four OF 
 
 DUE 
 
 SEASON 
 
 ADELINE 
 SERGEANT

 
 Hppletons' 
 Uown anfc Country 
 
 No. 176 
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON 
 
 A MEZZOTINT 
 
 BY 
 
 ADELINE SERGEANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 THE MISTRESS OF Qf'EST, THE STORY OF A PENITENT SOUL, ETC. 
 
 . . . "Spirits are not finely touched 
 But to fine issues" . 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 D. APPLETON AND COMPANY 
 1895
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1895, 
 BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Little, unremembered acts " 
 
 IT was a Saturday afternoon. In the sleepy 
 little town of Casterby there was not much done on 
 a Saturday afternoon in June. Many of the shops 
 in the High Street and the Market Place closed at 
 two. There was no business down at the yards and 
 the wharves on the river-side. The great arms of 
 the windmills had sunk into their Sabbath quietude. 
 The streets were deserted ; but from the open doors 
 of every public-house came a buzz of tongues, a 
 clang of pewter-pots, a whiff of strong tobacco, 
 which showed that a fairly large number of the 
 male inhabitants of Casterby had betaken them- 
 selves to their favourite haunts and their favourite 
 occupation. 
 
 The younger men were out on the river, or play- 
 i 
 
 2228404
 
 2 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 ing cricket in a flat green meadow outside the town, 
 or loafing in groups at corners of the streets, with 
 short pipes in their mouths. In one way or an- 
 other they were amusing themselves. Their sisters 
 and sweethearts were for the most part at home, 
 lying on their beds in luxurious idleness, or putting 
 the last touches to some bit of finery for the even- 
 ing's wear. For after tea, by immemorial custom, 
 the young men and maidens of Casterby went for a 
 walk, generally in couples, to breathe the soft airs 
 of hayfield, meadow, or river-bank, and to watch 
 the moon rise and the stars come out over the level 
 pasture-lands and the low-lying woods of Casterby 
 Park. 
 
 Here and there, a youth sulked over his hard 
 fate in having to keep watch and ward at his 
 father's counter until six o'clock ; or a conscientious 
 girl submitted to the hand of destiny which had 
 given her the charge of children or of a sick rela- 
 tion who could not be neglected ; but for the most 
 part, it was the tradition of Casterby that young 
 people should have no sense of duty or obligation 
 on a Saturday afternoon that being the time ap- 
 pointed from all eternity for the relaxation of
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 3 
 
 the body and the initiation of sexual relation- 
 ships. 
 
 The little red town seemed to bask in the sun, 
 lying in picturesque stillness on the banks of a 
 placidly-flowing river, with wide flat meadows on 
 either side, where rows of pollarded willows showed 
 the dykes that divided the fields, and windmills 
 stood up as the only landmarks in that waste of 
 green against the cloudless sky. The fields melted 
 into a blue haze of distance on the horizon, for 
 there was not a hill within sight. The white road 
 which entered one side of the town, crossed the 
 bridge and ran through the Market Place losing 
 itself for a time in a stretch of cobble-stones, and 
 emerging on the other side between green hedges 
 on its way into the vast unknown this white and 
 dusty road had no fatiguing ups and downs for 
 many a long mile, but meandered flatly onward in 
 uniform monotony. It might have been taken 
 as a figure of many a life in the little town of 
 Casterby a life where there was no obstacle 
 and much uniformity, but where the objects of 
 interest were few and far between, and the out- 
 look on either side the road very much restricted.
 
 4 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 But there were also by-ways of a more alluring 
 kind. 
 
 It was in the families of middle-class tradesfolk 
 and small professional men that this monotony was 
 mostly to be found. The rich lawyer and the pop- 
 ular doctor, living outside the town, had resources 
 and diversions which the shop-people did not dream 
 of. The parson had his church and his charities. 
 The Squire represented by Mr. Lisle of the Court 
 was often in London or in " foreign parts," and, 
 being a Roman Catholic, held himself a little apart 
 from the other magnates of the county and the in- 
 stitutions of the town. In these men's houses, 
 dimly represented to the Casterby people by a stack 
 of chimneys seen between clumps of stately trees, 
 or a garden-wall, draped with Virginian creeper, 
 from behind which came sounds of laughter and 
 song and the echo of strange outlandish games, it 
 seemed almost to the homely folk outside as if an 
 alien people dwelt. Doubtless, to the Lisle girls 
 and their neighbours, the young Collingwoods of 
 Arcke, shut in by the great park gates, and 
 scarcely conscious of anything unbeautiful in 
 the world, the lives of people who lived behind
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 5 
 
 shops and counting-houses were just as incon- 
 ceivable. 
 
 And there was also another class in Casterby 
 where life was anything but monotonous. Small 
 as the town was, it had its low-lying tangled slums, 
 where a crowd of labourers, mostly Irish and Ro- 
 man Catholics, herded with their wives and chil- 
 dren in squalid little red-brick houses, and passed 
 their time in an alternation of toil at the brickfields 
 and drunken revelry at the public-house. 
 
 The fact that Mr. Lisle was a Roman Catholic, 
 and that there was a neat little Romanist chapel in 
 Casterby, helped to attract this class of labourers 
 to the place ; and apart from them there was also a 
 contingent of ordinary drunken Englishmen, who 
 were even more difficult to manage than the Irish 
 labourers. Far removed from the stolid respecta- 
 bility of the trading folk, further still from the 
 careful refinements of the Court, there flourished in 
 the back-streets of Casterby as much vice and mis- 
 ery, disease and dirt, as could well be found in a 
 town that did not number quite three thousand in- 
 habitants upon the census-roll. 
 
 The beams of the warm June sun, shining
 
 6 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 through the dusty panes of a carpenter's workshop, 
 struck full on the face and figure of Gideon Blake, 
 as, with heavily frowning brow, he handled plane 
 and saw as though his life depended on the amount of 
 labour he could accomplish, that sleepy Saturday aft- 
 ernoon. Not that he worked with any appearance 
 of ardour. It was simply that he did not raise his 
 eyes or take his attention from his occupation for a 
 moment ; he toiled with a certain grimness and per- 
 tinacity of purpose not often seen in a lad of his 
 age. For he was not more than twenty years old, 
 although at first sight he seemed older. His height 
 and his breadth of chest and shoulders were re- 
 markable ; his muscles and sinews were of iron ; 
 one would have said (but it would not have been 
 true) that his nerves were of steel. His forehead 
 was broad, and well developed above the deep-set 
 dark eyes ; his jaw a little too massive for the line 
 of beauty. His mouth possessed some curiously 
 sensitive curves, which struck one as out of place in 
 that strong face ; but it was not a good mouth for 
 all that. It was sullen in repose, with a droop at 
 the corners which betokened discontent. For the 
 rest, his face was well featured, and when he raised
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 7 
 
 himself from his stooping posture it could be seen 
 that his somewhat gaunt frame had in it the mak- 
 ings of a giant. In stooping, the thing most no- 
 ticeable about him was the great arch of his head, 
 where a phrenologist would have said that the 
 qualities of veneration and benevolence predomi- 
 nated. Those who knew Gideon Blake would, 
 however, have laughed this verdict to scorn. He 
 did not bear an amiable character in Casterby. 
 
 At last a shadow fell between him and the sun. 
 He took no notice of it for some time ; then he 
 raised himself, shook the mass of heavy black hair 
 out of his eyes, and looked threateningly at the in- 
 truder, who was a spare, middle-sized man with 
 scant gray hair and whiskers, a face mottled by 
 long exposure to wind and weather, a clear, shrewd, 
 gray-blue eye, and a peculiarly long upper-lip. 
 His waistcoat was generally remarked on by 
 strangers, as it was of a stout serviceable silk, with 
 a pattern of red and blue, now much confused in 
 colouring by the lapse of time and the stains of 
 beer and tobacco ; but it was an article of attire 
 that Obed Pilcher was proud of. 
 
 "A bit owd -fashioned," he had been heard to
 
 8 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 say, as he looked down at it complacently, "but 
 noan the wuss for that. It's allus better to get a 
 good stooff at beginning, an' stick to 't. Owd 
 Squoire gi'e me this, a' did, an' it'll last ma toime." 
 
 It had, in fact, once been a handsome garment 
 of flowered silk, worn by the old Squire himself, in 
 days when stiff flowered waistcoats were fashion- 
 able, and to Obed's eyes it was as good as ever. 
 His trousers were of ordinary gray, usually turned 
 up at the ankles (on week-days) to show an inch of 
 blue stocking, but his coat was always of a rusty 
 black. On Sundays he blossomed forth in a com- 
 plete suit of sables, these being usually the Vicar's 
 gift ; for Obed Pilcher was parish clerk and verger, 
 or "pew-opener," as he called it, at the parish 
 church. He magnified his office; on the whole, he 
 considered himself more important in Casterby 
 church than any other functionary. Vicars might 
 change and curates come and go, but the parish 
 clerk remained in his glory until the day of death. 
 
 Mr. Pilcher was the brother of Gideon Blake's 
 mother, who had died at his birth. It was perhaps 
 on account of her early death that he had an espe- 
 cial, although somewhat sneaking, affection for his
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 9 
 
 nephew. Not that lie showed it in words, scarcely 
 in deeds ; but it was noticed that whenever Gideon 
 was in trouble or disgrace, Obed Pilcher made a 
 point of seeking him out and giving him his society, 
 often for two or three hours at a stretch, without 
 offering a reason and without trying to converse. 
 Gideon betrayed no pleasure at these visits, but 
 also little or no impatience. It might have been 
 conjectured that he was not aware of their signifi- 
 cance ; but Gideon Blake often saw more than he 
 chose to show, and he by no means wore his heart 
 upon his sleeve. 
 
 On this occasion he eyed his visitor angrily, and 
 said: 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 Obed nodded in reply. 
 
 " Good-day t' ye, Gideon. Main hot weather, 
 bain't it ? " 
 
 Gideon seemed to think it not worth while to 
 respond. He crossed his brown arms over his 
 broad breast, and leaned back against the wall, 
 turning his handsome, sullen face a little to one 
 side. Obed moved restlessly from one foot to an- 
 other, then felt in his pocket for his snuff-box, and
 
 10 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 deliberately took a pinch of snuff between his finger 
 and thumb. 
 
 "Emmy's at hoame," he said, looking at the 
 snuff-box. "At hoame, doin' nowt. Ah saw 
 Emmy as ah coom by." 
 
 No answer. But a dull red colour crept slowly 
 into Gideon's face, and a mute anger showed itself 
 in his dark eyes. 
 
 " Emmy's well enough. She bain't a bad lass, 
 Emmy. She doan't mean nowt. But she's stunt. 
 All the Enderbys is stunt. Dunnot think the wuss 
 of her for that." 
 
 " I don't," said Gideon sharply. 
 
 His uncle took the long-suspended pinch of 
 snuff, and sneezed two or three times with porten- 
 tous solemnity, as if he wished to give his nephew 
 time to consider his words. But Gideon said no 
 more. 
 
 "Eh, well. It's a rare noight for t' watter. 
 Thee be goin' along o' Mortlock's party, ah 
 reckon ? " 
 
 " What business is it o' yours ? " said Gideon, 
 moving from the wall and looking round for his 
 coat. " I'm going nowhere to-night."
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. H 
 
 " She's not goin' in Mortlock's boat ? " 
 
 "Not she. No party for her. She's got a 
 chap of her own, and a boat too, all to themselves." 
 
 And Gideon flung himself angrily into his 
 jacket. 
 
 "Ay, ay," said Obed slowly. "Ah thowt as 
 mooch. Young Chiltern, I lay, from Hull. The 
 lasses is all agate after him." 
 
 Gideon muttered a savage curse on young Chil- 
 tern, which Mr. Pilcher, as the parish clerk, af- 
 fected not to hear. 
 
 "Dinna fash thasen', Gideon. Th' lass is all 
 right. She'll not tak' oop wi' trash like Chiltern, 
 for all his goold chaains an' rings. She knaws a 
 mon when she sees un, Emmy does." 
 
 Gideon was resolved against being comforted, 
 but, in spite of himself, his face cleared a little. 
 
 " She may take Chiltern, for all I care," he said 
 obstinately; "but if she takes him, she don't get 
 me too that's all." 
 
 To nobody else in Casterby would he have said 
 as much. 
 
 Obed Pilcher shook his head. 
 
 " Emmy's a foine strapping lass," he said saga-
 
 12 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 ciously. "An' a fine strapping lass mun tak' her 
 bit o' foon. It's foon, lad, foon nowt else." 
 
 " She'll have to choose between her fun and 
 me," said Gideon. 
 
 Then he stepped out of the shed, and stood for 
 a moment in the blaze of the afternoon sun, his 
 hands in his pockets, his angry eyes fixed on the 
 ground. 
 
 " Come for a turn wi' me," said Obed persua- 
 sively. 
 
 "Well, maybe I will." But he looked irreso- 
 lute, and did not walk very quickly towards the 
 gate. 
 
 The Blakes' house, a square red-brick block two 
 stories high, with stiff white windows and prim 
 painted doors, stood just outside the wood-yard. 
 It fronted the road, with a small garden before 
 it, and a flagged walk from the front-door to the 
 gate ; and the long narrow back -garden ran past 
 the yard, divided from it only by a low privet 
 hedge. A white gate, of considerable width and 
 height, opened on the road from the wood-yard ; 
 but when Gideon Blake's father and his family 
 came to and from the house to the yard, they
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 13 
 
 generally walked through a gap in the privet hedge, 
 without troubling themselves about gates. Gideon 
 was, however, making for the highroad, when a 
 girl about twelve ran out at the back-door and stood 
 on the garden side of the hedge, shaking her short 
 skirts and calling to him : 
 
 " Gid ! Gid ! Tea's ready. You're to bring 
 Uncle Obed in to tea." 
 
 Gideon looked at his uncle, and turned passively 
 towards the house. Uncle Obed nodded and spoke 
 to the child who was dancing on the gravelled path 
 as if she did not know how to keep her feet still. 
 
 " I'm going on Mortlock's boat," she screamed 
 out, as they approached. " Dad says I may. We 
 shan't get home till midnight. All the Shipton 
 girls are going, too." 
 
 " Mortlock's boat " was a pleasure-barge, often 
 hired on a Saturday evening by some dozen or 
 twenty young people of Casterby for an excursion 
 down the river. Staid and sober-going folk had 
 their objections to these Saturday parties, for they 
 were not without a rowdy element, although sup- 
 posed to be conducted on respectable lines. There 
 
 was usually a good deal of chorus-singing, and a 
 2
 
 14 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 great supply of beer ; the young men sat with their 
 arms round the waists of the girls of their choice, 
 and there was more kissing than would have been 
 deemed decorous in conventional circles. 
 
 Gideon took no notice of his stepsister's an- 
 nouncement, at which Uncle Obed wagged his head 
 solemnly. 
 
 " A lile lass like you," he said, " niout be better 
 in her bed, ready for Sunday." 
 
 Carry Blake laughed scornfully, and pirouetted 
 on one foot towards the house. 
 
 " I'm going to enjoy myself. I'm not always in 
 the sulks, like Gideon," she called over her shoulder 
 in reply. 
 
 She looked as if she might some day develop 
 into a pretty girl, for she had long fair hair, eyes of 
 speedwell blue, and a red-and-white complexion ; 
 but her features were curiously thin and sharp, and 
 the meagre-lipped, wide mouth showed two rows of 
 large white teeth which seemed out of proportion 
 to her size. She was the elder child of Joseph 
 Blake's second wife. 
 
 Gideon and Obed followed her through the 
 back-door and into the little sitting-room where
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 15 
 
 the tea-table was laid. For Mrs. Blake held her- 
 self high above the vulgarity of sitting in the 
 kitchen, as Joe Blake had always done before she 
 married him. 
 
 " Good enough to smoke in good enough for 
 you and your Pitchers ! " she had often exclaimed, 
 with an acidulated emphasis upon the maiden name 
 of Gideon's mother ; " but my father had one of the 
 first drapery establishments in Gainsborough, and 
 we had never anything to do with common labour- 
 ers " 
 
 Which was an unkind skit at Gideon's mother, 
 whose father had been a small tenant-farmer who 
 had come down in the world through inability to 
 pay his rent. 
 
 Mrs. Blake prided herself on her " genteel " ap- 
 pearance, as well as her distinguished parentage. 
 She was a tall, spare woman, in whom one saw her 
 daughter's face grown old. There were the same 
 sharp features, accentuated by age ; the same blue 
 eyes, grown paler and with reddened lids ; the same 
 almost lipless mouth, and big teeth which were no 
 longer white, but yellow, tusk-like, and ferocious. 
 Not that Mrs. Blake gave one the impression of
 
 IB OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 ferocity ; but that she was possessed of some 
 genuine spitefulness there could be but little doubt. 
 She was always civil to Obed Pilcher in his presence, 
 but she had as little love for him as for Gideon, or 
 for the dead woman in whose place she sat. 
 
 She .was dressed rather smartly, in a green gown, 
 with a wide and very unbecoming fichu of real lace 
 round her neck. She always wore smarter and 
 more expensive things than were quite suitable to 
 her position, because she got them at wholesale 
 prices from her father's shop. Carry also was over- 
 dressed, and many people wondered how " poor Joe 
 Blake " could afford such extravagance, and why he 
 did not put a stop to it. As if poor Joe Blake 
 could ever have put a stop to anything that his 
 wife desired ! 
 
 lie was sitting at the tea-table when his brother- 
 in-law came in, and turned to greet him with hearty 
 kindliness. 
 
 " Well, Obed, how goes the world with you ? 
 Come in, come in ; draw up a chair, and take a cup 
 o' tea. Mother's all in her throngs to-day, but she's 
 as glad to see you as I am." 
 
 "Certainly, Mr. Pilcher," said Mrs. Blake.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 17 
 
 " Pray sit down ; and Gideon, too, if he's going to 
 stay." 
 
 "Why shouldn't he stay?" said Joe Blake 
 mildly, as if he noted something peculiar in his 
 wife's tone. He was large and dark, as Gideon was ; 
 but there was none of Gideon's strenuous gloom in 
 his placid countenance. Only an easy-going man 
 could have kept the peace as he did, between a fault- 
 finding second wife and an irascible grown-up son, 
 who were generally at daggers drawn. 
 
 Gideon frowned, and Carry burst out laughing. 
 
 " Why, dad," she said, " he's generally out witli 
 Emmy Enderby on a Saturday afternoon. Don't 
 you know that ? " 
 
 " Emily Enderby is wiser than I took her for," 
 said Mrs. Blake's exasperating voice. " She knows 
 the value of two strings to her bow." 
 
 " Ah saw Emmy Enderby as ah come by," said 
 Obed Pilcher, his broad accent causing Mrs. Blake 
 to shiver with affected horror at the sound. " She 
 w r as just sitting along of her mother, sewing of a 
 gownd." 
 
 If he had expected to throw oil on the 
 troubled waters, he was disappointed. Carry's
 
 IS OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 shrill laughter and shriller tones rang unmusically 
 through the room. 
 
 " Her frock her new frock for to-night ! " she 
 cried. " Uncle Obed, that's just the fun. She's 
 going out with Mr. Fred Chiltern, from Hull : he's 
 to row her up to Farmby, and have supper at the 
 inn with the Mortlock party that's what Emmy 
 Enderby's going to do. I shall see her. Gideon, 
 why don't you come, too ? " 
 
 There was a curious change in Gideon's face ; it 
 had turned pale, not red, and his lips were stern. 
 He was still standing near the door; the others 
 were seated, and Carry turned laughing eyes upon 
 him from over the back of her chair. 
 
 " The fam'ly's back at t' Park," said Obed, by 
 way of changing the conversation ; and Joe Blake 
 grunted a sociable interest in the news. But the 
 women of the family could not let Emmy 
 Enderby's doings pass without further criti- 
 cism. 
 
 " If she gets Fred Chiltern, she'll do very well," 
 said Mrs. Blake. " He has a very good position, I 
 hear. He's foreman already, and they say he'll 
 be a partner by and by. He has real nice man-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 19 
 
 ners, too so amiable and obliging which is rnqre 
 than can be said of all young men." 
 
 "I expect they'll come back engaged," said 
 Carry, giggling in Gideon's face. " Shall you be 
 sorry, Gid?" 
 
 " You'll be sorry soon that you can't hold your 
 tongue," replied her stepbrother grimly. 
 
 " I'll tell Emmy you said so ! I'll tell her how 
 cross you were ! I'll tell her oh ! oh ! Ma, make 
 him leave off ! " For Gideon had seized her by 
 the shoulders with no gentle hands. 
 
 " How dare you touch my child ? You brute ! 
 Why don't you speak to him, Joseph ? Carry, you 
 shouldn't tease ! Gideon, for goodness' sake ! don't 
 sit down with us if you can't keep your temper." 
 
 "I don't mean to," said Gideon, upon whom 
 Mrs. Blake's tempest of scolding words fell with 
 very little effect. " I only wish I had never to sit 
 down with that little vixen any more." 
 
 " Gid ! Gid ! " muttered the mild-natured 
 father. 
 
 But Gideon did not hear. He strode out of 
 the room and banged the door behind him, like 
 the ill-conditioned, unmannerly boy that he was.
 
 20 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 And Mrs. Blake scolded her husband in place 
 of him for the rest of the meal. 
 
 Obed Pilcher and his brother-in-law retired to 
 a garden bench shortly afterwards, to smoke their 
 long clay pipes in peace. Joe Blake was not much 
 disturbed in his mind, but Obed was uneasy. 
 
 " That boy o' yourn " he said at last, with 
 
 difficulty. 
 
 " Eh ? " said Joe. 
 
 " He be maain soft on Emmy Enderby." 
 
 "He be main cranky-tempered," said Gideon's 
 father with serenity. " I often thinks to myself, if 
 I'd ha' laid the strap on him a bit oftener when he 
 was small, he'd ha' been easier to deal with now. 
 My missis often told me so, but I allers said I didn't 
 hold wi' too much flogging." 
 
 " He wouldn't ha' stood it," said Obed ; " he'd 
 ha' run away to sea, or summat. The lad's got 
 mettle. * Fay there, provoke not your children to 
 wrath,' is Scripter words." 
 
 "Ay, but there's another text of a different 
 bearin'," said Joe doubtfully : " ' Spare the rod an' 
 spile the child,' eh ? It's what Lavinia's been quot- 
 ing to me ever since Gideon was that high."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 21 
 
 "Wimmin doan't understand men-folk, nor yet 
 boys," said Obed. " Least of all Gideon. She'd 
 ha' drove him out o' Casterby years ago, if she'd 
 had the fettlin' of him. Ah doan't know where he 
 gets his sperit from. It bain't you, Joe, nor was it 
 poor Ruth ; an' ah'm blessed," he added reflective- 
 ly, " if a' gets it from me" 
 
 " Ay, you was allers a quiet sort o' chap, Obed," 
 said Joe. " But though Gid mayn't get his sperit 
 from me, yet 'tis from my side o' t' house it springs 
 from. There was an uncle o' mine as was the same 
 sperity, high-stummicked sort o' chap. He ran 
 away from hoame, an' were lost at sea. They did 
 say as he took after his grandf'er, who was just 
 such another ; an' that's, mebbe, where Gideon gets 
 his temper from, for they say it runs in fam'lies 
 sometimes like rheumatics." 
 
 " Ah've heard that the Blakes w r as a terrible 
 wild lot," said Obed. " It 'ud never do to be too 
 hard on Gid, Joe." 
 
 " Well, I beain't hard on 'im ; it's the missus, 
 not me. An' at Gid's age, she can't hurt him 
 much." 
 
 " Ah've bin thinkin'," said Obed, with natural
 
 22 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 hesitation "ali've bin thinkin' he'll want to be 
 married afore long." 
 
 " Ay, Emmy Enderby if she'll have him. But 
 they're ower-young yet." 
 
 " He's close on one-an' -twenty. Ah've bin 
 thinkin' " 
 
 "Well, Obed?" 
 
 "Ah've gotten more rooms i' ma hoose than 
 ali've any nse for, Joe. If Gideon an' Emmy 
 was to coom, it 'ud be main an' cheerful for 
 me." 
 
 "What live with you?" said Blake, laying 
 down his pipe and looking at Obed with perplexed 
 interest. " Gid and Emmy ? " 
 
 Mr. Pilcher nodded a solemn assent. 
 
 " Gid's not well, easy to live with, Obed." 
 
 " Ah knows Gid very well," said the parish 
 clerk, nodding his head. 
 
 " Have you asked him what he thinks of the 
 plan ? " 
 
 "Nay." 
 
 " Emmy mayn't like it, ye see. I don't know, 
 
 
 
 nayther, if she means to take him or not." 
 
 " She'll take un," said Obed with decision.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 23 
 
 " An' sithee, slie'll take un all the sooner if he's 
 got an house to put her in." 
 
 " A ay," said Joe Blake, with lengthened in- 
 tonation. " But Emmy's high in her notions. The 
 Enderbys was allers high." 
 
 " Ah'm 'igh, too," said Obed stolidly. 
 
 And Joe beat his pipe meditatively against his 
 hand, and wondered whether Obed had saved 
 money. 
 
 " Then," he said presently, " there's church." 
 
 " Ay," said Obed, " there's church, plaain eno' ; 
 what o' that ? Gideon bean't chapel ; nor Ender- 
 bys nayther." 
 
 "No," said -Joe, with meaning, "an' I ain't 
 chapel, nayther ; but Gideon's nowt. I don't hold 
 wi' folk allers mnnin' off to meetin', as chapel folks 
 does ; but I likes 'em to go Christmas an' Easter, 
 an' now an' then of a Sunday. But Gideon's 
 turned against it ever since he was twelve year old, 
 and not all tfye larrupin' in the world ever served 
 to get him back since the day when parson boxed 
 him after service because he'd made a noise during 
 psalms." 
 
 " Ay, owd parson loikes to gie the boys a knock
 
 24 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 now an' then," said Obed, with perfect equanimity. 
 " They mostly desarves it. But he be too owd an' 
 blind to ha' done much i' that way lately." 
 
 " But that won't make Gid go to church any the 
 more. An' to my thinking, Obed, it be a trifle un- 
 becoming that you, being parish clerk, should take 
 to live wi' you a young man as never passes the 
 threshold. Parson '11 take it as a reflection on his- 
 self, and be put out ; and, for my part," said Joe 
 Blake slowly and wisely, " I don't hold wi' offend- 
 ing folk, in partick'lar the quality." 
 
 " Thee can leave such matters to me, Joseph 
 Blake," said Obed, with a grand wave of his hand. 
 " Ah know what ah'm doin', as well as most foalk. 
 Wheer t' wife goes, husband goes, an' no question 
 asked. Emmy ain't one as '11 be satisfied wi'out 
 showin' her new ribbons in church, nor her new 
 husband, and Gid '11 be like wax in them pretty 
 fingers of hern. Doan't thee think thasen so wise, 
 Joe." 
 
 "Well, mebbe you're right," said Joe. Then 
 he stood up and looked into the distance, with a 
 softer light in his deep-set dark eyes. " Ah'm not 
 one to trouble the church much," he said, " but I
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 25 
 
 sometimes think Ruth 'ud be vexed to see the lad 
 so set against it an' you the parish clerk an' all. 
 So do as you like, Obed Pilcher do as you like." 
 
 " Ah mun be gooin,' " said Obed. " Ah'll 
 mebbe see the lad to-night, an' cheer un up wi' the 
 news. He's a bit downcast now, but it'll be all 
 right when young Chiltern's gone back to Hull." 
 
 He took his leave, and marched off in search of 
 his nephew. 
 
 But Gideon was nowhere to be found.
 
 II. 
 
 " The God of Love ah, bencdicite ! " 
 
 OBED did not find his nephew, because Gideon 
 had haunts of his own where no other foot ever 
 penetrated. Over the workshop there was a low, 
 dark garret, a mere hole beneath the eaves, which 
 the lad had made into a den for himself. It 
 showed his unlikeness to his compeers in Casterby 
 that he should ever have conceived the desire of a 
 hiding-place. The average youth dislikes to be 
 alone. But a certain amount of loneliness was to 
 Gideon as the breath of life. 
 
 II is chamber had a sloping roof for a wall, and 
 was barely six feet in breadth, although of con- 
 siderable length, as it extended the whole length of 
 the workshop. It had once been open to wind and 
 rain, but Gideon had stealthily filled in the side 
 with boards, and had then contrived to fasten a 
 
 26
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 27 
 
 pane of glass into them for the sake of. light. At 
 first this had been enough for him ; but after a 
 time he put in a latticed window with hinges, so 
 that he could get air as well as light. For, as it 
 happened, there was an excellent view of the 
 meadows and the river from Gideon's glory-hole, 
 and he had grown, without knowing why, to love 
 it. Sometimes, when no one knew what had be- 
 come of him, and even his father suspected that he 
 was engaged in mere mischief-making, he was 
 lying at full length under the eaves, with chin 
 pillowed by his hands, gazing out at the sunlit 
 fields, at the clear shimmering line of the river, at 
 the thousand and one changes produced by light 
 and shade in the landscape, which he seemed to 
 know by heart, yet never knew well enough. He 
 could barely stand upright in his garret, but he 
 could lie down and gaze out of the window, or he 
 could sit and read. He was not much of a reader, 
 however; he liked better to watch the sky, or to 
 use his hands in the carving of wood to shapes 
 which had more artistic value than he knew. Few 
 persons knew of his skill in this respect. He 
 carved things for the pleasure it gave him, not for
 
 28 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 sale or show. There was a walking-stick, rich in 
 grotesques, which he meant one day for Obed 
 Pilcher; a work-box, entwined with creeping 
 stems and flowers and fruit, for Emmy Enderby ; 
 a picture-frame, designed to hold a hideous black 
 outline of his mother's head the only likeness he 
 had of her for his father; but as yet he had 
 never summoned up courage to give any of these 
 things to their rightful owners. He felt a certain 
 shyness about it. And very likely nobody would 
 care for his work, after all. So he said to himself 
 in moments of depression, which with him were 
 not rare. 
 
 He had not a happy disposition. He could not 
 take things easily as others did. Life seemed hard 
 to him. He had known little love, and love was 
 the only thing that would have sweetened his tem- 
 per and softened his self-will. He was believed by 
 his stepmother to have no feeling; but in reality 
 every one of her harsh words made him suffer 
 acutely. He did not doubt that all she said was 
 true. He was morose, selfish, violent, domineering, 
 even brutal people said so, and that was enough. 
 It made him worse to know the character that his
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 29 
 
 little world gave him ; in his dark moods ho used 
 to resolve to be as bad as his stepmother believed 
 him. Even his father had no faith in him, al- 
 though he was kind enough. The only person 
 who trusted him through thick and thin was his 
 uncle, Obed Pilcher. And Gideon loved him for 
 it in his heart. 
 
 It was not easy to get on with Gideon, cer- 
 tainly. His hand was against every man's, and 
 every man's hand against his. He had a sullen, 
 ungovernable temper, and a habit of brooding mel- 
 ancholy which was often mistaken for sullenness. 
 And he was very ignorant. He had refused to go 
 to school after he was twelve years old, and at the 
 same age, as his father had said, he had also re- 
 belled against church. Casterby was neither a 
 scholarly nor a church-going place ; nevertheless, 
 Gideon's revolt was unprecedented, and caused him 
 to be set down as a black sheep. Careful mothers 
 kept their children away from him ; strict fathers 
 forbade their sons to make him their friend. They 
 did not care about religion themselves ; but it was 
 not respectable never to be seen at church. Thus 
 
 Gideon was an Ishmael at a very early age, and 
 3
 
 30 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 had an evil reputation which was hardly warranted 
 by his deeds. 
 
 It is many years since Gideon Blake was young, 
 and Casterby is a changed place nowadays. Its 
 grammar-school is becoming famous ; its church is 
 ritualistic and " advanced " ; it is rather proud of 
 its sanitary condition, its electric lighting, its shady 
 side-walks. But in those days the grammar-school 
 had barely half a dozen pupils, taught by an ineffi- 
 cient old man, who ultimately drank himself to 
 death ; and the empty church was a desolate place, 
 where the congregation made use of the altar-table 
 and the font as convenient resting-places for their 
 hats, and the clerk read the responses from the 
 lowest tier of a " three-decker " ; and the streets 
 were paved with cobble-stones, and the back lanes 
 were a disgrace to civilization. What wonder, 
 then, if Gideon Blake's mental powers and moral 
 nature were allowed to run wild, and his nobler 
 instincts to die down without a struggle, because 
 no one cared whether his soul were alive or 
 dead? 
 
 But the finer the nature, the more keenly it 
 suffers when starved in this way. Gideon did not
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 31 
 
 know why he suffered, but now and then he was 
 conscious of a desperate intolerance of his lot. He 
 wanted something, and he could not put his longing 
 into words. The wonder was that his impatience 
 had not driven him forth into the world, to find out 
 what was wrong with himself and his life. But he 
 was withheld for two reasons. One was his silent 
 affection for his uncle, Obed Pilcher, to whom he 
 knew himself to be the centre of existence. The 
 other reason was one of temperament. With all 
 his impatience and rebellion of spirit, he had the 
 habit of dumb endurance, which had, perhaps, de- 
 scended to him through generations of peasant fore- 
 fathers the reticence, the passivity of men of the 
 soil. He could feel, suffer, endure ; he hardly 
 knew how to take the initiative in freeing himself 
 from bonds. 
 
 His one solace lay in that window in the garret, 
 which was to him like a window of the soul. He 
 had strange thoughts of life and death, of God 
 and of eternity, as he lay and watched the passing 
 of the clouds, the shining of the sun by day, the 
 great procession of the stars by night. He could 
 not have put them into words to save his life, and
 
 32 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 yet they made him different from the ordinary bu- 
 colic youth they set a barrier between him and 
 the shop-lads who measured ribbons at noon, and 
 pursued questionable recreations when the shop 
 was shut. They made him vaguely contemptuous 
 of the ordinary occupations and interests of his 
 kind, yet they supplied him with no definite in- 
 terests or objects of his own. Many an observer 
 would have judged these long solitary musings as 
 things that did harm rather than good. 
 
 And yet, finer issues might be hoped for, when 
 the spirit was so finely touched by things that per- 
 tained to heaven rather than to earth. 
 
 Into this sad-coloured, self-centred life there 
 came quite suddenly that blossoming of the whole 
 being which goes by the name of love. 
 
 " Emmy Enderby ! " How often he had said 
 the simple little name to himself! He had carved 
 it with a hundred different flourishes and designs 
 all over the walls of his room. He had dreamed 
 of her night and day ever since she first took his 
 fancy captive ; he had lost the memory of his old 
 aspirations if the vague thoughts of his future 
 could be dignified by that name henceforth he
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 33 
 
 lived only for her. It was a passion of unusual 
 intensity in one so young, a tropical passion, almost 
 unknown in the green wastes of Casterby, where 
 love was rated for the most part as a matter for 
 mingled jocosity and shame. Gideon was not 
 ashamed of his love, nor inclined to make a joke 
 of it. He would have proclaimed it rudely and 
 fiercely, perhaps to all the world, if he could. It 
 was a fire that consumed him a sacred flame. 
 
 He had known Emmy Enderby since she was a 
 child ; but he had never noticed her until her return 
 from the cheap boarding-school to which she had 
 been sent for a couple of years by her proud parents. 
 Proud they were of her beauty, of her cleverness, 
 and willing to make sacrifices for her sake. Her 
 father was only an ironmonger, though for some 
 years a successful one, and he did not set himself up 
 to rank with Mr. Blake, who had a wood-yard and 
 a flourishing business and a good many workmen 
 under him. Such fine distinctions would have been 
 almost incomprehensible to the minds of the Rector's 
 family or the Lisles ; they would have classed the 
 Blakes and the Enderbys together as tradespeople, 
 and seen no difference. But there was all the
 
 3 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 difference in the world in Casterby eyes ; for James 
 Euderby kept a mere shop, while Joseph Blake 
 ranked as a wholesale dealer and supplied " the 
 trade." 
 
 Moreover, Enderby had come down in the world, 
 lie had failed once, and was now doing business "in 
 a very small way." But Emmy, six months home 
 from school, and barely eighteen, was unaffected by 
 her father's troubles, and amused herself all day long 
 to the best of her ability, while her mother toiled at 
 household matters and the management of a large 
 family. Emmy certainly toiled not, neither did she 
 spin. She felt herself too pretty and too superior 
 to work ; and the girls at school had told her that 
 she was sure to be married before she was nineteen. 
 Emmy thought that she would like to be married 
 and she also liked Gideon Blake. She was not 
 formally " engaged " to him, but she knew that she 
 might be whenever she chose. 
 
 Her liking of him, however, did not restrain her 
 from flirting witli any man who made advances to 
 her. All the more had she done this since she had 
 discovered that her flirtations drove Gideon into a 
 frenzy of jealousy. It amused her to see her power
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 35 
 
 over him, and it was not in her nature to under- 
 stand the suffering which she inflicted. Perhaps she 
 would not have cared much, if she had understood. 
 Up in the little room beneath the roof, Gideon 
 waited and watched. He was undergoing a silent 
 agony of wounded feeling. He writhed with pain as 
 he pictured the scenes in which Emmy was moving : 
 he saw her helped into the barge by Fred Chiltern's 
 hand ; sitting close to Fred Chiltern, perhaps with 
 his arm round her waist when darkness began to 
 fall ; allowing him to kiss her, perhaps, when they 
 said good-bye. At that moment he loathed Fred 
 Chiltern hitherto known to him as a dapper, self- 
 satisfied harmless little draper's assistant, whom he 
 had considered as a person of no account whatever 
 loathed and hated him with a passionate hatred 
 which turned him giddy and sick with its vehe- 
 mence. But he did not move ; he lay motionless, 
 watching the golden afternoon glide into the mel- 
 lower evening light, and the shadows of the poplar 
 trees in the hedges grow so long that they stretched 
 half across the meadows, and the clear waters of the 
 winding river turn red here and there as if they 
 were tinged with blood. It was not until the
 
 36 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 colour had begun to die out of the landscape, and a 
 light haze to show itself across the fields, that he 
 roused himself from his crouching position, and, 
 after some consideration, crept down the ladder 
 which gave access to his garret, and made his way 
 into the street. 
 
 His father's house and yard were not on the 
 highroad, but on one that crossed the main street 
 of Casterby at right angles a by-way, leading to 
 nowhere in particular, losing itself in a narrow lane 
 and a stretch of fields at the further end. But two 
 minutes' walk brought Gideon to the street of red- 
 brick irregular houses, here beginning to look less 
 crowded together than in the centre of the town, 
 for the Blakes' side-street was near the outskirts of 
 Casterby, leading from the uninteresting white road 
 that crept away from the red houses to its course 
 between the fields. Gideon did not turn to the left 
 hand, which would have led him out of the town, 
 lie faced to the right, and swung down towards 
 the Market Place and the river. 
 
 The shops were shut, and the twilight of a June 
 day was closing in. Very few persons were in the 
 streets. There was a little group round the steps of
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 37 
 
 the Independent chapel, the little red-brick build- 
 ing near Dane Street (the by-road in which Joseph 
 Blake lived) ; but Gideon avoided it by passing on 
 the other side. After crossing the road, he passed 
 close by the open gate of the Roman Catholic 
 chapel places of worship were thick in Casterby 
 and he gave a glance of contempt and disgust at 
 the building as he went by. He had no particular 
 love for his own form of religious faith, but he had 
 been brought up to despise all others. Yet he was 
 not without a kind of sneaking curiosity to know 
 what went on inside the place which he had heard 
 vaguely and inaccurately described as "the very 
 gate of hell." If there was not much religion, 
 there was a good deal of theological bitterness in 
 Casterby. A glimpse of lighted candles, a whiff of 
 stale incense, seen and felt now and then as he hur- 
 ried by, had always produced a peculiarly poignant 
 sensation in Gideon's mind. He would have told 
 you that it was repulsion, but it was much more 
 like fascinated dread. 
 
 On this night, however, he had no time for 
 thoughts beyond himself. He shrank from speak- 
 ing even to his uncle Obed, whom he vaguely saw
 
 38 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 standing near the door of the parish church, set 
 lengthwise, east and west, along the side of the 
 street, as he sped onward to the Market Place a 
 wide oblong space, paved with cobble-stones, and 
 ascending on one side towards the gray arch of the 
 bridge across the river. After the bridge, the 
 houses on either side of the road meandered a little, 
 and very soon ceased altogether, but Gideon did 
 not go very far. He only crossed the bridge, and 
 turned aside to the towing-path beside the river. 
 The thought had come to him that he would walk 
 a little way from the bridge and wait perhaps on 
 the other side of the next hawthorn hedge for the 
 return of the pleasure -barge. 
 
 For a little distance the path was rough and 
 covered with cinders. There was Hernshaw's 
 brewery and its out-houses beside the river on one 
 side, and some coal-sheds and high windowless 
 buildings on the other. After these erections came 
 a little river-side house or two : one with a garden, 
 generally occupied by some Dissenting minister 
 or other ; and one, much nearer the water's edge, 
 which belonged to Obed Pilcher. Gideon glanced 
 at this house with a sensation of relief he was glad
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 39 
 
 that his uncle had not come home, and that he was 
 on the other side of the river. He passed the brew- 
 ery, got free of the cinders, and threw himself down 
 on the grass of a field, on the further side of a tall 
 hedge which effectually screened him from the eyes 
 of townsfolk on the bridge. Here he lay and 
 waited, until the shadows gathered thickly about 
 him, and the moon came out above the poplar-trees. 
 
 Gradually all sounds died away. The water 
 made a gentle plashing now and then. The scent 
 of meadowsweet was wafted to his nostrils, and 
 white moths fluttered dimly about him in the twi- 
 light ; once an owl sailed past his head with a rush 
 of great soft wings, otherwise he was undisturbed. 
 Not until close upon eleven o'clock he heard it 
 strike from the church tower soon afterwards was 
 he conscious of the first faint sign of the returning 
 water-party. 
 
 A strain of music first the sound of voices 
 singing. They always sang as they came home 
 Gideon knew that. He hated the sound, although 
 distance made it rather sweet upon the listening air. 
 They were singing a pretty, plaintive ditty, newer 
 then to English ears than it is now one of the
 
 40 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 American plantation songs, which always have 
 a note of melancholy beneath their quaintness. 
 " Way down upon de Swanee Kiver " Gideon 
 could himself sing it with the best of them, but he 
 buried his fingers in his ears and would not recog- 
 nise its sweetness as it drew near. Only when the 
 boat came round a corner into the moonlight, and 
 he could see as well as hear, did he look up. He 
 was not quite near enough to distinguish faces, but 
 he was sure that he could see Emmy's big wliite 
 hat and the wliite frock and blue ribbon that she 
 was sure to wear. He could not be mistaken in 
 that slim white figure, even although it was encir- 
 cled by the arm of a man whom Gideon vaguely 
 knew to be Fred Chiltern. 
 
 " All tie world am sad and dreary 
 
 Whcresoc'er I roam. 
 Oh, darkies, how my heart grows weary " 
 
 Then there was a breakdown and a laugh. The 
 very pathos of the words, which almost brought a 
 sob into Gideon's throat, seemed ridiculous to these 
 young people. 
 
 " The old folks at home are welcome to see the
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 41 
 
 last of me, any time they like ! " cried one reckless 
 young voice. 
 
 " If I found tlie world so sad and dreary as all 
 that, I'd go and drown myself," laughed another ; 
 and this time Gideon thrilled all over, for it was 
 Emmy who had spoken. 
 
 "No fear," answered another, and then the 
 boat swept on to the landing-place, and there 
 was an indiscriminate hubbub of shouts, rat- 
 tling chains, a bump or two, the sound of feet 
 on the pathway, as the girls were jumped to land 
 by their swains, the light laughter of voices 
 saying good-bye. Gideon rose and looked at the 
 little group from over the hedge. "I'll take 
 Miss Enderby home," he heard Fred Chiltern 
 say. 
 
 Should he interfere? For a moment he was 
 inclined to step forward and declare his right to be 
 Emmy Enderby's escort. Why should Chiltern see 
 her home through the echoing streets, where the 
 moonlight lay so white and chill upon the stones ? 
 It was his place his, to be at- Emmy's side, for 
 had she not let him tell her that he loved her? 
 Perhaps since then she had let Fred Chiltern tell
 
 4:2 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 her the same story ? Gideon held back ; he had 
 forfeited his place. 
 
 In five minutes they had dispersed, and even 
 the sound of ringing footsteps on the bridge had 
 died away. Gideon flung himself down on the 
 grass again, the hot tears in his eyes, the convulsive 
 sobs in his throat. He had not cried since he was 
 a child ; but something overcame his manhood now. 
 He wept, with his face pressed to the warm dry 
 earth, his hands clutching restlessly at the tuft of 
 herbage within reach. He was shaken from head 
 to foot by the misery of a thwarted desire. 
 
 In the early light of morning he crept back to 
 his loft over the wood-shed, and lay there until he 
 could slip into the house unseen. No one had 
 missed him. His movements were so erratic that 
 even Mrs. Blake had dropped the habit of in- 
 quiring whether he were at home or not when she 
 locked the house-door. It was known that he slept 
 in the loft whenever he felt disposed. 
 
 Emmy Enderby was not quite happy in her 
 mind when she awoke on Sunday morning. She 
 had been later the night before than her mother 
 approved, and in her own heart she knew that she
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 43 
 
 had gone further in her flirtation with Fred 
 Chiltern than she had intended to do. And she 
 was aware that Gideon was angry Carry Blake 
 had left her in no doubt upon that subject and 
 although she told herself with a laugh that she did 
 not care, she knew that she was a trifle afraid of his 
 anger. She had been proud of leading in a leash 
 the lion which no one but herself could tame ; but 
 how if the lion turned and crushed her, after all ? 
 
 Emmy was very orthodox on a Sunday. She 
 went to church in all her bravery, and sat with the 
 quietest of her younger sisters in a pew where her 
 new muslin and her hat with the feathers had the 
 greatest chance of being observed by all the con- 
 gregation. Then, in the afternoon, she con- 
 descended so far as to teach a class in the Sunday- 
 school, where her services as a performer on the 
 harmonium were also in requisition. The Sunday- 
 school was very small and very badly managed, for 
 the Eector was old and in delicate health, and left 
 all such minor matters to the care of a young 
 curate who neither knew nor cared much about the 
 parish. It was he, however, who had asked Miss 
 Enderby to become a teacher, and perhaps it was
 
 44 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 partly on that account that Emmy had con- 
 sented. 
 
 The Enderby's shop was in the Market Place, 
 and not five minutes' walk from the school-house, 
 and at five minutes to two precisely Emmy came 
 out at the side-door with her bundle of little books 
 in her hand, feeling very pious and very well 
 satisfied with her own doings. She rather hoped 
 that she might meet Fred Chiltern on the way, and 
 be obliged to refuse to go for a walk with him. 
 " I am going to Sunday-school, Mr. Chiltern," she 
 imagined herself saying, with a demure droop of 
 her eyelids. He would wonder if she were indeed 
 the same girl that he had well, talked to the night 
 before (a different word had been upon her lips) ; 
 and he would know that she was a good girl a 
 nice girl, " and," said Emmy to herself with a 
 curious lack of humour, as she stepped out of the 
 iron-monger's house, "quite the lady." For, to 
 Emmy's mind, teaching in a Sunday-school brought 
 her up to the level of the Rectory young ladies, 
 who also took a class when they were at home. 
 
 She stepped out into the sunshine, her pink 
 starched skirts it was the fashion of the day
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 4.5 
 
 floating around her; her white leghorn hat, with 
 its white feather, a model of daintiness. She wore 
 a filmy white fichu, and very pale primrose kid 
 gloves. The taste of the day was for bright 
 colours, and Emmy knew that she looked well in 
 them. She had bronze boots, and a lace handker- 
 chief laden with scent, and a gold brooch and 
 bracelets, and the youth of the neighbourhood 
 admired her immensely. Then she was, without 
 doubt, remarkably pretty. Her complexion was 
 fine as the petal of a rose, and her small features 
 were delicately cut. Her eyes were large, blue, 
 and innocent-looking, and her curly hair was 
 golden and abundant. It was a conventional type, 
 but one that there could be no hesitation about it 
 was neither classic nor romantic nor picturesque, 
 perhaps; it was simply very bright and very 
 pretty. In our days, a girl with her eyes and hair 
 would not be suffered to wear a staringly pink frock, 
 but in the sixties pink was quite the proper thing. 
 
 She came out, radiant as the dawn, fresh as a 
 rose, and found herself face to face with Gideon 
 Blake, whose brow was like a thunder-cloud 
 indeed.
 
 46 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 She recoiled with a little exclamation. His face 
 daunted her. In other ways, his appearance was 
 better than usual ; he had donned his Sunday 
 clothes, which he sometimes disdained to wear, and 
 had made the best of himself. But his haggard 
 eyes and cheeks, his pale lips, his threatening gaze, 
 as well as a certain stony determination which sat 
 upon every feature, caused her to shrink back 
 within the doorway, and to say rather nervously : 
 
 " Oh, Gideon, how you startled me ! " 
 
 He looked at the radiant vision unappalled. 
 He was in the mood when nothing would affect 
 him but a simple yea or nay. Emmy's fine feathers 
 sometimes made him a little afraid of her ; but to- 
 day he knew them for the mere externals and 
 accessories that they were. 
 
 " I can't stay," said Emmy hurriedly. " Don't 
 keep me, please, Gid; I am going to Sunday- 
 school." 
 
 She made a little movement as if to pass him, 
 but he stood blocking the way, and putting out 
 one hand, he laid it on her wrist in a clasp that 
 was quite gentle, yet which might tighten, as she 
 felt, in one moment to a grip of steel.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 47 
 
 " You are not going to Sunday-school or any- 
 where else," he said, "until you have answered 
 me one question." 
 
 " Oh, Gideon, don't be so silly ! I shall be 
 late. I'll go for a walk with you after school. 
 Won't that do?" 
 
 " Xo, it won't do. I've been waiting too long 
 already. I want to know whom you like best 
 Fred Chiltern or me ? " 
 
 " Gideon, I can't answer a question like that 
 all in a moment ! " 
 
 "If you can't," he said, in level, unemotional 
 tones, "you've answered it already, and I shall 
 never ask you again. I shall never see you or speak 
 to you again. I've made up my mind. So 
 will you tell me in plain words, or will you not ? " 
 
 " Oh, Gideon ! " she cried again. Then she 
 drew back a pace or two within the passage of the 
 house. "I can't answer such a question out 
 there in the Market Place. Everyone will see. 
 Look over there ! I see Mrs. Larriper at her win- 
 dow opposite, laughing." 
 
 " She can't hear what we say," returned Gideon 
 imperturbably. "I must know."
 
 48 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Which I like best Fred or you ? Suppose 
 I say Fred?" 
 
 Gideon half turned on his heel. 
 
 " Very well," he answered in a smothered 
 voice ; " then I shall know what to do." 
 
 "What will you do?" cried Emmy, half 
 alarmed, half impatient. "There's nothing to do. 
 What do you mean?" 
 
 "I could kill him!" said Gideon, between 
 his teeth. 
 
 And he looked as if he meant it. There was 
 a latent fierceness in his eyes and voice such as 
 Emmy, in her peaceful English life, had never 
 seen before. She uttered a little cry, and pulled 
 him into the house. 
 
 " You silly boy ! How can you say such dread- 
 ful tilings ! You want to frighten me ! " 
 
 " I don't want to frighten you," said Gideon 
 doggedly. The scowl upon his forehead was more 
 pronounced than ever; he looked fixedly at the 
 wall, as if he did not care to meet the horror of 
 Emmy's wide-eyed gaze. " I mean what I say. 
 If you're going to marry Chiltern, I'd just as soon 
 be out of the world as in it. But he should go
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 49 
 
 first. If lie robs me of the only thing I care for, 
 he shall suffer for it. That would be only justice. 
 And I give you fair warning." 
 
 " But, Gideon Gideon," said Emmy, with face 
 from which the rose-tints had fled, " you are mis- 
 taken. You must not talk in that way. Indeed, 
 I I don't like Mr. Chiltern better than you." 
 
 Gideon's eye flashed. 
 
 " You like me best ? " he said, putting out both 
 hands. 
 
 She placed hers in them dropping her little 
 books upon the floor as she replied : 
 
 " Yes, yes, indeed I do ! " 
 
 " Emmy do you love me ? " 
 
 " Oli, Gideon yes, of course. Fancy asking 
 me here and now!" 
 
 They were in a narrow entry, where the odours 
 of a past dinner were very strong, and the voices 
 of the family could be distinctly heard through 
 the partition-wall. Perhaps it was an odd place 
 in which to make love. But Gideon did not care. 
 He shut the door behind him with his foot, and 
 took the girl's slight figure in his arms. Some- 
 thing in his manner its restraint rather than its
 
 50 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 passion took hold of Emmy's nature and seemed 
 to hold it fast. From the moment when she felt 
 the pressure of his lips on hers, she knew that she 
 belonged to him as she could belong to no one 
 else. The shallow, frivolous nature was pierced 
 through by the shaft of his intense love and long- 
 ing; she was lifted out of herself by the purest 
 and strongest kind of feeling that she had ever 
 known by a love which seemed the fellow of Gid- 
 eon's own. But Gideon's love was of the enduring 
 kind ; and hers was, perhaps, a thing of rather 
 ephemeral growth. 
 
 lie had never kissed her before ; it had been 
 counted against him as a fault in Emmy's mind 
 that lie had never tried to kiss her. But now, as 
 his lips clung to hers, she trembled with a sensa- 
 tion of shame and fear, and was glad that he had 
 reserved his caresses for a moment of silence and 
 obscurity. She was glad to hide her face upon 
 his shoulder, and it was her first experience of that 
 sort of shy reserve. 
 
 " My own love ! my darling ! " he murmured, 
 still holding her close to him. 
 
 " I must go I really must," she panted.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 51 
 
 " Mother or one of the children may come out at 
 any moment." 
 
 " Yes ; you can come out on the river with 
 me." 
 
 " Oh, Gideon, not on a Sunday ! " 
 
 "You went with that fellow last night; now 
 you must come with me." 
 
 " But there is the school 
 
 " There's the curate to keep order. You won't 
 go to that school any more, Emmy, so you may as 
 well give it up at once." 
 
 Emmy felt a touch of rebellious indignation. 
 
 " Indeed, Gideon, I cannot give it up in this 
 way " 
 
 " Do you like the curate better than me ? Then 
 go to the school," said Gideon, suddenly releasing 
 her hands. And Emmy felt that she had met her 
 master ; it was not to her altogether an unpleasing 
 discovery. 
 
 " Oh no, Gideon, don't say that ! I will do ex- 
 actly what you like," she said humbly. " I would 
 a great deal rather go on the river with you, only- 
 it is Sunday, and I have on this frock ; I'm afraid 
 it will get spoiled. Let us go for a walk instead."
 
 52 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Will you go on the river with me with me 
 alone to-morrow night?" said Gideon insist- 
 ently. 
 
 " Yes, I will." 
 
 " And never again without me ? " 
 
 She pouted a little. 
 
 " Well, I don't know. Oh, don't be angry " 
 she was developing a dread of Gideon's power " I 
 won't go unless you allow me. Will that do, you 
 tyrant ? " 
 
 lie smiled, not displeased to be called a tyrant 
 in such sweet tones by a pair of such pretty lips, 
 with so daintily mutinous a glance from those blue 
 eyes. He kissed her again, and asked her to come 
 out at once. 
 
 " My books I have dropped them all over the 
 place, and they are Mr. Crewe's." 
 
 " Damn Mr. Crewe 1 " said Gideon. 
 
 She turned a pretty, beseeching glance towards 
 him. 
 
 " Oh, Gideon ! I hope you are not going to use 
 language like that ! And you ought not to swear 
 before a lady without apologizing." 
 
 " I apologize, then," said he, without moving a
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 53 
 
 muscle of his face. " Only, don't stop to pick up 
 his books, or I'll do it again." 
 
 " Am I to leave them on the floor, then ? " 
 
 " I'll dispose of them," he said, giving the little 
 volume nearest him a vicious kick. " Crewe's 
 books indeed ! There it goes all to pieces, you 
 see. You can't use that one again, and the 
 other 
 
 "Don't touch that, it's a Prayer-book," said 
 Emmy, with superstitious anxiety. "I should 
 never feel happy in our engagement if you kicked 
 a Prayer-book, Gideon. Let us come out, now, 
 and have a nice walk." 
 
 Gideon desisted from his attack on the books, 
 shrugged his shoulders, and followed her out of the 
 house. The neighbours, peering through their win- 
 dows, were very much amazed to see Miss Enderby 
 turn down towards the river instead of bending her 
 steps, as usual, to the schools. 
 
 "Ah, it's that young Blake! Poor girl! I'm 
 sorry she's taken up with him. It'll bring her sor- 
 row, I've no doubt and him too, maybe." 
 
 But nothing could have been further than sor- 
 row from the minds of Gideon and Emmy as they
 
 54 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 strolled in the meadows that afternoon, or sat in 
 the shade of the hawthorn bushes on the river-bank. 
 They were supremely happy Gideon because he 
 had attained the desire of his heart. Emmy be- 
 cause she was secure of her conquest. For, after 
 those first few imperious moments, Gideon showed 
 himself as humble a slave, as devoted a lover, as 
 any woman could desire. Only once did the old 
 jealous flame blaze out when he was talking to 
 Emmy underneath the trees. 
 
 " That man Chiltern you did not let him 
 make love to you, did you ? " 
 
 " I could not help his being a little -fond of 
 me, you know, Gideon," said Emmy softly. 
 
 " But you did not encourage him ?" 
 
 " Oh no, dear ! " 
 
 " Emmy you did not ever let him kiss 
 you?" 
 
 lie spoke out of his knowledge of the ways of 
 Casterby girls of Emmy's class. He was not at all 
 surprised at the colour which burned on her cheeks 
 as she replied for, of course, Emmy was more sen- 
 sitive, more delicate-minded, more refined, than the 
 other <nrls he knew
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 55 
 
 " Oh no, Gideon, never ! " 
 
 He believed her implicitly ; and Emmy, turning 
 aside her flushed face, said to herself that of one 
 thing she was certain Gideon must never, never 
 know!
 
 m. 
 
 " If thou shouldst never see my face again, 
 Pray for my soul." 
 
 To be married in the month of November was 
 not the choice that Emmy Enderby would naturally 
 have made ; but, as tilings turned out, she was not 
 well able to help herself. Shortly after her engage- 
 ment to Gideon, her father died suddenly, leaving his 
 family quite unprovided for ; and it seemed better 
 for Emmy to marry Gideon at once than to set out 
 on a career of her own as nursery governess or 
 shop-girl. Gideon was young only just twenty- 
 one and she was eighteen, but he was earning 
 enough under his father to support a wife, and old 
 Ol>ed Pilcher's house on the river-bank was at their 
 disposal. It was arranged, therefore, that the mar- 
 riage should take place on the first of November, 
 that Gideon should then go with his bride for a 
 week's visit to the seaside, and return at the end of 
 that time to Uncle Obed's house. 
 
 60
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 57 
 
 Everything was arranged with the most com- 
 monplace simplicity. Emmy and her mother were, 
 in spite of their recent bereavement, in a nutter of 
 excitement about wedding clothes. Mrs. Blake be- 
 came unusually good-tempered, when the prospect 
 of losing Gideon as a house-mate drew nearer to real- 
 ity ; her husband was benignly well-satisfied. Un- 
 cle Obed was in the seventh heaven of delight. All 
 that remained was that Gideon should show himself 
 the conventionally happy bridegroom, and this, for 
 some reason or other, Gideon declined to do. He 
 was not satisfactory. 
 
 For instance, on this the last evening of his 
 bachelorhood, instead of an uproarious supper 
 with his friends instead, even, of hanging about 
 the house of his beloved, and making love to her in 
 the best parlour he had chosen to come away from 
 the warm, lighted rooms, to stride across the fields 
 at the back of the Market Place, and away to the 
 wood-yard, to his little den below the eaves. 
 
 Nobody knew that he was there. Emmy 
 thought he had gone home, a little vexed, perhaps, 
 because she could not give him all the attention 
 that he desired ; his own people thought that he was
 
 58 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 with Emmy. And he was sitting gloomily in the 
 dark and the cold of his garret, listening to the 
 howl of the wind and the swish of the rain-drops 
 against the window-pane, looking out at the black 
 clouds scurrying across the heavens, and at the 
 twinkling of the lights in the little town, and real- 
 izing in a strange new way that he was beginning 
 another life, and that his wild-beast love of solitude 
 ought henceforward to have an end. 
 
 When Emmy was his wife, he would not be 
 free to hide himself in his den, and hack away at 
 pieces of wood by the hour together, or to sit and 
 dream of things that could never be. No doubt it 
 was a foolish, unmanly taste, this love of solitude 
 and dreaming, and it would be better for him to 
 give it up ; but his heart sank a little within him, 
 nevertheless. lie supposed it was because he was 
 " queer " ; he had been called queer all his life ; 
 even Emmy called him queer, although she loved 
 him. And did she love him ? There, perhaps, was 
 the rub. 
 
 In the excitement, the almost delirious pleasure, 
 of the last few months, he had scarcely stopped to 
 ask liimself the question. She had accepted him,
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 5& 
 
 and sent away Fred Chiltern for his sake ; surely 
 that was an answer. But now, when his desire was 
 so near fulfilment, a cold chill of doubt passed 
 through him. She cared about her frocks, about 
 her future home, about her prospects, but did she 
 care for him f 
 
 She laughed at his tastes ; she could not see 
 anything interesting in his unconsciously artistic 
 woodwork. He had never dared to tell her of the 
 thoughts that sometimes filled his soul. 
 
 " It will be better when we are married," he 
 said to himself, looking out into the darkness ; 
 " then she will begin to understand." 
 
 He was troubled sometimes by a certain unde- 
 fined likeness between her and his half-sister Carry, 
 who had always been a thorn in his side. They 
 had set up a giggling school-girl friendship ; and 
 they had sometimes combined to laugh at him, and 
 to call him a sulky bear. The time of his betrothal 
 had not been all sunshine, but his eager love had 
 borne him through its darker moments. Now, at 
 the last moment, he was conscious of this odd and 
 (as some people would say) unnatural sinking of 
 heart at the coming change. Perhaps it showed
 
 60 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 how unlike lie was to others of his kind. The feel- 
 ing of triumph, of elation, had left him. He was 
 not precisely nervous, but he was afraid. 
 
 By and by he lighted a candle, and surveyed 
 the little bare room. He had taken out of it any- 
 thing that was ornamental ; the carvings, the trifles 
 that he had made for Emmy, had all gone to the 
 new home. Some tools and pieces of wood lay 
 about the floor ; a little bench and a shelf or two 
 were all the remaining furniture. He put out his 
 hand and felt along the dusty shelf, for the light of 
 the candle was very dim. Presently his hand came 
 in contact with the objects he had been seeking : 
 two small brown books, evidently of considerable 
 age. He took them down, brushed the dust from 
 their backs, and looked at them. Were they worth 
 taking with him to Emmy's new home ? 
 
 Emmy had a smart bookcase iilled with bright- 
 ly - bound books. Some of them were cheap 
 standard editions of the poets, given to her as 
 birthday presents or as prizes; others were semi- 
 religious story-books "Queechy," "Say and Seal," 
 " Father Clement," and the like. Emmy had read 
 the stories, but did not care for them; she pre-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 61 
 
 ferred Mrs. Henry Wood and Miss Braddon. Into 
 the poets she had never glanced at all. Scott, 
 Cowper, Wordsworth, Shakespeare, Thomson's 
 " Seasons," and Young's " Night Thoughts " what 
 were they to her? But she liked the bindings, 
 scarlet, or blue, or green, with a good deal of 
 gilding on the backs; and she was quite proud 
 of her library. Gideon also was not much of a 
 reader, and knew what was inside those bindings 
 rather less than herself. He did not think that 
 his two poor little shabby books would look well 
 on the shelves beside Emmy's grand volumes, yet 
 he did not like to throw them away. He had 
 another store of his own a few boys' books, a 
 few that treated of popular science ; these were to 
 fill a shelf in a back room of his new house, but 
 he had a reluctance to let these two go amongst 
 them. Emmy would finger them, and call them 
 rubbish; and he would not be able to tell her 
 why he valued them. He knew too well that 
 singular incapacity for speech which was begin- 
 ning to attack him whenever he felt most deeply. 
 He had never read either of these books. He 
 cared for them from the instinct of old habit.
 
 62 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 His grandmother had given one of them to him 
 long ago, and told him its history. It was a relic 
 of ancient days a book of Latin prayers, totally 
 unintelligible to her, and to Gideon as well ; but 
 there was just the ghost of a story attached to 
 it. In brown and faded ink upon the flyleaf was 
 written the name of " Jolrn Gideon Blake." Be- 
 low it there was a date, "November 1st, 1584," 
 and a few words which ignorant Gideon could not 
 make out, but which his grandmother had told 
 him signified, " Pray for my soul." A Popish 
 relic, as his grandmother had said ; and the John 
 Gideon Blake to whom it had belonged was of 
 course no ancestor of theirs, but only a collateral 
 a good thing, considering that he had been a 
 Romish priest, beheaded for treason in the reign 
 of Good Queen Bess. The date in the book 
 was that of his death, written with his own hand 
 before he went to execution, as well as the words 
 which Gideon could not read : " Ora pro anima 
 mea." Nothing more was known of him, and 
 the book had survived, as if by miracle, to the 
 present day, having been carefully kept, it was 
 said, by the priest's brother, who had transmitted
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 63 
 
 it to his Protestant descendants. Tims it came 
 into the hands of Gideon, who had indignantly 
 demanded (in his early years) why he should have 
 been called after a Popish priest ? 
 
 " There was always a Gideon among the 
 Blakes," his grandmother had told him. " Your 
 grandfather he was Gideon, too. That's why I 
 give the book to ' you. They say it's valuable ; 
 it might fetch money if ever you wanted to 
 sell it." 
 
 Gideon took the book and kept it. ^Nothing 
 on earth would have induced him to part with it 
 again ; in spite of his dislike to " Papists," which 
 he had caught from Obed Pilcher and other rela- 
 tions, there was some sort of distinction in hav- 
 ing had a great-uncle, ever so many generations 
 back, who was important enough to be put to 
 death for treason. Gideon had rather a sym- 
 pathy with anyone who rebelled against the powers 
 that be. 
 
 No, he would not take this book with him to 
 his new home. He would let it lie on the shelf. 
 It would be safe there ; nobody came to that room 
 save himself.
 
 64 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 The other book was one of a very different 
 
 school. It was " The Pilgrim's Progress," and it 
 
 t 
 
 had belonged to his mother. Gideon had never 
 troubled to read it, but as it had been his mother's 
 book, he did not like to throw it away. He 
 turned over the leaves musingly, then looked once 
 more at the flyleaf of the Latin book, which was, 
 in fact, an ancient breviary. The date . caught 
 his eye, " November the second " why, that would 
 be his own wedding-day. He would be married 
 on the very day when this kinsman of his went 
 to his death. Gideon caught his breath a little. 
 It flashed across his mind that if he had remem- 
 bered, he would not have chosen the second of 
 November for his weclding-day. 
 
 lie was too ignorant to know anything about 
 Old Style and New Style, and the difference of 
 the calendar, neither had he any religious asso- 
 ciation connected with the day. He was a pro- 
 vincial English lad, and All Souls' Day was quite 
 unknown to him. But there was something that 
 moved him in the thought of this man, of his own 
 blood, who had been executed on the very day 
 (as Gideon thought) which was to bring happi-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 6p 
 
 ness to Emmy and himself. And he had wanted 
 people to pray for his soul ! A Popish supersti- 
 tion, for what was the good of praying for the 
 soul of one who was dead and buried ? but per- 
 haps that was his way of asking to be remem- 
 bered. Gideon slipped the book into his pocket, 
 instead of putting it back in its place, and said 
 " Poor chap ! " to himself, with a thrill of involun- 
 tary pity. To go out of the world like that, 
 nearly three hundred years ago, and to be quite 
 forgotten, while he, Gideon, was alive and young 
 and about to marry Emmy Enderby ! 
 
 He blew out his candle, and stood staring out of 
 the window for some time, troubled against his will, 
 as if something somebody had called to him out 
 of that past of which he knew so little. A more 
 imaginative person than Gideon Blake might have 
 fancied that the dead priest's spirit had come back 
 to earth to whisper in his ear. That was what 
 would have been said in mediaeval times. But 
 Gideon was the creature of his circumstances, and 
 he lived in a milieu which forbade morbid imagin- 
 ings of the sort. A prosaic artisan, in a prosaic 
 country town, knowing nothing of religion save
 
 66 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 from the strongly Protestant point of view, and 
 utterly intolerant of superstition how should any 
 such foolish notion present itself even to his 
 untutored mind ? It would be more natural to 
 this generation to suggest that even in this com- 
 monplace Lincolnshire family there might be a 
 sj>o/i a freak of Nature a "throw-back," by 
 which the modern young carpenter reproduced in a 
 different environment the nature, the instincts, the 
 tendencies of a fanatical Roman priest who died 
 for his cause three hundred years ago. 
 
 He turned abruptly from the window at last, 
 and left the room without making any further 
 researches. He went out into the muddy, un- 
 lighted lane, and made his way, despite wind and 
 rain, into the main street of the town. With hands 
 thrust in his pockets, and head down-bent, he 
 looked extremely unlike a bridegroom, and Emmy 
 would not have been flattered if she had seen him 
 pacing the wet street in this guise. Fortunately 
 for him, lie met none of his acquaintances; the 
 rain poured too heavily for any of them to be 
 abroad, and the pavements were deserted. 
 
 A flood of light on the wet flags before him
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 67 
 
 attracted his attention. He looked up and started a 
 little at finding himself just before the iron gates 
 that led to the Koman Catholic chapel, which had a 
 small green space between its doors and the road. 
 The doors were open, and one or two people were 
 putting up their umbrellas and coming towards the 
 gate. Gideon hesitated. It seemed to him a 
 curious coincidence that he should be standing at 
 this gate so soon after looking at the book once 
 used by the one Romanist (so far as he knew) in his 
 family. There was no coincidence, of course, 
 about the matter, for he passed close by that gate 
 every day of his life, but he had never before felt 
 inclined to enter it. Some curiosity stirred him ; 
 he wondered, for the first time, what these ignorant 
 Papists believed ; he wondered whether anyone in 
 that little chapel could explain to him why John 
 Gideon Blake, priest, had desired his friends to 
 pray for his soul. He went inside the gates. 
 
 He was not likely to get much for his pains. 
 It was between eight and nine o'clock, and the con- 
 gregation was dispersing after an eloquent and 
 impassioned sermon from a stranger upon the 
 blessedness of the saints. Gideon knew nothing
 
 f,8 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 about saints, and would only have stared if anyone 
 had told him that it was All Saints' Day. He 
 went into the church and gazed blankly at the 
 empty seats, at the wealth of white flowers on the 
 altar, at the rows of candles which someone was 
 putting out with an extinguisher at the end of a 
 stick. A great wooden crucifix brought from Nu- 
 remberg, life-size and coloured, startled him more 
 than he would have liked to say. He had never 
 seen such a thing before. He looked round, 
 caught a woman's eyes fixed on him in wonder, 
 and retreated in guilty confusion to the vestibule. 
 Here for a moment he waited, for the rain was 
 coming down in torrents. He thought himself 
 a fool for having come out at all. 
 
 " Can I do anything for you ? " said a voice 
 at his ear. 
 
 He turned hastily, and found that the woman 
 whom he had seen looking at him, had followed 
 him out of the church. Woman ? She was not 
 a woman, she was a girl only, and he knew her 
 face. She was one of the Lisle family at Casterby 
 Park ; they were all Roman Catholics, he knew. 
 There were two or three girls; this one was the
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 69 
 
 eldest, but she was always spoken of as "Miss 
 Frances," because she had an aunt living at the 
 Park who was Miss Lisle. 
 
 " I mean," the sweet clear voice went on, " did 
 you want anything ? did you want anybody in 
 particular ? " 
 
 "No," said Gideon. He felt that his answer 
 was abrupt and harsh, but he did not know what 
 to say. He wished desperately that he had never 
 come. 
 
 " I am waiting for my uncle Father O'Brien 
 is my uncle," said the young lady, alluding, as 
 Gideon knew, to the priest who served the little 
 chapel at Casterby. " He is going to drive home 
 with me. I thought you might perhaps be look- 
 ing about for him." 
 
 Did she think him a possible convert ? Gideon 
 scowled at her as the thought crossed his mind. 
 And yet she did not look as if she had any ulterior 
 motive for her question. There was something 
 in her face that pleased him, although he could 
 not have told you why. 
 
 Frances Lisle was nineteen years of age. She 
 was rather under than over the middle height,
 
 70 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 and she had never been considered beautiful. But 
 there was a peculiar serenity on the broad in- 
 telligent brows, and in the soft gray eyes, which 
 made her face pleasant to look upon. Her rip- 
 pling brown hair was fastened into a soft knot 
 behind her head, very unlike the hard glossy 
 lump called a chignon in these days. Her face 
 had very little colour, and the sensitive curves 
 of her lips were none the less beautiful because 
 they were, in a sense, contradicted by the square- 
 ness of her white chin. She had the look of a 
 supremely reasonable woman, of a woman whose 
 gentleness comes from sympathy, comprehension, 
 intelligence, not from weak compliance. It de- 
 pended a little upon your own nature whether 
 you were more struck by the sweetness or the 
 strength of her face. Gideon saw the strength. 
 
 " I came in out of curiosity," he said, almost 
 sullenly. " I saw the doors open, and I won- 
 dered what was going on." 
 
 " Oh yes, I see. It is All Saints' Day, and 
 we have had Benediction and a sermon," said 
 Frances, simply. " You are not a Catholic ? " 
 
 Gideon shook his head vehemently.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. fl 
 
 " Oh dear no ! But "faltering a little" I 
 suppose I had a relation once who was. His 
 name is in this book," he said, producing the little 
 brown volume from his pocket. He had imme- 
 diately afterwards a sensation of shame at the 
 thought that he could show to this stranger a book 
 which he had kept carefully from Emmy's eyes. 
 "I was told by my grandmother that he was a 
 priest, and I wanted to know what sort of a book 
 it was. I think that was partly my idea in coming 
 in here ; I thought that Mr. O'Brien would tell 
 me, perhaps." 
 
 He purposely abstained from saying Father 
 O'Brien, although the good old priest was usually 
 known by that title ; but Frances did not notice 
 the omission. She made a little exclamation when 
 her eyes fell on the fly-leaf of the book. 
 
 " Oh ! " she said, colouring Gideon could not 
 imagine why; but it was from pure surprise and 
 pleasure " this is very interesting ! He was a 
 relation of yours, was he ? This is a breviary 
 a service-book, used by our priests, you know. 
 What an old book!" 
 
 She looked up at him questioningly. Gideon
 
 72 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 gave the information that he felt she wanted from 
 him, though with a curious reluctance. 
 
 " He was a brother of my great-great more 
 great than I can count great-grandfather, and he 
 was beheaded for treason in Queen Elizabeth's 
 time,'' he said doggedly. He could not at all under- 
 stand the flash of emotion that passed across the 
 young lady's face. 
 
 " He was a martyr, then ? He died for his 
 faith ? How splendid for you to have such an ex- 
 ample before you ! But I forgot you are not of 
 our religion. Oh, what a pity 1 " 
 
 Gideon held out his hand for the book. 
 
 " I'm no Papist, certainly," he said. " If he 
 was executed for treason, I dare say it served him 
 right. I felt a little curious about the book ; that's 
 why I asked what it was. I don't know Latin my- 
 self." 
 
 " But it is a relic a real relic," said Frances, 
 over whose eyes a sudden cloud of pity had stolen. 
 She was what the world calls a bigot a devote in 
 her way having been educated in a convent, and 
 taught to look upon England as a heathen, unregen- 
 erate land. She could not help feeling as if this
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 73 
 
 young man were a savage, into whose ignorant 
 hands some very precious thing had fallen, of which 
 he could not possibly estimate the value and advan- 
 tage. She was sorry to give him back the book. 
 ' I wish you would let my uncle see it ; he would 
 be very much interested. We should value it very 
 much if you thought of parting with it 
 
 " Parting with it ! " cried Gideon, almost an- 
 grily. " I should never think of such a thing. 
 Why, it's been in the family for three hundred 
 years. I only wanted to know what the book was 
 about." 
 
 " Would you like some of it to be translated and 
 explained to you ? " said Frances quickly. 
 
 "No, thank you. It's only prayers and serv- 
 ices, you say I don't want them. I thought it 
 might be something different. It isn't the book I 
 care so much about as the the name and all 
 that." 
 
 " Yes, the name and the inscription," said Miss 
 Lisle. " ' Pray for my soul.' You don't do that, 
 do you, as you are a Protestant ? But may I 
 look again ? Why, to-morrow is the date of his 
 death."
 
 74 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " And my wedding-day," said Gideon, with an 
 odd smile. 
 
 " Is it really ? Yes, I remember hearing of it. 
 Your father comes to the Park sometimes, I think," 
 said Frances, dropping her eyes. She had only just 
 made out his identity, and she was a little sorry that 
 he was the black sheep of whom she had sometimes 
 heard. But she was not sorry that she had spoken 
 to him. In spite of her simplicity, she knew quite 
 well that she was one of the great ladies of the 
 place, and that it was quite within her right to 
 speak to whomsoever she pleased in Casterby. The 
 Blakes were her father's tenants, and Joseph Blake 
 was a respectable person and a clever workman : 
 she knew that. "All Souls' Day seems to us a 
 strange day for a marriage," she went on, with a 
 little smile, " because it is on that day that we pray 
 for our dead. I will have a Mass said for this mar- 
 tyred priest, your great-uncle, Mr. Blake, on the 
 second of November every year. He shall not be 
 forgotten any more, although his own people do not 
 pray for his soul." 
 
 Gideon turned a startled, incredulous eye upon 
 her.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 75 
 
 " Pray ? What's the good of praying ? " he 
 said, almost rudely. Then he took the book out of 
 her hand and put it back into his pocket. " I sup- 
 pose I ought to thank you in his name but I 
 can't see the good of it." 
 
 " I shall pray for you, too, then," said Frances, 
 her gray eyes shimmering through a mist of tears. 
 " Perhaps you will be glad of it some day. Here is 
 my uncle. May I introduce you to him, and show 
 him the book ? " 
 
 " No, no I'd rather not," said Gideon, hur- 
 riedly. He was utterly confused and astonished by 
 her words, and did not know the extent of his own 
 discourtesy. " I'm very much obliged to you, but I 
 must go." 
 
 "Good-bye, then," said Frances, extending a 
 small ungloved hand. " I shall think of you to- 
 morrow. I hope you will be happy. And I will 
 not forget to pray for your uncle's soul." 
 
 " Why, what good will it do him ? " said Gideon, 
 as he awkwardly shook her hand and turned away. 
 
 He plunged into the darkness, regardless of the 
 rain, only anxious to escape from Frances's gentle 
 enthusiasm, and from the peering inquisition of the
 
 76 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 sacristan, who was hovering in the background, and 
 the keen, kindly eyes of Father O'Brien, who came 
 hurriedly down the aisle in search of his niece. 
 The carriage from the Park was waiting at the 
 gate ; its red lamps shone through the misty gloom, 
 and the horses, invisible from the chapel-door, 
 pawed the ground and made the harness jingle in 
 an impatience which the coachman shared. Father 
 O'Brien handed his niece into the carriage, and 
 they drove away. 
 
 " And who was that young fellow you were 
 talking with, Frances?" asked the uncle during 
 that homeward drive. 
 
 Frances told the story, ending with some lamen- 
 tation over the fate of the book in Gideon's 
 keeping. 
 
 " The lad has a right to it," said the priest good- 
 humouredly. "And it may be the means of his 
 conversion in the long-run." 
 
 "Ah, yes!" said Frances eagerly. "I hardly 
 thought of that. There have been cases, have there 
 not, where the possession of a precious relic 
 She stopped short, scarcely knowing why. "At 
 any rate, we can pray for him," she added in a lower
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 77 
 
 tone, " that lie may some day become a member of 
 the one true Church." 
 
 It may be as well to say here, once and for all, 
 that Frances Lisle's hopes were never realized. 
 Gideon Blake was not converted to Roman Cathol- 
 icism at any period of his life. His creed, such as 
 it was, was fashioned on very different lines ; but 
 the important thing in this interview between him- 
 self and Frances was the formation of a subtle bond 
 of sympathy which outlived all divergencies of 
 creed. 
 
 While Frances and her uncle were swiftly and 
 luxuriously conveyed to their abode, Gideon, with a 
 strange sense of tingling confusion, made his way 
 through the darkness to Obed Pilcher's little house 
 beside the river. There was a side road or lane off 
 the Market Place; which brought him to its door. 
 It was badly lighted, but it was better than the 
 other ways of approach the river path on the one 
 side, or the fields upon the other. In summer the 
 situation was delightful : the gleaming river just 
 outside the garden palings, the fragrant meadows 
 stretching away into the distance, the town so near, 
 
 and yet almost out of sight. But in winter ! For 
 6
 
 78 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 the first time Gideon had a doubt. The fields were 
 full of mist, and he could hear the river lapping up 
 to the very palings of his garden. He remembered 
 that he had seen the meadows under water many a 
 time, and he wondered, a little humorously, 
 whether Emmy would dislike the darkness and the 
 damp. 
 
 He had almost to feel his way up the garden- 
 path to the green door. The house was little more 
 than a cottage, but a pretty cottage, with creeping 
 plants growing over the brickwork, and a little 
 porch in front. The garden was full of sweetest 
 old-fashioned flowers in the summer-time, and 
 shaded by tall poplars and a great beech-tree. But 
 now the wind whistled in the bare branches, and 
 the garden-beds were desolate. Gideon shivered as 
 he pushed open the door. 
 
 Obed Pilcher came out to meet him. He had 
 been sitting in the kitchen with his pipe. The 
 front parlour had been refurnished for Emmy's use, 
 and he would not desecrate it with smoke. His 
 weather-beaten face beamed with smiles when he 
 saw Gideon, but the smiles were succeeded by a 
 look of anxiety.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 79 
 
 " Why, Gideon," he said, " thou'rt wet through, 
 lad ! Thee shouldn't be out when it siles down o' 
 rain like this on th' neet afore th' wedding, 
 too!" 
 
 " I'm all right," said Gideon, shaking himself 
 like a big dog. " I'll sit by the fire a bit, and take 
 a drop of whisky if you've any to give me, and I 
 shall be all right." 
 
 " Come on, then," said Obed. 
 
 He led the way into the clean, red-bricked, yel- 
 low-walled kitchen, and stirred up the fire, until its 
 flames were reflected in every brightly-burnished 
 tin or plate that stood upon the dresser shelves. 
 Gideon took off his coat and boots, and sat down to 
 dry himself in silence. Obed mixed him a stiff 
 glass of hot whisky-and-water, with the view of 
 warming and cheering the intending bridegroom. 
 But he wondered a little when he saw Gideon toss 
 it off ; he had not often seen " the lad " touch any- 
 thing stronger than water. It suddenly crossed the 
 old man's mind that it would be a terrible thing if 
 Gideon, with his fierce temper and great physical 
 strength, should at any time " take to drink." 
 
 Some time elapsed before the young man spoke.
 
 80 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 lie roused himself to glance round the kitchen and 
 to say, rather hesitatingly : 
 
 " Will she like it, do you think ? " 
 
 " Emmy ? She'll be a fool if she don't ! " said 
 Uncle Obed. 
 
 " I'd like to look at the parlour again," said 
 Gideon. 
 
 He took up a candle, and went in his stockinged 
 feet down the little passage to the sitting-room, with 
 old Obed after him. Both men religiously left their 
 pipes behind. 
 
 The sitting-room was furnished according to the 
 dictates of Casterby taste at that time. It had a 
 Kidderminster carpet, with red and white flowers 
 on a green ground, a " suite " of furniture of walnut 
 and green damask, green curtains to match, and stiff 
 lace ones inside them, partially concealing the new 
 Venetian blinds. There was a gilt-framed mirror 
 over the marble mantelpiece, and some oleographs 
 on the walls. Emmy's smart bookcase and cottage 
 piano also helped to fill the room, and white anti- 
 macassars abounded in legion. It was a stiff, inar- 
 tintic, glaring little room, with its white and gold 
 wall-paper, and its ornaments of green glass vases,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 81 
 
 with gilt snakes round their stems ; but to Gideon, 
 wlio knew no better, it was like a shrine. 
 
 " It's a real lady's room," said Obed admiringly. 
 
 " Ay, but it's not near good enough for her," 
 Gideon replied. He walked round the room, touch- 
 ing a cushion here, an antimacassar there, with a 
 caressing hand. " It's as much as I can do," he 
 said in a low tone ; " but when I get on in the 
 world, Uncle Obed, I'll make a palace for her. I'd 
 like a house like the Squire's, with all those paint- 
 ings and carvings that I've seen in the hall when I 
 went with father ; they're much prettier, of course, 
 than anything I could get for Emmy, but I suppose 
 they cost a lot of money. I should like her to have 
 everything of the best." 
 
 " Eh, lad, you'll get all you want in time," said 
 his uncle. 
 
 " Well, I hope so, if I work hard. I mean to 
 work hard for her sake ; and yours too, Uncle 
 Obed. But for you, I mightn't have a home to 
 give her a nest for the bird. We shall be very 
 happy here, Emmy and I." 
 
 There was a wistful tone in his voice. It was 
 almost as though he were answering some objection
 
 82 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 advanced by another voice disposing of scruples, 
 as if he were called upon to defend himself. Obed 
 grunted, and made no other answer; he did not 
 understand the mood. 
 
 " I'm going to turn over a new leaf when I'm 
 married," said Gideon, pacing about the room. 
 " I've thought it over a good many times. I told 
 Emmy so at least, I tried to tell her. She knows 
 so little of the world that, of course, she could not 
 exactly understand ; but she will be glad to think 
 of it by and by. I think I'll go to church on Sun- 
 day mornings, Uncle Obed, and sit with Emmy. 
 It's all very well to loaf about in the fields of a 
 Sunday, smoking and enjoying one's self; but it 
 isn't quite the thing for a married man, is it? 
 
 And, besides, after a time there may be Well, 
 
 anyhow, I shall be a different man when Emmy's 
 here." 
 
 " Lord bless thee, lad ! " said the old man, 
 " I doan't knaw about Emmy ; but I haven't much 
 fear for thee."
 
 IT. 
 
 " Passing the love of woman." 
 
 " You sliall not go," said Gideon. 
 
 " I shall go if I like," Emmy cried out angrily. 
 
 There was a pause. Husband and wife faced 
 each other with an ugly look in their eyes. Emmy 
 was scarlet with wrath ; but Gideon was deadly 
 white. 
 
 He spoke at last, in a low but distinct tone. 
 
 " I'm your husband and your master. I for- 
 bid you to go." 
 
 She laughed mockingly. 
 
 " I should like to know how you can prevent 
 me. I shall do just as I choose. Master indeed ! 
 Do you think I am going to be a slave ? But it is 
 just what I might have expected. Everybody 
 warned me against your awful, abominable temper. 
 Everybody told me that I had a very small chance 
 of happiness. And I have had none at all. You 
 
 83
 
 84 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 have made me miserable miserable / and I wish I 
 had never married you ! " 
 
 " You needn't say that in front of the boy," 
 said Gideon with some difficulty. But Emmy was 
 not to be stayed. 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! The boy is to be considered be- 
 fore me, is he ? I only wish he were old enough to 
 understand what a tyrant his father is. Perhaps, 
 when lie is grown up, I shall have somebody to 
 defend me " 
 
 " You don't need defence your tongue's 
 enough. Do as you please ; but you shall not take 
 the boy with you. John, come here." 
 
 Gideon held out his hand to a little fellow of 
 three years old, who stood against the wall with 
 stiff white petticoats outspread, and hands behind 
 his back, a puzzled, uncomprehending spectator of 
 the scene. Some instinct of affection for his old 
 dream had made the father name his child John 
 Gideon, after the long-dead owner of the breviary. 
 Emmy had been very angry about the name. The 
 baby had been baptized in a hurry while the 
 mother was ill, and she had meant him to be named 
 Reginald Arthur. She now called the boy Johnny
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 85 
 
 or Jacky ; but Gideon seldom called him anything 
 but John, which seemed somewhat solemn and 
 inapplicable to the fair little fellow, with dark 
 eyes and curls of gold, sturdy and chubby as 
 he was. 
 
 " Come here, John," Gideon repeated, and the 
 boy ran towards him and hid his face against his 
 father's knee. He was a sensitive child, and quiv- 
 ered all over when he heard his mother's passionate 
 voice. 
 
 "It's always the same! You always interfere 
 between me and any little pleasure I may be going 
 to have. Why shouldn't I go out on the river ? 
 Why shouldn't I take Jacky ? If you are so dull 
 and stupid as not to want any amusement yourself, 
 you need not prevent me from having any." 
 
 Her voice was shrill, her face red from excite- 
 ment ; her hair was loosened and hung half down 
 her back. Gideon looked at her unemotionally, 
 and wondered for a moment where her prettiness 
 had gone. Her skin had lost its delicacy, and her 
 dress was untidy. She hardly looked like the 
 Emmy Enderby who had won Gideon's heart. 
 
 As for him, he was less altered than his wife,
 
 86 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 and the alteration was, in some respects, for the 
 better. He was still spare and sinewy; but his 
 shoulders had broadened, and his frame filled out, 
 and his aspect was that of a more prosperous man 
 than in days of old. His shock of black hair still 
 made his face look heavy, and his brows were bent 
 in a perpetual frown ; but his features and expres- 
 sion had gained definiteness, and there was less sul- 
 len gloom in his bearing than in his boyhood. But 
 the added brightness in his life did not come from 
 Emmy only from Emmy's child. 
 
 The cause of dispute was simple. In the four 
 and a half years that had elapsed since Gideon's 
 marriage, the Saturday evening excursions down 
 the river in Mortlock's barge had fallen greatly into 
 disrepute. Cases of dmnkenness were never rare, 
 and some serious scandals owed their origin to these 
 Saturday merry-makings. Casterby was not strict 
 in its views ; but it rose up and drew the line some- 
 where, now and then, and it had decreed that Mort- 
 lock's barge, at a shilling a head, was not respecta- 
 ble. But Mrs. Gideon Blake greatly resented this 
 deprivation of her privileges, and had announced 
 her intention of going to the Three Bridges (the
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 87 
 
 name of a very popular old inn at some distance 
 down the river), with some of her friends, on the 
 first Saturday in July. Mr. Fred Chiltern, with 
 his " young lady " ; Carry Blake, now seventeen 
 and the biggest flirt in Casterby ; and several other 
 young people, were to be of the party to which, 
 moreover, Emmy had determined to take her little 
 boy. And then Gideon had put down his foot, and 
 declared -that she should not go. 
 
 It was Saturday afternoon when he first realized 
 what his wife intended to do. And he had stub- 
 bornly and imperiously ordered her to take off her 
 finery and remain at home. The boat was timed to 
 start at five, and Gideon's interference took place 
 at four o'clock, an hour late enough to give his wife 
 some cause for vexation. She was just on the point 
 of beginning to dress for the jaunt when he in- 
 terfered. 
 
 " John shall not go," said the father, putting his 
 hand on the boy's head. " If for no other reason, 
 the weather's damp, and the boy's chest is weak, 
 and he's not fit to be kept up till eleven o'clock. I 
 won't have it. Do as you like yourself, but you 
 shall not take John."
 
 88 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " I know that you are fonder of John than you 
 are of me," said Emmy spitefully. 
 
 Gideon's dark eyes glowed ; he raised them to 
 her face with a strange expression, but lowered 
 them almost immediately. 
 
 " Am I ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes, you are, and you know it. Perhaps you'd 
 like me to leave you altogether, and then you and 
 Jacky and Uncle Obed could have the -place to 
 yourselves. You'd like that, wouldn't you ? " 
 
 If Gideon's eyes had glowed before, they blazed 
 now. lie put John away from him, and took a 
 step towards his wife, with livid face and threaten- 
 ing hand. He had no intention of striking her, but 
 he scarcely knew what he did. 
 
 " Leave me ? " he said. " Leave me ? " 
 
 He said nothing more, but he seized her by the 
 shoulder, and Emmy cowered and shrieked under 
 the iron grip of his strong hand. 
 
 " G ideon, don't ! You hurt me ! " 
 
 "Hurt you!" he exclaimed violently. "Do 
 you never hurt me?" 
 
 The force of his hand shook her slight form, 
 and although ho had no intention of injuring her,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 89 
 
 the very suddenness with which he removed his 
 grasp sent her backward against the wall breath- 
 less and sobbing with fear. He walked straight out 
 of the room and out of the house, almost beside 
 himself with pain and passion, little heeding the 
 hysterical cry which his wife sent after him a cry 
 that declared herself all the more determined to 
 have her own way. He was blind and deaf with 
 anger, and with something else which was not 
 anger, but bitterness and regret and sickening dis- 
 appointment. He loved Emmy still, but it had 
 become very plain to him of late that she cared 
 little about him. 
 
 He did not stop to consider whether or not she 
 would obey him. He supposed that she would go 
 her own way, leaving the child in the care of the 
 maid servant. Uncle Obed would be in presently, 
 and he was always glad to look after little John. 
 Gideon turned into the fields, where, by a footpath, 
 he could make his way to the wood-yard in Dane 
 Street, and betook himself to the loft where he had 
 spent so many idle hours in days gone by. 
 
 It was still his place of refuge in moments 
 when he wanted to be alone. He flung himself
 
 90 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 down on the bench before the window, and rested 
 his chin in Ids hands. He did not look at the 
 glowing landscape, or fall into his old habit of 
 dreams. He had lost the tendency to that side 
 of life. His mind was absorbed by the consid- 
 eration of things as they were now. 
 
 For some inontlis his marriage had seemed 
 perfectly satisfactory. Emmy had grumbled more 
 or less at the quietness of her life, at the damp- 
 ness of the house, at the smallness of her hus- 
 band's income, but the complaints had not meant 
 unhappiness. Emmy was one of the women who 
 always grumbled. She felt herself personally 
 injured if anyone in her own class of life had 
 a finer house, a more expensive gown than her- 
 self; it seemed to her that Providence was 
 treating her shabbily. The best things, as far 
 as she knew them, were here by right, and when 
 they were not showered into her lap, somebody 
 it might be the Governor of the world, or it 
 might be only her husband, but somebody was 
 to blame. When she married, her views of what 
 was due to her were limited by ignorance. Un- 
 fortunately, every month and every year increased
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 91 
 
 her knowledge of the various pleasures and lux- 
 uries attainable in this world, and her opportu- 
 nities of achieving them not to speak of her 
 husband's income did not increase in a like 
 ratio. 
 
 At first Gideon took no notice. He was not 
 by nature inclined to notice small things, and 
 his wife's complaints were mere pin-pricks. After 
 John's birth, however, they became more shrill 
 and insistent, and he began to be vaguely an- 
 noyed by them. But there was no serious quarrel 
 until he discovered that her fondness for dress 
 had involved her deeply in debt, and that he 
 was responsible for far more than he knew how 
 to pay. Then he spoke angrily, and drove his 
 wife into a hysterical fit of weeping, which 
 frightened him and made him for the moment 
 amenable to her slightest wish. But when there 
 came to be no novelty about her hysterical fits, 
 and when the debts, and the wants, and the ill- 
 temper went on increasing, then Gideon came 
 to the point of wondering whether his marriage 
 was a happy one or not. Now there was no 
 doubt about the matter ; Emmy had avowed
 
 92 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 herself unhappy, and he was sounding the depths 
 of a misery such as he had never known before. 
 
 Throughout it all, he loved her. Even when 
 she complained and grumbled and fretted, his 
 thoughts were tender towards her. He was not 
 the man to give love once and take it back 
 again. Such changes of mind belong to men of 
 shallower nature than Gideon Blake's. It never 
 seemed really possible for him to change. 
 
 Nevertheless, as he had a somewhat violent 
 and sullen temper, and was not accustomed to 
 self-control, he very often behaved roughly and 
 harshly towards her, and alienated her volatile 
 affections from him by a manner which effec- 
 tually masked the true feeling of his heart. A 
 less frivolous woman might have understood him 
 better ; but Emmy was convinced by this time 
 that he did not care for her, that he was "a 
 bear " and " a brute," and she seemed to de- 
 light in opposing his wishes and irritating his 
 temper. lie had no longer any illusions on the 
 subject ; he believed her dislike of him to be 
 even more deeply rooted than it was. For it 
 would have been hard for him to realize, well
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 93 
 
 as lie knew her, that a few judiciously-chosen 
 presents a silk dress or two, a gold chain, a 
 pretty bracelet would have restored to him all 
 the love of which her heart was capable. 
 
 In the quiet of his lonely rooms he almost 
 wished that he had never married. He remem- 
 bered the days when he could at least come and 
 go at will, could shut himself away from sting- 
 ing speeches and undeserved reproaches, could 
 brood for hours over his own thoughts and shape 
 strange figures out of carven wood at the same 
 time, absorbed partly in his dreams and partly 
 in the dear delight of creation. The instinct of 
 the anchorite, the solitary, was strong in him. 
 Rather than be tied for life to an uncongenial 
 mate, he said to himself that he would sooner 
 always be alone. 
 
 But then, there was the child ! Compensation 
 came in there. If he were alone in the world, 
 he would not be the father of that round-faced 
 fair -haired creature, with the fearless eyes and 
 stubborn chin, so like yet so unlike his own. 
 That fair, round, self-willed little lad belonged 
 
 to him in heart and soul, if Emmy did not. 
 
 7
 
 94 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon worshipped him, without measuring the 
 strength of his love. The world was not a wil- 
 derness while Johnny was in existence. There 
 was always somebody to look for Gideon's com- 
 ing somebody to whom the sound of his step 
 brought joy. Marriage was not entirely a fail- 
 ure, since it had put baby John into his arms. 
 
 Vaguely comforted at last, he rose up to go 
 to his home. After all, Uncle Obed and John 
 would be there. Emmy would have gone to her 
 noisy, disreputable picnic, and would not be 
 back till late in the evening. It did not occur 
 to Gideon that he might have gone with her. 
 Such companionship of husband and wife was 
 not customary; and his detestation of the per- 
 sons whom she called friends was too complete 
 to be concealed. lie could not possibly have 
 gone with her, and simulated ordinary politeness. 
 
 Silence and loneliness had restored his com- 
 posure. As he walked with long strides across the 
 fields, he reflected that Emmy would be out, and 
 that he and John and Uncle Obed would huvr 
 tea by themselves. lie took the trouble to turn 
 into the main street and buy some "goodies " for
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 95 
 
 John. They would sit on the bench in the garden 
 after tea, and John should not go to bed till 
 ten. In this unauthorized way he would find 
 consolation for Emmy's absence, for Emmy's ill- 
 temper, for Emmy's want of love. 
 
 But when he neared his own house, he was 
 struck by something unusual in its appearance, 
 some sort of stir and excitement on the river-bank. 
 Two or three persons were hanging over the pal- 
 ings, a small boat was moored to the little landing- 
 stage just outside the garden, the front-door stood 
 wide open, and there were strange trails of water 
 on the garden-path and the stone flags at the 
 door. And surely two or three people were stand- 
 ing in the passage. Was one of them the doctor ? 
 A qualm of fear passed through Gideon's mind 
 as he quickened his steps in drawing near. He 
 hardly knew how he got through the gate or ar- 
 rived at last at the door, where his strained eyes 
 and paling face put the question which his lips 
 refused to ask. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, he is quite safe," were the 
 first words he heard. Who said them ? He knew 
 the sweet, clear voice, but there was a mist before
 
 96 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 his eyes. It was Frances Lisle who laid her hand 
 upon his arm. 
 
 " Your little boy met with an accident ; he fell 
 into the water, Mr. Blake ; but he was pulled out 
 almost immediately, and I think he will be none 
 the worse for it." 
 
 " Where is he ? where is he ? " stammered Gid- 
 eon, with wild eyes. 
 
 " lie is in bed, and his mother is upstairs with 
 him," said Frances soothingly. " Here is the doc- 
 tor; you can ask him for yourself." 
 
 Why was she here ? Even at that moment a 
 flash of wonder passed through Gideon's brain. 
 But he had not time to ask the question. He 
 would have made an immediate rush to the stairs, 
 had not the way been blocked by the doctor a 
 burly figure, filling up the width of the little 
 passage and putting out a firm white hand to arrest 
 the young man's steps. 
 
 "Come, Gideon, you needn't worry yourself. 
 The little lad's in bed and only needs to be kept 
 quiet. His mother is with him: I've told her to 
 stay until he is asleep." 
 
 "He'll go to sleep quicker with me than
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 97 
 
 with her; he always does," said Gideon 
 sharply. 
 
 " Nonsense ! You are not to go up : do you 
 hear ? " 
 
 " He is hurt and you won't tell me, is that 
 it '{ " asked the young man, in a tone which, though 
 low, was so fierce that Frances involuntarily 
 started. 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, don't be a fool ! " said 
 the doctor, who had known Gideon all his life 
 and could afford to be peremptory with him ; " it 
 is only that the child has had a ducking and I 
 want him to get to sleep as quickly and as quietly 
 as possible, otherwise he may have a touch of fever. 
 Now, mind, I forbid more than one person in his 
 room for the present." 
 
 " Then you may get Emmy away," said Gideon 
 doggedly; "for I shall sit by the child." 
 
 The doctor elevated his eyebrows and glanced 
 at Miss Lisle, as if to call her to his assistance ; 
 and Frances, thus appealed to, threw herself into 
 the breach. 
 
 " I want very much to tell you how it hap- 
 pened, Mr. Blake," she said, "if you can spare
 
 98 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 me a minute or two before you go upstairs. I 
 saw the accident myself, and it was a friend of 
 mine a gentleman who is visiting us just now 
 who took him out of the water." 
 
 " Yes, come in and hear all about it," said 
 the doctor genially, pushing Gideon before him 
 towards the door of the little parlour. " What 
 are you thinking of, Gideon, not to ask Miss Lisle 
 to sit down ? The gentleman Captain Hamil- 
 ton, is it not ? is upstairs, changing his clothes 
 fur some of yours, I believe. Obed is looking 
 after him." 
 
 In some confusion, Gideon pushed open the 
 door of the sitting-room, and Frances entered it, 
 not without curiosity to see what the sitting-room 
 of this strange, dark-eyed young man and his 
 pretty wife was like. She was disappointed if she 
 expected to find any trace of superior tastes or 
 aspirations. The green damask and the flowery 
 carpet were horrible in her eyes ; the gilt looking- 
 glass and the oleographs were abominations. And 
 worse than all was the appearance of the girl, 
 who rose in some embarrassment from the couch 
 when Frances entered ; for she was even more
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 99 
 
 vulgar-looking than the room, and yet she was 
 introduced by the doctor as " my friend Gideon's 
 sister, Miss Carry Blake." 
 
 Frances, whose tastes, although simple, were 
 extremely refined, was for a moment revolted by 
 the aspect of the room and of the girl ; then her 
 kindlier instincts came into play. It was not, 
 perhaps, Gideon's fault, it was the fault of his 
 friends, of his wife, probably, that the room was 
 hideous. And she could not help liking him for 
 the anxiety which he displayed about his boy. 
 She gave her little account of the disaster, look- 
 ing straight at him so as to avoid the sight of 
 the antimacassars and oleographs, and of Carry, 
 with her earrings and her feathers, on the 
 sofa. 
 
 " I was on the river in a small boat with my 
 brother and Captain Hamilton," she said. "We 
 were quite at the side, among some rushes, when 
 we saw a big boat a sort of barge coming 
 up " 
 
 " Mortlock's barge," said the doctor, with a nod. 
 
 Gideon set his teeth. 
 
 " "We waited, so as to be out of the way of the
 
 100 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 wash while they went by," continued Frances. 
 " Everyone seemed to be very merry on board, and 
 just when they passed us, I noticed a little boy 
 clambering about I think he was trying to see how 
 far he could lean over the side. I called out for 
 nobody seemed to be looking after him and at 
 that moment he overbalanced himself and fell into 
 the water." 
 
 " I'm sure," said Miss Carry volubly from the 
 sofa, " we had only turned our heads away just for 
 a minute ; we had been looking after him as care- 
 fully as possible, Gideon, both Emmy and me, and 
 if we had told him once to come away from the 
 side, we had told him a dozen times ; but Jacky 
 was always a naughty boy- 
 She was suddenly met by such a black look from 
 Gideon that she was awed into silence. 
 
 " Who took him out of the water ? " said her 
 brother, in a half -stifled voice. 
 
 Miss Lisle was observed to colour as she re- 
 plied : 
 
 " Captain Hamilton jumped into the water di- 
 rectly, and my brother rowed to the place and took 
 him into the boat. Then we found out to whom he
 
 OUT OF DUB SEASON. 1Q1 
 
 belonged, and brought him home, and Mrs. Blake 
 and some of her friends came back too." 
 
 " Your uncle was here," said Dr. Miller, in his 
 hearty voice, " and he knew exactly what to do 
 had the boy in a hot bath in no time, and in bed 
 with hot blankets. There was scarcely any need 
 for me, but Mr. Gerald Lisle was so kind as to fetch 
 me, and I'm glad, Gideon, that I can't be of any 
 use ha, ha ! " 
 
 The doctor's genial laugh dispelled the gloom 
 which seemed to have settled on the party. Gideon 
 said something about his gratitude to Captain Ham- 
 ilton, and asked if he should go upstairs and see 
 that his guest had all he required But footsteps 
 were at that moment heard on the stairs, and Obed 
 Pilcher appeared, ushering Captain Hamilton into 
 the room. 
 
 Gideon was usually slow of speech, but grati- 
 tude was warm at his heart just then, and made it 
 easy for him to utter a few words of thanks. Miss 
 Lisle's friend received them with offhand good- 
 humour, as if he were in the habit of saving lives 
 every day and thought nothing of the occurrence. 
 He had found a suit of Gideon's flannels to fit
 
 102 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 him tolerably well, for he was a tall man, though of 
 slighter build than Blake's. His age -was thirty- 
 five, but he looked at least five years older ; the 
 crow's feet were thick round his eyes, and his hair 
 was growing a little thin at the temples. He had a 
 long nose, and a fair moustache ; in fact, he was 
 not unlike the conventional hero of the novels in 
 which Emmy Blake loved to revel ; and Carry, who 
 had adopted many of her sister-in-law's tastes, eyed 
 him with open admiration. 
 
 Young Gerald Lisle had, it seemed, gone for the 
 carriage, which had been put up in Casterby while 
 he and his sister took Captain Hamilton for a row 
 on the river, and Frances was to wait until it came 
 for her. There was a minute or two of awkward- 
 ness : Gideon had nothing to say for himself, and 
 Carry, although not particularly shy, was too busily 
 engaged in studying Miss Lisle's dress to have any 
 time for conversation. 
 
 She decided in her own mind that Miss Lisle 
 was very badly dressed. Everyone knew that she 
 had money, and persons with money ought to dress 
 according to their position. She did not know ex- 
 actly how she would have liked Miss Lisle to dress,
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 1Q3 
 
 but she was quite sure that simple brown holland 
 was inappropriate, and so were the brown straw hat 
 and brown ribbons and gauntleted yellow gloves. 
 To say that this costume was excellently adapted 
 for boating would not have satisfied Carry's mind at 
 all. Nor did it occur to her that Miss Lisle was go- 
 ing home to dress for dinner. In Carry Blake's 
 station people dressed for tea. She supposed that 
 Miss Lisle would wear that brown holland all the 
 evening, and in her eyes this was almost worse than 
 a crime. She concluded in her own mind, with a 
 contemptuous sniff, that Miss Lisle dressed in that 
 funny way because she was a Roman Catholic, 
 though the connection between brown holland and 
 a religious faith might not be apparent at first 
 sight. 
 
 While the awkward pause still lasted, there 
 came a rush as of flying skirts along the passage ; 
 the door was opened hastily, and Mrs. Blake ap- 
 peared. 
 
 "He's asleep, doctor fast asleep," she said 
 breathlessly, " and Kezia's sitting with him ; but I 
 felt I must come down just to say my thanks to the 
 gentleman who rescued my child my darling little
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 Jacky! Oh, what should I have done if he had 
 been drowned ! " 
 
 She had never looked prettier. The excitement 
 of the afternoon had only brought a rose-flush to 
 her cheeks ; her eyes swam with tears, but the eye- 
 lids were not reddened, and her rosy lips were 
 parted in the most appealing of curves. Her 
 golden hair stood up in natural waves and curls like 
 an aureole round her fair brow, and with her slen- 
 der hands outstretched, and her graceful form bent 
 slightly forward hi her impulsive burst of gratitude, 
 she looked like a very incarnation of youth and 
 loveliness. She was dressed in white muslin, which 
 looked none the worse for the limpness caused by 
 contact with John's wet clothing. Captain Ham- 
 ilton gazed at her with a dawning admiration which 
 seemed mixed with amaze. He had, of course, seen 
 the child's mother previously, but, preoccupied by 
 the condition of his soused garments, he had not 
 realized the fact of her beauty. 
 
 " I am very glad I was able to be of some little 
 assistance," he said, becoming amiable all at once. 
 He had just been remarking to himself that the 
 whole thing was an infernal bore. It had not even
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 1Q5 
 
 the merit of recommending him in the eyes of any- 
 body of importance ; Frances's heart was won al- 
 ready, and there was no need to attitudinize for her 
 benefit. But it occurred to him now that it was 
 rather pleasant to hear this pretty provincial little 
 woman expressing her gratitude, and that she 
 looked as if one might get some amusement out 
 of her. In this dull place, Captain Hamilton told 
 himself, even a carpenter's wife might be amusing. 
 
 " He is quite right now, quite safe, isn't he, Dr. 
 Miller ? Oh, it was so good of you to jump into 
 the water and save him, wasn't it, Miss Lisle ? Oh, 
 aren't you quite proud of him ? " 
 
 Gideon felt, with a sudden twinge, that Emmy 
 had said just the wrong thing. Why should Frances 
 Lisle be proud of Captain Hamilton ? He saw a 
 deepening pink flush upon that cameo-like, pure 
 face ; he saw her eyes cast down in momentary con- 
 fusion, and he irritably wished to himself that 
 Emmy's tongue would not run so fast. She was 
 quite happy, quite contented with what she had 
 said ; evidently she thought she had said just the 
 proper thing, but neither Miss Lisle nor Captain 
 Hamilton looked quite pleased with the remark.
 
 106 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 Frances turned instinctively to Gideon, while 
 Emmy pursued her conversation with the Captain 
 and the doctor. The disturbed expression passed at 
 once from her face as she spoke to him. 
 
 " What a dear little boy he is ! " she said. 
 
 The father's eye gleamed. 
 
 " Yes, he's a fine little chap," he answered, sim- 
 ply enough, but with evident satisfaction. 
 
 " And his name is John ? " 
 
 " John Gideon the name," said Gideon shyly, 
 " of the man in the book." 
 
 " The man in the book ? " Frances was mysti- 
 fied for a moment, then she remembered, and spoke 
 eagerly : " Of course I know. I am glad you called 
 the little boy after liim." 
 
 " Xobody knows," said Gideon, lowering his 
 voice, and casting an involuntary glance of guilt 
 towards Emmy. Frances laughed a little at the 
 glance, but her heart warmed to the man. It struck 
 her that he must be lonely, in spite of his environ- 
 ment of friends and family. 
 
 " I have never forgotten him," she said with an 
 instinct of sympathy. "We all remember him 
 every Sunday, and on All Souls' Day."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 107 
 
 " It is rather a good thing, that," said Gideon 
 seriously. " I think he wanted to be remembered, 
 poor old chap ! " 
 
 Remembrance was a different thing in his eyes 
 from what it was in hers. But they came no nearer 
 to a mutual understanding, because at that moment 
 Miss Lisle' s carriage was announced, and the visitors 
 rose to take leave. 
 
 " I can't express all I feel," Emmy was saying, 
 "and my husband can't, either; but I hope you 
 will not be offended with us if we say so little." 
 
 Captain Hamilton thought she had said a good 
 deal, but he smiled and took instant advantage of 
 Mrs. Blake's apology. 
 
 " I shall be amply repaid if you will allow me to 
 come and inquire after him some day. I love chil- 
 dren, and I (should like to make acquaintance with 
 your fine little boy." 
 
 " Oh, certainly ; come whenever you like," cried 
 Emmy in high delight. " We shall be always 
 pleased to see you always, I'm sure." 
 
 He bowed over her hand with an exaggeration 
 of courtesy which struck Frances as mocking and 
 unkind.
 
 108 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " How could you make fun of Mrs. Blake ! " she 
 said to him afterwards, with a little reproach in 
 her tone. 
 
 u You have such sharp eyes," he answered laugh- 
 ingly ; " a little too sharp, sometimes, don't you 
 think \ Mrs. Blake liked it ; she thought it a hom- 
 age to her beauty. What a pretty woman she is ! " 
 
 " Is she not lovely ! " said Frances, with so 
 much heartfelt warmth that Captain Hamilton was 
 a trifle disappointed. He would have thought it 
 more natural for Frances, who was comparatively 
 plain, to depreciate Mrs. Blake's good looks; and 
 he said to himself impatiently that she was far too 
 angelic for this wicked world, and that angelic 
 women were a bore. 
 
 Poor Frances felt herself far from angelic, being 
 not free from miserable doubts of George Hamil- 
 ton's sincerity, and disposed to accuse him of pay- 
 ing too much attention to every woman he came 
 across. Even these ghosts of suspicion gave her 
 an agony of pain and self-reproach. It seemed to 
 her that she must herself be evil-minded and low- 
 thoughted if she could even conceive the possibility 
 of his doing wrong. Ordinarily she was a fairly
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 109 
 
 shrewd and quick-witted little person, but her love 
 for this man, George Hamilton, had strangely 
 blinded her eyes. He had come, as she knew, to 
 woo and win her ; there had never been any doubt 
 about that. The match had been " arranged," be- 
 cause she had money and he had debts (though this 
 she did not know), and an old name to support, and 
 she had agreed to the proposal with all her heart, in 
 her own rather sober and serious way. Hamilton 
 was of an order that she knew, and yet there was 
 something novel and entrancing about him. To 
 her mind, it was wonderful that he should want to 
 marry her. She was very happy on the whole, but 
 she was not always at rest. 
 
 When the carriage drove away from the little 
 house by the river, Gideon stood gravely at the 
 door, and Emmy, beside him, sent nods and smiles 
 after the departing guests. Carry Blake hovered in 
 the background, rather curious as to the way in 
 which her stepbrother was taking the occurrence ; 
 and faithful Uncle Obed had stolen upstairs to the 
 sleeping child. 
 
 " What witt Gideon say ? " Carry was asking 
 herself, conscious of equal guilt with Emmy in hav-
 
 110 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 ing taken the boy on the river against his father's 
 will. 
 
 But Gideon had no time to say anything. 
 
 As soon as the carriage was out of sight, Emmy 
 turned, glanced at his face, then, with a cry that 
 was half a sob, half a laugh, threw herself into his 
 arms. 
 
 " Oh, Gideon ! I was very naughty and disagree- 
 able to you, but I'm really very sorry now I am 
 indeed. And our poor little Jacky ! he might have 
 been drowned. Oh, it was dreadful ! " 
 
 She hid her face on his shoulder and burst into 
 tears, genuine enough, although caused partly by 
 excitement, agitation, and a little fear. Gideon put 
 up his hand and stroked her hair. He had no 
 words, except a murmur of affection and solicitude. 
 He was only too thankful that Emmy was appar- 
 ently repentant of her escapade. 
 
 " Oh, I suffered fearfully ! " said Mrs. Blake, at 
 last drying her eyes. " To see the darling sink in 
 the water my nerves got such a shock that I don't 
 think I shall get over it for a month ! I screamed, 
 did I not, Carry ? " in a tone of conscious merit. 
 " I screamed at the top of my voice."
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Yes, YOU did ; and so did I,*' said Carry tri- 
 umphantly. '* And that was what made Captain 
 Hamilton look round. If he hadn't been there, I 
 am sure Jacky would have been drowned." 
 
 It was Gideon who frowned and flinched at the 
 word. Emmy was too deeply interested in the de- 
 tails of the event that had really occurred to be 
 impressed by a figment of the imagination. She 
 did not see, as Gideon saw, in his mind's eye, a 
 picture of little John lying cold and dripping in 
 someone's arms, carried back dead to the cottage, 
 where he had made the brightness of his father's 
 life. The ghastliness of it turned Gideon absolutely 
 sick. But Carry and Emmy prattled on undis- 
 turbed. 
 
 " Did no one on board try to save him ? " he in- 
 quired grimly. 
 
 Enimy looked at her sister-in-law. It was Carry 
 who replied. 
 
 " Xot a single one. Mr. Chiltern went quite 
 white and green, and said that he couldn't swim. 
 And nobody else said anything. Oh ! Johnny 
 would have been drowned, that's certain, if Cap- 
 tain Hamilton had not been there."
 
 112 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " You see what a fine set of fellows your friends 
 are," said Gideon, a little grimly. 
 
 Emmy tossed her head. 
 
 " They are as good as other people, I suppose. 
 I never heard that you could swim yourself," she 
 said. 
 
 " Should you have gone in after him if you had 
 been there, Gid ? " said Carry, her. eyes gleaming. 
 " I suppose you would ; but, you see, the fellows on 
 the boat weren't his father, so " 
 
 " Do let us hear no more about it," said Gideon, 
 with sudden irritation. " Tell Keziah to get the 
 tea, for goodness' sake ; and be thankful that the 
 boy is alive." 
 
 " You needn't speak so cross," said Emmy ; but 
 she felt the need of some pacification, and went into 
 the kitchen to hasten preparations for the evening 
 meal. Gideon leaned against the window and 
 looked but into the garden ; while Carry, perched 
 on the music-stool, swung her feet and regarded 
 him inquisitively. She did not understand her 
 step- brother at all. 
 
 "Who is Captain Hamilton?" he asked pres- 
 ently.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 113 
 
 " Oh ! don't you know ? He is to marry that 
 Miss Frances Lisle who was here to-day. It's all 
 for her money everybody says so; because she's 
 quite plain, and he's such a splendid -looking gentle- 
 man." 
 
 " Miss Lisle plain ? " said Gideon, in a puzzled 
 voice. 
 
 " Why, of course she is plain, Gideon ! Don't 
 you know a plain person from a pretty one ? Well, 
 I must say that I think Emmy is thrown away on 
 you ! Look here, Emmy, he thinks Miss Lisle 
 pretty Miss Lisle ! " 
 
 " I never said so," Gideon averred, in the old 
 irritated voice. " I don't know whether she is 
 pretty or plain. She has what people call a nice 
 face, I believe." 
 
 Emmy laughed derisively. 
 
 " Gideon has no taste," she said. " Do you 
 know, he can't bear that pink and blue dress of 
 mine that I got at Hull ! They told me it was an 
 exact copy of a French costume, and yet he doesn't 
 care for it. I never think anything of Gideon's 
 taste now." 
 
 "Why has this Miss Lisle got money, if her
 
 114 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 sisters have not ? " said Gideon, disregarding these 
 accusations. " You know everything, Carry : tell 
 me that." 
 
 The slight satire was quite lost upon Carry. 
 
 " Everybody knows," she said, " except you ; 
 and I sometimes think you are blind and deaf, 
 Gideon. It was her old aunt and godmother who 
 left her a fortune. It all came into her hands when 
 she was twenty-one, and she is quite independent. 
 She is twenty-three now. Some people expected 
 her to give her money to the Church, or set up a 
 hospital or something ; but she wasn't quite so silly 
 as that. She's going to marry Captain Hamilton, 
 and, as he's over head and ears in debt, he will be 
 glad of the money." 
 
 " She's a lucky girl," said Emmy wistfully. 
 
 Gideon turned to her with a sharp gesture of 
 dissent. 
 
 " The luck's on his side," he said. 
 
 The girls laughed scornfully to each other ; they 
 almost thought that Gideon was a little mad at 
 times. 
 
 Later in the evening, when Carry had gone 
 home and he was in the garden smoking a pipe,
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 115 
 
 Emmy stole out to him in a gentler mood, and 
 twined her hand in his arm. 
 
 " I won't go on the barge again, Gideon," she 
 said softly. 
 
 " That's right." 
 
 " I shall always hate it now. Think what it 
 would have been for me if Jacky had been drowned ? 
 It would have been terrible. And I could not help 
 thinking when I saw him fall, ' What w T ill Gideon 
 say ? ' Gideon," pressing a little closer to him, 
 " what should we have done ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Gideon brokenly ; " don't 
 talk of it, Emmy." 
 
 " I believe you would never have forgiven me," 
 she said, with a petulant little laugh, in which there 
 was the echo of a sob. 
 
 " I don't suppose I ever should," said Gideon. 
 
 He could not understand why she wrenched her 
 hand out of his arm and ran back to the house 
 without another word. He watched her slim white 
 figure in the moonlight, and wondered a little at 
 women's vagaries. He did not know that he had 
 brought tears of real pain and passion to Emmy's 
 eyes.
 
 116 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " He does not care one bit about me," she said 
 to herself, as she began to undress herself in the 
 semi-darkness of her room, where John lay asleep 
 in his crib. " He cares only for the child." 
 
 She was wrong ; Gideon loved her too, but per- 
 haps at that moment the love of his child came first.
 
 V. 
 
 " Lore seeketh but itself to please." 
 
 " I ALWAYS said so," remarked Mrs. Blake, 
 senior, in her most tragic tones. " I always told 
 you that Enderbys was a poor lot, Gideon ; but you 
 were so set on marrying Emmy Enderby, that there 
 was no holding you back, and now 
 
 She paused significantly, and her silence said 
 more than words. Any other woman would per- 
 haps have shrunk from exciting the wrath that was 
 plainly to be seen in Gideon's dark face, but Mrs. 
 Blake was not wanting in courage. And she had 
 that curious insensibility to the pain of others which 
 comes from absolute want of sympathy. 
 
 She was sitting in the parlour of Riverside Cot- 
 tage on an August evening. Bolt upright on a 
 high chair, her ample silk skirts spread out carefully 
 on each side of her, she looked a worthy occupant 
 of the bourgeois little room, where the green " rep " 
 
 117
 
 118 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 was growing soiled and frayed, and the lilies and 
 roses of the carpet were beginning to merge their 
 violent contrasts of colour in a decent obscurity. 
 Mrs. Blake had " come to call," and she had come 
 on a Saturday evening, when she had expected, she 
 said somewhat viciously, " to find Mrs. Gideon at 
 home/' 
 
 Obed was in the garden, performing his 
 favourite function of nurse and caretaker to little 
 John, and Emmy was out. It was this fact that 
 had put Mrs. Blake out of temper. She was 
 impelled to vent her anger in spiteful words against 
 the girl, although she knew that Gideon was not 
 likely to be a very patient listener. He stood in 
 what was a favourite attitude with him : leaning 
 against the window-frame, looking out into the 
 garden. It was a careless, lounging pose, but as 
 Mrs. Blake spoke she might have noticed that he 
 gradually gathered himself up a little, and that the 
 hand which had been hanging loosely at his side 
 clenched itself. Signs of danger there, if Mrs. 
 Blake had only understood. 
 
 " Well ? " said Gideon, as she paused. " And 
 now what then ? "
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. H9 
 
 " You may well say ' What then ? ' " said Mrs. 
 Blake, pursing up her lips. "Indeed, I don't 
 know what is to become of you all ; and my heart 
 aches when I look at that poor child of yours and 
 think how he is to be brought up with such parents. 
 I hear that you never send him to Sunday-school, 
 and that lie does not come to church. I don't 
 know how you expect him to grow up respect- 
 able." 
 
 " lie's too young for church," said Gideon 
 shortly. " lie generally goes for a walk with me 
 on Sundays. Emmy goes to church ; Emmy and 
 Uncle Obed do the religion of the family." 
 
 " Ah Emmy Emmy ! " said Mrs. Blake, with a 
 portentous sigh. "Not much religion about her, 
 I'm afraid. Perhaps it would be better if she had 
 a little more." 
 
 " Look here," said Gideon suddenly, and with 
 violence, "what do you mean by talking about 
 Emmy in that tone ? If you've anything to say, 
 say it and be done with it. You seem rather to 
 forget that Emmy's my wife." 
 
 "Ah, poor thing! yes. I'm sorry for you, 
 Gideon. I should have wished you a good wife, I
 
 120 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 should indeed : for the unbelieving husband may be 
 sanctified by the believing wife " 
 
 " Are you insinuating that Emmy is not a good 
 wife ? " said Gideon sternly. 
 
 " Insinuating ? What a long word ! " said Mrs. 
 Blake, with acidulated playfulness. " No, I am not 
 insinuating anything, or, at least, not more than 
 everyone is saying, and I am not responsible, I 
 hope, for what other people say." 
 
 "What do they say?" 
 
 He left the window -frame and looked at her, 
 his face paling beneath its summer tan, his breath 
 coming faster than usual. Mrs. Blake was proud 
 of having made such an impression. Her big 
 teeth gleamed and gave her a hungry look as she 
 replied : 
 
 "They talk, Gideon of course they talk. 
 When a young wife neglects her home and her 
 husband 
 
 " It will l>e time enough to talk of her neglect- 
 ing me when / complain." 
 
 "Of course. And it is very forbearing of 
 you not to complain more than you do. I'm 
 sure I never gave you credit, Gideon, for such
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 121 
 
 patience. But I believe you were fond of 
 Emmy 
 
 " Were ! " 
 
 The exclamation was so indignant, the tone so 
 full of scorn and anger, that even Mrs. Blake felt 
 a little thrill of alarm. 
 
 " Well, you are fond of her, then, if you like 
 that better. There is such a thing as being weak 
 and blind in one's fondness, but I don't wish to 
 ' insinuate ' anything, as you call it. I'm not one 
 to make mischief. Ever since I was a girl I've 
 taken for my motto the text ' Blessed are the peace- 
 makers.' " 
 
 " You make peace in a damned extraordinary 
 way," said Gideon, naming into sudden rage. " I'd 
 as soon be without it, for my part." 
 
 " Oh, if you mean to swear at me, Gideon," 
 said Mrs. Blake, drawing herself up with dignity, 
 " I can only say that I shall never set foot in your 
 house again. I am not accustomed to be sworn 
 at. It's a thing your father never did, and where 
 you learned it I am sure I cannot tell ; and my 
 own father was a most respectable man, and 
 wouldn't have sullied his lips with a bad word,
 
 122 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 more especially to a lady and one that had come to 
 call and was anxious for his soul's good. Which 
 is what I have always been, although from the 
 very first moment that I entered your father's 
 house you took a grudge against me and showed 
 it, But I hope I am a Christian woman, and 
 always ready to do you a good turn when it comes 
 in my way." 
 
 This long speech gave Gideon time in which 
 to recover himself. He fell back against the win- 
 dow-frame and folded his arms. His face was in 
 shadow, but his voice had grown calm again when 
 he made answer: 
 
 " I beg your pardon. I did not mean to hurt 
 your feelings, I am sure. But you must see" 
 with a little gathering vehemence "that a man 
 doesn't like to be told that his wifo neglects him 
 or anything of that kind. It's not likely." 
 
 " No, indeed, it's not likely that one always 
 cares to hear the truth," said Mrs. Blake sharply ; 
 " but it may be your friends' duty to let you know 
 it, for all that. In plain words, Gideon, your 
 wife gads about too much, and I should advise 
 you to look after her."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 133 
 
 "Is that what you came to say?" asked Gid- 
 eon, who was at a white heat. 
 
 " Well, I came to say a word to Emmy, and 
 that's the truth. I should have said a deal more 
 to her than I've said to you, Gideon. But as 
 Emmy's as usual out and about, flaunting all over 
 the town 
 
 " Take care what you say," cried the young 
 man fiercely. 
 
 " Really, Gideon," said Mrs. Blake, shaking out 
 her silk skirts as she rose to go, " I don't see 
 that I've said anything that calls for that tone of 
 voice. I don't approve of so much gadding about, 
 of course ; but I have not said, as I might have 
 said, that when it comes to strolls by the river 
 with that Captain Hamilton up at the Park 
 
 She ceased suddenly : Gideon's hand was on 
 her arm, his dark eyes were flashing fire. His 
 voice was so husky that she could hardly recognise 
 it as that of her step-son. 
 
 " Dare to say anything against my wife," he 
 said in a choking whisper, " dare to breathe a word 
 against her, and I'll I'll murder you ! " 
 
 His voice and face were so frightful to Mrs.
 
 124 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Blake that she uttered a faint, terrified shriek, and 
 sped trembling to the door. He let her go, bnt 
 before she had left the room she heard him say in 
 a stronger, steadier voice: 
 
 " Never enter this house again." 
 
 " Indeed I won't," said Mrs. Blake, unwilling 
 to depart without at least one Parthian shot, " and 
 for why because no respectable person in Cas- 
 terby will care to enter it, either, when your wife 
 has lost her character." 
 
 She shut the door after her as she said the 
 last words, and perhaps it was as well, for Gideon 
 threw himself forward as if to hasten her departure 
 by forcible means. The closed door, however, 
 restrained him. He stood before it silent and 
 motionless for a moment, then, with an impatient 
 gesture, he turned back to the window and leaned 
 once more against the frame. 
 
 At first his face and bearing expressed nothing 
 but wrath ; his eyes gleamed under the dark brows, 
 and his hands clenched themselves; he muttered 
 angry words to himself against gossiping women 
 and scandalous tongues. When he grew calmer, 
 an expression of anxious doubt crept into his eyes;
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 135 
 
 his face grew intensely gloomy, as if his mind 
 were visited with dismal forebodings. Then a fit 
 of restlessness came upon him : he walked up and 
 down the room, looked at his watch, went up- 
 stairs and down again ; finally walked out into the 
 garden, and approached the wooden bench where 
 Obed Pilcher sat, peacefully smoking a long clay 
 pipe. Beside him John was busy digging with a 
 small spade in one of the garden-beds. 
 
 Gideon halted irresolutely near the old man 
 and the child. Obed asked him the very ques- 
 tion that he dreaded to hear. 
 "Where's Emmy?" he said. 
 " Gone out. I don't know where." 
 There was a suppressed pain and impatience 
 in his voice which made Uncle Obed look at him 
 keenly. He had seen Mrs. Blake's hurried de- 
 parture. " Reckon t' owd wumman has been 
 sayin' summat she needn't ha' said," he remarked 
 to himself. Then, in an unconscious tone : 
 "Mebbe Emmy's gone to see her mother." 
 "Yes; that's it. Of course she has," said 
 Gideon, with eager assent and relief. His face 
 
 cleared at the comforting reflection. He seated 
 9
 
 126 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 himself on the garden bench, and asked John 
 what he was doing. 
 
 " I l>e diggin' a girt hole," said John, whose 
 accent had been acquired mainly from Uncle 
 Obed much to Emmy's disgust. He stopped his 
 work, and leaned on his spade, looking at his 
 father solemnly. For his age he spoke with re- 
 markable clearness. 
 
 "Ay, and what's the hole for?" 
 
 "To get f rough to the ozzer side of the 
 world," said John, with determination. 
 
 " Ah, I remember beginning to do that once," 
 said Gideon, with a laugh. 
 
 "Did oo get f rough?" asked John, with in- 
 terest. 
 
 "No. It had to be such a big hole that I 
 got tired and left off." 
 
 " I san't get tired," said John sturdily. 
 
 He resumed his digging, and the father and 
 the uncle watched him with the silent adoration 
 for which Emmy often laughed at them both. 
 
 "Tie's a fine lad," said Uncle Obed. 
 
 Gideon nodded, without speaking. 
 
 " But he's noan so stout as he looks. He's a
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 127 
 
 bit like Euth your mother, Gid. She died of 
 a chest complaint." 
 
 "John's as strong as a little pony," said 
 Gideon. 
 
 " lie's had a bit of a cough ever sin' he fell 
 into t' watter," said Uncle Obed gloomily. 
 
 " Rubbish ! " said his nephew. Then, in an 
 uneasy tone : " I'll tell Miller to look at him again. 
 But Emmy thinks he's all right." 
 
 "Emmy's nobbut a wumman, after all," said 
 Obed philosophically, "and women is all alike at 
 boddom. A poor sort, mostly. I doan't think 
 mooch o' any wumman I ever saw. Ruth was 
 t' best ; but she's dead, poor soul ! " 
 
 "I never can see why you should say 'poor 
 soul' because she's dead," said Gideon, with a 
 touch of the crabbed gloom to which he was 
 sometimes subject. 
 
 " Eh," said Obed, " it's because we know what 
 we have to bear, living, but not what we come 
 to when we're dead." 
 
 "I'm tired." said John, flinging down his 
 spade. "I can't get frough to-night, fazer. I 
 fink I would raver go to bed."
 
 128 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 He clambered on Gideon's knee, and pressed 
 his soft lips to liis father's cheek. Gideon held 
 him close, perhaps too close, for John wriggled 
 himself free and began to cough. It was rather 
 a hoarse little cough, which Gideon remembered 
 that he had heard before. It went through him 
 like a knife. 
 
 " Eh ! don't cough," he said, almost sharply in 
 his agony. " Have you a cold ? " 
 
 "No," said John. "I always cough like that 
 in the evenin'-time." 
 
 " Mother must give you some lozenges and 
 put you to bed," said Gideon. 
 
 Where was mother? Why did she not come 
 home and nurse her child ? Had she no love 
 for him, as that chattering woman had implied ? 
 
 "Mammy tells me not to make a noise," said 
 John sleepily. " An' ze man what pulled me 
 out of ze river makes faces at me." 
 
 Gideon's brow contracted. He started up. 
 
 "Come, John, I'll take you to bed. Go to 
 sleep, and don't cough any more. Say good- 
 night to Uncle Obed." 
 
 "I be a-gooin' down to th' church," said
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 129 
 
 Obed. "There's a practice or summat agate. 
 Good-bye, lad. I'll be hoame by ten, Gideon." 
 
 He hobbled away, and Gideon carried the 
 boy into the house, undressed him with tender, 
 awkward fingers, and put him into his little 
 crib. Those who knew him as a man of mo- 
 rose and sullen disposition, with, as was popularly 
 believed, a violent and unbridled temper, might 
 have wandered to see him caring in this way for 
 his child unfastening strings and buttons, listening 
 to the sleepily-uttered little prayers, sitting beside 
 the small cot until its occupant fell fast asleep. 
 Throughout all, the dark face preserved its won- 
 derfully softened expression; but when at last, 
 as the light of day faded, he rose to go down- 
 stairs, it grew hard again hard and set and grim. 
 
 Emmy had not come in yet. Supper was laid 
 in the little dull dining-room, but Gideon did not 
 touch the food that was set out. He went into the 
 garden, and stood at the gate listening and looking. 
 The maid-servant had gone to see her relations. 
 Gideon and John were alone in the house. 
 
 At last she came, but not from the town. Gide- 
 on noticed that at once. She came from the other
 
 130 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 side of the garden, as if she had been walking along 
 the river-bank, and she was running instead of walk- 
 ing, as if she were afraid of being late. When she 
 saw Gideon, she dropped into a walk, and began to 
 hum a little tune, meaning thereby that she was 
 neither excited nor in haste ; but even in that dim 
 light Gideon saw that her cheeks were flushed and 
 her eyes glistening like stars. 
 
 " Where have you been ? " he asked abruptly. 
 
 She stopped short at the gate and looked at him, 
 laughing nervously. 
 
 " I've been into the town to see mother, of 
 course," she said. " And she kept me talking so 
 long that I was afraid you would want your supper, 
 eo I hurried home to give it you. Now, wasn't that 
 good of me ? " 
 
 Gideon did not often mince his words. He 
 lifted his heavy eyes to her face and looked straight 
 into hers. 
 
 " You lie ! " he said. 
 
 Emmy recoiled a little, as if he had struck her 
 with his hand. 
 
 " Gideon, what a brute you are ! " she said, 
 in a tone of sharp exasperation. "I have
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 131 
 
 been to mother's; you can go and ask her if you 
 like." 
 
 " Yes, but she did not keep you late, and you 
 have not come straight from her house. Why do 
 you tell me what is not true ? What is it you are 
 keeping back ? " 
 
 He had all but turned his stepmother out of the 
 house for her insinuations against Emmy's good 
 name ; nevertheless, suspicion had taken hold of 
 him, and made him fierce and wild. 
 
 " Why should I be keeping anything back ? " 
 she asked, eluding a direct answer, as he very 
 quickly noticed. "I have been to mother's . . . 
 and then I just ran down to the water-path to look 
 for a glow-worm that I saw shining in the grass. I 
 thought it would amuse Jacky. Is there anything 
 dreadful in that ? " 
 
 " There is more than that," said Gideon slowly. 
 
 His face showed white and grim in the twilight, 
 and the colour began to die out of Emmy's cheeks. 
 " I have been told to-night that people talk about 
 you ; they say that you spend your time gadding 
 about that you do not love your husband and your 
 child any longer "
 
 132 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " AVho says such horrid things ? " said Emmy 
 indignantly. 
 
 Then a sob caught her voice ; she put her hand 
 up to her throat and looked away. 
 
 " It does not matter who says them so long as 
 they are not true," said Gideon. "Oh, Emmy, 
 tell me say that it is not true you do love me 
 still?" 
 
 The passion in his voice touched her, but she 
 did not want to show that she was touched. She 
 shifted from one foot to the other, shook her slim 
 shoulders, turned her head to the dim landscape be- 
 yond the garden, so that she should not see Gideon's 
 face. 
 
 " It is silly to talk in this way," she broke out at 
 length, " when we are old married people, who have 
 got over all that nonsense about love! "What on 
 earth should we talk about it for ? " 
 
 " Because I shall never get over it because I 
 care about it more than anything in the world be- 
 side," said Gideon, in a low, passionate voice. 
 
 " You were always foolish," she said, with a cold 
 laugh, " always different to other people. Other 
 men don't trouble don't bother themselves "
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 133 
 
 " Don't trouble whether their wives are false or 
 true?" 
 
 There was the old fierceness in his tone. 
 
 " It's nothing to do with being false or true," 
 said Emmy, and he saw a sudden flush of colour in 
 her face ; " it's only a question of my going out to 
 tea oftener than you like, and running down to 
 mother's. You are selfish that's what it is ; you 
 want to keep me cooped up here, in this miserable 
 little house, until I feel inclined to throw myself 
 into the river. You get plenty of change and 
 amusement, but I get none." 
 
 Were these entirely her own opinions, or were 
 they adopted from the lips of someone else ? It 
 seemed to Gideon that they had not quite a natural 
 ring. He wondered dully whether she had read 
 them in a book. 
 
 " You get none ? " he repeated. He was al- 
 most stunned by the accusation. 
 
 " Well, what do I get ? " asked Emmy, raising 
 her voice defiantly. " You grumble and scold if I 
 go out with my friends or run down to mother's. 
 You never take me anywhere from one year's end 
 to another. Other people go to Scarborough or
 
 134 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Bridlington, but we go nowhere. I would not even 
 mind Cleethorpes ; it would be a change. But you 
 never seem to think of such a thing." 
 
 " I haven't been quite well able to afford it, as 
 you know," said Gideon, who had thrust his hands 
 into his pockets and was staring gloomily at the 
 ground. " And I didn't know you wanted it as 
 much as all that." 
 
 " Will you take me this year, then ? " said 
 Emmy pantingly. " Do, Gideon, do ; I want to 
 
 go-" 
 
 There was a note of pleading pain in her voice 
 which was new to Gideon, but he did not under- 
 stand what it implied. 
 
 " I can't ; it is impossible," he said, plunging his 
 hands deeper into his pockets, and frowning darkly. 
 
 He could not bring himself at that moment to 
 tell her that he was unable to afford a seaside jaunt 
 because he had advanced every available pound of 
 his own earnings to free his father from a mortgage 
 whidi the holder threatened to foreclose. He felt 
 vaguely that the knowledge of this fact ought to 
 exculpate him, even in Emmy's eyes ; but he had 
 an unreasonable dislike to making excuses for him-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 135 
 
 self, especially at the expense of other people. 
 Therefore, he was silent, and Emmy made a gesture 
 of anger and disgust. 
 
 " It's always so ! " she said. " Whenever I want 
 anything particularly, it's always the same old story 
 no money ! no money ! If I had known you were 
 going to be so poor, do you think I would have 
 married you ? To live in this hovel of a place, and 
 go nowhere and see nobody ? Not I ! But it .isn't 
 poverty, it's meanness, and that is what makes me 
 angry. I hate a mean man." 
 
 " Are you calling ine mean 2 " said Gideon 
 slowly. 
 
 " Yes, I am. Are you so stupid that you can't 
 take even that in ? Yes ; you are as mean as any- 
 one can be, for you won't spend your money even 
 on your wife and child. Where does it all go to ? 
 You've no house-rent to pay, because your uncle 
 gives us house-room ; and a miserable arrangement 
 it is, to have that vulgar old man always prying 
 about 
 
 " Stop that, Emmy ! " said Gideon, roused to 
 decision by her abuse of poor old Uncle Obed. 
 " I'll not hear a word against him"
 
 136 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Oh, of course, your relations are perfect," she 
 mocked. " But you're the. only person that finds 
 them so. Mother always told me I I was making 
 a mistake." Her voice began to choke, and the 
 tears to gather in her eyes. "But I ne never 
 thought you would be so unkind." 
 
 " Unkind, am I ? " Gideon said, recovering the 
 grin mess of manner which showed that he was dis- 
 pleased. " Well, there may be two opinions about 
 that, you know. I've only this to say : you must 
 be content to stay at home. I won't have people 
 talking about my wife, and saying that she is a gad- 
 about ; least of all " and his voice hardened 
 " will I have them saying that you take walks with 
 Captain Hamilton." 
 
 Emmy had been quietly crying, but at these 
 words her eyes blazed, and the hot colour leaped 
 into her wet cheeks. 
 
 " Who says so ? " she gasped. " Who tells such 
 lies about me ? " 
 
 "Are they lies?" said Gideon, looking straight 
 at her. 
 
 " I may have seen him once or twice when I 
 was out with John," said Emmy in a beaten voice,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 137 
 
 " and he always stops to speak to John : he takes 
 such an interest in him ever since he pulled him out 
 of the river. You ought to like him for that." 
 
 " I'm grateful to him for saving the boy's life," 
 said Gideon " I can't be less, I suppose ; but all 
 the same, I won't have him hanging about my 
 house and my wife, and making foolish people say 
 unkind things of you." 
 
 " He does no harm." 
 
 " I don't suppose he does. I should kill him if 
 I thought he meant any harm and you, too." 
 
 " Oh, Gideon ! " 
 
 But she was subtly flattered by the threat. 
 
 " So you may tell him to keep away if he ever 
 comes here again." 
 
 " I can't do that, Gideon ; it would look so rude 
 and unkind," she murmured faintly. 
 
 "Then, you must keep out of his way. You 
 need not speak to him if you meet him." 
 
 " I can't make myself ridiculous," said Emmy 
 sullenly. "One would think you were jealous, 
 Gideon. I should hope I could look after my- 
 self." 
 
 "It seems you can't, as you've made yourself
 
 138 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 town-talk already," her husband replied bitterly. 
 " But for the future you'll do as I tell you." 
 
 There was a little silence. Gideon had said all 
 that lie had wanted to say. Emmy had reached 
 the point where she knew protestation to be use- 
 less. She took out her handkerchief, and wiped 
 away some tears, as she stood with her back to the 
 garden-gate. 
 
 Gideon, on the other side, was not insensible to 
 this mute appeal. After a few moments, he leaned 
 over the gate and put his arms round her waist. 
 
 " Emmy, look at me ! Don't cry, my darling; I 
 didn't mean to be unkind." 
 
 " You were very unkind," sobbed Emmy, pur- 
 suing an undoubted advantage. 
 
 " I am very sorry. Won't you forgive me ? I 
 didn't mean it ; and I'll see what we can do about 
 Scarborough. Perhaps you and John could go 
 there without me for a little while. John does 
 not seem quite well 
 
 " Oh, you can afford it when its a question of 
 John's health ; but not when it only affects my hap- 
 piness ! " cried Emmy, repulsing him. 
 
 lie lingered, mute and bewildered, for a minute
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 139 
 
 or two, then would have spoken again and renewed 
 his caresses, had not Emmy pushed him aside, 
 slipped through the gate, and hidden herself in the 
 house, where, from the lights in the windows, he 
 was soon able to conjecture that she had betaken 
 herself to bed. 
 
 lie had a sore and a heavy heart, and he could 
 not tell himself that he had bettered matters by 
 speaking ; fur Emmy was very cold to him . after 
 that day, and went out more than ever, in complete 
 defiance of his expressed desire.
 
 VI. 
 
 " Here I and Sorrow sit." 
 
 THE autumn at Casterby grew wild and wet, 
 after the glorious summer. Emmy went out less, 
 and was quieter than usual. She refused to go to 
 Scarborough with John, as Gideon proposed to her 
 to do ; but she made occasional excursions to a 
 small seaside place at a short distance from Cas- 
 terby, and returned thence with an excitement of 
 manner which struck Gideon as inexplicable. He 
 would almost rather that she had gone to Scar- 
 borough with John, for the boy's health seemed 
 delicate, and the father was anxious about him. 
 But Emmy laughed his anxiety to scorn. 
 
 The breach between Mrs. Blake, senior, and her 
 stepson was healed, for Mrs. Blake had apologized 
 (somewhat reluctantly) for her insinuations, and 
 Gideon was too much attached to his father to be 
 implacable. So it happened that he went to his 
 
 140
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 father's house to tea one afternoon in October, for 
 Emmy was to meet him there and to walk home 
 with him afterwards. Obed remained at home 
 with the boy. 
 
 They were all seated at the tea-table when 
 Gideon arrived. He hung up his hat in the hall, 
 and waited a moment to let a maidservant pass him 
 with a tray. It was cold and wet and dark, and the 
 gas was already lighted in the dining-room, from 
 which came the sound of women's tongues, and 
 the scent of tea, hot cakes, and eau-de-Cologne. 
 As he waited, a piece of news floated to his 
 ears. 
 
 " Oh yes, it's all broken off," said the voice of a 
 guest. " I understand that Captain Hamilton is 
 going back to London directly." 
 
 "You'll miss hi?n, dear," said another voice 
 sweetly. 
 
 To whom could she be speaking? And why 
 were the words followed by such an ominous little 
 silence ? Gideon stepped into the room in rather a 
 curious mood. 
 
 But he forgot the subject it was one of no im- 
 portance when he looked at Emmy's face, the 
 10
 
 14:2 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 point to which his eyes always travelled first when 
 lie came into a room. What was the matter with 
 Emmy ? for something had vexed her without a 
 doubt. Her cheeks were as scarlet as poppies, 
 and the tears did not seem far from her forget- 
 me-not eyes. There was an unmistakable frown 
 upon her brow, a pout upon her lips. The voices, 
 which had suddenly ceased even before Gideon's 
 entrance, now took up their strain once more, and 
 Emmy was the only person who sat silent in the 
 company. But when Gideon, looking persistently 
 at her. attracted her attention, she gave him an un- 
 usually bright smile and a friendly nod, and entered 
 into conversation with her neighbours with such 
 spirit that Gideon felt relieved. He had certainly 
 thought that Emmy was seriously embarrassed and 
 annoyed. 
 
 As he had come late, he was not put in any seat 
 of honour, but found himself close to his stepsister 
 Carry, a position of which he did not altogether ap- 
 prove. By way of making talk, he asked her un- 
 concernedly : 
 
 " Whose engagement has been broken off ? " 
 " Miss Dale's, of course," said Carry promptly.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 143 
 
 " Oh ! how's that ? " asked Gideon, helping him- 
 self to the hot cakes. 
 
 " Well, they say it's because she has lost all her 
 money and he won't have her," said Carry ; " but I 
 don't think anybody knows exactly." 
 
 " He's a cur, if he won't marry her because she 
 has lost her money," said Gideon carelessly, " but 
 I hope it's not that." 
 
 " Perhaps he has seen somebody he likes better," 
 said Carry demurely. 
 
 In the midst of the dialogue, across the 
 buzz of conversation that seemed to fill the 
 room, came Emmy's voice, high and sharp 
 across the lower tones, as she addressed her hus- 
 band and her sister-in-law from the other side of 
 the table. 
 
 " You are very ready to speak evil of people you 
 know nothing about, I think," she said, with red 
 cheeks and sparkling eyes. " Captain Hamilton 
 would never have given her up for the loss of her 
 money; it was because he found he did not love 
 her that he gave her up." 
 
 The eyes of the company were fixed on Emmy 
 in rather a curious way.
 
 144 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " How do you know ? " said Carry's small, shrill 
 pipe. 
 
 And Gideon looked at his wife in simple amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " Oli I know, because somebody told me so," 
 she answered angrily. "And Captain Hamilton 
 saved Jacky's life, and I I never like to hear him 
 run down. 1 " 
 
 " No, of course not of course not, my dear," 
 said old Joe Blake, in a soothing tone. Emmy was 
 sitting next to him, and he laid his big hand over 
 hers and patted it. " You are quite right to 
 stick uj) for the man who saved your boy's life," 
 he said ; and Gideon felt grateful to him for say- 
 ing it. 
 
 The clash of gossiping tongues began again ; the 
 reek of smoking teapots and muffins filled the air. 
 Attention was diverted from Emmy, who felt 
 ashamed of her outbreak ; but Gideon's eye was 
 fixed thoughtfully upon her, and horror of horrors ! 
 she felt the big tears beginning to fall. Two 
 splashed straight into her lap, a choking sensation 
 came in her throat, and she wondered whether she 
 were going to faint. Then, fortunately for her,
 
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 145 
 
 came the move to the " best room." She was able 
 to breathe a cooler air, and to fly upstairs to bathe 
 her face ; and in a little while she was downstairs 
 again, seated at the piano, and singing the most 
 popular song of the hour at the very top of her 
 voice. 
 
 Gideon was not of a sociable turn, and he wanted 
 to be home again, for John had caught a feverish 
 cold, which made the father anxious. However, he 
 knew that there was no use in trying to hasten 
 Emmy's departure, and he therefore waited pa- 
 tiently, standing about in corners with crossed arms 
 and an air of resignation which some people thought 
 sullen. Emmy was the life of the party. With 
 blazing cheeks and brilliant, dilated eyes, she was 
 the centre of every amusement which Casterby 
 ideas of propriety allowed at an evening entertain- 
 ment. There was, of course, no dancing, but there 
 were round games of various kinds, and a charade 
 at the close of the evening. It was nearly twelve 
 o'clock when the guests went home. 
 
 " Oh, I am so tired ! " said Emmy, as soon as she 
 had quitted the house and turned into the broad wet 
 street. Her vivacity fell from her like a garment,
 
 146 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 and left her petulant and dissatisfied. " Fancy hav- 
 ing to walk all this way ! " 
 
 " I'm sorry it's raining," said Gideon in an 
 apologetic way, as though he were responsible for 
 the weather ; " but we shall soon be home now. I 
 wonder how John is ? " 
 
 " Oh, John ! John ! " she repeated irritably. 
 " You care for nobody but John." 
 
 " You have no right to say that," said Gideon, 
 not wise enough to know that silence was his best 
 policy. " You are always making accusations of 
 that sort, and yet surely you are fond of John your- 
 self. At least, I suppose you are, or you would not 
 make such a fuss about that Captain Hamilton for 
 saving him." 
 
 This was carrying the war into the enemy's 
 country indeed. Emmy wrenched her arm away 
 from him, and walked on the other side of the pave- 
 ment, lie followed her with the umbrella which he 
 had been holding over both their heads, and half re- 
 gretted his 8]>eech, for lie saw that her lips were 
 quivering and her eyes ready to overflow. But she 
 did not reply, and for some minutes they walked on 
 in silence.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 147 
 
 " We seem to be always wrangling, now," said 
 Emmy at last, in a heart-broken voice, " and noth- 
 ing I do or say is right. . I'm sure I don't know 
 how it is. I think you would be happier without me." 
 
 ; ' Don't be a fool ! " said Gideon gruffly. 
 
 " Oh, I'm not such a fool as you think. I can 
 see that you are wrapped up in the child, and think 
 nothing of me." 
 
 " Your child, Emmy," said her husband, a touch 
 of deep feeling showing itself beneath his usual re- 
 serve. 
 
 " He's taken my place, any way," she answered 
 obstinately ; and against this extraordinary assertion 
 Gideon felt himself powerless to strive. He tried 
 to change the subject. 
 
 " It was a nice sort of party, wasn't it ? " he 
 said, a little doubtfully. 
 
 " It was a horrible, hateful party," said Emmy, 
 with sudden fire, "and I can't think why I ever 
 went to it. Silly little tea-parties in a country 
 town, what are they ? If it had been a big ball, 
 such as one reads of in books, or a stately dinner- 
 party but what can you expect in a little place 
 like this ? "
 
 148 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " But even if we lived in a bigger place," said 
 Gideon, " you know, my dear, we should not have 
 the chance of those things." 
 
 She made an impatient movement. 
 
 " Oh, I know as well as you do," she said, " the 
 shamefully sordid, poverty-stricken life we are 
 likely to lead. And I don't suppose you would 
 have done any better for me if you could. I'm 
 tired of it." 
 
 Gideon made no answer. His temper was not 
 under much control, but Emmy's direct attacks 
 pained rather than angered him. His love for her 
 gave him a kind of patience, which he showed to 
 no one else. Neither of them spoke another word 
 until they reached the house, when a few cold and 
 trivial remarks on John's condition were inter- 
 changed. 
 
 John was not well. He was coughing a good 
 deal and very feverish. The following morning 
 was Saturday, and Gideon left him in bed, promis- 
 ing that he would come home early and sit with 
 him all the afternoon. He thought that Emmy 
 looked at him oddly as he said the words. 
 
 " Are you going out ? " he asked her.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 149 
 
 She turned away hastily. 
 
 " No at least, I may run down to mother's. 
 If you are with Jacky, he will be all right I 
 needn't stay in." 
 
 " No. I only thought you would hardly care to 
 leave him." 
 
 " I don't make myself such a slave to the child 
 as you do," said Emmy scornfully. " He would be 
 all right if he was up and out ; it's a lovely day." 
 
 Indeed, the sun was shining brilliantly, and the 
 yellowing leaves of the trees looked golden in the 
 light. The garden was full of autumn flowers 
 chrysanthemums and sunflowers and Michaelmas 
 daisies ; it looked quite attractive to John's childish 
 eyes as he lay in his crib near the window. He 
 noted what his mother said, but was shrewd enough 
 not to provoke discussion ; he had already learnt 
 wisdom in these matters. When his father was 
 gone out he spoke. 
 
 " Mammy, may I get up ? I'm tired of being in 
 bed." 
 
 " Oh yes ; get up if you like," said Emmy care- 
 lessly. She was trying the effect of ribbons against 
 her face in the glass. As John scrambled into his
 
 150 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 garments, without much assistance from her, he 
 wondered at the pretty things that she took out 
 from her drawers and looked at now and then. 
 Once he caught the glitter of stones and gold, and 
 pressed nearer to see. " Oh, let me look ! " he 
 cried. He could not understand why his mother 
 turned round angrily and boxed his ears ; he did 
 not know that he was doing anything wrong. She 
 seemed to want to get him out of the room, so he 
 crept downstairs to the kitchen, where Keziah, the 
 maid-of-all-work, consoled him and gave him a 
 lemon cheesecake. But he was not hungry, and 
 after holding it for some time in his hand, he put it 
 down, and strolled out of the kitchen into the 
 parlour, where it was not so hot and stifling as it 
 was by the kitchen fire. 
 
 Emmy came downstairs, and found him curled 
 up in a nest of cushions on the sofa, with the cat 
 on hi lap. She took no notice of his flushed face 
 and heavy eyes, nor of the croupy cough which 
 shook his little frame every few minutes ; she had 
 matters of her own to think of which completely 
 absorbed her mind. She was dressed for walking, 
 with a rather thick veil tied over her face; but
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 151 
 
 through the black net it could be seen that there 
 were hot spots of colour on her cheeks, and that her 
 eyes were unusually bright. Her voice had a 
 strained, unnatural tension as she spoke. 
 
 " John, what business have you here ? How- 
 ever, it doesn't matter. I'm going out ; tell father 
 I shan't be home till late." 
 
 "Where's oo goin', mammy?" said John 
 hoarsely. 
 
 " Oh, I'm going to see a friend. I'm going by 
 train." 
 
 " Give me a kiss, mammy," said the child, rous- 
 ing himself up and tumbling the cat off his 
 lap in his haste. " You always kiss Jacky good- 
 bye." 
 
 She came and stooped down to kiss him, and 
 when she felt the baby arms round her neck she 
 began to quiver and to sob. 
 
 " Oh, Jacky mother's little Jacky how can I 
 go away ? " she cried, with her face on the soft little 
 neck. 
 
 " Stay, then, mammy stay with Jacky ; he's so 
 poorly. Stay and make him well." 
 
 Emmy knelt beside him for a moment, and he
 
 152 UT OF UE SEASON. 
 
 felt her trembling in every limb ; then, as if 
 by a supreme effort, she rose and drew herself 
 away. 
 
 " I low silly I am!" she said impatiently. 
 " You won't want me, John ; you have father and 
 Uncle Obed and Keziah : you'll be all right. 
 Good-bye ; take care of yourself." 
 
 She went out without looking back. In the hall 
 she stopped and called to the maid, still in the same 
 strained, high voice : 
 
 " Keziah ! Look after John, will you ? " 
 
 4k Are you going out, m'm ? " said Keziah 
 stolidly. 
 
 " Yes ; I'm going to Hull, to do some shopping. 
 You can tell master so when he comes in. I shall 
 not be home till late." 
 
 " There ain't nothing ordered for Sunday din- 
 ner," said Keziah in a resentful tone. " And you 
 haven't made the pies nor nothing. Master won't 
 be main pleased if we give him rice pudden 
 again 
 
 " Oh, be quiet with your puddings and pies," 
 said Emmy, putting up her hands to her ears. 
 " It's always the way always a talk about house-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 153 
 
 > 
 
 keeping and cooking till I'm sick of it. Get what 
 you like ; I don't care." 
 
 She turned to the front-door, and Keziah retired 
 grumbling to the kitchen. A little figure stood at 
 the parlour-door a little figure with tousled fair 
 head and feverish lips, calling hoarsely to " mam- 
 my " for a parting word. 
 
 " Mammy, may I sit up till oo come back ? " the 
 little cracked voice said. 
 
 It was with a movement of absolute desperation 
 that Emmy opened the door and slid out into the 
 garden, shutting her ear to Jacky's plaintive little 
 cry " Oh, why didn't I go at night ? " she was say- 
 ing to herself, "when the child was asleep, and 
 couldn't plague me in this way ! " A sob escaped 
 her lips. " He'll never plague me again," she said 
 to herself. Then a wave of bitterness checked the 
 sobs. " They'll forget me easily enough ; Gideon 
 simply worships the boy, and doesn't care a bit 
 about me. "Well, he will see now that somebody 
 else is willing to give up everything for my sake 
 just as I am giving up everything for his. Not 
 that I have very much to give up," she added, 
 laughing a little wildly as she shut the garden-gate
 
 154: OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 behind her. " Oh, I wish it was all over ; I wish I 
 were safe in London with George ! He'll protect 
 me- lidtt take care of ine. I shall never know 
 another care/' 
 
 Here the connected line of thought was broken, 
 for she had turned out of the lane into the main 
 street of the town. She would willingly have 
 avoided it, but there was no other way of getting to 
 the station, where she meant to take a train to Ret- 
 ford. At Retford she was to book for London, but 
 she had been counselled not to take her London 
 ticket from Casterby, as she might be more easily 
 trucked if the direction of her journey were known. 
 And she had no desire to be followed, just as she 
 had no desire ever to return to Casterby. 
 
 Just as she turned into the road an open car- 
 riage passed by. The horses were going at a foot- 
 pace, and the carriage had only one occupant, whom 
 Emmy recognised as Miss Frances Lisle. The two 
 women looked each other straight in the face, but, 
 for some reason or other, neither .of them betrayed 
 any sign of recognition. Frances was very pale, and 
 her face had a drawn look, but her eyes rested 
 steadily and calmly on the heated, excited counte-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 155 
 
 nance that Emmy showed behind her veil. There 
 was an air of triumph, of exultation, about Mrs. 
 Blake which Frances remembered afterwards. The 
 carriage passed slowly forward, and Emmy sped 
 with hurried footsteps to the railway station, where 
 she took her ticket unobserved, and was quickly 
 borne away from Casterby. 
 
 Gideon came home about two o'clock, and was 
 horrified to see John's face at the door. 
 
 " What are you doing out of bed 2 " he ex- 
 claimed, almost roughly. 
 
 " Mammy said I might get up," answered the 
 boy. " An' my cough's not so drefful bad now, I 
 fink. I'm so glad you've coined, daddy. It's been 
 so werry lonely." 
 
 " Has mother gone out, then ? " said Gideon, in 
 a startled voice. 
 
 " She's gone to do shopping. She won't be 
 back till late." 
 
 " Missis has gone to Hull," said Keziah, appear- 
 ing at the kitchen door with a melancholy face. 
 " And nothing ordered for to-morrow ! She said I 
 was to ask you what you'd have."
 
 15G OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Oli, I don't care," said Gideon, gathering 
 John iij) into his arms. "Get what you like; I 
 dare say it will be all right. Roast beef and plum 
 pie that's the usual sort of thing, isn't it ? And 
 you, young man, you must come in out of the 
 cold. Ah, coughing again ! You ought to be in 
 bed." 
 
 " Mammy didn't want to go away," said John ir- 
 relevantly. " She kied when she kissed me, she did." 
 
 " That must have been because you had a 
 cough," said Gideon cheerfully, though he knitted 
 his brow over John's statement. 
 
 After dinner, which was a very scrappy meal, 
 he made Keziah light the fire in the sitting-room, 
 a task at which she grumbled a good deal, and 
 drew ii]) the couch to the hearth with all a man's 
 disregard for conventional arrangements of the 
 furniture. Here Uncle Obed joined them before 
 long, and the two men devoted themselves with 
 somewhat pathetic solicitude to the entertainment 
 of the sick child. They had a difficult task, for 
 John was in the restless, petulant state of approach- 
 ing illness, and would not be pleased with any- 
 thing. All his toys were strewn on the floor;
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 157 
 
 every picture-book in the house had been brought 
 out for his amusement; and Gideon had roared 
 himself as hoarse as the child in his successive im- 
 personations of lions and bears, but without much 
 result; for, with the perversity of childhood and 
 of sickness, John took it into his head to cry for 
 his mother, and to declare that he wanted nobody 
 but her. 
 
 Crying made him cough again, and his hands 
 were so hot and dry that Gideon at last whispered 
 to his uncle to go for Dr. Miller. The doctor ap- 
 peared between six and seven o'clock, when the 
 light was beginning to fade, and found Gideon 
 walking up and down the firelit room with the 
 child in his arms. John had sunk into a doze, but 
 when he was roused he looked about him with 
 glazed eyes which seemed to see nothing, and bab- 
 bled of his mother. 
 
 " Eh, where is his mother, by the way ? " the 
 doctor asked. 
 
 " I expect her back every minute," said Gid- 
 eon, not taking his eyes from John's face. " She 
 went to do some shopping at Hull to-day, unfortu- 
 nately." 
 
 11
 
 158 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Xay, my good man, she didn't do that," said 
 Dr. Miller good-humouredly, and not meaning any 
 harm. " I saw her at Gainsborough Station this 
 afternoon." 
 
 u Oh, well, it's all the same ; she's gone to buy 
 tilings," said Gideon impatiently. "What does it 
 matter ? Just look at the boy, doctor, and tell me 
 what's wrong with him." 
 
 The doctor drew in his lips with a smothered 
 whistle. He had not only seen Mrs. Blake at 
 Gainsborough, but he had noticed that she was in 
 the Retford train. Was Gideon not aware of the 
 fact \ The doctor did not want to make mischief, 
 and therefore said nothing more just then. He 
 turned his attention to the boy. 
 
 " Yes, you must get him to bed," he said, rather 
 gravely, after examining him. " I hope it won't 
 turn to pneumonia. What will you do for a 
 nurse ? " 
 
 "We can nurse him well enough, Emmy and 
 I," said Gideon. 
 
 " Do you think she will get back from Ret- 
 fordto-night ? " 
 
 "Retford!"
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 159 
 
 " My dear Gideon, I dare say she had got into 
 the Retford train by mistake. I saw her in the 
 carriage, and wondered what she was off to Ret- 
 ford for. But if she went there to do her shop- 
 ping, she will hardly get back to-night." 
 
 Gideon had turned pale. He made a step 
 towards the door as if he meant to rush off in 
 search of his wife; then his eyes fell on John's 
 flushed face, and he stopped short. 
 
 " I can't leave the boy," he said, with a glance 
 towards the doctor that was almost piteous. His 
 hands trembled, and the doctor bit his lip. 
 
 " It's all right, no doubt," said the rough, kindly 
 little man. " She's made a mistake in the train, 
 and will come flying back in great tribulation 
 before long, or will send a telegram saying that she 
 can't get back to-night.. Awkward, when your 
 boy's ill, but it can't be helped. Shall I go round 
 to Mrs. Worlaby's and ask her to look in for the 
 night?" 
 
 Mrs. Worlaby was a nurse. Gideon resented 
 the suggestion. 
 
 " I don't suppose there's anything she can do 
 that I can't," he said sourly.
 
 1GO OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 u Il'm, I don't know. Can you make a poultice, 
 for example ? " 
 
 " Xo, but Keziah can." 
 
 " Keziah. Let me see Keziah "Wragge. Yes, 
 she comes of a nursing family; perhaps she can 
 manage. I will speak to her. And do you get 
 that boy to bed." 
 
 The doctor strode out into the kitchen, and 
 Gideon, seizing a nig from the sofa, wrapped the 
 child in its soft folds and carried him upstairs. 
 Here he found Obed Pilcher on his knees before 
 the little bedroom grate, where he was already 
 lighting a fire. Unfortunately, the chimney had 
 been stuffed up, and wanted cleaning, and even 
 when a bundle of straw had been removed it did 
 riot " draw " very well ; the consequence was that 
 successive puffs of smoke soon filled the room, 
 thickening the atmosphere, and making John cough 
 and cry. 
 
 "Doan't thee cry now, sonny," said Obed 
 cheerfully. " Smoake '11 soon go, an' then theer 5 !! 
 be a nice bit o' fire. Sithee now, 'tis better 
 already/' 
 
 " Oh, this won't do ! " said the doctor, coming
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 161 
 
 in abruptly and snuffing up the smoke. " This is 
 intolerable ! " 
 
 He glanced round sharply, as if to scold some- 
 one, and then stopped short, taking in the elements 
 of the scene. There was Obed Pilcher, bending 
 his rheumatic knees and half breaking his old 
 back, in trying to make the fire burn up. There 
 was Gideon, sitting on the bed, with the sick 
 child only the doctor knew how sick held close 
 to his breast. A vision of Emmy floated before 
 Dr. Miller's mind, and whether she came back, or 
 whether she had gone altogether, as he shrewdly 
 suspected he felt certain that only unhappiness 
 and misery could follow in her train. He was sorry 
 for all of them sorry for the old man, panting and 
 grunting over the smoking hearth ; sorry for the 
 little boy, in his feverish pain and weakness ; sorry 
 most of all for Gideon, whose look of mute endur- 
 ance touched the doctor to the heart. 
 
 He scolded no longer, but applied himself ener- 
 getically to the task of setting things in order. Dr. 
 Miller was a man of resource. He suggested that, 
 as there was already a comfortable fire in the par- 
 lour, the child's bed should be made there at once.
 
 1T>2 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 He helped Keziali to make and apply a poultice ; 
 he fetched a bronchitis-kettle from home with his 
 own hands, and did not leave the cottage until he 
 had seen all arrangements made for a brave fight 
 with the malady which had attacked the child. At 
 the last moment Obed Pilcher took heart of grace, 
 and tremulously asked the question which Gideon 
 had tacitly avoided. 
 
 " Is it serious, doctor ? " said the old man, look- 
 ing into Dr. Miller's face. 
 
 " All children's complaints are serious," said the 
 doctor dogmatically. " Their temperature goes up 
 and down so quickly that they want great care. 
 But, with care, there is no reason why any com- 
 plaint should not be cured, if taken in time." 
 
 "With this enigmatic reply he took his departure, 
 calling out to Obed to send for him if the child 
 should he worse. And then the two men set them- 
 selves to wrestle with the enemy all the long night 
 through to wrestle with the Angel of Death. 
 
 John was very ill. There could be no doubt 
 about that. Every breath was agony to him; yet 
 the fever ran so high that, while his mind wandered, 
 he tried to talk and sing, and even to spring out of
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 his bed. He was quieter with his father's arms 
 round him than in any other position, and for the 
 greater part of the night Gideon sat holding him 
 thus, while Obed, refusing to go to bed, sat over 
 the fire, ready at any moment to compound a hot 
 drink, administer medicine, or go to the doctor, as 
 might be required. Keziah had been sent to bed ; 
 they had no need for her. 
 
 It was about ten o'clock that she had knocked 
 at the parlour door, and said in her gruff way: 
 
 " Is missis a-coming back to-night or not ? " 
 
 Obed looked helplessly at Gideon. 
 
 " I don't think so," said Gideon. There was 
 not a spark of feeling in his tone. His eyes were 
 fixed upon John's face. 
 
 " Then I may as well go to bed," said Keziah, 
 "unless you'd like me to sit up wi' John." 
 
 "No; let her go to bed," said Gideon to his 
 uncle. 
 
 "If missis should come home, then," said the 
 maid-of -all-work, " I reckon you'll let her in ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Obed. 
 
 Then Keziah shut the door, and the old man 
 went up to Gideon, and laid his hand on his
 
 I(j4 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 nephew's shoulder. Gideon knew that the touch 
 was meant for comfort. 
 
 " She won't come back," he said suddenly, rais- 
 ing Ids eyes, already haggard and bloodshot, to his 
 uncle's face. " She's left me." 
 
 " Xay, nay, Gideon ; she was fond of thee 
 fond o' the lad. She's made a mistake wi' trains, 
 or summat, as the doctor said." 
 
 "The doctor's a fool," said Gideon. "What 
 does it matter ? There's the boy to think of ; it's 
 time for his medicine now." 
 
 And he spoke not another word, except to little 
 John, until the morning hour. 
 
 " No better, I'm afraid," the doctor said, with a 
 grave look, as he stood by the bedside on the early 
 Sunday morning. " Hadn't you better have a 
 nurse ?" 
 
 "Do you mean," said Gideon, "that a woman 
 could do more for him than we can ?" 
 
 " I don't know that she would actually do more : 
 she might think of things you wouldn't think of. 
 Now, Gideon, don't be absurd. I'll just send Mrs. 
 Worlaby in, and then 
 
 " I will have no Mrs. Worlaby in the house
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 unless I am injuring the boy by refusing," he said, 
 with an ominous frown upon his face. " But I 
 think I can nurse him as well as any woman in the 
 world. Look at him : he's quieter with me than 
 with anyone else. I can do everything for him 
 that is necessary." 
 
 " But you'll want your night's rest." 
 
 " Do you think I should take rest while he is 
 like this ? " 
 
 The doctor shrugged his shoulders, and recog- 
 nised that there was something keener in Gideon's 
 love for his child than that of most men for their 
 offspring. He yielded the point. 
 
 " I don't say but what you'll do as well as a 
 nurse, if you can spare the time and will take the 
 trouble." 
 
 And then he launched into new directions, to 
 which Gideon listened with eager attention. In his 
 heart the doctor felt that no hired nurse would tend 
 the child like Gideon ; but he went away shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " I doubt whether the boy will get over it," he 
 said to himself ; " and Gideon will take it hard. It 
 will be all the worse for him if he nurses the child
 
 106 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 to the end. And what on earth has become of that 
 vain little piece of wickedness, his wife ? " 
 
 Nobody could answer that question. There was 
 an eight o'clock post on Sunday morning, but no 
 other until Monday. No telegram had arrived. A 
 rumour of Emmy's disappearance roused her mother 
 to desperate anxiety, and she consulted nervously 
 with Mr. Blake as to the steps to be taken on Mon- 
 day, if nothing were heard of her. The police were 
 communicated with, for Mrs. Enderby firmly be- 
 lieved that her daughter had met with some fright- 
 ful accident, which alone could account for her 
 absence. Gideon did not seem anxious, or even, 
 perhaps, concerned. He was wrapped up in the 
 care of his boy. He was like a man stunned with 
 one blow, who does not seem to feel the pain of a 
 second. Consciousness would return by and by. 
 
 John was very ill. Through the long hours of 
 the day, Gideon watched beside him, noting every 
 change in the little face, where the crimson came 
 and went as the child drew his painful, choking 
 breaths ; watched the progress of the disease, and 
 fought it ineffectually ; for as time went on, it be- 
 came very clear indeed that the childish strength
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 167 
 
 was waning, and that the hours of the little life 
 were drawing to a close. 
 
 Visitors came to the house in numbers, but were 
 dismissed by Keziah, who had orders to admit no- 
 body. Mrs. Blake came, but was politely conducted 
 off the premises by Obed Pilcher, who made him- 
 self chief guard to the sick-chamber. John was 
 to be kept quiet, the doctor said ; and it was as 
 much for Gideon's as for John's sake that Uncle 
 Obed kept the door. To him it seemed as though 
 Gideon were more like a wounded wild animal 
 keeping savage watch over its young, than a mere 
 human being. He listened to no word of comfort ; 
 he took neither food nor sleep ; he never lifted his 
 eyes from the dearly-loved little face, in which he 
 had centred all his hopes and all his happiness if 
 not all his love. Obed would not let gaping ob- 
 servers in to see what was, to him, a strange and 
 terrible sight. 
 
 The day crept to its height and sank again. 
 Night came with its desolation, its weird horrors, 
 its lurking possibilities of ill. The weather had 
 changed during the afternoon, and the wind was 
 getting up. It moaned restlessly round the house,
 
 108 OUT OP DDE SEASON. 
 
 whistling at every crevice, making door and window 
 shake. Now and then a dash of rain was heard 
 against the window-panes, and the swaying branches 
 of rose-tree or jessamine tapped at the glass like an 
 unearthly hand. More than once Obed fancied that 
 he distinguished veritable finger-tapping ; but he al- 
 ways sank back again in his chair, acknowledging 
 the source of these strange noises, yet not without a 
 gleam of superstitious doubt whether the sound he 
 had heard might not have been " a call " for the 
 dying child. He wondered if Gideon had heard. 
 But Gideon, with his chin pillowed by his hands, 
 and his elbows on his knees, saw nothing, heard 
 nothing, but " the boy." 
 
 John was delirious that night. lie was afraid 
 of his own father the father that loved him so 
 and beat him off with his little hands whenever 
 Gideon came near. He wanted his mother, he said, 
 and why did not mammy come ? 
 
 " I do so want my mammy ! " he wailed in his 
 broken voice, with the pathetic, unseeing stare of 
 his great eyes fixed reproachfully on Gideon. 
 ''Mammy would take the pain away; mammy 
 would make John better."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 169 
 
 It was piteous to hear; especially when the 
 listeners reflected that his mother had shown so 
 very little love for him. But there are few things 
 that rend the heart more terribly than the wild 
 words spoken in delirium by those we love, or an 
 absence of recognition in the eyes of those for 
 whom we would willingly lay down our lives. 
 
 Once Gideon lost his self-control, and cried out 
 in remonstrance : 
 
 "John, John, don't you know me your own 
 father ? Don't push me away, lad ; I've done thee 
 no harm." 
 
 "He doesn't know, Gideon," said old Obed, 
 hobbling to his nephew's side "he doesn't 
 know." 
 
 " My God ! " said Gideon, his reserve breaking 
 down as it seldom broke down save in his old 
 uncle's presence, " I don't know how to bear it 
 that he shouldn't know my voice!" And a dry 
 sob shook his broad shoulders as he covered his 
 face for one moment with his hands. " John 
 laddie," he said, raising himself again, "say one 
 word to your daddy say that you know him 
 now."
 
 170 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 But John pushed him away, and wailed bitterly 
 for his mother. 
 
 Morning found him very weak. The delirium 
 had died down, for the fever had left him ; but 
 lie lay so still and white, with such purple shades 
 about his eyelids and his lips, that more than once 
 Obed almost thought him dead. Dr. Miller, who 
 came very early, shook his head over his condi- 
 tion. He gave orders about nourishment and 
 cordials, saying that the child's strength must be 
 kept up as much as possible. And he would come 
 in again and see how things went on. 
 
 The postman came as the doctor went out of 
 the gate. It was the London post, and there was 
 a letter for Gideon. 
 
 Obed Pilcher took it at once to his nephew, 
 who was sitting in a sort of trance of absorbed 
 anxiety at John's bedside. He looked very hag- 
 gard, but the doctor had insisted on his swallowing 
 food and hot coffee, and he was more composed 
 than lie had been during those dreary midnight 
 hours. He looked at the letter which Obed put 
 into his hand as if he did not know what to do 
 with it.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 "Open it, lad. It's from Emmy, belike." 
 
 Gideon turned away his face. 
 
 " Wunnot tliee open it ? She may say when 
 she's a-comin' back." 
 
 At this appeal Gideon drew himself slowly up, 
 and dragged the envelope open. It seemed an 
 effort to him even to take his eyes from John's 
 white face. He read the letter it contained only 
 a few lines and let it drop from his fingers. 
 
 " I knew it," he said, in a dull undertone. 
 Then he resumed his silent watch, with his eyes 
 fixed on the boy. But his face had turned to an 
 ashy whiteness, like that of Jacky's lips. 
 
 Obed picked up the letter and straightened it 
 out between his shaking fingers. 
 
 "You can read it," Gideon muttered. And 
 Obed read. 
 
 " When you get this letter," Emmy had writ- 
 ten, " I shall be far away, and you need not look 
 for me, for you will never find me, and I do not 
 want to see you any more. I have found someone 
 who loves me better than you ever did, and I have 
 given up everything for his sake. Yon had better
 
 172 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 forget me as soon as you can I dare say it won't 
 be difficult. I hope you will always be kind to 
 Jaeky, and think no more of 
 
 " EMMY." 
 
 Obed Pilcher was parish-clerk, and felt himself 
 a pillar of the church, but after reading this letter, 
 it must be recorded that he swore. If his curse 
 could have rested on Emmy's fair false head for 
 ever, and weighed it down to everlasting woe, he 
 would have gladly uttered it again. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Gideon, looking up with hag- 
 gard eyes. " The boy will hear." 
 
 " But bean't you going to do something, 
 Gideon 1 To send after her to punish the man, 
 whoever 'tis 
 
 " Afterwards," Gideon answered quietly, and 
 turned again to the boy. And Obed knew that 
 he must say no more. 
 
 There were still some fluctuations in John's 
 condition, and more than once the father's heart 
 was thrilled with the belief that he was about to 
 recover, after all, and then sank, heavy as lead, 
 when an unfavourable symptom declared itself.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 173 
 
 Joseph Blake and his wife were allowed to steal 
 in gently in order to see the little boy. The parson 
 called, but was not admitted ; and a hundred in- 
 quiries were made at the door, and dismally an- 
 swered by Keziah. Gideon had never been a 
 favourite in the town, and Emmy had earned 
 much disapproval for herself ; but little John was 
 one of those bright-faced children of whom every- 
 one took friendly heed, and his comparatively 
 recent escape from drowning had brought him into 
 prominence. No sick child in the town received 
 half so much attention as was just then bestowed 
 on Jacky. But it brought no solace to his father's 
 wounded heart. 
 
 It was in the early dawn of Tuesday morning 
 that full consciousness came again to the child for 
 a little while. He opened his dark eyes suddenly 
 and smiled into his father's face. Gideon's heart 
 throbbed so painfully that he could not speak, but 
 he bent down and kissed the boy's forehead. 
 
 " I've been asleep," said John. 
 
 His voice was almost inaudible. 
 
 " Yes, my lad. Here, drink this ; it will do you 
 
 good." 
 
 12
 
 174 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 John drank, and spoke in stronger tones. 
 
 " Where's mammy ? " he said. 
 
 A quiver passed over Gideon's face. 
 
 " She's away just now," he answered. 
 
 " Gone to heaven ? " said John, with the queer 
 familiar speech of another world which seems so 
 natural on childish lips. 
 
 An inspiration came to Gideon's mind. It 
 would be better for John to think that his mother 
 had died, and so he bowed his head. 
 
 " Oh ! " said the boy. Then, after a pause : 
 " John's goin' too." 
 
 lie shut his pretty eyes as if he meant to sleep, 
 and Gideon, with a hideous grip of pain at his 
 heart, saw the death-damp gather on his brow. 
 
 It lasted an hour or two that agony of dying. 
 It seemed to Gideon cruel that a little child should 
 bear such pain. But perhaps it was worse for Gide- 
 on to witness than for the child to bear. And at 
 last old Obed laid the tiny waxen hands across each 
 other and drew Gideon from his place. 
 
 " It's all over," he said Borrowfnfly. " Try to 
 bear it, Gideon. He's gone." 
 
 Gideon rose from his knees, and looked from
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 175 
 
 the child's placid lifelessness into his uncle's rugged, 
 wrinkled face, as if he scarcely understood what 
 had been said. As Obed's hand still pressed his 
 arm and drew him from the bed, he made two 
 steps towards the middle of the room, and then 
 fell, like a log, prone upon the floor at Uncle Obed's 
 feet.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Would it were I had been false, not you ! " 
 
 " IT'S a great mystery," remarked Mrs. Blake, 
 primly folding one black-gloved hand over the 
 other. 
 
 " It is indeed a terrible dispensation," answered 
 her friend, Miss Lethbury. " So young a child to 
 l)e taken and the mother left ! " 
 
 Miss Lethbury was a spinster of profoundly 
 Evangelical views and an acid temperament, both 
 of which characteristics had endeared her to Mrs. 
 Blake, who was not religious herself, but liked other 
 people to be so if, at least, they did not carry their 
 religion to any inconvenient length. There was 
 this advantage about Miss Lethbury : she ncvrr 
 allowed her Evangelicalism to modify the sharpness 
 of her criticism of her neighbours; on the contrary, 
 it seemed sometimes to add an edge to it. She was 
 straight and tall and spare ; her long nose and 
 
 170
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 177 
 
 straight upper lip gave her a look of severity which 
 her words seldom belied. 
 
 She was sitting with Mrs. Blake till the mourn- 
 ing-carriage should arrive. Joseph Blake and his 
 wife were to be present at little John's funeral that 
 afternoon, and Miss Lethbury had dropped in, en 
 passant, to hear the news. She would have ample 
 time to walk to the cemetery afterwards, for the 
 Blakes would have to be driven to Gideon's house 
 before the final ceremony began. 
 
 "I always said that Emmy Enderby was very 
 deep," said Mrs. Blake, lowering her tones. " It's 
 a dreadful thing to have come upon the family. 
 My husband's nearly heart-broken about it ; and 
 Carry she says she'll go away, she can't hold up her 
 head in Casterby again." 
 
 " Yes, it's very bad for a girl's prospects when 
 such a thing happens," said Miss Lethbury, in tones 
 of deepest commiseration. 
 
 " I don't - see as it need affect Carry, and that's 
 what I told her," said Mrs. Blake with dignity. 
 " It's no relation of hers, nor yet of her father's or 
 mine. It's Enderbys as ought to feel it most, I 
 think. But there, they were all of that light-
 
 178 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 minded sort, and I was not one bit surprised ; but 
 it lias nothing to do with its" 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right, Mrs. Blake," said 
 Miss Lethbury. " But what will Mr. Gideon do ? 
 Is he going to get a divorce ? " 
 
 " Nobody knows," answered Mrs. Blake, shak- 
 ing her head dolorously. "He won't allow any- 
 body to mention the matter to him. He was al- 
 ways so strange so shut-up and reserved, you 
 know. Scarcely anyone has seen him or spoken to 
 him since the little boy's death. But I should 
 think he would get a divorce : there could be no 
 difficulty. 
 
 " It's quite Scriptural to divorce a woman like 
 that," said Miss Lethbury. " And then he could 
 marry some nice, quiet girl Mary Tucker, for 
 instance and be happy. I suppose there's no 
 doubt as to who it was she went off with ? " 
 
 "Not the least. It was that Captain Ham- 
 ilton that was once engaged to Miss .Lisle. They 
 were seen together at Retford. And they say 
 Miss Lisle fainted when she heard that Emmy 
 was gone. You may depend on it, she 
 knew."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 179 
 
 " She may thank her stars that she found 
 out his wickedness before it was too late ! " 
 
 "He'd broken it off before then," said Mrs. 
 Blake. "Don't you remember that Friday after- 
 noon at tea, when Emmy took up the cudgels 
 for him, and cried afterwards? I thought there 
 was something very queer about it then." 
 
 " Hard-hearted little minx ! " said Miss Leth- 
 bury, indignantly. " I should like to whip her 
 round the town for her behaviour! Depend on 
 it, that's the way in which women of her sort 
 should be treated." 
 
 " I shudder to think," Mrs. Blake responded 
 in sepulchral tones, "that she sat at my table, 
 and conversed with my friends and my child ! 
 Gideon was very much to blame for not restrain- 
 ing her more ; but he is punished for it now." 
 
 "I trust that the judgments of God may be 
 blessed to his soul." 
 
 "Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Blake, 
 doubtfully ; " Gideon never set up to be relig- 
 ious, and I haven't heard that there's been any 
 change in him. He wouldn't see Mr. Fletcher, 
 nor his curate neither, when they called. And,
 
 ISO OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 mercy me! there's the carriage. Well, good-bye, 
 Lydia. We shall see you, maybe, at the ceme- 
 tery." 
 
 ' I'm going to walk down there now," said 
 Miss Lethbury. " There'll be a good crowd o' 
 folk. They want to see how Gideon takes it." 
 
 " Ay, there's been a deal of talk about Gid- 
 eon," said Mrs. Blake, dismally. And then she 
 joined her husband in the passage, put her black 
 kid hand into his arm, and walked ceremoniously 
 down the garden-path with him to the mourn- 
 ing-carriage at the door. 
 
 Such ceremony was befitting to the occasion; 
 for, as Gideon was in such desperate trouble, 
 the Blake family and their friends thought to 
 comfort him by honouring his boy's funeral. 
 The action was meant hi kindness; but I do not 
 think that Gideon drew any consolation out of 
 it. In fact, the crowd of people, relations and 
 others, worried him whenever it forced itself upon 
 Ids consciousness. 
 
 As Mrs. Blake had said, scarcely anyone had 
 seen him since the day of John's death. He 
 had shut himself up in his own room, or in the
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 181 
 
 room where the child's dead body lay, and ex- 
 changed words with no one save Obed Pilcher. 
 As to his work, that seemed to be completely for- 
 gotten ; but his father, who was extremely dis- 
 tressed on his account, sent word to him not to 
 come back to the yard until he felt inclined. Obed 
 gave the message, but it was doubtful whether 
 Gideon heard it. If his father had not given him 
 his freedom just then, he would have taken it. 
 He was beyond the binding of laws. 
 
 Old Obed managed all the details of the child's 
 funeral. He felt that it would not do to trouble 
 Gideon with them. Even to him Gideon did not 
 speak. He seemed possessed by a dumb devil; 
 he scarcely ate; and he slept very little Obed 
 could hear him pacing the floor of his room for 
 hours at a time and in the sight of others, at least, 
 he did not shed a tear. But when the little coffin- 
 lid had been finally shut down, Obed stood outside 
 the parlour-door listening to the storm of sobs 
 which shook the father's frame from head to foot, 
 as he knelt beside the coffin with his head upon 
 the lid. Every sob seemed to pierce Obed's heart 
 with almost as sharp a pang as those which Gideon
 
 1S2 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 endured ; but the old man, too feeble now to be 
 able to indulge his grief in this passionate way, 
 turned away from the door with shaking hands and 
 head, and, going into the kitchen, sent Keziah out 
 of the house upon some trivial errand, so that she 
 should not hear and gossip about those terrible, 
 gasping sobs. 
 
 Gideon was hardly conscious at this time of 
 the silent, wakeful love of the old man, which en- 
 compassed / and shielded him at every turn. But 
 Uncle Obed was the only person whom he could 
 bear to see, and he leaned upon him without know- 
 ing it. 
 
 Obed Pilcher had not much imagination, but 
 such as he had made him nervous concerning the 
 funeral. He would have been glad if Gideon could 
 have been kept away from it, and thought that 
 it would almost be an advantage if he were taken 
 ill. Dr. Miller prognosticated an illness, and told 
 the old man to be on the watch for symptoms. 
 But Gideon was apparently well, although he 
 looked white and haggard. His strength would 
 bear a good deal of strain, and there were no signs 
 as yet of its giving way.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 183 
 
 Even on the day itself, when he insisted on 
 carrying the child's coffin on his knees in the 
 mourning-carriage, he seemed perfectly composed. 
 His face was like a mask rigid, expressionless; 
 but for its almost deadly pallor it had not changed. 
 He went through the ceremony with the same 
 appearance of calm ; and even the presence of a 
 crowd, and the curious though not entirely unsym- 
 pathetic stare of his townsfolk, did not disconcert 
 him. Possibly he did not even know that they 
 were there. 
 
 It was not then so much the custom as it is now 
 to place flowers about the dead ; but on this occa- 
 sion a great wreath of white blossoms was laid upon 
 the little coffin just before it was lowered into the 
 grave. Gideon, looking down upon it, never no- 
 ticed who placed it there. Not till long afterwards 
 was he told that the flowers had been sent by 
 Frances Lisle. She had reason poor Frances! 
 to be sorry for herself ; but she could spare a crumb 
 of sorrow from her loaf for Gideon Blake and his 
 child. 
 
 " He looked pretty much as usual," said Miss 
 Lethbury afterwards. " Kot a tear nor nothing.
 
 184 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Old Obed Pilclier was a sight to see, with the tears 
 running down into his wrinkles, and sobbing when 
 he oiu*l it to have made the responses ; and all the 
 rest of the family, with white handkerchiefs at 
 their eyes. But Gideon stood there, his arms 
 straight down by his sides, and his eyes on the 
 grave, just for all the world as if he didn't care." 
 
 She did not understand the only signs of sorrow 
 that Gideon knew how to make. His father, stand- 
 ing beside him, knew better. He saw how "the 
 lad," as he tenderly called him, swayed at one mo- 
 ment, as if he would have fallen. He noted the 
 dazed look in his eyes when the last words of the 
 funeral service had been read ; and he whispered an 
 emphatic warning to Obed as they returned to the 
 carriages at the cemetery gate. 
 
 " See after the lad," he said, " or he'll be off his 
 head before long, poor chap ! " 
 
 And Obed nodded assent. 
 
 When all the rites were over, and the friends 
 departed from the desolate house, Obed ventured 
 timidly upstairs to the room whither Gideon had 
 betaken himself, with a strange fear at his heart. 
 But Gideon was neither sobbing nor raving, nor
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 185 
 
 had lie cut his throat which were the things which 
 haunted old Obed as possibilities night and day ; he 
 was simply standing by a chest of drawers, with a 
 black bag in his hand. 
 
 " What art doing, Gideon ? " said Obed, startled 
 from his intention of saying a comforting word. 
 
 " Packing," said Gideon. 
 
 He rammed some articles hastily into the bag as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Packing, lad ? And for what ? " 
 
 " I am going to London," said Gideon, after a 
 moment's pause. 
 
 It seemed as though he had hesitated whether to 
 answer the question or not. 
 
 Obed uttered a great cry. 
 
 " Nay, lad, nay ! Not to London not to seek 
 out those who have sinned, and make 'em suffer for 
 their sin. Leave vengeance to God." 
 
 " You're a good man, Uncle Obed," said Gideon, 
 with terrible gentleness, " and I know you mean 
 well ; but you don't understand." 
 
 " I'll prevent thee ! " panted Obed, laying his 
 shrivelled hands on his nephew's arm, as though he 
 could detain him by main force. " I'll not let thee
 
 18G OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 go. I'll put the police on thee. She isn't worth it. 
 Gideon the jade's not worth it. Thee shall never 
 hang for that little slut, Emmy Enderby." 
 
 Gideon looked very dark for a moment or two; 
 then his brow cleared, and he put his uncle's hand 
 away from him with a wan smile. 
 
 " You're mistaken, Uncle Obed," he said quietly. 
 " I've no intention of hanging for her, nor for any- 
 one. I'm going to London on my own business, 
 and you can't prevent me." 
 
 " I'll swear the peace on thee. Thou bean't fit 
 to leave Casterby," said Obed in haste. 
 
 " You'll do nothing at all," said Gideon, with a 
 touch of the old imperiousness in his tone. " I shall 
 <ro my own gait, and you'll leave me to it. Else 
 you and I will have words, and part company, 
 maybe." 
 
 It was a threat which reduced poor old Obed to 
 instant submission. He could bear anything but 
 dissension between Gideon and himself. He re- 
 sorted to entreaty instead of denunciation. 
 
 " Thee wean't get thyself into trouble, Gideon ? 
 Tha'rt all I've got left i' this world. Thee'll come 
 back wife and sound ?"
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 187 
 
 " Ay, I'll come back," said Gideon, with me- 
 chanical assent, and he went on packing the things 
 into his bag, then shut it with a snap. 
 
 " Thee wean't be able to find her," quavered 
 Obed, in a lower tone. 
 
 But Gideon only gave him a look in return. 
 He was not going to betray his plans and purposes ; 
 his mouth was shut fast firm as marble. Obed 
 sighed and was silent. He saw Gideon grasp 
 his bag and go downstairs; he followed him 
 groaning. 
 
 " Ah'll go wi' thee to t' station," he said. 
 
 " As you like," Gideon answered, in an ab- 
 stracted tone. 
 
 The two men left the house and struck into the 
 meadows, by which route they could avoid the 
 highroad for some little distance. Neither of them 
 spoke. They did not walk fast, but Obed groaned 
 occasionally as though he were exhausted ; perhaps 
 he had a faint idea of making Gideon lose the train. 
 If this were so, Gideon divined his purpose, for he 
 stopped short in the middle of a field and faced his 
 uncle resolutely. 
 
 " This will do," he said. " We'll say good-bye
 
 188 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 here, Uncle Obed. I shall be late if I walk at Jhis 
 pace." 
 
 " AVhcn wilt be back, lad ? " 
 
 " Good-bye, Uncle Obed." 
 
 u Lad, thee'll come back to me ? For pity's 
 pake, doan't leave me to die here alone, Gideon. 
 I loved the little lad, too." 
 
 Gideon wrung his uncle's hand ; perhaps it was 
 impossible for him to speak. At any rate, he made 
 no answer, but turned his back on old Obed Pil- 
 cher, and swung off hurriedly to the station. Obed 
 stood watching him, until the haze of distance and 
 of approaching twilight hid him from view. Then 
 the old man, looking ten years older, and more 
 shaken than lie had ever looked before, crept back 
 to his desolate home. 
 
 Gideon gave no account of the next two days 
 to any man. It would have been almost out of 
 his power to do so. There remained in his mem- 
 ory only vague impressions of maddening gloom, 
 of strange faces, of lighted streets and empty 
 squares, of bewilderment unutterable, and a burn- 
 ing desire of revenge upon the man who had in-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 189 
 
 jurcd him. lie could not have told afterwards 
 what he did with himself all day long. He slept 
 at a quiet little hotel, the name of which he had 
 learnt from his father, who had stayed there once 
 or twice in his life ; and in the daytime he wan- 
 dered about the streets, haunted the Park, looked 
 up at windows, vaguely hoping to see Emmy's face 
 at one of them. London in itself produced no 
 impression upon him. Endless rows of houses, 
 crowded pavements, a throng of strangers amongst 
 whom he was for ever seeking the face that he 
 knew this was all that London meant for him. 
 
 He had by some chance heard that Captain 
 Hamilton had rooms near Bond Street. The clue 
 was small enough, but it had been sufficient to send 
 him to London and to cause him to haunt the 
 "West End. Probably neither Emmy nor Captain 
 Hamilton knew that he had even this ghost of a 
 clue. And, moreover, it was very unlikely that 
 Gideon Blake would come across them, for Ham- 
 ilton had made up his mind to take his companion 
 first to Paris, and then to the South of France, 
 so as to be out of the way of any "unpleasant- 
 ness." 
 
 13
 
 190 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 Hitherto he considered that he had escaped 
 " unpleasantness " very fairly. He had managed 
 to quarrel with Frances and break off that engage- 
 ment before eloping with Mrs. Gideon Blake, with 
 whom he considered himself quite romantically in 
 love. In fact, he had lost his head over Emmy, 
 he said to himself. And, after all, she was a mere 
 nobody a lout of a carpenter's wife and she 
 would have gone off with somebody else, if not 
 with him ; he was quite sure of that. She was of 
 that pate she was not the woman to keep straight, 
 and he might as well profit by her weaknesses as 
 any other man. That was the way in which 
 George Hamilton thought of Emmy. And he was 
 responsible to nobody ; he had no relations to speak 
 of, and if he chose to enjoy himself, why should 
 anyone object? 
 
 The nuisance was that Emmy had no decent 
 clothes. She wanted doing up all round. She had 
 no boots, or gloves, or ribbons, let alone dresses and 
 hats, that Captain Hamilton could walk out with. 
 She must get herself a few things hi London, he 
 told her, and she should have a complete rig-out 
 when they got to Paris.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 He was sorry afterwards that he had delayed 
 even for those few days in London. Emmy left 
 her home on the Saturday night, and John (al- 
 though Emmy did not know it) died on Tuesday ; 
 the funeral took place on the following Saturday 
 afternoon. Captain Hamilton and Mrs. Hamilton, 
 as he called her, meant to leave England on the 
 next Tuesday. Emmy had wanted a new frock, 
 and could not get it before Monday. She said that 
 she was obliged to stay, and Captain Hamilton 
 lessened the risk of being tracked by staying at a 
 big hotel on the Embankment, instead of going to 
 his old rooms in Ebury Street. 
 
 It was a hundred to one against their being 
 seen by Gideon the unsophisticated countryman 
 to whom all London streets were equally puzzlingly 
 alike even if he came to London in search of his 
 missing wife. But it is the unlikely thing that 
 happens. Hamilton took Emmy out for a drive 
 on Monday afternoon, and as they were driving 
 back to the hotel Gideon saw them from the pave- 
 ment. 
 
 They did not see him. Emmy was smiling and 
 lovely, with a picturesque gray hat and feathers
 
 192 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 shading her exquisite little face, and a gray dress 
 trimmed with soft gray fur, for the weather was 
 growing cold enough for warm stuffs and trim- 
 mings. She looked far prettier in gray than in the 
 blues and pinks with which she used to be so fond 
 of bedizening herself. Gideon saw her plainly 
 for one moment saw, also, the evil, cruel face 
 beside her and then the carriage had passed him, 
 and lie had lost or nearly lost his chance. 
 
 He made a wild spring forward. He wanted to 
 stop the horses, or to throw himself over the car- 
 riage door and drag the villain from his place ; but 
 his attempt was, of course, an utter failure. One 
 or two men dragged him back, swearing at him for 
 hi.s temerity ; they thought he was only a country 
 bumpkin trying to cross the road. Gideon shook 
 them off, and set off to run, keeping the carriage 
 steadily in sight. The horses were going slowly, 
 and that was in his favour ; also they were at no 
 great distance from the hotel. Gideon stopped 
 short and watched as they left the carriage and 
 entered the big portico. Now that he could have 
 confronted them, could have forced them to speak 
 to him, he drew back, cold, sick, trembling, almost
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 193 
 
 afraid. It would be easy to face him, but he could 
 not bear to look Emmy in the face. He was 
 ashamed for her he would not cover her with 
 shame and confusion before all the people who 
 stood by. He would spare her that punishment, 
 and never look upon her face again. But he meant 
 to punish Hamilton. 
 
 His desperation gave him cunning and courage. 
 He hung about the building, and made friends with 
 a commissionaire, who in turn introduced him to 
 the boots w T hen he came out with some luggage. 
 Gideon soon learned that Captain and Mrs. Hamil- 
 ton were staying in the house, but leaving for Paris 
 on the morrow. The Captain generally went out 
 for a stroll after dinner with a cigar. " Not a bad 
 place for a stroll," said Boots, indicating the Em- 
 bankment with a nod and a grin. Gideon gave 
 
 ~ O 
 
 them some money to get rid of them when he had 
 found out all that he wanted to know. Then he 
 set himself to wait, within sight of the door, for his 
 enemy. 
 
 The daylight changed into gloom, and then into 
 the glare of dim yellow light which came from the 
 gas-lamps. The roar of the street surged around
 
 194 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon until it almost stupefied him. Cabs whirled 
 by ; heavy omnibuses and vans lumbered slowly 
 along ; a man with a truck of fruit bawled his 
 wares continuously in his ear. Gideon stood in a 
 recess where he could see the people who came out 
 and in. Visitors arrived with cabs laden with lug- 
 gage ; later on these arrivals became infrequent. 
 There was a perpetual whistle for cabs from a 
 stand over the way ; and then ladies and gentlemen 
 in evening dress would come out of the big portico 
 and drive away. Gideon became very much afraid 
 lest the man he sought should escape him in this 
 way. Not that he should not recognise him in 
 evening dress, but that if Emmy was at his side 
 Gideon feared that his strength would fail. 
 
 But about ten o'clock, when Gideon had almost 
 begun to despair, the man he sought came out of 
 the hotel. He paused at the door to light his cigar, 
 and in the glare of the lamps, Gideon noted every 
 feature of the cold yet sengual face of his wife's 
 betrayer. George Hamilton was in his way a hand- 
 some man, but he had always been a very self- 
 indulgent one ; he had never denied himself a 
 pleasure that he could procure at any cost, in his
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 195 
 
 life, and thirty years of unbridled and often vicious 
 habits had left their imprint on the lines of his face. 
 These were a little more apparent than usual when 
 Gideon stood looking at him ; for he was not on his 
 good behaviour, and he must have known in 
 his heart that he had done a peculiarly mean 
 thing. 
 
 Gideon did not theorize, he did not even say to 
 himself that Hamilton's face was bad ; but he knew 
 that he hated it with a vindictive hatred which 
 made him long to see it lying in the dust at his feet. 
 It was not in his mind to kill the man. He wanted 
 rather to make him suffer, to see him writhe with 
 pain and cry for mercy to disgrace him in the 
 world's eyes and in his own. Life and death were 
 not the issues in his mind just then, although he 
 was hardly concerned as to whether Hamilton lived 
 or died. 
 
 Captain Hamilton lighted his cigar, and turned 
 towards the Embankment, where he liked to take a 
 short walk between dinner and bedtime. He had 
 given up the slight nervous fear of meeting Gideon 
 Blake which he had felt at first. Emmy had so 
 impressed him with Gideon's ignorance and stupid-
 
 1D6 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 ity that he did not think the young man capable of 
 finding him out. 
 
 There were not many people on the Embank- 
 ment, but it seemed to Gideon that the broad side- 
 walk was inconveniently full. At last he quickened 
 his pace, and touched Captain Hamilton on the 
 shoulder. Hamilton turned with a start. 
 
 " I want to speak to you," said Gideon. 
 
 Captain Hamilton's face turned white. He 
 looked round for help ; but no policeman was in 
 sii^lit, and for the moment the street looked de- 
 
 o * 
 
 sorted. They were near a flight of steps leading 
 down to one of the piers, and Gideon edged him 
 steadily towards the wide square landing or bay at 
 the head of the steps, where they were compara- 
 tively secure from observation. It need scarcely be 
 said that George Hamilton did not like this move- 
 ment on Gideon's part. 
 
 " I don't know you," he said, trying to pass him, 
 and feigning non -recognition. " I have nothing to 
 say to you. I 
 
 " I said I had something to say to you" re- 
 marked Gideon quietly. "You know who I am 
 very well. My wife is with you now at that hotel.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 197 
 
 No, you needn't call out ; I'll throw you over the 
 parapet if you do. I came to London to tell you 
 that you are a damned villain, and to give you 
 this/ 99 
 
 It was a blow which felled Hamilton to the 
 ground. He did not even cry out ; Gideon waited 
 a moment, raised his list to strike again, then let it 
 drop to his side. He could not strike a man who 
 did not resist. He was not a savage ; he was an 
 Englishman who believed in a fair fight, not in 
 murder. If Hamilton had moved or cried out, 
 Gideon would not have spared him. But a shape- 
 less, motionless heap on the wet ground at his feet, 
 what could he do to that ? 
 
 " Get up," he said, touching him contemptuously 
 with his foot " get up and take the rest of it. I'll 
 break every bone in your body before I've done 
 with you." 
 
 The fierceness was rising within him ; although 
 his voice was still low, it had a savage tone. He 
 threw himself down, and turned the man round 
 roughly, to see whether he had fainted or not. But 
 Hamilton's face was more ghastly than any that 
 Gideon had ever seen. It wore a strangely livid
 
 198 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 hue, and the blood that had trickled from a wound 
 upon his temple was already black and coagulated. 
 The pinched look of the nose and mouth brought 
 back to Gideon's mind a picture of the dead body 
 of his little child. So John had looked before they 
 laid him in the grave. 
 
 It was not that he renounced or regretted his 
 plans of vengeance when he saw Hamilton lying 
 thus before him, with the pallor of the grave upon 
 his face. It was only that this remembrance of 
 John's white baby brow and sunken eyes, with their 
 darkened lids, made him giddy and confused. He 
 hardly knew what he had done or what he meant to 
 do. Xobody had noticed the encounter ; nobody in 
 passing seemed to see the dark heap with the up- 
 turned white face upon the paved space at the head 
 of the steps. Gideon turned his back upon it, and 
 walked away. His mind was dazed, and he did not 
 think of calling for help or of ascertaining Hamil- 
 ton's condition more precisely. He left the steps, 
 and walked towards the City, not knowing whither 
 he went or what he did. 
 
 At midnight he found himself on a seat in one 
 of the embrasures of a great stone bridge. Ho
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 199 
 
 knew that it was midnight, because he heard the 
 deep tones of a great bell sending its reverberations 
 far and wide over the shimmering waters and the 
 silent City streets. It was this sound which had 
 roused him from the stupor into which he had 
 fallen. He looked round him, and did not know 
 where he was. It might have been another world? 
 for anything he could tell. He had not seen any- 
 thing like it in his life before. Below the bridge, 
 and for some distance, he saw the dark and sullen 
 water, studded with black shapes here and there 
 barges with lamps fixed to their prows, of which 
 the ripples sent back a quivering reflection. Far 
 away in the distance other lights could be seen 
 long rows of them in threes on either side the bank, 
 and points of single radiance, red and white and 
 green, at intervals. At one side a dim dome-like 
 building broke the horizontal lines of roofs and 
 banks. It was the bell of St. Paul's that Gideon 
 had heard. Above the river there was a cloudy 
 sky, with no light of moon or stars ; but the night 
 was fairly warm, although Gideon shivered where 
 he sat. 
 
 All the past broke upon him suddenly. He re-
 
 200 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 membered the years of his married life years of 
 disappointment, sweetened only by the love and 
 hope which John had brought into it he remem- 
 bered John's death and Emmy's desertion, and his 
 own revenge. He looked down at his hand in dull 
 amaze. "I am a murderer!" he said to himself, 
 lie thought of the stir that would be made in 
 Casterby when news came that he, Gideon Blake, 
 was in prison for killing George Hamilton. "Well, 
 all who knew him would say that he was right. 
 Only there would be the disgrace of prison, the 
 punishment for he did not doubt that he would 
 be hanged and the broken lives and hopes that 
 would follow in its train. For the Casterby folk 
 would never let the Blakes forget that one of their 
 family had been hanged. They would have to 
 leave the place where they had lived so long and 
 been thought so well of. And Obed old Obed 
 he would die of a broken heart. 
 
 Was there any way out of it ? 
 
 lie looked over the parapet, and saw the dark 
 waters glancing underneath. If he threw himself 
 into the river and was drowned, would not every- 
 body be thankful ? Then there would be no ex-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 201 
 
 posure, no disgrace. Hamilton would be dead ; 
 Gideon would have disappeared, and there was an 
 end. Emmy was nothing to him now. He could 
 not believe that she had any claim upon him ; he 
 shrank even from thinking of her. She must go to 
 the workhouse, or beg her bread from door to door, 
 he supposed ; he did not know what became of 
 women like her. She could but fall to lower 
 depths ; he, too, would fall lower if he lived ho 
 the murderer, and she the harlot ! 
 
 He shivered violently, and raised his head to 
 look round. There was no one in sight. The po- 
 liceman who had eyed him curiously two or three 
 times was quite at the other end of the bridge. He 
 lifted himself cautiously, and put his hands on the 
 parapet, dragging his legs up on the stone coping 
 so as to be ready for a spring. He knew that he 
 must be swift, or he would be observed and stopped. 
 He began to draw himself up into the necessary 
 posture, when suddenly a strong hand seized his 
 arm and pulled him back. 
 
 " That's a dangerous amusement," said a young 
 strong voice. " "What do you mean by it ? "
 
 VIII. 
 
 " Because I seek Thee not, oh, seek Thou me ! 
 Because my lips arc dumb, oh, hear the cry 
 I do not utter as Thou passest by, 
 And from my life-long bondage set me free I" 
 
 GIDEON struggled for a moment, then suc- 
 cumbed. The hands that held him were stronger 
 than his own. lie broke out in wild appeal. 
 
 " Let me go ! " he said. " For God's sake, let 
 me go ! There's no place for me in this world. It 
 would be the truest kindness to let me get out 
 of it." 
 
 " Why should you go to another world where 
 there is also no place for you ? " said the stranger. 
 
 lie was not much older than Gideon himself, 
 and far less robust-looking ; but he had an alertness 
 of glance, a resoluteness of manner, which ac- 
 counted for Gideon's submission. He was subdued 
 by the moral power of the man, not by his physical 
 strength. 
 
 208
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 203 
 
 " I don't care where I go," Gideon answered, 
 again striving to break away. " I've come to the 
 end of everything." 
 
 " Even to the end of God's mercies ? " said the 
 other man. 
 
 Gideon uttered a fierce word of blasphemy. 
 
 " I've lost everything I care for in the world." 
 he went on. " My boy's dead ; my wife has left 
 me ; I've just killed the scoundrel that enticed her 
 away ; I shall be hanged for it if I give myself up. 
 Don't you think I should be better dead ? " 
 
 " No, indeed I don't," said the new-comer. " I 
 should say you were about the last person that 
 ought to die, and you're coming home with me." 
 
 " I I come home with you ? I can't," said Gide- 
 on ; but as he spoke he turned faint, and the whole 
 world swam before his eyes. 
 
 He staggered, and the other man, slighter and 
 shorter although he was, seized him by the arm and 
 obliged him to lean upon him until they got off the 
 bridge. 
 
 Gideon dimly remembered being helped into a 
 cab, and then for a time he knew no more. 
 
 He had a narrow escape of brain -fever. For
 
 204 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 several days lie lay in a strange, semi-comatose con- 
 dition, unable to speak or think, and suffering 
 frightful pain in the head, alleviated only by con- 
 stunt applications of ice. He was thankful, in a 
 vague way, for the relief which was afforded him ; 
 but he was not strong enough to ask whether he 
 was in a hospital or a workhouse, or among friends. 
 What friends, indeed, had he to nurse him ? He 
 had not the energy to ask questions. He was only 
 too thankful to lie still, and to feel the throbbing of 
 his head become gradually less, in a darkened 
 chamber, with soft, cool bandages upon his aching 
 brow. 
 
 Little by little he came to recognise his most 
 constant nurse and visitor as the young man who 
 had saved him from committing suicide from Black- 
 friars Bridge. This young man wore in the house 
 a narrow black gown, which Gideon was not learned 
 enough to call a cassock, and almost any eye but 
 that of an inexperienced country lad would have 
 re-cognised the fact that he was of the priestly pro- 
 fession. There was a look, a manner, that was un- 
 mistakable ; but the gracious kindliness of the one, 
 the somewhat ascetic refinement of the other, were,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 205 
 
 to Gideon, simply individual traits, and therefore 
 the more fascinating. 
 
 When he was well enough to consider the 
 matter, Gideon contemplated the young priest with 
 a curious mingling of sensations. Here was a man 
 of his own age or thereabouts, whose whole life, as 
 Gideon vaguely felt, was led upon principles so ut- 
 terly different from his own that they almost alarmed 
 and repelled him. There was an attraction about 
 them too or about the man, Gideon could not say 
 which it was. He led a life of entire self-abnega- 
 tion : so much was clear. The room in which 
 Gideon lay was Father John's own room the 
 young priest was styled Father John by everybody, 
 and Gideon never inquired about his other name 
 and a bare, white-washed little room it was. Gide- 
 on had Father John's bed, and the priest slept con- 
 tentedly on the floor. The sick man used to watch 
 his host sometimes when he was thought to be 
 asleep ; and nothing in his life ever amazed him 
 more than Father John's prayers at night and morn- 
 ing before the black and white crucifix that hung 
 upon the ugly white wall. Sometimes they were in 
 
 Latin, and then Gideon went to sleep ; but when 
 14
 
 206 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 they were in English, and said aloud, Gideon would 
 listen as if he were in a wonderful dream. For it 
 was to him like a dream, that a man should kneel 
 down and talk to some unseen Power, and ask, not 
 only for grace and help in general terms, but for 
 individual gifts for individual persons, Gideon in- 
 cluded, although the priest did not know him yet 
 by name. 
 
 " This man that I have brought home," said 
 Father John, in his specializing, half-familiar way 
 " this man with the load of trouble on his breast, 
 Thou, Lord, knowest how to help him better than 
 I can do ; forget him not, O Lord, nor his sad and 
 heavy burthen which weighs him down to the very 
 earth with shame and pain and bitterness 
 
 " How do you know ? " said Gideon from his 
 bed. 
 
 Father John was on his feet in a moment, look- 
 ing startled ; but only for a moment. 
 
 " My dear fellow," he said in his ordinary tones, 
 as he walked to the bed and re-arranged Gideon's 
 tumbled coverings, " I thought you were fast 
 asleep." 
 
 " I was wide awake, and I heard every word
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 207 
 
 you said. How do you know anything about 
 me?" 
 
 " Don't you remember what you said to me on 
 the night when I met you first ? " 
 
 " I was on the bridge," said Gideon slowly. " I 
 tried to jump into the river. You pulled me back. 
 But I don't know what I said." 
 
 " You said Shall I tell you ? " 
 
 " Yes, tell me," said Gideon, turning away hip 
 head. 
 
 " That you had lost your boy your own child, 
 was it ? Ah, yes ! And that someone else your 
 wife had left you. Perhaps all this was a 
 dream ? " 
 
 " !N"o," Gideon answered in a harder voice ; " it 
 was not a dream. And I killed the man that's 
 all. I suppose I told you that ? " 
 
 " Yes, you told me that." 
 
 There was a little silence, and then Father John 
 said, with great sweetness and gentleness of tone : 
 
 " God help you, my friend." 
 
 " It's too late," said Gideon gruffly. 
 
 " How can it be too late ? God's mercies are 
 infinite."
 
 208 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Ay, that's all very well," Gideon said, trying 
 to explain himself; "but what I mean is, that 
 what's done is done, and I shall never be clear from 
 it again." 
 
 " Clear from the feeling of guilt the stain of 
 wrong-doing ? " 
 
 " I don't know. I can't get rid of that man's 
 face on the Embankment. He had been alive a 
 minute before. . . . He had done me a great 
 wrong, but all the same, it's terrible to take a 
 man's life." Gideon's voice sank to a sort of moan. 
 " If there's anything true in in your religion 
 and all that," he went on, "it means, I suppose, 
 that I shall never see my boy again ?" 
 
 Father John was silent for a moment. 
 
 " Was that on the night I met you ? " he asked. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " I don't remember hearing of any case of the 
 kind any mysterious death on the Embankment 
 Can you tell me where it happened ? " 
 
 Gideon tried to describe the place. He told the 
 name of the hotel at which Captain Hamilton had 
 been staying, and he told his enemy's name ; but he 
 did not tell his own.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 209 
 
 " Will you let me make some inquiries ? " said 
 the kindly young priest. " I have an idea that he 
 may, perhaps, only have fainted. I will find out 
 without saying anything about you." 
 
 Gideon assented hopelessly. He was perfectly 
 sure that Hamilton was dead. 
 
 The next day Father John came to his bedside, 
 and smiled at him, then grew grave again and be- 
 gan to speak. 
 
 " God has been very good to you," he said ; 
 " He did not allow you to take your enemy's life. 
 Captain Hamilton has been very ill, but he is out 
 of danger now." 
 
 " Living ? " said Gideon, starting up and then 
 falling back again. " He is alive ? " 
 
 " Yes, he is alive. He was found soon after 
 you left him, and carried to a hospital." 
 
 " Is she with him ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell you." 
 
 Gideon averted his head. 
 
 At first the priest thought that his communica- 
 tion had produced very little effect ; but presently 
 he found that his patient was weeping. A great 
 sob shook his gaunt shoulders now and then. The
 
 210 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 relief was almost more than lie could bear. He had 
 hated George Hamilton, but it was an awful thing 
 to feel himself a murderer. Little by little he 
 dropped out words and sentences that told the 
 priest what he had felt. 
 
 " It isn't that I've been afraid of punishment for 
 myself; but it's the thought of one's father and 
 one's friends. . . . Every night I've fancied myself 
 in the dock, with the judge putting on his black 
 cap, and my father and Uncle Obed sitting on the 
 seats listening to hear him say ' hanged by the neck 
 till you are dead.' . . . And then, after that . . . 
 ' Thou shalt not kill.' And my boy I used to think 
 I saw him looking down at me, and asking if I were 
 a murderer . . . and stretching out his arms in 
 vain." 
 
 " You wish to see him again ? " 
 
 " I'd go through hell to see him again ! " cried 
 Gideon, with a vehemence at which Father John 
 involuntarily raised a protesting hand. 
 
 But he saw that the young man meant no harm 
 by it. His love for John was a weapon which the 
 good priest laid hold of immediately for the good 
 of Gideon's soul.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 211 
 
 It was no wonder that lie expected to make a 
 convert. But the time was not ripe for the discus- 
 sion of ecclesiastical or theological points. 
 
 Here was a soul in pain ; a heart rent and 
 broke ; a whole nature laid waste with passion and 
 sorrow. What was there for Father John to do, 
 but to speak of the comfort that faith can give, and 
 the love of Father and Son for suffering humanity ? 
 It was the first time that Gideon had listened to 
 religious teaching since he was a boy. And there 
 was a strange revelation to him of love and sym- 
 pathy in the exposition of One who suffered all 
 things for the sake of man, and met with cruelty 
 and treachery in return. He caught his breath as 
 he heard was it not really for the first time ? of 
 " that stupendous life and death," of all that earth 
 shuddered at and heaven grew black in witnessing. 
 What did it mean for him that supreme act of 
 abnegation and of pity? 
 
 The priest awoke in the night to see the man he 
 had saved from suicide kneeling at the foot of the 
 crucifix, outlined blackly on the whitewashed wall, 
 and to hear the sobs that shook him like a reed. 
 He was wise enough to say nothing and lie still.
 
 212 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " God will speak to him," said the good priest 
 to himself, controlling the hot impatience to help 
 which tingled in his veins. " My words may do 
 more harm than good. God will teach him in His 
 own way." 
 
 And so perhaps He did ; but it was not in the 
 way that Father John expected. 
 
 Gideon was up and dressed next day ; he was 
 very quiet, almost apathetic in manner, and seemed 
 scarcely to understand what was said to him by the 
 little community of Catholic priests who had taken 
 him in. They were very good to him. Between 
 themselves, they speculated a little as to his name 
 and station, and hinted to Father John that lie 
 should he brought to confession ; but Father John 
 shook his head and told them to give him time. Of 
 course he was a heretic ; but a heretic with a curi- 
 ous gift (so Father John thought) of assimilating 
 what he was taught, even although he might have 
 an equally curious incapacity for expressing it. He 
 sat in the chapel sometimes with a look of entire 
 absorption on his face, turned to the big crucifix 
 that hung over the altar. " It seems as if I had 
 been here before," he said once, when Father John
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 213 
 
 spoke to him about his liking for the chapel. And 
 the priest wondered whether the stranger might not 
 some day take up his lot with them and change 
 from carpenter to monk. 
 
 But one day Gideon strolled in the walled gar- 
 den which lay at the back of the house, and heard 
 the voices of children at play in the adjoining play, 
 ground. The Fathers had a school and an orphan- 
 age, but Gideon had not as yet come across any of 
 the pupils. He was very weak after his illness, 
 which had been short but sharp ; and although the 
 priests allowed him to wander about the house and 
 grounds at will, he had taken but little notice of 
 the arrangements of the place. Now, for the first 
 time, the tuneful laughter of children's voices 
 struck upon his ear. He looked for a gate, found 
 it, and stood in the playground, gazing spell-bound 
 at the noisy, merry groups. These were the younger 
 boys little fellows from four to eight or ten years 
 of age; and there was one with golden hair and 
 dark eyes, who recalled vividly to Gideon's mind 
 the image of the boy whom he had lost. Gideon 
 felt no disposition, however, to speak to the child. 
 He only looked and looked, with a wealth of long-
 
 2 1 4: OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 ing in his hungry eyes. And when the children 
 had gone back to school, he sat down on a bench 
 and thought. 
 
 He thought of Casterby. For the first time he 
 remembered that his father and his uncle did not 
 know what had become of him. He thought of his 
 father's steady affection for him, of Uncle Obed's 
 absorption in him and his boy. What was the old 
 man doing without him now ? His father had a 
 wife and children, but Obed had nobody. And 
 for the first time it came home dimly enough to 
 Gideon that Obed had loved him as he had loved 
 John with the same blind, adoring love, and that 
 he, Gideon, had made very little return for that af- 
 fection. He had been friendlier with his uncle 
 than with anybody else ; but he had never shown 
 what he felt, it had not been his way. And per- 
 haps Uncle Obed was enduring a share of the pas- 
 sionate yearning for a beloved face which Gideon 
 himself bore when he thought of his dead son the 
 child who had gone to a far-away heaven whither 
 the father sometimes thought that he should " never 
 win." 
 
 He felt in his pocket for his purse. It was
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 215 
 
 there intact, and still contained three pounds in gold 
 and some silver. He laid it out before him and 
 considered what he would do with it. 
 
 He must get away. He must go back to Cas- 
 terby. So much was clear to his still confused and 
 beclouded mind. He had no wife, no child ; but 
 he had his father and his uncle to see. It was not 
 his love for them that drew him home again, but 
 the consciousness of his love for John. Also he 
 wanted to see John's grave. 
 
 For the mode of his departure, I feel that ex- 
 cuses must be offered. He left the priests who had 
 been so good to him without saying farewell. The 
 fact was that his mind w T as not clear enough for a 
 true appreciation of their kindness and their claims 
 on his gratitude. And when, months afterwards, 
 he came, as it were, more to himself, he was amazed 
 and horrified to find that he did not know the name 
 of the community nor the part of London in which 
 it was situated. Probably it was near Hammer- 
 smith, for his memories of trees and gardens, and 
 the vicinity of the river, pointed in that direc- 
 tion ; but he was never sure. And the Fa- 
 thers had scarcely known his name, nor the
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 place whence lie came nor his circumstances, and 
 had no means of tracing him if they had wished 
 to do so. 
 
 Before lie went he separated two sovereigns and 
 a half from his little hoard, and wrapped them in a 
 piece of paper on which he wrote a few words to 
 Father John. "I am obliged to go home," he 
 wrote. " I thank you very much for your kindness 
 to me. Perhaps you can use the enclosed for some 
 of the poor people you know. I am going back to 
 my own people." The letter was simply signed by 
 his initials and addressed to Father John. lie left 
 it with the porter and walked away along the road 
 which he had been told would lead to the heart of 
 London. He inquired his way to the railway-sta- 
 tion and took the next train to Casterby all in the 
 same common-place, spiritless way, and as if nobody 
 in the world would be surprised at anything he had 
 done. 
 
 Father John read the letter and grieved over it. 
 He thought that he had aot done enough for the 
 spiritual benefit of his protege". It was the nature 
 of the man to blame himself, and not Gideon, 
 atrainst whom some of the other inmates of the
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 217 
 
 house were moved to considerable wrath. " He 
 might have told us something about himself in- 
 stead of walking off in this way," they said be- 
 tween themselves. But Father John lay all night 
 long before the altar, praying for the conversion of 
 Gideon's soul, and for the forgiveness of that fail- 
 ure, that weakness on his own part, which had 
 caused him to let the stranger's soul escape. " The 
 blame is mine," said the young priest sadly, as he 
 went about his work next day and for many days 
 thereafter. And he prayed that another chance 
 might be given him another day or hour in which 
 he might plead with Gideon to give himself utterly 
 and entirely to a better life. . . . But he never saw 
 Gideon again. 
 
 It seemed very strange to him to get out at the 
 well-known little country station, and to walk down 
 the road, with its green bordering of grass, to the 
 High Street and the Market Place. The town 
 struck him as dwarfed and stunted. But it was not 
 looking its best on that November evening, with a 
 mist rising from the river and a small drizzling rain 
 steadily falling from the clouds. Everything looked
 
 218 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 damp and mildewed and desolate. It was six weeks 
 since Gideon went away. 
 
 He did not go to his father's first of all. He 
 thought more of Obed, perhaps, than of his father, 
 and he went to Obed's cottage by the river. He 
 did not meet anyone who recognised him on his 
 way. As he turned down the lane he noticed that 
 the river was very high, and that the meadows were 
 half covered with water, and when he reached the 
 garden-gate he saw that even the house had been 
 assailed by the water. It was the one drawback to 
 the houses by the river that they were sometimes 
 visited by the floods, which were in wet autumns a 
 source of danger, as they rose very rapidly and did 
 considerable damage now and then. The garden- 
 beds seemed to have been almost destroyed, and the 
 water-mark was still visible on the walls of the 
 house ; but evidently the place had not been aban- 
 doned, for there was a light in one of the upper 
 windows, and at sight of it Gideon's heart throbbed 
 with a new feeling of affection and almost of 
 
 joy- 
 He knocked at the door knocked twice before 
 any answer came. At last the upper window was
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 219 
 
 opened a little way, and Obed Pilcher's gray head 
 appeared. 
 
 " Who be ye down theer ? " he asked. 
 
 " It's me Gideon. Will you let me in, 
 uncle ? " 
 
 " Gideon ! " The old man's voice rose to a 
 shriek of joy. " Gideon ! Lad ! ah thowt thee 
 mun be dead. Wait thee, lad, ah'm coming 
 doan't thee go away ah've but to unbolt the door. 
 Thee'll waait ? thee'll waait ? " 
 
 " Of course I'll wait, Uncle Obed," said Gideon, 
 with a strange new gentleness of tone. " Don't 
 hurry thyself." 
 
 But in another minute he heard the old man 
 hobbling downstairs and fumbling probably with 
 trembling hands at the bolts and locks of the 
 door. When it was opened, and Gideon stepped 
 inside, he found himself literally in his uncle's 
 arms. 
 
 " Lad, lad ! Ah thowt thee dead, but ah knew 
 that if thee was above ground, thee'd come back 
 . to owd Uncle Obed." 
 
 " Did you think me dead, uncle ? " 
 
 "Ay, that ah did, lad. And thou's bin at
 
 220 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 death's door, too, as ah can see by tha faace and 
 eyes. Cooin away in, an' ah'll get on my clothes 
 and mak' up t' fire for tha : coom awaay." 
 
 " Where's Keziah ? " said Gideon, following his 
 uncle to the kitchen. 
 
 "(ione, lad gone. Ah didn't want no wim- 
 inin foalk about me; ah can fend an' fettle for 
 mysel'." 
 
 u AVe'll see about that," said Gideon, with a 
 touch of the old masterfulness, subdued, however, 
 into a kindlier tone. " Go and get into your 
 clothes, and leave the fire to me. Or get back to 
 bed, and I'll come upstairs with you." 
 
 But his uncle would not agree to the latter 
 proposition. Gideon was cold and wet, and must 
 have something to eat and drink. So Gideon set 
 to work to blow the embers of the fire into a blaze, 
 and by the time old Obed came downstairs again 
 in all the glory of his Sunday suit, there was a 
 ruddy glow on the kitchen walls, and on the red- 
 brick floor, with the rag carpet before the fender, 
 and the kettle was already beginning to sing in a 
 homelike, comfortable way. Gideon stood by the 
 hearth, staring into the flames. The room might
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 221 
 
 look cheery enough, but where were they gone who 
 used to make the brightness of the house ? 
 
 Uncle Obed came up and shook him by the 
 hand. He had not much to say, but it relieved his 
 feelings to work Gideon's arm up and down like a 
 pump-handle. Then he suggested that his " lad " 
 should go upstairs and change his wet clothes while 
 tea was being made. 
 
 "Thee'll find all tlia things as thee left 'em," 
 he said. 
 
 Gideon said nothing, but went stolidly up to his 
 own room. Obed bustled about the kitchen, set- 
 ting out crockery and food; he heard Gideon's 
 steps in the room above him at first, then he 
 became aware that they had ceased. The meal was 
 ready, but Gideon did not come, and all was silent 
 overhead. 
 
 " Coom, Gid, supper's ready," said Obed, in a 
 cheerful voice, as he stumped upstairs. But no 
 answer came. 
 
 The door of the bedroom was wide open, and 
 the candle was flaring, for Gideon had placed the 
 tin candlestick down on the chest of drawers and 
 
 left it in the draught. It was a pretty little room, 
 15
 
 222 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 decorated in Emmy's taste with a good many pink 
 ribbons and much white muslin ; but it looked 
 spotlessly clean and fresh. John's little empty cot 
 stood between the big white-curtained bed and the 
 wall. And Gideon had dropped down on his knees 
 and hidden his face on the white counterpane of 
 the bed, with his hands stretched out before him, 
 clenched together in prayer or agony ? 
 
 " Lord forgi'e me," muttered Obed to himself. 
 " And ah sent him up here all alone." 
 
 He stood within the doorway, not daring to 
 speak or move, not knowing whether to stay or to 
 go. Gideon was perfectly still ; it was his motion- 
 lessness that struck terror to Obed's heart. 
 
 But after a time he stirred. He lifted his head, 
 drew back his hands, and rose. There was a look 
 on his face which Obed had never seen before 
 the expression of one whose renunciation is com- 
 plete. In some vague fashion, Obed Pilcher knew 
 from that moment that his nephew was an altered 
 man. 
 
 " Is that you, Uncle Obed ? " said Gideon, quite 
 quietly. " I won't keep you waiting more than a 
 moment. I'll come directly."
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 223 
 
 Then lie turned to the chest of drawers and 
 began to take out some clothes. He had not yet 
 begun to change. 
 
 " I'll use Keziah's old room," he said. 
 
 And he betook himself to that small apartment 
 immediately. Obed did not venture to protest. 
 And in perfect silence Gideon next day removed 
 all his belongings to the servant's former abode, 
 and his uncle knew, as well as if he had been 
 told Jn words, that the room which Emmy and 
 John had occupied was to be left untouched, un- 
 tenanted. 
 
 Gideon came down to supper with a grave, 
 unmoved countenance, and spoke very little, but 
 his manner to his uncle was, for him, curiously 
 gentle. Obed poured out all the news of the town, 
 but seduously refrained from asking questions, at 
 any rate for a time. Questions came later, but the 
 first thing was to make Gideon eat his supper. 
 
 " Is father well ? " said the young man, as they 
 sat by the kitchen fire after supper. 
 
 Obed smoked a long clay; but Gideon, with 
 his hands plunged in his pockets, had declined a 
 pipe.
 
 924: OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Eh ? Thou'st not seen him ? Ay, he's mid- 
 <11 in', but he's fretted above a bit about thee, 
 Gideon." 
 
 " It's too late to go and see him to-night," said 
 Gideon, looking up at the clock. 
 
 " Well, mebbe. He looks kind o' pined, thee'lt 
 see. And wheer hast been, Gid, all this long 
 while?" 
 
 " I've been in London," said Gideon, with his 
 eyes fixed on the fire. 
 
 " Not not in prison, lad ? " asked the old 
 man tremulously, with one deep-veined old hand 
 laid heavily on Gideon's arm. 
 
 " Prison ? No," answered Gideon in astonish- 
 men. " I've been ill, or I should have come home 
 sooner. 13ut why prison ? " 
 
 " Ah thowt," said Uncle Obed in borne confu- 
 sion, " that they might ha' tooken thee there for 
 threshin' that man. "We heerd tell as he was found 
 somewheers down by t' river with his head stove in, 
 and though it didn't say i' th' paaper who did it, we 
 all knew as it was thee." 
 
 " Ay, you were right," said Gideon heavily. 
 Thou came a long pause. " I well-nigh killed him,"
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 225 
 
 he continued at length in trembling tones. " I did 
 my best. I should have been a murderer, Uncle 
 Obed, if I'd succeeded. If I'd had blood upon my 
 hand, would you have been so ready to take me 
 in?" 
 
 " Ay, that I would, lad," cried the old man ex- 
 citedly. " And would ha' shook the hand as did it, 
 too. There's not a jury in the land as would con- 
 vict thee for an act of justice like to that." 
 
 "You're a Christian, Uncle Obed; you go to 
 church," said the young man inexorably. He had 
 folded his arms on his breast, and his face was very 
 stern and pale. "How can you tell me that it 
 would be an act of justice to commit murder ? 
 "Whatever it might be in a jury's eyes, you've got to 
 consider what it would be in the eyes of God." 
 
 He said the last words solemnly, the muscles in 
 his cheek flinching as he did so, the only sign of 
 effort that he showed. Obed sat amazed, staring at 
 him. 
 
 "Lad," he said at last, almost letting his pipe 
 slip to the ground in his astonishment, and speaking 
 very slowly " lad, hast got religion while thou'st 
 been away ? "
 
 22 G OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " I don't know," said Gideon. And then they 
 sat in silence for a little while. 
 
 u "Well, well ! " exclaimed Uncle Obed at last, in 
 a high -pitched, querulous voice, " it's the fust time 
 T my life as ah've bin towd ah was not a Christian. 
 Ah've been clerk this fowty year, an' no one ever 
 said that to me afore. An' all because ah spoke as 
 the nat'ral man 'ud speak, ah taakes it : because it 
 seems a deal more proper that a man should foight 
 the man as has maiide his wife a 
 
 " Stop that ! " said Gideon fiercely. " I won't 
 have her called names. As to the man I did fight 
 him, as you say, and well-nigh killed him : isn't 
 that enough for you ? Did you want to see me on 
 the gallows first, and damned to hell afterwards ? " 
 
 " Nay, nay, lad nay. Doan't talk i' that fash- 
 ion. Ainu not such a domned fool as that coomes 
 to. Thou'rt right eno'. Me parish clerk, an' preach 
 murder ? Why, no ! An' I'm downright thankful 
 to see thee back, saiife an' sound ; an' thee mustn't 
 mind an' owd man's tongue, Gideon, nor catch'n 
 up so fast." 
 
 " I'm a fool myself, and a brute to say a hard 
 word to you," said the young man starting up, with
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 227 
 
 a flush on his face. " Forgive me, uncle. Don't 
 think worse of me than you can help," he said, 
 standing with one hand on his uncle's shoulder, so 
 that the old man could not see his face. " I've 
 had a good bit to bear, you know, and sometimes 
 I've been almost beside myself with with 
 trouble. Else, I shouldn't have stayed away so 
 long. It was the thought of you, and the boy, 
 that brought me back. You shan't lose me as I 
 lost him" 
 
 The pauses between the words made them 
 doubly significant. Obed Pilcher understood much 
 more than Gideon could say. " God bless thee, lad, 
 for coming back ! " he said in a hoarse undertone. 
 
 " I'll not leave you again, uncle," said Gideon, in 
 a firmer voice.
 
 IX. 
 
 : Wcr nic sein Brod mit ThrSnen ass- 
 
 TIIE news of Gideon's return soon spread far 
 and wide. Between six and seven in the morning 
 lie was back at the yard, beginning his usual day's 
 work. His father met him witli a close clasp of 
 the hand and a long examining look, but he asked 
 no questions, and it was not until the two were 
 alone together, later in the day, that Gideon said an 
 explanatory word. 
 
 " I was ill in London. I wish I had written, 
 but everything seemed to go out of my head. I 
 never thought of it." 
 
 Joseph Blake nodded. He was looking worn 
 and gray, but he had not the heart to reproach 
 his son. 
 
 " Did you see her ? " he asked in a low voice. 
 
 " Once," said Gideon, turning away his face. 
 
 The father asked no more questions. He, too, 
 
 228
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 229 
 
 had heard of the mysterious attack on Captain 
 Hamilton in London, and believed that Gideon had 
 been the assailant ; but as Hamilton himself had 
 refused to give information, and evidently wished 
 it to be thought that he had simply been knocked 
 on the head by a pickpocket, no public accusation 
 had been made. Joseph Blake was the last man 
 to ask Gideon painful or unnecessary questions, and 
 he tried to shut the mouths of his wife and daugh- 
 ter, but could not succeed. Where he failed, how- 
 ever, Gideon succeeded by a sudden frown, a flash 
 of his eyes, and a single word. It became under- 
 stood in the family and in the town that Gideon 
 was not to be questioned about his own private 
 affairs. 
 
 What was he going to do next ? the townspeople 
 queried. They expected him to take to evil courses, 
 now that his wife had left him and his child was 
 dead. There was nothing, they said, to hold him 
 back. He had always been a wild one at heart, 
 and he would, no doubt, plunge headlong into 
 excess and drink himself to death. "And there's 
 every excuse for him," they said, with a pleased 
 sense of assisting at a tragedy. It would round
 
 230 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 <tff the story so completely, to be able to say that 
 u tlie poor young man never got over it, and died 
 of delirium tremens six months after his wife 
 doped," so completely and artistically, indeed, 
 that Casterby waited with actual impatience to see 
 the final act begun. 
 
 But Gideon disappointed the Casterby people. 
 It might be true to say that "he never got over it" 
 he never would get over it as long as he lived 
 but lie showed no signs of taking to strong drink in 
 consequence. On the contrary, it was rumoured 
 that he had become a teetotaler (which was not 
 true), and that he did not even smoke. lie took up 
 his abode once more with Uncle Obed, and could 
 not be drawn from his lair by any attraction in the 
 way of tea-parties. lie and Obed led a very se- 
 cluded life. Tu> servant-girl replaced Keziah ; the 
 two men lived alone, and Gideon did most of the 
 work in the early mornings or late at night. Obed 
 1'ilcher was growing too rheumatic and infirm to 
 move about very much, and even spoke of relin- 
 quishing his duties as parish clerk. Gideon cooked 
 his meals for him, made the fires, chopped wood, 
 and scrubbed floors like a veritable slave. His step-
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 231 
 
 mother was scandalized at seeing him engaged in 
 such menial work. 
 
 " It really isn't respectable ; you should have a 
 servant. It looks as if your own father didn't pay 
 you properly," she declared. 
 
 " I'd sooner do it myself, if father doesn't 
 mind," said Gideon in his deliberate way. 
 
 He was a great deal more deliberate than he 
 used to be, and very silent even with Uncle Obed. 
 Only when they were alone in the evenings, and 
 Obed was smoking, Gideon would reach down a 
 book and read aloud in the loud, monotonous voice 
 that Obed loved to hear. 
 
 The reading was of a serious turn. They had 
 once tried a novel one of Emmy's brightly-bound 
 volumes from the parlour shelves but neither of 
 them could stand the love-making scenes. Obed 
 growled and pronounced them rubbish; Gideon 
 stopped one night in the middle of one, and put the 
 book back in its place with a nauseated air. They 
 fell back upon standard books of travel and history, 
 which Gideon procured from the town library, and 
 they read the Bible a good deal. It was quite a 
 new book to Gideon. On some evenings he cared
 
 232 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 to read nothing else. Then the " Pilgrim's Prog- 
 ress," which he had kept so long unread, fascinated 
 him completely. Old Obed knew it pretty well, 
 an 1 patronized it as the work of a man who did not 
 1) -long to the Church ; but it gained a new charm 
 to him when he heard it from Gideon's lips. 
 
 In the daytime the young man did his work 
 soberly and seriously, without smiles, but also with- 
 out the sullenness with wliich he had formerly been 
 credited. His fellow-workmen did not know what 
 to make of him. He had never been hail-fellow- 
 well-met with them, but he had been in many 
 respects as other men : ready for a drink, for a jest, 
 sometimes for a blow. Now all this was changed. 
 He was almost always silent ; he neither drank nor 
 jested ; and he worked as if he had no other interest 
 in the world. What depths of feeling underlay the 
 stern quietude of his demeanour, nobody guessed, 
 unless it were Uncle Obed or his father, Joseph 
 Blake. 
 
 After working-hours, he devoted himself en 
 tirely to Obed. But the old man was very frail, 
 and never recovered from the shocks which little 
 John's death, Emmy's flight, and Gideon's sub-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 233 
 
 sequent disappearance had inflicted upon him. 
 When the cold and dreary winter was over, and the 
 crocuses were just beginning to lift up their golden 
 and purple heads in the garden, Uncle Obed failed 
 rapidly, and before Easter was gone. He slipped 
 away in his sleep while Gideon was reading to him 
 one night from the Gospel of St. John. 
 
 " Poor fellow, he's left all alone now," said the 
 kindly, if somewhat careless, old Rector to his 
 curate on the day after Obed's funeral. " You 
 might go and see him, Crewe ; he seems a steady 
 sort of young man. Perhaps he would like to be 
 asked to teach in the Sunday-school." 
 
 Mr. Crewe went on his mission, and was civilly 
 received, but he wished afterwards that he had not 
 taken the Rector's hint and spoken about the 
 school ; for his proposition was received in a some- 
 what singular way. 
 
 " Teach ! " said Gideon, with a short, sharp 
 laugh. " Do you know whom you're asking ? Do 
 you know that I nearly killed a man not long ago, 
 and tried to commit suicide directly afterwards ? 
 Is that the sort of teacher the Rector would like in 
 his schools ? "
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Mr. Crewe was not a ready speaker, and stam- 
 mered out something incoherent to the effect that 
 Gideon's mind had probably been unhinged jnst at 
 that time by his great troubles. 
 
 " Xay," said Gideon, looking at him with his 
 dark, sorrowful eyes, which Mr. Crewe had some 
 difficulty in forgetting when he got outside the 
 house ; " don't you believe it, sir. It's the fashion 
 to say a man's out of his mind when he tries to kill 
 himself, or even when he kills another man ; but it 
 isn't always true. It wasn't true with me. I 
 knew what I was doing well enough. The devil 
 had possession of me, body and soul. I hope he's 
 been driven out. But God knows I'm not fit to 
 teach religion to innocent little children ; they're 
 much more likely to be able to teach me." 
 
 " Anyone who feels as deeply on these subjects 
 as you do 
 
 " I don't feel anything in particular," said 
 Gideon. " I only know the facts. I'm not fit to 
 teach anybody that is all ; I only wish I were." 
 
 " You come to church, don't you ? " said Mr. 
 Crewe, whom Gideon puzzled exceedingly. 
 
 " Yes," said Gideon slowly, " I come to church ;
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 235 
 
 and if I may say a word it seems to me we don't 
 get enough said to us about the evil in our own 
 hearts, Mr. Crewe. Perhaps if we'd heard more 
 about it, some of us might have understood with- 
 out such such hard lessons." 
 
 His voice broke suddenly. He had said more 
 than he had meant to say, and was ashamed of it, 
 with the natural recoil on itself of a reserved na- 
 ture ; and also he thought of Emmy. She had once 
 played at being a teacher in the school over which 
 Mr. Crewe presided on Sunday afternoons. What 
 good had come of her teaching, he wondered, to 
 teacher or to taught ? 
 
 Mr. Crewe retired from the scene, half of- 
 fended, half confused ; but he was a man of con- 
 siderable sincerity, and he said, long afterwards, 
 that nobody had ever influenced his sermons more 
 than Gideon Blake. He fell into the way of 
 preaching to the melancholy dark eyes that haunted 
 him from a corner of the dim old church ; and if 
 by chance he made them light up, he went home 
 with a warmer feeling at his heart. He had helped 
 one of his hearers, at least ; he had spoken to one 
 person who cared to understand.
 
 236 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon's own ideas were very indistinct at this 
 time. lie could not shake off a terrible depression, 
 a horrible sense of wrong-doing and misery, which 
 made life a burden. He prayed for help and com- 
 fort as he had seen others pray ; but prayer 
 brought him no relief. He was as one wandering 
 in the dark, with nobody to show him the way. 
 
 On Easter Sunday, it occurred to him to walk 
 to the cemetery and see the graves of his uncle and 
 his little son. He chose an hour when he thought 
 that few visitors were likely to be there, and he was 
 relieved to see that the cemetery looked almost 
 deserted, although it was quite a popular place of 
 r; >s< >rt on Sunday afternoons. One solitary woman's 
 ii^ure in black could be seen at some little distance 
 from the spot which Gideon wished to visit, and 
 that was all. 
 
 Someone had been before him. The graves 
 were strewn with white flowers, placed in the form 
 of a cross on each green mound. Gideon won- 
 tlered, and thought that perhaps Carry was kinder 
 than she seemed. But these flowers were more 
 beautiful than any that grew in Casterby gardens. 
 
 As he mused and marvelled, feeling vaguely
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 237 
 
 soothed by their sweetness, the quiet figure in black 
 passed by him, paused, and passed again. He 
 raised his eyes ; they fell on the pale, sweet face of 
 the woman who had once been George Hamilton's 
 betrothed who had been almost as much wronged 
 by him as Gideon himself had been. He started, 
 and felt his face grow hot, and hoped, with a dull 
 anger at his heart, that she would walk on without 
 speaking to him ; but, instead of that, she came 
 nearer, and stood on the other side of John's little 
 green grave. 
 
 " May I speak to you ? " she said, in that sweet 
 voice which still had the power of thrilling 
 Gideon's nerves. 
 
 Gideon hastily and nervously raised his hat, but 
 he could not speak Her presence recalled some 
 cruel memories. 
 
 " I came here to say good-bye ; it is for the last 
 time," said Frances Lisle. " I wanted very much 
 to see you before I went away. I think God must 
 have sent you in answer to my prayers/' 
 
 " You are going away ? " said Gideon, stupidly 
 enough. 
 
 " Yes ; I am going to Belgium." Her eyes, 
 16
 
 238 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 wistfully sweet, wandered to the furthest limit of 
 the horizon, and remained fixed for a few minutes 
 on the distant line of low-lying purple hills. " I 
 am going to be a nun." 
 
 " A nun ? " said Gideon, starting back with 
 the horror he had been taught to feel for 
 women's religious houses. " Why should you be 
 a mm ?" 
 
 " Why not ? " she said, her eyes coming back to 
 his face with a gentle, serious look. "It is the 
 most beautiful life. But I know you do not under- 
 stand. Only I shall never, most likely, see you 
 again ; and I wanted so much to say one thing to 
 you before I went. May I say it now ? " 
 " Yes anything." 
 
 ik That is kind. It is not much that I have to 
 say, but it is hard to say it, too. Mr. Blake some 
 day you may be asked to forgive those who have 
 who have wronged you 
 
 "Forgive!" cried Gideon. There was passion 
 in his tone. 
 
 " I was wronged, too. I have forgiven," she 
 said, looking him full in the face with her great 
 gray eyes. He noticed how large they looked, how
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON". 239 
 
 small and pathetic was the worn, white face, how 
 patient the droop of her sweet curved lips, and he 
 knew that even his suffering had not been bitterer 
 than hers. " That is partly why I am going into a 
 convent. I hope to pray for him there to pray 
 for his soul." 
 
 Gideon was silent ; it was not possible for him, 
 he told himself, to understand. 
 
 " We can forgive in different ways," said Fran- 
 ces, catching at the reason for his silence. " I in 
 my own way, you in yours. But some day you 
 must you must " 
 
 " I shall not hurt him again, if you mean that," 
 said Gideon in measured tones. " I tried to punish 
 him once ; he is safe from that now. I know very 
 well that if I had killed him I should have been a 
 miserable man." 
 
 " But more than that is necessary," said the girl, 
 in a strangely moved voice. "When I laid those 
 flowers on your little boy's grave, I prayed that I 
 might see you again, but not that I might plead 
 with you for George Hamilton's life ! I knew that 
 was safe. I want more than that for your boy's 
 sake, and because you hope to see him again one
 
 240 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 day. Yon do not belong to the Church, but you 
 hope you want to see your boy again ? " 
 
 " God knows ' Gideon began, and then 
 stopped short. He could not go on. 
 
 "I plead for John's sake, then," said Frances 
 Lisle. " And I plead for God's sake, Who cannot 
 forgive us if we do not forgive. You remember 
 what our dear Lord said upon the cross ? ' For- 
 give them, for they know not what they do.' 
 That is what I say every day, every hour of my 
 life : ' They know not what they do ; forgive them, 
 Lord, as we as we forgive.' ' : 
 
 " They are safe from me," said Gideon, and 
 turned away his face. 
 
 " Are they safe from your hatred from your 
 bitterness of heart ? Oh, I know how hard it is ! 
 I have no right to speak. But if one could turn 
 one's own pain into an atonement for their sin ; if 
 one could weep for them and pray for them until 
 their hearts were touched, they knew not why, and 
 they turned to God and asked* Him for that for- 
 giveness which He never grudges to those that ask 
 then would not even our grief and suffering have 
 been a paradise ? The greater the suffering for us,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 241 
 
 the greater the grace for them ! " cried Frances, her 
 face shining with the ecstasy of a vision that she 
 deemed divine. 
 
 " Could that happen ? " said Gideon, half sadly, 
 half sceptically. " I have read that no man can 
 give his soul for another, or make atonement to 
 God for him." 
 
 " But you would do it if you could for one you 
 loved ? " said the girl, in a hushed voice. 
 
 " Ay, if I could," said Gideon, looking down at 
 the flowers on John's grave. 
 
 " That is forgiveness," said Frances. She held 
 out her hand. " I must go now. They are wait- 
 ing for me at the gate. Good-bye, Mr. Blake. I 
 shall always remember you and those that you 
 love. And in your heart you have forgiven or 
 will forgive ; I am quite sure of that." 
 
 Gideon held her hand for a moment, but he 
 could not say good-bye. He watched her down 
 the pathway until she was out of sight; then he 
 knelt down by his boy's grave. 
 
 She did not know it, but she had transfigured 
 
 ' O 
 
 the world for him. Into his empty heart she had 
 put a living seed. Forgiveness, prayer were these
 
 242 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 such mighty forces ? Then he had something to 
 live for still ; he could love and forgive and pray. 
 
 There came back to him the history that he had 
 heard read out in church on Good Friday ; he had 
 not been touched by it then, he remembered, but it 
 touched him now. The Man of Sorrows who hung 
 bleeding and naked on a Cross, jeered at by the 
 people whom He died to save, could still say, 
 14 Father, forgive them, for they know not what 
 they do." He was the Great Example : could not 
 even His humblest follower do something of the 
 same kind I 
 
 Gideon's mind was very simple, very literal, in 
 some ways. The thing that seemed tme to him 
 must be put into action if it were to continue true, 
 lie could, after a great struggle of heart, after an 
 agonizing conflict between his natural emotions and 
 his will, say to himself that he forgave his erring 
 wife, and even, in some sense, the man who had 
 led her astray ; but how could that forgiveness be 
 brought into action in his daily life ? He could not 
 seek Emmy out and beg her to return to him ; his 
 common-sense told him that this mode of behaviour 
 would be impracticable. She had gone abroad ;
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 243 
 
 slie was probably happy in the evil of her life 
 triumphing, perhaps, in the way in which her hus- 
 band had been befooled. He could do nothing 
 directly for her benefit. 
 
 But " to turn one's pain into an atonement for 
 their sin " ! to pray until the sinners were forced 
 into repentance ! Could this be done ? Ah, it was 
 worth trying, thought Gideon, with a great break - 
 ing-up of all the fountains of his soul : for what 
 harm would it do even if it were worthless ? and 
 if it should avail anything ah, what infinite gain ! 
 
 His religious views, his notions of heaven and 
 hell, were what the modern world agrees to call 
 primitive and crude. He believed in a material 
 hell, to which he saw himself hastening in the past, 
 arrested by something like a miracle upon its very 
 brink, whither Emmy was hastening now. Could 
 he stop her ? Could he by any exertion, any sacri- 
 fice, save her from the fires of hell ? Nothing 
 would be too hard for him to do, if only he could 
 " touch the arm that moves the world " and bring 
 its exquisite, irresistible, compelling power to bear 
 on Emmy's heart. Emmy's frivolous little prefer- 
 ences, Emmy's hard little personality, were for-
 
 i>4 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 gotten, absorbed in a great rush of love for what 
 lay behind the shell-like exterior. A soul to be 
 saved a beautiful, precious, immortal soul : Emmy 
 was that, and Gideon could not hate and despise 
 her any more, although she had betrayed him, and 
 outraged her womanhood, and tlirown away her 
 woman's purity. 
 
 The thought that he could help her changed his 
 life. It became henceforth, most emphatically, a- 
 life made up of prayer. It had already been the 
 life of an anchorite. Now, as soon as his work 
 was over, Gideon hastened to shut himself up in 
 his lonely house and expend the long hours in sup- 
 plication for Emmy's soul. A roughly -fashioned 
 crucifix hung on the wall in the bare room he occu- 
 pied. On the floor before it he knelt or lay for 
 hours, praying with tears and cries that Emmy 
 might be saved from the evil to come. Thence it 
 was a short step to more stringent and more pain- 
 ful measures. The passion of penance took posses- 
 sion of his soul for his own sins partly, but chiefly 
 for those of the woman that he loved. And for 
 her sake he suffered hi the flesh as in the spirit 
 for Emmy's sin.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 245 
 
 The world would have called him mad. His 
 own little world of sordid commercialism; the 
 Rector's comfortable, easy-going Christianity ; the 
 would-be intellectualism of the Unitarian meeting- 
 house all would have joined in condemning him. 
 Perhaps even Father O'Brien, with whom, although 
 he did not know it, Gideon was most in sympathy, 
 would have shaken his head dubiously over the 
 young man's vagaries. " For it is not," as Thomas 
 11 Kempis says, " it is not after the way of man to 
 fly honours, to be willing to suffer reproaches, to 
 despise self and choose to be despised, and to desire 
 no prosperity in this world." And it is not accord- 
 ing to most men's taste to fast as Gideon did, to 
 tear his flesh by scourges, to wear strange con- 
 trivances of wire and cord which took the place of 
 the hair shirt which he had never seen, to conceal 
 a heavy chain about his waist, and to bear cold and 
 discomfort and bodily pain with a wonderful en- 
 durance which came less from the thought that 
 there was merit for himself in what he did, than a 
 possible expiation for Emmy's wrong-doing, a fore- 
 stalling of Emmy's repentance for her sin. 
 
 Morbid and mad the modern world would call
 
 246 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 him, yet not unhappy, even when the reddened 
 scourge dropped from his nerveless lingers, and lie 
 lay at night with bare and bleeding shoulders 
 before the cross, breathing out shuddering, ago- 
 nized prayers for Emmy into the silent night. 
 Yes, it was all for her. That thought gave ecstasy 
 to every pang of pain. And for himself why, he 
 was ready to suffer an eternity of woe if he could 
 but purchase heaven for her. It was a heathen 
 conception of his God's requirements, perhaps, and 
 one not recognised exactly by any form of faith ; 
 but it kept Gideon Blake from misery. And he 
 did not think of the dead priest whose nature he 
 had in some odd way inherited, as we all inherit 
 from unknown generations of the dead, nor ever 
 figure to himself that there had once been a man of 
 his name and his blood who also agonized for his 
 soul and the souls of others before the cross, and 
 who happier than Gideon breathed out his last 
 prayer amid the flames that sealed a martyrdom. 
 
 Gideon, obeying the law of his own nature, 
 thought nothing of the law of heredity. If he had 
 found no way of suffering for Emmy, or thinking 
 that lie suffered for her, he would have gone out
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 of his mind completely. But self-sacrifice, even of 
 the most fantastic kind, consoled him, and steadied 
 his whole nature. He could not be utterly mis- 
 erable when he could pray and suffer for her sake. 
 And thus the years went by.
 
 X. 
 
 " Let no man dream but that I love thee still." 
 
 JOSEPH BLAKE was becoming more and more 
 invalided by rheumatism that scourge of all who 
 lived for many years at Casterby and greater re- 
 sponsibilities therefore rested on Gideon's shoul- 
 ders. In spite of the absorption of one side of his 
 nature in purely spiritual matters, Gideon was by 
 no means a bad man of business; he was certainly 
 not enterprising, but he was conscientious and 
 hard-working, and it was well known that anything 
 he undertook would be faithfully carried out. His 
 father had once been afraid that Gideon was of too 
 impracticable a temper to succeed as a master of 
 other men ; but of late years, as the change in his 
 character became manifest, it was found that Gid- 
 eon was liked as well as respected. He was scrupu- 
 lously just ; he was strict indeed, but he was fair, 
 and in times of trouble generous ; he never lost his 
 
 848
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 249 
 
 temper, although he could say a word of keen 
 reproof now and then, and he set the example of 
 unfailing industry and punctuality. Joseph Blake 
 triumphed a little over his wife in pointing out 
 Gideon's virtues to her. 
 
 " They used to call him a black sheep," he said. 
 " Who's got a son like him in Casterby, I'd like to 
 know ? " 
 
 " I've nothing to say against Gideon," re- 
 sponded Mrs. Blake ; " but I must say I think he's 
 very queer. He's that unsociable you never can 
 get him to go anywhere or take a cup of tea or any- 
 thing. If I'd been him, I would have got a divorce 
 from that wretched woman and married some nice 
 girl, and had a family round me by this time." 
 
 " Gideon don't hold with divorce," said Joseph 
 doubtfully. " I heard him say so just after it all 
 happened. ' I'd never feel but what Emmy was 
 my wife,' he said, and wouldn't hear of anything 
 else." 
 
 " He's very odd in his notions," said Mrs. Blake, 
 tossing her head. " I think he's got a tile loose, as 
 people say. For my part, I think it's sheer crazi- 
 ness to be so religious."
 
 250 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 And the world mostly agreed with her. 
 
 If he had not been such an excellent man of 
 business, Gideon would certainly have been pro- 
 nounced a little mad by his fellow-townsmen. He 
 did not talk about his religious faith, nor about his 
 vigils, and fastings, and penances ; but rumours of 
 them got abroad, as rumours will get abroad in little 
 country towns. They made him a remarkable per- 
 son in the eyes of the Casterby people, one of 
 whom strange things were to be expected at any 
 moment. There was a little suspicion of him, even 
 as a business man, and if he had shown one sign of 
 over-cleverness, or given one hint of a speculative 
 turn, he would have lost ground at once and com- 
 pletely in their opinion of him. But Gideon was 
 so steadily humdrum and commonplace in his way 
 of conducting his business, so absolutely without a 
 ppioe of the adventurous, so content to plod along 
 the common way, that he won approval and consid- 
 erable confidence from his father's friends. 
 
 There was a sale of timber in the North, which 
 Joseph Hlake had been anxious to attend ; but he 
 was too lame to attempt the journey when the date 
 drew near. Gideon had to go in his father's stead.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 251 
 
 The young man accepted the charge of the trans- 
 action with his usual gravity and habit of attention 
 to details ; he listened carefully to all the instruc- 
 tions his father gave him, and Joseph Blake knew 
 that they would all be most conscientiously carried 
 out. But for once he grew a little impatient with 
 Gideon. " The lad," as he still called him, showed 
 no real interest in the matter. 
 
 " Your heart ain't in this business, Gid," he said 
 reproachfully. " I wish you'd waken up a bit." 
 
 Gideon gave a slight start. 
 
 " Don't I satisfy you, father ? " 
 
 "Eh, lad, you're as good as goold. But the 
 spring's gone out of you. At your age, I'd ha' 
 thought of putting on my best coat, and having a 
 good time at York. I don't grudge the money. 
 Go to the best inn, have a smoke and a chat with 
 the travellers, see the world a bit and enjoy thyself. 
 It would hearten me up again to see thee do it." 
 
 " But I shouldn't enjoy it, father," said Gideon 
 with scrupulous gentleness. 
 
 " That's the worst of it. Why shouldn't you ? 
 I don't think much of your religion if it makes thee 
 so gloomy, lad."
 
 252 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon stood looking at his father, as if uncer- 
 tain what to reply. Joe Blake stared back at him, 
 with a vague sense of uneasiness and inarticulate 
 sympathy. He noticed that his son's great frame 
 was gaunt and thin ; that his cheeks and temples 
 had fallen into hollows, and that his bent eyebrows 
 seemed to betoken suffering. And yet he knew 
 that Gideon was not ill. He could do twice as 
 much work as any man in the yard; his strength 
 had increased, not diminished, of late years. But 
 there was the stamp of pain upon his face ? and an 
 unutterable sadness in his eyes. 
 
 " It's not religion that makes me gloomy," said 
 Gideon, at last, making an effort over himself. 
 " It's the thought of other things." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! that's all very well, Gid. But 
 you can't save a bad woman by fretting about 
 her." 
 
 Gideon put out his hand. "Don't say things 
 u^aiiiHt her, father. It cuts too deep." 
 
 "Eli, docs it hurt still, my lad?" said Joe 
 Blake, in a half-pitying, half -deprecatory tone. 
 " You've had a niort o' trouble over a worthless 
 lass. But there, I'll say no more. It's just this
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 253 
 
 that a trouble like yours didn't ought to be the be- 
 all and end-all of your life." 
 
 Gideon raised his heavy eyes to his father's face. 
 " I'd give the whole of my life if it would do her 
 any good," he said. 
 
 " Ay, but it won't," said his father rather sharp- 
 ly. " It's wasting your youth and strength for 
 naught." 
 
 "Nay, not for naught," said Gideon, turning 
 away, " so long as there's a God in heaven." 
 
 He seldom said so much, and his father grunted 
 out a " Well, well, well ! " as if he wanted to put an 
 end to the conversation. But Gideon had not done. 
 When once his tongue was loosed, there was a good 
 deal that he could say. 
 
 " She's a poor lost soul, I know," he said, in the 
 deep tones which could be soft as well as deep when 
 he was greatly moved " a lost lamb, straying on 
 the mountains, where nobody can go after her nor 
 find her but the blessed Lord Himself. Do you 
 think I can leave off beseeching Him to find her and 
 bring her home, until it's done ? There's not much 
 room in the world for joy and pleasure to me while 
 
 she is still astray. I can never forget that I cared 
 IT
 
 254 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 for her: I care for her still. And there's no rest 
 for me, no happiness, as the world counts happi- 
 ness, until she's found." 
 
 " Do you mean you'd bring her back to Cas- 
 terby ? " gasped Joe Blake, in consternation. 
 
 " I don't know," said Gideon slowly, " as I'd 
 ever thought of ways and means. I leave those to 
 God. If ever the time comes, I shall be told what 
 to do." 
 
 He went away, leaving his father still shaking 
 his head over these extraordinary notions. Joseph 
 Blake was troubled for a day or two with the 
 tli ought that they must needs unfit his son for the 
 ordinary affairs of life, and that business would be 
 badly performed in consequence. But he found no 
 evidence of carelessness or incompetence in the 
 work which Gideon undertook to manage about 
 that time. 
 
 The journey to York was made, and the busi- 
 ness performed. Gideon stayed three days and 
 nights, and took the express back to Ketford, 
 whence he could easily return to Casterby. About 
 half-way to Retford, as he was sitting in one corner 
 of a third-class railway carriage, looking quietly out
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 255 
 
 at the brown and yellow tints of the landscape for 
 it was autumn again, and the leaves were dropping 
 from the trees the accident happened which thrilled 
 the country from end to end, and filled the news- 
 papers with harrowing accounts of the injuries in- 
 flicted and the agonies suffered by the survivors. 
 But Gideon escaped unhurt. 
 
 It happened very swiftly, very suddenly. There 
 was scarcely time for fear, before it was practically 
 all over. Another train ran straight into the ex- 
 press, cutting some of the carriages into bits, scald- 
 ing the engineers to death, setting fire to the frag- 
 ments of the train. Night was beginning to fall, 
 and the gathering darkness added to the horrors of 
 the scene. Gideon, with other passengers who were 
 not hurt, set to work gallantly to extricate the in- 
 jured and to extinguish the flames. But their task 
 was dangerous and difficult, and some time elapsed 
 before medical assistance could be procured and the 
 sufferers conveyed to the nearest hospital. 
 
 Gideon toiled like a giant and a hero. His 
 heart was rent by the sights he saw, by the cries of 
 agony that he heard, but the pity of it spurred him 
 on to almost superhuman exertions. In one or two
 
 256 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 cases, even Iris great strength would not avail to free 
 some poor creatures from the crushing mass of wood 
 and iron that pinned them down to agony and 
 death, and all he could do was to breathe a prayer 
 into the ear of the victims, and solemnly commend 
 a passing soul to God, before turning away to help 
 those who could be helped. He forgot his reserve, 
 his self-consciousness, in a scene of this kind. Other 
 men looked at him with wonder and admiration, 
 even where all were brave and strong ; women and 
 children called to him for help, as if they knew that 
 the weak ones of the earth had the first claim with 
 him. It was amongst the third-class carriages that 
 there was most to be done, for there had been a 
 merry-making of some kind at Grantham, and 
 dozens of country folk were returning to their 
 homes by the afternoon train. But when most of 
 these had been disposed of, Gideon thought that he 
 heard a cry from the wreck of a first-class carriage 
 a little further down the line, and he turned in- 
 stinctively to look and help. 
 
 " For God's sake, come here ! " an imperative 
 man's voice demanded. " Nobody's been here yet. 
 I shall be killed before I can be got out ! I'll give
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 257 
 
 you twenty pounds to get me out I can't stir a 
 limb ! " 
 
 He sank back with a groan of pain. 
 
 " Are you hurt much, sir ? " said Gideon, ap- 
 proaching him. 
 
 " My leg's broken, I think, and my side seems 
 hurt ; but if you could get me out of here, I might 
 feel better. I heard them say that the express 
 might come up at any moment." 
 
 " Oh, we'll get you out of here before that hap- 
 pens," said Gideon. " Besides there are men sta- 
 tioned along the line here to stop the express." 
 
 " But the fire is breaking out again," said the 
 passenger anxiously. " Look over there ! Can 
 you move that piece of wood ? Why didn't you 
 come before ? " 
 
 He spoke as if he had a right to command, but 
 Gideon took no notice. The man was in pain, and 
 he was frightened, too. Indeed, his position had 
 been one of considerable danger, for he was near 
 the smouldering engine, and jets of steam and flying 
 cinders had excited his fears to frenzy. 
 
 " Is there no one else to help," he said. " You 
 can't do it alone."
 
 25R OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " I think I can. The other men are "busy." 
 He bent down and applied his great strength to 
 the fallen mass of wood which lay across the pas- 
 sengers limbs. A jet of flame, suddenly springing 
 up from the smouldering debris close by, threw a 
 lurid red light across the scene. Then, for the 
 first time, Gideon saw the passenger's face. 
 The voice had told him nothing, for it was al- 
 tered with fear and pain, but the face was un- 
 mistakable. 
 
 Human nature is strong in a man even after 
 yours of repression and conflict. Gideon stopped 
 in his work. He had not yet moved the heavy 
 load, but he drew back and raised himself erect 
 without making any further effort. The move- 
 ment was purely instinctive it was natural to him 
 to shrink back from George Hamilton but it 
 looked as though he had relinquished all intention 
 of helping him. George Hamilton thought so, as 
 the red light flashed on Gideon's gesture of re- 
 pugnance and withdrawal. But he did not 
 recognise the face. 
 
 " Damn you, why don't you move it ? " he 
 broke out savagely. " You're strong enough ; are
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 259 
 
 you afraid ? You said there was plenty of time ; 
 why don't you make haste ? " 
 
 " You have forgotten me," said Gideon quietly. 
 " You knew me once, Captain Hamilton." 
 
 Then the man saw and understood. He uttered 
 a sharp cry of terror, and struggled vainly to free 
 himself from the detaining load. 
 
 "Help! AVill nobody help?" he shouted as 
 loudly as he could. But his voice was too weak to 
 be heard at any distance, and Gideon stood above 
 him, a giant figure in the lurid gloom, blocking the 
 way. " You villain ! you want to be my death ! 
 You tried to kill me once ; are you going to try it 
 again ? " Then, changing his tone, " Heavens, 
 man, do you see the flame creeping this way ? Do 
 you want me to be roasted alive before your 
 eyes ? " 
 
 No, Gideon did not want that. But he felt 
 strongly impelled to walk away and give the 
 wretched man full three minutes of misery until he 
 could send other people to his help. It was far 
 from him to condemn even his worst enemy to such 
 a death as the one that crept nearer every moment 
 to the fallen man. But the old hatred leaped out
 
 260 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 like a wild beast, and Gideon knew in his heart that 
 he would sooner cut off his right arm than use it 
 to save George Hamilton. 
 
 It was a keen temptation. Not to kill him, but 
 to refrain from rescuing him with his own hands 
 that was all. For a moment he asked himself why 
 he should be called upon to save George Hamilton's 
 worthless, wicked life ? 
 
 But it was for a moment only. The .swift 
 recoil of repentance followed instantly. He turned 
 back and threw his whole strength into an attempt 
 to move the weight. Hamilton watched his move- 
 ments with pallid face and shrinking eyes. He was 
 not sure whether Gideon Blake did not mean to 
 beat his brains out where he lay. 
 
 The flame crept nearer. Hamilton could feel its 
 hot breath on his face it almost singed his hair. 
 But the great weight stirred, moved, was driven 
 back, and then he fainted and knew not how he 
 was drawn away, nor how the succour came to him 
 only just in time. 
 
 "When he recovered consciousness he was lying 
 on the ground at some little distance from the scene 
 of the accident, and Gideon was holding brandy
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 261 
 
 to his lips. He swallowed a little, and looked round 
 him somewhat fearfully. 
 
 " You are quite safe," said Gideon. " They 
 have gone for a stretcher to carry you to the cot- 
 tage hospital at X . The doctors will look after 
 
 you there. They asked me to wait with you till the 
 men came back." 
 
 He spoke in short, grave sentences, as if saying 
 only what duty required, and then became silent. 
 Hamilton looked at him with questioning, awe- 
 stricken eyes. 
 
 " You you have saved my life, I suppose," lie 
 said awkwardly. 
 
 " I tried to take it once," was Gideon's slow reply. 
 
 " If I can do anything for you any recompense 
 -any--" 
 
 " I think you had better say no more. You 
 must know it is not possible for me to take any- 
 thing from you." 
 
 Hamilton groaned, and turned away his face. 
 Perhaps he came nearer to repentance at that mo- 
 ment than at any other of his life. 
 
 " Tell me one thing," said Gideon, in a low, hur- 
 ried voice. " She was not with you ? "
 
 2P.2 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Good heavens, no ! I haven't seen her for 
 two years." 
 
 " Where is she ? " 
 
 "I don't know." 
 
 " What, have you left her to starve ? " said 
 Gideon, in a stern, passionless voice. " After ruin- 
 ing her life and mine, did you turn her out into 
 the streets?" 
 
 " She left me of her own accord I swear she 
 did," Hamilton answered eagerly. "If I knew 
 where she was, I would tell you though I don't 
 suppose it would give you any satisfaction to 
 know." 
 
 lie glanced at Gideon's face ; it was very pale, 
 and the lips were quivering. Hamilton felt a pang 
 of shamed regret. 
 
 u I I'm very sorry I can't tell you more," he 
 stammered out. 
 
 " God forgive you," said Gideon, turning aside. 
 He could say no more. " God forgive rue, too," he 
 added to himself. 
 
 His very love for his wife, his hopes, his fears, 
 his struggles, made it hard for him to speak to the 
 man who had compassed her shame and his misery.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 263 
 
 Yes, he had saved his enemy's life, but his strength 
 failed him to do more. Later, on the heights of 
 a self-abnegation which was almost sublime, he 
 blamed himself for not saying more, for not making 
 some effort to bring home to Hamilton's heart the 
 truths for which he himself was ready to lay down 
 his life. But just then he had done as much as he 
 was capable of doing, and it was more than most 
 men would have done. 
 
 Hamilton was carried away to the hospital, and 
 Gideon occupied himself for the rest of the night in 
 ministering to the hurts of those who were less seri- 
 ously injured, but still required care. In the early 
 morning he heard that one of the railway porters 
 was inquiring for him, and he went out of the cot- 
 tage where he had been tenderly nursing a child 
 whose back was hurt, and found a man waiting for 
 him at the door. It was one of the men who had 
 carried Captain Hamilton away. 
 
 " You're the chap as pulled the gentleman out, 
 ain't you ? He's sent you this, mate," said the por- 
 ter, thrusting a note into Gideon's hand. 
 
 Gideon looked at it with distrust. "What is 
 it ? " he asked.
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Dunno. A five-pun note, mebbe. Open it 
 and see," as Gideon made a movement as if to give 
 it back. " Law bless you, I don't know what 'tis." 
 
 Gideon opened the letter. To his relief, it con- 
 tained no money, nothing but a few words scrawled 
 in pencil on a half-sheet of paper : 
 
 "Miss VIOLET LESLIE, 
 
 191, Coleman Street, 
 Westminster, 
 
 London, W. 
 " Try this address. G, H." 
 
 Gideon stood looking at the paper. What did 
 it mean ? His mind, dazed with excitement and 
 want of sleep, did not move quickly. Who was 
 Miss Violet Leslie ? And why should he try that 
 address ? 
 
 " Nothing but a word o' thanks, I s'pose," said 
 the porter. " Them 'igh chaps is sometimes raight 
 down mean. He moight ha' been burnt to a cinder 
 if you hadn't come along in time. Doctor says it's 
 nobbut a broken leg and a rib or two, and he'll soon 
 put him straight." 
 
 " All right ; tlianks," said Gideon, turning away, 
 lie went back to the child, who was already crying
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 265 
 
 out for his strong arms, and he sat and nursed her 
 until she was taken away in a cab to the nearest 
 town by her father. Her mother had been killed 
 in the accident. 
 
 "When he had done all that was required of him, 
 and a good deal more (including a narrative of the 
 accident to a reporter, who published it that evening 
 with a number of sensational additions of his own 
 composition), Gideon tramped to the next station 
 and took train for Ketford and Casterby. He was 
 shocked to see his father waiting at the station, 
 haggard and trembling, and scanning every face at 
 the windows as he sought news of his son. 
 
 Gideon jumped out. "Father, I'm all right. 
 I'm here." 
 
 " Thank God ! I thought you might be hurt, 
 Gideon." 
 
 " I was a fool not to telegraph. But I never 
 thought you would hear so soon, and I was busy 
 helping the other folk." 
 
 "I'll be bound you were. And you're not 
 hurt?" 
 
 " Not a scratch. But I'm black as a coal." 
 
 He was certainly very grimy, and walked stiffly
 
 266 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 from fatigue ; but there was more alacrity in his air, 
 more light in liis eye, than usual. He looked as if 
 some new hope had come to life within him. 
 
 Old Joe Blake put it down to the stimulus of 
 danger, and looked at him with admiring wonder- 
 ment. 
 
 Gideon stumbled down to his house and went to 
 bed. In spite of his excitement, bodily fatigue 
 made him sleep for some hours at a stretch ; and 
 when he woke up, it was to find himself famous, 
 or at all events popular, for the first time in Cas- 
 terby. 
 
 He had never given his name, and did not con- 
 sider that his deeds were worthy of record ; but, as 
 it happened, he was known by the officials on the 
 lino, and " Mr. Gideon Blake's great strength and 
 marvellous courage" had been chronicled by the 
 ubiquitous reporter, and been transmitted to every 
 paper in the country, much to the satisfaction of 
 Casterby and the confounding of Gideon himself. 
 People turned to shake hands with him in the street, 
 and to ask him details of his adventure. He told 
 them that he had only done what any other man 
 would have done, and tried to break away fn>;n
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 2G7 
 
 their congratulatory looks and words ; but the fact 
 remained that many of the rescued passengers 
 owed life or limb to his strength and his endurance, 
 and were not slow in rendering him the tribute of 
 their gratitude. He devoutly hoped that Hamilton 
 at least would say nothing about their meeting ; but 
 even this could not be kept a secret, although the 
 story did not creep into the newspapers. 
 
 " What's this about Hamilton, Gid ? " said his 
 father to him a day or two after his return. 
 
 Gideon's pale face flushed. 
 
 " What do you mean ? " he said, frowning a 
 little, though not angrily. 
 
 " There was someone of that name in the acci- 
 dent. Was it the same ? " 
 
 Gideon nodded. 
 
 " They say you saved him. Was that so ? " 
 
 Gideon was silent for a moment. 
 
 " If I did, it was after a delay that might have 
 cost him his life and made me a murderer after 
 all," he broke forth almost defiantly. " It was no 
 credit to me. Don't speak of it, father, if you 
 please." 
 
 " No credit to him ! " muttered the old man, as
 
 268 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 he watched Gideon cross the yard and begin to use 
 his tools again with an energy which showed that 
 he did not wish to be questioned. " No credit to 
 him to save the life of a man who has injured him 
 in that way, does he say ? "Well, I don't think I 
 could have done it myself I don't think I 
 could." 
 
 The story got wind in Casterby, but it was re- 
 ceived in different ways. Some people thought 
 that, as Gideon had said, it did him no credit. It 
 seemed a work of supererogation for him to be the 
 one to save his enemy's life. Why had he not let 
 some other person do it ? Miss Lethbury opined 
 that it was hardly decent. And there was a general 
 feeling that to love one's enemies was somewhat 
 poor-spirited, and that it would have been more 
 natural and reasonable if Gideon had let Captain 
 Hamilton alone. An act of virtue like that made 
 ordinary people feel quite small. 
 
 A week elapsed before Gideon sought his father 
 again. 
 
 " ( 'ould you spare me for a few days ? " he asked, 
 with unusual abruptness. 
 
 " Spare you ? Where are you going, lad ? "
 
 OUT OF DUB SEASON. 269 
 
 " I want to go to London," said Gideon, avoid- 
 ing his father's eye. 
 
 Joseph Blake pondered ; then he looked up at 
 his stalwart son, and noticed that his very lips were 
 pale. 
 
 " You've heard something, Gideon ? " 
 
 " I don't know," said Gideon desperately " I 
 don't know what it means. I may be going on a 
 fool's errand ; but, for God's sake, don't hinder me, 
 father ! I must go." 
 
 " You wouldn't you wouldn't be for bringing 
 her back here, Gideon ? " 
 
 " I should have to find her first. I can't tell. 
 But I must go to London." 
 
 " Can't you tell me what you have heard, boy ? " 
 
 "No, I can't; I don't understand it myself. 
 But I must satisfy my own mind. I've been put- 
 ting it off for days ; I did not know whether I could 
 do any good. But it seems to me that that's not 
 my business ; it's my duty to go." 
 
 " Then go, lad," said Joseph Blake kindly ; " I 
 won't hinder thee. But I doubt whether you can 
 do any good." 
 
 " Say ' God bless you,' father, before I go." 
 18
 
 270 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " God bless you, my lad ! Do you want to go 
 at once?" 
 
 " To-night," said Gideon, with trembling lips. 
 
 But his eyes were steady and clear. 
 
 The old man blessed him again, and said good- 
 bye. 
 
 Then Gideon went home and put his things 
 together. lie was going to catch the train that had 
 borne him to London once before, but with what a 
 different purpose in his heart! For then he had 
 been full of bitterness, and strong in his desire of 
 vengeance ; but now love and compassion ruled the 
 day. And it seemed to him that he had done wrong 
 in not going earlier to look for Emmy ; but he had 
 never thought of seeking her in the flinty-hearted 
 London streets. 
 
 The little house by the river looked very gloomy 
 and desolate as he turned the key in the front-door 
 and put it in his pocket, for he was to leave it with 
 Keziah, who lived in a house which he would pass 
 on his way to the station. It always had a desolate 
 look in autumn, when the rains had been coming 
 down, and the river had overflowed its banks and 
 stood level with the garden-beds. The floods had
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 271 
 
 been out again, Gideon remembered, and he won- 
 dered for a moment whether his house were safe. 
 His father had spoken to him about the foundations 
 not long before. " I suppose it will last my day," 
 he said to himself, glancing back at it with a sort of 
 sad affection as he closed the garden-gate. He had 
 an impression that his " day " was not likely to be 
 long. Not that he thought of death for himself, but 
 he sometimes contemplated leaving Casterby when 
 his father was no longer living. It sometimes 
 seemed to him that there was a larger life into 
 which he might enter in another place. He might 
 work as well as pray. But if he could only find 
 Emmy first 1 ...
 
 XL 
 
 " Love seeketh not itself to please, 
 Nor for itself hath any care." 
 
 GIDEON reached London before dawn, and em- 
 ployed his leisure time in finding a room for him- 
 self, and in breakfasting. After breakfast he sallied 
 forth to Coleman Street, Westminster, although he 
 had a very dim idea as to the reason of his expedi- 
 tion. He had concluded in his own mind that Miss 
 Violet Leslie was one of Emmy's friends, and that 
 she had information to give him. He was sur- 
 prised, however, to find the house a squalid-looking 
 place, with " Apartments to Let " in the window. 
 A red -faced, bare-armed landlady, in a gown that 
 did not meet across her chest, answered his question 
 with a burst of abuse. 
 
 " Yes, I know Miss Vi'let ; who doesn't ? " she 
 said, when her wrath had calmed down a little. " A 
 nice lot she is, and does credit to her friends ! No, 
 
 272
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 273 
 
 she ain't here, and I wouldn't 'ave her in my 'ouse 
 again for huntold gold." 
 
 " Can you tell me where she is gone, then ? " 
 said Gideon entreatingly. 
 
 " No, I can't. You'd better look for her along 
 Piccadilly ; you'll find her there most likely," said 
 the woman with an insulting laugh. 
 
 " Piccadilly ? " said Gideon hesitatingly. 
 
 " You silly lout ! don't you know where Picca- 
 dilly is ? You'll soon find out. Go there to-night 
 and look ; you're pretty sure to see Miss Vi'let 
 Leslie, as she calls herself no more Miss Yi'let 
 Leslie than I am." 
 
 " Do you know a Mrs. Blake ? " said Gideon, 
 not yet discouraged. " I think she is, perhaps, a 
 friend of Miss Leslie's." 
 
 " You're from the country, I take it. You don't 
 know much about London, young man, that's plain. 
 Is Miss Leslie a friend of yourn ? " 
 
 "I never saw her in my life. But Mrs. 
 Blake " 
 
 "I don't know no Mrs. Blakes. But Yi'let 
 Leslie anybody '11 p'int her out to you if you go 
 to Piccadilly Circus at ten or eleven o'clock to-
 
 274 UT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 night. All the girls knows her, an' the p'leecemen, 
 too. Ask a p'leeceman, young man ; he'll tell you 
 where Vi'let Leslie's to be found." 
 
 And she shut the door in his face. 
 
 Gideon knew very little of the world. But he 
 knew evil from good, and had seen something of 
 both, even in a country town. In Casterby, how- 
 ever, evil did not flaunt itself on the pavements, 
 and smile at the passers-by from under the flaring 
 lamps. 
 
 He found himself at Piccadilly Circus between 
 ten and eleven o'clock, watching the crowded pave- 
 ments with troubled, wondering eyes. Girls with 
 bold eyes and painted faces laughed at him over 
 their shoulders, and made jokes at his expense ; he 
 was so manifestly unaccustomed to the scene that 
 he was fair game. Some of them spoke to him, or 
 passed him with a flick of their floating boas, a 
 whisk of their silken and embroidered skirts. 
 
 " You poor child," said Gideon to one of them, 
 who was a little thing not more than sixteen or 
 seventeen years old, " go home, for God's sake, and 
 ask Him to deliver you from evil ! " 
 
 He got a jeer and a laugh for his pains, and
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 275 
 
 for some little time afterwards he heard his own 
 words passed with loud, half-drunken laughter 
 from mouth to mouth, as if they were the most 
 amusing thing he could have said. 
 
 " Have I come down into hell ? " asked Gideon 
 of himself. 
 
 The streets were as light as day ; the restaurants 
 were crowded ; men in evening dress were coming 
 out of the theatres, and walking slowly along the 
 pavement. The road was crowded with cabs and 
 omnibuses; the cries of the omnibus conductors 
 mingled with the loud laughter of the girls and 
 women who walked arm-in-arm round the corners, 
 hurrying a little lest they should be hustled by the 
 police. Others stood motionless in corners, as if 
 half courting, half dreading observation. Now and 
 then a respectable woman hastened anxiously, with 
 eyes set straight before her, lest she should see 
 something she did not want to see, towards cab or 
 omnibus, or a couple of Salvation Army lasses came 
 past with War Crys in their hands. Once or twice 
 a "Christian worker" Gideon instinctively rec- 
 ognised the type tried to speak to a loiterer, who 
 generally responded by a broad smile and a mean-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 ingless nod of the much-curled and befeathered 
 head. Gideon felt himself lost, alone, in the midst 
 of a crowd of human beings whose bodies alone 
 were living, whose souls were dead. 
 
 A big policeman had- been keeping his eye upon 
 him for some time, and now accosted him with 
 asperity. 
 
 " Move on, young man," he said, " if you're not 
 waiting for a omnibus ; move on, please." 
 
 Gideon turned and looked at him. The man 
 had a sensible, honest face. 
 
 " Look here," said Gideon ; " I was told you 
 would know a a lady called Miss Violet Leslie, 
 and if I asked you, you would point her out 
 to me." 
 
 " Don't know any such person," said the police- 
 man stolidly. 
 
 " I don't know her either," said Gideon, " but 
 I've lost my wife, and I believe Miss Leslie can tell 
 me where she is." 
 
 Policeman X. cast a sharp glance at Gideon's 
 face, and his stern brow relaxed a little. 
 
 " I think I know the party you mean," he said 
 cautiously, " and she's generally out o' the theatre
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 277 
 
 by this time. If you stand 'ere for a minute or two 
 I might be able to tell you which she was. She's 
 one of the worst o' the lot. I wouldn't 'ave any- 
 thiiik to do with her, if I was you. You're from 
 the country, ain't you ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Gideon, wondering how people 
 found it out. 
 
 " So I thought from the cut of you. Now, you 
 take my advice, and go 'orne again. This ain't the 
 plice for you." 
 
 " It's as much my place as that of most of the 
 human beings I see," said Gideon, with a dreary smile. 
 
 The policeman looked at him solemnly. He did 
 not understand. 
 
 " You've never been 'ere before, have you ? 
 Well, the less you see of it, the better." He was 
 quite paternal to Gideon. "As for Miss Leslie, 
 she's a chorus lady, you know ; the less you see of 
 her, the better, too." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "She's what they call good-looking," said the 
 man critically, " and I don't say that she drinks as 
 much as some of 'em. There she goes ! See her ? 
 The party in the white hat."
 
 278 OUtf OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon looked. " The party in the white hat " 
 was a very pretty girl, who came laughing up the 
 street with a number of companions, mostly young 
 men. She was very fashionably and beautifully 
 dressed ; her cheeks were rouged, and her golden 
 hair was elaborately curled almost to her darkened 
 eyebrows. But her eyes, those blue, still innocent- 
 looking, appealing eyes ! They were Emmy's eyes. 
 
 "There she is," said the policeman, thinking 
 from Gideon's silence that he had not heard. 
 " That's Miss Violet Leslie, of the Comedy 
 
 " Nay, you're wrong," said Gideon, in deep, in- 
 dignant tones. " It's no Miss Leslie it's my wife." 
 
 And he plunged forward, regardless of conse- 
 quences, facing the girl as she came laughing and 
 singing up the street. 
 
 " Emmy ! " he said. 
 
 She stopped short. It could be seen that she 
 turned white beneath her paint, and that a look of 
 fear and shame came into her beautiful eyes. He 
 held out his arms to her ; but with a shriek that 
 was half of laughter, half of fear, she put her hands 
 up to her face and fled, as if for dear life, across the 
 crowded road. Gideon tried to follow her, but was
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 279 
 
 pulled back by his friend the policeman, otherwise 
 he would have been somewhat roughly handled by 
 the men and women who called themselves Emmy's 
 friends. 
 
 *' Lord love yer ! what was you thinking of to 
 do a thing like that ? " said the policeman. " You'd 
 have been run over in another minute, and set 
 upon by those young chaps as soon as you got into 
 a quiet street. What was you saying that you 
 knew her ? " 
 
 " I said that she was my wife," said Gideon, 
 gasping for breath. 
 
 " Once, maybe," said the policeman cynically. 
 " I'd not call her my wif e now, if I was you. You 
 go back to the country and leave Miss Leslie to 
 take care of herself. She's on the boards, and 
 doing fairly well ; but she's as bad as they makes 
 'em, so I'm told." 
 
 " I must see her again. Where shall I find 
 her ? " Gideon said, not heeding the admoni- 
 tion. 
 
 " She won't come 'ere again for a bit ; or, if she 
 does, she'll maybe ask me about you. Shall I take 
 your address ? Or you might leave a note for her
 
 280 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 at the box-office of the Comedy. Then she can 
 write to you if she likes." 
 
 Gideon thanked his adviser, and, hi spite of his 
 warnings, crossed the road and sought the turning 
 which lie fancied Emmy might have taken pre- 
 viously. But he saw nothing more of her. Too 
 much excited to go home to bed, he roamed the 
 streets for hours, seeing the signs of revelry die 
 away, to be succeeded by the stillness of night and 
 the desolation of the dawn. He thought of that 
 other night, part of which he had spent so miserably 
 upon the Embankment and Blackfriars Bridge. It 
 was hardly more wretched, more hopeless, than was 
 this. 
 
 He could not think ; he could not even pray. 
 The old yearning for Emmy's love, long suppressed, 
 long ignored, had come back to him, mingled with 
 the pain of his new knowledge. What could he do 
 to save her ? Perhaps she would refuse to see him, 
 to speak to him, and what then could be done? 
 But he would never leave her ; he would haunt her 
 steps, night and day, until she promised to come 
 home again. 
 
 But she was not quite so obdurate as she had
 
 OUT OP DUB SEASON. 281 
 
 seemed. He wrote his note to her, imploring her 
 to grant him an interview ; and in return he got a 
 line written in the flowing, rather illegible hand- 
 writing that he knew so well : " You may come 
 to see me if you like. Ask for Miss Leslie." Then 
 followed the address a house in a little slum lead- 
 ing out of Regent Street and, by way of signature, 
 a single initial : " E." 
 
 He started off for the house as soon as he 
 received the note, without the slightest notion that 
 he might not be welcome at eleven o'clock in the 
 morning. He was kept waiting in a dirty passage, 
 where the paper was peeling off the walls in un- 
 healthy-looking patches, for some minutes ; and 
 then requested by a grimy little servant-girl to 
 walk up to the second floor, as Miss Leslie would 
 be there directly. 
 
 Gideon went upstairs. It was a foggy day, 
 and the house smelt close, although the air outside 
 was raw and cold. At the top of the second flight 
 of stairs he saw an open door, and concluded that 
 he was to enter. It was a sitting-room, shabbily 
 furnished, but adorned with cheap Japanese fans, 
 and art muslin which had grown filthy to the eye
 
 282 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 and clammy to the touch. The remains of a meal 
 partly covered one table, which was also littered 
 with gloves, a dirty handkerchief or two, a brush 
 and comb, and a powder-pot. On the mantelpiece 
 he saw curling-tongs, and cold cream, and other ar- 
 ticles of toilet ; also some photographs of theatrical- 
 looking persons, and a sticky medicine-bottle, 
 labelled k ' The Mixture as before." One or two 
 dresses were thrown over the chairs, and a comic 
 paper lay open on the floor. 
 
 Gideon regarded the dirt and disorder of the 
 room with the feeling of one in a horrible dream. 
 He had bought some flowers as he came along, with 
 the faint hope that they might recall to Emmy's 
 mind the innocent pleasures of her earlier life, and 
 show her also that he came not as an enemy, but a 
 friend. The poor tea-roses, with their exquisite 
 fragrance and bronze-green leaves, looked out of 
 place in the tawdry surroundings of Emmy's Lon- 
 don room. Gideon was half sorry that he had 
 brought them. He laid them on the table beside 
 the powder-pot, and turned to see Emmy enter by 
 the folding-doors from the room beyond. 
 
 He saw now that she was older. There was no
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 283 
 
 paint on her face, and there were dark shades below 
 her eyes, and plainly-marked lines round her 
 mouth. And there was the curious look, half bold, 
 half shy, only seen on the faces of those who 
 have known what it is to be ashamed. Gid- 
 eon would have recognised that look if he had 
 been in the habit of frequenting Piccadilly at 
 midnight. 
 
 Emmy was in a dressing-gown of pale blue, with 
 a falling collar of Breton lace not very clean at 
 her neck, and frills of the same at her pretty, 
 slender wrists. She was very graceful, as she 
 had always been ; and her hair was uncurled and 
 hung in soft waves over her forehead, much as it 
 had done in the days when Gideon had wooed and 
 won her at Casterby. She was not so much changed 
 after all, he thought ; only she was always laughing 
 giggling, he might have called it as she had 
 never laughed at Casterby. Perhaps the laughter 
 came from nervousness. She held out one slight 
 hand, and laughed when Gideon touched it. 
 
 "You're not much altered," she said. There 
 was an indescribable hardness and boldness in her 
 tone. " But you're handsomer, you know. I don't
 
 284 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 think I ever noticed that you were such a fine man, 
 Gideon." 
 
 The dark face that was turned to her had a fine- 
 ness which had been gained during the ordeal 
 caused by her own falsity. It had been sharpened 
 and refined to beauty ; while in hers, once so lovely, 
 certain lines of weakness and sensuality had marred 
 the loveliness beyond hope of recovery. Yet to 
 Gideon she was as beautiful as ever. 
 
 " Emmy ! Why did you run away from me the 
 other night ? " he asked. 
 
 She shrank a little. 
 
 " Don't call me Emmy," she said ; " it makes 
 me feel inclined to cry. Nobody calls me Emmy 
 now. I'm Violet Violet Leslie, of the Comedy. 
 Won't you come and hear me sing some night, 
 Gideon ? I always had a nice voice, you know." 
 
 " I'm here to ask you to come back to me, 
 Emmy." 
 
 " What rubbish ! " she said, laughing shrilly. 
 " As if I should ever dream of such a thing ! Be- 
 sides, you don't want me 
 
 " I've wanted you every hour since you went 
 away."
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 285 
 
 " You have John your beloved John. How is 
 he, by the way ? " said Emmy, tossing up her 
 chin. 
 
 " Emmy, don't you know ? He died three days 
 after you went away." 
 
 " Oh ! I didn't know." 
 
 She stopped laughing, and bit her lip. Gideon 
 went on : 
 
 " He was asking for you all the time he was ill. 
 You would make him well, he said. He 
 
 " Poor little fellow ! It gives me the blues to 
 hear you talk, Gideon. You're just the same as 
 ever. I've had another since then," she said, laugh- 
 ing a little wildly. " He died, poor mite ! I was 
 rather glad he died. I believe he's buried at High- 
 gate Cemetery. His name was Gerald Hamilton : 
 I always liked Gerald for a name." 
 
 The pain in Gideon's face seemed to touch her 
 for a moment. 
 
 " Gideon, you're an old silly ! " she said. " I'm 
 not your wife now, and you needn't look at me like 
 that. I'm nobody's wife, thank goodness. I'm a 
 free woman now. "What lovely roses ! did you 
 
 bring them for me ? Awfully nice ; I'll wear them 
 19
 
 286 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 at the theatre this very night, and tell everybody 
 you gave them me." 
 
 She stopped short suddenly. There was a new 
 look on Gideon's face. She remembered it in 
 anger ; she did not remember it in tliis transfigura- 
 tion of pity and of love. 
 
 "Emmy," said the deep, gentle voice, "you are 
 my wife still. My dear, I have not forgotten. As 
 long as I live I shall never let you go. In the 
 sight of God we shall always be man and wife. 
 And I love you, dear I love you as my own soul. 
 Emmy, cannot you love me again and come back 
 to me ? " 
 
 She was impressionable, easily swayed, and the 
 tears started to her eyes as she listened to him. 
 But she answered impatiently : 
 
 " Of course I can't, Gideon. It's an impos- 
 sibility." 
 
 " Nothing is impossible, Emmy." 
 
 " Nonsense ! It would never do. What would 
 your people say ? " 
 
 " They should not have the chance of saying 
 anything. We need not live at Casterby. I would 
 do anything you liked. We might go to some new
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 287 
 
 country where we should not be known. I would 
 give my life to make you happy, if only you would 
 give up this this life of yours, Emmy, and come 
 home to me." 
 
 " So easy ! " she said, with another little toss. 
 " I'm not good, you know ; I'm bad. Everybody 
 says so. A real, downright bad un. That's what 
 they call me: 'an old offender,' you know. 
 That's in the police courts : I've been there ever so 
 many times. What do you think of that ? " 
 
 " Emmy, I'll kneel to you to ask you to give it 
 up and come with me. It will not be so difficult 
 to be good, dear. God will help you. And the 
 way you are going leads to death and despair and 
 hell. I can't bear to think of it. Can't you leave 
 it for my sake ? How could I bear to see you a 
 lost, ruined creature, when you might be safe and 
 happy and good ? I love you too much to bear it, 
 Emmy : come back to me." 
 
 He knelt at her feet, and, catching her hands in 
 his own, pressed them to his lips. Emmy resisted a 
 moment, then burst into a passion of tears, and 
 snatched her hands away. 
 
 " It's not only me that loves you, Emmy," said
 
 2SS OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 Gideon, now fairly embarked on the pleading words 
 that he had longed to utter. " The Lord, who sent 
 me to you and helped me to find you, He loves 
 you, too. He doesn't want you to perish . . . 
 poor lamb! ... I love you, but He loves you 
 more. You can't bear to disappoint us, Emmy 
 we that have waited all this time for you to come 
 back again . . . the lost sheep on the mountains 
 . . . lost and found again." 
 
 His words were broken by sobs; he knelt still, 
 although she had withdrawn herself from his 
 clasp ; and she, crying too, was keenly conscious of 
 every word he uttered. Suddenly he broke forth 
 into prayer the cry of a heart for which the finite 
 was too narrow, which only an Infinite Love could 
 satisfy. 
 
 " Lord, save Thy child ! Lord, give her grace 
 to come back to Thee. Thou hast loved her all 
 the while, and I have loved her too. She belongs 
 to us, Lord : she is Thine and she is mine. Let 
 her come back to us. Let her know how much we 
 love her, and what that love of ours can do for 
 her, if she will. Lord, her child is in heaven with 
 Tliee- her children. . Shall she not see them
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 289 
 
 again ? Thou knowest how one of them called for 
 her. He is calling for her still. Send her not, O 
 Lord, into the place of darkness, but bring her 
 back to Thyself . . . and John . . . and me." 
 
 His voice failed him suddenly. He bowed his 
 head, and could say no more. But as he prayed 
 in silence, there came soft arms round his neck, 
 and a sobbing voice at his ear : 
 
 " I will come, Gideon ... I wanted to 
 come ... If you can only forgive me and love 
 me still ... I will try to be good again."
 
 XII. 
 
 " And I shall claim thee mine before High God ! " 
 
 THE first step the rush of love and shame and 
 penitence seemed easy enough ; what followed 
 was more difficult. 
 
 Emmy shrank back after that first reconcilia- 
 tion. She was a volatile creature, easily elated, 
 easily depressed. Anyone but Gideon would have 
 found her vacillations, her uncertain temper, her 
 fits of waywardness and wounded vanity, unbeara- 
 bly trying. But Gideon put up with everything. 
 
 It was as if all the labour, and toil, and pain of 
 his youth had gone to the production of this one 
 beautiful flower of a perfect love. It was a love 
 that defied anger and coldness and contempt ; that 
 flourished on the very unkindness of the Beloved; 
 that wrapped the Beloved round as with a gar- 
 ment, as with the very loving-kindness of God. 
 
 It was a love that did not shrink from going d<\vn 
 
 no
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 291 
 
 into the gutter to seek for the precious thing that 
 had been lost. And such a love, the consumma- 
 tion of a life-time, the fine issue of a spirit finely 
 touched, is sure to meet with its reward. 
 
 As soon as the stress of emotion had passed by, 
 Emmy began to make objections to everything 
 Gideon proposed. She declared that she could not 
 break her engagement at the theatre without a 
 heavy forfeit. This Gideon undertook to pay. 
 Then she said that she was in debt to her landlady, 
 who would detain her boxes if she could not settle 
 the arrears of rent. Gideon summoned the land- 
 lady, and paid up every penny. Then there were 
 things (which she must have) to get out of pawn. 
 These Gideon sent the landlady to procure for her. 
 Then she sulked and raved against her fate, and 
 especially the fate that was taking her back to Cas- 
 terby. But Gideon was very gentle with her, and 
 after a time she melted into tears again and ac- 
 knowledged herself very wicked, and begged him 
 to forgive her, and declared that she would try to 
 be good. She was more like a spoilt child than a 
 woman, and if Gideon had not possessed a wonder- 
 ful faith in that supernatural power on which he
 
 292 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 relied, lie would have stood aghast at the light irre- 
 sponsibility of her nature, and the difficulty of 
 making upon it any impression which would last 
 more than half an hour. 
 
 He dared not leave her alone ; he felt that she 
 might run off and leave him, in a tit of despera- 
 tion, at any moment. His only chance lay in get- 
 ting her out of London as quickly as possible. 
 And in one of her quieter moods, he told her his 
 plans for her. 
 
 " I want you to come home with me just for a 
 day or two," he said. " You need not see anybody 
 unless you wish. But I should like to go and col- 
 lect a few of my things, and there are some things 
 of yours, and of John's, dear, that I thought you 
 might care to take. I would get my money, and 
 we would start as soon as you liked for another 
 country. I have often thought that I should do 
 pretty well in Australia." 
 
 " It wouldn't be bad," said Emmy encouraging- 
 ly. " Yes, I shouldn't mind that ; but I could not 
 live at Casterby." 
 
 " You should not live at Casterby, dear. You 
 would be happier in a place where there was more
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 293 
 
 to see and hear. Nobody would know us in Mel- 
 bourne or Sydney ; we could begin our lives 
 afresh." 
 
 She looked at him with eyes that had grown 
 thoughtful and pathetic. 
 
 " Yes, nobody would know," she repeated. " It 
 would be easier there." 
 
 " We could be happy together, Emmy." 
 
 " Could we ? " she said, with a little hysterical 
 laugh. Then she came to him and put her arms 
 round his neck as she stood behind his chair. 
 "Who taught you to be so good, Gideon? You 
 weren't like this in the old days, you know." 
 
 " Forgive me for those old days, then, dear." 
 
 " Forgive you ? Forgive you ! Oh, Gideon, 
 you are a saint. I don't know what to do with you, 
 you are so good. And I've never never " begin- 
 ning to weep passionately u never asked you if you 
 could forgive me." 
 
 " Yes, dearest, you did. And that is all over 
 now." 
 
 But she cried, and would not easily be com- 
 forted. 
 
 It was in this softened mood that he got her at
 
 294 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 last to start for Casterby. He would not have 
 chosen to go back if he could have thought of any 
 other way of managing matters ; but he felt that he 
 must see his father before leaving the country, and 
 he dared not leave Emmy alone, and he knew no 
 friend with whom he could leave her even for a 
 day. 
 
 As they neared Casterby which he had ar- 
 ranged to reach at nightfall she grew scared and 
 anxious, pulling down her veil and shrinking back 
 into a corner of the carriage. 
 
 " You don't think we shall see anyone ? You 
 don't think anyone will know me ? " she asked her 
 husband. 
 
 He sat beside her, holding her cold hand in his 
 own, and trying to console and encourage her by 
 every means in his power. He had telegraphed for 
 a fly to meet him at the station, for he remembered 
 the times when she had grumbled at the walk home 
 through the sloppy streets. It was raining, as 
 usual ; it seemed always to rain at Casterby. 
 
 Emmy sliivered as she saw the drops upon the 
 pane. 
 
 " I'm afraid you are very cold," said Gideon,
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 295 
 
 with solicitude. " Shall we go to the Rose and 
 Crown instead of our own house ? You would be 
 more comfortable at the hotel." 
 
 "No," said Emmy; "I'd rather go home. 
 Somebody would be sure to know me at the hotel, 
 and I could not bear being looked at and talked 
 about." 
 
 " You would not be known, perhaps, if you kept 
 your veil down," said Gideon, a little hesitatingly. 
 
 " No, I want to go home. I've a sort of idea 
 that I should like to see the house again and 
 John's things," she said, with a touch of shyness 
 and sadness which gave a new reality to her words. 
 "You don't mind taking me there, Gideon, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " I was only afraid it would be desolate for you, 
 dear. Let us go home, then," said Gideon, quietly. 
 
 He had telegraphed to Keziah to put the place 
 in order for his home-coming, but not to stay in the 
 house. 
 
 Emmy half repented her choice when the fly set 
 them down at the head of the dark lane leading to 
 the little house by the river. The rain fell at inter- 
 vals, and the wind was wild and cold.
 
 296 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 In the passing light which came from a glimpse 
 of the moon when the clouds broke now and then, 
 she could see that the fields were under water, and 
 that the river looked wide and high. 
 
 The flyman gave Gideon a warning as he was 
 paid. 
 
 " Floods is out again," he said. " They say them 
 houses down theer bean't very safe." 
 
 " Oli they're all right," said Gideon cheerfully. 
 
 He had no fear for himself, and he did not want 
 to frighten Emmy. If matters looked bad they 
 could easily go to the Hose and Crown after all. 
 lie gave her his arm as they walked down the lane. 
 He could hear the hysteric catch in her breath as 
 he pushed open the little creaking gate. The path 
 was very wet to their feet; in fact the garden 
 seemed half under water, and there were pools at 
 the very door of the house. 
 
 But indoors all was light and cheerfulness. In 
 obedience to Gideon's orders by telegraph, Keziah 
 had wonderingly lighted fires in the chief rooms 
 of the house, and left lamps burning, and an ample 
 meal set out on the kitchen table. Gideon's instinct 
 told him that the kitchen, with its shining brass and
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 297 
 
 tin, its red-brick floor and high black mantelpiece, 
 was the most home-like room in the house. ISTot 
 yet could he bear to sit in the green rep parlour, 
 where he had watched beside John's dying bed and 
 wept over John's little coffin before it was taken 
 from his sight. He put his wife in the cushioned 
 rocking-chair, which had once belonged to Uncle 
 Obed, and himself took off her boots and her cloak, 
 waiting upon her with a gentleness, an assiduity, 
 which startled Emmy into quietude. 
 
 Indeed, she was very quiet. The atmosphere of 
 the old house, the sight of familiar objects, seemed 
 to subdue her. She did not laugh any more, but 
 looked at Gideon wistfully as he moved about the 
 room. 
 
 " Where's Uncle Obed ? " she asked suddenly. 
 
 " He is dead, Emmy." 
 
 She shivered again. 
 
 " I declare I'm afraid to ask after anybody. Is 
 your father 
 
 " He's all right. He is rather infirm, that is all. 
 I don't think anyone else has died in our families 
 only those, you know." 
 
 " Mother "
 
 208 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " She lives just where she did, and the children 
 are all growing up." 
 
 " Do they do they know about me ? " 
 
 lie came to her side and laid his hand on her 
 shoulder ; his silence told her that. they knew. 
 
 " It's very hard," said Emmy, weeping. " Every- 
 one tl links so badly of a woman like me, and I'm 
 8ure I'm not worse than other people. I suppose 
 mother wouldn't like me even to go near the house, 
 nor speak to Mary and Jenny if I met them in the 
 street ? " 
 
 Again Gideon was silent for a little while, hardly 
 knowing what to say. 
 
 " My dear," he said at length, " you know there 
 is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one 
 sinner that repenteth 
 
 " I know I'm a sinner ; I've been told so often 
 enough," said Emmy. "But whether I repent or 
 not " 
 
 She twisted her handkerchief nervously between 
 her fingers, and looked into the fire. 
 
 " We can talk afterwards," said Gideon, think- 
 ing it better to change the subject. "Come :m<l 
 cat something ; I've made the coffee, and here's
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 299 
 
 cold meat and cakes and things. Or would you 
 rather have tea ? " 
 
 " I think I'd rather have brandy," said Emmy, 
 with a reckless laugh. " Tea ? wish-wash ! Well, 
 give me the coffee, if you've nothing else in the 
 house. I suppose you don't drink whisky now as 
 you used to do ? " 
 
 " The coffee is better for you," said her husband 
 adroitly. " Drink it, and eat something, then you'll 
 feel better." 
 
 She did as he suggested, but her appetite soon 
 failed her. She sat with her hands in her lap, 
 listening to the wind with a far-away look in her 
 blue eyes. 
 
 " How the wind howls ! " she said at length. 
 " Well, it's more comfortable here than walking the 
 streets in London, any way. I've stopped out all 
 night sometimes hadn't anywhere to go, you know. 
 I used to think of you, safe and warm here with 
 Jacky. I did not know that he was gone, of course. 
 I didn't think of you being all alone." She paused 
 a little and reflected. " Uncle Obed gone, too ! 
 Have you been living here all the time by your- 
 self ? "
 
 300 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 " Yes. Since Uncle Obed died three years 
 ago." 
 
 " And you never thought of getting a divorce 
 and marrying again ? You could have done, you 
 know." 
 
 " Not as long as I loved you, my dear." 
 
 Emmy laughed, with a sob in her throat. 
 
 " I never saw anyone like you," she said. " I'd 
 no idea you cared for me like that. I never be- 
 lieved in a man being faithful and true. Gideon, it 
 makes everything much worse that you've loved me 
 all this time." 
 
 " Why worse, dear ? " 
 
 " It makes me seem worse to myself. I often 
 got tired of it all, and wished myself back in 
 Casterby. But I thought you'd turn me from your 
 door if I came back." 
 
 " Never, Emmy, never ! So long as our Lord 
 has not turned me away, how could I think of shut- 
 ting you out of my heart ? " 
 
 " I don't understand all that," she said. Then 
 her face softened and her eyes filled. "I only 
 understand how you've cared for me; and I've only 
 you left now."
 
 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 301 
 
 " The rest will come in time," said Gideon pa- 
 tiently. It was something that Emmy should under- 
 stand his love. 
 
 Presently she said something about going up- 
 stairs, and he took her to the room which she had 
 occupied in the old days, where John's crih still 
 stood between the white-curtained bed and the wall. 
 Keziah had understood that a visitor was coming, 
 and she had left a fire burning, and aired the white 
 sheets that smelt of lavender, and drawn the chintz 
 curtains close over the window. The room looked 
 almost as dainty as when Emmy had first went 
 away. Gideon left her there alone. 
 
 " It's quite pretty," said Emmy to herself, look- 
 ing round. " It's all just the same just the same. 
 He hasn't changed a thing. Nothing's changed, 
 except except me. And John has gone oh, it 
 would be much easier if John were here ! " 
 
 For the loneliness and silence of the place 
 tried her nerves. She was used to the noise and 
 bustle and glare she called it " life " of the Lon- 
 don streets. What could she do with Gideon, here, 
 alone ? Her heart sank. And yet yet she 
 
 wanted to be " good," as she phrased it. If only 
 20
 
 302 OUT OF DUE SEASON. 
 
 she could stand the dulness of life alone with 
 him ! 
 
 Away from her, Gideon had gone into that poor, 
 plain little room with the truckle-bed and single 
 wooden chair, which he had used since liis return 
 from London after John's death. He looked round 
 it with the feeling of a monk on some enforced re- 
 nunciation, some inevitable return to the ordinary 
 world. The rudely-carved crucifix, made by his 
 own hands, hung on the wall ; upon the floor be- 
 neath it lay a knotted scourge. Gideon picked it 
 up and put it out of sight. He knew that this 
 phase of his experience was over. There would be 
 no time now for midnight vigils and scourgings and 
 penitential tears. He would have other work to do. 
 His penance would consist in the laborious attempt 
 to teach and turn another soul to good. It was a 
 boon, a blessing, an answer to his prayers ; but he 
 dimly felt that it would be a penance, too. 
 
 He knelt and said a prayer for Emmy hardly 
 for himself, save in an incidental way. Emmy's 
 state absorbed him far more than his own. He 
 would willingly have bartered his hopes of eternal 
 happiness for an assurance of hers, if such an ex-
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 303 
 
 change had been possible. It seemed to him as 
 though he had acquired new rights over her soul, as 
 if he could now compel her to be " good." 
 
 After a time he knocked at Emmy's door. He 
 was afraid of leaving her too long alone. She 
 looked up from an open wardrobe at which she was 
 standing as he entered, and he saw what she held 
 in her hand. It was a pair of John's shoes ; John's 
 toys were ranged upon the shelf before her, and his 
 little clothes were piled in rows in an open drawer. 
 She turned round with tears upon her face. Gide- 
 on came up to her, and put his arm round her slen- 
 der waist. 
 
 " Ah, thank God that you are home again ! " he 
 said passionately. 
 
 She laid the shoes down, and turned to him, and, 
 with a quick, impetuous movement, threw herself 
 upon his breast. 
 
 "Oh," she said, "I am sorry; I do repent, 
 Gideon, I do but only because you love me. I 
 should never have come back, if it had not been 
 you that sought me out. But I'm not worth it 
 not worth your love not worth the love of any- 
 body in the world ! "
 
 304: OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 She sank down before him, her head touching 
 the ground, her hands clinging to his feet, sobbing, 
 broken, exhausted. The memorials of her child 
 had brought her to herself. Gideon tried to raise 
 
 a 
 
 her ; but at first she would not yield to his touch, 
 but dragged herself away from him, and sobbed 
 with her face upon the floor. 
 
 " I can't bear it that you should be so good to 
 me," she said. And after another interval : " I 
 will do anything you like. I will try to be a good 
 wife to you if you will take me back, and if I 
 live ; but I think now I could die die of my 
 shame." 
 
 After a time he raised her up and drew her 
 close to him, speaking comforting words ; and then, 
 according to his simple creed and rule, he prayed 
 aloud for her and for their future life. 
 
 " It may be hard," he said to her later, as he 
 sat by the fire, and she crouched at his side with 
 his hand upon her neck, " but we must bear the 
 hardness for a time. We all have to pay. When 
 we have sinned, it is the sin itself that punishes." 
 
 " You haven't never sinned," she murmured, 
 touching his knee with her hand.
 
 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 305 
 
 " Millions of times, Emmy." 
 
 " But not not as I have," said Emmy, with her 
 fair head bowed against his knee. 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! " he cried, out of the depths of 
 his passionate love, " what does it matter which of 
 us it was ? We were one flesh. When you went 
 astray, it seemed to me that I went, too. I prayed 
 God to let me take your punishment upon myself. 
 I suffered with you, and for you, all the time." 
 
 " For me ? " 
 
 " I put on sackcloth ; I chastened myself with 
 fasting ; I laid your guilt upon my soul. Child, if 
 you had gone to hell, I must have gone too ! I felt 
 that you could not die alone." 
 
 " Oh, Gideon," she said, " you make me 
 afraid ! " 
 
 " Afraid of what, my dear ? You would not go 
 back to the old bad life again ? " 
 
 " I would die first," she said. 
 
 He drew a long breath. Was she not given 
 back to him, body and soulj for this world and the 
 next ? It was well to have lived well to have 
 wept and prayed and agonized for this supreme 
 deliverance, for the glory of this hour !
 
 306 OUT OP DUE SEASON. 
 
 " What is that ? " she cried at last, lifting her 
 head. 
 
 The storm had risen to a gale ; the wind howled 
 round the house, shaking it to its foundations. 
 They had heard a strange noise a crack, an 
 ominous rending sound. The walls quivered be- 
 fore their eyes. Gideon sprang to his feet. 
 
 " The house is not safe," he said. " The river 
 must be rising. Let us go, dearest, while there is 
 time." 
 
 They gained the head of the stairs. Then 
 Gideon put his arms round his wife, and strained 
 her face down upon his breast. 
 
 "Don't look," he said. "Don't be afraid. 
 Emmy, we shall never be divided any more thank 
 God ! " 
 
 And the rain descended, and the floods came, 
 and the winds blew, and beat upon that house; and 
 it fell. And great was the fall of it. For beneath 
 its rniiiH, when daylight came, the seekers found 
 Emmy and Gideon, clasped in each 'other's arms. 
 
 THE END.
 
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 105. Mrs. lilii/h. By KIIODA HKOUGIITON. 
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 108. A CuiHfdy of fflonrment. By CHRISTIAN REID. 
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 111. A Littl' Minr. By ADA CAMBRIDGE. 
 
 115. CavCn littry's Honeymoon. By HAI.L CAINB. 
 
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 117. Nlnpularly'Dtlwled. By SARAH CKAND. 
 
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