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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 LOS ANGELES
 
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 iL:
 
 THE 
 
 INDEPENDENT NOVEL 
 
 SERIES 
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE 
 
 I
 
 THE 
 INDEPENDENT NOVEL SERIES 
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE 
 FANTOME D'ORIENT 
 JEAN DE KERDREN
 
 H. Ford Hueffer 
 
 The 
 
 SHIFTING 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRE 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 'THE BROWN OWL,' 'THE FEATHER,' ETC. 
 
 % o n & o n 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 Paternoster Square 
 
 mdcccxcu
 
 Ft 5" a 
 
 TO 
 
 FORD MADOX BROWN, Esq., 
 THIS LITTLE] BOOK 
 
 IS GRATEFULLY 
 
 ©efctcaf efc 
 
 BY HIS 
 
 GRANDSON, 
 
 r.ff'.E ^ U T H R. 

 
 "The Shifting of the Fire. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 'Farewell,' she cried, 'and come again to-moirow,' 
 ' Farewell, I could not, for I supped with sorrow.' 
 
 ITHOUT the house the wind was 
 blusteringly bringing down the 
 few leaves that remained on the 
 trees skirting the north side of 
 the park, and occasionally beat- 
 ing in a solid mass against the sides and 
 windows of the house, or playing with un- 
 dulating shrieks round the chimney-pots. 
 The air was filled with a mighty rustling 
 that drowned the distant rumble of traffic, 
 never ceasing in this our city. Without the 
 house the air was grey with twilight, and 
 hazy yellow high up around the street lamps. 
 The year was reluctantly tottering through 
 its last sixth of life, and the boisterous winds 
 shrieked in derision at its decline. But within 
 the house calm was on everything, even the 
 sound of the wind without hardly made itself
 
 2 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 heard, and certainly did not drown the tick 
 of the great old Dutch-cased clock in the 
 passage. In the drawing-room all was dark- 
 ness and quiet save where the coals cast a 
 glow on to the red tilework of the open fire- 
 place. A young girl, standing before the fire 
 with her elbows on her hands, was gazing at 
 the dim reflection of her face, lit up by the 
 red fire below, in the great glass over the 
 mantelpiece — gazing with the lazy satisfac- 
 tion of one who feels happy in her connec- 
 tions with the world in general, cosy in her 
 immediate surroundings, and contented with 
 the occasional glimpses that she caught of 
 her face in the glass when jets of flame stole 
 out from the red mass of coal, causing a little 
 more light for an instant. And the tenor of 
 her thoughts was this : — 
 
 'Yes, I do think I'm really pretty — at least 
 by this light I seem quite beautiful — but it 
 may be the light that does it, and I suppose 
 I am apt to look at myself with an indulgent 
 eye, and only from the side of my face which 
 looks best. I know sometimes when I am 
 getting up in the morning, before I am quite 
 dressed, and I happen to catch a glimpse of 
 my face in the glass, from the left-hand side 
 at the top, it quite makes my heart fall for 
 a moment when I see how hard my face looks, 
 and then I spend some minutes until I get 
 the best position, where it looks really pretty, 
 and I think to myself I will always keep that 
 side of my face towards people when I am 
 speaking to them ; but somehow, when I do
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 3 
 
 see somebody, I always forget about it. But, 
 oh dear ! how dreadfully vain I am getting. 
 Only, I do wish I knew whether people think 
 I'm handsome or not — that is, I don't care 
 so much about people, other people, it's Clem 
 really I mean. I hope he thinks I'm pretty; 
 at any rate he says he does, and I don't think 
 he'd do that unless he meant it. Oh dear ! I 
 wish I was a man ! Men don't need to bother 
 about their looks ; at least it doesn't go for 
 so much as it does with us — like Clem, now. 
 He isn't so very handsome, though he is, too, 
 but it's more in his expression or — No, it's 
 not that that makes me love him so. It's — 
 well, I don't know what it is exactly. I wonder 
 why he loves me, unless he thinks me really 
 pretty — it can't be for money, because I 
 haven't got any. He has it all ; in fact I 
 sometimes wish he weren't so rich, because 
 it looks as if I were scheming to catch him. 
 But I'm sure it isn't so ; at least, of course, 
 I do want him, but it isn't for his money. I 
 wonder why he doesn't come. I've never 
 known him to be so late before. There's six 
 striking. That must be a cab stopping at the 
 door. I hope it's him. Oh dear ! I wish I 
 was sure it was, then I'd go down and open 
 the door, but it might be a stranger. I can't 
 understand why it is that I always feel on 
 edge when he's coming, it's just as if I didn't 
 believe he loved me. Oh, here's Martha — 
 what a time she's been ! ' 
 
 The sen-ant passed the drawing-room, and 
 the girl sank into a chair in an ecstasy of
 
 4 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 expectation, listening with all her body. The 
 maid's step went along the passage, and then 
 there was a second's pause before the click of 
 the lock. A great burst of sound swept the 
 tumult from without into the house. The 
 gas in the hall flickered wildly, and the 
 pictures on the passage wall flung violently 
 upwards and outwards with a series of crashes 
 that seemed to threaten immediate destruc- 
 tion to their frames and glasses. The sound 
 died away at the closing of the door as sud- 
 denly as it had arisen, and in the silence that 
 ensued the girl heard a voice that made her 
 heart leap say : ' Miss Ryland in ? ' and the 
 servant answer demurely, 'Yes, sir; she's in 
 the drawing-room.' 
 
 Then a moment's pause as he took off his 
 overcoat, and the door was pushed open from 
 its position on the jar. 
 
 A man's figure, standing out silhouette-wise 
 against the brightness of the passage behind. 
 His eyes were unaccustomed to the darkness, 
 and the girl was sitting outside the circle of 
 the fire's red glow. 
 
 ' Are you here, Edith ? ' he asked ; but 
 Edith made no answer, being for the moment 
 in a teasing mood. ' I suppose she'll be com- 
 ing in a minute,' he continued aloud to him- 
 self, and he sat down on the sofa, for he knew 
 the position of the furniture in the room, even 
 though it was very dark. For some moments 
 silence reigned supreme ; but suddenly the 
 fire shifted — a blaze of flame shot upwards. 
 By its light the girl became plainly visible.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 5 
 
 ' Why, you were there/ the man said, and 
 she laughed, merry at the success of her little 
 trick. 
 
 ' Well, you are a lover/ she said. ' Why, 
 anyone else would have said that my eyes 
 were like stars, and that they felt my presence 
 on the air.' 
 
 • Oh, as to that/ he answered, with a smile, 
 ' I wouldn't compliment the stars by naming 
 them in the same breath with your eyes — and 
 as for feeling your presence on the air, I 
 am always dreaming of you, and so I couldn't 
 really tell you were here, don't you see ? ' 
 
 ' No, I don't/ she answered. ' But I won't 
 have any explanations. I'm deeply offended. 
 I'm going to take you severely to task for 
 coming so late on my birthday — and you 
 never even wished me many happy returns 
 of the day.' 
 
 ' Well, but my dear little girl you never 
 gave me time.' 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense/ she answered. ' I don't be- 
 lieve you remembered about it at all — you 
 shut yourself up in your horrid laboratory, 
 and never come and see me more than twice 
 a day, and then you've generally burnt an 
 eyebrow off and turned one of your hands 
 blue, and you always smell of tobacco and 
 sulphuretted hydrogen. I believe you care 
 a great deal more if one of your old experi- 
 ments goes wrong than if you make me angry.' 
 
 ' You really are a stupid little chatterbox/ 
 he retorted, ' and I've a good mind not to 
 give you the present I've brought you if — '
 
 6 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 'Oh, have you got me a present? How 
 nice ; do let me see it.' 
 
 ' You'd better light a candle/ he said. 
 ' How is it you're all in the dark ? ' 
 
 'Well, you see, that's all your fault. I've 
 been waiting for you ever since three o'clock, 
 and somehow I've not been in the mood for 
 practising, or anything, and I just sat still and 
 waited, so you see you've wasted my whole 
 afternoon.' 
 
 ' I don't see what / had to do with your not 
 practising, at all events.' 
 
 ' Well, firstly, I wasn't in the right mood, 
 and then I couldn't set to and practise when 
 you might be coming in and interrupting me 
 at any moment, don't you see ? I can't find 
 any matches, and you haven't got any, of 
 course, when they're wanted. I shall have 
 to light it at the fire, then it'll get all smutty.' 
 
 When the candle threw a little light on 
 the scene she came towards him. 
 
 ' Now, let me look at your present,' she 
 said. 
 
 He drew a small object from his pocket 
 and handed it to her. She held it to the light. 
 It was a little bottle full of some dark fluid, 
 and it had on it a great ' Poison ' label. 
 
 ' Why, whatever is it ? ' she asked, too 
 startled to believe her eyes. 
 
 'That is the result of five years' constant 
 experimenting and research. You are the 
 only person in the world who possesses a 
 drop of it,' he answered as sententiously as 
 he could.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 7 
 
 But what is it ? ' she asked again. 
 ' Oh, well, I'm not going to tell you just 
 what it's made of, because you are quite 
 sure to go and tell someone, and then I 
 should lose all the credit of the discovery. 
 It is a vegetable poison as a matter of fact.' 
 
 ' But what a frightful thing to give me for 
 a present ! ' 
 
 ' It's one of the most powerful there is 
 going, you know/ he said conciliatorily. 
 ' It's too horrible ! ' was all she replied. 
 1 Why, Professor Webb said, only this 
 afternoon, that he considered you a most 
 fortunate young lady to possess such a unique 
 specimen. You know how old Webb speaks. 
 He said, " Well, Hollebone, you are to be 
 congratulated. I always did consider you my 
 best pupil, though I don't altogether approve 
 of some of your work — but still, on the whole 
 — on the whole I am satisfied with you, and 
 I certainly will make you my assistant pro- 
 fessor when my present one leaves, which 
 will not be for some years, I am afraid — but 
 if you are still then of the same mind you 
 shall have the post, and when I die you will 
 have the professorship, if / have any influence 
 in the university, though I can't see what a 
 rich young fellow like you can want with a 
 professorship. However, I suppose it's your 
 hobby, and you must have something to keep 
 you employed." So, you see, there is at least 
 someone who can see the merits of my dis- 
 covery. But you seem rather disappointed 
 with my present.'
 
 8 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 1 Oh, no, I'm not,' she said, with a little sigh 
 of resignation that belied her words, ' only a 
 poison is such a nasty thing to think of. It's 
 just as if you wanted me to commit suicide. 
 However, of course, it's awfully clever of you 
 to have discovered it, and I'm very proud of 
 you — only, a poison is hardly worth the 
 trouble.' 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 ' Ah, I thought you wouldn't appreciate my 
 talents, and so it was best to be on the safe 
 side. Just go out into the hall and bring in 
 the parcel that's there for you.' 
 
 She did so, and returned carrying a violin 
 case in her hand. 
 
 ' Why, it must be a fiddle,' she said. 
 
 ' Open it and you'll see,' he answered. 
 
 She did so, and after having unswathed the 
 silk handkerchief that covered it, displayed 
 a violin. 
 
 ' Oh, my goodness, what a beauty it looks ! ' 
 she said delightedly. ' Who is it by, I 
 wonder?' and she took it to the light and 
 peered into the inside for the mark. Her 
 eyes dilated with wonder a second after. 
 ' Why, Clem,' she said, ' it can't be a real 
 Strad ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know what else it can be, then,' 
 was Clem's answer. ' Here's its pedigree for 
 you from the very day it was made.' 
 
 ' Oh, but, Clem,' she said, ' it's like a dream. 
 But you must have ruined yourself to get it. 
 Oh, you are a dear boy — only, I don't know 
 how to thank you.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 9 
 
 ' Why, Edie, you needn't thank me — it's / 
 that shall have the pleasure when you play to 
 me, don't you sec, so I'm really selfish — and as 
 to expense, why, I don't spend a tenth of my 
 income, and what's the use of money if one 
 doesn't spend it.' 
 
 Just then a knock came at the street door 
 and cut short the conversation. 
 
 ' That must be Julia come back,' she said. 
 
 1 Where has she been ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't know. She was going out to 
 see about a concert dress for our tour. You 
 know what a tease she is. She said she was 
 going to be in to lunch, in order not to let us 
 be alone for a moment, just because she knows 
 I've got such a lot of private things to say to 
 you. That is certainly one of the drawbacks 
 of setting up housekeeping with another girl 
 if she's a tease.' 
 
 1 Well, but what have you got so very 
 private to tell me ? I haven't heard any of 
 it as yet.' 
 
 ' Oh, it's just things,' she answered. ' Here's 
 Martha come to answer the door.' 
 
 In a moment the lady called Julia entered. 
 She seemed as if she brought some of the 
 breeze from outside into the quietness of the 
 room as she came in. 
 
 'Oh, here you are, Mr Hollebone,' she said; 
 ' seems an age since I saw you last — must 
 be quite twenty-four hours. Edie's been fret- 
 ting so, you can't think. She thought you'd 
 deserted her. Now, when I have a young 
 man I make him come round five times a
 
 io THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 day as long as his money lasts, and then 
 I jilt him— don't I, Edie?' 
 
 ' Sure I don't know, Jujube. I never saw 
 any of your young men so I can't say,' she 
 answered. 
 
 'Well, I tell you what, Idiot — by-the-bye 
 that's a new pun — Edie-ot, don't you see ? 
 Just suits you ! ' 
 
 ' I've heard that several times before,' said 
 Hollebone feebly. 
 
 'Have you really?'' she answered. 'Now, 
 if I were a man and a person called me an 
 idiot I should knock him down, and that 
 would teach him never to do so again.' 
 
 ' Oh, Miss Tubbs, you really are too dread- 
 fully sharp,' with a sort of agonised emphasis 
 on the cognomen. 
 
 'What a frightful thing it is to have a name 
 like mine. It sort of shuts me up when 
 anyone uses it. One can't be sarcastic 
 when one's opponent can retort, " Oh, Miss 
 Tu-ubbs," as you do, and I'm sure it half 
 ruins our concerts when one sees one of 
 Brahms's Hungarian dances, arranged for 
 violin — Miss Ryland accompanied by Miss 
 Tubbs — why, it makes people laugh when 
 they think of a tub in connection with a 
 dance. I'm sure when I die "tubs "will be 
 found on my heart' 
 
 'Well, at all events Edie and I will weep 
 tubs-full of tears,' said Hollebone, with the 
 air of one who has made a home-thrust. 
 
 ' Will you really ? ' she said. ' Good of you, 
 I'm sure. I'll just run up and take my things
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 1 1 
 
 off. You'll have to see about laying the cloth. 
 The housemaid is out, and Martha's in a 
 temper. I noticed her sniffing as she opened 
 the door. I suppose you can manage to do 
 it between you. I sha'n't be very long,' and 
 she ran upstairs. 
 
 The other two proceeded into the next room 
 and set about the difficult operation of laying 
 the cloth for supper. But Hollebone was more 
 hindrance than help, and at last he was told 
 to leave it alone. He therefore established 
 himself in a leaning attitude against the side- 
 board, in such a position that she was bound 
 to stumble over his feet every time she went 
 past to put anything on the table. At last a 
 detail of the arrangements caught his eye, and 
 his face assumed an expression of annoyance. 
 
 'What are you laying for four for?' he asked. 
 ' There are only three of us. You haven't 
 been and invited anyone else, have you ? ' 
 
 ' Only the girl who's got the floor above. 
 She's a singer, and she's going on the tour with 
 us, so we're bound to be a little chummy now., 
 don't you see ? ' 
 
 ' Well, but hasn't she got an old frump of 
 a mother, no end of a nuisance ? ' asked Holle- 
 bone, his face assuming longer and longer 
 proportions. 
 
 ' Oh, no, dear ; her mother's gone to visit 
 some friends in the country, and so we had 
 to ask her down — you see, she's all alone.' 
 
 ' Well, it's a dreadful bore. We shall have 
 to be so dreadfully stiff with her in the room. 
 Miss Tubbs is a jolly girl, and one can have
 
 12 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 a lark with her, but this other one's sure to be 
 a nuisance.' 
 
 Edith smiled. 
 
 'There, there/ she said, 'don't get in a 
 rage about it. Now, I've finished the cloth, 
 and we'll go into the next room and I'll tease 
 you into a good temper. Come along.' 
 
 Hollebone did as he was told, protesting all 
 the time, and he refused to stop for whatever 
 she said. However, when they were once safely 
 established, he in a chair and she on the hearth- 
 rug at his feet, she adopted a commanding 
 tone of voice. 
 
 ' Now, stop grumbling at once, or I won't 
 speak to you again this evening, and I insist 
 on your telling me this instant why you came 
 so late to-day.' 
 
 ' Well, dear/ he said, ' I had meant to have 
 come round this morning as it was your birth- 
 day, but Clarkson came in and kept me all 
 the morning, and then old Professor Webb 
 turned up just before lunch, and I had to 
 entertain him all the afternoon, but I got rid 
 of him as soon as I could.' 
 
 ' But who is Clarkson?' she asked petulantly. 
 
 ' Clarkson is my junior partner. You see, 
 when my father died he left me the firm, but 
 he said I was such a fool at business that I had 
 better sleep, and so he made Clarkson junior 
 partner. Clarkson was for a long time our head 
 clerk, and my father knew he would be the 
 best man to keep the business going. So he's 
 the junior acting partner, and I'm the senior 
 sleeping partner. Now you know all about it.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 13 
 
 ' I knew all that before. But what had 
 Clarkson to say that kept you so long ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, nothing in particular, except that our 
 business prospects are getting rather gloomy. 
 Ever since the year before last — you re- 
 member when I went over to America ? — oh, 
 no, that was before we were engaged — well, 
 that year the manager of our New York 
 house appropriated some hundreds of thou- 
 sands of dollars and bolted — Heaven only 
 knows where. We never saw a penny of the 
 money again. That was bad enough, but 
 ever since then the house has been suffer- 
 ing a frightful series of losses from the 
 bad weather. That fell upon the Liverpool 
 branch — the underwriter's side of the business, 
 you know — and Clarkson says that very un- 
 pleasant rumours are circulated about us in 
 the City, and our credit is getting rather 
 shaky. However, it's not so very bad as to 
 be any great danger of ruin.' 
 
 ' Oh, you poor dear,' said Edith, after she 
 had heard him through. ' I suppose you 
 must be very much worried about it ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, it's not so bad as all that,' he said, with 
 a laugh. ' But, still, it might get so.' 
 
 ' At any rate you've got your chemical and 
 medical knowledge to fall back upon, and if 
 the worst comes to the worst you can set up 
 as a doctor, and I can give music lessons.' 
 
 ' Well, I'm afraid you'd make a good deal 
 more than I should. But I don't think your 
 parents would consent to let you marry me 
 if I was a beggar.'
 
 14 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 She rubbed her chin reflectively. 
 ' No, I don't think they would consent, but 
 I'd marry you in spite of them.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid the law would have something 
 to say to that, wouldn't it ? ' 
 
 ' That is true. We should have to wait 
 until I am of age at any rate — but then we 
 are going to do that as it is, so it won't make 
 much difference.' 
 
 ' However, there's no need to think about 
 that just now. Here comes Miss Tubbs.' 
 
 Miss Tubbs just put her head in at the door. 
 
 'Supper's ready, I say, you two. If you 
 want anything to eat you'd better come in, 
 unless you prefer to live on Love.' 
 
 ' If you lived on the Love you get, Ju, 
 you'd have a precious lean and hungry look, 
 I can tell you.' 
 
 ' Funny girl,' said Julia irrelevantly. ' I'm 
 a little peckish.' 
 
 'Told you so. You've got the hungry 
 look already, the leanness will come shortly. 
 Come along, Clem, let's go in.' 
 
 When they were seated Hollebone said, — 
 
 ' Where's Miss Wimple from upstairs ? 
 Aren't we going to wait for her? 
 
 'Oh, Mr Hollebone, I'm shocked at you. 
 Making inquiries about someone else to flirt 
 with when you've got two of us already. 
 Horrible ! As it happens, Miss Wimple has 
 got a bad headache and can't come down.' 
 
 Hollebone's face brightened visibly. 
 
 'Thank goodness for small mercies,' he ejacu- 
 lated, but a postman's knock drowned his voice.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 15 
 
 ' Post, Ju,' said Edith ; ' I'll get the letters 
 first,' and a rush ensued for the door. 
 
 Who got the letters Hollebone did not 
 see ; but he heard ejaculations from outside, 
 and presently they both came back. 
 
 ' Here's pleasant news,' Edith said, display- 
 ing a letter. ' Our only man singer has gone 
 and married our soprano, and they've gone 
 off to America for the honeymoon — besides, 
 the 'cellist has got the scarlet fever. That 
 about stops our tour — doesn't it, Julia ? ' And 
 Julia nodded. 
 
 ' Quite right, too,' Hollebone said. ' I'm 
 very glad. I'm sure you would have lost 
 a great deal of money over it. Concerts like 
 yours never pay.' 
 
 ' You're a most unsympathetic boy,' said 
 Edith, ' and I shall go off to Manchester to 
 my father and mother to-morrow, and take 
 Julia with me to stop for a month just to 
 punish you. That'll be nice, won't it, Ju ? 
 We'll start the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 ' I'm so glad,' said Hollebone. ' Now I shall 
 be able to do a good month's work at last.' 
 
 ' If I were you I should jilt him for utter- 
 ing such rank heresy,' Julia said. 
 
 But Edith only smiled. 
 
 The rest of the meal passed off in alternate 
 silence and storms of aggressive remarks from 
 Miss Tubbs, but at its conclusion that young 
 lady retired discreetly upstairs, saying that 
 poor Miss Wimple was very dull and wanted 
 reading to, and thus the field was left clear to 
 the two in the drawing-room.
 
 1 6 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Conversation went on between them in 
 low tones, occasionally broken into by short 
 quarrels, but after a time it showed a dis- 
 position to lapse into gazing more or less 
 sentimentally into the fire. 
 
 ' Won't you play me something, Edie ? ' 
 Hollebone said, rousing himself from a brown 
 study. 
 
 ' Why, suttinly,' she said. ' I'd almost 
 forgotten about your present. Shall I play 
 solo, or call Julia down ? ' 
 
 • Oh, play a solo, dear,' he said. 
 
 She took up the violin as tenderly as 
 if it were a baby, and having tuned it, 
 began suddenly Tartini's ' Trillo del Diavolo.' 
 Hollebone, as a rule, did not admire the 
 violin as a solo instrument, nor did he, as 
 a rule, admire diabolical music like the 
 1 Trillo,' which was, indeed, inspired by a re- 
 collection on Tartini's part of the Prince of 
 Darkness's own playing ; but none of these 
 considerations weighed with him on this 
 occasion. He was in Heaven when he could 
 watch the earnestness of her face as she bent 
 her eyes down to the strings and swayed to 
 and fro with the music. 
 
 ' I never knew Edith had so much character 
 or determination in her face as she has to- 
 night. As a rule, fair girls like her have not 
 much force expressed in their faces, but it is 
 the music that brings out her soul. Oh, how 
 lovely she is ! ' and he began to rhapsodise. 
 
 When she was nearly through, the door 
 opened softly behind her, as she faced him,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF TITF FIRE. 17 
 
 and Miss Tubbs appeared. She seemed 
 quite spellbound, and waited till the piece 
 was finished in rapt astonishment. 
 
 ' Why, Edith,' she said, as the player let 
 the violin drop from her shoulder, smiling, 
 1 I never heard you play so magnificently ; 
 your tone is really wonderful to-night' 
 
 ' It isn't my fault,' said Edith, her eyes 
 almost sparkling with delight — limpid brown 
 eyes seldom really flash. ' It's the fiddle — 
 Clem's present — a real Strad.' 
 
 ' Oh, is that all ? ' said Julia incredulously. 
 
 ' No, but it is really a Strad. Isn't it, 
 Clem?' she said, appealing to Hollebone. 
 1 Look inside and you'll see the label ; be- 
 sides, you've only got to listen to the tone 
 of it. That will tell you right off.' 
 
 Julia looked at Hollebone. 
 
 ' Why, really,' she said, ' you must be either 
 Monte Cristo or mad — or very much in love, 
 which is worse than either.' 
 
 Hollebone smiled vaguely, hardly knowing 
 whether the remark was intended as a com- 
 pliment or the reverse. 
 
 ' Play something else, Edie, and let Miss 
 Tubbs accompany you — something soft — 
 that little minuet of Brahms's ; that'll sound 
 lovely after the Diavolo thing.' 
 
 They complied with his request, and his 
 delight was marred only by one thought, 
 that it should ever come to an end. But it 
 did. 
 
 ' If I had anyone to give me presents like 
 that,' said Miss Tubbs suddenly, ' I think I
 
 1 8 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 should go mad with the excitement of 
 wondering what the next thing would be.' 
 
 ' But that isn't all he has given me,' Edith 
 said suddenly. 
 
 ' Good Lord ! what is his other piece of 
 folly ?' said Miss Tubbs. 
 
 ' Well, he has given me a bottle of a new 
 poison that he's invented himself.' 
 
 Miss Tubbs cast an even greater glance of 
 amazement at Hollebone. 
 
 'But what on earth is Edie to do with it?' 
 she asked him. 
 
 ' Why, it has taken me five years to dis- 
 cover and mature it, and it is the strongest 
 poison in the world, and I thought Edie 
 would like to have it as a souvenir.' 
 
 ' I know one thing it'll come in handy for,' 
 said Edie, with a laughing glance at Hollebone. 
 ' It will do to kill my future husband if he 
 ill-treats me.' 
 
 'After that I think I'd better leave,' said 
 Hollebone jocularly, as he rose to take his 
 departure. 
 
 But Miss Tubbs shuddered. 
 
 'You shouldn't say that,' she said; 'one 
 never knows what may happen.' 
 
 But Edith laughed. 
 
 ' Come again to-morrow,' she said. 
 
 ' Oh, I think I shall wait a year or two 
 after that,' he said. 
 
 ' Then I shall carry on a flirtation just to fill 
 up the time.' 
 
 ' Naughty girl,' he said, and vanished into 
 the outer darkness.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Es war ein alter Konig 
 
 Sein Ilerz war schwer, sein Ilaupt war grau. 
 
 N the morrow Edith started off 
 early to do some shopping in 
 preparation for her departure for 
 Manchester on the following day. 
 At her return she found awaiting 
 her a note from Hollebone, running : — 
 
 'Dearest Edie, — The irresistible Clarkson 
 has just called, and insists on dragging me off 
 to Liverpool. In the great storms of the last 
 few nights several vessels wholly insured, 
 besides others partly insured by us, have 
 been lost. This, with the frightful runs of ill- 
 luck we have lately had, makes matters very 
 urgent, and Clarkson insists on my going 
 with him at once. I will drop in on you in 
 Manchester as soon as things begin to look a 
 little straighter, which I hope will be almost 
 immediately. I am in a frightful hurry, dar- 
 ling, so good-bye till then. (Enclosed is a 
 description of the properties of my poison.) ' 
 
 Edith dropped into a chair when she had 
 read and re-read the letter.
 
 20 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Whatever shall we do if he is ruined — I'll 
 never give him up in any case. Father and 
 mother will never consent, though. They 
 can't see that it's better to marry for love than 
 for money. I'm certain they never married 
 for love. I don't see how anyone could 
 have fallen in love with a money-worshipper 
 like papa, and mamma is very little better 
 with her eternal matchmaking. I'm sure the 
 way she has flung me at people's heads is 
 shocking, and before I'm past nineteen too. 
 They'd never have sent me up to London to 
 learn if they hadn't hoped to catch somebody 
 with me. Oh dear ! oh dear ! poor Clem, I 
 hope he won't be ruined. It will be such 
 hard lines for him. I will set to work to 
 see if I can't make some money to help him 
 afterwards, for I'm sure papa won't give us a 
 penny if I marry in spite of him. Yes, that's 
 it, I must make some money. I will wait 
 until I hear definitely from him, and if he is 
 ruined I will take to teaching as a profession, 
 and see what I can do at that.' And she 
 went on building castles in the air, until Julia 
 entered and cut short her train of thoughts. 
 
 They did not arrive at Manchester until 
 towards seven on the following day. Mr and 
 Mrs Ryland had gone to a conversazione at 
 the Bishop's, but this came like a respite to 
 Edith, who had feared above all things that 
 the report that Hollebone and Clarkson were 
 in danger should have reached their ears. 
 It was past eleven when they returned, and 
 neither of them seemed to know anything
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 21 
 
 about the matter. Mr and Mrs Ryland 
 greeted Miss Tubbs cordially, but by no 
 means effusively, and having solemnly em- 
 braced their daughter, and expressed a hope 
 that they had had a prosperous journey, 
 announced their intention of proceeding at 
 once to bed, as they were too much fatigued 
 after the Bishop's party to converse with 
 convenience on any subject whatever. With 
 this arrangement both Edith and Miss Tubbs 
 concurred, for to tell the truth there was but 
 little sympathy between the Rylands and 
 their daughter. Mr Ryland, being a cotton 
 broker on a comfortable but by no means 
 princely scale, had but little in common with 
 his daughter, not that they were on bad terms 
 by any means, but Mr Ryland's views, and 
 indeed his wife's too, were bounded by money, 
 or at least its attendant benefits, and they 
 were both somewhat dismayed when their 
 daughter evinced a determination to become 
 a violinist, not an amateur but a regular 
 professional. Now, the British merchant and 
 his wife are accustomed to stigmatise violinists 
 as ' fiddlers,' in a contemptuous way. When 
 one says ' violinist ' it has a high-sounding 
 ring, a fiddler is quite another thing. 
 
 But of course one must remember that 
 music is an Art, and its advocates are therefore 
 looked down upon by followers of commerce, 
 at least as far as Great Britain is concerned. 
 There may be exceptions to this rule, but 
 neither Mr nor Mrs Ryland were such lust 
 natures, and it was with feelings of dread that
 
 22 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 they perceived their daughter's inclination. 
 However, it had fallen about that Mr Ryland 
 heard one day, by chance from a business 
 acquaintance, of the enormous prices that the 
 first-class violinists can command, and in his 
 mind the differences between a good and a 
 bad violinist was a consideration that existed 
 only by the will of newspaper writers, therefore, 
 considering it a settled thing that his daughter 
 was to receive payments of some thousands 
 of pounds nightly, he sent her to be taught 
 by the most expensive teacher in Manchester, 
 and sat down to await the time when the money 
 was to begin pouring in ; but after she had 
 learned some years he heard to his dismay, 
 from her master, that it would be neces- 
 sary to send her to London for several 
 years to finish her musical education. Mr 
 Ryland groaned inwardly at this prospect, 
 but having made up his mind that his daughter 
 should become a fiddler, he packed her off 
 incontinently to London in spite of his wife's 
 protests. 
 
 Mrs Ryland was perfectly sure that her 
 daughter, having absurdly romantic ideas in 
 her head, would get engaged to some beggarly 
 scamp of a painter, and ruin all her ideas of 
 a good match. However, in spite of the 
 apprehensions of both Mr and Mrs Ryland, 
 Edith prospered, for having not only great 
 perseverance, but, in defiance of the laws of 
 heredity, considerable natural gifts, she suc- 
 ceeded in carrying everything before her in 
 the way of musical study, and found herself
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 23 
 
 after two years' time in a position to almost 
 earn her living by teaching, besides which, the 
 concerts she gave were always well attended, 
 though that was perhaps due largely to the 
 fact that Hollebone, to whom she had mean- 
 while become engaged, bought and distributed 
 among his friends rows upon rows of stalls. 
 
 Hollebone was, in even Mrs Ryland's ideas, 
 a most eligible parti , with his income that ran 
 well into five figures, his studiousness and 
 economy, and his general mildness of char- 
 acter, which, Mrs Ryland thought, boded well 
 for her own prospects as a mother-in-law. 
 Nothing would convince her that her daughter 
 really cared for Hollebone in the least, so 
 much so that she even wrote to her to 
 compliment her on her astuteness in secur- 
 ing so desirable a young man in so short a 
 time ; but she received a letter in reply from 
 Edith so hotly written that it actually shocked 
 her, and Mrs Ryland was a person who rarely 
 took the trouble to be shocked at anything. 
 However, she did not allow herself to be much 
 distressed by the strong-mindedness, as she 
 called it, of her daughter, being indeed too 
 much delighted at the circumstances that 
 called it forth. 
 
 Mr Ryland himself was delighted at his 
 daughter's engagement for many reasons, 
 nevertheless he stipulated that the marriage 
 should not come off until his daughter was 
 of age, she being then nineteen and Hollebone 
 twenty-four. Thus it was that matters stood 
 in the Rylands' household.
 
 24 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Close on a week passed by without a word 
 from Hollebone, and Edith was beginning to 
 fret seriously, until one evening, by the last 
 post, a letter came from him, running thus: — 
 
 ' DEAREST Edie, — I write to you to break 
 you the news that must come to your ears 
 sooner or later. Clarkson and I have been 
 going over the books throughout the whole of 
 last week, and do what we may the house will 
 fail to-morrow for about £398,000, of which we 
 shall only be able to pay some ,£200,000. This 
 leaves £198,000 of clear debt. I have, how- 
 ever, the sum of £200,000 under the trustees 
 of my uncle, which will not come to me for 
 a year and six months' time, until, indeed, 
 I am twenty-six years of age. This £200,000 
 will just cover the debt. We are bound to be 
 declared bankrupt before that time, for our 
 affairs are by no means complicated, and our 
 creditors will have no legal claims on the 
 trust-money. I, therefore, am on the horns 
 of a dilemma as to whether, on the one hand, 
 I shall jeopardise my honour and not pay 
 away the £200,000 when it becomes due, or, 
 on the other hand, whether I shall plunge you 
 into poverty in the future by paying away 
 the trust-money to retrieve my honour. I, of 
 course, release you from every promise you 
 gave me before this disaster, but, from what 
 I know of your character, do not believe you 
 will give me up, and I therefore leave it for 
 you to decide whether I shall pay my debts 
 or not. You must forgive me, my dearest, if
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 25 
 
 my letter seem cold and formal, but I do not 
 wish to influence your decision as to giving 
 me up or no, and my love for you is, and 
 will always be, unchanged. I would like to 
 write you a great deal more, but it would not 
 be honourable in me to influence you in any 
 way — But believe me to be ever your own, 
 'Clement Hollebone.' 
 
 Edith let the letter fall from her hands, 
 with a laugh. Never having known what it 
 was to want for a penny, she had not the 
 slightest idea of what poverty is. She had 
 an idea that it was a struggle, and that one 
 would have to put one's shoulder to the 
 wheel ; but these are easy terms, and slip 
 glibly off the tongue, leaving no idea of what 
 a weary long time the struggle lasts. Viewed 
 in the abstract and as a word, 'poverty' has 
 quite a glamour about it, and riches somehow 
 seem sordid, but to be poor is quite another 
 thing — quite. Edith, however, had got her 
 ideas of poverty from books, and in books 
 ninety -five per cent, of the poor people 
 struggle out of their poverty — and when one 
 reads the other five per cent, one either does 
 not finish them, or else one attempts to efface 
 the remembrance of them at once. More- 
 over Edith had imbibed notions of honour 
 which the present occasion seemed to be a 
 fitting opportunity to put into practice, and 
 she forthwith answered Hollebone's letter 
 with another glowing with sentiments of the 
 most exalted kind, and at the same time 
 B
 
 26 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 brimming over with love, painting the future 
 in the very'brightest of reds and golds. And 
 thus the bad news seemed to have an effect 
 rather exhilarating, than the reverse, on her 
 spirits. Nevertheless she felt very nervous over 
 the contest that the news of her lover's ruin 
 would occasion between her and her parents, 
 and it was with inward trepidation that she 
 went downstairs to dinner ; but it was evi- 
 dent that no inkling of the facts had reached 
 her parents. The dinner was as dull as ever. 
 
 Mr Ryland, whose ideas were swallowed 
 up entirely by the financial columns of the 
 newspaper, hardly spoke at all, except to 
 abuse the soup at the beginning of the meal. 
 About the same time he made some plati- 
 tudinal remarks about the weather to Miss 
 Tubbs, whom he wished to honour, after 
 which he subsided into portentous silence. 
 For Mr Ryland did not consider that women 
 should have any ideas on politics, and his 
 usual prandial conversation was limited to 
 vague abuse of Mr Gladstone and Free Trade, 
 that is, whilst he was with members of his 
 own sex — among ladies he maintained a 
 rigorous taciturnity. 
 
 Mrs Ryland, on the other hand, kept up a 
 vigorous flow of conversation all by herself, 
 to which Miss Tubbs lent a respectful atten- 
 tion. Mrs Ryland was well informed about 
 every nothing that took place in this world, 
 from the colour of the Duchess of Sandhurst's 
 last new dress to the ailments of their own 
 kitchen cat. She even went so far as to
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 27 
 
 consider that she had a sort of proprietary 
 interest in music, on the strength of her 
 daughter's prowess in that art, but she was 
 very careful never to air her ideas before 
 Julia, though she did sometimes address her 
 daughter on the subject. 
 
 Edith passed the night in a state of excite- 
 ment that even her philosophy could not 
 subdue, but in the morning at breakfast Mr 
 Ryland still knew nothing about the all-im- 
 portant news. He announced his intention 
 of bringing home with him to dinner his most 
 important customer, Mr Kasker -Ryves, the 
 great retail general merchant, who had shops 
 all over the kingdom. 
 
 'You must be very attentive to him,' he 
 said to his wife, ' for he is by far the best cus- 
 tomer I have, and as he is on the point of 
 making large purchases I am anxious to 
 please him as much as possible.' 
 
 A wish of Mr Ryland's was unquestionable 
 law in his household, for, quiet as he was, he 
 insisted on being obeyed, with a firmness 
 that quite overcame his wife, and even Edith. 
 
 Therefore Mrs Ryland made extraordinary 
 efforts to improvise a splendid repast in 
 honour of Mr Kasker-Ryves, for he was an 
 old man ; and as Mrs Ryland had a theory, 
 more or less correct, that the only way to 
 reach the heart of an old man is through his 
 stomach, she engaged herself busily in 
 the kitchen, superintending the making of 
 certain dishes, and even in putting the finish- 
 ing touches with her own hands to others.
 
 28 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Thus one may judge of her despair, when 
 at the very heat of the work, when the success 
 or non-success of one of her masterpieces was 
 trembling in the balance, a servant came 
 running down to say that the master had just 
 come home and wished to see her in the library 
 at once, without a moment's delay. All flushed 
 as she was from the heat of the fire, and with 
 her hands still soiled with particles of flour 
 and suet, Mrs Ryland ran upstairs. 
 
 Mr Ryland and Edith were already there, 
 and he, standing with his back to the fire, 
 began an once, without even clearing his 
 throat, — 
 
 1 1 have just received a telegram from 
 Liverpool to say that " Hollebone & Clark- 
 son " have failed for £400,000, of which it is 
 supposed they will pay about half. This is 
 very serious ; but what makes matters worse, 
 young Hollebone has, it seems, made over 
 the reversion of the £200,000 left him in trust 
 under his uncle's will. Sudden and regret- 
 table as this occurrence must needs seem ' — 
 Mr Ryland always spoke like a book on 
 occasions when he had time to round off his 
 sentences beforehand — 'there can be no doubts 
 in your minds as to the course to be pursued, 
 for I cannot allow my daughter to marry a 
 beggar. I myself, indeed, am not sufficiently 
 rich to afford a pittance large enough to sup- 
 port a second family. Mr Hollebone called 
 on me this morning to state his prospects to 
 me, and without hesitation I have broken off 
 the engagement, and have promised, in my
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 29 
 
 daughter's name, that she would write him 
 a formal letter breaking it off on her part. I, 
 of course, offered to return any presents he 
 may have made, but he declined the offer in 
 a manner that certainly did him credit, and I 
 did not see fit to press the matter. As it is 
 as well to get rid of these details as soon as 
 possible, you had better, Edith, sit down at 
 once at the writing-table and write to Mr 
 Hollebone. If you do not feel sufficiently 
 confident in your own powers of epistolary 
 composition, I will dictate a suitable letter.' 
 
 Poor Mrs Ryland, utterly powerless with 
 the terrible news that had brought down so 
 suddenly her castle of matrimonial and social 
 success, could not collect her thoughts suffi- 
 ciently to give them utterance ; but, much in 
 the same way as a drowning man counts the 
 stars that shoot across his darkening eyes, 
 she could not help noticing how pale Edith 
 became, and how tightly her lips were pressed 
 together, and knowing her nature to a certain 
 extent, imagined that she would refuse to 
 throw over her lover in so spiritless a manner. 
 But, to her surprise, Edith walked over, 
 without a word, to the writing-table, and 
 taking pen and ink, began to write as 
 calmly as if she were writing an invitation 
 to lunch. 
 
 1 I should begin,' said Mr Ryland, taking 
 one of his hands from under his coat tails, 
 ' Dear Mr Hollebone — My father having — ' 
 
 But Edith interrupted him. Neither her 
 father nor mother recognised her voice.
 
 30 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Thank you, father, I will write the letter 
 my own way, if you please.' 
 
 Mr Ryland, always scrupulously polite, 
 accepted her amendment, and put his hand 
 once more behind his coat tails, having no 
 further need of its assistance in accentuating 
 his rhetorical effusion thus untimely cut short. 
 For some moments there was silence, as the 
 pen scratched its way remorselessly over the 
 paper. Mrs Ryland was still too paralysed 
 to speak, and indeed, even when she was able 
 to think, she did not at the moment see her 
 way to saying anything, for as a rule Mrs 
 Ryland was a person of few words. 
 
 The scratching of the pen ceased, and Edith 
 handed the paper to her father, and then, 
 turning round in her chair, waited as he read 
 it, driving her pen nervously into the blotting- 
 paper the while. Mr Ryland put on his gold- 
 rimmed glasses and began to read the letter. 
 Even as he read the first word his eyelids 
 rose in surprise, but nevertheless he held his 
 peace and read on. When his eyes had 
 travelled down the page once, he tapped the 
 paper with his finger-nail impatiently and 
 looked at his daughter. Mr Ryland, as a rule, 
 in his family life had invariably driven every- 
 thing before him, even when he had come in 
 contact with the submissive obstinacy of his 
 child. But his eyes, which were magnetically 
 drawn to his daughter's, perceived such a look 
 in them that he knew that unless he made an 
 effort his power was over. For there is an 
 expression of smouldering fire that comes on
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 31 
 
 occasion even into green-brown eyes, and in 
 them it is more impressive than in dark eyes, 
 for the very reason that it comes so seldom. 
 Mr Ryland, who was a man that did nothing 
 without deliberation, laid the letter down on 
 the writing-table and took out his watch. 
 He cleared his throat. 
 
 ' I had not anticipated,' he began, ' any op- 
 position to my wishes from you, Edith, for 
 even Mr Hollebone was reasonable enough to 
 see the impropriety of forcing you to comply 
 with your engagement, and of dragging you, 
 with himself, into a state of beggary, but as it 
 is, I say you shall not, and I repeat it. You 
 shall not marry him so long as I have any 
 power in the matter. Of course after my 
 authority over you expires you will be at 
 liberty legally to pursue what course you 
 like, but I forbid my daughter to marry Mr 
 Hollebone — when, and if she does so, she 
 ceases to be my child.' 
 
 And with this ' Dixi ' Mr Ryland shut the 
 case of his watch, and putting it back in his 
 pocket, turned to Mrs Ryland. 
 
 ' It is time to go up and dress for dinner. 
 Mr Kaskcr-Ryves will be coming very 
 shortly, and it is important that we should 
 receive him as well as possible,' and he 
 walked out of the room ; but before the door 
 closed he turned back and said, ' Oh, by- 
 the-bye, I meant to say that Mr Ryves is 
 going to bring his son to dinner. I quite 
 forgot it until this minute,' and he retired 
 once more.
 
 32 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 This was, as it were, the last straw to poor 
 Mrs Ryland's mental back. 
 
 ' Oh, good gracious,' she said, ' isn't it enough 
 that we've got the old man coming to dinner, 
 but he must needs bring his son too, and quite 
 unexpectedly, and at such a time, and — it's 
 all your fault, Edith. Why didn't you have 
 young Blackburn when he proposed ? or there 
 was Salmon, or Danecourt — you might have 
 had them all three — and what have you written 
 in this letter to annoy your father so ? ' 
 
 Mrs Ryland advanced to the table, seized 
 the letter, and read aloud, — 
 
 'Dearest Clem, — They have just found 
 out at home that you are ruined, and they 
 want to make me give you up, but I will 
 never do so — never — and I will just wait until 
 I can marry you in spite of them.' 
 
 But Mrs Ryland lost her patience here, and 
 even began to cry hysterically, — 
 
 ' What have I done ? ' she said. ' What have 
 I done to have such a daughter ? Oh dear ! oh 
 dear ! ' But seeing that Edith made no reply, 
 and only sat looking with a far-away expres- 
 sion at the fire, she gave up the struggle and 
 left the room, with a carriage indicative 
 at once of grief, contempt, and aggrieved 
 maternity. But Edith sat and smiled at the 
 fire. It was a difficult thing for her to realise 
 if she felt glad or sorry at the turn affairs had 
 taken ; but for a moment she felt exultant 
 tinglings in her veins, as is the way with one
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 33 
 
 who has just carried the day against an ob- 
 stinate opponent. But we have it on the 
 primal authority of Plato that nothing in 
 Nature takes place without a reaction ensu- 
 ing, and with Edith reaction came with after- 
 thought. She, with hands pressing against 
 her chin, and eyes gazing moodily at the fire, 
 mused thus. Be it understood that, since she 
 had received the letter on the night before 
 from Hollebone, she had been in a state of 
 enthusiasm for a love-in-a-cottage existence, 
 and indeed she had almost come to the con- 
 clusion that his having been ruined was rather 
 a benefit than otherwise. To the interview 
 with her father she had looked forward with 
 indifference, for she foresaw well what would 
 take place therein, and she had inherited, and 
 even in a concentrated degree, her father's 
 determination of character, so that she feared 
 him even less than he did her. 
 
 ' I have determined, that come what may, I 
 will make money — not a little money, but 
 heaps and heaps, by hook and by crook, so 
 that when I am of age and can marry Clem 
 I shall not make him poorer than he is. Not 
 that I mind his being ruined,' she added, 
 sticking obstinately to the ' loaf of bread with 
 contentment' that she had taken as her 
 standard of beatitude. 
 
 She was very young, remember, and was 
 not even mentally precocious enough to have 
 reached that stage in the psychological career 
 when one begins for a time to be pessimistic, 
 doubting that one possesses a genius for one's
 
 34 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 art ; and never having had any necessity to 
 earn money, or, rather, to keep herself by the 
 money she earned, she looked upon the earn- 
 ing of it as a very minor obstacular detail in 
 the road to her becoming a millionairess, the 
 admired of the World, and raising ' her Clem ' 
 to affluence. 
 
 Conceit is rather a hard word to apply to 
 this overweening self-reliance of untried youth 
 — call it rather inexperience and vagueness of 
 ideas. However, in spite of that, although 
 she looked upon her fiddle and her art as the 
 most probable means of earning fortune, she 
 was not altogether oblivious of the fact that 
 with even her talents there might be con- 
 siderable obstacles to her achieving fabulous 
 riches with very little exertion. But she dis- 
 missed every doubt from her mind at the 
 thought of the happiness that would ensue to 
 her in the Great Hereafter, and of the happi- 
 ness it would give Clem, for Clem was always 
 uppermost in her dreams, and her whole life 
 had been one long dream hitherto. The 
 rough awakening must come sooner or later ; 
 but I do not hold that sorrows seem the 
 harder by the contrast, for if a man's youth is 
 wilted and warped, God preserve him from 
 an old age — for how will he do without the 
 remembrance of secret, hot, young joys that 
 he can croon over to warm himself on the 
 cold journey as he nears the Shadowland. 
 
 But Edith ran lightly upstairs to dress for 
 dinner. 
 
 Before she had quite finished her toilet the
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 35 
 
 Kaskcr-Ry vcs, father and son, had arrived, and 
 when she came down to the drawing-room the 
 dinner had just been announced. 
 
 Mr Kaskcr-Ryves, senior, had been en- 
 gaged in a dissertation on the merits of 
 samples of cotton in the raw that he had seen 
 at Mr Ryland's mills the day before, and he 
 hardly desisted from it when Edith was in- 
 troduced to him. Mrs Ryland, Julia Tubbs, 
 and the young man were standing together 
 at the other end of the room, but the general 
 exodus that the announcement of dinner 
 caused rendered it impossible that Edith 
 should form an opinion as to the appear- 
 ance of cither father or son. 
 
 The position of the seats at the table had 
 a great effect on the future history of Edith. 
 They were arranged thus — Edith sat facing 
 Ryves _/?/j, on her right hand was Ryves the 
 father, on the left of young Ryves was Julia, 
 whilst Mr Ryland was near the father, and 
 Mrs Ryland had the son at her left hand. 
 
 During the pause that ensued the moment 
 after they were seated, Edith had shot a 
 quick glance, first at her father and then her 
 mother, to see how they looked after the 
 occurrence in the study, and she could not 
 help confessing to herself an admiration for 
 the wonderful way her father bore himself. 
 Although she well knew her father to be a 
 handsome man, it seemed to her that she had 
 never known him look so positively magnifi- 
 cent as he did that night. His finely cut 
 features and peaked beard, bravely grizzled,
 
 36 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 that it showed well against his florid face, 
 gave him more the appearance of a poet than 
 of a business man ; moreover, his eyes were 
 dark and piercing, fitted rather for foretelling 
 the rise and fall of the passions than of stocks 
 and shares. As to her mother, the old air of 
 nonchalant languor lay on her face, and formed 
 a mask to her emotions more opaque than wax. 
 The dinner began, and as no one addressed 
 her for a moment or two, she had liberty to 
 steal glances at the visitors. The first thing 
 that struck her was the great similarity be- 
 tween father and son, which would indeed 
 have been almost ludicrously striking had it 
 not been that the old man's hair was white 
 already ; but there was one difference that 
 Edith, however, was not able to note, namely, 
 that whereas the older man was handsome, 
 seen from any point, the younger could only 
 produce a favourable impression when seen 
 from the front and right-hand side. Owing to 
 a habitual miscalculation in the parting of his 
 hair, the natural, devilish hardness of heart 
 and overbearingness of spirit were visible in 
 the disproportionately large size and pointed, 
 forward thrust of the nose. Edith therefore 
 read in the face of the blonde young man 
 opposite her ' Nobleness of thought.' Julia, 
 on the left of him, read ' Innate and uncon- 
 querable selfishness.' Now there was nothing 
 in the left-hand view of the father that could 
 detract from the opinion that he was the most 
 amiable and loveable of septuagenarians, 
 who combined in himself all the airs of ' grand
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 37 
 
 seigneur' with the bluff heartiness of a fine 
 old English gentleman. 
 
 First impressions carried the day with both 
 Edith and Julia, for Edith was sufficiently 
 simple to be guided by outward appearance, 
 and Julia was sufficiently penetrating to be 
 a very good disciple of Lavater. 
 
 Therefore Edith took a liking to the son, 
 and fell right away in love with the father, 
 after the fashion of young girls with well-pre- 
 served old men of seventy, or thereabouts, for 
 Mr Ryves' precise age was known to nobody. 
 
 Julia was much neglected during the pro- 
 gress of dinner, for Mrs Ryland monopolised 
 the whole of the conversation and the atten- 
 tion of the young Kasker-Ryves at her end of 
 the table, and old Mr Ryves divided himself 
 in a most wonderful way, seeming at one and 
 at the same moment to keep up an incom- 
 prehensible financial conversation with Mr 
 Ryland and to be narrating small pithy 
 anecdotes and paying the most outrageously 
 personal compliments to Edith, which Edith 
 received as graciously as was possible. 
 
 One of those sudden lulls, inevitable in all 
 conversations, interrupted the flow of soul, and 
 the clink of dishes outside the door became 
 painfully audible. Julia began to wonder who 
 would speak first, when suddenly Mr Ryves 
 broke the silence, shaking his head mournfully. 
 
 ' I was very sorry to hear of the failure of 
 Hollcbone this morning, more especially as 
 the late Mr Hollcbone was a particular 
 business friend of mine. I have met his
 
 3S THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 son once or twice, and have always found 
 him a very pleasant young fellow. Perhaps 
 a trifle too abstracted for a business man.' 
 
 Mr Ryland raised his eyebrows and shot 
 a glance at his daughter. 
 
 1 Abstractedness and idealism are hardly 
 good qualities in anyone, business man or 
 not,' he said slowly. 
 
 Julia ground her teeth. 
 
 1 A man who can torture his daughter like 
 that/ she said to herself, ' is only fit to be 
 a Chief Inquisitioner, or to be hung.' 
 
 Edith's head was bent over her plate. 
 
 ' That is rather a hard dictum/ said Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves softly. 
 
 '/ certainly consider young Hollebone's 
 signing away his private fortune to pay his 
 business debts a piece of the most unpardon- 
 able and quixotic honesty,' Mr Ryland re- 
 torted, enclosing the point of his beard with 
 his hand. 
 
 ' There I must needs find myself at issue 
 with you, Mr Ryland,' said Mr Ryves, raising 
 his voice. ' I consider it a most noble and 
 praiseworthy action, for, apart from the fact 
 that the payment of debts must be a sine qua 
 non to an honest man, when you come to con- 
 sider the fact that the clients of Hollebone's 
 banking and insurance business are largely 
 constituted of poor people who would starve 
 if their little all were suddenly snatched from 
 them — ' 
 
 ' Oh, confound the poor/ said Mr Ryland, 
 smilingly, out of patience. ' If every business
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 39 
 
 man were to take the bread out of his own 
 mouth to stuff it into the mouths of the poor 
 the country would become a greater hell 
 upon earth than it is at present.' 
 
 ' My dear sir,' said Mr Kasker-Ryves, with 
 a marvellous expression of horror on his face, 
 ' Ziozu can you, as an employer of labour, talk 
 in this heartless way of the working man who 
 put the bread into your and my mouth ? No, 
 say what you will, I consider it a magnificent 
 action on young Hollebone's part' 
 
 ( ( I really don't know which is the greater 
 scoundrel, in his way, the man who despises 
 his fellow-men so shamefully or that old 
 wretch who, whilst notoriously sweating hun- 
 dreds of his employees to death, professes 
 these noble sentiments, which, by-the-bye, poor 
 little Edie is drinking in with might and 
 main.' This aside from Julia.) 
 
 A pause had fallen on the conversation at 
 Mr Ryland's end, and his wife, whose nerves 
 had been unable to bear the strain of listen- 
 ing to the Hollebone controversy, and who 
 had therefore plunged into a desperate con- 
 versation with the young man, said loudly to 
 him, — 
 
 ' Well, you may say what you like about 
 Miss Aubrey, but I like her. She's amusing. 
 She talks about the tricks of their dog — and 
 then she is clever, you know.' 
 
 The young man said ' Ye-es ' very dubi- 
 ously. 
 
 Mrs Ryland went on. 
 
 ' I like a person, now, who talks a lot — like
 
 40 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIFE. 
 
 her, you know, so that I don't have to think 
 and talk myself.' 
 
 The young man said ' Ye-es ' even more 
 dubiously at this, and flushed a good deal. 
 
 His father burst in suddenly, jovially. 
 
 ' Don't you think you're a little hard on 
 my son, Mrs Ryland, considering that he 
 hasn't spoken more than two words during 
 the dinner?' 
 
 Mrs Ryland looked slightly uncomfortable. 
 
 ' Still waters run deep,' she said, with an 
 uneasy laugh. 
 
 ' Ay, they do that,' answered the old man. 
 ' And for all Jemmy's so quiet he's deuced 
 sharp, and one of these days you'll find your- 
 self immortalised in a magazine story. Hey, 
 Jemmy?' 
 
 His son blushed. 
 
 'What, do you really write, Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves?' said Mrs Ryland. ' How very nice.' 
 
 Mr Ryves, senior, broke in again. 
 
 'Yes, Jemmy does write. He's got quite 
 a name. Did you never read one of his 
 books? What was the last one called? The 
 — The — oh, confound it, I shall forget my 
 own name next ' — he sighed ponderously 
 — ' my memory's going horribly. But what 
 can one expect when one is nearly eighty. 
 I used to think when I was young that it 
 would be a fine thing to command millions of 
 money, but now I can do it it doesn't seem so 
 very much. I'd give it all to be twenty-five 
 once more for a couple of years. One feels 
 a little bad at times — all alone on the borders
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 41 
 
 of Shadowland. I haven't a friend left in 
 the world. They all died years ago, and 
 I've outlived my time. The doctor told me 
 only the other day that I must not expect 
 to live more than two years at the most.' 
 
 'Oh, what nonsense!' said Mrs Ryland 
 hastily. ' You've got years to live.' 
 
 ' What a consummate actor the man is ! ' 
 thought Julia to herself. ' Only, I can't see his 
 object, unless ' — and an idea formed itself in 
 her brain. 
 
 Mr Ryves sighed more deeply than ever. 
 
 ' God forbid that my life should be pro- 
 longed much. I look for death as a happy 
 release. It is frightful to be all alone in the 
 world as I am.' 
 
 Edith sighed to herself out of sympathy, 
 thinking on her own hard case. An idea 
 flashed through her mind — an idea something 
 like Julia's — but she suppressed it instantly. 
 Just then the dinner came to an end, Mrs 
 Ryland giving the signal for the ladies to rise. 
 Once in the drawing-room Edith managed 
 to sustain herself until her mother, feeling 
 indescribably awkward, left the room. The 
 reaction came then, and unable to keep up 
 longer, she sat down on a sofa, and burying 
 her face in the cushions, burst into a passion 
 of tears. 
 
 Julia came softly to her, and putting her 
 arms soothingly round her, drew her face 
 gently towards her own, with a tenderness 
 more than maternal, until Edith threw her 
 arms round her neck and sobbed tumultu-
 
 42 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ously. Her heart had been aching for a little 
 sympathy, and neither father nor mother had 
 it to give. After a time her crying ceased, 
 and she drew herself away. 
 
 'Oh dear, Ju,' she said, half laughing through 
 her tears, ' I don't know how I can be so stupid, 
 but I do feel very wretched, and everyone is 
 so hard.' 
 
 'You poor little dear,' Julia said, half pity- 
 ingly, half jealously. ' Why don't you tell 
 me of your troubles? I could have shared 
 them with you — as it is I can guess it all — but 
 I might have helped you a little, if it were only 
 with advice. Then, of course, there was that 
 business of his signing away his private for- 
 tune. Naturally he wrote to you before he 
 did so, asking your permission, and giving 
 you leave to break off the engagement if you 
 liked, and just as naturally you write back 
 a gushing letter saying that " honesty is the 
 best policy," in copy-book letters, and that 
 you will never, never, never, never give him 
 up, and then he goes and makes a formal sort 
 of post-obit of all his trust-money, which just 
 suffices to cover his debts, instead of reserving 
 a few thousand pounds, which would only have 
 taken a couple of shillings or so out of the 
 pockets of each of his creditors. That all comes 
 from your scandalous precipitation. What do 
 you intend to do now? I, of course, understand 
 that you will never give him up, and that you 
 will marry him when you have attained your 
 majority, and all that sort of thing, but how 
 do you intend to live now you are both
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 43 
 
 absolutely without a penny ? For there can 
 be no expectation of ever getting anything 
 from your father if you marry without his 
 consent. You see how fully I take everything 
 in at a glance. Well, and what do you intend 
 to do now, dear?' 
 
 Edith was quite taken aback at the penetra- 
 tion of Julia. It seemed as if her friend were 
 coming out in a new light. 
 
 ' I don't exactly know what I intend to do, 
 but I mean to set to work at once and earn 
 a lot of money — somehow — so that Clem will 
 not be any poorer than he is now, don't you 
 see. Besides that, Clem is going to get the 
 assistant professorship of chemistry from Pro- 
 fessor Webb, when the present one leaves, 
 and even if he doesn't, he's an M.D. besides, 
 and he will set up as a doctor somewhere in 
 the country. Oh, we shall get on somehow. 
 Besides, I'm going to get a lot of money.' 
 
 ' How?' asked Julia cynically. 
 
 Edith blushed. 
 
 ' I don't exactly know how' she said. ' I 
 thought by my — by teaching, that is.' 
 
 'No, you didn't,' said Julia.' 'You meant 
 to become a sort of female Paganini — not to 
 mention Neruda — all at once, I know, and 
 even if you give lessons you won't make 
 money enough to keep yourself let alone him. 
 Look at me now, I've been at it seven years, 
 hard work all the time, and it was only last 
 year that I became independent, and you 
 haven't got the patience to teach well. Take 
 my word for it, there's no money to be made
 
 44 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 by art in this country unless one's a society 
 portrait painter or a spooney ballad writer, 
 I know. The only way to make money now-a- 
 days is to be a Jew or a butter merchant. 
 That is looking at the matter broadly, and 
 taking a Jew as a type of a banker and money- 
 lender, and a butter merchant as any sort of 
 a merchant who is oily enough and rascal 
 enough to succeed, don't you know, like old 
 what's-his-name in the next room ! ' 
 
 ' Now I won't have you abuse Mr Ryves,' 
 said Edith. ' He's a dear old man. Look 
 at how he stood up for Clem when no one 
 else did.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, he's a splendid actor, and when a 
 man's made a large fortune by general swind- 
 ling and roguery he gets dreadfully moral in 
 his old age, especially when he's got a great 
 deal more money than he well knows what to 
 do with.' 
 
 'Well, but Ju,' said Edith, pouting, 'you've 
 said a great deal to discourage me. Can't 
 you make a suggestion as to how I can make 
 money? ' 
 
 ' Why, of course I can, dear,' Julia answered. 
 ' As a general rule the only way for a girl to 
 get money now, just as it always was, that is 
 if she wants lots of it, is to marry for money, 
 or at least to " goa where money be's." ' 
 
 Edith shook her head without deigning to 
 answer. 
 
 ' I don't mean to insult you by thinking that 
 you would marry for money,' Julia went on. 
 ' But you've got a good chance, if you work your
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 45 
 
 cards well, of being adopted by old Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves, and then he's sure to die pretty soon, 
 and he might leave you a few odd hundred 
 thousand, don't you see.' 
 
 Edith blushed, guiltily one might almost 
 have thought. 
 
 'You really are too mean, Ju,' she said 
 angrily, ' to tease me so.' 
 
 But Julia took no notice of her indignation. 
 
 ' Of course one has a natural repuguance 
 to marrying for money, and that sort of thing, 
 but I can't suggest any other way just at pre- 
 sent. I am rather superstitious, you know, 
 dear. Did you ever hear of the "sortes 
 Vergilianae." ' 
 
 Edith nodded. 
 
 ' Well, I believe in them implicitly. I sup- 
 pose there isn't a Virgil in the room. A 
 Bible, or even a Shakespeare would do as 
 well. Yes, there's a Shakespeare on the table. 
 Well, just open it, and I'll stick my finger on 
 a line, and you can read it. It's sure to be 
 of material use in guiding you to a way of 
 making money. That is, if you won't accept 
 the advice I have already given you. It's 
 too mean for you, I suppose.' 
 
 Edith fetched the Shakespeare, and when 
 she had opened it Julia pointed at a line. 
 
 ' Now read it,' she said, and Edith read : 
 
 And he, that stands upon a slippery place, 
 Makes nice of no vile hold to stay him up. 
 
 ' It seems to me to be quite senseless.' 
 
 ' Does it?' said Julia meaningly; but seeing
 
 46 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIFE. 
 
 the tears rolling into Edith's eyes, she added 
 quickly, ' But Edie, dear, you mustn't mind 
 my teasing — something's sure to turn up. Mr 
 Hollebone is sure to succeed yet, he's so 
 clever. You really mustn't mind what I said. 
 I am a beast, but you always seemed so 
 selfishly happy together, when I was so lonely, 
 that I couldn't help annoying you, and so 
 when I saw you were down I wanted to crow 
 over you like the cad I am. Forgive me, 
 won't you, dear ? ' 
 
 Edith was just saying, ' Of course I will, 
 Ju,' when the noise of voices coming from the 
 direction of the dining-room announced that 
 the gentlemen were joining the ladies. 
 
 Julia gave a sigh. 
 
 ' Now we must turn into a sort of human 
 " dead sea apples " once more, I suppose.' 
 
 But Edith said, — 
 
 1 Well, for my part, I almost want a little 
 cheerful conversation to enliven me, I feel so 
 dreadfully down in the dumps.' 
 
 ' " Alarums, excursions, enter the king," 
 as Shakespeare says,' added Julia.
 
 CHAPTER I I I. 
 
 Der arme, altc Koenig 
 Er nahm ein junge Frau. 
 
 R KASKER-RYVES called on 
 
 Mr Ryland at his office on the 
 
 morrow, and mentioned in the 
 
 course of business conversation 
 
 that he was not feeling well 
 
 enough to return to London at once, as he 
 
 had intended, but that he must stop for some 
 
 time longer and rest in Manchester. 
 
 Mr Ryland was distracted at hearing that 
 his distinguished customer was not in the 
 best of health, though rejoicing to hear that 
 he was to have the pleasure of Mr Ryves's 
 proximity for some time more. 
 
 Mr Ryland saw here an opening for secur- 
 ing the whole custom of Mr Ryves, and meant 
 to do his best to gain it by cordiality of senti- 
 ments. His wife was even more far-sighted, 
 and persuaded her husband to invite the old 
 man to reside with them whilst he should be 
 in Manchester, for by this means he would 
 be more under their influence. She added, 
 as an after-thought, that they might as well 
 extend their invitation to the son also. Mrs
 
 48 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Ryland had an eye to the future in more ways 
 than one, and did not see that a chance, how- 
 ever remote, of allying oneself to the inherit- 
 ance of a couple of millions was a thing to be 
 sneezed at by any means, but she never, no 
 she never did mean, as she said afterwards, 
 that that Tubbs girl should throw herself at 
 the head of the young man and drag him 
 away as she did do. 
 
 It was a fact, too, for which Edith could in 
 no wise account, that Julia did lay herself out 
 to please the young man in a most barefaced 
 manner ; but somehow or other, by a skilful 
 turn at the end of every passage with him, 
 she contrived to make him look terribly 
 ridiculous, though, strange to say, each such 
 rebuff only rendered him more pertinacious. 
 Edith even could not refrain from twitting 
 her friend on the subject of the ' vile hold', but 
 Julia only smiled placidly and said, ' Yes, 
 dear, I'm forestalling you, don't you know,' 
 which seemed very unlikely to Edith. 
 
 At anyrate the matter excited general 
 attention, and it must be confessed pretty 
 general surprise, when the young man, who 
 had found that important business neces- 
 sitated his return to London on the same day 
 that Julia went, was found to be tearing his 
 hair and swearing violently at her declining 
 to see him any more after they had reached 
 the metropolis. 
 
 But Julia only laughed when a letter came 
 from Edith to her reproving her for her 
 conduct.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 49 
 
 ' Did you ever,' she answered in her next, 
 ' hear of a useful but unostentatious official 
 in the Spanish bull-fights whose business is 
 to decoy superfluous beasts out of the arena 
 by waving a red rag in front of them and 
 nimbly eluding their onset ? ' 
 
 As a matter of fact there is no official 
 answering exactly to that description, but 
 Edith understood the metaphor and was 
 grateful. 
 
 She had bitterly lamented her friend's de- 
 parture, but Miss Tubbs was not able to 
 afford risking the loss of any of her lessons 
 by a longer stay in Manchester, and Edith's 
 parents refused to let her go back to London 
 before she had fulfilled certain social engage- 
 ments which had been booked for some 
 months in advance, for Mrs Ryland still felt 
 very sore over Julia's abduction of young 
 Ryves. 
 
 As to the old man, Fate, who always has 
 a finger in every pie, provided that numerous 
 small chronic ailments would attack him just 
 before a premeditated departure to London, 
 so that he stayed on and stayed on — Mrs 
 Ryland had no objection to this course, as 
 she thought it possible that the father's re- 
 maining at the house might bring the errant 
 prodigal back — besides which, Mr Ryves 
 was simple in his mode of living, for his 
 health's sake, and therefore was not a very 
 important item in the house expenses, besides 
 which, an idea struck her, which even she, 
 despite her ruling passion, was hardly wicked 
 C
 
 50 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 enough to entertain for more than a moment 
 as it were with bated thought-breath. 
 
 To do Mr Ryland justice, if the idea had 
 ever come near him, he would have had not 
 the slightest compunction about giving Mr 
 Ryves ' notice to quit,' with as much politeness 
 as was compatible with forcibleness. For he 
 was, at least, an upright man, after his lights, 
 and would have abhorred sacrificing his flesh 
 and blood even for two millions odd. But 
 unfortunately he had not sufficient penetration 
 to foresee anything so improbable. 
 
 Did you ever happen to see a very old man 
 fall in love with a very beautiful young girl ? 
 It is a decidedly ludicrous sight, if one can 
 for a moment lay aside the horror which the 
 incongruity of it inspires. As a general rule, 
 the symptoms are exactly those of calf-love 
 in a very unlicked cub or hobbledehoy. The 
 older and more senile the old man, even as 
 the younger and more unlicked the cub, the 
 more violent are his transports. As a general 
 rule a girl with a well-regulated mind can get 
 rid of both cub and old man with equal ease, 
 though an old man is more dangerous if he 
 has a pretty large supply of filthy lucre. By- 
 the-bye, did you ever hear the one pun of the 
 Corsican parvenu, or conqueror? To the 
 best of my knowledge it is the only one he 
 ever made, but in my opinion, as a play on 
 words, it was his Marengo, Austerlitz, and Jena 
 rolled into one, because it was his only one. 
 To give it as shortly as possible, he remarked 
 of a young and beautiful lady of his court,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 51 
 
 who was engaged to an old and monstrously 
 hideous nobleman, who had, however, un- 
 limited cadeaux at his command: ' Le pre- 
 sent fait oublier le futur,' which is very re- 
 markable as a piece of royal and double 
 double-cntcndre, but unfortunately it will not 
 bear being Englished. 
 
 Now if you will substitute for ' le futur' of 
 the above - mentioned pun a remarkably 
 noble-looking, white-haired old gentleman, 
 with a smile of overpowering sweetness, who 
 is in possession of unlimited riches, and is in 
 need of a companion to soothe the last days 
 of his declining path in life, and for the 
 court lady a penniless young girl, who is 
 passionately in love with a penniless young 
 man, and feels a genuine compassion for the 
 lonely state of the old man. She argues 
 in this way, — 
 
 1 While the old man lives, I will never see 
 my lover, nor even think of him, but I will 
 comfort and cheer the old man in his loneli- 
 ness, and will smooth the way to the grave 
 for him. In this way I shall tide over the 
 time during which I should not in any case 
 be able to marry my true love — and then, 
 perhaps, for my faithful handmaidenship the 
 old man will leave me a little money on which 
 I may live with my love, after I have served 
 well for it.' 
 
 Make allowances that the girl is very 
 young, very wretched, headstrong, and inex- 
 perienced, deprived of counsel from all those 
 from whom it should come. She lies awake
 
 52 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 and thinks all night, and broods all day over 
 the possibilities and rights and wrongs of the 
 case, until by long thought and internal 
 arguments, without counter-arguments, the 
 wrongs are all obliterated, and the case stands 
 out as a glowing piece of virtue and self- 
 sacrifice. 
 
 Argue about it as one will, however, it re- 
 mains a marriage ' de convenancel and such 
 marriages are monstrosities, doubtless, but 
 still it seems to me that from the point of 
 view at which she looked at it the girl was 
 committing a crime capable of palliation. 
 
 It is needless to say that the persons 
 hinted at in this prolix ' Apologia ' are Edith 
 and Mr Kasker-Ryves the elder. If you are 
 sentimental you will shudder and feel righte- 
 ously horror-struck at the turn of affairs, if 
 practical you will say, ' H'm, a very proper 
 arrangement under the circumstances.' 
 
 It came thus about that one morning Mr 
 and Mrs Ryland were wonder-struck by Mr 
 Ryves formally proposing for the hand of 
 their daughter, and saying that that young 
 lady for her part was willing to accept the 
 offer of his heart and hand. 
 
 Three months had by that time elapsed 
 since the day on which Hollebone had an- 
 nounced the failure of his firm. From that 
 time Edith had received few letters from him, 
 and they had all been to the same purpose, 
 namely, that the affairs of the firm took longer 
 to wind up than had seemed possible, on ac- 
 count of the peculations of their New York
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 53 
 
 manager, which had taken place two years be- 
 fore ; but in any case there could be no doubt 
 that utter commercial ruin, if not starvation, 
 was staring him in the face, that his love for 
 Edith was unchanged, but that he gave her her 
 freedom, as far as he had control over her, from 
 her promises — and so forth. To which letters 
 it is unnecessary to give her answers. Thus 
 three months had passed. 
 
 But to return to her parents. Their surprise 
 was even the greater at Mr Ryves's announce- 
 ment, inasmuch as Edith had steadfastly re- 
 fused, in spite of her father's commands and 
 her mother's entreaties to write to Hollebone 
 and give him his conge. Therefore they almost 
 thought that Mr Ryves must have been 
 momentarily bereft of his senses when he 
 asked their sanction, and they demanded time 
 to consider the matter. This seemed to Mr 
 Ryves to be most irrational, for he regarded 
 his millions at their true worth as arguments. 
 But Mr and Mrs Ryland were inexorable ; at 
 least the husband supplied the inexorability, 
 and Mrs Ryland maintained a discreet and 
 unmoved silence, in spite of the fretting and 
 fuming of Mr Ryves. To do Mr Ryland 
 justice, he regarded the proceeding with the 
 utmost repugnance, and even went so far as to 
 argue with his daughter seriously on the sub- 
 ject, to the horror of his wife, who thought 
 that Edith had come out far in advance of 
 herself as a matrimonial strategist, but she did 
 not feel jealous of that. 
 
 Edith, however, was steadfast in her resolve,
 
 54 
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 much to the joy of her mother, and, it must be 
 confessed, to the satisfaction of her father, who 
 was only too glad to see his daughter so well 
 settled in life. 
 
 Therefore he made no objections to the 
 marriage taking place as soon as possible, by 
 special licence, though Mrs Ryland would 
 have been glad to have had a largely attended 
 ceremony. She consoled herself, however, with 
 the reflection that the sooner the marriage was 
 clenched the better, for 'there's many a slip 
 'twixt the cup and the lip,' as she had ex- 
 perienced already in the case of Hollebone, 
 besides which, Mr Ryves was a remarkably 
 fragile specimen of a cup, and might break 
 with even so little a shock as a contradiction 
 to his wishes. Therefore she persuaded her 
 husband to allow the marriage to be got over 
 without any ceremony whatever. Mr Ryland 
 therefore gave in before the pressure brought 
 to bear upon him. The jointure he gave Edith 
 was £10,000, and Mr Ryves settled £80,000 
 on her, with which Mrs Ryland had need 
 to be satisfied, though she would have liked to 
 stick out for a quarter of a million. But the 
 old man had a violent love for his son, and he 
 made no secret of the fact that he refused to 
 deprive him of a larger share of the fortune he 
 had managed to amass, and for which he had 
 striven with might and main, in order to en- 
 rich his son. Therefore Mrs Ryland must 
 needs be content. 
 
 Edith insisted on sending to London for 
 Julia to act as her bridesmaid. It was the
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 55 
 
 only thing she did insist on, and although 
 Mrs Ryland had conceived a violent dislike 
 to that young lady, she found herself in her 
 turn outweighed. Therefore Julia was sent 
 for, and came in hot haste two days before 
 the marriage took place. Almost coincident 
 with her arrival came a letter from Hollebone 
 to say that the affairs of Hollebone & Company 
 were on the point of being definitely settled 
 in a few days, but in the meantime, having 
 no hope of anything to come from that source, 
 he had taken the opportunity of looking about 
 for a practice where he could settle down as 
 a doctor until Professor Webb could see his 
 way to giving him his prospective post, or 
 until something definite turned up. The lettcr 
 was pitched in a more hopeful key than any 
 of its predecessors, though he could not dis- 
 guise from himself the fact that his prospects 
 were still desperate. 
 
 Julia had only just come, and had not 
 even had time to take off her outer wraps, 
 when the letter arrived, and was handed to 
 Edith, who was with her in her room. 
 
 Edith tore the envelope eagerly open, letting 
 the envelope fall to the ground as she read the 
 letter, and thus Julia was enabled to see the 
 handwriting of the address, and, judging from 
 the flushings that pursued one another across 
 the reader's face, she took in at a glance the 
 real facts of the case, and was confirmed in her 
 belief as to Edith's motives for the marriage. 
 
 Edith read and re-read the letter before 
 looking up, but when she did catch a glimpse
 
 56 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 of Julia's face — for she was half afraid to meet 
 her eyes — there was a curious stolidity and 
 want of expression about it, as its owner 
 busied herself in unpacking her bags. Edith 
 was puzzled at this, for look as she would she 
 could not find in any corner or dimple a sus- 
 picion of the tantalising cynicism which she 
 had prepared herself to meet. Julia main- 
 tained a steadfast silence, and went on with her 
 occupation, until Edith could bear it no longer. 
 
 ' Oh, Ju, dear,' she said, with the tears almost 
 welling over in her eyes, ' don't be so hard on 
 me. You know for whose sake it is that I am 
 — earning the money ! ' 
 
 Julia's heart was softened. 
 
 ' Yes, dear, I know,' she said, ' and you are 
 making a great sacrifice for him ; but how will 
 he like it do you think ? ' 
 
 ' He wouldn't like it at all, if he knew, but 
 he won't know anything about it until it is 
 all over and I am free again. I have written 
 to ask him to promise never to ask about me, 
 or to mention my name to anyone, and I am 
 quite sure he will do anything I ask him to, and 
 so he will not come to know until I tell him. 
 He would be too noble to let me sacrifice my- 
 self for him if he knew, and after all it can't 
 last very long, and I shall be free once more.' 
 
 Julia, seeing that it was too late to argue 
 about it, and that it would be only making 
 Edith unhappy to try to dissuade her, yet 
 could not refrain from saying, — 
 
 ' Yes, dear, your reasons are all very well, 
 from your point of view, but I am very much
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIFE. 57 
 
 afraid that you will have a very miserable 
 time of it during your married life. I am 
 quite sure that Mr Ryves is a scoundrel, and 
 although he really loves you now, his love will 
 wear out in a very short time, and — ' 
 
 But Edith interrupted her quite angrily. 
 
 'Julia,' she said, 'once for all I will not 
 have you say a word against Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves. It is treacherous enough in me 
 towards him to marry him only to get his 
 money, and I will not be so vile as to let any- 
 one, even you, say a word against him in my 
 presence.' 
 
 And Julia answered humbly, — 
 
 ' You are quite right, dear.' Nevertheless 
 she said to herself, ' I know there is something 
 false about that man's smile, cither his teeth 
 or his heart, and after careful examination I am 
 sure his teeth are real, therefore it must be — 
 hum,' and she began to talk about events 
 and happenings to mutual friends in London 
 during the three months of her absence. 
 
 Edith had long since given up attempting 
 to penetrate her friend's motives, and had 
 indeed abandoned even surprise at her most 
 unaccountable actions, nevertheless she could 
 not rack her brains how she would guess why 
 her friend should make up to old Mr Ryves 
 in so open and barefaced a manner as she did 
 thereafter. Mrs Ryland was terrified, and 
 had almost made up her mind to expect that 
 Julia would at the eleventh hour snatch the 
 tempting morsel away from her daughter, as she 
 had already snatched away the son, and Edith
 
 58 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 was almost of the same opinion, but she gave 
 Julia her due in not attributing to her 
 mercenary motives. She rather thought that 
 Julia wished to draw the old man away from 
 her in order that she might not sacrifice her- 
 self on the altar of Mammon. Therefore she 
 herself was so unusually gracious to her 
 septuagenarian fianct that, between her un- 
 wonted kindnesses and the equally unexpected 
 advances of Julia, he began to imagine that 
 within his handsome whitened sepulchre there 
 must lurk an octuple essence of Narcissus' 
 charms, and he smiled more and more, until 
 Julia felt quite certain, from frequent oppor- 
 tunities of observation, that his teeth were 
 not false, and that — hum. She observed it, 
 and was troubled in her mind for the sake of 
 poor Edith, who was to pine and mope for a 
 time in the sole society of so unpromising a 
 companion, therefore she redoubled her en- 
 deavours to please him ; and Julia could be 
 very charming if she liked, so that before he 
 departed for the night he had given her a 
 general invitation to visit them at his estate 
 on Blackstone Edge, where they were to spend 
 their perpetual honeymoon, which invitation 
 Julia accepted, and intended to make the most 
 of, for Edith's sake. Thus the last night of 
 Edith's maidenhood went by, and those of 
 the parties concerned who slept at all had 
 dreams varying from mere unpleasantnesses 
 of the tight boot order to blue and corpse- 
 peopled nightmares. 
 
 On the morrow came the civil formalities,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 59 
 
 uniting alpha to omega. Julia was never able 
 to make up her mind, as an impartial specta- 
 tor, whether the moral was pointed in a more 
 ghastly manner by the ceremony as it took 
 place in the registrar's office, with the snuffy, 
 routine-worn registrar and the smoking chim- 
 ney, the satisfaction of the bride's mother, the 
 semi-reluctance of the father, the pale-faced, 
 determined bride, with her forced smile and the 
 tears pressing tumultously against the barrier 
 that withheld them, deep down in her brown 
 eyes, whether it were more ghastly thus, in 
 the fog of the January day, or whether the 
 grim jocularity would have been enhanced by 
 being tricked out with the ' pomp and circum- 
 stance of glorious ' marriage, the slow moving 
 grandeur of the marriage service, and the joy- 
 ous peal of the wedding march. Fancy 'until 
 death do them part ' in such a case, or ' those 
 whom God had joined together,' with an 
 abyss of more than half a century between 
 them. Would a skeleton look worse tricked 
 out in cloth of gold or in a shroud of grey ? 
 The shroud certainly seems more appropriate. 
 To look at the two parties most deeply in- 
 terested we might well have hesitated to say 
 which seemed nearer the grave — he or she. 
 
 For he was flushed and eager with the ex- 
 citement and joy at heart, rendering him ap- 
 parently twenty years younger and even more 
 handsome than was his wont ; but the bride 
 was pallid, with yellow-green shadows under 
 her eyes, and with the quivering brown lashes 
 and brown eyebrows emphasising the pale-
 
 6o THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ness of the face. But more frightful were the 
 hectic spots over each cheek-bone, until there 
 seemed no colour left save only white and 
 golden-brown. 
 
 Considering that the marriage was volun- 
 tary on her part, a stranger might well have 
 fancied that it was the bride who was linger- 
 ing through the last stages of the surest of 
 diseases, and that her groom might well live 
 through a couple of decades. For a night 
 passed without sleep, after many other such 
 nights — passed in an agony of mind more ex- 
 cruciating than ever was agony caused by the 
 Scotch thumbscrews of the Merry Monarch — 
 nights of continual straining and tearing at 
 the heart-strings, will have a frightful effect 
 on the face of anyone, much less on a fair- 
 complexioned maiden not fairly out of her 
 teens. 
 
 Once only a great rush of blood to her 
 head, as she signed her name, gave her for 
 the moment intense pain, and a transient sense 
 of swimming giddiness before the eyes ; but 
 the blood sank down once more, and she grew 
 calm and pale as erstwhile. Only a shudder 
 shook her as her husband kissed her ; but 
 that was but, as it were, the roughness at the 
 river's bar, as the boat dashes out from the 
 gliding calm into the turmoil of white waters 
 beyond.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Despair was never yet so deep 
 In sinking as in seeming. 
 
 LEMENT HOLLEBONE had 
 lapsed into a hypochondriacal 
 phase of his existence, which was 
 somewhat contrary to his usual 
 frame of mind. Having been left 
 largely to himself, by his bent of disposition 
 as well as by circumstances, he had become 
 'a dreamer among men,' apt to make 
 mountains out of molehills, and, by natural 
 sequence, springing in fancy over insurmount- 
 able obstacles. Thus he was as a rule easy- 
 going, and contented with his lot in life, and in 
 a quiet way, simply l pour f aire passer le tempsl 
 had accomplished an immense amount of 
 work. 
 
 But the sudden change in his fortunes had an 
 effect on him similar to that which a railway 
 accident might have created, disturbing his 
 entire equilibrium and spoiling his digestion ; 
 moreover, his psychological condition was 
 by no means ameliorated by the proceed- 
 ings in the Bankruptcy Court — not that there 
 was anything discreditable or unpleasant in
 
 62 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 the records of the firm, but a public examina- 
 tion is always a disconcerting experience to 
 go through. 
 
 The impairing of his digestive organs caused 
 blue vapours to arise therefrom, and roll 
 around his brain, taking the form of projects 
 and ideas, more or less tragic, but always 
 determinative, comprising suicide, starvation, 
 setting up as a travelling tinker, an usher in a 
 school, or selling himself to Her Most Gracious 
 Majesty, to be shot or die of cholera, at fifteen- 
 pence a day — with deductions. 
 
 The most attractive of his various ideas was 
 the one which prompted him to make away 
 with himself. There is a sort of jingo glamour 
 about suicide that captivates shallow thinkers 
 or people that brood too much. It was, how- 
 ever, mainly indigestion with Hollebone. 
 
 He used to wonder if Edith would cry for 
 him, or commit suicide over his grave — and 
 so forth. From which you may imagine what 
 progress the disease had made in him, besides 
 which he was very much in love — oh, very. 
 
 The winding up of the firm's accounts took 
 some little time, and, as you may remember, 
 created no small excitement in the North of 
 England, for it had been considered very safe 
 indeed. 
 
 One morning on his arrival at the office, 
 Hollebone found a letter awaiting him, from 
 a Miss Joan Hallbyne, who announced that she 
 was a maiden aunt of Ins on the maternal side, 
 and that, having heard of his misfortunes, she 
 would be very glad if he would come over and
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 63 
 
 pay her a short visit at her house near Black- 
 stone Edge. 
 
 Ilollcbone, who from mere 'mauvaise hontc* 
 had held aloof from any society whatever 
 since the disaster, accepted the invitation with 
 considerable pleasure, for he felt in want of a 
 change. Of his aunt he knew but little, for 
 her name had not been mentioned in his pre- 
 sence for many years — not that there had been 
 any friction between his parents and her, but 
 they had quietly gone each their own destined 
 paths — and their paths had led them asunder. 
 
 His mind associated her with old-fashioned 
 stiffness and with the pride of county family, 
 with riches and with the courtly graces of the 
 early decades of the century, he having been 
 a very small child when he had seen her last. 
 
 Therefore he wrote to her, appointing a 
 day when he would come over from Liver- 
 pool. It was already late in the afternoon of 
 Candlemas Eve that he alighted at the 
 station, with a seven-mile drive before him, 
 across the grey Yorkshire land, with a cold, 
 grey earth beneath and around, and a cold, 
 grey snow-boding heaven above and around. 
 At Candlemas the days should be drawing 
 out a little, but that day everything was 
 grey with the approach of evening, and the 
 groom had lit the lamps of the carriage that 
 Miss Hallbyne had sent for him ; for the 
 darkness was already upon them when they 
 reached the Roman road that crosses Black- 
 stone Edge, and the impression the drive left 
 on him was that of a whirl of leafless pollard
 
 64 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 trees, stretching their quivering branches up 
 to heaven as though they deprecated the 
 coldness of the snow-laden sky, for in effect 
 the snow had began to whirl down before they 
 turned into the drive that led up to the house. 
 In front of the door a carriage was standing 
 already, awaiting somebody, and as Hollebone 
 entered a lady muffled up to her eyes in furs 
 brushed passed him in the hall and entered 
 tiie carriage. 
 
 At the door of a room an old gentleman 
 was standing, with his hat in his hand, taking 
 leave, and evidently intending to follow the 
 lady into the carriage. As Hollebone entered 
 he said, — 
 
 ' Ha, Miss Hallbyne, here is your nephew. 
 How do you do, Mr Hollebone ? ' and he held 
 out his hand cordially. 
 
 By a great effort of memory Clement re- 
 membered who his interlocutor was, and 
 answering, ' How do you do, Mr Ryves ? ' he 
 greeted his aunt. 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves cried suddenly, — 
 
 1 Edith, come here,' but on looking round 
 he saw she was already in the carriage. ' Oh, 
 well,' he went on, smiling complacently, ' I 
 must tear myself away, Miss Hallbyne ; my 
 wife keeps such an uncommonly tight hand 
 over me, and " needs must when the devil 
 drives." She won't let me be out after dark. 
 Good-day, Miss Hallbyne ; good-day, Mr 
 Hollebone,' and he bowed himself out, look- 
 ing the beau-ideal of a fine old English 
 gentleman.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 65 
 
 Miss Hallbyne closed the door, and made 
 Hollebone take a scat. 
 
 ' Well, Nephew Clement,' she said, regarding 
 him closely, ' and how are you ? You have 
 altered greatly since I saw you last ? But that 
 was twenty years ago, at least. Now, just sit 
 down before the fire and have some hot tea. 
 It will warm you after your cold drive, and you 
 can go to your room afterwards, you know. 
 You must excuse my not driving over to meet 
 you, but I am getting a little old now, and it 
 is fourteen miles to the station and back.' 
 
 But Hollebone said, — 
 
 ' Oh, Aunt Joan, how could you think of 
 coming?' 
 
 Miss Hallbyne was busying herself with the 
 tea, and Hollebone took a careful survey of 
 her. She was small, and had a remarkable 
 mass of dark brown hair, fitting tightly all 
 over her head, and braided at the sides. It 
 never occurred to Hollebone to doubt the 
 genuineness of her hirsute appendages, but 
 she was over threescore years and ten of age. 
 Under this black mass her face was yellow, 
 scored and wrinkled till it resembled a face 
 over which a net had been stretched. Her 
 eyes were black, deep, and very piercing, and 
 her whole aspect had an air of intense male- 
 volence, which her voice, querulous and 
 harsh, enhanced. Nevertheless, in spite of 
 this, she did not give at all the impression of 
 malevolent feeling that her face and voice 
 expressed, and on looking at her more closely 
 one could tell that she had once been a
 
 66 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 woman of wonderful beauty. She seemed, 
 like the mummy at the Egyptian feasts, to 
 remind one obtrusively of the fact that ' tem- 
 pora vnttantur' etc. Having finished her 
 operations at the tea-table, she advanced to- 
 wards him with a cup of tea. 
 
 ' I don't know how you'll like the flavour of 
 it,' she said ; ' it's some Russian tea that Kate 
 had sent her as something very special. I 
 don't like it myself. I think it tastes like 
 stewed oatmeal. However — ' 
 
 She seated herself on the other side of the 
 fireplace and looked for a moment at the fire. 
 
 ' Shall we have in the lights ? ' she said sud- 
 denly. ' It gets dark so soon now-a-days that 
 I really don't care to go out, and the weather 
 is so bad. Kate has gone over the Edge, to 
 Healy Hall, I think. She has a great friend 
 there, and they hold Sewing Bees or some- 
 thing every week.' 
 
 Hollebone, not knowing who Kate might 
 be, relapsed into silence, with a vague general 
 remark of — 
 
 ' Yes, that's very pleasant for her.' 
 
 Miss Hallbyne manifested no desire to break 
 the silence, which seemed to Hollebone to 
 grow decidedly oppressive, and he tried in vain 
 to make himself appear 'at home' by drinking 
 his tea in small sips, but when that was finished 
 he felt entirely lost ; and since his aunt 
 seemed to be in a reverie he let himself lapse 
 also, gazing into the depths of the fire. 
 
 ' The last time I saw Cousin John — ' said 
 Miss Hallbyne suddenly.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 67 
 
 Hollebone started, and returned from his 
 mental travels. 
 
 • I beg your pardon,' he said. 
 
 ' The last time I saw Cousin John,' his aunt 
 repeated, ' was in seventy — just twenty years 
 ago. You were then, I think, about five, were 
 you not?' 
 
 ' Exactly,' answered Hollebone. 
 
 ' Cousin John died next year, I believe.' 
 
 ' May I ask who Cousin John is, aunt ?' said 
 Hollebone desperately. 
 
 'Why, your father, of course,' she answered. 
 ' He and I were cousins, or at least our fathers 
 would have it so. As you know, probably, the 
 family is an old Dutch one, and descends from 
 Holbein, the painter of Queen Elizabeth's time, 
 so it is said. Our common ancestor settled in 
 Hull at about that time, as some sort of a mer- 
 chant — a draper, I think. He had three sons, 
 of whom the eldest went out to America, and 
 was the first of the family of the present Hol- 
 beins there. The second son was an ancestor 
 of yours, and founded your house in Liverpool 
 in 1590, just three hundred years ago; and the 
 youngest, after making a large fortune, bought 
 this present house and property, and here I am. 
 In some way or other your grandfather and 
 my father became acquainted, and not only 
 that but fast friends ; and considering that we 
 were collateral branches, we were used to call 
 each other cousin, and your father married my 
 sister. But now I want to know something 
 about your affairs, Nephew Clement.' 
 He shook his head.
 
 68 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 * I am afraid I have very little to tell you 
 that serves any purpose other than what you 
 know. Cheetham has been trying hard to 
 compound matters with the creditors, but they 
 are a little touchy over that absconding busi- 
 ness of the year before last ; and as to that 
 signing away my private fortune, it would 
 have fallen in from the trustees in a year and a 
 half, and the Court would have, quite probably, 
 refused my discharge until after that, so that 
 it makes very little difference in the long run.' 
 
 Miss Hallbyne nodded. 
 
 ' You may be right, Clement,' she said, with 
 perhaps a touch of pleasure in her voice ; 
 • anyhow, I was very glad you did it. For 
 the name is an old name, and the house is an 
 old house, and one would have felt sorry if 
 it had been dishonoured while there was a 
 penny left to pay. But I am very sorry for 
 you. It must be a sad blow to lose your 
 entire fortune. Are you very hard up just 
 at present ? ' 
 
 Hollebone shook his head. 
 
 ' Oh, no, aunt,' he said ; ' that is, I can 
 manage to jog along somehow for the present. 
 You see I've never been used to spend much 
 money, anyhow. Certainly not a tenth of 
 what I might have spent if I had wished. 
 I've always gone in for study more than any- 
 thing else, in a quiet way, and now it doesn't 
 pinch me very much, and I should not care 
 at all if it were not for — ' 
 
 He stopped, but his aunt understood him 
 more or less, and forebore to press the point.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 69 
 
 ' You must draw on me if you arc at all 
 pressed,' she said. ' Would you like a cheque 
 for three or four hundred now ? ' 
 
 Hollebone shook his head. 
 
 Oh, thank you, aunt,' he said, ' I have 
 really no need for it just at present, and even 
 then I have no claim on you at all.' 
 
 'You have saved the name, Clement,' she 
 said. ' I would have done it myself if you had 
 not, but it would have taken almost my last 
 penny. However, that is neither here nor 
 there. What I want to know is, what you 
 are thinking of doing in the future? I suppose, 
 with all your learning, you will be soon one 
 of the first men in the country.' 
 
 Hollebone laughed somewhat bitterly. 
 
 ' Oh, aunt,' he said, ' I wish it were so, but 
 there is absolutely no opening for me any- 
 where that I can see. If it were not for the 
 fact that I am an M.D. I might as well think 
 of flying as making a living. However, I 
 suppose I shall rub along somehow.' 
 
 His aunt, however, returned to the charge. 
 
 1 Well,' she said, ' but you will have to buy 
 a practice anyhow, and in that case I insist 
 on your falling back on me for the money.' 
 
 Hollebone reflected a moment. 
 
 1 Well, aunt,' he said, ' I might do that, and 
 indeed I should be very glad to do so. I 
 have lately been making inquiries about a 
 practice, and I have heard of one at Dym- 
 church, on the Suffolk coast, which would suit 
 me very well. It belongs to an old doctor, 
 who is seeking a partner, and so far as I can
 
 70 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 tell it would be the exact thing to suit me, 
 with plenty of work to do and an old hand to 
 look after me at first. For, to tell the truth, it 
 is some years since I made my M.D., and it is 
 just possible that I shall be a little strange at 
 first' 
 
 ' Well, nephew,' Miss Hallbyne answered, 
 ' you know best what will suit you, and you 
 shall have any money you may want for the 
 purpose. But now, I suppose, you would like 
 to go upstairs to your room.' 
 
 Hollebone assented, and his aunt led him 
 upstairs to a great oak-wainscoted room, in 
 which the two candles and the fire served only 
 to emphasise the darkness and vastness. His 
 aunt pointed to a steaming kettle that stood 
 on the fire. 
 
 'There is hot water,' she said, 'and if you 
 want anything else you must just ring for it. 
 Be careful how you lift the kettle.' 
 
 So saying she left him to his own de- 
 vices and went downstairs. Hollebone, after 
 having taken as general a survey of the room, 
 and as minute an inspection of the pictures 
 and the carving of the wainscoting and cup- 
 boards, as he could with the aid of his two 
 candles, proceeded to perform the opera- 
 tions of the toilet usual on such occasions, 
 ruminating the while over his aunt's con- 
 versation. 
 
 ' I can't see why Aunt Joan should take 
 such a particular trouble over the family name. 
 I suppose it is because she has been living for 
 so long in the atmosphere of county families,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 71 
 
 and so forth. Anyhow, she seems to be a 
 nice enough old body, taken all in all, and I 
 suppose it must be a crotchet of hers. But 
 even then my name is not the same as hers.' 
 
 Why do people occasionally stumble by 
 accident, as it were, on a clue that would 
 guide them to the centre of a labyrinth of 
 motive and then pass it by without thinking 
 it of any value? At anyrate Hollcbone passed 
 on in his train of thought, but Miss Hallbyne, 
 in the drawing-room below, had drawn out 
 from a long unopened drawer an old album, 
 full of old silhouettes, but the one at which 
 she remained looking was that of a young 
 man of, it may be, twenty or more years of 
 age, and which bore a striking resemblance 
 to Hollcbone. 
 
 No doubt, dear reader, you will turn up 
 your critical nose, which has grown of late 
 accustomed more to realism than sentiment- 
 alism in literature, at the thought of an old 
 maid having need to dry her eyes at the 
 reminiscences of the temps jadis which is 
 over and fled half a century ago. But Miss 
 Hallbyne had once been young, and once had 
 been beautiful, and in recollections a day is 
 the same as a thousand years, and ' a thou- 
 sand years but as a spar\,' flour ainsi dire, and 
 the sight of Hollcbone had touched a hidden 
 spring in a ghost closet that contained many 
 and many a faded and dusty note of memory. 
 For Miss Hallbyne had been the less beautiful 
 of two beautiful sisters. 
 
 She had sunk into a brown study once more,
 
 72 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 when the door opened and a girl entered 
 briskly, jarring on all Miss Hallbyne's nerves. 
 
 ' Well, Aunt Joan,' she said, with a cheerful 
 laugh, 'and so he has come. Well, and what 
 is he like ? ' 
 
 Miss Hallbyne pointed with her finger at 
 the silhouette. 
 
 1 That is he,' she said shortly. 
 
 The girl looked at it. 
 
 ' Why, but that is fifty years old or so. It 
 must be his father ? ' she said inquiringly. 
 
 Miss Hallbyne nodded her head. 
 
 ' Yes, that is Cousin John,' she said. ' But 
 you might take it for Clement just as well' 
 
 The girl answered aloud, — 
 
 « Really ? How nice ! ' 
 
 But to herself she said : ' H'm, I must be 
 careful. To twist the adage a little, one might 
 say, " The eyes in which the father hath 
 found favour will find little but good in the 
 son." I must really take care. I don't know 
 that the best way would not be to make love 
 to him right off. However, I must think about 
 that a little first.' Aloud she added, — 
 
 'Well, aunt, I will just run upstairs and 
 make myself presentable to my cousin.' 
 
 And Miss Hallbyne answered, — 
 
 ' Yes, do, Kate.' 
 
 Left to herself once more, she said, ' How 
 nice it would be if Clement would marry 
 her ! ' and with a sigh she relapsed into her 
 brown study, which reigned unbroken until 
 dinner was announced. 
 
 At the sound of the gong Hollebone made
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 73 
 
 his appearance almost simultaneously with 
 Kate, and she was introduced to him as his 
 cousin from America. 
 
 ' Kate is not a Yankee, though,' Miss 
 Hallbyne added, more or less apologetically. 
 ' Her father was my half-brother, and some 
 twenty years younger than I. He tried to 
 found a business in New York, and failed 
 rather badly. He died very shortly after- 
 wards, leaving Kate an orphan, and since then 
 she has lived with me, and is my right hand. 
 Isn't that it, Kate ? ' 
 
 Kate assented, with an inclination of her 
 head. She was engaged in taking a minute 
 survey of Hollcbone's points. 
 
 ' From what I can see of him, at so short a 
 glance,' she mused, as they passed from room 
 to room, ' I should say that that young man 
 was in love with someone or other, and in all 
 probability she threw him over when he was 
 ruined. Now, it remains to be seen if I shall 
 find it worth my while to cut that somebody 
 out in his affections. If Aunt Joan takes it 
 into her crotchety old head to leave her 
 money to him it might pay me for the trouble, 
 and if I were to marry him before her death 
 she might will all her money to the two of us. 
 Yes, that would not be a bad thing. I must 
 think about it. In the meanwhile I must keep 
 the conversation in a sort of general groove, 
 until I make up my mind finally.' 
 
 Accordingly, when they were comfortably 
 settled in the dining-room, she began, — 
 
 1 Ah, Cousin Clement, you must have had a 
 D
 
 74 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 nasty cold journey here. It was coming on 
 to snow quite fast when I came home.' 
 
 Clement answered, — 
 
 ' Yes, it was just beginning to come down 
 when I reached here. The weather seems to 
 have set in regularly for snow.' 
 
 His cousin went on, — 
 
 ' Oh, by-the-bye, aunt, I meant to tell you. 
 Whiggit shied as we passed the gates of 
 Blackstone Hall. The Ryves' carriage lamps 
 frightened him, I suppose ; they were just turn- 
 ing into the drive. Our carriage went right 
 into the ditch with two of its wheels, and one 
 of the windows was broken — and Whistler 
 says Whiggit's got his sides a little cut.' 
 
 Miss Hallbyne looked up from her soup 
 quite alarmed. 
 
 ' But, my dear girl, I hope you are not hurt 
 at all. It was very careless of Whistler.' 
 
 Kate laughed. 
 
 ' Oh, indeed, aunt,' she said, ' it wasn't 
 Whistler's fault. It was Whiggit's if it was 
 anyone's. As for me, I'm not hurt at all — not 
 even shaken. Mr Ryves was very much 
 alarmed, and insisted on sending me back in 
 his carriage after it had set them down. One 
 of our shafts was broken. So, you see, I came 
 back in state in a carriage and pair, whereas 
 I set out in a brougham.' 
 
 ' Well, my dear,' her aunt answered, ' it was 
 considerate of you to break the news to me 
 so gently, and I sincerely hope you are not 
 hurt. Had we not better send for Dr Long at 
 once ? '
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 75 
 
 But Kate answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, no, indeed, aunt ; I am not a bit hurt. 
 I haven't even a bruise' 
 
 I How is Whistler, too ? ' asked Miss Hall- 
 byne. ' I hope he is not injured at all.' 
 
 I I just sent Jane down to ask how he was, 
 and she said that he seemed all right, only very 
 bad-tempered. You see, he had to leave the 
 brougham and come home on the box of the 
 Ryves' carriage, and I suppose the other 
 coachman crowed over his upset a little. The 
 brougham and old Whiggit had to remain at 
 the Ryves'.' 
 
 4 Well, well, my dear,' Miss Hallbyne said, 
 ' we must be thankful it was no worse, that is 
 all. The Ryves were here this afternoon.' 
 
 1 Yes, so they told me. I made the acquaint- 
 ance of Mrs Kasker-Ryves. She seemed to 
 me a little too quiet and pale to suit my taste. 
 
 'Did you think so?' Miss Hallbyne an- 
 swered. ' I don't think she was very well this 
 evening — I noticed she turned quite pale 
 suddenly while we were talking. I happened 
 to be just saying that you were coming down 
 here, Nephew Clement, when I noticed her 
 turn quite red and then pale. I suppose she 
 must have been feeling unwell, because al- 
 most immediately afterwards she made her 
 husband move by saying that it was coming 
 on to snow, and that she could not allow him 
 to be out late in such cold weather. You 
 know Mr Kasker-Ryves, don't you, Clement? ' 
 
 And he answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, yes, I know him — that is, I have met
 
 76 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 him once or twice. But I did not know he 
 was married.' 
 
 'No. Isn't that strange. No one knew 
 anything about it, and all of a sudden he 
 appeared with a wife. Quite a young 
 and lovely girl too. It seems they were 
 married very quietly — almost secretly one 
 might say — to avoid the strain consequent on 
 a public marriage. She is the daughter of a 
 small millowner in Manchester, and, so far as 
 one can tell, it appears to have been quite 
 a love match, and her parents ostensibly 
 rather objected, but in spite of that she 
 persisted. As a general rule I believe it is 
 the daughter that objects to marrying an 
 old man.' 
 
 ' Not when the old man is a senile million- 
 aire. What do you think, Cousin Clement ? ' 
 Kate asked. 
 
 Hollebone smiled. 
 
 1 Well, it does look rather fishy,' he assented. 
 'But I have heard of love matches of that 
 sort, and I suppose it is not so unlikely in 
 the case of such a very fine-looking and estim- 
 able a man as Mr Ryves, setting aside his 
 ducats. At anyrate no one could object to 
 him as not being an " homme mur."* 
 
 ' You might even say he was over-ripe — a 
 sleepy pear, in fact,' Kate answered. 
 
 ' Oh, no, Kate, I don't think he is that at 
 all,' Miss Hallbyne objected. 'I'm sure no 
 one would think he was eighty. Why, he's 
 quite as active as any young man. He rides 
 and shoots and looks after his property, and
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 77 
 
 is a J. P. In fact he might well be forty years 
 younger. I think it's quite wonderful.' 
 
 ' Why, it's a new departure for you to stand 
 up for him, Aunt Joan,' Kate answered. ' I 
 remember when he bought Blackstone — twelve 
 years ago — how you used to cry out that the 
 whole country was falling into the hands of 
 the shopkeepers.' 
 
 Aunt Joan smiled somewhat guiltily. 
 
 ' Well, my dear,' she said, ' one must keep 
 pace with the times, I suppose, and the ten- 
 dency is nowadays to abolish social distinc- 
 tions altogether. When duchesses take to 
 dressmaking, and noble lords marry actresses 
 — in my young days they didn't do it so often 
 — I suppose simple county families must not 
 be above associating with shopkeepers, or even 
 Americans.' 
 
 'Exactly,' said Hollebone, and his aunt gave 
 a little sigh. 
 
 ' Yes,' she went on. ' I used to be a Whig 
 in the old days, but now I am an out and out 
 old-fashioned Tory. What with Reform Bills 
 and Free Trade and Home Rule, and they 
 even talk now of Disestablishment and aboli- 
 tion of the House of Peers, but that won't come 
 about until I am dead and laid in my grave.' 
 
 'Why, then the Church and State will be safe 
 for a long time yet,' said Hollebone cheerfully. 
 
 ' I don't know about that,' Miss Hallbyne 
 said. ' Another winter like this will finish me 
 off,' and Kate murmured in her heart of hearts: 
 ' God send it soon ! ' 
 
 But Hollebone answered, —
 
 73 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 • Nonsense, aunt, you will live to see the 
 new century in.' 
 
 She answered wearily, — 
 
 ' God forbid. I have had enough of this one.' 
 
 ' Well,' thought Kate to herself, ' if I let her 
 go on like this she will be getting into such 
 a sentimental state of mind over the past love 
 that I shall have a bad time of it in the future. 
 It would be just like her to change her will 
 right off to-night, without even troubling 
 Cheetham to come over and do it for her, and I 
 might fare badly in that case. I must change 
 the course of conversation, and then take a 
 little time to think.' Accordingly she asked, — 
 
 ' Do you know what Mrs Ryves's maiden 
 name was, Cousin Clement ? Aunt Joan and I 
 have been debating about it, but we cannot 
 agree, and no one seems to know it.' 
 
 Clement shook his head. 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't know anything about her,' 
 he said. ' I did not even know Mr Ryves 
 was married.' 
 
 ' I am almost sure her name was Hisfield. 
 I know it had something to do with " field," ' 
 Miss Hallbyne said. 
 
 ' It must have been Hisfield. There is a 
 cotton firm of Hisfield, Hixen & Hutt. I 
 think you said she was a millowner's daughter,' 
 Clement answered, and his aunt said, — 
 
 ' Yes, that must be the name. I know it was 
 something like that. Well now, my dears, I 
 must say good-night, and leave you to the 
 tender mercies of each other and the dessert. 
 I daresay Kate will let you smoke a cigar
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 79 
 
 afterwards, and then you can get her to sing 
 for you. I have to go to bed early on account 
 of my health. By-the-bye, we breakfast at half 
 after eight. I suppose, if I tell them to bring 
 your water up at eight, it will leave you time. 
 Good-night. God bless you both,' and she 
 kissed her niece and left them to themselves, 
 much to the delight of Kate. As to Hollebone, 
 he was quite unconcerned either way. 
 
 1 The time must pass one way or another,' 
 he said philosophically, ' and I may as well 
 talk to this girl as to anyone else since I can't 
 get at Edith.' 
 
 One is apt to forget one's pessimism to a 
 large extent just after a good dinner. It is 
 not until the dinner begins to have its effects 
 on the liver some hours afterwards that the 
 vapours rise up to the brain and cause im- 
 penetrable despondency and gloom to settle 
 down over one's mental prospect, and so 
 Hollebone accepted his fate with as good 
 grace as possible ; and any other young man 
 might have felt himself in remarkably happy 
 circumstances to be thus tete-a-tete with a 
 beautiful cousin, most anxious to charm and 
 to appear charming — though certainly Holle- 
 bone did not know that. 
 
 But he was very much in love with his 
 beloved, and for the time, as indeed it had 
 been for some two years, his love was his 
 ruling passion, and he never committed the 
 smallest action in his life without thinking 
 whether it would have any effect on his re- 
 lationship to Edith.
 
 80 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Therefore he passed a more or less pleasant 
 evening in the society of his cousin. That 
 young lady, with a view to adapting herself 
 to his tasteSj felt him carefully all over, and 
 not being able to make very much out of the 
 indications that she thus discovered, fell back 
 on the infallible method of getting at the 
 hearts of all young men, and of old ones too, 
 for that matter (but more especially of such 
 as have what one calls by courtesy, a talent 
 for one thing or another), namely, pretending 
 great ignorance of his particular forte, and 
 wonder at the gigantic intellect enabling one 
 to pursue that study. 
 
 Dinner had been finished, coffee had made 
 its appearance and disappearance, Hollebone's 
 cigar had let its last wreath of smoke float up- 
 wards to the dark oak ceiling of the dining- 
 room, and he had done his best to persuade his 
 cousin to join him in a cigarette — which she 
 had smilingly refused — and they had ad- 
 journed to the drawing-room. 
 
 ' Now you are going to sing me something,' 
 Hollebone said, for to tell the truth, much to 
 his discredit, he was beginning to get a little 
 tired of her innocent conversation. 
 
 I say much to his discredit, because no 
 young man of a well-regulated turn of mind 
 should get tired in the course of a single 
 evening of the conversation of a fair girl, 
 whose face is, ostensibly, the index of her 
 mind, and whose blue eyes are, or at least 
 seem to be, the windows of her soul, more 
 especially when he has already the advantage
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 81 
 
 of a cousinly standing, which is worth at least 
 two months' start in an acquaintanceship. 
 
 ' Now you are going to sing me some- 
 thing,' Hollebone said. 
 
 And she answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, certainly — that is, if you don't ask it 
 out of courtesy, because Aunt Joan suggested 
 it — besides which, I haven't got much of a 
 voice, and perhaps you don't care much 
 about music' 
 
 Hollebone gave a sort of internal groan. 
 
 ' Oh, on the contrary, I am particularly 
 fond of music, and as to your voice I'm 
 sure it must be lovely, anyhow.' 
 
 Kate blushed with joy. She was a very 
 good actress, and said, — 
 
 ' Oh, come, Cousin Clement, how can you 
 possibly know that ? ' 
 
 Clement smiled. 
 
 ' Why,' he said, ' one generally judges of a 
 person's singing voice by their talking voice. 
 If they have a very melodious and sweet 
 speaking voice one imagines that they sing 
 equally well, don't you see ? ' 
 
 And Kate answered, — 
 
 ' Ye — es,' with another blush, and then she 
 went on. ' Well, since you are so pressing, and 
 pay such nice compliments, cousin, I will sing 
 you something, but you must accompany me.' 
 
 Hollebone said, ' Oh, blow it ! ' to himself, 
 but aloud, — 
 
 ' Oh, very well, if you don't mind a some- 
 what wooden touch.' 
 
 But Kate answered archly, —
 
 82 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Oh, I'm sure, cousin, your touch must be 
 lovely, anyhow.' 
 
 ' I certainly don't see how you can tell that,' 
 he replied. 
 
 ' Why,' she answered, ' one generally judges 
 of a person's playing touch by their shaking 
 touch. If they have a very pleasant way of 
 shaking hands one imagines that they will 
 have an equally pleasant touch, don't you see.' 
 
 Hollebone answered, — 
 
 1 Oh, c-come now, that's rather far-fetched 
 now,' and his cousin retorted, with a light 
 in her dark blue orbs, 'Tit for tat, Cousin 
 Clement' 
 
 But Cousin Clement was instituting a mental 
 comparison between hiscousin and Edith, which 
 was not altogether flattering to his cousin. 
 
 ' Bother the girl,' he said to himself, referring 
 to Kate, ' what a nuisance she is. I wish she'd 
 begin and squall — at anyrate then I should 
 not need to bother myself with answering her 
 nonsense, though I shall have to strum. Not 
 that she is bad-looking by any means, but she 
 ain't a patch on Edith. You see, although 
 they're both fair, it's a different kind of fairness. 
 Little E.'s is quite transparent, like marble or 
 alabaster, with just a faint tinge of colour — oh, 
 and such a lovely mouth, that looks as if it were 
 just always wanting to be kissed — whereas 
 this'n's got a regular peachy pink-and-white 
 complexion, with the peach bloom and all, if 
 it isn't powder, and then her mouth is sort of 
 puckered up under the lips, so that it looks 
 as if she were always pouting ; and then Edie's
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 83 
 
 nose is quite straight down, not turned up 
 at the end like this one's, and Edie's eyebrows 
 are dark and beautifully shaped, not pale and 
 invisible, and her lashes are dark too, and 
 when they lie down on her cheeks they're just 
 like a delicate fringe — and her face is a lovely 
 oval, not round like Kate's here — and her 
 hair isn't near so light as Kate's, not golden 
 at all, but just dusky brown, with a tinge of 
 gold in the shadows — and then her eyes, 
 why, this girl's are cold and hard, steel-blue 
 in fact, whilst Edie's — oh, how lovely they 
 are ! — light green-brown, so that one can look 
 right down into the depths and see all her 
 thoughts ; and then to see the love come up 
 in them, and to see her flush, and to think that 
 she loves me ! I tell you what it is, Chaucer 
 knew what he was about when he wrote — 
 
 Youre two eyn will sle' me sodenly. 
 
 If she had eyes anything like Edith's — but that 
 isn't possible.' 
 
 During the time it took him to think this 
 rhapsody he was saying, ' Let's have a song, 
 cousin.' But his cousin, who noticed the long- 
 ing look which had come into his eyes niaugre 
 lui at the thought of his love, divined easily 
 enough the reason for it, and recognised the 
 fact that it would be necessary for her to make 
 herself very agreeable indeed to counteract 
 that influence. 
 
 Therefore she said to herself, • H'm, he 
 wants flattering a little ; ' but aloud, — 
 
 'Well, you shall have a song, only it's just
 
 84 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 a little too soon after dinner, and we've got 
 the whole evening before us. I'm afraid you'll 
 find it awfully dull with no one but me to 
 talk to.' 
 
 And Hollebone answered, — 
 
 ' Are you often " took sarcastic ? " ' but to 
 himself, ' Oh, blank that girl and her gush ! ' 
 and Kate went on, — 
 
 ' I wonder how it is that anyone who is 
 so great a scientist as yourself can possibly 
 condescend to care for so trivial a thing as 
 music' 
 
 ' Think I'm too stupid ? ' suggested Holle- 
 bone lightly. 
 
 ' Oh, no,' she answered, ' not exactly that, 
 only music is so simple, and requires such 
 little thought to make and understand, 
 whereas chemistry is a serious and dignified 
 study.' 
 
 ' Think so ? ' said Hollebone, who was be- 
 ginning to get cantankerous. 
 
 ' Why, yes,' she went on. ' Now all a com- 
 poser of music has to do is to find out a tune 
 on the piano, and then put some chords to 
 it, and then have it played on a dozen 
 fiddles and some trumpets and give it a name, 
 opera or symphony or anything. Well, and 
 then a painter merely takes a pencil and a piece 
 of paper and draws away and rubs out until 
 he gets something like something, and then 
 he takes a brush and puts paint on, and that's 
 practically all. And as for a poet, he just gets 
 a story, and rhymes " dove " with " love " and 
 " above," and then he's written a poem. But
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 85 
 
 a chemist is something really wonderful. He 
 can take a piece of iron and find out its com- 
 ponents and constituents in a minute, and 
 knows how long it will take for a stone to fall 
 from the top of a tower, and can understand 
 all sorts of queer signs, like eels and crabs, 
 that they call scruples and drachms, and that 
 S 2 means sulphuric acid. But just fancy a 
 stupid man of business, now, who sits all day 
 long and writes down figures and adds them 
 up again — and then a mere pianist or fiddler is 
 even more stupid, he only has to look at notes 
 and draw a bow across some squeaky strings.' 
 
 This was just a little too much for 
 Hollebone, who, like every true lover, 
 thought that his mistress's occupation must 
 of itself be infinitely above his own because 
 she engaged in it. He didn't mind Kate's 
 strictures upon composers, painters, and poets, 
 and rather liked her ignorance on the subject 
 of iron as an element, because it made him 
 feel very wise indeed, which was as a matter 
 of fact exactly what she had meant that it 
 should do ; but when it came to her estimate 
 of the genius that Edith needed he felt himself 
 struck on a raw spot. 
 
 ' My dear girl,' he said, • if you will allow 
 me a cousin's privilege of speaking a little 
 didactically, I would say you are talking ab- 
 ject nonsense. The exact reverse of what 
 you imagine is the true view of the case. 
 Anyone, by serious application and hard work, 
 can become a very decent chemist, but to 
 compose, and more especially to play the
 
 86 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 violin really well, needs a genius of the highest 
 order, such as I can never hope to attain.' 
 
 Kate said very humbly, — 
 
 'Well, cousin, I suppose you are right, be- 
 cause you know all about it, and I know very 
 little.' 
 
 But to herself she said, ' Good Lord, what 
 a fool I was not to remember that his beloved 
 might perhaps play the fiddle. I do nothing 
 but put my foot in it this evening.' 
 
 But Hollebone was beginning to repent 
 his rudeness at seeing her humbleness of 
 demeanour, and he said, — 
 
 ' Well, Kate, let's have a song now, if you've 
 had rest enough after dinner.' 
 
 And she answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, yes. Have you got any matches ? You 
 might just light the candles at the piano.' 
 
 He did so. 
 
 ' What would you like ? ' she asked. 
 
 And he answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, just anything you please.' 
 
 'Let'shave something old-fashioned to begin 
 with,' she said, and produced 'Batti, Batti, 
 singing it indifferent badly, as amateurs will 
 sing Mozart. Hollebone at the end paid her 
 the most brilliant compliments on her voice, 
 and begged for something more, whereupon 
 she accordingly essayed one of those terrible 
 ballads of a sentimental order, all about people 
 wandering over hills in all sorts of ' weathah,' 
 accompanied by a fiddle or a dog, and set to 
 a peculiarly diabolical waltz tune that goes 
 on jingling through one's head for hours after
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 87 
 
 the song has ceased sounding through the air. 
 Now it happened that, by some strange co- 
 incidence, Hollebone's beloved, whom he, 
 rightly or wrongly, thought to be possessed of 
 the most wonderfully sweet voice that ever 
 thrilled out into space, when she was more 
 than usually inclined to torment her unfor- 
 tunate lover, was in the habit of insisting on 
 singing this identical song, until he, who swore 
 by nothing but the Music of the Future, was 
 fain to stop the proceeding coercively. 
 
 Therefore when his fair cousin com- 
 menced this effusion his flesh began to creep, 
 and, what with her singing and the badness 
 of the song, he suffered frightfully. Never- 
 theless in spite of that he struggled gamely 
 through to the end, but all the same his 
 cousin noticed his agony, and when she had 
 finished, said, — 
 
 ' You don't like that, do you, cousin ? ' and 
 Hollebone replied, — 
 
 1 Why, I think I prefer even the " Message " 
 or Haydn's " Dream." ' 
 
 Kate smiled. 
 
 ' Well, it wasn't my fault that I gave it you. 
 You wouldn't say what sort you wanted. 
 That is one of a stock of such songs that I 
 keep for my aunt's lady friends. You prefer 
 the advanced German school, I suppose.' 
 
 And so she sang, more or less badly, one 
 or two more songs, but through the song of 
 the Lorcley, and through the ' Alphorn sound- 
 ing towards Strasburg,' through Schumann, 
 through List, Schubert, Franz, in spite of all
 
 88 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE 
 
 times and measures, that terrible waltz tune 
 whirred through his head, and even after- 
 wards when he was in bed trying vainly to 
 sleep the continual I, 2, 3-4, 5, 6 kept driving 
 his thoughts irresistibly to Edith, causing a 
 great loneliness to press like a heavy weight 
 on his heart. 
 
 And all the while his poor beloved was 
 lying awake, trying in vain to stifle even one 
 little thought of him — for she held it would be 
 sinful — just one little thought, deep down in 
 her heart. But she struggled and battled man- 
 fully and prayed for the dawn. 
 
 It was very dreadful to her to have been 
 under the same roof with, and even to have 
 touched her unconscious beloved for a second, 
 as she had that day, and yet to know that be- 
 tween them a gulf was fixed as impassable as 
 that which separates the Earth from Heaven. 
 And the grey morn crept in and saw her 
 struggling and battling and praying against 
 her desire.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Like a fine old English gentleman. 
 
 R KASKER-RYVES was a man 
 universally esteemed in his part 
 of the country. Of all who came 
 in contact with him there was no 
 one, not even the most spiteful, 
 that had a word to say against him, such were 
 the sterling good qualities of the man. The 
 vicar of the parish, who had, it must be con- 
 fessed, been reading one of Cardinal Newman's 
 sermons, was heard to remark that Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves possessed all the good qualities attri- 
 buted to St Paul, and the Wesleyan minister 
 fully endorsed the opinion of his brother of 
 the Established Church. The recipients of 
 his charity never had any complaints to make 
 of either stinginess or ostentation. They said 
 he gave for the mere pleasure of giving, as a 
 truly charitable man should do. 
 
 The county families of the vicinity, who 
 had at first resented the intrusion of a shop- 
 keeper into their very midst, became by de- 
 grees converted to a different view, from 
 familiarity, for one reason, and because, they
 
 90 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 said, of his real worth and polished manners, 
 but perhaps more than all because young 
 Kasker-Ryves when he had left college had 
 been in the habit of bringing down the scions 
 of the most noble houses in the land — dukes, 
 marquises, belted earls, and occasionally, with 
 awe be it spoken, a prince of the Blood Royal, 
 to shoot over the Blackstone moors. 
 
 The very poachers, whom it was part of Mr 
 Ryves's duty as a member of the Great Un- 
 paid to sentence to terms of durance vile, 
 always said that he did it in such a gentle- 
 manly manner that it was more a pleasure 
 than otherwise to be sentenced by him, and 
 even his servants pronounced him perfect in 
 every respect. Therefore it stands to reason 
 that he must be very perfect indeed if his 
 servants said so. 
 
 He was, in fact, Sir Roger de Coverley, 
 without any of the worthy baronet's want of 
 knowledge of the world — a fine old English 
 gentleman, without the repulsive bluntness 
 that must at times render that character un- 
 bearable in spite of his preternatural goodness 
 of heart. 
 
 This was Mr Kasker-Ryves — who that knew 
 him could forbear to love him ? 
 
 He bore his seventy odd years as though 
 they had been forty, was a very decent shot 
 even at that, and rode like a major-general on 
 parade, although it must be said that he had 
 of late given up hunting as too fatiguing. 
 
 The morning ensuing on the events re- 
 corded in our last chapter found him already
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 91 
 
 round on horseback, in spite of the snow that 
 lay thick on the ground, to ask how Miss 
 Kate felt after the last night's accident to 
 the carriage. Miss Kate's rosy cheeks and 
 sparkling eyes testified to the fact that her 
 health was in no wise impaired by the 
 accident, and Mr Ryves was truly delighted 
 to see it. 
 
 He also deprecated the misfortune that had 
 caused him to be the reason of Miss Hall- 
 byne's brougham upsetting, and hoped Miss 
 Hallbyne would avail herself of his brougham 
 until hers could be repaired. 
 
 Miss Hallbyne thanked him cordially for 
 the offer, but said she would have no use for 
 the brougham in any case, as she had the 
 close carriage and dog-cart to fall back upon, 
 besides which she would not be going out at 
 all while the weather lasted so bad. Mr 
 Ryves then turned to Hollebone, and begged 
 him to come and have a few shots at the 
 hares, which were very plentiful just then 
 near a copse on the borders where the Black- 
 stone and Hallbyne estates adjoined each 
 other. Hollebone said that he would be de- 
 lighted, provided his aunt would dispense 
 with his company until lunch time. Miss 
 Hallbyne consented readily enough. Mr 
 Ryves thereupon rode off home to get rid 
 of his horse, and to procure a gun and a 
 couple of beaters. 
 
 At Miss Hallbyne's suggestion Kate put 
 on her things and guided Hollebone down to 
 the house of the head-keeper, which lay a
 
 92 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 short distance from the Hall, almost hidden in 
 the trees of a young copse, and very beautiful 
 Kate looked, as even Hollebone must needs 
 acknowledge. Her face was flushed with the 
 cold and the exercise, and daintily her feet 
 ran in and out her petticoats as she picked 
 her way, tiptoed, where the snow lay lightest 
 along the road, whilst with the one hand she 
 held her dress gathered, and in the other a 
 basket. For Kate was a bearer of good 
 cheer to the needy among her aunt's tenants, 
 and a very bright and cheerful messenger of 
 good tidings too. And all the while she was 
 debating in her mind whether it would be 
 better to slip and fall altogether, so that he 
 must help her up, and they could laugh 
 merrily over the mishap, or merely to 
 slip and stumble against him as he walked. 
 Finally she decided on the latter course, and 
 when she had decided, how daintily she 
 fell against him, not heavily and clumsily, 
 but just a little slip sideways, and an ap- 
 pealing little touch on his arm as she saved 
 herself. 
 
 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said, in the 
 loveliest rosy confusion, 'but the road is so 
 slippery.' 
 
 And he answered, — 
 
 'Oh, don't mention it. Won't you take 
 my arm ? ' which was what she had meant he 
 should do. 
 
 She accepted his proffered support with a 
 smile. 
 
 ' Now if you fall we shall both go over
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 93 
 
 she said laughingly, and she leant on his arm 
 with a good deal of her light weight. 
 
 She knew very well what an intoxicating 
 sense of intimacy the pressure of an arm will 
 give a young man, and how exhilarating is a 
 brisk new-year morning with snow just whirl- 
 ing lightly down and the ground covered with 
 a pure white mantle, and she knew very well 
 how beautiful her face must look in the 
 brilliant light that the snow threw on it, and 
 how fair it must stand out against the great 
 black hat she had purposely put on. What 
 young man could resist the impulse of that 
 moment and fall over head and ears hope- 
 lessly in love with the beautiful face that was 
 smiling so enticingly near his own ? And 
 yet Kate recognised the tormenting certainty 
 that, spite of it all, Hollebone was by no 
 means falling in love, nor was there the 
 slightest inflexion in his voice to point to the 
 existence in him of such a state of mind, and 
 disgusted with her failure, she was delighted 
 when the keeper they were in search of came 
 round the corner, with his gun under his arm, 
 and his rosy cheeked son sauntering along 
 munching an apple contentedly and whistling 
 in an undertone. 
 
 The keeper was a shrewd -looking, brown- 
 bearded, weather-worn man, with 'North 
 country' printed everywhere on his face. 
 There was a curious twinkle in his eyes, which 
 accorded, perhaps, ill with the serious cast of 
 the lower part of his face. A kindly smile 
 lit up his face as he caught sight of Kate, —
 
 94 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Ah, good marnin', miss,' he said, as he 
 touched his hat. 
 
 And she answered, — 
 
 ' Good morning, Ben,' she said. ' This is 
 my cousin, Mr Hollebone.' 
 
 And the keeper said, — 
 
 ' Good marnin', sir.' 
 
 ' We were just coming to borrow a gun of 
 you,' Kate said. ' My cousin wants to shoot 
 with Mr Ryves before lunch, and the guns 
 up at the Hall want seeing to a little before 
 they'll be fit to use. You'll have to come up 
 for them.' 
 
 The keeper looked delighted. 
 
 1 Run, lad,' he said to his son, l run awhoam 
 as fast as thi legs can carry the' and fetch th' 
 new goon an' some cartridges. Yo' known 
 the number. Awe reckon yo'll be goin' to 
 shut deawn by the coppice, sir? An' Mr 
 Ryves'll be bringin' his own beaters? Are 
 yo' beawn any furrer wi' Miss Kate to'rds 
 the village, sir?' 
 
 But Kate, who had by this time left his 
 arm, refused his company steadfastly, saying 
 that he must not keep Mr Ryves waiting on 
 any account, and she turned her back reso- 
 lutely on him and walked towards the village. 
 The keeper thereupon turned towards Holle- 
 bone. 
 
 ' Well, sir,' he said, ' awe reckon since yo've 
 got yo'r leggin's on yo'll not be mindin' a 
 tramp through the snow wheer it lays a little 
 deep across the hollow. It'll save us a goodish 
 bit o' t' road, and awe'd like wi' your permis-
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 95 
 
 sion to cross t' spinney at t' hind end. Awe 
 tho't awe hcerd shuttin' last neet down that 
 away, but it were such a frightful night wi' t' 
 snaw an' all, and it didn't seem bcawn to tak' 
 oop at all, an' so, as awe didn't feel sure for 
 certain, awe didn't think it worth mi while.' 
 
 They turned into the snow, and for a time 
 the keeper was silent, until Hollebone hap- 
 pened by chance to ask him what sort of 
 a landlord Mr Ryves was, and the man's face 
 lit up with an expression of honest pleasure, 
 as North country faces will do when they 
 speak of a man they like out and out, and 
 he burst into a panegyric of Mr Ryves that 
 showed that Mr Ryves was enshrined in his 
 heart at least. 
 
 ' Th' Squire is as good a lonlord an' as 
 kind a mon as you'll find in a week's journey. 
 We say that, what wi' your aunt and Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves, the poor in the village live 
 a great deal better than we 'at addle our own 
 livin's. Miss Kate and Mr Ryves's house- 
 keeper are for ever in the village wi' soups 
 an' jellies an' suchlike mak' o' works. Now, 
 Squire Bampton's very different. He's a 
 regular skinflint, and squeezes for his rents, 
 an' never lets tuppence out of his pocket 
 when a penny'd do ; and Lord Tatton is as 
 bad, though they say that's along of his lord- 
 ship's bein' very hard up, and then his lordship 
 don't live here but up in London somewhere, 
 and his overseer squeezes like Owd Harry. 
 Not but what the young lord is a nice out- 
 spoken young felly, and they say he's goin' to
 
 96 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 marry a furriner — 'Merican, I think, with 
 plenty of money, so some o' that may come 
 into the estate. Here we are, sir, and here's 
 the Squire.' They had just turned the edge 
 of the copse. ' And there's his lordship too 
 — they've got a brace already.' 
 
 Mr Kasker - Ryves nodded cheerfully to 
 them as they came up. 
 
 ' Here you are,' he said. ' Let me introduce 
 Lord Tatton.' 
 
 Lord Tatton looked at him, and held out 
 his hand with a smile of recognition. 
 
 'How do, Holly, old boy?' he said cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 Hollebone shook his hand, but it was plain 
 to see that he did not recognise his interlocutor. 
 
 ' Glad to make your acquaintance,' he said. 
 
 His lordship looked surprised. 
 
 ' Come, this is too doosid cool of you, 'siderin' 
 how mashed you used to be on my sister. 
 How de do, Stinkey ? P'r'aps you'll remem- 
 ber me now? How much for sulphuretted 
 hydrogen ? ' 
 
 A light burst on Hollebone, and a smile 
 rippled his face. 
 
 ' Why, it's you, Bobby,' he said. ' Blowed if 
 I knew you, what with the handle to your 
 name and your moustache.' 
 
 ' Flattering to me, ain't it, Mr Ryves, con- 
 siderin' he and me was at school together. 
 Shared studies at Rugby, an' all that sort of 
 thing, doncher know ? ' 
 
 At that moment a hare ran out of the 
 thicket, and as no one was ready for it except
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 97 
 
 Mr Ryvcs, that veteran took it beautifully, 
 though to be sure it was an easy shot, and 
 the little creature rolled head over heels, with 
 a piteous squeal, and lay kicking, sending the 
 powdery snow flying in spraylike showers. 
 
 ' Run and kill the little beggar,' he said 
 calmly to the keeper, and then, turning to 
 the other two, ' Well, young men,' he said, ' I 
 don't think much of your sportsmanship — 
 neither of you ready.' 
 
 'Well, I've only just come up, and — ' 
 
 But at that moment a burst of assorted game 
 came out from the underwood, and all six of 
 their barrels told, for the shots were easy and 
 close. 
 
 ' Good business,' said his lordship. ' Wish 
 it wasn't so jolly cold, though — sorter freezes 
 a feller through, 'specially as I'm supposed to 
 be recruiting from typhoid, doncher know ? ' 
 
 1 Poor fellow,' said Hollebone sympathetic- 
 ally, ' you look like it,' and indeed his lord- 
 ship looked remarkably ruddily healthy. 
 
 ' Tell you what it is, Squire, your young 
 friend — that's what he called you, Holly — 
 your young friend wants sitting upon ; he ain't 
 sympathetic enough with interesting invalids.' 
 
 'Talking about invalids/ Mr Ryves said, 
 1 I'm sorry I can't ask you both over to lunch, 
 but my wife is far from well. In fact I almost 
 think I will go back and see how she is. I 
 called at the doctor's myself this morning, and 
 left word for him to come on and see her, but 
 he hadn't been when I came down here. You 
 must excuse me, but don't let me interrupt 
 E
 
 9S THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 your shooting. If you give the game to my 
 keeper, he will send it up to the Castle and 
 the Manor.' 
 
 ' Hope it's nothing serious with Mrs Ryves,' 
 said his lordship, and Mr Ryves answered, — 
 ' Oh, no ; I think she took a cold driving 
 home last night. A touch of the influenza 
 maybe,' and he walked off homewards, look- 
 ing as he went across the snow every inch a 
 grand gentleman of the old school. 
 
 ' Tell you what it is, Stinkey,' said his lord- 
 ship, ' I vote we chuck it up too and go 
 home. P'r'aps your aunt'll give me a drink. 
 Anyhow, I'll go round your way on the chance 
 of it. Got any coin for the beaters ? I 
 haven't got a sou in my pocket.' 
 
 Hollebone having arranged that matter to 
 the satisfaction of all concerned, the two young 
 men walked away and began to reminisce. 
 
 ' Well, old boy,' the lord began, when they 
 were out of the hearing, 'and how has the 
 world been usin' you ? ' 
 
 Hollebone replied that he had managed to 
 rub along somehow, and asked for information 
 about his noble companion's career. 
 
 ' Oh, I,' said that noble peer, ' I've been 
 sowing my wild oats ever since the old Earl 
 my uncle died. I've been going the pace 
 regularly. Played the very doose with my 
 money. The dad gives me a pretty liberal 
 allowance. I don't mind telling you he ain't 
 any too flush himself, and so the year before 
 last I had a regular smash up with my duns, 
 well on towards six figures, and the dad said
 
 THE SHIFTING OF 'THE FIRE. 99 
 
 he wouldn't give me another monkey. If I 
 wanted to live I should have to stop in his 
 house, and give in my accounts weekly — pretty 
 stiff on me, wasn't it ? However, I was pretty 
 sick of my life, and so I tried to reform, and 
 as the dad and my mother were going to 
 yacht it round the world, and the other fellows 
 chaffed me rather about my reforming, I 
 thought I'd go with 'em. You see the gover- 
 nor wanted to save a little, and so he let the 
 house in Grosvenor Square, and stuck a regular 
 deuce of a bailiff at Tatton here, and then 
 we went. 'Twasn't half so dull as you might 
 have thought — really, now, I ain't joking — an' 
 we saw all sorts of queer things — mummies 
 and pyramids, and cannibals and monks and 
 monkeys, and all the things one sees when one 
 goes round the world. You haven't been? 
 Ought to go, 'tain't half so bad, really. Well, I 
 went overland across America, and the dad and 
 the mater went round. They took up the Earl 
 and Countess of Stene — your flame, you know. 
 I never could get on with Trix, nor Stene 
 neither for that matter, and so I left at San 
 Francisco and went overland to New York, 
 and on the cars, that's what they call the trains, 
 you know, over there, an' it takes a whole 
 week to get across. Well, on the cars there 
 was an old bloke and his daughter, who'd been 
 doin' the world too, and was also going right 
 through, an' so I thought it wouldn't be a 
 bad thing to have a flirtation,' specially as she 
 was a regular stunner, and so I made myself 
 agreeable to the old bloke, but blow me if I
 
 ioo THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 didn't fall slap in love with the girl. I didn't 
 know I had a heart before — but somehow 
 there was somethin' about that girl that quite 
 took my breath away, and so — But the 
 funny part of it was, tho' p'r'aps you won't 
 believe me, she had read a lot of books, and 
 knew about poetry and painting and suchlike 
 things that one usually thinks are snobbish; 
 and, really it's gospel truth, what with one 
 thing and another, when she talked about that 
 sort of thing I really felt such a fool not to 
 know anything about it that I, joking aside, 
 read some poetry on the sly, by a feller called 
 Rossetti. Ever hear of him? No, really? Have 
 you read some of him ? Well, and the funny 
 part of it was that some of it seemed to sort 
 of fit me the way I felt to a T. And there 
 was one poem about the Blessed Damozel. 
 Know that, too ? Well, it goes — 
 
 The Blessed Damozel leaned out from the gold- 
 barred gates of Heaven, 
 
 She had three lilies in her hand, and the stars in 
 her hair were seven, 
 
 And her eyes — 
 
 Well I don't know how it goes on, but I 
 know it seemed to me he must be talking 
 of Muriel, and somehow I felt awfly bad 
 about her — awfly — though she was a Yank. 
 Ton my word I really fell in love with 
 her, though you won't believe it. I didn't 
 know, and I shouldn't have cared if I had 
 known, that her father was the richest man 
 in the States — almost. His name is Gubb.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 101 
 
 Really I didn't do it for the 'oof, I swear it, 
 and so, one day I went down on my knees to 
 her and told her, and she said she'd have me 
 — but I felt so bad about it that I told her I'd 
 been rather a rough lot during five years or so, 
 and she said that if I really loved her, and 
 all that sort of thing y'know, she didn't care 
 what I'd done so long as it wasn't downright 
 damned, and I ain't been that altogether — and 
 so the long and short of it was I wrote to the 
 pater about it, and he said he didn't mind. 
 To tell the truth, he was only too glad I should 
 bring a little cash into the family, and we've 
 got blood enough to do for half a hundred 
 Yanks even, and so we were engaged. I 
 was almost afraid it wasn't me but the title 
 Muriel cared for. But one night, Ryves, this 
 fellow's son — he's a damned beast — yes, I 
 can't help it, though Muriel made me promise 
 not — he is a damned beast — well, he and Tup- 
 pence, and the Duke, they're all in the same 
 boat, it happened that they were all in New 
 York together on some devilry, and they heard 
 what was on the cards, and so they came and 
 made me — yes, they made me — I was sorter 
 ashamed to refuse — come and make a night 
 of it like old times, and the beasts they made 
 me squiffey — regularly squiffcy, although I 
 took precious little on purpose ; but they 
 doctored everything I took, and put gin in my 
 whisky instead of water, and then they took 
 me and laid me on her doorstep, an' I lay there 
 all through the night, 'cos the bobby who 
 found me knew I was too drunk to walk and
 
 102 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 he was too lazy to send for an ambulance. 
 Well, in the morning, what with the drink 
 and the fear that Muriel would chuck me over, 
 I was in a high fever, and I simply was a 
 candidate for Bedlam for three weeks, an' 
 through it all Muriel nursed me like an angel 
 — and made herself ill over it, too. An' then 
 they sent me off to England, and Muriel is to 
 follow in three weeks' time, and in a month 
 we're to be married. Meanwhile I've come 
 down here just to keep out of harm's way, 
 'cos I can't trust myself. And now you know 
 all about it, old boy, and I've made a virtuous 
 resolve. I don't know how it'll please you. 
 I'm going to hang on to you for three weeks, 
 and go only where you go, 'cos I know you 
 were always a steady-goin' fellow, and you'll 
 keep me in the right groove. Somehow or 
 other I can't keep in it myself.' 
 Hollebone smiled. 
 
 ' I'm afraid you won't have much of a time 
 with me,' he said. ' Hadn't you better hang 
 on to old Mr Kasker-Ryves. He'd keep you 
 straighter than ever I should, and he's a jolly 
 old fellow from all accounts, and you'd find 
 me rather dull company.' 
 His lordship shook his head. 
 ' I have been trying him for a week,' he 
 said, ' but he's so wrapped up in his wife that 
 it's rather dull hearing him rave about nothing 
 but her. Otherwise he's a good old fellow 
 enough, and he gets on well with anyone. 
 T'other day he had a poacher brought before 
 him, and instead of stickin' the man in quod
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 103 
 
 he gave him a lecture on the cruelty of wiring 
 hares instead of shooting them, and then told 
 him he might go, and he was to ask the 
 steward to give him work on Blackstone if he 
 found any difficulty in getting it. Brent, 
 that's our bailiff, told me he's reclaimed quite 
 a lot of blackguards that way, and made them 
 decent members of society. Jolly old boy, too, 
 don't preach at all, and knows a lot of good 
 stories that he can tell even before his wife. 
 I know I've written some of 'em down so that 
 I can tell 'em to Muriel, 'cos although tellin' 
 stories is awful bad form, somehow Muriel 
 seems to like it — an' I don't know any stories 
 that one can tell a girl, doncher know ? — but I 
 told her one, you know, about the Texas 
 Ranger an' Hell an' the sulphur, an' she 
 laffed — she did, 'pon my word. Yes, old 
 Ryves is a good old boy, even though he is 
 rather a bore when he gets on the subject of 
 his wife — but, then, fellers are rather that way, 
 ain't they? I mean when they're really in 
 love. But I tell you what it is, his son — the 
 young 'un they call him, an' he looks it, but 
 he's over forty if he's a day — he's a regular 
 out an' out blackguard, even though I ain*t 
 been particularly squeamish. He really is. I'd 
 no more let him speak to Muriel, or to any 
 decent girl, than I'd — I'd knock his head off 
 first. He used to be in the reg. when I was 
 there, before I got my title y'know and had 
 to move when the dad cut off the supplies ; 
 but that feller, he was such a blackguard out 
 an' out that the boys cut him, and you know
 
 104 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 fellers in a regiment ain't — well, any too 
 starched that away. Funny that such a good 
 father should have such a frightful son. I say, 
 old boy, you won't give me away, will you?' 
 1 As how ? ' asked Hollebone. 
 ' I mean what I told you about Muriel. 
 Somehow it sorter slipped out natural like to 
 you, 'cos we were always so much together 
 at school, an' I almost felt like old times. 
 Tell you what it is, old boy, when you get in 
 love, I mean like I am, you feel bad all over. 
 I know, when I thought she was going to 
 chuck me after all, it wasn't a pain in the 
 mind so much, but I felt as if someone had 
 stuck a fish-hook in my throat and was pull- 
 ing it. An' now, even though I've only been 
 away from her three weeks, I feel sore all over. 
 You don't know what it is to be in love — I 
 mean real, not as the fellers are about a 
 gal.' 
 
 Hollebone groaned in his spirit. 
 ' I know all about it,' he said wearily. 
 'No, do you, honour bright? Look here 
 now, you tell me all about it. You let me 
 run on and pump me dry and never tell me 
 a word.' 
 
 'Well, I really haven't got anything to tell 
 you,' said Hollebone. ' I just heard her play 
 at a concert she gave, and somehow or other 
 I regularly "flopped." That was the long 
 and short of it.' 
 
 'Well, but what sort of concert was it 
 — charity, or a drawing-room thing of the 
 mamma ? ' asked his lordship.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 105 
 
 1 Why, neither ; just a concert she gave — 
 a professional.' 
 
 ' Oh, come, Holly, that's too good,' said his 
 lordship ruefully. ' Do you really mean to 
 say you're going to marry a music-hall singer 
 or a bally-gal, you who were always so flush 
 of tin? Not but what I've known people of 
 that sort who kept quite straight, too,' he 
 added apologetically, seeing that his friend's 
 face was clouded over. 
 
 ' Look here,' said Hollebone, disengaging 
 himself from his friend's arm, at which that 
 youth looked the picture of ingenuous sur- 
 prise. ' Look here, your lordship, I don't 
 know whether you are speaking like this to be 
 purposely insulting to me, but by Heaven' — 
 Hollebone was working himself into a fright- 
 ful temper — ' by Heaven, if you do not this 
 instant apologise for what you have said I will 
 knock you down — upon my word and honour 
 as an Englishman. Edith is a lady whom you 
 are not fit to speak to. What do you mean 
 by it ? Do you think you can dare to speak 
 to me like this because I am ruined, bankrupt, 
 dishonoured, anything you like?' 
 
 His lordship answered, quite clearly and 
 frankly, — 
 
 1 Now, look here, Clem, don't be a fool. I 
 didn't mean to insult you, or the lady either. 
 I give you my word, by all that's sacred. I 
 didn't, and I don't even know now what I have 
 said to annoy you so awfully, really.' 
 
 Clement was hardly to be appeased so soon. 
 He immediately launched out into a vein of
 
 106 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 very flimsy sarcasm at his lordship's expense, 
 which his lordship took very humbly, for to 
 tell the truth he, although like us all at 
 heart very selfish, yet was trying to mend his 
 ways, and even open out his views against the 
 narrowness of his ignorance, rather than pre- 
 judice, under the light that had streamed into 
 him from the West. Of course, too, Clement 
 should have made allowances for the young 
 lord's bringing up, and not have let out at 
 him in his fine vein of sarcasm — of which, to 
 do him justice, he repented immediately after- 
 ward — besides which the poor fellow had been 
 having a bad time of it for the last three 
 months, and having someone at last on whom 
 he could vent his wrath, and whose feelings 
 he felt confident he could hurt, he did it to 
 the very best of his ability, and then leaned 
 his back moodily against the gate that led 
 into the highroad, at which they had by this 
 time arrived, staring into the snow, awaiting 
 his lordship's reply, which ran thus : — 
 
 ' My dear fellow, 'pon my word I think 
 you're right, and that people that go in for art 
 and po'try and music, and that sort of thing, are 
 really better than fellows like us, that is, like 
 me I mean, who do nothing but loaf. I never 
 looked at it that way before y'know, and it 
 comes rather strange, and it just fits in with 
 what Muriel says too, and so I suppose it 
 must be right. I say you don't think that if 
 I had a music-master, an' swatted awfully 
 hard for three weeks, I should learn to play 
 the music for her songs when she sings ? '
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 107 
 
 An unwilling smile flickered over the face 
 of Hollebone. 
 
 ' No, I don't think you could, your lordship,' 
 he said. 
 
 ' How long would it take me, do you think ? ' 
 (anxiously). ' I would like to give Muriel a 
 surprise.' 
 
 Hollebone was thawing rapidly. 
 
 'It's just possible,' he said gravely, 'that 
 if you practised very hard indeed in two 
 years' time you might be able to make a 
 very bad accompanist, but you'd have to go 
 at it very hard indeed.' 
 
 His lordship's face fell dismally. 
 
 ' You ain't jokin' ? ' he asked. ' It looks so 
 jolly easy. All these things do. It always 
 seemed as if it'd be the easiest thing in the 
 world to play the piano or make some po'try. 
 I did try to make some once, but I got stuck 
 first line. I couldn't find a word to rhyme 
 with Muriel except Escurial — that's the place 
 in Spain where they've got a lot of nigger 
 writings — Moors, they call 'em — • not the 
 Scotch sort — but, then, Muriel and Escurial 
 wouldn't fit together, 'cos if I said 
 
 I first met Muriel 
 In the Escurial 
 
 it wouldn't be true, 'cos I met her in San 
 Francisco.' 
 
 Hollebone could stand it no longer, and 
 laughed outright 
 
 ' Things are not what they seem, doncher 
 know?' he said cheerfully ; ' people who go in
 
 108 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 for art want plenty of brains, not like you 
 and me, if you'll excuse my rudeness.' 
 
 For a moment his lordship looked straight 
 at his friend, with a world of meditation in 
 his eyes. They were still standing at the 
 gate, and the snow lay more thickly piled 
 where they were, for the wind had blown it 
 into a drift. 
 
 'Tell you what it is, Holly, me boy,' 
 said he suddenly, ' I don't know what you 
 feel like, but my feet are gettin' doosid cold. 
 If you don't mind, I'll just walk on while 
 you're leaning against that gate, 'cos, jokin' 
 apart, I really am rather shaky after the fever 
 I had in New York.' 
 
 Hollebone stood up straight, with a start. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' he said, ' I was 
 thinking.' 
 
 'Were you now?' said his lordship; 'and 
 what were you thinking of? ' 
 
 ' I was thinking of her,' said Hollebone. 
 
 ' Really now,' his friend replied. ' And what 
 was her name ? You know you ain't half con- 
 fidential enough after all I've told you.' 
 
 ' Well, it's Edith Ryland,' said Hollebone. 
 
 ' Eh ? ' said his lordship, feeling quite scared. 
 ' Whafs the name ? ' 
 
 'Edith Ryland. Why, do you know her?' 
 asked Hollebone. 
 
 'Not exactly — that is, I met her once at 
 a hop. Rather like one of Rossetti's pictures, 
 only she don't wear her hair long, and it isn't 
 red. That's the style, ain't it ? ' 
 
 Hollebone nodded.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 109 
 
 ' You've about struck it,' he said simply, 
 not being given to rhapsodising out loud. 
 
 ' Good Lord ! ' said his lordship to himself. 
 ' Now I can understand why Mrs Ryvcs 
 looks so pale and is taken ill suddenly. Tell 
 you what it is, this bloke'll be committin' 
 suicide if I don't look after him. I know I 
 would if that were to happen to me. Poor 
 gal, they must have sold her at home to that 
 old beast, though he ain't a beast neither. I 
 s'pose it ain't his fault. Holly don't seem to 
 know anything about it neither. I'm awf'ly 
 sorry for him — awf'ly. He is a good feller, 
 though perhaps he's rather stiff. He said 
 something about being ruined too. Wonder 
 what he meant? I s'pose it'll come out 
 sooner or later, but I really must look after 
 him and see he don't find out about her 
 being married. Old Ryves might die even 
 before he did if I'm careful, though the girl 
 looks rather as if she'd go off the hooks before 
 him, poor old boy. It's rather hard lines for 
 him too, 'cos he seems awfully fond of her. 
 I know I should feel awful bad if I thought 
 Muriel loved some other feller and only 
 married me for the title. I know what I'll 
 do,' and he said aloud, — 
 
 1 1 say, Holly, what engagements have you 
 got for the next three weeks ? ' 
 
 Hollebone answered, — 
 
 ■ Well, I'm going down to Dymchurch the 
 day after to-morrow, just to see someone. I 
 shall probably come back the same day, and 
 then it just depends how long I shall be free.'
 
 no THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Well, look here, old boy,' said his lordship, 
 ' I'm going to hang on to you just as long 
 as you're here, whether you like it or not. 
 Otherwise I don't know what might happen 
 to me. Young Ryves might come down and 
 make me go to the devil again.' 
 
 Hollebone smiled. 
 
 ' I'm sure I've no objection to it,' he said. 
 ' Only I don't know what my aunt will say to 
 your continually dragging me away, to say 
 nothing of the fact that I'm awfully in the 
 dumps just now, and you'll find me very dull.' 
 
 1 What's gone wrong with your works ? ' 
 asked his lordship artfully. ' Won't the girl 
 have you ? ' 
 
 'No, it isn't that,' Hollebone replied; 'but 
 the matter is simply that I'm ruined, abso- 
 lutely cleaned out. Haven't got a penny in 
 this world that I can call my own. Well, of 
 course, I don't mind that' — his lordship groaned 
 — ' but Edith's parents won't let her marry me, 
 doncher see? and of course as she's still a 
 minor she can't do it, and so I've got to wait 
 a couple of years, and even then I don't see 
 how I can manage it. In the meanwhile I've 
 promised not to see her or speak about her 
 until then, and so you must keep it dark 
 y'know. So you can just guess how I feel, 
 because I'm fifty times more in love than you 
 are, and I haven't seen her for nearly four 
 months.' 
 
 His lordship said, — 
 
 ' Poor beggar, I pity you,' and he meant it. 
 ' But what are you going to do to get a living ?
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 1 1 1 
 
 I s'posc you can't become a rook if you want 
 to marry and settle down ? ' 
 
 Hollebone smiled. 
 
 ' I don't know whether you really want to 
 insult me particularly,' he said. ' No, I'm not 
 going to become a rook. I'm just going to 
 become an ordinary country doctor. Pleasant 
 prospect, ain't it ? ' 
 
 His lordship, however, said, — 
 
 'Well, I don't know. If you love your girl as 
 much as I love Muriel, you'd be content to go 
 about the world with a barrel-organ if only 
 you could go with her. I say, old boy, are you 
 very hard up? I can lend you three or four hun- 
 dred if you like. They might last you a month 
 y'know, and I'm rather flush just at present.' 
 
 But Hollebone refused the offer. 
 
 ' I s'pose,' his lordship went on, • you've 
 come down to cultivate your aunt here. She's 
 got plenty of 'oof — half a milion at least, I 
 should say, counting the estate — and I s'pose 
 you want some sort of a pickin' out of it. I 
 tell you what it is, your aunt's a doosid good 
 old lady — she is, 'pon my word. When she 
 heard I was down here all alone she gave me 
 a sort of general permission to make the Hall 
 my home if I found the Castle too dull for me. 
 I haven't done it as yet, 'cos I'm rather afraid 
 of your aunt, to tell the truth, but I'm goin' to 
 drop in with you to-day. Tell you what it is, 
 your cousin (I s'pose she is your cousin) is an 
 awf ly pretty girl. I wonder you don't fall in 
 love with her, then you'd get the money be- 
 tween you for sure.'
 
 H2 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Hollebone smiled. 
 
 ' There are two objections, I think, to that 
 plan. In the first place, I don't want Kate, 
 and in the second Kate don't want me, and 
 besides — ' 
 
 ' How do, my lord ? ' a voice came from 
 behind them, and the identical Miss Kate was 
 standing there smiling and holding out her 
 hand to the young lord. 
 
 • How do, Miss Kate ? ' said that nobleman, 
 nowise abashed. ' I was just telling your 
 cousin that I'm coming up to the Hall to take 
 pot-luck, since your aunt has been kind 
 enough to give me a sort of general invita- 
 tion, doncher know ? ' 
 
 Kate smiled. 
 
 ' I dessay you'll get plenty to eat if Cousin 
 Clement has always such a small appetite as 
 he had last night. I think he must be in love, 
 my lord.' 
 
 ' Think so ? ' Hollebone answered calmly. 
 
 ' Yes, I think so. Oh, by-the-bye, I met Dr 
 Long in the village, and he said he had just 
 been to see Mrs Ryves, and that she seemed 
 to be suffering from influenza and nervous 
 prostration.' 
 
 ' Queer thing that for such a young girl to 
 suffer from,' said Hollebone cynically. 
 
 ' Yes, isn't it?' Kate replied. ' It doesn't look 
 like a love match, does it — anyhow, at least on 
 the bride's part, though everyone says that 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves is most devoted. He is 
 such a good man ; but money will buy any- 
 thing — except love.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 113 
 
 ' Oh, come,' said his lordship more earnestly 
 than was his wont, ' what's the use of pulling 
 a poor girl's character to pieces — she hasn'i 
 done anyone any harm ? Why should you do 
 it, you know ? ' 
 
 'Hello, Bobby,' said Hollcbone jocularly, 
 1 what's the matter with you ? I never knew 
 you stand up for anyone before. It's lucky 
 Mr Ryves is not of a jealous disposition or we 
 might find you one morning stuck through 
 the weasand. It's just as plain as a pikestaff 
 that the girl has either been forced into marry- 
 ing him, or else she's done it simply for the 
 money — probably six of one and half-a-dozen 
 of the other— and all the while she's in love 
 with some young fool, and now she's begin- 
 ning to find it rather dull, or the old boy 
 doesn't hop the twig as fast as she'd like. 
 That's about the sum total of the matter.' 
 
 ' Them's my sentiments,' said Kate, casting 
 a laughing glance towards Hollcbone, and all 
 the while he was thinking, 'What a mean 
 wretch he is to kick a poor girl when she's 
 down like that. Now, I like the lord much 
 better for standing up for her, even though it 
 does look a little fishy, after he's been hang- 
 ing about there all last week.' 
 
 But his lordship was saying gravely, — 
 
 ' I don't think anyorxo. who knew Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves could wish him dead.' 
 
 And in that all three concurred, for to 
 know Mr Kasker-Ryves was to love him. 
 
 But the three went into the house, and 
 were received with effusion by Miss Hallbyne.
 
 H4 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 During the lunch Lord Tatton was unusu- 
 ally silent and thoughtful, but Kate and Holle- 
 bone kept up a lively flow of conversation. 
 
 The poor little girl was beginning to hate 
 her cousin with remarkable intensity, for she 
 had realised but too well that, try as she might, 
 it was useless ; he seemed determined not to 
 care for her,and her heartwas beginning to ache 
 at her non-success, and when a heart begins 
 to ache in two days, what will it do in a fort- 
 night ? One must needs feel sorry for her, 
 even though it was her own fault, but she wept 
 very bitterly the night before he went away, 
 and treated him very, very coldly when he said 
 good-bye. And, of course, the moral is, that 
 it's just as well to find out whether one's own 
 heart is quite proof against everything before 
 entering into schemes of a perilous kind. 
 
 Lord Tatton laughed outright when the 
 Ryves' annual tenants' ball had to be put off 
 on account of Mrs Kasker- Ryves illness. 
 
 ' Hollebone seems to be doosid fond of 
 making girls ill, but I wonder how he'll feel 
 himself, poor fellow, when he finds out. I'm 
 awfly sorry for him — awf'ly. And I'm sorry 
 for the girl too ; she must be wretched.' 
 
 In the whole country-side he was the only 
 one who had a good word for poor Edith, 
 and, indeed, what could they find to say 
 good about it? If one makes mistakes, even 
 though when very young, they must be paid 
 for with tears and lamentations. 
 
 But everyone pitied poor Mr Kasker-Ryves.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Despair is Hope just dropped asleep 
 
 For better chance of dreaming.— Blackmorc. 
 
 ERILY the ways of Providence 
 are inscrutable,' or at least that 
 was the opinion of Lord Tatton 
 on the morning that he drove 
 with Hollebone to the station. 
 Needless to say, his lordship did not express 
 himself in those exact words, because I doubt 
 whether his vocabulary contained so abstruse 
 a word as ' inscrutable,' but he meant to think 
 it, express it how he would. 
 
 For here had Hollebone been for three 
 whole weeks, within sound of cockcrow from 
 the house of his beloved, nay, had even 
 lunched within her walls, in a country-side 
 where she and her husband formed the staple 
 topic of gossip after the inevitable meteoro- 
 logical remarks — he had spoken of her a 
 hundred times, and yet despite it all he was 
 blissfully ignorant of the real facts of the case. 
 The time of his sojourn at Blackstone Edge 
 had passed over, and he felt that his life of 
 idleness was for ever over, and gone irrevocably, 
 and through his veins ran the joy of vigour
 
 u6 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 and strength of labour, and his being tingled 
 at the thought that each hour that he passed 
 in toil would bring him nearer to Edith, and 
 that it would be by his own merits that he 
 would have gained her, and not through the 
 toiling and moiling of his or her forefathers. 
 Thus it cast almost a damp on his enthusiasm 
 when Cheetham, the lawyer, for whom his 
 aunt had sent {Poor Kate), and who was, 
 moreover, his own legal adviser, informed 
 him, with a twinkle in his grey eyes, that 
 the creditors of Hollebone, Clarkson & Co. 
 seemed more amenable to conciliation, inas- 
 much as through his, Mr Cheetham's, unre- 
 mittent efforts several claims for insurance 
 had been disallowed in actions at law, and 
 that he, for his part, saw now additional 
 reasons against the step which Hollebone 
 insisted on taking, although he, for his part, 
 deprecated it most strongly. And Aunt Joan 
 joined her entreaties to Mr Cheetham's after 
 that gentleman had taken his departure. She 
 had from the first been averse to his leaving 
 her at all, and would gladly have had him 
 live at the Hall with her until she died. 
 
 1 Where was the good,' she said, 'of a young 
 man who, in any case' — she took care to em- 
 phasise this phrase — 'would be worth between 
 five and six thousand a year in a compara- 
 tively short time, where was the good of his 
 burying himself in a country village when he 
 might easily snap up a wife with an income 
 of nearly the same amount, and settle down 
 and live happily for the rest of his life ? '
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 117 
 
 And Aunt Joan, with her simple acutcness, 
 noticed that Hollebone blushed, and she was 
 mightly pleased thereat. But, to tell the truth, 
 Lord Tatton had made that very suggestion 
 to him the same morning, and it may be that 
 one reason that Hollebone was so anxious to 
 get away from the Hall was that, to his horror 
 and alarm, he had found on reflection and 
 inward self-communing that he was not as 
 entirely indifferent to his beautiful cousin as 
 was compatible with his love for Edith, and 
 like his friend Lord Tatton he decided to 
 flee the temptation ingloriously. He began 
 now to understand why it was that his cousin 
 always flushed when he spoke to her, and 
 why at other times she was so silent and her 
 fair face so overcast. If that was what had 
 come about in three weeks, what would 
 happen in three months ? In fact Hollebone 
 began to get quite conceited, nevertheless he 
 thought it better not to brave the danger. 
 
 Therefore poor Miss Hallbyne, in whom, as 
 in the English race, sentimentalism lurks 
 predominant, subcutaneous — for our subtlety 
 and schism is but skin deep, protest how we 
 will — Miss Hallbyne must perforce forego the 
 company of Clement, who from very strength 
 of old associations had grown to be almost 
 the apple of her eye. And I have little doubt 
 that the poor old lady, stiff and starched as 
 she was, cried a little the night before he 
 departed, for the sight of him had caused the 
 return to her mind of an old, sweet sorrow, 
 and she had grown old and feeble, and her
 
 nS THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 frame was ill able to stand even the shadow, 
 falling thus after long years, of a passion that 
 had once moved her in her most occult being. 
 
 But despite the advice of the lawyer, the 
 evident grief of his aunt, the ill-concealed love 
 of his cousin, and the saturnine hints of the 
 peer, Hollebone stood firm in his resolve, and 
 his friend determined to see him through with 
 it, or as he said, he wanted to keep straight 
 for just two days more, 'cos then Muriel would 
 be in London and he would be all right. 
 
 Therefore, in the early grey of the morning, 
 they drove off from the Hall, over the snow- 
 covered country into the cloud-veiled future. 
 But though the morning had been white-grey 
 from its earliness when they had set out, when 
 they reached the end of their rail journey, and 
 yet they had eight miles to go, it was already 
 sunset, rose-grey in the west, and eastwards 
 yellow-grey, with moonrise through the mist, 
 and the greynesses met in a circle round the 
 horizon, but overhead the sky-blue darkened 
 from the earth towards the peak of heaven, 
 and above the mist the stars showed pale, the 
 large ones each with a ring or halo around it, 
 and the small ones glinting but seldom as they 
 caught the eye. Around, the earth was white 
 with its mantle of snow, save where the wind 
 had blown away the covering from the hedge- 
 rows, leaving black gaps therein, or where the 
 white of the roadway was soiled with slight 
 traffic of carts and men. 
 
 Blythborough is a town whose prosperity 
 has long since gone to the grave, and 'Ichabod'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 119 
 
 been written all over it. Nothing remains 
 to bear witness to its former greatness but 
 a great grey gaunt church and the ruins 
 of an old monastery, that throw up great 
 shafts of solid masonry to heaven. There is, 
 too, an old, old inn, with a great oak ceiling to 
 one of its rooms, and an old, old oak staircase, 
 which seem to cry with every creak, ' Yes, 
 yes, say what you will. We can dream of 
 beauties long in the grave, and of the old 
 time, long before yours, when England was 
 merry England.' 
 
 To this inn it was that Hollebone and his 
 friend proceeded in the vain hope of finding 
 a conveyance on to Dymchurch. Mine host 
 refused, and very reasonably too, to saddle 
 his ox or his ass or anything that was his. 
 
 ' Eight mile to Dymchurch, and eight mile 
 back, and the horse can only go at a walking 
 pace for fear of falling. That means five 
 hours, and in this bitter cold never a man can 
 do it, let alone a horse ; and there'll be a frost 
 this night such as never was in England before. 
 If you want to get there you'll have to walk it. 
 You can leave your luggage here, and I will 
 send it on by the carrier in the morning for 
 you. Not that I should advise you to try the 
 walk. It won't be very dark to-night, but 
 you might quite easily lose the road, for in 
 places there are no hedgerows, and the snow 
 lies thick.' 
 
 But nothing would suit them both but that 
 they must set forth on the walk, snow or no 
 snow, cold or no cold, and so, having re-
 
 120 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 freshed and paid, they travelled on at a good 
 stride, significant of steadfastness of purpose. 
 The earth hugged itself under its covering, and 
 trees took strange forms in the misty middle 
 distance — nor was there man, beast, nor bird 
 abroad to testify that aught would ever come 
 to life again, and in truth there was little to 
 tell that anything had ever lived save the 
 forms of dead songbirds that here and there 
 lined the hedges. Then must the traveller 
 on the road, perforce, adopt a swift pace from 
 very strength of the cold, neither heed in his 
 haste the slippery places of the road, but pass- 
 ing, with whatsoever luck God vouchsafe him, 
 over all alike ; and bad it is for him if he be not 
 warmly clad from tip of toe to end of nose. 
 Neither cares he much to converse with his 
 fellow, lest in turning his head to one side he 
 uncover an ear that now is sheltered warmly 
 by the collar of his coat, but he keeps his face 
 as steadfastly fixed whitherward he goes, and 
 gets in anticipation what joy he can from the 
 warm fireside that awaits him at his journey's 
 end. 
 
 ' I say, Holly, old boy,' said his lordship 
 suddenly, 'did you ever read anything by 
 Daudet the Frenchman, doncher know ? ' 
 
 1 Why, yes, I've read the immortal Tar- 
 tarin's adventures,' Holiebone replied. 
 
 ' No, I don't mean those,' said his lordship ; 
 ' they're funny. As a general rule one's apt 
 to read French novels when one wants some- 
 thing a little fishy, or at least I used to, you 
 know. I don't do it since — since I knew her.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 121 
 
 But, you know, lately I've been tryin' to read 
 some books, and so I went to a feller who I 
 knew knew all about 'em and asked him to 
 lend me some 'at it'd do a chap good to read, 
 and among 'em was one by Daudet. Lcttrcs 
 de vwn Moulin, I think he called 'em, and in 
 'em was a short story that this landscape here, 
 with the snow and stars, reminded me of, 'cos 
 it's like a picture of the birth of Christ. It 
 was about a couple of Provencal recruits who 
 were dying in a hospital on Christmas day, 
 somewhere in the north of France, in the time 
 of the war, you know, and one of 'em sings a 
 song, a carol, or something that ends up — 
 
 Bergers, 
 
 Prenez vos conges, 
 
 and then he dies — but it's so lovely you've no 
 idea. I read it to Muriel, and she cried out- 
 right over it, she did, and it almost made me 
 feel bad. It was just the look of the snow and 
 those hills behind us made me think it was 
 like Christmas time, an' so the thing came into 
 my mind, you see.' 
 
 ' Funny,' said Hollcbone reflectively, ' but 
 those same bells made me think of New Year, 
 although we're nearly into February now. 
 Edith used to sing something about bells 
 ringing out to the sky. Tennyson I think it 
 was. 
 
 Ring out the old, ring in the new, 
 Ring out the false, ring in the true, 
 
 and it goes on about, "Ring out the some- 
 thing lust for gold." And it always seemed so 
 F
 
 122 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 funny that she should sing about "lust for 
 gold," or about falseness either, for that matter, 
 because she never cared a bit about money.' 
 
 ' Poor fellow,' said his lordship to himself, 
 'how he would squirm if he knew the truth; 
 but I don't see how he's to find out about it 
 until poor old Ryves dies, and then it'll be all 
 right again. Holly never seems to think about 
 anything or anyone else but that girl.' 
 
 As a matter of fact, he never did see 
 anything — a house, a sparrow, a toothbrush, 
 or what you will — without its in some way 
 bringing to his mind the form of his beloved ; 
 and round his heart there lay an aching pain 
 and a sense of great void throughout his being, 
 of longing unfulfilled and solitariness. 
 
 And so in due time they reached the scene 
 of his future labours ; and he secured at once 
 the goodwill of his partner from the fact that 
 he was the cause of a real live lord's sleep- 
 ing under his roof, that peer being my Lord 
 Tatton, whom Dr Hammond would by no 
 means suffer to depart to an hotel, because one 
 does not enjoy the privilege of having an 
 earl's son under one's roof every day — at least 
 so thought Dr Hammond. 
 
 A most ordinary little grey man was this 
 Dr Hammond, with ordinary little crotchets 
 about the discipline of his children and his 
 liver, for he had served with his regiment in 
 India, and had done good service among the 
 wounded in a hill expedition, in which he had 
 himself been struck down by cholera, and he 
 had been forced to invalid himself, with a
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 123 
 
 small pension, in the late summer of his life, 
 having saved just enough to buy a practice, 
 which by careful nursing he had contrived to 
 render very valuable. And then, being nearly 
 half a century old, he had taken to himself a 
 wife, who had died, leaving him with three 
 young children. Therefore he had found it 
 necessary, in order to be able to spare the 
 time for the children's education, to advertise 
 for a partner, who was to have the reversion 
 of the practice at his death. 
 
 This was the life-history of Hollebone's 
 partner, and quiet as it was the advent of a 
 real lord into the bosom of his family caused 
 a great flutter therein. 
 
 Mary Ann was ordered to wash the chil- 
 dren and put on their best things at once, 
 and they made their appearance looking, pain- 
 fully neat and clean, a short time later. 
 
 The doctor had just finished a disquisition on 
 tiger shooting, and the scion of the house, who 
 might have been rising eight, thought fit to 
 inform his lordship with perfect confidence 
 that, * If I saw a tiger I wouldn't be a bit afraid.' 
 
 'Wouldn't you now?' asked his lordship 
 interestedly. 
 
 'Oh, Bobby,' said his sister, 'you runned 
 away from a little dog yesterday what wasn't 
 no bigger van my foot.' 
 
 ' Well, but ve dog wanted to bai'te me, an' 
 a tiger wouldn't bai'te.' 
 
 Dr Hammond, whose sudden choler had 
 effectually choked him until this moment, 
 now broke this interesting conversation.
 
 124 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Gandon ! ' he said sharply, imitating the 
 voice wherewith a captain of horse shouts at 
 his troop, ' if you speak another word this 
 evening without being spoken to, you go to 
 bed, and you too, Maud.' 
 
 The time appointed for the children's de- 
 parture, as a rule, was eight of the clock, but 
 not one of them for many weeks' time ever 
 reached that hour of the day without being 
 sent to bed for some misdemeanour or other — 
 in fact, the only days they did reach it were 
 when the doctor either dined out or happened 
 not to be able to get back from his afternoon 
 round in time for dinner. Master Gandon 
 held his peace, therefore, and for a time he 
 employed a blissful immunity from paternal 
 reproof, or if the reproofs existed they only 
 had their being in fulminating scowls and 
 black glances, and he and his sister cut their 
 potatoes with knives, bit their bread, and 
 even drank with their mouths full, shielded 
 from castigation by the presence of the lord 
 at the dinner-table. Now it happened that 
 at the end of a long disquisition from Dr 
 Hammond, going to prove that the liver was 
 at the bottom of every human disease and 
 evil, and that, from a careful analysis of the 
 Newgate Calendar and ' history of all the 
 malcontents that ever were hung,' he had 
 come to the conclusion that never a crime 
 had been, but that the temper of the criminal- 
 committent had been soured by the badness 
 of his liver. This disquisition being at an end, 
 it happened that Es flog ein Engel durch das
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 125 
 
 Zimmcr, that is to say, a silence fell on the 
 room. And since that silence was oppressive 
 to Lord Tatton he made haste to end it by 
 saying to Gandon, out of kindness of heart 
 and sheer geniality towards children, — 
 
 ' Well, old boy, and what were you thinking 
 of? ' for Master Gandon had been eyeing him 
 and reflectively analysing him from out his 
 blue eyes. 
 
 ' I was finking,' he remarked slowly, ' vat 
 your nails haven't got black sands under vem 
 like Mary Ann's.' 
 
 His lordship collapsed dismally, for the 
 remark seemed to be intended disparagingly, 
 and Mary Ann disappeared suddenly from 
 the room. But Dr Hammond, fiercely, and 
 with more emphasis than the remark seemed 
 to need, said, — 
 
 ' Gandon, go and see if the parlour window 
 is shut.' 
 
 And Gandon also disappeared, to reappear 
 also no more that evening. Such are the 
 wiles of parents. Moreover, Maud, having 
 made a great discovery, was unable, in spite 
 of her utmost endeavour, to refrain from im- 
 parting it to her father's noble guest, much to 
 his suffused confusion. 
 
 1 Oh,' she said, with her mouth and eyes 
 wide open, ' oh, you've got pomade on your 
 hair, and pa says, " Ve putting of grease on 
 ve hair is a d — d un-san-i-tary practice." ' 
 
 ' Maud,' said her father, his eyes rolling 
 most frightfully to see, ' go and ask the cook 
 what that smell of burning is.'
 
 126 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Nevertheless, no smell of burning was per- 
 ceptible, but neither was Maud thereafter. 
 
 All things must come to an end, as Dr 
 Hammond reluctantly confessed, even con- 
 versing with a lord, and doubly so when that 
 lord is tired and sleepy and would take it 
 kindly if they would but let him go to rest. 
 But nothing would suit the doctor but that 
 they must sit and smoke before the fire 
 whilst he discoursed to them of love and 
 matrimony, saying, ' Wait till ye come to 
 sixty year,' and they looked the one at the 
 other, and were loth to disturb with contention 
 the peace of the fireside and the repose after 
 snowy travel. Therefore were they content 
 to pity the old man's foolish contempt for 
 love, and hold their peace, looking at the 
 fire and taking mighty comfort at thought 
 of the cold without and the warmth within 
 their own hearts and the hearts of their 
 beloved, and the faces of their beloved rose 
 before them in the wreaths of the smoke from 
 their pipes as it writhed upwards. 
 
 But at last, after the fashion of those com- 
 monplace and querulous old men, who must 
 give to others the benefit of their experiences 
 and thoughts, Dr Hammond, having run him- 
 self out, was fain to let them go to their rooms 
 above. Here the air struck cold on entry, 
 despite the fires which burned bravely, with 
 crackling of red embers, yet were they glad 
 without more ado to doff their clothes in cold 
 and shivering haste, thrusting themselves be- 
 tween the sheets, yet shuddering at the con-
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 127 
 
 tact, and praying that the bed might soon be 
 warm, till from his fatigue of walking, and 
 with little thought of future hidden woes and 
 cares, each one fell, without more waiting, into 
 deep and dreamless sleep, and the moon- 
 light, slowly moving, threw strange shadows 
 on the floor, through the diamond-shaped case- 
 ments — tangled shadows intermingled like the 
 nets that Fate had woven for their loves and 
 them. 
 
 In the morning they woke, marvelling at 
 the lightness of the rooms, which the snow lit 
 up from the ground below, and at the strength 
 of the cold, which had frozen the water in 
 their jugs, and on descent to the breakfast- 
 room they found the children already at 
 their places, and their bibs, each with a 
 suitable proverb, tucked under their rosy 
 chins ; and each of the little girls descended 
 from her place and held up her face inviting 
 kisses, and Hollebone noticed that the elder 
 of the two had eyes like Edith's, and perhaps 
 for that reason he kissed her twice on her 
 chubby cheek and felt happy thereat ; but his 
 lordship's feelings were by no means the same 
 — for one reason, he did not observe any re- 
 semblance between Muriel's eyes and any of 
 the three pairs that he knew were scrutinis- 
 ing him with all the uncompromising criticism 
 of childhood. However, Dr Hammond de- 
 scended before they had time to fulminate 
 any crushing observations on his lordship's 
 ways and manners. 
 
 Dr Hammond's respect for the title had by
 
 128 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 no means diminished by force of being slept 
 over, and he gave himself unheard-of pains to 
 further the convenience of his guest. 
 
 1 If your lordship is determined to leave 
 to-day there is a convenient train at about 
 two forty-five from Blythborough which will 
 land you in London at about seven.' 
 
 ■ That will suit me very well,' said his lord- 
 ship. 
 
 ' If so I can take Mr Hollebone round and 
 introduce him to my patients that live near 
 here, so as to be home in time for an early 
 dinner, and then I can make my rounds over 
 towards Blythborough in the afternoon, and 
 drive your lordship there in time to catch the 
 train, that is if you don't mind an open dog- 
 cart. It will be cold, but better than walking 
 anyhow, and you won't be able to get any- 
 thing in the village here to-day. The weather 
 is far too bad.' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted,' said his guest, « if it 
 will not be disturbing you at all.' 
 
 ' Oh, on the contrary,' said the doctor, rub- 
 bing his hands. ' Ah ! here is the breakfast' 
 
 And they were glad to sit down to the table 
 and eat heartily of the homely fare the 
 doctor had provided, for the coldness of the 
 morning air, felt already in their bedrooms, 
 had given them a feeling as of great void 
 within, which hot coffee, with golden eggs and 
 crisped fizzing bacon collops, white bread, pale 
 butter, hard though it were from the cold over- 
 night, would go well towards counteracting, 
 and it was with a feeling of thankful repletion
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 129 
 
 that they rose at last, with great hopes for 
 pleasure in the coming day. 
 
 For Hollebone the future was still all coulcur 
 de rose. The briskness of the breeze and the 
 feeling on the air of the closeness of the sea, 
 together with the excitement of rapid move- 
 ment, cheered him as he drove through the 
 snowclad country. The sun hung over the 
 sea, showing through the frost- mist like a 
 yellow gold coin, neither was it hurtful for 
 the eyes to gaze upon. To be sure he was 
 well received by all the people to whom his 
 partner introduced him, for was it not well 
 known that the new doctor had failed for 
 goodness knows how many million, and that 
 he was the nephew of a rich old Yorkshire 
 lady, who might well leave him as many more, 
 and that he had travelled down to Dymchurch 
 accompanied by a real lord, some said a duke. 
 All this and much more was already known 
 about Hollebone, and insured him an excellent 
 reception from everyone. And so after Lord 
 Tatton had gone, and while a week was pass- 
 ing away, Hollebone had his hands very full of 
 work, and very popular he was at that, for 
 his patients found his manner pleasing and 
 ingratiating, and the other doctors of the 
 neighbourhood ground their teeth as they 
 saw their patients desert them, and adver- 
 tised each for a partner. And the very 
 weight of the work was pleasing to him, for 
 it was mighty consoling to feel at the end 
 of a day's heavy work, when he could sit with 
 his slippers on and warm himself, glancing
 
 130 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ever and anon for comfort in his loneliness at 
 little Maud's eyes, that he was twenty-four 
 hours nearer to Edith, and in the cosiness his 
 melancholy felt itself incongruous and fled, 
 leaving place in his mind for warmer hopes 
 and dreams. And in truth the children, with 
 their quaint ways of viewing things and little 
 complaints of woe, when their father was not 
 by to awe them, were to him the cause of 
 much pleasure, and he would put himself to 
 some trouble to improvise games with them 
 or tell them tales, which he found no easy 
 task, for their ignorance of things which to 
 him were most simple made him be at much 
 pains to explain incomprehensibilities to them 
 and to adapt his tellings to their minds, so 
 that a great bond was growing up between 
 them. 
 
 But the time of the thaw being come, 
 ushered in with a great fall of rain, first 
 honeycombed the surface of the snow, and 
 thereafter caused great running together of 
 waters in the hollows, and showed the im- 
 perfections of the land, which before had 
 gleamed pure and white, but which now lay 
 black and sodden, open to the view when the 
 fog veiled it not, and the roads grew heavy 
 with mire, fat and unctuous, bespattering the 
 legs and belly of a horse even up to the 
 saddlebow. Moreover, the air was moist and 
 thickly cloying, trying to both soul and body. 
 
 Then it was that the work began to increase 
 for Hollebone, even when the change in the 
 weather rendered it the heavier to perform,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 131 
 
 for in the early year, after the passing of the 
 great frosts, the country there around is at its 
 worst for health, being damp and low lying 
 by the sea, which is indeed only withheld by 
 dykes in places, and in those times ague and 
 rheums arc rife owing to the moisture. Now 
 it may have been the prevalence of dampness 
 in the air or the thickness of the fog which, 
 keeping a man's eyes from seeing the things 
 that are around him, must needs turn his 
 thoughts on the things that are within him. 
 Be that as it may, a feeling of desolation and 
 utter hopelessness came upon him as he rode 
 that day — a feeling that, try as he would, he 
 could never win his beloved, and even of mis- 
 trust in her love for him, a thing that had 
 never come into his mind before. But that 
 day everything seemed to point to despair. 
 His patients themselves, from the very 
 strength of the bad weather, had either 
 fared worse or those that were recovering 
 recovered not so fast as they should. Thus 
 it came to pass that he rode down the hill 
 that leads from Southwold, for thus far he 
 had penetrated along by the sea to the river 
 where the ferry crosses, with a raft on chains 
 for cattle. Arrived at the ferry, he stood and 
 shouted to the men on the other side to come 
 over and take him across. Either they did 
 not hear him or else they would not heed him, 
 preferring the snugness of the ingle nook to 
 the damp yellow without, and Hollebone, in 
 black fury at their neglect, and not relishing a 
 ride often miles extra round by Blythborough,
 
 132 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 where the nearest bridge is, rode his horse at 
 the river. The unwilling animal held its nose 
 down and sniffed reluctantly at the swirling 
 water, looking at it fearfully with its large 
 eyes, after the manner of horses; but Holle- 
 bone urging it more, it swerved and started 
 back suddenly, until he, losing his temper at 
 the delay, forced it willy-nilly — for his hand 
 was heavy and his spurs long when he was of 
 that mind — into the stream, until the unwill- 
 ing animal bounded at it madly, not feeling 
 the way carefully with its fore feet as a horse 
 should do. Nevertheless, the river being 
 neither deep nor at the time wide, for luckily 
 the tide was running up, not down, with the 
 swelling of the snows, the crossing was not 
 difficult, for there were perhaps not more than 
 four yards where the horse was altogether off 
 his feet and the flood gurgled over the holsters. 
 Yet it was with a feeling of disagreeable wet- 
 ness in his lower limbs that he reached the 
 other side, and in his heat of temper, reckless 
 of consequences, put his horse at the top of 
 its speed. The poor animal held out very 
 well for the first four or it may be five miles, 
 but within forty yards of the fifth mile-post 
 its pace became more laboured, and within 
 the quarter mile it had come to a dead halt, 
 with its legs stretched far asunder and its 
 breath coming hot and fast straight down 
 from its nostrils earthwards, and Hollebone 
 recognised the unpleasant necessity of walk- 
 ing, either on his own legs or by means of the 
 horse's, the remaining four miles, for the quad-
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 133 
 
 ruped could not, spur as he would, adopt a 
 faster pace than a broken trot. Therefore he 
 dismounted with much groaning, as a tired 
 man will do, and holding the reins behind 
 him, he tramped dismally forward through 
 the fog and greasy mire, and once being 
 down, he knew from the dire experience of 
 dismounting that he would never have the 
 courage to mount again, such was the stiff- 
 ness of the joints that the wet had already 
 caused to manifest itself. At last, after much 
 cursing of his unlucky fate, he reached home, 
 and giving the horse up to the stableman, 
 to use that functionary's expressive diction, 
 ' He swore at me so dreffle 'at it quite beat Dr 
 Hammond holler, and he's a good 'un at it too.' 
 
 In the hall Gandon met him. 
 
 ' Pa's gone over to Lady Ridley's,' he said, 
 1 an' here's a lettter for you, an' vere's a lady 
 and gentleman waiting for you in ve 'suiting- 
 room. Vey've been here ever since ve dinner- 
 taime, 'cos you're so late — and vey aren't 
 patients, an' vey want to see you.' 
 
 Hollebone swore more veiled curses under 
 his breath, in reverence for childhood. 
 
 1 Who are they, old boy ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' I don't know — an' vey don't know each 
 ovah,' he answered. 
 
 Hollebone objurgated once more in secret. 
 
 'Wonder who the blank they are, and 
 what the infernal regions they want with me?' 
 But aloud, ' Oh, well, Gandy, just tell Mary 
 Ann to take me some hot water up to my 
 room. I must change my things before I
 
 134 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 go in and see these people. I'm just soaked 
 through.' 
 
 ' Yes, an' yoah nose is all over mud,' said 
 that veracious youth. 
 
 1 All right ; now just go and get my water, 
 there's a good boy. I'll go up to my room 
 and get myself a little more presentable,' 
 and he proceeded upstairs, Gandon trotting 
 obediently off to the kitchen after the water, 
 which after a while reached its due destination. 
 
 Hollebone was much exercised in his mind, 
 
 during his toilet, to imagine who his visitors 
 
 could possibly be, but rack his brains how 
 
 he would, he could arrive at no satisfactory 
 
 conclusion, and he dismissed the subject from 
 
 his mind for the moment. Before leaving his 
 
 room he opened his window for a moment, 
 
 and was surprised to see that the sun was 
 
 glinting waterly and brightly for a moment 
 
 through a rift in the fog, and the sea was 
 
 dimpled merrily with sunbeams. But, even 
 
 as he looked, the mist came driving thick 
 
 round the corner of the house and veiled 
 
 everything from view. He shut the window 
 
 angrily again and went downstairs to the 
 
 ordeal, before which, however, he took a stiff 
 
 glass of brandy and water, for the poor fellow 
 
 had been fasting since the early morning, and 
 
 it might be now half-past three, and he went 
 
 into the consulting-room with fresh courage 
 
 instilled into him. 
 
 Mr Cheetham he had been prepared to find 
 — he had indeed been almost expecting him 
 for several days — but Miss Tubbs was certainly
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 135 
 
 the person farthest away from his thoughts. 
 Nevertheless there they sat both over the fire, 
 talking commonplaces about things in general. 
 
 Hollebone looked anxiously at Julia's face, 
 hoping to find some index to her thoughts, 
 but on it there was a placid, stolid smile 
 meaning nothing. 
 
 'How de do, Mr Hollebone?' she said. 
 'Just happened to be in Southwold, and so I 
 trotted over to see you y'know. Awfly bad 
 weather, isn't it ? I believe this gentleman 
 has some important matters to interview you 
 about, and so I'd better retire into myself for 
 a time.' 
 
 Mr Cheetham, brought thus into promi- 
 nence, held out his hand. 
 
 1 How d'you do ? ' he said, his eyes twinkling 
 more than usually. 'Will you allow me to con- 
 gratulate you ? I came over from Liverpool 
 especially to see you about it — and I must 
 catch the five-ten to be back to-night. So, if 
 this young lady will excuse me, I would be 
 very glad if you can let me have a short time,' 
 and he intimated quite plainly that he would 
 like to have a little private conversation ; but 
 Hollebone answered, — 
 
 'If it is merely business matters you have 
 to speak about, you may certainly say it in 
 the presence of this lady — allow me to intro- 
 duce you. Miss Tubbs, an — an old friend of 
 the family. She knows about as much as I 
 do about my affairs.' 
 
 Mr Cheetham bowed drily, and his eyes 
 twinkled more than ever. He interpreted
 
 136 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Hollebonc's blushes to his own satisfaction, 
 but nevertheless he had misunderstood. 
 
 ' Very well, Mr Hollebone,' he said, clearing 
 his throat. ' Things have been looking, at last, 
 even brighter than before, from various small 
 successes in the courts other than those of 
 which I spoke, and your creditors have at last 
 — I say " at last," for the delay, in spite of my 
 utmost endeavour, has been unreasonable — 
 your creditors, that is to say the larger ones, 
 for the poorer ones have insisted, from sheer 
 necessity though not from ill-will, on being 
 paid off at once. The larger firms have 
 accepted a composition of seven-and-sixpence 
 in the pound, they themselves having con- 
 stituted themselves the mortgagees of your 
 private fortune, which is equivalent to some- 
 what over half your liabilities. This advan- 
 tageous composition is, to a certain extent, 
 due to commiseration for the unprecedented 
 runs of ill - luck which led up to your 
 disaster. Of course the oldness of the 
 firm, and the regret that one would natur- 
 ally feel at its disappearance after three 
 centuries, had also something to do with 
 it. However, to pass over the motives 
 and get to figures, I have the exact calcula- 
 tions here. But, roughly speaking, the 
 capital of the firm itself, after everything has 
 been paid off, is somewhat larger than it was 
 before, but you will have entirely lost your 
 private fortune. This will make a difference 
 of some eight thousand a year to you, which is 
 not to be sneezed at, leaving you little over
 
 THE SHU- TING OF THE FIRE. 137 
 
 seven, under the present partnership articles, 
 supposing that the firm pays ten per cent., or 
 two per cent, less than it used to. Mr Clark- 
 son receives four thousand a year, and the re- 
 maining ten go to pay the interest on the 
 mortgage — two hundred thousand pounds at 
 five per cent. These twenty-one thousand 
 pounds represent the interest on the firm's 
 capital of two hundred and ten thousand 
 pounds. Thus you will see that, considering 
 the former economy with which you lived, you 
 can leave this ridiculous place and return once 
 more to civilisation— even marry and settle 
 down. However, it seems to me I shall have 
 to be going or I shall miss my train. Of 
 course you accept the conditions ? ' 
 
 And Hollebone answered overjoyed, — 
 
 ' Of course I do. But, good God ! Miss 
 Tubbs, are you ill ? ' for Miss Tubbs's face had 
 assumed a waxy colour and consistency very 
 unlike her usual complexion. 
 
 She answered, with a forced laugh, — 
 
 '111! No, of course not. Why?' and the 
 colour rushed to her cheeks. 
 
 'You were as pale as a ghost a minute 
 ago.' 
 
 ' Was I ? It must have been the surprise 
 that this gentleman's information gave me.' 
 
 ' If you will excuse me,' said Mr Cheetham, 
 dreading lest a love scene were about to take 
 place under his very nose, ' Mr Hollebone, 
 I am in a great hurry to catch my train. 
 Would you mind running your eye over this 
 contract, and signing it if you agree? It con-
 
 138 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 tains exactly in detail what I have already 
 told you in rough. The others have all signed 
 it, Mr Clarkson included.' 
 
 Hollebone did attempt to read it, and hav- 
 ing in his hurry made out about one-half of 
 its sense, which seemed to be pretty much 
 what Mr Cheetham had said, signed it in due 
 course, in the place above Clarkson's signature, 
 as senior partner. Mr Cheetham rolled up 
 his papers, leaving a copy of the accounts for 
 Hollebone, and saying, — 
 
 ' Good-bye ; must catch train at all hazards. 
 It's the last to-night. Sorry can't enter 
 into details little more, but it's all right. 
 S'pose we shall be seeing you over at the 
 cinder heap shortly ? Good-bye. Good after- 
 noon, miss,' and bowing to Miss Tubbs, he 
 disappeared into the fog without, for kind old 
 man as he was he thought himself a little de 
 trop, besides which he did hate love scenes, 
 even when they were confined to veiled glances. 
 They always made him feel embarrassed. 
 
 As Hollebone returned from the hall door 
 Gandon appeared, coming down the stairs, 
 and Hollebone said to him casually, as he 
 passed again into the room, — 
 
 ' Well, Gandy, I'm going to leave you. My 
 ship has come home, old boy.' 
 
 Gandon by way of reply set up an inarticul- 
 ate howl, to escape which Hollebone entered 
 the room and shut the door. 
 
 Julia was sitting looking at the fire, and 
 when he re-entered she turned to him and 
 said, holding out her hand, —
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 139 
 
 1 1 suppose I may congratulate you on your 
 good fortune? ' and she accompanied the words 
 with a smile that made Hollebone feel sure 
 she must be ill in spite of her protests. 
 
 However, his mind was otherwise occupied 
 at that moment, and he said, — 
 
 * Yes, isn't it awfully good luck ? Not that 
 I haven't been expecting it though, but still 
 that don't make it any the worse. But, I say, 
 have you got any message for me from Edie ? 
 And how is she, and where is she ? ' — Julia was 
 glad he did not give her time to answer — ' I 
 tell you what it is, I'll leave this hole at once, 
 and go and marry her right off. Her father 
 said I could if I got five thousand a year, and 
 I've got seven. When do you go back ? We 
 might go together, 'cos of course you'll be 
 bridesmaid. But what on earth is the matter 
 with you ? Is it anything wrong with Edie ? 
 Good God ! is she dead ? ' 
 
 And Julia, giving up any attempt at break- 
 ing the news, said simply, — 
 
 • Heaven help you, she is married,' and 
 burst into tears. 
 
 It is not in the English nature to express 
 its passions with dignity, though in individuals 
 the power varies. Perhaps it is that in foreign 
 nations their emotions are more superficial, 
 and therefore show themselves with greater 
 liability, and seem more fit. Be that as it 
 may, an Englishman in high tragedy, or even 
 in the heat of joy, seems out of place and 
 angular, and Hollebone, under the sudden 
 shock, could do nothing better than rave and
 
 140 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 swear — blaspheming, abusing everything and 
 everybody, animate and inanimate. The 
 epithets which he applied to Edith were 
 so shameful that even Julia, from the depths 
 of her pity for him, must needs defend her 
 with more warm feeling than she had thought 
 possible. 
 
 'It is you that should take the shame to 
 yourself,' she said hotly, unreasonably, un- 
 reasoning, 'you who from your cowardly 
 motives of honour let the poor girl fret and 
 pine, instead of comforting her in her distress 
 in spite of her parents. And it is for your 
 sake that she has sacrificed herself — for you 
 alone,' and Julia's eyes flashed with an anger 
 that she did not feel in her heart. 
 
 'What the devil do you mean, Julia?' he 
 asked, trying in vain to calm himself; and she 
 answered, — 
 
 ' You are far too hot to reason with, and I 
 too sad to reason, but I tell you she did it to 
 gain money for you, that in the end you 
 might come together again.' 
 
 But Hollebone answered, — 
 
 ' For God's sake, Julia, do not speak in 
 riddles. What do you mean ? ' 
 
 (A fresh burst of crying sounded from out- 
 side, in the voice of Gandon, and passing the 
 door, disappeared in silence as he mounted 
 the stairs.) 
 
 Julia continued, putting a little more comfort 
 into her voice, since she had recovered her 
 self-command and histrionic powers, — 
 
 'What is the use of my telling you ? You will
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 141 
 
 not believe me. This is what she has done. 
 She has married an old, old man to get his 
 money — for you. Now do you understand ? ' 
 
 Hollebone started as though a knife had 
 been driven into him, remembering his stric- 
 tures on Mrs Kasker-Ryves, and his eyes 
 blazed with fury. 
 
 1 It is shameful of you,' he said, ' to talk like 
 that, as shameful as it is in her to have done 
 it. It would at least have been more decent 
 in both of you to have concealed the motives.' 
 
 'Do you think so?' said Miss Tubbs, so 
 unconcernedly that Hollebone's breath was 
 entirely taken away, and for the moment he 
 must needs keep silence for very want of 
 words, pressing the points of his finger-nails 
 on the table and observing the pink ebb and 
 flow of the blood under them. It had a 
 wonderful effect in cooling him. Much as 
 a cold douche from fire-engines is said to act 
 on an angry mob. 
 
 1 No, but really,' he went on, being reduced 
 to expostulation, 'you shouldn't joke with me 
 on such a subject. You know how awfully 
 I loved her, and I shall hate her just as much 
 for her treachery now it's all over, only I cant 
 begin just at present, because it's so difficult 
 to hate what one has loved for such a long 
 time.' 
 
 ' Now, my dear fellow,' Julia said clearly, 
 ' I know it's no use arguing with you just at 
 present, because you're not fit to hear any 
 rights or wrongs of the case, but I'll just say 
 my say, and you can listen and think over it.'
 
 142 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 But Clement interrupted her. 
 
 ' It's no use saying anything more to me 
 about it. I shall never care for Edie again. 
 One of my chief reasons for loving her was 
 that I believed she didn't care about my 
 money, and now, my God ! look what it shows 
 me ; and even if it is as you say, and she married 
 an old man for his money, it only shows that 
 she won't live without money, even if she does 
 love me ; and she's betrayed the old man too, 
 poor fellow, so there are a brace of us made 
 fools of — and who knows how many more ? — ■ 
 and then she goes and talks you over, because 
 she likes you, as we all do, and makes a fool 
 of you too, if you'll excuse me. You see I'm 
 talking quite calmly now. I feel numb, with- 
 out a bit of life in me just for the time, but 
 it stings, I tell you. You see it sort of hits 
 a fellow on the raw when he finds out a girl's 
 been loving his money and not him. Only 
 the other day I was slanging a poor girl for 
 marrying an old man for his money, and I 
 compared her in my mind with Edie, who 
 I thought was waiting for me, and all the 
 while — oh, my God ! I am very wretched.' 
 
 ' Well, it may be some consolation to you 
 to know that she is very wretched too. She 
 thinks she is dying, but that's all nonsense, 
 and so she made me promise to come down 
 and see how you were, without saying any- 
 thing about her.' 
 
 ' Wanted you to see how I squirmed, eh ? ' 
 said Hollebone coarsely. 'You can just tell 
 her, if you like, that I think her a — However,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 143 
 
 I suppose I must restrain my language in the 
 presence of a lady.' 
 
 ' Oh, go on swearing ; don't mind me,' said 
 Julia, 'if it relieves you.' 
 
 ' No, really, Julia,' he said, ' I'm awfully 
 sorry I swore before, you know, but some- 
 how it took me that way, and I couldn't 
 help it' 
 
 And Julia answered, with a smile, — 
 1 Oh, never mind that y'know ; but if you'll 
 just let me say my say I'll go, and let you 
 have a little peace, because I see you aren't fit 
 to be bothered more. But really, if you'll take 
 my word for it, Edic did marry that man for 
 your sake, to get his money, and you ought to 
 appreciate the sacrifice when you think what 
 it is for a girl to marry an old man, more 
 especially when she's as romantic, not to say 
 as spooney, as poor little Edie.' 
 
 ' Then there's the money, doncher know ? ' 
 said Hollebone bitterly. ' But, I say, what's 
 the man's name?' 
 
 1 That I'm not going to tell you,' Julia said; 
 ' but he's very, very rich, and very, very old, 
 and that's all you're to know, and so now I'm 
 off. I sha'n't get home to-night, and poor 
 little Edie thinks she's dying, but it's only 
 influenza. Besides which you want rest too. 
 You've been out all day, and haven't had a 
 thing to eat' 
 
 Hollebone was struck with an idea. 
 
 1 You'll never get to Blackstone Edge to- 
 night,' he said. 
 
 ' No ; but I shall get more than half-way,
 
 144 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 and I can go on by the first train to — ' She 
 stopped suddenly. ' Why, you knew all about 
 it,' she said. 
 
 But he answered, — 
 
 ' No, I only guessed — not that it makes any 
 difference. She's ruined my life, anyhow. God 
 forgive her. But, Julia, won't you stay and 
 have some tea before you go ? ' 
 
 She shook her head. 
 
 ' No, thanks, old boy,' she said. ' I know 
 you'd like to be alone, and I can get some 
 at Blythborough. I know it's no use say- 
 ing more, but really you are wrong about 
 Edie.' 
 
 Hollebone groaned. 
 
 ' Please leave that alone. It — it hurts, you 
 know. How are you going to get to Blyth- 
 borough ? ' 
 
 'Oh, I'm all right. I've got a chaise from 
 Southwold that'll take me there, and go the 
 rest of the way back alone.' 
 
 1 Anyhow, I must see you into it,' he said, 
 and she consented. 
 
 Therefore they went together to the inn, 
 where the carriage was being baited, and 
 even, while the horses were put to, had some 
 tea together and talked commonplace, after 
 which Julia rode off, saying to herself as she 
 pulled up the window, ' Poor fellow, he'll 
 feel it now all in a lump ! ' and she was 
 right. Anyhow, the hangers on at the inn 
 said the one to the other, as they went back 
 out of the dark cold air — a wind, arisen at 
 sunset, having somewhat dispelled the fog —
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 145 
 
 ' T'doctor looks a'most boosy — can't hardly 
 walk straight.' To which another replied, 
 ' Ay, Bill, reckon you'd be a little tight too, 
 just after a man came down to tell you 'at 
 you'd got ten thousand pounds a year.' 
 
 Mary Ann's ears were remarkably sharp, 
 and, doubtless, the whole of Hollcbone's 
 history would have been known throughout 
 the village had not Dr Hammond's entry 
 forced her to retreat to the kitchen ; but 
 the news of his increment of fortune was 
 noised abroad almost as soon as he knew 
 it himself. But Hollebone, reaching the 
 house once more, stumbled up the stairs in 
 the darkness to his room. At the door a 
 sudden rush of blood to his head and access 
 of heat made him stagger and almost fall 
 at full length ; but recovering himself, in his 
 need for air, he went to the window, and 
 leaning on the sill, looked out into the 
 night. 
 
 A stillness as of death was on everything, 
 save that the wind brought down with it the 
 noise that the wheels of the carriage made in 
 bearing Julia home, and as that too died away 
 in the distance, the murmur of the sea alone was 
 audible, and everything was bathed in blessed 
 darkness — not even a star glinted through 
 the mist, only from the room below one little 
 stream of yellow light, escaping the blind, fell 
 like a narrow bar out into the garden — other- 
 wise a feeling of deep rest, and as the sea 
 murmured on, its very sound was restful, and 
 within his brain the whirl of thoughts caused
 
 i 4 6 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 a feeling of numbness as of an opiate ; for 
 thought drove away thought and despair, 
 despair, so that his brain, from very inability 
 to grasp one settled idea, must needs abstain 
 from work, and rest. Only, he knew that the 
 feel of the cool air on his hot face was grateful 
 to him, and that the darkness was like cool- 
 ness to his eyes, and the silence to his ears. 
 
 Suddenly, through the mist upon the sea, 
 shone a veiled glory of yellow light, as the 
 moonbeams, struggling to be free to kiss the 
 earth, broke tumultuous through a rift in 
 the fog, and drove a golden trail across the sea, 
 and from the garden beneath, where erstwhile 
 blessed silence reigned, burst the tumultuous 
 flood of a redbreast's song, rendered louder 
 by the stillness. For it is the fashion with 
 the redbreast through the month of February, 
 even on into March, at nightfall, after the 
 world is newly hid in darkness, if the nights 
 be middling warm, to offer up in sudden 
 mellow song, as sudden hushed, its thankful 
 praise that yet another day is safely sped, 
 bringing it the nearer to the joys of spring 
 and nesting. 
 
 But the sight of the yellow hazy light and 
 the sound of the bird's strain, momentary 
 though they were, served to recall his thoughts 
 to him, and with a moan like the death cry 
 of a dumb creature he shut the casement, and 
 dropped into a chair with a great aching in 
 his throat and round his heart. 
 
 ' My aim in life is gone,' he said, and prayed 
 to God to kill him, or at least to let him
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 147 
 
 cry, but the flood-gates of his nature were 
 closed. . . . 
 
 1 Mr Hollebone,' a small voice said suddenly 
 from out the stillness. 
 
 Hollebone started. 
 
 ' Who's there ? ' he said sharply, and the 
 voice replied, — 
 
 'It's me, Gandy. Did she hit you? 'cos 
 you were crying.' 
 
 I Who ? ' asked Hollebone. 
 ' Ve lady.' 
 
 ' Yes, old man, she hit me very hard.' 
 ' When Mawy Ann slaps me I don't cvvy.' 
 ' That's because you're braver than I 
 am. But what are you doing here any- 
 how ? ' 
 
 I I wunncd away and hided fwom papa 'cos 
 he was goin' to sp^nk me.' 
 
 ' Was he, old boy ? ' said Hollebone, rub- 
 bing his cheek over the wispy, strawlike 
 thatching of the child's head. ' What have 
 you been up to ? ' 
 
 1 1 told him you were goin' away, and he 
 said I was a la'iar, an' I said no, 'cos Mary 
 Ann said 'at a gentleman had bwought you 
 ten fousand pounds, an' he said vat was a 
 lie too — a d — d lie — an' he was just gcttin' 
 out of his chai'ah to sp^nk me, on'y he tumbled 
 back suddenly, and his face was all wed like 
 a bloater, and his eyes standed out all over, 
 an' I was so fvvightened, 'cos he looked so 
 funny, just like ve man vat was bwought in 
 ve over day, an' so I wunncd upstairs and 
 hided myself under ve bed, and when you
 
 148 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 came in I creeped out again, on'y you was 
 lookin' out of ve window, and — ' 
 
 But Hollebone stopped him, a light break- 
 ing in on him. 
 
 ' Good gracious, child, are you telling the 
 truth about your father ? ' 
 
 And Gandy answered, — 
 
 ' Yes, of course I am, an' his mouf went all 
 ovah on one sai'de, an' he slobbered awful ! ' 
 
 Hollebone set the child off his knee, and 
 rushing to the door, opened it and ran down- 
 stairs ; but just as he reached the foot of the 
 staircase Mary Ann ran out from the study 
 crying, ' For the Lord's sake, Mr Hollebone, 
 come, the master's in a fit.' 
 
 The next few days were for Hollebone a 
 sort of fool's paradise, a rush of heavy wearing 
 work, tearing alike to muscle and mind, and 
 healthful alike for brawn and brain, making 
 him, perforce, forbear to think. For the work 
 of his own and Dr Hammond's were supple- 
 mented by Dr Hammond himself, whose 
 progress towards recovery was hindered in 
 verisimilitude by a weight on his mind. The 
 hemiplegia had left him for a time at least 
 very weak, though paralysis hardly put in an 
 appearance at all, except it might be in the 
 twitching of the muscles of his drawn face, 
 which seemed never to brighten except when 
 Hollebone returned from his rounds, a thing 
 which in itself was strange to those who ob- 
 served it, for in the time before he and his 
 partner had hardly agreed well together on
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 149 
 
 any point, except to differ, and the doctor, in 
 pique at finding an antagonist not to be 
 overcome cither by bluster or solid argument 
 in matters social and political, had taken a 
 dislike to him, as old men will, finding slights 
 in trifles that no younger man would notice. 
 But now a greater consideration had passed 
 itself like a heavy hand over his brain, smooth- 
 ing out the wrinkles of small mislikings, and 
 this was neither the fear of death nor of pun- 
 ishment thereafter, for if ever man believed 
 in his own righteousness, after his lights, more 
 than another in this world it was Dr Ham- 
 mond, for all his obstinacy. He was a 
 man whom everyone, even his many patients, 
 disliked or despised for his harmless little 
 crotchets and hearty martinetry of character, 
 and he lay tossing on his bed, with brows knit 
 firm and wrinkled deep, a world of anxious 
 thoughts in his eyes. 
 
 On the tenth day of his illness he lay still 
 bedridden, towards dusk of the day. Holle- 
 bone entered, tired and mud bespattered, wet 
 through to the skin with the torrents of rain 
 that had fallen, his gait unsteady and 
 rolling, even as it will be with one who has 
 been for long hours in the saddle and is but 
 newly dismounted. 
 
 • How are you feeling to-night, doctor?' he 
 said cheerfully, and the doctor tossed uneasily. 
 
 'Oh,' he said querulously, ' I'm getting well 
 again. I was up for more than an hour this 
 afternoon. I shall be out for a slight walk 
 on the day after to-morrow, and in a
 
 ISO THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 week's time I shall be soundly at work once 
 more.' 
 
 Hollebone laughed, as one laughs at in- 
 valids, having care lest the laugh should seem 
 derisive. 
 
 ' Now, my dear doctor,' he said, ' you will 
 do nothing of the sort. You know you will 
 not be fit to move, or at the least to do any 
 work, for more than three weeks, and even 
 then it will be very little. In the meanwhile 
 the practice hardly suffers at all, tho' I says it 
 that oughtn't. People, strange to say, have 
 confidence in me tho' I am so young.' 
 
 The doctor passed his hand across his fore- 
 head, on which the sweat stood clammy, be- 
 gotten not by heat but cold in the mind. 
 
 ' Hollebone,' he said, ' I believe you are 
 right. The worry would kill me. Not that 
 I'm afraid to die, but it's the children — My 
 God, I have lost all my savings for years and 
 years in some accursed mines, and now if 
 I die, as I must do soon, they will go into 
 the workhouse. After I have worked for my 
 whole lifetime to lose it all ! And then they 
 told me that you have come into a fortune, 
 and are going to leave me, and the practice 
 will go to the devil. I'm getting too old, and 
 after this fit I shall be good for hardly any- 
 thing. I could starve, myself, well enough, 
 but I am responsible in the sight of God for 
 having brought my children into the world, 
 and if they starve, and go to the devil, the sin 
 will be mine, and I must face Him with that 
 sin on my soul. Oh, my poor children ! ' and
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 151 
 
 he burst into a passionate fit of weeping most 
 frightful to think of — the lament of his soul 
 for a long life that had ended in worse than 
 — nothing. 
 
 Whether it was a generous impulse or a 
 light breaking in upon him to show him how 
 to spite himself, so to say, who can tell. (Let 
 us, in Christ's name, out of what charity there 
 is in our minds, think the former.) Be that 
 as it may, Hollebone said, — 
 
 ' Dr Hammond, for God's sake do not 
 take it so to heart. I will stop with you, 
 and aid you in your practice, in spite of my 
 fortune, which is nothing to me, and for the 
 sake of your children, whom I have already 
 learnt to love.' 
 
 The old doctor stopped in his sobbing, and 
 objectionable little prig that he was, seized 
 Hollebone's hand, and would have kissed it, 
 had he not drawn it away from very shame. 
 
 ' Don't do that ? ' he said, starting as though 
 with pain, for he was wondering whether he 
 had sacrificed himself out of love for his 
 neighbour, or of dull despair at his loss of 
 love. Nevertheless the doctor in his gratitude 
 poured out torrents of thanks, likening his 
 sacrifice to the visitation of an angel, or even 
 to that of Christ Himself. 
 
 (' Better love can no man show, than that 
 he lay down his life for his friend.') 
 
 But Hollebone, in tribulation of spirit, 
 said, — 
 
 ' Oh, please, please don't thank me. If you 
 must, won't you thank God for — for — because
 
 152 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 — I don't know how to express it, you know, 
 but something or other?' and he left the room. 
 The sight of the old man's grief had unnerved 
 him, and he felt singularly light-headed, only 
 calming himself by a great effort of mind. 
 In the interests of hygiene, to which even 
 sentiment must nowadays give way, he pro- 
 ceeded thereupon to his room to change his 
 things, and it fell about by chance that he 
 came across, in the pocket of his best coat, 
 wherein it had lain for ten days, the letter 
 which Gandon had given him on that event- 
 ful day which had seen his hopes tower aloft, 
 and fall supine. 
 
 This letter, from curiosity, and from a desire 
 to occupy his thoughts, he opened. 
 
 It bore an earl's coronet, and was from 
 Lord Tatton. 
 
 His lordship was writing in a style of the 
 most tragic and desperate, in a handwriting 
 of the most sprawling. Muriel had, so he 
 said, been informed by the backbiters and 
 scoundrels who objected so strongly to his 
 lordship's reform that his lordship had been, 
 to phrase it mildly, carrying on a flirtation 
 with Mrs Ryves, and that Muriel, believing 
 the calumny, had ' chucked him overboard.' 
 His lordship would, moreover, be much obliged 
 if his friend the distinguished chemist would 
 inform him whether chloroform or prussic 
 acid was the most expeditious and pleasant 
 poison for dogs, and so forth. 
 
 Hollebone, in his bitterness of spirit, sat 
 down and began a letter, running, —
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 153 
 
 ' From what I know of Mrs Kaskcr-Ryves, 
 she would be only too glad to betray her 
 husband, as she has betrayed everyone else 
 that she knows — your humble servant among 
 the number — but, knowing you, it is needless 
 to say that I think the whole thing a lie — and 
 your lady love will probably be thinking the 
 same thing by this time. As to Mrs Ryves, 
 if there was anyone in the world who deserves 
 the punishment that Dante assigns to traitors 
 in his inferno, and whom I hate more cordi- 
 ally— 
 
 But at this moment Mary Ann knocked at 
 the door to say that the supper was ready, 
 and that the children were waiting for him. 
 He therefore finished dressing himself with 
 all speed. 
 
 During the meal he forced himself to listen 
 to the conversation of the children, which ran 
 in this way, Maud loquitur, — 
 
 ' I wonder what becomes of us when we 
 dies ? ' 
 
 To which Gandon answered, — 
 
 ' Why, you know, our stomachs and bodies 
 turn into dust, and our souls go to Heaven or 
 ve Bad Place.' 
 
 ' I s'pose God sewed us up and painted us,' 
 Maud reflected. 
 
 Gandon asked, — 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 1 'Cos else ve dust'd fall out, like it docs wiv 
 dollies,' and Gandon assented gravely. 
 
 After the supper Hollebone was to tell 
 them stories, which, in his fear of thinking
 
 154 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 over other matters, he did gladly, to an even 
 later hour than was usual. 
 
 Nevertheless, in spite of his various subter- 
 fuges, the time came when, having exhausted 
 every sort of occupation, he opined it better 
 to go to bed and attain oblivion in sleep. 
 
 Of all places in the world, and of all divi- 
 sions of time, bed and the night envelop the 
 most unlucky wights. For in bed, even 
 though one may read in vain attempts to 
 divert the mind from dismal prospects, yet 
 the eyes will wander from the page to the 
 golden flame of the candle, seeking a solution 
 for the troubles to come ; and Hollebone in 
 despair, having extinguished his light, lay in 
 the dark, staring listlessly at the leaden grey 
 squares of the windows, and listening as the 
 wind, fresh from over the sea, battered and 
 rattled against the casement. 
 
 ' How I hate her,' he said to himself. ' I 
 loathe her as I would a snake, and yet — It 
 seems to be getting lighter outside, or it may 
 be my eyes are becoming more accustomed to 
 the darkness. Yes — I hate her. She has be- 
 trayed me, and made a fool of me, for every- 
 one to scoff at,' and yet, deep down in his 
 heart, he felt that he was doing her an injustice 
 in his mind ; but for long hours he tossed and 
 turned, trying to think of other things, or 
 striving with might and main to believe that 
 he hated his beloved. But as his weariness 
 gained upon him the truth forced itself upon 
 him in spite of himself, and his last minute of 
 consciousness before falling to rest found him
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 155 
 
 writhing feebly in agony of mind, and praying 
 to God that in his dreams at least he might 
 be united to her — and then a cold sweat burst 
 out over him, and with it the blessed rest came 
 down from Heaven and bathed his soul with 
 its foretaste of Death. 
 
 But in the morning when all is grey, and 
 wounds stiffen for lack of blood, came back 
 the wish to hate his love, and through the day, 
 in its train, followed lack of thought and striv- 
 ing to forget in heavy toil the labours of his 
 mind, so that at night, from sheer weariness of 
 body, whereto his agony of mind added three- 
 fold, he fell into dreamless sleep, and some- 
 times in his revulsions of feeling he hated 
 her, and at other times could not but love — 
 and thus his days revolved, his passions wear- 
 ing out in their regular rotation a deep groove 
 which rendered their course the more certain.
 
 CHAPTER VI I. 
 
 Quien se casa por amores. — Spanish Proverb. 
 
 S a personal opinion, born of ex- 
 perience, the writer would ven- 
 ture to lay down dogmatically 
 that Fifine at the Fair is hardly 
 literature that one should at- 
 tempt whilst in a state of strong mental 
 excitement, and I am bound to state that to 
 a certain extent Edith was responsible for 
 the terrible awakening that followed her 
 doing so. 
 
 The poor girl, being perfectly certain that she 
 was dying (though, as Julia forcibly expressed 
 it, that was all 'bunkum '), must needs get up 
 and dress herself within a very short period 
 of Julia's departing on her expedition to 
 Dymchurch. For within her mind a burning 
 fever was raging, akin to the fury that at 
 times seizes a caged tigress, and her distress 
 was doubled by the knowledge that she had 
 placed herself in the cage, and had wilfully 
 shot the bolts. Her mind had at last succumbed 
 to the strain on it, and temporarily, at least, she 
 could not refrain from allowing her thoughts
 
 The shifting of the fire. 157 
 
 to fix themselves on Clement, and with the ten- 
 dency innate in all of us when we commit what 
 we consider to be a crime, in the vain hope of 
 finding some palliation for her sin, she cast 
 about in her mind for some reason that should 
 make her misdeed seem the less grievous, and 
 so, having travelled long in the far-reaching 
 blue desert of her mind, seeking for some little 
 excuse for her shortcomings and shrinkings 
 under temptation, and finding none, she must 
 needs create a false one for herself. 
 
 Therefore she had formulated the theory 
 that she was dying. It was, of course, a pretty, 
 childish little idea, but then children have a 
 way of getting enjoyment out of trifles, and 
 Edith was, in ideas at least, a child of no 
 experience in this life, and for petty grief at 
 separation from her love she must find some 
 petty remedy, a quack nostrum for her pain 
 at heart. 
 
 But now that remedy was beginning to lose 
 its effect, until, acting as an opiate does, her 
 thinking over Clement and his virtues had 
 brought on a fit of wild impatient restlessness 
 that drove all thought of death completely 
 out of her mind. 
 
 If a comparative physiognomist had thought 
 it worth while at that stage of her life to care- 
 fully study her face he would have noticed that 
 in the quarter-oval sweep of her face from 
 ear to chin there was a slight deficiency in the 
 place where the muscles of the jaw should have 
 been strongest, and her eyes were sufficiently 
 deep set to allow of a light's rising in them such
 
 158 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 as had never yet had occasion to appear, but 
 the space for the muscles of the jaw was 
 ample, and it would need but a little contra- 
 diction to cause the light to rise into the grey- 
 brown eyes, and it is this force of the jaw that 
 is the cause, and the light in the eyes that is 
 the sign of strength of character in mankind. 
 
 On the morning of the day on which Julia 
 went to Dymchurch Mr Kasker-Ryves sat 
 reading to his wife, reading an ordinary novel 
 of the yellow back type. But, somehow, a 
 disquieting suspicion had for some days been 
 arising in his mind, and it recurred to him 
 over and over again, after the fashion of 
 disquieting suspicions, and with a view to 
 setting his mind finally at rest on the subject 
 he took the novel merely as a vehicle for 
 giving a general tirade on the subject of the 
 way people make love in novels. 
 
 ' Upon my word,' he said at last, throwing 
 the book down, ' I could write a better novel 
 myself. I know if I were a girl and a fellow 
 came to me and talked as this man does I 
 should throw something at him. Well, just 
 think of it. That isn't the way young men 
 go on when they're making love, is it, dear ? ' 
 
 Edith turned her eyes downwards, and a 
 hot flush spread slowly over her cheeks. 
 
 ' No, I s'pose it isn't,' she said, with a forced 
 laugh, and Mr Kasker-Ryves laughed in re- 
 turn, a forced laughed too ; but then he was 
 a much better actor than she, and his laugh 
 sounded quite genuine. 
 
 ' Oh, well,' he said cheerfully, ' I do hate
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 159 
 
 leaving a book unfinished when one's once 
 begun it, and we may as well finish it. There 
 are only two more chapters.' 
 
 And he went on reading. But Edith, had 
 she been paying any attention, would have 
 noticed that he was not reading with one 
 half of his former elegance and expression. 
 The fact is Mr Kasker-Ryves was gnashing 
 his mental teeth (and one can't read very well 
 when one is doing that) for he had felt certi- 
 fied that his suspicion was confirmed. 
 
 No doubt he was correct in the conclusion 
 he had arrived at, but nevertheless he was 
 wrong in the facts that he used to certify 
 himself, for, had he cared to think of it, any 
 girl would blush at being asked a question 
 as to how a young man makes love — the 
 very nature of the question calls for a blush 
 whether the girl has been a flirt or steadfast 
 in love — but, then, Mr Ryves did not allow 
 such a consideration to enter his head. 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves was determined to think- 
 that his wife was in love, and he would have 
 thought so even though she had never blushed, 
 for would not that have been a sure sign of 
 meretricious composure? 
 
 Therefore, when he saw the deep flush 
 mantling her erstwhile pale cheeks, a hatred, 
 demoniacal in its intensity gripped his heart. 
 For some says it had been preparing itself, 
 but now it burst forth. Mr Kasker-Ryves, 
 however, was a cautious man, and did nothing 
 without deliberation, and therefore he went 
 on with the reading for the moment, although
 
 i6o THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 the hand wherewith he held the book was 
 trembling so much with suppressed fury that 
 he had some difficulty in seeing the print. 
 Indeed so enraged was he that, although he 
 would fain have desisted from reading, he 
 could not think of even the most trivial excuse 
 for leaving off, and so he read on until he 
 had quite regained his composure and a 
 servant entered with a telegram. 
 He tore open the envelope. 
 ' H'm,' he said, and then his face brightened. 
 1 Oh,' he went on, ' here's a telegram from 
 Jemmy to say that he'll be here by the one- 
 three train. It's now twelve. Dear me, I've 
 been reading to you for two hours. I hope 
 I haven't tired you.' 
 But she answered, — 
 
 ' Oh no, it was delightful, and I'm feeling 
 much better to-day. I will try and get up 
 after Dr Long has been here.' 
 
 And Mr Kasker-Ryves answered gladly, — 
 ' Oh, I am pleased to hear you say so. 
 Only, be careful and don't overdo it. I shall 
 take the carriage over to the station and get 
 some lunch there, at the Mitre, if he's late. 
 It's such a long way that I'm afraid I should 
 be too late for the train if I waited for lunch 
 here. I suppose you will be all right until 
 I come back. I sha'n't be late.' 
 
 Inconsistent as it was in her, she could not 
 help saying to herself discontentedly, 'He 
 cares for his son much more than he cares 
 for me, and he will run off and leave me even 
 when I'm ill to welcome him back.' But that
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 161 
 
 was only due to injured vanity in her, not 
 jealousy of her stepson. 
 
 Aloud she said, — 
 
 ' Oh no, I daresay I shall manage well 
 enough.' 
 
 Nevertheless she grew more unhappy than 
 ever, so that at last she worked herself into 
 such a passion of impatience that her muscles 
 trembled in her fierce thirst for action, and 
 arising, she dressed herself and tried the effect 
 that walking backwards and forwards in her 
 room would have on her nerves. Now a good 
 straight level walk, with say a couple of 
 miles of hill work in it, will take the devil out 
 of anyone, even a girl in love, for it acts as 
 a sedative or counter-irritant ; but a walk 
 up and down in a room, even though a 
 spacious one, has the exactly reverse effect, 
 for the constant stoppage and turning sets 
 the brain in a whirl, and the thoughts a-dancing 
 like motes in a sunbeam. Thus by the time 
 Dr Long arrived she had worked her fever up 
 considerably. 
 
 The doctor was a shrewd man, and knew 
 as well as she did what was the nature of her 
 disorder, but naturally did not think fit to 
 reveal his knowledge ; and inasmuch as, in 
 the opinion of Dr Long, it is an absolute 
 necessity for a professional man never to ab- 
 stain from giving a prescription when called 
 in to a case, he prescribed for her mild seda- 
 tives, but ' not poppy nor mandragora,' etc., 
 etc., as he knew very well, and so he let the 
 fever run its course, allowing his patient her
 
 1 62 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 own sweet will to a large extent. However, 
 to keep up his show of authority, he reproved 
 her gravely for having got up without his 
 permission, and then took his leave. 
 
 ' If that girl doesn't leave off fretting she'll 
 fret herself to death — only, she's rather too 
 young to care so very much as all that for 
 anyone,' he said to himself. 
 
 Edith, however, ate her lunch with a slight 
 amount of relish, and since she had raged 
 herself into a semi-exhausted condition, after- 
 wards feeling in a somewhat more pensive 
 state of mind, established herself on a window 
 seat in the second library and looked out into 
 the fog. Without, the yellowness seemed 
 tear inducing, and made the very trees, in the 
 dankness, have a white, lustreless teardrop 
 hanging at every branch end. But Edith was 
 in no weeping mood, for she was finding soured 
 joy from the very depths of the caverns of her 
 pensiveness. Few who are not pessimists 
 can imagine the cosy feeling of completeness 
 that there is in pessimism, for it has many 
 joys of its own unknown and undreamt of by 
 the busy optimist world without, and Edith's 
 vanity was flattered by the thought that Fate 
 was against her. She felt pleased that it 
 should take so much trouble as to be so com- 
 pletely and consistently her foe in everything, 
 and this feeling of a proprietary right to Fate 
 soothed her, and calmed her to such a degree 
 that, trusting too fully in her powers, she de- 
 termined to take a book and read. Now this 
 determination is always fatal to one's piece of
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 163 
 
 mind, or at least it was so with Edith. But 
 that fact had never struck her, at least in the 
 right light, and opening one of the folding- 
 doors that led into the first library, she entered 
 and took down Fifine at the Fair, and with 
 this in her hand she returned to the second 
 library, neglecting to close the folding-door, 
 which was unfortunate, because it left her in a 
 draught between it and the fireplace, to ob- 
 viate which she drew a screen round the back 
 of her chair, a comfortable bamboo lounge. 
 
 Clement and she had been accustomed to 
 employ themselves at times of an evening 
 with improving their minds by reading to- 
 gether various classical authors. Indeed, one 
 of the things which had attracted him to her, 
 in the first place, was a discussion that had 
 taken place between them as to the relative 
 merits of Dante and Petrarch, in which she 
 had espoused, with perhaps a little too much 
 warmth, the claims of the latter ; in the first 
 place, the personality of Petrarch was to her 
 more attractive than the austerity of Dante's, 
 besides which, by a coincidence, she had a 
 curious love of the Sonata Pctrarca. These 
 literary evenings had been to both of them a 
 source of joy, although after a time the litera- 
 ture suffered considerably from interludes — 
 when Julia happened to absent herself. This, 
 by-the-bye, is a digression, but I meant to im- 
 press upon the reader the fact that Fifine at 
 the Fair was full of associations to Edith — 
 not so much from the significance of the poem 
 itself, but because it had been the last of the
 
 1 64 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 books they had thus read together, and it was 
 full of a sense of sweet regrets and lingering 
 kisses. 
 
 And so, with the pleasantness of recollect- 
 tion, the comfort of the lounge, the warmth of 
 the fire, and the soothing feeling of exhaustion 
 after her late storm of passions, she fell asleep, 
 and lay dreaming calmly, without foreboding. 
 
 Julia could never discover afterwards what 
 had occurred to change the bent of Edith's 
 mind so entirely in the course of a single 
 day. 
 
 ' Why, whatever have you been doing with 
 yourself, Edie?' she said. 'If you'd been 
 reading Schopenhauer's remarks against our 
 sex all night long, and then took it into your 
 head to revenge yourself by a violent attack 
 on your own account on the other side, you 
 couldn't be worse than you are. You see it 
 really don't pay for a girl to be took that way 
 — always looks a little foolish, doncher know ? 
 A girl ain't supposed to have a right to ideas — 
 on anything in particular.' 
 
 'Well, but, Ju,' Edith interrupted, 'how 
 was he looking ? ' 
 
 'Who d'you mean? Oh, him. Well, he 
 looked about as sick as a bear with a sore 
 head, and he could hardly stand.' 
 
 ' Is he — is he fretting ? ' she said, blushing 
 in spite of herself. 
 
 ' Why, no, it's not so much that — it's over- 
 work. You see he'd been riding all day longj 
 and it'd made his legs a little stiff.'
 
 THE SHIFTING 01 THE FIRE. 165 
 
 1 And did he know anything about my — 
 my being — ' 
 
 ' Oh, no, he didn't know anything at all 
 about it. You see you'd made him promise 
 never to ask anyone about you, and so he 
 hadn't.' 
 
 1 And you didn't tell him, did you ? ' 
 
 1 Why — no, of course not. Why should I 
 have, anyhow?' said Julia, lying with the 
 most cheerful glibness. 
 
 It may have been that there was something 
 in her manner that belied her words, or per- 
 haps it was simply that Edith's temper was 
 more than usually uncontrollable ; be that as 
 it may, she burst into a passion of tears. 
 
 'Oh, Julia,' she said, 'you are a liar — you 
 know you are, you told him — you wanted to 
 turn him against me and get him for yourself. 
 Oh, dear, I am very miserable.' 
 
 Julia flushed at first with anger, but re- 
 pressing herself, held her tongue, and waited 
 for the storm to pass over. 
 
 After a minute or so of this passionate sob- 
 bing Edith stopped suddenly and asked, — 
 
 ' No, but, Ju, dear, did you tell him or not — 
 really ? ' 
 
 And Julia answered, — 
 
 •Yes, I did— I had to.' 
 
 4 And what did he say ? ' very eagerly. 
 
 ' Well, of course he cut up a little rough 
 over it. You see it stung him up, because he 
 did love you awfully, and it didXooV as if you 
 had only cared for his money.' 
 
 ' It's a shame of him, then,' Edith said
 
 1 66 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 fiercely. ' And I hate him for it. Why did 
 he ever love me at all if he didn't know me 
 better than to think I cared for money? I 
 s'pose he only cared for my face, and he's got 
 tired of that, or forgotten it. That's what is. 
 He's found someone else to trifle with, and so 
 he wants some excuse for throwing me over 
 after I've tied myself to this old devil. It was 
 all for Clem, and now he's thrown me away, 
 and will forget me. I hate him.' 
 
 ' Oh, well, then the hatred is pretty mutual 
 between them, in words at least,' thought 
 Julia, keeping her thoughts, however, strictly 
 to herself. ' But I wonder what Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves has been doing? It strikes me the 
 saint's become a devil with remarkable 
 suddenness, anyhow. I s'pose that accounts 
 for her cynicism. He must have found out 
 why she married him, and been slanging her 
 about it, poor girl.' 
 
 But the only thing she was able to get out 
 of Edith was that Mr Kasker-Ryves was a 
 frightful villain, and Edith almost shuddered 
 at the mere mention of him. 
 
 What had occurred was simply this : 
 On the eventful day which changed the 
 colour of the world for Edith, Mr Ryves, hav- 
 ing duly and without mishap reached the 
 station, was delayed some four hours awaiting 
 the train which was bearing his son to him. 
 
 Delays of any kind were dangerons to Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves, inasmuch as they forced his 
 thoughts inwards, and he detested his thoughts.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 167 
 
 Whilst his mind could occupy itself he was 
 brilliant and unclouded, but no sooner was 
 he left alone with the Past than his mind, 
 by sheer revulsion, flew to the Future — the 
 Future embodied by the word ' Shadowland ' 
 — and Mr Ryves's shadows seemed begotten 
 by substances vaguely loathsome and loath- 
 somely vague. Moreover, his mind was oc- 
 cupied by the tie which he had discovered in 
 the mind of his wife, and the mere suspecting 
 of such a possibility caused a feeling of dislike 
 to arise in his own mind, and with Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves it was but one step from vague dislike 
 to diabolical hatred and a wish for revenge. 
 
 From the very beginning it had always 
 seemed to him improbable that Edith could 
 love him, or rather it would have seemed so 
 had he chosen to view the matter from a 
 standard of probabilities ; but he had chosen 
 to shut his eyes, and discarding all the know- 
 ledge of human nature that he had gained dur- 
 ing his long pilgrimage, he had elected to make 
 believe that he believed she loved him — and 
 now that, like a child, he was tired of making 
 believe, he chose to say that she had made a 
 fool of him, and since this damaged his vanity 
 — his ruling passion — during the four hours 
 of his waiting his hatred and wish for revenge 
 grew almost to the size of a monomania. 
 
 True, four hours is not a long space of time 
 for such a revolution to come about in a man's 
 mind, but then it had been pending for some 
 time ; moreover, when one comes to think of 
 how infinitesimal an amount of time one
 
 1 68 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 generally devotes out of a day to psycho- 
 logical analysis, one will realise that four 
 hours on stretch is almost sufficient not only 
 for a revolution but for a reaction — and even 
 a counter-reaction superadded. 
 
 The fact is Mr Kasker-Ryves was nothing 
 but an utterly selfish, cold-hearted ruffian. 
 Having spent the former part of his life in a 
 state of reckless libertinism, he engaged him- 
 self latterly in justifying those excesses on 
 philosophic grounds, which had one advan- 
 tage that it kept his mind employed, or kept 
 him out of mischief, so to speak. Moreover, 
 he superadded to all this a power of subtle 
 character reading and a faculty for intrigues 
 that was well-nigh inconceivable in such a 
 man. 
 
 And so he paced up and down the platform 
 or in the waiting-room of the station so en- 
 grossed in his thoughts that he noticed no- 
 thing that went on outside him. He was 
 planning out a delicate scheme of revenge on 
 his wife for his having made a fool of himself, 
 which is what it came to in the end. And 
 the revenge was to be no mean one, so much 
 he hated her, but it would only end in the 
 grave — so he said to himself. At last a light 
 began to dawn on him. 
 
 ' H'm,' he said, ' the first thing I must do is 
 to make her hate me — not only that, but 
 loathe me. That is a good idea — a very good 
 one, because it will show her what a trap she 
 let herself fall into when she married me. It 
 always emphasises a torture if the excutioner
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 169 
 
 is hated by the victim, and it won't be at all 
 a difficult thing to do — not at all.' 
 
 And Mr Kasker-Ryves smiled, not his usual 
 jovial company smile, but the quiet, happy 
 smile of a man who is revelling in the thought 
 of pleasure to come. 
 
 At that moment the train flew, shrieking, 
 out of the fog into the glow of the station 
 lamps, and in there burst into the solitariness 
 a flood of passengers descending, and of rail- 
 way porters rushing to meet them — a vision 
 of touching of caps and hurrying feet, cul- 
 minating and disappearing, as far as Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves was concerned, at the sight of 
 his son, muffled up to the eyes, swearing 
 audibly and stamping his feet on the platform. 
 With brightened eyes and hands outstretched 
 he made towards his son. 
 
 ' How are you, Jemmy ? ' he said, and 
 Jemmy answered, — 
 
 'Hullo, dad! you here? You don't mean 
 to say you've been waiting ever since one? 
 You'll be killing yourself if you don't mind.' 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves laughed. 
 
 1 Oh, I don't mind the cold,' he said ; ' come 
 on and have some lunch. Jackson '11 look after 
 the luggage. What have you got? — Jackson, 
 those two portmanteaus and the gun-cases, 
 that's all, and get the horses put in in about 
 twenty minutes. Now, Jemmy, come along — 
 why were you so late ? ' 
 
 ' Why, the cursed train ran off the line — in 
 this beastly cold weather, too. I tried to do 
 some writing, but my hands got so frozen I 
 II
 
 170 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 couldn't. The only thing T could do was to 
 stick my hands between the rug and my knees 
 and swear — you should just have heard me. 
 By-the-bye, how is Mrs Kasker-Ryves ? I saw 
 in the papers you'd got married,' cos like an 
 undutiful dad you never let me know any- 
 thing about it.' 
 
 ' How could I ? ' Mr Kasker-Ryves replied. 
 1 1 didn't know where on earth you'd hidden 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' Well, that is to a certain extent a reason. 
 I've been in Bavaria. Got regularly snowed 
 up in a small village where I was stopping, 
 and all that sort of thing you know.' 
 
 1 Lucky dog,' said Mr Kasker-Ryves. ' I've 
 had a comparatively dull time of it. Mrs 
 Ryves has got the influenza, and there's only 
 that Miss Tubbs in the house, though she's 
 gone to town on business to-day.' 
 
 The preternatural calmness with which the 
 young man received the announcement certi- 
 fied Mr Ryves that his son had not by any 
 means recovered from his hopeless attachment, 
 and he changed to the subject of society 
 scandal. For Mr Kasker-Ryves wished to 
 give his entire thoughts to the more important 
 theme of wife torture, and one can (at least 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves could) blacken a very large 
 number of characters in agreeable small talk 
 whilst one's mind is occupied with the more 
 weighty matters of this life. 
 
 After mature consideration (whilst he and 
 his son were discussing lunch) he arrived at 
 the conclusion that it would be the safest in
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 171 
 
 the end to make Edith hate him at once, for 
 the torture would then be the more insupport- 
 able to her by reason of her knowledge of its 
 inevitability. Arrived at this stage of his de- 
 termination, it remained for him to resolve on 
 a means of bringing about this desirable con- 
 summation to his hopes. But before he had 
 made up his mind, Jackson appeared to say 
 that the horses were put to. Now, by some 
 accident, Mr Kasker-Ryves was never able to 
 think whilst driving, and he therefore gave 
 up his fascinating train of thoughts, and for 
 the space of time needed in the journey home 
 gave himself solely to the conversation. 
 
 ' I'll just run up to my room and make 
 myself presentable to my step-mamma,' 
 Jemmy said, and his father assented. 
 
 ' Come into the first library when you've fin- 
 ished. I shall be there. — By-the-bye, Parker,' 
 he said, turning to the servant who was taking 
 off his coat, ' where is Mrs Ryves ? ' 
 
 'She's in the second library, sir, I believe. 
 She was asleep there in a lounge in front of 
 the fire about an hour ago when I went in to 
 put some coals on.' 
 
 ' Are the lights lit ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the second library, sir. I was afraid 
 of waking Mrs Ryves, and so I only lit up the 
 first library.' 
 
 Mr Ryves replied, — 
 
 'Thanks, that'll do,' and went into the 
 library. 
 
 Edith was still asleep, but he forbore to 
 wake her.
 
 172 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 1 She'll wake up soon enough for my pur- 
 poses — and just at present she may stop 
 asleep,' and he seated himself in front of the 
 fire to await his son. During the interval, by 
 dint of carefully considering the subject, he 
 evolved from his labyrinthine brain a delicate 
 scheme for the mental torture of his wife. 
 
 ' Of course she's only a bit of a child yet, 
 and has hardly sufficient mind to make a 
 deep impression on, and that makes the 
 matter the more difficult. I've always had 
 a theory that the most unhappy age is the 
 transition period that lies between boy and 
 manhood, or girl and womanhood, as the 
 case may be, and that the more rapidly the 
 transition is made the rougher it is. So that, 
 if I tear the veil from her eyes very suddenly, 
 and show her the world as it really is, the 
 operation will give her excessive pain. I'll 
 make the experiment in any case, and it 
 seems to me that the most expeditious way 
 of effecting it would be to show her what an 
 out and out devil I am, that is to say, from 
 her nursery morality point of view — I will try 
 it anyhow. It is certain to make her hate 
 me, whether the result conforms to the transi- 
 tion theory or not, and that is half the battle. 
 Oh ! and by Jove ! there never was such an 
 opportunity as the present. She's asleep in 
 the next room, but she sleeps very lightly, 
 and is perfectly certain to wake up when we 
 begin to talk — and I know very well no 
 woman could resist the temptation of listen- 
 ing to our conversation. — Oh, here you arc
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 173 
 
 Jemmy. Shut the door after you. No — not 
 the one into the second library. I like that 
 left open ; it equalises the temperature of the 
 two rooms. I suppose you can wait for tea 
 a little? Mrs Ryves is asleep at this moment, 
 and I don't want to wake her. She has only 
 just recovered from the influenza.' 
 
 ' It's rather too soon to ask you how you 
 get on together, isn't it ? ' his son asked. 
 
 ' It is rather, you know, dear boy, especially 
 as she's been in bed half the time ; but she has 
 been everything I could wish hitherto.' 
 
 ' I met Lord Tatton yesterday at the club. 
 He said he'd been down here a fortnight or 
 so, and had seen a good deal of you, and that 
 you and she were billing and cooing like a 
 couple of turtle-doves.' 
 
 Mr Ryves laughed. 
 
 ' A propos of that,' he said, ' what was the 
 name of her lover? ' 
 
 His son looked at him curiously. 
 
 ' What do you want to know for — cut his 
 throat ? And which of 'em do you mean 
 anyhow ? ' 
 
 'Why, how many are there?' Mr Ryves 
 asked. 
 
 ' There was the fellow she was engaged to 
 before she married you. She jilted him 
 because his firm failed. The other's Lord 
 Tatton — he's an after-marriage adherent.' 
 
 Mr Ryves raised his eyebrows. 
 'What, have they begun on her already?' 
 he said. ' Poor little Edith ! ' 
 His son nodded.
 
 174 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Yes. She'll have a pretty poor time of it — 
 at least her reputation will — and it is rather 
 rough on her, because she's so young. But I 
 don't think you need be afraid of anything, at 
 least from what I saw of her, if I'm any judge 
 of character.' 
 
 Mr Ryves laughed once more. 
 
 ' You've judged it well enough this time at 
 least,' he said. ' What was the other fellow's 
 name ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, he — that was young Hollebone. 
 Hollebone, Clarkson & Co. They smashed 
 some time last year.' 
 
 ' Young Hollebone was down here along 
 with Lord Tatton the other day,' he said. 
 
 The young man looked at his father in 
 amazement, but Mr Ryves spoke again before 
 his son could say anything. 
 
 ' Oh, there was nothing in that. He knew 
 nothing at all about who Edith was — never 
 even saw her. He is the nephew of Miss Hall- 
 byne at the Hall, and he just came down to 
 visit her. My wife was taken ill with the 
 influenza on the day he arrived, and has 
 been in bed ever since, until to-day.' 
 
 ' I don't wonder,' said his son. ' If I — ' 
 
 But Mr Ryves's sharp ears at that moment 
 caught the sound of a slight crackling in the 
 cane lounge. 
 
 ' She's waking up,' he said to himself. 
 ' Now I must mind,' and he interrupted his 
 son. 
 
 ' That'll do now on that subject. But while 
 we are talking about reputations I may as
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 175 
 
 well say that I am deeply grieved to hear that 
 yours is none of the best. In fact, to all 
 intents and purposes you appear to have no 
 morals or decency of any kind.' 
 
 The young man flushed a deep purple and 
 said very angrily, — 
 
 ' Who the devil has been telling you that ?' 
 
 Mr Ryves shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 1 Why, everyone in the world knows it. 
 Now I don't care two pins about the morals 
 of the matter. You may commit any crime 
 or excess, or indulge in any debauchery you 
 like, so far as I'm concerned, that is, as far as 
 the moral side of it reaches. But, my dear 
 son, you have an unlimited income, and I must 
 insist on your employing it to cover your 
 misdeeds. You can have as much money as 
 you like, but never let any of your peccadilloes 
 get to people's ears, more especially the 
 escapade that made it necessary for you to 
 leave your regiment.' 
 
 The young man scowled fearfully for a 
 moment, and then laughed. 
 
 ' Yes, that did look rather fishy, and it did 
 me entirely, and the worst of it was that the 
 whole thing was a practical joke of Tatton's. 
 He got a woman and a couple of children, in 
 a most frightful state of rags, to force them- 
 selves into a ball I was at — at the Mowbrays' 
 you know — and insist on shrieking out for me. 
 Of course it raised the very deuce of a scandal, 
 in spite of everything I could do — the whole 
 world was at the Mowbrays' naturally. But 
 the whole thing was one of Tatton's sells. '
 
 176 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Mr Ryves nodded. He was wondering how 
 Edith was enjoying their conversation. 
 
 ' It's all very well, dear boy,' he said. ' As 
 I've said before, I don't care two pins about the 
 morals of the case, only you must not let these 
 things get about about yourself. It doesn't 
 suit me to have a son of that sort.' 
 
 The young man nodded. 
 
 'All right,' he said, and he looked at his 
 father with just the suspicion of a twinkle in 
 his eyes. ' I suppose my sowing of wild oats 
 is over for ever. If I'm not mistaken, my ven- 
 erable ancestor did not rest from sowing 
 until he was over forty, which was some years 
 older than I am at present.' 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves laughed. 
 
 ' How do you come to know anything about 
 it ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Oh, that was comparatively easy. There 
 are still extant in out-of-the-way places 
 rumours that lead one to suppose that you did 
 not pass your life, dear father mine — well, to 
 put it mildly, with your prayer book in your 
 hands. But these traditions provide no exact 
 dates, although they assure one that you kept 
 it up to a comparatively late date, and so, just 
 to approximate it, I imagine that you settled 
 down about a year before my appearance on 
 the scene. Am I not right in my conjecture ? ' 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves looked a trifle uneasy in 
 spite of himself. 
 
 < No — that is, yes, you are. Now, look here, 
 dear boy, that was safe enough in those days 
 — I mean to say no one made a fuss about it,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIFE. 177 
 
 but nowadays it is different, more especially 
 as you want to sit for the borough. But I can 
 assure you that but for my personal popu- 
 larity you wouldn't have the ghost of a chance 
 to get through — you have the very devil of a 
 reputation — and that is just what the other 
 side will catch hold of. You really must do 
 something to retrieve your position. Marry, 
 or something.' He paused as if awaiting an 
 answer, but his son made none, and so Mr 
 Kaskcr-Ryves continued. ' I know it's rather 
 hard on a young man to ask him to give up 
 that sort of thing, but still — oh dear, what good 
 times we used to have in those days,' he sighed. 
 ' I remember.' he went on, ' I began when I 
 was about twenty — a little less — that was still 
 in the time of George IV., although he was 
 then grown too unsightly to do anything of 
 the sort himself — but still he left a school be- 
 hind, and it seems to me that the school 
 eclipsed the master. I remember one occa- 
 sion — ' And Mr Kasker-Ryves plunged forth- 
 with into a recitation of some twenty years 
 spent in a state of libertinism so unholy that it 
 made his son shiver. 
 
 The young man listened to his father, slip- 
 ping from one recitation to the other, listened at 
 first with the somewhat shocked feeling that 
 a young man will have in the presence of an 
 old man who is, so to speak, taking the wind 
 out of his sails. It seemed to him somewhat 
 incongruous for an old man, whose thoughts 
 should be turned heavenwards, smacking his 
 lips over wickednesses that had faded away
 
 178 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 into the past forty years ago, and the young 
 man felt embarrassed and unhappy, knowing 
 that he ought to smile and look pleased, but 
 realising that his attempts to do so were 
 hollow, uneasy mockeries. But as his father 
 grew more heated and gave his dramatic and 
 descriptive talents greater play, so that the 
 listener could almost see the scenes, the young 
 man positively gasped for breath, for he was 
 a mere tyro in vice. He had been brought up 
 by his father with the most scrupulous atten- 
 tion to his moral welfare, and when he sinned 
 it had been with a due sense of the enormity 
 of his misdeeds, and this recitation, rendered 
 the more loathsome by the smooth, unctuous 
 manner of the telling, caused at first a feeling 
 of shyness, to which succeeded a sense of 
 shuddering nausea, and then an appalling feel- 
 ing that caused him to cry within himself, 
 ' Good God ! are all men in the world such 
 villains ? Is it possible that I am the only 
 person in all the world that struggles against 
 my passions ? ' 
 
 For hitherto the young man had implicitly 
 believed in his father's goodness of heart, 
 although he knew that the old gentleman had 
 committed some excesses in early life, but the 
 son, having known what temptation was him- 
 self, could allow for his father's escapades ; 
 but now, when he heard the old man resusci- 
 tating these memories in such a way as to 
 demonstrate clearly that the sins were by no 
 means forgotten or repented of, he was horror- 
 struck by the revelation.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 179 
 
 At that moment a creaking of bamboo 
 work sounded with remarkable distinctness 
 from the next room, then the rustle of a dress, 
 and Edith stood before them, as pale as 
 though the death-sweat were already break- 
 ing out over her forehead, too pale for even 
 a hectic spot to show itself. Yet not even 
 her lips quivered, and she was perfectly self- 
 possessed as she walked towards the young 
 man, with her hand outstretched. 
 
 ' How are you, Mr Ryves?' she said. ' I have 
 been asleep in the — ' 
 
 But her stepson was too unnerved for the 
 moment to restrain himself. 
 
 'Good God ! ' he said, 'you didn't hear what 
 my father — what we have been talking about?' 
 ' A hero for one of my son's novels,' his 
 elder said collectedly, and at the sound of 
 his voice Edith shuddered, and the blood 
 rushing suddenly into her face, she leaned 
 against the folding - door, which gave way 
 beneath her weight, and she fell to the floor 
 with a heavy thud. 
 
 ' My God, she has fainted ! Ring the bell 
 for some water, Jemmy,' and Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves flung himself in his eagerness on her 
 body, and in spite of his fourscore years 
 found strength to lift her head from the floor 
 and rest it on his knee. ' Oh, my darling ! ' he 
 said. 'Emma — Jackson — Parker. Damna- 
 tion, why don't you come ? Jemmy, pull the 
 bell down. Oh, thank God ! she's coming to,' 
 and he fell to kissing her clay-cold face as 
 a servant entered with water.
 
 180 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 She opened her eyes slowly, and then re- 
 cognising her husband, dilated them widely as 
 with horror and loathing. 
 
 ' Let me get up,' she said, and her husband 
 officiously assisted her ; but once on her feet 
 she tore herself free, and staggered for support 
 to the table. 
 
 ' Don't touch me,' she said, trembling, and 
 with chattering teeth ; but seeing the servant 
 standing in the room, she smiled vaguely, and 
 passing her hand across her face, said with a 
 forced laugh, ' Oh, thank you, Parker ; it was 
 stupid of me to faint. I oughtn't to have got 
 up to-day. It was just a rush of blood to the 
 head. I'll go up to my room again.' 
 
 ' Let me help you up,' said both father and 
 son simultaneously. 
 
 Somewhat in spite of herself she accepted 
 the son's arm. 
 
 1 Send for Dr Long at once,' Mr Ryves said 
 to the servant. 
 
 ' No, please don't,' Edith answered. ' I can 
 manage very well by myself. It was nothing.' 
 
 ' But, my dear, you really must see the 
 doctor,' Mr Ryves said very gently. 
 
 ' I should prefer not,' she answered. 
 
 'But I insist' 
 
 She made a mute gesture of half despair 
 and continued her way up the stairs. 
 
 Mr Ryves recognised that the torture was 
 working, and returned to the library in high 
 spirits. According to Mr Ryves's standard 
 there is a great deal of pleasure to be had out of 
 other people's pain if one can inflict it oneself.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 1S1 
 
 ' That idea of kissing her was an inspiration/ 
 he said to himself, and Edith acknowledged 
 it to herself. 
 
 Left alone at the room door by her step- 
 son, she dismissed her maid peremptorily, and 
 kneeling by the bedside, buried her face 
 in the clothes. The feeling of the counter- 
 pane was to a certain extent soothing on her hot 
 face, but more so the power to close her eyes 
 in darkness. As Mr Ryves had anticipated, 
 the Giant Despair had seized on her soul — a 
 feeling of utter hopelessness, of bowing before 
 the Omnipotent. 
 
 1 I am body and soul in his hands, and they 
 are hands that would defile a goddess — and 
 what am I ? And it was all my fault, mine 
 entirely. I committed a great sin, but the 
 punishment is greater — greater, too, than I can 
 bear. Oh, Clem ! dear Clem ! you were so 
 good, and I am fettered to this beast. But 
 perhaps Clement was the same. Yes, that is 
 it. My husband seemed so noble and kind, 
 but I don't think Clement could — but yet it 
 must be. They are all alike. And to think 
 of what he is, more vile than a toad, because 
 a toad is only loathsome in form, spotted 
 and speckled. But oh, my husband's soul 
 is spotted with mildewy spawn that drips 
 contamination on those to whom he opens 
 it. I feel, as though I'd bathed in crime 
 myself, nearly half as loathsome as he is. 
 And I am bound to him, and he's my lord, 
 and he can fondle me, and speak to me, and 
 pet me, and kiss me, and every touch and
 
 1 82 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 every word must soil my soul — poor little 
 me!' 
 
 The door had been opening noiselessly be- 
 hind her, but she could not see the broaden- 
 ing streak of light that was stealing over the 
 floor. Mr Ryves entered noiselessly, and 
 standing beside her, said gently, as one would 
 speak to a weeping child, — 
 
 ' Edith, my love, what is the matter with 
 you ?' 
 
 Silent, she rose from the bed and stood 
 with her hands folded and head bowed, as if 
 awaiting his command. He put his arm 
 round her and drew her gently to him, and 
 she never even shuddered. 
 
 ' My poor darling,' he said, ( what is the 
 matter with you ? ' 
 
 She answered sullenly, as a slave should, — 
 ' Nothing is the matter with me that I know 
 of.' 
 
 ' But tell me, my poor child, for you are a 
 
 child to me, have you no secret grief that you 
 
 could confide to me ? ' — oh, so gently spoken. 
 
 ' What secret grief can a woman have ?' she 
 
 asked, as a statue would if it could speak. 
 
 'I thought — such things do happen — that 
 your parents might have forced you to marry 
 me against your will, and that you loved some 
 younger man.' 
 
 ' I married you, as you know, against my 
 parents' wishes.' 
 
 ' And can you love an old man like me ? ' 
 ' Should I have married you if I did not ; 
 besides, whom should a woman love, honour
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 183 
 
 (God help me !), and obey if not her husband?' 
 This latter part was said half scornfully and 
 half as a child would say a well-learnt task. 
 
 'Well, then, my dear, obey me like a duti- 
 ful wife, and let the maid undress you, and go 
 to bed and try to sleep. I will have the blue 
 room made ready for myself, for fear of dis- 
 turbing you.' 
 
 Nevertheless she knew from his voice that 
 the concession was only made to show her 
 that he had the power to make it. She 
 obeyed his behest quietly enough, not so 
 much from realising the hopelessness of re- 
 fusal, but from numbness of thoughts, the 
 reaction after the over-great excitement, and 
 passively allowed the maid to assist her in un- 
 dressing. Only, she said to her at the last, — 
 
 ' Put the lights quite out, please. Oh, and 
 Parker, when Dr Long comes say that I am 
 asleep and begged not to be disturbed.' 
 
 The maid answered, — 
 
 'Yes, madam,' and shutting the door, left 
 her to darkness and her thoughts. 
 
 Where would be the profit to detail these 
 thoughts, which came up to the surface of her 
 mind, like dross on the surface of a seething 
 crucible of molten gold, until at last she fell 
 asleep ? 
 
 Mr Ryves, on the other hand, went to bed 
 in high spirits. His mind was so tired by the 
 work he had given it during the day that he 
 fell asleep without need of his opiate, and 
 woke in the morning in quite a jovial mood. 
 
 Edith, in her restlessness, was already up
 
 1 8 4 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 and pacing her room when he went in to her, 
 but he could sec for himself what a night of 
 terror she must have passed. Nevertheless she 
 received him quite calmly, so much so that any 
 more generous opponent would have admired 
 her bravcness and self-control. But gener- 
 osity was an ingredient absolutely wanting in 
 Mr Ryves's character. All he said to himself 
 was : ' H'm. It's beginning to tell. But what 
 a little fool she is to try to conceal her feel- 
 ings from me. Anyhow, I don't mind. The 
 harder she works herself the sooner she will 
 die, and it must be hard work for a girl like 
 that to restrain herself so much. It would be 
 a relief to her if she raved a little— anyhow 
 this sort of thing will wear her out so much 
 the faster. Tant mieux' — and he began to 
 reprove her for getting up in an unfit state 
 before the doctor had been to see her. She 
 accepted his reproach in meek silence, excus- 
 ing herself by saying that she felt much better, 
 and did not wish to get into a habit of indulg- 
 ing herself by lying in bed. They descended 
 therefore to breakfast, and afterwards the 
 young man departed to make a round of the 
 estate, but Mr Ryves remained, taking upon 
 himself the sweet task of entertaining his 
 wife. She now wondered no longer at his 
 brilliant elucidation of social and meta- 
 physical questions, and during the whole 
 morning she paid but little attention to him 
 or the book he was reading. She was en- 
 gaged in settling in her mind the exact size 
 of the sin she had committed in listening to
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 185 
 
 her husband's recital the night before, and 
 after a time she arrived at the conclusion that 
 the sin was not one of a very great enormity, 
 for she had been to a certain extent actuated 
 in not coming forward at once on awakening 
 by uncertainty as to her reception by her 
 stepson, whom she had not seen since her 
 marriage, besides which she had been anxious 
 to prove in her own case the truth of the 
 proverb about eavesdroppers. The morning 
 seemed interminable, though the doctor's visit 
 broke it a little. He,however,did not stop long, 
 and only advised her to be careful not to over- 
 exert herself. To this succeeded another in- 
 terval of watching the hands creep round the 
 clock face and waiting in breathless agony for 
 the striking of the hours, until at last Julia re- 
 turned, and Edith hoped to get a little relief 
 in the confiding of her woes to her friend. 
 How badly she fared, and how despair fol- 
 lowed on despair has been already recorded 
 in these pages, in the course of a conversation, 
 to the which, if it be not impressed on his 
 memory, let the reader turn back.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Ha de vivir con dolores. — Spanish Proverb. 
 
 R KASKER-RYVES was by no 
 means inclined to let his wife 
 rest over long, and on the morn- 
 ing of the day following Julia's 
 return he appeared at the lunch- 
 table, according to his wont, with the day's 
 copy of the Times in his hand. 
 ' Any news ? ' asked his son. 
 ' Nothing in particular. Consols have risen 
 three-quarters. Atchison and Topeka's have 
 fallen a little — otherwise nothing in particular. 
 Now, if you're ready I'll say grace.' 
 
 The lunch proceeded in silence for a time, 
 until Mr Ryves began, — 
 
 ' There's another centenarian immortalised 
 in the Times to-day — " Died at the age of 
 103.'" 
 
 ' Seems to be rather a mortality among 
 centenarians now,' his son remarked. 
 
 'Yes, doesn't there. It's the weather that 
 does it. By-the-bye, you may reasonably 
 expect to see me figuring in the list some 
 of these days — in about twenty years' time.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 187 
 
 Dr Long said as much yesterday when I 
 saw him. Oh, and I meant to tell you, it's 
 also in to-day's Times. Hollebone, Clarkson 
 & Co.'s creditors have accepted a composition 
 of ten shillings in the pound as a composition 
 temporarily, so that they are comparatively 
 firmly established again. The firm is worth 
 about two hundred thousand pounds at least, 
 so the Times says, and they are sometimes 
 right. I s'pose you don't know anything 
 about it, Jemmy? ' 
 
 His son shook his head. 
 
 1 Nothing at all,' he said. 
 
 He was wondering in his mind if it were 
 possible for his father to have forgotten what 
 he had told him on the subject the night 
 before. 
 
 'Oh, by-thc-bye, Edith,' that innocent old 
 gentleman babbled on, turning his looks 
 towards his wife, 'you might put Mr Holle- 
 bone down on my visiting-list. I struck 
 him off when they failed. He's quite a nice 
 young man, and has a good idea of music. 
 When we go up to town next week you must 
 begin to think seriously of playing the hostess. 
 I know it's rather an undertaking, but it will 
 give you something to think about, and besides 
 you'll be finding it very dull down here all 
 alone with only me as a companion.' 
 
 Edith smiled — Edith could smile very 
 sweetly when she liked, but this was rather 
 a bitter smile. 
 
 ' I — oh, no, not at all,' she said, with an 
 attempted imitation of the blase airs she had
 
 1 88 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 seen on other girl's faces. It was not a bad 
 attempt either, but still it was hardly good 
 enough to deceive Julia. ' You see,' she went 
 on, ' I'm not particularly fond of town, but 
 still the country does get rather dull after a 
 time.' 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves was considerably an- 
 noyed at the non-success of his attempt on 
 her peace of mind. It was to a certain extent 
 mortifying to him to have given himself the 
 trouble of taunting his wife with a lover whom 
 she did not care about, for so he had determined 
 in his mind. 
 
 To account for Edith's coldness on the 
 subject of Hollebone is easy, for, with the 
 natural tendency of fair-brown haired women, 
 who by some racial accident not uncommon 
 in so mixed a nation as ours, have inherited 
 a certain but insufficient amount of strong- 
 mindedness, Edith was somewhat hysterical 
 in character, given to obeying her moods and 
 impulses unduly, and it had happened that 
 on the particular morning when Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves had broached the subject she had 
 made up her mind that she hated her lover, 
 and, unlike himself, when she had once decided 
 to make up her mind to hate him, hate him she 
 did, and with remarkable intensity — but, then, 
 it passed away in a day or two. 
 
 Thus Mr Kasker-Ryves had to a certain 
 extent failed, and he knew it; but such was 
 his persevering nature that he at once set to 
 work to build up a theory — or rather, to prove 
 an old one. It took him several days to
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 189 
 
 arrive at the idea, indeed it would have taken 
 an ordinary man — one who possessed a con- 
 science, that is — a much longer time to arrive 
 at, since it was an idea which should in nature 
 not occur to anyone who was not bent heart 
 and soul on evil. 
 
 The fact is Mr Kasker-Ryves's hatred of 
 his wife had grown to be nothing less than a 
 mania ; besides which it diverted his mind to 
 see his wife's unhappiness, and Mr Ryves's 
 mind wanted diverting, because, in spite of 
 his braggadocio libertinism, there was one 
 event of his life that he repented of, and that 
 one memory insisted on catching him at odd 
 moments when his mind was otherwise un- 
 occupied. 
 
 A terrible period of tribulation of mind 
 ensued for Edith that season in London. A 
 rustle and glitter — a sensation of rushing in 
 an express train through masses of dia- 
 monds, gilding silk, and insincerity — in every- 
 thing but insincerity, in that everyone was 
 sincere. In her mind there was a constant 
 war ; but although she was pestered and 
 pestered by men — of all grades, classes, and 
 conditions — the war was all about Hollebone. 
 Of course at times she hated him, but the 
 phases of hatred grew fewer and fewer, and 
 the intervals between whiles larger and larger; 
 but it was not so much that that troubled 
 her as the fact that her theory of morals had 
 received a severe blow — in fact, her whole 
 moral system had been shaken by her 
 husband's revelations, and she began to grow
 
 190 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 cynical, which is as a rule a bad sign in a 
 girl — or in anyone for that matter — for as a 
 general rule cynicism is the outward and 
 visible sign to show that an inward and 
 spiritual crime has been committed by the 
 cynic. That, at anyrate, was the case with 
 Edith — and the crime that she had committed 
 was no new one, and one that has doubt- 
 less been committed by many millions of 
 people, namely, that of thinking of her lover. 
 Whether it was a very great crime or not is not 
 for me to say ; but poor Edith thought it was, 
 and eagerly snatched up the armour of cyni- 
 cism, saying, ' They all do it — I sin in a goodly 
 company.' Nevertheless even these magic 
 words did not soothe her. She was very 
 miserable, and at all times and in all places 
 her misery would force itself upon her, and at 
 times with overwhelming force. 
 
 She was no lady, about that there can be 
 no doubt ; for, is not the first qualification of a 
 lady that she should be able to bear tortures, 
 mental, and even physical, without express- 
 ing on her face any indications of emotion ? 
 Therefore Edith was no lady — but there was 
 some hope for her — she was but just out of her 
 teens. In a very few years she might have 
 become an automaton — and a very pretty one 
 at that. As it was, she was so insignificant 
 that, although all the world knew her, it took 
 very little trouble to invent scandal about her 
 — of course there was a good deal flying 
 around in the air, but hardly anyone took the 
 trouble to think of it.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 191 
 
 Her beauty ensured her a certain number of 
 attendants, but they were mostly very young 
 men — and as all the world knows it is the 
 duty which every well-bred Very Young Man 
 owes to society to be utterly blase" — to take 
 no interest in anything — not even cookery, 
 and cookery is the conversation stock of the 
 most blase of all — women and horses being 
 almost entirely tabooed. Captain Wrigley, 
 V.C., summed the whole matter up in this way, 
 standing with his back to the club fire : — 
 
 ' As a matter of fact, Mrs R. isn't worth 
 talking about, except as Mrs R. Some of you 
 fellows can go and make love to her if you 
 like. For my part I shall leave her for a year 
 or so. She'll keep, and be all the better for 
 sobering down a bit. She's a schoolgirl.' 
 
 ' I lai'ke playing with a schoolgirl. It's 
 some fun just to see 'em blush.' This from 
 another. 
 
 ' Do you, now ? I say, can't any of you 
 fellows think of a new drink ? ' 
 ' You might try water ! ' 
 ' No ! Do fellows ever drink water ? ' 
 And so Mrs Ryves was dismissed in much 
 the same way by everyone, that is to say, 
 everyone who was anyone. Of course there 
 were some men fools enough to ' flop ' over 
 her, but they were all men of no account in 
 society. Nevertheless she always had a 
 plentiful following of men who liked playing 
 with schoolgirls, pleasantly conceited crea- 
 tures, who each and everyone of them imagined 
 that the clouds that occasionally flew across
 
 192 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 her fair face were either fabricated to fascinate 
 him or were caused by his own shortcomings, 
 and they rather wondered that Mr Ryves 
 should place such implicit confidence in his 
 wife when there were such very fascinating 
 men about ; but then Mr Ryves was a little old- 
 fashioned, and was used to society before they 
 had appeared on the scene. Hideously im- 
 probable as it may seem, the well-hidden 
 conscience of some of them were unearthed 
 by a feeling of shame at the wrong they were 
 doing Edith's husband. For, as I have 
 observed before, Mr Ryves was a man whom 
 everybody loved. However, to most of the 
 members of her court shame was an entirely 
 new sensation, and in them a new sensation 
 took the place of pleasure. Perhaps that was 
 why they did not ' leave off from following 
 after her ' ; and although Edith very emphati- 
 cally gave out that ' followers were not 
 allowed,' she found a certain amount of en- 
 joyment in setting her court down member 
 by member. To be sure she did it in a 
 somewhat outre fashion, but then, as I have 
 said before, she was not a lady, a real lady, 
 that is, and although some people set her very 
 outreness down as a mannerism — a mannerism 
 is a striving after originality, and certainly 
 originality is not ladylike, say what one will. 
 
 In the meantime Mr Ryves looked and 
 smiled benignly at his wife's suitors, and this 
 annoyed them. It seemed to them as if his 
 smile implied proprietary pride, sneering at 
 them that they the youth and beauty of the
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 193 
 
 land had allowed him, an old, old man, to 
 carry off from them so priceless a pearl of 
 promise, therefore they redoubled their efforts, 
 and became indeed quite outrageous, until 
 suddenly Kasker-Ryves withdrew his wife 
 from out their midst, just as the goddesses of 
 older times were in the habit of doing with 
 their favourite heroes when hard pressed. 
 The gentlemen of her court were by no means 
 astonished, they only looked at one another, 
 winked, wondered who the happy man was, 
 called Sir Charles Russell a lucky dog, and 
 waited for the papers with a certain amount 
 of interest. As a matter of fact they showed 
 a great deal of disappointment when nothing 
 came of it. Mr Kasker-Ryves was ill and a 
 great physician was called in, all the Ryves' en- 
 gagements were cancelled, and Mrs Ryves had 
 entirely disappeared, being only occasionally 
 seen in the park. Society was annoyed and 
 disappointed, it felt itself done out of a 
 cause eelebre, and it interviewed the great 
 physician. 
 
 'What was the matter with Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves ? ' 
 
 • Mr Ryves had a complication of slight 
 diseases.' 
 
 ' Was there anything wrong with his heart ? ' 
 
 The great physician quite understood so- 
 ciety's innuendo, and itched to knock society 
 down. As a general rule he had no objection 
 to retailing scandal, both to dowagers and at his 
 club, but he had seen Mrs Ryves, and under- 
 stood the thing was impossible, and in the 
 I
 
 194 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 great physician the man was not quite sunk 
 in the gentleman. About society ladies he 
 had no objection to retailing any amount of 
 scandal, that being indeed almost the sole use 
 of a society lady, but he recognised at once 
 that Edith was not a lady of that class, and 
 did not deserve to be treated as such. Never- 
 theless, although he would have liked to 
 knock society clown, he refrained, thinking 
 it excessively probable that in such a case 
 society would dispense with his services. 
 Therefore he answered that Mr Kasker-Ryves 
 had nothing the matter with his heart, he suf- 
 fered considerably from gout in his feet, and 
 that Mrs Ryves was nursing him assiduously. 
 Society was extremely disgusted. 
 
 'It's always the way,' it said. 'We've 
 suffered frightfully from the introduction of 
 shopkeepers into our midst. They know 
 how to behave up to a certain point well 
 enough, but after that — This is a case in 
 point. If this girl had known her duty, we 
 might have had a lovely divorce case. But 
 we're in the hands of parvenues entirely now. 
 It would have been so exciting, too ; they'd 
 surely have had the Prince of Hesse-Katzen- 
 berg-Hohmuth in the witness-box, and it's 
 just possible the C.K. — only think of it' 
 
 And society almost decided to scratch the 
 Ryves's offits visiting list. But it reconsidered 
 its decision on considering its growing and 
 grown-up daughters, and Mr Kasker-Ryves's 
 millions, his eighty years, and his unmarried 
 son, although, to be sure, the son was rather —
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE* 195 
 
 but, then, young men must sow their wild 
 oats — and three and a half millions at least. 
 Yes, it would never do to strike the father off, 
 and besides, George is growing up, and Mr 
 Kasker-Ryvcs is getting old. Mrs Kaskcr- 
 Ryves is pretty sure to have considerable 
 pickings. So perhaps it would be as well 
 to be civil to her too. One never knows 
 what may happen nowadays. Therefore Mrs 
 Kasker-Ryvcs was not refused admittance into 
 polite society. Not that she would have very 
 much minded the prohibition, for she was 
 otherwise engaged. Mr Ryves's reason for 
 withdrawing his wife from view was not a 
 sudden access of jealousy, but of gout. It 
 was, moreover, not the gout itself, but one of 
 its prevenant circumstances. It came about 
 in this way. By a curious physico-mental 
 affinity the gout invariably heralded its ap- 
 proach with him some days before its arrival 
 by an effervescence of the mind, in which 
 ideas and revelations bubbled up unceasingly, 
 and during these periods Mr Ryves saw — 
 not the evil of his ways, for his ways had no 
 evil, but the mistakes he had made or was 
 making. The fit first struck him one morn- 
 ing when he returned with his wife towards 
 three from a ball, the fifth they had been to 
 that week, and Mr Ryves observed with con- 
 siderable satisfaction that Edith was looking 
 excessively haggard and worn out. 
 
 ' If it wasn't for these damned Sundays I'd 
 kill her in a very short time from the mere 
 fatigue of the thing, without troubling about a
 
 196 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 man. But it's just the Sunday comes in and 
 gives her rest enough to last out the week en- 
 suing, and there doesn't seem to be any man 
 either that appears likely to suit her tastes — 
 and, good God ! what a fool I have been ! I 
 might have seen all along that she is, as the 
 vulgar say, " Intense," meaning aesthetically 
 inclined, and that under the circumstances it 
 was excessively unlikely that she should fall 
 in love with any of the men one meets in 
 society — not even a lionised author. I had 
 imagined that His Serene Highness the 
 Hereditary Prince of Hesse-Katzenberg-Hoh- 
 muth's titles might have fascinated her — 
 still I might have known that she was too 
 intellectual to care for titles, besides which, 
 it's only a foreign one — and yet there were 
 lords enough too. And then, of course, she 
 would hardly see enough of any man in 
 society to fall in love with him. No, I see 
 my mistake. I must have some intellectual 
 man constantly in the house — only the diffi- 
 culty is to find an intellectual man who is 
 young and at all handsome. As a rule intel- 
 lectual young men are not given that way. 
 However, I think I know a young man that 
 would do — and the best of it is that he has 
 no moral scruples whatever. I'll write to him 
 at once and ask him to call. I might tell him I 
 am about to write a book, and that he can help 
 me with it, as a sort of secretary. Meanwhile 
 I must get ill, so as to keep her in the house. 
 Oh, damn this collar stud, will it never come 
 undone' — for all this soliloquy had taken place
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 197 
 
 in his toilet-chamber, where he was undressing 
 himself. 
 
 He turned to the cheval glass that stood 
 under the electric light in order to get a better 
 view of the refractory shirt stud. As he caught 
 sight in the glass of his face, rendered more 
 vivid by the strong light, he started, and 
 then stared fixedly at his own reflection. 
 
 ' Good God ! ' he said, ' how pale I look 
 myself. It strikes me I must have forgotten 
 the rouge this evening. No, it's that that 
 makes me look ghastly. I'll wash it off and 
 see how I look then,' and he proceeded to the 
 washstand, and in hopes of deceiving himself 
 rubbed the rouge off with a hard nail-brush 
 and then returned to the cheval glass. 
 
 Before coming into the range of its reflec- 
 tion he hesitated for a moment, dreading the 
 truth it would reveal ; but the suspense was 
 too much for him, and he moved into the view 
 of the mirror and regarded his imaged self 
 therein, and all the while his heart went pit-a- 
 pat as a schoolgirl's does at the footstep of 
 her lover. With a shudder at his own ghastli- 
 ness he drew himself away again ; but once 
 more he drew a long breath and regarded the 
 reflection, steeling himself to carefully note 
 each new wrinkle and furrow and trying not 
 to shudder at the pallor that overspread it all. 
 
 ' My God, I have been mad — mad ! I 
 have been killing myself as well as her. I 
 ought to have known that I am too old for it 
 now — and it has been all useless. I am dying 
 — I know it — I have not more than a few
 
 198 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIFE. 
 
 months or days to live — and it is all because 
 this damned girl wanted my money,' he added, 
 with a sudden access of fury, ' and I cannot 
 kill her, and I shall die unloved, for who will 
 love an old, old man like me — a very old 
 man.' 
 
 His voice sank into a strange comic-pathetic 
 whispered sigh, until suddenly he burst into a 
 passionate fit of sobbing, for he had learnt at 
 last that ' all is vanity.' 
 
 Being possessed of a marvellous physique, 
 he had hitherto gone on his way through life 
 up to his present great age without noticing 
 the encroachments that time and his frequent 
 excesses had had on him. Hitherto he had 
 hardly realised that he was no longer in the 
 prime of life, and consequently, with the idea 
 of wearing his wife out, he had plunged into 
 the maelstrom of a London season with al- 
 most the same vivacity that he would have 
 exhibited half a century before, and this at- 
 tempt had consummated the ruin of his vital 
 energies ; and thus, when the ghastly truth 
 was forced upon him, he fell a-crying, with all 
 the hopeless pain at heart that a child feels at 
 the loss of a favourite toy. And the weaker 
 his body grew the stronger burnt the flame of 
 his hatred for his wife, until he could hardly 
 dissimulate it, in spite of his marvellous his- 
 trionic powers. In the general course of 
 events strong hatreds or strong affections were 
 alien to his cold, selfish nature. But it was 
 his wife who had made manifest first to him 
 that his powers of attracting the opposite sex
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRF. 199 
 
 had deteriorated. When a man has imagined 
 himself, rightly or wrongly, to be a • devil 
 among women! he bids fair, as a general rule, 
 to drag that belief along with him until he 
 stumbles, toothless and blear-eyed, into his 
 grave. 
 
 Edith had been unlucky enough to de- 
 prive her husband of this pleasant conceit, and 
 his vanity and self-love clamoured out loudly 
 for revenge ; moreover, it showed him that his 
 end was drawing nigh much more rapidly 
 than he had hitherto cared to own, and Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves hated the thought of death, 
 not only because of the disagreeable associa- 
 tions connected with it, but because, although 
 he was not quite certain as to the probability 
 of Retributive Justice being exacted in a future 
 state, he was perfectly convinced that if there 
 was such a place as hell it would be his de- 
 stined abode. Not that he saw the evil of his 
 ways as a whole, but there was one episode of 
 life that he would gladly have changed if he 
 were able. It was quite an ordinary story, an 
 everyday one, that of a woman that had loved 
 him, whom he had ruined, and who, broken- 
 hearted, had eased herself of the woes of this 
 life ; but, strangely enough, it was only after she 
 had taken her own life that he realised that he 
 had loved her. It may have been owing to 
 the fact that her committing suicide for love 
 of him flattered his vanity — very probably it 
 was so — but the thought of her death, when it 
 came into his mind, would cause him such 
 terrible mental agony as almost always to
 
 200 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 bring on a fit of illness, even at this late date. 
 In fact he dreaded this memory with the ab- 
 ject, cringing fear that a dog has of its master 
 when he calls it sternly, with a sharp-lashed 
 whip displayed. And indeed his very dread 
 of this memory caused him to take the greater 
 pleasure in tormenting his wife, inasmuch as 
 it gave his mind employment, and kept the 
 memory away while he watched the torture 
 she was undergoing, or rather that he was 
 trying to make her undergo, for hitherto he 
 had succeeded but partially, only indeed, to the 
 extent of making her hate him and grow al- 
 most distracted at the thought of being linked 
 to him infrangibly. But this was not suffi- 
 cient for Mr Kasker-Ryves. He knew very 
 well his wife's conscientiousness, or, as he 
 called it, nursery morality, and he wished to 
 make her feel the irksomeness of her marriage 
 ties when she would fain have broken them in 
 favour of someone else, and he hoped thus to 
 drive her into her grave from the mere hope- 
 lessness of longing, for hopeless longing he 
 knew it would remain. Therefore he had 
 dragged her into the vortex of society in the 
 vain hope of finding a man that would prove 
 fatal to her peace of mind. 
 
 Hitherto he had failed, and as the reader 
 has seen, he determined on a new plan for 
 bringing her into closer contact with a different 
 type of young man from that to be found in 
 society, namely, a person with some intellect. 
 How this scheme would have succeeded is 
 scarcely problematical, but before he could
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 201 
 
 put it into action several deterrent circum- 
 stances occurred. In the first place, he was 
 seized with a violent attack of gout that pro- 
 strated him for the time and left him a physical 
 wreck, with a mind like a furnace of hot desires. 
 He knew death was approaching him rapidly, 
 and he was filled with a maddening craving to 
 torture his wife to death before his own end — 
 and yet, rack his brains how he would, he could 
 discover no torment strong enough to kill her. 
 She was at an age when love should be the 
 ruling passion — and yet he could find no one 
 whom she would love. 
 
 And so the long months dragged on slowly 
 for them both. The season drew to its close, 
 town grew empty, and people fled to Baden or 
 Homburg — and then the summer drifted by 
 and the autumn came in, with its moon hang- 
 ing great and golden in a black cloudless sky, 
 looking quietly down on poor passion-torn 
 Edith, wearing herself out in assiduously nurs- 
 ing her querulous, loathsome husband, and 
 shuddering still at every touch she needs must 
 give him in the fulfilment of her duty. And 
 never husband before had a more tender, 
 careful nurse than did Mr Kasker-Ryves in 
 this wife of his, though she knew his black 
 villainy of soul, and knew too that he hated her 
 Yet she nursed him and waited on his every 
 whim, and to serve him yet more fully, struggled 
 hard not to show her agony of mind at the 
 torment he inflicted on her, for she could not 
 or would not believe that he wilfully pained 
 her. It was her atonement for her sin in vow-
 
 202 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ing to love, honour, and obey him when she 
 could only 'obey.' Moreover, she had returned 
 to her ancient struggling not to think of 
 her love, in her strong endeavour to do that 
 which was right towards her lord, and this 
 trial was the hardest and most wearing of all. 
 Still she struggled, and struggled bravely, 
 and only at times, when the moon alone saw 
 her, her tears would well over and drop from 
 her eyes, sparkling for a moment in the pure 
 light. 
 
 Julia, who was frequently with her, tempted 
 her often to write to Clement. 
 
 'Why on earth shouldn't you, Edith, dear?' 
 she said. ' You never meant to let him drop 
 altogether when you married this old — well, 
 gentleman (to please you), and you might just 
 as well. It would do no harm in the world, 
 and you could explain to him how it really 
 was that you married this Mr Ryves — as it 
 is he might, with every excuse, forget all about 
 you, and when the old gentleman dies you 
 will be alone in the world.' 
 
 And so Edith let herself be over-persuaded, 
 and one night she began a piteous letter of 
 appeal to him, but before she had ended it 
 her conscience upbraided her and she left it 
 unfinished — only, since she could not bear to 
 tear up anything that was in any way con- 
 nected with Clement, she locked the letter up 
 carefully in the box in which she kept all the 
 treasures that she had collected of his. The 
 box she kept at the bottom of a great clothes- 
 press, and this was the first time she had
 
 THE SHIFTING OF TIIF FIRE. 203 
 
 opened it since her marriage, and she could not 
 resist lingering over its contents once again. 
 There was the necklace he had given her, and 
 the bracelets, and the gold ring— she could 
 not help kissing it. {Mr Ryves was very 
 restless that night, and he wanted his wife to 
 get tip and read to him. His step was very 
 noiseless when he wished, and he had a knack 
 of opening a door without making the least 
 noise in the world.) Edith was kneeling on 
 the floor, with her back to the door, leaning 
 over the box. There was one thing Clement 
 had given her that she valued more highly 
 than any other thing in this world — a little 
 bottle with a great poison label — this she 
 seized and kissed a hundred times. {Mr Ryves 
 had another knack, that of closing a door very, 
 very gently, almost inaudibly.) A very slight 
 noise came from behind Edith's back, almost 
 as if somebody had shut the door — that, of 
 course, was impossible, it must have been 
 imagination ; but the shock had caused her to 
 feel guilty, and she realised for the first time 
 that she was committing a deadly sin in laps- 
 ing thus into sweet dreams, and then a cloud 
 of hopelessness fell on her, and a feeling of 
 dread, of punishment therefor. 
 
 ' Oh, if I only thought that my present 
 misery was the punishment for my sin, that I 
 am always lapsing into, I should be happy, 
 and certainly my husband never was cruel to 
 me until I began to let myself think of Clement, 
 so perhaps this wretchedness is the atonement. 
 I wish I wasn't an atheist, then I could at least
 
 204 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 pray that the sin I have committed just now 
 might be pardoned — only, as Clement says he 
 is an atheist, I must — but, oh dear, I am 
 thinking of Clement again — I must not do it,' 
 and she gathered the things into the box 
 again, and putting in her own unfinished 
 letter to him, she shut the box and consigned 
 it to its hiding-place again. Of course she 
 ought to have destroyed the box and every- 
 thing it contained, but her strength of mind 
 could not carry her as far as that ; she was, 
 after all, only a girl, and she went to bed and 
 battled manfully against her desire. 
 
 Meanwhile a change had come over Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves. He was pacing his bedroom 
 angrily, and swearing at himself for an old fool. 
 
 ' Every day brings me a new proof that my 
 dotage is approaching,' he was saying. ' I 
 might have known that she had a secret place 
 in which she kept her love-tokens — and it has 
 never entered my head to take impressions of 
 her keys, and yet at one time I had them of 
 even the servants'. I must do it at once — to- 
 night. Aha ! my dear child, now I have you 
 in my clutches.' For Mr Kasker-Ryves could 
 be quite melodramatic when he chose. ' I 
 feel ten years younger, at least. Now I shall 
 kill her — if I only have time. Oh for time to 
 accomplish my task in — only a little, a very 
 little. I will torture her to death. I wouldn't 
 mind staking with Fate, my life for hers, that 
 I kill her within the period of my life — suicide 
 and murder excepted. But I won't let her 
 commit suicide — and no one is likely to
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 205 
 
 murder her — suicide and murder are always 
 excepted in bets between gentlemen, and 
 Fate is a gentleman, or rather a lady. Yes, 
 I'll do it. My life against hers that I kill 
 her (by mental torture) before I die, and that 
 is against Fate. I wish I knew who her lover 
 was. However, I must be calm — I am quite 
 agitated at this moment — and every moment 
 of agitation shortens my life by God only 
 knows how many hours.' 
 
 And this extraordinary old gentleman 
 seated himself in an arm-chair and took 
 up Holy Living and Dying, which Edith 
 had been reading to him nearly all the day, 
 during which he had been querulous and 
 nervously trying ; but now his time of trouble 
 was past, and he felt it was plain sailing to 
 the end, and the end was to be her death — 
 not his own. He waited tranquilly, therefore, 
 for some hours, in order to give her time to 
 fall asleep, after which he walked noiselessly 
 into the room where she slept. It was a 
 matter of some difficulty, for during his illness 
 she had trained herself to wake at his least 
 movement, in order to be always ready to 
 nurse him. Nevertheless, by giving serious 
 trouble to himself, he succeeded in getting 
 possession of the keys, albeit he must needs 
 do so in the dark, for fear of awakening her 
 with a light, and, as all the world knows, it is 
 a serious matter to find a lady's pocket even 
 in the full light of heaven. But by the time he 
 had finished with them and returned them to 
 their places the grey dawn already lent some
 
 206 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 aid to him. Once in possession of the im- 
 pressions on wax, Mr Kasker-Ryves's troubles 
 were over, and he only needed to send them 
 by post to a locksmith who had done many 
 such jobs for him before. Luck was all on 
 Mr Ryves's side that day, for the locksmith 
 had only just returned from a sojourn in gaol 
 — on account of a job not unconnected with 
 locks — and being nearly penniless, was anxious 
 to finish Mr Kasker-Ryves's keys at once 
 and get the money as soon as possible, for he 
 knew by experience that Mr Ryves paid well. 
 Therefore Mr Ryves received his keys a very 
 few days after. By this time the improve- 
 ment in his health had become so very marked 
 that one morning he said to his wife, — 
 
 ' My dear girl, how ill you are looking. You 
 have been knocking yourself up for my sake, 
 and I never noticed. Why don't you get Miss 
 Tubbs to make an outing with you — say to- 
 morrow ? You might go by an early train 
 down to Heme Bay, or some place by the 
 sea, get a good blow, and come back by the 
 last train at night, for I can't spare you for 
 more than a day,' he added pathetically. 
 
 As a matter of fact he was afraid that if she 
 took any luggage with her it might serve as an 
 excuse for carrying off the box which he so 
 much desired to see. Edith showed evident 
 signs of an inclination to rebel against this 
 hygienic measure, saying that she was quite 
 well, and that he was not sufficiently recovered 
 for it to be safe for her to leave him. But Mr 
 Ryves overruled her arguments.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 2C7 
 
 ' My dear little wife/ he said, ' I insist — ab- 
 solutely insist on your going. Just to-day I am 
 well enough to do without you, and you must 
 seize the opportunity of an outing while you 
 can, otherwise you will be breaking down 
 altogether, and I may have a relapse — one 
 must expect it at my time of life — and then 
 I shall not have any kind nurse. I don't 
 know what I should do without you. Now, 
 dearest, go and arrange it with Miss Tubbs, 
 just to oblige me.' 
 
 And so Edith drove over to Hampstcad 
 and interviewed Julia on the subject, and 
 Julia had no particular objections. Work was 
 very slack with her just then. It was the end 
 of the holidays still, and what little work 
 she had on the next day she could manage 
 to postpone. 
 
 ' If you had asked me three weeks later it 
 would have been different. I've got any 
 number of concerts to play at — but a good 
 sea blow would do me good. I've not been 
 able to afford to go out of town for the 
 holidays.' 
 
 But Edith answered, — 
 
 ' Now, Ju, dear, you know you're telling a 
 fib, and that you've only stopped in town to 
 keep me company.' 
 
 Now Julia had an annoying habit of at- 
 tempting to edge in a little bit of abuse of 
 Mr Kasker - Ryves when she thought her 
 friend was in an unusually good temper with 
 her. Therefore she said, — 
 
 ' Now I should like to know what particular
 
 208 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 piece of devilry Mr Kasker-Ryves is up to 
 that he wants you out of the way — ' 
 
 But Edith interrupted her, almost white 
 with anger. 
 
 'Julia,' she said, 'once for all, and for the 
 last time, I will not have you say another 
 word against Mr Kasker-Ryves. I believe he 
 is a really good man, and that I have been 
 wronging him all along when I thought 
 otherwise, and you make me perfectly miser- 
 able when you speak against him, so please 
 don't, dear.' 
 
 And Julia answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, very well, I won't.' But to herself she 
 said, ' Good Lord ! what a frightful thing it 
 must be to have a conscience like Edith's 
 — poor girl.' 
 
 On the morrow they set out on their trip, 
 and I am bound to say that Edith enjoyed 
 herself considerably in spite of all her troubles. 
 In fact she was beginning to make light of 
 them, and to think that, after all, Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves was not such a frightful ruffian as she 
 had thought him, for, to the best of her 
 knowledge, he had always behaved in a most 
 exemplary way, and almost treated her most 
 affectionately. Edith's vanity always ex- 
 panded when she was at all at ease in her 
 mind, and she was beginning to think that, 
 after all, it was possible that Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves was fond of her. Meanwhile he was 
 enjoying himself, for having with considerable 
 ease discovered the badly hidden box, it did 
 not take him more than ten minutes to find
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 209 
 
 a key that fitted the lock. Transporting the 
 box into his own room, he placed it on the 
 ground, beside an arm-chair, and proceeded 
 to leisurely examine its contents. The first 
 thing that struck his eye was the unfinished 
 letter that Edith had begun. 
 
 A glance at the date and the opening words 
 sufficed to make his eyes sparkle. 
 
 'By Jove!' he said, 'this letter was com- 
 menced only the day before yesterday, and 
 she has not had time to finish it. It 
 begins " Dearest Clem," ' and he proceeded 
 to read the letter. 
 
 When he had got half-way through he 
 stopped to think over it before turning over 
 the leaf. 
 
 ' It is as I thought — she only married me 
 for my money, to give it to this beggar when 
 I die. Wonder what his name is — must wait 
 until I read his letters. The little vixen 
 doesn't seem to have kept up a regular cor- 
 respondence with him or she wouldn't need 
 to tell him all about her reasons for marrying 
 me.' 
 
 The only human thing about Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves, his vanity, was horribly macerated 
 by this letter, for Edith did not even con- 
 descend to hate him, only seeming to pass 
 him over as an aged invalid whose pec- 
 cadilloes must be patiently borne with. The 
 whole tone of the letter was one of piteous 
 appeal to Clement, and Mr Kasker-Ryves's 
 hatred of his wife was increased out of all 
 bounds. But words are powerless to express
 
 210 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 his self-abuse when, after reading through 
 many letters signed only ' Clement,' he dis- 
 covered Hollebone's name. 
 
 He certainly had considerable ground 
 for annoyance, for the letters showed him 
 that his whole labours to tempt his wife had 
 not only been futile on his part, but absolutely 
 an idiotic abandonment of the right clue. 
 He had ruined his health, and had drawn 
 death nearer by years to himself, and all be- 
 cause he had with too great precipitation 
 thrown away that clue. However, after a 
 time the wrath of even a philosopher will 
 burn itself out, and he forced himself to pro- 
 ceed with the examination of his wife's treas- 
 ures. Methodically he read through and di- 
 gested all the letters Hollebone had written, 
 and with diabolical intent copied out some 
 verses that he had once written to her. At 
 last he arrived at the letter that gave a de- 
 scriptive account of the properties and effects 
 of the poison. 
 
 ' H'm,' said Mr Ryves, ' I must venture 
 to deprive my sweet wife of this love-token. 
 A poison that is more sudden in its effects 
 than prussic acid is not a thing for her to 
 have in her possession. Suicide would be 
 too easy for her. By Jove ! this fellow is a 
 fool to let a girl know such a lot about a 
 poison like this. " Its effects to any ordinary 
 doctor not possessing the secret would be 
 absolutely indistinguishable from death by 
 apoplexy — and you and I are the only 
 people who know of its existence. Therefore,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE EIRE. 211 
 
 dearest, I have thought it safer to seal the 
 bottle hermetically with my own private seal, 
 because if it got into careless hands by 
 accident it might do mischief." What a fool 
 a man in love is ! and what a fool the girl is 
 not to have polished me off with it ages ago. 
 It would have been so easy to slip a little of 
 it into my beef-tea, and no danger of a cord's 
 stretching her dainty white throat. But she 
 would never do that. She might kill herself, 
 though, and I want to have that pleasure. I 
 must say this young man is a fool. I don't 
 wonder she fell in love with him. However, 
 let's just finish the examination of these 
 things. Wonder who the violin's by — h'm, 
 Stradivari its Cremoncnsis — can't be real. 
 Must be a French imitation of last century — 
 not a bad one by any means. It wouldn't be 
 at all a bad plan to break it irrevocably — and of 
 course when she discovers her loss she will be 
 in a terrible state of mind, and will, at the 
 same time, not be able to make a fuss about 
 it. And it will be such a delightfully wanton 
 piece of destruction — it must make her hate 
 me when she discovers it. Yes, I will — just for 
 the fun of the thing,' and placing the poor 
 violin on the ground, he stamped it to atoms, 
 observing, with a smile, ' There goes about a 
 thousand pounds,' after which he gathered up 
 the fragments, replaced them in the case, 
 and having possessed himself of the poison, 
 replaced the box in its hiding-place. ' There's 
 no time to be lost,' he said when this was 
 done, and he rang the bell.
 
 212 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 A servant appeared. 
 
 'Let me have lunch at once, and tell Jack- 
 son to get the carriage ready,' he said, and 
 the servant departed on his errand. Having 
 finished his lunch, he set out to find his son, 
 who happened to be in town at that moment. 
 With his usual luck he managed to catch 
 his son at his chambers, just as that young 
 man was on the point of setting out for 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 'Hullo, dad!' he said, as his venerable 
 parent appeared, ' what's in the wind now?' 
 
 ' I won't keep you a moment, Jemmy,' his 
 father said, ' but I want to know where young 
 Hollebone is living just now.' 
 
 The young man whistled. 
 
 ' What's gone wrong about him ? ' he asked. 
 
 Mr Ryves looked grave. 
 
 ' Well, my dear son, the fact is that I have 
 found a letter from Edith to him — and I should 
 like to know where he is, so that if he answers 
 I may know the post-mark on his letter and 
 intercept it' 
 
 The young man smiled. 
 
 ' The incorruptible seems to have fallen after 
 all,' he said. ' The fellows in the club were bet- 
 ting on her — and, by-the-bye, I happened to 
 hear young Hollebone's address, too, in con- 
 nection with her. He is a doctor in some out- 
 of-the-way hole that nobody has ever heard 
 of — why, I don't know, because he must be 
 pretty well off. What on earth was the name 
 now ? Confound it ! I know I put it down in 
 my note book at the time as a nice name for
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 213 
 
 a place in a novel. The note book's in one of 
 my coats, but it's packed up.' 
 
 ' Well, I wish you'd get it out again, dear 
 boy. I should like to know as soon as possible.' 
 
 The young man looked at his watch. 
 
 ' I shall miss my train anyhow,' he said, and 
 he rang for his servant. ' Look here, Jackson, 
 I wish you'd unpack my portmanteau and get 
 me out the frock coat I wore on Thursday 
 morning.' 
 
 'The portmanteau is already on the cab. 
 sir,' the man said. 
 
 ' Never mind, take it off again and get the 
 coat. Tell the cabman he may have to wait 
 an hour or so.' 
 
 When the man had departed, he turned 
 to his father. 
 
 ' I say, dad,' he said, ' I thought you were 
 above jealousy, and it certainly isn't con- 
 sistent with your theory of morals — or rather 
 immorals, I should say.' 
 
 His father smiled. 
 
 ' Oh, well, Jemmy,' he said, ' one can't always 
 be consistent, that would be too much trouble ; 
 and, as I have told you, my aim in life is to 
 get through it with as little trouble as pos- 
 sible. Besides which, Edith has been very 
 good to me, and nursed me very carefully, 
 and so I shouldn't like her to be unhappy, as 
 she is certain to be if she commits a sin — 
 and she will only have to wait a little while 
 now.' 
 
 The young man suddenly became serious. 
 
 ' Look here, dad,' he said, with the tone of
 
 214 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 voice men adopt when approaching a sacred 
 but embarrassing subject, ' I wish you would 
 tell me something about my mother — no one 
 knows anything of her, and you never have 
 approached the subject. I should like to 
 know — before it is too late.' 
 
 Mr Ryves laughed (to hide a feeling of 
 nervousness that possessed him and seemed 
 growing), and plunged glibly into a lie. 
 
 ' Well, my dear son,' he said, ' I haven't told 
 you anything before for fear you might, not 
 understanding my character, be shocked. It 
 was at the time I was reforming myself, and 
 it happened that one night — however, that will 
 take too long to tell in detail, but in the long 
 run it amounted to this : I picked her up out 
 of the streets and sent her to school, and 
 afterwards married her. She had been a 
 clergyman's daughter, and at her father's 
 death her mother had taken her up to Lon- 
 don, and after a time had deserted her — 
 and then — However, she lived very happily 
 with me, and was a very good wife indeed ; 
 but she died after seven years, and left you a 
 baby some thirty years ago. Since then I 
 have been married twice — counting Edith, 
 three times — and here comes Jackson.' 
 
 But the story was a carefully concocted 
 romance. 
 
 Jackson handed the coat to his master, 
 who, having felt in a pocket and withdrawn 
 the note book, returned him the coat, with 
 injunctions to pack it up again. The man 
 left the room, and the young man opened
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE F/A'F. 215 
 
 the note book and began turning over the 
 pages. 
 
 'Ah! here it is,' he said; 'yes, that's it. 
 Dym — Dym something — yes, Dymchurch.' 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryvcs's eyebrows came down 
 with a convulsive frown almost to his cheek 
 bones, his hands thrust forward vaguely, as 
 though staving off an imaginary horror, and 
 an expression of fear overspread his face — 
 a nameless dread that seemed to fill the 
 beholder with equal terror, as though one 
 were to see the reflection of hell on the face 
 of a man gazing into the pit. 
 
 'My — memory,' he gasped, and sank into 
 his chair a helpless mass. His son stared at 
 him a moment in stupefied amazement, until, 
 seeing his father did not move, he went to him 
 and tried to rouse him. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he said, ' it must be apoplexy. 
 He was too weak to come out.' Rushing to 
 the door, he called "Jackson, take the cab and 
 rush for the nearest doctor, bring him here at 
 once, and then go for Sir James Ditchett, and 
 bring him in the cab with you — hurry, now. 
 My father is suddenly taken ill and must see 
 him.' 
 
 Now, as a nineteenth century author is 
 bound to know everything, from the manage- 
 ment of the stops of an organ to the slaying 
 of a pig, there is little wonder that young Mr 
 Ryves, in his capacity of author, had an in- 
 timate acquaintance with the remedies best on 
 an emergency for a slight attack of apoplexy, 
 so that by the time Jackson returned with
 
 2i6 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 the doctor Mr Kasker-Ryves was restored to 
 consciousness. Whilst consciousness was re- 
 turning he uttered some words that to his son 
 were incomprehensible. They ran thus, in a 
 low half-whisper, — 
 
 1 Oh, for God's sake close your eyes. It 
 will kill me. But the bet is against Fate. I 
 wont die, I will kill her. You mustn't side 
 with Fate against me — and if you look at me 
 like that you will kill me, and Fate will win. 
 You always said that you loved me, and that 
 even though I had wronged you you could 
 not wish me ill — and now you are killing 
 me with that look of longing forgiveness — if 
 you would only seem to hate me, or scorn me, 
 or — anything would be better than that' His 
 voice rose. ' But it is against Fate, and I will 
 withstand it, and live in spite of you all. 
 Fate thought to frighten me by selecting that 
 place of all others, but I am not afraid. I'll 
 fret the girl to death in next to no time — 
 Why, hullo, Jemmy, I must have fainted. 
 I feel very weak still — give me a little 
 brandy.' 
 
 Now, brandy is the worst thing in the world 
 in such cases, and Jemmy refused it, giving 
 his father water instead. 
 
 He put his lips to the glass, but noticing 
 the difference at once, pushed it from him. 
 
 ' Why don't you give me brandy ? Look 
 here, Jemmy, tell me at once, was it 
 apoplexy ? ' 
 
 His son made no answer, and at that moment 
 the servant knocked.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 217 
 
 'The doctor is below,' he said. 'Shall I 
 show him up ? ' 
 
 Rut Mr Kasker-Ryves answered angrily, — 
 
 ' No, I'll see no cursed doctors. They'll 
 want to hinder me in my plans, and if I am 
 thwarted now it will kill me. Send him away 
 at once, Jemmy — I won't see him, nor Sir 
 James either. I ivill not, and when I say 
 that I mean it.' 
 
 And so, sorely against his will, Jemmy had 
 to go down and explain matters as best he 
 could to the doctor. On his return he found 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves calm and peaceful once 
 more. 
 
 ' Now, look here, Jemmy,' he said, ' if you 
 will let me alone now I shall be all right. 
 I know how to treat apoplexy as well as any 
 doctor, and it's no use calling one in. But if 
 you will do me a service, you can. Edith is 
 gone down for the day to Heme Bay with 
 Miss Tubbs. You might go down there on 
 the chance of finding them, and hurry her 
 back here. I must have her to put me to 
 bed, and I should like to go to bed early to- 
 night. She didn't intend returning before the 
 last train left, and she won't be home till 
 eleven ; but if you can manage to hurry her 
 she might be here by seven. In the mean- 
 while I will stop here until I feel somewhat 
 restored, and then I will drive home quietly, 
 and rest until Edith comes.' 
 
 To this plan the young man offered no 
 objection, and immediately drove off on his 
 errand, leaving his father in a state of most 
 K
 
 21 S THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 supreme calm, concocting a grand scheme 
 for the torture of Edith. Having matured 
 it in its smallest details, he set about 
 getting it into working order. He knew, 
 however, far too much the nature of his late 
 disorder to underrate its importance, and 
 therefore, when he had rested sufficiently, he 
 returned home, and sending for the great 
 physician, gave him a full account of his 
 seizure. 
 
 The great physician looked grave. 
 ' You must keep yourself very carefully 
 from worry of any sort. I will give you 
 a prescription, and call this evening when 
 Mrs Ryves has returned.' 
 But Mr Ryves frowned. 
 ' Now, look here, Sir James,' he said, ' I know 
 very well that I have had a slight touch of 
 apoplexy, and it is no use your informing 
 my wife of it in private. Moreover, I am 
 determined to leave town at once and go to 
 the seaside, the day after to-morrow, in 
 fact' 
 
 The great physician shrugged his shoulders. 
 ' If you are determined, I cannot help it, 
 but as your physician I forbid it. It will 
 probably kill you right off.' 
 
 'Yes, yes, Sir James, I know all about 
 that, but go I will, and I should be very 
 much obliged if you could so far depart from 
 professional etiquette as to set on paper a 
 few hints to the local physician how to act 
 in my case.' 
 
 The great physician demurred, objected,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 219 
 
 and after a serious struggle gave in. In 
 some cases it is best to humour patients, 
 especially if they are millionaires. On the 
 departure of the great physician he sent for 
 his body-servant, a man in whom he could 
 put implicit trust. 
 
 1 Paton,' he said, ' I want you to set off 
 for Dymchurch, in Suffolk, at once. You 
 have just time to catch the last train. I have 
 been recommended to go there at once by 
 Sir James Ditchett, and I am anxious to 
 follow his advice. You must find out what 
 houses are to let furnished, either with or 
 without attendance, and take the largest — if 
 possible, with accommodation for Mrs Ryves 
 and myself, yourself, a cook, and Parker. 
 Lodgings would do, but I should prefer a 
 whole house. You must have it taken by to- 
 morrow ; the price, of course, doesn't matter. 
 Oh, and by-the-bye, if you can manage it, 
 don't mention my name in the matter. You 
 may of course give me as a reference, but 
 I don't want the whole country to know 
 I am there. I am really not well enough to 
 be bothered with a large number of visitors. 
 Take it in your own name.' 
 
 The man said, 'Yes, sir,' and without ex- 
 pecting fuller orders, set off at once. And 
 Mr Ryves relapsed once more into calmness, 
 and occupied his mind in polishing up and 
 perfecting his scheme. 
 
 In the meanwhile his son had, after con- 
 siderable trouble, succeeded in discovering 
 the two ladies of whom he was in pursuit
 
 220 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 at an hotel, where they were enjoying some 
 afternoon tea. 
 
 Edith was terribly perturbed at the news 
 that he had to tell, and passed the time that 
 ensued between then and their reaching home 
 in a state of feverish anxiety, and employed 
 herself in asking the young man most minute 
 and searching questions as to her husband's 
 state, much to the annoyance of that youth, 
 who would fain have availed himself of the 
 opportunity of creating a feast of reason and 
 a flow of soul between himself and Julia, for 
 his passion had by no means diminished by 
 time, though Julia was as collected and con- 
 temptuous as ever. However, at last the 
 journey came to an end, and Edith took leave 
 of Julia, who promised to come over next 
 morning and see how Mr Ryves was pro- 
 gressing. 
 
 Edith, on arriving home, was full of self- 
 reproach for having left her husband for even 
 so short a time. But Mr Kasker - Ryves 
 silenced her on the subject. 
 
 ' My dear,' he said, ' it wouldn't have made 
 the least difference if you had stopped at home 
 — that sort of thing comes whatever one may 
 do.' 
 
 ' But if I had been at home,' Edith said, ' I 
 should not have let you go out. The exertion 
 of moving has brought it on.' 
 
 ' Well, well, my dear,' he answered, ' have 
 your own way, but say no more about it, and 
 put me to bed. Oh, by-the-bye, Sir James 
 says I must not stop in London any longer
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 221 
 
 than is necessary, so I have sent Paton down 
 to Hailesworth to see if he can get a house 
 in some retired part of the village where I 
 shall not be bothered with visitors all day 
 long.' 
 
 ' But will it be wise to travel so soon ? ' 
 Edith objected, and he answered, — 
 
 ' Oh, yes, dearest. Paton will arrange about 
 the travelling. He has ordered a saloon 
 carriage, or an invalid's compartment, or some- 
 thing, and all we have to do is to sit in it. By- 
 the-bye, you can tell Parker to pack your 
 boxes and her own. We'll take an assistant 
 cook and one of the servants, whichever you 
 
 like.' 
 
 ' When are we going ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Oh, the day after to-morrow, if that is not 
 too soon for you.' 
 
 And Edith agreed, for she knew it was 
 useless to attempt to oppose him. 
 
 On the next day Julia came over to see how 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves was, but, as it was still 
 rather early, he was not yet arisen, therefore 
 Edith saw her alone for a minute. 
 
 When Julia heard they were going away 
 she very naturally asked where they were 
 going, but Edith answered, — 
 
 ' I really don't know. Mr Kasker-Ryves 
 hasn't settled yet, but somewhere in Suffolk, 
 near Hailesworth.' 
 
 It was all Julia could do to suppress an 
 ejaculation of astonishment. 
 
 ' By-the-bye,' she asked, ' did you write to 
 Mr Hollebone after all ?
 
 222 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Edith blushed. 
 
 1 No, I didn't, Julia,' she said. ' I began 
 but it didn't seem right— and so I left it 
 unfinished.' 
 
 ' What did you do with it ? ' Julia asked. 
 
 ' I — well, I didn't like to burn it, and so I 
 locked it up in a box.' 
 
 'Well, of all the — However, it's no use 
 talking. If I had a conscience like yours I'd 
 drown myself right off — it would save trouble 
 in the end.' 
 
 ' It didn't seem right, Julia,' Edith said, 
 'after Mr Ryves has always been so kind to 
 me.' 
 
 ' Oh, it isn't that I mean,' Julia answered, 
 ' but just this. Next time you marry a vain, 
 jealous old man, don't leave unfinished love 
 letters in boxes. Don't you know love laughs 
 at locksmiths ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, Julia, you are a tease,' Edith said 
 angrily. ' I must run off now to Mr Ryves. 
 Good-bye, dear. I sha'n't see you again for 
 I don't know how long.' 
 
 The parting over, Edith went back to help 
 her husband get up, and Julia returned 
 home. 
 
 ' I wish I knew what on earth to do. I'm 
 afraid that old devil will be carrying her off to 
 Dymchurch, just for the fun of the thing. If 
 I were only certain I'd write to the young man 
 and warn him. As it is I'd better let him 
 alone, perhaps. It may do him a little good 
 to see her once or twice, or else he may be 
 giving her up, and that would be too bad.
 
 THE SirrFTTNG OF THE FTRE. 223 
 
 I'll run down there at anyrate in a week or so 
 and see how things are going on. If they are 
 there, Edith will want a little advice, or good- 
 ness knows what may happen ; and if they 
 aren't, I can try and keep the young man 
 from falling off.' 
 
 In the meanwhile Edith was helping her 
 husband to get up. The day went smoothly 
 round, for Mr Ryves was nerving himself for 
 the ordeal — there was more under the surface 
 than he chose to acknowledge to himself, 
 otherwise the whole thing would have been 
 excessively easy. There was, however, a slight 
 difficulty that he had not foreseen, namely, to 
 keep the name of their destination from his 
 wife, and in the end he thought it best to 
 invent a name for the place. By skilfully 
 sending Edith out of the room to fetch some- 
 thing the very moment Paton returned he 
 managed to prevent her hearing what his 
 servant said, for fear the servant should 
 mention the name. 
 
 Paton had, with very little difficulty, secured 
 a decently furnished house, and had arranged 
 everything, so that there would be no trouble 
 whatever in getting to Dymchurch. At Blyth- 
 borough a carriage would be awaiting them at 
 the station, and would carry them safely to their 
 destination, ' Conyers,' as Mr Kasker- Ryves 
 called it when speaking to his wife. 
 
 As a rule Mr Kaskcr-Ryvcs objected to 
 lying, not on principle, but because it did not 
 look well to be found out ; but on this occa- 
 sion he had a double object in telling the lie.
 
 224 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Firstly, to conceal their destination at first 
 from his wife, and secondly, so that when she 
 did find out the real name of the place she 
 should know that he had brought her there of 
 set purpose, and not out of blissful ignorance 
 — and he knew very well how she would hate 
 him when she made that discovery. More- 
 over, to strengthen his situation in that direc- 
 tion, he had laid one or two slight pitfalls — 
 the first of which had been the breaking of 
 the Stradivarius, and the second the copying 
 of some poetry that Hollebone had written 
 her in one of his letters. The plan connected 
 with the verses was delicately conceived to fit 
 into the one of the broken fiddle, in this way : 
 he ordered Paton to buy half-a-dozen or so 
 of the various illustrated papers and maga- 
 zines, for reading in the train, and armed with 
 one of these he waited until the train was 
 making as little noise as possible to say to 
 his wife, — 
 
 ' I must say, dear, a great deal of the poetry 
 of to-day is precious poor stuff. Just listen 
 to this awful rubbish in the Universal Review, 
 which really ought to do better. It appears 
 to me to be a poor imitation of Herrick or 
 Dr Donne, or someone of that period. Really 
 we ought to produce something more worthy 
 of the nineteenth century. Just listen.' 
 
 And he began to read the following verses, 
 which certainly were rather fishy, but still 
 one must make allowances for the fact that 
 at the time of writing Hollebone had been 
 very much out of his senses — oh, very.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 225 
 
 TO EDITH. 
 
 ON RECEIVING A LOCK OF HER HAIR ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. 
 I. 
 
 My love did send to me a single strand 
 From her great golden Ileav'n of hair, 
 And with it sent me her command 
 That I should happy live throughout the Year. 
 (How canst thou mock »ie thus unfortunate? 
 How canst thou be so cruel and still so fair? 
 How canst thou view my woes importunate, 
 And did me happy live, alone throughout a Year ?) 
 
 11. 
 Alas ! the treacherous hair twines round my heart, 
 Where I had placed it with all too great care, 
 'Tis drawn so tight all other woes depart, 
 And leave but grievous Love enthroned there. 
 {How canst thou see me thus unfortunate ? 
 IIoiu canst thou be so heartless and so fair? 
 Parted from thee, thou knowst I pine disconsolate, 
 Yet didst me happy live, throughout a dreary Year. ) 
 
 Having finished reading the verses, which 
 he had learnt by heart for occasion, Mr 
 Kasker-Ryves tossed the magazine on to a 
 seat, with contemptuous snort, and composed 
 himself for a nap, knowing very well that no 
 girl's vanity could resist the delight of seeing 
 verses written to herself — in print. 
 
 Accordingly, through his half closed eyelids 
 he could see Edith take up the magazine and 
 turn over its leaves petulantly, with a little 
 frown of disappointment at not finding the 
 verses. Having gone through each page of 
 it, as a last resource she referred to the index, 
 and turned up each article separately. Need- 
 less to say her endeavours were fruitless, and
 
 226 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryvcs observed with delight that 
 her peace of mind was destroyed ; and for the 
 rest of the journey she was moody and quiet, 
 darting occasional glances of mistrust at his 
 face. Indeed, poor Edith was in a terrible 
 state of excitement and impatience. 
 
 ' He must have found out my box and 
 opened it. It's too bad of him. I will never 
 forgive him if he has taken the verses away 
 — and then to call that lovely poetry " fishy.'" 
 
 But, perhaps from a sense of her own short- 
 comings, she did not feel any great dislike for 
 her husband spring up in her heart on that 
 account. Only, she was impatient that their 
 journey should end, in order that she might 
 visit her precious box to see that nothing had 
 been stolen therefrom. 
 
 The journey meanwhile ran smoothly on, 
 with no trouble to them of any sort. Paton was 
 an admirable manager, and everything fitted 
 in exactly, so that, except for the jolting of 
 the train and the fact that they had to change 
 twice on the way, Mr Kasker-Ryves hardly 
 suffered at all, and arrived at Dymchurch, or 
 Conyers, in the best of health and spirits. lie 
 had had to make a slight effort, it is true, to 
 steel himself in order to bear the effects that 
 the sight of the landscape had on his nerves as 
 they approached Dymchurch. But he stood 
 it very bravely. Perhaps the twilight that was 
 falling over the land took the piercingness 
 from the voices of the associations that 
 clamoured for admittance at the gateway of 
 his mind, even as it took the sharpness from
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 227 
 
 the hues of the landscape. Nevertheless it was 
 a hard struggle, and exhausted him, perhaps, 
 more than he imagined. For the landscape 
 was the frame that bound in the memory that 
 he dreaded so much. 
 
 By the time they had reached Dymchurch 
 it was already dark. Nevertheless, so well did 
 he know the town, and so little had it altered, 
 that Edith, sitting beside him in the chaise, 
 distinctly felt him shiver as they turned the 
 corner of the church, and not having any 
 associations connected with a house at one 
 corner of the square in which the sacred 
 edifice stood, felt quite certain that he must 
 have taken cold. 
 
 1 You must send for the doctor as soon 
 as we get into the house,' she said. ' You 
 shivered so just now I'm sure you've taken 
 a cold.' 
 
 Mr Ryves laughed. 
 
 ' Oh, no. I don't know that we'll requisi- 
 tion the services of Mr — tut-tut, I've forgotten 
 his name. Ditchett did tell me. At all 
 events not to-night.' 
 
 'But you ought to, you know,' she reiter- 
 ated. ' You shivered terribly.' 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves laughed again. 
 ' It was only a goose walking over my 
 grave,' he said, and he refused to see the 
 doctor until the morrow. 
 
 As soon as they had arrived, and she had 
 made her husband as comfortable as she could 
 in bed, whither he retired immediately, Edith 
 went precipitately to a little room that had
 
 228 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 been assigned to her as a dressing-room 
 under the pretext of wishing to make herself 
 tidy, whereas her real motive was to ascertain 
 whether her precious verses had been carried 
 off by her husband. Nevertheless, so great 
 was her hurry, that, finding the poetry safe, 
 she at once reclosed the box and replaced it 
 in her trunk, after which she returned to her 
 husband's bedside without having discovered 
 the change that had come over her fiddle. 
 He kept her reading to him until long into 
 the small hours of the morning, but he had a 
 very good reason for that. He wished her to 
 oversleep herself in the morning, in order to 
 give himself time to make inquiries about 
 Hollebone's whereabouts without Edith's be- 
 ing present. And his purpose he achieved 
 very easily, for the same reason he had al- 
 lowed his wife very little rest on the night 
 before, and this, with the fatigue of travelling, 
 had exactly the effect that Mr Ryves desired. 
 It was indeed nearly twelve before she awoke, 
 and he had by that time been up and about 
 some hours. 
 
 Here, however, a slight check awaited him, 
 for he found to his dismay that Holjebone 
 was taking a holiday, although he might be 
 expected soon to return. 
 
 This was an untoward circumstance for 
 which Mr Kasker-Ryves had not been pre- 
 pared, and it upset the plans he had formed. 
 Not that he was by any means foiled, only it 
 laid him under the unpleasant necessity of 
 delaying his most effective stroke. Moreover,
 
 The shifting of the fire. 229 
 
 he was beginning to feel uneasy as to his 
 power of bearing the associations that sprung 
 up at every turn of the roads, for he recog- 
 nised very well that the mere mention of the 
 place, if it had not actually caused his late 
 attack of apoplexy, had at least precipitated it. 
 Nevertheless, his daring had carried him 
 thus far, and his doggedness would not allow 
 him to turn back. Moreover, the frenzied 
 hatred of his wife supported him in his wait- 
 ing, and ' tout victit a lui qui sait attendre!
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Journeys end in lover's meetings 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 F one were to view Hollebone's 
 case from his own point of view, 
 one would find it difficult to 
 deny that he had been very 
 hardly used by Edith. 
 Believing that he was ruined, she had 
 calmly and quietly thrown him over and 
 married a millionaire, and what made it 
 worse, she had never even broken off her 
 engagement with him. 
 
 That was the long and short of it, viewed 
 dispassionately, and he saw very plainly that 
 she was so mean and despicable a character 
 that it was absolutely his duty to loathe and 
 renounce her, to drive her very image from 
 his heart. That was a debt he owed to 
 society, and yet he could not bring himself 
 to pay it, and it remained unpaid throughout 
 the spring on into the summer — past it, and 
 now the autumn was wending its way through
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 231 
 
 the land, and still her image remained un- 
 effaced in his heart. Perhaps its outlines 
 were a little softened by the friction of time 
 passing over it, but that very softness rendered 
 it the sweeter and the more seductive — for 
 was it not his duty to contemn her, inasmuch 
 as it is the duty of every man to despise 
 another who has committed a crime, and is 
 it not the greatest of crimes to break a true 
 man's heart and ruin his life — to ruin it, not 
 to take it, but to maim it, and make it drag 
 out its existence in a crippled state ? 
 
 1 For,' as he said to himself continually, ' if 
 it were not for this cursed passion for a wanton, 
 heartless girl I might now be studying hard, 
 benefiting mankind and the great cause of 
 science, and paving the way to greatness for 
 myself. But as it is, this love, this opiate 
 emasculates me and paralyses the engines of 
 my brain. I can do no work, and yet it will 
 not let me rest, wearing me out with longing 
 for the unattainable — for what is worthless 
 even when attained.' And thus the months 
 rolled round, and found him and left him 
 still at Dymchurch, working steadfastly at his 
 practice — steadfastly, and yet endlessly — for 
 to what end should he tend ? He was rich, 
 richer than he needed to be now. That was 
 part of the delightful irony of Fate. Some 
 people are, as all the world knows, born with 
 a silver spoon in their mouths, but then, what 
 was the use of it to Hollcbone ? He did not 
 in the least wish for money, and by natural 
 consequences money came pouring in — here,
 
 232 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 there, and everywhere. The house of Holle- 
 bone, Clarkson & Co. had never had such 
 runs of luck as it had during that half-year. 
 A patent he had taken out some years before for 
 making turmeric a fast dye was suddenly taken 
 up by an American house, who offered him a 
 tremendous sum for his patent rights. More- 
 over, the Dymchurch practice grew under his 
 auspices, but of that he was glad on account of 
 the benefit that accrued to old Dr Hammond, 
 whose health seemed materially improved. 
 
 Towards the end of September there came 
 a letter from his Cousin Kate, at Blackstone 
 Edge, to say that his Aunt Joan was seriously 
 ill from a cold she had taken, and then, a few 
 days later, a telegram begging him to come 
 up and see his aunt at once, as her illness 
 had taken a turn for the worse, and she might 
 be expected to die at any moment. 
 
 Hollebone showed the telegram to his 
 partner, who willingly assented to his going. 
 
 ' I can manage the practice very well single- 
 handed just now. I'm feeling so much better. 
 If I were you I should take a regular holiday, 
 before the heavy winter work begins. It will 
 set you up. Say three weeks. I shall be 
 able to get along well enough without you 
 for that time.' 
 
 And Hollebone answered, — 
 
 1 Oh, thank you very much, Dr Hammond, 
 but I will come back as soon as I can ; it 
 won't do to let you break down.' 
 
 But Dr Hammond laughed. 
 
 'Oh, I am very well now — better than I
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 233 
 
 have been for a long time — and I insist on 
 your taking a fortnight at least.' 
 
 And Hollebone consented, on condition 
 that he should be sent for as soon as Dr 
 Hammond felt any strain from the work. 
 
 On arriving at Blackstone Edge he found 
 his aunt in a much worse state than he had 
 expected, and his practised instinct told him 
 that she could hardly be expected to live 
 through the night, for congestion of the lungs 
 had set in long before, and now her delirium 
 was at its height. His prediction was verified, 
 for before morning she was dead. He and 
 his cousin were watching with her when the 
 end came ; and although his own grief under 
 ordinary circumstances would have been not 
 unmeasured, yet Kate's agony of mind was so 
 terrible to sec that it entirely unnerved him. 
 She abandoned herself, indeed, so entirely to 
 her anguish that he was at last obliged almost 
 to use force to drag her from the room. 
 Such pain of mind he had never witnesssed 
 before — it seemed as if every sob would shake 
 her to pieces. 
 
 Nor was her grief by any means feigned, 
 for somehow Miss Hallbyne's gentle sweet- 
 ness had won its way to her heart, whilst she, 
 unaware of its presence, was still hoping for 
 her death, and not even hoping alone but 
 praying therefor. 
 
 Be that as it may, Hollebone had much ado, 
 when the day of the funeral came, to keep her 
 from throwing herself into the grave with the 
 coffin. The whole country-side was there to
 
 234 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 do honour to Miss Hallbyne, and at sight of 
 Kate's grief the women, and even the ladies 
 wept outright — and never before did men 
 think themselves, ay, and swear at themselves 
 some five minutes later, for being such blasted 
 sentimental fools as those who happened to 
 see her then. 
 
 After the funeral there remained much for 
 Hollebone to see to, for he and Kate were the 
 sole remaining relatives of Miss Hallbyne. 
 As for Miss Hallbyne's fortune, after several 
 bequests to servants and friends had been de- 
 ducted, there remained nearly a quarter of a 
 million of pounds, valuing the Hall and 
 grounds at a very low rate, and this was to be 
 divided equally between Kate and Hollebone, 
 in whatsoever manner they should agree to 
 between themselves as expedient and con- 
 venient. Thus was Hollebone, almost un- 
 willingly, again possessed of another by no 
 means inconsiderable supplementary fortune. 
 It was as if at his birth Fate had thrust the 
 silver spoon into his mouth out of sheer wan- 
 tonness. In the meantime there was a good 
 deal for him to do — small matters connected 
 with the estate, and even household orders, to 
 which his cousin was too grief-stricken to 
 attend. Kate had always held the post of 
 housekeeper to her aunt, and the servants, 
 finding her now too distracted to give them 
 any attention, came to Hollebone for advice, 
 to which it is needless to say they did not 
 attend ; and it was the same with the game- 
 keepers and the land steward — in fact he was
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 235 
 
 suddenly dropped into the position of a lord 
 of the manor, without the least idea of how to 
 discharge his duties, until, in the course of 
 a single week, everything was in an inextricable 
 muddle. At the end of that time, however, 
 Kate's grief allowed her once more to take 
 an interest in the affairs, and as if by magic 
 confusion vanished before her touch, in a way 
 that made Hollebone feel excessively stupid 
 and ashamed of the way he had mismanaged 
 everything. Moreover, when the press of 
 affairs was off his hands, and he had nothing 
 to do but to write a few letters to the lawyers 
 who were arranging the probate of the will, it 
 suddenly dawned upon him to doubt the pro- 
 priety of his remaining in the house any 
 longer. But the remembrance of the fact that 
 his cousin was in love with him shot into 
 his mind and drove away all thoughts of that. 
 She was very lovely, and seemed to have 
 grown more so since he had seen her last, and 
 somehow a flirtation would do very well to 
 fill up the week that Dr Hammond had 
 allowed him as holiday. A week was hardly 
 time to do anything in, or to go anywhere for 
 that matter. It would, moreover, serve Edith 
 right if he were to go a little further in the 
 matter than a mere flirtation, and Kate's 
 beauty certainly seemed to grow upon him — 
 it had that quality about it. Besides which, it 
 would really be doing her a service to occupy 
 her mind and keep her from thinking of the 
 loss of her aunt. Thus he remained lounging 
 about the Hall, and there could be no doubt
 
 236 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 that his cousin loved him — it was manifest in 
 her every action — and Hollebone took great 
 joy in watching how she treated him ; and so 
 the days flew round, and love itself springing 
 up in him, for his cousin's beauty was en- 
 hanced by the longing at her heart, in which 
 was a void left by her aunt's death. Thus on 
 the last day of the week Hollebone found 
 himself in the evening seated in a chair near 
 the fire, with his eyes seeking in vain to dis- 
 cern his cousin's figure, as she sat a little re- 
 mote from the light that the fire threw out — 
 for it was the beginning of November at the 
 time, and late in the evening at that, yet the 
 lights were not lit. They had been talking of 
 things indifferent, but yet with softened voices. 
 Outside, the wind was sobbing, and rising and 
 falling, wailing and throbbing mournfully, like 
 a soul longing after the impossible, and even 
 at times shrieking shrilly as it drove its way 
 into some crack or cranny, rising and falling 
 rhythmically like the beating of a great pulse, 
 with a sound that forced itself on the ear, 
 making one warn oneself to be content with 
 the things that be, howsoever unfortuitous, 
 lest in venturing forth on some new enterprise 
 one should lose one's way in the outer dark- 
 ness, at the mercy of the blustering wind. So 
 the wind seemed to cry to Hollebone, but at 
 the same time his heart was filled with a 
 vague, mighty longing. 
 
 ' Through the winter we are so exposed 
 here that the wind is never still — never,' Kate 
 said suddenly, but oh, so softly, so gently,
 
 7'IIE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 237 
 
 her voice betraying by its modulation the 
 desire in her soul, as though she would 
 have had the words tell him more than they 
 said. 
 
 His lips were even then trembling to form 
 the words to tell of his own love for her, for 
 the love within him was groping vainly round 
 in its blindness, groping for someone to catch 
 and clasp, and to him it seemed as if she, with 
 her fairness of form, her gentle sadness of 
 soul, and softness of voice, was the woman he 
 was seeking. The ' never ' of her speech 
 called up an echo of a ' never ' that he himself 
 had so often enunciated of late months, and 
 at this moment, when, had he spoken the 
 words he was trying to frame, the course of 
 their lives would have turned — who knows to 
 what ? — the fire shifted with a grating noise, 
 and a brave shower of sparks shot downwards 
 from underneath the grate, whilst up the 
 chimney a flickering flame danced and trem- 
 bled and then died away, and with it died 
 away his love for the silent figure that it lit 
 up for the moment. For that shifting of the 
 fire had brought into his mind a host of 
 reminiscences that had for the time almost 
 entirely faded. 
 
 ' It is just a year ago,' he thought, ' since I 
 saw the fire shift like that. Yes ! to-morrow 
 evening it will be just a year, and that night 
 was the last night I saw my love, and I shall 
 never see her again— never, never, never,' and 
 it seemed as if the wind without had caught 
 the word on its rustling wings, as, with a great
 
 238 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 sigh, it buffeted past the house end and left 
 momentary silence behind it. 
 
 ' I shall never see her again,' he said once 
 more, ' never hear her sweet voice on the air, 
 never mark the oval sweep from ear to chin, 
 never look into the deep, true eyes, never see 
 the lights and shadows play in her hair, never 
 catch her little frown and shake of the head, 
 meant for me alone to see when there were 
 other people by.' And every little trick of her 
 expression and manner of shooting glances 
 through her dark eyelashes came back to him 
 with startling clearness, till once again the world 
 without seemed darker by the contrast. And 
 then another thought forced itself upon him. 
 
 ' She has been very false to me,' he said, 
 'wanton and untruthful, and she has ruined 
 my life, and yet how easy it is to be the same, 
 for is it not possible that I have in the same 
 way bruised and torn poor Kate's heart. And 
 yet Kate has never said she loved me, or I 
 that I loved her.' Nevertheless, he knew that 
 every word she had of late said to him, and 
 every look of hers that he had caught, had 
 made manifest and had been meant, half 
 involuntarily, to express her love for him, and 
 he knew he had not been entirely guiltless of 
 responding. 
 
 ' What a brute I have been ! ' he said to 
 himself. 'As bad, every bit, as Edith ; and 
 yet what can I do to make amends to her? 
 If I professed to love her it would be even 
 worse. The best thing will be to leave at 
 once, and hope she will forget in time.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 239 
 
 Indeed Kate's heart was almost bursting 
 with her love, and as she sat still in her chair 
 she drove her finger-nails into the soft white 
 palms of her hands in her agony of mind. 
 
 * I shall have to return to Dymchurch to- 
 morrow, Kate,' Hollebone said as gently as 
 possible. 
 
 ' Oh, don't, please, don't,' she said suddenly, 
 with such anguish of tone that each word 
 struck his heart and made it quiver. He had 
 sacrificed her feelings on the altar of his vanity, 
 and the pangs she suffered exacted a heavy 
 penalty from him. Under the circumstances 
 he thought it kinder not to notice what she 
 had said. 
 
 ' You see,' he went on, 'I must get back 
 soon, or poor old Dr Hammond will be break- 
 ing down altogether,' and as if to aid him in 
 his difficulty a servant came in at that moment 
 with a telegram for him. He held it to the 
 light of the fire and read it. It ran : — 
 
 ' Please come back at once. Have had 
 serious accident. Hammond.' 
 
 ' Ah, well,' Kate said, with forced cheerful- 
 ness, ' I suppose you will have to go. But 
 you will not be able to get off to-night. The 
 last train is already gone. It is nearly seven 
 — at least it will have gone by the time you 
 reach the railway,' and Hollebone assented, in 
 a voice that Kate knew rung the death bell of 
 her hopes. Nevertheless, in forlorn hope, she 
 was unusually fascinating and brilliant that 
 night — so much so indeed that he for a
 
 240 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 moment hesitated in his determination, and 
 indeed, although he set forth almost before 
 daylight next morning, yet even on the jour- 
 ney he wavered several times. It would have 
 been so convenient, pleasant, and above all 
 things expedient, to tell his cousin that he 
 loved her, and to ask her to marry him. It 
 would be like life itself to her, and his life was 
 already finished, or at least the sweetness of 
 it was over, and only the dregs remained. 
 Why not go back to his cousin, marry and 
 settle down as a country gentleman to the end 
 of the chapter? Why not? Well, to be sure, 
 he had taken a through ticket to Blyth- 
 borough, and his luggage was labelled there, 
 and it would be a horrible nuisance to stop it. 
 That was his principal reason for not returning 
 to gladden Kate's heart, and besides, an after- 
 thought came to back up his resolve, poor Dr 
 Hammond was waiting for him, and the 
 practice would be ruined if he turned back — 
 and the train rattled on through the country, 
 with provoking noise and ostentation, as it 
 seemed to him, and yet covering little ground. 
 There was nothing whatever in the paper. 
 He read everything, even the leading articles 
 and the advertisements. 
 
 'Good Lord, what an annoying thing a news- 
 paper is,' he yawned. ' Whenever one wants 
 something to occupy one's mind nothing ever 
 happens, not even a collision or an Irish 
 Member to call Mr Balfour a bloodthirsty 
 murtherer. Only two advertisements in the 
 agony column, and both in cipher. Well,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 241 
 
 there's court and society. " Her Majesty the 
 Queen drove out to-day accompanied by — " 
 Oh, well, that's court. How about society ? 
 Nobody's in town. Hello ! " We regret to 
 announce that Mr Kasker-Ryves, the eminent 
 philanthropist and leader of society, whose 
 wife's entertainments were such a feature of 
 last season, had a slight attack of apoplexy 
 on Monday last at his town house in Park 
 Place, where they have been detained on 
 account of his indisposition. They left town 
 on Friday for their Yorkshire estate, where 
 Mr Ryves, junior, has been entertaining the 
 usual large number of guests for the shooting." 
 Well, well, Edith seems to be going the right 
 way to work to kill her husband, becoming a 
 leader of society, and all that sort of thing. 
 It's funny that a girl who always seems so 
 tender and true in every word she said can 
 be such an incarnate fiend. However, I'm 
 glad I left Blackstone Edge as soon as I did. 
 I shouldn't like to see her again. I wonder 
 how it is I didn't hear they were down there. 
 They must have been at Blackstone Hall 
 since Friday, and it's Tuesday to-day.' 
 
 By this time, however, he had arrived at the 
 third change of trains in the journey, and here 
 he fortified himself with a society magazine 
 and a luncheon basket, and thus provided he 
 journeyed tranquilly on to Hailesworth, where 
 the fifth and last change occurred, and at last he 
 sat in the exaggerated tramcars that do duty as 
 trains between that town and Blythborough. 
 Nevertheless that paragraph in the paper had 
 L
 
 242 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 had a more serious effect on his mind than he 
 cared to acknowledge or think of. Somehow 
 the seeing her name in print had given his 
 nerves a shock that no amount of thinking 
 about her could possibly have caused, and it 
 made him feel ill and more than ever tired 
 of his life. Arrived at Blythborough, he found 
 Gandon awaiting him on the platform. The 
 day was not yet so dark but that he could see 
 that Gandon's face was decidedly discoloured 
 about the mouth. 
 
 ' Hello, Gandy ! ' he said. ' You here all 
 alone ? ' 
 
 'Well,' that youth replied, 'Jim is with me, 
 but he's in the White Hart. He can't stand 
 any more. They've been treating him.' 
 
 ' Who have ? ' Hollebone asked. 
 
 ' Oh, some people at the White Hart. 
 We've been waiting ever since two o'clock 
 expecting you — and then a lot of people 
 came in and asked him to tell about pa's 
 accident, an' he did, an' they all treated him — 
 and then some more came in, and tJiey treated 
 him — and now he can't stand.' 
 
 ' But tell me what has happened to your 
 father.' 
 
 ' Oh, yesterday Mandalay was ill, and pa 
 thought he had better not put him in the 
 chaise — and so he rided on your horse, the 
 black one, and it hadn't been out for two days, 
 and so it was rather wild, and before he had 
 gone half a mile it knocked him off an' kicked 
 him, and broke his arm — and pa's awfully 
 bad. Dr Jenkins came over from South-
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 243 
 
 wold and set his arm, but he wants you. 
 An' I cried when they carried pa in, 'cos he'd 
 fainted, and I was frightened, but an old 
 gentleman what's taken the house next door 
 to us gave me sixpence not to cry, and then 
 he bound pa's arm up ; but he wouldn't let 
 his wife come in, for fear she should faint- — he 
 made her go indoors. An' so to-day Jim made 
 me have a drink, and it costcd twopence — and 
 they gave me thrippence and two ha'pennies 
 back, and I put the three pennies in a 
 chocolate machine — but the ha'pennies didn't 
 get anything out' 
 
 1 All right, old boy,' Hollebone interrupted. 
 ' What sort of a thing have you got to carry us 
 back ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, they've sent the chaise, with your horse 
 in it, sir,' the porter answered for Gandon, who 
 had seized the opportunity to fill his mouth 
 with chocolate, and consequently could only 
 gurgle; 'but the horse is awfully wild. Dr 
 Hammond's man has been lathering it so, I 
 doubt if you'll get back safe. You'll have to 
 drive yourself. Jim is too drunk to see be- 
 tween a five-barred gate, sir.' 
 
 Hollebone laughed. 
 
 'Oh, I'll get the brute home fast enough. 
 It won't have time to stop and kick. The 
 road's sure to be pretty clear.' 
 
 ' Why, yes, sir,' the man answered. ' Nothing 
 has passed going that way this last hour and 
 a half except the carriage of the old gentleman 
 that's taken the Widow Waters's house, next 
 door to yours in Dymchurch. His name's
 
 244 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Paton, I think. They say he's a millionaire, 
 and he's got a young — ' 
 
 ' Never mind that now,' Hollebone inter- 
 rupted him. 'Just throw my things into the 
 chaise anyhow. I suppose the horse is in ? ' 
 
 • Why, yes, sir; we've kept it in to meet every 
 train. Dr Hammond is in a mortal hurry to 
 see you. He's afraid of gettin' delirious before 
 you come, and he wants to give you directions 
 a bit.' 
 
 • All right,' said Hollebone. ' Put the things 
 in. Gandy, you can't come. You must get 
 someone to take him over, Jones, I daren't 
 take him. Brunswick's like a devil when one 
 lets out at him, and I'll get him home in 
 half an hour.' 
 
 ' You'll have to mind the hill where it turns 
 at the trystin' - tree corner. It's a square 
 turn, and the brook runs across just beyond.' 
 
 Hollebone laughed. 
 
 ' Oh, I've taken him round there before at 
 a gallop.' 
 
 ' But you hadn't got the chaise then, sir, and 
 he ain't used to it, and there might be some- 
 one in the way or comin' round the trystin'- 
 tree corner.' 
 
 ' Oh, well, they'll have to risk it, then,' said 
 Hollebone recklessly. 
 
 As a matter of fact he was feeling more and 
 more repugnance at the thought of the hard 
 work before him, and at the dreariness of his 
 own life, and an upset at that corner, at a 
 gallop, would mean death — a rattling finish. 
 It was a pleasant idea. At the door of the
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 245 
 
 White Hart a small crowd was collected, ad- 
 miring the antics of the black horse — a great 
 coffin-headed lump of coal, with a singularly- 
 suggestive trick of throwing his eyes to one 
 side and exhibiting bloodshot whites. The 
 animal was already in a state of nervous fury 
 that needed all the combined energies of the 
 hostler and the village blacksmith to control. 
 Hollebone and his luggage were in the dog-cart 
 in a moment, and having the reins well in 
 hand, with a good feeling of the animal's 
 hard mouth, he delivered a cut with his whip 
 that roused the animal's temper beyond en- 
 durance, and with a bound forward that hardly 
 gave the men at its head time to evade the 
 wheels they were away, to the imminent 
 terror of a couple of geese that were inspect- 
 ing the proceedings authoritatively, after the 
 manner of geese. 
 
 The horse had only been in Hollebone's 
 possession a month, he having bought it in 
 place of his former horse, whose wind he had 
 ruined in galloping off in answer to a sudden 
 call to the house of the local baronet, whose 
 leg had been broken in the fall of a tree. 
 Nevertheless he was well aware of the staying 
 qualities of the animal, which would with little 
 inconvenience have galloped the whole way. 
 But Hollebone was anxious to nurse it for the 
 last mile and a half, of which the half mile 
 home was down hill, with a stiff slope to end 
 and a perfectly rectangular turn at the bottom, 
 at one corner of which turn a hundred-year oak 
 threw its branches out over the road. This
 
 246 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 tree was used and known as the trysting-tree, to 
 which end some benevolent person had erected 
 a stone bench, seemingly with the intention of 
 providing a speedy and certain means of 
 suicide for any vehicle coming down the hill 
 at more than a walking pace. By means of 
 judicious nursing Hollebone had fretted the 
 horse, which at all times hated running in 
 harness, into a state of mind that rendered the 
 creature perfectly frenzied — its off fore-leg was 
 overflown with the foam that flowed from the 
 animal's jaws until it seemed streaked with 
 white from shoulder to fetlock. Thus the last 
 mile before the hill, when he had given it its 
 head almost free, went by, a mere flash of 
 hedgerows and branches overhead, his hat 
 gone, and the wind whistling through his hair, 
 and a great red and golden glare of cloud- 
 laced autumn sunset in his eyes. 
 
 'This is certain death,' he said to himself, 
 with a joyous laugh at the feeling of the air 
 on his face. ' By Jove ! it's a fine sort of way 
 to go out of the world. Brunswick is sure to 
 come to grief over the lover's seat, and my 
 neck will be broken against the tree. Ah ! 
 here we are at the hill. Now we'll go like 
 the devil. Hullo ! there's an old fellow and 
 a girl at the trysting-tree. It's better than a 
 young fellow and a girl. She'd throw him 
 over for the fun of seeing him squirm — just 
 as Edith has done me. I wonder what Edith 
 would say if she could see me take that corner. 
 She would laugh. It would tickle her vanity 
 to think I'd killed myself on her account.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 247 
 
 Then, by God, I'll go safe round the corner 
 just to spite her. I've got plenty of time to 
 get Brunswick under control again, though it 
 wouldn't do to stop on the hill. Now then 
 you brute. Ah ! he feels it, he's not got his 
 head. I can do it. I wish Edie could be here 
 to sec. It would take her vanity down a peg 
 just to see I don't kill myself — damn her. 
 Hullo ! what's gone wrong with that old bloke 
 on ahead? He must be drunk. Why, he's 
 down. Thank goodness there's room to get 
 by. That girl's game — she's lifting him out 
 of my way. Wonder what's wrong with him? 
 Can't stop to see. Now for it. God help me! 
 It's her birthday to-night. I — I wouldn't like 
 to die then. It doesn't seem fair to her, be- 
 cause she does love me, and has sacrificed 
 herself for me, as Julia said. Now — ah! 
 thank God ! Brunswick's done it ! ' 
 
 (The girl had looked up as he tore past, 
 with his hair flying back, his face glowing in 
 the red light of the day, his eyes blazing 
 like live coals, and with a scowl on his face 
 that ill-suited one who is to die immediately. 
 But the great foam-flecked horse turned the 
 corner with its legs spread all four aside under 
 it, and its body hanging inwards as it turned. 
 The light dog-cart swung round behind, with 
 both wheels off the ground, and for a moment 
 the profile of the rider flashed out against the 
 dark background formed by the bark of the 
 trysting oak for a moment, and then the hedge- 
 row hid it from view. Nevertheless she could 
 not faint, only her power of movement for
 
 248 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 a moment — or was it a century? — seemed 
 stopped with the beating of her heart.) 
 
 In three minutes after turning the corner 
 they were in front of Dr Hammond's house. 
 Fortunately the horse stopped of its own free 
 will, for I do not know which was trembling 
 more violently, the horse or its driver ; and 
 Hollebone was thankful that some moments 
 elapsed before someone came to open the 
 door, and even then it needed all his will 
 power for him to force himself to move. 
 Practically speaking there was nothing to 
 tremble about. He had been very near death, 
 had looked it in the face several times before 
 that, for a chemist with a turn for dangerous 
 experiments carries his life in his hands at all 
 times. But that is of course different from 
 wilfully sacrificing oneself. This was an ex- 
 periment of another kind, to find out how 
 far his love for Edith influenced him. Now he 
 was trembling at the discovery it had re- 
 sulted in. 
 
 At the sound of the wheels stopping at the 
 house little Maud had run to the window, 
 and recognising Hollebone, she ran and opened 
 the street door. At the sight of her Holle- 
 bone recovered himself with a start. 
 
 ' Wait a minute, Maud,' he said ; ' don't 
 come near Brunswick. He's rather wild. 
 Hullo, you, sir,' he cried to a gentleman who 
 was airing himself in his shirt sleeves on the 
 step of the house next door, ' would you 
 be kind enough to hold the horse while I get 
 down ? ' and the man came forward after
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 249 
 
 a moment's hesitation and held the horse's 
 head for him. ' Thank you,' Hollebone said 
 as he descended. ' Pray hold it a moment 
 longer. Oh ! there you are, Mary Ann. 
 Just see about someone to take the horse up 
 to the stable. Now then, Maud, how is your 
 father ? ' and without waiting for a reply he 
 ran up the stairs with professional softness 
 of tread. 
 
 Mary Ann followed him, for a crowd 
 had by this time collected to admire the 
 horse that had come down the hill at a 
 gallop, as the postman, who had seen him 
 turn the corner, said, and a man was soon 
 found to take the horse to the stables. 
 
 'There ain't no lights, sir,' Mary Ann said, 
 ''cos I've been with the master all day, and 
 that housemaid ain't no use at all. The 
 master's precious bad, and he's only holding 
 up to see you. He'll go after that, right dead 
 away. Leastwise so that Southwold man 
 said, but be ain't of much account' 
 
 In the doctor's room there was only one 
 candle lit, but even by that faint light Holle- 
 bone could see that his partner was fearfully 
 changed. But before he could speak Dr 
 Hammond opened his eyes, with a smile of 
 recognition. 
 
 'Thank God, you've come, Hollebone. 
 Now I can die easy. I'm done for, I know 
 it. Now be quiet. I shall be delirious in a 
 moment. I've held up until you came, but 
 it won't do longer. You'll find everything 
 about the round in the day book. It's pretty
 
 250 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 much as it was when you left. Don't let 
 Jenkins get a hold on the practice, that's all. 
 You can't touch me. I'm in Jenkins's hands. 
 Professional etiquette, you know. But don't 
 let him take the bread out of the children's 
 mouths. For God's sake don't let the children 
 starve. Send them to a decent school, and 
 Gandon will pay you back when he's a man. 
 Promise not to let them go to the devil. It 
 is mean of me, I know, but you are a rich 
 man, and I'm a poor devil, without a penny 
 in the world. Promise — oh, do, for the love 
 of God.' 
 
 'Yes, yes, I will, doctor,' Hollebone said. 
 Somehow his throat wouldn't work well, but 
 taking a fresh start, his voice came out with 
 a jerk. ' But you'll get over it well enough.' 
 
 It was all he could find to say. But Dr 
 Hammond laughed longer and louder than 
 the remark seemed to call for. 
 
 ' Get over it ! ' he said. ' I like that — get 
 over it ! Look at my right hand. I can't 
 move it, and the left is broken. You know 
 well enough what's wrong with the right. 
 I may be dead by to-morrow. My wife had 
 a sister, and she went to the devil. She left 
 this village, and no one ever heard of her 
 again. I shouldn't like that to happen to 
 my children. Get over it ! I like that,' and 
 he began to laugh again. ' Get over it ! ' he 
 went on suddenly. ' If I was like that old 
 beggar next door — he isn't a beggar, though, 
 he's a millionaire — well, he's got enough dis- 
 eases to kill nine cats, and that's a hundred
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 251 
 
 — yes, a hundrcd-and -eight lives — if I was 
 him I might get over it. He ought to die 
 every minute. Sir James Ditchett wrote to 
 me a diagnosis of him — unprofessional of Sir 
 James, very. But then he's a millionaire, and 
 he's got a young wife, who's nursing herself 
 to death over him. Look here, Holle- 
 bone, you must take care of him. Don't let 
 him die, and he'll pay like the devil, and it'll 
 all be so much for the children when I've — 
 got over it ! Damn it ! I say, Cameron, I'm 
 glad you've come to relieve me — ninety-eight 
 cases of cholera in the regiment, and not a 
 man'll get over it. I'm in for something too. 
 I'm going to invalid and go home. Once 
 I'm out of this blasted climate I shall get 
 over it. Ha, ha, ha ! ' and he began to laugh, 
 and laughed on until a gurgle in his throat 
 stopped him suddenly. At that moment 
 Mary Ann knocked at the door. 
 
 'If you please, sir,' she began, but Holle- 
 bone stopped her. 
 
 ' Look here,' he said, ' the delirium has 
 come on. Has Dr Long — Jenkins, I mean, 
 given a prescription in case it should ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' he has, and Haner's made it up, 
 but that Southwold man ain't — ' 
 
 ' Never mind that,' said Hollebone, inter- 
 rupting her effusion of loyalty. ' He's Dr 
 Hammond's physician at present, I'm not. 
 Not that cither of us are of much good, I'm 
 afraid.' 
 
 Mary Ann put her apron up to her eyes and 
 began to cry loudly, but Hollebone silenced her.
 
 252 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 1 Look here, Mary Ann, cither be quiet or 
 leave the room. Give me Dr Jenkins's pre- 
 scription. 
 
 1 Oh, if you please, sir/ said she, suddenly 
 recollecting, ' the gentleman from next door's 
 sent in to say he's had another fit, and will 
 you go in at once ? They had to carry him 
 home from the christenin'-tree.' 
 
 ' I'll go at once,' said Hollebone. ' Look 
 here, Mary Ann, you're a sensible girl, and 
 can do very well without me for the minute, 
 just do what Dr Jenkins has told you to do. 
 Is it the gentleman that has taken the house 
 next door ? ' 
 
 1 Yes, sir,' Mary Ann answered; ' he's mortal 
 bad. They say if he had his rights he'd be 
 dead long since, poor gentleman. But his 
 wife do nurse him so, it's quite painful to see. 
 Never gives herself a moment of spare time, 
 and up all night too. His servants say she's 
 the tears in her eyes all day long — and it do 
 seem a pity, too, for her to kill herself over an 
 old man that it's common talk can't live more 
 than a few weeks at most. It's a sinful shame, 
 I say, and the sooner he's dead the better. 
 Not but what the old gentleman's a nice 
 enough old fellow in his way, and bound up 
 the doctor's arm in a way that made that 
 Southwold man compliment him ; but then 
 he was only butterin' him 'cos he hoped to 
 get him — but he ain't. You have, sir, and 
 that's one comfort,' and Mary Ann began to 
 abuse the rival practitioner. 
 
 Hollebone had meanwhile been busying
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 253 
 
 himself with Dr Hammond, in order to leave 
 him comfortable, and at this point he departed 
 without giving further heed to Mary Ann. 
 At the door of the other house he was met by 
 the man who had held his horse for him. 
 The man was more complaisant now, and he 
 said, — 
 
 ' Oh, if you're the doctor, will you please 
 walk upstairs? Mr and Mrs Kaskcr-Ryvcs 
 arc both in the bedroom.' 
 
 Ten stairs is hardly time to prepare oneself 
 for a frightful shock. Yet that was all he 
 had to prepare himself for the ordeal — besides, 
 they creaked, and creaky stairs are distracting 
 at any time. But in spite of that he managed 
 to enter the room in a manner that excited 
 the admiration of Mr Kasker - Ryves, who 
 viewed him very keenly indeed. Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves had had candles lighted to an enormous 
 number, in order that the sudden blaze after 
 his coming out of the darkness of the staircase 
 might confuse him the more. 
 
 ' That man must have the nerves of a North 
 American Indian, he don't wince or move a 
 hair, by Jove ! How d'you do, Hollebone ? ' he 
 added aloud. ' Let me introduce Mrs Kasker- 
 Ryves to you. My darling — why, what's the 
 matter ? ' 
 
 For Edith had fainted on the floor. 
 
 ' What luck,' he chuckled to himself, but 
 aloud, — 
 
 ' Good God ! she's fainted. She's been 
 tiring herself out with me, and she must have 
 had a shock when I fainted myself this evening.
 
 254 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Would you be kind enough to lift her up and 
 put her on the sofa, Mr Hollebone ? ' 
 
 For Hollebone was standing like a pillar of 
 marble — and as white too. But at Mr Ryves's 
 request he started, and coming forward, put 
 his arms round her, and tried to gather strength 
 to lift her — tried once, but his strength failed 
 him — tried a second time, and still his will 
 refused him its aid, but, bracing himself for 
 a final effort, he raised her, this time without 
 feeling a weight in his arms at all — and there 
 his love hung in the air. Her face, tranquil 
 and almost colourless, her eyes closed, and a 
 great cloud of brown - golden hair that had 
 escaped its bonds rippling tumultuously on to 
 the ground, she lay there in his arms — his ideal, 
 of which he had dreamed night after night 
 and day after day, his lifelong it seemed. It 
 was a deadly sin in him to gaze at her, and 
 he closed his eyes, as he staggered with her to 
 the sofa, for fear of contamination. As he 
 laid her down she opened her eyes, with a 
 happy smile, like that on the face of a dream- 
 ing child, and caught at his hand as he drew 
 himself roughly away. 
 
 'Edith, my love,' said Mr Kasker-Ryves, 
 who had approached noiselessly with a glass 
 of water in his hands, 'drink this, it will do 
 you good — sit still now. Mr Hollebone, there 
 is the sal volatile on the table. Now a little 
 eau-de-Cologne on her forehead. That's it, 
 thank you. Now she'll do famously. Would 
 you mind fanning her for a minute or two ? 
 I'm not strong enough to stand long.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 255 
 
 Acting on the words, lie retired to his arm- 
 chair and rang a handbell. Paton appeared. 
 
 ' Where is Mrs Kasker-Ryves's maid ? ' he 
 asked. 
 
 And the man answered, — 
 
 1 She's in next door, sir. You sent her 
 in, if you remember, to see if she could be of 
 any assistance to the doctor who is ill there.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Paton. Would you send in 
 for her in about twenty minutes ? Mrs 
 Kasker-Ryves fainted a minute ago. She 
 has been overworking herself with nursing 
 me. She will be able to move in about 
 twenty minutes, and Parker must be ready 
 to put her to bed.' 
 
 The man retired, and at that moment Edith 
 opened her eyes again, and was about to speak, 
 when Mr Ryves stopped her. 
 
 'Now, don't speak, dearest,' he said. 'Keep 
 quite quiet for a minute or two andjyou will 
 be better. Now, Mr Hollebone, if you will 
 favour me with your attention for a minute, 
 I will tell you about my own case, and then 
 will not detain you longer. I was attended 
 until yesterday by your partner, Dr Hammond, 
 but I suppose he has not been able to tell you 
 anything about my state of health.' 
 
 Hollebone shook his head. 
 
 'No,' he said. ' He was too ill, and I negli- 
 gently omitted to look in the day book for 
 his diagnosis. I will go and look at once.' 
 
 1 No, no,' said Mr Kasker-Ryves, ' don't 
 do that. I have Sir James Ditchett's in 
 the next room, and nothing of moment has
 
 256 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 happened since to me except that I fainted 
 this afternoon. But that was mere weakness, 
 because — because I happened to get tired. I 
 tried to walk home, and had sent the carriage 
 on in advance. Wait a minute. I will go 
 and fetch Sir James's diagnosis,' and he left 
 the room before Hollebone could interpose. 
 
 Edith was sitting on the sofa, and he could 
 not help looking at her — the strain would 
 otherwise have made him faint — but the look 
 of black hatred that she threw after her hus- 
 band caused a shudder to pervade his being. 
 It seemed to him so fearful that the woman 
 he had loved could have flamed such resent- 
 ment upon anyone. 
 
 She had been steeling her eyes to look at 
 his face, as one steels one's eyes to look at 
 the sun when it bursts from behind a heavy 
 gold-rimmed cloud, and gazing at him hope- 
 lessly, as though anxious to note every change 
 that the time had wrought in his face, and she 
 saw nothing there but a faint shadow of loath- 
 ing. Her face had been flushed with hope for 
 the moment, but at the sight her eyes dilated 
 and her face paled. 
 
 1 Oh, Clem,' she said, with a queer catch in 
 her voice, 'you don't — you don't hate me? 
 You can't, you can't be so unjust. I — I did 
 it for you.' 
 
 Her lips were quivering so she could not 
 speak ; but he could see it, and he hung his 
 head, knowing how he had misjudged her, 
 feeling the reproach, and casting about in his 
 agony for a look to express his craving for
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 257 
 
 pardon, for to words he dare not trust him- 
 self. But she misunderstood his silence — per- 
 haps wilfully or perhaps in fear that she had 
 laid herself too much at his mercy — and a 
 light came into her eyes, a proud, cold glitter, 
 shot from under her eyelashes. 
 
 ' You — you are unjust,' she said, but her face 
 was a ghastly panic-stricken white. ' You 
 are not worthy of my love. Do you think it 
 was pleasant^ or that I have led a happy life 
 since? I am only a year older than I was 
 when I saw you last, but if I had foreseen 
 such a year as this I have spent I would 
 have used the present you made me. I should 
 have gone to hell, but it would only have 
 been a shifting of the fire from within my soul 
 to without. You are mean, you are vile, but 
 you were, and oh, you are still, all the world 
 to me. Oh, Clem, you are more cruel to me 
 even than he is.' 
 
 She spoke in a low voice and so fast that 
 he hardly realised each sentence as she spoke 
 it, as though he were translating from a foreign 
 language, and a vague, wild idea filled his 
 brain that her voice was the murmur of the 
 voices of the damned heard from afar off. If 
 she would only have cried, or seemed less 
 utterly hopeless, he would have burst all 
 bonds of conventional restraint in his endeav- 
 our to comfort her ; but this low, rapid, almost 
 silent torrent of speech overwhelmed him. He 
 knew that the flood-gates of her long-pent soul 
 were open, and that to attempt to make her 
 cling to him to try to comfort her by words,
 
 258 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 or to appease her longing by telling of his 
 own yearning, would have given a less than 
 transient relief. Nevertheless he trembled at 
 her reproach, but most of all under her sad, 
 true eyes. 
 
 ' I have sinned fearfully against my hus- 
 band. I sinned in marrying him. I have 
 sinned in yearning after you. I am sinning 
 at this moment in speaking to you, and my 
 life has been one long torment ever since my 
 sins first began, but I have had one hope that 
 has sustained me throughout it all, and that 
 hope was that you would not have misjudged 
 me, and now you tear that one little joy from 
 my heart. It was all I had, and now that is 
 gone. Only — only — ' The click of the handle 
 of the door caused a new light that he could 
 not understand dart across her eyes like light- 
 ning, and instinctively his eyes followed hers 
 to the door, and thus it was that he could only 
 half-understand her meaning in the words that 
 followed. ' Only, I have your present still.' 
 
 A terrible thought flashed across his brain. 
 He had seized the wrong interpretation. 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves appeared, leaning on the 
 arm of his servant. 
 
 ' I am very weak again,' he said. ' I had 
 another seizure of some sort a minute ago. I 
 hope it was no new development. What do 
 you think on the subject, from what I have 
 told you ? ' 
 
 ' I — oh, yes, I am afraid it is another de- 
 velopment,' said Hollcbone, like one awaken- 
 ing from a dream into a state of sudden
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 259 
 
 activity of mind, 'and it might prove very 
 serious. If you will allow me I will go back 
 and make you up an antidote — that is, a pre- 
 scription ; but I must not conceal from you 
 the fact that there is a very grave danger.' 
 
 It was a long speech, but he needed to 
 make it to recover himself sufficiently to trust 
 to his legs. Mr Kasker-Ryves sank into his 
 chair with a groan. 
 
 ' You will do what you can to save me ? ' he 
 said, with a ghastly face. ' I know I am past 
 hope, but you will do what you can ? ' and the 
 sweat stood out over his face in great beads 
 that sparkled in the brilliant candle-light. 
 
 ' I will do my best,' Hollebone said in all 
 sincerity. 
 
 The old man eyed him keenly, and with a 
 sigh of relief, having finished his inspection, 
 sank back. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said, ' do what you can. 
 I know I sha'n't live long anyhow,' and the two 
 men knew that they understood each other. 
 ' Paton,' the old man continued, ' go with my 
 friend Dr Hollebone, and bring his prescrip- 
 tion back with you.' 
 
 And Hollebone left the house, not daring 
 to look at Edith again — he was afraid of her 
 face. On the staircase the servant stopped him. 
 
 ' Wait a minute, sir, please,' he said. ' Is 
 there no hope for the master? Sir James 
 Ditchett told me before we left town that it 
 was simple madness on the master's part to 
 come here, and that, even as it was, there was 
 very little hope for him. But the master
 
 260 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 would come, although Sir James as good as 
 told him it was suicide.' 
 
 Hollebone hesitated a moment. 
 
 ' I — I have not seen Sir James's diagnosis 
 yet,' he said. ' When I have I will tell you 
 what I think about the matter.' 
 
 The man thanked him, and they pro- 
 ceeded on in silence until they reached the 
 house. 
 
 ' Just come into this room a minute while 
 I read Sir James's letter,' he said. 
 
 It was a strange list of diseases that Holle- 
 bone read, and in spite of his agitation of 
 mind he could not help marvelling how one 
 body could have borne them all. 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! what a life the man must 
 have led, and yet most of them have only 
 appeared during the last six months or so, 
 according to Sir James. That means that 
 they have been in his system and some- 
 thing has occurred to bring them out. Oh, 
 well — ' And, addressing himself to the ser- 
 vant, he said, — 
 
 ' I am afraid there is very little hope for your 
 master. He may die at any moment, even 
 during the night. You are his body-servant, 
 are you not ? ' 
 
 The man assented huskily. 
 
 ' Well, look here, Mrs Kasker-Ryvcs must 
 not be allowed to nurse him. She is far too — 
 too indisposed herself. You must prepare all 
 the food he eats yourself, that no impurities 
 may get into it. Be very careful about that, 
 and let his food be of the simplest — nothing
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 2C1 
 
 mixed. Milk or eggs. Do not let him touch 
 anything else, as you value his life.' 
 
 The man burst into tears. 
 
 Hollebone looked at him in surprise. 
 
 ' I can't help it, sir,' the man said. ' I don't 
 think I ever shed a tear in my life before. 
 But, somehow, to lose Mr Ryves, it seems like 
 losing the whole world. I've been with him, 
 boy and man, these twenty-five years, and in 
 the whole of that time he's never done an un- 
 kind action or said a rough word to anyone.' 
 
 In fact Paton seemed quite broken down, 
 and Hollebone said to him kindly, — 
 
 ' Perhaps you had better go back to your 
 master now, and I will send my prescription in 
 by one of the servants. I may be some time 
 before I make it up. Give it him immediately 
 before eating anything, and for the rest, you 
 may go on giving him the medicines Sir James 
 and Dr Hammond have prescribed for him.' 
 
 The man said gratefully, — 
 
 1 Thank you, sir,' and left the house. 
 
 Hollebone sat for a long time with his 
 head bowed on the table. The suspicion 
 was growing stronger within him. At last 
 he raised his head. 
 
 ' I don't see what else I can do, to-night 
 at least. If I send him in the mixture, it 
 may act as an antidote, and, on the other 
 hand, there's not enough chlorodyne in it 
 to act on his heart injuriously, and there's 
 nothing else that could by any means have 
 an ill effect. If I only get him safe out of 
 this I'll never have anything to do with this
 
 262 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 cursed pharmaceutical side again. Why, in 
 God's name, did I ever meddle in medicine 
 at all ? That damned girl will be the end of 
 me. How could I have been such a fool as 
 to give her that poison ? Even if she does it, 
 I don't think I shall be able to let her be 
 hung. But, of course, it is only a suspicion 
 of mine. I must be going mad ever to en- 
 tertain such an idea of little Edie. How is 
 it possible ? And yet it's best to be on the 
 safe side. I'll send the antidote in and let him 
 take it. What on earth have I done with 
 the prescription ? Oh, yes, it's in the drawer,' 
 and he proceeded to make up the prescription. 
 
 It was, however, a matter that took some 
 time, for his private dispensary was locked up 
 at the bottom of the garden. Hither he took 
 a lamp, and little Maud, perceiving the light, 
 speedily joined him. 
 
 ' Hullo, Maud,' he said as cheerfully as he 
 could, ' come to look on ? You must be quiet 
 a minute or two until I've finished. Here are 
 some black currant lozenges for you.' 
 
 Maud took the proffered lozenges, and pro- 
 ceeded to discuss them leisurely in silence. 
 He finished mixing the ingredients, and having 
 done so, he took up the lamp. 
 
 ' Come along, Maud,' he said, ' I'm going 
 into the house to label it. It's for the old 
 gentleman next door — he's very, very ill.' 
 
 ' As bad as papa ? ' she asked. 
 
 'Yes, yes, dear. Now, look here, run and 
 give this to Mary Ann, and tell her to take it 
 in next door.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 263 
 
 'Mayn't I take it in?' asked the little girl 
 eagerly. 
 
 'Why, yes, dear, if you like,' he answered; 
 ' it will save Mary Ann the trouble' 
 
 * He — he giv'd Gandon sixpence vc ovah 
 day, an' so pwaps he'll give me one too. Me 
 and Rose didn't see him or he might have 
 done.' 
 
 'Avaricious little wretch!' Hollcbone said, 
 with a smile. ' Here you are — what do you 
 say for it ? ' 
 
 ' Fank you,' she answered. 
 
 ' No, you don't. You've forgotten all I told 
 you about your " th's." Gandon's got over 
 that by this time. You're a baby. Now run 
 in with the medicine, and give me half the 
 sixpence when you get it.' 
 
 ' No, tank you,' she answered and ran 
 off. 
 
 Hollebone set about putting the room in 
 order and reading up the day book for the 
 morrow. 
 
 ' Same old round,' he said to himself. ' I'm 
 tired to death of it before beginning. Oh 
 Lord ! I wish I'd had the courage to finish it 
 at the hill to-day. The bother of the thing 
 would have been over then. I've a good mind 
 when poor old Hammond dies to leave all my 
 money to the children, and borrow just enough 
 of my poison to finish myself with. I daresay 
 Edic would lend it me — it would tickle her 
 vanity to begin with. I gave her nearly an 
 ounce, and half a grain would finish anyone. 
 It wasn't a bad present to give a girl — like her,
 
 264 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 at least. If she finishes off old Ryves with it 
 it will stand her in about three millions of 
 hard cash. And of course if she does it I'm 
 morally responsible. I wish to God I had 
 never seen her. This last development is 
 really too much. For, even if she does murder 
 him, I can't let her be hung for it. Not that I 
 care for her the least in the world — not the 
 least shadow; but still, I gave her the poison — 
 and it's opportunity makes the thief, they say, 
 and so I ought in right to hang for it. By 
 Jove ! it wouldn't be a bad idea to go out of 
 the world that way. I might just as well con- 
 fess I'd poisoned him, and then be hung for it. 
 I would do it too, only they might say I was 
 mad, and only shut me up for it. Besides, I 
 don't think I could stand being in the dock 
 on a murder charge, the strain would be too 
 much for my nerves — not but what they're 
 strong enough too. I wonder how many 
 other fellows would have borne having Edith 
 in their arms as I did this evening and not kissed 
 her, in spite of her husband and conventional 
 morality. However, I must get on with this 
 cursed day book. Hullo ! here's Mrs Waters 
 got something wrong with her — pulmonary 
 phthisis. H'm, that means a through bill for 
 her. Poor old lady, she must be near eighty by 
 this time. She's had a bad time of it too — 
 four sons drowned at sea, and her husband too. 
 Poor old Dr Hammond's wife was the only 
 one of her family that died in her bed, and 
 she was the youngest — and the eldest daughter 
 went to the devil, and died God knows where
 
 THE SHIFTING OF TUB FIRE. 265 
 
 and how, but she's bound to be dead by this 
 time. They can't stand that life long — con- 
 sumption, and God knows what then. Wonder 
 what sort of a fellow the father was to have 
 turned her out of doors — must have been a bit 
 of a brute. He's gone to Davy Jones's locker, 
 rest his soul. And Mrs Waters outlives the 
 lot of them, poor old creature. What a life ! 
 I wouldn't like to live to eighty myself, more 
 especially if it's to be eighty such years as 
 this has been with me ; but that isn't likely, 
 because I don't care for her any more — not 
 two pins.' He heaved a deep sigh, not so 
 much from sorrow as to clear his lungs, and 
 said aloud, ' Heigho ! Sic Vita !' 
 
 ' Hope you don't mean you're sick of your 
 life already, Hollebone?' came a voice from 
 the doorway. ' Excuse my intruding. I 
 would have knocked at the door if it hadn't 
 been open.' 
 
 'Oh, is that you, Jenkins? Come in. I 
 didn't hear you.' 
 
 ' No, you seemed to be in a brown study. 
 I've been upstairs and seen poor old Ham- 
 mond. / can't do anything for him. I don't 
 know whether you can. If you can, I'll gladly 
 hand him over to you again. It's a long way 
 out of my track to come out here.' 
 
 1 Well, you won't have to do it very long 
 He's sure to go during the night' 
 
 ' No, d'you think so ? I gave him a week 
 at least.' 
 
 Hollebone shook his head. 
 
 ' I should like you just to look over some 
 M
 
 266 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 time to-morrow as you've begun the case. He 
 might last a week if he gets over the next 
 fifteen hours, but he won't do that, I'm afraid.' 
 ' I s'pose you're right,' the rival practitioner 
 answered. He was a young man, but in spite 
 of that he had a great veneration for Holle- 
 bone's knowledge and capabilities. ' How is 
 the old man next door?' he said suddenly, 
 after a moment's pause. ' I never knew such 
 complications as he's got in various parts. 
 He's about ten times less chance of life than 
 Dr Hammond, and yet he lives. Some men 
 have all the luck in this life.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid his luck's come to an end by 
 now,' Hollebone said gravely. 
 
 'About time too,' the other answered. 
 ' But is he as bad as that ? ' 
 
 Hollebone nodded. 
 
 ' You see he must have been living the life 
 of an over-fed rhinoceros for eighty years or 
 so, and in these last six months about a score 
 of mortal diseases have showed up, and it's 
 just a race which of them coils him up.' 
 
 ' That's something like a life,' the other said 
 enthusiastically, ' to live like a pig in clover 
 up to six months of one's death and then 
 crumble up fast. How long d'you give 
 him ? ' 
 
 Hollebone laughed. 
 
 ' Forty-eight hours is about half a hundred 
 more than is possible, and so I s'pose he 
 might take that. He's about half a hundred 
 times more lucky than anyone else.' 
 
 ' You're very liberal to him. Everyone in
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 267 
 
 the town here thinks he must be dead now. 
 Didn't he have a fit or something this after- 
 noon? ' 
 
 ' It wasn't a fit. Only a momentary failure 
 of the heart's action. That ought to have 
 polished him off.' 
 
 ' Well, well. I must be trotting. Then I 
 will look in to-morrow morning early to see 
 how poor Hammond is. I tell you what it 
 is, Hollebone, I wouldn't mind changing with 
 him, though he has only got two days to live. 
 From what one hears, he's booked through 
 to the good place — and then to have such 
 a wife as he's got a fellow would be lucky 
 to have her for two hours, let alone days, 
 and she's killing herself over that old 
 beggar.' 
 
 Hollebone smiled a somewhat sickly smile. 
 
 ' Appearances are deceptive,' he said. 
 
 ' Anyhow, I wouldn't mind being him,' the 
 other replied as he took his leave. 
 
 ' Nor I either,' said Hollebone, thinking of 
 his poison, and he went upstairs to Dr Ham- 
 mond's room. 
 
 Dr Hammond's attitude had not changed 
 since Hollebone saw him last, and Mary Ann 
 was knitting beside the fire. 
 
 'Look here, Mary Ann,' he said, 'you 
 must go to bed to-night. You didn't last 
 night.' 
 
 ' Then I'm not a-goin', Doctor Hollebone,' 
 she said defiantly. 
 
 But Hollebone said, — 
 
 ' Hush, now. Be quiet. I insist upon it.
 
 268 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 I'm just going upstairs to unpack, and make 
 myself comfortable for the night, and when 
 I come down again you go out of the room, 
 whether you like it or not, and if you're 
 a sensible girl you'll go to bed. You won't 
 be of the least use to me, and you're half 
 asleep as it is now,' and Mary Ann recognised 
 the uselessness of proceeding any further in 
 her defiance. 
 
 Accordingly, Hollebone retired to his room, 
 and began to make himself as comfortable as 
 possible to pass the night in the sickroom. 
 He was still in his shirt sleeves, putting away 
 in the drawers some of his clothes, from a 
 portmanteau he had opened, when a knock 
 came to the door. 
 
 ' Who's there ? ' he said somewhat angrily. 
 ' Come in.' 
 
 'It's on'y me — Maud/ a plaintive voice 
 said. ' Vere wasn't anyone to talk to down- 
 stairs, 'cos Emma is puttin' Rose to bed, 
 and ve kitchen clock ticked so loud I was 
 frightened, an* so I earned to talk to you ; 
 but I'll go away if you're angry.' 
 
 ' Oh, no, I'm not, Maud dear,' he said. ' I 
 didn't know it was you. You can come in 
 if you like to, and sit down while I'm putting 
 my things away.' 
 
 ' But I don't want to sit down alb-anl she 
 said reproachfully. ' It isn't lai'ke sittin'down 
 properly.' 
 
 ' Isn't it ?' he said, taking pity on her lone- 
 liness. ' Well, wait a minute, until I've put 
 my things away. Now then.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 269 
 
 And he seated himself in an arm-chair by 
 the fire, that had been lit especially to air 
 the room against his return. Little Maud 
 was, with considerable expenditure of force, 
 dragging a chair to the opposite side of the 
 fireplace, when he stopped her. 
 
 ' You can sit on my knee if you like 
 Pussy,' he said, and she accepted his offer 
 eagerly. 
 
 ' Oo ! ' she said, with a little purr, ' vis 
 is what I lai'ke. You didn't shave your- 
 sef vis mornin', an' your chin is all bristles 
 like a chestnut outside. I do-an't mai'nd, 
 you know,' she added reassuringly, ' but 
 I didn't ibspect it, and it spraped my 
 cheek.' 
 
 • You didn't ibspect, didn't you ? ' he said, 
 rubbing his cheek against hers, with a pleasant 
 feeling of companionship stealing over him. 
 ' Where's that half of the sixpence that I was 
 to have ? ' 
 
 ' He didn't give me no sixpences,' she said 
 disappointedly. 
 
 ' Didn't he ? What a shame ! What did he 
 say ? ' 
 
 ' He only said, " Good God ! it's her sister," 
 and he turned first red, and ven wha'ite, like a 
 sweet vat you suck ve paint off of.' 
 
 'Who was who's sister?' Hollebone asked, 
 never having heard of any sister of Edith's. 
 
 ' Me,' Maud answered enigmatically. 
 
 1 Tell me all about it,' said he, feeling hope- 
 lessly muddled. 
 
 ' I don't know miffing,' she said, ' ibsept vat
 
 270 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 he was lookin' into vc fai're when I went into 
 ve woom, just like you do when you've got ve 
 dumps — and he didn't hear me come in, an' 
 so ve gentleman what opened ve doah said, 
 "If you please, sir, here's ve little girl 'at's 
 brought ve medsin, an' she wants to give it 
 you herself," 'cos I wouldn't let him take it 
 up. Well, an' then the old gentleman looked 
 round, just as if he didn't know me at first, 
 and ven his face got all wed, an' he was 
 sittin' in an arm-chair, an' his hands catched 
 hold of ve arms quite taYght, and his head 
 part came out in front, an' his underneath 
 part went back into ve cha'iah, an' ven he 
 said, " Good God ! it's her sister," an' I said, 
 "No, I'm Rose's sister," an' ven he said, 
 "Are you a devil sent by Fate? If not, 
 for God's sake don't mention that name 
 again," an' his voice was so funny, squeaky 
 — just as if only half of it came out — an' 
 I was so fraightened vat I couldn't answer, 
 an' ven he said, " Damn it, Paton, go away, 
 and don't stand grinning at me. Don't you 
 see I want to be alone ? " an' I don't fink 
 Paton was grinning, 'cos he was almost cryin' 
 when we got outside ve doah, an' I was 
 fraightened, so I went away too. But I'm 
 not a devil sent by Fate — am I ? — 'cos a devil's 
 got horns an' a tail; vat's what Mary Ann 
 says.' 
 
 ' No, you're not ; you're a very nice little 
 girl. Now just you say your poetry for me.' 
 
 'Oh, I've learnt some new poetry while you 
 were away. Shall I say vat ? '
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 271 
 
 'Yes, say the new, by all means,' said 
 Hollcbone abstractedly, and she began : 
 
 ' Fire, fire,' said the crier, 
 
 ' Where, where?' said Mrs Blair? 
 
 ' Upstairs,' says Mrs Mears. 
 
 'Are you sartin ? ' says Mrs Martin. 
 
 'Gandy says it ought to be, " Are you certain ?" 
 says Mrs Merton," but that isn't right, is it ? ' 
 
 ' Eh, what ? No, not at all. Go on, it's 
 very pretty.' 
 
 « But that's all,' she said. 
 
 ' Well, say something else. Say " The stars 
 were falling fast." ' 
 
 1 But it isn't the stars, it's the dew.' 
 
 ' Oh, never mind, fire away.' 
 
 And the child started off in her singsong 
 voice, leaving him time to think and rack his 
 brains to find out who ' her sister ' could 
 possibly be, or why the name ' Rose ' could 
 affect Mr Ryves so powerfully. But he could 
 make nothing out of his thoughts, only, as 
 Maud said at the close of the sitting, — 
 
 1 You haven't been half na'i'ce to-night. You 
 haven't been finking about me at all. I made 
 a lot of mistakes in "Dwink, pwetty cweature," 
 on purpose an' you didn't take any notice.' 
 
 ' Didn't I, Pussy? Nevermind. Go, and let 
 Mary Ann put you to bed.' 
 
 • Cawwy me downstairs,' she said, and he 
 obeyed her, after which he returned to spend 
 the night in the sickroom, and a dreary long 
 night it proved, with no sound to break the 
 silence but the stentorian breathing of the old
 
 272 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 doctor and the sound of the waves, which the 
 wind, itself occasionally rising to a shriek, bore 
 down to his ears, and with nothing to oc- 
 cupy either mind or body save occasionally to 
 moisten the lips of the unconscious dying man. 
 
 And thus through the night his thoughts 
 took up his time, and shook his whole 
 frame with a mad desire to do something 
 — anything to stave off those terrible 
 thoughts. Towards six a little light seemed 
 filtering in over the shutter, and in the wish 
 for a moment of action he threw open the 
 window and watched the sun come over the 
 sea — a hemisphere of gold on a sea of motion- 
 less lead — and he was just noting how the 
 yellow was letting its tints swim almost im- 
 perceptibly over the east when a cessation of 
 sound in the room behind caught his ear. 
 
 ' Yesterday was the end of a year for me,' 
 he said aloud, ' and to-day is the beginning 
 of eternity for poor Dr Hammond. When 
 will my turn come for a change in life ? ' 
 
 The sun had risen fully — above the gold- 
 dappled blue of the sea's restless swinging it 
 hung, round and glowing, in a cloudless sky. 
 A new day had begun, but Hollebone drew 
 down the blind and shut out its joyous light. 
 The sparkle of the sun on the hoar-frosted 
 land below consorted ill with the gloom on 
 his soul. Whether it consorts well or ill with 
 the presence of death, who can say ? 
 
 Be that as it may, he drew down the blind 
 to shut out the light, but the day had dawned, 
 and grew brighter in spite of it.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A quiet resting from all jealousy. — Old Play. 
 
 S Maud had said, Mr Ryves turned 
 first red and then white. Per- 
 haps it was as well for her peace 
 of mind that she did not see the 
 look that came into his face after 
 the door had closed behind her. There might 
 have been another night's rest ruined. Children 
 have strange fancies, it may be not stranger 
 ones than other people have, but they are 
 less chary of imparting them. Mr Ryves was 
 hard pressed by a fancy that night. Paton 
 was of opinion that he had gone mad, for, on 
 making some excuse to go into the room, he 
 saw his master sitting in a chair, with an 
 expression of horror on his face such that 
 Paton had never dreamt of as possible. Paton 
 had been brought up in excessively polite 
 circles, and at ordinary times would have said 
 that an expression of horror on anyone's face 
 was terribly bad form ; but there was some- 
 thing about his master's face that precluded 
 all thought of form, bad or otherwise. It 
 made Paton shudder, and it takes a good
 
 274 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 deal to make a well - bred upper-servant 
 shudder — and Paton had been known not to 
 wince when he had observed an absent-minded 
 guest at his master's table make use of a steel 
 knife with his fish, which demonstrates 
 clearly that his nerves were excellent. But 
 this was something else, and Paton felt for a 
 moment that ice-water was trickling down his 
 spinal column. 
 
 That was what he felt at viewing Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves's face from the side, as he gazed at the 
 fire. But when his master suddenly turned 
 it towards him his knees shook and his tongue 
 clave to the roof of his mouth, for there was 
 a passion, heatless and white, in the face that 
 held the venomous spirit of a million oaths in 
 its oval casket of flesh. 
 
 ' Paton,' said a voice — a voice Paton had 
 never heard before — ' Paton, why can you 
 not leave me in peace ? ' 
 
 'Oh, sir,' said Paton, 'how could I leave 
 you in such a state ? ' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' the voice said, and 
 a pair of eyes, that had for the moment been 
 wandering vaguely, turned suddenly on him 
 with a glare like that in the eyes of a dying 
 eagle. ' What do you mean ? Don't you see 
 the death in my face ? You would let a dog 
 die in peace, would you not?' 
 
 Paton realised that his master was speaking 
 to him, for the first and last time, as one man 
 speaks to another, and knew that he should 
 leave his master alone with the past ; but his 
 limbs seemed to refuse their functions, and he
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 275 
 
 remained, trembling. Again the glare came 
 into the cold eyes, which glanced from him to 
 the door, and Paton, feeling that his master 
 was treating him now as a dog, slunk out of 
 the room, and closed the door behind him. 
 Outside, he paused, and putting his finger 
 between his teeth, bit it almost to the bone, 
 in the hope that the pain would drive out of 
 his remembrance the look of death in his 
 master's face. 
 
 A slight grating noise came from the lock 
 of the door behind him, and he shuddered 
 once again. 
 
 ' Good Lord ! ' he said, ' there was no need 
 to lock the door. I wouldn't go into that 
 room again — no, not for a king's ransom.' 
 
 Mr Kasker-Ryves had returned to his seat, 
 and remained gazing at the fire. There was 
 a cold feeling round his heart, and by it he 
 knew that his soul was shivering before the 
 relentless approach of the Almighty; and the 
 shivering of his soul made itself manifest in 
 a shuddering that had taken hold of his 
 body. 
 
 The hours flew by, or did they crawl ? He 
 could hardly tell whether each minute had a 
 thousand feet, or whether the hours had 
 pinions that outsped the wind. He did not 
 know even whether he would rather they 
 should pass fast or slowly. 
 
 True, every minute that died away left him 
 nearer to his death ; but then he felt that 
 death itself would be preferable to the agony 
 of dread that he then suffered, and superadded
 
 276 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 to the agony of mind was the physical pain 
 of his body's decay; but, more than all things 
 else, the thought that he had hastened his 
 death by his own mad hatred of his wife 
 made him feel a frantic grief. 
 
 ' If I had not been foolhardy enough to 
 come down here I might have stood some 
 chance of recovering,' he said, bitterly re- 
 pentant of his folly ; ' but here, the very sight 
 of this place is enough to kill me. Why 
 should it have been this place of the whole 
 world ? And then the sight of that child nearly 
 killed me. For the moment I really thought 
 it must have been a ghost, it was so exactly 
 like her little sister — and then the name she 
 mentioned. It must be one of her sister's 
 children, and if so I should like to leave them 
 a little money to keep them from want. I 
 can't leave it in my will — at least it would 
 want witnessing — but Jemmy would see to it 
 if I merely express the wish in a codicil, with- 
 out witnesses. Yes, I will do it.' 
 
 And he arose from his seat and went into 
 his wife's bedroom to fetch the will, which was 
 in his dressing-case, carefully locked up. The 
 door opened direct from his room into hers, 
 and thus he had not very far to go ; but even 
 the slight movement made his brain swim so 
 that he could hardly stand. He trod very 
 softly, after his wont, and opened the door 
 noiselessly. 
 
 Edith was kneeling on the floor, with her 
 face hidden in her hands, and by her side lay 
 the violin, smashed to fragments.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRF. 277 
 
 Mr Kaskcr-Ryvcs smiled to himself. 
 
 ' She seems to have only just found it out. 
 How she must be suffering now, and it's only 
 a matter of time which of us dies first. I 
 wonder if she has heard me come in ? ' 
 
 Me stood for a moment watching her com- 
 placently, and revelling in the thought that, 
 old though he was, he still had the power to 
 torture somebody ; but even as he was at the 
 height of his joy a flamelike pain darted 
 across his chest from side to side, stopping 
 his breath for the time, and leaving him pant- 
 ing and trembling before this new proof that 
 his time was drawing in. 
 
 Once again the shuddering pervaded his 
 being. A terrible dread had seized on him, 
 a horror of going out of the world hated by 
 one who had striven so long and earnestly to 
 do right towards himself, and who might have 
 loved him and cherished him tenderly but for 
 his own cruelty. 
 
 ' What have you done with my poison ? ' 
 she said fiercely, noticing his presence in the 
 room. ' Where is it ? Give it me. Let me 
 kill myself. Oh, my dear poison that I 
 treasured so,' and once more she covered her 
 face with her hands and burst into hysterical 
 sobs. 
 
 The question made him tremble the more. 
 He saw now how hard he had pressed her, 
 and that he had driven her to wish to take 
 her own life, even as he had done to her who 
 had loved him long ago — and even as he had 
 loved the one without knowing it, so he recog-
 
 278 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 nised that he now loved the other. But there 
 she sat sobbing at his feet. 
 
 ' Edith,' he said very softly, but she sobbed 
 on in silence. ' Edith,' he repeated in an 
 agony of desire for love. 'Edith, please look 
 up,' and she uncovered her glorious face, wet 
 with tears, and he knew that she hated him — 
 now, after he had striven so long for it — now, 
 when all he had to live for was to remove 
 that hatred, for when one has but a few short 
 hours to live things show themselves with all 
 too startling clearness in their true light. 
 
 ' Sir,' she said, epitomising her feelings in 
 the hopeless tone of her voice, ' sir, you are 
 my husband — and I obey you.' 
 
 ' Oh, but, Edith,' he said, trembling so that 
 his lips hardly framed the words he would 
 have them say, ' do you not — can you not 
 love me too ? ' 
 
 ' My God,' she said, with a great desolate 
 powerlessness, ' how can I love a man who 
 could do that? ' and she pointed to the broken 
 Stradivarius. 
 
 1 Oh, Edith,' he said, reckless of truth now 
 that he wished to regain her love. ' Edith — 
 and it was out of my love for you that I broke 
 it, in the mere madness of jealousy at the 
 thought that you should love another.' 
 
 Perhaps it was that her vanity was 
 soothed, it having been grievously wounded 
 by her lover ; perhaps it was the sight of her 
 husband's anguish, or the ever-predominant 
 thought that she had wronged him and de- 
 served any punishment, made her tone a
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 279 
 
 little softer when she spoke again, after a 
 pause. 
 
 ' But it was so cruel of you to bring me 
 down here to taunt me with my marriage 
 vows at the sight of my — of him who used 
 to love me.' 
 
 And without hesitation he spoke, adopting 
 an expression of surprise. 
 
 ' To taunt you with your marriage vows ! ' 
 he said. ' Oh, Edith, how could you think 
 me capable of such baseness. I brought you 
 down here in repentance at my jealousy, that 
 you might be comforted by the sight of him, 
 and I even let him put his arms round you, 
 and left you alone with him — do you think 
 that was pleasant to me ? What other motive 
 could I possibly have ? You have misjudged 
 me — indeed and indeed you have.' 
 
 Edith turned white for a moment. 
 
 ' I thought — I thought — ' she faltered, and 
 burst into tears, and still kneeling, she caught 
 at his hand and kissed it passionately. ' Oh, 
 my husband, my husband,' she sobbed, ' for- 
 give me. I have wronged you so deeply, and 
 so much, and I can never atone for it ; but oh, 
 I have suffered a great deal, and I am very 
 wretched,' and she pressed his hand to her 
 forehead, and would not let him draw it away 
 though he tried. 
 
 He stood and racked his poor failing 
 brains for an answer to her craving for for- 
 giveness. He would fain have had her rise 
 from her knees, because it seemed to him now 
 that he should be the one to kneel to her,
 
 28o THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 and for very want of words he held his 
 peace, and she went on, turning up her tear- 
 wet face yearningly to him, — 
 
 1 Oh, my husband,' she said, ' forgive me, 
 forgive me. I have wronged you very, very 
 deeply, but you are great and noble enough 
 to pardon even that. Oh, say you will for- 
 give.' 
 
 ' My dearest,' he said, ' what have I to for- 
 give? You have been the truest of wives 
 to me, and I — I have hurt your feelings at 
 times. If there is anyone to be forgiven, it 
 is I.' 
 
 But she cut him short, wringing her hands. 
 ' Oh, no, no, no. It is I. You have been 
 the noblest and best of husbands, and I have 
 sinned against Heaven, and against the name 
 of wife. For oh, I could not help loving him* 
 I sinned very, very heavily in marrying you. 
 It was betraying you, for I did not love you 
 then. I wanted to get your money. It was 
 terrible, mean, contemptible, vile, there is no 
 other word for it, and even he despises me for 
 it, and I — I love him still. And is not that a 
 sin in me ? And I was even base enough to 
 hate you at times, even a moment ago. I 
 thought — oh, believe me, I did think that you 
 were treating me cruelly and hardly in bring- 
 ing me down here. I was even wicked enough 
 to believe that you had done it to tempt me 
 and torment me, and you are so good and 
 noble, and have been so very kind to me, 
 and I — I am too base to exist. Oh, forgive 
 me, forgive me, if you can, such grievous sins
 
 THE SHIFTING OF Til E EIRE. 281 
 
 — do, do, for the love of Christ,' and she 
 held her head averted downwards for shame 
 before his gaze, and thought of Magdalen 
 and the Redeemer, and he bent over her 
 and put his arms round her. 
 
 'Oh, Edith, Edith, my dearest, truest wife, 
 I cannot, I dare not tell you how I have 
 wronged you, for fear you should hate me, 
 and I am yearning for your love — a very little 
 love. Oh, say that you can pardon me.' 
 
 But she held her face downwards and 
 sobbed. 
 
 ' I have nothing to forgive. You are too 
 noble for me to dare to love. But — but I do 
 love you, as one should love a God, and — I 
 would like you to kiss me, to show that you 
 forgive me before I die. It would make me 
 die a little happier ' 
 
 • Please kiss me, to let me know that you 
 forgive me,' and she held up her face to 
 him. 
 
 For a moment he hesitated, fearing lest the 
 touch of his lips should contaminate her, and 
 then bending over her, he kissed her rever- 
 ently, as one would kiss a sacred relic. And 
 she let her head fall forward with a feeling of 
 awe, and of her own great unworthiness before 
 this godlike man. 
 
 He felt his brain was failing, and turning 
 on his heel, left the room, after having hastily 
 seized the dressing-case he had come in search 
 of; but in spite of the agitation of his mind he 
 forced himself to sit down and write the codicil 
 to his will. It was a singular trait in his
 
 282 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 character that he was too nervous to trust his 
 will in the hands of his solicitors, but invari- 
 ably carried it about with him, in order that he 
 might at any moment add a codicil. 
 
 In reinserting the will into its place he 
 noticed the poison that he had taken from 
 Edith, and which he had, for greater safety, 
 hidden in the case. 
 
 ' What a good thing it was that I took the 
 precaution to abstract that poison from her 
 keeping, poor girl,' he said. ' I am glad that 
 that crime is spared to me. I wouldn't like 
 to have two lives on my conscience, and yet 
 I suppose I have ruined a great many people's 
 lives — a great many — it's a horrible thought. 
 But it's all over — it's too late to do anything 
 now. Oh, how ill I feel, and my throat is 
 parched.' 
 
 He moved his chair round, and sat looking 
 at the fire, which was burning very low, and al- 
 ready ashes showed themselves in dun-coloured 
 flakes over the red glow, like clouds that fleck 
 the surface of a fiery sunset. 
 
 He sat there and gazed at it, and tried to 
 form images out of it, but his brain refused 
 the task. Only dead and gone memories from 
 the time when he was a hot-blooded youth, 
 from the time when he was a lusty man, from 
 the time when his hair had begun to grizzle, 
 until now, when he was an old white-headed, 
 white-bearded man — the memories from all 
 the periods of his lifetime flitted in front of 
 his appalled eyes, and made him shudder and 
 wince, so terribly cold-hearted and wicked did
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 283 
 
 they seem under the strong light of his life's 
 sunset. At the time they had seemed mere 
 slight self-indulgences, nothings, trifles that 
 he had committed, as he would have smoked 
 a cigarette, knowing it to be bad for his health. 
 But now it was terrible to look down that long 
 skeleton-lined vista of years, and he quaked 
 and trembled at the doom that would be in 
 store for him if — but that remained un- 
 formulated. 
 
 He stared at the fire in the hope of seeing 
 one face come out of the red glow — a face 
 that had shown love for him, a face that he 
 had loved, and that he craved to see once 
 more. 
 
 His throat was very parched, and he reached 
 out his hand for a glass of milk that stood on 
 the table close by — but all the while he kept 
 his eyes fixed on the dying glow of the coals, 
 in the dread that if he averted them once the 
 face might come into being and disappear 
 before he could see it. His fingers closed 
 round the glass, and he was about to convey 
 it to his mouth, but before he was able to 
 accomplish this end a concentration of the 
 anticipation that her face was about to appear 
 in the fire made the hand pause half-way. 
 The anticipation grew to a certainty, and his 
 whole frame trembled for joy, and his eyes 
 swam so from the straining that he could 
 hardly see. 
 
 ' She is coming,' he said half hysterically, 
 and the blood poured in great jets through 
 his veins. ' Look — ah ! '
 
 284 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 But suddenly the fire shifted. 
 
 The multitude of candles he had lit to 
 confuse Hollebone by their glare began to 
 burn low in their sockets — one had even burnt 
 down to the paper that had been folded round 
 it. That ignited with a great glare, torchwise, 
 pouring up volumes of greasy black smoke. 
 Then it went out, and another began — and 
 another and another. The room grew darker 
 and darker, until the dawn began to show itself 
 in silver cracks through the grey cloud-wall, 
 like fur on the edging of a lady's cloak. The 
 cloud itself sailed up from the horizon, and 
 passed majestically from the sea overhead. 
 From north to south the sky grew yellow, 
 and the sea, kissed by the soft wind, smiled and 
 dimpled its surface into diamonds of gold and 
 blue, mocking the tints of Heaven. The thin 
 crescent of the jealous moon hung in the sky, 
 more and more silver in the rose of the dawn, 
 until at last it faded away. Then the sun 
 peered over the edge of the sea. 
 
 What is't to die ? 
 
 Tis less than to be born ; a lasting sleep ; 
 
 A quiet resting from all jealousy ; 
 
 A thing we all pursue — I know besides 
 
 It is but giving over of a game 
 
 That must be lost.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 When one has rolled the Ethical snowball of his Ego a 
 year forward he has gathered a good deal on the way. 
 
 Goethe to Fran von Laroche. 
 January 3, 1775. 
 
 HOUSE into which death has 
 entered has always a calm dim- 
 ness over it, not dissimilar to 
 the noonday hush of a cloister — 
 a feeling of fingers placed rever- 
 ently to lips — and it was from this sanctuary 
 of hushedness that Hollebone must needs sally 
 forth on his rounds. Starting early in the 
 morning, before breakfast indeed, it was his 
 habit to visit the poorer patients, who were 
 not likely to be discommoded by the untimely 
 season of his visitation. 
 
 The morning was one of those bright 
 cloudless days that come like the ghost of 
 the summer to cheer the year before it finally 
 plunges into its winter sleep at the fore end 
 of November. But the cheeriness of the day 
 found no reflection in his soul. He was gloomy, 
 with the determined pessimism of an injured 
 man, and, moreover, it annoyed him to be the 
 bearer of fatal tidings — those of the death of 
 Dr Hammond — and yet at every household he
 
 286 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 visited the inevitable string of questions was 
 propounded. 
 
 Last of all, in the course of his early round, 
 he found death awaiting him at the house 
 of Mrs Waters, his partner's deceased wife's 
 mother, for that aged dame had passed away 
 just before he arrived at the door. 
 
 A doctor, by usage, becomes acquainted 
 with the blacker side of human vicissitudes, 
 and speedily grows case-hardened, but this 
 second death in the day, so early, seemed to 
 him to have some sinister foreboding. 
 
 ' Deaths never come by pairs,' he said to 
 himself, 'always in triplets. Who is to be 
 the third ? I wish to God it was myself.' 
 
 From Mrs Waters's house to his own was 
 but a step, and he was returning thither to 
 get some food, and to give some orders to 
 Mary Ann, when Paton came in suddenly, 
 with a white, scared face. 
 
 ' I came in, sir,' he said, ( to ask you what 
 it would be best to do. I didn't wish to 
 alarm Mrs Kasker-Ryves, perhaps needlessly, 
 but—' 
 
 'Good God, man, what's the matter? Is 
 your master worse ? ' Hollebone asked. 
 
 ' That is just what I cannot say, sir,' the 
 man said. ' His room door is locked. I have 
 knocked and knocked, but he has given no 
 answer, and I thought it better to come in 
 and ask you what to do than to alarm Mrs 
 Kasker-Ryves.' 
 
 ' You were quite right,' Hollebone said 
 hurriedly. ' You say you cannot make him
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 287 
 
 answer your knocking. Which way docs 
 his room face ? Over the sea — to the back, 
 doesn't it?' 
 
 The man answered, — 
 ' Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, look here, just go into my garden — 
 there's a ladder lying against the wall. I will 
 go round next door — you can hand it over 
 to me, and I can climb up to his window and 
 get in that way. Hurry, now ! The servant 
 will show you the way.' 
 
 The man did as he was told, and with all 
 possible speed Hollcbone was at the dead 
 man's window, which, without a moment's 
 hesitation, he broke, and then entered the 
 room. 
 
 The atmosphere, however, was so fetid as 
 almost to make him faint, caused by the 
 suffocating exhalations of the candles. 
 
 A single glance at the motionless figure 
 that had collapsed into the chair before the 
 fire showed him what had happened. 
 
 He recoiled against the window sill, not 
 daring to look more closely for fear of con- 
 firming his horrible suspicion, and before he 
 could think of doing anything the servant, 
 who had followed him up the ladder, entered 
 through the broken window. 
 
 ' Is it all over? ' the man asked. 
 
 And Hollcbone answered mechanically, — 
 
 ' Yes,' and he shut his eyes from giddiness. 
 
 The man went up to the body. 
 
 'Yes, sir,' he said huskily. 'Poor master! 
 He has died — and it's apoplexy, too. I know
 
 2S8 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 the symptoms. Isn't it so, doctor ? He must 
 have died very suddenly.' 
 
 Hollebone said faintly, — 
 
 1 Yes — very suddenly.' 
 
 The suspicion was growing stronger. 
 
 ' It is very strange,' the man went on. ' He 
 must have just been taking a glass of milk. 
 Mrs Kasker-Ryves poured it out for him just 
 after you left. It will be a little comfort to 
 her to know that she was of service to him 
 even at the last moment.' 
 
 The man tried to remove the glass from 
 the dead man's rigid grasp, and as he was so 
 engaged, did not notice Hollebone's ghastly 
 pallor. 
 
 ' That proves it,' he said to himself. ' She 
 put the poison into his milk. Good God ! 
 What shall I do ? What shall I do ? ' 
 
 And he kept his eyes turned from the body, 
 dreading to see the terrible work that his 
 poison had effected. 
 
 The noise of the breaking window had 
 aroused the household, and Edith appeared 
 at the door in between the two rooms haggard 
 and white. As she came in Paton, in simple 
 respect, undid the other door and went out, 
 closing it behind him. 
 
 Edith, but half awakened from a terrible 
 dream, looked at Hollebone with dilated, 
 horror-stricken eyes. 
 
 'Oh, Clement,' she said, 'what does it mean?' 
 
 Hollebone's power of speech seemed to fail 
 him for the moment, but steeling himself, he 
 said as harshly as he could, —
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 289 
 
 ' Your husband is dead,' and pointed to the 
 body. 
 
 With a sudden light of revelation welling 
 into her wondering eyes, she flung her arms 
 round the neck of the motionless corpse and 
 fell to the ground with it. 
 
 Hollebone turned his head towards the 
 window. Somehow the look on her face had 
 shaken his certainty. 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' he said, ' what am I to 
 do? If I say that he died of poison she will 
 be hung. There can be no doubt of that — 
 and yet, and yet. My God ! I love her in 
 spite of it all. I have made her do it. It 
 was because she loved me. I cant let her 
 be hung.' 
 
 And he remained in paralysed amazement 
 surveying the living and the dead, lying to- 
 gether on the floor. In his strained state of 
 mind he had hard work to keep from laughing 
 at the grotesque figure of the corpse as it lay, 
 stiff and unnatural like an artist's lay figure, 
 across Edith ; but a sudden sense of the in- 
 congruous horror of it came into his mind, 
 and, running forward, he lifted the heavy body 
 up as well as he could and called aloud for 
 Paton. The man entered, and Hollebone said 
 hurriedly, — 
 
 ' Send Mrs Kasker-Ryves's maid here. Your 
 mistress has fainted again, and get someone 
 of the servants to help you lift Mr Kasker- 
 Ryves's body on to the bed. Be quick, 
 now.' 
 
 But there was little need for the latter in- 
 N
 
 2c>o THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 junction. The servants had been waiting, 
 half curiously, half in awe, on the landing 
 outside the door, and they entered and did as 
 they were bid silently, at least it seemed so 
 to Hollebone, although their lips were moving 
 and a buzz of voices was on the air. 
 
 Edith was carried out of the room, and at 
 last he himself left it. He was still, as it were, 
 in a dream. There was such a horror in and 
 about everything that it seemed to him as if 
 such terrible occurrences must be the usual 
 happenings in this world, and that the life he 
 had hitherto led had been a meretricious ap- 
 parition of which he had not apprehended the 
 true horror. He went about his everyday 
 work callously, but the light and shade had 
 gone from his existence, and with it the 
 power of distinguishing between good and 
 evil. It is true that he had some small 
 scruples about falsifying Mr Ryves's death 
 certificate, but the pangs of conscience were 
 so small as in no wise to interfere with his 
 after-thoughts. An impenetrable atmosphere 
 of cynicism had settled down over his mind, 
 a sense of the worthlessness of human ends, 
 so overpowering that at times he was startled 
 at the fact that anyone in this world struggled 
 or was eager after anything. 
 
 Edith was very ill with brain fever, and her 
 mother and Julia came down to nurse her, and 
 shortly afterwards Mr Ryves the younger came 
 also, to ascertain how his stepmother was at 
 first hand. They were an uneasy quartette 
 watching round Edith's bed. Perhaps the
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 291 
 
 unconscious patient was the easiest of them 
 all in her mind. 
 
 Before Hollebone Mrs Ryland positively 
 quailed. He seemed to her to be slighting 
 her so obviously that she was afraid all the 
 world noticed it, and having no one else to 
 appeal to, she attempted to take refuge in 
 Julia, excusing her own part in Edith's mar- 
 riage and in everything. To tell the truth, Mrs 
 Ryland felt herself a much injured person — 
 and the more so that in the depths of her 
 heart lurked a guilty conscience. Her hus- 
 band had several times since their daughter's 
 marriage expressed misgivings on the subject, 
 and on hearing of her illness he had burst into 
 such an agonised torrent of self-reproach that 
 she had felt herself somewhat implicated in 
 the crime. 
 
 ' I'm sure it was much better that she 
 should have married this Mr Ryves,' she said 
 to herself for the thousandth time, just after 
 Julia had repulsed her advances. ' If she 
 loves this young man she can marry him now, 
 and there's no harm done to anyone in par- 
 ticular.' 
 
 Nevertheless Mrs Ryland felt that some- 
 where about her mind there was a tender spot 
 that she would just as well not approach. 
 Therefore she kept as much out of Holle- 
 bone's way during his professional visits as 
 she could, and Hollebone at other times 
 never approached the house ; and as to young 
 Mr Ryves, he was even more strange in his 
 conduct than Hollebone. She felt quite sure
 
 292 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 he had something on his mind, he was so very 
 abstracted, and Mrs Ryland was, moreover, 
 certain that his absentness had some connec- 
 tion with that Tubbs girl. As for Julia herself, 
 words would be powerless to express Mrs 
 Ryland's indignation at her conduct. To be 
 sure she gave the young man no encourage- 
 ment whatever, and she had thrown up every 
 engagement in London to come down and 
 nurse Edith, and she did nurse her unre- 
 mittedly and assiduously ; moreover, Julia 
 was so much in the sickroom that she 
 hardly ever saw young Kasker-Ryves — but 
 that was all a trick to make him the more 
 eager. 
 
 ' It's all very well,' Mrs Ryland said to her 
 maid, whom out of sheer loneliness she had 
 taken into her confidence, 'it's all very well for 
 her to say she came down here while Mr 
 Ryves had gone back to Yorkshire to bury 
 his poor father, who is now in Heaven, if ever 
 a man was — it's all very well for her to say 
 that, but she knew that he would be certain 
 to come down here to inquire after his step- 
 mother's health, and that's why she came.' 
 
 1 To be sure, mum,' the servant said de- 
 murely. ' It isn't likely she came down here 
 to nurse Miss Edith — I mean Mrs Ryves. It 
 isn't likely, either, that her crying is genuine ; 
 she must have an onion in her handkerchief, 
 tho' to be sure I've never noticed the smell of 
 it, and it's so easy to make a face like hers 
 look pale and ill by darkening the rims of 
 her eyes artificially ; and then, as you say, she
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 293 
 
 shuts herself up in the sickroom all day long 
 and never goes out alone, just in order to 
 make young Mr Ryves more eager.' 
 
 There was something about the sound of 
 this speech that made Mrs Ryland feel just 
 in the least degree uneasy as to its true import, 
 and she changed the subject, after a pause. 
 
 ' Ah ! ' she said, with a sigh of reminiscence, 
 ' what a good man Mr Kasker- Ryves was. 
 I'm sure if my daughter could have been 
 happy with anyone she should have been with 
 him, but she was so conscientious, she has 
 nearly nursed herself into the grave with him. 
 What a fine sight his funeral must have been. 
 All the gentry of the county were there, and 
 the grave was filled to the top with the 
 wreaths that had been sent from all parts of 
 the country. And what a magnificent sermon 
 the bishop gave over his grave. It made me 
 cry to read it.' 
 
 And, indeed, the reading of Mr Ryves's 
 obituary sermon made an inordinate number of 
 people weep, over and above the class whose 
 business in life is to weep at fashionable 
 sermons. Many people wept, too, at Mr 
 Ryves's death, for the recipients of his bounty 
 were legion. Even his rival merchants could 
 find little against him after his death, little to 
 weigh against the true merit of the man in the 
 aggregate. 
 
 In the meantime his son was abstracted in a 
 marked degree. Pie spoke to no one, and 
 hardly ever stirred out of his room except at 
 meal times, when they all three dined together
 
 -94 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 in almost solemn silence, which, when it was 
 broken, owed its rupture entirely to meteoro- 
 logical circumstances, and damp ones at that. 
 For the winter was setting in with fog and 
 rain. A month passed by, a terribly dismal 
 month for everyone ; but Edith began to grow 
 better, became conscious, and then — a few 
 things happened. First of all, Mrs Ryland 
 fell ill, half of rheumatism and half of hysteria, 
 with a constant running over at the eyes, until 
 everyone voted her a nuisance, in the depress- 
 ing state of the weather, and Julia was posi- 
 tively glad when she took to her bed. To 
 be sure she had to dine alone with young 
 Kasker-Ryves, but she placed implicit faith 
 in her coldness of front in repelling that 
 frivolous young swell, as she forced herself to 
 call him. But she put overdue coldness into 
 her demeanour, and the reaction when she 
 was alone was noticeable even to Edith. 
 Edith was by this time gaining strength 
 rapidly, and was beginning to notice things ; 
 and one day — it was after she had got suffi- 
 ciently advanced in health to sit by the fire, 
 in an arm-chair — she observed Julia in a brown 
 study, which was unprecedented in her experi- 
 ence, and she said, with a little smile, — 
 
 ' Why, Ju, how quiet you are. I believe 
 you must have been crossed in love.' 
 
 To her surprise, instead of turning off her 
 remark with a jest, Julia flushed angrily and 
 kept silence, a sign, as Edith well knew, that 
 she was repressing a tumult of wrath. More- 
 over, for the rest of the afternoon Julia was
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 295 
 
 excessively bad-tempered and gloomy, hardly 
 saying a word. This turned Edith's thoughts 
 inwards, and weak as she was she had little 
 trouble in making up her mind to a desperate 
 step. When Edith had once evolved a resolu- 
 tion upon any subject there was no hesitation 
 left in her mind as to its advisability — a 
 characteristic she had inherited from her 
 father. As chance would have it, Julia left 
 the room in search of a pair of scissors that 
 had got lost, after the peculiar habit of scissors, 
 and once having gone, she seemed to be in no 
 hurry to return. During her absence Holle- 
 bone entered on his professional visit, and 
 thus for the first time they were alone together. 
 He had expected to find Julia or someone in 
 the room with her, and in a listless way would 
 have preferred it. He had by this time re- 
 conciled himself to the fact that he still loved 
 her, in spite of everything that had passed ; 
 but although he perforce admitted that, per- 
 haps more from habit than for any other 
 reason, he had no particular desire to be 
 near her, or even to see her. Having become 
 an unwitting disciple of Berlioz's system of 
 philosophy, the system of ' Absolute In- 
 differentism in Universal Matter,' he had no 
 wish to enter another phase of philosophic 
 psychology, to have his ' Indifferentism ' over- 
 come by a passion. Moreover, he felt uneasy 
 in his mind when in the presence of Edith, even 
 when she was lying unconscious on her bed — 
 she and his ' System ' seemed so incongruous. 
 Therefore he felt awkward at entering a room
 
 296 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 in which she was alone. She had been 
 brooding over the fire, and her face was 
 slightly scorched by the heat. 
 
 1 Oh, it is you,' she said softly, with a happy 
 smile. 
 
 Hollebone, in desperation, adopted his most 
 professional manner. 
 
 1 Yes,' he said. ' I have looked in to see how 
 you were. You are getting along famously. 
 I sha'n't be of any use soon.' 
 She said, — 
 
 'Oh, Clem,' with an unhappy little sigh, 
 just to steel herself, and then, 'sit down — 
 please do — I want to speak to you.' At 
 which her fortitude deserted her, and she 
 began to weep softly. 
 
 He sat looking at her without so much as 
 feeling awkward. The shock he had sus- 
 tained, and was still labouring under, had 
 driven out all sense of pity, for anyone or 
 anything, from his mind. 
 
 'Oh, Clem,' she said suddenly, 'you are very 
 cruel— or no, it's not that, only I am very 
 miserable. But you are quite right to despise 
 me — only when I did it, I didn't see that I 
 was doing wrong. I meant it for your good, 
 I did, really. I thought you were ruined, 
 and it would be a noble thing to sacrifice 
 myself to get a little money for you. It was 
 very wicked of me. I can see it now. Oh, 
 Clem, Clem, can't you forgive me for it ? Is 
 it to separate us for ever. I — I love you as 
 much as I ever did.' 
 
 He answered nothing, but a great desire
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 297 
 
 was entering into his heart, the ' Indiffercntism 
 to Universal Matter' was crumbling away, 
 or at least he was trying to assimilate it to 
 his love, and failed dismally. He could not 
 make the two run in harness together. 
 
 ' I know I have wronged you very deeply, 
 Clem. But I was only a child then, and did 
 not see it in the right light.' She was crying 
 softly all the while. ' Can't you forgive me ? 
 I am so very miserable. I can't make you 
 any amends, but — but I can throw myself on 
 your mercy. It is all I can do, and it is 
 a hard thing for a woman to do. I love you, 
 Clem, as well as I ever did. Oh ! have pity 
 on me. Give me a little of your love — a 
 very little.' 
 
 Hollebone trembled for a moment — it was 
 the defeat of ' Indifferentism' that caused it, 
 as it took wings and fled. 
 
 ' Oh, my darling,' he said, ' I love you more 
 than all the world,' and with a little sigh, like 
 a happy child, she threw her arms round his 
 neck, and clinging to him, closed her eyes, 
 while he kissed her again and again. For 
 her it was a paradise of utter joy, and she 
 wept softly and happily, with her head pil- 
 lowed on his shoulder, silent in a joyful 
 delirium of restful ecstasy. 
 
 And he was in hell, and not a hell like M. 
 Re'nan's ideal place of future abode, for into 
 the void that the departure of his ' Indiffer- 
 entism ' had created conscience rushed in, and 
 the last state of the man was seven times seven 
 worse than the former. He felt her kisses
 
 298 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 showering on his cheeks, as though a rose 
 were shaking its blood-red petals on to his 
 face — and yet, and yet she was a murderess 
 that gave them, and it was by murder she 
 had gained the right and the power to give 
 them, and yet her kisses were so sweet, and 
 fell so softly, like summer rain on parched 
 ground, and he had been yearning for them 
 so long. How could he throw away the power 
 to possess them for ever ? And after all — 
 
 But suddenly the fire shifted and made him 
 start. 
 
 1 1 — I must go now,' he said uneasily. 
 
 She gave a little moan of discontent. 
 
 1 Oh, don't,' she said reluctantly. ' You do 
 love me, don't you ? ' 
 
 And for answer he kissed her again. 
 
 ( But do you love me as much as you used 
 to — a year ago ? ' 
 
 ' My darling,' he said, ' I love you infinitely 
 more. More than I could have dreamt of 
 then.' 
 
 She took her arms lingeringly and wistfully 
 from round his neck. 
 
 1 Oh, Clem, I am so glad. You'll come 
 again soon, won't you? Because last time 
 when you said you would come again on the 
 next day it — it was a whole year, and every- 
 thing happened in between. But that is all 
 over and gone, like a nightmare. Oh, Clem, 
 it is so good of you to love me, after I was so 
 wicked — it is so noble ! ' 
 
 He could not trust himself to answer any- 
 thing, only he kissed her once again and left
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 299 
 
 her. She was almost glad to be alone with 
 her new-found joy, and sat looking happily in 
 the fire, with nothing to mar the full conviction 
 that her grief was now for ever at an end. 
 
 In the meanwhile Hollebone was in an 
 agony of mental conflict. Going down the 
 stairs Julia met him, her face flushed and a 
 new light in her eyes. 
 
 • Why, whatever is the matter, Mr Holle- 
 bone?' she asked. 'You look ghastly.' 
 
 ' I — I don't know,' he said. ' Look here, 
 Julia, do come in next door, I want to speak 
 to you ; I must speak to someone or I shall 
 go mad. Please come — I know it will look 
 funny, but what does that matter.' 
 
 And Julia, after a moment's hesitation, 
 said, — 
 
 ' Very well, I will come. Does Edie want 
 looking after ? ' 
 
 1 No, not directly,' he answered. ' Look here, 
 put on a hat and cloak; it's rather cold outside.' 
 
 1 Well, well,' she said, with a smile, ' I suppose 
 I must obey you.' 
 
 In a moment they were out in the open air. 
 
 ' Look here, Julia,' he said, ' do you mind 
 walking a little way up the road with me ? I 
 am afraid to say what I have got to say in the 
 house for fear someone should overhear it' 
 
 For a time they walked on in silence. The 
 evening was coming on wearily, with a drizzl- 
 ing rain from over the sea, and from the 
 naked branches of the trysting-tree, under 
 which they halted, great drops of water fell 
 heavily into the mud under foot. In mo-
 
 300 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 mentary silence he nursed his misery of soul, 
 and she her dread of what he was about to 
 say. A raven that sat at the tree-top above 
 put his head on one side curiously and sur- 
 veyed them microscopically, seeking for any 
 sign of a gun in his hands, but he felt reassured 
 on seeing that neither of them was carrying so 
 much as a stick. Without a gun a human 
 being is a person to be despised. And the 
 raven sat quietly wondering what kept his 
 mate so late on the seashore. ' I wish one 
 of these two would speak ; this silence is try- 
 ing to my nerves,' the raven said to himself, 
 with a gape of its bill. Suddenly, so suddenly 
 that the raven started in surprise, Hollebone 
 said, — 
 
 ' Oh, Julia, I am the most miserable fellow 
 in the world.' 
 
 1 Oh, come,' she said, 'what nonsense. What- 
 ever is the matter with you now? Has Edith 
 been blowing you up? It would serve you 
 right if she did.' 
 
 ' No — oh, no. It's not that,' he answered, 
 shivering in spite of himself. 
 
 ' Well, then, what is it?' Julia said, and feel- 
 ing herself giving way rapidly, she went on 
 almost hysterically. ' Now, look here, Clement 
 Hollebone. I think you are behaving — and 
 have behaved — like a blackguard. You ought 
 to be proud that Edith should condescend to 
 love a vain, worthless man like yourself. She 
 sacrificed herself for you in a way that no 
 other woman would have dreamt of — and you, 
 like a — well, never mind — you allow your petty
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 301 
 
 self-love to bewounded, and taunt her while 
 her husband was alive, and now when he is 
 dead you are villain enough to triumph over 
 her love, so that in her nobleness of character 
 she believes that she is the guilty party, that 
 she has wronged you — you who are not worthy 
 to be trodden on by her.' 
 
 1 But, good God, Julia, she murdered her 
 husband — and with my poison. God help me ! ' 
 
 Julia started. (The raven in the tree had 
 been joined by his mate, and they were both 
 on the alert, wondering what she would 
 answer.) She had been dreading lest he 
 should say this — dreading with her whole 
 soul — and she echoed his last words to gain 
 a moment of time before pouring forth her 
 answer like a torrent. 
 
 ' God help you ! Yes, go to Him for help — 
 for if ever man stood in need of His mercy 
 you do — you dastard ; and if ever man has 
 committed murder — yes, murder — and broken 
 a true woman's heart, through his own petty 
 vanity, it was you, Clement Hollcbone. To 
 flatter yourself with sham ideas of fortitude 
 you abandoned that poor child — for she was 
 a child then — abandoned her when she stood 
 most in need of you, instead of going to her 
 and comforting her in her distress when you 
 were ruined, or supposed to be. Instead of 
 comforting her in spite of her parents you 
 write to her coldly and give her permission to 
 break off the engagement. Do you think that 
 a woman such as Edith is, cared for your 
 money ? Is that the sort of love you ex-
 
 302 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 pccted from her ? You did it in order to 
 vaunt your honourable character, to flatter 
 your own vanity, in fact, by proving to your- 
 self what a very honourable gentleman you 
 were. And you left her to herself, to pine 
 with a half broken heart, instead of coming to 
 comfort her in spite of her parents. That is 
 your honour again. And then in her great 
 chivalrous love she sacrifices herself to gain 
 money for you — and you, instead of wonder- 
 ing at her love, so far above your own, your 
 petty vanity is wounded, and you scorn her 
 and taunt her until, in despair at your hardness 
 of heart, she murders her senile, villainous hus- 
 band. What other woman would have had 
 the courage ? She chains herself to this old 
 devil, and undergoes a terrible servitude, and 
 then even risks her own life — all out of her 
 great love for you — and you, instead of rejoic- 
 ing to have won so great and noble a love, 
 go about wringing your hands, saying you are 
 the most miserable fellow alive. Oh, if ever 
 man was wicked it was you. You have made 
 Edith go so far as to imperil her own life for 
 the sake of you. You have ruined her life — 
 and even now you can dare to hesitate about 
 the one step that can make some small amends 
 to her.' 
 
 And Hollebone was so broken down with 
 the new light that Julia had thrown upon 
 Edith's character and upon his own that he 
 could only answer, — 
 
 ' Thank you, Julia. I will marry her as 
 soon as she will have me.'
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 303 
 
 And Julia said, — 
 
 ' You had better be quick, then, or some- 
 thing else will get her. You know that as 
 well as I, although you shut your eyes to it.' 
 
 Hollebone shuddered, — 
 
 ' Oh God, Julia,' he said, ' why do you 
 torment in this heartless manner? You 
 know how I love her. I will take her off to 
 Italy at once — but, oh God ! I coitldn't lose 
 her now.' 
 
 They turned homewards in silence. 
 
 (But the ravens in the tree shook their heads. 
 
 ' What shocking ideas that woman had 
 about morals,' they said one to the other. 
 
 And the male said to his mate, — 
 
 ' H'm. It seems to me that the best thing 
 I can do to show my love for you, my dear, if 
 the winter is at all severe, will be to peck you 
 to death and then eat you. In that way you 
 will be saved the pain of seeing me starve, 
 and I shall be able to live through the winter 
 — that is, if it is at all severe.' 
 
 But his mate objected very strongly to this 
 way of proving her lord's affection. 
 
 ' Besides,' she said reassuringly, ' the winter 
 is sure to be mild, there are so very few 
 berries on the trees ; and as the finches say, 
 God always sends great store of hips and 
 haws if the winter is to be long or severe.' 
 
 But the other shook his head. 
 
 ' Stuff and nonsense,' he said. ' I am an 
 atheist,' and he went to sleep pondering over 
 Julia's words. 
 
 It is a remarkable fact that no less than
 
 3 04 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 five different theories to account for the un- 
 usual scarcity of ravens were mooted during 
 the course of the next winter, which did after 
 all turn out to be severe. Personally I am 
 inclined to fear that it was mostly owing to 
 Julia's rash apologia for murder. Ravens are 
 very communicative birds.) 
 
 In the meantime Hollebone had sought out 
 Edith in almost trembling eagerness. 
 
 ' My dearest,' he said passionately, ' why 
 should we wait any longer ? Let us be married 
 at once — as soon as you are able to move.' 
 
 She looked up at him, oh so gladly, in her 
 joy at his new-found eagerness. 
 
 'Oh, Clem, I wish we could — but what 
 would people say ? It would look so like dis- 
 respect to Mr Ryves's memory. It is so very 
 soon after his death.' 
 
 It made him shudder that little speech, it 
 sounded so unnecessarily hypocritical, but he 
 drew himself together. 
 
 ' Oh, Edith,' he said, ' what does it matter 
 what people say ? We love each other, and 
 besides, why should anyone know anything 
 about it ? We can be married in Manchester 
 in absolute secrecy and go abroad directly 
 afterwards.' 
 
 ' But I'm sure my mother and father would 
 object. They are so terribly conventional, 
 and besides, my mother will be disappointed 
 if she does not get at least one fine marriage 
 ceremony out of me. However, I suppose / 
 mustn't make any objections. But I think it 
 would be better to be married in London.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 305 
 
 I could go back with Julia and be married 
 from the old house, because I wouldn't like to 
 marry against my father's expressed wishes ; 
 besides, mother would be sure to let the whole 
 of Manchester into the secret if she knew any- 
 thing about it. Oh, Clem, I am so happy, 
 and it doesn't seem as if I deserved it. But 
 somehow, Clem, you know, you don't seem 
 quite happy. Not as you used to be, at least. 
 What is the matter ? ' 
 
 'The matter?' said Hollebone, laughing un- 
 easily. ' There's nothing the matter with me. 
 Only, I love you too much.' 
 
 'Oh, Clem,' she said, 'you can never love 
 me too much, at least for me. But it doesn't 
 seem to me as if it was that — I mean, as if 
 you were in love. When I am in love I am 
 quite different. Oh dear, what nonsense I am 
 talking. I'm just like a baby. But I am so 
 happy. Only you — you seem as if you had 
 some secret that you were keeping from me. 
 Come now, tell me, have you any secret? 
 Say " Yes " or " No." Now you sha'n't try to 
 put off my questions with kisses. Yes or no?' 
 
 Hollebone shook his head, he was too 
 agitated within himself to trust to words. 
 
 'Well, I suppose you haven't, then,' she 
 retorted, ' and if you're a very good boy I'll 
 tell you a very great secret. Only, you 
 mustn't tell it to anyone — will you ? ' 
 
 1 No, of course not,' he said. ' What is" it ? ' 
 
 ' Julia is going to be married.' 
 
 ' The deuce she is ! ' said Hollebone. ' Who 
 to?'
 
 306 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 1 Why, to young Mr Ryves. But it's a great 
 secret. They're to be married very soon, with- 
 out anybody's knowing about it — and what 
 do you think they're going to do ? ' 
 
 ' I give it up. Don't ask me another.' 
 
 1 Why, he's going to buy a farm out in New 
 Zealand, and they're going over there to start 
 life afresh. Isn't that a fnnny idea ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't know,' Hollebone said. ' If 
 one is to believe what rumour says about him, 
 he rather wants to start life afresh — in a 
 country where he's not known.' 
 
 ' He always seemed a very nice young man 
 to me,' Edith said. ' But the funniest part of 
 it is — I promised Julia not to tell — he is going 
 to give up the whole of his fortune, and only 
 keep sufficient to exist upon.' 
 
 'What's he going to do with it, anyhow? 
 He can't throw three millions of money into 
 the sea.' 
 
 • Oh, I don't know,' Edith said. ' It is for 
 some socialist scheme of his. He is going to 
 turn his father's business into a colossal co- 
 operative company, with the workmen as 
 shareholders. But that is a great secret, and 
 you're not supposed to know anything about 
 it. So you mustn't let Julia know I've told 
 you. But don't let's talk about them any 
 more. Let's talk about us. When shall I be 
 well enough to start for town ? ' 
 
 'Not for a week or ten days yet, I'm afraid.' 
 
 'Julia is not to be married for a month. I 
 should like to be married before her, be- 
 cause — '
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 307 
 
 ' Because you're a conceited baby,' said 
 Hollebonc, with a little of his old jocularity 
 returning. ' Now go to bed, dearest, and don't 
 let yourself get over-excited,' and with a little 
 sigh of contented reluctance she let him go. 
 
 1 Oh, by-the-bye,' she said, as he was leaving 
 the room, 'send Julia up to me — will you, 
 please ? ' 
 
 Obedient to her behest, on going down- 
 stairs he knocked at random at the dining- 
 room door, and a voice said, ' Come in.' He 
 put his head in at the door. 
 
 ' Oh, is it you, Dr Hollebonc? Can I do 
 anything for you ? ' 
 
 It was young Ryves who spoke. 
 
 1 Oh, no, thank you. You don't happen to 
 know where MissTubbs is?' Hollcbone asked. 
 
 But the other answered, — 
 
 ' No — that is, I believe she is in her room. 
 Do you wish to see her? Shall I ring for a 
 servant ? ' 
 
 'Yes, if you please/ Hollebonc said. ' That 
 is, I do not want to see her myself. Edith — 
 I mean Mrs Ryves — told me she wished to 
 see her.' 
 
 ' Oh, very well. I will ring the bell.' 
 
 ' If you wouldn't mind,' said Hollcbone. 
 ' Thank you. Good evening.' 
 
 ' Oh, by-the-bye, Dr Hollebonc,' the other 
 said, ' would it be troubling you to let me 
 have a minute of your time ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said Hollcbone, wondering 
 inwardly what on earth the fellow could want. 
 ' Is anything wrong with your health ? '
 
 308 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Oh, no,' he answered, with a smile. ' Ex- 
 cuse me — oh, Parker, would you tell Miss 
 Tubbs that your mistress wishes to speak to 
 her ? . Now I won't detain you a minute. 
 Please sit down.' 
 
 Hollebone did so, trying to realise that he 
 had, adopting Julia's train of reasoning, mur- 
 dered his interlocutor's father, but the sensa- 
 tion was too new and strange for him to grasp 
 the horror of it fully. Meanwhile the young 
 man began, — 
 
 1 It is only about Dr Hammond's children 
 that I am anxious to speak to you. You are, 
 I believe, Dr Hammond's sole executor, and 
 the guardian of the children ? ' 
 
 Hollebone assented, wondering what it could 
 possibly matter to the young man. 
 
 ' I don't know anything about Dr Ham- 
 mond's affairs, but I believe his property was 
 excessively small. That, at least, was my 
 father's impression, and he has left me instruc- 
 tions to provide for the children should such 
 be the case.' 
 
 Under ordinary circumstances Hollebone 
 would have felt somewhat insulted at this 
 speech, but there was an earnestness about the 
 young millionaire that precluded entirely such 
 a feeling, and he answered, — 
 
 'Oh, thank you, the children are amply 
 provided for.' 
 
 Ryves seemed slightly embarrassed. 
 ' There are, however, certain reasons,' he 
 went on, ' which I am not at liberty to dis 
 close to you, which led my father to order me
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 309 
 
 to give, in his name, a certain sum to the 
 children, and I feel it my duty to carry out 
 his wishes — almost his last wishes. I there- 
 fore intend to pay in to your bankers, as their 
 guardian, sufficient Government stock to give 
 the son two hundred pounds a year, and each 
 of the daughters one hundred and fifty. I 
 hope this will not offend you in any way, but 
 you will understand my motives. It was my 
 father's wish.' 
 
 And Hollebone answered, — 
 
 • Oh, no, I am not in the least offended. 
 On the contrary, I am delighted, for the 
 children's sakes.' 
 
 ' Oh, thank you/ the other said, with a re- 
 lieved air. ' Then that is settled. I will send 
 the order off at once. Your patients are going 
 on well I hope ? ' 
 
 Hollebone assented. 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' he said. ' Mrs Ryves will be 
 quite well very shortly, and her mother, I am 
 glad to say, is much better. I have persuaded 
 her to return to Manchester to-morrow. The 
 place is too damp for her.' 
 
 The other listened abstractedly to Holle- 
 bone's somewhat stiff speech. To tell the 
 truth they were both somewhat ill at ease, and 
 for a moment there was an uncomfortable 
 silence. Suddenly Ryves seemed to take a 
 swift resolve. 
 
 ' Look here, Hollebone,' he said, ' I am 
 going to be unpardonably rude to you, if you 
 take it that way, but I don't wish to be. 
 Julia has been speaking to me about my step-
 
 310 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 mother, and I must tell you in common jus- 
 tice that my father treated her in a most 
 cruel way. In fact, up to the very day of his 
 death, he was engaged in torturing her with a 
 diabolical ingenuity, but before his death he 
 begged me, in a letter, to repair any harm he 
 might have done as far as lay in my power. 
 I am unfortunately not able to recompense 
 her in any way for what she has suffered, but 
 I believe you are, and — and I am only beg- 
 ging for your assistance. I mean, pray do not 
 let consideration for my father's memory stand 
 in between her happiness and herself. If you 
 will believe me, the best way to honour his 
 memory will be to try and make her forget 
 him. He was very cruel to her during his life, 
 but he sincerely wished to make her reparation. 
 I hope you do not feel hurt at what I have 
 said. I may not have expressed myself very 
 well, but it seemed to be my duty to say 
 something, and — pray forgive me if I have 
 hurt you.' 
 
 But Hollebone replied, — 
 
 ' Oh, thank you. I hardly know how to 
 thank you sufficiently for your delicacy. I 
 am going to marry Edith as soon as she is 
 well enough to bear the ceremony.' 
 
 And he left the room. Somehow, in the 
 presence of Ryves, he felt himself at a dis- 
 advantage. The man was such a perfect 
 gentleman, full of sincerity and delicacy — and 
 besides, one cannot feel entirely at ease in the 
 presence of a man whose father one has killed. 
 This one idea had possessed itself of his brain,
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 311 
 
 and he suffered most terribly under it. He 
 was too busy to give himself much time to 
 think. There were so many things to be ar- 
 ranged. Firstly, to dispose of the practice to 
 the best advantage would require consider- 
 able time, and as he had but ten days' time 
 in which to get rid of it he did not make a 
 very good bargain out of it. But by super- 
 human efforts he managed to get a qualified 
 practitioner installed on probation, and even 
 introduced to his patients, all under the ten 
 clays. Next Gandon became the subject under 
 consideration, and he came to the conclusion 
 that the best thing to do with him was to 
 send him to a boarding-school, where he was 
 to receive maternal care and attention to his 
 moral welfare in addition to the usual course 
 of studies. Having unearthed such a school 
 by application to the daily papers, thither 
 Master Gandon was accordingly despatched, 
 with his pockets rattling with pocket-money 
 and his boxes encumbered with jam, apples, 
 and home-made cake, and there he remains 
 to this day, having by dint of hard knuckles 
 and still harder skull won his way to respect 
 and reverence. 
 
 Little Maud and her sister proved more 
 difficult to dispose of, but the wife of one of 
 her mother's brothers offered to take them, 
 under the charge of the faithful Mary Ann, 
 into her house until Hollebone returned from 
 abroad. A general exodus took place from 
 Dymchurch. 
 
 The Ryvcs' servants were all sent back to
 
 312 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Blackstonc Edge, pending their dismissal. 
 Julia and Edith returned once more to the 
 house by the park in London from which the 
 story had opened out, and thus it fell about 
 that one evening Hollebone and Edith were 
 sitting in the drawing-room by the light of 
 the fire alone. Edith had been playing, in a 
 desultory manner, dreamy snatches of melody, 
 resolutions from the minor into the relative 
 major, and the sound of the violin seemed to be 
 hanging, inaudible, in the mysterious dark 
 corners of the room. Edith was leaning her 
 face on her hand, looking dreamily at the fire. 
 From the next room came the sound of voices. 
 
 ' Oh, Clem,' Edith said suddenly, ' I am so 
 happy.' 
 
 4 Are you, dearest ? ' Hollebone said, with 
 a half sigh. 
 
 1 Yes, Clem. It — it seems as if the whole of 
 that year, that dreadful year, had never hap- 
 pened — as if it had been quite blotted out. 
 You — you have quite forgiven me, haven't 
 you, Clem — quite ? ' 
 
 ' I — forgiven you — I had nothing to forgive,' 
 he said. ' I was a brute ever to have been 
 angry with you, and to-morrow — ' 
 
 ' To-morrow by this time we shall be in 
 Paris,' Edith said shyly. 
 
 Hollebone felt happy in his love, in spite of 
 the dreadful thought that was weighing him 
 down. Somehow it was still too terrible for 
 him to grasp. 
 
 In the meantime Julia and her lover were 
 sitting in the next room.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 313 
 
 'Julia,' he was saying, ' I have done every- 
 thing I can to repair the wrongs that my 
 father did. It only remains for me to mature 
 my scheme for disposing of my father's fortune, 
 and then we will start life afresh.' 
 
 For a moment there was silence, and then 
 he began again. 
 
 1 Oh, Julia, I have no right to drag you away 
 with me. We shall lead a hard life, and 
 besides, you are a great pianist, and I am 
 taking you away from fame and — ' 
 
 But Julia interrupted him, calmly and 
 steadfastly. 
 
 ' What would be the good of fame or any- 
 thing to me if I am to be separated from you ? 
 Besides, you arc a far greater author than I 
 can ever hope to be as a pianist, and if you can 
 throw away all claims to greatness in order 
 to repair injuries that your father has done 
 surely I can do it to follow the man I love.' 
 
 He held his peace for a moment, as though 
 he were meditating deeply. 
 
 ' I think it is best that we should leave the 
 country. We have neither of us any ties to 
 bind us to it. -I, you know, I've not been 
 altogether what I ought to have been, but if I 
 am to begin again it would be better to begin 
 where there are no associations to drag me 
 back ; besides, we have got to live, and it is 
 so difficult to make a living here. It will be 
 different in a new country.' 
 
 Again there was a silence. 
 
 Suddenly he put his hand in his pocket and 
 drew out a small phial. 
 O
 
 314 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ' Oh, by-thc-bye, Julia,' he said, ' I meant to 
 ask you about this. It seems to be a poison 
 that Hollebone invented and gave to my step- 
 mother before she married my father. At 
 least I gather as much from the inscription on 
 the label.' 
 
 Julia started visibly. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' she said. ' Give it 
 me. Where did you get it ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I found it only this morning, in a 
 dressing-case that used to belong to my father, 
 but—' 
 
 ' But,' Julia interrupted, in horrified amaze- 
 ment, ' the seal isn't broken, and I thought — ' 
 
 ' What ? ' the young man asked, somewhat 
 astonished. 
 
 ' I thought — Clement told me that Edith — ' 
 
 She stopped again. 
 
 1 What on earth do you mean ? ' her lover 
 asked, and then gathering her meaning from 
 her eyes, he said, ' Does he think that she 
 murdered my father ? ' 
 
 Julia held her finger to her mouth. 
 
 ' Hush, James. Yes, I thought so too. We 
 were both mad.' 
 
 ' And was he going to marry her with that 
 suspicion hanging over her?' 
 
 Julia nodded. 
 
 ' I will let him do it as it is before I tell 
 him. It will teach him a lesson.' 
 
 But her lover's eyes lit up with wonder. 
 
 ' By Jove ! ' he said, ' how he must love her 
 — almost as much as I love you.' But, becom- 
 ing grave again, he said, ' Oh, Julia, there was
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 315 
 
 something else I meant to tell you — about my 
 own mother. I only learnt that, too, the other 
 day, and I have been trying to muster up 
 courage ever since, for somehow I didn't 
 think it would be right, if I had repaired all 
 the wrongs my father and I have done, 
 to start again by deceiving you. I — I — 
 Well, here is what my father wrote to me, 
 in a letter that was to be only opened after 
 his death. Will you read it now? You — 
 you won't throw me over on that account ? ' 
 
 He grew very white, and fidgeted with his 
 watch chain. But Julia leant over him and 
 kissed his forehead gently. 
 
 ' What difference does it make ? ' she said. 
 
 On the next day Hollebone and Edith 
 were married by special licence, and in a 
 terrible hurry, in order to catch the boat-train 
 at eleven. Hollebone had taken the luggage 
 down to the station the day before, and its 
 registration was safely accomplished ; but even 
 with that precaution there was a considerable 
 rush for the train, so much so that Julia had 
 some difficulty in catching Hollebone's atten- 
 tion for a moment. 
 
 1 Here is a little wedding present for you.' 
 It was a sealed packet. 'Don't open it till 
 you are alone,' she said, and Edith from the 
 carriage window called out, — 
 
 ' Now then, Clem, hurry up, or I shall 
 be jealous. You mustn't go on like that 
 now,' and an urbane ticket collector suggested 
 that the train was about to start and that
 
 316 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 Hollebone stood a chance of being left 
 behind. 
 
 Therefore with all haste he ascended the 
 steps into the carriage and the door was 
 locked. The ticket collector winked at the 
 guard and discreetly withdrew. 
 
 ' Good-bye, Ju,' said Edith. ' Kiss me. I'm 
 so happy.' 
 
 'Good-bye, Miss Tubbs,' Hollebone said. 
 
 ' I'm not Miss Tubbs any longer,' she said, 
 with a triumphant side glance at Edith. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' said that young 
 lady sharply. 
 
 Julia had not time to answer, the train was 
 moving off, but she held up one finger of her 
 gloveless hand. 
 
 Edith sank back into her seat with a little 
 frown. 
 
 ' The spiteful cat,' she said. ' Won't I write 
 her a letter from Paris. They must have been 
 married this morning before us. It's a shame.' 
 
 She relapsed into silence that became 
 breathless agony as the train backed into 
 Cannon Street. 
 
 ' I hope no one is going to get into the 
 carriage,' she said ; but the adroit guard quite 
 appreciated her sentiments, and with skill, 
 born of long practice, succeeded in staving 
 off all threatening disturbers of her peace of 
 mind, and as the train moved out of the 
 station she nestled down once more against 
 Hollebone's side. 
 
 ' The train doesn't stop again, does it ? ' she 
 said.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 317 
 
 ' Not until Folkestone,' he answered. 
 
 'Oh, Clem, it's like a dream/ she said for 
 the fiftieth time at least. 
 
 And the train rattled and jolted through 
 the Kentish land, green with the promise of 
 spring. But I am afraid that neither of them 
 noticed the primroses that were already carpet- 
 ing the banks of the railway line, or the green 
 haze of new buds that hung over the brown 
 hazel copses. ' Love's blind,' they say. 
 
 At anyrate the guard at the Harbour 
 Station remarked to a friendly porter, ' That 
 honeymoon compartment pays me better 
 than all the rest of the train put together.' 
 
 Unfortunately the guards on the other side 
 of the Channel are not so expert, or the train 
 was rather full — at anyrate from Boulogne to 
 Amiens they both felt discontented, for a 
 Gallic stranger occupied one corner of their 
 compartment. It is true he neither spoke 
 nor understood a word of English, and re- 
 mained the whole time buried behind a copy 
 of Le Matin, but still he was corporeally 
 present, and the mere presence of an elderly 
 foreigner, wearing an extravagant travelling 
 cap and a little red button in the top hole of 
 his overcoat, is sufficient to make a newly 
 wedded couple sit on opposite sides of a 
 railway carriage, and that means that they 
 must limit themselves to pressing each other's 
 feet — a tantalising occupation, of which even 
 Edith grew tired after an hour and a half — 
 and, not having slept a wink for three nights 
 previously, she felt an overpowering drowsi-
 
 318 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 ness coming over her, and letting her head 
 fall back on to the cushions behind she was 
 soon asleep, leaving Hollebone gazing dis- 
 consolately at the scenery. In these straits 
 he bethought himself of the packet that Julia 
 had given him, and extracting it from his 
 pocket, he proceeded to open it, disclosing 
 the little crystal phial, intact, sparkling in 
 the light. The seal was still unbroken ; more- 
 over, he could see there was no diminution in 
 its contents. 
 
 ' My God ! ' he said to himself, ' what a fool 
 I have been — a preposterous idiot to sus- 
 pect Edie in such a ridiculous manner. Good 
 Heavens ! what would she think of me if 
 she came to know about it ? Supposing 
 Julia were to write and tell her for a joke.' 
 
 The bare idea made him feel sick and faint. 
 
 The French gentleman on the other side 
 happened to be refreshing himself from a 
 pocket flask, and observing Hollebone's white 
 face, he smiled. 
 
 c Monsieur a toujours mal de mer ? ' he asked. 
 ' Permettez,' and bending forward he held the 
 flask to him. At this important juncture 
 Hollebone's knowledge of the French tongue 
 deserted him. He was thinking of other things, 
 and all he could manage to say was, — 
 
 ' Non, merci, je ne bois pas.' 
 
 The other looked puzzled, but a light shot 
 into his face, and he said, with a smile, — 
 
 ' Ah ! monsieur, veut dire qu'il est " ti tot 
 a V heart P'" 1 
 
 1 Teetotaler.
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 319 
 
 Hollcbonc gasped. 
 
 ' Oui, oui, mais mcrci, mcrci millefois/ 
 and at this moment the train rattled into 
 Amiens. Edith awoke, and the French gentle- 
 man descended with his goods and chattels. 
 
 'Are you hungry, darling?' Hollcbonc 
 asked. ' Shall we have something to cat ? ' 
 
 ' What, aren't we there ? ' she asked. ' I 
 thought this was Paris.' 
 
 ' Oh, no,' he said, ' it's only Amiens. An- 
 other couple of hours yet. Shall we get out 
 and have something ? ' 
 
 • Oh no,' she said. ' I'm not a bit hungry. 
 Has that French wretch gone? Let's put 
 the bags on the seats and move up to the 
 door end to make the carriage look full. 
 Stand up in the doorway so that people 
 can't see in.' 
 
 Thus, by means of skilful arrangement, 
 people seeking places were deceived, and 
 when the train moved out of the station 
 their carriage was once more empty but for 
 them. 
 
 'Ah! that's nice — now sit down. Oh! Clem, 
 I wish we could never get to Paris, and 
 stopped like this always — for ever and ever ! 
 But what's the matter with you — you're quite 
 dull. Aren't you well ? ' 
 
 'No, I'm all right, dearest,' he answered. 
 Only, I'm too happy to be lively.' 
 
 ' I don't believe it. You're a lazy boy and 
 don't want to talk to me, and you aren't 
 squeezing half as tight as you can. I believe 
 you're tired of me already.'
 
 320 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 To tell the truth Hollebone's mind was 
 occupied by a new dread. Having got rid 
 of the murder theory altogether, he was tor- 
 menting himself with the anticipation of 
 Edith's scorn when she heard how he had 
 suspected her; and as the train rattled on 
 his dread grew to a perfect agony by the time 
 they were nearing Paris. 
 
 By one of those mysterious but seemingly 
 immutable dispensations of Providence, which 
 provides that no stranger to the city shall 
 enter Paris from the north without being 
 fumigated by the vilest of odours, the signals 
 at St Denis were against the train, and they 
 must needs stop still for a considerable space 
 of time. The train had lately been rattling 
 so loudly as to utterly preclude conversation ; 
 but now it fell to dead silence, and the voices 
 in the next compartment became confusedly 
 audible. 
 
 1 Where are we ? What are we stopping 
 for ? ' she asked petulantly. 
 
 'Why, we seem to be near St Denis,' he 
 said, ' to judge from the smell ; but it's so 
 smoky on this side you can't see Paris.' 
 
 The sun was setting over the city in a purple 
 glory of April clouds and smoke. 
 
 ' Oh, is that Paris ? ' she said, turning to 
 the window. ' What a shame it's so misty. I 
 thought it was only in London we had fogs. 
 I can't see anything — only red clouds and 
 smoke.' 
 
 The golden red from the west, glowing on 
 her face and hair, made her look so wonder-
 
 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 321 
 
 fully dreamlike that Hollebone groaned to 
 think that now that she was his he might 
 have forfeited her heart by a preposterous 
 suspicion. 
 
 'Why, whatever is the matter, Clem?' she 
 asked, turning suddenly. ' You look perfectly 
 wretched. Have / done anything to annoy 
 you? ' 
 
 1 Oh, forgive me, forgive me, my darling/ he 
 said, clasping her disengaged hand. 
 
 ' Why, whatever for, Clem ? You haven't 
 done anything to harm me.' 
 
 ' It was about the poison,' he said, hardly 
 knowing what his words meant. 
 
 ' Oh, the poison,' she said, turning a little 
 pale. ' I — I lost it. It was stolen. You 
 aren't angry with me for that ? ' 
 
 ' No, thank God, my darling. But oh, Edith, 
 I was mad enough, vile enough to believe, 
 until almost a minute ago, that you had killed 
 your husband with it. Can you forgive me 
 for that ? ' 
 
 She looked at him, with her lips parted in 
 astonishment. 
 
 1 You thought I had committed a murder, 
 and yet you married me ! ' The tears came 
 into her eyes, and she threw her arms round 
 his neck, and, trembling, hid her face. ' Oh, 
 Clem, how glad I am, how glad I am ! I 
 don't think even / love you as well as that. 
 I don't think I could have married you if 
 I thought you had committed a murder. Oh, 
 Clem, Clem ! How good you are to me. How 
 much you must have loved me ! '
 
 322 THE SHIFTING OF THE FIRE. 
 
 The glory faded from the sky as the train 
 rattled forward. 
 
 The Past, with its struggles and heart burn- 
 ings, was dead— only the good that adversity 
 had brought out in their characters remained. 
 This was what it had taught them : 
 ' How you must have loved me !' 
 
 THE END. 
 
 COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 ( 7
 
 V
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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