THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 AN UNPUBLISHED NOVEL 
 
 BY THE LATE 
 
 CHARLES KINGSLEY 
 
 REVISED AND COMPLETED BY HIS DAUGHTER 
 
 LUCAS MALET 
 
 (MRS. MARY ST. LEGER HARRISON) 
 
 NEW YORK 
 DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY 
 1916 
 
Copyright, 1916, by 
 SMITH, ELDER, & CO. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 The history of this book is sufficiently peculiar to 
 merit a few words of introduction. 
 
 The literary notebooks and manuscripts — pub- 
 lished and unpublished — of my father, Charles 
 Kingsley, were left to me by my mother. Nominally 
 they came into my possession at the date of her 
 death, in 1892. But circumstances, into which it is 
 unnecessary for me to enter here, prevented my 
 making a thorough examination of them until last 
 winter. 
 
 I knew my father had planned, and begun writing, 
 two novels — one called " The Pilgrimage of Grace,'* 
 dealing with the suppression of the monasteries un- 
 der Henry the Eighth; the other called " Darling, 
 the History of a Wise Woman," the scene of which 
 was laid in the New Forest and the plot of which 
 concerned the doings of certain French refugees in 
 the years immediately following The Terror. Por- 
 tions of both these I found amongst a mass of lec- 
 tures, essays, poems, sketches of character, etc. 
 
 But I also found about a hundred and fifty fools- 
 cap pages of another novel, entitled " The Tutor's 
 Story," which was entirely new to me. I never re- 
 member hearing my father speak of it, nor do I find 
 any allusion to it in " The Letters of Charles Kings- 
 ley and Memories of his Life." The fact that the 
 
 355503 
 
vi PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 Yorkshire scenery, along with various names of per- 
 sons and places, is common to " The Tutor's Story " 
 and the opening chapters of *' The Water Babies '* 
 leads me to suppose it was written before and, prob- 
 ably, put aside in favour of the latter book, which 
 appeared in 1863. More than this I neither know 
 nor can, at this distance of time, conjecture. The 
 discovery came as an absolute and delightful surprise 
 to me, and to my sister when I showed her the manu- 
 script. 
 
 The whole is In my father's hand, evidently writ- 
 ten with a flowing pen, at odd moments as the fancy 
 took him. Here and there a word or phrase is 
 scratched out and another substituted; but the bulk 
 of the copy is in the rough, neither revised nor pol- 
 ished. The first fifty or sixty pages are fairly con- 
 secutive. Then follow chapters and skeletons of 
 chapters far on in the story, stray pages — notes — 
 as *' here he comes home drunk " and suchlike sug- 
 gestions of intimate drama. But, notwithstanding 
 discrepancies and obvious omissions, the characters 
 are there, distinct and even vivid, living, talking, and 
 not unfrequently behaving very badly. The scenery, 
 in part at least, is there. The plot Is there, too, 
 firmly based though unresolved; events and situa- 
 tions being recorded the how and wherefore of which 
 are neither led up to nor accounted for. 
 
 The manuscript, In short, offers a puzzle of which 
 a good many pieces either are lost or have never 
 existed — since it was my father's habit to put down 
 a scene, description, or dialogue just as it occurred to 
 
PREFATORY NOTE vii 
 
 him, leaving all linking up and filling in to a final re- 
 writing of his book. 
 
 How far I have succeeded in supplying these miss- 
 ing pieces it is for others to judge. I have developed 
 the characters, disentangled the plot, and completed 
 the story to the best of my understanding and ability, 
 and have doubled the length of the original manu- 
 script in the process. I have tried to preserve peculi- 
 arities of style, and maintain a moral and emotional 
 unity throughout — to maintain, further, a certain 
 freshness and simplicity of outlook which has the 
 rather pathetic charm of a '' day that is dead." I, 
 personally, hold no brief for that day either in its 
 literary, social, or political methods. Yet I find the 
 charm a very real one; and I cannot but hope the 
 readers of " The Tutor's Story " — thus sent forth in 
 book form after lying hid for the better part of half 
 a century — may endorse my opinion and find that 
 charm a real one also. 
 
 Lucas Malet. 
 
 October 12,1915. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 I HAVE often thought of writing the story of my life, 
 at least of its most interesting and critical portion. 
 It is not enough, it seems to me, to dream over this 
 incident or that, just as association may call them up. 
 I ought to lay the whole methodically before me as a 
 mirror of my past self; as a chart of the road along 
 which Heaven has led me. — Come, I will begin it 
 now. It will be a useful and not ungrateful occupa- 
 tion for these long hot summer mornings, while all 
 the rest of the parish is busy in the fields. 
 
 Not ungrateful, truly. For, though I can look 
 back upon mistakes, I have no disgrace, not even any 
 serious failure, with which to reproach myself; and 
 if I have had a hard battle to fight, I have conquered, 
 I trust, not without honour. If much has been de- 
 nied me, much has been given; and I can say with 
 David '' my lot is fallen in pleasant places," though I 
 cannot say, perhaps, that '' my cup runs over." But 
 why should my cup run over? Why should I, like 
 too many, have more pleasure than I can thoroughly 
 and conscientiously enjoy and, intoxicated with 
 variety and excitement, let my own happiness run to 
 waste? Better is it to have my cup, as now, half 
 
2^, ^ . THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 full, and to sip it delicately, deliberately, luxuriously, 
 making the most of every drop. 
 
 Half full did I say? Surely that was a thankless 
 speech. How much I have already. How much I 
 have had for many peaceful years. Why should I 
 pine, like the Arabian princess in the midst of her 
 fairy palace, for the impossible roc's egg which is to 
 make it perfect? Shall I not be content with my 
 fairy palace; and with the fairies, too, which haunt 
 It? With those noble children for whom I live, 
 growing before me day by day in beauty and in 
 virtue; with the friendship of heroical spirits, the 
 converse of worthy scholars, the love of villagers, 
 whom I have trained from childhood to fear their 
 God and honour their Queen? Shall I not be con- 
 tent with this pleasant parsonage study, and its 
 shelves full of books, grand old classics, and grander 
 old divines? With the lawn sloping to the broad 
 river, my trim flower-beds and standard roses, 
 " laburnum dropping gold," the deep avenues of lime 
 beyond, and royal Hover towering over all amid the 
 black peaks of those mighty pines? — Yes, noble 
 house, and noble souls that dwell therein — ^not in 
 vain for myself, and not in vain, thank God, for you, 
 did I come hither as a raw college lad full forty years 
 ago. Under your gracious shadow I will dwell con- 
 tent till I slip away, once for all, into the little church- 
 yard close at hand and lay down there the not un- 
 pleasant burden of mortality. 
 
 Forty years ago. That, I suppose. Is the point at 
 which I should begin; at the spring day In the year 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 3 
 
 1829, on which I got upon the mail to start, as I 
 fancied, friendless out into the wide world. With 
 what a homeless heart I went forth ! Mother, broth- 
 ers, sister, all gone. And now my father gone, too, 
 gone after them and I left alone in the world, with a 
 lame foot and an asthmatic cough to warn me that 
 my life might be as short and as painful as that of 
 my brothers had been. My darling ambition, too — 
 the thing for which I had lived ever since I was 
 seven years old — the hope of a high degree and a 
 college fellowship, quashed as it seemed, utterly and 
 for ever. Yes — that was a dark day for me. And 
 yet how kind people were to me, and how good — 
 kind and good, as I have found mankind, even in the 
 midst of their many faults, throughout my life. 
 
 How the old Master smiled with kindly triumph, 
 when he told me he had secured me the post of tutor 
 to young Lord Hartover. Told me he knew that I 
 should always keep up the credit of the college, there 
 as elsewhere ; all that I had to do now, was to play 
 my cards well, save money, come back and take a 
 fine degree and settle into a fat college fellow. How 
 he insisted on lending me twenty pounds; which I 
 needed, for my father's death had left me penniless. 
 How kind the men, too, were ! How the fellow-com- 
 moners, who had not deigned to speak to me while I 
 was the ambitious sizar and expected wrangler, 
 shook hands with me ; and said — I cannot tell why — 
 that they were sorry to lose me. How my friends 
 insisted on giving me a farewell breakfast, ere I 
 mounted the mail; and would surely have made me 
 
4 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 drink champagne In the morning, had I not been, 
 from health rather than from Inclination, a Nazarite 
 from my birth. Kind souls ! their good-nature In- 
 creased my loneliness. In leaving Cambridge, I had 
 left all I knew, all I cared for on earth; and, as the 
 coach rolled away along the Huntingdon road, I 
 looked back at the spires of King's College and the 
 dark walls of elm and chestnut as an emigrant looks 
 back on the white cliffs of England, perhaps for the 
 last time. 
 
 I knew but little of the people and place whither 
 I was going. The old Master, I saw, knew more 
 than he chose to tell me. He had been tutor, in for- 
 mer days, to Lord Dongmoor, father of my future 
 charge; but he would give me no information as to 
 the character of the Earl. Only one hint he did give, 
 with a knowing smile, as he dismissed me — " not, if 
 I could help it, to fall in love with her ladyship ! " — 
 Her ladyship, as I understood, was not Lord Hart- 
 over's mother, but a second wife. Of Lord Hart- 
 over himself he told me nothing: but a fellow-com- 
 moner had wished me joy of my pupil, with a shrug 
 and a sneer, and Informed me for my comfort that 
 the *' fellow was sent away from Harrow — you'll 
 soon find out what for " — news which was ill calcu- 
 lated to raise my spirits. For the rest, I only knew 
 that Hover was a very grand place, and he who 
 owned it a mighty prince, possessor of half a county, 
 of coal mines, of factory towns, and, so they said, 
 more than a hundred thousand a year, of which last 
 I was to receive for my labours, two hundred pounds 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 5 
 
 — so good a bargain had the dear Master made for 
 me, In consideration — ^as he told me In after years — 
 of my reputed virtues, and the exceeding naughtiness 
 of my pupil whom no man living, It was supposed, 
 could manage. 
 
 I recollect how that day, as the coach rolled along 
 the wearisome road, I tried to " take stock,'* as It 
 were, of my own capabilities for training this Indom- 
 itable young viscount, and how my heart sank within 
 me so short did the list appear I Very uncertain 
 health; a lame leg; a hesitating mode of speech 
 which would have been a stammer, without great 
 care on my part; — altogether, as my class and my 
 school-fellows had Informed me long ago, as poor 
 insignificant a little body as any sturdy labourer need 
 wish to compare with his own, and glorify himself — 
 if it be any comfort to him — with the contrast. And, 
 for the furnishing of the said poor little carcass, 
 what were there? A fair quantity of Latin, Greek, 
 and mathematics, certainly. It would have been a 
 shame to me otherwise; for I had read nothing but 
 Latin and Greek ever since I could read at all. There 
 was, too, thanks to a life of severe toil, the habit of 
 steady application; and perhaps, I hoped, something 
 of the priceless *' art of learning," which I felt must 
 stand me in good stead, henceforth. If I was to suc- 
 ceed. For I was journeying into a new world, a 
 new planet, and I really knew less of Its laws than I 
 did of those which rule Jupiter or the moon. Dreary 
 and blank looked that unknown world ahead of me ; 
 I seemed to myself a frail little cock-boat, without 
 
6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 chart, without even knowing my own destination, 
 thrusting out upon a boundless sea — whither? 
 
 I never was a superstitious or even an excitable 
 person; nor was I overfond of those special petitions 
 — supposed to draw down in return special interposi- 
 tions from Heaven — upon which my evangelical 
 friends at Cambridge used to build so much. I could 
 ask for strength and wisdom to do what I knew to be 
 right; but I shrank from thrusting upon a God Who 
 gives me every day and all day long more than I 
 deserve, rash entreaties for this and that fancied 
 benefit over and above. Still I take no shame to 
 myself when I confess that, closing my eyes and 
 leaning back as I sat on the coach-top, I prayed 
 earnestly — more earnestly than ever before in my 
 life — to be kept out of temptation, and to be taught 
 how to do my duty as a tutor though I had scantiest 
 notion what that duty might be. Humbled by the 
 sense of my own loneliness, ignorance, incapacity, I 
 cast myself on the thought that I had a Father in 
 Heaven; and found, as I have found ever since, an 
 inexhaustible spring of comfort in the thought. 
 
 Amid such meditations I sat patiently the weary 
 day, mile after mile, stage after stage, through the 
 monotonous roll of the Mercian grass-lands till, at 
 even-fall, I began to see the moors piled against the 
 western sky. The coach stopped at last. In dark- 
 ness, in a tidy little country town which was Hart- 
 over. 
 
CHAPTER II 
 
 I GOT down at the comfortable looking Longmoor 
 Hut Inn, and asked for a conveyance to Hover. 
 There was none I was informed, in tones of respect 
 and sympathy, that " they were very sorry and so 
 forth, but all the flys were gone to Hover already. 
 That they had never expected a gentleman so late or 
 they would have procured one on purpose." 
 
 That I should be late for the ball; what a pity! 
 
 "The finest thing, sir! " said the landlady, seem- 
 ing ready to weep over my disappointment, " that 
 has been seen in this country for ten years — that's to 
 say, it will be; for I drove over this very afternoon, 
 and saw all the preparations, because the housekeep- 
 er's my cousin, sir " — And so forth and so on. 
 
 " My dear madam," quoth I, " I do not think that 
 the ball will lose much from my not being there. You 
 see, I am not a dancing man " — and I glanced my eye 
 down at my poor foot, and saw her woman's eye 
 follow, and light up with a pleasant motherly expres- 
 sion of interest and pity — " but I am very anxious 
 indeed to get to Lord Longmoor's to-night." 
 
 " Well, no wonder^ no wonder. Sad to lose such 
 a sight! " 
 
 *' But Mr. Braithwaite's in the Commercial Room, 
 
 and just going," whispered her stalwart husband, 
 
 " and if he " 
 
 7 
 
8 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " What? that Radical scum? — And to take a gen- 
 tleman up to my lord's, who can't hear his name with- 
 out cursing, poor dear soul? What are you think- 
 ing of?" 
 
 "Well!" said the big Boniface — "I always do 
 say Mr. Braithwaite's a very sensible, free spoken 
 gentleman ^" 
 
 " Gentleman ! " quoth she with a scornful em- 
 phasis. " What's he but a tenant farmer ? " 
 
 " Still I was sorry when he and his lordship fell 
 out." 
 
 " And so was I," answered a voice from behind. 
 
 Turning, I saw a tall figure, wrapt in a drab driv- 
 ing-coat with seven capes, as was the fashion of the 
 time. 
 
 "What am I wanted for?" The landlady drew 
 back. " I heard all, Mrs. Plummer, and found 
 that, as usual, listeners hear no good of them- 
 selves." 
 
 "Well, sir — why, sir — ^I'm sure, sir! " said Boni- 
 face, while his wife was proudly silent — " But women 
 will meddle with politics " 
 
 " So much the better. If they did not, politics 
 would be very stupid things. So this gentleman 
 wants to go to Hover? " 
 
 " And all the flys are out." 
 
 " And therefore I must take him, eh? " 
 
 " My dear sir," I said, " I could not think of such 
 a thing." 
 
 " But I can. If you don't like my company, well 
 and good. I can do without yours. But if you have 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 9 
 
 no objection to it, I shall be glad enough of a com- 
 panion." 
 
 " But I shall be taking you out of your way." 
 " Only a mile or so, and what is that in the country? 
 Now ! Where's your luggage ? A portmanteau and 
 that box. Good. Put them under the dennet-seat, 
 ostler. As for that big box " 
 
 " It is far too heavy, my dear sir. It is full of 
 books." 
 
 " Books, eh? Then you must send it by the coach 
 in the morning, Plummer. Now are you ready? " 
 
 And, without more ado, we rattled off through the 
 streets pleasantly enough, to the light of our own 
 lamps, with a fast-stepping horse before us. 
 
 I, of course, wished to get into conversation with 
 my new acquaintance, but I hardly knew how to be- 
 gin. However he forestalled me by breaking out 
 abruptly, as soon as we were outside of the little 
 town — 
 
 " A box full of books, eh ? And to what end, pray, 
 are you carrying coals to Newcastle? " 
 
 " Are there many books at Hover, then ? " 
 
 " One of the finest private libraries in England, 
 they say, and never looked into from year's end to 
 year's end. And then the aristocracy are surprised 
 that the public envies them, and so forth ! Was the 
 cow much to be blamed, sir, when she envied the dog 
 in the manger? " 
 
 " I shall take good care that there is someone to 
 read them in future," I said joyfully enough. 
 
 " What, are you a scholar? " 
 
lo THE TUTOR'S STORY, 
 
 " I am just from Cambridge.'' 
 
 " Full of Latin, Greek, and mathematics, or of 
 Newmarket and rat-hunting? Which? " 
 
 " Certainly not of the latter. Equally certainly 
 not half enough of the former." 
 
 " Latin and Greek? Ah! there you fellows have 
 the whip-hand of us manufacturing men after all. 
 Humph — And what good are your classics going to 
 do you at this ball? " 
 
 " I am not going to the ball," said I, laughing. " I 
 am going to be private tutor to Lord Hartover." 
 
 "Wheughl And what are you going to teach 
 him?" 
 
 *' I have not the slightest notion," I answered, 
 laughing again. " A little Latin and Greek I sup- 
 pose — and also to be a good boy — if I have the 
 chance." 
 
 "Poor devil!" 
 
 "Which? He or I?" 
 
 ** Well — both of you, I should say. Curious cus- 
 tom in England — is it not — that the more responsi- 
 bility anyone has the less education is required to 
 meet it. A farmer has to learn his trade from youth.. 
 A law-shark must begin by snapping at minnows for 
 seven years or so before he is considered fit to swal- 
 low big fish. But your nobleman is taken for granted. 
 Anyone can manage half a county. At Cambridge, I 
 hear, you common sons of earth — for, I presume I 
 have not the honour of speaking to a nobleman, or 
 even to a squire in prospect? " 
 
 " Most distinctly not. I haven't a thing in the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY ii 
 
 world but what I carry on my back and In my boxes 
 and my brains." 
 
 " Well — you common sons of earth require three 
 years to get your degree. Your young noblemen 
 only two, eh ? " 
 
 '' True." 
 
 " Then what hope have you of educating this lad, 
 when society Itself and the very divines of your Eng- 
 lish Church are telling him that he need not be edu- 
 cated? Where Is the use of selling your liberty, be- 
 coming a flunkey and a hanger-on of these great folk 
 when you know that you can't do what you profess to 
 do, because you won't be allowed to do It? " 
 
 I was Inclined to be nettled. But why be angry? 
 The man was in the act of doing me a kindness. He 
 was evidently no ordinary person. And, after all, 
 it Is not often In this world that one has the chance 
 of hearing the plain truth. Therefore I answered — 
 
 " I sell my liberty, sir, because I am a penniless 
 orphan, and must live. What my duty by this boy 
 may be I do not know; but I suppose God will show 
 me. And if He does show me I suppose that He will 
 give me sense and courage to do It." 
 
 My companion turned round sharply on me, and 
 looked at me keenly from under his hat. The night 
 was so bright that we could both see each other 
 plainly enough. 
 
 At last he spoke. 
 
 " If you talk In that way, young man, and mean 
 what you say, you have come where you are wanted. 
 I did not intend to offend you." 
 
12 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 *' You have not offended me in the least. I am 
 glad to hear truth; for " 
 
 I checked myself, since I was about to say I did 
 not expect to hear any more for some time to come. 
 
 He was silent again. Then turning in his abrupt 
 way — 
 
 " God will show you your duty, you think? Very 
 good; but you don't expect special revelations or in- 
 structions direct from on high? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 " Then what if He showed you by the plain mouth 
 of a rational man, old enough to be your father? " 
 
 " A very likely method," I replied. " Have you 
 any advice to give me? " 
 
 *' I have. People call me a Radical and a destruc- 
 tive. I know what I am; and this I know — I don't 
 like these great noblemen. I consider them a great 
 national evil. But here they are; and we can't get 
 rid of them." 
 
 " Perhaps because we ought not? " 
 
 " Perhaps so. I have altered my opinions in my 
 life on most things, and may alter them again. But 
 here these noblemen are, and will be : and our busi- 
 ness — your business, rather — is to make the best of 
 them, by making them the best they can be. Try to 
 make that lad a good nobleman — never mind his 
 Latin and Greek, or anything else but what will for- 
 ward your doing so." 
 
 " To that end I should have to know what a noble- 
 man ought to be." 
 
 " Then find out. Of what use is your scholarship 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 13 
 
 to you, if it won't teach you that? I have read his- 
 tory enough to see that there have been, in all ages, 
 men possessed of arbitrary power and exclusive rank 
 to which they had no right — yet they used their rank 
 and power well. That poor boy will have power — 
 immense power — to which he has no more right than 
 his own groom. Teach him for his own sake, as well 
 as for half a county's sake, to use it well, and to be a 
 good nobleman if a nobleman he must be. Do that. 
 And work enough you'll have to do it." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " He is an awful pickle, they say — small wonder, 
 with the example he gets. You have heard, of 
 course, how he served your wretched predecessor? " 
 
 *' No." 
 
 " Ah ha I If you had perhaps you would not be 
 here. Threw him out of the window, and then 
 stood a regular siege in his own room, threatening to 
 shoot anyone who entered; till he capitulated at last 
 on a full pardon, and marched out with colours flying 
 and a double-barrel gun over his shoulder." 
 
 *' Alas for me ! But I am not likely to infuriate 
 him to trying physical force." 
 
 " So much the better. There, let's talk of some- 
 thing else. — Gate ho ! " 
 We had reached the lodge of the Enchanted Castle. 
 
 Gates opened to us beneath the shadow of enor- 
 mous trees, and we drove in. 
 
 " How far are we from the house? " 
 
 " Only three miles. Three miles of good land be- 
 tween us and the big men, wasted upon deer and 
 
14 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 game, instead of growing corn and turnips. — 
 Humph." 
 
 We drove on for some time again in silence 
 through the park — Hartover Chase, as my compan- 
 ion called it — over open heather and moor, sparkling 
 with glow-worms, where the night-jar flapped and 
 twisted under our horse's nose, and then flitted away- 
 ghostly into the dark to churr like a stocking loom; 
 past deep gulfs of black wood, through which rose 
 the tinkle of hidden rills; along black avenues of pine, 
 our lamps flashing blood-red upon their elephantine 
 stems, till we saw, right in front, what appeared to 
 me at first a great square mountain, black against the 
 dappled cloud and pierced with fine oblong sheets of 
 blazing light. 
 
 " Can that be the house ? It must be a huge pile." 
 
 *' It is so. And those are the fine windows of the 
 great hall, where they are caracoling and caprioling 
 now. Yes, young man, there is the Enchanted Castle, 
 and the Enchantress in it at the height of her sorce- 
 ries. Take care that she does not enchant you." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " You will find out soon enough, sir. I only say, 
 take care lest you go the way which as fine young 
 fellows as you, for aught I know, have gone already. 
 No — don't ask me any more." 
 
 I thought it well to change the subject. 
 
 *' You consider this land, then, as wasted? " 
 
 " Of course I do." 
 
 And then began a conversation upon matters for 
 which the reader jyill not care. On farming, rural 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 15 
 
 economy, the state of the poor, which he represented 
 as frightful; and, lastly, on the proposed new Poor 
 Law, then just being agitated, and of which, I found, 
 my companion was a strong supporter. We were in 
 the midst of a discussion equally new and interesting 
 to me, when he pulled up at a large pair of iron 
 gates. 
 
 " Here, we will go in the back way. The flunkies 
 are all upstairs by now, and we may chance to find a 
 groom here. Now, I hope our last quarter of an 
 hour has shown you a little of what a nobleman 
 might do?" 
 
 " It has indeed," said I, sadly enough. 
 
 " Don't be downhearted. Perhaps there were no 
 flys at Hartover for a very good reason." 
 
 *' I am thankful enough there were none." 
 
 " Then come and see me when you can. I am but 
 three miles off. Though if you wish to keep on good 
 terms with these folk, you had best neither say that 
 you are coming or that I brought you here. So per- 
 haps you will prefer not risking further acquaintance 
 while you stay in the Enchanted Castle ? " 
 
 I assured him earnestly that was not the case and, 
 getting down, rang the bell. There was a noise of 
 bustle enough inside; but no sign of the door being 
 opened. 
 
 At last someone came across from what seemed 
 to be the stables — a short stout bandy-legged man, 
 lanthorn in hand. 
 
 ** Wha's here now? " asked he in broad Yorkshire, 
 
 ** Warcop, is it you ? " said Mr. Braithwaitej, 
 
1 6 THE TUTOR^S STORY 
 
 " Mr. Braithwaite ! Wha'd ha' thought o' meet- 
 ing you this time o' night ! I was just roun' to see t' 
 harses all safe ; for my lads '11 be all drunk by now, a 
 murrain on 'em." 
 
 "And here of all places, eh? Fve brought over 
 my lord's new tutor, as there was no fly at Plum- 
 mer's." 
 
 " Just like you. I'll get the lad's things out in a 
 minute " 
 
 *' Do — for fear I should be caught and put under 
 the pump, eh? " and he laughed. 
 
 To which Warcop answered, with a strong word, 
 that they were all much too busy, " playing Bedlam 
 up there with their dancing and their suppering, to 
 fash themselves with honest men like you and me." 
 
 The two shook hands. Mr. Warcop led me in, 
 and began shouting in a voice of command — 
 
 *' Here, you lazy Southron towlers 1 What are 
 you licking your fingers owre t' dishes for, and my 
 lord's new tutor waiting outside, wi' nebbod to carry 
 up his porkmankle? An' here's t' grey mare's feet 
 never stapt, and t' lanthorn alight in t' saddle room. 
 'Od, but I'll discharge the lot of ye the morn, and 
 groom t' harses myself." 
 
 Whereon out shambled, from some servants' hall, 
 three or four crab-legged grooms in drab, who 
 seemed all of them a little the worse for liquor. 
 
 " Hoot, ye tykes ! I'll carry the gentleman's pork- 
 mankle up myself. An' when I come down again, the 
 lad o' ye that's not in bed shall gang the morn. Why 
 are ye no happed up this hour? Ye're no wanted to 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 17 
 
 rin at the lasses' hocks like they flunkies upstairs. — 
 Come wi' me, sir! " 
 
 And I went with him — up stairways, through swing 
 doors, along galleries — stairs, swing doors, galleries 
 — till I was utterly bewildered. At last I laughed. 
 
 " What are ye laughing for then? " 
 
 " I couldn't help thinking that if I wanted to run 
 away I was as safe as in any gaol; for find my way 
 out of this place again I could not." 
 
 " Hoots — there's many another has said the same, 
 and had cause to say It," quoth Warcop, in meaning 
 earnest. 
 
 The third time that that warning had come — from 
 the Master, from Mr. Braithwaite, and now from a 
 servant of the family. 
 
 We stopped at last in a large room, somewhat low, 
 but spacious and pleasant. 
 
 " This'll be your sitting-room, I suppose," as he 
 put down the luggage. " Yonder's my lord's bed- 
 room; and this, I take It, will be yours. At least I 
 heard Mr. Marsigli say so to his lordship's valet. 
 The tyke's In the supper-room now, I'll warrant, sip- 
 ping champagne on the sly. Now, sir, will ye eat 
 or drink?" 
 
 No — I had dined already. 
 
 '* Not a glass o' spirits then, before ye go to bed? " 
 
 " No, I seldom drink anything but water." 
 
 *' Ye dinnot?" and he looked fixedly at me. 
 " Then ye're t' man for this hoos." 
 
 " I shall sit up till Lord Hartover comes to bed." 
 
 "Ye will?"— with another fixed look. ''Well, 
 
:i8 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 mayhap it's better, mayhap it's better. But ye'll no 
 be hard on t' poor lad? " 
 
 "Hard on him? Why?" 
 
 " Well, ye see," in an apologetic tone. " He's a 
 pretty lad as ever crossed a pigskin, let wha will be t' 
 other. But he ne'er had a mammy, ye see, poor lad. 
 Ne'er had a mammy. She died when he was born, 
 sir, worse pity for him and all the country-side; for 
 an angel unto heaven she was, body and soul. But 
 that is no use to him, sir, unless she prays for him at 
 whiles up in paradise, as I oft times think she 
 must " 
 
 And the man's voice, which had become tenderer 
 and tenderer with every word, quite faltered. 
 
 I looked at him. He was evidently some sort of 
 superintendent of horses — stud-groom, as I found out 
 afterwards, was the name of his office. His face below 
 was like that of a bulldog, square and heavy-jawed, 
 with beetling brows over smooth shaved cheeks, 
 brick-red from sun and rain, and eyes of humour and 
 considerable cunning, too. Above all was a very 
 large brain, covered with crisp grey hair, like that of 
 a wiry terrier. — I was surprised at the union of such a 
 brain with such a jaw. Unaccustomed to horsey men, 
 and therefore prejudiced against them, I was not 
 aware of the amount of character which is both re- 
 quired and called out in the higher branches of the 
 great English horse-world. I have seen plenty of it 
 since, as these pages will show; but I never yet saw 
 either stud-groom, huntsman, or whip, worth his 
 place, who was not at the same time very clever, and 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 19. 
 
 very determined. — A drab shooting jacket over a 
 chest of great breadth, and drab breeches and gaiters 
 upon legs bent nearly to half-moons, completed the 
 outward man of my new friend — for friend I felt he 
 would be, if only for the sentiment which had just 
 glimmered through his most unsentimental outside. 
 
 He bowed himself out civilly. I offered him, I 
 hardly knew why, my hand. He took it, and his face 
 lightened up. 
 
 " Ye seem a civil sober young gentleman by your 
 face. Now, try to be a father to t' dear lad, and 
 make a mon of him; and dinnot ye, dinnot ye fash 
 him wi' over much skeuling." 
 
 I smiled, and promised to do my best. 
 
 *' Now," I said, " stop and tell me one thing more ; 
 unless you want to go to bed? " 
 
 *' Na. He had na mind to hap up, till he was sure 
 t' hoos wadna be burnt owre his head wi' drunken 
 flunkies. What did I want? " 
 
 " First — who was that Mr. Braithwaite that 
 brought me here? " 
 
 " A canny Yorkshireman and true. Out to Craven, 
 where he — the speaker — too cam fra. And na bet- 
 ter friend to gentle or simple if they'd take 'tent by 
 him. But he was like wisdom crying in the streets, 
 and nebbody'd hearken." 
 
 " Was he a farmer? " 
 
 *' Yes — now — And no such farmer round, with his 
 steam engines and his machinery. They brak 'em for 
 him a' twice, and he just monded them and went on. 
 There's no daunting a Yorkshireman. But he was 
 
20 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 rich enough once, and had a busy mill by Leeds 
 somewhere, I've heard say. But my lord — that's my 
 young lord's father — winnot abide him because he's 
 a Radical, more's the pity. But he and I are good 
 friends, for we are both from canny Craven, ye see." 
 
 I did not care to ask more, for I was really very 
 tired; and let the good man go. 
 
 I looked round the room, which, I soon found, was 
 in sad confusion. Cigar ashes and ends on the chim- 
 ney-piece, whips and spurs lying about. A terrier 
 before the fire, who woke and all but bit me. — I must 
 put it somewhat to rights to-morrow, if I was to 
 spend the next year or so of my life in it — Books 
 there were none, save a tattered Latin grammar 
 and dictionary, and some French novels which I 
 could not understand, and an abominable book 
 called '' Tom and Jerry," which I had once glanced 
 at at Cambridge, and vowed to burn on the first 
 opportunity. The walls were covered with prints 
 and caricatures, pasted on; and I entertained myself 
 with looking at these for a full hour. The prints 
 were chiefly French, Opera girls and such like. 
 Many of them I would rather not have found in 
 the room of a boy of sixteen. But I knew that there 
 is a licence on that point in great houses which it is 
 in vain to combat; and I suspected already, what I 
 am now certain of, namely, that the licence which 
 the upper classes permit as to pictures and statues is 
 far less hurtful than the prudery of the middle-class. 
 You' must either destroy such things or accustom 
 young people to them. The former is impossible. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 21 
 
 The latter is therefore the wiser, and perhaps the 
 purer, method. 
 
 The caricatures, however, amused me, I being too 
 tired in body and mind to care for anything but 
 amusement. They were principally sporting ones 
 by Bunbury, Broadstow, North, and Aiken; and I 
 spent my time so pleasantly in watching unhappy 
 gentlemen tumbling over enormous rails, or tri- 
 umphant ones sweeping over, to me, impossible 
 brooks, that I forgot my fatigue until long after the 
 clock on the mantel-piece had struck one. Little did 
 I think that within six months I should be sharing, 
 club-foot and all, the joys and sorrows of those red- 
 coated heroes on the walls. 
 
CHAPTER III 
 
 I WAS just settling down again to wait in patience 
 for my pupil's advent, when there came a tap at the 
 door and Warcop re-entered. 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir, but they've done supper and 
 I thought you might like to have a look at the ball." 
 
 " I should certainly, if I can do so without in- 
 truding." 
 
 "Oh! that's easy enough from this room, if you 
 don't mind meeting a trifle of backstairs company." 
 
 He piloted me down winding stone steps, along a 
 passage, and by a swing-door through which came 
 sounds of music and revelry. 
 
 This brought us into a low dark gallery — in which 
 I made out two or three female figures, upper ser- 
 vants as I supposed bent on the same errand as our- 
 selves — whence we looked down, over a waist-high 
 parapet, at such a sight as I had never seen before. 
 
 A vast hall, more than a hundred feet long and 
 some fifty broad. Round three sides of it, high in 
 the wall, ran a clerestory, under the arches of which 
 we now stood. At the opposite end violins screamed 
 and brazen trumpets brayed. On the fourth side tall 
 mullioned windows, almost from ceiling to ground, 
 reflected the lights in their coloured panes. As to 
 the ceiling — I had no time to look at it then, though 
 it is, so architects say, one of the finest Tudor ceilings 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 23 
 
 In England, for my eyes were drawn down at once to 
 the living garden below, which surged to and fro 
 between lemon and orange trees laden with golden 
 fruit, and masses of gaudy flowers piled against the 
 wall — not so gaudy though as the human flowers be- 
 side them, who whirled in the dance like brilliant 
 humming-birds. A fairy palace in truth, thought I 
 to myself, as I gazed and gazed, dazzled with light 
 and movement and colour. And no wonder, for, 
 over and above the gay dresses of the ladles, the men 
 were all dressed In red coats and tight nankeen 
 breeches. Half of the red coats, I saw, had black 
 collars, half of them blue; while many of them, far 
 from being new, were stained and soiled exceedingly. 
 The mass of red tired the eye, and forced it to rest 
 for refreshment on the green of the shrubs around. 
 As for the women, they would have looked pret- 
 tier — I must say It — now, than they did then. For 
 that was the day of short petticoats, gigot sleeves, 
 high waists, and hair frizzed up and out like that of 
 Juvenal's Roman dames. Among the many Improve- 
 ments which I have seen in my time, I must value — 
 though, old fogy as I am, what can it matter to me ! 
 — the improvement In ladies' dress. Old fogy that 
 I am? Well — I was a young fogy then; but born, 
 like Falstaff, " an old man," their dress was as unim- 
 portant to me In the year 1829 as It is to-day. Never- 
 theless, I enjoyed the sight thoroughly. Why not? 
 God had made them, and all their youth, health, and 
 happiness. God had made their silks and satins, 
 jewels, and flowers too. Why then grudge them a 
 
24 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 moment's pleasure? What was it to me that they 
 were enjoying themselves in a way impossible to me, 
 the poor lame scholar? Every man has his gift, and 
 his compensation. I had mine already in the thought 
 of the splendid library. This affair was not in my 
 line. True, but the world would be a barren place 
 indeed had it no line but mine. Let life be as broad 
 as it can. And so let them dance, and flirt, I say; and 
 Heaven's blessing on all they do right, and Heaven's 
 mercy on all they do wrong. 
 
 I watched and watched, as greedily as a boy at a 
 pantomime, till Warcop, who was evidently enjoying 
 the scene as much as I, whispered to me, quite awe- 
 struck : 
 
 " An' what do ye think o' that? " 
 
 " That is the most beautiful sight I ever saw In my 
 life." 
 
 "Ah! ha! ha! you've spoken truth. I've been in 
 a' the greatest houses in England, forbye Windsor 
 Castle itself i' the owd King's time, and I dinnot say 
 but what there are twa or three can cap us, but nae 
 mair 1 And we've getten the money, and no afraid 
 to spend it." 
 
 Here one of the women I had noticed when first 
 entering the gallery approached, walked past us 
 leisurely, with a pretty mincing tread, turned on 
 reaching the swing-door and began sauntering back. 
 She was young, trimly though fashionably dressed in 
 rustling black silk. I caught a glance of flashing 
 black eyes in a pale handsome face. 
 
 " My lady's French Mamzell Fedore trying to 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 25 
 
 size up my young lord's new tutor," Warcop growled 
 under his breath. His tone surprised and somewhat 
 displeased me. But he spoke, as I judged, less to 
 me than to himself, so I let it pass and, to change the 
 subject, asked him the meaning of the red coats. 
 
 ''What? Didn't ye ken this is the twa hunts' 
 ball?" 
 
 " No — you must remember I am a new-comer." 
 
 " Aye, aye. Well ye see latter end o' season we 
 brought fox out o' Thatcher's Gorse. — Ye'U no ken 
 Thatcher's Gorse, in course? — Well, it's far side 
 our country and we were into t' Bramhall coverts in 
 ten minutes. Bramhall was drawing and picked fox 
 oop. We picked him oop same moment. I'd 
 sweart' owd Challenger — badger-pied hound he is — 
 brought him oop to t' side and into Bramhall pack. 
 They say he didn't — I say he did. And, 'od, sir! 
 we were both out together." 
 
 What his story meant, I could not clearly under- 
 stand then. I learnt to know well enough in after 
 years. 
 
 " 'Od, sir, and there we was," he repeated. " Twa 
 packs o' hounds and twa fields o' gentlemen. And 
 wha'll see two better? Ten thousand pounds' worth 
 o' horse-flesh, a' i' the lump and a' racing." 
 
 Here Mr. Warcop clenched his outstretched fist, 
 as if overcome with the magnificence of his recollec- 
 tions. 
 
 " 0mm — I should like any of the Johnny Cra- 
 pauds " — with a glance at Mademoiselle, still linger- 
 ing in our neighbourhood — " or their cavalry to ha' 
 
26 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 seen yon sight when they were thinking o' invading 
 England. 'Od, sir ! it 'ud 'a taken oot their back- 
 bones, toad-eating Frenchmen, to see a hundred and 
 twenty red coats riding at sixteen miles an hour owre 
 a country where they couldn't ha' got fra one field 
 to the next." 
 
 And he looked out of the corners of his eyes to see 
 whether Mademoiselle Fedore was listening. 
 
 " Well, sir, as we got awa' the Colonel — that's our 
 Master — cooms alongside o' me. And * Warcop,' 
 sez he, ^ can we ride 'em? ' ' And why for not? ' sez 
 I. * They're braw rakes,' sez he. ' And they ought 
 to be,' sez I, ' being they be Bramhalls.' * But 
 they've got us in their ain country, they'll cut us 
 down,' sez he. * We'll howd our own along the fells; 
 but they'll cut us down i' the clay vale.' ^ Bid the 
 light weights howd hard,' sez I, ' and make a wait- 
 ing race of it. Colonel ' — an' he did. An', headies, 
 he had a bonnie half-hour. I've seen too many good 
 runs to aggravate a burst, but twenty-eight minutes 
 and three-quarters it was by my owld turnip. Pack 
 against pack, man against man ; and nebbody turnit, 
 nebbody cranit out o' hundred and twenty blessed 
 pinks. And when we ran him to earth at Weatherly 
 clay pits, I was first and young Squire Hardcastle 
 there " — he pointed to someone in the crowd below 
 — '' was owre t' last fence after me. God bless him 
 for a straight rider! " 
 
 "And where were the Bramhall gentlemen?" I 
 asked, amused by his extreme enthusiasm for what 
 was to me an utterly new phase of human life. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 27 
 
 " Hoo — where should they be? Riding bonnily. 
 Three o' them were just ahint me and t' Squire ; and 
 ahint them our Colonel Jack. Ye'll no hae seen Col- 
 onel Jack? " 
 
 '' No." 
 
 "Then ye'll hae need to; for he's master here — 
 that is— Whisht. Wha' was I talking o' ? " 
 
 And Mr. Warcop, seemingly led beyond York- 
 shire caution by sporting excitement, got back as 
 soon as he could to his long story. 
 
 " Her Ladyship was out, wi' the ponies, and drove 
 the roads full gallop. On' but she's a lovely whip — 
 and, by luck's luck, nicked in for the finish. She gav' 
 me a silver-headed crop for my day's work. And 
 for the rest — * Gentlemen,' she says, * I can't repay 
 ye all singly for the splendid sight ' — those were her 
 words — * ye've afforded me. But I shall have the 
 pleasure of giving a ball to both hunts when I come 
 back fra toun.' An' ye see she's been as good as her 
 word, gentle and simple, nobleman and farmer. 
 They're all here that rid that day." 
 
 " What," I asked, " are any of these men In red 
 coats farmers? " 
 
 " 'Deed they be. We expect all our farmers to 
 ride in pink — wi' our black collar, ye see. The 
 Bramhall are no that particular. But then ye ken 
 they're not the like o' us." 
 
 " And are their wives and daughters here ? " 
 
 " 'Deed then they are, a' them that wad coom, an' 
 bonny lasses too, and bonny lads. See, there's my 
 leddy leading off now wi' a young farmer; and that 
 
2§ THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 lass below her, wi' my lord John, she's a yeoman's 
 daughter — and finely they dance, too." 
 
 I looked with increased interest at the stalwart 
 young fellow, with huge black whiskers and the 
 figure of a life-guardsman, with whom Her Mag- 
 nificence was just leading off, chatting, and tossing 
 back her beautiful head, while the poor fool, half 
 sheepish, half proud of his own good looks and good 
 fortune, was dancing away — just as well as anyone 
 else — evidently in the seventh heaven of harmless 
 vanity. Though — was it harmless? — At all events 
 here was none of that gulf between class and class of 
 which I had heard; and I whispered something of 
 the kind to the shrewd Yorkshireman. 
 
 As I expected he had his answer ready. 
 
 " Omm — Your real quality ha' gotten so muckle 
 dignity, that they can just let it a' take care o' itself. 
 It's only your newcomer upstarts, that ha' gotten but 
 little, that must needs nurse it, like plant in a pot, for 
 fear it wither. An' I'll warrant some wither it often 
 enough, with the saut tears o' envy, hatred, and 
 malice — Eh, Mamzell? Isn't that a bonny young 
 paysan^ as you ca' them, that my leddy's dancing 
 wi'?" 
 
 This to the Frenchwoman who, coming closer, had 
 taken her stand by his side, looking down, simper- 
 ing yet supercilious — as I fancied — at the scene 
 below — 
 
 '^ Tiensf — beau garcon^ mais horrihlement mal 
 misr 
 
 *' I can't understand your lingo, ye ken." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 29 
 
 " But a very — how do you say? — ill-dressed boy. 
 And the woman paysannes — augh! — how they are 
 badly put. What guys they have make themselves — 
 augh!" 
 
 " You'd like well enough to be dancing among 
 them though," said Warcop, who seemed to 
 have a peculiar spite against handsome • Made- 
 moiselle. 
 
 " And I hope I could dance better than those 
 clumsy things, and dress myself better, too." 
 
 " Fine feathers make foul birds," quoth Warcop 
 under his breath. 
 
 " And what canaille for nobles to dance with ! " 
 she went on. 
 
 " The grapes are a bit sour, Mamzell," quoth 
 Warcop, this time not under his breath. 
 
 " But where is his lordship? " asked I, not wishing 
 to witness a quarrel. 
 
 ''Eh! I haven't seen him since supper. You'll 
 see him come in soon — a pretty lad — owre white a 
 bit; but ribbed up like a northern hound and thor- 
 oughbred as Eclipse." 
 
 " I mean the Earl, his father '' 
 
 " 0mm ! Did ye no ken then? Poor dear gentle- 
 man! He's to bed since ten o'clock. He always is 
 happed up at ten, wi' flannel to his legs and flannel to 
 his head, any time this dozen years. God send him 
 good rest to-night ! " 
 
 There was a tone in Warcop's voice which I could 
 not fathom — whether compassionate or contemptu- 
 ous, or both. However, it was clear the great gen- 
 
30 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 tleman's absence was not important to the company. 
 It might prove so, though, to me. 
 
 " But why's my young lord no here yet? " Warcop 
 said again, looking over the groups below. " Mam- 
 zell, ha' ye seen Lord Hartover t'-night? " 
 
 Mademoiselle muttered something about it's be- 
 ing no business of hers. To which Warcop replied 
 sternly — 
 
 "I never said 'tw^as; but tha's no reason ye 
 mightn't ken. I'll go and see." And off he went. 
 
 A quarter of an hour elapsed, during which I 
 looked on. Warcop had not been gone five minutes 
 before Mademoiselle began on me. 
 
 '' N'est-ce pas heau, Monsieur? Magnifiquef^^ 
 
 " I am sorry to say that I do not understand 
 French." 
 
 I little knew then how important a confession I 
 had made. Little knew how bitterly I should regret, 
 hereafter, my ignorance of the language of the mod- 
 ern world, which, much as I love the dear old 
 University — my mother once, now my bride — I 
 must say she ought to teach us if it be but for three 
 months, and to a fairly apt scholar no more is 
 required. 
 
 " Ah ! well, I can talk a little Englees. Is it not a 
 beautiful sight? And, Miladif Is she not superb? " 
 
 " Most superb," I answered quite honestly. " I 
 never yet saw so beautiful a person, or one so beauti- 
 fully dressed." 
 
 "Ah! la! la! But, my charming gentleman, a 
 double compliment ! The first to her, the next to me ! 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 31 
 
 The first I shall give her. The ozer I will keep for 
 my own pauvre self." 
 
 And she began chatting away to me most agree- 
 ably. 
 
 Men are often laughed at for befooling them- 
 selves with women. I think women befool them- 
 selves just as much with men. If women see through 
 men, so do men through women unless their own 
 vanity or lust blinds them. I did not talk ten min- 
 utes with that Frenchwoman. She said nothing to 
 me which a pure-minded person might not have said, 
 and all, too, with a grace and sprightliness which 
 was as irreproachable as it was engaging. Yet I felt 
 she was bad, wanton, false, though I could not tell 
 why. Perhaps Warcop's tone had prejudiced me 
 against her. No — I believe that without Warcop's 
 leading I should have found it out for myself. 
 
 However Warcop came back, and stood beside 
 me silent for some minutes. 
 
 '^ Oil est done Milord, vieux houle-dogiief ^^ 
 
 " I don't understand your lingo; but I do under- 
 stand you call me a bulldog, Mamzell. And the 
 bulldog will be even with you." 
 
 ^' Va, vietix fat/' — and she added a few more epi- 
 thets, laughing in the prettiest way the whole time, 
 and then rustled off into the next archway. 
 
 Warcop looked round quietly. 
 
 " You'd better go up to your room soon, sir." 
 
 '' I will." 
 
 " Only — I say — don't be hard on t' poor lad." 
 
 " I won't, trust me." 
 
32 iTHE TUTOR'S STORY, 
 
 And I went away not knowing what he meant. 
 
 I soon knew. I had not been back a quarter of 
 an hour before there was a scuffle in the passage out- 
 side the door. I was in the bedroom, unpacking my 
 portmanteau, and stayed there, uncertain what to 
 do and not a little nervous at the prospect of my first 
 introduction to my pupil. 
 
 The sitting-room door was burst open, and the 
 scuffling increased. Two voices, both thick with 
 wine, were muttering and arguing. 
 
 " Now don't, my lord — pray don't — and go to 
 bed quietly." 
 
 " Let me alone, Will — I must see the beggar, I 
 say. Hullo! Mr. Tutor. Where are you? Let's 
 have a look at you ! " 
 
 I came out instantly, and met in the doorway the 
 most beautiful boy of seventeen I ever had seen, or 
 ever, I believe, shall see, looking all the more beau- 
 tiful from being dressed in that most becoming of 
 garments, a red coat. The likeness to a well-known 
 hero of my studies struck me so instantly and 
 strongly that I found myself saying under my 
 breath "Alcibiades ! " The flushed cheeks, the stag- 
 gering steps, all added to the likeness; combined as 
 they were with an air of habitual command, and the 
 half-lazy, half-saucy lift of the head. — A new Alci- 
 biades, breaking in upon — certainly no Socrates! 
 God help me ! if this was the young creature I had to 
 tame, who was I indeed to tame him? 
 
 Yet I loved him at first sight, and instinctively, 
 dear boy. He knows, and Heaven knows, that I have 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 33 
 
 never ceased to love him. Perhaps, as contraries 
 are always attracted by contraries, I loved him from 
 his utter and complete contrast to myself. Whether 
 it were so or not, he was aware of the contrast as 
 quickly as I. He stared at me for a moment, trying 
 to look sober, and then cried — 
 
 "Hey! A poor little" — I will not repeat the 
 words he used — '' And a lame leg, too, by Jove ! I 
 don't think he'll give me much trouble, William ! " 
 
 My face burnt red; but I tried to laugh — 
 
 *' I think, my lord, you had better go to bed." 
 
 No, he wouldn't go to bed. He wanted more 
 champagne. He would this; he would that. And 
 then he began singing verses of little French songs. 
 And so on and so on, for nearly half an hour, while 
 the footman, I saw to my surprise, had slipped away 
 and left me to manage the boy alone. 
 
 And I did manage him. By wheedling, humour- 
 ing, laughing and joking, though with a heavy 
 heart. I undressed him and put him into bed. There 
 he murmured snatches of song, called two or three 
 times for Fedore — the name of the French lady's- 
 maid as I remembered — and finally fell, to my inex- 
 pressible relief, into a heavy sleep. 
 
 I sat by him watching the beautiful face, all pale 
 and fallen now, when I heard the door open lightly 
 and Mademoiselle's head looked in. 
 
 She gave a little start, I thought, at seeing me; 
 but spoke in her sweetest tone. 
 
 "Ah ! bon. Monsieur is with him. That Is kind. 
 And Milord sleeps?" 
 
34 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ^' Yes," said I, laying my finger on my lips. 
 
 She did not seem inclined to go. I verily believe 
 she was going to try to chatter to me; but, at that 
 moment, heavy footsteps sounded along the passage, 
 whereupon she vanished instantly. 
 
 It was William the footman. In he came with a 
 drunken leer, an unopened champagne bottle, and 
 three or four glasses; clutched together in his shak- 
 ing hand. 
 
 " I've got it," he whispered with an oath. " And 
 we'll make a night of it, we will." 
 
 I rose instantly, and whispered in my turn. 
 
 " If you don't get out this moment, you drunken 
 scoundrel, I'll break that bottle over your head, 
 and kick you downstairs afterwards " — and I looked 
 him fiercely in the face. 
 
 It was a vain threat; for the fellow was six foot 
 high and as heavy again as I. But I suppose my eye 
 quelled him, for he turned and, grumbling, sneaked 
 out like a beaten cur. 
 
 I locked the door after him and sat down again 
 to watch that fine pale face, tired out in body and 
 mind, trying to think, and trying, too, to pray. But 
 a feeling akin to despair had come over me. What 
 a beginning to my work ! And into what a chaos was 
 I thrown — I, the mere scholar! Happily for me, 
 overcome by bodily fatigue, I soon fell fast asleep 
 in my chair. 
 
 I was wakened by the roll of many wheels. The 
 guests were departing. It was broad day. 
 
 The boy slept still, heavily, quietly. I might well 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 35 
 
 leave him for an hour or so. I went off to find cold 
 water, and drank and bathed, till both body and mind 
 were somewhat cooled and refreshed after the long 
 day and strange night's work. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 That duty performed, I dressed, and, as I dressed, 
 looked out of the window to see where I was. 
 
 If my imagination had been stirred the night be- 
 fore, it was stirred still more this morning. 
 
 My room was in the north-western block of the 
 enormous Elizabethan building, compared to which 
 all houses which I had yet seen — and I have seen 
 a few larger since — seemed as cottages. The house 
 appeared, at the first glance, to rise sheer out of a 
 desolate wilderness; but the pleasant sound of a 
 mower^s scythe below made me look down, and I saw 
 that between me and the forest was a lawn of some 
 twenty yards broad, broken by beds of rhododen- 
 drons and azaleas, now in their full glory of pink 
 and lilac, flame colour and yellow. Beyond them, 
 knots of cultivated heath harmonised with the wild 
 heath outside; and young pines, of all the kinds 
 which are now common in English parks, prepared 
 the eye for the ancient Scotch firs beyond the wire 
 fence. But how can I describe these ! 
 
 My notion of a Scotch fir had been taken from the 
 tall umbrellas which one saw in artists' paintings. 
 But these were varied in shape as they were gigantic 
 in size. Some domed, others throwing broken 
 plumed crests against the sky, the boles of them pur- 
 ple, the trunks and branches glistening red and 
 
 36 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 37 
 
 orange, no two alike, yet combining to form a nobly- 
 harmonious whole. As I stood in the second floor 
 window, nearly on a level with their heads, I seemed 
 to look along a black alp range. 
 
 An avenue of them, evidently the dark cathedral 
 aisle I had come through last night, stretched from 
 the centre of the north front and straight away 
 across the moor. This without hiding the distance, 
 for right and left my eye carried forward, through 
 gaps and vistas, over a brown heather sea, rolling 
 higher and higher, as it grew more distant, till it 
 ended in a long purple bar against the fair blue of 
 the northern horizon. And on all, the newly risen 
 sun poured floods of light — over dewy heather 
 slopes, between the ruddy fir stems, upon vivid green 
 glades of newly-sprung bracken and the swinging 
 horns of lazy deer. 
 
 I turned at last, and went to the western window. 
 What a contrast was below me ! 
 
 The moor broke into glens, and swept down to the 
 south, its upper knolls crowned with huge oaks and 
 beeches, and at their feet, sheltered from every wind, 
 a paradise of art. I could see walks winding around 
 well-kept shrubberies, fountains flinging rainbow- 
 tinted columns of delicate spray, marble white-paved 
 pools gleaming amidst dark laurel banks; and, 
 nearer to the house, terraces filled with flower beds 
 of every quaint shape and lovely hue which vied with 
 the fantastic patterns of some Indian shawl or 
 changeful plumage of some tropic bird. On every 
 side was the same gradual, yet startling, change 
 
38 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 from the savage grandeur of Nature to the brill- 
 iance, grace, homelike comfort, of Art. A master's 
 hand, I thought, must surely have been here — or 
 probably that of master after master; for, as I 
 recollected, it had taken three hundred years of 
 wealth and thought to make that glorious place 
 what I now saw it. 
 
 Leaving my room, and descending the winding 
 stone stairs — down which Warcop had piloted me 
 last night — to the ground level, I found a narrow 
 doorway and iron-studded oak door, — the latter hap- 
 pily unlocked — which gave access to the terrace im- 
 mediately below my windows. 
 
 The neatness and finish of the garden was miracu- 
 lous; and I saw at once that it was attained by a 
 lavish expenditure of labour, for I passed at least 
 half a dozen men, busily at work, in the small part 
 of the grounds which I traversed. 
 
 Passing from the terrace and following one of the 
 many gravel paths, I came at last to a semicircular 
 stone bench set against a high screen of clipped yew. 
 Before it stretched a long rectangular lawn of velvet 
 turf, now beaded with dew, which from its shape I 
 took to be a bowling-green. The air was full of 
 the song of birds, while the sound of the morning 
 breeze in the great fir avenue reached me, at mo- 
 ments, in a delicate long drawn whisper. I stood 
 listening, charmed by the poetic beauty of my sur- 
 roundings, when I was startled by a harsh voice 
 close at my ear. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 39 
 
 ^' And wha' will you be, young man, here in her 
 ladyship's private grounds? " 
 
 I turned and saw a tall bony figure, clothed in 
 seedy black. The man looked, at the first sight, not 
 unlike a Dissenting preacher: but hobnailed boots, 
 a pruning knife in his hand, and strings of bass mat 
 round his neck proclaimed him the Scotch gardener. 
 
 *' I am Lord Hartover's new tutor, arrived last 
 night. I hope I am not trespassing. But I thought 
 there could be no chance of meeting anyone at this 
 hour; and really the place looked so beautiful from 
 my window, that I could no more keep out of it than 
 Milton's Satan out of Paradise." 
 
 '' Satan out o' Pawradise? A very apt quotation," 
 — and he made me a profound bow. " Say no more, 
 sir, you're as welcome as would be my young lord 
 himself did he care to tak' note o' these goodly em- 
 bellishments o' his ain and his ancestors' property. 
 And ye'U be a thoughtful young man, too, and saw- 
 ber by your early rising, which is a hailsome habit — 
 and I wad some a' they inside there had found out 
 the same — dancing a' the night, and snoring a' the 
 morning which God created for man to breathe the 
 freshest of His air, and see the bonniest colours o' 
 His warks. Ye'U be a scholar too, I suppose?" 
 
 " A little of one. I am fresh from college." 
 
 "Ah — ah — that's well. Ye're doubly welcome, 
 into this land o' barbarians. My Latin's got clean 
 rusted amang them, being denied the godsend o' an 
 hour's rawtional conversation for nine month and 
 mair, not having been able to accept my friend Sir 
 
40 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 William Hooker's invitation to visit him at Kew, 
 anent the seeds of Pinus Macoskinianus, which my 
 aunt's husband's second son — and a vary rising 
 young botanist he is — sent me fra the mountains o' 
 little Thibet. Ye'll ken where little Thibet is, I 
 suppose? " 
 
 I bowed, and he went on with his sing-song. 
 
 " And this Pinus Macoskinianus — being named 
 in honour of your humble servant — is to cut out, I 
 hold, Douglasii and a' the darker leaved forms, 
 sir. Douglasii can't hold a candle to it for 
 beauty of foliage — ye'll just come up wi' me and 
 judge." 
 
 I walked with him, asking him many questions; 
 and found him, under all his conceit and garrulity, 
 a shrewd right-minded man, and respectable in my 
 eyes for this one thing at least — that having one work 
 to do, he did it thoroughly. 
 
 Suddenly, at some observation I made about a 
 pool being a bath for Diana's self, he stopped. 
 
 " Ah ! That minds me. Ye'll have heard of the 
 gardens o' Maecenas? " 
 
 Of course I had. 
 
 " An' ye know the book which describes the 
 same? " 
 
 I did. 
 
 " Then," cried he In rapture, " ye're the lad for 
 me. I've been thinking o' they gardens, ay dreamin' 
 o' them, till I swear I saw them by inspiration; but 
 never could I hear o' the book which described them 
 — malr's the pity. For ye see " — and he waved his 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 41 
 
 hand round — " it's a' pretty enough here, but gothi- 
 cal and barbarical. I'm certain, the more to my sor- 
 row, that it's no convenable to the true rules of 
 classic art. See," he cried, striking out one hand 
 oratorically, " see the situation, the soil, the climate. 
 Nature has done her part. Art and man alone are 
 to blamit. I ha' a' the materials. I ha' a' the sci- 
 ence. Gi' me but the classic model, as I've told my 
 lord again and again, an' a poor five hundred pounds, 
 and I'll make his garden the wonder of England 
 and go down to posterity myself as another and a 
 greater Capability Brown." 
 
 I was much inclined to laugh : but the tone of his 
 voice showed me that he was too really in earnest 
 to deserve laughter. So I calmed him by telling him 
 that what little classical knowledge I possessed 
 should be always at his service. 
 
 One thing he said, which struck me much, and was 
 the parent of much afterthought. I had remarked 
 to him — 
 
 '' You seem to take as much delight In this garden 
 as if it was your own." 
 
 " And why not? When Adam was put into Eden 
 to dress It and keep it, was It the less delightsome to 
 him because in the ultimate he kenned it belonged to 
 Almighty God alone ? " 
 
 " But surely you are denied the Incentive to work 
 which comes from the sense of possession? " 
 
 " Oh, that's a carnal superstition, unworthy o' the 
 true artist who rejoices in the wark for its own sake. 
 And what's more, he'd be just a fool if he took the 
 
42 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 land for his ain; for how would he carry out his 
 wark upon it? It's just the aristocracy which enable 
 him to do it. They are, so to say, the bankers o' the 
 artist and find, at his demand, rough material, cap- 
 ital, a' that he wants except his ain brains. Hoo-oo-o 
 — when I was a bit noisy Radical callant, in a debat- 
 ing society in Glasgow, I'd talk roaring words enough 
 about the cold shade o' the aristocracy. But when I 
 got under it, I found it just a very warm shelter, 
 where I could wark and study, and devote myself 
 purely to my science, wi'out fretting after the daily 
 bread. An' not I only — but see here — I've under me 
 twenty, thirty hands, learning their trade more or 
 less. Whaur would they be but for the aristocracy? 
 What would this garden be but for the aristocracy? 
 A bit turnip-field, putting into the people's pocket 
 thirty shillings an acre per annum for labour. It 
 puts now nearer three hundred pounds. I've three 
 young men under me, rising botanists, that will be 
 fit in seven years to take a place equal to mine. What 
 wad they ha' been doing but for the aristocracy? 
 Earning twelve shillings a week at the plough tail, 
 like brute beasts that have no understanding. And 
 in their old age — see again there — there's a dizen 
 auld hirpling bodies weeding and sweeping, sweep- 
 ing and weeding, wi' good grey duffle to their backs. 
 Whaur wad they be but for the aristocracy? In the 
 poorhouse. Hoo-oo-o — I suppose ye're a Radical, 
 being fresh fra college. I'll mak' a Tory o' ye, ere 
 ye've been here long." 
 
 The good man has not quite succeeded, I am 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 43 
 
 afraid, in making a Tory of me, but he set me 
 thinking, and not in vain. 
 
 " And now," he said, " it's half-past seven, and I 
 must gang to our breakfast." 
 
 " I wish I was going to mine: but I fear there is 
 no chance of that for some hours to come." 
 
 " I'll warrant not till ten o' the day, especially if 
 that skellian William, that waits upon his lordship, 
 was drunk the night." 
 
 '' He was." 
 
 '' Ah — a — a ! Ye'U no find him o' much use to ye 
 in the praucess o' his lordship's education! " 
 
 I shook my head. The canny Scot said no more 
 about the matter : but turning suddenly, 
 
 " And if I was not taking too great a liberty with 
 a scholar like yourself, If ye would honour our hum- 
 ble board so far as to partake of a cup of tea? " 
 
 I accepted the offer joyfully, and went with him, 
 through endless grasserles and pineries, to a delight- 
 ful little house — good enough for any person in Eng- 
 land — all covered with climbing roses and lonlceras. 
 I hardly know which was more pleasant, the flowers 
 outside or the savoury breakfast within. 
 
 " What a delightful house, and what a delightful 
 profession ! " 
 
 " Yes," he said simply and solemnly. " The Lord 
 has cast my lines in pleasant places." 
 
 We went indoors and found two intelligent-look- 
 ing young men, whom he introduced to me as his 
 pupils, a buxom Scotch dame, and three merry chil- 
 dren. I never had a pleasanter breakfast in my life. 
 
44 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I played with the children, and chatted with the 
 two young men, whom I found sensible and well- 
 educated Scotchmen. One of them, when he learnt 
 I was a Cambridge man, wanted, of course, to en- 
 gage me In a profound theological discussion. But 
 I escaped, although with loss of honour, by confess- 
 ing myself utterly ignorant of the merits of certain 
 fine points in the rulings of the Synod of Dort. 
 
CHAPTER V 
 
 Breakfast over, I hastened back to my charge, and' 
 found him still asleep. The sun was high in heaven, 
 and my box of books arrived and was unpacked, be- 
 fore I heard him stir. William had been up, looking 
 sheepish and sulky, without deigning to ask me 
 whether I wanted breakfast. I gave him no orders. 
 I had formed my own plan of action. At last I 
 heard the dear boy stir, and I went in to him in- 
 stantly. — " Did he want anything? " 
 
 '' No, he had an abominable headache." 
 
 " Then take a seidlitz powder." 
 
 ** Well, he dared say it would be the best thing." 
 
 And he turned over and slept again. 
 
 I rang the bell twice, thrice; and after a long in- 
 terval William reappeared. 
 
 " What do you want?" with an emphasis on the 
 you, which was hardly not insolent. 
 
 " A seidlitz powder for Lord Hartover." 
 
 He did not know where to get any. 
 
 " Lord Longmoor has a medical man in the house, 
 I believe?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Then go to him, and ask him for one from me." 
 
 He had no business with the doctor. 
 
 I walked quietly into the boy's room. Luckily the 
 conversation had awakened him. 
 
 45 
 
46 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 "My lord, is this man to obey me, or not? I 
 wish him to get you a seidlitz powder and he re- 
 fuses." 
 
 I had touched the right chord, but somewhat too 
 sharply; for the boy burst out into a volley of bad 
 words, and ordered the fellow off instantly. 
 
 He went. But, as he went, said, loud enough for 
 us to hear — as he intended — " Well, I didn't think 
 his lordship would find it suit his book to quarrel 
 with me." 
 
 So the boy was in this man's power. 
 
 "Now, my lord, shall I help you to get up? I 
 shall be very happy to act valet, till you get a better 
 one." 
 
 " Confound the fellow," muttered he to himself. 
 
 Then looked suddenly up at me, and said some- 
 what fiercely — 
 
 " So ! I suppose you'll go and tell my father, the 
 first thing, that I was screwed last night? " 
 
 " By no means. The offence was not committed 
 under my jurisdiction. I did not begin to take charge 
 of you till this morning." 
 
 " So? " in a softened tone. " Then henceforward, 
 I suppose, you intend to keep a pretty tight hand 
 on me ! " 
 
 I smiled. 
 
 " I don't think I could if I tried. But one thing 
 I should like to do." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " Teach you how to keep a tight hand on your- 
 self." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 47 
 
 He laughed, somewhat bitterly, and then hung 
 down his head. 
 
 *' Here's that fellow with the seidlitz. — Now, 
 William — I shall get up." 
 
 As I did not know where his clothes were, I was 
 forced to leave him to William. I could hear them 
 talking away, while I was in the inner room. 
 
 Presently he came In, looking as neat as a new pin, 
 and, thanks to the glorious elasticity of youth and 
 health, as handsome as ever. He did not speak; but 
 sat down to breakfast. I was silent also. 
 
 *' Well? " he said suddenly. " What after break- 
 fast? Lessons, I suppose? William says you've a 
 lot of Latin and Greek books there all ready to be- 
 gin tormenting me with." 
 
 " Your valet cannot possibly know what I intend 
 to do, as the only words I have spoken to him have 
 been to bid him get you a seidlitz powder this morn- 
 ing, and to threaten to kick him downstairs last 
 night." 
 
 " You threatened to kick him downstairs? " asked 
 he, highly amused. 
 
 " I did "—and I told him why. 
 
 *' Capital ! By Jove, but you're game — he's twice 
 as big as you." 
 
 " I know that," said I, laughing; " and I could not 
 have done It; but I am bound to show fight to anyone 
 who tries to lead you, my dear boy, Into harm, and, 
 so help me God, I will." 
 
 He looked up fixedly at me. 
 
 " My dear boy? It's a long time since anyone has 
 
48 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 called me that." Suddenly he turned scarlet. " I say. 
 Tell me. Is it true? William says that I insulted 
 you last night, and that you were going to be down 
 upon me this morning." 
 
 " William is an ill-conditioned fellow for telling 
 you what it was only and solely my business to tell, 
 if it was to be told at all; and for telling lies about 
 my intentions afterwards. I had forgotten all about 
 it, and I hoped you and he had done so, too." 
 
 " But tell me— did I say " 
 
 " Never mind what you said, for I shall never 
 mind. Only — don't put yourself again, if you can 
 help it, into a state in which you don't know friends 
 from foes." 
 
 " If I can help it! " he cried bitterly. "Humph. 
 Well, I suppose you've heard lots of harm of me 
 already? " 
 
 " I have heard nothing of you which I intend to 
 recollect; save what I heard from old Warcop last 
 night, who seems to be a good man and true." 
 
 " And that he is ! A brick if ever there was one. 
 And what did he tell you? " 
 
 " Only this," said I quietly, but determined to go 
 to the root of things at once — " that you had no 
 mother." 
 
 He looked at me again fixedly, with a puzzled 
 homeless expression. 
 
 " No," he said at last fiercely. *' I have no mother, 
 and worse than none. My father is managed by a 
 set of canting Methodists who hate me, and will 
 cheat me out of everything they can, I verily believe, 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 49 
 
 before they're done. And as for Her Magnificence 
 there, as we call her '' 
 
 " Stop ! you shall tell me nothing." 
 
 " But you ought to know, if you're a good fellow 
 — which I see you are, I see already there's neither 
 bite nor kick in you — and you shall " 
 
 " No. You will not tell me the truth." 
 
 ^^What?" 
 
 "You will try to, my dear lord, I don't doubt: 
 but you can't help — no man can — mixing up a little 
 of your own feelings with your story. Let me find 
 out the truth for myself, as a quiet looker-on; 
 and if I can be of use I will. God I believe has 
 sent me here; and for you I will work, depend 
 upon me." 
 
 He winced at the last words. 
 
 *' You are not one of those Methodists, are you? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Why?" 
 
 *' Because they are always talking about God, 
 and God sending them. I wish He'd sent them any- 
 where else." 
 
 " Well, you may rest assured that I am no Metho- 
 dist." 
 
 " Then you won't mind my smoking? " 
 
 I checked a smile — or a sigh — at the bathos, and 
 went on — " Smoke ? Why not ! " 
 
 And, relieved, he got himself a cigar, and then 
 turned again to me. 
 
 " But if you are no Methodist, why do you say 
 God sent you? " 
 
 *' Because I believe God sends everybody, who is 
 
50 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 not going about a bad errand. I believe He has sent 
 you." 
 
 He looked at me as if he thought me mad. 
 
 *' Yes — to be a great nobleman, and master of 
 Hover some day, to make hundreds happy and pros- 
 perous, and set a fine example to the county and to 
 all England maybe." 
 
 He stared into the grate and smoked on. At 
 last— 
 
 *' You're a strange person. No one ever talked to 
 me in that way before." 
 
 " I will talk to you as often as you like, my dear 
 boy. You are not angry with me for calling you dear 
 boy?" 
 
 " I? — Odd if I were. I thought no one on earth 
 cared for me except old Warcop and Fe " 
 
 He stopped suddenly and blushed. 
 
 Was he going to name Lady Longmoor's maid, 
 the French Mademoiselle? I went forward, how- 
 ever. 
 
 " Only — always tell me if I bore you and I will 
 stop. There is no use talking to unwilling ears; and 
 to tell the truth I don't think that your brains are fit 
 for anything very deep to-day." 
 
 " Well — no — how close this room is." 
 
 He threw away his half-smoked cigar. 
 
 " Let us walk out. Where shall we go? " 
 
 *' Why, to the stables., But do you care for 
 horses? " 
 
 *' No, because I know nothing about them; but 
 when I do know, I suppose I shall learn to care about 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 51 
 
 them as hundreds of cleverer men than I do. Let us 
 go. At least I shall have a chance of a chat with Mr. 
 Warcop." 
 
 " So you made friends with him last night? Ah — 
 he is a brick. Only he is so strict that I am a little 
 afraid of him, and that's the truth." 
 
 *' I daresay if he was not strict, he could not get 
 his work done." 
 
 " I suppose not. And a better servant never lived. 
 I wish I was half as steady as he is." 
 
 So we went down, and into the stables, where I 
 was introduced for the first time in my life, into the 
 world of horses. I was astonished at the money and 
 the care which seemed lavished on lines of superb 
 creatures, each of which had its peculiar character, 
 virtues, faults, mode of treatment — to judge at least 
 from the conversation which began between Warcop 
 and Lord Hartover, after the stud-groom had asked, 
 slily enough, " how his lordship's coppers felt this 
 morning." 
 
 ^* Oh," I answered for him, " he was in bed by 
 three, quite early, and a good sleep has made him as 
 lively as a kitten." 
 
 " I say," whispered the boy to me presently, 
 " you're a good sort. Does Warcop know I was 
 screwed? " 
 
 " Honestly, I believe he does : but never 
 mind " 
 
 *' No, hang it, never mind, indeed. It isn't the 
 first time by many a one ! — I say, Warcop, that black 
 horse rests his leg still." 
 
52 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " An' will rest it, my lord. I've done all I can, 
 but it's never been itself i' the fetlock since Colonel 
 Jack rode him from Enderby Gorse." 
 
 " Oh, he'd break down an elephant, if he had a 
 chance. How many horses did he spoil last season, 
 Warcop?" 
 
 " Just four, let alone t' harse he drowned at Saw- 
 ley Bridge ford; but that was any man's luck, and 
 might have been mine or yours." 
 
 ^' By the by, you don't know the Rusher — Colonel 
 JackEsdaile?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 '' Oh, you must — such a splendid fellow. He's my 
 cousin. In the Life Guards he is, and rides like ten 
 fiends. There's nothing he can't do." 
 
 Then, interest even in horse-flesh slackening, 
 thanks to the indiscretion of last night and conse- 
 quent headache of this morning, he proceeded to 
 change both place and subject of conversation.' 
 
 '' Come along. I'll show you the house if you 
 like." 
 
 Of course I liked. And we walked back to the 
 house together. 
 
 " There's the new front my great-grandfather 
 built. Some people think it very fine, some say it 
 don't agree with the rest. I'm sure I don't know — 
 or care." 
 
 And he yawned. 
 
 Agree with the rest it distinctly does not, for it 
 consists of a huge Ionic portico, on the tympanum 
 of which Victory is seen busy crowning the thirteenth 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 53 
 
 Earl of Longmoor for his valour in Marlborough's 
 wars. This suits ill enough with the mass of the 
 house, built in James the First's time; and still worse 
 with the Tudor chapel on the right and the old Nor- 
 man keep which towers above on a lofty mound. 
 But to my mind such incongruities, in an ancestral 
 mansion as in an old parish church, have a beauty 
 and meaning of their own. They show that each of 
 many generations has loved the place, and added to 
 It as best they could In token of such love; so that, 
 however architecturally faulty, these incongruities 
 have an historic value of unity, of progressive devel- 
 opment, and of life. 
 
 I said something about all this to Hartover. Said 
 how pleasant It was to think of all his forefathers 
 living here one after another, and leaving their mark 
 upon the place. The idea appeared new to him, 
 and he was Interested for a moment. 
 
 Yes, his grandfather had made the pleasaunce on 
 the left. He was a clever man, he believed, and 
 fond of pictures and statues. His father — he cared 
 for nothing of that kind, only for his methodlstical 
 books. 
 
 '^ But you will find something to care for, and 
 to add to the place." 
 
 No. He never should. He hated the place. It 
 was so dull. He should go and live In London and 
 see life. He hated the country, dogs and horses, 
 and farming, and all that sort of thing. 
 
 *' Why, I thought you seemed very learned In 
 horses? " 
 
54 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 "' Oh, one can't be off knowing about them here. 
 No one talks of anything else." But he detested 
 hunting — getting cold and hungry, and wet, and run- 
 ning the chance of breaking your neck into the bar- 
 gain. The only excitement he cared for was play — 
 that cost no trouble. " And I'll have plenty of it, I 
 tell you, when I am my own master," he added. 
 
 Alas for me ! And sadly enough I went with him 
 Into the great entrance hall. 
 
 " What a glorious ceiling! " I cried, after my eye 
 had wandered over marble pillars and stairs, as I 
 looked up to one of those mythological pageants, In 
 which the genius of Rubens restored to temporary 
 life the grandeur of the dying Venetian School. 
 
 Yes — everyone admired it. He cared nothing for 
 It, but there were some pretty enough goddesses 
 among the figures — though rather too stout for his 
 taste. 
 
 " Why," I said, '^ there Is a whole Lemprlere's 
 Classical Dictionary up there. You might learn as 
 much mythology from It In a day as from books In 
 six months." 
 
 He yawned and led me on. But I did not forget 
 my own words, as we went from one splendid room 
 to another. I saw everywhere matter of Instruction, 
 from which I longed to teach myself a thousand 
 things. Pictures, statues, curiosities, " objects of 
 bigotry and virtue " as Mrs. Malaprop has It, of 
 every age. To know all that was In that house, I 
 thought, would be to know the whole history of art, 
 and the whole history of England. There were por- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY '^^ 
 
 traits of gallant men and fair ladies, in every dress 
 from Henry the Seventh's time onwards, many of 
 them personages famous in their day. Armour and 
 weapons hung round the great hall, of every period 
 from the Crusades. At last the boy stopped care- 
 lessly before a gold-mounted sword in a glass case, 
 and said — 
 
 " That Is the sword which Charles the First or 
 Oliver Cromwell — I forget which — gave my ances- 
 tor after some great battle or other." 
 
 " Ah, Lord Hartover, why do you not learn about 
 all these things? " 
 
 *' Why, what good on earth would it do me? " 
 
 " It would teach you at least," I answered, by 
 some happy inspiration, " who you are." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 '' Consider how many generations of great men 
 have been heaping together these treasures for you. 
 Surely they were put here to make you wiser, and 
 better In some way. As tokens, In any case, that 
 you owe your ancestors a debt for all they have 
 given you, a debt which you are somehow bound to 
 repay." 
 
 '' Why, they are all dead and burled, poor old 
 cocks. They had their fun while they lived, and 
 never thought of me. I shall have my fun while I 
 live, and never think of them." 
 
 *' How do you know that they never thought of 
 you? I daresay they looked forward to the honour 
 and prosperity of their house, ages after they were 
 gone, and perhaps are looking forward to It now." 
 
S^ THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ''Now?" 
 
 " Yes, how can you tell that your ancestors are 
 not thinking of you now, interested still in the wel- 
 fare of their family, and expecting you to remember 
 them, to be worthy of them ? '* 
 
 And then, moved by some deep-seated pity, alike 
 for the living and the dead, and by the stately beauty 
 of the place — to me, unaccustomed to great houses, 
 a veritable Arabian Nights palace of delights — I 
 went on to speak to him of the sacredness of family 
 feeling and honest pride of noble blood. I told him 
 how, among the old Greeks and Romans — the only 
 people of whom I really then knew aught — the high- 
 est virtues were called forth by the thought, " w^e 
 must not be less worthy than our forefathers — we 
 must live lives worthy of the trophies won at Mara- 
 thon and Salamis, worthy of the men who expelled 
 the Tarquins and fought Lars Porsena at the 
 bridge." And, as I myself kindled, while my usual 
 nervous and hesitating manner left me under the 
 influence of excitement, I looked anxiously into his 
 face to see if I had kindled excitement in him like- 
 wise. 
 
 "Gad!" he said, after standing silent awhile, 
 " how fond you seem of those old Latin and Greek 
 stories." 
 
 " Because they teach me so much." 
 
 " Hm — Well, I never thought that there was any- 
 thing in them which had anything to do with me, ex- 
 cept to get me floggings." 
 
 " I wish that I could get you to read Plutarch's 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 57 
 
 Lives with me. You would find plenty there which 
 has to do with you, and me and every man." 
 
 "Are they Latin or Greek?" 
 
 '' Greek." 
 
 He swore at Greek in general, and I dropped the 
 subject. 
 
 " I say — are you fond of books ? " 
 
 " Very," 
 
 " Come into the library, they say it is a very fine 
 one." 
 
 I went. And at the first glance, I felt, I cannot 
 deny it, foolishly inclined to impugn the justice of 
 Providence which puts such inestimable treasures 
 into the hands of those w^ho have so little notion 
 how to use them. Foolish, indeed, as the next five 
 minutes proved. For, as I rapturously repeated 
 aloud to myself the name of one rare book after 
 another, of which I had only known hitherto by 
 hearsay or quotation, and saw hundreds more, of 
 which I had never even heard but which promised 
 by their titles to be equally precious, the boy asked 
 me, yawning and smiling — 
 
 " So you are frightfully gone on books? " 
 
 " They are my world. I know nothing but books ; 
 yet only few of them." 
 
 *' Well, you can read all here, you know? " 
 
 " Is it possible? And yet, I am afraid, I should 
 soon begin neglecting you for the books." 
 
 "Do then! You have my leave." And he 
 laughed. " You sit here and sap, and let me go my 
 own way, and we shall never quarrel." 
 
58 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I was about to answer ; but he ran on — 
 
 *' I say, though — here's a capital thought. My 
 father shall make you librarian. The old librarian's 
 dead these two years. He was some old fogy at 
 the British Museum. He never came near the 
 place, and so no one has really looked after the 
 books for years. But you shall be librarian. I'll 
 talk to the Rusher — Colonel Jack, I mean — about 
 it to-day." 
 
 " And I am to sit here and mind the books, and 
 leave you to do what you like ? " 
 
 " I shall do what I like in any case, I can tell you.'' 
 And he looked as naughty as handsome. 
 
 " Then," I said, " my only chance is, to make you 
 like what I like." 
 
 He sat down in an easy-chair, threw his legs over 
 the arm, and began whistling, looking fixedly at me. 
 I went on examining the books, with a puzzled head 
 and heavy heart. 
 
 " I say, Mr. Brownlow." 
 
 " Yes, my lord." 
 
 *' I think the sooner we come to an understanding 
 the better." 
 
 '' So do I." And I tried to appear cheerful. 
 
 *' I suppose you've been told I'm a great black- 
 guard." 
 
 " Indeed I have not." 
 
 " Then you soon will be. Now listen to me. Peo- 
 ple may lead me but drive me they cannot. I have 
 been driven all my life, licked and kicked, by mas- 
 ters and boys at school, and tutors at home. Old 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 59 
 
 Dash at Harrow took special pleasure in flogging 
 me, because I was a lord. And the tutor I had at 
 home used to cane me like a dog, because he said I 
 was a vessel of wrath and a child of the devil; and 
 very much a vessel of wrath I showed myself to him 
 when I did turn on him at last. Now I don't think 
 you are going to try that plan." 
 
 I smiled, and expressed agreement with his opin- 
 ion. 
 
 " I like you. I liked what you said about my an- 
 cestors; and I'll listen to you, if you'll be kind to me 
 — Not that I care a curse," he went on, suddenly 
 bridling up, " for your kindness, or any other man's. 
 I want no man's favours." And he swore again. 
 ^' But, but " — and he was silent for a while. 
 
 " I've often thought, that if I had a friend," he 
 said presently, "anyone I could trust; anyone who 
 would make allowances for me — I have one though 
 — but she can't teach me as you might." 
 
 " You want to learn, then? " I took no outward 
 notice of the " she." 
 
 " Well. If there was anyone who I thought really 
 wished me well, I'd listen to him and then if he could 
 show me that learning was any use to me " 
 
 " It's not merely learning. Lord Hartover, that 
 will make the man or the nobleman. There is such 
 a thing as self-control wanted." 
 
 " I know," he said impatiently, *' the old story. 
 Everything that is pleasant is wrong, of course." 
 
 '* God forbid. But make up your mind what 
 really is pleasant, because it will do to look back 
 
6o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 upon; and what only makes you miserable next 
 morning." 
 
 *' Easy preaching! Especially about things a man 
 has not felt himself. This drinking now — I know 
 you are aiming at that — I cannot help it. I crave 
 for it. I never feel well, never myself without it. 
 It's not the mere taste of wine I care for, it is the 
 wine itself I want; and, abuse me as you may, you 
 can't alter plain fact." 
 
 I was puzzled. I had not yet learned to analyse 
 such a case. I saw that he believed his own words; 
 but I concluded that he must be mistaken, that idle- 
 ness and lack of interest had gradually led him into 
 the vice. 
 
 " I am not going to try and prevent you drinking 
 wine, if you really need it; but people who get into 
 a habit of intoxication die. So I should advise you 
 to stop short of that point. And I do think that if 
 you could find a little occupation and entertainment 
 for your mind you would not crave so much for 
 mere animal excitement." 
 
 "What? The crooked letters again, I sup- 
 pose? " 
 
 " I do not ask you to read books. Why not try 
 and learn, as I hinted just now, from all the curious 
 things in these very rooms? Surely it would interest 
 you to know what you were looking at every day; 
 to be able to talk to others rationally about them — 
 to know the history of your own house, of your own 
 family." 
 
 " I suppose it would, but how to begin? " 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 6i 
 
 " There must be catalogues, descriptions, and so 
 forth in the house/' 
 
 Yes, he believed there were. The housekeeper 
 knew. She showed the house. Should he ring, and 
 send to ask her? 
 
 " By all means." I thought it well to strike while 
 the iron was hot. A footman appeared, had his 
 message; and in due time returned, reporting that 
 Mrs. Caswell was very sorry but it was as much as 
 her place was worth to let her catalogues out of her 
 own hands. 
 
 I must do her the justice to say the fellow, as I 
 discovered afterwards, had informed her, that he 
 was *' sure the catalogue was wanted for that new 
 tutor chap; for his lordship never cared for such 
 things." Thereupon Mrs. Caswell, considering me 
 as an Intruder upon her office, refused with indigna- 
 tion. 
 
 The boy swore a little, yawned again, and then 
 asked me if I played billiards. 
 
 "No: but I would gladly learn." I was deter- 
 mined, as I could not lead him, to follow him every- 
 where. For Lord Hartover's beauty, his simplicity 
 beneath that artificial crust of profligacy, had 
 touched my heart no less than the grandeur of his 
 position and the necessity of saving him, for the 
 sake of others as well as himself. I had found my 
 vocation; and would follow it. I would become all 
 things to him. If I failed, I should at least have 
 done my duty. 
 
 So I took my first lesson in billiards. The boy 
 
62 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 knew the game well enough ; but played with an un- 
 certain eye and shaky hand. I made no comment, 
 however, but let him instruct me. Ere an hour was 
 out he cried — 
 
 " Gad, what a player you'll make ! Your hand 
 is as steady as a rock." 
 
 " Isn't that an additional reason for drinking 
 water?" 
 
 He was much amused when I tried to explain to 
 him, by the light of my little Cambridge knowledge, 
 the science of the game. A few hints about impact 
 and angles took marvellously; and he told his 
 cousin Colonel Jack, " the Rusher " — whose ac- 
 quaintance I had the honour, or otherwise, of mak- 
 ing that afternoon — that " I was a wonderfully 
 clever fellow but — the oddest thing out — I was so 
 jolly with it." 
 
 I played with him, I may add, every day after 
 that for months; and, at last could give ten to any 
 man who entered the house. 
 
 At two o'clock, luncheon, or rather dinner, was 
 served for us two; and so ended a sufficiently varied, 
 perplexing and, in more than one respect, unsatis- 
 factory morning. 
 
CHAPTER VI 
 
 Love is said to be blind. That may be true of pas- 
 sion — about which I know little. But of such honest 
 and deep affection as, even from the first, I bore my 
 pupil it is, thank God, not true. For, far from shut- 
 ting my eyes, it opened them, giving me sight and 
 insight. How else could I, unversed in the ways of 
 the world and unused to society, have so soon be- 
 come aware of the war of conflicting wills and in- 
 terests surrounding me, of which the dear boy, whom 
 I loved, was at once the cause and the centre? 
 
 I had read of court intrigues in history. Now I 
 was to learn that every great house and household, 
 such as Hover, is a court in miniature. Upon the 
 surface are discipline, deference, and ready service, 
 not to speak of adulation and all too ready flattery. 
 Beneath the surface, too frequently, are selfishness 
 and self-seeking, disloyal scheming, even rank 
 treachery. Often have I been tempted to agree with 
 Radical Farmer Braithwalte and condemn great no- 
 blemen as a great national evil, rather than with my 
 good friend the Scotch head-gardener, who found in 
 them and their wealth a providentially ordained 
 ladder up which poorer and cleverer men may climb 
 to high places of science and of art. 
 
 That afternoon, as I have already said, I made 
 the acquaintance of Colonel Esdaile. No less a per- 
 
 63 
 
64 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 son than Mr. Marsigll, the grave and courtly Italian 
 butler, brought word her ladyship proposed to visit 
 me — hearing which the boy, who sat smoking in the 
 window, jumped up with an oath and bolted. Why 
 Her Magnificence should trouble herself to seek me, 
 rather than summon me to her presence, passed my 
 comprehension. Such however being her royal will 
 and pleasure, I prepared — though not without in- 
 ward trepidation — to receive her with the best wel- 
 come I might. A sound of voices and laughter pre- 
 ceded her advent, testifying that she did not come 
 unescorted. 
 
 If I had thought Lady Longmoor beautiful when 
 looking down upon the ballroom from the gallery 
 last night, I thought her ten times more so on be- 
 holding her in the more homely setting of my study. 
 She was very tall, and, though over thirty, still pos- 
 sessed a girlish slenderness of figure. Her features 
 were finely chiselled, her colouring at once vivid and 
 delicate; while the contrast between dark eyes and 
 eyebrows and her magnificent fair hair gave a pecul- 
 iar character to her face. Her manner struck me 
 as playful and vivacious, though capable of chang- 
 ing, in a moment and at will, to icy hauteur. To this 
 last, it is only just to add, she never treated me even 
 when differences unhappily arose between us. For 
 her ladyship chose to gain her ends rather by the 
 power of her charm than by the authority of her 
 rank. 
 
 Her companion, Colonel Jack, enjoyed the repu- 
 tation, as I learned later, of being both one of the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 65 
 
 handsomest and one of the best dressed men about 
 town. He might certainly also claim to be one of 
 the largest; though, so excellent were his propor- 
 tions, that it was only when standing beside him I 
 measured the greatness of his height and bulk. All 
 the same, so my pupil informed me, '* the Rusher was 
 as hard as nails and didn't carry an ounce of super- 
 fluous flesh." Looking at these two persons, now, I 
 felt abashed; though less by their self-assurance and 
 air of fashion than by their abounding vitality. How 
 many generations, not only of good breeding, but 
 of good food and good drink, must have gone to 
 make them what they were ! 
 
 Her ladyship was all graciousness. Must shake 
 me by the hand and, sitting down In the nearest chair, 
 put me through a catechism as to my comfort. Had 
 I all I needed? Were the servants attentive? I 
 understood everything was at my disposition. I had 
 but to give my orders, to ask. Colonel Jack mean- 
 while, standing with his back to the fireplace, one 
 heel resting on the fender, looked on, a quizzical 
 expression upon his face. He wore, I remember, a 
 high-walsted nut-brown riding coat, buff cord 
 breeches and top boots; and held a half-smoked 
 cigar between the first and second fingers of his left 
 hand. Observing his fine devil-may-care manner and 
 superb physique, I could not but fear he must offer 
 a somewhat dangerous contrast to my lady's vale- 
 tudinarian husband, a malade imaginaire! many 
 years her senior, given over to doctors and to snivel- 
 ling pietists. 
 
M THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 She began to talk about the boy and his course of 
 study. 
 
 *' Oh ! he ought to learn Latin and Greek — and — 
 French — modern languages you know — ought he 
 not, John? What do you think? " 
 
 *' Decidedly. Latin, Greek, French, Italian, Ger- 
 man, the four rules of arithmetic — geography and 
 the use of the globes — celestial as well as terrestrial 
 — the former should be of special use " — and he 
 laughed, looking my lady meaningly in the face — 
 "Shakespeare, taste and the musical glasses, of 
 course. And you'll be careful, no doubt, to instil 
 principles of youthful piety, and teach the young idea 
 generally how to shoot — you understand all this, of 
 course, sir." 
 
 " Perfectly," quoth I, meaning thereby to let the 
 colonel know that I saw he was laughing at me and 
 that I did not intend to be laughed at. 
 
 " And — ah — I think instead of beating about the 
 bush, sir, it might be advisable for us to come to a 
 clear understanding." 
 
 " I am of that opinion also " 
 
 " Very well, then — entre nous his young lordship is 
 a bit of a scamp. And — on the whole — if you can 
 find any method of making him a little less trouble- 
 some we shall esteem it — I think I may say so much 
 in your ladyship's name? " 
 
 "Good heavens, yes!" 
 
 " A kindness on your part. For the rest, as to the 
 general direction of Lord Hartover's studies, we are 
 prepared to defer to your superior judgment." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 67 
 
 " Oh ! yes, certainly " — this from Lady Long- 
 moor. " I am sure we may trust you. Doctor Mars- 
 ton gave us such satisfactory credentials — wrote 
 quite delightfully about you, Mr. Brownlow, in 
 fact " 
 
 I bowed, and smiling she rose to depart. The 
 interview was evidently concluded; but, not choos- 
 ing to accept the colonel — whatever his relation to 
 affairs — as sole male representative of my pupil's 
 family, I ventured — 
 
 " But may I ask — am I not to see Lord Long- 
 moor himself? " 
 
 *'0h! dear, yes — no — of course. What do you 
 think, John? He is so much engaged to-day, and is 
 not altogether well I regret to say. We are glad, 
 you know, to spare him any unnecessary exertion." 
 
 ^' And Mr. Halldane, I believe, Is reading to him 
 at present; so" — again looking meaningly at her 
 ladyship — '' he is possibly better employed than in 
 giving an audience to Mr. Brownlow. No, I think 
 on the whole It might be well to wait a day or two." 
 
 " Strange household," I thought, as I closed the 
 door behind them. 
 
 Two things struck me. First that Her Magnifi- 
 cence possessed real good-nature — how deep It was 
 I had no time to test; and next that the all-powerful 
 colonel was no fool. The tone in which he addressed 
 me, once I had brought him to book, so different 
 from his natural rollicking free and easy manner, 
 showed he had wit enough to wear a mask. And, 
 laughing at his own mask all the while, though he 
 
68 THE TUTOR^S STORY 
 
 put it on, as uneducated men of all ranks will, be- 
 cause thinking it proper to do so before scholars or 
 parsons, half expected them to laugh at it too — if 
 they were good fellows. Whether he was likely to 
 be much use to me in dealing with my pupil was an- 
 other question. However, I apparently had formal 
 carte blanche to do what I chose. What could man 
 want more? Much — as I eventually and not un- 
 sorrowfully was to discover. 
 
CHAPTER VII 
 
 Meanwhile my heart cried out for sight of those 
 same catalogues; and, on the third day, I determined 
 to brave the Honess in her den and go to Mrs. Cas- 
 well myself. 
 
 So, backed by the boy's commands, William, 
 sneering and scarcely waiting to hold the doors from 
 swinging to on me, showed me down to the great 
 woman. There she sat, in a far more richly fur- 
 nished room than my father had ever inhabited, a 
 portly and awful personage, in a black satin gown 
 and a huge gold watch and chain, with wine and 
 cake on the table before her. 
 
 She rose a very little from her seat with a stiff 
 bow, motioned me to a chair, and inquired to what 
 " she was indebted for the honour of this visit? " — 
 clearly implying that I, not she, was the honoured 
 party. 
 
 I answered most blandly, that I had taken the lib- 
 erty to come and ask her for a little Information 
 which only she could give. 
 
 To my discomfiture, she broke out immediately to 
 the effect that — " when I had lived longer in houses 
 which belonged to the real nobility, I should be 
 aware that the curiosities they contained were con- 
 sidered as the housekeeper's perquisite. That no 
 one but she had a right to show them, or, indeed, to 
 
 69 
 
70 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 know anything about them, for what concern were 
 they of anyone but herself? " 
 
 In vain I explained, apologised, expostulated. 
 The great woman was obdurate, and I bowed myself 
 out, unsuccessful but bland as I had entered. 
 
 That afternoon it rained. I got Lord Hartover 
 to visit the library, between two games of billiards, 
 and from a list — which happily was not in Mrs. Cas- 
 well's hands — found out two or three books on 
 ancient armour; and began, to the boy's surprise, 
 making a catalogue for myself of the weapons in 
 the gallery. He laughed at me at first. Then, 
 growing interested, joined me after a while in verify- 
 ing swords and helmets; and, when we came to a real 
 Crusader's helmet, allowed me to tell him something 
 about the Crusades, and began to speculate which 
 of his ancestors had worn that rusty pot under a 
 Syrian sun. Finally, his pride being aroused, he 
 got at his pedigree, a copy of which was kept in the 
 library — the original was stored away In a mysteri- 
 ous muniment-room — and we settled which earl the 
 Crusader must have been; and so, pleasantly enough, 
 kept clear of French novels and other ques- 
 tionable entertainments for the remainder of the 
 afternoon. 
 
 From that day I began to have hopes. The 
 armour occupied us for full six weeks, and gave us a 
 good deal of collateral history to work up. I, of 
 course, did the work, and told him as much thereof 
 as I thought would Interest him, and began to look 
 forward to the time when I should teach him a little 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 71 
 
 live ancient history from the statues and pictures. 
 But ere the six weeks were out, my new method of 
 education received more than one startling check. 
 
 That very evening, for example, about eight 
 o'clock he threw aside his books, said that he must 
 go to the drawing-room, and disappeared; to reap- 
 pear at long past midnight a good deal the worse for 
 wine. I put him to bed without reproof, and went 
 to my own room, feeling, with Parson Evans, " a 
 great disposition to cry." 
 
 " Well," said he, next morning, " so I was screwed 
 again last night? " 
 
 I shook my head sadly enough. 
 
 *' I really am sorry I was, if it gives you any 
 pain." 
 
 " My dear lord, what else can it do? " 
 
 I let the matter drop for the time; got him after 
 breakfast into the gallery, and kept him amused 
 for two or three hours. While we were there a note 
 came from the earl — not however in his handwriting 
 — to the effect that he could not see me that day, but 
 hoped to do so shortly. Seemingly, I was to be left 
 on all sides to my own mother-wit. 
 
 After the early dinner, the boy announced he 
 should go out riding. I could say nothing against 
 it; so walked down to the stables, and saw him ride 
 off, In a bright blue coat, white breeches and top- 
 boots, looking very handsome, with a groom behind 
 him. 
 
 Old Warcop stood watching him by my side. I 
 turned to him for Information and comfort. He 
 
72 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 really seemed the only rational person, save the 
 Scotch gardener, in the establishment. 
 
 '* Is he fond of riding? " 
 
 Warcop shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " rd thought I'd ha' made a bonny horseman o' 
 him once: but o' late he's no nerve — darna face a 
 hurdle, worse luck. He'll canter along the road for 
 an hour on a park hack that's no better than an easy 
 chair to sit on ; but for hunting — I sorely doubt he'll 
 ever mak' a man." 
 
 " Never make a man? " 
 
 *' He's knocking himself to pieces ere he's grown, 
 and that's truth. And I say It to ye, for ye'll soon see 
 it yourself. He was up late last night again, I 
 guess." 
 
 " And where does he spend his evenings? " 
 
 *' In t' servants' hall. Ye see, as soon as the other 
 folks are happed up, out goes the fiddle there and 
 they dance till their shanks ache, most nights, and 
 she wi' them; and after that there's few o' t' lads 
 turn in sober. God help us ! " 
 
 *' But does his lordship know? " 
 
 '* And what signifies what he kens? Mony's the 
 night she'll come down hersel' when she's nought bet- 
 ter to do, and the colonel wi' her, and dance among 
 'em all as gay as the gayest." 
 
 **She? Mademoiselle?" 
 
 " Na, lad, her ladyship's sel'." 
 
 What was to be said? 
 
 " Is he fond of shooting? " I asked, wishing to 
 turn the conversation. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 73 
 
 *' Na — na nerve for that either. I tell ye, he's 
 fond o' naethlng fit for a man. I can't tell what's 
 come over him, these last three years. It's my opin- 
 ion he cares for naught but those lasses in the work- 
 room, where he sits with Mamzell every afternoon, 
 and makes petticoats for aught I know." 
 
 " Makes petticoats? " 
 
 *' An' what else should he do, amang the needles 
 and thimbles? " 
 
 But there was something in Warcop's eye which 
 told me what he had no mind to speak. 
 
 I fell into a reverie. How was I to win the boy? 
 By identifying myself entirely with his pleasures and 
 pursuits? But how, while they were such as these? 
 At least I must do what I could. Oh ! that I could 
 never let him out of my sight! That was impos- 
 sible. Still I must do what I could. A thought 
 struck me. If I rode with him, I might persuade 
 him to spend a longer time In the open air. Keep 
 him away from the afternoon amusement with the 
 maids; perhaps bring him home healthily tired, to go 
 to bed at a reasonable hour. But then, I could not 
 ride. And should I be allowed to ride? 
 
 I told Warcop all this on the spot. He received 
 It graciously, setting his head on one side like a ter- 
 rier dog, as he always did when a new thought struck 
 him — 
 
 "As for harses — dinnot fash yourself! T' 
 harses are mine, and I'll see ye ha' one daily. But 
 then — ye say ye cannot ride." 
 
 *' I never was upon a horse In my life.'' 
 
74 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Poor lad! An' vv^here were ye dropped, then? " 
 
 I comprehended that " to be dropped " signified 
 in his vocabulary to be born in this world, and might 
 have resented the unceremonious inquiry as to my 
 birth and parentage had not the humorous pity in 
 the old man's face set me off laughing. 
 
 " Niver across a harse 1 That's sad then ! Well, 
 well, ye've got all the more pleasure to come, ye see." 
 
 " I will give you ten pounds to make a horseman 
 of me." 
 
 He looked me all over in his quaint way, and then 
 shook his head. 
 
 " Keep yer trap, lad, keep yer trap. I'll teach ye, 
 gin ye've sense to learn and are no fearful." 
 
 " As for fear — I don't see why I should be afraid 
 of beasts which every groom can manage. As for 
 sense, I have found as yet I could learn whatever 
 I took the trouble to learn." 
 
 " Bravely spoken. Come wi' me, and we'll begin 
 the day. — Ned, saddle t' owd black harse, and bring 
 him round to skeul." 
 
 So into the riding-school I went, and my educa- 
 tion began. 
 
 As I expected, my lame leg gave me some trouble, 
 and obliged me to ride — I do so still — with one stir- 
 rup shorter than the other. But by dint of a good 
 will, and those steady nerves which, thanks to tem- 
 perate living, I have always enjoyed even in the midst 
 of ill health, I progressed so favourably that I 
 elicited Warcop's praise. 
 
 " That's well. Haud your hand down and yer 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 75 
 
 shoulders back, and ye'll make a bonny rider yet. 
 Noo then, we'll try the bar a bit." 
 
 " The bar? " quoth I. " I shall be chucked over 
 his head." 
 
 "And what matter into this sawdust? T'owd 
 harse Is like an armchair, I tell ye. An' mind this — 
 a man may fa' owre his harse's head, but niver owre 
 his harse's tail — forbye he rears, or gets his hinders 
 into a brook, or the like. So lean ye back, and owre 
 ye'll go." 
 
 I had my doubts; but I submitted, amid Warcop's 
 eternal " Hands down ! Sit back, laddie ! " I landed 
 the first time between the horse's ears; the second 
 time on his withers; and the third, to my great dis- 
 comfort, on the pommel of the saddle. 
 
 *' DInna fash yerself, laddie," quoth Warcop, un- 
 moved as was the old horse, which I found was used 
 as a training-horse for all the groom-boys. " Ye've 
 been a foot and more nearer each time, ye see. Ye'll 
 come into the saddle next bout." 
 
 And so I did, and got over afterwards decently 
 enough. 
 
 " But, I feel I am thrown Into the air each time? " 
 
 *' 'Deed an' ye are not. Not a three Inch; but gin 
 ye leave the saddle at a', ye feel that ye're going 
 clean aloft a regular flee-by-sky — Ho, ho, ho ! But 
 ye'll come o' that ! Why, here's my lord ! " 
 
 Yes, It was the boy, returned already. 
 
 " Why, I didn't know you were a rider." 
 
 " Neither am I- — I never was on a horse before." 
 
 ** You don't mean it. But you ride quite well 
 
76 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 enough — I wish you'd ride with me of a day. It is 
 so abominably stupid dawdling about alone. That's 
 why I came back." 
 
 Needless to say I jumped at the proposal; and, 
 very soon, to make a long story short, I was riding 
 with him regularly daily. 
 
CHAPTER VIII 
 
 Oh ! the delight of those rides ! The new sense of 
 power and freedom, of being able to go whither I 
 chose, and what pace I chose; the exhilarating mo- 
 tion, the exhilarating air, the clearness of brain and 
 the sharpness of appetite such as I had never felt 
 before in my life. My lungs seemed, henceforward, 
 to Inspire fuller breath; my blood to course more 
 lively through my veins; while that ancient foe, my 
 liver, disappeared from among my sensations, and 
 with It those fearful headaches which it inflicted on 
 me once a month. Under the magic Influence of 
 those rides, I began to take a cheerfuller view of 
 myself, the dear boy, and of all earth and heaven. 
 But it was for his sake, even more than for my 
 own, that I delighted In them. For now I began to 
 spend a large part of my long lonely evenings in 
 learning the geography, history, antiquities of the 
 surrounding country, which I retailed to my pupil 
 when we were out. We rode to old castles and 
 manor-houses; and I told him the story of the fami- 
 lies to which they belonged. Along river banks, 
 whose course I pointed out to him. Past old Roman 
 camps and Druid pillars, on which I lectured with 
 such small knowledge as I had, and was well re- 
 warded by his assuring me that, though he used to 
 
 77 
 
78 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 hate his rides as a necessary bore, they were now 
 the pleasantest part of the day. 
 
 But greater was my delight when I found, as his 
 bitterness and nonchalance vanished before exercise 
 and amusement, that I had to deal with a mind of 
 {no common order. Quick-witted, argumentative, 
 fanciful, and gifted; and, when growing interested 
 he forgot his slang, with that exquisite grace of ex- 
 pression, which so many men and women afterwards 
 admired — perhaps too much. I took heart and hope 
 as I found I was setting my labour on no barren soil. 
 
 I could not help having — as young men will and 
 should have — my ambitions, my hope of such suc- 
 cess as was possible to a crippled student, without 
 worldly position or worldly wealth. And now, was 
 I not granted unlooked-for opportunity of success? 
 For, his intelligence proving so considerable, the 
 dream came over me that I might train my pupil to 
 be a great statesman, one whose name might figure 
 among those of famous political leaders, the men 
 who carry forward and consolidate the glory of 
 English history. 
 
 True, I knew too well the battle with weakness 
 was not won yet. That common self-restraint, com- 
 mon Industry, perhaps common principle even, had 
 yet to be taught. I knew, too, the fertile soil when 
 once stirred would grow weeds as well as wheat. 
 Still It was fertile. I had not to deal with that most 
 hopeless of creatures, a dullard and a dunce. 
 
 But dearer to my heart than any dream of train- 
 ing him as a statesman, was that of training him to 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 79 
 
 be a worthy heir to, and, In God's good time, worthy 
 owner of this noble place. I don't think I troubled 
 about reward. The honour of the thing was enough 
 in itself. For the beauty of Hover had rapt me; 
 and it seemed to me in training the boy to govern 
 It well, I should identify myself with Its life and 
 his life, thus making both him and it, In a sense, 
 my own. 
 
 When I walked about the place, on which de- 
 pended not merely the employment, but the civilisa- 
 tion and morality of hundreds, still more, when I 
 rode the country-side for miles, north, south, and 
 east, and west, and, on Inquiry whose was the farm, 
 whose the colliery, the parish, the township, re- 
 ceived for answer — as if Puss In Boots had been 
 there before me — that it belonged to the Earl of 
 Longmoor, otherwise my lord Marquis of Carabas 
 — and when I saw, too, the neglected fields and home- 
 steads, the villages reeking with filth, the villagers 
 degraded by poverty — when I saw the collieries, 
 hideous sight ! with their groups of half-naked girls, 
 who seemed to have cast off all shame and woman- 
 hood, and of men, whose souls seemed as dark and 
 foul as their bodies, their clusters of wretched cot- 
 tages, far from church and school, upon some bleak 
 moorside — when I saw those bleak moors them- 
 selves, capable, as Bralthwaite had assured me, of 
 growing rich crops, and contrasted them with the 
 estates of Lord Yarborough (let his name be hon- 
 oured!) In my native Lincolnshire, my heart burned 
 within me, and I felt It a sacred duty to enlighten 
 
8o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the boy regarding his tremendous obligation to the 
 land and the dwellers upon it, to awaken not only 
 his interest, but some instinct of service, remember- 
 ing that of those to whom much has been given 
 much also is, very surely, required. 
 
 Soon the opportunity came. 
 
 We had ridden out some three miles in a direction 
 we had never taken before, when we passed, by 
 bridle gates, through a large farm which offered a 
 strikingly different aspect to that of all around. 
 
 The fields were full fifty acres each, and planted — 
 it was the month of July — with every kind of crop, 
 including some roots which were new to my eye, 
 neatly drilled in rows. Not a weed was to be seen 
 far or wide. Deep open cuttings, seemingly lately 
 made, were carrying off the water after last night's 
 thunderstorm. The sheep and cattle were of a dif- 
 ferent and larger breed than those of the neighbour- 
 hood. All bore marks of recent improvement, fol- 
 lowed up by detailed Industry, and, a sight strange 
 in England then, over the large neat farm-buildings 
 smoked the tall chimney of an engine-house. 
 
 " What a splendid farm! " quoth I. " Whose is 
 this?" 
 
 Hartover did not know. The groom on being 
 asked said it was called Mere Ban — " Bralthwalte's 
 place." 
 
 " Oh! that revolutionary rascal? " 
 
 " He has made a revolution here," said I. 
 
 " He has, sir," put In the groom. " Seven years 
 agone this land would not carry a horse for nine 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 8i 
 
 months In the year, most of it. All moor It was and 
 deep moss." 
 
 And the groom trotted on to open the next gate. 
 
 " Ah," said I, " why should not the whole estate 
 be like this?" 
 
 ''Why should it?" 
 
 The simplicity of the question shocked and puz- 
 zled me. 
 
 " Because — because " — I looked about for an an- 
 swer — " your rent-roll would be doubled." 
 
 " There is money enough in the family, I believe, 
 already." 
 
 " And so much more food would be grown, and 
 so much more employment given." 
 
 " I suppose so." 
 
 " And — your duty towards your country and your 
 king would be better done." 
 
 " Humph. And pray what may that be, Mr. 
 Philosopher? " 
 
 " To make England richer and stronger year by 
 year." 
 
 " You are always bothering about duty, old Phi- 
 losopher." 
 
 " It is God Who troubles people with their duty, 
 Lord Hartover, and sometimes troubles them still 
 more if they do not do it." 
 
 "Well," he said, "what can I do? I am not in 
 possession, you will be pleased to recollect; and if 
 my father is an old " — he checked himself — " that Is 
 not my fault, is it? " 
 
 " No," I hastened to reply — " and we are here 
 
82 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 not to pass judgment upon the actions and conduct 
 of others, but only upon our own." 
 
 Then I tried to put to him something of the obli- 
 gations, as well as the privileges, which inheritance 
 of a great name and property carry with them, re- 
 calling much that Mr. Braithwalte had said to me on 
 that memorable drive, and using the excellent work- 
 ing of his farm and the words noblesse oblige as my 
 text. The subject fired me, and I think I made my 
 exposition and appeal not without a certain elo- 
 quence. The boy listened patiently and sweet-tem- 
 peredly enough, though how far I raised an answer- 
 ing flame In him I could not then judge. That he 
 should listen at all was so much to the good. 
 
 We had been walking the horses. Now, turning 
 Into a green lane shaded by an avenue of hedgerow 
 elms, he put his horse to a trot; and, with a saucy, 
 half-laughing lift of the head, said to me over his 
 shoulder — 
 
 " Why not tell all this to the Rusher, Instead of 
 to me?" 
 
 "What has Colonel Esdaile to do with It?" I 
 asked surprised, ranging my horse alongside his. 
 
 " Why, he stands next In the succession, don't you 
 know that, my stepmother having no children. And 
 though he Is twice as old as I am, he has three times 
 as good a constitution as mine. Don't go and say 
 that probably at my age he took better care of his 
 health. He racketted freely enough. But If you are 
 built like a bull, and can carry as much liquor as 
 would put half a dozen ordinary men under the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 83 
 
 table, with a steady head, you can afford to racket." 
 The boy's cynical tone distressed me, while the fact 
 he stated gave me cause for thought. I had not 
 known Colonel Esdaile was next heir to the title and 
 estate. It complicated the position; and, though I 
 tried not to speculate on that point, put a different 
 complexion upon his friendship with her ladyship. 
 Did the boy speak at random only to tease me, or 
 did he measure the significance of what he had just 
 said? 
 
CHAPTER IX 
 
 In so large a house as Hover, it is possible for 
 people to dwell for a long time under its roof with- 
 out meeting, unless some common interest or occupa- 
 tion draws them together. Fully three weeks passed 
 before I made acquaintance with Lord Longmoor's 
 resident physician of the body; and the better part 
 of three months before I held intercourse with his 
 resident physician of the soul. 
 
 The latter gentleman, I own, I felt no particular 
 craving to meet. He might be a highly respectable 
 and pious person; but, from hints dropped by War- 
 cop, and even by Hartover himself, I had reason to 
 guess the influence he exercised over Lord Long- 
 moor was antagonistic to my pupil, whose misde- 
 meanours he was prone to magnify rather than ex- 
 cuse. Nor were my fears under this head allayed 
 by our interview. It took place on the first day of 
 grouse-shooting, when Hartover had gone to the 
 moors with Colonel Esdaile and some gentlemen 
 staying in the house. 
 
 Mr. Halidane, a rosy-faced, sleek-haired, stout 
 young man of about thirty, entered the room smiling, 
 shook me warmly by the hand — his own was white, 
 plump and somewhat squashy — and inquired 
 briskly — 
 
 84 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 85 
 
 *' Mr. Brownlow, my dear sir, and how's your 
 soul?" 
 
 I understood the meaning of the phrase, having 
 experienced similar little Impertinences from College 
 friends. The Evangelical movement at Cambridge 
 was then In the flush of youthful extravagance, affect- 
 ing, for good or evil, all sorts of characters In all 
 sorts of different ways. Like the High Church party 
 at Oxford, thirty years later — perhaps like every 
 outbreak of fanaticism — It had Its ascetic party, 
 Its mystical party. Its formalist party; Its dilettante 
 and altogether insincere adherents — often the most 
 active and noisy of all — hanging about the nucleus 
 of really convinced and virtuous men like the nebu- 
 lous tall round a comet. Attracted towards the 
 movement by conceit or curiosity, and soon bound to 
 it by Interest and party spirit, they adopted little of 
 Its doctrine save a contempt for the uninitiated, and 
 little of its practice save a few catch-words and fan- 
 tastic phrases. While — since young men are prone 
 to caricature their teachers — both contempt and 
 catch-words were somewhat ostentatiously thrust In 
 the faces of those who, like myself, belonged rather 
 to the rational, and, as it was called. High and Dry 
 School. 
 
 From my own excellent Master, Dr. Marston, as 
 well as from the wise and learned divine — after- 
 wards Bishop of Peterborough — whose theological 
 lectures I attended, I had learnt that neither doctrine 
 nor practice was to be based upon the shifting sand- 
 bank of inward frames and feelings ; but on the solid 
 
86 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 rock of reason and virtuous principles. I had seen, 
 in my own Cambridge experience, how those same 
 frames and feelings, when the first fervour of con- 
 version cooled, required more and more unnatural 
 excitement to keep them alive. Too often they died 
 out entirely, leaving behind no solid foundation of 
 good morals; and permitted the man who had 
 trusted in them to become — save in a few external 
 restrictions as to balls, parties, and race-meetings — 
 as worldly, and sometimes even as sensual, as the 
 unregenerate whom he despised. Though, there- 
 fore, I was not astonished at Mr. Halidane's ad- 
 dress, it did not raise him in my estimation; and, 
 after fencing the question by an answer which was 
 too honest to be satisfactory to him, I began to 
 watch the man narrowly in order to see how far he 
 was really in earnest, and whether he was to be dealt 
 with as a fanatic or as a hypocrite. 
 
 I soon became aware he was really in earnest. He 
 talked largely about his own soul, about the earl's 
 soul, about Lord Hartover's soul, in language which 
 forbade me to doubt that their salvation was of real 
 importance in his eyes. But conceit and egoism 
 were patent in every word. I shrank from him in- 
 wardly, when he proceeded to assure me that he was 
 the subject of special revelations from Heaven; and 
 detailed to me instances in which his prayers had 
 been miraculously answered. Then, again, I could 
 scarcely repress a smile when, after talking of Lord 
 Longmoor in language which expressed the most 
 abject worship of rank, he finished by — 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 87 
 
 " But what of the friendship of the great of this 
 world? No, sir. Am I not greater than earls, 
 princes, and potentates, I who converse dally with 
 the King of Kings? " 
 
 I gathered from his conversation that he had been 
 bred In the Kirk of Scotland; that, discontented with 
 it, he had left It for more than one form of dissent; 
 and had finally — so he said, though I doubted the 
 truth of the definition — attached himself to a certain 
 new sect of " Saints Indeed." In them alone, he 
 asserted, all the marks of a perfect Church on Earth 
 were to be found. They alone were assured of sal- 
 vation; and he pressed earnestly upon me, as I valued 
 my own soul, to Imitate the Illustrious example of 
 Lord Longmoor, and myself become a " saint In- 
 deed." 
 
 I humbly confessed my content with the church 
 In which I had been born and brought up ; my Igno- 
 rance of those experiences of mental self-torture and 
 self-exultation on which he Insisted, as the com- 
 mencement of Christian life ; and was consequently 
 told, with melancholy sighs and shakes of the head, 
 that I was still " carnal," " sold under sin," and cer- 
 tain of everlasting perdition. 
 
 I did not deny the charge, having expected It — and 
 from the first. But I did not expect that by differing 
 from Mr. Halldane, although In the most guarded 
 and gentle language, I should make him on the spot 
 my bitter enemy. I had had as yet Insufficient ex- 
 perience of the party spirit which hardens the heart 
 against feelings of genial humanity, and teaches men 
 
88 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 to see In all who will not support them and their 
 clique the " enemies of God," whom they are justified 
 In " hating right sore " even as though they were 
 their private foes. 
 
 But enmity, though Inspired then, did not show 
 Itself till later. Halidane was shrewd enough to 
 keep the peace while he had an object to gain; and 
 he went on to extol Lord Longmoor's piety and vir- 
 tues In terms so grossly fulsome that I had much ado 
 to avoid some counter-observations, which might 
 have been carried straight to his lordship as a charge 
 against me. 
 
 It may seem that I began to distrust the man too 
 soon; but there are Instinctive repulsions and antipa- 
 thies against which It Is vain to fight, and Instinct 
 told, or seemed to tell me, that however sincere his 
 religious convictions, Halidane was not In some re- 
 spects honest. I did not believe him, nor do I now, 
 to have been consciously and deliberately false: but 
 I had seen how fanaticism can demoralise. I had 
 seen, too, how the braggart, whether he brag of 
 earthly or of heavenly matters. Is perpetually 
 tempted to say and do anything which will further 
 his own self-glorification. Therefore I was wary, 
 and contented myself by remarking, that I was de- 
 lighted to hear Lord Longmoor was so estimable ; 
 that I considered myself most fortunate in becom- 
 ing a member of his household; and that I hoped 
 that I should some day have the privilege of 
 observing, in person, the excellences of which he 
 spoke. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 89 
 
 'And at those words I observed a sudden shyness 
 and restraint come over my new acquaintance. 
 
 Yes — he hoped so. He trusted so. But his lord- 
 ship's health was so very weak; and he was so deeply 
 occupied with the great work which he was preparing 
 for the press, that — " In short, you must be aware, 
 my dear sir, these exalted personages, from the Im- 
 mense gulf which exists between them and us, are 
 not to be expected to see much of — you understand 
 me? As for myself, a humble servant of the good 
 cause, If I am admitted somewhat often to his pres- 
 ence It Is only In my religious capacity, as a helpmate 
 — a secretary — a transcriber of his thoughts. In 
 fact," said he, with a giggle, " as a sort of spiritual 
 valet." 
 
 I nearly did more than giggle at this Ingenuous 
 confession of the truth; but contented myself with 
 assuring him that I had neither hope nor wish to 
 aspire to the friendship of so great a person. All I 
 desired was to receive his commands as to the course 
 to be pursued with his son. 
 
 At mention of the boy, Mr. Halldane began to 
 groan; and to groan still louder, when I informed 
 him that I found the lad most intelligent, sweet- 
 natured, open to all good impulses. 
 
 He caught at one word — nature. 
 
 "Nature? Filthy rags, a cage of unclean birds, 
 sweet though they seem. Grace, my dear sir, 
 grace is what is needed, and what, I fear, is not 
 there." 
 
 " On the contrary," I said, getting a little naughty, 
 
90 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " I think Lord Hartover one of the most graceful 
 persons I ever saw." 
 
 He looked at me, puzzled, as I intended he 
 should be — 
 
 " Graceful ? It Is a very different grace of which I 
 speak." 
 
 And he went on with certain theological proposi- 
 tions, on the whole very true, though not stated in 
 the most wise or merciful fashion. 
 
 " And it is my very painful duty to tell you, I hear 
 that, instead of bringing the poor boy to a sense of 
 his awful danger, you have been amusing his perish- 
 ing soul, and wasting precious moments, by carnal 
 instruction in the merest vanities — books — armour — 
 antiquities, and such things." 
 
 " Has Lord Longmoor any objection to my doing 
 so? " I asked very simply. 
 
 '' His lordship has but one anxiety about his son — 
 his immortal soul — a sense of his situation." 
 
 " Then will you be so kind as to tell his lordship 
 that I have been doing my utmost, ever since I en- 
 tered the house, to bring his son to that very sense 
 of his situation." 
 
 " So you think his soul in a very awful state? " 
 
 This was said as eagerly as if the questioner hoped 
 for an affirmative. I suspected a trap, and began to 
 look still more narrowly at my man. 
 
 " My opinion is worth little, my dear sir. We all, 
 I suppose, know what Lord Hartover has been. 
 Pray tell his lordship that I shall do my very best 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 91 
 
 to bring about an utter change ; and that I see already 
 the most hopeful signs of It." 
 
 "You trust In the arm of the flesh, sir! In the 
 arm of the flesh ! God alone can change his heart, 
 and you arrogate to yourself the power of God. It 
 IS blasphemy, sir, and Pelagianism. Good-bye, and 
 Heaven send you a better mind ! " 
 
 And he went out quite angry, leaving me to pon- 
 der over the strange contradictions of a system 
 which, while asserting that all goodness is the gift of 
 Heaven, condemns men to everlasting misery be- 
 cause they fail to have that which has not been given 
 them. 
 
 I was seriously vexed however at Mr. Halidane 
 leaving me thus in anger. I had no wish to make 
 enemies, particularly of one who had my lord's ear. 
 I blamed myself for my want of tact and caution: 
 though, the more I looked into my words, the less I 
 found for which to take myself to task. I had still 
 to learn how unprofitable it is to deal with a fanatic, 
 shut up within the four corners of his own system. 
 When reason and humanity have both been abjured 
 as carnal, common sense cannot evoke common sense, 
 or a soft answer turn away wrath. So with a heavy 
 heart, I awaited the boy's return from shooting. 
 
CHAPTER X ' 
 
 I WAS not nervous or given to fancies ; but I cannot 
 deny, as I waited for my pupil that evening, anxiety 
 and depression grew upon me. On one excuse or 
 another he had been away from me often lately. It 
 was not easy to take a middle course between allowing 
 him a dangerous measure of liberty and holding him 
 with too tight a rein. I felt or Imagined — more than 
 probably the latter, as I told myself — alien Influ- 
 ences were working against my control of him. Who 
 was the plotter? I could not say. But, for the past 
 week or ten days, he had certainly been less sweet- 
 tempered, less Industrious, less open to suggestions 
 of duty. I thought I detected a craving for novelty 
 and for excitement. Perhaps the long day's sport, 
 in the glorious air of the moors, would allay that 
 craving, amuse him and send him home honestly 
 tired to bed. 
 
 Nine o'clock struck. — Ten. — A scuffle on the stairs 
 outside, and, supported by William, he burst In, 
 heated, quarrelsome, noisy. In plain English more 
 than half-drunk. 
 
 I was cut to the quick. For so long there had been 
 no lapse of this kind. For the moment I was weak, 
 losing faith and hope. Was this to be the end of my 
 ambitions, my dreams for him and for Hover? Was 
 my Prince Charming — and more than merely Prince 
 
 92 
 
THE TUTOR^S STORY 93 
 
 Charming — to sink Into a miserable and useless sot? 
 
 That which followed was painful. Why dwell on 
 it? To describe such things profits neither reader or 
 writer. Best let them be hid. With the help of 
 William — over whom I had acquired a certain 
 ascendency, and who, though ignorant and servile, 
 was not a bad fellow at bottom — I got the boy to 
 bed. 
 
 Next morning he sulked, too sick to eat, and also 
 too ashamed, I believe, to risk an explanation. His 
 head ached — he couldn't be bothered to talk. No — 
 he hated billiards. He didn't want to ride — It was 
 so wet and beastly out. After luncheon he an- 
 nounced defiantly that he was going to see Made- 
 moiselle Fedore in the workroom. He wanted to 
 speak to her about something. When I put In a 
 gentle remonstrance he broke out, with an oath — 
 *' Why not? She'd been very kind to him In the past. 
 What would he have done but for her, before I came, 
 when he was so lonely? He believed I suspected 
 her of evil designs. I was not fair to her." — And so 
 forth and so on — a perverted and truculent chivalry 
 awakened in him. He was glad, moreover, I think, 
 to find any outside cause of anger wherewith to 
 blow ofi the steam of his shame and anger against 
 himself. 
 
 Short of force — which under the circumstances 
 was impracticable — I could not prevent his going to 
 the workroom. And, still defiant, he went. 
 
 After a while I betook myself to the stables, sadly 
 enough, determined to take counsel of Warcop, who, 
 
94 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 at times, seemed to me the one really sane man in 
 the establishment. 
 
 There was no need to state my errand. After 
 looking round warily, to make sure no eavesdroppers 
 were present, he began without further preamble — 
 
 *' So a' the fat's i' the fire again, sir, worse luck." 
 
 ** How did you hear that, Warcop? " 
 
 " Everybody on the place has heard it by now. 
 Mr. Marsigli let Lord Hartover in last night and 
 ca'd William to him. And what Mr. Marsigli kens, 
 Mamzell kens." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " The twa furriners hang together — French Mam- 
 zell and Italian maccaroni — how should they not? " 
 
 He looked at me with a twinkle of humorous 
 contempt. 
 
 " And what Mamzell kens, her ladyship kens — 
 for the main part. And what she kens, Mr. Hali- 
 dane kens — an' she pleases. And what he kens goes 
 on to my lord, dished up, I promise you, wi' all 
 manner o' slavering sickly-sweet sauce, to tickle his 
 swallow just as Mr. Halidane wants it tickled — that 
 is to my young lord's disrepute and disgrace." 
 
 Warcop must have been deeply moved to lay aside 
 his Yorkshire caution thus, and express himself so 
 freely even to me. I was shocked, though not wholly 
 surprised. It was an ugly chain; but one link was 
 still missing, so I thought. I asked him — 
 
 " And what about Colonel Esdaile in all this? " 
 
 Warcop shook his head. 
 
 " I canna tell ye," he said slowly. " I do not ken 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 95 
 
 myself. By times I seem to hold the truth of it a' 
 by the tall, and then again It slips fra between my 
 fingers. Never have I gripped It fairly round the 
 belly yet. I doubt if the colonel has ever gripped it 
 fairly any more than me. A man may be pulled twa 
 ways too hard to ken which way he wants to travel 
 most." 
 
 And he was silent. Evidently he spoke in good 
 faith, and had said his last word on that point. But 
 there was something further I had to ask. I told 
 him so, adding — 
 
 " I have not a soul I can depend on, Warcop, ex- 
 cept you. I know your first object is the dear boy's 
 well-being." 
 
 " 'Deed," he Interrupted, " an' you're right. I've 
 been in t' stables here ever syne I was ten years auld, 
 ever syne I cam' wi' my father out of bonny Craven. 
 And I've had but twa things to fill my heart for mony 
 a year, and that is t' harses and t' lad. T' harses 
 canna be mended, though I say it; for I've had the 
 breeding of them and t' making of them. T' lad can ; 
 for I've had na t' breeding o' him; and I've no had 
 the making of him neither, nebbut his riding, which 
 he needna be ashamed on nor I either, — so ye must 
 do t' mending, sir. Ye've begun well and ye mustna 
 be disheartened and go back on your work, though 
 the odds are against you. I don't say they're not. 
 But hold on, sir, hold on. Don't turn back at this 
 check, and you'll bring him through at last, and God 
 bless you for it " — he raised his hat reverently — 
 *' bless you and your work." 
 
96 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I thanked him, told him he had done me good. So 
 he had. My faith and hope revived. Better still, 
 perhaps, my resolution revived also. 
 
 " But tell me this," I said. " I will keep it, you 
 may be very sure, to myself. Do you think there is 
 anything going on between his lordship and Made- 
 moiselle Fedore? " 
 
 Warcop's face assumed its true Yorkshire, that 
 is to say its wily foxy expression. 
 
 " You have twa odd names t^ couple together ! 
 Well then — I suppose the French she-devil has been 
 doing a' her powers to snare him this long time past 
 — and that's truth." 
 
 " But has she snared him? " 
 
 " Well then — I suppose the she-kite kens her trade 
 well enough." 
 
 " But — I had better make a clean breast of it, 
 Warcop. I spoke to him about her to-day; and he 
 was furious, took me up short, refusing to hear a 
 word against her, vows she is as pure as snow." 
 
 " Then why don't you believe him, sir? '* 
 
 *' Do you believe it?" 
 
 " I may ha' my own reasons." 
 
 *' And so may I, Warcop." 
 
 He sat down on a bin, and began drumming with 
 his heels and chewing violently at the straw in his 
 mouth. Suddenly he looked up with a strong word. 
 
 "I've found it," he said. "Oh! the whinnying 
 she-kite ! T' ane's ill, but this is worse than ill 1 " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Why this virtuous dodge — Ah! they lasses! 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 97 
 
 IVe kenned it a' before this. Dinnot ye see for yer- 
 self?" 
 
 "See what?" 
 
 *' Why, that she wants to have him on to marry 
 her. I'll warrant that's her game, the jade. 'Od but 
 I'll wring her thrapple with my ain hands first ! " 
 
 And springing up from the bin he tramped to and 
 fro fiercely. 
 
 That idea had never, I admit, occurred to me. My 
 knowledge of women, my knowledge of life, indeed, 
 was small; and, at first, it struck me as preposterous. 
 
 " But he is so young! " I said. 
 
 " Wi' your high-bred colt, your high-bred dog, 
 young blood's hot." 
 
 " She is years older than him — and then the differ- 
 ence of position, of rank." 
 
 " Strange meats whet appetite," he said. ** So do 
 strange women. Ha' you never read your Bible, sir, 
 your Auld Testament? There's a might o' very 
 curious learning anent the ways o' man and woman 
 in Holy Writ. Watch him, sir, watch him ; but about 
 her be careful to keep your mouth shut. To blame 
 her, with a generous lad, is but to send up her price. 
 Ah! the pity he's no sisters, now, no young ladies 
 of his ain house and class to be sweet on and play 
 with. One lass '11 drive another lass out o' a lad's 
 head, but it's plaguy work to drive her out else." 
 
 The next day the dear boy's shame took a more 
 gracious turn. Within the week he had resumed his 
 former habits and our affectionate relations were re- 
 established. Moreover, Her Magnificence left 
 
98 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 Hover for a time to pay a round of visits — while his 
 lordship, Mr. Halidane, his doctor and three men- 
 servants in attendance, moved to Bath, as was his 
 wont in the autumn, to drink the waters and confer 
 regarding spiritual matters, as I understood, with 
 certain " saints indeed " there resident. 
 
 Lady Longmoor had taken Mademoiselle Fedore 
 along with her — for which I gave God thanks. 
 
CHAPTER XI 
 
 Here I must go back In my story, to pick up threads 
 which were to work into the pattern not only of my 
 life, but of the dear boy's likewise, with lasting re- 
 sults. 
 
 Having found where Mr. Braithwaite lived, I did 
 not neglect the invitation he so kindly gave me on the 
 night of my arrival at Hover. Indeed, thenceforth, 
 my walks to Mere Ban, and the conversations I had 
 with him at the pleasant stone-built house — facing 
 south, overlooking an orchard and flower garden; 
 barns, farm and rick-yards, ranges of stables, cow- 
 sheds and outbuildings, including the engine-house 
 with Its tall chimney, to right and left, the whole 
 backed by a high distance of moor and fell — came 
 to be among the greatest pleasures of such hours as 
 I could claim from my regular duties — a dangerous 
 pleasure, perhaps, with heartache, nearly heart- 
 break behind it. But these were to come later; and 
 even with them, God knows, I have no quarrel now. 
 
 I found Mr. Braithwaite a man of advanced 
 views, but of sound and temperate judgment, whose 
 opinions commanded my respect even when I could 
 not fully endorse them. I learnt much from him 
 of interest and value about the manufacturing and 
 agricultural classes, about the conditions of labour — 
 too often a crying disgrace to our vaunted civillsa- 
 
 99 
 
100 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 tlon, let alone our Christianity — and about the life 
 of the poor, who, he asserted, owing to the abuses 
 of our social and economic system, " had got but a 
 very little way from the serf and savage even yet." 
 As I have already mentioned, he strongly supported 
 the new Poor Law, then being agitated, to which he 
 looked to lift the blighting stigma of pauperism from 
 off our peasant population. He was also, I found, 
 an ardent advocate of national education; and, in 
 practical politics, hopefully forecasted many of the 
 provisions of the Reform Bill, carried a couple of 
 years later by Lord John Russell in the teeth of Tory 
 opposition. His contention, I observed, always came 
 back to the old and incontrovertible, if in some direc- 
 tions unwelcome, definition, that the good of the 
 governed is the end, the raison d'etre^ of govern- 
 ment. 
 
 By degrees, notwithstanding the reserve native to 
 his character, he told me something of his private 
 life. After the loss of his wife and only son, a boy 
 of ten, during an epidemic of fever, he had sold his 
 business in Leeds and removed to the country for 
 the sake of the health of his remaining child, a 
 daughter. As to the latter his object was certainly 
 attained, for a young girl more nobly endowed, 
 both in mind and body, than Nellie Braithwaite — 
 then in her nineteenth year — I have never seen or 
 wished to see. The broad, full brow surmounted by 
 its crown of dark hair, telling of intellect and imagi- 
 nation; the flush of the cheek under the quickening 
 of sympathy or emotion; above all the glorious eyes. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY xm 
 
 steadfast and fearless, serious with thought or be- 
 witching with laughter, made a picture that might 
 well have inspired the genius of a Reynolds or a 
 Lawrence. 
 
 From the time of his wife's death, Mr. Braith- 
 waite's half-sister Miss Ann, a quiet, sweet-faced 
 spinster, had lived under his roof and devoted her- 
 self to the care of his daughter. But Nellie, although 
 still so young, was both mistress of her father's 
 house and his constant companion, showing, even 
 then, the ready and delicate tact which later stood 
 her in such good stead under very different circum- 
 stances. In regard to her education Mr. Bralth- 
 waite had followed a system of his own, with which 
 — though far from academic — I could find no fault, 
 since the results appeared so excellent. Talking to 
 me one day, when we were alone, upon this subject 
 he pointed to a shelf of, what he called, his daugh- 
 ter's *' text-books " — an edition of Shakespeare In 
 many volumes, unexpurgated, Hume's History of 
 England, the Waverley Novels, then at the height 
 of their vast popularity. Miss Edgeworth's Tales, 
 an old copy of Florlo's Montaigne, Percy's Rellques, 
 and the Lyrical Ballads of Wordsworth and Cole- 
 ridge — strong meat, so it struck me, for a young 
 girl's palate. 
 
 As to this I said nothing, however, willing to be- 
 lieve my friend must know his own business best. 
 But, when I commented, perhaps foolishly, upon the 
 large proportion of fiction, he turned on me 
 sharply — 
 
loi THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " And why not? Good fiction — I rule sensational- 
 ism and amatory green-sickness out, of course — is a 
 very good handbook to human nature ; and among a 
 woman's first duties, in my opinion, is the study of 
 human nature. Why? For her own happiness' sake, 
 my dear sir; and for the sake of the family and 
 household to which she belongs in childhood; and of 
 that other family and household of which she will be 
 the centre and guardian angel later — if she marries 
 and bears children, as every healthy woman should." 
 
 Then, his daughter entering the room, he turned 
 the conversation. 
 
 "Fiction, indeed — and again, why not? Ah! 
 there crops up the besetting sin of you scholars — 
 jealousy for the past as against the present; worship 
 of all and any learning, save learning about men and 
 things here, under your hand; stiff-necked disbelief 
 that the live dog, if not better, at least has the chance 
 of being as good as any dead lion — that you and I 
 Walking the English country-side here to-day, in 
 short, are every bit as valuable in God's sight as any 
 Greek walking the streets of Athens in the age of 
 Pericles." 
 
 I laughed, promising to lay the rebuke to heart; 
 while assuring him that, though there might have 
 been some need of it in my Cambridge days, the need 
 grew less and less since my coming to Hover — a 
 premature assertion, as the sequel was to prove. 
 
 " That is good hearing," he said. " You might 
 do worse, believe me, than take Warcop, bandy- 
 legged old centaur that he is, for your instructor in 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 103 
 
 — well — a number of by no means unimportant mat- 
 ters." 
 
 And that was as near as we ever got to discussion 
 of my pupil and his concerns. For Mr. Bralthwalte 
 was studious to avoid asking questions, studious, in- 
 deed, to avoid all semblance of curiosity. Of this I 
 was glad, as It relieved our Intercourse from a care- 
 fulness and restraint which would otherwise have 
 been Incumbent upon me. And at Mere Ban I was 
 glad to forget Hover — though, as I trust, without 
 any disloyalty to the latter. More and more the 
 big farm-house came to hold a charm for me, the 
 like of which I had never felt before. Exactly in 
 what that charm consisted I did not stop to ask 
 myself. I was, as I see now looking back at It all, 
 a very great simpleton. I ought to have guessed, 
 ought to have known, what was happening to me. 
 But I did not know. I blundered on like a man but 
 half awake. Blundered, till I ran my stupid head 
 against a wall, thereby giving myself a blow, the 
 scar of which smarts at times even yet — but very 
 gently, now, almost gratefully. I should even be 
 grieved, I think, If It gave up smarting altogether. 
 Of this more hereafter. 
 
 During the short winter afternoons my visits to 
 Mr. Bralthwalte were necessarily less frequent. 
 Moreover, from merely riding out with Hartover, 
 I went on to hunting at least one, often two days a 
 week with him. I began chiefly on his account, be- 
 lieving that hunting would help to steady his nerves 
 and keep him out of mischief generally. Having 
 
I04 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 once begun, I own the passion of that manly and 
 honest sport grew on me. Let alone the pleasure and 
 health of it, it brought me into contact with the 
 neighbouring gentry and farmers, thereby breaking 
 down my natural shyness and giving me greater ease 
 and assurance of manner. In this it was useful to 
 the dear boy, as well as to myself, since it made me 
 better fitted to be his associate and companion in 
 society. 
 
 The last meet of the season, a warm March day, 
 when coppice and woodland were already breaking 
 into leaf. We found and lost, found and lost again 
 till late afternoon. The scent was light, burnt up by 
 the sun. The horses a bit faint — the going in the 
 lowland heavy, after nearly a week of rain. The 
 hounds had trotted on home. Hartover and I rode 
 back together slowly, taking our way down the green 
 lane which crossed an outlying portion of Mr. 
 Braithwaite's farm. The heads of the hedgerow 
 elms showed rose-red in the level sunshine, and a 
 soft westerly wind blew in our faces. 
 
 Hartover took off his hat and rode bareheaded. 
 He was just wholesomely tired, his humour sweet 
 and fanciful. His air at once gallant and wistful, in 
 his mud-splashed pink , with that effect of slight 
 fatigue chastening his beauty — verily, a lovable 
 young creature in very perfect harmony, so it seemed 
 to me, with the fair, if somewhat wayward, promise 
 of the spring. 
 
 Where the lane makes an elbow, we came sud- 
 denly upon a little flock of sheep — some score of ewes 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 105 
 
 with their lambs beside them, broad, deep-fleeced, 
 dirty-drab, slow-moving backs flanked by small, tight- 
 curled, rusty-white, pushing and jostling backs — the 
 whole advancing in a solid mass which filled the lane 
 from bank to bank. They were heading away from 
 us towards a five-barred gate that opened, where the 
 lane made a second elbow, on to a steep upward 
 sloping pasture broken here and there by an outcrop 
 of lavender-grey limestone rock. 
 
 In the tall, heavily-built man, clothed in coat, 
 breeches and gaiters of pepper-and-salt mixture, who 
 walked behind the flock, a couple of collie dogs at 
 his heels, I recognised Mr. Braithwaite. And In the 
 girl, standing just within the pasture and holding 
 wide the gate, his daughter, Nellie herself. She wore 
 a brown dress, and her straw hat was tied down 
 gipsy-fashion with a wide blue ribbon passed across 
 the crown of it and knotted beneath her chin. 
 
 " Steady," Hartover said, checking his horse. 
 " Don't let's hustle those jolly little beggars " — 
 meaning the lambs — '' or they'll scatter." 
 
 Then added, half under his breath — " Gad, but 
 what a pretty picture it all makes ! Who's the lovely 
 shepherdess, I wonder?" 
 
 I told him and gravely, for something in his tone 
 jarred on me. 
 
 ''What a pity!" 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "Oh! I don't know." He gave a naughty little 
 laugh. " Because she belongs to that villainous old 
 Radical, I suppose, who'd like nothing better than to 
 
io6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 pull Hover down about my ears, confound him, If 
 he only got the chance. But I forgot. He's a friend 
 of yours, sir, isn't he ? I beg your pardon." 
 
 The last words were spoken with engaging frank- 
 ness of apology. 
 
 Just then, at a sign from their master, the two 
 collies sprang forward rounding up the startled flock. 
 Once through the gateway the sheep and lambs 
 spread out, over the green pasture, into a great fan 
 and began cropping the sweet short grass; while 
 Nellie Braithwaite, closing the gate behind them, 
 stood waiting for her father to join her and for us 
 riders to pass. 
 
 Wanting, as I took it, to make amends to me for 
 his little incivility, Hartover greeted Mr. Braith- 
 waite courteously enough. And, while I stopped to 
 talk with the latter a moment, rode forward and 
 spoke to Nellie, hat in hand, a flush as of shyness on 
 his face. I only heard indistinctly what he said — 
 commonplaces about the weather, the spring evening, 
 the browsing sheep. The girl stood looking up at 
 him, least embarrassed of the two, as It struck me, 
 fearless, serious, her eyes full of thought. 
 
 What did she make of the beautiful boy sitting the 
 noble horse, in the soft westerly wind and sunshine, 
 amid singing of birds and bleating of sheep? She 
 could have heard little good of him, alas ! — a young 
 rapscallion, reprobate and aristocrat, given to all 
 manner of wild doings, rows, cards, drinking bouts. 
 Did she judge him harshly out of her own fine purity 
 and rectitude ? My feeling, just then, was more for 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 107) 
 
 the boy than for her. I am glad to remember that. 
 My instinct was to plead for and excuse him, to pro- 
 tect him from condemnation on her part. 
 
 I joined him. We rode on. Once he turned in the 
 saddle and looked back. Then he fell silent; and in 
 silence we reached the great gates, and rode through 
 the Chase, home to royal Hover piled like a moun- 
 tain against the sunset. 
 
CHAPTER XII 
 
 During this time the library and its many treasures 
 had not been forgotten. By degrees I rearranged 
 and catalogued the bulk of its contents — a labour of 
 love if ever there was one, though attended by un- 
 expected material benefit to myself. For the ruling 
 powers at Hover, namely her ladyship and Colonel 
 Esdaile, had duly conferred the post of librarian 
 upon me, with extra salary to the amount of seventy- 
 five pounds a year. The appointment — made, by the 
 way, during Lord Longmoor's protracted sojourn 
 amid the " Saints indeed " and medicinal fountains of 
 Bath — was accompanied by so many gracious 
 speeches as to the esteem in which she and the colonel 
 held me, and the value they set on my poor services, 
 that I could not but feel both elated and touched. 
 
 " No — no thanks. The idea came from George " 
 — Lord Hartover — " to begin with. And it was 
 such a pleasure to be able to do something he asked. 
 His requests " — with a meaning smile — " as I knew, 
 had not always been very easy to grant. And it 
 was such a comfort to feel now the poor dear books 
 would be properly cared for at last. The original 
 lists and catalogues? Yes, of course, good Mrs. 
 Caswell should be made to disgorge them." 
 
 Which she did, after many delays and with a 
 mighty bad grace. 
 
 *' I ought to have had them from the first; but one 
 loS 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 109 
 
 knew how jealous old servants were of their priv- 
 ileges. — Should I write and thank Lord Longmoor? 
 It was so nice of me to think of that, but really it 
 wasn't necessary — was it, Jack? Things of this sort 
 iiis lordship was glad to leave to her and Colonel 
 Esdaile. He hated detail — was unequal to attending 
 to business; and their great object was to spare him 
 all possible fatigue and worry. Yes — his wretched 
 health was most distressing, a terrible trial to her, of 
 course." 
 
 And she drew down the corners of her laughing 
 mouth, drooped her eyelids with their wonderful 
 black lashes, sighed, raising her charming shoulders, 
 and pensively shaking her fair head — recovered her 
 habitual good spirits, talked on for a minute or so, 
 fluent, dazzling, and — dare I say it? — illiterate; and 
 swept out, as she had swept in, a brilliant vision. 
 Colonel Jack as usual hanging on her skirts. 
 
 What did it all mean ? Unwillingly I asked myself 
 that, a twinge of distrust taking me. To ascribe her 
 kindness, and the interest she displayed in me, ex- 
 clusively to my own merits savoured too much of 
 conceit. What could an obscure, lame scholar, such 
 as I, matter to the great lady, unless she had some 
 private and personal end in view? Reluctantly I 
 recalled to mind my dear old Master's warning be- 
 fore I left Cambridge; and, later, Mr. Braith- 
 waite's warning; Warcop's warnings, also. Yet 
 how ungenerous, how grudging, to suspect her kind- 
 ness! Has not a high authority admonished us to 
 ** think no evil " ? But, on the other hand, has not 
 
no THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the highest authority of any — I say it with all rever- 
 ence — bidden us add something of the serpent's wis- 
 dom to the harmlessness of the dove? 
 
 Oh ! these great folk, these great folk, illiterate as 
 they may appear from the scholar's standpoint, how 
 amazingly well versed in practical and worldly 
 knowledge, what past-masters, astute, invulnerable, 
 in that fine art of living, of which he, poor blunder- 
 ing innocent, is too often so pitiably even disastrously 
 ignorant ! 
 
 If the above was too harsh a judgment, I had good 
 reason, before the end of my second summer at 
 Hover, to modify it, and that very agreeably. It 
 happened thus. 
 
 August had come round again and grouse shoot- 
 ing along with it. A large party was staying in the 
 house; and Hartover went out almost daily with his 
 father's guests upon the moors — Her Magnificence 
 and the ladies driving usually to meet the shooters 
 at some picturesque spot, and share an alfresco lunch- 
 eon with them. My time, consequently, was my 
 own, and — save for an occasional visit to Mere Ban 
 — I spent it in the library. 
 
 To me, one afternoon, there entered a most dis- 
 tinguished looking middle-aged gentleman. He 
 made one or two inquiries about the portion of the 
 catalogue upon which I was then engaged, and we 
 fell into a — to me — most delightful conversation. 
 
 How charming he was — Alas that I should have 
 to say, was! Such delicacy of taste, such variety of 
 information, such soundness of common sense guid- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY in 
 
 ing all; and such sweetness and grace of manner soft- 
 ening and gilding all, I have never met since, save in 
 him and never expect to meet again. 
 
 After a time he spoke of Hartover, in whom he 
 appeared to take a friendly even affectionate interest. 
 I could answer frankly and hopefully, for in the last 
 few months a change had come over the dear lad. 
 It had been gradual, but continuous, thank God, with- 
 out lapses or back-sliding. 
 
 My new acquaintance listened with evident pleas- 
 ure. 
 
 " And now," he said at last, " I may tell you, that 
 I have examined your pupil before I took the some- 
 what unwarrantable liberty of examining you. I 
 wished to judge of you by what you had done, rather 
 than by what you might say. And I must compliment 
 you, my dear young gentleman, and heartily thank 
 you — for the result. I found lofty and liberal senti- 
 ments, where I expected, from past experience, mean 
 and grovelling ones. I found a desire for knowledge 
 and for usefulness, where I expected only a longing 
 after low pleasures. I found a sense of his position, 
 where I had expected no sense at all save the fire of 
 sex which we have In common with the animals. I 
 congratulate you on your success thus far; and I 
 trust you to remember this — that if you want sup- 
 port In your good work — as you may — you have 
 only to write to me, freely and confidentially, and 
 what I can do I will." 
 
 I bowed, puzzled; and then asked the plain ques- 
 tion which had to be answered. 
 
112 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 *' And to whom am I to have the honour of ad- 
 dressing my letter, in such a case? " 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 " I had forgotten that you probably might not 
 know I was here." 
 
 " I know little or nothing of the visitors.'* 
 
 " Write me at " — and he mentioned a place 
 
 and a name, hearing which I grew very red and told 
 him — 
 
 " I had no idea, my lord, that I had the privilege 
 of being in such illustrious company; although I sup- 
 pose I ought to have found it out by now for myself, 
 were I not the unpolished countryman I am." 
 
 I stood by sorely embarrassed; and began men- 
 tally to run through all I had said, or mis-said, to a 
 statesman whose name was in all men's mouths just 
 then, either for love or fear. 
 
 He was too simple, or perhaps too well aware of 
 his own greatness, to enjoy my surprise; and offered 
 his hand very cordially, saying — 
 
 " The first Lady Longmoor, your pupil's mother, 
 was a kinswoman of mine — and, I may add, a singu- 
 larly gifted and exquisite person. Few things would 
 give me deeper pleasure than that her son should 
 grow up worthy of such a mother." 
 
 With that he left me, both astonished that I had 
 been talking with one of the most celebrated Eng- 
 lishmen of the time, and wondering whether I had 
 not unwittingly stumbled upon relics of some early 
 and pathetic romance unsuspected by his many ad- 
 herents and admirers. 
 
CHAPTER XIII 
 
 But there were things I had to know which, though 
 they are written in books, not all the books in that 
 glorious library could teach me. I must seek them 
 elsewhere. Through his growing love of sport I 
 saw, more and more, I could hold the boy and keep 
 him from craving for the less cleanly and whole- 
 some forms of excitement to be found among his 
 stepmother's maids or in his father's cellars. The 
 second I had almost ceased to fear. The first I 
 feared far less than formerly; but handsome Made- 
 moiselle, unless I misjudged her strangely, was not 
 the young woman to forego a purpose once formed 
 without a struggle. She was tenacious as she was 
 supple. And it was only human nature, after all, 
 that she should fight tooth and nail to preserve an 
 Influence, once gained, over so desirable a conquest 
 as Hartover. Of my influence over him she must, I 
 felt, be jealous most exceedingly. Wherefore it be- 
 hoved me to be on my guard; and let slip no means, 
 however apparently indirect, of securing his interest 
 and entertainment. 
 
 To this end I learned all about the breeding of 
 horses and hounds and mastered the contents of 
 stud books. Whether these things were Important 
 or not in themselves, they were important to me be- 
 cause of the boy. Whether I cared to know about 
 
 113 
 
114 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 them or not myself, I was bound to know more 
 about them than the boy knew. So I read, marked, 
 learned, and inwardly digested, as the Collect has 
 it, all manner of equine and canine lore which would 
 have been as so much Chinese, so much Hottentot, 
 indeed, to the schools or common-rooms of my dear 
 alma mater. 
 
 And this brings me, by devious courses, to the won- 
 derful and tragical history of the little grey fox of 
 Brocklesby Whins. 
 
 The meet was at Vendale Green, some six miles 
 away from Hover — a three-cornered grass common 
 at the end of the village street, with scattered cot- 
 tages on two sides of it, and the river on the third. 
 A grey day, with a low sky and mist hanging along 
 the edges of the woodland. The air very still, in 
 which sounds carried queerly. 
 
 Her ladyship, wrapped up to the eyes in Russian 
 sables, had driven over with the ponies. She sat in 
 the pony-chaise in the middle of the green, among a 
 crowd of men in pink, and the horses and hounds, a 
 veritable Queen of Beauty, as I could not but think, 
 laughing, chaffing, with a gay word for all, gentle and 
 simple. But, just as we were about to throw off, 
 she sent her little groom to Colonel Esdaile; and, 
 when he came, stepped out of the carriage and stood 
 by him for a minute. She glanced at Hartover, and 
 at me; and spoke quickly, emphasising what she 
 said with a pretty gesture of the hand, while the 
 colonel leaned down to her from the saddle. 
 
 Suddenly I saw him straighten himself up with a 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 115 
 
 jerk, his face oddly aged and grey, like that of a man 
 smitten by illness. 
 
 " Impossible," he said sharply. " Utterly impos- 
 sible." Then he seemed to pull himself together. 
 The colour came back into his face, while her lady- 
 ship, laughing lightly, stepped into the pony-chaise, 
 picked up the reins, and drew her furs about her. 
 
 " As you please," she called after him. " Good 
 fortune to you — in any case. Au revoir! '' 
 
 And she turned the ponies, swinging them neatly 
 through the fringe of the crowd, across the turf 
 and into the village street again. 
 
 The meaning of the episode, just what it implied, 
 just what passed between them, I do not know to 
 this day; but that it thoroughly upset the colonel's 
 nerves and temper was only too apparent. More- 
 over, the good fortune she wished him proved shy. 
 All the forenoon things went astray. The first 
 covert had pigs in it, and that vexed him. In the 
 next Squire Kenrick was shooting, and that vexed 
 him more. In the third we found a fox, and the pack 
 parted and chopped it at once, and that made him 
 mad. He rated the huntsman, swore at the whips 
 and at things in general, until the position became 
 distinctly unpleasant. It was nearly three o'clock 
 by that time, and nearly half the field had started 
 home in high dudgeon, grumbling. 
 
 Finally, to my great surprise and, I must own, 
 anger, he turned on me intimating I had ridden too 
 forward and so interfered with his handling of the 
 pack. 
 
:ii6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Ride straight if you can, and if you dare, Mr. 
 Brownlow," he said. " Let me remark, by the way, 
 youVe one of the best horses in the stables under 
 you. But, in God's name, when I'm drawing, don't 
 blunder into my hounds. Keep your place." 
 
 It was a lie and he knew it. I had never blun- 
 dered into the hounds. My inclination was to tell 
 him so to his face. But why make a scene ? He had 
 had the grace to speak in a low voice. No one save 
 Warcop, who was beside me, could have heard what 
 he said. I determined to bide my time, and 
 show him, before the day was over, that I could 
 ride as hard and as straight as he could him- 
 self. 
 
 Now where should we try? 
 
 " Brocklesby Whins," said Colonel Esdaile. 
 
 "You'll no ken Brocklesby Whins?" — this from 
 Warcop, at my elbow, with a shrewd and, I fancied, 
 approving glance. " Na — well, it's an unholy wild 
 place, top o' a high saddle, wi' just a few ugly firs 
 standing up among the whins — where a man was 
 hanged, they say, of old — and long stone walls run- 
 ning down fra' it parting the pastures." 
 
 " There was a rare old fox in there on Tuesday," 
 said Mankelow, the hard riding Irish doctor from 
 Wetherley, anxious, as I thought, to keep talk going 
 and make things a little more agreeable. 
 
 " And one we'd best let alone," Godley, the hunts- 
 man, put in. " I have it on my mind that he's not 
 over canny. If he were a warlock out of the vale I 
 should not wonder." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 117 
 
 Here the dear boy, riding just ahead of me, 
 laughed. 
 
 *' Gad, Rusher,'* he said, " give us another chance 
 at him. Four times we've run him, and four times 
 he's lamed us a good horse, and vanished like magic 
 at last." 
 
 '^ I've a feeling about that fox this afternoon," 
 Godley went on. " And what's worse I forgot to 
 take off my cap to him, and we'll have no luck after 
 that." 
 
 The boy laughed again. 
 
 " Get along to Brocklesby," Colonel Esdaile said. 
 
 It would take too long to recount all the details 
 of that historic run, though it is still toasted at hunt 
 suppers as the most glorious achievement of the 
 Hover, and, I own, remembrance of it stirs my blood 
 even yet. 
 
 Suffice it, then, to say, that after the huntsman had 
 thrown the hounds Into the gorse and Tom the sec- 
 ond whip, going In after them, had bade them " put 
 him up, put him up " twice, the colonel gave a screech 
 which might have been heard from Hartover to 
 Vendale. I had hung back; and when I cleared the 
 lower end of the cover, I could see the head of the 
 pack well away down the hill, old Challenger lead- 
 ing, with the colonel, Mankelow, Warcop, and the 
 first whip — the huntsman ranging up to them. The 
 rest of the field were away to my left, on the wrong 
 side of the wall, and the wrong side of the burn 
 which ran straight down from the gorse. 
 
 At last the hounds checked a bit. They had not 
 
ii8 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 settled well Into their fox yet. So that, determina- 
 tion to prove myself — or, shall I say, to show off ? — 
 strong In me, I raced down abreast of them. 
 
 " Hullo, Mr. Brownlow," the colonel cried. 
 '' Sorry to see you're out of It! " 
 
 I made no answer, but turned the horse twenty 
 yards back Into the pasture and went at the wall. 
 He was one of the best In the stables truly, a little 
 brown horse with a tan muzzle, as hard as Iron and 
 as willing as the wind. The wall was close on six 
 foot high, and I knew there must be a deep drop to 
 the burn on the other side; but the devil of wounded 
 pride was awake In me, and, to my shame, I did not 
 care If I broke my neck or not. They all looked at 
 me, twenty of the field behind me, and five In the 
 pasture In front. They never thought I should dare 
 It; and they never thought I could do It. 
 
 The brown tipped It with all four feet, but as neat 
 as a deer; and, when he saw the burn beyond, 
 stretched himself out and gave a spring. 
 
 *' Give him his head, sir," shouted Warcop. 
 
 And so I did, but the drop was so deep that, 
 when he lighted, he went head over heels, and 
 I too. 
 
 I got on to my feet and picked my horse up, 
 though aware of a wonderful singing In my ears. 
 
 There was a cry of — " You're not hurt? " 
 
 '' Not a bit," I told them. 
 
 " No one can say that young gentleman's afraid 
 of fences," quoth the doctor genially. 
 
 But Colonel Esdalle answered — " We shall see. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 119 
 
 Temper and pluck aren't the same thing, my good 
 friend." 
 
 There we were, six of us; and the rest of the field, 
 for the time being, nowhere. Then the fox went 
 down Mr. Bralthwalte's lane, and we went down the 
 lane too; and by that time we were out of the pas- 
 tures and into the vale. Here It was four to six 
 miles across — small fallows and high dykes, with 
 timber and rails and '' all manner o' harse-traps " 
 as Warcop had It. As for riding straight, no man 
 living I believe could have done so. But we stuck 
 together, broke the rails for each other, turn and 
 turn about, though riding terribly jealous; and each 
 man had his fall, and each caught his neighbour's 
 horse for him. And all the while — again, more 
 shame to me — I nursed my anger against the colonel, 
 and bided my time till I could be even with him and 
 make him eat those ugly words about pluck and 
 temper. 
 
 At last — and we were not sorry — we had a check 
 in a grass field, with low gorse-grown banks to it and 
 a certain amount of cover in the way of thorn brakes 
 and withered bracken. The steam rose in a white 
 cloud off the horses, to be cleared by a bleak north- 
 erly draw of wind which cried now and again 
 through the spare grass and bare branches. 
 
 '' Well, gentlemen, this Is a very good thing," 
 Mankelow said, as he settled himself — " forty-two 
 minutes gone, and nine miles too, if I know my coun- 
 try; and In ten minutes more he's a dead fox. I hope 
 to righteousness he will be, for my shirt's worked 
 
120 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 up between my shoulders and I've not had a pinch 
 of snuff since I started." 
 
 " A very good thing, as afternoon runs are wont 
 to be," Godley, the huntsman, echoed. " And may 
 be better yet, for him at least. For as to his being 
 a dead fox, we've no killed the vermin yet. An' 
 there he is! " 
 
 Sure enough, stealing back into the cover we had 
 just left was a little grey fox. 
 
 " I've nere seen so small a fox before nor since, 
 nor one so grey," quoth Warcop; " with a nose like 
 a ferret's on to him — no canny at all, looks fifty 
 years old for aught I can tell." 
 
 He saw us, moreover; but instead of slipping on 
 into cover and making good his point home again, 
 as any decent fox would have done after doubling, 
 he sat down in the field and looked at us; and then, 
 jumping up, went back upon his own line, as if he 
 didn't care whether he ran to the world's end. 
 
 What work we had to get the hounds on to him I 
 But, when we capped them, it was heads up and tails 
 down and they went as though they had been shot 
 from a gun. We were away through farm and farm, 
 parish and parish — picking up some of the field on 
 our way — till I felt as though I had been in the sad- 
 dle all my life and should never get out of it. Fal- 
 low, pasture, plough, dale, hedge, dyke — the same 
 thing all over again, yet new each time. Then at 
 last my chance came. 
 
 We had got out into big lowland grass fields once 
 more. The colonel and I were leading. I raced him 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 121 
 
 over a meadow, every Inch, up to a brook, and over 
 it, and on. I saw a nasty fence before us — a double 
 rail with a young quick hedge in the middle, and be- 
 yond it a road some four feet below. The road was 
 loose and stony and to fly the thing was to smash 
 oneself to a dead certainty. I knew I was going too 
 fast for in and out leaping, so I was forced to gather 
 up the brown and sore work I had to do it. 
 
 The colonel held on at full speed, and was five 
 lengths ahead in a second. I thought at first he was 
 going to sweep over the whole. But no. As he 
 neared it, I saw him drop into his saddle, throw him- 
 self back, and exerting his huge strength in one long 
 gentle pull, draw his great bay horse together till 
 his last strides were like the skips of a cat. Then a 
 pause, with its nose almost on the rail, and in and 
 out into the road; and over the opposite fence. And 
 there the colonel turned and looked at me, while half 
 a dozen voices shouted — " Nobly done." 
 
 I was all the madder; but I kept my head. I knew 
 how the brown could leap, if he were only not an- 
 gered; and by the time I got him up to the rail, he 
 was well upon his haunches. In and out, and over I 
 went too, and half a dozen more voices, from the 
 craners, called — " Hurrah — splendid, Brownlow, 
 Good for you, sir.'' 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 I RANGED Up again on the colonel's quarter. He 
 looked round. 
 
 "You got over after all?" he drawled. "I 
 thought you seemed funking a little." 
 
 " You are mistaken, then, sir ! " said I, dryly. 
 
 At that moment I heard a shout. 
 
 I knew what had happened by instinct. The noise 
 went through me like a knife. Where was Hart- 
 over? Where had he been all this while? I pulled 
 the brown onto his haunches with a force which threw 
 me on his neck — looking round for the dear boy — 
 lost my balance and rolled off Into a fallow. 
 
 I never heeded; but sprang to my feet, ran back 
 wildly. There was a knot of men and horses down in 
 the road. I leapt over the fence. 
 
 "Let me come! Let me pass! Let me see!" 
 said I, thrusting through them — though dreading 
 what I should see. 
 
 "You ought to have been with him, sir! " cried 
 an old pink. " You ought not to have let him." 
 
 " I know it, I know it. God have mercy on me ! " 
 cried I, so bitterly, that the old gentleman laid his 
 hand kindly on my shoulder. 
 
 " Be calm, sir, be calm. He is not killed " — But 
 I heard no more. 
 
 The boy lay in the road, his eyes closed, his head 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 123 
 
 on Warcop's knee. Mankelow knelt beside him, 
 feeling him all over carefully. Men in pink, and 
 steaming horses stood around in the grey light of 
 the December day. Overhead a flight of peewits 
 flapped with their oft-repeated mournful cry. And 
 I suffered an anguish of self-reproach and of fear, 
 which made seconds lengthen out into hours of sus- 
 pense and mental torture. Vain fool that I had been, 
 nursing my own wounded pride, self-absorbed, for- 
 getful of love, neglectful of duty! 
 
 At last Mankelow spoke. 
 
 " The wind knocked out of him; but, thank God, 
 no bones are broken. Here, gentlemen, any of you 
 got some brandy? " 
 
 A dozen flasks were held out. 
 
 " Raise his lordship's head a bit higher — so — 
 there — that's better." 
 
 By now I was kneeling too, helping to support the 
 boy. With a gulp and struggle he swallowed a little 
 of the brandy. 
 
 His eyes opened. He looked up and smiled at me. 
 
 "What's the row, dear old man? Gad, how it 
 burns though. What the deuce are they doing 
 to me?" 
 
 " Pulling you back over the border for all we're 
 worth, my lord," Mankelow said cheerily. 
 
 As to me, I could not speak. Nor could Warcop 
 either. Tears were running down his cheeks. 
 
 "Oh! I'm all right," the boy said, sitting up. 
 " And I'm ashamed of wasting your time and spoil- 
 ing your sport like this, gentlemen. But those stones 
 
124 THE TUTOR^S STORY 
 
 aren't precisely a feather-bed to light on suddenly. 
 Did I faint? Really I beg your pardon. For- 
 give me." 
 
 With Warcop's help and mine he got onto his feet, 
 though still evidently somewhat dazed and giddy. 
 
 "What had he better do?" I asked Mankelow, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " Just what he likes. Go home or go on — go on, I 
 should say, if his horse is fit to carry him." 
 
 "Oh! the horse is fit enough," someone volun- 
 teered — " not a scratch upon him." 
 
 " What will you do, my lord? " Warcop asked. 
 
 " Why, kill that demon of a little grey fox to be 
 sure," the boy answered, laughing. 
 
 " 'Ods, well spoken. But ye'll ride my horse, not 
 your own, to the kill, my lord, or I leave your service 
 by daybreak to-morrow. He mayn't have a scratch, 
 but he needs must be a bit stale or a bit skeery — 
 safer for old bones like mine, which have been 
 broken too often to break any more, by the same 
 token." 
 
 And so it was settled. But the pack was far away 
 by this time, with the colonel, the two whips, and 
 Godley. The sound of them came down the wind 
 now and again; and we saw them going up, up, up, 
 across wide rusty pastures, where the scent lay less 
 heavy. They were not going very fast, but very 
 steady; swinging right and left over the turf, and 
 hanging a little at the gaps in the stone walls and 
 ragged blackthorn hedges, and always old Chal- 
 lenger led. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 125 
 
 And up, up, up, we went after them, the boy riding 
 gallantly, quite himself again, and in pretty spirits, 
 though still rather white in the face. Towards both 
 Warcop and me he was curiously gentle and tender — 
 which filled me, only the more, with shame and self- 
 reproach. Up, up, up, while one after another the 
 field dropped away from us — Mankelow held out 
 longest — till only we three were left. Up, up, up, 
 still gaining on the pack, which was going slowly, 
 although there seemed to be no check in them yet. 
 Then for five minutes would come a rush; and each 
 time the rush came we could see the horses in front 
 of us were the worse for it. But they pushed on 
 doggedly; and, for some reason, the colonel never 
 looked back. He had ridden right on when the boy 
 fell. He rode right on still, forcing his horse, as it 
 seemed to me, rather mercilessly. Was it conceiv- 
 able he wanted not to know who came behind him? 
 That he was, in a way, afraid to look back? I re- 
 membered the little episode on Vendale Green in the 
 morning, his answer — " Impossible, utterly impos- 
 sible " — to her ladyship, that strange look as of sud- 
 den illness, and her ladyship's light laugh. But I 
 put remembrance from me. It could do no good to 
 let my fancy run wild. And who was I, after all, to 
 judge my neighbour, having made so sorry a figure 
 in respect of plain duty, let alone affection, myself? 
 
 We began to get in among the hills. The hounds 
 ran merrily enough up a gulley on our right, full of 
 ash and oak scrub ; and, thanks to a short cut of War- 
 cop's, we joined them, or rather they swept past us, 
 
126 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 as we neared the top. Then we were out on the open 
 fell, rattling along the stone tracks. 
 
 The horses began to suffer now. The colonel's 
 big bay gave in first. We saw his gallop fall to a 
 canter, his canter to a trot. Then the first whip's 
 horse, a great flea-bitten grey, stood stock still in a 
 deep bottom and he had to get off and lead it up 
 through the heather. And then the huntsman's black 
 horse went. As we came up with them I could hear 
 the poor beast rattling in the throat. And the even- 
 ing was falling fast; and still the colonel did not look 
 back. 
 
 The bay had slowed down to a walk. He stum- 
 bled. Colonel Esdaile hauled him up, flung his leg 
 across the pommel of the saddle and lighted stiffly 
 on his feet. 
 
 " Another good horse gone," he said. 
 
 And only then, deliberately, as if making a great 
 effort over himself, he turned and looked at us. 
 Hartover was on the near side of the road, I 
 next to him, and Warcop a couple of lengths 
 behind. 
 
 The colonel left the bay standing, walked across 
 and laid his hand on the boy's knee. 
 
 " George," he cried hoarsely, " George — I did not 
 know you were still up ! " — and his voice had a queer 
 fall and break in it. 
 
 "Why, Rusher, what's the matter?" the boy 
 asked, struck, as we all were I think, by the strange- 
 ness of his manner. " It's not like you to be so 
 awfully done." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 127 
 
 But he made no answer ; only presently turning to 
 the huntsman — 
 
 *' We must whip off," he said. 
 
 " We must, Colonel, more's the pity. This is the 
 fifth time the ungodly vermin has brought us harm. 
 He's beat us. I knew he would." 
 
 " Whip off ? And wha' ull do it ? " quoth Warcop, 
 pointing to the long line of white specks streaming 
 over the fell. 
 
 ^' I'll try," Tom, the second whip, said rather 
 hopelessly. 
 
 " Yer harse Is as weak as a two-day littered pup 
 as it Is — and gin ye fail — I " 
 
 " The brown would do It," I cut In. " There's 
 plenty left in him yet. Jump on him, Warcop, and 
 see." 
 
 I was in the act of slipping off, when the dear boy 
 shouted — " No, do it yourself." 
 
 '' But Warcop " 
 
 " I say do It. That horse Is my father's, and I 
 
 say no one shall crop him to-day but you, by " — 
 
 and he swore a wicked little oath. " After riding 
 him as you have done, you shall be able to say you 
 stopped the Hover when no man else could." 
 
 " That's brave," cried Warcop. " I'll see to his 
 lordship. Here, take my long whip, sir, and give 
 the brown his head. And as you love your life, sir, 
 beware of the swallow-holes way up top o' the fell." 
 
 I turned, as in courtesy bound, to the colonel for 
 his sanction. But he took no notice of me or of any- 
 one, standing beside his panting, sobbing horse, heed- 
 
128 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 less, like a man dumb and distraught, staring out 
 over the mighty expanse of moorland. Wondering, 
 I inwardly echoed the boy's inquiry — what ailed him? 
 With his splendid endurance, fruit of his splendid 
 health and strength, it passed understanding that he 
 should be so beat. 
 
 But this was no time either for speculation or cere- 
 mony; and I rattled away after Tom, who was 
 already raking up the hill; overtook, and passed him, 
 in the deep ling and moss ; and left him, tootling dole- 
 fully, far behind. 
 
 It was lighter up here. I looked round. Where 
 was I ? At the world's end? No, rather at the part- 
 ing of two worlds, on the very roof of England. 
 Below me a network of green valleys, the mist lying 
 in soft white streaks and patches. The reek of great 
 manufacturing towns, too, dingy sheets of coal 
 smoke, pierced here and there by groups of tall black 
 chimneys, like the masts of sunken ships piercing the 
 uneasy surface of a leaden sea. Beyond all, in the 
 west, a wide flung crimson of sunset, against which 
 barriers of dun-coloured vapour rose, slowly eating 
 it up. And around me, for miles and miles, the 
 grand wind-swept desolation of the fells. 
 
 I could almost have hoped, just then, I should 
 fail to stop the pack. For I longed to ride on, like 
 some legendary Wild Huntsman of yore, for ever 
 and ever; poverty, lameness, all earthly ills cast be- 
 hind me, abolished and forgot. 
 
 And, at the moment, my hope seemed likely 
 enough of fulfilment. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 129 
 
 I was abreast of them now, ahead of them — I, the 
 quiet scholar — rating, hulloing, cracking; and they 
 minded me no more than a crow. How could they 
 mind' me? For there, not fifty yards in front, 
 crawled through the under dusk, beneath a stone 
 wall, a small grey draggled ghost — leapt at the wall 
 and fell back. A few paces to the left was a gap. I 
 saw his dark form glance through it. 
 
 I remember springing off, casting the brown loose 
 in my hurry, and scrambling through the gap ; to find, 
 behind it, a wide black fissure, like a hungry ragged- 
 lipped mouth, yawning in the surface of the moor. 
 Down it the fox had gone. Down it the hounds 
 would go too, unless I could hold them. 
 
 And the foremost were upon me already — a seeth- 
 ing mass of black, white, and tan, of red jaws, and 
 white teeth, of steam and rank hot smell. I faced 
 them, lashing, shouting, swearing too, I am afraid, 
 like any drunken bargee; but they bore on me with 
 irresistible weight, driving me back to the lip of that 
 horrible open mouth, and over the lip, falling, fall- 
 ing, along with me, through fathoms of chill echoing 
 dark — where ? 
 
 Almighty God alone knew. 
 
CHAPTER XV 
 
 When I came to myself I was lying on my back, 
 with something soft and warm upon me. It was a 
 hound, and alive. I thrust him off. There was 
 something soft and warm under me, too, heaving 
 and struggling. 
 
 Gradually I became aware that I was in all but 
 utter obscurity among a heap of hounds. My first 
 feeling was of terror. Would they attack me? 
 Hideous thought, to be torn to pieces there in that 
 dark pit — and if one began, I knew, all would join. 
 And then, the Lord have mercy on my soul. 
 
 I called to them, by all their names which I could 
 recollect, cheerfully, soothingly, as I struggled out 
 from among them; and my courage rose as I found 
 them peaceable. Poor beasts, they knew my voice; 
 and tired, stunned, terror-stricken, let me drag them 
 up one by one, and set them on their legs, on a shelf 
 which seemed, from its darkness, to be the mouth of 
 a horizontal cavern. 
 
 Three times I scrambled from that shelf down 
 into the narrow bottom of the pit, and dug out 
 hound after hound. I recovered, I think, seven. 
 Two were dead. One had its leg broke, and howled 
 sadly as I laid hold of it. I got my handkerchief 
 and tied it up all in the darkness; and the poor thing 
 licked my hand. 
 
 130 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 131 
 
 There were more below; but they were jammed 
 tight and motionless in a narrow cleft. They must 
 be dead. I hoped they were dead. I stood long 
 bending over them, touching them, to watch for a 
 struggle or a moan, but all was still. The others 
 moved uneasily about the ledge, and now and then 
 gave a melancholy howl, which was answered by 
 their brothers in the open air some thirty feet, as I 
 judged, above. 
 
 I got on the ledge again and sat among them; 
 looking up to the mouth of the pit, and rating back 
 the pack when any of them seemed disposed to leap 
 down. 
 
 I was not frightened, nor unhappy, except about 
 the hounds. But I had saved the body of the pack. 
 Thank God for that — for was it not worth thanking 
 God for? And my own life was saved — thank God 
 for that also. When I gazed at the mouth of my 
 dungeon, now scarcely discernible against the night 
 sky, it seemed little sort of miraculous that I should 
 have escaped. 
 
 But I was not by any means unhurt Every angle 
 and point of my poor bones felt knocked off, and 
 ached and smarted accordingly. Moreover, I had 
 certainly broken my head; for I found that I had 
 bled, and I suspect a good deal. That perhaps did 
 me good, and brought me to my senses In time to 
 rescue the hounds. I was fearfully tired, too, both 
 with the run, and with the violent exercise or digging 
 out the dogs; and as hungry as a man should be after 
 hunting. Cold I was not and had no fear of being; 
 
132 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 for the poor dear hounds nestled against me, keep- 
 ing both me and themselves warm. 
 
 I sat there on the ledge, my feet hanging over, for 
 I know not how long. The hounds above had been 
 silent for some time. I suppose they had gone away. 
 Those round me had grown silent too. There was 
 no sound save the crying of the wind over the fells, 
 and the breathing of the dogs who curled off to sleep. 
 I only wished I could sleep also; but I ached too 
 much. 
 
 I amused myself by speculating where the pack 
 would go; where the brown horse would go; where 
 my companions were. They would not be anxious 
 about me. They would take for granted that I 
 could not stop the pack, that it had gone over the 
 fells, and that we were all happed up at some farm- 
 house. They would shelter at some farm-house 
 themselves; and come and find us to-morrow morn- 
 ing. They could trace us easily enough by the hoof- 
 marks — and all would be right. 
 
 Then I began thinking about Mr. Braithwaite, and 
 our talks on political economy, and the Poor Law 
 and parliamentary reform — and about Nellie. And 
 I started; for I heard Nellie's voice call me by name, 
 so plainly that surely I could not have been asleep? 
 
 I crawled away a yard or two, and lay down on 
 the smooth rock. My head rested against the rock- 
 wall; and I began thinking, thinking again, about 
 Nellie, about the dear boy. This time I really fell 
 asleep, and slept I know not how long. 
 
 At last I woke — an evil waking. It was some time 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 133 
 
 before I could recollect where I was. Gradually, I 
 became conscious of a sense of pain from head to 
 foot, and then a thirst. Oh! that thirst! It ex- 
 plained to me all the misery of which I had read 
 about soldiers waking on the field of battle, their 
 wounds aching with cold, while they cried in vain for 
 a drop of water to cool their tongues. As is the 
 case with the strange thirst which takes one after a 
 long run, it soon amounted to absolute torment. I 
 must unknowingly have moved in my sleep, for my 
 head was lying on something cold and soft. It was 
 a dead hound. I shuddered at first; but, when I felt 
 his skin damp, I actually put my lips against it to 
 cool them. 
 
 The wind above on the moors had fallen, and 
 there was a great silence. And gradually, out of the 
 silence, I became aware — or was it only my fevered 
 fancy? — of a sound of water dropping. I listened 
 till I was sure. What more common, after all, than 
 to find water underground in such a pit, whether it 
 be coal-shaft or limestone canyon? 
 
 If there were a drop within reach, I must win it 
 or go mad. The sound seemed to come from behind 
 me, in the recesses of the cavern at the mouth of 
 which I believed myself to be. I turned to creep 
 onward. Thoughts of choke-damp, of unknown 
 abysses, crossed my mind, making me shudder and 
 pause. But only for an instant. The terrible thirst 
 drove men on, like lo driven by the terrible gadfly. 
 
 I crept upon hands and knees, feeling continually 
 for the rock-wall for fear of losing my way. As I 
 
134 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 advanced the trickling sound grew clearer and 
 louder, and my heart beat high with hope. I must 
 have gone full forty yards, when I lost touch of the 
 rock-wall on my left. In sudden terror I tried back, 
 and found it again. I made out that it turned sharp 
 away almost at right angles; but I dared not leave it, 
 and so crawled on over the smooth floor of rock. 
 
 The trickling noise was behind me now, growing 
 fainter and fainter. What could I do ? Aching, and 
 all but exhausted though I was, I faced about and felt 
 my way back to the corner again. 
 
 The problem was how to strike out from the wall 
 without losing myself? The old child's story of 
 Tom Thumb came into my head, and of how he 
 found his way home, when his parents left him in 
 the wood, by the crumbs of bread which he had 
 strewed along the path. I had some sandwiches; but 
 I had eaten most of them at midday. Never spend- 
 thrift searched for his last guinea more eagerly than 
 I for any remains of that meal ! I found some scraps 
 in my pocket, and, so doing, gave a feeble hurrah 
 which boomed, long and ghastly, through the rough 
 arches of the doleful place, making me tremble at 
 my own voice. Crumbling up the scraps, and strew- 
 ing them sparingly as I went, I launched forth into 
 the unknown dark. 
 
 I crept on, I know not how far, across the smooth 
 floor, which from the feel of it I judged to be of 
 stalagmite. The trickling noise grew louder now; 
 and, mixed with it, a dull roar, as of water falling 
 into a pool at some great depth. I felt in vain for 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 135 
 
 any damp spot. The stalagmite had been wet enough 
 once, of course, but, alas ! was dry as marble now. 
 
 All at once I stopped, with an emotion of horror. 
 I had put my hand forward, as usual; but I put it 
 upon nothing. I was thoroughly scared, and shrank 
 back. Alone there In an Invisible chaos, with bruised 
 limbs and overheated brain, a hundred strange fan- 
 cies assailed me before I hit upon the truth. I was 
 on the verge of an unseen gulf. There could be no 
 doubt about it. On either side I touched, trembling, 
 and found all along a smooth ledge of stalagmite 
 and then empty space. Yet just beyond, seemingly 
 not twenty yards from me, was the torturing sound 
 of cool water, falling, falling. 
 
 Desperate, I leant over, and thrust my arm down 
 as far as I could reach in hopes of finding some ledge 
 onto which I might lower myself. There was none. 
 The edge of stalagmite curled over In a deep rim. 
 And I could hear plainly now, as I bent my head 
 down, the sound of a running stream perhaps a hun- 
 dred feet below. 
 
 What If the crust broke off? What if I slipped 
 forward? Panic-stricken, I tried to move back; 
 and found It not so easy. For the surface of the 
 floor was so even I could obtain no hold. I lost my 
 nerve utterly, almost lost my recollection. 
 
 After a minute's frenzied struggle, however, I was 
 safe, and making my way back along my line of 
 crumbs. It seemed an age ere I reached the rock- 
 >vall again. And when I reached It, I could do no 
 more ; but sank down too exhausted to move. 
 
136 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 After that confusion grew on me. Cruel fantastic 
 dreams or visions — I know not which, for I cannot 
 tell whether I slept or woke — pursued me. Now 
 Hartover lay in the stony road again, white, with 
 closed eyes; and Mankelow, bending over him, 
 whispered that he was dead. Now I wandered 
 across green fields by a pleasant brook, and Nellie 
 Braithwaite came to meet me through the damp 
 sweet grasses, a cup of clear spring water in her 
 hand. Now I was at Cambridge, in the staid and 
 familiar routine of the university once again. And 
 now the hounds roused up, clamouring and hungry. 
 They were eating their dead brothers first, and next 
 they would eat me. And I was bound hand and foot 
 so that escape was impossible. Again I saw their red 
 jaws and white gleaming teeth, and smelt the rank 
 hot smell of them. But Nellie Braithwaite came be- 
 tween them and me, and drove them off, and laid her 
 hand upon my parched forehead — so cool it was ! 
 And now the dear boy was with her. The two 
 walked past me, hand in hand, talking earnestly and 
 smiling on one another with a certain sweet serious- 
 ness infinitely lovely, and went forward into the 
 deeper darkness of the cave. I knew they would 
 reach the edge of that smooth deceitful stalagmite 
 floor and topple into the abyss. I tried to warn them, 
 called and shrieked to them; but my voice was no 
 more than the thinnest thread of sound which they 
 did not, could not, hear. 
 
 After that, I know not what. Deepening confu- 
 sion, tumult, sense of fruitless effort, of swift para- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 137 
 
 lysing fear. But through it all, three images were 
 constantly before me during that terrible night — 
 water, Nellie Bralthwalte and always with her Hart- 
 over, the gallant beautiful boy — till, merciful stupor 
 closing down on me, I lapsed into unconsciousness 
 once more. 
 
CHAPTER XVI 
 
 What was this sound beating upon my weary brain, 
 dragging my reason and senses up from some meas- 
 ureless depth, back from some measureless distance? 
 Men's voices and the baying of hounds. At last a 
 call I could not mistake, friendly and clear yet sol- 
 emn, awe-stricken. 
 
 " Speak, in God's name, gin there's any living soul 
 within! " 
 
 I opened my eyes and feebly answered Warcop's 
 hail. From the glimmering light, In the direction 
 whence his voice came, I understood It must be 
 broad day at the cavern's mouth. I tried to crawl 
 towards it; but, before I was half-way, I saw the 
 glow of a red coat and felt strong arms about me. 
 Warcop, stooping under the low rock-roof, lifted and 
 carried me as tenderly as though I had been his own 
 child. 
 
 " Puir laddie, puir laddie ! Ye've had a sair 
 enough night o' It, I'll warrant." 
 
 " But I stopped them — I saved the pack," I told 
 him. 
 
 " Did ye then? Eh! but I kenned ye were worth 
 yer saut " — soothingly. 
 
 " Water." I Implored him. " Water — and give 
 the hounds some too." 
 
 Then I believe my mind wandered. The transi- 
 tion was so rapid. The relief so great. 
 
 138 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 139 
 
 Water they had none. But someone gave me 
 sherry; and, after a while, I revived, to find the dear 
 boy hugging and kissing me, and crying — bless his 
 heart — like a baby. 
 
 I looked about me. The scene was a strange one. 
 An irregular patch of blue sky far away. Towering 
 walls of stained, grey rock on either hand; and let, 
 as down a well, by ropes from above, standing amid 
 debris of torn heather and gorse and fragments of 
 fallen stone, the hounds leaping round them, War- 
 cop, Hartover, Godley the huntsman, and, last but 
 by no means least. Colonel Esdaile himself. The 
 queer mood of yesterday had passed from him. His 
 handsome face was eager, his eye bright. Very cor- 
 dially he shook me by the hand. 
 
 " An' he saved the pack, he says," Warcop 
 cried. 
 
 " Yes, I got through the gap just in time, and 
 stopped them. But the leading hounds pushed me 
 over and In " 
 
 " There, don't talk," the colonel said kindly. 
 " But I thank you, sir, I thank you." 
 
 I was excited and not easily to be silenced. 
 
 " Dig," I told them, " dig. There are two more 
 down there in the pit, just at your feet. I could not 
 get them out. I dug out the rest " — and I looked at 
 my swollen disfigured hands. 
 
 They got to work and brought out tw^o bodies. 
 
 " Marchioness and t' owd Challenger — and t' fox 
 in his mouth yet ! " 
 
 " Yes," I said. " He was down first. He leapt 
 
I40 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 under my arm. Oh! my God, It was dreadful, 
 dreadful." 
 
 And, fairly overcome at remembrance of that grim 
 struggle, I covered my face with my hands. If the 
 boy had not been there I should have broken down 
 altogether. When I opened my eyes again, Godley 
 was holding up the poor old badger-pie with the fox 
 still clenched in his noble jaws. Suddenly he laid the 
 dead hound down and burst out crying. 
 
 " Ah ! sir, that was a hound ! " 
 
 " Well, he died as he lived," said the colonel, and 
 turned his head away. I believe, at the moment, 
 there was not a dry eye among them. 
 
 *' You must see to my old man," the boy cried Im- 
 patiently. " He's ill, worn out. You must get him 
 out of this infernal hole. Draw him up at once." 
 
 And drawn up I was, and seated in the delicate 
 winter sunshine and fresh air, upon the heath — 
 where I turned off faint again and called for water. 
 They got me some from a neighbouring bog — foul 
 brown stuff, but never was draught more delicious. 
 
 Then they hauled up the hounds, quite gentle but 
 too stiff and bruised to walk. 
 
 " Carry them to the water," I begged. " They're 
 dying of thirst like me." 
 
 Some farm men shouldered them; and I lay with 
 my head on Hartover's knee, and watched the poor 
 beasts lapping and rolling In a bog hole, with a sort 
 of dreamy happiness. 
 
 '*0h, my dear old man, what I have gone through 
 about you 1 " 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 141 
 
 "Why? You should have taken for granted 
 that I was safe at some farm-house." 
 
 " But I did not — I could not ! I heard Warcop 
 warn you about the swallow-holes when you started, 
 and I knew you had fallen Into one. And I never 
 slept a wink all night. I fancied I heard you call- 
 ing me." 
 
 " What would you have done, if I had been 
 killed?" I asked, I know not why, looking up into 
 his face. 
 
 He did not answer for a minute. 
 
 " Died, I hope." 
 
 " You must not talk so." 
 
 " I should have turned again into the blackguard 
 I was six months ago. And I had rather be dead 
 than that." 
 
 " You must not talk so, dear boy," I repeated 
 feebly. " You must trust in God, not in me." 
 
 But I felt then that I had not, indeed, lived in 
 vain. 
 
 The hounds were buried honourably where they 
 fell. Then the huntsman brought the fox up to the 
 colonel. 
 
 "And what shall I do with this uncanny devil? '' 
 And he shook him with rage as he spoke. " Five 
 runs he has given us, and lamed our best horses every 
 time ; and this is his last trick, and his worst. I be- 
 lieve he is no fox, but a witch, sir. That's my creed, 
 and we'll hear presently of some old woman having 
 vanished out of the vale. We'll have the brute's 
 trimmings anyhow ! " 
 
142 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 And he went to take out his knife. 
 
 " Stop," cried the colonel. " Don't touch him. 
 Mr, Brownlow, I shall have that fox stuffed, and give 
 it to you, as a remembrance of this day. And I want 
 one word with you, sir. No, don't get up — -George 
 may hear me. I was rude to you yesterday and more 
 than rude; and you have repaid me by risking your 
 life to save my pack. I beg your pardon. I never 
 did so to any man on earth — but I say, sir, I beg your 
 pardon." 
 
 I held out my hand and tried to laugh. 
 
 *' My dear sir, I was vain and foolish — and not for 
 the first time, — I irritated you. Pray do not speak 
 of such a trifle. As for saving the hounds, it was only 
 one's duty." 
 
 The Rusher looked at me fixedly. 
 
 '' I will say one thing more, Mr. Brownlow." — He 
 had quite dropped his usual fine gentleman drawl. — 
 " When you first came, you used to talk a good deal 
 about duty." 
 
 '' A good deal too much, I fear," said I, recollect- 
 ing my pedantry. 
 
 " I used to think it all cant. I understand now 
 what you meant by duty; and am much obliged to 
 you for teaching me." 
 
 And he turned away, after shaking me again by 
 the hand. 
 
 They took me down upon a pony; and as I went, I 
 heard all their story. When I did not return, they 
 had attempted to follow; but had been driven back 
 by mist and darkness. The boy had contrived to 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 143 
 
 make Warcop share his own fears about swallow- 
 holes; and when they started from Squire Kenrick's 
 — where they had passed the night — Warcop pressed 
 into their service two or three labouring men, with 
 ropes, a spade and crowbar. They had found us 
 easily enough. Some of the hounds had come down 
 by Squire Kenrick's house the night before. Others 
 were heard of in the morning. The hoofs of the 
 brown horse led them easily over the fells. Soon 
 they saw him grazing, stiff, but well. After that the 
 hoof-marks led them on, wherever I had crossed a 
 boggy or muddy spot, straight to the gap. And — 
 " ere we came to it," Warcop said, " t' puir hounds 
 began calling to us like Christian bairns." 
 
 So ended the wonderful little grey fox of Brock- 
 lesby Whins. He stands to this day stuffed in my 
 study; and, as I look at him, I often thank him for 
 his good deeds to me. For that hunting had its con- 
 sequences. It made a fast friend of the colonel, who 
 — so I found afterwards — went about extolling me 
 (I cannot see why) as a miracle of valour and virtue. 
 And a fast friend, also, of all connected with the 
 hunt, from Sir Rodney Pochard, of racing fame, 
 down to the grooms and stable helpers. — These last 
 so overloaded me with praise, that I was forced to 
 beg them to say no more about the matter. I had 
 done nothing but what, I felt sure, any and every one 
 of them would have done in my place — a sentiment 
 which, at least, comforted the good fellows' self- 
 esteem. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 But the most surprising consequence of my adven- 
 ture manifested itself next day when — as I sat dis- 
 figured and aching, bandaged and plastered, feeling 
 as if I had not a whole bone in my wretched carcass 
 — I heard a gentle rap at the study door and, to my 
 amazement, Her Magnificence walked in. 
 
 It was the first time, as far as I could recollect, she 
 hafl entered that room for over a year, yet she came 
 in as naturally as though she was there every day; 
 and, smiling, pulled up a chair, sat down by the fire- 
 side and inquired after me with most engaging solici- 
 tude. — " Was I much hurt? What a truly frightful 
 experience! Had I everything I needed? Quite, 
 quite sure? And were the servants attentive, really 
 taking proper care of me? " — Then followed an out- 
 burst of extravagant compliment — rank flattery, I 
 ought to label it; but, delivered so gracefully, with 
 such a bewitching air of sincerity, that I tried to per- 
 suade myself it was not the delicious poison I very 
 well knew it to be. And so, like any other young 
 man cajoled by a beautiful woman, I absorbed it 
 greedily, murmuring clumsy thanks, angry with my- 
 self, the while, that I could not find a hundred and 
 one pretty nothings to say to her in return. 
 
 But our interview did not end there. Having thus 
 144 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 145 
 
 softened the ground with this rain of compliment, 
 she went on to far more serious subjects. 
 
 *' How could they ever repay me for all I had 
 done for dear George ? Everyone was talking of the 
 improvement in his habits and character, in his very 
 countenance. It was delightful, and made her think 
 with real pain of the time when — as she supposed — 
 we should be obliged to part, and dear George go 
 into the Guards." 
 
 I gave a start. 
 
 " I trust that day may be very distant." 
 
 She had hoped so too ; but my lord felt it to be the 
 right thing. " As you know, Mr. Brownlow, his 
 father very seldom Interferes — perhaps it would have 
 been better " — and she sighed — " if he had inter- 
 fered more often. His wretched state of health! — 
 But when he does give an order, naturally It has to be 
 obeyed." 
 
 She paused for my assent. Rightly or wrongly, 
 my suspicions began to be aroused. I made no 
 reply. 
 
 " And George himself," she continued, " is, I 
 understand, so anxious — he and his father really 
 agree for once, I gather " — with a meaning smile and 
 raising of the dark eyebrows — " that I am afraid 
 he must join his regiment next spring." 
 
 ^' Next spring! " I cried, with a very blank face. 
 The blow was such an unexpected and heavy one. 
 
 *' As for yourself, dear Mr. Brownlow," she said 
 eagerly, " you must not think it will lessen our Inter- 
 est in your future, or make anything but an improve- 
 
146 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ment in your position. We know from Dr. Mars- 
 ton all about your leaving college. And I have told 
 my lord — who, I am happy to say, feels with me — 
 that the least we can do, after all you have done for 
 us, is to enable you to return to Cambridge and take 
 your — degree — don't they call it? " 
 
 " Oh! you are too kind, too kind — but " 
 
 '* We can listen to no buts. Of course we should 
 have liked to keep you here as librarian; only that 
 would be selfish. No, clearly you must return to 
 Cambridge and complete your course there. And 
 then, later, if you went into the Church, you know, 
 directly one of our livings fell vacant you may be 
 sure there is no one we should think of sooner than 
 you." 
 
 "Oh! madam," I cried, greatly affected by the 
 secure and prosperous future thus opened before me, 
 " you are too good, too generous. Yet I shall deeply 
 regret leaving Hover, not only on my own account 
 but on Lord Hartover's." 
 
 " He will have cause to regret it also. But he 
 must grow up, he must enter on life, poor dear fel- 
 low." 
 
 " That is what I dread. I cannot but feel he Is 
 too " — I was going to say weak, but stopped myself 
 — " hardly old enough to face the many temptations 
 of such a life and profession. Not that I am vain 
 enough, believe me, to imagine my presence is neces- 
 sary to keep Lord Hartover out of harm. Any good 
 tutor — and you can find twenty better than I — could 
 do that. But the life of a young Guardsman in Lon- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 147 
 
 don — you do not know, madam, what it is, and 
 must be." 
 
 She moved a little, leaning forward and raising 
 her hand to shield her face from the fire which 
 played on her jewelled bracelets and rings. I seemed 
 to catch a lurking laughter in her downcast eyes, that 
 said — so I interpreted it at least, by later events — " I 
 know infinitely better than you, in any case, my inno- 
 cent and worthy youth ! " But she answered with a 
 demure sigh — she could be so deliciously demure 
 when she chose — 
 
 " Ah ! yes, I have often put that before my lord 
 very strongly — not that I, of course, as you say, know 
 anything about such matters; except that young men 
 in town are very foolish and do very shocking things 
 sometimes. But my lord's mind is so thoroughly 
 made up on the subject." 
 
 " I wonder," I said quite bitterly, " that Mr. Hali- 
 dane, who has, as I understand, so much influence 
 over his lordship in religious questions, does not lay 
 before him the great danger to which his son is ex- 
 posed by this resolution." 
 
 " Would you kindly speak to Mr. Halidane your- 
 self about it? " said she. 
 
 I felt what a clever fence her answer was; and 
 could only reply, that I feared that my words would 
 have very little weight with him. 
 
 " Oh! you underrate yourself, as usual. You are 
 not aware — and really it is better you should not be 
 or you might become quite alarmingly powerful — 
 of the amount of influence you gain over everyone. 
 
148 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 Even over Colonel Esdaile, whom you seem to have 
 completely won at last. And, I must confess it, over 
 me, as well." 
 
 "Over you, madam?" I said, in a tone which 
 hardly concealed reproach for her flattery. 
 
 "Well — why not? Your influence over me is a 
 perfectly simple and harmless one. You are so 
 different from the rest of the people round me. 
 Whoever is not honest, you are; and it is so pleas- 
 ant — so pleasant and so new — to have someone 
 in this house whom one can trust to tell one the real 
 truth." 
 
 And she gave me one of those glances by which 
 she knew so well how to pour fire along young veins. 
 
 " And therefore — since I know I can have perfect 
 faith in you, dear Mr. Brownlow — I have long 
 wanted to say something to you which you will, of 
 course, never repeat — not even to George. Really, 
 I hardly like to talk about it even to you; but you 
 must see, by this time, how I am circumstanced. My 
 poor dear lord — you know I can hardly consult him 
 — alas! — And Colonel Esdaile — he is the best and 
 simplest-hearted of creatures — but he has his own 
 easy Guardsman's view of such things — so very dif- 
 ferent from yours. And so " — she leaned more 
 towards me — " I really have no one, in this matter, 
 to ask to help and counsel me except yourself." 
 
 " Why not consult Mr. Halidane? " I asked, try- 
 ing to keep my head under this shower of appeal and 
 of sudden intimacy. For my heart misgave me 
 that something was coming, which it would tax 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 149 
 
 all the brain I possessed to meet and to deal with. 
 
 My lady sat upright, with a pretty air of Indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Halldane Is a most admirable man/' 
 she said. " So perfectly pious, you know, and excel- 
 lent." 
 
 I observed that In words, at all events, she In- 
 variably upheld that somewhat dubious personage. 
 
 " But to tell you the truth — since you are in the 
 habit of telling It yourself " — here another capti- 
 vating smile made Its appearance — " In some ways I 
 am just a wee bit afraid of him. He might not quite 
 — quite understand somehow, you know. And so, as 
 I say, I have no one to turn to but you. By myself, I 
 dare not act. It might make quite unnecessary disa- 
 greeables and complications. You see, I was married 
 very young, Mr. Brownlow — as a mere child In fact. 
 I am little better than a child even now, I am afraid, 
 In many respects. I have had very little experience 
 of the world, owing to my poor husband's wretched 
 health, which makes him practically a recluse. And 
 I had hardly any education. My mother — Ah! I 
 am sure you are In pain? " 
 
 '' If I were, you would make me forget It," I said, 
 half Intoxicated by her sudden confidence. 
 
 I did not know then how little such confidences are 
 worth. How women of the world will make them to 
 men, whom they do not look upon as their equals but 
 merely as their tools, partly to gain power over them, 
 and partly, I believe, for the pleasure of talking 
 about themselves. Perhaps, poor things, there may 
 
I50 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 be an honest relief in opening their hearts to some- 
 one who is clever, and, as they fancy, less sophisti- 
 cated than themselves. Anyhow, this was not the 
 last of such strange confidences which I received from 
 her and from other fine ladies also. 
 
 " I had so little education," she repeated. ** I 
 often envy you your scholarship, and all the delight- 
 ful intellectual society which you must have enjoyed 
 at Cambridge. I believe I should have been very 
 blue myself if I had only had the opportunity." 
 
 The naughtiest temptation came over me to make 
 some pretty speech, which would delude her into the 
 notion that she was deluding me. But, happily for 
 my honesty, the speech was so slow in shaping itself 
 that she had run on again before I could bring it 
 forth. 
 
 '' And so I have had only one weapon to defend 
 myself with, in all I have gone through — for I have 
 gone through a great deal, Mr. Brownlow — and that 
 has been, to be perfectly straightforward, and hon- 
 ourable, to speak the exact truth, and to cling to 
 those who are straightforward also. I only wish I 
 never met any other sort of people ! Therefore — 
 and now I really must tell you — I, too, wish George, 
 dear beautiful boy, to leave home. Not because I 
 wish to see him in the Guards, of course; but because 
 — because — I am afraid there are certain influences 
 at home which are quite as dangerous, and really may 
 be more so, than any London ones. What do you 
 think about Mademoiselle Fedore? " 
 
 I thanked Heaven I had not lost my head. Here 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 151 
 
 was a snare Indeed ! How I discerned It I can hardly 
 tell — certainly by no native wit of my own. But, I 
 suppose, that passion for the boy and his welfare 
 which had become the fixed Idea of my life, made 
 me as suspicious and quick to discern the approach of 
 peril, as Instinct makes the mother-bird. And at 
 once I saw — or thought I saw — peril at hand. What 
 if she should make use of anything I told her, to 
 raise a storm In Lord Longmoor's breast against the 
 poor tempted lad? And, even If she were not base 
 enough for that, by betraying my verdict to Halldane 
 she might — would certainly — do the evil work still 
 more effectually. Or — almost worse of all — she 
 might betray It to the boy himself, and lose me his 
 trust for ever. No. I would tell her nothing, even 
 though I had to He to conceal It; and so I answered, 
 as In real astonishment. 
 
 *' Mademoiselle Fedore, madam! She is your 
 ladyship's maid, I believe?" 
 
 " Yes, yes. What do you know about her? You 
 must tell me." 
 
 " I, madam? I never exchanged a word with her 
 in my life — save on the first evening I came here as 
 I was looking at the ball from the gallery." 
 
 " Yes — the night poor George was so tipsy. Yes 
 — and what did she say then? " 
 
 " Nothing about him, I am certain. And I am not 
 likely to forget what passed, for she did me the 
 great pleasure of pointing out your ladyship to me 
 for the first time." 
 
 And I actually had the audacity to look up In her 
 
152 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 face, Insinuating that so lovely a sight had made an 
 impression on me never to be forgot. 
 
 ''And you have not spoken to her since?'' she 
 said, In what I thought was a somewhat disappointed 
 tone. 
 
 " I have not," quoth I, gravely. " I am sure your 
 ladyship would not approve of my holding conversa- 
 tion with your ladyship's maid." 
 
 " Oh! of course not. I know you are too high- 
 minded ever to think of such a thing. But really — 
 surely — you and he are so delightfully intimate — 
 has George never spoken to you about her? " 
 
 Did she want evidence against him? If so, It 
 amounted to a home thrust which I was justified in 
 parrying somehow — anyhow. 
 
 " If he had, madam, I should cerfainly have 
 stopped his talking on such an undesirable subject." 
 
 '' Then you consider her an undesirable person? " 
 
 " Madam " — I tried to laugh — '' what possible 
 judge am I, an obscure, lame scholar, of the desira- 
 bleness or otherwise of French lady's-maids? The 
 fact that she Is, and remains. In your service Is suffi- 
 cient guarantee of her — shall I say — respecta- 
 bility?" 
 
 Here, I flattered myself, was a home thrust from 
 the other side. Her Magnificence found It so, I 
 think, for her colour rose slightly. I went on — 
 
 " This I can say positively, that, as far as I have 
 seen. Lord Hartover has never had any intercourse 
 with her since I have been In this house." 
 
 Which was the fact — with a difference. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 153 
 
 " But you know, of course, that he used to do so 
 often — too often — before you came, poor boy? " 
 
 Taking truth for granted thus, is a very formi- 
 dable method of attack. I felt at my wits' end. 
 
 " My lady, I made it a rule when I entered this 
 house never to inquire about what had, or had not, 
 happened before I came here. I held myself respon- 
 sible only for what took place under my tutorship. I 
 felt — I am sure that you will see that I am right — 
 that my only way of making Lord Hartover trust 
 me, was to begin with him as one who knew nothing 
 about him, to take him simply as I found him. 
 Whether my method has succeeded in improving him 
 you are the best judge." 
 
 " Yes, perfectly, perfectly. What could have done 
 better? But — I am sure I must have tired you." 
 
 '* Oh, madam — as if such a thing was possible. 
 Especially after all your kindness." 
 
 " You have more than repaid it. Really you have 
 taken an immense load off my mind, and I shall go 
 downstairs a happier woman. Poor dear George — 
 what do we not owe to you? Of course, this conver- 
 sation is a secret between us." 
 
 " My dear lady," I said, trying to rise, and falling 
 back into my chair in the effort, " after you have hon- 
 oured me with your confidence, as you have done to- 
 day, I were base Indeed " 
 
 Having beaten off the enemy, I could afford to be 
 generous. 
 
 " Well, well," she said, smiling exquisitely as ever. 
 " Adieu, and thanks. Now mind, dear Mr. Brown- 
 
154 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 low, whatever you want, ask for. And if they are 
 not attentive to you, let me know instantly, or I shall 
 be quite angry and hurt." 
 
 With that she swept out of the room. I breathed 
 more freely as she went. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 That Interview left me with very mixed feelings. 
 On the one hand was the promise of security for my 
 own future. The burden of poverty was lifted off 
 me. I could work without anxiety as to ways and 
 means, and take, as I believed, a high degree. In 
 all probability a fellowship would follow; then some 
 pleasant country rectory — a home — the first home I 
 should have known since childhood. I was tired, my 
 reason less active than my imagination, I let it run 
 to vague sweet fancies; but drew myself up short. 
 For, on the other hand, there was the threatened 
 parting with Hartover. It would not, could not, be 
 for his good. Ought I to protest further, get others 
 to protest? I remembered my conversation with 
 Lord In the library, that afternoon last sum- 
 mer; and his permission to ask his advice should 
 occasion arise. Was this the occasion? 
 
 But If the boy himself wished It? After all It was 
 natural enough. For whom has not a uniform 
 charms at eighteen years old? It had for me at that 
 age, I knew, and had brought home to me the cruel 
 loss and disability of my lameness more than aught 
 else. Playing at soldiers, as most played In those 
 days. Is a pretty and harmless amusement. It gives 
 a sense of power without the trouble of using It. 
 Why should not the dear boy like to be an officer in 
 
 155 
 
ts6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the Life Guards? He would make such a handsome 
 one too ! I should take pride — so wrapped up in him 
 was I — in his plume and cuirass, and fine charger. 
 How well he would sit his horse ! And then a pang 
 of jealousy shot through me, remembering that he 
 had never told me of his wish to go into the army. 
 It was very odd. For what did he not tell me ? Why 
 conceal so natural a desire? Was he ashamed of it, 
 fancying I wanted to make a statesman of him? 
 
 I would ask him and at once. I could not bear — 
 so bewitched was I — the tliought of his having any 
 confidant but myself. 
 
 I put the question to him that very afternoon, in 
 my impatience, as we were reading Plutarch — some- 
 thing about Epaminondas or another of those old 
 fighting worthies — ^" Did he mean to be such a man 
 as that when he went into the army? *' 
 
 " Into the army? " and he gave a start of evident 
 surprise. 
 
 " Why you are going immediately, I hear, into the 
 Life Guards?" 
 
 " Not that I know of," said he sturdily. 
 
 *' I thought — I thought " — I could not conceal my 
 triumph — " that you would have told me yourself." 
 
 *' Of course I should; whom else? What is this 
 invention? Who has set this story afloat? Two or 
 three years ago, there was some talk of my being a 
 soldier; but I had forgot all about it. — And since — 
 since you came, all is changed. I do not want to be 
 a soldier. I am not a fool to be dazzled by a red 
 coat and gold lace." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 157 
 
 " My dear boy, all I know is, that it is your 
 father's intention you should go into the Guards this 
 spring." 
 
 *' I don't care what he intends. I won't go. I can- 
 not go." 
 
 And he got up, and walked nervously about the 
 room. 
 
 " God, but it would be dreadful — just now, as I 
 was beginning to have hope. I shall be ruined if I 
 leave her " 
 
 " Her? " I cried, in sharp anxiety and fear. But 
 he went on, hardly heeding me. 
 
 " Just as I was beginning to feel that I could do 
 anything for her sake — give up anything. That the 
 thought of her, and her beautiful, pure wise face, 
 would bring me safe through any temptation " 
 
 "Good Heavens, whom are you talking of? 
 Fedore?" 
 
 I recollected, trembling, his angry assertion of 
 Fedore's purity. 
 
 "Fedore? Pish! — I have forgotten her and all 
 about her. Fedore — no — no — Nellie — Miss Braith- 
 waite. I tell you, old man, ever since we met her in 
 the lane that day — you remember when she held open 
 the field gate for the sheep? — and I looked into her 
 sweet wise face — and so beautiful, too — there's no 
 face in the world like it — I felt as if a new life had 
 begun. No — that's not quite true, though. I was 
 struck, I admired her; but I didn't feel that at first. 
 It grew upon me " — his eyes were alight, his coun- 
 tenance transfigured by a dawning of very noble pas- 
 
158 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 sion — '' It grew upon me. If I could have her some 
 day to teach me, to keep me out of what's low and 
 unworthy, like some good spirit, some guardian angel 
 — I could wait — wait — serve for her for seven years, 
 as Jacob served for Rachel in the Bible. I would 
 read, I would learn, I would make myself a great 
 name — anything, no matter how hard, anything to 
 be worthy of and to win her. — Why, my dear old 
 man," he broke off abruptly, " what on earth is the 
 matter with you? " 
 
 For I lay back in my chair deadly pale. Alas ! was 
 this to be the end of all those dreams which I had 
 never confessed, even to myself? Indeed I had 
 never understood till that hour how I loved Nellie 
 Braithwaite. Never understood, purblind fool that 
 I was, the charm of Mere Ban, which drew me back 
 there again and again, consisted, not in talks con- 
 cerning politics, social and economic questions, proj- 
 ects of reform, or schemes for the elevation of the 
 masses — though these no doubt had their value — but 
 in something quite else; not in the father's appeal to 
 my intellect, in short, but in the daughter's empire 
 over my heart. 
 
 Every word which Hartover said of himself, his 
 own feelings, his own hopes and purposes, was true 
 of mine likewise. A hundred times more true; for 
 what would it cost him to win her in comparison with 
 what it would cost me ? I, at the bottom of the steep 
 ladder of fame, with all the weary climb before me. 
 He, darling alike of Nature and Fortune, more than 
 half-way up the ladder already, nineteen-twentieths 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 159 
 
 of his work done for him, ready to his hand. And a 
 storm of envy, of wicked rage swept over me. He 
 to talk of labour, of sacrifices ! The rich man, taking 
 credit to himself for sparing his own flocks and 
 herds, while he snatched away the poor man's one 
 ewe lamb. Oh ! these great folks, these great folks, 
 from childhood to old age they all are the same. 
 They fancy the whole world is made for their profit 
 or pastime; and stalk on in their arrogant pride, like 
 giants, heedless that their every step crushes a thou- 
 sand living creatures, to whom life is as sweet as to 
 themselves, suffering as cruel, death as blank ! 
 
 I had shut my eyes — perhaps to keep back the 
 burning tears. I felt a hand on my shoulder. 
 
 " Dearest old man, you are ill ! I have talked too 
 much to you about my own selfish concerns '' 
 
 I looked up and met his eyes, fixed on mine with 
 such loving earnestness that I was melted at once. 
 In God's name, who was I, to stand between him and 
 his happiness? What told me I had been sent into 
 the world to be happy? Not my club foot in good 
 truth. But all I could bring out was — 
 
 "Yes, I am a good deal shaken by yesterday; 
 only — thank God, it is not Fedore ! " 
 
 *' No," he said eagerly, smiling, but blushing scar- 
 let withal. " I was very foolish about Fedore once 
 — and I should have behaved very III — basely — to 
 her, if she would have let me; but she would not. 
 And then you came. You taught me to love purity, 
 simplicity, usefulness, nobleness, wherever I saw 
 them; and I saw them in Nellie Braithwaite. I loved 
 
i6o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 them there. You taught me to love her ! " And he 
 smiled winnlngly in my face. " And so you must help 
 me to win her. You will — I am sure you will " — 
 and he took both my hands in his — " I have no one 
 to help me but you, you know." 
 
 A shudder passed through me. I saw the danger 
 of my position — the practical difficulties, the immense 
 social unfitness of such a marriage. I knew his pur- 
 suing it might cost him many thousands a year; for 
 Lord Longmoor, whose religion was very certainly 
 not of a democratic type, would undoubtedly refuse 
 his consent. This however was the last objection 
 I dare raise to a high-minded boy, like Hartover, in 
 his present temper. Besides what objection of any 
 description could come fittingly from my lips ? Was 
 not my happiness bound up in the destruction of his? 
 Could I, in honour, interfere where all I might do 
 would secretly be done on my own behalf? His loss 
 was all too clearly my gain. Still I was equally in 
 honour bound to prevent his angering his father; 
 bound to prevent his losing — as he assuredly would 
 lose — the bulk of his fortune. A thought moreover 
 of my own interest occurred to me. What if I should 
 be discovered in abetting his infatuation, expelled the 
 house — ruined — for nothing short of ruin would it 
 spell? But when that last thought crossed my mind, 
 I flung it from me. To dissuade him from such a 
 marriage that I might step in myself was ignoble 
 enough. But to dissuade him from it to save my 
 own pocket was doubly ignoble. And yet I could not 
 nerve myself to a definite answer. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY i6i 
 
 " So you won't help me," he said at last, relin- 
 quishing my hands. " You are afraid of my father, 
 like the rest." 
 
 *' Unjust," I cried. " I am afraid of nothing but 
 doing wrong by you. Tell me " — for a point pre- 
 sented itself with which I was glad to turn the con- 
 versation — " have you — have you spoken to her 
 about this?" 
 
 I waited, trembling, to hear my own fate. 
 
 " No — yes — once, that is " 
 
 *^ And tell me — you must tell me — what she an- 
 swered? " 
 
 He gave a proud laugh. 
 
 " She was so angry; and looked so splendid when 
 she was angry. Said I was making game of her, for- 
 sooth ! But I soon let her know I was in earnest, 
 and then she was angrier still. And that made me 
 love her all the more — to have the spirit to refuse 
 me! Yes, I love her all the more for it. But she's 
 not going to escape me so easily, I can tell her. I 
 mean to have her, and, by God, have her I will. And 
 have her, I think I can, eh! dear old man? I don't 
 go to her quite empty-handed, after all, you know." 
 
 And he looked askance, into the mirror over the 
 chimney-piece, at his own fair head. Have her? Of 
 course he could; or any other woman whom he chose. 
 
 My heart sank within me. There was no hope 
 for me. The bull was brought to the stake and must 
 abide the baiting. Still I must gain a little respite. 
 
 " My dear boy," I told him, *' this is a matter not 
 to be settled in an hour or a day. We must go slow 
 
1 62 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 about it. But this I tell you. When all is said and 
 done you are dearer to me " — I paused a moment to 
 confirm my own resolution — " dearer to me than 
 anyone living. And you I will think for, you I will 
 work for whatever betide, in life and in death.'' 
 
 *' I knew you would! " he cried triumphantly, in- 
 terpreting in his own sense words which were pur- 
 posely ambiguous, yet most earnest and true. — 
 ^'What's that noise?" 
 
 And darting away from me across the room, he 
 flung the door — which somehow, it appeared, had 
 come ajar — wide open, to discover, crouching down 
 outside it, no less a person than Mr. Halidane. 
 
CHAPTER XIX 
 
 An ugly scene followed. Violent, even brutal, on 
 the one part, abject yet tricky on the other, it re- 
 flected small enough credit on either. Had It not 
 proved the pivot upon which subsequent events 
 turned, I would willingly leave it unrecorded. 
 
 Fearing what might happen, I sprang to my feet, 
 crippled though I was. But long before I could 
 reach him, I saw Hartover strike the man in the 
 face with a crack like a pistol shot, which, I own, 
 made me shudder all over; seize him by the collar, 
 and, dragging him forward, hurl him into the middle 
 of the room, shutting and locking the door behind 
 him. 
 
 In vain I implored the boy to restrain himself. 
 Inflamed by — not wholly unrighteous — indignation, 
 and by the desire of revenge, seeing too his romance 
 profaned, made common and vulgar, the young bar- 
 barian, not to say young wild beast, broke loose in 
 Hartover. He had a long score to settle with Hali- 
 dane and proceeded to settle It In a primitive manner. 
 Anger In his case was, unfortunately, not Inarticulate. 
 He let fly with tongue as well as with fists. 
 
 '' Sneak, scoundrel," he thundered — " you dirty 
 hypocrite. Gad, I'll punish you — I'll punish you. 
 Always making mischief between me and my father 
 — setting him against me. — Take that — and that — 
 
 163 
 
1 64 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 and that, sir. — Always getting money out of him, 
 too, and robbing me — yes, robbing me to feed a 
 crew of slavering rascals like yourself, who are too 
 lazy to do an honest day's work as long as they can 
 live at free quarters, sing hymns out of tune and 
 miaul prayers they don't believe in. I'll answer 
 your prayers, for once, as they deserve to be an- 
 swered. Take that, I tell you. And now, what have 
 you heard, you dirty spy — what have you heard, I 
 say? If you don't want to be pounded any more, 
 answer me." 
 
 Mr. Halidane was considerably taller and heavier 
 than the boy, and should have been more than his 
 equal in fighting capacity. But soft living and neglect 
 of exercise had made him squashy — " of the con- 
 sistence of an underdone sausage " as the boy put it 
 naughtily. He had been taken wholly by surprise, 
 moreover, and appeared rather contemptibly help- 
 less under the lad's furious onslaught. It was not 
 until I managed to throw myself between him and his 
 assailant, that he gathered voice or courage enough 
 to reply. 
 
 " The saints do not strive or cry, my lord," he 
 panted, " or return blow for blow ! But I would 
 have you remember they are bidden to be prudent 
 and watchful, not slothful in business or in the re- 
 proof of sinners — knowing that vengeance is the 
 divine prerogative, and that He will repay, my lord," 
 he added viciously. " Oh dear, yes — for His saints 
 who humbly trust in Him — not a doubt about it. He 
 will repay." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 165 
 
 " Which means,'' the boy cried scornfully, " that 
 not having the pluck to be a ruffian you're only a 
 rogue. I congratulate you. It forwards the cause 
 of religion, doesn't it? Makes religion so attractive. 
 And now, once again, Mr. Rogue, what have you 
 overheard, I say? " 
 
 '' What I have had to endure is the first question, 
 my lord. I came here, by her ladyship's commands, 
 to commune with Mr. Brownlow as one Christian 
 brother — if I can any longer apply that sweet term 
 to him — with another, about matters relating to the 
 family. In return, I am attacked, struck, grossly ill- 
 used and insulted by the pupil whom he prides him- 
 self upon having instructed in the loftiest principles 
 of heathen — and unregenerate — virtue. The result 
 of such instructions are, I think, manifest. I behold 
 their fallen fruits ! " 
 
 I felt almost inclined to laugh. In spite of my very 
 real alarm and dismay. For the fallen fruits. In as 
 far as they were visible, consisted of a purple stream 
 — juice not of the grape — descending over Mr. Hall- 
 dane's white shirt front, which he essayed unsuccess- 
 fully to staunch with a scarlet and green silk pocket- 
 handkerchief. Still I answered, courteously and 
 ceremoniously, that I was extremely shocked and 
 grieved by so unfortunate a mistake, so unseemly an 
 occurrence — that It was Immensely to be regretted 
 Mr. Halldane's position should have appeared equiv- 
 ocal — and so forth, smoothing matters to the best of 
 my ability. 
 
 But the boy burst In again. 
 
1 66 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " What have you heard? I've given you one lick- 
 ing and, as I live, I'll give you another, and another 
 after that." 
 
 In vain I entreated for peace. His attitude re- 
 mained threatening, while Hahdane seemed slowly 
 making up his mind to give way and speak. 
 
 " Lord Hartover," he said at length, with a singu- 
 lar mixture of truculence and cringing, " I think, as a 
 Christian, I should return good for evil, and tell 
 you plainly what — oh ! with such pain ! — I most 
 unwillingly listened to, so that you may see how 
 cruelly unfounded are your charges against me. I 
 heard you, my lord, confess to having indulged a 
 guilty passion for your step-mother's maid. Of that, 
 however, I was, I grieve to say, only too well aware 
 already — as, I have reason to believe, was this gen- 
 tleman also. I heard you then confess your inten- 
 tion of marrying a farmer's daughter, in spite of 
 whatever opposition your poor sainted father might 
 offer — a young woman, I may add, indoctrinated with 
 revolutionary ideas, which must be abhorrent to 
 every right-minded. God-fearing person. And lastly, 
 to my astonishment and horror, I heard this gentle- 
 man promise you his full aid and assistance in the 
 prosecution of that most undutiful and even wicked 
 project." 
 
 This last was a rank falsehood; but I would not 
 say so before Hartover. No — I was embarked 
 fairly with him now. If I let him believe that I was 
 going to cast him off at such a crisis, what might not 
 happen? I would take my venture with him, and 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 167 
 
 try to save him if I could. As for the other two 
 counts, they were near enough to the truth to be 
 made to do truth's work. Well — was not that all 
 the more reason for standing by the boy in his ex- 
 tremity? He remained silent, choking with rage, but 
 aware of his danger. 
 
 *' And now, my lord, having clearly put before you 
 our relative positions " — saying this, in a smooth 
 voice, there was an evil look in his eye — '^ I think I 
 may be permitted to wish your lordship a good 
 afternoon. Mr. Brownlow, you will be my witness 
 that throughout this painful interview I have at no 
 time been wanting in the respect due to Lord Hart- 
 over's superior station." 
 
 For which speech I longed to kick him. That 
 which I longed to do, my pupil seemed about 
 to do. 
 
 *' Yes, you may go; but not through the door," he 
 said. *' The window is at your service, sir. Oblige 
 me by leaving that way. You won't? Very good, 
 then I'll make you." 
 
 And before I could intervene, he snatched a rapier 
 down from the wall and began forcing his victim 
 back with the point towards the window. 
 
 " Here goes — a serpent must do for a dragon for 
 once. You're the serpent, and I stand for St. 
 George." 
 
 Halidane, with the cold steel playing about his 
 ribs, utterly unmanned, howled aloud to me for pro- 
 tection. I threw my arms round the boy, and quieted 
 him sufficiently to get the key from his pocket and 
 
1 68 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 thus enable the wretched man to escape. Then I 
 threw myself back into a chair, exhausted. 
 
 I passed a very miserable half-hour after that, 
 and a humiliating one. The good work of months 
 seemed to be undone; the self-control, which I had 
 spent so many anxious hours in instilling, to be swept 
 away. For the time being the boy was, to all prac- 
 tical intents and purposes, mad. He raved, he swore, 
 he made wild plans. The villain had gone to tell his 
 father; but he would not see his father. He would 
 leave the house that moment. He would go down to 
 Mr. Braithwaite and have it out with him. He 
 would take a farm. He would enlist as a private 
 soldier. He would go as a huntsman to hounds. He 
 would do anything, everything. At last he raved 
 himself thirsty, and rang the bell. William, who had 
 I found been waiting outside, in terror, entered in- 
 stantly. 
 
 " Drink, he must have drink! Some brandy. No. 
 Champagne — that would keep his spirits up. Go to 
 Marsigli, and tell him to send it. Curse them ! He 
 was heir to Hover yet, he would make somebody at 
 least obey him ! " 
 
 I was in despair. If drinking began again, all was' 
 indeed lost; and, before I fully realised what I was 
 doing, I found myself upon my knees before him. 
 
 "Not that, dearest boy! Anything but that I 
 Things are bad enough already. Do not make them 
 worse by destroying your reason, when you never 
 had more need of it. William, if you bring it — I 
 will never forgive you." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 169 
 
 *' Please not, my lord," echoed William. 
 
 " Lord Hartover, I do not rise, or let you go, till 
 you promise me not to send for any liquor " 
 
 He struggled so violently to get away from me, 
 that he threw me against a table. Bruised as I was, 
 every touch hurt me, and I uttered a cry of pain. 
 This brought him to himself. 
 
 He burst into a violent flood of tears, lifted me 
 up tenderly, and helped me to a chair entreating 
 pardon. 
 
 " I do need my reason indeed; but I have none left. 
 Help me with yours. What shall I do? " 
 
 " Try at least to be calm," I said. 
 
 " But I cannot. I will leave this house. I cannot 
 face the Insults which I know are coming." 
 
 " Your father will never insult you." 
 
 " How do you know that, Brownlow? And if he 
 does not, he will let that Halidane Insult me — set him 
 on to do It — and to insult you, too. Oh, my dear 
 old man, what have I done? I have ruined you." 
 
 " Who can tell? " I said. I had not yet made up 
 my mind what course I should pursue, if — as was 
 most probable — I lost my position. — What matter? 
 God would provide. " But as for leaving this house, 
 you must not." 
 
 '' I must." 
 
 *' If your lordship goes I go with you, to the 
 world's end," quoth William. 
 
 *' You must neither of you go. I will never give 
 my consent, never." 
 
 ^'Why?" 
 
I70 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 *' Because it would be wrong. No son has a right, 
 under age as you are, to run away from his father's 
 house. Still less before you have faced the worst. 
 You cannot tell what turn events may take. The 
 whole storm may blow over, for aught we know. 
 And then how ashamed you would be at having been 
 conquered by fear 1 " 
 
 " Fear? " he repeated scornfully. 
 
 " Yes, fear. To be afraid of being insulted is 
 every bit as cowardly as being afraid of being 
 wounded, or of suffering any other bodily pain or 
 shock." 
 
 "But my honour?" 
 
 " A man's duty is his honour, whatever else is not. 
 Do your duty, and your honour will take care of 
 itself. And your duty, to-day, is to remain here and 
 listen, like a good son, to whatever your father has 
 to say to you." 
 
 *' Please, gentlemen — my lord," William put in, 
 " why not send for the colonel and tell him the 
 whole story? " 
 
 " Why not? " I said. " Excellent advice. Let us 
 lay the matter before him at once." 
 
 My reasons for this step were threefold. Colonel 
 Esdaile would approach the matter as a man of the 
 world. His verdict would, to some extent, relieve 
 me of responsibility, and I was near the end of my 
 powers. I sorely needed relief. And, thirdly, I 
 knew for a fact that he was no friend to Halidane. 
 What influence he possessed he would use, I believed, 
 on the boy's behalf. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 171 
 
 I said something to this effect. Hartover looked 
 shrewdly at me. 
 
 *'Will he? Pm not altogether so sure of that. 
 You don't quite measure the Rusher yet, old man. 
 He's his own book to make, the old fox; and it all 
 depends whether my book suits his." 
 
 And he stood thinking, his face serious, his brows 
 knit. 
 
 I could not but think, too, for his words disheart- 
 ened me, recalling my earlier uneasy sense of the 
 conflicting wills, the conflicting interests, intrigue and 
 possible treachery, which lay below the fair seeming 
 of these fine people and the life of this great house. 
 Lady Longmoor had hinted at it. The boy hinted 
 at it. Halidane had confirmed those hints at a par- 
 ticularly low level. But what of the higher level — 
 did falsehood, self-seeking, scheming reign there 
 equally? Colonel Esdalle stood next in the succes- 
 sion, since Lady Longmoor was childless. It was 
 to his interest, then, that Hartover should not marry 
 at all. True — but the chances of his remaining un- 
 married were so remote, that it might suit the colonel 
 better to help forward a match of which Lord Long- 
 moor disapproved. If the latter disinherited his son, 
 he — the colonel — might secure a share of the plun- 
 der. Why I knew not, but my heart often misgave 
 me that if the earl's Innumerable Imaginary ailments 
 developed into one real ailment — a thing very pos- 
 sible — if, to be plain, he succeeded, and those about 
 him succeeded In coddling him to death, within as 
 short a time as the decencies of mourning permitted 
 
172 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I should see Colonel Esdaile her ladyship's husband. 
 What was their relation to one another now? Gos- 
 sip, I could not but be aware, had long been busy. 
 Yet my recent conversation with her — her confi- 
 dences, all she had so touchingly told me — what did 
 these mean? I recoiled in horror, for was I not 
 groping along the edge of a moral abyss compared 
 with which my groping along the edge of that natu- 
 ral abyss, in the darkness of the limestone cavern, 
 two nights ago, became a thing of small moment. 
 Heavens ! what a hateful disgusting web it all was 
 for me to have to soil my hands in disentangling. 
 Oh! for my quiet college rooms again, grand old 
 books, and peace. 
 
 But the boy was there in utter need, all this while, 
 and something must be done at once. Whatever his 
 ulterior hopes and purposes, there could be no ques- 
 tion of the colonel's dislike of Halidane. No ques- 
 tion, either, that Halidane was struggling, whether 
 for himself or his clique, to secure a share of that 
 aforementioned plunder. At this juncture the two 
 plunderers' interest could not run on all fours — 
 therefore I would chance it. 
 
 " William is right," I said at last. " We will go 
 and talk things over with the colonel." 
 
 I forgot I could not walk. The boy would not 
 leave me. He all but clung to me. William must 
 be our messenger. 
 
CHAPTER XX 
 
 As soon as we were alone Hartover crossed the 
 room, and threw open a casement of one of the long 
 low diamond-paned windows; thereby letting In the 
 chill air drawing down from the distant fells. Let- 
 ting In, too, the song of the northerly wind among 
 the giant firs — a sad but very noble melody. Di- 
 shevelled, his raiment disordered by stress of battle, 
 he stood In his smart high-walsted blue coat, his 
 hands thrust in his breeches pockets, leaning his 
 flushed cheek against the stone mulllon, and gazing 
 over gardens, pinery, and stately avenue to where 
 the upward rolling wilderness of rusty Indigo moor 
 rose against the quiet sky. He was quite gentle now, 
 subdued and wistful, wearied by the violence of his 
 own passion; and — beautiful exceedingly, as I could 
 not but note. That anyone should have the heart to 
 plot against or strive to Injure him, to traffic with his 
 faults or weaknesses to their own advantage, ap- 
 peared to me past belief. And It seemed these 
 thoughts of mine must have communicated them- 
 selves to him, in some way, passing into his mind, for 
 he presently said — 
 
 *' Why, why can't they be kind to me ? Or If that's 
 expecting too much, why can't they let me alone? I 
 don't want to be a blackguard. By Heaven, I could 
 be good, should be good, if only they treated me 
 
 173 
 
174 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 fairly, didn't lay traps for and badger me. Upon 
 my soul, it's as if they wished me to go to the devil 
 and to do wrong. Honestly, I never had a dog's 
 chance till you came, Brownlow. If I'm the young 
 limb of Satan they make me out to be, why do they 
 take so much trouble about keeping me here ? Why 
 can't they let me clear out — go away with you, dear 
 old man, and get something to do? After all I've 
 my mother's money, you know. They could hardly 
 take that from me. I don't know exactly how much 
 it is, only a couple of thousand or so a year. But I 
 could manage to scrape along on that for a time, I 
 suppose, until " 
 
 Here Colonel Esdaile swaggered in, genial and 
 laughing, saving me, to my thankfulness, the neces- 
 sity to reply. 
 
 " Well, George, so I hear you've a good day's 
 work to your credit," he began. *' I hope you gave 
 his oily reverence a thorough dressing down while 
 you were about it." 
 
 " I wish I had killed him," the boy broke out, 
 firing up again. 
 
 ** There are little inconveniences about a charge of 
 assault and battery when it ends in the demise of the 
 battered one, I'm afraid. Still I doubt if I should 
 have given my tailor orders for a band of crape on 
 my sleeve. The fellow got no more than he deserves 
 In my opinion. So my verdict on your conduct Is 
 pretty much that of the Irish Bar, when a certain 
 member of it knocked a certain counsellor down in 
 the Town Courts— namely that ' nothing could be 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 175 
 
 more reprehensible than Mr. O'Blank's conduct in 
 knocking the counsellor down, except Mr. O'Blank's 
 conduct in letting him get up again.' And that, I 
 fancy, will be the verdict of everyone — but your 
 father, who — who don't count." 
 
 *' I wish I could think he did not. Colonel," said I. 
 
 '' Oh ! I'll see things are made all right in that 
 quarter," he declared lightly. " But now, as to this 
 young lady, George, who is the only really Important 
 part of the matter." 
 
 *' Who told you there was a young lady? " Hart- 
 over asked simply^ 
 
 *' Well I might have guessed it, old fellow. When 
 men of your age do anything particularly desperate, 
 there is sure to be a petticoat in the case. But, to 
 tell the truth, I was in my lady's boudoir when the 
 parson entered." 
 
 " What? Did he not go to my father? " 
 
 " Your father was just having his throat rubbed, 
 I understand, with some new quack's Vital Elixir, 
 before driving out in the cold wind, and could not 
 be disturbed. And now he is gone out; so that if 
 we could smother the black fellow in the meantime, 
 all might be well yet." 
 
 " And what did she say? " 
 
 " Oh, she ? She went into hysterics at the sight of 
 the wounded hero, and became thereby Incompetent 
 to offer an opinion on the subject." 
 
 " Rusher! " said the boy fiercely, " you're chaffing 
 me. You don't mtend to help me." 
 
 " Not to marry that young lady, Hartover," he 
 
176 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 said with a complete change of tone. " I know she 
 is very lovely, and I daresay she is very good and 
 clever, and all that; and I don't think the least the 
 worse of you for faUing in love with her. As if a 
 man cannot have a passion or two before he's twenty- 
 one ! But as for marrying her, that will never do; 
 and I am sure Brownlow here, who is a sensible man 
 if ever there was one, feels the same." 
 
 I was thankful the boy was too absorbed by his 
 own emotion to observe the shrug and glance which 
 passed between us. Sincerely, without reference to 
 any stake of my own in the issue, I agreed with the 
 speaker. The idea of such a marriage, as matters 
 now stood, could not be entertained. Yet how was 
 I to tell Hartover so? Still more, how convince him 
 such a view was the only reasonable and prudent 
 one? 
 
 And here the poor boy broke out with a string of 
 those pathetic and time-honoured commonplaces 
 which each generation repeats in youth and smiles 
 at in maturity. The colonel sat by, listening amus- 
 edly; until, at last, out of good-nature — perhaps out 
 of boredom, too — he rose and, patting the boy on 
 the shoulder, spoke soothingly. '' Leave it all to 
 him, and he would see what could be done — would 
 go down and talk it all over with my lady. Hart- 
 over might count on him to stand by him " — and so 
 forth, promising recklessly all I dared not promise, 
 because I was in earnest while he was not. I could 
 see he treated the whole affair as a lad's passing 
 fancy, which had best be humoured, because, if 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 177 
 
 humoured, it would in all probability be forgotten in 
 a few months' time. I began to wonder whether he 
 might not be right. His experience was larger than 
 mine, and I ended by blaming myself for having 
 taken the matter so seriously; selfishly hoping, in my 
 heart of hearts, that the colonel had gauged the 
 position more truly than I myself had. 
 
 He departed, leaving us, save for soothing phrases, 
 pretty much where we were before his coming. 
 
 The boy looked at the fine swaggering figure as it 
 passed out on to the stair, and said quietly — 
 
 " The Rusher is a humbug. He means what he 
 says, now, perhaps; but he won't do it. He won't 
 take the trouble when it comes to the point, or he'll 
 get talked over. You see if he doesn't. I must just 
 help myself — so — good-bye, old man, for the pres- 
 ent." 
 
 ^'Good-bye?" 
 
 '' Yes — I'm going out, and without your leave — 
 mind that. My hat and coat, William. And, Will- 
 iam " 
 
 " Yes, my lord," and the faithful spaniel came. 
 
 " Look here — I'm going out without Mr. Brown- 
 low's permission and against his will, and he doesn't 
 know where I am going to." 
 
 William looked at me inquiringly. 
 
 *' It is too true. For Heaven's sake tell me what 
 you are about? What is the meaning of this? You 
 will not " 
 
 " Not run away, I promise you. I shall be back 
 in a couple of hours. You can't catch me, you know. 
 
178 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 old fellow; and if you try I'll serve you as I did 
 Halidane." 
 
 He went, forcing a laugh; returned according to 
 promise, though in somewhat over the two hours, 
 was very silent during dinner, and as soon as it was 
 finished got up from the table. 
 
 " I am tired, dear old man," he said. " Do you 
 mind if I turn in early to-night? I want a good 
 sleep.'* 
 
 At the door he paused, came back and putting his 
 two hands on my shoulders stood looking down in 
 my face. 
 
 " She — Nellie — loves me, though she has refused 
 me," he said, and his lips quivered. " Never mind 
 how, but I've found that out. Now I don't care a 
 hang what they do or say. I shall never give 
 her up." 
 
 Mr. Marsigli appeared, grave and courtly, " His 
 lordship desired to speak with Lord Hartover at 
 
 once." 
 
CHAPTER XXI 
 
 I HAD passed an agitated day, followed by a sleep- 
 less night. Rising early, stiff and crippled though I 
 still was, I hobbled down the winding stairs, out 
 across the terrace and gardens to the great square 
 of stable buildings. I had taken much the same jour- 
 ney on my first morning at Hover, nearly two years 
 before, in all the charm and radiance of May. This 
 was to be, as I had determined, my last morning 
 there. A very different scene, different sentiments 
 and circumstances; alas for the vanity of human 
 hopes and human wishes ! 
 
 Hartover's interview with his father had been 
 stormy; the *' sainted " nobleman's form of piety by 
 no means excluding strong feeling or strong lan- 
 guage in the expression of it — ^upon occasion. But 
 the main offence, in all this wretched business, was, 
 I learned, credited to my account. The trouble took 
 its rise in my detestable association with Mr. Braith- 
 waite — whose political opinions stank in the aristo- 
 cratic nostrils, and of whose daughter's marriage to 
 Hartover I was reported an earnest advocate. I 
 could have laughed at the irony of my own position; 
 and could easily, as I thought, see whom I had to 
 thank for it. I found it less easy to decide on the 
 course of action duty commanded me to adopt. 
 
 During the course of the day I had requested, even 
 
 179 
 
i8o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 demanded, an interview with Lord Longmoor, so 
 that I might lay my own account of affairs before 
 him. I met with a refusal. It could not be arranged. 
 He was too worried, too upset by all which had oc- 
 curred. His health made it imperative, that he 
 should be spared further discussion and annoyance. 
 So I was condemned unheard, notwithstanding Plart- 
 over's entreaties and protests. For the dear boy, I 
 believe, fought my battle bravely, taking all blame 
 upon himself, controlling both tongue and temper 
 lest he should injure my cause by violent or imperti- 
 nent speech. 
 
 I waited until evening before coming to a final 
 decision, for I did not want to act in anger or in 
 pique. Then I wrote to Lord Longmoor, resigning 
 my position as tutor to his son. It was a heavy 
 wrench — but the heavier the wrench the more clear 
 the duty. Looking back, I still think I did right. 
 
 Warcop had been my first friend at Hover, and to 
 him I turned in my present distress. 
 
 The day had not fairly broken yet. The morning 
 mist hung thick. In it grooms and helpers, but half 
 clothed and half awake, moved to and fro about the 
 stable-yard armed with pitchforks or buckets, calling 
 to one another, whistling, their stunted, crab-legged 
 forms the more ungainly from the trusses of straw 
 and hay borne on their backs. Even before I could 
 distinguish him, I recognised Warcop's voice, rasp- 
 ing and surly, admonishing his subordinates as " lazy 
 towlers and tykes " in the broadest of his Yorkshire 
 speech. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY i8i 
 
 Seeing me, he held out his hand in silence. I 
 grasped it, with a singular sense of support, even of 
 comfort — for I was shaken by the events of the last 
 three days, and by my sleepless night. I followed 
 him into his sanctum — a queer dusky office, hung 
 round with prints and spoils of the stud-farm and 
 the chase, furnished with shelves, too, containing a 
 miscellaneous assortment of professional stores and 
 appliances — which, although in fact scrupulously 
 clean, smelt, I must own, very vilely of horse-medi- 
 cines, leather, grease, tobacco-smoke, and Heaven 
 knows what besides. The stove was alight. He 
 brought forward a Windsor arm-chair, and bade me 
 sit down near it. 
 
 '' For 'tis chill," he said, " an ye're no too grand 
 on your legs yet. But I kenned you coom, sir, gin 
 you could walk, so bid to make t' fire 'oop. Seeing it 
 were best, an' coom you could, we should ha' our 
 crack here than i' the house — for 'odds, sir, walls 
 have ears at Hover, if ears walls ever had." 
 
 '* Too true, Warcop," I answered, sadly enough. 
 '' So you have heard what has happened? " 
 
 " And more than's happened, as like as not." 
 
 " Most probably," I said. 
 
 " And the upshot of it a' is ye leave Hover? " 
 
 " How can I do otherwise ? My presence here can 
 only increase the breach between Lord Hartover and 
 his father, as long as the earl believes I encourage 
 the boy In his affection for Miss Braithwalte. I can 
 only give you my word that, until the day before 
 yesterday, when Lord Hartover spoke to me about 
 
1 82 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the matter himself, I had not the faintest suspicion 
 he had ever given the young lady a thought." 
 
 " Better give her a thought than some nearer 
 home," quoth Warcop. "' But t' story goes the lass 
 has been setting her cap at him these three months 
 past." 
 
 " Then the story is a very wicked lie," I answered. 
 " I have been with him constantly, and I know that, 
 at most, he has spoken to her thrice. Who has dared 
 to set that rumour afloat? I advise them to have a 
 care, for if Lord Hartover hears of it they will 
 assuredly meet with the same fate at his hands as 
 Mr. Halidane did two days ago." 
 
 Warcop chuckled. 
 
 " 'Deed, but t' lad put up a bonny fight ! " he said 
 with evident relish. " An' that's to your credit, sir, 
 for ye've kept him fra t' drink, kept him clean body 
 an' sowl, and gotten far to make a man o' him — God 
 bless you for it, an' He will. But it's sair news ye're 
 leaving us, for t' lad's young in clean ways yet. Can 
 ye trust him to stan' alone? Trust him, an' ye're 
 gone, to keep straight? " 
 
 *' I don't know, I don't know," I cried, putting my 
 hands over my face. " There you touch me home, 
 Warcop. That's where the whole thing cuts me. 
 Still I only forestall our parting by a few months, for 
 her ladyship tells me he is to join the Life Guards 
 next spring in any case. Lord Longmoor had 
 already determined he should do so, and this unfor- 
 tunate business will assuredly make him more reso- 
 lute the boy should leave home than ever." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 183 
 
 Warcop remained silent for a good couple of min- 
 utes. He screwed up his mouth, scratched his head. 
 
 *' I've tried an' I've tried," he said at last; " an' 
 it beats me. I can't fathom it. Between puking 
 fools and canting knaves, and fly-by-night wantons 
 and rakes, what is't they want to do wi' t' lad? " 
 
 I started; for had I not asked myself just that 
 question, though in less unvarnished language, a hun- 
 dred times? Had not Hartover, indeed, asked it 
 himself? 
 
 " Is it that you cannot, or that you will not, fathom 
 it, Warcop? " I said, scenting his Yorkshire caution 
 and trying to bring him to the point. For I felt if 
 any man living could explain the ugly problem he 
 could. 
 
 " Nay, nay," he answered, looking me full in the 
 face. " I'd tell ye, gin I kenned myself, fast enough, 
 an' it would help you or t' lad. But I dinna, sir, 
 though most ungodly fears ha' crossed my mind. 
 But this I can tell ye, there's some new game up be- 
 twixt Mamzell and Mr. Marsigll, ever since my lady 
 had them both up to town wi' her last Whitsun. By 
 times they're as thick as thieves " — he dwelt on the 
 last word meaningly. " By times they fight like cat 
 and dog, or " — he glanced at me — " like man and 
 wife, sir." 
 
 I pressed him to be explicit; and he told me that In 
 his opinion Marsigll had some hold over Made- 
 moiselle Fedore, against which she rebelled. It was 
 she who had put about the evil story concerning 
 Nellie Braithwalte's efforts to entrap Hartover. Did 
 
1 84 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 she intend to make her profit out of the business, and 
 did Marsigli stand in the way of her carrying out 
 that intention? A violent quarrel had taken place 
 between the couple, upon whom Warcop had come, 
 unexpectedly, in one of the shrubberies near the 
 stables in the dusk last evening. It had gone forward 
 in mixed French and Italian, so that he could gather 
 little of the actual subject under discussion; but Hart- 
 over's name had occurred, and so had mine. 
 
 " An' the French she-devil flounced off In a fine 
 taking, an' cannoned right into me round t' corner o' 
 a yew hedge, which sobered her a bit, I promise you," 
 Warcop added, with a chuckle. 
 
 But time pressed. I dared not linger. The mail 
 stopped at the Longmoor Hunt Inn at ten o'clock, 
 and I had to make my final preparations before get- 
 ting Warcop to drive me there to meet it. For I had 
 settled to go straight back to Cambridge and talk 
 over everything — save one thing which should lie 
 secret in my own heart — with the kind old Master 
 and ask his advice. I had spent but little of my sal- 
 ary, and had more than enough in hand to supply all 
 my simple wants until I could find work. Yet the 
 future, I confess, looked very black. My hopes were 
 dashed, my promised security had vanished. In leav- 
 ing Hover I left, not only comfort, many Interests 
 and pleasures, a spacious and stately way of life, but 
 the human beings who were dearest to me on earth. 
 I dared not dwell upon that, lest It should unman me 
 completely. I must cut my farewells as short as pos- 
 sible. To Hartover I represented our separation as 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 185 
 
 temporary — a fiction, as I knew, but a pardonable 
 one under the circumstances. 
 
 He wanted, dear boy, to drive me to the little 
 country town and see me off. But I implored him to 
 spare both himself and me this added wretchedness. 
 Let me go quietly, alone with Warcop. Let there be 
 no demonstration, no fuss. All that he said to me, 
 in his loving generous way, I remember and always 
 shall remember. Undeserved, exaggerated though I 
 knew it to be, it went far to sweeten my very bitter 
 cup. He broke down utterly at last, flung his arms 
 round me and cried upon my breast, promising me, 
 like a child, that he " would be good," be good, for- 
 sooth, until I came back. 
 
 And I left him in the study, where we had spent so 
 many and such varied hours together — and thus, in 
 disappointment and apparent failure, closed that 
 eventful section of my life. 
 
CHAPTER XXII 
 
 And now I was safe back at Cambridge again. Safe 
 in my own old rooms, among my old friends, wel- 
 comed with open arms by the good Master and Fel- 
 lows. To the Master I told my tale, both of success 
 and failure — only not mentioning my own aflair of 
 the heart. That was my private joy, my private 
 sorrow, to be told to no man, no counseller, however 
 benevolent and sympathetic. And both sympathetic 
 and benevolent the dear old Master proved himself. 
 He made arrangements by which all College fees 
 were lessened, and — out of his own pocket — paid 
 certain charges, so that I need make but slight Inroad 
 upon my little capital. I was touched and astonished 
 by his generosity and the affection he showed me. 
 Had I been his son, he could hardly have taken 
 warmer interest in my well-being. 
 
 But if I was astonished by the Master's generosity, 
 I was still more astonished by a letter which reached 
 me ere the week was out from none other than Lady 
 Longmoor herself. 
 
 She was '' toiite eploree,*^ she wrote, " at my de- 
 parture, but admired me for it. It was just like me, 
 acting from too high a sense of honour. She knew 
 it was hopeless to ask me to return." 
 
 Why not try, whether hopeless or not, by experi- 
 ment — I thought. 
 
 1 86 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 187 
 
 " Perhaps while his lordship was still under the 
 influence of recent painful scenes I had better not 
 return. All she and her dear George could do was 
 to show their gratitude to me in a practical way for 
 the many " etc., etc. And there was a cheque for my 
 salary to the year's end and a hundred pounds more. 
 I was to " draw on Lord Longmoor's bankers for a 
 hundred each year until I left Cambridge. This was 
 her dear George's plan, so I need feel no hesitation 
 in accepting it. He insisted on my going back to 
 College " 
 
 I pondered long over this letter. It had evidently 
 been composed with great care ; and though here and 
 there a word was, of course, misspelt, it was a far 
 more brilliant specimen of Enghsh prose than I had 
 ever before seen from the same hand. What time 
 and trouble it must have cost the poor lady, thought 
 I ! Plainly she considered herself a little in my 
 power, and was willing to keep on good terms 
 with me. 
 
 But my surprise knew no bounds when I came to 
 this postscript: — " I may tell you in confidence that 
 I have called at Mere Ban and seen the lovely shep- 
 herdess. Such a beauty ! Such grace ! Such sim- 
 plicity ! Such sensibility ! When I looked at her how 
 could I but sympathise " — this word she had much 
 deformed — " with dearest Hartover ! What would 
 I not do to help him? We must trust that all will 
 turn out well yet. At least, whatever happens, we 
 know that he has a friend in you.'* 
 
1 88 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 Doubtless — ^but what could have induced her to 
 look favourably on a marriage between her stepson 
 and Nellie? I puzzled my poor brains over this 
 extraordinary development for many days, but found 
 myself no nearer to a rational solution than when I 
 started. However, I knew enough of the fair siren, 
 by now, to be suspicious of her enthusiasm and en- 
 couragement and, muttering to myself, *' Timeo 
 Danaos et dona ferentes^ I left honest time to un- 
 ravel the mystery. 
 
 And so I settled back into the University routine. 
 Sat in the same lecture-rooms, contended with the 
 same problems, took my constitutional along the 
 same Wrangler's Walk, or watched the moonlight 
 shadows among the same noble elms, trying to forget 
 the experiences of the last two years and take up 
 college life again where I had left it. Impossible. 
 In those two years of actual time I had grown ten 
 years older. I had gone out a simple lad. I had 
 come back, if not a man of the world, at least a man 
 forced by circumstance into self-resolve and self- 
 restraint, prudence and — shall I say? — cunning. Yes, 
 I had seen the world. And dearly had I bought the 
 sight. The price was that burning fire within, the 
 fire of a hopeless love which consumed me night and 
 day. True, it was hopeless. But there is a love 
 which no more needs hope to feed it than the pres- 
 ence of the beloved one — a love which, self-lighted 
 and inextinguishable, burns on for ever without other 
 fuel than the brain of its victim. Not that I indulged 
 my fancy. Not that I played weakly and luxuriously 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 189 
 
 with any thoughts of what might have been. I thrust 
 them from me sternly, fiercely, and threw myself into 
 my reading, and read, and over-read. It was simply 
 that her face, her voice, her every gesture, never left 
 my imagination — I had almost said, my retina — for 
 one moment of time. During the severest mathemat- 
 ical thought, as during the seemingly soundest sleep, 
 I was always conscious of her. I struggled, I prayed, 
 to put the image away. But when, after many strug- 
 gles and many prayers, I found that it would not 
 vanish, I let it be. Had God put it there? If so, 
 who was I to fight against God? And, if so, was it 
 not there for a purpose? Was I not doomed thus 
 always to bear her in mind, that I might be of use 
 to her hereafter? That thought sprang up within 
 me and gave me new life. Hitherto I had been read- 
 ing without any high or even clear purpose, from 
 mere mental activity, emulation, the desire of a fel- 
 lowship and a competence ; but now I began to read 
 for her. I took my degree and a very good one — 
 thank Heaven and my worthy tutors — for her. I 
 went into Holy Orders six months later; and when, 
 within eighteen months of leaving Hover, found 
 myself a Fellow and junior tutor, I had still the 
 paradoxical instinct that, in that capacity, I was 
 working for her of whom I had heard but once since 
 I left the north. 
 
 But once ; — for, to go back and take things accord- 
 ing to the order of time, I received from Braith- 
 waite, within a month of my return to Cambridge, 
 the following letter : — 
 
I90 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " My dear Brownlow, — I am sorry to part with 
 you; but part, I fear, I must. You still belong to 
 that Hartover faction, and must continue to do so. 
 It is your interest to keep well with them; and I hap- 
 pen to know that you stand rather better with them 
 than ever. You went off like a brave lad, as you 
 always were, and I like you for it. So do they; for 
 now they can gallop away to the devil comfortably, 
 without having you to preach to them. Any rational 
 people would have asked you to come back; but 
 Lords and Ladies can't be expected to behave like 
 ordinary sane human beings. Besides, I suppose you 
 have still in your head some fantastical chivalrous 
 notion of saving that poor young fool. He is gone 
 into the Guards, and hence I suppose to the dogs. 
 Anyway, your path and mine lie in opposite directions 
 for my poor Nellie's sake. Don't be angry with me. 
 I've learnt a lot from you, and I flatter myself you've 
 learnt something from me; and, if I could have you 
 without them, there is no man on earth I would 
 sooner see at my table. But, as it is, I have thrown 
 up my farm here. Made a capital bargain, too, with 
 the incoming tenant, and am going to farm elsewhere 
 — I won't tell even you where. By the bye, I had 
 an amusing interview with that old ape of an Earl. 
 I got admitted, on his hearing that I wanted to give 
 up the farm; told him plainly that I did not think 
 it good to stay in the neighbourhood after what had 
 happened, at which he vouchsafed to say that I had 
 behaved like a gentleman. But when I let him 
 know — as I took care to do — that I had quite as 
 much objection to his son's marrying my daughter as 
 he himself could have, I ' touched his witness,' as we 
 Quakers used to say, a little too shrewdly and put 
 him into a boiling rage. The miserable lump of pride 
 wanted me, forsooth, to look on it all as a mighty 
 honour, and leave him all the glory of despising me. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 191 
 
 So I told him it was a strange world where two men 
 must needs quarrel just because they agreed exactly, 
 and bowed myself out. 
 
 " God bless you. You will prosper wherever you 
 are, and die a fat pluralist with three livings and a 
 stall. Nellie sends her best love." 
 
 Her best love? I knew better. And perhaps he 
 knew better too ; but it was a comfort to think that 
 she remembered me kindly. 
 
 Then came letters from the dear boy. At first fre- 
 quent, affectionate, even passionate; always full of 
 Nellie, and tearing my heart-strings thereby. But 
 after a while they grew fewer, and, though by almost 
 imperceptible degrees, colder. What wonder? I 
 saw that his affection for me was dying out before 
 the influx of new scenes, new hopes and pleasures 
 alas! For he was in the Guards now, and in the 
 thickest whirl of London life. At last his letters 
 ceased entirely, and over a year passed without a line. 
 I tried to find out from the Master how he was. But 
 he knew nothing. " Lord Hartover was very much 
 admired, he believed, in society, and very successful." 
 Anything more the good man could not, or would 
 not, tell me. 
 
 My heart was very heavy when his letters ceased, 
 for still the boy charmed me. The thought of his 
 beauty, his natural cleverness, the gallant way he had 
 with him, the great destiny to which he was called — 
 could he but meet and rise to it — captivated my im- 
 agination. I was jealous of his affection, jealous of 
 his remembrance; and now it seemed he had forgot- 
 
192 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ten me and that I had passed altogether out of his 
 life. I could only trust and pray that he had not for- 
 gotten all I had taught him likewise; but that some 
 lessons of chivalry, duty, self-respect and self- 
 restraint had sunk deep enough into the foundations 
 of his mind and character to save him from the fate 
 of Alcibiades, which I had always dreaded for him. 
 I, at least, never forgot him. Night and morning, 
 through those lonely waiting years, I prayed for him 
 — and for her whom he loved, though to my own so 
 great discomfiture and loss. 
 
 Had he forgotten her too? I wondered. Some- 
 times I hoped he had; that his was merely a boy's 
 passion which, lightly coming, would also lightly go 
 and leave her free. Free for me? Ah, selfish and 
 disloyal thought ! For I was pursued by the belief — 
 though it may seem a far-fetched folly — that in for- 
 getting her he would become a worse and weaker 
 man. That love for her might hold him to one en- 
 nobling purpose ; while, letting slip that purpose, he 
 might drift down into base promiscuous pleasures, 
 and end, too likely, in some loveless manage de con- 
 venance blunting to all the finer sensibilities and 
 aspirations of his nature and his soul. How many 
 scores of worldly scheming mothers were even now 
 baiting their hooks to catch him; careless whether, 
 once they had secured a daughter's position, a title 
 and great wealth, that daughter found herself 
 neglected for women of no repute. Hundreds of 
 young men, in the great world to which Hartover 
 belonged, ran that ugly course, and why not he? 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 193 
 
 And this thing, also, troubled me, adding to my 
 heaviness of heart, and thereby, perhaps perversely 
 feeding, my secret passion. For I believed that, even 
 though he forgot Nellie, she would not forget him. 
 I knew, or fancied I knew, her strength and stead- 
 fastness too well. Once giving her love, she gave it 
 for good and all. I should, indeed, have been sorry, 
 ^shamed — ^paradoxical as it may seem — that she 
 should forget him. It would have lowered her In 
 my eyes, and that I could not bear. So it became an 
 integral element of my fantastic inner life to con- 
 ceive of her loving him as deeply, eternally, even 
 though hopelessly, as I loved her. I knew, or be- 
 lieved I knew, her love was pure, that no stain of 
 selfishness or ambition was upon it — that she would 
 have felt for him all that she now felt had he been a 
 simple yeoman, one of her own class and social kin. 
 And as long as I could believe this, her love for 
 Hartover threw a fresh grace and glory round the 
 dear image which I worshipped. 
 
 No — whatever happened she must love him wholly 
 and solely still, and I must find a mystic delight in my 
 own despair. 
 
 Meanwhile, something happened which vexed me a 
 little at first, amused me much after a while, and 
 finally became of very serious moment both to myself 
 and to others. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 It was the beginning of the Lent term. I had stayed 
 up during the vacation, my college being also my 
 home. And during that vacation a weight of loneli- 
 ness descended upon me. This was wrong, since had 
 I not very much to be thankful for? My position 
 was a secure, and, from the university standpoint, an 
 even brilliant one. I liked my work. It interested 
 me. Yet, in some aspects, this university life 
 seemed to me narrow. It pained me to see old faces 
 depart, and new ones enter who knew naught of me. 
 Other men halted here, but for a while, on their life's 
 journey, moving forward to meet the larger issues, 
 to seek " fresh fields and pastures new." And I re- 
 mained — as one, held up by accident, remains at 
 some half-way house, seeing the stream of traffic and 
 of wayfarers sweep for ever forward along the great 
 crowded highroad, and pass him by. 
 
 If I had not had that break in my university course, 
 if I had not spent those two years at Hover in a 
 society and amid interests and occupations — pleas- 
 ures, let me put it roundly — foreign to my own social 
 sphere, Cambridge, and all Cambridge stood for, 
 would not probably have palled upon me. But I 
 had beheld wider horizons; beheld them, moreover, 
 through the windows of an eftchanted castle. Thus 
 memory cast its shadow over the present, making me 
 
 194 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY ^195 
 
 — It was faithless, ungrateful, I had nearly said, sin- 
 ful — dissatisfied and sad. 
 
 However, being in good health, I was not too sad 
 to eat a good dinner; and so, one fine day at the 
 beginning of term, when the bell rang for hall, I 
 crossed the quadrangle and went In — or went rather 
 to the door, and there stopped short. For, face to 
 face, I met none other than Mr. Halidane, In all 
 the glory of a freshman's brand-new gown. 
 
 "Ah! Mr. Brownlow," he exclaimed, with his 
 blandest and most beaming smile, " It Is Indeed a 
 gracious dispensation to meet you, sir, an old and 
 valued friend, on my first day within these hallowed 
 and venerable walls. I feared you might not have 
 come up yet. Allow me to congratulate you upon 
 your distinctions, your degree, your fellowship. 
 With what gladness have I heard of them, have I 
 welcomed the news of your successful progress. I 
 trust you are duly thankful to an over-ruling Provi- 
 dence ! " 
 
 " I trust I am," quoth I. 
 
 I believed the man to be a hypocrite. He had 
 done me all the harm he could. Yet, what with my 
 loneliness, what with my memories of that enchanted 
 castle, I could not but be moved at this unexpected 
 meeting with him. I choked down my disgust, my 
 resentment for the dirty tricks he had played me, 
 and shaking him by the hand asked what had brought 
 him here. 
 
 " The generosity of my pious patron," he an- 
 swered, casting up his eyes devoutly. " Ah ! what do 
 
196 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I not owe — under Providence — to that true orna- 
 ment of his exalted station ! Through his condescend- 
 ing liberality I am enabled to fulfil the wish long 
 nearest my heart; and by taking, as I humbly hope in 
 due time, Holy Orders, to enter upon a more ex- 
 tended sphere of Christian and national usefulness." 
 
 I abstained from asking how he had suddenly dis- 
 covered the Church of England suited his religious 
 convictions and abilities better than the sect of the 
 " Saints indeed," and contented myself, not without a 
 beating heart, by enquiring after Lord Longmoor 
 and all at Hover. 
 
 I got answers ; but none that I wanted. The Earl 
 was perfection; the Countess perfection; even for 
 Colonel Esdaile he had three or four superlatives. 
 The Countess, he trusted, had been lately brought to 
 the knowledge of the truth. The Colonel only 
 needed to be brought to it — and he was showing 
 many hopeful signs — to be more than mortal man. — 
 It was evidently his cue to approve highly of Hover 
 and all dwellers therein. And when, with almost a 
 faltering voice, I asked news of my dear boy, he 
 broke out into fresh superlatives; from amid the 
 rank growth of which I could only discover that Lord 
 Hartover was a very dashing and popular young man 
 about town, and that it served Mr. Halidane's pur- 
 pose to approve — or seem to approve — of his being 
 such. 
 
 *' The pomps and vanities of this wicked world, 
 you know, My dear Brownlow," — the fellow began 
 to drop the " Mr." now — " the pomps and vanities — 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 197 
 
 but we must make allowances for youth — and those 
 to whom little is given, you know, of them will little 
 be required." 
 
 " Little given ! " thought I with a shudder, as I 
 contrasted Halidane's words with my own old les- 
 sons. — God grant that this fellow may not have had 
 the opportunity of undoing all the good which I had 
 done ! I made the boy believe once that very much 
 had been given him. — But I said nothing. Why 
 waste words where the conversation will never go 
 deeper than words. 
 
 So we went in to hall together; and, what was 
 more, came out together, for it was plainly Mr. Hali- 
 dane's plan to quarter himself upon me, physically 
 and morally — physically, in that he came up into my 
 rooms and sat down therein, his countenance falling 
 when he perceived that I brought out no wine. 
 
 " You are a Nazarite still? " he said at last, after 
 looking uneasily several times towards door and cup- 
 board. 
 
 " I am, indeed," I replied, amused at his inability 
 to keep his own counsel. 
 
 " Ah — well. All the more freedom, then, for the 
 wine of the Spirit. I trust that we shall have gra- 
 cious converse together often, my dear Brownlow, 
 and edify one another with talk of that which belongs 
 to our souls' health as we wander through this wilder- 
 ness of tears." 
 
 I replied by asking, I fear a little slyly, after Lord 
 Longmoor's book on prophecy. 
 
 " As was to be expected — a success," he replied — 
 
198 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " a magnificent success, though I say so. Not per- 
 haps in the number of copies sold. But what is 
 worldly fame, and how can we expect the carnal man 
 to favour spiritual things? Not, again, from a 
 pecuniary point of view. But what is filthy lucre? 
 His lordship's philanthropy has enabled him, so to 
 speak, to make the book a present, a free gift to the 
 elect. No, not in such material gains as Christians 
 will leave to the unsanctified, to a Scott or a Byron, 
 does success lie ; but in the cause of the Gospel. And, 
 if humble I have been instrumental to that success, 
 either in assisting his lordship's deeper intellect, as 
 the mouse might the lion, or in having the book prop- 
 erly pushed in certain Gospel quarters where I have 
 a little unworthy influence — (Unworthy indeed, I 
 doubt not, thought I!) — "why, then — have I not 
 my reward — I say, have I not my reward? " 
 
 I thought he certainly had. For being aware he 
 wrote the whole book himself, and tacked his 
 patron's name to it, I began to suspect shrewdly he 
 had been franked at College as hush money, the book 
 being a dead failure. 
 
 And so I told the good old Master next day, who 
 slapped his thigh and chuckled, and then scolded me 
 for an impudent truth-speaking fellow who would 
 come to ruin by his honesty. 
 
 I assured him that I should tell no one but him, 
 having discovered at Hover that the wisdom of the 
 serpent was compatible with the innocence of the 
 dove, and that I expected to need both in my dealing 
 with Mr. Halidane. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 199 
 
 " Why, I understood that he was an Intimate 
 friend of yours. He told me that your being here 
 was one of the main reasons for his choosing this 
 College. He entreated humbly to be allowed rooms 
 as near you as possible. So — as he came with the 
 highest recommendations from Lord Longmoor — 
 we have put him just over your head ! " 
 
 I groaned audibly. 
 
 " What's the matter? He Is not given to playing 
 skittles, or practising the fiddle at midnight, is he ? " 
 
 " Heavens, no! " 
 
 But I groaned again, at the thought of having 
 Halldane tied to me, riding me pIck-a-back as the old 
 man of the sea did SIndbad, for three years to come. 
 In explanation I told the Master a good deal of what 
 I knew. About Nellie, however, I still said not one 
 word. 
 
 The Master smiled mischievously. 
 
 '' I suspect the object of his sudden conversion 
 from sectarianism is one of my lord's fat livings. 
 You may see him a bishop yet, Brownlow, for a poor 
 opinion of his own merits will never stand in the way 
 of his promotion. — Well, I will keep my eye on this 
 promising convert to the Church of England as by 
 Law Established, meanwhile — and you may do the 
 same if you like." 
 
 I did like — the more so because I found him, again 
 and again, drawing round to the subject of Mr. 
 Braithwalte and of Nellie. He slipped away 
 smoothly enough when he saw I avoided the matter, 
 complimenting me greasily upon my delicacy and dis- 
 
200 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 cretlon. I was torn two ways — by longing to hear 
 something of both father and daughter, and repul- 
 sion that this man should soil the name of her whom 
 I loved by so much as daring to pronounce it. But 
 of all living creatures lovers are the most self-con- 
 tradictory, fearing the thing they desire, desiring that 
 which they fear. 
 
 At last one day, when he had invaded my rooms 
 after hall, he said something which forced me to 
 talk about Hover with him. He had been praising, 
 in his fulsome fashion, Mademoiselle Fedore among 
 the rest. She too, it appeared, was under gracious 
 influences, aware of her soul's danger and all but con- 
 verted — the very dogs and cats of the house were 
 qualifying for salvation, I believe, in his suddenly 
 charitable eyes. He finished up with — " And how 
 nobly the poor thing behaved, too, when that villain 
 Marsigli absconded." 
 
 " Marsigli absconded? " I exclaimed, in great sur- 
 prise. 
 
 " Of course — ^I thought you knew " 
 
 " I know nothing of what happened at Hover 
 now," I said, foolishly allowing bitterness to get the 
 better of caution. 
 
 " No — you don't tell me so ! — Really, very 
 strange," and he eyed me sharply. " But the facts 
 are simple and lamentable enough. This villain, this 
 viper, the trusted and pampered servant — for far too 
 much kindness had been lavished upon him by my 
 lord and lady, as upon all — yes, all — my unworthy 
 self included. — How refreshing, how inspiring is 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 201 
 
 condescension In the great! — This pampered menial, 
 I say — ah ! what a thing Is human nature when unre- 
 generate ! — as was to be expected — for what after 
 all, my dear Brownlow, can you hope from a Papist? 
 — disappeared one fine morning, and with him jewels 
 and plate — plate belonging to our sainted friend 
 and patron, in whose service the viper had fat- 
 tened so long, to the amount of four thousand 
 pounds." 
 
 I listened In deepening Interest. 
 
 '' This Is serious," I said. " Has any of the prop- 
 erty been traced and recovered? " 
 
 " Not one brass farthing's worth." 
 
 " And is there no clew? " 
 
 " None, alas ! save what Mademoiselle Fedore 
 gave. With wonderful subtlety and instinct — Ah! 
 that It were further quickened by divine grace ! — 
 she pieced together little incidents, little trifling indi- 
 cations, which enabled the police to track the miscre- 
 ant as far as Liverpool. But, after that, no trace. 
 They concluded he must have sailed for America, 
 where he is doubtless even now wantoning, amid the 
 licentious democracy of the West, upon the plunder 
 of the saints." 
 
 He buried his face in his hands and appeared to 
 weep. 
 
 I remained silent, greatly perturbed In mind. For 
 there flashed across me those words of Warcop's 
 spoken on the morning of my departure, when I sat 
 with him In his sanctum, dedicated to the mysteries 
 of the stud-farm and the chase: " By times they — 
 
202 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 Marslgli and Mamzell — are as thick as thieves. By 
 times they fight like cat and dog or " — with a know- 
 ing look — " like man and wife/' There flashed 
 across me, too, a strange speech of Fedore's I had 
 overheard, as I walked along one of the Innumerable 
 dimly lighted passages at Hover, one night, on my 
 way from the library, where I had worked late, to 
 my own study. To whom she spoke I did not know, 
 for a door was hastily closed Immediately I passed, 
 though not hastily enough to prevent my hearing a 
 man's voice answer. — "Ah! you great stupid," she 
 had said. " Why not what these English call feather 
 your own nest? I have no patience with you when, 
 If you pleased, you could so easily be rich." — The 
 episode made an unpleasant Impression upon me at 
 the time, but had almost faded from my mind. Now 
 In the light of my conversation with Halldane it 
 sprang Into vivid relief. 
 
 The loss of a few thousand pounds' worth of jew- 
 els and plate was a small matter. But that Made- 
 moiselle Fedore should remain In the household as 
 Marslgll's accomplice — and that she was his accom- 
 plice I suspected gravely — perhaps to regain her 
 power over the boy, was Intolerable. As to her 
 assisting the police by pointing out the probable route 
 of the delinquent, what easier than to do so with a 
 view to putting them on a false scent? 
 
 " This is indeed ugly news," I said at last. '' I 
 wonder if the Master knows." 
 
 " Why not? It was reported in the papers at the 
 
THE TUTOR^S STORY 203 
 
 *' Ah ! and I was absorbed in my work and missed 
 it. How unfortunate ! " 
 
 '' Do you think you know anything, then? " he said 
 greedily, with sharp interest. 
 
 But the question I did not answer, perceiving he 
 was curiously anxious to be taken into my confidence. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 I SAT long, till the fire In the grate burnt low and the 
 chill of the winter night drove me shivering to my 
 bed, revolving this conversation In my mind. If it 
 could be proved that Mademoiselle Fedore was In 
 league with the Italian, still more, if It could be 
 proved she and he were married, Hartover could be 
 permanently set free from her Intrigues and her In- 
 fluence. I did not want to be vindictive; but with 
 every fibre of my being I wanted to free the boy. 
 For, as I realised In those lonely midnight hours, 
 while the wind rumbled In the chimneys and roared 
 through the bare branches of the elms In the Fel- 
 lows' Garden just without, the boy's redemption, the 
 boy's growth Into the fine and splendid character he 
 might be, could be — as I believed — even yet, was 
 dearer to me than any advantage of my own. 
 
 Had I not promised, moreover, to stand by him 
 and help him to the end? Could I then. In honour, 
 sit with folded hands, when the chance, however re- 
 mote, of helping him presented itself? I had always 
 feared Mademoiselle Fedore had not relinquished 
 her designs on the boy, but merely bided her time. 
 For a while my presence frustrated those designs; 
 as, In even greater degree, did his passion for Nellie 
 Braithwalte. But marriage with Nellie forbidden, 
 and he surrounded, as he must be, by the flatteries 
 
 204 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 205 
 
 lavished on, and snares set for, a rich and popular 
 young nobleman In London, was it not too probable 
 that in hours of Idleness or reaction from dissipation 
 she might gain an ascendency over him once more? 
 Not only self-interest was Involved. He being what 
 he was, might she not only too easily fall genuinely 
 in love with him? I would give her the benefit of 
 the doubt, anyhow. Upon the exact nature of that 
 love, whether of the higher, or the baser and animal 
 sort, I did not choose to dwell. The difference in 
 age, too, struck me now — more versed as I had 
 grown In the ways of the world and of human nature 
 — as no bar to inclination on his part. She was a 
 clever woman and a beautiful one, of a voluptuous 
 though somewhat hard type — to the Empress Theo- 
 dora I had often compared her In my own mind. 
 Further, as Warcop said to me long ago, did not 
 "the she-kite know her business?" — Alas! and for 
 certain, only too well ! 
 
 So sitting there, through the lonely hours, the idea 
 grew on me that the boy was actually in very grave 
 peril; and that — neglect and silence notwithstanding 
 — In his innermost heart he clung to me, and to the 
 lessons of duty and noble living which I had taught 
 him, still. This Idea might, as I told myself, be a 
 mere refinement of personal vanity and egoism. 
 Yet I could not put it aside. If he called, even un- 
 consciously, and I failed to answer, a sin of omission 
 and a heavy one would assuredly lie at my door. 
 
 Finally I decided to seek counsel of my kind old 
 friend, the Master. The opportunity of doing so 
 
2o6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 presented next day. For the Master had bidden me 
 to a dinner party at the Lodge, given in honour of his 
 widowed sister and her daughters, who were staying 
 with him. This flutter of petticoats in our bachelor, 
 not to say monastic, atmosphere produced in some 
 quarters, I had reason to fancy, a corresponding 
 flutter of hearts. Ladies were conspicuous by their 
 absence in the Cambridge of those days, save during 
 the festivities of the May term; and I own to a cer- 
 tain feeling of mild elation as I found myself seated 
 beside Miss Alice Dynevor, the elder of the two 
 young ladies, at the Master's hospitable board. 
 
 I cannot assert that she appeared to be remarkable 
 either for good looks or cleverness; but she was fresh 
 and young — about twenty, I judged her — modest In 
 manner, and evidently desirous to please; full of in- 
 nocent questions concerning Cambridge and Cam- 
 bridge ways, concerning our famous buildings, their 
 names and histories, which I found It pleasant enough 
 to answer. In the drawing-room, when we rejoined 
 the ladles after dinner, she went to the piano, at her 
 uncle's request, and sang some Scotch songs and some 
 sentimental ballads then much in vogue, with no 
 great art, I admit, but with pleasing simplicity and a 
 tuneful voice. 
 
 The evening left me under Impressions at once 
 agreeable and not a little sad. For, from the time I 
 returned to Cambridge, I had hardly spoken to a 
 woman. Doing so now, memories of Mere Ban and 
 of Nellie crowded upon me thick and fast; and, 
 throwing me back into that fantastic Inner life of 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 207 
 
 unsatisfied and consuming love, threw me also into 
 a necessity for renewed self-abnegation and self-tor- 
 ment. At all costs I must find means to set the dear 
 boy free of Fedore's influence — set him free — and 
 for what? 
 
 I stayed after the other guests had left and asked 
 for a little private talk with the Master; recounted 
 the substance of my conversation with Halidane last 
 night, and stated my own convictions and the ground 
 of them. He had heard of Marsigli's disappear- 
 ance, but had not mentioned it to me simply because 
 he supposed I had seen it in the newspapers. I was 
 much vexed at the strange oversight. Had I but 
 learned it at the time, how much might have been 
 saved ! How much truly — more a thousand times 
 than I then imagined. — Yet how know I that ? No — 
 I will believe all the events of our lives are well or- 
 dered, so long as they do not arise from our wilful 
 ill-doings ; and will never regret, as the result of blind 
 chance, that which is in truth the education given 
 each one of us, for our soul's good, by an all-merciful 
 and all-wise Father in Heaven. 
 
CHAPTER XXV 
 
 I TOLD the Master enough for him to agree It would 
 be well I should go to town; and to town two days 
 later I went. I had learned, by cautious questioning 
 of Mr. Halldane, that the family was in London, as 
 was Hartover. 
 
 So I made my way to the great house in Grosvenor 
 Square, which was not altogether unknown to me. I 
 had stayed there once, for a few days, with the dear 
 boy, during the time of my tutorship; and to my 
 delectation had made acquaintance with its many 
 treasures in the matter of pictures, furniture, and 
 ohjets d^art. Oh ! the priceless possessions of these 
 people, and the little care they had for them ! 
 
 The men servants, who received me, were un- 
 known to me, supercilious in manner and only just 
 not insolent. I asked for my young lord. He was 
 on guard at St. James's. They supposed I should 
 hear of him there. Where he lived, when not stay- 
 ing here, they did not know. — Odd, I thought; but 
 the ways of great folks were odd sometimes! 
 
 I took a coach and drove to the Palace. My long- 
 ing to see the boy again was very strong; yet I felt 
 anxious. Would he be greatly changed? Would he 
 be glad or would he think my coming a bore ? Above 
 all, how would he take my interference ? A sense of 
 
 208 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 209 
 
 the extreme delicacy of my mission increased on me, 
 making me nervous and diffident. 
 
 An orderly ushered me into a room where half a 
 dozen dandies were lounging. These stared at me 
 sufficiently, and thought me, evidently, a dun. One 
 beardless youth, indeed, after brushing past me, 
 turning his back to me, and otherwise bristling up 
 like a dog at a strange dog, expressed his opinion 
 aloud. 
 
 " MacArthur ! " to the orderly. "Are you not 
 aware that this is a private room? " 
 
 " I am sorry," I said instantly, for their imperti- 
 nence restored my self-confidence, " if I am intrud- 
 ing. I simply asked for Lord Hartover, and was, as 
 simply, shown in here." 
 
 I thought the lad might have known me for a gen- 
 tleman by my voice; but possibly his experience In 
 life had not extended so far, for he answered: 
 
 " Lord Hartover, I imagine, pays his bills at his 
 ov/n house." 
 
 I did redden, I confess, being still young and sensi- 
 tive; but, after staring at him as full as he stared at 
 me, I answered, bowing: 
 
 " I am afraid I am not so useful a person as a 
 tradesman. I am only a Cambridge scholar, for- 
 merly Lord Hartover's tutor, who wishes to see him 
 upon urgent private business." 
 
 " I — I really beg your pardon. Pray sit down, 
 sir," quoth the sucking hero, evidently abashed, 
 handing me a chair. 
 
 But at that moment a pair of broad shoulders, 
 
210 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 which had been bent over a card-table at the farther 
 end of the room, turned about with : 
 
 '' Hey? Why, Brownlow, by all that's—. Odd 
 trick, Ponsonby — wait one moment. — How are you, 
 my dear fellow? And what on earth brings you 
 here among us warriors? " 
 
 And the mighty Rusher rose, like Saul the son of 
 Kish a head and shoulders above his fellows. At 
 first I believe he was really pleased to see me. His 
 handsome face was genial, a light of good-natured 
 and kindly amusement in his eye. 
 
 "Well, how are you?" he repeated. "Do you 
 remember Brocklesby Whins and the brown horse? 
 Come up this winter and you shall ride him again; 
 by Jove, you shall — and take the rascally little grey 
 fox home with you. I've got him stuffed and ready, 
 as I promised I would; and wondered why you'd not 
 claimed your property before." 
 
 I was beginning to speak — but he ran on : 
 
 " Brother officers, let me introduce you to my 
 friend, Mr. Brownlow, as fine a light-weight across 
 country as you need wish to know, and who saved 
 my pack from destruction at the risk of his own life ; 
 — a long and prosperous one may it be ! " 
 
 " My hunting days are over, I fear," I said, as the 
 men of war stared all the more at the lame young 
 don, black-coated, black-breeched and black-stock- 
 inged — thinking, I doubt not, I was a " rum 'un to 
 look at " even if a " good 'un to go." 
 
 " But I beg of you to tell me where I can find Lord 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 211 
 
 Hartover; or, if I cannot see him, to let me have a 
 few words with you." 
 
 " Where is Faublas — anyone know? " the Colonel 
 asked of the company in general, and so doing I 
 fancied his geniality waned a little and a trace of un- 
 easiness came into his manner. As for me, my heart 
 sank as I heard that name, of all others, used as my 
 poor boy's sobriquet. 
 
 '' Gone down to Chelsea, I believe," said the youth 
 who had first spoken to me, hardly repressing a smile. 
 " He announced he should dine to-night with the fair 
 unknown." 
 
 " I question whether he will be at home even to 
 you, then, Brownlow," the Colonel declared, forcing 
 a laugh. 
 
 " In that case I am afraid I must ask for a few 
 minutes' conversation alone with you." 
 
 We went out into the Park; and there, pacing up 
 and down under the leafless trees, I told all I thought 
 fit. I watched his face as I did so. It was unusually 
 serious. 
 
 " I think, my dear fellow," he said at last, " you 
 had very much better leave this matter alone." 
 
 I asked why. He fenced with me, pointing out 
 that I had nothing more than suspicion to go upon — 
 no real evidence, circumstantial or otherwise. I 
 urged on him the plain fact that the matter could not 
 be let alone. A great felony had been committed; 
 and It was an offence, not only against honour and 
 right, but against law, to withhold such Information 
 as I could give. 
 
212 JHE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " You will repent it," he said. 
 
 Again I asked why. 
 
 " I beg you to take my word for it, there are rea- 
 sons," he said earnestly. " Be advised, my dear 
 Brownlow. Let sleeping dogs lie." 
 
 I was puzzled — how could I help being so ? But, 
 more and more, I began to fear the connection be- 
 tween Fedore and Hartover had been resumed. 
 
 *' And where is Mademoiselle Fedore now?" I 
 said presently. 
 
 " 'Pon honour, I am not responsible for the where- 
 abouts of gay damsels." 
 
 ** Then she is no longer with Lady Longmoor? " 
 
 " No, no — has left her these two months — may be 
 In St. Petersburg by now, or in Timbuctoo, for aught 
 I know." 
 
 " The police could fin4 her there as well as 
 here." 
 
 His tone changed, becoming as sarcastic as his easy 
 good-nature and not very extensive vocabulary per- 
 mitted. 
 
 " And so you would really hunt that poor girl to 
 the gallows? Shut her up in gaol — eh? I thought 
 you preached mercy, went in for motives of Christian 
 charity, and so forth. We live and learn — well, 
 well." 
 
 He took another turn, nervously, while I grew In- 
 creasingly puzzled. Was it possible Fedore might 
 be connected with him, and not with Hartover? If 
 so, what more natural and excusable than his reluct- 
 ance to satisfy me ? That thought softened me. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 213 
 
 ** I will do nothing further," I said, '* without con- 
 sulting his lordship." 
 
 *' His lordship?" He shrugged his shoulders, 
 laughing contemptuously. 
 
 " Her ladyship, then." 
 
 He paused a moment. 
 
 ''Yes," he said; "you're right." A new light 
 seemed to break on him. "Yes," he repeated; 
 " we'll go at once on the chance of finding her 
 at home. It is only seven now. Let's call a 
 coach." 
 
 So back we drove to Grosvenor Square, both in 
 deep thought. Arrived at the house, he took me into 
 a small room, off the hall, and kept me waiting there 
 for the best part of an hour. I began to wonder, in- 
 deed, if he had forgotten me altogether, and whether 
 I had not best ring and make some enquiry of the 
 servants. 
 
 The room was dimly lit with wax candles, set in 
 sconces high on the silk-panelled wall; yet not so 
 dimly but that, when the Colonel at last returned, I 
 could see he looked pale and agitated, while his hands 
 and lips trembled as he spoke. And my mind carried 
 back to the day of the meet at Vendale Green, when 
 her ladyship — Queen of Beauty that she was — 
 stepped down from her pony-chaise, and stood on the 
 damp turf beside his great bay horse, talking to him; 
 and how, straightening himself up with a jerk, his 
 face grey and aged as that of a man smitten with sud- 
 den illness, he answered her: "Impossible, utterly 
 impossible " ; and how she, turning, with a light 
 
214 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 laugh, got into the pony-chaise again, waving her 
 hand to him and wishing him good fortune. 
 
 " Yes — you are to go," he said to me hurriedly. 
 
 " See Hartover at once. His address is number 
 
 Church Lane, Chelsea. You'll remember ? " 
 
 " I shall." 
 
 " Remember, too, I am no party to this proceeding 
 of yours; I warned you against it. Whatever hap- 
 pens you will have brought on yourself." 
 
 " Very good. I am perfectly ready to accept the 
 responsibility of my own actions." 
 
 " And I say — see here, Brownlow. You won't tell 
 Hartover I gave you his address." 
 
 " Of course not, if you desire it. I can decline to 
 say where I learnt it." 
 
 " He'll find out, though, through the other offi- 
 cers," he muttered, as we crossed the hall and he saw 
 me into the still waiting coach. " It's an accursed 
 business, and we shall come ill out of it. I know we 
 shall; but a woman must have her way." 
 
 '* For Heaven's sake," I cried, " remember you 
 are not alone." 
 
 He looked fiercely at me, as one who should say, 
 *'What have I betrayed?" Then added with a 
 sneer: 
 
 *' Brownlow, I wish to God we'd never seen you. 
 You're a devilish deal too honest a fellow to have got 
 among us." 
 
 With which cryptic words he went back into the 
 great house, leaving me to drive down to Chelsea, 
 and to my thoughts. What they were I hardly knew 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 215 
 
 myself. Sufficient that I was most miserable and 
 full of questioning dread. 
 
 We passed, as It seemed, through endless streets, 
 until we reached the then lonely King's Road; drove 
 along It, turned to the left down Church Lane, and 
 drew up at a door In a high wall apparently enclosing 
 a garden. I got out of the coach and rang the bell. 
 A moment after I heard a woman's quick tripping 
 footsteps within. The door was flung wide open, 
 disclosing a covered way leading to a pretty hall, 
 gay with coloured curtains and carpets, and a voice 
 cried : 
 
 *' Ah ! c'est tol enfin, mon blen alme. A-t-Il perdu 
 le clef encore une fols, le petit etourdi? " 
 
 The speaker and I recoiled apart. For, Immedi- 
 ately before me, under the passage lamp, was Fedore. 
 
 Superbly lovely, certainly, If art can create loveli- 
 ness, with delicately tinted cheeks and whitened skin; 
 her raven hair arranged, according to the prevailing 
 mode, so as to add as much as possible to her height. 
 Dressed, or rather undressed — for women then wore 
 only little above the waist — In richest orange and 
 crimson; her bare arms and bosom sparkling with 
 jewels — none brighter, though, than these bold and 
 brilliant eyes — there she stood, more like her name- 
 sake Empress Theodora than ever, and flashed light- 
 nings Into my face — disappointment, rage, scorn, 
 but no trace of fear. 
 
 " And what, pray, does Monsieur Brownlow wish 
 at such an hour of the night? " 
 
 " Nothing, Mademoiselle," I answered gravely 
 
2i6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 and humbly. " I came to see Lord Hartover, and 
 he is not, I perceive, at home.'* 
 
 Was she going to shut the door on me? Nothing 
 less. Whether from sheer shamelessness, or whether 
 — as I have often fancied since — she read my errand 
 in my face, she composed herself in an instant, be- 
 coming amiable and gracious. 
 
 *' Could not Monsieur come in and wait? Would 
 he not stay and sup with us ? " 
 
 I bowed courteously. She was so superb, so 
 daringly mistress of herself, I could do no less; and 
 said I should be shocked at interrupting such a tete- 
 a-tete, I apologised for having brought her to the 
 door on so cold a night; and, raising my hat, de- 
 parted, having, at least, taken care to tell her noth- 
 ing. 
 
 Why should I not depart? Had I not seen enough, 
 and more than enough? The Rusher was right so 
 far — for who was I to interfere? What had I to 
 offer Hartover as against that gorgeous and volup- 
 tuous figure? If my suspicions could be proved, and 
 I succeeded in parting him from her, would he not 
 go to someone else? And who was I, after all, to 
 judge her, to say hard words to her? If she were 
 dazzled by him, what wonder? If he by her, what 
 wonder either? — Ah! that they had let him marry 
 Nellie, boy though he was, two years ago ! But such 
 is not the way of the world; and the way of the 
 world, it seemed, he was doomed to go. — Oh ! weary 
 life, wherein all effort for good seemed but as filling 
 the sieve of the Danaides. Oh! weary work for 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 217 
 
 clean living and righteousness, which seemed as a 
 rolling of Sisyphus' stone for ever up the hill, to see 
 it roll down again. What profit has a man of all his 
 labour? That which has been shall again be, and 
 there is no new thing under the sun. 
 
 I went back to Cambridge unhappy, all but cynical 
 and despairing, and settled down to my routine of 
 work again, and to the tender attentions of Mr. Hali- 
 dane, to whom however I told no word about my 
 fruitless expedition to London. And so sad was I, 
 and in such a state of chronic irritation did Halidane 
 keep me, that I verily believe I should have fallen 
 ill, had not the fresh evil been compensated for by 
 a fresh good — and that good taken the form of re- 
 newed intercourse with Mr. Braithwaite. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 It fell out on this wise. In the hope of lightening 
 the weight of depression under which I laboured, I 
 took to riding again so many afternoons a week — 
 an indulgence which I could now afford. True, a hack 
 from a livery stable was but a sorry exchange for 
 the horses upon which Warcop had been wont to 
 mount me; but if love of horse-flesh takes you that 
 way — and take me that way it did — the veriest crock 
 is better to bestride than nought. 
 
 The day was fine, with sunshine and white fleets of 
 blithely sailing cloud. Hedges and trees thickened 
 with bud, and the rooks were nesting. I had made 
 a long round by Madingley and Trumpington, and 
 was walking my horse back slowly over the cobbles 
 of King's Parade — admiring, as how many times be- 
 fore, the matchless Chapel, springing from the green- 
 sward, its slender towers, pinnacles and lace-work of 
 open parapet rising against spaces of mild blue sky — 
 when, amid groups upon the pavement wearing cap 
 and gown, or less ceremonial boating and football 
 gear, a tall heavily built figure, clothed in a coat with 
 bulging skirt-pockets to it, breeches and gaiters of 
 pepper-and-salt-mixture, attracted my eye. The man 
 halted now and again to stare at the fine buildings; 
 and at last, crossing where the side street runs from 
 
 218 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 219 
 
 King's Parade to the Market Place, turned into the 
 big bookseller's at the corner. 
 
 I thought I could hardly be mistaken as to his 
 identity; and, calling a down-at-heels idler to hold my 
 horse, I dismounted and followed him into the shop. 
 If I had made a mistake, it would be easy to ask for 
 some book or pamphlet and so cover my discom- 
 fiture. 
 
 But I had made no mistake. Though older and 
 greyer, his strong intellectual face more deeply lined 
 by thought, and, as I feared, by care, Braithwaite 
 himself confronted me. 
 
 " Thou hast found me, oh! mine enemy," he ex- 
 claimed, while the clasp of his hand gave the lie to 
 this doubtful form of greeting. " And, to tell the 
 truth, I hoped you might do so ; though I was in two 
 minds about seeking you out and calling on you 
 myself." 
 
 I returned the clasp of his hand; but, for the mo- 
 ment, my heart was almost too full for speech. 
 
 " Enemy, neither now nor at any time in our ac- 
 quaintance," I faltered. 
 
 " I know, I know," he answered. '* But until you 
 were your own master, and had finally cut adrift 
 from certain high folks in high places, I reckoned we 
 were best apart." 
 
 *' And you were right. Now, for good or evil, all 
 that is over and done with " — and truly and honestly 
 I believed what I said. 
 
 " So much the better," he replied heartily. *' Then 
 we can start our friendship afresh — that Is, of course, 
 
220 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 If an ornament of this ancient seat of learning, a full- 
 fledged don like yourself, is not too fine and fastid- 
 ious a person to associate with a plain middle-class 
 man such as me." 
 
 I bade him not be foolish — he had a better opinion 
 of me, I hoped, than that — asked what of " the pride 
 which apes humility," and so forth; and all the while 
 questions about Nellie, her health, her well-being, 
 her present whereabouts, scorched my tongue. I 
 invited him to my rooms — which I think pleased him 
 — so that we might talk more at our ease ; but he told 
 me he had the better part of a twenty-mile drive be- 
 fore him, back to Westrea, a farm which he had 
 lately bought on the Suffolk border. We therefore 
 agreed that, when I had sent my horse back to the 
 stable, I should join him at the Inn, just off the Mar- 
 ket Place, where his gig was put up. 
 
 And in the dingy inn parlour, some quarter of an 
 hour later, I at last found courage and voice to 
 enquire for Nellie. His face clouded, I thought. 
 
 " In answering you frankly, I give you the strong- 
 est proof of friendship which I can give," he said. 
 
 I thanked him. 
 
 " It went hard with her at first, poor lass," he con- 
 tinued, " brave and dutiful though she is. And that's 
 what has brought me further south. I judged It best 
 to get her right away from the Yorkshire country and 
 sound of Yorkshire speech. So I threw' up my 
 tenancy of the place I had taken on leaving Mere 
 Ban. I may tell you I came Into some little money 
 through the death of a relative, last year, which en- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 221 
 
 abled me to buy this Westrea farm. I took Nellie 
 with me to view it, and the house caught her fancy. 
 'Tis a pretty old red-brick place, and my gift to her. 
 I want her to make a home of it, and interest herself 
 in the development of the property — about nine hun- 
 dred acres in all. She has an excellent head for busi- 
 ness; and, in my opinion, there's no better medicine 
 than keeping hands and brain occupied in such a case 
 as hers." 
 
 He broke off abruptly, as though unwilling to pur- 
 sue the subject further, adding: 
 
 " But there, come and see for yourself what our 
 new quarters are like, Brownlow. No purple wind- 
 swept fells piled up to high heaven behind it, truly; 
 still, a pleasant enough spot in its way, and fine corn- 
 land too. I can offer you a comfortable bed and a 
 good plain' dinner; and a horse you needn't be 
 ashamed to ride, notwithstanding your free run of 
 his lordship's stud at Hover. Come during the vaca- 
 tion. Easter falls late this year; and the orchard 
 trees should be in blossom, supposing we get a fine 
 spring, as I believe we shall. It'll do you no harm 
 to drop your classics and mathematics, part company 
 with your scandalous old heathen poets and divinities 
 and take the living world of to-day by the hand for 
 forty-eight hours or so. I'll be bound your radical- 
 ism has deteriorated in this academic dry-as-dust 
 atmosphere too, and will be none the worse for a 
 little wholesome rubbing up." 
 
 So to Westrea I promised to go, his invitation hav- 
 ing been given so spontaneously and kindly. A 
 
222 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 dangerous experiment perhaps, but the temptation 
 was too strong for me. At last I should see Nellie 
 again, and learn how matters really stood with 
 her. That thought threw me into a fever of excite- 
 ment. 
 
 To go in to hall, with the chance of meeting Hali- 
 dane and having the fellow saddle his unctuous, not 
 to say oily, presence upon me for the rest of the 
 evening, was intolerable. So, after starting Braith- 
 waite upon his homeward journey, I got a scratch 
 meal at the inn, and then made my way to The Backs 
 across bridge, and wandered in the softly deepening 
 twihght under the trees beside the river. I tried — 
 but alas how vainly! — to calm my excitement, and 
 school myself into rejection alike of the wild hopes 
 and dark forebodings which assailed me. I lost count 
 of time, and wandered thus until the lamps were lit 
 and the moonlight touched the stately masses of col- 
 lege buildings, rising pale from their lawns and gar- 
 dens, on the other side of the placid slow-flowing 
 stream. Hence it was comparatively late when, at 
 length, I climbed the creaking, foot-worn oaken 
 stairs leading to my rooms. 
 
 Immediately on entering I saw that a letter lay 
 upon the table. It was in Hartover's handwriting. 
 Trembling, I tore it open. 
 
 Why should he write to me after so long a silence ? 
 Had he heard of my visit to St. James's Palace ? Of 
 my visit to Church Lane? About Fedore surely it 
 must be ; and when I began to read I found that so 
 indeed it was. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 223 
 
 " Dearest Brownlow," — It ran — " I have news 
 to tell you which will astonish and at first, I am 
 afraid, shock you. But, after a little, you will see it 
 is right enough; and that, In honour, I could not do 
 otherwise than I have done. For nearly two months 
 now I have been married to Fedore." 
 
 My head fairly spun round. Faint and dizzy, I 
 sank into the nearest chair, and read on with staring 
 eyes. 
 
 " My reasons were very simple. I do not ask you 
 to approve them; but to weigh and judge them 
 fairly. You know the circumstances under which I 
 came to town and joined my regiment. Parted from 
 Her whom I loved — and whom I shall never forget, 
 the thought of Her will always be sweet and sacred 
 to me — I became utterly reckless. She was gone. 
 You were gone." 
 
 Was that a reproach, and a merited one? Whether 
 or not, it cut me to the quick. 
 
 '' There was no one to care what I did, no one for 
 me to care for. Nothing seemed to matter. I 
 plunged Into all the follies — and worse — of a young 
 man about town. I will not disgust you by describing 
 them — suffice it that I found plenty both of men and 
 women to share them with me. I tried to drown 
 remembrance of Her, of you, of everything noble 
 and good. In pleasure. And at last, you will hardly 
 be surprised to hear, I fell into my old madness of 
 drink. I was horribly, quite horribly, you under- 
 stand, hopeless and unhappy. About my own people 
 I say nothing — to their own Master they stand or 
 fall. I do not want to talk, or even think about them. 
 
224 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 But by last autumn I had pretty well ruined my 
 health. I had, so the doctors told me, delirium 
 tremens. I know my nerves were shattered, and life 
 seemed a perfect hell. As I lay ill and mad, Fedore 
 came to me. She nursed me, controlled me, pulled 
 me through. She was most true to me when others 
 wished her to be most false. There were those, she 
 has told me since — as I suspected all along, even in 
 the old days at Hover — who would be glad enough 
 for me to kill myself with debauchery. She talked to 
 me, reasoned with me. You yourself could not have 
 spoken more wisely. But I felt, Brownlow, I felt 
 I could not stand alone. I must have someone to 
 lean on, to be loved by and to love. It is a necessity 
 of my nature, and I obeyed it. Fedore saved me, and 
 I paid her by marrying her. She refused at first, 
 warned me of my seeming folly, of what the world 
 would say; told me there were difficulties, that she, 
 too, had enemies. But I insisted. — Remember she 
 had compromised herself, endangered her reputation 
 by coming to me. — At last she gave way, confessing, 
 dear creature, she had loved me all along, loved me 
 from a boy. 
 
 *' You will say, what about the future? I defy it, 
 snap my fingers at it. It must take care of itself. It 
 can't, in any case, be more hateful than the past. 
 
 " And so good-bye, dear old man. Judge me fairly 
 at least; and keep my secret — for secret our marriage 
 must be as long as my father is alive. Fedore sends 
 kind remembrances, and bids me say when you know 
 all — and there is more behind — you will not think of 
 her too harshly." 
 
 Should I not? The woman had greater faith in 
 my leniency — or stupidity, which? — than I myself 
 had. No harshness was too great, surely, in face of 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 225 
 
 the wrong she had done the boy by marrying him. 
 Yet two things were true. For that she loved him — 
 according to her own conception of love — I did not 
 doubt; and that she had rescued him from the demon 
 of drink — for the time being — I did not doubt either. 
 And this last — let me try to be just — this last must be 
 counted to her, in some degree at all events, for 
 righteousness whatever her ulterior object in so res- 
 cuing him might have been. 
 
 But admitting that much, I had admitted all that 
 was possible in her favour. She had hunted the boy, 
 trapped him, pinned him down, making his extremity 
 her own opportunity; cleverly laying him under an 
 obligation, moreover, which could not but evoke all 
 his native sensibility and chivalry. 
 
 The more I thought of it, the more disastrous, the 
 more abominable did the position appear. So much 
 so that, going back to his letter, I read it over and 
 over to see if I could make it belie itself and find any 
 loophole of escape. But what was written was writ- 
 ten. In Hartover's belief he had made Fedore, and 
 done right In making her, his wife. 
 
 And there were those, then, who would gladly 
 compass his death! The last scene with Colonel 
 Esdaile flashed across me; and other scenes, words, 
 gestures, both of his and of her ladyship's. Was the 
 boy really and actually the victim of some shameful 
 conspiracy? Only one life stood between the Colonel 
 and the title, the great estates, the great wealth. 
 Was her ladyship playing some desperate game to 
 secure these for him and — for herself, and for her 
 
226 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 children as his wife ? She was still young enough to 
 bear children. — In this ugly coil that cardinal point 
 must never be forgotten. But how could Fedore's 
 marrying Hartover forward this? Had the woman 
 been set on as her ladyship's tool, and then betrayed 
 her employer and intrigued on her own account? 
 
 Good Heavens ! and Nellie was free now. At 
 that thought I sprang up ; but only to sink back into 
 my chair again, broken by the vast perplexity, the 
 vast complexity, of it all. Free? Did I not know 
 better than that. Had not her father's tone, her 
 father's words in speaking of her, told me her heart 
 was very far from free. Should I so fall from grace 
 as to trade on her despair, and tempt her to engage 
 herself to me while she still loved Hartover? Would 
 not that be to follow Fedore's example — almost; and 
 take a leaf out of her very questionably virtuous or 
 high-minded book? Besides, how did I know Nellie 
 would ever be willing to engage herself to me ? Vain 
 dream — for, after all, what did the whole thing 
 amount to? — Hartover was not of age. His mar- 
 riage was null — if he so chose. He could find means 
 to dissolve it himself, surely, when he found out 
 Fedore, and saw her in her true colours. — And he 
 should see. My temper rose. I would expose her. 
 
 I would appeal to Lord . I would move heaven 
 
 and earth till I could prove her complicity in Mar- 
 sigli's felony — and her connection with him, her real 
 marriage. I would 
 
 But alas ! what could I do, with so many persons 
 — ^powerful, rich, unscrupulous — arrayed against 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 227 
 
 me? — Hartover himself, more than likely, protect- 
 ing, in a spirit of chivalry, the woman who had 
 nursed and befriended him, and to whom — as he be- 
 lieved — ^he had given his name in wedlock. I, on the 
 other hand, armed but with light and broken threads 
 of suspicion and of theory. For so far, as the Colo- 
 nel had reminded me, I possessed no actual evidence, 
 circumstantial or otherwise, against her. 
 
 No; it was impossible to break the web in which 
 she and others — to their shame — had entangled him. 
 I would put the whole deplorable business from me, 
 and go quietly to Westrea for the Easter vacation. 
 And Nellie? — I would never tell her. If she hoped 
 still, I would never undeceive her. The dark cloud 
 might blow over, the foul bubble burst — and then ! — 
 Meanwhile I would be to her as a brother. I would 
 help her, strengthen her; in a sense, educate her. 
 For what? For whom? — God knew — — 
 
 But, just there, I was startled out of my painful 
 reverie by shouts, confused tumult In the usually 
 silent court below, and rush of feet upon the stair. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 I DREW aside the curtain, unlatched the casement, and 
 leaned out. Upon the elms in the Fellows' Garden, 
 the lawns, and laurel shrubberies, moonlight lay soft 
 and white. But looking upward I saw, above the 
 angle of the parapet, a great column of smoke, 
 dashed with fiery flakes, surging into the wind-swept 
 sky. I hurried into my dressing-room, which over- 
 looked the inner court, and there a strange scene met 
 my eyes. A red glare, jets of smoke and angry flame 
 deformed the opposite facade; while, over the grass 
 plats and paved ways of the little quad and about the 
 fountain in the centre, dark shapes rushed to and fro, 
 raised hands and upturned faces showing unnaturally 
 pale and distorted in the dreadful light. — A living 
 page torn from Dante's Inferno, it seemed. 
 
 The fire was here, then, close at hand, within the 
 precincts of the College Itself. 
 
 Shocked and alarmed, I searched for my keys — I 
 was always a careful and methodical person — that I 
 might lock away Hartover's letter In my desk. But 
 my study lamp had burned low, and, between agita- 
 tion and the semi-darkness, I failed to put my hand 
 on them; so thrust the letter between the pages of a 
 big lexicon lying on the writing-table, and ran out, 
 dragging on my gown. 
 
 When I got on to the landing I found I had not 
 228 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 229 
 
 brought my sporting key. I would have gone back 
 for it; but the noise increased below, while men, 
 racing down from the upper stories, shouted, In pass- 
 ing, that the Master's Lodge was alight and lives en- 
 dangered. I remembered that Mrs. Dynevor, the 
 Master's sister, and her daughters — the young lady 
 who had made herself so innocently pleasant to me 
 at dinner — were still his guests, and this added to my 
 alarm. After all, who would think of entering my 
 rooms at such a moment as this? I ran on, leaving 
 my outer door unfastened. 
 
 The whole population of the College seemed to 
 be congregated in the small quadrangle, from vice- 
 master and senior fellows — '' grave and reverend 
 signors," equally able and ready to appreciate good 
 wine, a good dinner, an apt Greek quotation or 
 pawky Latin joke — to gyps, scullions and cooks. 
 Under the direction of the city fire brigade, a chain 
 of willing workers had been formed passing buckets 
 from hand to hand from the fountain to the side door 
 of the Lodge. But it was only too evident the fire 
 had firm hold, and the means of arresting it were 
 sadly inadequate. 
 
 Anxious to know if the ladies were in safety, I 
 made my way towards the Master, who, calm and 
 dignified, tried to pacify a little group of terrified 
 women — among whom I gladly recognised Mrs. 
 Dynevor and her younger daughter — torn from their 
 sleep only half-clothed, and wrapped in shawls and 
 coverlets. But just as I reached him a cry of horror 
 went up from the crowd. 
 
230 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 The Lodge, sandwiched In between the Chapel on 
 one side and Hall on the other, is the oldest portion 
 of the College buildings, dating from pre-Reforma- 
 tion times. Looking up, now, at the low narrow win- 
 dows of the third floor, I saw, as others had just 
 seen. In the light of a sudden outburst of flame, a 
 girl's face, her arms outstretched in agonised appeal 
 between the heavy bars. 
 
 " Alice," the Master cried aloud, for the moment 
 losing his fine composure. *' Alice, left behind In 
 the blue bedroom! I thought she was here. 
 And — merciful powers — the fire between us and 
 her!" 
 
 Careless of the restraints of age and of his oiHcial 
 position, he broke away, almost roughly, from poor 
 Mrs. Dynevor, who clung to him weeping, and 
 rushed towards the side door. A sudden energy 
 seizing me — I was half maddened already by pity 
 and excitement — I kept pace with him. 
 
 " Show me where? Tell me how to reach the blue 
 room, sir," I cried; and calling to the nearest fireman, 
 we three went on into the burning house — while 
 awed silence fell upon the crowd without. 
 
 What a labyrinth of a place it was, all wainscotted 
 and panelled too, the woodwork like so much tinder 
 from age and dry rot! We ran through passages 
 choked with acrid fumes, up stairs dripping with foul 
 water, past the doors of pleasant studious rooms 
 where we heard the fire hissing and crackling within; 
 finally half-way down a long corridor — and there we 
 stopped short. Ahead of us stretched an apparently 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 231 
 
 Impenetrable barrier of smoke; and beyond it, felt 
 rather than seen, a redness of bellowing flame. 
 
 Three times we pushed forward into the smoke, 
 and thrice staggered back half senseless. The third 
 time I got far enough to find the floor burning 
 and crumbling beneath my feet. All ingress was 
 cut off. 
 
 " Ah ! the poor child, the poor doomed child," 
 the Master wailed, stirred to the depths of his kindly 
 and genial nature. '^ She must die — and, oh ! my 
 God, what a death." 
 
 " Can they raise no ladder to the window from the 
 court?" I asked, distracted by the sight of my old 
 friend's grief. 
 
 " What use? You forget the bars." 
 
 *' Can we break through no party-wall? — from a 
 side room? " 
 
 " Yes — a side room. The door is there — within 
 the smoke — on the left, if you can reach it. God 
 bless you for the thought — and we may save her yet." 
 
 " Have you an axe? " I cried to the fireman. 
 
 " Trust me for that, sir," he answered. 
 
 And we again passed into the curtain of smoke, 
 hand in hand, I foremost. Choking, blinded, stifled. 
 In a hideous light which yet was almost total dark- 
 ness, I groped along the wall for the door. It could 
 not have been more than five yards off, but those 
 yards seemed to lengthen Into miles. The Master 
 gave in, not from lack of courage or determination, 
 but simply from physical exhaustion — and, with a 
 groan, fell fainting. 
 
232 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Carry him back," I panted, and feeling for the 
 fireman's hand snatched the axe from it. 
 
 " Come back, too, sir," he whispered hoarsely, 
 " or you're a dead man." 
 
 But nothing was further from my thoughts, or 
 from my wishes, than turning back. A strange ex- 
 hilaration possessed me. The heavy weight of 
 trouble about the dear boy, of trouble about 
 Nellie, was lifted off me. I felt strong and 
 free In the choking red darkness of the burning 
 house, almost as I felt strong and free when I saved 
 the pack, under the open sky, on the crest of the fells 
 high above royal Hover. The student, the man of 
 thought and of books, had given place to the man 
 of action, of adventure and practical achievement. I 
 knew full well that I took my life In my hand. 
 What did that matter? If I lived, I lived; if I 
 died, I died; and — equally In either case — might God 
 have mercy on my soul ! But, honestly I can declare, 
 I never felt more at peace, more happy, than as — 
 half-asphyxiated by nauseous vapours — I groped my 
 way along the smoke-hidden wall, found the handle, 
 turned it, and, opening the door, passed into a com- 
 paratively clear atmosphere. 
 
 Slamming the door to behind me, I crossed the 
 room and thrusting some furniture aside, began 
 hewing at the wall, with a singular llght-heartedness 
 of fury. Mercifully the wall was only lath and plas- 
 ter. In less than five minutes I cleared a way into the 
 fateful blue bed-chamber beyond. 
 
 Ah! what a cruel sight! On my right flames 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 233 
 
 flickered up the half-burned door. The plaster was 
 dropping from the ceiling. Blue tongues of fire ran 
 along the skeleton uprights. All one side of the room 
 glowed red in hideous decay. The bed-hangings 
 were just flashing into a blaze. 
 
 Where was she, the innocent friendly young girl, 
 with whom I had conversed and to whose simple sing- 
 ing I had listened, so far from all hint of tragedy 
 and danger, but a week or two ago? 
 
 Crouched below the window, faint whether from 
 that agonised crying for help, or from terror, she 
 had curled her limbs together and laid her down to 
 burn piecemeal. There was nothing to be seen 
 among the white robes but a long tress of brown 
 hair and her poor little bare feet, which quivered 
 convulsively as though in momentary expectation the 
 flame would reach them and the torture begin. 
 
 " Alice — Miss Dynevor," I called, but she did not 
 move. 
 
 I tore a blanket from the bed, wrapped her In it, 
 lifted her up and bore her back through the opening 
 In the wall, rudely enough. 
 
 And then ? — How to escape I knew not. The door 
 I had entered by, almost Impossible then, must be 
 wholly so by now. The window was useless; the 
 lights too narrow for a body to pass through, even 
 had they not been barred. We were trapped in- 
 deed — the horrible moment only postponed awhile, 
 and for two lives now instead of one. Still that 
 strange exaltation held me. Never had I felt, as just 
 then, the worthlessness of mere earthly life. What 
 
234 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 did it signify to the world, what did it signify to me, 
 whether I was what men call alive, or what men call 
 dead ? I had tried for once to live for some purpose ; 
 and — as it seemed — had failed. I had thought, in 
 myself, that I could help God; but God had chosen 
 to go His own way — or let the devil go his — and do 
 without me. Now all I knew was that, although I 
 was not necessary to God, God was more necessary 
 to me than ever before. Yea, though He slew me, 
 would I trust in Him ! 
 
 Nevertheless, burn this young girl should not, if 
 I could help it. I made up my mind what to do — 
 quickly enough, as was needful, for the room we had 
 just left was all aflame. I had cut through one wall. 
 I would try to cut through another; and, if I could 
 not, I would wrap the blanket so closely round her 
 that she should smother rather than burn 
 
 All this darted through my mind, as thoughts are 
 said to through a drowning man's, in an instant of 
 time. Not three minutes, indeed, had we been 
 together in that second room before I was hewing 
 at the wall. 
 
 The first stroke jarred me to the shoulders. This 
 was of brick, then. And how thick? — How could I 
 tell? My heart sank within me, I own. A four-inch 
 wall I might pierce. But a nine-inch, a fourteen-inch 
 — and these forefathers of ours stinted neither mate- 
 rial nor labour. They built solidly. Heaven help 
 me — for my arms were aching and stiff already; and, 
 even had they not been, I dared not strike too hard 
 lest I break the axe-handle, which was light and thin. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 235 
 
 A brief space, which seemed infinite, while the 
 flames crackled behind us and the room filled with 
 smoke. 
 
 Again a brief space, and a frightful thought 
 crossed my mind. Even if I succeeded, what was 
 beyond? Might not the adjoining room be on fire 
 likewise ? 
 
 For the strain became too great, too prolonged. 
 Exhausted as I was by violent exertion in that stifling 
 atmosphere, reaction set in. It was, I honestly be- 
 lieve, more physical than moral; but once more I felt 
 that cruel sinking of the heart, along with almost 
 uncontrollable terror of the bodily torment surely 
 awaiting me. Trapped, hopeless, lost — my arms 
 dropped at my sides. 
 
 Shame, though, shame that I should turn craven 
 now! So, praying as I had never prayed before, I 
 heaved up weary hands and struck a desperate blow, 
 which — cracked the axe-handle. But for this I could 
 afford to care little, since I had felt the whole struc- 
 ture shake and bulge under that blow. I clutched 
 the handle in both hands, and butted with the axe- 
 head at the wall, using every ounce of force left 
 in me. 
 
 A full yard of bricks and rubble fell outward with 
 a mighty crash; and I, lurching forward, saw below 
 me, touched by slanting rays of white moonlight, the 
 wet steps of a winding stone stair. For some seconds 
 I was too weak, from sheer thankfulness, to move. 
 
 Then, not without an effort — for I felt childishly 
 fearful of losing sight of those cool wet steps for 
 
236 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 however brief an Interval — I turned and raised Alice 
 Dynevor from the ground, bidding her wake, tell- 
 ing her all was well, that we were saved; and gather- 
 ing her in my arms, I put her, feet foremost, through 
 the jagged, blessed cleft in the wall. 
 
 As I did so, my ears were greeted by a cheer, and 
 a dozen gownsmen swarmed up the slippery stair- 
 way, strong young hands outstretched to help, eager 
 young voices pouring forth rejoicing and generous 
 praise. How good it was, how beautiful, how sus- 
 taining after the vision of hell, which I had met, 
 battled with, and, God be thanked, overcome and 
 left behind! 
 
 They would have borne us away in triumph in their 
 enthusiasm; but Alice Dynevor stood up, shrinking 
 and drawing the blanket closer round her. 
 
 " No," she faltered. " Take me — you take 
 me — I am frightened — let no one touch me but 
 you." 
 
 So, not a little affected by her trust in me, I gath- 
 ered her up once more, staggered down, and out into 
 the sweet, clear open air, while the young men held 
 me right and left. She had twined her arms tight 
 round my neck, still quivering and trembling in every 
 limb. 
 
 In the courtyard the crowd fell apart, cheering, as 
 the Master came to us. He was calm and collected; 
 but his face worked with emotion as he lifted Alice 
 Dynevor off my shoulder. And as he did so, I felt 
 upon my cheek, upon my lips — was It my 'fancy? — 
 surely not — a kiss, warm and ardent. A living 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 237 
 
 woman's kiss — the first I had ever known since my 
 mother's kisses in childhood, long years ago. 
 
 I was somewhat of a stoic — stoic by ill-health and 
 cold blood; stoic by long self-restraint; yet that kiss 
 made me start and shudder, not with pain. I could 
 not forget it. The sensation of its impress remained 
 with me for many hours. 
 
 I ascertained that, although the Master's Lodge 
 was practically gutted, a fair proportion of its con- 
 tents in the way of books and furniture was saved. 
 The fire, successfully checked right and left, had 
 spared both the Chapel and Hall. With that assur- 
 ance, worn out both in body and mind, bruised, 
 scorched, begrimed, a sorry enough sight, I man- 
 aged to slip out of the kindly and excited throng 
 unobserved. Assuredly I had earned my sleep 
 to-night ! 
 
 But another disquieting episode was in store for 
 me before I got it. 
 
 For as, wearily and painfully, I climbed my stair- 
 case, I heard footsteps coming out from my rooms. 
 I hurried to the best of my power; but, ere I reached 
 the first landing, they travelled on cautiously to the 
 second. I followed thither. Doors stood open on 
 to rooms, empty and dark, for the men were still 
 busy in the court below. But in one I saw a twinkling 
 light. I entered, without apology, to find friend 
 Halidane, hastily divesting himself of coat and waist- 
 coat preparatory to going to bed. 
 
 *' My dear Brownlow! " he exclaimed, with effu- 
 sive cordiality, though, as I fancied, some confusion. 
 
238 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " What brings you here ? What do you want ? Alas ! 
 I see you are hurt. Let me come down and dress 
 your wounds. — Nay, nay, do not deny me the chris- 
 tian joy of tending on a christian hero in his suffer- 
 ing and distress." 
 
 " You were in my rooms just now, were you not? " 
 I asked bluntly. 
 
 " I — why should I be in your rooms? Or rather, 
 indeed, why should I not? I looked in at your door, 
 it being unfastened, hearing you had left the quad, 
 and longing to assist you after your fatigues. But, 
 finding no light, came upstairs at once. I assure you 
 — Ah ! do not deny me — let me help you to prepare 
 for rest." 
 
 " No, thank you," I said, convinced, from his very 
 anxiety to allay my suspicions, that he lied. Smug 
 though his countenance was, he could not hide an 
 expression which spelled guilt — at least so I thought. 
 As for his not looking me in the face when he spoke, 
 he never did so — hence nothing could be inferred 
 from that. 
 
 I turned to go, while he alternately bepraised my 
 conduct and bemoaned my sufferings — one as ful- 
 somely as the other. He followed me to my door, 
 nervously, as I thought; but I sported him out firmly, 
 if civilly, leaving him in no doubt that I did not 
 covet his presence. I lighted a lamp, and then I 
 hastened to examine the big book. I reasoned with 
 my alarm, for it was not possible that he knew Hart- 
 over's letter lay hidden in it. But alarm remained. 
 I was constantly and radically distrustful of the man. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 239 
 
 Tired out though I was, before all things I must 
 make sure the letter was safe. 
 
 Yes, it was safe enough. With a sigh of relief I 
 locked it away in my desk. But what was that on 
 the shiny surface of the table? — A large drop of 
 tallow. 
 
 All my suspicions revived. I opened the lexicon 
 again. I did not know at what page I had put in the 
 letter, but I found out only too soon. Inside the 
 leaf edges was a smear of tallow, which led me to 
 notice a couple more big drops badly defacing the 
 text. Clumsy rogue ! For surely there was a candle 
 on his chimney-piece when I saw him upstairs ? Still, 
 it might have been the gyp or bed-maker. No; they 
 would certainly be at the fire, and what could they 
 be doing in any man's room at four o'clock in the 
 morning? 
 
 Blaming myself bitterly for my carelessness, I un- 
 dressed; and lay tossing, sleepless, till dawn, what 
 with exhaustion, excitement, the dread that prying 
 hypocrite had learned my dear boy's secret, and — 
 must I admit it? — the memory of Alice Dynevor's 
 kiss. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 And here I must make a confession, if I am to put 
 my story honestly upon paper. For the events of 
 that night produced results upon which I cannot look 
 back with satisfaction. 
 
 True, the position in which they placed me was 
 none of my own seeking, but forced on me by cir- 
 cumstance. Still, I cannot wholly excuse myself of 
 fault. Like most men, I suppose, I possess a fair 
 share of vanity; though, Heaven knows, in my case, 
 what with lameness, poverty, and the obscurity of 
 my early lot, vanity had little enough, so far, to feed 
 upon. Perhaps, on this very account, it was all the 
 more greedy of sustenance. My rescue of Alice 
 Dynevor was the nine days' wonder of the College. 
 I was acclaimed a veritable hero. This affected me 
 but little. Granted the opportunity, a score of men, 
 as I told them, would have done everything I had, 
 and probably done It ten times better. Having risked 
 my life once to save a few hounds, there was no 
 great credit in risking It a second time to save a 
 human being. 
 
 But the matter did not end there. It would have 
 been better had it done so — for my conscience's sake, 
 and, I am afraid, for the peace of mind of others. 
 What my kind old friend and Master said to me I 
 shall not repeat. Still less shall I repeat what was 
 
 240 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 241 
 
 said to me by Mrs. Dynevor. Who dare measure 
 the tenderness of a mother's heart or the generosity 
 of Its gratitude? 
 
 While the Lodge was refitting and rebuilding, the 
 Master removed to a house In Trumplngton Street, 
 near the FitzwIUIam Museum, surrounded by large 
 park-like grounds. The three ladles were still his 
 guests; Indeed, report declared they had taken up 
 their abode with him permanently. Here, I was 
 asked to dinner often, twice a week perhaps; and 
 told, moreover, to consider myself on the footing of 
 an Intimate friend, free to come In and out when I 
 liked. And pleasant enough was that permission. 
 Pleasant to a lonely man, such as I, to meet bright 
 smiling faces, to sit and talk, or listen to music, to be 
 petted — mothered almost — by a comely older 
 woman, welcomed and made much of by younger 
 ones. The whole thing was new to me — new as It 
 was flattering and charming. I slipped Into some- 
 thing approaching Intimacy before I realised what 
 was happening. 
 
 For, as the days went by, I could not but perceive 
 that Alice, the girl whose life I had saved, bestowed 
 on me very kindly glances — glances In which I, 
 though unskilled In such language, read something 
 deeper and — shall I say? — sweeter than mere grati- 
 tude. To her kiss — if kiss Indeed It was — given un- 
 der the stress of great emotion, I did not attach 
 importance. To do so would have been. In my opin- 
 ion, both unchlvalrous and fatuous. But, as between 
 m^n and maid, there Is a light In young eyes which 
 
242 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 can hardly be mistaken by even the most cold-blooded 
 or most Ignorant. And that light I beheld, evening 
 after evening, upon her smiling and ingenuous coun- 
 tenance. 
 
 She was not, as I have already said, particularly 
 pretty, or particularly clever, or particularly any- 
 thing beyond being well educated and well brought 
 up, with the good manners which come of an amiable 
 nature and the habit of moving in the society of her 
 equals. But for the experiences of that fearful night 
 I should, in all probability, have met her, parted 
 from her, and remembrance of her would have faded 
 from my mind altogether. As it was, I could not but 
 observe — nor deny I took a certain pleasure in ob- 
 serving — that she sought and preferred my com- 
 pany; that when we talked she led the conversation, 
 In as far as she knew how, to tender, earnest, fanci- 
 ful subjects — such as, In those days, were called 
 " sentiment "^ — and tried to gain a response from me. 
 And, within certain limits, my vanity being flattered 
 though my heart was untouched, I did respond. I 
 had no wish to mislead her; but I was weak and 
 self-indulgent In that, the present being agreeable, I 
 let things drift. 
 
 I do not pretend to justify, or indeed quite to 
 understand my own state of mind at that period. I 
 was still under the Influence of my trouble and disap- 
 pointment about Hartover, the bitterness of my own 
 Inability to help the dear boy, and save him from the 
 consequences of his own Ill-judged action. I trem- 
 bled for his future. I had written to him, and oh ! 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 243 
 
 what a letter to write ! To be at once truthful and 
 moderate required all my judgment and tact. I could 
 not approve, yet I feared to alienate him by expres- 
 sion of my real feeling. My love for Nellie Braith- 
 waite told on me, too — and the temptation to profit 
 by Hartover's marriage . and press my own suit. 
 Thus, perplexed and unhappy, I fell, I own, from 
 high standards of endeavour. The things dearest to 
 me I had failed in, or knew were beyond my grasp. 
 A cheaper, commoner way of success and of happi- 
 ness — happiness, that is, of a sort — lay open to me. 
 Should I fling aside impossible ideals, and take it? 
 
 For I could not but observe, further, that Mrs. 
 Dynevor, and the Master himself, looked on at my 
 intercourse with Alice complacently enough; that the 
 former managed adroitly to throw us together, en- 
 couraged us to sing and read together, found oppor- 
 tunities for leaving us alone often — and too often. 
 After all, I was no unfit match for her daughter. I 
 was already a fellow and tutor of my College, with 
 the prospect of a good college living hereafter: the 
 prospect if the Hartover interest did fail me — and 
 fail me, I felt pretty sure for many reasons, it would 
 not — of presentation to the first rich living In Lord 
 Longmoor's gift which might fall vacant if I chose to 
 apply for it. I was as well born as the Master. He 
 had made his way In the world, even as I was In the 
 act of making mine, by personal ability and scholar- 
 ship. Hence, on the score of station, there could be 
 no valid objection to my suit. 
 
 Should I then — for there were actually times when 
 
244 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I began to ask myself this — ^renounce high romance, 
 and the many sacrifices and sorrows which go along 
 with it, and content myself with a comfortable coun- 
 try rectory and the company of an amiable and 
 affectionate wife — a very respectable and respected 
 manner of existence after all, with chances, more- 
 over, of doing much good after a quiet unostenta- 
 tious fashion? 
 
 Who could blame me if I accepted such a future? 
 
 No one, surely — unless I blamed myself. There 
 was the crux, the rub. For should I not blame my- 
 self, and that increasingly as years went on, unless 
 I renounced my present standards and declined upon 
 altogether lower levels of thought and effort; unless, 
 in fact, I allowed myself to sink into a certain moral 
 and mental sloth — the sloth of one who, hearing, 
 refuses the call to battle, preferring ignobly to " stay 
 by the stuff?" 
 
 Thus outwardly in lively and in pleasant inter- 
 course, inwardly in travail of spirit and indecision, 
 time passed until the end of the Lent term was well 
 in sight. 
 
 Then, one evening, when I had been dining at the 
 house in Trumpington Street, as I bade the Master 
 good-night, he told me that he, and Mrs. Dynevor 
 and her daughters, intended to spend the vacation at 
 Bath, and invited me to join the party as his guest. 
 
 " You really must come, Brownlow," he said, " for 
 my young ladies count upon your escort for the vari- 
 ous expeditions they propose to make in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the city of Bladud. They will be sadly 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 245 
 
 put out If you desert us — and so, my dear fellow, 
 shall I." 
 
 He laid his hand kindly upon my shoulder. 
 
 '' I have come to depend upon your companion- 
 ship more than I ever have on that of any man of 
 your age. It Is a pleasure and entertainment to me — 
 I had almost said a solace. For we portly old bach- 
 elors have our hours of regret, you know, for the 
 family Hfe which, for some reason good or bad, or 
 from no reason at all but our own laziness, we re- 
 jected, or missed. In our earlier years. There comes 
 a time to most of us when. If a man Is wholesome, 
 his heart In the right place, he grows tired of living 
 for and by himself, and begins to look to the second 
 generation, to sons and daughters, for his interest 
 and hold on life. A risky time ! — Some old fools try 
 to retrieve the position by marrying. That form of 
 senile dementia, thank heaven ! has not attacked me 
 as yet. But I own I like having young people about 
 me. And specially, Brownlow, I like having you In 
 and out of my house. So, my good fellow, be pre- 
 pared to pack up your traps by this day week, and 
 start with us for Bath. We shall take a post-chaise 
 as well as my carriage, and make a two days' journey 
 of It." 
 
 His affection touched me deeply, the more so that 
 I could not disguise from myself the meaning and 
 purpose of that which he said. It was an Invitation, 
 surely, to declare myself In respect of Alice Dynevor, 
 an assurance that such a declaration had his approval 
 and support. I was both embarrassed and troubled 
 
246 THE TUTOR^S STORY 
 
 by self-reproach. Immediately, however, my course 
 of action was clear. I told him, with many expres- 
 sions of genuine sorrow, that it was impossible for 
 me to accompany the party to Bath, since I had 
 already promised to spend the vacation with friends 
 in the country — friends whom I had known when I 
 was at Hover. The promise was of long standing, 
 one which, without flagrant discourtesy, I could not 
 break. Though evidently disappointed, and even a 
 little vexed, he admitted the justice of what I said. 
 
 *' Well, well; perhaps, though you cannot go with 
 us, you can join us at Bath for a week before our 
 return.'' 
 
 And he asked me one or two questions about these 
 Yorkshire friends, which fortunately I could answer 
 without making any mention of Nellie. 
 
 I walked back to my College deep in thought. For, 
 clearly, I must not play with the situation any longer. 
 I must arrive at a final decision. I must pull myself 
 together and refuse to drift. Once and for all I 
 must know my own mind. But to do so I must see 
 NeUie Braithwaite first. 
 
CHAPTER XXIX 
 
 A WARM drizzling mist, shot with silver light where 
 the April sun vainly tried to break through, covered 
 the hedgeless fields, dark plough and green pasture, 
 and the great fen lands, as I drove out the twenty 
 miles from Cambridge to Westrea. I had hired a 
 gig from the livery stable, driven by a superannuated 
 post-boy, a withered scrap of a creature, toothless 
 and — rather to my relief — silent, save for profes- 
 sional clickings and chirrupings addressed to his 
 horse. The gig bobbed and curtsied over the rutted 
 cross-country roads at a bare six miles an hour. We 
 passed but few villages, a few scattered cottages, a 
 few farm-carts — these mostly drawn by oxen, to me 
 an unusual sight. The country was bare, featureless, 
 sparsely inhabited, and sad. Once or twice the mist, 
 lifting, disclosed vast reed-beds and expanses of still 
 blue-brown water, off which, with strange plaintive 
 cries and a mighty whirring and beating of wings, 
 great flocks of wild fowl rose. 
 
 As we neared our destination the landscape as- 
 sumed a more cheerful character, being diversified 
 by low hills, fine timber trees, and patches of wood; 
 more prosperous, too, with neater cottages, a better 
 type both of farm and farming, and clean running 
 brooks in place of stagnant fen. 
 
 Directed by the rubicund and jovial host of a way- 
 247 
 
248 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 side inn, we turned off the main road, through a field 
 gate, and drove some quarter of a mile down an 
 avenue of fine oaks to a comely red-brick house set in 
 the hollow — tile-roofed and gabled, with stacks of 
 high twisted chimneys, the whole dating, as I judged, 
 from the latter part of the seventeenth century. In 
 front of it a garden, the box-edged borders bright 
 with spring flowers, brick walls — against which fruit 
 trees were trained — on either hand, stretched down 
 to the stream, here artificially widened into a sort of 
 moat, its banks supported by masonry. Even now, 
 through the drizzling rain, the place seemed to tell 
 of ample, if homely, comfort and prosperity. 
 
 Crossing the stream by a hump-backed brick 
 bridge, the gig drew up, amid flutter of pigeons and 
 barking of dogs, before a square porch, where 
 Braithwaite met me with extended hand. 
 
 " Well — so here you are," he said. '' And wel- 
 come to Westrea — no man more so ; though the skies 
 might have treated you in kindlier fashion, we must 
 own." 
 
 Then, as I clambered down and tipped my ancient 
 driver, he lifted out my carpet bag and called to 
 Nellie. And I, looking once again into her beautiful 
 face, knew, beyond all question of doubt, that the 
 words asking the Master's niece, Alice Dynevor, to 
 be my bride wouFd never be spoken. No — whether 
 hopeless or not as to the final issue, here my heart 
 was anchored; so that, failing the beloved woman 
 who stood before me, I must go mateless to the end 
 of my days. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 249 
 
 Nellie's greeting was very quiet. Yet I fancied my 
 coming gave her pleasure, for her cheek flushed and 
 the old witch-smile played about her lips. Still, I use 
 the word " woman " advisedly. For, even In the 
 dim light of the porch, I was conscious of a change 
 in her — of something lost, yet something gained and 
 added; of a greater poise, a greater dignity, for hers 
 was — may I not say is, and that how thankfully? — 
 one of those natures which experience and trial serve 
 to mature and enrich rather than to break. — Would 
 there were more of such; for are they not the salt 
 of the earth, the divinely given leaven which, unto 
 strength, courage, righteousness, leavens the whole 
 lump? Ah! what a wife for my dear, weak, way- 
 ward, noble boy, Hartover! — Or, he being free no 
 longer, what a wife for 
 
 Sternly I put that thought from me. To Indulge 
 It would be to sink myself in Intoxicating dreams and 
 visions, drench my senses with sweet poison, emascu- 
 late my reason and my will — in a word, unman my- 
 self. Since her presence affected me even more pro- 
 foundly than I anticipated, I must, in honour, arm 
 myself against the delight of it with all the fortitude 
 and prudence I possessed. 
 
 We had passed straight from the porch into the 
 main living-room of the house, a large hall with a 
 heavily timbered ceiling and a big open fireplace at 
 the further end. Some logs burned cheerfully upon 
 the hearth — a not unwelcome sight after my long 
 drive In the drizzling mist. Here sweet-faced Miss 
 Ann Bralthwalte, in quakerlsh grey gown and close 
 
250 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 net cap, received me with kindly speech. Every- 
 thing spoke of the same easy circumstances and solid 
 comfort, along with an exquisite cleanliness very 
 pleasant to the eye and touch. 
 
 At supper Nellie performed her duties as hostess 
 with a pretty solicitude and dignity ; and the evening 
 passed in talk, Braithwaite glad enough, I think, to 
 hold forth once more on social reform, national and 
 political subjects. He certainly talked well and to 
 the point — his views humorously and, I must add, 
 enlighteningly different to those I was accustomed to 
 hear set forth in College Common-rooms or at the 
 High Table in Hall. But I fancied his radicalism 
 sounded a less temperate and genial note, and that 
 he looked anxiously at Nellie from time to time. His 
 manner to her was peculiarly gentle, and he referred 
 to her opinion with an almost wistful desire to inter- 
 est her in our conversation. 
 
 I had no opportunity of speaking with her alone 
 that night, for which I was not altogether sorry. 
 Better to wait until the first sweet torment of her 
 nearness had worn off, and I had schooled myself to 
 accept it without nervousness. 
 
 I rose to a day as brilliantly fair as yesterday had 
 been wet. Sunshine and fresh air pervaded the 
 house. A side door, in the hall — where breakfast 
 awaited me — stood open on to the garden, the moat, 
 and avenue of oaks climbing the gentle grass slope 
 beyond to the sky-line. 
 
 After breakfast Braithwaite went out on to his 
 farm, and Miss Ann retired to attend to some house- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY ±^i 
 
 hold business. Nellie, an all-round blue apron tied 
 over her light gown and a white sunbonnet upon her 
 head, stood at the table gathering scraps of broken 
 food into a bowl. She was going, so she told me, 
 to feed some broods of young chickens in the 
 Orchard Close; and, on my asking permission to go 
 with her, seemed pleased to have my company. As 
 we passed out of the porch into the morning sun- 
 shine, I could not but exclaim at the peaceful charm 
 of the place. 
 
 " Yes," she said. " It is peaceful — almost too 
 peaceful, perhaps. But my father does not feel that. 
 He has plenty to occupy him. The land had been 
 neglected and the farm buildings suffered to fall into 
 decay before we came; and you know his energy 
 in making improvements and setting things to 
 rights — working himself and making, not only 
 his labourers, but nature itself work for and with 
 him." 
 
 She glanced at me with a smile of tender amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " He is happy here," she added. 
 
 " And you? " I asked, perhaps unwisely. 
 
 " If he is happy, I am content," she answered. 
 " He is the best father living, and — his will is mine, 
 dear Mr. Brownlow. It ought to be so, for he is 
 most indulgent to me. There Is nothing I could ask 
 for which he would not give me if he could." 
 
 And she paused. 
 
 "If he could?" I repeated, for it struck me 
 she alluded to a subject which must be in both 
 
252 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 our minds, and about which she might be glad to 
 speak. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "there are things — or at least 
 there is one thing he cannot give me, because it is — 
 or rather was — against his principles and judgment, 
 against his conviction of what is wise and right. And 
 
 Again she paused. 
 
 " Now it is too late." 
 
 She moved forward quickly and opened the door 
 leading into the Orchard Close — some half acre of 
 ancient turf, in which grew fine old fruit trees, apple, 
 pear, plum, cherry and shining leafed walnut. The 
 pears were already in blossom, their pyramids and 
 wreaths of powdery white seen, overhead, against 
 the radiant blue. High brick walls, mellow with 
 age and encrusted in places with lichens of every tint 
 from vivid orange to delicate grey, enclosed the 
 place. Hen-coops were set out upon the warm short 
 grass, over which a busy population of yellow chicks 
 and ducklings scampered towards us — ^their mothers 
 and foster-mothers, meanwhile, craning ruffled necks 
 between the wooden bars of the coops, with dis- 
 tracted callings and duckings. 
 
 With a wooden spoon Nellie scattered the food 
 among them from her bowl, looking down at the 
 pretty, clean, scrambling little creatures — both she, 
 they, the blossoming trees, and ruddy walls making 
 a charming picture. But a change had come over 
 her. The smile, the play of feature, vanished. The 
 cheek seemed to sharpen, the dark line under the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 253 
 
 eyes to darken yet more. A settled sadness seemed 
 to touch her. Was it thus she looked when she had 
 not to amuse her father, when she had not to put a 
 force upon herself, and feign cheerfulness for the 
 sake of those about her — when she found herself 
 alone, in short? 
 
 Vain heart of mine ! — for was this not a confes- 
 sion that she dare be herself before me, that I was 
 privileged to witness what she hid from others? 
 There was a compression about the lips now, a kind- 
 ling of the eyes, which told me she was coming 
 straight to the point, like the fine and fearless woman 
 she was — but I little expected to what point. 
 
 She set down the bowl upon the grass, where the 
 greedy chicks swarmed over and into it, and thrust- 
 ing her hand within the bosom of her dress drew 
 out a letter. 
 
 *' This reached me a week ago,'' she said. " I 
 could not show it to my father, nor to dear Aunt Ann. 
 Had you not been coming, I must have written to 
 you, Mr. Brownlow. Suspense was intolerable; and, 
 if you yourself knew, I was sure you would tell me 
 the truth." 
 
 She put the letter into my hand. I recognised the 
 writing at once, and with a feeling of shame and sor- 
 row, amounting almost to horror, looked her in the 
 face. God! how glorious it was in its agony — 
 courage which could meet anything which must be; 
 act on anything which was right; and, with all, such 
 invincible sweetness ! 
 
 I read the letter. 
 
254 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Silly Country Girl — Listen to me, and cease 
 to follow what you will never win and try to reach 
 honours which belong to bolder hearts than yours. 
 You are thrown aside and done with, like his old 
 glove, his old shoe. Know, then — but do not tell it, 
 for the day you do tell shall be the last safe one of 
 your life — that he is married already; and to me, who 
 am far cleverer than you, and can please him better, 
 love him better than you, ignorant little peasant, 
 could ever please or love." 
 
 " Devil ! " was all I said, as I finished this melo- 
 dramatic effusion, for anger and disgust choked me. 
 
 *' It is so then? " — from Nellie, watching me. 
 
 *' You asked me to be truthful? — ^It is. I know 
 the handwriting too well." 
 
 "Whose is it?" she asked, in a low but steady 
 voice. 
 
 " That of the person — the Frenchwoman — whom 
 he has married." 
 
 " Mademoiselle Fedore, who used to be at 
 Hover?" 
 
 " Mademoiselle Fedore." 
 
 She raised her head, standing stiffly erect, her 
 whole form tense and rigid for a moment. I could 
 not speak. What comfort could I offer? Her grief 
 was too sacred for me to profane it with any chance 
 words of sympathy. I could only admire, reverence, 
 — aye, and worship — before this martyrdom of true 
 love. 
 
 At last : " I believed it. Yes — I was sure from the 
 first. But it is very cruel. I have not deserved that 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY. 255 
 
 insult. Whom have I followed? What honours 
 have I tried to reach? I have striven, dear Mr. 
 Brownlow, not even to think of him. Ever since my 
 father forbade me to see him, or hold any sort of 
 intercourse with him, there was but one thing to do 
 — to obey. And I have obeyed. God knows that I 
 have. You believe me? " 
 
 She glanced up in my face with something of the 
 old witch-smile. My eyes answered yes. I dared not 
 trust myself to speak. She looked down again on to 
 the smooth turf and soft, scrambling, peeping chick- 
 ens. 
 
 " Tell me — I only saw her once, and saw she was 
 very handsome. But is she — is she worthy of 
 him?" 
 
 " Do not ask me," I said, weakly perhaps; but I 
 was hard pressed, wellnigh desperate. " Judge for 
 yourself of the nature of the woman who could write 
 such a letter." 
 
 " No, if I begin to judge, if I begin to fancy, I 
 should go — it is wrong, it is wicked of me — but I 
 feel, at times, I should go mad." 
 
 She was silent again, looking down. Then: 
 
 " God forgive her — for this letter has undone the 
 work of months. Ever since we left Yorkshire, and 
 came here to Westrea, I have struggled for my 
 father's sake, for Aunt Ann's — and for my own 
 pride's sake too — to put the thought of him out of 
 my mind, and interest myself in books, in my father's 
 schemes, and in my own home duties. I believed I 
 had conquered myself, conquered my — my love. But 
 
256 THE TUTOR^S STORY 
 
 this letter brought back all the pain, and stirred up 
 something violent and evil in me — something I have 
 never felt before. It is degrading. I am jealous, 
 dear Mr. Brownlow — jealous. Do you know what 
 that means? " 
 
 Alas! did I not know? — ^and most bitterly! 
 
 " But of course you do not. How should you ? '* 
 she went on. 
 
 How should I indeed? — And she smiled at me in 
 lovely apology, thereby cutting me to the quick. For 
 did not her words, her look, show how wholly inno- 
 cent and ignorant she was of all personal feeling on 
 my part? 
 
 Well, and if so, what had I to complain of? 
 Earlier, had it not been an integral element in that 
 mystic, fantastic inner life of mine, to conceive of her 
 loving the dear boy as deeply, eternally, even though 
 as hopelessly, as I loved her? Now that my concep- 
 tion proved true in fact, what cause had I to be hurt, 
 and to shrink? Was it not inconsistent, illogical, a 
 very height of unreason? I took myself to task for 
 my folly; but I suffered. Meanwhile an idea oc- 
 curred to me, but I dared not put it into execution 
 yet. In Fedore's letter was one lie which could and, 
 in justice to the dear boy, ought to be refuted. But 
 I must wait until I could judge better of Nellie's pow- 
 ers of endurance, and better trust my own calmness 
 and nerve in handling a very delicate subject. 
 
 Now I only said to her: 
 
 "Will you trust me with this letter, and let me 
 keep it for the present?" 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 257 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because — forgive me if I seem to preach to you 
 — as long as it remains in your possession, you can- 
 not, I think, but read and re-read it." 
 
 " That is true," she said. 
 
 " And each time you do so, you renew your own 
 pain, renew — quite naturally — your sense of injury, 
 of anger at the insult offered you. Yet this renewal 
 works to no good end. It is useless, merely causing 
 you to move in a vicious circle, since it cannot alter 
 the facts or affect the result." 
 
 ''Yes — yes," she said. "Ah! how well you un- 
 derstand, dear Mr. Brownlow ! Keep the letter. It 
 is better out of my possession. And I feel less un- 
 happy now that I have spoken to you. I longed for, 
 yet dreaded, your coming. I knew that I should 
 want to tell you of this — to speak freely to you ; and 
 yet I doubted if it were possible to talk on such a 
 subject without seeming wanting in modesty. But 
 you have made it easy by your sympathy — which I 
 feel. It is wonderful. And I am very grateful — 
 more grateful than I can express." 
 
 For the first time her eyes had tears in them, and 
 her brave lips quivered. I could bear no more. I 
 turned and walked away a few steps, the sunshine 
 gay among the pear blossoms above my head, warm 
 upon the turf at my feet. Ah, dear God, what a 
 beautiful world — and I to go through it lonely all 
 the days of my life ! 
 
 Nellie picked up her bowl and came after me, a 
 wistfulness in her sweet face. 
 
258 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 "What is the matter, dear Mr. Brownlow? I 
 have not offended you? " she said. 
 
 " No — ten thousand times, no,'* I answered. 
 *' But the times are somewhat out of joint, and — 
 well — would to Heaven I were a better, abler man to 
 set them right ! " 
 
 Just then Braithwaite hailed us from the door- 
 way. We joined him and, with him, went back to 
 the house. 
 
CHAPTER XXX 
 
 That was the first of many days — for by both 
 Braithwaite's and NelHe's request I stayed on at 
 Westrea until nearly the end of the vacation — of 
 sweet but very searching experience. If I played 
 with fire it was a purifying fire surely, burning away 
 the baser metal and leaving whatever of gold might 
 be in me free of dross. 
 
 Not that I say this boastfully — who am I, indeed, 
 to boast? — but humbly and thankfully, knowing I 
 passed through an ordeal from which — while the 
 animal man cowered and shrank, crying aloud, aye, 
 and with tears of agony, to be spared — the spiritual 
 man drew strength and rose, in God's mercy, to 
 greater fulness of life. For I learned very much, 
 and that at first hand, by personal experiment, not 
 by hearsay merely or, parrot-like, by rote. Learned 
 the truth of the apostle's dictum, that although " all 
 things are lawful," yet, for some of us, many things, 
 however good in themselves or good for others, are 
 " not expedient." Learned, too, the value of the 
 second best, learned to accept the lower place. 
 Learned to rejoice in friendship, since the greater 
 joys of love were denied me, schooling myself to 
 play a brother's part; play it fearlessly and, as I 
 trust, unselfishly, watchful that neither by word, or 
 deed, or even by look, I overstepped the limit I had 
 
 259 
 
26o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 set myself and forfeited the trust and faith Nellie 
 reposed in me. 
 
 To do this was no easy matter. At moments, I 
 own, the springs of courage and resolution ran peril- 
 ously dry. Then I would go away by myself for a 
 time; and — why should I hesitate to tell it? — pray, 
 wrestle in prayer, for self-mastery which, with that 
 wrestling, came. For if we are honest with our- 
 selves and with Him, disdaining self-pity and self- 
 excuse. Almighty God is very safe to fulfil His part 
 of the bargain. This, also, I learned, during those 
 sweet and searching days at Westrea, beyond all 
 question of doubt. 
 
 I rode or drove with Braithwaite about the neigh- 
 bouring country. Walked with him over his farm. 
 Talked with him endlessly of his agricultural schemes 
 and improvements. Talked with him about public 
 events, too, and about poHtics. Only once or twice 
 was Hartover, or Hover, mentioned; and then, I 
 observed, his tone took on a certain bitterness. He 
 had been up to Yorkshire on business a little prior to 
 my visit, had happened to run across Warcop — ■ 
 aged and sad, so he told me. But my old friend laid 
 aside much of his customary caution, it appeared, on 
 hearing Braithwaite expected shortly to see me, and 
 bade him tell me things were not well at Hover. 
 
 " What he actually knows, what he only suspects, 
 I could not quite discover," Braithwaite went on. 
 *' But I gathered the Countess has been up to queer 
 tricks. As to that business, now, of the Italian rascal 
 going off with the plate — you heard of it? — well, it 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 261 
 
 looks uncommonly as though my lady was in no haste 
 to have him laid by the heels — bamboozled the 
 police, as she bamboozles pretty well every unlucky 
 wretch she comes across, until he had time to make 
 good his escape." 
 
 ''And the Colonel? "I asked. 
 
 " A dark horse. Connived at the fellow's escape, 
 too, I am inclined to think. Marsigli knew too much 
 of the family goings-on, and, if he was caught, was 
 pretty sure to blab in revenge. I am not given to 
 troubling myself about the unsavoury doings of great 
 folks, Brownlow. They had a short way with aristo- 
 cratic heads during the French Revolution at the end 
 of last century, and I am not altogether sure they 
 weren't right. But for my poor Nellie's sake, I 
 should never give that Longmoor faction a second 
 thought. As it is I have been obliged to think about 
 them, and I believe the plain English of the whole 
 affair is that the Colonel and my lady have been on 
 better terms than they should be for many years past. 
 What she wants is a second Lord Longmoor as hus- 
 band, and the money, and the property, and — a son 
 of her own to inherit it. An ugly accusation? Yes. 
 But can you spell out the mystery any better way 
 than that?" 
 
 I did not know that I could, and told him so. 
 There the conversation dropped, while my mind went 
 back to the letter Nellie had shown me. — It was a 
 devilish action of Fedore's, I thought, the mark of a 
 base, cruel nature, capable — the last sin — of tramp- 
 ling on the fallen. And yet might it not have been 
 
262 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 dictated by the pardonable desire to secure her prize 
 for herself, to prevent pursuit, inquiry, scandal, per- 
 haps fresh misery for Nellie? There are two sides, 
 two explanations, of every human act; and the char- 
 itable one is just as rational, often more so, than the 
 uncharitable. If she stated her case somewhat 
 coarsely, was she not low-bred, ill-taught, excited by 
 success? 
 
 Thus did I argue with myself, trying to excuse the 
 woman, lest I should let anger get the upper hand 
 of reason and judgment. But what was her relation 
 to Marsigli? This it was which really mattered, 
 which was of lasting moment. And about this I must 
 be silent, be cool and prudent. At present I could 
 take no action. I must wait on events. 
 
 Meanwhile each day brought me a closer acquaint- 
 ance with, and respect for, Nellie's character; the 
 liveliness of her intelligence, and justness of her taste. 
 And to it, the intellectual side of her nature, I made 
 my appeal, trying to take her mind off personal mat- 
 ters and interest her in literature and thought. On 
 warm mornings, her household duties finished, she 
 would bring her needlework out to a sheltered spot 
 In the garden, where the high red-brick wall formed 
 an angle with the house front; and sitting there, the 
 flowers, the brimming water, the gently upward 
 sloping grass-land and avenue of oaks before us, I 
 would read aloud to her from her favourite authors 
 or introduce her to books she had not yet read. On 
 chill evenings we would sit beside the wood fire in 
 the hall, while Braithwaite was busy with the news- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 263 
 
 paper or accounts, and read till the dying twilight 
 obliged her to rise and light the lamp. Much of 
 Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, along with Pope's 
 rendering of the Iliad, Hazlitt's Lectures and Lamb's 
 Essays, we studied thus. Shelley, save for a few of 
 the lyrics, we avoided by tacit consent; and Byron 
 likewise, with the exception of certain portions of 
 *' Childe Harold "; the heroic rather than the senti- 
 mental note seeming safest — though from different 
 causes — to us both. 
 
 Often I would illustrate our reading by telling her 
 about the authors, the places, or the period with 
 which it dealt, to see her hands drop in her lap, her 
 face grow bright, her manner animated, as she lis- 
 tened and questioned me — argued a little too, if she 
 differed from my opinion. Sometimes she laughed 
 with frank enjoyment at some merry tale or novel 
 idea. And then I was indeed rewarded — only too 
 well rewarded. For her laughter was exquisite to 
 me, both in sound and in token of — were it but mo- 
 mentary — lightness of heart. 
 
 After that first morning in the Orchard Close, we 
 rarely mentioned the dear boy. I felt nothing could 
 be gained by leading the conversation in his direction. 
 If it would afford her relief, if she wanted to speak, 
 she knew by now, I felt, she could do so without em- 
 barrassment or fear of misunderstanding on my part. 
 But it was not until the afternoon of the day preced- 
 ing my return to Cambridge that we had any pro- 
 longed talk on the subject. 
 
 Braithwaite, I remember, had driven over to Thet- 
 
264 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ford upon business; and, at Nellie's request, I walked 
 with her to the village, so that she might show me 
 the fine old monuments and brasses in the parish 
 church. 
 
 Coming back across the fields, we lingered a little, 
 watching the loveliness of the early May sunset. 
 For, looking westward, all the land lay drenched in 
 golden haze, which — obliterating the horizon line — 
 faded upward into a faint golden-green sky, across 
 which long webs were drawn of rose and grey. Out 
 of the sunset a soft wind blew; full, as it seemed, of 
 memory and wistful invitation to — well — I know not 
 what. But either that wind or consciousness of our 
 parting on the morrow moved Nellie to open her 
 heart to me more freely than ever before. 
 
 " Dear Mr. Brownlow," she said, her eyes still 
 fixed on that loveliness of sunset — " I want to thank 
 you now, while we are still alone, for all you have 
 done for me. You have, indeed, been a good physi- 
 cian, and I want you to know how much better I am 
 since you came — stronger, and more at peace. I 
 promise you I will do my utmost to keep the ground 
 I have gained, and not fall back into the unworthy 
 state of mind out of which you have brought me. I 
 do not say I am cured." 
 
 She looked up at me, smiling. 
 
 " I do not think you would ask that of me. I 
 have no wish to be — I should, I think, be ashamed to 
 be cured of — of my love. For it would make what 
 was most beautiful seem unreal and untrue. But I 
 am resigned to all — almost all — which has happened. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 265 
 
 I no longer kick against the pricks, or ask to have 
 things otherwise. I shall not let it make me sour or 
 envious — thanks to you." 
 
 And as she spoke I read in her dear eyes a depth 
 of innocent and trustful affection, which was almost 
 more than I could endure. 
 
 " I have come to a better frame of mind," she said. 
 *' It will last. It shall last, I promise you." 
 
 " Then all is well," I answered haltingly. 
 
 But as I spoke her expression changed. She 
 walked forward along the field path, looking upon 
 the ground. 
 
 " Yes, all — I suppose — is well," she repeated. 
 *' All except one thing — that hurts still." 
 
 " And what is that one thing? " 
 
 I thought I knew. If I was right, I had a remedy 
 at hand — a desperate one, perhaps, but she was firm 
 enough to bear it now. 
 
 *' I always felt how little I had to offer, as against 
 his position, his gifts, and all the attractions of his 
 life at Hover, and still more his life in town. The 
 wonder was he should ever have found me worth 
 caring for at all. But I thought his nature was 
 deeper and more constant, and it hurts — it must 
 always hurt — that he should have forgotten so soon 
 and so entirely as she — his wife — says he has." 
 
 *' There she lied. He has not forgotten," I an- 
 swered. " Here are Hartover's own words." 
 
 And I gave her the letter I received after my visit 
 to Chelsea. Let her learn the truth, the whole truth, 
 as from his own lips — learn the best and the worst 
 
266 THE TUTOR'S STORY; 
 
 of him, and so meet whatever the future might bring 
 with open eyes. 
 
 Some twenty yards ahead a stile and gate divided 
 the field of spring wheat we were crossing from the 
 pasture beyond. I must leave Nellie to herself. So 
 I went on and stood, leaning my elbows on the top 
 bar of the gate. 
 
 Below, in the hollow, the red roofs and chimneys 
 of Westrea and a glint of water showed through the 
 veil of golden haze. An abode of peace, of those 
 wholesome fruitful industries which link man to 
 mother-earth and all her ancient mysteries of the 
 seasons, of seed-time and harvest, rain and shine. 
 How far away in purpose and sentiment from the 
 gaudy world of fashion, of artificial excitement, in- 
 trigue and acrimonious rivalries, to which my poor 
 boy, Hartover, now belonged ! Yes, and therefore, 
 since here her lot was cast, it was well Nellie should 
 know the best and worst of him, his weakness and his 
 fine instincts alike ; because — because — in the back of 
 my mind was a conviction, irrational, unfounded, 
 very foolish perhaps, but at this moment absolute, 
 that the end was not yet. And that, in the end, by 
 ways which I knew not, once again Nellie would find 
 Hartover, and Hartover would find Nellie, and find- 
 ing her would find rest to his soul, salvation to his 
 wayward nature, and thus escape the fate of Alcibi- 
 ades, which I had always so dreaded for him, and 
 prove worthy of his high station, his great posses- 
 sions, his singular beauty, charm and talent, even yet. 
 
 For five minutes, nearly ten minutes, while the gold 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 267 
 
 faded to grey, I waited, and Nellie gave no sign. I 
 began to grow nervous and question the wisdom of 
 my own action. To her, pure and high-minded as 
 she was, would this revelation of dissipation and 
 hard-living, prove too painful, would she turn from it 
 in anger and disgust? Had I betrayed my trust, been 
 disloyal to the dear boy in letting her see his con- 
 fession? I bowed my head upon my hands. Fool, 
 fool, thus to rush In where angels might truly fear 
 to tread ! 
 
 Then quick, light footsteps behind me — the rustle 
 of a woman's dress. And as, fearful and humiliated, 
 I, turning, looked up, Nellie's eyes were like stars, 
 her face pale but glorious in its exaltation and tri- 
 umphant tenderness. 
 
 *' Dear good physician," she said, " I am really 
 cured at last — not of, but by love. All that seemed 
 spoilt and lost is given back. How can I thank you 
 enough? I can bear to be away from him, bear to 
 give him up, now that I know he really cared for me, 
 really suffered in leaving me. I can even forgive her, 
 though she has been cruel and Insolent, because she 
 went to him In his trouble and helped to save his life. 
 And I understand why he married her — It was chival- 
 rous and generous on his part. It places him higher 
 In my estimation. I can adjnire him in that too." 
 
 I gazed at her, dazzled, enchanted, wondering. 
 And then — shame, thrice shame to me after all my 
 struggles, resolutions, prayers — the devil of envy 
 raised its evil head, of bitterness against the rich 
 man, who with all his gold and precious stones, his 
 
268 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 flocks and herds, must yet steal the poor man's one 
 jewel, one little ewe lamb. 
 
 " Have you read all the letter — read that part in 
 which he speaks of his first months in London? " I 
 asked. 
 
 For an instant she looked at me without compre- 
 hension, her eyebrows drawn together, in evident 
 question and surprise. Then the tension relaxed. 
 Gently and sweetly she laughed. 
 
 " Ah ! yes," she said. " I know. He grew reck- 
 less — he did wrong. But — but, dear Mr. Brownlow 
 — is it wicked of me? — I cannot condemn him for 
 that — because it was his love for me which drove 
 him to it. He tells you so himself. I suppose I ought 
 to be shocked — I will try to be — presently — if you 
 say I ought. But not just yet — please not just yet." 
 
 " Neither now nor presently," I answered, con- 
 science-stricken and ashamed. " You know far better 
 than I what is right. Follow your own heart." 
 
 I opened the gate, and stood back for her to pass. 
 As she did so she paused. 
 
 *' You are displeased with me," she said. " Yet 
 why? Why did you let me read his letter, except to 
 comfort me and make me happy by showing me he 
 was not to blame? " 
 
 Why indeed? She well might ask. And how was 
 I to answer without still further betraying my trust — 
 my trust to her, this time, since I had sworn to be to 
 her as a brother and let no hint of my own feelings 
 disturb the serenity of our intercourse. 
 
 So I replied, I am afraid clumsily enough — 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 269 
 
 " You are mistaken. And to show you how little 
 I am displeased I beg you to keep this letter, in ex- 
 change for the one you gave me to keep. You may 
 like to read it through again, from time to time." 
 
 I held it out. And for an instant she hesitated, her 
 eyes fixed upon the writing, upon the paper, as though 
 these actual and material things were precious in her 
 sight. Then she put her hands behind her and shook 
 her head. 
 
 " No — better not. It is not necessary," she said 
 with a child-like gravity. Her whole attitude just 
 now was curiously simple and childlike. " I have 
 every word of it by heart already, dear Mr. Brown- 
 low. I shall remember every word — always." 
 
 And for a while we walked on in silence, side by 
 side, beneath the dying sunset. Upon the hump- 
 backed bridge spanning the stream Nellie stopped. 
 
 " One thing more, good physician," she said, very 
 gently. " I am cut off from him for — for ever by 
 his marriage. But you can watch over him and care 
 for his welfare still. You will do so? " 
 
 " Before God — yes," I answered. 
 
 " And, sometimes, you will let me hear, you will 
 come and tell me about him? " 
 
 '' Again — yes — before God." 
 
 And I smiled to myself, bowing my head. Oh! 
 the magnificent and relentless egoism of love ! — But 
 she should have this since she asked it; this and more 
 than this. Plans began to form in my mind, a deter- 
 mination to make sure, whatever it might cost me, 
 about this same marriage of Hartover's. I would 
 
270 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 devote myself to an inquiry, pursue it carefully, pru- 
 dently; but pursue it regardless of time, regardless of 
 money — such money, as by economy and hard work, 
 I could command. For was not such an inquiry part, 
 and an integral one, of the pledge to watch over 
 Hartover and care for his welfare which I had so 
 recently and solemnly given her? Undoubtedly it 
 was. 
 
 " Thank you,'* she said. Then after a pause, " I 
 wonder why you are so kind to me? Sometimes I 
 am almost afraid of your kindness, lest it should 
 make me selfish and conceited, make me think too 
 highly of myself. Indeed I will try better to deserve 
 It. I will read. I will improve my mind, so as to 
 be more worthy of your society and teaching, when 
 you come again. — But, Mr. Brownlow, I have never 
 kept anything from my father until now. Is it de- 
 ceitful of me not to tell him of these two letters? 
 They would anger and vex him; and he has been so 
 much happier and like his old self since you have 
 been with us. I hate to disturb him and open up the 
 past." 
 
 " I think you are, at least, justified in waiting for 
 a time before telling him," I faltered. 
 
 For my poor head was spinning, and I had much 
 ado to collect my wits. She would read, improve 
 herself, be more worthy of my teaching when I came 
 again, forsooth! — Ah! Nellie, Nellie, that I must 
 listen with unmoved pedagogic countenance, that I 
 must give you impersonal and sage advice, out of a 
 broken heart! — - 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 271 
 
 *' Yes, wait," I repeated. *' Later your course of 
 action may be made clearer, and you may have an 
 opportunity of speaking without causing him annoy- 
 ance or distress. You are not disobeying his orders, 
 in any case." 
 
 " Thank you," she said again. " See, the lamps 
 are lit. My father must be home and we are late. 
 Oh! how I wish you were not going away to-mor- 
 row. He will miss you, we shall all miss you so 
 badly." 
 
 I did not sleep much that night. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 The ancient postboy drove out to Westrea next 
 morning, and conveyed me and my impedimenta 
 back to Cambridge. 
 
 The journey was a silent one, I being as little dis- 
 posed for conversation as he. My thoughts were not 
 very cheerful. Yet what had I, after all, to make a 
 poor mouth about? I had asked to know my own 
 mind, and arrive at a definite decision concerning cer- 
 tain matters closely affecting my future. Now I knew 
 it very thoroughly; and, as to those matters, had 
 decided once and for all. It only remained for me 
 to acquaint my kind old friend, the Master, with that 
 decision as tactfully and delicately as might be. But 
 how should I acquit myself? And how would he 
 take it? And how far should I be compelled to speak 
 of Hartover and Nellie, and of my own relation to 
 both, to make my meaning clear ? For what a tangle 
 it all was — a tangle almost humorous, though almost 
 tragic too, as such human tangles mostly are ! Well, 
 I supposed I must stick to my old method of blunt 
 truth-telling, leaving the event to my Maker, who, 
 having created that strange anomaly, the human 
 heart, must surely know how best to deal with its 
 manifold needs and vagaries ! 
 
 So far then, it was, after all, fairly plain sailing. 
 But, unfortunately, these thoughts were not the only 
 thing which troubled me. 
 
 272 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 273 
 
 For I felt as well as thought; and feeling is more 
 dangerous than thought because at once more inti- 
 mate and more intangible. A great emptiness filled 
 — for emptiness can fill, just as silence can shout, and 
 that hideously — not only my own soul but, as it 
 seemed, all Nature around me. The land was empty, 
 the sky empty. An east-wind blight spread abroad, 
 taking all colour out of the landscape and warmth out 
 of the sunshine. Just so had my parting with Nellie 
 cast a blight over me, taking the colour and warmth 
 out of my life. For I had been with her long enough 
 for her presence, the sound of her voice, and constant 
 sight of her to become a habit. How terribly I 
 missed, and should continue to miss, her — not only 
 in great matters but in small, in all the pleasant, 
 trivial, friendly incidents of every day ! 
 
 After the freshness and spotless cleanliness of 
 Westrea, my college rooms — fond though I was of 
 them — looked dingy and uncared for, as is too often 
 the way of an exclusively masculine dwelling-place. 
 The men had not come up yet, which spared me the 
 annoyance of Halidane's neighbourhood for the mo- 
 ment. Still I felt the depressing lack of life and 
 movement throughout the college buildings and quad- 
 rangles. Cambridge was asleep — a dull and dismal 
 sleep, as it struck me. The Master, I found, was 
 back and at the Lodge once more ; but, since only a 
 portion of the house was ready for habitation, Mrs. 
 Dynevor and her daughters would remain at Bath 
 for some weeks longer. This 1 was glad to hear, as 
 it promised to simplify my rather awkward task. 
 
274 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I called at the Lodge the same evening, to be re- 
 ceived by the Master with his usual cordiality. He 
 invited me to stay and dine, admitting he felt some- 
 what lonely without his ladies in the still partially dis- 
 mantled house. 
 
 " Unlike the three children in the Babylonian fur- 
 nace, the smell of fire is very much upon it still," he 
 said. " Signs and odours of destruction meet me at 
 every turn. I dare say in the end — for I have an ex- 
 cellent architect — we shall make a more comfortable 
 and certainly more sanitary place of it than ever 
 before; but the continuity is broken, much history 
 and many a tradition lost for good. I am only 
 heartily glad you are not among the latter, Brown- 
 low. It was a very near thing." 
 
 Whether this was intended to give me an opening 
 for explanation, I could not say. In any case I did 
 not choose to take advantage of it, preferring to 
 explain at my own time and in my own way. 
 
 We talked on general subjects for a while. But at 
 the end of dinner, when the butler left the room, he 
 said, eyeing me with a twinkle — 
 
 " It was a pity you could not manage to meet us at 
 Bath, Brownlow, for you would have found some old 
 friends there. One of whom, a very splendid person- 
 age by the same token, made many gracious inquiries 
 after you — put me through the longer catechism in 
 respect of you, and put my sister and nieces through 
 it also, I understand." 
 
 ** Old friends?" I asked, considerably puzzled 
 both by his words and manner. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 275 
 
 " You had not heard, then, any more than I, 
 that Lord Longmoor has settled permanently at 
 Bath?" 
 
 I assured him I had not. 
 
 " Yes — and under sad enough circumstances," he 
 went on, with a change of tone. " Poor gentleman, 
 he and those about him have cried wolf for so many 
 years that I, for one, had grown sceptical regarding 
 his ailments. But what of constitution he ever pos- 
 sessed has been undermined by coddling and dosing. 
 I was admitted once or twice, and was, I own, most 
 painfully Impressed by his appearance and by his 
 state of mind — religious mania, or something alarm- 
 ingly akin to it, and that of at once the most abject 
 and arrogant sort." 
 
 I was greatly shocked by this news, and said so. 
 • '' What is being done ? " I asked. 
 
 " Everything that common sense would forbid, in 
 my opinion. He is surrounded by an army of obse- 
 quious servants and rapacious medical and religious 
 quacks, all and each busy to secure their private ad- 
 vantage while fooling him, poor soul, to the top of 
 his bent. Our hopeful convert and gownsman Hali- 
 dane had joined the throng, so I heard, but fled at my 
 approach. Where the carcass is, there the vultures 
 are gathered together — a repulsive and odious sight, 
 showing the case of Dives may after all be hardly 
 less miserable than that of Lazarus." 
 
 The Master paused. 
 
 " Lady Longmoor is there too ; and Heaven for- 
 give me, Brownlow," he added, '' I could not but 
 
276 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 wonder what sentiments that remarkably fair lady 
 really entertains towards her lord. She confided in 
 me in the most charming manner; yet, honestly, I 
 knew less what to think and believe, knew less how 
 the land really lay, after receiving those confidences 
 than before." 
 
 In spite of myself I was amused. For could I not 
 picture Her Magnificence and my good, kind, old 
 Master in solemn conclave? Picture the arts and 
 graces let loose on him, the touching appeals, admis- 
 sions, protests; the disarming innocence of glance 
 and gesture, along with flashes of naughty laughter, 
 beneath the black-fringed eyelids, in the demurely 
 downcast eyes. 
 
 *' Her ladyship's communications are not always 
 easy to interpret. They are not always intended to 
 enlighten — perhaps," I ventured. 
 
 " Then you too, have been honoured? " 
 
 " I have." 
 
 He chuckled. 
 
 But, In my case, amusement speedily gave place to 
 sober reflection. For if Lord Longmoor was in so 
 critical a condition, dying possibly, what an im- 
 mense change In Hartover's position this entailed! 
 All my fears for the dear boy reawakened. What 
 means might not be taken to embroil him with his 
 father, at this critical moment, to injure and dis- 
 possess him ! Particularly did I dislike the fact that 
 Halidane had been In attendance. I questioned the 
 Master anxiously. 
 
 " Ah! there you have me, Brownlow," he repHed. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 277 
 
 *' Lord Hartover Is a point upon which my lady's 
 confidences proved pecuHarly obscure. She spoke of 
 her ' dear George ' with a great show of affection, 
 deploring that the festivities In celebration of his 
 coming of age next month must be postponed. She 
 had so counted on seeing both you and me at Hover 
 then, she declared. Deploring, also " — and he 
 looked rather hard at me, I thought, across the cor- 
 ner of the dinner table over the row of decanters, as 
 he spoke — '' deploring also an unfortunate disposi- 
 tion In her stepson to become enamoured of young 
 women very much beneath him in the social scale. 
 She gave me to understand both she and his father 
 had been caused much annoyance and trouble by more 
 than one affair of this sort. Yet I could not help 
 fancying she sought Information, just then, rather 
 than offered It. I had a notion — I may have been 
 mistaken — she was doing her best to pump me and 
 find out whether I had heard anything from you upon 
 the subject of these amatory escapades. Come, 
 Brownlow — for my instruction, not for hers — can 
 you fill in the gaps? " 
 
 I hesitated. Had the right moment come for ex- 
 planation? I believed that It had. And so, as plainly 
 and briefly as I could, I told him the whole story. I 
 kept back nothing — why should I ? There was noth- 
 ing to be ashamed of, though somewhat to grieve 
 over, and much to regret. I told him of Nellie, of 
 Fedore ; of Hartover's love, Hartover's marriage. I 
 told him of my own love. 
 
 For a while he remained silent. Then, laying his 
 
278 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 hand on my shoulder, as I sat, my elbows upon the 
 table, my face buried in my hands — 
 
 " My poor fellow, my poor fellow — I had no 
 notion of all this," he said. " So this is the upshot of 
 your two years at Hover. I sent you out to make 
 your fortune, and you found your fate. Well — well 
 — things are as they are; but I do not deny that 
 recently I had formed very different plans for you." 
 
 " Do not think me presumptuous, sir, if I answer 
 I feared as much. And that is my reason for telling 
 you what I have told no other human being — what, 
 indeed, I had hoped to keep locked inviolably in my 
 own breast as long as I live." 
 
 Something in my tone or in my narrative must 
 have stirred him deeply, for he rose and took a turn 
 up and down the room, as though with difficulty re- 
 taining his composure. For my part, I own, I felt 
 broken, carried out of myself. It had been search- 
 ing work, dislocating work, to lay bare my innermost 
 heart thus. But only so, as I judged, could the men- 
 tion of Alice Dynevor's name be avoided between 
 us. It was better to sacrifice myself, if by so doing I 
 could at once spare her and arrive at a clear under- 
 standing. Of this I was glad. I think the Master 
 was glad too; for, his rather agitated walk ended, 
 he stood beside me and spoke most kindly. 
 
 " Your secret is perfectly safe with me, Brownlow, 
 rest assured. I give you my word I will never reveal 
 it. You have behaved honourably and high-mindedly 
 throughout. Your conduct commands my respect 
 and admiration, — though I could wish some matters 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 279 
 
 had turned out otherwise. But now as to this mar- 
 riage — real or supposed — of poor Hartover's and 
 all the ugly plotting of which, I fear with you, he Is 
 the victim. I do not think I can find It In my con- 
 science to stand by, or encourage you to stand by, 
 with folded hands." 
 
 ^' That Is exactly what I was coming to, sir," I 
 said, choking down alike my thanks and my emotion. 
 " If, as you inform me. Lord Longmoor's health Is 
 so precarious, the poor dear boy's future must not 
 be left to chance." 
 
 '' No, no," he answered warmly. " His foes, I 
 fear, are very literally of his own household. If this 
 woman Is legally his wife, we, as his friends, are 
 called upon to stand by the marriage and on grounds 
 of public policy, make the best of what, I admit, 
 strikes me as a very bad business. If she is not 
 legally his wife, if there is any flaw In the marriage, 
 we must take means to establish the fact of that flaw 
 and set him free. Whether he Is grateful to us for 
 our self-imposed labours affects our duty neither one 
 way nor the other at this stage of the proceedings. 
 But should she prove the unscrupulous person I take 
 her to be, he will very certainly thank us In the end. 
 And now, Brownlow, It occurs to me the sooner we 
 move in all this the better. There Is no time to be 
 lost." 
 
 He gave me reasons for his opinion. In which I 
 fully agreed; and we sat talking far Into the night, 
 with the result that within a fortnight I travelled, 
 first to Yorkshire, and then up to town. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 About my Yorkshire journey it is unnecessary to say 
 much. I saw Hover once more, stately as ever, but 
 lifeless. The great house shut up, its many treas- 
 ures swathed in dust sheets and brown paper. When 
 it would be opened again none knew. Probably 
 Colonel Esdaile would bring some gentlemen down 
 in August for grouse-shooting, or for covert-shoot- 
 ing in October. He would hunt there during the 
 winter. The Colonel, always and only the Colonel, 
 as man in possession? 
 
 I said as much to Warcop — to whom my visit was 
 made — sitting before the empty stove in that queer 
 sanctum of his, hung round with prints and spoils of 
 the stud-farm and the chase. Whereupon he stuck 
 out his bull-dog under jaw and mournfully shook his 
 big grizzled head. 
 
 Yes, he answered, that was pretty well what it all 
 came to. Would to God it did not! — always and 
 only Colonel Jack at Hover in these days. And my 
 lord lay a-dying, so they said, at Bath; and my young 
 lord gave no sign. And her ladyship flitted in, like 
 some great bright-painted butterfly, for a day and a 
 night. Looked round the stables and gardens with 
 a laugh, hanging on the Colonel's arm, and flitted off 
 again, as gay as you please, to London or Bath, or 
 Old Nick knew where; while Colonel Jack, with a 
 
 280 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 281 
 
 face like thunder and a temper like tinder, cursed 
 the very guts out of anyone unlucky enough to cross 
 his path for full twenty-four hours afterwards. 
 Colonel Esdaile was a changed man, as I gathered; 
 his swaggering manner and jovial good-humour, a 
 thing of the past, save at rare intervals or when her 
 ladyship happened to be about. 
 
 All of which was bad hearing. The more so as, 
 without going all lengths with Braithwaite in his con- 
 demnation of our hereditary nobility, I believed then 
 — and believe firmly still — that if a great nobleman, 
 or great landowner, is to justify his position — aye, 
 and his very existence — he must live on his estate, 
 keep in close touch with, and hold himself directly 
 responsible for the welfare of, all ranks of its popu- 
 lation — labourers, artisans, rent-payers great and 
 small, alike. The middle-man, however just or able 
 an administrator, introduces, and must always intro- 
 duce, a cold-blooded, mechanical relation as between 
 landlord and tenant, employer and employed. And, 
 now listening to Warcop's lament, I trembled lest the 
 curse of absenteeism — which during recent years has 
 worked such havoc of class hatred and disaffection 
 in Ireland — should set its evil mark upon this Eng- 
 lish country-side. 
 
 In this connection it was inevitable that memories 
 of my former dreams and ambitions for Hover 
 should come back to me with a bitter sense of failure 
 and of regret. Dreams and ambitions of so edu- 
 cating and training my dear pupil as to make him an 
 ideal landowner, an ideal nobleman, to whom no 
 
282 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 corner of his vast possessions, the lives lived and 
 work done there, would be a matter of Indifference; 
 but who would accept and obey the divinely ordained 
 law of rulership and ownership which reminds us 
 every privilege carries with it a corresponding obli- 
 gation, and that the highest duty of him who governs 
 is to serve. 
 
 Where had all those fair dreams and ambitions 
 departed now? Were they for ever undone and dis- 
 sipated? It seemed so, alas! Yet who could tell? 
 Had I not promised Nellie, and that in some sort 
 against my dearest interests, to watch over Hartover 
 to the best of my power, and care for him still ? And 
 if a poor faulty human creature, such as I, could be 
 faithful, how much more God, his Maker ! Yes, I 
 would set my hope, both for him and for Hover, 
 firmly there, black though things looked at present. 
 For Almighty God, loving him infinitely more than I 
 — much though I loved him — would surely find 
 means for his redemption, and, notwithstanding his 
 many temptations, still make for him a way of 
 escape. 
 
 And with that I turned my mind resolutely to the 
 practical Inquiry which had brought me north, ques- 
 tioning Warcop concerning the disappearance of 
 Marsigli and the theft, with which he stood charged, 
 of jewels and of plate. 
 
 Warcop's first words in reply, I own, set my heart 
 beating. 
 
 " Best ask French Mamzelle, sir," he said, with a 
 snarl. " For, as sure as my name's Jesse Warcop, 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 283 
 
 she'd the main finger In that pie. Picked out t' fat- 
 test o' the plums for herself, too, and fathered the 
 job upon Marslgll to rid herself of the fellow." 
 
 "Torldherself of him?" 
 
 ** 'Od, an' why not? So long as ye were here wi' 
 us, sir, what she'd set her mind to have was out of 
 her reach. But, you safe gone, she'd na more stom- 
 ach for my lord's Italian butler, bless you — must fly 
 at higher game than that." 
 
 "LordHartover?" 
 
 " And who else ? Eh ! but she's a canny one ; none 
 of your hot-heads, rushing Into a thing afore they've 
 fairly planned It. She'd her plan pat enough. Laid 
 her train or ever she struck a match; waited till she 
 kenned It was all over between t' dear lad and 
 Bralthwalte's lass. Had Marslgll muzzled, seeing 
 that to tell on her was to tell on himself. i\nd 
 others, that should ha' shown her up, durstn't do It, 
 lest she opened her mouth and set scandal yelping 
 after them. So she'd a muzzle onto them too, and 
 could afford to laugh t' whole lot In the face — 
 upstairs as well as down — and follow her own 
 fancy." 
 
 He ruminated, chewing viciously at the straw he 
 carried In his mouth. 
 
 " And, as the talk goes, she's followed It to a 
 finish," he added, " and fixed her devil she-kite's 
 claws In my young lord, poor dear lad, safe enough. 
 Is the talk true, sir? " 
 
 I answered, sadly, I feared It was so; but that, as 
 some method might still possibly be found of unfix- 
 
284 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 ing those same kite's claws, I had come In search of 
 any information he could give. 
 
 "Then you mean to put up a fight, sir? " he said, 
 his jaw hard and his eyes bright. " For all your 
 colleging and your black coat, you're o' the same 
 kidney as when ye rode t' little brown horse across 
 the fells and saved t' pack." 
 
 And therewith he settled down to recount all he 
 had puzzled out, all he believed and thought. In- 
 ferential rather than circumstantial, this, alas! for 
 the most part; yet to me valuable, from the man's 
 caution, honesty, power of close observation, shrewd 
 intelligence and mother-wit. In his opinion the theft 
 had been carried out at Fedore's instigation, and 
 upon her undertaking to join Marsigll as soon as 
 it was accomplished, and fly with him to his native 
 city of Milan. Having thus involved the Italian — 
 whose long-standing passion for, and jealousy of her, 
 were matters of common knowledge among the serv- 
 ants, Warcop said — she evidently played him false, 
 although covering his escape by putting the police on 
 a wrong scent. Where was he now? In England, 
 Warcop opined, probably hiding in London, still 
 hoping to induce Fedore to redeem her promise. 
 Were the two man and wife? Over that Warcop 
 shook his head. Who could say, save the two them- 
 selves? Yet, if they were, there must needs be a 
 record of the marriage, which would have taken 
 place during the period of my tutorship at Hover, 
 at some time when her ladyship was in Grosvenor 
 Square. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 285 
 
 Here, at last, I had a definite starting-point. For 
 the church could be found, the clergyman who per- 
 formed the ceremony could be found, always sup- 
 posing any such ceremony had really taken place. 
 
 I returned to Cambridge to talk everything over 
 with the Master; and subsequently journeyed up to 
 town, where, under seal of the strictest secrecy, I 
 placed matters in the hands of Inspector Lavender, 
 of the Detective Police. He must find the church, 
 the clergyman — above all, must find Marsigli. — This 
 was a desperate game to play. I knew it. Would 
 the dear boy ever forgive me for interfering in his 
 affairs thus? I knew not. But I did know it had to 
 be risked both for his fortune and his honour's sake. 
 Further, was I not bound by my word solemnly given 
 to Nellie? Still more, then, had it to be done for my 
 own oath's sake. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 And now we were well on into the May term. The 
 noble elms towers of dense and solid green; lilac and 
 laburnum giving place to roses in the Fellows* Gar- 
 den; and the river, a little shrunken by the summer 
 heat, slipping past smooth lawns and beneath the 
 weeping willows' graceful shade with truly academic 
 deliberation and repose. 
 
 Never had I enjoyed my daily work so much, or 
 met with so hearty and intelligent a response. An 
 excellent set of men were in college that year; gen- 
 tlemanlike, eager to learn, in some cases notably 
 clever, in almost all agreeable to deal with. My 
 popularity — enhanced by that episode of the fire at 
 the Master's Lodge — was great. Why should I hesi- 
 tate to say so, since thankfulness rather than vanity 
 did, I can honestly affirm, fill my heart? I had ar- 
 ranged to take a reading party to North Wales dur- 
 ing the long vacation, and to this I looked forward 
 as a new and interesting experience. Halidane, 
 moreover, for cause unknown, had ceased from 
 troubling me. Ever since his return, at the beginning 
 of term, he had worn a somewhat hang-dog look; 
 and, though almost cringingly civil when we chanced 
 to meet, appeared, as I thought, to shun rather than 
 seek my society. What had happened to the fellow? 
 Had the change in his demeanour any connection 
 
 286 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 287 
 
 with the Master's visit to his " sainted patron," 
 Lord Longmoor, at Bath ? I did not know, nor did I 
 greatly care, so long as I continued to be relieved of 
 his officious and unsavoury attentions. 
 
 And so, taking things all round, it seemed to me, 
 just now, the lines had after all fallen to me in 
 pleasant places. Temptation had been resisted, diffi- 
 culties overcome, honour — and my conscience — satis- 
 fied. If much had been denied, yet much remained 
 — sufficient, and more than sufficient, to make life a 
 gift, not only good but glad — though after, perhaps, 
 a somewhat serious pattern. 
 
 Then came an afternoon the events of which stand 
 out very forcibly in my memory. They marked a 
 turning-point; a parting of the ways, abrupt as it was 
 unexpected. 
 
 For, neglecting alike the attractions of the glorious 
 weather and of " the boats " — it was during the June 
 races — I stayed in my rooms to look through a set 
 of mathematical papers. Some pleased me by their 
 ability. Others amused — or irritated — me by their 
 blunders. Heavens, what thick heads some of those 
 youngsters had ! After about an hour's work, lulled 
 by the stillness and the sunny warmth — droning of 
 bees in the clematis below my window, chippering 
 cries and glancing flight of swallows back and forth 
 to their nests under the parapet above — I laid aside 
 the papers, and, leaning back in my chair, sank into 
 a brown study. 
 
 The morning's post had brought me a brief com- 
 munication from Lavender, the detective. After 
 
288 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 weeks of silent pursuit he had reason to believe he 
 was on Marsigli's track at last. My own sensations 
 in face of this announcement surprised me a little. 
 By all rules of the game I should of course have felt 
 unalloyed gratification. But did I really feel that? 
 With a movement of shame, I was obliged to con- 
 fess I did not. For a certain moral indolence had 
 overtaken me. I was established in a routine from 
 which I had no wish to break away. My college 
 work, into which I threw myself at first mainly as a 
 refuge from haunting desires and disturbing 
 thoughts, had become an end in itself. It engrossed 
 me. I found it restful — in that, while making small 
 demand on my emotions, it gave scope for such tal- 
 ents, whether intellectual or practical, as I possessed. 
 I found it exhilarating to deal with these young men, 
 in the first flush of their mental powers, to — in some 
 measure at all events — form their minds, influence 
 their conduct and their thought. It was delightful, 
 moreover, to have time and opportunity for private 
 study; to read books, and ever more books. The 
 scholar's life, the life of the university, held me as 
 never before. Hence this obtrusion of Lavender, 
 hunter of crime and of criminals, this obtrusion of 
 wretched Marsigli, the absconding Italian butler, 
 were, to be honest, displeasing rather than welcome. 
 I cried off further demands upon my energies in the 
 direction of conflict and adventure. Leave the stu- 
 dent to his library, the teacher to his lecture-room, 
 unvexed by the passions and tumult of the world 
 without. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 289 
 
 In fastidious repulsion, In something, Heaven for- 
 give me, approaching disgust, I turned away from 
 both thief and thief-catcher, all they were and all 
 they stood for, as beneath my notice, common and 
 unclean. Almost angrily I prayed to be let alone, let 
 be. Prayed no fresh exertion might be required of 
 me; but that I might pursue my course, as a com- 
 fortable, well-read, well-fed Cambridge don, In 
 security and peace. 
 
 And, mercifully, my lazy prayer was not heard, 
 not answered; or, more truly, was both heard and 
 answered, though In a manner conspicuously the 
 reverse of my intention In offering It. 
 
 For, as I mused thus, the calm of the summer 
 afternoon was disturbed by a sudden loud knocking 
 at my door. The door was flung open. On the 
 threshold a man stood. No learned brother fellow, 
 no ordinary gownsman; but, with his pride of bear- 
 ing, his air of fashion, the finest young fine gentleman 
 I had ever seen — in long drab driving coat, smartly 
 outstanding from the waist, and white top hat with 
 rakish up-curled brim. 
 
 For an Instant I gazed In stupid amazement. 
 Then, as the door closed behind him and he came 
 from out the shadow, I sprang to my feet and ran 
 forward, with a cry. And, almost before I knew 
 what was happening, his two hands gripped my 
 shoulders, and he backed me into the full light of 
 the window, holding me away from him at arms' 
 length and looking down into my face. He was a 
 good half head taller than I. 
 
290 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Dearest Brownlow — my dear old man, m}'^ dear 
 old man," he repeated, and his grip tightened while 
 his voice was tender as a girl's. 
 
 Then, while I stammered in my excitement and 
 surprise, he gave a naughty little laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! I am no ghost," he said. " You needn't be 
 afraid. I'm very solid flesh and blood; worse luck 
 for you, perhaps, old man. Gad, but it's good, 
 though, to see you once again." 
 
 He threw down his hat among the papers on the 
 table, tossed his gloves into it, and drew me on to 
 the window-seat beside him. 
 
 Already the spell began to work, the spell of his 
 extraordinary personal charm. Already he capti- 
 vated me, firing my somewhat sluggish imagination. 
 Already I asked nothing better than to devote myself 
 to him, spend myself for him, stamp out the evil and 
 nourish the good in him, at whatever loss or disad- 
 vantage to myself. 
 
 I inquired what had brought him to Cambridge. 
 
 " I am in trouble, Brownlow," he answered sim- 
 ply, while his face hardened. " It's an ugly sort of 
 trouble, which I have not the pluck to meet single- 
 handed. I cannot see my way through or out of it. 
 I tell you, it was beginning to make me feel rather 
 desperate. And I remembered yourl wisdom of 
 old " 
 
 He smiled at me, patting my knee. 
 
 '' So, as I do not want to take to drink — which 
 last night seemed the only alternative — I took the 
 road this morning instead, and came to look for you. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 291 
 
 Perhaps it is a rather presumptuous proceeding on 
 my part. I have no claim on you, for I have been 
 neglectful and selfish. I know that well enough — 
 not by any means a model pupil, dear old man, 
 not any great credit to you. But you cared for 
 
 me once." 
 
 Cared for him? God was my witness that I did! 
 
 " And, as I tell you, I have not courage to meet 
 this trouble alone. It raises a devil suspicion and 
 anger in me. I am afraid of being unjust, of losing 
 my head and doing some wild thing I shall regret 
 for the rest of my life. But we need not go into all 
 this just yet, and spoil our first half-hour together. 
 It will keep." 
 
 And he looked away, avoiding my eyes with a cer- 
 tain shyness, as I fancied; glanced round the room, 
 at its sober colouring, solid furniture, ranges of 
 book-shelves and many books; glanced through the 
 window at the fine trees, the bright garden, and quiet 
 river glistening in the still June sunlight. 
 
 " Gad ! but what a delightful place ! " he said. 
 " I am glad to know where you live, Brownlow, 
 and I could find it in my heart to envy you, I think. 
 The wheels must run very smooth." 
 
 I thought of Nellie, of my home-coming from 
 Westrea. Verily, less smooth than he imagined — 
 sometimes. 
 
 " Why, why did not they let me come here," he 
 broke out — " as I implored them to, after the row 
 about — about — at Hover, I mean, when you left me. 
 I would have given anything to come up to the 
 
292 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 university then, and work, and have you with me 
 still. Ah ! how different everything would be now 1 
 But my father refused to listen. The plan did not 
 suit some people's book, I suppose; and they worked 
 upon him, making him hopelessly obstinate. Noth- 
 ing would do, but into the Guards I must go. I 
 begged for if only a year with you here, at Cam- 
 bridge, first. But not a bit of it. Out they pitched 
 me, neck and crop, into the London whirlpool, to 
 sink or swim as I could — sink for choice, I fancy, as 
 far as they were concerned." 
 
 He shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " It is to be hoped they are better satisfied at the 
 result than I am," he added, with an oath. " But 
 what is done Is done — and, curse it, there is no going 
 back. As you make your bed — or as others make it 
 for you — so must you He on it." 
 
 Sad words from a boy of barely one-and-twenty, 
 as I thought. Surely punishment awaited those, 
 somewhere and somewhen, who had taught him so 
 harsh a lesson, and taught it him so young. 
 
 Meanwhile, my first surprise and excitement over, 
 I watched Hartover carefully, fearing to see In him 
 signs of past dissipation and excess. But his beauty 
 was as great as ever. His flesh firm, moreover, his 
 eyes and skin clear. He had matured rather than 
 altered, grown considerably taller and filled-out, 
 though his figure remained gracefully alert and 
 slight. Two points only did I observe which I did 
 not quite like — namely an aspect of anxiety and care 
 upon the brow, and little bitter lines at the corners 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 293 
 
 of the handsome mouth, giving a singular arrogance 
 to his expression when the face was in repose. 
 
 We talked for a while of indifferent matters, and 
 he asked me to walk with him to the Bull Hotel, 
 where he had left the post-chaise in which he drove 
 down from town, and where he invited me to dine 
 with him and stay the night as his guest. 
 
 " Give me what time you can, Brownlow," he said. 
 *' Leave all the good boys, the white sheep of your 
 numerous flock, to take care of themselves for once; 
 and look after the bad boy, the black sheep — the 
 scapegoat, rather. For, upon my soul, it amounts 
 to that. The sins of others are loaded on to my 
 unhappy head, I promise you, with a vengeance." 
 
 I could not but be aware of curious and admiring 
 glances, as I walked up King's Parade in his com- 
 pany. Reflected glory covered me. While he, roy- 
 ally careless of the observation he excited, was quick 
 to note the grace of the different college buildings, 
 the effects of light and colour, to ask a hundred per- 
 tinent questions, make a hundred pertinent remarks 
 on all which caught his eye. What a delightful 
 mind he had, open both to poetic and humorous im- 
 pressions; instinctively using the right word, more- 
 over, and striking out the happy phrase when it 
 suited him to lay aside his slang. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 We dined In a private room on the first floor, which 
 overlooked the street. Hartover proved a brilliant 
 host. Once or twice, after anecdotes a trifle too 
 highly salted for my white tie and clerical coat, he 
 checked himself with a pretty air of penitence, ex- 
 pressing a mischievous hope I " wasn't shocked." 
 Shocked I was not, being no puritan ; but somewhat 
 grieved, I must admit, his wit should take so gross 
 a turn. Yet what wonder? The guard-room is 
 hardly mealy-mouthed, I supposed; neither, I could 
 imagine, was French Mademoiselle — in Intimacy. 
 To her, by the way, I observed, Hartover made so 
 far no smallest allusion. 
 
 But he spoke of Braithwaite, asking, with an Indif- 
 ference too studied to carry conviction, if my friend- 
 ship still continued with the father and daughter, 
 and — "were they well?" I answered both ques- 
 tions briefly in the aflirmatlve; and there, to my 
 relief, the subject dropped. 
 
 Towards the end of dinner his high spirits, which, 
 entertaining though he had been, struck me all along 
 as slightly forced, deserted him, and he became silent 
 and preoccupied. Were we approaching disclosure 
 of the trouble which, as he asserted, brought him 
 here hot-foot, to Cambridge and to me? How 
 gladly would I have made the way of confession easy 
 
 294 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 295 
 
 for him ! But I had sense to know I must be passive 
 In the matter. Whatever confidence he gave must 
 be given spontaneously. To question him, however 
 circumspectly, would be to put him off by arousing 
 his sensitive pride. 
 
 As the waiter brought In coffee and lights, Hart- 
 over rose, swung out onto the balcony, and, leaning 
 his elbows on the high Iron rail of It, stood gazing 
 down Into the street. The June twilight lingered, 
 disputing the feeble glimmer of the street lamps. 
 Roofs, gables, pinnacles and towers showed velvet 
 black against the sweet translucence of an almost 
 colourless sky. Footsteps, voices, a grind of wheels 
 and cloppet, cloppet, of horse-hoofs over the stones; 
 the scream of swifts In the buoyant rush of their 
 evening flight, and the tang of a chapel bell, a single 
 reiterated note. Some five minutes must have 
 elapsed while these varied sounds reached me from 
 without. Then Hartover raised his head, calling 
 imperatively over his shoulder — 
 
 " Brownlow, Brownlow, where are you? I want 
 you. Come here." 
 
 Evidently he had reached some crisis of purpose 
 or of feeling. I w^ent out Into the warm evening air 
 and stood beside him. His head was lowered, and 
 again he gazed down into the street. 
 
 " I am sorry, I am ashamed, Brownlow," he said, 
 an odd thickness in his speech, " but I am afraid I 
 have come here to-day and disturbed you on false 
 pretences. I am afraid I cannot bring myself to talk 
 to you about this matter after all." 
 
296 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 He paused as asking an answer. 
 
 " Very well," I replied. " I, at all events, have 
 gained by your coming, in that I have had the joy 
 of seeing you again. Leave the rest if you think fit. 
 You alone can know what you wish — know what 
 appears to you right under the circumstances. You 
 must use your own judgment." 
 
 "Ah! there you have me," he returned sharply. 
 " I don't know what I wish. I am uncertain what is 
 right. I distrust my own judgment. In short I'm 
 cornered, Brownlow, miserably, detestably cor- 
 nered. To speak looks to me, at this moment, like 
 an act of unpardonable treachery. Yet, if I don't 
 speak, I may be rushed before many days are out, 
 by my own mad anger, into something even worse 
 than treachery. Do you understand? " 
 
 In a sense I did understand, by intuition born of 
 affection and sympathy. But, unless I was greatly 
 mistaken in my reading of him, all this was merely 
 preliminary. If I waited, I should understand^ or 
 at least hear, the whole. And that it would be well 
 for him I should hear the whole I had — God helping 
 me — no shadow of doubt. 
 
 Slowly the twilight expired, while the blue of the 
 night sky, opaque, profound, travelled stealthily, 
 almost imperceptibly, downward from the zenith. 
 The joyous scream of the swifts ceased, and the bell 
 tanged irregularly, nearing its finish. As it did so, 
 a little group of gownsmen, gathered upon the pave- 
 ment immediately below, seized by an irresponsible 
 spirit of frolic — as most young animals are prone to 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 297 
 
 be at dusk — started laughing and skylarking, their 
 black raiment fluttering, batlike, as they skirmished 
 across the greyness of the street. 
 
 Whether the sudden outcry jarred his already 
 strained nerves, or whether the careless whole- 
 hearted fun and laughter of these men, so little 
 younger than himself, offered too mordant a contrast 
 to his own troubled state, Hartover flung in from 
 the balcony with an oath, hesitated for an Instant, 
 then blew out the lights and threw himself Into an 
 armchair. 
 
 " No, I'm not strong enough to hold my tongue. 
 Wretched weakling that I am," he groaned, " I must 
 blab. And concerning a w^oman too." 
 
 He extended his hand, through the semi-darkness, 
 motioning me to a chair. 
 
 *' Sit there, please," he said. " My God, when it 
 comes to the point how I despise myself, Brownlow! 
 It's — it's about her, about Fedore." 
 
 " Yes," I replied, as calmly as I could, for his 
 tone moved me deeply. And the subject, too! I 
 trembled, penetrated alike by fear and hope of what 
 I should hear next. 
 
 " For the last month or six weeks something's 
 been wrong — some mystery on hand I cannot 
 fathom. Somebody who has, or Imagines they have, 
 a hold over her is pressing her for money, as far as 
 I can make out. I believe — oh ! it is an abominable 
 suspicion, but I cannot rid my mind of It — this per- 
 son visits the house when she is sure I shall be away. 
 I have no idea who, Brownlow; but someone belong- 
 
298 THE TUTOR'S STORY, 
 
 ing to her old life, before I married her. Each time 
 lately that I have been with her she has insisted upon 
 my telling her exactly when I intend to come again. 
 Nothing will pacify her but that I must fix a date 
 and hour. Her persistence has vexed me once or 
 twice. We nearly quarrelled over it. She says " — 
 he choked a little — " it is only that she may be able 
 to put on a pretty gown, prepare a nice little dinner, 
 and have everything smart and charming for me. 
 But I don't believe that is her sole reason — perhaps 
 I am just a jealous brute — but I can't. I wish to 
 Heaven I could! " 
 
 He waited, fighting down his emotion. 
 
 " Yesterday matters came to a head. I went 
 with " — he mentioned the names of several young 
 men, well known, not to say notorious, in fashionable 
 
 and sporting circles — " to a race meeting at \ I 
 
 meant to stop the week. But racing bores me after a 
 little while, and the play was too high at night. Posi- 
 tively I couldn't afford it. So I cut my stay short, 
 went back to town, and to Chelsea. I can't deny I 
 have been living rather hard, and I was cross with 
 myself — I really have kept awfully straight for the 
 last six months, Brownlow — and a bit seedy and out 
 of sorts." 
 
 Again he waited. 
 
 " I let myself in at the garden door, and then at 
 the house-door — as a matter of course. I had no 
 intention of jumping any surprise on her. I was not 
 thinking about my suspicions or any little tiff we had 
 had. I only wanted to get to her, Brownlow, be- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 299 
 
 cause I knew she'd put me into good conceit with 
 myself — tease and pet and amuse me, you know — 
 she can be devilish amusing when she likes " 
 
 His voice broke. 
 
 '' Yes," I said quietly, " yes " 
 
 My heart bled for him; but I must be cautious and 
 husband my resources. The time to speak would 
 surely come, but it was not yet. 
 
 " I found the house empty," he went on pres- 
 ently, recovering himself, " windows bolted and 
 doors locked. I called her, and looked for her up- 
 stairs and down; but neither she nor the maid was at 
 home. I was disappointed, of course; but I would 
 not let myself be angry. I had told her I should be 
 away till the end of the week, so she had a perfect 
 right to go out if she wanted to. Finally I went 
 into the drawing-room, meaning to wait there till she 
 came in. But, somehow, I received a new impression 
 of the house. It struck me as grubby, fusty, low- 
 class. I wondered why I had never observed this 
 before, or whether it was merely the effect of my 
 disappointment at her absence. There were scraps 
 of a torn-up letter on the carpet, for one thing, which 
 I greatly disliked. I began to pick them up, and 
 casually — I did not attempt to read it of course — I 
 remarked the writing was in French. Then I 
 thought I would smoke, to pass the time until she 
 came back. I wanted something with which to cut 
 off the end of my cigar, but found I had brought no 
 penknife, so I rummaged in her little work table for 
 a pair of scissors. I could not find any in the top 
 
300 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 work-box part, and tried to pull out the square silk- 
 covered drawer arrangement underneath, as I re- 
 membered often seeing her put her scissors away in 
 it with her work. But the beastly thing was locked 
 or jammed. Like a fool, I lost my temper over it, 
 and dragged and poked till the catch gave and the 
 drawer flew open. And — and, Brownlow, inside I 
 saw a couple of white leather jewel-cases — oh! the 
 whole thing was so incredible, such a profanation — 
 it made me sick — stamped with a monogram and 
 coronet. I recognised them at once. They be- 
 longed to my mother — own mother I mean " 
 
 His tone grew fierce. 
 
 " Not Her Magnificence. Her hands have never 
 touched, and touching defiled them, I am thankful to 
 think. — These jewels would come to me, in the ordi- 
 nary course of events, with certain other possessions 
 of my mother's, at my majority. Meanwhile they 
 have always been kept in the strong-room at Hover. 
 And, Brownlow — this is the point of the whole hate- 
 ful business — they were among the valuables that 
 scoundrel, Marsigli — you remember him, my step- 
 mother's beloved Italian butler? — made off with last 
 year, and which by some to my mind incomprehensi- 
 ble stupidity on the part of the police — I have often 
 talked it over with Fedore — have never yet been 
 traced." 
 
 " Were the contents of the cases intact? " I asked. 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " No — ," he said at last, unwillingly, almost I 
 thought despairingly — " and that makes it all the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 301 
 
 more Intolerable. The cases were empty; and from 
 the position in which I found them it seemed to me 
 they had been thrown into the drawer just anyhow, 
 by a person in a frantic hurry — too great a hurry to 
 make sure the drawer was actually locked. For, if 
 It had been properly locked, it would not have given 
 way so easily when I tried to force It. These signs 
 of haste increased my fears, Brownlow. For think," 
 he cried with sudden passion, " only think what it 
 all points to, what It may all mean! How could 
 these precious things of my mother's have found 
 their way into the drawer of Fedore's work table — 
 unless? The conjunction of Ideas would be posi- 
 tively grotesque if — if It were not so damnable. — 
 Does not it occur to you what horrible possibilities 
 are opened out? " 
 
 It did. I gauged those possibilities far more 
 clearly than he. Indeed, remembering my conversa- 
 tion with Warcop In the stables at Hover but a few 
 weeks back. For was not Warcop's theory In pro- 
 cess of being proven up to the hilt? But how could 
 I speak of either theory or proof to Hartover, dis- 
 tracted and tortured as he was? To do so would 
 be Incomparably cruel. No, I must play a waiting 
 game still. The truth — or, to be exact, that which 
 I firmly and Increasingly believed to be the truth — 
 must reach him by degrees, lest he should be driven 
 into recklessness or violence. I would temporise, 
 try to find excuses even, so as to retard rather than 
 hasten the shock of that most ugly disclosure. 
 
 ** All which you tell me is very strange and per- 
 
302 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 plexing," I said. "' But do not let us be hurried Into 
 rash and possibly unjust conclusions. There may 
 be some explanation which will put a very different 
 complexion upon affairs. Have you asked for 
 any?" 
 
 " No," he said. " It was too soon to think of 
 that. I could not meet her, could not trust myself 
 to see or speak to her then. My one impulse was to 
 get away, to get out of the house in which, as it 
 seemed to me, I had been so shamelessly betrayed 
 and tricked. I was half mad with rage and grief. 
 For — ah! don't you understand, Brownlow? — I do 
 love her. Not as I loved Nellie Braithwaite. That 
 was unique — a love more of the soul than the senses. 
 Pure and clean as a wind of morning, blowing 
 straight out of Paradise. The love of my youth, of 
 — in a way — my virginity; such as can never come 
 twice in my or any man's life." 
 
 He stopped, a sob in his throat. But not for 
 long. The floodgates were open — all the proud, 
 wayward, undisciplined, sensitive nature in revolt. 
 
 " My love for Fedore is different — no morning 
 wind from Eden about that. How should there be? 
 In the Interval I had very effectually parted com- 
 pany with all claims to the angelic state. But think 
 — she nursed me, dragged me back from the very 
 mouth of hell; protected me from those who sought 
 to ruin me ; gave herself to me ; made a home for me, 
 too, of a sort — oh! that poor, poor, hateful little 
 Chelsea house ! — coaxed me, flirted with me, kept 
 me from gambling and from drink. How could I 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 303 
 
 do otherwise than marry her, and love her, out of 
 the merest decency of ordinary gratitude? I owe 
 her so much And now '' 
 
 Here Hartover gave way completely. I felt 
 rather than saw him — there was no light in the room 
 save that thrown upward from the lamps in the 
 street — fling himself sideways in the chair, crushing 
 his face down upon the arm of it in a paroxysm of 
 weeping. 
 
 Only a woman should look on a man's tears, since 
 the motherhood resident in every woman — whether 
 potential or as an accomplished act — has power to 
 staunch those tears without humiliation and offence. 
 To his fellow-man the sight is disabling; painful or 
 unseemly according to individual quality, but, in 
 either case, excluding all possibility of approach. 
 
 I rose, went over to the window, and waited there. 
 The boy should have his cry out, unhindered by my 
 neighbourhood, since I knew he was beyond my 
 clumsy male capacity of consolation. Later, when 
 he came to himself, he would understand I had with- 
 drawn not through callousness, but through rever- 
 ence. Meanwhile, what a position and what a pros- 
 pect! My heart sank. How, in Heaven's name, 
 could he be drawn up out of this pit he had digged 
 for himself? And he loved Nellie still. And, what- 
 ever his faults, whatever his weaknesses — vices even 
 — his beauty and charm remained, beguiling, com- 
 pelling, as ever. What woman could resist him? 
 The thought gave me a pang. I put it from me 
 sternly. Self, and again self — would self never die ? 
 
304 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 Even in this hour of my dear boy's agony, as he lay 
 sobbing his hot young heart out within half a dozen 
 paces of me, must I think of myself and of my pri- 
 vate sorrow? 
 
 I looked up into the vast serenity of the star- 
 gemmed sky above the black irregular outline of the 
 buildings opposite, and renewed my vow to Nellie — 
 remembering no greater love hath any man than 
 this, that he lay down his life — life of the body, or 
 far dearer life of emotions, the affections — for his 
 friend. 
 
 And presently, as I still mused, I became aware 
 of a movement in the room and of Hartover close 
 beside me, his right arm cast about my neck. 
 
 " Dear old man, dear old man," he said hoarsely, 
 yet very gently, " forgive me. I have felt for these 
 past twenty-four hours as though the last foothold 
 had gone, the last foothold between me and perdi- 
 tion. But it isn't so — you are left. Stay by me, 
 Brownlow. See me through. Before God, I want 
 to do right. Your worthless pupil wants for once 
 to be a credit to you. But I cannot stand alone. I 
 am afraid of myself. I distrust my own nature. If 
 I go to her — to Fedore — with those empty jewel 
 boxes of my mother's in my hand and she lies to me, 
 I shall want to kill her. And if she tells me what I 
 can't but believe is the truth, I shall want to blow my 
 own brains out. For she has been very much to me. 
 She is my wife — and what can the future hold for 
 either of us but estrangement, misery and dis- 
 grace? " 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 305 
 
 He waited, steadied his voice, and then — 
 
 " I know it is no small thing I ask of you ; but 
 will you come back to town with me to-morrow? 
 And will you see her first, and so give me time to 
 get myself in hand and decide what is to be done, 
 before she and I meet? Will you stand between me 
 and the devils of revenge and despair who tempt 
 me ? Will you do this because — barring you. Brown- 
 low — I have nothing, no one, left?" 
 
 Needless to set down here what I answered. He 
 should have his way. How, in God's name, could I 
 refuse him? 
 
 Then, as on that first night of my arrival at Hover 
 long ago, I got him away to bed. Sat by him till he 
 slept — at first restlessly, feverishly, murmuring to 
 himself; and once — it cut me to the quick — calling 
 Fedore by name, as one who calls for help In limit- 
 less distress. 
 
 The brief summer night was over and the dawn 
 breaking before I felt free to leave him, seek my 
 room, and take some much-needed rest. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 How many in every age have craved to read the 
 future, to uncover the secrets of the coming years; 
 and to that end have pinned a foohsh faith upon the 
 words of fortune-tellers, sooth-sayers and such like 
 blind leaders of the blind. For my part, owing 
 more to a sluggish quality in my blood, probably, 
 than to any special wisdom or strength of mind, I 
 have always felt thankful — since I became capable 
 of reasoned thought — the future was a sealed book 
 to me, or rather a book of which it is ordained I 
 shall turn but one page at a time. To skip, to look 
 on, to take a glance at the end, would be, in my case 
 anyhow, to paralyse will and action by excess of 
 hope or dread. No; depend on it, that is a merciful 
 dispensation which condemns us to make haste slowly 
 in deciphering the story of our lives, learning here 
 a little and there a little, precept upon precept and 
 line upon line. Unquestionably had second-sight 
 been given me as to much which lay ahead, on the 
 glorious June mid-day when I started with Hart- 
 over up to town, I should have been utterly unnerved 
 by the prospect of the stern doings I was to witness; 
 and so have proved but a pitiable broken reed on 
 which for him to lean. 
 
 I rose early, though still tired; and, somewhat re- 
 freshed by a cold bath, dressed and made inquiries 
 
 306 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 307 
 
 regarding Hartover. Finding he still slept, I left a 
 message for him and went out. 
 
 I have observed that, in fatigue, the mind is pecul- 
 iarly responsive to outside influences. It was so 
 with me, as I walked along the familiar streets in 
 the radiant morning sunlight. Never had the in- 
 herent poetry of Cambridge, its dignity and repose, 
 appealed to me more forcibly. My filial affection 
 went out to this place which had sheltered my youth 
 and inexperience, nourished my Intellect, given me 
 the means of livelihood, given me, also, many 
 friends — went out to its traditions, to its continuity 
 of high endeavour through centuries of scholarship, 
 of religious and of scientific thought. What a roll 
 of honour, what a galaxy of famous and venerable 
 names, it could show! 
 
 But I had no time to linger, to-day of all days, 
 over meditations such as these. Not past splendours 
 but very present anxieties claimed me. I hastened 
 my steps, and passed in under the fine Tudor gate- 
 way of my own college just as the men — " a numer- 
 ous throng arrayed in white " — poured out from 
 chapel, into the sunshine and shadow, the green and 
 grey of the big quadrangle. 
 
 My object was to obtain speech of the Master; 
 and I was fortunate enough to catch him as he was 
 entering the Lodge. I begged for ten minutes' talk 
 with him while he ate his breakfast — a request he 
 granted readily, being curious, as I fancied, to learn 
 my errand and, since I had not kept my chapel, 
 whence I came. 
 
3o8 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I satisfied him on both points, telling him as much 
 as I deemed expedient about Hartover's unexpected 
 descent upon me — ^to all of which he listened with 
 genuine interest and concern. 
 
 " And now, sir," I said, in conclusion, " the ques- 
 tion arises as to whether I can be spared from my 
 college duties until this painful business is placed 
 upon, what at all events approaches, a reasonable 
 and workable footing? " 
 
 " Which signifies, being interpreted — am I pre- 
 pared to sanction your doing that which you fully 
 intend to do whether I sanction it or not? Eh, 
 Brownlow? " 
 
 I acquiesced smiling, relieved to find him in so 
 sympathetic a humour. 
 
 "Very well, then; so be it," he said. "Having 
 put your hand to this particular plough — at no small 
 personal cost to yourself, quixotic fellow that you 
 are — you are resolved not to look back; and I am 
 the last man to invite you to do so. On the con- 
 trary, go on with your ploughing and drive a 
 straight furrow. Only provide, to the best of your 
 ability, against friction and disappointment here. 
 Your absence will necessarily create some. Both I 
 and others shall miss you. You must pay — or rather 
 we, I suppose, must pay — the price of your popu- 
 larity." 
 
 And he looked at me very kindly, while I red- 
 dened at the implied praise. 
 
 " See the amount of friction be as small as possi- 
 ble," he went on. "And now, as to this erratic 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 309 
 
 young nobleman, Lord Hartover — whose affairs ap- 
 pear to furnish such a promising battlefield to the 
 powers of good and evil — I shall make no attempt 
 to see him, although it would interest me to do so. 
 Knowing all that I do know about him and his fam- 
 ily, I should find it almost impossible to ignore per- 
 sonal matters, and equally impossible, in the present 
 crisis, to speak of them without a breach of good 
 taste. I have hardly seen him since the death of his 
 mother, the first lady Longmoor, when he was a 
 child. — Ah ! there was a rare specimen of woman- 
 hood, Brownlow, if you like ! I stayed at Hover 
 frequently during her all too brief reign. This 
 young man may esteem himself fortunate if he in- 
 herits even a tithe of her charm of person and of 
 nature." 
 
 After which pleasantly encouraging words I rose 
 to depart. While, as the Master held out his hand 
 to me — 
 
 '' Remember I am content to pull the strings un- 
 seen," he added. " Consult me by letter if you need 
 my advice. Count on me In respect of pounds, shill- 
 ings, and pence, too, if your own funds do not cover 
 the expenditure In which you may find yourself in- 
 volved. We must prepare for contingencies — De- 
 tective Inspector Lavender to wit. With his par- 
 ticipation, by the way, I should strongly advise you 
 not to acquaint Lord Hartover unless absolutely 
 compelled. Convict the woman, but, If possible, do 
 so privately. Avoid all appearance of running her 
 down; since, for sentimental if no deeper reasons, 
 
3IO THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 it might lead to a breach between yourself and the 
 young man which would be lamentable in the ex- 
 
 treme." 
 
 This last bit of advice was sound, but far from 
 easy to follow. The more I thought it over — as we 
 posted those fifty odd miles, by Audley End, Bishop 
 Stortford, Broxbourne and Tottenham, from Cam- 
 bridge up to town — the more clearly I saw how 
 greatly the fact of my having already called in the 
 help of a detective increased the difficulty of my 
 seeing Mademoiselle Fedore and demanding the ex- 
 planation Hartover desired. Could I do so v/ithout 
 taking Inspector Lavender into my confidence re- 
 garding Hartover's discovery? And could I take 
 Lavender into my confidence without curtailing my 
 own freedom of action and inviting a public ex- 
 posure of Fedore which must be abhorrent to the 
 dear boy? Here, indeed, was a problem hard of 
 solution! Still it appeared an integral part of the 
 whole, and to the whole I had pledged myself. I 
 must be guided, therefore, by circumstance, dealing 
 with each new phase of this very complicated affair 
 as it presented itself; keeping, meantime, as cool a 
 head and quiet a mind as might be. To meet dan- 
 ger half-way may be less an act of prudence than a 
 waste of energy. Sufficient unto the day is the evil 
 thereof — and the good thereof likewise, if a man 
 has faith to believe so. 
 
 We were to dine on the way, and to reach the 
 great house in Grosvenor Square between nine and 
 ten o'clock. There, as I learned from Hartover, 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 311 
 
 he still — when he pleased — occupied a set of rooms 
 upon the ground floor, with a private entrance from 
 the side street, which I well remembered. 
 
 " It isn't that I have any particular love for being 
 under the family roof," he told me. " But I saw 
 the Rusher wanted to oust me and collar those rooms 
 for himself, and I did not choose to have it. So I 
 stuck to them. Her Magnificence couldn't give me 
 notice to quit without appealing to my father, and 
 she really had not the face for that. There are 
 limits to even her audacity! Now she and I are 
 like buckets in a well. When she arrives, I depart 
 and take up my abode elsewhere. Quarrelled with 
 her? Good Lord, no. She is the most impossible 
 person to quarrel with on the face of the earth. As 
 slippery as an eel — I beg your pardon, a mermaid, 
 shall we say? It does sound more polite. But hold 
 her you can't. She slithers through your fingers, in 
 that fascinating, mocking, laughing way of hers — 
 you know it? " 
 
 Did I not?- 
 
 " And leaves you, feeling like every sort of fool, 
 cursing, most consumedly, both her and yourself." 
 
 He laughed not quite pleasantly. 
 
 *' But, the devil helping me, Brownlow, I'll be 
 even with her some day yet. When my father dies 
 — always supposing I survive him, which quite con- 
 ceivably I shall not — Her Magnificence and I will 
 square accounts. It'll be a little scene worth wit- 
 nessing. I hope, dear old man, you may be pres- 
 ent!" 
 
312 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 A wish I could not altogether find it in my heart to 
 echo. But, as he fell silent, staring out over the 
 sun-bathed country, through the cloud of dust raised 
 by wheels and horse-hoofs — subtle lines of care and 
 of bitterness deforming the youthfulness of his beau- 
 tiful face — ^I was spared the necessity of answering, 
 for which I was glad. 
 
 All day — though towards me he had shown him- 
 self uniformly courteous and gentle, loving even — 
 the boy's spirits had fluctuated, his moods being 
 many and diverse. At one time he was full of anec- 
 dote and racy talk, at another steeped in gloom or 
 irritably explosive, swearing in most approved fine- 
 gentleman fashion at any and everything not exactly 
 to his taste. In short, while he avoided any mention 
 of the object of our journey and our conversation of 
 last night, I could not but see these were persistently 
 uppermost in his thought, keeping his nerves cruelly 
 on edge. What wonder, when all his future hung in 
 the balance ! How far did he actually love Fedore 
 — how far actually want her proved innocent? I 
 could not tell. His attitude baffled me. Yet it 
 seemed incredible the society of such a woman should 
 continue to satisfy him — that differences of age, sta- 
 tion, nationality, education, should not be proHfic, at 
 times at all events, of repulsion and something akin 
 to disgust. Quite independent of that matter of the 
 jewels and the ugly suspicions raised by it, must he 
 not have begun by now to measure the enormity of 
 his mistake in marrying her? I, at once, hoped and 
 feared he had. While, as the miles of road fled 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 313 
 
 away behind us beneath the horses' trotting feet, 
 the sadness of his position grew upon me, until I 
 had much ado to keep my feelings to myself. 
 
 Once arrived, Hartover slipped his arm through 
 mine, and we entered the stately house together, 
 while he said, a little huskily : 
 
 '' Brownlow, it is good to have you — very good 
 of you to come. Don't imagine I do not appreciate 
 what you are doing for me because to-day I have 
 not said much about it. Oh ! how I wish you could 
 always be with me ! Having given Cambridge the 
 slip, you'll stay now, won't you, as long as you pos- 
 sibly can? " 
 
 Deeply touched by his affection, I was about to 
 assure him I would indeed remain while I was of 
 any real service and comfort to him, when William 
 — grown stout, sleek, but, as I thought, a good deal 
 more trustworthy-looking — came forward with a 
 packet on a salver. 
 
 *' What's that?" Hartover inquired sharply. 
 Put It down. I cannot be bothered with it 
 
 now." 
 
 " I am sorry, my lord," the man answered, with 
 evident unwillingness, " but I am bound to bring it 
 to your notice. His lordship sent by express this 
 morning from Bath. The messenger Is waiting for 
 your acknowledgment." 
 
 Hartover's hand grew heavy on my arm. 
 
 " Very well," he said. *' I will send my orders 
 presently." 
 
 And he led me into a fine room, opening off the 
 
314 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 corridor on the left, where supper had been laid 
 for us. 
 
 " As I supposed," he went on, after glancing at 
 the contents of the packet. " A summons from my 
 father to attend his deathbed — in which last, by the 
 way, I don't for an instant believe. Brownlow, what 
 am I to do?" 
 
 ^' What but obey?" 
 
 " To be told, when I get there, either that he has 
 been miraculously restored to health, or that he has 
 changed his mind; in either case that he no longer 
 wishes to see me, and so — practically — have the door 
 slammed in my face ? No, I tell you these repeated 
 visits to Bath become a farce, and an impertinent 
 one at that. My father persistently sends for me 
 and as persistently refuses to receive me when I 
 come. Last time I swore, if he sent any more, he 
 would send in vain. Why should I let him make me 
 a laughing-stock, and treat me with less consideration 
 than one of his own valets? Why cannot he be rea- 
 sonably civil to me? It is intolerable, not to be 
 borne. But his mind — such mind as he ever pos- 
 sessed, no great thing from the first as far as I can 
 discover — has been poisoned against me for years 
 by the gang of hypocrites and toadies which sur- 
 rounds him. Only just now " — Hartover spread out 
 his hands passionately, his face flushed, his eyes fill- 
 ing with tears — " think, Brownlow, think how can I 
 leave London? How can I endure the suspense of 
 absence when — when " 
 
 For a moment I feared he would give way to one 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 315 
 
 of those fits of ungovernable anger before which I 
 had trembled at Hover of old. But, to my great 
 relief, he mastered himself, after a while growing 
 gentle and composed. 
 
 " You are right, dear old man, as usual," he said 
 at last. " I will go. Then at least my conscience as 
 a model son will be clear, whatever his lordship's as 
 a tender father may, or may not, be." 
 
 And so it was settled he should start at cock-crow, 
 leaving me to deal with the unlovely business of 
 Mademoiselle Fedore — an arrangement I found far 
 from unwelcome, since it secured me greater free- 
 dom of action than I could have hoped for other- 
 wise. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 Left to myself, next morning, I sought out Detec- 
 tive Inspector Lavender — a large, fair, pink-faced, 
 grey-eyed man, with a soothing voice and fatherly 
 smile, as unlike the human sleuth-hound of melo- 
 drama and fiction as could well be. Before making 
 my fateful call upon Fedore it would be very desir- 
 able, I felt, to learn whether he had any fresh news 
 for me and shape my course accordingly. 
 
 He greeted me with — 
 
 *' Well, sir, you are the gentleman of all others 
 I was wishing to see. My fellow officers are a bit 
 jealous sometimes of what they are pleased to call 
 Lavender's luck — and my luck is uncommonly to the 
 fore, I must say, this- morning." 
 
 I inquired why. 
 
 *' Because this little man-hunting job of yours and 
 mine seems on the tip of success. A word from you 
 may settle it." 
 
 I inquired how. 
 
 " Well, sir, could you undertake to identify this 
 Mr. Marsigli if you saw him?" 
 
 I answered that I believed I undoubtedly could. 
 
 *' Then the affair becomes very simple. Laven- 
 der's luck, sir. Lavender's luck. So, if you have an 
 hour or two to spare, I will ask you to go with me to 
 a certain humble residence, from the windows of 
 
 316 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 317 
 
 which two of my men are keeping watch on a certain 
 door, In a certain garden-wall, not very, many miles 
 from here." 
 
 '' In Chelsea? " I said — the question surprised out 
 of me by his words, before I had time to consider 
 the wisdom of asking It. 
 
 " Just so, sir — In Chelsea — you've hit the right 
 nail on the head." And, for all his soothing voice 
 and fatherly smile, the detective's grey eyes grew 
 uncommonly keen and bright. 
 
 " Pray may I ask, have you any particular Interest 
 in a door In a garden-wall giving access to a queerly 
 stowed-away little house In a Chelsea side street?" 
 
 Clearly there was nothing for It but to put him in 
 full possession of the facts; at the same time urging 
 him to bear in mind the relation in which the inhabi- 
 tant of that same queerly stowed-away dwelling 
 stood, or was supposed to stand, to Lord Hartover. 
 
 He considered, for some minutes In silence, rub- 
 bing his hand slowly over his chin. Then — 
 
 '' This promises to be a more delicate piece of 
 work than I expected. Either we must act together, 
 fair and square and above-board, you understand, 
 sir, without reserve on either side ; or you must leave 
 It all to me; or I must retire from the business, 
 making the best case I can for myself to the authori- 
 ties, and leave it all to you. It Is a ticklish enough 
 job either way. Now which shall it be, sir? The 
 decision rests with you, since you are. In a sense, my 
 employer; but I must ask you to make It at once, 
 before I give you any further Information. And 
 
3i8 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 please remember, sir, that while I am ready to do all 
 in my power to meet your wishes and spare the 
 young nobleman's feelings, my first duty and first 
 object is to bring the guilty party, or parties, to 
 justice, whatsoever and whosoever they may be." 
 
 It was my turn now to consider, since I could not 
 but admit the soundness of his position. And I 
 found myself, I own, in a dilemma. To leave all to 
 Lavender appeared to me at once cowardly and 
 somewhat lacking in good faith towards the dear 
 boy; while to take the entire responsibility upon my- 
 self would be, I feared, both presumptuous and fool- 
 hardy. 
 
 " No, we must work together. Inspector," I said, 
 finally. " You may depend upon my loyalty; and I 
 may, I am sure, depend upon your discretion, so long 
 as the ends of justice are in no wise imperilled." 
 
 *' Well said, sir," he replied. " I believe you will 
 have no reason to regret your decision." 
 
 And we proceeded to talk matters over thor- 
 oughly, he asking me again for a careful description 
 of Marsigli. — Tall, of good figure and distinguished 
 appearance, as I told him, a genuine North Italian 
 type, crisp black hair, clear olive skin, and regular 
 features; a serious and courtly manner, moreover. 
 
 Lavender consulted some notes. 
 
 " Yes, sir," he said, " that tallies with the account 
 of an individual my men have had under observation 
 for the best part of a fortnight. Twice he has called 
 at the house I spoke of. Our gentleman has added 
 a neatly-grown moustache and beard to his other 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 319 
 
 attractions, recently, as I fancy; but it will hardly 
 prevent your recognising him — that is if Lavender's 
 luck holds, sir, and I can procure you a good look at 
 him." 
 
 Regarding my mission to Fedore — we agreed, 
 since Hartover could not be back In town under a 
 couple of days at soonest — It might very well stand 
 over until to-morrow, and that meanwhile I should 
 place my time entirely at my companion's disposal. 
 
 " If we have not laid hands on this fellow before 
 midnight, you shall be free to follow your own 
 wishes as to visiting the lady," he promised me; and 
 therewith, calling a coach, bore me off southwestward 
 to Chelsea. 
 
 The glorious summer weather of the past three 
 or four days was about to terminate in the proverbial 
 English thunder-storm. I seldom remember a more 
 oppressive atmosphere. London still offers a not 
 altogether satisfactory example of applied sanitary 
 science, but, at the date In question, once you left the 
 fashionable districts and main thoroughfares, was 
 frankly malodorous, not to say filthy. Half-way 
 along King's Road Lavender paid off the coach, and 
 conducted me, on foot, by festering, foul smelling by- 
 ways, to the back of a row of mean two-storied 
 houses. Gaining access to one of them — which from 
 its dilapidated condition I judged to be empty — 
 through a yard strewn with all manner of unsightly 
 rubbish, a dead cat Included, we passed by a narrow 
 passage and stairway to a front room on the first 
 floor. Here two detectives awaited our coming, and 
 
320 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 here, seated on a remarkably comfortless Windsor 
 chair, by the defaced and broken window I passed 
 what appeared a small eternity, looking out into the 
 ill-paved street, where groups of squalid, half-naked 
 children played and fought, and hawkers plied a 
 noisy, unremuneratlve trade. 
 
 Opposite was a long stretch of much-defiled drab 
 brick wall, pierced by a green-painted door, and fur- 
 nished with a fringe of broken bottle glass along the 
 top, above which showed the upper branches of a 
 plane tree and the roof and chimney-pots of an other- 
 wise Invisible dwelling. The whole presented a sor- 
 did and disheartening picture in the close heavy heat, 
 beneath a sullen grey-blue sky across which masses 
 of heavy cloud stalked upright in the face of a fitful 
 and gusty wind. 
 
 And to think this was the place to which Hart- 
 over — heir to immense wealth and princely posses- 
 sions, heir to royal Hover affronting the grandeur 
 of those wind-swept Yorkshire fells — must needs 
 descend to seek comfort, companionship, and some 
 ordinary human kindness of care and woman's love ! 
 The irony, the cynicism, of it struck through me with 
 indignation and disgust. 
 
 I am under the impression Lavender did his best 
 to lighten the tedium of my vigil by talking, humor- 
 ously and well, of matters pertaining to his profes- 
 sion. That he discoursed to me of the differences be- 
 tween English and Continental methods of criminal 
 procedure — the former of which he held notably 
 superior in dignity and in fair-play — while his under- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 321 
 
 lings smoked their pipes In modest silence. But I am 
 afraid I accorded his well-meant efforts for my en- 
 tertainment scanty attention; nor even, when the 
 storm broke, did I pay much heed to the long-drawn 
 cannonade, the boom and crash of warning elements. 
 
 For, throughout that lengthy waiting, the thought 
 of Hartover and of his future had grown to be a 
 veritable obsession, dwarfing all else In my mind. 
 Again his pathetic outcry over the ** poor, poor, hate- 
 ful little Chelsea house " — the roof and chimney- 
 pots of which I could see there opposite, above the 
 fringe of broken bottle glass topping the wall — rang 
 in my ears. And, as It did so, Self, by God's grace, 
 at last, was mastered. Yes, It came to this — to all 
 else would I give the go-by, readily, gladly — to my 
 pleasant studious life at Cambridge and Its prospect 
 of solid emoluments, of personal distinction and 
 scholarly renown, to my last lingering hope — for 
 even yet a faint, sweet, foolish hope did linger — of 
 some day making Nellie Bralthwaite nearer, and ah ! 
 how vastly, exquisitely dearer than a mere friend — 
 if thus I might be permitted to redeem Hartover, to 
 save him from the consequences of his own wayward, 
 though not ignoble, nature, and from the conse- 
 quences of others' wholly Ignoble conspiracies and 
 sins. I was ready to make my sacrifice without hesi- 
 tation or return; only. In my weakness, I prayed for 
 some assurance it was accepted, prayed for a sign. 
 
 Was the sign given? It seemed so. I sprang to 
 my feet, calling Lavender hurriedly by name. 
 
 It was late afternoon now. The worst of the 
 
322 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 storm over, though big plashy drops still fell, while 
 steam rose off the sun-baked paving-stones. 
 Through this veil of moisture a man walked rapidly 
 to the door in the wall and knocked. Waiting for 
 his knock to be answered, he turned, took off his hat, 
 shook it sharply to dislodge the wet, and, so doing, 
 glanced up at the still lowering sky. I saw his face 
 distinctly. 
 
 Lavender stood at my elbow. 
 
 "Well, sir, well, sir?" he said, an odd eagerness 
 and vibration in his voice. 
 
 " Yes," I declared. " Marsigli, Lord Longmoor's 
 former butler, without doubt. " 
 
 " You would be prepared to swear to him in a 
 court of law, if required? " 
 
 " Absolutely prepared," I said. 
 
 Here the door was opened cautiously from the 
 garden. Marsigli thrust past the servant, and dis- 
 appeared within. 
 
 Now or never ! Lavender and his underlings 
 darted down the crazy stairs and across the road. I 
 followed at my best pace, very vital excitement grip- 
 ping me, in time to see him knock, await the opening 
 of the door, and — then a rush. The three were in- 
 side so quickly that, before I could join them, the 
 servant — a middle-aged, hard-featured, somewhat 
 shrewish-looking Frenchwoman — was safe in the cus- 
 tody of the younger detective. Lavender and the 
 other pushing on for the house. 
 
 " If she attempts to scream, throttle her," Laven- 
 der said, in a sufficiently loud aside to have a whole- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 323 
 
 somely restraining effect upon the captive. *' Now, 
 sir," to me, '' as little noise as possible in getting up- 
 stairs, please." 
 
 And he glanced meaningly, though not unkindly, 
 at my lame leg. 
 
 I crept after them as quietly as I could, and had 
 reason; for on reaching the landing we heard voices, 
 a man's and a woman's, high in altercation. 
 
 The door of the front drawing-room, I should ex- 
 plain, stood open, the front room communicating 
 with the back by folding doors. These were closed, 
 and within them the quarrel took place ; but so loudly 
 that, as we advanced, I could distinguish nearly every 
 word. 
 
 '' It is impossible. I tell you he is still away.'' 
 
 " No one else can have taken them. No one else 
 has a key to this sweet little nest — and so the game 
 is up, my child, by now the fraud discovered. You 
 are trapped — trapped ! " 
 
 " Beast," the woman cried, in a tone of concen- 
 trated fury and contempt. " Go. Do you hear? I 
 tell you to go, or I send Marie for the police." 
 
 " Pish, you little fool, you know you dare not. 
 What money have you? " 
 
 "Money, indeed! I have none, and if I had I 
 would rather fling it in the gutter than you should 
 have it. Go — go — are you deaf? " 
 
 " Hand over the rest of the jewels then; or I call 
 in the police myself, and tell them — ^you know what." 
 
 " It is a lie — a lie. I am his wife." 
 
 " Idiot — you are my wife, not his." 
 
324 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 *' You cannot prove it," she said fiercely. 
 
 " I can. I have the documents safe in Paris.'* 
 
 " Go and fetch them, then." 
 
 ** So I will, and take you and the jewels along with 
 me. For I am willing to forgive — yes, listen — it is 
 your only chance now that you are found out. — I, 
 your lawful husband, Bartolomeo Marsigli, am will- 
 ing to forgive, to condone your infidelities, and re- 
 ceive you back." 
 
 ** And I spit upon your forgiveness. Understand, 
 once and for all, I will never go back to you, never — 
 I would die first. Having had the nobleman, what 
 can I want with the nobleman's valet? Keep off — 
 you brute. Touch me at your peril. Take that — 
 and that " 
 
 The sound of a tussle. Then the man's voice — 
 
 " Heigh I my fine lady, would you bite then, would 
 you scratch? There, be reasonable, can't you, for 
 I repeat the game is up. Your aristocratic boy-lover 
 is lost to you for ever in any case. Come away with 
 me to Paris while there still is time. I love you — 
 and I will have you " 
 
 Again the sound of a tussle, wordless, tense. 
 
 " That will do, I think, sir," Lavender looked 
 rather than spoke, and quietly opened the folding 
 doors. 
 
 There are certain spots — in themselves often com- 
 monplace enough — which are branded, by mere asso- 
 ciation, indelibly upon the retina. So is that inner 
 room on mine. I remember every stick of furniture 
 it contained; remember even the colour and pattern 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 325 
 
 of the wall-paper — a faded fawn dotted with tar- 
 nished gold and silver fleur-de-lis. The room — like 
 every other back drawing-room in an unfashionable 
 suburb of that day — was narrow, but high and of 
 some length, a window, at the far end, opening down 
 to the floor, a little balcony beyond, and the tops of 
 a few fruit trees in the garden below. 
 
 Across the window a couch had been drawn, upon 
 which Fedore — wrapped in a loose dressing-gown 
 of some pale silk stuff — had either been thrown or 
 thrown herself in the heat of the recent struggle. On 
 this side the couch, near the head of it, stood Mar- 
 sigli, his back towards us. 
 
 Fedore's nerve was admirable, her self-control 
 consummate. Quick as thought she grasped the situ- 
 ation and used it to her own advantage. As she saw 
 the doors open, disclosing our presence, she neither 
 exclaimed nor shrank. On the contrary, drawing 
 herself into a sitting position, she calmly extended 
 one hand, with a proud sweeping gesture, and, as 
 calmly, spoke. 
 
 " Marie has done her duty then, faithful soul, 
 without waiting to be told! There Is the door, 
 Marsigli, and there, behind you, are the police — 
 and Mr. Brownlow, an old friend of mine too — how 
 fortunate! Yes, arrest him, gentlemen; and hang 
 him If you can — I do not understand your English 
 laws — as high as St. Paul's, for the most cowardly 
 and Insolent villain you ever took." 
 
 Marsigli turned, saw us, and suddenly raised his 
 right arm. 
 
326 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Die then, since you prefer It," he said. " Thief, 
 liar — adulteress." 
 
 While, with a terrible cry, Fedore leapt off the 
 couch. 
 
 "A knife ! " she screamed. " Save me. He has a 
 knife." 
 
 And, as she ran towards us, I saw something nar- 
 row and bright flash downwards between her shoul- 
 ders, and — a red spout of blood. Her knees gave 
 under her. She lurched, flung up her arms, kneeling 
 for an instant bolt upright, a world of agony and 
 despair in her splendid eyes, and then, before either 
 of us could reach her, fell back. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII 
 
 Of the half-hour which followed I can give no 
 coherent account. As I try to recall it, after the 
 lapse of many years, details start into vivid relief, 
 but without sequence or any clear relation of cause 
 and effect. 
 
 I have an impression of helping Lavender to raise 
 Fedore from the ground, and of his muttering — '' A 
 foul blow, before God a foul blow," as we laid her, 
 quivering but apparently unconscious, upon the 
 couch. An impression of sultry, copper-coloured sun- 
 shine suddenly and harshly lighting up the disordered 
 room, the grim assembly of men, and the woman's 
 pale recumbent figure, as with a glare of widespread 
 conflagration. I have an impression of Marsigll, 
 too, and that a very strange one, coolly holding out 
 his hands — the right hand horribly splashed and 
 stained — while Lavender clapped a pair of hand- 
 cuffs on his wrists. The fury of primitive passion 
 seemed assuaged in him by his hideous act of venge- 
 ance, and he had become Impassive, courtly even 
 In manner, as I remembered him when waiting on 
 Her Magnificence at table or ushering in her guests. 
 He had given himself up, as I heard later, without 
 any struggle or attempt at escape. But above all I 
 have an impression, nauseating and to me indescrib- 
 ably dreadful, which — though I trust I am not unduly 
 
 327 
 
328 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 squeamish — I shall, I believe, carry with me to the 
 day of my death, an impression of the sight, the 
 sense, the smell of fresh shed blood. Upon that I 
 will not dwell further, since, however deeply affect- 
 ing to myself, it can serve no useful purpose. 
 
 Finally — summoned, I suppose, by the younger of 
 Lavender's underlings, who had reappeared after 
 locking the servant, Marie, in some room below — a 
 surgeon arrived. Then I slipped away downstairs 
 and out into the comparatively cool untainted atmos- 
 phere of the shabby little garden. If I was wanted, 
 they must call me. Not voluntarily could I witness 
 a professional examination of what, less than an 
 hour ago, had been a strong and very beautiful if 
 very sinful woman, and was now but a helpless 
 corpse. 
 
 All my thought had softened towards Fedore. 
 Her evildoings — evil even in respect of her accom- 
 plice — were manifest. For, let us be just, Marsigli's 
 crime was not without provocation. But she had 
 played for great stakes and had lost. The pathos 
 of irremediable failure was upon her. And I was 
 awe-stricken by the swiftness of her punishment, the 
 relentless and appalling haste with which she had 
 been thrust out of life. Into what uncharted regions 
 of being had her astute, ambitious, and voluptuous 
 spirit now passed? Regardless of the prohibitions 
 of my Church, I prayed — and how earnestly! — her 
 sins might be forgiven ; and that through the Eternal 
 Mercy — so far broader, deeper, more abiding, as 
 I confidently believe, than any man-made definition 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 329 
 
 of it — she might even yet find a place for repentance 
 and peace at the last. 
 
 Under the plane-tree I found a rickety garden 
 seat, on which, being now very tired, I was glad 
 enough to rest. 
 
 How long I remained there in solitude — hearing 
 the distant roar of London and a confused movement 
 and noise of voices from the street. In which I judged 
 a crowd had now gathered — I know not. But, 
 finally, I beheld the stalwart form of Lavender, his 
 hands clasped behind him and his head bent as in 
 deep thought, coming up the wet garden path be- 
 tween the straggling row of little fruit-trees. His 
 aspect struck me as depressed. 
 
 " Well, sir," he said, when he reached me. '' I 
 think we have done all we can for to-night. I have 
 disposed of Mr. Marsigli, and I and my men have 
 been pretty thoroughly through the house. Some of 
 what I take to be the stolen jewels are there, and a 
 certain amount of plate; but no letters or papers 
 that I can discover." 
 
 He took out his handkerchief and wiped his face. 
 
 *' This is strictly between ourselves, sir," he went 
 on, " you understand of course? " 
 
 I assured him I did. 
 
 ** Then I think I may say that in my opinion 
 you can make your mind easy as to the existence of 
 a previous marriage. You remember the conversa- 
 tion we overheard? Her answer, you may have ob- 
 served, was not a denial of the fact but of the exist- 
 ence of proof — a very different story. However, if 
 
330 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 we fall to find proofs nearer home it will be simple 
 to take a run over to Paris. We shall have no diffi- 
 culty with the prisoner. It is in his interest to give 
 all the information he can, and he is sharp enough 
 to know that. A rum customer, though, as I have 
 ever had to deal with — one minute a mad savage 
 and the next close on a fine gentleman. Trying cattle 
 these foreigners, always springing some trick on 
 you! He'll have to swing for her, I expect — still 
 she must have led him a pretty lively dance. Some- 
 thing to be said on both sides, sir, as in my experi- 
 ence there usually is." 
 
 Much of the above was welcome hearing; yet the 
 detective's aspect remained depressed. Again he 
 wiped his face. 
 
 " And now I dare say you'll not be sorry to be 
 moving, sir," he remarked. 
 
 Then as I rose, stiff and weary, and walked beside 
 him along the garden path, the real source of his 
 trouble was disclosed. 
 
 " I feel I am bound to apologise, sir, for letting 
 you in for so much unpleasantness. I blame myself; 
 I was over-confident, and have got a well-deserved 
 slap to my professional pride as the result.'* 
 
 *' How so? " I asked him. 
 
 '* Why, I delayed too long before opening those 
 double doors in my eagerness to secure all the evi- 
 dence I could — a mistake which might be excusable 
 in a youngster, but not in one of my standing. The 
 very secret of our business is to know the moment 
 for action to a tick. I let them both get too worked 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 331 
 
 up. And, worked up as they were, he being Italian, 
 I ought to have foreseen the likelihood of that knife. 
 No, sir, look at It what way I will, I am bound to 
 blame myself. It is a discredit, In my opinion, and 
 a grave one, for a man in my position to have a mur- 
 der — and In broad daylight too — committed within 
 three yards of his nose. The less said the better, I'm 
 afraid, for some time to come, sir, about Lavender's 
 luck." 
 
 I consoled the mortified and over-conscientious 
 hunter of criminals and crime to the best of my 
 ability; and then, thankfully bidding farewell to that 
 blood-stained and tragic little house, pushed my way, 
 with Lavender's help, through the gaping and 
 curious crowd In the street, and, bestowing myself 
 In the coach one of his men had called for me, rum- 
 bled and jolted back to Grosvenor Square through 
 the hot, thundery dusk. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII 
 
 And now I had before me the task of telling the dear 
 boy what must modify, and might completely alter, 
 the course and complexion of his life. No hght duty 
 this, or small responsibility. It was, I felt, a great 
 crisis, a great turning-point. In what spirit would 
 he meet it, and how should I acquit myself? I was 
 glad to have a little leisure in which to shake off the 
 terrible Impressions of yesterday and get my mind 
 into a more normal attitude before delivering my 
 news. 
 
 No account of what had happened could be in the 
 papers under a couple of days, so I had every reason 
 to suppose Hartover would not receive any hint of it 
 before we met. I arranged with Lavender, more- 
 over, that, as his connection with Fedore had no 
 direct bearing on the case, Hartover's name was to 
 be carefully kept out of such reports as appeared. 
 This done, I tried to occupy myself with the books, 
 pictures, and other treasures the house contained; 
 assiduously waited on by William, meanwhile, who, 
 from his readiness to linger and to talk, suspected 
 more, as I judged, than he dared ask or than I very 
 certainly intended to tell him. 
 
 But my leisure suffered interruption sooner than 
 I anticipated, and in a manner calculated to set Wil- 
 liam's curiosity more than ever on edge. 
 
 332 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 333 
 
 On the second day — it was a Sunday — Lavender 
 called about ten o'clock, bringing me news of which 
 more hereafter; suffice it that a great burden was 
 lifted off my mind. Having been prevented attend- 
 ing morning service by the detective's visit, I went 
 to church In the evening; but returned little the bet- 
 ter, spiritually, I fear, for an hour's sermon In which 
 the preacher— a portly, well-nourished personage 
 just then very popular In the fashionable world — 
 dilated with much unction upon the terrors of hell, 
 and the extreme difficulty of avoiding them, the im- 
 possibility of so doing, in fact, for ninety-nine hun- 
 dredths of even " professing Christians " — so called 
 — let alone the not Inconsiderable remainder of the 
 human race. What a gospel to set forth ! What a 
 Moloch to offer as supreme object of adoration ! 
 Yet this congregation, so representative of rank and 
 wealth, listened quite complacently, without the 
 smallest evidence of criticism or of revolt. Had 
 they no heart to feel with? No brains with which 
 to think? I walked homeward disturbed and sad. 
 
 Before the portico of Lord Longmoor's house 
 stood a travelling carriage, off which the men-serv- 
 ants were loading down a mighty array of boxes and 
 trunks. And it was Lady Longmoor herself, surely 
 — I could not mistake the buoyant step, the gay poise 
 of the head, as of one that should say, " Look, good 
 people all, look! I like it, I am well worth it" — 
 who swept up the steps and into the lighted hall! 
 Why this sudden descent of Her Magnificence, and 
 whence ? 
 
334 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 I made my way round to the side-door and let 
 myself in, unperceived as I hoped. 
 
 But in the corridor William met me with a some- 
 what distracted countenance. 
 
 " My lord is asking for you, sir," he said. '' He 
 arrived back about half an hour ago. I persuaded 
 him to dine at once. His lordship seems quite upset, 
 sir — not at all well. But he was very urgent to see 
 you directly, whenever you came in." 
 
 I own my pulse quickened as I went along the cor- 
 ridor and into the dining-room, where I found Hart- 
 over at table. He turned round, but without rising, 
 and held out both hands to me. 
 
 " Oh ! there you are, thank goodness," he said. 
 " I have been haunted by a childish fear you would 
 have vanished — been spirited back to Cambridge." 
 
 I forced a laugh and inquired after Lord Long- 
 moor. 
 
 " It is genuine this time. My father is really ill — 
 so ill that I felt obliged to take the disagreeable 
 things he said to me in good part. Oh! you were 
 right to make me go to him, Brownlow. And I must 
 go again. It is scandalous the way he is left to the 
 mercy of doctors, and parsons, and servants — such a 
 crew, upon my word. My stepmother away some- 
 where — of course amusing herself — I suppose up in 
 the North with — oh! we'll name no names. Safer 
 not " — he added with a sneer. 
 
 I enlightened him as to her ladyship's present 
 whereabouts. 
 
 " So much the better," he returned. " Only she 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 335 
 
 will be disappointed if she imagines I intend to clear 
 out. She must put up with my neighbourhood, and 
 hear what I have to say, too, whether she likes it or 
 not. By the way, though, Brownlow, have you 
 dined?" 
 
 I felt incapable of eating a mouthful of food just 
 then, so lied, Heaven forgive me, telling him I had; 
 and, drawing up a chair, sat down beside the table 
 at right angles to him. 
 
 *^ Yes, I must certainly go to my father again," 
 Hartover repeated. " Disagreeable as he Invariably 
 manages to be to me, I believe he would have been 
 glad if I had stayed on now. But I couldn't — I 
 couldn't. The suspense was too great. Have you 
 seen her, Brownlow? " 
 
 " Yes," I said. This was no time for elaborate 
 explanations or fine phrases. The simple truth sim- 
 ply told would be best. " And your suspicions were 
 not unfounded." 
 
 The boy pushed away his plate, set his elbow on 
 the table, rested his cheek in his hand, turning his 
 face towards me. It had gone thin and very white; 
 but he was perfectly composed, bracing himself to 
 bear what might be coming with the pride of his 
 high-breeding. 
 
 " Very well. Go on," he said. 
 
 " She was Marsigli's accomplice. She instigated 
 the theft because she wanted him removed and 
 silenced. He stood between her and the fulfilment 
 of her ambition — of her design to marry you." 
 
 " Go on," said Hartover, as I paused. 
 
2,1,6 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " But we can afford to judge her duplicity less 
 harshly, because she has paid the extreme pen- 
 alty of it — the heaviest penalty which can be ex- 
 acted." 
 
 "What?" 
 
 Hartover's lips formed the words, although no 
 sound issued from them. 
 
 '' She and Marsigli had a violent altercation, with 
 accusations and abuse on both sides. In a fit of un- 
 governable fury he stabbed her." 
 
 Again the boy's lips formed a soundless question, 
 while from white his face went grey. Sweat broke 
 out on his forehead; but he still remained composed, 
 still looked at me steadily. 
 
 *' Yes," I told him. '' Fedore is dead." 
 
 Then his eyes closed, and I myself turned queerly 
 cold and faint. He looked so young, so almost 
 fragile, that it seemed an intolerable cruelty thus to 
 deal him blow on blow. I could have cried aloud to 
 him to forgive me ; yet to hesitate, still more to plead 
 for myself, would be a greater cruelty still. 
 
 " You are quite sure of — of your facts, Brown- 
 low? " he said, at last. 
 
 " Quite sure," I answered. " The police had 
 traced Marsigli to the house on a former occasion. 
 They were watching for his coming, and called on me 
 to identify him. I was present. I saw what took 
 place." 
 
 Here William came in bringing another course. 
 Hartover motioned him peremptorily to the door — 
 through which, with a backward look of astonish- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 337 
 
 ment, Inquiry, alarm, the poor fellow, tray and all, 
 fled. 
 
 *' I do not understand." Hartover spoke slowly 
 and carefully, each word standing oddly apart. 
 '' Perhaps I am stupid — but why he — Marsigli — 
 should " 
 
 And there he stopped. 
 
 " It was an act of vengeance, of revenge. She had 
 deserted him; and now, as he believed, betrayed 
 him to the police In the hope of being finally rid of 
 him." 
 
 "Deserted — how deserted?" Hartover demand- 
 ed, with sudden arrogance. 
 
 '* Fedore was his wife. He and she were married 
 here in London three years ago. A copy of the mar- 
 riage certificate, taken from the register of the 
 church where the ceremony was performed, was 
 shown me this morning. It Is perfectly In order and 
 establishes the legality of the marriage absolutely." 
 
 " The — then " — he asked — " am I to understand 
 that my marriage " 
 
 *' Is void. A fraud — legally Fedore was nothing 
 to you." 
 
 The boy's hand sank on to the table, with a jangle 
 of glasses overset among the silver. He turned away 
 his head. 
 
 The moment was critical. I awaited the outcome 
 of it in rather sickening dread. Hartover's physical 
 courage I knew to be above reproach — of the stuff 
 which charges gaily up to the mouths of the enemy's 
 guns, or leads a forlorn hope. But, here, moral not 
 
338 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 physical courage was on trial. Had he sufficient 
 moral stamina to stand the test? And, as the seconds 
 passed, thankful conviction grew on me that he had. 
 There would be no storm now, either of anger or 
 of tears. Hysterics and blind rage alike are the 
 sign of weakness, superficial, and, as often as not, a 
 mere matter of nerves. But here we had got down 
 to the solid rock of character, of inbred tradition 
 and instinctive pride of race. By the greatness of 
 the deception practised on him, of the discovery that 
 he had been the prey and plaything of a designing 
 woman whose care and love masked intensity of 
 worldly greed, and of the humiliation consequent, 
 on this, the boy's self-respect was too deeply in- 
 volved. Whatever he suffered he would keep to 
 himself. 
 
 Still, I own his next move, when it came, surprised 
 me by what I can only call its virility of conception. 
 
 He threw back his head, got up, walked across 
 to the fireplace and, with his hand on the bell-rope, 
 the ghost of a smile — the bravest, most piteous smile 
 I have ever seen — upon his lips, said : 
 
 " I'm right in thinking, am I not, Brownlow, you 
 told me my stepmother arrived just as you came 
 in?" 
 
 I answered in the affirmative, not a little perplexed 
 as to what was to follow. 
 
 He rang, and when William appeared gave orders 
 her ladyship be informed that Lord Hartover re- 
 quested to see her. 
 
 " Let Lady Longmoor be told I will be in the 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 339 
 
 white drawing-room, and that I beg she will join 
 me there with as little delay as possible." 
 
 Then to me : 
 
 " You will come too, Brownlow, please. I prefer 
 to have a witness to our conversation." 
 
 So to the white drawing-room we went — a small 
 but lovely room, on the walls of which hung a couple 
 of superb Vandykes, portraits of a former Lord 
 Hartover and his brother, Stephen Esdaile, exquisite 
 if slightly effeminate-looking, young gallants of un- 
 happy Charles the First's court. I had noticed 
 these pictures, with admiration, yesterday when 
 making my round of the house. In Stephen Esdaile 
 I discovered, as I thought, a distinct resemblance to 
 his descendant my ex-pupil, granting the latter long 
 curled lovelocks and a yellow silk brocade coat. 
 
 Her Magnificence kept us waiting some ten min- 
 utes, to arrive at last with a charming effect of haste, 
 still wearing a brown travelling dress, a white lace 
 scarf thrown negligently over her fair head. She 
 was all smiles, all pretty excitement. 
 
 " Dearest George — what a charming surprise ! " 
 
 And she advanced, preparing to bestow on him a 
 chastely maternal kiss. But the boy avoided it dex- 
 terously, and bent low over her hand, just not touch- 
 ing It with his lips instead. Her ladyship, as I 
 judged by her rising colour, was not insensible to the 
 slight, though she rattled on gaily enough. 
 
 ** And our good Mr. Brownlow too ! How really 
 delightful ! Surprise on surprise. But George " 
 
 Her tone changed, a note of anxiety, real or as- 
 
34q THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 suiried, piercing the playfulness, not to say levity, 
 of it. 
 
 " Is anything wrong? You look positively 
 ghastly, my poor child — as white as a sheet. Tell 
 me — nothing is the matter — nothing serious? '* 
 
 " Oh dear, no," Hartover answered. " Nothing 
 serious is ever the matter in our family, is it? We 
 bask in perpetual sunshine, are clothed in scarlet with 
 other delights, fare sumptuously every day and all 
 the rest of it. Serious ? Of course not. What could 
 touch us? '* 
 
 Lady Longmoor smiled, raising her eyebrows and 
 throwing me a meaning glance. She believed, or 
 pretended to believe, the boy was not sober, and 
 wished me to know as much. 
 
 " If it amuses you to talk nonsense, do so by all 
 means," she said. '' Only I am afraid you will have 
 to forgive my not stopping here very long to listen 
 to it, for I am simply expiring of fatigue " — she 
 stifled a neat little yawn — " and want to go quietly 
 to bed." 
 
 " I am sorry," Hartover answered courteously, 
 '* if I have been inconsiderate. But I thought you 
 might care to have some news of my father. I am 
 just back from Bath." 
 
 "Indeed!" Lady Longmoor exclaimed. "And 
 pray who, or what, took you to poor dead-alive inno- 
 cent Bath?" 
 
 " My father sent for me, and what's more saw 
 me. He struck me as rather badly out of sorts and 
 lonely." 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 341 
 
 " Ah! yes," she said, turning to me with the pret- 
 tiest air of distress imaginable, " it is so terribly try- 
 ing, Mr. Brownlow. I cannot bear leaving my dear 
 lord in his wretched state of health. It makes me 
 miserable. But what is to be done? Someone must 
 look into things from time to time, you know. It is 
 wrong to leave dear beautiful Hover entirely to the 
 agent, the servants, and so on. Of course, they are 
 as faithful and devoted as possible — but still it is 
 only wise — don't you think? — only right — I should 
 go there occasionally. Though I hate business, I 
 do what I can." 
 
 " I hope to relieve you of the bulk of those bothers 
 in future," Hartover put in quietly. 
 
 *' You — you charming scatter-brain ? What next ? 
 No, mon enfant, no — they are not de votre age, re- 
 sponsibility and business worries. Continue to play 
 at soldiers and amuse yourself while you can." 
 
 " I am tired of playing at soldiers : so confound- 
 edly tired of it that, once I am my own master — I 
 come of age next month, you remember, — I mean to 
 send in my papers. There is nothing to keep me in 
 London now " 
 
 " Nothing — nobody, to keep you in London 
 now?" she interrupted teasingly. 
 
 I listened in some trepidation. She trod on dan- 
 gerous ground. Had the boy sufficient reserve force, 
 after the ordeal he had so lately been through, to 
 keep his temper? 
 
 *' No, nothing," he repeated. " I think there had 
 better be no misunderstanding between us upon that 
 
342 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 point — and upon some others. They need clearing 
 up — have needed it for a long time past. That is 
 the reason of my asking to see you to-night. In the 
 ordinary course of events we don't, as you know, 
 often meet. I have to seize my opportunity when I 
 am fortunate enough to get it. Plainly, I do not be- 
 lieve my father can live very long " 
 
 " And plainly," she retorted, " I do not think his 
 life is at all likely to be lengthened, dearest George, 
 by your troubling him with absurd plans for throw- 
 ing up your commission, leaving London, and taking 
 over the management of things in general at Hover. 
 For years Jack Esdaile has employed himself, in the 
 sweetest way, just out of pure friendship and kind- 
 ness of heart, in looking after the Yorkshire prop- 
 erty, and your father has been more than satisfied. 
 But it is too ridiculous for me to argue with you 
 about it. Things will go on in the future precisely 
 as they have gone on in the past. Only I really must 
 protest against your father being disturbed and an- 
 noyed directly my back is turned. We all thought 
 you had settled down more of late, George, and had 
 grown a little more reasonable." 
 
 "Of late? Since when, pray?" Hartover de- 
 manded. 
 
 "Oh! why since " 
 
 Lady Longmoor looked down as though embar- 
 rassed. 
 
 " But after all, what is the use of mincing mat- 
 ters?" she went on. " I cannot help knowing you 
 young men have your af aires de cceur — your entan- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 343 
 
 glements, shall we say? — and that these, although 
 of course objectionable, things one doesn't talk about, 
 do sometimes have a steadying effect which conduces 
 to the peace and comfort of your — the young men's, 
 I mean — near relations." 
 
 '* You are speaking of an entanglement of mine? " 
 Hartover asked. 
 
 " Yes," she replied. '* An entanglement, an in- 
 fatuation, which, as Mr. Brownlow knows, I have 
 deplored for years and done my best to combat; but 
 which — remember the person had already left my 
 service, has, I understand, recently been legalised." 
 
 ''Who told you this?" Hartover said hoarsely. 
 
 Lady Longmoor raised her eyes and glanced at 
 me, smiling. 
 
 " That good, faithful creature, Halidane. — ^Wait 
 a moment, George. Let me finish my sentence. He 
 had the information, as I understand, direct from 
 Mr. Brownlow, to whom you yourself wrote an- 
 nouncing the event." 
 
 The boy gave me a look of sorrowful reproach, 
 remembrance of which, even at this distance of time, 
 blinds my eyes with tears as I write. 
 
 " You too, old man," he said very softly. " Gad, 
 it needed but that." 
 
 And he turned on his heel and moved towards 
 the door. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 Both by profession and inclination I am a man of 
 peace. But for once my sluggish blood boiled; and it 
 would have been a nasty hour for Halidane had his 
 smug and rosy countenance come within reach of my 
 fists. Many annoyances I had forgiven him, many 
 more was prepared to forgive. But that he should 
 sow discord between Hartover and me at this par- 
 ticular juncture outpaced my power of forgiveness. 
 The fellow had kept a stone in his pocket for years. 
 Now he threw it — meanly and spitefully, by the hand 
 of a woman, thereby making it more difficult for me 
 to parry the blow or to retaliate. Hence I sub- 
 scribed most heartily, I am afraid, to any and every 
 evil which might befall him in this world or the 
 next! 
 
 " Either your ladyship's memory is at fault, or 
 your informant is guilty of a remarkably odious 
 falsehood," I said, so grimly as to disconcert my 
 fair hearer not a little, I thought. ^' I should have 
 supposed it unnecessary to declare that I have never 
 discussed Lord Hartover or his affairs with Mr. 
 Halidane. Any such discussion would be repugnant 
 to me in the highest degree. If Mr. Halidane is ac- 
 quainted with the contents of any letter addressed to 
 me by Lord Hartover, he must have acquired that 
 knowledge by methods reflecting but scanty credit 
 upon his sense of honour, let alone his sense of com- 
 
 344 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 345 
 
 mon honesty. Yet I cannot pretend to be greatly 
 surprised. For on one occasion, at least, I have had 
 reason to accuse him of entering my college rooms, 
 for purposes of his own, during my absence." 
 
 And I recounted, very briefly, what I had seen and 
 heard on the night of the fire at the Master's Lodge. 
 
 Lady Longmoor, none too sure of the success of 
 her last move, seized upon the new topic with 
 avidity. 
 
 ** Ah ! yes," she cried; '' we heard about that from 
 Dr. Marston. He was loud In praise of your won- 
 derful courage In saving the life of his niece. Ac- 
 cording to him you performed prodigies of valour. 
 I was so interested In meeting her — Miss Davis, no 
 Dynevor — of course, I remember, Dynevor — quite a 
 nice girl and — and so very much In love. Oh ! yes ; 
 it was all extraordinarily romantic, you know, 
 George — just like a story In a book." 
 
 The Impertinence of these great folk! The tone 
 of condescension and patronage In which her lady- 
 ship alluded to Alice Dynevor was by no means lost 
 on me; but, I am afraid, ten thousand Ahce Dyne- 
 vors and their Impertinent treatment at the hands of 
 fine ladles weighed as rather less than nothing with 
 me, just now, as against Hartover's apparent aliena- 
 tion. To reconquer his confidence and sympathy, to 
 convince him of my unswerving loyalty, was the sole 
 and only thing I cared about. 
 
 During the whole Interview we had been kept 
 standing, since Lady Longmoor remained standing 
 herself. I fancied she had an eye to rapid with- 
 
346 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 drawal whenever a promising strategic opportunity 
 presented itself. As she spoke, she too moved 
 towards the door. But Hartover, who, to my great 
 comfort, had paused, listening both to her imperti- 
 nently enthusiastic flourish and my disclaimer, faced 
 about blocking her passage. 
 
 " One moment," he said. " Has Mr. Halidane, 
 may I enquire, crowned his amiable mission as 
 scandal-monger by communicating this piece of 
 stolen information to my father? " 
 
 " No. He felt it was his duty to tell your father, 
 but very properly consulted me first. And I dis- 
 suaded him." 
 
 "How charming of you!" from Hartover, not 
 without sarcasm. 
 
 " I begged him to wait — not to speak of it yet. 
 Later, I felt, circumstances might not improbably 
 arise which would compel us to break it to your 
 father. But naturally I wished to spare him as 
 long as " 
 
 *' Pray, is that a threat?" 
 
 " Hardly a threat. But a warning — yes, possibly, 
 dearest George. Take my advice and lay it to heart. 
 And, since plain speaking seems the fashion to-night, 
 you know your manner towards me is excessively 
 strange — barely civil, in fact. Have you been drink- 
 ing, by chance? " 
 
 The boy shook his head; but with an air! Inso- 
 lence being to the fore, it was diamond cut diamond 
 as between step-mother and step-son. 
 
 " Oh ! dear, no. I have touched nothing stronger 
 than water to-day," he said. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 347 
 
 " Really! I am sorry to hear It, as that leaves no 
 valid excuse for your behaviour. But I am tired; 
 and, frankly, I can't admit any right on your part 
 to keep me here listening first to nonsense, and then 
 to Incivility. Good-night, Mr. Brownlow. I do not 
 know how long you propose to stay, so good-bye, too 
 — In case, which Is possible, I do not see you again. 
 And now, George, be good enough to open the door 
 for me." 
 
 From all which I derived the conviction that, for 
 once, her ladyship had pretty thoroughly lost her 
 temper. Then, as Hartover did not move : 
 
 "My dear George, do you hear? Even if you 
 unfortunately have no love for your mother, you 
 may still pay some respect, some ordinary courtesy 
 towards your father's wife." 
 
 " For my father's wife I have all possible re- 
 spect," he began. 
 
 My lady's dark eyebrows went up until they nearly 
 met her fair hair. 
 
 " Indeed ! You have a most original fashion of 
 showing It! " 
 
 " But — for I, too, can Issue a warning — I have 
 very little of either for my cousin Jack Esdaile's 
 
 mistress." 
 
 An Instant of stupefaction. 
 
 Then : " How dare you ! How dare you ! " Lady 
 Longmoor stormed. 
 
 She took a couple of steps forward, with the inten- 
 tion, I verily believe, of boxing Hartover's ears 
 soundly. But he was too adroit for her. Catching 
 her by both hands, he held them — not roughly, but 
 
348 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 with a gallant, if naughty grace, vastly engaging. 
 Some colour had come into his face. His eyes and 
 lips laughed saucily. 
 
 " No, no. Your Magnificence," he said. " That 
 belongs to the past, to the old nursery days, here and 
 at Hover, when I was too small to hit back. I have 
 grown up since then, and we are more evenly 
 matched." 
 
 Ought I to interfere ? To do so was to risk losing 
 Hartover's trust and affection for ever. Therefore 
 I thought, and still think, not. 
 
 Meanwhile, whether contact with physical force 
 —to her a novel experience — tamed her, or whether 
 conscience was the determining factor, I am uncer- 
 tain; but — 
 
 "You young boor!" she exclaimed; and there 
 ended all direct protest. For, at once, she began to 
 try and make terms with him — an uneasiness, not to 
 say an edge of fear, perceptible behind the fine chill 
 of her manner. " Pray, what do you expect to gain 
 by insulting me thus? " 
 
 " What I have never succeeded in gaining before 
 — a clear stage and no favour." 
 
 *' Be a little more explicit, please — that is, if you 
 really have anything to be explicit about." 
 
 " Oh I dear, yes; plenty, plenty. I've no lack of 
 material," Hartover answered. " But won't you 
 come and sit down, since you are tired, so that we 
 may talk it over comfortably? " 
 
 And, releasing one hand, the boy led her across 
 the lovely room to a large white and gold settee — 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 349 
 
 prettily, as he might have led some charming part- 
 ner after a dance — and, finally, sat down there be- 
 side her. 
 
 " Is It necessary that a third person be present,*' 
 she asked, '* at this extraordinary Interview? " 
 
 ** I prefer Brownlow to stay. If he will," Hart- 
 over answered. " It Is desirable In your Interests just 
 as much as In my own." 
 
 " A packed jury ! However, I am at your mercy 
 — two men to one woman. If you command I can- 
 not do otherwise than obey." 
 
 And she folded her hands In her lap, settling her 
 beautiful shoulders back against the soft white and 
 gold cushions. 
 
 " Now for this very chivalrous bargaining," she 
 said scornfully. " For a bargain Is just what It 
 comes to, neither more nor less, I Imagine." 
 
 " Yes," Hartover answered; and while as he spoke 
 sauclness, laughter, almost youth Itself, died out of 
 his face, leaving It grave, drawn, and very pallid. 
 " You are right. Between you and me, as matters 
 now stand, Your Magnificence, It all comes to the 
 dirty, low-caste business of a bargain — and a hard 
 one. Only let us both speak the truth, please, In as 
 far as we are able. It may save some ugly fighting 
 hereafter. — You say you heard of the legalising of 
 a certain entanglement from Mr. Halldane. Was 
 that your first knowledge of It? " 
 
 *' Rumours may have reached me earlier." 
 
 " Through whom? " — Hartover went white about 
 the lips — '' Through Fedore? " 
 
350 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " You forget, she had left my service." 
 
 " But had no rumours reached you through her — 
 Fedore — of another marriage, about three years 
 ago?" 
 
 Lady Longmoor moved slightly, throwing back 
 her head. She was very angry, but she was also very 
 nervous — so, at least, I fancied. 
 
 '* This persistent asking of riddles becomes mo- 
 notonous," she said. " Of what exactly are you 
 speaking, my dear George? " 
 
 " Of Fedore's marriage to your butler, Marsigli. 
 They were confidential servants, to both of whom 
 we all understood you were a good deal attached. It 
 seems improbable, when they married, you should be 
 ignorant of the fact." 
 
 "Oh! there you are totally mistaken," she said, 
 with a laugh. " The private lives of my servants are 
 no concern of mine. So long as they serve me well, 
 and there aren't any scandals in the household, I am 
 not so fooolish as to invite annoyance by asking 
 questions. If they are silent, I am silent likewise. I 
 have no belief in fussing — especially when the estab- 
 lishment runs smooth. And then — tastes no doubt 
 differ — ^but I really have more important and inter- 
 esting things to think about than sentimental compli- 
 cations on the part of the maids." 
 
 " Even when one of the maids proposes to become 
 your daughter-in-law?" the boy put in bitterly. 
 " Come, Your Magnificence, what's the use of hedg- 
 ing. Did you or didn't you know? " 
 
 But here her ladyship saw fit to change her tactics 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 351 
 
 by making a spirited raid into the enemy's country. 
 
 " And if rumours, again, had reached me," she 
 asked, "what then?" 
 
 " This — that, knowing, you still said nothing, 
 made no attempt to prevent my doing this infamous 
 thing." 
 
 " Stop, stop," Lady Longmoor cried. " You for- 
 get there is quite another aspect of the case. If I 
 did not intervene it was simply because I knew inter- 
 vention to be hopeless. Would you have listened to 
 me? Have you ever listened? I am only human, 
 after all, and my stock of patience, alas ! is not in- 
 exhaustible. You can hardly deny having made 
 heavy drafts on it, my dear George, for a number 
 of years now." 
 
 " I deny nothing under that head," Hartover said 
 quietly. 
 
 " Your escapades — to call them nothing worse — 
 have caused us — my poor lord and me — endless vex- 
 ation and trouble. I was weary of hearing about 
 them from — oh ! well, from a number of different 
 sources. People are not slow in repeating what is 
 offensive, and your name has become a positive bye- 
 word in your regiment for every description of objec- 
 tionable folly. Is it surprising if, at last, I gave up 
 in despair? No doubt, it was wrong of me " — she 
 glanced with very moving appeal in my direction — 
 " but really, things came to a point last winter, when 
 I was tempted to wash my hands of you altogether. 
 You must go your own way. I was helpless to re- 
 strain you. All I asked was some little respite from 
 
352 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 worry, from the perpetual wear and tear of conceal- 
 ing these wretched stories from your father." 
 
 " Thank you. I understand," Hartover said. 
 " And so, other plans for wrecking me having mis- 
 carried — you and Jack Esdaile devised a good many 
 — you connived at this abomination, just as you con- 
 nived at — at — her running after me at Hover long 
 ago, before Brownlow came. You encouraged her 
 going to see me when I was ill — she told me so her- 
 self, told me that and a lot more too. And " 
 
 He paused, leaning forward, looking on the 
 ground, while his speech grew thick and unsteady. 
 
 " And the fact — however vile the deception she 
 practised on me — that she was kind, nursed me, 
 helped me fight against my bad habits, pulled me 
 through, does not lessen your guilt by one iota either 
 towards her or towards me. Her death lies at your 
 door. Marsigli, poor brute, may have struck the 
 actual blow, but you are responsible for it." 
 
 "Death? Fedore dead? — Marsigli ?— What do 
 you mean, George? What, in Heaven's name, are 
 you talking about?" 
 
 In her extreme excitement and agitation Lady 
 Longmoor seized the boy by the arm; but he shook 
 himself free, getting up and backing away from her 
 with a movement of uncontrollable revolt. 
 
 "Oh! yes," he said; "I know you've wanted — 
 you've wanted for years to finish with me, to wipe 
 me out. You've failed; but — but still, at the cost of 
 a life. Explain to her, Brownlow, please. Tell her. 
 It's beyond me. I can't." 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 And so for the second time, on this strange Sunday 
 evening, I was called on to recount what I had heard 
 and seen in the sad, blood-stained little house at 
 Chelsea. And having done so, I withdrew. Hart- 
 over making no effort to detain me. For I felt, and 
 I think he felt also, whatever remained to be said 
 must be said behind closed doors, since It would be 
 both unworthy and Impolitic to subject this proud 
 woman and great lady to further mortification. I 
 left the two alone, the more willingly as the boy had 
 proved himself, kept his head, kept his temper, 
 shown himself at once astute and fearless. I could 
 trust him to strike a bargain — for, as he said, be- 
 tween himself and her ladyship a bargain, and a 
 hard one. It henceforth must be — discreditable 
 neither to honour nor to justice. I could trust him 
 not to be vindictive. He had not been so towards 
 Fedore. He would not be so towards his step- 
 mother. 
 
 I went downstairs and into the dining-room again, 
 where I found William still making a pretence of 
 clearing the table, though it was close on midnight. 
 
 " His lordship ate no dinner to call a dinner, sir," 
 he said tentatively; ''and after travelling all day 
 too ! '' 
 
 But I refused to be drawn. William's curiosity 
 
 353 
 
354 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 would, in all probability, be satisfied by the contents 
 of the morning papers; and meanwhile I, unused to 
 such strenuous demands upon my imagination and 
 nervous energy, stood sorely in need of some rest. 
 
 Finding me a hopeless subject, the faithful fellow, 
 to my rehef, departed, permitting me to meditate un- 
 disturbed. — What of the future, Hartover's future? 
 He had borne himself well and manfully throughout 
 the evening; but would the events, now so deeply 
 affecting him, make more than a passing impression? 
 Would, he, a few months hence, return to his former 
 unprofitable ways? Would the lust of the flesh, the 
 lust of the eyes, the pride of life prove too strong 
 after all, and work the undoing of this modern 
 Alcibiades ? And what of my own future ? Should 
 I go back to the untroubled scholarly life of Cam- 
 bridge to live and die a college don? Or, supposing 
 he and I continued, in some sort, our renewed in- 
 timacy of these last few days, had I the strength and 
 wisdom to guide him? Were we quite at one, more- 
 over, Hartover and I, or had Halidane succeeded In 
 sowing discord, a suspicion which would remain and 
 rankle In the dear boy's mind? 
 
 My thoughts were far from cheerful as I sat there 
 alone, the great house quiet within, and London 
 hushed to midnight stillness without. Would good 
 come out of all this evil upon which, shrinking and 
 aghast, I had so lately looked? Deeper question 
 yet — Is it possible that evil ever can breed good? 
 And my thought wandered homelessly through laby- 
 rinths of speculation regarding dualism, that appar- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 355 
 
 ently eternal inter-relation, inter-action of evil and 
 of good, as manifested in nature, in history, in na- 
 tional and personal character, alike. Is there, verily, 
 no good without alloy of evil, no evil lacking a strain 
 of good? I thought of Fedore, as an example, at 
 once befriending and devouring Hartover — whereby 
 this mystery of dualism appeared painfully deepened 
 and increased. 
 
 But then — unable, I suppose, to support the sor- 
 row of its own homelessness any longer — my thought 
 turned to the sheltered corner of the garden at 
 Westrea — where the high red-brick wall forms an 
 angle with the mellow red-brick house front — to 
 which, in the sweet May mornings, the neat box- 
 edged borders gay with spring flowers, the brimming 
 water, the avenue of oaks and the pasture gently 
 sloping upward to the sky-line, so pleasantly set out 
 before us, Nellie Braithwaite would bring her sew- 
 ing and I the book from which to read aloud. — Ah ! 
 surely this — this had been iwholly without alloy, 
 purely and perfectly good ! I pictured the scene in 
 all its details, felt again the emotions engendered by 
 it, and received comfort to my soul — for — ^not for 
 very long, alas ! 
 
 The door opened. Hartover swung in. His face 
 was still drawn and thin, but a spot of colour 
 burned on either cheek and his eyes were extraordi- 
 narily bright. 
 
 '' That's over," he said. *' It has been damnable, 
 utterly damnable. But it is done with. Now, please 
 God, we start afresh — don't move, Brownlow." 
 
356 THE TUTOR^S STORY, 
 
 This as I prepared to rise. 
 
 '' I must talk," he went on — " talk to you now 
 while the hot fit is still on me, so that you may 
 register and, later, whip me up if I check or show any 
 sign of running slack. Remind me of — of to-night. 
 I have got what I bargained for — my clear stage and 
 no favour. My step-mother signs a truce, under 
 compulsion of — oh ! yes, I know how ugly it sounds ! 
 compulsion of fear, the fear of exposure and social 
 ruin. If she interferes between me and my father, 
 he shall be told certain facts. If, after his death, I 
 find she has played tricks with the property, I shall 
 go to law, which will be equivalent to publishing those 
 same facts to all the world. If she keeps faith with 
 me, I will stand by her and do everything in my 
 power to shield her name from scandal and disgrace. 
 — For, Brownlow, those who sold her, as a little 
 more than a child, to a man nearly twice her age, and 
 a weak-brained, dyspeptic valetudinarian at that, did 
 a very cruel thing. — All the same, the Rusher has to 
 vanish. As long as my father lives he shall never 
 darken these doors, or those of Hover, again. That 
 is absolute." 
 
 While he spoke, Hartover roamed up and down 
 the room restlessly, working off his excitement. Now 
 he came and, sitting down on the arm of my chair, 
 laid his hand gently on my shoulder. 
 
 " Dear old friend, forgive me," he said. *' I ought 
 to have known better. It was only for an instant I 
 distrusted you; but I was so knocked about. The 
 road to freedom — for it is freedom, through all this 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 357 
 
 shame and misery, this horror of crime and violence, 
 I recognise that — has been very frightful to tread. 
 Nothing can ever look quite the same again. I am 
 new born, not only to man's estate, but to a new- 
 vision and understanding of what I may and will, 
 God helping me — I don't shy at a little bit of piety 
 for once ! — do with my life. Only the pains of that 
 new birth have been as the pains of hell, dear old 
 
 man." 
 
 And here I think the tears came, for the boy's 
 hand went up hastily to his eyes, and he turned away 
 his face — from which I opined it would be some 
 time before he and youth parted company, even 
 yet! 
 
 " Gad ! " he said, '' I believe I should be thankful 
 never to set eyes on a petticoat again, as long as I 
 live; but," with a rather weary little laugh, '* I sup- 
 pose the misogynist attitude of mind won't last, what- 
 ever else does ! Look here, Brownlow, how soon can 
 you be ready to go up to Hover with me ? I hear the 
 grouse promise well this season, and I'll be hanged 
 if Colonel Jack puts a ha'porth of shot into a soli- 
 tary one of them. And, oh! dear me; I want to 
 get away from London, away to the clean wind and 
 the open moors and — forget." 
 
 I took no reading party to North Wales that sum- 
 mer, but rode Warcop's horses and tramped the fells 
 with Hartover instead. And when I went back to 
 Cambridge at the beginning of the October term, 
 the boy — having sent in his papers on his twenty-first 
 birthday — went back with me, thus carrying out his 
 
358 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 old wish of passing at least one year at the Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 And Marsigli never came to trial, but died by his 
 own hand in gaol, to Lady Longmoor's immense re- 
 lief, as I imagine; but to Detective Inspector Laven- 
 der's immense disgust and discouragement of belief 
 in his luck. 
 
 " The authorities may ignore it, sir," he said to 
 me; " but I can't. That affair hammered more nails 
 into the coffin of my professional reputation, or 
 ought to have done so if every man had his deserts, 
 than I care to count." 
 
CHAPTER XLI 
 
 Little further remains to be told. The story of my 
 life, that is of its more interesting and critical por- 
 tion, which I began to write in the long summer 
 mornings when hay harvest kept more than half the 
 parish busy in the fields, has occupied my leisure 
 hours until now, when the first December snow show- 
 ers fling a glittering mantle about royal Hover, 
 rising there across the valley amid the domes and 
 spires of the mighty pines. 
 
 And, as the record nears completion, the ques- 
 tion comes, what shall be done with It? Shall I lock 
 it away with other treasured sacred things — a few 
 letters, one or two faded portraits (early examples 
 of the photographer's doubtfully flattering art), a 
 woman's glove, too, and a tag of once white ribbon 
 foxed by age — a little hoard to be burned unlooked 
 on when the peaceful churchyard, here close at hand, 
 receives the baser part of me, and my soul goes back 
 to God who gave it? Or, when that time comes, un- 
 dreaded yet uncraved for — since life still is sweet — 
 shall this record pass into the hands of her who has 
 been its chief Inspiration, the Laura, worthy of how 
 far more melodious a Petrarch, the Beatrice, worthy 
 of how far more eloquent a Dante, than my obscure 
 and humble self? Is it mere weakness, outcome of 
 an old man's doting and futile vanity, clutching at 
 
 359 
 
36o THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the shadow where the substance is, and always had 
 been, beyond his grasp, which makes me thus desire 
 — when revelation can no longer bring heartburn- 
 ings or disquiet — those wise and glorious eyes should 
 read the secret of my love and of my sacrifice at last? 
 
 Sentimental? And, after all, why not? For who 
 am I to condemn sentiment, which, if it contain no 
 corrupt and morbid elements, is surely the strongest 
 driving power towards noble deeds and heroical ven- 
 tures human history can show? To decry or fear 
 sentiment is to decry or fear the finest achievements 
 of art, of literature, of romance, I had almost said 
 of religion itself — all that, in short, upon which 
 spirit, as distinct from matter, feeds and thrives. 
 
 And this, quite naturally if not quite obviously, 
 brings me back to the year Hartover was up at Cam- 
 bridge. During the few days I spent there myself, 
 while making my peace with the members of the 
 deserted reading party and, to some extent, with the 
 good Master himself, I contrived to find time for an 
 afternoon at Westrea. Nellie Braithwaite must hear 
 something of all which had lately happened; yet to 
 inform her by letter appeared to me inadvisable. I 
 did not approve of carrying on any sort of corre- 
 spondence behind her father's back. I must not raise 
 hopes which might never be realised; but I might, 
 without indiscretion, let her know Hartover was not 
 only free, but fired, through that same freedom, with 
 liberal ideas and worthy purposes — let her know, fur- 
 ther, I had been faithful to my promise, and had 
 thrown in my lot with the dear boy's for good and 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 361 
 
 all, so that nothing short of rejection on his part 
 would make me leave him again. 
 
 But I speedily perceived, with mingled shame and 
 admiration, any fear of raising undue hopes was 
 quite uncalled for. I had underrated alike the cour- 
 age and sensibility of Nellie Braithwalte's nature. 
 For her gladness at my news was veiled by a sweet 
 reserve both of expression and enquiry — assurance 
 of Hartover's well-being bringing all her maidenly 
 dignity into play. Henceforth, as I saw, she would 
 wrap her love about with silence, hiding it even from 
 me, her chosen friend, in delicate yet lofty pride. No 
 finger would she raise to beckon Hartover or recall 
 that early love passage; while, as I also saw, my 
 presence in future would be less acceptable to her be- 
 cause, from my closeness to Hartover, I formed, in 
 a measure, a link between him and herself. 
 
 I left Westrea, on my return journey to Cam- 
 bridge, somewhat crestfallen. As reward of my zeal 
 in fulfilling — and successfully, moreover — the prom- 
 ise I gave her, was I to be exiled from her confidence? 
 That seemed arbitrary and, indeed, a little unjust. 
 Whereupon I made a reflection — made how many 
 thousand times already by how many thousands of 
 my sex ! — that the ways of woman, be she pure and 
 noble or, alas ! signally the reverse, are one and all 
 mysterious, past forecasting and past finding out. 
 
 And at that I had to leave it. For Hartover, on 
 his part, spoke no word, gave no sign. Hover, the 
 moors, the stables, the kennels, and, as I observed 
 with satisfaction, so much of the varied business of 
 
362 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 the great property as he could get in touch with, 
 filled his time and mind to the exclusion of all ques- 
 tion of — in his own phrase — " petticoats." Was 
 Nellie Braithwaite forgotten then? Once again I 
 must be stern with myself; for how should it advan- 
 tage me even if she was? 
 
 But specially did stables and kennels bulk big 
 among the dear boy's many interests and occupations 
 during that pleasant long vacation, whereby Warcop 
 was made the happiest of men. For one morning, 
 about a fortnight after our arrival, Hartover threw 
 a letter to me across the breakfast table. 
 
 *' Read that," he said. " The Rusher signs his ab- 
 dication — gives up the hounds, moves his horses — 
 or what he is pleased to call his — I think I know who 
 has paid for them and their keep for a good dozen 
 years now — and hunts in Leicestershire this winter. 
 My father must not, of course, be worried, so Her 
 Magnificence forwards the letter to me. Really, it 
 strikes me as rather pathetic, Brownlow. How are 
 the mighty fallen ! But, pathetic or not, the hounds 
 must be hunted this season, or the mouth of our 
 enemy — Bramhall, to wit — will be altogether too ex- 
 tensively enlarged over us. — Oh ! well, if it comes to 
 that, I suppose I can hunt them well enough myself, 
 with Warcop's help, putting in a day every fortnight 
 or so from Cambridge during term time. I'll back 
 myself to be a popular master before the end of the 
 winter, though there will be prejudices to live down, 
 no doubt. Gad! so much the better — carriere 
 ouverte aux talents. After all, I can canoodle and 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 363 
 
 coax against most people, you know, and be nine foot 
 high, too, when I like." 
 
 Which was perfectly true. Had I not experience 
 thereof? I fell in with this idea the more readily 
 since our English institution of fox-hunting plays so 
 large a part in country life, bringing landlord and 
 tenant together on equal terms and establishing a 
 friendly and w^holesome relation Invaluable as be- 
 tween class and class. Mastership of the Hover, 
 though infringing somewhat upon the routine of his 
 college work, was in my opinion calculated to prove 
 an excellent Introduction to those larger and im- 
 mensely more important forms of mastership which, 
 for Hartover, seemed to loom up by no means far 
 ahead. 
 
 But creaking gates hang long, the proverb says. 
 And this proved true of the invalid at Bath. The 
 months passed, and yet Lord Longmoor, though in- 
 creasingly fanciful, Increasingly querulous, Increas- 
 ingly a sick man. In truth, still kept a feeble hold of 
 life through autumn, winter, spring, and on into the 
 golden heats of midsummer. The May term again 
 drew to its close, and with it Hartover's sojourn at 
 Cambridge. How had the university affected and 
 Influenced him? Chiefly, I believed, as a pause, a 
 place of recovery before further effort. Out of the 
 great world he had come, surfeited by all too heavy 
 a meal — for one of his age — of the fruit of the tree 
 of the knowledge of good and evil. Back Into the 
 great world. It was ordained, he must return. But 
 he had rested by the way, had slept off the effects, 
 
364 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 so to speak, of that over-much and evil fruit-eating, 
 had at once steadied and grown younger. 
 
 Meanwhile he was the darling of the college; 
 where, from the good Master, through ranks of dons 
 and gownsmen, down to gyps and bed-makers, he was 
 an object of interest and of admiration. And this 
 less from snobbery, the vulgar spirit — too common 
 among us — which " loves a lord," than from his own 
 charm and grace and the irresistible way he had with 
 him. The affection he inspired and interest he ex- 
 cited, touched and amused him, when he happened 
 to be conscious of it; but his eyes, so I fancied, were 
 set on something beyond, and as the time of depar- 
 ture drew near I seemed to observe in him a grow- 
 ing preoccupation and restlessness. 
 
 And so the anniversary of his hurried journey to 
 find me came round — the anniversary, too, of 
 Fedore's death. Did he remember it, I wondered — 
 remember his torment of suspense and desolation? 
 He never spoke of Fedore, or of the crowded events 
 of those few rather desperate days. The recupera- 
 tive power of youth is wellnigh unlimited. Was 
 remembrance of them erased from his mind by a 
 natural and healthy process of attrition, or was his 
 silence intentional? Again I wondered. 
 
 When he left Cambridge I should go with him, 
 and not for the long vacation merely. But, by the 
 Master's kind advice and permission, I was to retain 
 both my fellowship and my rooms, putting in so much 
 residence in the course of the year as I could man- 
 age. Of this I was glad. Not for an instant did I 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 365 
 
 hesitate to follow Hartover; but it would, I own, 
 have caused me a keen pang to sever my connection 
 with the university entirely. 
 
 All day, on the anniversary of Fedore's death, I had 
 been packing and sorting my now not inconsiderable 
 library, destroying — odious occupation — old letters 
 and papers. While so engaged the thought of Nellie 
 Braithwaite had been curiously, almost oppressively, 
 present to me. Only thrice had I seen her during 
 the past eight or nine months. I should, in all prob- 
 ability, see her even less frequently in future. Yes, 
 Hartover's emancipation, strangely enough, parted 
 us far more effectually than Hartover's wrongdoings 
 or Hartover's troubles ever had. Would she live on, 
 without change of estate or of place, from girlhood 
 to womanhood, womanhood to old age, busied with 
 home and household, and the care of her father, 
 still cherishing the exquisite yet unfruitful love of her 
 youth ? That was a lovely picture, but a sad one. As 
 I destroyed papers, sorted and packed my books, I 
 almost unconsciously placed another picture beside It. 
 For years hence, when the shadows grew long, might 
 it not be possible she would weary of such an exist- 
 ence? Then, in the twilight, might not my turn 
 come, might not she and I grow old together, dwell- 
 ing under the same roof, bearing the same name at 
 last? A lovely picture too — If a little dim and pallid 
 — lovely at least to me. I went on with my sorting 
 and packing, a smile on my lips and grip of not un- 
 pleasant pain about my heart. 
 
 Went on, until it grew too dark for me to read the 
 
366 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 names of the books as I took them down off the 
 shelves. I lighted the candles on my study table, 
 using a wax vesta from an old silver box the dear boy 
 had once given me. And, so doing, I recollected with 
 a start that, absorbed in my own preparations for 
 departure, I had not seen him all day. The occur- 
 rence was so unusual that, realising it, I felt some- 
 what uneasy. I recollected, moreover, that he had 
 not put in an appearance at hall. This increased my 
 uneasiness. I sent round to his rooms, in the big 
 quadrangle, only to learn that he had gone out riding 
 early, taking no groom with him, and leaving no in- 
 formation as to the probable time of his return or as 
 to his destination. 
 
 Nine o'clock, half-past nine, ten o'clock struck. 
 Darling of the college or not, at this rate my young 
 lord ran a chance of being ignominiously gated. Un- 
 easiness deepened Into anxiety, anxiety into down- 
 right alarm. 
 
 It was not possible to sit still in this state of sus- 
 pense any longer. I went out on to the landing, down 
 my staircase, and half-way across the small court — 
 charming in the warm gloom of the midsummer 
 night, with Its tinkling fountain, its squares and ob- 
 longs of lamplit window — when footsteps rang out 
 under the archway, and a young man came towards 
 me, not in regulation cap and gown, but high riding 
 boots, white cord breeches, his coat and hat appear- 
 ing white also, so thickly overlaid were they by dust. 
 
 Hartover slipped his arm within mine. 
 
 *' That's right," he said, with a queer, gay, yet 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 367 
 
 half-shy little laugh. " I could have sworn I should 
 find you, every feather on end, clucking after your 
 lost chick; so I came right on here, without stopping 
 to change or have a brush." 
 
 '* But where have you been, my dear boy?" I 
 cried, still agitated, struck, moreover, by a strange- 
 ness in his manner. Not that his gaiety was forced. 
 On the contrary, it seemed to bubble up and over- 
 flow out of some depth of incontrollable gladness. 
 
 *' Doing the best day's work of my life," he an- 
 swered. " But let me come up to your rooms. We 
 can't talk here. And there are things to explain. 
 Good as the day's work is, you still have to put the 
 finishing touch to it. Can't do without you, you see, 
 in good fortune any more than in bad — even if I 
 wanted to, which, God knows, I don't. But forty 
 miles, dear old man, In dust and sun — or nearer fifty, 
 for, like a fool, I lost my way coming back and gan- 
 dered about for ever so long In those fenlands. 
 Gad! how enchanting they are though, Brownlow! 
 — ^The vast reed beds, and great meres like shining 
 mirrors, holding miles of sky In their pretty laps, and 
 the long skeins of wild-fowl rising off them and call- 
 ing to the sunset. I have never understood the fasci- 
 nation of a flat country before. I must go and have 
 another look at it all some day — some day — because 
 it will speak to me of " 
 
 He broke off. And again he laughed, mounting 
 the dark stairs so rapidly beside me that I had some 
 ado to keep pace with him. 
 
 Once inside, he threw hat, gloves, and crop down 
 
368 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 on the table, blew out the candles, and, crossing the 
 room, lowered himself gingerly on to the window- 
 seat. 
 
 "Let's sit in the dark. — ^^Jeshurun! I am stiff, 
 though! — You don't mind — the dark I mean — do 
 you? It's more peaceful." 
 
 I minded nothing but delay, for a feverish impa- 
 tience was upon me. 
 
 "Yes," he went on; "the finishing touch has to 
 be yours, Brownlow. There's something I want you 
 to do for me, as usual." 
 
 "What?" I asked. 
 
 " This : You remember that which happened a 
 year ago to-day? " 
 
 His tone changed, sobered. I did remember, and 
 told him so. 
 
 " I have waited through a whole year as a pen- 
 ance — a penance self-inflicted in expiation of certain 
 sins. During that year I have lived cleanly." 
 
 And I felt, rather than saw, his eyes fixed on mine 
 — felt, too, that his face flushed. 
 
 " I knew perfectly well that by waiting I risked 
 losing what I supremely longed for. But I accepted 
 that risk as part of my penance — the very heart of it, 
 in fact." 
 
 " Yes," I murmured, greatly marvelling to what 
 his speech should lead up. 
 
 He leaned across and laid his hand on my knee. 
 
 " I rode over to Westrea to-day," he said. 
 
 " Westrea? What do you know — how have you 
 heard about Westrea? " I exclaimed. 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 369 
 
 *' From Warcop, when last we were at Hover. I 
 could not say anything to you, Brownlow, because 
 I would not have you Involved. The Bralthwaltes 
 were your friends, and I didn't want, of course, to 
 come between you and them, which could hardly have 
 been avoided If — well, If things had turned out badly 
 for me." 
 
 Again that note of incontrollable gladness in his 
 voice. 
 
 *' I felt It would be unfair to ask questions of you, 
 as I could not explain; and the penance had to be 
 completed In full before I could talk of It. But War- 
 cop was different. I had no scruple In finding out 
 from him where they — where she — now lived. 
 And " 
 
 He turned, leaning his elbow on the window-sill, 
 speaking softly, and looking out Into the fair wind- 
 less night. 
 
 " I — I have seen her. I have been with her nearly 
 all day. Bralthwaite was away, luckily — at Thet- 
 ford, I believe she told me — at some political meet- 
 ing. She has not changed, except that she Is even 
 more beautiful than I remembered. And she loves 
 me. She will marry me, when her father gives his 
 consent." 
 
 A minute or more of silence, for I could not bring 
 myself to speak. But, absorbed as Hartover was in 
 his own joy, he failed to notice it, I think. Presently 
 he faced round, and once more I felt his eyes fixed 
 on mine. 
 
 *' And this is where your good offices come in, dear 
 
370 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 old man,'' he went on. " Of course I shall go to 
 Bralthwaite myself, and ask for her hand with all 
 due form and ceremony. But I want you to see or 
 write to him too, and back me up. Tell him I'm not 
 the young rake and wastrel he probably imagines me 
 to be — and which — well — I once was. Tell him he 
 needn't be afraid to trust her to me; for I know the 
 world pretty thoroughly by now, and still find her 
 the noblest and most precious thing in it. Tell him," 
 — and he laughed a little naughtily — *' he may just 
 as well give in first as last, for have her I will, if I'm 
 obliged to kidnap her, carry her off without with your 
 leave or by your leave. Nothing will stop me short 
 of death; so he'd best accept the inevitable. I am 
 perfectly aware I belong to a class he'd like to exter- 
 minate — that he regards me as an absurd anachron- 
 ism, a poisonous blotch on the body politic. But, as 
 I was explaining to her to-day, I can't help being 
 who I am. This, anyhow, is not my fault. — Ah ! and 
 that's so delicious about her, Brownlow ! — Just what 
 has made other women keen to catch me, actually 
 stands in my way with her. She doesn't care a row 
 of pins, I verily believe, for money, or rank, or 
 titles. It is I, myself, she loves, not what I can give 
 her. Quaint, you know, after two or three seasons 
 of London mothers with daughters on hand for sale 
 — It strikes one as quaint, but, good Lord, how 
 mighty refreshing! " 
 
 Again he leaned his elbow on the window-sill, 
 turning his head. I could just make out the line of 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 371 
 
 his profile, the Hps parted In something between a 
 sigh and laughter. 
 
 " She's so clever, too — so splendidly awake. Pic- 
 ture the endless delight of showing her beautiful 
 things, new and beautiful places ! And she is so well 
 read — far better read than I. That's very much, 
 thanks to you, Brownlow. She spoke of you so 
 sweetly, and of the comfort and help your friendship 
 had been to her. I'm very grateful; though, upon 
 my word, I came deucedly near being jealous once or 
 twice, and inclined to think she praised you a wee bit 
 too highly. But, joking apart, dear old man, you 
 will see Braithwaite and give me a good character? " 
 
 He rose as he spoke. It was time. I could not 
 have endured much longer. For I had been racked 
 if ever man had — each sentence of Hartover's merry, 
 — serious, teasing, eloquent, tender — an added turn 
 of the screw under which muscles parted and sinews 
 snapped. How thankful I was to the merciful dark- 
 ness which hid me ! My voice I could, to some ex- 
 tent, command, but by my looks I must have been 
 betrayed. 
 
 Hartover felt the way across to the table, picked 
 up his hat, gloves, and crop. Mechanically I rose 
 too, and followed him out on to the landing. 
 
 " The sooner the better," he said slyly. *' Think 
 how long I've waited! I ascertained Braithwaite 
 will be at home all day. Couldn't you go to-mor- 
 row?" 
 
 " If I can get a conveyance," I answered. 
 
 " There are my horses." 
 
372 JHE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 But twenty miles' ride out, and twenty back, with 
 such an interview in the interval, was, I felt, beyond 
 my strength. 
 
 "Oh! well; leave it to me, then. I'll arrange," 
 the boy said, " if you'll let me. Good-night, Brown- 
 low, and God bless you! You're the dearest and 
 best friend living." 
 
 He ran down the dark stairs, and swung across 
 the little court. I listened, till the sound of his foot- 
 steps died out under the archway, and went back, 
 shutting and locking both doors behind me. Then 
 came the blackest hour of my life — worse than the 
 racking — wherein I fought, in solitude, with the 
 seven devils of envy, hatred, and malice, the devil 
 of loneliness too; with the natural animal man in me, 
 and with visions — almost concrete in their vividness 
 and intensity — of what Nellie's love must and would 
 surely be to him on whom she bestowed it. 
 
 Of the following day I retain a strange memory, 
 as of something unreal and phantasmal. I believe I 
 looked much as usual, talked as usual, behaved in a 
 reasonable and normal manner. But my speech and 
 action were alike mechanical. My brain worked, 
 my material and physical brain, that is; but for the 
 time being soul and heart were dead in me. I felt 
 no emotion, felt nothing, indeed, save a dumb ache 
 of longing the day were over and I free to rest. 
 
 For I drove out to Westrea, of course. How 
 could I do otherwise? True to his word, Hartover 
 had made all necessary arrangements, as he sent 
 word to me early. At the same time he sent round 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 373 
 
 a note, with the request I would deliver it to Nellie — 
 of which more hereafter. I found Braithwaite at 
 home and greatly perturbed in mind; for, like the 
 fearless and honourable being she was, Nellie had 
 already told him both the fact and purpose of Hart- 
 over's visit. 
 
 " I knov\7 what brings you here, Brownlow," he 
 said, as he met me in the porch. " And I could wish 
 you a worthier errand. I confess I am very sore. I 
 flattered myself this mad project had received its 
 quietus long ago. I object to it as strongly as I ever 
 objected, and for the same reasons. Such a mar- 
 riage is equally contrary to my wishes and my con- 
 victions. Permitting it, I, having preached to others, 
 should indeed become myself a castaway. What 
 will those, who share my views as to the iniquity of 
 the aristocratic, the feudal system — which strangles 
 the independence and stunts the moral and material 
 growth of three-fifths of, so-called, free Englishmen 
 — think of me, when they find me throwing princi- 
 ple to the winds for the vulgar satisfaction of seeing 
 my daughter a countess? '* 
 
 This, and much more to the same effect, weighted 
 by sufficient substratum of truth to render it difficult 
 to combat. Not only natural and genuine fear for 
 Nellie's future happiness, but all his native obstinacy 
 was aroused. In vain, as it seemed, I pleaded the 
 change in Hartover, the seriousness of his purpose, 
 the depths of his affection, his growing sense of re- 
 sponsibility. In vain, too, I made a clean breast of 
 certain family matters, spoke of Fedore's unscrupu- 
 
374 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 lous pursuit, her ladyship's compHcity, and of the 
 intrigues which had surrounded Hartover, as I 
 feared, from childhood. 
 
 " Granted all you say," he answered. " Granted 
 the young man's reformation is sincere and promises 
 to be lasting, can you honestly advise me, my dear 
 Brownlow, to let my daughter become part and par- 
 cel of a society thus permeated by low scheming and, 
 on your own showing, by downright immorality? 
 You are actuated by a fantastic and chivalrous devo- 
 tion to this handsome young princeling, which blinds 
 you to facts. Sensible fellow though you are, he has 
 dazzled and bewitched you, just as he dazzles and 
 bewitches my poor Nellie. But having an honest and 
 deep-seated objection to anything in the shape of 
 princelings, I retain my clearness of eyesight, and 
 am actuated by common sense and prudence regard- 
 ing the safety of my daughter." 
 
 "At the cost of breaking her heart?" I rather 
 wearily ventured. 
 
 Whereupon we started to argue the whole ques- 
 tion over again. While thus engaged we had saun- 
 tered to the door of the pleasant low-ceilinged living- 
 room opening on to the garden, which, brilliant in 
 colour, rich with the scent of sweet-briar and syrlnga, 
 of borders thick-set with pinks, sweet-williams and 
 roses, basked between its high red walls in the still 
 afternoon sunshine. On the threshold Braithwalte 
 turned to me, saying almost bitterly: 
 
 " Ah ! Brownlow, I am disappointed. Why 
 couldn't you speak for yourself, man? How will- 
 
THE TUTOR'S STORY 375 
 
 ingly would I have given her to you, had you asked 
 me ! Often have I hoped, since you stayed under my 
 roof at Easter year, it might eventually come to 
 that." 
 
 Well for me I had been racked and devil-hunted 
 last night till emotion was dead in me ! 
 
 " Why have I never spoken for myself? Because 
 — well — look at Nellie. There is your answer." 
 
 And I pointed to the upward sloping pasture. 
 Now I divined the contents of that note which the 
 boy had confided to me for delivery. I was not only 
 his ambassador, but his despatch rider. My mission 
 hardly unfolded, he followed daringly close behind. 
 
 For down across the turf walked Hartover leading 
 his horse, hat in hand. Beside him, in blue-sprigged 
 muslin gown and lilac sun-bonnet, walked NelHe. As 
 we stepped out of the doorway she caught sight of 
 us, and the sound of her voice came in soft but rapid 
 speech. The young man, whose head inclined 
 towards her, looked up and gallantly waved his hat. 
 They reached the bottom of the slope, and as they 
 stood side by side on the bank, the great brown hun- 
 ter, extending its neck, sniffed the coolth off the 
 water. Only the brimming stream and bright gar- 
 den lay between them and us. 
 
 " Mr. Braithwaite," Hartover called, " shall I be 
 forced to run away with her? Time and place 
 favour it; and, Gad! sir, my horse has plenty left in 
 him yet." 
 
 He slipped his arm round the girl's waist and 
 made a feint of tossing her on to the saddle. 
 
376 THE TUTOR'S STORY 
 
 " Confound the fellow's impudence ! " Bralth- 
 waite growled, as he moved back into the house. 
 
 But his eyes were wet. He was beaten. Youth 
 and love had won the day, and he knew it. 
 
 Thus came the end, or rather the beginning. For 
 the end — ^as I looked across the valley this morning 
 at royal Hover, wrapped in that glittering mantle of 
 new-fallen snow — is not, please God, for a long time 
 yet. 
 
 Still, in point of fact, Nellie Braithwaite never be- 
 came Lady Hartover. For Braithwaite exacted an 
 interval of six months before the wedding; and be- 
 fore those same six months were out the poor creak- 
 ing gate, away at Bath, had creaked itself finally out 
 of earthly existence, and into — let us charitably hope 
 — a more profitable heavenly one; while — such after 
 all is the smooth working of our aristocratic and 
 hereditary system, with its le roi est mort, vive le roi 
 — over his great possessions his son, my always very 
 dear, and sometime very naughty, pupil, reigned in 
 his stead. 
 
 As to myself, Cambridge and Hover, Hover and 
 Cambridge, till, the home living falling vacant, 
 I removed myself and my books here to this pleas- 
 ant parsonage, where learned and unlearned, gentle 
 and simple, young and old, are good enough to come 
 and visit me, and confide to me their hopes, and joys, 
 disappointments, sorrows, and sometimes — poor 
 souls — their sins. 
 
 THE END 
 
RETURN 
 
 MAIN CIRCULATION 
 
 ALL BOOKS ARE SUBJECT TO RECALL 
 RENEW BOOKS BY CALLING 642-3405 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 riECJOFFiTT OCT 19 
 
 94 
 
 RECEIVED 
 
 OCT 2 19y 
 
 CIRCULATION D=PT. 
 
 FORM NO. DD6 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
 BERKELEY, CA 94720 
 
 LD 21-100m-8,'34 
 
M// v^ 
 
 U_C BERKELEY LIBRARIES 
 
 <:D4t7b7b7o 
 
 355503 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNIA LIBRARY