtons had been at a discount with the desk at which Cyril Dare 
 sat ; and this desk pretty well ruled the school. 
 
 "It's coming to a fine pass!" exclaimed Cyril Dare, when the 
 result of the trial was carried into the school. " Here's the town 
 clerk's own son passed over as nobody, and that snob of a Halli- 
 burton put in ! Somebody ought to have told the dean what snobs 
 they are." 
 
 "What would the dean have cared?" grumbled another, whose 
 young brother had been among the rejected ones. " To get good 
 voices in the choir is all he cares for in the matter."
 
 SHADOWS IN HONEY FAIR. 153 
 
 " I say, where do they live — that set?" 
 
 " In a house of Ashley's, in the London Road," answered Cvril 
 Dare. " They couldn't pay the rent, and my father put a bum in." 
 
 " Bosh, Dare ! " 
 
 " It's true," said Cyril Dare. " My father manages Ashley's 
 rents, you know. They'd have had every stick and stone sold, only 
 Ashley- — he is a regular soft over some things — took and gave them 
 time. Oh, they are a horrid lot ! They don't keep a servant !" 
 
 The blank astonishment that this last item of intelligence caused 
 at the desk, can't be described. Again Cyril's word was disputed. 
 
 " They don't, I tell you," he repeated. '' I taxed Halliburton 
 senior with it one day, and he told me to my face that they could 
 not afford one. He possesses brass enough to set up a foundry, 
 does that fellow. The eldest one is at Ashley's manufactory, 
 errand-boy. Errand-boy ! And here's this one promoted to the 
 choir, over gentlemen's heads ! He ought to be pitched into, ought 
 Halliburton senior." 
 
 In the school, Frank was Halliburton senior ; Gar, Halliburton 
 junior. " How is it that he says he was at King's College before he 
 came here? I heard him tell Keating so," asked a boy. 
 
 At this moment Mr. Keating's voice was heard. "Silence!" 
 Cyril Dare let a minute elapse, and then began again. 
 
 ''Such a low thing, you know, not to keep servants! We 
 couldn't do at all without five or six. I'll tell you what : the school 
 may do as it likes, but our desk shall cut the two fellows here." 
 
 And the desk did so ; and Frank and Gar had to put up with 
 many mortifications. There was no help for it. Frank was brave 
 as a young lion ; but against some sorts of oppression there is no 
 standing up. More than once was the boy in tears, telling his griefs 
 to his mother. It fell more on Frank than it did on Gar. 
 
 Jane could only strive to console him, as she did William. 
 " Patience and forbearance, my darling Frank ! You will outlive it 
 in time." 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SHADOWS IN HONEY FAIR. 
 
 August was hot in Honey Fair. The women sat at their open 
 doors, or even outside them ; the children tumbled in the gutters ; 
 the refuse in the road was none the better for the month's heat. 
 
 Charlotte East sat in her kitchen one Tuesday afternoon, busy as 
 usual. Her door was shut, but her window was open. Suddenly 
 the latch was lifted, and Mrs. Cross came in : not with the bold, 
 boisterous movements that were common to Honey Fair, but with 
 creeping steps that seemed afraid of their own echoes, and a scared 
 face.
 
 154 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mrs. Cross was in trouble. Her two daughters, Amelia and 
 Mary Ann, to whom you have had the honour of an introduction, 
 had purchased those lovely cross-barred sarcenets, green, pink, and 
 lilac, and worn them at the party at the Alhambra : which party 
 went off satisfactorily, leaving nothing behind it but some headaches 
 for the next day, and a trifle of pecuniary embarrassment to Honey 
 Fair in general. What with the finery for the party, and other 
 finery, and what with articles really useful, but which perhaps 
 might have been done without. Honey Fair was pretty deeply in 
 with the Messrs. Bankes. In Mrs. Cross's family alone, herself 
 and her daughters owed, conjointly, so much to these accommo- 
 dating tradesmen, that it took eight shiUings a week to keep them 
 cjuict. You can readily understand how this impoverished the 
 weekly housekeeping ; and the falsehoods that had to be con- 
 cocted, by way of keeping the husband, Jacob Cross, in the dark, 
 were something alarming. This was the state of things in many of 
 the homes of Honey Fair. 
 
 Mrs. Cross came in with timid steps and a scared face. " Char- 
 lotte, lend me five shillings for the love of goodness ! " cried she, 
 speaking as if afraid of the sound of her own voice. " I don't know 
 another soul to ask but you. There ain't another that would have 
 it to lend, barring Dame Bufifle, and she never lends." 
 
 " You owe me twelve shillings already," answered Charlotte, 
 pausing for a moment in her sewing. 
 
 " I know that. I'll pay you off by degrees, if it's only a shilling a 
 week. I am a'most drove mad. Bankes's folks was here yesterday, 
 and me and the girls had only four shillings to give 'em. I'm 
 getting in arrears frightful, and Bankes's is as cranky»over it as can 
 be. It's all smooth and fair so long as you're buying of Bankes's 
 and paying 'em; but just get behind, and see what short answers 
 and sour looks you'll have ! " 
 
 " But Amelia and Mary Ann took in their work on Saturday and 
 had their money ? " 
 
 "My patience! I don't know what us should do, if they hadn't! 
 We have to pay up everywhere. We're in debt at Buffle's, in 
 debt to the baker, in debt for shoes ; we're in debt on all sides. 
 And there's Cross spending three shilling, good, of his wages 
 at the public-house ! It takes what me and the girls earn to pay 
 a hit up, here and there, and stop things from coming to Cross's 
 ears. Half the house is in the pawn-shop, and what'll become 
 of us I don't know. I can't sleep o' nights, hardly, for thinking 
 on't." 
 
 Charlotte felt sure that, were it her case, she should not sleep 
 at all. 
 
 " The worst is, I have to keep the little 'uns away from school. 
 Pay for 'em I can't. And a fine muck they get into, playing in the 
 road all day. ' What does these children do to theirselves at 
 school, to get into this dirty mess?' asks Cross, when he comes in. 
 ' Oh, they plays a bit in the gutter, coming home,' says I. 'We
 
 SHADOWS IN HONEY FAIR. 155 
 
 plays a bit, father,' cries they, when they hears me, a-winking at 
 each other to think how we does their father." 
 
 Charlotte shook her head. " I should end it all." 
 
 " End it ! I wish we could end it ! The girls is going to slave 
 thcirselves night and day this week and next. But it's not for my 
 good : it's for their'n. They w^ant to get their grand silks out o' 
 pawn ! Nothing but outside finery goes down with them, though 
 they've not an inside rag to their backs. They leave care to me. 
 Fools to be sure, they was, to buy them silks ! They have been in 
 the pawn-shop ever since, and Bankes's a-tearing 'em to pieces for 
 the money ! " 
 
 " I should end it by confessing to Jacob," said Charlotte, when 
 she could get in a word. " He is not a bad husband " 
 
 " And look at his passionate temper ! " broke in Mrs. Cross. " Let 
 it get to his ears, that we have gone on tick to Bankes's and else- 
 where, and he'd rave the house out of winders." 
 
 "He would be angry at first, no doubt ; but when he cooled 
 down, he would see the necessity of something being done, and help 
 in it. If you all set on, and put your shoulders to the wheel, you 
 might soon get clear. Live upon the very least that will satisfy 
 hunger — the plainest food — dry bread and potatoes. No beer, no 
 meat, no finery, no luxuries ; and with the rest of the week's money 
 begin to pay up. You'd be clear in no time." 
 
 Mrs. Cross stared in consternation. " You be a Job's com- 
 forter, Charlotte ! Dry bread and taters ! who could put up with 
 that.?" 
 
 " When poor people like us fall into trouble, it is the only way, 
 that I know of, to get out of it. I'd rather mortify my appetite for 
 a year, than have my rest broke by care." 
 
 "Your advice is good enough for talking, Charlotte, but it 
 don't answer for acting. Cross must have his bit o' meat and his 
 beer, his butter and his cheese, his tea and his sugar — and so 
 must the rest on us. But about this five shillings? — do lend it 
 me, Charlotte! It is for the landlord: we're almost in a fix with 
 him." 
 
 "For the landlord!" repeated Charlotte involuntarily. "You 
 must keep ]ii)n paid, or it would be the worst of all." 
 
 " I know we must. He was took bad yesterday — more's the 
 blessing ! — and couldn't get round ; but he's here to-day as burly 
 as beef We haven't paid him for this three weeks," she added, 
 dropping her voice to an ominous whisper ; " and I declare to you, 
 Charlotte East, that the sight of him at our door is as good to me 
 as a dose of physic. Just now, round he comes, a-lifting the latch, 
 and me turning sick the minute I sees him. ' Ready, Mrs. Cross?' 
 asks he, in his short, surly way, putting his brown wig up. ' I'm 
 sorry I ain't, Mr. Abbott, sir,' says I ; 'but I'll have some next week 
 for certain.' ' That won't do for me,' says he : 'I must have it this. 
 If you can't give me some money, I shall apply to your husband.' 
 The fright this put me into I've not got over yet, Charlotte; for
 
 156 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Cross don't know but what the rent's paid up regular. ' I know 
 what's going on,' old Abbott begins again, ' and I have knowed it 
 for some time. You women in this Honey Fair, you pay your 
 money to them Bankes's, which is the blight o' the place, and then 
 you can't pay me.' Only fancy his calling Bankes's a blight !" 
 
 " That's just what they are," remarked Charlotte. 
 
 " For shame, Charlotte East ! When one's way is a bit eased by 
 being able to get a few things on trust, you must put in your word 
 again it ! Some of us would never get a new gown to our backs if 
 it wasn't for Bankes's. Abbott's gone off to other houses, collect- 
 ing; warning me as he'd call again in half an hour, and if some 
 money wasn't ready for him then, he'd go straight off to Jacob, to 
 his shop o' work. If you can let me have one week for him, 
 Charlotte — five shillings — I'll be ever grateful." 
 
 Charlotte rose, unlocked a drawer, and gave five shillings to Mrs. 
 Cross, thinking in her own mind that the kindest course would be 
 for the landlord to go to Cross, as he had threatened. 
 
 Mrs. Cross took the money. Her mind so far relieved, she could 
 indulge in a little gossip ; for Mr. Abbott's half-hour had not yet 
 expired. 
 
 " I say, Charlotte, what d'ye think? I'm afraid Ben Tyrrett and 
 our Mary Ann is a-going to take up together." 
 
 " Indeed! " exclaimed Charlotte. " That's new." 
 
 " Not over-new. They have been talking together on and off, 
 but I never thought it was serious till last Sunday. I have set 
 my face dead against it. He has a nasty temper of his own ; 
 and he's nothing but a jobber at fifteen shillings a week, and his 
 profits of the egg-whites. Our Mary Ann might do better than 
 that." 
 
 " I think she might," assented Charlotte. " And she is over- 
 young to think of marrying." 
 
 "Young! " wrathfuUy repeated Mrs. Cross. " I should think she 
 is young ! Girls are as soft as apes. The minute a chap says a 
 word to 'em about marrying, they're all agog to do it, whether it's 
 fit, or whether it's unfit. Our Mary Ann might look inches over 
 Ben Tyrrett's head, if she had any sense in her. Hark ye, Char- 
 lotte ! When you see her, just put in a word against it ; maybe 
 it'll turn her. Tell her you'd not have Tyrrett at a gift." 
 
 " And that's true," replied Charlotte, with a laugh, as her guest 
 departed. 
 
 A few minutes, and Charlotte received another visitor. This was 
 the wife of Mark Mason — a tall, bony woman, with rough black 
 hair and a loud voice. That voice and Mark did not get on very 
 well together. She put her hands back upon her hips, and used it 
 now, standing before Charlotte in a threatening attitude. 
 
 "What do you do, keeping our Carry out at night?" 
 
 Charlotte looked up in surprise. She was thinking of something 
 else, or her answer might have been more cautious, for she was one 
 of those who never willingly make mischief.
 
 SHADOWS IN HONEY FAIR. 157 
 
 " I do not keep Caroline out. She is here of an evening now and 
 then — not often." 
 
 Mrs. Mason laughed— a low derisive laugh of mockery. " I 
 knew it was a falsehood when she told it nic ! There she goes 
 out, night after night, night after night ; so I set Mark on to her, 
 for I couldn't keep her in, neither find out where she went to. 
 Mark was in a passion — something had put him out, and Carry- 
 was frightened, for he had hold of her arm savage-like. ' I am at 
 Charlotte East's of a night, Mark,' she said. ' I shall take no harm 
 there.' " 
 
 Charlotte did not lift her eyes from her work. Mrs. Mason stood 
 defiantly. 
 
 " Now, then ! where is it she gets to? 
 
 " Why -do you apply to me ? " returned Charlotte. " I am not 
 Caroline Mason's keeper." 
 
 " If you hain't her keeper, you be her adviser," retorted Mrs. 
 Mason. " And that's worse." 
 
 " When 1 advise Caroline at all. I advise her for her good." 
 
 " My eyes are opened now, if they was blind before," continued 
 Mrs. Mason, apostrophizing in no gentle terms the offending Caro- 
 line. "Who gave Carry that there shawl? — who gave her that 
 there fine gownd ? — who gave her that gold brooch, with a stone in 
 it 'twixt red and yaller, and a naked Cupid in white a flying on it? 
 ' A nice brooch you've got there, miss,' says I to her. ' Yes,' says 
 she, ' they call 'em cameons.' 'And where did you get it, pray?' 
 says I. 'And that's my business,' answers she. Next there was a 
 neck-scarf, green and lavender, with yaller fringe at its ends, as 
 deep as my forefinger, ' You're running up a tidy score at Bankes's, 
 my lady,' says 1. 'I shan't come to you to pay for it,' says she. 
 ' No,' thinks 1 to myself, ' but you be a living in our house, and you 
 may bring Mark into trouble over it,' for he's a soft-hearted gander 
 at times. So down I goes to Bankes's place last night. ' Just turn 
 to the debt-book, young man,' says I to the gentleman behind the 
 counter — it were the one with the dark hair — ' and tell me how 
 much is owed by Caroline Mason.' 'Come to settle it?' asks he. 
 ' Maybe, and maybe not,' says I. ' I want's my question answered, 
 whether or no.' Are you listening, Charlotte East?" 
 
 Charlotte lifted her eyes from her work. " Yes." 
 
 " He lays hold of a big book," continues Mrs. Mason, who was 
 talking her face crimson, " and draws his finger down its pages. 
 ' Caroline Mason — Caroline Mason,' says he, ' I don't think we have 
 anything against her. No : it's crossed off. There was a triile 
 against her, but she paid it last week.' Well, I stood staring 
 at the man, thinking he was deceiving me, saying she had paiii. 
 ' When did she pay for that shawl she had in the winter, and how 
 much did it cost?' asks I. 'Shawl?' says he. 'Caroline Mason 
 hasn't had no shawl of us.' ' Nor a gownd at Easter — a fancy sort 
 of thing, with stripes? ' I goes on : ' nor a cameon brooch last week ? 
 lior a scarf" with yaller fringe?' 'Nothing o' the sort/ says h?.
 
 158 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 decisive. ' Caroline Mason hasn't bought any of those things from 
 us. She had some bonnet ribbun, and that she paid for.' Now, 
 what was I to think?" concluded Mrs. Mason. 
 
 Charlotte did not know. 
 
 " I comes home a-pondering, and at the corner of the lane I 
 catches sight of a certain gentleman loitering about in the shade. 
 The truth flashed into my mind. 'He's after our Caroline,' I says to 
 myself; 'and it's him that has given her the things, and we shall 
 just have her a world's spectacle ! ' I accused Eliza Tyrrett of 
 being the confidant. ' It isn't me,' says she ; ' it's Charlotte East.' 
 So I bottled up my temper till now, and now I've come to learn the 
 rights on't." 
 
 " I cannot tell you the rights," replied Charlotte. " I do not 
 know them. I have striven to give Caroline some good advice 
 lately, and that is all I have had to do with it. Mrs. Mason, you 
 know that I should never advise Caroline, or any one else, but for 
 her good." 
 
 Mrs. Mason would have acknowledged this in a cooler moment. 
 "Why did that Tyrrett girl laugh at me, then? and why did Carry 
 say she spent her evenings here ? " cried she. " The gentleman I 
 see was young Anthony Dare : and Carry had better bury herself 
 alive, than be drawn aside by his nonsense." 
 
 " Much better," acquiesced Charlotte. " Where is Caroline?" 
 
 " Under lock and key," said Mr. Mason. 
 
 " Under lock and key ! " echoed Charlotte. 
 
 " Yes ; under lock and key ; and there she shall stop. She was 
 out all this blessed morning with Eliza Tyrrett, and never walked 
 herself in till after Mark had had his dinner and was gone. So then 
 I began upon her. My temper was up, and I didn't spare her. I 
 vowed I'd tell Mark what I had seen and heard, and what sort of a 
 wolf she allowed to make her presents of fine clothes. With that 
 she turned wild, and flung up to her room in the cock-loft, and 
 I followed and locked her in." 
 
 "You have done very wrong," said Charlotte. "It is not by 
 harshness that any good will be done with Caroline. You know her 
 disposition : a child might lead her by kindness, but she rises up 
 against harshness. My opinion is, that she never would have given 
 the least trouble at all, had you made her a better home." 
 
 This bold avowal took away Mrs. Mason's breath. "A better 
 home! " cried she, when she could speak. " A better home! Fed 
 upon French rolls and lobster salad and apricot tarts, and give her 
 a lady's maid to hook-and-eye her gownd for her ! My heart ! that 
 beats all." 
 
 " I don't speak of food, and that sort of thing," rejoined Charlotte. 
 " If you had treated her with kind words, instead of cross ones, she 
 would have been as good a girl as ever lived. Instead of that, you 
 have made your home unbearable, and so driven her out, with her 
 dangerous good looks, to be told of them by the first idler who came 
 f},cross her : and that seems to have been Anthony Dare. Go home.
 
 THE DARES AT HOME. 159 
 
 and let her out of where you have locked her in ; do, Hetty Mason ! 
 Let her out, and speak kindly to her, and treat her as a sister ; and 
 you'll undo all the bad yet." 
 
 " I shan't then ! " was the passionate reply. " I'll see you and 
 her hung first, before I speak kind to her, to encourage her in her 
 loose ways ! " 
 
 Mrs. Mason flung out of the house as she concluded, giving the 
 door a bang, which only had the effect of sending it open again. 
 Charlotte sighed, as she rose to shut it : not only for any peril that 
 Caroline Mason might be in, but for the general blindness, the dis- 
 torted views of right and wrong, which seemed to obtain amidst the 
 women of Honey Fair. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 THE DARES AT HOME. 
 
 A PROFUSION of glass and plate glittered on the dining-table of 
 Mr. Dare. It was six o'clock, and they had just sat down. Mrs. 
 Dare, in a light gauze dress and blonde headdress, sat at the head 
 of the table. There was a large family of them ; four sons and four 
 daughters ; and all were present ; also Miss Benyon, the governess. 
 Anthony and Herbert sat on either side Mrs. Dare; Adelaide and 
 Julia, the eldest daughters, near their father; the four other children, 
 Cyril and George, Rosa and Minny, were between them. 
 
 Mr. Dare was helping the salmon. In due course, a plate, fol- 
 lowed by the sauce, was carried to Anthony. 
 
 " What's this ! Melted butter ! Where's the lobster sauce? " 
 
 " There is no lobster sauce to-day," said Mrs. Dare. "We sent 
 late, and the lobsters were all gone. There was a small supply. 
 Joseph, take the anchovy to Mr. Anthony." 
 
 Mr. Anthony jerked the anchovy sauce off the salver, dashed 
 some into the butter on his plate, and jerked the bottle back again. 
 Not with a very good grace : his palate was a dainty one. Indeed, 
 it was a family complaint. 
 
 " I wouldn't give a lig for salmon unless there's lobster sauce with 
 it," he cried. " I hope you'll not send late again." 
 
 " It was the cook's fault," said Mrs. Dare. " She did not fully 
 understand my orders." 
 
 " Deaf old creature ! " exclaimed Anthony. 
 
 " Anthony, here's some cucumber," said Julia, looking down the 
 table at her brother. " Ann, take the cucumber to Mr. Anthony." 
 
 '■ You know I never eat cucumlscr with salmon," grumbled Anthony, 
 in reply. And it was not graciously spoken, for the offer had been 
 dictated by good-nature. 
 
 A pause ensued. They were busy over their plates. It was at 
 length broken by Mrs, Dare,
 
 l6o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Herbert, are you growing more reconciled to office-work ? " 
 
 " No ; and never shall," returned Herbert. " From ten till five is 
 an awful clog upon one's time ; it's as bad as school." 
 
 Mr. Dare looked up from his plate. " You might have been put 
 to a profession that would occupy a great deal more time than that, 
 Herbert. What calls have you upon your time, pray, that it is so 
 valuable ? Will you take some more fish ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know. I think I will. It is good to-day ; very 
 good with the cucumber, that Anthony despises." 
 
 Ann took his plate round to Mr. Dare. 
 
 "Anthony," said that gentleman, as he filled it, "where were you 
 this afternoon ? You were away from the office altogether, after two 
 o'clock." 
 
 " Out with Hawkesley," shortly replied Anthony. 
 
 "Yes; it is all very well to say, ' Out with Hawkesley,' but the 
 office suffers. I wish you young men were not quite so fond of 
 taking your pleasure." 
 
 " More fish, sir?" asked Joseph of Anthony. 
 
 " Not if I know it." 
 
 The second course came in. A quarter of lamb, asparagus, and 
 other vegetables. Herbert looked cross. He had recently taken a 
 dislike to lamb, or fancied that he had. " Of course there's some- 
 thing coming for me ! " he said. 
 
 " Oh, of course," said Mrs. Dare. " Cook know.s you don't like 
 lamb." 
 
 Nothing, however, came in. Ann was sent to inquire the cause 
 of the neglect. The cook had been unable to procure veal cutlet, 
 and Master Herbert had said if she ever sent him up a mutton-chop 
 again, he should throw it at her head. Such was the message 
 brought back. 
 
 " What an old story-teller she must be, to say she could not get 
 veal cutlet ! " exclaimed Herbert. " I hate mutton and lamb, and I 
 am not going to eat either one or the other." 
 
 " I heard the butcher say this morning that he had no veal, 
 Master Herbert," interposed Ann. "This hot weather they don't 
 kill much meat." 
 
 " Why have you taken this dishke to lamb, Herbert?" asked Mr. 
 Dare. " You have eaten it all the season." 
 
 " That's just it," answered Herbert. " I have eaten so much of it 
 that I am sick of it." 
 
 " Never mind, Herbert," said his mother. " There's a cherry tart 
 coming and a delicious lemon pudding. I don't think you can be 
 so very hungry ; you went twice to salmon." 
 
 Herlicrt was not in a good humour. All the Dares had been 
 culpably pampered, and of course it bore its fruits. He sat drum- 
 ming with his silver fork upon the table, condescending to try a 
 little asparagus, and a great deal of both pie and pudding. Cheese, 
 salad, and dessert followed, of which Herbert partook of plenti- 
 fully. Still h? thought he was terribly used, in not having had
 
 THE DARES AT HOME. l6l 
 
 diflerent meat specially provided for him ; and he could not recover 
 his good humour. 1 tell you the Dares had been most culpably 
 indulged. The house was one of luxury and profusion, and every 
 little whim and fancy had been studied. It is one of the worst 
 schools a child can be reared in. 
 
 The three younger daughters and the governess withdrew, after 
 taking each a glass of wine. Cyril and George went off like- 
 wise, to their lessons or to play. It was their own affair, and Mr. 
 Dare made it no concern of his. Presently Mrs. Dare and Adelaide 
 rose. 
 
 " Hawkesley's coming in this evening," called out Anthony, as 
 they were going through the door. 
 
 Adelaide turned. " What did you say, Anthony ? " 
 
 " Lord Hawkesley's coming. At least he said so ; that he would 
 look in for an hour. But there's no dependence to be placed 
 on him." 
 
 "We must be in the large drawing-room, mamma, this evening," 
 said Adelaide, as they crossed the hall. " Miss Benyon and the 
 children can take tea in the school-room." 
 
 " Yes," assented Mrs. Hare. " It is bad style to have one's 
 drawing-room encumbered with children, and Lord Hawkesley 
 understands all that. Let them be in the school-room." 
 
 "Julia also?" 
 
 Mrs. Dare shrugged her shoulders. " If you can persuade her 
 into it. I don't think Julia will consent to take tea in the school- 
 room. Why should she ? " 
 
 Adelaide vouchsafed no reply. Dutiful children they were not — 
 affectionate children they were not — they had not been reared to be 
 so. Mrs. Dare was of the world, worldly : very much so : and that 
 leaves very little time upon the hands for earnest duties. She had 
 taken no pains to train her children : she had given them very little 
 love. This conversation had taken place in the hall. Mrs. Dare 
 went upstairs to the large drawing-room, a really handsome room. 
 She rang the bell and gave sundry orders, the moving moti\e for 
 all being the doubtful visit of \'iscount Hawkesley — ices from the 
 pastrycook's, a tray of refreshments, the best china, the best silver. 
 Then Mrs. Dare reclined in her chair for her after-dinner nap — an 
 indulgence she much favoured. 
 
 Adelaide Dare entered the smaller drawing-room, an apartment 
 more commonly used, and opening from the hall. Julia was readmg 
 a book just brought in from the library. Miss Benyon was softly 
 playing, and the two little ones were quarrelling. Miss Benyon 
 turned round from the pumo when Adelaide entered. 
 
 "You must make tea in the school-room this evening, IMiss 
 Benyon, for the children. Julia, you are to take yours there."" 
 
 Julia looked up from her book. " Who says so? " 
 
 " Mamma. Lord Hawkesley's coming, and we cannot have the 
 drawing-room crowded." 
 
 " I am not going to keep out of the drawing-room for Lord 
 Mis Hnllibiir'cn's TroiiWes,. 11
 
 i62 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Hawkesley," returned Julia, a quiet girl in appearance and manner, 
 "Who is Lord Hawkesley, that he should disarrange the economy 
 of the house .-* There's so much ceremony and parade observed 
 when he comes, that it upsets all comfort. Your lordship this, 
 and your lordship that ; and papa my-lording him to the skies. 
 I don't like it. He looks down upon us — I know he docs — although 
 he condescends to make a sort of friend of Anthony." 
 
 Adelaide Dare's dark eyes flashed, and her cheeks crimsoned. 
 She was a handsome girl. " Julia ! I do think you are an idiot ! " 
 
 "Perhaps I am," composedly returned Julia, who was of a care- 
 less, easy temper ; " but I am not going to be kept out of the 
 drawing-room for my Lord Hawkesley. Let me go on with my 
 book in peace, Adelaide : it is a charming one." 
 
 Meanwhile, Herbert Dare, seeing no prospect of more wine 
 in store — for Mr. Dare, with wonderful prudence, told Herbert 
 that two glasses of port were sufficient for him — left his seat, and 
 bolted out at the dining-room window, which opened on to the 
 ground. He ran into the hall for his hat, and then, speeding across 
 the lawn, went into the high-road. Anthony remained alone with 
 his father ; and Anthony was plucking up courage to speak upon 
 a subject that was causing him some perplexity. He plunged into 
 it at once. 
 
 " Father, I am in a mess. I have managed to outrun the con- 
 stable." 
 
 Mr. Dare was at that moment holding his glass of wine between 
 his eye and the light. The words quite scared him. He set his 
 glass down, and looked at Anthony. 
 
 " How's that? How have you managed that?" 
 
 " I don't know how it has come about," was Anthony's answer. 
 " It is so, sir; and you must be so good as to help me out of it." 
 
 " Your allowance is sufficient— amply so. Do you forget that I 
 set you clear of debt at the beginning of the year? What money 
 do you want?" 
 
 Anthony Dare began pulling the fringe out of the dessert napkin, 
 to the great detriment of the damask. " Two hundred pounds, 
 sir." 
 
 "Two hundred pounds!" echoed Mr. Dare, a dark expression 
 clouding his handsome face. " Do you want to ruin me, Anthony? 
 Look at my expenses ! look at the claims upon me ! I say that 
 your allowance is a liberal one, and you ought to keep within it." 
 
 Anthony sat biting his lip. " I would not have applied to you, 
 sir, if I could have helped it ; but I am driven into a corner, and 
 must find money. I and Hawkesley drcv; come bills together. He 
 has taken up two, and I " 
 
 " Then you and Hawkesley were a couple of fools for your pains," 
 intempcrately interrupted Mr. Dare. "There's no game so 
 dangerous, so delusive, as that of drawing bills. Have I not told 
 you so, over and over again? Simple debt may be put off from 
 month to month, and from year to year ; but bills are nasty things.
 
 THE DARES AT HOME. 163 
 
 When I was a young man I lived for years upon promises to pa)-, 
 but I took care not to put my name to a bill." 
 
 " Hawkesley " 
 
 " Hawkesley may do what you must not," interrupted Mr. Dare, 
 drowning his son's voice. " He has his father's long rent-roll to 
 turn to. Recollect, Anthony, this must not occur again. It is 
 impossible that I can be called upon periodically for these sums. 
 Herbert is almost a man, and Cyril and George are growing up. 
 A pretty thing, if you. were all to come upon me in this manner. 
 1 have to exert my wits, as it is, I can tell you. I'll give you a 
 cheque to- morrow ; and I should serve you right if I were to put 
 you upon half allowance until I am repaid." 
 
 Mr. Dare finished his wine, rang for the table to be cleared, and 
 left the room. Anthony remained standing against the side of the 
 window, half in, half out, buried in a brown study, when Herbert 
 came up, leaping over the grass. Herbert was nearly as tall as 
 Anthony. He had been for some time articled to his father, but 
 had only joined the office the previous Midsummer. He looked 
 into the room, and saw it was empty. 
 
 " Where's the governor?" 
 
 " Gone somewhere. Into the drawing-room, perhaps," replied 
 Anthony. 
 
 "What a nuisance !" ejaculated Herbert. "One can't talk to 
 him before the girls. I want twenty-five shillings from him. 
 Markham has the primest fishing-rod to sell, and I must have it." 
 
 " Twenty-five shillings for a fishing-rod !" cried Anthony. 
 
 "And cheap at the price," answered Herbert. "You don't often 
 see so complete a thing as this. Markham would not part with it 
 — it's a relic of his better days, he says — only his old mother wants 
 some comfort or other, which he 'can't otherwise afford. The 
 case " 
 
 " You have half a dozen fishing-rods already." 
 
 " Half a dozen rubbish ! That's what they are, compared with 
 this one. It's no business of yours, Anthony." 
 
 "Not at all. But you'll oblige me, Herbert, by not bothering 
 the governor for money to-night. I have been asking him for 
 some, and it has put him out." 
 
 " Did you get it?" 
 
 Anthony nodded. 
 
 " Then you'll let me have the one-pound-five, Anthony? " 
 
 " I can't," returned Anthony. " I shall have a cheque to-morrow, 
 and I must pay it away whole. Tluii won't clear me. But I didn't 
 dare to tell of more." 
 
 " If I don't get that fishing-rod to-night, Markham may sell it to 
 some one else," grumbled Herbert. 
 
 " Go and get it," replied Anthony. " Promise him the money for 
 to-morrow. You are not obliged to give it, you know. The 
 governor has just said that he lived for years upon promises to 
 pay."
 
 i64 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Markham wants the money down." 
 
 " He'll think that as good as down if you tell him he shall have 
 it to-morrow. Bring the fishing-rod away ; possession's nine points 
 of the law, you know." 
 
 " He'll make such an awful row afterwards, if he finds he does 
 not get the money." 
 
 " Let him. You can row again. It's the easiest thing on earth 
 to fence off little paltry debts like that. People get tired of asking 
 for them." * 
 
 Away vaulted Herbert for the fishing-rod. Anthony yawned, 
 stretched himself, and walked out just as twilight was fading. He 
 was going out to keep an appointment. 
 
 Herbert Dare went back to Markham's. The man— though, 
 indeed, so far as birth went he might be called a gentleman — lived 
 a little way beyond Mr. Dare's. The cottage was situated in the 
 midst of a large garden, in which Markham worked late and early. 
 He had a very, very small patrimony upon which he lived and kept 
 his mother. He was bending over one of the beds when Herbert 
 returned. "He would take the fishing-rod then, and bring the 
 money over at nine in the morning, before going to the office. 
 Mr. Dare was gone out, or he would have brought it at once," was 
 the substance of the words in which Herbert concluded the 
 negotiation. 
 
 Could they have looked behind the hedge at that moment, 
 Herbert Dare and Markham, they would have seen two young 
 gentlemen suddenly duck down under its shelter, creep silently 
 along, heedless of the ditch, which, however, was tolerably dry at 
 that season, make a sudden bolt across the road, when they got 
 opposite the entrance of Mr. Dare's, and whisk inside its gates. 
 They were Cyril and George. That they had been at some mis- 
 chief, and were trying to escape detection, was unmistakable. 
 Under cover of the garden-wall, as they had previously done under 
 cover of the hedge, crept they ; sprang into the house by the 
 dining-room window, tore up the stairs, and took refuge in the 
 drawing-room, startlingly arousing Mrs. Dare from her after-dinner 
 slumbers. 
 
 In point of fact, they had reckoned upon finding the room un- 
 occupied. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THROWING AT THE BATS. 
 
 Aroused thus abruptly out of sleep, cross and startled, Mrs. Dare 
 attacked the two boys with angry words. " I will know what 
 you have been doing," she exclaimed, rising and shaking out the 
 flounces of her dross. "You have been at some mischief! Why
 
 THROWING AT THE BATS. 165 
 
 do you come violently in, in this manner, looking as frightened as 
 hares ? " 
 
 " Not frightened," replied Cyril. *' W'c arc only hot. We had a 
 rim for it." 
 
 " A run for what ?"she repeated. "When I say I will know a 
 thing, 1 mean to know it. I ask you what you have been doing? " 
 
 " Its nothing very dreadful, that you need put yourself out," 
 replied George. " One of old IMarkham's windows has come to 
 grief." 
 
 "Then that's through throwing stones again!" exclaimed Mrs. 
 Dare. " Now, I am certain of it, and you need not attempt to deny 
 it. You shall pay for it out of your own pocket-money, if he comes 
 here, as he did the last time." 
 
 "Ah, but he won't come here," returned Cyril. "He didn't see 
 us. Is tea not ready .''" 
 
 " You can go in the school-room and see. You are to take it 
 there this evening." 
 
 The boys tore away to the school-room. Unlike Julia, they did 
 not care where they took it, provided they had it. Miss Benyon 
 was pouring out the tea as they entered. They threw themselves 
 on a sofa, and burst into a fit of laughter so immoderate and long, 
 that their two young sisters crowded round eagerly, asking to hear 
 the joke. 
 
 "It was the primest fun!" cried Cyril, when he could speak. 
 " We have just smashed one of Markham's windows. The old 
 woman was at it in a nightcap, and I think the stone must have 
 touched her head. Markham and Herbert were holding a confab 
 together and they never saw us ! " 
 
 " We were chucking at the leathering-bats," put in George, jealous 
 that his brother should have all the telling to himself, " and the 
 stone " 
 
 " It is leather-winged bat, George," interrupted the governess. 
 " I corrected you the other night." 
 
 " What does it matter ? " roughly answered George. " I wish 
 you'd not put me out. A leathering-bat dipped down nearly right 
 upon our heads, and we both heaved at him, and one of the stones 
 went through the window, nearly taking, as Cyril says, old Mother 
 Markham's head. Won't they be in a temper at having to pay for 
 it ! They are as poor as charity." 
 
 " They'll make you pay," said Rosa. 
 
 "Will they?" retorted Cyril. "No catch, no have! I'll give 
 them leave to make us pay when they find us out. Do you suppose 
 we are donkeys, you girls? We dipped down under the hedge, and 
 not a soul saw us. What's for tea? " 
 
 " Bread and butter," replied the governess. 
 
 " Then those may eat it that like ! I shall have jam." 
 
 Cyril rang the bell as he spoke. Nancy, the maid who waited on 
 the school-room, came in answer to it. " Some jam," said Cyril. 
 " And be quick over it."
 
 i66 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "What sort, sir?" inquired Nancy. 
 
 "Sort.'' oh — let's see : damson." 
 
 " The damson jam was finished last week, sir. It is nearly the 
 season to make more." 
 
 Cyril replied by a rude and ugly word. After some cogitation, he 
 decided upon black currant. 
 
 " And bring me up some apricot," put in George. 
 
 "And we'll have some gooseberry," called out Rosa. " If you 
 boys have jam, we'll have some too." 
 
 Nancy disappeared. Cyril suddenly threw himself back on the 
 sofa, and burst into another ringing laugh. " I can't help it," he 
 exclaimed. "I am thinking of the old woman's fright, and their 
 dismay at having to pay the damage." 
 
 " Do you know what I should do in your place, Cyril?" said Miss 
 Benyon. " I should go back to Markham, and tell him honourably 
 that I caused the accident. You know how poor they are ; they 
 cannot afford to pay for it." 
 
 Cyril stared at Miss Benyon. " Where'd be the pull of that?" 
 asked he. 
 
 " The ' pull,' Cyril, would be, that you would repair a wrong done 
 to an unoffending neighbour, and might go to sleep with a clear 
 conscience." 
 
 The last suggestion amused Cyril amazingly ; he and conscience 
 had not a great deal to do with each other. He was politely telling 
 Miss Benyon that those notions were good enough for old maids, 
 when Nancy appeared with the several sorts of jam demanded. 
 Cyril drew his chair to the table, and Nancy went down. 
 
 " Ring the bell, Rosa," said Cyril, before the girl could well have 
 reached the kitchen. " I can't see one sort from another ; we must 
 have candles." 
 
 " Ring it yourself," retorted Rosa. 
 
 " George, ringlhe bell," commanded Cyril. 
 
 George bbeyed. He was under Cyril in the college school, and 
 accustomed to obey him. " You might have told Nancy when she 
 was here," remarked Miss Benyon to Cyril. " It would have saved 
 her a journey." 
 
 " And if it would ? " asked Cyril. " What were servants' legs 
 made for, but to be used ? " 
 
 Nancy received the order for the candles, and brought them up. 
 It was to be hoped her legs lacre made to be used, for scarcely had 
 Cyril begun to enjoy his black currant jam, when they were heard 
 coming up the stairs again. 
 
 "blaster Cyril, Mr. Markham wants to see you." 
 
 Cyril and the rest exchanged looks. " Did you say I was at home? " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 "Then you were an idiot for your pains! I can't come down, 
 tell him. I am at tea." 
 
 Down went Nancy accordingly. And back she came again. "He 
 says he must see you, Master Cyril."
 
 THROWING AT THE BATS. 167 
 
 " Be a man, Cyril, and face it," whispered Miss Benyon in his ear. 
 
 Cyril jerked his head rudely away from her. " I won't go down. 
 There! Nancy, you may tell Markham so." 
 
 "He has sat down on the garden bench, sir, outside the window 
 to wait," explained Nancy. " He says, if you won't see him he shall 
 ask for Mr. Dare." 
 
 Cyril appeared to be in for it. He dashed his bread and jam on 
 the table, and clattered down. "Who's wanting me? "called out 
 he, when he got outside. " Oh! — is it you, Markham?" 
 
 " How came you to throw a stone just now, and break my win- 
 dow, Cyril Dare? " 
 
 The words threw Cyril into the greatest apparent surprise. " 1 
 throw a stone and break your window ! " repeated he. " I don't 
 know what you mean." 
 
 " Either you or your brother threw it ; you were both together. 
 It entered my mother's bed-room window, and went within an inch 
 of her head. I'll trouble you to send a glazier round to put the 
 pane in." 
 
 "Well, of all strange accusations, this is about the strangest!" 
 uttered Cyril. " We have not been near your window ; we are up- 
 stairs at our tea." 
 
 At this juncture, Mr. Dare came out. He had heard the alterca- 
 tion in the house. "What's this?" asked he. "Good evening, 
 Markham." 
 
 Markham explained. " They crouched down under the hedge 
 when they had done the mischief," he continued, " thinking, no 
 doubt, to get away undetected. But, as it happened. Brooks the 
 nurseryman was in his ground behind the opposite hedge, and he 
 saw the whole. He says they were throwing at the bats. Now I 
 should be sorry to get them punished, Mr. Dare; we have been 
 boys ourselves ; but if young gentlemen will throw stones, they 
 must pay for any damage they do. I have requested your son to 
 send a glazier round in the morning. I am sorry he should have 
 denied the fact." 
 
 Mr. Dare turned to Cyril. " If you did it, why do you deny it?" 
 
 Cyril hesitated for the tenth part of a second. Which would be 
 the iaest policy? To give in, or to hold out? He chose the latter. 
 His word was as good as that confounded Brooks's, and he'd brave 
 it out! "We didn't do it," he angrily said; "we have not been 
 near the place this evening. Brooks must ha\c mistaken others 
 for us in the dusk." 
 
 " They did do it, Mr. Dare. There's no mistake about it. Brooks 
 had been watching them, and he thinks it was the bigger one who 
 threw that particular stone. If I had set a house on tire," Mark- 
 ham added, to Cyril, " I'd rather confess the accident, than deny it 
 by a lie. What sort of a man do you expect to make? " 
 
 " A better one than you ! " insolently retorted Cyril. 
 
 "Wait an instant," said Mr. Dare. He proceeded to the school- 
 room to inquire of George. That young gentleman had been an
 
 i68 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 admiring hearer of the colloquy from a staircase-window. He tore 
 back to the school-room on the approach of his father ; hastily- 
 deciding that he must bear out Cyril in the denial. " Now, George," 
 said Mr. Dare, sternly, " did you and Cyril do this, or did you 
 not?" 
 
 " Of course we did not, papa," was the ready reply. " We have 
 not been near Markham's. Brooks must be a fool." 
 
 Mr. Dare believed him. He was leaving the room when Miss 
 Benyon interposed. 
 
 " Sir, I should be doing wrong to allow you to be deceived. 
 They did break the window." 
 
 The address caused Mr. Dare to pause. " How do you know it. 
 Miss Benyon?" 
 
 Miss Benyon related what had passed. Mr. Dare cast his eyes 
 sternly upon his youngest son. " It is you who are the fool, 
 George, not Brooks. A lie is sure to get found out in the end ; 
 don't attempt to tell another." 
 
 Mr. Dare went down. " I cannot come cjuite to the bottom of 
 this business, Markham," said he, feeling unwilling to expose his 
 sons more than they had exposed themselves. " At all events, you 
 shall have the window put in. A pane of glass is not much on 
 either side." 
 
 " It is a good deal to my pocket, Mr. Dare. But that's all I ask. 
 And you know my character too well to fear I would make a 
 doubtful claim. Brooks is open to inquiry." 
 
 He departed; and Mr. Dare touched Cyril on the arm. " Come 
 with me." 
 
 He took him into the room, and there ensued an angry lecture. 
 Cyril thought George had confessed, and stood silent before his 
 father. " What a sneak he must have been ! " thought Cyril. 
 " Won't I serve him out ? " 
 
 " If you have acquired the habit of speaking falsely, you had 
 better relinquish it," resumed Mr. Dare. " It will not be a recom- 
 mendation in the eyes of Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " I am not going to Ashley's," burst forth Cyril ; for the mention 
 of the subject was sure to anger him. " Turn manufacturer, in- 
 deed! I'd rather " 
 
 "You'd rather be a gentleman at large," interrupted Mr. Dare. 
 " But," he sarcastically added, " gentlemen require something to 
 live upon. Listen, Cyril. One of the finest openings that I know of 
 in this city, for a young man, is in Ashley's manufactory. Vou 
 may despise Mr. A'shlcy for a manufacturer; but others respect 
 him. He was reared a gentleman — he is regarded as one; he is 
 wealthy, and his business is large and flourishing. Suppose you 
 could drop into this, after him? — succeed to this fine business, its 
 sole proprietor? I can tell you that you would occupy a better 
 position, and be in receipt of a far larger income, than either 
 Anthony or Herbert will be." 
 
 " But there's no s-.ich chance as that, for me," debated Cyril.
 
 THROWING AT THE BATS. 169 
 
 " There is the chance : and that's wliy you are to be placed there. 
 Henry, from his infirmity, is not to be brought up to business, and 
 there is no other son. You will be apprenticed to Mr. Ashley, with 
 a view to succeeding, as a son would, first of all to a partnership 
 with him, eventually to the whole. Now, this is the prospect 
 before you, Cyril ; and prejudiced though you are, you must sec 
 that it is a fine one." 
 
 "Well," acknowledged Cyril, " I'd not object to drop into a good 
 thing like that. Has Mr. Ashley proposed it.-"' 
 
 " No, he has not distinctly proposed it. But he did admit, when 
 your apprenticeship was being spoken of, that he might be wanting 
 somebody to succeed him. He more than hinted that whoever 
 might be chosen to succeed him, or to be associated with him, must 
 be rendered fit for the connection by being an estimable and a good 
 man ; one held in honour by his fellow citizens. No other could be 
 linked with the name of Ashley. And now, sir, what do you think 
 he, Mr. Ashley, would say to your behaviour to-night?" 
 
 Cyril looked rather shamefaced. 
 
 " You will go to Mr. Ashley's, Cyril. But I wish you to remem- 
 ber, to remember always, that the ultimate advantages will depend 
 upon yourself and your conduct. Become a good man, and there's 
 little doubt they will be yours; turnout indifferently, and there's not 
 the slightest chance for you." 
 
 "1 shan't succeed to any of Ashley's money, I suppose.?" com- 
 placently questioned Cyril, who somewhat ignored the conditions, 
 and saw himself in prospective Mr. Ashley's successor. 
 
 " It is impossible to say what you may succeed to," replied, Mr. 
 Dare, in so significant a tone as to surprise Cyril. " Henry Ashley's 
 I should imagine to be a doubtful life ; should anything happen to 
 him, Mary Ashley will, of course, inherit all. And he will be a 
 fortunate man who shall get into her good graces and marry her." 
 
 It was a broad hint to a boy like Cyril. " She's such a proud 
 thing, that Mary Ashley ! " grumbled he. 
 
 " She is a very sweet child," was the warm rejoinder of Mr. 
 Dare. And Cyril went up-stairs again to his jam, and his inter- 
 rupted tea. 
 
 Meanwhile the evening went on, and the drawing-room Avas 
 waiting for the Viscount Hawkeslcy. ]\Irs. Dare and Adelaide 
 were waiting for him — waiting anxiously in elegant attire. Mr. 
 Dare did not seem to care whether he came or not; and Julia, 
 who was buried in an easy chair with her book, would have pre- 
 ferred, of the two. that he stayed away. Between eight and nine 
 he arrived. A little man ; young, fair, with light eyes and sharp 
 features, a somewhat cynical expression habitually on his lips. 
 Helstonleigh, in its gossip, conjectured that he must be making 
 young Anthony Dare useful to him in some way or other, or 
 he would not have condescended to the intimacy. For Lord 
 Hawkesley, a proud man by nature, had been reared in all the 
 exclusivencss of an earl's son and heir ; and that exclusiveness was
 
 170 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 greater in those days than it is in these. This was the third 
 evening visit he had paid to Mrs. Dare. Had Adelaide's good 
 looks any attraction for him? She was beginning to think so, and 
 to weave visions upon the strength of it. Entrenched, as the Dares 
 were, in their folly and assumption, Adelaide was blind to the wide 
 social gulf that lay between herself and Viscount Hawkesley. 
 
 She sat down at the piano at his request, and sang an Italian 
 song. She had a good voice, and her singing was better than her 
 Italian accent. Lord Hawkesley stood by her and looked over the 
 music. 
 
 " I like your style of singing very much," he remarked to her 
 when the song was over. " You must have learnt of a good 
 master." 
 
 " Canine f<?," carelessly rejoined Adelaide. As is the case with 
 many more young ladies who possess a very superficial knowledge 
 of French, she thought it the perfection of good taste to display 
 as much of it as she did know. " I had the best professor that 
 Helstonleigh can give ; but what are Helstonleigh professors com- 
 pared with those of London ? We cannot expect first-rate talent 
 here." 
 
 " Do you like London ? " asked Lord Hawkesley. 
 
 " I was never there," replied Adelaide, feeling the confession, 
 when made to Lord Hawkesley, to be nothing but humiliation. 
 
 " Indeed ! You would enjoy a London season." 
 
 " Oh, so much ! I know nothing of the London season, except 
 from books. A contrast to your lordship, you will say," she added, 
 with a laugh. " You must be almost tired of it, desilliisionncr 
 
 "What's that in English?" inquired Lord Hawkesley, whose 
 French studies, as far as they had extended, had been utterly 
 thrown away upon him. Labouring under the deficiency, he had 
 to make the best of it, and he did it with a boast. " Used up, I 
 suppose you mean?" 
 
 Adelaide coloured excessively. She wondered if he was laughing 
 at her-; and made a mental vow never to speak French to a lord 
 again. 
 
 " Will you think me exacting, Miss Dare, if I trespass upon you 
 for another song?" 
 
 Adelaide did not think him exacting in the least. She was ready 
 to sing as long as he pleased.
 
 ( 171 ) 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 CHARLOTTE EAST'S PRESENT. 
 
 Towards dusk, that same evening, Charlotte East went over to 
 Mrs. Buftle's for some butter. After she was served, Mrs. Buffle — 
 who was a httle shrimp of a woman, with a red nose — crossed her 
 arms upon the counter, and bent her face towards Charlotte's. 
 "Have you heered the news?" asked she. " Mary Ann Cross is 
 going to make a match of it with Ben Tyrrett." 
 
 " Is she? " said Charlotte. "They had better wait a few years, 
 both of them, until they shall have put by something." 
 
 " They're neither of them of the putting-by sort," returned Mrs. 
 Buffle. " Them Crosses is the worst girls to spend in all the Eair : 
 unless it's Carry Mason. She don't spare her back, she don't. 
 The wonder is, how she gets it." 
 
 " Young girls will dress," observed Charlotte, carelessly. 
 
 Mrs. Buffle laughed. " You speak as if you were an old one." 
 
 " I feel like one sometimes, Mrs. Buffle. When children are left, 
 as I and Robert were, with a baby brother to bring up, and hardly 
 any means to do it upon, it helps to steady them. Tom " 
 
 Eliza Tyrrett burst in at the door, with a violence that made its 
 bell twang and tinkle. " Half-a-pound o' dips, long-tens. Dame 
 Buffle, and be quick about it," was her order. " There's such a 
 flare-up, in at Mason's." 
 
 "A flare-up!" repeated Mrs. Buffle, who was always ripe and 
 ready for the dish of scandal, whether it touched on domestic difler- 
 ences, or on young girls' improvidence in the shape of dress. " Is 
 Mason and her having a noise?" 
 
 " It's not him and her. It's about Carry. Hetty Mason locked 
 Carry up this afternoon, and Mason never came home at all to 
 tea ; he went and had some beer instead, and a turn at skittles, and 
 she wouldn't let Carry out. He came in just now, and his wife told 
 him a whole heap about Carry, and Mason went up to the cock-loft 
 and undid the door, and threatened to kick Carry down. They're 
 having it out in the kitchen, all three." 
 
 " What has Carry done?" asked Mrs. Buffle eagerly. 
 
 " Perhaps Charlotte East can tell," said Eliza Tyrrett, slyly. 
 " She has been thick with Carry lately. / am not a-going to spoil 
 sport." 
 
 Charlotte took up her butter, and bending a severe look of caution 
 on the Tyrrett girl, left the shop. Anthony Dare's reputation was 
 not a brilliant one, and the bare fact of Caroline Mason's allowing 
 herself to walk with him, would have damaged her in the eyes of 
 Honey Fair. As well keep it, if possible, from Mrs. Buffle and 
 other gossips.
 
 172 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 As Charlotte crossed to her own door, she became conscious that 
 some one was flying towards her in the dusk of the evening : a 
 woman, with a fleet foot and panting breath. Charlotte caught 
 hold of her. " Caroline, where are you going ? " 
 
 " Let me alone, Charlotte East " — and Caroline's nostrils were 
 working, her eyes flashing. " I have left their house for ever, and 
 I am going to one who will give me a better." 
 
 Charlotte held her tight. " You must not go, Caroline. 
 
 " I will," she defiantly answered. " I have chose my lot this 
 night for better and for worse. Will I stay to be taunted without 
 a cause? To be told I am what I am not? No! If anything 
 should happen to me, let them reproach themselves, for they have 
 driven me on to it." 
 
 Charlotte tried her utmost to restrain the wild girl. " Caroline," 
 she urged, " this is the turning-point in your life. A step forward, 
 and you may have passed it beyond recall ; a step backwards, and 
 you may be saved for ever. Come home with me." 
 
 Caroline in her madness— it was little else — turned her ghastly 
 face upon Charlotte. " You shan't stop me, Charlotte East ! You 
 go your way, and I'll go mine. Shall Mark and she go on at me 
 without cause, calling me false names?" 
 
 " Come home with me, Caroline. You shall stop with me to- 
 night; you shan't go back to Hetty. My bed's not large, but it 
 will hold us." 
 
 " I won't, I won't ! " she uttered, struggling to be free. 
 
 " Only for a minute," implored Charlotte. " Come in for a minute 
 until you are calm. You are mad just now." 
 
 " I am driven to it. There ! " 
 
 With a jerk she wrenched herself from Charlotte's grasp, passion 
 giving her strength : and she flew onwards and was lost in the 
 dusky night. Charlotte East ran home. Her brothers were there. 
 " Tom," said she, " put this butter in the cupboard for me ; " and 
 out she went again. At the end of Honey Fair, a road lay each 
 Avay. Which should she take? Which had Caroline taken? 
 
 She chose the one to the right — it was the most retired — and 
 vv-ent groping about it for twenty minutes. As it happened, as 
 such things generally do happen, Caroline had taken the other. 
 
 In a sheltered part of that, which lay back, away from the glare 
 of the gas-lamps, Caroline had taken refuge. She had expected 
 some one would be there to meet her ; but she found herselt 
 mistaken. Down she sat on a stone, and her wild passion began 
 to diminish. 
 
 Nearly half an hour afterwards, Charlotte found her there. 
 Caroline was talking to Anthony Dare, who had just come up. 
 Charlotte grasped Caroline. 
 
 " You must come with me, Caroline." 
 
 "Who on earth are you, and what do you want intruding here?" 
 demanded Anthony Dare, turning round with a fierce stare on 
 Charlotte.
 
 ^. 
 
 CHARLOTTE EAST'S PRESENT. 173 
 
 " I am Charlotte East, sir, if it is any matter to )'ou to know my 
 name, and I am a friend of Caroline Mason's. I am here to take 
 her out of harm's way." 
 
 "There's nothing to harm her here," haughtily answered young 
 Anthony. " Mind your own business." 
 
 _" I am afraid there is one thing to harm her, sir, and that's you," 
 said brave Charlotte. "You can't come among us people at Honey 
 Fair for any good. Folks bent on good errands don't need to wait 
 till dark, before they pay their visits. You had better give up 
 prowling about this place, Mr. Anthony Dare. Stay with your 
 equals, sir; with those that will be a match for you." 
 
 " The woman must be deranged !" uttered Anthony, going into a 
 terrible passion. " How dare you presume to say such things to 
 me.?" 
 
 "How dare you, sir, set yourself out to work ill.?" retorted 
 Charlotte. " Come along, Caroline," she added to the girl, who 
 was now crying bitterly. "As for you, sir, if you mean no harm, as 
 you say, and it is necessary that you should condescend to visit 
 Honey Fair, please to pay your visits in the broad light ot day." 
 
 No very pleasant word broke from Anthony Dare. He would 
 have liked to exterminate Charlotte. " Caroline," foamed he, 
 "order this woman away. If I could see a policeman, I'd give her 
 in charge." 
 
 " Sir, if you dare attempt to detain her, I'll appeal to the tirst 
 passer-by. I'll tell them to look at the great and grand Mr. 
 Anthony Dare, and to ask him what he wants here, night after 
 night." 
 
 Even as Charlotte spoke, footsteps were heard, and two gentle- 
 men, talking together, advanced. The voice of one fell familiarly 
 on the ear of Anthony Dare, familiarly on that of Charlotte East. 
 The latter uttered a joyful cry. 
 
 "-There's Mr. Ashley ! Loose her, sir, or I'll call to him." 
 To ha>e~J^r. Ashley " called to " on the point would not be alto- 
 gether agreeaWe to the feelings of young Anthony. " You fool ! " 
 he exclaimed to Charlott^^^East, "what harm do you suppose I 
 meant, or thought of.? You must be a very strange person yourself, 
 to get such a thing into your imagination. Good night, Caroline." 
 And, turning o'n his heel haughtily, Anthony Dare stalked off in 
 lie direction of Hclstonleigh. Mr. Ashley passed on, having 
 noticed nothing, and Charlotte East wound her arm round the 
 sobbing girl, subdued now, and led her hotne. 
 
 Anthony went straight to Pomeranian Knoll. He threw him- 
 self on to a sofa in a very ill humour. Lord Hawkeslcy was 
 occupied with Adelaide and her singing, and paid little attention 
 to himT ~^x^ 
 
 At the clo^e of the evening they left together, Anthony going out 
 with the Viscount, and linking his arm within his lordship's, as they 
 proceeded towards the StarJiOtel, Lord Hawkesley's usual quarters 
 when in Helstonlcierh.
 
 174 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I have got two hundred out of the governor," began Anthony in 
 a confidential tone. " I shall have the cheque to-morrow." 
 
 "What's two hundred, Dare?" slightingly spoke his lordship. 
 " It's nothing." 
 
 " It was of no use trying for more to-night. The two hundred 
 will stop present worry, Hawkesley ; the future must be provided 
 for when it comes." And they walked on with a quicker step. 
 
 Mrs. Dare had looked at her watch as they departed. It was 
 half-past eleven. She said she supposed they might as well be 
 going to bed, and Mr. Dare roused himself. For the last half-hour 
 he had been half asleep; quite asleep he did not choose to fall, in 
 the young nobleman's presence. A viscount, to Lawyer Dare, was 
 a viscount. " Where's Herbert ? " asked he, stretching himself. 
 Master Herbert, Joseph answered, had had supper served (not 
 being able to recover from the short allowance at dinner), and had 
 gone to bed. The rest, except Adelaide, had gone before, free from 
 want, from care, full of the good things of this life. The young 
 Halliburtons, their cousins once removed, had knelt and thanked 
 God for the day's good, even though that day to them had been 
 what all their days were now, one of poverty and privation. Not so 
 the Dares. As children, for they were not in a heathen land, they 
 had been taught to say their prayers at night ; but as they grew older, 
 the custom was suffered to fall into disuse. The family attended 
 church on Sundays, grandly attired, and there ended their religion. 
 
 To bed and to sleep went they, all the household, old and young 
 ■ — Joseph, the man-servant, excepted. Sleepy Joseph stretched 
 himself in a large chair to wait the return of Mr. Anthony : sleepy 
 Joseph had so to stretch himself most nights. Mr. Anthony might 
 come in in an hour's time, or Mr. Anthony might not come in until 
 it was nearly time to commence the day's duties in the morning. 
 It was all a chance ; as poor Joseph knew to his cost. 
 
 Nine o'clock was the breakfast hour at Mr. Dare's, and the 
 family were in general pretty punctual to it. On the following 
 morning they were all assembled at the meal, Anthony rather red 
 about the eyes, when Ann, the housemaid entered. 
 
 " Here's a parcel for you, Mr. Anthony." 
 
 She held in her arms a large untidy sort of bundle, done round 
 with string. Anthony turned his wondering eyes upon it 
 
 " That ! It can't be for me." 
 
 " A boy brought it, and said it was for you, sir," returned Ann, 
 letting the cumbersome parcel fall on a chair. " I asked if there 
 was any answer, and he said there was not." 
 
 " It must be from your tailor, Anthony," said Mrs. Dare. 
 
 Anthony's consequence was offended at the suggestion. " My 
 tailor send me a parcel done up like that ! " repeated he. " He had 
 better! He would get no more of my custom." 
 
 " What an extraordinary direction ! " exclaimed Julia, who had 
 got up, and.;drawn near, in her curiosity : " ' Young Mister Antony 
 Dare ! ' Just look, all of you."
 
 THR FEAR GROWING GREATER. 175 
 
 Anthony rose, and the rest foHowed, except Mr. Dare, who was 
 busy with a county paper, and paid no attention. A happy thought 
 darted into Minny's mind. "I know!" she cried, chipping her 
 hands. " Cyril and George are playing Anthony a trick, like the 
 one they played Miss Benyon." 
 
 Anthony, too hastily taking up the view thus suggested, and 
 inwardly vowing a not agreeable chastisement to the two, as soon 
 as they should rush in to breakfast from school, took out his pen- 
 knife and severed the string. The paper fell apart, and the contents 
 rolled on to the floor. 
 
 What on earth were they? What did they mean? A woman's 
 gown, tawdry but pretty ; a shawl ; a neck-scarf, with gold-coloured 
 fringe ; two pairs of gloves, the fingers worn into holes ; a bow of 
 handsome ribbon ; a cameo brooch, fine and false ; and one or two 
 more such articles, not new, stood disclosed. The party around 
 gazed in sheer amazement. 
 
 " If ever I saw such a collection as this ! " exclaimed Mrs. Dare. 
 " It is a woman's clothing. Why should they have been sent to 
 you, Anthony?" 
 
 Anthony's cheek wore rather a conscious colour just then. " How 
 should I know ? " he replied. " They must have been directed to 
 me by mistake. Take the rags away, Ann " — spurning them with 
 his foot — " and throw them in the dust-bin. Who knows what 
 infected place they may have come from?" 
 
 Mrs. Dare and the young ladies shrieked at the last suggestion, 
 gathered their petticoats about them, and retired as far as the 
 limits of the room allowed. Some enemy of malicious intent must 
 have done it, they became convinced. Ann — no more liking to be 
 infected with measles, or what not, than they — seized the tongs, 
 gingerly hfted the articles inside the paper, dragged the whole out- 
 side the door, and called Joseph to carry them to the receptacle 
 indicated by Mr. Anthony. 
 
 Charlotte East had thought she would not do her work by halves. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE FEAR GROWING GREATER. 
 
 We must leap over some months. A story, you know, cannot stand 
 still, any more than we can. 
 
 Spring had come round. The sofa belonging to Mrs. Recce's 
 parlour was in Mrs. Halliburton's, and Janey was lying on it — her 
 blue eyes bright, her cheeks hectic, her fair curls falling in disorder. 
 Through autumn, through winter, it had appeared that Dobbs's 
 prognostications of evil for Jane were not to be borne out, for she 
 had recovered from the temporary indications of illness, and had 
 continued well ; but, with the early spring weather, Jane failed, and
 
 ^;6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 failed rapidly. The cough came back, and great weakness grew 
 upon her. She was always wanting to be at rest, and would lie 
 about anywhere. Spreading a cloak on the floor, with a pillow for 
 her head, Janey would plant herself between her mother and the 
 fire, pulling the cloak up on the side near the door. One day 
 Dobbs came in and saw her there. 
 
 "My heart alive!" uttered Dobbs, when she had recovered her 
 surprise; " what are you lying down there for.'" 
 
 " I am tired," replied Janey ; " and there's nowhere else to lie. If 
 I put three chairs together, it is not comfortable, and the pillow 
 rolls off." 
 
 " There's the sofa in our room," said Dobbs. " Why don't you 
 lie on that?" 
 
 " So I do, you know, Dobbs ; but I want to talk to mamma some- 
 times." 
 
 Dobbs disappeared. Presently there was a floundering and 
 thumping heard m the passage, and the sofa was propelled m by 
 Dobbs, very red with the exertion. " My missis is indignant to 
 think that the child should be upon the floor," cried she, wrathfuUy. 
 " One would suppose some folks were born without brains, or the 
 sofa might have been asked for." 
 
 "But, Dobbs," said Janey— and s/ie was allowed to "Dobbs" as 
 much as she pleased, unreproved — "what am I to He on in your 
 room?" 
 
 " Isn't there my easy chair, with the high foot-board in front — as 
 good as a bed when you let it out? " returned Dobbs, proceeding to 
 place Janey comfortably on the sofa. " .^nd now let me say what 
 I came in to say, when the sight of that child on the cold floor sent 
 me shocked out again," she added, turning to Jane. " My missis's 
 leg is no better to-day, and she has made up her mind to have 
 Parry. It's erysipelas, as sure as a gun. Every other spring, 
 .about, she's laid up with it in her legs, one or the other of 'em. 
 Ten weeks I have known her in bed with it " 
 
 " The very best preventive to erysipelas is to take an occasional 
 warm bath," interrupted Jane. 
 
 The suggestion gave immense offence to Dobbs. " A warm 
 bath! " she uttered, ironically. "And how, pray, should my missis 
 take a warm bath? Sit down in a mashing-tub, and have a furnace 
 of boiling water turned on to her? Those new-fangled notions may 
 do for Londoners, but they are not known at Hclstonleigh. Warm 
 baths ! " repeated Dobbs, with increased scorn : " hadn't you better 
 propose a water-bed at once? I have heard that they are inventing 
 //le/n also." 
 
 " I have heard so, too," pleasantly replied Jane. 
 
 " Well, my missis is going to have Parry up, and she intends 
 that he shall see Janey and give her some physic — if physic will be 
 of use," added Dobbs, with an incredulous sniff. " My missis says 
 it will. She puts faith in Parry's physic as if it was gold; it's a 
 good thing sItc's not ill often, or she'd let herself be poisoned if
 
 THE FEAR GROWIXG GREATER. 177 
 
 quantity could poison her ! And, Jancy, you'll take the physic, like 
 a precious lamb ; and heaps of nice things you shall have after it, 
 to drive the taste out. Warm baths!" ejaculated Dobbs, as she 
 went out, returning to the old grievance. " I wonder what the 
 world's coming to?" 
 
 Mr. Parry was called in, and soon had his two regular patients 
 there. Mrs. Reece was confined to her bed with erysipelas in her 
 leg ; and if Janey seemed better one day, she seemed worse the 
 next. The surgeon did not say what was the matter with Jane. 
 He ordered her everything good in the shape of food ; he particu- 
 larly ordered port wine. An hour after the latter order had been 
 given Dobbs appeared, with a full decanter in her hand. 
 
 " It's two glasses a day that she is to take — one at eleven and 
 one at three," cried she without circumlocution. 
 
 "' But, indeed, I cannot think of accepting so costly a thing from 
 IMrs. Reece as port wine," interrupted Jane, in consternation. 
 
 " You can do as you like, ma'am," said Dobbs with equanimity. 
 "Janey will accept it ; she'll drink her two glasses of wine daily, if 
 I have to come and drench her with it. And it won't be any cost 
 out of my missis's pocket, if that's what you are thinking of," logi- 
 cally proceeded Dobbs. " Parry says it will be a good three months 
 before she can take her wine again; so Janey can drink it for her. 
 If my missis grudged her port wine or was cramped in pocket, I 
 should not take my one glass a day, which I do regular." 
 
 " I can never repay you and Mrs. Reece for your kindness and 
 generosity to Jane," sighed Mrs. Halliburton. 
 
 "' You can do it when you are asked," was Dobbs's retort. 
 " There's the wing and merrythought of a fowl coming in for her 
 dinner, with a bit of sweet boiled pork. I don't give myself the 
 ceremony of cloth-laying, now my missis is in bed, but just cat it 
 in the r»ugh ; so the child had better have hers brought in here 
 comfortably, till my missis is down again. And, Janey, you'll come 
 upstairs to tea to us ; I have taken up the easy chair." 
 
 " Thank you very much, Dobbs," said Janey. 
 
 " And don't you let them cormorants be eating her dinners or 
 drinking her wine," said Dobbs, fiercely, as she was going out. 
 '■ Keep a sharp look-out upon 'em." 
 
 " They would not do it I " warmly replied Jane. " You do not 
 know my boys yet, if you think they would rob their sick sister." 
 
 " I know that boys' stomachs are always on the crave for any- 
 thing that's good," retorted Dobbs. " You might skin a boy if you 
 were forced to it, but you'd never drive his nature out of him; and 
 that's to be always eating ! " 
 
 So she had even this help — port wine ! It seemed almost beyond 
 belief, and Jane lost herself in thought. 
 
 " Mamma, you don't hear me 1 " 
 
 " Did you speak, Janey?" 
 
 '' I say I think Dobbs got that fowl for mc. Mrs. Reece is not 
 taking meat, and Dobbs would not buy a fowl for herself. She will 
 
 Mrs Halliburton's Tro\iliIes. I-j
 
 178 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 give me all the best parts, and pick the bones herself. You'll seCi 
 How kind they are to me! What should I have done, mamma, if 
 I had only our plain food? I know I could not eat it now." 
 
 " God is over us, my dear child," was Jane's reply. " It is He 
 who has directed this help to us : never doubt it. Jane. Whether 
 we live or die," she added pointedly, " we are in His hands, and He 
 orders all things for the best." 
 
 " Can to die be for the best ? " asked Janey, sitting up to think 
 over the question. 
 
 "Why, yes, my dear girl; certainly it is, if God wills it. How 
 often have I talked to you about the rest after the grave ! No 
 more tears, no more partings. Which is best — to be here, or to go 
 to that rest? Oh, Janey! we can put up surely with illness and 
 with crosses here, if we may only attain to that. This world will 
 last only for a little while at best ; but that other will abide for ever 
 and for ever." 
 
 A summons from Mr. Parry's boy : Miss Halliburton's medicine 
 had arrived. Miss Halliburton made a grievous face over it, when 
 her mamma poured the dose out. '' I never capi take it ! It smells 
 so nasty ! " 
 
 Jane held the wine-glass towards her, a grave, kind smile upon 
 her face. " My darling, it is one of earth's little crosses ; /;-/ and 
 not rebel against it. Here's a bit of Patience's jam left, to take 
 after it." 
 
 Janey smiled bravely as she took the glass. " It was not so bad 
 as I thought, mamma," said she, when she had swallowed it. 
 
 " Of course not, Janey; nothing is, that we set about with a brave 
 heart." 
 
 But, with every good thing, Janey did not improve. Her mother 
 shrank from admitting the fact that was only growing too palpable ; 
 and Dobbs would come in and sit looking at Janey for a quarter of 
 an hour together, never speaking. 
 
 ''Why do you look at me so, Dobbs?" asked Janey, one day, 
 suddenly. " You were crying when you looked at me last night at 
 dusk." 
 
 Dobbs was rather taken to. " I had been peeling onions," said 
 she. 
 
 "Why do you shrink from looking at the truth? " an inward voice 
 kept repeating in Mrs. Halliburton's heart. " Is it right, or wise, or 
 well to do so?" No ; she knew that it could not be. 
 
 That same day, after Mr. Parry had paid his visit to Airs. Reece, 
 he looked in upon Janey. "Am I getting better?" she asked him. 
 " I want to go into the green fields again, and run about." 
 " Ah," said he, " we must wait for that, little maid." 
 Jane went out to the door with him. When he put out his hand 
 to say good morning, he saw that she was white with emotion, 
 and could not speak readily. "Will she live or die, Mr. Parry?" 
 was the whispered question that came at last. 
 
 " Now, don't distress yourself, Mrs. Halliburton. In these
 
 THE FEAR GROWING GREATER. 179 
 
 lingering cases we must be content to wait the issue, whatever it 
 may be." 
 
 " I have had so much trouble of one sort or another, that I think 
 I have become inured to it," she continued, striving to speak more 
 calmly. " These several days past I have been deciding to ask you 
 the truth. If I am to lose her, it will be better that I should know 
 it beforehand : it will be easier for me to bear. She is in danger, 
 is she not?" 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " I fear she is." 
 
 "Is there any hope? " 
 
 "Well, you know, Mrs. Halliburton, while there is life there is 
 hope." 
 
 His tone was kindly; but she could not well mistake that, of 
 human hope, there was none. Her lips were pale — her bosom was 
 heaving. " I understand," she murmured. " Tell me one other 
 thing : how near is the end?" 
 
 " That I really cannot tell you," he more readily replied. " These 
 cases vary much in their progression. Do not be downcast, Mrs. 
 Halhburton. We must every one of us go, sooner or later. Some- 
 times I wish I could sec all mine gone before me, rather than leave 
 them behind, to the cares of this troublous world." 
 
 He shook hands and departed. Jane crept softly upstairs to her 
 own room, and was shut in for ten minutes. Poor thing ! she could 
 not spare time for the indulgence of grief, as others might ! she 
 must hasten to her never-ceasing work. She had her task to do .: 
 and, ten minutes lost from it in the day must be made up at night. 
 
 As she was going downstairs, with red eyes, Mrs. Reece heard 
 her footstep, and called to her from her bed. " Is that you, 
 ma'am ? " 
 
 So Jane had to go in. "Are you better?" she inquired. 
 
 " No, ma'am, I don't see much improvement," replied the old lady. 
 " Mr. Parry is going to change the lotion ; but it's a thing that will 
 have its course. How is Janey ? Does he say? " 
 
 " She is much the same," said Jane. " She grows no better. I fear 
 she never will." 
 
 "Ay! so Dobbs says; and it strikes me Parry has told her so. 
 Now, ma'am, you spare nothing that can do her good. Whatever 
 she fancies, tell Dobbs, and it shall be had. I would not, for the 
 world, have a dying child stinted while I can help it. Don't spare 
 wine ; don't spare anything." 
 
 " A dying child ! " The words, in spite of Jane's previous convic- 
 tions ; nay, her knowledge ; caused her heart to sink with a chill. 
 She proceeded, as she had done many times before, to express a tithe 
 of her gratitude to Mrs. Reece for the substantial kindness shown to 
 Janey. 
 
 " Don't say anything about it, ma'am," returned the old lady in 
 her simple, straightforward way. " I have neither chick nor child 
 of my own, and both 1 and Dobbs have taken a liking for Janey. 
 We can't think anything we can do too much for her. I have spoken
 
 iSo MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 to Parry — therefore, don't spare his services ; at any hour of the day 
 or night, send for him, if you deem it necessary." 
 
 With another attempt at heartfeU thanks, Jane went down. Full 
 as her cup was to the brim, she was yet overwhelmed with the sense 
 of kindness shown. From that time she set herself to the task 
 of preparing Jancy for the great change, by gradual degrees — a little 
 now, a little then : to make her long for the translation to that better 
 land. 
 
 One evening, about eight o'clock. Patience entered— partly to in- 
 quire after Janey, partly to ask William if he would go to bring Anna 
 from Mrs. Ashley's, where she had been taking tea Samuel Lynn 
 was detained in the town on business, and Grace had been permitted 
 to go out : therefore. Patience had no one to send. William left his 
 books, and went out with alacrity. Patience sat down by Janey's sofa. 
 " I get so tired. Patience. I wish I had some pretty books to 
 read ! I have read all Anna's over and over again." 
 
 " And she won't eat solids now, and she grows tired of mutton- 
 broth, and sago, and egg-flip, and those things," put in Dobbs, in an 
 injured tone, who was also sitting there. 
 
 " I would try her with a little beef-tea, made with plenty of carrots, 
 and thickened with arrowroot," said Patience. 
 
 " Beef-tea, made with carrots, and thickened with arrowroot ! " 
 ungraciously responded Dobbs, who held in contempt every one's 
 cooking except her own. 
 
 " I can tell thee that it is one of the nicest things taken," said 
 Patience. " It might be a change for the child." 
 
 " How's it made ?" asked Dobbs. " It might do for my missis : 
 she's tired of mutton broth." 
 
 " Slice a pound of lean beef, and let it soak for two hours in a 
 quart of cold water," replied Patience. " Then put meat and water 
 into a saucepan, with a couple of large carrots, scraped and sliced. 
 Let it warm gradually, and then simmer for about four hours, thee 
 putting salt to taste. Strain it off ; and, when cold, take oft" the f;it. 
 As the broth is wanted, stir it up, and take from it as much as may 
 be required, boiling the portion, for a minute, with a little arrowroot." 
 Dobbs condescended to intimate that, perhaps she might try it ; 
 though she'd be bound it was poor stuff. 
 
 William had hastened to Mr. Ashley's. He was shown into a 
 room to wait for Anna, and his attention was immediately attracted 
 by a shelf full of children's story-books. He knew they were just 
 Avhat Janey was longing for. He had taken some in his hand, 
 when Anna came in, ready for him, accompanied by Mrs. Ashley, 
 Mary, and Henry. Then William became aware of the liberty he 
 had taken in touching the things, and, in his self-consciousness, the 
 colour, as usual, rushed to liis face. It was a frank, ingenuous 
 face, with its fair, open forehead, and its earnest, dark grey eyes ; 
 and Mrs. Ashley thought it so. 
 
 " Were you looking at our books?" asked Henry, who was in a 
 remarkably good humour.
 
 THE FEAR GROWING GREATER. i8l 
 
 " I am sorry to have touched them," replied WilHam. " I was 
 lliinking of something else." 
 
 " I would be nearly sure thee were thinking of thy sister," cried 
 Anna, who had an ever-ready tongue. 
 
 " Yes, I w-as," replied William candidly. " I was wishing she 
 could read them." 
 
 " I have told her about the books," said Anna, turning from 
 William to the rest. " I related to her as much as I could remember 
 of 'Anna Ross:' that book which thee had in thy hand, William. 
 She would so like to read them ; she is always ill." 
 
 " Is she very ill?" inquired Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " She is dying," replied Anna. 
 
 It was the first intimation William had received of the great fear. 
 His countenance changed, his heart beat wildly. " Oh, Anna! who 
 says it?" he cried out, in a low, wailing tone. 
 
 There was a dead silence. Anna's announcement sounded suffi- 
 ciently startling, and Mrs. Ashley looked with sympathy at the 
 evidently agitated boy. 
 
 " There ! that's my tongue ! " cried Anna repentantly. " Patience 
 says she wonders some one does not cut it out for me." 
 
 Mary Ashley — a fair, gentle little girl, with large brown eyes, 
 like Henry's— stepped forward, full of s\mpathy. " I have heard 
 of your sister from Anna," she said. '" She is welcome to read all 
 my books ; you can take some to her now, and change them as 
 often as you like." 
 
 How pleased William was ! Mary selected four, and gave them 
 to him. "Anna Ross," "The Bhnd Farmer," " Theophilus and 
 Sophia," and " Alargarct White." Very old, some of the books, and 
 childish ; but admirably suited to what people were beginning to 
 call Jane — a dying child. 
 
 " I say," cried out Henry, a little aristocratic patronage in his 
 tone, as William was departing, " how do you get on with your 
 Latin?" 
 
 " I get on very well. Not quite so fast as I should with a master. 
 I have to puzzle out difficulties for myself, and I am not sure but 
 that's one of the best ways to get on. I go on with my Greek, too ; 
 and Euclid, and " 
 
 '• How much time do you work?" burst forth Henrj". 
 
 " From six o'clock till half-past nine. A little of the time, I am 
 helping my brothers." 
 
 "There's perseverance, Henry!" cried Mrs. Ashley; and Master 
 Henry shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "Anna," began William, as they walked along, "how do you 
 know that Janey is so ill?" 
 
 " Now, William, thee must ask thy mother whether sne is ill or 
 not. She may get well — how do I know? She was ill last summer, 
 and Hannah Dobbs would ha\e it she was in a bad way then ; Isut 
 she recovered. Dost thee know what Patience says? " 
 
 " What?" asked William cagerlv.
 
 182 
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Patience says I have ten ears where I ought to have two ; and 
 I think thee hast the same. Fare thee well," she added, as they 
 reached her door. " Thank thee for coming for me." 
 
 William waited at the gate until Anna was admitted, and then 
 hastened home. Jane was alone, working as usual. 
 
 " Mamma, is it true that Janey is dying?" 
 
 Jane's heart gave a leap ; and poor William, as she saw, could 
 scarcely speak for agitation. " Who told you that ? " she asked in 
 a low tone. 
 
 "Anna Lynn, /j it true?" 
 
 " William, I fear it may be. Don't grieve, child ! don't grieve !" 
 
 William had laid his head down upon the table, the sobs breaking 
 forth. His poor mother left her seat, and bent her head down 
 beside him, sobbing also. 
 
 "William, for my sake, don't grieve!" she whispered. "God 
 alone knows what is good. He would not take her unless it were 
 for the best," 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 April passed. May was passing ; and the end of Jane Halliburton 
 was at hand. There was no secret now about her state ; but she 
 was going away very peacefully. 
 
 In this month. May, there occurred another vacancy in the choir 
 of the cathedral. Little Gar — but he was growing too big now to 
 be called Little Gar — proved to be the successful candidate ; so that 
 both boys were now in the choir. 
 
 " It will be such a help to me, learning to chant, should I ever 
 try for a minor canonry," boasted Gar, who never tired of telling 
 them that he meant to be a clergyman. 
 
 " Gar, dear, did you ever sit down and count the cost?" asked 
 Mrs. Halhburton. " I fear it will not be your luck to go to the 
 University." 
 
 " Labor omnia vincit," cried out Gar. " You have heard us 
 stumbling over our Latin often enough, mamma, to know what 
 that means. Frank will need to count the cost, too, if he is ever to 
 make himself into a barrister ; and he says he luill be one." 
 
 " Oh, you two vain boys !" cried Jane, laughing. 
 
 " Mamma," spoke up Janey from the sofa — and her breathing was 
 laboured now—" is there harm in their wishing this? " 
 
 " Not at all. They are laudable aims. Only Frank and Gar are 
 so poor and friendless that I fear the hopes are too ambitious to end 
 in anything but disappointment." 
 
 Janey called Gar to her, and pulled his face down to a level with 
 hers, whispering softly, "Strive well, Gar, and trust in God."
 
 THE END. 183 
 
 Later, when Jane had to be out on an indispensable errand, 
 Dobbs came in to sit with Janey. She brought her some jelly in 
 a saucer. 
 
 " I am nearly tired of it, Dobbs," said Janey. " I grow tired of 
 everything. And I don't like to say so, because it seems so un- 
 grateful." 
 
 " It's the nature of illness to get tired of things," responded 
 Dobbs, who thought it was her mission never to cease buoying 
 Janey up with hope. " You"ll be better when the hot weather 
 comes in." 
 
 " No, I shan't, Dobbs. I shall never get better now." 
 
 A combination of feelings, indignation predominating, nearly 
 took away Dobbs's breath. " Who on earth has been putting that 
 grim notion in your head ? " asked she. 
 
 " It is true, Dobbs." 
 
 ''True!" ejaculated Dobbs. "Who has been saying it to you ; 
 I want to know that." 
 
 " Mamma for one. She " 
 
 "Of all the stupids!" burst forth Dobbs, drowning what Janey 
 was about to say. " To frighten the child by telling her she's 
 going to die ! " 
 
 " It does not frighten me, Dobbs. I like to lie and think of it." 
 
 Dobbs fell into a doubt whether Janey was in her senses. " Like 
 to lie and think of being screwed down in a coffin, and put into the 
 cold ground, and left there till the judgment day! " uttered she. 
 
 " Oh, but, Dobbs, you must know better than that," returned 
 Jane. " Jf'e are not put into the coffin; it is only our bodies 
 that are put into the coffin : we go into the world of departed 
 spirits." 
 
 "De-par-ted what?" ejaculated Dobbs, whose notions of the 
 future — the life after this life — were not very definite; and who 
 could not have been more astonished had Jane begun to talk to her 
 in Greek. 
 
 " Mamma has always tried to explain these things to us," said 
 Jane. " She has made them as clear to us as they can be made, 
 and she has taught us not to fear death. She says a great mistake 
 is often made by those who bring up children. They are taught 
 to run away from death as something gloomy and frightful, instead 
 of being shown its bright side." 
 
 "Well, I never heard the like!" exclaimed Dobbs, lost in 
 wonder. " How can there be a bright side to death? — in a horrid 
 coffin, with brass nails and tin tacks that screw you down?" 
 
 Tears filled Janey's eyes. "Oh, Dobbs, you must learn better 
 than that, or how will you ever be reconciled to death ? Don't 
 you know that when we die, we — our spirit, that is, for it is our 
 spirit that lives and thinks — leave our body behind us ? There's 
 no more consciousness in our body, and it is put into the grave till 
 the last day. It is like the shell that the silkworm casts awa)' when 
 it comeg into the moth ; the life is in the moth ; not in the cast-olT
 
 l84 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 shell. You cannot think what trouble mamma has taken with us 
 always to explain these things ; and she has talked to me so much 
 lately." 
 
 " And where does the spirit go^by which, I suppose, you mean 
 the soul?" asked Dobbs. 
 
 Janey shook her head, to express her ignorance at the best. 
 " It is all a mystery," she said ; " but mamma has taught us to 
 believe that there's a place for the departed,- and that we shall be 
 there. It is not to be supposed that the soul, a thing of life, could 
 be boxed up in a coffin, Dobbs. When Jesus Christ said to the 
 thief on the cross, ' To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise,' he 
 meant that world. It is a place of light and rest." 
 " And the good and bad are there together ?" 
 Again Janey shook her head. " Don't you remember, in the 
 parable of the rich man and the beggar, there was a great gulf 
 Ijetwcen them, and Abraham said that it could not be passed? I 
 dare say it will be very peaceful and happy there : quite different 
 from this world, where there's so much trouble and sickness. Why 
 should I be afraid of death, Dobbs?" 
 
 Dobbs sat looking at her, and was some minutes before she 
 spoke. " Not afraid to die ! " she slowly said. " Well, I should 
 be." 
 
 Janey's eyes were wet. " Nobody need be afraid to die when 
 they have learnt to trust in God. Don't you know," she answered 
 with something like enthusiasm, " that many people, when dying, 
 have seen Jesus waiting for them ? What does it matter, then, 
 where our bodies are put ? We are going to be with Jesus. Indeed, 
 Dobbs, there's nothing sad in dying, if you can only look at it the 
 right way. It is those who look at it in the wrong way that are 
 afraid to die." 
 
 "The child's as learned as a minister ! " was Dobbs's inward com- 
 ment. " Ours told us last Sunday evening at chapel that we were 
 all on the high road to perdition. I'd rather listen to her creed 
 than to his : it sounds more encouraging. Their ma hasn't brought 
 'em up amiss ; and that's the truth ! " 
 
 The soliloquy was interrupted by the return of Mrs. Halliburton. 
 Almost immediately afterwards some visitors came in — Mary Ashley 
 and Anna Lynn. It was the ilrst time Mary had been there. She 
 had come to bring Janey some more books. She was one of those 
 graceful children whom it is pleasant to look at. A contrast in 
 attire she presented to the little Quakeress, with her silk dress, her 
 straw hat, trimmed with a wreath of flowers and white ribbons, 
 her dark curls falling beneath it. She was much younger than 
 her brother Henry; but there was a great resemblance between 
 them — in the refmed features, the bright complexion, and the 
 soft, dark eyes. Somehow, through a remark made by Dobbs, the 
 conversation turned upon Jane's inability to recover; and Mary 
 Ashley heard with extreme wonder that death was not dreaded. 
 " Her ma has taught her different," was Dobbs's comment.
 
 THE END. 185 
 
 " Mamma takes great pains with us," observed Mary ; " but I 
 should not hke to die. How is it?" she added, turning to Mrs. 
 Halhburton. "Jane is not much older than I, and yet she does not 
 dread it ! " 
 
 " My dear," was the reply, " I think it is simply this. Those 
 whom God is intending to take from the world, He often, in His 
 mercy and wisdom, weans from the love of it. You are healthy 
 and strong, and the wdrld is pleasant to you. Jane has been so 
 long weak and ill, that she no longer finds enjoyment in i ; and this 
 naturally causes her to look beyond this world to th rest and 
 peace of the next. All things are well ordered." 
 
 Mary Ashley began to think they must be. Chattering Anna, \-iin 
 Anna, sat gazing at Mary's pretty hat, her drooping curls; none, 
 except Anna herself, knew with what envious longing. Anna, at any 
 rate, was not tired of the world. 
 
 The end grew nearer and nearer. There came a day when Jane 
 did not get up ; there came a second, and a third. On the fourth 
 morning, Janey, who had passed a comfortable night, compared 
 with some nights which had preceded it, was sitting up in bed 
 when her brothers came in from school. They hurried over their 
 breakfast, and ran up to her, carrying the remains of it in their hands. 
 
 The first few minutes after breakfast had always been devoted by 
 Jane to reading to her children ; in spite of her necessity for close 
 working, they were so devoted still. " I will read here this morning," 
 she observed, as the boys stood around the bed. 
 
 " Mamma," interrupted Janey, "read about the holy city, in the 
 Book of Revelation." 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton turned to the twenty-first chapter, and had read 
 to the twenty-third verse — " And the city had no need of the sun, 
 neither of the moon, to shine in it : for the glory of God did lighten 
 it, and the Lamb is the light thereof" — when Jane suddenly started 
 forward in bed, her eyes fixed on some opposite point. Mrs. Halli- 
 burton paused, and endeavoured to put her gently back again. 
 
 " Oh, mamma, don't keep me ! " she said in a strangely thrilling 
 tone ; " don't keep me ! I see the light ! I see papa ! " 
 
 There was a strange light, not as of earth, in her own face, an 
 ineffable smile on her lip, that told more of heaven. Her arms 
 dropped; and she sank back on the pillow. Jane Halliburton had 
 gone to her Heavenly Father ; it may be also to her earthly one. 
 Gar screamed. 
 
 Dobbs arrived in the midst of the commotion. And when Dobbs 
 saw what had happened, she fell into a storm of anger, of passionate 
 sobs, half ready to knock down Mrs. Halliburton with words, and 
 the poor boys with blows. Why was she not called to see the last 
 of her ? The onh- young thing she had cared for in all the world, 
 and yet she could not be allowed to wish her farewell ! She'd never 
 love another again, as long as her days lasted 1 In vain they strove 
 to explain to her that it was sudden, unexpected, momentary : Dobbs 
 would not listen,
 
 i86 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton stole away from Dobbs's storm — anywhere. Her 
 heart was brimful. Although she had known that this must be the 
 ending, now that it had come she was as one unprepared. In her 
 grief and sorrow, she was tempted for a moment — but only for a 
 moment — to question the goodness and wisdom of God. 
 
 Some one called to her from the foot of the stairs, and she went 
 down. She had to go down ; she could not shut herself up, as those 
 can who have servants to be their deputies. Anna Lynn stood there, 
 dressed for school. 
 
 " Friend Jane Halliburton, Patience has sent me to ask after 
 Janey this morning. Is she better.'' " 
 
 " No, Anna. She is dead." 
 
 Jane spoke with unnatural calmness. The child, scared at the 
 words, backed away out at the garden door, and then flew to Patience 
 with the news. It brought Patience in. Jane was nearly prostrate 
 then. 
 
 " Nay, but thee art grieving sadly ! Thee must not take on so." 
 
 "Oh, Patience! why should it be?" she wailed aloud in her 
 despair and bereavement. " Anna left in health and joyousness ; my 
 child taken ! Surely God is dealing hardly with me." 
 
 " Thee must not say that," returned Patience gravely. " But thee 
 art not thyself just now. What truth was it that I heard thee im- 
 press upon thy child not a week ago ? That God's ways are not as 
 our ways." 
 
 CHAPTER VUL 
 
 A WEDDING IN HONEY FAIR. 
 
 But that such contrasts are all too common in life, you might think 
 it scarcely seemly to go direct from a house of death to a house ot 
 marriage. This same morning which witnessed the death of Jane 
 Halliburton, witnessed also the wedding of Mary Ann Cross and Ben 
 Tyrrett. Upon which there was wonderful rejoicing at the Crosses' 
 house. 
 
 Of course, whether a wedding was a good one or a bad one 
 (speaking from a pecuniary point of view), it was equally the custom 
 to feast over it in Honey Fair. Benjamin Tyrrett was only what is 
 called a jobber in the glove trade, earning fifteen or sixteen shillings 
 a week; but Mary Ann Cross made up her mind to have him — in 
 defiance of parental and other admonitions that she ought to look 
 over Ben's head. They had gone to work Honey Fair fashion, 
 preparing nothing. Every shilling that Mary Ann Cross could 
 spare went in finery — had long gone in finery. In vain Charlotte 
 East impressed upon her the necessity of saving : of waiting. Mar)- 
 Ann would do neither one nor the other. 
 
 " All that you can soarc from back debts, and from present actual
 
 A WEDDING IN HONEY FAIR. 187 
 
 wants, you should put by," Charlotte had urged. " You don't know 
 how many more calls there are for money after marriage than before 
 it." 
 
 "There'll be two of us to earn it then," logically replied Mary 
 Ann. 
 
 " And two of you to live," said Charlotte. " To marry upon 
 nothing is to rush into trouble." 
 
 " How you do go on, Charlotte East! He'll earn his wages, and 
 I shall earn mine. Where"ll be the trouble? I shan't want to spend 
 so much upon my back when I am married." 
 
 " To marry as you are going to do, must bring trouble," persisted 
 Charlotte. "He will manage to get together a few bits of cheap 
 furniture, just what you can't do without, to put into one room ; and 
 there you will be set up, neither of you having one sixpence laid 
 by to fall back upon ; and perhaps the furniture unpaid, hanging 
 like a log upon you. What shall you do when children come, Mary 
 Ann ? " 
 
 Mary Ann Cross giggled. " If ever I heard the like of you, Char- 
 lotte ! If children do come, they must come, that's all. We can't 
 send 'em back again." 
 
 " No, you can't," said Charlotte. " They generally arrive in pretty 
 good troops : and sometimes there's little to welcome them on. Half 
 the quarrels between man and wife, in our class of life, spring from 
 nothing but large families and small means. Their tempers get 
 soured with each other, and never get pleased again." 
 
 " Folks must take their chance, Charlotte." 
 
 " There's no must in it. You are nineteen, Ben Tyrrett's twenty- 
 three ; suppose you made up your minds to wait two or three years. 
 You would be quite young enough then : and meanwhile, if both 
 of you laid by, you would have something in hand to meet extra 
 expenses, or sickness, if it came." 
 
 " Opinions differs," shortly returned Mary Ann. " If folks tell 
 true, you were putting by ever so long for your marriage, and it all 
 ended in smoke. I'd rather make sure of a husband when I can get 
 him." 
 
 An expression of pain crossed the face of Charlotte East. 
 "Whether I marry or not," she answered calmly, "I shall be 
 none the worse for having laid money by, instead of squandering 
 it. If the best man that ever was born came to me, I would not 
 marry him, if we had made no bettct^ provision for a rainy day 
 than you and Tyrrett have. What can come of such unions, 
 Mary Ann?" 
 
 " It's the way that most of us girls do marry," returned Mary 
 Ann. 
 
 "And what comes of it, I ask? Blows sometimes, Mary Ann; 
 the workhouse sometimes ; trouble always." 
 
 " Is it true that you put by, Charlotte ? " 
 
 " Yes. I put by what I can." 
 
 " But how in wonder do you manage it ? Ymi dress as well a?
 
 188 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 we do. I'm sure our backs take all our money; father pretty nigh 
 keeps the house." 
 
 " I dress better than you, in one sense, Mary Ann. I don't have 
 on a silk gown one day, and a petticoat in rags the next. No one 
 ever sees me otherwise than neat and clean, and my clothes keep 
 good a long while. It's the finery that runs away with your money. 
 I am not ashamed to make a bonnet last two jears ; you'd have two 
 in a season. Another thing, Mary Ann : I do not waste my time— 
 I sit to my work ; and I dare say I earn double what you do." 
 
 " Let us liear what you earned last week, if it isn't impertinent," 
 was Mary Ann's answer. 
 " Ten and ninepence." 
 
 " Look at that 1 " cried the girl, lifting her hands. " I brought out 
 but five and twopence, and I left no money for silk, and am in debt 
 two quarterns. 'Melia was worse. Hers came to four and eleven. 
 That surly old foreman says to me when he was paying, ' What d'ye 
 leave for silk, Mary Ann Cross? There's two quarterns down.' ' I 
 know there is, sir,' says I, 'but I don't leave nothing to-day.' He 
 gave a grunt at that, the old file did." 
 
 " And I suppose you spent your five shillings in some useless 
 thing ? " 
 
 " I had to pay up at Bankes's, and the rest went in a new peach 
 bonnet-ribbon." 
 
 " Peach ! You should have bought white, if you must be 
 married." 
 
 " Thank you, Charlotte ! What next ? Do you suppose I'm going 
 to be married in that shabby old straw, that I've worn all the spring? 
 Not if I know it." 
 
 " Where's your money to come from for a new one ? There will 
 be other things wanted, more essential than a bonnet." 
 
 " I'll have a new one, if I go in trust for it," returned Mary Ann. 
 " Tyrrett buys the ring. And it is of no use for you to preach, 
 Charlotte ; if you preach your tongue out, it'll do no good." 
 
 Charlotte might, indeed, have preached a very long sermon, before 
 she would efl'ect any change in the system of improvidence obtain- 
 ing in Honey Fair. Neither Benjamin Tyrrett nor Mary Ann 
 Cross was gifted with forethought, and they took no pains to acquire 
 it. 
 
 The marriage was carried out, and this was the happy day. Mrs. 
 Cross gave an entertainment in honour of the event, at which the 
 bride and bridegroom assisted — as the French say — with as many 
 others as the kitchen would hold. Tea for the ladies, pipes and ale 
 for the gentlemen, supper for all, vith spirits-and-water handed 
 round. 
 
 How Mrs. Cross had contrived to go on so long without an expose, 
 she scarcely knew herself. The wonder was, that she had gone on 
 at all. It took the energies of her life to patch up her embarrass- 
 ments, and hide her difficulties from her husband. The evil day, 
 however, was only delayed. It could not be averted.
 
 ( 1^9 ) 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN EXPLOSION FOR MRS. CROSS. 
 
 The evil day, hinted at in the last chapter, was not long in coming. 
 It might not have fallen quite so soon, but for a misfortune which 
 o\'crtook Jacob Cross. The manufacturer for whom he worked died 
 suddenly, and the business was immediately given up — the made 
 gloves being bought up by a London house, and the stock in trade, 
 leather, machines, etc., sold by auction. He had been a first-class 
 manufacturer, doing nearly as large a business as Mr. Ashley ; and 
 not only Jacob Cross, but many more men in Honey Fair were 
 thrown out of work — one of whom was Andrew Brumm ; another, 
 Timothy Carter. This happened only a few months after Mary Ann 
 Cross's marriage. 
 
 It struck terror to the heart of Mrs. Cross. Though she had paid 
 some of her debts, she had incurred others : indeed, the very fact of 
 her having to pay, had caused her to incur fresh ones. Her position 
 was ominous. She and Amelia had worked for this same manufac- 
 turer, now dead, and of course they were at a standstill. Mary Ann 
 Tyrrett had likewise worked for him ; but she had left the paternal 
 home ; and with her we have nothing just now to do. The position 
 of others was ominous, as well as that of Mrs. Cross. It was the 
 autumn season, and trade was flat. Winter orders had gone in, and 
 there was no necessity to hurry those for the spring; so that the 
 hands thrown out of work, both men and women, stood every chance 
 of remaining out. 
 
 A gloom overspread Honey Fair. In many a household the articles 
 least needed, went, week after week, to the pawnbrokers, without 
 being redeemed on the Saturday night, as in more prosperous times. 
 Upon the proceeds the families had to exist. It was bad enough for 
 those who were free from del)t ; but for those already labouring under 
 it — above all, labouring under secret debt — it was something not to 
 be told. Mrs. Cross had nightmare regularly every night. Visions 
 would come over her now and again of running away, if she had only 
 known where to run to. The men would stand or sit at their doors 
 all day, with pipes in their mouths : money was sure to be found for 
 tobacco, by hook or by crook. There they would lounge in gloomy 
 silence, varied by an occasional wordy wdr with their wives, who 
 wished them anywhere else; or they and their pipes would saunter 
 up and down the road, forming into groups, to condole with each 
 other and to abuse the glove trade. 
 
 One Monday afternoon there was a small assemblage in the kitchen 
 of Jacob Cross — himself, Andrew Brumm, and Timothy Carter. 
 Brumm and Carter were, in one sense, more fortunate than Cross ; 
 inasmuch as that their respective wives worked each for another
 
 190 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 house, not the one which had closed ; therefore they retained theii* 
 employment. The fact, however, appeared to afford little consolation 
 to the two men, for they were keeping up a chorus of grumbling, 
 when Joe Fisher staggered in — if you have not forgotten him. 
 
 Fisher had hitherto managed, to the intense surprise of every 
 one, to keep out of the workhouse. He would be taken on for a 
 job of work now and then ; but manufacturers were chary of em- 
 ploying Joe Fisher. For one thnig, he gave way to drink. A dis- 
 reputable-looking object had he become: a tattered coat and waist- 
 coat, pantaloons in rags, and not the ghost of a shirt. People 
 wondered how he found money for drink. 
 
 " Who'll give us house-room? " was his salutation, as he pushed 
 himself in, his eyes haggard, his legs unsteady, his face thin from 
 incipient famine. " Will nobody give us a corner to lie in ? " 
 
 The men took their pipes from their mouths. " Turned out at 
 last, Joe?" 
 
 "Turned out," replied Joe. "And my missis close upon her 
 down-lying." 
 
 Mrs. Cross, who was at the back of the kitchen, washing out her 
 potato saucepan, of which frugal edible, seasoned with salt, the 
 family dinner had consisted, put in her word. 
 
 " You couldn't expect nothing else, Joe Fisher. There you have 
 been, in them folks' furnished room, paying nothing, and paying 
 nothing, and you drinking everlasting. They have threatened you 
 long enough. Last week, you know, they took a vow you should 
 go this." 
 
 "Where's the wife and little 'uns?" asked meek Timothy Carter. 
 
 " You can look at 'em," responded Fisher, " They're not a hun- 
 dred miles off. They bain't out of view." 
 
 He gave a flourish of his hand towards the road, and the men 
 and Mrs. Cross crowded to the door to reconnoitre. In the middle 
 of the lane, crouched down in its mud, for the weather had been 
 bad, and it was very wet under foot, was untidy Sukey Fisher — a 
 woman all skin and bone now, her face hopeless and desperate. 
 She wore no cap, and her matted hair fell on to her gown— such 
 a gown ! all tatters and dirt. Several young children huddled 
 around her. 
 
 " Untidy creature ! " muttered Mrs. Cross to herself " She is as 
 fond of a drop as her lazy, quarrelsome husband ; and this is what 
 they have brought it to, between 'em ! Them poor little objects of 
 young 'uns 'ud be as well dead as alive." 
 
 " Look at 'em ! " began Fisher. " And they call this a free 
 country ! They call it a country as is a pattern to others, and a 
 refuge for the needy. Why don't Government, that opened our 
 ports to them foreign French, and keeps 'em open, come down and 
 take a look at my wife squatting there? — turned out of our room, 
 without a place to put our heads into ! " 
 
 " If you hadn't put quite as much inside your head, Joe Fisher, 
 and been doing of it for years, \ou might have had more for the
 
 AN EXPLOSION FOR MRS. CROSS. 191 
 
 outside on't now," again spoke ]\Irs. Cross in her sharp tones. The 
 woman was not a naturally sharp one, as were some in Honey- 
 Fair ; but the miserable fear she lived in, added to their present 
 l)rivations, told upon her temper. 
 
 " Hold your magging," said Joe Fisher. " I never like to quarrel 
 with pctticuts, one's own belongings excepted. All as I say, INIothcr 
 Cross, is, don't jyote mag." 
 
 Mrs. Cross made no reply to this, and Fisher resumed. 
 
 " This comes of letting the Government and the masters have 
 their own way ! If we had that there strike among us, that Fve so 
 often told ye on, things would be different. Let a man sit down a 
 minute, Cross." 
 
 Cross civilly pushed a chair towards him, concentrating his atten- 
 tion afterwards upon I\Irs. Fisher. A crowd had collected round her ; 
 and ]\Irs. Buffle, with a feeling of humanity that few had given that 
 lady credit for possessing, sent out an old woollen shawl to the 
 shivering woman, and a basin of hasty pudding. The mother could 
 not feed the whining children fast enough with the one iron spoon. 
 
 A young man ran up to Cross's door. It was Adam Thorney- 
 croft. He did not live in Honey Fair, but often found his way to 
 it, although Charlotte had rejected him. "Is Joe Fisher here:" 
 asked he. " Fisher, why don't you go to the workhouse and tell 
 them the state your wife is in? She can't stop there." 
 
 " Her state is no concern of your'n. Master Thorneycroft," was 
 the sullen answer. 
 
 Thorneycroft turned on his heel, a scornful gesture escaping him 
 at Fisher's half-stupid condition. " I must be off to my work," he 
 observed ; " but can't one of you, A\ho are gentlemen at large, just 
 go to the workhouse and acquaint them with the woman's helpless- 
 ness, and that of her children around her?" 
 
 Timothy Carter responded to it. " I'll go," said he; "I haven't 
 nothing to do with myself this afternoon." 
 
 Timothy and Adam walked away together, Tim treading with 
 gingerly feet past his own door, lest his wife should recognise his 
 step, bolt out, and stop him. Charlotte East was standing at her 
 door, and Adam halted. Timothy walked on : he did not feel him- 
 self perfectly safe yet.' 
 
 "What a life that poor woman's is ! " exclaimed Charlotte. 
 
 " Ay," assented Adam ; " and all through Fisher's not sticking to 
 his work." 
 
 Charlotte moved her face gravely towards him. " Say, through 
 his drinking, Adam." 
 
 "Do you speak that as a warning, Charlotte?" he continued. 
 " I think you mean well by me, but you go just the wrong way to 
 sho\y it. If you wanted me to keep steady, you should have come 
 and helped me in it. Good-bye. I am late." 
 
 " Gentlemen at large, young Thorney called us ! " cried Jacob 
 Cross to his friend Brumm, as Fisher went off, and they sat down 
 again. " He's not far out. What's to be the end on't ? "
 
 192 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Why, the work'us," responded Mrs. Cross, who rarely let an 
 opportunity slip of putting in her own opinion. " The wurk'us for 
 us, as well as for the Fishers, unless things take a turn. When 
 great, big, able-bodied men is throwed out o' work, and yet has 
 to eat and drink, and other folks at home has to eat and drink, 
 and nothing to stay their stomachs upon, the work'us can't be far 
 off." 
 
 " Never for me! " said Andrew Brumm. " I'll work to keep mc 
 and mine out on it, if it is at breaking stones upon the road. I 
 know one thing — if ever I do get into certain work again, I'll make 
 my missis be a bit providenter than she was before." 
 
 " Bell Brumm ain't one of the provident sort," dissented Mrs. 
 Cross. " How do you manage to get along at all, Drew, these bad 
 times? You don't seem to get into trouble." 
 
 "Well, we manage somehow," replied Andrew. "But we have 
 to pinch. My missis sticks at her work, now I be out on't. She 
 hardly looks off it ; and I does the house, and sees to the children. 
 Nine shilling, all but her silk, she earned last week. And, finding 
 that we ca7t exist on that, after a fashion, has set me thinking that 
 when my good wages was added to it, we ought to have put by 
 for a rainy day," he continued, after a pause. " Just let me get the 
 chance again ! " 
 
 " It's surprising the miracles wages works when folks ain't earn- 
 ing none!" put in Mrs. Cross, in a tone of irony, who did not 
 altogether like the turn the conversation was taking. " When you 
 get into work again, Drew Brumm, your wife won't be more able to 
 save than the rest of us." 
 
 " But she shall," returned Andrew. " And she sees for herself 
 iiow that it might be done." 
 
 " I was a-making a calkelation yesterday how long we might 
 hold out on our household things," observed Jacob Cross — a silent 
 man, in general. "If none of us can get work, they'll have to go, 
 piecemeal. One can't clam ; one must live upon something." 
 
 " I'm resolved upon one point — that 1 won't have no underhand 
 debt again," resumed Brumm. " Last spring I found out the flaring 
 trade my missis was carrying on with them Bankes's — and the 
 way I come to know of it was funny : but never mind that. ' Bell,' 
 says I to her, ' I'd rather sell off all I've got and go tramping the 
 country, than I'd live with a sword over my head' — which debt is. 
 And I went down to Bankes's and said to 'em, ' If you let my wife 
 get into debt again, I won't pay it, as I now give you notice, and 
 I'll have you up before the justices for a pest.' I thought I'd make 
 it strong, you see, Cross. And I paid off their bill, so much a week, 
 and got shut of 'em. Them Bankes's docs more mischief in Honey 
 Fair than everything else put together." 
 
 " Why, what do Bankes's do?" asked Jacob, in happy ignorance. 
 
 " Do ! " returned Brumm. " Don't you know " 
 
 But at that critical moment, Mrs. Cross, in bustling behind 
 Andrew Brumm's chair, which was on the tilt, rontiived to get her
 
 AN EXPLOSION FOR MRS. CROSS. 193 
 
 foot entangled in it. Brumm, his chair, and his pipe, all came 
 down together. 
 
 " Mercy on us ! " uttered Jacob Cross, coming to the rescue. 
 " How did you manage that, Brumm?" 
 
 Before Brumm could answer, or had well gathered himself up, 
 there was another visitor — Mr. Abbott, the landlord of at least a 
 third of Honey Fair. He had come on his usual Monday's errand. 
 Jacob Cross put down his pipe and touched his hat, which, in the 
 manners of Honey Fair, was worn indoors. It was not often that 
 the landlord and the men came into contact with each other. 
 
 " Are you ready for me, Mrs. Cross? " 
 
 " We are not ready to-day, sir," interposed Jacob. " You nxist 
 please to give us a httle grace these hard times, sir. The moment 
 I be in work again, I'll think of you, before I think of ourselves." 
 
 " I have given all the grace I can give," replied Mr. Abbott, a 
 hard, surly man. " You must either pay, or turn out : I don't care 
 which." 
 
 " I'll pay you as soon as I am in work, sir ; you may count upon 
 it. As to turning out, sir, where could I turn to? You'd not let 
 me take out my furniture, and we can't sit down in the street, aa 
 Fisher's wife is doing." 
 
 Mr. Abbott turned to the door. When he came back, a man was 
 with him. " I must trouble you to give this man house-room for a 
 few days. As you won't go out, he must stop in, to see that your 
 goods stop in." 
 
 Cross's spirit rose within him. " It's a hard way to treat a man, 
 sir ! I have lived under you for years, and you have had your rent 
 regular." 
 
 " Regular ! " exclaimed the landlord. " I have had more trouble 
 to get it from your wife, since Bankes's came to Helstonleigh, than 
 from anybody else in Honey Fair." 
 
 Cross did not understand this. He was too much absorbed by 
 the point in question to ask an explanation. " There's only three 
 weeks owing to you, sir, and " 
 
 " Three weeks! " interrupted Mr. Abbott ;" there are nine weeks 
 owing to me. Nine weeks to-day." 
 
 Jacob Cross stood confounded. " Who says there's nine weeks? " 
 asiced he. 
 
 " I say so. Your wife can say so. Ask her." 
 
 But Mrs. Cross, with a scared face and white lips, whisked 
 through the door, and hurried down Honey Fair. The explosion 
 had come. 
 
 Mr. Abbott, wasting no more words, departed, leaving the un- 
 welcome visitor behind him. Andrew Brumm came in again from 
 outside, where he had stood, out of delicacy, feeling thankful that 
 /lis rent was all right. It was pinching work; but Andrew was 
 beginning to learn that debt pinches the mind, more than hunger 
 pinches the body. 
 
 " Comrade," whispered he, grasping Cross's hand, "it's all along 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. lo
 
 194 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 of them Bankes's. The women buy their fal-lals and their finery, 
 and the weekly payments to 'em must be kept up, whether or no, 
 for fear Bankes's should let out on't to us, and ask us for the money. 
 Of course the rent and other things gets behind. Half the women 
 round us are knee-deep in Bankes's books." 
 
 " Why couldn't you have told me this before ? " demanded Cross, 
 in his astonishment. 
 
 " It's not my province to interfere with other men's wives," was 
 Brumm's sensible answer. 
 
 " Where's she got to ? " cried Jacob, looking round for his wife. 
 " I'll come to the bottom of this. Nine weeks' rent owing; and her 
 salving me up that it was only three ! " 
 
 Jacob might well say, ''Where's she got to?" Mrs. Cross had 
 glided down Honey Fair, into the first friendly door that happened 
 to be open. That was Mrs. Carter's. " For mercy's sake, let's stop 
 here a minute, Elizabeth Carter ! " exclaimed she. " We have got 
 the bums in.' " 
 
 Mrs. Carter was rubbing up some brass candlesticks. Work ran 
 short with her that week, and therefore she spent it in cleaning, 
 which was her notion of taking holiday ; scrubbing and scouring 
 from morning till night. She turned round and stared at Mrs. 
 Cross, who, with white face and gasping breath, had sunk down 
 upon a chair. 
 
 " What on earth's the matter ? " 
 
 " Abbott has brought it out to my husband that I owes nine 
 weeks' rent, and he's telling him about Bankes's, and now he has 
 gone and put a bum into the house ! " 
 
 " More soft you, to have had to do with Bankes's ! " was the sym- 
 pathy offered by Mrs. Carter. '' You couldn't expect nothing less." 
 
 "That old skinflint, Abbott " 
 
 Mrs. Cross stopped short. She opened the staircase door about 
 an inch, and humbly twisted herself through the aperture. Who 
 should 1)6 standing there to hear her, having followed her in, but 
 Mr. Abbott himself. 
 
 He had no need to say, "Ready, Mrs. Carter?" Mrs. Carter 
 always was ready. She paid him weekly, and asked no favour. 
 The payment made, he departed again, and Mrs. Cross emerged 
 from her retreat. 
 
 " Vou can pay him I " she exclaimed, with some envy. " And 
 Timothy's out o' work, too; and you be slack. How do you 
 manage it ? " 
 
 " I'm not a fool," was the logical response of Mrs. Carter. " If 
 I spent my earnings when they are coming in regular, or let Tim 
 keep his to his own check, where should we be, in a time like this ? 
 I have my understanding about me." 
 
 Mrs. Carter did not praise her understanding without cause. 
 Whatever social virtues she may have lacked, she was rich in thrift, 
 in forethought. Had Timothy remained out of iVork for a twelve- 
 month, they would not have been put to shifts.
 
 AN EXPLOSION FOR MRS. CROSS. 195 
 
 " I'm afraid to go back ! " cried Mrs. Cross. 
 
 " So should I be, if I got myself into your mess." 
 
 The offered sympathy not being consolatoiy to her present frame 
 of mind, Mrs. Cross departed. Home, at present, she dared not go. 
 She went about Honey Fair, seeking the gossiping pity which 
 Elizabeth Carter had declined to give, but which she was yearning 
 for. Thus she spent an hour or two. 
 
 Meanwhile the news had been spreading through Honey Fair, 
 " Crosses had the bums in ; " and Mary Ann, hearing it, flew home 
 to know whether it was correct. She — partly through fear, partly 
 in the security from paternal correction, which was imparted to 
 her by the feeling that she was Mary Ann Tyrrett, and no longer 
 Mary Ann Cross — yielded to her father's questions, and made full 
 confession. Debts here, debts there, debts everywhere. Cross was 
 overwhelmed ; and when his wife at length came in, he quietly 
 knocked her down. 
 
 The broker advanced to the rescue. " If you dare to come 
 between man and wife," raved Cross, lifting his arm menacingly, 
 " I'll serve you the same." He was a quiet-tempered man, but this 
 business had terribly exasperated him. " You'll come to die in the 
 work'us," he uttered to his wife. " And serve you right ! It's your 
 doings that have broke up our home." 
 
 " No," retorted she passionately, as she lifted herself from the 
 floor ; " it's your squanderings in the publics o' nights, that have 
 helped to break up our home." 
 
 It was a little of both. 
 
 The quarrel was interrupted by a commotion outside, and Mrs. 
 Cross darted out to look — glad, perhaps, to escape from her hus- 
 band's anger. An official from the workhouse had come down with 
 an order for the admission of Susan Fisher instanter. Timothy 
 Carter, in his meek and humane spirit, had so enlarged upon the 
 state of affairs in general, touching Mrs. Fisher, that the workhouse 
 bestirred itself. An officer was despatched to marshal them into it 
 at once. The uproar was caused by her resistance : she was still 
 sitting in the road. 
 
 " I won't go into the work'us," she screamed ; " I won't go there 
 to be parted from my children and my husband. If I'm to die, I'll 
 die out here." 
 
 "Just get up and march, and don't let's have no row," said the 
 officer. " Else I'll fetch a wheel-barrer, and wheel ye to it." 
 
 She resisted, shrieking and flinging her arms and her wild hair 
 about her, as only a foolish woman would do ; the children, alarmed, 
 clung to her and cried, and all Honey Fair came out to look. Mr. 
 Joe Fisher also staggered up, in a state not to be described. He 
 had been invited by some friend, more sympathizing than judicious, 
 to solace his troubles with strong waters ; and down he fell in the 
 mud, helpless. 
 
 , " Well, here's a pretty kettle of fish ! " cried the perplexed work- 
 house man. " A nice pair, they are ! How I am to get 'em both
 
 196 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 there, is beyond me ! She can walk, if she's forced to it ; but he 
 can't ! They spend their money in sotting, and when they have no 
 more to spend, they come to us to keep 'em ! I must get an open 
 cart." 
 
 The cart was procured somewhere, and brought to the scene, a 
 pohceman in attendance ; and the children were lifted into it, one 
 by one. Next the man was thrown in, like a clod ; and then came 
 the woman's turn. With much struggling and kicking, with shrieks 
 that might have been heard a mile off, she was at length hoisted 
 into it. But she tumbled out again : raving that " no work'us 
 shouldn't hold her." The official raved in turn; and Honey Fair 
 hugged itself It had not had the gratification of so exciting a scene 
 for many a day ; to say nothing of the satisfaction it derived from 
 hearing the workhouse set at defiance. 
 
 The official and the policeman at length conquered. She was 
 secured, and the cart started at a snail's pace with its load — Mrs. 
 Fisher setting up a prolonged and dismal lamentation, not unlike 
 an Irish howl: and Honey Fair, in its curiosity, following the cart 
 as its train. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A SHILLING IN THE WASTE-PAPER BASKET. 
 
 "Whose shilling is this on my desk?" inquired Mr. Ashley of 
 Samuel Lynn, one morning towards the close of the summer. 
 
 " I cannot tell thee," was the reply of the Quaker. " I know 
 nothing of it." 
 
 " It is none of mine, to my knowledge," remarked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " What shilling is that on the master's desk ? " repeated Samuel 
 Lynn to William when he returned into his own room, where 
 William was. 
 
 " I put a shilling on the desk this morning," replied William. " I 
 found it in the waste-paper basket." 
 
 " Thee go in, then, and tell the master." 
 
 William did so. " The shilling rolled out of the waste-paper 
 basket, sir," said he, entering the counting-house, and approaching 
 Mr. Ashley. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was remarkably exact in his accounts. He had missed 
 no shilling, and he did not think it was his. " What should bring 
 a shilling in the waste-paper basket?" he asked. "It may have 
 rolled out of your own pocket." 
 
 William could have smiled at the remark. A shilling out of his 
 pocket ! " Oh, no, sir, it did not." 
 
 Mr. Ashley sat looking earnestly at William — as the latter 
 fancied. In reality he was buried deep in his own thoughts. But 
 William felt uncomfortable under the survey, and his face flushed
 
 A SHILLING IN THE WASTE-PAPER BASKET. 197 
 
 to a glow. Why should he feel uncomfortable ? What should 
 cause the flush ? 
 
 This. Since Janey's death, some months ago now, their circum- 
 stances had been more straitened than ever ; of course, there had 
 been expenses attending it, and Mrs. Halliburton was paying them 
 off weekly. Bread and potatoes, and a little milk, would often be 
 their food. On the previous night, Jane had a sick headache. 
 Some tea would have been acceptable, but she had neither tea 
 nor money in the house ; and she was firm in her resolution not 
 to purchase on trust. On this morning early, when William rose, 
 he found his mother down before him, at her work as usual. Her 
 head felt better, she said ; it might get quite well if she had only 
 some tea ; but she had not, and — there was an end of it. William 
 went out, ardently wishing (in the vague profitless manner that 
 he might have wished for Aladdin's lamp) that he had only a 
 shilling to procure some for her. When, half an hour after, this 
 shilling rolled out of the waste-paper basket, as he was shaking it 
 in Mr. Ashley's counting-house, a strong temptation — not to take 
 it, but to wish that he might take it, that it was not wrong to take 
 it — rushed over him. He put it down on the desk, and turned 
 from it — turned from the temptation, for the shilling seemed to 
 scorch his fingers. The remembrance of this wish — it sounded to 
 him like a dishonest one— had brought the vivid colour to his face, 
 under what he thought was Mr. Ashley's scrutiny. That gentleman 
 observed it. 
 
 " What are you turning red for ? " 
 
 This crowned all. William's face changed to scarlet. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was surprised. He came to the conclusion that some 
 mystery must be connected with the shilling — something wrong. 
 He determined to fathom it. " Why do you look confused.?" he 
 resumed. 
 
 " It was only at my own thoughts, sir." 
 
 " What are they ? Let me hear them." 
 
 William hesitated. " I would rather not tell them, sir." 
 
 " But I would rather you did." Mr. Ashley spoke quietly, as 
 usual ; but there lay command in the quietest tone of Mr. Ashley's. 
 
 Implicit obedience had been enjoined upon the Halliburtons 
 from their earliest childhood. In that manufactory Mr. Ashley 
 was William's master^ and he believed he had no resource but to 
 comply with his desire. William was of a remarkably ingenuous 
 nature ; and if he had to impart a thing, he did not do it by halves, 
 although it might tell against himself. 
 
 " When I found that shilling this morning, sir, the thought came 
 over me to wish it was mine— to wish that I might take it without 
 doing ill. The thought did not come over me to take it^'' he added, 
 raising his truthful eyes to Mr. Ashley's, " only to wish that it was 
 not wrong to do so. When you looked at me so earnestly, sir, I 
 fancied you could see what my thoughts had been. And they were 
 not honourable thoughts."
 
 198 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Did you ever take money that was not yours ? " asked Mr. 
 Ashley, after a pause. 
 
 WiUiam looked surprised. " No, sir, never." 
 
 Mr. Ashley paused again. " I have known children help them- 
 selves to halfpence and pence, and think it little crime." 
 
 The boy shook his head. " We have been taught better than 
 that, sir. And, besides the crime, money taken in that way would 
 bring us no good, only trouble. It could not prosper." 
 
 " Tell me why you think that." 
 
 " My mother has always taught us that a bad action can never 
 prosper in the end." 
 
 " I suppose you coveted the shilling for marbles ; or for sweet- 
 meats?" 
 
 " Oh no, sir. It was not for myself that I wished it." 
 
 " Then for whom? For what?" 
 
 This caused William's face to flush again. Mr. Ashley questioned 
 till he drew from him the particulars — how that he had wished to 
 buy some tea, and why he had wished it. 
 
 " I have heard," remarked Mr. Ashley, after listening, " that you 
 have many privations to put up with." 
 
 " It is true, sir. But we don't so much care for them, if we only 
 can put up with them. My mother says she knows better days will 
 be in store for us, if we only bear on patiently. I am sure we boys 
 ought to do so, if she can. It is worse for her than for us." 
 
 There ensued another searching question from Mr. Ashley. 
 " Have you ever, when alone in the egg-house, amidst its thousands 
 of eggs, been tempted to pocket a few to carry home? " 
 
 For one moment William suffered a flash of resentment to cross 
 his countenance. The next his eyes filled with tears. He felt 
 deeply hurt. 
 
 " No, sir, I have not. I hope you do not fear that I am capable 
 of it?" 
 
 "No, I do not," said Mr. Ashley. " Your father was a clergyman, 
 I think I have heard?" 
 
 " He was intended for a clergyman, sir, but he did not get to the 
 University. His father was a clergyman — a rector in Devonshire, 
 and my mother's father was a clergyman in London. My uncle 
 Francis is also a clergyman, but only a curate. We are gentle- 
 people, though we are poor. We would not take eggs or anything 
 else." 
 
 Mr. Ashley suppressed a smile. " I conclude that you and your 
 brothers live in hope some time of regaining your position in life?" 
 
 " Yes, sir. I think it is that hope that makes us put up with hard 
 things so well." 
 
 "What do you think of being?" 
 
 William^ countenance fell. " There is not so much chance of 
 my getting on, sir, as there is for my brothers. Frank and CJar are 
 hopeful enough ; but I don't look forward to anything good for me. 
 My mother says if I only help her I shall be doing my duty."
 
 A SHILLING IN THE WASTE-PAPER BASKET. 199 
 
 " Your sister died in a decline," remarked Mr. Ashley. " These 
 home privations must have told upon her." 
 
 William's face brightened. " She had everything she wanted, 
 sir ; everything, even to port wine. Mrs. Reece and Dobbs took a 
 liking to her when they first came, and they never let her want foi' 
 anything. Mamma says that Jane's wants having been supplied in 
 so extraordinary a manner, ought to teach us how certainly God is 
 looking over us and taking care of us — that all things, when they 
 come to be absolutely needed, will no doubt be supplied to us, as 
 they were to her." 
 
 "What a perfect trust in God that boy seems to have?" mused 
 Mr. Ashley, when he dismissed William. " Mrs. Halliburton must 
 be a mother in a thousand. And he will make a man in a thousand, 
 imless I am mistaken. Truthful, open, candid — /don't know a boy 
 like him!" 
 
 About five minutes before the great bell was rung at one o'clock, 
 William was called into the counting-house. " I have been casting 
 up my cash and find I am a shilling short," observed Mr. Ashley, 
 " therefore the shilling that you found is no doubt the missing one. 
 1 shall give it to you," he continued : '"a reward for telling me the 
 straightforward truth when I questioned you." 
 
 William took the shilling — as he supposed. " Here are two I" he 
 exclaimed, in his surprise. 
 
 " You cannot buy much tea with one ; and that is what you 
 were thinking of. Would you like to be apprenticed to me.'"' Mr. 
 Ashley resumed, drowning the boy's thanks. 
 
 The question took William by storm : he was at a loss what to 
 answer. He would have been equally at a loss had he been accorded 
 a whole week to deliberate upon it. He looked foolish, and said he 
 could not tell. 
 
 "Would you like the business.'"' pursued Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I like the business very well, sir, now I'm used to it. But I 
 could not hope ever to get on to be a master." 
 
 " There's no knowing what you may get on to be, if )ou are steady 
 and persevering. Masters don't begin at the top of the tree; they 
 begin at the bottom and work up to it. At least, that is the case 
 with a great many. In becoming an apprentice you would occupy 
 a better position in the manufactory than you do now." 
 
 "Joe .Stubbs is an apprentice, is he not, sir?" 
 
 " I will explain it to you, if you do not understand," said Mr. 
 Ashley. "Joe Stubbs is apprenticed to one branch of the business, 
 the cutting; John Braithwait is an apprentice to the staining, and 
 so on. These lads expect to remain workmen all their lives, work- 
 ing at their own peculiar branch. You would not be apprenticed 
 to any one branch, but to the whole, with a view to becoming hcrc-- 
 after a manager or a master ; in the same manner that I might 
 apprentice my son, were he intended for the business." 
 
 William thought he should Hke this. Suddenly his countenance 
 fell.
 
 200 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "What now?" asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I have heard, sir, that the apprentices do not earn wages at 
 first. I — I am afraid we could not well do at home without mme." 
 
 " You need not concern yourself with what you hear, or with 
 what others earn or don't earn. I should give you eight shillings 
 a-week, instead of four, and you would retain your evenings for 
 study, as you do now. I do not see any different or better opening 
 for you," continued Mr. Ashley ; " but should any arise hereafter, 
 through your mother's relatives, or from any other channel, I 
 would not stand in the way of your advancement, but would 
 consent to cancel your indentures. Do you understand what I 
 have been saying?"' 
 
 " Yes, sir, I do. Thank you very much." 
 
 "You can speak to Mrs. Halliburton about it, and hear what her 
 wishes may be," concluded Mr. Ashley. 
 
 The result was, that William was apprenticed to Mr. Ashley. 
 " I can tell thee, thee hast found favour with the master," remarked 
 Samuel Lynn to William. " He has made thee his apprentice, 
 and has admitted thee, I hear, to the companionship of his son. 
 They are proofs that he judges well of thee. Pay thee attention to 
 deserve it." 
 
 It was quite true that William was admitted to the occasional 
 companionship of Henry Ashley. Henry had taken a fancy to him, 
 and would get him there to help him stumble through his Latin. 
 
 The next to be apprenticed to Mr. Ashley, and almost at the 
 same time, was Cyril Dare. But when he found that he was to be 
 the fellow-apprentice of William Halliburton, the two on a level 
 in every respect, wages excepted — and of wages Master Cyril was 
 at first to earn none — he was most indignant, and complained 
 explosively to his father. " Can't you speak to Mr. Ashley, sir?" 
 
 " Where would be the use?" asked ^Ir. Dare. "There's not a 
 man in Hclstonleigh would brook interference in his affairs less 
 than Thomas Ashley. If one of the two apprentices must leave, 
 because they are too much for each other's company, it would be 
 you, Cyril, rely upon it." 
 
 Cyril growled; but, as Mr. Dare said, there was no help for it. 
 And he and William had to get on together in the best way they 
 could. Cyril had thought that he should be the only gentleman- 
 apprentice at Mr. Ashley's. There was a marked distinction 
 observed in a manufactory between the common apprentices, who 
 did the rough work, and what were called the gentlemen-appren- 
 tices. It did not please Cyril that WiUiam should have been made 
 one of the latter.
 
 ( 20I ) 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE SCHOOLBOYS' NOTES. 
 
 As the time went on, Jane's brain grew very busy. Its care was 
 the education of her boys — a perplexing theme. So far as the 
 classics went, they were progressing. Frank and Gar certainly 
 were not pushed on as they might have been, for Helstonleigh 
 collegiate school was not at that time renowned for its pushing 
 qualities ; but the boys had a spur in themselves. Jane never 
 ceased to urge them to attention, to strive after self-progress ; not 
 by the harsh reproaches some children have to hear, but by loving 
 encouragement and gentle persuasion. She would call up pleasant 
 pictures of the future, when they should have surmounted the 
 difficulties of toil, and be reaping their reward. It had ever been 
 her custom to treat her children as friends; as friends and com- 
 panions, more than as children. I am not sure that it is not a good 
 plan in all cases, but it undoubtedly is so where children are 
 naturally well disposed and intelligent. Even when they were little, 
 she would converse and reason with them, so far as their under- 
 standings would permit. The primary thing she inculcated was the 
 habit of unquestioning obedience. This secured in their earliest 
 childhood, she could afford to reason with them as they grew older ; 
 to appeal to their own sense of intelligence ; to show them how to 
 form and exercise a right judgment. Had the children been wilful, 
 deceitful, or opposed to her, her plan must have been different; 
 compulsion must have taken the place of reasoning. When they 
 did anything wrong — all children will, or they are not children — 
 she would take the offender to her alone. There would be no 
 scolding; but i-n a grave, calm, loving voice she would say, "Was 
 this right? Did you forget that you were doing wrong and would 
 grieve mc? Did you forget that you were offending God?" And 
 so she would talk ; and teach them to do right in all things, for 
 the sake of right, for the sake of doing their duty to Heaven and to 
 man. These lessons, from a mother loved as Jane was, could not 
 fail to take root and bear seed. The young Halliburtons were in 
 fair training to make not only good, but admirable men. 
 
 Jane inculcated another valuable lesson. In all perplexity, trouble, 
 or untoward misfortune, she taught them to look it full in the face ; 
 not to fly from it, as is the too-common custom, but to meet it 
 and do the best with it. She knew that in trouble, as in terror, 
 looking it in the face takes away half its sting : and so she was 
 teaching them to look, not only by precept, but by example. With 
 such minds, such training to work upon, there was little need to 
 urge them to apply closely to their studies ; they saw its necessity 
 themselves, and acted upon it. " It is your only chance, my
 
 202 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 darlings, of getting on in life," she would say. " You wish t(5 
 be good and great men ; and I think perhaps you may be, if you 
 persevere. It is a tempting thing, I know, to leave wearying tasks 
 for play or idleness ; but do not yield to it. Look to the future. 
 When you feel tired, out of sorts, as if Latin were the greatest 
 grievance upon earth, say to yourselves, ' It is my duty to keep on, 
 and my duty I must do. If I turn idle now, my past application 
 will be lost ; but, if I persevere, I may go bravely on to the end.' 
 Be brave, darlings, for my sake." 
 
 And the boys were so. Thus it would happen that when the 
 rest of the school were talking, or idling, or being caned, the 
 Halliburtons were at work. The head master could not fail to 
 observe their steady application ; and he more than once held 
 them up as an example to the school. 
 
 So far, so good. But though the classics are essential parts of 
 a good education, they do not include all its requisites. And 
 nothing else was taught in the college school. There certainly 
 was a writing-master, and something like an initiation into the 
 first rules of arithmetic was attempted ; but not a boy in the 
 charity school, hard by, that could not have shamed the college 
 boys in adding up a column of figures or in writing a page. As to 
 their English — ■ — ■ You should have seen them attempt to write a 
 letter. In short, the college school ignored everything except 
 Latin and Greek. 
 
 This state of affairs gave Jane great concern. " Unless I can 
 organize some plan, my boys will grow up dunces," she said to 
 herself. And a plan she did organize. None could remedy this 
 so well as herself; she, so thoroughly educated in all essential 
 branches. It would take two hours from her work, but for the 
 sake of her boys she would sacrifice that. Every night, therefore, 
 except Saturday, as soon as they had prepared their lessons for 
 school — and in doing that they were helped by William — she left 
 her work, and became their instructor. History, geography, 
 astronomy, composition, and so on. You can fill up the list. 
 
 And she had her reward. The boys advanced rapidly. As the 
 months and quarters went on, it was only so much the more 
 instruction gained by them. 
 
 I think you must be indulged with a glance at one of these 
 college school notes. But, first of all, suppose we read one written 
 by Frank. 
 
 "Dear Glenn, — Thanks for wishing me to join your fishing 
 expedition the day after to-morrow, but I can't come. My mother 
 says, as I had holiday from college one day last week, it will not 
 do to ask for it again. You told me to send word this evening 
 whether or not, so I drop you this note. I should like to go, and 
 shall be thinking of you all day. Mind you let me have a look at 
 the fish you bring home. Yours, 
 
 " P^RANK Halliburton."
 
 THE SCHOOLBOYS' NOTES. 203 
 
 The note was addressed " Glenn senior," and Gar was ordered 
 to deliver it at Glenn senior's house. Glenn senior, who was a king's 
 scholar, not a chorister, made a wry face over it when delivered, 
 and sat down, on the spur of the moment, to answer it : 
 
 "Deer Haliburton, — Its all stut about not asking for leve 
 again what do the musty old prebens care who gets leve therell be 
 enuff to sing without you tell your mother I cant excuse you from 
 our party theirs 8 of us going and a stunning baxket of progg as 
 good go out for a day's fishing has stop at home on a holiday for 
 the benefit of that preshous collcdge bring me word you'll come 
 to-morrow at skool for we want to arange our plans yours old fellow 
 
 " P Glenn." 
 
 Master P. Glenn was concluding his note when his father passed 
 through the room, and glanced over the boy's shoulder. He 
 (Mr. Glenn) was a surgeon ; one of the chief surgeons attached to 
 the Helstonlcigh infirmary, and in excellent practice. "At your 
 exercise, Philip? " 
 
 " No, papa. I am writing a note to one of our fellows. I want 
 him to be of our fishing party on Wednesday." 
 
 " Wednesday ! Have you a holiday on Wednesday ? " 
 
 " Yes. Don't you know it will be a saint's day?" 
 
 " Not I," said Mr. Glenn. " Saints' days don't concern me, as 
 they do you college boys. That's a pretty specimen of English!" 
 he added, running his amused eyes over Philip's note. 
 
 "Are there any mistakes in it?" returned Philip. "But it's no 
 matter, papa. We don't profess to write English in the college 
 school." 
 
 " It is well you don't profess it," remarked Mr. Glenn. " But 
 how is it your friend Halliburton can turn out good English?" 
 He had taken up Frank's letter. 
 
 " Oh ! they are such chaps for learning, the two Halliburtons. 
 They stick at it like a horse-leech — never getting the cane for 
 turned lessons. They have school at home in the evenings for 
 English, and history, and such stuff that they don't get at college." 
 
 " Have they a tutor?" 
 
 " They are not rich enough for a tutor. Mrs. Halliburton's the 
 tutor. What do you think Gar Halliburton did the other day ? 
 Keating was having a row with the fourth desk, and he gave them 
 some extra verses to do. Up goes Gar Halliburton, before he 
 had been a minute at his seat. ' If you please, sir.' says he to 
 Keating. ' I had better have another piece.' ' Why so ? ' asks 
 Keating. 'Because,' says Gar, 'I did these same verses with 
 my brother at home a week ago.' He meant his eldest brother; 
 not Frank. But, now, was not that honourable, papa?" 
 
 " Yes, it was," answered Mr. Glenn. 
 
 " That's just the Halliburtons all over. They are ultra-honour- 
 able."
 
 204 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I should like to see your friend Frank, and inquire how he 
 manages to pick up his English." 
 
 " Let me bring him to tea to-morrow night?" cried Philip eagerly. 
 
 " You may, if you like." 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Philip. "And you'll persuade him not to 
 mind his mother, but to come to our fishing party?" 
 
 "Philip!" 
 
 " Well, papa, I don't mean that, exactly. But I do not see the 
 use of boys listening to their mothers just in everything." 
 
 Philip Glenn seized his note, and added a postscript : — " My 
 father sais you are to come to tea to-morrow we shall be so joly." 
 And it was despatched to Frank by a servant in livery. 
 
 CHAPTER Xn. 
 
 A LESSON FOR PHILIP GLENN. 
 
 Frank was as eager to accept the invitation as Philip had been to 
 oft'er it. When the afternoon arrived, and school was over, Frank 
 tore home, donned his best clothes, and then tore back again to 
 Mr. Glenn's house. Philip received him in the small room, where 
 he and his brother prepared their lessons. 
 
 " How is it that you and my boys write English so differently?" 
 inquired Mr. Glenn, when he had made Frank's acquaintance. 
 
 Frank broke into a broad smile, suggested by the remembrance 
 of Philip's English. " We study it at home, sir." 
 
 But some one teaches you?" 
 
 " Mamma. She was afraid that we should grow up ignorant 
 of everything except Latin and Greek; so she thought she would 
 remedy the evil." 
 
 " And she takes you in an evening?" 
 
 "Yes, sir; every evening except Saturday, when she is sure to be 
 busy. She comes to the table as soon as our lessons for school are 
 prepared, and we commence English. The easier portions of 
 our Latin and Greek we do in the day, I and Gar : we crib the time 
 from play-hours ; and my brother William helps us at night with 
 the more difficult parts." 
 
 "Where is your brother at school?" asked Mr. Glenn. 
 
 " He is not at school, sir. He is at Mr. Ashley's, with Cyril Dare. 
 William has not been to school since papa died. But he was well 
 up in everything, for papa had taken great pains with him, and 
 he has gone on by himself since." 
 
 " Can he do much good by himself?" 
 
 "Good!" echoed Frank, speaking bluntly, in his eagerness; "I 
 don't think you could find so good a scholar for his age. There's 
 not one could come near him in the college school. At first he 
 found it hard work. He had no one to explain difficult points for
 
 A LESSON FOR PHILIP GLENN. 205 
 
 him, and was obliged to puzzle them out with his own brains. And 
 it's that that has got him on." 
 
 Mr. Glenn nodded. "Where a good foundation has been laid, a 
 hard-working boy may get on better without a master than with 
 one, provided " 
 
 " That is just what William says," interrupted Frank, his dark 
 eyes sparkling with animation. " He would have given anything 
 at one time to be at the college school with us ; but he does not 
 care about it now." 
 
 " Provided his heart is in his work, I was about to add," said Mr. 
 Glenn, smiling at Frank's eagerness. 
 
 " Oh, of course, sir. And that's what William's is. He has 
 such capital books, too — all the best that are published. They 
 were papa's. I hardly know how I and Gar should get on, without 
 W^iUiam's help." 
 
 " Does he help you?" 
 
 " He has helped us ever since papa died ; before we went to 
 college, and since. We do algebra and Euclid with him." 
 
 "In — deed!" exclaimed Mr. Glenn, looking hard at Frank. 
 "When do you contrive to do all this.''" 
 
 " In the evening. Tea is over by half-past five, and we three 
 — William, I, and Gar — turn at once to our lessons. In about two 
 hours mamma joins us, and we work with her about two hours 
 more. Of course we have different nights for different studies, 
 Latin every night, Greek nearly every night, Euclid twice a week, 
 algebra twice a week, and so on. And the lessons we do with 
 mamma are portioned out ; some one night, some another." 
 
 " You must be very persevering boys," cried Mr. Glenn. " Do 
 you never catch yourselves looking off to play; to talk and laugh?" 
 
 " No, sir, never. We have got into the habit of sticking to our 
 lessons; mamma brought us into it. And then, we are anxious to 
 get on : half the battle lies in that." 
 
 " I think it does. Philip, my boy, here's a lesson for you, and for 
 all other lazy scapegraces." 
 
 Philip shrugged his shoulders, with a laugh. " Papa, I don't see 
 any good in working so hard." 
 
 " Your friend Frank does." 
 
 " We are obliged to work, sir," said Frank candidly. " We have 
 no money, and it is only by education that we can hope to get on. 
 Mamma thinks it may turn out all for the best. She says that boys 
 who expect money very often rely upon it and not upon themselves. 
 She would rather turn us out into the world with our talents culti- 
 vated and a will to use them, than with a fortune apiece. There's 
 not a parable in the Bible mamma is fonder of reading to us than 
 that of the ten talents." 
 
 " No fortune ! " repeated Mr. Glenn in a dreamy tone. 
 
 " Not a penny; mamma has to work to keep us," returned Frank, 
 making the avowal as freely as though he had proclaimed that his 
 mother was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, and he one of her state
 
 2o6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 pages. Jane had contrived to convince them that in poverty itself 
 there lay no shame or stigma ; but a great deal in paltry attempts 
 to conceal it. 
 
 " Frank," said Mr. Glenn, " I was thinking that you must possess 
 a fortune in your mother." 
 
 " And so we do ! " said Frank. " When Philip's note came to me 
 last night, and we were — were " 
 
 " Laughing over it ! " suggested Mr. Glenn, helping out Frank's 
 hesitation, and laughing himself. 
 
 " Yes, that's it ; only I did not like to say it," acknowledged 
 Frank. " But I dare say you know, sir, how most of the college 
 boys write. Mamma said then, how glad we ought to be that she 
 can make time to teach us better, and that we have the resolution 
 to persevere." 
 
 " I wish your mother would admit my sons to her class," said 
 Mr. Glenn, half-seriously, half-jokingly. " I would give her any 
 recompense." 
 
 " Shall I ask her?" cried Frank. 
 
 " Perhaps she would feel hurt?" 
 
 " Oh no, she wouldn't," answered Frank impulsively. " I will 
 ask her." 
 
 " I should not like such a strict mother," avowed Philip Glenn. 
 
 " Strict! " echoed Frank. " Mamma's not strict." 
 
 " She must be. She says you shan't come fishing with us to- 
 rrow." 
 
 No, she did not. She said she wished me not to go, and thought 
 I had better not, and then she left it to me." 
 
 Philip Glenn stared. " You told me at school this morning that 
 it was decided you were not to come. And now you say Mrs. 
 Halliburton left it to you." 
 
 " So she did," answered Frank. " She generally leaves these things 
 to us. She shows us what we ought to do, and why it is right that 
 we should do it, and then she leaves it to what she calls our own 
 good sense. It is like putting us upon our honour." 
 
 " And you do as you know she wishes you would do ? " interposed 
 Mr. Glenn. 
 
 " Yes, sir, always." 
 
 " Suppose you were to take your own will for once against hers?" 
 cried Phihp in a cross tone. " What then? " 
 
 " Then I dare say she would decide herself the next time, and 
 tell us we were not to be trusted. But there's no fear. We know 
 her wishes are sure to be right ; and we would not vex her for the 
 world. The last time the dean was here there was a fuss about 
 the choristers getting holiday so often ; and he forbade its being 
 done." 
 
 " But the dean's away," impatiently interrupted Philip Glenn. 
 " Old Ripton is in residence, and he would give it you for the asking. 
 He knows nothing about the dean's order." 
 
 "That's the very reason," returned Frank. "Mamma put it to
 
 A LESSON FOR PHILIP GLENN. 207 
 
 me whether it would be an honourable thing to do. She said, if 
 Dr. llipton had hnown of the dean's order, then I might have 
 asked him, and he could do as he pleased. She makes us wish to 
 do what is right — not only what appears so." 
 
 " And you'll punish yourself, by going without the holiday, for 
 some rubbishing notion of ' doing right ! ' It's just nonsense, Frank 
 Halliburton." 
 
 " Of course we have to punish ourselves sometimes," acknow- 
 ledged Frank. " I shall be wishing all day long to-morrow that I 
 was with you. But when evenfng comes, and the day's over, then 
 I shall be glad to ha\'e done right. Mamma says, if we do not 
 learn to act rightly and sclf-reliantly as boys, we shall not do so as 
 men." 
 
 Mr. Glenn laid his hand on Frank's shoulder. " Inculcate your 
 creed upon my sons, if you can," said he, speaking seriously. " Has 
 your mother taught it to you long ? " 
 
 '■ She has always been teaching it to us ; ever since we were 
 little," rejoined Frank. " U we had to begin now, I don't know that 
 we should make much of it." 
 
 Mr. Glenn fell into a reverie. As Mr. Ashley had once judged 
 by some words dropped by William, so Mr. Glenn was judging 
 now-~-that Mrs. Halliburton must be a mother in a thousand. 
 Frank turned to Philip. 
 
 " Have you done your lessons ? " 
 
 " Done my lessons ! No. Have you .'' " 
 
 Frank laughed. " Yes, or I should not have come. I have not 
 played a minute to-day — but cribbed the time. Scanning, and 
 exercise, and Greek ; I have done them all." 
 
 " It seems to me that you and your brothers make friends of your 
 lessons, while most boys make enemies," observed Mr. Glenn. 
 
 " Yes, that's true," said Frank. 
 
 " Philip," said Mr. Glenn to his son that evening after Frank had 
 departed, " I give you car/e blanche to bring that boy here as much 
 as you like. If you are wise, you will make a lasting friend of 
 him." 
 
 " I like the Halliburtons," replied Philip. " The college school 
 doesn't, though." 
 
 " And pray, why ? " 
 
 "Well, I think Dare senior first set the school against them — 
 that's Cyril, you know, papa. He was always going on at them. 
 They were snobs for sticking to their lessons, he said, which gentle- 
 men never did ; and they were snobs because they had no money 
 to spend, which gentlemen always had ; and they were snobs for 
 this, and snobs for the other; and he got his desk, which ruled the 
 school, to cut them. They had to put up with a good deal then, 
 but they arc bigger now, and can fight their way ; and, since Dare 
 senior left, the school has begun to like them. If they are poor, 
 they can't help it^" concluded Philip, as if he would apologize for 
 thte fact.
 
 2o8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Poor ! " retorted Mr. Glenn. " I can tell you, Master Philip, 
 and the college school too, that they are rich in things that you 
 want. Unless I am deceived, the Halliburtons will grow up to be 
 men of no common order." 
 
 CHAPTER XIIL 
 
 MAKING PROGRESS. 
 
 Trifles, as we all know, lead to great events. When Frank Halli- 
 burton had gone home, in his usual flying, eager manner, plunging 
 headlong into the subject of Mr. Glenn's request, and Jane con- 
 sented to grant it, she little thought that it would lead to a consider- 
 able increase to her income, enabling them to procure several com- 
 forts, and rendering better private instruction than her own, easy 
 for her sons. 
 
 Not that she yielded to the request at once. She took time for 
 consideration. But Frank was urgent ; and she was one of those 
 ever ready to do a good turn for others. The Glenns, as Frank 
 said, did write English wretchedly ; and if she could help to improve 
 them, without losing time or money, neither of which she could 
 afford, why not do so ? And she consented. 
 
 It certainly did occur to Mrs. Halhburton to wonder that Mr. 
 Glenn had not provided private instruction for his sons, to remedy 
 the deficiencies existing in the college school system. Mr. Glenn 
 suddenly awoke to the same wonder himself. The fact was, that 
 he, like many other gentlemen in Helstonleigh, who had sons in 
 the college school, had been content to let things take their chance : 
 possibly, he assumed that spelling and composition would come to 
 his sons by intuition, as they grew older. The contrast Frank 
 Halliburton presented to Philip aroused him from his neglect. 
 
 Jane consented to allow the two young Glenns to share the time 
 and instruction she gave to her own boys. Mr. Glenn received the 
 favour gladly ; but, at first, there was great battling with the young 
 gentlemen themselves. They could not be made to complete their 
 lessons for school, so as to be at Mrs. Halliburton's by the hour 
 appointed. At length it was accomplished, and they took to going 
 regularly. 
 
 Before three months had elapsed, great improvement had become 
 visible in their spelling. They were also acquiring an insight into 
 English grammar ; had learnt that America was not situated in the 
 Mediterranean, or watered by the Nile ; and that English history 
 did not solely consist of two incidents — the beheading of King 
 Charles, and the Gunpowder Plot. Improvement was also visible 
 in their manners and in the bent of their minds. From being 
 boisterous, self-willed, and careless, they became more considerate, 
 more tractable ; and Mr. Glenn actually once heard Philip decline
 
 MAKING PROGRESS. 209 
 
 to embark in some tempting scrape, because it would " not be 
 right." 
 
 For it was impossible for Jane to have lads near her, and not 
 gently try to counteract their faults and failings, as she would have 
 done by her own sons ; while the remarkable consideration and 
 deference paid by the young Halliburtons to their mother, their 
 warm affection for her, and the pleasant peace, the refinement of 
 tone and manner distinguishing their home, told upon Philip and 
 Charles Glenn with good influence. At the end of three months, 
 Mr. Glenn wrote a note of warm thanks to Mrs. Halliburton, ex- 
 pressing a hope that she would still allow his sons the privilege of 
 joining her own, and, in a delicate manner, begging grace for his 
 act, enclosed four guineas ; which was payment at the rate of six- 
 teen guineas a year for the two. 
 
 Jane had not expected it. Nothing had been hinted to her about 
 payment, and she did not expect to receive any : she did not 
 understand that the boys had joined on those terms. It was very 
 welcome. In writing back to Mr. Glenn, she stated that she had 
 not expected to receive remuneration ; but she spoke of her strait- 
 ened circumstances, and thanked him for the help it would be. 
 
 " That comes from a gentlewoman," was his remark to his wife, 
 when he read the note. " I should like to know her." 
 
 " I hinted as much to Frank one day, but he said his mother was 
 too much occupied to receive visits or to pay them," was Mrs. 
 Glenn's reply. 
 
 As it happened, however, Mr. Glenn did pay her a visit. A 
 friend of his, whose boys were in the college school, struck with 
 the improvement in the Glenns, and hearing of its source, wondered 
 whether his boys might not be received on the same terms, and Mr. 
 Glenn undertook to propose it. The result of all this was, that in 
 six montlis from the time of that afternoon when Frank first took 
 tea at Mr. Glenn's, Jane had ten evening pupils, college boys. 
 There she stopped. Others applied, but her table would not hold 
 more, nor could she do justice to a greater number. The ten 
 would bring her in eighty guineas a year ; she devoted to them two 
 hours, five evenings in the week. 
 
 Now she could command somewhat better food, and more liberal 
 instruction for her own boys, William included, in those higher 
 branches of knowledge which they could not, or had not, com- 
 menced for themselves. A learned professor, David Byrne, whose 
 lodgings were in the London Road, was applied to, and he agreed 
 to receive the young Haliib'artons at a very moderate charge, three 
 evenings in the week. 
 
 " Mamma," cried William, one day, with his thoughtful smile, 
 soon after this agreement was entered upon, "we seem to be 
 getting on amazingly. We can learn something else now, if you 
 have no objection." 
 
 " What is that.? " asked Jane. 
 
 "French. As I ana Samuel Lynn were v^^alking home to-day, 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 14
 
 2to MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 we met Monsieur Colin. He said he was about to organize a 
 French class, twelve in number, and would be glad if we would 
 make three of the number. What do you say?" 
 
 " it is a great temptation," answered Jane. " I have long wished 
 you could learn French. Would it be very expensive?" 
 
 " Very cheap to us. He said he considered you a sister pro- 
 fessor " 
 
 " The idea ! " burst forth Frank, hotly. " Mamma a professor !" 
 
 " Indeed, I don't know that I can aspire to anything so for- 
 midable," said Jane, with a laugh. " A schoolmistress would be 
 a better word." 
 
 Frank was indignant. " You are not a schoolmistress, mamma. 
 I " 
 
 " Frank," interrupted Jane, her tone changing to seriousness. 
 
 " What, mamma?" 
 
 " I am thankful to be one." 
 
 The tears rose to Frank's eyes. " You are a lady, mamma. I 
 shall never think you anything else. There ! " 
 
 Jane smiled. " Well, I hope I am, Frank ; although I help to 
 make gloves, and teach boys English." 
 
 " How well Mr. Lynn speaks French ! " exclaimed William. 
 
 " Does he speak it?" 
 
 "As a native. I cannot tell what his accent may be, but he 
 speaks it as readily as Monsieur Colin. Shall we learn, mamma? 
 It will be the greatest advantage to us. Monsieur Cohn conversing 
 with us in French." 
 
 " But what about the time, William?" 
 
 " Oh, if you will manage the money, we will manage the time, 
 returned William, laughing. " Only trust to us, mother. We will 
 make it, and neglect nothing." 
 
 " Then, William, you may tell Monsieur Colin that you shall 
 learn." 
 
 " Fair and easy ! " broke out Frank ; a saying of his when pleased. 
 " Mamma, I think, what with one thing and another turning up, 
 we boys shall be getting quite first-class education." 
 
 " Although mamma feared we never should , accomplish it," 
 returned William. " As did I." 
 
 "Fear!" cried Frank, "/didn't. I knew that ' where there's 
 a will there's a way.' Di\s;enercs a/n'iiios tiinor a7-gi<it^'' added he, 
 finishing off with one of his favourite Latin quotations ; but for- 
 getting, in his flourish, that he was paying a poor compliment to 
 his mother and his brother.
 
 ill 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 William Halliburton's ghost. 
 
 This chajjtl'r may be said to commence the second part ot this 
 history, for some years have elapsed since the events last recorded. 
 Do you doubt that the self-denying patience displayed by Jar.c 
 Halliburton, her persevering struggles, her never-fainting industry, 
 joined to her all-perfect trust in the goodness and guidance of the 
 Most High God, could fail to bring their reward? It is not possible. 
 But do not fancy that it came suddenly in the shape of a coach- 
 and-six. Rewards, worth having, are not acquired so easily. Have 
 you met with the following lines.'' They are somewhat applicable. 
 
 " How rarely, friend, a good, great man inlierits 
 Honour and wealth, with all his worth and pains I 
 It seems a fable from the land of spirits 
 When any man obtains that which he merits, 
 Or any merits that which he obtains. 
 For shame, my friend ! renounce this idle strain : 
 What would'st thou have the good, great man obtain — 
 Wealth? title? dignity? a golden chain? 
 
 Or heaps of corpses which his sword hath slain ? , 
 
 Goodness and greatness are not means, but ends. 
 Hath he not always treasures, always friends, 
 The good, great man ? Three treasures — 
 Love ; and life ; and calm thoughts, equable as infant's breath. 
 And three fast friends, more sure than day or niglit, 
 Himself ; his Maker ; and the angel, Death." 
 
 Jane's reward was in progress : it had not fully come. At present 
 it was little more than that of an approving conscience for having 
 fought her way through difficulties in the patient continuance of 
 well-doing, and in the fulfilment, in a remarkable manner, of the 
 subject she had had most at heart— that of giving her sons an 
 education that would fit them to fulfil any part they might be called 
 upon to play in the destinies of life — in watching them grow lip full 
 of promise to make good and great men. 
 
 In circumstances, Jane was tolerably at case now. Time had 
 wrought its changes. Mrs. Reece had gone — not into other 
 lodgings, but to join Janey Halliburton on the long journey. And 
 Dobbs — Dobbs ! — was servant to Mrs. Halliburton! Dobbs had 
 experienced misfortune. Dobbs had put by a good round sunr 
 in a bank, for Dobbs had been provident all her life ; and the bank 
 broke, and swallowed up Dobbs's savings ; and nearly all Dobbs"s 
 surly independence went with it. Misfortunes do not come alone; 
 and Mrs. Reece died almost immediately after Dobbs's treacherous 
 bank went. The old lady's will had been good to leave Dol^l s 
 something, but she had not the power to do so : the income she had
 
 212 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 enjoyed went, at her death, to her late husband's relatives. She had 
 made Dobbs handsome presents from time to time, and these Dobbs 
 had placed with the rest of her money. It had all gone. 
 
 Poor Dobbs, good for nothing in the first shock of the loss, paid 
 Mrs. Halliburton for a bedroom weekly, and sat down to fret. 
 Next, she tried to earn a living at making gloves — an employ- 
 ment Dobbs had followed in her early days. But, what with not 
 being so young as she was, neither eyes nor fingers, Dobbs found 
 she could make nothing of the work. She went about the house 
 doing odd tasks for Mrs. Halliburton, until that lady ventured on 
 a proposal (with as much deference as though she had been making 
 it to an Indian Begum), that Dobbs should remain with her as her 
 servant. An experienced, thoroughly good servant she required 
 now; and that she knew Dobbs to be. Dobbs acquiesced; and 
 forthwith went upstairs, moved her things into the dark closet, 
 and obstinately adopted it as her own bedroom. 
 
 The death of Mrs. Reece had enabled Jane to put into practice 
 a plan she had long thought of — that of receiving boarders into her 
 house, after the manner of the dames at Eton. Some of the foun- 
 dation boys in the college school lived at a distance, and it was a 
 great matter with the parents to place them in families where they 
 Avould find a good home. The wife of the head master, Mrs. 
 Keating, took in half-a-dozen ; Jane thought she might do the same. 
 She had been asked to do so ; but had not room while Mrs. Reece 
 was with her. She still held her class in the evening. As one set 
 of boys finished with her, others were only too glad to take their 
 places: there was no teaching like Mrs. Halliburton's. Upon 
 making it known that she could receive boarders, applications 
 poured in ; and six, all she had accommodation for, came. They, of 
 course, attended the college school during the day. Thus she 
 could afford to relinquish working at the gloves ; and did so, to 
 .Samuel Lynn's chagrin : a steady, regular worker, as Jane had 
 been, was valuable to the manufactory. Altogether, what with her 
 evening class, and the sum paid by the boarders, her income was 
 between two and three hundred a year, not including what was 
 earned by William.. 
 
 William had made progress at Mr. Ashley's, and now earned 
 thirty shillings a week. Frank and Gar had not left the college 
 school. Frank's time was out, and more than out : but when a 
 scholar advanced in the manner that Frank Halliburton had done, 
 Mr. Keating was not in a hurry to intimate to him that his time had 
 cx])ired. So Fi-ank remained on, studying hard, one of the most 
 finished scholars that Hclstonleigh Collegiate School had ever 
 turned out. 
 
 There sat one great desire in Frank's heart ; it had almost grown 
 into a passion ; it coloured his dreams by night and his thoughts by 
 day — -that of matriculating at one of the two Universities. The 
 random and somewhat dim idea of Frank's early days — studying 
 for the bar — had become the (ixed ])urpose of his life. That he was
 
 WILLIAM HALLlJJUKiU.N^ UUubl. 213 
 
 especially gifted with the tastes and qualifications necessary to make 
 a good pleader, there could be no doubt about ; therefore, Frank 
 had probably not mistaken his vocation. Persevering in study, 
 keen in perceptive intellect, equable in temper, fluent and persuasive 
 in speech, a true type was he of an embryo barrister. He did not 
 quite see his way yet to getting to college. Neither did Gar; and 
 Gar had set his mind upon the Church. 
 
 One cold January evening, bright, clear, and frosty, Samuel Lynn 
 stopped away from the manufactory. He had received a letter by 
 the evening post saying that a friend, on his way from Birmingham 
 to Bristol, would halt for a few hours at his house, and go on by 
 the Bristol mail, which passed through the city at eleven o'clock. 
 The friend arrived punctually, was regaled with tea and other 
 good things in the state parlour, and he and Samuel Lynn settled 
 themselves to enjoy a pleasant evening together, Patience and Anna 
 forming part of the company. Anna's luxuriant curls and her 
 wondrous beauty — for, in growing up, that beauty had not belied 
 the promise of her childhood — were shaded under the demure 
 Quaker's cap. Something else had not belied the promise of her 
 childhood, and that was her vanity. 
 
 Apparently, she did not find the evening or the visitor to her 
 taste. He was old, as were her father and Patience : every one 
 above thirty Anna was apt to class as " old." She fidgeted, was 
 restless, and, just as the clock struck seven — as if the sound 
 rendered any further inaction unbearable — she rose, and was quietly 
 stealing from the room. 
 
 " Where are thee going, Anna ?" asked her father. 
 
 Anna coloured, as if taken by surprise. " Friend Jane Halliburton 
 promised to lend me a book, father : I should like to fetch it." 
 
 " Sit thee still, child ; thee' dost not want to read to-night when 
 Friend Stanley is with us. Show him thy drawings. Meanwhile, 
 I will get the chessmen. Thee'd like a game .'' " turning to his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Ay, I should," was the ready answer. " Remember, Friend 
 Lynn, I beat thee last time." 
 
 " Maybe my skill will redeem itself to-night," nodded the Quaker, 
 as he rose for the chessboard. "It shall try its best." 
 
 " Would thee like a candle ? " asked Patience, who was busy 
 sewing. 
 
 " Not at all. My chamber is light as day, with the moon so near 
 the full." 
 
 Mr. Lynn went up to his room. The chessboard and men were 
 kept on a table near the window. As he took them from it he 
 glanced out at the pleasant scene. His window, at the back, faced 
 the charming landscape, and the Malvern hills in the horizon, shone 
 out almost as distinctly as by day. Not, however, on the landscape 
 were Samuel Lynn's eyes fixed ; they had caught something nearer, 
 which drew his attention. 
 
 Pacing the field-path, which ran behind his low garden hedge.
 
 214 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 was a male figure in a cloak. To see a man, whether in a cloak or 
 without it, abroad on a moonlight night, would not have been 
 extraordinary ; but Samuel Lynn's notice was drawn by this one's 
 movements. Beyond the immediate space occupied by the house, 
 the field-path was hidden : on one side, by the high hedge inter- 
 vening between his garden and Mrs. Halliburton's ; on the other, 
 by a wall. The figure — whoever it might be — ^would come to one 
 of these corners, stealthily peep at Samuel Lynn's house and 
 windows, and then continue his way past it, until he reached the 
 other corner, where he would halt and peep aeain, partially hiding 
 himself behind the hedge. That he was wai.mg for something or 
 some one was apparent, for he stamped his feet occasionally in an 
 impatient manner. 
 
 "What can it be that he does there.'"' cried the Quaker, half 
 aloud: "this is the second time I have seen him. He cannot be 
 taking a sketch of my house by moonlight ! Were it any other 
 than thee, William HaUiburton, I should say it wore a clandestine 
 look." 
 
 He returned to the parlour, and took his revenge on his friend by 
 checkmating him three times in succession. At nine o'clock supper 
 came in, and at ten Mr. Stanley, accompanied by Samuel Lynn, left, 
 to walk leisurely into Helstonlcigh and await the Bristol mail. As 
 they turned out of the house they saw William Halliburton going 
 in at his own door. 
 
 " It is a cold night," William remarked to Mr. Lynn. 
 " Very. Good night to thee." 
 
 You cannot see what he is like by this light, especially in that 
 disguising cloak, and the cap with its protecting ears. But you can 
 see him the following morning, as he stands in Mr. Ashley's counting- 
 house. 
 
 A well-grown, upright, noble form, a head taller than Samuel 
 Lynn, by whose side he is standing, with a peculiarly attractive 
 face. Not for its beauty — the face cannot boast of very much — but 
 for its broad brow of intellect, its firm, sweet mouth, and its truthful 
 dark-grey eyes. None could mistake William Halliburton for any- 
 thing liut a gentleman, although they had seen him, as now, with a 
 white apron tied round his waist. William was making up gloves : 
 a term, as you may remember, which means sorting them according 
 to their qualities — work that was sometimes done in Mr. Ashley's 
 room, on account of its steady light, for it bore a north aspect. A 
 table, or counter, was fixed down one side, under its windows. Mr. 
 Lynn stood by his side, looking on. 
 
 " Thee can do it tolerably well, William," he observed, after some 
 minutes' close inspection. 
 
 William smiled. The Quaker never bestowed decided praise, 
 and never thought any one could be trusted in the making-up 
 jiepartment, himself and James Mceking excepted. William had 
 been exercised in the making-up for the past eighteen months, and 
 he thought he ought to do it pretty well by this time. Mr. Lynn
 
 WILLIAM HALLIBURTON'S GHOST 215 
 
 was turning away, when his keen sight fell on several dozens at a 
 little distance. He took up one of the top pairs with a hasty move- 
 ment, knitted his brow, and then took up others. 
 
 "Thee has not exercised thy judgment or thy caution here, friend 
 William." 
 
 " I did not make up those," replied William. 
 
 "Who did, then?" 
 
 " Cyril Dare." 
 
 " I have told Cyril Dare he is not to attempt the making-up," 
 returned Samuel Lynn, in a severe tone. " When did he do 
 these ? " 
 
 " Yesterday afternoon." 
 
 "There, again! He knows the gloves are not made up in a 
 winter's afternoon. I myself would not do it by so obscure a light. 
 Thee go over these thyself when thee has finished the stack before 
 thee." 
 
 Samuel Lynn was not one who spared work. He mixed the 
 offending dozens together indiscriminately, and pushed them to- 
 wards William. Then he turned to his own place, and went on 
 with his work : he was also making up. Presently he spoke again. 
 
 " What does thee do at the back of my house of a night ? Thee 
 must find the walk cold." 
 
 William turned his head with a movement of surprise. " I don't 
 do anything at the back of your house. What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Not walk about there, watching it, as thee did last night ? " 
 
 " Certainly not ! I do not understand you." 
 
 Samuel Lynn's brows knit heavily. " William, I deemed thee 
 truthful. Why deny what is a palpable fact ?" 
 
 William Halliburton put down the pair of gloves he had in his 
 hand, and turned to the Quaker. " In saying that I do not walk at 
 the back of your house at night, or at the back of any house, I state 
 the truth." ' 
 
 " Last night, at seven o'clock, I saw thee parading there in thy 
 cloak. I sa7i/thee, I say, Wilham. The night was unusually light." 
 
 " Last night, from tea-time until half-past nine, I never stirred 
 out of my mother's parlour," rejoined William. " I was at my 
 books, as usual. At half-past nine I ran up to say a word to Henry 
 Ashley. You saw me returning." 
 
 " But I saw thee at the back with my own eyes," persisted the 
 Quaker. " I saw thy cloak. Thee had on that blue cap of thine : 
 it was tied down over thy ears ; and the collar of the cloak was 
 turned up, to protect thee, as I surmised, from the cold." 
 
 " It must have been my ghost," responded William. '■'■ Should I 
 be likely to pace up and down a cold field, for pastime, on a January 
 night ? " 
 
 " Will thee oblige me by putting on thy cloak ? " wag all the 
 answer returned by Samuel Lynn, 
 
 " What— now ? " 
 
 " Please."
 
 2i6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 William, laughing, went out of the room, and came back in his 
 cloak. It was an old-fashi jned cloak —a remarkable cloak — a dark 
 plaid, its collar lined with red. Formerly worn by gentlemen, they, 
 had now become nearly obsolete ; but William had picked this up 
 for much less than half its value. He did not care much for fashion, 
 and it was warm and comfortable in winter weather. 
 
 " Perhaps you wish me to put on my cap ? " said William, in a 
 serio-comic tone. 
 
 " Yes ; and turn down the ears." 
 
 He obeyed, very much amused. ''Anything more ? " asked he. 
 
 " Walk thyself about an instant." 
 
 His lips smiling, his eyes dancing, William marched from one 
 side of the room to the other. While this was in process Cyril 
 Dare bustled in, and stood in amazement, staring at William. The 
 Quaker paid no attention to his arrival, except that he took out his 
 watch and glanced at it. He continued to address William. 
 
 " And thee can assure me, to my face, that thee was not pacing 
 the field last night in the moonlight, dressed as now ? " 
 
 " I can, and do," replied William. 
 
 " Then, William, it is one of two things. My eyes or thy word 
 must be false." 
 
 " Did you see my face ? " asked William. 
 
 " Not much of that. With the ears down, and the collar up, thy 
 face was pretty effectually concealed. There's not another cloak 
 like thine in all Helstonleigh." 
 
 " You are right there, ' laughed William ; " there's not one half so 
 handsome. Admire the contrast of the purple and green plaid and 
 the scarlet collar." 
 
 " No, not another like it," emphatically repeated the Quaker. 
 " I tell thee, William Halliburton, in the teeth of thy denial, that I 
 saw thee, or a figure precisely similar to thee, parading the field- 
 path last night, and stealthily watching my windows." 
 
 " It's a clear case of ghost," returned William, with an amused 
 look at Cyril Dare. How much longer am I to make a walking 
 Guy of myself, for your pleasure and Cyril's astonishment ? " 
 
 " Thee can take it off," replied the Quaker, his curt tone betray- 
 ing dissatisfaction. Until that moment he had believed William 
 Halliburton to be the very quintessence of truth. His behef was 
 now shaken. 
 
 In the small passage between Mr. Ashley's room and Samuel 
 Lynn's, William hung up the cloak and cap. The Quaker turned 
 to Cyril Dare, who was taking off his great-coat, stern displeasure 
 in his tone. 
 
 " Dost thee know the time ? " 
 "Just gone half-past nine," replied Cyril. 
 
 Mr. Lynn held out his watch to Cyril. It wanted seventeen 
 minutes to ten. " Nine o'clock is thy hour. I am tired of telling 
 theu to be more punctual. And thee did not come before breakfast." 
 " I overslept myself," said Cyril.
 
 WILLIAM HALLIBURTON'S GHOST. 217 
 
 "As thee dost pretty often, it seems. If thee can do no better 
 than thee did yesterday, as well oversleep thyself for good. Look 
 at these gloves." 
 
 " Well! " cried Cyril, who was a good-looking young man, not far 
 short in stature of William. At least he would have been good- 
 looking, but for his eyes ; there was a look in them, almost amount- 
 ing to a squint ; and they did not gaze openly and honestly into 
 another's eyes. His face was thin, and his features were well-formed. 
 " Well ! " cried he. 
 
 " It is well," repeated the Quaker ; " well that I looked at them, 
 for they must be done again. Firsts are mixed with seconds, thirds 
 with firsts ; I do not know that I ever saw gloves so ill made up. 
 What have I told thee ? " 
 
 " Lots of things," responded Cyril, who liked to set the manager 
 at defiance, as far as he dared. 
 
 " I have desired thee never to attempt to make up the gloves. 
 I now forbid thee again ; and thee will do well not to forget it. 
 Begin and band these gloves that William Halliburton is making 
 ready." 
 
 Cyril jerked open the drawer where the paper bands were kept, 
 took some out of it, and carried them to the counter, where William 
 stood. Mr. Lynn interposed with another order. 
 
 " Thee will please put thy apron on." 
 
 Now, having to wear this apron was the very bugbear of Cyril 
 Dare's life. "There's no need of an apron to paper gloves," he 
 responded. 
 
 " Thee will put on thy apron, friend," calmly repeated Samuel 
 Lynn. 
 
 " I hate the apron," fumed Cyril, jerking open another drawer, 
 and jerking out his apron; for he might not openly disobey the 
 authority of Samuel Lynn. " 1 should think I am the first gentle- 
 man that ever was made to wear one." 
 
 "If thee are practically engaged in a glove manufactory, thee 
 must wear an apron, gentleman or no gentleman," equably returned 
 the Quaker. " As we all do." 
 
 " All don't ! " retorted Cyril. " The master does not." 
 
 " Thee are not in the master's position yet, Cyril Dare. And I 
 would advise thee to exercise thy discretion more, and thy tongue 
 less." 
 
 The discussion was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Ashley, 
 and the room dropped into silence. There might be no presuming 
 in the presence of the master. He sat down to his desk, and opened 
 his morning letters. Presently a young man put his head in, and 
 addressed Samuel Lynn. 
 
 " Noaks, the stainer, has come in, sir. He says the skins, given 
 out to him yesterday, would be better for coloured than blacks." 
 
 " Desire James Meeking to attend to him," said Mr. Lynn. 
 
 "James Meeking isn't here, sir. He's up in the cutters' room, 
 or somewhere."
 
 2iS MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Samuel Lynn, upon this, went out himself. Cyril Dare followed 
 him. Cyril was rather fond of taking short trips about the manu- 
 factory, as interludes to his work. Soon after, the master lifted his 
 head. 
 
 " Step here, William." 
 
 William put down the gloves he was examining, and approached 
 the desk. "What sort of a French scholar are you?" inquired Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 " A very good one, sir," he replied, after a pause given to surprise. 
 " I know it thoroughly. I can read and write it as readily as I 
 can English." 
 
 " But I mean as to speaking. Could you make yourself under- 
 stood, for instance, if you were suddenly dropped down into a French 
 town, where the natives spoke nothing but their own language?" 
 
 William smiled. " I don't think I should have much difficulty 
 over it. I have been so much with Monsieur Colin that I talk as 
 fast as he does. He stops me occasionally to grumble at what he 
 calls Vaccent Anglais.^'' 
 
 " I am not sure that I shall not send you on a mission to France," 
 resumed Mr. Ashley. " You can be better spared than Samuel 
 Lynn ; and it must be one of you. Will you undertake it? " 
 
 " I will undertake anything that you wish me to do, sir, that I 
 could accomplish," replied WiUiam, lifting his clear, earnest eyes 
 to those of his master. 
 
 " You are an exceedingly good judge of skins : even Samuel Lynn 
 admits that. I want some intelligent, trustworthy person to go over 
 to France, look about the markets there, and pick up what will suit 
 us. The demand for skins is great at the present time, and the 
 markets must be watched to select suitable bales, before other 
 bidders step in, and pounce upon them. By these mean'; we may 
 secure some good bargains and good skins : we have liucceeded 
 lately in doing neither." 
 
 " At Annonay, I presume you mean, sir." 
 
 " Annonay and its neighbourhood ; that's the chief market for 
 dressed skins. The undressed pelts are to be met with best, as you 
 are aware, in the neighbourhood of Lyons. You would have to 
 look after both. I have talked the matter over with Mr. Lynn, and 
 he thinks you may be trusted, both as to ability and conduct." 
 
 " 1 will do my best if I am sent," replied William. 
 
 " Your stay might extend over two or three months. We can do 
 with a great deal ; both of pelts and dressed skins. The dressers 
 at Annonay Cyril, what are you doing there?" 
 
 Cyril could scarcely have told. He had come into the counting- 
 house unnoticed, and his ears had picked up somewhat of the con- 
 versation. In his anger and annoyance, Cyril had remained, his 
 face turned towards the speakers, listening for more. 
 
 For it had oozed out at Pomeranian Knoll, through a word 
 dropped by Henry Ashley, that Mr. Ashley had it in contemplation 
 to despatch some one from the manufactory on this mission to
 
 "NOTHINCx RISK, NOTHING WIN." 219 
 
 France, and that the some one would not be Samuel Lynn. Cyril re- 
 ceived the information with avidity, never doubting that //^ would be 
 the one fixed upon. To give him his due, he was really a good judge 
 of skins— not better than William ; but somehow Cyril had never 
 given a thought to William in the matter. Greatly had he antici- 
 pated the journey to the land of pleasure, where he would be under 
 no one's control but his own. In that moment, when he heard Mr. 
 Ashley speak to William upon the subject, not to him, Cyril felt at 
 war with every one and everything; with the Master, with William, 
 and especially with the business, which he hated as much as he had 
 ever done. 
 
 Pnit Mr. Ashley was not one to do things in a hurry, and he had 
 only broached the subject. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "nothing risk, nothing win." 
 
 It was Saturday night, the Saturday after the above conversation, 
 and Mr. Lynn was making ready to pay the men. James Meeking 
 was payer in a general way; but James Meeking was also packer; 
 that is, he packed, with assistance, the goods destined for London. 
 A parcel was being sent off this evening, so that it fell to Mr. Lynn's 
 lot to pay the workmen. He stood before the desk in the serving- 
 room, counting out the money in readiness. There was a quantity 
 of silver in a bag, and a great many brown paper packets of half- 
 pence ; each packet containing five shillings. But they all had to 
 be counted, for sometimes a packet would run a penny or twopence 
 short. 
 
 The door at the foot of the stairs was heard to open, and a man's 
 step came up. It proved to be a workman from a neighbouring 
 manufactory. 
 
 "If you please, Mr. Lynn, could you oblige our people with 
 twelve or fourteen pounds' worth of change ? " he asked. " We 
 couldn't get in enough to-day, try as we would. The halfpence seem 
 as scarce as the silver." 
 
 Now it happened that the Ashley manufactory was that evening- 
 abundantly supplied. Samuel Lynn went into the counting-house 
 to the master, who was seated at the desk. " The Dunns have 
 sent in to know if we can oblige them with twelve or fourteen 
 pounds' worth of change," said he. " We have plenty to-night ; 
 but to send away so much may run us very short. Dost thee 
 happen to have any gold that thee can spare?" 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at his own cash drawer. " Here are six, seven 
 sovereigns." 
 
 "That will be sufficient," replied Samuel Lynn, taking them from
 
 220 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 his hand, and going back to the appHcant in the serving-room. 
 " How much has thee need of?" asked he. 
 
 " Fourteen pounds, please, sir. I have the cheque here, made 
 out for it. Silver or copper, it doesn't matter which ; or a little 
 gold. I have brought a basket along with me." 
 
 Mr. Lynn gave the money, and took the cheque. The man de- 
 parted, and the Quaker carried the cheque to Mr. Ashley. 
 
 Mr. Ashley put the cheque into one of the pigeon-holes of his 
 desk. He had the account in duplicate before him, of the goods 
 going off, and was casting it up. William and Cyril were both in 
 the counting-house, but not engaged with Mr. Ashley. William 
 was marking small figures on certain banded gloves ; Cyril was 
 looking on, an employment that suited Cyril amazingly. His want 
 of occupation caught the Quaker's eye. 
 
 " If thee has nothing to do, thee can come and help me count the 
 papers of coppers." 
 
 Cyril dared not say " No," before Mr. Ashley. He might have 
 hesitated to say it to Samuel Lynn ; nevertheless, it was a work he 
 especially disliked. It is 7iot pleasant to soil the fingers, counting 
 innumerable five-shilling brown-paper packets of copper money ; to 
 part them into stacks of twelve pence, or twenty-four halfpence. 
 In point of fact, it was James Meeking's work ; but there were times 
 when .Samuel Lynn, William, and Cyril had each to take his turn 
 at it. Perhaps the two former liked it no better than did Cyril 
 Dare. 
 
 Cyril ungraciously followed to the serving-room. In a few 
 minutes James Meeking looked in at the counting-house. " Is the 
 master ready?" 
 
 Mr. Ashley rose, and went into the next room, carrying one of 
 the duplicate lists. The men were waiting to pack — James Meeking 
 and the other packer, a young man named Dance. The several 
 papers of boxes were ready on a side counter ; and Mr. Ashley 
 stood with the list in his hand, ready to verify them. Had Samuel 
 Lynn not been occupied with serving, he would have done this. 
 
 " Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," called out James 
 Meeking, reading the marks on the first parcel he took up. 
 
 "Right," responded Mr. Ashley. 
 
 James Meeking laid it upon the packing-table— clear, except for 
 an enormous sheet of brown paper as thick as card-board — turned 
 to the side counter, and took up another of the parcels. 
 
 " Three dozen best men's outsizes, coloured," repeated he. 
 
 " Right," replied Mr. Ashley. 
 
 And so on, till all the parcels were told through, and were found 
 to tally with the invoice. Then began the packing. It made a 
 large parcel, about four feet square. Mr. Ashley remained, look- 
 ing on. 
 
 " You will not have enough string there," he observed, as the men 
 were placing the string round it in squares. 
 
 " I told you we shouldn't, Meeking." said George Dance,
 
 "NOTHING RISK, NOTHING WIN." 221 
 
 " There's no more downstairs," was Meeking's answer. " I 
 thought it might be enough." 
 
 Neither of the men could leave the parcel. They were mounted 
 on steps on cither side of it. Mr. Ashley called to William. 
 " Light the lantern, and go up-stairs to the string-closet. Bring 
 down a ball." 
 
 Candles were not allowed to be carried about the premises. 
 William came forth, lighted the lantern, and went upstairs. At the 
 same moment, Cyril Dare, who had finished his disagreeable copper 
 counting, strolled into the counting-house. Finding it empty, he 
 thought he could not do better than take a survey of Mr. Ashley's 
 desk, the lid of which was propped open. He had no particular 
 motive in doing this, except that that receptacle might present some 
 food or other to gratify his curiosity, which the glove-laden counters 
 could not be supposed to do. Amidst other things his eyes fell on 
 the Messrs. Dunns' cheque, which lay in one of the pigeon-holes. 
 
 "It would set me up for a fortnight, that fourteen pounds!" 
 ejaculated he. " No one would find it out, either. Ashley would 
 suspect any one in the manufactory before he'd suspect nie .'" 
 
 He stood for a moment in indecision, his hand stretched out. 
 Should it be drawn back, and the temptation resisted ; or, should 
 he yield to it .'' " Here goes ! " cried Cyril. " Nothing risk, nothing 
 win ! " 
 
 He transferred the cheque to his own pocket, and stole out of 
 the counting-house into the small narrow passage which inter- 
 vened between it and Mr. Lynn's room, where the parcel was being 
 made up. Passing stealthily through the room, at the back of the 
 huge parcel, which hid him from the eyes of the men and of Mr. 
 Ashley, he emerged in safety in the serving-room, took up his 
 position close to Samuel Lynn, and began assiduously to count 
 over some shilling stacks which he had already verified. Sanniel 
 L}'nn, his face turned to the crowd of men who were on the other 
 side the counter receiving their wages, had not noticed the absence 
 of Cyril Dare. Upon this probable fact, Cyril had reckoned. 
 
 " Any more to count ? " asked Cyril. 
 
 Samuel Lynn turned his head round. " Not if thee has finished 
 all the packets." Had he seen what had just taken place, he might 
 have entrusted packets of coppers to Mr. Cyril less confidently. 
 
 Cyril jumped upon the edge of the desk, and remained perched 
 there. William Halliburton came back with the twine, which he 
 handed to George Dance. Blowing out the lantern, he returned to 
 the counting-house. 
 
 The parcel was completed, and James Meeking directed it, in his 
 plain, clerk-like hand — " Messrs. James Morrison, Dillon, and Co., 
 Fore Street, London." It was then conveyed to a truck in waiting, 
 to be wheeled to the parcels' office. Mr. Ashley returned to his 
 desk, and sat down. Presently, Cyril Dare came in. 
 
 "Halliburton, don't you want to be paid to-night? Every one's 
 paid but you. Mr. Lynn's waiting to close the desk."
 
 222 MRS. HALLiBURtON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Here is a letter for the post, William," called out Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I am coming back, sir. I have not set the counter straight yet." 
 
 He received his money — thirty shillings a week now. He then 
 put things straight in the counting-house, to do which was as much 
 Cyril's work as his, and took a letter from the hands of Mr. Ashley. 
 It contained one of the duplicate lists, and was addressed as the 
 parcel had been. William generally had charge of the outward 
 bound letters now; he did not forget them as he had done in his 
 first unlucky essay. He threw on the elegant cloak of which you 
 have heard, took his hat, and went through the town, as far as the 
 post-office, Cyril Dare walking with him. There they parted; Cyril 
 continuing his way homewards, William retracing his steps. 
 
 All had left the manufactory except Mr. Ashley and Samuel 
 Lynn. James Meeking had gone down. On a late night, as the 
 present, when all had done, except the master and Samuel Lynn, 
 the latter would sometimes say to the foreman, " Thee can go on to 
 thy supper; I will lock up, and bring thee the keys." Mr. Ashley 
 was setting his desk straight — putting sundry papers in their places ; 
 tearing up others. He unlocked his cash drawer, and put his hand 
 into the pigeon-hole for the cheque. It was not there. Neither 
 there nor anywhere, that he could see. 
 
 " Why, Where's that cheque ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 It caused Samuel Lynn to turn. " Cheque ? " he repeated. 
 
 " Dunns' cheque, that you brought me an hour ago.'' 
 
 " I saw thee put it in the second pigeon-hole," said the Quaker, 
 advancing to the desk, and standing by Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I know I did. But it is gone." 
 
 " Thee must have moved it. Perhaps it is in thy private 
 drawer ? " 
 
 Mr. Ashley shook his head : he was deep in consideration. " I 
 have not touched it since I placed it there," he presently said. 
 " Lhiless surely I cannot have torn it up by mistake? " 
 
 He and Samuel Lynn both stooped over the waste-paper basket. 
 They could detect nothing of the sort amidst its contents. Mr. 
 Ashley was nonplussed. " This is a curious thing, Samuel." said 
 he. " No one was in the room during my absence except William 
 Halliburton." 
 
 " He would not meddle with thy desk," observed the Quaker. 
 
 " No : nor suffer any one else to meddle with it. I should like to 
 see William. He may possibly throw some light upon the subject. 
 The cheque could not vanish into thin air." 
 
 Samuel Lynn went down to James Meeking's, whom he disturbed 
 at supper. He bade him watch at the entrance-gate for the return 
 of William from the post-office, and request him to walk into the 
 manufactory. William was not very long in making his appearance. 
 He received the message— that the master and Mr. Lynn wanted 
 him — and in he went with alacrity, having jumped to the conclusion 
 that some conference was about to be held, touching the French 
 journey.
 
 "NOTHING RISI<, NOTHING WIN." 223 
 
 Considerably surprised was he to learn what the matter really 
 was. He quite laughed at the idea of the cheque's being gone, and 
 believed that Mr. Ashley must have torn it up. Very minutely 
 went he over the contents of the paper-basket. Its relics were not 
 there. 
 
 " It's like magic ! " exclaimed William. " No one entered the 
 counting-house; not even Mr. Lynn or Cyril Dare." 
 
 "Cyril Dare was with me," said the Quaker. "Verily it seems 
 to savour of the marvellous." 
 
 It certainly did; and no conclusion could be come to. Neither 
 could anything be done that night. 
 
 It was late when William reached home — a quarter past ten. 
 Frank was sitting over the fire, waiting for him. Gar had gone to 
 bed tired; Mrs. Halliburton with headache; Dobbs, because there 
 was nothing more to do. 
 
 " How late you are!" was Frank's salutation. "Just because I 
 want to have a talk with you." 
 
 " Upon the old theme," said William, with a smile. " Oxford or 
 Cambridge ? " 
 
 " I say, William, if you are going to throw cold water upon 
 it But it won't put a damper upon me," broke off Frank, gaily. 
 
 " I would rather throw hot water on it than cold, Frank," 
 
 " Look here, William. I am growing up to be a man, and I can't 
 bear the idea of living longer upon my mother. At my age I ought 
 to be helping her. I am no nearer the University than I was years 
 ago; and if I cannot get there, all my labour and my learning will 
 be thrown away." 
 
 " Not thrown away," said William. 
 
 "Thrown away as far as my views are concerned. I must go to 
 <he Bar, or go to nothing— r?/^/ Ccpsar, atit miUtis. To the Univer- 
 sity I will go ; and I see nothing for it but to do so as a servitor. 
 I shan't care a fig for the ridicule of those who get there by a 
 golden road. There's Lacon going to Christchurch at Easter, a 
 gentleman commoner ; Parr goes to Cambridge, to old Trinity." 
 
 " They are the sons of rich men." 
 
 " I am not envying them. We have not faced the difficulties of 
 our position so long, and made the best of them, for me to begin 
 envying others now. Wall's nephew goes up at Easter — • — " 
 
 " Oh, docs he.-*" interrupted William. " I thought he could not 
 manage it." 
 
 " Nor can he manage it in that sense. His father has too large 
 a family to help him, and there's no chance of the exhibition. It is 
 promised, Keating has announced. The exhibitions in Helstonleigh 
 College don't go by right." 
 
 " Right, or merit, do you mean, Frank 1 " 
 
 " I suppose I mean merit; but the one implies the other. They 
 go by neither." 
 
 " Or you think that Frank Halliburton would have had it ? " 
 
 "At any rate, he has not got it. Neither has Wall. There-
 
 224 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 fore, we have made up our minds, he and I, to go to Oxford as 
 servitors." 
 
 " All right ! Success to you both ! " 
 
 Frank fell into a reverie. The friend of whom he spoke, Wall, 
 was nephew of the under-master of the college school. " Of course 
 I never expected to get to college in any other way," continued 
 Frank, taking up the tongs, and- balancing them on his fingers. 
 " If an exhibition did at odd moments cross my hopes, I would not 
 dwell upon it. There are fellows in the school richer and greater 
 than I. However, the exhibition is gone, and there's an end of it. 
 The question now is — if I do go as a servitor, can my mother find 
 the little additional expense necessary to keep me there?" 
 
 " Yes, I am sure she can : and will," replied William. 
 
 " There'll be the expenses of travelling, and sundry other little 
 things," went on Frank. " Wall says it will cost each of us about 
 fifteen pounds a year. We have dinner and supper free. Of course, 
 I should never think of tea, and for breakfast, I would take milk 
 and plain bread. There'd be living at home between terms — unless 
 I found something to do — and my clothes." 
 
 " It can be managed. Frank, you'll drop those tongs." 
 
 " What we shall have to do, as servitors, neither I nor Wall can 
 precisely tell," continued Frank, paying no attention to the warning. 
 " Wall says, brushing clothes, and setting tables for meals, and 
 waiting on the other students at dinner, will be amongst the re- 
 freshing exercises. However it may be, my mind is made up to do. 
 If they put me to black shoes, I shall only sing over it, and sit down 
 to my studies with a better will when the shoes have come to an end." 
 
 William smiled. " Blacking shoes will be no new employment to 
 you, Frank." 
 
 " No. And if ever I catch myself coveting the ease and dignity 
 of the lordly hats, I shall just cast my thoughts back again to our 
 early privations, to what my mother struggled through for us ; and 
 that will bring me down again. We owe all to her ; and I hope she 
 will owe something to us in the shape of comforts before she dies," 
 warmly added Frank, the tears rising to his eyes. 
 
 "It is what I have hoped for years," replied William, in a low 
 tone. " It is coming, Frank." 
 
 "Well, I think I do now see one step before me. You remember 
 papa's dream, William ? " 
 
 William simply bowed his head. 
 
 " Lately I have not even seen that step. Between ourselves, I 
 was losing some of my hopefulness ; and you know that is what I 
 never lost, whatever the rest of you may have done." 
 
 " We none of us lost hope, Frank. It was hope that enabled us 
 to bear on. You were over-sanguine." 
 
 " It comes to the same thing. The step I see before me now, is 
 to go to Oxford as a servitor. To St. John's if I can, for I should 
 like to be with Wall. He is a good, plodding fellow, though I don't 
 know that he is ovcrburthened with brains."
 
 MRS. DARE'S GOVERNESS. 225 
 
 '' Not with the quick brains of Frank Ilalhburton." 
 
 Frank laughed. " You know Perry, the minor canon? He also 
 
 went to St. John's as a servitor. I shall get him to tell me- 
 Frank stopped. The tongs had gone down with a clatter. 
 
 » 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. • 
 MRS. dare's governess. 
 
 " There's such a row at our place ! " suddenly announced Cyril 
 Dare, at the Pomeranian Knoll dinner-table, one Monday evening. 
 
 "What about?" asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 "Some money's missing. At least, a checjue; which amounts to 
 the same thing." 
 
 " Not quite the same," dissented Mr. Dare. '' Unless it has been 
 cashed." 
 
 " I mean the same as regards noise," continued Cyril. " There's 
 as much fuss being made over it as if it had been fourteen pounds' 
 weight of solid gold. It was a cheque of Dunns' ; and the master 
 put it into his desk, or says he did so. When he came to look for 
 it, it was gone." 
 
 "Who took it?" inquired Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Who's to know? That's what we want to find out." 
 
 " What was the amount? " 
 
 "Fourteen pounds, I say. A paltry sum. Ashley makes a boast, 
 and says it's not the amount that bothers him, but the feeling that 
 We must have some one false near us." 
 
 " Don't speak so slightingly of money," rebuked Mr. Dare. 
 " Fourteen pounds are not so easily picked up that it should be 
 pleasant to lose them." 
 
 " I'm sure I don't want to speak slightingly of money," returned 
 Cyril, rebelliously. " You keep me too short, sir, for me not to 
 know the full value of it. But fourteen pounds cannot be much of 
 a loss to Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " If I keep you short, you have forced me to it by your extrava- 
 gances — you and the rest of you," responded Mr. Dare, in a short, 
 emphatic tone. 
 
 An unpleasant pause ensued. When the father of a family 
 intimates that his income is diminishing, it is not a welcome 
 announcement. The young Dares had been obliged to hear it often 
 lately. Adelaide broke the silence. 
 
 " How was the cheque taken? " 
 
 " It was a cheque brought by Dunns' people on Saturday night, 
 in exchange for money, and the master placed it in his open desk 
 in the counting-house," explained Cyril. " He went into Lynn's 
 room to watch the packing, and was away an hour. When he 
 returned, the cheque was gone." 
 
 Mrs. HalIil:urton's Troubles. 15
 
 226- MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "Who was in the counting-house?" 
 
 " Not a soul except HalHburton. He was there all the time." 
 
 "And no one else went in? " cried Mr. Dare. 
 
 " No one," replied Cyril, sending up his plate for more meat. 
 
 "Why, then, it would look as if Halhburton took it? "exclaimed 
 Mr. Dare. 
 
 Cyril raised his eyebrows. " No one would venture to suggest as 
 much in the hearing of the manufactory. It appears to be im- 
 pressed with the opinion that Halliburton, like kings, can do no 
 wrong." 
 
 " Mr. Ashley is so?" 
 
 " Mr. Ashley, and downwards." 
 
 " But, Cyril, if the facts are as you state, Halliburton must have 
 been the one to take it," objected Mr. Dare. " Possibly the cheque 
 may have been only mislaid ? " 
 
 " The counting-house underwent a thorough search this morning, 
 and every corner of the master's desk was turned out, but nothing 
 came of it. Halliburton appears to be in a world of surprise as to 
 where it can have gone ; but he does not seem to glance at the fact 
 that suspicion may attach to him." 
 
 " Of course Mr. Ashley intends to investigate it officially?" said 
 Mr. Dare. 
 
 " He does not say," replied Cyril. " He had the two packers 
 before him this morning separately, inquiring if they saw any one 
 pass through the room to the counting-house on Saturday night. 
 He also questioned me. We had none of us seen anything of the 
 sort." 
 
 "Where were you at the time, Cyril?" eagerly questioned Mr. 
 Dare. 
 
 Knowing what we know, it may seem a pointed question. It was 
 not, however, so spoken. Mr. Dare would probably have suspected 
 the whole manufactory before casting suspicion upon his son. The 
 thought that really crossed his mind was, that if his son had hap- 
 pened to be in the way, and had seen the thief, whoever he might be, 
 steal into the counting-house, so that, through him, he might be 
 discovered, it would have been a feather in Cyril's cap in the sight 
 of Mr. Ashley. And to find favour with Mr. Ashley, Mr. Dare con- 
 sidered ought to be the ruling aim of Cyril's life. 
 
 " I was away from it all, as it happened," said Cyril, in reply to 
 the question. " Old Lynn nailed me, on Saturday, to help to pay 
 the men. While the cheque was disappearing, I was at the delight- 
 ful employment of counting coppers." 
 " Did one of the packers get in? " 
 
 " Impossible. They were under Mr. Ashley's eye the whole time." 
 " Look here, Cyril," interrupted Mrs. Dare, the first word she had 
 spoken : " is it sure that that yca-and-nay Simon of a Quaker has 
 not helped himself to it?" 
 
 Cyril burst into a laugh. " He is not a Simon in the manufac- 
 toiy, I can tell you, ma'am. He is too much of a martinet."
 
 MRS. DARE'S GOVERNESS. "227 
 
 "Will Mr. Ashley be at the manufactory this evening, Cyril?" 
 
 questioned Mr. Dare. I 
 
 " You may as well ask me whether the moon will shine," was the 
 
 response of Cyril. " Mr. Ashley comes sometimes in an evening; 
 
 but we never know whether he will, or not, beforehand." 
 
 " Because he may be glad of legal assistance," remarked Mr. 
 Dare, who rarely failed to turn an eye to business. 
 
 You may remember the party that foimerly sat round Mr. Dare's 
 dinner-table on that day, some years ago, when Herbert was pleased 
 to fancy that he fared badly, not appreciating the excellences of 
 lamb. Two of that party were now absent from it — Julia Dare and 
 Miss Benyon. Julia had married, and had left England with her 
 husband ; and Miss Benyon had been discarded for a more fashion- 
 able governess. 
 
 This fashionable governess now sat at the table. She was called 
 Mademoiselle Varsini. You must not mistake her for a French 
 woman ; she was an Italian. She had been a great deal in France, 
 and spoke the language as a native — indeed, it was more easy to 
 her now than her childhood's tongue ; and French was the language 
 she was required to converse in with her pupils, Rosa and Minny 
 Dare. English also she spoke fluently, but with a foreign accent. 
 
 She was peculiar-looking. Her complexion was of pale olive, and 
 her eyes were light blue. It is not often that light blue eyes are 
 seen in conjunction with so dark a skin. Strange eyes they were — 
 eyes that glistened as if they were made of glass ; they had, at 
 times, a hard, glazed appearance. Her black hair was drawn from 
 her face, and twisted into innumerable rolls at the back of her 
 head. It was smooth and beautiful, as if a silken rope had been 
 coiled there. Her lips were thin and compressed in a remarkable 
 degree, which may have been supposed to indicate firmness ot 
 character. Tall, and full across the bust for her years, her figure 
 would have been called a fine one. She wore a closely-fitting 
 dress, of some soft, dark material, with small embroidered cuffs 
 and collar. 
 
 What were her years? She said twenty-five: but she might be 
 taken for cither older or younger. It is difficult to guess with cer- 
 tainty the age of an Italian woman. As a rule, they look much 
 older than English women ; and, when they do begin to show age, 
 they show it rapidly. Mr. Dare had never approved of the engage- 
 ment of this foreign governess. Mrs. Dare had picked her up from 
 an advertisement, and had persisted in engaging her, in spite of the 
 written references being in French, and that she could only read 
 one word in ten of them. Mr. Dare's scruples were solely pecuniary. 
 The salary was to be fifty pounds a year ; exactly double the amount 
 paid to Miss Benyon; and he had great expenses on him now. 
 "What did the girls want with a fashionable foreign governess?" 
 he asked. But he made no impression upon Mrs. Dare. The lady 
 was engaged, and arrived in Helstonleigh : and Mr. Dare had 
 declared, from that hour to this, that he could not make her out.
 
 228 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 He professed to be a great reader of the human face, and of human 
 character. 
 
 " Has there been any attempt made to cash the cheque?" re- 
 sumed Mr. Dare to Cyril. 
 
 " Ashley said nothing about that," replied Cyril. " It was lost 
 after banking hours on Saturday night ; therefore he would be sure 
 to stop it at the bank before Monday morning. It is Ashley's loss; 
 Dunns, of course, have nothing to do with :v." 
 
 " It would be no difficult matter to change it in the town," 
 remarked Anthony Dare. " Anyone would cash a cheque of 
 Dunns'; it is as good as a bank-note." 
 
 Cyril lifted his shoulders. " The fellow had better not be caught 
 at it, though." 
 
 " What would be the punishment in Angleterre for such a 
 crime? " spoke up the governess. 
 
 " Transfjortation for a longer or a shorter period," replied Mr. 
 Dare. 
 
 " What you would phrase aux galores, mademoiselle," struck in 
 Herbert. 
 
 " Ah, ga ! " responded mademoiselle. 
 
 As they called her " mademoiselle " we must do the same. There 
 hid been a discussion as to what she was to be called when she 
 fust came. iMiss Varsini was not grand enough. Signora \'arsini 
 was not deemed familiar enough for daily use. Besides, there was 
 some little uncertainty as to the strictly orthodox pronounciation of 
 the word signora. Therefore " mademoiselle " was decided upon. 
 It appeared to be all one to mademoiselle herself. She had been 
 accustomed, she said, to be called mademoiselle in France. 
 
 Mr. Dare hurried over his dinner and his wine, and rose. He 
 was going to find out Mr. Ashley. He was in hopes some profes- 
 sional business might arise to him in the investigation of the loss 
 spoken of by Cyril. He was not a particularly covetous man, and 
 had never been considered grasping, especially in business ; but 
 circumstances were rendering him so now. His general expenses 
 were enormous — his sons contrived that their own expenses should 
 be enormous; and Mr. Dare sometimes did not knov/ which way to 
 turn, to meet them. Anthony drained him — it was Mr. Dare's own 
 expression; Herbert drained him; Cyril wanted to drain him; 
 George was working on for it. Small odds and ends, arising in a 
 lawyer's practice, that, years ago, Mr. Dare would scarcely have 
 cared to trouble himself to undertake, were eagerly sought for by 
 him now. He must work to live. It was not that his practice was 
 a bad one; it was an excellent practice; but, do as Mr. Dare would, 
 his expenses outran it. 
 
 He bent his steps to the manufactory. Had Mr. Ashley not 
 been there, Mr. Dare would have gone on to his house. But Mr. 
 Ashley w.is there. They were shut into the jjrivate room, and 
 Mr. Ashley gave the particulars of the loss, more in detail than 
 Cyril had given them.
 
 MRS. DARE'S GOVERNESS. 2:9 
 
 " There is only one opinion to be formed," observed Mr. Dare. 
 "Young Hailibarton was the thief. The cheque could not go of 
 itself; and no one else appears to have been near it." 
 
 In urging the case against William, Mr. Dare was influenced by 
 no covert motive. He drew his inferences from the circumstances 
 related to him, and spoke in accordance with them. The resent- 
 ment he had once felt against the Halliburtons for coming to 
 Helstonleigh (though the resentment was on Mrs. Dare's part 
 rather than on his), had long ago died away. They did not cross 
 his path, or he theirs ; they did not presume upon the relationship; 
 had not, so far as Mr. Dare knew, made it known abroad ; there- 
 fore they were quite welcome to be in Helstonleigh, for Mr. Dare. 
 To do Mr. Dare justice, he was rather kindly disposed towards 
 his fellow-creatures, unless self-interest carried him the other way. 
 Cyril often amused himself at home by abusing William Halli- 
 burton : they were tolerable friends and companions when together, 
 but Cyril could not overcome his feeling of dislike ; a feeling to 
 which jealousy was now added, for William found more favour 
 with Mr. Ashley than he did. Cyril gave vent to his anger in 
 explosions at home, and William was not spared in them : but 
 Mr. Dare had learnt what his son's prejudices were worth. 
 
 " It must have been Halliburton," repeated Mr. Dare. 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Ashley. " There are four persons, of all those 
 who were in my manufactory on Saturday night, for whom I will 
 answer as confidently as I would for myself. James Mccking and 
 George Dance are two. I believe them both to be honest as the 
 day ; and if additional confirmation, that it was not they, were 
 necessary, neither of them stirred from beneath my own eye during 
 the possible time of the loss. The other two are Samuel Lynn and 
 William Halliburton. Samuel Lynn is above suspicion; and I 
 have watched William grow up from boyhood — always upright, 
 truthful, and honourable ; but more truthful, more honourable, year 
 by year, as the years have passed." 
 
 " I dare say he is," acquiesced Mr. Dare. " Indeed, I like his 
 look myself. There's something unusually frank about it. Of 
 course you will have it officially investigated? I came down to 
 oftcr you my services in the matter." 
 
 " You are very good," was the reply of Mr. Ashley. " Before 
 entering farther into the affair, I must be fully convinced that the 
 cheque's disappearance was not caused by myself. I — — " 
 
 " By yourself?" interrupted Mr. Dare, in surprise. 
 
 " I do not iJiiiik it was, mind ; but there is a chance of it. I 
 remember tearing up a paper or two after I received the cheque, 
 and putting the pieces, as I believe, into the waste-paper basket. 
 But I won't answer for it that I did not put them into the fire 
 instead, as I passed it on my way to Mr. Lynn's room to call over 
 the parcels' bill." 
 
 " But you would not tear up the cheque? " cried Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Certainly not, of intention. If I did it through carelessness,
 
 230 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 all I can say is, I have been very careless. No ; I shall not stir in 
 this matter for a day or two." 
 
 " But why wait.'"' asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 "If the cheque was stolen, it was probably changed somewhere 
 in the town that same night ; and this will soon be known. I shall 
 wait.'' 
 
 Mr Dare could not bring Mr. Ashley to a more business-like 
 frame of mind. He left the manufactory, and went straight to 
 the police-station, there to hold an interview with Mr. Sergeant 
 Delves, a popular officer, with whom Mr. Dare had had dealings 
 before. He stated the case to him, and desired Mr. Delves to 
 ferret out what he could. 
 
 " Privately, you know. Delves," said he, winking at the sergeant, 
 whom he held by the shoulder. " There's no doubt in my opinion, 
 that the cheque was changed that same night — probably at a 
 public-house. Go to work sub rosa — you understand ; and any 
 information you may obtain, bring quietly to me. Don't take it 
 to Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " I understand," replied Sergeant Delves, a portly man, with a 
 padded breast and a red face, who, in his official costume, always 
 looked as if he were choking. " I'll see to it." 
 
 And he did so; and very effectively. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 TAKING AN ITALIAN LESSON. 
 
 But the evening is not yet over at Pomeranian Knoll. 
 
 The dinner-table had broken up. Anthony Dare left the house 
 soon after his f;ither. Mrs. Dare turned to the fire for her after- 
 dinner nap : the young ladies, Adelaide excepted, proceeded to 
 the drawing-room. Adelaide Dare was thinner than formerly ; and 
 there was a worn, restless look upon her face, that told of care or 
 of disappointment. She remained in her seat at the dessert-table, 
 and, fencing herself round with a newspaper, lest Mrs. Dare's 
 eyes should open, took a letter from her pocket, and spread it on 
 the table. 
 
 The Viscount Hawkesley had never come forward to make her 
 the Viscountess ; but he had not given up his visits to Pomeranian 
 Knoll, and Adelaide had never given over hoping. It was one of 
 his letters that she was poring over now. Two or three years ago she 
 might have married well. A clergyman had desired to make her 
 his wife. Adelaide declined. She had possibly her own private 
 reasons for believing in the good faith of Lord Hawkesley. Adelaide 
 Dare was not the first who has thrown away the substance to grasp 
 the shadow. 
 
 Mademoiselle Varsini, on leaving the dinner-table, had gone up
 
 TAKING AN ITALIAN LESSON. 231 
 
 to the school-room. There she stirrecl the fire into a blaze, sat 
 down in a chair, and bent her head in wliat seemed to be an attitude 
 of Hstening. 
 
 She did not listen in vain. Soon, stealthy footsteps were heard 
 ascending the stairs, and a streak of vermilion flashed into her 
 olive check, and she pressed her hand upon her bosom, as if to still 
 Its beating. ''^ Que je sitis bete!'''' she murmured. French was far 
 more familiar to her than her native tongue. 
 
 The footsteps proved to be those of Herbert Dare. A tall, 
 handsome man now, better-looking than Anthony. He, Herbert, 
 would have been very handsome indeed, but that his features were 
 spoiled by the free expression they had worn in his youth — free as 
 that which characterized the face of Mr. Dare. He was coming 
 in to pay a visit to the governess. He paid her a good many visits : 
 possibly, he thought it polite to do so. Some gentlemen are polite, 
 and some are the contrary ; some take every opportunity of im- 
 proving their minds, some don't care whether they improve them or 
 not. Herbert Dare we should count amidst the former: a thirst 
 for foreign languages must, undoubtedly, be reckoned one of the 
 desires for improvement. Minny Dare had one evening broken 
 in upon a visit her brother was paying to mademoiselle, and she 
 (very impertinently, it must be owned) inquired what he was doing 
 there. "Taking an Italian lesson," Herbert answered, and he did 
 not want Minny to bother him over it. Minny made a wry face at 
 the books spread out between Herbert and mademoiselle, seated 
 opposite each other at either end of the table, and withdrew with all 
 speed, lest the governess should press her to share in it. Minny 
 did not like Italian lessons as much as Herbert appeared to do. 
 
 He came in with C[uiet footsteps, and the first thing he did was 
 to — lock the door. The action may have been intended as a cjuict 
 reproof to Miss Minny : if so, it is a pity she was not there to profit 
 by it. 
 
 "Have they asked for me in the salon?" began the governess. 
 
 " Not they," replied Herbert. " They are too much occupied with 
 their own concerns." 
 
 " Herber^why were you not here on Saturday night?" she asked. 
 
 "On Saturday night? Oh — I remember. I had to go out to 
 keep an engagement." 
 
 " You might have spoken to me first, then," she answered resent- 
 fully. "Just one little word. I did come up here, and I waited — ■ 
 1 waited ! After the tea, I came up, and I waited again. Ah ! 
 quelle patience ! " 
 
 " Waited to give me my Italian lesson ? " 
 
 Herbert Dare spoke in a voice of laughing raillery. The Italian 
 girl did not seem inclined to laugh. She stood on one side the 
 fire, and its blaze — it was the only light in the room — flickered on 
 her compressed lips. More compressed than ever, were they, to- 
 night. 
 
 "J^oWj what's the use of turning ci-oss, Bianca?" continued
 
 232 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Herbert, still laughing. " You are as exacting as if I paid you a 
 guinea a lesson, and went upon the system of ' no lesson, no pay.' 
 If " 
 
 "Bah!" interrupted mademoiselle angrily: and it certainly was 
 not respectful of Herbert, as pupil, to call her by her Christian 
 name — if it was that which angered her. " I am getting nearly tired 
 of it all." 
 
 " Tired of me ! You might have a worse pupil " 
 
 " Will you be quiet, then ! " cried she, stamping her foot. " I am 
 not inclined for folly to-night. You shall not say again you are 
 coming here, if you don't come, mind, as you did on Saturday 
 night." 
 
 " Well, I had an engagement, and I went straight off from the 
 dinner-table to keep it," answered Herbert, becoming serious. 
 " Upon my word of honour, it was not my fault, Bianca ; it was a 
 business engagement. 1 had not time to come here before I went." 
 
 •' Then you might have come when you returned," she said. 
 
 "Scarcely," replied he. " I was not home till two in the morning." 
 
 Bianca Varsini lifted her strange eyes to his. " Why tell me 
 that?" she asked, her voice changing to one of mournful complaint. 
 " I know you went out from dinner — I watched you out ; and I saw 
 you when you went out again. It was past ten. I saw you with 
 my own eyes." 
 
 " You must have good eyes, Bianca. I went out from the dinner- 
 table " 
 
 " Not then — not then ; I speak not of then," she vehemently 
 interrupted. " You might have come here before you went out the 
 second time." 
 
 " I declare I don't know what you mean," he said, staring at her. 
 " I did not come in until two in the morning. It was past two." 
 
 "But I saw you," she persisted. " It was moonlight, and I saw 
 you cross the lawn from the dining-room window, and go out. I 
 was at this window, and I watched you go in the direction of the 
 gate. It was long past ten." 
 
 " Bianca, you were dreaming ! I was not near the house." 
 
 Again she stamped her foot. " Jiyi_y you deceive me.-* Would I 
 say I saw you if I did not ? " 
 
 Herbert had once seen Bianca Varsini in a passion. He did not 
 care to see her in one again. When he said that he had not come 
 near the house, from the time of his leaving it on rising from dinner, 
 until two in the morning, he had said the strict truth. What the 
 Italian girl was driving at, he could not imagine: but he deemed it 
 as well to drop the subject. 
 
 " You are a folic, Bianca, as you often call yourself," said he 
 jestingly, taking her hands. " You go into a temper for nothing. 
 I'd get rid of that haste, if I were you." 
 
 " It was my mother's temper," she answered, drawing her hands 
 away, and letting them fall by her side. " Do you know what she 
 once di-f.l ! She spit in the face of the Archeveque of Paris ! "
 
 TAKING AN ITALIAN LESSON. 233 
 
 " She was a lady ! " cried Herbert ironically. " How was that ? " 
 
 "He offended her. He was passing her in procession at the Fete 
 Dial, and he said something reproachful to her, and it put her in a 
 temper, and she spit at him ' She could do worse than that if she 
 liked ! She could have died for those who were kind to her; but 
 let them offend her — je les en fais mes compliments! " 
 
 " I say, mademoiselle, who was your mother ? " 
 
 " Never you mind ! She was on the stage ; not what you English 
 call good, But she was good to me ; and she wished me to be what 
 she was not. When I was twelve she put me into a convent. La 
 maudite place! " 
 
 Herbert laughed- He knew enough of French to understand the 
 expression. 
 
 '' It was maudite to me. I must not dance; I must not sing; I 
 must not have my liberty to do the simplest thing on earth. I must 
 be up in the morning to prayers ; and then at my lessons all day ; 
 and then at prayers again. 1 did pray. I did pray to the \'irgin to 
 take me from it. I nearly prayed my heart out — and she never 
 heard me! I had been there a year — figure to yourself, a year! — 
 when my mother came to see me. She had been back in Italy. 
 ' Take me away,' I said to her, ' before I die ! ' ' No, Bianca mia,' 
 she answered, ' I leave you here that you may not die ; that your life 
 may be happier than mine is, for mine is the vraie misfere.' I not 
 tell you in Italian, as she spoke, for you not understand it," rapidly 
 interrupted mademoiselle. "My mother, she continued to me: 
 ' When you are instructed, you shall become a gouvernante in a 
 family of the noblesse; you shall consort with the princes without 
 shame ; and, perhaps, you will make a good parti in marriage. 
 Though you have no fortune, you will be accomplished ; you will 
 have the maniere and the tournure ; you will be belle.' Do you think 
 me belle .'' '' she abruptly broke off again. 
 
 " Enchanting ! " answered Herbert. " Have I not told you so five 
 hundred times ? " 
 
 She stole a glance at the httle old-fashioned oval glass which hung 
 over the mantel-piece, and then went on. 
 
 " My mother would not take me out. Though I lay on the flag- 
 stones of the visitors' parlour, though I wept for it, she would not 
 take me out. ' It is for your good, Bianca mia,' she said. And I 
 remained there seven years. Seven years ! Do you figure it .'' " 
 
 " But I suppose you grew reconciled ?" 
 
 " We grow reconciled to the worst in time," she answered, 
 dreamily gazing into the fire with her strange eyes. " I pressed 
 down my despair into myself at first, and I looked out for the oppor- 
 tunity to run away. We were as closely kept as the nuns in their 
 cells, in their barred rooms, in their grated chapel; but, sooner 
 than not have had my will, and get away, I would have set the 
 place on fire ! " 
 
 " I say, mademoiselle, don't you talk treason ! " cried Herbert, 
 laughing.
 
 234 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Do you think I would not ? " she answered, turning to him, a 
 gleaming look in her eyes. " But I had to wait for the opportunity 
 to escape ; and, while I waited, news came that my mother had died. 
 She caught cold one night when she was in her evening robe, and it 
 settled in her throat, and formed a depot, and she died. And so it 
 was all over with my escape ! My mother gone, I had nowhere 
 to fly to. And I stopped in that cnfer seven years." 
 
 " You are complimentary to convents, Bianca. Maudite in one 
 breath, enfer in another ! " 
 
 " They are all that, and worse ! " intemperately responded the 
 Italian girl. " They are — mais n'importe ; c'est fini pour moi. I had 
 to beat down my heart then, and stop in one. Ah ! I know not how 
 I did it. I look back, and wonder. Seven years I " 
 
 " But who paid for you all that time ? " 
 
 " My mother was not poor. She had enough for that. She made 
 the arrangements with a priest when she was dying, and paid the 
 money to him. The convent educated me, and dressed me, and 
 made me hard. Their cold rules beat down my rebellious heart ; 
 beat it down to hardness. I should not have been so hard but for 
 that convent ? " 
 
 " Oh, you are hard, then ? " was the remark of Herbert Dare. 
 
 " I can be ! " nodded Mademoiselle Varsini. " Better not croGs 
 me! " 
 
 " And how did you get out of the convent ? " 
 
 " When T was nineteen, they sent me out into a situation, to teach 
 music and my own language, and French and English. They taught 
 well in the convent : I could speak English then as readily as I 
 speak it now : and they gave me a box of clothes and four five-franc 
 pieces, saying that was the last of my mother's effects. What cared 
 I .'' Had they turned me out penniless, I should have jumped to go. 
 I served in that first situation two years. It was easy, and it was 
 good pay." 
 
 " French people ? " 
 
 " But, certainly : Parisians. It was not more than one mile from 
 the convent. There was but one little pupil." 
 
 " Why did you leave ? " 
 
 " I was put into a passion one day, and madame said, after that, 
 she was frightened to keep me. Ah ! I have had adventures, I can 
 tell you. In the next place, I did not stay three months ; the ennui 
 came to me, and I left it for another that I found ; and the other one 
 I liked — I had my liberty. I should have stayed in that, but one 
 came and turned me out of it." 
 
 " A fresh governess ? " 
 
 " No ; a man. A hideous. He was madame's brother, and he was 
 wrinkled and yellow, and his long skinny fingers were like claws. 
 He wanted me to marry him ; he said he was rich. Sell myself to 
 that monster ? No ! — continue a governess, rather. One evening 
 madame and my two pupils had gone to the Oddon, and he came to 
 the little dtude where I sat. He locked the door, and said he would
 
 TAKING AN ITALIAN LESSON. 235 
 
 not unlock il till I gave him a promise to be his wife. I stormed, 
 and I stormed : he tried to take my hand, the imbecile ! He laughed 
 at me, and said I was caged " 
 
 "Why did you not ring the bell?" interrupted Herbert. 
 
 "Bon! Do we have bells in every room in the old Parisian 
 houses? I would have pulled open the window, but he stood against 
 the fastening, laughing still ; so I dashed my hand through a pane, 
 and the glass clattered down to the court below, and the servants 
 came out to look up. ' I cannot undo the dtude door,' I called to 
 them ; * come and break it open ! ' So that hideous undid it then, 
 and the servants got some water and bathed my hand. ' But why 
 need the signora have put her hand through the glass ? Why not 
 have opened the window,' said one. ' What is that to you ? ' I said. 
 ' You will not have to pay for it. Bind my hand up.' They wrapped 
 it in a handkerchief, and I put on my bonnet and cloak, and went 
 out. Madeleine — she was the cook, and a good old soul — saw me. 
 * But where is the signora going so late as this ? ' she asked. ' Where 
 should I be going, but to the pharmacicn's ? ' I answered ; and I went 
 my way." 
 
 " We say chemist's in England," observed Herbert. " Did he find 
 your hand much damaged ? " 
 
 " I did not go there. Think you I made attention to my hand ? 
 I went to the — what you call it ? — cutler's shops, through the Rue 
 Montmartre, and I bought a two-edged stiletto. It was that long" 
 — pointing from her wrist to the end of her finger — " besides the 
 handle. I showed it to that hideous the next day. ' You come to 
 the room where I sit again,' I said to him, 'and you will see.' He 
 told madame, his sister, and she said I must leave." 
 
 Herbert Dare looked at her — at her pale face, which had gone 
 white in the telling, her glistening, stony eyes, her drawn lips. " You 
 would not have dared to use the stiletto, though ! " he cried, in some 
 wonder. 
 
 " I not dare ! You do not know me. When I am roused, there's 
 not a thing I would not dare to do. I am not ruffled at trifles : 
 things that excite others do not trouble me. ' Bah ! What matter 
 trifles?' I say. My mother always told me to let the evil spirit lie 
 torpid within me, or I should not die in my bed." 
 
 " I say," cried Herbert, half mockingly, " what religion do you call 
 yourself?" 
 
 She took the question literally. " I am a Catholic or Protestant, 
 as is agreeable to my places," was the very candid answer. " I am 
 not a devote — a saint. Where's the use of it ? " 
 
 " That is why you generally have those violent headaches on 
 Sunday," said Herbert Dare, laughing. "You ought " 
 
 There was an interruption. Rosa Dare's footsteps were heard on 
 the stairs, and they halted at the door. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Varsini ! " she called out. 
 
 Mademoiselle Varsini did not answer. Herbert Dare flung his 
 handkerchief over the handle of the door in a manner that hid the
 
 236 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 key-hole. Rosa Dare tried the door, found it fastened, and went ofi 
 grumbhng. 
 
 " It's my belief mademoiselle locks herself in there to get a nap 
 after dinner, as mamma does in the dining-room ! " 
 
 She was heard to enter the drawing-room and bang the door. 
 Herbert softly opened that of the school-room, and went down after 
 his sister. 
 
 " I say, Herbert," cried Rosa, when he entered, " have you seen 
 anything of mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " I ! " responded Herbert. "Do you think I keep mademoiselle 
 in my pocket ? " 
 
 " She goes and locks herself up in the school-room after dinner, 
 and I can't think what she does there, or what she can be at," 
 retorted Rosa. 
 
 " At her devotions, perhaps," suggested Herbert. 
 
 The words did not please Mrs. Dare, who had then joined the 
 circle. " Herbert, I will not have Mademoiselle Varsini ridiculed," 
 she spoke quite sternly. " She is a most efficient instructress for 
 Rosa and Minny, and we must be careful not to give her offence, or 
 she might leave." 
 
 " I'm sure I have heard of foreign women telling their beads till 
 cock-crowing," persisted Herbert. 
 
 " Those are Roman Catholics. A Protestant, as is Mademoiselle 
 Varsini " 
 
 Mrs. Dare's angry words were cut short by the appearance of 
 Mademoiselle Varsini herself. She, the governess, turned to Rosa. 
 " What did you want just now when you came to the school-room 
 door .? " 
 
 " I wanted you here to show me that filet stitch," answered Rosa, 
 slight impertinence peeping out in her tone. "And I don't see why 
 you should not answer when I knock, mademoiselle." 
 
 "It may not always suit me to answer," was the calm reply of 
 the governess. "My time is my own after dinner; and Madame 
 Dare will agree with me that a governess should hold full control 
 over her school-room." 
 
 " You are perfectly right, mademoiselle," acquiesced Mrs. Dare. 
 
 Mademoiselle went to the piano, and dashed off a symphony. She 
 was a brilliant player. Herbert, looking at his watch, and finding 
 it later than he thought, hurried from the house.
 
 c 237 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 A VISION IN HONEY FAIR. 
 
 The surmise that the missing cheque had been changed into good 
 money on the Saturday night, proved to be correct. White, the 
 butcher at the corner of the shambles, had given change for it, and 
 locked up the cheque in the cash-box. Had he paid it into the 
 bank on Monday, he would have found what it was worth. But he 
 did not do so. Mr. White was a fat man with a good-humoured 
 countenance and black hair. Serjeant Delves proceeded to his 
 house some time on the Tuesday. 
 
 " I hear you cashed a cheque of the Messrs. Dunn on Saturday 
 night," began he. " Who brought it to you ? " 
 
 " Ah, what about that cheque ? " returned the butcher. " One cf 
 your men has been in here, asking a lot of questions." 
 
 "A good deal about it," said the sergeant. " It was stolen frcm 
 Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " Stolen from Mr. Ashley ! " echoed the butcher, staring at Serjeant 
 Delves. 
 
 " Stolen out of his desk. And you stand a nice chance, White, of 
 losing the money. You should be more cautious. Who was it 
 brought it here ? " 
 
 " A gentleman. A respectable man, at any rate. Who says it's 
 stolen ? " 
 
 " I do," replied the Serjeant, sitting himself down on the meat- 
 block — rather a damp seat, from its just having been washed with 
 hot water. Delves liked to make himself familiar with his old 
 friends in Helstonleigh in a patronizing manner; it was only lately 
 he had been promoted to be sergeant. " Now! let's have the par- 
 ticulars, White." 
 
 " I had just shut up my shop, all but the door, when in come a 
 gentleman in a cloak and cap. ' Could you oblige the Messrs. 
 Dunn with change for a cheque, Mr. White?' says he, handing a 
 cheque to me. 'Yes, sir,' said I, ' I can; very happy to oblige 
 'em. Would you like it in gold ? ' Well, he said he would like it 
 in gold, and 1 gave it to him. 'Thank yc,' said he; 'I'd have 
 got it nearer if 1 could, for I'm troubled to death with tooth-ache; 
 but people are shut up : ' and I noticed that he had kept his white 
 handkerchief up to his mouth and nose. He went out with the 
 gold, and I put up the cheque. And that's all I know about it, 
 Delves." 
 
 " Don't you know who it was ? " 
 
 "No, I don't. He had a cap on, with the cars coming down 
 his cheeks ; and, what with that, and the peak over his eyes, and 
 the white handkerchief held up to his nose, I didn't so much as
 
 238 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 get a sight of his face. The shop was pretty near dark, too, for the 
 gas was out. There was only a candle at the pay window." 
 
 " If a man came in disguised like that, asking to have a cheque 
 changed into gold, it might have occurred to some tradesmen that 
 there'd be something wrong about it," cried the sergeant. 
 
 " I didn't know he was disguised," objected the butcher. " I saw 
 it was a good cheque of the Messrs. Dunns, and I never gave a 
 thought to anything else. I've had their cheques before to-day. Mr. 
 William Dunn has dealt here this twenty year. But, now that it's 
 put into my head, I begin to think he taas disguised," continued the 
 butcher. " His voice was odd, thick and low, and he spoke as if he 
 had plums in his mouth." 
 
 " Should you know him again ? " 
 
 "Ay. That is if he came in dressed as he was then. I'd know 
 the cloak out of a hundred. It was one of them old-fashioned plaid 
 rockelows." 
 
 " Roquelaures," corrected the Serjeant. 
 
 " Something of that. The collar was lined with red, with a little 
 edge of fur on it. There's a few such shaped cloaks in the town 
 now, made of blue serge or cloth." 
 
 " What time was it ? " asked the serjeant. 
 
 " Just eleven. I was shutting up." 
 
 Sergeant Delves took possession of the cheque and proceeded to 
 the office of Mr. Dare. A long conference ensued, and then they 
 went out together towards Mr. Ashley's manufactory. On the road 
 they happened to meet Cyril, and Mr. Dare drew him aside. 
 
 " Do you happen to know any one who wears an old-fashioned 
 plaid cloak ? " he asked. 
 
 " Halliburton wears one," replied Cyril : "the greatest object of a 
 thing you ever saw. I say," continued Cyril, "what's old Delves 
 doing with you ? " 
 
 " Not much," carelessly said Mr. Dare. " He has been looking 
 after a little private business for me." 
 
 " Oh, is that all.'"' and Cyril, feeling re-assured, tore off on the 
 errand he was bound for. For reasons best known to himself, it 
 would not have pleased him that Sergeant Delves should be 
 pressed into the affair of the cheque. At least, Cyril would have 
 preferred that the matter should be allowed to rest. 
 
 He executed his commission, one that he had been charged with 
 by Samuel Lynn, turned back, passed the manufactory, and took 
 his way to Honey Fair on a little matter of his own. It was only 
 the purchase of a dog — not to make a mystery of it. A dog that 
 had taken Cyril's fancy, and for which he and the owner had not 
 yet been able to come to terms. So he was going up again to try 
 his powers of persuasion. 
 
 As he walked rapidly through Honey Fair, he saw a little bit of 
 by-play on the opposite side. A young woman in a tattered gown, 
 and a dirty bonnet drawn over her face, was walking along as 
 rapidly as he. Her bent head, her humble attitude, her shrinking
 
 THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS. 239 
 
 air, her haste to get out of the sight of others, all betrayed that 
 she, from some cause or other, was not in good odour with the 
 world around. That she felt herself under a cloud, was only too 
 apparent : it was a cloud of humiliation, for which she had only 
 herself to thank. The women who met her hurried past with a toss 
 of the head, and then stood to peep after her, as she disappeared in 
 the distance. 
 
 S/ie hurried — hurried past them — glad, it seemed, to be away from 
 their stern looks and condemning eyes. Had you seen her, you 
 would never have recognized her. In the dim eye, darker than of 
 yore, the white cheek, the wasted form, no likeness remamed of the 
 once-blooming Caroline Mason. 
 
 Just as she passed opposite to Cyril, Eliza Tyrrett came out of a 
 house and met her ; and Eliza, picking up her skirts, lest they should 
 become contaminated, swept past with a sidelong glance of reproach 
 and a scornful gesture. Caroline's head only bent the lower as she 
 glided away from her old companion. 
 
 It had been just as well that Charlotte East had not sent back 
 that bundle, years ago, to surprise Anthony Dare. It was years 
 now since Charlotte herself had come to the same conclusion. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS. 
 
 Leaning back against the corner of the mantel-piece by the side 
 of the blazing fire in his private room, calmly surveying those 
 ranged before him, and hstening to their tale with an impassive 
 face, was Thomas Ashley. Sergeant Delves and Mr. Dare were 
 giving him the account of the changing of the cheque, obtained 
 from White, the butcher. Samuel Lynn stood near the master's 
 desk, his brow knit in perplexity, his countenance keen and anxious. 
 The description of the cloak, tallying so exactly with the one worn 
 by William Halliburton, led Mr. Dare to the conclusion, nay, to the 
 positive conviction that the butcher's visitor could have been no 
 other than William. The sergeant held the same view ; but the 
 sergeant adopted it with difficulty. 
 
 " It's an odd thing for hi in to turn thief," said he, reflectively. 
 " I'd have trusted that young fellow, sir, with untold gold," he added, 
 to Mr. Ashley. " Here's another proof how we may be deceived." 
 
 " I told you," said Mr. Dare, turning to Mr. Ashley, " that it could 
 be no other than Halliburton." 
 
 " Thee will permit me to say, friend Dare, that I do not agree 
 with thy deductions," interposed the Quaker, before Mr. Ashley 
 could answer. 
 
 "Why, what would you have?" returned Mr. Dare. "Nothing
 
 24o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 can be plainer. Ask Sergeant Delves if he thinks further proof can 
 be needed." 
 
 " Many a man has been hanged upon less," was the oracular 
 answer of Sergeant Delves. 
 
 "What part of my deductions do you object to?" inquired Mr. 
 Dare of the Quaker. 
 
 " Thee art assuming — if 1 understand thee correctly— that there 
 is no other cloak in the city so similar to William's as to be mis- 
 taken for it." 
 
 "Just so." 
 
 " Then, friend, I tell thee that there is." 
 
 Mr. Dare opened his eyes. " Who wears it ? " he asked. 
 
 " That is another question," said Samuel Lynn. '' I should be 
 glad to find out myself, for curiosity's sake." 
 
 Then Mr. Lynn told the story of his having observed a man, 
 whom he had taken for William, walking at the back of his house, 
 apparently waiting for something. " I saw him on two evenings," 
 he observed, " at some considerable interval of time. The figure 
 bore a perfect resemblance to William Halliburton ; the height, the 
 cloak, the cap — all appeared to be his. I taxed him with it. He 
 denied it /;/ toto, said he had not been walking ihere at all, and 
 I believed he was attempting, for the first time since I have known 
 him, to deceive me. I " 
 
 "Are you sure he was not?" put in Mr. Dare. 
 
 "Thee should allow me to finish, friend. Last night I was home 
 somewhat earlier than usual — thee can recollect why," the Quaker 
 added, looking at Mr. Ashley. " I was up in my room, and I saw 
 the same figure pacing about in precisely the same manner. 
 Wilham's denial had staggered me, otherwise I could have been 
 ready to affirm that it was himself, and no other. The moon was 
 not up; but it was a very light night, and I marked every point in 
 the cloak — it was as like William's as two peas are like each other. 
 What he could want, pacing at the back of my house and of his, 
 puzzled me much. I " 
 
 "What time was this, Mr. Lynn?" interrupted the sergeant. 
 
 " Past eight o'clock. Later than the hour at which I had seen 
 him on the two previous occasions. ' It is William Halliburton, of 
 a surety,' I said to myself; and I thought I would pounce upon him, 
 and so convict him of the falsehood he had told. I left my house 
 by the front door, went down the road, past the houses, and entered 
 the gate admitting into the field. I walked up quietly, keeping 
 under the hedge as much as possible, and approached William — as 
 I deemed him to be. He was then standing still, and gazing at the 
 upper windows of my house. In spite of my caution, he heard me, 
 and turned round. Whether he knew me or not, I cannot say ; but 
 he clipped the cloak around him with a hasty movement, and made 
 off right across the field. I would not be balked if I could help it. 
 I opened friend Jane Hallil^urton's back gate, and proceeded through 
 the garden and house to the i)arlour, which I entered without cere- 
 mony. There sat William at his books."
 
 THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS. 241 
 
 "Then it was not he, after all! " cried Mr. Dare, interested in the 
 tale. 
 
 " Of a surety it was not he. I tell thee, friend, he was seated 
 quietly at his studies. ' Hast thee lent thy cloak to a friend to- 
 night?' I asked hnn. He looked surprised, and said he had not. 
 But, to be convinced, I requested to see his cloak, and he took me 
 outside the door, and there was the cloak hanging up in the passage, 
 his cap beside it. That is why I did not approve of thy deductions, 
 friend Anthony Dare, in assuming that the cloak, which the man 
 had on who changed the cheque, must be William Halliburton's," 
 concluded Mr. Lynn. 
 
 " You say the man looked like William when you were close to 
 him ? " inquired Mr. Ashley, who thought the whole affair very 
 curious, and now broke silence for the first time. 
 
 " Very much hke him," answered Samuel Lynn. " But the re- 
 semblance may have been only in the cloak and cap. The f^ice was 
 not discernible ; by accident or design, it was concealed. I think 
 there need not be better negative proof that it was not William who 
 changed the cheque." 
 
 Mr. Ashley smiled. "Without this evidence of Mr. Lynn's I could 
 have told you it was waste of time to cast suspicion on William 
 Halliburton to me," said he, addressing the sergeant and Mr. Dare. 
 " Were you to come here and accuse myself, it would make just as 
 much impression upon me. Wait an instant, gentlemen." 
 
 He went to the door, opened it, and called William. The latter 
 came in, erect, courteous, noble — never suspecting the sergeant's 
 business there could have anything to do with him. 
 
 "William," began his master, "who is it that wears a similar 
 cloak to yours, in the town .'' " 
 
 " I am unable to say, sir," was William's ready reply. " Until 
 last night," and he turned to Samuel Lynn with a smile, " I should 
 have said there was not another like it. I suppose now there must 
 be one." 
 
 " If there is one, there may be more," remarked Mr. Ashley. 
 " The fact is, William, the cheque has been traced. It was changed 
 at White's, the butcher ; and the person changing it wore a cloak, 
 it seems, very much like yours." 
 
 '' Indeed ! " cried William, with animation. " Well, sir, of course 
 there may be many such cloaks in the town. All I can say is, I 
 have not seen them." 
 
 " There can't be many," spoke up the sergeant, " if it be the old- 
 fashioned sort of thing described to me." 
 
 William looked the sergeant full in the face, with his open 
 countenance, his honest eyes. No guilt there. " Would you like 
 to see my cloak .? " he asked. " It may be a guide, if you think the 
 one worn resembled it." 
 
 The sergeant nodded. " I was going to ask you to bring it in, if 
 it was here." 
 
 William brought it in. " It is one of the bygones," said he, 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 16
 
 242 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Liughing. " I have some thoughts of forwarding it to the British 
 Museum, as a specimen of antiquity. Stay ! I will put it on, that 
 you may see its beauties the better." 
 
 He threw the cloak over his shoulders, and exhibited himself off, 
 as he had done once before in that counting-house for the benefit 
 of Samuel Lynn. " I think the British Museum will get it," he con- 
 tinued, in the same joking spirit. " Not until winter's over, though. 
 It is a good friend on a cold night." 
 
 Sergeant Delves' eyes were riveted on the cloak. " Where 
 have I seen that cloak ? " he mused, in a dreamy tone. " Lately, 
 too!" 
 
 " You may have seen me in it," said William. 
 
 The sergeant shook his head. He lifted one hand to his temples, 
 and proceeded to rub them gently, as if the process would assist 
 his memory, never once relaxing his gaze. 
 
 " Did White say the changer of the cheque was a tall man?" 
 asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Dare. " Whether he meant as tall as William 
 Halliburton, I cannot say. There are not — why I should think 
 there are not a hundred men in the town who come up to that 
 heigth" he added, looking at William. 
 
 " Yourself one of them," said William, turning to him with a 
 smile. 
 
 Mr, Dare shook his head, a regret for his past youth crossing his 
 heart. " Ay, once. I am beginning to grow downward now." 
 
 Mr. Ashley was buried in reflection. There was a curious sound 
 of mystery about the tale altogether, to his ears. That there were 
 many thieves in Helstonleigh, he did not doubt — people who would 
 appropriate a cheque, or anything else that came in their way ; but 
 why the same person — if it was the same — should pace the cold field 
 at night, watching Samuel Lynn's house, was inexplicable. "It may 
 not be the same," he observed aloud. " Shall you watch for the man 
 again ? " he asked of Mr. Lynn. 
 
 " I shall not give myself much trouble over it now," was the reply. 
 "While I was concerned to ascertain William's truthfulness " 
 
 " I scarcely think you need have doubted it, Mr. Lynn," inter- 
 rupted William. 
 
 " True. I have never doubted thee yet. But it appeared to be 
 thy word against the sight of my own eyes. The master will 
 understand — — " 
 
 A most extraordinary interruption came from Sergeant Delves. 
 He threw up his head with a start, and gave vent to a shrill, pro- 
 longed whistle. " It looks dark ! " cried he. 
 
 " What didst thee say, friend Delves ? " 
 
 " I beg pardon, gentlemen," answered the sergeant. " I was not 
 speaking to any of you ; I was following up the bent of mine own 
 thoughts. It suddenly flashed into my mind who it is that I have 
 seen in one of these cloaks." 
 
 " And who is it ? " asked Mr. Dare;
 
 THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS. 243 
 
 " You must excuse me, sir, if I keep that to myself," was the 
 answer. 
 
 "As tall a man as William Halliburton ? " 
 
 The sergeant ran his eyes up and down William's figure. "A 
 shade taller, I should say, if anything." 
 
 " And it struck me that the man who made off across the field 
 was a shade taller," observed Samuel Lynn. 
 
 " Well, I can't make sense of it," resumed Mr. Dare, breaking a 
 pause. " Let us allow, if you like, that there are fifty such cloaks 
 in the town. Unless one, wearing such, had access to Mr. Ashley's 
 counting-house, to this very room that we are now in, how does 
 the fact of there being others remove the suspicion from Williani 
 HalHburton?" 
 
 Mr. Dare had not intended wilfully to cause him pain. He had 
 forgotten for the moment that William was a stranger to the doubt 
 raised, touching himself. Amidst the deep silence that ensued, 
 William looked from one to the other. 
 
 " Who suspects me .'' " he asked, surprise the only emotion in his 
 tone. 
 
 Sergeant Delves tapped him significantly on the shoulder. " Never 
 you trouble yourself, young sir. If what has come into my mind be 
 right, it isn't you who are guilty." 
 
 When he and Mr. Dare went out, Mr. Ashley followed them to 
 the outer gate. As they stood there talking, Frank Halliburton 
 passed. " Look here," thought the sergeant to himself, " there's not 
 much doubt as to the black sheep — I see that : but it's as well to 
 be on the sure side. Young man," cried he aloud to Frank, in 
 the authoritative, patronizing manner which Sergeant Delves was 
 fond of assuming when he could, " what time did your brother 
 William get home last Saturday night ? I suppose you know, if 
 you were at home yourself." 
 
 Frank looked at him rather haughtily. " / know," he replied. 
 " I have yet to learn why you need know." 
 
 "Tell him, Frank," said Mr. Ashley, with a smile. 
 
 " It was a little after ten," said Frank. 
 
 " Did he go out again ? " asked the sergeant. 
 
 " Out again at that time ! " cried Frank. " No : he did not go out 
 again. We sat talking together ever so long, and then went up to 
 bed." 
 
 "Ah!" rejoined the sergeant. It was all he answered. And he 
 wished Mr. Ashley good day, and departed with Mr. Dare. 
 
 " I am going to Oxford at Easter, Mr. Ashley," cried Frank with 
 animation. 
 
 " I am pleased to hear it." 
 
 " But only as a servitor. I don't mind," he added, throwing back 
 his head with pardonable pride. " Let me once get a start, and 
 I hope to rise above some who go there as gentlemen-commoners. 
 I intend to make this my circuit," he went on, half jokingly, half 
 seriously-.
 
 244 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " You are ambitious, Fraiik. I heartily wish you success. There's 
 nothing like keeping a good heart." 
 
 "Oh yes, success is not doubtful. I'll do battle with all the 
 obstructions in my course. Good afternoon, sir." 
 
 William, curious and anxious, could make nothing of his books 
 that night at home. At length he threw up, put on the notable 
 cloak, and went down to the manufactory. He found Mr, Ashley 
 there; and the counting-house soon received an addition to its 
 company in the person of Sergeant Delves. He had come in search 
 of William. Not being aware that William was allowed the privi- 
 lege of spending his evenings at home, he had supposed the manu- 
 factory was the place to find him in. 
 
 " I want you down at White's," said the sergeant. " Put on your 
 cloak, will you be so good, Mr. Halliburton, and come with me?" 
 
 " Do you suspect me ?" was William's answer. 
 
 " No, I don't," returned the sergeant. " I told you before, to-day, 
 that I did not. The fact is " — dropping his voice to a mysterious 
 whisper — " I want to do a little bit of private inquiry on my own 
 account. I have a clue to the party : and I should like to work it 
 out." 
 
 " If you have a sufficient clue, the party had better be arrested at 
 once," observed Mr. Ashley. 
 
 "Ah, but it's not sufficient for that," nodded the sergeant. " No, 
 Mr. Ashley, sir ; my strong advice to you is, keep quiet a bit." 
 
 They started for the butcher's, William wearing his cloak and 
 cap, and Mr. Ashley accompanying them. Mr. Ashley possessed 
 his own curiosity upon various points ; perhaps his own doubts. 
 
 " It is strange who this man can be who walks at the back of 
 your house," observed Mr. Ashley to William, as they went along. 
 " What can be his motive for walking there, dressed like you ? " 
 
 " It is curious, sir." 
 
 " I should suppose it can only arise from a desire that he should 
 be taken for you," continued Mr. Ashley. " But to what end ? Why 
 should he walk there at all ? " 
 
 " Why, indeed ! " responded William. 
 
 " What coloured gloves are you wearing ? " abruptly interrupted 
 Sergeant Delves. 
 
 William took his hands from beneath his cloak, and held them 
 out. They were of the darkest possible colour, next to black ; the 
 shade called in the glove trade " corbeau." " These are all I have 
 in use at present," he said. "They are nearly new." 
 
 " Have you worn any light gloves lately ? Tan or fawn ? " 
 
 " I scarcely ever wear tan gloves. I have not put on a pair for 
 months." 
 
 They arrived at the butcher's, and entered. White was standing 
 at his block, chopping a bone in two. He lifted his head, and 
 touched his hair to Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Is this the gentleman who had the money of you for the cheque?" 
 began Sergeant Delves, without circumlocution.
 
 THE DUPLICATE CLOAKS. 245 
 
 Mr. White put down his chopper, and took a survey of WiUiam. 
 " It's like the cloak and cap that the other wore," said he. 
 
 Sergeants take up words quickly. " That the ' other ' wore ? 
 Then you do not think it was this one ? " 
 
 " No, I don't," decided the butcher. " The one who brought the 
 cheque was a shorter man." 
 
 ''Shorter!" repeated Mr. Ashley, remembering it had been said 
 in his counting-house that the man, who appeared to be personating 
 William, was thought to have the advantage the other way. " You 
 mean taller. White." 
 
 " No, sir, I mean shorter. I am sure he was shorter. Not much, 
 though." 
 
 There was a pause. " You observed that his gloves were tan, I 
 think," said the sergeant. 
 
 " Something of that sort. Clean light gloves they were, such as 
 gentlemen wear." 
 
 " Finally, then, W^hite, you decide that this was not the gentleman ? " 
 
 " Not he," said the butcher. " It's not the same voice." 
 
 " The voice goes for nothing," said Sergeant Delves. " The other 
 one had plums in his mouth." 
 
 "Well," said the butcher,"! think I should have known Mr. 
 Halliburton, in spite of any disguise, had he come in." 
 
 " Don't make too sure, W hite," said the sergeant, with one of his 
 wise nods. " He who came might have turned out to be just as 
 familiar to you as Mr. Halliburton, if he had let you see his face. 
 The fact is, White, there's some one going about with a cloak like 
 this, and we want to find out who it is. Mr. Halliburton would 
 give a pound out of his pocket, I'm sure, to know." 
 
 " I'd give two," said Mr. Ashley, with a smile. 
 
 " Sir," asked the butcher of Mr. Ashley, " what about the money? 
 Shall I lose it ? " 
 
 " Now, White, just wait a bit," put in the sergeant. " If it was 
 a gentleman th:.\t chano^ed it, perhaps we shall get it out of ///>//. 
 Any way, you keep quiet." 
 
 They left the shop — standing a moment together before parting. 
 The sergeant's road lay one way ; Mr. Ashley's and William's 
 another. " This only makes the matter more obscure," observed 
 Mr. Ashley, alluding to what had passed. 
 
 "Not at all. It makes it all the more clear," was the cool reply 
 of the sergeant. 
 
 "White says the man was shorter than Mr. Halliburton." 
 
 " It's just what I expected him to say," nodded the sergeant. " II 
 I am on the right scent — and I'd lay a thousand pound on it! — the 
 man who changed the cheque is shorter. I just wanted W^hite's 
 evidence on the point," he added, looking at Vv'illiam ; " and that is 
 why I asked you to come down, dressed in your cloak. Good night, 
 gentlemen." 
 
 He turned up the Shambles. And Mr. Ashley and William 
 walked away side by side.
 
 246 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A HOLE DUG BY STARLIGHT. 
 
 The conversation at Mr. Dare's dinner-table again turned upon 
 the loss of the cheque, and the proceedings thereon. It was natural 
 that it should turn upon it. Mr. Dare's mind was full of it ; and he 
 gave utterance to various conjectures and speculations, as they 
 occurred to him. 
 
 "In spite of what they say, I cannot help thinking that it must 
 have beenWiUiam Halliburton," he remarked with emphasis. " He 
 alone was in the counting-house when the cheque disappeared ; and 
 the person, changing it at White's, is proved to have borne the 
 strongest possible resemblance to him ; at all events, to his dress. 
 The face was hidden — as of course it would be. People who attempt 
 to pass off stolen cheques, take pretty good care that their features 
 are not seen. 
 
 "But who hesitates to bring it home to Halliburton?" inquired 
 Mrs. Dare. 
 
 " They all do — as it seems to me. Ashley won't hear a word : 
 laughs at the idea of Halliburton's being capable of it, and says we 
 may as well accuse himself. That's nothing . as Cyril says, Mr. 
 Ashley appears to be imbued with the idea that Halliburton can do 
 no wrong: but now Delves has veered round. He shifts the blame 
 entirely off HaUiburton." 
 
 " Upon whom does he shift it ? " asked Anthony Dare. 
 
 " He won't say," replied Mr. Dare. " He has grown mysterious 
 over it since the afternoon; nodding and winking, and giving no 
 explanation. He says he knows who it is who possesses the second 
 cloak." 
 
 " The second cloak ! " The words were a puzzle to most at table, 
 and Mr. Dare had to explain that another cloak, similar to that 
 worn by William Halliburton, was supposed to be in existence. 
 
 Cyril looked up, with wonder marked on his face. " Does Delves 
 say there arc two such cloaks ? " asked he. 
 
 " That there are two such cloaks appears to be an indisputable 
 fact," replied Mr. Dare. " The one cloak was parading behind the 
 Halliburtons' house last night. Samuel Lynn went up to it " 
 
 "The cloak parading tout seul — alone?" interrupted Signora 
 Varsini, with a perplexed air. 
 
 A laugh went round the tabic. " Accompanied by the wearer, 
 mademoiselle," said Mr. Dare, continuing the account of Samuel 
 Lynn's adventure. "Thus the fact of there being two cloaks is 
 established," he proceeded. " .Still, that tells nothing; unless the 
 owner of the other has access to Mr. Ashley's counting-house. I 
 pointed this fact out to them. But Delves — which is most unac-
 
 A ilOLE DUG BY STARLIGHT. 247 
 
 countable — differed from me ; and when we parted, he expressed 
 an opinion, with that confident nod of his, that it was not Halh- 
 burton's cloak which had been in the mischief at the butcher's, but 
 the other." 
 
 " What a thundering falsehood ! " burst forth Herbert Dare. 
 
 "Si'r/" cried Mr. Dare, while all around the table stared at 
 Herbert's excited manner. 
 
 Herbert had the grace to feel ashamed of his abrupt and 
 intemperate rudeness. "I beg your pardon, sir; I spoke in my 
 surprise. I mean that Delves must be telling a falsehood, if he 
 seeks to throw the guilt off Halliburton. The very fact of the 
 fellow's wearing a strange cloak such as that, when he went to 
 get rid of the cheque, must be proof positive of Halliburton's 
 guilt." 
 
 " So I think," acquiesced Mr. Dare. 
 
 " What sort of a cloak is this that you laugh at, and call scarce ? " 
 inquired the governess. 
 
 " The greatest scarecrow of a thing you can conceive, made- 
 moiselle," responded Mr. Dare. " I had the pleasure of seeing it 
 to-day on Halliburton. It is a dark grecn-and-blue Scotch plaid, 
 made very full, with a turned-up collar lined with red, and a bit of 
 fur edging it." 
 
 " Plaid ? Plaid ? " repeated mademoiselle. " Why, it must 
 be " 
 
 " What ? " asked Mr, Dare, for she had stopped. 
 
 " It must be very ugly," concluded she. But somehow Mr. Dare 
 gathered an impression that it was not what she had been about 
 to say. 
 
 " What is it that Delves says about the cloaks ? " eagerly questioned 
 Cyril. " I cannot make it out." 
 
 " Delves says he knows who it is that owns the other ; and that 
 it was the other which went to change the cheque at White's." 
 
 " What mysterious words, papa ! " cried Adelaide. " The cloak 
 went to change the cheque ! " 
 
 " They were Delves' own words," replied Mr. Dare. "He did 
 seem remarkably mysterious over it." 
 
 " Is he going to hunt up the other cloak ? " resumed Cyril. 
 
 " I conclude so. He was pondering over it for some time before 
 he could remember who it was that he had seen wear a similar 
 cloak. When the recollection came to him, he started up with 
 surprise. Sharp men, these police-officers ! " added Mr. Dare. 
 " They forget nothing." 
 
 "And they ferret out everything," said Herbert with some tcsti- 
 ness. " Instead of wasting time over vain speculations touching 
 cloaks, why does not he secure Halliburton.'' It is impossible that 
 the other cloak — if there is another — could have had anything to do 
 with the affair." 
 
 " I dropped a note to Delves after he left me, recommending him 
 to follow up the suspicion on Halliburton, whether Mr. Ashley is
 
 248 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 agreeable or not," said Mr. Dare. " I have rarely in my life met 
 with a stronger case of presumptive evidence " 
 
 So, many, besides Mr. Dare, would have felt inclined to say. 
 Herbert, like his father, was firm in the belief that William Halli- 
 burton must have taken the money ; that it must have been he who 
 paid the visit to the butcher. What Cyril thought may be best 
 inferred from his actions. A sudden fear had come over him that 
 Sergeant Delves was really going to search out the other cloak. A 
 most inconvenient procedure for Cyril, lest, in the process, the 
 sergeant should search out him. He laid down his knife and fork. 
 He had had quite enough dinner for one day. 
 
 " Are you not hungry, Cyril ? " asked his mother. 
 
 " 1 had a tremendous lunch," answered Cyril. " I can't eat more 
 now." 
 
 He sat at the table until they had finished, feeling that he was 
 being choked with dread. But that a guiUy conscience deprives us 
 of free action, he would have left the table, and gone about some 
 work he was now eager to do. 
 
 He rose when the rest did, looked about for a pair of large scis- 
 sors, and glided with them up the staircase, his eyes and ears on 
 the alert, lest there should be any watching him. No human being 
 in that house had the slightest knowledge of what Cyril was about 
 to do, or that he was going to do anything ; but, to Cyril's guilty 
 conscience, it seemed that all must be on the look-out. 
 
 A candle and scissors in hand, he stole up to Herbert's room, and 
 locked himself in. Inside a closet within the room hung a dark 
 blue camlet cloak, and Cyril took it from the hook. It had a plaid 
 liniuT;: a lining of the precise pattern and colours that the material 
 of W'illiam HaUiburton's cloak was composed of The cloak was of 
 the same full, old-fashioned make ; its collar was lined with red, 
 tipped with fur : in short, the one cloak worn on the right side and 
 the other worn on the wrong ride, could not have been told apart. 
 This cloak belonged to Herbert Dare ; occasionally, though not 
 often, he went out at dusk, wearing it wrong side outermost. It was 
 he, no doubt, whom Sergeant Delves had seen wearing one. He 
 was a little taller than William Halliburton, towering above six feet. 
 What his motive had been in causing a cloak to be lined so that, 
 turned, it should resemble William Halliburton's, or whether the 
 similarity in the lining had been accidental, was only known to 
 Herbert himself. 
 
 With trembling fingers, and sharp scissors that were not particular 
 where they cut, Cyril began his task of taking out this plaid lining. 
 That he had worn it to the butcher's, and that he feared it might tell 
 tales of him, were facts only too apparent. Better put it out of the 
 way for ever! Unpicking, cutting, snipping, Cyril tore away at the 
 lining, and at length got it out, the cloak suffering considerable 
 damage in the shape of cuts and rents, and loose threads. Hanging 
 the cloak up again, he twisted the lining together. 
 
 He was thus engaged when the handle of the door was briskly
 
 A HOLE DUG BY STARLIGHT. 249 
 
 turned, as if some one essayed to enter who had not expected to find 
 it fastened. Cyril dashed the Hning under the bed, and made a 
 spring to the window. To leap out ? surely not : for the fall would 
 have killed him But he had nearly lost all presence of mind in his 
 perplexity and fear. 
 
 Another turn at the handle, and the steps went on their way. Cyril 
 thought he recognized them for the housemaid's, Betsy. He sup- 
 posed she was going her evening round of the chambers. Gathering 
 the lining under his arm, he halted to think. His hands shook, and 
 his face was white. 
 
 What should he do with this tell-tale thing ? He could not eat it ; 
 he dared not burn it. There was no room, of those which had fires, 
 where he might make sure of being alone : and the smell would alarm 
 the house. What was he to do with it ? 
 
 Dig a hole and bury it, came a prompting voice within him ; and 
 Cyril waited for no better suggestion, but crept with it down the 
 stairs, and out to the garden. 
 
 Seizing a spade, he dug a hole rapidly in an unfrequented place ; 
 and, when it was large enough, thrust the stuff in. Then he covered 
 it over again, to leave the spot apparently as he found it. 
 
 " I wish those stars would give a stronger light," grumbled Cyril, 
 looking up at the dark blue canopy. " I must come again in the 
 morning, 1 suppose, and see that it's all safe. It wouldn't do to bring 
 a lantern." 
 
 Now it happened that Mr. Herbert Dare was bound on a private 
 errand that evening. His intention was to go abroad in his cloak 
 while he executed it. Just about the time that Cyril was putting the 
 finishing touch to the hole, Herbert went up to his room to get the 
 cloak. 
 
 To get the cloak, indeed ! When Herbert opened the closet-door, 
 nothing except the mutilated object just described met his eye. A 
 torn, cut thing, the threads hanging from it loosely. Nothing could 
 exceed Herbert's consternation as he stared at it. He thought he 
 must be in a dream. Was it his cloak .'' Just before dinner, when 
 he came up to wash his hands, he had seen his cloak hanging there, 
 perfect. He shook it, he pulled it, he peered at it. His cloak it 
 certainly was; but who had destroyed it.^" A suspicion flashed into 
 his mind that it mi^ht be the governess. He made but a few steps 
 to the school-room, carrying the cloak with him. 
 
 The governess was sitting there, listless enough. Perhaps she was 
 waiting for him. " I say, mademoiselle," he began, " what on earth 
 have you been doing to my cloak ? " 
 
 " To your cloak ! " responded she. " What should I have been doing 
 to it?" 
 
 " Look here," he said, spreading it out before her. " Who or what 
 has done this.-* It was all right when I went down to dinner." 
 
 She stared at it in astonishment great as Herbert's, and threw off 
 a volley of surprise in her foreign tongue. But she was a shrewd 
 woman. Ay, never was there a shrewder than Bianca Varsini. Mr.
 
 2SO MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLfiS. 
 
 Sergeant Delves was not a bad hand at ferreting out conclusions; 
 but she would have beaten the sergeant hollow. 
 
 " Tenez," cried she, putting up her forefinger in thought, as she 
 gazed at the cloak. " Cyril did this." 
 
 " Cyril ! " 
 
 She nodded her head. " You stood it out to me that you did not 
 come in on Saturday evening and go out again between ten and 
 eleven " 
 
 " I did not," interrupted Herbert. " I told you truth, but you 
 would not believe me." 
 
 " But this cloak went out. And it was turned the plaid side 
 outwards, and your cap was on, tied down at the ears. Naturally 
 I thought it was you. It must have been Cyril! Do you compre- 
 hend ? " 
 
 "No, I don't," said Herbert. "How mysteriously you are 
 speaking ! " 
 
 " It must have been Cyril who robbed Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " Mademoiselle ! " interrupted Herbert indignantly. 
 
 " Ecoutez, mon ami. He was blanched as white as a mouchoir, 
 while your father spoke of it at dinner — and did you see that he 
 could not eat ? ' You look guilty. Monsieur Cyril,' I said to myself, 
 not really thinking him to be so. But, be persuaded it was no other. 
 He must have taken the paper-money — ^or what you call it — and 
 come home here for your cloak and cap to wear, while he changed 
 it for gold, thinking it would fall on that other one who wears the 
 
 cloak; that WiUiam Hall I cannot say the name; c'est trop 
 
 dur pour les levres. It is Cyril, and no other. He has turned afraid 
 now, and has torn the lining out." 
 
 Herbert could make no rejoinder at first, partly in dismay, partly 
 in astonishment. " It cannot have been Cyril ! " he reiterated. 
 
 " I say it is Cyril," persisted the young lady. " I saw him creep 
 up the stairs after dinner, with a candle and your mother's great 
 scissors in his hand. He did not see me. I was in the dark, looking 
 out of my room. Depend he was going to do it then." 
 
 " Then, of all blind idiots, Cyril's the worst ! — if he did take 
 the cheque," uttered Herbert. " Should it become known, he is 
 done for ; and that, for life. And my father helping to fan the 
 flame ! " 
 
 The governess shrugged her shoulders. " I not like Cyril," she said. 
 " I have nev^er liked him since I came." 
 
 " But you will not tell against him ! " cried Herbert, in fear. 
 
 " No, no, no. Tell against your brother! Why should I .-* It is 
 no concern of mine. Unless people meddle with me. I don't meddle 
 with them. Cyril is safe, for me." 
 
 " What on earth am I to do for my cloak to-night ? " debated 
 Herbert. " I was going — going where I want it." 
 
 " Why you want it so to-night ? " asked mademoiselle sharply. 
 
 " Because it's cold," responded Herbert. " The cloak vvas 
 warmer than my overcoat is."
 
 A HOLE DUG BY STARLIGMT. n^t 
 
 " Last night you go out, to-night you go out, to-morrow you go 
 out. It is always so now ! " 
 
 " I have a lot of perplexing business upon mc," answered Herbert. 
 " I have no time to sec about it in the day." 
 
 Some little time longer he remained talking with her, partially 
 disputing. The Italian, from some cause or other, went into ill- 
 humour, and said some provoking things. Herbert, it must be 
 confessed, received them with good temper, and she grew more 
 affable. When he left her, she offered to pick the loose threads out 
 of the cloak, and hem up the bottom. 
 
 " You'll lock the door while you do it ? " he urged. 
 
 " I will take it to my chamber," she said. " No one will molest 
 mc there." 
 
 Herbert left it with her, and went out. Cyril went out. Anthony 
 had already gone out. Mr. Dare remained at home. He and his 
 wife were convcising o\-er the dining-room fire, in the course of the 
 evening, when Joseph came in. 
 
 " You are wanted, please, sir," he said to his master. 
 
 " Who wants me ? " asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 " It's Policeman Delves, sir." 
 
 " Oh, show him in here," said Mr. Dare. " I hope something will 
 be done in this," he added to his vrife. "It may turn out a good 
 slice of luck for me." 
 
 Sergeant Delves came in. In point of fact, he had just returned 
 from that interview with the butcher, where he had been accom- 
 panied by Mr. Ashley and William. 
 
 "Well, Delves, did you get my note? " asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did," said the sergeant, taking the seat offered him. 
 " It's what I have come up about." 
 
 " Do you intend to act upon my advice ? " 
 
 " Why — no, I think not," replied the sergeant. " Not, at any rate, 
 until I have had a talk with you." 
 
 ''What will you take?" 
 
 "Well, sir, the night's cold. I don't mind a drop of brandy-and- 
 water." 
 
 It was brought, and Mr. Dare joined his visitor in partaking of it. 
 He agreed with him that the night was cold. But nothing could 
 Mr. Dare make of him. As often as he turned the conversation on 
 the subject in hand, so often did the sergeant turn it off again. Mrs. 
 Dare grew tired of listening to nothing ; and she departed, leaving 
 them together. 
 
 Then the manner ot Sergeant Delves changed. He drew his chair 
 forward ; and bent towards Mr. Dare. 
 
 " You have been urging me to go against )oung Halliburton," he 
 began. " It won't do. Halliburton no more fingered that cheque, 
 or had anything to do with it, than you or I had. Mr. Dare, don't 
 you stir in this matter any further." 
 
 " My present intention is to stir it to the bottom," returned Mr. 
 Dare.
 
 -3- 
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Look here," said the sergeant in an undertone ; " I am not 
 obliged to take notice of offences that don't come legally in my way. 
 Many a thing has been done in this town— ay, and is being done 
 now— that I am obliged to wink at ; it don't lay right in my duty to 
 take notice of it, so I keep my eyes shut. Now that's just it in this 
 case. So long as the parties concerned, Mr. Ashley, or White, don't 
 put it into my hands officially, I am not obliged to take so-and-so 
 into custody, or to act upon my own suspicions. And I won't do it 
 upon suspicions of my own : I promise it. If I am forced, that's 
 another matter." 
 
 " Are you alluding to Halliburton?" 
 
 " No. You are on the wrong scent, I say." 
 
 " And you think you are on the right one ? " 
 
 " I could put my finger out this night and lay it on the fox. But 
 I tell you, sir, I don't want to, unless I am compelled. Don't you 
 compel me, Mr. Dare, of all people in the world." 
 
 Mr. Dare leaned back in his chair, his thumbs in his waistcoat 
 armholcs. No suspicion of the truth had crossed him, and he could 
 not understand either the sergeant or his manner. The latter rose 
 to depart. 
 
 "The other cloak, similar to young Halliburton's, belongs to 
 your son Herbert," he whispered, as he passed Mr. Dare. " It was 
 his brother, Cyril, who wore it on Saturday night, and who changed 
 the cheque: therefore we may give a guess as to who took the 
 cheque out of Mr. Ashley's desk. Now you be still over it, sir, for 
 his sake, as I shall be. If I can, I'll call at your office to-morrow, 
 Mr. Dare, and talk further. White must have the money refunded 
 to him, or he won't be still." 
 
 Anthony Dare fell into a confusion of horror and consternation, 
 leavinsf the serfreant to bow himself out. Mrs. Dare heard the 
 departure, and returned to the room. 
 
 "Well," cried she briskly, " is he going to accuse Halliburton?" 
 
 Mr. Dare did not answer. He looked up in a beseeching, help- 
 less sort of manner, as one who is stunned by a blow. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " she questioned, gazing at him closely. 
 " Are you ill ? " 
 
 He rose up shaking, as if ague were upon him. " No — no." 
 
 " Perhaps you are cold," snid Mrs. Dare. " I asked you what 
 Delves was going to do. Will he accuse Halliburton ?" 
 
 "Be still!" sharply cried Mr. Dare in a tone of pain. "The 
 matter is to be hushed up. it was not Halhburton."
 
 ( ^53 ) 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A PRESENT OF TEA-LEAVES. 
 
 How went on Honey Fair? Better and worse, better and worse, 
 according to custom; the worse prevailing over the better. 
 
 Of all its inhabitants, none had advanced so well as Robert East. 
 Honestly to confess it, that is not saying much ; since the greater 
 portion, instead of advancing in the world's social scale, had re- 
 trograded. Robert had left the manufactory he had worked for, 
 and was now second foreman at Mr. Ashley's. He was also 
 becommg through perseverance an excellent scholar in a plain 
 way. He had had one friend to help him; and that was William 
 Halliburton. 
 
 The Easts had removed to a better house ; one of those which 
 had a garden in Iront of it. No garden was more fragrant than 
 theirs ; and it was kept in order by Robert and Thomas East. 
 The house was larger than they required, and part of it was occu- 
 pied by Stephen Crouch and his daughter. It was known that the 
 Easts were putting by money : and Honey Fair wondered : for none 
 lived more comfortably, more respectably. Honey Fair — taking 
 it as a whole — lived neither comfortably nor respectably. The 
 Fishers had never come out of the workhouse, and Joe was dead. 
 The Crosses, turned from their home, their furniture sold, had 
 found lodgings; two rooms. Improvident as ever, were they. 
 They did not attempt to rise, even to their former condition ; but 
 grovelled on, living from hand to mouth. The Masons, man and 
 wife, passed their time agreeably in quarrels. At least, that it was 
 agreeable, may be assumed, for the quarrels never ceased. Now 
 and then they were diversified by a fight. The children were grow- 
 ing up without training; and Caroline — ah! I don't know that it 
 will do much good to ask after her. Caroline, years ago, had taken 
 a false step ; and, try as she would, she could not regain her footing. 
 She lived in a garret alone. She had so lived a long while ; and 
 she worked her fingers to the bone to keep body and soul together, 
 and went about with her head down. Honey Fair looked askance 
 at her, and gathered up its petticoats when they saw her coming, as 
 you saw Eliza Tyrrett gather up hers, lest they should come into 
 contact with those contaminations. The Carters thrived ; the 
 Brumms, also, were better oft' than they used to be ; and the Buffles 
 did so excellently, that a joke went about that they would be retir- 
 ing on their fortune : but the greater portion of Honey Fair was 
 full of trouble and improvidence. 
 
 William Halliburton frequently found himself in Honey Fair. It 
 was the most direct road from his house to that of Monsieur Colin, 
 the French master. William, sociably inclined by nature, had
 
 251 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 sometimes dropped in at one or other of the houses. He would 
 find Robert East labouring at his books much more than he need 
 have laboured, had some little assistance been given him in his 
 progress. William good-naturedly undertook to supply it. It 
 became quite a common thing for him to go round, and pass an 
 hour with the Easts and Stephen Crouch. 
 
 The unpleasant social features of Honey Fair thus obtruded 
 themselves on William Halliburton's notice; it was impossible that 
 any one, passing much through Honey Fair, should not be struck 
 with them. Could nothing be done to rescue the people from this 
 degraded condition ? — and a degraded one it was, compared with 
 what it might have been. Young and inexperienced as he was, it 
 was a question that sometimes rose to William's mind. Dirty 
 homes, scolding mothers, ragged and pining children, rough and 
 swearing husbands! Waste, discomfort, evil. The women laid 
 the blame on the men : they reproached them with wasting their 
 evenings and their money at the public-house. The men retorted 
 upon the women, and said they had not a home " fit for a pig to 
 come into." Meanwhile the money, whether earned by husband or 
 wife, laenf. It went somehow, bringing apparently nothing to show 
 for it, and the least possible return of good. Thus they struggled 
 and squabbled on, their lives little better than one continued scene 
 of scramble, discomfort, and toil. At a year's end they were not in 
 the least bettered, not in the least raised, socially, morally, or physi- 
 cally, from their condition at the year's commencement. Nothing 
 had been achieved ; except that they were one year nearer to the 
 great barrier which separates time from eternity. 
 
 Ask them what they were toiling and struggling for. They did 
 not know. What was their end, their aim ? They had none. If 
 they could only rub on, and keep body and soul together (as poor 
 Caroline Mason was trying to do in her garret), it appeared to be 
 all they cared for. They did not endeavour to lift up their hopes 
 or their aspirations above that ; they were willing so to go on until 
 death should come. What a life ! what an end ! 
 
 A feeling would now and then come over William, that he might 
 in some way help them to attempt better things. To do so was a 
 duty which seemed to be lying across his path, that he might take 
 it up and make it his. How to set about it, he knew no more than 
 the Man in the Moon. Now and then disheartening moments 
 would come upon him. To attempt to sweep away the evils of 
 Honey Fair, appeared a far more formidable task than to cleanse 
 the Augean Stables could ever have appeared to Hercules. He 
 knew that any endeavour, whether on his part or on that of others, 
 who might be far more experienced and capable than he, would be 
 utterly fruitless, unless the incentive to exertion, to strive to do 
 better, should be first born within themselves. Ah, my friends! 
 the aid of others may be looked upon as a great thing ; but without 
 self-struggle and self-help, little good will be effected. 
 
 One evening, in passing the house partially occupied by the
 
 A PRESENT OF TEA-LEAVES. 255 
 
 Crosses, the door was flung violently open, a girl of fifteen flew 
 shrieking out, and a saucer of wet tea-leaves came flying after her. 
 The tea-leaves alighted on the girl's neck, just escaping William's 
 arm. It was the youngest girl of the family, Patty. The tea-leaves 
 had come from IVIrs. Cross. Her face was red with passion, her 
 voice loud; the girl, on her part, was insulting and abusive. Mrs. 
 Cross had her hands stretched out, to scratch, or tear, or pull hair, 
 and a personal skirmish would inevitably have ensued, but for the 
 chance of William's being there. He received the hands upon his 
 arm, and contrived to detain them. 
 
 " What's the matter, Mrs. Cross ? " 
 
 " Matter ! " raved Mrs. Cross. " She's a idle, impedent, wicked 
 huzzy — that's what's the matter. She knows I've my gloving to 
 get in for Saturday, and not a stroke'll she help. There's the dishes 
 lying dirty from dinner, the tea-cups lying from tea, and touch 'em 
 she won't. She expects me to do it, and me with my gloving to 
 find 'em in food ! I took hold of her arm to make her do it, and she 
 turned and struck at me, the good-for-nothing faggot ! I hope none 
 on it didn't go on you, sir," added Mrs. Cross, somewhat modifying 
 her voice, and pausing to recover breath. 
 
 " Better that it had gone on my coat than on Patty's neck," 
 replied he, in a good-natured, half-joking tone; though, indeed, 
 the girl, with her evil look at her mother, her insolent air, stood 
 there scarcely worth his defence. " If my mother asked me to 
 wash tea-things or do anything else, Patty, I should do it, and 
 think it a pleasure to help her," he added, to the girl. 
 
 Patty pushed her tangled hair behind her ears, and turned a 
 defiant look upon her mother. Hidden as she had thought it from 
 William, he saw it. 
 
 " You just wait," nodded Mrs. Cross, in answer as defiant. " I'll 
 make your back smart by-and-by." 
 
 Wliich of the two was the more in fault ? It was hard to say. 
 The girl had never been brought up to know her duty, or to do it : 
 the mother, from her earliest childhood, had given abuse and blows ; 
 no kindly, persuasive words ; no training. Little wonder, now Patty 
 was growing up, that she turned again. It was the usual sort of 
 maternal government throughout Honey Fair. In these, and similar 
 cases, where could interference or counsel avail, unless the spirit of 
 the mothers and daughters could be changed ? 
 
 WiUiam walkea on, after the little episode of the tea-leaves. He 
 could not help contrasting these homes with his home; their life 
 with his life. He was given to reflection beyond his years, and he 
 wished these people could be aroused to improvement both of mind 
 and body. They were living for no end ; toiling only to satisfy the 
 wants of the day — nay, to arrest the wants, rather than to satisfy 
 them. How many of them were so much as thinking of another 
 world ? Their toil and turmoil in this was too great to enable them 
 to cast a thought to the next. 
 
 " I wonder," mused WiUiam, as he stepped towards M. Colin's,
 
 256 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " whether some of the better-conducted of the men might not be 
 induced to come round to East's in an evenmg ? It might be a 
 beginning, at any rate. Once wean the men from the pubhc- 
 houses, and there's no knowing what reform might be effected. 
 I would willingly give up an hour or two of my evenings to them I " 
 
 His visit to JVI. Colin over, he retraced his steps to Honey Fair, 
 and turned into Robert East's. It was past eight o'clock then. 
 Robert and Stephen Crouch were home from work, and were getting 
 out their books. Charlotte sat by, at work as usual, and Tom East 
 was pulling Charlotte's head towards him, to whisper somethuig to 
 her. 
 
 " Robert," said William, speaking impulsively, the moment he 
 entered, " I wonder whether you could induce a few of your neigh- 
 bours to come here of an evening ? " 
 
 " What for, sir .-' " asked Robert, turning round from the book- 
 shelves where he stood, searching for some volume. 
 
 " It might be so much better for them. It might end in being so. 
 I wish," he added with sudden warmth, "we could get all Honey 
 Fair here ! " 
 
 "All Honey Fair! " echoed Stephen Crouch in astonishment. 
 
 " I mean what I say. Crouch." 
 
 " Why, sir, the room wouldn't hold a quarter or a tenth part, or 
 a hundredth part of them." 
 
 William laughed. " No, that it would not, practically. There 
 is so much discomfort around us, and — and ill-doing — I must call 
 it so, for want of a better name — that I sometimes wish we could 
 mend it a little." 
 
 " Who mend it, sir .'' " 
 
 " Any one who would try. You two might help towards it. If 
 you could seduce a few round here, and get them to be interested 
 in your own evening occupation — books, and rational conversation 
 — and so wean them from the public-houses, it would be a great 
 thing." 
 
 " There'd never be any good done with the men, take them as a 
 whole, sir. They are an ignorant, easy-going lot, and don't care to 
 be better." 
 
 " That's just it. Crouch. They don't care to be better. But 
 they might be taught to care. It would be a very great thing if 
 Honey Fair could be brought to spend its evenings as you spend 
 yours. If the men gave up spending their money, and reeling 
 home after it ; and the women kept tidy hearths and civil tongues. 
 As Charlotte does," he added, looking round at her. 
 
 "There's no denying that, sir." 
 
 " I think something might be done. By degrees, you under- 
 stand ; not in a hurry. Were you to take the men by storm — to 
 say, ' We want you to lead changed lives, and are going to show 
 you how to do it,' your movement would fail, and you would get 
 laughed at into the bargain. Say to the men, 'You shan't go to the 
 public-house, because you waste your time, your money, and your
 
 A PRESENT OF TEA-LEAVES. 257 
 
 temper,' and, rely upon it, it would have as much efiect as if )ou 
 spoke to the wind. But get them to come here as a sort of change, 
 and you may secure them for good, if you make the evenings 
 pleasant to them. In short, give them some employment or attrac- 
 tion that will outweigh the attractions of the public-house." 
 
 "It would certainly be a good thing," said Stephen Crouch, 
 musingly. " They might be for trying to raise themselves then." 
 
 " Ay," spoke William, with enthusiasm. " Once let them find the 
 day-spring within themselves, the wish to do right, to be raised 
 above what they now are, and the rest will be easy. When once 
 that day-spring can be found, a man is made. God never sent a 
 man here, but he implanted that within him. The difficulty is, to 
 awaken it." 
 
 •' And it is not always done, sir," said Charlotte, lifting her face 
 from her work with a kindling eye, a heightened colour. She had 
 found it. 
 
 " Charlotte, I fear it is rarely done, instead of not always. It lies 
 pretty dormant, to judge by appearances, in Honey Fair." 
 
 William was right. It is an epoch in a man's life, that finding 
 what he had not inaptly called the day-spring. Self-esteem, self- 
 reliance, the courage of long-continued patience, the striving to 
 make the best of the mind's good gifts — all are born of it. He who 
 possesses it may soar to a bright and a happy lot, bearing in mind 
 • — may he always bear it ! — the rest and reward promised hereafter. 
 
 " At any rate, it would be giving them a chance, as it seems to 
 me," observed William. " I think I know one who would come. 
 Andrew Brumm." 
 
 " Ah, he would, and be glad to come," replied Robert East. " He 
 is different from many of them. I know another who would, sir; 
 and that's Adam Thornycroft." 
 
 Charlotte bent her head over her work, 
 
 " Since that cousin of his died of delirium t7-emens^ Thornycroft 
 has said good-bye to the public-houses. He spends his evenings at 
 home with his mother : but I know he would like to spend them 
 here. Tim Carter would come, sir." 
 
 " If Mrs. Tim will let him," put in Tom East saucily. And a 
 laugh went round. 
 
 " Ever so few, to begin with, will set the example to others, 
 remarked William. " There's no knowing what it may grow to. 
 Small beginnings make great endings. I have talked with my mother 
 about Honey Fair. She has always said : ' Before Honey Fair's 
 conduct can be improved, its minds must be improved.' " 
 
 " There will be the women yet, sir," spoke Charlotte. " If they 
 are to remain as they are, it will be of little use the men doing anything 
 for themselves." 
 
 " Charlotte, once begun, I say there's no knowing where the work 
 may end," he gravely answered. 
 
 The rain, which had been threatening all the evening, was coming 
 down pretty smartly as William walked through Honey Fair on his 
 
 Mrs. H.alliburton's Troiibles, 1 '
 
 253 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 return. Standing against a shutter near his own door, was Jacob 
 Cross. " Good night, Jacob," said Wilham. 
 
 " Good night, sir," answered Jacob sullenly. 
 
 " Are you standing in the rain that it may make you grow, as the 
 children say ? " asked William in his ever-pleasant tone. 
 
 " I'm standing here 'cause I have nowhere else to stand," said 
 the man, his voice full of resentment. " I'm turned out of our room, 
 and I have no money for the Horned Ram." 
 
 "A good thing you have not," thought William. "What has 
 turned you from your room ? " he asked. 
 
 " I'm turned out, sir, by the row there is in it. Our Mary Ann's 
 come home." 
 
 " Mary Ann?" repeated William, not quite understanding. 
 
 " Our Mary Ann, what took and married Ben Tyrrett. A fine 
 market she have brought her pigs to ! " 
 
 " What has she done ? " questioned William. 
 
 " She's done enough," wrathfuUy answered Cross. " We told 
 her when she married Tyrrett that he was nothing but a jobber, at 
 fifteen shillings a-week — and it's all he was, sir, as you know. 
 'Wait,' I says to her, 'somebody better than him'll turn up.' Her 
 mother says ' Wait.' Others says ' Wait.' No, not she ; the girls 
 are all marrying mad. Well, she took her own way ; she would take 
 it and they got married, and set up upon nothing. Neither of 
 'em had saved a twopenny-piece ; and Ben fond of the public ; and 
 our Mary Ann fond of laziness and finery, and not knowing how to 
 keep house any more than her young sister Patty did." 
 
 William remembered the little interlude of that evening in which 
 Miss Patty had played her part. Jacob continued. 
 
 " It was all fine and sunshiny with 'em for a few days or a few 
 weeks, till the novelty wears off, and then they finds things going 
 cranky. The money, //la^ begins to run short ; and Mary Ann, she 
 finds that Ben likes his gliss ; and Ben, he finds that she's just a 
 doll, with no gumption or management inside her. They quarrels — 
 naterally, and they comes to us to settle it. ' You was both red- 
 hot for the bargain,' says I, ' and you must just make the best of it, 
 and of one another.' And so they went back : and it has gone on 
 till this, quarreUing continual. And now he's took to beat her, and 
 home she came to-night, not half an hour ago, with her three 
 children and a black eye, vowing she'll stop at home, and won't 
 go back to him again. And she and her mother's having words 
 over it, and the babbies is a-squalling — enough noise to raise the 
 ceiling off, and I come out of it. I wish I was dead, I do ! " 
 
 Jacob's account of the noise was scarcely exaggerated. It pene- 
 trated to where they stood, two or three houses off. William had 
 moved closer, that the umbrella might give Cross part of its 
 shelter. " Not a very sensible wish that of yours, is it Cross ? " 
 remarked he. 
 
 " I have wished it long, sir, sensible or not sensible. I slaves 
 away my days and have nothing but a pigsty to step into at home,
 
 A PRESENT OF TEA-LEAVES. 259 
 
 and angry words in it. A nice place, for a tired man ! I can't 
 afford the public more than three or four nights a-week ; not that, 
 always. They're getting corky at the beer-shops, nowadays, and 
 won't give trust. Wednesday this is ; Thursday, to-morrow ; Friday, 
 next night : three nights, and me without a shelter to put my head 
 in ! " 
 
 " I should like to take you to one to-morrow night," said William. 
 *' Will )ou go with me ? " 
 
 " Where to ? " ungraciously asked Cross. 
 
 " To Robert East's. You know how he and Crouch spend their 
 evenings. There's always something going on there interesting and 
 pleasant." 
 
 " Crouch and East don't wan't me." 
 
 " Yes they do. They will be only too glad if you, and a few more 
 intelligent men, will join them. Try it, Cross. There's a warm 
 room to sit in, at all events, and nothing to pay." 
 
 " Ah, it's all very fine for them Easts ! We haven't their luck. 
 Look at me ! Down in the world." 
 
 William put his hand on the man's shoulder. " Why should you 
 be down in the world .'' " 
 
 " Why should I ! " repeated Cross, in surprise. " Because I am," 
 he logically answered. 
 
 *' That is not the reason. The reason is because you do not try 
 to rise in the world." 
 
 " It's no use trying." 
 
 " Have you ever tried .'' " 
 
 " Why, no ! How can I try ? " 
 
 "You wished just now that you were dead. Would it not be 
 better to wish to live ? " 
 
 " Not such a life as mine." 
 
 " But, to wish to live, would seem to imply that it must be a 
 better life. And why need your life be so miserable .'' You gain 
 fair wages ; your wife earns money. Altogether I suppose you 
 must have twenty-six or twenty-eight shillings a-week " 
 
 " But there's no thrift with it," exclaimed Cross. " It melts away 
 somehow. Before the middle of the week comes, it's all gone." 
 
 " You spend some at the Horned Ram, you know," said William, 
 not in a reproving tone. 
 
 " She squanders away in rubbish more than that," was Jacob's 
 answer, pointing towards his house, and not gi\'ing at all a com- 
 plimentary stress upon the " she." 
 
 " And with nothing to show for it, in return, either of you. Try 
 another plan, Jacob." 
 
 " I'd not be backward — if I could see one to try," said he, after a 
 pause. 
 
 " Be here at half-past eight to-morrow evening, and I will go in 
 with you to East's. If you cannot see any better way, you can 
 spend a pleasant evening. But now, Jacob, let me say a word to 
 you, and do you note it. If you find the evening pass agreeably,
 
 26o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 go the next evening, and the next ; go always. You can't tell all 
 that may arise from it, in time. I know of one thing that will." 
 
 '•What's that, sir.?" 
 
 " Why, that instead of wishing yourself dead, you will grow to 
 think life too short, for the good you find in it." 
 
 He went on his way. Jacob Cross, deprived of the umbrella, 
 stood in the rain as before, and looked after him, indulging his 
 reflections. 
 
 " He is a young man, and things wear their bright side to him. 
 But he has a cordial way with him, and don't look at folks as if 
 they was dirt." 
 
 And that had been the origin of the soirees held at Robert East's. 
 By degrees ten or a dozen men took to going there, and — what was 
 more — to like to go, and to tind an interest in it. It was a great 
 improvement upon the Horned Ram. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII, 
 
 HENRY ASHLEY'S OBJECT IN LIFE. 
 
 On one of the warm, bright days that we sometimes have in the 
 month of February, all the brighter from their contrast to the 
 passing winter, William Halliburton was walking home to tea from 
 the manufactory, and overtook Henry Ashley limping along. Henry 
 was below the middle height, and slight in form, with the same 
 beautiful face that had marked his boyhood, delicately refined in 
 feature, brilliant in colour ; the same upright lines of pajji knit in 
 the smooth white brow. 
 
 "Just the man I wanted," said he, linking his arm within 
 William's. " You are a good help up a hill, and I am hot and 
 tired." 
 
 " Wrapped up in that coat, with its fur lining, I should think you 
 are ! I have doffed my elegant cloak, you see, to-day." 
 
 " Is it off to the British Museum?" 
 
 William laughed. " 1 have not had time to pack it up." 
 
 " I am glad I met you. You must come home to tea with me. 
 Well? Why are you hesitating? You have no engagement? " 
 
 " Nothing more than usual. My studies " 
 
 "You are study mad!" interrupted Henry Ashley. "What do 
 you want to be? A Socrates? An Admirable Crichton?" 
 
 " Nothing so formidable. I want to be useful." 
 
 " And you make yourself accomplished, as a preliminary step to it. 
 Mary took up the fencing-sticks for you yesterday. Herbert Dare 
 was at our house — some freak is taking him to be a pretty constant 
 visitor just now — and the talk turned upon Erank. You know," 
 broke off Henry in his cjuaint way, " I never use long words when 
 short ones will do ; you learned ones would say ' conversation.' I\Ir.
 
 HENRY ASHLEY'S OBJECT IN LIFE. 261 
 
 Keating had said to my father that Frank HalHburton was a brilhant 
 scholar, and I retailed it to Herbert. I knew it would put him up, 
 and there's nothing I like half so much as to rile the Dares. Herbert 
 sneered. ' And he owes it partly to William,' I went on, ' for if 
 Frank's a brilliant scholar, William's a brilliant^'r .'' ' ' William Halli- 
 burton a brilliant scholar!' stormed scornful Herbert. 'Has he 
 learnt to be one at the manufactory } So long as he knows how gloves 
 are made, that's enough for him. What does he want with the 
 requirements of gentlemen?' Up looked Miss Mary; her colour 
 rising, her eyes flashing. She was at her drawing : at which, by the 
 way, she makes no progress ; nothing to be compared with Anna 
 Lynn. 'William Halliburton has forgotten more than you ever 
 learnt, Herbert Dare,' cried she; 'and there's more of the true 
 gentleman in his little finger than there is in your whole body.' 
 'There's for you, Herbert Dare,' whistled I; 'but it's true, lad, like 
 it or not as you may ! ' Herbert ivas riled." 
 
 Henry turned his head as he concluded, and looked up at William. 
 A gleam like a sunbeam had flashed into William's eyes ; a colour to 
 his cheeks. 
 
 " Well .'' " cried Henry sharply, for William did not speak. " Have 
 you nothing to say ? " 
 
 " It was generous of Miss Ashley." 
 
 " I don't mean that. Oh dear ! " sighed Henry, who appeared to 
 be in one of his fitful moods ; " who is to know whether things will 
 turn out crooked or straight in this world of ours ? What objection 
 have you to coming home with me fur the evening ? That's what I 
 mean." 
 
 " None. I can give up my books for a night, bookworm as you 
 think me. But they will expect me at East's." 
 
 " Happy the man that expecteth nothing ! " responded Henry. 
 " Disappoint them." 
 
 "'As for disappointing them, I shouldn't so much mind, but I 
 can't abide to disappoint myself,' " returned Wilham, quoting from 
 Goldsmith's good old play, of which both he and Henry were fond. 
 
 "You don't mean to say it would be a disappointment \o yotc, not 
 giving the lesson, or whatever it is, to those working chaps ! " uttered 
 Henry Ashley. 
 
 " Not as you would count disappointment. When I do not get 
 round for an hour, it seems as a night lost. I know the men like to 
 see me ; and I am always fearing that we are not sure of them." 
 
 " You speak as though your whole soul were in the business," 
 returned Henry Ashley. 
 
 " I think my heart is in it." 
 
 Henry looked at him wistfully, and his tone grew serious. " William, 
 I would give all I am worth, present, and to come, to change places 
 with you." 
 
 " To change places with me ! " echoed William, in surprise. 
 . " Yes : for you have an object in life. You may have many. To 
 be useful in your generation is one of them."
 
 262 MRS. HALLllBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " And so may you have objects in life." 
 
 " With this encumbrance ! " He stamped his lame leg, and a looic 
 of keen vexation settled itself in his face. " You can go forth into 
 the world with your strong limbs, your unbroken health ; you can 
 work, or you can play ; you can be active, or you can be still, at will. 
 But what am I ? A poor, weak creature ; infirm of temper, tortured 
 by pain, condemned half my days to the monotony of a sick-room. 
 Compare my lot with yours ! " 
 
 " There are those who would choose your lot in preference to mine, 
 were the option given them," returned William. " I must work. It 
 is a duty laid upon me. You can play." 
 
 "Thank you! How?" 
 
 " I am not speaking literally. Every good and pleasing thing that 
 money can purchase is at your command. You have only to enjoy 
 them, so far as you may. One, suffering as you do, bears not upon 
 him the responsibility to tise his time, that a healthy man does. 
 Lots, in this world, Henry, are, as I believe, pretty equally balanced. 
 Many would envy you your life of calm repose." 
 
 " It is not calm," was the abrupt rejoinder. " It is disturbed 
 by pain, and aggravated by temper ; and — and — tormented by un- 
 certainty." 
 
 " At any rate, you can subdue the one." 
 
 " Which, pray ? " 
 
 " The temper. Henry " — dropping his voice — " a victory over 
 your own temper may be one of the few obligations laid upon 
 you." 
 
 " I wish I could live for an object," grumbled Henry. 
 
 " Come round with me to East's, sometimes." 
 
 " I— dare say ! " retorted Henry, when he could recover from his 
 amazement. " Thank you again, Mr. Halliburton." 
 
 WiUiam laughed. But he soon resumed his seriousness. " I can 
 understand that for you, the favoured son of Mr. Ashley, reared in 
 refinement and exclusiveness " 
 
 " Enshrined in pride— the failing that Helstonleigh is pleased to 
 call my besetting sin ; sheltered under care and coddling so great, 
 that the very winds of heaven are not suffered to visit my face too 
 roughly ! " was the impetuous interruption of Henry Ashley. " Come ! 
 bring it all out. Don't, from motives of delicacy, keep in any of my 
 faults, virtues, or advantages ! " 
 
 " I can understand, I say, why you are unwilling to break through 
 the reserve of your home habits," William calmly continued. " But, 
 if you did so, you might no longer have to complain of the want of 
 an object in life." 
 
 At this moment they came in view of Willi;mi's house. Mrs. Halli- 
 Ijurton happened to be at one of the windows. William nodded 
 his greeting, and Henry raised his hat. Presently Henry began 
 again. 
 
 " Pray, do you join the town in its gratuitous opinion, that Henry 
 Ashley, of all in it, is the proudest amid the proud ? "
 
 HENRY ASHLEY'S OBJECT iN LIFE. 263 
 
 " I do not find you proud," said William. 
 
 " You ! As far as you and I are concerned, I think the boot 
 might be upon the other leg. You might set up for being proud over 
 me." 
 
 WilHam could not help laughing. " Putting joking aside, my 
 opinion is, Henry, that your shyness and sensitiveness are in fault ; 
 not your pride. It is your reserved manner alone which has 
 caused Helstonleigh to take up the impression that you are unduly 
 proud." 
 
 " Right, old fellow ! " returned Henry in an emphatic tone. " If 
 you knew how far I and pride stand apart — but let it pass." 
 
 Arrived at the entrance to Mr. Ashley's, William threw open the 
 gate for Henry, retreating himself. " I must go home first, Henry. 
 I won't be a quarter of an hour." 
 
 Henry looked cross. "Why on earth, then, did you not go in as 
 we passed ? What was the use of your coming up here, to go back 
 again ? " 
 
 " I thought my arm was helping you." 
 
 " So it was. But — there ! don't be an hour." 
 
 As William walked rapidly back, he met Mrs. Ashley's carriage. 
 She and Mary were in it. Mrs. Ashley nodded as he raised his hat, 
 and Mary glanced at him with a smile and a heightened colour. 
 She had grown up to excessive beauty. 
 
 A few moments, and William met beauty of another style — Anna 
 Lynn. Her cheeks were the flushed, dimpled cheeks of her child- 
 hood ; the same sky-blue eyes gleaming from between their long, 
 dark lashes ; the same profusion of silky brown hair ; the same 
 gentle, sweetly modest manners. William stopped to shake hands 
 with her. 
 
 " Out alone, Anna?" 
 
 " I am on my way to take tea with Mary Ashley." 
 
 " Are you ? We shall meet there, then." 
 
 "That will be pleasant. Fare thee well for the present, William." 
 
 She continued her way. William ran in home, and up to his 
 chamber. Dressing himself hastily, he went to the room where his 
 mother sat, and stood before her. 
 
 " Does my coat fit me, mother ? " 
 
 " Why, where are you going ? " she asked. 
 
 " To Airs. Ashley's. I have put on my new coat. Does it do? It 
 seems all right " — throwing up his arms. 
 
 " Yes, it fits you exactly. I think you are growing a dandy. Go 
 along. I must not look at you too long." 
 
 " Why not ? " he asked in surprise. 
 
 "In case I grow proud of my eldest son. And I would rather be 
 proud of his goodness than of his looks." 
 
 William laughingly gave his mother a farewell kiss. " Tell Gar I 
 am sorry he will not have me at his elbow this evening, to find fault 
 with his Greek. Good-bye, mother dear." 
 
 In truth, there was something remarkably noble in William Halli-
 
 264 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 burton's appearance. As he entered Mrs. Ashley's drawing-room, 
 the fact seemed to strike upon Henry with unusual force, who greeted 
 him from his distant sofa. 
 
 " So, that's what you went back for ! —to turn yourself into a 
 buck ! " he called out as William approached him. " As if you were 
 not well enough before ! Did you dress for me, pray ? " 
 
 " For you ! " laughed William. " That's good ! " 
 
 " In saying 'me,' I include the family," returned Henry c^uaintly. 
 " There's no one else to dress for." 
 
 '*■ Yes, there is. There's Anna Lynn." 
 
 Now, in good truth, WilHam had no covert meaning in giving 
 this answer. The words rose to his lips, and he spoke them lightly. 
 Perhaps he could have given a very different one, had he been com- 
 pelled to speak out the inmost feeling of his heart. Strange, how- 
 ever, was the effect on Henry Ashley, He grasped William's arm 
 with emotion, and pulled his face down to him as he lay. 
 
 " What do you say ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 " I mean nothing in particular. Anna is here." 
 
 "You shall not evade me," gasped Henry, " I must have it out, 
 now or later. What is it that you mean } " 
 
 William stood, almost confounded^ Henry was evidently in pain- 
 ful excitement ; every vestige of colour had forsaken his sensitive 
 countenance, and his white hands shook as they held William. 
 
 "What do you mean ?" Wilham whispered. " I said nothing to 
 agitate you thus, that I am aware of. Are we at cross-purposes ? " 
 
 A spot, bright as carmine, began to flush into the invalid's pale 
 cheeks, and he moved his face so that the light did not fall upon it. 
 
 " I'll have it out, I say. What is Anna Lynn to you ! " 
 
 '• Nothing," answered William, a smile parting his lips. 
 
 "What is she to you?" reiterated Henry, his tone painfully 
 earnest. 
 
 William edged himself on to the sofa, so as to cover Heniy from 
 the gaze of any eyes that might be directed to him from the other 
 parts of the room. " I like Anna very much," he said in a clear, 
 low tone ; " almost as I might like a sister ; but I have no love for 
 her, in the sense you would imply — if I am not mistaking your 
 meaning. And I never shall have." 
 
 Henry looked at him wistfully. " On'your honour? " 
 
 " Henry! was there need to ask it? On my honour, if you will." 
 
 " No, no; there was no need : you are always truthful. Bear with 
 me, William ! bear with my infirmities." 
 
 " My sister, Anna Lynn might be, and welcome. My wife, never." 
 
 Henry did not answer. His face was growing damp with physical 
 pain. 
 
 " You have one of your fits of suffering coming on ! " breathed 
 William. " Shall I get you anything ? " 
 
 " Hush ! only sit there, to hide me from them : and be still." 
 
 William did as he was requested, sitting so as to screen him from 
 Mrs. Ashley and the rest. He held his hands, and the paroxysm,
 
 HENRY ASHLEY'S OBJECT IN LIFE. 265 
 
 sharp while it lasted, passed away. Henry's very lips had grown 
 white with pain. 
 
 " You see what a poor wretch I am ! " 
 
 " I see that you suffer," was William's compassionate answer. 
 
 " From henceforth there is a fresh bond of union between us, for 
 you possess my secret. It is what no one else in the world does. 
 William, thafs my object in life." 
 
 William did not reply. Perplexity was crowding on his mind, 
 shading his countenance. 
 
 "Well! " cried Henry, beginning to recover his equanimity, and 
 with it his sharp retorts. " Why are you looking so blue ? " 
 
 "Will it be smooth sailing for you, Henry, with Mr. Ashley ?" 
 
 "Yes, I think it will," was the hasty rejoinder: its very haste, its 
 fractious tone, proving that Henry was by no means so sure of it 
 as he would imply. " I am not as others are : therefore he will let 
 minor considerations yield to my happiness." 
 
 William looked uncommonly grave. " Mr. Ashley is not all," he 
 said, arousing from a reverie. " There may be difficulties elsewhere. 
 She must not marry out of their own society. Samuel Lynn is one 
 of its strictest members. 
 
 " Rubbish ! Samuel Lynn is my father's servant, and I am my 
 father's son. If Samuel shoula take a strait-laced fit, and hold out, 
 why, I'll turn broadbrim." 
 
 "Samuel Lynn is my father's servant!" In that very fact, 
 William saw cause to fear that it might not be such plain sailing 
 with Mr. Ashley, as Henry wished to anticipate. He could not help 
 looking the doubts he felt. Henry observed it. 
 
 "What's the matter now?" he peevishly asked. "I do think 
 you were born to be the plague of my life ! My belief is, you want 
 her for yourself." 
 
 " I am only anxious for you, Henry. I wish you could have 
 assured yourself that it would go well, before — before allowing your 
 feelings to be irrevocably bound up in it. A blow, for you, might 
 be hard to bear." 
 
 "How could I help my feelings?" retorted Henry, "I did not 
 fix them purposely on Anna Lynn. Before I knew anything about 
 it, they had fixed themselves. Almost before I knew that I cared 
 for her, she was more to me than the sun in the heavens. There 
 has been no help for it at all, I tell you. So don't preach." 
 
 " Have you spoken to her ? " 
 
 Henry shook his head. " The time has not come for it. I must 
 make it right with the master before I can stir a step : and I fear it 
 is not quite ripe for that. Mind_y(3« don't talk." 
 
 William smiled. " I will mind." 
 
 " You'd better. If that Quaker society got a hint of it, there's no 
 knowing what hullabaloo they might make. They might be for 
 reading Anna a public lecture at Meeting ; or get Samuel Lynn to 
 vow he'd not give his consent." 
 
 " I should argue in this way, were I you, Henry. With my
 
 266 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 love so firmly fixed on Anna Lynn 1 beg your pardon, Miss 
 
 Ashley." 
 
 William started up. Mary Ashley was standing close to the sofa. 
 Had she caught the sense of the last words? 
 
 " Mamma spoke twice, but you were too busily engaged to hear," 
 said Mary. " Henry, James is waiting to wheel your sofa to the 
 tea-table." 
 
 Henry rose. Passing his arm through William's, he approached 
 the group. The servant pushed the sofa after them. Standing 
 together were Mary Ashley and Anna Lynn. They presented a 
 great contrast to each other. Mary wore an evening dress of shim- 
 mering silk, its low body trimmed with rich white lace ; white lace 
 hung from its drooping sleeves : and she had on ornaments of gold. 
 Anna was in grey merino, high in the neck, close at the wrists ; not 
 a bit of lace about her, not an ornament ; nothing but a plain white 
 linen collar. " Catch me letting her wear those Methodistical 
 things when she shall be mine ! " thought Henry. " 111 make a 
 bonfire of the lot." 
 
 But the Quaker cap? Ah! it was not there. Anna had con- 
 tinued her habit at home of throwing it off, as formerly. Patience 
 reprimanded in vain. She was not seconded by Samuel Lynn. 
 " We are by ourselves, Patience ; it does not much matter," he 
 would say ; " the child says she is cooler without it." But had 
 Samuel Lynn known that Anna was in the habit of discarding it on 
 every possible occasion when she was from home, he had been as 
 severe as Patience. At Mr. Ashley's, especially, she would sit, as 
 now, without it, her lovely face made more lovely by its falling curls. 
 Anna did wrong, and she knew it ; but she was a wilful girl, and a 
 vain one. That pretty, timid, retiring manner concealed much self- 
 will, much vanity ; though in some things she was as easily swayed 
 as a child. 
 
 She disobeyed Patience in another matter. Patience would say 
 to her, " Should Mary Ashley be opening her instrument of music, 
 thee will mind not to listen to her songs : thee can go into another 
 room." 
 
 " Oh, yes, Patience," she would answer ; " I will mind." 
 
 But, instead of not listening. Miss Anna would place herself near 
 the piano, and drink in the songs as if her whole heart were in the 
 music. Music had a great effect upon her ; and there she would sit 
 entranced, as though she were in some earthly Elysium. She said 
 nothing of this at home ; but the deceit was wrong. 
 
 They were sitting down to tea, when Herbert Dare came in. 
 The hours for meals were early at Mr. Ashley's : the medical men 
 considered it best for Henry. Herbert could be a gentleman when 
 he chose ; good-looking also ; quite an addition to a drawing-room. 
 He took his scat between Mary and Anna. 
 
 " I say, how is it you are not dining at home this evening?" asked 
 Henry, who somehow did not regard the Dares with any great 
 favour.
 
 ATtERLV'S FlELfi. 267 
 
 '* I dmcd in the middle of tlie day," was Herbert's reply. 
 
 " The condescension ! I thought only plebeians did that. James, 
 is there a piece of chalk in the house ? I must chalk that up." 
 
 " Henry ! Henry I " reproved Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " Oh, let him talk, Mrs. Ashley," said Herbert, with supreme 
 good humour. " There's nothing he likes so well as a wordy war." 
 
 "Nothing in the world," acquiesced Henry. "Especially with 
 Herbert Dare." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 atterly's field. 
 
 Laughing, talking, playing at proverbs, earning and paying forfeits, 
 it was a merry group in Mrs. Ashley's drawing-room. That lady 
 herself was not joining in the merriment. She sat apart at a small 
 table, some work in her hand, speaking a word now and then, and 
 smiling to herself in echo to some unusual burst of laughter. It 
 was so surprising that only five voices could make so much noise. 
 They were sitting in a circle ; Mary Ashley between William Halli- 
 burton and Herbert Dare, Anna Lynn between Herbert Dare and 
 Henry Ashley, Henry and William side by side. 
 
 Time, in these happy moments, passes rapidly. In due course, 
 the hands of the French clock on the mantel-piece pointed to half- 
 past eight, and its silver tones rang out the chimes. They were at 
 the end of the game — Herbert Dare standing in a corner, sent there 
 to pay the penalty of the last forfeit — and just settling themselves to 
 commence another. The half-hour aroused William, and he glanced 
 towards the clock. 
 
 " Half-past eight ! who would have thought it? I had no idea it 
 was so late. I must leave you just for half an hour," he added, 
 rising. 
 
 " Leave for what ? " cried Henry Ashley. < 
 
 "To go as far as East's. I will not remain there." 
 
 Henry broke into a "wordy war," as Herbert Dare had calleA 
 it earlier in the evening. William smiled, and overruled him in his 
 quiet way. 
 
 "They hold my promise to go round this evening," he said. " I 
 gave it them unconditionally. I must just go round to tell them 
 I cannot come — if that's not a contradiction. Don't look so cross, 
 Henry." 
 
 " Of course, you don't mean to come back," resentfully spoke 
 Henry. " When you get there, you'll stop there." 
 
 "No; I have told you I will not. But if I let them expect me 
 all the evening, they will be looking and waiting, and do no good." 
 
 He went out as he spoke, and left the house. As he reached the 
 gate Mr. Ashley was coming in. Mr. Ashley had been to the manu- 
 
 b
 
 268 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 factory; he did not often go there after tea. "Going already, 
 William?" Mr. Ashley exclaimed in an accent of surprise. 
 
 " Not for long, sir. I must just look in at East's." 
 
 "Is that scheme likely to prosper? Can you keep the men?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, I think so. My hopes are strong." 
 
 "Well, there's nothing hke hope," answered Mr. Ashley, witn a 
 laugh. " But I shall wonder if you do keep them. William," he 
 added, after a slight pause, his tone changing to a business one, 
 " I have a few words to say to you. I was about to speak to you in 
 the counting-house this afternoon, but something put it aside. I 
 have changed my plans with respect to this Lyons journey. Instead 
 of despatching you, as I had thought of doing, I believe I shall 
 send Samuel Lynn." 
 
 Mr. Ashley paused. William did not immediately reply. 
 
 " Samuel Lynn's experience is greater than yours. It is a new 
 thing, and he will see, better than you could do, what can and what 
 cannot be done." 
 
 " Very well, sir," at length answered William. 
 
 " You speak as though you were disappointed," remarked Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 William was disappointed. But his motive for the feeling lay far 
 deeper than Mr. Ashley supposed. " I should like to have gone, 
 sir, very much. But — of course, my liking, or not liking, has 
 nothing to do with it. Perhaps it is as well that I should not go," 
 he resumed, more in soliloquy, as if he were trying to reconcile 
 himself to the disappointment by argument, than in observation to 
 Mr. Ashley. " I do not see how the men would have done without 
 me at East's." 
 
 " Ay, that's a grave consideration," replied Mr. Ashley jokingly, 
 as he turned to walk to his own door. 
 
 William stood still, nailed as it were to the spot, looking after his 
 master. A most unwelcome thought had flashed over him ; and in 
 the impulse of the moment he followed Mr. Ashley, to speak it out. 
 Even in the night's obscurity, his emotion was perceptible. 
 
 " Mr. Ashley, the suspicion cast on me, at the time that cheque 
 was lost, has not been the cause — the cause of your declining to 
 intrust me with this commission?" 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at him in surprise. But that William's 
 agitation was all too real, he would have laughed at him. 
 
 "William, I think you are turning silly. No suspicion was cast 
 on you." 
 
 " You have never stirred in the matter, sir ; you have never 
 spoken to me to tell me you were satisfied that I was not in any 
 way guilty," was William's impulsive answer. 
 
 "Spoken to you! where was the need? Why, William, my 
 whole life, my daily intercourse with you, is only so much proof 
 that jyou have my full confidence. Should I admit you to my home, 
 to the companionship of my children, if I had no more faith in you 
 than that?"
 
 ATIERLY'S FIELD. 269 
 
 "True," said William, beginning to recover himself. " It was a 
 thought that flashed over me, sir, when you said I was not to be 
 sent on this journey. I should not like you to doubt me; I could 
 not live under it." 
 
 " William, you reproached me with not having stirred in " 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. I never thought of such a thing as 
 reproach. I would not presume to do it." 
 
 " I have not stirred in the matter," resumed Mr. Ashley. " A 
 very disagreeable suspicion arises in my mind at times, as to how 
 the cheque went ; and I do not choose to stir in it. Have you no 
 suspicion on the point?" 
 
 The question took William by surprise. He stammered in his 
 answer ; an unusual thing for him to do. " N o." 
 
 " I ask if you have a suspicion ? " quietly repeated Mr. Ashley, 
 meaningly, as if he took William's answer for nothing, or had not 
 heard it. 
 
 Then William spoke out readily. " A suspicion has crossed my 
 mind, sir. But it is one I should not like to breathe to you." 
 
 " That's enough. I see. White voluntarily took the loss of the 
 money on himself. He came to me to say so ; therefore, I infer that 
 it has in some private way been refunded to him. Mr. Dare veered 
 round, and advised me not to investigate the affair, as I was no loser 
 by it ; Delves hinted the same thing. Altogether, I can see through 
 the thing pretty clearly, and I am content to let it rest. Are you 
 satisfied? If not " 
 
 Mr. Ashley broke off abruptly. William waited. 
 
 " So, don't tutn foolish again. You and I now understand each 
 other. William ! " he emphatically added, " I am growing to like 
 you almost as I like my own children. I am proud of you ; and I 
 shall be prouder yet. God bless you, my boy ! " 
 
 It was so very rare that the calm, dignified Thomas Ashley was 
 betrayed into anything like demonstrativcness, that William could 
 only stand and look. And while he looked, the door closed on his 
 master. 
 
 He went away with all speed, calling in at his home. Were the 
 truth to be told, perhaps William was quite as anxious to be back 
 again at Mr. Ashley's as Henry was that he should be there. 
 Scarcely stopping for a word of greeting, he opened a drawer, took 
 from it a small case of fossils, and then searched for something else ; 
 something which apparently he could not find. 
 
 " Have any of you seen my microscope?" he asked, turning to the 
 group at the table bending over their books. 
 
 Jane looked round. " My dear, I lent it to Patience to-day. I 
 suppose she forgot to return it. Gar, will you go and ask her 
 for it?" 
 
 "Don't disturb yourself. Gar," said William. "I am going out, 
 and will ask Patience myself." 
 
 Patience was alone in her parlour. She returned him the micro- 
 scope, saying that the reason she had not sent it in was, that she
 
 270 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 had not had time to use it. " Thee art in evening dress ! " she 
 remarked to William. 
 
 " I am at Mrs. Ashley's. I have only come out for a few minutes. 
 Thank you. Good night, Patience. 
 
 " Wait thee a moment, William. Is Anna ready to come home? " 
 
 "No, that she is not. Why?" 
 
 " I want to send for her. Samuel Lynn is spending the evening 
 in the town, so I must send Grace. And I don't care to send her 
 late. She will only get talking to John Pembridge, if she goes out 
 after he is home from work." 
 
 William smiled. " It is natural that she should, I suppose. 
 When are they going to be married? " 
 
 " Shortly," answered Patience, in a tone not quite so equable as 
 usual. Patience saw no good in people getting married in general ; 
 and she was vexed at the prospect of losing Grace in particular. 
 " She leaves us in a fortnight from this," she continued, alluding to 
 Grace, " and all her thoughts seem to be bent now upon meeting 
 John Pembridge, Could thee bring Anna home for me?" 
 
 " With pleasure," replied William. 
 
 " That is well, then. Grace does not deserve to go out to-night, 
 for she wilfully crossed me to-day. Good evening, William." 
 
 Fossil-case in hand, and the microscope in his pocket, William 
 made the best of his way to Honey Fair. Robert East, Stephen 
 Crouch, Brumm, Thornycroft, Carter, Cross, and some half-dozen 
 others, were crowded round Robert's table. William handed them 
 the fossils and the microscope ; told the men to amuse themselves 
 with them for that night, and he would explain more about them on 
 the morrow. He was ever anxious that the men should have some 
 object of amusement as a rallying point on these evenings ; any- 
 thing to keep their interest awakened. 
 
 Before the half-hour had expired, he was back at Mr. Ashley's. 
 Proverbs had been given up, and Mary was at the' piano. Mr. 
 Ashley had been accompanying her on the flute, on which instru- 
 ment he was a brilliant player, and when William entered she was 
 singing a duet with Herbert Dare. Anna — disobedient Anna — was 
 seated, listening with all her ears and heart to the music, her up- 
 turned countenance quite wonderful to look upon, in its rapt 
 delight. 
 
 "1 think you could sing," spoke Henry Ashley to her, in an under- 
 tone, after watching her while the song lasted. 
 
 Anna shook her head. " I may not try," she said, raising her blue 
 eyes to him for one moment, and then dropping them. 
 
 "The time may come when you may," returned Henry, in a 
 deeper whisper. 
 
 She did not answer, she did not lift her eyes : but the faintest 
 possible smile parted her rosy lips — a smile which seemed to ex- 
 press a self-consciousness that perhaps that time might come. And 
 Henry, shy and sensitive, stood apart and gazed upon her, his heart 
 beating.
 
 ATTERLY'S FIELD. 271 
 
 "Young lady," said William, advancing, " do you know that a 
 special honour has been assigned me to-night? One that concerns 
 you." 
 
 Anna raised her eyes now. She felt as much at ease with William 
 as she did with her father or Patience. "What dost thee say, 
 William? An honour?" 
 
 " That of seeing you safely home. I " 
 
 " What's that for?" interrupted Anna. " Where's my father?" 
 
 " He is not at home this evening. And Patience did not care to 
 send out Grace. I'll take care of you." 
 
 William could not but observe the sudden flush, the glow of 
 pleasure, or what looked like pleasure, that overspread Anna's 
 countenance at the information. "What's that for?" he thought, 
 echoing her recent words. But Mary began to sing again, and his 
 attention was diverted. 
 
 Ten o'clock was the signal for departure. As they were going 
 out — William, Anna, and Herbert Dare, who took the opportunity 
 to leave with them — Henry Ashley limped after them, and drew 
 William aside in the hall. 
 
 " Honour bright, mind, my friend !" 
 
 William did not understand. " Honour bright, always," said he. 
 " But what do you mean?" 
 
 " You'll not get making love to her on your way home !" 
 
 William could not help laughing. He turned his amused face 
 full on Henr)'. " Be at rest. I would not care to make lo\'e to her, 
 had I full leave and license from the Quaker society, granted me in 
 public meeting." 
 
 " Do you think I did not see her brightened countenance when 
 you told her she was to go home with you?" retorted Henry. 
 
 " I saw it, too. I conclude she was pleased that her father was 
 not coming for her, little undutiful thing! However it may have 
 been, rely upon it that brightening was not for me." 
 
 Pressing his hand warmly, with a pressure that no false friend 
 ever gave, William hastened away. It was time. Herbert Dare 
 and Anna had not waited for him. but were ever so far ahead. 
 
 " Very polite of you ! " cried William, when he caught them up. 
 "Anna, had- you gone pitching off that part of the path they are 
 mending, I should have been responsible, you know. You might 
 have waited for me." 
 
 He spoke good humouredly, making a joke of it. Herbert Dare 
 did not appear to receive it as one. He retorted haughtily. 
 
 " Do you suppose I am not capable of taking care of iNIiss Lynn? 
 As much so as you, at any rate." 
 
 "Possibly," coolly returned William, not losing his good-humoured 
 tone. Herbert Dare had given Anna his arm. William walked 
 near her on the other side. Thus they reached Mr. Lynn's. 
 
 " Good night," said Herbert, shaking hands with her. " Good 
 night to you, Halliburton." 
 
 " Good night," replied William.
 
 273 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Herbert Dare set off running. William knocked at the door, and 
 waited until it was opened. Then he also shook hands with Anna, 
 and saw her in. 
 
 Frank and Gar were putting up their books for the night, when 
 William entered. The boarders had gone to bed. Jane, a very 
 unusual thing for her, was sitting by the fire, doing nothing. 
 "Am I not idle, William?" she said. 
 
 William bent to kiss her. " There's no need for you to be any- 
 thing but idle now, mother." 
 
 " No need ! William, you know better. There's great need that 
 none should be idle : none in the world. But I have a bad head- 
 ache to-night." 
 
 "William," called out Gar, "they brought this round for you from 
 East's. Young Tom came with it." 
 
 It was the case of fossils and the microscope. William observed 
 that they need not have sent them, as he should want them there 
 the next evening. " Patience said she had not had time to use the 
 microscope," he continued. " I think I will take it in to her. I 
 suppose she has been buying linen, and wants to see if the threads 
 are even." 
 
 " The Lynns will have gone to bed by this time," said Jane. 
 "Not to-night. I have but just seen Anna home .from Mrs. 
 Ashley's ; and Mr. Lynn has gone out to supper." 
 
 He turned to leave the room with the microscope, but Gar was 
 looking at the fossils, and asked the loan of it. A few minutes, and 
 William finally went out. 
 
 Patience came to the door, in ansv%'er to his knock. She thanked 
 him for the microscope, and stood a minute or two chatting. 
 Patience was fond of a gossip ; there was no denying it. 
 "Will thee not walk in?" 
 
 " Not now," he said, turning away. " Good night, Patience." 
 " Good night to thee. Thee send in Anna, please. She is having 
 a pretty long talk with thy mother." 
 
 William was at a loss. " I saw Anna in from Mr. Ashley's." 
 " She did but ask whether her father was home, and then ran 
 through the house," rephed Patience. " She had a message for thy 
 mother, she said, from Margaret Ashley." 
 
 " Mrs. Ashley does not send messages to my mother," returned 
 William, in some wonder. " They have no acquaintance with each 
 other — beyond a bow, in passing." 
 
 " She must have sent her one to-night— why else should the 
 child go in to deliver it?" persisted Patience. " Not but that Anna 
 is always running into thy house at nights. I fear she must trouble 
 thy mother at her class." 
 
 " She never stays long enough for that," replied William. 
 " When she does come in— and it is not often— she just opens the 
 door; ' How dost thee, friend Jane Halliburton?' and out again." 
 
 "Then thee can know nothing about it, William. I tell thee she 
 never stays less than an hour, and she is always there. I say to
 
 AtTERLY'S FlELt). 273 
 
 lier that one of these evenings thy mother may hkely be hinting to 
 her that her room will be more acceptable than her company. 
 Thee send her home now, please." 
 
 William turned away. Curious thoughts were passing through 
 his mind. That Anna did not go in, in the frequent manner 
 I'atience intimated ; that she rarely stayed above a minute or two, 
 he knew. He knew — at least, he felt perfectly sure — that Anna was 
 not at his house now ; had not been there. And yet Patience said 
 " Send her home." 
 
 " Has Anna been here? " he asked, when he went in. 
 
 "Anna? No." 
 
 Not just that moment, to draw observation, but presently, William 
 left the room, and went into the garden at the back. A very 
 unpleasant suspicion had arisen in his mind. It might not have 
 occurred to him, but for certain glances which he had observed 
 pass that evening between Herbert Dare and Anna — glances of 
 confidence — as if they had a private mutual understanding on some 
 point or other. He had not understood them then : he very much 
 feared he was about to understand them now. 
 
 Opening the gate leading to the field at the back, commonly 
 called Atterly's Field, he looked cautiously around. For a moment 
 or two he could see nothing. The hedge was thick on either side, 
 and no living being appeared to be beneath its shade. But he saw 
 farther when his eyes became accustomed to the obscurity. 
 
 Pacing slowly together, were Herbert Dare and Anna. Now 
 moving on, a few steps; now pausing to converse more at ease. 
 William drew a deep breath. He saw quite enough to be sure this 
 was not the first time they had so paced together : and thought 
 after thought crowded on his mind ; one idea, one remembrance 
 chasing another. 
 
 Was this the explanation of the plaid cloak, which had paraded 
 stealthily on that very field-path during the past winter ? There 
 could not be a doubt of it. And was it in this manner that Anna's 
 flying absences from home were spent — absences which she, in 
 her unpardonable deceit, had accounted for to Patience by saying 
 that she was with Mrs. Halliburton? Alas for Anna! Alas for all 
 who deviate by an untruth from the path of rectitude ! If the mis- 
 guided child — she was little better than a child — could only have 
 seen the future that was before her ! It may have been very 
 pleasant, very romantic to steal a march on Patience, and pace 
 out there, all independent, in the cold, chattering to Herbert Dare; 
 listening to his protestations that he cared for no one in the world 
 but herself; never had cared, never should care: but it was laying 
 up for Anna a day of reckoning, the like of which had rarely fallen 
 on a young head. William seemed to take it all in at a glance ; 
 and, rising tumultuously over other unpleasant thoughts, came the 
 remembrance of Henry Ashley's misplaced and ill-starred love. 
 
 With another deep breath, that was more like a groan than any- 
 thing else — for Herbert Dare never brought good to any one in his 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. lo
 
 274 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 life, and William knew it— William set off towards them. Whethe? 
 they heard footsteps, or whether they thought the time for parting 
 had come, certain it was that Herbert was gone before William 
 could reach them, and Anna was speeding towards her home with 
 a fleet step. William placed himself in her way, and she started 
 aside with a scream that went echoing through the field. Then 
 they had not heard him. 
 
 " William, is it thee ? Thee hast frightened me nearly out of 
 my senses." 
 
 " Anna," he gravely said, " Patience is waiting for you." 
 
 Anna Lynn's imagination led her to all sorts of fantastic fears. 
 " Oh, William, thee hast not been in to Patience ! " she exclaimed, 
 in sudden trembling. " Thee hast not been to our house to seek 
 me ! " 
 
 They had reached his gate now. He halted, and took her hand 
 in his, his manner impressive, his voice firm. "Anna, I must speak 
 to you as I would to my own sister; as I might to Janey, had she 
 lived, and been drawn into this terrible imprudence. Though, 
 indeed, I should not then speak, but act. What tales are they that 
 Herbert Dare is deceiving you with?" 
 
 " Hast thee been in to Patience? Hast thee been in to Patience?" 
 reiterated Anna. 
 
 " Patience knows nothing of this. She thinks you are at our 
 house. I ask you, Anna, what foolish tales Herbert Dare is 
 deceiving you with?" 
 
 Anna — relieved on the score of her fright — shook her head 
 petulantly. " He is not deceiving me with any. He would not 
 deceive." 
 
 "Anna, hear me. His very nature, as I believe, is deceit. I 
 fear he has little truth, little honour within him. Is Herbert pro- 
 fessing to — to love you?" 
 
 " I will not answer thee aught. I will not hear thee speak against 
 Herbert Dare." 
 
 "Anna," he continued in a lower tone, "you ought to be afraid 
 of Herbert Dare. He is not a good man." 
 
 How wilful she was! "It is of no use thy talking," she re- 
 iterated, putting her fingers to her ears. " Herbert Dare is good. 
 I will not hear thee speak against him." 
 
 " Then, Anna, as you meet it in this way, I must inform your 
 father or Patience of what I have seen. If you will not keep 
 yourself out of harm's way, they must do it for you." 
 
 It terrified her to the last degree. Anna could have died rather 
 than suffer her escapade to reach the ears of home. " How can 
 thee talk of harm, William? What harm is likely to come to me? 
 I did no more harm talking to Herbert Dare here, than I did, 
 talking to him in Margaret Ashley's drawing-room." 
 
 "My dear child, you do not understand things," he answered. 
 " The very fact of your stealing from your home to walk about in 
 this manner, however innocent it may be in itself, would do yoU 

 
 ATTERLY'S FIELD. 275 
 
 Incalculable harm in the eyes of the world. And I am quite sure 
 that in no shape or form can Herbert Dare bring you good, or con- 
 tribute to your good. Tell me one thing, Anna : Have you learnt to 
 care much for him?" 
 
 " I don't care for him at all," responded Anna. 
 
 " No ! Then why walk about with him?" 
 
 " Because it's fun to cheat Patience." 
 
 " Oh, Anna, this is very wrong, very foolish. Do you mean what 
 you say — that you do not care for him?" 
 
 " Of course I mean it," she answered. " I think he is very kind 
 and pleasant, and he gave me a pretty locket. But that's all. 
 William, thee wilt not tell upon me?" she continued, clinging to 
 his arm, her tone changing to one of entreaty, as the terror, which 
 she had been endeavouring to conceal with light words, returned 
 upon her. " William ! thee art kind and obliging — thee wilt not tell 
 upon me ! I will promise thee never to meet Herbert Dare again, 
 if thee wilt not." 
 
 "It would be for your own sake, Anna, that I should speak. 
 How do I know that you would keep your word?" 
 
 " I give thee my promise that I will ! I will not meet Herbert 
 Dare in this way again. I tell thee I do not care to meet him. 
 Canst thee not believe me?" 
 
 He did beheve her, implicitly. Her eyes were streaming; her 
 pretty hands clung about him. He did like Anna very much, and 
 he would not draw vexation upon her, if it could be avoided with 
 expediency. 
 
 " I will rely upon you then, Anna. Believe me, you could not 
 choose a worse friend in all Helstonleigh, than Herbert Dare. I 
 have your word ? " 
 
 " Yes. And I have thine." 
 
 He placed her arm within his own, and led her to the back door 
 of her house. Patience was standing at it. " I have brought you 
 the little truant," he said. 
 
 " It is well thee hast," replied Patience. " I had just opened the 
 door to come after her. Anna, thee art worse than a wild thing. 
 Running off in this manner ! " 
 
 It had not been in William's way to see much of Anna's inner 
 qualities. He had not detected her deceit ; he did not know that 
 she could be untruthful when it suited her so to be. He had firm 
 faith in her word, never questioning that it might be depended 
 upon. Nevertheless, when he came afterwards to reflect upon the 
 matter, he thought it might be his duty to give Patience a little 
 word of caution. And this he could do without compromising 
 Anna. 
 
 He contrived to see Patience alone the very next day. She 
 began talking of their previous evening at the Ashleys'. 
 
 " Yes," observed William, "it was a pleasant evening. It would 
 have been all the pleasanter, though, but for one who was there — 
 Herbert Dare."
 
 276 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 '• I do not admire the Dares," s vid Patience frigidly. 
 " Nor L But I observed one thing, Patience— that he admires 
 Anna. Were Anna my sister, I should not like her to be too much 
 admired by Herbert Dare. So take care of her." 
 
 Patience looked steadily at him. William continued, his tone 
 confidential. 
 
 "You know what Herbert Dare is said to be. Patience —fonder of 
 leading people to ill than to good. Anna is giddy — as you yourself 
 tell her twenty times a day. I would keep her carefully under my 
 own eyes. I would not even allow her to run into our house at 
 night, as she is fond of doing," he added with marked emphasis. 
 " She is as safe there as she is here ; but it is giving her a taste of 
 liberty that she may not be the better for in the end. When she 
 comes in, send Grace with her, or bring her yourself : I will see 
 her home again. Tell her she is a grown-up young lady now, and 
 it is not proper that she should go out unattended," he concluded, 
 laughing. 
 
 " William, I do not quite understand thee. Hast thee cause to 
 say this ? " 
 
 "All I say. Patience, is— keep her out of the way of possible 
 harm, of undesirable friendships. Were Anna to be drawn into a 
 liking for Herbert Dare, I am sure it would not be agreeable to 
 Mr. Lynn. He would never consider the Dares a desirable family 
 
 for her to marry into " 
 
 " Marry into the family of the Dares !" interrupted Patience hotly. 
 " Art thee losing thy senses, William ? " 
 
 "These likings sometimes lead to marriage," c[uietly continued 
 William. "Therefore, I say, keep her away from all chance of 
 forming them. Believe me, my advice is good." 
 
 " I think I understand," concluded Patience. " I thank thee 
 kindly, William." 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 LOOKING INTO THE SHOP WINDOWS. 
 
 t 
 
 A VERY unpleasant part of the story has now to be touched upon. 
 Unpleasant things occur in real life, and if true pictures have to be 
 given of the world as it exists, as it goes on its round, day by day, 
 allusion to them cannot be wholly avoided. 
 
 Certain words of William Halliburton to Patience had run in 
 this fashion: "Were Anna to be drawn into a liking for Herbert 
 Dare, I am sure it would not be agreeable to Mr. Lynn. He would 
 never consider the Dares a desirable family for her to marry into." 
 In thus speaking, William had striven to put the case in a polite 
 sort of form to the cars of Patience. As to any probability of 
 marriage between one of the Dares and Anna Lynn, he would
 
 LOOKING INTO THE SHOP WINDOWS. r;;; 
 
 scarcely have believed it within the range of possibility. The 
 Dares, one and all, would have considered Anna far beneath them 
 in position, while the difference of religion would on Anna's side be 
 an almost insurm ountable objection. The worst that William had 
 contemplated was the "liking" he had hinted at. He cared for 
 Anna's welfare as he would have cared for a sister's, and he believed 
 it would not contribute to her happiness that she should become 
 attached to Herbert Dare. But for compromising Anna — and he 
 had given his word not to do it — he A\ould have spoken out openly, 
 that there was a danger of this liking coming to pass, if she met 
 him as he feared she had been in the habit of doing. Certainly he 
 would not ha\e alluded to the remote possibility of marriage, the 
 mention of which had so scared Patience. 
 
 What had William thought, what had Patience said, could they 
 have known that this liking was already implanted in Anna's heart 
 beyond recall ? Alas ! that it should have been so ! Quiet, childish, 
 timid as Anna outwardly appeared, the strongest aficction had 
 been aroused in her heart for Herbert Dare — was filling its every 
 crevice. These apparently shy, sensitive natures are sometimes only 
 the more passionate and wayward within. One evening a few 
 months previously, Anna was walking in Atterly's Field, behind 
 their house. Anna had been in the habit of walking there — nay, 
 of playing there — since she was a child, and she would as soon have 
 associated harm with their garden as with that field. Farmer 
 Atterly kept his sheep in it, and Anna had run about with the 
 lambs as long as she could remember. Herbert Dare came up 
 accidentally— the path through it, leading along at the back of the 
 houses, was public, though not much frequented — and he spoke to 
 Anna. Anna knew him to say "Good day" when she passed him 
 in the street ; and she now and then saw him at jMrs. Ashley's. 
 Herbert stayed talking with her a few minutes, and then went on 
 his way. 
 
 Somehow, from that time, he and Anna encountered each other 
 there pretty frequently ; and that was how the liking had grown. 
 If a qualm of conscience crossed Miss Anna at times that it 
 was not quite the thing for a young lady to do. thus to meet a 
 gentleman in secret, she conveniently put the cjualm away. That 
 harm should arise from it in any way, never so much as crossed 
 her mind for a moment ; and to do Herbert Dare justice, real harm 
 was probably as far from his mind as from hers. 
 
 He grew to like her. almost as she liked him. Herbert Dare did 
 not, in the sight of Helstonleigh, stand out as a model of all the 
 cardinal virtues ; but he was not all bad. Anna believed him all 
 good — all honour, truth, excellence ; and her heart had flashed 
 out a rebuke to William when he hinted that Herbert was not 
 exactly a paragon. She only kne^v that the very sound of his foot- 
 step made her heart leap with happiness; she only knew that to her 
 he appeared everything that was bright and fascinating. Her great 
 dread was, lest theii' intimacy should become known, and separa-
 
 278 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 tion ensue. That separation would be inevitable, were her father 
 or Patience to become cognizant of it, Anna rightly believed. 
 
 Cunning little sophist that she was ! She would fain persuade 
 herself that an innocent meeting out of doors was justifiable, where 
 a meeting indoors was not practicable. They had no acquaintance 
 with the Dares; consequently, Herbert, could plead no excuse for 
 calling in upon them— none at least that would be likely to carry 
 weight with Patience. And so the young lady reconciled her con- 
 science in the best way she could, stole out as often as she was able 
 to meet him, and left discovery to take care of itself. 
 
 Discovery came in the shape of William Halliburton. It was bad 
 enough ; but far less alarming to Anna than it might have been. 
 Had her father dropped upon her, she would have run away and 
 fallen into the nearest pond, in her terror and consternation. 
 
 Though guilty of certain trifling inaccuracies — such as protesting 
 that she "did not care" for Herbert Dare — Anna, in that interview 
 with William, fully meant to keep the promise she made, not to 
 meet him again. Promises, however, given under the influence of 
 terror or other sudden emotion, are not always kept. It would 
 probably prove so with Anna's. One thing was indisputable — that 
 where a mind could so far forget its moral rectitude as to practise 
 deceit in one particular, as Anna was doing, it would not be very 
 scrupulous to keep its better promises. 
 
 Anna's thoughts for many a morning latterly, when she arose, 
 had been " This evening I shall see him," and the prospect seemed 
 to quicken her fingers, as it quickened her heart. But on the 
 morning after the discovery, her first thought was, " I must never 
 see him again as I have done. How shall I warn him not to come?" 
 That he would be in the field again that evening, unless warned, 
 she knew : if William Halliburton saw him there, a quarrel might 
 ensue between them ; at any rate, an unpleasant scene. Anna 
 came down, feeling cross and petulant, and inclined to wish William 
 had been at the bottom of the sea before he had found out what he 
 did the previous evening. 
 
 " Where there's a will, there's a way," it is said. Anna Lynn 
 contrived that day to exemplify it. Her will was set upon seeing 
 Herbert Dare, and she did see him : it can scarcely be said by acci- 
 dent. Anna contrived to be sent into the town by Patience on an 
 errand, and she managed to linger so long in the neighbourhood of 
 Mr. Dare's office, gazing in at the shops in West Street (if Patience 
 had only seen herl), that Herbert Dare passed. 
 
 " Anna ! " 
 
 " Herbert, I have been waiting in the hope of seeing thee," she 
 whispered, her manner timid as a fawn, her pretty cheeks blushing. 
 " Thee must not come again in the evening, for I cannot meet thee." 
 
 " Why so ? " asked Herbert. 
 
 "William Halliburton saw me with thee last night, and he says 
 it is not right. I liad to give him my promise not to meet thcc 
 again, or else he would have told my father,"
 
 LOOKING INTO THE SHOP WINDOWS. 279 
 
 Herbert cast a word to William ; not a complimentary one. 
 " What business is it of his 1 " he asked. 
 
 " I dare not stay talking to thee, Herbert. Patience will be likely 
 sending Grace after me, finding me so long away. But I was 
 obliged to tell thee this, lest thee should be coming again. Fare 
 thee well ! " 
 
 Passing swiftly from him, Anna went on her way. Herbert did 
 not choose to follow her in the open street. She went along, poor 
 child, with her head down and her eyelashes glistening. It was 
 little else than bitter sorrow thus to part with Herbert Dare. 
 
 Patience was standing at the door, looking out for her when she 
 came in sight of home. Patience had given little heed to what 
 William Halliburton had said the previous night, or she might not 
 have sent Anna into Helstonleigh alone. In point of fact. Patience 
 had thought Wilham a little fanciful. But when, instead of being 
 home at four o'clock, as she ought to have been, the clock struck 
 five, and she had not made her appearance. Patience began to think 
 she did let her have her liberty too much, 
 
 " Now, where hast thee been 1 " was Patience's salutation, delivered 
 in icy tones. 
 
 " I met so many people, Patience. They stayed to talk with 
 me." 
 
 Brushing past Patience, deaf to her subsequent reproofs, Anna 
 flew up to her own room. When she came down, her father had 
 entered, and Patience was pouring out the tea. 
 
 " Wilt thee tell thy father where thee hast been ? " 
 
 The command was delivered in Patience's driest tone. Anna, 
 inwardly tormented, outwardly vexed, burst into tears. The Quaker 
 looked up in surprise. 
 
 Patience explained. Anna had left home at three o'clock to 
 execute a little commission : she might well have been honic in three- 
 quarters of an hour, and she had only made her appearance now. 
 
 " What kept thee, child ? " asked her father. 
 
 " I only looked in at a shop or two," pleaded Anna, through her 
 tears. " There were the prettiest new engravings in at Thomas 
 Woakam's ! If Patience had wanted me to run both ways, she should 
 have said so." 
 
 Notwithstanding the little spice of impertinence peeping out in the 
 last sentence, Samuel Lynn saw no reason to correct Anna. That 
 she could ever be wrong, he scarcely admitted to his own heart. 
 " Dry thy tears, child, and take thy tea," said he. " Patience wanted 
 thee, maybe, for some household matter ; it can wait another oppor- 
 tunity. Patience," he added, as if to drown the sound of his words 
 and their remembrance, " are my shirts in order ? " 
 
 " Thy shirts in order ? " repeated Patience. " Why dost thee ask 
 that ? " 
 
 " I should not have asked it without reason," returned he. " Wilt 
 thee please give me an answer ? " 
 
 " The old shirts are as much in order as things, beginning to wear,
 
 28o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 can be," replied Patience. "Thy new shirts I cannot say much about. 
 They will not be finished this side Midsummer, unless Anna sits to 
 them a little closer than she is doing now." 
 
 " Thy shirts will be ready quite in time, father ; before the old 
 ones are gone beyond wearing," spoke up Anna. 
 
 " I don't know that," said Mr. Lynn. " Had they been ready, child, 
 I might have wanted them now. I am going a journey." 
 
 " Is it the French journey thee hast talked of once or twice lately.'*" 
 interposed Patience. 
 
 " Yes," said Samuel Lynn. " The master was speaking to mc 
 about it this afternoon. We were interrupted, and I did not alto- 
 gether gather when he wishes me to start ; but I fancy it will be 
 immediately " 
 
 " Oh, father ! couldst thee not take me ? " 
 
 The interruption came from Anna. Her blue eyes were glistening, 
 her cheeks were crimson ; a journey to the interior of France wore 
 charms for her as great as it did for Cyril Dare. All the way home 
 from West Street, she had been thinking how she should spend her 
 miserable home days, debarred of the evening snatches of Mr. 
 Herbert's charming society. Going to France would be something. 
 
 " I wish I could take thee, child ! But thee art aware thee might 
 as well ask me to take the Malvern Hills." 
 
 In her inward conviction, Anna believed she might. Before she 
 could oppose any answering, but most useless argument, Samuel 
 Lynn's attention was directed to the road. Parting opposite to his 
 house, at if they had just walked together from the manufactory, 
 were Mr. Ashley and William Halliburton. The master walked 
 on. William, catching Samuel Lynn's eye, came across and 
 entered. 
 
 Mr. Ashley had been telling William some news. Though no vacil- 
 lating man in a general way, it appeared that he had again recon- 
 sidered his determination with regard to despatching William to 
 France. He had come to the jcsolvc to send him, as well as Samuel 
 Lynn. William could not help surmising that his betrayed emotion 
 the previous night, his fears touching Mr. Ashley's reason for not 
 sending him, may have had something to do with that gentleman's 
 change of mind. 
 
 " Will you be troubled with me ? " asked he of Mr. Lynn, when 
 he had imparted this to him. 
 
 " If such be the master's fiat, I cannot help being troubled with 
 thee," was the answer of Samuel Lynn ; but the tone of his voice 
 spoke of anything rather than dissatisfaction. " Why is he sending 
 thee as well as myself?" 
 
 " He told mc he thought it might be best that you should show 
 me the markets, and introduce me to the skin merchants, as I should 
 probably have to make the journey alone in future," replied William. 
 " I had no idea, until the master mentioned it now, that you had 
 ever made the journey yourself, Mr. Lynn ; you never told me." 
 
 •' There was nothing, that I am aware of, to call for the infornin,*
 
 PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF. 281 
 
 tion," observed the Quaker, in his usual dry manner. " I went there 
 two or three times on my own account when 1 was in business for 
 myself. Did the master tell thee when he should expect us to 
 start ? " 
 
 " Not precisely. The beginning of the week, I think." 
 
 " I have been asking my father if he cannot take me," put in Anna, 
 in a plaintive tone, looking at William. 
 
 "And I have answered her, that she may as well ask me to take 
 the Malvern Hills," was the rejoinder of Samuel Lynn. " I could 
 as likely take the one as the other." 
 
 Likely or unlikely, Samuel Lynn would have taken her beyond all 
 doubt — taken her with a greedy, sheltering grasp — had he foreseen 
 the result of leaving her at home, the grievous trouble that was to fall 
 upon her head 
 
 "Thee wilt drink a dish of tea with us this evening, William?" 
 
 It was Patience who spoke. William hesitated, but he saw they 
 would be pleased at his doing so, and he sat down. The conversa- 
 tion turned upon France — upon Samuel Lynn's experiences, and 
 William's anticipations. Anna lapsed into silence and abstraction. 
 
 In the bustle of moving, when Samuel Lynn was departing for the 
 manufactory, William, before going home to his books, contrived to 
 obtain a word alone with Anna. 
 
 " Have you thought of our compact ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said, freely meeting his eyes, in honest truth. " I saw 
 him this afternoon in the street ; I went on purpose to try and meet 
 him. He will not come again." 
 
 " That is well. Mind and take care of yourself, Anna," he added, 
 with a smile. " I shall be away, and not able to give an eye to you, 
 as I freely confess it had been my resolve to do." 
 
 Anna shook her head. " He does not come again," she repeated. 
 " Thee may go away believing me, William." 
 
 And William did go away believing her — went away to France 
 putting faith in her ; thinking that the undesirable intimacy was at 
 an end for ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF. 
 
 In the early part of March, Samuel Lynn and William departed on 
 the journey to France. And the first thought that occurred to 
 Patience afterwards was one that is apt to occur to many thrifty 
 housekeepers on the absence of the master — that of instituting a 
 thorough cleansing of the house, from garret to cellar ; or, as Anna 
 mischievously expressed it, " turning the house inside out." She 
 knew Patience did not like her wild phrases, and therefore she used 
 them,
 
 282 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Patience was parting with Grace— the servant who had been with 
 them so many years. Grace had resolved to get married. In vain 
 Patience assured her that marriage, generally speaking, was found 
 to be nothing better than a bed of thorns. Grace would not listen. 
 Others had risked the thorns before her, and she thought she must 
 try her chance with the rest. Patience had no resource but to fall 
 in with the decision, and to look out for another servant. It appeared 
 that she could not readily find one ; at least, one whom she would 
 venture to engage. She was unusually particular ; and while she 
 waited and looked out, she engaged Hester Dell, a humble member 
 of her own persuasion, to come in temporarily. Hester lived with 
 her aged mother, not far off, chiefly supporting herself by doing fine 
 needlework at her own, or at the Friends' houses. She readily con- 
 sented to take up her abode with Patience for a month or so, to help 
 with the housework, and looked upon it as a sort of holiday. 
 
 " It's of no use to begin the house until Grace shall be gone," 
 observed Patience to Anna. " She'd likely be scrubbing the paper 
 on the walls, instead of the paint, for her head is turned just now." 
 
 " What fun, if she should ! " ejaculated Anna. 
 
 " Fun for thee, perhaps, who art ignorant of cost and labour," 
 rebuked Patience. " I shall wait until Grace has departed. The day 
 that she goes, Hester comes in; and I shall have the house begun 
 the day following." 
 
 " Couldn't thee have it begun the same day ? " saucily asked 
 Anna. 
 
 " Will thee attend to thy stitching ? " returned Patience sharply. 
 " Thy father's wristbands will not be done the better for thy non- 
 sense." 
 
 " Shall I be turned out of my bedroom ? " resumed Anna. 
 
 " For a night, perchance. Thee canst go into thy father's. But the 
 top of the house will be done first." 
 
 " Is the roof to be scrubbed ? " went on Anna. " I don't know how 
 Hester will hold on while she does it." 
 
 " Thee art in one of thy wilful humours this morning," responded 
 Patience. " Art thee going to set me at defiance now thy father's 
 back is turned ? " 
 
 " Who said anything about setting thee at defiance ? " asked Anna. 
 " I should like to see Hester scrubbing the roof! " 
 
 "Thee hadst better behave thyself, Anna," was the retort of Patience. 
 And Anna, in her lighthearted wilfulness, burst into a merry laugh. 
 
 Grace departed, and Hester came in : a quiet little body, of forty 
 years, with dark hair and defective teeth. Patience, as good as her 
 word, was up betimes the following morning, and had the house up 
 betimes, to institute the ceremony. Their house contained the same 
 accommodation as did Mrs. Halliburton's, with this addition— that 
 the garret in the Quaker's had been partitioned off into two chambers. 
 Patience slept in one ; Grace had occupied the other. The three bed- 
 rooms on the floor beneath were used, one by Mr. Lynn, one by 
 Anna; the other was kept as a spare {-oom, for any chance visitor;
 
 PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF. 283 
 
 the " best room, it was usually called. The house belonged to Mr. 
 Lynn. P^ormcrly, both houses had belonged to him ; but at the time 
 of his loss he had sold the other to Mr. Ashley. 
 
 The ablutions were in full play. Hester, with a pail, mop, and 
 scrubbing-brush, and other essentials, was ensconced in the top 
 chambers ; Anna, ostensibly at her wristband stitching (but the work 
 did not get on very fast), was singing to herself, in an undertone, in 
 one of the parlours, the door safely shut ; while Patience was exer- 
 cising a general superintendence, giving an eye everywhere. Suddenly 
 there echoed a loud noise, as of a fall, and a scream resounded 
 throughout the house. It appeared to come from what they usually 
 called the bedroom floor. Anna flew up the stairs, and Hester Dell 
 flew down the upper ones. At the foot of the garret stairs, her head 
 against the door of Anna's chamber, lay Patience and a heavy bed- 
 pole. In attempting to carry the pole down from her room, she had 
 somehow become entangled with it, and had fallen heavily. 
 
 "Is the house coming down .'' " Anna was beginning to say. But 
 she stopped in consternation when she saw Patience. Hester 
 attempted to pick her up. 
 
 " Thee cannot raise me, Hester. Anna, child, thee must not 
 attempt to touch me. I fear my leg is br " 
 
 Her voice died away, her eyes closed, and a hue, as of death, 
 overspread her countenance. Anna, more terrified than she had 
 ever been in her life, flew round to Mrs. Halliburton's. 
 
 Dobbs, from her kitchen, saw her coming — saw the young face 
 streaming with tears, heard the short cries of alarm — and Dobbs 
 stepped out. 
 
 " Why, what on earth's the matter now?" asked she. 
 
 Anna seized Dobbs, and clung to her ; partly that, to do so, 
 seemed some protection in her great terror. " Oh, Dobbs, come in 
 to Patience ! " she cried. " I think she's dying." 
 
 The voice reached the ears of Jane. She came forth from the 
 parlour. Dobbs was then running in to Samuel Lynn's, and Jane 
 ran also, understanding nothing. 
 
 Patience was reviving when they entered. All her cry was, that 
 they must not move her. One of her legs was in some manner 
 doubled under her, and doubled over the pole. Jane felt a convic- 
 tion that it was broken. 
 
 " Who can run fastest ? " she asked. " We must have Mr. Parry 
 here." 
 
 Hester waited for no further instruction. She caught up her 
 fawn-coloured Quaker shawl and grey bonnet, and was off, putting 
 them on as she ran. Anna, sobbing wildly, turned and hid her 
 face on Jane, as one who wants to be comforted. Then, her mood 
 changing, she threw herself down beside Patience, the tears from 
 her own eyes falling on Patience's face. 
 
 " Patience, dear Patience, canst thee forgive me ? I have been 
 wilful and naughty, but I never meant to cross thee really, I did 
 it only tq teage thee ; I loved thee all the while."
 
 28+ MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Patience, suffering as she was, drew down the repentant face to 
 kiss it fervently. " I know it, dear child ; I know thee. Don't thee 
 distress thyself for me." 
 
 Mr. Parry came, and Patience was carried into the spare room. 
 Her leg was broken, and badly broken; the surgeon called it a 
 compound fracture. 
 
 So there was an end to the grand cleansing scheme for a long 
 time to come! Patience lay in sickness and pain, a'->d Hester had 
 to make her her first care. Anna's spirits revived in a day or two. 
 Mr. Parry said a cure would be effected in time ; that the worst of 
 the business was the long confinement for Patience ; and Anna 
 forgot her dutiful fit of repentance. Patience would be well again, 
 would be about as before; and, as to the present confinement, Anna 
 rather grew to look upon it as the interposition of some good fairy, 
 who must have taken her own liberty under its special protection. 
 
 Whether Anna would have succeeded in eluding the vigilance of 
 Patience up cannot be told ; she certainly did that of Patience 
 doivn. Anna had told Herbert Dare that he was not to pay a visit 
 to Atterly's field again, or expect her to pay one ; but Herbert Dare 
 was about the last person to obey such advice. Had William 
 HaUiburton remained to be— as Herbert termed it— a treacherous 
 spy, there's no doubt that Herbert would have striven to set 
 his vigilance at defiance : with Wilham's absence, the field, both 
 literally and figuratively, was open to him. In the absence of Samuel 
 Lynn, it was doubly open. Herbert Dare knew perfectly well that 
 if the Quaker once gained the slightest inkling of his secret acquaint- 
 ance with Anna, it would effectually be put a stop to. To wear a 
 cloak resembhng William Halliburton's, on his visits to the field, 
 had been the result of a bright idea. It had suddenly occurred to 
 Mr. Herbert, that if the Quaker's lynx eyes did by mischance catch 
 sight of the cloak, promenading some fine night at the back of his 
 residence, they would accord it no particular notice, concluding the 
 wearer to be William Halliburton taking a moonlight stroll at the 
 back of his residence. Nevertheless, Herbert had timed his visits 
 so as to make pretty sure that Samuel Lynn was beyond view, 
 safely ensconced in Mr. Ashley's manufactory ; and he had generally 
 succeeded. Not quite always, as the reader knows . 
 
 Anna was of a most persuadable nature. In defiance of her 
 promise to William, she suftcrcd Herbert Dare to persuade her 
 again into the old system of meeting him. Guileless as a child, 
 never giving thought to wrong or to harm — beyond the wrong and 
 harm of thus clandestinely stealing out, and that wrong she con- 
 veniently ignored— she saw nothing very grave in doing it. Herbert 
 could not come indoors ; Patience would lae sure not to welcome 
 him; and therefore, she logically argued to her own mind, she must 
 go out to him. 
 
 She had learnt to like Herbert Dare a great deal too well not to 
 wish to meet him, to talk with him. HerlDcrt, on his part, had 
 learnt to like her. An hour passed in whispering to Anna, in nii§'
 
 PATIENCE COME TO GRIEF. 285 
 
 cViicvously untying her sober cap, and letting the curls fall, in laying 
 his own hand fondly on the young head, and telling her he cared 
 for her beyond every earthly thing. It had grown to be one of his 
 most favourite recreations : and Herbert was not one to deny him- 
 self any recreation that he took a fancy to. He intended no harm 
 to the pretty child. It is possible that, had any one seriously 
 pointed out to him the harm that might arise to Anna, in the esti- 
 mation of Helstonleigh, should these stolen meetings be found out, 
 Herbert might for once have done violence to his inclinations, and 
 not have persisted in them. Unfortunately — very unfortunately, as 
 it was to turn out — there was no one to give this word of caution. 
 Patience was ill, William vvv.s away : and no one else knew anything 
 about it. In point of fact. Patience could not be said to know any- 
 thing, for William's warning had not made the impression upon her 
 that it ought to have done. Patience's confiding nature was in 
 fault. For Anna deliberately to meet Herbert Dare or any other 
 " Herbert " in secret, she would have deemed a simple impossibility. 
 In the judgment of Patience, it had been nothing less than irre- 
 deemable sin. 
 
 What did Herbert Dare promise to himself, in thus leading Anna 
 into this imprudence.'' Herbert promised himself nothing — beyond 
 the passing gratification of the hour. Herbert had never been one 
 to give any care to the future, for himself or for any one else; and 
 he was not likely to begin to do it at present. As to seeking Anna 
 for his wife, such a thought had never crossed his mind. In the 
 first place, at the rate the Dares — Herbert and his brothers — were 
 going on, a wife for any of them seemed amongst the impossibilities. 
 Unless, indeed, she made the bargain beforehand, to live upon air; 
 there was no chance of their having anything else to live upon. 
 But, had Herbert been in a position, pecuniarily considered, to 
 marry ten wives, Anna Lynn would not have been one of them. 
 Agreeable as it might be to him to linger with Anna, he considered 
 her far beneath himself; and pride, with Herbert, was always in 
 the ascendant. Herbert had been introduced to Anna Lynn at 
 Mrs. Ashley's, and that threw a sort of prestige around her. She 
 was also enshrined in the respectable Quaker body of the town. 
 But for these facts, for being who she was, Herbert might have 
 been less scrupulous in his behaviour towards her. He would not 
 —it may be as well to say he dared not — be otherwise than con- 
 siderate towards Anna Lynn ; but, on the other hand, he would not 
 have considered her worthy to become his wife. On the part of 
 Samuel Lynn, he would far rather have seen his child in her coffin, 
 than the wife of Herbert Dare. The young Dares did not bear a 
 good name in Helstonleigh. 
 
 In this most uncertain and unsatisfactory state of things, what 
 on earth — as Dobbs had said to Anna — did Herbert want with her 
 at all ? Far, far better that he had allowed Anna to fall in with 
 the sensible advice of William Halliburton — " Do not meet him 
 again." It was a sad pity ; and it is very probable that Herbert
 
 2^6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Dare regretted it afterwards, in the grievous misery it entailed. 
 Misery to both ; and without positive ill conduct on the part of" 
 either. 
 
 But that time has not yet come, and we are only at the stage of 
 Samuel Lynn's absence and Patience's broken leg. Anna had 
 taken to steal out again ; and her wits were at work to concoct a 
 plausible excuse for her absences to Hester Dell, that no tales might 
 be carried to Patience. 
 
 " Hester, Patience is a fidget. Thee must see that. She would like 
 me to keep at my work all day, all day, evening too, and never 
 have a breath of fresh air ! She'd like me to shut myself up in this 
 parlour, as she has now to be shut up in her room ; never to be in 
 the garden in the lovely twilight ; never to run and look at the 
 pretty lambs in the field ; never to go next door, and say ' How 
 dost thee ? ' to Jane Halliburton ! It's a shame, Hester ! " 
 
 " Well, I think it would be, if it were true," responded Hester, a 
 simple woman in mind and speech, who loved Anna almost as well 
 as did Patience. " But dost thee not think thee art mistaken, 
 child.? Patience seems anxious that thee should go out. She says 
 I am to take thee," 
 
 " I dare say ! " responded Anna ; " and leave her all alone ! How 
 would she come downstairs with her broken leg, if any one knocked 
 at the door? She's a dreadful fidget, Hester. She'd like to watch 
 me as a cat watches a mouse. Look at last night ! It's all on 
 account of these shirts. She thinks I shan't get them done. I 
 shall." 
 
 " Why, dear, I think thee wilt," returned Hester, casting her eyes 
 on the work. " Thee art getting on with them." 
 
 " I am getting on nicely. I have done all the stitching, and 
 nearly the plain part of the bodies ; I shall soon be at the gathers. 
 What did she say to thee last night ? " 
 
 " She said, ' Go to the parlour, Hester, and see whether Anna 
 does not want a light.' And I came and could not find thee. 
 And then she said thee wast always running into the next door, 
 troubling them, and she would not have it done. Thee came in 
 just at the time, and chc scolaed thee." 
 
 " Yes, she did," resentfully spoke Anna. " I tell thee, Hester, 
 she's the worst fidget breathing. I give thee my word, Hester, 
 that I had not been inside the Halliburtons' door. I had been 
 in this garden and in the field. I had been close at work all 
 day " 
 
 " Not quite all day, dear," Interrupted Hester, willing to smooth 
 matters to the child as far as she was able. " Thee hadst thy friend 
 Mary Ashley here to call in the morning, and thee hadst Sarah 
 Dixon in the afternoon." 
 
 " Well, I had been at work a good part of the day," corrected 
 Anna, " and I wanted some fresh air after it. Where's the 
 crime.'"' 
 
 " Crime, dear! It's only natural. If I had not my errands to go
 
 I'HK GOVERNESS'S EXPEDITION. 287 
 
 Upon, and so take the air that way, I should like myself to run to the 
 field, when my work was done." 
 
 " So would any one else, except Patience," tetorted Anna. 
 " Hester, look thee. When she asks after me again, thee hast no 
 need to tell her, should I have run out. It only tklgets her, and she 
 is not well enough to be fidgeted. Thee tell her I am at my sewing. 
 But I ca7i't be sewing for ever, Hester; I must have a few minutes' 
 holiday from it now and then. Patience might have cause to 
 grumble if I ran away and left it in the day." 
 
 "Well, dear, I think it is only reasonable," slowly answered 
 Hester, considering the matter over. " I'll not tell her thee art in 
 the garden again ; for she must be kept tranquil, friend Parry 
 says." 
 
 " She was just as bad when I was a little girl, Hester," concluded 
 Anna. " She wouldn't let me run in the garden alone then, for 
 fear I should eat the gooseberries. But it is not gooseberry season 
 now." 
 
 " All quite true and reasonable," thought Hester Dell. 
 
 And so the young lady contrived to enjoy a fair share of evening 
 liberty. Not but that she would have done with more, had she 
 known how to get it. And as the weeks went on, and the cold 
 weather of early spring merged into summer days, into more genial 
 nights, she and Herbert Dare grew bold in their immunity from 
 discovery, and scarcely an evening passed but they might have 
 been seen, had any one been on the watch, in Farmer Atterly's 
 field. Anna had reached the point of taking his arm now ; and 
 there they would pace under cover of the hedge, Herbert talking, 
 and Anna dreaming that she was in Eden. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE GOVERNESS'S EXPEDITION. 
 
 Herbert Dare sat enjoying the beauty of the April evening in the 
 garden of Pomeranian Knoll. He was hoisted on the back of 
 a garden bench, and balanced himself astride it, the tip of one toe 
 resting on the seat, the other foot dangling. The month was 
 drawing to its close, and the beams of the setting sun streamed 
 athwart Herbert's face. It might be supposed that he had seated 
 himself there to bask in the soft, still air, and lovely sunset. In 
 point of fact, he hardly knew whether the sun was rising or setting 
 — whether the evening was fair or foul — so buried was he in deep 
 thought and perplexing care. 
 
 The particular care which was troubling Herbert Dare, was one 
 which has, at some time or other, troubled the peace of a great 
 many of us. It was pecuniary embarrassment. Herbert had been 
 in it for a long time ; had, in fact, been sinking into it deeper and
 
 2S8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 deeper. He had managed to ward it off hitherto in so'.bc way of 
 other ; but the time to do that much longer was going by. He was 
 not given to forethought, it has been previously mentioned ; but he 
 could not conceal from himself that unpleasantness would ensue, 
 and that speedily, unless something could be done. What was that 
 something to be? He did not know; he could not imagine. His 
 father protested that he had not the means to help him ; and Her- 
 bert believed that Mr. Dare spoke truth. Not that Mr. Dare knew 
 of the extent of the embarrassment. Had he done so, it would 
 have come to the same thing, so far as his help went. His sons, as 
 he said, had drained him to the utmost. 
 
 Anthony passed the end of the walk. Whether he saw Herbert 
 or not, certain it was, that he turned away from his direction. 
 Herbert hfted his eyes, an angry light in them. He lifted his voice 
 also, angry, too. 
 
 "Here, you! Don't go skulking off because you see me sitting 
 here. I want you." 
 
 Anthony was taken to. It is more than probable that he was 
 skulking off, and that he had seen Herbert, for he did not par- 
 ticularly care then to come into contact with his brother. Anthony 
 was in embarrassment" on his own score ; was ill at ease from more 
 causes than one ; and when the mind is troubled, sharp words do 
 not tend to soothe it. Little else than sharp words had been 
 exchanged latterly between Anthony and Herbert Dare. 
 
 It was no temporary ill-feeling, vexed to-day, pleased to-morrow, 
 which had grown up between them ; the ill-will had existed a long 
 time. Herbert believed that his brother had injured him, had 
 wilfully played him false, and his heart bitterly resented it. That 
 Anthony was in fault at the beginning, was undoubted. He had 
 drawn Herbert unsuspiciously — unsuspiciously on Herbert's part, 
 you understand — into some mess with regard to bills. Anthony 
 was fond of "bills;" Herbert, more wise in that respect, had never 
 meddled with them : his opinion coincided with his father's : they 
 were edged tools, which cut both ways. " Eschew bills if you want 
 to die upon your own bed," was a saying of Mr. Dare's, frequently 
 uttered for the benefit of his sons. Good advice, no doubt. Mr. 
 Dare, as a lawyer, ought to know. Herbert had held by the 
 advice; Anthony never had; and the time came when Anthony 
 took care that his brother should not. 
 
 In a period ol deep embarrassment for Anthony, he had per- 
 suaded Herbert to sign two bills for him, their aggregate amount 
 being large ; assuring him, in the most earnest and apparently 
 truthful manner, that the money to meet them, when due, was 
 already provided. Herbert, in his good nature, fell into the snare. 
 It turned out not only that the bills were not met at all, but 
 Anthony had so contrived it that Herbert should be responsible, 
 not he himself Herbert regarded it as a shameful piece of treachery, 
 and never ceased to reproach his brother. Anthony, who was of 
 a sullen, morose temper, resented the reproach ; and they did not
 
 THE GOVERNESS'S EXPEDITION. 289 
 
 lead together the liappiest of lives. The bills were not settled yet ; 
 indeed, they formed part of Herbert's nust pressing embarrassments. 
 This was one cause of the ill-feeling between them, and there wcte 
 others, of a different nature. Anthony and Herbert Dare had never 
 been cordial with each other, even in childhood. 
 
 Anthony, called by Herbert, advanced. "Who wants to skulk 
 away?" asked he. " Are you judging me by yourself.? " 
 
 " I hope not," returned Herbert, in a tone of the most withering 
 contempt and scorn. " Listen to me. I've told you five hundred 
 times that I'll have some settlement, and if you don't come to it 
 amicably, I'll force you to it. Do you hear, you.-* Vl\ force you 
 to it." 
 
 " Try it," retorted Anthony, with a mocking laugh ; and he coolly 
 walked away. 
 
 Walked a-way, leaving Herbert in a towering rage. He felt 
 inclined to follow him , to knock him down. Had Anthony only 
 met the affair in a proper spirit, it had been different. Had he 
 said, " Herbert, I am uncommonly vexed — I'll see what can be 
 done," or words to that effect, half the sting in his brother's mind 
 would have been removed ; but, to taunt Herbert with having to 
 pay — as he sometimes did — was almost unbearable. Had Herbert 
 been of Anthony's temper, he would have' proved that it was quite 
 unbearable. 
 
 But Herbert's temper was roused now. It was the toss of a die 
 whether he followed Anthony and struck him down, or whether he 
 did not. The die was cast by the appearance of Signora Varsini ; 
 and Anthony, for that evening, escaped. 
 
 It was not very gallant of Herbert to remain where he was, in 
 the presence of the governess, astride upon the garden bench. 
 Herbert was feeling angry in no ordinary degree, and this may 
 have been his excuse. She came up, apparently in anger also. 
 Her brow was frowning, her compressed mouth was drawn in until 
 its lips were hidden. 
 
 There is good advice in the old song or saying : " It is well to 
 be off with the old love, before you are on with the new." As good 
 advice as that of Mr. Dare's, relative to the bills. Herbert might 
 have sung it in character. He should have made things square 
 with the Signora Varsini, before entering too extensively on his 
 friendship with Anna Lynn. 
 
 Not that the governess could be supposed to occupy any posi- 
 tion in the mind or heart of Herbert Dare, except as governess, 
 governess to his sisters. Herbert would probably have said so, 
 had you asked him. What s/w might have said, is a different 
 matter. She looks angry enough to say anything just now. The 
 fact appeared to be — so far as any one not personally interested 
 in the matter could be supposed to gather it— that Herbert had 
 latterly given offence to the governess, by not going to the school- 
 room for what he called his Itahan lessons. Of course he could 
 not be in two places at once; and if his leisure hour after dinner 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. I'-'
 
 290 
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 was spent in Atterly's field, it was impossible that he could be in 
 the school-room, learning Italian of the governess. But she resented 
 it as a shght. She was of an exacting nature ; probably of a jealous 
 nature; and she regarded it as a personal slight, and resented it 
 bitterly. She had been rather abrupt in speech and manner to 
 Herbert, in consequence ; and that, he resented. But, being 
 naturally of an easy temper, Herbert was no friend to unnecessary 
 disputes. He tried what he could towards soothing the young 
 lady; and, finding he effected no good in that way, he adopted the 
 other alternative — he shunned her. The governess perceived this, 
 and worked herself up into a state of semi-fury. 
 
 She came down upon him in full sail. The moment Herbert saw 
 her, he remembered having given her a half-promise the previous 
 day to pay her a visit that evening. " Now for it," thought he to 
 himself. 
 
 " Why you keep me waiting like this ? " began she, when she was 
 close to him. 
 
 "Have I kept you waiting?" civilly returned Herbert. "I am 
 very sorry. The fact is, mademoiselle, I have a good deal of 
 worry upon me, and I'm fit for nobody's company but my own 
 to-night. You might not have thanked me for my visit, had I come." 
 
 " That is my own look-out," replied the governess. " When a 
 gentleman makes a promise to me, I expect him to keep it. I go 
 up to the school-room, and I wait, I wait, I wait ! Ah, my poor 
 patience, how I wait ! I have that copy of Tasso, that you said 
 you would like to see. Will you come.'"' 
 
 Herbert thought he was in for it. He glanced at the setting 
 sun — at least, at the spot where the sun had gone down, for it 
 had sunk below the horizon, leaving only crimson streaks in the 
 grey sky to tell of what had been. Twilight was rapidly coming 
 on, when he would depart to pay his usual evening visit : there was 
 no time, he decided, for Tasso and the governess. 
 
 " I'll come another evening," said he. " I have an engagement, 
 and I must go out to keep it." 
 
 A stony hardness settled on the young lady's face. " What 
 engagement? " she imperatively demanded. 
 
 It might be thought that Herbert would have been justified in 
 civilly declining to satisfy her curiosity. What was it to her? 
 Apparently he thought otherwise. Possibly he was afraid of an 
 outbreak. 
 
 " What engagement ! Oh— I am going to play a pool at billiards 
 with Lord Hawkesley. He is in Helstonleigh again." 
 
 " And that is what you go for, every evening, — to play billiards 
 with Lord Hawkesley?" she resumed, her eyes glistening ominously. 
 
 "Of course it is, mademoiselle. With Hawkesley or other 
 fellows." 
 
 " A lie ! " curtly responded mademoiselle. 
 
 " I say," cried Herbert, laughing good-huniouredly : "do you call 
 that orthodox language ? "
 
 THS GOVERNESS'S EXPEDITION. 291 
 
 *' It nothing to you what I call it," she cried, clipping her words 
 in her vehemence, as she would do when excited. " It not with 
 Milord Hawkeslev, not to billiards that you go! I know it is 
 not." 
 
 " Then I tell you that I often play billiards," cried Herbert. " On 
 my honour I do." 
 
 " May-be, may-be," answered she, very rapidly. " But it not to 
 billiards that you go every evening. Every evening ! — every even- 
 ing ! Not an evening now, but you go out, you go out ! I bought 
 Tasso — do you know that I bought Tasso ? — that I have bought it 
 with my money, that you may have the pleasure of hearing me read 
 it, as you said — as you call it ? Should I spend the money, had I 
 thought you would not come when I had it — would not care to hear 
 it read 1 " 
 
 Had she been in a more amiable mood, Herbert would have told 
 her that she was a simpleton for spending her money ; he would 
 have told her that Tasso, read in the original, would have been 
 to him unintelligible as Sanscrit. He had a faint remembrance 
 of saying to mademoiselle that he should like to read Tasso, in 
 answer to a remark that Tasso was her favourite of the Italian 
 poets : but he had only made the observation carelessly, without 
 seriously meaning anything. And she had been so foolish as to go 
 and buy it ! 
 
 " Will you come this evening and hear it begun ?" she continued, 
 breaking the pause, and speaking rather more graciously. 
 
 " Upon my word of honour, Bianca, I can't to-night," he answered, 
 feeling himself, between the two — the engagement made, and the 
 engagement sought to be made — somewhat embarrassed. " I will 
 come another evening ; you may depend upon me." 
 
 " You say to me yesterday that you would come this evening ; 
 that I might depend upon you. Much you care! " 
 
 " But I could not help myself An engagement arose, and I was 
 obliged to fall in with it. I was, indeed. I'll hear Tasso another 
 evening." 
 
 " You will not break your paltry engagement at billiards to keep 
 your word to a lady ! C'est bien ! " 
 
 " It — it is not altogether that," replied Herbert, getting out of 
 the reproach in the best way he could. " I have some business 
 as well." 
 
 She fastened her glistening eyes upon him. There was an expres- 
 sion in them which Herbert neither understood nor liked. " C'est 
 tres bien ! " she slowly repeated. " I know where you are going, and 
 for what ! " 
 
 A smile — at her assumed knowledge, and what it was worth — 
 flitted over Herbert Dare's face. " You are very wise," said he. 
 
 " Take care of yourself, mon ami ! C'est tout ce que je vous dis." 
 
 " Now, mademoiselle, what is the matter, that you should look 
 and speak in that manner ? " he asked, still in the same good- 
 humoured tone, as if he would fain pass the affair away in a joke.
 
 292 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I'm sure I have enough bother upon me, without your adding 
 to it." 
 
 " What is your bother ? " 
 
 " Never mind : it would give you no pleasure to know it. It is 
 caused by Anthony — and be hanged to him ! " 
 
 " Anthony is worth ten of you ! " fiercely responded mademoiselle. 
 
 " Every one to his own liking," carelessly remarked Herbert. 
 *' It's well for me that all the world does not think as you do, made- 
 moiselle." 
 
 Mademoisolle looked as though she would like to beat him. 
 " So ! " she foamed, drawing back her bloodless hps ; " now that 
 your turn is served, Bianca Varsini may just be sent to the enfer ! 
 Garde-toi, mon camarade ! " 
 
 " Garde your voice," replied Herbert. " The cows yonder will 
 think it's a tempest. I wish my turn 7C'as served, in more ways 
 than one. What particular turn do you mean ? If it's buying Tasso, 
 I'll purchase it from you at double price." 
 
 He could not help giving her a little chaff. It was what he 
 would have called it : chaff. Exacting people fretted his generally 
 easy temper, and he was beginning to fear that she would detain 
 him until it was too late to see Anna. 
 
 But, on the latter score, he was set at rest. With a few words, 
 spoken in Italian, she nodded her head angrily at him, and turned 
 away. Fierce words, in spite of their low tone, Herbert was sure 
 they were, but he could not catch one of them. Had he caught 
 them all, it would have come to the same, so far as his understanding 
 went. Excellent as Signora Varsini's method of teaching Italian 
 may have been, her lessons had not as yet been very efficient for 
 Herbert Dare. 
 
 She crossed her hands before her, and went down the walk, taking 
 the path to the house. Proceeding straight up to the school-room, 
 she met Cyril on the stairs. He had apparently been dressing 
 himself for the evening, and was going out to spend it. The 
 governess caught him abruptly, pulled him inside the school-room, 
 and closed the door. 
 
 " I say, mademoiselle, what's that for ? " asked Cyril, believing, 
 by the fierce look of the young lady, that she was about to take 
 some summary vengeance upon him. 
 
 " Cyril ! you tell me. Where is it that Herbert goes to of an 
 evening ? Every evening — every evening ? " 
 
 Cyril stared excessively. "What does it concern you to know 
 where he goes, mademoiselle?" returned he. 
 
 " I want to know for my own reasons, and that's enough for 
 you. Monsieur Cyril. Where does he go.'"' 
 " He goes out," responded Cyril. 
 
 The governess stamped her foot petulantly. " I could tell you 
 that he gbes out. I ask you where it is that he goes?" 
 
 "How should I know?" was Cyril's answer. "It's not my 
 business."
 
 THE GOVERNESS'S EXPEDITION. 293 
 
 " Doii't you know ? " demanded mademoiselle. 
 
 " No, that I don't," heartily spoke Cyril. " Do you suppose I 
 watch him, mademoiselle.'' He'd pretty soon pitch into me, if he 
 caught me at that game. I dare say he goes to billiards." 
 
 The suggestion excited the ire of the governess. " He has been 
 telling you to say so ! " she said, menace in every tone of her voice, 
 in every gesture of her lifted hand. 
 
 Cyril opened his eyes to their utmost width. He could not 
 understand why the governess should be asking him this, or why 
 Herbert's movements should concern her. " I know nothing at all 
 about it," he answered ; and, so far, he spoke the truth. " I don't 
 know that Herbert goes anywhere in particular of an evening. If 
 he docs, he would not tell me." 
 
 She laid her hand heavily upon his shoulder; she brought her 
 face— terrible in its livid earnestness — almost into contact with his. 
 " Ecoutez, mon ami," she whispered to the amazed Cyril. " If 
 you are going to play this game with me, I will play one with you. 
 Who wore the cloak to that boucherie, and got the money ? — who 
 ripped out the dcossais side afterwards, leaving it all mangled and 
 open? Think you, I don't know.'' Ah, ha! Monsieur Cyril, you 
 cannot plav the farce with me ! " 
 
 Cyril's face turned ghastly, drops of sweat broke out over his 
 forehead. "Hush!" he cried, looking round in the instinct of 
 terror, lest listeners should be at hand. 
 
 " Yes ; you say, ' Hush ! ' " she resumed. " I will hush if you don't 
 make me speak. I have hushed ever since. You tell me what I 
 want to know, and I'll hush always." 
 
 "Mademoiselle Varsini ! " he cried, his manner too painfully 
 earnest for her to doubt now that he spoke the truth : " 1 declare 
 that I know nothing of Herbert's movements. I don't know where 
 he goes or what he does. When I told you I supposed he went to 
 billiards, I said what I thought might be the case. He may go to 
 fifty places' of an evening, for all I can tell. Tell me what it is you 
 want found out, and I will try and do it." 
 
 Cyril was not one to play the spy upon his brother; in fact, 
 as he had just classically observed to the young lady, Herbert 
 would have " pitched into " him, had he found him attempting it. 
 And serve him right ! But Cyril saw that he was in her power ; 
 and that made all the difference. He would now have tracked 
 Herbert to the ends of the earth at her bidding. 
 
 But she did not bid him. Quite the contrary. She took her 
 hand from Cyril's shoulder, opened the door, and said she did not 
 want him any longer. " It is no matter," cried she; " I wanted to 
 learn something about Monsieur Herbert, for a reason; but if you 
 do not know it, let it pass. It is no matter." 
 
 Cyril departed ; first of all lifting his cowardly face. It looked a 
 coward's then. " You'll keep counsel, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 " Yes. When people don't offend me, I don't ofiend them." 
 
 She stood a.t the door after he had gone down, half in, half out of
 
 294 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 the room, apparently in deep thought. Presently footsteps were 
 heard coming up, and she retreated and closed the door. 
 
 They were those of Herbert. He went on to his room, remained 
 there a few minutes, and then came out again. Mademoiselle had 
 the door ajar as he descended. Her quick eye detected that he had 
 been giving a few finishing touches to his toilette — brushing his hair, 
 pulling down his wristbands, and various other little odds and ends 
 of dandyism. 
 
 " And you do that to play billiards ! " nodded she, inwardly, as 
 she looked after him. " I'll see, monsieur." 
 
 Upstairs with a soft step went she, to her own chamber. She 
 reached from her box a long and loose dark-green cloak, similar to 
 those worn by the women of France and Flanders, and a black silk 
 quilted bonnet. It was her travelling attire, and she put it on 
 now. Then she locked her chamber door behind her, and slipped 
 down into the dining-room, with as soft a step as she had gone up. 
 
 Passing out at the open window, she kept tolerably under cover 
 of the trees, and gained the road. It was quite dusk then, but she 
 recognized Herbert before her, walking with a quick step. She put 
 on a quick step also, keeping a safe distance between herself and 
 him. He went through the town, to the London road, and turned 
 into Atterley's field. The governess turned into it after him. 
 
 There she stopped under the hedge, to reconnoitre. A few 
 minutes, and she could distinguish that he was joined by some 
 young girl, whom he met with every token of respect and confidence. 
 A strange cry went forth on the evening air. 
 
 Herbert Dare was startled. "What noise was that?" he ex- 
 claimed. 
 
 Anna had heard nothing. " It must have been one of the lambs 
 in the field, Herbert." 
 
 " It was more like a human voice in pain," observed Herbert. 
 But they heard no more. 
 
 They began their usual walk — a few paces backward and forward, 
 beneath the most sheltered part of the hedge, Anna taking his arm. 
 Mademoiselle could see, as well as the darkness allowed her ; but 
 she could not hear. Her face, peeping out of the ^shadowy bonnet, 
 was not unlike the face of a tiger. 
 
 She crawled away. She had noticed as she turned into the field 
 an iron gate that led into the garden, which the hedge skirted. 
 She crept round to it, found it locked, and mounted it. It had 
 spikes on the top, but the signora would not have cared just then 
 had she found herself impaled. She got safe over it, and then con- 
 sidered how to reach the spot where they stood without their 
 hearing her. 
 
 Would she be baffled ? She be baffled ! No. She stooped down, 
 unlaced her boots, and stole softly on in her stockings. And there 
 she was ! almost as close to them as they were to each other. 
 
 Where had the signora heard those gentle, timid tones before? 
 A lovely girl, looking little more than a child, in her modest Quaker
 
 THE QUARREL 295 
 
 dress, rose to her mind's eye. She had seen her with Miss Ashley. 
 She — the signora — knelt down upon the earth, the better to catch 
 what was said. 
 
 " Listeners never hear any good of themselves." It is a proverb 
 too often exemplified, as the signora could have told that night. 
 Herbert Dare was accounting for his late appearance, which he laid 
 to the charge of the governess. He gave a description of the inter- 
 view she had volunteered him in the garden at home — more ludi- 
 crous, perhaps, than true, but certainly not complimentary to the 
 signora. Anna laughed ; and the lady on the other side gathered 
 that this was not the first time she had formed a topic of merriment 
 between them. You should have seen her face. Pour plaisir, as 
 she herself might have said. 
 
 She stayed out the interview. When it was over, and Herbert 
 Dare had departed, she put on her boots and mounted the gate 
 again ; but she was not so agile this time, and a spike entered her 
 wrist. Binding her handkerchief round it, to arrest the blood, she 
 returned to Pomeranian Knoll. 
 
 Five hundred questions were showered upon her when she entered 
 the drawing-room, looking calm and impassable as ever. Not a 
 tress of her elaborate braids of hair was out of place ; not a fold 
 awry in her dress. Much wonder had been excited by her failing 
 to appear at tea ; Minny had drummed a waltz on her chamber 
 door, but mademoiselle would not open it, and would not speak. 
 
 " I cannot speak when I ani lying down with those vilaine head- 
 aches," remarked mademoiselle. 
 
 " Have you a headache, mademoiselle? " asked Mrs. Dare, " Will 
 you have a cup of tea brought up? " 
 
 Mademoiselle declined the tea. She was not thirsty. 
 
 "What have you done to your wrist, mademoiselle?" called out 
 Herbert, who was stretched on a sofa, at the far end of the room. 
 
 " My wrist? Oh, I scratched it," 
 
 " How did you manage that? " 
 
 " Ah, bah ! it's nothing." responded mademoiselle. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI L 
 
 THE QUARREL. 
 
 It is grievous, when ill-feeling arises between brothers, that that 
 ill-feeling should be cherished, instead of being subdued. But such 
 was the case with Anthony and Herbert Dare. By the time the 
 sunny month of May came in, matters had grown to such a height 
 between them, that Mr. Dare found himself compelled to interfere. 
 It was beginning to make things in the house uncomfortable. They 
 would meet at meals, and not only abstain from speaking to each 
 other, but take every possible opportunity of showing mutual and
 
 296 MRS. HALLIBURTON'o TROUBLES. 
 
 marked discourtesy. No positive outbreak between them had as 
 yet taken place in the presence of the family : but it was only 
 smouldering, and might be daily looked for. 
 
 Mr. Dare, so far as the original cause went, blamed his eldest 
 son. Undoubtedly Anthony had been solely in fault. It was a 
 dishonourable, ungenerous, unmanly act, to draw his brother into 
 trouble, and to do it plausibly and deceitfully. At 'i\\q present stage 
 of the affair, Mr. Dare saw occasion to blame Herbert more than 
 Anthony. " It is you who keep up the ball, Herbert," he said to 
 him. " If you would suffer the mv.tter to die away, Anthony would 
 do so." " Of course he would," Herbert replied. '' "^ie has served 
 his turn, and would be glad that it should end there.'' 
 
 It was in vain that Mr. Dare talked to them. A dozen times did 
 he recommend them to " shake hands and make it up." Neither 
 appeared inclined to take the advice. Anthony \/as sullen. He 
 would have been content to let the affair drop quietly into oblivion : 
 perhaps, as Herbert said, had been glad that it should so drop ; 
 l3ut, make the slightest move towards it, he \vo\\-\ not. Herbert 
 openly said that he'd noi shake hands. If Anthony wanted ever to 
 shake hands with him again, let him pay up. 
 
 There lay the grievance ; " paying up." The bills, not paid, were 
 a terrible thorn in the side of Herbert Dare. He was responsible, 
 and he knew not one hour from another but he might be arrested 
 on them. To soothe matters between his sons, Mr. Dare would 
 willingly have taken the charge of payment upon himself, but he 
 had positively not the money to do it with. In point of fact, Mr. 
 Dare was growing seriously embarrassed on his own score. He had 
 had a great deal of trouble with his sons, with Anthony in particu- 
 lar, and he had grown sick and tired of helping them out of 
 pecuniary difficulties. Still, he would have relieved Herbert of this 
 one nightmare, had it been in his power. Herbert had been deluded 
 into it, without any advantage to himself; therefore Mr. Dare had 
 the will, could he have managed it, to help him out. He told 
 Herbert that he would see what he could do after a while. The 
 promise did not relieve Herbert of present fears; neither did it 
 restore peace between the malcontents. Had Herbert been relieved 
 of that particular embarrassment, others would have remained to 
 him ; but that fact did not in the least lessen his soreness, as to the 
 point in question. 
 
 It was an intensely hot day ; far hotter than is usual at the 
 season; and the afternoon sun streamed full on the windows of 
 Pomeranian Knoll, suggesting thoughts of July, instead of May. A 
 gay party — at any rate, a party dressed in gay attire — were crossing 
 the hall to enter a carriage that waited at the door. Mr. Dare, 
 Mrs. Dare, and Adelaide. Mrs. Dare had always been given to 
 gay attire, and her daughters had inherited her taste. They were 
 going to dine at a friend's house, a few miles' distance from Helston- 
 leigh. The invitation was for seven o'clock. It was now striking 
 six, the dinner-hour at Mr. Dare's,
 
 THE QUARREL. 297 
 
 Minny, looking half melted, had perched herself upon the end of 
 the balustrades to watch the departure 
 
 " You'll fall, child," said Mr. Dare. 
 
 INIinny laughed, and said there was no danger of her falling. She 
 wondered what her papa would think if he saw her sometimes at her 
 gymnastics on the balustrades, taking a sweeping slide from the top 
 to the bottom. She generally contrived that he should not see her; 
 or mademoiselle, either. Mademoiselle had caught sight of the 
 performance once, and had given her a whole French fable to learn, 
 by way of punishment. 
 
 "Are we to have strawberries for dinner, mamma?" asked Minny. 
 
 " You will have what I have thought proper to order," replied 
 Mrs. Dare rather sharply. She was feeling hot and cross. Some- 
 thing had put her out while dressing. 
 
 " I think you might wait for strawberries until they are ripe in 
 our own garden ; not buy them in the shops regardless of cost," 
 interposed Mr. Dare, speaking for the general benefit, but not to 
 any one in particular. 
 
 Minny dropped the subject. " Your dress is turned up, Adelaide," 
 said she. 
 
 Adelaide looked languidly behind her, and a maid, who had fol- 
 lowed them down, advanced and put right the refractory dress : a 
 handsome dress of pink silk, glistening with its own richness. At 
 that moment Anthony entered the hall. He had just come home 
 to dinner, and looked in a very bad humour. 
 
 " How late you'll be ! " he cried, 
 
 " Not at all. We shall drive there in an hour." 
 
 They swept out at the door, Mrs. Dare and Adelaide. Mr. Dare 
 was about to follow them, when a sudden thought appeared to strike 
 him, and he turned back and addressed Anthony. 
 
 " You young men take care that you don't get quarrelling with 
 each other. Do you hear, Anthony? " 
 
 " I hear," ungraciously replied Anthony, not turning round to 
 speak, but continuing his way up to his dressing-room. He prob- 
 ably regarded the injunction with contempt, for it was too much in 
 Anthony Dare's nature so to regard all advice, of whatever kind. 
 Nevertheless it had been well that he had given heed to it. It had 
 been well that that last word to his father had been one of affection ! 
 
 Dinner was served. Anthony, in the absence of Mr. and Mrs. 
 Dare, took the head. Rosa, with a show of great parade and cere- 
 mony, assumed the seat opposite to him, and said she should be 
 mistress. Minny responded that Rosa was not going to be mistress 
 over hcr^ and the governess desired Miss Rosa not to talk so loudly. 
 Rather derogatory checks, these, to the dignity of a " mistress." 
 
 Herbert was not at table. Irregular as the young Dares were in 
 many of their habits, they were generally home to dinner. Minny 
 wondered aloud where Herbert was. Anthony replied that he was 
 " skulking." 
 
 '' .Skulking ! " echoed Minny,
 
 298 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Yes, skulking," angrily repeated Anthony. " He left the office at 
 three o'clock, and has never been near it since. And the governor 
 left at four ! " he added, in a tone that seemed to say he considered 
 that also a grievance. 
 
 " Where did Herbert go to?" asked Rosa. 
 
 " I don't know," responded Anthony. " I only know that I had a 
 double share of work to do." 
 
 Anthony Dare was no friend to work. And having had to do 
 a little more than he would have done, had Herbert remained at his 
 post, had considerably aggravated his temper. 
 
 " Why should Monsieur Herbert go away and leave you his work 
 to do?" inquired the governess, lifting her eyes from her plate to 
 Anthony. 
 
 " I shall take care to ask him why," returned Anthony. 
 
 " It is not fair that he should," continued mademoiselle. " I 
 would not have done it for him. Monsieur Anthony." 
 
 " Neither should I, had I not been obliged," said Anthony, not in 
 the least relaxing from his ill-humour, either in looks or tone. " It 
 was work that had to be done before post-time, and one of our clerks 
 is away on business to-day." 
 
 Dinner proceeded to its close. Joseph hesitated, unwiUing to 
 remove the cloth. " Is it to be left for Mr. Herbert? " he asked. 
 
 " No! " imperiously answered Anthony. " If he cannot come in 
 for dinner, dinner shall not be kept for him." 
 
 " Cook is keeping the things by the fire, sir." 
 
 " Then tell her to save herself the trouble." 
 
 So the cloth was removed, and dessert put on. To Minny's 
 inexpressible disappointment it turned out that there were no 
 strawberries. This put her into an ill-humour, and she left the 
 table and the room, declaring she would not touch anything else. 
 Mademoiselle Varsini called her back, and ordered her to her seat ; 
 she would not permit so great a breach of discipline. Cyril and 
 George, who were not under mademoiselle's control, gulped down 
 a glass of wine, and hastened out to keep an engagement. It was 
 a very innocent one ; a cricket match had been organized for the 
 evening, by some of the old college boys ; and Cyril and George 
 were amongst the players. It has never been mentioned that Mr. 
 Ashley, in his strict sense of justice, had allowed Cyril the privilege 
 of spending his evenings at home, five nights in the week, as he did 
 to William Halliburton. 
 
 The rest remained at table. Minny, per force; Rosa, to take an 
 unlimited quantity of oranges; Mademoiselle Varsini, because it 
 was the custom to remain. But mademoiselle soon rose and with- 
 drew with her pupils ; Anthony was not showing himself a par- 
 ticularly sociable companion. He had not touched any dessert; 
 but seemed to be drinking a good deal of wine. 
 
 As they were going out of the room, Herbert bustled in. " Now 
 then, take care! " cried he, for Minny, paying little attention to Jiev 
 niovements, had gone full tilt at hinij
 
 THE QUARREL. 299 
 
 "Oh! Herbert, can't you see? "cried she, dolefully rubbing her 
 head. " What made you so late .'' Dinner's gone away." 
 
 "It can be brought in again," replied Herbert carelessly. " Comme 
 il est chaud ! n'est-ce pas, mademoiselle ? " 
 
 This last was addressed to the governess. Rosa screamed with 
 laughter at his bad French, and mademoiselle smiled. " You get 
 on in French as you do in Italian, Monsieur Herbert," cried she. 
 " And that is what you call — backward." 
 
 Herbert laughed good-humouredly. He did not know what par- 
 ticular mistake he had made ; truth to say, he did not care. They 
 withdrew, and he rang the bell for his dinner. 
 
 " Mind, Herbert," cried Minny, putting in her head again at the 
 door, " papa said you were not to quarrel." 
 
 Better, perhaps, that she had not said it ! Who can tell .^ 
 
 The brothers remained alone. Anthony sullen, and, as yet, silent. 
 He appeared to have emptied the port wine decanter, and to be 
 beginning at the sherry! Herbert strolled past him; supreme in- 
 difference in his manner— some might have said contempt — and 
 stood just outside the window, whistling. 
 
 You have not forgotten that this dining-room window opened to 
 the ground. The apartment was long and somewhat narrow, the 
 window large and high, and opening in the centre, after the manner 
 of a French one. The door was at one end of the room ; the 
 window at the other. 
 
 Anthony was in too quarrelsome a mood to remain silent long. 
 He began the skirmish by demanding what Herbert meant by 
 absenting himself from the office for the afternoon, and where he 
 had been to. His resentful tone, his authoritative words, were not 
 calculated to win a very civil answer. 
 
 They did not win one from Herbert. His tone was resentful, 
 too ; his words were coolly aggravating. Anthony was not his 
 master; when he was, he might, perhaps, answer him. Such was 
 their purport. 
 
 A hot interchange of words ensued. Nothing more. Anthony 
 remained at the table ; Herbert, half in, half out of the window, 
 leaned against its frame. When Joseph returned to put things in 
 readiness for Herbert's dinner, they had subsided into quietness. 
 It was only a lull in the storm. 
 
 Joseph placed the dessert nearer Anthony's end of the table, 
 and laid the cloth across the other end. Herbert came into the 
 room. "What a time you are with dinner, Joseph!" cried he. 
 " One would think it was being cooked over again." 
 
 " Cook's warming it, sir." 
 
 "Warming it!" echoed Herbert. "Why couldn't she keep it 
 warm ? She might be sure I should be home to dinner." 
 
 " She was keeping it warm, sir ; but Mr. Anthony ordered it to be 
 put away." 
 
 Now, the man had really no intention of making mischief when 
 he ?aid this: that it might cause ill-feehng between the brothers,
 
 300 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 never crossed his mind. He was only anxious that he and the 
 cook should stand free from blame ; for the young Dares, when 
 displeased with the servants, were not in the habit of sparing them. 
 Herbert turned to Anthony. 
 
 " What business have you to interfere with my dinner .'' Or with 
 anything else that concerns me ? " 
 
 " I choose to make it my business," insolently retorted Anthony. 
 
 At this juncture Joseph left the room. He had laid the cloth, and 
 had nothing more to stop for. Better perhaps that he had remained ! 
 Surely they would not have proceeded to extremities, the brothers, 
 before their servant! In a short time, sounds, as if both were in a 
 terrible state of fury, resounded through the house from the dining- 
 room. The sounds did not reach the kitchen, which was partially 
 detached from the house ; but the young ladies heard them, and 
 came running out of the drawing-room. 
 
 I'he governess was in the school-room. The noise penetrated 
 even there. She also came forth, and saw her two pupils extended 
 over the balustrades, listening. At any other time mademoiselle 
 would have reproved them : now she crept down and leaned over 
 in company. 
 
 "What can be the matter ? " whispered she. 
 
 " Papa told them not to quarrel ! " was all the answer, uttered by 
 Minny. 
 
 It was a terrible quarrel — there was little doubt of that ; no child's 
 play. Passionate bursts of fury rose incessantly, now from one, now 
 from the other, now from both. Hot recrimination ; words that 
 were not suited to unaccustomed ears — or to any ears, for the matter 
 of that — rose high and loud. The governess turned pale, and Minny 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Some one ought to go into the room," said Rosa. " Minny, you 
 go ! Tell them to be quiet." 
 
 " I am afraid," replied Minny, 
 
 "So am I." 
 
 A fearful sound : an explosion louder than all the rest. A noise 
 as if some heavy weight had been thrown down. Had it come to 
 blows ? Minny shrieked, and at the same moment Joseph was seen 
 coming along with a tray, Herbert's dinner upon it. 
 
 His presence seemed to bring with it a sense of courage, and Rosa 
 and Minny flew down, followed by the governess. Herbert had been 
 knocked down by Anthony. He was gathering himself up when 
 Joseph opened the door. Gathering himself up in a tempest of 
 passion, his white face a livid fury, as he caught hold of a knife 
 from the table and rushed upon Anthony. 
 
 But Joseph was too quick for him. The man dashed his tray on 
 the table, seized Herbert, and turned the uplifted knife downwards. 
 " I'"or Heaven's sake, sir, recollect yourself! " said he. 
 
 Recollect himself then? No. Persons, who put themselves into 
 that mad state of passion, cannot " recollect " themselves. Joseph 
 kept his hold, and the dining-room resounded with shrjcks and sobs.
 
 THE QUARREL. 3or 
 
 They proceeded from Rosa and IMinny. They pulled their 
 brothers by the coats, they implored, they entreated. The women 
 servants came flying from the kitchen, and the Italian governess 
 asked the two gentlemen in French whether they were not ashamed 
 of themselves. 
 
 Perhaps they were. At any rate the quarrel was, for the time, 
 ended. Herbert flung the knife upon the table and turned his white 
 face upon his brother. 
 
 " Take care of yourself, though ! " cried he, in a marked tone : " I 
 swear you shall have it, yet." 
 
 They pulled Anthony out of the room, Rosa and Minny ; or it is 
 difficult to say what rejoinder he might have made, or how violently 
 the c[uarrel might have been renewed. It was certain that he had 
 taken more wine than was good for him ; and that, generally speak- 
 ing, did not improve the temper of Anthony Dare. Mademoiselle 
 Varsini walked by his side, talking volubly in French. Whether 
 she was sympathizing or scolding, Anthony did not know. Not 
 particularly bright at understanding French at the best of times, 
 even when spoken slowly, he could not, in his present excitement, 
 catch the meaning of a single word. Entering the drawing-room, 
 he threw himself upon the sofa, intending to smooth down his ruffled 
 plumage by taking a nap. 
 
 Herbert meanwhile had remained in the dining-room, smoothing 
 down his ruffled plumage. Joseph and the cook were bending over 
 the debris on the carpet. When Joseph dashed down his tray on 
 the table, a dish of potatoes had bounded off; both dish and 
 potatoes, thereby, coming to grief. Herbert sat down and made an 
 excellent dinner. His was not a sullen temper ; and, unlike Anthony, 
 the affair once over, he was soon himself again. Should they come 
 into contact again directly, there was no saying how it would end, 
 or what might ensue. His dinner over, he went by-and-by to the 
 drawing-room. Joseph had just entered, and was arousing Anthony 
 from the sleep he had dropped into. 
 
 " One of the waiters from the Star-and-Garter has come, sir. He 
 says Lord Hawkeslcy has sent him to say that the gentlemen are 
 waiting for you." 
 
 " I can't go, tell him," responded Anthony, speaking as he looked, 
 thoroughly out of sorts. " I am not going out to-night. Here ! 
 Joseph ! " for the man was turning away with the message. 
 
 "Sir?" 
 
 " Take these, and bring me my slippers." 
 
 " These " were his boots, which he, not very politely, kicked off 
 in the ladies' presence, and sent flying after Joseph. The man 
 stooped to pick them up, and was carrying them away. 
 
 " Here ! — what a hurry you are in ! " began Anthony again. " Take 
 lights up to my chamber, and the brandy, and some cold water. 
 I shall make myself comfortable there for the night. This room's 
 unbearable, with its present company." 
 
 The last was a shaft levelled at Herbert. He did not retort, for
 
 362 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 a wonder. In fact, Anthony afforded little time for it. Before the 
 words had well left his lips, he had left the room. Herbert began 
 to whistle ; its very tone insolent. 
 
 It appeared almost certain that the unpleasantness was not yet 
 over; and Rosa audibly wished her papa was at home. Joseph 
 carried to Anthony's room what he required, and then brought 
 the tea to the drawing-room. Herbert said he should take tea 
 with them. It was rather unusual for him to do so : it was very 
 unusual for Anthony not to go out. Their sisters felt sure that 
 they were only staying in to renew hostilities; and again Rosa 
 almost passionately wished for the presence of her father. 
 
 It was dusk by the time tea was over. Herbert rose to leave 
 the room. " Where are you going ? " cried mademoiselle sharply 
 after him. 
 
 " That's my business," he replied, not in too conciliatory a tone. 
 Perhaps he thought the question proceeded from one of his sisters, 
 for he was outside the door when it reached him. 
 
 " He is going into Anthony's room ! " cried Rosa, turning pale, as 
 they heard him run upstairs. " Oh, mademoiselle ! what can be 
 done ? I think I'll call Joseph." 
 
 " Hush ! " cried mademoiselle. " Wait you here. I will go and 
 see." 
 
 She stole out of the room and up the stairs, intending to recon- 
 noitre. But she had no time to do so. Herbert was coming down 
 again, and she could only slip inside the school-room door, and peep 
 out. He had evidently been upstairs for his cloak, for he was put- 
 ting it on as he descended. 
 
 " The cloak on a hot night like this ! " said mademoiselle men- 
 tally. " He must want to disguise himself! " 
 
 She stopped to listen. Joseph had come up the stairs, bringing 
 something to Anthony, and Herbert arrested him, speaking in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " Don't make any mistake to-night about the dining-room window, 
 Joseph. I can't think how you could have been so stupid last 
 night ! " 
 
 "Sir, I assure you I left it undone, as usual," replied Joseph. 
 " It must have been master who fastened it." 
 
 "Well, take care that it does not occur again," said Herbert. 
 " I expect to be in between ten and eleven ; but I may be later, and 
 I don't want to ring you up again." 
 
 Herbert went swiftly downstairs and out, choosing to depart by 
 the way, as it appeared, that he intended to enter— the dining-room 
 window. Joseph proceeded to Anthony's chamber : and the gover- 
 ness returned to her frightened pupils in the drawing-room. 
 
 "A la bonne hcure!" she said to them. "Monsieur Herbert 
 has gone out, and I heard him say to Joseph that he had gone for 
 the evening." 
 
 "Then it's all safe!" cried Minny. And she began dancing 
 round the room. " Mademoiselle, how pale you look ! "
 
 THE QUARREL. 303 
 
 Mademoiselle had sat down in her place before the tea-tray, and 
 Was leaning her cheek upon her hand. She was certainly looking 
 unusually pale. " Enough to make me ! " she said, in answer to 
 Minny. "If there were to be this disturbance often in the houSe, 
 I would not stop in it for double my appointeinents. It has given 
 me one of those vilaijie headaches, and I think I shall go to bed. 
 You will not be afraid to stay up alone, mcsdemoiselles?" 
 
 " There is nothing to be afraid of now," promptly answered Rosa, 
 who had far rather be without her governess's company than with 
 it. " Don't sit up for us, mademoiselle." 
 
 " Then I will go at once," said mademoiselle. And she wished 
 them good night, and retired to her chamber.
 
 PART THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ANNA LYNN'S DILEMMA. 
 
 It was a lovely evening. One of those warm, still evenings that 
 May sometimes brings us, when gnats hum in the air, and the 
 trees are at rest. The day had been intensely hot : the evening 
 was little less so, and Anna Lynn leaned over the gate of their 
 garden, striving to catch what of freshness there might be in the 
 coming night. The garish day was faduig into moonlight ; the 
 distant Malvern Hills grew fainter and fainter on the view; the 
 little lambs in the field — growing into great lambs now, some of 
 them — had long lain down to rest ; and the Thursday evening bells 
 came chiming pleasantly on the ear from Helstonleigh. 
 
 " How late he is to-night! " murmured Anna. " If he does not 
 come soon, I shall not be able to stay out." 
 
 Even as the words passed her lips, a faint movement might be 
 distinguished in the obscurity of the night, telhng of the advent of 
 Herbert Dare. Anna looked round to see that the windows were 
 clear from prying eyes, and went forth to meet him. 
 
 He had halted at the usual place, under cover of the hedge. 
 The hedge of sweetbriar, skirting that side garden into which the 
 Signora Varsini had made good her eijtrce, in the gratification of 
 her curiosity. A shaded walk, and a quiet one : very little fear 
 there, of overlookers. 
 
 " Herbert, thee art late ! " cried Anna. 
 
 "A good thing T was able to come at all," responded Herbert, 
 taking Anna's arm within his own. " I thought at one time I must 
 have remained at home, to chastise my brother Anthony." 
 
 " Chastise thy brother Anthony ! " repeated Anna in astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Herljert, for the first time, told her of the unpleasantness that 
 existed between his brother and himself. He did not mention the 
 precise cause ; but simply said Anthony had behaved ill to him, 
 and drawn down upon him trouble and vexation. Anna was all 
 sympathy. Had Herbert told her the offence had lain on his side, 
 not on Anthony's, her entire sympathy had still been his. She 
 deemed Herbert everything that was good and great and worthy. 
 Anthony — what little she knew of him— she did not like.
 
 ANNA LYNN'S DILEMMA. 305 
 
 " Herbert, maybe he will be striking thee in secret, when thee art 
 unprepared." 
 
 " Let him! " carelessly replied Herbert. " I can strike again. I 
 am stronger than he is. I know one thing : either he or I muse 
 leave my father's house and take lodgings; we can't stop in it 
 together." 
 
 " It would be he to leave it, would it not, Herbert? Thy father 
 would not be so unjust as to turn thee out for thy brother's fault." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Herbert. " I expect it is I who 
 would have to go. Anthony is the eldest, and my mother's 
 favourite.'^ 
 
 Anna lifted her hand, in her innocent surprise. Anthony the 
 favourite by the side of Herbert? She could not understand, how 
 so great an anomaly could exist. 
 
 Interested in the topic, the time slipped on. During a moment 
 of silence, when they had halted in their walk, they heard what was 
 called the ten o'clock bell strike out from Helstonleigh : a bell thc^t 
 boomed out over the city every night for ten minutes before ten 
 o'clock. The sound startled Anna. She had indeed overstayed 
 her time. 
 
 "One moment, Anna!" cried Herbert, as she was preparing to 
 fly off. " There can't be any such hurry. Hester will not be going 
 to bed yet, on a hot night like this. I wanted you to return me 
 that book, if you have done with it. It is not mine, and I have 
 been asked for it." 
 
 Truth to say, Anna would be glad to return it. The book was 
 Moore's " Lalla Rookh," and Anna had been upon thorns all the 
 time she had been reading it, lest by some unlucky mishap it might 
 reach the eyes of Patience. She thought it everything that was 
 beautiful ; she had read pages of it over and over again ; they wore 
 for her a strange enchantment : but she had a shrewd suspicion that 
 neither book nor reading would be approved by Patience. "I'll 
 bring it out to thee at once, Herbert, if I can," she hastily said. 
 " If not, I will give it thee to-morrow evening." 
 
 " Not so fast, young lady," said Herbert, laughing, and detaining 
 her. "You may not come back again. I'll wish you good night 
 
 now." 
 
 " Nay, please thee let me go ! What will Hester say to me?" 
 
 Scarcely giving a moment to the adieu, Anna sped with swift feet 
 to the garden gate. But, the moment she was within the barrier, 
 and had turned the key, she began — little dissembler that she v/as! 
 — to step on slowly, in a careless, tionchalant manner, looking up at 
 the sky, turning her head to the trees, in no more hurry apparently 
 than if bed-time were three hours off. She had seen Hester Dell 
 standing at the house door. 
 
 " Child," said Hester gravely, "thee shouldst not stay out so late 
 at this." 
 
 " It is so warm a night, Hester! " 
 
 " But thee shouldst not be beyond the premises. Patience would 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton'^ Troubles. 'Si
 
 3o6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 not like it. It is past thy bed-time, too. Patience's sleeping-draught 
 has not come," she added, turning to another subject. 
 
 " Her sleeping-draught not come! " repeated Ann in surprise. 
 
 "It has not. I have been expecting the boy to knock every 
 minute, or I should have come to see after thee. Friend Parry 
 may have forgotten it." 
 
 " Why, of course he must have forgotten it," said Anna, inwardly 
 promising the boy a sixpence for his forgetfulness. " The medicine 
 always comes in the morning. Will Patience sleep without it ? " 
 
 " I fear me not. What dost thee think? Suppose I were to run 
 for it ? " 
 
 " Yes, do, Hester." 
 
 They went in, Hester closing the back door and locking it. She 
 put on her shawl and bonnet, and was going out at the front door 
 when the clock struck ten. 
 
 " It is ten o'clock, child," she said to Anna. " Thee go to bed. 
 Thee needst not sit up. I'll take the latch-key with me and let 
 myself in." 
 
 "Oh, Hester! I don't want to go to bed yet," returned Anna 
 fretfully. " It is like a summer's evening." 
 
 " But thee hadst better, child," urged Hester. " Patience has been 
 angry with me once or twice, saying I suffer thee to sit up late. 
 A pretty budget she will be telling thy father on his return ! 
 Thee go to bed. Thy candle is ready here on the slab. Good 
 night." 
 
 Hester departed, shutting fast the door, and carrying with her 
 the latch-key. Anna, fully convinced that friend Parry's forgetful- 
 ness, or the boy's, must have been designed as a special favour to 
 herself, went softly into the best parlour to take the book out of her 
 pretty work-table. 
 
 But the room was dark, and Anna could not find her keys. She 
 believed she had left her keys on the top of this very work-table ; 
 but, feel as she would, she could not place her hands upon them. 
 With a word of impatience, lest, with all her hurry, Herbert Dare 
 should be gone before she could return to him with the book, she 
 went to the kitchen, lighted the chamber candle, spoken of by 
 Hester as placed ready for her use, and carried it into the parlour. 
 
 Her keys were found on the mantel-piece. She unlocked the 
 drawer, took from it the book, blew out the candle, and ran through 
 the garden to the field. 
 
 Another minute, and Herbert would have left. He was turning 
 away. In truth, he had not in the least expected to see Anna back 
 again. " Then you have been able to come ! " he exclaimed, in his 
 surprise. 
 
 " Hester is gone out," explained Anna. " Friend Parry has for- 
 gotten to send Patience's medicine, and Hester has gone for it. 
 Herbert, thee only think! But for Hester's expecting Parry's boy 
 to knock at the door, she would have come out here searching for 
 me! She said she would. I must never forget the time again.
 
 ANNA LYNN'S DILEMMA. 307 
 
 There's the book, and thank thee. I am sorry and yet glad to give 
 it thee back." 
 
 "Is that not a paradox?" asked Herbert, with a smile. "I do 
 not know why you should be either sorry or glad : to be both seems 
 inexplicable." 
 
 " I am sorry to lose it : it is the most charming book I have read, 
 and but for Patience I should like to have kept it for ever," returned 
 Anna with enthusiasm. " But I always felt afraid of Hester's find- 
 ing it and carrying it up to Patience. Patience would be angry; 
 and she might tell my father. That is why I am glad to give it 
 back to thee." 
 
 " Why did you not lock it up ? " asked Herbert. 
 
 " I did lock it up. I locked it in my work-table drawer. But I 
 forget to put my keys in my pocket : I leave them about anywhere. 
 I should have been out with it sooner, but that I could not find the 
 keys." 
 
 Anna was in no momentary hurry to run in now. Hester was 
 safe for full twenty minutes to come, therefore her haste need not 
 be so great. She knew that it was past her bed-time, and that 
 Patience would be wondering (unless by great good-fortune Patience 
 should have dropped asleep) why she did not go in to wish her good 
 night. But these reflections Anna conveniently ignored, in the 
 charm of remaining longer to talk about the book. She told 
 Herbert that she had been copying the engravings, but she must 
 put the drawings in some safe place before Patience was about 
 again. " Tell me the time, please," she suddenly said, bringing her 
 chatter to a standstill. 
 
 Herbert took out his watch, and held its face towards the moon. 
 " It is twelve minutes past ten." 
 
 " Then I must be going in," said Anna. " She could be back in 
 twenty minutes, and she must not find me out again." 
 
 Herbert turned with her, and walked to the gate; pacing slowly, 
 both of them, and talking still. He turned in at the gate with her, 
 and Anna made no demur. No fear of his being seen. Patience 
 was as safe in bed as if she had been chained there, and Hester 
 could not be back quite yet. Arrived at the door, closed as Anna 
 had left it, Herbert put out his hand. " I suppose I must bid you 
 a final good night now, Anna," he said in a low tone. 
 
 "That thee must. I have to come down the garden again to 
 lock the gate after thee. And Hester may not be more than three 
 or four minutes longer. Good night to thee, Herbert." 
 
 "Let me see that it is all safe for you, against you do go in," said 
 Herbert, laying his hand on the handle of the door to open it. 
 
 To open It? Nay: he could not open it. The handle resisted 
 his efforts. " Did you lock it, Anna ? " 
 
 Anna smiled at what she thought his awkwardness. " Thee art 
 turning it the wrong way, Herbert. See 1 " 
 
 He withdrew his hand to give place to hers, and she turned the 
 ^andle, softly and gently, the contrary way; that is, she essayed to
 
 3o8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 turn it. But it would n<)t turn for her, any more than it had turned 
 for Herbert Dare. A sick feeling of terror rushed over Anna, as a 
 conviction of the truth grew upon her. Hester Dell had returned, 
 and she was locked out ! 
 
 In good truth, it was no less a calamity. Hester Dell had not 
 gone far from the door on her errand, when she met the doctor's 
 boy with his basket, hastening up with the medicine. " I was just 
 coming after it," said Hester to him. "Whatever brings thee so 
 late ? " 
 
 " Mr. Parry was called out this morning before he had time to 
 make it up, and he has only just come home," was the boy's reply. 
 " Better late than never," he somewhat saucily added. 
 
 " Well, so it is," acquiesced Hester, who rarely gave anything but 
 a meek retort. And she turned back home, letting herself in with 
 the latch-key. The house appeared precisely as she had left it, 
 except that Anna's candle had disappeared from the mahogany slab 
 in the passage. "That's right! the child's gone to bed," sohlo- 
 quised she. 
 
 She proceeded to go to bed herself. The Quaker's was an early 
 household. All Hester had to do now, was to give Patience her 
 sleeping-draught. " Let me see," continued Hester, still in soliloquy, 
 " I think I did lock the back door." 
 
 To make sure, she tried the key and found it was not locked. 
 Rather wondering, for she certainly thought she had locked it, but 
 dismissing the subject the next minute from her thoughts, she locked 
 it now, and took the key out. x'hen she continued her way up to 
 Patience. Patience, lying there lonely and dull with her night-light, 
 turned her eyes on Hester. 
 
 " Did thee think we had forgotten thee, Patience ? Parry has 
 been out all day, the boy says, and the physic is but this minute 
 come." 
 
 " Where's Anna ? " inquired Patience. 
 " She is gone to bed." 
 " Why did she not come to me as usual ? " 
 " Did she not come ?" asked Hester. 
 " I have seen nothing of her all the evening." 
 " Maybe she thought thee'd be dozing," observed Hester, bring- 
 ing forward the sleeping-draught, which she had been pouring into 
 a wine-glass. She said no more. Her private opinion was, that 
 Anna had purposely abstained from the visit, lest she should receive 
 a scolding for going to bed late, her usual hour being half-past nine. 
 Neither did Patience say any more. She was feeling that Anna 
 might be a Utile less ungrateful. She took the draught, and Hester 
 went to bed. 
 
 And poor Anna ? To describe her dismay, her consternation, 
 would be a useless attempt. The doors were fast — the windows were 
 fast also. Herbert Dare essayed to soothe her, but she would not 
 l)e soothed. She sat down on the step of the back door, and cried 
 bitterly; alj her appi'ehfnsion being for the terrible scolding she
 
 ANNA LYNN'S DILEMMA. 309 
 
 should have from Patience, -were it found out ; the worse than 
 scolding', if Patience told her father. 
 
 To give Herbert Dare his due, he felt truly vexed at the dilemma, 
 for Anna's sake. Could he have let her in by getting down a chimney 
 himself, or in any other impromptu way, and so opened the door for 
 her, he would have done it. " Don't cry, Anna," he entreated, " don't 
 cry! I'll take care of you. Nothing shall harm you. I'll not go 
 away." 
 
 The more he talked, the more she cried. Very like a little child. 
 Had Herbert Dare known how to break the glass without noise, he 
 would have taken out a pane in the kitchen window, and so reached 
 the fastening, and opened it. Anna, in worse terror than ever, 
 begged him not to attempt it. It would be sure to arouse Hester. 
 
 " But you'll be so cold, child, staying here all night ! " he urged. 
 " You are shivering now." 
 
 Anna was shivering : shivering with vexation and fear. Herbert 
 thought it would be better that he should boldly knock up Hester; 
 and he suggested it : nay, he pressed it. But the proposal sounded 
 more alarming to Anna than any that had gone before it. It seemed 
 that there was nothing to be done. 
 
 How long she sat there, crying and shivering and refusing to be 
 comforted or to hear reason, she could not tell. Half the night, it 
 seemed. But Anna, you must remember, was counting time by her 
 own state of mind, not by the clock. Suddenly a bright thought, as 
 a ray of light, flashed into her brain. 
 
 " There's the pantry window," she cried, arresting her tears. " How 
 could I ever have forgotten it ? There is no glass, and thee art strong 
 enough to push in the wire." 
 
 This pantry window Herbert Dare had known nothing of It was 
 at the side of the house, thickly surrounded by shrubs ; a square 
 window frame, protected by wire. He fought his way to it amidst 
 the shrubs ; but to get in proved a work of time and difficulty. The 
 window was at some height from the ground, the wire was strong. 
 Anna sat on the door-step, never stirring, leaving him to get in if he 
 could, her tears falling, and terrific visions of Patience's anger chasing 
 each other through her mind. And the night went on. 
 
 " Anna ! " 
 
 She could have shouted forth a cry of delight as she leaped up. 
 He had entered, had found his way to the kitchen window, had 
 gently raised it, and was softly calling to her. Some httle difficulty 
 still, but with Herbert's assistance she was safely landed, a great tear 
 in her dress the only damage. He had managed to obtain a light 
 by means of some fusees in his pocket, and had lighted a candle. 
 Anna sat down on a chair, her face radiant through her tears. 
 " How shall I ever thank thee ? " 
 
 He was looking at his fingers, with a half-serious, half-mocking 
 expression of dismay. The wire had torn them in many places, and 
 they were bleeding. " I could have got in quicker had I forced the 
 wire out in the middle," he observed, " but that would have told tales.
 
 3IO MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 I pushed it away from the side, and have pushed it back again into 
 its place as well as I could. Perhaps it may escape notice." 
 
 " How shall I ever thank thee ? " was all Anna could repeat in 
 her gratitude. 
 
 " Now you know what you must do, Anna," said he. " I am going 
 to jump out through the window, and be off home. You must shut 
 it and fasten it after me : I'd shut it myself, after I'm out, but that 
 these stains on my fingers would be transferred to the frame. 
 And when you leave the kitchen, remember to turn the key of the 
 door outside. I found it turned. Do you understand? And now 
 farewell, my little locked-out princess. Don't say I have not 
 worked wonders for you, as the good spirits do in the fairy tales." 
 
 She caught his hand in her glad delight. She looked at him with 
 a face full of gratitude. Herbert Dare bent down and took a kiss 
 from the up-turned face. Perhaps he thought he had fairly earned 
 the reward. Then he proceeded to swing himself through the 
 window, feeling delighted that he had been able to free Anna from 
 her dilemma. 
 
 Before Helstonleigh arose next morning, a startling report was 
 circulating through the city, the very air teeming with it. A report 
 that Anthony Dare had been killed in the night by his brother 
 Herbert. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 COMMOTION. 
 
 The streets of Helstonleigh, lying so still and quiet in the moon- 
 light, were broken in upon by the noisy sound of a carriage, bowling 
 through them. A carriage that was abroad late. It wanted very 
 little of the time when the church clocks would boom out the two 
 hours after midnight. Time, surely, for all sober people to be in 
 bed! 
 
 The carriage contained Mr. Dare, his wife, and daughter. They 
 went, as you may remember, to a dinner party in the country. The 
 dinner was succeeded by an evening gathering, and it was nearly 
 one o'clock when they left the house to return. It wanted only five 
 minutes to two when the carriage stopped at their own home, and 
 sleepy Joseph opened the door to them. 
 
 " All in bed ? " asked Mr. Dare, as he bustled into the hall. 
 
 " I believe so, sir," answered Joseph, as carelessly as he could 
 speak. Mr. Dare, he was aware, alluded to his sons ; and, not being 
 by any means sure upon the point, Joseph was willing to escape 
 further questioning. 
 
 Two of the maids came forward — the lady's maid, as she was called 
 in the family, and Betsy. Betsy was no other than our old friend, 
 Betsy Carter: once the little maid-of-all-work at Mrs. Halliburton's;
 
 COMMOTION. 3it 
 
 risen now to be a very fine housclnaid at Mrs. Dare's. They had 
 sat up to attend upon Mrs. Dare and Adelaide. 
 
 Mr. Dare had been for a long while in the habit of smoking 
 a pipe before he went to bed. He would have told you that he 
 could not do without it. Did business or pleasure take him 
 out, he must have his pipe when he returned, however late it 
 might be. 
 
 " How hot it is ! " he exclaimed, throwing back his coat. 
 " Leave the hall door open, Joseph : I'll sit outside. Bring me my 
 pipe." 
 
 Joseph looked for the pipe in its appointed resting-place, and 
 could not see it. It was a small, handsome pipe, silver-mounted, 
 with an amber mouth-piece. The tobacco-jar was there, but Joseph 
 could see nothing of the pipe. 
 
 " Law ! I remember! " exclaimed Betsy. " Master left it in the 
 dining-room last night, and I put it under the sideboard when I was 
 doing the room this morning, intending to bring it away. I'll go and 
 get it." 
 
 Taking the candle from Joseph's hand, she turned hastily into the 
 dining-room. Not, however, as hastily as she came out of it. She 
 burst out, uttering a succession of piercing shrieks, and seized upon 
 Joseph. The shrieks echoed through the house, upstairs and down, 
 and Mr. Dare came in. 
 
 " Why, what on earth's the matter, girl .' " cried he. " Have you 
 seen a ghost ? " 
 
 " Oh, sir! Oh, Joseph, don't let go of me; Mr. Anthony's lying 
 in there, dead ! " 
 
 '' Don't be a simpleton," responded Mr. Dare, staring at Betsy. 
 
 Joseph gave a rather less complimentary reprimand, and shook the 
 girl off. But, suddenly, even as the words left his lips, there rose up 
 before his mind's eye the vision of the past evening : the quarrel, the 
 threats, the violence between Anthony and Herbert. A strange 
 apprehension seated itself in the man's mind. 
 
 " Be still, you donkey ! " he whispered to Betsy, his voice scarcely 
 audible, his manner subdued. " I'll go in and see." 
 
 Taking the candle, he went into the dining-room. Mr. Dare 
 followed. The worst thought that occurred to Mr. Dare was, that 
 Anthony might have taken more wine than was good for him, and 
 had fallen down, helpless, in the dining-room. Unhappily, Anthony 
 
 had been known so to transgress. Only a week or two before 
 
 but let that pass : it has nothing to do with us now. 
 
 Mr. Dare followed Joseph in. At the upper end of the room, near 
 the window, lay some one on the ground. It was surely Anthony. 
 He was lying on his side, his head thrown back, his face up-turned. 
 A ghastly face, which sent poor Joseph's pulses bounding on with a 
 terrible fear as he looked down at it. The same face which had 
 scared Betsy when she looked down. 
 
 " He is stark dead ! " whispered Joseph, with a shiver, to Mr. 
 Dare.
 
 312 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mr. Dare, his own life-blood seeming to have stopped, bent over 
 his son by the light of the candle. Anthony appeared to be not only 
 dead, but cold. In his tei-rible shock, his agitation, he still re- 
 membered that it was well, if possible, to spare the sight to his 
 wife and daughter. Mrs. Dare and Adelaide, alarmed by Betsy's 
 screams, had run downstairs, and were now hastening into the 
 room. 
 
 " Go back ! go back ! " cried Mr. Dare, fencing them away with 
 his hands. " Adelaide, you must not come in ! Julia," he added to 
 his wife, in a tone of imploring entreaty, " go upstairs, and keep back 
 Adelaide." 
 
 He half led, half pushed them across the hall. Mrs. Dare had 
 never in all her life seen his face as she saw it now — a face of terror. 
 She caught the fear; vaguely enough, it must be confessed, for 
 she had not heard Anthony's name, as yet, mentioned in connection 
 with it. 
 
 " What is it ? " she asked, holding on by the balustrades. " What 
 is there in the dining-room ? " 
 
 " I don't know what it is," replied Mr. Dare, from between his 
 white lips. " Go upstairs ! Adelaide, go up with your mother." 
 
 Mr. Dare was stopped by more screams. While he was prevent- 
 ing immediate terror to his wife and daughter, the lady's maid, her 
 curiosity excited beyond repression, had slipped into the dining- 
 room, and peeped over Joseph's shoulder. What she had expected 
 to see she perhaps could not have stated ; what she did see was so 
 far worse than her wildest fears, that she lost sense of everything, 
 except the moment's fear ; and shriek after shriek echoed from 
 her. 
 
 A scene of confusion ensued. Mrs. Dare tried to force her way 
 to the room ; Adelaide followed her ; Betsy began bewailing Mr. 
 Anthony, by naine, in wild words. And the sleepers, above, came 
 flocking out of their chambers, with trembling limbs and white 
 faces. 
 
 Mr. Dare put his back against the dining-room door. " Girls, 
 go back! Juha, go back, for the love of Heaven! Mademoiselle, 
 is that you ? Be so good as stay where you are, and keep Rosa and 
 Minny with you." 
 
 " Mais, qu'est-ce que c'est, done ? " exclaimed mademoiselle, 
 speaking, in her wonder, in her most familiar tongue, and, truth to 
 say, paying little heed to Mr. Dare's injunction. " Y a-t-il du mal- 
 heur arrivd ? " 
 
 Betsy went up to her. Betsy recognized her as one not of the 
 family, to whom she could ease her overflowing mind. The same 
 thought had occurred to Betsy as to Joseph. " Poor Mr. Anthony's 
 lying in there dead, mamzel," she whispered. " Mr. Herbert must 
 have killed him." 
 
 Unheeding the request of Mr. Dare, unmindful of the deficiencies 
 or want of elegance in her costume, which consisted of what she 
 called a peignoir, and a borderless calico nightcap, mademoiselle
 
 COMMOTION. 313 
 
 flew down to the hall, and slipped into the dining-room. Some oi 
 the others slipped in also, and a sad scene ensued. What with wife, 
 governess, servants, and children, Mr. Dare was powerless to end it. 
 Mademoiselle went straight up, gave one look, and staggered back 
 against the wall. 
 
 " C'est vrai ! " she muttered. " C'est Monsieur Anthony." 
 
 " It is Anthony," shivered Mr. Dare. " I fear — I fear violence 
 has been done him." 
 
 The governess was breathing heavily. She looked quite as 
 ghastly as did that upturned face. " But why should it be .-* " she 
 asked, in English. *' Who has done it ? " 
 
 Ah, who had done it ! Joseph's frightened face seemed to say 
 that he could tell if he dared. Cyril bounded into the room, and 
 clasped one of the arms. But he let it fall again. " It is rigid!" 
 he gasped. " Is he dead ? Father ! he can't be dead ! " 
 
 Mr. Dare hurried Joseph from the room — hurried him across the 
 hall to the door. He, Mr. Dare, seemed so agitated as scarcely to 
 know what he was about. " Make all haste," he said ; " the nearest 
 surgeon." 
 
 " Sir," whispered Joseph, turning when he was outside the door, 
 his agitation as great as his master's : " I'm afraid it's Mr. Herbert 
 who has done this." 
 
 " Why.? " sharply asked Mr/ Dare. 
 
 " They had a dreadful quarrel this evening, sir, after you left. 
 Mr. Herbert drew a knife upon his brother. I got in just in time 
 to stop bloodshed, or it might have happened then." 
 
 Mr. Dare suppressed a groan. " Go oft', Joseph, and bring a 
 doctor here. He may not be past reviving. Milbank is the nearest. 
 If he is at home, bring him ; if not, get anybody." 
 
 Joseph, without his hat, sped across the lawn, and gained the 
 entrance gate at the very moment that a gig was passing. By the 
 light of a lamp, Joseph saw that it contained Mr. Glenn, the surgeon, 
 driven by his servant. He had been on a late professional visit into 
 the country. Joseph shouted, running before the horse in his 
 excitement, and the man pulled up. 
 
 " What's the matter, Joseph ? " asked Mr. Glenn. " Any one ill ? " 
 
 Somewhat curious to say, Mr. Glenn was the usual medical at- 
 tendant of the Dares. Joseph explained as well as he could. Mr. 
 Anthony had been found lying on the dining-room carpet, to all 
 appearance dead. Mr. Glenn descended. 
 
 " Anything up at your place ? " asked a policeman, who had just 
 come by, on his beat. 
 
 " I should think there is," returned Joseph. '•' One of the gentle- 
 men's been found dead." 
 
 "Dead!" echoed the pohceman. "Which of them is it?" he 
 asked, after a pause. 
 
 " Mr. Anthony." 
 
 " Why, I saw him turn in here about half-past eleven ! " observed 
 the officer. " He is in a fit, perhaps."
 
 314 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Why do you say that ? " asked Joseph. 
 
 " Because he had been taking a drop too much. He could hardly 
 walk. Somebody brought him as far as the gate." 
 
 Mr. Glenn had hastened on. The policeman followed with 
 Joseph. Followed, possibly, to gratify his curiosity ; possibly, 
 because he thought his services might be in some way required. 
 When the two entered the dining-room, Mr. Glenn was kneeling 
 down to examine Anthony, and sounds of distress came on their 
 ears from a distance. They were caused by the hysterics of Mrs. 
 Dare. 
 
 " Is he dead, sir ? " asked the policeman, in a low tone. 
 
 "He has been dead these two or three hours," was Mr. Glenn's 
 reply. 
 
 But it was not a fit. It was not anything so innocent. Mr. Glenn 
 found that the cause of death was a stab in the side. Death, he 
 believed, must have been instantaneous ; and the hemorrhage was 
 chiefly internal. There were very few stains on the clothes. 
 
 " What's this ? " cried Mr. Glenn. 
 
 He was pulling at some large substance on which Anthony had 
 fallen. It proved to be a cloak. Cyril — and some others present — 
 recognized it as Herbert's cloak. Where was Herbert .'' In bed? 
 Was it possible that he could sleep through the noise and confusion 
 that the house was in 1 
 
 " Can nothing be done ?" asked Mr. Dare of the surgeon. 
 
 Mr. Glenn shook his head. " He is stone dead, you see ; dead, 
 and nearly cold. He must have been dead more than two hours. 
 I should say nearer three." 
 
 From two to three hours ! Then that would bring the time of 
 his death to about half-past eleven o'clock; close upon the time 
 that the policeman saw him returning home. Some one turned to 
 ask the policeman a question, but he had disappeared. Mr. Glenn 
 went to see wh\t he could do for Mrs. Dare, whose cries had been 
 painful to hear, and Mr. Dare drew Joseph aside. Somehow he 
 felt that he dared not question him in the presence of witnesses ; 
 lest any condemnatory fact should transpire to bring the guilt home 
 to his second son. In spite of the sight of Anthony lying dead 
 before him, in spite of what he had heard of the quarrel, he could 
 not bring his mind to believe that Herbert had been guilty of this 
 most dastardly deed. 
 
 " What time did you let him in ? " asked Mr. Dare, pointing to 
 his ill-fated son. 
 
 Joseph answered evasively. " The policeman said it was about 
 half after eleven, sir." 
 
 " And what time did Mr. Herbert come home ? " 
 
 In point of fact, but for seeing the cloak where he did see it, 
 Joseph would not have known whether Mr. Herbert was at home 
 yet. He felt there was nothing for it but to tell the simple truth 
 to Mr. Dare — that the gentlemen had been in the habit of letting 
 themselves in at any hour they pleased, the dining-room window
 
 COMMOTION. 3iS 
 
 being left unfastened for tliem. Joseph made the admission, and 
 Mr. Dare received it with anger. 
 
 " I did it by their orders, sir," the man said, with deprecation. 
 "If you think it was wrong, perhaps you'll put things on a better 
 footing for the future. Eut, to wait up every night till it's pretty 
 near time to rise again, is what I can't do, or anybody else. Flesh 
 and blood is but mortal, sir, and couldn't stand it." 
 
 " But you were not kept up like that ? " cried Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I was. If one of the gentlemen wasn't out, the other 
 would be. 1 told them it was impossible I could be up nearly all 
 night and every night, and rise in the morning just the same, and 
 do my work in the day. So they took to have the dining-room 
 window left open, and came in that way, and I went to rest at my 
 proper hour. Mr. Cyril and Mr. George, too, they are taking to 
 stay out." 
 
 " The house might have been robbed over and over again ! " 
 exclaimed Mr. Dare. 
 
 " I told them so, sir. But they laughed at me. They said who'd 
 be likely to come through the grounds, and up to the windows 
 and try them ? At any rate, sir," added Joseph, as a last excuse, 
 " they ordered it done. And that's how it is, sir, that I don't 
 know what time either Mr. Anthony or Mr. Herbert came in last 
 night." 
 
 Mr. Dare said no more. The fruits of the way in which his 
 sons had been reared were coming heavily home to him. He turned 
 to go upstairs, to Herbert's chamber. On the bottom stairs, sway- 
 ing herself to and fro in 'h.o.x peignoir, a staring print, all the colours 
 of the rainbow, sat the governess. She lifted her white face as Mr. 
 Dare approached. 
 
 "Is he dead.?" 
 
 Mr. Dare shook his head. " The surgeon says he has been dead 
 ever since the beginning of the night." 
 
 " And Monsieur Herbert ? Is he dead ? " 
 
 ''''He dead!" repeated Mr. Dare in an accent of alarm, fearing 
 possibly, she might have a motive for the question. " What should 
 bring him also dead? Mademoiselle, why do you ask it ? " 
 
 " Eh, me, I don't know," she answered. " I am bewildered with 
 it all. Why should he be dead, and not the other.'' Why should 
 either be dead ? " 
 
 Mr. Dare saw that she did look bewildered ; scarcely in her 
 senses. She had a white handkerchief in her hand, and was wiping 
 the moisture from her scarcely less white face. " Did you witness 
 the quarrel between them ? " he inquired, supposing that she had 
 done so, by her words. 
 
 " If I did, I not tell," she vehemently answered, her English less 
 clear than usual. "If Joseph say — I hear him say it to you just 
 now — that Monsieur Herbert took a knife to his brother, I not give 
 testimony to it. What affair is it of mine, that I should tell against 
 one or the other ? Who did it ? — who killed him ? " — she rapidly
 
 3i6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 continued. " It was not Monsieur Herbert. No, I will say 
 always that it was not Monsieur Herbert. He would not kill his 
 brother." 
 
 " I do not think he would," earnestly spoke Mr. Dare. 
 
 " No, no, no ! " said mademoiselle, her voice rising with her 
 emphasis. " He never kill his brother ; he not enough mechant 
 for that." 
 
 " Perhaps he has not come in?" cried Mr. Dare, catching at the 
 thought. 
 
 Betsy Carter answered the words. She had stolen up in the 
 general restlessness, and halted there. " He must be come in, sir," 
 she said ; " else how could his cloak be in the dining-room } They 
 are saying that it's Mr. Herbert's cloak which was under Mr. 
 Anthony." 
 
 " What has Mr. Herbert's cloak to do with his coming in or not 
 coming in?" sharply asked Mr. Dare. " He would not be wearing 
 his cloak this weather." 
 
 " But he does wear it, sir," returned Betsy. "He went out in it 
 to-night." 
 
 " Did you see him ?" sternly asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 " If I hadn't seen him, I couldn't have told that he went out in 
 it," independently replied Betsy, who, like her mother, was fond of 
 maintaining her own opinion. " I was looking out of the window 
 in Miss Adelaide's room, and I saw Mr. Herbert go out by way of 
 the dining-room window towards the entrance-gate." 
 
 " Wearing his cloak ? " 
 
 " Wearing his cloak," assented Betsy. " I hoped he was hot 
 enough in it." 
 
 The words seemed to carry terrible conviction to Mr. Dare's mind. 
 UnwiUing to believe the girl, he sought Joseph, and asked him. 
 
 " Yes, for certain," Joseph answered. " Mr. Herbert, as he was 
 coming downstairs to go out, stopped to speak to me, sir, and he 
 was fastening his cloak on then." 
 
 Minny ran up, bursting with grief and terror, as she seized upon 
 Mr. Dare. " Papa! papa ! is it true ? " she sobbe-d. 
 
 "Is what true, child?" 
 
 " That it was Herbert ? They are saying so." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Mr. Dare. Carrying a candle, he went up to Her- 
 bert's room, his heart aching. That Herbert could sleep through 
 the noise was surprising; and yet, not much so. His room was 
 more remote from the house than were the other rooms, and looked 
 towards the back. But, had he slept through it ? When Mr. Dare 
 went in, he was sitting up in bed, awaking, or pretending to awake, 
 from sleep. The window, thrown wide open, may have contributed 
 to deaden any sound in the house. " Can you sleep through this, 
 Herbert ? " cried Mr. Dare. 
 
 Herbert stared, and rubbed his eyes, and stared again, as one 
 bewildered. "Is that you, father?" he presently cried. "What 
 is it ? "
 
 ACCUSED. 317 
 
 " Herbert," said his father, in a low tone of pain, of dread ; " what 
 have you been doing to your brother ? " 
 
 Herbert, as if not understanding the drift of the question, stared 
 more than ever. " I have done nothing to him," he presently said. 
 " Do you mean Anthony ? " 
 
 "Anthony is lying on the dining-room floor, killed — murdered. 
 Herbert, ivho did it?''' 
 
 Herbert Dare sat motionless in bed, looking utterly lost. That 
 he could not understand, or was affecting not to understand, was 
 evident. "Anthony is — what do you say, sir?" 
 
 " He is dead ; he is murdered^'' replied Mr. Dare. " Oh, my son, 
 my son, say you did not do it ! for the love of heaven, say you did 
 not do it ! " And the unhappy father burst into tears, and sank 
 down on the bed, utterly unmanned. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ACCUSED. 
 
 The grey dawn of the early May morning was breaking over the 
 world — over the group gathered in Mr. Dare's dining-room. That 
 gentleman, his surviving sons, a stranger, a policeman or two ; and 
 Sergeant Delves, who had been summoned to the scene. Sundry 
 of the household were going in and out, of their own restless, curious 
 accord, or by summons. The sergeant was making inquiries into 
 the facts and details of the evening. 
 
 Anthony Dare— as may be remembered — had sullenly retired to 
 his room, refusing to go out, when the message came to him from 
 Lord Hawkesley. It appeared, by what was afterwards learnt, 
 that he, Anthony Dare, had made an appointment to meet Lord 
 Hawkesley and some other gentlemen at the Star-and-Garter hotel, 
 where the viscount was staying ; the proposed amusement of the 
 evening being cards. Anthony Dare remained in his chamber, 
 solacing his chafed temper with brandy-and-water, until the waiter 
 from the Star-and-Garter appeared a second time, bearing a note. 
 This note Sergeant Delves had found in one of the pockets, and 
 had it now open before him. It ran as follows : — 
 
 "Dear Dare. — We are all here waiting, and can't make up the 
 tables without you. What do you mean by shirking us ? Come 
 along, and don't be a month over it. — Yours, 
 
 " Hawkesley." 
 
 This note had prevailed. Anthon)', possibly repenting of the 
 solitary evening to which he had condemned himself, put on his 
 boots again, and went forth : not — it is not pleasant to have to 
 record it, but it cannot be concealed — not sober. He had taken
 
 3i8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 ale with his dinner, wine after it, and brandy-and-water in his room. 
 The three combined had told upon him. 
 
 On his arrival at the Star-and-Garter, he found six or seven gen- 
 tlemen assembled. But, instead of sitting down there in Lord 
 Hawkesley's room, it was suddenly decided to adjourn to the lodg- 
 ings of a Mr. Brittle, hard by ; a young Oxonian, who had been 
 plucked in his Little Go, and was supposed to be reading hard to 
 avoid a second similar catastrophe. They went to Mr. Brittle's 
 and sat down to cards, over which brandy-and-water and other 
 drinks were introduced. Anthony Dare, by way of quenching his 
 thirst, did not spare them, and was not particular as to the sorts. 
 The consequence was, that he soon became most disagreeable com- 
 pany, snarling with all around ; in short, unfit for play. This con- 
 tretojips put the rest of the party out of sorts, and they broke up. 
 But for that, they might probably have sat on till morning light, 
 and that poor unhappy life have been spared. There was no know- 
 ing what might have been. Anthony Dare was in no lit state to 
 walk alone, and one of them, Mr. Brittle, undertook to see him 
 home. Mr. Brittle left him at the gate, and Anthony Dare stum- 
 bled over the lawn and gained the house. After that, nothing fur- 
 ther was known. So much as this would not have been known, 
 but that, in hastening for Delves, the policeman had come across 
 Mr. Brittle. It was only natural that the latter, shocked and 
 startled, should bend his steps to the scene; and from him they 
 gathered the account of Anthony's movements abroad. 
 
 But now came the difficulty. Who had let Anthony in? No 
 one. There was little doubt that he had made his way through the 
 dining-room window. Joseph had turned the key of the front door 
 at eleven o'clock, and he had not been called upon to open it until 
 the return of Mr. and Mrs. Dare. The policeman who happened 
 to be passing when Anthony came home — or it may be more cor- 
 rect to say, was brought home— testified to the probable fict that 
 he had entered by means of the dming-room window. The man 
 had watched him : had seen that, instead of making for the front 
 door, which faced the road and was in view, he had stumbled across 
 the grass, and disappeared down by the side of the house. On this 
 side the dining-room window was situaled ; therefore it was only 
 reasonable to suppose that Anthony had so entered. 
 
 " Had you any motive in watching him ? " asked Sergeant Delves 
 of this man. 
 
 " None, except to see that he did not fall," was the reply. " When 
 the gentleman who brought him home loosed his arm, he told him, 
 in a joking way, not to get kissing the ground as he went in ; and I 
 thought I'd watch him that I might go to his assistance if he did 
 fall. He could hardly walk : he pitched about with every step " 
 
 " Did he fall ? " ^ 
 
 " No ; he managed to keep up. But I should think he was a 
 good five minutes getting over the grass plat." 
 
 " Did the gentleman remain to watch him ? "
 
 ACCUSED. 319 
 
 " No, not for above a minute. He just waited to see that he got 
 safe over the gravel path on to the grass, and then he went back." 
 
 " Did you see any one else come in ? About that time ? — or 
 before it ?— or after it ? " 
 
 The man shook his head. " I didn't see any one else at all. I 
 shut the gate after Mr. Anthony, and I didn't see it opened again. 
 Not but what plenty might have opened and shut it, and gone in, 
 too, when I was higher up my beat." 
 
 Sergeant Delves called Joseph. " It appears uncommonly odd 
 that you should have heard no noise whatever," he observed. " A 
 man's movements are not generally very quiet when in the state 
 described as being that of young Mr. Dare's. The probability is, 
 that he would enter the dining-room noisily, He'd be nearly sure 
 to fall again the furniture, being in the dark." 
 
 " It's certain that I never did hear him," replied Joseph. "We 
 was shut up in the kitchen, and I was mostly nodding from the 
 time I locked up at eleven till master came home at two. The two 
 girls was chattering loud enough ; they was at the table, making-up 
 caps, or something of that. The cook went to bed at ten ; she was 
 tired." 
 
 " Then, with the exception of vou three, all the household were 
 in bed ? " 
 
 " All of 'em — as was at home," answered Joseph. " The governess 
 had gone early, the two young ladies went about ten, Mr. Cyril and 
 Mr. George went soon after ten. They came home from cricket 
 ' dead beat,' they said, had supper, and went to bed soon after it." 
 
 " It's not usual for them — the young men, I mean — to go to bed 
 so early, is it ? " asked Sergeant Delves. 
 
 " No, except on cricket nights," answered Joseph. " After cricket 
 they generally come home and have supper, and don't go out again. 
 Other nights they are mostly sure to be out late." 
 
 "And you did not hear Mr. Herbert come in ?" 
 
 " Sergeant Delves, I say that I never heard nothing nor nobody 
 from the time I locked the front door till master and missis came 
 home," reiterated Joseph, growing angry. " Let me repeat it ten 
 times over, I couldn't say it plainer. If I had heard cither of the 
 gentlemen come in, I should have gone to 'em to see if anything" 
 was wanted. Specially to Mr. Anthony, knowing that he was not 
 sober when he went out." 
 
 Two points appeared more particularly to strike Sergeant Delves. 
 The one was, that no noise should have been heard ; that a deed 
 like this could have been committed in, as it appeared, absolute 
 silence. The other was, that the dining-room window should have 
 been found fastened inside. The latter fact contirmed the strong 
 suspicion that the offender was an inmate of the house. A person, 
 not an inmate of the house, would naturally have escaped by the 
 open dining-room window ; but, to do this, and to fasten it inside 
 after him, was an impossibility. Every other window in the house, 
 gyery door, had been securely fastened ; some in the earlier part of
 
 320 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 the evening, some at eleven o'clock by Joseph. Herbert Dare 
 voluntarily acknowledged that it was he who had fastened the 
 dining-room window. His own account was — and the sergeant 
 looked at him narrowly while he gave it — that he had returned 
 home late, getting on for two o'clock ; that he had come in through 
 the dining-room, and had put down the window fastening. He de- 
 clared that he had not seen Anthony. If Anthony had been lying 
 there, as he was afterwards found, he, Herbert, had not observed 
 him. But, he said, so far as he remembered, he never glanced 
 to that part of the room at all, but had gone straight through on the 
 other side, between the table and the fireplace. And, if he had 
 glanced to it, he could have seen nothing, for the room was dark. 
 He had no light, and had to feel his way. 
 
 " Was it usual for the young gentlemen to fasten the wmdow ? " 
 Sergeant Delves asked of Joseph, And Joseph repUed that they 
 sometimes did, sometimes did not. If by any chance Mr. Anthony 
 and Mr. Herbert came in together, then they would fasten it ; or 
 if, when the one came in, he knew that the other was not out, he 
 would equally fasten it. Mr. Cyril and Mr- George did not often 
 come in that way ; in fact, they were not out so late, generally 
 speaking, as were their brothers. 
 
 " Precisely so," Herbert assented, with reference to the fastening. 
 He had fastened it, believing his brother Anthony to be at home 
 and in bed. When he went out the previous evening, Anthony had 
 already gone to his room, expressing his intention not to leave it 
 again that night, 
 
 Sergeant Delves inquired — ^no doubt for reasons of his own — 
 whether this expressed mtention on the part of Anthony could be 
 testified to by any one besides Herbert. Yes. By Joseph, by the 
 governess, by Rosa and Mmny Dare; all four had heard him say 
 it. The sergeant would not trouble the young ladies, but requested 
 to speak to the governess. 
 
 The governess was indignant at the request being made. She was 
 in and out amongst them with her white face, in her many-coloured 
 peignoir. She had been upstairs and partially dressed herself ; had 
 discarded the calico night-cap and done her hair, put on ihe peignoir 
 again, and come down to see and to listen. But she did not like 
 being questioned. 
 
 " I know nothing about it," she said to the sergeant, speaking 
 vehemently. " What should I know about it ? I will tell you 
 nothing. I went to bed before it was well nine o'clock ; I had the 
 headache; and I never heard anything more till the commotion 
 began. Why you ask me ? " 
 
 " But you can surely tell, ma'am, whether or not you heard Mr. 
 Anthony say he was going to his chamber for the night ? " remon- 
 strated the sergeant. 
 
 "Yes, he did say it," she answered vehemently. " He said it in 
 the salon. He kicked off his boots, and told Joseph to bring his 
 slippers, and to take brandy-9.nd-water to his room, for he should
 
 ACCUSED. 321 
 
 hot leave it again that night. I never thought or knew that he had 
 left it, until I saw him lying in the dining-room, and they said he 
 was dead." 
 
 " Was Mr. Herbert present when he said he should go to his room 
 for the night ? " 
 
 "He was present, I think : I think he had come in then to the 
 salon. That is all I know. I made the tea, and then my head got 
 bad, and I went to bed. I can tell you nothing further." 
 
 " Did you hear any noise in the house, ma'am ?" 
 
 " No. If there was any noise I did not notice it. I soon went to 
 sleep. Where is the use of your asking me these things ? You 
 should ask those who sat up. I shall be sick if you make me talk 
 about it. Nothing of this ever arrived in any family where I have 
 been before." 
 
 The sergeant allowed her to retire. She went to the stairs and 
 sat down on the lower step, and leaned her cheek upon her hand, all 
 as she had done previously. Mr. Dare asked her why she did not 
 go upstairs, away from the confusion and bustle of the sad scene ; 
 but she shook her head. She did not care to be in her chamber 
 alone, she answered, and her pupils were shut in with Madame Dare 
 and Mademoiselle Adelaide. 
 
 It is possible that one thing puzzled the sergeant : though what 
 puzzled him and what did not puzzle him had to be left to conjecture, 
 for he said nothing about it. No weapon had been found. The 
 policemen had been searching the room thoroughly, had partly 
 searched the house ; but had come upon no instrument likely to 
 have inflicted the wound. A carving-knife or common table-knife 
 had been suggested, remembering the previous occurrences of the 
 evening ; but Mr. Glenn's decided opinion was, that it must have 
 been a very different instrument ; some slender, sharp-pointed, two- 
 edged blade, he thought, about six inches in length. 
 
 The most suspicious evidence, referring to Herbert, was the cloak. 
 The sergeant had examined it curiously, with compressed lips. 
 Herbert disposed of this, so far as he was concerned — that is, if 
 he was to be beUeved. He said that he had put his cloak on, 
 had gone out in it as far as the entrance gate ; but finding it warmer 
 than was agreeable, he had turned back, and flung it on to the dining- 
 room table, going in, as he had come out, through the window. He 
 added, as a little bit of confirmatory evidence, that he remembered 
 seeing the cloak begin to slide off the table again, that he saw it 
 must fall to the ground ; but, being in a hurry, he would not stop to 
 prevent it doing so, or to pick it up. 
 
 The sergeant never seemed to take his sidelong glance frcm 
 Herbert Dare. He had gone to work in his own way ; hearing the 
 different accounts and conjectures, sifting this bit of evidence, turn- 
 ing about that, holding a whispered collociuy with the man who had 
 been sent to examine Herbert's room : holding a longer whispered 
 colloquy with Herbert himself. On the departure of the surgeon 
 and Mr. Brittle, who had gone away together, he had marched to 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 21
 
 322 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 the front and side doors of the house, locked them, and put the keys 
 into his pocket. " Nobody goes out of this without my permission," 
 quoth he. 
 
 Then he took Mv. Dare aside. "There's no mistake about this, 
 I fear," said he gravely. 
 
 Mr. Dare knew what he meant. He himself was growing grievously 
 faint-hearted. But he would not say so ; he would not allow it to 
 be seen that he cast, or could cast, a suspicion on Herbert. " It 
 appears to me that — that— if poor Anthony was in the state they 
 describe, that he may have sat down or laid down after entering the 
 dining-room, and dropped asleep," observed Mr. Dare. " Easy, then 
 — the window being left open — for some midnight housebreaker from 
 the street to have come in and attacked him." 
 
 " Pooh ! " said Sergeant Delves. " It is no housebreaker that has 
 done this. We have a difficult line of duty to perform at times, us 
 police; and all we can do to soften matters, is to go to work as 
 genteelly as is consistent with the law. I'm sorry to have to say 
 it, Mr. Dare, but I have felt obliged to order my men to keep a look- 
 out on Mr. Herbert." 
 
 A chill ran through Mr. Dare. " It could not have been Herbert !" 
 he rejoined, his tone one of pain, almost of entreaty. " Mr. Glenn 
 says it could not have been done later than half-past eleven, or so. 
 Herbert never came home until nearly two." 
 
 " Who is to prove that he was not at home till near two ? " 
 
 "He say's he was not. I have no doubt it can be proved. And 
 poor Anthony was dead more than two hours before." 
 
 " Now, look you here," cried Sergeant Delves, falling back on a 
 favourite phrase of his. " Mr. Glenn is correct enough as to the 
 time of the occurrence : I have had some experience in death myself, 
 and I'm sure he is not far out. But let that pass. Here are witnesses 
 who saw him alive at half-past eleven o'clock, and you come home 
 at two and find him dead. Now, let your son Herbert just state 
 where he was from half-past eleven till two. He says he was out : 
 not near home at all. Very good. Only let him mention the place, 
 so that we can verify it, and find, beyond dispute, that he "cuas out, and 
 the suspicion against him will be at an end. But he won't do this." 
 
 " Not do it? " echoed Mr. Dare. 
 
 " He tells me point-blank that he can't and he won't. I asked 
 him." 
 
 Mr. Dare turned impetuously to the room where he had left his 
 second son — his eldest son now. " Here, Herbert" — he was begin- 
 ning: But the officer cut short the words by drawing him back. 
 
 " Don't go and make matters worse," whispered he : " perhaps 
 they'll l)e bad enough without it. Now, Lawyer Dare, you'll do \yell 
 not to turn obstinate, for I am giving you a bit of friendly advice. 
 You and I have had many a transaction together, and I don't mind 
 going a bit out of my way for you, as I wouldn't do for other people. 
 The worst thing your son could do, would be to say before those 
 chattering servants that he can't or won't tell where he has been all
 
 ACCUSED. 323 
 
 night, or half the night. It would be self-condemnation at once. 
 Ask him in private, if you must ask him." 
 
 Mr. Dare called his son to him, and Herbert answered to it. A 
 policeman was sauntering after him, but the sergeant gave him a 
 nod, and the man went back. 
 
 " Herbert, you say you did not come in until near two this morning." 
 
 " Neither did I. It wanted about twenty minutes to it. The 
 churches struck h«lf-past one as I came through the town." 
 
 " Where did you stay ? " 
 
 "Well — I can't say," replied Herbert. 
 
 Mr. Dare grew agitated. " You must say, Herbert," he hoarsely 
 whispered, " or take the consequences." 
 
 ■' I can't help the consequences," was Herbert's answer. "Where 
 I was last night is no matter to any one, and I shall not say." 
 
 " Your not saying — if you can say — is just folly," interposed the 
 sergeant. " It's the first question the magistrates will ask when you 
 are placed before them." 
 
 Herbert looked up angrily. " Place me before the magistrates ! " 
 he echoed. " What do you mean ? You will not dare to take me 
 into custody ! " 
 
 " You have been in custody this half-hour," coolly returned the 
 sergeant. 
 
 Herbert looked terribly fierce. " I will not submit to this in- 
 dignity," he exclaimed. " I will not. Sergeant Delves, you are 
 overstepping " 
 
 " Look here," interrupted the sergeant, drawing something from 
 some unseen receptacle; and Mr. Herbert, to his dismay, caught 
 sight of a pair of handcufls. " Don't you force me to use them," 
 said the officer. . " You are in custody, and must go before the 
 magistrates ; but now, you be a gentleman, and I'll use you as one." 
 
 " I protest upon my honour that I have had neither act nor part 
 in this crime ! " cried Herbert, in agitation. " Do you think I would 
 stain my hand with the sin of Cain .'' " 
 
 " What is that on your hand ? " asked the sergeant, bending for- 
 ward to look more closely at Herbert's fingers. 
 
 Herbert held them out, openly enough. " I was doing something 
 last night which tore my fingers." he said. '' I was trying to undo 
 the fastenings of some wire. Sergeant Delves, I declare to you 
 solemnly, that from the moment when my brother went to his 
 chamber, as witnesses have stated to you, I never saw him, until 
 my father brought me down from my bed to sec him lying dead." 
 
 " You drew a knife on him not many hours before, you know, Mr. 
 Herbert ! " 
 
 " It was done in the heat of passion. He provoked me very much : 
 but I should not have used it. No, poor fellow ! I should never have 
 injured him." 
 
 " Well, you only make your tale good to the magistrates," was 
 all the sergeant's answer. " It will be their affair as soon as you are 
 before them — not mine."
 
 to 
 
 324 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Herbert Dare was handed back to the policeman ; and, as sooil 
 as the justice-room opened, was conveyed before the magistrates — ■ 
 all, as the sergeant termed it — in a genteel, gentlemanly sort of way. 
 He was charged with the murder of his brother Anthony. 
 
 To describe the commotion that spread over Helstonleigh would 
 be beyond any pen. The college boys were in a strange state of 
 excitement: both Anthony and Herbert Dare had been college boys 
 themselves not so very long ago. Gar Halliburton — who was no 
 longer a college boy, but a supernumerary — went home full of it. 
 Having imparted it there, he thought he could not do better than 
 go in and regale Patience with the news, by way of divertissement 
 to her sick bed. " May I come up, Patience ? " he called out from 
 the foot of the stairs. " I have something to tell you." 
 
 Receiving permission, up he flew. Patience, partially raised, 
 was sewing with her hands, which she could just contrive to do. 
 Anna sat by the window, putting the buttons on some new shirts. 
 
 " I have finished two," cried she, turning round to Gar in great 
 lee. "And my father's coming home next week, he writes us 
 word. Perhaps thy mother has had a letter from William. Look 
 at the shirts ! " she continued, exhibiting them. 
 
 " Never mind bothering about shirts, now, Anna," returned Gar, 
 losing sight of his gallantry in his excitement. " Patience, the most 
 dreadful thing has happened. Anthony Dare's murdered ! " 
 
 Patience, calm Patience, only looked at Gar. Perhaps she did 
 not believe it. Anna's hands, holding out the shirts, were arrested 
 midway : her mouth and blue eyes alike opening. 
 
 " He was murdered in their dining-room in the night," went on 
 Gar, intent only on his tale. " The town is all up in arms ; you 
 never saw such an uproar. When we came out of school just now, 
 we thought the French must have come to invade us, by the crowds 
 there were in the street. You couldn't get near the Guildhall, 
 where the examination was going on. Not more than half a dozen 
 of us were able to fight our way in. Herbert Dare looked so pale; 
 he was standing there, guarded by three policemen " 
 
 " Thee hast a fast tongue, Gar," interrupted Patience. " Dost thee 
 mean to say Herbert Dare was in custody ? " 
 
 " Of course he was," rephed Gar, faster than before. " It is he 
 who has done it. At least, he is accused of it. He and Anthony 
 had a quarrel yesterday, and it came to knives. They were parted 
 then ; but he is supposed to have laid wait for Anthony in the night 
 and killed him." 
 
 " Is Anthony dead? Is he Anna! what hast thee ?" 
 
 Anna had dropped the shirts and the buttons. Her blue eyes 
 had closed, her lips and cheeks had grown white, her hands fell 
 powerless. " She is fainting ! " shouted Gar, as he ran to support 
 her. 
 
 " Gar, dear," said Patience, " thee shouldst not tell ill news quite 
 so abruptly. Thee hast made me feel queer. Canst thee stretch 
 thy hand out to the bell ? It will bring up Hester."
 
 ( 325 ) 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 
 
 Helstonleigh could not recover its equanimity. Never had it 
 been so rudely shaken. Incidents there had been as startling; 
 crimes of as deep a dye ; but, taking it with all its attendant cir- 
 cumstances, no occurrence, in the memory of the oldest inhabitant, 
 had excited the interest that was attaching to the death and assumed 
 murder of Anthony Dare. 
 
 The social standing of the parties, above that in which such 
 unhappy incidents are more generally found ; the conspicuous 
 position they occupied in the town ; and the very uncertainty— the 
 mystery, it may be said — in which the affair was wrapped, wrought 
 local curiosity to the highest point. 
 
 Scarcely a shadow of doubt rested on the public mind that the 
 deed had been done by Herbert Dare. The police force, actively 
 engaged in searching out all the details, held the same opinion. 
 In one sense, this was, perhaps, unfortunate; for, when strong 
 suspicion, whether of the police or of the public, is especially 
 directed to one isolated point, it inevitably tends to keep down 
 doubts that might arise in regard to other quarters. 
 
 It seemed scarcely possible to hope that Herbert was not guilty. 
 All the facts tended to the assumption that he was so. There was 
 the ill-feeling known to have existed between himself and his 
 brother; the quarrel and violence in the dining-room not many 
 hours before, in which quarrel Herbert had raised a knife upon 
 him. " But for the entrance of the servant Joseph," said the people, 
 one to another, " the murder might have been done then." Joseph 
 had stopped evil consequences at the time, but he had not stopped 
 Herbert's mouth— the threat he had uttered in his passion—still 
 to be revenged. Terriljly those words told now against Herbert 
 Dare. 
 
 Another thing that told against him, and in a most forcible 
 manner, was the cloak. That he had put it on to go out; nay, had 
 been seen to go out in it by the housemaid, was indisputable ; and 
 his brother was found lying on this very cloak. In vain Iliiibert 
 protested, when before the magistrates and at the coroner's inquest, 
 that he returned before leaving the gates, and had flung this cloak 
 into the dining-room, finding it too hot that evening to wear. 
 He obtained no credit. He had not been seen to do this; and the 
 word of an accused man goes for little. All ominous, these things 
 — all telling against him, but nothing, taking them collectively, as 
 compared with his refusal to state where he was, that night. He 
 left the house between eight and nine, close upon nine, he thought ; 
 h^was not sure of the exact time to a quarter of an hour; and
 
 326 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 he never returned to it until nearly two. Such was .his account. 
 But, where he had been in the interim, he positively refused to 
 state. 
 
 It was only his assertion, you see, against the broad basis of 
 suspicion. Anthony Dare's death must have taken place, as testified 
 by Mr. Glenn, somewhere about half-past eleven ; who was to prove 
 that Herbert at that time was not at home? " I was not," Herbert 
 reiterated, when before the coroner. " I did not return home till 
 between half-past one and two. The churches struck the half-hour 
 as I was coming through the town, and it would take me afterwards 
 some ten minutes to reach home. It must have been about twenty 
 minutes to two when I entered." 
 
 " But where were you ? Where had you been ? Where did you 
 come from ? " he was asked. 
 
 " That I cannot state," he replied. " I was out upon a little 
 business of my own ; business that concerns no one but myself; and 
 I decline to make it public." 
 
 On that score nothing more could be obtained from him. The 
 coroner drew his own conclusions ; the jury drew theirs; the poHce 
 had already drawn theirs, and very positive ones. 
 
 These wei^e the two facts that excited the ire of Sergeant Delves 
 and his official colleagues : with all their searching, they could find 
 no weapon likely to have been the one used ; and they could not 
 discover where Herbert Dare had gone to that evening. It happened 
 that no one remembered to have seen him passing in the town, early 
 or late; or, if they had seen him, it had made no impression on 
 their memory. The appearance of Mr. Dare's sons was so common 
 an occurrence that no especial note was likely to have been taken 
 of it. Herbert declared that in passing through West Street, Turtle, 
 the auctioneer, was leaning out at his open bedroom window, and 
 that he, Herbert, had called out to him, and asked whether he was 
 star-gazing. Mr. Turtle, when applied to, could not corroborate 
 this. He believed that he had been looking out at his window that 
 night; he believed that it might have been about the hour named, 
 getting on for two, for he was late going to bed, having been to a 
 supper party ; but he had no recollection whatever of seeing Mr, 
 Herbert pass, or of having been spoken to by him, or by any one 
 else. When pressed upon the point, Mr. Turtle acknowledged that 
 his intellects might not have been in the clearest state of perception, 
 the supper party having been a jovial one. 
 
 One of the jury remarked that it was very singular the prisoner 
 could go through the dining-room, and not observe his brother 
 lying in it. The prisoner replied that it was not singular at all. 
 The room was in darkness, and he had felt his way through it on 
 the opposite side of the table to that where his brother was after- 
 wards found. He had gone straight through, and up to his chamber, 
 as quietly as possible, not to disturb the house ; and he dropped 
 asleep as soon as he was in bed. , 
 
 The verdict returned was "Wilful murder against Herbert Dar^ ""
 
 COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 327 
 
 and he was committed to the county gaol to take his trial at the 
 assizes. Mr. Dare's house was beyond the precincts of the city. 
 Sergeant Delves and his men renewed their inquiries ; but they 
 could discover no trace, either of the weapon, or of where Herbert 
 Dare had passed the suspicious hours. The sergeant was vexed ; 
 but he would not allow that he was beaten. " Only give us time," 
 said he, with a characteristic nod. " The Pyramids of Egypt were 
 only built up stone by stone." 
 
 Tuesday morning — the morning fixed for the funeral of Anthony 
 Dare. The curious portion of Helstonlcigh wended its way up to 
 the churchyard ; as it is the delight of the curious portion of a town 
 to do. What a sad sight it was ! That dark object, covered by its 
 pall, carried by its attendants, followed by the mourners; Mr. Dare, 
 and his sons Cyril and George. He, the father, bent his face in 
 his handkerchief, as he walked behind the coffin to the grave. 
 Many a man in Helstonlcigh enjoyed a higher share of esteem and 
 respect than did Lawyer Dare ; but not one present, in that crowded 
 churchyard, that did not feel for him in his bitter grief. Not one, 
 let us hope, that did not feel to his heart's core the fate of the 
 unhappy Anthony, now, for weal or for woe, to answer before his 
 Maker for his life on earth. 
 
 That same day, Tuesday, witnessed the return of Samuel Lynn 
 and William Halliburton. They arrived in the evening, and of 
 course the first news they were greeted with was the prevailing topic. 
 Few things caused the ever-composed Quaker to betray surprise; 
 but William was half-stunned with the news. Anthony Dare dead 
 — murdered— buried that very day ; and Herbert in prison, awaiting 
 his trial for the offence ! To William the whole affair seemed more 
 incredible than real. 
 
 " Sir," he said to his master, when, the following morning, they 
 were alone together in the counting-house at the manufactory, "do 
 you believe Herbert Dare can be guilty?" 
 
 Mr. Ashley had been gazing at William, lost in thought. The 
 change we often see, or fancy we see, in a near friend, after a few 
 weeks' absence, was apparent in W'illiam. He had improved in 
 looks ; and yet those looks, with their true nobility, both of form and 
 intellect, had been scarcely capable of improvement. Nevertheless, 
 it was there, and Mr. Ashley had been struck with it. 
 
 " I cannot say," he replied, aroused by the question. " Facts 
 appear conclusively against him ; but it seems incredible that he 
 should so have lost himself. To be suspected and committed on 
 such a charge is grief enough, without the reality of the guilt." 
 
 " .So it is," acquiesced William. 
 
 " We feci the disgrace very keenly — as all must who are con- 
 nected with the Dares in ever so remote a degree. / feel it, Wil- 
 liam ; feel it as a blow; Mrs. Ashley is the cousin of Anthony 
 Dare." 
 
 " They are relati\cs of ours also," said William in a low tone. 
 " My father was first cousin to Mrs. Dare."
 
 328 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at him with surprise. " Your father first 
 cousin to Mrs. Dare ! " he repeated. " What are you saying? " 
 
 " Her first cousin, sir. You have heard of old Mr. Cooper, of 
 Birmingham ? " 
 
 " From whom the Dares inherited their money. Well?" 
 
 " Mr. Cooper had a brother and a sister. Mrs. Dare was the 
 d:iughter of the brother ; the sister married the Reverend William 
 Halliburton, and my father was their son. Mrs. Dare, as Julia 
 Cooper, and my father, Edgar Halliburton, both lived together for 
 some time under their uncle's roof at Birmingham." 
 
 A moment's pause, and then Mr. Ashley laid his hand on Wil- 
 liam's s'loulder. '• Then that brings a sort of relationship between 
 us, William. I shall have a right to feel pride in you now." 
 
 William laughed. But his cheek flushed with the pleasure of a 
 more earnest feeling. His greatest earthly wish was to be appre- 
 ciated by Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " How is it I never heard of this relati onship before ? " cried Mr. 
 Ashley. " Was it purposely concealed ? " 
 
 "It is only within a year or two that I have known of it," replied 
 W'illiam. " Frank and Gar are not aware of it yet. When we first 
 came to Helstonleigh, the Dares were much annoyed at it ; and 
 they made it known to my mother in so unmistakable a manner, 
 that she resolved to drop all mention of the relationship ; she would 
 have dropped the relationship itself if she could have done so. It 
 was natural, perhaps, that they should feel annoyed," continued 
 W^illiam, seeking to apologize for them. " They were rich and 
 great in the eyes of the town ; we were poor and obscure." 
 
 Mr. Ashley was casting his recollections backwards. A certain 
 event, which had always somewhat puzzled him, was becoming 
 clear now. " William, when Anthony Dare — acting, as he said, for 
 me — -put that seizure into your house for rent, it must have been 
 done with the view of driving you from the town ?" 
 
 " My mother says she has always thought so, sir." 
 
 "I see; I see. Why, William, half the inheritance, enjoyed by 
 the Dares, ought justly to have been your father's ! " 
 
 " We shall do as well without it, in the long-run, sir," replied 
 William, a bright smile illumining his face. " Hard though the 
 struggle was at the beginning ! " 
 
 " Ay, that you will ! " warmly returned Mr. Ashley. " The ways 
 of Providence are wonderful 1 Yes, William — and I know you have 
 been taught to think so — what men call the chances of the world, 
 are all God's dealings. Reflect on the circumstances favouring the 
 D.ires ; reflect on your own drawbacks and disadvantages! They 
 liad wealth, position, a lucrative profession ; everything, in fact, to 
 help them on, that can be desired by a family in middle-class life ; 
 whilst you had poverty, obscurity, and toil to contend with. But 
 now, look at what they are ! Mr. Dare's money is dissipated; he 
 ig overwhelmed with embarrassment — I know it to be a fact, Wil- 
 liam ; but this is for your car alone. Folly, recklcgsngss, irreligion,
 
 COMMITTED FOR TRIAL. 329 
 
 reign in his house ; his daughters lost in pretentious vanity ; his 
 sons in something worse. In a few years they will have gone 
 down — down. Yes," added Mr. Ashley, pointing with his finger to 
 the floor of his counting-house, " down to the dogs. I can see it 
 coming, as surely as that the sun is in the heavens. You and they 
 wall have exchanged positions, William ; nay, you and yours, unless 
 I am greatly mistaken, will be in a far higher position than they 
 have ever occupied ; for you will have secured the favour of God, 
 and the approbation of all good men." 
 
 " That Frank and Gar will attain to a position in time, I should 
 be worse than a heathen to doubt, looking back on the wonderful 
 manner in which we have been helped on," thoughtfully observed 
 William. " For myself 1 am not sanguine." 
 
 " Do you never cherish dreams on your own account ? " inquired 
 Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " If I do, sir, they are vague dreams. My position affords no 
 scope for ambition." 
 
 " I don't know that," said Mr. Ashley. "Would you not bo 
 satisfied to become one of the great manufacturers of this great 
 city ? " he continued, laughing. 
 
 "Not unless I could be one of the greatest. Such as " 
 
 William stopped. 
 
 " Myself, for instance?" quietly put in ]\Ir. Ashley. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," answered William, lifting his earnest eyes to his 
 master. " Were it possible that I could ever attain to be as you 
 are, sir, in all things — in character, in position, in the estimation 
 of my fellow-citizens — it would be sufficient ambition for me, and I 
 should sit down content." 
 
 " Not you," cried Mr. Ashley. " You would then be casting your 
 thoughts to serving your said fellow-citizens in Parliament, or some 
 such exalted vision. Man's nature is to soar, you know; it cannot 
 rest. As soon as one object of ambition is attained, others are 
 sought after." 
 
 " So far as I go, we need not discuss it," was William's answer. 
 " There's no chance of my ever becoming even a second-rate manu- 
 facturer ; let alone what you are, sir." 
 
 " The next best thing to being myself, would perhaps be that of 
 being my partner, William." 
 
 The voice in which his master spoke was so significant, that 
 William's face Hushed to crimson. Mr. Ashley noticed it. 
 
 " Did that ambition ever occur to you ? " 
 
 " No, sir, never. That honour is looked upon as being destined 
 for Cyril Dare." 
 
 " Indeed ! " calmly repeated Mr. Ashley. " If you could transform 
 your nature into Cyril, I do not say but that it might be so in 
 time." 
 
 " He expects it himself, sir." 
 
 " Would he be a worthy associate for me, think you ? " inquired 
 Mr. Ashley, bending his gaze full on Willian^
 
 330 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 William made no reply. Perhaps none was expected, for his 
 master resumed : 
 
 " I do not recommend you to indulge that particular dream of 
 ambition ; I cannot see sufficiently into the future. It is my inten- 
 tion to push you somewhat on in the world. I have no son to 
 advance," he added, an expression of sadness crossing his face. 
 "All I can do for my boy is to leave him at ease after me. There- 
 fore I may, if I live, advance you in his stead. Provided, William, 
 you continue to deserve it." 
 
 A smile parted William's lips. That, he would ever strive for, 
 heaven helping him. 
 
 Mr. Ashley again laid his hand on William, and gazed into his 
 face. " I have had a wonderful account of you from Samuel Lynn. 
 And it is not often the Friend launches into decided praise." 
 
 " Oh, have you, sir ? " returned William with animation. " I am 
 glad he was pleased with me." 
 
 " He was more than pleased. But I must not forget that I was 
 charged with a message from Henry. He is outrageous at your not 
 having gone to him last night. I shall be sending him to France 
 one of these days, under your escort, William. It may do him 
 good, in more ways than one." 
 
 " I will come to Henry this evening, sir. I must leave him, 
 though, for half an hour, to go round to East's." 
 
 " Your conscience is engaged, I see. You know what Henry 
 accused you of, the last time you left him to go to East's ? " 
 
 " Of being enamoured of Charlotte," said William, laughing in 
 answer to Mr. Ashley's smile. " I will come, at any rate, sir, and 
 battle the other matter out with Henry." 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 A BRUISED HEART. 
 
 If it were a hopeless task to attempt to describe the consternation 
 of Helstonleigh at the death of Anthony Dare, far more difficult 
 would it be to picture that of Anna Lynn. Believe Herbert guilty, 
 Anna did not ; she could scarcely have believed that, had an angel 
 come down from heaven to affirm it. Her state of mind was not to 
 be envied ; suspense, sorrow, anxiety filled it, causing her to be in 
 a grievous state of restlessness. She had to conceal this from the 
 eyes of Patience ; from the eyes of the world. For one thing, she 
 could not get at the correct particulars ; newspapers did not come 
 in her way, and she shrank, in her self-consciousness, from asking. 
 Her whole being — if wc may dare to say it here — was wrapt in 
 Herbert Dare ; father, friends, home, country ; she could have sacri- 
 ficed thcnr all to save him. She would liave laid down her life for 
 his. Her good sense was distorted, her judgment warped : she saw
 
 A BRUISED HEART. 331 
 
 passing events, not with the eye of dispassionate fact, or with any 
 fact at all, but through the unhealthy tinge of fond, blind prejudice. 
 The blow had almost crushed her ; the dread suspense was wearing 
 out her heart. She seemed no longer the same careless child as 
 before ; in a few hours she had overstepped the barrier of girlish 
 timidity, and had gained the experience which is bought with 
 sorrow. 
 
 On the evening mentioned in the last chapter, just before WilHam 
 went out to keep his appointment with Henry Ashley, he saw from 
 the window, Anna, in his mother's garden, bending over the flowers, 
 and glancing up at him. Glancing, as it struck William, with a 
 strangely wistful expression. He went out to her. 
 
 " Tending the flowers, Anna ? " 
 
 She turned to him, her fair young face utterly colourless. " I 
 have been so wanting to see thee, William ! I came here, hoping 
 thee wouldst come out. At dinner time I was here, and thee only 
 nodded to me from the window. I did not like to beckon to thee." 
 
 " I am sorry to have been so stupid, Anna. What is it ? " 
 
 " Thee hast heard what has happened — that dreadful thing ! 
 Hast thee heard it all ? " 
 
 " I believe so. All that is known." 
 
 " I want thee to tell it me. Patience won't talk of it ; Hester 
 only shakes her head ; and I am afraid to ask Gar. T/iee tell it to 
 me." 
 
 " It would not do you good to know it, Anna," he gravely said. 
 " Better try and not think- " 
 
 "William, hush thee!" she feverishly exclaimed. "Thee knew 
 there was a — a friendship between me and ///w. If I cannot learn 
 all there is to be learnt, I shall die." 
 
 William looked down at the changing cheek, the eyes full of pain, 
 the trembling hands, clasped in their eagerness. It might be better 
 to tell her than to leave her in this state of suspense. 
 
 " William, there is no one in the wide world that knows he cared 
 for me, but thee," she imploringly resumed. " Thee must tell me ; 
 thee 7nusi tell me ! " 
 
 " You mean that you want to hear the particulars of — of what 
 took place on Thursday night ? " 
 
 " Yes. All. Then, and since. I have but heard snatches of the 
 wicked tale." 
 
 He obeyed her : telling her all the broad facts, but suppressing a 
 few of the details. She leaned against the garden-gate, listening in 
 silence ; her foce turned from him, looking through the bars into the 
 field. 
 
 " Why do they not believe him ? " was her first comment, spoken 
 sharply and abruptly. " He says he was not near the house at 
 the time the act must have been done : why do they not believe 
 him ? " 
 
 " It is easy to assert a thing, Anna. But the law requires proof." 
 
 " Proof? That he must declare to them where he had been ? "
 
 332 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Undoubtedly. And corroborative proof must also be given." 
 
 " But what sort of proof.'' I do not understand their laws." 
 
 " Suppose Herbert Dare asserted that he had spent those hours 
 with me, for instance ; then I must go forward at the trial and con- 
 firm his assertion. Also any other witnesses who may have seen 
 him with me, if there were any. It would be establishing what is 
 called an alibi.'''' 
 
 " And would they acquit him then ? Suppose there were only 
 one witness to speak for him ? Would one be sufficient ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Provided the witness were trustworthy." 
 
 " If a witness went forward and declared it now, would they 
 release him ? " 
 
 " Impossible. He is committed to take his trial at the assizes, 
 and he cannot be released beforehand. It is exceedingly unwise of 
 him not to declare where he was that evening — if he can do so." 
 
 " Where do the public think he was ? What do they say .'' " 
 
 " I am afraid the public, Anna, think that he was not out any- 
 where. At any rate, after eleven or half-past." 
 
 " Then they are very cruel ! " she passionately exclaimed. "Do 
 they all think that ? " 
 
 " There may be a few who judge that it was as he says ; that he 
 was really away, and is, consequently, innocent." 
 
 " hwdi where do they think he was ? " eagerly responded Anna 
 again. " Do they suspect any place where he might have been ?" 
 
 William made no reply. It was not at all expedient to impart 
 to her all the gossip or surmises of the town. But his silence 
 seemed to agitate her more than any reply could have done. She 
 turned to him, trembling with emotion, the tears streaming down 
 her face. 
 
 " Oh, William ! tell me what is thought ! Tell me, I implore 
 thee ! Thee cannot leave me in this trouble. Where is it thought 
 he was ?" 
 
 He took her hands; he bent over her as tenderly as any brother 
 could have done; he read all too surely how opposite to the truth 
 had been her former assertion to him — that she did not care for 
 Herbert Dare. 
 
 "Anna, child, you must not agitate yourself in this way: there 
 is no just cause for doing so. I assure you I do not know where it 
 is thought Herbert Dare may have been that night ; neither, so far 
 as can be learnt, does any one else know. It is the chief point — 
 where he was — that is puzzling the town." 
 
 She laid her head down on the gate again, closing her eyes, as in 
 very weariness. William's heart ached for her. 
 
 " He may not be guilty, Anna," was all the consolation he could 
 find to offer. 
 
 " May not be guilty ! " she echoed in a tone of pain. " He is not 
 guilty. William, I tell thee he is not. Dost thee think I would 
 defend him if he could do so wicked a thing?" 
 
 He did not dispute the point with her; he did not tcU her that-
 
 One dying in honey Fair. 333 
 
 hei" assumption of his innocence was inconsistent with the facts of 
 the case. Presently Anna resumed. 
 
 "Why must he remain in gaol till the trial? There was that 
 man who stole the skins from Thomas Ashley — they let him out, 
 when he was taken, until the sessions came on, and then he went 
 up for trial." 
 
 " That man was out on bail. But they do not take bail in cases 
 so grave as this." 
 
 " I may not stay longer. There's Hester coming to call me in. 
 I rely upon thee to tell me anything fresh that may arise," she said, 
 lifting her beseeching eyes to his. 
 
 " One word, Anna, before you go. And yet, I see how worse 
 than useless it is to say it to you now. You must forget Herbert 
 Dare." 
 
 " I shall forget him, William, when I cease to have memory," she 
 whispered. " Never before. Thee wilt keep my counsel?" 
 
 " Truly and faithfully." 
 
 " Fare thee well, William ; I have no friend but thee." 
 
 She ran swiftly into their own premises. William turned to 
 pursue his way to Mr. Ashley's, the thought of Henry Ashley's 
 misplaced attachment lying on his mind as an incubus. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ONE DYING IN HONEY FAIR. 
 
 Mrs. Buffle stood in what she called her "back'us," practically 
 superintending a periodical wash. The day was hot, and the steam 
 was hot, and, as Mrs. Buffle rubbed away, she began to think she 
 shJuld never be cool again. 
 
 " Missis," shrieked out a young voice from the precincts of the 
 shop, " Ben Tyrrett's wife says will you let her have a gill o' 
 vinegar ? Be I to serve it ? " 
 
 The words came from the small damsel who was had in to help 
 on cleaning and washing days. Mrs. Buffle kept her hands still in 
 the soapsuds, and projected her hot face over the tub to answer. 
 
 " Matty, tell Mary Ann Tyrrett as she promised faithful to bring 
 me something off her score this week, but I've not seen the colour 
 of it yet." 
 
 " She says as it's to put to his head," called back Matty, alluding 
 to the present demand. " He's bad a-bed, and have fainted right 
 off." 
 
 " Serve him right," responded Mrs. Buffle. "You may give her 
 the vinegar, Matty. Tell her as it's a penny farthing. I heered he 
 had been drinking again," she added to herself and the washing tub, 
 " and laid hisself down in the wet road the night afore last, and was 
 found there in the morning."
 
 JJ- 
 
 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Later in the day, it happened that William Halliburton was 
 passing through Honey P'air, and met Charlotte East. She stopped 
 him, " Have you heard, sir, that Tyrrett is dying?" she asked. 
 
 " Tyrrett dying ! " repeated William in amazement. " Who says 
 he is ? " 
 
 " The doctor says it, I believe, sir. I must say he looks like it. 
 Mary Ann sent for me, and I have been down to see hmi." 
 
 " Why, what can be the matter with hnn ? " asked William. " He 
 was at work the day before yesterday ! " 
 
 " He was at work, sir, but he could not speak, they tell me, for 
 that illness that has been hanging about him so long, and had 
 settled on his chest. That night after leaving work, mstead of 
 going home and getting a basin of gruel, or something of that sort, 
 he went to the Horned Ram, and drank there till he couldn't keep 
 upright." 
 
 " With his chest in that state ! " 
 
 " And that was not the worst," resumed Charlotte. " It had been 
 a wet day, if you remember, sir, and he somehow strayed mto 
 Oxlip Lane, and fell down, and lay there till morning. What with 
 drink, and what with exposure to the wet, his chest grew danger- 
 ously inflamed, and now the doctor says he has not many hours to 
 live." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it," cried William. " Is he sensible ?" 
 
 "Too sensible, sir, in one sense," replied Charlotte. " His remorse 
 is dreadful. He is saying that if he had not misspent his life, he 
 might have died a good man, instead of a bad one." 
 
 William passed on, much concerned at the news. His way led 
 him past Ben Tyrrett's lodgings, and he turned in. Mary Ann was 
 sobbing and wailing, in the midst of as many curious and condoling 
 neighbours as the kitchen would contain. All were in full gossip — 
 as might be expected. Mrs. Cross had taken home the three 
 little children, by way of keeping the place quiet ; and the sick man 
 was lying in the room above, surrounded by several of his fellow- 
 workmen, v.ho had heard of his critical state. 
 
 Some of the women sidled off when William entered, rather 
 ashamed of being caught chattering vehemently. It was remark- 
 able the deference that was paid him, and from no assumption of 
 his own — indeed, the absence of assumption may have partially 
 accounted for it. But, though ever courteous and pleasant with them 
 all, he was a thorough gentleman : and the working class are keen 
 to distinguish this. 
 
 "Why, Mrs. Tyrrett, this is sad news! " he said. " Is your hus- 
 band so ill ? " 
 
 "Oh, he must die, he must die, sir!" she answered in a frantic 
 tone. Uncomfortably as they had lived together, the man was still 
 her husband, and there is no doubt she was feeling the present 
 crisis; was shrinking with dread from the future. A widow with 
 three young children, and the workhouse for an asylum! It was 
 the only prospect before her. " He must die, anyways; but he
 
 ONE DYING IN HONEY FAIR, 335 
 
 might have lasted a few hours longer, if I could have got wliat the 
 doctor ordered." 
 
 William did not understand. 
 
 " It was a blister and some physic, sir," explained one of the 
 women. " The doctor wrote it on a paper, and said it was to be 
 took to the nearest druggist's. But when they got it there, Darwin 
 said he couldn't trust the Tyrretts, and they must send the money if 
 they wanted the things." 
 
 " It was not Mr. Parry, then, who was called in.''" 
 "It wefe a strange doctor, sir, as was fetched. There was 
 Tyrrctt's last bout of illness owing for to Parry, and so they didn't 
 like to send for him. As to them druggists, they be some of 'em a 
 cross-grained set, unless you goes with the money in your hand." 
 
 William asked to see the prescription. It was produced, and he 
 read its contents — he was as capable of doing so and of understand- 
 ing it as the best doctor in Helstonlcigh. He tore a loaf from his 
 pocket-book, wrote a few words in pencil, folded it with the prescrip- 
 tion, and desired one of the women to take it to the chemist's again. 
 He then went up to the sick room. 
 
 Tyrrett was lying on a flock mattress, on an ugly brown bed- 
 stead, the four posts upright and undraped. A blanket and a 
 checked blue cotton quilt covered him. His breathing was terribly 
 laboured, his face painfully anxious. William approached him, 
 bending his head, to avoid contact with the ceiling. 
 
 " I'm a-going, sir! " cried the man, in a tone as anxious as his 
 face. " I'm a-going at last." 
 
 " I hope not," said William. " I hope you will get better. You 
 are to have a blister on your chest, and^ — • " 
 
 " No he ain't, sir," interrupted one of the men. " Darwin won't 
 send it." 
 
 " Oh yes, he will, if he is properly asked. They have gone again 
 to him. Are you in much pain, Tyrrett?" 
 
 " I'm in an agony of pain here, sir," pointing to his chest. " But 
 that ain't nothing to my pain of mind. Oh, Mr. Halliburton, you're 
 good, sir ; you haven't nothing to reproach yourself with ; can't you 
 do nothing for me? I'm going into the sight of my Maker, and 
 He's angry with me! " 
 
 In truth, William knew not what to answer. Tyrrett's voice 
 was as a wail of anguish ; his hands were stretched out beseech- 
 ingly. 
 
 " Charlotte East were here just now, and she told me to go to 
 Christ — that He was merciful and forgiving. But how am I to 
 go to Him? If I try, sir, I can't, for there's my past life rising up 
 before me. I have been a bad nian : I have never once in all my 
 life tried to please God." 
 
 The words echoed through the stillness of the room ; echoed 
 with a sound that was terribly awful, Nct'er once to /ia7't' tried to 
 please God I Throughout a whole life, and throughout all its 
 blessings !
 
 336 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I have never thought of God," he continued to reiterate. " I 
 have never cared for Him, or tried to please Him, or done the least 
 thing for Him. And now I'm going to face His wrath, and I can't 
 help myself!" 
 
 " You may be spared yet," said William ; " you may, indeed. And 
 your future life must atone for the past." 
 
 " I shan't be spared, sir; I feel that the world's all up with me," 
 was the rejoinder. " I'm going fast, and there's nobody to give me 
 a word of comfort! Can't you, sir? I'm going away, and God's 
 angry with me ! " 
 
 William leaned over him. " I can only say as Charlotte East 
 did," he whispered. " Try and find your Saviour. There is mercy 
 with Him at the eleventh hour." 
 
 " I have not the time to find him," breathed forth Tyrrett, in 
 agony. " I might find Him if I had time give me ; but I have not 
 got it." 
 
 William, shrinking in his youth and inexperience from arguing 
 upon topics so momentous, was not equal to the emergency. Who 
 was? He did what he could; and that was to despatch a message 
 for a clergyman, who answered the summons with speed. 
 
 The blister also came, and the medicine that had been prescribed. 
 William went home, hoping all might prove as a healing balm to 
 the sick man. 
 
 A fallacious hope. Tyrrett died the following morning. When 
 William went round early on his mission of inquiry, he found him 
 dead. Some of the men, whom he had seen with Tyrrett the 
 previous night, were assembled in the kitchen. 
 
 " He is but just gone, sii"," they said. " The women be up with 
 him now. They have took his wife round screeching to her mother's. 
 He died with that there blister on his chest." 
 
 "Did he die peacefully?" was William's question. 
 
 " Awful hard, sir, toward the last ; moaning, and calling, and 
 clenching his hands in mortal pain. His sister, she come round — 
 she's a hard one, is that Liza Tyrrett — and she set on at the wife, 
 s lying it was her fault that he'd took to go out drinking. That 
 tliere parson couldn't do nothing with him," concluded the speaker, 
 lowering his voice. 
 
 William's breath stood still. " No ! " 
 
 The man shook his head. " Tyrrett weren't in a frame o' mind 
 for it, sir. He kep' crying out as he had led a bad life, and never 
 thought of God — and them was his last words. It ain't happy, 
 sir, to die like that. It have quite cowed down us as was with 
 him: one gets thinking, sir, what sort of a place it may be, t'other 
 side, where he's gone to." 
 
 William lifted his head, a sort of eager hope on his countenance, 
 speaking cheerily. "Could you not let poor Tyrrett's death act as 
 a warning to you? " 
 
 There was a dead silence. Five men were present ; every one 
 of them leading careless lives. Somehow they did not much like
 
 ONE DYING IN HONEY FAIR. 337 
 
 to hear of " warning," although the present moment was one of 
 unusual seriousness. 
 
 " Religion is so dreadful dull and gloomy, sir." 
 
 " Religion dull and gloomy ! " echoed William. " Well, perhaps 
 some people do make a gloomy affair of it ; but then I don't think 
 theirs can be the right religion. I do not believe people were 
 sent into the world to be gloomy : time enough for that when 
 troubles come." 
 
 " What is religion ? " asked one of the men. 
 
 " It is a sort of thing that's a great deal better to be felt than 
 talked of," answered W" illiam. " I am no parson, and cannot pre- 
 tend to enlighten you. We might never come to an understanding 
 over it, were we to discuss it all day long. I would rather talk to 
 you of life, and its practical duties." 
 
 " Tyrrett said as 'he had never paid heed to any of his duties. It 
 were his cry over and over again, sir, in the night. He said he 
 had drunk, and swore, and beat his wife, and done just what he 
 oughtn't to ha' done." 
 
 " Ay, I fear it was so," replied William. " Poor Tyrrett's exist- 
 ence was divided into three phrases — working, drinking, quarrelling : 
 dissatisfaction attending all. I fear a great many more in Honey 
 Fair could say the same." 
 
 The men's consciences were pricking them ; some of them began 
 to stand uncomfortably on one leg. They tippled ; f/uy quarrelled ; 
 they had been known to administer personal correction to their 
 wives on provocation. 
 
 " Times upon times I asked Tyrrett to come round in an evening 
 to Robert East's," continued William. *' He never did come. But 
 I can tell you this, my men ; had he taken to pass his evenings there 
 twelve months ago, when the society — as they call it — was first 
 formed, he might have been a hale man now, instead of lying there, 
 dead." 
 
 " Do you mean that he'd have growed religious, sir.'' " 
 
 " I tell you we \\\\\ put religion out of the discussion : as you 
 don't seem to like the name. Had Tyrrett taken to like rational 
 evenings, instead of public-houses, it would have made a wonder- 
 ful difference in his mode of thought, and difference in conduct 
 would have followed. Look at his father-in-law, Cross. He was 
 living without hope or aim, at loggerheads with his wife and with 
 the world, and rather given to wish himself dead. AH that's over. 
 Do you think I should like to go about with a dirty face and holes 
 in my coat?" 
 
 The men laughed. They thought not. 
 
 " Cross used to do so. But you see nothing of that now. Many 
 others used to do so. Many do so still." 
 
 Rather conscience-stricken again, the men tried to hide their 
 elbows. " It's true enough," said one. " Cross, and some more of 
 'em, are getting smart." 
 
 " Smart inside as well as out," said William. " They are acquir- 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. ^^
 
 338 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 ing self-respect; one of the best qualities a man can find. They 
 wouldn't be seen in the street now in rags, or the worse for drink, 
 or in any other degrading position ; no, not if you bribed them with 
 gold. Coming round to East's has done that for them. They are 
 beginning to see that it's just as well to lead pleasant lives here, as 
 unpleasant ones. In a short time, Cross will be getting furniture 
 about him again, towards setting up the home he lost. He — and 
 many more — will also, as I truly believe, be beginning to set up 
 furniture of another sort." 
 
 "What sort's that, sir?" 
 
 " The furniture that will stand him in need for the next life ; the 
 life that Tyrrett has now entered upon," replied William in a 
 deeper tone. "It is a hfe that must come, you know; our little 
 span of time here, in comparison with eternity, is but as a drop 
 of water to the great river that runs through the town ; and it is 
 as well to be prepared for it. Now, the next five I am going to get 
 round to East's, are you." 
 
 "Us, sir?" 
 
 " Every one of you ; although I believe you have been in the 
 habit of complimenting your friends, who go there, with the title 
 of ' milksops.' I want to take you there this evening. If you don't 
 like it, you know you need not repeat the visit. You will come, to 
 oblige me, won't you?" 
 
 They said they would. And William went out satisfied, though 
 he hardly knew how Robert East would manage to stow away the 
 new comers. Not many steps from the door he encountered Mrs. 
 Buffle. She stopped him to talk of Tyrrett. 
 
 " Better that he had spent his loose time at East's, than at the 
 publics," remarked that lady. 
 
 " It is the very thing we have been saying," answered William. 
 " I wish we could get all Honey Fair there; though, indeed, there's 
 no room for more than we have now. I cast a longing eye some- 
 times to that building at the back, which they say was built for a 
 Mormon stronghold, and has never been fitted up, owing to a dis- 
 pute among themselves about the number of wives each elder might 
 appropriate to his own share." 
 
 " Disgraceful pollagists ! " struck in Mrs. Buffle, apostrophizing 
 the Mormon elders. " One husband is enough to have at one's 
 fireside, goodness knows, without being worried with an unlimited 
 number." 
 
 " That is not the question," said William, laughing. " It is, how 
 many wives are enough. However, I wish we could get the build- 
 ing. East will have to hold the gathering in his garden soon." 
 
 " There's no denying that it have worked good in Honey Fair," 
 acknowledged Mrs. Buffle. " It isn't alone the men that have grown 
 more respectable, them as have took to go, but their wives too. 
 You see, sir, in sitting at the public-houses, it wasn't only that they 
 drank themselves quarrelsome, but they spent their money. Now 
 their tempers are saved, and their money's saved. The wives see
 
 FRUITS COMING HOME TO THE DARES. 339 
 
 the benetit of it, and of course try to be bcttcr-behaved theirsclves. 
 Not but what there's plenty of room for improvement still," added 
 Mrs. Baffle, in a tone of patronage. 
 
 " It will come in time," said William. " What we must do now, 
 is to look out for a larger room." 
 
 " One with a chimbley in it, as '11 draw? " suggested Mrs. Buffle. 
 
 " Oh yes. What would they do without fire on a winter's night? 
 The great point is, to have things thoroughly comfortable." 
 
 " If it hadn't been for the chimbley, I might have offered our big 
 garret, sir. But it's the crankiest thing ever built, is that chimbley ; 
 the minute a handful of fire's lighted, the smoke puffs it out again. 
 And then again — there'd be the passing through the shop, obstruct- 
 ing the custom." 
 
 " Of course there would," assented William. " We must try for 
 that failure in the rear, after all." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FRUITS COMING HOME TO THE DARES. 
 
 The Pyramids of Egypt grew, in the course of time, into pyramids, 
 as was oracularly remarked by Sergeant Delves; but that official's 
 exertions, labour as hard as he would, grew into nothing — when 
 applied to the cause with which he had compared the pyramids. 
 All inquiry, all searching brought to bear upon it by him and his 
 co-adherents, did not bring to light aught of Herbert's Dare's move- 
 ments on that fatal night. Where he had passed the hours remained 
 an impenetrable mystery ; and the sergeant had to confess himself 
 foiled. He came, not unnaturally, to the conclusion that Herbert 
 Dare was not anywhere, so far as the outer world was concerned : 
 that he had been at home, committing the mischief. A conclusion 
 which the sergeant had drawn from the very first, and it had never 
 been shaken. Nevertheless, it was his duty to put all the skill and 
 craft of the local police force into action ; and very close inquiries 
 were made. Every house of entertainment in the city, of whatever 
 nature — whether it might be a billiard-room, or an oyster-shop ; 
 whether it might be a chief hotel, or an obscure public-house — was 
 visited and keenly cjuestioned ; but no one would acknowledge to 
 having seen Herbert Dare on the particular evening. In short, no 
 trace of him could be unearthed. 
 
 " Just as much out as I was," said the sergeant to himself. And 
 Helstonleigh held the same conviction. 
 
 Pomeranian Knoll was desolate : with a desolation it had never 
 expected to fall upon it. A shattering blow had been struck to Mr. 
 and Mrs. Dare. To lose their eldest son in so terrible a manner, 
 seemed, of itself, sufficient agony for a whole lifetime. Whatever 
 may have been his faults — and Helstonleigh knew that he was
 
 340 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 somewhat rich in faults — he was dear to them ; dearer than her 
 other children to Mrs. Dare. Herbert had remarked, in conversing 
 with Anna Lynn, that Anthony was his mother's favourite. It was 
 so. She had loved him deeply, had been blind to his failings. 
 Neither Mr. Dare nor his wife was amongst the religious of the 
 world. Rehgious thoughts and reflections, they, in common with 
 many others in Helstonleigh, were content to leave to a remote 
 deathbed. But they had been less than human, worse than heathen, 
 could they be insensible to the fate of Anthony — hurled away with 
 his sins upon his head. He was cut off suddenly from this world, 
 and — what of the next? It was a question, an uncertainty, that 
 they dared not follow : and they sat, one on each side their desolate 
 hearth, and wailed forth their vain anguish. 
 
 This would, in truth, have been tribulation enough to have over- 
 shadowed a life; but there was more beyond it. Hemmed in by 
 pride, as the Dares had been, playing at being great and grand 
 in Helstonleigh, the situation of Herbert, setting aside their fears 
 or their sympathy for himself, was about the most complete check- 
 mate that could have fallen upon them. It was the cup of humilia- 
 tion drained to its dregs. Whether he should be proved guilty or 
 not, he was thrown into prison as a common felon, awaiting his 
 trial for murder ; and that disgrace could not be wiped out. Did 
 they believe him guilty ? They did not know themselves. To 
 suspect him of such a crime was painful in the last degree to their 
 feelings ; but — why did he persist in refusing to state where be was 
 on the eventful night ? There was the point that staggered them. 
 
 A deep gloom overhung the house, extending to all its inmates. 
 Even the servants went about with sad faces and quiet steps. The 
 young ladies knew that a calamity had been dealt to them from 
 which they should never wholly recover. Their star of brilliancy, 
 in its little sphere of light at Helstonleigh, had faded into dimness, 
 if not wholly gone down below the horizon. Should Herbert be 
 found guilty, it could never rise again. Adelaide rarely spoke ; 
 she appeared to possess some inward source of vexation or grief, 
 apart from the general tribulation. At least, so judged the Signora 
 Varsini ; and she was a shrewd observer. She, Miss Dare, spent 
 most of her time shut up in her own room. Rosa and Minny were 
 chiefly with their governess. They were getting of an age to feel 
 it in an equal degree with the rest. Rosa was eighteen, and had 
 begun to go out with Mrs. Dare alid Adelaide : Minny was antici- 
 pating the same privilege. It was all stopped now — visiting, gaiety, 
 pleasure ; and it was felt as a part of the misfortune. 
 
 The first shock of the occurrence subsided, the funeral over, and 
 the family settled down in its mourning, the governess exacted their 
 studies from her two pupils as before. They were loth to recom- 
 mence them, and appealed to their mother. " It was cruel of 
 mademoiselle to wish it of them," they said. Mademoiselle rejoined 
 that her motive was anything but cruel : she felt sure that occupa- 
 tion for the mind was the best counte-action to grief. If they would
 
 FRUITS COMING HOME TO THE DARES. 341 
 
 Oot study, where was the use of her remaining, she demanded. 
 Madame Dare had better allow her to leave. She would go with- 
 out notice, if madame pleased. She should be glad to get back to 
 the Continent. They did not have murders there in society : at 
 least, she, mademoiselle, had never encountered personal experience 
 of it. 
 
 Mrs. Dare did not appear willing to accede to the proposition. 
 The governess was a most efficient instructress ; and six or twelve 
 months more of her services would be essential to her pupils, if they 
 were to be turned out as pupils ought to be. Besides, Sergeant 
 Pelves had intimated that the signora's testimony would be neces- 
 sary at the trial, and therefore she could not be allowed to depart. 
 Mr. Dare thought if they did allow her to depart, they might be 
 accused of wishing to suppress evidence, and it might tell against 
 Herbert. So mademoiselle had to resign herself to remaining. 
 " Tr^s bien," she equably said; "she was willing; only the young 
 ladies must resume their lessons." A mandate in which Mrs. Dare 
 acquiesced. 
 
 Sometimes Minny, who was given to be incorrigibly idle, would 
 burst into tears over the trouble of her work, and then lay it upon 
 her distress touching the uncertain fate of Herbert. One day, 
 upon doing this, the governess broke out sharply. 
 
 " He deserves to lie in prison, does Monsieur Herbert ! " 
 
 "Why do you say that, mademoiselle?" asked Minny resentfully. 
 
 "Because he is a fool," politely returned mademoiselle. "He 
 say, does he not, that he was not home at the time. It is well : but 
 why does he not say where he was ? I think he is a fool, me." 
 
 " You may as well say outright, mademoiselle, that you think 
 him guilty ! " retorted Minny. 
 
 " But I not think him guilty," dissented mademoiselle. " I have 
 said from the first that he was not guilty. I think he is not one 
 capable of doing such an injury, to his brother or to any one else. 
 I used to be great friends with IVIonsieur Herbert once, when I gave 
 him those Italian lessons, and I never saw to make me believe his 
 disposition was a cruel." 
 
 In point of fact, the governess, more explicitly than any one else 
 in the house, had unceasingly declared her belief in Herbert's inno- 
 cence. Truly and sincerely she did not believe him capable of so 
 grievous a crime. He was not of a cruel or revengeful disposition : 
 certainly not one to lie in wait, and attack another savagely and 
 secretly. She had never believed that he was, and would not 
 believe it now. Neither had his family. Sergeant Delves's opinion 
 was, that whoever had attacked Anthony had lain in wait for him 
 in the dining-room, and had sprung upon him as he entered. It is 
 possible, however, that the same point staggered mademoiselle 
 that staggered the rest — Herbert Dare's refusal to state where he 
 was at the time. Believing, as she did, that he could account for 
 it if he chose, she deemed herself perfectly justified in applying to 
 him the complimentary epithet you have just heard. She expressed
 
 342 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 true sympathy and regret at the untimely fate of Anthon)', lament- 
 ing him much and genuinely. 
 
 Upon Cyril and George the punishment also fell. With one 
 brother not cold in his grave, and the other thrown into jail to 
 await his trial for murder, they could not, for shame, pursue their 
 amusements as formerly ; and amusements to Cyril and George 
 Dare had become a necessity of daily life. Their friends and com- 
 panions were growing shy of them — or else they fancied it. Con- 
 science is all too suggestive. They fancied people shunned them 
 when they walked along the street : Cyril, even, as he stood in 
 Samuel Lynn's room at the manufactory, thought the men, as they 
 passed in and out, looked askance at him. Very likely it was only 
 imagination. George Dare had set his heart upon a commission ; 
 one of the members for the city had made a half-promise to Mr. 
 Dare, that he would " see what could be done at the Horse Guards." 
 Failing available interest in that quartet", George was in hope that 
 his father would screw out money to purchase one. But, until 
 Herbert was proved innocent (if that time should ever arrive), the 
 question of his entering the army must remain in abeyance. This 
 state of things altogether did not give pleasure to Cyril and George 
 Dare. But there was no remedy for it, and they had to content 
 themselves with sundry private explosions of temper, by way of 
 relief to their minds. 
 
 Yes, the evil fell upon all ; upon the parents, and upon the 
 children. Of course the latter suffered nothing in comparison with 
 Mr. and Mrs. Dare. Unhappy days, restless nights, were their 
 portion now : the world seemed to be growing too miserable to 
 live in. 
 
 " There must be a fatality upon the boys ! " Mr. Dare exclaimed 
 one day, in the bitterness of his spirit, as he paced the room with 
 restless steps, his wife sitting moodily, her elbow on the centre 
 table, her cheek pressed upon her hand. " Unless there had been 
 a fatality upon them, they never could have turned out as they 
 have." 
 
 Mrs. Dare resented the speech. In her unhappy frame of mind, 
 which told terribly upon her temper, it seemed a sort of relief to 
 resent everything. If Mr. Dare spoke against their sons, she stood 
 up for them. " Turned out ! " she repeated angrily. 
 
 " Let us say, as things have turned out, then, if you will. They 
 appear to be turning out pretty badly, as it seems to me. The boys 
 have had every indulgence in life : they have enjoyed a luxurious 
 home; they have ruined me to supply their extravagances " 
 
 " Ruined you! " again resented Mrs. Dare. 
 
 "Ay; ruined. It has all but come to it. And yet, what good 
 has the indulgence or have the advantages brought them .'' Far 
 better — I begin to see it now — that they had been reared to self- 
 denial ; made to work for their daily bread." 
 
 "How can you give utterance to such things!" rejoined Mrs. 
 Dare in a chafed tone.
 
 FRUITS COMING HOME TO THE DARES. 343 
 
 Mr. Dare stopped in his restless pacing, and confronted his wife. 
 "Are we happy in our sons? Speak the truth." 
 
 " How could any one be happy, overwhelmed with a misfortune 
 such as this ? " 
 
 "Put that aside: what are they without it? RebelUous to us; 
 badly conducted in the sight of the world." 
 
 "Who says they are badly conducted?" asked Mrs. Dare, an 
 undercurrent of consciousness whispering that she need not ha\e 
 made the objection. " They may be a little wild ; but it is a com- 
 mon failing with those of their age and condition. Their faults are 
 only faults of youth and of uncurbed spirits." 
 
 " I wish, then, their spirits had been curbed," was Mr. Dare's 
 reply. " It is useless now to reproach each other," he continued, 
 resuming his walk ; " but there must have been something radically 
 wrong in their bringing-up. Anthony, gone : Herbert, perhaps, to 
 follow him by almost a worse death, certainly a more disgraceful 
 
 one : Cyril " Mr. Dare stopped abruptly in his catalogue, and 
 
 went on more generally. " There is no comfort in them for us : 
 there never will be any." 
 
 'What can you bring against Cyril?" sharply asked Mrs. Dare. 
 It may be, that these complaints of her husband fretted her temper; 
 chafed, perhaps, her conscience. Certain it was, they rendered her 
 irritable ; and Mr. Dare had latterly indulged in them frequently. 
 " If Cyril is a little wild, it is a gentlemanly failing. There's nothing 
 else to urge against him." 
 
 "Is theft gentlemanly?" 
 
 " Theft ! " repeated Mrs. Dare. 
 
 " Theft. I have concealed many things from you, Julia, wish- 
 ing to spare your feelings. But it may be as well now that you 
 should know a little more of what your sons really are. Cyril 
 might have stood where Herbert will stand — at the criminal bar; 
 though for a crime of less degree. For all I can tell, he may stand 
 at it still." 
 
 Mrs. Dare looked scared. "What has he done?" she asked, her 
 tone growing timid. 
 
 " I say that I have kept these things from you. I wish I could 
 have kept them from you always ; but it seems to me that exposure 
 is arising in many ways, and it is better that you should be prepared 
 for it, if it must come. I awake now in the morning to apprehen- 
 sion ; I am alarmed throughout the day at my own shadow, dread- 
 ing what unknown fate may not be falling upon them. Herbert in 
 peril of the hangman : Cyril in peril of a forced voyage to the penal 
 settlements." 
 
 A sensation ot utter fear stole over Mrs. Dare. For the 
 moment, she could not speak. But she rallied her powers to 
 defend Cyril. 
 
 " I think C)ril is hardly used, what with one thing and another. 
 He was to have gone on that French journey, and at the last 
 moment himself was pushed out of it for Halliburton. I felt more
 
 344 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 vexed at it, almost, than Cyril himself, and I spoke a word of my 
 mind to Mrs. Ashley." 
 
 "You did?" 
 
 " Yes. I did not speak of it in the light of disappointment to 
 Cyril ; the actual fact of not taking the journey ; so much as of the 
 vexation he experienced at being supplanted by one whom he — 
 whom we all — consider inferior to himself, William Halliburton. I 
 let Mrs. Ashley know that we regarded it as a most unmerited and 
 uncalled-for slight ; and I took care to drop a hint that we believed 
 Halliburton to have been guilty in that cheque affair." 
 
 Mr. Dare paused. "What did Mrs. Ashley say?" he presently 
 asked. 
 
 "She said very little. I never saw her so frigid. She intimated 
 that Mr. Ashley was a competent judge of his own business " 
 
 " I mean as to the cheque?" interrupted Mr. Dare. 
 
 " She was more frigid over that than over the other. She pre- 
 ferred not to discuss it, she answered ; who might have stolen it ; 
 or who not." 
 
 " I can set you right on both points," said Mr. Dare. " Cyril 
 came to me, complaining of being superseded in this French 
 journey, and I complied with his request that I should go and 
 remonstrate with Mr. Ashley — being a simpleton for my pains. Mr. 
 Ashley informed me that he never had entertained the slightest 
 intention of despatching Cyril, and why Cyril should have taken up 
 the notion, he could not tell. Mr. Ashley went on to say that he 
 did not consider Cyril sufficiently steady to be intrusted abroad 
 alone " 
 
 " Steady!" echoed Mrs. Dare. "What has steadiness to do with 
 executing business? And, as to being alone, Quaker Lynn went 
 over also." 
 
 " But at the outset, which was the time I spoke to him, Mr. 
 Ashley's intention was to despatch only one — Halliburton. He 
 said that Cyril's want of steadiness would always have been a bar 
 to his thinking of him. Shall I go on and enlighten you on the 
 other point — the cheque? " Mr. Dare added, after a pause. 
 
 "Y — es," she answered, a nervous dread causing her to speak 
 with hesitation. Had she a foreshadowing of what was coming? 
 
 " It was Cyril who took it," said Mr. Dare, dropping his voice to 
 a whisper. 
 
 " Cyril ! " she gasped. 
 
 " Our son, Cyril. No other." 
 
 Mrs. Dare took her hand from her cheek, and leaned back in the 
 cliair. She was very pale. 
 
 " He was traced to White's shop, where he changed the cheque 
 for gold. He had put on Herbert's cloak, the plaid lining outside. 
 When he began to fear detection, he ripped the lining out, and left 
 the cloak in the state it is ; now in the possession of the police. 
 Some of the jags and cuts have been sewn up, I suppose by one of 
 the servants: I made no close inquiries. That cloak," he added,
 
 FROITS coming home to THE DARES. 345 
 
 with a passing shiver, "might tell queer tales of our sons, if it were 
 able to speak." 
 
 " How did you know it was Cyril?" breathed Mrs. Dare. 
 
 " From Delves." 
 
 " Delves ! Docs he know it?" 
 
 "He does. And the man is keeping the secret out of considera- 
 tion for us. Delves is good-hearted at bottom. Not but that I 
 spoke a friendly word for him when he was made sergeant. It all 
 tells." 
 
 " And Mr. Ashley?" she asked. 
 
 " There is no doubt that Ashley has some suspicion : the very 
 fact of his not making a stir in it proves that he has. It would not 
 please him that a relative^ — as Cyril is — should stand his trial for 
 felony." 
 
 " How harshly you put it!" exclaimed Mrs. Dare, bursting into 
 tears. " Felony." 
 
 " Nay; what else can I call it?" 
 
 A pause ensued. Mr. Dare resumed his restless pacing. Mrs. 
 Dare sat with her handkerchief to her face. Presently she looked up. 
 
 "They said it was Halliburton's cloak that the person wore who 
 went to change the cheque." 
 
 " It was not Halliburton's. It was Herbert's turned inside out. 
 Herbert knew nothing of it, for I questioned him. He had gone 
 out that night, leaving his cloak hanging in his closet. I asked 
 him how it happened that his cloak, on the inside, should resemble 
 Halliburton's, and he said it was a coincidence. I don't believe 
 him. I entertain little doubt that it was so contrived with a view to 
 enacting some mischief. In fact, what with one revelation and 
 another, I live, as I say, in constant dread of new troubles turn- 
 ing up." 
 
 Bitter, most bitter were these revelations to Mrs. Dare ; bitter 
 had they been to her husband. Too swiftly were the fruits of their 
 children's rearing coming home to them, bringing their recompense. 
 " There must be a fatality upon the boys !" he reiterated. Possibly. 
 But had neither parents nor children done aught to invoke it ? 
 
 " Since these evils have come upon our house — the fate of 
 Anthony, the uncertainty overhanging Herbert, the certain guilt of 
 Cyril," resumed Mr. Dare : " I have asked myself whether the 
 money we inherited from old Mr. Cooper may not have wrought ill 
 for us, instead of good." 
 
 " Have wrought ill?" 
 
 " Ay ! 15rought with it a curse, instead of a blessmg." 
 
 She made no remark. 
 
 " He warned us that, if we took Edgar Halliburton's share, it 
 would not bring us good. Do you remember how eagerly he spoke 
 it? We did take it," Mr. Dare added, dropping his voice to the 
 lowest whisper. " And I believe it has just acted as a curse upon us." 
 
 " You are fanciful ! " she cried, her hands shivering, as she raised 
 her handkerchief to wipe her pale face.
 
 346 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " No ; there's no fancy in it. We should have done well to 
 attend to the warning of the dying. Heaven is my witness that, at 
 the time, such a thought, as that of appropriating it ourselves, never 
 crossed my mind. We launched out into expense, and the other 
 share became a necessity to us. It is that expense which has 
 ruined our children." 
 
 " How can you say it?" she rejoined, hfting her hands in a pas- 
 sionate sort of manner. 
 
 " It has been nothing else. Had they been reared more plainly, 
 they would not have acquired those extravagant notions which have 
 proved their bane. Without that inheritance, and the style of 
 living we allowed it to entail upon us, the boys must have understood 
 that they would have to earn money before they spent it, and they 
 would have put their shoulders to the wheel. Julia," he continued, 
 halting by her, and stretching forth his troubled face until it nearly 
 touched hers, " it might have been well now, well with them and 
 with us, had our children been obliged to battle with the poverty to 
 which we condemned the Halliburtons." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AN UGLY VISION. 
 
 Mr. Dare had not taken upon himself the legal conduct of his son 
 Herbert's case. It had been intrusted to the care of a solicitor in 
 Helstonleigh, Mr. Winthorne. This gentleman, more forcibly 
 than any one else, urged upon Herbert Dare the necessity of 
 declaring — if he could declare — where he had been on the night of 
 the murder. He clearly foresaw that, if his client persisted in his 
 present silence, there was no chance of any result but the worst. 
 
 He could obtain no response. Deaf to him, as he had been to 
 others, Herbert Dare would disclose nothing. In vain Mr. Win- 
 thorne pointed to consequences : first, by delicate hints ; next, by 
 hints not delicate ; then, by speaking out broadly and fully. It is 
 not pleasant to tell your client, in so many words, that he will be 
 hanged and nothing can save him, unless he compels you to it. 
 Herbert Dare so compelled Mr. Winthorne. All in vain. Mr. 
 Winthorne found he might just as well talk to the walls of the 
 cell. Herbert Dare declared, in the most positive manner, that he 
 had been out the whole of the time stated ; from half-past eight 
 o'clock, until nearly two; and from this declaration he never 
 swerved. 
 
 Mr. Winthorne was perplexed. The prisoner's assertions were 
 so uniformly earnest, bearing so apparently the stamp of truth, that 
 he could not disbelieve him; or rather, sometimes he believed 
 and sometimes he doubted. It is true that Herbert's declarations 
 did wear an air of entire truth ; but Mr. Winthorne had been en-
 
 AN UGLY VISION. 347 
 
 gaged for criminal offenders before, and knew what the assertions 
 of a great many of them were worth. Down deep in his heart he 
 reasoned very mucli after the manner of Sergeant Delves: " If he 
 had been absent, he'd confess it to save his neck." He said so to 
 Herbert. 
 
 Herbert took the matter, on the whole, coolly; he had done so 
 from the beginning. He did not believe that his neck was really 
 in jeopardy. "They'll never find me guilty," was his belief. He 
 could not avoid standing his trial : that was a calamity from which 
 there was no escape : but he steadily refused to look at its results 
 in a sombre light. 
 
 " Can you tell me where you were ? " Mr. Winthorne one 
 morning impulsively asked him, when June was drawing to its 
 close. 
 
 " I rould if I liked," replied Herbert Dare. " I suppose you mean 
 by that, to throw discredit on what I say, Winthorne ; but you are 
 wrong. I could point out to you and to all Helstonleigh where I 
 was that night ; but I will not do so. I ha,\e my reasons, and I 
 will not." 
 
 " Then you will fall," said the lawyer. " The very fact of there 
 being no other quarter than yourself on which to cast a shadow 
 of suspicion, will tell against you. You have been bred to the law, 
 and must see these things as plainly as I can put them to you." 
 
 " There's the point that puzzles me — who it can have been that 
 did the injury. I'd give half my remaining life to know." 
 
 Mr. Winthorne thought that the whole of it, to judge by present 
 appearances, might not be an inconveniently prolonged period; 
 but he did not say so. "What is your objection to speak.'"' he 
 asked. 
 
 " You have put the same question about fifty times, Winthorne, 
 and you'll never get any different answer than the one you have 
 had already — that I don't choose to state it." 
 
 " I suppose you were not committing murder in another quarter 
 of the town, were you ? " 
 
 " I suppose I was not," equably returned Herbert. 
 
 " Then, failing that crime, there's no other in the decalogue that 
 I'd not confess to, to save my life. Whether I was robbing a bank, 
 or setting a church on fire, I'd tell it out, rather than be hanged by 
 the neck until I was dead." 
 
 "Ah, but I was not doing either," said Herbert. 
 
 " Then there's the less reason for your persisting in the observance 
 of so much mystery." 
 
 " My doing so is my own business," returned Herbert. 
 
 " No, it is not your own business." objected Mr. Winthorne. 
 " You assert that you are innocent of the crime with which you are 
 charged " 
 
 " I assert nothing but the truth," interrupted Herbert. 
 
 " Good. Then, if you are innocent, and if you can prove your 
 innocence, it is your duty to your family to do it. A man's duties
 
 34^ MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 in this life are not owing to himself alone : above all, a son's. He 
 owes allegiance to his father and mother ; his consideration for them 
 should be above his consideration for himself. If you can prove 
 your innocence it will be an unpardonable sin not to do it ; a sin 
 inflicted on your family." 
 
 " I can't help it," replied Herbert, in his obstinacy. " I have my 
 reasons for not speaking, and I shall not speak." 
 
 " You will surely suffer the penalty," said Mr. Winthorne. 
 
 " Then I must suffer it," returned the prisoner. 
 
 But it is one thing to talk, and another to do. Many a brave 
 spirit, ready and willing to undergo hanging in theory, would find 
 his heart fail and his bravery altogether die out, were he really 
 required to reduce it to practice. 
 
 Herbert Dare was only human. After July had come in, and the 
 time for the opening of the assizes might be counted by hours, then 
 his courage began to flinch. He spent a night in tossing from side 
 to side on his pallet (a wide difference between that and his com- 
 fortable bed at home), during which a certain ugly apparatus, to be 
 erected for his especial use within the walls of the prison some fine 
 Saturday morning, on which he might figure by no means gracefully, 
 had mentally disturbed his rest. 
 
 He arose unrefreshed. The vision of that possible future was not 
 a pleasant one. Herbert remembered once, when he had been a 
 college boy, that the Saturday morning's occasional drama had been 
 enacted for the warning and edification of the town, and of the 
 country people flocking into it for market. The college boys had 
 determined, for once in their lives, to see the sight — if they could 
 accomplish it. The ceremony was invariably performed at eight 
 o'clock ; the exhibition closed at nine : and the boys' difficulty was, 
 how to arrive at the scene in time, considering that it was only at 
 the striking of the latter hour that they were let loose down the 
 steps of the school. They had tried the time between the cloisters 
 and the county prison ; and found that by dint of taking the shorter 
 way through the back streets, tearing along at the fleetest pace, and 
 knocking over every obstruction — human, animal, or solid — that 
 might unfortunately be in their path, they could do the distance in 
 four minutes. Arriving rather out of wind, it's true: but that was 
 nothing. 
 
 Four minutes! they did not see their way. If the curtain de- 
 scended at nine, sharp, as good be forty minutes after the hour, as 
 four, in point of practical effect. But the Helstonleigh college boys 
 — as you may sometime have heard remarked before — were not 
 wont to allow difficulties to overmaster them. If there was a 
 possible way of overcoming obstacles, they were sure to find it. 
 Consultations had been anxious. To request the head-master to 
 allow them as a favour to depart five or ten minutes before the 
 usual time, would be worse than useless. It was a question whether 
 he ever would have accorded it; but there was no chance of it on 
 that morning. Neither could the whole school be taken summarily
 
 AN UCxLY VISION. 349 
 
 with stomach-ache, or croup, or any other excruciating malady, 
 necessitating compassion and an early dismissal. 
 
 They came to the resolve of applying to the oft'icial who had the 
 cathedral clock under his charge ; or, as they phrased it, " coming 
 over the clock-man." By dint of coaxing, or bribery, or some other 
 element of persuasion they got this functionary to promise to put 
 the clock on eight minutes on that particular morning. And it was 
 done. And at eight minutes before nine by the sun, the cathedral 
 clock rang out its nine strokes. But, instead of the master hfting 
 his finger^ — the signal for the boys to tear forth — the master sat 
 quiet at his desk, and never gave it. He sat until the eight minutes 
 had gone by, when the other churches in the town gave out their 
 hour ; he sat four minutes after that : and then he nodded them 
 their dismissal. 
 
 The twelve minutes had seemed to the boys like twelve hours. 
 Where the hitch was, they never knew; they never have known to 
 this day ; as they would tell you themselves. Whether the master 
 received an inkling of what was in the wind ; or whether, by one of 
 those extraordinary coincidences that sometimes occur in life, he, 
 for that one morning, allowed the hour to slip by unheeded — had 
 not heard it strike — they could not tell. He gave out no explana- 
 tion, then, or afterwards. The clock-man protested that he had 
 been true ; had not breathed a hint to any one living of the purposed 
 advancement ; and the boys had no reason to disbelieve him. 
 
 However it might have been, they could not alter it. It was four 
 minutes past nine when they clattered pele-7iiele down the school- 
 room steps. Away they tore, full of fallacious hope, out at the 
 cloisters, through the cathedral precincts, along the nearest streets, 
 and arrived within the given four minutes, rather than over it. 
 
 Alas, for human expectations! The prison was there, it is true, 
 formidable as usual ; but all trace of the morning's jubilee had 
 passed away. Not only had the chief actor been removed, but also 
 that ugly apparatus which Herbert Dare had dreamt of. That 
 might have afforded them some gratification to contemplate, failing 
 the greater sight. The college boys, dumb in the first moment of 
 their disappointment, gave vent to it at length in three dismal 
 groans, the echoes of which might have been heard as far off as the 
 cathedral. Groans not intended for the unhappy mortal, then be- 
 yond hearing of that, or any other earthly sound ; not for the officials 
 of the county prison, all too quick-handed that morning ; but given 
 as a compliment to the respected gentleman at that time holding the 
 situation of head-master. 
 
 Herbert Dare remembered this; it was rising up in his mind with 
 strange distinctness. He himself had been one of the deputation 
 chosen to " come over " the clock-man ; had been the chief persuader 
 of that functionary. Would the college boys hasten down if he were 
 
 to In spite of his bravery, he broke off the speculation with a 
 
 shudder ; and. calling the turnkey to him, he despatched a message 
 for Mr. Winthornc. Was it the remembrance of his old school-
 
 350 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 fellows, of what they would think of him, that brought about what 
 no other consideration had been able to effect .*' 
 
 As much indulgence as it was possible to allow a prisoner was 
 accorded to Herbert Dare. Indeed, it may be questioned whether 
 any previous prisoner, incarcerated within the walls of the county 
 prison, had ever enjoyed so much. The governor of the prison 
 and Mr. Dare had lived on intimate terms. Mr. Dare and his two 
 elder sons had been familiar, in their legal capacity, with both its 
 civil and criminal prisoners ; and the turnkeys had often bowed 
 Herbert in and out of cells, as they now bowed out Mr. Winthorne. 
 Altogether, what with the governor's friendly feeling, and the 
 turnkeys' reverential one, Herbert Dare obtained more privileges 
 than the ordinary run of prisoners. The message was at once 
 taken to Mr. Winthorne, and it brought that gentleman back again. 
 " I have made up my mind to tell," was Herbert's brief salutation 
 when he entered. 
 
 " A very sensible resolution," replied the lawyer. Doubts, how- 
 ever, crossed his mind as he spoke, whether the prisoner was not 
 about to set up some plea which had never had place in fact. In 
 like manner to Sergeant Delves, Mr. Winthorne had arrived at the 
 firm belief that there was nothing to tell. " Well ? " said he. 
 
 "That is, conditionally," resumed Herbert Dare. " It would be 
 of little use my saying I was at such and such a place, unless I 
 could bring forward confirmatory evidence." 
 " Of course it would not." 
 
 "Well; there are witnesses who could give this satisfactory 
 evidence : but the question is, will they be willing to do it ? " 
 
 " What motive or excuse could they have for refusing ? " returned 
 Mr. Winthorne. " When a fellow-creature's life is at stake, surely 
 there is no man so lost to humanity, as not to come forward and 
 save it, if it be in his power." 
 
 " Circumstances alter cases," was the curt reply of Herbert Dare. 
 " Was it your doubt, as to whether they would come forward, that 
 caused your hesitation at calling on them to do so?" asked Mr. 
 Winthorne, something not pleasant in his tone. 
 
 " Not altogether. I foresaw a difficulty in it ; I foresee it still. 
 Winthorne, you look at me with a face full of doubt. There is no 
 cause for it — as you will find." 
 
 " Well, go on," said the lawyer ; for Herbert had stopped. 
 " The thing must be gone about in a very cautious manner ; and 
 I don't quite see how it can be done," resumed Herbert slowly. 
 "Winthorne, I think I had better make a confidant of you, and tell 
 you the whole story from beginning to end." 
 
 " If I am to do you any good, I must hear it, I expect. A man 
 can't work in the dark." 
 
 " Sit down then, and I'll begin. Though, mind— I tell it you 
 in confidence. It's not for Hclstonlcigh. But you will see the 
 expediency of being silent when you have heard it."
 
 ( 351 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SERGEANT DELVES " LOOKS UP." 
 
 The following Saturday was the day fixed for the opening of the 
 commission at Helstonleigh. It soon came round, and the streets, 
 in the afternoon, wore their usual holiday appearance. The high 
 sheriff's procession went out to meet the judges, and groups stood 
 about, waiting and watching for its return. Amongst other people 
 blocking up the way, might be observed the portly person of 
 Sergeant Delves. He strolled along, seeming to look at nothing, 
 but his keen eye was everywhere. It suddenly fell upon Mr. Win- 
 thorne, who was picking his way through the crowd as fast as he 
 could do so, apparently^n a hurry. Hurry or not, Sergeant Delves 
 stopped him, and drew him to a safe spot beyond the reach of 
 curious ears. 
 
 " I was looking for you, Mr. Winthorne," said Delves in a con- 
 fidential tone. " I say — this tale, that Dare will succeed in estab- 
 lishing an alibi, is it reliable ? " 
 
 "Why — who the mischief can have been setting that afloat?" 
 returned the lawyer, in a tone of the utmost astonishment, not 
 unmixed with vexation. 
 
 " Dare himself was my informant," replied the sergeant.' " I was 
 in the prison just now, and saw him in the yard with the turnkey. 
 He called me aside, and told me he was as good as acquitted." 
 
 " Then he is an idiot for his pains. He had no right to talk of it, - 
 even to you." 
 
 " / am dark," carelessly returned Delves. " I don't wish ill to the 
 Dares, and I'd not work it to them ; as perhaps some of them could 
 tell you," he added significantly. '' What about this acquittal that 
 he talks of?" 
 
 " There's no doubt he will be acquitted. He will prove an ahbiP 
 
 " Is it a got-up alibi?'' asked the plain-speaking sergeant. 
 
 " No. And as far as I go, I would not lend myself to getting up 
 
 anything false," observed the solicitor. " He has said from the first, 
 
 you know, that he was not near the house at the time, and so it will 
 
 turn out." 
 
 " Has he confessed where he was, after all his standing out ? " 
 " Yes ; to me : it will be disclosed at the trial." 
 " He was after no good, I know," nodded the sergeant oracularly. 
 Mr. Winthorne raised his eyebrows, and slightly jerked his 
 shoulders. The movement may have meant anything or nothing. 
 He did not reply in words. 
 
 Sergeant Delves fell into a reverie. He roused himself from it 
 to take a searching gaze at the lawyer. " Sir," said he, and he could
 
 352 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 hardly have spoken more earnestly had his life depended on it, " tell 
 me the truth out-and-out. Do you, yourself, from the depths of your 
 own judgment, believe Herbert Dare to have been innocent ?" 
 
 " Delves, as truly as that you and I now stand here, I honestly 
 believe that he had no more to do with his brother's death than we 
 had." 
 
 " Then I'm blest if I don't take up the other scent ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Delves, slapping his thigh. " I did think of it once, but I 
 dropped it again, so sure was I that it was Master Herbert." 
 
 " What scent is that ? " 
 
 " Look here," said the sergeant — " but now it's my turn to warn 
 you to be dark. There was a young woman met Anthony Dare the 
 night of the murder, when he was going down to the Star-and- 
 (iarter. It's a young woman he did not behave genteel to, some 
 time ba^k, as the ghost says in the song. She met him that night, 
 and she gave him a bit of her tongue ; not much, for he wouldn't 
 stop to listen. But now, Mr. Winthorne, it has crossed my mind 
 many times, whether she might not have watched for his going 
 home again, and followed him; followed him right into the dining- 
 room, and done the mischief. I'll lay a guinea it was her ! " added 
 the sergeant, arriving at a hasty conclusion. " I shall look up 
 in now." 
 
 Do you mean that young woman in Honey Fair? " asked Mr. 
 Winthorne. 
 
 "Just so. Her, and nobody else. The doubt has crossed me; 
 but, as I say, I was so certain it was the brother, that I did not 
 follow it up." 
 
 " Could a woman's feeble hand inflict such injuries ? " debated the 
 solicitor. 
 
 "'Feeble' be hanged!" politely rejoined the sergeant. "Some 
 women have the fists of men ; and the strength of 'em, too. You 
 don't know 'em as we do. A desperate woman will do anything. 
 And Anthony Dare, remember, had not his strength in him that 
 night." 
 
 Mr. Winthorne shook his head. " That girl has no look of 
 ferocity about her. I should question it being her. Let's see— 
 what is her name ? " 
 
 " Listen ! " returned the sergeant. " When you have had half as 
 much to do with people as I have, you'll have learnt not to go by 
 looks. Her name's Caroline Mason." 
 
 At that moment the cathedral bells rang out, announcing the 
 return of the procession, the advent of the judges. As if the sound 
 reminded the lawyer of the speed of time, he hastily went on his 
 way ; leaving the sergeant to use his eyes and ears at the expense 
 of the crowd. 
 
 "I wonder how the prisoners in the jail feels?" remarked a 
 woman, whom the sergeant recognized as being no other than Mrs. 
 Cross. Slic had ju.u come out of a warehouse with her supply of 
 work for the ensuing week.
 
 SERGEANT DELVES " LOOKS UP." 353 
 
 '• Ah, poor creatures ! " responded another of the group, and that 
 was Mrs. Brunim. " I wonder how young Dare hkes it ! " 
 
 " Or how old Dare hkes it — if he can hear 'em all the way up at 
 his office. They'll know their fate soon, them two." 
 
 In close vicinity to this colloquy was a young woman, di"awn against 
 the wall, under shelter of a projecting doorway. Her once good- 
 looking face was haggard, and her clothes were scanty. It was 
 for this reason, perhaps, that she appeared to shun observation. 
 Sergeant Delves, apparently without any other design than that of 
 working his way leisurely through the throng, edged himself up 
 to her. 
 
 " Looking out for the show. Miss Mason?" 
 
 Caroline turned her spiritless eyes upon him. " I'm waiting 
 till there's a way cleared for me to get through, without pushing 
 against folks, and contaminating 'em. What's the show to me, or 
 me to it ? " 
 
 " At the last assizes, in March, when the judges came in, young 
 Anthony Dare made one in the streets, looking on," resumed the 
 sergeant, chatting aflably. " I saw him and spoke to him. And 
 now he is gone where there's no shows to see." 
 
 She made no reply. 
 
 " The women there," pointing his thumb at the group of talkers 
 hard by, " are saying that Herbert Dare won't like the sound of the 
 college bells.^ — Hey, me! Look at those young toads of college 
 boys, just let out of school! " broke off the sergeant, as a tribe of 
 some twenty of the king's scholars came fighting and elbowing their 
 way through the throng to the front. " They are just like so many 
 wild colts ! Maybe the prisoner, Herbert Dare, is now casting his 
 thoughts back to the time when he made one of the band, and was 
 as free from care as they are. It's not so long ago." 
 
 Caroline Mason asked a question somewhat abruptly. "Will he 
 be found guilty, sir, do you think ? " 
 
 The sergeant turned the tail of his keen eye upon her, and 
 answered the question by asking another. " Do you?" 
 
 She shook her head. " I don't think he was guilty." 
 
 " You don't ? " 
 
 " No, I don't. Why should one brother kill another?" 
 
 " Very true," coughed the s-crgeant. " But somebody must have 
 done it. If Herbert Dare did not, who did ? " 
 
 "Ah! who did? I'd hke to know," she passionately added. 
 " He had folks in this town that owed him grudges, had Mr. 
 Anthony Dare." 
 
 " If my vision didn't deceive me, I saw you talking to him that 
 very same night," carelessly observed the sergeant. 
 
 " Did you see me?" she rejoined, apparently as much at ease as 
 the sergeant himself. " I had to do an errand at that end of the 
 town, and I met him, and told him what he was. I hadn't spoke to 
 him for months and months ; for years, I think. I had slipped into 
 doors, down entries, anywhere to avoid him, if I saw him coming; 
 
 Mrs. H.-iUlburtonV Troubles. i-o
 
 35-1. MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 but a feeling came over me to speak to him then. I'm glad I did. 
 I hope the truths I said to him went along with him to enliven him 
 on his journey ! " 
 
 " Did you see him after that, later in the evening ? " resumed the 
 inspector, putting the question sociably, and stretching his neck up 
 to obtain a view of something at a distance. 
 
 " No, I didn't," she replied. " But I would, if I had thought it 
 was going to be his last. I'd have bade him remember all his good 
 works where he was going to. I'd almost have went with him, I 
 would, to have heard how he answered for them, up there." 
 
 Caroline Mason glanced upwards to indicate the sky, when a 
 loud flourish of trumpets from the advancing heralds sounded close 
 upon them. As they rode up at a foot pace, they dropped their 
 trumpets, and the mounted javelin-men quickly followed, their 
 javelins in rest. A carriage or two ; a few more officials ; and then 
 advanced the equipage of the high sheriff. Only one of the judges 
 was in it, fully robed : a fine man, with a benign countenance. A 
 grave smile was on it as he spoke to the sheriff, who sat opposite to 
 him, his chaplain by his side. 
 
 Sergeant Delves's attention was distracted for an instant, and 
 when he looked round again, Carohne Mason had disappeared. He 
 just caught sight of her in the distance, winding her way through 
 the crowd, her head down, 
 
 "Did she do it, or did she not?" cried the sergeant, in soliloquy. 
 " Go on, go on, my lady, for the present ; you are about to be a bit 
 looked after." 
 
 How did the prisoners feel, and Herbert Dare amongst them, as 
 the joyous sounds, outside, fell upon their ears : the blast of the 
 trumpets, the sweetness of the bells, the stir of life : penetrating 
 within the walls of the city and county prisons? Did they feel that 
 the pomp and show, run after as a holiday sight, was only a cruel 
 advent to them ? — that the formidable and fiery vision in the scarlet 
 robe and flowing wig, who sat in the fine carriage, bending his 
 serene face upon the mob, collected to stare and shout, might prove 
 the pronouncer of their doom? — a doom that should close the 
 portals of this world upon them, and open those of eternity ! 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE TRIAL. 
 
 Tuesday morning was the day fixed for the trial of Herbert Dare. 
 You might have walked upon the people's heads in the vicinity of 
 the Guildhall, for all the town wished to get in to hear it. Of 
 course only a very small portion of the town, relatively speaking, 
 could have its wish, or succeed in fighting a way to a place. Of the 
 rest, some went back to their liomes, disappointed and exploding;
 
 THE TRIAL, 355 
 
 and the rest collected outside, and blocked up the street. The 
 police had their work cut out that day ; while the javelin-men, 
 heralding in the judges, experienced great difficulty in keeping clear 
 the passages. The heat in court would be desperate as the day 
 advanced. 
 
 Sir William Leader, as senior judge, took his seat in the criminal 
 court. It was he whom you saw in the sheriff's carriage on 
 Saturday. The same benignant face was bent upon the crowded 
 court that had been bent upon the street mob ; the same penetrating 
 eye ; the same grave, calm bearing. The prisoner was immediately 
 placed at the bar, and all eyes, strange or familiar, were strained to 
 look at him. They saw a tall, handsome young man, looking too 
 gentlemanly to stand in the felon's dock. He was habited in deep 
 mourning. His countenance, usually somewhat conspicuous for its 
 bright complexion, was pale, probably from the moment's emotion, 
 and his white handkerchief was lifted to his mouth as he moved 
 forward ; otherwise he was calm. Old Anthony Dare was in court, 
 looking far more agitated than his son. Preliminaries were gone 
 through, and the trial began. 
 
 " Prisoner at the bar, how say you ? Are you guilty, or not 
 guilty ? " 
 
 Herbert Dare raised his eyes fearlessly, and pleaded in a firm 
 tone : 
 
 " Not Guilty ! " 
 
 The leading counsel for the prosecution, Serjeant Seeitall, stated 
 the case. His address occupied some time, and he then proceeded 
 to call witnesses. One of the first examined was Betsy Carter. 
 She deposed to the facts of having sat up with the lady's-maid and 
 Joseph, until the return of Mr. and Mrs. Dare and their daughter ; 
 to having then gone into the dining-room with alight to look for Mr, 
 Dare's pipe, which she had left there in the morning, when cleaning 
 the room. " In moving forward with the candle, I saw something 
 dark on the ground," continued Betsy, who, when her first timidity 
 had gone off, seemed inclined to be communicative. " At the first 
 glance, I thought it was one of the gentlemen gone to sleep there ; 
 but when I stooped down with the light, I saw it was the face of the 
 dead. Awful, it looked ! " 
 
 " What did you next do ? " demanded the examining counsel, 
 
 " Screeched out, gentlemen," responded Betsy. 
 
 " What else ? " 
 
 " I went out of the room, screeching to Joseph in the hall, and 
 master came in from outside the front door, where he was waiting, 
 all peaceful and ignorant, for his pipe, little thinking what there 
 was so close to him. I screeched out all the more, gentlemen, 
 when I remembered the quarrel that had took place at dinner that 
 afternoon, and I knew it was nobody but Mr. Herbert that had 
 done the murder." 
 
 The witness was sharply told to confine herself to evidence. 
 
 " It couldn't be nobody else," retorted Betsy, who, once set going,
 
 356 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 was a match for any cross-examiner. " There was the cloak to 
 prove it. Mr. Herbert had gone out in the cloak that very night, 
 and the poor dead gentleman was lying on it. Which proves it 
 must have come off in the scuffle between 'em." 
 
 The fact of the quarrel, the facts connected with the cloak, as 
 well as all other facts, had been mentioned by the learned Serjeant 
 Seeitall in his opening address. The witness was questioned as to 
 what she knew of the quarrel : but it appeared that she had not 
 been present ; consequently could not testify to it. The cloak 
 she could say more about, and spoke of it confidently as Mr. 
 Herbert's. 
 
 " How did you know the cloak, found under the dead man, was 
 Mr. Herbert's .'' " interposed the prisoner's counsel, Mr. Chattaway. 
 
 " Because I did," returned the witness. 
 
 " I ask you how you knew it ? " 
 
 " By lots of tokens," she answered. " By the shining black clasp, 
 for one thing, and by the tears and jags in it, for another. Nobody 
 has ever pretended it was not the cloak, have they .'' I have seen 
 it fifty times hanging up in Mr. Herbert's closet." 
 
 " You saw the prisoner going out in it that evening ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did," she answered. " I was looking out at Miss 
 Adelaide's chamber window, and I saw him come out of the dining- 
 room window and go off towards the front gates. The gentlemen 
 often went out through the dining-room window, instead of at the 
 hall door." 
 
 " The prisoner says he came back immediately, and left his cloak 
 in the dining-room, going out finally without it. Did you see him 
 come back ? " 
 
 " No, I didn't," rephed Betsy. 
 . " How long did you remain at the window ? " 
 
 " Not long." 
 
 " Did you remain long enough for him to cross the lawn to the 
 front entrance gates, and come back again ? " 
 
 " No, I don't think I did, sir." 
 
 " The court will please take note of that answer," said Mr. Chat-- 
 taway, who was aware that a great deal had been made of the fact 
 of the housemaid's having seen him go out in the cloak. " You left 
 the window then, immediately ? " 
 
 " Pretty near immediately. I don't think I stayed long enough 
 at it for him to come back from the front gates — if he did come. I 
 have never said I did, have I ? " she resentfully continued. 
 
 " What time was it that you saw him go out ? " 
 
 " I hadn't took particular notice of the time. It was dusk. I was 
 turning down my beds; and I generally do that a little before nine. 
 The next room I went into was Mr. Anthony's." 
 
 " The deceased was in it, was he not .'' " 
 
 " He was in it, stretched full length upon the sofa, little thinkings 
 poor fellow, that he'd soon be stretched down below, with a stab 
 in him. He had his head down on the cushion, and his feet up
 
 THE TRIAL. 357 
 
 over the arm at the foot, all comfortable and easy, with a cigar 
 in his mouth, and some glasses and things on the table near him. 
 'What are you come bothering in here for?' he asked. So I begged 
 his pardon ; for you see, gentlemen, I didn't know that he was there, 
 and I went out again, and met Joseph carrying up a note to him. 
 A little while after that, he went out." 
 
 The witness's propensity to degenerate into gossip appeared irre- 
 pressible. Several times she was stopped; once by the judge, 
 
 " Of how many servants did the household of Mr. Dare consist?" 
 she was asked. 
 
 " There were four of us, gentlemen." 
 
 " Did you all sit up that night ? " 
 
 " All but the cook. She went to bed." 
 
 " And the family, those who were at home, went to bed ? " 
 
 " All of them, sir. The governess went early ; she was not well ; 
 and Miss Rosa and Miss Minny went, and the two young gentlemen 
 went when they came home from playing cricket." 
 
 " In point of fact, then, no one was up except you three servants 
 in the kitchen?" 
 
 " Nobody, sir." 
 
 "And you heard no noise in the house until the return of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Dare?" 
 
 " We never heard nothing," responded Betsy. " We were sitting 
 quietly in the kitchen ; me and the lady's-maid at work, and Joseph 
 asleep. We never heard any noise at all." 
 
 This was the substance of what was asked her. Joseph was next 
 called, and gave his testimony. He deposed to having fastened up 
 the house at eleven o'clock, with the exception of the dining-room 
 window : that was left open in obedience to orders. All other facts 
 within his knowledge, he also testified to. The governess, Signora 
 Varsini, was called, and questioned upon two points : what she had 
 seen and heard of the quarrel, and of the subsequent conduct of 
 Anthony and Herbert to each other in the drawing-room. But her 
 testimony amounted to nothing, and she might as well not have 
 been troubled. She was also asked whether she had heard any 
 noise in the house between eleven o'clock and the return of Mr. 
 and Mrs. Dare^ She replied that she did not hear any, for she had 
 been asleep. She went to sleep long before eleven, and did not 
 wake up until aroused by the commotion caused by the finding of 
 the body. The witness was proceeding to favour the court with 
 her own con\iction that the prisoner was innocent, but was brought 
 up with a summary notice, that that was not evidence, and that, if 
 she knew nothing more, she might withdraw. Upon which, she 
 honoured the bench with an elaborate curtsey, and retired. Not a 
 witness throughout the day gave evidence with more absolute 
 equanimity. 
 
 Lord Hawkesley was examined; also Mr. Brittle — the latter 
 coming to Helstonleigh on his subpoena. But to give the testimony 
 of all the witnesses in length, would only be to repeat what has
 
 358 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 already been related. It will be sufficient to extract a few questions 
 here and there. 
 
 " What were the games played in your rooms that evening?" was 
 asked of Mr. Brittle. 
 
 " Some played whist ; some ecartd." 
 
 " At which did the deceased play ? " 
 
 " At whist." 
 
 " Was he a loser, or a gainer ? " 
 
 " A loser ; but to a very trifling amount. We were playing half- 
 crown points. He and myself played against Lord Hawkesley and 
 Captain Bellew. We broke up because he, the deceased, was not 
 sufficiently sober to play." 
 
 " Was he sober when he joined you ? " 
 
 " By no means. He appeared to have been drinking rather 
 freely ; and he took more at my rooms, which made him worse." 
 
 " Why did you accompany him home ? " 
 
 " He was scarcely in a state to proceed alone : and I felt no 
 objection to a walk. It was a fine night." 
 
 " Did he speak, during the evening, of the dispute which had 
 taken place between him and his brother?" interposed the judge. 
 
 " He did not, my lord. A slight incident occurred, as we were 
 going to his home, which it may be perhaps as well to men- 
 tion " 
 
 " You must mention everything which bears upon this unhappy 
 case, sir," interrupted the judge. " You are sworn to tell the whole 
 truth." 
 
 " I do not suppose it does bear upon it directly, my lord. Had I 
 attached importance to it, I should have spoken of it before. In 
 passing the turning which leads to the race-course, a man met us, 
 and began to abuse the deceased. The deceased was inclined to 
 stop and return it, but I drew him on." 
 
 " Of what nature was the abuse ? " asked the counsel. 
 
 " I do not recollect the precise terms. It was to the effect that 
 he, the deceased, tippled away his money, instead of paying his 
 debts. The man backed against the wall as he spoke : he appeared 
 to have had rather too much himself. I drew the deceased on, and 
 we were soon out of hearing." 
 
 " What became of the man ? " 
 
 " I do not know. We left him standing against the wall. He 
 called loudly after the deceased to know when his bill was to be 
 paid. I judged him to be some petty tradesman." 
 
 "Did he follow you?" 
 
 " No. At least, we heard no more of him afterwards. I saw the 
 deceased safely within his own gate, and left him." 
 
 " What state, as to sobriety, was the deceased in then ? " 
 
 "He was what may be called half-seas-over," replied the witness. 
 " He could talk, but his words were not very distinct." 
 
 " Could he walk alone ? " 
 
 "After a fashion. He stumbled as he walked."
 
 THE TRIAL. 359 
 
 " What time was this ? " 
 
 " About half-past eleven. I think the half-hour struck directly 
 after I left him, but I am not quite sure." 
 
 " As you returned, did you see anything of the man who had ac- 
 costed the deceased ? " 
 
 " Not anything." 
 
 Strange to say, the veiy man, thus spoken of, was in court, 
 listening to the trial. Upon hearing the evidence given by Mr. 
 Brittle, he voluntarily came forward as a witness. He said he had 
 been '* having a drop," and it had made him abusive, but that 
 Anthony Dare had owed him money long for work done, mending 
 and making. He was a jobbing tailor, and the bill was a matter of 
 fourteen pounds. Anthony Dare had only put him off and off; he 
 was a poor man, with a wife and family to keep, and he wanted the 
 money badly : but now, he supposed, he should never be paid. He 
 lived close to the spot where he met the deceased and the gentle- 
 man who had just given evidence, and he could prove that he went 
 home as soon as they were out of sight, and was in bed by half-past 
 eleven. What with debts and various other things, he concluded, 
 the town had had enough to rue in young Anthony Dare. Still, the 
 poor fellow didn't deserve such a shocking fate as murder, and he 
 would have been the first to protect him from it. 
 
 That the evidence was given in good faith, was undoubted. He 
 was known to the town as a harmless, inoffensive man, addicted, 
 though upon rare occasions, to take more than was good for him, 
 when he was apt to dilate upon his grievances. 
 
 The policeman, who had been on duty that night near Mr. Dare's 
 residence, was the next witness called. " Did you see the deceased 
 that night ? " was asked of him. 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did," was the reply. " I saw him walking home with 
 the gentleman who has given evidence — Mr. Brittle. I noticed that 
 young Mr. Dare talked thick, as if he had been drinking." 
 
 " Did they appear to be on good terms ?" 
 
 "Very good terms, sir. Mr. Brittle was laughing when he opened 
 the gate for the deceased, and told him to mind he did not kiss the 
 grass ; or something to that effect." 
 
 " Were you close to them ? " 
 
 " Quite close, sir. I said ' Good night ' to the deceased, but he 
 seemed not to notice it. I stood and watched hini OA'cr the grass 
 He reeled as he walked." 
 
 " What time was this ? " 
 
 " Nigh upon half-past eleven, sir." 
 
 " Did you detect any signs of people moving within the house ? " 
 
 " Not any, sir. The house seemed quite still, and the blinds were 
 down before the windows." 
 
 " Did you sec any one enter the gate that night, besides the de- 
 ceased ? " 
 
 " Not any one." 
 
 " Not the prisoner ? "
 
 Z66 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Not any one," repeated the policeman. 
 
 " Did you see anything of the prisoner later, between half-past 
 one and two, the time he alleges as that of his going home ? " 
 
 " I never saw the prisoner at all that night, sir." 
 
 " He could have gone in, as he states, without your seeing him ? " 
 interposed the prisoner's counsel. 
 
 " Yes, certainly, a dozen times over. My beat extended to half- 
 a-mile beyond Mr. Dare's." 
 
 One witness, who was placed in the box, created a profound 
 sensation : for it was the unhappy father, Anthony Dare. Since 
 the deed was committed, two months ago, Mr. Dare had been 
 growing old. His brow was furrowed, his cheeks were wrinkled, his 
 hair was turning white, and he looked, as he obeyed the call to the 
 witness-box, as a man sinking under a heavy weight of care. Many 
 of the countenances present expressed deep commiseration for him. 
 
 He was sworn, and various questions were asked him. Amongst 
 others, whether he knew anything of the quarrel which had taken 
 place between his two sons. 
 
 " Personally, nothing," was the reply. " I was not at home." 
 
 " It has been testified that when they were parted, your son 
 Herbert threatened his brother. Is he of a revengeful disposition ! " 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Dare, with emotion ; " that, I can truly say, he 
 is not. My poor son, Anthony, was somewhat given to sullenness ; 
 but Herbert never was." 
 
 " There had been a great deal of ill-feeling between them of late, 
 I believe." 
 
 " I fear there had been." 
 
 " It is stated that you yourself, upon leaving home that evening, 
 left them a warning not to quarrel. Was it so .'' " 
 
 " I believe I did. Anthony entered the house as we were leaving 
 it, and I did say something to him to that effect." 
 
 "Herbert, the prisoner, was not present?" 
 
 " No. He had not returned." 
 
 " It is proved that he came home later, dined, and went out again 
 at dusk. It does not appear that he was seen afterwards by any 
 member of your household, until you yourself went up to his room 
 and found him there, after the discovery of the body. His own 
 account is, that he had only recently returned. Do you know where 
 he was, during his absence ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Or where he went to ? " 
 
 " No," repeated the witness in a sadly faltering tone, for he knew 
 that this was the one weak point in the defence. 
 
 "He will not tell you?" 
 
 " He declines to do so. But," the witness added, with emotion, 
 " he has denied his guilt to me from the first, in the most decisive 
 manner : and I solemnly beheve him to be innocent. Why he will 
 not state where he was, I cannot conceive; but not a shade of 
 doubt rests upon my mind that he could state it, if he chose, and
 
 THE TRIAL, 361 
 
 that it would be the means of establishing the fact of his absence. 
 I would not assert this, if I did not believe it," said the witness, 
 raising his trembling hand. " They were both my boys : the one 
 destroyed was my eldest, perhaps my dearest ; and I declare that 
 I would not, knowingly, screen his assassin, although that assassin 
 were his brother." 
 
 The case for the prosecution concluded, and the defence was 
 entered upon. The prisoner's counsel — two of them eminent men, 
 Mr. Chattaway himself being no secondary light in the forensic 
 world — laboured under one disadvantage, as it appeared to the 
 crowded court. They exerted all their eloquence in seeking to 
 divert the guilt from the prisoner : but they could not — distort facts 
 as they might, call upon imagination as they would — they could 
 not conjure up the ghost of any other channel to which to direct 
 suspicion. There lay the weak point, as it had lain throughout. 
 If Herbert Dare was not guilty, who was? The family, quietly 
 sleeping in their beds, were beyond the pale of suspicion ; the house- 
 hold equally so ; and no trace of any midnight intruder to the house 
 could be found. It was a grave stumbling-block for the prisoner's 
 counsel ; but such stumbling-blocks are as nothing to an expert 
 pleader. Bit by bit Mr. Chattaway disposed, or seemed to dispose, 
 of every argument that could tell against the prisoner. The presence 
 of the cloak in the dining-room, from which so much appearance of 
 guilt had been deduced, he converted into a negative proof of 
 innocence. " Had he been the one engaged in the struggle," argued 
 the learned Q.C., "would he have been mad enough to leave his 
 own cloak there, underneath his victim, a damning proof of guilt .'' 
 No ! that, at any rate, he would have taken away. The very fact 
 of the cloak being under the murdered man was a most indisputable 
 proof, as he regarded it, that the prisoner remained totally ignorant 
 of what had happened — ignorant of his unfortunate brother's being 
 at all in the dining-room. Why ! had he only surmised that his 
 brother was lying, wounded or dead, in the room, would he not 
 have hastened to remove his cloak out of it, before it should be 
 seen there, knowing, as he must know, that, from the very terms on 
 which he and his brother had been, it would be looked upon as a 
 proof of his guilt .'' " The argument told well with the jury — probably 
 with the judge. 
 
 Bit by bit, so did he thus dispose of the suspicious circumstances : 
 of all, except one. And that was the great one, the one that nobody 
 could get over : the refusal of the prisoner to state where he was 
 that night. " All in good time, gentlemen of the jury," said Mr. 
 Chattaway, some murmured words reaching his ear that the omission 
 was deemed ominous. " I am coming to that later ; and I shall 
 prove as complete and distinct an alibi as it was ever my lot to 
 submit to an enlightened court." 
 
 The court listened, the jury listened, the spectators listened, and 
 " hoped he might." He had spoken, for the most part, to incredu- 
 lous ears,
 
 363 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALIBI. 
 
 When the speech of the counsel ended, and the time came for the 
 production of the witness or witnesses who were to prove the alibi^ 
 there appeared to be some delay. The intense heat of the court 
 had been growing greater with every hour. The rays of the after- 
 noon sun, now sinking lower and lower in the heavens, had only 
 brought with them a more deadly feeling of suffocation. But, to go 
 out for a breath of air, even had the thronged state of the passages 
 permitted the movement, appeared to enter into no one's thoughts. 
 Their suspense was too keen, their interest too absorbing. Who were 
 those mysterious witnesses, that would testify to the innocence of 
 Herbert Dare ? 
 
 A stir at the extreme end of the court, where it joined the other 
 passage. Every eye was strained to see, every ear to listen, as an 
 usher came clearing the way. " By your leave there— by your leave ; 
 room for a witness ! " 
 
 The spectators looked, and stretched their necks, and looked 
 again. A few among them experienced a strange thrill of disap- 
 pointment, and felt that they should have much pleasure in being 
 allowed the privilege of boxing the usher's ears, for he preceded 
 no one more important than Richard Winthorne, the lawyer. Ah, 
 but wait a bit ! What short and slight figure is it that Mr. Win- 
 thorne is guiding along? The angry crowd have not caught sight 
 of her yet. 
 
 But, when they do — when the drooping, shrinking form is at 
 length in the witness-box ; her eyes never raised, her lovely face 
 bent in timid dread — then a murmur arises, and shakes the court 
 to its foundation. The judge feels for his glasses — rarely used — 
 and puts them across his nose, and gazes at her. A fair girl, attired 
 in the simple, modest garb, peculiar to the sect called Quakers, not 
 more modest than the lovely and gentle face. She does not take 
 the oath, only the affirmation peculiar to her people. 
 ^ " What is your name .'' " commenced the prisoner's counsel. 
 
 That she spoke words in reply, was evident, by the moving of 
 her lips : but they could not be heard. 
 
 "You must speak up," interposed the judge, in a tone of kindness. 
 
 A deep struggle for breath, an effort of which even those around 
 could see the pain, and the answer came. " They call me Anna. 
 I am the daughter of Samuel Lynn." 
 
 " Where do you live ? " 
 
 " I live with my father and Patience, in the London Road," 
 
 " What do you know of the prisoner at the bar.-" "
 
 THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALIBI. 363 
 
 A pause. She probably did not understand the sort of answer 
 required. One came that was unexpected. 
 
 " I know him to be innocent of the crime of which he is accused." 
 
 " How do you know this? " 
 
 " Because he could not have been near the spot at the time." 
 
 " Where was he then? " 
 
 " With me." 
 
 But the reply came forth in so faint a whisper that again she had 
 to be enjoined to speak louder, and she repeated it, using different 
 words. 
 
 "He was at our house." 
 
 " At what hour did he go to your house? " 
 
 " It was past nine when he came up first." 
 
 "And what time did he leave? " 
 
 "It was about one in the morning.'' 
 
 The answer appeared to create some- stir. A late hour for a sober 
 little Quakeress to confess to. 
 
 " Was he spending the evening with your friends?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Did they not know he was there ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "It was a clandestine visit to yourself, then? Where were 
 they?" 
 
 A pause, and a very trembling answer. " They were in bed." 
 
 " Oh ! You were entertaining him by yourself, then?" 
 
 She burst into tears. The judge let fall his glasses, as though 
 under the pressure of some annoyance, every feature of his fine 
 face expressive of compassion : it may be, his thoughts had flown 
 to daughters of his own. The crowd stood with open mouths, 
 gaping with undisguised astonishment, and the burly Queen's 
 counsel proceeded. 
 
 "And so he prolonged his visit until one o'clock in the morning?" 
 
 " I was locked out," she sobbed. " That is how he came to stay 
 so late." 
 
 Bit by bit, with questioning and cross-questioning, it all came 
 out : that Herljert Dare had been in the habit of paying stolen 
 visits to the field, and that Anna had been in the habit of meeting 
 him there. That she had gone in on this night just before ten, 
 which was later than she had ever stayed out before ; but, finding 
 Hester had to go out for medicine for Patience, she had run to the 
 field again to take a book to the prisoner : and that upon attempt- 
 ing to enter, soon afterwards, she found the door locked, Hester 
 having met the doctor's boy, and come back at once. She told it 
 all, as simply and guilelessly as a child. 
 
 "What were you doing all that time? From ten o'clock until 
 one in the morning ? " 
 
 " I was sitting on the door-step, crying." 
 
 "Was the prisoner with you?" 
 
 " Yes. He stood by me part of the time, telling mc not to be
 
 364 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 afraid ; and the rest of the time — more than an hour, I think — he 
 was working at the wires of the pantry window, to try to get in." 
 " Was he all that time at the wires ? " 
 
 "It was a long time before I remembered the pantry window. 
 He wanted to knock up Hester, but I was afraid to let him. I 
 feared she might tell Patience, and they would have been so angry 
 with me. He got in, at last, at the pantry window, and he opened 
 the kitchen window for me, and I went in by it." 
 
 " And you mean to say he was all that time, till one o'clock in the 
 morning, forcing the wires of a pantry window?" cried Serjeant 
 Seeitall. 
 
 " It was nearly one. I am telling thee the truth." 
 " And you did not lose sight of the prisoner from the time he first 
 came to the field, at nine o'clock, until he left you at one? " 
 
 " Only for the few minutes — it may have been four or five — when 
 I ran in and came out again with the book. He waited in the 
 field." 
 
 "What time was that?" 
 
 " The ten o'clock bell was going in Helstonleigh. We could 
 hear it." 
 
 " He was with you all the rest of the time?" 
 
 " Yes, all. When he was working at the pantry window I could 
 not see him, because he was round the angle of the house, but I 
 could hear him at the wires. Not a minute of the time but I 
 heard him. He was more than an hour at the wires, as I have told 
 thee." 
 
 " And until he began at the wires? " 
 
 " He was standing up by me, telling me not to be afraid." 
 " All the time ? You affirm this ? " 
 
 " I am affirming all that I say to thee. I am speaking as before 
 my Maker." 
 
 " Don't you think it is a pretty confession for a young lady to 
 make ? " 
 
 She burst into fresh tears. The judge turned his grave face 
 upon Serjeant Seeitall. But the serjeant had impudence enough 
 for ten. 
 
 " Pray, how many times had that pretty little midnight drama 
 been enacted?" he continued, while Anna sobbed in distress. 
 
 " Never before," burst forth a deep voice. " Don't you see it was 
 a pure accident, as she tells you? How dare you treat her as you 
 might a shameless witness?" 
 
 The interruption — one of powerful emotion — had come from the 
 prisoner. At the sound of his voice, Anna started, and looked 
 round hurriedly to the quarter whence it came. It was the first 
 time she had raised her e-yes to the court since entering the witness- 
 box. She had glanced up to answer whoever questioned her, and 
 that was all. 
 
 "Well?" said Serjeant Seeitall, as if demanding what else shg 
 might have to communicate.
 
 THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALIBI. 365 
 
 " I have no more to tell. I have told thee all I know. It was 
 nearly one o'clock when he went away, and I never saw him after." 
 
 " Did the prisoner wear a cloak when he came to the field that 
 night ? " 
 
 " No. He wore one sometimes, but he did not have it on that 
 night. It was very warm " 
 
 But, at that moment, Anna Lynn became conscious that a 
 familiar face was strained upon her from the midst of the crowd : 
 familiar, and yet not familiar ; for the face was distorted from its 
 natural look, and v^^as blanched, as of one in the last agony — the 
 face of Samuel Lynn. With a sharp cry of pain — of dread — Anna 
 fell on the floor in a fainting fit. What the shame of being before 
 that public court, of answering the searching questions of the 
 counsel, had failed to take away— her senses — the sight of her 
 father, cognizant of her disgrace, had effected. Surely it was a 
 disgrace for a young and guileless maiden to have to confess to 
 such an escapade — an escapade that sounded worse to censuring 
 ears than it had been in reality. Anna fainted. Mr. Winthorne 
 stepped forward, and she was borne out. 
 
 Another Quakeress was now put into the witness-box, and the 
 court looked upon a little middle-aged woman, whose face was 
 sallow, and who showed her defective teeth as she spoke. It was 
 Hester Dell. She wore a brown silk bonnet, lined with white, and 
 a fawn-coloured shawl. She was told that she must state what she 
 knew, relative to the visit of Herbert Dare, that night. 
 
 " I went to rest at my usual hour, or, maybe, a trifle later, for I 
 had waited for the arrival of some physic, never supposing but that 
 the child, Anna, had gone to her room before me, and was safe in 
 bed. I had been asleep some considerable time, as it seemed, when 
 I was awakened by what sounded like the raising of the kitchen 
 window underneath. I sat up in bed and listened, and was con- 
 vinced that the window was being raised slowly and cautiously, as 
 if the raiser did not want it to be heard. I was considerably startled, 
 the more so as I knew I had left the window fastened : and my 
 thoughts turned to housebreakers. While 1 deliberated what to do, 
 seeing I was but a lone woman in the house, save for the child 
 Anna, and Patience who was disabled in her bed, I heard what 
 appeared to be the voice of the child, and it sounded in the yard. 
 1 went to my window, but I could not see anything, it being right 
 over the kitchen, and I not daring to open it. But I still heard 
 Anna's voice : she was speaking in a low tone, and I believed I 
 caught other tones also — those of a man. I thought I must be 
 asleep and dreaming : next I thought that it must be young Gar 
 from the next door, Jane Halliburton's son. Her other sons I knew 
 to be not at home ; the one being abroad, the other at the University 
 of Oxford. I deliberated, could anything be the matter at their 
 house, and the boy have come for help. Then I reflected that that 
 was most unlikely, for why should he Ije stealthily opening the 
 Jatchen window, and why should Anna be whispering with him.'*
 
 366 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 In short, to tell thee the truth" — raising her eyes to the judge, 
 whom she appeared to address, to the ignoring of every one else — 
 " I did not know what to think, and I grew more disturbed. I 
 quietly put on a few things, and went softly down the stairs, deem- 
 ing it well, for my own sake, to feel my way, as it were, and not to 
 run headlong into danger. I stood a moment at the kitchen door, 
 listening ; and there I distinctly heard Anna laugh — a little, gentle 
 laugh. It reassured me, though I was still puzzled; and I opened 
 the door at once." 
 
 Here the witness made a dead pause. 
 
 "What did you see when you opened the door?" asked the 
 judge. 
 
 " I would not tell thee, but that I am bound to tell thee," she 
 frankly answered. " I saw the prisoner, Herbert Dare. He ap- 
 peared to have been laughing with Anna, who stood near him, and 
 he was preparing to get out at the window as I entered." 
 
 "Well? what next?" inquired the counsel, in an impatient tone; 
 for Hester had stopped again. 
 
 " I can hardly tell what, next," replied the witness. " Looking 
 back, it appears nothing but confusion in my mind. It seemed 
 nothing but confusion at the time. Anna cried out, and hid her 
 face in fear ; and the prisoner attempted some explanation, which 
 I would not listen to. To see a son of Anthony Dare's in the house 
 with the child at that midnight hour, filled me with anger and be- 
 wilderment. I ordered him away ; I believe I pushed him through 
 the window ; I threatened to call in a policeman. Finally, he went 
 away." 
 
 " Saying nothing ? " 
 
 " I tell you all, I would not listen to it. I remembered scraps of 
 what he said afterwards. That Anna was not to blame — that I 
 had no cause to scold her or to acquaint Patience with what had 
 happened — that the fault, if there was any fault, was mine, for 
 locking the back door so quickly. I refused to hear farther, and 
 he departed, saying he would explain when I was less angry. That 
 is all I saw of him." 
 
 " Did you mention this affair to any one ? " asked the counsel for 
 the prosecution. 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Why not ? " 
 
 " The child clung about me in tears after hcAvas gone, giving me 
 the explanation that I would not hear from him, and beseeching me 
 not to acquaint Patience. She told me how it had happened. That 
 upon my going out to see after the sleeping-draught for Patience, 
 she had taken the opportunity to run to the field with a book, where 
 Herbert Dare waited : and that upon attempting to come in again 
 she found the door locked." 
 
 " You returned sooner than she expected ? " 
 
 "Yes. I met the doctor's boy near our house, bringing the' 
 physic, and I took it from him and went home again directly. Not
 
 THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALHil. 367 
 
 seeing Anna about, I never thought but that she had retired to bed. 
 I went up also, trying the back door as I passed it, which to my 
 surprise I found unfastened." 
 
 " Why to your surprise ? " 
 
 " Because I had, as I beheved, previously turned the key of it. 
 Finding it unlocked, I concluded I must have been mistaken. 
 Afterwards, when the explanation came, I learnt that Anna had 
 undone it. She clung about me, as I tell thee, sobbing and crying, 
 saying, as he had said, that there was no cause to be angry with 
 her ; that she could not help what had happened ; and that she had 
 sat crying on the door-step the whole of the time, until he had 
 effected an entrance for her. I went to the pantry window, and 
 saw where the wires had been torn away, not roughly, but neatly ; 
 and I knew it must have taken a long time to accomplish. I fell in 
 with the child's prayer, and did not speak of what had occurred ; 
 not even to Patience. This is the first time it has escaped my hps." 
 
 " So you deemed it desirable to conceal such an adventure, and 
 give the prisoner opportunity to renew his midnight visits .'' " re- 
 torted the counsel for the prosecution. 
 
 " What was done could not be undone," said the witness. " I 
 was willing to spare the scandal to the child, and not be the means 
 of spreading it abroad. While I was deliberating whether to tell 
 Patience, seeing she was in so suffering a state, news came that 
 Herbert Dare was a prisoner. He had been arrested the following 
 morning, on the accusation of murdering his brother, and I knew 
 that he was safe for several weeks to come. Hence I held my 
 tongue." 
 
 The witness had given her evidence in a clear, straightforward, 
 uncompromising manner, widely at variance with the distressed 
 timidity of Anna. Not a shade of doubt rested on the mind of any 
 person in court that both had spoken the exact truth. But the 
 counsel seemed inclined to question still. 
 
 '* Since when did you know you were coming here to give this 
 evidence .'' " 
 
 " Only when I did come. Richard Winthorne, the man of law, 
 came to our house in a fly this afternoon, and brought us away 
 with him. By some remarks he exchanged with Anna when we 
 were in it, I found that she had known of it this day or two. They 
 feared to avert me, I suppose, lest, maybe, I might refuse to attend." 
 
 " One cjuestion more, witness. Did the prisoner wear a cloak 
 that night ? " 
 
 " No ; I did not see any." 
 
 This closed the evidence, and the witness was allowed to with- 
 draw. Richard Winthorne went in search of Samuel Lynn, and 
 found him seated on a bench in the outer hall surrounded by 
 gentlemen of his persuasion, many of them of high standing in 
 Helstonleigh. Tales of marvel, you know, never lose anything in 
 spreading; neither are people given to place a light construction 
 on public gossip, when they can, by any stretch of imagination,
 
 368 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 give it a dark one. In this affair, however, no very great stretch 
 was required. The town jumped to the charitable conclusion that 
 Anna Lynn must be one of the naughtiest girls under the sun ; im- 
 prudent, ungrateful, disobedient ; I don't know what else. Had she 
 been guilty of scattering poison in Atterly's field, and so killed all 
 the lambs, they could not have said, or thought, worse than they 
 did. All joined in it, charitable and uncharitable; all sorts of evil 
 notions were spread, and were taken up. Herbert Dare, you may 
 be very sure, came in for his share. 
 
 The news had been taken to Mr. Ashley's manufactory, sent by 
 the astounded Patience, that Richard Winthorne had come and 
 taken away Anna and Hester Dell to give testimony at the trial of 
 Herbert Dare. The Quaker, perplexed and wondering, believed 
 Patience must be demented ; that the message could have no foun- 
 dation in truth. Nevertheless, he bent his steps to the Guildhall, 
 accompanied by William Halliburton, and was witness to the evi- 
 dence. He, strict, and sober-minded, was not likely to take up a 
 more favourable construction of the general facts than the town 
 was taking up. It may be guessed what it was for him. 
 
 He sat now on a bench in the outer hall, surrounded by friends, 
 who, on hearing the crying scandal whispered, touching a young 
 member of their body, had come flocking down to the Guildhall. 
 When they spoke to him, he did not appear to hear ; he sat with 
 his hands on his knees, and his head sunk on his breast, never 
 raising it. Richard Winthorne approached him. 
 
 " Miss Lynn and her servant will not be wanted again," said the 
 lawyer. " I have sent for a fly." 
 
 The fly came. Anna was placed in it by Mr. Winthorne; Hester 
 Dell followed ; and Samuel Lynn came forward and stumbled into 
 it. It is the proper word. He appeared to have no power left in 
 his limbs. 
 
 " Thou wilt not be harsh with her, Samuel," whispered an influen- 
 tial Friend, who had a benevolent countenance. " Some of us will 
 confer with thee to-morrow ; but niieanwhile, do not be harsh with 
 her. Thou wilt call to mind that she is thy child, and motherless." 
 Samuel Lynn made no reply. He did not appear to hear. He 
 sat opposite his daughter, his eyes never lifted, and his face assum- 
 ing a leaden hue. Hester suddenly leaned from the door, and 
 beckoned to William Halliburton. 
 
 "Will thee please be so obliging as go up with us in the fly?" 
 she said in his ear. " I do not like his look." 
 
 William stepped in, and the fly drove away with closed blinds, to 
 the intense chagrin of the curious mob. Before it was out of the 
 town, William and Hester, with a simultaneous movement, sup- 
 ported the Quaker. Anna screamed. " What is it .'' " she uttered, 
 terrified at the sight of his drawn, distorted face. 
 
 " It is thy work," said Hester, less placidly than she would have 
 spoken in a calmer moment. " If thee hast saved the life of thy 
 friend, Herbert Dare, thee hast probably destroyed that of thy father."
 
 THE WITNESSES FOR THE ALIBI. 369 
 
 They were close to the residence of Mr. Parry, and William ordered 
 the fly to stop. The surgeon was at home, and took William's place 
 in it. Samuel Lynn had been struck down with paralysis. 
 
 William was at the house before they were, preparing Patience. 
 Patience was so far restored to health herself as to be able to walk 
 about a little ; she was very lame still. 
 
 They carried Mr. Lynn to his room. Anna in her deep humilia- 
 tion and shame— having to give evidence, and such evidence, in the 
 face of that open court, had been nothing less to her — flew to her 
 own chamber, and flung herself, dressed as she was, on the carpet, 
 in desperate abandonment. William saw her there as he passed it 
 from her father's room. There was no one to attend to her, for 
 they were occupied with Mr. L)nn. It was no moment for cere- 
 mony, and William entered and attempted to raise her. 
 
 " Let me be, William ; let me be ! I only want to die." 
 
 " Anna, child, this will not mend the past. Do not give way like 
 this." 
 
 But she resolutely turned from him, sobbing more wildly, " Only 
 to die ! only to die ! " 
 
 W'illiam went for his mother, and gave her the outline of the tale, 
 asking her to go to the house of distress and see what could be 
 done. Jane, in utter astonishment, sought farther explanation. 
 She could not understand him in the least. 
 
 " I assure you, I understand it nearly as little," replied William. 
 " Anna was locked out through some mistake of Hester's, it appears, 
 and Herbert Dare stayed with her. That it will be the means of 
 acquitting him, there is no doubt ; but Helstonleigh is making its 
 comments very freely." 
 
 Jane went in, her senses bewildered. She found Patience in a 
 state not to be described ; she found Anna where William had left 
 her, reiterating the same cry, " Oh, that I were dead ! that I were 
 dead ! " 
 
 Meanwhile, the trial at the Guildhall was drawing to its close, 
 and the judge proceeded to sum up. Not with the frantic bursts of 
 oratory indulged in by those eloquent gentlemen, the counsel, but 
 in a tone of dispassionate reasoning. He placed the facts concisely 
 before the jury, not speaking in favour of the prisoner, but candidly 
 avowing that he did not see how they could get over the evidence 
 of the prisoner's two witnesses, the young Quaker lady and her 
 maid. If that was to be believed — and for himself he fully believed 
 it — then the prisoner could not have been guilty of the murder, and 
 was clearly entitled to an acquittal. It was six o'clock when the 
 jury retired to deliberate. 
 
 The judge, the bar, the spectators, sat on, or stood, with what 
 patience they might, in the crowded and heated court. On the fiat 
 of those twelve men hung the life of the prisoner : whether he was 
 to be discharged an innocent man, or hanged as a guilty one. Re- 
 posing in the pocket of Sir William Leader was a certain little cap, 
 t)lack in colour, innocuous in itself, but of awful significance when 
 
 Mrs. Hallibarton's Troubles. ^"i
 
 370 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 brought forth by the hand of the presiding judge. Was it destined 
 to be brought forth that night ? 
 
 The jury were coming in at last. Only an hour had they re- 
 mained in deliberation, for seven o'clock was booming out over the 
 town. It had seemed to the impatient spectators more than two 
 hours. What must it have seemed to the prisoner ? They ranged 
 themselves in their box, and the crier proclaimed silence. 
 
 " Have you agreed upon your verdict, gentlemen of the jury ? " 
 
 " We have." 
 
 " How say you, gentlemen, guilty or not guilty?" 
 
 The foreman advanced an imperceptible step, and looked at the 
 judge, speaking deliberately : 
 
 " My lord^ we find the prisoner Not GUILTY." 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 A COUCH OF PAIN. 
 
 ''William, I have had my death-blow! I have had my death- 
 blow ! " 
 
 The speaker was Henry Ashley. Four days had elapsed since 
 the trial of Herbert Dare, and William Halliburton saw him now 
 for the first time after that event. What with mind and body, 
 Henry was in a grievous state of pain : all William's compassion 
 was called forth, as he leaned over his couch. 
 
 It has been hinted that Helstonleigh, in its charity, took up the 
 very worst view of the case that could be taken up, with regard to 
 Anna Lynn. Had she gone about with a blazing torch and set all 
 the houses on fire, their inhabitants could not have mounted them- 
 selves on higher stilts. Somehow, everybody took it up. It was like 
 those apparently well-authenticated political reports that arrive now 
 and then by telegram, driving the Stock Exchange, or the Paris 
 Bourse, into a state of mad belief. No one thought to doubt it; 
 people caught up the notion from one another as they catch a fever. 
 If even Samuel Lynn had looked upon it in the worst light, bringing 
 to him paralysis, little chance was there that others might gaze 
 through a brighter glass. It had half killed Henry Ashley : and 
 the words were not, in point of fact, so wild as they sounded. '• I 
 have had my death-blow! I have had my death-blow! " 
 
 " No, you have not," was William's answer. " It is a blow — I 
 know it — but not one that you cannot outlive." 
 
 " Why did you not come to me ? Four whole days, and you have 
 never been near the house ! " 
 
 "Because I feared that you would be throwing yourself into the 
 state of agitation that you are now doing," replied William, can- 
 didly. '' Mr, Ashley said to me on the Wednesday, ' Henry has one
 
 A COUCH OF PAIN. 371 
 
 of his bad attacks again.' I knew it to be more of mind than body, 
 this time, and I thought it well that you should be left in quiet. 
 There's no one you can talk of it to, except me." 
 
 " Your staying away has not served your purpose, then. My 
 father came to me with the details, thinking to divert me for a 
 moment from my physical pain ; never supposing that each word 
 was as a dagger plunged into my very being. My mother came, 
 with this scrap of news, or the other scrap. Mary came, wondering 
 and eager, asking information at second-hand ; mamma was mys- 
 terious over it, and would not tell her. Mary cannot credit ill of 
 Anna : she has as great a trust in her still as I had. As I had ! 
 Oh, William ! she was my object in life. She was all my future — 
 my world — my heaven ! " 
 
 " Now you know you will suffer for this excitement," cried William, 
 almost as he would have said it to a wayward child. 
 
 He might as well have talked to the wind. Henry neither heard 
 nor heeded him. He continued, his manner as full of agitation as 
 his mind. 
 
 " I am not as other men. You can go forth, all of you, into the 
 world, to your pleasures, your amusements. I am confined here. 
 But what mattered it ? Did I envy you ? No. While I had her to 
 think of, I was happier than you." 
 
 " Had this not happened, you might have been crossed in some 
 other way, and so it would have come to the same thing." 
 
 "And now it is over," reiterated Henry, paying no attention to 
 the remark. " It is over, and gone ; and I — I wish, William, I had 
 gone with it." 
 
 " I wish you would be reasonable." 
 
 " Don't preach. You active men, with your innumerable objects 
 and interests in life, cannot know what it is for one like me, shut 
 out from the world, to love. I tell you, William, it was literally my 
 life ; the core of my life ; my all. I am not sure but that I have 
 been mad ever since." 
 
 " I am not sure but that you are mad now," returned William, 
 believing that to humour him might be the worst plan he could 
 adopt. 
 
 " I dare say I am," was the unsatisfactory answer. " Four days, 
 and I have had to bury it all within me ! I could not wail it out to 
 my own pillow at night ; for they concluded it was one of my bad 
 attacks, and old nurse was posted in the bed in the next room with 
 the door open. There's no one I can rave to but you, and you 
 must let me do it, unless you would have me go quiie mad. I hope 
 I shan't be here long to be a trouble to any of you ! " 
 
 William did not know what to say. He believed there was nothing 
 for it at present but to let him "rave himself out." " But I wish," 
 he said, aloud, continuing the bent of his own thoughts, "that you 
 would be a little rational over it." 
 
 " Stop a bit. Did you ever experience a blow such as this ? " 
 
 " No, indeed,"
 
 372 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 "Then don't hold forth to me, I say. You do not understand. 
 It was all the joy I had on earth." 
 
 " You must learn to find other joys, other " 
 
 " The despicable villain ! " broke forth Henry, the heat-drops 
 welling to his brow, as they had welled to Anna's when before the 
 judge. " The shame-faced, cowardly villain ! Was she not Samuel 
 Lynn's child, and my sister's friend ? What possessed the jury to 
 acquit him ? Did they think a rope's-end too good for his neck ? " 
 
 '• He was proved innocent of the murder. If he has any con- 
 science " 
 
 " What ? " fiercely interrupted Henry Ashley. " He a conscience ! 
 I dori't know what you are dreaming of. Is he going to stop in 
 Helstonleigh ?" 
 
 " I conclude so. He resumed his place quietly in his father's 
 office the day after the trial. He is in London now, but only 
 temporarily." 
 
 " Resumed his place quietly ! What was the mob about, 
 then ? " 
 
 The question was put so quaintly, in such confiding simplicity, 
 that a smile rose to William's face. "In awe of the police, I ex- 
 pect," he answered. " The Dares, while his fate was uncertain, 
 have been rusticating. Cyril told me to-day, that now that the 
 accusation was proved to have been false, they were ' coming out ' 
 again." 
 
 " Coming out in what ? Villany ? " 
 
 " He left the ' what ' to be inferred. In grandeur, I expect. The 
 established innocence of Herbert " 
 
 "If you apply that word to the man, William Halliburton, you 
 are as black as he is." 
 
 William remembered Henry's tribulation both of mind and body, 
 and went on without the shadow of a retort. 
 
 " I apply it to him in relation to the crime of which he was 
 charged. His acquittal and release have caused the Dares to hold 
 up their heads again. But they have lost caste in Helstonleigh." 
 
 " Caste ! " was the scornful ejaculation of Henry Ashley. " They 
 never had any caste to lose. Does the master intend to retain Cyril 
 in the manufactory?" 
 
 " I have heard nothing to the contrary. If he retained him while 
 the accusation was hanging over Herbert Dare's head, he will not 
 Idc likely to discard him now it is removed." 
 
 " Removed ! " shrieked Henry. " If one accusation has been re- 
 moved, has not a worse taken its place ? " 
 
 " Would it be just to visit on one brother the sins of another ? " 
 
 "A nice pair of brothers they are!" cried Henry in the sharp, 
 petulant manner habitual to him, when racked with pain. " How 
 will Samuel Lynn like the company of Cyril Dare by his side in the 
 manufactory, when he gets well again ? " 
 
 William shook his head. These considerations were not for him. 
 They were Mr. Ashley's.
 
 A COUCH OF PAIN. 373 
 
 " You heard her give her evidence ? " resumed Henry, breaking a 
 pause. 
 
 " Most of it." 
 
 " Tell it me." 
 
 " No, Henry; it would not do you good to hear it." 
 
 "Tell it me, I say," persisted Henry wilfully. "I know it in 
 substance. I want to have it repeated over to me, word for word." 
 
 " But " 
 
 Henry suddenly raised his hand and laid it on William's lips, 
 with a warning movement. He turned, and saw Mary Ashley. 
 
 " Take her back to the drawing-room, William," he whispered. 
 " I can bear no one but you about me now. Not yet, Mary," he 
 added aloud, motioning his sister away with his hand. " Not now." 
 
 Mary halted in indecision. William advanced to her, placed her 
 hand within his arm, and led her, somewhat summarily, from the 
 room. 
 
 " I am only obeying orders. Miss Ashley," said he. " They are to 
 see you back to the drawing-room." 
 
 "If Henry can bear you with him, he might bear me." 
 
 "You know what his whims and fancies are, when he is suffering." 
 
 " Is there not a particularly good understanding between you and 
 Henry ? " she pointedly asked. 
 
 " Yes ; we understand each other perfectly." 
 
 " Well, then, tell me — what is it that is the matter with him this 
 time? I do not like to say so to mamma, because she might call 
 me fanciful, but it appears to me that Henry's illness is more on the 
 mind than on the body." 
 
 William made no reply. 
 
 "And yet, I cannot imagine it possible for Henry to have picked 
 up any annoyance or grief," resumed Mary. " How can he have 
 done so? He is not like one who goes out into the world — who 
 has to meet with cares and checks. You do not speak," she added, 
 looking at William. " Is it that you will not tell me? or do you 
 know nothing ? " 
 
 William lowered his voice. " I can only say that, should there 
 be anything of the sort you mention, the kinder course for Henry — 
 indeed the only course — will be, not to allow him to perceive that 
 you suspect it. Conceal the suspicion both from him and from 
 others. Remember his excessive sensitiveness. When he sees 
 cause to hide his feelings, it would be almost death to him to have 
 them penetrated." 
 
 " I think you must be in his full confidence," observed Mary, 
 looking at William. 
 
 " Pretty well so," he answered, with a passing smile. 
 
 " Then, if he has any secret grief, will you try and soothe it to 
 him ? " 
 
 "With all my best endeavours," earnestly spoke William. But 
 there was not the least apparent necessity for his taking Mary 
 Ashley's hand between his own, and pressing it there while he said
 
 374 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 it, any more than there was necessity for that vivid blush of hers, 
 as she turned into the drawing-room. 
 
 But you must be anxious to hear of Anna Lynn. Poor Anna ! 
 who had fallen so terribly into the black books of the town, without 
 really much deserving it. It was a most unlucky contretemps^ 
 having been locked out ; it was a still more unfortunate sequel, having 
 to confess to it at the trial. She was not a pattern of goodness, 
 it. must be confessed : had not yet attained to that perfect model, 
 which expects, as of a right, a niche in the saintly calendar. She 
 was reprehensibly vain ; she delighted in plaguing Patience ; and 
 she took to running out into the field, when it had been far better 
 that she had remained at home. That running out entailed deceit 
 and some stories : but it entailed nothing worse, and Helstonleigh 
 need not have been so very severe in its judgment. 
 
 Never had there been a more forcible illustration of the old sa_}"- 
 ing, " Give a dog a bad name, and hang him," than in this instance. 
 When William Halliburton had told Anna that Herbert Dare was 
 not a good man, and did not bear a good name, he had told her 
 the strict truth. For that very reason a secret intimacy with him 
 was undesirable, however innocent it might be, however innocent it 
 ivas, in itself: and for that very reason did Helstonleigh look at it 
 through clouded spectacles. Had she been locked out all night, 
 instead of half a one, with some one in better odour, Helstonleigh 
 had not set up its scornful crest. It is quite impossible to tell you 
 what Herbert Dare had done, to have such a burden on his back 
 as people seemed inclined to lay there. Perhaps they did not know 
 themselves. Some accused him of one thing, some of another; ill 
 reports never lose by carrying : the two cats on the tiles, you know, 
 were magnified into a hundred. No one is as black as he is painted 
 - — there's a saying to that effect — neither, I dare say, was Herbert 
 Dare. At any rate — and that is what we have to do with — he was 
 not so in this particular instance. He was as vexed at the locking 
 out as any one else could have been ; and he did the best (save one 
 thing) that he could for Anna, under the circumstances, and got her 
 in again. The only proper thing to have done, was to knock up 
 Hester. He had wished to do it, but had yielded to Anna's en- 
 treaties, that were born of fear. 
 
 Not a soul seemed to cast so much as a good word or a charitable 
 thought to him in the matter. Did he deserve none? However 
 tlioughtless or reprehensible his conduct was, in drawing Anna into 
 those field excursions, when the explosion came, he met it as a 
 gentleman. Many a one, more renowned for the cardinal graces 
 than was Herbert Dare, might have spoken out at once, and cleared 
 himself at the expense of making known Anna's unlucky escapade. 
 Not so he. A doubt may have been upo: him that, were it be- 
 trayed, Helstonleigh might cast a taint on £aer fair name: and he 
 strove to save it. He suffered the brand of a murderer to be at- 
 tached to him, — he languished for many weeks in prison as a 
 criminal, — all to save it. He all but went to the scaftbld to save it.
 
 A RAY OF LICHT. 375 
 
 ITc might have called Anna and Hester Dell forward at the inquest, 
 at the prcliminaiy examination before the magistrates, and thus 
 have cleared himself 5 but he would not do so. While there was a 
 chance of his innocence being brought to light in any other manner, 
 he would not call on Anna. He allowed the odium to settle upon 
 his own head. He went to prison, hoping that he should be cleared 
 in some other way. There was a generous, chivalric feeling in this, 
 which Helstonleigh could not understand when emanating from 
 Herbert Dare, and they declined to give him credit for it. They 
 preferred to look at the aftair altogether in a different light, and to 
 lavish hard names upon it. Every soul was alike : there was no 
 exception : Samuel Lynn, and all else in Helstonleigh. They 
 caught the epidemic, I say, one from another. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 A RAY OF LIGHT. 
 
 The first sharpness of the edge worn off, Anna grew cross. She did 
 not see why every one should be blaming her. What had so sadly 
 prostrated herself was the shame of having to appear before the 
 court ; to stand in it and give her evidence. The excitement, the 
 shame, combined with the terrifying illness of her father, brought 
 on, as Hester told her, through her, had sent her into a wild state 
 of contrition and alarm. Little wonder that she wished herself 
 dead ! The mood passed away as the days went on, and Anna 
 became tolerably herself again. When Friends called at the house 
 to inquire after or to see her father, she ran and hid herself in her 
 room, fearful lest a lecture on those field recreations might be 
 delivered to her gratuitously. She shunned Patience, too, as much 
 as she could. Patience had grown cold and silent ; and Anna 
 rather liked the change. 
 
 She sat, for the most part, in her father's room, never moving from 
 his bedside, unless disturbed from it ; never speaking; eating only 
 when food was placed before her. Anna was in grievous fear lest a 
 public reprimand should be in store for her, delivered at meeting 
 on First Day : but she saw no reason why every one should con- 
 tinue to be cross with her at home. 
 
 She happened to be alone with her father when he first recovered 
 consciousness. Some fifteen days had elapsed since the trial. But 
 for the fact of her being with him, a difficulty might have been 
 experienced to get her there. She dreaded his anger, his reproach, 
 more than anything. So long as he lay without his senses, know- 
 ing her not, so long was she content to sit, watching. She was 
 seated by the bedside, in her usual listless attitude, head and eyes 
 cast down, when her father's hand, not the one affected, was sud- 
 denly lifted, and laid upon hers, which rested on the counterpane.
 
 376 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Startled, Anna turned her gaze upon him, and she saw that his 
 intellects were restored. With a suppressed cry of dismay she 
 would have flown away, but he clasped his fingers round hers. 
 
 "Anna!" 
 
 She sank down on her knees, shaking as if with ague, and buried 
 her face in the clothes. Samuel Lynn stretched forth his hand and 
 put it on her head. 
 
 " Thou art my own child, Anna ; thy mother left thee to me for 
 good and for ill ; and I will stand by thee in thy sorrow." 
 
 She burst into a storm of hysterical tears. He let it have its 
 course ; he drew her wet face to his, and kissed it ; he talked to her, 
 soothingly, never speaking a single word of reproach ; and Anna 
 overcame her fear and her sobs. She knelt down by the bed still, 
 and let her cheek rest on the counterpane. 
 
 " It has nearly killed me," he murmured, after a while. "But I 
 pray for life ; I will struggle hard to live, that thee mayst have 
 one protector. Friends and foes may cast reproach to thee, but I 
 will not." 
 
 " Why should they cast, reproach to me, father?" returned Anna, 
 with a little spice of resentment. " I have not harmed them." 
 
 " No child, thee hast not; only thyself. I will help thee to bear 
 the reproach. Thou art my own child." 
 
 " But there's nothing for them to reproach me with," she re- 
 iterated, her face buried deeper in the counterpane. " It was not 
 pleasant to stand there ; but it is over. And they need not reflect 
 upon me for it." 
 
 "What is over? To stand where? " he asked. 
 
 " At the Guildhall, on the trial." 
 
 " It is not that that people will reproach thee with, Anna. It 
 was not a nice thing for thee ; but that, in itself, brings no reproach." 
 
 Anna lifted her head wonderingly. "What does, then?" she 
 uttered. 
 
 He did not answer. He only closed his eyes, a deep groan 
 bursting from the very depths of his heart. It came into Anna's 
 mind that he must be thinking of her previous acquaintance with 
 Herbert Dare; of her stolen meetings in the field by twilight. 
 
 "Oh, father, don't thee be angry with me!" she implored, the 
 tears streaming from her eyes. "It was no harm ; it was not, 
 indeed. Thee mightst have been present always, for all the harm 
 there was, and I wish thee hadst been. Why should thee think anger 
 of it? There was no more harm in my talking with him now and 
 then in the field, than there was in my talking with him in Margaret 
 Ashley's drawing-room." 
 
 Something in the simple words, in the tone, in the manner alto- 
 gether, caused the Quaker's heart to leap within him. Had he been 
 making a molehill into a mountain? Surely, yes! But what else 
 he would have said or done, what questions asked, cannot be known, 
 for they were interrupted by a visit from William Halliburton. 
 Anna stole away.
 
 A RAY OF LIGHT. 377 
 
 William was full of hearty congratulation on the visible improve- 
 ment—the, so far, restoration to health. The Quaker murmured 
 some half-inarticulate words, indicating something to the effect that 
 he might not have been ill, but for taking up a worse view of the 
 case than, as he beheved now, it really merited. 
 
 William leaned over him ; a glad look in his eye ; a glad sound 
 in his low voice. 
 
 " My mother has been telhng Patience so to-day. She, my 
 mother, is convinced now that very exaggerated blame was cast to 
 Anna. It was foolish of her, of course, to fall into the habit of 
 running to the field ; but the locking out might have happened to 
 any one. My mother told me this, not half an hour ago. She has 
 seen and talked to Anna frequently this last day or two, and has 
 drawn her own positive deductions. ]\Iy mother is vexed with her- 
 self for having fallen into the popular condemnation." 
 
 "Ay!" uttered Samuel Lynn. "There ?V condemnation abroad, 
 then ? I thought there was." 
 
 " People will come to their senses in good time," was William's 
 answer. " Never doubt it." 
 
 The Quaker raised his feeble hand, and laid it upon William's. 
 " The Ashleys — have they blamed her?"' 
 
 " I fear they have," was the only reply he could make, in his 
 strict truth. 
 
 " Then, William, thee go to them. Go to them now, and set 
 them right." 
 
 He was already going, for he was engaged to the Ashleys Jiat 
 evening. Between Henry Ashley, the men at East's, and his own 
 studies, which he would not wholly neglect, William's evenings had 
 a tolerably busy time of it. He had assumed Samuel Lynn's place 
 in the manufactory by Mr. Ashley's orders, head of all things, under 
 the master. Cyril ground his teeth at this ; he looked upon it as a 
 slight to himself ; but Cyril had no power to alter it. 
 
 William found Mr. and Mrs. Ashley alone. Mary was out. He 
 sat with them for a few minutes, talking of Anna, and then rose 
 to go to Henry. " How is he this evening? " he inquired. 
 
 " 111 and very fractious," was Mr. Ashley's reply. " William, you 
 have great influence over him. I wish you could persuade him to 
 Q;ive ivay less. He is not ill enough, so far as we can see, to keep 
 his room ; but we cannot get him out of it." 
 
 Henry was in one of his depressed moods, excessively dispirited 
 and irritable. " Oh ! so you have come ! " he burst forth as William 
 entered. " I should be ashamed to neglect a sick fellow as >ou 
 neglect me. If I were well and strong, and you ill, you would find 
 it different." 
 
 " I know I am late," acknowledged William. " Samuel Lynn 
 took up a little of my time; and I have been sitting some minutes 
 in the drawing-room." 
 
 " Of course ! " \vas the fractious answer. " Any one before 
 me."
 
 378 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLKS. 
 
 " Samuel Lynn is a great deal better," continued William. " His 
 mind is restored." 
 
 Henry received the news ungraciously, making no rejoinder ; but 
 his side was twitching with pain. " How is j-//^.?" he asked. "Is 
 the shame fretting out her life ? " 
 
 " Not at aU. She is very well. As to shame — as you call it — I 
 believe she has not taken much to herself." 
 
 "It will kill her: you'll see. The sooner the better for her I 
 should say." 
 
 William sat down on the edge of the sofa, on which the invalid 
 was lying. " Henry, I would set you right upon a point, if I thought 
 it would be expedient to do so. You do go into fits of excitement so 
 great, that it is dangerous to speak." 
 
 " Tell out anything you have to tell. Tell me, if you choose, that 
 the house is on fire, and I must be pitched out of window to escape 
 it. It would make no impression upon me. My fits of excitement 
 have passed away with Anna Lynn." 
 
 " My news relates to Anna." 
 
 " What if it does ? She has passed away y&r me.'''' 
 
 " Helstonleigh, in its usual hasty fashion of jumping to conclusions, 
 has jumped to a false one," continued William. " There have been 
 no grounds for the great blame cast to Anna ; except in the minds 
 of a charitable I3ublic." 
 
 " A fact .?" asked Henry, after a pause. 
 
 " There's not a shade of doubt about it." 
 
 He received the answer with equanimity ; it may be said, with 
 apathy. And turning on his couch, he drew the coverlid over him, 
 repeating the words previously spoken : " She has passed away 
 for me." 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. DELVES ON HIS BEAM ENDS. 
 
 Samuel Lynn grew better, and Mr. Ashley, in his considerate 
 kindness, proposed that he should reside abroad for a few months 
 in the neighbourhood of Annonay, to watch the skin market, and 
 pick up skins that would be suitable for their use. Anna and 
 Patience were to accompany him. Anna had somewhat regained 
 her footing in the good graces of the gossipers. That she did so, 
 was partly owing to the indignant defence of her, entered upon by 
 Herbert Dare. Herbert did behave well in this case, and he must 
 have his due. Upon his return from London, whither he had gone 
 soon after the termination of the trial, remaining away a week or 
 two, he found what a very charitable ovation Helstonleigh was 
 bestowing upon Anna Lynn. He met it with a storm of indigna- 
 tion ; he l);ide them lliink as badly of him as they chose; believe
 
 MR. DELVES ON HIS BEAM ENDS. 379 
 
 him .1 second Burke if they hked ; but to keep their mistaken tongues 
 off Anna. What with one thing and another, some of the scandal- 
 mongers did begin to think they had been too liasty, and withdrew 
 their censure. Some (as a matter of course) preferred to doubt still; 
 and opinions remained divided. 
 
 Hcistonlcigh took up the gossip on another score— that of Mr. 
 Ashley's sending Samuel Lynn abroad, as his skin-buyer, for an in- 
 definite period. " A famous trade Ashley must be doing, to go to that 
 expense ! " grumbled some of the envious manufacturers. True ; he 
 /lad a famous trade. And if he had not had one, he might have 
 sent him all the same. Helstonleigh never knew the benevolence 
 of Thomas Ashley's heart. The journey was fully decided upon ; 
 and Samuel Lynn had an application from a member of his own 
 persuasion, to rent his house, furnished, for the term of his absence. 
 He was glad to accept the accommodation. 
 
 But, before Mr. Lynn and his family started, Helstonleigh was 
 fated to sustain another loss, in the person of Herbert Dare. Her- 
 bert contrived to get some sort of a mission intrusted to /n'tn abroad, 
 and he made rather a summary exit from Helstonleigh, to enter 
 upon it. A friend of Herbert's, who had gone over to live in 
 Holland, and with whom he was in frequent correspondence, wrote 
 and offered him a situation in a merchant's house in Rotterdam, as 
 " English clerk." The offer came in answer to a hint, or perhaps 
 more than a hint, from Herbert, that a year or two's sojourn 
 abroad would be acceptable to him. He would receive a good 
 salary, if he proved himself equal to the duties, the information 
 stated, and might rise in it, if he chose to remain. Herbert 
 wrote, ofif-hand, to secure it, and then told his father what he 
 had done. 
 
 " Enter a house at Rotterdam, as English clerk ! " repeated Mr. 
 Dare, unable to credit his own ears. " Vot( a clerk ! " 
 
 " What am I to do ? " asked Herbert. " Since I came out of there," 
 pointing in the direction of the county prison, " claims have thick- 
 ened upon me. I do owe a good deal, and that's a fact — what with 
 my own scores, and that for which I am liable for — for poor Anthony. 
 People won't wait much longer ; and I have no fancy to try the 
 debtor's side of the prison." 
 
 They were standing in the front room of the office. Mr. Dare's 
 business appeared to be considerably falling off, and tlie office had 
 often leisure on its hands now. Of the two clerks kept, one had 
 holiday, the other was out. Somehow, what with one untoward 
 thing and another, people were growing shy of the Dares. Mr. 
 Dare leaned against the corner of the window-frame, watching the 
 passers-by, his hands in his pockets, and a blank look on his face. 
 
 "You say you can't help me, sir?" Herbert continued. 
 
 " You know I can't ; sufficiently to do any good," returned Mr. 
 Dare. " I am* too much pressed for money myself. Look at the 
 expenses attending the trial : and I was embarrassed enough before. 
 I cannot help you."
 
 38o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 "It seems to me, too, that you want me gone from here." 
 
 " I have not said so," curtly responded Mr. Dare. 
 
 " You told me the other day that it was my presence in the office 
 which scared clients from it." 
 
 Mr. Dare could not deny the fact. He had said it. What's more, 
 he had thought it ; and did so still. " I cannot tell what else it is 
 that is keeping clients away," he rejoined. " We have not had a 
 dozen in since the trial." 
 
 " It is a slack season of the year." 
 
 " Maybe," shortly answered Mr. Dare. " Slack as it is, there's 
 some business astir, but people are going elsewhere to get it done ; 
 those, too, who have never, for years, been near any one but us. 
 The truth is, Herbert, you fell into bad odour with the town on the 
 day of the trial ; and, that, you must know. Though acquitted of 
 the murder, all sorts of other things were laid to your charge, 
 Quaker Lynn's stroke amongst the rest." 
 
 " Carping sinners ! " ejaculated Herbert. 
 
 " And I suppose it turned people against the office," continued 
 Mr. Dare. " My belief is, they won't come back again as long as 
 you are in it." 
 
 " That's precisely what I meant you had hinted to me," said 
 Herbert. " Therefore, I thought I had better leave it. Pattison 
 says he can get me this berth, and I should like to try it." 
 
 " Yoii'W. not like to turn merchant's clerk," repeated Mr. Dare 
 with emphasis. 
 
 " I shall like it better than being nailed for debt here," somewhat 
 coarsely answered Herbert. " It is not so agreeable at home now, 
 especially in this office, that I should cry to stay in it. You have 
 changed, sir, amongst the rest : many a day through, you don't give 
 me a civil word." 
 
 Again Mr. Dare felt that he 7;^?^ changed to Herbert. When he 
 found that he — Herbert — might have cleared himself at first from 
 the terrible accusation of fratricide, had he so chosen, instead of 
 allowing the obloquy to rest upon himself and his family for so long 
 a period, he had become bitterly angry. Mrs. Dare and the whole 
 family joined in the feeling, and Herbert suffered. 
 
 "As to civility, Herbert, I must first get over the soreness left by 
 your conduct. You acted very badly in allowing the case to go on to 
 trial. If you had no objection to sit down quietly under the crime 
 yourself, you had no right to throw the disgrace and the expense 
 upon your family." 
 
 " If it were to come over again, I would not do so," acknowledged 
 Herbert. " I thought then 1 was acting for the best." 
 
 " Pshaw ! " was the peevish ejaculation of Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Altogether," resumed Herbert, " I think I had better go away. 
 After a time, something or other may turn up to make things 
 smoother here, and then I can come home again ; unless I find a 
 better opening aljroad. I may do so ; and I believe I shall like 
 living there."
 
 MR. DELVES ON HIS BEAM ENDS. 381 
 
 " \'ery well," said Mr. Dare, after some minutes' silence. "It 
 may be for the best. At all events, it will give time for things here 
 to blow over. If you don't find it what you like, you can only come 
 back." 
 
 " I shall be sure not to come back, unless I can square up some 
 of my Habilities here," returned Herbert. "You must help me to 
 get there, sir." 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Fifty pounds." 
 
 " I can't do it, Herbert," was the prompt answer. 
 
 " I must have it, if I am to go," was Herbert's firm reply. " There 
 are two or three trifles here which I will not leave unsettled, and I 
 cannot go over there with pockets absolutely empty. Fifty pounds 
 is not so great a sum, sir, to pay to get rid of me." 
 
 Old Anthony Dare knit his brow in perplexity. He supposed he 
 must furnish the money, though he did not in the least see how it 
 was to be done. 
 
 The matter settled, Herbert took his hat and went out. Tlie 
 first object his eyes alighted on outside was Sergeant Delves. That 
 worthy, pacing through the town, had brought himself to an anchor 
 opposite the office of Mr. Dare, and was regarding it, lost in a 
 brown study. The sergeant was in a state of discomfiture, touching 
 the affair of the late Anthony Dare. He had lost no time in 
 "looking after" Miss Caroline Mason, as he had promised himself; 
 and the sequence had been — defeat. Without any open stir on the 
 part of the police — without allowing Caroline herself to know that 
 she was doubted — the sergeant contrived to put himself in full 
 possession of her movements on that night. The result proved 
 that she must be exempt from the suspicion ; or, as the sergeant 
 expressed it, " was out of the hole ; " and that gentleman remained 
 at fault again. 
 
 Herbert crossed over to him. "What are you looking at. 
 Delves ? " 
 
 " I wasn't looking at anything in particular," was the answer. 
 " Coming in sight of your office naturally brought my thoughts 
 back to that unsatisfactory business. I never was so baffled 
 before." 
 
 "It is very strange who it could have been," observed Herbert. 
 " I often think of it." 
 
 " Never so baffled beiore," continued the sergeant, as if there had 
 been no interruption to his own words. " I could almost have been 
 upon oath at the time, that the murderer was in the house ; hadn't 
 left it. And yet " 
 
 "You could have been upon oath that it was I," interrupted 
 Herbert. 
 
 " That's true. I could. But you had yourself chiefly to thank for 
 it, Mr. Herbert Dare, through making a mystery of your movements 
 that night. After you were cleared, my mind turned to that girl ; 
 and that, I found, was no go."
 
 382 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES 
 
 " What girl ? " interrupted Herbert. 
 
 " The one in Honey Fair : your brother Anthon)-'s old sweetheart. 
 ] t wasn't her, though ; I have proofs. Charlotte East had her at 
 her house that evening, and kept her till twelve o'clock, when she 
 went home to bed in her garret. Charlotte's going to try to make 
 something of her again. And now I am baffled, and I don't deny it" 
 
 " To suspect any girl is ridiculous," observed Herbert Dare. 
 " No girl, it is to be hoped, would possess the courage or the 
 strength to accomplish such a deed as that." 
 
 " You don't know 'em as we police do," nodded the sergeant. " I 
 was asking your father only a day or two ago, whether he could 
 make sure of his servants, that they had not been in it ■ " 
 
 " Of our servants ? " interrupted Herbert, in surprise. " What an 
 idea!" 
 
 " Well, I have gone round to my old opinion — that it was some 
 one in the house," returned the sergeant. " But it seems the 
 servants are all on the square. I can't make it out." 
 
 " Why on earth should you suppose it to be any one in the 
 house?" questioned Herbert, in considerable wonderment. - 
 
 " Because I do," was the answer. " We police see and note down 
 what others pass over. There were odds and ends of things at the 
 time that made us infer it; and I can't get it out of my mind." 
 
 "It is an impossibility that it could have been a resident of the 
 house," dissented Herbert. " Every one in it is above suspicion." 
 
 " Who do jou fancy it might have been ? " asked the sergeant, 
 abruptly, almost as if he wished to surprise Herbert out of an in- 
 cautious answer. 
 
 But Herbert had nothing to tell him ; no suspicion was on his 
 mind to be surprised out of. " If I could fancy it was, or might 
 be, any particular individual, I should come to you and say so, 
 uithout asking," he replied. " I am as much at fault as you can 
 be. Anthony may have made slight enemies in the town, what with 
 his debts and his temper, and one thing or another ; but no enemies 
 of that terrible nature — capable of killing him. I wish I could see 
 cause for a reasonable suspicion," he added with emotion. " I would 
 give my right arm " — stretching it out—" to solve the mystery. As 
 well for my sake as for my dead brother's." 
 
 " Well, all I can say is, that I am down on my beam ends," con- 
 cluded the sergeant. 
 
 Meanwhile Henry Ashley was getting little better. He had fallen 
 into a state of utter prostration. Mental anguish had told upon 
 him physically, and his bodily weakness was no doubt great : but he 
 made no effort to rouse himself. He would lie for hours, his eyes 
 half-closed, noticing no one. The medical men said they had seen 
 nothing like it, and Mr. and Mrs. Ashley grew alarmed. The only 
 one to remonstrate with liim- he alone held the key to its cause- 
 was William Halliburton. 
 
 William's influence over him was very great : he yielded to no 
 one, not even to his father, as he would vield to William. Henry
 
 MR. DELVES ON HIS BEAM ENDS. 383 
 
 gave the reins to his tongue, and said all sorts of irritating things 
 to WiUiam, as he did to every one else. It only masked the deep 
 affection, the lasting friendship, which had taken possession of his 
 heart for William. 
 
 " Let me be ; let me be," he said to William one day, in answer 
 to a remonstrance that he should rouse himself. " I told you that 
 my life had passed out with JicrP 
 
 '' But your life has not passed out with her," argued William ; 
 " your life is in you, just as much as it ever was. And it is your 
 duty to make some use of your life ; not to let it run to waste — as 
 you are doing." 
 
 "It does not affect you," was the tart reply. 
 
 "It does very much affect me. I am grieved to see you hug 
 your pain, instead of shaking it off; vexed to think that a man 
 should so bury his days. It is an unfortunate thing that no one is 
 cognizant of this matter but myself." 
 
 "Is it though!" retorted Henry. "You are a fine Job's com- 
 forter ! " 
 
 " Yes, it is. Were it known to those about you, you would not 
 for shame lie here, and indulge regrets after an imprudent and 
 silly girl." 
 
 Henry flashed an angry glance at him from his soft dark eyes. 
 " Take care, my good fellow ! I can stand some things ; but I don't 
 stand all." 
 
 " An imprudent, silly girl, who does not care a rush for you," 
 emphatically repeated William : " whose wild and ill-judged affec- 
 tion is given to another. Was ever infatuation like unto yours ! " 
 
 " Have a care, I tell you! " burst forth Henry. " By what right 
 do you say these things to me ? " 
 
 " I say them for your good — and I intend that you should feel 
 them. When a surgeon's knife probes a wound, the patient groans 
 and wincGs ; but it is done to cure him." 
 
 "You are a man of eloquence!" sarcastically rejoined Henry. 
 " Pity but you could flourish at the Bar, and take the anticipated 
 shine out of Frank !" 
 
 " Answer me one plain question, Henry. Do you still cast a hope 
 to Anna Lynn ? — to her becoming your wife ? " 
 
 With a shriek of anger, Henry caught up his slipper, and sent it 
 flying through the air at William's head. 
 
 '* What's that for 1 " equably demanded William, dodging his 
 head out of the wa)'. 
 
 " How dare )'ou hint at such a thing ? I told you there were 
 some things that I'd not stand. Is it lilting that one who has 
 figured in such an escapade should be made the wife of an Ashley ? 
 If wc were left by our two selves upon the earth, all else gone dead 
 and out of it, I wouldn't marry her." 
 
 " Precisely so. I have judged you rightly. Then, under this 
 state of things, what in the name of fortune is the use of your lynig 
 here and thinking of her .'' "
 
 384 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I don't think of her," fractiously returned Henry. " You arc 
 always fancying things." 
 
 " You do think of her. I can see that you do. I should be above 
 it," quaintly continued William. 
 
 " Go and pick up my slipper." 
 
 " Will you come down to tea this evening? " 
 
 " No, I won't. You come here and preach up this morality, or 
 divinity, or whatever you may please to term it, to me ; but, wait 
 and see how you'd act, if you should ever get struck on the keen 
 edge as I have been." 
 
 " Come ! let me help you up." 
 
 " Don't bother. I am not going to get up. I " 
 
 At that moment, Mr. Ashley opened the door. His errand like- 
 wise was to induce Henry to leave his sofa and his room, and join 
 them below. Henry could not be brought to comply. 
 
 " No. I have just told William. I cannot think why he did not 
 go back and say so. He only stops here to worry me. There ! get 
 along, William ; and come back when you have swallowed enough 
 tea." 
 
 Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's arm, as they walked 
 together along the corridor, and brought him to a halt. " What is 
 this illness of Henry's ? There is some secret connected with it, I 
 am sure, and you are cognizant of it. I must know what it is." 
 
 Mr. Ashley's tone was a decided one ; his manner firm. William 
 made no reply. 
 
 " Tell me what it is, William." 
 
 " I cannot," said William. " Certainly not without Henry's per- 
 mission; and I do not think he will give it. If it were my secret, 
 sir, instead of his, I would tell it at your bidding." 
 
 " Is it of the mind or the body ! " 
 
 "The mind. I think the worst is over. Do not speak to him 
 about it, I pray you, sir." 
 
 " William, is it anything that can be remedied ? By money ? — by 
 any means at command ? " 
 
 " It can never be remedied," replied William earnestly. " Were 
 the whole world brought to bear upon it, it could do nothing. Time 
 and his own good sense must effect the cure." 
 
 " Then I may as well not ask about it if I cannot aid. You are 
 fully in his confidence." 
 
 " Yes. And all that another can do, I am doing. We have a 
 daily battle. I want to rouse him out of his apathy." 
 
 " Oh, that you could ! " aspirated Mr. Ashley.
 
 ( 385 ) 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A LOSS FOR POMERANIAN KNOLL. 
 
 POMERANLVN Knoll had scarcely recovered its equanimity after 
 the shock of the departure of Herbert Dare for foreign parts, when 
 it found itself about to be shorn of another inmate. The word 
 " shock " is used to express the suddenness of the affair, rather than 
 in its more enlarged and ordinary sense. Herbert, what with one 
 thing and another, had brought a good deal of vexation upon the 
 paternal home ; Helstonleigh also had not been holding him in any 
 extensive favour since the trial ; and that home was not sorry that 
 he should absent himself from it for a time. But it certainly did 
 not bargain for his announcing his departure one night, and being 
 off the next morning. Yet such was the course he pursued : and in 
 that light his departure may be said to have been a shock to the 
 town. Mr. Dare had known of it longer ; but he had not proclaimed 
 it any more than Herbert had : it maybe that Herbert feared being 
 stopped, if the intended journey got wind. 
 
 A week or two after this, the Signora Varsini received a letter 
 with a foreign post-mark on it. The fact was nothing extraordinary 
 in itself: the signora did occasionally receive letters bearing foreign 
 ])ost-marks ; but this one threw her into a state of commotion, the 
 like of which had never been witnessed. Thrusting the letter into 
 the deepest pocket of her dress when it was delivered to her, she 
 finished giving the music lesson to Minny, which she was occupied 
 upon, and then retired to her room to peruse it. From this she 
 emerged a short time after, with a long face of consternation, utter- 
 ing frantic ejaculations. Mrs. Dare was quite alarmed. What was 
 the matter with mademoiselle ? 
 
 "Ah, what misfere ! what ddsolation ! what tristes nouvelles ! " The 
 letter was from her aunt in Paris, who was thrown upon her death- 
 bed ; and she, mademoiselle, must hasten thither without delay. 
 If she could not start by a train that day, she must go by the first 
 one on the next. She was desolee to leave madame at a coup ; her 
 heart would break in bidding adieu to the young ladies ; but neces- 
 sity was stern. She must make her baggage forthwith, and would 
 be obliged to madame for her salary. 
 
 Mrs. Dare was taken — as the saying runs — all of a heap. She 
 had not cared to part with mademoiselle so soon, although the re- 
 taining her entailed an additional expense, which they could ill 
 afford in their gradually increasing embarrassments and straitening 
 means : but the chief point that puzzled her was the paying up of 
 the salary. Between thirty and forty pounds were due. There 
 appeared, however, to be no help for it, and she applied to Mr. 
 Dare. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. ^i>
 
 386 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " You may as well ask me for my head as for that sum to-day," 
 was that gentleman's reply, thinking he was destined never to 
 find peace on earth. " Tell her you will send it after her, if she 
 must go." 
 
 Mrs. Dare shook her head. It would not be of the least use, she 
 was sure. Mademoiselle was not one to be put off in that way, or 
 to depart without her money. 
 
 How Mr, Dare managed it he perhaps hardly knew himself; but 
 he brought home the money at night, and the governess was paid 
 in full. On the following morning there was a ceremonious leave- 
 taking, loud and suggestive on the part of mademoiselle. She 
 saluted them all on both cheeks, including Mr. Dare, and promised 
 to write every week, at least. A fly came to the door for her and 
 her luggage, and George Dare mounted the box to escort her to the 
 station. Mademoiselle politely invited him inside ; but he had just 
 lighted a cigar, and preferred to stop where he was. 
 
 " I say, mademoiselle," cried he, after she was seated in the rail- 
 way carriage, " if you should happen to come across Herbert, I 
 wish you'd tell him " 
 
 Mademoiselle interrupted with a burst of indignation. She come 
 across Monsieur Herbert ! What should bring her coming across 
 him? Monsieur George must hafou to think it. Monsieur Her- 
 bert was not in Paris, was he? She had understood he was in 
 Holland. 
 
 " Oh, well, it's all on the other side of the Channel," answered 
 George, whose geographical notions of the Continent were not very 
 definite. " Perhaps you won't see him, though, mademoiselle ; so 
 never mind." 
 
 Mademoiselle replied by telling him to take care of himself; for 
 the whistle was sounding. George drew back, and watched the 
 train off: mademoiselle nodding her farewell to him from the 
 window. 
 
 And that was the last that Helstonleigh saw of Mrs. Dare's 
 Italian governess, the Signora Varsini. Helstonleigh might not 
 have been any the worse had it never seen the first of her. Mrs. 
 Dare, after her departure, suddenly remembered that mademoiselle 
 had once told her she had not a single relative in the world. Who 
 could this aunt be, to whom she was hastening? 
 
 And Henry Ashley? As the weeks and the months went on, 
 Henry began to rouse himself from his prostration; his apathy. 
 William Halliburton made no secret of it to Henry, that it was 
 suspected he was suffering from some inward grief which he was 
 concealing, and that he had been questioned on the point by Mr. 
 Ashley. " You know," said William, " I shall have no resource but 
 to fell, unless you show yourself a sensible man, and come out of 
 this nonsense." 
 
 It alarmed Henry : rather tlian have his secret feelings betrayed 
 for the family benefit, he could have died. In a grumbling and 
 discontented sort of mood, he got about again, and resumed his
 
 A LOSS FOR POMERANIAN KNOLL. 387 
 
 idle occupations (such as they were) as usual. One evening William 
 enticed him out for a walk, held possession of his arm, and pounced 
 into Robert East's, before Henry well knew where he was. He 
 sat down, apathetic and indifferent, after nodding carelessly to the 
 respectful salutation of the men. " I must give just ten minutes 
 to them, as I am here," observed William. " You can go to sleep 
 the while." 
 
 The ten minutes lengthened into twenty, and Henry's attention 
 was so far roused that he came to the table in his impulsive way, 
 and began talking on his own account. When William was ready 
 to go, he was not ; and he actually told the men that he would come 
 round again. It was a great point gained. 
 
 Small beginnings, it has been remarked, lead to great endings. 
 The humble, confined way in which the class had begun at Robert 
 East's; the vague ideas of William upon the subject; the doubtings 
 of East and Crouch, were looked back upon with a smile. For the 
 little venture had swollen itself into a great undertaking — an under- 
 taking that was destined to effect a revolution throughout the whole 
 of Honey Fair, and might probably even extend to Hclstonleigh 
 itself. The drawback now was want of room ; numbers were being 
 kept away by it. Henry Ashley did go again ; and, finding that 
 books of the right kind ran short, he, the day after his second visit, 
 wrote off an order for a whole cargo. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was in a state of inward delight. Anything to rouse 
 him ! " You think it will succeed, that movement, do you, Henry? " 
 he carelessly observed. 
 
 " It's safe to succeed," was the answer. " William, with' his pala- 
 vering, has gained the ear of the fellows. I don't believe there's 
 William Halliburton's equal in the whole world ! " he added, with 
 enthusiasm. " Fancy his sacrificing his time to such a thing, and 
 for no benefit to himself! It will bear a rich crop of fruit too. If 
 I have the gift — I'll give you a long word for once — of ratiocination, 
 this reform of William's will be more extensive than we now foresee." 
 
 The chief thing in these evenings was to keep alive the interest 
 of the men. Not to lead them to abstruse things, which they had 
 a difficulty in understanding, and remained strange to at best; but 
 rather to plunge them into familiar home-topics — the philosophy, 
 if you will, of everyday life. There is a right and a wrong way of 
 doing most things, and it often happens that people, from ignorance, 
 pursue the wrong. Of the plain sanitary laws, relating to physical 
 health. Honey Fair was intensely ignorant: of the ventilation of 
 rooms, of cleanliness, of the most simple rules by which the body 
 can be kept in order, they knew no more than they did of the moon. 
 When a man was, to use Honey Fair phraseology, '• took bad," 
 he generally neglected the symptoms altogether, thereby laying 
 the foundation of worse illness : or else he went to a doctor, and 
 ran himself into expense. A little fiimiliarity with ordinary com- 
 plaints and ordinary antidotes would have remedied this. An 
 acquaintance v/ith sanitary laws would have prevented it. When
 
 388 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 children were down with measles or scarlatina, the careless of the 
 land allowed the maladies to take their own course, and the sufferers 
 to air themselves in the gutters, as usual. The cautious ones 
 smothered the patients in a hot room, keeping up a fire as large as 
 the stock of coals would allow, and borrowing all the blankets from 
 the houses on either side, to heap upon them. No wonder that the 
 supply of little coffins was great to Honey Fair. 
 
 All these things would be talked of and discussed, and a little 
 enlightenment imparted to the men, as a guidance for the future. 
 No one, who did not witness it, can imagine the delighted satisfac- 
 tion with which these and similar practical topics were welcomed ; 
 for they bore for them a personal interest — they concerned them- 
 selves, their families, and their homes. 
 
 One evening, the way in which Honey Fair rather liked to spend 
 its Sundays was under discussion ; namely, the men in smoking ; 
 the women slatternly and dirty ; the children fighting and quar- 
 relling in the dirt outside. William Halliburton was asking them 
 in a half-earnest, half-joking manner, what particular benefit they 
 found in it, that it should not be remedied.'' Could they impart its 
 pleasures to him? If so 
 
 His voice suddenly faltered and stopped. Standing just inside 
 the door of the room, a quiet spectator and listener of the pro- 
 ceedings, was Thomas Ashley. The men followed William's gaze, 
 saw who was amongst them, and rose in respectful silence. 
 
 Mr. Ashley came forward, signing to William to continue. But 
 William's eloquence had died out, leaving only a heightened colour 
 in its place. In the presence of Mr. Ashley, whom he so loved and 
 respected, he had grown timid as a child. 
 
 " Do you know," said Mr. Ashley, addressing the men, " it gives 
 me greater pleasure to see you here, than it would do were I to 
 hear that you had come into a fortune." 
 
 They smiled and shook their heads. " Fortunes didn't come to 
 the like o' them." 
 
 " Never mind," replied Mr. Ashley : " fortunes are not the best 
 gifts in life." 
 
 He stayed talking with them some little time, quiet words of 
 encouragement, and then withdrew, wishing them good luck. William 
 left with him : and as they passed through Honey Fair, the women 
 ran to their doors to gaze after them. Mr. Ashley, slightly bent 
 with his advancing years, leaned upon William's arm, but his face 
 was fresh as ever, and his dark hair showed no signs of age. 
 William erect, noble; his height greater than Mr, Ashley's, his 
 forehead broader, his deep grey eyes strangely earnest and sincere ; 
 and a flitting smile playing on his lips. He was listening to Mr. 
 Ashley's satisfaction at what he had witnessed. 
 
 " How long do you intend to sacrifice your evenings to them?" 
 
 " It is no sacrifice, Mr. Ashley. I am glad to do it. I consider 
 it one of the best uses to which my evenings could be given. I 
 intend to enhst Henry for good in the cause, if I can do so."
 
 A LOSS FOR POMERANIAN KNOLL. 389 
 
 " You Avill be an ingenious persuader if you do," returned Mr. 
 Ashley. " I would give half I am worth," he abruptly a'dded, " to 
 see the boy take an interest in life." 
 
 " It will be sure to come, sir. One of these days I shall surprise 
 him into reading a good play to the men. Something to laugh at. 
 It will be a beginning." 
 
 " He is very much better," observed Mr. Ashley. " All that list- 
 less apathy is going." 
 
 " Oh yes. He is all but cured." 
 
 " What was it, William? " 
 
 William was taken by surprise. He did not answer, and Mr. 
 Ashley repeated the question. 
 
 " It is his secret, sir: not mine." 
 
 " You must confide it to me," said Mr. Ashley, in his tone of 
 quiet firmness. " You know me. William. When I promise that 
 neither it nor the fact of its having been disclosed to me, shall ever 
 escape me, directly or indirectly, to any living person, you know 
 that you may depend upon me." . 
 
 He paused. William did not speak ; he was debating with him- 
 self what he ought to do. 
 
 " William, it is a relief that I must have. Since my suspicions, 
 that there was a secret, were confirmed, I cannot tell you what 
 improbable ftincies and fears have not run riot in my brain. For 
 prostration so excessive to have overtaken him, one would almost 
 think he had been guilty of murder, or some other unaccountable 
 crime. You must relieve my mi?id: which, in spite of my uncon- 
 trollable fancies, I do not doubt the truth will do. It will make 
 no difference to any one ; it will only be an additional bond between 
 myself and you ; and you, my almost son." 
 
 William's duty rose before him, clear and distinct. But when he 
 spoke, it was in a whisper. 
 
 "He loved Anna Lynn." 
 
 Mr. Ashley walked on without comment. William resumed. 
 
 " Had that unhappy affair not taken place, Henry's intention was 
 to make her his wife, provided you could have been brought to 
 consent to it. His whole days used to be spent, I believe, in plan- 
 ning how he could best invent a chance of obtaining it." 
 
 "And now?" very sharply asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Now the thing is at an end for ever. Henry's good sense has 
 come to his aid; I suppose I may say his pride; his self-esteem. 
 Innocent of actual ill as Anna was in the affair, there was sufficient 
 reflection cast upon her to prove to Henry that his hopeful visions 
 could never be carried out. That was Henry's secret, sir : and I 
 almost feared the blow would have killed him. But he is getting 
 over it." 
 
 Mr. Ashley drew a deep breath. " William, I thank you. You 
 have relieved me from a nightmare : and you may forget having 
 given me the confidence if you like, for it will never be abused. What 
 are you going to do about space ? " he continued, in a different tone.
 
 390 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " About space, sir ? " 
 
 " For those protdgds of yours, at East's. They seem to me to be 
 tolerably confined for it, there ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that is not the worst," said William. " Men are ask- 
 ing to join every day, and they cannot be taken in." 
 
 " / can't think how you manage to get so many — and to keep 
 them." 
 
 " I suppose the chief secret is, that their interest enters into it. 
 Wc contrive to keep that up. Most of them would not go back to 
 the Horned Ram for the world." 
 
 " Well, where shall you stow them ? " 
 
 " It is more than I can say, sir. We must manage it some- 
 how." 
 
 " Henry told me you were ambitious enough to aspire to the 
 Mormon failure." 
 
 " I was foolish enough to do so," replied William, with a laugh. 
 " Seeing it was very much in the condition of the famed picture 
 taken of the good Dr, Primrose and his family — useless — I went 
 and offered a rent for it — only a trifling sum, it is true ; but if our 
 fires only kept it from damp, one would think the builder might 
 have been glad to let it, thrown as it is upon his hands. I told 
 him so." 
 
 " What did he say ? " 
 
 " He stood out for thirty pounds. But that's more than I— than 
 we can afford." 
 
 " And who was going to find the money ? You ? " 
 
 William hesitated ; but did not see any way out of the dilemma. 
 
 " Well, sir, you know it is a sad pity for the good work to be 
 stopped, through so insignificant a trifle as -want of room." 
 
 " I think it is," replied Mr. Ashley. " You can hire it to-morrow, 
 and move your forms and tables and books into it as soon as you 
 like. I will find the rent." 
 
 The words took William by surprise. " Oh, Mr. Ashley, do you 
 really mean it ? " 
 
 " Really mean it ? It is little enough, compared with what you 
 are doing. A few years, William, and your name may be great in 
 Hclstonleigh. You are working on for it." 
 
 William walked with Mr. Ashley as far as his house, and then 
 turned back to his own. He found sorrow there. Not having 
 been home since dinner-time, for he had taken tea at Mr. Ashley's, 
 he was unconscious of some tidings which had been brought by the 
 afternoon's post. Jane sat and grieved while she told him. Her 
 brother Robert was dead. Very rarely indeed did she hear from 
 the New World ; Margaret appeared to be too full of cares and 
 domestic bustle to write often. She might not have written now, 
 but to tell of the death of Robert. 
 
 " I have lost myself sometimes in a vision of seeing Robert home 
 again," said Jane, with a sigh. "And now he is gone! " 
 
 " He was not married, was he ? " asked William
 
 A LOSS FOR POMERANIAN KNOLL. 391 
 
 " No. I fear he never got on very well. Never to be at his 
 ease." 
 
 Gar came in noisily, and interrupted them. The death of an 
 uncle whom he had never seen, and who had lived thousands of 
 miles away, did not appear to Gar to be a matter calling for any 
 especial amount of grief. Gar was in high spirits on his own 
 account ; for Gar v^'as going to Cambridge. Not in all the pomp 
 and grandeur of an unlimited purse, however, but as a hmnble 
 sizar. 
 
 Gar, not seeing his way very clearly, had been \\ise enough to 
 pluck up courage and apply for counsel to the head master of the 
 college school. He had told him that he meant to go to college, 
 and how he meant to go, and he asked Mr. Keating if he could help 
 him to a situation, where he might be useful between terms. " A 
 school where I might become a junior assistant," suggested Gar. 
 " Or any family who would take me to read with their sons? If I 
 only earned my food, it would be so much the less weight upon my 
 mother," added he, in the candid spirit peculiar to the familj-. 
 
 " Have you forgotten that you ought to work, yourself, out of 
 terms, nearly as hard as in them ? " asked Mr. Keating. 
 
 " Oh no, sir, I have not forgotten it. I will take care to accom- 
 plish my own work as well. That should not suffer." 
 
 Mr. Keating looked at the cheerful, hopeful face, a sure index of 
 the brave, hopeful spirit. He had taken unusual interest in the two 
 Halliburtons, so clever and persevering. It had been impossible 
 for him not to do so ; for, if Mr. Keating had a weakness, it was 
 for a good classical scholar. 
 
 " I'll see about it, Gar," said he. " But you are rather young to 
 read with students. And I do not suppose any school would be 
 willing to engage you, on account of the interruption that keeping 
 your terms would cause. If nothing better turns up, you can 
 remain in the college school-room here, and undertake one of the 
 jimior desks. I should give you nothing for it," added the master, 
 " except your meals. Those you would be welcome to take at my 
 house with my private pupils, sleeping at your own home. And I 
 think that, for you, it would be a better arrangement than any 
 other, for it would leave you plenty of time for your own studies, 
 and I could still superintend them." 
 
 Gar thought the arrangement would be first-rate. It would be 
 the very thing. " Not that I ever thought of it," he ingenuously 
 said. " I did not know the college school admi'.ted assistants." 
 
 " Neither does it," replied the master. " You \vould be ostensibly 
 my private pupil. And if I choose to set a private pupil to keep 
 the desks to their work, that is my affair." 
 
 Gar could only reiterate his thanks. 
 
 " I am pleased to give you this little encouragement," remarked 
 Mr. Keating. " When I sec boys hopefully plodding on in the teeth 
 of difficulties, of brave heart, of sterling conduct, they deserve all 
 the encouragement that can be gi\'en to them. If you and your
 
 S9i MRS. HALLIl^URtON'S TROUBLeIS. 
 
 brothers only go on as you have hitherto gone on, you will stand ill 
 after-years as bright examples of what industry and perseverance 
 can achieve." 
 
 So that, altogether, Gar Was in spirits, and did not by any means 
 put on superfluous mourning' for a gentleman who had died in the 
 backwoocls of Canada, although he was his mother's brother. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MISS ASHLEY'S OFFER. 
 
 " Mary," said Mr. Ashley, " I have received an offer of marriage 
 for you." 
 
 A somewhat abrupt announcement to make to a young lady, and 
 Mr. Ashley spoke in the gravest tone. They were seated round 
 the breakfast table, Mary by her mother's side, who was pouring 
 out the coffee. Mary looked surprised, rather amused ; but that 
 was the only emotion discernible in her countenance. 
 
 " It is fine to be you. Miss Mary ! " struck in Henry, before any 
 one could speak. " Pray, sir, who is the venturer ? " 
 
 "He assures me that his happiness is bound up in his offer being 
 accepted," resumed Mr. Ashley. " I fancy he felt inchned to assure 
 me that Mary's was also. Of course all I can do, is, to lay the 
 proposal before her." 
 
 " What /s it that you are talking of, Thomas ? " interposed Mrs. 
 Ashley, unable until then to say a word, and speaking with some 
 irritability. " I do not consider Mary old enough to be married. 
 How can you think of saying such things to her ? " 
 
 " Neither do I, mamma," said Mary, with a laugh. " I like my 
 home too well to leave it." 
 
 "And while you are talking sentiment, my curiosity is on the 
 rack," cried Henry. " I have inquired the name of the bridegroom, 
 and I should like to be answered." 
 
 " The would-be bridegroom," put in Mary. 
 
 " Mary, I am ashamed of you ! " went on Henry. " I blush for 
 your manners. Nice credit she does to your bringing up, mamma ! 
 When young ladies of condition receive a celestial offer, they behave 
 with due propriety, hang their heads with a blush, and subdue their 
 speech to a whisper. And here's Mary^ — look at her! — talking 
 quite loudly and making merry over it. Once more, sir, who is the 
 adventurous gentleman.' Is it good old General Wells, our gouty 
 neighbour opposite, who is lifted in and out of his chariot for his 
 daily airing ? I have told Mary repeatedly that she was setting her 
 cap at him." 
 
 " It is not so advantageous a proposal in a financial point of 
 view," observed Mr. Ashley, maintaining his impassibility. " It 
 proceeds from one of my dependents at the manufactory."
 
 Miss asHley's offer. 393 
 
 Mary had the sugar-basin in her hand at the moment, and a sud- 
 den tremor seemed to seize her. She set it down : but so chimsih, 
 that half the lumps fell out. Her face had turned to a glowing crim- 
 son. Mr. Ashley noticed it. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley only noticed the sugar. " Mary, how came you to 
 do that .'' \'ery careless, my dear." 
 
 Mary set herself meekly to pick up the sugar, the flush giving 
 place to pallor. She lifted her handkerchief to her face and held it 
 there, as if she had a cold. 
 
 " The honour comes from Cyril Dare," said Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Cyril Dare ! " 
 
 " Cyril Dare ! " 
 
 In different tones of scorn, but each expressing it most fully, the 
 repetition broke from Mrs. Ashley and Henry. Mary, on the con- 
 trary, recovered her equanimity and her countenance. She laughed 
 out, as if she were glad. 
 
 " What did you say to him, papa ? " 
 
 " I gave him my opinion only. That I thought he had mistaken 
 my daughter, if he entertained hopes that she would listen to his 
 suit. The question rests with you, Mary." 
 
 " Oh papa, what nonsense ! rests with me ! Why you know I 
 would never have Cyril Dare." 
 
 A smile crossed Mr. Ashley's face. He probably /lad known it. 
 
 " Cyril Dare ! " repeated Mary, as if unable to overcome her 
 astonishment. " He must have turned silly. I would not have 
 Cyril Dare if he were worth his weight in gold." 
 
 " And he must be worth a great deal more than his weight in 
 gold, Mary, before I would consent to your having him," quietly 
 rejoined Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Have }ii))i r^ echoed Henry. " If I feared there was a danger 
 of the daughter of all the Ashleys so degrading herself, I should 
 bribe cook to make an arsenic cake, cut the young lady a portion 
 myself, and stand by while she ate it." 
 
 " Don't talk foolishly, Henry," rebuked Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " Mamma, I must say I do not think that it would be half so 
 foolish as Cyril Dare was," cried Mary, with spirit. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley, relieved from any temporary fear of losing Mary, 
 was comfortably going on with her breakfast. "Did Cyril say how 
 he meant to provide for Mary, if he obtained her ? " asked she, with 
 an amused look. 
 
 " He did not touch upon ways and means," replied Mr. Ashley. 
 " I conclude that he intended I should have the honour of keeping 
 them both." 
 
 Henry Ashley leaned back in his chair, and laughed. " If this is 
 not the richest joke I have heard for a long while ! Cyril Dare ! the 
 kinsman of Herbert the beautiful ! Con-found his im-pu-dence I " 
 
 "Then you decline the honour of the alliance, Mary?" said Mr. 
 Ashley. " What am I to tell him ? " 
 
 "What you please, papa. Tell him, if you like, that I would
 
 394 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 rather marry a chimney-sweep. I would, if it came to a choice 
 between the two. How very senseless of Cyril to think of such a 
 thing ! " 
 
 " How very shrewd, I think, Mary — if he could only have got 
 you," was the reply of Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " If ! " saucily put in Mary. 
 
 Henry bent over the table to his sister. " I tell you what, Mary. 
 You go this morning and offer yourself to our gouty friend, the 
 general. He will jump at it, and well have the banns put up. We 
 cannot, you know, be subjected to such shocks as these, on your 
 account : it is unreasonable to expect it. I assure you it will be the 
 most effectual plan to set Cyril Dare, and those of his tribe, at rest. 
 No, thank you, ma'am," turning to Mrs. Ashley — " no more coffee. 
 This has been enough breakfast for me." 
 
 "Who is this?" asked Mr. Ashley, as footsteps were heard on 
 the gravel-walk. 
 
 Mrs. Ashley lifted her eyes. " It is William Halliburton." 
 
 " William Halliburton ! " echoed Henry. " Ah ! if you could have 
 put his heart and intellect into Cyril's form, now, it might have 
 done." 
 
 He spoke with that freedom of speech which characterized him, 
 and in which, from his infirmity, he had not been checked. No one 
 made any remark in answer, and William entered. He had come 
 to ask some business question of Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I will walk down with you," said Mr. Ashley, " and see to it. 
 Take a seat, William." 
 
 " It is getting late, sir." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you can aftbrd to be late for once," rephed Mr. 
 Ashley. And William smiled as he sat down. 
 
 " We have had a letter from Cambridge, this morning. From 
 Gar." 
 
 " And how does Mr. Gar get on ? " asked Henry. 
 
 " First rate. He takes a leaf out of Frank's book ; determined to 
 see no difficulties in his way. Frank's letters are always cheering, 
 I really believe he cares no more for being a servitor, than hewoukl 
 for wearing a hat at Christchurch. All his wish is to get on : he 
 looks to the future." 
 
 " But he docs his duty in the present," quietly remarked Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 William smiled. " It is the only way to insure the future, sir, 
 Frank and Gar have been learning that all their lives." 
 
 Mr. Ashley, telling William not to get the fidgets, for he was not 
 ready yet, withdrew to the next room with his wife. They had 
 some weighty domestic matter to settle, touching a dinner party. 
 Henry linked his arm within William's and drew him to the window, 
 throwing it open to the early spring sunshine. Mary remained at 
 the Ijreakfast table. 
 
 " \yhat do you think Cyril Dare, the presuming, has had the 
 conscience to ask?" began he.
 
 MISS ASHLEY'S OFFER. 395 
 
 " I know," replied William. " I heard him say he should ask it 
 yesterday." 
 
 " The deuce you did.^" uttered Henry. "And you did not knock 
 him down ? " 
 
 " Knock him down ! Was it any business of mine ? " 
 
 " You miglit have done it as my friend, I think. A slight correc- 
 tion of his impudence." 
 
 " I do not see that it is your business, cither," returned William. 
 " It is Mr. Ashley's." 
 
 "Oh, indeed! Perhaps you would like it carried out?" 
 
 " I have no right to say it shall not be." 
 
 " Thank you ! " chafed Henry. " Mary," he called out to his 
 sister, "here's Halliburton recommending that that business, wo 
 know of, shall be carried out." 
 
 William only laughed. He was accustomed to Henry's exaggera- 
 tions. "It is what Cyril has been expecting for years," said he. 
 
 Henry gazed at him. " What is? What are you talking of?" 
 
 " Being taken into partnership by Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " Is it t/tai yon are blundering over? Does he expect it?" con- 
 tinued Henry, after a pause. 
 
 " Cyril said, yesterday, the firm would soon be Ashley and Dare." 
 
 "Did he, indeed! He had better not count upon it so as to 
 disturb his digestion. That's presumption enough, goodness 
 knows ; but it is a mere flea-bite compared with the other. He has 
 asked for Mar}'. It is true as that we are standing here." 
 
 William turned his questioning gaze on Henry, He did not 
 understand. " Asked for her for what ? What to do ? " 
 
 " To be his wife." 
 
 " Oh ! " The strange sound was not a burst of indignation, or a 
 groan of pain : it was a mixture of both. William thrust his head 
 out of the window. 
 
 " He actually asked the master for her yesterday ! " went on 
 Henry. " He said his heart, or liver, or some such part of him was 
 bound up in her : as she was bound up in him. Fancy the honour 
 of her becoming Mrs. Cyril! " 
 
 W^illiam did not turn his head : not a glimpse of his face could 
 be caught. " Will she have him ? " he asked, at length. 
 
 The question exasperated Henry, " Yes, she will. There! Go 
 and congratulate her. You arc a fool, W^illiam." 
 
 The sound of his angry voice, not his words, penetrated to Mary's 
 ears. She came forward. "What is the matter, Henry?" 
 
 " So he is a fool," was Henry's answer. " He wants to know if 
 you arc going to marry Cyril Dare. I tell him yes. No one but 
 an idiot would have asked it." 
 
 William turned, his face full of an emotion that Henry had never 
 seen there : a streak of scarlet on his checks, his earnest eyes 
 strangely troubled. And Mary? — her face seemed to have bor- 
 rowed the same flush, as she stood there, her head and eyelashes 
 bent.
 
 396 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 Henry Ashley gazed, first at one, "next at the other, and then 
 turned and leaned from the window himself. In contrition for 
 having spoken so openly of his sister's affairs ? Not at all. Whist- 
 ling the bars of a renowned comic song of the day called " The 
 Steam Arm." 
 
 Mr. Ashley put in his head. " I am ready, William." 
 
 William touched Mary's hand in silence by way of adieu, and 
 halted as he passed Henry. " Shall you come round to the men 
 to-night ? " 
 
 "No, I shan't," retorted Henry. " I am upset for the day." 
 
 He was halfway down the path when he heard himself called by 
 Henry, still leaning from the window. He went back to him. 
 
 " She said she'd rather have a chimney-sweep than Cyril Dare. 
 Don't go and make a muff of yourself again." 
 
 William turned away without any answer. Mr. Ashley, who 
 had waited, put his arm within his, and they proceeded to the 
 manufactory. 
 
 " Have you heard this rumour, respecting Herbert Dare, that has 
 been wafted over from Germany within the last day or two ? " in- 
 quired Mr. Ashley, as they walked along. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied William. 
 
 " I wonder if it is true ? " 
 
 William did not answer. William's private opinion was, that it 
 was true. It had been tolerably well authenticated. A rumour 
 that need not be very specifically enlarged upon here. Helston- 
 leigh never came to the bottom of it ^ never knew for certain how 
 much of it was true, and how much false, and we cannot expect to 
 be better favoured than Helstonleigh, in the point of enlightenment. 
 It was not a pleasant rumour, and the late governess's name was 
 unaccountably mixed up in it. For one thing, it said that Herbert 
 Dare, finding commercial pursuits not congenial to his taste, had 
 given them up, and was roaming about Germany. Mademoiselle 
 also. It was a report that did not do credit to Herbert, or tend to 
 reflect respectability on his family ; yet Mr. Ashley fully believed 
 that to that report he owed the application of Cyril with regard to 
 Mary, strange as it may appear at a first glance, to say it. The 
 application had astonished Mr. Ashley beyond everything. He 
 could only come to the conclusion that Cyril must have entertained 
 the hope for some time, but had been induced to disclose it prema- 
 turely. So prematurely — even allowing that other circumstances 
 favoured it — that Mr. Ashley was tempted to laugh. A man without 
 means, without a home, without any definite prospects, merely a 
 workman, as may be said, in his manufactory, upon a very small 
 salary ; it was ridiculous in the extreme for Jiitn to offer marriage to 
 Miss Ashley. Mr. Ashley, of upright conduct in the sight of day, 
 was not one to wink at folly ; any escapade such as that, now flying 
 about Helstonleigh as attributed to Herbert, would not be an addi- 
 tional recommendation in Cyril's favour. Had he hastened to speak 
 before it should reach Mr. Ashley's ears? Mr. Ashley thought so.
 
 MISS ASHLEY'S OFFER. 397 
 
 An hour after Cyril had spoken, he heard the scandal ; and it 
 flashed over his mind that to that he was indebted for the prema- 
 ture honour. Cyril would have liked to secure his consent before 
 anything unpleasant transpired. 
 
 As Mr. Ashley came in view of the manufactory, Cyril Dare 
 observed him. Cyril was lounging in an indolent manner at the 
 entrance doors, exchanging greetings with the various passers-by. 
 He ought to have been inside at his business; but oughts went for 
 little with Cyril. Since Samuel Lynn's departure, Cyril had been 
 living in clover ; enjoying nearly as much idleness as he liked. 
 William assumed no authority over him, though full authority had 
 been given to William over the manufactory in general ; and Cyril, 
 except when he just happened to be under Mr. Ashley's eye, passed 
 his time agreeably. Cyril stared as he caught sight of the master, 
 and then went in, his spirits going down a little. To see the master 
 thus walking confidentially with Wilham, seemed to argue unfavour- 
 ably for his suit ; though why it should seem so, Cyril did not know. 
 Cyril's staring was occasioned by that fact. He had never been 
 promoted to the honour of thus walking familiarly with Mr. Ashley. 
 In fact, for the master, a reserved and proud man with all his good 
 qualities, to link his arm within a dependent's, astonished Cyril 
 considerably. 
 
 When they entered, Cyril was at work in his apron, standing at 
 the counter in the master's room, steady and assiduous, as though 
 he had been there for the last half-hour. The master came in, but 
 William remained in Mr. Lynn's room. 
 
 " Good morning, sir," said Cyril. 
 
 " Good morning," replied the master. 
 
 He sat down to his desk and opened a letter that was lying on it. 
 Presently he looked up. 
 
 " Cyril ! " 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " Step here." 
 
 Cyril approached the desk, feeling what a lady might call nervous. 
 The decisive moment had come : should he be provided for, for life ; 
 enjoy a good position and the means of living as a gentleman.'' Or 
 would his unlucky star prevail, and consign him to — he did not 
 quite foresee to what .'' 
 
 " I have spoken to Miss Ashley. She was excessively surprised 
 at your application, and begs to decline it in the most unequivocal 
 manner. Allow me to add a recommendation from myself, that 
 you bury in oblivion the fact of your having made it." 
 
 Cyril hesitated for a moment, and looked foolish. " Why ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Why ? " repeated Mr. Ashley. " I think you could answer that 
 query for yourself, and save me the trouble. I do not wish to go 
 too closely into facts and causes, past and present, unless you desire 
 it. One thing you must be aware of, Cyril, that such a proposition 
 from you to my daughter was utterly out of place. I should have
 
 398 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 rejected it point-blank yesterday; in foct, in the surprise of the 
 moment, I ahnost spoke out more plainly than you would have liked, 
 but that I thought it as well for you to have Miss Ashley's opinion 
 as well as my own." 
 
 " Why am I rejected, sir ? " continued Cyril. 
 Mr. Ashley waved his hand with dignity. "Return to your 
 employment, Cyril. It is quite sufficient for you to know that you 
 are rejected, without my going into motives and reasons. They 
 might not, I say, be palatable to you." 
 
 Cyril did not venture to press it further. He returned to the 
 counter, and stood there, ostensibly going on with his work, and 
 boiling over with rage. The master sat some little time longer and 
 then left the room. Soon after, William came in. His eye caught 
 Cyril's employment. 
 
 , " Cyril," cried he, hastily advancing to him, "you must not make 
 up those gloves. I told you yesterday not to touch them." 
 
 A dangerous speech. Cyril was not unlike touchwood at that 
 moment, liable to go off at the slightest contact. " You told 
 me ! " he burst forth. " Do you think I am going to do what 
 you choose to tell me ? Try it on for the future, that's all. Yoic 
 tell 7ne ! " 
 
 " They are the very best gloves, and must be sorted with nicety," 
 returned William. " Don't you know that the sorting of the last 
 parcel was found fault with in London ? It vexed the master ; and 
 he desired me to do all the sorting myself, until Mr. Lynn should 
 be at home." 
 
 " I choose to sort," returned Cyril. 
 
 " But you must not sort in the face of the master's orders ; or, if 
 you do, I must go over them again." 
 
 " That's right ; praise up yourself!" foamed Cyril. "Of course 
 you are an efficient sorter, and I am a bad one." 
 
 " You might be as good a sorter as any one, if you chose to give 
 it proper time and attention. What a temper you are in this morn- 
 ing ! What's the matter ? " 
 
 " The matter is, that I have submitted to your rule long enough, 
 but I'll do it no longer," was the reply of Cyril, whose anger was 
 gathering strength, and whose ill feeling towards William, deep 
 down in his heart from long ago, had had envy added to it of late. 
 
 William made no reply. He carefully swept the dozens that 
 Cyril had made up, farther down the counter, that they might be in 
 a stronger light. 
 
 " What's that for ? " cried Cyril. " How dare you meddle with 
 my work ? They are done as well as you can do them, any day." 
 
 " Now Where's the use of flying into this passion, Cyril ? What's 
 it for ? Do you suppose I go over your work again for pleasure, or 
 to find fault with it 1 I do it because the master has ordered me to 
 make up every dozen that goes out; and if vou do it first of all, it is 
 sheer waste of time. See here," added VVilliam, holding two or 
 three pairs towards him, "■ tJicsc will not do for firsts."
 
 THE EXPLOSION. 399 
 
 Angry Cyril! lie was quite beside himself with anger. It was 
 not this trilling matter in the daily business that would have excited 
 him ; but Mr. Ashley's rejection, his words altogether, had turned 
 Cyril's blood into gall ; and this was made the outlet. He dashed 
 the gloves out of William's hand to the farthest part of the room, 
 and struck him a powerful blow on the chest. It caused William 
 to stagger ; he was unprepared for it ; but whether he would have 
 returned it must remain uncertain. Before there was time or 
 opportunity, Cyril found himself whirled backwards by a hand as 
 powerful as his own ; and a voice of stern authority was demanding 
 the meaning of the scene. 
 
 The hand, the voice, were those of the master. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE EXPLOSION. 
 
 '' What is the meaning of this, Cyril Dare ? " 
 
 Had Cyril supposed that the master was so close at hand, he had 
 subdued his passion to something short of striking a blow. He 
 stood against the counter, his brow lowering, his eye furious ; 
 William looked angry too. Mr. Ashley, calm and dignified, waited 
 for an answer. 
 
 None came. Cyril was too excited to speak. 
 
 " Will you explain it ? " said the master, turning to William. 
 " Fighting in my counting-house ! " 
 
 " I cannot, sir," repHed William, recovering his equanimity. " I 
 do not understand it. I did nothing to provoke him, that I am 
 aware of. It is true I said I must go over the gloves again that he 
 had made up." 
 
 " What are those gloves flung there ? " 
 
 " I was showing them to him — -that they were not fit for firsts." 
 
 " They are fit for firsts ! " retorted Cyril, breaking his silence. " I 
 know I did not put a pair in that was not up to the mark." 
 
 The master went and picked up the gloves himself Taking them 
 to the light, he turned them about in his hands. 
 
 " I should put two of these pairs as seconds, and one as thirds," 
 remarked he. *' You must have been asleep when you put this one 
 among the firsts," he continued, indicating the latter pair, and 
 speaking to Cyril Dare. " It has a flaw in it." 
 
 " Of course you will uphold Halliburton, sir, whatever he may 
 say. That has been the case for a long time past." 
 
 He spoke in an insolent tone; such as none within the walls of 
 that manufactory had ever dared to use to the master. The master 
 turned upon him, speaking cjuietly and significantly. 
 
 " You forget yourself, Cyril Dare." 
 
 "All he does is right, and all I do is v.-rong," persisted Cyril.
 
 400 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " You treat him, sir, just as though you considered him the gentle- 
 man, instead of mc." 
 
 A half-smile, which had too much of mockery in it to please 
 Cyril, crossed the lips of Mr. Ashley. " What's that you say about 
 being a gentleman, Cyril ? Repeat it, will you .'' I should like to 
 hear it again." 
 
 Mockery, and double mockery ! Cyril's suggestive ears detected 
 it in the tone, if no other ears could do so. It did not improve his 
 temper. " The thing is this, sir : I won't submit to this state of 
 affairs any longer. I was not placed here to be ruled over by him ; 
 and if things can't be put upon a better footing, one of us must 
 leave." 
 
 " Then, as it has come to this explosion, I say the same," struck 
 in William. "It is high time that things were put upon a better 
 footing. Cyril, you have forced me to speak, and you must take 
 the consequences. Sir," turning to the master, " my authority over 
 the men is ridiculed in their hearing. It ought not to be so." 
 
 " By whom ? " demanded the master. 
 
 " You can ask that question of Cyril, sir." 
 
 The master did ask it of Cyril. " Have you done this ? " 
 
 " Possibly I have," insolently returned Cyril. 
 
 " You know you have," rejoined William. " Only yesterday, when 
 I was giving directions to the stainers, he derided all I said, and one 
 of them inquired whether I had received orders for what I was 
 telling them. If the authority vested in me is to be undermined, 
 the men will soon set it at naught." 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked provoked ; more so than William ever remem- 
 bered to have seen him. He paused a moment, his lips quivering 
 angrily, and then flung open the counting-house door. 
 
 "Dick!" 
 '" Dick, a young tinker of ten, black in clothes and in skin, came 
 flying at the summons and its unusually stern tone. " Please, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " Ring the large bell." 
 
 Dick stared with all his eyes at hearing the words. To ring the 
 large bell between ten and eleven o'clock in the morning was a 
 marvel that had never happened in Dick's experience. But the 
 master's orders were to be obeyed, not questioned ; and Dick, 
 rang out a prolonged peal. The master looked into the serving- 
 room. 
 
 "James Meeking, I have ordered the bell rung for the men. 
 Pass the word for them to come into my room ; and do you and 
 East come with them." 
 
 The men appeared, flocking from all parts of the premises, their 
 astonishment certainly not inferior to Dick's. What could be the 
 meaning of the wholesale summoning to the presence of the master ? 
 They stood there crowding, a sea of curious faces. Dick, consigned 
 to the background, climbed up the door-post, and held on by it in 
 a mysterious manner.
 
 tHE EXPLOSION. Jiot 
 
 Mr. Ashley drew William to his side, and laid his hand upon 
 him. 
 
 " It has been told to me that the authority vested in Mr. Halli- 
 burton has not been implicitly obeyed by every one in the manu- 
 factory. I have called you before me to give you my instructions 
 personally upon the point, that there may be no misunderstanding 
 in the future. Whatever directions he may see well to give, you will 
 receive them from him, as you would from myself. I invest him 
 with full and complete power. And in all my absences from the 
 manufactory, whether they may be of an hour's, a day's, or any 
 longer duration, Mr. Halliburton is its master." 
 
 They touched their hair, turned and went out as far as the 
 serving-room, collecting there to talk. In a short time, one of 
 them was seen coming back again ; a grey-haired man, a sorter 
 of leather. He addressed himself to Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " We have not disputed his orders, please sir, that we can call to 
 mind ; and if we have done it unintentional, we'd ask pardon for it, 
 for it's what we never thought to do. Next to yourself, sir, we 
 couldn't wish for a better master than young Mr. Halliburton. We 
 think as much of him, sir, as we should if he was your own son." 
 
 " All right, my men," cheerfully responded Thomas Ashley. 
 
 But was not Cyril put in the background by this .-' As badly as 
 Dick had been ; and Cyril had no door-post to climb, and so obtain 
 vantage ground. He had stood with his back to the crowd and his 
 face to the counter. When the men were out of hearing, he turned 
 and walked up to the master. 
 
 " It is the place I thought to fill," said he. " It is the place that 
 was promised me." 
 
 " Not promised," replied Mr. Ashley. " Not thought to be pro- 
 mised. A very long time ago, you may have been spoken of con- 
 ditionally, as likely to fill it. Conditionally, I say." 
 
 " Conditionally on what, sir ? " 
 
 " On your fitness for it. By conduct and by capability." 
 
 " What is the matter with my conduct, sir ? " returned Cyril, his 
 tone a sharp one. 
 
 " It is bad," curtly replied Mr. Ashley. " Deceitful in public ; 
 bad in private. I have told you once before this morning, that I 
 do not care to go into details ; you must know that there is no 
 necessity for my doing so." 
 
 Cyril paused. " I have been led to expect, sir, that you would 
 take me into partnership." 
 
 " Not by me," said the master. 
 
 " My father and mother had given me the hope ever since I came 
 here." 
 
 " I cannot help that. They had no authority for it from me." 
 
 " They have always said I should be made your partner and son- 
 in-law," persisted Cyril. 
 
 "They have! It is very obliging of them, I am sure, to settle 
 my affairs for me, even to the disposal of my daughter ! Pray what 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. ^0
 
 402 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 nice little destiny may they have carved out for Mrs. Ashley or for 
 my son ? " 
 
 Cyril chafed at the words. He would have liked, just then, to 
 strike Mr. Ashley, as he had struck William. " Would I ever have 
 demeaned myself to enter a glove manufactory, disgracing my 
 family, had I known I was to be only a workman in it ? " he cried. 
 "No, sir, that I never would. I am rightly served, for putting 
 myself out of my position as a gentleman." 
 
 Mr. Ashley, but for the pity he felt, could have laughed outright. 
 He really did feel pity for Cyril. He believed that the unhappy way 
 m which the young Dares were turning out might be laid to the 
 fault of their rearing, and this had rendered him considerate to 
 Cyril. Hoca considerate he had for a long while been, he himself 
 alone knew : Cyril perhaps suspected. 
 
 " It is a shame! " cried Cyril. " To be dealt with in this way is 
 nothmg less than a fraud upon me. I was led to expect that I 
 should be made your partner." 
 
 " Wait a bit, Cyril. I am willing to put you right upon the point. 
 The proposal, that you should be placed here, emanated in the first 
 instance from your father. He came to me one day, here, in this 
 very room, saying that he concluded I should not put Henry to 
 busmess, and thought it would be a fine opening for his son Cyril. 
 He hinted that I should want some one to succeed me ; and that 
 you might come to it with that view. But I most distinctly dis- 
 clauned endorsing that hint in the remotest degree. I would not 
 subscribe to it so much as by a vague ' Perhaps it may be so.' All 
 that I conceded upon the point was this. I told Mr, Dare that when 
 the time came for me to be looking out for some one to succeed me 
 ^f it ever did come — and I found his son — you — had served me 
 faithfully, was upright in conduct and in heart— one, in short, whom 
 I could thoroughly confide in— why, then he should have the pre- 
 ference over any other. So much I did say, Cyril, but no more." 
 
 " And why won't you give me the preference, sir ? " 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked at him, apparently in surprise that he could 
 ask the question. He bent his head forward, and spoke in a low 
 tone, but one full of meaning. 
 
 " Upright in conduct and in heart, I said, Cyril. It was an 
 absolute condition." 
 
 Cyril's gaze fell before Mr. Ashley's. His conscience may have 
 pricked him, and he had the grace to look ashamed of himself. 
 There ensued a pause. 
 
 Presently Cyril looked up. " Then I am to understand, sir, that 
 all hope of being your partner and successor is over?" 
 
 "It is. It has been over this many a year, Cyril. I should do 
 wrong to deal otherwise than perfectly plainly with you. Were you 
 to reform anything there may have been amiss in your conduct, to 
 become a model of excellence in the sight of Helstonleigh, I could 
 never admit your name to be associated with mine. The very 
 notion is offensive to me."
 
 THE EXPLOSION. 403 
 
 Cyril — it was a great wonder — restrained his passion. " Perhaps 
 I had better leave, then .'' " he said. 
 
 " You are welcome to stay until you can find a situation more 
 agreeable to you," replied Mr. Ashley. " Provided you undertake 
 to behave yourself." 
 
 " Stay ' and for nothing in the end ! " echoed Cyril. '• No, that I 
 never will! If I must remain a dependent, I'll try it on at some- 
 thing else. I am sick of this." 
 
 He mitied his apron, dashed it on to the floor, and went out with- 
 out another word. So furiously did he stamp through the serving- 
 room, that James Meeking turned round to look at him, and Dick, 
 taking a recreative balance at that moment on the edge of an up- 
 right coal-scuttle, thought he must be running for the fire-engines. 
 Dick's speculations were disturbed by the sound of the master's 
 voice, calling to him. 
 
 He hastened to the counting-house, and was ordered to "take 
 that apron away." Dick picked it up and withdrew with it, folding 
 it carefully against IVIr. Cyril should come in. Dick little thought 
 the manufactory had seen the last of him. 
 
 Mr. Ashley was indulging in a quiet laugh. " Demeaning him- 
 self by entering my manufactory! Disgracing his family — the high 
 blood of the Dares ! Poor Cyril ! William, do you look at it in the 
 same light ? " 
 
 William had remained in the room, taking no part w'hatever in 
 the final contest. He had stood with his back to them, following 
 his occupation. He turned round now. 
 
 " Sir, you know I do not." 
 
 " You once told me it presented no field for getting on. What 
 was the word you used ? — was it ambition .-' Truly, there's not 
 much ambition attached to it. Nevertheless, I am satisfied with 
 my career, William, although I am only the glove manufacturer, 
 Thomas Ashley." 
 
 He satisfied! How many a one would be proud to be in the 
 position of Thomas Ashley ! William did not say so. He began 
 to speak of Cyril Dare. 
 
 " Do you think he will come back again, sir?" 
 
 "I do not think he will. Should he do so, the doors are closed 
 to him. He has left of his own accord, and I shall not allow him 
 to return." 
 
 " I am very sorry," remarked William. " It has been partly my 
 fault." 
 
 '• Do not make yourself uneasy. I have tolerated Cyril Dare here ; 
 have allowed him to remain on sufferance : and that is the best that 
 can be said of it." 
 
 '* He may feel it as a blow." 
 
 " As a jubilee, you mean. It will be nothing less to him. He 
 has hated the manufactory v.ith all his heart from the moment he 
 first entered it, and is now, if we could see him. kicking up hi'j heels 
 with delight at the emancipation. Cyril Dare niy partner ! "
 
 4§4 ^IRS- HALLltJURtON'S TROUBLfibi. 
 
 William continued his work, saying nothing. Mr. Ashley- 
 resumed : 
 
 " I must be casting my thoughts around for a fitting substitute to 
 succeed to the post of ambition Cyril coveted. Can you direct me 
 to any quarter, William ? " 
 
 Mr. Ashley was now standing at William's side, looking at him 
 as he went over the gloves left by Cyril. He saw the red flush 
 mount to his face. Mr. Ashley laid his hand on William's shoulder, 
 and spoke in a low tone, full of emotion. 
 
 " It may come, my boy ; my almost son ! And when Thomas 
 Ashley's head shall be low in the grave, the leading manufacturer 
 of this city may be Wilham Halliburton." 
 
 A loud rapping at the door with a thick stick interrupted the 
 master's words. He turned to behold Mr. Dare. It appeared that 
 Cyril had by chance met his father in the street almost immediately 
 after going out; he had volunteered to him a most exaggerated 
 account, and Mr. Dare had come, as he said, to learn the rights 
 of it. 
 
 William left the room. He could not avoid remarking the bowed, 
 broken appearance of the man. Mr. Ashley related the particulars, 
 and the listener was obliged to acknowledge that Cyril had been to 
 blame — had been too hasty. 
 
 " I confess it appears so," he said. " He must have been led 
 away by temper. But, Mr. Ashley, you ought to stretch a point, 
 and make a concession. We are kinsmen." 
 
 " What concession ? " 
 
 " Discharge William Halliburton. Things can never go on 
 smoothly between him and Cyril. Stretch a point to oblige us, and 
 send him away." 
 
 "Discharge William Halliburton!" echoed Mr. Ashley in sur- 
 prise. " I could as soon discharge myself. William is the right 
 hand of the business. It could go on without me, but I am not 
 sure that it could do so without him." 
 
 " Cyril can take his place." 
 
 " Cyril is not qualified for it. And -" 
 
 " Cyril declares he will never enter the place again, so long as 
 Halliburton is in it." 
 
 " Cyril never will enter it again," quietly rejoined Mr. Ashley. 
 " Cyril and I have parted. I will give you his wages for this 
 week, now that you are here ; legally, though, he could not claim 
 them." 
 
 Mr. Dare looked sad — gloomy. It was only what he had ex- 
 pected for some time past. " You promised to do well by him, Mr. 
 Ashley; to take him into partnership." 
 
 " You must surely remember that I promised nothing of the Sort," 
 said Mr. Ashley. " I have been telling the Same thing to Cyril. 
 All I said — and a shrewd, business-man, as you are, could not fail 
 thoroughly to understand me," he pointedly added — " was, that I 
 would choose Cyril in preference to others, provided he proved
 
 THE EXPLOSION. 405 
 
 himself worthy of the preference. Circumstances appear to have 
 worked entirely against carrying out that idea, Mr. Dare." 
 
 " What circumstances ? " 
 
 Mr. Ashley did not immediately reply, and the question was 
 repeated in a hasty, almost an imperative tone. Then Mr. Ashley 
 answered it. 
 
 " I do not wish to say a word that should unnecessarily hurt your 
 feelings ; but in a matter of business I believe there is no resource 
 but to speak plainly. The unfortunate notoriety acquired, in one 
 way or other, by your sons, has rendered the name of Dare so 
 conspicuous, that, were there no other reason, it could never be 
 associated with mine." 
 
 "Conspicuous? How?" interposed Mr. Dare. 
 
 Mr, Ashley would not have believed the words were uttered as a 
 question, but that the answer was evidently waited for. " You ask 
 Iioii.',-^ he said. " Surely I need not remind you. The scandal 
 which, in more ways than one, attached to Anthony^though I am 
 sorry to allude to him, poor fellow, in any such way; the circum- 
 stances attending the trial of Herbert; the " 
 
 " Herbert was innocent," interrupted Mr. Dare. 
 
 " Innocent of the murder, no doubt ; as innocent as you or I. But 
 people made free with his name in other ways ; had often made free 
 with it. And look at this last report, wafted over to us from German)', 
 that is just now astonishing the city ! " 
 
 "' Hang him for a simpleton ! " burst forth Mr. Dare. 
 
 " It is all so much discredit to the name — to the family alto- 
 gether," concluded Mr. Ashley, as if his sentence had not been 
 interrupted. 
 
 " The faults of his brothers ought to be no good reason for your 
 rejecting Cyril." 
 
 " They are not my reason for rejecting him," quietly returned Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 " No ? You have just said they were." 
 
 " I said the notoriety given by your sons to the name of Dare 
 would bar its association with mine. In saying 'your sons,' I in- 
 cluded Cyril himself. He interposes the greatest barrier of all. 
 Were the rest of them of good report in the sight of day, Cyril 
 is not so." 
 
 " What's the matter with him ? " asked Mr. Dare. 
 
 " I do not care to tell you. A great deal of it you must know." 
 
 " Go on," cried Anthony Dare, who was leaning forward in his 
 chair, his chin resting on his stick, as one who sets himself calmly 
 to hear the whole. 
 
 " Cyril's private conduct is bad. He -" 
 
 " Follies of youth only," cried old Anthony. " He will outlive 
 them." 
 
 " Youth's follies sometimes end in manhood's crimes," was the 
 reply. " I am thankful that my son is fj-ee from them.'' 
 
 " Your son ! " returned Anthony Dare, coughing down his slighting
 
 4o6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 tone. " Vour son is one apart. He has not the heaUh to be knocking 
 about. If young men are worth anything, they arc sure to be a bit 
 wild." 
 
 A frown passed over the master's brow. " You are mistaken, 
 Mr. Dare. Young men who are worth anything keep themselves from 
 such folly. Opinions have taken a turn. Society is becoming more 
 sensible of the world's increased enlightenment ; and ill conduct, 
 although its pursuer may be a fashionable young man, is beginning 
 to be called by its right name. Would you believe that Cyril has, 
 more than once, come here — I hesitate to say the word, it is so ugly 
 a one — drunk? Drunk, Mr. Dare!" 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 "He has.' 
 
 " Then lie must have been a fool for his pains," was the angry 
 retort of old Anthony. 
 
 " He is untruthful : he is idle ; he is deceitful — but I do not, I say, 
 care to go into this. Were you cognizant of the application Cyril 
 made to me yesterday, respecting my daughter ? " 
 
 " I don't know of any application." 
 j " He did me the honour to make her an offer of marriage." 
 
 Old Anthony lifted his head sharply, not speaking. The master 
 continued : 
 
 "He said yesterday that he was acting by your advice. He 
 repeated to-day, that you and Mrs. Dare had led him to look to 
 Mary." 
 
 "Well?" returned Mr. Dare. "But I did not know he had 
 spoken." 
 
 "_ How could you— excuse me, I again say, if I am to speak 
 plainly — how could you ever have entertained so wild an idea ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you would like to call it a presumptuous one ? " chafed 
 Mr. Dare. 
 
 " I do call it so," returned Mr. Ashley. " It can be regarded as 
 nothing less ; any impartial person would tell you so. I put out of 
 the discussion altogether the want of means on the part of Cyril ; I 
 speak of its suitability. That Cyril should have aspired to an 
 alliance with Mary Ashley was presumption in the highest degree. 
 It has displeased me very much, and Henry looks upon it in the 
 light of an insult." 
 
 "Who's Henry?" scornfully returned Mr. Dare. "A dreamy 
 hypochondriac ! Pray is Cyril not as well born as Mary Ashley ? " 
 
 " Has he been as well reared ? Is he proving that he has been ? 
 A man's conduct is of far more importance than his birth." 
 
 " It would seem that you care little about birth, or rearing either, 
 or you would not exalt Halliburton to a level with yourself." 
 
 The master fixed his expressive eyes on Anthony Dare. " Halli- 
 burton's birth is, at any rate, as good as your family's and mine. 
 His father's mother and your wife's father were brother and 
 sister." 
 
 Old Anthony looked taken by surprise. " I don't know anything
 
 THE EXPLOSION. 407 
 
 about it," said he, somewhat roughly. " I know a Httle of how he 
 has been bred, he and his brothers." 
 
 " So do I," said Mr. Ashley. " I wish a few more in the world had 
 been bred in the same way." 
 
 " Why ! they have been bred to work ! " exclaimed old Anthony, 
 in astonishment. " They have not been bred as gentlemen. They 
 have not had enough to eat." 
 
 The concluding sentence elicited an involuntary laugh from the 
 master. " At any rate, the want does not appear to have stinted 
 their growth, or injured them in a physical point of view," he re- 
 joined, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. " They arc fine-grown men ; 
 and, Mr. Dare, they are gcitilcmcn^ whether they have been bred 
 as such or not. Gentlemen in looks, in manners, and in mind 
 and heart." 
 
 " I don't care what they are," again repeated old Anthony. " I 
 did not come here to talk about them, but about Cyril. Your 
 exalting Halliburton into the general favour that ought legitimately 
 to have been Cyril's is a piece of injustice. Cyril says you have this 
 morning announced publicly that Halliburton is master, under you. 
 It is flagrant injustice." 
 
 " No man living has ever had cause to tax me with injustice," 
 impressively answered Thomas Ashley. " I have been far more 
 just to Cyril than he deserves. Stay: 'just' is a wrong word. I 
 have been far more lenient to him. Shall I tell you that I have 
 kept him on here out of compassion, in the hope that the con- 
 siderate way in which I treated him might be an inducement to 
 him to turn over a new leaf, and discard his faults "i I wculd 
 not turn him away to be a town's talk. Deep down within the 
 archives of my memory, my own sole knowledge, I buried the great 
 fault of which he was guilty here. He was young; and I would 
 not take from him his fair fame on the very threshold of his 
 commercial life." 
 
 "Great fault?" hesitated Mr. Dare, looking half frightened. 
 
 Thomas Ashley inclined his head, and lowered his voice to a 
 deeper whisper. 
 
 " When he robbed my desk of the cheque, I fancy your own 
 suspicions of him were to the full as much awakened as mine." 
 
 There was no reply, unless a groan from Anthony Dare could 
 be called one. His hands, supporting his chin, rested on his stick 
 still. Mr. Ashley resumed : 
 
 " I became convinced, though not in the first blush of the affair, 
 that the transgressor was no other than Cjril ; and I deliberated 
 what my course should be. Natural impulse would have led me to 
 turn him away, if not to prosecute. The latter would scarcely have 
 been palatable towards one of my wife's kindred. What was I to do 
 with him ? Turn him adrift without a character ? and a character 
 that would get him any other situation of confidence, I could not 
 give him. I resolved to keep him on. For his own sake I would 
 give him a chance of redeeming what he may have done in a moment's
 
 408 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 thoughtless temptation. I spoke to him privately. I did not tell him 
 in so many words that I knew him to be guilty ; but he could not 
 well misunderstand that my suspicions were awakened. I told him 
 his conduct had not been good— not such that I could approve ; but 
 that I was willing, for his own sake, to bury the past in silence, and 
 retain him, as a last chance. I very distinctly warned him what 
 would be the consequences of the smallest repetition of his fault : 
 that no consideration for myself or for him would induce me to look 
 over it a second time. Thus he stayed on : I, continually giving an 
 eye to his conduct, and taking due precautions for the protection 
 of my property, and keeping fast my keys. James Meeking 
 received my orders that Mr. Cyril should never be called upon to 
 help pay the men, or to count the packets of halfpence ; and when 
 the man looked wonderingly at me in return, I casually added that 
 there was no necessity to put Mr. Cyril to an employment he 
 particularly disliked, while he could call upon East to help him, or 
 in case of need, upon Mr. Halhburton. Never think again, Mr. Dare, 
 that I have been unjust to your son. If I have erred at all, it has 
 been on the side of kindness." 
 
 There was a long pause. Anthony Dare probably was feeling the 
 kindness, in spite of himself. 
 
 " What have you had to complain of in him since ? " he asked. 
 
 " Not of any more robbery : but of his general conduct a great deal. 
 He is deceitful ; he has appeared here in the state I have hinted 
 to you; he is incorrigibly idle. He probably fancies, because I 
 do not take a very active part in the management of my business 
 and my workpeople, that I sit here with my eyes shut, seeing little 
 and knowing less of what goes on around me. He is essentially 
 mistaken ; I am cognizant of all ; as much so, or nearly as much so, 
 as Samuel Lynn would be, were he at his post again. Look at his 
 sorting of gloves, for instance — the very thing about which the dis- 
 turbance occurred just now. Cyril can sort, if he pleases ; he is as 
 capable of sorting them properly as I should be ; perhaps more so : 
 but he does not do it ; and every dozen he attempts to make up has 
 to be done over again. In point of fact, he has been of no real use 
 here ; for nothing that he attempts to do will he do well. A fitting 
 hand to fill the post of manager ! Taking all these facts into con- 
 sideration," added the master, " you will not be surprised that an 
 offer of marriage from Cyril Dare to my daughter bears an appear- 
 ance little removed from insult." 
 
 So it was all known to Mr. Ashley, and there was an end of Cyril 
 and his hopes ! It may be said of his prospects. 
 
 " What is he to do now ? " broke from the lips of Anthony Dare. 
 
 " Indeed I do not know. Unless he changes his habits, he will do 
 no good at anything." 
 
 " Won't you take him back again ? " 
 
 " No," unequivocally pronounced Mr. Ashley. " He has left of 
 his own accord, and he must abide by it. Stay — hear me out. 
 Were I to allow him to return, he would not remain here a week;
 
 MR. FRANK "CALLED." 409 
 
 I am certain of it. That Cyril has been acting a part, to beguile 
 mc of my fiwour with regard to those foolish hopes of his, there is 
 no doubt. The hopes gone, he would not keep up even the 
 semblance of good conduct ; neither would he submit to the rule 
 of William Halliburton. It is best as it is; he is gone, and he can- 
 not return. My opinion is, that were the offer of return made to 
 him, he would reject it." 
 
 Mr. Dare's opinion was not far different, although he had pleaded 
 for the concession. 
 
 " Then you will not make him your partner ? " he resumed. 
 
 "Mr. Dare!" 
 
 " I suppose you will take in Halliburton ? " 
 
 " It is very probable. Whoever I take must be a man of probity 
 and honour : and a gentleman," he added, with a stress upon the 
 word. " William Halliburton is all that." 
 
 Anthony Dare rose with a groan. He could contend no longer. 
 
 " My sons have been my bane," he uttered from l^etween his 
 bloodless lips. " I wonder, sometimes, whether they were born 
 bad." 
 
 " No," said Thomas Ashley. " The badness has come with their 
 training." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII, 
 
 MR. FRANK "CALLED." 
 
 And now there occurs another gap in the story— a gap of years, 
 and we have entered on the third and last part. 
 
 The patient well-doing of the Halliburtons was approaching 
 fruition, their struggles were well-nigh over, and they were ready 
 to play their part, for success or for failure, in the great drama 
 of life. Jane's troubles were at an end. 
 
 Did you ever remark how some things, when they draw towards 
 a close, seem to advance with rapid strides, unlike the slow, 
 crawling pace that characterized their beginning? Life: in its 
 childhood, its youth, nay, in its middle age, how slowly it seems 
 to pass ! how protracted do its distinctive periods appear to be ! But 
 when old age approaches then time moves with giant strides. 
 Undertake a work, whether of the hands or the head, very, very 
 slow does the progress appear to be, until it is far advanced ; and 
 then the conclusion is attained fast and imperceptibly. Thus does 
 it seem to be in the history of the young Halliburtons. To them 
 the race may have been tedious, the labour as hard at the close 
 of their preparatory career as at its commencement ; but not so 
 to those who were watching them. 
 
 There has not been space to trace the life of Frank and Gar at 
 the Universities, to record \yord by word hov they bore onward
 
 4ro MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 with unflinching perseverance, looking towards the goal in view. 
 Great praise was due to them ; and they won it from those who knew 
 what hard work meant. Patiently and steadily had they laboured 
 on, making themselves into sound and brilliant scholars, resisting 
 temptations that lead so many astray, and bearing the slights 
 and mortifications incidental to their subordinate position. " I'll 
 take it all out, when I am Lord Chancellor of England," Frank 
 would say, in his cheery way. Of course Frank had always 
 intenaed to go up for honours ; and of course Frank gained them. 
 He went to Oxford as a humble servitor, and he left it a man of 
 note. Francis Halliburton had obtained a double-first, and gained 
 his fellowship. 
 
 He had entered himself a student of the Middle Temple long 
 before his college career v/as over. The expenses of qualifying for 
 the Bar are considerable, and Frank's fellowship did not suffice for 
 all. He procured literary employment : writing a leading article 
 for one of the daily papers, and contributing to sundry reviews. 
 
 Gar, too, had quitted Cambridge with unusual credit, though he 
 was not senior wrangler. No one but Gar, perhaps, knew that 
 he had aspired to that proud distinction, so it did not signify. A 
 more solid scholar, or one with a higher character in the best 
 sense of the term, never left the University to be ordained by the 
 Bishop of Helstonleigh — or by any other prelate on the bench. 
 He had a choice of a title to orders. His uncle, the Reverend 
 Francis Tait — who, like his father before him, had, after many 
 years' service, obtained a living — had offered Gar his title. But 
 a clergyman in the county of Helstonleigh had also offered him 
 one, and Gar, thanking his uncle, chose Helstonleigh. 
 
 William's dream of ambition was fulfilled ; the dream which he 
 had not indulged ; for it had seemed all too high and vague for 
 possibility. He was Mr. Ashley's partner. The great firm in 
 Helstonleigh was Ashley and Halliburton. 
 
 Ashley and Halliburton! And the event had been so gradually, 
 so naturally led up to, that Helstonleigh was not surprised when it 
 was announced. Of course William received as yet only a small 
 share of the profits : how small or how large was not known. 
 Helstonleigh racked its curiosity to learn particulars, and racked 
 it in vain. One fact was assumed beyond doubt : that a portion 
 of the profits was secured to Henry in the event of ]\Ir. Ashley's 
 death. 
 
 William was now virtually sole master of the business. Mr. 
 Ashley had partially retired from the manufactory : at least, his 
 visits to it were of occurrence so rare as almost to amount to 
 retirement. Samuel Lynn was manager, as of old; Williani had 
 assumed Mr. Ashley's place and desk in the counting-house — 
 as master. Mr. Ashley had purchased an estate, called Deoffam 
 Hall, some two to three miles distant from the city, close to the 
 little village of Deoffam: and there he and his family had gone to 
 reside. He retained his old house in the London Road, and they
 
 MR. FRANK "CALLED." 411 
 
 would visit it occasionally, and pass a week there. The change 
 of abode did not appear to give unciualified gratification to Henry- 
 Ashley. He had become so attached to William that he could 
 not bear to be far away from him. In the old home, William's 
 visits had been daily ; or rather, nightly : in this, he did not sec 
 him so often. William contrived to go over twice or thrice a 
 week; but that did not appear to be often enough for Henry. 
 ISIary Ashley was not married; to the surprise of Hclstonleigh : 
 but Mary somewhat obstinately icfuscd to leave the paternal home. 
 \\'illiam and his mother lived on together in the old house. But 
 they were alone now: for he -could afford to keep up its expenses, 
 and he had insisted upon doing so ; insisted that she who had 
 worked so hard for them, should have rest, now they could work 
 for her. 
 
 Yes, they had all worked ; worked on for the end, and gained it. 
 Looking back, Jane wondered how she had struggled on. It seemed 
 now next to an impossibility that she could have done it. \'erily 
 and truly she believed that God alone had borne her up. Had it 
 been a foreshadowing of what was to come, when her father, years 
 back, had warned her, on the very day her marriage with Mr. 
 Halliburton had been decided, that it might bring many troubles 
 upon her ? Perhaps so. One thing was certain : that it had 
 brought them, and in no common degree. But the troubles were 
 surmounted now : and Jane's boys were turned out just as well as 
 though she had had thousands a year to bring them up upon. 
 Perhaps better. 
 
 Perhaps better! How full of force is the suggestion! I wonder 
 if no one will let this history of the young Halliburtons read a 
 lesson to them ? Many a student, used worse by fortune and the 
 world than he thinks he deserves, might take it to himself with profit. 
 Do not let it be flung away as a fancy picture; endeavour to make 
 it your reality. A career, worked out as theirs was, insures success 
 as a necessity. " Ah ! " you may think, " I am poor ; I can't hope 
 to achieve such things." Poor ! What were they ? What's that 
 yon say? "There are so many difficulties in the way!" Quite 
 true; there are difficulties in the way of attaining most things 
 worth having ; iDut they are only placed there to be overcome. Like 
 the hillocks and stumbling-blocks in that dream that came to Mr. 
 Halliburton when he was dying, they are placed there to be sub- 
 dued, not to be shunned in fear, or turned from in idleness. What- 
 ever may be your object in life, work on for it. Be you heir to a 
 dukedom, or be your heritage that of daily toil, an object you must 
 have : a man who has none is the most miserable being on the face 
 of the earth. Bear manfully onward and attain the prize. Toil may 
 be hard, but it will grow lighter as you advance; impediments may 
 be disheartening, but they arc not insurmountable ; privations may be 
 painful, but you are working on to plenty ; temptations to indolence, 
 to flagging, to that many-headed monster, sin, may be pulling at 
 you ; but they will not stir you from your path an inch, unless you
 
 412 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 choose to let them do so. Only be resolute ; only regard trustingly 
 the end, and labour for it ; and it will surely come. It may look in 
 the distance so far off that the very hope of attaining it seems but 
 a chimera. Never mind ; bear hopefully on, and the distance will 
 lessen palpably with every step. No real good was ever attained to 
 in this world, without working for it. No real good, as I honestly 
 believe, was ever gained, unless God's blessing went with the en- 
 deavours to attain it. Make a friend of God. Do that, and fight 
 your way on, doing your duty, and you will find the goal : as the 
 sons of Mrs. Halliburton did. 
 
 Jane was sitting alone one afternoon in her parlour. She was 
 little changed. None, looking at her, could believe her old enough 
 to be the mother of those three great men, her sons. Not that Gar 
 was particularly great ; he was only of middle height. Jane wore a 
 shaded silk dress ; and her hair looked as smooth and abundant as 
 in the old days of her girlhood. It was remarkable how little her 
 past troubles had told upon her good looks ; how little she was 
 aging. 
 
 She saw the postman come to the door, and Dobbs brought in a 
 letter. " It's Mr. Frank's writing," growled Dobbs. 
 
 Jane opened it, and found that Frank had been " called." Half 
 his care was over. 
 
 " My darling Mother, — I am made into a barrister at last. I 
 really am ; and I beg you will all receive the announcement with 
 appropriate awe and deference. I was called to-day : and I intend to 
 have a photograph taken of myself in my wig and gown, and send it 
 down to you as a confirmation of the fact. When you see the guy 
 the wig makes of me, you will say you never saw an ugly man 
 before. Tell Dobbs so ; it will gladden her heart : don't you 
 remember how she used to assure us, when boys, that we ought to 
 be put under a glass case, as three ultra specimens of ugliness .'' 
 
 " I shall get on now, dearest mother. It may be a little up-hill 
 work at first : but there's no fear. A first-rate law firm has pro- 
 mised me some briefs : and one of these speedy days I shall 
 inevitably take the ears of some court by storm — the jury struck 
 into themselves with the learned counsel's astounding eloquence, 
 and the bar dumb — and then my fortune's made. I need not tell 
 you what circuit I shall patronize, or in how short a period after- 
 wards I intend to be leading it ; but I will tell you that my first 
 object in life, when I am up in the world, shall be the case and 
 comfort of my dear mother. William is not going to do everything, 
 and have you all to himself. 
 
 "Talking about William, ask him if he cannot get up some 
 chance litigation, that I may have the honour of appearing for him 
 next assizes. I'll do it all h'ce, i^fatis, for nothing. Ever your own 
 son, 
 
 "Frank."
 
 iVtR. FRANli "CALLED." 413 
 
 Jane started up from her chair at the news, ahiiost as a glad 
 child. Who could she find to share it with her? She ran into the 
 next house to Patience. Patience limped a little in her walk still ; 
 she would limp always. Anna, in her sober Quaker's cap, the 
 border resting on her fair forehead, looked up from her drawing, 
 and Jane told them the news, and read the letter. 
 
 " That is nice," said Patience. " It must be a weight off thy 
 mind." 
 
 " I don't know that it is that," replied Jane. " I have never 
 doubted his success. I don't doubt it still. But I am very glad." 
 
 " I wish I had a cause to try," cried Anna, who had recovered all 
 her old spirits and her love of chatter. " I would let Frank plead 
 it for me." 
 
 " Will you come back with me, Anna, and take tea ? " said Jane. 
 " I shall be alone this evening. William is going over to Deoffam 
 Hall." 
 
 " I'll come," replied Anna, beginning to put up her pencils with 
 alacrity. Truth to say, she was just as fond of going out and of 
 taking off her cap, that her curls might fall, as she used to be. She 
 had quite recovered caste in the opinion of Helstonleigh. In fact, 
 when the reaction set in, Helstonleigh had been rather demonstra- 
 tive in its expression of repentance for having taken so harsh a view 
 of the case. Nevertheless, it had been a real lesson to Anna, and 
 had rendered her more sober and cautious in conduct. 
 
 Dobbs was standing at the kitchen door as they went in. 
 " Dobbs," said Jane, in the gladness of her heart, " Mr. Frank is 
 called." 
 
 " Called } " responded Dobbs, staring with all her might. 
 
 " Yes. He was called yesterday," 
 
 " Him called ! " repeated Dobbs, evidently doubting the fact. 
 "Then, ma'am, you'll excuse me, but I'm not a-going to believe it. 
 It's a deal more likely he's gone off t'other way, than that he's 
 called to grace." 
 
 Anna nearly choked with laughter. Jane laughed so that she 
 could not at once speak. " Oh, Dobbs, I don't mean that sort of 
 calling. He is called to the Bar. He has become a barrister." 
 
 " Oh — that," said Dobbs ungraciously. " Much good may it do 
 him, ma'am ! " 
 
 "He wears a wig and gown now, Dobbs," put in Anna. " He 
 says his mother is to tell thee that it makes a guy of him, and so 
 gladden thy heart." 
 
 " Ugh ! " grunted Dobbs. 
 
 " We will make him put them on when he comes down, won't 
 we ! Dobbs, if thee'd like his picture in them, he'll send it thee." 
 
 " He'd better keep it," retorted Dobbs. " I never yet saw no good 
 in young chaps having their picturs took, Miss Anna. They're vain 
 enough without that. Called ! That would have been a new 
 flight, for ///;//."
 
 414 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 GLIMPSE OF A BLISSFUL DREAM. 
 
 A PRETTIER place than Deoffam Hall could not well be conceived. 
 " For its size," carping people would add. Well, it was not so large 
 as Windsor Castle ; but it was no smaller than the bishop's palace 
 at Helstonleigh^ — if it has been your good fortune to see that 
 renowned edifice. Deoffam Hall was a white, moderate-sized, 
 modern villa, rising in the midst of grounds charming to behold ; 
 grassy lawns smooth as velvet, winding rivulets, groves of trees 
 affording shelter on a summer's day. On the terrace before the 
 windows a stately peacock was fond of spreading his plumes, and 
 in the small park — it was only a small one — the deer rubbed their 
 antlers on the fine old trees. The deer and the peacock were the 
 especial pets of Henry Ashley. Deoffam itself was an insignificant 
 village ; a few gentlemen's houses and a good many cottages com- 
 prised it. It was pleasantly and conveniently situated ; within 
 a walk of Helstonleigh for those who liked walking, or within a 
 short drive. But, desirable as it was as a residence, Henry Ashley 
 was rather addicted to grumbling at it. He would often wish him- 
 self back in his old home. 
 
 One lovely morning in early summer, when they were assembled 
 together discussing plans for the day, he suddenly broke into one 
 of his grumbling humours. " You bought Deoffam for me, sir," he 
 was beginning, '• but — - — - " 
 
 " I bought it for myself and your mother," interposed Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Of course. But to descend to me afterwards — you know what 
 I mean. I have made up my mind, when that time shall come, to 
 send gratitude to the winds, and sell it. Stuck out here, alone 
 
 with the peacock, you and the mother gone, I should I don't 
 
 like to outrage your feelings by saying what I might do." 
 
 "There's Mary," said Mrs. Ashley. 
 
 " Mary ! I expect she'll have gone into fresh quarters by that time. 
 She has only stopped here so long out of politeness to me." 
 
 Mary lifted her eyes, a smile and a glow on her bright face. A 
 lovely picture, she, in her delicate summer muslin dress. 
 
 " I tell every one she is devoted to me," went on Henry, in his 
 quaint fashion. " 'Very strange that handsome girl, Mary Ashley, 
 docs not get married!' cries Helstonleigh. Mary, my dear, I know 
 your vanity is already as great as it can be, so I don't fear to 
 increase it. ' My sister get married ! ' I say to them. ' Not she ! 
 she has resolved to make a noble sacrifice of herself for my sake, 
 and live at home with mc, a vestal virgin, and see to the puddings.'" 
 
 The smile left Mary's face — the glow remained. " I do wish you
 
 GLIMPSI^ OP A BLISSFUL DREAM. 415 
 
 would not talk nonsense, Henry ! As if Hclstonlcigh troubled itself 
 to make remarks upon me. It is not so rude as you are." 
 
 " Just hark at her ! " returned Henry. " Helstonleigh not trouble 
 itself to make remarks ! When you know the town was up in arms 
 when you refused Sir Harry Marr, and sent him packing. Such an 
 honour had never f.dlen to its luck before — that one of its fair 
 citizens, born and bred, should ha\e the chance of becoming a real 
 live My Lady." 
 
 Mary was cutting a pencil at the moment, and broice the point off. 
 "Papa," cried she, turning her hot face to his, "can't you make 
 Henry talk sense ? — if he must talk at all." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley interposed. It was quite true that Mary had had, 
 as Henry phrased it, a chance of becoming a "real live My Lady; " 
 and there lurked in Mrs. Ashley's heart a shadow of grievance, of 
 disappointment, that she should have refused the honour. She 
 spoke rather sharply, taking Henry's part, not Mary's. 
 
 "Henry is talking nothing but sense. My opinion is, that you 
 behaved quite rudely to Sir Harry. It is an offer that you will not 
 have again, Mary. Still," added Mrs. Ashley, subduing her tone a 
 little, "it is no business of Helstonleigh's; neither do I see whence 
 the town could have derived its knowledge." 
 
 "As if any news could be stirring, good or bad, that Helstonleigh 
 does not ferret its way to ! " returned Henry. 
 
 " My belief is, that Henry took and told," retorted INlary. 
 
 " I ! what next ? " cried Henry. " As if I should tell of the grace- 
 less doings of my sister ! It is bad enough to lie under the weighty 
 knowledge one's self." 
 
 "And as if I should ever consent to marry Sir Harry Marr!" 
 returned Mary, with a touch of her brother's spirit. 
 
 " Mary," said Mr, Ashley quietly, "you seemed to slip out of that 
 business, and of all questioning over it, as smoothly as an eel. 1 
 never came to the bottom of it. What was your objection to Sir 
 Harry ? " 
 
 "Objection, papa?" she faltered, with a crimsoned face. "I — I 
 did not care for him." 
 
 " Oh, that was it, was it ?" returned Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Is it always to go on so, my dear!'" asked her mother. 
 
 Poor Mary was in sad confusion, scarcely knowing whether to 
 burst into anger or into tears. "What do you mean, mamma? 
 How 'go on ' ?" 
 
 " This rejection of every one. You have had three good 
 offers " 
 
 " Not counting the venture of Cyril Dare," put in Henry. 
 
 " And you say ' No ' to all," concluded Mrs. Ashley. " I fear you 
 must be over-fastidious." 
 
 " And she's growing into an old maid, and " 
 
 " Be cjuiet, then, Henry. Can't you leave me in peace ? " 
 
 " My dear, it is true," cried Henry, who was in one of his teasing 
 moods. " Of course I have not kept count of your age since you
 
 4i6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES, 
 
 were eighteen — it wouldn't be polite to do so ; but my private coil-^ 
 viction i^, that you are four-and-twenty this blessed summer." 
 
 " If I were four-and-thirty," answered Mary, " I wouldn't marry Sir 
 Harry Marr. I am not obliged io marry, I suppose, am I ?" 
 
 " My dear, no one said you were," said Henry, flinging a rose at 
 her, which he took from his button-hole. " But don't you see that 
 this brings round my argument, that you have resolved to make 
 yourself a noble sisterly sacrifice, and stop at home with me ? 
 Don't you take to cats yet, though ! " 
 
 Mary thought she was getting the worst of it, and left the room. 
 Soon afterwards Mrs. Ashley was called out by a servant. 
 
 " Did you receive a note from William this morning, sir? " asked 
 Henry. 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Ashley, taking it from his pocket. " He men- 
 tions in it that there is a report in the town that Herbert Dare is 
 dead." 
 
 " Herbert Dare ! I wonder if it's true ? " 
 
 " It is to be hoped not. I fear he was not very fit to die. I am 
 going into Hclstonleigh, and shall probably hear more." 
 
 " Oh ! are you going in to-day, sir ? Despatch William back, 
 will you 1 " 
 
 " I don't know, Henry. They may be busy at the manufactory. 
 If so, I am sure he will not leave it." 
 
 " What a blessing if that manufactory were up in the clouds ! " 
 was Henry's rejoinder. " When I want William particularly, it is 
 sure to be — that manufactory ! " 
 
 " It is well W^illiam does not think as you do," remarked Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 " Well, sir, he must certainly think Samuel Lynn a nonentity, or 
 he would not stick himself so closely to business. You never 
 applied yourself in such a way." 
 
 " Yes, I did. But you must please to remember. Master Henry, 
 that the cases are not on a parallel. I was head and chief of all, 
 accountable to none. Had I chosen to take a twelvemonth's holi- 
 day, and let the business go, it would have been my own affair 
 exclusively. Whether the business went right, or whether it went 
 wrong, I was accountable to none. William is not in that position." 
 
 " I know he is often in the position of not being to be had 
 when he is wanted," was Henry's reply, as he listlessly turned over 
 some books that lay on the table. 
 
 " Will you go into town with me ? " 
 
 " I could not stand it to-day. My hip is giving me twinges." 
 
 " Is it ? I had better bring back Parry." 
 
 " No. I won't have him, unless I find there's actual need. The 
 mother knows what to do with me. I don't suppose it will come 
 to anything ; and I have been so much better of late." 
 
 " Yes, you have. Although you quarrel with Deoffam, it is the 
 change to it — the air of the place— that has renewed your health, 
 you ungrateful boy 1 "
 
 GLIiViPSi: OF A BLISSFUL DREAM. 417 
 
 Mr. Ashley's eyes were bent lovingly on Henry's as he said it. 
 Henry seized his father's hands, his half-mocking tone exchanged 
 for one of earnestness. 
 
 " Not ungrateful, sir — far from it, I know the value of my dear 
 father : that a kinder or a better one son could not possess. I shall 
 grumble on to my life's end. It is my amusement. But the grum- 
 bling is from my hps only : not from my fractious spirit, as it was in 
 days gone by." 
 
 " I have remarked that ; remarked it with deep thankfulness. 
 You have acquired a victory over that fractious spirit." 
 
 " For which the chief thanks are due to William Halliburton. 
 Sir, it is so. But for him, most probably I should have gone, 
 a discontented wretch, to the — let me be poetical for once — silent 
 tomb : never seeking out either the light or the love that may be 
 found in this world." 
 
 Mr. Ashley glanced at his son. He saw that he was contending 
 with emotion, although he had reassumed his bantering tone. 
 
 " Henry, what light — what love?" 
 
 " The light and the love that a man may take into his own spirit, 
 He — William — told me, years ago, that I might make even my life 
 a pleasant and a useful one ; and measureless was the ridicule I 
 cast upon him for it. But I have found that he was right. When 
 William came to the house one night, a humble errand-boy, sent 
 by Samuel Lynn with a note — do you remember it, sir? — and 
 offered to help me, dunce that I was, with my Latin exercise—a 
 help I graciously condescended to accept — we little thought what a 
 blessing had entered the dwelling." 
 
 "We little thought what a brave, honest, indomitable spirit was 
 enshrined in the humble errand-boy," continued Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " He has got on as he deserved. He will be a worthy successor 
 to you, sir : a second Thomas Ashley ; a far better one than I 
 should ever have been, had I possessed the rudest health. There's 
 only one thing more for William to gain, and then I expect he will 
 be at rest." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Oh, it's no concern of mine, sir. If folks can't manage for 
 themselves, they need not come to me to help them." 
 
 Mr. Ashley looked keenly at his son. Henry passed to another topic. 
 
 " Do send him here, sir, when you get in; or else drive him back 
 with you." 
 
 " I shall see," said Mr. Ashley. " Do you know where your 
 mother went to ? " 
 
 "After some domestic catastrophe, I expect. Martha came to 
 the door, with a face as green as the peacock's tail, and beckoned 
 her out. The best dinner-service come to grief, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Ashley rang, and ordered the pony carriage to be got ready : 
 one bought chiefly for Henry, that he might drive into town. 
 Before he started, he came across Mary. She stood at one of the 
 corridor windows upstairs, and had evidently been crying. 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. - '
 
 4i8 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 i " What is your grief, Mary? " 
 
 She turned to the sheltering arm open to her, and tried to choke 
 the tears down, which were again rising. " I wish you and mamma 
 would not keep so angry at my refusing Sir Harry JVIarr." 
 
 " Who told you I was angry, Mary?" 
 
 " Oh, papa, I fancied so this morning. Mamma is angry about 
 it, and it pains me. It is as though you wanted me gone." 
 
 " My dear child ! Gone ! For our comfort I should wish you 
 might never go, Mary. But for your own, it may be different." 
 
 " I do not wish to go," she sobbed. " I want to stay at home 
 always. It was not my fault, papa, if I could not like Sir Harry." 
 
 " You should never, with my consent, marry any one you did not 
 like, Mary , not if it were the greatest match in the three kingdoms. 
 W^hy this distress, my dear? Mamma's vexation will blow over. 
 She thought — as Henry tells us — to see you converted into a ' real 
 live JVIy Lady.' ' My daughter, Lady Marr ! ' It will blow over, 
 child." 
 
 Mary cried in silence. " And you will not let me be driven 
 away, papa? You will keep me at home, always? " 
 
 Mr. Ashley shook his head. '" Always is a long day, Mary. 
 Some one may be coming, less distasteful than Sir Harry Marr, 
 who will induce you to leave it." 
 
 " No, never, papa! " cried she, somewhat more vehemently than 
 the case seemed to warrant. " Should any one be asking you for 
 me, you can tell them ' No,' at once ; do not trouble to bring the 
 news to me." 
 
 "An_y one, Alary?" 
 
 " Yes, papa, no matter who. Do not drive me away from you." 
 
 He stooped and kissed her. She stood at the window still, in a 
 dreamy attitude, and watched the carriage drive off with Mr. 
 Ashley. Presently Henry passed. 
 
 " Has the master gone, do you know, Mary ? " 
 
 " Five minutes ago." 
 
 " I hope and trust he'll send back W^illiam." 
 
 It was striking half-past two when Mr. Ashley entered the manu- 
 factory. Samuel Lynn was in his own room, sorting gloves ; 
 Wilham was in the counting-house, seated at his desk. His, now ; 
 formerly Mr. Ashley's ; the very desk from which the cheque had 
 disappeared ; but William took a more active part in the general 
 management than Mr. Ashley had ever done. He rose, shook 
 hands with the master, and placed a chair for him. The " master " 
 still he was called ; indeed, he actually was so ; William, " Mr. 
 Halliburton." 
 
 A short time given to business details, and then Mr. Ashley 
 referred to the report of Herbert Dare's death. Poor Herbert Dare 
 had never returned from abroad, and it was to be feared he had 
 been getting lower and lower in the scale of society. Under happier 
 auspices, and with different training, Herbert might have made a 
 happier and abetter man. Hclstonleigh did not know how he lived
 
 GLIMPSE OF A BLISSFUL DREAM. 419 
 
 abroad, or why he stayed there. Possibly the free and easy con- 
 tinental life had become necessary to him. Homburg, Baden- 
 Baden, Wiesbaden, wherever there were gaming-tables, there might 
 be found Herbert Dare. That he must find a living at them in 
 some way, seemed pretty evident. It was a great pity. 
 
 " How did you hear that he was dead?" inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " From Richard Winthorne," replied William. " I met him 
 yesterday evening in Guild Street, and he told me a report had 
 come over that Herbert Dare had died of fever." 
 
 As William spoke, a gentleman entered the room, and inter- 
 rupted them ; a Captain Chambers. " Have you heard that Herbert 
 Darii's dead.-*" was his first greeting. 
 
 " Is it certain? " asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I don't know. Report says it is certain ; but report is not 
 always to be believed. How that family has gone down ! " con- 
 tinued Cartain Chambers. "Anthony first; now Herbert; and 
 Cyril will be next. He will go out of the world in some discredit- 
 able way. A wretched scamp ! Shocking habits ! Old Dare, too, 
 unless I am mistaken, is on his last legs." 
 
 " Is he ill? " inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " No ; no worse than usual ; but I never saw a man so broken. 
 I alluded to the legs of prosperity. Talk about reports, though," 
 and Captain Chambers suddenly wheeled round on William, "there's 
 one going the round of the town to-day about you." 
 
 "What's that?" asked William. "Not that I am dead, I sup- 
 pose, or on my last legs ? " 
 
 " Something better. That you are going to marry Sophy Glenn." 
 
 W'illiam looked all amazement, an amused smile stealing over 
 his lips. " Well, I never ! " uttered he, using a phrase just then 
 in vogue in Helstonleigh. " What has put that into the town's 
 head?" 
 
 "You should best know that," said Captain Chambers. "Did 
 you not, for one thing, beau Miss Sophy to a concert last night? 
 Come, Master William ! guilty or not guilty? " 
 
 " Guilty of the beauing," answered William. " I called on the 
 (}lenns yesterday evening, and found them starting for the concert ; 
 so I accompanied them. I did give my arm to Sophy." 
 
 " And whispered the sweet words, ' Will you be my charming 
 wife?'" 
 
 " No, that I did not," said William, laughing. " And I dare say I 
 shall never whisper them to any woman born yet : if it will give 
 Helstonleigh satisfaction to know so much." 
 
 " You might go farther and fare worse, than in taking Sophy 
 Glenn, I can tell you that. Master William," returned Captain 
 Chambers. " Remember, she is the lucky one of the three sisters, 
 and had the benignant godmother. Sophy Glenn counts five 
 thousand ])ounds to her fortune." 
 
 When Captain Chambers took his departure, Mr. Ashley looked 
 at William. " I have heard Henry joke you about the Glenn
 
 42d MRS. ttALLlBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 girls — nice little girls they are too! Is there anything in it, 
 
 William?" 
 
 I "Sir! How can you ask such a thing?" 
 
 " I think, with Chambers, that a man might do worse than marry 
 Sophy Glenn." 
 
 " So do I, sir. But I shall not be the man." 
 
 "Well, I think it is time you contemplated something of the 
 sort. You will soon be thirty years of age." 
 
 " Yes, sir, but I do not intend to marry." 
 
 "Why not?" asked Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Because — I fear my wishes would lead me to soar too high. 
 
 That is, I — I — mean " He stopped; he seemed to be falling 
 
 into inextricable confusion. A notable thing for the self-possessed 
 William HaUiburton. 
 
 "Do you mean that you have an attachment in some quarter?" 
 resumed Mr. Ashley. 
 
 William's face turned fiery red. " I cannot deny it, sir," he 
 answered, after considerable hesitation. 
 
 "And that she is above your reach?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "In what manner? In position? — or by any insurmountable 
 obstacle? I suppose she is not some one else's wife?" 
 
 William smiled. " Oh no. In position." 
 
 " Shall I give you my opinion, William, without knowing the 
 case in detail? " 
 
 William was standing at one corner of the mantel-piece, his arm 
 leaning on its narrow shelf. He did not hft his eyes. " Yes, sir, 
 if you please." 
 
 " Then I think there is scarcely any marriageable girl in the 
 county, to whom you might not aspire, and in time win." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Ashley!" 
 
 " Is it the daughter of the lord-Heutenant ?" 
 
 William laughed. 
 
 " Is it the bishop's daughter?" 
 
 William shook his head. " She seems to be quite as far removed 
 from me." 
 
 " Come, I must know. Who is it? " 
 
 " It is impossible that I can tell you, sir." 
 
 " I must know. I don't think I have ever asked you in vain, 
 since the time when, a boy, you confessed your thoughts about the 
 found shilling. Secrets from me ! I will know, William ! " 
 
 William did not answer. The upper part of his face was con- 
 cealed by his hand ; but Mr. Ashley marked the sweet smile that 
 played around his mouth. 
 
 " Come, I will help you. Is it the charming Dobbs?" 
 
 Amused, he took his hand from his face. * " Well, sir — no." 
 
 " It cannot be Charlotte East ; because she is married." 
 
 William seemed as impervious as ever. The master suddenly 
 Jaid his hand upon his shoulder, and confronted him face to face.
 
 GLIMPSE OF A BLISSFUL DREAM. 421 
 
 "Is it Mary Ashley?" 
 
 The burning flush of scarlet that dyed his face, even to the very 
 roots of his hair, told Mr. Ashley the truth, far more effectually 
 than words could have done. There ensued a pause. Mr. Ashley 
 was the first to break it, 
 
 " How long have you loved her ? " 
 
 " For years. That has been the wild dream of my aspirations : 
 one that I knew would never be realized," he answered, suffering 
 his eyes to meet for a moment Mr. Ashley's. 
 
 " Have you spoken to her of it ? " 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Or led her to believe you loved her ? " 
 
 " No, sir. Unless my looks and tones may have betrayed me. 
 fear they have ; but it was not intentionally done." 
 
 " Honest in this, as in all else," thought Mr. Ashley. " What am 
 I to say to you?" he asked aloud. 
 
 " I do not know," sighed William. " I expect, of course, sir, 
 that you will forbid me Deoffam Hall ; but I can still meet Henry 
 at the house in town. I hope you will forgive me!" he added in 
 an impassioned tone. " I could not help loving her. Before I knew 
 what my new feelings meant, love had come. Such love! Had I 
 been in a position to marry her, I would have made her life one 
 dream of happiness ! When I awoke to it all " 
 
 " What awoke you?" was the interruption. 
 
 " I think it was Cyril Dare's asking for her. I debated with 
 myself then, whether I ought to give up going to your house ; but 
 I came to the conclusion that, so long as I was able to hide my 
 feelings from her, I need not banish myself My judgment was 
 wrong, I know ; but the temptation to see her occasionally was 
 great, and I did not resist it." 
 
 "And so you continued to go, feeding the flame?" 
 
 " Yes. Feeding it passionately and hopelessly ; never forgetting 
 that the pain of separation must come!" 
 
 " Did you hear of Sir Harry Marr's offer to her?" 
 
 " Yes, I heard of it." 
 
 William swept his hand across his face as he spok€. It wore a 
 lurutig expression. Mr. Ashley changed his tone. 
 
 " William, I cannot decide this matter, one way or the other. 
 You must ask Mary to do that !" 
 
 " Sir/" 
 
 " If Mary chooses to favour you mere than she docs other 
 suitors, I will not forbid her doing it. Only this very day she 
 begged me, with tears, to keep all such troublesome customers 
 away from her ; to refuse them of my own accord. But it strikes 
 me that you may as well have an answer from herself ! " 
 
 William, his whole soul in his eyes, was gazing at Mr. Ashley. 
 He could not tell whether he might believe what he heard; whether 
 he was awake or dreaming. 
 
 " Did I deliver you a message from Henry?"
 
 422 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 . •' No, sir," was the abstracted response. 
 
 .■ "He wants you to go over to him. I said I would send you if 
 
 you were not busy. He is not very well to-day." 
 
 " But — Mr. Ashley — did you mean what you said? " 
 
 "Should I have said it had I not meant it?" was the quiet 
 answer. " Have you a difficulty in believing it?" 
 
 The ingenuous light rose to William's eyes, as he raised them to 
 his master's. " I have no money," he whispered. " I cannot settle 
 a farthing upon her." 
 
 " You have something better than money, WilHam — worth. And 
 T can make settlements. Go and hear what Mary says. You will 
 catch the half-past three o'clock coach, if you make haste." 
 
 William went out, believing still that he must be in a trance. 
 His deeply buried dream of the long past years; was it about, 
 indeed, to become reality? 
 
 But in the midst of it he could not help casting a thought to a 
 less pleasing subject — the Dares. Herbert was young lo die; he 
 was, no doubt, unprepared to die ; and William sincerely hoped 
 that the report would prove untrue. The Dares were going down 
 sadly in the social scale ; Cyril especially. He was just what 
 Captain Chambers had called him — a scamp. After leaving Mr. 
 Ashley's, he had entered his father's office ; as a temporary thing, 
 it was said ; but he had never left it for anything else. A great 
 deal of his time was passed in public-houses. George, whose 
 commission never came, had gone out, some two or three years 
 ago, to Sydney. His sister Julia and her husband had settled 
 there, and they had found an opening for George. William walked 
 on, thinking of the Dares' position and of his own. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 WAYS AND MEANS. 
 
 When William reached Deoffam Hall, he found Henry Ashley 
 alone, lying in the drawing-room, the sofa near the open window. 
 
 " That's good ! " cried he. " Good of the master for sending you, 
 and of you for coming." 
 
 " You don't look well to-day," observed William. " Your brow 
 has the old lines of pain in it." 
 
 " Thanks to my hip, which is giving me threatening twinges. 
 What's this report about Dare ? Is it confirmed?" 
 
 " Not absolutely. It was Winthorne told me. Captain Chambers 
 came into the manufactory, and spoke of it this afternoon." 
 
 " I dare say it's true," said Henry. " 1 wonder if Anna Lynn will 
 put on weeds for him ? " he sarcastically added. 
 
 " Quakers don't wear weeds." 
 
 " Teach your grandmother," returned Henry, lapsing into one of
 
 WAYS AND MEANS. 423 
 
 those free, popular phrases he indulged in, and luas indulged in. 
 "How you stare at me! Do you think I am not cured? Ay; 
 years ago." 
 
 " You'd have no objection to see Anna marry, I suppose ? " 
 
 " She's welcome to marry, for me. You may go and propose to 
 her yourself, if you like. I'll be groomsman at the wedding." 
 
 "Would the alliance give you pleasure.-* " 
 
 Henry laughed. " You'd deserve hanging in chains, if you did 
 enter upon it ; that's all." 
 
 " I have had one wife assigned to me to-day," remarked William. 
 
 "Whom may she be?'' 
 
 " Sophy Glenn." 
 
 "Sophy Glenn.?" 
 
 " Sophy Glenn. Chambers gravely assured me that Helstonleigh 
 had settled the match. He, Chambers, considers that I may go 
 farther and fare worse. Mr. Ashley said the same." 
 
 " But what do you say?" cried Henry, rising up on his sofa, and 
 speaking quite sharply. 
 
 " I ? Oh, I shall consider of it." 
 
 At that moment Mary Ashley appeared on the terrace outside ; 
 a small basket and a pair of scissors in her hand. Henry called to 
 her. " Are you going to cut more flowers ? " 
 
 " Yes. Mamma has sent the others away. She said they were 
 fading." Seeing William there, she nodded to him, her colour 
 rising. 
 
 " 1 say, Mary — he has come here to bring some news," went on 
 Henry. " What do you suppose it is ? " 
 
 " Mamma has told me. About Herbert Dare." 
 
 " Not that. He is going to make himself into a respectable man, 
 and marry Sophy Glenn. He came here to announce it. Don't 
 cut too much of that s)'ringa ; its sweetness is overpowering in a 
 room." 
 
 Mary walked away. William felt excessively annoyed. "You 
 are more dangerous than a child . " he exclaimed. " What made 
 you say that ? " 
 
 And Henry, like a true child, fell back, laughing aloud. " I say, 
 though, comrade, where are you off to ? " he called after William, 
 who was lea\-ing the room. 
 
 " To cut the flowers for your sister, of course." 
 
 But when William reached Mary Ashley, she had apparently 
 forgotten her errand. Standing in a dark spot against the trunk of 
 the acacia tree, her face Avas white and still, and the basket lay on 
 the ground. She picked it up, and would have hastened away, but 
 William caught her hand and placed it within his arm, little less 
 agitated than she was. 
 
 " Not to tell him that news," he whispered. " I did indeed come 
 here, hoping to solicit one to be my wife ; but it was not Sophy 
 Glenn. Mary, you cannot mistake what my feelings have long 
 been."
 
 424 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " But — papa?" she gasped, unable to control her emotion. 
 
 He looked at her ; he made her look at him. What strange, 
 happy light was that in his earnest eyes, causing her heart to 
 bound ? " Mr. Ashley sent me to you," he softly whispered. 
 
 Henry lay and waited till he was tired. No William ; no Mary ; 
 no flowers; no anything. Had they both gone to sleep? He 
 arose ; and, taking his stick, limped away to see after them. But 
 he searched the flower-garden in vain. 
 
 In the sheltered shrubbery, pacing it leisurely, as closely together 
 as they could well be linked, were they ; a great deal too much 
 occupied with each other to pay attention to anything else. The 
 basket lay on the ground, empty of all, except the scissors. 
 
 '' Well, you two are a nice lot for a summer's day ! " began Henry, 
 after his old fashion, and using his own astonished eyes. " What 
 of the flowers?" 
 
 Mary would have flown, but William held her tightly, and led 
 her up to her brother. He strove to speak jestingly ; but his voice 
 betrayed its emotion. 
 
 " Henry, shall it be your sister, or Sophy Glenn?" 
 
 " So ! you have been settling it for yourselves, have you ! I would 
 not be in your shoes, Miss Ashley, when the parental thunderbolts 
 sh ill descend. Was this what you flung the baronet over for? 
 There never was any accounting for taste in this world, and there 
 never will be. I ask you where the flowers are, and I should like 
 an answer." 
 
 "I will cut them now," said William. "Will you come?" he 
 asked, holding out his arm to Henry. 
 
 " No," replied Henry, sitting down on the shrubbery bench, " I 
 must digest this shock first. You two will be enough to cut them, 
 I dare say." 
 
 They walked away towards the flower-garden. But ere they 
 had gone many steps he called out ; and they turned. 
 
 "Mary! before you tie yourself up irrevocably, I hope you will 
 reflect upon the ignominy of his being nothing on earth but a 
 manufacturer. A pretty come down, that, for the Lady Marr who 
 might have been ! " 
 
 He was in one of his most ironical moods; a sure sign that his 
 inward state was that of glowing satisfaction. This had been his 
 hope for years — his plan, it may be said ; but he had kept himself 
 silent and neutral. As he sat there ruminating, he heard the 
 distant sound of the pony carriage ; and, taking a short cut, met it 
 in the park. Mr. Ashley handed the reins to his groom, got out, 
 and gave his arm to Henry. 
 
 " How are you by this time ? " 
 
 "Better, sir. Nothing much to brag of." 
 
 " I thought WilHam would have been with you. Is he not 
 come ? " 
 
 "Yes, he is come. But I am second with hjm to-day. Mis^ 
 Mary's first."
 
 WAYS AND MEANS. 425 
 
 " Oh indeed ! " returned Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " They are gone off somewhere, under the pretext of cutting 
 flowers. I don't think the flowers were quite the object, though." 
 
 He stole a glance at his father as he spoke. But he gathered 
 nothing. And he dashed at once into the subject he had at heart. 
 
 " Father, you will not stand in their light ! It will be a crushing 
 blow to both, if you do. Let him have her ! There's not a man in 
 the world half as worthy." 
 
 But still Mr. Ashley made no rejoinder. Henry scarcely gave 
 him time to make one. 
 
 " I have seen it a long time. I have seen how Halliburton kept 
 down his feelings, not being sure of the ground with you. I fear 
 that to-day they must have overmastered him ; for he has certainly 
 spoken out. Dear father, don't make two of the best spirits in the 
 world miserable, by withholding your consent ! " 
 
 " Henry," said Mr. Ashley, turning to him with a smile, " do you 
 fancy William Halliburton is one to have spoken out without my 
 consent ? " 
 
 Henry's thin cheek flushed. "Did you give it him ? Have you 
 already given it him ? " 
 
 " I gave it him to-day. I drew from him the fact of his attach- 
 ment to Mary : not telling him in so many words that he should 
 have her, but leaving it for her to decide." 
 
 "Then it will be: for I have seen where Miss Mary's love has 
 been. How immeasurably you have relieved me ! " continued Henry. 
 " The last half-hour I have been seeing nothing but perplexity and 
 cross-grained guardians." 
 
 " Have you?" returned Mr. Ashley. "You should have brought 
 a little common sense to bear upon the subject, Henry." 
 
 " But my fear was, sir, that you would not bring the common 
 sense to bear," freely spoke Henry. 
 
 " You do not quite understand me. Had I entertained an in- 
 superable objection to Mary's becoming his wife, do you suppose I 
 should have been so wanting in prudence and forethought as to 
 have allowed opportunity for an attachment to ripen? I have long 
 believed that there was no man within the circle of my acquaint- 
 ance, or without it, so deserving of Mary, except in fortune: there- 
 fore I suffered him to come here, with my eyes open as to what 
 might be the result. A very probable result, it has appeared to 
 me. I would forgive any girl who fell in love with William 
 Halliburton." 
 
 " And what about ways and means ? " 
 
 " William's share shall be increased, and Mary will not go to 
 him dowcrless. They must live in our house in Hclstonlcigh ; and 
 when we want to go there we must be their guests." 
 
 " It will be the working-out of my visions," said Henry in a low 
 deep tone. " I have seen them in it in fancy; in that very house; 
 and myself with them, my home when I please. I think you have 
 been planning for nie, as much as for them."
 
 426 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Not exactly, Henry. I have not planned. I have only let 
 things take their course. It will be happier for you, my boy, than 
 if she had gone from us to be Lady Marr." 
 
 " Oh ! if ever I felt inclined to smother a man, it was that Marr. 
 I never, you know, brought myself to be decently civil to him. 
 There's no answering for the vanity of maidens, and I thought it 
 just possible he might put William's nose out of joint. What will 
 the mother say ? " 
 
 " The mother will be divided," said Mr. Ashley, a smile crossing 
 his face. " She likes William ; but she likes a title. We must 
 allow her a day or two to get over it. I will go and give her the 
 tidings now, if Mary has not done so." 
 
 " Mary is with her lovier," returned Henry. " She can't have 
 dragged herself away from him yet." 
 
 Mary, however, was not with her " lovier." As Mr. Ashley 
 crossed the hall, he met her. She stopped in hesitation, and 
 coloured vividly. 
 
 "Well, Mary, I soon sent you a candidate; though it was in 
 defiance of your express orders. Did I do right?" 
 
 Mary burst into tears, and Mr. Ashley drew her face to him. 
 " May God bless your future and his, my child ! " 
 
 " I am afraid to tell mamma," she sobbed. " I think she will he 
 angry. I could not help liking him." 
 
 "Why, that is the very excuse he made to me ! Neither can 1 
 help liking him, Mary. I will tell mamma." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley received the tidings, not altogether with equanimity. 
 As Mr. Ashley had surmised, she was divided between conflicting 
 opinions. She liked and admired William ; but she equally liked 
 and admired a title and fortune. 
 
 " Such a position to relinquish — the union with Sir Harry ! " 
 
 " Had she married Sir Harry we should have lost her," said Mr. 
 Ashley. 
 
 " Lost her ! " 
 
 " To be sure we should. She would have gone to her new home, 
 twelve miles on the other side Helstonleigh, amidst her new con- 
 nections, and have been lost to us, except for a formal visit now and 
 then. As it is, we shall keep her ; at her old home." 
 
 " Yes, there's a great deal to be said on both sides," acknowledged 
 Mrs. Ashley. " What does Henry say ? " 
 
 "That he thinks I have been planning to secure his happiness. 
 Had Mary married away, we — when we quit this scene — must have 
 left him to his lonely self: now, we shall leave him to them. 
 Things are wisely ordered," impressively added Mr. Ashley; "in 
 this, as in all else. Margaret, let us accept them, and be grateful." 
 
 Mrs. Ashley went to seek William. " You will be a loving 
 husband to her," she said with agitation. " You will take care of 
 her and cherish her?" 
 
 "With the best endeavours of my whole life," he fervently 
 answered, as he took Mrs. Ashley's hands in his.
 
 WAYS AND MEANS. 427 
 
 It was a happy group that evening. Henry kiy on his sofa in 
 comjikicent ease, Mary puHcd down beside him, and WiUiam 
 leaning over the back of it, while Mr. and I\Irs. Ashley sat at a 
 distance, partially out of hearing. 
 
 "Have you heard what the master says?" asked Henry. "He 
 thinks you have been getting up your bargain out of complaisance 
 to me. You are aware, I hope, Mr. William, that whoever takes 
 Mary must take me ? " 
 
 " I am perfectly willing." 
 
 "It is well you are 1 And — do you know where you are to live ?" 
 
 William shook his head. " You can understand how all these 
 futui-e considerations have weighed me down," he said, glancing at 
 Mary. 
 
 " You are to live at the house in Helstonleigh. It's to be con- 
 verted into yours by some patent process. The master had an 
 eye to this, I know, when he declined to take out any of the 
 i'urn''ture, upon our remo\-al here. The house is to be yours, and 
 the run of it is to be mine; and I shall grumble away to my heart's 
 content at you both. What do you answer to that, Mr. William ? 
 I don't ask her ; she's nobody." 
 
 " I can only answer that the more you run into it, the better 
 pleased we shall be. And we can stand any extent of grumbling." 
 
 " I am glad you can. You ought to by this time, for you have 
 been pretty well seasoned to it. So, in the Helstonleigh house, 
 remember, my old rooms are mine ; and I intend to be the plague 
 of your lives. After a time — may it be a long time ! — I suppose 
 it will be ' Mr. Halliburton of Deoffam Hall.' " 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, Henry ! " 
 
 " Nonsense .'' I shall make it over to you. Catch me sticking 
 myself out here in sohtary state to the admiration of the peacock ! 
 What's the matter with you now, you two ! Oh, well, if you turn 
 up your noses at Deoffam, it shall never be yours. I'll leave it to 
 the eldest chickabiddy. And mark you, please ! I shall have him 
 named 'Ashley,' and stand godfather to him; and, hell be mine, 
 and not yours. I shall do just as I like with the whole lot, if they 
 count a score, and spoil them as much as I choose." 
 
 " What /s the matter there .'' " exclaimed Mrs. Ashley, percei\-ing 
 a commotion on the sofa. 
 
 Mary succeeded in freeing herself, and went away with a crim- 
 soned face. " Mamma, I think Henry must be going out of his 
 mind! He is talking so absurdly." 
 
 "Absurdly! W^as what I said absurd, William?" 
 
 William laughed. " It was premature, at any rate." 
 
 Henry stretched up his hands and laid hold of William's. " It is 
 true what Mary says — that I must be going out of my mind. So 
 I am : with joy." 
 
 But the report of Herbert Dare's death proved to be a false one.
 
 428 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 THE DREAM REALIZED, 
 
 The approaching marriage of William Halliburton gave rise to a 
 dispute. A dispute of love, though, not of bitterness. Frank and 
 Gar contended which should have their mother. William no longer 
 wanted her ; he was going to a home of his own. Frank wished 
 to take larger chambers where she would find sufficient accommo- 
 dation ; he urged a hundred reasons ; his grievances with his 
 laundress, and his buttonless shirts. Gar, who was in priest's orders 
 now, had remained in that same first curacy, at a hundred a year 
 and the parsonage house to live in. He said he had been wanting 
 his mother all along, and he could not do without her. 
 
 Jane inclined to Gar. She said she had a notion that old ladies 
 ^how they would have rebelled at hearing her call herself old ! — 
 were out of place in a young barrister's chambers ; and she had 
 a further notion that chambers were comfortless quarters to live in. 
 The question was to be decided when they met at William's wed- 
 ding. Frank was getting on well ; better than the ordinary run of 
 aspirants; he had come through Helstonleigh two or three times 
 on circuit, and had picked up odds and ends of briefs at it. 
 
 Meanwhile William took possession of Mr. Ashley's old house, 
 and the wedding day approached. Besides her boys, Jane had 
 another visitor for the time ; her brother Francis, who came down 
 to marry them. Perhaps because the Vicar of Deoffam had recently 
 died. He might have come all the same, had that gouty old 
 gentleman been still alive. 
 
 All clear and cloudless rose the September sun on Deoffam ; 
 never a orighter sun shone on a wedding. It was a very quiet 
 wedding ; only a few guests were invited to it. Mary, in her white 
 lace robes and her floating veil— flushed, timid, lovely — stood with 
 her bridesmaids ; not more lovely than one of those bridesmaids, 
 for one was Anna Lynn. 
 
 Anna Lynn ! Yes ; Anna Lynn. To the lasting scandal of 
 Patience, Anna stood in the open church, dressed in bridesmaid's 
 attire. Mary, who had not been permitted the same intimacy 
 with Anna since that marked and unhappy time, but who had 
 loved her all along, had been allowed by Mrs. Ashley to choose 
 her for one of her bridesmaids. The invitation was proffered, and 
 Samuel Lynn did not see cause to docline it. Patience was indig- 
 nantly rebellious ; Anna, wild with delight. Look at her, as she 
 stands there ! flowing robes of white around her, not made after the 
 primitive fashion of her robes, but in the fashion of the day. Her 
 falling hair shades her carmine cheeks, and her blue eyes seek 
 modestly the ground. A fair picture; and a dangerous qne to
 
 THE DREAM REALIZED. 429 
 
 Henry Ashley, had those old feelings of his remained in the 
 ascendant. But he was cured ; as he told William : and he told it 
 in truth. 
 
 A short time, and Anna would want bridesmaids on her own 
 account ; though that may be speaking metaphorically of a 
 Quakeress. Anna's pretty face had pierced the heart of one of 
 their male body ; and he had asked for Anna in marriage. A very 
 desirable male was he, in a social point of view; and female Hel- 
 stonleigh turned up its nose in envy at Anna's fortune. He was 
 considerably older than Anna ; a fine-looking man and a wealthy 
 one, engaged in wholesale business. His name was Gurney; his 
 residence, outside the city, was a handsome one, replete with every 
 comfort ; and he drove a carriage-and-pair. He had been for some 
 time a visitor at Samuel Lynn's, and Anna had learned to like him. 
 That his object in visiting there could only be Anna, every one had 
 been sure of, his position being so superior to Samuel Lynn's. 
 Every one but Anna. Somehow, since that past escapade, Anna 
 had not cast a thought to marrying, or to the probability of any 
 one asking her; and she did not suspect his intentions. If she 
 had suspected them, she might have set herself against him ; for 
 there was a little spice of opposition in her, which she loved to 
 indulge. However, before that suspicion came to her, she had 
 grown to care for him too much to play the coquette. Strange to 
 say, there was something in his figure and in the outline of his face, 
 which reminded people of Herbert Dare ; but his features and their 
 expression were quite different. 
 
 It was a most excellent match for Anna; there was no doubt of 
 that ; but it did not afford complete satisfaction to Patience. 
 Patience felt a foreboding that he would be a great deal more 
 indulgent to Anna than she considered was wholesomely good for 
 her ; Patience had a misgiving that Anna would be putting off her 
 caps as she chose, then, and would not be reprimanded for it. Not 
 unlikely; could that future bridegroom, Charles Gurney, catch 
 sight of Anna as she stands now ! for a more charming picture 
 never was seen. 
 
 William, quiet and self-possessed, received Mary from the hands 
 of her father, who gave her away. The Reverend Francis Tait read 
 the service, and Gar, in his white canonicals, stood with him, after 
 the new fashion of the day. Jane's tears dropped on her pearl-grey 
 damask dress ; Frank made himself very busy amongst the brides- 
 maids ; and Henry Ashley was in his most mocking mood. Thus 
 they were made man and wife; and Mr. Tait's voice rose high and 
 echoed down the aisles of the little old church at Deoffam, as he 
 spoke the solemn injunction — "Those whom God H.ath JOINED 
 
 TOGETHER, LET NO MAN PUT .ASUNDER.' 
 
 Helstonleigh's streets were lined that day, and Helstonleigh's 
 windows were alive with heads. It was known that the bride and 
 bridegroom would pass through the town, on the first stage of their 
 bridal tour, whose ultimate destination was to be the Continent.
 
 430 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 The whole crowd of the Ashley workpeople had gathered outside 
 the manufoctory, neglecting their afternoon's work ; a neglect which 
 Samuel Lynn not only winked at, but participated in, for he stood 
 with them. As the carriage, which was Mr. Ashley's, came in sight, 
 its four horses urged by the postillions to a sharp trot, one deafening 
 cheer arose from the men. William laughed and nodded to them ; 
 but they did not get half a good view of the master's daughter 
 beside him : nothing but a glimpse of a flushed cheek, and a piece 
 of a white veil. 
 
 Slouching at the corner of a street, in a seedy coat, his eyes 
 bloodshot, was Cyril Dare. Never did one look more of a iiiaitvais 
 sujet than he, as he watched the chariot pass. The place, now 
 occupied by William, might have been his ; had he so willed it and 
 worked for it. Not, perhaps, that of Mary's husband ; he could not 
 be sure of that, but as Mr. Ashley's partner. A bitter cloud of dis- 
 appointment, of repentance, crossed his face as he looked at them. 
 They both saw him standing there. Did Mary think what a pro- 
 mising husband he would have made her .'' Cyril flung a word after 
 them ; and it was not a blessing. 
 
 Dobbs had also flung something after them, and in point of time 
 and precedence this ought to have been mentioned first. Patience, 
 watching from her v*indow, curious as every one else, had seen 
 Dobbs come out with something under her apron, and take up her 
 station at the gate, where she waited patiently for just an hour and 
 a quarter. As the carriage had come into view, Dobbs sheltered 
 herself behind the shrubs, nothing to be seen of her above them, but 
 her cap and eyes. The moment the carriage was past, out flew 
 Dobbs to the middle of the road. Patience's impression being that 
 she was going to hang on behind. No such thing. Bringing forth 
 from their hiding-place a pair of shoes considerably the worse for 
 wear, the one possessing no sole, and the other no upper-leather, 
 Dobbs dashed them with force after the chariot, very much discom- 
 posing the man-servant in the rear, whose head they struck. 
 
 " Nothing like old shoes to bring 'em luck," grunted Dobbs to 
 Patience, as she retired in doors. " I never knew good come of a 
 wedding that didn't get 'em." 
 
 " / wish them luck ; the luck of a safe arrival home from those 
 unpleasant foreign parts," emphatically remarked Patience, who had 
 found her residence amongst the P'rcnch nothing less than a species 
 of terrestrial purgatory.
 
 ( 431 ) 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE bishop's letter. 
 
 A DAY or two after the wedding, a letter was delivered at Mrs. 
 Halliburton's residence, addressed to Gar. Its seal, a mitre, pre- 
 pared Gar to find that it came from the Bishop of Helstonleigh. 
 Its contents proved to be a mandate, commanding his attendance 
 the following morning at the palace at nine o'clock. Gar turned 
 nervous. Had he fallen under his bishop's displeasure, and was 
 about to be reprimanded ? Mr. Tait had gone back to London ; 
 Gar was to leave on the following day, Saturday; Frank meant to 
 stay on for a week or two. It was his vacation. 
 
 " That's Gar all over ! " cried Frank, who had perched himself on 
 a side table. " Gar is sure to look to the dark side of things, instead 
 of the bright. If the Lord Chancellor sent for me, I should set it 
 down that my fortune was about to be made. His lordship's going 
 to present you with a living. Gar." 
 
 " That's good ! " retorted Gar. " What interest have I with the 
 bishop?" 
 
 " He has known you long enough." 
 
 "As he has many others. If the bishop interested himself for 
 all the clergymen who have been educated at Helstonleigh college 
 school, he would have enough upon his hands. I expect it is to 
 find fault with me for some unconscious offence." 
 
 " Go it. Gar ! You'll get no sleep to-night." 
 
 " Frank, I must say the note appears a peremptory one," remarked 
 Jane. 
 
 " Middling for that. It's short, if not sweet." 
 
 Whether Gar had any sleep, or not, that night, he did not say ; 
 but he started to keep the appointment punctually. His mother 
 and Frank remained together, and Jane fell into a bit of quiet talk, 
 over the breakfast table. 
 
 " Frank," said she, " I am often uneasy about you." 
 
 " About me ! " cried Frank in considerable wonderment. 
 
 " If you were to go wrong ! I know what the temptations of a 
 London life must be. Especially to a young man who has, so to 
 say, no home." 
 
 " I steer clear of them. Mother darling, I am telling you the 
 truth," he added earnestly. "Do you think we could ever fall away 
 from such training as yours ? No. Look at what William is ; look 
 at Gar : and for myself, though I don't like to boast, I assure you, 
 the Anti-evil-doing Society — if you have ever heard of that respected 
 body — might hoist me on a pedestal at Exeter Hall, as their choicest 
 model. You don't like my joking! Believe me, then, in all serious- 
 ness, that your sons will never fail you. We did not battle on in
 
 432 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 our duty as boys, to forget it as men. You taught us the bravest 
 lesson that a mother can teach, or a child learn, when you contrived 
 to impress upon us the truth that God is our witness always, ever 
 present." 
 
 Jane's eyes filled with tears : not of grief. She knew that Frank 
 was speaking from his heart. 
 
 " And you are getting on well ? " 
 
 " What with stray briefs that come to me, and my literary work, 
 and the fellowship, I make six or seven hundred a year already." 
 
 " I hope you are not spending it all ? " 
 
 " That I am not. I put by all I can. It is true that I don't live 
 upon dry bread and potatoes six days in the week, as you know we 
 have done; but I take care that my expenses are moderate. It is 
 keeping hare-brained follies at arm's-length that enables me to 
 save." 
 
 " And now, Frank, for another question. What made you send 
 me that hundred-pound note ? " 
 
 " I shall send you another soon," was all Frank's answer. " The 
 idea of my gaining a superfluity of money, and sending none to my 
 darling mother ! " 
 
 " But indeed I don't know what to do with it, Frank. I do not 
 require it." 
 
 " Then put it by to look at. As long as I have brains to work 
 with, I shall think of my mother. Have you forgotten how she 
 worked for us ? I wish you would come and live with me ! " 
 
 Jane entered into all her arguments for deeming that she should 
 be better with Gar. Not the least of them was, that she should still 
 be near Helstonleigh. Of all her sons, Jane, perhaps unconsciously 
 to herself, most loved her eldest : and to go far away from him would 
 have been another trouble. 
 
 By-and-by, they saw Gar coming back. And he did not look as 
 if he had been receiving a reprimand : quite the contrary. He came 
 in almost as impulsively as he used to do in his schoolboy days. 
 
 " Frank, you were right ! The bishop is going to give me a living. 
 Mother, it is true." 
 
 " Of course," said Frank. " I always am right." 
 
 " The bishop did not keep me waiting a minute, although I was 
 there before my time. He was very kind, and shook hands with 
 me " 
 
 " But about the living ? " cried impatient Frank. 
 
 " I am telling you, Frank. The bishop said he had watched us 
 grow up — meaning you, as well — and he felt pleased to tell me that 
 he had never seen anything but good in either of us. But I need 
 not repeat all that. He went on to ask me whether I should be 
 prepared to do my duty zealously in a living, were one given to me. 
 I answered that I hoped I should — and the long and the short of it 
 is, that I am going to l)e apjwintcd to one." 
 
 "Long live the Ijishop ! " cried Frank. "Where's the living 
 situated ! In the moon .'' "
 
 THE BISHOP'S LETTER. 433 
 
 "Ah, where indeed ? Guess what living it is, mother." 
 
 " (lar dear, how can T ? " asked Jane. " Is it a minor canonry?" 
 
 They both laughed. It recalled Jane to her absence of mind. 
 The bishop had nothing to do with bestowing the minor canonries. 
 Neither could a minor canonry be called a "living." 
 
 " Mother, it is Deoffam." 
 
 "Deoffam! Oh, Gar!" 
 
 " Yes, it is Deoffam. You will not have to go far away from 
 Helstonleigh, now." 
 
 " I'll lay my court wig that Mr. Ashley has had his finger in the 
 pie! " cried quick Frank. 
 
 But, in point of fact, the gift had emanated from the prelate him- 
 self. And a very good gift it was : four hundred a year, and the 
 prettiest parsonage house within ten miles. The brilliant scholar- 
 ship of the Halliburtons, attained by their own unflagging industry, 
 the high character they had always borne, had not been lost upon 
 the Bishop of Helstonleigh. Gar's conduct as a clergyman had been 
 exemplary ; Gar's preaching was of no mean order, and the bishop 
 deemed that such a one as Gar ought not to be overlooked. The 
 day has gone by for a bishop to know nothing of the younger clergy 
 of his diocese, and he of Helstonleigh had Gar Halliburton down in 
 his preferment book. It is just possible that the announcement or 
 his name in the local papers, as having helped to n-.arry his brother 
 at Deoffam, may have put that particular living into the bishop's 
 head. Certain it was, that, a few hours after the bishop read it, he 
 ordered his carriage, and went to pay a visit at Deoffam Hall. 
 During his stay, he took Mr. Ashley's arm, and drew him out on to 
 the terrace, very much as though he wished to take a nearer view of 
 the peacock. 
 
 " I have been thinking, Mr. Ashley, of bestowing the living of 
 Deoffam upon Edgar Halliburton. What should you say to it?" 
 
 " That I should almost feel it as a personal favour paid to my- 
 self," was the reply of Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Then it is done," said the bishop. " He is young, but I know a 
 great many older men who are less deserving than he." 
 
 " Your lordship may rely upon it that there are few men, young 
 or old, who are so intrinsically deserving as the Halliburtons.'' 
 
 " I know it," said the bishop. " They interested me as lads, and 
 I have watched them ever since." 
 
 And that is how Gar became Vicar of Deoffam. 
 
 " You will be trying for a minor canonry now. Gar, I suppose, 
 living so near to it ? " observed Jane. 
 
 " Mrs. Halliburton, will you be so kind as not to put unsuitable 
 notions into his head ? " interrupted Frank. " The Reverend Gar 
 must look out for a canonry, not a minor. And he won't stop 
 there. When I am on the woolsack, in my place in the Lords, Gar 
 may be opposite to me, a spiritual peer." 
 
 Jane laughed, as did Frank. Who knew, though ? It all lay in 
 the future. 
 
 Mrs. Halliburton's Troubles. 28
 
 434 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIIL 
 
 A DYING CONFESSION. 
 
 Meanwhile William Halliburton and his wife had crossed the 
 Channel. Amongst other letters, written home to convey news of 
 them, was the following. It was written by Mary to Mrs. Ashley, 
 after they had been abroad a week or two. 
 
 " Hotel du Chapeau Rouge, Dtinkerque, September 2\tk. 
 "My ever dear Mamma, 
 
 " You have heard from William how it was that we altered 
 our intended route. I thought the sea-side so delightful that I was 
 unwilling to leave it, even for Paris, and we determined to remain 
 on the coast, especially as I shall have other opportunities of seeing 
 Paris with William. Boulogne was crowded and noisy, so we left 
 it for less frequented towns, staying a day or two in each place. We 
 went to Calais and to Gravelines ; also to Bourbourg, and to Cassel 
 • — the two latter not on the coast. The view from Cassel— which 
 you must not confound with Cassel in Germany — is magnificent. 
 We met some English people on the summit of the hill, and they 
 told us the English called it the Malvern of France. I am not sure 
 which affords the finer view, Cassel or Malvern. They say that 
 eighty towns or villages may be counted from it ; but I cannot say 
 that we made out anything like so many. We can see the sea in 
 the far distance — as we can, on a clear day, catch a glimpse from 
 Malvern of the Bristol Channel. The view from some of the 
 windows of the Hotel de Sauvage was so beautiful that I was never 
 tired of looking at it. William says he shall show me better views 
 when he takes me to Lyons and Annonay, but I scarcely think it 
 possible. At a short distance rises a monastery of the order of La 
 Trappe, where the monks never speak, except the ' INIemento mori ' 
 when they meet each other. Some of the customs of the hotel were 
 primitive : they gave us tablespoons in our coffee-cups for breakfast. 
 " From Cassel we came to Dunkerque, and are staying at the 
 Chapeau Rouge, the only large hotel in the place. The other large 
 hotel was made into a convent some time back ; both are in the 
 Rue des Capucins. It is a fine and very clean old fortified town, 
 with a statue of Jean Bart in the middle of the Place. Place Jean 
 Bart, it is called ; and the market is held in it on Wednesdays and 
 .Saturdays, as it is at Helstonleigh. Such a crowded scene on the 
 Saturday ! and the women's snow-white caps quite shine in the sun. 
 I cannot tell you how much I like to look at these old Flemish 
 towns! By moonlight, they look exactly like the towns you are 
 familiar with in old pictures. There is a large basin here, and a 
 long harbour and pier. One English lady, whom we met at the
 
 A DYING CONFESSION. 435 
 
 table d'hote, said she had never been to the end of the pier yet, and 
 she had lived in Dunkerque four years. It was too far for a walk, 
 she said. The country round is flat and poor, and the lower classes 
 mostly speak Flemish. 
 
 " On Monday we went by barge to a place called Bcrgucs, four 
 miles off. It was market day there, and the barge was crowded 
 with passengers from Dunkerque. A nice old town, with a fine 
 church. They charged us only live sous for our passage. But I 
 must leave all these descriptions until I return home, and come to 
 what I have chiefly to tell you. 
 
 "• There is a piece of enclosed ground here, called the Pare. On 
 the previous Saturday, which was the day we first arrived here, I 
 and William were walking through it, and sat down on one of the 
 benches facing the old tower. I was rather tired, having been to 
 the end of the pier — for its length did not alarm us. Some one 
 was seated at the other end of the bench, but we did not take par- 
 ticular notice of her. Suddenly she turned to me, and spoke : 
 'Have I not the honour of seeing Miss Ashley?' Mamma, you 
 may imagine my surprise. It was that Italian governess of the 
 Dares, Mademoiselle Varsini, as they used to call her. William 
 interposed : I don't think he liked her speaking to me. I suppose 
 he thought of that story about her, which came over from Germany. 
 He rose and took me on his arm to move away. ' Formerly Miss 
 Ashley,' he said to her : ' now Mrs. Halliburton.' But William's 
 anger died away — if he had felt any — when he saw her face. I 
 cannot describe to you how fearfully ill she looked. Her cheeks 
 were white, and drawn, and hollow ; her eyes were sunk within a 
 dark circle, and her lips were open and looked black. ' Are you 
 ill ? ' I asked her. ' I am so ill that a few days will be the finish of 
 me,' she answered. ' The doctor gave me to the falling of the 
 leaves, and many are already strewing the grass : in less than a 
 week's time from this, I shall be lower than they are.' ' Is Herbert 
 Dare with you.'' ' inquired William — but he has said since that he 
 spoke in the moment's impulse. Had he taken thought, he would 
 not have put the question. ' No, he is not with me,' she answered, 
 in an angry tone. ' I know nothing of him. He is just a vagabond 
 on the face of the earth.' ' What is it that is the matter with you? ' 
 William asked her. ' They call it decay,' she answered. ' I was in 
 Brussels, getting my living by daily teaching. I had to go out in 
 all weathers, and 1 did not take heed to the colds I caught. I sup- 
 pose they settled on my lungs.' ' Have you been in this town long?' 
 we inquired of her. ' I came in August,' she answered. ' The 
 Belgian doctor said if I had a change, it might do something for 
 me, and I came here : it was the same to me where I went. But it 
 did me harm instead of good. I grew worse directly I came : and 
 the doctor here said I must not move away again ; the travelling 
 would injure me. What mattered it? As good die here as else- 
 where.' That she had death written plainly in her face, was 
 evident. Nevertheless, William tried to say a word of hope to
 
 436 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 her : but she interrupted him. ' There's no recovery for me ; I am 
 sure to die; and the time, it's to be hoped, will not be long in 
 coming, or my money will not hold out.' She spoke in a matter-of- 
 fact tone shocking to hear : and before I could call up any answer, 
 she turned to William. ' You are the William Halli — I never could 
 say the name— who was at Mr. Ashley's with Cyril Dare. May I 
 ask where you have descended in Dunkerque?' 'At the Chapeau 
 Rouge,' rephed William. ' Then, if I should send there to ask you 
 to come and speak with me, will you come?' she continued. 'I 
 have something that I should hke to tell you before I die,' William 
 informed her that we should remain a week ; and we wished her 
 good morning and moved away into another walk. Soon after- 
 wards, we saw a Sister of Charity, one of those who go about 
 nursing the sick, come up to her and lead her away. She could 
 scarcely crawl, and halted to take breath between every few steps. 
 
 " This, I have told you, was last Saturday. This evening, Wed- 
 nesday, just as we were rising from table, a waiter came to William 
 and called him out, saying he was wanted. It proved to be the 
 Sister of Charity that we had seen in the park ; she told William 
 that Madame Varsini was near death, and had sent her for him. 
 So William went with her, and I have been writing this to you since 
 his departure. It is now ten o'clock, and he has not yet returned. 
 I shall keep this open to tell you what she wanted with him. I 
 cannot imagine. 
 
 " Past eleven. William has come in. He thinks she will not live 
 over to-morrow. And I have kept my letter open for nothing, for 
 William will not tell me. He says she has been talking to him 
 about herself and the Dares ; but that the tale is more fit for papa's 
 ears than for yours or mine. 
 
 " My sincerest love to papa and Henry. We are so glad Gar is to 
 be at Deoffam ! — And believe me, my dear mamma, to be your ever- 
 loving and dutiful child, 
 
 " Mary Halliburton. 
 
 " Excuse the smear. I had nearly put ' Mary Ashley.'" 
 
 This meeting, described in Mary's letter, must have been one of 
 those remarkable coincidences that sometimes occur during a life- 
 time. Chance encounters they are sometimes called ! Chance ! 
 Had William and his wife not gone to Dunkerque — and they went 
 there by accident, as may be said, for the original plan had been to 
 spend their absence in Paris — they would not have met. Had the 
 Italian lady not gone to Dunkerque when ordered change — and she 
 chose it by accident, she said— they would not have met. But 
 somehow both parties tvere brought there, and they did meet. It 
 was not chance that led them there. 
 
 WhcMi William went out with the sister, she conducted him to a 
 small lodging in the Rue Nationale, a street not far from the hotel. 
 The accommodation appeared to consist of a small ante-room and 
 a bed-chamber. Signora Varsini was in the latter, dressed in a
 
 A DYING CONFESSION. 437 
 
 peignoir, and sitting in an arm-chair, supported by cushions. A 
 washed-out, faded peignoir, possibly the very one she had worn 
 years ago, the night of the death of Anthony Dare. WilHam was 
 surprised ; by the sister's account he had expected to find her in 
 bed, ahnost in the last extremity. But hers was a restless spirit. 
 She was evidently weaker, and her breath seemed to come irregu- 
 larly. William sat down in a chair opposite to her: he could not 
 see very much of her face, for the small lamp on the table had a 
 green shade over it, which cast its gloom on the room. The sister 
 retired to the ante-room and closed the door between with a 
 caution. " Madame was not to talk much." For a few moments 
 after the first greeting, she, "Madame," kept silence; then she 
 spoke in English. 
 
 " I should not have known you. I never saw much of you. But 
 I knew Miss Ashley in a moment. You must have prospered well," 
 
 " Yes. I am Mr. Ashley's partner." 
 
 " So ! That is what Cyril Dare coveted for himself. Miss Ashley 
 also. 'Bah, Monsieur Cyril!' said I sometimes to my mind; 
 ' neither the one nor the other for thee.' Where is he? " 
 
 " Cyril? He is at home. Doing no good." 
 
 " He never do good," she said with bitterness. " He Herbert's 
 own brother. And the other one — George?" 
 
 " George is in Austraha. He has a chance I believe of doing 
 pretty well." 
 
 " Are the girls married ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 "Not Adelaide?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 Something like a smile curled her dark and fevered lips. " Made- 
 moiselle Adelaide was trying after that vicomte. ' Bah ! ' I would 
 say to myself as I did by Cyril, ' there's no vicomte for her ; he is 
 only playing his game.' Does he go there now? " 
 
 " Lord Hawkesley? Oh, no. All intimacy has ceased." 
 
 " They have gone down, have they not? They are very poor?" 
 
 " I fear they arc poor now. Yes, they have very much gone 
 down. May I inquire what it is you want with mc?" 
 
 " You inquire soon," she answered in a resentful tone. " Do you 
 fear I should contaminate you.'' — as you feared for your wife on 
 Saturday? " 
 
 " If I can aid you in any way I shall be happy and ready to do 
 so," was William's answer, spoken soothingly. " I think you arc 
 very ill." 
 
 " The doctor was here this afternoon. ' Ma ch^re,' said he, ' to- 
 morrow will about end it. You are too weak to last longer; the 
 inside is gone.' " 
 
 " Did he speak to you in that way? — a medical man ! " 
 
 " He is aware that I know as much about my own state as he 
 does. He might not be so plain with all his patients. Then I said 
 to the sister, ' Get me up and make the bed, for I must sec a friend.'
 
 438 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 — And I sent her for you. I told you I wanted you to do me a little 
 service. Will you do it? " 
 
 " If it is in my power." 
 
 " It is not much. It is this," she added, drawing from beneath 
 the peignoir a small packet, sealed and stamped, looking like a 
 thick letter. " Will you undertake to put this surely in the post 
 after I am dead? I do not want it posted before." 
 
 " Certainly I will," he answered, taking it from her hand, and 
 glancing at the superscription. It was addressed to Herbert Dare 
 at Dusseldorf. " Is he there? " asked William. 
 
 " That was his address the last I heard of him. He is now here, 
 now there, now elsewhere ; a vagabond, as I told you, on the face 
 of the earth. He is like Cain," she vehemently continued. " Cain 
 wandered abroad over the earth, never finding rest. So does 
 Herbert Dare, Who wonders? Cain killed his brother: what 
 did 7/6' do?" 
 
 William lifted his eyes to her face ; as much of it as might be dis- 
 tinguished under the dark shade cast by the lamp. That she 
 appeared to be in a very demonstrative state of resentment against 
 Herbert Dare was indisputable. 
 
 " He did not kill his brother, at any rate," observed William. " I 
 fear he is not a good man ; and you may have cause to know that 
 more conclusively than I ; but he did not kill his brother. You 
 were in Helstonleigh at the time, mademoiselle, and must remember 
 that he was cleared," added William, falling into the style of 
 address used by the Dares. 
 
 " Then I say he did kill him." 
 
 She spoke with slow distinctness. William could only look at her 
 in amazement. Was her mind wandering? She sat glaring at him 
 with her light blue eyes, so glazed, yet glistening ; just the same eyes 
 that used to puzzle old Anthony Dare. 
 
 " What did you say ? " asked William. 
 
 " I say that Herbert Dare is a second Cain," she answered. 
 
 "He did not kill Anthony," repeated William. " He could not 
 have killed him. He was in another place at the time." 
 
 " Yes, With that Puritan child in the dainty dress— fit attire only 
 for your foUes in — what you call the place ? — Bedlam ! I know he 
 was in another place," she continued : and she appeared to be growing 
 terribly excited, between passion and natural emotion. 
 
 "Then what arc you speaking of?" asked William. "It is an 
 impossibility that Herbert could have killed his brother." 
 
 " He caused him to be killed." 
 
 William felt a nameless dread creeping over him. " What do you 
 mean ? " he breathed. 
 
 " I send that letter, which you have taken charge of, to Herbert 
 the bad ; but he moves about from place to place, and it may never 
 reach him. So I want to tell you in substance what is written in the 
 letter, that you may repeat it to him v>hen you come across him. 
 He may be gr)ing back to Helstonleigh some day; if he not die off
 
 A DYING CONFESSION. 439 
 
 first with his vagabond life. Was it not said there, once, that he 
 was dead ? " 
 
 " Only for a day or two. It was a false report." 
 
 " And when you see him — in case he has not had that packet — 
 you will tell him this that I am now about to tell you." 
 
 " What is its nature ? " asked William. 
 
 " Will you promise to tell him ? " 
 
 " Not until I iirst hear what it may be," fearlessly replied William. 
 " Intrust it to me, if you will, and I will keep it sacred ; but I must 
 use my own judgment as to imparting it to Herbert Dare. It may be 
 something that would be better left unsaid." 
 
 " 1 do not ask you to keep it sacred," she rejoined. " You may tell 
 it to the world, if you please ; you may tell it to your wife ; you may 
 tell it to all Helstonlcigh. But not until I am dead. Will you give 
 that promise ? " 
 
 '' That I will readily give you." 
 
 " On your honour ? " 
 
 William's truthful eyes smiled into hers. " On my honour — if that 
 shall better satisfy you. It was not necessary." 
 
 She remained silent a few moments, and then burst forth vehe- 
 mently. " When you see him, that cochon, that vauricn " 
 
 " I beg you to be calm," interrupted William. " This excitement 
 must be most injurious to one in your weak state; I cannot sit and 
 listen to it." 
 
 " Tell him," said she, leaning forward, and speaking in a some- 
 what calmer tone, " tell him that it was he who caused the death 
 of his brother Anthony." 
 
 William could only look at her. Was she w^andering ? "/killed 
 him," she went on. " Killed him in mistake for Monsieur Herbert." 
 
 Barely had the words left her lips, when all that had been strange 
 in that past tragedy seemed to roll away as a cloud from William's 
 mind. The utter mystery there had been, as to the perpetrator ; the 
 almost impossibility of pointing accusation to any, seemed now 
 accounted for : and a conviction, that she was speaking the dreadful 
 truth, fell upon him. Involuntarily he recoiled from her. 
 
 "He used me ill; yes, he used me ill, that wicked Herbert ! " 
 she continued in agitation. " He told me stories ; he was fake 
 to me: he mocked at me! He had made me care for him; i 
 cared for him — ah, I not tell you how. And then he turned round 
 to laugh at me. He had but amused himself— pour faire passer le 
 temps! " 
 
 Her voice had risen to a shriek ; her face and lips grew ghastly, 
 and she began to twitch as one falling into convulsion. \\'illiani 
 grew alarmed, and hastened to her support. He could not help it, 
 much as his spirit revolted from her. 
 
 " Y a-t-il quclque chose qu'on pent donncr ;\ madame pour la 
 soulager?" he called out hastily to the sister in his fear. 
 
 The woman glided in. "Mais oui, monsieur. Madame s'agite, 
 n'est-ce pas ? "
 
 44o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Elle s'agite beaucoup." 
 
 The sister poured some drops from a phial into a wine-glasS 
 of water, and held it to those quivering lips. " Si vous vous 
 agitez comme cela, madame, c'est pour vous tuer, savez-vous .'' " 
 cried she. 
 
 " I fear so too," added William in Enghsh to the invalid. *' It 
 would be better for me not to hear this, than for you to put yourself 
 into this state." 
 
 She grew calmer, and the sister quitted them. William resumed 
 his seat as before; there appeared to be no help for it, and she 
 continued her tale. 
 
 I " I not agitate myself again," she said. " I not tell you all the 
 details, or what I suffered : a quoi bon ? Pain at morning, pain 
 at midday, pain at night ; I think my heart turned dark, and it has 
 never been right again " 
 
 " Hush, Mademoiselle Varsini ! The sister will hear you." 
 
 "What matter? She not speak English." 
 
 " I really cannot, for your sake, remain here, if you put yourself into 
 this state," he rejoined. 
 
 " You must remain ; you must listen i You have promised to do 
 it," she answered. 
 I " I will, if you will be calm." 
 
 " I'll be calm,'* she rejoined, the check having driven back the 
 rising passion. " The worst is told. Or rather, I do not tell you 
 the worst — that mauvais Herbert ! Do you wonder that my spirit 
 was turned to revenge ? " 
 
 Perceiving somewhat of her fierce and fiery nature, William did 
 not wonder at it. " I do not know what I am to understand yet ? " 
 he whispered. " Did yoii — kill — Anthony ? " 
 
 She leaned back on her pillow, clasping her hands before her. 
 "Ah me! I did! Tell him so," she continued again passionately ; 
 " tell him that I killed Anthony — thinking it was himP 
 
 " It is a dreadful story ! " shuddered William. 
 
 " I did not mean it to be so dreadful," she answered, speaking 
 quite equably. " No, I did not ; and I am telling you as true as 
 though it were my confession before receiving the bon dieii. I only 
 meant to wound him " 
 
 "Herbert?" 
 
 "Herbert! Of course; who else but Herbert?" she retorted, 
 giving signs of another relapse. "Had 1 cause of anger against that 
 pauvre Anthony ? No ; no. Anthony was sharp with the rest some- 
 times, but he was always civil to me; I never had a mis-word with 
 him. I not like Cyril ; but I not dislike George and Anthony. Why, 
 why," she continued, wringing her hands, " did Anthony come forth 
 from his chamber that night and go out, when he said he had retired 
 to it for good ? That is where all the evil arose." 
 
 " Not all," dissented William in a low tone. 
 
 " Yes, all," she sharply repeated. " I had only meant to give Mr. 
 Herbert a little prick in the dark, just to repay him, to stop his
 
 A DYING CONFESSION. 441 
 
 pleasant visits to that field for a term. I never thought to kill him. 
 I liked him better than that, ill as he was behaving to me. I never 
 thought to kill him; I never thought much to hurt him. And it 
 would not have hurt Anthony ; but that he was what you call tipsy, 
 and fell on the point of the " 
 
 " Scissors ? " suggested William, for she had stopped. How could 
 he, even with this confession before him, speak to a lady — or one 
 who ought to have been a lady — of any uglier weapon ? 
 
 " I had something by me sharper than scissors. But never 
 you mind what. That, so far, does not matter. The little hurt 
 I had intended for Herbert he escaped ; and poor Anthony was 
 killed." 
 
 There was a long pause. William broke it, speaking out his 
 thoughts impulsively. 
 
 " And yet you went to Rotterdam afterwards to make friends with 
 Herbert ! " 
 
 " When he write and tell me there good teaching in the place, 
 could I know it was untrue ? Could I know that he would borrow 
 all my money from me .'' Could I know that he turn out a 
 worse " 
 
 " Mademoiselle, I pray you, be calm." 
 
 " There, then. 1 will say no more. I have outlived it. But I 
 wish him to know that that fine night's work was his. It was the 
 right man who lay in prison for it. The letter I have given you 
 may never reach him ; and I ask you tell him, for his pill, should 
 it not." 
 
 " Then you have never hinted this to him ? " asked William. 
 
 "Never. I was afraid. Will you tell him ? " 
 
 " I cannot make the promise. I must use my own discretion. I 
 think it is very unlikely that I shall ever see him." 
 
 " You meet people that you do not look for. Until last Satur- 
 day, you might have said it was unlikely that you would meet 
 me." 
 
 " That is true." 
 
 Now that the excitement of the disclosure was over, she lay back 
 in a grievous state of exhaustion. William rose to leave, and she 
 held out her hand to him. Could he shun it — guilty as she had 
 confessed herself to him? No. Who was he, that he should set 
 himself up to judge her? And she was dying ' 
 
 " Can nothing be done to alleviate your sufferings ? " he inquired 
 in a kindly tone. 
 
 " Nothing. The sooner death comes to release me from them, the 
 better." 
 
 He lingered yet, hesitating. Then he bent closer to her, and spoke 
 in a whisper. 
 
 " Have you thought much of that other hfe ? Of the necessity of 
 repentance — of seeking earnestly the pardon of God ? " 
 
 "That is your Protestant fashion," she answered with equanimity. 
 " I have made my confession to a priest and he has given me
 
 442 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 absolution. A good fat old man ; he was very kind to me ; he saw 
 how I had been tossed and turned about in life. He will bring the 
 bo7i dieu to me the last thing, and cause a mass to be said for my 
 soul." 
 
 " 1 thought I had heard that you v.-cre a Protestant." 
 
 '• I was either. I said I was a Protestant to Madame Dare. 
 But the Roman Catholic religion is the most convenient to take 
 up when you arc passing. Your priests say they cannot pardon 
 sins." 
 
 The interview took longer in acting than it has in telling, and 
 William returned to the hotel to find Alary tired, wondering at his 
 absence, and a letter to Mrs. Ashley — with which you have been 
 favoured — lying on the table, awaiting its conclusion. 
 
 " You are weary, my darling. You should not have remained 
 up." 
 
 " I thought you were never coming, William. I thought you must 
 have gone off by the London steamer, and left me here ! The hotel 
 omnibus took some passengers to it at ten o'clock." 
 
 William sat down on the sofa, and drew her to him ; the full tide 
 of thankfulness going up from his heart that all women were not as 
 the one he had just left. 
 
 "And what did Mademoiselle Varsini want with you, WilHam? 
 Is she really dying?" 
 
 " I think she is dying. You must not ask me what she wanted, 
 Mary. It was to tell me something— to speak of things connected 
 with herself and the Dares. They would not be pleasant to your 
 ears." 
 
 " But I have been writing an account of all this to mamma, and 
 have left her letter open, to send word what the governess could 
 have to say to you. What can I tell her ? " 
 
 " Tell her as I tell you, my dearest : that what I have been 
 listening to is more fit for Mr. Ashley's ears than for yours or 
 hers." 
 
 Mary rose and wrote rapidly the concluding lines. William stood 
 and watched her. He laughed at the " smear." 
 
 " I am not familiar with my new name yet : I was signing myself 
 « Mary Ashley.' " 
 
 " Would you go back to the old name, if you could ? " cried he, 
 somewhat saucily. 
 
 " Oh, William ! " 
 
 Saturday came round again: the day they were to leave— just a 
 week since they had come, since the encounter in the park. They 
 were taking an early walk in the market, when certain low sounds, 
 as of chanting, struck upon their ears. A funeral was coming along ; 
 it had just turned out of the great church of St. Eloi, at the other 
 corner of the Place. Not a wealthy funeral — quite the other thing. 
 On the previous day they had seen a grand interment, attended by 
 its distinguishing marks ; seven or eight banners, as many priests. 
 Some sudden feeling prompted William to ask whose funeral this
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DARES. 443 
 
 was, and he made inquiry of a shopkeeper, who was standing at 
 her door. 
 
 " Monsieur, c'est I'enterrement d'une dtrangere. Une Itahenne, 
 I'on dit : Madame Varsini." 
 
 " Oh, William ! do they bury her already ?" was IVLary's shocked 
 remonstrance. " It was only yesterday at midday the sister came 
 to you to say she had died. What a shame ! " 
 
 "Hush, love! ]\Lany of the people here understand English. 
 They bury quickly in these countries." 
 
 They stood on the pavement, and the funeral came quickly on. 
 One black banner borne aloft in a man's hand, two boys in surplices 
 with lighted candles, and the priest chanting with his open book. 
 Eight men, in white corded hats and black cloaks, bore the coffin 
 on a bier, and there was a sprinkling of impromptu followers — as 
 there always is at these foreign funerals. As the dead was borne 
 past him on its way to the cemetery, William, following the usage 
 of the country, lifted his hat, and remained uncovered until it had 
 gone by. 
 
 And that was the last of Bianca Varsini. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE D.\RES. 
 
 It was a winter's morning, and the family party round the break- 
 fast table at William Halliburton's looked a cheery one, with its 
 adjuncts of a good fire and good fare. I\Ir. and Mrs. Ashley and 
 Henry were guests. And I can tell you that in Mr. Ashley they 
 were entertaining no less a personage than the high sheriff of the 
 county. 
 
 The gentlemen nominated for sheriffs, that year, for the county 
 of Helstonlcigh, whose names had gone up to the Queen, were as 
 follows : — 
 
 Humphrey Coldicott, Esquire, of Coldicott Grange; 
 
 Sir Harry Marr, Bart., of The Lynch; 
 
 Thomas Ashley, Esquire, of Dcoffam Hall; 
 And her Majesty had been pleased to prick the latter name. 
 
 The gate of the garden swung open, and some one came hastily 
 round the gravel-path to the house. Mary, who was seated at the 
 head of the table, facing the window, caught a view of the visitor. 
 
 " It is Mrs. Dare! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Mrs. Dare ! " repeated Mr. Ashley, as a peal at the hall-bell was 
 heard. " Nonsense, child ! " 
 
 " Papa, indeed it is." 
 
 " I think you must be mistaken, Mary," said her husband. '*' Mrs. 
 Dare would scarcely be abroad at this early hour."
 
 444 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " Oh, you disbelievers all ! " laughed Mary. " As if I did not 
 know Mrs. Dare ! She looked scared and flurried." 
 
 Mrs. Dare, looking indeed scared and flurried, came into the 
 breakfast-room. The servant had been showing her into another 
 room, but she put him aside, and appeared amidst them. 
 
 what brought her there ? What had she come to tell them ? 
 Alas! of their unhappy downfall. How the Dares had contrived 
 to go on so long, without the crash coming, they alone knew. They 
 had promised to pay here, they had promised to pay there ; and 
 people, tradespeople especially, did not much like to begin com- 
 pulsory measures with old Anthony Dare, who had so long held 
 sway in Helstonleigh, His professional business had almost left 
 him — perhaps because there was no efficient head to carry it on. 
 Cyril was just what Mademoiselle had called Herbert, a vagabond ; 
 and Cyril was an irretrievable one. No good to the business was 
 he — not half as much good as he was to the public-houses. Mr. 
 Dare, with white hair, bent form, and dim eyes, would go creeping 
 to his office most days ; but his memory was leaving him, and it 
 was evident to all that he was relapsing into his second childhood. 
 Latterly they had lived entirely by privately disposing of their 
 portable effects — as Honey Fair used to do when it fell out of work. 
 They owed money everywhere ; rent, taxes, servants' wages, large 
 debts, small debts — it was universal. And now the landlord had 
 put in his claim after the manner of landlords, and it had brought 
 on the climax. They were literally without resource ; they knew 
 not where to turn ; they had not a penny, or the worth of it, in the 
 wide world. Mrs. Dare, in the alarm occasioned by the unwel- 
 come visitor — for the landlord's man had made good his entrance 
 that morning — came flying off to Mr. Ashley, some extravagant 
 hope floating in her mind that help might be obtained from him. 
 
 " Here's trouble ! Here's trouble ! " she exclaimed by way of 
 salutation, wringing her hands frantically. 
 
 They rose in consternation, believing she must have gone wild. 
 William handed her a chair. 
 
 " There, don't come round me," she cried, as she flung herself 
 into it. " Go on with your breakfast. I have concealed our 
 troubles until I am heart-sick, and now they can be concealed no 
 longer, and I have come for help to you. Don't press anything upon 
 me, Mrs. William Halliburton; to attempt to eat would choke me! " 
 
 She sat there and entered on her grievances. How they had long 
 been without money, had lived by credit, and by pledging things 
 out of their house ; how they owed more than she could tell ; how 
 a " horrible man " had come into their house that morning, as an 
 emissary of the landlord. 
 
 "What are we to do?" she wailed. "Will you help us? Mr. 
 Ashley, will you ? — your wife is my husband's cousin, you know. 
 Mr. Halliburton, will you help us? Don't you know that 1 have a 
 right to claim kindred with you? Your father and 1 were first 
 and lived for some time under the same roof."
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DARES. 445 
 
 William remembered the former years when she had not been so 
 ready to own the relationship. He remembered the day when Mr. 
 Dare had put a seizure into their house, and his mother had gone, 
 craving grace of him. Mr. Ashley remembered it, and his eye met 
 William's. How marvellously had the change been brought round ! 
 the right come to light ! 
 
 '• What is it that you wish me to do ? " inquired Mr. Ashley. " I 
 do not understand." 
 
 " Not understand ! " she sharply echoed, in her grief. " I want 
 the landlord paid out. You have ample means at command, Mr. 
 Ashley, and might do this much for us." 
 
 A modest request, certainly ! The rent due was for three years : 
 considerably more than two hundred pounds. Mr. Ashley replied 
 to it cjuietly. 
 
 "A moment's reflection might convince you, Mrs. Dare, that to 
 pay this money would be fruitless waste. The instant this procedure 
 gets wind — and in all probability it has already done so — other 
 claims, as pressing, will be enforced." 
 
 " Tradespeople must wait," she answered, with irritation. 
 
 "Wait for what?" asked Mr. Ashley. "Do you expect to drop 
 into a fortune ? " 
 
 Wait for what, indeed ? For complete ruin ? There was nothing 
 else to wait for. Mrs. Dare sat beating her foot against the 
 carpet. 
 
 "Mr. Dare has grown useless," she said. "What he says one 
 minute, he forgets the next ; he is almost in a state of imbecility. 
 I have no one to turn to, no one to consult with, and therefore I 
 come to you. Indeed, you must help me." 
 
 " But I do not see what I can do for you," rejoined Mr. Ashley. 
 " As to paying your debts, it is — it is — in fact, it is not to be thought 
 of. I have my own payments to make, my expenses to keep up. I 
 could not do it, Mrs. Dare." 
 
 She paused again, playing nervously with her bonnet strings. 
 " Will you go back with me, and see what you can make of Mr. 
 Dare ? Perhaps between you something may be arranged. I don't 
 understand things." 
 
 " I cannot go back with you," replied Mr. Ashley. " I must 
 attend the meeting which takes place this morning at the 
 Guildhall." 
 
 " In your official capacity," remarked Mrs. Dare in not at all a 
 pleasant tone of voice. " I forgot that you preside at it. How very 
 grand you have become ! " 
 
 " Very grand indeed, I think, considering the lowly estimation in 
 which you held the glove manufacturer, Thomas Ashley," he 
 answered, with a good-humoured laugh. " I will call upon your 
 husband in the course of the day, Mrs. Dare." 
 
 She turned to William. " Will you return with me ? I have a 
 claim upon you," she reiterated eagerly. 
 
 He shook his head. " I accompany Mr. Ashley to the meeting."
 
 446 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 She was obliged to be satisfied, turned abruptly, and left the room, 
 William attending her to the door. 
 
 "What d'you call that?" asked Henry, lifting his voice for the 
 first time. 
 
 " Call it ? " repeated his sister. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Mary ; call it. Cheek, I should say." 
 
 " Hush, Henry," said Mr. Ashley. 
 
 "Very well, sir. It's check all the same, though." 
 
 As Mr. Ashley surmised, the misfortune had already got wind, 
 and the unhappy Dares were besieged that day by clamorous 
 creditors. When Mr. Ashley and William arrived there, for they 
 walked up at the conclusion of the public meeting, they found Mr. 
 Dare seated alone in the dining-room ; that sad dining-room which 
 had witnessed the tragical end of Anthony. He cowered over the 
 fire, his thin hands stretched out to the blaze. He was not alto- 
 gether childish ; but his memory failed, and he was apt to fall into 
 fits of wandering. Mr. Ashley drew forward a chair and sat down 
 by him. 
 
 " I fear things do not look very bright," he observed. " We 
 called in at your office as we came by, and found a seizure was also 
 put in there." 
 
 " There's nothing much for 'em to take but the desks," returned 
 old Anthony. 
 
 " Mrs. Dare wished me to come and talk matters over with you, 
 to see whether anything could be done. She docs not understand 
 them, she said." 
 
 " What can be done, when things come to such a pass as this ? " 
 returned Anthony Dare, lifting his head sharply. " That's just like 
 women — ' seeing what's to be done!' I am beset on all sides. If 
 the bank sent me a present of three or four thousand pounds, we 
 might go on again. But it won't, you know. The things must go, 
 and we must go. I suppose they'll not put me in prison ; they'd 
 get nothing by doing it." 
 
 He leaned forward and rested his chin on his stick, which was 
 stretched out before him as usual. Presently he resumed, his eyes 
 and words alike wandering : 
 
 " He said the money would not bring us good if we kept it. And 
 it has not; it has brought a curse. I have told Julia so twenty 
 times since Anthony went. Only the half of it \\-as ours, you know, 
 and we took the whole." 
 
 " What money ? " asked Mr. Ashley, wondering what he was 
 saying. 
 
 " Old Cooper's. We were at Birmingham when he died, I and 
 Julia. The will left it all to her, but he charged us " 
 
 Mr. Dare suddenly stopped. His eye had fallen on William. In 
 these fits of wandering he partially lost his memory, and mixed 
 things and people together in the most inextricable confusion. 
 
 "Are you Edgar Halliburton? " he went on. 
 
 " I am his son. Do you not remember me, Mr. Dare ?"
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DARES. 447 
 
 " Ay, ay. Your son-in-law," nodding to Mr. Ashley. '' But Cyril 
 was to have had that place, you know. He was to have been your 
 partner." 
 
 Mr. Ashley made no reply. It might not have been understood. 
 And Mr. Dare resumed, confounding William with his father. 
 
 " It was hers in the will, you know, Edgar, and that's some 
 excuse, for we had to prove it. There was not time to alter the 
 will, but he said it was an unjust one, and charged us to divide the 
 money ; half for us, half for you ; to divide it to the last halfpenny. 
 And we took it all. We did not mean to take it, or to cheat you, 
 but somehow the money went ; our expenses were great, and we 
 had heavy debts, and when you came afterwards to Helstonleigh 
 and died, your share was already broken into, and it was too late. 
 Ill-gotten money brings nothing but a curse, and that money 
 brought it to us. Will you shake hands and forgive .'' " 
 
 '• Heartily," replied \\'illiam, taking his wasted hand. 
 ' " But you had to struggle, and the money would have kept 
 struggle from you. It was many thousands." 
 
 " Who knows whether it would or not ? " cheerily answered 
 William. " Had we possessed money to fall back upon, we might 
 not have struggled with a will ; we might not have put out all the 
 exertion that was in us, and then we should never have got on as 
 we have done." 
 
 " Ay ; got on. You are looked up to now ; you have become 
 gentlemen. And what are my boys ? The money was yours." 
 
 " Dismiss it entirely from your memory, IVIr. Dare," was William's 
 answer, given in true compassion. " I believe that our not having 
 had it may have been good for us in the long-run, rather than a 
 drawback. The utter want of money may have been the secret 
 of our success." 
 
 " Ay," nodded old Dare. " My boys should ha-\e been taught to 
 work, and they were only taught to spend. We must have our 
 luxuries indoors, forsooth, and our show without ; our servants, 
 and our carriages, and our confounded pride. What has it ended in ? " 
 
 What had it ! They made no answer. ]\Ir. Dare remained still 
 for a while, and then lifted his haggard face, and spoke in a whisper, 
 a shrinking dread in his face and tone. 
 
 "They have been nothing but my curses. It was through 
 Herbert that she, that wicked foreign woman, murdered Anthony." 
 
 Did he know of that ? How had the knowledge come to him! 
 William had not betrayed it, except to Mr. Ashley and Henry. 
 And they had buried the dreadful secret down deep in the archives 
 of their breasts. Mr. Dare's next words disclosed the puzzle. 
 
 "She died, that woman. And she wrote to Herbert on her 
 death-bed and made a confession. He sent a part of it on here, 
 lest, I suppose, we might doubt him still. But his conduct led to 
 it. It is dreadful to have such sons as mine ! " 
 
 His stick fell to the ground. Mr. Ashley held him, while William 
 picked it up. He was gasping for breath.
 
 448 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 '•' You are not well," cried Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " No ; I think I am going. One can't stand these repeated 
 shocks. Did I see Edgar Halliburton here? I thought he was 
 dead. Is he come for his money?" he continued in a shivering 
 whisper. " We acted according to the will, sir : according to the 
 will, tell him. He can see it in Doctors' Commons. He can't 
 proceed against us ; he has no proof. Let him go and look at the 
 will." 
 
 "We had better leave him, William," murmured Mr. Ashley. 
 " Our presence only excites him." 
 
 In the opposite room sat Mrs. Dare. Adelaide passed out of it 
 as they entered. Never before had they remarked how sadly worn 
 and faded she looked. Her later life had been spent in pining after 
 the chance of greatness she had lost, in missing the Viscount 
 Hawkesley. Irrevocably lost to her ; for the daughter of a neigh- 
 bouring earl now called him husband. They sat down by Mrs. 
 Dare, but could only condole with her : nothing but the most irre- 
 trievable ruin was around. 
 
 " We shall be turned from here," she wailed, " How are to find 
 a home — to earn a living ? " 
 
 " Your daughters must do something to assist you," replied Mr. 
 Ashley. " Teaching, or " 
 
 " Teaching ! in this overdone place ! " she interrupted. 
 
 " It has been somewhat overdone in that way, certainly of late 
 years," he answered. " If they cannot get teaching, they may find 
 some other employment. Work of some sort." 
 
 " Work ! " shrieked Mrs. Dare. " My daughters ivork ! " 
 
 " Indeed, I don't know what else is to be done," he answered. 
 " Their education has been good, and I should think they may 
 obtain daily teaching ; perhaps sufiicient to enable you to live 
 quietly. I will pay for a lodging for you, and give you a trifle 
 towards housekeeping, until you can turn yourselves round." 
 
 " I wish we were all dead ! " was the response of Mrs. Dare. 
 
 Mr. Ashley went a little nearer to her. " What is this story 
 that your husband has been telling about the misappropriation of 
 the money that Mr. Cooper desired should be handed to Edgar 
 Halliburton?" 
 
 She threw her hands before her face with a low cry. " Has he 
 been betraying that? What will become of us ? — what shall we do 
 with him ? If ever a family was beaten down by fate, it is ours." 
 
 Not gratuitously by fate, thought Mr. Ashley. Its own misdoings 
 have brought the evil upon it. " Where is Cyril ? " he asked aloud. 
 " He ought to bestir himself to help you, now." 
 
 " Cyril \ " echoed Mrs. Dare, a bitter scowl rising to her face. 
 " He help us ! You know what Cyril is." 
 
 A-s they went out, they met Cyril. What a contrast the two 
 cousins presented, side by side ! — he and William might be called 
 such. The one— fine, noble, intellectual ; his countenance setting 
 forth its own truth, candour, honour ; making the best in his walk
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE DARES. 449 
 
 of life, of the talents entrusted to him by Cod. The other— sloucli- 
 ing, untidy, all but ragged ; his offensive doings too plainly shown in 
 his bloated face, his inflamed eyes : letting his talents and his days 
 run to worse than waste ; a burden to himself and to those around 
 him. And yet, in their boyhood's days, how great had been Cyril's 
 advantages over William Halliburton's! 
 
 They walked away arm-in-arm, William and Mr. Ashley. A 
 short visit to the manufactory in passing, and then they continued 
 their way home, taking it purposely through Honey Fair. 
 
 Honey Fair! Could that be Honey Fair ? Honey Fair used to 
 be an unsightly, inodorous place, where mud, garbage, and children 
 ran riot together : a species, in short, of capacious pigsty. But 
 look at it now. The paths are well kept, the road is clean and cared 
 for. Her Majesty's state coach-and-eight might drive down it, and 
 the horses would not have to tread gingerly. The houses are the 
 same ; small and large bear evidence of care, of thrift, of a respect- 
 able class of inmates. The windows are no longer stuffed with 
 rags, or the palings broken. And that little essay — the assembling 
 at Robert East's, and William Halliburton — had led to the change. 
 
 Men and women had been awakened to self-respect ; to the duty 
 of striving to live well and to do well ; to the solemn thought that 
 there is another world after this, where their works, good or bad, 
 would follow them. They had learned to reflect that it might be 
 possible that one phase of a lost soul's punishment after death, will 
 lie in remembering the duties it ought to have performed in life. 
 They knew, without any effort of reflection, that it is a remembrance 
 which makes the sting of many a deathbed. Formerly, Honey Fair 
 had believed (those who thought about it) that their duties in this 
 world and any duties which lay in preparing for the next, were as 
 wide apart as the two poles. Of that they had now learned the 
 of fallacy. Honey Fair had grown serene. Children were taken out 
 the streets to be sent to school ; the Messrs. Bankes had been 
 discarded, for the women had grown wiser ; and, for all the custom 
 the " Horned Ram " obtained from Honey Fair, it might have 
 shut itself up. In short. Honey Fair had been awakened, speaking 
 from a moderate point of view, to enlightenment ; to the social im- 
 provements of an advancing and a thinking age. 
 
 This was a grand day with Honey Fair, as Mr. Ashley and 
 William knew, when they turned to walk through it. Mr. Ashley 
 had purchased that building you have heard of, for a comparative 
 trifle, and made Honey Fair a present of it. It was very useful. 
 It did for their schools, their night meetings, their provident clubs ; 
 and to-night a treat was to be held in it. The men expected that 
 Mr. Ashley would look in, and Henry Ashley had sent round his 
 chemical apparatus to give them some experiments, and had bought 
 a great magic-lantern. The place was now called the " Ashley 
 Institute." Some thought — Mr. Ashley for one — that the " Halli- 
 burton Institute" would have been more consonant with fact; but 
 William had resolutely withstood it. The piece of waste land 
 
 Mrs. Hallilnirton's Troubles. 1^9
 
 450 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 behind it had been converted into a sort of playground and garden. 
 The children were not watched in it incessantly, and screamed 
 at : — " You'll destroy those flowers ! " " You'll break that window ! " 
 " You are tearing up the shrubs ! " No : they were made to under- 
 stand that they were trusted not to do these things ; and they took 
 the trust to themselves, and were proud of it. Believe me, you may 
 train a child to this, if you will. 
 
 • As they passed the house of Charlotte East, she was turning in at 
 her garden gate; and, standing at the window, dandling a baby, 
 was Caroline Mason. Caroline was servant to Charlotte now, and 
 that was Charlotte's baby ; for Charlotte was no longer Charlotte 
 East, but Mrs. Thorneycroft. She curtsied as they came up. 
 
 " Good afternoon, gentlemen. I have been round to the rooms 
 to show them how to arrange the evergreens. I hope they will 
 have a pleasant evening ! " 
 
 " They !" echoed Mr. Ashley. "Are you not coming yourself ? " . 
 
 " I think not, sir. Adam and Robert will be there, of course; 
 but I can't well leave baby." 
 
 " Nonsense, Charlotte ! " exclaimed William. " What harm will 
 the baby take ? Are you afraid of its running away ? " 
 
 "Ah, sir, you don't understand babies yet." 
 
 " That has to come," laughed Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " I understand enough of babies to pronounce that one a most 
 exacting infant, if you can't leave it for an hour or two," persisted 
 William. " You must come, Charlotte. My wife intends to be 
 there." 
 
 "Well, sir — I know I should like it. Perhaps I can manage to 
 run round for an hour, leaving Caroline to listen." 
 , " How does Caroline go on 'i " inquired Mr. Ashley. 
 
 " Sir, never a better young woman went into a house. That was 
 a dreadful lesson to her, and it has taught her what nothing else 
 could. I believe that Honey Fair will respect her in time." 
 
 " My opinion is, that Honey Fair would not be going far out of 
 its way to respect her now," remarked William. " Once a false 
 step is taken, it is very much the fashion to go tripping over others. 
 Caroline, on the contrary, has been using all her poor endeavours 
 ever since to retrieve that first mistake." 
 
 " I could not wish for a better servant," said Charlotte. " Of 
 course, I could not keep a servant for housework alone, and Caro- 
 line nearly earns her food helping me at the gloves. I am pleased, 
 and she is grateful. Yes, sir, it is as you say — Honey Fair ought 
 to respect her. It will do so in time." 
 
 ' " As most good things do, that are striven for in the right way," 
 remarked Mr. Ashley.
 
 I 451 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 ASSIZE TI.ME. 
 
 Once more, in this, the ahiiost concluding chapter of the history, 
 are we obliged to take notice of Assize Saturday. Once more had 
 the high sheriff's procession gone out to receive the judges ; and 
 never had the cathedral bells rung out more clearly, never had the 
 streets and windows been so crowded. 
 
 A blast, shrill and loud, from the advancing heralds, was borne 
 on the air of the bright March afternoon, as the cavalcade advanced 
 up East Street. The javelin-men rode next, two abreast, in the 
 plain dark Ashley livery, the points of their javelins glittering in 
 the sunshine, scarcely able to advance for the crowd. A feverish 
 crowd. Little cared they to-day for the proud trumpets, for the 
 javelin-bearers, for the various attractions that made their delight 
 on other of those days; they cared only for that stately equipage in 
 the rear. Not for its four prancing horses, for its shining silver 
 ornaments, for its portly coachman on the hammer-cloth ; not even 
 for the very judges themselves ; but for the master of that carriage, 
 the high sheriff, Thomas Ashley. 
 
 He sat in it, its only plainly attired inmate. The scarlet robes, 
 the flowing wigs of the judges, were opposite to him; beside him 
 were the rich black silk robes of his chaplain, the vicar of Deoffam. 
 A crowd of gentleman on horseback followed — a crowd that Hel- 
 stonleigh had rarely seen. William was one of them. The popu- 
 larity or unpopularity of a high sheriff may be judged by the 
 number of his attendants, when he goes out to meet the judges. 
 Half Helstonleigh had put itself on horseback that day, to do honour 
 to Thomas Ashley. 
 
 Occupying a conspicuous position in the street were the Ashley 
 workmen. Clean and shaved, they had surreptitiously conveyed 
 their best coats to the manufactory ; and, with the fust peal of the 
 college bells, they had rushed out, dressed — every soul — leaving 
 the manufactory alone in its glory, and Samuel Lynn to take care 
 of it. The shout they raised, as the sheriff's carriage drew near, 
 deafened the street. It was out of all manner of etiquette or pre- 
 cedence to cheer the sheriff when in attendance on the judges ; but 
 who could be angry with them? Not Mr. Ashley. Their lord- 
 ships looked out astonished. One of the judges you have met 
 before — Sir William Leader; the other was ^Ir. Justice Keene. 
 
 The judges gazed from the carriage, wondering what the shouts 
 could mean. They saw a respectable-looking body of men — not 
 respectable in dress only, but in face— gathered there, bareheaded, 
 and cheering the carriage with all their might and main. 
 
 " What can that be for? " cried Mr. Justice Keene.
 
 45^5 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I believe it must be meant for me," observed Mr. Ashley, taken 
 by surprise as much as the judges were. " Foohsh fellows! Your 
 lordships must understand that they are the workmen belonging to 
 my manufactory." 
 
 But his eyes were dim, as he leaned forward and acknowledged 
 the greeting. Such a shout followed upon it! The judges, used 
 to sliouting as they were, had rarely heard the like, so deep and 
 heartfelt was it. 
 
 " There's genuine good-feeling in that cheer," said Sir William 
 Leader. " I like to hear it. It is more than lip deep." 
 
 The dinner party for the judges that night was given at the 
 deanery. Not a more honoured guest had it than the high sheriff. 
 His chaplain was with him, and William and Frank were also 
 guests. What did the Dares think of the Halliburtons now ? 
 
 The Dares, just then, were too much occupied with their own 
 concerns to think of them at all. They were planning how to get 
 out to Australia. Their daughter Julia, more dutiful than some 
 daughters might prove themselves, had offered an asylum to her 
 father and mother, if they would go out to Sydney. Her sisters, 
 she wrote word, would find good situations there as governesses — 
 probably in time find husbands. 
 
 They were wild to go. They wanted to get away from mortifying 
 Helstonleigh, and to try their fortunes in a new world. The passage 
 money was the difficulty. Julia had not sent it, possibly not sup- 
 posing they were so very badly off; she did not know yet of the 
 last touch to their misfortunes. How could they scrape together 
 even enough for a steerage passage ? Mr. Ashley's private opinion 
 was that he should have to furnish it. Ah ! he was a good man. 
 Never a better, never a more considerate man to others than 
 Thomas Ashley. 
 
 Sunday morning rose to the ringing again of the cathedral bells 
 — bells that do not condescend to ring except on rare occasions — 
 telling that it was some day of note in Helstonleigh. It was a fine 
 day, sunny, and very warm for March, and the glittering east 
 window reflected its colours upon a crowd, such as the cathedral 
 had rarely seen assembled within its walls for divine service, even 
 on those thronging days. Assize Sundays. 
 
 The procession extended nearly all the long way from the grand 
 entrance gates to the choir, passing through the body and the nave. 
 The high sherift"'s men, standing so still, their formidable javelins 
 in rest, had enough to do to retain their places, from the pressure 
 of the crowd behind, as they kept the line of way. The bishop in 
 his robes, the clergy in their white garments and scarlet or black 
 hoods, the long line of college boys in their surplices, the lay-clerks, 
 yet in white. Not (as you were told of yesterday) on them; not 
 on the mayor and corporation, with their chains and gowns ; not 
 on the grcy-wigged judges, their fiery trains held up behind, glaring 
 cynosure of eyes on other days, was the attention of that crowd 
 fixed; but on him who walked, calm, dignified, quiet, in immediate
 
 ASSIZE TIME. 4.53 
 
 attendance on the judges — their revered fellow-citizen, Thomas 
 Ashley. In attendance on liim was his chaplain, his black gown, 
 so contrasting with the glare and glitter, marking him out con- 
 spicuously. 
 
 The organ had burst forth as they entered the great gates, simul- 
 taneously with the ceasing of the bells which had been sending 
 their melody over the city. With some difficulty, places were found 
 for those of note ; but many a score stood that day. The bishop 
 had gone on to his throne ; and opposite to him, in the archdeacon's 
 stall, the appointed place for the preacher on Assize Sundays, sat 
 the sheriff's chaplain. Sir William Leader was shown to the dean's 
 stall ; Mr. Justice Keene to the sub-dean's ; the dean sitting next 
 the one, the high sheriff next the other. William Halliburton was 
 in a canon's stall : P'rank — handsome Frank ! — found a place 
 amidst many other barristers. And in the ladies' pew, underneath 
 the dean, seated with the dean's wife, were Mrs. Ashley, her daughter, 
 and Mrs. Halliburton. 
 
 The Reverend Mr. Keating chanted the service, putting out his 
 best voice to do it. They gave that fine anthem, " Behold, God is 
 my salvation." Very good were the services and the singing that 
 day. The dean, the prebendary in residence, and Mr. Keating went 
 to the communion-table for the commandments, and thus the 
 service drew to an end. As they were conducted back to their 
 stall, a verger with his silver mace cleared a space for the sheriff's 
 chaplain to ascend the pulpit stairs, the preacher of the day. 
 
 How the college boys gazed at him! Only a short time before 
 (speaking comparatively) he had been one of them, a college boy 
 himself; some of the seniors (juniors then) had been school-fellows 
 with him\ Now he was the Reverend Edgar Halliburton, chief 
 personage for the moment in that cathedral. To the boys' eyes he 
 seemed to look dark ; except on Assize Sundays, they were accus- 
 tomed to see only white robes in that pulpit. 
 
 " Too young to give us a good sermon," thought half the congre- 
 gation, as they scanned him. Nevertheless, they liked his counte- 
 nance; its grave earnest look. He gave out his text, a verse from 
 Ecclesiastes : 
 
 "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for 
 there is no work, nor de\-ice, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the 
 grave, whither thou goest." 
 
 Then he leaned a little forward on the cushion ; and, after a 
 pause, began his sermon, which lay before him, and worked out the 
 text. 
 
 It was an admirable discourse, clear and practical : but you will not 
 care to have it recapitulated for you, as it was recapitulated in the 
 local newspapers. Remembering what the bringing-up of the Halli- 
 burtons had been, it was impossible that Gar's sermons should not 
 be practical ; and the congregation began to think they had been 
 mistaken in their estimate of what a young man could do. He told 
 the judges where their duty lay, as fearlessly as he told it to the
 
 454 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 college boys, as he told it to all. He told them that the golden 
 secret of success and happiness in this life, lay in the faithful and 
 earnest performance of the duties that crowded on their path, 
 striving on unweariedly, whatsoever those duties might be, whether 
 pleasant or painful ; joined (o implicit reliance on, and trust in God. 
 A plainer sermon was never preached. In manner he was remark- 
 ably calm and impressive, and the tone of his voice was quiet and 
 persuasive, just as if he were speaking to them. He was listened 
 to with breathless interest throughout ; even those gentry, the 
 college boys, were for once beguiled into attending to a sermon. 
 Jane's tears fell incessantly, and she had to let down her white veil 
 to hide them ; as on that day, years ago, when she had let down 
 her black crape veil to conceal them, in the office of Anthony Dare. 
 Different tears this time. 
 
 The sermon lasted just half an hour, and it had seemed only a 
 quarter of one. The bishop then rose and gave the blessing, and 
 the crowds began to file out. As the preacher was being mar- 
 shalled by a verger through the choir to take his place in the pro- 
 cession next the high sheriff", iMr. Keating met him and grasped his 
 hand. 
 
 "You are all right, Gar," he whispered, "and I am proud of 
 having educated you. That sermon will tell home to some of the 
 drones." 
 
 " I knew he'd astonish 'em ! " ejaculated Dobbs, who had walked 
 all the way from Deoftam to see the sight, to hear her master 
 preach to the cathedral, and had fought out a standing-place for 
 herself right in front of the pulpit. ''His sermons aren't filled up 
 with bottomless pits, as are never full enough, like those of some 
 preachers be." 
 
 That sermon and the Rev. Edgar Halliburton were talked of 
 much in Helstonleigh that day. 
 
 But ere the close of another day the town was ringing with the 
 name of Frank. He had led ; he, Frank Halliburton ! A cause of 
 some importance was tried in the Nisi Prius Court, in which the 
 defendant was Mr. Glenn the surgeon. Mr. Glenn, who had liked 
 Frank from the hour he first conversed with him that evening at 
 his house, now so long ago— a conversation at which you had the 
 pleasure of assisting— who had also the highest opinion of Frank's 
 abilities in his profession, had made it a point that his case should 
 be intrusted to Frank. Mr. Glenn was not deceived. Frank led 
 admirably, and his eloquence quite took the spectators by storm. 
 What was of more importance, it told upon Mr. Justice Keene and 
 the jury, and Frank sat down in triumph and won his verdict. 
 
 " I told you I should do it, mother," said he, quietly, when he 
 reached Deoffam that night, after being nearly smothered with 
 congratulations. " You will live to see me on the woolsack yet." 
 
 Jane laughed. She often had laughed at the same boast. She 
 Avas alone that evening; Gar was attending the high sheriff at an 
 official dinner at Helstonleigh. "Will no lesser prize content you,
 
 ASSIZE TIME. 455 
 
 Frank?" asked she jestingly. "Say, for example, the Solicitor- 
 Generalship ? " 
 
 " Only as a stepping-stone." 
 
 "And you still get on well? Seriously speaking now, Frank." 
 
 " First-rate," answered Frank. " This day's work will be the 
 best lift for me, though, unless I am mistaken. I had two fresh 
 briefs put into my hands as I sat down," he added, going off in a 
 laugh. " See if I make this year less than a thousand ! " 
 
 ■' And the next thing, I suppose, you will be thinking of getting 
 married ? " 
 
 The bold barrister actually blushed. " What nonsense, mother? 
 IVIarry, and lose my fellowship ! " 
 
 " Frank, it is so ! I see it in your face. You must tell me who 
 it is." 
 
 " Well, as yet it is no one. I must wait until my elocjuence, as 
 they called it to-day in court, is a more assured fact with the 
 public, and then I may speak out to the judge. She means waiting 
 for me, though, so it is all right." 
 
 " Tell me, Frank," repeated Jane ; " who is ' she '? ' " 
 
 " Maria Leader." 
 
 Jane looked at him doubtingly. " Not Sir W^illiam's daughter?" 
 
 " His second daughter." 
 
 " Is not that rather too aspiring for Frank Halliburton?" 
 
 " Maria does not think so. I have been aspiring all my life, 
 mother ; and so long as I work on for it honourably and uprightl)', 
 I see no harm in bemg so." 
 
 " No, Frank ; good instead of harm. How did you become 
 acquainted with her?" 
 
 " Her brother and I are chums ; have been ever since we were at 
 Oxford. Bob is at the Chancery bar, but he has not much nouse 
 for it — not half the clever man that his father was. His chambers 
 are next to mine, and I often go home with him. The girls make 
 a great deal of us, too. That is how I first knew Maria." 
 
 "Then I suppose you see something of the judge?" 
 
 *' Oh dear," laughed Frank, " the judge and I are upon intimate 
 terms in private life ; quite cronies. You would not think it, though, 
 if you saw me bowing before my lord when he sits in his big wig. 
 Sometimes I fancy he suspects." 
 
 " Suspects what?" 
 
 "That I and Maria would like to join cause together. But I 
 don't mind if he does. I am a favourite of his. The very Sunday 
 before we came on circuit he asi<.ed me to dine there. We went 
 to church in the evening, and I had Maria under my wing; Sir 
 William and Lady Leader trudging on before us." 
 
 " Well, Frank, I wish you success. I don't think you would 
 choose any but a nice girl, a good girl " 
 
 " Stop a moment, mother ; you will meet the judge to-morrow 
 night, and you may then draw a picture of Maria. She is as like him 
 as two peas."
 
 4S6 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " How old is she, Frank? " 
 
 " Tvvo-and-twenty. / shall have her. He was not always the 
 great Judge Leader, you know, mother; and he knows it. And he 
 knows that every one must have a beginning, as he and my lady 
 had it. For years after they were married he did not make five 
 hundred a year, and they had to live upon it. He docs not fear tc 
 revert to it, either; often talks of it to me and Bob — a sort of hint, 
 I suppose, that folks do get on in time, by dint of patience. Yoa 
 will like Sir William Leader." 
 
 Yes: Jane would meet Sir William on the following night, for 
 that would be the evening of the grand entertainment given by the 
 high sheriff to the judges at Dcoffam Hall. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE HIGH sheriff's DINNER PARTY. 
 
 William Halliburton drove his wife over in the pony carriage 
 in the afternoon ; they would dress and sleep at Deoffam. They 
 went early, and in driving past Deoffam Vicarage, who should be at 
 the gate looking out for them, but Anna ! Not Anna Lynn now, 
 but Anna Gurney. 
 
 " Wilham, William, there's Anna ! " Mary exclaimed. " I will 
 get out here." 
 
 He assisted her down, and they remained talking with Anna. 
 Then William asked what he was to do. Wait with the carriage 
 for Mary, or drive on to the hall, and walk back for her? 
 
 " Drive to the hall," said Mary, who wished to stay a little while 
 with Anna. " But, William," she added, as he got in, " don't let my 
 box go round to the stables." 
 
 " With all its finery ! " laughed William. 
 
 " It contains my dinner dress," Mary explained to Anna. " Have 
 you been here long?" 
 
 " This hour, I think," replied Anna. " My husband had business 
 a mile or two further on, and drove me here. What a nice garden 
 this is! See, I have been picking Gar's flowers." 
 
 "Where is Mrs. Halliburton?" asked Mary. 
 
 " Dobbs called her in to settle some dispute in the kitchen. I 
 know Dobbs is a great tyrant over that new housemaid." 
 
 " But now tell me about yourself, Anna," said Mary, leading her 
 to a bench. " I have scarcely seen you since you were married. 
 How do you like being your own mistress?" 
 
 "Oh, it's charming!" replied Anna, with all her old childish, 
 natural manner. " Mary, what dost thee think? Charles lets me 
 sit without my caps." 
 
 Mary laughed. " To the great scandal of Patience ! " 
 
 " Indeed, yes. One day, Patience called when we were at dinner,,
 
 THE HIGH SHERH^F'S DINNER PARTY. 457 
 
 I had not so much as a bit of net on, and Patience looked so cross ; 
 but she said nothing, for the servants were in waiting. When tlicy 
 had left the room she told Charles that she was surprised at his 
 allowing it ; that I was giddy enough and vain enough, and it 
 would only make me worse. Charles smiled ; he was eating wal- 
 nuts ; and what dost thee think he answered? He — but 1 don't 
 like to tell thee," broke off Anna, covering her face with her pretty 
 hands. 
 
 ■' Yes, yes, Anna, you must tell me." 
 
 " He told Patience that he liked to see mc without the caps, and 
 there was no need for my wearing them until I should have children 
 old enough to set an example to." 
 
 Anna took off her straw bonnet as she spoke, and her curls 
 fell to shade her blushing cheeks. Mary wondered whether the 
 " children " would have faces as lovely as their mother's. She had 
 never seen Anna look so well. For one thing, she had rarely seen 
 her so well dressed. She wore a stone-coloured corded silk, glisten- 
 ing with richness, and an e.xquisite white shawl that must have cost 
 no end of money. 
 
 " I should always let my curls be seen, Anna," said Mary ; "there 
 can be no harm in it." 
 
 " No, that there can't, as Charles does not think so," emphatically 
 answered Anna. " Mary," dropping her voice to a whisper, " I 
 want Charles not to wear those straight coats any more. He shakes 
 his head at me and laughs ; but I think he will listen to me." 
 
 Seeing what she did of the change in Anna's dress, Mary thought 
 so too. Not but that Anna's things were still cut sufficiently in 
 the old form to bespeak her sect : as they, no doubt, always would be. 
 
 "When art thee coming to spend the day with mc, as thee 
 promised.'' " asked Anna. 
 
 " Very soon : when this assize bustle shall be over." 
 
 " How gay you will all be to-night ! " 
 
 "How formal you mean," said Mary. "To entertain judges 
 when on circuit, and bishops, and deans, is more formidable than 
 pleasant. It is a state dinner to-night. When I saw papa this 
 morning, I inquired whetlx^r we were to have the javclin-men on 
 guard in the dining-room." 
 
 Anna laughed. " Do Frank and Gar dine there?" 
 
 " Of course. The high sheriff could not give a dinner without 
 his chaplain at mamma's hand to say grace," returned Mar>-, 
 laughing. 
 
 William came back ; and they all rem.aincd for almost the rest of 
 the afternoon, Jane regaling them with tea. It was scarcely over 
 when Mr. Gurney drove up in his carriage : a large, open carriage, 
 the groom's seat behind, the horses very fine ones. He came in 
 for a few minutes ; a very pleasant man of nearly forty years ; a 
 handsome man also. Then he took possession of Anna, carefulh: 
 assisted her up, took the seat beside her, and the reins, and 
 drove off.
 
 458 MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 William started for the Hall with Mary, walking at a brisk pace. 
 It was not ten minutes' distance, but the evening was getting on. 
 Henry Ashley met them as they entered, and began upon them in 
 his crossest tone. 
 
 " Now, what have you two got to say for yourselves ? Here, 
 I expect you, Mr. William, to pass the afternoon with me : the 
 mother expects Mary: and nothing arrives but a milliner's box! 
 And you make your appearance when it's pretty near time to go 
 up to embellish ! " 
 
 " We stayed at the Vicarage, Henry ; and I don't think mamma 
 could want me. Anna Gurney was there." 
 
 " Rubbish to Anna Gurney ! Who's Anna Gurney, that she should 
 upset things. I wanted William, and that's enough. Do you think 
 you are to monopolize him, Mrs. Mary, just because you happen 
 to have married him ? " 
 
 Mary went behind her brother, and playfully put her arms round 
 his neck. " I will lend him to you now and then, if you are good," 
 she whispered. 
 
 " You idle, inattentive girl ! The mother wanted you to cut some 
 hot-house flowers for the dinner-table." 
 
 " Did she ? I will do it now." 
 
 " Hark at her ! Do it now ! when it has been done this blessed 
 hour past. William, I don't intend to show up to-night." 
 
 " Why not ? " asked William. 
 
 " It is a nuisance to change one's things : and my side's not over 
 clever to-day : and the ungrateful delinquency of you two has put 
 me out-of-sorts altogether," answered Henry, making up his cata- 
 logue. " Condemning one to vain expectation, and to fretting and 
 fuming over it ! I shan't show up. William must represent me." 
 
 " Yes, you will show up," replied William. " For you know that 
 your not doing so would vex Mr. Ashley." 
 
 " A nice lot you are to talk about vexing ! You don't care how 
 you vex me." 
 
 William gently took him by the arm. " Come along to your room 
 now, and I will help you with your things. Once ready, you can do 
 as you like about appearing." 
 
 " You treat me just as a child," grumbled Henry, " I say, do the 
 judges come in their wigs ? " 
 
 Mary broke into a laugh. 
 
 " Because that case of stuffed owls had better be ordered out of 
 the hall. The animals may be looked upon as personal." 
 
 " I hope there's a good fire in your room, Henry." 
 
 " There had better be, unless the genius that presides over 
 the fires in this household would like to feel the weight of my 
 displeasure," 
 
 Maiy went to find her mother; she was in her chamber, 
 dressing. 
 
 " My dear child, how late you are ! " 
 
 " There's plenty and plenty of time, mamma. We stayed at the
 
 THE HIGH SHERIFF'S DINNER PARTY. 459 
 
 parsonage. Anna Gurney was there. Henry says he is not very 
 well." 
 
 " He says that always when William disappoints him. He will 
 be all right now you have come. Go to your room, my dear, and 
 I will send Sarah to you." 
 
 Mary was ready, and the maid gone, before William left Henry 
 to come and dress on his own score. Mary wore a white silk, with 
 emerald ornaments. 
 
 " Shall I do, William ? " asked she, when W^illiam came in. 
 
 " Do ! " he answered, running his eyes over her. " No ! " 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with me .-' " she cried, turning hurriedly 
 to the great glass. 
 
 "This." He took her in his arms, and kissed her passionately. 
 " My darling wife ! You will never ' do ' without that." 
 
 It was not a formidable party at all, in defiance of Mary's antici- 
 pations. The judges, divested of their flowing wigs and flaming 
 robes, looked just like other men. Jane liked Sir William Leader, 
 as Frank had told her she would ; and Mr. Justice Keene was an 
 easy, talkative man, fond of a good joke and a good dinner. Mr. 
 Justice Keene seemed excessively to admire Mary Halliburton ; 
 and — there could be no .doubt of it, and I hope the legal bench 
 won't look grave at the reflection — seemed very much inclined to 
 get up a flirtation with her over the coftee. Being a judge, I think 
 the bishop ought to have read him a reprimand. 
 
 Standing at one end of the room, coffee-cups in hand, were Sir 
 William Leader, the Dean of Helstonleigh, Mr. Ashley, and his 
 son. They were talking of the Halliburtons. Sir William knew a 
 good deal of their history from Frank. 
 
 "It is most w^onderful!" Sir William was remarking. "Self- 
 educated, self-supporting, and to be what they are ! " 
 
 " Not altogether self-educated," dissented the dean ; " for the two 
 younger, the barrister and clergyman, were in the school attached 
 to my cathedral ; but self-educated in a great degree. The eldest, 
 my friend's son-in-law, never had a lesson in the classics after 
 his father's death, and 'there's not a more finished scholar in the 
 county." 
 
 " The father died and left them badly provided for," remarked Sir 
 William. 
 
 " He did not leave them provided for at all, Sir Wilham," corrected 
 Mr. Ashley. " He left nothing, literally nothing, but the furniture 
 of the small house they rented : and he left some trifling debts. 
 Poor Mrs. Halliburton turned to work with a will, and not only 
 contrived to support them, but brought them up to be what you see 
 them — high-mindedA honourable, educated men." 
 
 The judge turned his eyes on Jane. She was sitting on a distant 
 sofa, talking with the bishop. So quiet, so lady-like, nay — so attrac- 
 tive — she looked still, in the rich pearl-grey dress worn at William's 
 wedding; not in the least like one who had had to toil hard for 
 bread.
 
 46o MRS. HALLIBURTON'S TROUBLES. 
 
 " I have heard of her — heard of her worth from Frank," he said, 
 Avith emphasis. " She must be one in a thousand." 
 
 " One in a milHon, Sir WilHam," burst forth Henry Ashley. 
 " When they were boys, you could not have bribed them to do a 
 wrong thing : neither temptation nor anything else turned them 
 from the right. And they would not be turned from the right now, 
 if I know anything of them." 
 
 The judge walked up to Jane, and took the seat beside her, just 
 vacated by the bishop. 
 ' " Mrs. Halliburton," said he, "you must be proud of your sons." 
 
 Jane smiled. " I have latterly been obliged to take myself to task 
 for being so. Sir William," she answered. 
 
 " To task ! I wish I had three such sons to take myself to task 
 for being proud of," was his answer. " Not that mine are to be 
 complained of ; but they are not like these." 
 
 "Do you think Frank will get on ? " she asked him. 
 
 " It is no longer a question of getting on. He has begun to rise 
 in an unusually rapid manner. I should not be surprised if, in after- 
 years, he may find the very highest honours opening to him." 
 
 Again Jane smiled. " He has been in the habit of telling us that 
 he looks forward to rule England as Lord Chancellor." 
 
 The judge laughed. " I never knew a newly-fledged barrister 
 who did not indulge that vision," said he. " I know I did. But 
 there are really not many Frank Halliburtons. So, sir," he con- 
 tinued, for Frank at that moment passed, and the judge pinned him, 
 " I hear you cherish dreams of the woolsack." 
 
 " To look at it from a distance is not high treason. Sir William," 
 was Frank's ready answer. 
 
 " Why, what do you suppose yon would do on the woolsack, if 
 you got there?" cried Sir William. 
 
 " My duty, I hope. Sir William. I would try hard for it." 
 
 Sir William loosed him with an amused expression, and Frank 
 passed on. Jane began to think Frank's dream — not of the wool- 
 sack, but of Maria Leader— not so very improbable a one. 
 
 " I have heard of your early struggles," said the judge to her in a 
 low tone. "Frank has talked to me. How you could have borne 
 up, and done long-continued battle with them, I cannot imagine! " 
 
 " I never could have done it but for one thing," she answered : 
 " my trust in God. Times upon times. Sir William, when the 
 storm was beating about my head, I had no help or comfort in the 
 wide world : I had nothing to turn to but that. I never lost my 
 trust in God." 
 
 " And therefore God stood by you," remarked the judge in a low 
 tone. 
 
 " And therefore God stood by me, and helped me on. I wish," she 
 added earnestly, "that the whole world could learn the same great 
 lesson that 1 have learnt. I have — I humbly hope I have — been 
 enabled to teach it to my boys. I have tried to do it from their 
 very earliest years."
 
 THE HIGH SHERIFF'S DINNER PARTY. 461 
 
 " Frank shall have Maria," thought the judge to himself. " They 
 are an admirable family. The young chaplain should have another 
 of the girls if he liked her." 
 
 What was William thinking of, as he stood a little apart, with his 
 serene brow and his thoughtful smile? His mind was in the past. 
 That long-past night, following the day of his entrance to Mr. 
 Ashley's manufactory, was present to him, when he had lain down 
 in despair, and sobbed out his bitter grief '• Bear up, my child," 
 were the words his mother had comforted him with : " only do your 
 duty, and trust implicitly in God." And when she had gone down, ' 
 and he could get the sobs from his heart and throat, he made the 
 resolve to do as she had told him — at any rate, to try and do it. 
 And he kneeled down there and then, and asked to be helped to 
 do it. And, from that hour to this, William had never known the 
 trust to fail. Success ? Yes, they had reaped success — success in 
 no measured degree. Be very sure that it was born of that great 
 trust. Oh ! — as Jane has just said to Sir William Leader — if the 
 world could only learn this wonderful truth ! 
 
 "Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore 
 will i deliver him: i will set him up, because he hath 
 known my name." 
 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
 
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